Logs:Liquid Courage
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| RL Date: 20 May, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and K'del try to talk it out.. until they talk too much. |
| When: Day 9, Month 11, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Cold. |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions, Ali/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Milani/Mentions, B'doran/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, Tevrane/Mentions, Edeline/Mentions, Aughan/Mentions, F'rain/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions, M'shal/Mentions, M'kris/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions, Teris/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: So right. So wrong. |
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| Shimmering, dappled light reaches out towards Cadejoth, extending in a gentle, if enthusiastic greeting. Roszadyth is pleased, even as she's asking, « Is yours in his weyr? Is he available? » Her sweetened tones are accompanied by the gentle swish of fabric and a lovely buoyancy that suggests great contentedness. (To Cadejoth from Roszadyth) To Roszadyth, Cadejoth, though surprised to hear from the young queen, is prompt in his answer. His thoughts are of skies and winds and currents of air; but his rider is, as he relates, safely on the ground. « He's available, » he confirms. « Are they going to yell at each other again? » A bubble of laughter that's not quite her own, that sounds, as oddly distorted as it is, like her rider's, answers the bronze's question. « No, » is doubly pleased. « Not today. » (To Cadejoth from Roszadyth) ... ok. Ok! Cadejoth is equally pleased by this; such good news! « He'll be waiting, then, » he reports back. (To Roszadyth from Cadejoth) Not ten minutes later, trekking from the direction of the lower caverns, and looking oddly suspicious with a big lump under that oversized coat of hers, comes Farideh. She walks directly to the stairs leading towards the Weyrleader's weyr, and only pauses on the threshold of the outer chamber; she glances back over her shoulder once, before taking tentative steps with. "I'm here," she announces, arms still crossed over her chest, hugging whatever she's hiding. "Are you decent? Should I wait here?" It's a good sign that she's not just barged into his weyr and made herself at home, that she's giving him the consideration of waiting for his approval. "You know me," comes K'del's reply. "Indecent at all times of the day or night." But he's not-- of course he's not. Instead, he comes to meet the weyrling at the door, gesturing exansively to invite her in. He's wearing big, wool-lined slippers rather than boots, but he's otherwise properly-- if not formally-- dressed, and holding a mug in one hand. Good signs leave his expression cautious, but not immediately irritated; it's a good start. "What can I do for you, Farideh?" "That's what the laundry says, anyway," Farideh replies, spritely, and sweeps past him into his weyr, giving his words little heed. She makes a show of glancing around, turning in a circle, walking backwards, until she comes to the furniture arrangement around the fireplace. It's there that she starts to unbutton her coat, even as she seats herself on one side of his sofa, and pulls out a bottle of-- something dark and amber; out of one of her pockets she even produces two small shot glasses. All of these she sets on the cushion next to her, before lifting eyes, and brows, to the Weyrleader. "Go ahead. Tell me everything," as she tosses her coat on the arm of the couch, "I'm listening." K'del is left standing at the door in Farideh's wake, watching from there as she pulls off her coat-- and reveals that bottle. He manages, at least, to keep his expression relatively impassive. "Pretty sure you're not allowed to get drunk," he comments, as he finally takes a step forward, loping, finally, towards the other end of the sofa. "This isn't--" Beat. "Why?" K'del presents a logical problem, but Farideh meets his doubts with a contemplative purse of her lips and a subtle shake of her head. "If I'm going to try to mend ways with you, and actually listen, I don't think I can do it completely sober. At least it's something." Her lips stretch into a wry smile and she pats the cushion across from her, turning so one leg is bent on the sofa and other is still hanging off; comfortable. "You said I don't listen to what you have to say. I want to know then who you are and why you do what you do, so-- tell me everything. From the beginning, if you please." It's almost possible to actually see the cogs turning in K'del's brain; it's his sigh, however, that finally seems to acknowledge consent. See, Farideh? He can break rules! He sinks