Logs:Rules and Terms
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| RL Date: 16 May, 2015 |
| Who: Hattie, C'stian |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Hattie and C'stian discuss the matter of Hematite's wingleader, aka: the Weyrleader, aka: N'muir, aka: C'stian's father. |
| When: Day 23, Month 10, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: N'muir/Mentions |
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| It's meant to be a short visit, no doubt, when Liesanth deposits C'stian at on the ledge of the Weyrleaders' weyr; the Hematite wingsecond has little reason to visit their weyr at length, or intrude on their privacy. Not to mention, the small wrapped package he carries and the way his bronze lingers on the ledge suggest he doesn't intend to remain long. But it's hardly polite to show up, drop something on a table, and then depart, so C'stian clears his throat and calls out, "Anyone in? I hope I'm not intruding." With a queen on the Sands, usual operating hours for the Weyrwoman have gone somewhat out of the window, and so today she's found at home at a time that might otherwise find her in the caverns or council room 'at work'. Hattie rises from one of the chairs close to the hearth in the outer weyr, her gaze by habit going to the empty wallow before she moves through the chamber to seek out the source of the voice. "C'stian," she greets, little louder than a murmur. "I'm afraid your... wingleader isn't here. You might have a better chance later, if you don't mind coming back." "Oh... no," C'stian answers; he falters slightly at the delay before 'wingleader', but then soldiers on. "This isn't Hematite business; I actually had something to bring to Nimarie." The package is held up as if to illustrate that he did, indeed, have a delivery just as claimed. Unfortunately, this leaves him standing there, holding the parcel up somewhat awkwardly. Hattie tilts her head slightly, but she recovers well from any enquiries bitten back, and reaches a halt a few feet away from the bronzerider, her hands folded before her. "I can make sure that she gets it, unless you'd rather see her yourself? She should be in one of her harper lessons at the moment." Her eyes narrow slightly as she adds, "...Unless she's sneaked out to try and see the eggs again." Rocking back on her heels a little, she hazards, "...There are probably things you and I should talk about. Unless you'd like to pretend. He's very good at that." No need to guess the he. "But so am I. So, we could make a pact to do that, if you'd prefer." "It's a notebook," C'stian explains, seizing on that unspoken query as he offers the package to the weyrwoman. Apparently, he can play at avoidance just as well as his... wingleader. "Bound up to be waterproof when it's closed. The kind an herbologist uses for taking notes in the open. She and I have talked about drawing before, and I know she's studying as a Harper, so it seemed useful..." He trails off abruptly, shaking his head with a grimace as it strikes him that he's avoiding talking about his father by focusing on the gift he's bringing the girl who is, after all, his little sister. "No, you're right. There probably are things we should talk about." "I'm sure she'll love it," Hattie answers sincerely, acknowledging and accepting the rest with a single nod of her head as she reaches to accept the package. "Just don't be offended if you find there's a page dedicated to sketches of felines," she adds a little wryly. She twists at the waist to look back into the weyr, offering, "Do you want anything to drink?" in that same, wry voice. Rather than linger near the entrance to the cavern, she begins to wander back the way she came, towards the chairs at the hearth. "...I don't really--" she begins to admit, only to sigh and say, "What's between you and him is... between you and him. I'm not going to interfere with that." "I could use a drink," C'stian admits in answer, with perhaps a little more feeling than he meant to put into the words; despite his concession on the topic, when Hattie moves off deeper into the weyr it takes a moment before the bronzerider follows. "And honestly, I don't know what's between the two of us any longer. That's probably part of the problem. I was angry at first, he wanted to ignore it, and then we reached a place where it was just easier to edge around it than actually say anything." He sounds almost rueful at this; it can't be entirely easy when it's his wingleader, after all. "But I can't completely ignore it, either. Especially since after it all came out, Nimarie came to confront me about it. And then informed me -- very firmly -- what the terms of being a good older brother were to be." This last is said with a sort of wry amusement. "He..." Hattie gestures towards one of the chairs as she moves to gather bottle and glasses from across the way, a measure of whiskey poured into both glasses without question that anything else will do. "His upbringing wasn't like yours or mine," she says gently, not quite able to look at C'stian as she does so, like she's betraying her weyrmate with that information. "What you want from him... if you want anything in a more... parental way... might be something that needs proper discussion. And you might have to be the one to start it." When she returns to the hearth, she offers out one of the glasses. "Nimarie can be... forthright. If she troubles you, you should let me know. Some things are very plain and simple to her. Maybe it's her age." "No, it's fine," C'stian replies as he accepts the glass from Hattie with a nod of thanks. "There's more than enough sharding politicking and gossiping and backstabbing; this Hold has some ulterior motive, this one is jealous of the Weyr, this one is spreading rumors, that one is upset about rumors... having someone who just walks up and is like, 'If you are my older brother, here are the rules.' is a little refreshing. Besides, they were perfectly reasonable rules." The smile that forms at this last sentence falters, however, as his thoughts turn instead to Nimarie's father. He twists the glass of whiskey for a moment, and then knocks back a solid swallow of it. "I don't know what I want from him. But ignoring it and just... avoiding each other outside of wing duties isn't really working either." Hattie settles in one of the seats and smoothes her skirts over her knees. "I'm not sure I want to know what set of rules she saddled you with," she confesses dryly, though it's not without affection for her absent daughter. "But if you say they're