Try Again
Location: J'lor and Vellath's Weyr
Time: Afternoon on Day 21, Month 11, Turn 2
Players: Cassiel, J'lor, Vellath, Chiavelth
Scene: Cassiel stops by and she and J'lor discuss the future. For once, the bluerider has some ideas.
Chiavelth's arrival on the ledge is soft, extra effort expended still to protect her rider's tender ribs, though Cassiel is none too careful as she slides down the green's side. "J'lor," she calls in, raking a hand through her hair and letting out a slow breath, stretching from side to side as she does to test her ribs. "You in?"
Vellath has only recently ceased shadowing Chiavelth and her arrival is greeted with a low and fond warble and a wing lifted upwards in invitation for the spot beside him.
He sits on the bed, which is a little unusual. The floor is J'lor's spot of preference, most times. There are hides spread out over the blanket and he's moving them around, this one for that one, organizing whatever they are into some sort or order. At the sound of wings on the ledge, his head lifts, so his response to the query comes quickly. "I'm here. Come in, Cassiel. How are your sides?"
"Healing," Cassiel answers simply as Chiavelth moves to settle in next to Vellath with a croon of comfortable greeting. "What are you up to?" she asks without preamble, moving to lean a hip against the bed as she looks down at the hides, tipping her head to one side to read the words. "Didn't realize you'd brought this much with you."
"I didn't," J'lor murmurs, glancing up and over at the greenrider as Vellath settles his wing over the green she rides. The bluerider scoots over and begins to gather up some of the hides to provide a space for Cassiel to sit. "Diya brought a large supply of blank ones when she came, and there's a bit more that's come after. The ink's been harder to get." He looks up again, "It's just old thoughts. Old things I'd written that I thought I'd put to hide again. Or pull them out from my desk and tidy up."
"Ink's not hard to make," Cassiel muses, a reflection of the girl she once was in her features as she picks up a hide. "I can help you make some up." She considers the hide for a moment, then sets it back in its place, nodding quietly. "So you'll be determined to go back there, won't you?" she asks, keeping her eyes on the hides.
They are, indeed, old writings. The Manifesto is there. Various other bits of propaganda. Questions posed and the answers suggested. Some have been crossed out and changed. Some have been refuted in the same hand that wrote the original argument. J'lor carefully settles his gathered little pile on his lap, nudging the edges this way and that, lining them up just so. "We're finishing here, Cassiel," he murmurs after a time. "You know we are."
"What's wrong with this island?" Cassiel asks irritably. "We have what we need, no one bothers us. So life isn't easy. It never is, anywhere. We do what we want, we run things the way we want. It'd be one thing, J'lor, if the rest of the mainland felt they were being oppressed, if they wanted freedom, but they don't. They just want things to stay the same."
"Cass..." her name on his lips is a gentle chastisement. "We don't do what we want. We do as Derek says. Or is your little dance between him and me simply a frivolity you enjoy? And you know as well as I do that the voices who would protest the most at their lot are also the ones least likely to be heard. What's wrong with the island is that we must steal to continue to live here. What's wrong with the island is that if Diya stays we are faced with another clutch, and if she goes, we are faced with knowing our grandchildren will be unprotected in threadfall. What's wrong with this island is that it is a hidey hole. Or a tomb. Whichever you'd prefer."
"Our grandchildren won't be guilty of the things we are," Cassiel growls quietly, crossing her ankle over her knee. "Our grandchildren could be dropped off by the riders who impressed this very clutch and live their own lives on the mainland if they wanted to, maybe when times have changed. J'lor, haven't you learned anything? There's no one to listen to us. There's no winning this fight."
"Our children are innocent, and yet no one has come for them. Did the mainland condemn our deeds or our values? Shall we train up the next generation to believe in mainland ideals so that they might be accepted?" J'lor's brows lift and head head cants to the side at this question. "I do not want to fight them. I want to find a way to return without a battle." He falls quiet for a moment before he adds, almost reluctantly, "I think, perhaps, that there is someone who listens."
