Difference between revisions of "Logs:About The Future"

It's late enough that all the classes have long since finished. From outside, the sound of the howling storm is barely audible but can be more felt than heard. Most people have sought an early night in the wake of the cold chill, though Devaki, as is his habit, is not one of those. The glowbaskets in the room have all been lifted, casting a bright light, and a couple have been placed around the clear space on the ground. There, several maps of the Weyr's coverage area have been spread. They range from high level to carefully detailed, some even noting the presence of suitable rest stops between locations. Devaki is on his hands and knees, his nose all but touching one of the maps, his fingers marking a line, murmuring under his breath. Occasionally he pauses to make notes on the hide he has near by him, concentrating intently.

Carrying a mug in one hand and a book of hides bound together in the other, Riorde comes looking for one of the quiet places in the Weyr. She pushes open the door and pauses in the unexpected light within, expecting a room dark and Devaki-less. "What're you doing?" she asks, cutting out extraneous greetings and getting straight to the point, stepping forward to look at a map upside down.

That's the problem with other exiles: they're far too stealthy after a lifetime of hunting. Even though he's not doing anything /wrong/ per se, Devaki straightens, head swivelling sharply to identify the new arrival, relief flickering across his expression as he sees Riorde. "Looking at maps," he answers, possibly unhelpfully. The map in particular he's studying centers around High Reaches Hold, and some of the major satellite Holds around it. And then, as much out of an effort to distract her as any interest, his fingers flicker towards the bound book in her hands. "What're you reading?"

Riorde continues to study the map immediately in front of her; presumably she knows it's the wrong way round, but given the islanders' background of limited knowledge, one can't be entirely sure. "It's a story, I think." She's not entirely sure about that, either. "The Harper had a stack of books the other day and said we could borrow them. Trying to make up for a lifetime of poor reading skills." Riorde does not sound particularly charitable, but she did take one of the books. She leaves off her study and glances at Devaki. Defensively, "I can read though."

"Of course you can," Devaki agrees, dismissive of the Harper's comment. "Don't let them get to you. These Weyrfolk seem to delight in reminding us -- constantly and at every turn -- about what we /don't/ know." There's a hint of disgruntlement in his voice that he's trying to hide, but he doesn't quite manage it, especially not in front of someone who's known him pretty much for forever. Another downside of dealing with other islanders. "Just like our /strange/ way of having children brought up by their /parents/ is so unusual at the Weyr it gets random people all upset at the notion. You know I heard the other day they want to take some of our littles and give them to people here at the Weyr?" Yeah, he's definitely incensed, now, jaw clenched. "I'd rather adopt them all, then let them be brought up by strangers. /We're/ family, not them."

What Riorde doesn't mention is how slowly she reads. She sits down across from Devaki with the maps between, putting the book on the ground and taking her mug between her two hands. "I can just see it," she remarks, cutting through the discontent to the humour, "you surrounded and harassed by the kids, all of them trying to climb into your lap - you remember that night we took them all to the other island, with Emmeline?" She doesn't have a point to go with her question outside of simply remembering. "Of course we're family. Half of us can even prove it through our blood." She jokes, perhaps uncomfortably.

With a slow breath, Devaki fixes on Riorde's words, and it prompts a smile of reminiscence. "I remember that night. That was fun. I miss that. We don't-- we don't seem to have fun, anymore." His head bows as he tugs a hand through his hair. "I remember that afternoon when we were coming back from the fishing, and I was totally whooping your behind--" he's grinning, slyly now, since he knows the truth was rather reversed, and knowing she knows it, too. A firm nod of his head is his agreement with her latter statement. "We are. Not like these here." His hand waves vaguely as if to indicate the rest of the Weyr. "They claim they are family, but they-- they don't feel like family. They feel like strangers living together, mostly."

"No," Riorde agrees, allowing a little regret, "we don't." She sips her drink (inspection would reveal it to be klah), slurping without compunction. When Devaki mentions another day, another memory, her eyebrows lift, forming a look strong in its skepticism, but within a minute she's grinning some too, smugly. "There's too many of them to be a family," she reckons before another slurping sip. "I don't think they even all know each other."

"Well, I met this guy-- he must have some memory. He named like everyone in the living caverns. It was--" Devaki, fond of words as he is, can't even come up with a suitable description. "Anyway. Maybe we should do something, for the islanders. You know, like -- have a bonfire, like we used to, all sit around and eat. I'm sure they'd let us set something up in their bowl. Maybe if we asked Van, or one of the Weyrleaders?" he rises a brow, as if seeking input on the idea.

