Difference between revisions of "Logs:A New Deal"

It's cold, it's wet, it's miserable. That's life on the islands, though, and today's no exception. The day is windy and there are clouds on the horizon that will have the exiles hiding in caves again soon, no doubt; but for now, they're hurrying about, getting everything in that they can. Except for Raum. He sits up at the top of the cliffs, feet hanging over the edge while he picks at his nails with one of their sharpened stone blades.

Twenty turns in, and still Riorde is driven crazy by the press and crowd of all those bodies waiting out the winter in their caves. She ducks out as soon as her chores are finished and hikes up the path to the top of the cliffs. At the top, she takes a moment to collect herself and her breath, shaking out the knot of hair bunched at the nape of her neck. Her gaze seeks the horizon, and she considers the clouds gathered there until something or someone else catches her, and then the young woman steals up behind Raum, seeing how attentive he is. "You'll fall right off the edge." Her low voice carries more threat than warning.

There's a slight shift in Raum's posture as he realizes someone is there: his shoulders straighten somewhat, his head turning faintly to one side as Riorde makes herself known. "I'm not one of you island goats, but I'm more surefooted than that," he informs her, shrugging. "That's no way for a man to die, after all."

Riorde's sudden smile is here then gone, a demonstration of keen pleasure though there is nothing demonstrably funny about what Raum says or does. "Move over." She sticks out her foot to try and nudge at Raum's seat. "How would you prefer to die? Hypothetically."

Obligingly, Raum scoots over, even going so far as to offer Riorde a hand as she moves to seat herself. He even adds, "Don't slip," for her benefit too. Only when they're both comfortable again does he offer his own crooked smile. "Hypothetically? I'd rather not die at all. You?"

Riorde lets Raum help her down, cautious about these cliffs with their sharp drops and treacherous footing. Seated, though, she lets her legs dangle free. "Me? Hm. I haven't put much thought into planning my own death. Might be nice to just float out one day, but the idea's nicer than the reality. Nothing pleasant about drowning." Spoken like one with inherited experience, having grown up around too many stories of just such a death. Riorde rips up a hardy weed trying to survive in the dirt between the cracks in the rock and sends it off and over the edge. "Our lives must seem small to you."

"It generally is," agrees Raum dryly. "I've known many that would wish for a hero's death, or an old man's sleep-without-waking, but in the practice, it ends as poorly as any other method." He lifts his shoulders again, though, and when she drops the weed, he leans over to watch it fall and tumble on the rocks far below. "Do they not to you?"

Riorde dusts off her hands on her trousers and tries to extract the dirt under her nails without the benefit of a knife like Raum's. "Of course they do. And I haven't even had anything different." She glances sideways at him and, almost as if trying to pull a bit of suspense into this sad, shallow life of hers, intones, "I have been considering things that start with the letter M. Morality. Manipulation." A pause. "Men."

Wordless, Raum offers his blade to Riorde, his own cleaning efforts done or at least paused for the moment. His brows do lift, though, at her list, and after a moment, he prompts, "And how does your consideration go, for such things?"

Riorde with a blade might be a thing better avoided since Raum has made her list for at least two out of the three items. "So far, I am not huge fan of any of them." She turns the knife to her nails. "You manipulated me." In case that wasn't clear.

Raum, to his credit, doesn't look scared. He looks more--bemused, than anything else, when she levels such accusations at him. "I don't quite follow that leap," he admits, though his mouth turns up at one corner all the same. "I fulfilled my part of the bargain, didn't I?"

"Did you?" Riorde returns the question as she finishes with the nails on one hand and starts on the other. "I think you found a way to suit yourself. Hard labour wasn't the bargain." Satisfied with her nails, she offers the blade back, hilt-first.

"You wanted the lordling punished," Raum answers as he reaches out for the knife. His hands toy with it idly, not putting it away. "You got your wish and more besides, after what your cursed sea did to his sister. Shame the wife had to suffer too, but that weren't my doing and by all accounts she's content to be rid of him herself."

