Difference between revisions of "Logs:Left Behind"

Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr

Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller, higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night.

The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within this maze.

The lower caverns is a bustle at this hour, the hour just after lunch when people who should be working are finding other ways to occupy their time. Read: procrastinate and loiter in the inner cavern hallways. Among them, Iolene is a little blonde-haired ball of determination as she tries to push her way through the milling people clustered just outside the living caverns, only to find herself in a series of tunnels unfamiliar to her, if less crowded, and pauses. Two steps carry her backwards and a turn helps bring a stone walls to her back as she looks this way and then that, searching. "Excus-," but the person she might ask directions of steps too quickly away.

Tomaeran has been a pretty distant figure, these past months - not hiding, as such, but not really /available/, either. Which makes it kind of surprising, really, that as Iolene ends up in this unfamiliar part of the caverns, there's Tom himself, striding towards her a few moments later. "Iolene? What are /you/ doing down here?" Of all places?

"Do yo-," but another failed attempt at figuring out which way to go is suddenly all moot as Tom emerges from the unfamiliar and the blonde teenager looks suddenly relieved; relieved enough to latch onto his arm and cling. "Oh, I don't know how I'll ever learn my way around here." Particularly these residential burrows and various cave systems Iolene would have had no reason to explore or go to now. "I was-," she takes a step back, keeping her fingers latched to Tomaeran's sleeve, as if afraid she might get lost again. "I was looking for you actually." Funny that, coincidences and such. A sudden smile curves her lips lopsidedly and another step brings her back to the once exile's side.

With an Iolene clinging to his arm, Tom is clearly not going anywhere; anyway, he seems entirely too pleased that she might have been looking for him to be intending to go anywhere. "I don't imagine you really need to know your way around here," he says, grandly. "But I do, so you're in safe hands. What do you want, Io? I always thought you considered yourself too important to remember /me/."

"You could never get lost on the isl-... Too important?" Whatever else Iolene might have wanted to say flies out of her pretty head at what Tom says. "For you? Me?"

"Weyrwoman Iolene," says Tom, his tone only slightly mocking - and that mocking can't really be aimed at Iolene herself, because he's smiling at her, tipping his head towards the corridor ahead of them. "I'll lead us to somewhere where we can sit and talk, shall I? And then you can tell me about all the important things you're doing." He's surprisingly restrained, really, for Tom. Quieter than usual.

"You're-," Iolene hesitates, the fingers on Tom's sleeve tugging if he moves before she does. "You're related to Cason. You could be an elder by now." What with all these unfortunate deaths so early on. "You could-," but then she remembers to move with Tom towards a place to sit and talk. "I'm not a weyrwoman. Haven't you heard?" She tries to keep her voice lighthearted as she speaks to Tom. "Tiriana doesn't believe I should be trained as one. Don't really want to bother with that anyway."

Tomaeran's low snort is rather more like himself. "I'd be better at it than Jaques ever will be," he tells her. "But my father isn't an elder, nor my mother, and who is going to put my name up?" He directs her onwards, rather too focused on his own unhappiness to register what she's saying until, finally, he pauses to blink at her. "Well, she's an idiot, then. Well-- no. She's threatened by you. As she should be. You're our big hope, Io. You're going to make things right."

This talk of her discomforts the lanky blonde, a sudden reluctance in her slowing steps. She doesn't stop though, continuing onward as he directs, but just a few steps behind. "Elgin-," a beat passes where Iolene visibly recoils in expression, a sad correction coming quick after that, "E'gin, I mean, says that too. About hope and how I can make things right." There's no hapless sigh or questions of how she might be this. Mostly, she seems in more of a hurry to move past this subject and on to, "Evali might. I-," those dark blue eyes blink upwards and she abruptly stops at this point, "/I/ could."

"E'gin's not a complete idiot," is Tom's opinion on the subject. "You'll be in a position of power, Iolene. They've given it to you, and they didn't even mean to." He sounds quietly pleased about that, too, though that halts as he turns to regard her: she's stopped, he'll stop, and he'll look at her, too, frowning. "Take a place on the council? Yes. In fact-- you /should/. You, and-- all those places need to be filled. Why shouldn't it be the younger ones? They're going to want to take that away from us; they're going to claim we don't need a council anymore, but we /do/."

"/I/ could put your name up." Iolene, once her brain works seems to be quite handy at the whole thinking thing, rather than the asking questions thing. The realization of this brings that smile back to her lips, a starry-eyed shoulder shrug that looks to Tomaeran. "I would have made a very poor elder and with Grams-," but those are sad subjects and a lip twitch brings her face back to neutral though the thought fails to be voiced. "We can't lose our council. But-," that's not why she's here and she starts walking again, though stops, looking to him expectantly. Well? There's a smile and her hand lifts, so he might direct where to go to talk, "Happy turnday, Tom."