reasonable, I'll trust that she'd not making demands or being rude." She lifts her glass to take a sip and considers the amber liquid for more than is strictly necessary, taking the time to find the words she wants. "...Until you know, I wouldn't confront him about it. Then, maybe just venting your feelings at each other would work, if what I hear about Hematite is anything like accurate." Now this earns a grimace from C'stian, as he stares into his whiskey. "And what are you hearing? All those happy rumors about how Hematite are a bunch of bullies and cheats, or that the weyrleader plays favorites, or... shards, I don't know." He smirks, and takes another swallow of his drink before adding, "But I'm sure yelling at each other about all this would thrill the weyr's gossips. Give them some new grist for their agitating against the wing." "I hear a lot of things that I think are true and a lot of things that I think aren't, but I figure that you're all old enough to look after yourselves." Hattie delivers that response matter of fact, yet it also prompts her to drink. "You're the one with the power to make changes or own things for what they are. If there are things you don't like... Are you letting them go because you don't want to argue with your father or your wingleader?" She wrinkles her nose. "I think this counts as 'interfering'." "Oh, there's things we could stand to improve. But the wing isn't half so bad as people'd like to make it out to be," C'stian assures Hattie, perhaps pointedly not answering the other question. Which is, no doubt, an answer in and of itself. "Hematite riders can be confrontational; most of them will just shout it out and get it over with, but it doesn't always work well when dealing with other wings. Or with every Hematite rider, either." "Hematite riders can be confrontational," Hattie replies, aiming to mimic his tone, but in an obvious, overdone way, a wry smile touching the corner of her lips, "but the wingleader and the wingsecond seem to prefer to be pedantic and dance around the real issue so that no-one has to talk about how they're feeling." She waits a moment, just watching C'stian, before she says, "I get it. I do. I'm never going to be the first to admit how I feel or what I really want, but it sounds like all that you two are doing with that is hurting more and more." "That's not..." C'stian bites off whatever he was about to say, and makes a curt, dismissive gesture. It seems directed at his own response rather than Hattie's, however, because he continues, "No. You're right. It's not helping anyone. It's sure not helping the wing, because neither of us wants to step on the other's toes. And while he and I could probably keep it up forever, that's no good for the wing. So I either need to talk to him, or I need to transfer." "And, in transferring, you both become even more supremely efficient at avoiding the issue." Hattie tips her head back a little to drain the last of the whiskey from her glass, then idly tips the tumbler this way and that. "Look, I... He's my weyrmate," she murmurs. "I don't want him hurt, but nor do I think he completely faultless. I know none of it will be easy. Maybe you never end up referring to him as your father, but... you do have the chance to work that out." She lifts her gaze back to C'stian, focus a little more intense as she asks, "Just, whatever happens, please don't upset my children. If it turns out you can't face being their brother... don't pretend." The bronzerider has been examining his own whiskey as Hattie talks; her final request seems to catch him by surprise, given the way his head comes up. "What? No. Anything between us, it's... just between us. I admit I may not be the best brother -- I have no idea what I'm doing, half the time -- but I have no intention of abandoning them just because my wingleader and I have trouble talking to each other." He grins a little, despite himself. "That was actually one of Nimarie's rules. You stand by your siblings, and don't let anyone make fun of or bully them." "Good." It sounds like that's all Hattie's going to say on the subject, before she informs him, "They're young enough to be pretty earnest about everything. You suddenly start ignoring them now... Nehmet might eventually accept it, but Nimarie's old enough to be hurt and pissed at you about it." That word choice can't be accidental; she knows her daughter well enough to know angry won't cover it. "Let that be a warning that she means what she says. I imagine she won't take kindly to anyone speaking badly of you, no matter how old they are." She pushes up from her chair and extends a hand to take C'stian's glass. "None of us know what we're doing. We learn. That goes for your father too." C'stian hands the glass back, standing from the chair as well. "It would have been easier with anyone else than him, honestly," he admits finally. "I'd spent so long telling myself that whatever I did, I wouldn't be like whoever my father was. I wouldn't be the one who just... ignored a child of mine. That I'd aspire to be like my wingleader, someone who would never do that. So when I found out... it felt a bit like a betrayal on his part. But that's not fair to him, and maybe it's time to try and get past that." "You've seen him with Nimarie and Nehmet. Do you really think that, if he'd known about you, he'd have walked away?" The glasses, Hattie stows on the mantel above the hearth, then she unnecessarily smoothes at her skirts before daring to say, very clearly and with too much feeling, "It's not that he wouldn't do it. He didn't." It takes a breath or two for her to step back from that, quieter when she murmurs, "So...you're right. Maybe it's time to get past it." Her expression is an odd mix of wry and rueful when she looks up again. "I should get back to Elaruth." C'stian listens to Hattie's assessment of N'muir, then just nods in answer. "I'll let you go," he offers, heading towards the ledge, and his waiting bronze. He pauses, glancing back to add, "Thank you for the talk, though; I think maybe I needed to get a few things straight in my head." Hattie inclines her head a little in answer, just as she collects up the package meant for her daughter. "I'll make sure she gets this," she tells him. "She'll probably be in the galleries later, if you want to catch her." Which is why she's taking said parcel with her, back to the hatching cavern. "Clear skies, C'stian." And so she lets him go too, before returning to her queen's side to tend to both lifemate and eggs. |
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