Logs:The Silver Thread
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| RL Date: 20 November, 2008 |
| Who: K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Despite being a self-proclaimed 'shoe in' for the silver thread leadership programme, K'del is not chosen to partake. He frets. |
| When: Month 4, Turn 18 |
| Mentions: Rascela/Mentions |
| At first, Kas simply assumed that his silver thread, his indication of greatness, had been misplaced on his cot - and slipped down somewhere, been missed. Under the guise of 'cleaning up', he searched high and low, but there was no silver thread. Then, he decided, perhaps they were going to give him his later, make a big deal out of it, commend him on all the good work he'd been doing, the extra steps he'd taken. Even in his head, though, that didn't really seem likely. Good, but not... "Where's your knot?" one of the other weyrlings asked, later that day. "You know, the one you were destined to get, K'del?" It wasn't meant maliciously - a tease, not a snark - but Kas felt it keenly. Not fair. So not fair. What was wrong with him? No - what was wrong with them that they hadn't picked him? "Guess they decided I didn't need the help," he responded, laughing. "Guess I know most of it already, anyway." He didn't really think anyone was convinced, no matter how much bravado he injected into his words, how laughingly he said them. He moped. He kicked stones around the lake. He swore to himself. Despite himself, he began to accept it: this was no mistake. This was real. He wasn't... they hadn't picked him. He moped some more. First, his parents he said no, his sister couldn't come to visit, she was too young, and then they'd admitted they'd have to put off their trip, too, and now this. Was nothing going to go right? When was it his turn? Finally, Cadejoth stepped in. « I could just ask them, » he suggested. « Zunaeth. Or Vrianth, or one of the others. Find out. I could do that for you! » No. Kas was vehement, absolutely determined. I won't let them know. « But why not? They'll tell me! And then you can stop worrying about it, and watch me fly some more. » I won't give them the satisfaction, Cadejoth, he told the bronze, more sharply than he intended to, too intent on his thoughts to pay too much mind. If they don't want me, then I don't want them. But we'll work doubly hard, anyway. Prove they were wrong, whatever they thought. Prove we don't need their stupid extra classes. We'll do better, more, on our own. « So you'll have... less time to watch me fly, and run around with me? » Probably. Kas wasn't really repentant. But it's for a good cause, Cadejoth. And you're going to need to work harder, too. No more doing things wrong - like that landing bit. With the straight legs? Can't look bad like that. Can't, Cadejoth. Wish I dared practicing proper flying, both of us, so we're perfect before the others learn... « We'd get in trouble! They said no, and they know better. » Sourly, Kas sighed. I know, I know. I'm just wishing. We're better than H'tram, and all the others. And... I like Rascela, she's cool. But you have to be... personable to be a leader, surely. She just grunts at people, half the time. Can you imagine her dancing with a lord holder? Unless it was... horizontal. He shifted, uncomfortable, the weight of that image pressing onto his mind - and more personal places. Cadejoth shifted too, curious by this, but mostly more interested in the firelizard he was chasing. However, he asked, perhaps a few minutes later, his voice clinking with rippling chainlinks, forever and ever, « Why do you need this so much, K'del? We got us. We fit. » Don't want to sit still, Cadejoth. Don't want to coast. Want more. Don't know what I'd do with myself, if I wasn't still moving ahead, didn't have something to aim for. It's not enough, just coasting through. « But... » I just need it. That's all. Perhaps K'del was a little quieter, the following day, waving off future references to his lack of silver thread with a shrug of his shoulders, instead of a boast. Perhaps he couldn't entirely disguise his jealousy, as those with the thread headed off for their extra lessons, but he turned away from it, too, busying himself with his own, private studies: more drill watching, more discussion with Wingleaders, wherever possible, more reading. He spent hours over his straps, getting them just right, though leaning over the leather made his back ache, and his hands were littered with marks from where he'd stabbed himself with the needle. Was it enough? Was anything going to be? For the first time in - oh, as long as he could remember - he felt genuinely unsure of his own abilities. He wrote it out in a letter to his sister, then burnt the letter, ashamed. Was that the person he was going to be? All sour grapes, angst and unhappiness. He didn't want to be that person. He wanted to be the person who would celebrate the successes of others, despite his disappointment - but he wasn't that person. All he could feel was the disappointment, the nagging unhappiness. How dare they not choose him! (But why would they?) K'del buried himself into his work, unsure of everything except that he wanted this too badly for words (why? Why not!). And he would prove them wrong. He would. Somehow. |
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