Logs:Vindication - Revision history

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Kaleidoscope at 01:49, 23 January 2015

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Bot at 08:03, 5 July 2014

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Devaki at 01:02, 27 May 2012

2012-05-27T01:02:11Z

Devaki at 00:59, 27 May 2012

2012-05-27T00:59:50Z

Satiet: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Devaki, Iolene | where = High Reaches Hold | what = Iolene comes upon a pensive Devaki. They... talk, sort of. | when = | gamedate = 2012.05.26 | quote = | weath..."

2012-05-27T00:54:23Z

Created page with "{{ Log | who = Devaki, Iolene | where = High Reaches Hold | what = Iolene comes upon a pensive Devaki. They... talk, sort of. | when = | gamedate = 2012.05.26 | quote = | weath..."

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{{ Log
| who = Devaki, Iolene
| where = High Reaches Hold
| what = Iolene comes upon a pensive Devaki. They... talk, sort of.
| when =
| gamedate = 2012.05.26
| quote =
| weather =
| categories = General
| mentions = K'del
| icons =
| log = The barrels of cider outside are steaming in the cool night air, though by this time of night, most of the inhabitants are well within their cups and sticking closely indoors. After several rounds of dancing, Devaki encourages Issedi to rescue her brother from the onslaught of potential brides, and slips outside for air. Standing by the barrels provides enough warmth to keep from totally freezing, despite the fancy clothes that are probably not made for warmth: drinking some of the cider helps, too. His head tilted back, he studies the stars, moody and distant of thought.

Spending her evening in avoidance, Iolene's sudden turn about a stall finds an all-too-familiar back -- even two turns later. Those slippered feet stop short and her lanky body sways, as if trying to find something to lean against, but failing that, a hand reaches out to one of those barrels, tapping her fingers against the curved casks and then trailing them across the length of the wood's grain as her feet find movement once more. There's a catch initially in her low voice, when it ventures with, "I thought you'd have had a lot of time to be morose and pensive in two turns with only Raum for company." She's not very good at feigning jocularity.

The tap of fingers against wood alerts him first, and Devaki spins. His gaze falls on her immediately, and he's silent, still: taking her in, roving over her as if drinking in her image. Finally, moments later, he finds his voice, although it's rough with emotion, "He's not the best at sharing, no," there's a hint of amusement, briefly, but other things too, that he's struggling to hide. He takes a step closer, reaches out a hand as if to beckon her closer, or maybe in some sort of entreaty, "You look different, Io," he whispers, "More grown up. But, beautiful, still."

Wariness darknes those blue eyes, but in the end, she's still Io and his flattery goes him more than an inch into the dragonrider's emotions. An impulsive next step leads quickly to arms thrown about Devaki's shoulders, ignoring that extended hand. "You look uglier," she says bluntly, with all intentions of sounding mean, but failing at that miserably too. "And your hair's too long. And you look too skinny. I don't see what Issedi sees in you at all."

Devaki's laughter is felt through his chest as he settles arms tightly -- and possessively -- around the Reachian goldrider. "I thought you liked me skinny," is all his says, deliberately -- for the best -- ignoring the comment about Issedi. His hands slide down to rest in the small of her back, his head dropping to press lips against the top of her head. "I missed you," he says, moments later. "Are you... ''okay''?"

Is she okay? The question pulls her out of the hug just enough to look up at Devaki, those dark blue eyes a little less open and a little less naive than when they last met the morning of the hatching. Iolene's chin lifts, as if considering the question, though it becomes clear in a latent quality of her voice that it's more her selection of words that's caused this pause; careful beneath the affectionate warmth. "I won't lie, but I'm happy for now. You don't have to worry about me anymore. Ysavaeth watches after both our interests. I hope-," a slight lean back tests the strength of that hand at the small of her back, her lean figure easing more comfortably into his embrace, "You're happy? I'm hoping this is what you want- ed."

Devaki's right hand continues to press into her back, while he lifts his left to brush away some of her hair from her forehead. "I'll always worry about you, Io," he murmurs, a smile twitching his lips upwards. "Before you were Ysavaeth's, you were mine." The words are... personal, private, speaking of a time when things were less complicated. Her latter question catches him, and he's slow in responding, crafting his response and his expression carefully, both. "I'm content. Our people have been vindicated... and while I haven't yet been able to secure land on the mainland for us, it's only a matter of time." She, of all people, can feel that he's still driven by that need to help their people, no matter the cost. There's something briefly sad in his expression, as he murmurs, "I haven't yet forgotten, our Traditions."

There's a sudden stillness in how he holds her, as if she's stopped breathing with his claim of possession over her. Crimson stains Iolene's fair cheeks, and perhaps, in the mask of her dropping lashes, there's a deer's desire to flee. And yet- ... And yet she stays, holding herself so still as he takes his time to answer, and in return, gives him a long measure of silence as she, too, takes her time. It's, "By Tradition, we would be married," that breaks her silence, even if it is her quietest, most hollow voice. "But it worked out better and our people have gotten half an apology now." Pause. "I've missed you. Come visit. You've never met my Ysavaeth." There's reluctance in her body, but a drive that forces her into movement after all that absolute, unyielding stillness, as she pulls back. "I should see to my Weyrleader. But let me know-, Dev, how I can tell you."

