Logs:Questions Unasked and Unanswered
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| RL Date: 26 May, 2012 |
| Who: Iolene, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After the engagement party, K'del and Iolene go home. |
| Where: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 11, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug: there are almost always papers spread out across it, some of them important, others more inclined towards the fingerpaintings created by small fingers. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphenalia. Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the antique skybroom desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy. Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. An oversized wooden sleigh bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter, their covers dyed in varying shades of navy blue, light blue and bronze. There's a nightstand on either side, both with reading lamps, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf holding toiletries, shaving equipment, and clean towels. The night of the engagement party, when her people have finally come to part of their own, Iolene's return is atop Cadejoth, her slim arms wrapped about his riders as they land. She's long practiced at this riding thing now that dismounting on her own is no problem, and as she does so, the first lace of her pretty dress is undone, with subsequent steps carrying her into his weyr where apparently she plans to stay the night. The perks of leadership mean there's a fire awaiting the Weyrleader and a small snack of bread, Benden grapes, and cheese accompanied by liquid treats. "I thought you might be hungry," says Io as she trades clothes for a fur to wrap around herself. It's almost winter, after all. It's never really been discussed, this whole continued sharing of beds, but it raises no eyebrows for K'del that Iolene would stay. He lingers outside a few minutes longer to unbuckle his dragon and send him on his way again: the bronze is off to seek out Ysavaeth, to return to her and his clutch after so many apologetic hours away. Coming inside, he pulls off his jacket with the fingers of one hand, and perches on the couch so that he can pull free the rest of his outer clothes, his boots. "Ravenous," he admits, turning up from his task to look at her, smiling. "Did you - enjoy yourself?" It was a quiet flight, (the long way, by request), the winter night both scintillating and oddly calming in its chill, and the ruddiness of wind-touched cheeks lingers, shifting slowly with the aid of the fire's warm glow. Iolene's tucked herself into that corner of the couch, now well worn from her not so random stays, her feet lifted and her chin on her knees. "I always like dancing. We should dance more," leads to a quick smile, as if belatedly the double meaning of the word dance in this case, sinks in. But it's quick to fade and the islander's eyes shift to the hearth and the dancing fire. "Did you? Enjoy yourself?" "Once the eggs have hatched, we should go to some gathers down south," he proposes, in return, kicking off his second boot so that he can pull his legs up onto the couch, sock-covered feet seeking out to play quiet footsie with hers. "And dance." And, okay, he's got a grin for her, too, the double-meaning of her words not lost on him despite the lateness of the hour, and the alcohol he's drunk. Still, nor has he missed the departure of her smile, and in the end, his fades too. "Parts of it," is his cautious, careful answer. Her feet respond involuntarily, that reflexive way couples who might have been together far longer know to react -- her big toe circling against the bottom of his foot in an attempt to tickle and dodge him, and from there, to stretch out and slide up to twine against his ankle. But there's an utter lack of recognition that she's being spoken to, as his suggestion, grin, and response get the barest 'mmmhmm' and a nod. Abruptly, "Do I belong to anyone?" He is ticklish, and just involuntarily at the actions of that big toe, but her twining relaxes him again, and his feet seem content enough with that not to push for any further tickling on his part. K'del watches her, surely aware that she's not listening, and might even have called her on it were it not for-- "What?" There can be no question that it surprises him, and then, a moment later, bothers him, too. "Of course not. No. No. We say we belong to our lifemates, sometimes, but really that just means we belong with them. And I'd never try and call you mine. Why? Who said that?" "No one. I was just thinking and wondering. I ask a lot of questions." The last is added ruefully, the awareness of just how many questions Iolene has in a day recognizable, even to herself. "Do you know why Braeden decided to change his father's policy? Was it really- do you think, because of Dev?" The foot about his withdraws, and the fur-trapped figure Io makes, creeps out of her little spot towards where K'del is -- to lean and curl up against him. "I should be elated, but I'm more worried." His arms open to invite her in, wrapping snugly around her so that his fingers can idly trace over her arm; he relaxes, noticeably, at her explanation, but that doesn't mean the glance he aims at the hearth is completely at ease. "I've no idea," he admits. "I'd like to talk to him at some point and find out. Does seem like he's at the heart of it, maybe. Devaki." Mere mention of the exile, however, makes him frown all over again. "What are you worrying about?" "It-," Iolene stops to think, but also to readjust herself and guide his hand somewhere else, beneath the furs. Her arms don't need such idle tracings, silly. "It seems like it's too easy. And the talk at the gather. None of it was optimistic I feel. So you have all these newly Blooded folk. What happens to the old Blooded folk? I'm not stupid, K'del. I grew up learning of our rights and what we lost." Even if she might not talk about it much is the voiceless admission that colors the slight defensiveness of her voice. "There's not enough land worth holding in High Reaches Hold to just decide to... to make me a minor lady." K'del was trying to be a gentleman, and let them have a proper conversation before delving into such things, but - let it not be said that he fails to take direction. "No," he allows, after exhaling a long, low breath. "There isn't. And so you become - what? A Blooded people without land to back it up. Feels more like an idle gesture, put like that, doesn't it? Or like there's another shoe to drop." He's notably silent on the rest