Logs:Safe In The Knowledge
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 22 October, 2011 |
| Who: Iolene, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iolene has a gift, and lots more questions. |
| Where: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 1, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Milani/Mentions, R'uen/Mentions, S'thyn/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
  |
| 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. It's mid-afternoon when Iolene's steps, already a customary sound along the queenrider's corridor, sounds. But rather than stopping at her own weyr, its syncopated rhythm turns into a further entrance and makes its way into the Weyrleader's new quarters. There's a brief beat where Iolene takes in all the differences and slight similarities with K'del's old weyr, a place that weighs far more comfortably (even with the blood stains) than this new one does, and the first signs of hesitation flicker across her features. This can't be Lujayn's weyr, right? No? And that uncertainty results in a, "Hello?" quizzical to the last little upward lilt as those blue eyes dart about. At some point in the past six or seven months, K'del properly unpacked and settled into this weyr - which certainly looks relatively comfortable and home-like, now, with some of the same furniture that was in the previous one. The Weyrleader is probably at home, given his boots are sitting just near the entrance, but he's not immediately visible, not until after that quizzical 'Hello?'. A few seconds later, he emerges onto the little landing, towel-drying wet hair and looking surprised. "Iolene," he says, after a moment. "Come in. Hello." "I haven't-, I mean, this is different. It's... nice," is Iolene's most brilliant observation matched with a not quite compliment. It's certainly not as grandoise as his prior weyr, in spite of those blood stains and the uncertainty of this odd demotion reflects in the goldrider's blue eyes. "I brought you something. Belatedly." From behind her, the young weyrling draws out a- ... well. It's a something for sure. Oddly shaped clay that /looks/ like it half-melted when fired up to set. It's dusted over in mica and sand and so shimmers, though not quite in any kind of metallic way. "A present. Ysavaeth says she's heard people do this from time to time when they move. Bring presents." K'del glances around the outer room, as though attempting to view it through Iolene's eyes, but eventually shrugs. "It's more or less home, now, I think. It's cozy; we kind of like it." The towel gets draped over the back of his desk chair as he walks past, taking the three steps to the main room in a single stride so that he can cross towards Iolene. Her present draws a hesitant, flickered glance, but the Weyrleader's response is game: "Oh - thank you. It's-- yeah, it's a tradition, I guess. Something to help people settle in." Beat. "How are you settling in, anyway? Into your weyr." He'll accept the gift, giving it a long glance. "It's Cadejoth," blurts out Iolene. If he can't tell, which that long glance seems to signify to her he can't. Her immediate reaction is to look miserable, but that misery turns quickly into a crooked cracked look on her face of laughter withheld. "I'm so sorry. One of the weyrlingmasters told us to do one of those very early on and I tried it again recently and-... It's not very good. Ysavaeth is telling me I should've just brought a plant. But I'm not sure where she thought I could get a plant in the winter unless I stole one from the greenhouse." As for how she's doing? That question doesn't get answered. K'del doesn't have an answer as to whether he worked out what the gift was supposed to be, but Iolene's explanation makes him laugh. "My version of Cadejoth was so awful," he tells her, "when I was a weyrling, that I threw it at the lake in disgust. But the lake was frozen, and it just sort of... bounced." Still looking at the sculpture, he adds, "I'll put this one on my mantle. And /thank you/. This is much more fun than a plant; I'd have to keep a plant alive, and... well." He turns his gaze back on the weyrling, brows raised as though he's waiting, now, for her to actually answer his question. "Is," Iolene hovers, coming up along the tips of her toes and looks around, "Is your wif- girlfri- weyrmate?" There's just too many terms to use and, the blue eyes flicker around as if expectant of Milani to show up at any moment, kids in tow. That's /not/ what K'del was waiting for, but it makes him look around, too, almost as though /he/ expects her to show up out of nowhere, too. "No," he says, after a moment, turning his attention back on Iolene. "Milani's..." he trails off, as though he's not entirely sure what to say. "Not here." Not sure what