Logs:Get Real
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| RL Date: 7 May, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, Jemizen |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Southern siblings have an honest talk about motivations, expectations, wants and hopes. |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 9, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, N'jem/Mentions |
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>---< Galleries, Fort Weyr(#745RIJMas$) >------------------------------------<
The entrance to the Sands and Galleries alike is little more than an
archway and a section of flat stone that curves into a broad pathway in
front of the Galleries that are carved into the right-hand side of the
Hatching Cavern. This pathway is set with three flights of stairs that
lead all the way up to the upper tiers of the Galleries; one set near the
entrance of the cavern, one set at the northernmost end, and one set
between both. Beyond the pathway, that flat stone dissolves into the Sands
proper, a golden expanse that sits before the large, odd engraving that
lines the far wall -- an etching that details the rotation of the Red
Star.
The Galleries themselves are rows of flat seats carved from the stone wall
and stacked backward to allow observers the best view possible of the
golden sands. Those at the bottom are protected from wayward dragonets by
a railing, while dignitaries from outside the Weyr -- Lord Holders, other
Weyrleaders, Craftmasters and their ilk -- have a specially designated
spectator's box at the topmost row. Normally, it isn't Dee who's in search of a quiet retreat, especially just after breakfast when there's usually work to be done. The Southern girl meanders along the path into the galleries with the grace of one at home in her body, arms hugging a sizable volume to her chest. It is the book, more than anything, that gives away Dee's secret desires. If one had to put a name on her greatest love, it would not be knowledge, but that would be the name of her second greatest love. She pauses once through the archway at the foot of the galleries to let her hazel gaze assess. There are masons at work off to one side, where some happenstance of the storm caused a bit of rock to dislodge and have a small section in need of repair, but otherwise the caverns are fairly quiet. It makes sense as there are not yet eggs to gawk at and given the expectation of Elaruth to clutch any day, this place has already seen the attention of many volunteer hands to make it ready for her. It might be the perfect place for Dee to have a quiet moment to read. It might have been the perfect place for Dee to read alone, quietly, but up in the highest tiers of the galleries, on the northern side, skulks a familiar, lanky figure. At Dee's entrance, Jem shoots up from the seat he'd been haphazardly reclining in, waving earnestly as he calls, "Deeeeee!" And begins trotting down the steps to meet her, two at a time. He practically skids to a stop in front of her, beaming at her and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Hey! Hi! What'cha doin'?" Not unlike an excitable puppy, really. Just don't ask him what he's supposed to be doing, because even he doesn't know. Dee's eyes roll in habitual answer to the sudden and exited greeting directed her. Her arms loosen on the book a little, the visible sign that she has sighed. She moves even as Jem comes to meet her, not exactly toward him, but not away from him either, but rather to one of the front-most benches to drop down onto it just as he arrives at her side, the book sliding onto her lap. "I wanted to read about the weather patterns for the past few turns here." It's sounds fascinating, doesn't it? It's just the kind of thing that the apprentice farmcrafter would genuinely find of interest (though, there's precious few things she doesn't that can be found in books). "I'd offer to read to you," as she often did when they were younger, "but it's mostly charts and those don't flow off the tongue." Without a beat, she adds, "And you must be awfully busy here, Jem." With nothing to do. She gives him a long and judgmental look. "Weather patterns?" Jem regards his sister in dismay. "Dee. I can tell you all about the weather here." He counts these off on his fingers: "There was a storm. It was awful. Now we're here, to help clean up." The use of the 'we' pronoun from him here is utterly shameless. He plops down on the bench beside her, grinning from ear to ear. "We're in a new place! An exciting new place! With exciting things happening, probably!" Jem wouldn't really know, on account of the most exciting thing he has done here being hiding in the upper galleries of the hatching cavern. "Go out and experience the weather, don't just read about it!" He pauses thoughtfully, considering. Apparently he has remembered that farmcrafting does actually necessitate pretty serious meteorological study. "Or at least go ask people about it instead of reading." He offers, with a shrug. His grin doesn't falter, though, and he adds, "We're supposed to be having an adventure! Remember?" "Ugh," Dee makes the sound of disgust at the boy's cavalier professions of their purpose here. "Jem, get real," she demands, sliding the book down onto the bench on the opposite side of her, angling her body toward her not-so-much-younger and now-taller brother. "You're here to Stand, if they'll have you. An adventure of stepping onto those Sands to try to find the lifemate that wasn't waiting for you last time in Southern." She sighs, "I am here to help clean up from this awful storm. I need to know about turns past, and not casual observation but recorded fact. I want to see if the seed the Journeyman had me put down has any shot at working, or if they're just wasting seed and time when they could be doing something else." Dee would almost definitely have questioned her own Master in the same way, so it's unlikely that it's personal distrust but rather a sense of professional responsibility to go above and beyond and do the work that's doubtlessly already been done by someone else just to double-check. Nevermind that Dee is also not being real