Logs:A Temporary Truce
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| RL Date: 11 March, 2012 |
| Who: Hattie, K'del |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Hostilities are put on temporary hiatus when Hattie and K'del run in to each other at Ista. |
| Where: Main Beach, Ista Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Main Beach, Ista Weyr The coastline of black sand stretches out in either direction, tropical waters lapping ceaselessly against the subtle decline of the main beach that rests at the base of the plateau cliff. To the northeast, water from the upper pool cascades over the plateau's edge, its destination shrouded in the lush fronts of the jungle's edge and a hint of blue-tinged mist. The Sandbar, Ista's seaside tavern, stands to the south beside the long branching structure of the docks. Ista's humid morning turned into a rainshower in early afternoon, but the rain has stopped, now, and the afternoon is steadily clearing into something spectacular-- especially if you're comparing it to the still-very-much-winter weather of High Reaches. K'del has stripped down to his shorts in order to frolic in the water with his lifemate, but although Cadejoth remains out in the deeps, the bronzerider is now wading back to short and the towel - and other paraphernalia - he's left there. He's lightly sunburnt, his hair dank and dark against his neck; he's grinning, too, looking absolutely and completely relaxed. Hattie's journey across black sands looks to have begun somewhere in the vicinity of The Beach House, for it's from that direction which she ambles, barefoot and minus her knot, the skirts of her amber-coloured summer dress falling barely to her knees. Elaruth's path brings her in the same direction, though the pale little queen pads through the shallows and lets - waits for, even - the last moments of each wave to wash over her paws; waits too so that she should not put herself in K'del's way. Perhaps Hattie wouldn't notice him were it not for Elaruth, yet she does and stops, hand lifting to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. "K'del?" she calls, unsure. As far out as he is, Cadejoth does not fail to note Elaruth, and he extends, now, a metallic tendril of thought, rattling his chains in gentle, water-washed greeting. His rider, too, hesitates in order to incline his head respectfully towards the little queen, though his gaze is to intent on lingering; instead, his attention is quickly turned to Hattie, and, as he hastily runs a hand through his darkened hair, he nods to her, too. "Hattie," is his greeting, more sure than hers, and certainly more polite than friendly. Elaruth has a gentle, off-key clatter for K'del, journey not resumed until she's certain she won't cast water at him, bright mist weaving its way back along the length of those chains to find and greet Cadejoth. A few blinks to focus properly and time to register that it is actually K'del and not a figment of her imagination before her and Hattie's steps slow just as Elaruth's quicken again and turn the queen towards deeper water. "Just to be sure, are we to savage each other with so many potential witnesses around, or shall we save that for another day?" the goldrider responds, smirk audible in her dry tone before it really appears. K'del heads for the dignity of his towel, grabbing it off the dark sand shore so that he can rub himself down with it, his hair getting another finger-combing albeit in a more idle gesture, this time. "Suspect," he says, keeping his tone as even as he can-- though whether it's amusement or something less palatable he's avoiding, well, that's less obvious. "Ista would prefer us to keep our feuding rather away from their attention, lest we involve them somehow. If you can restrain your natural instinct to hold me down in the surf until I drown, reckon I can attempt to do likewise." "You're suggesting that your natural instinct is to hold me down in the surf until I drown? Interesting," Hattie remarks, achieving a complete halt that leads to her sitting down on the sand, one leg curled beneath her. "Faranth knows what you might've done if /I'd/ been the aggressor in all that's between us," she sighs out, propping her hands behind her. "I've no desire to harm you outside a more formal setting," is confessed in the same dry tone as before. "Besides, today, I'm not the Weyrwoman. And, forgive me for saying so, but you don't look much like a Weyrleader at this moment either. So, shall we just agree to be people?" Although K'del still seems at least a little dubious, he still manages to grin and admit, as he lays his towel back down on the sand, "Well, no. Maybe I'm just projecting what I /assume/ you think of me. However," he reaches for his shirt, pausing in what he's saying whilst he pulls it over his head and sorts out the correct hole for each arm, "I'm relieved to hear that that's not the case." He doesn't spell out agreement to her suggestion in word, but the casual way he