Logs:Shared Histories
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| RL Date: 12 June, 2011 |
| Who: Devaki, V'teri |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Devaki and V'teri talk, and discover they share more than a love of finding the truth. Plans are made for a trip to River Bend. |
| Where: Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 13, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jaques/Mentions, Tomaeran/Mentions |
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| Sometime after dinner, a sandy-haired, whistling cheerfully rider walks into the candidate barracks and makes an announcement: "So, the Weyrleader has seen fit to transfer responsibility of you to my care. Don't worry, I'm nicer. If you have any grievances or concerns, I'll return tomorrow to listen to them. Please do take this to note that should anything happen to you, my neck is on the line, and my neck's awfully pretty to be on that line, so I'd appreciate it if you were patient for a little while longer while we sort this all out. Thanks!" Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr Just off of the main passageway lies the small cavern that forms the hub of the residents' quarters, kept immaculately clean by the headwoman's staff and warmed in cold weather by a stone hearth to the left and well back from the entrance. Comfortable chairs and a plush fur arrayed before the hearth make an inviting spot to curl up with a book or handicraft, or just to sit and chat. Beyond, additional chairs stand in clusters throughout the room, some upholstered with age-softened hide, some plain wood. At the widest point of the cavern, a round table gleams with polish, though its surface is nicked and scarred from Turns of use. Beyond the table, the very back of the cavern often lies in shadow unless the glowbaskets there are unlidded to cast cozy pools of light. The commingled scents of klah, smoke and polish permeate the air along with the sweetness of rosemary and lavender. Tapestries hang across the entrances to dormitories and more private quarters as well as the exit to the outer hall, colorful protections from drafts.
So far, Devaki has towed the line. His 'escort' follows him at a not-so-discreet distance. And, on the heels of the bronzerider's announcement, Devaki immediately follows him to the common room, not one to wait until 'tomorrow'. He holds out a hand as if to bid the rider to wait, "What was your name? I didn't catch it." His pace is slow, so that the rider could elude him if he wished, the exile obviously still recovering from whatever sickness struck them. More expletives are muttered under his breath and the bronzerider shoves his hands into his pockets, his feet treking across the room, not towards the inner caverns, but to the hallway of private residences. But when the voice catches up with him, followed by a man trailed by guards not far from the entrance, the rider turns and frees one hand to stay the escorts from manhandling Devaki back. "Well shit," he says againm "I forgot that part, didn't I? V'teri. You can call me Van." "Van, huh? So, Van," Devaki muses, pushing ahead as if he were intending to move no matter the guard's preferences or not, "Your survival depends on us exiles behaving? That's a very poor deal you appear to have made there," he says, with a twitch of brows, leaning not-so-casually against the wall. "I'm not very smart," returns the man affably. The hand waves the escort off further and V'teri continues to walk while Devaki leans. Keep up, man! "And yours is? Name that is." "So either your leaders dislike you, or..?" Devaki trails off, with an inquistive spread of hands. "Devaki," he finally replies, pushing off from the wall and taking a few large strides to try and keep up with him, though this probably won't last for long. Blandly honest question follows: "What's your interest in us?" "They blame me for you." Which neatly answers his first question and his last. Maybe V'teri isn't as stupid as he says he is. He'll spare the exile a sidelong glance, though it turns quickly into a more intense scrutiny, which almost leads to him running into a wall, "Devaki? Mind if I call you Dev?" "Do they?" Devaki appears surprised. As for the latter: "My friends call me Dev." Though apparently he leaves it to the other man's discretion whether he falls into that category or not. "I'd be interested in talking to you more -- about all this." Turning finally, V'teri stops his steps to the private rooms hallways and considers Devaki. Turning, however, reveals his rumpled state of dress with the buttons of his shirt in all the wrong holes. "Can't a man just go get laid?" The bronzerider sighs between his teeth, causing a whistle to exhale. Then, "It's not tomorrow yet, but... have at me. That's what I'm here for." The man will even spare a smile for the man. "What do you want to know?" There's a tightening of expression from Devaki at the flippant answer, though he manages not to respond verbally. Instead, he says, "You said they blame you. Do you--" he glances left and right, then back to V'teri, "Do you know the truth, then? Do you believe us?" Noting the tightening in a flick of his gray eyes, V'teri releases. He releases his tension, the stress; just releasing. "I'm sorry, Dev." He falls in the friend category. "They blame me because I'm the reason you're here. Well, not /here/, but the reason they found you in the first place." As for the truth, there's a wary and weary shadow in his eyes, but the subject is yet unbroached. There's a long moment of silence from Devaki, then he reaches out a hand with the intention of clapping V'teri on the shoulder. "Then we have much to thank you for, Van," he says, gravely. As for the other, "Maybe we can talk about that, latter. You look -- tired. And the truth will win out, in the end. I'm