Fallible

Who: Arlet and Rori
When: Month 2, 202 AT
Where: Corridor, Honshu Weyrhold
What: Candidates meet. Or at least acknowledge each other for the first time.


Rori is still getting used to an earlier schedule now that she’s settled in at Honshu for the last two weeks, the morning call before the sun is up has finally become more manageable. She’s used to the chore load request and has commented on it being far easier than what was expected of her at Numbweed Plains Hold when she worked for the Headwoman. She’s an avid student of the lecture hall, thoroughly enjoying the rotation of lecturers that go over every aspect of dragon care and what Honshu’s history is. Today’s lecture was conducted by one of their future Weyrlingmaster’s and Rori took furious notes as Aislara shared the schedule and expectations of young dragon care. She’s gathered her belongings when the lunch hour is called and shoves them into her ever growing sack she keeps slung on her shoulders. She’s one of the last ones to leave the Hall, having stuck her nose in a book as she walks. Not paying attention to the world around her, Rori easily knocks into another candidate and looks up to blink at the person. “Sorry,” she offers, prepared to elbow past.

For all that Arlet has claimed that she’s never been Searched before, it cannot be said by any that she has truly thrown herself into her Candidacy or her lessons, paying most attention when it comes to recent history and that of Honshu, the rest marched through as if she’s simply going through the motions, hers a laidback approach that somehow manages to have her handling tasks with irritating ease and getting not the least bit excited that she’s outperforming other Candidates. She’s one of the last to leave the hall simply because it seems that she can’t be bothered to get up and move, and when she finds herself knocked into when she finally finds the wherewithal to do so, she angles a sharp look at Rori, remarking, “It won’t make the slightest bit of difference, you know. Either one will want you or they won’t. None of this matters.”

Rori has not spent much time seeking the companionship of others – she’s always been more of the introverted sort and so has avoided any camaraderie that might have been found with her fellow candidates. She blinks at Arlet again, taking a moment to try and understand her statement. “What are you referring to?” she asks, closing her book and lifting it to hug against her chest. The way she’s holding the book disguises the title, but it’s relative thinness and paperback quality would lean it more towards a book for recreation rather than study. She considers Arlet with a thoughtful tilt to her brows. “You mean- getting a dragon? I don’t think the studying is meant to make us more appealing. Didn’t the Weyrlingmaster say as much today?”

“Did she? I wasn’t really listening.” It’s more admittance than arrogant claim, Arlet offering the barest twitch of her shoulders to accompany her confession. “I mean any of it. Even their trying to get us used to less sleep and following orders… Have you ever seen a weyrling fail? I mean truly //fail//, no matter how much they struggle?” She makes a vague gesture back at the lecture hall. “Even if everything they say about the Weyrlingmasters is true, they didn’t fail either. They hold rank. People get through. No-one really knows how any of this works, rider or not.” From her pocket, she pulls a tie and begins to use it to drag her waist-length hair together into a runner tail. “At least we’re not being treated like servants.”

Rori is quiet as she watches Arlet without interrupting the girl – deferring to someone who seems to have some authority on the whole process. She tucks her book into her satchel and shifts her skirt around before she tucks a hand in one of the pockets that’re snuck inside the pleat of the pink garment. “I’m a servant,” she tells Arlet, wanting to make //something// clear, though the point of bringing it up may not seem necessary at all. “Back at the Hold where I’m from. It’s nice to be here,” she continues on, “where people are trying to make you feel valued even if you might end up having to leave.” She shrugs, continuing, “It can’t hurt to enjoy it, can it?” she turns a more critical eye on Arlet now. “Unless you are a Lady? And this is all beneath you?”

Arlet tilts her head slightly, but she doesn’t blush or otherwise appear remotely guilty for that servant reference, even now knowing what she knows. “You don’t have to go back,” she offers. “Once you’ve been Searched, you can stay and Stand until you’re too old to. Even if you don’t ever Impress… it’s another life.” She glances down at her feet, quietly adding, “I suppose.” Turning, she begins to walk backwards to keep Rori in her line of sight, trusting that no-one will crash into her again or that she’ll notice before they do. “I’m no Lady. The only way of ever getting what you want is by working for it. Except in the case of dragons and Impression, when the work might bring you the admiration of riders and weyrlingmasters, but nothing else.”

