Logs:Wanting Things
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 24 May, 2009 |
| Who: K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: K'del reflects on the prisoner, on what to do next, on the things stressing him out, and on Cadejoth. |
| When: Day 26, Month 10, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| The kid - Jamden - was terrified of heights. You barely needed to have anyone keep an eye on him: he refused to go out onto the ledge of the weyr he was staying in, anyway. Refused. Outright. K'del wasn't even sure how they'd convince him to leave, when the time came for that. Poor kid. Not, realistically, that he could get away with calling him that. They were probably of an age, and, as far as he could tell, had had a reasonably similar upbringing, though Jamden was an orphan, lived with his aunt and uncle instead. And they'd done just fine, until the past couple of turns, between fire and hail and illness, and sheer bad luck. He didn't know if his uncle had been involved in this kind of thing before, but he hadn't: he'd done it to help out. The marks. So they'd have enough for the winter. It made K'del feel faintly ill. He found he couldn't stay and talk to the boy for long. He left that to other people, though with determined provisos: they were treating him properly. Nice, even. It wasn't as though he wasn't cooperating, now, as though there was an unspoken threat to leave him up there forever, or maybe just throw him off the ledge altogether. K'del felt for him, alone, terrified, away from home, worried about betraying his uncle, causing problems for his family, everything. K'del made his way back to the ground with Cadejoth, leaning in to the bronze's warmth as they flew the short distance. How lucky was he? Really? Shells. Here he was, seventeen turns old, with everything he'd ever dreamed about having. And there was that kid, maybe even exactly the same age, shit scared over-- and who could blame him, really? It was cold in the air, but also on the ledge; K'del supposed winter was just around the corner, really. Snowfall, soon. He hurried indoors, stirring up the fire with the poker and warming his hands in front of it. Jamden hadn't had much to tell them, ultimately, despite his willingness to talk, now. He didn't know much. Not too much longer, probably, and they'd have to worry about getting him home. Maybe what he'd said would help a little. He'd been passing it on, cross-referencing, making notes. They knew a little more, maybe, but not enough. Damn it. He'd had such high hopes. But that kid... that poor, stupid kid. It wasn't going to be enough. There were stacks of paper on his desk; they'd piled up even in the short time he'd been out. They always did. Maybe he understood a little better, now, what they all meant, what was required of him, but only barely. Couple more weeks and the clutch that had thrown him into this would hatch, and he'd still be working out how to cope. They were running that stupid scavenger hunt for the candidates again. Stupid. It'd made him angry, somehow, having to deal with that: why should he have to worry about handing something out to all of those kids (kids - yet somehow he didn't care about calling them that. Maybe they were older, but it's not as though any of them were dealing with what he was), when he had all of this on his plate already? He'd called it lame as a candidate, and he still thought it was. He didn't really want to talk to them, anyway. 'Kids'. Hands defrosted, he returned to his desk, shuffling through the papers without really looking at them. None of it was that urgent. Didn't need to be done right now. He closed his eyes, instead, buried his face into his hands. Felt like everyone wanted a piece of him, sometimes. Wanted something. Girls wanted the supposed privilege of sleeping with the weyrleader, though he refused most of them, these days. Wingleaders wanted his ear, influence. Tiriana wanted to be involved in everything, or wanted him dead; maybe both. His family wanted him to visit more often, Nakasha wanted him to convince them that it was perfectly okay for her to come stay in time to see the hatching. Cadejoth wanted-- « Nothing but you. » Strange, how even after all this time, that could make his stomach flip-flop like that. You want to be allowed on the sands, even though it bores you to tears and you'd rather do something active. You just want the things you can't have. « They're my eggs! Our eggs. Iovniath's and mine. She should be letting me help her, even just a little bit. » But she's not. Couple more weeks, anyway, and then they'll be hatched, and it won't matter anymore. Bet you'll be able to spend as much time with the weyrlings as you like. When they're not asleep, anyway. He could feel the bronze's pleasure at this idea. « It's going to be so exciting, K'del! I'm going to show them how to do all kinds of things. Because I'll be their dad, and they'll respect me! Will some of them look like me, you think? » Some of them will definitely be bronzes. Don't know about looking exactly like you, though. That'd be confusing. I might... you know, get you confused. Cadejoth didn't have to say anything: silly! He found that silly, tugging on those chains, drawing his K'del back. Never. All his. And K'del smiled. Maybe it didn't matter what Cadejoth wanted so much, after all. He'd always have time for Cadejoth. Always. |
}}
Leave A Comment