Logs:Bargaining
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| RL Date: 3 June, 2015 |
| Who: Hattie, Dee |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Hattie faints, but she is Perfectly Okay. She makes a deal with Dee. |
| Where: Broom Closet, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 12, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| Of late, the Weyrwoman has developed a habit of seeming to only make public appearances when she's needed and for what she's needed, before vanishing again - or simply moving onto the next 'needed' stop on the list. There have been a couple of sightings of her this morning, the latest on her way across the bowl, and now, a little while later, the door to the broom closet up those stairs from the bowl falls is flung wide open and Hattie stands looking into the small, dim room, one hand propped against the doorframe. If she's looking for something, she's not doing a great job of it, her eyes narrowed as she stares at the shelving straight ahead. After their last encounter and the results of the hatching, Dee has been staying away from both the Weyrwoman and the Sands. The avoidance is made all the easier by there being more to do for the candidates who chose to keep their white knots and by the Weyrwoman's own self-imposed seclusion. She certainly isn't looking for Hattie now, as she arrives from below, with a basket in her arms of neatly folded rags that are certainly destined for those shelves. As she arrives on the landing, she has a polite, "Excuse me--" that probably doesn't immediately recognize the Weyrwoman as the Weyrwoman, but rather just someone else doing a task. Who would expect to find Hattie in the doorway of a Broom Closet of all places? Dee most likely may be excused, especially since her expression speaks of more faraway thoughts than attention to the here and now. It's when Hattie twists to look over her shoulder and seek out who the voice belongs to that her one-handed grip on the doorframe tightens and she pitches to the left more than that glance behind her should allow for. Her focus doesn't even land on Dee, for a faint, scraping sound that must be nails against wood heralds the reluctant and completely involuntary release of her grip in the second or so before she doesn't so much fall as merely slump to the floor in an inelegant heap, fingertips ghosting against the frame on her way down, until gravity runs its course and her reaching arm buckles. She makes not a sound - no surprised exclamation or clatter of heels. She's just upright one moment and not so the next. The squeak of surprise must have come from Dee, then. The girl's basket clattering to the ground on its side and expelling the clean rags down onto the landing which is far enough up the stairs to have avoided the worst of the mud made by today's thunderstorms and the boots that have had to traverse the wet bowl. In the moment after the basket follows Hattie's example, Dee is going to ground as well, though she with significantly more control as she arrives onto her knees and reaches for the goldrider in a way she almost certainly wouldn't do under any other circumstances. "Hattie," is a desperate breath and lacking in the title she's always accorded by the candidate. "Hattie!" If the name isn't enough to stir her, perhaps the hand seeking her shoulder for a gentle, uncertain shake will. Whether her name or the touch at her shoulder, one or a combination of both rouse Hattie back to consciousness after a few moments of silence, closed eyes and slack features, and nothing but the shallow rise of her ribcage to indicate that she's still with the world. That, and there's not another one of those awful cries from her queen. She's murmuring as she stirs, at first unintelligible, until she opens her eyes and before her surroundings swim properly into view, she insists, "...I have to clean it up..." It sounds like a non sequitur even to her, since she frowns, or perhaps she's just trying to focus properly. When her gaze finds Dee, she doesn't dart away, but only blinks up at her, sporting a mildly confused expression. There's a brief moment of time when Dee doesn't have an answer for the Weyrwoman, only looks steadily back with intensity and concern. Perhaps ignoring the remark isn't the best way to go, but it seems more important in this moment to ask, "Ma'am, are you okay? I can fetch a healer...?" She's glancing at the open door near them uncertainly and back to the goldrider. Hattie spends a few moments more attempting to regain lost equilibrium, Dee's enquiry processed at the same time and for longer than is really necessary. "Don't," she says eventually, that single syllable low, then she's trying to sit up, a little too quickly at first, for she presses a hand to her head and grimaces. She glances at the open door, thoughtful, then shuffles around to prop herself against the doorframe, being less likely to swing its support away from her. "I'm fine," the Weyrwoman sighs out automatically, though unconvincingly. "What're you doing here?" The unusualness of the situation as much as anything slows untrained Dee in moving to act. Blinking owlishly at the Weyrwoman as she recovers, the candidate awaits the answer. "Chores, ma'am," the girl answers this first because it's easier, one hand vaguely gesturing to the landing where the basket remains spilt. She awkwardly tries to help Hattie in getting herself settled, though being reluctant to touch the Weyrwoman makes it difficult; big knots bite, it is known. In the end, she shifts, still low to the ground, to step onto the landing (over Hattie if needs be) to start collecting the the rags. "Are you sure you don't want me to fetch a healer?" is Dee's way of saying that though gullible as she may be in many situations, she's not fully