Logs:Hideaway
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| RL Date: 2 March, 2015 |
| Who: Hattie, N'muir |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Bijedth invites Hattie and Elaruth away from the Weyr to hash out N'muir's issues. |
| Where: Beach, Southern Boll |
| When: Day 17, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Lilah/Mentions, Nala/Mentions, Astivan/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, C'stian/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backscene. |
| Long days have become longer days. Rukbat rises those few moments earlier and earlier each morning and sets later and later. In the first few days of Astivan's disappearance, the sunset would always bring N'muir back, force him home when the search became too hard. But now, not even nightfall can bring him back to the Weyr. It's routine now: he is gone before daybreak, back in time (usually) to kiss his children goodnight quickly before disappearing again until well into the night. He spares Hattie a kiss if he thinks she's awake, at least, but even what short-lived time they spend together is haunted by his not-so-private troubles, his presence distant at best. There is no explanation about where he goes for all those hours; he doesn't stay out with any members of Hematite most of the time, nor any other riders (not that he's been known to do much fraternizing outside of his wing). Then one night, well after dark, a quiet invitation reaches oh-so-lightly to Elaruth: an image of a dark beach along Southern Boll's coast and a spread of stars overhead. There's been surprisingly little comment in any vein or topic from Hattie, who seems to have accepted silence and distance as a matter of course, and, for the most part, she's tried to carry on as normal, if in a more cautious manner. She waits. And sometimes she watches, when she believes that her observation is not so obvious. But she doesn't ask. Not about where he is, or why, or that which she can only assume has prompted greater absence. When he returns - when and if he sleeps - she simply curls up against him, silence maintained until she finds N'muir gone again before her own routine begins. When Elaruth gently nudges that image towards her on this night, the little queen is already halfway to the ledge, leaving the warmth of the wallow, and it's Hattie who hesitates, paperwork before her forgotten in response to wherever her thoughts pull her. But, soon enough, moonlight casts pale hide silver, and Elaruth lands in the shallow surf along that beach, mindful of her bundled up rider. Bijedth is a shadow curled up on the sand and N'muir an even darker shadow nestled front and centre in the curve of his dragon's arm like a beloved stuffed toy. N'muir is still in his leathers though he's loosened them and long abandoned his gloves and hat somewhere in the sand. Bijedth angles his head to watch his mate descend and, for Elaruth, there is the usual affectionate words and over-embellished stories about where they've been and what they've seen. Bijedth unfurls his arm and it might be hard to tell whether N'muir gets up at the same time as the dragon moves to stretch out long like a feline or if N'muir gets up because the dragon moves. Either way N'muir begins to move towards the water's edge to greet Hattie, his hands shoving themselves into his pockets. He tries for a weak smile that is more of a grimace than anything. "Sorry." For what, he doesn't go into detail. Everything, perhaps. Hattie manages to land just as the gentle pull of the waves draws water away from where her booted feet end up, and though the ocean gets a lick at the hem of her long coat, she remains un-splashed as she steps away from the sea and towards N'muir. Elaruth is deliberately less fortunate, and spends a moment or two just padding - carefully - about in the wet sand, enjoying its give beneath sensitive paws, until she lets a well-timed wave dash grains of it from her limbs and launches herself in Bijedth's direction in a funny little hopping leap, meaning to settle down with him and share her own stories, though hers are rather more centred around 'home'. When she reaches N'muir, Hattie halts and does nothing but look up at him as his apology registers, but then she makes a murmuring sound that could just as easily be acknowledgement as it could a low, "Don't," and as her arms reach to envelope him, she lifts up onto tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek and gently rest her head against his. "...Have you been out here in the cold all these nights?" An arm instinctively captures her about the waist as he bends that small distance to give her his cheek. Perhaps it's her insistence that gives him the room to relax, helps him become more himself rather than the cold, distant shadow that has shared her bed in recent days. Slowly he softens, first hugging her closer and leaning his head against hers, his rigid shell giving way until he heaves a sigh and his other hand seeks out the curve of her back. "No," is his poorly veiled reassurance. It's not a lie but it's not the truth. He closes his eyes and winces against some haunting memory. "Fort Hold was an embarrassment. We behaved atrociously. Lilah is a treacherous snot. And I can't find that fucking shithead Astivan without help and I can't turn to the people I should be able to." His wing. Days of silence and now it's verbal diarrhea. "Nala