Difference between revisions of "Logs:I Don't Love Raum"

he kitchens are all about getting dinner ready and set up along the long buffet tables; the workers and busboys going in and out of flappy doors. The pencil in Iolene's hand has long gone limp as she watches a particularly cute boy wander in and out every fifteen minutes or so with a new tray of food or clean plates, the eye candy providing a fantastic distraction from the stack of papers in front of her. A glance at the top shows a study guide to the history of High Reaches Weyr that is getting horribly neglected. A month into weyrlinghood and it's only now that the teenager looks like she might be getting more than a handful of hours in sleep -- or that boy is just that good at keeping her awake with his adorable little cowlicked hair.

K'del has not, precisely, been a terribly visible figure, these past few weeks: there always seems to be /something/ that keeps him from lingering in public places. Perhaps the same will be true this evening, but for now, the rider unfastens his riding jacket as he strides into the caverns, heading for the klah pot without seeming to pay much attention to the activity around him. He adds milk to his mug, and then sweetener, stirring it absent-mindedly until there's cause for him to sidestep out of the way of the newest onslaught of busboys and workers.

Tantaran wanders in carrying a small sheaf of papers, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles and trying to avoid poking the right one out with his pencil, absently wandering over to the klah pots, just barely managing to avoid the kitchen workers in the process. He also just barely manages to avoid colliding with the Weyrleader as the latter is getting his on klah. "Sorry, sir," he pardons, filling his own mug with the steaming brew -- straight up for this one -- and asks, "Might I take a few moments of your time to discuss the recent disturbance?" Understatement.

The klah pot and the two people bumping into each other at it is, unfortunately, obscuring Iolene's view of cute busboys. Her narrowed eyes look like they might be trying to bore through the Weyrleader's chest to see that revolving door but it's futile, and in the end a sigh sends Io slumping down into her chair. The pencil falls against the papers she should be studying and those dark blue eyes lift to find K'del's all too familiar face. For now, Tantaran is a male mystery yet undiscovered as the suddenly ruddy-cheeked gold weyrling studies to see where the elusive Weyrleader might go.

K'del's free hand lifts defensively as he narrowly misses slopping his klah over everything; Tantaran gets a wide-eyed stare for a long moment before he seems to recover himself long enough to actually decipher the apprentice's words. "Oh," he says, in a way that suggests there are probably a lot of things he'd rather do right about now - but even as he says it, he's nodding. "Yes, of course. Knew there'd be more questions; haven't heard any good news at this point, I guess." It's not a question, though the way he's glancing at Tantaran suggests a faint amount of hope, nonetheless. His free hand is waved vaguely towards the tables beyond: "Lead the way." It's possible he just noticed Iolene as he glanced in that direction, but the shift in his expression is, ultimately, minute.

"Just a few questions, sir," the Harper apprentice says, "just to clarify things." He scans the room for a likely table and spots a couplee of vacancies at a table occupied by one of the weyrlings. "Hey," he calls as he heads in her direction, leaving K'del to follow for himself. "I always though weyrlings couldn't move more than ten feet from their charges. What are you doing here?" His tone is more curious than accusitory.

There are so many things Iolene knows but doesn't _quite_ know as innately as mainlanders, so when Tantaran addresses her with a question, the two month old rider blinks a few times, before her tongue finds mobility once more with, "We wha-? How- how- would we eat or bathe otherwise?" Perplexed in the way a person can be when they're /certain/ they're right, Io's brows pucker together to Tantaran, and then there's K'del to pin those dark blue eyes upon. Surely, /surely/, the Weyrleader will know the answer to that. At least this momentary confusion has caused the angry flush to recede from her cheeks.

Though his brows knit, K'del nods a second time in response to Tantaran's request, following the much shorter Apprentice with his mug held tightly in both hands. Coming to a halt just behind, he's quite wordless to respond to the exchange between the pair of them, apprentice and weyrling, his mouth opening with no words coming out until those blue eyes pin him down and-- "Er. Usually, it's just that the little dragons don't like being left alone, some of them. When they're awake. It's fine. Uh-- hello, Iolene."

