Logs:Karel and Ammie
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| RL Date: 7 December, 2012 |
| Who: Ali, K'del |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ali and K'del finally get that chance to be not-themselves. |
| Where: Nerat Hold |
| When: Day 14, Month 6, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Backdated! Actually played 10th December 2012. |
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| It's a somewhat unusually disgruntled (and cranky) sensation from Isyath that first makes her presence known, rather than the normal light of the stars. « Ali wishes to see yours. » Not, notably, an invitation to fly with her, a fact that is likely the cause of her disgruntlement. Along with her words, there's other things- sensations that may, or may not, be inadvertantly shared: discomfort, an itching belly, and a growing sense of restlessness. And finally, a clear image: somewhere towards the east cost, likely Nerat. (Isyath to Cadejoth) To Isyath, Cadejoth is less wan and washed out than he was in previous communications - and rather more inclined to rustle and rattle his chains in greeting. He has sympathy for Isyath's crankiness, and though there's a low level of nuanced disappointment at the missing invitation, he seems to understand. Poor Isyath. « We will be there, » he promises, faithfully. « Soon. » Also? « It was his turnday yesterday. » It's important information, apparently, though not so important that he adds anything further-- there are preparations to be made, quickly enough that it's only a few minutes later when the pale bronze bursts from between above the Neratian coast. Important information, indeed- though it's highly likely that Ali's far more interested in the news than Isyath herself is, though she's pleased with the suitable level of sympathy offered. The queen keeps her mental contact, as if desiring to live vicariously (if briefly) through what's probably a fairly routine flight, but her her it's the best she can do. It's not the familiar, delighted tones of the Fortian queen that greets Cadejoth's arrival, but instead a darker hued green. Zihanth seems curious but not overly interested, other than to guide the Reachian bronze down to where she, her rider, and the more familiar figure of Ali are gathered by the side of what appears to be a barn. The Fortian junior's dressed particularly plainly- dark brown tunic over white shirt and grey skirt, chatting quietly with the dark-haired young man on her side, the pair pausing and shading eyes against the afternoon sun to watch Cadejoth's flight. Poor Isyath. Cadejoth's more than happy to share every aspect of his flight with her-- acknowledging, as he does so, the (terrible, if necessary) circumstances that prevent her enjoyment of such. Perhaps that's why he takes an extra long circling path through the Neratian skies before, finally, dropping into his usual, careless landing a short distance from Zihanth and the pair of riders. The green gets a rattle of chains in greeting, though there's a mutedness to that: clearly, he won't be getting company to fly with in these foreign skies, and that is certainly a disappointment. "Hello," says K'del, cautiously, tipping a salute to the pair of Fortians as he clambers down towards the ground. He doesn't look nearly as awful as he did when he last saw Ali, though his expression is restrained. Isyath, at least, seems pleased with the offering, sparkling stars trailing Cadejoth's path through the Neratian sky. She doesn't try to hide the disappointment when he lands, but her gratitude is at least genuine. The greenrider, through habit, salutes back, then with a look to Ali, says, "Have Isyath tell Zihanth when you're ready to go back." Ali nods- but she's watching K'del's approach, a little furrow of brow appearing at that salute, though she politely bites her tongue on any response as she walks towards him, giving the green room to take off. "I'm- I'm glad you came," she says, finally, with a hint of relief, like she wasn't sure he would. "I wanted to- wanted to say how sorry I am. I- don't remember all of it, but I remember enough." She glances past him, to Cadejoth, then back, "Are you-?" She doesn't finish the sentence, but the implication is clear in the concerned furrowing of brow. Cadejoth turns his attention towards Zihanth as she departs, then settles down: perhaps he could fly some more, but even with Isyath to cling to his metaphorical coat-tails, it's just not as much fun alone. K'del's expression turns awkward as Ali approaches, but he's able to draw his shoulders back and aim for a (rueful, but genuine enough) smile. "It's fine," he promises, in a low voice, as he tucks his hands behind his back. "Would it make any sense if I said that, in a