Difference between revisions of "Logs:Would Have Helped"

The last time Devaki spent a winter at High Reaches Weyr, he was dressed in plain, ill-fitting hand-me-downs and a barely suitable blanket in place of a warm coat. Now, however, his clothing is well made, tailored, with a hefty coat -- and he's utterly comfortable in them. While the evening has been full of dancing and drinking -- more of the latter than the former, for his Lady-to-be -- the islander has slipped out into the cool winter evening for a moment's respite, head tipped back to watch as the snow drifts down. Waiting. For her.

It takes Riorde some time. Maybe there's a point in that, the delay, making Devaki wait for her out in the cold after their eyes had met and she's seen him excuse himself from the revelry. Riorde comes -- of course she'd come -- but in her own time, boots crunching across the hoary ground. She stops some distance off, and at first just stares at him, eyes hard. Eventually, she breaks that silence to ask, sardonic, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

The sound of boots crunching across snow serves as good a guard as Raum could be -- which is probably why the red-headed employee of Devaki's isn't present tonight. That, and his very presence could raise questions here. "Not in the least," the islander answers Riorde with a certain level of honesty and ruefulness, turning to watch her. His hands are pushed into the pockets of his coat for warmth, eyes fixing on her with an exhale that steams up the air for a moment. "Are you?" He takes a single step towards her, testing the waters, perhaps.

"Could have fooled me," Riorde says, voice dipping further into sarcasm. "You certainly look like you are." She straightens a little further, bringing her chin out of the shelter of her wool scarf. When Devaki takes that step, she stubbornly stays put, forcing action on his part while she refuses to yield. "It's everything you wanted, isn't it?" His question to her is, at present, ignored.

"Not everything," Devaki disagrees, as another step brings him closer, and a third, within reach. He stretches out a hand as if to brush against her hair, but tentatively, like he expects rebuke at any moment, and yet continues all the same. "You know all I've ever wanted is the safety and well-being of our people, Ri. Even at the cost of -- everything else." Another breath is hissed out. "I wanted to write to you, but it wasn't safe." For her? For him?

Riorde holds still, but it's hardly a concession. Even as bundled against the cold as she is, still her frame manages to communicate rigid tension; so too her mouth stays set in its unsmiling line. The remark on safety garners a look from her, skeptical and unconvinced, but no direct retort. "You wrote once," she states, hard. "You could have written again. If you'd wanted to."

"You had a dragon," Devaki says, as if this is reason not to. His fingers settle against her hair, brushing snow off, focused on the task with the faintest of smiles. He's more matter-of-fact than apologetic, but there's something warm in his expression all the same that softens the words that follow, "You had work to do, things to focus on. Would you have stayed away? If you knew where I was and could be there at a moment's notice?"

Riorde brings her hands up then, but not for any returned fondness. She puts both hands in the middle of his chest and shoves, hard. At least she hasn't started swinging. "You don't," she snaps, volume rising, "get to decide things for me. How would you know what my life's been like? You left, and you only told Io, and she didn't tell me for months. So fuck you, and your thinking you know best." She strings separate grievances together without a completely coherent thread other than her own wounded fury.

The sudden fury, and the strength with which she shoves is indeed, a surprise, and Devaki's forced back several steps, before slipping over unceremoniously onto his rear with an exhaled noise of surprise. His breath plumes in the air for a moment or two, as he gathers his wounded pride (behind) then, "You're right. I don't. I'm sorry." He looks up at her, says it evenly and honestly. "I should have written to you. But I was... I should have," he finally concedes.

Riorde looks vindictively pleased when Devaki ends up on his butt in the snow, and she steps forward to tower over him to maintain her advantage. "Do you think I'm dumb?" she asks, apparently not done yet, even with the apology. "You think I don't know what kind of things you might have to do to end up where you did? And that it's better that you did, for all of us who are left? You're right-- I would've come. I would've helped."

It's not hard for her to tower over him, and Devaki doesn't bother to rise yet, remaining in a position of supplication, though it's hard to tell whether it's deliberately done or not. "It was better, too, that you didn't help, Ri. That no one can accuse you of involvement in anyway." He takes a breath, his head tilted back, gaze on her, "And it doesn't mean you can't help, now."

Riorde crosses her arms over her chest and glares down at Devaki, the sort of scowl he'd recognize from their respective childhoods transported with her into full adulthood. "I feel like I should kick you while you're down," Riorde states, not mollified. For effect, she prods him with her booted toe. "You. Don't. Get to pick for me. It's my decision to make. It always was."

