Logs:Confessions
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| RL Date: 10 July, 2016 |
| Who: Lys, V'ret |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lys tells V'ret about Jocelyn; V'ret has confessions of his own. |
| Where: Glitter and Glass Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 4, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Edyis/Mentions, Jaine/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Angst. Adult themes. Possible triggers. |
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| It's not unheard of for V'ret to be invited to Lys' weyr for a date, but given the amenities and comfortable size of V'ret's weyr, it's far more often to find the couple enjoying themselves there. Still, there's something different, almost formal about the note that Lys left for V'ret, inviting him up to her place on this particular chilly evening. The hearth has a hearty fire and with the heavy curtains that separate the inner weyr from the ledge closed, the inner weyr is toasty enough for Lys to be comfortable in the sundress that is better suited to an Istan beach. She must have chosen it as something V'ret's fancied on her before, for there's hints that the things worn under the dress, shown at the straps of the dress, are also things very much to his tastes. All this might be to the good, only the fact that there's a freshly opened bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the low table by the comfortable, upholstered chairs says quite clearly 'something is up.' (Not because there's whiskey, but because there's a whole fresh bottle and glasses.) A free day for V'ret, but one spent back at Crom. Not terribly unusual, that. He has friends, still, or at least acquaintances who can make use of a dragonrider in exchange for a small supplement to his income. Diversification: that seems to be his central strategy, thus far. Sometimes he even returns with some small token of his affections, but today no such luck. If he's noticed anything amiss, it's not noticeable in the way he dismounts, sends the bronze on his way, and starts peeling out of protective outerwear on his way in. It gets strewn wherever it may as he passes, a scarf actually hung up but coat, removed last, tossed across the back of the chair he sets himself down in. "Well, don't you make me wish I'd cleaned up better for you?" Except he clearly has at least had a bath on his return--his hair, which is just about long enough to want cutting, is still not fully dry. But he hasn't gotten so far as dressing up. Or shaving--possibly for a couple days. The bottle gets a long look, but he pours from it without comment. Lys already has a glass, she's already holding it to her lips, if not sipping it just now, as he peels off layers and approaches. She takes a sip once he settles in and speaks, and then sets her glass carefully aside, licking her lips before getting up and moving to settle in his lap, to drape her arms around his neck-- mindful of his glass-- and then to kiss him as if it might be the last time she ever gets to. "I love you," is quietly, but earnestly said. The 'but' is left to hang in the air, uncomfortably. The glass is set aside as she's sitting down: this commands V'ret's attention, and not just because of her proximity. Or the dress. He's slower to get there, but there's a dawning awareness in the middle of the kiss, and a sudden urgency to it, cut short. His brow is furrowed, after, as he looks at her, as he reaches up and touches her hair. "Lys," and it's pained, more than that. There's a moment of silence in which he doesn't even seem to dare to breathe. "What did you do?" Quiet. It's almost like he expects the confession here to be on the order of a murder, though--no sign of suspicion, no sign that he's figured out he's supposed to be the wronged party, not yet. Now that they've moved from the maybe-last kiss to the question, Lys looks pained herself, taking a deep breath and shifting to rise from his lap, to reclaim her glass, to walk some paces away from him before turning back toward him. At least with Lys, there's no preamble. At least there's only honesty. Brutal honesty. "The other person-- my other person-- is Jocelyn." So there it is. "I thought I should be the one to tell you." The moment after that news is delivered is utterly silent, except for the noise of him finishing off the contents of his glass--and pouring another--and doing the same again. Then V'ret sits, stares at the bottle, waits. For the news to sink in? Or maybe just the drink. "Someone else knows," he says as though this is the conclusion to a little argument he's had with himself, entirely in his own head, as to the meaning of all this. Or maybe with someone else, entirely in his own head. He speaks only when he seems sure that his voice will