to say, maybe, but pretty definite about that much. "Oh." Iolene fidgets, her fingers playing in front of her in an odd game of the thumbs war, before they slide back simultaneously and hook into the pocket of her pants. Those thin shoulders lift and then fall. "I miss Devaki." Apparently finding this a good point to bond over K'del with his not there weyrmate with. "I miss him a lot. Do you-, have you- I mean, why haven't you tried to look for him?" As if -this- is K'del's job. Mention of Devaki makes K'del frown, and rather than answer right away, he turns to head towards the fireplace, where there's a low fire burning, and places the sculpture up with the other trinkets on the mantlepiece. It's only as he turns back to look at Iolene again that he answers the question. "We /have/ tried to look for him. Him and the other one. Raum. But Pern's a big place. And when people don't want to be found..." He shrugs. "I'm sorry. That he left you. Like that." She could say: you're not trying hard enough. Certainly, it's in those blue eyes that look to K'del in a mixture of hope and accusation, but those words don't hit air as Iolene's open mouth closes. "I'm sorry. I didn't come here to remind you of that. Just. With Turnover, I remembered last year and how it was and-," she evinces her apology with a half-smile, mostly wane and sad. "I wanted- to see how you were. It's been a long time since I visited. The last time I tried-," Iolene pauses. "You didn't live there anymore." She doesn't need to say it: there's guilt in his expression already, enough so that he ducks his gaze from her, hastily waving a hand towards the chairs place around the fireplace. "Sit down? Want something to drink?" He stays where he is, though, and only after a few more moments manages to shake his head and say, "No, no, it's fine. Turnover brought a few memories back, I guess. I'm-- I'm good. As you see. It-- we couldn't stay in the old weyr. It's better, here. Sorry I missed you that time, though." "It's ok," says Iolene of her attempt and his apology, waving it off with a flick of her hand. But she does sit, curling into the corner of the couch in front of the fireplace. "I was looking for a shoulder to cry on and it's probably better you didn't see me cry. I cry a lot, don't I? I don't remember ever crying this much before, but at Turnover, I decided I wouldn't cry anymore. A girl in the lower caverns told me some people make resolutions at Turnover. That was one of mine." After Iolene sits, K'del does, too, settling himself on the other end of the couch, his bare feet on the fabric, his knees drawn up towards his chin. "Sometimes," he says, after a moment, watching Iolene with a faint furrow of the brow, "we cry for good reason. There's nothing wrong with it. /I/ cry, sometimes. And-- if you need someone to cry on, it's okay. Better to let it out than bottle it in, I think." "Do you?" The idea that K'del could cry seems foreign to Iolene, as foreign as imagining Cason or Viremi crying. With interest, the gold weyrling looks to the Weyrleader, assessing him with her dark blue study. A tiny smile cracks, "I don't believe you. Prove it." K'del assesses Iolene in return, pale blue eyes meeting darker ones. His mouth twitches, holding back a smile. "Can't cry on demand. Sorry. You'll have to take my word for it, 'less the opportunity comes up. Should I come and cry on your shoulder, if I need to, then?" "You can," says Iolene, her expression shaping in faux graveness. "I wouldn't deny you my shoulder to cry on after all those times you helped me." A hand extends to K'del fingers stretching to reach for his knee to try and pat reassurance. To somehow convey in that tiny little gesture that she could handle his problems as well as he handles her. Or something. "Can I ask you something?" K'del doesn't move away, certainly, so the patting connects; he gives her hand a glance, expression twisting into something rueful again before he turns his gaze back to the weyrling. "Will keep that in mind," he tells her, though it's hard to know whether he really intends to. "Of course you can. What do you want to know, Iolene?" "Do I-, is there-," several false starts, as usual, lead to a lengthier pause before Iolene tries again. "Is there a way to restrict who chases Ysavaeth?" Yes, there have been mating flight lectures. And yes, it seems that it went well enough, given the exile's very loud initiation into the flight consequences of a gold dragon last year. K'del doesn't push or prompt, during those false starts, but waits patiently until Iolene can get the question out. If it's something that surprises him, it doesn't show in his expression; instead, he looks a little awkward, a little reluctant. He shakes his head. "Not-- really. No. You can ask someone not to chase, and