Logs:Converse Wishes
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 12 May, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, Dimatrin |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dee and Dimatrin look at eggs and discuss romantic notions and hopes for the future. |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 10, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Hattie/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions |
 |
>---< Galleries, Fort Weyr(#745RIJMas$) >------------------------------------<
The entrance to the Sands and Galleries alike is little more than an
archway and a section of flat stone that curves into a broad pathway in
front of the Galleries that are carved into the right-hand side of the
Hatching Cavern. This pathway is set with three flights of stairs that
lead all the way up to the upper tiers of the Galleries; one set near the
entrance of the cavern, one set at the northernmost end, and one set
between both. Beyond the pathway, that flat stone dissolves into the Sands
proper, a golden expanse that sits before the large, odd engraving that
lines the far wall -- an etching that details the rotation of the Red
Star.
The Galleries themselves are rows of flat seats carved from the stone wall
and stacked backward to allow observers the best view possible of the
golden sands. Those at the bottom are protected from wayward dragonets by
a railing, while dignitaries from outside the Weyr -- Lord Holders, other
Weyrleaders, Craftmasters and their ilk -- have a specially designated
spectator's box at the topmost row. After work hours is kind of a nebulous concept for the kind of assistant Dimatrin is, but for the moment he is leaning quietly in the Galleries under the silvery light of the paired moons, his elbows propped against the rail and his hands loosely clasped. His hair is a tousled rumple, cowlick sticking up, and his mouth is a crimped sort of twist as he stares off across the heat wavery air over the sands. Dee's fingers are busy in her long dark locks as she moves through the archway toward the foot of the galleries. Her attention seems consumed by the task of braiding it though it's too messy a job to support the notion that this is really where her thoughts are. Not really looking where she's going, she stops when she judges herself by breaths not actual paces 'far enough' to turn and force herself to look at the eggs. Her cheeks tinge immediately pink when, in that turning, she catches the nearby Dimatrin in her hazel gaze long before the eggs, which her eyes jump to next even as she steps to draw herself against the rail as if that had been her plan all along. Dimatrin's gaze rolls sidelong toward her, and his mouth ticks up at one corner, lips parting in a flash of pale teeth. There's a certain sheepish humor to be read in the crooked smile. Turning his gaze back out across the clutch, he inhales and just says, "Evenin'." "Hi," is quiet rejoinder from the brunette who peeks at him from the side of her vision. It's a moment later that sees Dee clearing her throat, "Sorry, am I disturbing you? I'd just meant to-- look," at the eggs, presumably, though she peeks again, so perhaps the man is included in her intention since he's here. The drop of Dimatrin's shoulder in a partial shrug is paired with the slight dip of his head, tousled hair shivering with the motion as he draws another breath. "Public place," he says. "Hardly own it. I was just thinking. Which I can't think I take up that much space to do." Dee's lips tug into a bemused smile as she pushes her hands against the rail, letting her body rock away from it, curving her spine before she's pulling back to it where she stands near Dimatrin, moonlight filtering down from the sky high above. "You might be surprised," is her comment, which might be all there is, only she does opt to explain. "Sometimes I get thinking and then before I know it, my notes and books and hair ties are all over everywhere," she makes gesture around her as if it helps paint the mental image for the older man. "What are you thinking about?" It comes before she really has thought about it, followed by an abashed, "If you don't mind my asking." Dimatrin tips his head up, lifting his chin as he turns his gaze from the curves of the eggs clustering on the sand to the distant flickers of star or moonlight high above. Teeth grazing his lower lip, he turns, shifting in a hip first pivot that leaves him leaning backwards on the rail in a long and rangy drape that faces the seats of the gallery instead, elbows bearing the brunt of his weight upon the metal. "Could be mortality," he says. "Sounds dire when I say that out loud, though, dunnit? Change of life. Ambition. That kind of thing." "Perhaps not dire, though it does lead me to wanting to ask if you're dying sooner than we all are," Dee haggles over the term and topic with obvious curiosity, turning so that she faces the man rather than eggs, leaning with her hip against the rail. "I'd say it's heavy one way or the other, but that sometimes giving something heavy voice makes it lighter and easier to bear. Care to try me?" She offers her ear. He laughs, which does not seem the most immediately appropriate response considering the weight of the material; lifting one hand, he smears it across the line of his jaw and over his mouth, eyebrows ticking up. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to live forever," he says, "or at least, longer than the world'll welcome me. I'm like a wax mark, though; you outlive your usefulness, overstay your welcome?" Dimatrin tips his chin sidelong as if presenting his profile to the eggs behind him, and says, "When they Searched me there weren't any, turns out, 'cause the big gold lady there took her sweet time about it. And now I'm too old. Funny old world." Dee's brows dip, drawing closer together as she takes his words in, immediately troubled on his behalf. Nevermind he's a stranger - Dee must never have learned that lesson about distance. "That's... No, it shouldn't happen like that," is decisive. She's rocking a little forward, with one hand touching the rail between them, ahead of her body now as if she might like to reach out the hand to comfort him (for all that he doesn't look like he needs it), but manages to keep herself to the rail. "You can't be that old, can you? Can't they make an exception for you?" Hazel eyes settle on his face, as if she could guess his turns just by counting any fine lines beginning there. Dimatrin's grin is boyish enough to shave a few of those Turns off, maybe, but only if you buy it. He scrubs his hand back through his rumpled hair and lets it fall as he resettles on his elbows. The flicker of his gaze notes the placement of her hand, and he seems almost to ease back further onto his lean on the rail, his foot angled outward in a posture of casual