Logs:Southern Solace
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| RL Date: 18 November, 2015 |
| Who: D'vro, Dahlia, Colsoth, Taeliyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, Southern Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The day of Zaisavyth's leadership flight at Fort, D'vro offers Dahlia a shoulder. |
| Where: Beach, Southern Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, J'zen/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, R'fyn/Mentions, R'oan/Mentions, Zennia/Mentions, Zezenia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated for getting a sense of dynamics! |
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| Sunrise over the ocean is beautiful. What little chill there is from ocean winds is chased away with the first light of Rukbat peeking over the endless blue and warming the air. On the beach, there's the occasional runner, but only one pair sits this morning, lonely, watching the sunrise on a day that will change their lives. Taeliyth is silent, brooding. Dahlia leans against her, still in her ill-fitting hand-me-down riding leathers, leathers Zennia has secretly had replaced, but not yet given to the girl on the beach. They watch as the sun rises, girl and dragon, and if there's conversation between them, it's kept private. One bronze has been keeping his presence near the foreign gold, not suspicious, exactly, but definitely curious. And certainly not intrusive. Colsoth is respectful of Taeliyth's privacy. For now. He must not tell even his rider for a while, because once he has, he mentions to the queen, « D'vro is on his way to sit with your rider. » Colsoth ends up a short ways down the beach, dropping off his rider before he's pushing into the air again. « Would you like to fly? » With him. Taeliyth, for all that she hasn't acknowledged his presence yet on this visit, seems somehow still appreciative that she's been given space. With his words, she turns his mind toward him. Her feelings are locked in a deep, dark Wood, that holds an unpleasant hunger that has nothing to do with her stomach. « She will be ready, » the gold indicates, now and briefly expressing in feeling only her gratitude for the solitude this long. Once they've landed, Taeliyth watches him launch, before offering a simple, « Yes. I'm tired of being here, » here perhaps on the sand, or here, far from her home, where she's too well aware another gold will fly and claim too soon (ever is too soon, of course). She moves enough away from Dee that the muscles that bunch and her downbeat of broad wings doesn't kick sand at her rider, nor his. Dahlia has sat sometime between Colsoth's first message and the second, perhaps taking the message literally. She works methodically, patiently at the laces on her second boot, the first already off and toes of that foot wiggled into the golden sand. Colsoth is appreciative for her company, but he won't pressure her into conversation if the gold would rather burn off her agitation than talk about it. Dahlia will likely have no such luck. "Making yourself comfortable?" asks the bronzerider, approaching in linen pants, a light shirt and sandals. "I would have invited you for tea, but Colsoth suggested you might rather stay on the beach for the time being." That's like the bronze, thinking about what other people might want. "I would have come," Dee tells the bronzerider, tipping her head back severely to look up at his familiar face. She almost always did, when invited, and even sometimes when she wasn't. "How are you, Dav?" as if her cares were not pressing, though they might be many. "Pull up some sand," comes with a wan version of her more usual impish one when she's using some non-literal saying he might object to. "But would you have wanted to, that's the question. Even I can admit the beach is nicer than my home. Most of the time." His dressed down appearance suggests he can even relax at the beach on occasion. At the very least, he can look as though he might be relaxing. "Are you making it a day? Come to catch up on everything you've been missing out on?" Girls gossip, obviously, though he doesn't have anything to offer up for her. "You're looking well, at least. There was no small amount worry over you." "I admit I miss the beach more often than your cottage, most of the time. Cottages in general after beaches and jungles. Mother and father's before yours," Dahlia explains the list as it goes on and she cracks another smile, this one more warm and more genuine, even if it's only barely touching her eyes. "Word came into Fort just before I came. Monaco's Zaisavyth is proddy. She'll be in Fort by morning. Taeliyth needed to be elsewhere," and so Dee with her. She's candid but emotionless as she relates the news. She's lost weight in her illness, but she's not gaunt, just leaner than before. "I won't die today," she tells him, "but I'm not well, Dav." Probably only their long acquaintance prompts that. "Don't tell Mother, okay? I don't want her to worry." And she would. But this is Dav, secret-keeper, Dav the adult who always gave her advice when no other adult was a good option. "Theirs is rather more