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Crossed Daggers; Tag Ira's C'ail
Topic Started: Apr 2 2013, 07:16 PM (326 Views)
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She’d been here for less than a fortnight. With a protracted groan, the sore-bodied Candidate sank onto an empty bench, careful not to spill the mug of hot klah she’d just finished pouring for herself from the night hearth. It was no real substitute for a cup of wine – the good stuff could sheave the edge right off your worst aches with a few draughts. But she was a Candidate now, and with that came great responsibility.

Especially now, in the wee hours of the morning. With no one around to espy a crafty personage such as herself taking a quick pull from the untended bottles. Pulling a face as her eyes struggled to plumb the fragrant depths of her serving of klah, Jyadi let loose another groan with an uncomfortable wriggle. She’d overdone it today, and she’d be paying for that exuberance for the next couple of days. It was the steady ache of her tautened muscles that’d drawn her out here, while the sane people were abed and well into their dreams.

Yes, a cup of wine would do nicely. And she wasn’t going to get any. Secure in the knowledge that she was alone, Jyadi indulged in a bit of non-verbal whining, sprawling out over the tabletop alongside her as-of-yet untouched klah.

…it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she remembered.
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For spending the last four hours doing nothing but sitting and pacing, C'ail felt remarkably tired. Watch duty was a task he did not savor, but it was worse at night, when the rest of the Weyr was asleep and when the heat of the day abandoned the desert faster than any Northerner would believe. In spite of his heavy riding jacket, prolonged exposure left him vulnerable, and the chill eventually worked its way in and settled into his bones.

Shivering against the cold but nevertheless standing on vigil guard against the threats of the night, C'ail had far too much time to think about things. About his parents, and where they might be. About his past. It felt strange and almost perverse to be standing watch against thieves in the night when there was a time when he was one himself. Mostly it was an uncomfortable reminder of things he would rather forget.

Aware of his discomfort, Riventh tried to keep him occupied with conversation, but the copper was tired, and even he fell silent after a while. They both ended their shift in a grim mood.

Despite his exhaustion, C'ail did not immediately return to his weyr. He was famished and felt as if he were covered in rime--he needed food and a hot cup of klah to restore the heat to his bones. Riventh dropped him off outside the lower caverns and he hurried inside, promising his dragon he would not take long.

When he strode into the dining hall, he found that it was empty--except, he noticed as he made for the hearth, for one lone soul sprawled across a table. He brushed past her table--she was between him and the hearth--and firmly ignored her, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He was too tired to chance conversation.

Only when he had grabbed a cup of steaming klah and a couple of cold rolls and was moving to find a seat of his own did he spare a glance toward the woman.
O'zen : Bronze Lenth
Lowen : Beryllium Lerriloth
Jerund : Brown Jerusk
Hama : Green Hamask
Eevai : Garnet Iopeth
Sh'ol : Graphite Hellioth
Kh'sev : Grey Saiyeth
Bervaidi : Blue Bervask
Syrsha : Brown Kalayth
Rosinthew : Candidate
Khola : Weyrfolk
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The heavy footfalls of another weary soul infringing on this domain prompted Jyadi to lift her head from where it lolled on the scuffed tabletop. Her gaze sharpened as she followed the grim-faced man as he made his way to the hearth, a temperate smile curving her lips while he passed. “Good mornin’.” With his back turned to the Candidate, she seized upon the opportunity to wipe the crust from her eyes – she must have dozed off there for a second, her klah had already cooled.

Peering at the unsweetened liquid in her mug, she sloshed it around idly before straightening a little more, wincing for half a beat before bespeaking the stolid stranger once again. He was wearing knots, had himself a nice pair of riding leathers – must be some kind of rider, it was hard to distinguish thread color with this indistinct lighting. But stronger than that was the curious spark of familiarity. There was something about his face…

“Hey, you look awfully familiar.” It was in that instant that their eyes met, and Jyadi’s suspicions were confirmed. Yeah, she’d met him before. “You from Igen?” …there was something else, something she couldn’t quite parse, just yet. The heavily scarred woman squinted, as if a narrower focus might help her pinpoint this guy.
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C'ail didn't intend to meet her eyes, but she had raised her head and was looking at him when he glanced over, and they locked gazes all the same. She spoke, and her voice sounded intrusive to him, like it didn't belong in this room that was supposed to be empty and quiet this time of night. But it was her statement that struck him: a statement that would have otherwise had no effect on him if he didn't look into her eyes and know that it was true.

Somehow, he knew this woman.

For reasons he could not immediately discern, that made him uncomfortable.

"Yes," he answered simply. That was true enough, although he had only spent six of his thirty turns living at the hold, and only one of those as an adult. "But I haven't lived there for turns." Six turns, precisely. Even so, it could have been Igen.

C'ail studied her face in the firelight, searching the recesses of his mind for a memory. Even in the poor light, he could see that she was heavily scarred. She carried a visage that one would not forget, yet C'ail knew he had not seen such scars before. Rather, it was the contours beneath the those long-healed injuries that stirred his mind: the sharp, gaunt features and the brown eyes, the planes of her face illuminated and emphasized by the hearth, somehow made all the more familiar by the inconstant, flickering orange firelight.

