Logs:The Blade and the Blossom
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| RL Date: 9 June, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, Kaelige |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Kaelige stalks Dee; Dee begs his help with a dangerous endeavor and makes promises she may not be able to (or want to) keep. |
| Where: Broom Closet, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 13, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jemizen/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Slightly back-dated to the day after the not quite fight in the barracks. |
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>---< Broom Closet, Fort Weyr >----------------------------------------------< A small, rectangular room, the Broom Closet is just that; a storage area for brooms and other cleaning equipment, all neatly set out on the shelves that line the far wall. She came when chores were done, without stopping for dinner. The day before had been hard because of the punishment that ensued from the not-quite-a-fight in the barracks. Today's chores, for Dee, of dealing with a truly staggering number of tubers that needed to be peeled in preparation for the evening meal was not quite so cold or backbreaking a work, but not one that allowed much in the way of relaxation. This makes the second day she's been visibly agitated, so perhaps it's no wonder that she stops in the barracks only long enough to change her clothes to something warmer and collect the blanket off her cot that she's gone again, trekking through the falling snow that's gentler than the blizzard of the day before, but still steadily falling. By the time she reaches the stairs that wind behind the bowl falls, her boots are caked with snow. Some is stamped off along the stairs, but it's why her boots are left outside the door to the broom closet, on the landing before the stair climbs higher toward the Sanctuary. Inside the tiny space that is the closet, Dee has settled herself in a corner, pulled out something that was tucked away, staged in the closet already, some dark material in her lap, a glow uncovered on the floor to light up the small space, and the blanket tucked cozily around her shoulders and under her rump where she sits cross-legged. Following others is certainly not difficult through the accumulated snow that's settled across the bowl. And, given he'd trailed Dee once before just far enough to figure out her intended location for her 'quiet time', it was little guess as to where her boot falls would lead him. Kaelige climbs the stairs perhaps minutes after his fellow candidate had with no real effort to hide himself. Granted, he does spare a single habitual glance over his shoulder to ensure none others have the thought to head upwards from the bowl behind him. He pauses, lingering a moment in the gentle flurry to look at the boots she'd left behind. But the moment passes, and he pushes open the door to step inside. Tall teen closes the door behind himself and stands silently in the doorway within the small quarters that Dee has claimed. Even though he doesn't move further inside the closet, it's still a tiny space, and just his presence in the closed box of a room is surely invasive and close enough. His face initially has a dark neutrality about it as eyes adjust from daylight to glowlight, but then as hood-covered gaze falls on Dee herself, visible face becomes faintly brightened with a dull grin. Were Dee some other girl, there might be a chance she could manage to look composed. It's probably not the first time she's been walked in on, but the people who've done so have likely had a different manner of entry: a bustle of work at hand or the blind groping for the door's handle to back in, only to find the nookie nook occupied. So a person who simply enters and closes the door behind him is enough to startle her, hazel eyes widening a touch, and there's a blush- though a quick flash across her face speaks to her recognition of Kaelige and a fleeting embarrassment for some thought that was no so. Perhaps she was expecting someone? Still, the material she has, the thread and needle already in hand is bunched together by nervous hands in her lap as she looks up at him, purposefully obscuring it. "Need a broom?" is offered in a way that speaks to the wry humor she sometimes exhibits, but there's a thin edge to it that hints at a poor attempt at defensiveness. Dee isn't naturally defensive, and that is, perhaps, why her expression is so open even this moment that she was unprepared for. Kaelige continues to watch Dee in an easy silence and doesn't offer a response to her initial wry greeting. He invites himself to sit down on the floor in front of the door with the familiarity of one who was asked to sit by the owner of the room, though his boots still on unlike hers settle themselves in small melted-snow puddles. His back doesn't quite lean on the door, but it remains blocking it; the positioning likely intentional given the random 'folk who may attempt to enter. "There are better lighted places to pursue hobbies." The shadow-covered teen comments in a calm voice, lacking in the sarcasm he'd usually use to goad her. A hand drifts to the peak of his hood, casually drawing it back behind his head. His fingers run through his hair idly, messing the already messy black spikes. He may not have had a good look at her project, but what hints she did give him were enough for a guess. "So what's so terrible about sewing that means you have to be locked in a broom closet?" The pretenses, what few Dee had to begin with, melt away in the moments following the boy's question. The humor had vanished and along with it the obvious nervousness. The nervousness itself isn't gone but has rather transformed to a new, deeper form. The