"One person is never enough, J'lor," Cassiel says wearily, rubbing a hand at her temple. "Didn't you learn that from S'val? Oh, I'll just get help from my goldrider friend, then they'll all understand. And what did it get us instead? It got us caught, before we could spread enough of a message for anything to change. Why will it be any different this time, J'lor?"
"Because," J'lor clears his throat, "she has already helped us. This time." But the she and the help remain unspecified for the moment.
"J'lor..." Cassiel groans, dropping her brow into one hand. "Just for once in your life would it be too much to ask for you to be sensible? Who do you think you have back at the mainland, that this she can change everything? How is she going to make us welcome? Where are we going to hole up? How is she going to keep us from being attacked and staked out?"
"Well, if what I've heard is correct, she is one of two who could become the Weyrwoman of High Reaches." J'lor's hands lace and settle in his lap, and it is these he stares at. "She suggested Nabol. She brought Jensen and Ashwin, and came for them again when their names were cleared. She seems to understand the system. She seems to be interested in using it to change it." His head lifts slowly, eyes moving to the little drawing, worn and faded, that still hangs on the wall by his bed. "Do you remember Roa, Cassiel?" It could be a random tangent. It could be something else.
"Funny, I think I've heard that story before. One of two who could become the Weyrwoman of High Reaches. Only last time it was S'val who was being a dimwit about some woman," Cassiel says with some irritation in her voice. "What do you care about goldriders, anyhow?" Could that be...jealousy? The last question, however, throws her off, a frown furrowing her brow. "Yes..." she says slowly. "Little thing, always at foot. What about her?"
"she's still little," J'lor agrees quietly. "She, ah, that would be the goldrider. Tialith's. I don't think she likes me very much anymore but...in this particular respect, I do not think her liking me is the point."
Cassiel blinks, leaning back with a suspicious tilt of her head for a long moment before she sighs, a heavy sound. "J'lor, you could make a mess of between if you were left there long enough," she says wearily, dragging a hand through her hair and rubbing a hand over her mouth. "You're going to get her stuck in the same situation as we are, you know. She's not even old enough to be a power back there. How old could she be now, twenty?"
"Twenty in the fourth month," he agrees without even having to think on it much. "Diya and her contact both seem to think otherwise. I don't know. I just think it may be possible. She might be able to help us. Might want to." J'lor lifts his head and turns it to regard Cassiel steadily for a long beat. "I know I'm bad at this Cassiel, but do you suppose you might manage a single comment that wasn't preceded by an insult? Just one?" His head ducks down, dark eyes peering at her still. "Please?"
Cassiel grimaces, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. Apparently this task will require some concentration. "Who's the contact?" she finally says, some flicker of a thought in her eyes and the determined set of her jaw.
"A greenrider. Issa." There is a flicker of mirth in his own eyes at the obvious restraint J'lor's request has foisted upon his companion. "We've met a few times. I'm not certain when or if she'll be back again. They're thinking about us actively, now. It isn't as safe." As Cassiel would know rather well. "Thank you." This for her civil tongue.
Cassiel looks as though she's tasted something unpleasant, but her words come slower as she makes an effort not to share her thoughts. "Tell her to talk to Roa. Find out who needs convincing that things are wrong, where the weak spots are. Then send me with this Issa." Her hands shake in her lap, remembering her last trip to the mainland, but she continues. "The scars are new. But my likeness still will have been circulated. Recirculated, likely, at this rate. Maybe if they're confronted with the evidence themselves, they'll think twice."
"I'm not sending you anywhere, Cassiel," and this is as close as J'lor will come to a snap. This tightness in his tone. "Issa knows what happened. She was told. She was told to tell Roa. Let us see what becomes of it. The leadership of High Reaches is in flux. There will be a new Weyrwoman, soon. Likely a new Weyrleader as well. Where she is then, if she leads, who she leads with...if we are to seek assistance from High Reaches, all of that must play out, first." He sighs softly. "They called a council. About us. Let us see what becomes of that, as well."
"One Weyr isn't enough, J'lor, it's..." Cassiel, trails off, sighing again and shaking her head. "Never mind," she says quietly. "Just...never mind. But so help me, J'lor, if you make a mess of it this time...I'll let them stake me out."