O'zen : Bronze Lenth
Lowen : Beryllium Lerriloth
Jerund : Brown Jerusk
Hama : Green Hamask
Eevai : Garnet Iopeth
Sh'ol : Graphite Hellioth
Kh'sev : Grey Saiyeth
Bervaidi : Blue Bervask
Syrsha : Brown Kalayth
Rosinthew : Candidate
Khola : Weyrfolk
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A man of few words, then. No matter, Jyadi’s smile widened a little in retaliation; she’d dealt with her fair share of surly men. The woman steadily held his gaze, but the longer their staring match crawled on the harder it was to ignore the twinges of suspicion souring in her gut. The native warmth that once suffused the heavily scarred candidate’s face was now as lukewarm as her neglected klah.

“I think I remember you.” She answered unconvincingly, wariness pushing her to fill the silence and disguise her uncertainty; she was on high alert now, violently honed instincts plucking at fragments of intensely uncomfortable memories. Jyadi stiffened unnaturally as the last few pieces fell into place, fingers digging into the seasoned wood of the tabletop as she rose to her feet with a calm veneer that expertly masked the turmoil within.

She’d broken eye contact with C’ail, head ducked as she hauled herself up. But now Jyadi sought to reconnect, the hard edge in her eyes a jarring companion to the smile still stretching her chapped lips. “Yeah, I think I do.” Voice dropped to a volume conducive to private, dark things, her callused fingers plucked at the hem of her shirt, unhesitant to expose the bronzed expanse of her abdomen, bisected with a maddening sprawl of scars. Grinding better judgment to dust beneath a firm heel, the candidate thoughtfully contorted her torso just so – the better for him to find one scar in particular. A forefinger traced its contours; it had been a fine, clean stroke, delivered in the dead of night.

Now exposed to the light, so that its owner might admire his handiwork.
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Although C'ail could not, no matter how hard he wracked his brain, make the connection between her visage and his memories, he grew increasingly uncomfortable with each passing second. He hadn't made many friends over the years, and she was certainly not one of them. If she didn't know him from Igen Weyr or Hold, then she had met him from some time before, during a time he did not want to be remembered. While he could not place how he knew her, the churning discomfort in his gut solidified into the certainty that he did not want to know.

His dark eyes darted toward the exit of the dining hall as she rose to her feet; he was confronted with an intense urge to flee. Yet the woman held him in thrall, holding him with the promises of revelation set in her gaze, in her empty smile, in the dark, stony tone of her voice. Vague uneasiness fused into a thin, cold blade of fear that pierced his sternum as easily as steel.

The movement of her hands drew his eyes to her exposed abdomen, where one of her thin fingers ran along one scar among many, clearly visibly in the poor light.

The fire in the hearth shifted and popped, just as it did seven turns ago where it remained as the ghost of an echo, haunting the memory that surged with distinct clarity and violence to the forefront of his mind. He saw her face, but younger, unmarked by scars but twisted with fear, or anger, or some other emotion, lit by the orange light of the dying campfire. He remembered her eyes meeting his, just before he lashed out and laid open her abdomen, turning her visage into a mask of pain. She had looked no older than he was when he left the Igen Caverns.

Now he stared at the scar, unable to tear his eyes away, unable to confront the tumultuous rush of emotions it evoked; guilt, that he had left such a mark; anger, that she had resurrected the life he had fought so hard to escape and forget; fear, that she could destroy the new life he had made for himself if she breathed a foul word of his former identity. He swallowed convulsively, fought to keep his face free of damning expression, fought to appear relaxed even though his whole body was tense with his internal battle.

C'ail swallowed once more and dragged his eyes up to meet the woman's, though eye contact was the last thing he wished to make. He tried to keep his voice even, unaffected as he shook his head and said, "You must be mistaken."
O'zen : Bronze Lenth
Lowen : Beryllium Lerriloth
Jerund : Brown Jerusk
Hama : Green Hamask
Eevai : Garnet Iopeth
Sh'ol : Graphite Hellioth
Kh'sev : Grey Saiyeth
Bervaidi : Blue Bervask
Syrsha : Brown Kalayth
Rosinthew : Candidate
Khola : Weyrfolk
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Her eyes raked his face while he stood transfixed by her disfiguring score, pinning tell-tale signals that solidified her suspicions into bitter certainty. He yet had the gall to look her dead in the eye and deny it, the fardling bastard. That was the stone to break the runner’s back, and Jyadi’s razor-sharp smile bristled in a too-tight rictus, the flash of yellowed teeth (and a missing canine) the woman’s interpretation of hackles raised.

“My mistake then, ser. “ Dropping her shirt to hide the incriminating scar, Jyadi’s hands distracted themselves from the urge to reach for a weapon that was no longer there by smoothing out the rumpled hem. Two could play at this game, and with the first thrill of adrenaline losing its edge, she could see the smarts in it. “I’d better get some sleep, early start tomorrow an’ all. Good night to ya.” Respectfully dipping her head, Jyadi moved to pass C’ail on her way to the hall and eventually the cot where she knew no sleep awaited her.

Just two ships passing in the night, with a cargo of bloody ghosts for each.
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