Logs:Root Cause
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| RL Date: 10 September, 2015 |
| Who: Nala, Aislara, Jynth, Ryerith |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Nala wallows and manages to successfully drive someone else away. |
| Where: Nala's Frosted Sea Glass Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 10, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'dre/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, C'stian/Mentions, M'vyn/Mentions |
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| It's been a few nights since Nala has come to the weyr Aislara now calls their own as she directs Ryerith onto Jynth's ledge. Ryerith extends her ribbons and chimes towards the blue as they make their way to land, announcing their arrival and offering a small apology, « She didn't want me to ask. I hope it is okay we are here. » Dressed still in her riding leathers from a recent training excursion with the weyrlings, Aislara shucks off her helmet and gear as she enters Nala's weyr. "Nala?" she calls, her voice clear though she hides the shaking of her hands by clasping them once she's freed herself of her gear to a hook. Nala has yet to surface at a proper meal time, nor has she been lingering in the caverns, but she doesn't look half-starved as of yet, and neither does she seem to have foregone bathing, so she must be carefully choosing at which hours she opts to leave her weyr. There are boxes and bags stacked against the walls of the inner chamber of said weyr, though most of the floor space remains free, what little furniture there is uncluttered and tidy, including the neatly-made bed upon which she sits. If she's occupied by anything, it's gone moments after she hears Aislara's voice, which is when she lifts her head and tells her, "It is a bad example for them, you know," without preamble. "Being with me." It's second nature by now for Jynth to make room for Ryerith, and though his rider's mood is reflected by his silence, he's not half as cold as she is. It's those stacked boxes and bags that draw Aislara's attention as she passes towards the inner chamber. Her face is pensive as she enters, lingering near a wall rather than heading towards Nala's bed. "Are you going back to Southern?" she asks, ignoring Nala's comment about examples. "I haven't seen you," she hesitates, her hands beginning their twisting in front of her as she steps closer to the wall as if she would lean against it only she doesn't. "What's happened? You haven't come home.. and you haven't been near meals.., I thought maybe it was M'vyn singing.. but..," she trails off and looks to Nala with a small frown. Ryerith is calm against Jynth's side as she allows the silence to be maintained between them. She must not make the same association between boxes and Southern, for Nala frowns when Aislara mentions it. "No," she says flatly, for all that there might be a hint of regret there too. "Not of my own volition, but the Weyrleader might have other plans." The bluerider looks down into her lap and gives a shrug. "I hit N'rov," she states, without a hint of repentance. "He probably thought I was trying to kill him, given there were blades involved. And until I grovel sufficiently or decide that everyone in Hematite is wonderful and I should bare my soul to them, I am not permitted to leave." However, she can't help but add, despite previous avoidance of speaking of him unless absolutely necessary, "Of course he still sings," in bitter tones. "Do let me know how M'vyn's ballad of the Wicked Bluerider turns out. He is likely several verses in by now." Aislara blinks a few times in succession as she stares at Nala, disbelief spreading across her face. "You went at N'rov with a blade?" her voice is quiet, as she stills her hands, "Nala--," she cuts herself off, whatever she would say silenced as she presses her lips firmly together. "M'vyn does not sing of you, nor does he speak ill of you in - in public, that I know of," she adds, defending a man she rarely tries to bring into a conversation with Nala. Her brows pucker downwards towards a frown and then she shakes her head to free her face into smoother lines. "I-, I wish you would tell me what is wrong." She folds her arms in front of her to stop herself from wringing her hands as she looks to Nala with a pensive tilt to her features. "None of this is like you." "Not the blade itself, but near enough," Nala supplies with another shrug. "He has likely said it was the blade, by now. I punched him first." Like that's a defence. She's silent in the wake of Aislara's last insistence, until she finds the will to look up at her, or simply believes that she owes her the respect to look her in the eye when she tells her, "No. This is me." Nothing but conviction colours her words. "This is whatever swam up out of me after Astivan and I do not like it anymore than anyone else does. ...Sometimes I want to be good and sweet and passive just to be wanted, and it makes me sick. I am a failure. I'm not worth it." She smirks. "But at least I can make them see it on my terms." Aislara doesn't know what to say in the wake of Nala's assessment of who she is and her face betrays her more than words may have as concern draws her brows in and tightens her lips. She holds Nala's gaze as she speaks and adverts hers when she seems to finish, lowering them to consider her boots. The arms that were folded to keep her from wringing now hug in as her shoulders hunch inwards. "I don't know what to say," she murmurs, breaking the silence she drew forward, "I know you're worth it. And I know you aren't a failure." Her eyes lift and she blinks rapidly to clear any trace of the tears she can't control. "I wish you saw that." "No," Nala declares, not patronising, yet so sure of herself that she tells rather than assumes. "You want me to be worth it. You want me not to be a failure." She speaks quietly for all her certainty, then looks back down into her lap. "...It's not the same as it being true," the bluerider murmurs. "Don't you see? I have even made you cry again." Her hands paw at the blanket beneath her. "I cannot even tell you that I do not do any of it on purpose." A moment's thought, then: "Apart from making you cry." Slowly, she lifts her gaze again and gives a sad little twitch of her lips. "...I do not know what they will do with me. Another wing? Another Weyr? Give me a weyrling knot?" Aislara's chin lifts in defiance of Nala's claim of making her cry. "I cry," there's some bitterness to her tone, "because I care. Not because you've made me." She shakes her head and sighs, tipping her head back against the wall to stare up at the ceiling. "I hope it isn't to another Weyr," she says in place of arguing somantics with Nala further on the bluerider's worth. "And would you be happier in another wing?" "The root cause is still the same," Nala cannot seem to resist arguing that point one step further, despite Aislara's step back from it. "...I have only stayed so long with Hematite for N'muir. And C'stian. No other wing may want me. It would all be so much easier if we were permitted to make our own lives outside a Weyr." Her shoulders hunch. "Anyway, that is about the sum of it. I was ordered not to fly anywhere but my own ledge; I am not entirely sure how literal the intention is..." But it might explain why she's not moved from her weyr. Or it might not. "I am not good company anyway." Aislara continues to hug herself though no more tears seem to threaten to fall nor glisten the gaze she settles on Nala. "You seem set to pity yourself," she says slowly, perhaps the first words she's said to Nala that are negative, "and likely there is nothing I can say or do that will change that." She pushes off of the wall and swings her gaze towards their curled dragons. "I'll ask Ryerith to take me home," she decides, unable to look back to Nala as she treks towards her riding gear. "You should do that." Agreement, flat, but Nala refuses to watch her walk away. She stares down at her bed, and while Jynth curls more tightly around Ryerith the moment that he understands she's about to leave, she grits her teeth and some silent, unpleasant - given the sharpness of her focus - exchange forces him to relinquish his hold on the green and allow her the room to both leave the wallow and access the ledge. The lash of his tail against the wall betrays some rare anger of his own, yet he ultimately does nothing to move against Nala's will. Aislara waits until Jynth has moved far enough from Ryerith that she can easily access the green's straps - which had never found their way off upon their arrival. Her gear is stashed under her arm as Ryerith heads from the wallow towards the ledge. Her sadness is ebbed towards Jynth as Ryerith brushes a tendril of thought towards him in parting. And then it's only a drop and a short flight towards their own ledge. Neither rider nor dragon will sleep peacefully through the night, each of them missing the warmth of another body pressed against them. |
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