Logs:Outside Comfort
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| RL Date: 16 May, 2013 |
| Who: Ali, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ali and K'del exchange apologies... and comfort. And maybe even some ideas. |
| Where: K'del's Island, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 10, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, E'ten/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
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| Throughout the intervening time since the flight, Isyath has - as per her normal behavior - reached out with a starry thought, sharing a sense of flight, or some joyful thought, or just a brief touch towards Cadejoth. The flight, as far as her memory is concerned, is a long-forgotten thing, and it's early afternoon when she shares a sense of delighted excitement, barely suppressed: not one to really keep secrets, there's a flash of a white sand beach, (/his/ white-sand beach), and the little hut, and the scent of something cooking. They're brief, however: /she's/ busy sharing her enjoyment of the autumn-driven winds over K'del's island. Cadejoth, too, has long forgotten the flight-- though he has had other distractions, these recent days and weeks, distractions that may well have been briefly visible in his communications with Isyath. Today, however, there's nothing in his reply except that glorious notion of flight and freedom, and the quiet promise that they will be there soon. After all, it can't possibly not be an invitation, right? His island, after all! It's at least fifteen or twenty minutes later before the pale bronze and his rider appear over the island, though, circling downwards in a lazy sweep until they land, spraying up sand upon that stretch of sand. He doesn't /need/ an invitation; it /is/ his island, although Isyath's claimed the skies. The only way he can claim it back is to fly here, with her, coincidentally. There's a joyful greeting of the High Reaches bronze from Isyath, the queen circling high above. Down in the hut, it's clear Ali's made herself at home again: a fire's been burning merrily for long enough that the inside is warm, the scent of some slow-burning stew wafting out. The dark-haired woman is humming to herself as she moves around the tiny kitchen area, setting up the table with plates and glasses in preparation for the meal. It's a good thing Cadejoth is only too willing to engage in such tactics to reclaim his sky, just as soon as he's been de-strapped and let loose once more. Up, up, up-- he'll catch up to her, see if he doesn't! K'del, shading his eyes, glances up after the dragons, allowing a faint smile to cross his features. A few moments later, however, he drops that gaze, and heads into the hut, lingering in the doorway. "Ali," he says, both greeting and gesture of pleasant semi-surprise. "Let's give up on our respective Weyrs and live out here for always. I can farm, you can cook, they can fly." Everyone wins! There's a taunting, teasing sense of challenge in Isyath's mental touch; she lingers long enough that he comes abreast of her before she aims higher and higher; not yet far enough along to be weighed down by her eggs as yet. Ali dusts hands off on her apron, and smiles at him as he comes in. She does look dreadfully content; one could get the impression she would've been quite happy as some holder's wife. "That sounds like a fine suggestion. I'm sure no one will notice that we've gone missing, will they?" a cock of her head, like she's seriously considering it for a moment, because, "I wonder if Issy /could/..." but her head shakes a moment later, something wry and regretful in her expression as she focuses on K'del- on his face with an intent look. "Are you- how are you?" A loaded and perhaps deliberately vague question on her part. K'del's face has healed, by now, except for the slight lopsidedness in his nose from where N'rov's fist hit it, side-on, and even that is only faint. His expression, however, turns from amused and perhaps slightly wistful, to rather more rueful as she continues talking. "I've had better months," he admits. "But I'm well enough. Sometimes-- it really does feel like it would be just perfect, to walk away from it all forever. How're you, though? I'm-- sorry about what happened." At the flight, presumably. Above, Cadejoth lets out a noise that's not far off a bleat, and throws himself bodily into pursuit, gleeful. "No, /I'm/ sorry," Ali's quick to counter, hands twisting together uncomfortably as she steps closer and stretches out a hand, presumably to welcome him into his own home. "About N'rov, and E'ten. That was- that was uncalled for, and you- you kept your promise to me, when you should've been able to defend