Logs:The Bitter Taste of Living a Little
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| RL Date: 20 March, 2015 |
| Who: Hattie, Tess |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Hattie and Tess share a negative life experience and then chat a bit; it's not all they share. |
| Where: The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 4, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Astivan/Mentions, Dillan/Mentions, Gussarel/Mentions, Gustel/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions |
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| The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements; round-backed seats with deep, terra-cotta colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a subtle red shade at regular intervals around the walls add a little depth to the color palette. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain. All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all, having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain has become - frankly - a swanky place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and fancy desserts.
It's possible Tess is simply drawn to potentially hazardous situations, or maybe she's a closet clutter freak, or perhaps she's just too new to the Weyr and too young in the world to realize the wisdom of remaining as uninvolved as the rest of the on-lookers. Whatever the reason, she saunters directly up to the main bar and lets her fingertips curl onto its edge before she's bouncing up onto tiptoes and down, peering at and around the various items on the bar. "What does it taste like?" Pips Tess' bright mezzo across to where the Weyrwoman stands. Hattie sports the grimace of one who doesn't really want to keep their tongue in their mouth, and is tilting her head to turn it to her shoulder, like she might just try and clean said tongue on her dress out of desperation, when she hears Tess' enquiry. She's still holding the bottle at arm's length, and gives it a little twitch in answer, like she'd offer it over, but she can't quite manage to look up yet. "There are no words," she answers, almost muffled by fabric. "Take your life into your own hands and try, or trust me on this one." As she says that, one of the barmen subtly swipes a similar-looking bottle from the bar and makes it... disappear. Tess shifts nimbly down the length of the bar to reach for the bottle. "It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that a girl has to live a little." Of course, after the swig she takes and the choking noise and the way the bottle thumps against the bartop so she doesn't drop it instead, it's probably no surprise that she says, "And here's a life lesson for me: not every living moment needs to be spent living a little." She frowns at the bottle, and then reaches up a finger to rub it across her out-thrust tongue. "Blech." Giving the fabric at her shoulder a couple of good licks - dignity be damned - Hattie utters, "I can think of plenty of different, better ways to live a little," more than a touch wryly. "Faranth. Next time, I'm clearing out the bar myself, if that's what's lurking there out of sight." She squares her shoulders and draws herself back up, yet she can't quite completely iron out the wrinkling of her nose. "If that has any use left at all, I imagine it's only in the infirmary, as disinfectant or deterrent." "I imagine," Tess says between scratches of her tongue by well-tended, short-trimmed nail, as if the flavor might be convinced to peel off her taste buds, "that that would deter all but the most determined to be drunk and stupid." She eyes the bottle speculatively now. "Could hold onto it, in case Astivan is ever found and needs something to wash down his stale bread." There's a touch of venom to her words, but then, so many have been affected. She's clearly lingering on the idea, judging by her sour expression when her eyes drift to the knot on Hattie's shoulder and her light eyes widen, "Oh. Oh. I... probably shouldn't have said that. To you. Possibly also in general. Apologies, Weyrwoman." The blonde's look is now appropriately contrite, even if not convincingly so. Hattie gives a shallow shrug. "I've little interest in censoring people's feelings about the man, only in making sure that any words on the Weyr's behalf are appropriate," she replies, twisting a little to rest one hip against the bar. "Any affection I've ever experienced towards him was for the young man he could have become, not the one he chose to grow into." Another shrug follows, her gaze flitting to dart between the remaining skins and bottles that grace the bar top, idly, and with curiosity perhaps now well subdued, before dark eyes glance back to Tess. "I suppose you know who I am. Who are you?" "Tess," she starts with the last