Logs:Wishes - Revision history

Varied at 05:39, 29 May 2016

2016-05-29T05:39:29Z

Bot: Text replace - "{{Log" to "{{Log |involves=High Reaches Weyr"

2015-03-10T07:14:12Z

Text replace - "{{Log" to "{{Log |involves=High Reaches Weyr"

Bot at 02:07, 8 February 2015

2015-02-08T02:07:04Z

Bot at 08:43, 19 January 2015

2015-01-19T08:43:32Z

Varied: End-of-year time blips.

2015-01-11T07:49:56Z

End-of-year time blips.

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2015-01-11T07:32:08Z

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{{ Log
| who = Anvori, Leova
| where = Dragonhealers' Office, High Reaches Weyr
| what = After Teris dies, weyrmates Anvori and Leova have to address what-ifs [[Logs:Need|again]].
| when = Day 27, Month 10, Turn 36 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2014.12.09
| quote = "I don't think I can trust myself not to just want you to live forever."
| weather =
| categories = 
| mentions = Madilla, Teris, Varian, Veylin, Via
| ooc =
| icons = leova roaming.jpg, anvori.png
| log =

An uneasy truce has settled between the weyrmated pair as life claims their attention and what little time they have together is in silence, a little fraught, but companionable enough for the turns together. Via needs a parent accompanying her on a trip to Harper Hall, which her mother takes. Veylin, the younger, trips and breaks a finger and has an exciting overnight stay in the infirmary, which her father takes. Dragonhealing, the bar, life. At night, the nights they have to themselves, he holds her, pets her hair, but is nominally silent. After a week, life almost seems to be returning to normal. And then there's Teris again.<br>It's nearly a seven ''after'' the goldrider has claimed her own life that Anvori finally says something. Or rather, doesn't say anything. He seeks her out, his steps heavier than the norm, finding her in the dragonhealing offices and knocks on the door, out of courtesy, before stepping in. He's made it past all the guards, the formalities of the desk and some veneer of the charm he's used to convince her assistants to let him pass remains fleeting on his features. The name, "Leova," is proceeded by an uncomfortable cough. His hands play with a sheet of paper in his hands.

Those assistants must have been protective of the woman who leans over the deep desk, long-armed, straining. She can't recover Iskiveth. Can't recover Teris. ''Can'' recover the cap to her ink pen, though even that drops at her name. For him, she abandons what she'd sought to save. She turns. Amber eyes seek Anvori. "What?" Is it Varian's turn?

Wordlessly, Anvori slides the paper onto her desk. The conciseness of the note is shaky, and doubled over, as if he had to write it twice to make sure he meant it: [ Write it all down for me. So I know what to do. I'll honor all your wishes. ] He waits. He's usually so good at waiting, but today -- today he's not good at anything other than standing (no, hovering really), and tangibly waiting for a response. It crackles in the air about him, the unnerved quality that overcomes the brief foray into flirtatious charm outside these walls. He waits, with audible breath, that crackle of ''something'' in the air, and watches, hazel eyes beady and fixed to Leova to catch anything of importance in how she looks or feels -- things his weyrmate might not say.

The way she looks at it, it's not his handwriting. The way she looks at it, it might be his father's that she's never seen. She looks at him as though to double check. Leova looks at Anvori in all his energy, here in what's becoming her place, here away from home. Vrianth crackles with her own live wire. "Take a chair," Vrianth's rider says, quite calm. She doesn't say to ''sit''. It's more like, ''hold on''.

Obey and honor, right? He sits. Folding those tense hands in his laps. Some small part of him that's still the Anvori of old tries to break the tension with a quip: "Maybe I should have tied that around a bottle of old liquor."

Her brows lift. "Would be for you," Leova says with dryness. With love, too; "Not even a child for after." She pushes back her hair, turning towards the door. The paper's still in her hand. She toes the wedge into place, to keep it closed, in a way that might be more for him than for her. With the door, the closed door at her back, she looks at her weyrmate. Then she completes the circuit back to her desk. It doesn't take long. It's barely a line, in graphite, nothing so permanent as ink.

By the time she's at the door, he's half rising, before sitting abruptly when she comes back. There's the art of pretending not to care while still craning to read that Anvori, for all his turns as a barkeep, has not perfected. Or maybe, it's just this situation where he doesn't bother with pretenses. "Is that it?" is what he finally voices, unable to make out the line from where he is, where she writes, what she writes.

It's: [In case of Teris. Yes?] She shows him, grave amber eyes above plain grey lines.

What a let down. There's relief. That it wasn't just one line. That it wasn't so easy for her to write. But then there's tension that... it wasn't the answer he wanted. He nods, mute again.

[ For you. For them. Both. ] This time, when Leova writes that one line, those five words, she doesn't look away from him. This time, her lettering is less regular, the paper braced on the palm of her hand. This time, when she shows him the words, her writing-stick points to that last word in question. She doesn't require of him, a second time, to make his own mark.

