Logs:Pieces of Her World
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| RL Date: 23 May, 2015 |
| Who: Dee |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: At the end of a very long day, Dee reflects and seeks avenues of action. |
| Where: Candidate Barracks, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 11, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ebeny/Mentions, Guzman/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, Jemizen/Mentions, Oenamis/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. Follows all other scenes on D19 (is probably really D20 by the time this occurs but pre-dawn, so dated D19 for ease of grouping). |
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>---< Candidate Barracks, Fort Weyr >----------------------------------------<
The Candidates' Barracks is longer than it is wide, with the head of each
cot head against one of the two side walls. Alongside each cot, there is a
hook affixed to the wall where a Candidate's robe may be hung, while
clothes and personal effects are usually kept in the trunks at the foot of
each. Designed to house about a hundred young men and women at any given
time, the place alternates between feeling cramped when dragons go out on
Search and very empty when there is no clutch on the Sands.
The beds are neatly made when Candidates are imminent and expected to be
kept that way by each young person who claims them. Between clutches, they
are stripped bare, with linens kept in cabinets along the walls nearest
the entrance. Candidate robes are stored in a large nook off to the side
for Candidates to pick and choose from; especially old or filthy robes are
discarded regularly, with new ones made by the seamstresses or apprentice
weavers in their spare time. The barracks was dark. Perhaps Dee only thought so because she seldom saw this hour of night. She crept along the lines of cots until she got to her own. The white robe on its hook seemed to glow by contrast. She uncovered the small light on top of her press to give her a little dim light to work with, just enough to be able to squint and see the outlines of things and the small shadows they cast. Looking around, she could see how, in a Pass, this place would feel crowded and uncomfortable. Yet now, with so few candidates in the barracks (what with many having come from the Weyr and not having opted to take up residence here while they Stand), it felt practically vacant. Looking around, she couldn't help but think there were two fewer dreamers occupying their beds tonight. (And how many others couldn't keep themselves abed tonight?) She shook her head free of the thoughts that only wearied her more and put all her focus into quiet . Dee already felt guilty for taking time away, for trying to forget the horror she'd seen today. She chided herself silently as she opened her press, wincing at the small squeak of the hinge that seemed so much louder just now when she was trying to keep anyone from waking. The contents of the press were tidily arranged, which was helpful since the light of the glow didn't give her much to work with, even after she lifted it to stand on the topmost book on the right hand side (an almanac she'd persuaded one the Journeymen she was working under to bring back for her from the Hall). Dee knew what she was looking for, but it was on the bottom, deep under the borrowed sweaters, the coveralls and outfits from home. As carefully and quietly as she could, she stripped away the layers that kept her goal safely ensconced. A hiss from one of the nearby bunks demanding the light out, startled her and automatically she moved a hand to comply. It was too like the way Jem had complained in their side-by-side sleeping alcoves in the family bungalow that had given them the semblance of privacy once they were old enough to want some. She reacted as she would've reacted then - no argument, just the covering of the small basket. Blanketed in deeper dark as her eyes adjusted, Dee blinked down at the press. She could feel her fingers on the sleek polished wood that she'd buried in the press. Even in the dark, she was careful, reaching a second hand to withdraw the rectangular box that was no longer than her two palms laid side by side and no deeper than her thumb. She carefully set it in front of her knees and then fished in the dark for all the clothes she'd removed, mindful only of how much noise they made when she deposited them back inside (she could refold them tomorrow). Once her press was closed with just a small wrinkle of her nose at the ever more familiar sound of the hinge, Dee took up her box and settled on the edge of her cot. She glanced toward her pillow, but the color of the sky when she'd headed for the bathes for a second time that day assured her that sleep was an exercise in futility tonight. Instead, she turned her exhausted thoughts to the wood under her fingers. In the dark, the girl was able to trace the relief in the carved wood of the lid. She felt