round about kind of way, it helped? I'm--" His hands don't stay in that position; he seems fidgety. One of them now reaches up to run through his hair, restlessly tangling with the curls. "I'm better. Than I was. It's been--" Finishing thoughts seems to be difficult, and he subsides, giving her a glance that is one part embarrassed, one part wistful, and one part apologetic. He could fly. Certainly Isyath's curious as to what the summer thermals above Nerat are like this time of the Turn. Shouldn't he just see- for informational purposes, if nothing else? Surprise colors Ali's expression as K'del says it helps- surprise and uncertainty. "I- I'm glad," but it clearly doesn't make sense, not to her, anyway. It's that glance that has her stepping closer, reaching for his arm if he'll let her, to try and guide him towards the barn. "I'm- truth be told, I'm glad you were there. It felt- it felt right, even if the timing wasn't. She's always been fond of him." She's definitely not looking at him as she says that, gaze downwards, though her tone turns somewhat more light-hearted, "At least, this time, you didn't end up all bloodied." K'del might try and give a better explanation of this concept of 'helped', but Ali's reaching for his arm, and he's more than happy to be led, and besides, there's that light-hearted comment which is so much easier to reply to. "That's true," he agrees. "Seems like Fort gold flights don't especially agree with me, in some ways, but-- I'm glad my presence wasn't a problem." He pauses a moment, as if weighing up whether to say anything more, and evidently elects to go ahead. "Cadejoth is fond of her, too. He wanted-- I hope Adiulth is keeping her happy." Informational purposes. Cadejoth's consideration of this is short-lived: Isyath is quite right, of course. As ever. He pushes off from the ground a moment later, letting his straps clank merrily about him as he reaches for those thermals, testing them out with careful wingbeats. Like so. Ah - can she feel that? "Not for me. I- I don't think the Weyrleaders were too happy, though." Which might be part of the reason why Ali's here, when Isyath is stuck there. Or- there might be another reason, too, as they step over the threshold of the barn, where - just inside the entrance, on an empty crate, rests a neatly folded pile of clothes. The colors are plain, much like Ali's own garb. The dark-haired woman's sneaking a sidelong glance at him, a little smile, before she says, "He is. At least, he strikes me as the diligent sort, and E'ten's promised whatever help. Though I suspect only rampant bribery will keep Issy on the sands once she's clutched." A warm, fond laugh follows this. There's a sense of hovering, like all those stars are waiting with baited breath- and when Cadejoth leaps upwards, there's a rushing light that accompanies him. The receding shades of disgruntlement suggest that, yes, she can definitely feel that, and even more, rides close as if she might be physically there. Higher. A low breath escapes K'del before he can stop himself; it's a sigh. "No," he agrees, "don't imagine they were. Probably a good thing Adiulth got in the way." As he registers those clothes, he hesitates, giving Ali a sidelong glance with brows lifted, though it's plain he's busy putting two and two together internally. Lightly, "Poor Isyath. At least Adiulth will be a better sire than Riuscyth could be." Cadejoth lets Isyath's light twine about his chains - which dance and sing against the beats of his wings, and the rush of air around him. Higher she wants? Higher he goes: up and up and up, heedless of anything except the sensation of flight, magnified by Isyath's presence. He shares the view, adding spangled light to everything he sees. "Probably," Ali murmurs, her gaze shifting towards the box and the clothes there. "I- you once said- I thought you could use some time away, not being yourself. And Nerat is holding a small gather in celebration of the Lord's grandson being born." Her arm slips from K'del's, and she turns away as if to give him some privacy, even if it's only visual. The Fortian weyrwoman is possibly a shade less sympathetic to her queen, although there's something humorous in her tone as she says, "Poor nothing. She woke me up in the middle of the night insisting I had to oil her before her belly split open down the middle." The higher Cadejoth flies, the less sense of Isyath is noticeable: the starry light diffuses, and her delight dims but doesn't fade- and yet she's still there, but his own sensations magnify, as if she focuses on that. The sensation of air beneath wings, the heat of the air growing cooler the higher he climbs. K'del shoots a glance after Ali as she disengages and turns away, his expression unreadable except for