Difference between revisions of "Logs:Tattletale"

Once a dragon like Reisoth has set his sights on observing someone, there's little that can be done to hide from him. Unfortunately for Tayte, the bronze has been watching her for some time. Turns, possibly. Sure, there are varying levels of intensity to his focus on her, but there are definitely important things that haven't slipped his notice. When the woman is on her way back to the craft complex after her bath in the public caverns, for instance, the dark, angular bronze has situated himself in her usual path. Whether she notices him, recognizes him at all, or simply moves to walk around him without even thinking about it, Reisoth's presence starts as a barely noticeable sort of thing, building with the nagging pressure of a cold wind seeping its way through the cracks around a door as she nears. Up until the wind relents, leaving a chill as he finally completes the encroachment with the silky-smooth baritone of his mindvoice. « I'm going to tell him. »

Tayte loves bathes. It's no secret. She takes them daily, and sometimes twice daily. But since her pregnancy, she's bathed more often in the craft complex, though still makes pilgrimage to K'del's private bath and the larger, more accommodating public caverns on a regular basis. With the sun, it's impossible not to notice a dragon in her path, but the blonde is preoccupied, as she so often is these days. As Reisoth quietly invades her mind, he finds calculations. If nothing else, it's a confirmation that despite her bad decisions, Tayte is not a stupid woman. These are for the knitting pattern she must have complete by day's end, for slight alterations to suit the measurements of the one its for. They're really quite complex. Her mind has a soft quality to it. Permeable, and shiny, like passing into the center of a soap bubble. Clean. It's also clean, her thoughts generally as orderly as she keeps her rooms. (Or H'vier's, when she used to do that also.) But all is thrown into disarray when suddenly she's aware of the cold wind. She stops halfway around the dragon, not looking at him. Confusion is the dominant emotion as the numbers go skittering off in other directions to be laboriously retrieved later. What must a non-dragonman think when a dragon speaks. Her head turns in the direction of the infirmary. She's hearing voices. Obviously, something's wrong. There's no attempt to provide answer to the words, because obviously, she's going crazy. Talking back won't help, surely.

It's not as though Reisoth makes a habit of speaking to people who aren't his rider. This might be one of the reasons for that. Surely a rider wouldn't react so poorly, but the thought of talking to other dragons, even his own rider at times, is generally unpleasant enough, let alone their riders. So this must be very important to the bronze, to be lowering himself to speaking so directly to the woman. « Be calm, woman. I'm quite certain you're no more or less in need of a mindhealer than most. » There's a certain patience in his voice, as though he's quite accustomed to speaking to those beneath him in a way that they'll understand. And, as he speaks, the bronze shifts to bring his head around to look at Tayte, attempting to make it more difficult for her to overlook his physical presence.

It takes her a moment of staring up at the familiar bronze. Then a hand covers her mouth and the ripple of shock goes through her mind. The response seems foggy, for Tayte doesn't speak aloud and her mind isn't made to communicate this way. « Reisoth? »

At first his affirmation is a feeling more than anything that could be considered verbal, even where a dragon is concerned. But he withdraws somewhat, attempting to make Tayte more comfortable with his presence. « Yes. »

Tayte ... needs to sit down. And so she does, right there on the ground, but carefully. Then she's left to blink rapidly up at the bronze. Now the first words take on new meaning, and it's a good thing she's sitting down. She pales. But still she asks, in a whisper, "Tell him what?" Can she play dumb here?

Reisoth waits patient and unmoving as Tayte settles, though he watches her closely, perhaps worried she'll do something inadvisable to hurt herself. Humans are exceedingly fragile creatures. « You know very well what. » No, she can't play dumb. But he clarifies for the sake of efficiency, « You're carrying his offspring. »

Her hands inadvertently fold across the swell in her belly; it's a telling and a protective gesture. "Why?" It's what she can manage just now. Tayte's mind is racing, but the thoughts are too fast and likely her mind too unfamiliar for Reisoth to really follow.

« Because eventually he will find out. And he will be angry. » In case that isn't clear enough, Reisoth continues, « I don't know why you haven't told him, but I won't allow it to be a reason for him to lose his temper with you. »

Tayte doesn't like it when H'vier gets angry. The flash of instinctive fear clouds up her glistening bubble of a mind, but she's practiced at suppressing it now so it doesn't take much time. "He never needs to know." The look she gives the dragon is pleading. "He doesn't want to be with me, Reisoth. He would come back to me and hate me for dragging him back in if he knew." At least, by her logic. "If he doesn't know, he can go on with his life and be the happier for thinking that this child is another man's." Since he, you know, doesn't want any of this family nonsense.

There's a flicker of impatience in Reisoth's mild touch with Tayte, a contrast to his serene, aloof exterior. « He didn't leave you because he doesn't want to be with you. » Must he explain everything?

"If he wanted to be with me, then he should be with me, " Tayte struggles up to her feet, a little ungainly because of the weight of her middle. "Instead, he's off being with everyone else." And that is more than a little heart-breaking.

