Logs:AU: Thirty-six Minus Thirty-One Equals Five
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| RL Date: 27 January, 2015 |
| Who: Iolene, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: In an alternate universe where the bad stuff never happened... K'del might actually be not world weary. |
| Where: Healer Hall |
| When: Day 6, Month 12, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: We were shooting the breeze about what characters would do this experiment and thought it'd be interesting to see how K'del and Iolene would have dealt with it. The way it ended wasn't really expected, and after chatting, we figured they would have been the type of couple that'd tell each other everything. (The irony is not lost.) |
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| <OOC> Iolene says, "http://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/11/fashion/no-37-big-wedding-or-small.html?_r=0" Enwei ushers them into the room, all smiles. How illustrious for her research project: two Weyrleaders, weyrmated at that, willing to participate. "The instructions are in here," she sets, face down, a sheaf of hides. "Follow them all, and tomorrow, you'll come back for individual interviews with me." It's not that K'del is nervous (well, no; he is) so much that this is weird; he's cautious in the way he glances at Enwei, though he attempts a smile, a smile that broadens, faintly (despite the lines on his forehead) as he glances at Iolene. Sitting is a good start, and so is reaching for the papers. "This is going to be weird, isn't it," he says, a solid attempt at neutrality. The blonde head tips forward, a smile floating to her lips and her shoulders bunching in the giddy excitement of a younger woman, not that she's all that old herself. "Shush, you. It'll be fun. And how often do we get a night away from the Weyr, work, and Kasalene?" A beat passes. "I still think we should have named her Araia instead." Enwei exits, smug. "What's it say?" It's an old 'argument;' K'del's smile is suitably indulgent, and so is his fond, "Yes, dearest. You're right, I'm wrong, and... shells." That last is clearly because he's glanced at the page, blue eyes quickly scanning the first of the (so very, very many) questions. "Okay. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?" "You." Iolene's answer is prompt, her foot nudges underneath the table and travels up his calf and curls bare toes against his knee. Somewhere in between arriving and sitting down, she's discarded her shoes. "But if it's a dinner party with you, me, and someone else? Ysavaeth, as a person. Not as a dragon." K'del's eyes dance, meeting Io's across the table; his mouth curves into a broader, contented smile. "Ysavaeth as a person... that would be interesting. It's not wrong that I don't think Cadejoth would be as interesting? Maybe it's just he's not a conversationalist." It doesn't stop his fondness; Cadejoth's perfect, just as he is. "For me... shells, if I've already got you, it'd have to be a historical figure of some kind. A Masterharper for turns and turns ago, maybe. Or someone from High Reaches' past." Too many options. "Oh, someone not alive?" Iolene purses her lips at this shift in thought and promptly changes her mind, "Lord Beradin." She doesn't give reason and the toes at his knees slide down his shin a little. Once upon a time, that mention might have caused K'del's expression to falter; now, it does not. He laughs; "Okay, yes, that would be interesting." He doesn't react - not obviously - to those toes, though Io will know well that he's well aware of them; valiantly ignore! For now. "Next one. Would you like to be famous? In what way? Famous-er, I guess. Can tell you that one immediately: no. No thanks." "Yes." It's an answer that's at odds with K'del's and for that reason alone Iolene's surprise melts into a scrunched face of apology. "I just feel... the more well known I become, the less stigma there would be to those who are unlawfully exiled. And that... people might look less oddly upon an exile as Lord. I think any exile that wants to should become prominent in any field they choose." A beat. "Or something." The toes climb up again, and the other foot too. They both rest, toe-tip against knee, though one twirls funny against his inner thigh. K'del seems more curious than surprised by Iolene's answer, his head slowly beginning to nod as she continues - and look, there's only the faintest twitch at mention of the exile Lord, or, for that matter, exiles in general. Meanwhile, the fingers of one hand dart beneath the table, reaching to idly glide their nails across one of those feet. "That's... mm. Can see your reasoning