Lopen had never had an issue with the Weeping before. The relative safety of a few Highstormless weeks had left he and his cousins to invent all sorts of new, amazing and before unimagined entertainments. This Weeping however, he wasn't diverted by Herdazian water sports or card games of his own devising. The anticipation of a storm was a bitter-sweet thing; shortly after discovering that he could absorb stormlight, he had felt his arm growing back and had run through the camps calling in favours from cousins and sucking down all the light he could. Then the secret to the Oathgate had been unlocked and Stormlight had become a hot commodity without another Highstorm scheduled for weeks.
Lopen's fantastic new arm, Lefty 2.0, had grown back almost to the elbow before every wisp of Stormlight was hoarded by Dalinar's army. He was immensely impressed with it so far. It was sleek and fresh, with no scars or flaws. He'd been a bit worried that it would come back like a desiccated vine, but it had a little muscle to it. He'd been doing what he could to bulk it up to match his old arm, but lifting heavy things over your head was a little bit difficult if you couldn't actually pick them up.
Yet the day had finally come. The first Highstorm was scheduled for this very night and Lopen intended to soak it up raw. One of the exploratory crews had found a roofless indoor plaza in Urithiru and they'd collected every last chip, mark and broam, every fabrial and anything else that would hold light and piled them there. That was where Lopen intended to wait out the storm.
The plaza glowed. So did Lopen. His blood raced through his veins, quickened by Stormlight. Lefty 2.0 tingled and itched and the sensation grew more intense as he continued to inhale the stormlight from the air around him, heedless of the rain and howling winds in the sheltered plaza. He felt powerful, he felt alive, he felt…. Oddly graceful. Oddly graceful and like he wanted to design and build a fabrial.
That's unusual, he thought. I don't know anything at all about fabrials.
He ignored the strange sensation and flexed the fingers of both hands down by his sides. The right hand felt normal, of course, but it was his left hand that interested him. He'd expected Lefty 2.0 to feel a little bit strange, but he hadn't honestly often noticed it was gone, so he didn't think about it much. But this arm definitely felt different to Righty and it wasn't just a muscle thing, he was sure. A little hesitantly, he drew Lefty 2.0 up before his face for a thorough inspection.
It didn't take a thorough inspection for Lopen to realise why Lefty 2.0 felt strange.
"This is a lady's hand!" he cried, aghast. He turned the hand this way and that, studying the long, tapering fingers, the pearly pink nails, the thin, delicate wrists. "…This is a lady's left hand…"
A mischievous grin crept onto his face; he stuffed his hand into his trouser pocket and held Lefty 2.0 close to his side so that no one would notice the supple lines that traced the softly rounded new arm. He crept away to find an unused room in which to ponder his newfound ability for shenanigans.
Well, surely Captain Kaladin would want to be the first to know about my arm growing back! Lopen mused impishly after a short period. He strode with purpose into the maze of Urithiru's hallways and headed to the Kholin family wing. He made it his business, through his extensive network of cousins, to know where Kaladin was at all times and right now, he knew that Kaladin was conferring with Shallan about reports, or statistics or something. It didn't matter what they were doing, it was the where that was important; although, in this scenario, the what might actually be helpful. Lopen chuckled heartily as a plan began to form in his mind.
Kaladin was sitting sideways on a plain wooden chair with his left elbow leaning on a heavy wooden desk, his fingers drumming against the dark wood, recently imported from the camps. He was facing the open balcony doors- conveniently leaving his back to the hallway door- as he perused a sheaf of yellowed paper that was covered in glyphs. He was mumbling under his breath as he read, completely oblivious to the impending threat. Lopen peeked his head around the architrave just enough to observe Kaladin and hopefully not be observed himself. Shallan, however, was sitting in plain view of the open door, scribbling with a stylus on a wax pad. Shortly after Lopen poked his head in he heard a low buzz which seemed to alert Shallan to his presence. She snapped her head up and looked Lopen straight in the face, her mouth open to call out and her hand reaching to the side. She quickly recognised Lopen and looked politely confused as he gestured with his right hand to stay quiet. She eyed him curiously as he crept with all possible caution and silence behind Kaladin, close to the desk. A more prudent man might have considered creeping up on a Knight Radiant to be dangerous, but Lopen wouldn't let common sense get in the way of a good prank. He eyed Kaladin's repetitively tapping hand with delight and slowly reached in to place his elegant lady's left hand on top and still its motion.
