Logs:Apologies, Again.
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 25 April, 2013 |
| Who: K'zin, Sabella |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'zin tries to apologize to Sabella. It doesn't go over well. |
| Where: Kitchens, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 8, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Sunny |
  |
| Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs) Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis. The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day. It's about a seven after the accident in a bowl. Ghislaith tolerated Rasavyth's attentions for awhile. Until she finally grew tired of him lurking out on the lawn. The boards were torn down and some things that vaguely resembled heavy pottery thrown out at him until he dispersed. Meanwhile, it's been business as usual for her rider. She's been doing what duties she can complete with her broken arm and taking on extra academics in addition to the other extra academics she already had to do with the silver thread program. So while slightly incapacitated, the greenrider hasn't been any less busy. It's been so long really, since the last time that K'zin and her spoke that nothing between them seems to have really changed post-fall. Today she finds herself at one of the nooks in the kitchen, eating a sandwich and awkwardly taking notes with the wrong hand. The broken arm is held up in a sling. Her staple notebook is out on the table as well as her canvas bag. In the way that Ghislaith once expressed that she didn't like Rasavyth when he was sulky, the same concern was given his favorite clutchmate as, after giving her a few hours, his shimmering presence began to encroach on her lawn, his little bugs weaving little shimmery webs of ooze on the farthest reaching branches of the trees in her figurative yard. And he waited. He wasn't waiting for her to speak with him. He wasn't offering any kind of condolences, or comfort. As soon as the phantasmal pottery pitches his way, the webs break and bugs retreat; obviously, she's fine. It was back to business as usual for him thereafter, the occasional friendly contact as was necessitated by work. K'zin had rallied himself to go see her when she was in the infirmary; but then he saw I'zech. He couldn't say for sure exactly what happened, but it was enough to deter the bronzer from tempting a similar fate. He did deliver a little bouquet of wildflowers while she was asleep with a note for whatever good that did. Now it's just been a matter of him trying to find the courage to face-- well, whatever might be waiting for him from a one-on-one with her. K'zin's ducking into the kitchen today, his own bag of literature slung over a shoulder. He's not the type to tote it everywhere, so he must either be coming from or heading to the Records Room. He makes chit-chat as he enters with the kitchen workers he's familiar with and helps himself to a plate of whatever's around before heading for the nooks. He spots Sabs as he approaches and it slows him, only for a moment. With only a second, he swallows and heads in. "Hey Sabs, how's it going?" Casual. Like he hasn't been avoiding her since he was in the infirmary two months ago. Oh, poor I'zech. Hopefully his lip healed up alright. It'll be such a shame for all the girls if he's marred for life. But the healers did say he didn't need stitches. As for there being a bouquet of wildflowers and a note, Sabella got out of the infirmary as quickly as possible the night of the accident. She may have never noticed them, she may have chosen not to notice them. The sound of his voice filters to her ears from across the kitchen, she slides a sidelong look in his direction before returning to her work. It was just a long enough glance to confirm that it's in fact K'zin over there and not just someone who sounds like him. When he gets his courage up to approach her, she doesn't bother to look up at him. Cooly she asks, "I'm sorry, do I know you?" before turning the page and laboriously writing out a sentence very slowly. When she finishes, she flips her little book of academic notes closed and shoves it into her canvas bag. K'zin makes a face. It's the expression of one who know they deserve that kind of greeting. "Yeah, actually. We've met. A couple times. You might remember me as the idiot who wasn't sure if you wanted him to kiss you until you practically said it in the tunnels outside the infirmary, or the idiot who wanted to talk instead of kiss in the Record Rooms, or the idiot who turned himself in for kissing and didn't entirely take your good advice, or the idiot who's been avoiding you for the last couple months because he knew he couldn't resist breaking the rules with you." His tone has humor, but there's worry there too. "And if you still don't know me, let me introduce myself, I'm the idiot who is really sorry for being an idiot and will do his best not to be one in the future, but will probably be an idiot at least a few more times if you decide you'd like to go