Logs:This Isn't Where We Belong
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| RL Date: 6 July, 2011 |
| Who: Beven, K'del, Iolene |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iolene has more questions. K'del has only some of the answers. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 2, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Val/Mentions |
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| Despite a bit of wind, it's actually not too miserable outside today-- at least, not if you don't mind it being freezing cold. There's sun, though, and there's been little enough of that for months now, so it can't all be bad. Far above, the winds are significantly worse, buffeting even dragons about as they go about their business. Amidst it all, Cadejoth's green-bronze form appears from out of nowhere; he circles downwards, wings held carefully to control his descent, though when he lands upon the snow-covered bowl, it's with a significant thump. K'del dismounts, swinging to the ground where he can pull off his goggles and stamp the ground for warmth. It's by happenstance that Iolene's in the bowl when Cadejoth lands, and having lived in the Weyr for a good few months now, she's become more used to discerning this sea monster from that sea monster, and the Weyrleader's bronze in all his distinctive green-bronzeness, is one that captures the former islander's attention as she rights a young exile toddler from his sprawl in a snowy dune. Low words are murmured to the kid, who then giggles and runs off towards a group of kids who are in the middle of a snowball fight. This leaves Iolene free with a softly packed ball of snow to heft up once, then twice, then aimed in a slow arc towards K'del's head. Beven comes out of the crafthall of the weyr in time to see the snowball aimed at the head of the weyrleader, but he doesn't offer a warning, it's just snow and a little snow never hurt anyone. He's bundled up against the cold and he yawns slightly as he tries to stay out of the way of any other thrown snowballs. The snowball connects, colliding with K'del's head with a /smack/ before it breaks apart, scattering thanks to wind and gravity combined. It's enough to make him turn, one hand raising to feel the back of his head as if to check for damage, while his gaze seeks out likely sources: the group of exiles, the Apprentice. Brows raising, his expression demands an answer, though there's a hint of amusement still about the corners of his eyes which are, at least, visible around the confines of his scarf. A turquoise ribbon bobbles cheerfully in Iolene's high swept ponytail, especially when she waves an arm; not shy at all about claiming the snowball that connected to K'del's head. "Howdy," calls the girl, only now taking the time to brush snow off her hands, a tell tale sign indeed. "Did you have a nice trip out of these walls?" If there's any note of disgruntlement, it's well layered beneath a more chipper tone than K'del's certainly ever heard from Iolene's throat. Just a small distance away, the children, exiles and non mixed, continue their game of pelting each other with snowballs, one thrown precariously Beven-ward. Beven chuckles just a bit as he watches K'del's reaction to the impact of the snowball, a smile hidden within the collar of his coat. He's got his hands buried in his pockets, so he's not the one that threw the snowball. He's just watching the results of the playfully thrown snow with interest. "Hello sir." he says in response to seeing K'del looking his way. "Afternoon," says K'del in Beven's direction, cheerful enough: the Apprentice is, after all, clearly innocent. Albeit destined to be snow-balled - something the Weyrleader doesn't warn him about. After swatting lightly at Cadejoth - who rumbles, amused at something - he steps away from his dragon and towards Iolene, whose expression he studies with unreadable interest. "Not sure if I'd go so far as to call it 'nice'. Dealings with the Holds rarely are. But--" His shoulders shrug, and he wipes some more snow off of the back of his head. "Having," pause, "fun out here?" Throwing snowballs at unsuspecting Weyrleaders? The snowball skitters past Beven, splattering into the bowl wall and the kids continue to shriek, enjoying both sun and snow in one of High Reaches' better winter days. The nannies are having a time, but aren't beckoning Iolene over, so it's unclear whether she's helping them, or just a not-so-innocent bystander, what with pelting Weyrleaders. "Oh?" A flash of uncertainty shadows her dark blue eyes, and Iolene takes a half step back before propelling herself two steps forward. "Why do you deal with Holds? Aren't-," she pauses, lips pursed in thought, "Isn't it all supposed to be au-ton-o-mous?" The syllables are separated distinctly. Beven gets hit by the snowball eventually, never having noticed it coming at him and he omphs a bit as he gets smacked in the side, "Hey..." he says after a bit of shock before he starts packing his own snowball and he throws it back at the kids that threw it at him, not at any one of them, but