Tantaran is getting that old feeling of opening his mouth only to switch feet. "I just thought everything was brought over to you, at least until the dragonets are oldenough," however old that may be. And with Iolene here, the answer seems to be 'they're old enough now.' "Well," he drawls, "would mind if, I," and a quick glance to K'del changes it to, "if we join you for a bit?"

There's a question on Iolene's lip that never gets uttered, Tantaran continuing to receive looks of bafflement, so much so that she doesn't deny or agree to his request. Instead, after a longer study, where her lips purse thoughtful, a sharp shake of her head turns her attention to K'del and whatever diplomatic way a harper might have broached the subject falls forth in a far more upfront manner from Io, with none of the niceties of 'please have a seat' or 'might I have a word.' It's polite, despite the abruptness, and lacks the acrimony that may have come had there not been a hiccup in Iolene's thoughts. "What did you do with Seani's body?"

"Reckon I'd've gone mad, being stuck out in the barracks not allowed to leave for that long," remarks K'del, evenly, though that evenness doesn't last: not faced with Iolene's question. His expression tightens visibly, and for a moment or two, it probably looks as though he doesn't intend to respond - instead, he busies himself with sitting down in one of the empty chairs, and setting his mug just-so in front of him. "The healers inspected it," he says, then, sounding withdrawn. "And when they were finished, it was disposed of."

Tantaran settles down and straightens up his papers, setting his klah mug just to the right of them. He pulls out a blank sheet and starts taking notes, appearantly adding to the sheaf he already has.

Requiring a physical fixation to not just implode all over the place, or that would be the excuse she'd give, Iolene reaches for her abandoned pencil and starts weaving it through her fingers in a universal nervous gesture. Those dark eyes, rounded and a now little wobbly lift to where the Weyrleader's seated himself. "Between," is half-question, half-statement: the latter emotion certain of her response, while the tiniest little lilt is hopeful for a kinder answer.

"It's--" begins K'del, still visibly struggling for words. "Where all weyrfolk go. Seems like that's what she was, really. What she wanted to be." There's a faint hint of pink to his cheeks, as though despite his words, he's embarrassed by the reality of the answer; certainly, it wouldn't be hard to note the hopefulness in his expression as he watches for her reaction to that.

"Quinlys mentioned that," says Iolene, a sidelong glance shot to the note-taking harper. It's a quintessential: /what/ are you doing, sort of look. "That the Weyr's dead go between, but Seani was-," a pause breaks her thoughts as what K'del says sinks in and it shuts Io down abruptly, the thin features crestfallen in an instant. And whatever way she starts a denial to what he says with a, "But-," and then a, "She-," ultimately Io drops her chin and tells the pencil quietly, "She did. I wondered why she didn't decide to get a dragon."

K'del can't answer that last one, but throughout Iolene's words, his expression is softening rapidly. He hides it, partially, by picking up his mug and holding it to his mouth, even if he doesn't /actually/ take a sip from it. "Seems," he says, eventually, "like she was happy where she was. Know my boys liked her a lot." The softening hasn't removed the wrinkle from his brow, though; he seems utterly unsure about something.

"You know what people are saying," says Iolene, rather than asks. The kitchen bustle seems to be dying, and the cute boy makes his last round (for now) in placing a large platter of roasted vegetables. A glance up finds Iolene, and his eyes dim fractionally as he realizes the blonde teenager isn't looking at him anymore and is, in fact, conversating with the Weyrleader. His poor ego dies just a little as he disappears back into the kitchens. "About Seani I mean."

Poor boy. Truly - who can live up to the Weyrleader? Not that, right now, K'del is thinking about such things. Instead, he's staring at the tabletop, looking troubled. "Heard a few of the variations," he agrees. "Would've hoped things might settle down by now, but..." Now he's glancing at Tantaran, too, but only for a moment. "No one seems to have found out anything for sure." He sucks in a breath, and then adds, "I didn't do it, or order it, or know anything about it. If that's what you want to know. Pretty much wasn't in my weyr all day, 'til Cadejoth heard the screaming."