the way it's distinctly thoughtful. "I-- thank you," he says, moving to begin shucking off his clothes, still facing the goldrider's turned back. "I do. Might not be Weyrleader, now, but I'm--" Other things. The bereaved ex-Weyrleader. The man who fell apart. Much lighter, and easier to talk about, is that other topic: "Poor you, then. Guess it can't be much longer, I think? And then a different kind of torture." Cadejoth breaks down his own internal barriers to let in these sensations: to feel them, embrace them, urge them on. He turns his flight to an angle, heading out over the ocean, though still up, up, up. "Three, four days, maybe. Going purely by her level of grouchiness, mind," Ali's saying, and though he can't see her expression, he can probably hear the smile in her voice. "I- I don't often leave Fort, but it feels so much more oddly restrictive when I can't." She's quiet for a moment, and shifts her posture, perhaps a little uncomfortable at the sound of rustling clothes, and the silence- when imagination creeps in, and so she says, "I was thinking of being- Ammie, a fisherman's daughter from near the Nerat tip. Up for my first gather, in my best clothes." She, that nebulous presence of a distant queen, is there in Cadejoth's thoughts, riding the wake of his endless flight. "And then five heated weeks," supposes K'del, his own mouth twisting into a smile. At least he's relatively quick about this changing process: a moment later, there's the clink of his belt being done back up, and the rustling of his own clothes being folded. "Fisherman's daughter Ammie," he says, with an audible smile. And, "You can turn around again. I'm decent, I promise. Shall I be-- Karel. Your childhood friend?" His pause is only for a moment or two, hovering on the edge of awkward. "Or sweetheart, if you'd like. Keep you safe from strange men, unless you--" But he stops. Too far. "Ammie and Karel," Ali tests it out, and she sounds pleased as she half turns- nodding her head in approval at his attire. And then, with a flush and a heated, "No," she takes a breath, "I- I just want to dance, have a good time. So that sounds- good. Unless you-?" now it's her turn to stop, to regard him carefully. Almost hastily, she says, "Innocent little Ammie can always carry a knife and a sharp heel. She is a fisherman's daughter, after all." K'del's nod of approval is caught halfway by Ali's flush, and rather dissolves into an awkward expression of hasty apology that he attempts to recover from by offering her his arm. "Dancing and a good time is all I'm interested in," he reassures her, firmly, though he's unable to entirely hide another expression: one that speaks of emotional weariness. "No doubt innocent little Ammie could look after herself, but there's no need for that, when fisherman Karel is around." There's a quiet sort of laugh from Ali, acknowledgement of the awkwardness, and she's quick to snake her arm through K'del's as they head out of the barn and down the road. "Are you sure you don't want to get into fisticuffs over the best fishing spots down south? It's a matter of pride, you know," she says, attempting a Neratian accent with a slight grimace. It's not great, but perhaps passable to those who aren't as familiar with the area. "Great pride," agrees K'del, in his own attempt at a Neratian accent -- his is much worse, and has him pausing to laugh a moment later, mouth twitching merrily even after the actual laughter has abated. His second attempt is not much better, but he doesn't sound Tillekian, at least. "Wouldn't want 'em to have false pride." It's not hard to tell which direction to go, thanks to the music and merriment up ahead. He glances across to grin at Ali-- Ammie-- a moment later, and then it's back into character: the young fisherman couple, wide-eyed and delighted at this rare treat. "Better," comes Ali- Ammie's- low-voiced approval, and then she picks up her steps- it's probably just her being 'in character', but she certainly seems excited enough that the whole first gather pretense isn't that far out of the realm of possibility. Thankfully, their attempts at Neratian accents aren't put to that much of a test, and in between dancing, food, and wine (and a momentary break for Ali to excuse herself and return with a small Turnday gift of a sweet-smelling plant for K'del), it's full dark by the time they finally leave. K'del is delighted by that gift, and easily as much by the afternoon as a whole: his smile, by the time they leave, is absolutely genuine. "Thank you," he says, with quiet earnestness, and a squeeze of Ali's hand. And then it's off home to their respective Weyrs (though Cadejoth needs some convincing to be willing to leave. Of course). |
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