Difference between revisions of "Logs:Iwannastand"

The barracks have been turned inside out, people's things have been hunted through and presumably the necklace given High Reaches' cherished daughter has not been found. In that time, Iolene's run out to the lake and her hunched over frame is planted along the spring-muddied shores. Her knees are bent, her arms are slung about them and her chin has found the tops of her knees and for all intents and purposes, the young exile looks despondently out at the equally gray reflecting lake. It's a quiet night, the sun having set just an hour ago, and the darkness means not as many people are willing to trek out into Reaches' gloomy spring night.

'Not as many' - but not 'no one'. It can't have been a terribly good day for K'del, either, and perhaps that is what has him pacing across the bowl, his expression not terribly far from Iolene's own. Above, Cadejoth performs a sweeping glide, barely visible through the dark, barely-moonlit night. Eventually, K'del's footsteps lead him towards the lake, and though he must have noted Iolene there from some distance, it's not until he gets quite close that he actually seems to place who that shadowy person his. His footfalls stumble; he hesitates.

Hunting down fish can't be much different than hunting down other prey. You have to be quiet, stealthy -- things K'del's stumbling footfalls aren't quite. And to hunt these things, you have to be atune to noises and shifts in your surroundings; things Iolene generally is. Thus, those stumbling footballs paired with his hesitation that keeps him there a moment longer causes the blonde to turn around, presenting tear-stained cheeks upwards and a desperate sniffle and brush with the back of her hands that shows her fervent need not to show this face to anyone, least of all this man she recognizes as not quite friend. It doesn't work. "Hi," she says, voice all wobbly, and a smile tries to climb up and fails. "I wish I were Shimana." This time, she doesn't try to hide her broken voice. "Then the water would tell me what to do."

Not even after a day like this one can K'del walk away from a face like that; his whole expression crumbles, and that earlier hesitation evaporates, marshalling his steps to resume towards her, though he doesn't actually join her in the crouch. "Iolene?" he ventures, his tone lowered and concerned. "Would it, really? Or-- are you all right?" It's as though he's suddenly realised that, oh yes, it might be a bad idea to question too much at this moment.

"Shimana says so." And more and more, the once island girl believes. /Believes/ with an earnestness she hadn't when life was a lot happier, blither, if hungrier. "I'm trying to be." Iolene chokes back what might be a torrent of tears now stuck in her throat, and turns to look at the lake with the dull look of someone who's too scared to have any emotions for fear the wrong one might accidently bust free. Another sniff. "How are you? I mean-," She did catch how K'del's shadowed face seemed to have look, "Did you come out here to cry too? Grams always said boys should cry too. If they cried more the world would be a happier place overall."

Not even people rummaging through her belongings and turning up a new knife --and in turn a few pointed questions-- has ruined Riorde's mixed turnday plus gather high. She's not trying to be quiet or stealthy as she comes outdoors, a bright spot of colour in a red-gold tunic, humming something that almost sounds familiar, but not quite; an old tune that diverged 80 turns back from something indigenous to these parts. She's got herself a set of small pipes too, but hasn't yet tried to play that tune on them-- mercifully? "Io!" She recognises her friend, but not yet her mood. With less enthusiasm: "Weyrleader." Perfunctory greeting aside, she continues, almost bubbly, "I got your gift. Thank you! Oh--" And now she starts to realise, coming close enough to see or hear the tears. "Io?" Less certain, this time.

"I--" says K'del, breaking off his words in order to draw a deep breath and run his hand through his hair awkwardly. "Came to get some air, at least. Clear my thoughts." Cry. Quite possibly. At least he's saved from having to add anything else by Riorde's arrival, turning his head to track her progress with an expression that thins rather dramatically - and it's not as though he was crying to begin with. "Riorde."

Another sniff precedes her advice, "You should cry more. Grams says you should." But Riorde's arrival makes marked changes to Iolene's would be tears. With a look that some might consider a look of constipation, Iolene clamps her eyes shut and furrows up all her features before exhaling and attempting that smile again. There's no lies accompanying it, just a gloss over that latches onto something else, another, not so random, conversation strand. "You did? I looked all over the Gather to find something and I couldn't. And I got some marks for all the latrines I've cleaned lately. I think the assistant headwoman felt sorry for me but everything was so expensive. I wanted... I wanted to get you something nicer though. I ran out of shells."

Riorde and K'del did not get off on the right foot. What with him being the bearer of you're-not-punished-for-something-Taikrin-did-but-you-might-as-well-be. Riorde settles for polite, but no smiles. There's Iolene, though, to bear the brunt of her attention. "They're perfect," the older girl assures, concern changing the character of her smile. "Perfect." She goes to crouch down next to Iolene, hardly giving K'del another glance as, protectively, she moves to put her arm around Iolene's shoulders, intending comfort before questions.

K'del may seem slightly awkward with Riorde's presence, but that's not enough for him to fail to miss that sudden transformation in Iolene's expression; it's enough that his gaze narrows, enough that he turns to plant a considering, eyebrow-raised glance upon the dark-haired islander. But his remarks encompass the pair of them, following Iolene's lead into neutral, aimlessly cheerful territory. "Sounds like everyone had a lovely time at the gather, then."