openness. He presents very relaxed, particularly for someone spinning tales of the death of all ambition. "Lilah might, if she decides to," he says, "or she might play me along awhile. Guess I could find out. Question, of course, is if there's a reason for the rules." "Maybe in a Pass," Dee is quick to say, "But Intervals are all different, aren't they? And we're unlikely to see Thread in our lifetime, really," nevermind that it was seen some turns before Dee was born, though odd it was then, too. "I suppose it's easier to learn when you're young, and to do all the physical training, but you look fit-" her ramble stops there abruptly as her blush renews itself and she turns her body quickly to press her front against the rail. "Do you suppose Weyrwoman Hattie would let Weyrwoman Lilah? I heard they-- disagreed--" to put the rumors mildly, "-about something and it got the galleries closed after the clutching had finished." She sees the eggs, she must, she's looking at them, and yet... She looks back to Dimatrin. Dimatrin looks off into the middle distance for a moment as if seeing something that isn't in front of him directly. He says, "Don't know. It might inconvenience Hattie, considering. So I don't know." "Considering?" Dee queries with all the ignorance and innocence of one who really doesn't know. "I work for her," Dimatrin says with a flick of his thumb toward his chest. "She'd have to find another assistant, if I were to end up in the weyrling barrack. Assuming she'd bother to find another assistant, I guess." He smiles a little, lashes falling low over his eyes as he ducks his head. "Oh," is surprised, in a way that seems to make Dee need to look at him again, study his face a moment before looking back at the eggs and drawing a deep breath. "I can see how that would complicate things. I was working in the laundry today and some of the wagging tongue there said Weyrwoman Hattie's been having a rough time of it. Some were sorry, some... not." 'Not' is said in a tone that suggests not just 'not' but 'opposite' and it is probably the reason for the candidate's sudden frown. "It seems like she might need you, then. But surely... if this were your last chance, and it was what you really wanted, she'd let you?" Dee seems to hope anyway. "Do you really want it? To be a dragonrider?" "My last chance may have already been spent," Dimatrin says with a wide smile, teeth showing as a breath huffs past them in a sound that bears voiceless kinship to a laugh. "But I don't know. It's very romantic to think about. I've seen a lot of arguments against, since I came here. Reasons not to do it. Ways it can rip your heart out. Although I suppose that's true of any romance, isn't it?" "Yes," is quiet, but certain. Dee leans a little more against the rail, leaning out a little over the sands, but not far. "It's true of every dream, even. Even the ones that aren't romantic. They're never all they're cracked up to be. I'm not entirely sure anything is, but just because it has bad parts too doesn't always mean one should give up on it. A dream, that is. Or a romance, I suppose." She glances toward Dimatrin, "You should ask," she advises with sincerity, "if it's what you want. If you don't ask, you don't get. The worst she can do is say no, right? Well, say no and fire you, I suppose." That makes her frown again as she looks back at the eggs. "I'd give you my knot if I could," is almost wistful. "Really?" Dimatrin rolls a sidelong look at her. Teeth set against his lower lip, he sucks on it for a moment, his gaze quizzical as if he thinks he might puzzle out an answer by eye. "How come? Don't you want it?" Now Dee pushes back from the railing and with a glance behind her, takes the needed number of steps to sit on that lowest row of stone benches, tugging the sleeves of her sweater over her hands and playing with the cuffs. "Not especially," she admits after a moment. "It must sounds silly to someone like you, who does, but I love my life as it is, and where it's going." She bites her lower lip, "A bronzerider told me that it could be better, in the end, but I'm not convinced." "So why take it?" Dimatrin cocks an eyebrow at her, his mouth pulling into another sidelong smile as he crosses his ankles. "I mean, my life before was -- you know, stupid, so it was an easy call to come here. Even not Impressing, really." "Where did you come from?" might be asked as much because Dee is curious as because she doesn't really want to answer. She does, though, after a breath, "Truly? I can't bear the thought of being responsible for what could happen, if I was supposed to be on the Sands." A hand waves dismissively as she adds, "And because it's what's expected of me by Southern Weyr and my parents and all." Not important, apparently! "Harpers, by way of nowhere special," Dimatrin says with an airy wave of his hand. He hooks his thumbs into his belt, straightening out of brace of his lean. "Anyway, I was rubbish at it. I'm better off here. So. Here you are, then, but it's what you don't want?" "Harpers," is repeated, perhaps to be better remembered. Dee leans a little more forward, her shoulders slightly hunched. Once again she quarrels with his choice of phrasing, "It's what I've never wanted and what I'm not sure I would want, if it happened. But I'm sure I wouldn't want the alternative." She pauses and then looks up to Dimatrin, "Weyrwoman Lilah probably thinks I'm romantic and stupid for supposing it's possible that there's only one person for every dragon shelled. Do you?" "I thought that was the point," Dimatrin says. He bites thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek, faint knit waking between his brows as he tilts his head. "I don't actually ... I mean, I'm not an expert, but that's what they say. They say that they'll die if there's no one to their liking out there." "That's... what my parents always told me," Dee answers him with a sigh, looking out at the eggs as though this is the first time she's really seeing them. She draws a measured breath and then pushes up onto her feet. "I should get back to the barracks before it gets too late." Her hands find each other behind her back, "It's been nice-- meeting you, that is. I'm Dee, by the way." One hand shifts away from the other to reach up and tuck a stray dark tress behind her ear. "Dimatrin," he says, with another bright flashed crooked grin to pair with the high arch and then drop of his eyebrows. "Sure I'll be seeing you. Good luck, anyways -- in whichever way it turns out you want it." "Thanks," Dee flashes him an almost shy smile in return. "Good luck to you too, whichever way. Maybe I'll see you in the barracks one of these days." She infuses the words with more hopefulness than they probably deserve given all the givens. Then she's stepping back down the path the way she came with light and graceful tread. |
Leave A Comment