Logs:The Right Person
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| RL Date: 5 June, 2012 |
| Who: K'del, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del shows that knot to Leova. |
| Where: Vrianth's Dimly Lit Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 12, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'son/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
| Vrianth's Semi-Dimly Lit Weyr Stepping inside from the ledge, Vrianth's weyr opens up into two parts that curve in a partial circle. The first and largest part of the cavern lies straight back from the ledge and cradles a well-worn dragon couch more suited to a bronze. Within that massive indentation, the young green's rushes create a much smaller, softer pool, with a walkway left between it and the old, comfortable, human-style couch against the right-hand wall. Past the human couch, the weyr wraps around and out of sight, eventually also shielded by thick draperies that can be pushed aside by humans or even Vrianth. Curved walls become more square within the inner weyr. A series of rugs, once all different colors but overdyed with a rich brown that lets their variations show through, act as stepping stones toward the living area centered around the hearth against the far wall. There, its light can flicker on a round table that ordinarily would seat four but has five mismatched chairs anyway. Nearby is a sturdy wooden settee that seats two, placed at an angle to partially block the views of the sleeping area. Along the wall adjoining the Bowl, there are two arched windows that are blocked by a tapestry during undesirable weather, and chalk outlines mark where others could join them in time. (+views) It's the day after the council, the burning, the everything. There are still flames and ash in Cadejoth's mental touch when he reaches out, a jangle of chains marking his presence. « There's something-- we need to see yours. If we can drop in? Vrianth. » It's serious enough that Cadejoth lacks his customary exuberance. But perhaps, given everything, that's hardly surprisingly. Flames and ash... but they aren't the real kind, Vrianth still somehow aware that they aren't the Thread kind, and so sparks fizz and short out against them as they draw near. Still, that seriousness, and what her rider's heard or seen, and it /is/ Cadejoth... « We are home, inside. Come. » Just don't leave pawprints on the rock. Sparks, even the not-real kind, make Cadejoth flinch uncomfortably - so unlike the way they usually buzz and twang against his chains. His reply is not verbal, not even, in the end, anything more than a lingering presence. He withdraws, however, as he lands, curling his wings up against himself as his rider dismounts, and enters. "Leova," he says, short and serious. "Sorry for the intrusion." No weyrmate. No little girl nearing her first Turnday. Their presence is visible, however, in the metal and bone cage that guards the hearth, currently swung wide to encourage even more of the heat to escape, in the interesting bottles on the mantel, out of reach, in the embroidered cloth book that sits atop the table, not quite out of reach if the toddler is intrepid. Which she is. Coincidence? "Don't worry about it." Not about that. Leova's already pouring, from an amber glass bottle ringed in ceramic: the drink's amber too, innocuous. It could be anything. "Make yourself comfortable, if you can." Vrianth, though, disturbed Vrianth, slides careful awareness out along that presence towards where chains... /should/ be. She doesn't cast sparks again. Yet. K'del's nod replies to Leova's words in a way that his silence does not. He busies himself pulling a chair out from the table, which could well be taken as another reminder that this is a business visit - as if it were likely to be anything else. Head turning, the bronzerider watches Leova for a moment, but not in a lingering way: he turns back to the table, and, then, to the contents of his pocket, which is set down in the middle of it: there. It's unmistakable for what it is, and even if he is the one who has just produced it, the glance K'del aims at it is an uncertain one, as though he is blaming the cords personally for their presence. Cadejoth's chains are wound tight, but there, visible, beneath Vrianth's probing: he's holding himself cautiously, protectively. No ice and snow, here. No flames to intrude upon life as it should be. Wrong. Wrong wrong. It's not something that Vrianth is used to, and neither is how she nears them: gingerly. Not a touch, precisely, but rather what begins to become a sort of radiant heat between one presence and the other: an uncertain sort of thing, just turned on. An attempt. Leova pauses to rub her hands together, and then slides the glass over, heedless of coasters on the wood that's seen much worse. She pours for herself as well. Then she looks. Her knuckles whiten on the glass. It doesn't break, there's little that fragile up here, but she can't seem to either lift it or set it down. Perhaps Cadejoth finds that heat soothing; perhaps it's that Vrianth is a known, safe (for a given