Logs:A Complete Fool
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| RL Date: 15 January, 2012 |
| Who: K'del, Tiriana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del returns from Fort after Isyath's flight. Tiriana is waiting. |
| Where: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 10, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, A'son/Mentions, Val/Mentions |
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| K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug: there are almost always papers spread out across it, some of them important, others more inclined towards the fingerpaintings created by small fingers. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphenalia. Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the antique skybroom desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy. Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. An oversized wooden sleigh bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter, their covers dyed in varying shades of navy blue, light blue and bronze. There's a nightstand on either side, both with reading lamps, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf holding toiletries, shaving equipment, and clean towels.
Cadejoth's chains are iced over; a chilly, whistling emptiness that resonates throughout his mind. It's usually his wont to reach out to Iovniath when he returns - just for a moment - but not today. Today? Today he knows what he's done, knows that it was wrong. He swings down onto the ledge to curl up on a heap, and K'del climbs down, entering the weyr with an expression of pure unhappiness on his face-- and even so, he stops, short, when an upwards glance has him catching Tiriana, there, waiting for him. He says nothing. Tiriana's fingers drum an impatient rhythm on her folded arm, as she listens to the sounds of Cadejoth landing, his rider dismounting. When K'del walks in, she's staring hard at him. "Well?" "Tried to stop him," says K'del, firmly. He's stopped, now, staring up at the Weyrwoman; it's an awkward position, really, being several steps lower than her. No height advantage here. "He just likes Isyath. I'm sorry; I really did try and get him down." There's a tiny mark on his throat where the knife touched skin, where it bled, but it'd take a keen eye to see it. "Oh, right. Because one's not enough for you, ever," Tiriana snaps back, straigtening from her position against the desk. She takes one step toward him, making the most of this admittedly rare advantage to loom. "So you have to go make her look like a complete fool, chasing after some stupid Fortian? The fuck were you even doing there in the first place, if not to go after her?" K'del's head shakes: no, no, no. "No," he says, firmly. "Val and I were going to have drinks at the bar there. I owed her." That, at least, would explain the fact that he's wearing his gather best: black trousers, black jacket, brilliantly blue shirt. "Didn't know that Isyath was so close-- I got him down, damn it." Arguable. "I was going to pull an A'son. Didn't know what else to do." "And now our /bar/ is not good enough for you?" Trust Tiriana to twist everything; the perceived slight to their own Snowasis earns another step forward, hands dropping to her side, fists balled. "Were going to." That idea brings a sneer to her lips, voice dripping condescension. "He actually /stabbed/ himself." A quick glance over K'del and she lifts a brow: no danger of bleeding out, yet. "Like you've never gone out somewhere else for a night," snaps K'del, getting visibly frustrated now. "It was supposed to be fancy." Fancier than the Snowasis. He takes a step forward, now, and then a second, angling towards that handful of steps up, though as yet he doesn't reach them. "I was about to. I had a knife at my fucking throat, Tiriana. And then Iovniath--" And Cadejoth came back down, says his expression. "What do you want me to say? Should we be kissing your feet?" Tiriana, undaunted, doesn't back down when he advances on her. "It'd be a start," she snaps off. "Did you see her? You should be apologizing to her, if you're just sooo upset about betraying her, making her look like some dumb bitch that can't even control her own Weyrleader." K'del's mouth opens, and the words escape before he can help them: "Well, clearly she can't, can she? Maybe if she paid him some more attention, made him feel more wanted, more often." He's climbing the stairs now, all ready to loom over the goldrider. "It happened. If she'll talk to him, he'll apologise. It's not like he's the only bronze to ever chase a second queen... and it's not as though he caught." And then, as if the argument is finished and he's ready to move on to something more positive, "I'm going to approach Lord Boll. Make a deal while they're not talking to Fort." "Because what she really wants is an overgrown puppy hanging on to her all the while," sneers Tiriana. When he comes up the steps, her eyes narrow and those fists start to raise, lest he get any ideas; but the latter comment catches her off-guard enough that she frowns, takes a half-step back to peer up at him. "You crash their flight and now you're going to steal their fucking Lord?" K'del does not, at least, seem intent upon inflicking violence on Tiriana; all he seems to want is to be standing on the same level - allowed to loom, yes. "She likes him well enough when she flies," he retorts, but some of the fire has gone out of that particular conversation. And as for the other? "I'm going to make us some marks while they're in discord. They won't let this situation go on forever, but while it does... pay-per-use. They sort themselves out, we back away, no harm done. While Tillek's unhappy, frankly, I'd like the backup." "She doesn't know what she's doing when she flies," although Cadejoth clearly doesn't get that kind of pass when he does likewise. Some of the threat, at least, relaxes out of Tiriana. Her hands unclench, slowly. "Just don't let it turn into another Crom," is all she eventually says on that. Of Tillek, "He'd dead, isn't he." The child. She rubs at her face, suddenly tired: worlds away from her inital apopalyptic response to the kidnapping. It's obvious that K'del can see the double standard in that statement, but he lets it go-- better, perhaps, to simply set aside the argument, and concentrate on something more solid. "Don't intend to," he promises. "We can back out at any time. Boll's-- not ours to worry about, ultimately." If he's concerned about the morality involved in poaching another weyr's hold, even in situations like this one, he's not letting it show in his expression. "I-- think so. It seems likely." His voice is soft and sad. "Poor Edeline." Glum, "I should go see her." Tiriana does not sound remotely enthusiastic about the prospect, and releases a heavy sigh. "God damn it. We should just sink every boat in that harbor until somebody tells us what happened to him." K'del's "She'd probably appreciate that. Mother to mother and all," hinges on Tiriana being... careful, but he sounds earnest about it, at least. "Wish we could. Rampage over them until we find him, or what's left, or-- just something. Can't imagine not knowing what happened to one of my boys. The poor woman." There's a glance, born of habit, over her shoulder, though this isn't her Weyr and her children aren't there. "I'll see what I can do," is about the best she'll promise. "You go make nice with Boll. If we're going to make anything pushing pay-per-use you better be offering him a ride from his bed to his toilet." Nor are K'del's, but the Weyrleader makes a similar glance, eyeing in on the little reminders scattered here and there: an abandoned toy, a lost shoe. "Good," he says, accepting what he's going to get with a bob of the head. "Hah. Right. I can make nice with Boll. Guess I'll go and see 'em in a day or two, see what happens." There's a pause, and then, with only a hint of plaintiveness, "Can I go take a bath, now?" A snort; Tiriana blows out another mildly irritated breath. "Fine. Go," she says, waving a hand that way as she steps around him and heads for the door. "And if you ever chase anything but Iovniath--." One last threat tossed over her shoulder. K'del doesn't answer that last, but he watches the Weyrwoman go, his expression set into something unreadable. |
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