Logs:Familiar Comforts
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 28 December, 2015 |
| Who: D'vro, Dahlia, Colsoth, Taeliyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dahlia is the welcome wagon for D'vro as he moves in. |
| Where: D'vro's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 9, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Ka'ge/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Olivya/Mentions, R'fyn/Mentions, T'gar/Mentions, Zennia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
    |
| To Colsoth, Taeliyth had a warm, if distracted greeting for Colsoth when he entered her domain (hers, superseded by Zaisavyth, but no need for unpleasant facts to cloud this greeting). She knows why they're here and she gladly offers her connection to this place, so deep and strong as it is as a conduit for Colsoth finding his own roots here. It's not until nearly dinner time that she can really spare him the attention she'd like. « Colsoth, » carries warmth, sunshine through the boughs of her Wood and, « Dahlia would like to have dinner with D'vro if he is free. She's had things boxed to bring up if he would like to continue settling in, she's offered to help of course, or if he'd like a change of scenery, you may come to our weyr. » She extends the courtesy although also warns without words that her weyr might not be off limits to Weyrwoman or Weyrleader should they like to stop by, so if privacy and less social necessities would be preferred, Colsoth and D'vro's might be best. The foreign bronze has been to Fort before, surely, but now that he lives here, he's been on his ledge, or on the rim, or anywhere else with a respectable vantage point to get a feel for his new home. Taeliyth is a familiar, welcome presence and he gives her his undivided attention when she speaks to him later that evening. « He's free. » That doesn't even take long enough to have communicated with his rider. Colsoth says he's free. This is how D'vro isn't a completely antisocial hermit. « Our weyr is suitable. He'll be less distracted if we don't pull him away from settling. » That's the idea, anyway. (To Taeliyth from Colsoth) « Good, » Taeliyth appreciates the forethought. « We will be there shortly. » (To Colsoth from Taeliyth) If Colsoth's ledge is big enough for the bronze, it's big enough for the gold who isn't much bigger. She lands with precision and Dahlia is quick to dismount and remove bags from her straps before she's turning to head into the inner weyr without ceremony, calling, "Dav!" cheerfully in the only vocal warning she has to give, eyes eagerly looking as she comes for the familiar sight of him. He must not have been given warning from the bronze because, "Dahlia," sounds, well, unexpected more than surprised. D'vro recovers quickly, offering a small but pleasant smile to the familiar goldrider. "It's good to see you. Can I help you with that?" he offers as he strides in her direction around a crate that holds mostly clothes and linens. The weyr is in some state of disarray but not chaotically so. There's organization even like this. "I should have been expecting you, shouldn't I have." He doesn't exactly ask it. Her mother is his friend, but he knows the girl well enough to know that, doesn't he? "Maybe I should go back to N'rov and tell him we got a bum deal," Dahlia teases as she lets him take one of the bags, "You're slipping," she grins. He should have expected her. "I brought dinner. Thought I could help if you direct me where another set of hands would be useful," is offered. The fact that she hasn't hugged him yet, despite burdens, can only mean she's planning to get him properly once the bags have been set down. She follows his lead to where that should happen. (And then springs the trap.) "Only if you want to hurt his feelings," D'vro says of the Weyrleader, too serious to be serious, more than likely. N'rov asked him to come to Fort, after all. "Dinner. I am hungry." He says like he's only just realized. "Colsoth usually reminds me, but I imagine he's been as busy as I have." The bronzerider leads them to his table. It's somehow managed to stay clear in the unpacking, but he's never been the sort of man to like too many things on the same surface. The hug, at least, he does seem to be expecting as he accepts it graciously, if a little stiffly. "I'll admit it will be nice to have such a familiar face around." Dahlia beams up at him, "You know, I was going to say just exactly that to you. Have you added mindreading to your impressive complement of skills?" More teasing. This is a Dee who's in an excellent mood and the reason is here in the room. Her look softens as she looks up at the older man, "It's like having a piece of home. Can't tell you how much that means to me." Lest it be too tender a sentiment, she turns away and briskly sets about unpacking the packs and their boxes of food, asking, "Did you get my weyrwarming gifts? The basket of food and the jar of sand?" "I hope