definition), quantity. In any event, there's a gentle loosening of his chains as she approaches this time, and a hint of what lies beneath: hurt, but also certainty. Things will get better, now. But first: there's need for healing. K'del reaches for the glass but doesn't let his fingers connect, not until he's seen Leova's reaction, seen it and nodded, his smile ghastly and unhappy. "It was left on the top step to my Weyr, the day after the hatching. Meant to come see you sooner, but--" Things. Events. One thing after another, hurtling them all over the cliff. Hurtling, hurting. At last Leova sets the glass down, but not until she's taken a good hard swallow. It's something that burns. It shows in her narrowed eyes, unless that's just because now she's reaching for that knot, to turn it over and examine it: new, old, specific in rank or general? "I haven't seen one of these in a long time," and her smoky voice is tattered, rough. Vrianth shifts in her couch, where she's curled. K'del had had to walk past her, and if he did it again now, her eyes would be nowhere near such a transparent green. Her projected warmth hiccups, but now resumes, slow if not exactly easy. Leova says: "Anyone could have left it, who knew. Even snowbound guests." Now, K'del does wrap his fingers around his glass, taking a careful sip before he sets it back down again. The knot is in good repair, non-specific as to rank. It's warm, probably from being within his pocket. It must have been in his pocket, to have survived the conflagration. "Iolene said it was probably a cruel joke," he allows, both hands resting atop the table, now, pressed flat. "It could have been anyone, yes. It might not mean anything." But lower, deeper, more tired than he probably would like it to be: "But it might." Cadejoth's chains shiver and shudder, like a rough exhale - in and out, bit by little bit. Vrianth waits. She can be... something that approximates patient, at least. She's there, not moving nor smiting nor even speaking. Leova almost doesn't. Finally, she does say, "I don't like the looks of it. Don't like the sound of it." She doesn't so much set down the knot as push it into the table. "The timing, it's bad. It's meant to mean something. Why do these people not leave a note." She's still staring at it, as though it were a tunnelsnake's molted skin. K'del stares at his hands, his drink. Anything is better than the knot, which he leaves on the table even after Leova has pushed it back. His better laugh is for the last of what the greenrider says, though it's not for several seconds after that that he agrees, "It bothers me. Been mulling it over," off and on, clearly, given everything, "for days. But it's been so long. And now, when everything else..." He mostly ends up breathing into his glass after that, his face lowered so far. "Not even sure what to do. Where to start." Carefully, a tendril of Cadejoth's chain unwinds, cautiously testing the mental currents around it: seeking, feeling. « He hurts, » he admits. « He doubts. » Leova's gaze lifts. She looks at him, at K'del. « We would, » Vrianth agrees, were she and hers in his shoes. She does not jump, does not pounce, does not leap. She stays where she is. Leova says, "It isn't her style, at least. Not unless she's changed a whole lot more than even you have been telling." And then, "I wonder... I wonder if whoever left it, if they're mad at getting overshadowed." She keeps looking at him. "Do you want to break something?" Or has he had enough of that? « And so it is, » concludes Cadejoth. The state of things - K'del and Cadejoth, Month 12 of Turn 28, hurting and doubting. K'del's laugh is, once more, bitter, but thankfully short-lived. "Break something? No. I want to fix something. Something absolute." But there are no absolutes, and he seems well aware of it, if his wry smile is anything to go by. "Overshadowed, maybe. How many people really remember it all, now? But we hanged a man. And it's me it'll haunt. Not her." Vrianth moves, if only to poke her muzzle past the curtain, to look. Sniff. Ask. « Have you had an oiling? » A good oiling. It never hurts. Her rider shrugs, not quite one-shouldered, the other one riding up stiffly just a fraction. "Just as well." At least she's smiling too, one-cornered, not quite as bitter as he for all that it lasts little longer. Her eyes narrow all over again. "That's right, you're not in the Weyrleader's ledge anymore, are you. So it had to be someone who had to know that much, at least. Or..." Her hand passes before her eyes. "I hope it wasn't a visitor, who asked a child to do it. It hasn't been as long as all that." Cadejoth's surprise is evident, and it sends another shiver down his chains. « No. » But he'll ask, now, make sure he gets one. The idea is a good one, and his gratitude is audible in even that single word. "Hope not," agrees K'del, sounding aghast at the very idea. But it all makes him aghast, really. This time, he tries for a smile, rather as though he's aware of how mopey, how woe-is-me, he really sounds. "No, not that long, I suppose. People forget, though. There've been other things to worry