Logs:The Shadow of the Dead
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| RL Date: 18 July, 2013 |
| Who: R'hin, Riahla, Suireh |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: It's the anniversary of Satiet's death, and there is drinking, recrmination and a failed attempt to bond. |
| Where: Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 4, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Satiet/Mentions, Via/Mentions |
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| It's a warm spring day, just like any other. Except, for certain people, it has more of a significance than any other day. Earlier, Riahla collected Suireh and she's been showing her twin around the Weyr, introducing her to this or that boy -- but it's clear her heart isn't in it. R'hin hasn't made an appearance, but then that's not too big of a surprise, even if the flutter of icy cold that is Leiventh's touch briefly teases at Suireh's mind. R'hin's space is made for the warmer climes, the breeze rustling through the thin material that marks out his area. The clink of ice in glass is audible from inside, too. Suireh trails after Riahla, putting on a more convincing performance at having any interest in the Weyr she once stood for gold at, though the boys get nothing more than a cursory once over and a dismissive tilt of her head. She asks questions as is appropriate and gives the flattery Riahla's blue deserves, but with the unseen impetus of Leiventh in the fringes of her thoughts, Suireh stretches out a touch to the other girl's shoulder, causing both of them pause, look at each other and then up for a fleeting moment. "You go ahead," says the bluerider. "You," uncharacteristically, Riahla presses her lips and doesn't complete her thought. Or maybe, she presumes Suireh understands. Either way, it leaves the harper journeyman to find her way through the Weyr she half grew up in towards her father's tent. She fidgets with the strap of her satchel before pushing on through. "Are you drunk?" Hand to hip, tilt to her chin, reproach (but also understanding) bright in her eyes. "It's a very real possibility," comes the laconic answer; R'hin's sprawled in one of the chairs, and gestures towards the other in invitation. Pale gaze, however, is fixed on his daughter; despite his mood there's a glint of pleasure that's ever present whenever he sees her. His gaze doesn't linger long, however: hopefully not long enough for his perceptive harper daughter to see past the bravado. "Drink?" the question is asked and despite the answer, he reaches over to the cabinet to secure a second glass and set it down on the table for her. One hand tightens on her satchel strap, the other moves from hip to hair as she rifles back her raven locks and releases a sigh; a sound of relief of tiredness. It's a sound that gives up the pretenses of the world outside these tents. Suireh lifts the bag and sets it on the table, a clinking sound from within and when the flap's pulled back, the girl takes out a decanter. "From the Master." A beat passes, a very long, discomforted one that speaks of legends and gossips of the Hall now her home. "Not that one. Vesik. Riahla has sweeps." Riahla very rarely drinks on this day. More ice, for her, than he has, and then R'hin's pouring liquid into her glass. His hand wavers, as she talks of her Master, and some of that liquid spills over the edge of the glass onto the table. At any other time, the bronzerider might lament that loss; now, he does not, though his jaw is set. "Harper gives you presents." A statement, not a question, and yet it is laced with a contained fury that is perhaps familiar, as is the way in which he leans back, expression set, determined to hide it from her. And just as determined to ignore the decanter. "Riahla is..." he exhales, "A good rider. A good leader." Once, perhaps, her father's reaction would have stung. It would have cut and she wouldn't have been able to hide it. Now, it's unclear whether his words have impact, as a slender shoulder lifts diffidently and the decanter is set on the table, whether he assents or not. "Riahla's a bluerider," is Suireh's very precise determination, matter-of-fact with no belittling. It's reality. She presses her hip into the side of the table, reaches for her glass and takes a long pull from it. "I need to drink more." "Yes," R'hin agrees, and yet he manages to infuse a great deal of pride in his voice, "She is. But she's also my daughter." As are you, his brief look says, "And she's made her own way in the world. I never--" the former Weyrleader grits his teeth, watching Suireh drink from the glass, fingers white-knuckled around his own. "We never wanted you to live in our shadows." "That," starts the harper, quite delicately, with a study for the remnants of her glass, "Would be an impossibility with who you two are. Were." It's enough of a thought to cause Suireh to knock back the rest of whatever liquid is in there, coupling the resultant grimace with a harsh exhale. "You both are impossible to live up to and impossible to escape." As much training as she's had, the accusation threaded into her words is audible. "Do you need more?" It's an implicit request that she, in fact, needs more. Her glass turns to show R'hin it's absolute emptiness. "Were," R'hin echoes, with far more heat. "And haven't been for a long