there. We ought to spend more time out and about." And less time at home. Or here in this room, possibly. "Just not... think we ought to push to get your clutchmates transferred around the place?" "No!" Horrified, Iolene's right foot pushes at K'del's knee. "No. They should stay at High Reaches. E'gin is on a promising track towards wingleadership and-... What's next." Repulsed by the very notion that her comrades would be sent away, she changes the subject. K'del's knee pushes back, and then relents. His expression is mute apology, and, hastily, he glances back at the questions in front of them. "Do you ever," he reads, "rehearse what you're goint to say before you say it to someone?" Iolene's mouth gaps open. Her secret shame. Then there's a shamed laughter and a flushing of cheeks. "What about you?" "Never." But K'del can't keep his face straight; besides, it's easier to acknowledge it when she already has. "Less than I used to, though. Maybe because I practice on you, sometimes, and because..." Because. Just because. Regardless? "Your secret's safe with me, promise. I'll never tell." He will tickle the bottom of her foot, though. Also, "Used to practice arguments with Tiriana, only I always won them in my head, and then she'd react in a completely different off-the-handle kind of way." Useless. "Well, that's cheating," says Iolene, her head shaking while moving forward with pursed lips. She airkisses the Weyrleader and then slips far back into the backing of her seat and slouches to one side. This action is followed by her foot swiftly retreating. Not the tickles! "K'del?" K'del sticks out his tongue in response, removing his fingers to the table: safe distance. "Mmm?" The foot returns, quicker in its travel up his leg and slips between them to nestle right there. "I love you." The smile Iolene spares for K'del is one that's solely reserved for him, spent on pillows; a soft, meltingly serene and content smile. On the table, K'del's fingers twitch, as if they'd so like to dive back towards that foot, or perhaps even somewhere more interesting. Instead, that smile gets returned, wholehearted and unapologetically. "I love you too," he tells her. "Forever. For always." He may, now in the process of staring into her eyes, have forgotten about the questions. She'll remind him. The turns as Weyrwoman have made small shifts, including that of task-oriented. (Otherwise people nag her and take away from her family time.) "What's next, darling," is what her voice says. Leg stretching and toe wiggling deeper between his legs is what her body says. "We're never going to make it out of here." K'del's body? It says yes. Reluctantly, however, he turns his attention back on the questions, clearly his throat carefully - focus! - before he says, "Oh. Right. Think we could pretend, and just go home?" Beat. "Sorry. Next question: what would constitute a perfect day for you? That's easy. All family, no interruptions." His brows raise: yes? "No family. No interrupts," is her mildly spoken, paired with a devious little smile, correction. Iolene then bursts into laughter and reaches forward to pluck the sheets from K'del. She moves on, perhaps assuming that that's his answer as well. "When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?" K'del, who also begins to laugh, eyes shining with mirth, offers no resistance to the theft of those sheets. He can't argue; or, if he can, he chooses not to. It's probably the former. "Sing? Shells, I don't know. Not in the habit of singing to myself, really, and-- well, to Kasalene, maybe. That's probably more recent?" He rubs at his nose, head shaking. "Though, as we all know, she'd rather hear my stories than my songs." Iolene trills off some lines to a raunchy sea song that implies heavily what she plans to do to him later, and dons a smug there, I win expression. The sheets fall from her hands as she reaches out to catch his elbow. "Let's do some laundry." Caught by the elbow, K'del raises his brows in reply, indicating the table in an obvious gesture of: Here? Now? The point of the exercise is to bring people together, right?! Iolene has the decency, at least, to squeeze that elbow and then release it in order to run to the doorway and peer out. When she turns, there's an impish smile on her face and she has far too much practice in dropping her riding leathers. Yes. And... yes. The pages get scattered - and lain upon - over the course of what happens next. K'del's conscientious enough to try and keep them from making too much noise; but that's about it. "Reckon," he says, sometime later, "I know everything I need to know about you already. Mm?" Iolene isn't much for quiet, and every