Logs:Motives
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| RL Date: 9 November, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Brieli and Iesaryth request Leova and Vrianth's help. Suspicions are discussed, and more are created! |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 3, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, B'sil/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions |
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| The ocean is never far from the minds of the Weyr's dragons, these days - attempting to soothe and comfort in this time, despite stormy skies and high waves. It's a few days past the loss, past Ysavaeth, when the water trickles over Vrianth way, mindful of how sharp energy might transfer through. No killing fish thoughts, not when there's so many, so active. « Vrianth. » The gold is polite in request, as always. « We need your thoughts. » Yours, as in yours and your rider's both, though the green need not come to her, for all that her rider must find Iesaryth's. There's an image of the council chambers, a dark figure standing over the table. (Iesaryth to Vrianth) These days. Five short days. Long enough for many to be able to breathe more clearly, more deeply, away from Ysavaeth's suffocating sense that she was queen: that sense that persuaded others, who unwittingly persuaded others until, mostly, that was just the way it was. It's unsettling now. Cadejoth is absent, the fine chains thinning. With his refusal, there's no one to look to. No one who innately triggers that sense of rightness and association, for all that Aristath at least is there. The queens are there. The compass spins and spins and spins. Yet, unsettling as it can be, some would rather not now be swamped, nor sunstruck, nor made to breathe in smoke until they have to inhale. Still: that water trickles in Vrianth's direction, not over the green herself, and doesn't trigger prickliness. Rather, it's a smooth flow of energy that runs deeper than pure speed, naming names, « Ie-saryth. Do you. Which of them do you 'need'? » Would she care for the aggravation that comes with a two-year-old human, tired and sensing just how strung-out her parents are, and refusing to go to a less-familiar bed? For the deliberate clamping down on that aggravation, mostly, lest it be voiced? Perhaps her rider would welcome this as a rescue. Certainly Vrianth does. Vrianth is, tonight, agreeable. It might take a little while. It won't be long. Though it may seem long, for the greenrider who has to extricate herself, who has to apologize until at last with Vrianth's aid she enters those chambers, glowbasket in hand. (Must is such a strong word. But in this, their interests align.) (Vrianth to Iesaryth) There's a certain relief there in the way water can too flow more freely; there's the image of a net, a cage over the Weyr, trapping the trickle and wash, claiming. Iesaryth is her own dragon, her own queen and it infuriates her even in retrospect. Though there's little of Ysavaeth's suffocating influence over Iesaryth either - perhaps, for some reason, unnecessary. There's much to interest Vrianth here, but the gold would sooner have the green's quick wit set to the puzzle they've been given. In the evening, there's glows aplenty in the chambers, lighting the table Brieli stands over, tall and purposeful. There's a bolt of some sort of fabric draped over it, notes pinned to it, some color coded, some not, some connected by threads. When she hears steps, sees the extra light, "Iesaryth thinks Vrianth might help. And I think the same of you." A pause, then looking over at Leova, "I can't explain the blood. Under her nail." Even the image hisses like static, a bare moment before the triggered reflex's abruptly shut down, a switch flipped. Still: she can see if any of the cords are still there after all, increasingly dry and crackling, the sort of thing that might be flamed out of existence. Cleaning up, if not precisely maintenance. Her rider, for all that the cavern is so well-lit, keeps the basket with her as she approaches. She's shorter than Brieli. Older. More weatherworn. When amber eyes catch the light, as she looks back, they have an unfamiliar greener quality. 'Blood': the greenrider shuts her eyes so momentarily, and yet when they reopen, they're narrower. She doesn't dispute that she'd heard what the healers had said. Rather, deliberate: "Defending herself, could be. Though I'd think it would be more than one. Not that she couldn't have had a hangnail, or been picking at something else." There's a certain appreciation for the idea of burning, not the kind of smoky burn that her sister-gold creates, but the quick hiss and destruction of lightning striking. Efficient. And who knows what chains remain, even with Cadejoth away. Iesaryth's rider looks tired, like maybe blood is all she can see of late, but who would blame her for not sleeping? Slowly, "I'd have thought it was more then one as well. It's odd." A soft laugh, before, "What isn't. She was poisoned, Leova. The tea. Like you thought." She touches a note, something about the kitchens. "I can't figure out who would... do this over ideas." Despite the guard, apparently she's not buying the serial goldrider killer theory. That's the sort of appreciation Vrianth can appreciate. She'll even take the lightning's afterimage back with her, use it to warm herself on her ledge. Hers. Not that she's not within range, should her rider need her: she won't fall asleep. "Maybe she was drawing with it," Leova says more wryly this time. "See anyone with scratches walking around, where it wasn't just some teenage breakout? And it was you who said to keep the food and such." But. She leans over the table, looking. Doesn't touch. "Who said it had anything just to do with ideas? Ideas written up as ideas, maybe some harper gets her journeyman's knot for it, that's one thing. She