[Log] Cold Dead Corpse
Who: Aivey, E'sere
When: Day 21, Month 10, Turn 3, 7th Pass
Where: E'sere and Aivey's Weyr, Five Mines Hold
What: E'sere is awakened to news of Ganathon's departure. Aivey cheers him up (superficially or not) with a grand old scheme.
On those periodic days off from drills, E'sere is very fond of sleeping in as late as he can, as he is doing at present. Morelenth is clearly awake, the bronze watching E'sere restlessly from his little couch as the morning grows closer to halfway over. The bronzerider seems intent not to stir--not, at least, until Morelenth looks away toward the entrance and rumbles, the noises subsiding into small whimpers not characteristic of the large bronze, and finally a brief, muted keen that dwindles into nothing a second later. It's this that draws E'sere awake, the bronzerider rubbing his eyes and ruffling at his hair as he sits up, glances to the dragon, and then around for Aivey, wherever she might be.
Aivey is not immediately present and hasn't been since stealing away from E'sere's side hours earlier. It'd be a small handful of minutes later that she arrives, her cheeks pinched with red. She works her hair free as she crosses the ledge and past Morelenth; the dragon's presence equates E'sere's, earning a lightly quizzical, "E'sere, you here?"
"I'm here," says E'sere from the back room, first quietly and then repeating himself more loudly so she can actually hear him. He rises then, dressing quickly and stepping over to Morelenth's side with furrowed brows. He ignores Aivey for the moment in favor of quiet conversation with the dragon before finally turning back to look at the woman with a wan smile. "He woke me up; I didn't realize it was so late," he tells her. "I suppose you've been awake for hours waiting on me?"
"Let you sleep in," Aivey confirms while studying E'sere with light scrutiny, "You looked tired and I didn't want to wake you." A moment's glance to Morelenth is spared, Aivey attempting to find in him what she's apparently not been able to find in E'sere, though at its end she steps closer to the bronzerider for a kiss.
Morelenth glances away from Aivey's look, settling his head along his forepaws morosely; while E'sere focuses on accepting and returning that kiss of Aivey's. "I'd not mind it, if you did," he murmurs with a faint smile and a lift of his shoulders. "It would be better than how Morelenth chooses to do it. News gleaned from the Reaches--the dragons are murmuring amongst themselves again."
Aivey's instant reaction is a look stolen over her shoulder at the morose bronze. Her expression softens, however briefly, and when she looks at E'sere all that remains of it is the concern. "Are you alright?" Her chin tips down, her eyes remaining locked on his as she draws a hand upward to rest reassuringly along the side of his face, "Tell me?"
"Ganathon," says E'sere, studying Aivey with a frown while she looks away, and then glancing to the dragon himself when she looks back. "Ganathon died, during the night. I'm fine, of course--disappointed, I will admit, I had no role in it, but why shouldn't I be fine?"
"Because." Aivey's reply is succinct, her tone matter-of-fact. "It's over and that's never easy. I'm sorry." Her hand slides down to his shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze before she draws away toward the bed. "I know you wanted to be the one to see him off. He'd meant something to you, once."
"He was my Weyrleader; that was all," E'sere brushes off Aivey's latter words, looking back to her with pursed lips when she moves away. "There's little else to it. I had dreams of taking care of him myself, but no matter in the end. He's gone--with Hirth again--and the world goes on and hardly notices." Pause. "How was your morning?" he asks then, in a very deliberate and unusually blatant change of subject.
Aivey's attempts at changing still when E'sere's brush-off comes. They renew seconds later, albeit with a purposeful slowness, and though her back is to him she offers small nods of agreement to signal she's listening. It's the change of subject at the end which finds her turning, a shirt clutched against her chest, to say, "I don't have a dragon attached to my head, E'sere. If I'd have known, I'd have been back here the instant word went out." A pause, and then delicately, "He was more than that. It's ok to be upset, E'sere. I wouldn't think any less of you."
Aivey's insistance upon the latter point makes E'sere more agitated, the bronzerider raking a hand back through his hair and pacing a couple of steps across the room. "I'm not upset. I'm happy. I would dance on his grave except I expect they took him /between/," he tells her flatly The old man died a peaceful, natural death in his own bed, after everything he did. It was the least I could hope for, for him. He was nothing more than that to me: my Weyrleader, as I was only his wingleader--/one/ of his wingleaders."