"Why do people think Seani was trying to kidnap your son?" Iolene's question deviates from theories of why and how to the rumors that color the once exile's reputation. "How did that rumor start? You don't believe it, do you?"

Silence for a long moment, K'del's fingers going white as they hold his mug so very tightly. "One of the other nursery workers said she tried to take Nikalas with her, when she left the group," he says, finally, in a carefully neutral tone. "She said Seani was acting strangely." His gaze doesn't leave the table, but that uncertainty is still so very obvious in the stance of his shoulders, the tighteness of his hands. "I don't know."

The way her pencil resumes its fidgeting could be a telltale sign of another, harder question to come, one that takes the blonde girl a longer time to formulate. In the mean time, Io makes small talk with, "A lot of people think we act strangely when we breathe." She aims a half-hearted smile upwards to K'del and then to Tantaran in turn. "I bet," she pauses, before forging on ahead, "I bet you are regretting letting us stand now." Her pencil twirling doesn't end with this statement.

Tantaran's notes are rather cryptic -- 1st mo OK. Dumped 'tween. Kidnap W'leader's son?!? Strange behavior. And one more, his own remark: Where's Devaki? More questions to find answers for and he gathers his papers up again and excuses himself from the table.

K'del's gaze follows Tantaran's departure, quizzical, though it's likely a delaying tactic just as much as it is anything else. When he finally turns his attention back to Iolene, it's to take a deep breath and shrug his shoulders. "Wouldn't have mattered, either way, most likely," he says, evenly. "We've had dragons seek people out from the galleries before. Are you really going to tell me you wouldn't have shown up to watch?" Beat. "It is what it is. And none of /you/," presumably the ones who Impressed, "could have done it." The murder?

All of seventeen, Iolene startles at K'del's final comment and her look turns sharper. The gaze is thrown back over her shoulder to where the weyrling barracks /must/ be and then shift to look around the living cavern, her blue eyes glancing over the cute boy as he returns to 'check' on the state of the roasted vegetables (nope, still full). "Are you... why would we do it?" She takes it as accusation apparently. "How could you think such a thing?"

"Wha-- no, I don't think any of /you/ did it." It's hard to tell, at first, perhaps, which 'you' K'del is referring to, here. "But we don't know who did, and at the moment... Well. The only really obvious suspects are the two of your people who're no longer here."

Just as quickly, the pencil twirling comes to a halt and Iolene's stung expression falters. Her lashes lower and she shifts her gaze away. Perhaps she needs a moment to regain her composure or she's hiding something. It takes her a long, long time to come up with, a choked sort of question, "How do you know they weren't killed too and taken between?"

K'del watches, his gaze never leaving Iolene during the time she takes to come up with some kind of answer. When she does, it doesn't /seem/ to surprise him too much: he shrugs his shoulders. "Doesn't seem likely, though, does it? Leave one body so prominently, dispose of the others? Unless," he allows, "they were framed, I suppose. But why? That doesn't make any sense."

Iolene knows nothing of blood splatters or patterns. She's no CSI. So when her naive, "Maybe Seani was killed last," is suggested, the usually rich voice thins and hesitates audibly. "I don't want to think that Devaki or Raum could do this. Raum wasn't even one of us." The last, carelessness at its best.

K'del scrubs at his face with one hand, his expression clearly dismissing Iolene's suggestions, though if he's got proof for it, he's not explaining. He holds his silence for a few seconds, watching Iolene with a pursed, narrowed mouth. "Not one of you," he repeats, then, finally. "So why would someone kill him, with the others?" He hesitates, and now, there's sympathy in his expression. "It's hard, seeing different sides to people we know. Trust." Beat. "Love."

"I don't love Raum," is Iolene's return, nothing more said of Devaki. But the seconds of silence coupled with K'del's pursed, narrowed mouth, brings the realization that she might have said too much. So she stands, reaching out for her stack of study guides, pencil clenched in the other hand. "I'm sorry. But you're wrong." And then she flees from all of his insinuations and all her own misgivings, back to where Ysavaeth will make the world all better again.