to a seat, across from the weyrling, and inclines his head forward just once. "Fine," he says. "In the interests of actually being able to work together... fine." He sounds thrilled about it. "So... what do you mean by who I am? It'd be easier if you asked me questions." The weyrling doesn't appear to expect him to refuse, and when he sits, triumph briefly flashes over her face before being replaced by a slightly less smug smile. "If I ask you questions, then you might want to ask me questions, and I don't know if I'm ready for that," Farideh starts to uncap the liquor bottle, speaking slowly, "today." She glances between the bottle and his mug. "Do you want it in there, or do you prefer yours-- unadulterated?" Her voice is bland, her hand on the bottle still, while she waits for his answer. "No, I think I'll need it straight to get through this." K'del may or may not be serious about that; it's hard to tell from his expression. In either case, his mug gets set down, and then nudged forward towards the middle of the little table. "What if I promise not to ask questions? Today, we'll focus on me. Another time..." A shrug. "As long as you promise," Farideh concedes, her lips twitching with barely-concealed mirth. Both of the short glasses get filled, but she only picks up one, which she takes a dainty sip from, wrinkling her nose in obvious distaste. "I don't know how anyone could have a iking for this stuff--" She sighs, refocusing her attention on K'del. "Where are you from? Who are your parents? Did you always want to be a rider? A Weyrleader?" Doubtless, she's heard these answers before, but she seems keen on hearing them from him. K'del leans forward to take up his own glass, sipping without any of the displeasure Farideh shows. "It's an acquired taste," he says, with a shrug. "You're the one who brought it, though." It's after his second sip that he says, "No, definitely not. My parents grow grapes. I'm second youngest of nine, and all I wanted was to do something that no one else had. Went to Tillek, first, and then came here with the tithe train... just on twenty turns ago, now. Not sure what I intended, except that I wanted to prove myself, somehow, and then there was a clutch on the sands, and... after I was Searched, I firmly intended to Impress bronze. But Weyrleader? That was a distant thought. A 'maybe one day in the future' thing. But then Cadejoth caught Iovniath before I'd been graduated a turn, and..." The rest, as they say, is history. "It was the easiest thing to find, without drawing attention. As you said, I'm not supposed to be toting around large bottles of drink, hoping to get drunk beyond reason." Farideh takes another slow sip, but ultimately set her glass down where it was. She listens, like she came to do, and keeps what opinions she has, if any, to herself, for now. "How was that? Catching Iovniath, becoming Weyrleader, becoming Tiriana's Weyrleader?" Of the alcohol, K'del simply shrugs. "You could've assumed I had something-- if there's something on my shelf you prefer, go right ahead." There's a collection of bottles up there on the mantle; he nods towards it, now. "Anyway. I was seventeen, and Tiriana hated me; how do you think it was?" Beat. "That's not a real question, by the way. It was awful. But I was determined to do it right-- didn't want to be, forever, the boy Weyrleader who fucked everything up. But it was also satisfying, in a way. I really had done something no one else in my family had. Just... not how I wanted to. So mostly, just awful." Farideh ignores his suggestion and crosses one arm under her ribcage, the backs of her fingers serving as a resting place for her opposite elbow; her jaw falls against her newly-raised knuckles. "Do the weyrwomen of this Weyr often hate you?" is her next question, as she continues to study him, eyebrows lifted. "You were very young. I doubt you made all the right decisions then. Not that you make all of the right decisions now, but I'm sure you've learned." She pauses. "Do you regret it? Do you wish Cadejoth had never caught Iovniath? That time? Any of the times?" If anything, K'del is mildly amused, setting down his glass so that he can tick things off on his fingers. "Satiet didn't know me to hate me," he begins. "Tiriana, yes. Lujayn, no. Ezalea, no. Teris... mostly no. Iolene, no. Azaylia, no. Aishani, yes. And now the pair of you." Notably(?) he doesn't offer any conclusion on them. "No, I didn't make all the right decisoins. No one ever does, whatever they'll have you believe. We make decisions based on the information we have, but also gut instinct. You never know all the variables. I--" He drops both hands, now. "Sometimes, perhaps. But this is my life, and ultimately, I grew to love the work. It's hard to