Logs:Weyrwomanly Babysitting
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| RL Date: 11 January, 2014 |
| Who: Hattie, N'dalis |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Elaruth is about to go up. N'dalis keeps Hattie company. |
| Where: Bowl Falls, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 10, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
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| Over the past day or so, the glow to Elaruth's hide has intensified to a brightness that is impossible to miss, pale gold now a sunshine-rich shade that looks as if it continues to be boosted by the light of the autumn sun. /She/ is up at the sunning spot favoured by many of the Weyr's dragons, lazily hogging a lot of the space by sprawling out for a nap, but her rider is still very much (stranded?) on the ground. Hattie sits with her bare feet submerged in the water that rushes past on its way to the falls, hunched forward with her chin resting on her knees, arms wrapped around them. There's a jacket slung around her shoulders, though she doesn't seem to notice the chill from the water. Most, if not all of those who pass by on their way to their morning's work, leave her to it, though there's an odd look here and there. Despite nearly two turns at the Weyr, this has been N'dalis' first experience of a proddy queen, something he seems to view with some trepidation, perhaps largely because of his green's continued virginity. Even so, as those around him continue on their way, his footsteps slow and stop; the greenrider hesitates, and then moves out of the way of bustling commuters, stepping forward until he's only a few steps from Hattie. "Are you... okay, Weyrwoman?" he asks, after a moment, his voice low and soft and gentle. "That is... do you need anything?" Slowly, Hattie looks up, though she keeps her arms wrapped around her knees, the short skirts of her dress thankfully pinned down and fabric falling in such a way as to preserve her modesty. She blinks a couple of times, then manages to focus on N'dalis, the slightly off-kilter, distant expression that she's favoured most with in the past few days replaced with an uneasy, slightly miserable one. "...I don't know," she admits, murmured, as though to subconsciously mirror his tone. "...It's too hot and I can't think and I--" She swallows hard. "If you want to leave, make it soon. It's going to be /soon/." N'dalis pauses, just for a moment, after Hattie speaks, and then moves to sit upon one of the older boulders nearby. "I don't need to leave," he tells her. "But if you... if you would like company until it's time, I can stay right here." Given that he's just sat down, it may be that he's intending that regardless. "You don't need to think. Everything's fine. The water is cold, and it's going to cool you down, and soon it will all be over, right?" His hands get pressed into his lap, dark-eyed gaze focused upon the weyrwoman. Hattie watches him, her focus clinging to the outline of his form, whether out of determination not to stare or just alerted to movement. "I don't... need to think," she agrees, resting her head so she can easily keep him in her line of vision. Then, suddenly: "I /do/ need to think. Or not. I don't-- I could spectacularly mess everything up in a matter of hours." Her arms wrap more tightly around her legs. "I'm not setting a very good example, am I?" she says, face half-smooshed into one of her arms. She takes a deep breath, then another, then utters a quiet, "Thank you." "There's rather more pressure in /her/ flight than in Suraieth's," murmurs Dal, accepting her thanks with a silent nod. His expression is encouraging, though rather short of actual smiles. "I don't think it's the /flight/ so much that has you worried. But... it doesn't seem to me like there's anything you can do, now. Anything further, I mean, if there ever were anything. Be confident." The ruefulness in his expression acknowledges, at least, that that isn't anywhere as easy as it sounds. "It /will/ be fine. One way or another." "...Flight's not so bad," Hattie confesses, slipping one foot forward in the water to better support her weight. "Promise." Like she could somehow reassure him in turn. "It's /her/ and it's okay, because it's being with /her/..." Then her expression darkens. "Usually." It's the only blip in that train of thought, as she nudges her nose into the crook of one elbow. "There are things I could do. Wouldn't do. /Won't/ do. It won't matter, in the end. Her voice is louder than mine." In a manner of speaking. "But there'll be babies for you to look after. That's not so bad. They're the important bit." This time, Dal /does/ smile, smiles genuinely, even. "I like the idea," he admits. "Of just being with her like that." He drops one hand towards the water, letting his fingertips hover just above it, not quite letting them submerge themselves. "She'll get what she wants, then," he says, finally. "Which is as it should be, I suppose. And... yes, there will be babies to look after. I'm looking forward to that. A long flight, and a good clutch to come. Safe in our new barracks." "...They forget to tell you that," Hattie murmurs, closing her eyes. "Or maybe they don't. They say it'll be fine, but they don't say /why/." She manages to stop herself before she rambles any further, and opens her eyes to distantly study the line of one of Dal's shoulders, down to his arm. "Safe," she echoes, whether it's agreement about the barracks or still on the subjects of flights, unclear in that moment. "You'll be good with them." Her smile is sharp and self-deprecating, bordering on hysteria. After a huff of laughter, she jokes, "Just don't tell them you had to babysit the Weyrwoman too." "Everyone says it's something you have to experience in order to really understand," muses Dal, glancing at Hattie, and then shifting his gaze down towards the falls. "Which I can believe." Now, he lets his fingers trail across the water, and then cups his hand into it, though he doesn't try and lift the water away. "I hope so," he confirms, keeping his voice as low and quiet as ever. She's joking, but he's quite serious when he adds, "This isn't babysitting. And there's no /had to/ about it. It's just company. Were you nervous, the first time?" His response to her joke freezes her not-quite-right smile in place for a fraction of a second before it fades and she tilts her head all the more into the nest of elbows and knees that she's got wrapped together, finally sneaking another, proper look over at him with her one visible eye. Grateful and vulnerable might look like one and the same at this point, for the short time that Hattie watches him. Rather than address it, she chooses to answer his question. "Yes," she says softly. "It was easy - easier than I thought it would be. Then, it didn't /matter/ so much, then." N'dalis hesitates, his breath held awkwardly, in the aftermath of his comment - and then releases it again. When Hattie actually looks at him, he offers a smile: thin, but nonetheless genuine. "No," he allows, "I suppose it didn't. It's a hard thing, having so much rest upon something..." Something like this. His hand gets drawn back towards his knee, water shaken off of it as it moves. "It's stupid," sounds petulant and childish, though there's no indication that Hattie regrets tone or statement, judgement plainly directed at the system and not at N'dalis. Her feet shift again, toes breaking the surface of the water as she balances on her heels for a curious second or two, then resettles. She slowly unwraps one arm from around her knees to check on the status of her skirts, making sure they're still where they should be, and then, as she resumes the same pose, she seeks to entirely change the subject. "Tell me about Suraieth." A safer, more distracting subject than dwelling. N'dalis has no answer to that first remark, unless one counts the slow incline of his nod: he doesn't seem to disagree, though whether that's a general belief or one seem more clearly given the circumstances is more difficult to discern. Hattie's change of subject does, at least, make him smile. "We've just transferred to Jasper, and she's liking that. I wasn't sure if she would, but I think she enjoys the... chaos, sometimes. Change. New things. Her logic is unusual sometimes, but it /fits/." He can talk about his green for hours-- and will, for as long as Hattie cares to - or /can/ - listen. It's certainly one way to pass the time, waiting. |
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