Logs:Things We Like and Other Hard Hitting Subjects
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 20 February, 2014 |
| Who: Finne, N'dalis |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Finne seeks out N'dalis in order to chat more. They discuss many things. |
| Where: Solarium, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 1, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'ten/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: E'ten = N'rov. Something like that. Because N'rov is a dirty liar. |
| It's still snowing; in fact, it's been snowing pretty regularly all day, and hinting at worse to come as what little natural light there is disappears beyond the horizon. Up in the sanctuary, the shutters are tightly shut, but the pretty colored glow-lamps are reflecting their warm light, making it cozy despite the occasional rattle and shake that reminds of the wind that howls outside. Dal's ignoring all of that, though, sitting cross-legged upon one of the couches, with a book spread out across his lap. Could Finne have been seeking him out? Or is it truly coincidence that the arrival of the spritely brunette ends with her smile deepening as she spies N'dalis. Can she manage to sneak up on him is another question though, with steps as quiet as kitten feet on stone and /possibly/ even holding in her breath until she's standing behind his couch. Suddenly, in a flurry of movement, there's arms flung over the greenrider's shoulders and a very very quiet, "boo," whispered into his ear. N'dalis reacts with the full force of surprise, his book taking a death-defying leap to the floor as his whole body jolts into awareness. It's not enough for him to pull away from the candidate altogether, though, even if that is the eventual result all the same: he pulls back, but only so that he can turn his upper body and regard Finne with a wry, blinking glance. "Finne," he says. He doesn't need to add 'you scared me', right? She asks anyway. "Did I scare you?" It's such a rhetorical question, she can't help but let a giggle escape, an unwitting sound that bubbles in this quiet sanctuary from the outdoors. Easily shifting from her arms slung over his shoulders to rolling over the back of the couch, she's suddenly sprawled in the seat next to him. "Whatcha reading?" It's pretty evident that, while Dal is not wholly at ease with Finne's particular brand of spriteliness, he's more or less used to it; one of his eyebrows raises, briefly, and then subsides. He leans forward to reclaim the book, showing Finne the cover: it looks like a beginning reader, the kind of book a child of five or six might work through. "My boy's with his grandparents for a few days," he explains, sounding almost embarrassed. Finne glances down at the book and up, and then back down again, her head tilting curiously. "And... you're using this opportunity to learn how to read?" She stretches out a hand with another head tilt that asks 'May I?' without actually speaking it. N'dalis offers the book across, laughing in that quietly restrained way of his. "More, using the opportunity to try and figure out how I can help him with his reading. Parenting is difficult." His hand, having relinquished the book, drops awkwardly back towards his knee, though his gaze remains squarely upon Finne herself. The book in her hand, the candidate starts thumbing through it slowly, turning a page and then another, and then returning to the previous. "It's a story about a talking horse? How would you help him with his reading? Don't people just... magically learn somehow?" Finne turns the page again and considers the page. "How old is he again?" "I have no idea," admits N'dalis, hesitantly, which is presumably not an answer to the question about his son's age. "I just... feel like I ought to be taking an interest. Being involved. Helping. He's five. Five and a half. Honestly, I'm feeling a little unsure about the content of this book. Why talking horses? It doesn't make sense." "I like talking horses. I'd like to think horses can talk. It's whimsical. It could ignite his imagination!" Finne settles on a page, reading aloud from it in a singsong voice that infuses voices for each character and a much more fluid narrative for non-speaking sections. "It's cute. But don't harpers teach your people this kind of stuff? In classes and stuff?" It goes without saying, surely, that Finne's reading aloud is far, far superior to anything N'dalis could produce, and certainly, it engages one of those rare smiles. "Yes, of course they do," he confirms. "But... they still have to practice, and I feel... his mother was a harper. It feels important." "Surely, he'll learn," Finne's attitude