comfortable than mine is, I suppose," says the bronzerider as he settles down, a movement that almost seems awkward for the often poised man, crouching down near before more or less falling into a sit. "Ah," is all he says for the Monacoan queen, though it's followed by a moment of distance where perhaps he's checking in on his bronze. "I won't tell her. So long as you promise that you will be well. She'd be very cross with me if she suspected I knew something and then something happened to you." And Zennia is perhaps the one woman who can intimidate the bronzerider, under the right circumstances. "Have you visited her yet?" "More familiar," Dahlia counters, but concedes, "and therefore more comfortable. Perhaps less with the new addition. Babies are noisy." It is known. "I will be well," she says slowly after some moments. "But not sure when. Someday. And in some ways more well than others. I'm not dying, anyway." That's certainly something in these plague times. "I haven't visited yet." Quieter, "I'm afraid that somehow I'll have brought that awful thing here and give it to the baby," the baby she doesn't name. "Or that I might break her when I touch her." The baby, again. "Or that Mother will know in the way she has of knowing how heartsick I am and make me talk." It sounds like a fate worse than death. "I'm glad to hear you aren't dying. But I highly doubt that if I can avoid breaking her, you'll have any trouble at all. I can't say your mother won't pick up on anything else. She's annoyingly perceptive about things like that." Or has been for a man who quite prefers his emotions pushed down out of sight and the light of day. D'vro doesn't ask for specifics, but he pauses in that way he does when he's willing to listen. Just in case she wants to talk. "She's made you see her?" The baby. Answering her own question with the obvious, "Of course she has." Dee draws breath, holds it a moment and lets it out. "I know it's ridiculous, seems even more now than before I got sick," death has an impact on perspective, "but I'm jealous of her. Zeze," the baby. "I used to wish a lot that I could just wake up in my old bed with my old life, less now, but it still feels like they're replacing me, even if they didn't plan for the baby." It's probably not the topic he expected her to talk about, but it's easier than whatever goes unsaid. D'vro feels no need to fill the silence with his voice immediately. He considers her words, considers what might be the best course of action, and can only offer, "She misses you. She wishes you'd visit more. But she understands that you have certain responsibilities now." He's obviously talking about Dahlia's mother, not the baby. "And I have no doubt she'll look up to you when she's old enough to have proper control of all of her body parts." Now he's talking about the baby. "She'll even be able to brag about you to all of her friends." That's probably a thing that little girls do. "She won't ever know me. I feel like Mother barely does. I've changed so much since I left here. Even coming here, it doesn't feel like home anymore, just some place I used to know but can never come home to." There's something sad in her tone, but after letting her head fall to her knees a moment, dark hair hiding her face she sits back up, shaking her head. "Listen to me, talking like a teenager." It's funny because she is one. Dee manages a smile for Dav. "Thanks for listening. Like you always do. How are things for you here?" Surely D'vro could say something, but whether he would end up making her feel worse or not is often on the table, so he refrains from offering her any of his commentary. "It doesn't bother me, Dahlia. You are a teenager, after all." And he's worked with enough young people to know that they come with a certain baseline of drama. "Things are well here. Plenty of work to keep me busy." As always, just the way he prefers to be kept. "Only in turns," comes with a quiet sigh. "Maybe one day we'll talk about everything I've learned, done and seen since leaving home, but too much of the worst is still too fresh today." Dahlia contemplates as she looks out over the ocean. Then with a grimace, "Work, always work. You should've been born a woman and Colsoth a few shades closer to gold. But if you ever run out of paperwork here, you can always come do mine," she only half teases. "One day you'll have learned, done and seen even more than you have already. And what you feel now may not be forgotten, but it won't be so close to you." Hope for the future is something even D'vro can afford the goldrider. "I'm quite happy to have been born a man, thank you. I can assure you that Colsoth is content as he is, as well. Unfortunately, I don't know that I'd be very good at your work. That wouldn't be very efficient." Otherwise he might agree to give her a hand. Note, however, he doesn't offer that he could learn. Dahlia smile, possibly because it's such a Dav thing to say. Then she does a very Dee thing and leans her weight suddenly into him. Less repugnant than the hugging she's prone to (she gets that from her mother), but still a genuine and physical expression of her fondness