Logs:Incriminating Reactions
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| RL Date: 8 November, 2012 |
| Who: H'kon, I'kris |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: I'kris is not very good at being nonchalant. H'kon and Arekoth are observant. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Weather: It is a rare day of cloudless sunshine, though the temperatures are markedly colder. |
| Mentions: Barnabas/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions |
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| Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself. A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs. It is a rare day of cloudless sunshine, though the temperatures are markedly colder. Other days, when the sun is out but the temperature is cool, the scene at the lake might be different. Arekoth might be holding perfectly still, trying to catch the rays without risking air movement to take away all their warmth, H'kon might be unconsciously copying him with a scowly squint on his face. But - ask anyone - things aren't exactly normal. The brown, still more edges than not, paces along the lakeshore drying his feet that have just now been washed of the blood of a recent kill. His rider, meanwhile, has doffed his jacket, arm hair standing out on bared limbs as he squats with boot toes in the water, and reaches cupped hands in to splash the stuff on his face. Once. Headshake. Twice. One more time. That's the charm. It's far too cold for I'kris to be anything but completely rugged up, but at least he's out-of-doors: that's something that hasn't been happening much, these days. Not... since everything. He's pale and tired-looking, with dark circles beneath his eyes, and though his path across the bowl takes him towards the lake shore, it seems to be an altogether random choice because he doesn't seem to be watching where he goes, or paying much attention to anything. His hands dig deeper into the pockets of his coat, and his shoulders hunch in; he looks, quite frankly, utterly miserable. Also? Likely to walk straight into the lake if he doesn't start paying attention soon. That third dose of cold water on his face has H'kon throwing out a breath of air with the shake of his head, but it's mostly quiet. When he lifts his hands again, it's to try and wipe some of the excess down. He blinks hard, the getting out of his squat doubling as a few steps back, and turns just in time to see - to grab at the younger brownrider's arm. The motion and the words are separated in time, but when H'kon does get to speaking, it's to give a not-unfriendly, if not-highly-enthusiastic, "Snow blind is one thing..." "Huh, what--" begins I'kris, snapping out of his reverie at the feeling of a hand on his arm. Thankfully, it's enough that he stops walking, because it seems to take another moment or two after that before he actually registers where he is, and why he's been grabbed. "Oh." His words, and the glance he aims at H'kon, now, are scarcely more enthusiastic than the other brownrider's, though he attempts - largely without success - a rueful smile. "I guess I wasn't paying attention. Thanks." Arekoth's pacing stops in time with I'kris, the brown flexing that long-injured front limb testily against the rocks and sand. "Perhaps there's little for you to pay attention to now," might have been meant as congratulatory, though it comes out tight, and makes H'kon grimace, as if at some taste leftover. "Except drowning," tries to make up for it with one of those pained-looking smiles, while his dragon stares more and more intently at the other brownrider... and then resumes his pacing, all at once. "We're just waiting to be allowed to go home," agrees I'kris, who doesn't manage to hide the disappointment and embarrassment that flares up in his expression. "Treading water." Which is like drowning. He seems distinctly uncomfortable with Arekoth's staring-- and only faintly relieved when the brown resumes that pacing, though he hasn't - yet - made any efforts to turn away and leave again. "I hope they'll let us go soon. It's-- well. You know what it's like around here, now." The dragon's pacing alters course this time, bringing him out wide toward the bowl, a slow circle to cut the two riders off from out as he passes, wings at one point rustling audibly. H'kon allows a moment's snort at I'kris' most recent words before schooling his expression into a firm, horizontal affair, all flat lines. "I'm not certain when they will let anyone go - freely. Arekoth and I only left under orders," brings the slightest lift to his eyebrows. "I'm not certain what all you knew of what went on." But it's an uncomfortable attempt, and one that warrants a step back from the younger man, so H'kon can grab for his jacket. The clench of his jaw might be to prevent shivering at this point. I'kris keeps Arekoth warily in his sights, at least out of the corner of one eye, as he paces; he's visibly uncomfortable, for all that he's trying to keep his expression neutral and even. "I only know bits and pieces," he admits, in a low, careful voice. "I do understand why I need to stay. And why things are... the way they are. It's - difficult, though. Being an outsider. People seem suspicious." Of him. "I did hear they have a suspect. Hopefully, that means it will all be cleared up soon." Tugging that jacket firmly over is shoulders (though bared hands slip a bit at the end, too cold for the grip they might usually have had), H'kon tilts his head down a ways, inspects the young man from under a brow that knits itself slowly. "People seem suspicious because they are," comes far too quickly and far