girl's frame is stiff and still. It's not that the tall girl is never still, just that this stillness is different than the rest and the stiffness is still relatively foreign to her. Her usual stillness is one of tranquility of body, and now the tension decays her natural grace to something unnatural for her. She considers Kaelige, his spiky hair, his hood, her hazel gaze drifting down to his clothes and across them before returning to his face. "You know about obscuring things, right?" It's not an answer to his question. Her sewing project is abruptly slid to the side and she's moving onto her knees, her wool skirt stretching across them as she seeks to settle just in front of her unexpected company, so that in the small space they might be only a finger length from touching. Her look is suddenly earnest and seeking, hazel gaze taking on an unnerving penetrating quality as she searches his face. If Kaelige has made a study of human expression, this is the look of a girl who might ask him something in the moments to come - but who also might not. Kaelige himself is still as well, but a relaxed sort of still. He exudes no anxiety, no disturbance of the room beyond simply his presence. The whole being about him is calm, perhaps almost friendly. Almost. The subdued but intimidating darkness about him is not lost, his confidence an unmoving thing. His eyes study Dee as she does him, his face remaining lightened but unreadable by the turn of the edges of his lips. What she'd see in her considerations is no different than his normal attire, though so up close perhaps it's a little more obvious how the greys and blacks of his clothing aren't solid, meant to obscure his figure against shadows. His white knot still on his hip, that knife on his leg. And in general too covered to show anything else. "Yes.." He answers, curiosity and caution both evident in that single, mildly drawn out word. When she sits on her knees making herself that much closer to him, there's the faintest hint of surprise that passes over his face, though just as quickly dissolves. "Are you hiding from someone in particular?" There's something about his voice, a very certain quality about it that claims no hint of sarcasm and somehow seems indefinable as he encourages her response. "I'm about to be hiding from everyone," is earnest and with no small amount of resignation. Dee's eyes slide away from his face and down to his hand. She draws and holds her next breath as she reaches for it, allowing him time to pull away. It's one of the casual touches she's been given to direct to others (the sort that's just an instinctive touch to the arm, hand, or shoulder as seems appropriate), and yet, this attempt to touch seems deliberate, her work-roughened fingers curling around his hand with unnecessary gentility, as if Kaelige were somehow fragile and she didn't wish to break him, if he permits the touch at all. "Were you at the landslide, Kael?" The breath-later follow-up is a tangent, but not a purposeless one, one that helps her own tension, helps her shoulders relax just a bit for the normalcy of the question in contrast to all the rest. "Do you like 'Kael'? Or just Kaelige?" Kaelige loses some of the nonchalant air about himself at that, his expression hardening just enough to be noticeable. "What are you going to do?" His words are slow and deliberate, but quick to follow her statement, far too knowledgeable on this subject than to be anything less than direct. He's passive about that touch, allowing it, letting his gaze drop to her hand as she does so. To look at his eyes would find a much darker than jovial response, likely not at the touch itself given he doesn't seem to recoil at all. The gloves he wears numbs the feeling, symbolic really more than anything else, and his fingers curl just slightly, reflexively, but not enough to hold her hand. "Aye." Comes a reply to her question regarding the landslide, though he'd give no further detail on it, give no hint as to how it affected him- if at all. Dee's lighter question draws his attention back to her, the smile she earns not seeming to affect the growing hardness, "Whichever you like better." "Kael, of course," is quick and easily settled. The rest? That's more complicated. Dee's fingers curl into his glove, tracing the wear lines in leather (if there are any), almost as if she might silently be mapping his life by the way they've been used. She watches her fingers now, rather than meet his gaze. "Help them," is broad, "I have to," is quiet and confessed with obvious conflict. Then, another held breath escapes her as her eyes flick up to find his, "I've never done anything like this before, Kael," and some not insignificant part of her is scared. "But I can't sit idly by. Have you seen the new children in the nursery? The ones sent from the Holds?" A handful or so only. "They're scared. Their parents are scared. You'd have to be, wouldn't you? To be a Holder and send your child to a wild Weyr not knowing what their fate might be there. The alternative to letting them starve." The whole plight affect her, and deeply, Kaelige might here glimpse the very core of Dee's sensitive soul here through those wide and pained hazel eyes. The gloves are well-worn, patched and stitched in ways that suggest wear-lines related to being thinned by handles or hilts of some degree. Perhaps something not altogether foreign to Dee. There's a perfectly linear slit lining that particular palm that's not yet been repaired, as if sliced by a knife with some redness to the flesh beneath it indicating its recent application. She'd find his fingers, his hand giving and moldable to however she manipulates it, however she touches it. Kaelige watches her, distanced and with the remainder of his earlier grin melted away. "Of course you do." He replies