stay steady. A pretense of calm. "You realize how this is apt to make me look." "Edyis," Lys replies to his supposition. "After the flight." She draws a careful breath and finishes off her glass before moving to place her glass back where it was on the table and then shifts to sink down onto her knees in front of him, but a little apart, so he has space if he wants to get up and make more space between them. "I don't know if anyone else knows." Except Jocelyn's assistant, probably, but who counts her? Not Lys. While V'ret doesn't get up, he also doesn't spare her any particularly kind look, or reach for her. That position makes it easy, if nothing else, to study a spot somewhat over her head. Keep his eyes in her general direction, but avoid eye contact. "I wouldn't have guessed. Strangers would say you're a good match, of course. But, surely--does she even know you? Is she a hypocrite, or are you a liar?" All of this seems to disclaim his own part in their shared pastimes, but the whole thing seems to be entirely divorced from his own part in this, his own feelings. He does have feelings. He's had feelings all over the place, on numerous prior occasions. Right now, all he has is another drink. Lys is silent a moment, her eyes studying his knee before she'll lift her mask of untouchable calm to look at him. "I'm a liar." It's a quiet admission, and then Lys is getting to her feet, one hand up to rub her face and what definitely aren't a few tears (stupid girly emotions), murmuring, "But then, you knew that," about her propensity for dishonesty when it suits. She turns, placing her back to him - a gesture of trust - to pour another drink for herself, to pick it up and walk to stand in front of the fire. "I never wanted--" she starts, stops, sighs and shrugs. "It's done. All of it." She sounds resigned, but it's hard to read more than that with her back to him, her arms hugging one another, glass held loosely in her hand. "You could be lying about that, too." V'ret does not seem immediately inclined to budge from his chair. It's a comfortable chair. A safe place from which to watch her with eyes still critical. Once he empties his glass this time, it stays empty. He's had enough to soften the edges of things. "But I have to say, I can't picture it. Her wanting you, if she knew." Is it meant to wound? This is the first time in all of this that he's started to sound a bit pleased. And it's finally the moment where he gets up to follow her over there, to settle behind her and rest one proprietary hand on her hip. He leans in, taking a keen interest in her neck, but not actually pressing his mouth to it. "You'll make it up to me, of course. You really shouldn't keep things from me." Lys is silent and still until he comes over. Probably, if he hadn't, she would have spoken eventually, but the proximity and his last words might change the direction of whatever she might have said in the moment before. She could challenge him, his proprietary hand and his presumptions, but that's not the smart move here, now, yet, and Lys is a smart girl. She doesn't tense, only turns her head just a little and inquires in a voice hollowed of any emotion, "How?" V'ret's hand still tightens, even if she hasn't tensed. "Don't be so cool with me. Should I take you over my knee? You've been a bad girl, but I can't take all my forfeits in the bedroom, not when you're in the habit of enjoying the things I do in the bedroom." But how, then? It seems to take a moment's consideration. "There's something I've been meaning to... attend to. It would be easier with both of us. Things usually are." It seems like the details are almost an afterthought to him. But it's not like he's had long to contemplate. She hasn't tensed, but her expression changes just a little along with the slight hitch in her breath, registering the tightness of that hand in a way he can appreciate. Lys doesn't smile as she might at another time for his contemplation of punishments. She shifts, seeking to turn to face him. "I haven't done anything wrong. We keep secrets. We tell secrets, but we don't tell all our secrets. It's how we are, V'ret. I'm sorry that this secret--" upsets him? That's not a direction she wants to go, so she cuts it off and says instead, "If you want my help with something then you'll have it," which is a whole lot of trust for secret-keepers to give without asking questions. "Secrets," V'ret says, "aren't the problem, until people start finding them out." His hurt, if it exists, is something that for the time being he's keeping close to the vest. Still, his hand releases its grip, and he steps back for a moment as she turns. "I think you know that as well as I do. When other people know them, other people can tell them. And then the general public thinks... well." Which, at least, he seems