Logs:Not So Very Bad
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 14 November, 2011 |
| Who: K'del, Riorde |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: One-time enemies find sympathy. Riorde's jealous. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 3, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Heavy rain in the middle of winter only means that the temperature is only a few degrees above freezing; it's more miserable for the soaking torrents. |
| Mentions: E'gin/Mentions, Emme/Mentions |
  |
| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. This late afternoon, Riorde's sought only her own company and that of a book. She's picked what she deems the most comfortable chair of the lot arranged around the small cavern and dragged another seat directly in front of it. With her boots set beside the hearth to dry, the weyrling's snuggled deep into one chair with her feet propped up on the other and a mug of klah kept upright between her legs. Avalanche has been drilling this afternoon, rain or no rain, and although K'del has stripped off most of his outer clothing before he makes it into the Nighthearth, he's still visibly damp, his hair flat and dark against his skull. The Weyrleader pays little attention to other occupants of the hearth, focusing instead upon pouring himself a mug of klah, whilst warming the front of his body. He lets out a sigh, one rich with contentment. Motion in the corner of Riorde's eye catches her attention. She looks up long enough to identify K'del at the hearth, then back down at the words on the page. But they don't hold her gaze for long -- back up again floats her regard, then down again (she will read; she'll force herself to read) and then, finally, up to stay. Her book stays open on her lap as she considers K'del, expression assuming a sort of watchful, almost wary expectancy. It takes a minute or two, but finally, K'del turns himself around, letting the hearth warm his back, instead. In that motion, his wandering gaze catches upon Riorde; her expectancy is met with raised eyebrows, and a crooked, not-quite-there smile that may well be intended as greeting. Lightly, then: "Interesting book?" Even though she's been staring at him, Riorde looks startled when she's addressed. "It's okay," she says, but lets the book fall flat so that the spine's concealed -- though even at a distance, it's easily visible that the writing on the pages, now face up, is interspersed with drawings: a book about formations. "Sorry," Riorde goes on, with a little smile of her own, embarrassed, "I was just thinking of--" A hitch, as she changes the direction of her sentence into something innocuous and likely false. "--getting another cup of klah." K'del must still be damp, and yet, he takes half a step away from the hearth before drawing to a halt again. "Let me," he says, presumably in answer to her last thought, turning almost immediately to do just that: one mug of klah, coming up. Glancing over his shoulder, the Weyrleader adds, "It's fine, anyway. This part of weyrlinghood, plenty to think about, I guess. Know there was for me, anyway. How is it all going?" He's polite, if not overly warm. "Oh - thanks." Another small pause, this time from the slightly uncomfortable surprise of having the Weyrleader fetch her klah. "I've got a mug," she adds, but a little too late for it to be refilled when there's another on the way. Riorde slides her legs off the second chair she's appropriated and sticks her mostly-empty mug down at the foot of her seat. "It's okay," is turning into her standard answer, even more lackluster and tepid with its repetition. "We're with Frostbite this week." It doesn't seem to bother K'del that, in his haste, he's created more work for the kitchen staff - indeed, he barely seems to register that already-present mug, despite Riorde's words. He delivers the new one to the brownrider, and then draws the chair her feet were on backwards, so that he can sit in it at a relative distance. Wrapping both hands about his own mug, he studies her, finally giving a short, sharp nod. "And?" Beat. "Seem like a wing you'd be interested in flying with?" "Thanks," Riorde says another time, tipping forward as she takes the mug at the rim. She shifts, pulling her feet up and tucking them off to one side. "Maybe," she says at length, taking the question seriously. A sip of klah gives her another moment to frame her opinion. "I think I liked some of the other wings better though. So far. But it's not really up to me, is it?" Her tone starts to slide out of neutral, toward a faint bitterness; she pulls it up with the tentative harbinger of a question: "K'del?" A bob of his head marks confirmation of Riorde's thanks, but K'del keeps his silence - for all that his brows draw in thoughtfully - until after that not-quite question. Casually, he says, "Not entirely up to you, perhaps, but if you've a preference-- it's not like