too together for the slowness of the movement that introduced the statement, and not without the sharp edge of a teacher's impatience with a slow pupil behind it. Arekoth turns sharply, and retraces his steps. "And things will not be 'cleared up' soon. A goldrider was murdered. The Weyr is united and fractured at once." All the words together, with that same quickness, before he lifts his head and takes a slower breath. "You might be in the midst of it for a while yet," is his more usual pace, and vaguely conciliatory. The cold has already reddened I'kris' cheeks, but it's embarrassment that darkens them, now, and turns his gaze towards his toes. He doesn't back-pedal, though - instead, it's a low, unhappy murmur. "Are you implying something, H'kon? About me?" His hands have clenched into fists, though that's largely hidden by the bulk of his pockets; he's very deliberately not looking at the other brownrider. "I understand it is a complicated situation. I know how I would feel if it were one of my Weyrwomen." But. But. Arekoth reacts first, staring sharply. His wings begin to unfurl, though they don't get near full wingspan before H'kon's chin lifts, and the dragon stills, ready. H'kon manages to keep discomfort or surprise from his face, his own inspection of I'kris going cooler. "I wasn't." 'But now' doesn't need to be said. It's in the chill, in the way his stance starts to echo Arekoth's edges, which have been present since the keen. Right now, I'kris does not look much like a murderer. There's no keen edge in his gaze, no confidence, no precision, no deadly edge. He looks like what he is: a teenage brownrider in over his head. But. "Then why would you say that people are suspicious? Why would they be suspicious?" But I'kris is not really confident enough to pull this off without looking... well, a little dubious. Uncertain. Off. "I just want to go home. I don't belong here. We don't belong here," he bleats. He looks as though he's about to flee - his gaze keeps darting from brown to rider and back again, rather as though he expects them to pounce on him. Arekoth might. He's ready, wings casting a greater and greater shadow as they continue to stretch out now. "Why," is calm. The rest isn't. H'kon doesn't rightly raise his voice, but it gets intense, a bit higher in tone, and his words go back to quick shots, get accented by sharp gestures from one hand. "Because," gesture, "their Weyrwoman is dead. Because," another, "it happened in their Weyr. Because," and here he balls a fist, but stops it held up. And goes quieter than a normal speaking voice. "Because you," and his hand drops, held at waist height, open, ready, "are acting as if they ought to be. As if," and here's a hint of betrayal, "we ought to be." "I'm not," swears I'kris, with desperation to spare. "I just want to go home, and they won't let me. I want to leave you all to your grief. I want--" He doesn't seem to know what else he wants, because now he's gone silent again, backing away one foot after the other, back towards the beach and the bowl beyond. "Do I look like a murderer to you? Like someone who would-- do you think that little of me?" He looks genuinely frightened, now. Pleas that don't fall on ready ears just now. "Stop where you are," is a command with no hint of the emotion in him just prior, a command supported by Arekoth's quick circling paces, H'kon's step forward. The older brownrider's mouth has opened a bit, not quite a baring of teeth, not quite different from it though, as he looks this young man, so familiar, up and down. "What have you done to be so afraid?" It comes in the same breath as an icy yellow flare of, « What do you know, Svissath, » with the now-almost-usual stress on the name. Arekoth, of course, carries far more suspicion and anticipation in his words. I'kris freezes, his foot hovering just above the ground: even now, in his distress, he's quick to comply with that which is ordered of him. "You're accusing me of murder," he says, voice loud enough to carry now - it's a good thing there aren't too many people around at this particular moment. "I'm an outsider. You don't think that should make me nervous? Afraid? How would you like it if I accused you?" The plaintive note is rather overrun by his upset-- his fear. Svissath's silence very nearly echoes; he's far away, mentally, perhaps he hasn't even been paying attention to the conversation. As though he and his rider are not, at present, terribly close. It's unusual. « No, » he says, finally. "I have accused you of nothing," is tinged with righteous indignation. "You have." Fingers, stretched wider, relax slightly, but his hand does not drop. When H'kon turns his head, as if to look to his dragon, his eyes stay on the young rider before him. "I'kris," has something more cautious to it - on another man it might even have something more personal and warmer, "if you lie to me, there is nothing I can do for you." It's a half-offer probably borne more on Arekoth's conviction than any sort of certainty. For now, Svissath will receive no acknowledgement, even of his refusal. Arekoth's busy watching his rider. "I've done nothing," swears I'kris - which could just as easily be about accusations as about actual murder. His hands have withdrawn from his pockets, now, but they're still clenched into fists. If only he dared to start backing away again! "What do you think you could do for me, anyway? If I had done it. If it was me? What could you possibly do, H'kon?" This time, he manages to keep the rising hysteria out of his voice, but it would be hard for him to look any less like a tiny animal caught in a spotlight: trapped. Trapped, and