[Log] Your Laundress
Who: Morelenth, Nenuith
When: Day 7, Month 10, Turn 2, 7th Pass
What: Nenuith has a few more questions for Morelenth.
Morelenth> Nenuith projects, << Your laundress is an interesting creature. >> Creature, not person.
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth notes, matter-of-factly, << She's not /my/ laundress. >> Pause. << Why do you say that, though. >>
Morelenth> Nenuith projects, << Diya, >> as always, her rider warrants her name rather than the typical 'mine', << Has spent hours deliberating over her. Her face. The way it moves. How it is like a brook that changes with the force of nature, or pretends to, while changing nature around it. >>
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth concludes uneasily, << Yours met her. >> He hesitates again, thoughtful. << E'sere agrees with that description. It is very accurate. >>
Morelenth> There's a slight pause, as if Nenuith were busy with something else before the resurgence of her bell-like clarity returns, the remnants of a gold-rose wash fading from her mental touch. << I would ask you again, Morelenth, >> she does not press or force the issue, insofar as reasking a query isn't such, << What truth there might be in E'sere's words? >>
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth's touch is usual so warm and solid that when, like now, it shifts uneasily, fluidly, creeping back from Nenuith's mind. << There was truth, >> he answers slowly. << That Vasyath's betrayed us to us. >>
Morelenth> Nenuith notes the difference, her voice restrained and held back as Morelenth shifts from one emotion to another and then returns, fully resurgent in warmth. << Was there truth, dear one, that E'sere had betrayed others? The modicum. Was he a pinch of salt to make the stew bubble? >>
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth is still not comfortable, his thoughts aswirl with emotion. Yet, still he answers, << Mine... mine betrayed no one that did not betray us, and our Weyr, first. We... We did what we thought best, always. >>
Morelenth> She's a particularly astute dragon, though whether that be due to the shade of her hide or her personality and that of her riders is a question that will never be answered. << I see. >> Her response, quiet and unaccompanied by the melody of bells falls flat. << We always do what we believe is best, Morelenth. Our riders and ourselves. The one with the eggs, >> Katric's image flares high, a bit displeased, the memory once forgotten and re-remembered by Diya's own remembrance. << Was he the doing of yours? >>
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth answers at once, fiercely, << No! >> Where, previously, he was sliding away like water through fingers, his mind returns forcefully for that statement. << I would not have let him. It was-->> Donavon's image is offered, to clear his rider's name of guilt in that much, at least.
Morelenth> Nenuith's most prominent fears are assuaged, though the connection persists as if all her questions have not been answered. << That is good then. That is good. We had wondered. >> More likely, /she/ had wondered. << Ulyath's eggs have not been avenged. >>
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth, too, is somewhat comforted by that reaction, his mind subsiding into subtle background warmth. Then: << Avenged? >> he asks warily.
Morelenth> Nenuith projects, << Avenged. >> Simple as that - except come the next week, she may forget if Diya doesn't revive the thought. << One less for *him*, >> the image of Derek superimposes on the outline of Donavon, << To have at his side. >>
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth retreats again, pulling back at that sentiment. << Mine will not like that, >> he remarks after a moment. << And neither do I. Has not there been enough vengeance yet? >>
Morelenth> Nenuith considers this in lengthy silence. Minutes pass, time enough for her rider to finish a letter, converse with people, prepare tea until it seems there might not be a response at all. << And Aivey? >>
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth asks uncertainly, << What of her? >>
Morelenth> Nenuith projects, << Nothing. >>
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth's curiosity prevents him from retreating further, though that earlier warmth is still negligible. The general emotion he projects is expectancy, expectancy of some further words from the gold.
Morelenth> Further words from Nenuith aren't enlightening. Rather in them there's a request without the added pressures of her genetic rank. She is a queen, after all, and should be able to reign by good deeds, right? << Will you do me the honor of keeping me informed of the whereabouts and doings of E'sere? >>
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth, at that, withers completely, withdrawing rapidly from Nenuith. But not before he offers a meek, << I can. >>
Morelenth> Nenuith is thoughtful, << And in particular, his dealings with his laundress. >> She is, at least, kind enough not to consider Aivey Morelenth's.
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth repeats weakly, << I can. >> And there's nothing from him, no words or any emotion, either, let to slip through to the questioning gold.
Morelenth> Despite her desires and requests, Nenuith's thoughtfulness extends after some silence, to provide a warm blanket to cradle around the bronze's thoughts. And for his agreeability, she allows one sliver of hope. << There will be no vengeance from me or mine. >>
Morelenth> To Diya: Morelenth is reassured some small amount, though not enough to bring true warmth back to his voice. His reply is a simple, << Thank you. >>