Logs:Just For A Spell
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| RL Date: 15 August, 2013 |
| Who: Suireh, Vesik |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Harper Hall, Nabol Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Suireh reports in to Vesik. |
| Where: Masterharper's Office, Harper Hall |
| When: Day 12, Month 7, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Gisele/Mentions, Rorkes/Mentions, Huelet/Mentions, Ienavi/Mentions, Ustelan/Mentions, Rone/Mentions |
| Storyteller: K'del/ST |
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| Vesik's office is on the outer section of the Hall's structure, with a prized window out to the world below - an impressive affair, glassed, though both shutters and panes have been flung open this afternoon. The Masterharper is standing before it, a bottle of fine brandy in his hand and a cut-crystal glass in front of him, ready to be filled. His dark gaze is reflective; he's staring off into the distance, where a group of Apprentices in the courtyard below are gathered, lost in some terribly important conversation of which he can hear, no matter how good his hearing, absolutely nothing. She slips in, as she's prone to, on the silent feet of slippers rather than more practical boots, and stands just in the doorway for just a moment, studying the Masterharper from this particular distance. Pale gray eyes draw up from his legs to his back, rest briefly on his shoulders and then settle on his head, narrowing as if to try and discern what he might look like on the other side. What he might be thinking. But utterly failing that, she dances light steps across the floor and draws up right behind him with absolute quiet other than the almost inaudible cadence of her breathing. She says nothing and merely waits. Vesik is too well trained to start; there's no hint in his posture or breathing, or what of his expression Suireh can see, of the moment when he becomes aware of her presence. There's nothing at all until that warm, rich voice remarks, "I wonder if you ever played and gossiped as they do, Suireh. I cannot recall, though I suppose you must have. I do remember pulling pigtails when I was a boy... but that was even longer ago." He pours out the glass of brandy, and slides it, without moving his gaze from the window, towards the Journeyman. Then, he fills another. "Not so long ago," protests the girl. She's always the girl when in his presence. Younger. Naive. So unable to make any pretense of who or what she is that there's no point in hiding any of it. It's a fact she's made her peace with. "I seem to recall you tweaking one of your journeymen's braid a few sevens ago. And no. I never played or gossiped as they did." There's prim certainty in the Reachian girl's voice. "It's why I left. The first time. Long ago." Her throat clears and a hand reaches out, taking the glass and cradling it in between both hands. Now, finally, Vesik turns, having taken his own glass into his hand. He gives Suireh a thoughtful glance, as though he could picture her as a much younger girl if only he considered her long enough. "'Long ago'," he repeats, but this time he sounds amused. "Well and so. Even if you had, the time for such things is gone, mm? And here we are, as we are. Though," his smile is briefly unrestrained, "I cannot deny the braid tweaking. A man must have his eccentricities." A tiny smile floats to Suireh's lips at the repetition, recognizing the hubris of telling someone older about long ago in her world. She doesn't take the words back, however, emphasizing them by repeating them back at him: "Long. Ago." She lifts the glass once, respect to and for the man that stands just a half step in front of her. A sip, then two more in succession, fortifies both body and tongue before she speaks. "The Vijay goldrider paid me a visit today. She told us of Lunmein's fate, or what she's heard of it." Nothing new to either of the people in this room, and this time, away from Aishani's too keen eyes, the raven-haired girl allows unchecked emotion to waver her voice. The Masterharper lifts his own glass in reply to Suireh, still scrutinising her expression as he then lifts it to his mouth to sip. He's not surprised by mention of Aishani; he's not surprised by Lunmein's fate, either, though the reference to him in conjunction with Aishani certainly seems to interest him. "Then we drink to his memory," says the Master, clear-voiced but solemn. "I don't imagine she knows too many details. I would be interested to know how she knows any." "To Lunmein and the family he leaves behind." Another series of sips honors the fallen, fellow harper. Indecision wars behind the man, the girl's features puckering in odd little ways; tightening here and there and instantly smoothing as if her face and her desires are working against each other. But ultimately, when she speaks, it's an even voice perhaps touched with only the slightest hint of regret; that this man holds such sway over her treasures -- information: "She has Lady Nabol." Then just a slight hesitation later, adds, "And may believe we know where she's hidden her." Lunmein's family clearly haunts Vesik's thoughts for one moment or two, knitting his brow, but the treasures Suireh has released to him are more distracting still. "'May'. Now that is an interesting nugget, don't you think? I never realised she considered you a confidant. I suppose I should not be surprised that the Lady took an interest in the goldrider. Lunmein always did say she was a fascinating woman. I suppose her visit had a purpose beyond relating this news? I cannot think she'd come here just to talk of Lunmein." "The rumors are true, as Aishani believes them." Each treasure shared, imparted to the Masterharper with careful consideration. "That Lord Ustelan had named his unborn child heir, a claim I believe the Reachian goldrider," there's the silence of a quick swallow there, "Aims to support. But I cannot imagine the new Weyrleadership will pick sides in this battle. Not yet. Lady Ienavi fears for her life. And if Lunmein were murdered bringing word of this written dictation of the Lord's will-," she purses her lips, both hands and the glass drawn into her chest, "I wouldn't blame her for her fear." "It's interesting, don't you think, that she kept that a secret?" Vesik must mean the pregnancy, but he is not inclined to clarify his thoughts: he expects those around him to follow the train of his thoughts without