"It was her turnday," Iolene says by way of explanation to K'del, even as a sudden relief slumps her shoulders at Riorde's one-armed hug. "I... I like birthdays. I like giving people things for their birthdays. But I don't really have much left to give anymore." Pensive again, though this time for not quite the same reasons as earlier, the blonde leans into the the other exile's shoulder. "I did. I liked it. The ocean-," but there's been enough gushing about the ocean for days. "I wish we could go back. I would live in a tiny little cave by the water and no one would even know I'm there. Promise." But something in her voice is aware of the end result of the necklace fiasco.

With K'del's gaze upon her, Riorde looks back steadily, obstinate in the way she doesn't immediately look away. Riorde, who wants to fight half the world and protect the other half, tightens her half-embrace of Iolene. "It was great," she agrees about the gather, enthusiasm restrained in light of Iolene's not-quite-alrightness. "I liked seeing the ocean too." The consequences Iolene alludes to with her small plea trigger Ri's own knowledge of the complaint filed and her own small sins, the wandering off without escorts. Reminded, a flash of guilt and dissent shoots across Riorde's face, which she tries to hide by ducking her chin and letting her hair fall forward. "I'm sure we'll see it again soon," she tells Iolene, but something in that statement is intended for the Weyrleader.

K'del's response is automatic: "Happy turnday," though it lacks any kind of personal sentiment. At least it gives him the space to hunt for the words to respond to everything else that's being said, during which time his gaze flits off towards the dark, shadowed lake and the bowl walls beyond. Carefully, non-commitally; "Perhaps there will be another occasion, at some point, where it might be possible. Perhaps--" Somewhere /other/ than High Reaches, where welcome is unlikely to be warm. "Had thought to try some kind of trip sometime after the hatching, but it seems... less likely, now."

If Iolene were only paying attention. But she isn't, so all she hears are K'del's words unmatched with how he looks everywhere but. She can't follow the flit of his gaze as it traces shadows and the bowl. Instead, of watching, her head's turned further into the half-embrace, some of the dampness of her cheeks brushing against Riorde's neck. She's tired. Spent. It's visible in every thin line of her too skinny frame, as if eating has been impossible in the last few months. But it's into the other exile's neck her words go, muffled and barely discernible unless you're adept in the language of mumble. "Iwannastand."

"Thanks." Likewise, Riorde's answer is mechanical. Her neutrality is fleeting, however, tone going taut as she looks up with a stare for the Weyrleader, guilt replaced by something that comes more naturally to her: jilted resentment. "Why?" There she goes again, confrontation barely restrained. "Plenty of other places to go that don't have Lords and Ladies to offend." While Iolene is exhausted, Riorde is bristling with barely restrained energy, practically humming with it as the other girl leans against her. So focused is she in finding a source for all her indignation that she misses what Iolene mumbles, lacking the concentration to properly process. The switch to a gentler tone isn't without effort, a short pause between what Iolene says indistinctly and Ri's response. "What?"

Iolene's mumbled words are a convenient distraction, stopping K'del from having to reply to Riorde's resentment; giving him something to frown at, rather than be frustrated over. "Iolene?" he asks, quietly, his hands unconsciously seeking for the pockets of his trousers, digging deep into the loose cotton.

Months of heartbreak falsely mended, broken by accusations of thievery and an ocean saw and then lost keep Iolene tucked into Riorde's arm and neck. A swallow. A sigh, where her breath warms Riorde's skin. A heavy lift of her face away from the safety of her fellow exile's neck, and the renewed tears welling on the lower rim of her eyes. "Devaki can't marry me. There wasn't a baby, but he can't marry me and no one would want me now and he's my brother and I just... I need something to wake up for in the morning. Please? I know I messed up with the eggs and your lad- weyrwoman probably hates me and her dragon probably hates me, but please? Can I stand? Please? We could keep it a secret? Not tell her? Please?" Maybe if she's plaintive enough K'del might not refuse her. Maybe.

Riorde doesn't remove her arm, but it's unmistakable how her frame goes stiff with shock. She is not, however, as surprised as she could be, new knowledge mixed with old to fill in the blanks. "He's your--" Riorde cannot pronounce the word that follows. Silent, she looks at K'del. Not at Iolene.

Tears. K'del-- he pauses, eyes wide, expression clearly indicating that he's not completely sure he's following this whole brother/pregnancy/marriage fiasco, but that last bit? It would be a bit difficult to misinterpret /that/. Being under Riorde's scrutiny clearly doesn't help anything, though his eyes do flicker their gaze in that direction after she speaks, as though it might help something. It... doesn't. "I--" he begins finally, but there's no fight in it. He runs his hand through his hair, turning his attention back to the lake, and telling it, instead, his answer: "Just don't tell anyone. /Anyone/. Tiriana will murder me."