Aivey traces E'sere's path and when that grows trite, she resumes dressing. "Because you jumped me the second I stepped in here. Obviously you're ecstatic." Tugging the shirt into place, Aivey kicks off her pants and exchanges them for a pair cut off at the knees. "I wish you could've killed him, E'sere. I know what it meant to you. But I know what he meant to you, too."
"You asked if I were here," E'sere says, his tone accusative. "I answered. I did not jump you." His hair's a mess now as he can't keep his hand out of it, but being E'sere, he shortly realizes this and forces himself to stop, after making a half-hearted attempt at fixing it without his precious mirror. "No, Aivey, I don't think you do," he tells her coldly finally, stopping to look back at Morelenth rather than the girl.
"Might need to start working on my sarcasm," Aivey informs E'sere. "And if I don't know what I think I know, then I guess I'm wrong and you're right. He's dead. What more do you want people to do? Throw a party? Name something in his honor?" Aivey moves toward E'sere, reaching up to try and smooth his hair back into place for him, "He was an old man. Stuff like that happens."
E'sere ducks his head slightly to help Aivey reach his hair, a frown settling across his mouth again. "I--I don't know," he finally grumbles. "I just want--I don't even know. I should have liked to have seen him again, to have done it myself, to... have done a lot of things. None of which matter now."
"To me," Aivey says, roughing her fingers against his scalp in order to emphasize the point, "It does. Because it matters to you." She catches the back of his head with her fingers next, trying to keep that emphasis in hold, "I wouldn't think less of you," She repeats of her earlier words. "Tell me." A request, however gently its stated.
E'sere's nose wrinkles as Aivey rubs her fingers across his head, but he doesn't pull away when she catches at him. He releases a breath and finally says, "He was--as much a father I've had. Not in... not in the sense of he ever cared for me--fed me, clothed me, any of that--but in... providing the example of what I should be--what I am. His death is--" A pause, while he mulls that over and then chooses his words carefully. "His death is less the death of a person to me, than the death of an ideal: the paradigm of a bronzerider, a Weyrleader."
"You," Aivey says definitively, "Are not Ganathon. You are E'sere," The continued declaration earns a kiss, and Aivey's hands dropping back to his shoulders, "And you can be what he wasn't. What he can't. Be the ruler every bronzerider on Pern will measure himself against. This can be a good thing if you let it. And I want you to."
"How? How?" says E'sere, shaking his head and leaning away from Aivey's touch then. "I didn't kill him. I never beat Hirth--how am I supposed to replace him now? He's secured his place in history and I'm left with whatever I can scrabble from the base of his pedestal," he scoffs, shaking his head.
"If that's where you put yourself, then that's where you'll be when someone else steps over you." Aivey says, maintaining her patience as E'sere leans away. "Where there's a hole, there's room for someone new to step in. That was the first thing Vintros taught me and it's what I believe. I've /seen/ it work, E'sere." She reaches out for him with her hand, inviting him back with the gesture just as much with her statement. "Those who loved him will love you for never having beaten him. Those that hated him will follow you because you will be what he was not."
E'sere's eyes narrow, but he accedes to Aivey's unspoken request and steps back closer to slide his arms lightly around her. "You're supposed to climb over people when they're in your way," he notes, his nose wrinkling slightly. "Not--go around them. But--Hmm." He grows thoughtfully quiet, frowning again. "I wonder how much blame I can place on him now," he muses. "And direct it away from me."
"Not if you want to use them later," Aivey says, nudging the pit of E'sere's stomach with a knuckle, "You were in my way once and I stepped around you. Granted I'd planned to step on you later, but..." She shrugs and drops happily against his shoulder before wrapping her arms around him. "It'd be hard to place any blame on him unless you can get people to start looking at him for a reason. Right now, I'd say they're more likely to idolize him than condemn." A pause, then, "His being dragonless might be an advantage. You honored the man he was before, and it was he who you covered for. You tried the same for me, you said... my life in exchange for an admission?" Glancing up for confirmation, Aivey hesitates. "It's possible."
"He killed Yevide, you know," E'sere says slowly. "Or so I have believed--I've little proof but I tried to encourage him along that path, and I like to think he took it. If that could only be proved, perhaps I could lay more on his cold dead corpse." He takes some delight in those last three words. "People do love that sort of loyalty, and if I could pull it off--" It's a hopeful, spur-of-the-moment idea, not one he seriously considers, though he gives Aivey his first slow smirk.
