Logs:Flight, Interrupted
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 2 September, 2015 |
| Who: Aughan, B'ren, Dov, Farideh, Graeson, Ienavi, Irianke, Jo, K'del, Linuore |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Crom Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Niavhth picks an interesting time to rise for High Reaches' seniorship. |
| Where: Greenfields Hold; High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Storyteller: Jo/ST, K'del/ST |
       |
| Day fifteen dawns chilly, but fine. The whole Weyr is aware, by now, of Niahvth's proddiness, and the bets have started on when the queen will go up... and who will catch. K'del and Cadejoth haven't left the Weyr since those first signs started to show, but that's plainly about to change: mid-morning, Crom's watchrider reaches out with news, and a request. « Greenfields' heir is dead, » says the green, addressing both queens (proddy or not proddy; you can't ignore them!) and Cadejoth. « The Lord bids you come. » Niahvth's brain is a flutter of flowers and merry sunshine, the kind that would normally put a person straight into a mindhealer's care, but when you're a proddy dragon, it's quite a different story. The request rolls into her head and comes out, literally, like little butterflies to dance circles around Cadejoth's head. Your ball to catch. Whether this request ever reaches Irianke is something that's unclear, the goldrider currently pretending to conduct a meeting of headwomen, but it's becoming ever clear that her distraction with her other half means she is not leading anything. Cadejoth's unwillingness to leave is obvious, but so too is his sense of duty... or is that his rider's sense of duty, overwhelming (if reluctant) even in this circumstance. « We go to Greenfields, » he assures the green, and Niahvth, too, though for the latter there's a definite sense of we will return that is half-promise and half, perhaps, threat. « Roszadyth, you should accompany us. » He is already on his way (the sooner to be back again), but he shares the image back: here. Now. With Jo's 'eyes and ears' about the Weyr, it's the moment when news comes to her about one proddy Niahvth that she stops by to check up on Irianke. Well, she almost does until around the same time, her bronze firelizard winks in from Between with a note attached to one of his legs, giving her the same sort of news that the dragons get. That pauses her from going to Irianke's weyr, pivoting on one foot back the way she comes with purpose in her steps as she seeks out those in her crew. At least one of the two pleasant queens isn't preoccupied, and it's with steady calm that Roszadyth reacts, her sunshine contained to a bare shimmer. « We will come, » the gold assures Cadejoth, all sense and little effort. Normally, her rider would be present at the same meeting with the Acting Weyrwoman, but today, after her imminent duties, she's returned to her weyr with the full intention of packing an overnight bag for-- somewhere. Farideh's securing the buttons of her bodice when the news of Greenfields hits her, and before she can come to a conclusion on her own, her ever-selfless gold has condemned her to action. She has little option but to comply, promptly seeking out her dragon to make her way posthaste to their Weyrleader's side. The meeting goes on and on and Irianke checks out. It's for the best really and Jounine, flashing a look at those assistants under her, that kind of eye rolling behind the boss's back look, takes over in entirety. Irianke is out in the hallway towards her weyr just a split second after Jo's departed, and her expression contorts, crestfallen but with a spark of some awareness beneath the flutter of proddy. Niahvth, she waits, radiating a nauseatingly cheerful dippy sort of aura to all while she does so. For Farideh, K'del has only the briefest of assuring nods, as if to suggest he's sure she knows what to do-- everything will be fine, dead heirs aside. It's a quick trip to the Cromese hold, where, down in a gully, Averin's body was found. A crowd has gathered: Lord Aughan and his wife are there, yes, and Linuore, Graeson and their firstborn, now-heir. But there are others, too: holdfolk of all kinds, most not quite obeying instructions to stay back from the sight. A night spent out in the open hasn't done much for Averin's corpse, but then, it wasn't in terribly good condition to begin with, bruised and broken, trampled-- it would seem-- beneath a runner's hooves. "I'm so sorry for your loss," K'del says, after formal greetings have been exchanged. "An accident?" "Perhaps," agrees Linuore. "Never," swears Ienavi. "Not Averin. He's too good with runners. He was murdered, Weyrleader, and I will see his murderer brought to justice." "Ienavi," warns Aughan, quietly. Cadejoth, his straps still attached, sits uneasily, tail ever in motion, his thoughts reaching back to the Weyr with focused, intense interest. Amongst the crowd in the hold, one can believe that those of the gang are mixed in. One in particular is bigger than the rest - burly and broad-shouldered, sticking