delay. "I haven't received any reports from Lunmein in months. If he did... I wonder if he thought to deliver such a written record in secret." Suireh may take that as an instruction to find out. "If such a record exists, it changes many things. It complicates - or perhaps simplifies - a delicate situation, one we will not get involved in any more than High Reaches will, if they are smart." If there's subtext in Vesik's words, Suireh doesn't voice them aloud. She favors her glass instead, taking a much longer sip and savoring the spice of the brandy on her tongue. "And yet the murder of a harper," is the subject she decides to pursue with him, "Should not go undocumented." If she's to seek out those written records, then this will be a personal mission added on. "Lunmein has a little boy, who will never know his father, and harpers should be safe outside these walls." Untouchable. Vesik does not disagree. It's written in the lines of his forehead, and in the way his thin lips draw together so tightly. So unhappily. "Shall I send you to Nabol to investigate, Suireh?" he wonders. "To peek beneath the cushions in the Lady's solar, and inspect the bottles in the Lord's chamber? One hears that Huelet and his son claim poison, of course." He glances into the depth of his glass, as if he might find the answers in there. "I imagine a healer is being sent. Has been sent." "Sent," is Suireh's confirmation. The glass she holds, now empty, is set on the sill. "Master Tevara will join her soon to confirm. Nabol is harperless now and a Lord's grandchildren require tutelage still. There's a harper who does such things at Tillek currently. I've drawn up the paperwork for her transfer." Yes, she dares. "She's," there could be a smile somewhere on Suireh's face for all the thin humor in her voice, "Unassuming. I would not presume to leave your side." Vesik is slower to drink - though not by much. His own glass is set back down, empty, but not before she's said: "It's almost a pity. I could see you turning investigator." It's tacit acceptance of her arrangements which seem, honestly, to amuse but not surprise him. "Unassuming is the right recipe for the moment, I suppose. To lose one Harper to Nabol is careless. To lose two..." He lets that hang in the air for a moment. "It will be interesting to see what they find." "I," Suireh begins, certain, "Am not meant to die in this story." And she's not nearly unassuming enough to get away without some injury in a hotbed of nefarious activity like Nabol. "And Nabol," she dares further, "Could use something beautiful sounding in her halls. I've drawn paperwork for Rorkes' return to Nabol as well." The dark haired girl doesn't miss a beat, not waiting for Vesik's response, as if recognizing there's nothing he would say in rebuke just now. Not in the immediate moment at any rate. "My uncle's weyrmate has given birth to twins." "No, it will have to be something far more--" Vesik, surprisingly, lacks the words; he smiles, instead. "Something for you to put yourself upon the line." He voices no objections, and instead allows the girl to shift the topic at hand. "Should I be giving you a leave of absence, then? Allowing you to repair to the Weyr - where such interesting things may be at hand - for a time? Although, your uncle." And his weyrmate. And babies. "A journeyman must journey." Never mind she just said she wouldn't leave his side. "Would you accompany me for a spell, sir? As my companion?" She takes that half step ahead and slants a casual smile upward. Just how many people have met the Masterharper in person? Just how many would recall what he looks like exactly? There's a spark of challenge in her pale eyes: does he dare? "And a Master almost never does." Vesik sounds regretful... regretful, and also considering, cautious and contemplative. "And what kind of companion shall I be, Suireh? How shall I accompany you?" It isn't a yes. It also... isn't a no. "A songbird can always be made sweeter with the right support." A funeral dirge, a simple song from the rustic coastlines of Tillek emerge forthwith, starting low and soaring higher into a sweet descant, the notes coaxed out with an evocative emotion that transcends mere technical teachings. She sings, and waits while singing, for a companion. Masterharpers so rarely perform; most are drawn from the political lines, the records-and-archives-and-machinations-of-power lines. But few Harpers forget their earlier training; after a suitable pause, Vesik raises his own tenor to join Suireh's dirge. He's not a master-class performer, but there's something in his voice - something true. The girl's voice strengthens for the support and finally a real smile emerges on Suireh's face, tempered at the corners by the sorrow in the song as she continues to sing for the fallen harper. And as the song ends and those last notes drift into quiet, she holds out her upturned palm. Yes? The weight of his knot contributes to the furrows of Vesik's brow and the lines in his face; they're deeper, now, and more solemn, for the song and all it implies. And yet - he does manage a smile in answer to his Journeyman (his Journeyman; that's what she is) - and then, his hand lifted to meet hers, her palm taken within his ink-stained fingers. Yes. Just this once. Just for a spell. Her fingers curl, cementing that 'yes' with the slightest pressure. "Don't forget to sign the posting paperwork tonight, sir." Those pale gray eyes seek the Masterharper's in the light of the waning sun as afternoon starts to turn into evening, then back to the courtyard where the apprentices have dispersed. "I don't think any of us ever grow up from being apprentices. It seems life will always be run by information, high brow and dirt. I used to begrudge them their gossip." And now? She trades in a higher level of it. "Good night, sir. I have to pack to go visit my uncle and home." His hand withdraws, though his gaze remains caught by hers. "I won't forget," he confirms, smiling in a knowing kind of way. There are things he could say to the rest of her words, and perhaps they're even things he'd like to say - but he refrains. "Good night, Suireh. I shall be interested to know more of... 'home'." |
Comments
Aishani (Brieli (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 16 Aug 2013 21:29:45 GMT.
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OMG, Masterharper visit?! Hide the secret letters!
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