to shrug off, though he turns to go back to his glass. Evidently one more is required to smooth the way, even though that requires steadying himself with a hand braced on the back of a chair afterwards. He's coping just fine and only genuinely concerned for his reputation. Really. Lys watches him thoughtfully as he goes, as he drinks. She brings up her own drink to her lips and swallows it down before moving up behind him, angling to press herself lightly to his side after setting down her empty glass. "I think the general public might be a little too consumed with the buzz that one of their weyrwoman prefers women in her bed than about who that is. They'll be thinking of Edyis, not me." She hopes. Her tone is meant to be soothing, but not overly so. As she speaks, one hand rises tentatively to seek to stroke his back in that way that usually helps calm him. V'ret doesn't shrink away from the contact, though his eyes are fixed for a moment on his empty-again glass. It goes so quickly. "When you first told me," he says, slowly, words very careful in that way of someone who has realized that they don't fully have control of their speech anymore. "When you first told me," again, slightly more sure, "if you'd said her name, I might have just sent you off, even with the timing. But I need you. You know that, don't you?" Lys doesn't progress her touch beyond what it is, but she does stay close to him in spite of whatever conflicting feelings she might feel in these moments. "You might have sent me off tonight. You need Zoth." She places delicate emphasis on that. "You love me," is said simply, "And I love you." She's not the sort to abuse that phrase, to say it too often with him, but when she does, as now, it carries weight. "I didn't know-- maybe still don't know-- if that's enough." Is the sort of feeling they have for one another the type to bow and break under the weight of hard truths? She studies him, shifting a little so she can come more toward his front, seeking some kind of answer in his expression. "You always say that, like these things are mutually exclusive. I can need more than one thing in my life." Like another drink. He can need that, too. V'ret's brow is furrowed as he goes to pour again. He's going through it all very quickly--not that he hasn't had this much over the course of an evening plenty of times? But this fast is a different thing. Deep breath; this one he only sips instead of knocking back the whole thing. "Food. Air. Dragon." Then, gesture of glass in her direction. "But I need to know you're... all in. If you'd said you'd killed a man, I would have been ready just then to help you clean it up. You know?" All in. Lys goes absolutely still at the words. Perhaps it says something about her that it's those words and not... you know, murder, that makes her stop breathing. She looks at the bronzerider a long moment, then suddenly, "Shit." And she's twirling away from him to pace, swearing low and fiercely. Then, just as suddenly, "I can't breathe," and she's heading for the ledge where there's air, even if that air also comes with cold evening weather. "Lys?" V'ret following her is a slow thing, like his brain is a good thirty seconds behind in processing what's actually happening, and his feet are about fifteen seconds behind that on moving. "Lys--" The brace of the cold air stops him before he's fully out from the shelter of Evyth's weyr. "You aren't dressed for this." Nor is he, arms quickly folded like it might conserve some tiny shred of body heat, hands tucked beneath them. She's not, but she's standing on the ledge (in the middle of it) like she might let the wind that is no small thing tonight pluck her up and fling her into the sky if it had a mind to. Lys doesn't look at him, not initially, not until her hair is a bit tangled and her skin a little chilled. Only then does she turn, to walk back toward him-- to him? It ends up being to him, though it mightn't have begun that way. "I can't have this conversation right now," she sounds sorry. "I'm feeling too many things." Her voice makes the confession sound lame, or like she doesn't have the energy to make that explanation sound any more reasonable or to argue about it. It doesn't stay that way long, either; V'ret's arms stay on guard, not just against the cold, and once she's said her piece he turns back around to head inside. He had more than just a coat when he came in, but that's all he bothers with reaching for. "That's as much answer as I needed, anyway." It doesn't seem to be said directly to her--at least, it's not said with anything that approaches eye contact. Zoth may have needed to be roused; the delay in arrival would have given V'ret more than long enough to go and find his gloves, if he were just a drink or two shy of the point he's at right now. Just