Logs:Comfort
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| RL Date: 25 August, 2013 |
| Who: Ali, K'del |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: K'del finally gets to go and see Ali. |
| Where: Ali's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, D'lak/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Ienavi/Mentions, Jivrain/Mentions, K'varl/Mentions, N'gan/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, Ustelan/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
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| It's a couple of days until Ali's released from the infimary - not nearly as strong-willed as her Weyrwoman to insist, the Fortian junior bears it, however reluctantly. All throughout, Isyath keeps touch with Cadejoth, though: at first there's worry and hovering concern, but by the second day these have faded and the queen is almost her normal self, if slightly less overtly joyful than usual. She /is/ flying though, finally - which is as much a reflection of her rider's state of mind as her own - sharing this with Cadejoth, watching her rider slowly cross the bowl (escorted by some overprotective persons she can't and doesn't care to identify.) « He should come, » Isyath says, and by implication, /he/ should, too. That it's far more direct than her usual teasing invitations is probably significant, too. Cadejoth's been a regular mental presence, these recent days, his own concern (or is it K'del's?) radiating in and out, all the way through, those ever-present mental chains. His has lasted longer than hers, and that's likely because of K'del - K'del who has not made an appearance, though something in Cadejoth's yearning lean suggests he'd like to. But: High Reaches should not intrude on Fort's grief. Not yet. And so, they're more or less patient in the waiting, right until Isyath's instruction. There's an immediate rustle of wings, and the promise of movement, as though they've been waiting for just that word. « We come, » he promises, already sharing the suggestion of cool air, and from there, the abrupt break that heralds their trip between. He registers his presence, more muted than he might usually be, and wings his way down - down towards the ledge he knows is Isyath's. Isyath is quick to let everyone know that Cadejoth comes - and though there is a delight with that sharing, it's also fueled by a wariness in the Fortian dragons. She circles the skies, low above the bowl, as if keeping an eye on things, starry thoughts reaching for that of Elaruth and Bijedth, as if checking in. For part of Cadejoth's glide, as ever, she alters her path briefly to shadow him, her mental voice taking in his familiar jangling of chains with a delighted warmth by way of greeting. She breaks off before he lands, though: she's not prepared for that, yet. Inside the weyr, someone's set out some fresh flowers, and the hearth burns low - not for warmth, but for tea, which is near ready. Ali's not immediately visible, but there's sounds from the inner weyr and the bath beyond, a splashing of water - like Isyath's warned her - and she's emerging with hair wet and a towel haphazardly wrapped around her, /looking/ for him. It's so unlike Cadejoth to be this restrained, even in visiting another Weyr, but obviously the need for it has been pressed upon him, whether by his own good sense or his rider's instruction. His thoughts reach for Isyath, those more private channels indicating just how glad he is to see her... and promising, wordlessly, that he'll join her in the skies when he can. If she'd like. K'del hurries from ledge to weyr, and as soon as he's got his bearings - and heard enough to determine where Ali might be - he's hurrying onwards, too, so that he can meet Ali partway and throw his arms around her, tight. If Isyath's cognizant of the reason for Cadejoth's restraint, it isn't obvious: the queen circles over the ledge while she waits. Because, /of course/ she'd like for him to join her. The warm thermals of the day have left, but the winds make things interesting all the same, and- why /shouldn't/ she, /they/ be joyful, when her rider is happy, now. A stream of that comes through: fear overlaid with relief and contentment at the sight of him. Ali, undoubtedly, is getting that jacket of K'del's all wet, and not entirely from the fact that she's still dripping wet: there's a noise like a half-sobbed sigh of relief as she presses against him. "I wanted to see you," she's mumbling into his shoulder, "But they said I had to rest, for the baby." If there's a faint note of something when she says that last, it's mostly muffled. "I- I'm okay," the dark haired woman ventures to say, tipping her head back to catch his expression. She does look tired, her eyes shadowed, but otherwise unharmed. It goes without saying that Cadejoth is gleeful to be able to join Isyath and explore her skies for the first time in what must be absolutely forever (as far as he can remember, anyway). Her joy rings his chains like a bell, though at least he keeps that to just the two of them, and, perhaps, his rider, who really isn't paying attention anyway. K'del clearly isn't bothered about the water, bathwater and otherwise, not when he's pulling Ali as close to him as he can manage, pressing kisses into her hair