not. The thought of having to sort through everyone else's thoughts on top of my own sounds dreadful." D'vro would lose his mind, so he's quite happy being the mundane creature that he is. "I did. The sand is just over there," he says as he sits down in one of the chairs, twisting slightly toward the large hearth to gesture at where it's on display at the base. "It's a very nice thought, Dahlia. Thank you." "Not an original one, I'm afraid. Someone did that for me when I was a homesick weyrling. I know you can go back when you like, but I thought it would help when you're feeling a little homesick. If you warm it by the hearth, it feels a little like home when you close your eyes and stick your hand in the sand." Dee must know she's rambling a little, but that doesn't stop her. "Now, promise me that you didn't come because Mother needed a closer spy now that Jem is gone home, and we can have a nice meal." She hopes she's only kidding. The smile D'vro offers the young woman is kind, but perhaps lacking some of her sentimentality. He won't say as much, though. What he will say is, "If Zennia wanted a spy that sorely, I think she would have found a way to come here herself. I do believe she trusts you to care for yourself. That or she expects the Weyr has its eye well enough on you to make sure you're doing fine. Don't think I won't say anything if something needs to be said, though." Dee exhales her mild relief at that though she huffs, "A traitor as always," not that Dav has ever been given much reason to betray her confidence even through all these turns. Once she seats herself and starts helping herself to meager portions from the practical fewer arrayed in the take away boxes, she gets down to business. "Alright then, what do I need to tell you about Fort that you don't already know but should? And do you want to know the rumors too, or just the facts as I know them?" "A neutral party," amends the bronzerider, watching the young woman with a fond softness in his expression while she serves herself. D'vro waits until she's finished to do the same, but before he starts eating, and before he answers her questions, he asks, "Would you like a glass of wine? I have some I brought with me." He's already rising, evidently decided on a glass for himself regardless of her answer. Dee's nasal noise of disbelief is part of the familiar pattern too; neutral indeed. Zennia would say she's not eating enough (she isn't), but appetite has a finicky way of responding to feelings; today's are markedly more positive than usual, so she takes a little extra (still not enough) before passing the serving utensils over to the bronzerider. "Please," she accepts the offer, before leaning back in her chair to track him with her eyes. "What would be helpful?" In terms of what she could tell him. "You know N'rov, obviously. Mirinda?" D'vro brings her back a glass, handing it off to her and turning to sit back down as he answers, "Anything you think might be helpful would almost certainly be helpful, Dee. You aren't the only person I'll be talking to, after all, so you don't have to worry about leaving anything out accidentally." On purpose might be another matter. Once he's settled, he adds, "I don't know Mirinda. Has she settled in well?" "No? Not only me? Dee asks dramatically, sighing and slouching down into her chair. "In that case..." she affects a manner that suggests she won't tell him a thing if she can't be his one and only friend in this whole Weyr. Only she doesn't want to wait for her food, so she straightens and starts, speaking again after her first few bites. "I like her." Mirinda. "Things could've been much worse for Fort, all things considered. She wants to rebuild and works hard to accomplish what needs to be done. She's helping train me and it's-- she's easier for me to work with than Hattie or Lilah had been. We're friends. Friendly, anyway. I think she misses home the way I did in the beginning. It wasn't anymore her choice to end up a goldrider here than it was mine. We both chose to do our duties," different duties that led them to the same place. "But she's doing her best, as are we all. You should meet her, soon." She recommends. He mostly lets the moment pass without comment. Not necessarily ignoring her, but not taking the opportunity to defend the 'perceived' slight. "I don't imagine it's easy working with any weyrwoman. Or being one. We all have a tendency to get set in our ways as we get older," that probably in reference to working with Hattie and Lilah. "Soon? I'm sure I'll meet her at some point, but I have no desire to impose my company on a woman who has no need of it." Maybe this is the basis of why D'vro has had so very few significant others. Probably none, if one uses a slightly stricter definition. "Maybe she does. You might be surprised. Southerners in a northern land have to stick together," Dee tells him with a wan smile. "Though maybe when you meet her, you could rely a little on Colsoth to soften your