I guess mostly people will oblige. But. Shells. If Tiriana could make me not chase? There's no way I'd still be Weyrleader, I think." Simple girls ask simple questions that tangent from the original inquiry, "Then who would?" K'del hesitates, frowning. "To be honest," he admits, "I'm not sure. She doesn't /seem/ to have a preference, these days. But-- anyone but me, probably, even now. We're not exactly friends or anything." He pauses, turning his head sideways to consider her. "Who is it you don't want to chase?" "Oh, I don't know." Iolene shifts her legs so they tuck beneath her and pivots herself to look to the Weyrleader. "I don't know if I really want to sleep with Jaques. Or Khorde. Or Elgin. But then it'd be weird to sleep with Ch'vaz too. Or Tiriana's weyrmate." The last seems to pause her, a wry smile twisting her lips. "If Tiriana thinks my Impression was a fluke before, can you imagine how thrilled she would be if Zaiventh won Ysavaeth's flight? I bet she'd have me packed and headed for another Weyr the next day. Like Iskiveth." Nods mark each of Iolene's suggestions up until that last one, which makes him open his mouth, close it again, and then frown. "We're not going to send you away," he says, firmly. "Flights are flights. They just--" He breaks off. "It's awkward, sleeping with people you don't really want to, but you get used to it, a bit. Mostly, anyway. Probably, Tiriana would insist R'uen leave the weyr before Ysavaeth can rise. Will insist. I mean, that's an easy way to avoid it, right?" "Why doesn't he win?" It's the most logical succession for Iolene. Not quite so logical for K'del, who frowns for a moment before hazarding, "Why doesn't Zaiventh win Iovniath's flights, you mean?" He shakes his head. "I don't think Iovniath likes Zaiventh much. And I don't know that R'uen wants to be Weyrleader, or even if Tiriana wants him to /be/ Weyrleader." Considering this, Iolene surmises, "I don't think she wants anyone to be Weyrleader. I think, sometimes, she would rather ru.. le the Weyr herself." When run turns into rule, an odd vowel sound is created. "Did I tell you?" Of course she didn't, since it was the day he wasn't in his weyr anymore. "She told me the only people who become goldriders are those with impeccable breeding and that I was a mistake." K'del is, again, silent for a moment before he gives a reluctant and somewhat rueful nod, running one hand through his hair as he does so. "Not sure you're far wrong," he agrees. "And believe me, she's better than she used to be." Better, but not, given his frowning reaction to the rest of what Iolene says, all that good. "She's wrong on that count, you know that? Lujayn doesn't have fancy breeding, and neither did Teris. You're not a mistake." Iolene? She's done her research. "My breeding is fancier than hers." Well at least in regards to Tiriana and her own inflated view of her lineage. "She said her grandparents were holders. They don't appear to be as far as I can tell. Unless she meant /holders/ and not Lords." If only her little nose would lift higher, more haughty, but instead that thin-featured face of hers turns to make a face at K'del, sticking her tongue out and wrinkling up her nose. "I made a list." K'del's mouth opens, again, but stops abortively; he laughs, instead, and shakes his head. "A /list/. What's on your list?" Those blue eyes, so solemn despite the remnant twitch on her nose, fix onto K'del. "A list of bronzeriders I would be comfortable winning Ysavaeth's flight. She wouldn't let me add any brownriders." Those lashes drop and then a sigh exhales. "She says golds caught by browns don't deserve to be gold any way." K'del ... blinks. Several times. Finally, "Well, it doesn't hurt to be prepared, I guess. Even if-- you might be disappointed." He draws his mouth in, though not in a way that seems to signify disgust - just thoughtfulness. Finally, "Hope she gets her wish, anyway. Though we really don't need any more queens, whatever Iskiveth seemed to think." Apparently the discussion of mating flights has gone past lectures and into more serious chats between dragon and rider. "I was reading dragon lineages," someone segues into a half-wistful, trying to be mostly jokey but failing, "I wish I were a dragon," for Iolene. At least she's prepared. Which K'del, honestly, seems to be surprised and impressed by. He's a little less sanguine by what else has been on Iolene's mind, though. "I-- oh. Oh, Iolene. I'm sorry." Which seems genuine, even if he's slightly uncomfortable. "It must be-- hard." There's a terse explanation. "Just Turnover," as it likely will for years to come. But Iolene shrugs it off. "Didn't you say something about a drink? I could use one. Not alcoholic. Tea maybe?" It's an explanation that makes sense to the Weyrleader, though