"We cannot expect an entire world to be ready to welcome us. One Weyr is more than we had, last time. It's a place to start. It is enough to keep the others at bay for a while." Similar to his dragon, J'lor lifts one arm, inviting Cassiel to settle beneath it. "Do you think," he chides fondly, "if I would pull strangers from a staking, I would not come for you? I don't want to make a mess of it. Help me not to."
"I'll bite you if you try to un-stake me," Cassiel grumbles, though she does move to settle into the curve of his arm, stiff and self-contained in the motion as she may be. "Just make sure you have more than just a few people, J'lor. We thought we could change things last time with just a few people. We needed more."
"I've suffered worse," the bluerider chuckles, his arm settling around Cassiel's shoulders and giving it a squeeze. "We needed a different approach," he argues but then, with a dip of his head J'lor concedes, "and more people."
Cassiel remains stiff, though she doesn't move away. "How're the weyrlings doing?" she finally asks, changing the subject. "None of them too damaged by Chiavelth and I coming in like we did?"
"All in all, they're coping well. A few of the boys from the mainland are understandably horrified," J'lor's arm remains as it is, but there is no insistence for anything more than her stiff acceptance of its presence, "and a piece of me rather thinks that's a good thing. I'm a little worried about D'rian. M'uri...I had hoped he would ease up after the hatching. He hasn't."
"M'uri was always an ass," Cassiel dismissed with a roll of her eyes. "Boy needs to learn to stand up to his father and start to make his own decisions, instead of echoing what he's been taught. His dragon should help him with that," she says with quiet confidence, looking out towards where Chiavelth rests comfortably with Vellath.
"Yes. He does. But as I cannot precisely transfer M'uri to another wing or..." and this summons a quiet chuckle, "another weyr, it's going to be tricky. D'rian isn't ready to speak for himself, yet. Just now, I think I've gotten M'uri to step back some, but he wasn't happy about it. We'll see." A wry smile from the bluerider. "So much waiting. I miss the days when we did things. The beginning...it was a wonderful time, before it all went wrong."
"We were young," Cassiel murmurs, a grimace flickering across her features as she adds, "We were fools." Slowly, she starts to relax, some of the stiffness leaving her shoulders. "I don't know," she murmurs. "Maybe it's just me this place feels like home to. It's not so different from Ista here."
"Well, I grew up at T-...elsewhere. Sometimes I still miss the snow. And klah," J'lor exhales a slow and wistful sigh. "What I wouldn't give for a mug of klah. But I miss...I miss feeling like a part of something more. I miss knowing there were other places and other people. We were young." His hand squeezes her arm gently. "We were fools. We are older now. Wiser, I should hope. You, at least, are wiser."
Cassiel sobers, quiet for a long moment. "Or something," she finally says quietly, starting to push away, to stand. "I should get back. They still don't have me back in the proper chores rotation, but I can't just sit around all day while everyone else works. I'll find some mending or something, or work on letters with one of the new weyrlings."
J'lor's hand falls away as Cassiel moves. "All right," he agrees gently. "Don't push." He looks back down to his hides, beginning to set them all out again. "Keep an eye on M'uri for me. Could you?"
"Like he'll acknowledge I exist?" Cassiel replies with an amused smirk, shaking her head. "I'll do what I can. Don't get too caught up in your papers, J'lor," she murmurs, reaching over to ruffle at his hair before stepping back. "Take care." And with that, she steps out to the ledge, where Chiavelth reluctantly disentangles from Vellath to convey her rider back down.
"The less he notices you watching him, the better, I'd think," the bluerider muses. He ducks his head down as the top of it is ruffled and then returns his attention to the hidework for a few more minutes as Chiavelth departs. But after a minute, J'lor looks up slowly. "They'll be finished with chores by now, won't they." It isn't really a question and Vellath only answers it with a snort. Still, J'lor stands, leaves the writings on his bed, and heads towards his dragon. They leave the ledge, gliding towards the weyrling clearing a little ways away.