"Oh," relief. "Thank you. Thank you. I won't tell anyone. I don't want you to be murdered. You're nice for one of them. And I don't want to be eaten by her sea monster. Thank you." Io could almost smile at this turn in her life, almost. But it's then that she just seems to realize Riorde's there and just /who/ Riorde is. The welled tears have disappeared in her earlier, fervent, gratitude, but Io's widened eyes suddenly spin and pin on to the other exile girl. "/Don't tell/. Don't tell anyone. Please. Don't tell. If everyone knew. Everyone would hate me and I don't want them to know. Please don't tell. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease." Clearly, she wants this more than she wanted to stand given the endless stream of pleases that trip forth from her mouth. "Please?"

K'del's consent diminishes the point of her looking at him, so Riorde seeks a less complicated target to stare at rather blankly: the lake. Swallowing, she finds her voice again. "I won't. I won't." The second comes stronger than the first, though both promises are spoken quietly. "Don't worry, I won't."

Despite the fact that K'del is obviously concerned - and not /entirely/ following - he manages a twisted, rueful little smile for Iolene's compliment, and perhaps, too, for the reference to Iovniath. All of that gets cut short, however, as the blonde girl turns her attention back to Riorde-- he looks, honestly, as though he'd rather be anywhere but there. "Should, uh, I leave you two alone to talk this out?"

Two thin arms throw themselves around Riorde, turning the other woman's half-embrace into a full one, at least on Iolene's part. "Thank you. I owe you. I didn't- you weren't- thank you." Really? K'del wants to go anywhere but the place where two girls are embracing? Sort of? Really?

The hug off-balances Riorde, and she tips back out of her crouch and onto her butt, muddying her pipes when she puts that hand down to brace herself. Then she awkwardly, less enthusiastically returns the embrace, muddy pipes and all; the musical instrument bangs a little against Iolene's back. "I wasn't what?" she has to wonder, before answering K'del with unexpected force: "No!" Suddenly aware of herself and how she might sound, Riorde tries to modify it retrospectively. "No, it's okay." She looks at him and tries to smile. It turns out rather shaky. Fumbling, her words trip out. "What if, what if I wanted to stand too?"

K'del has already taken a half-step back when Riorde speaks, her vehemence visibly surprising him - enough so that he stops completely, staring unrestrainedly at the hugging pair (which is not /un/hot, that's for sure, despite the tears). Perhaps he should have expected Riorde's question, but he doesn't seem to have, because his face falls. Biting his lip, he takes a moment to consider, as if, perhaps, he's trying to work out a way to get out of it. He doesn't seem to be able to come up with anything, though, because - not sounding terribly pleased about it - he finally says, "Fine, okay. But if /either/ of you says a word to /anyone/..."

And that's when, limp little Io who is all hugged out on Riorde finds some inner strength to wrestle free and hurtle her skinny, not really late teenage body to K'del and throw her arms around his neck too. Everyone deserves a hug. "Thank you." Never mind the exiles have somehow, without really meaning too (right), conned the Weyrleader into letting them stand for eggs they almost destroyed. Maybe being allowed to find a new path, other than one of marriage and babies and a tiny little hut or cave somewhere to make many many babies, has brightened Iolene's outlook on life. Or maybe it's the possibility of getting herself a dragon that will let her go see the ocean /whenever/ she wants to. Whatever the case may be, she's certainly all sorts of grateful. Muddy butt and all.

'What if /Rhaelyn/ wanted to stand?' is obviously the next question, but Riorde doesn't ask it. Nor does she claim that her own question was purely hypothetical. "We won't," she says instead, a funny, hollow echo of what she promised Iolene. She lets Io disentangle without protest and stays put as Io flings herself at K'del, a quietly shocked little mess of a girl seated in the mud.

Even seeing Iolene disentangle herself from Riorde doesn't prepare K'del for Iolene launching himself at him, but he recovers valiantly: after a moment, he even pats her back in a somewhat fatherly fashion. ""You're, uh, welcome," he says, with a flick of a glance from blonde girl to dark, evidently encompassing them both in the statement. He does, however, pull back, adding, hastily, "Ought to get back in. Little boys to put to bed. If you'll excuse me?"

"We'll walk with you to the bowl?" Iolene is no longer crying, even if she's not quite so stalwart, either in body, face, or possibly even mind at this point. "I need to take a bath and go to bed too." Not that she's a little boy to be put to bed.

Riorde picks herself up and brushes herself up to the best of her abilities. "You go," she says to Iolene's offer, excusing herself from it. She's composed now, but it's a thin veil that could easily fall away. "I think I'll stay out a little longer." To K'del, she adds, "Thank you." Because it's the kind of thing one says. Because she should. But, for different reasons, her gratitude has the same sort of mechanical quality that she voiced earlier.

Riorde picks herself up and brushes herself up to the best of her abilities. "You go," she says to Iolene's offer, excusing herself from it. She's composed now, but it's a thin veil that could easily fall away. "I think I'll stay out a little longer." To K'del, she adds, "Thank you." Because it's the kind of thing one says. Because she should. But, for different reasons, her gratitude has the same sort of mechanical quality that she voiced earlier.

• magic dust all around fades the scene and K'del lives to be conned another day*