in the general direction of the players. "Isn't that what happens in the winter when there is a lot of snow on the ground?" Aside from the faintest twist of a smile when the snowball connects, K'del doesn't have much to say to Beven at this point: he's focusing intently upon Iolene, nodding carefully as she speaks. "That's true," he allows, as he digs his hands into his pockets and takes a few more steps forward. "But the weyr provides a service to the Holds, and the Holds provide /us/ with our supplies. So we keep close connections with them. Not like we tell them what to do, or anything. Or them, us." A bit of time later, really only a breath or two that sends forth a chilled smoke into the air, is all the time Iolene needs to consider K'del's response. "They never do? So," the blonde girl's head tips to one side as she gazes up Cadejoth's length before those guileless eyes drop to find the Weyrleader again, "If you didn't want to do something, the Hold can't make you? They can't say: we won't give you anything anymore unless you do it?" These are measured words, spoken bit by bit in an easily paced manner -- thoughts already thought up and taking their time in being given voice. Beven hmms a bit and he listens to the blonde's questions, a faint frown crossing his lips. He looks back at K'del, waiting to hear the answer since he spends his time in the crafthall, he knows about the tithe to the weyr, but he wasn't asked the question so he just waits for the Weyrleader to answer. He does move a little closer, possibly even using the bulk of the dragon as a bit of a windbreak to make the bowl a little warmer than it really is. Cadejoth huffs cheerfully at Beven, his tail thumping loosely against the packed snow; he's not much good as a windbreak for long, however: too impatient, too restless, he shoots off into the air again, sending snow flurrying about him as he goes. Whoops. His rider hesitates before answering Iolene's question, sucking in a breath before he says, "I guess they could try. We'd then stop riding sweeps over their area, though; there'd be retribution. It's-- more difficult during Interval, though. They need us less." "Like-," Iolene tenders the beginning of a thought with one word, before continuing on, "Like during the time when my grandmother's mother was exiled?" The question does come out all at once, quickly as if Cadejoth's upward launch, the snow dust that she's suddenly covered in, and Beven's approach all are impetus enough to hurry along her agenda. "I've been wondering about it since we last talked, K'del. /How/ we got all the way over there in the first place." Beven acks a bit as he gets covered in snwo and he hrms at the comments and he moves towards the western bowl, since he seems to be making the girl nervous. He waves to both to her and to K'del, rather than getting any closer, a faint sigh coming from him. K'del barely seems to notice the snow now covering him, though he vaguely wipes at it with both hands. Beven's wave gets acknowledged with a tip of the head, but he is - frankly - rather distracted by Iolene's line of questioning; his expression has stiffened. Hesitantly, after breathing out a puff of air, he allows, "It's not in our records, but I suspect the weyr was paid to take your ancestors out there. At the end of an Interval... the weyr was probably grateful for the marks. The resources. Whatever." The peripheral of her vision finds Beven halting and a glance goes towards the vacillating teenager, who appears to now be departing. There's a quizzical arc to her brows and a puzzled expression. For the moment, she's distracted from her questioning of the Weyrleader long enough to spare a very frank, "Well, are you coming or going?" But then he's gone, and Iolene turns that look to K'del, her face contorted into a classic 'wtf' sort of look: complete with tilted head, furrowed brow, lopsidedly scrunched eyes, and wrinkled nose. "Did I miss something?" "I--" says K'del. He, too, is frowning, his gaze following Beven until the young man is out of sight. At that point, he shakes his head, turning his attention back towards Iolene with an equally classic expression: who the hell knows. On the plus side, at least it has distracted her from the questioning for a moment or two; perhaps that's why he he says, firmly, "Weird kid. Got plenty around here, it seems, sometimes." "Seems to be an epidemic amongst you guys." It's still us versus them in Iolene's mind and she, however distracted as she stares back at Beven's departure, has grouped Beven with the Weyrleader. Them. "Well," her hands find blessed pockets to hide in and her body starting to rock back and forth on the toes of her boots. The interlude of Beven has scattered her thoughts enough that the next just kind of trips out, thoughtless and filled with an unreleased sigh, sad: "And you know who that Hold is, don't you? Even without records. One of my friends," whether he really is or not isn't the point, "Is telling everyone that your Weyrwoman told him someone is paying you to keep us here." It's a crazy game of telephone here on the