towards the back as he seems to have focused study on the Weyrleader more than anyone else. He seems to be bent on sweeping, being all that there's a broom in his hands. Everything is going fine, really! Between the Weyr and Hold, the goldrider has enough time to catch her bearings and refocus her energies. Farideh even has a happy-to-see-you smile for K'del in front of the gathered holders, but as things do-- her first sight of the corpse has her gasping and covering her mouth, her eyes not wavering from the broken, trampled man at first; it's clearly unnerving. "Oh, Faranth," she chokes against her palm, looking ill. "Farideh," murmurs K'del, reaching out to take her arm and give it a gentle squeeze. Even so, faced with the assembled dignitaries, he's not got time to spare on too much sympathy. "We'll do whatever we need to to assist, Holder Linuore. Lord Aughan, Lady Ienavi. Our extra sweeps have shown nothing, but... we will continue them, of course. I'm afraid the Weyrwoman is indisposed at the moment, but Junior Weyrwoman Farideh and I will certainly do what we can." Despite Cadejoth's focus on Niahvth, he spares a moment to reach for Roszadyth. « Calm, » he tells her, though his own thoughts are far from calm, chains jangling discordantly. « He will take the lead, but they must both show strength. » The obvious thing would be for Niahvth to rise immediately after Cadejoth leaves, but it would not be the crafty thing to do, though it'd be farfetched to imagine Irianke could control, to the minute, when her dragon chooses to rise. Niahvth's sensually happy warmth continues to envelope the Weyr and its inhabitants, reaching out to make sure Cadejoth can feel it too, that absolutely nothing has changed in her state of being, until... matters at hand in Greenfields and the intrinsic understanding that that is pressing has her retreat her presence out of the Weyrleader's bronze's mind. Don't go, Niahvth! Cadejoth leans after the retreating queen, though she's correct, of course, and he relents, focusing his attention (much of his attention, at least) upon the situation at hand. At the Weyr, it's possible that no one's noticing the fact that Jo and the entire Greenfields crew is out in public - the living cavern, to be exact - wolfing down food and being particularly loud and attention-getting. Jo is among them, as raucous as the lot of them while over in Greenfields, the man with the broom is sweeping closer and closer towards where the dragonriders are. He doesn't separate himself from the crowd, always keeping within and sweeping her and there as he appears to be trying to see the very same gruesome scene that everyone else if crowding up for. There's nothing to suspect, at the moment. Where her rider is prone to dramatics and wearing her emotions on her sleeve, Roszadyth isn't reactionary, and returns Cadejoth chain-jangling words with a pleasant, calm sensation that sums up her own mind. It, too, seems to be the turning point in Farideh's demeanor, as she brings her hands down to her sides, albeit with fingernails digging into her palms and grits her teeth before answering on K'del's heels, "Whatever we can do for you and yours, we will. We must." There have surely been steadier words spoken, but at least there's conviction behind them instead of a hollow ring. "Burnt fields," says Ienavi, in a thin, controlled voice. "And now this. I do not see it as coincidence, nor should any of you. Shall we all fear for our lives? I thought dragonriders were supposed to keep us safe." "Ienavi," is in a warning tone, the Lady Holder's mother giving her daughter a long glance with raised eyebrows. "Let us not throw around accusations. The Harpers are sending an investigator. How much authority do you have, Weyrleader? If we are to understand the situation. Or should we speak to your weyrwoman, instead?" Her dark eyes focus, intent and alert, upon Farideh. The sweeping man continues his line, close enough to hear what K'del and Farideh is saying now. He passes and bumps someone along the way closer with his broom....and maybe there's that slight slip of hands exchanging something as he continues on. Really, it's so quick that no one would know it happened unless they were watching. Where is Irianke? Oh, there she is, in the living cavern as visible as the bright gold out on her ledge, lolling almost canine-like (perhaps she's picked up some habits from Cadejoth). She passes by the Greenfields table with its Jo so prominently there, and casts a glance over, one that might catch the bluerider's eye for a split second, before moving off to fetch herself a glass of fruit juice. B'ren, that erstwhile companion of hers, watches from the far side of the living cavern, moving only after the goldrider has her drink, in a path that's meant to intercept her. K'del opens his mouth; closes it again. Everyone's looking at Farideh anyway: let her reply! It's easier for Farideh to keep her equilibrium and a polite expression pinned in place when she's glancing between the squabbling dignitaries rather than staring at the beat up once-heir on