Logs:Cookie Chat
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| RL Date: 12 June, 2015 |
| Who: Aislara, Dee |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: AWLM Aislara offers Dee insights (Impression, the green betweened, and more). Plus, there's cookies! |
| Where: Sanctuary, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 13, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Hattie/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, N'jem/Mentions, Zennia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Slightly back-dated! |
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>---< Sanctuary, Fort Weyr >-------------------------------------------------<
Once a complete weyr, buried beneath the mudslide, this awkwardly-shaped
chamber has now been cleaned up and protected from the elements by a set
of proper doors where the ledge might have been. It's a cozy little spot,
all funny little shelves and nooks in the warmly-painted walls, various
ornaments sat in each space in the wall, from collections of tealights to
elaborate carvings.
A third of the cavern is occupied by a large, rectangular storage unit
fronted by glass to make a counter-top, behind which lie a series of
wooden shelves stacked with crockery and various bottles, a proper yet
small built-in oven and a short, stocky cupboard. A selection of cakes,
biscuits and pastries are usually available throughout the day, set out on
the countertop alongside a board detailing the variety of warm drinks
available. Small groupings of mismatching furniture sit scattered
throughout the remaining free space, lending the place a quaint, homely
air. Usually on-duty is Molly or Joy, kitchen girls known for their baking
skills. The snow falls without, but here it is just as warm and inviting as usual. It's a quiet mid-morning that finds the Sanctuary largely deserted. It must be a rest day for the candidate curled in one of the chairs, a plate of pastries and steaming mug nearby. In her lap is a book, one that might be recognized as one of the staples given to remedial students on local history. Dee's hazel eyes drift down the page, and then again, but the page doesn't turn and her look is not dissimilar to that that some riders get when speaking to their dragons, only she has no dragon, so it's not that. She must simply be given to daydreams and mental flights of fancy. Aislara heads into the Sanctuary, expecting the quiet of the space to be all to herself. She dusts snow from her jacket and her hair, careful not to muss the the smoothness of the pulled back braid she is wearing today. She goes to remove her jacket but happens to look up and pauses when she notices Dee. Her jacket is resettled down and she moves to leave but hesitates again. Taking a breath, she shakes her head and continues in. That jacket remains and she heads towards the countertop to pick through for a certain type of cookie. She finds it and turns, finally looking more fully at the candidate on the couch. "You don't seem to be reading," she begins, greeting the girl with a tiny smile. "Long day?" The sound of a voice that must come to Dee more clearly than those of the workers at their tasks, or people who pass by cuts through the haze of reverie. Blinking eyes turn to find the speaker and she takes the young woman in a moment before she seems to realize that yes, this is where she should say something. Thusly, her first word is, "Sorry. Yes, sort of." The answer changes as she speaks and her look transforms into something not quite so severe as chagrin. "I was trying to read some Fortian history on Weyrwoman Lilah's recommendation, but my mind can't seem to help wandering today." There's a little sigh, but it's the sort that says this is not an uncommon state of affairs for her, something to simply be accepted and worked around. She shifts straighter, making room on the couch, "Would you like to join me?" is friendly invitation and, "I'm Dee, ma'am," is belatedly remembered good manners. "Fortian history? That seems awfully heavy things to read," Aislara notes with a hint of a fuller smile. She finishes off that cookie and inches towards another, trying to look discreet and failing. "I can't help it, these cookies... I could eat them all day," she confesses as she breaks the cookie in half and nibbles one while the other half rests in her hand for later consumption. The greenrider eyes the couch, the cookies in her hand, and the plate near her. She grabs the plate and sets her cookies down on them as she makes her way to the couch. "I hope they don't mind," she murmurs as she settles on the recently vacated space. "They really are that good." For her slight frame she probably has room to eat all of the cookies and more though even then it seems excessive. A hand is proffered once she's settled on the couch. "I'm Aislara, green Ryerith's, assistant