he only nods once before launching himself off the couch and back to the hearth. "Tea," he repeats, once he's sitting there, cross-legged, setting up the kettle. "Of course. Did you-- have a good Turnover, ignoring, uh, memories, I guess?" "Mostly. A vintner danced with me. Jerok, the stablehand," Iolene is quick to add as explanation, "Ended up with another girl all night and so I went home alone." The teenager drops her feet to the ground, and then the rest of her body to crawl closer to K'del, the fire, and the promise of tea. "I think Riorde went home with Ch'vaz and-," the girl takes a sharp breath in and slowly exhales it. "I was wondering." K'del turns away from the kettle, which is now happily strung above the fire, to regard Iolene curiously as she joins him. Ch'vaz and Riorde is clearly new to him, but goes without comment. Instead, brows raising: "What?" "Tiriana won't have me as a goldrider. I won't fly in a regular wing." Iolene, in the months since K'del saw her last, has at least been studious, whether self-motivated or put to task by that dragon of hers. "I'd like to be a craft liaison." Now, K'del's brows knit, drawing back down quizzically as he considers the proposal. It's likely that he wants to argue Tiriana's acceptance of Iolene, but ultimately doesn't; instead, he says, "And what would you see your duties as?" "I," Iolene looks to the kettle, perhaps hoping it might rescue her from talking and when it doesn't, she lies, "I don't know yet." Lies without looking to K'del, with her gaze fixed to that kettle and the fire beneath it. "Maybe make sure the apprentices who get posted here without a say in their posting feel at home. Talk to the people back at their Hall if some people have trouble adjusting to living at a Weyr. I don't know. Something." Well, it's not all a lie, but even so, she has trouble speaking at K'del rather than the kettle, fire, and rug; the blue rug she's now picking at with idle fingers. "I know what it feels like to move here when it wasn't your choice and I feel like everyone else had a choice, or some say, in coming here. But crafters don't always not unless they have rank and even then-..." It's a wholly new idea for K'del, but that doesn't mean he's not inclined to take it by both hands and give it serious consideration. "Like what a candidate coordinator does, or should do, but for crafters," he concludes, after a few moments. "Helping people settle in to weyr life in particular. Liaising with the craft halls, too, I suppose. More directly. If we want more of a specific kind of crafter. Or if there's a problem. It'd be good to have a close relationship with them. Closer." "So you think it's a good idea?" Those dark blue eyes fly upward to K'del, hopeful. "Something I could do ok, even without being a weyrwoman?" K'del rests his hands on his knees, palms up, and admits, "I'll have to think about it. And-- run it past Tiriana, because whatever she says, it's still-- you're still-- well. But I think it sounds like it could work okay. So we'll see, okay?" "Oh." Crestfallen, Iolene darts a look out to the ledge, as if she can /see/ the restless shifts of her dragon not so far away. "Must you? What if she says no? What will I do then?" K'del's gaze follows Iolene's towards the ledge, and it's as though he's worked something out, suddenly-- though he doesn't say anything. Instead, and with audible reluctance, "It's the way it has to be, I'm sorry. If I just make decisions about your future, she'll throw a tantrum," beat, "Well, she won't be happy, anyway. But if I present it as a way to keep you out of her hair... I'll try. Promise." In a small voice, Iolene says, "Please don't send me away." It makes K'del's whole body droop, his breath catch. He reaches out a hand, pressing it to Iolene's shoulder unless she pulls away in time. "Don't intend to. I swear it. It's-- I don't-- I won't." Maybe that was the whole purpose of this visit, starting with that mangled clay dragon to the presentation of just how she could be useful and the endless babble of mating flights and bronzeriders. "Really? Truly, really?" It's probably guilt talking rather than any strategic plan, but K'del's hand stays on Iolene's shoulder for several moments more before, somewhat awkwardly, he draws it back towards his lap. "Yeah," he says, a bit more firmly this time. "I won't, Io." It's probably the first time he's used his nickname. "I won't." Reassured and having said her piece, Iolene sinks backwards, rolling a little more on her bottom so she's rocking back and forth on the rug. "Maybe," she begins, a little dreamily, "I could fly away to the island when Ysavaeth gets proddy and only invite a few dragons to come along with us on a picnic. Maybe." K'del's pause is a little too deliberate, a little too