first since it's the less sensitive point. "We're probably some kind of cousins. Back and back. I'm sure we'd have to check the lineage records to find out for sure, but Mother always said we were some sort of cousin to Astivan, and I think I heard sometime that you were too?" She says it uncertainly. If she's here to play upon a Blood relation they have, then she's doing it either very poorly or very cleverly as there's none of the typical air of assumption and confidence that might come with a con. "I'd have thought better of him, but I think most people did, until he behaved so badly and left so many in such a state." She frowns for that. "Hattie," the Weyrwoman offers rather needlessly, if only for the sake of manners, or perhaps it's buying time, for she adds, "Elaruth's," just as unnecessarily a moment or so later. "...Any link to the Fort line is through my father's side of the family," Hattie says slowly, her distaste for the thought clear in the awkward curl of her lips. "Back and back, as you say. Back and back and back, preferably. My family hold at Ruatha River; my sister Briallan is Holder." She lets another second or so of silence settle, before she hastens to add, "Not that I reject the thought of us sharing some sort of diluted blood - there are probably dozens of us, after all. But him? He caused enough distress by matter of rank. The thought of having any other tie to him is almost enough to break my brain right this moment." "Dozens, at least," Tess agrees without any rancor, not electing to press the point. "My family hold at Fort River," maybe it's just the similarities of the names of the holdings that makes a smile quirk to her lips, "and have been unfortunately affected by Astivan's 'untimely departure.'" The understatement is laced heavy with sardonic humor. "But that's not why I'm here. This is my first posting," she offers an avenue to a change of subject. "No?" There's no concealing the little flicker of doubt that lights Hattie's tone. "You wouldn't be the first to come here and seek restitution from us for something that we played no direct role in. If you consider Astivan's decisions to be his alone, of course. He's shorted the Weyr as much as anyone else, over the past few turns." She lifts a hand and waves it vaguely in the direction of the bar. "I acknowledge that we have other forms of support that Holds don't, however. Other Holds being one of them, services exchanged." Still, she gives another slight wrinkle of nose and sets that subject aside to say, "Now I know why I've heard your name before, but don't know you on sight. Healer, correct?" "Oh, well, I can't say I'm not interested to learn the details of the whole situation, because I am." Tess admits it with firm resolve and a small smile. "It seems a very difficult situation from all sides, yours not least of all, ma'am, but, no, it's not why I'm here. I have, certainly, concern for the people I knew from my home, but that responsibility falls to my father and brother." This, too, is firmly resolved, though a keen eye would catch a brief moment of uncertainty in her eyes. "I am a healer," the young woman confirms with a bob of her head, though she wears no knot to prove it's so. "The infirmary here is fascinating. The dragon one, as well. I admit, I might start haunting the latter to see what I can learn through observation." "I'd think that, if nothing else, you're in the perfect location to channel to your family any news of Fort Hold's intentions for those who look to it." That's a little wry, Hattie's features pinched at the edges in a faint grimace. "As for what we can do for you," she begins more brightly, "we're always in need of those willing to grasp more than the basics of dragonhealing. Admittedly, being able to assist both dragon and rider would be a more pressing need in a Pass, but we're not without occasion when it would be better to have someone who understands how to heal the hurts of both handle sensitive situations." "True," the healer nods of the Weyrwoman's words. "Though, in order to do so, I'd have to tell them I'm here, which I'll have to eventually, but I could just wait for something really worthwhile to tell them before I lose my autonomy." Tess' voice and smile are wry for the admission. "I find it all fascinating, the dragonhealing. I can't say I'm worldly wise as things go in Weyrs, but I'm excited," and clearly open, "to learn. Do you have any direct involvement with the program, Weyrwoman?" "Oh." Hattie blinks, her silence dragging on beyond that split second until it's more than a little obvious that she's not entirely sure what to say. "...I can't recommend taking any steps that would result in autonomy being lost," is what she has to settle for in the end. "I hope you'd have your Hall's support, whatever the