Who

Realilina, En'rys (Posed as Daenerys)

What

Realilina and Daenerys finally have a sit-down in the wake of Mad As A Hatter

Implied mental health discussion.

When

This is a very, VERY backdated scene!
It is early evening of the ninth day of the first month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen:
It is the sixty-ninth day of Winter and 35 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.

Where

Art Studio (Realilina's Room), Igen Weyr

OOC Date 07 Jun 2018 05:00

 

en-rys_default.jpg realilina_default.jpg

"My door is always open to you, Daenerys. Family, indeed." — Realilina



Art Studio (Realilina's Room)

The first thing to hit you when you step into this corner of the quarters is the smell. Despite the shuttered windows that are thrown open, temperature and Threadfall permitting, Turns of loving use have ingrained the unmistakable odors of a traditional artist's studio into every nook and cranny imaginable; noxious turpentine, raw linseed oil, acrid paint fumes, canvas newly-sized with rabbit-skin glue over fresh pine splints, ashy charcoal dust, greasy lanolin, and chalky gesso create a sensory cacophony to the uninitiated.
White-washed stone walls and ceiling, replete with copious sources of glow light, create the feeling of spaciousness. Deep shelves and cubbies carved into the left wall, typically locked behind a series of hinged doors, are stocked with a vast array of art supplies and a veritable horde of vibrant pigments and inks, porcine-bristle brushes, fibrous paper with rough edges, prepared canvases, and pungent containers of Faranth-only-knows-what are tightly but neatly packed into the compartments. Several bare wooden frames, some crafted with effortless mastery and others telling of a less seasoned but equally able hand, rest against the only blank part of the wall.
Along the right wall are a few easels (two of which are occupied by covered works in progress), a small shelf with a basin of clean water and rack housing drying brushes, and a drafting table styled as a desk. The table is currently populated with a variety of charcoals —powdered, compressed, willow, and vine —and littered with requisite paraphernalia: tortillons, black-dusted bread, and a dirtied piece of gauze seem to be the tools du jour.
The back wall has been splattered with a tumultuous variety of colors, covering the two doors set into it. The corner of the wall is signed by Harpers Realilina and Kanriel, dated for the fifth day of the first month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass. Between the doors, there's a drying stand for artwork completed by the particularly trusted and talented artists who have access to the studio.


Sunset on a fine day sees Daenerys traversing again his old hunts; nodding to a Journeyman here, an apprentice there, he saunters lazily along, his thick black hair like a river down his back as he escapes onerous duty yet again to seek freedom among the Zingari. So much time has passed since giving over his knot to the irate master for whom he's refused to perform punitive duty to: the man still fumes at the sight of the tall, slender young former Journeyman, but Daenerys doesn't care. He's free, now; free to pursue his dreams, rather than those of others. Pausing a moment near the Harper's quarters, he brings a hand to his chin, thinking: How is Sesa handling that brother of hers?The boy had been a wreck when he'd carried the young senior apprentice out of the studio. It had not been a favorite task, and yet, it'd been obvious the boy needed more help than one small girl could give, sunk in her own grief and pain. "Maybe I'll just check…" But he hesitates, knowing Realilina has returned to her former home, and yet more healing to do.

Edlsesa isn't in attendance this evening, but indeed, her mother is. The door and shutters of Realilina and Erikkh — Realilina's quarters have been thrown open to the elements, snippets of delicately strummed harp drifting through the alley on the early evening air. Above the sweet tones of the harp rises a voice, resplendent in clarity, devoid of lyrics and heavy with emotion; a Harper's heart crying through the most visceral of instruments. As Daenerys approaches, the music dies, leaving a heart-wrenchingly empty silence. Everything in her late husband's studio has been stripped bare or covered, work of Edlsesa and her half-brother several sevendays ago… a condition of the woman being able to return. Canvases are stacked against a wall draped with a tarp. Easels have been folded down, unused, and for one of the first times since its inception, the art space doesn't have the smell of turpentine and linseed wafting from it. Lina's set up her full-sized harp in the middle of the barren room in an attempt to make it… what? Something else. Something not His.

A respectful knock on the doorframe snaps her attention to the present and, self-consciously, she runs her hands down the braid she's plaited her long hair into, placing it over her shoulder. Though it's doubtful anyone's seen her out of her quarters for a while, the woman Daenerys is met by at the doorway is coiffed to the nines; rouged cheeks, kohl-limned eyes, carmine-kissed lips, and a proper mourning gown of black velvet and matching slippers—gaudy, in Newtimer style, likely a gift from the Craft that would barely claim her as its own. "Daenerys." The word is part greeting, part question. "Please, be welcome here."