quite possibly doomed. H'kon goes quiet for the question, even dares glance away from I'kris for a moment, to look at nothing in particular, short of his environs. "If it was you," has his jaw half-locking, seemingly, and his words following are carefully measured, "then at best it might do to have someone not bent on bloody revenge to try see you back to your father." Arekoth might not approve - that might be the reason for the one flap of wings that gust cool air over the brownriders. But H'kon doesn't withdraw that would-be offer. I'kris winces, at that mention of his father, and seems all the more determined not to look at H'kon as a result. "I didn't do it," he says. His voice is firmer, now, but there's bitterness deeply rooted in the words that follow. "I thought you were my friend, and now you're accusing me of murder. Some friend you are. Just fuck off, okay? Leave me alone. I just want to go home, not have people I thought cared accuse me of awful things based on... what? a feeling? Because I'm upset? Fuck this." His spins on his heel, turning to hide his stricken face, and those tear-filled eyes. It looks as though he's about to try and storm off. H'kon manages to reach for I'kris, a second grab, only slightly before Arekoth's hiss. The brown has dropped his head, crouching, wings out, and glaring with orange eyes at I'kris, mouth slightly opened, teeth neatly shown. "I have accused you of nothing," is firm, as an unsympathetic adult might speak to a tantrumming toddler. "And I am trying to help you." He gives no comment for feelings, sending instead a sharp look to his dragon, who doesn't change posture... but must be up to something otherwise. I'kris probably could pull himself away from H'kon's grasp, make a run for it, but what's the point? He turns again, focusing sharp-eyed gaze on the other brownrider (for now, it's rather as though he's attempting to pretend Arekoth isn't there). "Help me? I've already told you: I didn't do it. I'm not the person you're looking for. So you can get your dragon to stop staring at me like that, right about now - because at this rate, you're starting to make it look like you want to shoe-horn someone in. A scape-goat. Do you have something to hide, H'kon? Is that it?" He's beginning to sound hysterical again, spittle flying from his mouth as he spits out those words. And H'kon hangs on to the brownrider's arm. "I am keeping my dragon from doing other things," is the same firm wording. He doesn't rise to the younger man's bait, barely even blinks when drops of I'kris' spit hit his face. "Now you will tell me what has upset you." And Arekoth gives another hiss, this one possibly directed at his rider. That reference to Arekoth seems to unnerve I'kris, who turns his gaze from H'kon only briefly - to stare at the brown, rather as though he can wish the dragon away. If only. "I don't have to tell you anything," he says. "But I'm getting really tired of people giving me a death stare because they don't trust outsiders. You - everyone." He doesn't meet H'kon's gaze. "Is it so hard to believe that that would make me uncomfortable? Defensive? I'm not a murderer. Not like that Bones guy. He openly admits to it. Go interrogate him instead." "People trust outsiders if those outsiders do not incriminate themselves by their actions." H'kon's fingers dig deeper. "A man cannot tread water forever, I'kris. And there are those who will not try keep your head above water if you should flounder again, in different company." He glances once more up to Arekoth, a hard look. "You know how to find me," comes as he releases his hold. "And," green eyes still on the hawkish brown, "I can give you no estimate of a time limit." "Before he turns me in? For a crime I didn't commit? There's no evidence." I'kris pulls his arm out of reach, as soon as H'kon has released it; he's already beginning to back away. His words are bitter, and there's defiant anger in his expression. "Fuck you. Leave me and mine alone. Just... stay away." This time, he doesn't leave anything to chance, and stalks away without glancing back. For a man whose hands are tied, H'kon stands up surprisingly straight. His expression is less than satisfied, certainly nowhere near pleased. "This is not about yours; it is mine. My duty falls to my Weyr. We must report suspicions, no matter the sort of man suspected, no matter the sort of victim." It's not projected above normal speaking, though it's not kept quiet. As I'kris leaves, H'kon, in the same tone, speaks, "Remember his dragon," aloud to Arekoth. It's probably this that keeps teeth close, displayed, but not put into use. "Suspicions," says I'kris, bitterly, and with a definite note of how-could-you, but he doesn't turn back again. He leaves. H'kon waits until the boy is well gone to rub a hand over his beard. Arekoth's eyes, still orange, stay on his rider, wings rustling, anticipatory. "I know," comes after a moment. And he turns to move into the bowl.
CommentsAzaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Fri, 09 Nov 2012 06:25:48 GMT. <
Methinks the baboo doth protest too much. ~<3
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Probably should have listened to H'kon...
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Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Fri, 09 Nov 2012 06:25:48 GMT.
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Methinks the baboo doth protest too much. ~<3
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Fri, 09 Nov 2012 19:47:14 GMT.
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Probably should have listened to H'kon...
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