0001-03-26 - Cleaning Up the Mess

What a mess.

Oh, that surprise ground crew did their best, and inevitably saved Keroon from a worse mess, but there's no way around it: they weren't prepared. No one was prepared. The shutters may have been closed in time, and most of the Hold's livestock shifted indoors, but even from the balcony that overlooks the courtyard, the view is not good. Outriders are inevitably already on their way in to report on damage, destruction and death.

And Laurent surveys his Hold, and maybe, just for a moment or two, he looks... what, lost? Bereft? Conflicted?

Any of these things. Perhaps all of them.

Two hands slip up Laurent's back, kind in its gentleness, rising up to rest on his shoulders and then back down so slim arms can slide around his waist, her body and head resting against him, and her hands curved upwards. Sevyli is silent, trusting in the familiarity of her body to comfort her husband. Time has taught her at least these little things of relationships, when it's not time to gloat or say much of anything.

Her even breathing now, tells nothing of the less calm moments when she was trapped waiting out what was happening outside and hearing the dragons without, if not able to see them. Nor does it convey the litany of agitated attempts to sooth those in the room with her.

As gentle as Sevyli's touch is, Laurent stiffens perceptively-- and then relaxes again; she cannot ease the burdens on his shoulders, but there's comfort in familiarity, yes, unconsciously leaned in to. He's too proud to admit defeat, and were she able to see his expression now, she'd see it in that: the way all those insecurities disappear beneath his mask, and the sharp, seriousness of his gaze.

"What a mess they've made of our Hold," is what he says, low-voiced and on the edge of dangerous. "And they dare to lecture us."

Time also has allowed her to not react immediately or impulsively so while she could stiffen in anger, Sevyli does not. Her from the back hug tightens briefly, her forehead burrowing against Laurie's back and a shallow, but audible, breath taken in. "We'll clean up. There are good people down there," she doesn't even skip a beat about who sent those good people, "Who are cleaning up."

"We'll clean up this time," agrees Laurie, bitterly. "But next time? When they fuck it all up again? This is Keroon. They can't just treat it like this. With all the tithes we send them."

There's a rider coming down the road, racing fast. It's more bad news, most likely, and Laurie's eyes are fastened to him; he exhales.

Sevyli ignores the runner with the incoming bad news. She doesn't rise to the occasion, the words, either. Oh, but she wants to, her pretty head cycling through all the different things she could say and not say and ultimately settling on, "Let's hear what Claiven has to say. I saw he was in the courtyard before we shuttered the Hold. He may have ideas we couldn't see, about what they did wrong." What we did wrong, might be what she wants to say. But doesn't, because, time and age are a bitch when it comes to speaking your mind for some people.

Laurent knows what Claivent did. It's even possible he has an inkling of who else was involved, though pride will never allow him to so much as hint about that. "It was the dragonmen," he insists, pulling away from Sevyli, now, so that he can turn around and face her, delivering his words with force. "They're the ones that are supposed to protect us. It's their job, not ours."

He scowls. "We're just going to have to look after ourselves, if they won't do it. Watch, they'll demand more tithes from us too. For what? For nothing."

"Shall we request they no longer fly Thread over us?" Sevyli asks. Her arms fall when he moves and she lifts her chin to look up at her spouse. Her expression, her tone, they're all still composed, but the entreaty of her physical touch against him and how she leans and relies on him are no longer a balance to these words.

"Don't be a little idiot," says Laurent, who seems less angry by this statement and more simply irritated. He's fine, he's composed, he's just... he's just. "I just need them to do their damn job, and until they do, I'll make my anger known."

She'll remember those words, even if she won't respond to the insult now. They're stowed away, tucked back in her brain recesses for another time to pull out with more devastating consequences. The little idiot, steps forward, past her husband and to the window that surveys the courtyard. "I'm going to go riding, visit the holdings further out. Make sure-," she falters and swipes back an unchecked pooling at the corner of her right eye. "Just make sure they have everything they need." Sevyli drifts a hand behind her, the arm held slightly awkwardly, and wriggles her finger tips in invitation, then turns to look at Laurie over her shoulder, careful so he can see her glistening, unshed tears. "Will you come with me?"

Laurent's not so wrapped up in his own pride that he hasn't seen what his words, so quickly tossed out, have meant to his wife. In a different moment, or if he were a different man, that might make more of an impact. Instead, he turns his attention away, all the better to ignore it. It may, for a moment or two, imply that he's ignoring the invitation, ignoring everything.

On the other hand, it may well be that he's weighing up how much he's willing to let Sevyli's tears manipulate him-- or indeed, how much he's willing to let his pride get in the way of doing what is obviously, objectively the right thing to do.

"Yes," he says. "They need to see us both; know that Keroon has their back."

Unspoken: even if the Weyr do not.

Untaken, Sevyli's arm falls to her side, her wriggling fingers finding a skirt fold to clasp onto. The little hurts she's absorbed seem to cost her more than the invectives thrown towards dragonriders - they, despite their heroics, still more distant to her than herself. Her expression turns back to the courtyard and there, without the need to school or manipulate her own emotions to evoke something in her spouse, she blinks back the tears fiercely and grits her teeth against her lower lip hard, bringing a ruddiness to the surface (but not blood).

"Go speak to Claiven," she suggests, but not in any kind of suggestive way. It's really a command, in the voice of the manager of the household. "I'll go get our runners ready and prepare some supplies to bring with us. Maybe pay a healer to come along, in case."

Surprisingly, Laurie doesn't argue that suggestion-turned-command. Maybe it's that he's distracted: too distracted, now, to notice the way she's blinking back those tears or gritting those teeth. Too distracted to really pay Sevyli much mind.

"Yes," he says. "Go and do that. I'll meet you there. Claiven will have an update on what's known so far, so we don't head out blind."

After all, Lord and Lady Keroon shouldn't be going anywhere too dangerous.

It's only after Sevyli has left Laurent's presence that she relaxes enough to roll her fucking eyes cause, why not. If someone sees it, hopefully they are discreet enough to not say anything. It's been a decade since she's "accidentally" swept a vase off its stand in pent up fury, no need to start again now, right?