for her mother's best friend who rarely fails to be there for her, even when she doesn't know she needs it. "Missed you, Dav," is quiet but emphatic before she straightens. "You could do to learn. Times might change enough that you could apply for the job someday," is rueful, "even with your and Colsoth's 'man-bits'." She uses the term deliberately, that same term she used when she came to him as 'safe adult advice' after the gold flight that had her hastily losing her virginity to one of the boys not much older than she. What was a girl supposed to do in the face of man-bits and so many apologies because he hadn't realized she was a virgin? The bronzerider doesn't try to avoid the contact, but neither does he make any attempt to turn it into anything else. "Perhaps when they decide to replace me with a younger rider, I'll give some thought to my abilities as a weyrwoman." D'vro isn't above humor and there's a hint of it in his voice now. "I imagine I could manage without my 'man-bits' getting in the way." Colsoth is another matter entirely, granted. "Good, you'll have my vote of confidence," Dahlia tells him with with muted good humor. The matter of Colsoth's man-bits seems to be one that warrants a mock-grim note of, "Colsoth's..." before she slants a sly smile toward the older man. "How long do you reckon I can put off going to see Mom before she straps the baby on and comes to find me?" "I appreciate it, Dahlia," D'vro assures the young weyrwoman as if it might be a thing that actually happened someday. "I think it would probably be in your best interests not to make her find you. You might find that you enjoy being able to catch up with her. And meeting your sister. If you want to put if off, though, I'd suggest you find something vaguely professional to distract yourself with. She could hardly argue with you doing your duties." "I can't imagine Ali would thank me for asking to see her at dawn just because I'd like to avoid my mother that much longer." Especially not after Taeliyth asked Isyath at ridiculously early to get permission to come at all. Dahlia sighs softly, "Watch the rest of the sunrise with me then walk me to my doom, Dav?" It's a request, if an exaggeratedly dramatic one. "I believe I can manage that. So long as you try not to think of your family as your doom." D'vro won't tell them that, of course, but he can at least encourage her to be more positive about the inevitable. Dahlia gets to her feet and doesn't, this time offer an expectant hand to the older man. Call it sensitivity to his preferences, perhaps. "No? Well, if they wouldn't act like it, I wouldn't have trouble." No, that's teenage exaggeration, too. They're a good family as family goes. As they begin to walk, the goldrider confesses, "I don't know how to be around them anymore. I don't know where I fit. If I fit. Jem got to come home and I never can." Here, now, she doesn't bother to hide the brief pang of mixed regret and frustration. High above, Taeliyth twinges unhappily. « Part of her wishes she'd died, » is abrupt to Colsoth, but maybe the gold needs someone to listen as badly as her girl does. D'vro doesn't dignify her dramatics with a solid response as he rises up to his feet and reflexively dusts sand off of himself. "I'm not sure if that's entirely true. Fortian goldriders seem to have a way of ending up here, hmm?" He must think he's being vaguely amusing judging by the small smile he attempts to offer her. "Your family loves you as much now as they ever have, Dahlia. You'll always fit in." One way or another. Colsoth is taken aback by that admission, enough that D'vro even looks up in the general direction of where the bronze is flying. « The world would have been a darker place without her. » Of course he can't not share that information. "That's not true, is it?" is the bronzerider's abrupt, concerned question. "Not this one," is grim determination. "Not if I have anything to say about it." Dee looks to D'vro, measuring, thoughtful, as if someone she's known her whole life might not be the same man standing beside her: could he be the enemy in disguise? The thought must be thought, but it's not allowed to take root. She murmurs, "I'm going to be senior of Fort, Dav. I just have to pick the right moment. Today wasn't the right day to fight for it. I'm not well. I'm not experienced. But Taeliyth will care for her weyr. She won't trust it to another." Maybe it's because she's just claimed not to be well or because truly she's not that she reaches for D'vro's arm, to wrap hers around his for the support it can offer as they walk. "I've been sleeping and sleeping since I left the infirmary," she confides, not even forty-eight hours ago. "And I'm still so tired, Dav." It might be the sort of weariness that will never really leave her. "What's true?" She'll only now address the question with genuine confusion. « She's... » The gold struggles with how to explain, « She has never felt right for this. She loves me, but has never felt equaled to what I want, to what I know she can become. Part of her wanted to give up. She stayed for me, I know she did. » She had to have. There was never another