buying Hattie's words. Still a second or so behind the rest of the world, Hattie makes no move to swat Dee away or snap at her to back off, either too hazy to realise any intention of doing so, or just a brief surrender to seeming necessity. She watches her begin to set about collecting up all the rags, her dark gaze still a little distant, confusion something that continues to pinch at her features. "Yes," she says, a moment or more too late to be immediate. "And I don't need you telling them, either." It might have started out life as a warning, but when she speaks the words, they only sound tired and matter of fact, as if she's only blurted out the thought. Her attention fixes back on the rags with an odd intensity as she declares, "I need one of those." "Yes, ma'am," is automatic and might answer both statements at once since Dee reaches for a clean looking one to offer over to Hattie before continuing to place the others back into the now righted basket. She glances sidelong at the Weyrwoman. "Ma'am," she ventures then, "can I fetch you some water? Or-- something? Someone?" She might even offer Elaruth if it were not so impossible for the gold to come into these close quarters. It's not lost on Dee that something is going on here, though she doesn't pry... yet. Hattie accepts the offered rag without verbalised thanks, though she at least manages to look grateful, if only for the fact that she doesn't have to move and only needs to reach. She stares at said rag, then squirrels it away in one of the pockets of her dress, so it can't be that she's hiding some injury or another and needs it to bind or stem anything. "I'm fine," she repeats, a hint of weary irritation or low panic at Dee's line of questioning beginning to creep into her voice. "It's normal. I'll live." Her choice of phrasing makes her grimace and look down at her knees as she lapses into silence. When she manages to summon words again, she's factual and to the point. "You still have your knot." "Normal?" Dee repeats the word, surprised, her hazel hgaze drawing to the goldrider as confusion begins to cloud her face. "Falling down in doorways is normal?" The question is more distress than challenge. Maybe Hattie hit her head, maybe Dee should fetch a healer - these doubts flash plainly as the girl glances down the stairs. She's still distracted when she manages to remember to respond to the last point, "Yes," and then perhaps because of it, or the rider's earlier words, or both combined, she adds, "Is there something I can clean for you, ma'am?" "For Faranth's sake, girl," Hattie mutters under her breath, and though the words are rather plainly meant for Dee, perhaps some measure of the more heated frustration that taints them is meant for herself too. "If I let you take me to the Infirmary, will you leave off?" It's both challenge and genuine question, somehow; certainly she doesn't sound like she knows which she means it to be, defensive and cutting all at once. She seems to regret it a moment later, the Candidate's question given no direct response, in favour of pressing, more gently and earnestly, "Will you?" It may or may not be a good thing that Dee actually seems to consider the question some moments before responding, looking at Hattie in a way that can only be described as earnest: here is a person who cares about their Weyrwoman not for any real acquaintance or intimacy, but for the role she fulfills and the job she does. Unfortunately for Hattie with the way Dee is looking at her, it looks like she might just care enough to protect Hattie from herself (if she deems it necessary). Still, in the end, she swallows down whatever she might have said to the contrary and says, "Yes, ma'am." Only after does she add, "If that seems to resolve--" a vague hand-wave indicates the fainting or whatever it was. Hattie does her best to present Dee with an unreadable stare in return, yet the mere fact that she's still on the floor and propped up by the doorframe does much to rob her of her dignity and any commanding presence she might will of herself. She provides no response for the if of anything, only, "Right, then," for her agreement alone, as she begins to gather her legs beneath her and get slowly to back to her feet, now relying on the doorframe to save her from tumbling back down. Once she's upright and on her feet, she lets go, the motion a sharp one, like she'd prove a point. "And if I hand myself in," someone's expecting a scolding, "another morning, you have to tell me why you've not taken the coward's route, like some of your former fellows." Any she's heard who have backed out of Standing. Dee shifts as Hattie does, first slinging the basket into the closet, and then standing in a way that suggests hovering, or at least being ready to catch the goldrider should she look like she's about to fall again. She moves to offer an arm, though seems prepared not to have it taken. Still, such things are one of the things sturdy frames are good for, so best to make use of one's natural talents when the opportunity arises. The girl's hard swallow is telling, but there's a bob of her head in agreement, silence making easier work of navigating the long stairs. Some things aren't work risking. Hattie swallows her pride and accepts Dee's support and offered arm for the duration of their journey down the stairs, and even though she walks a little close to her over level ground, she's determined to manage that much on her own. Managing not to glower like a sullen child when presented to the healers? Well, that's another matter. Before they part ways - in the moments before all the questions and the lecturing gets going - she fixes Dee with a moment's worth of a sharp stare: she'll make good on her owed answer. Next time. |
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