Tomaeran's mouth opens, and then closes again: he seems genuinely surprised by Iolene's train of thought, and lacks the words to say /anything/ until after that turnday greeting. "Huh," he says, indicating a doorway for them to pass through, into a quiet little cavern with a couple of old chairs and a desk. "I should have known you'd remember that. Thank you, Iolene."

"I ran out of shells a long time ago, but I don't think you'd really want a shell anyway." Iolene takes a few steps into the room before Tom and looks around, gaze flicking to the chairs and then the desk. "This isn't where you sleep, is it? Where-," Io purses her lips, a knit of worry on her brow when she turns to look at the birthday boy. "'s the bed? You /don't/ sleep here, do you? What is this room?" Assuming it's not his room.

"What?" Tom's head shakes. "No, it's not /mine/. I share a dorm with half a dozen other morons," he explains. "I think this used to be someone's office, or something, but no one seems to come in here." If he uses it as a trysting spot, well, it's not immediately obvious from the contents of the room. He hoists himself up onto the desk, letting his feet hang idly off the ground. "I don't need a shell. But it's nice, having it recognised. Thanks, Io. Would you really put my name up for the council?"

Another sweeping glance takes it all in, Iolene none the wiser for what Tom does use this room for. The lithe girl takes up residence on the desk next to him, her own legs dangling and her hands gripping the surface's edge. "I could. I mean, if you wanted. I guess that's how it works out? Right?" Uncertain of the mechanics of eldership and the council, the blonde slips Tom a sidelong look. "Would it- are you doing ok? I haven't-," so many misstarts. "Seen you since the- hatching." Cause that's a lot safer than what she really wants to say.

"You've all been off in your own little world, and Devaki's gone, and S--" Tom's tone is hard as he makes that summary, but his voice cracks, at least a little bit, on that name that doesn't get said. He sounds discontent, perhaps even /lonely/, though if the latter is true, it's deeply buried beneath the rest. "You all left me behind." Never mind that he didn't Stand - didn't show up for the hatching. Never mind that he was more or less segregating himself even /before/ the hatching, too busy chasing skirt to pay them much attention. "They probably wouldn't want me, anyway."

"Oh, Tom." Iolene slips an affable arm about the athletic blond's shoulder in a one-armed hug; too little too late? And once the light squeeze is over, the hand continues to pet his upper arm. "We didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. It was all so much that happened that day, I can't even remember anything that happened that day after they told us the eggs were starting to crack and-," in reliving this memory, there's a distant note to her voice that reflects in her glazed eyes. "Tom." Quietly, the arm falling lax so her hand drops to the table before her question, "Are you very sad at all?"

Tomaeran doesn't mention it, but he /seems/ grateful for the touch; or it could be that he's playing up his own emotions, the way he often has in the past. Still, he stares across the room at the door, not looking at Iolene at all. "We were better friends, after," he says. "Like when we were younger. Before." After their marriage ended. Before she got pregnant. Now he turns to glance at her, twisting his mouth. "I don't even know what to do anymore. I don't have a place in this world. No one cares who my mother is; no one cares who /I/ am. Who I could be." Bitterness darkens his expression further. "And they murdered my wife."

In a life not so long past, Iolene used to hunt things in the night; in the water. And behind him, that little hand that once used fishing poles and spears skillfully, that little hand that was just petting Tom's shoulder, curls into a fist. "You know. We're related, right?" She knows he knows, she doesn't even wait for the affirmation as that all too familiar rush of ashamed blood crimsons her cheeks. "Do you trust me?"

It's a subtle fist; one Tom is not aware of. He's probably not aware of a lot, though - he's too busy being emo. But Iolene's question makes him turn his head back towards her, and he's frowning, now. "Of course I trust you," he says, after a long pause. The fractional tilt of his head must be meant as an agreement: yes, he knows. But it's subtle.

If it's as simple as she makes it sound like it is, the world would be a place where birds braid innocent girl's hairs and forest creatures bedeck people in flowers. Maybe, in that not so long off past, Iolene believed in fairy tales with the wholehearted naivety of the young girl she was, and possibly, still is. "I'm going to find out who killed Seani." Yes, it's really as simple as that. "I promise." She'll even crack a small little smile that isn't very pretty on her otherwise pretty face. "I won't even get in the first punch when I do figure it out."