Dav charm. Wouldn't want her to swoon." Or otherwise react poorly. "Maybe wait till the clutch hatches. Zaisavyth is, I'm told, more demanding than usual of her lifemate." The untried goldrider purses her lips. I hope Taeliyth won't be. At least, not so much as-- nevermind. The eggs are good," she tells herself. "It's good to have new life after everything that's happened here." That gives her only a brief pause as if it has reminded her, "We lost sixty, Dav. Twenty-five of them riders. Particularly the old and the young." She closes her eyes briefly. "It would be unwise to not be sensitive to the loss we have felt." We, Fort and all her people. "I wouldn't want her getting the wrong impression." Given that it would be almost impossible for her to get any wrong ideas about his intentions, he probably means that he doesn't want Mirinda to meet only Colsoth rather than himself. D'vro isn't unaware of who he is. "Your losses are the reason I'm here, Dee. Fort won't be whole again for some time. But there are people who want to help your Weyr see it through their difficult times." "Alright," Dahlia makes a face as she agrees not to push the point. But then she stops with her fork halfway to her mouth, "Our Weyr," she corrects, carefully, but then her cheeks pinken as her look goes through several emotions in rapid succession: shock, hurt, worry, confusion. She sets her fork down and straightens, looking at him hard, "Dav, is this only temporary?" Her reaction to his choice of words makes D'vro furrow his brows while he attempts to make sense of it. "I... couldn't honestly tell you." So, perhaps, at least its intended length of time is indefinite rather than temporary. Dahlia considers him, suddenly very adult in the way she looks at the bronzerider, the joy that made her youthful and silly suddenly drained away. The weariness around her eyes is no longer hidden by the brightness of her mood. "Promise me," she says quietly, "that you'll tell me before you put in a transfer request, if you ever do. Warn me. I can't-- keep losing people I care about." Even if it's not that he would actually be gone. "Dahlia," says D'vro as kindly and comfortingly as he can manage, placing his hand on the table palm up in her direction. It's not an invitation he often offers lightly. "I have no intention of transferring. But if I ever have some need in the future, and you're still willing to speak with me at whatever point that is," he can have a sense of humor, "I promise that you'll be one of the first to know." Hazel gaze falls to the hand. Dahlia hesitates enough to make it apparent she's working through something, but after some moments, she reaches to cover her hand with his own. "I understand when people need to go, Dav," is quiet, "everyone who's left has had a reason and I understand. Only one I hold it against, and unfairly. But that I understand doesn't mean it doesn't hurt me every time to lose them." A deep breath later, she squeezes his hand, "Thank you for your promise." He squeezes her hand back. "I've only just arrived. Let's not worry too much about when or if I might go again. My duty is to my Weyr and Fort is my Weyr now." D'vro releases her hand, reaches for his wine and lifts it up, "To many turns ahead of us and the worst of them behind us." That she lifts her glass to meet his must be acquiescence for after Dee drinks, she doesn't return to the topic. Instead, "Watch yourself when you meet the Weyrlingmaster. I'm told she's the sort of woman who could wrap any man around her little finger." She's continuing on with her helpful insights into Fort, no doubt. D'vro seems content with the change of subject, drinking and then setting his glass down to return to actual eating. "Are you suggesting that any woman could wrap me around any of her fingers?" It's an amusing thought given the brief smile he has for it. "I did hear she slept with the Weyrleader to get her knot." Sort of. "You don't think it could be done?" Dahlia wonders, lifting her brows. "No woman could tame the wild beast that is D'vro?" That's definitely teasing, but there's true curiosity behind it. "I heard she slept with the Weyrwoman. I don't think either's really the case. N'rov's not the type, I don't think. He's the sort women want and never get. Mirinda-" She pauses, lips pressed together. "I can't actually say that's not her thing, but I don't think so." For whatever reason. The teasing makes D'vro grin, but he says, "I don't honestly give the affect women have on me a lot of thought." The rest is considered while he chews a mouthful, his expression hinting at the question he asks once he's swallowed, "Does the Weyrwoman have that much say in who your Weyrlingmaster is?" He seems more interested in that than anything about rumors. "If you never give the affect women have on you a lot of thought, how ever will we end up with little Dav-lets running around one day? Who will organize the world if not your progeny?" More teasing and almost certainly because