way. « But still, part of her wanted to lay down the burdens that come with-- me. » She's not sorry that she comes with burdens, only sorry that she doesn't seem to know better how to make Dahlia feel that she can bear them. He doesn't withdraw from the claim she lays on his arm, though he's not the most relaxed person to walk arm in arm with down the beach, especially not after what Colsoth has shared with him. Anything about her being senior is less important for the time being. "You wanted to give in to your illness." D'vro doesn't make it a question. Colsoth wouldn't share that sort of thing if it weren't serious. « She's young. » It's supposed to be comforting, even encouraging. « It's easy for them to be overwhelmed by their emotions and insecurities. We know you'll lead Fort well some day. » The color drains from Dahlia's face at D'vro's words and she flinches. "Dav," is a quiet plea, "don't make me talk about this yet. I can't. I'm not ready." There's something of the child in that plea, the same child who couldn't face what she imagined lurked under her bed when he was looking after them in turns past, but it's oddly married to the woman who has seen worse than her worst imaginings and lived. The request is true enough either way. There's a deep grief in her expression and she leans harder on his support as if her knees might give out. « We both are, » is quiet, sad. « She thinks she loved him. Etrevth's. And he went between with Etrevth when it was time. » She only remembers through Dahlia now. Taeliyth has grief too, but no more than she would for any other of her lost blooms, the beauties and treasures connected to the Wood that is her deepest self. « She'll remember him as loved whether or not it was truly so. » The truth doesn't matter anymore, not with this. Whether D'vro is content with not making Dahlia talk about it right then or not is difficult to read in his expression, not a man to put his emotions on display. He ultimately says nothing, moving his unclaimed arm to touch her hold on him with his hand. He's willing to simply walk with her, perhaps in part because Colsoth is presumably learning what she would have told him. The bronze has a warm empathy for the young queen. He may not remember the losses of his past, but he knows they were difficult. « Loved is a good way to be remembered, even if it causes pain to those remaining. » There's gratitude in Dahlia's silence, and in that silence she's able to piece back together the fragile pieces of what armor she'll need in the family encounter to come. Still, she walks slowly whether because she needs the time or simply because she doesn't want to encourage a fainting spell. Taeliyth considers Colsoth's words. « It would be better did they not need to be remembered, » if they were still alive, that is. « It doesn't matter that she was ill and thought she was dying when she made him promises. She hurts. She dreams terrible dreams. I can't fix her. » And that frustrates the queen. She can't simply will her rider well. « That would be ideal, » agrees Colsoth without hesitation, encouragement and understanding saturating his mindvoice even though he continues with, « We can only accept them for who they are, though, and encourage them to live for their present and future, not their past. » Wise as he may be from time to time, some of this almost certainly comes from D'vro. « She doesn't need to be fixed; time will ease her pain. » D'vro is evidently willing to continue walking in silence until Dahlia is ready to have it broken. Taeliyth doesn't deny the truth that Colsoth (D'vro, really) speaks, but that doesn't mean she has to like the truth he offers. She lapses into silence again, a disgruntled ones, but the gold has a lot of reasons to be upset today of all days. Dahlia keeps her silence until they're nearing the familiar small family cottage and the cry of Zeze's strong lungs can be heard from within. The weyrwoman freezes, fingers tightening on D'vro's arm. She gives him a deeply uncertain look. Must she? Is it really time? D'vro watches the cottage as they approach, looking down at the young woman when she goes still. His expression is neutral at first, but is slips into a smile for a moment. "I hope you enjoy yourself more than you expect that you will. If you need somewhere to take some time to yourself later, you're welcome to my cottage. Just have Taeliyth inform Colsoth." And they can make themselves scarce, if necessary. "Good luck, Dahlia." Dahlia should be able to pull herself together more quickly. She's had training and experience at facing the awful and courage-testing. Somehow, that shrill cry seems to have robbed her of her strength of will and so all she manages is a quiet, distracted, "Thank you." Then she's moving slowly, cautiously toward the cottage as if expecting an attack. Dahlia, who likes children, is terrified. But as she's wrapped in her mother's arm just inside the door, the babe pressed between the two of them, surprised into silence, and Taeliyth breathes a breath of relief. Things will be okay. At least for now. At least here. |
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