It seems Devaki senses that moment, her desire to flee -- his fingers drop away, to make it clear that he does not imprison her -- and when she stays, he leans forward, pressing lips against hers in a gentle kiss. "We would be married," he murmurs in agreement, as he breaks free, regret and want audible in his voice, and his hand, with regret, yields as the goldrider pulls away. The flinch, when she mentions /her/ Weyrleader, is unmistakable, as is the way his fingers clench into balls by his side. "I will, my Io. ''Soon''." The word is like a promise, yet to be fulfilled.

There's no acknowledgement for that flinch, but she does offer the back of her hand to caress his cheek. "Soon. And you'll tell me about Seani then," however, are her parting words. Iolene leans forward to press her lips chastely to his chin and then moves back to the revelry and ''her'' Weyrleader.

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 {{Log
 |type=Log
 | who = Devaki, Iolene

@@ Line 4: / Line 4: @@
 | what = Iolene comes upon a pensive Devaki. They... talk, sort of.
 | when = Day 15, Month 11, Turn 28
 | gamedate = 2012.05.26
 | quote =

@@ Line 3: / Line 3: @@
 | where = High Reaches Hold
 | what = Iolene comes upon a pensive Devaki. They... talk, sort of.
-| when =
+| when = Day 15, Month 11, Turn 28
 | gamedate = 2012.05.26
 | quote =
 | weather =
-| categories = General
+| categories = General, A Lord In Exile, The Exile Queen
-| mentions = K'del
+| mentions = K'del, Seani, Issedi, Raum
-| icons =
+| icons = devaki.jpg, iolene.jpg
 | log = The barrels of cider outside are steaming in the cool night air, though by this time of night, most of the inhabitants are well within their cups and sticking closely indoors. After several rounds of dancing, Devaki encourages Issedi to rescue her brother from the onslaught of potential brides, and slips outside for air. Standing by the barrels provides enough warmth to keep from totally freezing, despite the fancy clothes that are probably not made for warmth: drinking some of the cider helps, too. His head tilted back, he studies the stars, moody and distant of thought.

@@ Line 24: / Line 24: @@
 Devaki's right hand continues to press into her back, while he lifts his left to brush away some of her hair from her forehead. "I'll always worry about you, Io," he murmurs, a smile twitching his lips upwards. "Before you were Ysavaeth's, you were mine." The words are... personal, private, speaking of a time when things were less complicated. Her latter question catches him, and he's slow in responding, crafting his response and his expression carefully, both. "I'm content. Our people have been vindicated... and while I haven't yet been able to secure land on the mainland for us, it's only a matter of time." She, of all people, can feel that he's still driven by that need to help their people, no matter the cost. There's something briefly sad in his expression, as he murmurs, "I haven't yet forgotten, our Traditions."
-There's a sudden stillness in how he holds her, as if she's stopped breathing with his claim of possession over her. Crimson stains Iolene's fair cheeks, and perhaps, in the mask of her dropping lashes, there's a deer's desire to flee. And yet- ... And yet she stays, holding herself so still as he takes his time to answer, and in return, gives him a long measure of silence as she, too, takes her time. It's, "By Tradition, we would be married," that breaks her silence, even if it is her quietest, most hollow voice. "But it worked out better and our people have gotten half an apology now." Pause. "I've missed you. Come visit. You've never met my Ysavaeth." There's reluctance in her body, but a drive that forces her into movement after all that absolute, unyielding stillness, as she pulls back. "I should see to my Weyrleader. But let me know-, Dev, how I can tell you."
+There's a sudden stillness in how he holds her, as if she's stopped breathing with his claim of possession over her. Crimson stains Iolene's fair cheeks, and perhaps, in the mask of her dropping lashes, there's a deer's desire to flee. And yet- ... And yet she stays, holding herself so still as he takes his time to answer, and in return, gives him a long measure of silence as she, too, takes her time. It's, "By Tradition, we would be married," that breaks her silence, even if it is her quietest, most hollow voice. "But it worked out better and our people have gotten half an apology now." Pause. "I've missed you. Come visit. You've never met my Ysavaeth." There's reluctance in her body, but a drive that forces her into movement after all that absolute, unyielding stillness, as she pulls back. "I should see to my Weyrleader. But let me know-, Dev, how I can help you."
-It seems Devaki senses that moment, her desire to flee -- his fingers drop away, to make it clear that he does not imprison her -- and when she stays, he leans forward, pressing lips against hers in a gentle kiss. "We would be married," he murmurs in agreement, as he breaks free, regret and want audible in his voice, and his hand, with regret, yields as the goldrider pulls away. The flinch, when she mentions /her/ Weyrleader, is unmistakable, as is the way his fingers clench into balls by his side. "I will, my Io. ''Soon''." The word is like a promise, yet to be fulfilled.
+It seems Devaki senses that moment, her desire to flee -- his fingers drop away, to make it clear that he does not imprison her -- and when she stays, he leans forward, pressing lips against hers in a gentle kiss. "We would be married," he murmurs in agreement, as he breaks free, regret and want audible in his voice, and his hand, with regret, yields as the goldrider pulls away. The flinch, when she mentions ''her'' Weyrleader, is unmistakable, as is the way his fingers clench into balls by his side. "I will, my Io. ''Soon''." The word is like a promise, yet to be fulfilled.
 There's no acknowledgement for that flinch, but she does offer the back of her hand to caress his cheek. "Soon. And you'll tell me about Seani then," however, are her parting words. Iolene leans forward to press her lips chastely to his chin and then moves back to the revelry and ''her'' Weyrleader.