yourself." She takes a deep breath. "I won't- I won't ask that of you again. Come and sit down, please." "Hey," says K'del, presumably intending to forestall Ali, as he reaches out to take her hand, and squeeze it, just once, before stepping further into the hut. "It's fine, honestly. We were all caught up in the whole thing, and-- shells, if we're being honest, I should've pushed you away. Just didn't want to, in the heat of the moment. So - it's fine. Forgotten. N'rov and I'll never get along, most likely, but I don't hold a grudge on this front." He'll sit, though, as commanded, his chin angled up so that he can keep looking at Ali. "I didn't want to, either," Ali admits, though she doesn't add the rider he does. His dismissal of everything earns a furrow of brow, and an exhale of exasperation as she releases his hand. "/Honestly/. I really don't understand you all sometimes. E'ten doesn't even /know/ you and he said you'd dismiss it like it was nothing. It /isn't/ nothing. I don't want you to feel like you aren't welcome at Fort, even if-" would she dare speak against her Weyrleaders? Probably not, judging by the long pause that follows, broken thankfully by her reach for the bottle of wine and the splash of liquid as she fills the glass in front of K'del, then her own. "Tell me what's been going on at- at your home?" K'del's silence lasts throughout Ali's pause, only ending, finally, when she asks that question. "It's not that I think it's nothing," he says, backtracking. "It's not. Didn't mean to make trouble for anything; I'm well aware your Weyrleaders don't much like me, that-- shells, as long as you want me there, I'll keep coming. The rest doesn't matter. They don't. Imagine it might be more comfortable for me than High Reaches is, at the moment. Have you, uh, heard the rumours?" His fingers curve around the glass, his gaze drifting towards the tabletop. "About Iolene?" Ali's at her most comfortable when she's moving, doing /something/- so it shouldn't be too much of a surprise that after she sets the bottle on the table, she doesn't immediately sit down to join him. Instead, she steps to the hearthside, checks on the stew- gives it a stir- while giving him a wry- but pleased- look over her shoulder at his statement, then finally drifts back the admittedly short distance to the table. "Iolene?" she echoes, uncertainly, watching him carefully. "I haven't heard- what about her?" Ali's footsteps lift K'del's gaze again, so that he can watch her, smiling, albeit in a rueful, just-barely kind of way. It doesn't last: he closes his eyes, leaning his head back, and seems to struggle to find the right words. Finally, "Ysavaeth's second flight was faked. She... convinced the whole Weyr, Cadejoth included, that she had. I didn't know. At the time. Aishani did; Iesaryth helped, I think. Aishani threw it in my face months ago, last winter. I got angry, and told Z'ian, and now everyone knows." Everyone at HIgh Reaches, anyway. "It's not exactly done wonders for my reputation." The Fortian's initial reaction is blank disbelief, followed shortly by wide-eyed horror. "I- I don't understand. Why would she-" but Ali isn't one to speak ill of the dead, and she doesn't linger on that. She /does/ feel for the back of her seat, and she sinks into it slowly, biting her lower lip. "So- you weren't the Weyrleader..? I- I don't understand by Brie- Aishani-" she stumbles over that, a little uncertainly, "Would help her with such a big lie." An uneven breath, as her gaze finally lifts towards K'del again: "What does it mean for- for things, /now/? Should you have a different Weyrwoman? Do-" her eyes flick away, then back, "-I wonder if the Weyr Council would try and get involved." K'del gropes blindly for his wine glass again, shifting his position and opening his eyes again so that he can draw it to his mouth and take an undignified gulp. "Lujayn ought to be our Weyrwoman," he confirms. "Rielsath rose. Svissath," his voice catches on that name, "caught. But she's at Honshu, now, and she's happy. She doesn't want to come back. She told me so, when I told her. I don't know-- what's going to happen. Or why, any of it. Shells, I've known for the better part of a turn, and I can't-- I think she did it for me. In part, maybe. But she shouldn't have. I was ready; can you imagine how much easier, simpler, better things would be, if they hadn't done it? Iolene would still be alive." No tears, though there might have been, once upon a time. He's not calm, but he's relatively composed. "But if Lujayn was supposed to be Weyrwoman-" Ali clearly doesn't understand the lack of responsiveness to /duty/ on the goldrider's part, frowning in thought. Carefully, uncertainly, she says, "Iolene was one of the exiles." The