Logs:Secrets No More
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| RL Date: 13 May, 2013 |
| Who: Arekoth, Cadejoth, Cailluneth, Deveriteauxth, Hraedhyth, Iesaryth, Ilicaeth, K'del, Rojeth, Solith, Tsanth, Vrianth, Z'ian, Tacuseth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Z'ian's pissed at K'del following his conversation with Aishani. K'del can't deny it... but he can drop another information bomb. |
| Where: Lights in Darkness Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 10, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions |
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| Lights in Darkness Weyr, High Reaches Weyr A heavy, brocade curtain separates the ledge from the weyr within, which opens up into a long, wide wallow and a walkway beside it. There's easily enough room for a bronze in here; the ceiling is high enough that sound tends to echo. Down the wall beside the walkway, small circles appear to float within the dim light like miniature moons; a high panel of them that's perhaps four or five times as long as a man is tall. They end abruptly as the wall curves around and opens out into the rest of the weyr. It's a good sized weyr, and laid out nicely with a fine collection of solid, expensive furniture. A niche off to one side offers built-in shelving and a desk set out beneath it, while much of the rest of the space has been taken up by a couch and several chairs, laid out in front of the hearth. It's reflective, that hearth, made up of squares tiled on point, many of which look very new indeed. To one side of that is a dark opening that might be another niche, or perhaps a passageway. A tunnel leads off from that dark opening - narrow, if still tall. It turns a corner and then opens out into an expansive room set against the other side of the hearth. Most of /this/ space is taken up by a bed that has clearly been made to fit the space exactly, although there's still room to step around to another niche - this one with a plugged basin above and a drain below. There are more of those moons here, too: moons that glow with light from the room beyond. Tsanth allows only the briefest of warnings before showing up on the ledge of the other bronze pair, greeting Cadejoth shortly as his own rider dismounts. Z'ian doesn't spend much time out there either, instead pushing the curtain of the inner weyr out of the way. He's not a man typically given to a great range of emotion in the anger department and even now his face is carefully neutral. There's something restrained about it, but despite that there's the tense set of his shoulders and the way that he flexes and curls his fingers into the palms of his hand. "K'del." He's not calling or asking whether he's here, not exactly. Maybe it's summoning? Demanding? It's something anyway. Cadejoth does seem to have passed on the message, because K'del's mid-stride when the other bronzerider enters, padding out from the recessed passage behind his hearth, barefoot and with his sleeves rolled up. "You need something, Z'ian?" In contrast, the younger of the two bronzeriders is calm, though there's a definite sense - given the way he's watching Z'ian - that he's aware of that tension. "Come in, have a seat. Drink?" There's a bottle of whisky on the mantle, but he doesn't reach for it-- no, he waits for a response, for some further indication of how this conversation is going to go. And, perhaps, why. "I need to look at the face of the man who turned our weyr down." Z'ian gives his hands one final, tight clench before he crosses them over his chest. Does he want a drink? Not really. And he'll just wait for that answer too, right where he is. Ah. K'del's chin lifts and his shoulders straighten, all the better to utilise those few inches he has over Z'ian. "And do you what to know why, or is that not relevant?" So far, he's managing to keep his tone relatively neutral, but there's an edge there, one that's rather more bitter than it is angry or defensive. K'del can be tall, if he wants. Because it does nothing to prevent the hard stare that he's still receiving from Z'ian. "I'm having a hard time fathoming what could be more important than getting into a position that protects our home. But I'm interested in knowing exactly what the fuck that could be." "Look," says K'del, who now does sound abruptly defensive. "Do I look back on that decision and regret it, in the light of what's happened since? Sure. But at the time? We had two Acting Weyrwomen, and one of them - one who had already made it very clear that she despised me, and had no interest in hearing my opinion on anything - came to me to get me to legitimise the position she wanted, completely sidestepping her co-weyrwoman. She didn't expect me to take it; she knew I wouldn't. She was counting on it, so she could throw it back in my face. I expected she'd then go and find someone she could work with, someone the Weyr would accept, if she was so intent on this plan. I refused to do something that dishonest. Or am I not allowed to have scruples? If she hadn't lied, we'd have a proper Weyrwoman." "Don't pull that crap with me. If you were that concerned with scruples you wouldn't have taken me up on the offer to help you win the flight. You wouldn't have been right there when the wings decided to not fly and hid your face like the rest of us did when they tried