mainland. K'del bites back whatever answer first comes into his head, closing his mouth with a sharp snap and the click of teeth against teeth, though that is mostly lost to the wind. His own hands tuck behind his back, curling into each other, gloves grasping gloves, as he formulates a more careful answer. "Given where you all claim to have come from, it would be unlikely for me not to suspect which Hold that was," he points out, carefully; his gaze meets Iolene's, but there's hesitance there. "High Reaches has been... generous. They're helping us support you, yes." Iolene piques to the change, the careful answer and the sharp snap that mostly gets lost to the wind. Inadvertent steps bring her forward, a reflexive action that brings her close enough to put an apologetic hand to the Weyrleader's arm. For just a moment, she can forget that she's curious and that she has an agenda, however transparent it might be. Impulse makes her turn that pat into a potential hug that has a surprising amount of strength for someone so skinny. "I'm sorry. I'm upsetting you. I'm sorry." If the presence of that hand on his arm is surprising, and draws a wary glance from K'del (and it is), then being wrapped into that hug is infinitely /more/ surprising: he's stiff, unsure, though he doesn't pull away immediately. Both arms lift out of the way, hovering there for several seconds before, slightly awkwardly, he puts /his/ hand to /her/ arm. Gently; "No, no, it's fine. I'm not upset. You're-- allowed to ask questions." He will draw away, then, regarding her, now, with a more thoughtful expression. "It's just complicated." Iolene allows herself to be extricated, somehow, despite the sensitivity to realize what she's asking him is causing him some sort of internal turmoil, ignorant of the fact that the hug itself is awkward. "It doesn't seem very complicated to me," replies the girl, without missing a beat. Awkward, what? "If you think High Reaches Hold was- com- the reason we were exiled in the first place, can't you help us figure out why? We can't give you anything other than people to get your dragons," which is a whole other series of questions she needs answered from someone other than 'Val'icious, "And promises for the future. But- can't you? Can't you help us now? Don't you feel bad for us? Homeless. Mostly dead. Alone?" It could even possibly be a joke, that last bit, if it weren't all so true. "Why does it matter?" K'del asks - and it's apparently a genuine question, eyes wide, brows raised. His hands sink into his pockets as he shifts from one foot to the other, which is probably just due to the cold. Probably. "Finding out why, I mean. You're safe; you've been rescued. We're going to do our best by you, and help you all find lives out here. That's what we've been doing. Of course I feel bad for you. Shells. It's terrible, what happened. But it's /over/. People who did it are dead. Long gone." This can't be much better than the hug in terms of awkward. "Why's it so important, Iolene?" Iolene is silent a long time, her eyes lifting up to try and find Cadejoth up in the sky -- if he's still eve there. It's to the sky she finally states, "You say that cause everything in your life has always been true. What if," she continues to stare up, lashes thrown wider as she seeks midst flying dragons, "Someone came up to you tomorrow, blew your home and family away, and then told you that you're not really K'del. That you're really some greenrider and Cadejoth was never yours in the first place? Wouldn't you want to know who tricked you for your entire life? It wouldn't be important to you?" Cadejoth is there: a green-bronze shape darting this way and that through the winds, joined by a much smaller green who entices him onwards with enthusiastic warbles. While Iolene seeks him out, K'del is silent, watching her. /Studying/ her. "Don't know," he admits, lifting a hand to run gloved-fingers through his hair, messily. "Maybe it would. I guess, though, I'm just not sure how to find that information. The records aren't there: no one took notes to say 'and then we exiled people because of...' whatever. I want to help, but I'm not sure how I can." "Our elders tell the next elders everything they need to know." She is, apparently, assuming, life is just as tribal and simple here on the mainland, despite everything she's been shown otherwise. It's there, written in those eyes that now seek K'del, pinning dark blue to his baby blue, entreatingly. "We were important people, one way or other. No one would go to these kinds of lengths to hide us if we were like the drudges that work in your kitchens. Even Rilka was-, is /important/. Doesn't that kind of thing drive you crazy? Then again, grams always said I'd probably get myself killed because I never liked /not/ knowing something when there's clearly something interesting to know. We're interesting. You have to admit that, no?" Something in K'del's expression suggests that, despite the difficulty of these questions, the Weyrleader can't help but like Iolene - after all, he smiles at her now, smiles despite the