was messing with people's lives." There's too much happening for Iesaryth to sleep sometimes, of late - too many images borne on the storm, too large a school of silvery swimming ideas and thoughts. There's something she's been musing over the last days, over and above the layout on the table. There's sense more than image of Arekoth; though she knows the brown, perhaps it's not well enough yet because: « Do you trust him? » If Vrianth trusts anyone, she knows her rider rarely does. With a wrinkle of her nose, Brieli asks rhetorically, "Could you imagine?" There's lots to look at, and the goldrider is kind enough to give the grand tour: "The center is us, right here. That's Monaco, that's Igen, Telgar, and all the other Weyrs are there, because they don't seem to be as involved. I haven't bothered with the Crafters, though I don't know if that's a mistake." Glancing sidelong at Leova, "I can't think of any other reason to harm her." That doesn't ring entirely true, but; "It seemed the most likely one. Given... everything." A pause, before; "Possibly giving people agency is messing with their lives?" She doesn't entirely get it, but she wants to - wants to hear what the other, hopefully wiser, woman thinks. Silvery and swimming, those ideas call out for pinging, to see what bounces back. Vrianth restrains herself for now, to this thought. That vision. Arekoth? « That one goes for what he wants. » It's hardly condemnation, instead lit by bright sparks here and there about the sharp edges. Does that answer part of what Iesaryth's looking for? She waits, fine dark tendrils of energy coursing below the visible spectrum, sensing. Her rider grips the side of the table as she looks over it, but she's testing. The table doesn't move, as it hadn't moved before, back during Satiet's rule: not without deliberate effort, at least. She can lean on it, and does, and it stays where it's always been. She's also got a nod for the Weyrs' positioning. For the Crafts' absence. A sudden sideways glance for that odd tone of Brieli's, that lingers even after she ameliorates it. She doesn't speak until, finally and with due consideration, "Don't know as I'd call it that. But. People count on doing things the way they've always done, especially older folks who already put their lives into a place. If that's going to be mucked with, generally helps to demonstrate you know what you're doing, first. That you have a care for the place the way it is." If her mouth turns up at one corner, it's fractional. "Not that I'd kill her over it, mind." If that's what Brieli might wonder. "Not my place." Iesaryth's fish are always there, whether deeper below, or on the surface, snapping for crumbs and bugs that skim the surface. As for Arekoth, Vrianth's response seems to answer what she's looking for, though, she wonders, confirms, « Hunter. » That seems right, seems helpful to the gold, who will share, though confidentially, that Arekoth watches Svissath, thinks something is not-right. But then, Brieli always thinks that, and sometimes is just being paranoid. Brieli herself steps back from the table to let Leova look it over - it's not like the whole thing isn't branded into her brain at this point. Perhaps that's what she's been doing in here - just staring at it, hoping for insight. That sudden glance has the goldrider's expression shifting to something more neutral - nothing to see here - and she allows the greenrider time to think. Once she's listened, sobered over something in there, she says, "Perhaps I shouldn't have been encouraging, then. It came from wanting to make things better, but... I can see how that might not be obvious to people that didn't know her." Her own lips quirk, clearly amused by dark humor. "I wonder if someone else thought it was. Can you think of anyone here that would? Or is this from the outside?" Vrianth does like confidences, that's tangible. Only, « Do not count on him hunting only what you wish, Iesaryth. » Or, perhaps, count on him not. She does not herself pounce on the image of Svissath, sticky Svissath, whom her clutchmate chose. Those diagrams, though, she'd toy with those if she could. Leova, by contrast, does not touch. Neither does she look more searchingly at Brieli when her expression shaded neutral. "Encouraging's fine. Wanting to make things better, that's more than fine. Learning to do it smart, that's best of all," and by her tone, a reflection more on Iolene than the goldrider currently at hand. More importantly to the here and now, "Couldn't say, one way or another. Could be from the outside. Anyone who wanted the place upset, hm?" Though Brieli's sitll in her peripheral vision, her demeanor holds nothing of suspicion. "Our Holds, possibly. Another Weyr, who'd warn off anyone following her example... Fort would have been in the mix, not that long ago, recall." There's appreciation for that too, that caution; Iesaryth has few things to find, but for in her depths, but she's always been protective and private about her rider. And as for those diagrams, she'll give Vrianth a little tour of her own, shuffling through the information quickly - it's something she's been trying to sort out, but the why is confusing to her, still. Apparently she hasn't been told, or accepted, the fact that they may never know. And wouldn't taking on the investigation personally be a perfect way to deflect suspicion? Even so, Brieli doesn't show any concern about people thinking she's behind it, not that she's showing. Lips pursing again, "It's done now, I suppose." Her tone isn't certain on that, as she tilts her head to the side, then moves in to separate out any notes on Fort from the others. "The Holds. It's possible. I... It's hard to see all the motives. But I feel like no one will feel... secure until we know." There's a beat, then wryly, "Though I admit, if someone was found and I were on the outside, I might just think we pinned