weyrlingmaster." Titles aside, she leans back into the cushions with a small sigh. "It feels good to sit down." An unexpected laugh comes, but as it bubbles up from Dee, the way her face changes so readily to accommodate shows it's a common expression from the teen. She has a bright smile and uses it now, leaning slightly toward Aislara in a conspiratorial pose, "I suspect," she begins in a murmur, "you're doing them a favor." Leaning back, the candidate explains, "think how many cookies they might have to foist off on people at the end of the day or eat themselves if you didn't do it. It's a service to the Weyr, really." This carries more dry humor. Perhaps it's easier to be 'easy' in this interaction because it's her rest day, a day of slightly more freedom than the duty-bound rest of the seven. "I've seen you, when I've come to speak to the weyrlings. They seem to be doing well," well, as well as might be expected says her face, but no need to voice that. There's sympathy for her as she expresses the good of sitting, but only a simple, "It's nice to be still, sometimes," to answer the words. Babies (especially twelve at once) keep anyone busy. "There's always a lot of adjustment for them, in the beginning, no matter the circumstances of their start," Aislara notes with a twitch of her head and shoulder in the semblance of a shrug. The smile that surfaces is in answer to earlier statements. "If you can justify my over consumption of cookies as a positive I won't dissuade you from it." The cushions seem to envelope her tiny frame as she tips her head back with an intake of breath. "I think it's good you chose to Stand again," she observes as she straightens, "You seem like a good fit for a dragon." She falls silent as she muses and then tilts her head as she looks back to Dee. "Gold or green? Maybe a blue.. but, we could use more solid female greenriders." Dee's fingers pick at her skirt when the AWLM speaks of the weyrlings. "I can't imagine it's anything less than life-altering. How was it for you? Weyrwoman Hattie-- well, we were talking some time ago, about age and Search, not for me, but for someone else, and she--" the young woman sucks a breath and then lets it out as she ends dissatisfied with her own words, "thought you might be willing to offer your insights." The soft scratch of her nail on the fibers of her skirt is the candidate's own distraction from the question. "I think I'd be happy without one," is kept simple, "but I'd expect green or blue, like my parents, if I did match up with one." Then, more slowly, "I can't imagine there being another choice but to Stand again." "I was too young," Aislara murmurs, lifting a hand towards her neck and the puckered scars that are visible above the collar of her jacket. "I lied about my age. I was Searched, so - how could I say no? They might've suspected.. yet, I still look young," she grins at Dee, adding to the youthfulness of her face and stature. "Sometimes it helps with the weyrlings, sometimes not," she continues with a shrug, looking towards the plate of cookies briefly as she considers rising for more. She looks back to Dee and remains seated. "I got injured mostly because of my age and not thinking." She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "My parents weren't riders. They are crafters and after turns spent here we don't speak all that much anymore. At least if your parents are riders you have another support system. Are they here at Fort?" The way Dee tilts her chin just slightly is the look of one who's really listening. Aislara has her attention and it doesn't wander now as in those moments before they started speaking. "People shouldn't say no, I think." She chews her lower lip, expression showing conflict as she considers. "It sounds difficult for you, to have been too young, but do you think Ryerith would've found someone else if you hadn't said yes in spite of everything or if they'd barred you from standing for the rules?" She's genuinely interested in the answer, but that doesn't stop her from saying, "I'm a crafter," and, "my parents never were. They're back in Southern. I'm from there." Something about that seems to trouble her, but she doesn't elaborate now, instead, reaching for her plate of pastries and moving it for the variety to be offered to Aislara before being settled upon her knees so she can break the crust of one of the raspberry dotted ones. "My parents want this for me, a slight jut of her chin indicates the white knot, "I never did, really, but maybe now I do? I'm not sure I want to agree with them," such is the state of teenagers, though, so perhaps Dee can't be blamed. "People should say no if this wouldn't be a lifestyle they could be in," Aislara disagrees, shaking her head briefly as she settles her hands into her lap. "When the aspects of being a rider aren't easy..," a small blush rises to her cheeks, "like