is blithe, almost negligent even if this had been her child. Luckily, he's not. "Are you worried cause he's not reading yet and you feel he should, or are you worried because he's not interested in reading? What does he like doing? Like, I love eating cookies, Ebeny makes some wonderful ones by the way. A little sweet, but sweet is tasty sometimes. And I like chatting and observing and making notes and figuring people out. What about him? What about you?" "No, no, no. I'm not /worried/. I just..." Dal can't seem to come up with the words to explain how he feels, and ultimately ends up shaking his head, instead. "He likes... apples, and songs, and stories, and singing, and... he's full of life." He sounds nothing like his father. "He remembered to wish Suraieth happy turnday before we dropped him off, even though I'd only mentioned it once. He's fine. He'll be fine." "He'll be fine." Finne sounds like Finne, surely, but tempered, gentler. Her hand stops turning pages and reaches to pat N'dalis's leg. "Do you sing at all? Sometimes, I do. Or I used to. The last time I tried in the barracks someone threw a pillow at me. I guess it was partly my fault for singing at night. Y'know, when people are sleeping. Woops." Except she doesn't sound too apologetic. Not at all. "Maybe you can teach him through singing. And see if you can find a story about a talking apple instead." N'dalis' gaze drops towards Finne's hand upon his leg, lingering there for a moment before he turns his attention back to the girl herself. "I don't sing," he answers. "But... I'm sure he'll be fine. We'll read together, once he's back. But... no talking apples. He might start worrying about eating apples ever again." His pause lasts only a moment or two, and then: "How /is/ it going in the barracks? And candidacy, in general?" "We should sing together." It's almost as if he's never stated he doesn't sing. That part goes straight over her head. Finne blinks rather overtly innocently at N'dalis. Blink. Blinkblink. "Oh." Then it all pops in a rather messy little bubble and the slight teenager slumps in her corner of the couch, arms wrapping about her midsection. "How was it for you?" That slump? That seems to concern N'dalis, who lifts one hand to hover over her shoulder: not touching, but there, nonetheless. Ish. "Got shot in the shoulder by another candidate," he says, after a moment's pause. "Spent the whole time a little uncertain about everything. But... it wasn't so bad. You're... still not sure, are you?" She's not above nudging her shoulder up to help complete his gesture, for which he gets a small, appreciative smile, never mind it was half her. "Wait. /What/?" Stop the presses and her emo trainwreck waiting to happen. "Another candidate shot you?" Finne's staring at Dal. That nudge leaves his hand actually lingering upon her shoulder, and then giving a tentative squeeze. He turns pink, maybe even /red/, under the weight of that stare. "By accident," he's quick to reassure. "Completely by accident." She could say so much more. She doesn't. "As you do," is the short three word phrase she returns, with her brow knit in utter askance. "Did that make you want to stop being a candidate? Cause you haven't answered my question, though being shot kind of does really suck. It'd make me rethink even if I'd been optimistic until that point." She shifts to her knees, dislodging the kid's book from her lap and reaches across to his shoulder, one shoulder, any shoulder. "Was it this one? Does it still hurt? I mean, clearly, it doesn't, but does it hurt when it's raining or otherwise? My pa would say his bad hip would ache more when it rains. I'm not really sure what rain has to do with anything though. I imagine it was just another excuse to drink." "She shot into the air, I think she was spooked," explains Dal, for all that that probably doesn't help anything. He inhales, short and sharp, as her hand seeks out his shoulder, and he gestures with his own hand, indicating the fleshier part of the shoulder with a couple of fingers. "I still wanted to stand," he says. "I was worried I wouldn't be able to. It aches, sometimes. My leg, which got broken a while back, tends to ache worse." His gaze is focused upon Finne, studying her hesitantly. Finne moves her fingers to where he indicates and tests the pressure of them against his injury. "I don't know what I'd do with a dragon," she finally admits. "It seems like an awfully /stuck/ place to be. I mean, I'm sure it's great and wonderful when it happens, but there's so much I need to do with myself. So much to see and live through and... it just seems like such a commitment I'm not sure I want to entangle myself with. Honestly," for