This time, he speaks: "Both, if you wish. But me. I don't want you to live if that's not what you want to do. But I don't think I can trust myself not to just want you to live forever." If it's in writing now... His eyes finish the statement he can't quite bring himself to say aloud. ''If it's in writing now, when you're rational and not grief-struck.''

Leova nods, slow. She wraps the paper about the writing-stick, rolling it, then sets both down behind her. She doesn't look away from Anvori for long even when she does turn for supplies. "S'all right to ''want'' it. I won't mind." Now or... later. "Here." She has a chair to place facing his, a board for her knee, paper to write on. Actual ink. Fresh paper, when she presses the nib too hard and it stains. She says it out loud. "I can't live without Vrianth." A new line. This time it's silent. "Don't make me." Silent. "Let me go." Silent. "Don't let anyone stop me." Not silent. "I love you, Anvori." Silent. "I'm sorry." She signs it, she dates it, she can't crease it. The ink is still black and wet.

For all he tried to look before, he doesn't even try now, not when the realities of it are sinking in with each word she does and does not say. "I don't want to see what you've written," even if he's heard it, or what might be some of it, "Until it happens. Lock it away. Give it to Madilla to give me when. I... I love you, Leova." The voice is that of a broken man, preemptively grieving for something that might never happen. Who then rises, and walks out.

He's left, and the ink hasn't even dried. When she sees her weyrmate again, the paper will be gone. If her hands have stained, she'll have scrubbed those too, scrubbed them raw.

}}

@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
 {{Log
 |involves=High Reaches Weyr
 |day=27
 |month=6
@@ Line 10: / Line 9: @@
 |IP=Interval
 |IP2=10
 |type=Log
-| gamedate = 2014.12.09
+|icons=leova roaming.jpg, anvori.png
-| quote = "I don't think I can trust myself not to just want you to live forever."
+|log=An uneasy truce has settled between the weyrmated pair as life claims their attention and what little time they have together is in silence, a little fraught, but companionable enough for the turns together. Via needs a parent accompanying her on a trip to Harper Hall, which her mother takes. Veylin, the younger, trips and breaks a finger and has an exciting overnight stay in the infirmary, which her father takes. Dragonhealing, the bar, life. At night, the nights they have to themselves, he holds her, pets her hair, but is nominally silent. After a week, life almost seems to be returning to normal. And then there's Teris again.<br>It's nearly a seven ''after'' the goldrider has claimed her own life that Anvori finally says something. Or rather, doesn't say anything. He seeks her out, his steps heavier than the norm, finding her in the dragonhealing offices and knocks on the door, out of courtesy, before stepping in. He's made it past all the guards, the formalities of the desk and some veneer of the charm he's used to convince her assistants to let him pass remains fleeting on his features. The name, "Leova," is proceeded by an uncomfortable cough. His hands play with a sheet of paper in his hands.
-| weather =
-| categories = <!-- You can ignore this and select from the options under the edit box. The 'RP Logs' category is added automatically. -->
-| mentions = Madilla, Teris, Varian, Veylin, Via
-| ooc =
 | icons = leova roaming.jpg, anvori.png
 | log =
-−
 An uneasy truce has settled between the weyrmated pair as life claims their attention and what little time they have together is in silence, a little fraught, but companionable enough for the turns together. Via needs a parent accompanying her on a trip to Harper Hall, which her mother takes. Veylin, the younger, trips and breaks a finger and has an exciting overnight stay in the infirmary, which her father takes. Dragonhealing, the bar, life. At night, the nights they have to themselves, he holds her, pets her hair, but is nominally silent. After a week, life almost seems to be returning to normal. And then there's Teris again.<br>It's nearly a seven ''after'' the goldrider has claimed her own life that Anvori finally says something. Or rather, doesn't say anything. He seeks her out, his steps heavier than the norm, finding her in the dragonhealing offices and knocks on the door, out of courtesy, before stepping in. He's made it past all the guards, the formalities of the desk and some veneer of the charm he's used to convince her assistants to let him pass remains fleeting on his features. The name, "Leova," is proceeded by an uncomfortable cough. His hands play with a sheet of paper in his hands.
 Those assistants must have been protective of the woman who leans over the deep desk, long-armed, straining. She can't recover Iskiveth. Can't recover Teris. ''Can'' recover the cap to her ink pen, though even that drops at her name. For him, she abandons what she'd sought to save. She turns. Amber eyes seek Anvori. "What?" Is it Varian's turn?
@@ Line 47: / Line 41: @@
 He's left, and the ink hasn't even dried. When she sees her weyrmate again, the paper will be gone. If her hands have stained, she'll have scrubbed those too, scrubbed them raw.
+|when=Day 27, Month 6, Turn 36 of Interval 10
 }}

@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
 {{Log
 | who = Anvori, Leova
 | where = Dragonhealers' Office, High Reaches Weyr

@@ Line 4: / Line 4: @@
 | what = After Teris dies, weyrmates Anvori and Leova have to address what-ifs [[Logs:Need|again]].
 | when = Day 27, Month 6, Turn 36 of Interval 10
 | gamedate = 2014.12.09
 | quote = "I don't think I can trust myself not to just want you to live forever."