imagine things being any other way." Amusement lights up her eyes and curves her lips into an indulgent smile. "Isn't it unusual that a single Weyrleader has lasted through so many weyrwomen?" Farideh taps one finger against her chin. "I've heard that you've also loved a lot of women. Tell me about them. All of them," she intones faux-seriously, and reaches for her glass again. A recounting of the Weyrleader's love life, evidentially, calls for the whole shot, which she takes, with an exaggerated grimace after and a shudder. "I won't tell Southern's Weyrwoman," she adds, oh-so-helpfully. "Unusual? Probably." K'del frowns, his nose wrinkling, though it surely can't be because he's not ever considered this before. He doesn't, notably, make further comment on that subject. Instead, he reaches for his own glass, downing its contents before he'll answer that next question; sigh. "Been in love with? Milani, Iolene, Ali. Milani and I drifted apart after ten-ish turns of non-exclusivity. Iolene was murdered. Ali and I are still going strong. Don't imagine you want to hear about the countless women I simply slept with, in my younger days. Next question?" "Only three?" Farideh sounds surprised, but her expression is hardly readable, not when she's reaching for the bottle to refill her glass and gesturing for him to put his out so she can do the same. "Tell me one thing that you love, one thing you hate, and one thing you think you learned from each." It's a simple request, this one, and she doesn't hide the fact that she's silently laughing at him, when her eyes flick up from the liquor bottle. "I'm sure they each had a hand in making you what you are." K'del turns his head to look at Farideh in the wake of her surprise, though his expression is more amused. "The sordid tales of my past are often exaggerated," he says. "Only three." His glass is extended for refilling; he takes that time to consider. Her laughter doesn't seem to bother him-- he's taking it all quite seriously, thank you very much. "Milani and I have known each other since I was a kid of fifteen; she's a piece of my past, and always connected to me via our son. I love that, even now, we know each other so well. Hate that... shells, I don't know. That she left me, after Nik was born. She was sick, and she had to, but... nothing was ever the same after that. Learned how to love from her, though. From Iolene, I learned that love wasn't always enough. Hate that she lied to me. Loved... just her. And Ali..." He pauses. "I had hoped they were. One time they were tossing around in the kitchens that you won two green flights at once, and you can imagine what happened after that," Farideh says, not without some dryness and a bit of humor. She's quiet then, back to listening, and rolls her now-refilled glass between her fingers. His pause is met with upraised eyebrows and a question in her eyes, that she easily translates into, "I said I wouldn't tell her. Give me some credit for keeping secrets. Not that I've even met her-- yet." K'del's laughter is genuine; he shakes his head, mouth twitching. "Now that would be a sight," he says. But for her conclusion to his pause, he shakes his head. "No, I don't think you'd tell. It's just-- always more difficult to reflect on a present relationship than a past one. You gain perspective, over time. I love that Ali likes to take care of me. That she listens, and understands my work. Hate that we can't live and work together, except that I'm also not sure I'd want to work together as well. It feels like you'd never be able to turn it all off. Learned..." Another pause, his eyes closing. "To trust. To just be. To make things work." "Cadejoth did chase in Ysavaeth's flight, and caught, after he'd already caught Iovniath though," Farideh, so helpful again, reminds him. "That must have been something." She's not baiting him, not exactly, but she is obviously looking for his reactions, as well as his words. Her gaze doesn't leave his face, not even when his eyes close. "Have you? Do you trust Irianke, then? Do you trust me?" K'del winces, though it seems to be more in recollection than because of Farideh's words themselves. "Iovniath was long off the sands at that point, and she... never made Cadejoth feel wanted." Blue eyes lift to consider Farideh, watching for her reaction. "And Ysavaeth did. Ysavaeth drew him in. She pushed on him. Nonetheless, it wasn't precisely our finest hour." Pressing his lips together, he pauses for a moment, before saying, "Yes, I trust Irianke. You... trust takes time. It's not automatic." There's no sympathy for the Weyrleader, not even a glimmer of understanding. Instead, she's quite blunt. "You're not going to try to do that again, are you?" Farideh, for the first time, doesn't sound too