uncomfortable; his face scrunches up kind of awkwardly. "Not sure that would work," he says, finally. "It-- I'm sure it'll be fine, okay? It won't be so bad." Is the tea done yet? Iolene looks to it expectantly and finds that it is not so. "Will you be there?" is her sudden question, a turn to look to K'del. "Or does- does being Weyrleader mean you'll leave the Weyr?" Watched kettles-- but K'del's not watching it. He's watching Iolene, instead, and his mouth draws in again uncomfortably as she asks her question. "Cadejoth doesn't often chase," he says, slowly. "Not since Iovniath. Do you-- want me to make sure he doesn't? Or does?" Okay, yes: he's curious. There's a /list/. "I," Iolene starts, "I don't want Tiriana there. I was told the Weyrwoman sometimes remains to guide new goldriders through the process. I don't want her there. Ysavaeth does not want her or Iovniath there." Her lips press against each other first, then draw in to be crushed by her teeth. "Will you? Be there, I mean? To help. I trust you." Shaking his head firmly, K'del says, leaving no room for argument, "Tiriana and Iovniath will leave the weyr. So will Lujayn and Rielsath. I--" He breaks off, giving Iolene a measured glance. "Of course I will. If you want me to. I know you'll be fine, though." "And if I'm not?" Iolene is quick to ask. "Then we'll help out," says K'del, firmly. "Most of the bronzeriders-- they won't want to see you struggling. They'll help. Remind you. It'll be /fine/, I promise." "I didn't mean that." Though, from the brow-cocked look Iolene favors K'del with, she understands why he misconstrued her series of non-sequiturs. "I meant. I don't know." Io shifts on the rug, her bare toes wiggling at the heat. "What if I'm not fine. Being here. Being a weyrwoman. Fitting in? I don't fit in even when I try and I sometimes feel you're the only one who wants me to stay that didn't come here from the island too. Do I have a choice at all in anything anymore?" K'del's whole face seems to crumple as he understands, finally, what Iolene is getting it. He doesn't, initially, seem to have an answer: in fact, he draws himself back up onto his knees to peer at the kettle rather than look at her, at least for a few moments. The kettle is finally boiling: convenient timing. Finally, as he turns back to offer her a mug of the tea, he says, quietly, "It'll get easier. I know-- I can't even imagine how hard it feels. How hard it /is/. But I /do/ want you to stay, and I'm not alone, okay?" That doesn't answer her question, one she pointedly reasks, even as she accepts that mug of tea. "Do I have a choice at all in anything anymore?" It's a question he was avoiding answering, quite possibly, but he's not left with a choice this time. "I-- I guess it might seem like no. But there are always choices. You're still you. You get to decide who you live your life with, and hey, you made a decision about what you wanted to do with yourself, work-wise, and that's something, right? It's just-- most of us don't get choices. I didn't ask to be Weyrleader. Tiriana didn't ask for our former Weyrwoman to kill herself and leave her that knot." His expression is pained; his eyes are sad. With the mug cradled in between both hands, Iolene looks down to the rug as K'del says what she long suspected. "Would you," starts a question she doesn't already know the answer to, "Quit if you could?" K'del wraps his own hands about his own mug, and hesitates, turning his attention back to the flames in the hearth before he answers. "Not now," he says, finally. "Maybe at first. Except even then-- I'd wanted it, but not yet. Not /then/. But I had it, and I had to prove myself. Prove I could do it. And now-- it's been so long, it's a huge part of my life. Don't know what I'd be without it. Who I'd be." The non-amused amusement surfaces in Iolene's voice as she suggests, "We could run away together." K'del laughs, though it's a rueful, tired sounding laugh, and it's obvious he's not really taking the suggestion seriously. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that you can't run away from your problems, Iolene? Shells. Where would we even go? And you'd still miss your Devaki, and I'd--" He trails off. "We have dragons. We could run some place no one could find us and make our own choices." The lack of amusement is replaced with an earnestness given outlet by his outright dismissal. She knows he won't take it seriously now, which makes it all the easier to give way to dreams. "No one could come get us unless we wanted to." Iolene's paled face pauses at the mention of Devaki though and then tilts curious for his unfinished thought. "And the dragons would take down wild wherries, and save some for us, and we'd live on them, and maybe some fish, and whatever we could find." There's