confident of that." There's definitely an odd assurance in the young man's expression. "It's," It's been a long day of silences and revelations, but V'teri doesn't complete his statement. Instead, he gestures to a couch. "Please, sit. I need some clarifications if I'm to be fully responsible. The Weyrleader told me that there are claims of Blood." That's as likely a place to start as any. "There are." There's a breath like an exhale of relief, as Devaki moves to, and settles on, the indicated couch. He doesn't appear comfortable, exactly; he sits straight-backed. "A line stemming from Radiel, Lord of River Bend. Along with some other -- complications. I could recite every islander of the Blood, Van. There are many. Or--" he takes a slight breath, "/Were/." There's that damn River Bend again, and at the mention of this particular hold name, V'teri's brows lift in unison. "Wait, go back. River Bend. Explain more about River Bend." He's demanding in one breath, and suddenly apologetic in the next. "I'm sorry. I just... I need to know." If anything, Devaki seems surprised at the interest that the rider displays. Perhaps because it's so different from every other reaction -- where people have refused to listen. "I can trace my heritage directly to Lord River Bend. As can my cousins, Jaques and Tomaeran. And others. That's /why/ we were exiled. Because of-- because of Lord Beradin, of High Reaches Hold. Radiel's eldest son Henret was to inherit. And--" he spreads his hands. "Here we are." Oh, if there was a way to leap from having a great-grandmother named Jiesa to a great-great-grandfather named Henret. If only. Instead, V'teri absorbs what Devaki says with intent eyes. A distant tenor lifts, thinking; "The Weyrleader, he mentioned that somewhere in River Bend, there are portraits of the old holders. That they look like me. Or similar." Even if connect-the-dots can't happen explicitly, there is that doozy of a hint. "At River Bend?" There's barely withheld excitement in Devaki's voice. "And you--? Can you-- can you take me there?" Can he? V'teri blinks, suddenly aware of just what Devaki is asking. "I-, I guess I could, since K'del put you all in my care, but won't that be troublesome for you? I mean, for everyone? Riuscyth is bronze, but he's not /that/ big of a bronze. I can't take everyone." Unspoken, but written in those intense gray eyes of his: can you keep a secret? "You don't need to take everyone. Just me, for now. Maybe Jaques. Or.." Devaki shakes his head. "Until we know what it means." Devaki seems very much down with that whole secret-thing, straight-backed, exhaling. "If it's true, I'll tell the council -- what's left of them -- and they can decide what to do." Alarmed, V'teri holds out a hand, as if he might stop Devaki from whatever he plans to do, "Brother, what do you mean tell the council? Tell them what?" "That there's evidence, to prove the truth," Devaki says, as if that should've been obvious. "Evidence outside of /us/." "The truth?" Again quizzical, it takes V'teri a few moments to figure out what truth Devaki means. "Of the Blood. Of your Blood." He pauses and considers his hands, venturing a quieter, "Of my Blood. I don't even know what happened, why you were out there. I just... it's been bedtime stories for my siblings and myself since forever. That we were young lords who deserved the finer things in life. I always thought my father was crazy." "Then you and yours were just as wronged." Devaki says, leaning forward as if to convey the intensity of his words that much better. "When he's better, I'd like you to hear the story of why we were there, from my grandfather. Maybe one of the other council, but I'm not sure if they fare any better. Then you'll understand why you were told those stories. We are owed much.." he hesitates, and claims kinship with a simple: "Cousin." Devaki's lean is met in kind by V'teri's own move forward, their foreheads could even touch if one should sneeze funny, and he listens. Listens intently, quietly, with none of his typical joviality lightening his expression or subsequent word. "Cousin." In that one word carries a sobriety High Reaches hasn't seen of V'teri, nor likely his father. In it carries a measure of bewildered hope. A vow: "I'll take you to River Bend when you're ready. I can suffice as escort." "Thank you," is all Devaki says, though it carries with it a gratitute that he hasn't, until now, been able to bestow upon a Reachian. "Tell me when, and I will be there." V'teri leans back in his couch and favors Devaki with one considering look. "Tomorrow, I will be indisposed listening to your grievances. But the early mornings are mine. I'll escort you to your next bath when the sun rises on the day after." Which could have so many delightfully twelve-year-old-boy connotations if not for the solemn look on the bronzerider's face. "Wear something warm." "I'll see what I can find to wear," Devaki says. Shoes would probably help; he still hasn't managed to reconcile him to wearing them. He rises, teeters a moment, then retains his balance. His pale face is flushed with reaction. "Cousin," he says that word again, this time with pleasure. "You'll forgive me if I don't claim that in public." With another nod, he makes his way from the room, his strides more purposeful, now. Which leaves V'teri alone on the couch still in a state of deshabille. He's there for a moment longer after the exile returns to his barracks before he's sighing and getting to his feet. All he wanted to do when he woke up this morning, without pain in his back finally, was to spend an entire day screwing around, literally. Now, so late, there's only the slightest hope that one of his girls isn't already occupied and with purpose to his own steps, he makes his way back down the private hallways. |
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