on knowing him. I mean me." He lingers at the end of her table, plate in one hand, the other on the messenger-styled bag slung over his shoulder. "Oh. You're that guy." Sabella doesn't appear to be feeling particularly charitable in this moment. But then, it's been a long seven. And being grounded while everyone else isn't has probably been frustrating, even if she's been happy enough on the surface. Also. It has been a long time since they spoke and maybe one apology isn't enough tonight. "Actually, I think another word is more appropriate." She's still not looking up at him, instead she's switched over to her other notebook. The one that she does all of her drawings in. She leans back in the booth and props the book up against her leg, managing to work the pencil to the paper without jarring the bad arm around. "Hypocrite. Don't you think?" Here she finally glances up, canting her head to the side. "Or do you think?" Under normal circumstances, K'zin might offer to help steady the notebook or something, but implying any weakness in this moment just doesn't seem like a wise choice. She did make a grown man bleed, after all. "Uhm." His hesitation is genuine. "I-- I don't know?" He bites his lower lip, "I do think, if that's the question, but I don't know that I think hypocrite is-- Uhm, what exactly am I being hypocritical about?" He sounds genuinely confused. "The part where I like you but avoid you?" He guesses, shifting his weight awkwardly, fingers grasping around the meeting of strap and bag. If there's some satisfaction in this for her, it's not an emotion that plays across her face. She shifts away from him and looks down once more, beginning to work smooth clean lines across the paper with her pencil. They're the steady work of someone practiced that knows what they want to draw. "The last time you deemed me worthy enough of your company. The last round of apology, actually. You told me you were worried abou Azaylia pulling away from you. You were worried that I would stop being your friend. And I felt really bad for you. That you made choices and people you were close to left you." She pulls the pencil away from the paper and taps it once. "Then you did it to me. You went for your punishment and you haven't talked to me in sevens. You did to me what you were afraid of people doing to you. If that's not hypocritical, I don't know what is." K'zin's mouth opens and then close. And then opens again. Still nothing. Like a glow being uncovered in a dark room, Sabella's words are a revelation that leaves him blinking and, yes, teary eyed from the abrupt discovery. "Shit." He breathes, lashes fluttering rapidly as they try to get the threatening tears under control. "I'm a fucking dimglow." His tone is one of self-loathing, though he's not intending to be overly dramatic, he just suddenly sees and abhors what he's found. He would probably flee, if he could get his feet to follow the instructions of his brain but his brain is busy coping with other things, too busy to get that message to his feet. To Ghislaith, Rasavyth is not an emotional dragon, but he is nevertheless a young dragon impacted by the emotions of his lifemate. Clearly, whatever K'zin is feeling must be strong because it's enough to have disturbed Rasavyth's usual pattern weaving and put him on edge. It's not that he's meaning to share his agitation with Ghislaith, but that the feelings are somehow tied up with her lifemate makes her the first that his burgeoning distress bleeds to. He probably doesn't even recognize it's happening, so sharp is his sudden focus on K'zin. "And you're not the only person who doesn't like getting abandoned." Sabella tucks the pencil behind her ear and snaps the cover of this notebook shut too, just like the other one. She shoves it into her canvas bag along with whatever else is there on the table and slips the strap over her shoulder. Well, she doesn't shove the sandwich in. That she picks up, but she leaves the empty plate. The girl only has the one arm right now after all and she's kind of in a hurry. Slipping out of the booth the greenrider gets to her feet. Serious and matter of fact, "I'm leaving now, K'zin. Don't try that thing where you try to grab my arm and make sad eyes at me. I'm not in the mood." There could even be the most subtle hint of it being very troublesome for him if he tries. But it is subtle. Because he doesn't look like he's quite in the challenging mood right now. "You can talk to me again when you've figured some things out. But in the meantime, I'm not your emotional bag that you dump things into and ditch." So infrequently does she leave her house. This is a rarity indeed. She sails to his thoughts, winding around them like so much insubstantial whisps of wind. Just a faint howling in the background to hint of the full force of her dark personality. Ghislaith doesn't say anything yet. There's just rapt attention as she too pays attention to what unfolds between their lifemates. Whereas his is distress, she's much closer to anticipation. (To Rasavyth