Logs:I'd've Hanged You With It
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| RL Date: 19 February, 2010 |
| Who: Inviere, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del thought he'd sorted it all out. He was wrong. |
| Where: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 13, Turn 21 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions |
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| K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Rank certainly has its privileges, and among them are amply appointed apartments. The short flight of stairs from the Weyrleader's Complex opens up into the larger of two chambers, formally decorated and clearly designed to cater as much to important guests as the occupant's personal living. Old, but obviously expensive, llama wool rugs dyed blue-and-black cover the stone floor, leading towards the second chamber, the stairs, and the rush-filled dragon couch and ledge beyond it. A formal seating arrangement - a sofa and chairs, all blue-and-black - sits around a large, tiled fireplace, whilst along the other wall, a finely made, if now somewhat antique, desk sits between a bookshelf and a tall cupboard to which tack-hooks have been attached, riding gear arranged neatly inside. Two tapestries hung from the high walls depict overdone splendour for High Reaches Weyr, one a long view of the snow-covered bowl, and the other a hazy impressionist piece of dragons flaming over a springtime countryside. The inner weyr, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area, is smaller and cosier and distinctly less ostentatious. 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. Much of the weyr is still breakfasting, early morning workers already hard at work while others have some leisure time before the day properly commences. K'del's still at home, still padding around his weyr in socked feet as he gets himself ready for the day; the remains of his breakfast are sitting on his desk, and every so often, he heads that way to pick up another piece of bread, of fruit, a sip of klah. The sound of booted heels climbing the stairs would be a fair warning if K'del's paying attention; but if not, Inviere is abruptly in the doorway -- entranceway? -- with nary a knock. "Weyrleader," she calls in, low. And, to be safe: "K'del." Whatever is on the Weyrleader's mind this fine morning, it's got him distracted enough that he doesn't /seem/ to register Inviere's approach until there she is, calling in. He swings about on one heel - standing just off the rug makes this oh-so-easy given the polished stone floor - looking surprised, and then more surprised still as, presumably, he registers his visitor. "Come in?" Pause. And then, "Can I do something for you?" Inviere enters decisively, but trailing a cloud of palpable apprehension. She looks as if she hasn't slept much -- in fact, she looks like she might still have on some of yesterday's makeup, smudged and grey around her eyes, filling in the bags and the first lines of age. But her voice, though solemn, is clear, and runs a simple scale of determined notes: "I have something for you." A pause. "...not FOR you. For me. But you should see it." No, she amends, "You need to see it." K'del's expression is appraising, and despite his state of relative undress - at least, shirt untucked, no shoes, hair not combed - he shifts fairly instantly into a more professional demeanour. Nonetheless, his first verbal response after all of this is an uncertain "Huh?" It's followed fairly quickly by a, "Er-- show me? What's up?" as he takes a few steps forward towards her. Inviere withdraws a twice-folded letter from her pocket, demurely holds it out between pointer and middle fingers. Beneath half-lowered brows, her tired eyes seek his. "My sister," she says, "wrote me a letter a few days ago. It contains some news from Balen Hold." She clears her throat. "You probably don't know I was engaged to Balen's heir-apparent." 'Balen' sends a sharply inhaled breath through K'del's teeth, one that gets exhaled again as he reaches out a wary hand to take the letter, unfolding it once, twice. His gaze lifts to meet Inviere's for a long moment of silence that rapidly betrays his feelings on this; then, finally, he lowers it towards the letter, and reads. Silently. The elegant, practiced script does little to hide the smarm, the satisfaction, in this bit of news: Ezalea has gone home, of course, and though it didn't happen as soon as K'del had feared, it DID happen: the details have been slipped, the jig is up. The Holders, sensing their opportunity to re-assert themselves on the Reaches, have decided to keep the news to themselves -- but what Balen knows, Tillek knows; and if Tillek knows, /everyone/ does. Inviere is still, as he reads, waiting for a signal, a chance to