Doesn T Stay In Telgar


Indira.jpg Malia

Date: 2010.11.28
Location: EW - Kitchens and Headwoman's Quarters
Synopsis: Indira receives a letter that totally throws the normally together and In Control woman, right off her game.
Rating: PG13
Logger: Indira

With it heading toward late evening and a summer storm raging outside, the Headwoman was in a more genial mood than she had been since her return from her mini-vacation – that having been the cover story she’d given anyone that had asked about her recent absence.

While she had kept a professional air about her, offered polite smiles where they were called for and gone about her daily business as usual, something seemed…a little off about the woman.

And so it was, peering into an enormous pot of herdbeast stew on the simmer for lunch the next day in the vast Weyr kitchens, chatting and laughing amicably with the night cook, that the dragonrider carrying the letter from Telgar, found her.

“Oh go on, Malia, he didn’t say that,” a rich chuckle threaded through Indira’s words.

“S’true milady. Sure as redfruit grows on trees,” Malia gave a firm nod of head that set her double chin to wobbling in jovial manner.

The chuckles grew to open laughter that bled through the enticing aromas wafting up from the pot. Another stir with the ladle and then the Headwoman stepped away, handing it back over to the cook, amusement shining in her eyes, “You really shouldn’t believe all the gossip that comes out of the living caverns.” She’d heard about every version of the apparent argument that had taken place between a certain redheaded weyrling and the male Healer, but Malia’s was probably the most outrageous by far.

The clearing of throat in a decidedly male manner, drew the attention of both women as the dragonrider stepped into the room and held out a message pouch toward Indira. “From up north, ma’am,” all he gave before quickly turning on his heel and leaving the kitchen.

Left staring a little at the man’s sudden arrival and then abrupt departure, the Headwoman flashed a bemused look over to Malia, “That’s got to be the first time I’ve sent a man running without even opening my mouth.” Which in turn drew a snicker from the cook, her ample bosom jiggling.

The message pouch in her hand was given a moment of curious interest before she sauntered over to one of the counters and leaning a hip up against it, opened it and slid the folded sheet out and began reading. By the time she’d gotten to …you are worth something really special…, Indira was as white as sheet, causing Malia to hurry over to her clucking and fussing and trying to drag the Headwoman over to a nearby chair.

“What is it, mi’lady? Bad news?” the cook’s brow creased with deep concern. “Shall I call someone for you? That son of yours? Perhaps…” searching for another that might be appropriate to come to the clearly distraught woman’s aide.

Indira still reading the letter, her hands set to trembling a little, snapped a wide eyed, ashen faced look to Malia that was slowly starting to color in with a deeper color as a very rarely seen blush threatened to creep up her neck when she reached the bit about visits down South, beaches and sunsets and…“What? Oh Jays, no!” That given in swift response to the well meaning cook wanting to go in search of Max. And then she stood and all but ran out of the kitchen leaving one very perplexed and worried woman in her wake.

She didn’t stop until she’d reached the sanctity of her room. Boot steps setting the hem of her gypsy skirt to dancing furiously about her ankles as she’d swept down one hallway and then another not giving any that she passed a second glance, or so much as a nod of acknowledgment.

Closing the door and leaning her back against it, Indira let out a sharp breath of air before eyes slowly slid down to the letter now unintentionally scrunched in her hand.

Anger was next to rise up. How dare he make out that there was anything more between them than an idle distraction with his promises of visiting and walks on the beach and… Something tripped her heartbeat up for a second and Indira frowned. No, this wasn’t happening. He was just like all the rest. He was saying what he thought she wanted to hear, making empty promises just to get her in the sack again.

…I want to know you…what makes you laugh…

Oh she’d show him what makes her laugh. Pushing away roughly from the door, she flung the letter onto her bed and then yanked open the drawer that held that shirt hidden away at it’s back. Pulling it out, she unsheathed her belt knife and set its point to the armhole of one of the sleeves and with a flick of wrist, sent the well honed blade slicing through the fabric as if through butter.

As the innocent sleeve fluttered to the floor, something clenched in her chest…

…You've stirred something in me…

No! She refused to allow her mind to go there. Leaving it where it had fallen she dropped the rest of the shirt next to it and turned her back on them both and began to undress for bed. She got as far as stripping down to her knickers and in turning back to the chest of drawers to withdraw a nightdress, her eyes landed once again on the fabric lying crumpled on the floor at her feet.

An odd little sound, somewhat like a hiccup pulled from her and she bent to retrieve both sleeve and shirt. What had she done?

Gathering them up against her, she moved over to the curtained niche in the rock face where she kept her sewing and mending kit.

A full hour later and well passed midnight, eyes burning with exhaustion and mind battered and bruised by inner turmoil, she’d finally finished neatly re-attaching the sleeve to its rightful place. Almost without thought, she lifted her arms and slipped it over her head. Just checking to see if the sleeve sat right, yes? Mmhmm.

Indira reached once again for the letter and clothed in little more but the author’s shirt, read it through again. In this reading, by the time she got to the end, the very faintest trace of a tentative smile had slipped into place. A soft sigh, almost melancholy in its susurration slipped out for what she was sure, could never be.

Without thought she lay her head down on the pillow, intending to rest her eyes for a moment before composing reply explaining all the reasons why…it could never be. It wasn’t but a few moments, and the woman usually so strong and sure of herself, fell into a deep and restless sleep, plagued by memories of those two days spent in the company of a man she was having a hard time, getting out of her head.

Closing Credits Music: Kylie Minogue - Can't Get You Outta My Head

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