the many petals of the dahlia sprawling across it. Where once the finished wood had had crisp angles, she'd taken it out and traced the lines of it so often that the edges had simply begun to wear away into soft, aged curves. They were full of familiar comfort. Part of her wanted to just stroke them forever, to soak in every ounce it could offer her. She felt as though, somehow, between one thing and another, she had been stripped down to the bone and the fear and worry had been able to slink in and entwine with her very core. She doubted even the comfort of the box balanced on her knees could fix it, but it might be worth a try. It wasn't that she hadn't ever seen wild acts of nature before, or even witnessed hunger. Going with Old Guzman to the outlying Holds in southern had been eye opening, but she had never become immune to how it made her felt. Seeing the felled trees or wrecked buildings after a storm was one thing, to witness the world abruptly changing its face was another thing entirely. She felt as though she might not be able to trust the ground under her feet. Perhaps it would be best if she Impressed after all, then at least she'd have the air as an alternative. But Impressing hadn't helped Ebeny avoid entrapment. She could feel the prickling sting of coming tears and swallowed hard as an attempt to ward them off. Thinking of Ebeny brought her back to Oenamis and the other candidate who'd been trapped with her. It made her think of the Hold who'd had some of their strong and able-bodied trapped, too. How many, she wondered, were still strong and able-bodied? The rumors at home focused more on those from home, which she grudgingly supposed made sense, and yet, she didn't like it. Why was a Fortian life worth more than one from Lux's Ledge? Couldn't one of those young men, in any other turn, have been a candidate just like her? Would their life become more valuable in the exchange? She didn't like it. Any of it. With a sigh, she turned the built-in lock and flicked open the clasp. Dee's calloused fingers ran over the folded packets of delicate paper that she kept within. It was impossible to read the labels she knew she had catalogued each with without the light, but she had committed to memory the contents of her box and counting across each crisply pressed edge jogged her memory. She silently recounted the names, meadowsweet and moonflower, tansy and sungazer. None of these would help. She'd only kept those that were especially pretty. Some others, her fingers paused on them, she'd kept because of their remarkable flavor, preserved them herself from the edibles, left the seeds to dry on her bed, which her mother had hated for its untidiness and the way it had once led to an unfortunate infestation of beetles. Those would be of some meager help come spring, but spring wasn't soon enough. She didn't have any seeds of the heartier squashes that would survive an autumn planting and winter harvest, and none of it would matter if things weren't cleared enough to see the plants root and grow before the ground froze. Thpp. She dragged a fingertip across the packets thoughtfully. Thpp. This noise was familiar to her too, and quiet. The rhythm of it, steady with the way she stroked helped her think. Perhaps the journeymen could petition the Lord to release his seed stores to the Holds. She didn't know much about Holds, but that felt like a long shot even if it could be managed. Lux's Ledge wasn't the only place that would experience the hardship of ruined crops this season. Would there even be enough to resupply them all? What if this wasn't the only storm to hit? She sighed. She didn't even know how many of her seeds were still viable; what if the Hold's stores were in a similar state? Dee looked down at the box that held the pieces of her world, of the experiences of her so far short life. She had kept them selfishly for herself, dreaming for the day when she would be advanced enough in her studies to use them to breed them into finer plants still. How stupid she had been; she could see it now. She should have saved useful things, too. Then maybe she wouldn't feel so helpless. She chewed her lip and closed the lid thinking of Jem in the broom closet, the resolve in his voice that they would help Lux's Ledge. Her fingertips brushed the wooden dahlia again. They would, but it wouldn't be this way. Her talk with Hattie had taught her something valuable: they would have to be clever. There could be no direct approach - not even of Lilah. They would have to find out, first, what was already being done and then they could figure out what-- if anything-- they could or should do. Dee hoped Lux's Ledge and the Holds like it would be inundated with so much help from Weyr and Craft and Hold alike that the idea that any other attempts to help would be excess. She liked to think herself an optimist. As such, she had to hope. If hope failed her, though... It wouldn't end there. |
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