from Ghislaith) "Wait, Sabs." K'zin's baritone is a little croaky. "You-- I'll go." He volunteers. After all, it was he that invaded her lunch time. He's not grabbing her arm, he's not making big sad eyes at her. He's breathing deeply and for a moment he shuts his eyes, when he opens them again, though there's the residual glisten on his lashes, there is no longer the threat of tears. "You're right. About all of it. I'm a hypocrite and a shit friend. And I'm sorry. I never thought about it like that; I was trying to do the right thing and went just about as wrong as I could go instead. But it doesn't change what I did, and I'm sorry. So sorry." He takes a pair of steps away from her, "If you want me to stay away from you from now on, I'd understand. But if you want to give me another chance... I'll do whatever it takes." That last is something familiar from previous apologies, but he seems equally sincere, perhaps even more serious this time and certainly a little more mature about it. "Just-- let me know what you want and I'll do it." That's to address both options, the leaving her be or making it up to her. He rocks on his heels a moment, "I'll-- go now." And unless she decides to stop him, he will, leaving the plate of food he'd gathered for someone else to enjoy; he has no appetite anymore. To Ghislaith, Rasavyth is still unaware that his feelings bleed and allow for yet another rarity: a glimpse into the complicated inner workings of the relationship he has with his lifemate. It is surely Rasavyth who puts a swift end to the waterworks (both mental and physical of his lifemate). It's difficult to make out his swift murmurs to K'zin, but it's delivered in a tender tone and one that offers wisdom and advice. The storm is gone as swiftly as it arose and while part of his attention remains as closely twined as two minds can get, the rest of him returns to life as usual, except... there's Ghislaith. Right there. And he can see the inadvertently woven path of glittering ooze that opened the window for her to see in. His reaction is like a human getting caught naked. His ooze swells into pink shimmers, feelings of embarrassment translating until he abruptly shuts them off. « I am sorry you had to see that, Ghislaith. Do excuse me for disturbing your solitude. » Slowly, the inviting path that opened the window for her starts to un-build itself, brick by brick. "Oh no. You're not leaving first. I'm leaving first." Because that's definitely an expression of the maturity she possesses. She's trying to make a stormy exit here. Her sandwich is still firmly gripped in one hand and she points it at him. "You're always full of apologies. Why don't you just try acting like a normal person instead? Try figuring yourself out first. But in the meantime, don't take your friends down with you." She turns her back on him and walks away. "I already told you that you could talk to me again. I don't want anything from you." And she does leave, awkwardly pushing the swinging doors of the kitchen outward without looking back over her shoulder. There's a certain delight in the reaction she witnesses from Rasavyth. Her rival, her most entertaining nemesis. The window might be closing up and the path un-building itself, but she's still there. That wind blows cold against his vulnerability, teasing him. It sneaks into places he might be trying to seal off again, catching whatever little glimpses she can before the opportunity is passed. Before he can strike back she re-tracts, cackling laughter echoing through the air behind her. Silence for awhile. Blessed silence. But then in her throaty voice, « It'll be fine. » (To Rasavyth from Ghislaith) For every nook the cold wind seeps through, there's suddenly an infestation of tiny transparent bugs patching the breech. The things she glimpses are not so much images; for Rasavyth as just himself doesn't tend towards imagery, though there's plenty of it in his mimicry of the other dragons. There are sensations that she garners that he'd probably rather she didn't. She gets a lick of his extreme ambition before that crack is sealed, a whiff of a bizarre darkness in his character before that too is hidden. The bugs are almost like the dirty laundry patrol as Ras' attention hops from here to there hiding his unmentionables. She certainly gets a sense of his intelligence. For as much cleverness as he regularly showcases, there are heights and depths to his genius that aren't even guessed at by the most clever of the dragons he speaks with, and all the better for the rest to underestimate him when the time comes. Then *plug*, that glimpse is gone too. Once he's sure he's secure, at least in terms of sharing things he didn't mean her to see, the voice comes. For a moment, Rasavyth freezes, the bugs frantically going over their patch works just to be sure she's not still looking in at what she ought not see. Once he's sure, his purring tenor returns. « Of course it will. » He knows that. It's only K'zin who doubts. (To Ghislaith from Rasavyth) |
Leave A Comment