time he shushes her, there's a little giggle and then more forgetting. "Mmmmmm. Let's make another one. Another baby. I think Azaylia could handle being acting for a little while. Let's go away and make another one." The pretty pretty please is implied. "Mmm. Let's go home and not let anyone know we're back at least until tomorrow morning." She could go again but not here. Pretty, pretty please? K'del's answer to that is to lean in for a kiss, twining his fingers around some of her hair before he tucks it behind her ear. "You know I can't deny you anything," he says, by which he clearly means yes. And yes. And yes. "Sure you want to go home, though? Easier to hide if the dragons aren't on the ledge." "I'll go wherever you want, lover," Iolene reaches up to catch that hand at her hair and ear, twining her fingers in them and drawing them down to her, currently, babyless abdomen. "Let's go. We can apologize to Enwei later." K'del presses his hand flat to that abdomen; a hopeful gesture. A moment later, however, he glances around, abashed, quite as if he's only just remembered where they are, and what they were supposed to be doing. "Maybe we can round her up some new participants," he suggests, as he reaches for his pants. "As apology." With a note pinned to their chests: Sorry we got distracted have some other people who won't mess up your study, instead. Iolene works more slowly to button up her blouse, still reclined on that table. "Maybe we should send in Quinlys and H'kon." K'del stands, though it's as he's got one leg of his pants on, his foot reaching for the other, that Iolene makes that suggestion. He just about falls over, reaching for the table to stable himself. "Shells," he says, between peels of laughter. "I'd want to be a fly on that wall." "Maybe I should try again with H'kon." Iolene muses aloud, seemingly unaware of the laughter emitting from her weyrmate. "Oh, can you hand me my pants. I think I saw them under your seat somehow." It takes K'del a few more seconds to compose himself enough to reply, and a few more to come up with the pants. "Right now, the idea of H'kon managing to do it, successfully, with anyone is a bit beyond me," he admits, reclaiming the pants. It's after he's handed them over that he adds, "But maybe it'd be good for him." "Do it?" Iolene, ever able to degrade humor to the lowest common denominator waggles her brows suggestively at her mate. "Is that a challenge, sir?" She leaves the top two buttons undone and her hair tousled, but does deign to put on her pants in such a fashion she's wiggling her bare bottom at K'del as she pulls them on. So. Slowly. K'del reaches forward, aiming to draw Iolene up against him, bare bottom and all; clothing be damned, or at least briefly postponed. "No," he says, drawing up one hand to caress beneath her blouse. "You'd give the man a heart attack, and I need him where he is. And I need you right where you are." If possibly not in this particular room. There's a sultry giggle, triumph bright in the sound. She's won some perceived battle. One arm snakes up and backward to curl about K'del's neck and caress the hair there. "We should really go. I don't think even between will quench this." It might be a wonder if she manages to walk out with her pants actually on. The battle is all hers; K'del admits defeat in the way he presses a kiss to her head, and then, reluctantly, releases her again. "Pants," is his reminder. He just needs to finish with his shirt-- and then his boots. And then, promise, they can really get out of here. "Besides, I don't think I want to accidentally run into Enwei on her way out. Healers are scary." Flee! Flee the nosy healer! "Right. Pants." Iolene murmurs around her mouth trying to get one more kiss. Released, without a hand to her chest, a sigh exhales. "Maybe I'd change my answer. If I could just be me, and you, and family, I don't think I'd want to be famous ever." The kiss is granted; K'del's not in the habit of denying them. He's surprised, though, enough that he pauses in the buttoning of his shirt, by that latter comment. "If it could be just that," he says, "I can't imagine ever wanting anything else." There's a smile in his voice; on his face, too. "Love you, Io." "Of course you do." Silly. She doesn't bother with her belt, letting it stay loose about her waist and reaches to take K'del's hand. The door creaks open and she peeks out and tries to lead in a quick getaway. Hand-in-hand, K'del hesitates for a moment, and then launches them into a run. Just in case. The end. Enwei comes back eventually and sighs at the telltale signs of amuck. Dragonriders! |
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