Dahlia's mother has a fondness for asking after 'settling down' and 'kids' and 'family'. Dahlia certainly wouldn't want D'vro to feel homesick. "In this case, I think so. Partly, I'm sure, because Olivya's her friend, and partly because we all work as a team." "I don't need progeny," is probably the same answer her mother often received. "I train plenty of young men and women to follow in my very easily filled footsteps." D'vro is under no illusions of his place in the world. "I can understand a weyrwoman wanting to have some say in who raises her dragon's offspring." But there's a 'but' he's not going to get into with her. Instead, "Tell me about your friends?" "The Weyrleader of High Reaches told me that we should all be having children, after the plague." Dahlia manages to say it calmly. "But I think he has something like twelve himself," only, "okay, not twelve, but--" a lot. The goldrider takes a thoughtful drink. "I don't think it's bad to have us working as a team. It ultimately impact us all and we're the ones that don't change whenever Zaisavyth feels like taking a new mate." She takes a few bites, really more than a few to make the hesitation for the next question obvious. "There's R'fyn, he's a brownrider from the other weyrling class we trained with." Then there's a pregnant pause. A very, very pregnant pause. "I have absolutely no doubts of a woman's ability to find willing sperm donors. Mine or otherwise. But a woman should nev-- rarely trust a man who encourages her into pregnancy without her first enthusiastically broaching the subject." D'vro isn't going to comment on his previous Weyrwoman's weyrmate, though. Or on Dahlia's thoughts on Fort's leadership team, for that matter. "Are your friends not something we should discuss?" Dahlia barely smothers a giggle when D'vro says 'sperm donor' but bringing her wine to her lips proves helpful in that. It's less helpful when her silence finally ends. "No, it's not that... It's just... We sort of already have. There's N'rov and Mirinda and K'del. R'fyn. That's sort of it. I guess there's sort of Ka'ge but that's complicated and not really friendshippy. There's Rat from 'Reaches but I only just met him, but I think we could be friends. And there's other people I know here, of course, but I wouldn't call them friends." She looks embarrassed for this poor showing. She was always part of a small throng back home. "Ah," sounds uncertain how exactly to proceed, but more likely in the face of her embarrassment than in her friend count. "That sounds like a solid group of people. And there's nothing wrong with having only a few close friends." That's how D'vro generally functions, after all, so of course he wouldn't think there's anything wrong with it. "It would be nice to have others, but now I have you. Do I really need more than that?" Dahlia manages to rally and shove her embarrassment somewhere deep. The smile is real. "You'll not have trouble, I trust, in remembering I'm an adult. Not just some girl running around without shoes and covered in sand and dirt." The way she says that though, and the accompanying smile, says he's just as like to find her that way even as an adult. "I'd have thought if you'd learned anything from your mother, it's that I'm not an easy man to be friends with." When D'vro is finished with the food on his plate, he picks his wine back up to sip at while his stomach settles. "No matter how old you get, you'll always be younger than me," he offers her in a sort of philosophical way. "Apparently, I'm not an easy woman to be friends with. And I never said I'd be older than you, just that I don't expect you to lick your finger and clean my face when we're done," not that Dav would ever. Dahlia grins at him. "So we're a pair then. I'll be your friend and you'll be mine. And Mother will be Mother, as always." That sums it up nicely. She works the way through most of the rest. Despite her meager portion, she doesn't finish, sitting back with her wine. "Is there anything I can help with here? I'm yours for the rest of the evening and it'll go faster with two, if you can trust me." Given the way Dee smiles, a little impishly, that's highly questionable, but free help is free help. D'vro even makes a subtle face at the thought of wiping his saliva on her face. He'll leave it at that, turning his head to survey what's left to do with his weyr. "If you have nothing better to do, I think I'd appreciate the help. I'll sleep better knowing that everything has a place. And I have plenty more wine to pay you for your time." "No need to pay me in now, though I won't refuse another cup," Dahlia responds with a grin. "You know me, I'd rather hold onto payment until I need a glass." Or a bottle. Who was it that used to supply young Dahlia and her cohorts when he could be sure they weren't getting in too much trouble? She hasn't forgotten. She doesn't wait for the second glass before rising. "Put me to work," she instructs with a warm smile. |
Leave A Comment