to find out who was behind it. None of that was the peak of moral purity, K'del." Z'ian shakes his head, not convinced. "You didn't just turn it down because of your disgust at lying or doing unfavorable things. You turned it down because of her. Because you despise her just as much as she does you, for whatever damn reason. You left her with no other logical choice than Taikrin. Taikrin." "She had dozens of logical choices," returns K'del, his cheeks flaming; he's more frustrated than angry, at least, though it's a fine line. "This Weyr is full of Wingleaders who could have done it, and instead she chose a brownrider who'd never even been a Wingsecond." Softer, then: "I don't hate her. I don't despise her. But I sure as shells don't trust her. Do you want to know why?" "She's still a kid. The brownrider that won one of the goldflights and wanted to be Weyrleader, probably looked like a good fucking option right around then. Compared to the people who didn't want it or didn't want her." Z'ian is not furious, for all some other people might be. But he's gone past just being aggravated with this situation, maybe with all of them. All of these people. He takes a deep, steadying breath. "Why?" K'del lets a long breath escape. "Maybe," he says. "But she pretends she's a tactical genius. Given the reaction the Weyr had to those flights, she really thought picking Taikrin was smart? Or did she just want to thumb her nose at all of them." Before answering the rest, he turns to that whisky bottle, to pouring himself a glass. Finally, without looking at Z'ian: "Ysavaeth never rose a second time. Iolene-- I think-- drugged me, and Ysavaeth convinced Cadejoth it happened. And Aishani knew. She helped. She got Iesaryth to convince the whole weyr that there had been a flight, and then she threw it in my face, after Io died. I swear I didn't know." He sounds defeated, a man full of self-recrimination: he should have known. "That's what she's capable of. You think she can be trusted?" Abruptly a sandstorm picks up. Whipping through the weyr and flinging bits of grit everywhere. It's on Iesaryth and hers that they land. « Liars. » (To High Reaches dragons from Tsanth) « HEY! That's *my* sand!!! » *takes it ALL back* (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth) « ...Sand? » (To High Reaches dragons from Solith) To High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth is abruptly, and unusually, very still-- just the faint clink-and-rattle of his chains to remind the weyr that he is, indeed, still here. Liars? Yes. Oh yes. To High Reaches dragons, Hraedhyth's flames flare in surprise, drums deafening for the duration of her confusion. The sand whips through her fire, making it crackle and rousing heat that does not strike out. Yet. And then the target is realized, and her savage drums lessen slightly, their tune shifting to a wardance of truth. Z'ian might have that outer shell under control, but Tsanth is a more true reflection of what the man hears. The bronze outside makes a strangle bellow for that noise, of past deceptions revealed. Of the lies of golds to the dragons under their charge. Sure, he's going to forget this thing later. But for now, it's a bright shining thing in his mind. He winces there in front of K'del and drops his head, chewing on the inside of his mouth. It's a long period of silence from him as he studies some point on the floor of the weyr. His voice is tight and quiet when he finally speaks, "The worst thing that happened to this weyr is the riders inside of it." The internal struggle isn't at an end when he brings his gaze back up to the other bronzerider. To answer his question, "No." Ocean's weight does not weigh heavily on the Weyr still, but it hovers; ocean's breezes keep her skies clear for all that they darken. Iesaryth does not apply that term to herself - there are things she has had to hide, for they were not her secrets to reveal - but she has not offered anything but the truth. Even if it meant the absence of anything. « They came to us. » And trapped them in the corner. Don't you judge. You with your perfect shiny riders. (To High Reaches dragons from Iesaryth) To High Reaches dragons, Arekoth's flare of attention is unfocused, radiating out to everyone, resting on no one. Not even Tsanth. Not even Iesaryth. Solith'd still been drifting into wakefulness on the heels of Ilicaeth's outcry, but on those gusts she listens, near-equally rapt and unsettled. (To High Reaches dragons from Solith) Cadejoth, perched alongside the other bronze, can only regard him with rapidly whirling eyes: he understands. He may have forgotten the moment when he knew... but this brings it back. His tail twitches. Inside the weyr, K'del keeps his eyes on the glass, staring at it, but not drinking. Then, he turns, offering it to the other bronzerider, along with a nod. "Yeah," he says. There doesn't seem to be anything else to say, except via his expression: he knows his part in this, yes, and there's shame and self-loathing, but there's also anger, and distaste... and hurt and betrayal. To High Reaches dragons, Cailluneth's moonlit rainbow reaches out as balm; the soothing softness to ease such troubled feelings. She offers no words, but a gentle warmth and a steady-throbbing heartbeat amidst her muted pastels; a dove-soft wish for calm and peace. To High Reaches dragons, Rojeth's