Logs:A Home for Dee
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| RL Date: 29 August, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dee asks her friend, N'rov, for a favor in making home feel like home. |
| Where: Dee's Touch of Pink Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'dre/Mentions, Elise/Mentions, J'zen/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, N'jem/Mentions, Paislie/Mentions, Zennia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Fiinally finished! Back-dated. |
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>---< Dee's Touch of Pink Weyr, Fort Weyr(#2291Rs$) >------------------------<
The first room of the weyr, its walls washed with cream paint, is
vaguely triangular in shape, with the generous dragon's wallow carved into
a deep curve towards the right. The rest of the room appears to have been
left as a living or reception room, a stone table abandoned to the far
left, with four varnished, wooden chairs of simple taste sitting around
it. There are hooks in the walls for glowbaskets, the empty baskets
themselves sat on the table. Abandoned on the floor lie a series of wooden
boxes, all empty, but potentially of use as temporary furniture or
firewood.
A wide, doorless entryway at the northmost point of the triangle
leads through to the rider's private quarters - an oval-shaped room a
third of the size of the last. Within, the hearth is small, but
finely-decorated with ceramic tiles, with even a woven brass safety screen
left behind. The double bed lies in the left-hand portion of the room,
made up with pink linens. A knitted throw, in a rainbow of colours, lies
at the bottom of the bed, and could just as easily be used for a couch. In
the middle of the far wall, another unprotected archway heralds the
existence of another room: a small bathing room, complete with pool, basin
and shelves, the last of which are sadly empty. The weyr has seen change from the time that the figurative keys were handed over to the weyrling gold pair that now occupies the space. They must be figurative keys since as yet there are no doors that could provide a physical key for a physical lock. The space is a work in progress, though with a sense that the real work has not yet begun. Boxes have been stacked in the reception room/Taeliyth's weyr, their rows neat even if the contents give the low towers a little bit of a precarious lean. The glowbaskets are in place and now provide light in the twilight that was the marker given for the time of this meeting. Dee waits there for the expected man, her dragon on the scratched ledge without keeping a silent and rather more sober than usual vigil over the bowl. Her repose is not relaxed, but at least she's resting muscles well used by the day's demands. Once he's actually out of the caverns post-dinner and into the Bowl, N'rov wastes no time; it's not that he's in so much of a hurry as that there are those characteristically long, easy strides. He's got a low-voiced greeting for Taeliyth even before he skips a couple steps on the way up, on her ledge descending to a just as characteristic, just as easy saunter. For Taeliyth's rider, fewer words, but amiable even before he looks around: "Evening." Dee's clothes are relaxed, loose fitting knit trousers that hug her hips and flow away from the leg to where they cut off just below the knee and dyed to a pale aqua. The blouse hugs her frame too, a wide but shallow neck that lets the fabric fall in a little ripple of the pale dusty rose that is its hue. Both items show the subtle signs of long use but are in good condition: well-loved. It's not exactly the kind of thing one might expect for a seduction, so given the lack of direction offered by her note, perhaps any concern stemming from the rumors about Dee's taste for bronzeriders like handsome Y'tob can be put to rest: she's not about to try to add N'rov onto the figurative (literal?) notches on her bedposts. "Thanks for coming," holds the gratitude of one not yet certain of the friendship agreed upon. "I feel out of place all over again and I need help to fix it." She's had no shortage of 'help' though, so that might raise the question: why N'rov? N'rov's weathered women in well-worn wear (not just pink, but gray!), but still doesn't seem notably wary or worried, even at that still-unexplained why; but then, he's pausing to rap on one of the higher boxes. "Welcome," he says. Perhaps the lift of brow is in question; certainly his gaze is on her when he makes as though to lean a hip against that possibly-precarious pile. Not even the verbal invitation to explain. It might dissuade a lesser woman than Dee from asking. "I want to make my weyr," a hand gestures to the part beyond the wide, doorless entry, "look like Southern. Will you help me?" Nor does that lack of reaction dissuade the bronzerider from giving the pile a little more of a test while he listens, finding the point to make it sway ever