Logs:Appreciation
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| RL Date: 1 February, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Devaki, Wulfan, Issedi, Daroda |
| Involves: High Reaches Hold, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: At High Reaches Hold gather, Farideh meets Devaki. |
| Where: High Reaches Hold |
| When: Day 22, Month 12, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snowy. |
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| High Reaches Holders have never let anything as simple as a snowfall get in the way of a good gather; while most of the celebration is contained in the warmth indoors and spilling out into the courtyard, outside, amongst the snow-covered trees of the orchards, other games are afoot. Taking advantage of the snow, there is sledding, snowman-making, and even some impromptu snowball fights, the cold steered off by the hot cider and hot chocolate available at the warmed tent near the entrance. There's a group of young boys and girls taking turns at pushing each other down the path on the sled, earning delighted shrieks: nearby, parents watch, some more carefully than others. By the tent, a pair of well-dressed men in their mid-thirties stand, talking in low tones -- they're greeted by most as they're passed by, as if they're familiar. Snow games aren't for everyone, and certainly not for finicky laundresses who appreciate wine and dancing over frigid fingers and hot chocolate. Still, Farideh crunches her way through the snow towards the tent, keeping her head down to avoid the worst of the caustic wind. Weather as it is, rather than wear her usual gather dress and suffer the merciless temperatures, trousers and oversized jacket is her choice of ensemble. She's bundled up further in a fluffy scarf and gloves, though her cheeks above the layered apparel are pink and her eyes bright. Her mind might be on other things -- other places -- and that's how she initially misses the two older men in finery at the entrance, stomping her way past them, leaving snowy prints, on her way to the vendor and the requisite warm beverage. "I can't see what good it would do, Dev," says a tantalizingly familiar voice. "But if you insist, my friend." If she turns in time, she might well see the brief clasp of hands on each other's shoulders, see the back of the blond, curly-headed figure she'd immediately recognize as Wulfan's. The other man, who moves towards the tent in Farideh's wake, has enough similarities that they could be cousins, if younger, in Devaki's case. He's not looking after Wulfan, nor particularly in the direction he's headed, but off towards the delighted yelling from the younger children playing in the snow. The vendor hands over the hot chocolate and Farideh gives her an ample smile to convey her appreciation, when she hears a familiar voice, and turns -- in slow motion -- towards the sound. Her body stills and her fingers lose their ill-fated grip on the cup, when she sees that at least one of the two men is the former Lord of Igen. Milk chocolate-y liquid goes everywhere, and the vendor cries out, rushing to try and clean the mess. Farideh, however, is still staring after the Wulfan with wide eyes and a horrified expression. She takes one step towards the entrance, amid wails of protest from the older woman, and stops, her fingers squeezing against her mouth. Simply horrified, and worried -- for herself? for him? t could be worse. She could've just spilled hot chocolate all over the High Reaches Lord Holder, except... well, yes. That part wasn't a dream. "Issedi said it would be like this around children. Thought she just meant ours," Devaki sighs out, eyeing his outfit. There's some splashes on his coat, nothing that won't come out in the wash. His pants and shows have probably copped the worst of it, though. Blue eyes settle on Farideh, and then, with a tip of head, "Are you...?" A beat, as he steps closer to Farideh, though addressing the older woman, "Nessi, get the girl a chair, would you?" That first part of Devaki's words are lost on the girl, all of her focus on the white wonderland outside and a hazy point in the distance. She comes crashing back to reality when Devaki steps nearer, and her round eyes fall on him instead, one foot stepping back; negating that earlier step forward. "I'm-you're--" Farideh tries speaking around her shaky fingers, but that's neither polite or ladylike, so she hurriedly folds them behind her back and out of sight. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. There's no need, truly," she relates, breathlessly, to the woman he's called Nessi. Devaki laughs, but it's an easy, kind sort of laugh. Eyes flicker across her expression, as if he's reading her in an instant -- certainly the Lord's expression suggests he doesn't believe her for a moment, but he's too much of a gentleman to protest aloud. Instead, he says, "Get her another drink, Nessi. The keg at the top." A beat: "Make it two." While the older woman bustles off to get to the keg that the children don't drink from, Devaki's voice drops as he takes a step nearer: "I imagine, by your reaction, you recognize my friend. I'm sure he'd appreciate it if it didn't get about -- though I'm sure it will, soon enough. But at least he and Daroda will have peace, if for a short while longer." He certainly seems earnest about the request, waiting for the response expectantly. Spilling her drink, and even some on Devaki, is embarrassing enough without being caught staring after the former Lord. Her already pink cheeks flush with more color and she's hard pressed to keep his gaze with her own. "I'm-- I wouldn't-- Lord Wu--" Farideh covers her face with one hand and sighs, then tries again with a clearer voice. "I won't. Tell anyone. He deserves to have peace and-- respect." Dropping her hand, she manages to glance up at Devaki, though her embarrassment is still pronounced. "Is he staying here? With-- you? I thought he was retiring to Katz Field. That's what everyone says, anyway." "Good," Devaki says, in a voice that suggests he knew she was going to make the right choice. "That's very mindful of you, miss...?" he pauses, perhaps expectant of her name. He gives a little shrug, at her question, then says, "I'd heard that was the plan, too. But with Issedi pregnant, she'd a wish for Daroda's company. She can't travel well when she's pregnant. And no one will bother them here. Ah, here we go -- good, thank you," he says to Nessi, as the woman presents a tray for the pair of them: two mugs of steaming cider. It has a bit of a kick to it, which is probably why it's the keg at the top, Devaki gesturing for her to pick first. "Farideh," she says, unthinkingly, but just after looks decidedly regretful of that decision. "Congratulations, Lord Devaki, and to Lady Issedi too." Her words are kind, but her voice doesn't hold nearly as much warmth as it should; likely, still from the shock of seeing Wulfan. "Yes, thank you. You didn't have to. It was my fault for spilling and making such a mess," the brunette says softly to the older woman, wrinkling her nose, and accepts the mug of the cider with both hands. Fleetingly, her lift to Devaki, and quickly drop back to her beverage. Devaki gives an easy nod of his head, at both her name, and her congratulations. "Not to worry. I'll need to change into something lighter for the dancing later, anyway. Once my girls get tired of the snow," he glances over his shoulder towards the sleds, sighing. "Which doesn't seem like it'll happen any time soon." He selects the other mug, and with a nod towards Nessi, gestures briefly in silent invitation for Farideh to join him -- perhaps because there's a handful of people crowding in behind them to get drinks, though unwilling to push in in front of their Lord. "So, Farideh," he gives her a sidelong look, intrigued: "How do you know our mutual friend?" He could ask Wulfan, of course, but she's right here. Reassurances do little to get the girl out of her sulk, though his invitation to move aside and join him not within easy range of the drinks, penetrates. Sidestepping out of the way, but otherwise letting Lord Devaki lead the way, Farideh fidgets with her mug. "I-- don't. I just-- I'm from Igen and I was surprised to see him here, when he's supposed to be there," she says nervously, all of her quick side-to-side eye flicks and stuttering quite obvious; no detective needed to tell she's lying. Even she winces at her lack of finesse, and sighs tragically. "You shouldn't ask. You don't want to know." Which is just cryptic. The High Reaches Lord knows she's lying, and he knows she probably knows he knows she's lying. Thus, it might well be a surprise that he pretends to take her at face value, allowing the lie to stand: "Sometimes it helps me to appear omniscient," he shares with her in a whisper given while bent close for a moment. A moment only, and then Devaki's laughing that easy, amiable laugh. "Of course, my children know better. They're much smarter than me. Sometimes I think I ought to put them in charge. Why, is such a good response to every supplicant, don't you think?" And the former exile is glancing at her sidelong, interested in her response. A glance, that doubtless communicates that she thinks he's taken immediate leave of his senses, is given to Devaki by Farideh, her fingers clutching the mug a little tighter. "I don't know what you mean, Lord Devaki," she softly avers, after a considerable pause. "No?" Devaki seems, if anything, surprised, and his path steers them towards the edge of the 'track' that serves for the sled runs. "The best lies are the ones we tell ourselves. Sometimes asking the why, over and over, until we reveal the truth, is the only way to get to the heart of the matter." He gestures towards the sled down the track, surrounded by laughing children: "Adults think of what others will think of them, what others know, what they don't want others to know, what they want to achieve," he takes in a slow, deliberate breath. "Children see the heart of the matter. What's right there. What we blind ourselves to. I take it," he says to her, taking in her expression with a