Fortian woman tries for neutral, though there's probably a /tone/ of distrust that she can't quite hide. The dark-haired woman hesitates, before she adds, softer, watching him, "Maybe- maybe she did it for you. You'd given up Weyrleader for her; maybe she thought she could give it back to you." Once upon a time, K'del might have commented on that distrust, but things have evidently changed-- even if it's obvious he still cares for Iolene's memory. He gives Ali a rueful glance. "Maybe," he agrees. "It's a nice thought, isn't it? Better than her using me for her own ambition - or, well, for Ysavaeth's, unless I really didn't know Io at all." Which, from his expression, is certainly not impossible. "Lu's going to step up at Honshu; Xia doesn't have anyone else, and Olapeth won't rise again. She can't just abandon that. Besides... I think she's happy. Not about all of this, but happy there." K'del sounds wistful, for that. Ali sucks in a breath- and releases it without a word. It's clear there's an awkwardness about her- a lack of knowing what to say in response to K'del's suggestions about Iolene's true intentions; she never knew the High Reaches goldrider that well. Eventually, she says, "I- think it's better to think the best of her, than the worst, since you'll never know either way." Slowly, the dark-haired woman reaches for her glass; she catches that wistful note, if only because there's a hint of it in her own expression, too. "Does it- change how you feel? About High Reaches? About- home?" A beat, before she clarifies: "Will you still fight for it?" "Think you're right," agrees K'del. "Took me a long time to get there, though. At first-- guess I just felt betrayed. Later, though, I dreamed about her, and it felt better. Clearer." He addresses his answer to her last towards his glass, staring into the depths in a way that is almost reminiscent of the moody teenager he must have been once. "I'll always fight for High Reaches, I think. Even if Iesaryth rises first, and I transfer away. It'll always feel like home. Not sure, anymore, whether I'm the best person to lead her, though. Or if I want it. If he catches, I'll do my duty, but--" This reluctance, this is new. "Z'ian's right. I've done some stupid, selfish things." When K'del speaks of dreaming about Iolene, there's something soft in Ali's expression, thought he'll probably miss it given his study of the glass. There's obvious surprise in Ali's regard of K'del at his latter answer; even she's noticed the change, and it makes her lean forward, concerned. "What changed, K'del? Before- you were always so /sure/." The latter- the talk of him doing selfish things- has her shaking her head in disagreement. "Giving up what you think might make you happy to do your duty isn't selfish." Quietly, "Not that. I--" K'del sounds more than a little miserable, and rather as though he can't bear to glance up. "Aishani offered me the Acting Weyrleader position, and I turned her down. Though my reasons were good at the time, but they're not, not really. I don't know-- shells. Guess I kind of like being just a Wingsecond. Having time and space to come out here. Not being the first person people blame for everything. I want the best for High Reaches, and I'm not sure that that's me, anymore." He gulps down most of the rest of his wine, then adds, "I'm not as self-pitying, or self-obsessed, as I seem, I swear." Ali's gaze stays steady on him, even if he doesn't look up. "You never really got a chance to be a normal rider. It- I get that. We, Issy and I, spent a seven doing it, and I never realized what we missed out on- the camaraderie of a wing, the freedom, the lack of- of people looking over your shoulder. If I thought Hattie would let me, I'd try and convince her to let Issy and I fly in a fighting wing," she laughs at the thought, though, even though there's an enthusiasm in her tone- clearly not taking it too seriously. "Maybe this is what you're supposed to be doing. Focusing on what's best for /you/. It's not as if you can fix the flight-" given his earlier admission about Iolene and Ysavaeth, there's a visible wince from the dark-haired woman, and she uses the excuse of getting up to refill his wine to cover her embarrassed awkwardness. K'del's only reaction to that 'fix the flight' comment is to laugh - he doesn't seem too awkward about it, though he says, turning his gaze to follow her movements, "Reckon there's been enough of that. From now on, flights take the course they will. Even if I hate the result. Speaking of-- how are you and Isyath doing? Given," he hesitates. "Last time. You seem-- it's almost seemed unfair to me, that goldriders never get that freedom, that choice. Azaylia flew with Glacier for a while, but it's not really