"Van?" Riorde repeats. There are too many names for her; she forgets. But the person named isn't the point. "I think everyone would like that. As long as we don't all end up fighting. Or as long as --" She cuts herself off, abruptly.

"V'teri -- the one they put in charge of us." Devaki waits a bit, then with a smile, "The one that started all of this -- got us rescued." He's one of the few weyrfolk that the islander talks about with total respect. "Even if we do fight," he waves that off, "That's family. That's what we do." But he leans forward as Riorde cuts herself off, brow furrowing. "As long as what?" he prompts, frowning.

"Oh, him." Riorde knows him on sight, knows his proper name even, but has never directly spoken to the man. "All we ever do is fight," she mutters, focusing on that and putting off an answer to the later question. Klah too is a refuge. "I like this better than some of the teas we used to have - except the berry one, in summer." She looks at the maps rather than Devaki, spinning one towards her; she can, in fact, locate the right way up. "Just, you know," casual to compensate for embarrassment, which she resolutely quells, "some people might think of the last time there was a bonfire."

"We fight, sure. But we make up. Blood and history hold us together." Devaki sounds very certain of that. As Riorde turns around the map and begins to study it, he rocks back on his heels, tipping his head to watch her looking at the map. "It's too bitter, I think," he finally says, of the drink. "But I like the juices." He leans over, then, and traces a finger -- carefully, since the map is now upside down -- and stops over a marked square. "River Bend Hold." Then the latter comment brings his gaze back up towards her, and there's something in his expression, too -- mute discomfort, acknowledgement. "We could try something outside the Weyr, maybe," he suggests, slowly, "If they'd let us."

"Not if you put milk in." And Riorde has, having got used to its richness little by little. She tracks Devaki's finger, glancing up when he names the square. Her lips purse in a moment of thought, and then she says a little sardonically, "The one and only." She continues to meet his gaze rather than looking away in awkwardness over the night she's alluded to, finding a smile that rather lacks in humour. "We could, but I suspect one or two would pull a runner." Riorde almost leaves Turnover alone, except now she's curious. Against her better judgment, she probes the source of Devaki's discomfort. "Who did you end up with? Any marriages in the offing?" She tries to turn it into a tease.

"I don't think that would be so bad. If some of us want to leave so badly..." Devaki lifts and drops a shoulder in the same motion. "Though if they really wanted to, they could, if they found the right, sympathetic ear." His gaze lingers on the square that is their ancestor's home, like his thoughts are distant. And then he processes Riorde's question, and he keeps his gaze firmly downcast, though he shakes his head. "No marriages, no." It's hard to tell if it's relief or disappointment in his tone, given he forces an easy smile, "You?"

"That would require them actually talking to anyone other than themselves." Riorde sounds dismissive, contemptuous, lacking in patience. She pushes up a sleeve slipping down, bunching the thick wool up above her elbow to leave both forearms bare. "No marriages." The remark, however, lacks the clarity it would carry in the island context. "Marriage, here, seems rather a thing of the past."

"Even so," Devaki's finger retreats from its claim on River Bend, his voice odd. "I know we don't /have/ to get married anymore, but I'd still like to." He hesitates a moment. "Some of the other islanders are talking about -- about trying to get a dragon. I've been told, though, that dragonriders don't marry." Which seems to imply he doesn't intend to be one of those seeking such a future. "My grandfather thinks we -- Evali and I -- should stand. That's what they call it, when you seek out a dragon."

"Would you?" It's in Riorde's nature to pry. She attains an offhand curiosity but doesn't try to meet Devaki's gaze. "Have you got the girl all picked out, or," she studies the map again and the Hold it holds and continues, more calculating, "are you picking her by place?" The schemes of blood and marriage-claims come easier to her than those involving dragons. "Why?" She's honestly questioning, the whole matter of dragons and dragon-seeking incomprehensible, a mystery.

"It's -- it's a part of our heritage. Our tradition. /Ours/, not theirs. I'd feel like -- I feel like it's important to honor it." Devaki says, slowly, like he's only just coming to the realization now. A smile flickers, and then a laugh as he shakes his head in response to her question. "No," he says, though his gaze is still on the square of River Bend, and her latter comment draws his gaze. There's something -- consideration -- in his gaze, though he shifts his shoulders slightly as if to defer an answer. As to the dragons? "He says it -- it would provide a future for us. A life for us. Help us integrate. But I think all it will do is make us forget our heritage. Where we come from. Who we are."