amused. She regards him across the sofa, quiet for a time, while she considers his honest confession. In the end, she tips her head in acknowledgement. "I agree. It takes time, and more. I don't," she qualifies, "trust you. I don't know when I will. I'm trying to understand you, though I find it hard to forget or forgive some of the things you've done, that I've heard and read. I find you horribly pretentious, but--" But. "I know it will be better for us, for the Weyr, if I learn to, despite all that." "No," is firm. No, he's not going to try that again. K'del drains his glass, turning it within his hands afterwards, as he considers the rest of what Farideh has to say. "And there's the thing, isn't it? You've got twenty turns of my past in your head. I'm not the same person I was, twenty turns ago. Even ten turns ago. Five. We learn from everything we do. I'm still learning. Always will be. And," he meets her gaze squarely, "it's not like I find you especially appealing, either. But you're right; we need to learn. For the moment-- for the next turn or two at least-- we need to be able to work together. For High Reaches, a place both of us care about." "Do I? How do you know? I could be basing my dislike of you simply on the time I've spend in your company and the things I've seen with my own eyes." Farideh takes that appropriate moment to finish off what remains in her glass, her face scrunching again in dislike, but this time she doesn't complain as she sets her glass down and reaches for the bottle. "You've made that quite plain," she notes, of his mutual dislike of her. "But you also have to remember, while we're talking openly, that Irianke nor I am Tiriana, or Teris, or Azaylia, or Aishani, or even Ali. A lot of people think she's like Nimae, but I don't see it, and then-- you can't try to define us by those perimeters you're used to." She holds the bottle, like she's going to start pouring it, whether his glass is under it to catch the liquor stream or not. "The more you tell me what to do, the more I'm going to fight you, you realize." "You," points out K'del, "just said yourself that you can't forget or forgive things you've heard or read about in my past." He doesn't belabour the point, and instead extends his glass to be filled-- hastily. "No, you're none of those people. You're both yourselves. Irianke has been influenced by Nimae, just as you will have been influenced by Irianke, but you're all still yourselves. I'm not trying to define anyone. "Not trying to tell you what to do, Farideh. Only encouraging you to keep your mind open. If you'll remember, I liked you just fine, not so many months ago. And you didn't have a problem with me, as far as I could tell. But there's the thing: you don't have to like me. It'd be easier, if you did, but..." He shrugs. "All I care about is that we can work, productively, as a team. My priority is High Reaches, not my ego." "Did I?" Farideh looks perplexed for a moment, bottle hovering over his glass, the steady pour of liquor halting, but she shrugs it off and tops off his shot. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters, because I'm judging you on a day to day basis. I thought you were fine, but you--" She frowns, slanting him a look beneath furrowed brow. "You're revulsion for holders is disheartening. Your lack of a vision." One finger taps her glass before she drinks, to the midway point. "It doesn't seem like it-- that your priority isn't your ego." She pauses, casting a bleary-eyed look at him over the rim of her glass, which she's still holding up at chin-level. "How would you feel if I had an affair with F'rain?" "I was a holder," points out K'del, bewildered. "And I'm not revulsed by them. I don't hate them. I'm occasionally wary based on our long and complicated histories, but I don't hate them, shells." He seems genuinely perplexed by this-- utterly bowled over by the very idea. "I don't care if you have an affair with F'rain. What I do in my personal time is up to me. I work long hours. I work even when I'm there. But I'm not allowed to have a family? To love someone? Is Irianke not allowed to have her affairs?" Careful contemplation takes over Farideh's features, her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed. "Tell me then what you think of Lord Devaki, Lady Edeline, Lady Tevrane, and Lord Aughan." She wants him to give her those details, on the spot! "I never said you weren't allowed, but it's embarrassing from a Weyrwoman's perspective. Are you saying you can't find a nice, family-friendly, child-bearing woman in our own Weyr? One of the lower cavern women? One of your riders? I'm sure there's at least one that can occupy your time. And I," she says, "would never have an affair with another Weyr's