a fondness in K'del's tone, and something akin to wistfulness, even if he isn't taking it seriously. He hesitates before admitting, one hand running through his curls again, "I'd miss my boys. And it'd be running away. From a lot of things. Not just the weyr. Milani, other things." Reckless, "Bring her with us. Bring them with us. We'll start a new Weyr. A free Weyr where we can make the choices that make us happy." Anarchy on Pern, here we come. Iolene leans forward, those big eyes trying so very hard to persuade. Something in K'del's expression suggests that actually, it might be he'd rather /not/ bring Milani with them on this mythical escape. But he doesn't say it; instead, "If only it were that simple. Sometimes, doing the right thing makes people unhappy. Sometimes, doing what makes /you/ happy makes someone else unhappy. It just-- I wish it worked better." All the earnestness in Iolene is popped out of her, like a suddenly deflated balloon. She concedes, "It would be hard for you. I know." Notably, she doesn't speak on her own behalf. In silence, she sips her tea and watches the fire. K'del turns his gaze back on Iolene, watching her silently for a long time before he asks, "And you?" Really? "Who would be unhappy if I did what I wanted to do?" Iolene looks to K'del with that teenage '/really/?' look. "I think most people would be happier." "It's usually not quite that easy," K'del says, trying to explain, but he falls short; finally, he shakes his head. "Maybe not. I don't know. I wish I could make things easier for you; I do." "They're not so bad," says Iolene, the thread of optimism still lingering in her teenage emo brain rearing its tiny little head. "I do like my weyr. It's a very nice weyr. I've never had a room like that to myself and it gets lonely and sometimes, how big it gets scares me. I have a friend living with me. I like that I can protect her better now, except... Ysavaeth can't come home until after Rilka goes to sleep and I think Ysa is tiring of that." K'del looks pleased, admitting, "I always liked your weyr. It's a nice one. Though-- why can't Ysavaeth come home?" He adds, after a moment, "I'm sure she could stay on Cadejoth's ledge, if she needed to. Or on the empty one, I guess." The one connected to his old weyr. Preceding her next thought, Iolene smiles, that kind of smile that suddenly scrunches her face all together in the sheer amusement value of it all. "Rilka's scared of Ysavaeth." The irony of it all too. "I don't blame her," she adds quickly, with a bow to her head to study the contents of her mug, "Ysa's getting bigger every day and- Rilka." Oh, Rilka. Kindly, "Rilka's had a difficult life. And Ysavaeth doesn't think any one should keep her from her home, even if they make me happy." K'del's "Oh!" is heartfelt; his expression twists ruefully, and finally, he nods. "That's an awkward one. Have you-- tried getting her used to Ysa? Introducing her slowly?" Beat. "I don't know. Rilka's the weird one, isn't she? People've mentioned her to me." "She's not weird. She's just. She's..." Iolene's defense of the weird one is cute, but even she doesn't have anything more to say of that. No evidence. Nothing. "Maybe." But that's dubious. "I guess we'll see what happens. Ysavaeth isn't going to bother pretending she doesn't live in our weyr anymore." Not weird. K'del's eyebrows are raised slightly for that, but he doesn't argue it verbally. "Hopefully it'll work out," he says, finally. "Nice for her, to have you looking after her like that. Must make it harder for you-- are you still seeing S'thyn sometimes?" "Does everyone know?" She's not surprised, only- resigned? That must be it, the way her light lashes turn away from K'del back to the fire. And my, this tea is suddenly really good. It'd probably make K'del laugh, except that he's trying to hide it behind his mug, and maybe not even show it altogether. A deep breath. "Sorry," he says. "Dragons are gossips. Some of them. It's not a big deal or anything-- really." "No." That's a little short. Maybe a little sad. Iolene drops her chin to rest along the edge of her mug so that whatever steam is left in the cooled beverage gives her a nice little facial. "It was fun." Short. Sad. /Confusing/. "I-- okay." K'del breaks off from anything further, and gives Iolene a somewhat quizzical look. Iolene is never good at keeping her own secrets, so when K'del goes silent, that's all the impetus she needs to confess, "Ysavaeth doesn't think he's good enough for me. But I tried to explain to her that we're not married and he doesn't want- I just wanted to. I mean..." Confused seventeen year old hormones just shrug it away. "I don't care." "You just wanted to have sex," concludes K'del, blithely calm about this, really. "I get it. Ysa-- well. I'm sorry." Which