so slightly before he straightens. "'Southern.'" N'rov gives the weyr, and then her, another look before stepping away to prowl about. "It looks different than when Hematite had it. What are you thinking? Canopies, heat, nosy people listening in?" Dee takes a half-step toward the stack, her instinct to forestall disaster even has he does it himself and leaves her blushing slightly and letting the slightly outstretched hand to fall by her side again. "Was Hematite the one that left the pink sheets? Or was that Elise?" The young woman's inquiry is innocent and in passing. She turns toward the inner weyr and passes through that doorway by way of invitation to survey the space in question. She stands just off to one side of the door. "If not the whole look of it, then the feel," is an absent sort of comment before she looks at the space herself. "Wood. Like the inside of a bungalow. Perhaps in panels along the walls since--" She stalls out and then squaring her shoulders finishes, "Since I'll most likely be moving in a turn or more. So constructs that can be broken down enough to fit through the doorway and out and reassembled. I'd dearly love to build space for plants, but they'd not survive ever in the dark." Her voice falls to a whisper at last and something makes her breath catch in her throat and swallow hard. "That... was not Hematite. That might have been someone wandering in in between you and Elise. Were they clean?" N'rov inquires, even as he heads along the familiar route towards the bathing pool to pop his head in there. Only, he doesn't get that far; turning, "Expensive." A moment or two later, with a wryer inflection: "But then, as you say, you may be moving. And they don't have to be real wood, or good wood, all the way down." He makes no analogies. Only, on an exhale, "What about plants on your ledge, that you then brought in of an evening? It would be more work." But he leaves it to her as to whether it's worth it. "I don't know much about building beyond garden beds and fences," Dee admits, "but I thought maybe I could repurpose driftwood or other sorts that aren't much good to others?" She lifts her brows in inquiry of his opinion. "I don't have much in the way of marks yet so not much to put toward the project." She chews her lower lip. "I don't have a shortage of hands to help, though," so there's that. Free labor! Don't mind the strings attached. "Best to wait on the plants, I think. Some can be very particular about being relocated. What might do well on this ledge-- well, another ledge isn't so far but it might be a world away for all I know. It feels that way, anyway. I'd rather not nurture my own only to have it quit on me when change comes upon us." "That," N'rov's nod says yes. "And," he notes after accepting her explanation about plants with a particularly glinting glance, "a good excuse to go looking for some when you've a mind. You could even find it all yourself," get out and about herself, "over time. Unless you want your hands to find them for you... What's your trade-off?" "I'd be happy to go myself," Dee answers readily enough. She is a 'do it herself' kind of girl, after all. "I wonder if there's any of what we were helping clear left from the storm out and about. Things that haven't gone to mulch yet." It's probably idle wondering, given how very long ago now the storm was. "Too bad I couldn't tell the future then," she manages a touch of a smile as she looks to the bronzerider. Answering the last question robs her of her smile, "Not sure yet. Some are certainly thinking they'll gain my favor, perhaps my bed, and that it'll help them when Taeliyth rises. Some I think just want their face and name known to me lest they ever wish to bend my ear. A few, I think, are more genuine. Some came to me after Pais--" She swallows hard and then shakes her head. "They weren't looking to comfort me, but rather to take comfort from me. We all sat about with tea and talked a bit. And didn't talk. It was nice. To feel like I have friends." "Sounds like the faces you'll remember," N'rov says after silence, and after that slight wince for feel like, with certainty rather than cynicism. He leans against the entryway which, being stone, does not totter. "Possibly the others for reasons other than they intended... Though I don't imagine they were all intending to buy you, unless you happened to overhear an auction? No?" His brows have lifted, and might even allow a slight wiggle, but a low-key rather than dramatic exaggeration; his gray gaze stays on her. "Some people aren't good with comfort." "Not yet, and I expect I wouldn't. It sounded like E'dre would be happy to string up anyone that tried anything that creative, if he just gets their name." That makes Dee chew her lower lip a moment before shaking her head. "I'd like to think that I've won some of them into something more genuine than what they may have intended but Taeliyth finds that unlikely." The