Logs:A Cruel Joke
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| RL Date: 3 June, 2012 |
| Who: Iolene, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del finds an unwelcome gift. It turns things with Iolene awkward. |
| Where: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 12, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Rajiv/Mentions, Tiriana/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 paraphernalia. 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. « He's on his way home, » Cadejoth reports to Ysavaeth, mid-afternoon after that long, stormy flight that has left him so tired, so content. He's only just returning home himself, having kept the queen company up on the Star Stones while the two women lunched; he even took another turn around the bowl (or two) before dropping in for that landing. K'del departs the CounCil Chambers, tired but not unhappy, and begins to climb the steps up to his weyr - one step, two steps, three steps. And then stop. He crouches; he stares. If Iolene stumbles upon him now, she'll find him white faced and worried, reaching out but not touching the thing that has been left for him on that topmost step. Shortly after Cadejoth's warning, Iolene's light steps dance her across the short distance between hers and his weyrs. She's changed, having had too much free time once Brieli departed, what with a storm outside, and no actual work to do this fine post-hatching day. The light, summer-reminiscent folds of her rose chiffon dress flutter as she rounds the corner into the weyr, hands clinging to the sides as she waits, quite expectantly for an appreciative turn, whistle, or look that doesn't come. It only takes a few more breaths for those dark eyes to find the white worry on K'del's face, causing two cautious steps forward, and then a patter of more, bare feet to stone, as a hand comes up to rest on the bronzerider's shoulder. "K'del?" Although K'del must, surely, be aware of Iolene's approach, he doesn't move, not even at the sound of her voice or the press of her hand upon his shoulder. Instead, he forms his hand into a point, indicating the knot - for it is a knot, trader-marked and laid out in a perfect circle - that's been left here waiting for him. Finally, his head turns and he attempts to glance back and meet her eyes, saying in a husky, unhappy voice, "Someone-- fuck." When he glances back, Iolene's fingers are quick, the hand at his shoulder moving swiftly to capture his chin, hoping to stay his turn and his look to her. Her thumb presses in a little and those slender fingers try to maintain a grip before it's met by her other hand to cup his cheek. Empathetic, the blonde goldrider's concern is apparent in her gaze. "It's a knot," the obvious uttered without censure or even curiosity, but her next trails off into a quizzical, are you going to finish that thought-ness, "Someone...?" K'del doesn't fight those hands, and perhaps he relaxes, just slightly, under the sensation of touch. His shoulders are shaking, though, and his voice is ragged when, a moment later, he attempts to explain. "It's a Vijay knot. You-- did that ever come up, in anything? The Vijay traders? Ring any bells? If they're trying anything, it'll be to screw me. All of us." As he speaks, he meets her gaze, but afterwards, it shifts sidewards, though of course he can't actually see that knot on the step from here. A shadow crosses Iolene's eyes, though the fingers that hold his chin in place relaxes, straightening and then curving upward to cradle his other cheek. "The execution." The thin face creases, lips pressed and eyes disappearing into lines, narrowed but not in the judgmental sense of the word. "I read a lot," is said first in the present, then with an amendment, "I read a lot. There wasn't a lot to do when we graduated initially and I figured- the more I knew about High Reaches the more-, well," her face uncreases when those slender shoulders shrug, "I figured I could get hurt less the more I knew. The Vijays. I remember reading about the execution." It's not an admission that K'del seems surprised about, and though he seems loathe to actually move his head, it's hard not to read a nod into the subtle shift he does execute. "Right," he agrees, shifting the rest of his body so that he can face Iolene properly, none of this half-turn business, and wrap his arms loosely around her shoulders. "The execution. Tiriana's idea, of course. They first came to the weyr long before I did, and there was trouble - laundered goods, I think. Something like that. And shortly after I became Weyrleader, raids on our tithes. Revenge, I guess. So we executed their leader, and sent the rest to the mines." He sounds troubled by it, unhappy with the recollection. "Thought it was all finished with." His words are plaintive, in the end. Iolene must be comparing her own family history with this; it's reflected in the way her eyes shift downward, unable to look at K'del as he speaks more of the verdict and punishment meted out upon these traders. And when she looks up again, there's an unease to her expression and a tension transparent in the lines and hold of her body. She takes a step backward, though not entirely out of his loose embrace and stands there, her hands dropping from cheeks to chest, maintaining tactile contact but also, perphaps, as a distance marker. Oh, her low, rich voice sounds so suddenly younger and