Logs:The Stupid Thing You Did
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| RL Date: 7 October, 2013 |
| Who: Ali, Hattie |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After a bad experience, Hattie agrees to go ahead with Ali's plan. |
| Where: Lakeside Grove, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 12, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Shevena/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, Astivan/Mentions |
| Having been absent from the Weyr for an hour or two, when Elaruth returns to Fort and swoops in low over the rim of the bowl, there's a sour, salty taint to the settling of her mental touch across her home, a darkness and a muddy tint to the feel of her usually bright mind that's enough to convey displeasure at /something/ she doesn't share. Not in words. Just that tang in the air. At the southern end of the bowl, close to the falls, the queen makes a neat landing and lets her rider dismount, Hattie stripping straps away with quick, abrupt efficiency. Neither remain out in the open for long, Elaruth seeking the sanctuary of their weyr, whilst Hattie slips into the grove of trees beside the lake, back of one hand pressed to her mouth. The weather is pleasant, and of course Isyath is circling high above the Weyr - and probably would be even if the weather wasn't. There's a rush of delighted greeting at the return of the senior queen to the Weyr from her daughter, even diving briefly to keep pace with her for a few dragonlengths before breaking off to resume wheeling, circling pattern in the sky. Below, Ali's walking slowly through the grove, the fingers of one hand pressed firmly into the crook of her back and a faint grimace to her expression. She's stopped working so hard to hide the growth of her stomach, and her state is obvious just to look at, now. Isyath, must - for once - pass on Elaruth's return, because she stops in place, looking upward a little too late to spot the senior, with a slow exhale of breath - before resuming her slow pace that takes her coincidentally into Hattie's path. Hattie's focus is so obviously elsewhere that it takes her longer than it should to register the presence of anyone else, despite lasting paranoia lending a greater attentiveness to surroundings that might usually be desired or necessary. She's too busy concentrating on the press of her hand to her mouth, now pressing the knuckle of her thumb to a particular point on her bottom lip, before she draws her hand away and looks down at it, the smudge of crimson not so obvious against the darkness of her skin. What's a little too obvious is the split to her lip, explored with the edge of her little finger right as she registers Ali in her line of sight. For a moment, she says nothing, then another and another. She just stops and brings the back of her hand up to her lips again. Ali slows- as she spots the approaching Weyrwoman- then visibly frowns as she takes note of the other goldrider's demeanor. "Are you- Hattie?" there's an obvious trace of concern in the junior's voice. "What's wrong?" While Hattie stops, /she/ moves closer- one hand, the one that's not pressed into her back- outstretched towards her. "Did something happen? Issy-?" But her queen doesn't know of anything wrong, of course- it's wonderful up in the sky, and there's nothing to be concerned about. « We are glad you are back, » the younger gold is telling the older. « It feels more like home when you are here. » The Weyrwoman stiffens, tension squaring her shoulders, the pull of muscles enough to bring her elbow up and forearm out, rendering that arm and blood-smudged hand easy to grab or draw away, should Ali choose to keep reaching towards her. The same stubborn pride that has Hattie insisting, "I'm fine," has her claiming, "He only got in one hit, I can tell you. Shame he had to find out I'm a queenrider in his next breath." Her tongue darts out to try and stem the blood flow, the tiny movement of her jaw eliciting a wince. Elaruth is not the sort to dwell in darkness, but her worries cannot be shaken off so easily as the sour taint to her touch is, and so she remains inside even as she gentles her presence and voice for her daughter. « We know you always protect everyone in our absence. » There's a moment of hesitation from Ali, like she's not sure how the gesture will be taken, but she does /try/ touch Hattie's arm, the gesture light and easy to pull away from. The concern quickly becomes alarm, the dark-haired woman's gaze going wide, sucking in a breath. "Oh my- sit, please. Weyrwoman, sit." A gesture indicates the nearest boulder, her own discomforts largely forgotten for the time being. There's a long pause - maybe she's thinking about calling a healer, but then she knows Hattie far too well for that, and so she ventures, "You made him regret it?" a fleeting smile, now. Isyath will, of course, but still, she reiterates: « It is better when you are here. » All is right with the Weyr, and the junior returns to her freewheeling, delighted turns high above. Hattie doesn't tug her arm away, but surrenders it for a moment or two instead, seeing little point in fighting now that /enough/ has been seen to make the effort a futile one. With her other hand, fingertips test the line of her jaw, and though it seems she might resist and reject Ali's insistence that she should sit down, she wearily does as she's bid and settles herself on that boulders, muttering, "Not with any great elegance," with a fair dose of disappointment. "Elaruth did most of the work. Frightened him off." Even she has to scoff at that, at the idea of her lifemate frightening anyone. She presses her hand back to her lip again, if only to test how much it's bleeding. "Not that it matters. He