explain. It's pretty obvious, the moment when K'del stops reading: it's as though a shadow has crossed over his face, rendering his expression unreadable in detail, but obvious in broadstrokes. His sigh, too, says a lot; he lifts his gaze, slowly, in the wake of it, still silent, but watching Inviere, now. Inviere holds her hands out, palm-up, in surrender and apology. "I don't know what, exactly, they're going to do with it. But it's a good weapon. They'll use it. They really hate you." She leans on this last phrase, loads it to the brim with significance: I understand them. But, in spite of it, "I was going to use it, too. But I..." She struggles, embarrassed, and presses four fingers to one closed eye. "Whatever. I decided you should know." "And they probably have the right to, whatever we've tried to do to smooth things over," says K'del, betraying, without thinking, that the weyr hasn't entirely sat on their hands and pretended nothing happened. He pauses, though, after that, shifting the cant of his head so that he can consider Inviere from an angle. Finally, he says, quietly, "Appreciate you coming to tell me, Inviere. Know you didn't have to. That--" But it goes unspoken, the rest of it. He bobs his head, instead, punctuating the end of his words. Inviere isn't much of a sloucher, but with her sigh comes a literal, if tentative deflation: the weight is off her shoulders, but maybe not off her conscience. "I don't-- it's not your fault." Well. "Not ALL your fault." Whether she means the Weyr or just him, K'del, is left open for interpretation. "Don't thank me," she says. "A month ago, a seven ago-- two nights ago, I'd've hanged you with it. Both of you." Okay, mostly Tiriana. "But I hope it helps, in any case. Though I don't know how." Frowning, K'del asks, his voice quiet and inclined more towards 'gentle' than 'professional', "Two nights ago. What changed, Inviere? Though the point remains: you did tell me. To your credit." The rest? He can take it. It doesn't even seem to make him react more than the faintest twitch of one eye. Inviere smiles slowly, privately. "Last night, actually." And as to what, why: from her pocket, she pulls a white cord, brand new. She radiates embarrassment. K'del? He stares. His eyes flicker open-and-shut uncertainly. And then, with a breath, "Ah." A knowing kind of 'ah', too. "Congratulations, then." Inviere doesn't do "vulnerable" well, and quickly stashes the cord back in its hiding place. "I know, I know." She rubs one hand over the opposite arm, at a loss. Then, abruptly, eyes narrowing, "Who rides Vrianth?" If an explanation is required, she gives it in haste: "I never got her name." "Meant that sincerely," notes K'del, busying his hands with finally tucking his shirt in, getting back to the business of the day. "Good clutch. Lots of eggs. Good dragons to hatch. Leova." There's no pause, which makes the name seem connected to the previous thought somehow; he clarifies after a moment, explaining, "Leova is Vrianth's." Belongs to: there's a sense of that, in his words. Inviere revives her smile, eyes following his hands' progress along his shirt and waist and such. "Thanks," she says, for all of it. Sensing the close, the next phase of the day, she offers him an out: "I guess I should go. Lots of new chores to do." Just... one last thing. "How will Tiriana take it? What will you do?" Okay, two last things. K'del's low nod comes with a smile: she's welcome. Of course. His expression shades more rueful as she continues, though, bypassing her out more likely out of a need to answer questions than an unwillingness to use it. "Think Tiriana's reaction'll pretty much be the obvious one. She's not very subtle." Beat. "As to the other? Not sure, yet. Work something out." It's possible that there's a kind of apologetic glance accompanying that, as though he's got something in mind, but no, sharing it with just anyone, no matter how helpful, is not on the cards. Inviere nods, sobering. "Well," she says after a minute's brief passage, "let me know if there's anything I can do. She," her sister, "thinks I'm going to help, that I'll want this, but--" Her shoulders rise. But she's past that now. "I will," promises K'del, nodding. "Really do appreciate you telling me, Inviere. It--" Pause. Hesitation. "Makes a difference." Inviere clears her throat. "Well," she says, one corner of her mouth lifting up towards her eyes, "you know me. Always a team player." That makes K'del laugh, merrily, amusement reaching all the way to his eyes. "Always," he agrees. And then, humour fading out; "Guess I ought to get back to my morning." Inviere bobs her head, finger-combs her hair out of her eyes. "Likewise. Good morning, Weyrleader." And, more importantly, "Good luck." She turns, she goes. |
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