"Aye, but not the terms of the deal changed under our noses." This time Riorde remembers to use a plural pronoun and include Emmeline her co-conspirator in those taking affront. "Kima wasn't part of any bargain." Regret for the girl's loss mingles with insult when she takes Raum's words to be callous in nature. "Nor Seani." She moves beyond these losses and unintended casualties with a quick toss of her head, presenting a sharp profile to Raum without hair to soften it. "Question is, what did you get out of all of this?"

Raum shakes his head, that smile lingering in all its faux pleasantness. "This is what happens when you plot against others: the innocents suffer, and they die too. If you're not prepared to risk so much, I suggest finding a new occupation for your hands," he suggests. As for his own takeaway from the venture? "Nothing, yet."

"Such as?" Riorde leaves herself open to suggestions with the arch of her brows making visible the enquiry. "Fine, then - what are you hoping to get?" Calculating herself, she expects Raum to prove likewise, and tacks on in the suspicion he may try to dodge the question, "You should tell me, since you up-and-changed the nature of the agreement. I think I deserve that much."

Raum, bluntly, "Women's work. Cook, and mend, and nurse. Leave schemes to those of us as has a head for them." But her latter question earns more thought than the one before it, and he drums his fingers on the stone for a moment before admitting, "Don't know yet, rightly. You've nothing worth the taking."

An answer undoubtedly unpleasant to Riorde, who looks at Raum blackly but represses her response. "Position?" she suggests, though it's likely that he's considered and discarded it. "I would like to know," she says then as if it's natural to make these claims and have them answered, "how you really came to be here."

"Lord of the Western Isles?" mocks Raum, with a snort. "To judge the rightful borders of this patch of sand or that, and take my tithe in fish and rainwater. Such a fulfilling life I should have then. --Does it matter?" The latter question answers her curiosity, a sideways glance shot at her. "If I'm raper or murderer or shipwrecked sailor. You know what I've said of it already."

"Tithe?" Riorde echoes the word with its unfamiliar social structures. Hating to show her lack, she frowns deeply and looks out at grey water, grey sky. "No, not really," she must admit. "Unless it does." To be maddeningly elliptical. "I think," Riorde continues, spinning out the idea long-brewing in her brain, "you must have come here the way we did. So if you came, perhaps others will. And find us."

"My due, as lord, gifted from my subjects," explains Raum, sounding somewhat bored. He must explain a lot of the outside world, even now. The other, though: that's more interesting. "I would hardly be the first or only prisoner dumped near here, though I am apparently the first to find my way to your kind hands. Do you think it's more likely that they could bring me here and not notice your little settlement, or that they would choose to ignore it?"

"Oh," says Riorde, enlightened but not altogether happy about it. At least she hasn't asked Raum to explain deserts for the millionth time. She puts the scenarios to deep thought, picking at the fabric of her trousers though they are so worn that they can hardly bear more damage. "I think no one cares." She doesn't sound depressed about it, just deeply embittered as she shares her pessimistic worldview.

With the tip of the knife still in his hands, Raum points to Riorde. "Got it in one," he agrees. "And so I find myself here, with you in my debt and little use for it at all. I expect that much as fish must swim, some men must scheme, and anyway, you can't deny it makes things more interesting around this place." He smirks. "All you have had is marriages and babies and death, and now I've given you the gift of divorce, too."

"Shall I thank you for it?" Her tone inclines towards the mocking. Riorde carefully scrambles to her feet so she can dip into what she thinks a curtsey must look like. "Thank you, Raum, Lord of the Western Isles. When might you grace us with another of your generous gifts?" She stays standing, shuffling back to allow room for Raum to stand too, if he wants.

"I'd never ask for that," Raum waves off her curtsey. "There's little here to be of use, but it is certainly not girlish gestures and feelings." He does stand, too, and puts the knife away, stretching slightly as he moves muscles stiffened in the chill. "I expect you'll be off to tell your harper-girl friend how I've bared my soul to you now?"

"Why?" Riorde lingers somewhere between amused and puzzled. She fits her hands into her pockets, standing upright with shoulders hunched as she makes herself a target for the wind. "What've you said that's so worthy of turning into rumour?"

At that, Raum's mouth pulls into its own little frown, perhaps as puzzled as she is. "Isn't that the way of women? Though--" He looks her thin, trousered form up and down, lifts a brow slightly. "I do wonder, then--what are you after?"