Riorde doesn't respond immediately, expression largely unreadable. Then, shifting rather obviously away from a seriousness that's become uncomfortable for her, she says mock-threateningly, "Better not tell that to the girl, when you find her. She'll think you're just interested in your tradition." She finishes her now-cool klah with one long gulp. Setting the mug aside, next to her book, she gives both opinions consideration and keeps her own to herself. Instead, an observation: "Not everyone wants to remember."

"No, not everyone does. I do." Devaki's voice is soft, and he's watching Riorde, now, with a little frown at her reaction. As she sets the mug down, he reaches as if to try and catch her hand, though whether he does or not, he is serious as says, "There are bad memories there. But there are good memories as well. And we ought to honor those -- those that didn't make it. I don't know how else to do that -- but to show that what they built, what they suffered for, and what they were exiled for -- meant something. And still does, to their descendants."

Riorde looks a little startled when Devaki reaches for her hand, but doesn't immediately pull away as she would have not so long ago. This is a subtly different Riorde than the Riorde of the islands, no longer quite so stubbornly separate. She looks up and doesn't look away. "I know." The condensed acknowledgment suffices.

There's an intensity in the way Devaki looks at Riorde, and at her acknowledgement, he lets out a slow breath he probably didn't even realize he was holding, as if he wasn't aware how important her understanding was until that moment. And then he smiles, slowly, and his fingers brush over hers before he releases her hand. "You," he says, abruptly, with a tip of his head, "Should ask Raum to teach you."

"Teach me?" Riorde, released, probably doesn't even realise that her gesture contains a bit of nervousness to it as she tucks her dark hair behind her ears. "Teach me what exactly?"

"To... look after yourself. You're a quick learner and you're -- quick. And you have a mean right hook." Devaki's pale eyes are bright with amusement, but he's no less serious for all that. "Not to mention a natural curiosity. Of course, you'd have to convince him there was something in it for him..."

"You think I can't already?" The challenge is automatic, along with her quick, wolfish grin. Riorde's consideration comes second, interest evident for the suggestion. And, of course, she is pleased at the compliments, though tries not to show it. "I think I'd like that. Something to do besides the lessons." She isn't Seani, happy with children, or Evali, with the practical skills of a healer. "I miss - being active."

"You can," Devaki's quick to acknowledge that. "You've always been able to look after yourself," he says, slowly. "But we lived in... our world. And this is--" his gaze goes distant, and he exhales. "Their world. And he knows it better than we." The words come, grudgingly. With a smile, he nods at her latter words. No dummy, is this one, and he's certainly not in the least surprised by the admission. "Things are certainly... different here. Skills that mattered there matter little here. No fish." A quick, brief smile, but it's apparent she's not the only one feeling out of place in this new world of theirs.

"I don't know if he really wants anything to do with us, though. I don't think he ever really did," Riorde muses, though it isn't an excuse that will keep her from hunting Raum down. Mention of the former guard makes her recall, "Did you talk to him about - whatever it was?" Briefly, she looks rueful. "I never thought I'd want fish again." But there it is - she misses it. "Someday," she decides, spinning an open-ended plan, "We'll have to get someone to take us somewhere where we can go fishing again."

"I did," Devaki confirms. "And he may want more to do with us than you know. He knows he doesn't fit in here at the Weyr, much as we do. We have that much in common, at least. It may even help," he adds, after a pause, "For you to mentioned I suggested he seek you out. Or it may not. It's difficult to tell." He shrugs, and there's that bland sort of smile like he's not really sure, but is intrigued nonetheless. "I'm sure you'll find a way though." He nods agreeably to her plan. "We will. For all I don't really buy completely into Rilka and Shimana and the others' belief in the ocean -- in a way they -are- right. It sustained us. It gave us life, for want of a better term. And it might be nice to fish -- for fun. Not for eating, though," he adds, laughing and wrinkling his nose. "Not yet. It's nice to have a break from it."

Riorde takes the confirmation as confirmation also that Devaki got whatever it was that he wanted, looking thoughtful at his assessment. "Someday you'll want to eat fish again," she predicts at the end of it all and gathers herself to rise, picking up her book and her mug. "And someday you'll tell me what you're doing with all these maps."

Devaki nods his head, gaze drawn back to the map again. "Someday, I will," he agrees, with ease. Though whether he's agreeing to one, or the other, or both is difficult to tell. "I'd like to know what you read in that book. Will you find me and tell me, when you finish?"

"Sure." Easy agreement. Riorde pauses for a second after she stands and before heading for the door, looking down on the young man with the maps. "Night, Dev."

Another finger drops to mark whatever's caught his eye, and Devaki glances up, grin twitching his lips. "Night, Ri." And then he's back to studying the maps.