concern that etches itself around his eyes. "I hate not knowing," he allows, finally. "Mysteries and secrets are not really my thing. I--" He seems, for a moment, to be mulling something over, giving it thought. "Well. You keep telling us that you were Blooded. If that's true, it could be a reason. Doesn't change anything now, but it'd be a /reason/. Someone cleaned house. I don't know." Yes: he finds them interesting. Oh yes. But: "There's plenty of stuff I don't know that previous weyrleaders did, and we keep good records. Seems more like, in this case, it was deliberately forgotten. You wouldn't want to pass that on to anyone, I'd think." "Importance is in the eyes of the beholder," says Iolene, a la a woman much much older than her years, her lips pursing a little petulantly. Maybe she looks just like her grams at this point -- if only there was an exile near by to snicker at the likeness and the unwitting imitation. "Like /I/ think not puking is pretty important so I don't eat anything that's made someone throw up. But maybe Rhaelyn doesn't think puking is important and doesn't mind it very much, so she eats anything she wants." It's a poor example and she is fully aware of it, unable to help the small smile that curls her lips. "If it's important to someone, then it's worth thinking about. Even if it seems silly." K'del's silent extends for several seconds after Iolene finishes speaking, his expression unreadable. He breathes in and then out and again before, quietly; "And here I am, thinking about it. If that was your point, Iolene? I take the point: it's important to you. Not sure if I can help, but if I can, I will. Like I said before, I want to make things right for you all. Find you places in this world. You'll all have the chance to Stand, those of you who're the right kind of age; not everyone gets that chance. And crafts. We're here, we're listening." "But this isn't where we belong." It's hard to tell whether these are her own thoughts or those she's parroting from others, those important to her. But she seems to take his extended silence and his words to heart; abruptly, the subject changes. "I like this mountain air. Winter's a lot more- clean here than the island ever was. Do you know what I mean? I breathe in the air and I feel like the cold's cleaning out my insides in a way bathing doesn't quite do." Iolene's thin shoulders hunch as a chilling breeze passes by and those hands again seek out her comfortable little pockets. "I miss the salt though. How salty the air could smell and taste." Although Iolene moves on, K'del has to ask the question anyway: "Where do you belong, then? The island?" There's the faintest hint of disbelief to that, just barely audible in his tone. Regardless, he moves on to add, nodding, "Know what you mean. The cold is-- something. I was raised in the Tillek area, closer to the sea. Not quite close enough to get that salty taste, I guess, but not quite as cold as here, either. It's different." Beat. "Guess it must be strange, though. When it's the only thing you've ever known. It'll change, too, in summer. Warmer." Without an answer, it's almost as if Iolene's taken his questions in all their disbelief as rhetorical. "Tell me about Tillek." Beat. "What /is/ he doing up there?" Again, those lashes lift to find Cadejoth, espying whether he's still with that green or not. He's still with that green. They're chasing each other, now, though Cadejoth is having trouble winding his way through the spindles with the same dexterity /she/ does. It's only now that K'del glances up to get a better look; he laughs. "Playing, mostly. Cadejoth loves to fly. /Loves/ it. And he hates sitting still. So: he flies." And Tillek? "Tillek's got weather more like your island did, I guess. It's a sea hold: they fish, make boats, that kind of thing. Inland, they grow grapes, which is what my family did. Does. Kind of a sharp wine, though - most people think it's inferior to Benden, but I don't know about that." "I've only had wine once." Iolene's cheeks flush, though that could be the chill of the wind. "I didn't really like the taste of it but I'm not even sure what kind it was. I-," the recollection of wine and the consequences of wine newly fresh in her mind now causes the girl to finally retreat in her incessant questions. "Thanks for answering my questions again. Maybe next time, you'll throw a snowball at me instead just to make sure I don't get close enough to open my mouth and talk." Smiling crookedly, the blonde teenager shrugs her little shoulders and takes a few steps back, about to leave. About to. But not before she comments, "I know how he feels. Trapped. Good night, K'del." Wryly, "I don't like wine much, either. Maybe that's why I left." Home. But at least he had the choice; he seems aware of that, quiet, suddenly uncomfortable again. And more uncomfortable, too, for her remark about being trapped. After swallowing, he says, "Good night, Iolene. Maybe I will." And then he'll turn to go, wading through the snow towards the Weyrleader's Ledges. |
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