Logs:Dance With Me
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| RL Date: 17 February, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A late-night conversation. |
| Where: Weyrleader's Complex, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 1, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions |
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| It is incredibly late by the time Irianke arrives at High Reaches once more. Verging on the new day, Niahvth's mass of subtle glowing is a beacon in the dark, cold night. Instead of landing on her ledge, the dragon descends to the bowl, garnering the most exasperated look from the rider on top, who might actually aim a petulant kick into the dragon's side for this very poor decision. The weyrwoman is sitting side saddle-style, the immense fur coat she wears obscuring the dress beneath, but eventually a mere human cannot move an immovably large beast and she's descending into the bowl and making her way, alone, to the Weyrleaders' Complex. Niahvth, smiling in that draconic way, radiates sunshine-y warmth on many levels. Many many levels. She's happy and wants everyone to know it. The lateness of the hour ought to mean there's no one to see Irianke's return. Ought to-- but does not, in the end. K'del's light-footed on his stairs, his heavy boots unlaced and his coat simply slung over his shoulders. He pauses, there, one foot hovering above the step, as, through the dimness, he catches sight of the returning junior; no doubt it helps that Cadejoth is equally wakeful, his chains rattled in merry, undaunted enthusiasm in answer to Niahvth's warmth. "Good night?" wonders the Weyrleader, the two words separate: was it a good night? Niahvth glorifies those chains, magnifying the rattling of that sound and sharing it with the rest of the weyr in the catalyst that's her particular talent. Only a few dragons are awake enough to be bothered at this hour. Her hide doesn't radiate as much as her thoughts to at this point, but it's clear it'll be soon. In spite of the cold, Irianke's shed her fur coat in the bowl and slung it over her shoulder. The dress she wears, a beautiful rust orange concoction is disheveled, a fact that is all too visible the closer the goldrider gets to K'del. "Could have been better. She wanted to return here. I wanted to stay. Sometimes, being paired to a dragon means you never win." It won't be the first time Cadejoth's chains have interrupted the quiet night; he's pleased by Niahvth's magnification, pleased by the game of it. Even so, there's a distance: she is not for him. He is only playing. K'del sets his foot back down, watching as the goldrider approaches. "Can't argue with that," agrees K'del, neutral enough in tone and expression. "How long?" he adds, rather abruptly, his expression rather quickly suggesting more of an apology in the aftermath of it. "It never gets easier." Irianke looks back over her shoulder at the gold holding court to a relatively clear bowl. "Feeling your mind go piece by piece daily. By the minute when it gets even closer. To realize that at our worst, we are animals." The Igen rider's sigh is heavy even as her steps slow to where K'del stands. "A week. Maybe two. She's a slow burner unlike others. It's nice to have the warning. It's less nice to see it happening before your eyes in slow motion." "I'd hate it," owns K'del, honestly, those blue eyes tracking after Irianke's towards the queen, out in the bowl. "Imagine... it must be worse, here, too. So many strangers. Though," and he smiles, "Seems like you're trying to make them less-strange." It's not - at least, it doesn't seem - to be a judgement; if anything, he seems half pleased, half approving. "You are settling in, I hope? There's nothing else I can do to... help?" The fur coat laden, pretty dress clad, tired party seeking goldrider slumps against the wall. Silently, Irianke looks out to the bowl where her dragon continues to reposition herself this way and that, then to K'del, whereupon her dark grey-blue eyes linger. She ignores all his questions and flattery. "You're up late. Work or family juggling?" "Both," comes the answer. There are dark shadows beneath K'del's eyes; he's clearly been burning the candle at both end. "The time difference with Southern just makes things difficult. Spent part of their evening, there, which meant missing part of our day, and now I just need to catch up. Ali's getting close to full-term, so the kids'll end up here, soon, but then there'll be a baby, and..." He smiles, however tired. However torn. "There's always something." To her credit, Irianke listens to it all without flinching. She has that steadfast smile on her face that gains sympathy for all the trials and good fortune and then trials once more. "Always something," she agrees in a parrot. "Have you considered delegating some of your tasks to your wingleaders? Or a handy wingsecond? But," she pushes off the wall, letting that fur coat drop and dances floating steps about the Weyrleader, "I hear you aren't even the wingleader of your own wing so perhaps a Weyrsecond is a better term for your second in command?" It's natural, really, to let his gaze follow those floating steps; K'del's quick, at least, to raise his gaze back towards Irianke's face, his expression cheerfully wry. "Weyrsecond would be the term," he agrees, without hesitation. "Though I've never named one, officially. There are wingleaders, certainly. Do you think it odd, that I don't lead a wing?" "Yes." Irianke's opinion is firm. Her feet, however, are not. They continue to dance light floating steps on that ledge and eventually, she stops to hold out her hand to K'del, fingers curled and poised for him to make claim and lead. Her eyes bid him to even as her voice does something else. Like say, "What if your tradition carries to the next Weyrleader? And the next. And the next. Until a Pass has come and High Reaches' Weyrleaders, traditionally do not lead a wing. What then?" K'del's gaze drops towards that extended hand, half-amused and half-bewildered, perhaps, by the intent. But he's well trained; he accepts it, turning upon his heel to adjust his path to lead towards the staircase towards Irianke's weyr. "Seems unlikely," is his easy assessment. "Sooner or later, someone will win the knot who already has a wing; he's unlikely to give it up. And," he adds, thoughtfully, "if a wing were to become vacant, without an obvious successor, I might take one again. Might." Might. Because clearly he has time for that. The once light steps are suddenly rigid and Irianke, for all her tiredness, is suddenly laughing. "Dance with me." Her hand tugs, pulling the Weyrleader back. "I just wanted to dance and dance and dance tonight and feel wanted for me and not my dragon. Please?" Dance? Oh. Oh. K'del's cheeks darken, pink, as comprehension dawns; and then he grins. It's easy to tug him back, and equally easy is the way he reaches to draw the goldrider closer, adopting a swaying motion. "In that case," he tells her, cheerful and bright despite his misunderstanding, "Of course. For as long as your feet hold out, if you like." The song is in her head, but she allows him to lead, modifying her steps to match. "You should find someone to stand behind you when the new baby comes," Irianke now advises, voice low. "The wings can manage themselves in an Interval, for sure, but do you really want to be woken up and forced to return to High Reaches in the middle of the night for something any one could handle? You need a vacation and not one that sends you spiraling into grief. Each day shouldn't be a battle to fulfill all your obligations.You need..." The Igenite sighs, shaking her head. "Don't listen to me. I've had an unexpectedly poor night and I take to overly mothering others when I can't control anything else. I apologize, Weyrleader, for being so forward." "You don't need to apologise," is K'del's answer, though it's true his steps have faltered during the recitation of all of this. He watches her, silent for a few moments after that. Then, "I'm sorry about your night. You'll ask, if there's anything-- never mind. You will. But probably not of me. We should both get some sleep, shouldn't we." "K'del," Irianke's normally controlled voice, warm and receptive, is tired, frustrated, and regretful. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have overstepped. But your steadiness seem to be the only thing that holds this Weyr together sometimes. Take care of yourself." She pulls away, fingers lingering for a breath longer than the rest of her hand does, and then she races up the stairs to her weyr, that damn fur coat left behind. K'del's mouth opens, but whatever else he has to say will have to wait; he's silent, standing quite still until long after the goldrider has disappeared. The coat, at least, will show up again tomorrow. |
Comments
K'zin (12:59, 18 February 2015 (EST)) said...
<3
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