until she tips her head back, his gaze meeting hers. "I'd've forced my way in sooner," he admits, "if I didn't think it'd cause an incident. But-- you're here and you're safe, and that's what matters. You really are okay? The baby?" His face is drawn; it's immediately obvious that he's been taking all of this hard. Cadejoth's presence helps Isyath, too: this is normal. Not like the island (though her memories of that are fuzzier, but she remembers flying with him often and fondly), and this too lightens the Fortian queen's mood. She leads him on a path past the starstones, down close in to the bowl falls and over the lake, before circling back over her ledge, reflecting growing delight back at him. "We're- okay." Ali perhaps says that hesitantly, only for it being the first time she's acknowledged a /we/ outside of her-and-Isyath: in another moment it might've made her smile, but now it just makes her frown, at least until he talks of an /incident/. "Probably," a fleeting smile, "-for the best that you didn't. Bet N'muir'd like a chance to take a swing at you, and you needn't give him a /reason/." The dark-haired woman goes up onto tiptoes to press her lips against K'del's: it's more seeking comfort than overly amorous, although she /is/ naked under that towel, too. Cadejoth takes great pleasure in following Isyath, this once, with no need to try and push for the lead. They're her skies; her rules. And besides - the flying is what matters, clearly, her delight feeding his until he's all but a percussion band all on his own. Zoom! Such fun! K'del's answer to that kiss is a return of that kiss, made without any effort to take it to a higher, more heated level; comfort is good. "Bet he would," he agrees, briefly pressing his forehead against hers. "Rather not be banned from here, not for that." Or hopefully anything. "You should sit. Rest. It's-- I was so worried, but it's okay now. You're safe." He largely seems to be attempting to reassure himself. "Not for that, not now. He doesn't know, yet, about- the baby. Hattie does, though." Ali's tone seems to suggest this gives K'del /some/ leeway, though how true and how naive the junior is being about it all is anyone's guess. When he tells her to sit, it makes her chew her lower lip. "I- I didn't, I haven't prepared any food-" her glance cuts over his shoulder. Such a horrible hostess, but then the /routine/ is what gives the dark-haired woman stability. "-I have tea?" /Then/: "I got your jacket wet," with no small amount of dismay. Something in the brief furrowing of K'del's brow suggests he's not so confident on that front as Ali is, but that expression lifts as quickly as it arrived, and for the rest he can only smile, and give her a comforting squeeze. "My jacket's faced far wetter situations, I promise. I'll hang it up. And tea--" If he had any thought of attempting to take over on host detail, he seems to have abandoned it, now, nodding. "Tea would be great. As long as you'll sit, afterwards." Ali seems pleased for the acquiescence on the matter of the tea, even if it's subtle: a slight relaxing of posture even as she agreeing, "I promise." But getting tea means letting go of him, but routines /matter/ to her, even if she has to readjust her towel to be more modest after she's done so. Nevermind he's seen it before: there's proprietaries to be observed. "Tell me what's been happening with you?" The dark-haired woman asks as she steps to the hearthside, as if seeking to avoid the question of details. She's moving through the familiar process: checking the contents of the pot to assure herself the leaves have steeped sufficiently, gathering cups and pot onto a tray, and bringing the whole collection towards the table seated in front of the couch. After Ali lets go, K'del divests himself of his jacket and then moves to sit, watching her as she works on the tea. "Oh," he begins, and hesitates. If she glances in his direction, she might catch his expression which is, so briefly, hard and tight. But it doesn't linger, and then he's saying, "Settling back in to the routine of things, I guess. We've some troubles with Nabol at the moment, and that's causing some concern, but... it's not my problem, not directly, now, you know? Got to sit on my hands and let Z'ian and Azaylia handle it. And-- Kasey turned nine, and Nik's turnday is next month, so I've had things to do for that, too." Missing that expression, Ali's unaware of his hesitation: she's fixated on the tea, pouring his cup first, as is her habit, then one for herself. She doesn't immediately take hers, though, but settles next to him as promised, twisting her wet hair over one shoulder before leaning in against him. "Nabol?" she echoes, and the thought is slow for her to process, mulling over it. Or not so much that, but, "It's hard for you not to get involved, isn't it?" she says, pulling bare legs up onto the couch, half turning to try and catch his expression. There's a smile for his talk of the boys, wistful and sad at once, as she says, quietly: "I wish we were back at the island. That we hadn't left. Delayed a day or two." Although all that /still/ would have been waiting. K'del draws his arm around Ali again when she leans against him, devoting the other to his tea. His expression, when she glances at him, is one part