rueful smile, "You don't deal with them much?" Back out in the snow, Farideh's eyes follow the track while they walk, and listens with her head half-tilted towards the holder. "You're saying I should just say the truth, and the consequences be damned," she says slowly, noticeably unsure about if that's what he's actually saying. "No. I don't-- my sister has a daughter, but I've yet to meet her. You have a few." She lifts her head to gaze towards the children playing in the snow and on the sleds. "There's a lot-- of them, at the Weyr," and lifts her mug, letting her frown disappear behind its rim. "Sometimes we're scared of the truth for reasons that exist only in our head, or for consequences that," Devaki pauses for a moment, "Feel larger than they actually are. Not that," and he grimaces, now, "I'm the best to take advice from, given my position, I'm sure you can understand. It gets tiring to hear what people think I want to hear, rather than the truth after a time." He's looking at her again, as if to determine whether she understands that. "A few," he acknowledges, with a laugh. Over by the now-stopped sled, there's suddenly a scream, and a sudden wailing pierces the air. A sigh deflates the laughter of moments before, as the father frowns in that direction. "They'll always tell you what they think you want to hear," Farideh says calmly, reflexively slanting Devaki a look from the side. "You're Lord of High Reaches. No one wants to get on your bad side by saying something stupid or being the bearer of bad news. They might expect consequences." Her eyes move farther afield, following the juvenile wailing, before flicking back to the blonde man. "You needn't worry about me, if you need to go," but neither does she sound unrelieved by that prospect, her gaze resting on him easily. The wailing dies down enough that Farideh has the Lord's attention again: "That's the dilemma. I prize honesty. That's why someone like my brother in law, and someone like Wulfan, are people I want to surround myself with. People who know what it's like." As Devaki's talking, a pig-tailed blonde girl of perhaps three comes bolting straight for him, burying her head against him and clinging to his leg. Shortly thereafter, an older girl of perhaps five walks up, half-hiding behind a tree, hesitantly watching. The crying abates into sniffling, and then, twisting her head up, the girl says, "You're wet," with a sniffle. "Yes, I am," Devaki answers with a laugh and a glance at Farideh. "And I think it's time to go in and change. And get you," he hefts her up onto his hip, "Inside for a nap, Esi." He's not unaware of the older girl hiding behind the tree, but neither does he look in that direction. Instead: "If you'll be around later, spare me a dance, Farideh of Igen?" "Not everyone can afford to be honest." But Farideh quiets down when the little girls appear, and politely stands by with cider in hand, trying her best not to eavesdrop on their familial conversation. It's at his insistence that she save him a dance that she submits enough to nod her head in the affirmative, eyes lifting from the little girl to her father. "If you can find me, it's yours, Lord Devaki." The wry twitch of lips suggests Devaki hears Farideh's response, but it's the later which draws forth an easy smile. "I will," he says, and with a grunt, lifts Esiara way up, settling her behind his neck, much to her giggling delight. The older blonde approaches once the pair have left, giving Farideh a jealous, silent look before trailing after, unhappily. The dancing, held later in the warmth of the hall, is lively indeed. Wulfan doesn't make an appearance, but Issedi is there near the hearth, Daroda keeping her company. The Lord Holder of High Reaches is a fine dancer indeed, and none too fussed about who he dances with -- from a slow, easy dance with eldest daughter standing mostly on his feet, recognizable as the blonde from the orchard, to a fast jig with one of the kitchen girls, to a quick foxtrot with Farideh, not leaving them all that much chance for conversation, other than snatches here and there. It ends with a bow, a genuine, pleased thanks, and the Lord leaving the girl in the care of a younger man who's quick to step into his place. Both the promise of warmth and dancing are enough to lure the laundress back to the hall, to amuse herself beyond the frivolity of stall-shopping and gossiping. Amidst the crush of people, Farideh's to be found with a few of her fellow laundresses from the Weyr, all of a certain age and eagerness to enjoy High Reaches' gather. They each find it easy to partner someone for a dance, and when it's Farideh's turn to accept the Lord's wish of one, she's polite, if reserved, and passes along her own thanks for the honor when it's done. Then, it's back to twirling and laughing carelessly, throwing that selfsame caution exhibited earlier, with Devaki, to the wind. There's something to be said of company and expectation, and a simple man with simple dreams has little expectations at all. |
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