fog is present, undisturbed, but with the watchful tingle of eyes in the dark. His off-beat humor apparently not meeting with much of an audience, Ilicaeth shrugs his 'returned' golden sands, and rasps into being an image of popcorn in a paper bag, which he settles down to munch while watching from the sidelines. Solith is offered a muzzle-full, as well. (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth) The refreshing cold of a relatively unknown, white-green mind lingers just to the edge of the conversation - curious, yes, but not too willing to get involved... though the clinking of ice, the tang of aniseed and the sweetness of his sugar may lean just slightly towards Iesaryth's ocean. (To High Reaches dragons from Deveriteauxth) With a predator's gaze and warrior's awareness, Hraedhyth settles into watching, a reverberation of tension following each drumstrike. Poised, ready, but for what? Dark smoke gather though they smother no one, ebon plumes hovering much like Iesaryth's own ocean. For now it seems she is willing to play the part of bystander, and is looking for no reason for that to change. (To High Reaches dragons from Hraedhyth) The abscence of a denial, is affirmation for Tsanth. The sandstorm rages, irritating in its persistance. He cares not for the things Iesaryth wishes to hide. « Liars. Supporters of a false queen. » He was disobedient before when they forced him to obey and he'll push now, sending the message out again and again: Liars. Cheats. False. Untill eventually, someone stops him. Be it his rider or one of the golds. (To High Reaches dragons from Tsanth) And in this? Cadejoth is behind Tsanth-- metaphorically speaking, with his chains and his bones, jangling in warning. And there, too, the distant, barely-remembered, sun-on-snow of a distant queen. A true queen, now lost to others. (To High Reaches dragons from Cadejoth) Z'ian glances over his shoulder, watching the opening to the ledge with a dismal expression on his face. He accepts the glass from K'del's hand and puts it to his mouth, tipping it back and drinking until it's completely gone. "Why didn't you say anything when you found out? That would have changed things too. That would have... Fuck, I don't even know anymore." False, cheats, liars. The idea rankles, and Arekoth crackles, still everywhere, still nowhere, until finally he's made to focus on a thing closer to internal, and fades into something more distant. (To High Reaches dragons from Arekoth) The chains and bones that now jangle warning once rung in support of the false queen, but Iesaryth doesn't expect such logic to be recalled or dealt with; she frankly doesn't expect much logic at all, but appeals again to a thinking dragon (if one resides within the bronzes, or out there, in those listening) - there is little one can do in matters of honor. In matters of word given, promises made. Other than that, the salt-water queen has no particular interest in quelling whatever message Tsanth or Cadejoth wishes to send: it's Cadejoth's funeral, and she's long past tired of dead dragons' lies. (To High Reaches dragons from Iesaryth) For himself, K'del fills another glass, staring down at it moodily rather than meet Z'ian's gaze. He's honest, though, when he answers. "Because I was afraid. Partly. Not saying it was my greatest moment. It-- did bad things to me. It meant Iolene lied to me, too, and she was supposed to love me." He sounds wretched, saying that, but mostly at himself. "Lujayn doesn't want to come back. We'd've still ended up where we are, except that everyone would've known. I don't know. Maybe it was stupid. Cowardly. Probably was." he drinks all of his whisky in a gulp, too. "So yeah, I screwed stuff up." What comes next is not so much rage, no more of that vicious, biting wind laced with wet grit. But a subtle change of currents, the flow changing away from the falseness of Iesaryth, to the wardance of Hraedhyth. The older bronze settles his weight there, his age, his experience (what he remembers of it), the whole thing. There he stays now, silent. But visible. (To High Reaches dragons from Tsanth) To High Reaches dragons, Rojeth's fog seethes further, toward Tsanth, though in plain 'view' of any watchers. The mist swirls, like the cocking of a patient head, slowing as its attention narrows. « Why? » Storm clouds are quick to gather on the horizon and over the swelling waves, sea-salt breezes picking up into gale-force winds - maybe the whys aren't important, but it's not the metaphorical move the bronze makes that so infuriates Iesaryth, dropping the ocean into a deep-freeze - it's the idea of her falseness that has her so angry. She doesn't seek to explain, just ignores Tsanth entirely. However, if no one else will fill in the blanks, she will. Why not, now? Why not, if the door's been opened? « Ysavaeth did not rise. But she convinced Cadejoth... and the rest of us... that she did. » And though her weight does not lift, she feels lighter... but does that weight feel familiar to those who never felt quite right under Ysavaeth? (To High Reaches dragons from Iesaryth) Z'ian looks at his empty glass and gestures for the bottle. He's going to need to fill his glass with another round of whiskey. "What a fucking mess." That's all he can say about it for a good long moment. Finally his expression clears and he breathes out, lifting