way Dee says the word 'unlikely' probably indicates the dragon expressed the sentiment more colorfully. "'Unlikely,'" N'rov repeats, enjoying it. "I'd like to think you have won them also." He doesn't weight it, doesn't attempt to convince one way or another, doesn't linger. "Does she 'like' to get a sense of their moods, directly?" Or try. He pulls a rueful face; "Most days Vhaeryth's disinclined, particularly when poker's involved, but of course when it's Search, those bets are off." "She'd... like to. She's not big on personal privacy or boundaries," Dee explains with some measure of hesitation. "She's not very sensitive to moods that way." She looks with some consideration back toward the ledge where the dragon in question is sitting. "She pays attention to everything she can through me, though. She wishes I were more... selective." There's an awkward pause before the girl clears her throat and asks, "Is Vhaeryth a talented Search dragon?" Right into that awkwardness, "Here and now?" N'rov of course must ask of that would-be selectivity, his tone happy to anticipate all sorts of grievances. Vhaeryth's qualities get deferred, or disregarded, with one hand's brief horizontal gesture. "No." It's a heavy word that carries too much for the rest to go unsaid. Dee turns toward the man - this man who is her friend. "Taeliyth likes Vhaeryth. She wouldn't want me to say so." This makes her hurry but her sincerity can't be doubted, "If you don't want the Weyrleader's knot, you shouldn't take the chance of him chasing. I wouldn't see you trapped by a knot you don't want." There's too much keen awareness of just what that does to a person in the expression that makes her seem older than her seventeen turns. No? N'rov nods, once. "Then let us hope she provides us some warning." The bronzerider considers her, and he keeps his voice low as though that would somehow help. "In the meantime, so far as I'm concerned, you've said nothing." There's no urgency, only competency; whatever arises, he'll handle it. "Vhaeryth... Searches rarely, whether by inclination or because I quiz him about them. A reasonable percentage Impress. Once in a while he gets to snuffling where and when he shouldn't." Dee's slight nod acknowledges the words but she turns away as soon as the gesture is made to walk farther into the room where her expression may be hidden from view while she listens about Vhaeryth. "It sounds interesting, to Search people that way. Does he often get into things he shouldn't?" A glance back toward N'rov asks the same question of the rider. She doesn't have her balance yet, not fully, but able now to look at him without telling exactly how that moment that talked of knots and futures affected her. "More when he was a weyrling. Or," N'rov adds with a glance back at her right before he steps into the bath area, "when he's not... settled." Time to investigate what potions might be here now, to uncap and sniff at them even. From there, "He's also larger than he used to be, which should have been unsurprising, but wasn't at the time. Does she grow when you're not looking, or do you see it with every breath?" So far, it seems Dee's taste run to the simple rather than exotic; the soaps and other items are each picked for purpose not perfume. They must be gifts, those handful of things that aren't from the stores and a handful have been pushed off to one side in a way that suggests they won't be used, some fancier even in bottle or jar. Fancier gifts that simply don't suit her. If a man were looking to court her, there would be clues here and the fact that Dee doesn't stop N'rov's wanderings and explorations of her private space affirms both their friendship and the trust she's placed in him. Then again, it might just be the same as she'd place in anyone she invites into her space. "Hard to say. Sometimes one, sometimes the other. Every day is one day closer to needing to know everything, and it's always more than one day too few for me to accomplish it." She sighs, moving toward where there's a loveseat, settling herself on it and tugging at the end of her capris for something to do. There's a muted splash, the bronzerider dunking his fingers into the ever-circulating pool. When he does re-emerge, there's a faint dark splatter down his knee, blurred to one side where he might have in addition have patted dry. "You sound tired," he says finally. "Are you taking a bath?" is called moments after the muted splash, in a tone prepared to be both surprised and amused and taken aback all at once. Only then N'rov does reemerge and possibly nearly run into Dee as she hovers near, but not too near, the doorway with the plain light blue curtain. "I am tired, there aren't enough hours in the day." A pause, then the admission, "At least I'm not having nightmares anymore." It's a silver lining, even if it's a sad standard to set it by. He might have chuckled, for the prospect of that bath and all the baths that had come before; it's left him by the time he's returned to that doorway. "Do you have a guess for what stopped them?" N'rov doesn't ask what. "And while we're at it, what was your place like, back home?" Her particular place. 