once in her life Finne looks sheepish about an opinion she's about to profess, "I don't understand how all these people who stand time and time again. It's like they're living their life in this endless limbo until they're not allowed to stand anymore." There's no wince from the weight of Finne's fingers, though perhaps she'll be able to feel the small amount of scar tissue remaining, slightly raised from the rest of his skin. The intake of breath, then, seems to be more in relation to Finne's thoughts, which have his brows knitting, too. "I don't know if I understand either," he admits. "I may have stood a second time, if I were asked. I'm not sure. But it was never my life's one goal. If there are other things you wish to do, you should do them. Su and I won't be offended, if you drop out, Finne." "Oh. Would other dragons and their riders be offended?" Of all that, /that's/ what she picks up on. Oh, Finne. Abruptly, it makes Dal laugh. Oh, Finne. "I bet Reesa would be," he says, after a moment's consideration. "I don't know. Some. I'm just saying... you have to make the decision that's right for /you/." "I don't quit," says Finne subsequently. "Winners don't quit." Well, that's a lot less certain. "Oh /well/," and then the candidate is flopping, twisting her body somehow so she ends up half sprawled on N'dalis. "Tell me what I should do. I don't like making decisions like this. It seems /so/ /big/ and I'm so small. Literally. I'm so small." N'dalis is - perhaps predictably - a /little/ surprised to end up with a Finne half-sprawled on top of him, but he takes it in his stride. "The thing with this is... /you/ don't necessarily end up making the decision, I guess. Not in the end. But... you're the only person who can decide whether you really want to Stand or not. Just like a dragon is the only one who gets to decide if you'll ride or not." Finne heaves a dramatic sigh. "I'll stay. I don't know if I could stay at the Weyr without standing. I'm not a very useful sort to have around here I bet." There's a bright, faux woebegone smile flashed upward at the greenrider. "I met this rider the other day, E'ten. He was almost as dreamy as you." A sly little wink spaces out her words. "But don't worry, you're still my number one." "You don't have to decide until the very last minute," says Dal, though there's a note of approval in his voice, perhaps unintentional, for her decision to stay. His smile is tentative, very slender in comparison to hers, but still firm and true. His cheeks go pink. "E'ten. Good man. Wingsecond." 'Dreamy'. His gaze is ducking away, dubious and embarrassed and perhaps a little flattered despite the aforementioned dubiousness. Finne's the cheeky sort to reach up and tweak Dal's chin with just enough possessiveness that claims him with her thumb, but just enough mischief to make it a joke. "I didn't know he was a wingsecond. He helped me out. I'm still confused as to the logic of Impression. The questions of: what if there are more than one candidate out there a dragon likes, or a candidate that more than one dragon likes. Or," Finne blows a waft of pepperminty breath up at N'dalis's face. "What happens if a dragon can't find anyone on the sands they like? The records seem to say they just die. That seems very sad." It still makes the greenrider flush more furiously, even if he's smiling at the same time. It's hard, in the end, /not/ to smile at Finne. "I'm not sure anyone really knows the answers to those questions," he admits, having chewed them over in his mind for a few seconds. "It does seem sad. It /is/ sad. I've never seen it happen. I don't think it happens often." "How do they pick? Have you ever asked your green?" Finne does a mini stretch, just her shoulders rolling upward and her legs stretching out, closes her eyes and curls up again, so she's less on N'dalis and more sitting up. "Neck cramp," she explains, with the hand that was just at N'dalis's chin at her neck, massaging. "Like... do they pick the best of a bad lot, or what? Are riders really the /only/ person they would have picked in a line up of all the people on Pern? Why do they make you stop standing at twenty-five? It's twenty-five, right? Do older people become unpalatable to dragons? Why?" Surely he must be used to it with a five year old. N'dalis' expression is sympathetic for Finne's neck cramp, but otherwise trending towards thoughtful - seriously thoughtful - over the rest of what she's said. "I..." he begins. And then, "I don't know. I can't imagine Su with anyone else, or me with any other dragon... but I do believe it is possible. They're looking for the one that is most suited to them, surely. Otherwise... a candidate