flops down onto his towel certainly implies it. Carefully, "Ista is a lovely change to High Reaches, this time of turn." "I think," Hattie says slowly, "what we think of each other and what we've done and whether there's a difference there between the two had better be something we stay away from." She ends on a note more wry than anything, a distance or even sadness there where one might expect anger to lie. Taking a deep breath, she replies, "We had hardly any snow this winter, save for a storm or two. Elaruth was quite disappointed. I think maybe she'd have preferred your snow, if you have it, but she's accustomed to Ista, so it will do instead." "Indeed," says K'del, sagely, agreement audible in his tone; obvious, too, in the sharp nod he aims in Hattie's direction. He digs his toes into the dark sand at his feet, wrapping both arms around his raised knees. "So little snow? There are definite advantages to mild winters. Not that ours has been especially bad, just-- long. It snowed again yesterday, though I'm afraid it's already looking old and sad. Cadejoth hates to leave it, really, but we all need an escape on occasion. You're visiting P'draig?" Whether it's a deliberate move to seem so or she really is that relaxed, Hattie lifts her hands from the sand and lounges back, propping her arms behind her head instead. "Old and sad or not, she'd still happily pad about in it," she says with a hint of amusement, "though you're welcome to the mud that'd accompany it. Do I ask what you're escaping, or should I not?" Mention of her weyrmate has her glancing back down the beach, nodding a time or two. "Yes. The children are asleep, for the most part. Good thing about the beach. It wears them out. How are your boys getting on?" Laughing, wryly, K'del admits, "It's the mud that Cadejoth particularly loves. And ice, when he was little, though he's long forgotten the fun of sliding across the frozen lake, thankfully." He's turned his attention to staring out over the ocean, now, focusing briefly on his frolicking bronze, then more lengthily on the distant horizon. "What do we ever escape? Weather. Political discontent. Arguments. A little bit of each, maybe." For all that these may be serious issues, he seems able not to linger on them, tension marking his brow for only a moment. "It certainly does that. Mine will turn five this turn - how is that even possible? They're such fun. It's a good age, I think. Ought to congratulate you on your latest. A girl, I believe?" "It sounds as if they would have got on well when they were little," Hattie murmurs, fondness edging her voice. She falls silent for a few moments, gaze losing focus as she likely considers what she might dare to say, deciding upon, "Well, I can say that I'm sorry for whatever isn't anything to do with my Weyr. And I am. I don't... think people realise all there is to escape from sometimes." Sincere with it, despite the business-like tone that she falls back on to get the words out. "Five is a good age," is far warmer. "Old enough to figure things out and still young enough not to be hit by all the bad things. My youngest is a girl, yes. Nimarie. More fractious than the others were." "It does," agrees K'del, who also sounds fond, and perhaps a little nostalgic for those long-ago, but much simpler days. "I appreciate that, Hattie. It's-- you're right. Hard for those outside to understand, sometimes, even when they can see individual pieces of it." For all that, he's clearly resigned to his lot, even, perhaps, comfortably accepting of it. "Yes, exactly," he agrees, of five. "They're still so excited by things. Hate to think of them losing their sense of wonder, but I know they will. Nimarie's a lovely name. I hope she's not keeping you from too much sleep." "And your answers to it all can't always please everyone. Or anybody," Hattie claims in what is a lower, yet somehow not darker with it, voice. "Still, I wouldn't give it up, though none of us can see what the future might bring about." Hands drop to smooth at her skirts as a stronger breeze threatens to displace them. "I'd forgive her anything, really. They've a lot ahead of them, little ones. We get to see where they go next. If they Impress or even want to. Maybe they give some of that wonder back to us." Wry smile or grimace, it's hard to tell, but she definitely realises how sentimental she sounds. "You dare repeat any of that if and when we meet with knots on," she jokes dryly. "And, on that note, if I don't get back soon, someone will be sent out after me." Pushing back up, she finds her feet again, stepping away to brush sand from her dress. "My regards to Cadejoth."
Maybe she'd say something more during the moment in which she hesitates; something more meaningful than the, "You too," that Hattie settles for, genuine as the sentiment is, yet, following the slight nod of her head in farewell, she's off, retracing her steps back along black sands towards home. |
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