Riorde's amusement grows as the wind picks up, blowing the thunderheads further in. "The way of women." Echoing the phrase shares the source of her humour but not the reasons for it. She tries another repetition, mild musing stress on the verb. "What am I after?" She could stay cryptic, but soon shrugs. "I don't know. Something."

"Let me know, when you do," Raum suggests, with a casual shrug. "Maybe our paths go a similar way."

Riorde stares at Raum for longer than is polite. "Maybe," she concedes and then smiles without warning. "You're interesting. More than the rest. I was told to stay away from you." Her confessions seem not to require answer, for the islander looks again to the clouds out at sea and determines, "We should go before the rain hits."

"Were you." Raum doesn't sound surprised. "Well. I'm glad you didn't listen, at any rate; you're more interesting yourself." High praise indeed. He starts down the rocky path, though, noting, "Certainly before the rain, or we truly will be falling off."

Riorde's stern features break into temporary pleasure as she perceives the compliment for what it is. She falls in step, hurrying to beat the rain but not so fast that she risks turning her ankle on loose shale. "We all were, probably." The girl doesn't claim the honour of a warning solely for herself. She takes on the falsetto of someone else's voice. "Girls, stay away from the outsider, he'll poison your mind with his lies. Go mend a net."

Raum shrugs. "Most of them don't hardly seem to need it," he notes, mouth quirking at the impression. "Though often as not I don't mind. I'm tired of explaining deserts and dragons and life without water. It might as well be lies, for the good it does me out here."

Riorde shoots a glance sideways, surprised. "No?" She would have thought more of her fellow island-girls. "Well, I won't ask you." Nor admit how much she's dying to know. Riorde reins in those inner desires, keeping herself firmly in check. "Why ask about something you'll never see. It'll only make us want it." She knows how to navigate this path, could do it blind, but still sees if she can claim Raum's arm in the pretense of assistance.

Surprise steals across Raum's expression when Riorde takes his arm, but he lets her, playing the gallant to her lady. "There's wisdom in that," he agrees. "When I think of what I've lost, I find the bitterness overwhelming. I'd not quite call it regret, for the things that eventually brought me here, because I would do them all again; only, wiser this time."

"And what did you lose?" Riorde's gaze steals across, curiosity breaching the prohibition she just put on herself. Still, it's not dragons or deserts. "Position? Wealth? Wife?" The last she dwells on briefly only so she can dismiss it. "No, not that - you don't seem to like women much." She keeps a good pace but could move faster; no particular desire to return to the caves hastens her steps though the threat of bad weather guides them. "I put a name to what I'm after," she says suddenly, skipping out of beat with the conversation. "Freedom."

Raum actually laughs at that. "I like women well enough, in their place," he tells her. "But I've yet to find one worth marrying. I expect your council will find someone for me eventually, so that I might add more babies to this rock." He sounds unenthusiastic about the prospect, but shrugs after a moment, the better to give Riorde a long look as they make their descent. "It's good to put name to want, but better yet to put a hand to it," he notes."

Riorde rolls her eyes both at Raum's comments on women and on the island council. "They'd have to find someone not afraid to marry you, first. Or not be afraid of the damage it'd cause to our little settlement themselves. I think you're safe for awhile yet." The question of what she wants and how to achieve it instills a longer silence before Riorde finally shares her slight smile with Raum. "Haven't I started already?"

"Am I." It's not really a question, more amused than anything else. "Damn them all, then. I expect my only chance at having a woman out here is the marriage bed, and even that's denied to me. I expect it wouldn't be exile if we enjoyed it, though, no?"

"Safe, damned, whatever you call it," Riorde confirms with her own version of amusement. "Tomaeran didn't seem to find a problem with it." Rounding the bend brings them to the lee side of the cliffs and momentarily out of the gusting wind. "Mind, he got his punishment, but what is life without a little risk?"

"But," and here Raum waggles a finger of his free hand at her. "There's still the matter of finding the willing woman, since I expect I'd not go far with an unwilling one in this place. And for all the interest some have in my lies and stories, even those don't seem inclined to push their luck. Unless you know of one who would?" He gives her a look, steps pausing for a moment.

