Logs:In Too Deep
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| RL Date: 6 November, 2012 |
| Who: Barnabas, I'kris |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Barnabas is surprisingly comforting to a strung-out I'kris. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions |
| Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black. The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat. It's been a handful of days since Iolene's death, and things have been... tense. But Rielsath's eggs are still on the sands, so close to hatching; some life does need to go on. For I'kris, who has been keeping out of the way since those awful events, this has meant an eventual return to the galleries. There's a nervous energy in the way he sits, unable to stay still: his hands twist and writhe in his lap, his feet twitch. That's probably a large part of why he's being left alone, this afternoon, despite the small group of candidates hovering not too far away; and despite the other weyr residents, taking comfort in this promise of new life. The galleries hold more for some than the ethereal sense of the weyr's strength. For some, it's the more practical side of things that attract them to the galleries. "Fuck it's cold out there!" The sudden exclamation is just a touch on the loud side, and is met with more than the turning of a few heads. Bones holds up a pair of hands palm forward and offers an apologetic but amused smile. That's enough for most, and he's free to to enter into the comforting heat. Surprisingly, or perhaps all too perfectly, he takes a seat next to the twitching little teenager. "Hey little man, you okay? You're all fidgety. Worried about a hot date tonight or somethin? Ha!" Some of the Candidates seem pretty unimpressed - but then, they're probably agitated to begin with, between one thing and another. I'kris startled visibly, first at the sound of Bones' voice, and then again when the older man sits down so close to him. "Uh," he begins, turning his head to stare unapologetically at Barnabas. "No. I'm just - the eggs are going to hatch soon." It's a good enough explanation. "Svissath is anxious about them. It's just-- I'm sorry, who are you?" Ugly patchwork furs are shed and let to fall to the floor in a messy heap, revealing inked arms and tight vest underneath. The stranger rubs his arms to get some warmth back into them as he answers the young rider's question. "Ha! Bones, name's Bones." With a shake of his head, he sends his hair flailing about to shake sweat and snow from it like a damp canine, ending up with much of it dangling over his face. "Name's all ya need honestly. I'm new here, ain't done nothin that matters. What about you eh? What's yer handle?" Any snow that was on I'kris' now-abandoned coat, or in his hair, has long since melted away to nothing; the look he gives Bones' shake is a less than thrilled one. Attempting to push his hands into his lap to still them, he answers in a quiet, focusedly even tone. "I'kris. That's my Svissath, on the sands." His nod is in the vague direction of the brown, but his gaze doesn't seem him out: he's looking pretty closely towards Barnabas instead. A calloused hand is run backwords over the man's forehead to clear still-wet locks from his vision, so that he might look out onto the sands and spot the dragon in question. "Nice!" The grin says he means it, even if in truth he has no criteria to judge one dragon from the next. "So what's really buggin you eh?" Eyes glance to I'kris then back out to the sands, where they stay as he continues on. "Yer twistin around like a little kid that's gotta take a piss, ha!" The big man shrugs his shoulders, then slouches forward to let his elbows rest on his knees. "But hey, maybe that's normal for you. I aint metcha till now." There's a mark on I'kris' cheek that becomes more obvious as he stares more openly at Barnabas, his head having shifted slightly further into the light. "The Weyrwoman was murdered," he reminds the other man, tone brittle. "Not my Weyrwoman, sure, but still: High Reaches' Weyrwoman. I just want to go home, and I can't. Maybe not even after the eggs hatch, if they haven't caught the guy." He turns his gaze away again, staring at his feet instead. "Maybe it's just too hard for non-riders to understand." A seemingly unflappable smile finds itself wiped clean for a moment, the natural harshness in his face briefly evident before lips upturn impulsively in the beginnings of a new smile. "Trust me kid, I know a bit about what yer sayin. Prolly a little more than you might expect." One of those heavy hands came round to give I'kris a friendly pat on the back, softer than one'd expect from the big man. "Everybody's hurtin' real bad right now, and yer right I prolly aint feelin' it half as much as most. Figures I'd show up just a few days before all this stuff right? Surprised nobody's blaming me for it yet, ha!" Bones finally turns to I'kris, smile having grown bigger now. "Just relax. Everybody's all tight as a knot around here and it ain't helpin anything. What happens, happens, y'know?" I'kris seems faintly uncomfortable with