the same." Ali splashes more wine into K'del's cup, then barely tops up her own, setting the bottle back down between them. "We're- /she's/ fine. She doesn't hold much account for those who fly her for long- Vhaeryth's been hanging around her more, which I think is good- he'll help protect the eggs, I think. Far more than she might." It's been long enough that she's matter-of-fact about her dragon's lack of maternal instinct. She seems briefly interested in the news that Azaylia flew with a fighting wing, head tipping thoughtfully. "I- I don't think it's a bad thing. Issy was- if it was a real fall, we'd have done more harm than good, I think." She hesitates, glancing over at the hearth- at the pot, no doubt, but she stays at the table. "Can I ask you a question? I- I want you to be honest with me, if you can." That correction has K'del's mouth tightening, blue eyes seeking out Ali's thoughtfully, though he doesn't interrupt the rest of what the goldrider has to say. "You're probably right," he agrees. "Everyone else'd rush in to protect you; it wouldn't work. But it's Interval, after all." His fingers twine about his glass again, his eyes still lingering on her. "Of course," he says. "I'll do my best to be. What is it?" "Some Traditions are best- left alone," the Fortian murmurs. This time, it's Ali's turn to take a generous gulp from her glass- looking flustered after she lowers it. "If I- if you were told, as a candidate, you had to submit to a mindhealer exam, would you have done it it, to stand?" Her gaze is fixed on him, intently watching his reaction to the question, pushing the glass to one side, fingers twisting together. It's obvious she wants to wait, hear his answer, but can't help blurt out a second question, before he does: "And- if you knew there might be- might be people who couldn't be trusted, standing for your dragon's clutch- would you risk letting them?" It's immediately obvious that that first question bothers K'del, his lips parting abruptly so that he can give voice to-- nothing, in the end, because her second question only intensifies the reaction. "I'd've done almost anything, to be allowed to Stand," he admits. "Though that's--" Excessive? Concerning? His brow wrinkles. "I let former convicts and exiles stand for Cadejoth's clutches. Tiriana wouldn't have let them, but I forced the issue. Was it the right decision?" He shakes his head, even shrugs: he doesn't seem sure of that, and who can blame him, given... everything. "Tell me what's going on, Ali." The fact that he doesn't complete his answer doesn't go unnoticed by Ali, whose chewing her lower lip at his response, and looks /alarmed/ at his admission that he let convicts stand. "Those that- that took Issy's eggs, last time- they took young holders, too, here and there. Maybe to try and Impress them, maybe to help with the weyrlings- we don't really know, and they haven't talked. But now- some have chosen to stay. They're the right age for search- Zihanth's already picked one. But what if they're- they're /against/ us? What if they try and hurt Issy's eggs, or help steal more-" as she speaks, she gets more and more involved in the 'what if', and by the end she's shaking, reaching hastily to gulp another mouthful of wine down. Even worse, barely whispered: "What if I /don't/ let them stand, and the eggs don't hatch?" "Former convicts," stresses K'del, as though that makes all the difference in the world-- even if he doesn't seem sure of that, now, and who can blame him, given the current situation with Taikrin. He lifts one hand to run it through his short-cropped curls, sucking in a breath before he can come up with a way to answer. "That was a lot of my reasoning," he says. "For the former convicts. If they'd been Searched, there was a chance there was a dragon for them. Don't know if I believe, though, now, that there's only one person for every dragon, and that if they're not there, they'll die. They just need a right person. And-- I'd be paranoid, too. After what happened." He exhales, rather akin to a sigh. "I don't know what I'd do. We never had... that. I'm so sorry, Ali. Wish there was something I could do." Aside from reach out a hand, and aim to take hers, and squeeze it. His clarification probably doesn't help, but his reasoning might go more the way towards it- Ali goes still, listening keenly, her countenance visibly pale. "You really believe that? That- that a dragon only needs a right person, not the /the/ right person?" It's obviously something she hasn't thought of before, and the idea doesn't sit entirely well with her- her eyes going obviously skywards- not that they can see the two dragons, still soaring through the air high above- through the roof of the hut. K'del's touch