Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Obvious Thing"

Just past a sevenday later, there's still no sea-queen on her own ledge. There is, however, Vhaeryth. (Perhaps he didn't get the memo, for he waits quite as if she were there even if she isn't there.) Were someone to drop by, he would not see Vhaeryth's rider on the ledge. He would not see him in the weyr. He would not see him in the bath, he would not see him anywhere. At least, unless he enters Aishani's private room; there is N'rov, boots off, flopped on his back right in the middle of their bed.

Cadejoth notices these things, and what Cadejoth notices, his rider is sure to be informed. And so it is that, after a suitable length of time, K'del makes his way from his own weyr, down the stairs, and then up again; up to the weyr he's not been inside more than once or twice since Aishani moved in. He's silent, in the outer weyr, and, for a time, quite still. He ventures on, though, finally coming to stand in the doorway of that inner sanctum. The grief of his expression, the knowing, certainly seems real enough. "N'rov?"

Vhaeryth notices these things, certain of these things, but whether he apprises his rider... of Cadejoth's, Vhaeryth might not even care. "You caught me." N'rov's gray eyes are focused on the ceiling. One hand's behind his head, half-buried in pillow after pillow.

"Figured you'd be here, sooner or later. It's what I'd do." Did do, even, though of course the circumstances were different.

"It's the obvious thing," N'rov supposes, objective rather than acrimonious, as though someone somewhere had done a study on the behavior of bronzeriders after their goldriders die under questionable circumstances.

"Mm," agrees K'del. He lets it hang in the air for a moment, studying N'rov only idly, his gaze otherwise observing the room, lingering here and there for a moment before returning to the younger bronzerider. "I'm sorry for your loss." It's quiet.

Her things are there, still; a few of his are among them, and already a faint film of dust. N'rov hasn't moved particularly, his eyes hooded. He could stand to shave, but that's not happening anytime soon. "I should thank you."

K'del shrugs, even if it is an unlikely gesture to be seen. "You don't have to. Won't be offended if you don't." Maybe some of that shrug is audible in his words; they're easy, in a way, except heavy, too. He sounds tired.

If N'rov told K'del that he's right, Aishani might turn over in her grave. It might be worth it, to see that much of her, if only she had one. "Yeah." It isn't right away that he says, "How long was it, before they cleared her weyr." Not Aishani's.

If K'del is being honest, and he does seem to be trying to do so, well: "I don't remember. A lot of that time is... a blur. And I ran away." He can own his actions, yes. "Can make sure it's not done immediately. If you want to go through her things, take..." Whatever. "But it can't stay forever."

"I didn't do anything that dramatic." N'rov reconsiders. "That I remember. Maybe there should be a checklist." He exhales. Dust motes fall so slowly in the glowlight, they could be floating; they could float forever, but already K'del's ruled that out. "Jyani. She'd want Jyani."

A checklist. K'del might smile, but-- no. He sucks in a breath, instead, holding it in for long seconds before, "Jyani. The... cousin. I'll pass that on. Will she go home, you think?"

Nor is N'rov. "I don't know." For that matter, "I don't have any idea. Probably. There's Jo." Who might even have been here first. Mightn't she?

Vhaeryth is obvious on the ledge; other visitors may not have been. Have there been interlopers? Thrill-seekers? At least nothing seems disturbed, so perhaps not. "I'll--" Do something about all of that, presumably. Ask the questions. "Well."

There are other names N'rov could name. He doesn't, habit even now to keep his girl's interests close. But Jo, it's not as though she isn't known... as a friend, at least. What he does is nod.

"Good." Is it good? It may just be something to say. If things were different... but they're not, and K'del's wise enough not to push.

"'Good.'" It's a short bark of a sound, not a laugh at all.

"Okay," says K'del, after another beat. "Well. I'll... leave you to it. Just wanted to..." It's awkward, but only in that way it so often is, for two people with so little in common, when there's so much emotion at stake.

"Yes." It can't be permission, can it, in the man's own Weyr? It's not absolution. N'rov shuts his eyes.

K'del watches, just a moment longer. "It hurts," he says. "And it'll hurt for a while. But don't forget to live your own life." That's when he goes, foot-falls echoing through the so-quiet weyr.

It's as well that he goes, that he doesn't stay to see N'rov sit up nor to hear his growl.

It's as well, too, that N'rov won't see K'del's expression as he leaves - that haunted look in his eyes, the wistful glance towards Iesaryth's empty couch.

N'rov himself won't leave for some time. The kitchen may hear from him, even, a polite request down that increasingly disused shaft; the mechanism needs oil again, and it will get it before he goes. The duvet won't be there any longer once he's gone, nor his things, nor the things he'd given her... and a few small things more, some that should be personally returned to those who should have them. A drawer, re-sorted, will bear Jyani's name and also a letter, sealed in wax with his own thumbprint. His girl has so many clothes, so many beautiful things that were the more beautiful for their association with her. Her robe was white when he met her. He doesn't reread, now, the notes they exchanged. She'll never now push him down the stairs. (Or, perhaps, when he stumbles on his way back to Vhaeryth... perhaps that can be her after all.)