leader. It's--" She pauses, as if hesitating, but the liquor still flows free and inhibitions are quickly falling by the wayside. "Tactless." "Farideh," says K'del, steadily. "You don't get to decide who anyone else loves. Cadejoth does not chase in Isyath's flights, and I do not interfere in Southern's affairs; nor does she interfere in ours. Shall I give you a list of whom you're allowed to love? Only a certain kind of man, with a certain kind of job, from a certain place." Despite the seriousness of those words, he very easily moves on to the other topic: "Devaki is an ass who abandons his Hold for months at a time. Edeline has an incredible political mind and I wish relations between our weyrs were better; they're not, and it leaves me hesitant about her motivations towards us. I've nothing but respect for Tevrane, who says what she means, and gets things done. Aughan is another smooth political mover, but we've gained an understanding, over the turns. I respect him: I know he'll always do what is best for his hold, just as I will always do what is best for High Reaches, to the best of my abilities. Means, though, that he'll throw us over in an instant if he wishes. So be it." "K'del," Farideh mimics, "You could try, but I have higher standards than even you could fathom. I wouldn't with my Weyrleader, a wingleader, no Lord Holders, no heirs, no weyleaders of any other Weyr. There are things, unspoken things-- you don't care what people think? What they say? About you? About her? About the Weyrwoman? Not Irianke, but the other one--" Her face pinches, and just as suddenly relaxes. "And what do they think of you?" "My relationship with Ali doesn't interefere with my ability to do my job," says K'del. "If you wish to think poorly of me for it, that's your choice. Most people don't give a flying fuck who I sleep with; nor should they. They don't care that Irianke has a different man in her weyr every night," a slight exaggeration. "and I certainly don't. We give a shell of a lot to this job, these jobs. But I won't give everything, not when it simply isn't relevant. This is a Weyr." Things have obviously taken a turn for the dramatic, and it's likely to only get worse from here. Even with her original plan to listen and understand, Farideh doesn't seem bothered by where their discussion has gone. "That's from your perspective. Do you want me to go ask around? Collect a sample of answers from weyrfolk that I've asked that question to? I can, unless you're scared to know how people really think of you," she suggests. "Irianke can sleep with whom she wants. You can sleep with whom you want. But you're not just sleeping with Southern's Weyrwoman, are you?" She sighs dramatically and shifts, her back pressed into the cushions of his couch, now. "Does that absolve of us from acting idiotically? By your own words, I could go screw F'rain, and M'kris, and M'shal, and B'doran, and Aughan and Devaki too, and no one should ever accuse me of being tasteless," her head turning towards K'del, expectant. That is the point at which K'del stands, knocking back the last of his drink and setting the glass down upon the table. "Do you think I don't talk to people? Farideh. Just... just stop." He's not drunk, not even a little bit, and now he turns to pace-- even steps. "I think you should go. It's obvious you're so far down your hole of judgement you don't care about anything else. There will always be people who have a problem with my loving someone outside of this Weyr. I accept that. But I will not ever expect anyone to choose between family and work. I will not. Go, Farideh. Just go. You can not like my relationship, but that is your problem, and not mine, until the day it interferes with my ability to do my job." "What happened to trying to get along?" Farideh asks, deadpan. She does however scoot forward and stand, giving the bottle a last, lingering look. "I'll take that as your approval for me to sleep with every man on Pern, then." She grabs her coat, flinging it over her arm, and lifts her shot glass in toast to him, trying to side-step away at the same time; lest she actually touch him, gross! "Here's to understanding one another." And then she's ambling for the exit. "Sleep with whomever you like! I really couldn't give a damn." The rest K'del ignores; he's too irritated now-- irritated, rather than angry-- to form words. No doubt the couch will get a good, solid kick after she's gone. |
Comments
Edyis (23:34, 20 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
Wow. Poor K'del.
Alida (03:56, 21 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
Oh man...these two! *gigglefits* Poor both of them, though Farideh certain does make it much more difficult.
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