Such a shame that a Craft would deny so great a gift because it comes of a woman; but then, what can one expect from a people whose very existence is threatened by things they don't understand? Daenerys certainly takes a bittersweet pleasure in the beauty that flows from her hands, sorrow for the cause of it. When Realilina acknowledges his presence, he steps into the room, looking around with a sense of surprise; though he helped with the packing away and whatnot, the place seems so much different now! "Am I interrupting? I… find myself wanting to check in on you and Kanriel and Edlsesa."

Realilina withholds a laugh, waving a dismissive hand, "Interrupting, but for the better, I think. There's only so much wallowing one can find in a day, I find. No, it's better that you're here; I've been meaning to find a moment to speak with you." With that, the woman sweeps back into the room to clean up her workspace, holding up a piece of archival parchment and blowing on it softly, attempting to coerce the freshly inked sheet to relative dryness. "Edlsesa is," the word is tripped over, "out." Though the teen may deny it, their mother's return to their quarters has made the girl scare. "And Kanriel's still gone, of course." Gone with the mindhealers. Gone where Daenerys and her daughter had dragged him off to. A pained smile is offered to the son of A'lory, the Harper woman trying her best to keep spirits as high as she's able. Clearing her throat, the sheet still in hand is placed on a desk, laid out with more of the same; sheets upon sheets of music. "Don't mind me at all. It's good to see you, Daenerys."

The son of A'lory indeed: Daenerys has inherited his father's height, slenderness, and boneless grace, if not that worthy's rather homely looks; indeed, Daenerys had come as a surprise to his father as he'd grown, becoming more the young version of his unknown mother than any had expected. And yet, he is clearly his father's son in the gentleness bequeathed him, and the innate sensitivity that allows him to accept, with grace and good humor, the various moods of those he knows. "You are, as always, a gracious lady, Journeywoman." He smiles at her, warm and friendly. "Ah. Of course she would be — hopefully the girl has taken time to simply be a girl rather than bury her nose in yet another book." There is a fondness in his tone for Edlsesa and her books! Certainly, she is far more A'lory's child than he, who had to be coerced into study. As for Kanriel, he merely sighs, softly. "I am hopeful he recovers." However long that may take.

And good that he inherited from A'lory what he did; stars know the Journeywoman is in desperate need for that steady presence in her life right now. "Gracious my hide. You've seen me at my worst and you're nigh family to me, even if you don't know it yet." Is it possible to threaten someone with being inducted into a family? "Here, come with me, there's no reason to stand around here." Long, heavy skirts swishing, she heads farther into the space her family shares to the main living area with a small amount of seating; typically used by Erikk to entertain those seeking to commision his skills, it's also been stripped fairly barren, but not quite as painfully as the studio. A gesture to the effect of 'sit where you will' is given as she goes to fetch something for her guest. The young man's quip earns a smile of genuine amusement, lighting up Realilina's face, "Aye, you know the girl. I'm not sure how she can stand being in the Archives that long. Dust and ancient hide. Still, it's better than the alternative. I'm glad she's keeping up on her studies so well. She's always been this devoted; so was her mother, when she was my apprentice, for that matter." Kanriel isn't dwelled on; a tight nod of agreement and she's happy to brush that under the rug for the moment. A few bottles are hoisted into the air and held up in consideration, before she twirls to Daen, a tad exasperated at herself, "White? Red? More of a liquor person? I'm afraid I don't know your preference."

A'lory would be proud of his son now, though he'd despaired for a short while in his son's early adolescence! Somehow, Daenerys has managed to mature into a good lad, for all his wildness and cavoting about. Does he miss the old look of the studio? Perhaps a little; he hasn't seen much of it, but it had been beautiful. But still, he can accept that things have changed, and will not comment on that; nor will he press Realilina for information about Kanriel, as it is still so obviously painful for Realilina. Instead he will gratefully accept Realilina's adopting him. "My father always spoke well of you. He genuinely liked you — and was glad when you were chosen to mother Edlsesa. Said you were best suited for it." Daenerys laughs softly, remembering. "He never did know what to do with a child. Threadfall, burglary, cheating at cards, yes; children remained ever a mystery to him." Although he tried with Daenerys, he failed in being more than a rather befuddled if loving uncle to the boy. Carefully, the Trader wil fold himself into a seat, and grin at Realilina when she offers wine. Oh, yum! "A white. Definitely." He's positive she has the good stuff! "Sesa's a marvel with the Archives. I've never seen a more curious, eager mind. I remember Sara, a little. Sesa's very much like her."