time." Suireh is too much his daughter for him to refuse that request for more drink; he already has the bottle to hand as she's turning her glass, to to pour hers first and his second. Before she can lift her glass, though, his hand is snaking out to catch her wrist, to brush fingers against hers. "You're so much like her sometimes," his voice is soft, nearly inaudible, his gaze full of memory and perhaps regret. "Just as beautiful; just as stubborn. I'm glad you went to Harper, Sui. For what it's worth." The dark-haired girl's resolve falters, the steadiness of her emotions faltering visibly as her wrist is first caught and then her father speaks. Pale eyes, unlike her father or mother, blink once, then twice. "You've had a lot to drink already," assumes Suireh, her lashes darting away from him to the table top. "You're being silly. You hate harper...s." The daughter pulls back her hand and reclaims her glass, lifting that in lieu of her hand to R'hin. "To surviving. To remembering." She doesn't wait for her father to clink his own toast, as this one she's downing in one go. It's been a very hard day of pretend. "I have," R'hin doesn't deny his state of drunkenness, "Yet that doesn't make it untrue. You're bringing me around. To some." That concession is made with a twisting of lips and a low-throated chuckle. Strangely, he does not drink, he watches, instead. "I wasn't glad," he finally clarifies, "But I've adjusted. Have had to." There's a blunt honesty to her father's demeanor that isn't normally present and, perhaps by its very nature, cause for discomfort; when is her father ever without his mask? He leans forward, gaze intent, voice almost inaudibe, "Tell me; are you happy?" Perhaps this is the trait R'hin dislikes in harpers: Suireh tenders his question, considers it with a tilt of her head and faintly reminiscent (and supercilious) lift of her chin, before returning with a flat, "Are you?" "No," he answers with a steady, blunt honesty, waiting for her response. She doesn't answer immediately, not in any such straight forward fashion. "Would we be happier with her?" There's wistfulness in Suireh's voice. "Or would we be just as miserable?" "We wouldn't be sitting here asking this question," the notion of what Satiet would say if she caught them in this situation is likely what causes R'hin to chuckle darkly, then push to his feet, stretching out a hand. "Come on. Let's go dance down on the beach; here, you are not the former Weyrleaders' daughter, or a Harper. I am no one of consequence, and here -- you may be that, too." "Like Via?" Suireh's betrayal of lingering jealousies and emotions surges forward in those two words. Oh, to be normal; the wish of the infamous and famous. "I don't even remember what I'm sad for, do you know? Neither of us do. We mourn what we could've had." A mother who probably wouldn't have cared and a father who would've been too busy. "No. No dancing. Is your glass empty?" She could refill it. She's already refilling hers with the Harper decanter. That makes him stop; stop and look at his daughter for a long time. "Like Via," R'hin agrees, but he says it with a kind of flat surprise, like he never noticed her jealousy until now, and it floors him. The bronzerider looks down at his glass; it's full, but he doesn't reach for it. Something in the words the harper rather than the daughter says makes him look away sharply, makes him turn wordlessly to seek the thin film that separates Leiventh's wallow from the living space, disappearing into the darker space. "You should find Ri," his voice floats back, carefully neutral, though perhaps not enough to hide the surge of emotions. Dismissed. It's inevitable, and a streak of hurt races through her expression, unmasked because of the liquor in her system. "Daddy..." the word escapes before she can stop it and just as abruptly, her expression shifts, regret for something that probably shouldn't have been said. It becomes quickly apparent R'hin has had enough honesty for tonight; the curtain lies still, hiding, perhaps, the comfort he seeks from his dragon over that of his blood. Suireh doesn't go and find Riahla. She sits, and lets the mostly silent tears she's kept at bay all damn week stream down her face now that her father isn't around; but even now, she likely has no idea what or who she's actually mourning for. Later, much later, after Suireh's fallen asleep with her head curled in her arm on the table, R'hin emerges. He stands there, still, for a time, then with a paternal gentleness to which she's probably not accustomed, moves to lift her and tuck her into his bed. There's a gentle kiss for her forehead, and a smoothing of blankets -- a ritual she's far too old for these days -- before he finally retreats back to Leiventh's side. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 19 Jul 2013 18:39:32 GMT.
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I really liked this. Even though she's gone, Satiet still effects people-- who else but her once lover/Weyrleader and daughter? The harper lessons are paying off, I especially found Suireh's comment of "I don't even remember what I'm sad for, do you know? Neither of us do. We mourn what we could've had." especially poignant. And, poor R'hin. He does have feelings... they're in there somewhere. <3
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