If Arlet is attempting to escape, Rori is not going to let the other candidate do so. She begins to walk after the other girl, her steps keeping in time with Arlet’s own. There’s lunch to get to – which is where Rori assumes they are going. She hitches her satchel more comfortably on her shoulder. “Dunno what the point of admiration is,” she admits to Arlet, “Does it increase your pay? Not usually. I’d rather go unnoticed than admired.” She hasn’t been one of the candidates to seek to answer //any// questions after all. “Where’d you come from?” she queries, “I don’t think you’ve shared. Or, if you did, I wasn’t listening.”

Providing another one of those shrugs, Arlet replies, “Cothold up north. Well, that’s where I lived when I was a kid. Found on the doorstep, they said. They tried to make me one of them, but they were never slow to remind me what I owed them if I ever stepped out of line.” She wrinkles her nose. “Left as soon as I could. Been working here and there ever since. Who knows where I’m actually from?” If she truly cares, she plays a good game of indifference. “If no dragon here wants me, I’ll find somewhere else to go. I hear the other Southern weyrs aren’t so bad, even if they don’t sound so liberal as here.” Laughing, she turns a full circle and back to face Rori again. “Maybe I’ll marry a bronzerider and keep house for him. Maybe I’ll marry //three// bronzeriders. Did they say there’s a limit on how many we can marry?” She must be joking.

“That’s absolutely horrible,” Rori’s shock is clear on her face as her brows lift and her eyes widen at how blatantly Arlet delivers her past to her. She hitches her satchel on her shoulder again as she keeps pace with the brunette. The shift from dragons at Honshu, to Southern, to how many bronzeriders one can marry returns Rori’s confusion and growing uncertainty about the girl in front of her. “Honshu has been changing many things since the Weyrlady and Weyrlord took the leadership,” she affirms, “and I don’t believe any other Weyr is quite as liberal. Though aren’t Weyrs by their very nature liberal in comparison to Holds and Halls?” She gulps at the idea of //marriage//. “I wouldn’t want to marry,” she declares, finding a flash of boldness. “Not one or three bronzeriders. How awful. You’d have to do all their laundry.” She might be joking but her face is far too frank for a glimmer of a tease to be there.

“It’s what it was, you know? They didn’t beat me or anything, but not everyone is willing to just be kind to someone without some kind of payback. They didn’t clothe and feed me solely out of the goodness of their hearts. Okay people, just… human.” Arlet still doesn’t seem so fussed about that family she’s left behind, nor too wounded over it. “Anyway, maybe one of the good things about having everyone be allowed to marry is that people’ll stop getting so uptight about it. If you don’t want to marry, maybe there’ll be less pressure on you to?” She smirks, though it’s not an unkind thing. “You’re right about that laundry, though. Perhaps I’ll have to find myself a goldrider. Or a greenrider – a lady one. Surely they’ll be more inclined to manage their own laundry?” More laughter follows, just as she swings herself around again to walk properly. “What’s your name, anyhow?”

“You’re very flippant about a situation that sounds absolutely terrifying and depressing,” Rori comments to Arlet as the pair of them walk on, “My parents did not come from much. My father’s a guard and m’mom’s a housekeeper,” she plows on ahead with her own family history, “Both my brother’s are crafters now. Makes my parents glow to talk about them.” She has no glowing things for her parents to be proud of from the way her lips smirk upwards and she fails to comment on her own successes. “I’m Rori,” she adds, looking to Arlet without offering a hand in greeting to shake. “You want to marry a goldrider? Or a greenrider? That’s very interesting. I had never thought about marrying a man much less a woman. You sound like you’d be satisfied with both.” She doesn’t seem overly bothered by this statement of fact.

“All I know is that people are fallible. No-one is always good and kind and no-one is always an awful person. People try and they don’t. They’ll love you and they’ll fail you and sometimes that’s just the same thing.” Maybe there’s the same flippancy or maybe she’s matter of fact. It’s a fine line that Arlet doesn’t seem inclined to define. “And if your parents are making you feel like crap because you don’t craft, sounds like they’re doing both to me.” Whether she’s insulted Rori’s mother and father or not, she softens and murmurs, “Sometimes people can’t help themselves.” She doesn’t offer a hand either, but her smile returns as she declares, “I’m Arlet, and I might not craft or hold a rank or post or anything, but I know that love is love, no matter if they’re a man or woman or how many of them there are.” That smile sharpens to a smirk as she quickens her step and slips ahead and into the flow of traffic. “I’ll catch you later!”

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