of what she's said, and the glance he aims at the fire, now, is bothered. Iolene tells K'del, "They listen to her, you know," leaving it at that as she shifts her body just enough to be a little more accessible. Then a quick addition, as if recalling something else, "Some of them." K'del's fingers, beneath that fur, provide a merry distraction, but his mind is still on the subject at hand. "Do they." Soft spoken, not-a-question. "Who does she listen to?" Silence. And then, a very quiet, rueful, sigh-worthy, "Oh, K'del." It's either his fingers working magic, or his naivety -- dealer's choice. It makes him laugh. It almost makes his fingers move faster, which might be an indication of how he's taken her exhale. Or maybe not, because a moment later he's changing the subject, not pushing on that line of questioning. Sort of. "If you hadn't Impressed, I suppose Devaki could have orchestrated a marriage for you with Braeden." "And someone else would have Ysavaeth in their head." Iolene throws that thought there too quickly after K'del's what-if. "And you'd have someone else in your bed." Beat. "If she'd have you." But it's filled with affection, and a twist of her body forces his hand to find other ground to tread on, as she presses herself up and in to kiss the curve of his neck. "Devaki thinks- ..." No, wrong start, and it abruptly shifts to, "A turn ago, I would do anything for him. Anything. I was so miserable. But I don't belong to him. I never did." With her flushed face hidden in K'del's neck, the words are cast out like a dare; daring K'del to agree, or even disagree. The reply K'del might have made to Iolene's continuation of the what-if is forestalled by her shift and kiss. His hand? Shifts around to grope her bottom, instead. He's flexible. In answer, he presses a kiss to the top of her head, letting it linger before he draws back to say, quietly, "No, you never did. You don't belong to anyone." And, quietly, "I'm glad it was you she chose." That Iolene can't bring herself to say 'me too', is telling. But at least she's not denying it verbally. "Or," she begins, returning to a previous thread, "He would have had me engaged to Aughan in lieu of Issedi. Can you see me? Lady of Crom?" K'del's opinion? "You'd - probably have driven him crazy, but he'd enjoy you, too, and then you'd kill him off with a heart-attack one of these days. You and Yuliye would probably hate each other, though, and that would amuse him." His arm suddenly tightens around her, another telling indication that he really is glad that reality is the way it is, and that that possibility has never, will never, eventuated. "Would you have run away with Devaki?" Iolene tenses, that bottom beneath his hand contracting and holding, until finally it releases with an audible breath. "No. And if I did, I would be a foolish girl to do so. If there's one thing of Impressing that makes me not regret what happened, it's that Ysavaeth brought me awareness." The tightly kept blonde turns her head so she's not quite breathing into K'del's neck or shoulder anymore, and reflects aloud in sober tones, "That I sometimes don't want to face. She made me grow up. I wonder... I think... Tiriana doesn't want to face that reality either." K'del turns his head, as she pulls hers back, following her gaze though in this position he can't try to meet it. "Don't imagine she does," he allows. "Right now, she's reacting with her pride, not with her reason. She's got to know that, Iovniath surely does. But - not always that simple, is it? We don't always want to face the things we need to." There's an opening. "Who does Iovniath listen to?" A long pause, before he answers. "No one," he says, finally. "And she's the senior queen," is all Iolene says, an answer long in coming to a question asked too long before. The lanky blonde pushes herself away a little, letting that fur fall upon the couch as she rises to let the flames silhouette her figure. "Did you want some cheese? Bread? I even asked- I hope, maybe, I asked for those little cinnamon doughnut things." K'del's hand drops back towards his lap, and perhaps it's no wonder that he studies Iolene as she rises. Not just her face, though, and not just her body: both, and perhaps neither, as though he's trying to see even deeper than that. Whatever he's looking for, though, he puts it aside in order to shift his position on the couch and say, "If there are doughnuts, I definitely want one of those." There's a little laugh, the bubbly variety Iolene's so good at. Her head tilts to one side, her braided and pinned blonde hair still in its place, though less immaculately for their brief flirtation. Her profile, with its lazy, indulgent smile, is visible in a turn to espy K'del over her shoulder, and then she's off in long strides to that table, and the doughnuts, and a glass of mulled wine. The glass claims one hand. A doughnut is claimed in her mouth, while another doughnut gets held and with her booty, she returns to stand before K'del, with her hip slung out and a gleam in her eyes: you pick. That's an easy decision. One hand reaches to take the glass of wine out of her hand so that he can set it down on the ground, while the other aims to draw her back in against him, so that he can claim the doughnut she's already got in her mouth. And, okay, the mouth along with it. The literal sweet kiss has Iolene giggling into both the doughnut and then K'del's mouth as she falls forward against him, "Mmmmmmm." And then another, more guttural purr, as she deepens the kiss. It's only broken by a murmur, "I want a baby." Cause that's sure to get any man hot and bothered. K'del is wearing too many clothes, still, and might, now, try to remedy that, when his hands aren't busy exploring all that conveniently located naked skin, except-- It's a good thing he's already swallowed his part of the doughnut, because as it is, his eyes go wide in surprise, and his hands go still. "That's why you wanted to come home straight," he concludes, before forestalling the rest of his answer to claim another heated kiss. More or less against her mouth is his added, "Ought to get practicing, then." And there's another giggle, the stress and disappointments of the night being forgotten in more practicing. And maybe, sometime, after they've finished, when she's still awake and studying his features and daydreaming of what their babies might look like, she might tell him, so quietly into his chest, after she's sure he's sleeping: "You know, you can ask me what you want to and I'd answer." Beat. "Maybe." |
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