flights, or perhaps not liking if you are bonded to an opposite sex dragon and all that means. If those are things you can't reconcile with, in my opinion, you should say no. Those that do say yes and find themselves with a dragon and a life they can't find peace with -- the pair both suffer." Aislara reaches for that plate of pastries and selects one similar to the type Dee chooses. She holds it in the palm of her hand as she continues to listen to Dee speak. "I Stood and Ryerith found me, there are no 'what ifs' on that for me," she says, plucking a bit of food apart to nibble on. "It's too complicated to start wondering 'if I had said no, would Ryerith have been in that egg? Or would she have been in the next cycle? Or the next?' She's mine and I'm hers. I would do it all over again. Lie, hide, get injured. All of it for her." She pauses, a smile flitting forward as her eyes get that unfocused quality of one speaking to their dragon. She focuses back on Dee with a twitch of her shoulder. "What do you want for you? Parents don't get to dictate your life choices forever. Not unless you let them. I know some Holder women have to. But your parents are riders and you're already a crafter. What do you want?" Dee has to take a moment because, "I hadn't thought of it like that before," she considers her pastry in place of the intangible point the greenrider has made, "about whether or not a particular dragon would be in a particular egg if their candidate wasn't there." Her expression darkens a little as she murmurs, "I suppose that would lend to the theory that the candidate who died in the landslide was hers." Her expression says plainly enough that she doesn't like that idea, but it can't be the first time she's thought of it. "I'm glad you're happy with her-- or seem to be?" The green. Dee must only add the lilting of question for not wanting to assume, despite all the indications. She finishes her pastry in two quick bites before answering the last, and decidedly most difficult. "I chose my craft," the girl answers thoughtfully. "I mean, I was only twelve when I did, but I love it. I love the flowers and the fruits and the vegetables, the way you can plant a seed and witness it transform into something beautiful and wondrous." The way she talks about it, her love is obvious; it warms her voice, lights her hazel eyes and brings her face alive. "I don't know a lot of things for sure. I mean, I'm only seventeen," even if she might look a little older with the ageless quality to her looks, "but I know I couldn't live with myself if I didn't take the Sands if I were there and asked to do so, if the same could as easily happen to another dragon as what happened to the green." The green who would never have a name now. Aislara watches Dee with a thoughtful tilt to her brows as she listens. She nods her head at the query of her happiness with Ryerith, leaving that and her smile as the answer rather than speaking to confirm it. Her silence remains as she finishes the pastry in her hand. "It's brave to choose your path," she acknowledges, "especially when it may seem like our parents had a different plan entirely for us - it's even harder to commit to something otherwise unknown." Her laugh is smothered behind her hand and turned into a more polite cough at the mention of Dee's age. She sobers entirely at Dee's last statement and shakes her head briefly. "We all Stand for different reasons. Duty, aspirations of riding, following our parents footsteps. Some even come and Stand hoping for the freedom that we are allowed in the Weyr compared to the rest of Pern." She hesitates and takes a moment to brush herself free of any clinging crumbs. "Everything happens for a reason," she murmurs, her gaze darkening as all traces of humor leave her. "And we cannot control some of the most horrible outcomes." She leans forward, moving to pat Dee's knee. "Whatever your outcome is, I hope it's the best fit for you." She pushes to her feet then with a grunt and a glance down at her feet. "Evil creatures, disobeying me with their aching." Her smile has returned as she looks back to Dee. "It's been a real pleasure chatting with you Dee. Take care." She turns and heads back out to the day and all that awaits her. "Yeah," is what Dee comes up with as truly intelligent response. Still, the "Maybe we'll meet up for cookies again sometime, ma'am," is genuine, as is the smile that goes with it. "Clear skies," is added in the traditional wishing of a good day and luck. She watches the older woman go before turning contemplative gaze down to the last remaining pastry. It can be her companion while she processes through the revelations and insights offered her by the assistant weyrlingmaster since no others seem inclined to join her before the pastry is lost to the whims of her stomach. |
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