"No, you'd probably get pushed off the cliffs or sent out to sea to make it on your own," Riorde agrees all too cheerfully. "No one's tried that I know of. You could be the first. Really dig a hole for yourself with your off-island ways." She pauses when Raum does since she hasn't given up his arm. The question too gives her pause from the scenarios she unearths. "I think," she answers slowly, a mixture of cautious and calculating, "it would depend on what you could give her."

"I've done that once already--dug myself a hole, that is," lest she mistake his reasons for being there. Raum lingers where he is for a moment more, though, before he takes up the descent again. "I expect, whatever she would ask of me. Isn't that a husband's duty to his wife?"

The remark is more confession than Riorde had hoped for, and her curiosity is mostly satisfied. Or, at least she has the satisfaction of being proven right. "Who said husband and wife?" she puts forward with a rhetorical spin. It doesn't stop her from following up with, "Perhaps in theory." She falls in alongside Raum when the pull on her arm carries her forward. "In practice, it seems more the husband's prerogative to take."

Raum's mouth pull into an easy smirk, and he glances sidways at Riorde though he doesn't let his pace falter. It's slow-going enough, after all, between the wind and the hour and his relative unfamiliarity with the path. "So you didn't," he agrees. "I suppose if I ever get too desperate to wait on the council, I could take my own proposal to them; it's not as if the bloodlines are an issue for me. But I take one of the foremost rules of scheming to be never commit more or sooner than one has to. Does that bother you islanders?"

Riorde could take the lead and they'd be down faster, but she doesn't even when the first fat raindrops begin to splatter down on rock and dirt and scrub vegetation. "I think us islanders want a deal done, settled, signed, so we can move on to those all-important matters of breeding and harvesting and trying not to die." Her tone is definitely mocking.

Raum agrees, "You're not a people with dreams; you might as well hide your heads in the sand. And why not?" Her mocking is echoed in his voice. "I am not interested in breeding, or harvesting, and if not dying is only treading water, I see no point in that, either. If you feel likewise... Perhaps we can strike a new arrangement."

"Neither am I." Riorde's short answer follows quick on the heels of the things named that carry no interest. She pulls to a stop so she can face Raum fully. "Name it," she dares him.

"There's a whole world out there to the east," begins Raum. "And they're not coming for us. And there's no satisfaction in being king of a rock in the ocean. I don't know if there's any hope of success, but I know your council is too busy thanking the sea and trying not to die to try to /live/ instead. And none of you would speak against them; it will have to be the outsider."

Riorde finds herself nodding in fuller accord than even she had suspected. Her regard for Raum takes on a new appreciation beyond that based on her own calculations. She doesn't answer immediately, releasing her claim to Raum's arm so she can fold her arms instead. "Where do I fit in?"

Raum is silent for a moment, looking her over before he makes his proposal. "I'm not liked, nor trusted, even by those who would plague me for stories. I'd not even begin to know how to change that." He lifts his shoulders. "I don't care a bit that they love me, and anyway, neither you nor I are flatterers of that sort. Respect and failing that, fear, are the better weapons. I expect you have some ideas on that front?"

Riorde stands up well under scrutiny and undertakes her own in return. "I imagine it might help if people felt you at least made an effort to be one of us," she starts off slowly. "In terms of respect. And there's no motivation to leave, as long as people have enough to feed and clothe them. If there was a - a fear for our continued existence here, perhaps people would listen." Somehow, this conversation doesn't feel like the betrayal of her people that it probably should; Riorde speaks freely, pondering. "I'll think on it."

And that has Raum thinking, too, visible on his face. "So we will," he agrees with the latter statement. But a quick glance up at the sky makes him frown at the rain that's already begun to hit them. "We should get in, before we're washed away; we won't find ourselves washing up in the east that way."

"Let's go," Riorde agrees as water drips into her eyes and leads the rest of the way down before the storm really breaks. And if she steals the occasional glance at the island's outsider across the caves through the evening and days to follow, anyone looking on would think it the idle curiosity they all bear towards the stranger in their midst.