case. You would have ours, if theirs was to be there, being your posting." Whether it's distaste or discomfort, she tries to swallow it down as she moves to answer the Tess' question. "I was trained as a weyrling and a junior. Enough to assist as a weyrwoman and queen should, but not to the level of our specialists. And Elaruth..." she pauses, hesitant, then carries on anyway, "you might see her in the dragon infirmary every so often." "Oh, oh," Tess, too late, follows the Weyrwoman's concern. "It's not like that, exactly. It's just that they might start sending men, Holders, or heirs or, whoever, to meet me, and then I'll have to either play along or break ties with them, and-- it just gets messy. I'm quite happy with my craft, and I'm sure they would support me, whatever comes." She hopes, anyway. "It's good to know the Weyr wouldn't just hand me over, if my father were the demanding sort, which arguably..." She manages to head off that tangent of chatter with a shake of her head despite her chatterbox tendencies. "I'd imagine you play an integral role in the recovery of any rider and dragon that comes through, even if it's only the rider's recovery." There's a pause and then with care she asks, "May I ask you a personal question, ma'am?" "They want you married to secure a profitable alliance," Hattie assumes, only the tilt of her head turning her reply into a half-question. "...I'm not sure that I should really suggest it - maybe you've considered it before, even - but finding a husband of your own before they make any discoveries... Well, it'd put the legal matter to rest. Familial... I don't imagine it would go down well." Her shrug is a touch awkward, either to vaguely dismiss her not-quite-suggestion or to invite the personal question. "I can't promise to answer," she clarifies. "Of course. It's a common theme among the Blooded. 'Blood must be preserved and fostered,'" Tess quotes someone who must have a stuffy attitude judging by the impression she gives, with lifted chin and briefly imperious peer down her nose, before the woman reverts to her usual approachable demeanor and stance. "My brother's managed to convince my father that there's a shortage of untouched Blooded women of an age with Holders who might be in need of a second wife, so that's delayed matters, for the moment. He wanted to keep the peace," which implies she cares a modicum (or more) less. She doesn't pause before moving to her question, "You're Weyrleader N'muir's weyrmate, right?" For just a moment, Hattie's gaze hardens, her fingers curling at her sides, and it can't be a coincidence that she looks faintly sick at the word 'untouched', though whether it's anger or disgust that blinds her for that moment is not so simple to make out. "I see," she manages, tightly, when she can find words again, and it must be the question that draws her focus down to the gold band on her finger, which she gently twists as she confirms, "I am," more softly than before. Tess is quiet, looking at Hattie with a mixture of consideration and concern. Rather than focus on that moment, just now, she looks down to the band that the older woman twists. "I'm glad he has you," she angles her approach, "for support. It seems like, with Astivan and everything, that he must be under stress. I'm sure everyone is, but they say the mantle of leadership is heavy." Her tone is almost apologetic, but the concern seems genuine. Seconds pass as Hattie rather openly studies Tess, or just processes her answer, and then she goes very quickly from too still to looser of posture, drawing herself up. "I can assure you that he's managing just fine," she replies, not unkindly. "He's led the Weyr for many turns now. Stress is not unfamiliar to any of us. It goes with the territory." If the more simple, abrupt nature of her sentences isn't terribly reassuring, well, she tries. "Speaking of territory, I'd better get back to my meeting with the Headwoman. Clearing the bar more frequently should be drawn to her attention, I think." Gesturing away from the array of bottles currently on said bar, she offers, "Have a proper drink, on me," within plain earshot of one of the barmen. "Anything to forget that awful stuff." The untouchable drink, or...? "Well met, Tess." "I'm sure it would ease the collected healers' minds if he could spare us time for a visit," Tess adds it quickly, casually. She doesn't seem about to try to take up more of the Weyrwoman's time, but something is causing her lips to draw tight and brow to wrinkle for a breath. Then her sunny smile returns, "Thank you kindly, ma'am. Have a good meeting," might be an awkward thing to wish someone, but Tess does it sincerely, before turning to one of the barmen to make a request for something fruity. |
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