"Anything," Aivey deigns with an air of supremacy, "Can be proved so long as you have one gullible person to start with. Find the target and we'll make it happen." E'sere's spur-of-the-moment idea is run with, Aivey considering the bronzerider as he smirks, "If you're careful this can work. It'll take work but it will work."
E'sere runs a hand through his hair. "My reputation may just be saved, and I may ruin Ganathon yet," he says, with a broadening smile. "I will likely have to wait until we arrive at the Weyr again--unless... We've messengers from the Weyr now. And I could write a few letters to members of my wing: the old crowd..."
"It'd look eager if you did, especially this soon. The man you idolized is dead you poor, poor dear." E'sere's shoulder is patted consolingly, a soft tsking from Aivey accompanies such. "I imagine you'll be nothing but devastated for a while to come yet. Devastated and sick since you'll be wrought with guilt and worry... really, it's fortunate for us all that there's a remarkable healer in our presence."
"Good point, good point," E'sere says, bobbing his head quickly. "I shall be devastated indeed. I expect I will be homebound most of today, and will likely be tired and morose after that--depressed, nostalgic for the man I once new--the man who was my father, mentor, role model... It is a very devastating blow, to loose such a person." He's already letting himself slip into that mode in practice, smirk sliding easily away into sad frown, his brows knitting slightly, shoulders rounding slightly from their straight and proud carriage.
"It'd be something," Aivey says softly, "I imagine you'd not want getting out, even though poor old G'thon is dead. His memory still means so much to you... but you're bound to slip and, well, people love secrets as much as they love telling them." Aivey loosens her hold on him, appraising his new posture with a small nod of approval.
Under Aivey's appraisal, E'sere can't hold his expression; his smile slips free again before he moves to step over to sit down on the bed, back against the wall. He pats the space beside him for her to come join him. "I expect you will have to bring me lunch--and dinner. And gossip with the kitchen girls a bit: they'll be sorry not to see me, I'm sure. You might have to feed me right here in bed." He manages a leer, then realizes it and feigns sickliness again.
Aivey's smile grows crooked, "Dearest, if you were that much a nuisance, I'd put you out of your misery. But only because I love you so very much." Joining him and curling her legs beneath her, Aivey reaches for his hand, hooking her fingers around his wrist, "You'd best leave those kitchen girls alone or you'll have a /real/ reason to see the healer."
"You are too good to me," E'sere murmurs, leaning over to bump his shoulders against Aivey's, his own snaking around her back again. "And, I only try to bring a little brightness to their dull, dreary lives. You understand how it is; you once worked not the kitchesn but the laundry, at least, dear."
Aivey feigns a shudder and ducks her head to hide a rather wide and genuine smile, "I'm trying to forget. I think its scared me for life." A deep breath follows, resigned in its entirety, "I suppose you bumbling about in there is the highlight of their days. It'd be awfully rude of me to deprive them of that, too." Aivey sneaks a kiss when she glances back up at him.
"No," E'sere notes dryly, "it's everything else /you/ did that scarred you for life." He smiles at Aivey, shaking his head and then leaning down for that kiss, lingering close to Aivey. "They'll manage just one day. Absense makes the heart grow fonder, after all, and when they hear why I'm absent--"
"I believe you might find a few baked goods sent your way, and dozens of messages." Optimistic on that end, Aivey draws closer toward E'sere, switching her hold on his wrist for one across his middle. "You work on playing sick and devastated, I'll work on getting the rumors spread. You'll have to be the one dropping the hammer when it comes to why you're so devastated. Won't do any good if it comes from me."
"Of course," E'sere agrees with a nod. "I'll do my part; you just handle yours." He's silent then, studying her, smirking slightly at their plotting. Then, he moves to lean down, to whisper in her ear, "I know what would /really/ make me feel better."
"I suppose I ought to be nice to you. This is all going to be so very trying," Aivey concedes, loosening her hold on him to drop down against the bed, "But you're so splitting the kitchens take with me."
"It's a deal," murmurs E'sere with a smug smile as he leans forward to kiss her again. For now, he's himself; it's only later that he'll return to moroseness--act or otherwise.