Logs:Four Days After
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 28 October, 2014 |
| Who: Anvori, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Anvori's father died. Now he's back. |
| Where: Anvori's quarters |
| When: Day 9, Month 2, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Edolan/Mentions, Riahla/Mentions, Suireh/Mentions, Varian/Mentions, Veylin2/Mentions, Via/Mentions |
  |
| His arrival is as he said it would be: four days after the funeral, just after lunch. He might have been spotted putting his Tillekian marked runner into the stables. Or stopping by the Snowasis to check in briefly, pick up some books, and wander out. Or even dropping by the kitchen for a bite to eat, carrying a tray of food back though the lower caverns to his room. They might have seen him depart his room, sans tray, and drop by the nurseries, and may have granted him smiles as three little children race to him and nearly bowl him over with hugs. The door opens, slowly. There's a woman behind it with the right to open it without knocking, but she has anyway. It was less a true knock than a resting of her palm against the wood, twice, thrice, before the handle moved beneath her hand. Her hair's combed, shaped even, less untidy than when she herself had first come to the Weyr. It's been that way for quite some time. The sun-rust, though, that was cut while he was gone. "Anvori," she says his name to him, the way Vrianth never has and his runner never will. Her arrival was expected, and it shows in the way his shoulders tense fractionally, and that sharp drawn breath sounds in the otherwise quiet room. It's that moment where he seems to have expected more after the name and when none comes, immediately relaxes, pivoting at the hip to drape an arm over the back of his chair and give Leova a pretty good simulation of a wearied smile; a smile that tries to aim for tired from travel and tired from the two weeks of family. "Hey you," that, at least is completely sincere, the endearment underlining simple words. It precedes him rising and him crossing the room to stand before her for one second too long before those arms wrap about her. "You. Missed you." She hugs him, tight. She doesn't try to take his breath away, not by force. "Missed you," she agrees, confirms, affirms. His mouth is familiar to her mouth in more than words, and she familiarizes herself all over again. "We all missed you," but they don't do this, not like this. She does. She does. And it pleases him, the upward climb of his mouth felt in all the various way he re-familiarizes himself with her and while she might not aim to take his breath away, the kissing does tighten the hold he has over her shoulder and back and press him-to-her and her-to-him all the more closely. "I was wrong," is what he says in a moment to breath, and then pulls away just slightly. "It was wrong of me to not ask you to come with me." This is admitted freely, in earnest voice and eyes, even if his lashes might shift away for a half-beat. "How was holding up the fort here?" With the 'we all who missed him too. "We managed." Holding up the fort. But then, "Look here." At her. She'll see what his lashes do then. Anvori steadies his gaze on her. There could be quippy words to accompany this action, something to take the odd tenseness out of the air. Such as: I'm looking or Always. But he's silent, with only one quirked eyebrow to punctuate his looking. "What happened?" Might be, Leova just means the funeral. He can't help it, that tell, his eyes shift again before veering back immediately. He remembers, too late. Still, he pretends it didn't happen and replies, "What you'd expect. We sent him out on a boat. We paid our respects. There was family. Maybe a little too much family, and then I left when I could. Suireh stayed behind to care for mother." He eases back. "Haven't had much to eat yet today. Have you? Want to share? I made sandwiches." As he does. "How is she? Riahla?" They're an even better tool for temporizing than sandwiches. Belatedly, "Your mother?" It doesn't mean Leova's chin isn't a little too firmly set, the way it has been since she'd seen that flick yet again, but even that can wait for the girls. The desire to start over might sit strongly with Anvori, palpable in the way his eyes suddenly shift again, this time emotionally rather than tracking-wise. The combination of longing and hope and then cooled resignation when the set of Leova's jaw is discerned. He eases further back and then turns his back to return to his table and retrieve a sandwich and his mug. A bite that claims half the wedge, some chewing, a not so hurried swallow. "She's... she's coping. I'm afraid I didn't wait until morning to leave so I don't know how her night went. She elected to keep my mother company. I... cou- didn't stay." Riahla's story waits until he's finished the other half of the wedge. She watches him eat, and then she moves around him to his table, to ntake a wedge of her own. She moves a little stiffly. She doesn't ask him to share after all, or call him on his not handing it over. She's not so old, or so prideful, that she can't get it herself. He just sent his father out to sea. But. Glass rolls. The vial. He ignores the fact she got herself a sandwich. Those eyes don't even flicker as he watches her do this. Or when that vial rolls. That one he very studiously ignores and takes a small sip from his mug. "Riahla is unfazed. I mean, she's bothered. She's sad, but it's taking less emotional toll on her and I wonder if it is, in part, because of Zeth." "Good." The woman glances at her fingers, then eats. Each bite is small, but not dainty. "Reckon it helps. But then she always did have more bounce." Resilience. Then, "You wanted to get out of there that bad?" "Faranth help me, yes." While his greeting might have been sincere, this carries conviction; a very abashed conviction. "We never got along much in life. But in death... I started to remember everything we had done, where we did get along where... It seems miserable to constantly think and regret and being there was just a reminder of regrets." His better sense catches up with him and his sudden confession ends abruptly. Anvori reaches for another sandwich, and holds fast to his mostly undrunk mug. "Aye." Sandwich or no, mug or no, Leova reaches to clasp his forearm in commiseration as she can. She hasn't talked about her own family, her own parents, hardly at all: not as an actual conversation so much as references here and there, and the rare times when she's in her cups. Regrets, she too has them. Maybe he's tired of dancing around whatever pegacorn is in the room. "Are you going to be mad at me for long?" There's resignation again and a contemplative stare at the hand on his forearm. Her grip tightens involuntarily, and then she jerks her hand back. At least it's the sandwich-arm and not the other one. "I'm not," wasn't anyway, "mad." "Oh." Well shit. "Ok. I am sorry. I really am. I should have let you come." Cause /that's/ an even better choice of words. "No, no, you didn't want me to come." That's going to help too. Anvori pauses. He doesn't move, when she does. He doesn't attempt to eat the sandwich. But his body is tense, stiff suddenly with all the tenseness that's permeating the air in these apartments. "Sure," is his clipped response. If that's what you want to believe. No matter how true what she says is. She eats, deliberately. It frees her hands, or will. If he's still looking at her that way when she's done, "I was going to take you." "Sure." He's gone into quiet mode. Give up mode. Curt mode. The mug gets a lot more attention now, downed in just a few gulps and set down with such noiseless gentleness that belies the situation. "I'm going to lie down. Had a long day." Week. A beat. "I promised Via we'd have an indoor picnic tonight for dinner." It's an invitation without an actual invitation. She knows that mode. "We can fly somewhere and have a real one. I don't mind." "Whatever." Pause. "You want." It could've been a dangerous moment, and he knows it with the deliberate pause. "I'm going to lie down now." Anvori repeats and makes his way from the main room to the bedroom. Her hands tighten on her belt. "You do that." Calm. It's after her weyrmate departs that Leova reexamines the desk. It's that or follow him. There are crumbs to place into a little pile. Books to examine, and stack. The vial to turn over, then sniff. She recognizes it. But she'll deal with it later. |
Leave A Comment