Logs:Politics And Loss
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 10 October, 2015 |
| Who: K'del, Irianke |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del and Irianke are back at the Weyr during Crom's gather. |
| Where: Weyrwoman's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: M'kris/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Oriane/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions |
  |
| It's afternoon, and a good chunk of High Reaches is out at Crom, enjoying Aughan's largesse on a clear-but-cold winter's day. That something is up reaches all the way back to the Weyr; a certain amount of agitation and uncertainty, dragons aware but not sure. Any peace left is shattered, however, as Leiventh's scream is caught up and carried-- and in the aftermath, its message made clear: R'hin and Leiventh are dead, an accusation of murder, has been made against M'kris of Monaco, Oriane is at the scene, Lord Aughan is subtly furious. It's as this news continues to come in that K'del, heedless of what Irianke might otherwise be doing with her afternoon, storms his way into her Weyr. He's wide-eyed, fearful and yet also composed, his shaking hands clasped together as if in doing so he might hide something, relax something, something. "R'hin--" he begins. But she'll know that. "They say Oriane has demanded custody of M'kris, and that she's publicly resigned her knot." Lucky it's afternoon else... well, who are we kidding? It's Irianke, after all. But K'del is lucky today, and there's no afternoon delights. Just a Weyrwoman, who looks like she was in the middle of dictating something to an assistant. An assistant who has now let her quill go slack and is gaping at an Irianke who is standing, mouth ajar and a flood of tears suddenly spilling from her eyes. Outside, the dragons keen, Niahvth's high-pitched cry mourning the death of one of hers. "K'del," is wrenched from her throat, in the same instant the assistant, hearing what K'del says lets out a squeak of terror. Cadejoth's own mourning sounds, too, filling the hatching caverns with a sound they ought never to hear. K'del's expression half-crumples, except if Oriane is out there, taking charge, then so too can he be-- here, safely at home. It's too much information, too much at once, and he hesitates, now, as if he's not sure what to do next. Except, to the assistant: "You should go. We need to talk." Agitated fingers and all, he steps closer to the weyrwoman, swallowing thickly. Technically, though he outranks her, he's not her boss. The hesitation of this reads clearly on the young woman's face, but looking at Irianke who seems mute other than that one word she said to K'del and the tears still streaming down the Weyrwoman's face, lights a fire in her feet and she's skittering out of there with a tale for ears. It's only after the assistant leaves that the goldrider sinks back into her chair and heaves wretched sobs into her hands. Tears... tears, K'del can deal with. He drops to his knees on the floor in front of Irianke, reaching to try and take her hand and to squeeze it (and if not, to rest a hand upon her knee and squeeze that, instead). He murmurs low words that probably don't really equate into sentences; but at least the tone is reassuring. He has tears of his own, too, tears he's still trying to push back, but without much success. "He was a good man. The best of men. He was--" He's gone. "He was an ass," blurts out Irianke, in between sobs, and the sheer outrageousness of calling a dead man names makes the sobs turn into a hysterical laughter. "Such an ass. Murdered?" It doesn't compute, and in this confusion, the hysteria subsides and brighter, near blue slate eyes look down upon the Weyrleader. "Yes," agrees K'del, without skipping a beat, except that after that he's laughing, too, and that brings more tears, but at least they're not the kind that might lead to sobbing. As hers subsides, so does his, slowly, his lips drawing together into something more serious, more uncertain. "That's what they say. That accusations-- it's hard to know, just what the dragons now, but... Murdered. I don't know that I believe it. R'hin." Of all people. They've discussed Monaco. She's up to speed on some things, including why Savannah was transferred. But understanding through story and living it are two different things and Irianke looks at K'del, a quietness on her features that's stark in comparison to the hysteria just moments before. "His son murdered your lover, supposedly to win his father's approval. The apple doesn't have to fall far from the tree, does it?" K'del winces, that summation of the history somehow more difficult to digest than everything else. His hands press to his own knees as he allows, carefully, "Perhaps. But-- M'kris. He's a bully, not a murderer. He denied his son, in the end. He hated R'hin, and R'hin hated him back, but... but." He exhales, hard and long. "But Oriane must believe it." Beat. "Believe it enough." "Or," Irianke's hand reaches out to cup K'del's cheek, head tipping to press forehead to forehead as tears start to stream again, though these go, generally, unnoticed by herself. "Or, whether she believes or not, her hands are tied and she's forced to do what she is doing. It's what I would do." Even as she confesses this, the surprise of what she would do in Oriane's situation colors her words. She releases K'del's cheek and uses that hand to ineffectually wipe away the seemingly endless tears. "Just because she resigns her knot doesn't mean M'kris has to resign his. What happens next? Mirinda? His," scoffingly, "Daughter?" K'del's eyes close, at that gesture, his breath slow and careful and yet still uneven. He nods, whether or not he wants to; an acknowledgement of her words. He has his own tears to wipe, however unmanly that is, and a voice to steady before he can speak again. "She's taking him in to custody, it--" But Mirinda. "The Weyr Council will meet. Whatever Mirinda is, whoever her father is... she's not stupid. Shells, never ever let any of my daughters Impress gold in my Weyr." "Wasn't his Weyr when she Impressed," says Irianke automatically. Rote memorization of facts works well sometimes. Both hands come up to wipe away her tears again, and yet they still run, as if they have a life separate from the calm Irianke is trying to aim for. The thinking calm. The strategic calm. The damn tears keep getting in the way. She swallows, and gives in for a few moments, a shuddering exhale and closed eyes giving her a moment's privacy even with K'del right in front of her. Her eyes only open after she's started speaking again, the tears slowing down by then. "She should not be in charge, his daughter. Regardless of how capable she is. IF she can't recognize that, we need to do it for her." the goldrider reaches for K'del, her hand again seeking his face, his cheek, reaching to try and curl into his hair. "I'm sorry." The hand flies away back to her face and slide about her body to try and channel her grief inward rather than out in an ineffectual desire for comfort. It's true, and K'del has nothing to say to it; nor does he acknowledge it even with as much as a nod. There's too much else going on, too much need for her moment of privacy, and for his own, continued grief. His hand reaches to rest as if intending to rest atop Irianke's, then drops back again as hers moves on. Carefully, "No, she shouldn't be. Oriane must know that-- or not. We'd better--" A thick swallow. "We'll give her a day. Or two? And then we call a meeting of the council." Her hands clench into balls into her sides beneath her upper arms, sheer force of will stopping them from going where her instincts would take her. At least the concentration inherent in not flinging herself at K'del has her not crying anymore, though there are a series of swallows. "Tomorrow. We'll request a Weyr Council meeting tomorrow. He i.. was. Was our rider." Irianke chokes back another sob, shoulders trembling. "Stay with me. Please? Just, don't leave me alone." "Tomorrow," promises K'del, without missing a beat. But it is Irianke's fragility that has him drawing himself up, reaching to put both arms around her and to pull her close, whether or not she wants to give in to that. "I'll stay," he promises. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. I promise." To her credit, she's held up admirably well for a few minutes, after the initial hysteria and up until the moment K'del has his arms around her and then it all shatters and a hand comes up to cover her mouth and choke back another sob, completely unsuccessful. Given his tacit agreement, she falls into the comfort he offers and weeps ugly, ugly tears. "Oh, Irianke," is K'del's murmured comment, as he holds her close, his own tears beginning to fall again and drip upon her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. So, so sorry." |
Leave A Comment