who drops out for whatever reason could be a real danger. But... well. The older you get, the more settled in life you get. Few Journeymen would be willing to give up their crafts to ride, I should think. More people are married, with children. Less adaptable, perhaps." "I imagine ability to adapt must be a very key component. If you're mind is too rigid to accept changes or anyone, then how could a dragon break through, right?" Finne muses this aloud, while wrapping her arms about her bent knees. "So since I'm seventeen, I guess I have many many more chances to try again and again and again if I wanted to and if a dragon never found me. It must get incredibly demoralizing after a while. I don't know how I wouldn't take it personally and cry my little heart out. You'll be there to comfort me, yes? You better. It's your fault I'm in this mess!" A deep breath. "If you need to cry your eyes out, if you need comfort, then of course I'll be there to provide it," promises Dal, faithfully. "If. I imagine it does get demoralizing. I imagine it's very difficult. But," he's firm. "Having a dragon does not make you better than anyone else. It's not a test of your worth. But you know that, don't you? /You/ aren't someone I need worry about on that front." Finne looks at N'dalis for that brief moment where her lashes flicker and her mouth twitches. The twitch turns into a laugh. "I was joking. I'm...," the dark haired girl shrugs her shoulders with an adorable scrunch of her face. "Resilient. I was looking for you. To chat. I like chatting with you. You're like the big brother I never had. Or I had, but never really wanted to chat with. One or the other." The laugh results in a blush, though N'dalis seems genuinely relieved. The adorableness of Finne's movements may help with that. "You make a pretty ad-- good little sister," he says, after a moment's pause, smiling despite himself. "You were looking for me? Really? I'm flattered." He really does seem to be. "Well. I like your opinion. And you put up with me that first day pretty admirably." Was it a test? Finne crooked grins at N'dalis and flops backwards into her corner again, arms thrown over her head. "What do you know about Faye? She's another candidate and seems so... reclusive. Mysterious. I wish I could be that mysterious." She peers at the greenrider through the cracks in between her fingers of hands that are suddenly over her face. "See. Mysterious, right?" "I'm glad," says Dal, genuinely enough - it could even pass as warm. Finne's 'mysteriousness' even makes him grin. "Totally mysterious," he confirms. "Faye's... I don't know her well. We've only met the once. When I, uh, well, when /Su/ searched her. She seemed nice? Reserved, though. Dry sense of humor." "Does Su know anything about her? I mean, she /must/ right? I'm full of questions. Always. This world is so fascinatingly weird." Finne pauses, big-eyed, before grinning, "Sorry." N'dalis answers that grin with a smile of his own. "Don't be," he says, firmly. "Be yourself, Finne. Always. Not sure I ever noticed how fascinatingly weird it was, without..." Her. Isn't it sweet? "All she knows is that she recognized her as someone who could, possibly, Impress. That's all I know, I'm sorry." Finne's nose crinkles and those blue eyes squint, but don't fully close. "So I'm not going to be able to get you to admit what she thinks of me, will I?" "What... Su thinks of you?" The question seems to surprise N'dalis. "She likes you. She likes that you make me smile. And... there's some ineffable /something/. I don't know what it is - whatever it is dragons see in us at all." "And you have such a /nice/ smile at that." Finne is suddenly a flutter of motion, hopping up to her feet and bouncing a few times before a stretch pulls her entire body this way and that. She reaches down to retrieve that book she dropped earlier and dusts it off, holding it out to N'dalis afterwards. "I wondered if she could read my mind or see what kind of dragon I should get. Or something. Maybe dragons can read the future and we just don't know." There's a shrug. It could totally be true. "Have a good rest of your day, holed up in here all cozy, Dal." N'dalis accepts the book, glancing down at it as if he's no longer entirely sure why he had it in the first place. But Finne draws his gaze back up again, quickly, and he smiles. "If only," he says. "You too, Finne. If you need to talk, you just... come and find me. I'm often around. Don't get lost in the snow." "If I do, I'm sure I'll make a lovely snow corpse." She's joking. Really! With a laugh, Finne scampers out to where her winter attire is presumably making puddles on the floor somewhere. |
Leave A Comment