to the note of her needing to help others, his smugness not entirely gone but with a bit of caution catching how he proceeds, as if giving her all the room she needs to continue to explain herself. Curiosity colors his narrowed gaze, as if seeing someone so utterly dedicated to caring for strangers is an enigma to him. Something completely alien in concept and feel. What isn't alien, however, is her look of fear in front of him. And while he would relish in it in other occasions, it forces him to look away from her- for now, down to their hands. "They're being fed, they have sanctuary. How much more needs to be done?" His tone may be a bit harsh for the circumstance. A pause follows before a more pointed question comes as he fails to connect what about her need to help would cause her need to hide, "What about helping others is something you've never done before?" "The children do," Dee agrees as her fingers continue their idle inspection of the gloved hand, "But their parents..." She trails off, looking at Kaelige, her eyes searching for understanding. It is then that, once again rather than answer his question directly, she poses another question, "Do you think the Weyr is in a better position to get help than a tiny Holding? If they really needed it?" And isn't it sort of unfathomable that a Weyr should? When was the last time there was true starvation in a Weyr? They always seem to make it work somehow. The question she poses is asked quietly, and it's a real question, not just one seeking a particular answer to lead him to a particular conclusion; it may be one of the assumptions she's made to help rationalize choices her conscience still wars with. Eventually, gloved fingers curl around hers. Gently; that sort of gentleness that doesn't seem to fit Kaelige at all. He still doesn't look back up at her eyes until after he speaks, though he can feel her searching stare. "This means a lot to you, doesn't it?" Is what he chooses to say without answering her questions yet, though there's clearly many words left unsaid.. When his blue-green eyes turn back to hers, there's a sigh with the unreadable look as if he's giving up on something, though not letting her have whatever she wanted to get from his expression. "Those who have plenty often don't share even if it is the right thing to do. And everyone has a different perception of what the right thing is. I don't think it's unfathomable, no. But starvation is possible anywhere. Even in a place that seems stable." His partial answer demonstrates a hesitancy to give a full response in this, and the pause that follows as he studies the look in her eyes is a heavy one, as if letting those incomplete thoughts hang will persuade her to be more direct in turn. Dee's eyes come up to his face as fingers curl around hers, her look a little startled as if she simply hadn't anticipated the possibility that he might, somehow, return some measure of her gesture. It might even be called a moment while she looks at him as if trying to puzzle him out. "Yes," is simple and sincere. Her eyes drop to their hands. "I'm afraid it won't be doing the right thing," perhaps because there are so many perceptions of what could be right, "but I can't do nothing." Her eyes come up again to echo the last two words, conveying her weakness. She's not strong enough to let herself be helpless in this impossible situation. A deep breath later she's saying, "We're going to take things from the stores, things the Weyr has plenty of, and give them to Lux's Ledge." Whoever we is. "Only we've-- I've never done anything like this before, and I'm sure we're going to be caught and horrible things will happen to us," the words spill out along with her feelings, her lip wobbling just a touch before she gets that much under control. Kaelige isn't thinking about the hand of hers that he's holding long. Once she lays her plans out before him, his gaze becomes strict, harsh, almost cruel. For all that she let him have a peek of her sensitive soul, he allows the same glimpse- though just that, a glimpse- of his own much less pure one. "That's stupid." Comes sharply, though not exactly angry, a dramatic contrast to what could have been him caring not moments before. "Stupid and reckless." Pot calling the kettle black? He shakes his head in disbelief, having not expected a word she just spoke if only because it came from her. "Yes, there are consequences if you don't do things right. If you didn't want to Stand, there are many other ways to get out of it!" His voice is still low, the exclamation coming more along the lines of a hiss at the end of his statement. But there's that caveat, that if you don't do things right, that shows his intentions are far from lawful good. "If you remember, I asked you once if you could decide between the loss of one, or the loss of many." He seems to withdraw, the harshness fading, distancing himself from her despite the close proximity the room keeps them in. "You said you'd find another way. This is you, sacrificing yourself- the one." And whoever else that 'we' included, though apparently the others don't matter. This is where it would be reasonable to expect Dee to wilt in the face of harshness like a flower in too fierce a sun... but this gentle Dahlia is not the wilting type. His anger only prompts a slight fold in the skin between her brows. Obviously, she's considering his words, not dismissing them. That she then says, "I don't want to not Stand." The emphasis is subtle but there. "I would make that trade, for me being the one, if I had to," this is serious and with quiet conviction. Then, "But I'd rather not have to." She looks up to Kaelige, "Would you teach me how to do it right?" Can you? She's not certain, of course, so the question is implied. "It's important to me that we do it right," if