does sound genuine enough. "She seems to have-- opinions. I guess." Turning crimson, Iolene averts her eyes, but does say, "Yes." It's an answer for it all. "Grams would kill me." Luckily, Grams is no longer alive and Pernese don't believe in an afterlife. K'del's smile goes fond all over again. "My parents would be horrified," he admits. "If they knew what I was like at your age. Before your age. It-- I settled down, I guess. A bit. People throw themselves at you, when you have power, sometimes. It changes things. Don't-- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you." "I never really knew my parents. And what I know now." Iolene sets the mug of tea down on the ground and tilts her head, so she might look at K'del without the flare of fire distracting her. "Apparently my mother had an affair with Devaki and Evali's dad and that resulted in me and she /lied/ to everyone about who I was, but not to him and then we got a mess. I don't know how people in Weyrs- I mean, some people here don't know who their parents are at all. It doesn't seem fair." That story rather wipes the smile off K'del's face; he has to take a long, deep breath before he can actually answer it at all, and when he does, it's pretty serious. "It probably isn't," he allows. "I'm lucky. Both my boys-- we knew they were mine. Sometimes you don't, and that gets complicated. Lying-- that always makes things messy. Hiding things. I hate that. Wish it wasn't that way for you. Wish everything were simpler, none of that-- confusion. And whatever." In conclusion, "I don't think my mother would think less of me. She wouldn't really have any grounds to be horrified." Really, Iolene has moved past the realm of self-pity a long time ago and reached the plane of reflective non-understanding. She'll just keep rolling with the punches and mourn a life she completely lost to her. "Some day. Some day, when I have my own children, I want to be able to point to one person and tell them: that man is your father. And be proud and know that there's no reason to doubt ever." Oh, such naive dreams. "Some day." "I think--" K'del breaks off, and then nods. "That's a good way to do it. I don't think it matters if they all have the same father, as long as you /know/. Reckon it'd suck for a child, not being sure." Iolene may be past it, but he still has sympathy for her; it shows all the way across his expression. "I think," Iolene notes, still past the whole subject even if K'del is sympathetic. "I would have pretty children. It'd be awful to have ugly children, wouldn't it? I hear most mothers think their children are beautiful no matter what, but you must know deep inside they aren't. And then you must know what other people are thinking and oh- I hope I have pretty darling little babies." Because that's not superficial at all. /That/ makes K'del laugh. "I know my children are beautiful," he tells her, firmly. "Though I see your point. You'd better pick yourself an attractive man to have them, and hope for the best." He turns his mug in his hand, then sets it down on one knee, held in place with one hand. "I think you'll have pretty babies, though. Adorable ones." "/We/ could make beautiful babies," teases the teenager to the old man. "Mmm? No?" But the tea is still on the ground and Iolene, however reluctant she might appear to want to leave, looks back over her shoulder. "I should go." Old man! K'del's not even twenty-five, thank you very much. He laughs, promising teasingly, "We would make /perfect/ babies. Too perfect, maybe." Her reluctance draws a pause from the bronzerider, but after a moment, he nods: "Go on. Drop in any time, though, okay? If you need a shoulder. Or-- whatever. Look after yourself, Iolene." "Next time," she visits, "I'll take you fishing. We should be able to fly longer and out to the rivers, right?" But whatever he says, Iolene's taking steps out towards the exit with the knowledge that 1) she's not being sent away any time soon, 2) she might have something more important to do than just sit around and look cute, and 3) he didn't say /she/ couldn't go start her own free Weyr. "Have a nice rest of your afternoon." "Fishing," says K'del, surrounding surprised and pleased. "That would be fun. Have a good one, Iolene." He lets her go safe in the knowledge that she isn't completely miserable. Which is-- something, at least. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:Safe In The Knowledge"Evali (108.110.230.21) left a comment on Sun, 23 Oct 2011 17:26:49 GMT.
I LOVED this log. You guyyyys.
Taikrin (98.203.232.93) left a comment on Mon, 24 Oct 2011 17:25:56 GMT.
Bwahahahaha
"..She wouldn't let me add any brownriders." Those lashes drop and then a sigh exhales. "She says golds caught by browns don't deserve to be gold any way."
Leave A Comment