got the payment and I got nothing." Only once the Weyrwoman is seated does Ali's hand slide free, pressing both of them protectively against her belly, a gesture that is likely unconscious as all her attention is fixed on Hattie. Her lips part briefly at the notion of Elaruth scaring someone off, too- but the gesture is brief given the latter comment. "Payment..?" there's an uncertain tone to her voice, like she's not sure if she wants to know - the why, or more specifically, the /reason/ why- though a slight hint of color to her demeanor might well suggest a suspicion. Hattie lifts her non-bloodied hand to cover her eyes in a sweeping gesture that concludes with her pinching the bridge of her nose. "It doesn't matter," she says again, audibly tired and fed up and edging towards miserable this time. "I'm sorting things out." Only: "Only now I'm not, because he's taken a chunk of my marks." /That/ is bitter, before she reclaims control of herself. "And N'muir's going to be pissed that I got myself punched in the face." So she assumes. She shakes her head and touches her fingers to the bridge of her nose again. "...You don't need this... stress." Ali exhales slowly, chewing her lower lip, fingers absently moving across her stomach. "He doesn't have to know- about that. You could tell him you got it sparring. He'd- he'd only worry." Rightly or not, but the dark-haired woman isn't keen on the whole overly-protective portion of the Weyrleader's demeanor. With a squaring of shoulders, she says plainly, "You did this- because of /me/." Statement, not question. "Because of the stupid thing /I/ did. Let me help- please. You've seen the figures, I can /fix/ this, I promise. Please- let me try and fix this." "...Too many untruths," Hattie murmurs to herself, pressing her thumb into the curve at the corner of one eye, as if she could somehow ease the pressure there. "I did this because Astivan has spent our tithe on his wedding and keeping people quiet, and who knows if or when Boll is going to get its act together. You are a /factor/, but you are not the root cause." If she can possibly make division of blame sound /cutting/, she gives it a good shot. "And how am I supposed to trust you with the takings of your proposed venture, after the stupid thing you did?" She'll borrow Ali's own words for that. A long pause from the junior seems to be agreement on the senior's murmur, Ali's gaze downcast for a moment. If she feels relieved for being being only a /factor/ rather than the sole cause, it doesn't seem to ease her tense posture any. There's a visible wince at the latter, even if it's her own words - hearing it from Hattie makes it more /real/. "I took it for one thing- and it's done now. It won't happen again." The dark-haired woman says it with absolute certainty of the moment. "You can- review all the financial records, or have someone you- you trust," she says that with a slight faltering, "-do so." "Until it /does/ happen again," Hattie insists, voice low, her thumb returning to explore the edges of her split lip again. "Until there's something else you feel strongly about and you feel you don't have a choice and it happens /again/." Any irony in her own actions being driven by much the same plainly doesn't strike her. "And you're asking me to throw a pregnant woman in amongst criminals and addicts," she mutters, staring down at her knees, those words more for herself than for Ali. Propping an elbow on one knees, she drops her forehead down into the palm of her clean hand. "I don't have much choice. I don't have much more in the way of funds. ...Shevena can handle the physical marks. I'll check your financial records." She can't even look at her junior when she tells her: "You've got six months. If it has obvious failings before then, I'm shutting it down." A faint thinning of lips, and Ali shakes her head sharply. "My brother is well aware of what's at stake, and what I'll do to him if he-" she trails off, but for a moment the heated words are more parent-like than the normally placid junior is. And while her fingers brush over her stomach again, she squares her shoulders: "I'll be at the Weyr, surrounded by riders. Nothing will happen to me." She seems confident of that, if nothing else. It's the latter that makes her release her breath, gratitude in her gaze. "Thank you, Weyrwoman. I won't make you regret this. I promise." Hattie gives a bark of cold, semi-hysterical laughter at around the time Ali starts to make mention of threats to her brother, her reaction not dissimilar to that of the thought of Elaruth frightening people. "Of course," she murmurs with a hint of sarcasm, lack of faith in that much quite evident. She gives another swipe of the back of her hand against her lip, then shoves herself to her feet, bruising already beginning to redden and darken across one side of her face. "We'll see," is her only comment on regrets and promises, nothing too disparaging there but a plain lack of feeling. While there may be a chewing of her lower lip in response to the bark of laughter, Ali's shoulders are squared, determined. "I'll have one of Shevena's assistants drop off some salve for that, Weyrwoman," she adds, to the older goldrider as she stands. "And- thank you. For giving me a chance." A shake of Hattie's head answers that statement about treatment for her injury, the gesture accompanied by a low-voiced, "Don't. I'll deal with it myself," as she turns away and begins to make her way through the grove, drawing her hood up to conceal what she can. She doesn't have the words to answer thanks, and so, in this instance, offers none. If her silence is supposed to be /kind/, it may not seem that way in reality. |
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