'Home.' Dee holds N'rov's gaze and the answer is too obvious in her hazel eyes: she knows exactly why. There's consideration there: a new friendship and how much trust to place. Once upon a time, there wouldn't have been hesitation, she had nothing she needed to protect. And now? She makes a choice, "Yes. It's a complicated story. One... I could tell you, but you mightn't want to be my friend after. I made mistakes. Big ones. I learned lessons. Also big. I'm still learning." She chews her lower lip and then looks away from him. "Taeliyth will forgive me if I am a good Weyrwoman for her Weyr." There's a depth to those words, a keen want underlying them; if anyone ever wondered about why Dee works so damned hard at these goldrider lessons-- well, there's motivation for any rider. "Home," the word is said softly, with a sense of conflict, "Will you tell me about yours if I tell you about mine? Maybe-- with drinks?" Probably alcoholic. Still learning, and still here. "Drink for now," says the man who doesn't ask after that story, but doesn't say he won't. "We don't have time for home tonight." It carries regret, there amidst the wry acknowledgement, before N'rov qualifies it. "Not more time. I'm expected." Yet, "When I see driftwood to run off with, I'll bring you some by." It's not, this time, her day too few. "Drink," Dee agrees then asks, "Whiskey?" before moving back to the receiving area to fetch two glasses of it. It apparently wasn't really a question. "Back home," the girl starts after a sip, "I lived in my parents' bungalow. I could've gone to live with the other apprentices, but since I wasn't getting apprenticed away, I didn't see why I ought to. I shared a wall with Jem once we were old enough to need a wall, but it was flimsy and we could talk whenever we wanted. They gave me the wall adjoining their room too, my parents. Probably more afraid of what sounds would be coming out of Jem's." She makes an appropriately 'disgusted sister' expression and drinks. "Anyway, my space had a window, a small bed, and my notes were tacked all over the wall, my books all over the floor and my mother declared me her personal curse since she's been a cleaner before she Impressed and I was a cluttered mess." A glance is given to the room, "I may still be," is said as if she's tasting the words for truth since aside from the boxes and some 'moving in' disorganization, there's no evidence yet. N'rov heads that way too, automatically, already past the doorway by the time she turns back; meeting her partway, he accepts the whiskey with a swift smile before giving into the alluring, label-less boxes' siren call to check them out as he listens. Which doesn't mean he doesn't look up regularly to check on her, nor add side comments, so long as they don't interrupt her flow: from "What, and they let you?" to a stifled snicker... to the simple, "Did you like seeing everything at the same time?" "Do I seem like the kind of girl people 'let' do things?" Dee returns with a smile that assures she's self-aware to at least some degree. "I did. Sometimes the way to understand a thing is to see everything about it all at once. The big picture. Then you can focus in on whichever details are important. And clutter, I'll have you know, is a vastly underestimated organizational technique." She drawls that last quietly as if imparting some great secret to the bronzerider. "Tell me," the bronzerider suggests, "about your organizational technique." Some more. N'rov will even wash it down with a swallow. "I'll show it to you some day," Dee answers with a grin. "In the meantime, you'll keep a watch out for me for driftwood and other things people are just getting rid of but that could be suited to our undertaking?" This is with a winning sort of smile. Some day; N'rov makes as if to frown, but permits himself to be almost as readily mollified. "I will undertake this venture," he allows. "Brave the mighty world, snatch away unappreciated treasures, et cetera." It's just that first he has to finish his drink. Did N'rov expect to be hugged? Dee's a hugger. His acceptance has her laughing, but laughing and moving to hug him. "Thank you," it's not an intimate embrace, just a friendly hug. "You're a good friend," she assesses playfully as she steps back. "Maybe I'll even let you catch the moonfish swimming about in my bath." Did he see that when he was in there? Perhaps he should have another drink. If not now, another time. He might even see it with enough booze. N'rov suffers the hug manfully; he tips her a nod, and then the hook of a brow (moonfish?) to go with a dry, "Maybe," before he's away to other business. |
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