the ground. Her hands fold complacently in front of her body as she gives a brief, judicious glance to the Weyrleader. "We will stay-- as long as we need to, to assist you in whatever way possible," the young goldider avers, in a much steadier voice. "I do not think there's cause to think that any of your lives may be in danger, too." But, whatever else they may expect of her to say, they may be disappointed, because that's where she leaves off, her gaze flying back to the cold corpse. Back at the Weyr, when Irianke arrives into the living cavern, Jo spots her like a sore thumb. Her laughter only falters when she passes, meeting that brief look with one of her own, pausing that open flask from fully reaching her lips. She watches the weyrwoman closely - watches B'ren as well - but otherwise stays right where she is with slightly narrowed eyes. "Ah, the art of not answering the question." That's Aughan, who seems positively delighted by Farideh's reply, much to the disapproval of his wife... and his mother-in-law. Clearing his throat, K'del says, "In the short term, I'll arrange to have some of my riders attend to you and your family, Holder Linuore, for personal protection. Until we determine what did happen. As Farideh says, there's no reason to believe you're in danger, but I would prefer to offer it, as a courtesy. Perhaps the--" His sweeping gaze pauses on Farideh. "I trust the harpers and healers will be here soon to attend to the initial matters, and that will give us all a place to start." Indeed: more dragons are arriving, now, both a collection from the Weyr, primarily browns and bronzes, and then others, bearing with them a Master from both the harper and the healer craft, both of whom-- naturally-- wish the involvement of the dignitaries. All of them. Up close and personal. K'del, warily, reaches to guide Farideh, as if his hand on her shoulder might ease that. (As if.) Color floods Farideh's face at the Lord's pleased answer, but she remains unbendingly polite, despite the glaring evidence of her embarrassment; being a mouthpiece for the Weyr is hard okay. Her nod of acquiescence follows K'del's more detailed explanation of the Weyr's involvement, and for once his hand on her shoulder -- her body -- is cause for surprise and relief. "Thank you," she mouths silently to the bronzerider when she thinks no one else is looking, but otherwise remains quiet. B'ren moves to catch Irianke's elbow, but the goldrider shrugs it, and him off, though not without a fond pat for his cheek. "Not now. Not now. Not now." Things are said in threes, as if the rote repetition of it all is helping keep the woman's head straight. In Tacuseth's head, some semblance of sanity midst the sensual warmth seeps in with a, « She will have me tell you soon, soon, soon, » as if that should be enough for the blue and his rider to understand. The acting Weyrwoman downs her glass of juice, mops her beaded forehead and makes towards the exit towards the lower caverns. At the hold, the sweeping man is watching as more dragon arrive. He doesn't look too pleased - well, it's hard to tell what he's feeling at all - but the man is patient. He's goes back to sweeping floors, watching. Waiting. K'del may not notice him, but he's certainly keeping at an angle near K'del. Even Farideh is getting a brief study from him - at least her position to the Weyrleader. In answer to Farideh, K'del offers a silent squeeze. "We should... examine the perimeter," he decides, abruptly, for though he's not as bothered by the body as Farideh plainly is, the medical details being laid out for them aren't necessarily useful to him. "Holder Linuore, perhaps you, or someone in your family, will show us? And Master Denison," he indicates the Harper, "as well." "Are you attempting to hurry things?" Ienavi, surprisingly emotional (although perhaps not, given circumstances), lifts her gaze to glower at K'del. "Not at all, Lady Crom," K'del's quick to reassure her. "You have my full attention. As I have said, weyrwoman Farideh and I are at your disposal. Will you show us?" Cadejoth, still restless, lets his tail thud unevenly against the crowd, wings furling about himself. At the Weyr, with Jo watching the interaction between Irianke and B'ren with feigned interest while Tacuseth's shadows are invaded with proddy sensuality. It's likely he's lucky that he's not bronze. His confidence seems to mirror his rider's his return touch bold as he sends back, « Good. Things are as they should be. » Perhaps he means the rundown of Greenfields as the convict rider watches Irianke leave the cavern before resuming her charade. The weyrleader could suggest that they skip across the field wearing fuzzy hats, holding hands and singing shanties right now, and Farideh would probably agree; as it is, her nod is quick and eager. "I think that would be--" She glances, surprised, at Lady Crom, but regains her composure in time with K'del's quick, reassuring response. "Please," she says, attempting to buttress the bronzerider's claims in front of the holders, without seeming as eager to get away from the body