a hand to rub at his face. "Okay." Somewhere along the line of staring at the floor, the spot on the wall over there and then K'del himself, his mind has managed to catch up again. "Moving forward, that's all anyone can do now." Tsanth is accepted into her ranks, Hraedhyth's nightmarish troops somber in their welcome. The severe truth robs any of celebration. Her flames make no effort to warm Iesaryth's waters, though thick plumes of smoke offer shelter beneath them for those who seek it. « It is true. » A low snarl, confirmation before any might ask it of her as well. « No eggs. » That spikes her drums into a savage frenzy, aimed at none as flames lick against the lies, scorching them away forever. When the battle ends, when her smoke clears, she and Hers will clear away the ashes of that secret. (To High Reaches dragons from Hraedhyth) Little Solith may all too easily be missed, particularly within her fog-wispy veil: she, who never knew Ysavaeth, shivers. And then sneezes. (To High Reaches dragons from Solith) The damp mists retract again, to that comfortable periphery, slowly mulling the explanation that's come, the discomfort of the old lie now revealed leaving his twisted swampland trees to creak in irritation. But that's all. Rojeth presses for nothing further. (To High Reaches dragons from Rojeth) Vrianth's witness, distantly so. She's not at the Weyr but abroad, a darkly electric current moving further yet. (To High Reaches dragons from Vrianth) The bottle gets handed over, but only after K'del has refilled his glass, too. "That basically sums it up," he agrees. "We've-- got to move on from it all, as best we can. Make things work again." With his free hand, he scrubs at his face, apparently struggling to pull his words together. "The whole thing is just-- fuck. This Weyr, man. This Weyr." And clipped, gritty Ilicaeth? He listens to, watches everyone in on this clusterfuck, the blue's eyes a deep and brilliant green within a swirling wall of golden sands. Neutral. Studying. (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth) In the wake of it all, there are divisions: more obvious than there have been, some deeper than ever before. There are those who look to Szadath, and whose support for Iesaryth remains undiminished; there are those, too, who turn their gaze away, now, to Hraedhyth, and to no one at all. And those, yes, who don't seem to care one way at all - who close their eyes and their mental ears against the ruckus. Someone else's problem. (To High Reaches dragons) He has said his piece, laid fuel to the flame of truth and fanned it. « They helped them. They knew the truth all along. » Tsanth is satisfied with the notion that it's out there, he'll say nothing more now. With time, he'll forget. But his rider won't. Will the others? (To High Reaches dragons from Tsanth) It's distinct that there's nothing coming from Tacuseth, even though to those that could recognize his signature, he's around and listening. There's the heated winds, dimmed to something dull, and the shadows seem to seep into every crack and crevice. All of the convict dragons are distinctly silent, though this one lets his wisps of shadows crest Iesaryth's waves. He is content to just listen. (To High Reaches dragons from Tacuseth) And as for Cadejoth, himself? He's content to hold his silence, now, though there's no shame, not even for those who look in askance at him, too. Yes, he too was fooled. Yes, it is a shameful thing-- but he is not ashamed. It is done. « We are all now free. » And that is all he said. (To High Reaches dragons from Cadejoth) Z'ian pours the whiskey into his glass and swallows this one down with about the same enthusiasm as the last. "It's all out now." There's the barest glance over his shoulder towards Tsanth out on the ledge. "Lets get out of this damn place before the shit really hits. I think that I'm going to need more than a few drinks at this point." The glass and the bottle are set down and he waits, to see if K'del will be joining him on this venture outside of the weyr. Probably not far, maybe just to nearest place outside of the High Reaches. "Sold," says K'del, a fraction of a second later-- he doesn't even need to think. Shoes and a jacket later, he's following Z'ian out towards the ledge towards their waiting bronzes. Sometimes it's safer to get the hell out of dodge. If only for a little while. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 14 May 2013 07:12:50 GMT.
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That was one hell of a bomb to drop, K'del. Z'ian. TSANTH. My goodness. But man... just man. And I thought that secret would never get out. I'm loving all of the dragon pros, and I'm so glad I got to be a part of it.
Again, what a bomb to drop!
Eliv (Eliv (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 14 May 2013 12:20:14 GMT.
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Yay catalyst!
Zian (Zian (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 14 May 2013 14:01:35 GMT.
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The log where Z'ian begins the long descent into alcoholism. XD
Ceawlin (Ceawlin (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 15 May 2013 04:34:31 GMT.
< THE ONE DAY I HAD TO WATCH THE WORK. *shakes fist* GOOD job you guys!
What a bomb!!!
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