Isn't the wildness and cavorting about what makes a good lad? Mysteries for the ages! "A'lory was a good man, a terrible cheat, infuriating to the ends of Pern, and had a damn good right hook. But yes, something always gave me that impression; Sesa and him knew each other, obviously, a Turnday gift here and there, but the weyrfolk have a solid system for the steady influx of 'rider brats and it works well. Especially with Thread, it can help a child not to get too close. Not that, after all that…" Again, another web of thought to be shaken free of. Instead of letting the silence settle, she snaps her fingers and grins at the young man, "A white; I knew I liked you." Settling into the routine motions of playing hostess has some of the tension fade from Realilina's shoulders. "Edl's challenging in her own ways." Bottles in consideration are placed back methodically until the woman settles on a suitable vin de pays, a dry, slightly acidic varietal, tempered with another, sweeter grape to achieve balance. "They're both brilliant, in their own ways, Sesa and Sara. It took Sara Turns to develop the nerve to really, vehemently speak up, but as I'm sure you've found out, Edlsesa's just timid on the surface." She chuckles, a mother's doting tone replaced with amusement, "Thankfully for my sanity, your father's temper is well balanced by Sara's quiet nature." In short order she's whipped together a tiny charcuterie spread, which is placed on a table near where Daen is seated, along with a glass of white for each of them.

"Too bad I got my father's temper in spades." Daenerys smirks with self-deprecating humor; he's certain she's heard of his spectacular rages by now. Idly, he picks up the win, giving it an appreciative sniff before admiring its color. Looking up at Realilina, he tilts his head to one side, admiring her gracefulness and the way she keeps her cool, though he's quite certain that she isn't as calm as she would appear. "Please — don't stand on ceremony on my account, Realilina. We're family, yes?" His gaze is guileless and clear, and warm.

Lina chokes on her first sip of wine, covering her mouth while she attempts to regain her composure without spitting out the good vino. (Priorities.) "Oh, aye, I've heard," she confirms mirthfully when she's able to breathe again, taking the opportunity to settle herself in the chair caddy-corner to him. The woman reaches out and gives him a pat on the shoulder, hazel eyes dead serious, "My door is always open to you, Daenerys. Family, indeed." A finger is waggled at him. "And don't you forget it! And this isn't ceremony, it's snacks." Still, the Harper relaxes a bit more.
Daenerys laughs along with her, delighted to have brought her some laughter and relaxation. "This is… beyond mere 'snacks'." It's the good stuff. Things people don't usually set out — but then, he'd always been told Realilina and Erikkhan had manners better than many a Lord. 'A thing you will want to learn, son.' A'lory would gently tease. She's had a tough road, this woman; if nothing else, the slender Trader has always had a soft spot for those who need help, no matter their circumstances. "So, really… I just wanted to introduce myself properly to you. It seems strange to have never done that, with all things considered."

The woman waves a dismissive wine glass, bringing it to her lips and exhaling through her nose before taking another sip. A little piece of some cured meat is also stolen and nom'd, lips curling at the corners, "Well, then take pity on a woman who's taken on the terrible habit of just forgetting to eat when people aren't around to point out you can't live on glue fumes and melancholy." Realilina huffs, "Honestly, you'd think it'd be more efficient just to let me have a damn apprentice with a hand for instrument crafting, but no, no, sticking to my 'woman's work'." The eye roll paired with the words is all teenager, fairly humorous on a lady of her age. "Well, consider yourself well met, Daenerys. I'm glad that you're here. I wish the means were more auspicious, but…" The wine glass is set down and she fluffs her skirts, settling them a bit more artfully — a nervous tick. "Thank you for being there for Sesa, as well. I know this has been incredibly hard on her and I know just how much she's been leaning on your support. Especially since I," she clears her throat, reclaiming the wine glass and taking a needed sip, "well, I wasn't exactly in a position to help her." (You know, just busy having a mental break down and running away with the Zingari caravan, no biggie.)