Time: Afternoon on Day 21, Month 11, Turn 2
Players: Cassiel, J'lor, Vellath, Chiavelth
Scene: Cassiel stops by and she and J'lor discuss the future. For once, the bluerider has some ideas.
Chiavelth's arrival on the ledge is soft, extra effort expended still to protect her rider's tender ribs, though Cassiel is none too careful as she slides down the green's side. "J'lor," she calls in, raking a hand through her hair and letting out a slow breath, stretching from side to side as she does to test her ribs. "You in?"
Vellath has only recently ceased shadowing Chiavelth and her arrival is greeted with a low and fond warble and a wing lifted upwards in invitation for the spot beside him.
He sits on the bed, which is a little unusual. The floor is J'lor's spot of preference, most times. There are hides spread out over the blanket and he's moving them around, this one for that one, organizing whatever they are into some sort or order. At the sound of wings on the ledge, his head lifts, so his response to the query comes quickly. "I'm here. Come in, Cassiel. How are your sides?"
"Healing," Cassiel answers simply as Chiavelth moves to settle in next to Vellath with a croon of comfortable greeting. "What are you up to?" she asks without preamble, moving to lean a hip against the bed as she looks down at the hides, tipping her head to one side to read the words. "Didn't realize you'd brought this much with you."
"I didn't," J'lor murmurs, glancing up and over at the greenrider as Vellath settles his wing over the green she rides. The bluerider scoots over and begins to gather up some of the hides to provide a space for Cassiel to sit. "Diya brought a large supply of blank ones when she came, and there's a bit more that's come after. The ink's been harder to get." He looks up again, "It's just old thoughts. Old things I'd written that I thought I'd put to hide again. Or pull them out from my desk and tidy up."
"Ink's not hard to make," Cassiel muses, a reflection of the girl she once was in her features as she picks up a hide. "I can help you make some up." She considers the hide for a moment, then sets it back in its place, nodding quietly. "So you'll be determined to go back there, won't you?" she asks, keeping her eyes on the hides.
They are, indeed, old writings. The Manifesto is there. Various other bits of propaganda. Questions posed and the answers suggested. Some have been crossed out and changed. Some have been refuted in the same hand that wrote the original argument. J'lor carefully settles his gathered little pile on his lap, nudging the edges this way and that, lining them up just so. "We're finishing here, Cassiel," he murmurs after a time. "You know we are."
"What's wrong with this island?" Cassiel asks irritably. "We have what we need, no one bothers us. So life isn't easy. It never is, anywhere. We do what we want, we run things the way we want. It'd be one thing, J'lor, if the rest of the mainland felt they were being oppressed, if they wanted freedom, but they don't. They just want things to stay the same."
"Cass..." her name on his lips is a gentle chastisement. "We don't do what we want. We do as Derek says. Or is your little dance between him and me simply a frivolity you enjoy? And you know as well as I do that the voices who would protest the most at their lot are also the ones least likely to be heard. What's wrong with the island is that we must steal to continue to live here. What's wrong with the island is that if Diya stays we are faced with another clutch, and if she goes, we are faced with knowing our grandchildren will be unprotected in threadfall. What's wrong with this island is that it is a hidey hole. Or a tomb. Whichever you'd prefer."
"Our grandchildren won't be guilty of the things we are," Cassiel growls quietly, crossing her ankle over her knee. "Our grandchildren could be dropped off by the riders who impressed this very clutch and live their own lives on the mainland if they wanted to, maybe when times have changed. J'lor, haven't you learned anything? There's no one to listen to us. There's no winning this fight."
"Our children are innocent, and yet no one has come for them. Did the mainland condemn our deeds or our values? Shall we train up the next generation to believe in mainland ideals so that they might be accepted?" J'lor's brows lift and head head cants to the side at this question. "I do not want to fight them. I want to find a way to return without a battle." He falls quiet for a moment before he adds, almost reluctantly, "I think, perhaps, that there is someone who listens."
