Logs:If Life Hands You Lemons...
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| RL Date: 31 May, 2015 |
| Who: C'stian, Dee |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After C'stian's argument with Lilah, he looks for a meal away from the crowds and finds Dee in the process. It goes unexpectedly. |
| Where: Sanctuary, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 12, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Lilah/Mentions |
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>---< Sanctuary, Fort Weyr >-------------------------------------------------<
Once a complete weyr, buried beneath the mudslide, this awkwardly-shaped
chamber has now been cleaned up and protected from the elements by a set
of proper doors where the ledge might have been. It's a cozy little spot,
all funny little shelves and nooks in the warmly-painted walls, various
ornaments sat in each space in the wall, from collections of tealights to
elaborate carvings.
A third of the cavern is occupied by a large, rectangular storage unit
fronted by glass to make a counter-top, behind which lie a series of
wooden shelves stacked with crockery and various bottles, a proper yet
small built-in oven and a short, stocky cupboard. A selection of cakes,
biscuits and pastries are usually available throughout the day, set out on
the countertop alongside a board detailing the variety of warm drinks
available. Small groupings of mismatching furniture sit scattered
throughout the remaining free space, lending the place a quaint, homely
air. Usually on-duty is Molly or Joy, kitchen girls known for their baking
skills. Given Dee's functional trousers and sweater combination, the Southerner is most definitely at work today. Her shoulder still holds the single white looped knot that may once again be a point of mental contention. If it is, though, now as she looks across the available baked goods, her fingers already wrapped around a mug of something that's no longer steaming. There's a crate being unloaded by one of the kitchen girls on duty, but Dee herself seems to be taking some sort of break from whatever task was recently at hand. The Sanctuary is rather tranquil, as it probably is intended to be, but especially so with so few making use of it just now. Dee might be able to look at the cakes and treats forever and never bother a soul. Sadly, that tranquility meets an untimely end, when a rather angry-looking bronzerider stalks in. The tension in his shoulders and the set of his jaw bode ill for anyone crossing his path, but C'stian's anger doesn't seem to be directed at anyone in the Sanctuary; apparently, Hematite's wingsecond evidently in search of a drink or a snack en route to wherever his temper is taking him. It's the perfect moment to be cheerful, isn't it? Dee recognizes the man before the mood, "Oh! Wingsecond C'stian," she addresses him as she turns toward him, "I--" then the mood registers and the candidate goes silent, blinking at the man owlishly. Only, it's awkward. "What?" C'stian turns towards the voice as if ready to unleash his ire on whatever hapless individual has just presented themselves. The white knot, perhaps, stays him somewhat. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and though when he's done he still seems agitated, he doesn't bite her head off when he continues, "Candidate Dee, wasn't it?" Dee doesn't have that special something that makes her gaze have weight, so possibly C'stian will be unaware that she's watched him take that breath, but she has. The candidate continues to watch him as he speaks. "I'm-- Yes. Dee, sir." She looks back to the pastries; so much safer, if not for her waistline. A breath later she looks back to him, "Are you..." She almost looks like she's about to say 'all right,' and she looks mildly surprised when what comes out is: "a fan of lemon tarts?" She gestures to one of the plates on the counter, eyes still a bit too wide to present a convincing mask of normalcy. Clearly, C'stian's a bit surprised by the way that sentence ended, too; he stares at Dee for a moment as if trying to puzzle through the words. Tragedy on the sands, his temper's up, and now... lemon tarts. These things don't entirely fit together. Perhaps it's more through sheer confusion than anything else that he finally answers, "They're nice." instead of snapping further. That seems to be all the permission that Dee needs to reach for the plate and offer it up to him; it might be a sacrifice to appease the slightly more than ruffled bronzerider. "Would you-- like to sit? I can get you a cup of tea - or klah - or juice or--" He may wish to interrupt her before Dee, too helpfully, tries to name all the possible beverages on the face of Pern (or at least here in the Sanctuary). "No!" C'stian replies, a little more hastily than absolutely necessary. "No, that's fine. Thank you. I just figured I'd grab a bite