Tomaeran freezes. Whatever he expected Iolene to say, this? This was plainly not it. He's silent, his expression unreadable, for several long seconds. Finally, after inhaling and then exhaling, just quietly, "How are you going to manage that, Io?"

"Like you said. Like Elgin said." There's a twitch as if Iolene's working against some mental reminder or pressure. "Like /Elgin/ said. Like everyone says. I'm everyone's hope, right?" The fist behind Tom uncurls and the slender fingers hang limp against the desk top. It's a struggle not to sound even a little bitter about that, though somehow, for the most part, her better humor prevails and she shrugs as she tilts her head into Tomaeran's shoulder. "I'll figure something out. It's going to be a late birthday present, but I'll find something out for you." Poor lamb, she really has no plan.

"Oh, Io," begins Tom, but he's not really the best person to be-- well. Whatever it is he's really trying to do. "I hope you don't feel like we're pressuring you. It's just - well. You're in the right place for it, you know? You're a goldrider." He's silent for a few moments more after that, but lifts his hand so that he can stroke her hair, as he adds, "Thank you. You're amazing, you know that? You'll be better than Rhaelyn would have been."

"See?" Finding a silver lining to all this, Iolene's smile evinces itself through her voice as he can't quite see her face. "If I were a real weyrwomen, I wouldn't have time to do this for us." How easily a 'something for you' turns into a possessive plural. "Do you- do you think we'll ever be happy, Tom?"

Stroke, stroke, stroke. It might be that Tom has forgotten he's stroking her hair, or maybe it's just relaxing to do it. Either way, he doesn't stop. "Mm," he agrees. "I suppose that's true. But after you've done this... you're going to take over, aren't you? I'll help you. I'll do anything you need, Io, because--" He breaks off, answering her question only belatedly. "I don't know. I hope so. Sometimes... I almost wish I could just go back. I hated it, but it was simpler."

Comfort is hard for Iolene to come by lately, so she doesn't move. The repetition of his strokes relaxes her thin body and elicits a soft sigh. "It's too late to wish that," which are ironic words coming from High Reaches newest goldrider who would wish otherwise. But, "I wish that too. So much. All the time. But Ysavaeth tells me that I shouldn't because otherwise I would never have met her." And Iolene's learned her lesson on that account; to dream of a time without her dragon and all the empty pain that comes with it. "And I can't live without her. It's something they forgot to tell us." That hand behind him lifts so it can be clasped by her other hand as Io gives Tom another hug. "Did- did you guys really. Did you really hurt Dev?"

Tomaeran's quiet, "I know," comes with a much deeper sigh, the words breathed out in the midst of the rest of what Iolene has to say. He clearly doesn't understand what she's saying about Ysavaeth, because he bypasses it altogether. Instead, finally, "Do you mean, did we really beat him up over what he did to you? Yes." Beat. "He didn't fight back."

"He didn't do it to me." Iolene says, taking ownership of her own part in all this mess. "It wasn't his fault. I promise. I-," there's a swallow and some more flushing, complete with her face hiding itself into Tom's side cause that's such a fantastic place to hide from her embarrassments. Muffled, "I'm just a silly girl."

"Oh, Io," murmurs Tom, reaching around so that he can wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. She's lucky that she's one of the few people he'd do that for-- but then, she always has been. /He/ has always been different with her. "Don't be silly. It's not your fault. Everything's going to be fine, okay? Dev will come back. He'll overshadow us all, again."

Iolene pushes away, but only to look up at Tomaeran funnily. "Ok, now you're being the silly girl." Smiling fondly as she teases him, the blonde leans up to kiss Tom on the cheek. "I have to go. Don't be a stranger? You should come meet Ysavaeth at some point. She thinks you're quite a catch and handsome to boot. Better looking than- well, than some boys we know."

Tomaeran's expression twists slightly, but he seems pleased nonetheless. "You're making things up," he says of Ysavaeth; that doesn't stop a certain amount of smugness. "You take care, Io. I'll see you soon, promise." His hands drop back towards his sides, and, after a moment, he adds, "Three passageways to the right, and you'll end up back in the main caverns."

Iolene, forgetting that she gets /lost/, pauses at his directions, blinks a few times before she comprehends. The glow that lights up in her head is visible and her face splits into a grin. "If you don't see me at dinner, you might have to send out search parties." Another look casts about the room and while the Io of a year ago might not think to say it, the Io of now? She does. "Should bring a pillow in here next time. It's more comfortable for the girl." Advice from a baby sister! And then she's gone, a telltale giggling echoing in the now empty hall outside.

Down the hall? She might hear him /choke/.