about. What do you think I should do? Wait and see? Investigate?" That radiant, radiating warmth flares in response, then thinks better of it and settles for a glow just shy of the visible spectrum: not orange, not yellow, not blue, no light at all. "I was wondering what you wanted of me," Leova admits, gaze drawn to the knot again before she pulls it up. "Suppose I wouldn't say to leave it sit, no. Nor pull everyone in and interrogate them. Wait and see and... look? Get people, a few people, keeping an eye out. I reckon," her mouth compresses. "I reckon if. If it's not just a 'joke.' There'll be more." "Seemed like you were the right person to talk to," he admits, slightly wry. "You or A'son, and even now..." A'son has always been more awkward. A long slow sip from his glass forestalls further remark until some seconds later, though it moves with his mouth as he nods confirmation. "Look. Mm." There will be more, and K'del seems already conscious, even accepting, of that. "Will you keep an eye out? Your ear to the ground? Know you're - busy. But I trust you, Leova." Warmth, warmth-without-light, soothes Cadejoth, settling him down into a less watchful stance, out there upon the ledge. All will be well. A'son. Leova glances down. "I remember." She inhales slowly, exhales more slowly yet. That... trust-word. "I..." Amber eyes lift, pupils wide with the dim light, with the knot that's still on her table. Her table. "I'll do what I can for you. After all, no weyrlings this time, right?" It's more than slightly wry: she had her reasons, after all, and no doubt Meara had hers, not to mention U'sot wanting his share. "Who else knows? You mentioned her, Iolene." Quiet, not much louder than a whisper: "Thank you." K'del's nod encompasses the acceptance, and also the lack of weyrlings, the wryness: all of it. "Just Iolene. She was there when I found it." Is that an excuse? And yet he sounds unhappy about it - not about Iolene herself, as such, but about something to do with it, something he doesn't specify. "That's all. Didn't seem like something to bandy around." "Have you asked her not to tell anyone? If she hasn't already." The greenrider doesn't seem to be holding her breath one way or another, just getting back to the matter-of-fact approach that's so familiar. Or trying. She watches him. Watches him not specify. "What about Anvori. He hears a lot, at that bar," only there gets to be more and more hesitation there, or maybe it's discomfort. She doesn't specify. K'del's gaze falls back towards that knot, and this time, he reaches for it, wrapping fingers around it as he lifts it closer to himself. "Hadn't though of that, but - I'll talk to her. Suggest it." It results in another sucked in breath, but he's aiming, now, to look positive. "Anvori's a good idea. That's fine." Maybe even good. "Maybe... ask her about if she did, about who, if you can do it so it doesn't sound all accusatory," Leova says with some of that same hesitation, like she can't quite pull out of it. "You didn't think about it before, it's okay, you just want to know who knows so you can keep track. Better to keep it fewer. If she asks who you have... a couple of your people, maybe? I'd as soon she didn't know it was me. But. Lu should. If she's Acting. Since she is." She looks at him, though. Checks with him. "Lujayn, of course." K'del is so used to working on his own, these days - so many weeks and months of pretending Tiriana doesn't exist. He sounds almost surprised by the realisation, and a moment later, his smile is bland. "I'll tell her first thing tomorrow. Poor Lujayn, through into all of this." Of Iolene, he says nothing more, but his low nod is a good illustration that he comprehends what she's said, and probably even agrees. "Better to be cautious." "Are you all right with my using my judgment," Leova only half-asks. "I'd be careful. And tell you. But sometimes... sometimes a body needs to /move/, when something comes up." When secrets comes out. "Maybe Lujayn, or Iolene or whoever, could quiet-like check the Records and track down all the Vijays-that-were, not that it couldn't be just someone affiliated-like, a lover..." She takes a deep breath. "I could, for you, only it would pretty well stand out. Anyhow. Hope there won't be a second.. something." But what else can they think? K'del's nod is immediate, though his words take longer: he waits until she's finished, until he's nodding a few more times for confirmation, before attempting any more reply. "Yes, of course," he says to that first. And: "I'll talk to Lujayn. Records. Seems like that's the best place to start. Her job to delegate, if she needs." But it's plain from his expression that he'd like as few as people involved, for now. "I-- yeah. Nothing more. Hope it was just a reminder. Just - something." It won't be long after that before the knot gets tucked into his pocket, and the Weyrleader gets up to leave. His expression is serious but grateful as he repeats his thanks; then, he disappears off into the cold air. There is, after all, an oiling to be completed. |
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