"One person is never enough, J'lor," Cassiel says wearily, rubbing a hand at her temple. "Didn't you learn that from S'val? Oh, I'll just get help from my goldrider friend, then they'll all understand. And what did it get us instead? It got us caught, before we could spread enough of a message for anything to change. Why will it be any different this time, J'lor?"
"Because," J'lor clears his throat, "she has already helped us. This time." But the she and the help remain unspecified for the moment.
"J'lor..." Cassiel groans, dropping her brow into one hand. "Just for once in your life would it be too much to ask for you to be sensible? Who do you think you have back at the mainland, that this she can change everything? How is she going to make us welcome? Where are we going to hole up? How is she going to keep us from being attacked and staked out?"
"Well, if what I've heard is correct, she is one of two who could become the Weyrwoman of High Reaches." J'lor's hands lace and settle in his lap, and it is these he stares at. "She suggested Nabol. She brought Jensen and Ashwin, and came for them again when their names were cleared. She seems to understand the system. She seems to be interested in using it to change it." His head lifts slowly, eyes moving to the little drawing, worn and faded, that still hangs on the wall by his bed. "Do you remember Roa, Cassiel?" It could be a random tangent. It could be something else.
"Funny, I think I've heard that story before. One of two who could become the Weyrwoman of High Reaches. Only last time it was S'val who was being a dimwit about some woman," Cassiel says with some irritation in her voice. "What do you care about goldriders, anyhow?" Could that be...jealousy? The last question, however, throws her off, a frown furrowing her brow. "Yes..." she says slowly. "Little thing, always at foot. What about her?"
"she's still little," J'lor agrees quietly. "She, ah, that would be the goldrider. Tialith's. I don't think she likes me very much anymore but...in this particular respect, I do not think her liking me is the point."
Cassiel blinks, leaning back with a suspicious tilt of her head for a long moment before she sighs, a heavy sound. "J'lor, you could make a mess of between if you were left there long enough," she says wearily, dragging a hand through her hair and rubbing a hand over her mouth. "You're going to get her stuck in the same situation as we are, you know. She's not even old enough to be a power back there. How old could she be now, twenty?"
"Twenty in the fourth month," he agrees without even having to think on it much. "Diya and her contact both seem to think otherwise. I don't know. I just think it may be possible. She might be able to help us. Might want to." J'lor lifts his head and turns it to regard Cassiel steadily for a long beat. "I know I'm bad at this Cassiel, but do you suppose you might manage a single comment that wasn't preceded by an insult? Just one?" His head ducks down, dark eyes peering at her still. "Please?"
Cassiel grimaces, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. Apparently this task will require some concentration. "Who's the contact?" she finally says, some flicker of a thought in her eyes and the determined set of her jaw.
"A greenrider. Issa." There is a flicker of mirth in his own eyes at the obvious restraint J'lor's request has foisted upon his companion. "We've met a few times. I'm not certain when or if she'll be back again. They're thinking about us actively, now. It isn't as safe." As Cassiel would know rather well. "Thank you." This for her civil tongue.
Cassiel looks as though she's tasted something unpleasant, but her words come slower as she makes an effort not to share her thoughts. "Tell her to talk to Roa. Find out who needs convincing that things are wrong, where the weak spots are. Then send me with this Issa." Her hands shake in her lap, remembering her last trip to the mainland, but she continues. "The scars are new. But my likeness still will have been circulated. Recirculated, likely, at this rate. Maybe if they're confronted with the evidence themselves, they'll think twice."
"I'm not sending you anywhere, Cassiel," and this is as close as J'lor will come to a snap. This tightness in his tone. "Issa knows what happened. She was told. She was told to tell Roa. Let us see what becomes of it. The leadership of High Reaches is in flux. There will be a new Weyrwoman, soon. Likely a new Weyrleader as well. Where she is then, if she leads, who she leads with...if we are to seek assistance from High Reaches, all of that must play out, first." He sighs softly. "They called a council. About us. Let us see what becomes of that, as well."
"One Weyr isn't enough, J'lor, it's..." Cassiel, trails off, sighing again and shaking her head. "Never mind," she says quietly. "Just...never mind. But so help me, J'lor, if you make a mess of it this time...I'll let them stake me out."