Clearly Reisoth didn't plan on reasoning with a pregnant woman being so difficult. Or is it just women in general? His rider is rather simple to deal with by comparison. It's a little intriguing, but it's also frustrating. And that's what filters through to Tayte. « And if he struck you again. Would you forgive him? Would you speak on our behalf so we wouldn't be sent away? »

This has Tayte's eyes diving to the ground she only just left. "I--" She falters. "He shouldn't hit me," which is really not a point that she expects Reisoth to argue. She steps into his shadow, not reaching to touch him, but letting herself sink back down onto the ground, probably wishing she could still pull her knees up and wrap her arms around them. But she's too far along for that, and the lack of curling in on herself leaves her feeling vulnerable. Maybe that's why she sits so close. She does fear it, that possibility of recurring behavior. "Why would you be sent away?" Is what she says next. It's not that she's meaning to answer with a question: it's plain enough for him to see in her mind that she really doesn't know what she would do if it happened again. Certainly, she would want to forgive him, but shouldn't he just not do it so she wouldn't have to try? "Do you think if you told him what I've been keeping from him that he won't come and hit me anyway?"

The bronze doesn't move away from Tayte and he might not even if she does touch him. « Cadejoth's assured him that we would lose everything if he did anything to hurt you again. » Reisoth's memory is quite extraordinary for a dragon. « I'm surprised he didn't follow through what with the way you've been carrying on since mine left you. » That might be an exaggeration. « Cadejoth's does not always seem reasonable when it comes to your sex. » But for the rest, his frustration eases. « If I can control where he's told and where he can go until he's calmed down again, I believe the likelihood of him remaining upset with you is negligible. »

The intake of breath for the first says Tayte hadn't known, though surely she can't be surprised. It's quietly that she says, "K'del probably is glad for him leaving me, and that's why." For a tiny moment, the wealth of her experiences with K'del is available to Reisoth in a flash. Still, from that flash, it's probably easy to see her explanation as a good one. The many times of tears wetting K'del's shoulder, the hugs, the comforting words that grow wearier with each telling. She's quiet a long moment. "Must he know?" She asks discontentedly, but her tone carries an edge of resignation. "Won't it just make everything worse?"

« Would you rather risk him finding out in an uncontrolled environment? » Reisoth wouldn't. And he certainly doesn't want to have to gain a foothold again in a new Weyr. « And wouldn't you rather your child know their sire? »

"If you don't tell him, he'll never know," or so Tayte truly believes. "I've not often lied to him," often, "He believed me. I think." She looks to the dragon questioningly. Surely he would know better than the blonde. For a moment a surreal sensation steals her focus; this feels like a dream. Maybe she is dreaming. Wouldn't that be nice? "I don't want my child to know him if he doesn't want us. Having two, maybe all three of my children by him and he doesn't want to be a family with us?" It's plain how deep that hurt reaches. And no, she still doesn't buy that H'vier is trying to spare her heartache; could it really be worse than what she feels now? Maybe if he were discreet about his new liaisons it wouldn't hurt so much, or she could pretend them away. But this is H'vier and every time is a new wound on her already battered heart.

Reisoth isn't staring at Tayte anymore, though he still hasn't moved away from her to any significant degree. His slowly whirling eyes are turned in the general direction of his ledge. Or maybe the rim. « He suspects. But he doesn't believe you would lie to him about this. » Tsk, tsk, Tayte. And though he could surely comment on this family business, he doesn't.

Tayte's shoulders shudder. "Wouldn't it be better if he never knew?" She ask it simply. "If you didn't tell him, and I didn't tell him..." Would he ever know?

« He doesn't want you to forgive him. He knows you're safer the way things are. He wouldn't want me to say that the women he associates with don't mean anything, that he's hasn't moved on. » But they don't and he hasn't, would be the obvious conclusion. « Your relationships are complicated. » Reisoth probably has a point. Any time now. « If you want me to refrain from telling him, you need to be absolutely certain that you will never take him back. Are you? »

"Of course not." There's no hesitation because (and K'del might-- well, not hit her, but throw his arms up more than once!) Tayte would take H'vier back in two heartbeats. (At least it would take two now.

« Then he needs to know. He will forgive you for this much, I'm certain. » Because it's totally H'vier's place to be the one needing to forgive. « But I don't know if he would forgive you later. » Reisoth, always looking out for Tayte. True story.

Tayte sighs, not yet standing but shifting where she sits. "He'll forgive me, but he won't take me back." She shakes her head; it's all so stupid. "I can't be the one to tell him, can I." It's not really a question, but she looks to Reisoth for confirmation anyway.

There's a moment or two of consideration before Reisoth offers almost apologetically, « I don't know how he will react. He's been... less predictable. We can't risk him losing his temper. » Surely she can understand that.

Tayte nods, simply. Now only the practical questions remain. "When will you tell him?"

« Within the seven, most likely. » She doesn't need much more information than that, so Reisoth doesn't bother offering anymore. Instead the bronze's presence starts to fade as he shifts up onto all fours, wings rustling against his long, thin body.

"Wait," Tayte struggles once more up to her feet, asking on the way. "Should I send the girls away, just in case?" In case Reisoth can't control things as he expects.

Reisoth's smooth baritone comes as he moves away, sounding more distant now, perhaps simply less focused on her. « Unnecessary. »

That eases a tiny bit of the tension from her shoulders. Then Tayte felt something lower. She gave herself the count of 35 while the feeling lasted to panic. Then she turned toward the infirmary. It was far too soon.