transferred, and I'm pissed at nearly everyone else in the wing. N'rov is still fucked up, I think- not that I'm mad at him for that but it's one more thing - one more person - to worry about. Hematite - the whole fucking wing - I hate them and I love them too much, I'm ruining them- or they're ruining me, I can't tell anymore..." The rambling pauses, or rather hesitates. "And C'stian," which seems to be enough of an explanation in one word that he doesn't elaborate. Hattie doesn't push at that 'no', much like she's not pushed at anything else, and patiently waits him out with no comment but the press of her arms around him, intent on offering what she can by way of physical comfort and closeness where words might fail. "...Is your son," she eventually murmurs gently, finally speaking those words aloud. "Nimarie and Nehmet's brother." She's never made distinctions of 'half' this and that with her other children, and plainly has no intention of doing so now. "...I can get angry and jealous if you want, though I must have been all of fifteen when he was born, and not with any man in my sights." She tries a smile, weak though it is. "If it'd distract you." Glancing up at him, she sobers, and what might have been meant to be only the briefest look lingers as she lowly insists, "The Hold needs to take action now. You've done what you can. Let them handle it. Try and fix what else is important to you, not the Weyr. For now." Tension quietly returns, his body stiffening in her arms with things left unsaid - things that have to be said, or want to be said, at least to her here, now. The fabric of her jacket becomes balled into his fists gently and it's easier to turn his face away and squint down the beach to dull himself to the hard truth. "It's not the same," he murmurs regretfully. "C'stian isn't a little boy. What does a grown man need of a father? And he's... angry." Her remark has that tension melting instantly away as a dark chuckle escapes him, a kiss aiming for her brow affectionately. "Don't think too long on the mathematics or you'll get dangerously close to discovering how terribly young you are." Not how old he is. He lets himself be caught in her look though what meets her might not be willing - not yet. There is still too many cold or uncomfortable emotions under the surface for whatever - or whoever - he interprets to be broken. For Hattie, however, he bends his head with the intention of delivering an intimate kiss. "...No," Hattie says softly, some faint measure of her own regret for the reality of things tainting her voice, "I suppose it isn't. But... well. I might be grown up, but I can't say that there aren't some days when I wish I had my mother or father to turn to. Even if I was always angry with them. Even if that's not the same either." What quiet encouragement or reassurance she means her words to be, she lets fade away when her argument seems to half undo itself somewhere along the way, a faint grimace tugging at one corner of her lips in the seconds before she tries to do with her hands what she can't seem to get words to, one sliding back to rest solidly against his chest. "...We lived whole lifetimes in different worlds before we knew each other." Or so it must feel to her. Tipping her head back a little to meet his kiss, her other hand smoothly travels up past the nape of his neck for fingers to curl gently into his hair. There is a look spared for Hattie's suffering that is compassionate but lacking true understanding for the connection of a mother or father. "Your..." He pauses in search of the words. "Parenting the way you mean, I did not have that the way you did. I am only learning what being a father is to our children every day - and even that is challenging for me some days, to learn to be something I've never known." He stops himself there and lets the rest of his explanation of his past fade into the worries of his present. Her remark of their pasts lends N'muir to pull back after that kiss to look at her thoughtfully and through new eyes in quiet, appreciative wonder that shows in the warmth of his eyes and the subtle curve of his lips. His hand lifts to brush her cheek and he aims a second kiss to her lips, this time chaste and full of care. "I love you." They are words rarely spoken uttered now with more heart-felt meaning than any three syllables should be capable of conveying. "Let's go home." Fingers uncurl to cradle the back of his head as Hattie opens her eyes. "I don't want you getting too ahead of yourself, but you're doing pretty well for a learner," she tells him around a quirky little smile, the glimmer of humour in her dark eyes softened by affection. Sobering and settling into a quieter sincerity, she murmurs, "You're important to them; they adore you. Anyone can see how much they love you." Her smile returns, warmer now. "And I am so glad that you've always given them what you never had." The hand resting against his chest slips back around his waist as he kisses her again, her answer a soft, almost inaudible sigh. "I love you too." Tilting her head a little, she nuzzles gently against his cheek, offering no argument against the prospect of returning home but a moment's reluctance to leave his side and let the rest of the world back in; a reluctance better exemplified when she reaches for one of his hands as she turns away to approach their dragons. |
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