that pat on the back, however friendly and soft it is; he shifts away, just slightly - and a moment later goes enormously still except to turn his gaze right back on the other man. "Blame you," he repeats, tone probably more forceful than it needs to be. "Why would they blame you? Is there something we ought to know about you?" We. Despite the fact that, very clearly, I'kris is not a local. Bones shifts in his seat too, though not in any attempt to create or close distance between them. Instead, he stands up a bit straighter to hold out a finger. "Well, for number one, I showed up like a seven before all this stuff went down right? And for number two..." A second finger emerged from his fist to take place alongside the first, counting along. "I got a murder on my record already if anybody cared to dig that up. And number three?" He brought out the ring finger to go along with index and middle, and then waves them back and forth. "I'm big, ugly, and nobody likes me. Perfect scapegoat! Ha!" I'kris is pale beneath his tawny skin as he regards Bones in stoney silence. Finally, "You're very calm and open about that. You don't think people won't start to think you're... trying to put them off your scent by being honest about it? What if you're making yourself look suspicious?" His hands have gone back to that nervous twitch; he looks as though he's about to jump out of his own skin. "I mean... you're a murderer." The word sounds strange in his mouth. "I could start yelling it now, and they'd be in here on you in a matter of moments." The growing tension in I'kris is easy to see even without the added clue of twitching hands. "Yup!" Bones just grins big at the brownrider. "To all of it, even. The suspicious part, the calling guards on me part, all of it. But you see me freakin out?" He points to his face, the white-toothed grin still plastered across it. "Nope, what'd be the fuckin' point of that? What's worryin about it gonna get me, 'cept worried?" This seems to confuse I'kris, who can no longer tear his gaze away from the bigger man. "I... how does that even work?" His bewilderment is obvious in his expression-- but his nervous energy has at least waned, enough that he can hold his hand still (at least for the immediate moment). "Do you want to get sent back to... what, the mines or something? Or exiled, like--" He trails off, biting back the rest of that statement. "Did you do it?" It's a little half-hearted, somehow, that question. The grin grows even bigger now, showcasing a mouth that honestly had no business being quite so elastic at the edges. "Cmon, what kinda dumb question is that? Did you?" He turns to I'kris from the sands, still slouched low, having to look up at the brownrider. "Who'd just be all like, yeah, I'm totally the killer. It was me! Ha!" He straightens up again, evidently finding neither position to be all that comfortable. "Look, I was just tryin to make a point. Yer worryin way too much about shit you don't got any power over, that's all I was saying." I'kris doesn't answer that particular question, though his mouth draws in tightly - and uncomfortably. "Like you," he says, quietly, "I'm an outsider in this Weyr. I don't imagine it helps any of us, being that, at the moment. A lot of people may not have approved of the Weyrwoman, but she was still their Weyrwoman. It's--" He shakes his head, and turns his attention away, staring at the floor in lieu of either eggs or Bones himself. "I just want it to be over so I can go home." Bones takes a deep breath through his nose, and blows it audibly through pursed lips like a failed attempt at whistling. "I try not to sweat the politics of it all, y'know?" A clear wince follows the mention of the p-word. "Quit thinking so hard, you'll hurt yourself. Just trust that things'll wrap themself up when they should, alright?" I'kris may not glance up to look at Bones again, but he does give a little, tiny nod. And did his shoulders just square, just slightly? A long exhale follows; he looks - and sounds - very much his seventeen turns. Still so very, very young. "I'll try," he allows, voice slightly muffled. "I never asked for any of this. It's-- I'm trying. I'll try. I will. I need to-- it'll be fine. It can't take too long, can it?" Whatever 'it' is, in this particular case. He gives a glance to I'kris, and then closes the distance between them with a subtle shift of his hip. One of those heavy, inked arms lifts up and wraps around the teen's shoulders. "You got a lot on your mind, dontcha?" A squeeze around I'kris, a makeshift side-hug. "It aint easy kid, I know." This time, I'kris doesn't flinch away: in fact, somehow he seems soothed by Barnabas' presence, though not enough for him to actually lean into it. At least he glances up at the other man, and manages a tight, narrow little smile. "I'm in over my head," he admits. "Being here. But I'll be fine." He seems reluctant to shift away, at least immediately-- but there's only so much to say, and eventually, it will be time to make excuses, probably with embarrassment, and slip away into the afternoon.
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