makes her look back down at him, and she takes his hand in kind, squeezing in return, forming the faintest of smiles. "Hattie- doesn't like the idea. She thinks it will- harm our reputation. But I- I don't want to see my- /Issy's/ children- harmed. I wish there was /an/ answer." Quietly, his thumb tracing circles on her skin, K'del says, "Can't imagine life without Cadejoth. Or Cadejoth without me. But - yes, that's what I believe. What are the chances, otherwise? Of the right people being found, making it to the sands, shells, even being born. If it was a matter of a one true pairing, it seems to me that logic suggests we'd have a lot more unpaired dragons." That is not an especially comforting thought, and has him wrinkling his nose. Hastily, he continues: "Maybe there's a middle ground? Not mindhealing exams, but you get riders you trust to just stick close to them, keep an eye on people. If people raise alarm bells, well, that is when you actually step in to talk to them. And... Search lots of people. The more Candidates you have, the more choice they have to find the right kind of person." "I- I guess I never thought of it that way," Ali admits, slowly, uncertain. "I always thought- well, the Harper tales make it seem so- different, before I came to the Weyr." It certainly seems to unsettle the Fortian junior, but her gaze remains on K'del, his suggestions taken with a slow nod of her head. "Even if we watch them- if they're there on the sands-" a slow exhale is breathed, and she adds with what sounds like relief, "More candidates- I- I can do that, at least. Maybe we can send the Search parties further afield. With such small clutches, we normally don't need to." With a smile, the dark-haired woman stands- hand still resting in K'del's- crossing towards his side of the table. She hesitates there, a moment, then leans down- teetering there a moment in indecision- before kissing him on the lips. "Thank you," she murmurs. It's possible that K'del regrets explaining his view on that subject, now, given Ali's reaction to it, but attempting to dilute it with further explanations is not presently on the cards. Instead, he seems pleased by her reaction to what practical advice he can come up with-- even if that quickly turns to surprise when she hesitates in front of him. That kiss? It must also surprise him, surely, though there's no visible reaction to suggest it: just the faintest amount of answering pressure from his lips to hers, just for a moment, and his quiet answer to her murmur. "Of course. Any time." Of course, it's nothing like the last time they kissed- backed by dragon passion and need- but it is nice, while it lasts. "We should eat," Ali says, abruptly- likely to soothe any awkwardness, a brief squeeze of her fingers against his before she lets go and turns towards the hearth, leaning over to stir the pot. "The stew should be perfect, by now- I've been playing with some spices I bought from the last trader train that come through from Igen way." And /K'del/, at least, doesn't seem awkward afterwards - he's smiling, even, his fingers answering her squeeze before dropping back towards the table. "It smells amazing," he says, eyes following her towards the hearth. "You can cook for me any time." Pause. "And not in the get-in-the-kitchen-woman kind of way, I promise. Any time you like. Guess I'm too used to weyrfolk women, the ones who've never cooked in their lives." "I know what you mean," and there's a smile in Ali's voice, even as her back is turned. "I /like/ cooking. It reminds me of the kitchen at home- being with my family- being safe and happy." Carefully, she carries the pot over to the table and sets it down in the middle, serving up portions for K'del first, then herself. When she finally settles into her seat, and reaches for her fork, she looks at him expectantly, "Now-" she begins, "Why don't you tell me what K'del-the-totally-not-political-wingsecond has been up to? How are things going in your wing?" Her intention, pretty obviously, is to turn the conversation to something lighter for the rest of the meal. K'del seems to have similar memories, because when Ali turns back, there's still signs of it in his expression: quiet nostalgia, absolutely content, lingering across his face. He has an earnest, "Thank you," for his serving, and a quiet laugh for her suggestion, as it follows. Brandishing his fork, he's careful to avoid the more, uh, political activities of his wing, focusing instead on the far lighter ones, beginning with, "Well, F'manis holds this poker game every seven, and Jeshka is determined to use it as a way to get out of sweeps--" Thankfully, there are plenty of lighthearted stories to tell. |
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