not for herself, for the rest of the 'we' she's also concerned for. "Not Standing would be the least of it." Kaelige's volume drops significantly, that bit more to himself and almost a mumble than anything. He looks away, towards the shelving beside them as he considers better wording. "You'd make that trade, and then not be around to see the result of anything. How will you know if you even made a difference when you're back at Southern as fast as they can Between you there?" Is said, louder with intention of being shared this time but level in tone as his flush of anger dissipates. As her direct question involves him in this impending disaster, he visually hesitates. "No." His terse, rigid answer may not be that rigid, since he won't look at her when he says it. "No, I won't teach you." Won't, not can't. "There's nothing in this for me." His intention to make himself sound as selfish as possible, even if the truth lines that statement, leaves his answer at that. Nothing to gain, everything- his life included- to lose. "I'd have to believe," is the easy answer for one who has faith in too many people and too many things, including the goodness of the world. Dee doesn't dwell on this response, "I miss Southern, in a way," she confesses, "but I'd rather not get caught at all." This part is important too. But 'caught' seems to trip her tongue, probably because ever being in a position to be caught in anything other than childish games that don't have stakes worth mentioning is the most she's ever been faced with. Her fingers unconsciously massage at his palm, either agitation or instinctive attempt to make him more open to what she wants. It's certainly not really paired with the words that come next, after a moment, "What if there could be?" She worries her lower lip a moment. "Even if I don't Impress, I'm going to be a master crafter someday. What if I give you a favor someday? When you want it." It must be obvious that Dee doesn't, wouldn't, perhaps even couldn't see the gravity of this offer. Kaelige would want her to make sure a particular crop came to someone who needs it, right? That's the kind of thing good people ask for. There's a part of him that wishes to destroy that sense of faith and goodness, to tell Dee of all those things in the world that would never live up to her sunshine. But then there's still that intrigue, that how can anyone be so good? that keeps him seated on the floor of the closet with her. Words- be they good or bad- catch as he feels the massage, dulled as it may be through gloves, and he finally stops staring at the shelving to look back at her face. "Are you sure you want to owe me a favor?" He asks, though dismisses the question almost as soon as he asks it for sake of thinking he knows what her answer would be. "And turns from now, would you even remember?" Or carry it through? A master farmcrafter would be exceptionally useful to his own trade.. Access to herbs of very specific uses, as a start.. "I'd rather you not get caught." His voice falls to almost a whisper, a clenching of his jaw that could be taken as a visual confirmation of his statement, but really is a silent beratement of himself for saying it, for getting involved even this far into what is entirely a compromising situation. "That's why I don't want you to even attempt this." But whether he's being ever so slightly persuaded or his interest is at least perked, he asks, "How do you even know you can trust these 'others'?" Dee doesn't answer the first, possibly for the same reason he dismisses it. The second gets a steady, "I never make a promise I won't keep." This, too, is dangerous (and possibly impossible) though the girl of only seventeen obviously hasn't learned so. Her fingers pause in their movement. "We all want the same thing," do they? She ignorantly believes. "And my brother..." who is of course involved, she simply trails off because it shouldn't need explanation beyond that. "And I can't help them alone." Trust by necessity (and stupidity?). She bites her lower lip, "I've been making hoods," is a confession for she must know Kaelige might not approve of this piece of their almost certainly ill-advised plan. Her free hand moves to gesture to the fabric on the other side, "I thought it might help us." "Plenty of people say that." Another note, more to himself, on the notion of promises. "And none mean it." Kaelige studies her, quiet for some lengths of time until she's finished explaining herself, more or less. Most of what she says is ignored or simply stored away, but the hood part.. "Hoods." He states, the word dripping with something along the lines of accusation. "So, in order to save your own hides, you'll all wear hoods so that the most likely culprit- or at least the leader of all you culprits- will be obvious." A seriousness has worn away at any expression he might have had, and he even slides his hand out and away from hers, laying it on his thigh instead. The distrust in his tone is livid, but twisted by a sense of dry sarcasm. "No," is miserable. Miserable. "Kael," her imploring use of his name sees her second hand joining the first to chase after his retreating one, even as she leans up a little on her knees and is all the closer, if still not meant to imply a level of intimacy beyond the matter at hand, despite their surroundings. "That's not what I want. Not--" she bites her lip. Then, "I don't know what I'm doing," it's helpless confession. "We don't have to use them, I just thought it would help, to have, in case of emergency. Better to have an option to leave a question than to have no way to hide our faces if we needed," she's asking, in the tone of her hurried babble, that he understand her thought process, that he see it wasn't about him, even if he was her inspiration. Perhaps her quiet and genuine, "I'm