it on someone, anyone to feel safe." Something to be protective and private about, then. Well, Vrianth can understand that. She looks towards the information even more searchingly than does her rider, whose gaze has risen to the glows that light the ceiling, lingering out of focus there. "No doubt people will," Leova says finally. "Dragons can sense the truth, at least. If they choose. But would they. Even so, some people will talk. But at least we'd know. And if we knew, knew, so should the other Weyrs, at the very least." Even now, there's no comment on Fort being moved. "I hope it's someone to where it was personal. I can't imagine that it could have been a rider. But 'hoping don't make it so,'" that said with the lingering air of a quote. "At least," and she turns her head toward Brieli, "it's not Lujayn." Iesaryth leaves it to Vrianth; she's been over it and over it again. "Can they," wonders Brieli, who apparently hasn't heard of that. And seems a little curious. "I know Iesaryth can make dragons speak, but she's always reluctant to invade in that way. Well, unless there's something she just steals outright." There's a trace of a smile for that, before she steps back again, having made a little section for Fort. She even explains, "Just in case. And... yes. I suppose that news would travel." She's still uncertain, though it's settled about her more generally; for Leova's last, she just shudders. "I hope it isn't a rider and is personal. I hope... I hope it's not difficult. I don't want to see anyone else dead, and I won't be responsible for condemning them." Though quiet, she actually seems sure of that. "But hoping doesn't make it so, no." She looks the whole thing over, then sighs heavily, her exhaustion clear. "We'd just like you to think about it, if you can. Come in here, see what makes sense, what doesn't. We need to know, no matter what the answer." "I think so," and it has the quiet ring of belief. "What people think, what they feel is true. If they want. And in the meantime you understand, I think, that most of us don't care to be made to do anything," and the way Leova says that is equally dry, on the surface, yet underscored by some deeper inflection. "Anyhow. I'll do that, since you ask. And if you won't condemn whoever it is to what they've earned, no doubt one of the others will." She reaches down, adjusts a piece infinitesimally, her hand lingering there before she lifts it. "It sounds as though you could use some sleep. Go. I won't disrupt this, though if you'd rather visitors be watched, I understand that too. Just." Amber eyes lift, now. "Watch your guards, when you have space in your head to do it. They have things they want, too." "I've lost my taste for vengeance, it feels like. I would have thought I'd want to even the score, but. So much death. And I know that there's been a willingness here to condemn people for less, but I'm not doing it. And the others doing that, it doesn't absolve me of anything. More people can die when just one person is killed - we're dealing with how out-of-balance that makes a people. At least..." Brieli trails off - perhaps she's said too much - and just shrugs. With another quirk of her mouth, she admits quietly, "I worry about Hraedhyth." Maybe less the gold than her rider, how she seems reluctant to pull her back. There's one of those blank spots in conversation due to the lack of sleep, as she stares at the puzzle before them, then; "I can't sleep. But I can try. It's hard not to see." She looks up to meet those amber eyes; firmly, "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't w-- need your help. And... thank you. There's always an angle, isn't there." That's said a bit tiredly too, even as she turns to go. Apparently, she figures Leova's angle is fairly benign. Fairly. "Thank Vrianth for me as well." Her taste for vengeance. Her need to even the score. There's something about Leova's lean that grows suddenly, terribly intent: perhaps something about the muscles of her hand, her throat. More people can die. But it slips away, or is put aside. All she says is, "Details for another day, hm? It doesn't sound as the exiles much liked being exiled either." The greenrider doesn't linger, rounding the table, to change that more literal angle rather than to leave. "Want to help," she says, finally. "I'll thank her. And if 'want' is what it is, you can say that, I appreciate your doing what you can. No doubt Delifa has some sleep potion or other, too." If Brieli trusts it. Leova seems to. And there's a by-now-distant glitter from Vrianth: she heard. She'll stay for some time, after the other woman finally goes, before returning to weyr and hearth and a child who just may have been convinced to sleep at last. Brieli might be worried, might not depending on how tired she is - given how cautious she usually is with her words (around Leova, in particular?), it's quite an admission. Maybe she was just thinking to herself. "I was going to say that, 'want'. But I need help, and I'm not going to deny it. I don't want to be doing this." As for Delifa, she just nods on her way out. The goldrider might be too paranoid to go to the infirmary just yet, but she has to sleep eventually, right? And wordlessly, Iesaryth sends appreciation - for the green and rider both. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Fri, 09 Nov 2012 21:19:17 GMT.
<
Brieli and Leova... ACE DETECTIVES~.
Seriously. All four of their brains together is a terribly beautiful thing to behold.
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Fri, 09 Nov 2012 21:39:01 GMT.
< I actually just realized, after reading that over, that I think Bri is just doing what she wasn't old enough to do when her father was killed. She can make sure the same things don't happen here - who knows how many people might actually be involved in the murder?
WEIRD
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