Logs:Ugly
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| RL Date: 16 November, 2015 |
| Who: Dahlia, Taeliyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Dahlia's finding her time in the infirmary life-changing. |
| Where: Dragon Infirmary, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 17-Day 20, Month 4, Turn 39 of Interval 10 |
| Mentions: R'oan/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Reference to plague death Gross. Angst. |
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| Life is ugly. Dee never used to think so, but leaning back on the pillows of her cot in the dragon infirmary watching life slog toward ugly, disgusting, stinking end, she felt the truth reach down plant a seed of darkness in her heart. It wasn't just the death, impending or passed, it was the way the healers and helpers behaved. Healers, the older ones with their clinical detachment, the less experienced with their thinly veiled discomfort and fear were disgusting to her. The infirmary aides were worse, and the trainingless volunteers worse still. Every time one would take ill (and too many had), there was a redoubling of the tension in the infirmary; each one afraid it would be them in the next cot. They ran out of cots. Furs, blankets pillows were stripped from the stores and laid on the floor of the infirmaries, packing even more of this revolting humanity and despair into the spaces. Dee didn't think the scent of it all would ever leave her. That, more than the fever which became milder as the days passed, made her nauseated. After she woke up to find R'oan gone, she couldn't eat. Even Taeliyth's anxious, « Dee? » and practical entreaties, « You need to eat if you're going to get well, » couldn't intrude on her mental solitude. With a sea of bodies around her, Dee,who always thought she was the type of person to brave whatever might come to help, just wanted to withdraw from the world. Were these really her people? These people who even in their sickbeds whispered that the Weyr might be better off if Dee died. These people, who with mixed feelings, described the Weyr Council's decision to take the Weyr from her keeping. That was another reason not to acknowledge Taeliyth. Dee didn't want to talk about it. Some of them were glad. Some wanted her just for her dragon's bloodline. Almost no one wanted her for her, even with as hard as she had been working, even with as many smiles she'd put on and how much of herself she'd willingly given over to the process of becoming Dahlia, Weyrwoman of Fort Weyr. She resented them, and yet, how could she not also understand? Part of her, a very small part of her, thought what a relief it would be if she did just die. If she never had to face those hard questions of what she would do. She fantasized in her most private mind, that she could simply not fight it. That would never do in reality, of course. Taeliyth wouldn't have it. Even before they knew the seniorship would be theirs, Taeliyth made clear that this is her Weyr to tend to, to keep and manage. There would never be any reason she could give or argument she could make that would make Taeliyth simply accept defeat. This wouldn't be their first battle, but it was a battle and this time, Dahlia and her lifemate would be on the same side, if it killed her. She smiled. Her face felt tired. Those muscles had been so ill-used in her grief. Perhaps Dee could bide her time. She heard the betting going on, about which gold would glow and how soon. In fact, it was that that made her reach for Taeliyth. I need you to find out how much time we're likely to have. « I'm sorry I didn't tell you. » Taeliyth was, and she wasn't. It was easy for the gold to give apologies she was supposed to give but that she only partly meant. « You weren't acting like you and I didn't want to upset you. » Dee thought about it. She was silent moments more, her eyes drifting and happening upon the unpleasant sight of growing wetness in the sheet of a brownrider three beds down. That was the way this disease took you, or tried to. You couldn't move your limbs, you pissed and shat yourself, your dignity was stripped away even before death. Death, she imagined, was a relief by the time it came; anything to stop feeling that. And there was no cure. Not yet. I forgive you, and Dee meant it. She felt Taeliyth's relief stutter as she added, Don't do it again. « Alright, » might have been in earnest. Taeliyth thought she meant it at any rate. « What will you do? » Nothing yet, Dee sighed. She could've turned away from the coughing greenrider that had taken R'oan's cot, but she wanted-- needed to keep watching. She needed this and the words of the gossips that never failed to wound her. She wanted to eviscerate what little was left of her humanity, wanted the wounds to scar her thin skin and murder her feeling heart. She wanted to be numb. What better way to make her so than to force herself to watch death come, over and over. « Dee, » Taeliyth was almost too stunned by the revelations inadvertently shared to speak beyond the single word. « Don't lose yourself here, Dee. » It was a plea. The goldrider tipped her head to regard her lifemate; she could feel the tears that silently fell of their own accord. Dee is still dying, Taeliyth. Even if she survives this, she'll be a ghost of herself. Dahlia is the survivor, and Dee is but a small part of the greater whole. It vaguely surprised the woman that she could be so detached about something that appalled her lifemate... It was working. She looked back to the ugliness and embraced it. It was like hugging knives. |
Comments
Alida (22:56, 17 November 2015 (PST)) said...
Yeah. I understand Dee's depths of despair. For different reasons, this is the precipice Alida knows too well, and that Ilicaeth works hard to keep her on the better side of. It'll be interesting to see how Dahlia turns out.
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