sorry," may help the blade forgive the flower her follies. Kaelige's barrier is compromised by less her imploring words, more her imploring actions. The way she moves closer, the way she touches his hand despite his withdrawal- could any teen boy be perfectly immune? Not even he, apparently. He takes a breath, and then... "No, you don't." In reply to her obvious confession, but he seems to need to say it to press the point. Following her rushed excuses, following the delicate apology, there's a strained look to him. A look of 'you don't know what you're asking.' But those aren't the words that follow. Eventually, "You'll need scarves to wear with the hoods to cover mouth and nose if it comes to that. But it shouldn't." He stops for a moment, both letting his sudden- albeit reluctant- willingness to help sink in and to let the mood drop to an even darker place, "If I help you, I will lay no hand on the goods and you will not tell anyone that I'm involved. Understand? No one." There's a threatening quality to that which doesn't seem idle. He gives her a second to absorb his terms before continuing, "I will only ensure nobody catches you- unless someone does something remarkably stupid." In other words, she better choose her cohorts carefully. The pressed point doesn't faze Dee, already being accepting of it, though the blunt return of her own confession does have her cheeks coloring with a slight blush. She looks at him and waits, a breath she probably didn't realize she was holding finding it's way out of the bony prison of her lungs when he speaks again and offers that advice. Her fingers curl around his hand to squeeze it before loosening and drawing it away in what seems the natural order of things. It doesn't stray farther than her own knee as she settles back onto her heels. "I won't tell." Then, still steadily, her gaze meaning to lock with his for the moment in which she says, "I promise," with absolute and possibly frightening conviction. Whether the promise will stand the test of time... Who's to say. At least she seems to be listening with an intense attention to what he's telling her. If only such lessons were so easily learned. No matter her conviction, Kaelige doesn't have the look of relief nor belief in his eyes, though he does meet her gaze when she looks at him. As her touch recedes, those blue green eyes of his flick down to his hand then back to her, his fingers slowly curling into a fist. The quietest creek of squeezed hide indicates just how tightly he clenches that hand. What could be disappointment is covered up by the intensity of this side of him. "You won't see me." He says slowly, "But Chiv will serve as your alarm." As if she's supposed to know what that means, or have remembered the brief instances where a firelizard may have been seen around him, he gives her no description of what or who that is. "You'll need to plan a big movement. The longer you draw it out, the bigger a chance someone will slip up. The details.. those will be on you to figure out. I don't want to know." Not even a hint of curiosity would come at that, either, "Only a time and place." "Chiv?" It's the obvious question; if she does remember having seen the firelizard around him, she doesn't make the connection. Dee's hazel gaze stays on his face with an intensity of focus as he gives her the advice and instructions. She nods once, to acknowledge and agree, then her hand is reaching for his again. "Thank you, Kael," is sincere and quiet. "I won't forget." That he's done this? That she's promised? Something. He might not believe her, but her look is so earnest, it's not unimaginable that even the most stalwart cynic might wish to. Kaelige pulls his hand away, staying curled as it is as if he may strike something. And it isn't if her look isn't earnest enough, it's that after her sincere gratitude meets his ears, his eyes will no longer meet hers. "You'll see." It seems he's shared all he's willing to share, "I will hold you to your favor." As if reminding her of his selfishness and at the same time the unsheathed blade she's playing with. He shifts in the small space, readying himself to stand with his back leaned slightly against the door so as not to need to brush past her in the effort to find his feet. Even in the awkward space, his motions are hardly so. With a hand on the doorknob, he waits with a short glance over his shoulder as if he wishes to tell her more, or maybe even for her to call him back, before he'd leave her in the tiny room for the snow waiting beyond it. His grace of motion is answered with her own, her body shifting swiftly as he moves to rise, to make room for him, to accommodate his decision to depart. Dee's eyes don't leave him as she ends up on her rump, looking the long way up to his face, even with the awkward angle the small room forces on her craned neck. "You'll have whatever you ask," she reminds him in turn of her willingness to blindly give him that favor and unconsciously of the trust she's placing in him. She'll watch until he goes, until he's gone, then the door will get her uncertain gaze for some moments before she's shifting back in small movements to where she began, to pull her work into her lap and look up only once more at the door, as if she expects he might return, or perhaps as if she might get up and go after him, but with the smallest shake of her head, she bows to the work at hand and gives over her attention to it, to the exclusion of all else save an ear for the sound of a hand on handle without that may never come. |
Comments
Cass (12:20, 15 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
Oh, Deee! You never throw in a favor without establishing perimeters! To do one thing "right", she may've sacrificed another. DUN DUN.
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