distant as she inquires, "You were sure they were guilty?" K'del is conscious, so obviously, of that sudden shift, but it seems to take him longer to put the pieces together, and for his expression to correspondingly shift from harsh recollection to a more awkward tentativeness. His arms squeeze in an obvious attempt to reassurance, and don't pull away. Quietly, "I'm sure. They orchestrated the raids. There was-- all kinds of evidence." He sounds less sure, though, than his words imply, and maybe a whole lot more tired. "It was right after Iovniath and Cadejoth's first clutch. I was seventeen. I wouldn't have executed him, probably, but I think - they were' guilty." Iolene kens to that tired in his voice, her body responding instinctively even if her mind might be far off, and the distance her arms create are gaped just a little when her elbow bends against K'del's chest. "I don't believe in killing people. But," offering an out, she considers aloud, "I don't think you would either, if not for other influences. People who were older and should have had clearer heads." That's right, blame Tiriana. And the harpers. And whoever else. "I don't-, if people die, they don't ever get a chance to redeem themselves. Maybe, do you think? I- I don't know." Trying to make sense of High Reaches Weyr's past and the repercussions of those actions now concludes with the most lame appraisal, and still, her actions seem separate from her words, the hand that now strokes his chest seemingly almost apologetic for the censure of what she says: "You shouldn't have killed him. What if someone had killed my great grandmother?" Physical touch has always been soothing, for K'del (unless we're talking Tiriana's violence, of course), and now, the bronzerider's eyes flicker closed under Iolene's hands, though he's still so-obviously listening. His lack of reaction is probably a good indication that he doesn't take her censure personally; his reply, a moment later, is a very quiet one. "Didn't sleep properly for ages, afterwards. Hanging someone - it's awful, Io. I'd never let it happen again. But..." Does he think it completely wrong? It's hard to tell. "He hated us. Hated everything we stood for. If he'd lived, he'd've come back to get his revenge all over again." "But what if he didn't?" The optimist in Iolene persists in the 'what if' of a better scenario. "What if-." The emotional side in Iolene can't help the tears that well up. "I think I should go home. I lo- ike you, and-." She tiptoes up on her bare feet to brush her lips to his face, raining small ones up his chin to his lips and then to his jaw. The press of her body leans in briefly, lingering and wanting, but then there's a step back. "I want to keep liking you, and I want you to like me. And I don't think you wanted him to die. But he did. He's dead. And now-." The blonde takes another step back, looking to the knot on the table beyond K'del. "Maybe it's nothing," she adds, "Just someone playing a cruel joke. Maybe someone who was involved all those turns ago. Maybe. We'll," she smiles tentatively, a small non-Io-like thing, other than the flickering hope in her expression, "Celebrate later?" His eyes don't stay closed, not once he registers her mood-- his arms tighten around her before sliding away, dropping only a short distance before her wraps them around his shoulders. "Didn't want him to die," he agrees, though his words aren't much above a whisper. Rueful; "I'm sorry, Io. I know this is-- you're right. A cruel joke. Someone trying to burst my happiness. Because I am happy." In the end, he manages a brighter smile, even if it doesn't entirely reach his eyes. "We should. I'll have the kitchens send up a proper celebratory dinner, just for us. I'm-- so happy. Iolene. I really am. And-- you look beautiful." "Later." It's a promise. There's this little lurch forward, as if she might fall into his embrace again and kiss him all over, but Iolene has some semblance of restraint and takes another step away, tugging just enough to pull herself out of his arms. "I'll be just as pretty tomorrow. I promise. You should-," she looks to the knot again, and then up. "Talk to someone about it. Someone who might sympathize more and help you figure it out, if only so tomorrow night, you're all mine. Ok?" And in the mean time, maybe she'll have to find someone to talk the mixed emotions, so transparent on her face, out with. Then, just as lightly as she scampered in, she scampers out, though perhaps minus a little of that lightness and plus a little more of that fleeing quality. "Tomorrow," promises K'del, smile wan but hopeful as he watches her go. It's only once she's gone completely that he will reach out and take that knot, putting it in his pocket where it can be a constant reminder, whenever his hand sneaks that way. So, things are going pretty well for K'del, yeah? Votes in the Council lining up, great hatching, cute girlfriend with a baby on the way - even if the weyrfolk aren't privy to all the news, his good mood is more than obvious. That's why this might be a particularly rough kick to the gut. The day after the hatching, when he returns to his weyr (assuming it's been empty at some point), there is a faded Vijay trader's knot carefully laid out in a perfect circle on the top step. Nothing more, nothing less - but the message is obvious. Someone remembers. |
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