"If you're going to, do it now. I need to get up before I'm totally soaked through, or I lose a butt cheek," Devaki says, a low note of humor creeping into his voice. "I can't help it. I want to protect you, even if I know that you don't need it," there's something wry, boyish almost, apologetic-but-not in that cheeky way.

"Can I?" Riorde sounds thoughtful and looks like she's very well considering it. In the end, though, she sighs and stretches out her hand. "It's no fun if you let me. You're not supposed to sound so pleased about it." For her part, she's started to predominantly sound resigned.

There's absolute trust in the way that Devaki accepts that offered hand, as if he's aware that it gives her the opportunity to dump him right back down again, but he takes it all the same. "Sorry," the sandy-haired islander adds, but he's not that great at pretending to meekness, and instead grins. "I missed having someone to call bullshit on me," he says, something warm in his tone in contrast to her resignation.

Riorde nearly does, too; the temptation is lurking there in her gaze, written on her face. In the end, she just pulls him up and slaps the snow off his back, not gentle. "You fucking asshole," she answers, not meeting Devaki's eyes. With a slip back into the old oaths she never uses anymore, Riorde has one further malediction. "The sea take you."

There's an easing of Devaki's posture at that swearing, like this is something he's more comfortable with. "It hasn't yet, but it may still. We've a long way to go yet." Possibly the staggering as she slaps him is a little exaggerated. Possibly. "Has Raum been teaching you tricks again?" he asks, suddenly suspicious (and just maybe), a little jealous.

Riorde slaps him on the back one more time for good measure. "Last time I saw Raum, he dragged me off because I'm apparently a threat," she answers with a small smirk. "I don't think he'd teach me anything now no matter what I bribed him with." She takes a small step back so she can study Devaki all the better. "What did you bribe him with? Just opportunity?"

Dutifully, perhaps, there's an appropriate grunt as Riorde slaps him again. Devaki glances down at her, now he has the advantage of height again, momentary confusion in his features as she describes Raum's intercession. "I didn't know he did that," he says, genuinely surprised, and thoughtful, too. And then, with a smile, he says, "Raum can smell ambition, and opportunity. I think, more than anything, he wanted a purpose again. He's good at what he does," there's respect, albeit possibly a little grudging, for the Other. Then: "What do you still have to learn, that he could teach you?"

"I don't know. He's got more experience with any number of things that I probably don't even know about." But that she suspects, in any case. Riorde sounds disgruntled when speaking of Raum, and it heightens in her further acknowledgment. "He's got your back." She looks at Devaki steadily at this point. Most of the anger's seeped away, having found an outlet. Or at least the worst of it, anyway. "I wouldn't have put a knife in it, though. If either of us would, it'd be him. The minute he couldn't use you anymore. You know that, right?"

"I know," Devaki acknowledges. "Even more reason for me, for us, to succeed." And as she looks at him steadily, the islander starts to reach out, starts to step towards her, an inadvertent thing, before he sighs. "I could use a warm drink, a warm bed. As much as I'd prefer to stay here." It's hard to tell whether it's just a statement or a proposition. Probably, he's hedging his bets.

"I'd help," Riorde says again, this time in a tone different than the one used prior, the one that had this statement colored primarily by hurt. "Not that I could do much, necessarily. But it's still my people, too. They don't-- get it." Her subject is vague, all-encompassing, and has something to do with the way that she glances away following Devaki's aborted gesture. Reminded of the cold, she looks at the snow and the frozen lake, and then finally back at the other islander with a small, not altogether happy smile. "Your fiancee's probably looking for you," she says. It's almost neutral. "I don't suppose you can slip away from her for all that long, can you."

"I know. Thank you." Devaki's voice is grateful, and, as she says, 'they don't get it', he nods in firm agreement. "They don't. But, one day..." and he's stepping closer, daring again -- if she'll let him -- to slip an arm about her waist. Because of the cold. "Probably not," he says, regretfully. "Not long enough, anyway," he adds, with a sidelong look that has something in it that probably oughtn't be bestowed on a woman not his fiancee.

And Riorde lets him, even leans a little into Devaki's shoulder. Because of the cold. She tips her chin up to look at him better, turning to him in brief study. "I could give you a quick tour," she shouldn't be offering, but is. "Introduce you to Sforzath. Have you back home in time for supper." With the last, she's fallen entirely into a wry tease. It's neither easy nor light. A tease in full awareness of her limitations.

While Devaki doesn't miss a step -- he's too adept at covering up reactions for that -- there is a significant pause, before he allows with a smile, "I would like to meet him. If it wouldn't put you out too much." Her fingers settle comfortably into the curve of her hip as they walk, just like old friends out for a stroll.