to eat without having to go through the dining halls." He does take one of the tarts, though, perhaps in hopes that it will make the young Candidate slightly less bewildering. It's possible Dee was born bewildering, at least in some small part. It seems the sort of thing that might not sneak up on a person, then again, teenagers are a strange and unusual breed. She goes silent at his first utterance, those hazel eyes once again regarding him. Once one of the tarts is taken, she moves to slide the plate back carefully to its home. It's probably during this careful movement that she decides her next words, though she doesn't look at the bronzerider when she offers quietly, "I don't want to disturb you." She probably doesn't comment on the fact that she hadn't realized his mood before she addressed him because that much must have been obvious in her face, and she must have known it. "I was just delivering supplies from the stores and got hungry myself." It's offered though it wasn't asked and perhaps it adds to the normalcy that isn't quite there, still. "I had an argument with someone," C'stian offers to Dee, his tone still tense enough to make it clear his temper's going to be a long time fading. "And maybe they're right, which makes it even harder to stop being angry. Plus, emotions are running high anyway after the other day. So it's nothing you did." He bites into the lemon bar a little more fiercely than the poor pastry deserves. Dee's 'Oh' is more of a rounding of her lips to the appropriate shape and an exhale of breath through them than an actual sound. She looks more concerned than uneasy when she looks back at him, her brow creased. She worries her lower lip as he finishes speaking. "Would you-- like to... talk about it?" She's not hesitant in asking so much as she must realize it's an odd thing for her to be asking him. "I have time before I have to get back to the stores," is offered by way of trying to infused the offer with the genuine nature with which is was made. "No." C'stian's response is flat and final, punctuated with a short, sharp shake of the head; whatever the argument was, it's not something he's going to dump on a Candidate. "And I shouldn't keep you from your chores, besides. Plenty left to do before the next clutch." The last two words seem to knock the air out of Dee's lungs in the same way it might've left her if C'stian had struck her in the gut. The girl visibly pales as her gaze goes skittering back to the baked goods. "Yes, sir," is almost weak and she rolls the shoulder wearing the knot as if it might suddenly be too heavy. Well, that wasn't the reaction C'stian expected. With his patience somewhat eroded by the day's events, he doesn't pry with the care he might usually exercise. "What's wrong, Candidate?" When the candidate looks back to the bronzerider, her eyes are still too wide, but now for another reason. There's a look that briefly wonders plainly if he really doesn't know. "The green," Dee murmurs, looking away again, to the desserts and then away from them, turning as if she might move to a seat, but she's technically still in a conversation (probably), so she doesn't do more than look. "Everyone's bothered by the little green," C'stian points out. "For all that everyone's always afraid of it happening, it's something that happens so rarely, no one ever expected to see it. No one was prepared for it." He polishes off the last of his lemon bar, then adds, "I'm curious why you're so upset at the idea of another clutch." Dee's voice comes quietly when she speaks, though the words are delayed in answer. "Just because everyone is doesn't lessen my own feeling." It's not really chastisement, but rather the subdued holding of a boundary. "I'm afraid." It's said simply, without reservation. Some might call the admission brave, but really it's just the honest answer. "And upset. And hurt. And selfish. And guilty." Those things come in quick clipped phrases, as if each were slipping past her lips like water past the stone that seeks to staunch the stream. She shakes her head, "It's stupid." It probably is, she shifts. "I should get back to work," she latches onto his last suggestion, her cheeks touched with an embarrassed flush. If C'stian were calmer, he'd probably ask Dee to elaborate. Try to comfort her, and soothe those fears. Instead, he just says, firmly, "If you're afraid of seeing it a second time, don't be." He doesn't elaborate on that, however, concluding instead, "Go. Get back to work, Candidate." If Dee weren't looking to not have to explain herself, she might volunteer. As is, she turns moves to slip past him. Her murmured advice of, "Eat something more than lemon tarts," might even be lost in the sound of her worn, dirt-touched boots retreating, pausing only long enough to return her mug to the proper place before she goes. |
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