Logs:Of Babies and Missing Boys
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| RL Date: 7 January, 2012 |
| Who: Cadejoth, K'del, Leova, Vrianth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del and Leova discuss families, and then the Tillek situation. Cadejoth and Vrianth share thoughts of flight and fun. |
| Where: Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 9, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Milani/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| Seventh months and change, now. Considerable change. U'sot's just gone off duty, and one of his assistants has gone on duty, but there's a second dragonhealer who's not doing much of anything but sitting on the lip of the circulating pool and soaking her swollen feet while Vrianth does her best to float. To one side, A few sheets of written-upon hide sit next to crumpled socks and ungainly adjustable shoes. The greenrider's got another message in her lap, but she's staring more through than at it. /Morosely/. K'del's been in the dragon infirmary for the better half of an hour, now - first with U'sot, running down supply lists, injury reports, training progress. After the Senior Dragonhealer left, the Weyrleader spent a few minutes in conversation with the assistant-- and now, heading back towards the bowl, the bronzerider catches Leova out of the corner of his eye, and comes to a halt. "Someone sending you unhappy news, Leova?" he wonders, drawing up alongside the pool. "Are you going to kick me for asking?" That hide gets flipped immediately, not that that helps since there's writing on the backside, the lettering scratchier than that of someone with more harper training. Less immediate is the greenrider's looking up, having to brace the small of her back with her free hand to do it comfortably. Or, at least, less uncomfortably. "Save it for when you're already down," she says without much humor. "/You/ need another son, don't you. K'del." Her Leova's intonation's half-/hers/. She's been observing his rider in the periphery as long as he's been here, but now she points out to Cadejoth himself, « /He/ hasn't left yet. » It's not precisely a complaint. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) It's human nature to try and look at things that are being hidden, though K'del attempts valiantly to turn his attention towards Leova's face again (not completely successfully). "Better remember that," he says, trying to sound casual and amused, though it would be difficult to miss the fact that he's studying, rather than merely looking, at the greenrider, And for that question? "Need? No. Would like? Sure. Love to have more children, one day. Daughters, too." To Vrianth, Cadejoth takes a moment to respond, and when he does, his mind is full of the sky: the big blue, all winds and thermals and updrafts to send him hurtling higher and faster. « Who hasn't? » he wonders, absently, with a jangling greeting. Then he might get a glimpse of lots of exclamation points and underscores, addressed to what might be a shortening of Leova's name. Possibly also a request for money. She's rolled it up now that he's looked away, though, and it gets stuck firmly in her shoe. And as long as where he's looking is /at/ her, "If you're going to talk, sit down." The greenrider leans back, then, braced on both palms. Yes, there are rings around her eyes. Yes, there's a big belly right /there/. Can't miss it. At least there's no smell of vomit. "You can have this one. Month, month and a half wait. Two if I'm unlucky." She's not looking at K'del, but Vrianth is, and her tail in the water goes flick-flick at its tip. Flick-flick... and /there's/ the image, like a splash, a jolt. Him. His rider. Standing there. His little rider, from Vrianth's purely draconic perspective. Complete with weyrling zits. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) "Don't want to bother you," says K'del, but since he makes to sit down anyway, he can't be too concerned about it. Legs crossed, he places his palms flag on his knees, and gives the greenrider a twisted smile. "Not sure Anvori would care much for that, don't you think?" Beat. "Nearly over, though, then. And there are nannies... sure it'll all work out, no problems. Guess it'd be silly to ask if you were doing okay." His rider? HIS? Cadejoth's paying more attention, now, though he visibly scoffs at the image she's presenting, correcting it by adding an extra ten turns (more or less) to his age. No more zits, thank you very much. « Should he have? » (Cadejoth to Vrianth) "Mm. Haven't weyrmated him /yet/." Never mind that the mention of Anvori's name tugs at her lips, one side a little more than another, and she lets it. "It's not yet born, not yet named." So there, says her look to the man who wants babies. And then Leova lifts one shoulder, lets it fall. "Don't know about silly. Though you caught me more..." another shrug, both shoulders this time. Her toes wiggle, little brown worms in the water, their nails tidily trimmed and even lacquered for all that she surely can't reach. /Vrianth's/ nails are not painted. Mostly. They are long and sharp and just the color they ought to be, so long as one ignores the little half-hidden spot on a foreclaw. Also purple. Deep deep purple. And Leova hesitates, then finally up and asks, "Millie still won't, though." It /is/ a question, with another underlying it. Make that /more/, particularly so long as she is ignoring all that swooshing whooshing fun. In fact, his rider's eyebrows sprout, and the rest of his hair crawls off his pate and down into sideburns, moustache, beard, more beard. /Ponytail/. Like that. « Mm. » This time, her intonation's her rider's. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) K'del's eyebrows raise, and, with a more genuine smile, says, "But you're going to?" He can't have missed the way Anvori's name impacts her, of course, and it seems to please him. Amuse him? It's a pity his smile can't last, not with that mention of Milani, which sets a long breath to exhaling, almost more like a sigh. "Can't. Get that. The risk. Don't want to have to-- go through that again. So." He's trying to force a smile, now. "No more kids for us." As if it doesn't matter. As if he doesn't care. To Vrianth, Cadejoth doesn't much like that, thanks all the same. K'del returns to his more present-day self, with a definite sense of satisfaction from the bronze. « I can tell him to go if you want, » he offers, carefully. « If he's bothering her. He doesn't intend to. » "That... is the plan," Leova says. Cautiously. Not for K'del, the talk of /where/ and /flowers/ and maybe a /dress/. Not to mention, words. And if those amber eyes may briefly narrow, when he goes on that goes away, and she nods once and then again. "Thought so," she admits, commiseration a quiet underlay with that second question answered. "Was hard, when we finally... but not like /that/." Vrianth splashes, goes quiet. "And right next to you a, what, two-month-old? and Lujayn's on the way." Genuinely, "Congratulations." K'del gives Leova another smile, one that makes up for his lacklustre earlier attempt - though again, it doesn't linger. "It's always hard, one way or another. Choices." He doesn't add more to that thought, and, indeed, looks away, out across the pool (and even at Leova's toes, if only briefly). "Yeah," he agrees. "Babies everywhere. And mine... are definitely not babies anymore. Nik'll be four, next seven." Mm. « Do not, » she says, after all. « He is... better than I would have thought, » only to waft that troubling note away, the poor K'del-image gets purple hair. /Eyebrows/, at the very least. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) Unspoken, but oh-so-noticeable: of course he is. He's /K'del/. The bronze seems to find the idea of purple hair amusing, and adds in some pink streaks, just so. « He grew up, you know. He knows it, too. » (Cadejoth to Vrianth) As long as he does not eat her toes. Vrianth watches, very carefully. Leova, though, just shakes her head. Pushes her hair back behind one ear. Says, "Seems like it can't have been that long." There's a faint slosh to the water, her feet moving and flexing, or maybe it's Vrianth. "Seems like we were just riding the wagon the other day, A'son and me." Couldn't fly then either. "Don't like to think, the kid gone like that. This long." It's a concept the edgy flow of her energy passes by, with but a hint of static. But then, there /is/ far more of interest: the pink streaks, for example. Might they curl? She leavees this much, at least, clearly up to him. « Does he. » It seems Vrianth will listen, should he say more. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) K'del does not /seem/ to be eyeing the toes up as things particularly tasty to eat, but one can never know for sure. For now, however, he doesn't stir. "Doesn't feel that long ago for me, either," admits K'del. "Though... maybe it does, in a different way. A lifetime ago. But not. I was... pretty young. Didn't have a clue what I was doing. Maybe I still don't." But he's not being entirely truthful about that. He gives Leova a sidelong glance. "You're awful reminisce-y." Curl? Cadejoth gives it some thought, but seems to decide that no, they don't.... they /wave/. Completely out of step with the rest of his hair, but he seems satisfied with the look. « He doesn't think of himself as the youngest, now, » he explains, almost smug - certainly proud. « He's more settled. » (Cadejoth to Vrianth) Vrianth floats. Protectively. U'sot had, earlier, fallen to that same scrutiny. "You think you do," says her rider, and if it's a challenge, it's to would-be modesty. But his next comment meets with another of those one-shouldered shrugs: "Shoulda seen me couple days ago. Talking to the cooks for hours, that berry pie they had Turns back, the ones with the crusts where they wrote in 'em and you could tell a story if F'ren hadn't eaten the middle part. And the wherry with the peppers in, the kind I can't eat anymore. And..." K'del gets a sideways glance: does he want more of those? No? "/Is/ there any news?" News. Tillek. Waving. Pink. Waves. « Does he do all as you would wish? » Vrianth questions the younger bronze. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) K'del cannot tell a lie, not straight-faced, not wholeheartedly: "Well," he says. "Maybe I've got half a clue, though you wouldn't know it to hear Tiriana." He clearly doesn't want more of those stories - not that he's listening with anything less than a grin on his face. One that fades instantly. 'News'. "Not really," he says, with a shake of his head. "No. No sign of him. His clothes, yeah, but that seems-- it's just like he's disappeared into thin air." K'del, father of two, looks half sick about it, too. Waving. Like little hands. Only-- no, Cadejoth seems to have decided he doesn't like that, after all. « Not... all, » he allows, after a moment. « We don't fly as much as I'd like. Or visit. Sometimes we do. But he's very busy! » (Cadejoth to Vrianth) Not here? "/Still/," says Leova of him and Iovniath's rider, but half under her breath: the better not to interrupt. Nor is she smiling, now. Vrianth shakes out her wings, but still she doesn't roll her tightened shoulders, only a hint of a twitch. "Someone was saying something about his clothes, like they found them being used as flags, but other folks said mending or dress-up." Her eyes shut, but only to reopen. "So if it is true. That they found his clothes. Tells us maybe he really didn't run away on his own. So that's something. Another step." And she looks at K'del, K'del and that face of his, "No ransom note? That we know of." Perhaps Cadejoth might ignore that little bit of pink behind his ear that is still waving, yes, but also growing longer. Just a little. Just so it can curve along. For now. « Where would you go? If you could. » If his rider would... /let/ him. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) Of Tiriana, K'del can only shrug his shoulders and give a wry, distracted glance. "Maybe," he says, of the clothes, running a hand through his (non-purple, non-pink, non-waving) hair in an idle, if somewhat awkward gesture. "It could be that he changed his clothes deliberately. Or someone stole them, or hid them, or whatever. To confuse the trail." He breaks off from that thought, frowning, and shakes his head. "No ransom note. Not that the Lady has told us, at least. He's just... gone. Two sevendays, now." Long enough to start losing hope. To Vrianth, Cadejoth /will/ ignore that pink. Just for Vrianth. Besides, he's distracted now, sharing images of far off places: wide beaches, tall mountains... /stars/. With a hint of gold, here and there. « I just like to fly, » he tells her. « Anywhere. Everywhere. But not just on my own, and not just /here/. » "Maybe." Perhaps it's his frown that's somehow satisfactory? Leova's gotten to frowning too, but at least they aren't the subject of /Vrianth's/ baleful eye: that would be the other dragonhealer still at work off by the counter, who rubs the back of his neck uneasily for all that he should be used to it by now. "Would think someone would, by now. /Unless/... unless they didn't know who exactly they'd gotten. Or... they weren't yet to safety. Their safety." She glances sideways at him. Or she's not telling us." For that, Vrianth kindly ignores those hints of gold. Instead, and with some fervor, « Yes. » And yes again, bright sparks like sentient stars. Not here, not even home, not even her dear ledge that will wait for her wherever she goes. Although this puddle, and here she shares its wordless warmth, is not as bad as most. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) "If she's not telling us..." K'del looks distinctly unhappy with the prospect, and runs his fingers through his hair again. "We've always had a decent relationship with Tillek. Would hate to think she's keeping stuff from us, when we're trying so hard to help. Bending backwards, you know?" He lets out a long breath. "Wonder if there's something else who'd benefit, him not being around. New heir required." Another not-so-happy thought, which sends the bronzerider's gaze away again, past Vrianth, towards the bowl beyond. "This? This is the part of the job that /sucks/." He shares with her the sensations: he's flying high over the mountains, now, testing his strength against the buffeting winds, rising and falling according to the whims of the air itself. « But a bath is nearly as good, sometimes, » he allows. « After. And when the little ones play. » (Cadejoth to Vrianth) She listens, leaning slighty, though it's towards Vrianth rather than towards him: intent. And she's got a nod for the heir part too, but then, "Reckon you're right," Leova says. Only, deadpan as can be: "Except for the part for the bending backwards. Can't say as I can even imagine it, these days." She gives that a little time before pointing out, "Could also be anyone who wants Tillek... unsettled. Distracted. Its attention directed... elsewhere." Speaking of distracted: Vrianth leans into the sensations he relays, intent on /that/ over baths and over... almost over the firelizards, at least. Half an aside, « I should have one of those. One that pays attention, and does not scratch too hard. » It's not a new thought, but neither has it made it to... execution. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) K'del can smile, albeit ruefully, for Leova's deadpan, though it's clear his thoughts are elsewhere. "Or," he suggests, "they want /us/ distracted. Whichever it is, I don't much like it, that's for sure. We'll have to be extra vigilant, see what's happening. Pity: I had an idea of something more lucra-- well, never mind." He rises, albeit reluctantly, wiping his hands down on his trousers, though they surely don't need it. "I'm due to pick up Kasey," he explains. "But-- look after yourself, won't you? And that nameless son-or-daughter you've got in there." Speaking of distracted: Vrianth leans into the sensations he relays, intent on /that/ over baths and over... almost over the firelizards, at least. Half an aside, « I should have one of those. One that pays attention, and does not scratch too hard. » It's not a new thought, but neither has it made it to... execution. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) Just-for-her, Cadejoth intensifies the sensations, revelling in them even as he's sharing. To her aside, « It would be worth the investment. Properly trained... They have their uses. » (Cadejoth to Vrianth) "Or both. But. Getting at TIllek's one thing. Someone doing /that/, just to get at us?" Leova has to shake her head. Shake it away. Nod him off, with Vrianth's eyes on him again instead of hers. Only: "Lucra... tive? Quite a word to be leaving on. But duty calls," and that mildly said: she may call him on it, but she won't keep him. Just-for-her gets an extra-pleased tingling-pinging spark within his chains. /Well,/ then. « We should see, » the rangy dragon decides all over again. Just: not now. Not when they could fly. (Vrianth to Cadejoth) K'del, too, seems less than convinced, and certainly not happy with the idea - but he's not dismissing it entirely. "Lucrative," he agrees, almost wryly. "But it'd require more manpower than we can spare. No matter. Our holds-- those are what matters most." He's not about to drop anything more on the subject, it seems, and instead, gives her one last bob of the head, then departs. Oh yes. /Fly/. And fly he/they will. Even if half of it is only in their minds. (Cadejoth to Vrianth) |
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