we aim to make people unhappy. What is it? Riorde." He lifts his mug to sip, but only, it seems, as an unconscious gesture, the most of his attention focused squarely upon the brownrider. A bit of red highlighting her cheeks shows the weyrling's embarrassment when, to her ears, K'del reads her remark on choice of wing as critical. Only concentrated effort keeps Riorde still, unsquirming, and continuing to meet K'del's gaze. She holds her mug up, cupping it close and just beneath her chin; still, despite that feeble shield, there's nothing halting when she gets around to asking, after another sip, "When we were attending the meetings, the ones with the wingleaders that you have, and then writing up reports and giving them to you, were mine -- bad?" The final word admits the anxiety she's managed to keep out of her tone thus far, and is further reflected in her face as she keeps her eyes on K'del. If there was a question K'del expected, this one plainly is not it: his surprise shows intensely upon his expression, and even in the still, even stilted, way in which he holds his mug. His brow furrows; he blinks, several times fast. "No," he says, at last. "No, not at all. Why would you think that, Riorde? If there'd been a problem, someone would've talked to you about it, right? Because people can't improve unless they know." Brow furrowing, he asks, "Why would you think that?" Hearing that affirmation of her work in months previous seems to ease some Riorde's pent-up tension, but frustration quickly comes in to fill the void left behind, evident in the way her mouth quickly turns towards a frown and the sigh that goes along with it. "I guess," she concedes, but her tone is dubious. "It's just," she starts; stops. Embarrassment keeps back her real complaint, and her cheeks are now brightly flushed, but her tone has started to turn fierce. "I worked really hard, you know? I wanted to be good at something." It's obvious that K'del is not entirely following the threads of Riorde's thoughts; it's equally obvious that he's trying to. His mug gets set down, his hands dropping to rest, one on each knee. Brow still furrowed, he hesitates, lengthily, before - "Know you did. Are. Have been. Weyrling stuff isn't my focus, but-- far as I know, you've been doing really well, Riorde. You are good at this. Who says you're not?" Riorde pulls herself up a little straighter and stubbornly tucks hair behind her ears - nervous gestures, an attempt to look more in control, severe with herself. "Thanks," she says a little gruffly, quickly, skipping right past that lest it look like she's been fishing for compliments. "No one said anything, but-- what's the point of doing all this, if it doesn't matter in the end?" The jealousy outs. "Emme didn't do any of the extra work we did, and it doesn't matter." And then: enlightenment. K'del's teeth rest on his lower lip for a few seconds as, carefully, he inclines his head forward just once. "S'what happens, sometimes," he says, casually. "A wingleader'll choose who they want to, for Wingsecond. A Weyrleader will choose who he wants as Wingleader, too, and there's no guarantee they'll notice - or care - if you did that training. But." He fastens a lengthy glance on Riorde. "Having that training? Helps when you do get picked. Emme hasn't got that instruction to help her. Can't tell you why E'gin chose her, but it doesn't mean you weren't good enough. Doesn't mean she'd be picked first where it counts, out in the real wings." More quietly, then. "Hurts, though, doesn't it? I didn't get picked, either." Riorde listens without a word, without signalling agreement or protest. Now that her grievance has been aired, she doesn't seem inclined to say much, if anything, though her eyes remain intently fastened on K'del. "Yeah," she admits after a lull, quietly. "I don't think he likes me much, so I shouldn't be that surprised. But." Her gaze falls as she rediscovers her klah. After a moment she adds, still soft, "Thanks." A turn ago, K'del had no patience for Riorde at all; now, there's a look of faint sympathy on his face, even if he does cover it over with congenial politesse a moment later. "You're welcome," he says, his tone no louder than hers. "Not, I guess, that it makes it easier. Still." Another incline of his head, confirmation of-- something. Similarly, Riorde's recognition that K'del has taken the time to talk to her - and sympathetically, no less - makes a change from former moments of hardly concealed disdain. She picks up her book again, assuming that her claim on K'del's time and attention is coming to a close, and in return to the tip of his head, she finds a smile for him - not full, but still. It's something. Something. It's - enough, it seems. K'del reaches for his mug again, and rises to his feet. "Good luck with it all, Riorde," he says, before heading off towards the door once more. A weyrleader's work is never over. |
Leave A Comment