Logs:Melancholy

Melancholy
RL Date: 4 April, 2009
Who: Leova
Involves: High Reaches Weyr
Type: Vignette
What: Leova mopes like a mopey moping thing.
Where: HRW
When: Day 20, Month 5, Turn 19 (Interval 10)

Mentions: S'trun/Mentions, I'ro/Mentions, Sh'dor/Mentions, L'vae/Mentions, I'daur/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions, A'son/Mentions, Ralah/Mentions, F'rint/Mentions, Jasvie/Mentions, Persie/Mentions, Rhonda/Mentions, E'dre/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Jaeni/Mentions

OOC Notes: There are so many references to unpack in this, and here I'm just going to post it.


It was an old couch, big and heavy and strong. She thought it must have been made way back in the Pass, unless it was just the abuse of all those weyrlings that made it seem that way, but the crafters hadn't stinted the wood any. Didn't mean she couldn't still move it when she got the leverage. So she did: took all the cushions off, swept the insides, swept the floor, wiped down all the leather whether it needed it or not, shoved it back against the wall where it would have a view of Vrianth in her wallow instead of out over the lake. While Vrianth watched her, and she could feel the green's indulgent affection not just in her head but everywhere she moved, she put all the cushions back on. Folded the blankets, set them in a pile at one end. Swept the rest of the weyr, while she was at it, and then swept the resulting little pile right off the ledge in the spot that, she was pretty sure, wouldn't let the grit land on anyone else's. She had checked for anything important, first, but there wasn't any. In the inner weyr, with the fabric curtain hooked aside and the glass curtain still clinking softly from where she'd walked through it, she surveyed the scene. Tidy. Tidied. She'd invite them over tonight, ask S'trun before sweeps to let I'ro know. It was easier now that Sh'dor and L'vae could talk again. Talk more, anyhow. And it would be good to see them, just them, just the five of them. Later in the sevenday, she thought, she might drop by her cousins. Maybe by Nerat first, pick up some sweets for not-just-the-children. And Southern before that, something to trade, and she didn't mind climbing trees to do it, didn't think Veiran would mind autumn fruit from the old gone-wild orchard she'd found. Especially with her leaving more than what might be a fair share. And if all that didn't mean much time to actually talk at the cothold, well, she'd just have to come back later in the Turn. Sometime. Her cousins. And the boy ten Turns, already. She'd been staying with them then, could remember him newborn, wrinkled and slimy. Looked like his father, she'd awkwardly laughed. He hadn't so much as cried at first, not until her aunt had cleaned out his nose and rubbed his back, but then did he ever wail. Her cousin was so relieved, could about have lit up the cothold when he was placed in her arms. The girl was a Turn and a half younger. She'd moved on by then, and the letter with the news took a while to reach her, but pride stood out in every line. She hadn't heard of High Reaches' Day of Memories back then, but she kept that letter anyhow, in case she ever wanted to read it again. She has. She hasn't carved, not really, since he died. She's tried. There was another letter, only this one she hasn't reread at all. Leova, In life, we said little and understood much. In death, nothing should change, and yet a few things should be said. If only for my peace of mind. You were an unexpected friend and confidante that came at a time when I expected no one to fill those needs. I thank you for your confidences and your confidentiality. Satiet She hasn't wanted to smear the ink. In another life, she might have been glad Vrianth hadn't risen this time. Who knows, maybe even glad for the reason why. She isn't. Teonath and Satiet aside, most days, it's fine. Some days, it's like it should be, everything clicking, racing with the flow. Other days, even now, it feels stifling: thrown out of her natural cycle, clogged. Sexual constipation. The thought makes her laugh a little. On the other hand, some days, showing up for wing duty reminds her of cleaning up after a mare with the runs. Both ways, it's got to be done, and she doesn't get to complain. Even when it's messy. She'd have thought A'son had learned better by now. Apparently he hasn't. At least there's Ralah, who's been great, child ambushes aside. Most of the other blueriders. F'rint, poor man. S'trun, whom she could hug and then some, if he weren't her wingmate now. At least he still has that new girl: makes it all simpler. How long does brandy keep, anyhow? Maybe she could drop by Tillek, too. Jasvie would have the news, the comings and goings, but it seems like every time she visits, the babies have to nap or be changed or worse. It's not the same. Or Boll. Run off with Pers... Rhonda, it would have to be. Or even E'dre. But even with those helpful watchers, Vrianth still doesn't like leaving for long. Some days, she catches herself wishing Iovniath would just get it over with, if it can't be Rielsath after all. Get it done, for better or for worse. But she's pretty sure that, unlike when she and Louvaen and Jaeni and the rest were waiting for those eggs to hatch, it won't wind up being... being... well, she still doesn't have words. Just, there's only one Vrianth.

Logs:Melancholy

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