wistful and one part-- frustrated? But aware of it, acknowledging it, which is probably an improvement on recent 'I'm totally happy not being Weyrleader really' promises. "Me too," he says, answering the easier topic first. "I was happy, there. With you. The vines and the garden and the sunshine. Yes, it's hard. Feel... helpless, sometimes. Not that I suppose I could do much, in this situation. Lord Nabol died, no heir. Fighting. Who even knows if the tithes'll come in. But - guess you've got complications here, too." Ali's settling comfortably against him, his words drawing a smile of agreement, of remembrance. It doesn't linger though, in light of his expression and the latter words that follow. "We've survived a winter without one of our Hold's tithes before, though I hope- I hope Boll resolves it's succession sooner than later. We didn't get all our stores back, after-" she trails off, her gaze dropping for a moment. When she speaks again, it's slow, focused deliberately on the topic at hand: "I'll bet the Conclave is delighted. Two Lords Holders to confirm- once they sort themselves out. Ours is- Jivrain has plenty of descendants- even Visrain, too. But after K'varl Impressed he kept his heir, if he'd named another, quiet." When Ali trails off, K'del's arm tightens around her, his breath catching. Her recovery has him exhaling again, though when he speaks, he's more careful. "Ustelan, too, has plenty of descendants. Including, or so the rumour goes, an unborn one with his fourth wife - supposedly, there's proof out there that intended that child to be his heir, though I don't know. Why would anyone name an unborn baby as their heir? I'd forgotten that you have a dragonrider of the Blood, too. Anyway, wish the Conclave would hurry up and make decisions. Better for all of us." That tightening of arm has Ali smiling, briefly- a mute gratitude for the reassurance. "I- I don't know why you wouldn't name your eldest. We- all of us always knew Yaret would inherit my da's holding. It was the right thing to do, and Rey-" she goes quiet a moment, "-he didn't want it, anyway." With a shake of her head, she says, "K'varl is- I think he's happier as a dragonrider, though he must feel so- conflicted. But with so many descendants, is it any wonder? Boll's still- looking. For proof, I guess. I'd imagine Nabol is doing the same. I just hope we can- can build a better relationship with whomever becomes Lord next." She goes silent: listening to the dragons no doubt, if the inadvertent smile that appears is any guess. "I'm- glad they forget," she murmurs. K'del is silent for several seconds, his expression largely inscrutable, though not in a way that suggests upset - just intense thoughtfulness, perhaps. "Me too," he says, likely in response to that last remark. "Easier. For them, and for us. Guess I'm mostly glad to remember things, but also... not, sometimes. Anyway, we always knew Brennan would inherit, too. It seems like the... obvious thing. Suppose there's a lot at stake, when you're talking a major hold. Your K'varl, he's probably lucky, being out of it. Hopefully it is a turning point for you, with Boll. And we... just have to hope it's not a turn for the worse, with Nabol." They're all heavy thoughts, with the potential for unhappiness; after a moment, K'del adjusts his mug in his hands and says, "It's nice, feeling how happy they are out there. Everything is right with the world again." Ali seems done with the discussion of the political implications, for now. Instead, she closes her eyes, listening. "For them, it is," the dark-haired woman agrees, though a shade wistfully, opening her eyes to focus her gaze on K'del. "You'll- you'll stay?" Her tone is light, deliberately: it's obvious she /wants/ him to, but is aware he has other duties and responsibilities, too. Though K'del's well aware of that wistfulness, it's not that that has him answering her question so promptly (or so affirmatively). "Not going anywhere," he tells her, firmly, as if to leave room for no argument - his, presumably, since she's clearly not going to. "There's nothing more important to me than being here, with you, right now." Whatever anyone else at Fort thinks. Or High Reaches, for that matter. Her gratitude is a visible thing, relief chorusing in the exhale of breath and the warmth that glimmers in the Fortian woman's gaze. Ali herself is quiet, though, content to stay there for the time being, reaching for her tea to sip it, and listen to their dragons. Later, when she's more at ease, she'll talk, haltingly, of Boll again, though she keeps it light, except when it comes to D'lak: there's emotion there for the brownrider, and nothing pleasant. It leaves her exhausted, though, and it isn't much longer before she falls asleep- probably leaning against him, still. Another squeeze of that arm around her is intended, by K'del, as reassurance: of course he'll stay. He's here. He's staying. He won't push her to talk about anything, but when she does, he's a dedicated listener; he has something akin to restrained fury for D'lak, though he keeps it from spilling out as much as he can. He holds her, as she talks, and then, too, as she falls asleep; he'll fall asleep like that, even, (almost) as tired as she is.
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