Realilina better hope Daenerys' appetite takes pity on all that delicious food; he's still young enough to have the appetite of a horse. He'll swipe a bit of cured meat for himself to nibble on, and smile at the woman, delighting in the taste of it. "Shall I come by often to make sure you eat?" Any excuse to eat all that delicious meat! "Pff. Tell you that attitude is why I left the Tanners. Couldn't stand seeing it over and over anymore. It's stupid. I probably should of stayed longer, but. There's so much I could take, and seeing a woman be thrown out over a trifle? I decided to leave, rather than ignore it as was expected of me." He hadn't been the best at following Craft rules anyway. Good riddance, Tanners; good riddance. "She's my sister." Daenerys says softly, then sighs. "Not that I've been the best of brothers to her over her life, but. It's only right that I begin now as I mean to go on. And you have your own grief to attend. You cannot be everywhere. I am one step removed from it, that's all."

"Oh, don't think I don't see through that, I know how teenage boys are." Lina chuckles and shakes her head, "You're welcome to come by, of course. Only so much sulking I can do." An unhealthy, obsessive, probably-just-short-of-getting-dragged-to-mindhealers-herself amount of sulking and then some! But still, it does get dull after awhile. "A'lory was the same way, thank the stars. That's what made you leave; what made you start with the Tanners in the first place?" She's going to pick his mind while she's got him at her mercy. The wine is suddenly found to be very interesting. There's a lot of things writ on the woman's face, but shame is strong among them. Finally, she looks up, taking a moment to release the tension from her body before continuing it, "Unfortunately, I can't. Even if I were in a place to be, I couldn't, and it drives me insane. Children are a blessing and a curse like that; you'll end up stretching yourself to the ends of the road in an attempt to save them from things you can't." Sigh. "Still, I know she appreciates having one brother who's moderately sane at the moment." Squint at him. He is moderately sane, right?

Just when he thought he'd get away with never being asked about that! Daenerys sinks down in his chair a little, sighing heavily. "Well, I don't know if you remember my foster mother at all, but she was making a mess of me." He'll rub his hands over his face, wishing he could rub away the memories of the woman as easily as that. "A'lory felt it was in my best interest to be crafted. Far away from her. And as I took more readily to working animal skins than anything else, he talked (read: voluntold) me into joining the Tanners. He thought it would be good discipline." Wild children get sent to the nastiest jobs, yo. "Hmm, yes. Isn't that when we as a family just… you know, get together and share the burden? Or something?" He smiles at Realilina's suspicious look. If he was insane, would he know it? Hmmm. Million mark question, that. "Yeah, I think she does. And I've found I like having a little sister."

Who needs a pry bar when you're just naturally nosy as hell? Maybe it's just some innate a more parental instinct, the same instinct that goes on high alert when Vreesa comes up. "Oh, unfortunately, I do. Entirely too well for my tastes." The look she gives him is part pity, part compassion. "On the plus side, she's not here anymore. I don't suppose you ever got a chance to talk to Erikk about his mother, did you?" Her fingers drum against the glass, nails short from her Craft barely glancing off as she considers how to put this. "Veldara was… she was certainly a work of something. Nasty, controlling, and fucked that kid up good. Thankfully, there were other women who were able to step in." Her posture changes, embracing the opportunity to have a happy memory, "Master Ylisa kept us both sane, I think, and Alesa, as well. So do we form our family of choice. I've heard you found as much among the Zingari and I'd claim you as mine in a heartbeat. Faranth knows A'lory is; hell, I've already got one of his kids, why not one more?" Her grin is infectious. "You're right, of course. When did all you kids get so wise, huh?" As for having a sister, "Good! You know enough of her to know you won't be getting rid of her any time soon."

“A’lory made sure of it,” Daenerys agrees quietly, remembering how the man suggested — in that bland, menacing tone he used when he was especially angry — that Vreesa find somewhere else to be: permanently. She’d taken seriously the implied warning that A’lory would… help if he had to and found herself some small cothold somewhere well away from the child she’d nearly destroyed. And Daenerys had found himself a part of the Tanner craft, and under more careful watch by his father. As to Erikkhan, Daenerys can only shrug, a little. “I’ve never actually met him, you know. I’ve seen his paintings, heard stories about him, but I don’t remember any about his mother. She sounds…. atrocious.” A laugh, then for her question. “Time cures all things, including stupidity.” He points out. “Ha, I’m not interested in getting rid of her — she’s lovely.”

And so time passes as the young tanner-turned-trader and the harper Journeyman talk all things life and family a bond begun through two common ties: A'lory, now deceased, and Edlsesa, a sister long known and only very recently brought closer.

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