in this moment, about her own motivations. Jemizen gives an easy shrug and turns his gaze toward the currently-empty stands. "I'll Stand if they ask. It's what dad expects, anyway." He side-eyes Dee at that, pointing out the obvious, "I'm sure he expects it of you, too." Jem leans back, his gaze returning to the sands. "It wasn't such an adventure, last time. Just a lot of work and burnt feet." He tries to inject some levity into his tone, but it's just not there, for once. His brown eyes glaze over at the seed-talk. You'd think he'd be used to it, now. He waves off her concerns about said seeds. "It'll be fine. You'll get it done. That's what you do." Because Jem is the expert on Getting Things Done. His grin broadens, though, and he gives a quick tug of her runner's tail. The snap of Dee's teeth at the air in Jem's direction at the tug is automatic, though it doesn't come with any real commitment to the gesture. She's looking at the Sands. "Jem," is quiet, "we were born in a Weyr. Holders might not understand what it is to deprive the dragons a choice they might otherwise have had," she swallows, "but we know. We know what could happen." She doesn't need to say it. "We'll both Stand, if they ask. If we're lucky, they won't ask, and we won't need to. Then we can go home." She looks to her brother, her eyes showing the depth of her feeling, her concern for the as yet unclutched eggs and the dragons within them, and her homesickness. Thoughtfulness doesn't come easily to Jem, and the expression is strange on his face. "They might not ask. One of the other lads in the caverns today was saying they only want Fortians on those sands." Brown eyes darken as he agrees, echoing her earlier sentiment: "And we both know what can happen if that's case." He turns to look at her face, eyes widening at her concern. He flashes her a half-grin and nudges her elbow with his. "I'm already home, Dee. Where you are, that's home." This is probably meant to be comforting, but... "If they really only wanted Fortians on the Sands, I don't think Weyrwoman Ali would've asked for volunteers," Dee answers Jem grimly. "If they can't Search outside the Weyr, they'll need options. That's us," and everyone else from Southern. Dee sighs before offering a belated and wan smile for Jem in answer to his nudge and 'comfort.' "I want to go home, Jem," she tells him it quietly; it's a secret, you see. Just for the two of them and anyone who can read the open book that Dee often is. Home, evidently, for Dee is not anywhere Jem is, but specifically where they came from, where she doubtlessly thinks Jem should be. Jemizen has never been especially good at arithmetic, so it's only once Dee puts two and two together for him that he comes to understand. "Ah. Well, that explains dad's insistence that I volunteer for something like cleanup duty." He says this airly, with a grin, as is his wont. Jem's obliviousness only stretches so far, of course, and his face falls when Dee confesses her 'secret.' "Oh, Dee." Dark eyebrows knit together as he scoots closer to her. "We'll go home. Soon. I promise." Not that promise-keeping is Jem's forte. "In the meantime, you get to..." Eyes flicker down to her book. "Learn about things. New plants. Different climates or growing conditions or whatever." He tends to tune-out farmcrafting talk, but he is making an effort, even if it's a very little and very late one. Dee stares at her brother, squinting her eyes a little as if she might not have guessed before now that he didn't know. It makes her sigh all over again, "Oh, Jem," is soft and not really to him. She reaches out to take his hand if he'll let her, seeking to wrap it in both of hers. "I do. And who knows, maybe I can make a difference here. Like at home. Maybe even better." She's optimistic to hope so. "It may really be about Search for them," them, the powers that be, "but Fort does seem to need our help. I hope you'll help. Really. While you're having an adventure." Her tone is gently encouraging, holding out hope for even sometimes hopeless Jem. Jemizen gives one of his sister's hands a gentle squeeze. "Ayup!" He announces, cheerily. "They'll have a hard time giving you up, once you get all of their gardens and crops and everything in shape." Or whatever it is farmcrafters actually do. His already-bright eyes are twinkling as he continues, "Turns and turns from now, they'll be talking about That Southern Girl, who was the best farmer they'd ever seen." He winks, at that, just before rolling his eyes at her insistence that he do some actual, y'know, volunteering while he is here as a volunteer. "I'll help, I'll help." Uncle! "And maybe someday I'll be able to do something other than lifting and carrying. Not much adventure in that." There's a spot of Dee's laughter, the kind that Jem is unfairly talented in getting from her even when her mood is less than mirthful. She shifts to lean her head on his shoulder a moment, looking out at the Sands again. "And maybe one day, you'll listen to me when I talk about what I love about my craft." She shakes her head, sitting up to look at him with sincerity in her hazel eyes. "I think anything is possible," which is true, even if her tone is gently teasing. Jemizen wraps one arm around Dee's shoulders as her head comes to rest on his. "Someday." He agrees, equably. "For now it's all just dirt to me." He grins and gives her shoulder a squeeze. "Stranger things have happened than me learning or working, y'know." He teases, turning to prop his feet up on the railing and regard the empty sands with a smile on his face. "You mean like freak storms that last a seven and require Southerners to surrender their young people to Fort as tokens of their friendship and esteem?" Dee asks him with a single arched brow. Stranger things indeed. She doesn't really wait for his response before she's rising. "I'm going to go find somewhere to read that is notably lacking in obnoxious brothers to bother me." She reaches down with one hand though to try to ruffle his hair before she's spinning on a heel and climbing the down to the path and exiting just as gracefully as she came. |
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