buttoning up his coat is as much as he can manage, as it is. There's only so much even Lys can handle before the mask breaks, and it shatters big time as V'ret walks away, as she trails him, as he speaks and as she finds some piece of wall to lean against and then sink down before she dissolves into tears. Hand on the back of the chair again, V'ret's eyes lift heavenward, even though there can be nothing there--in the stone, or in the sky above it--that could possibly help with this. "Zoth's shell. Am I supposed to be staying or going, Lys?" He leans more heavily there, but not at quite the right angle--the chair starts to tip. He's thankfully still aware enough to right it. "If we aren't talking, what're we doing? Drinking isn't helping." At least he's finally recognized that much. Lys' words are broken by sobs that can't be helped, but she manages, "I don't know, are you done with me? Are we over?" "Air, dragon, you. Do you actually listen to the words that come out of my mouth or do I just blather on at length while you smile and nod? Don't answer that." V'ret has a bit of trouble with undoing the buttons, this time, and by the time he makes it back to her, it's about all he can manage to sit beside her, still wearing the coat, but at least without having it done up. "If I can't trust you, I am all kinds of fucked, but--" He makes a loose waving gesture with one hand. "I am probably all kinds of fucked anyway." When one goes into an emotional conversation with expectations, one sometimes hears what one expects instead of what is said. Lys wouldn't be the first. The sobs continue, but they've turned to relief by the time he joins her. She does what she can to tuck herself against him until the tears are gone and the sobs have quieted to shuddery breaths. "Stay, please," is the quiet plea that comes to mind first when she can form coherent words. V'ret gets as far as putting an arm around her before remembering the coat. At which point he removes the arm, removes the coat, discards it to his other side, and then puts his arm around her. There. "Not going anywhere." This wasn't too complicated. Really. At that point, it's just a matter of holding her until she's settled down a bit, which gives him a little time to collect his thoughts. "If you tell me you'll help me kill a man, I won't ask you about anything overly burdensome like actually living together." He pauses. "He does deserve it." There are proposals, and then there are proposals. There are commitments and then there are commitments. Lys sits up a little, blue-green eyes now tear bright but no longer shedding tears. She's studying his face, studying it to see if he's serious or just drunk or -- well, who knows. "I don't want to kill anyone," is the first thought that manages to find voice. Then she puts her head back down on the chest of a would be murderer as if it gives her comfort. "But I won't stop you." Or, presumably, tell on him. No, his face is entirely serious, looking more sober than it has any right to. "I'm not asking you to get your hands dirty." Had V'ret hoped, though, that she might volunteer it? He rests his face against her hair and takes a deep breath in, lets it out slowly. "If you'd say I was with you, though. If it came up. I don't expect you to... of course not. But I've put it off far too long, now. Too long for it to do any good, maybe." Another breath. "I saw him, today." "V'ret," Lys' voice is quiet but the tone arresting, "be careful." It's a request that has more than one meaning, to be sure. Then quickly she's pushing up onto her knees, to kiss his forehead. "Come to bed," she entreats. "You've had a lot to drink," is possibly rehearsal for what she might say if she were ever asked about her knowledge of V'ret's plans to murder anyone. She might even believe that this is some strange byproduct of alcohol and emotional distress. There have been stranger things, surely. It might be, at that. V'ret has had a lot to drink, enough that it seems to just dawn on him that this is the case when he goes to stand up, himself, which requires a sense of balance he does not have. It'll go easier if he can have her hand, but one way or another he can get to his feet. "Bed sounds a lot more comfortable than the floor." Her hand and more is leant him to get up and get balanced, Lys tucking herself under his arm and against his side to casually wrap her arm around his waist to provide solid support over to the bed. She'll even undress him; it can't be said that V'ret doesn't have a reason to have thought of her as his little woman, even if tonight it has proven to be a flawed perception. |
Comments
Jocelyn (16:30, 11 July 2016 (PDT)) said...
The light at the end of the tunnel is surely a train. :o
- on the edge of seat*
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