as she might have been minutes before. "We will see it through, and thoroughly." Interestingly, some of those newly arrived browns and bronzes... have started to leave again. It seems to surprise even K'del... and it's obvious that the assembled Holders are not impressed. "I thought they were here to protect us," is Graeson's thin-lipped remark. It happens too quickly, the sudden flutter of wings and the appearance of a gold in the pens and killing, so much killing from her, from the males. Roszadyth gets one fleeting warning, the last thread of sanity in the upcoming insane and the young gold might then get some whiplash from the sudden burst of need, want, desire, ME' that touches those at High Reaches Weyr and only those at High Reaches Weyr. With the flight now and not just soon, a mostly nude Irianke is calm, seated on the couch in the Weyrwoman's weyr waiting for the suitors to come to her. At the hold, the sweeping man watches all besides just K'del. Those dragons leaving seems to pose an interest to him, giving that broom a pause as he considers it. It's likely that he was versed in common dragon behavior enough that he's detecting that something is going down, and that means he needs to be in place to intercept. "I--" begins K'del. Cadejoth has not been privy to Niahvth's radiant desire, but he has spies on the other side, and it doesn't take a genius to put one and two together, and make a solid, unquestionable three. "Do apologise. Niahvth rises." K'del, unqestionably, looks ill, gaze flickering towards Farideh, towards the assembled holders, and then, finally, towards his bronze. His chin lifts. "You're going to leave us," accuses Ienavi, thrusting a finger towards K'del. "You're more interested in keeping your knot." Graeson. "I'm going nowhere," says K'del, shoulders back. "Farideh, come. We have a tour to take, do we not?" But Cadejoth, across the field, has thrown his weight against the ground, and thrust himself into the air. Suddenly-- so suddenly, even Rosadyth's calm is broken by a frisson of tension, a crack in her veneer, and Farideh reciprocates by shuddering violently. She frowns, watching the browns and bronzes so recently arrived start to leave again. "I--" Her face twists in some complex emotion, but the holders' accusations and K'del's confidence brings her back. "We do," she says, neutrally, her mouth quirking in a brief, polite smile; without glancing back at the dignitaries, she picks up her skirts and starts to move away, keeping a steady, unhurried pace for now. Her silence might be considered suspicious, but the whole event is fraught with tribulations, so it's likely excusable. At the hold, the moment Cadejoth hits the air, it seems as if the crowd shifts. It's like a wave, the sudden movement in the crowd surging them a little forward - or, threatening too. A study shows that all that's left of the sweeping man is the broom. The man is nowhere to be found. A massacre of beasts litters the pens, the senior flight without Cadejoth something of an anomaly at High Reaches Weyr and bringing not only Reachians out in droves. There are few out of Weyr dragons too, popping in from between with such alacrity they must have had their own spies. And then they're off, before many of the foreigners can take more than a gulp, Niahvth flying swiftly high and then higher while Irianke sits like a porcelain statue, fierce, naked other than that ridiculous long strand of pearls and those boots, and untouchable with that cool, ever calculating stare she pins on each of the riders who finally figure out where to go. How many of them peeked into the Weyrleader's weyr on their way in though is a number no one will ever know. It's easier said than done for K'del to keep his calm. Some of those assembled have certainly seen Cadejoth in the air, and his abrupt departure between-- at least in part because of the way K'del squeezes his eyes shut, his fists tight, and focuses. It must have been at least roughly successful, because he doesn't seem to have lost the bronze by the end of those handful of seconds... though there's that jostling crowd, and that's distracting, and the bronzerider looks, for a moment, utterly lost. Not to mention pink-cheeked and embarrassed. At High Reaches, it seems it won't be a senior flight without Cadejoth for long: abruptly, there he is, straps jangling, riderless, swooping from above to reach for the queen as she makes her ascent. Irianke loses her composure when Cadejoth appears, an expletive breaking free of her porcelain aloofness and suddenly, the goldrider is animated, stalking up and down the length of the weyr, mindless of how her heels clack or how the men and women watch her like a piece of meat to be devoured. Irianke losing her focus means Niahvth loses her focus, her attention shifting ever so briefly to Cadejoth's appearance and she loses that bit of a lead, that edge she had over everyone else and her tail is clipped by a stray talon from a young brown that rends an angry shriek into the sky. At the Weyr....when there's a gold in the sky, it's like the Greenfields crew