"We cannot expect an entire world to be ready to welcome us. One Weyr is more than we had, last time. It's a place to start. It is enough to keep the others at bay for a while." Similar to his dragon, J'lor lifts one arm, inviting Cassiel to settle beneath it. "Do you think," he chides fondly, "if I would pull strangers from a staking, I would not come for you? I don't want to make a mess of it. Help me not to."
"I'll bite you if you try to un-stake me," Cassiel grumbles, though she does move to settle into the curve of his arm, stiff and self-contained in the motion as she may be. "Just make sure you have more than just a few people, J'lor. We thought we could change things last time with just a few people. We needed more."
"I've suffered worse," the bluerider chuckles, his arm settling around Cassiel's shoulders and giving it a squeeze. "We needed a different approach," he argues but then, with a dip of his head J'lor concedes, "and more people."
Cassiel remains stiff, though she doesn't move away. "How're the weyrlings doing?" she finally asks, changing the subject. "None of them too damaged by Chiavelth and I coming in like we did?"
"All in all, they're coping well. A few of the boys from the mainland are understandably horrified," J'lor's arm remains as it is, but there is no insistence for anything more than her stiff acceptance of its presence, "and a piece of me rather thinks that's a good thing. I'm a little worried about D'rian. M'uri...I had hoped he would ease up after the hatching. He hasn't."
"M'uri was always an ass," Cassiel dismissed with a roll of her eyes. "Boy needs to learn to stand up to his father and start to make his own decisions, instead of echoing what he's been taught. His dragon should help him with that," she says with quiet confidence, looking out towards where Chiavelth rests comfortably with Vellath.
"Yes. He does. But as I cannot precisely transfer M'uri to another wing or..." and this summons a quiet chuckle, "another weyr, it's going to be tricky. D'rian isn't ready to speak for himself, yet. Just now, I think I've gotten M'uri to step back some, but he wasn't happy about it. We'll see." A wry smile from the bluerider. "So much waiting. I miss the days when we did things. The beginning...it was a wonderful time, before it all went wrong."
"We were young," Cassiel murmurs, a grimace flickering across her features as she adds, "We were fools." Slowly, she starts to relax, some of the stiffness leaving her shoulders. "I don't know," she murmurs. "Maybe it's just me this place feels like home to. It's not so different from Ista here."
"Well, I grew up at T-...elsewhere. Sometimes I still miss the snow. And klah," J'lor exhales a slow and wistful sigh. "What I wouldn't give for a mug of klah. But I miss...I miss feeling like a part of something more. I miss knowing there were other places and other people. We were young." His hand squeezes her arm gently. "We were fools. We are older now. Wiser, I should hope. You, at least, are wiser."
Cassiel sobers, quiet for a long moment. "Or something," she finally says quietly, starting to push away, to stand. "I should get back. They still don't have me back in the proper chores rotation, but I can't just sit around all day while everyone else works. I'll find some mending or something, or work on letters with one of the new weyrlings."
J'lor's hand falls away as Cassiel moves. "All right," he agrees gently. "Don't push." He looks back down to his hides, beginning to set them all out again. "Keep an eye on M'uri for me. Could you?"
"Like he'll acknowledge I exist?" Cassiel replies with an amused smirk, shaking her head. "I'll do what I can. Don't get too caught up in your papers, J'lor," she murmurs, reaching over to ruffle at his hair before stepping back. "Take care." And with that, she steps out to the ledge, where Chiavelth reluctantly disentangles from Vellath to convey her rider back down.
"The less he notices you watching him, the better, I'd think," the bluerider muses. He ducks his head down as the top of it is ruffled and then returns his attention to the hidework for a few more minutes as Chiavelth departs. But after a minute, J'lor looks up slowly. "They'll be finished with chores by now, won't they." It isn't really a question and Vellath only answers it with a snort. Still, J'lor stands, leaves the writings on his bed, and heads towards his dragon. They leave the ledge, gliding towards the weyrling clearing a little ways away.