Logs:Mourning in Private
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| RL Date: 1 June, 2011 |
| Who: Riorde, Tomaeran |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tom is, at turns, a smirking bastard, and kind of pathetic and sad. |
| Where: Cliffs, Western Island |
| When: Day 2, Month 12, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
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| The thing about autumn on the islands is that... well, it's often not very safe to be up on the cliffs, even if you are very sure-footed. This afternoon's rainstorm came on pretty suddenly (unless you happened to listen to Shimana, of course), and has apparently left Tom somewhat stranded: he's sitting atop the stone cairn, drenched to the skin, and staring out over the mist-shrouded vista. The rain has mostly stopped by now, at least, though; if he was careful, it probably wouldn't be too hard to get back down, now. Riorde carefully picks her way up the path, keeping her eyes on her footing. It's easier going up than down when it's slippery and wet, and she leans forward into the slope until finally reaching the top. Only then does the young woman lift her eyes and look around. "Oh," she says unnecessarily, seeing Tomaeran, "it's you." The sound of footsteps has Tom turning hurriedly: he's not alone and trapped anymore! But his face visibly tightens when he catches sight of Riorde, and her words do little to ease that unhappy expression. Pompously, "It is, indeed, /me/. And who better to find up here, indeed?" He smirks; after weeks of laying low and keeping quiet, after the death of his sister, his attitude has recently returned with a vengeance. "Yes," Riorde says without it sounding like agreement. "Who better." Two can play the attitude-game, and her tone is laced through with thick, disdainful sarcasm. She shoves her hands under her armpits to keep them warm and scans the horizon, looking for the cloud cover coming and going. The sarcasm makes Tom snort and roll his eyes; he aims a disdainful glance at Riorde, before shaking his head. "Your attitude needs work," he tells her, loftily, as though the same has never been said to him, ever. He stands, now, letting water drip down his legs. And arms. Now the girl turns towards Tom, widening her eyes with the semblance of surprise. "Really?" Riorde looks at him a moment before summarily turning away. When she speaks again, it's without looking at him, and although she loses the sarcasm, nothing about her is particularly friendly. "Because you're so perfect." "There's nothing wrong with me," insists Tom, meeting Riorde's surprise - and the way she turns away - with apparent equanimity. "And I was being perfectly friendly up until you-- /and/ you ruined my peace and quiet. Can't a man have some alone time to mourn in private?" His hands seek his hips, and he glowers at her; he's apparently quite serious. "Shall I start listing?" Riorde mutters, but it's to herself and the wind snatches away her low words. Louder, "Friendly?" But then he has to go and mention Kima, and it accomplishes what the glower does not; the younger woman can't help but look guilty. "Sorry," she allows, grudgingly. "I just wanted a look. I won't bother you." She takes a further step away as if the few inches covered makes all the difference. Tomaeran doesn't seem bothered by the fact that he's just used his sister's death for his own purposes: he looks genuinely smug, and steps off towards the cliff in the opposite direction. "Fine," he tells her, raising his own voice to make sure it can be heard now that they are further apart. "I'm glad you understand. A man--" can trail off, and attempt to milk his sister's death for all its worth? Riorde may not have the slightest respect for Tom, but she has it for the dead. Even as she catches his smugness in a quick glance back, Riorde minds her manners and minds her tongue. She resolutely looks away as if that will make Tomaeran go away too, and though she's still listening affects not to be. Tomaeran is not used, it seems, to not getting responses to what he says. He glances sidelong and Riorde, and even though he likely can't actually tell whether she's listening or not, continues as if she is. "A man has it hard. Can't be seen to be soft - mourning too much. Can't be like my mother. But you can't help but look out over all this, and-- Well." Actually, this bit sounds genuine: his voice is quieter, somehow, despite the fact he's having to keep it relatively loud to be heard over the wind. Riorde swivels ever so slightly towards Tomaeran as he continues to speak, not open but at least opening. Still gazing out, she keeps her own council even after he's spoken, judging what he says now against what she knows of him. At last, a reply: Riorde doesn't tell him cliches- that time heals all wounds, that he's allowed to mourn. Instead, what she says in a tight, low tone is, "She used to be my friend too." "Yeah, but she was /my/ sister." Not even in this can Tom stand to be beaten, apparently: /his/ sister, /his/ grief, /his/. "And she's gone. You can have other friends." There's a hint of anger in his tone, now, and instead of smugness, a certain amount of superiority. He wins. "Yeah, I know." Riorde doesn't want to compete and consequently sounds tired, a subdued of her usual sharp self. "We were only really friends when we were kids." Her 'used to be' is farther in the past than the recent loss. It's a win, but not, apparently, a very satisfying one: Tom is silent for a long time before he admits, "We weren't as close as we used to be, either. Adulthood. Marriage. That kind of thing. It gets in the way." He's beginning to sound sulky, now. "Celadion was going to marry her. There were plans. It would've been a good match." "Still," Riorde starts, turning fact into silver lining, "you were her brother." She tires of looking at the view so familiar she could call it up behind closed eyes and now faces Tom. "He was?" Riorde hadn't heard and consequently sounds surprised. "He must -" Rather than sound cliched or simplistic, she stops herself. And considers Tom a moment. Stepping back towards the path, she states as unnecessarily as the remark she had opened with, "I'll go down now." As wet through as he is, Tom probably ought to be making a move, too - but he doesn't. "We'd talked about it," he confirms, idly, flicking a glance at Riorde without really seeming to look at her. "Good bye, then." At least he's not smirking. |
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