scatters like the wind. They go back to the dark places they haunt, with Jo especially making sure she's back in her weyr and away from any flight lust grabby hands (for once). Tacuseth, however, is the stiff sentinel on his ledge, watching the skies and protecting his lady. At the hold....that crowd breaks forward a bit forcefully now, as if someone from behind was shoving the lot of them forward. Who knows who is in this crowd, but there's certainly an angry element cropping up in it now. It's hard to tell whether the anger is directed at anyone present in particular, but one can be sure that when the crowds surges into both Farideh and K'del, it's the Weyrleader that will suddenly feel something thrusting sharp up into his shoulderblades. It could have been fatal, the angle of it....but... "No one at Greenfields is safe!" Someone yells. "Someone has an agenda against us? No one's going to protect us? Why do we work, if we're treated like this?" Where did it start? Truly, it's hard to tell. Certainly, Linuore seems concerned, and Aughan, with a flick of one hand, draws his personal guards closer. It's not only K'del who looks mortified in front of the holders, though Farideh has managed to control her blushing for now. She keeps slanting him worried, apprehensive glances from the sides of her eyes, and eventually stops in her tracks, wavering. "Do you need--" She falters, but determinedly tries again. "Are you--" But that second question never makes it to fruition, as the crowd shoves K'del and herself, making her briefly off-kilter. "What's happening," she squeaks to no one in particular, obviously not yet noticing anything amiss with K'del or that angry mob. That sharp edge hits skin right as Cadejoth throws himself down and down and down, all the better to grab for Niahvth before anyone else can; abbreviated, perhaps, but worth it for the win. He's jostled in the process-- but no, that's K'del who is falling, a last-minute jostle from the side causing the knife to hit only slightly less than true. He's gasping, on his knees and then sliding even further as blood begins to stain through his shirt and jacket, visibly scarlet and wet, no longer focused on that other part of his anatomy that has been so recently key. « No! » roars Cadejoth, but, too, « YES. » It's a last-ditch, desperate attempt to end this now, before his rider... before his rider... before. At the Hold, the sweeping man has done his job....but not well. No one will ever hear the swiftly uttered curse or hidden glares thrown as guards beat them all back. No one will see him pick up the broom, extricate himself from the crowd, and sweep back the way he came. Indeed, nobody really sees him at all. And it ends. Just like that. Months of machinations. Weeks of exhaustive legwork from so many angles, and Niahvth, of the injured tail, is snared in the wings of the emotionally confused, but not sexually confused, Cadejoth, while Irianke is... alone? How do stand ins even work? Would a rider whose dragon didn't even win try to take advantage of the fact K'del is not there? At the Weyr, Tacuseth watches the flight happen. Tacuseth watches Cadejoth catch. Tacuseth totally and briefly sends in the glimmers of a quickly uttered, « Shit. » Niahvth's way. Likely from his rider. Likely. But his touch is just as gone as it is there. No need to be part of THAT flight shenanigan. A startled scream rips its way out of Farideh's throat when K'del goes down, knife in his back and all. "K'del," is urgent, her eyes sweeping the crowd wildly, before she's down on her knees beside him, a flurry of frantic movement. "No no no, NO, K'del." She gives his shoulder a shake, more to get his attention than anything else. "Where are the healers?" the goldrider screams at no one in particular, glancing up from the bloodied weyrleader to glower through eyes rapidly welling with tears. Back to the bronzerider, she tries to grab his face, turn it towards her. "You're going to be fine," is vehement, while her dragon, back to calm, uses those abilities she's been cultivating for months and months, to stop Cadejoth from chasing, to project serenity in the face of this tragedy. It turns out that a stabbed Weyrleader has at least some priority over a dead hold heir; despite the shuffle of bodies, and the renewed angst now that it's plain there has been more drama (and death?) at Greenfields, Aughan's guards do manage to pull people out of the way and let the healer in. K'del breathes, at least, even if his breath is laboured and his skin so very clammy and pale. He manages to blink at Farideh, manages even to say, "Didn't know you cared," but more than that is beyond him-- the sheen of bloodless and pain is ever-present, and all-encompassing, no doubt not assisted by Cadejoth's tail-twining exploits, as abbreviated as they are. Cadejoth's joy is short-lived; no one at the Weyr will be able to miss the fact that something is not right, whatever Roszadyth does. But at least he's not dead. And High Reaches will wake up to a new Weyrwoman and an old Weyrleader, but with a new hole. |
Leave A Comment