"You have… such strong hands," Lopen breathed in what he proudly acknowledged was the second best lady's voice he'd ever put on. Lopen felt Kaladin's hand tense up underneath his, and his semi-relaxed posture noticeably stiffened as he looked down at the soft hand on top of his. Lopen was hoping that Kaladin would realise that no one who was a real threat could have gotten past Shallan before his bridgeleader used any of his extensive self defense skills. Kaladin twitched his head to the side slightly to get a look at Shallan, whose face was flaming behind the hand that covered her mouth to stifle her giggles. Kaladin looked back down at the naked safehand, obviously too afraid to look up at its owner and worsen what might be at least considered an horrendously indecorous situation. His skin started to glow slightly as he nervously inhaled Stormlight and Lopen could feel the precious stuff tickling the palm of Lefty 2.0 as it radiated off Kaladin's own left hand.
"Oh, that feels nice. Stormlight obviously has all kinds of uses." Lopen murmured, this time closer to Kaladin's ear. Lopen noted that Kaladin's ear and neck were the bright red of a ruby… Wait, no, that's not appropriate enough for the situation, he thought; but Lopen didn't have time to muse on a better metaphor, because Kaladin had finally overcome the crippling awkwardness and embarrassment he was feeling, and with no other available course of action garnered from his twenty years of life experience, he looked up. His bright red face first showed shock, but it was so immediately followed by a righteous indignance that it would have easily been missed. He bolted upright and loomed over Lopen, putting his far superior height to fabulously effective use. His face was a mirror of the earlier Highstorm, but the brightness of his cheeks really took the impressive edge off. He stood with his mouth agape for a few moments before he started sputtering increasingly high pitched threats about court martials, half rations, and string ups in Highstorms and Everstorms alike. There was no doubt in Lopen's mind that Kaladin could have worked his very extensive vocabulary in reprimand until they were both dead and forgotten, but Shallan had overcome her initial shocked silence and was no longer able to suppress her enormous, unladylike guffaws. Kaladin flinched involuntarily and turned his head minutely to look between the belly laughing Shallan, kneeling on the floor, and the impishly grinning Lopen, wiggling the fingers of Lefty 2.0 at him.
Kaladin, still wide eyed, cleared his throat a few times, each sounding more desperate than the last, until it became clear that his voice had dropped back down to its regular octave.
He let out a reluctant snort and collapsed into his chair, where he sat with his head in his hands as low chuckles afflicted him like a strange case of the hiccups.
"Your arm grew back?" Shallan managed, the first of the three to get themselves together enough to articulate a sentence. Lopen nodded and sat on the desk.
"Yeah, Brightlady," he said. "I got a really excellent specimen here."
"Of what looks like a woman's hand," Shallan said, inspecting it critically, but not before she looked at Lopen pointedly for such a vulgar choice of words. She looked up from her inspection, and when she looked up her eyes were full of the light of a born comic realising all the prank permutations of this new development.
"I don't know whose hand it was to start with," Lopen said. "Not mine, Brightlady. Mine was more manly and attractive."
"Maybe it got exchanged with another hand in the cognitive realm," Shallan said, frowning slightly.
"SO," interrupted Kaladin, seeing that Shallan was three centimetres from falling into scholar mode, "what are you going to do about it?" He eyed it with great wariness, while trying simultaneousy not to look like he was looking at it too much. "Maybe you should wear a glove."
"Is it really a safehand, though?" Shallan asked, as Lopen simultaneously said, "Aw storms, gancho, not on Lefty 2.0. He hasn't even been here a day yet!"
"So you grew it back in the highstorm," Shallan said, biting her lower lip. She prodded Lopen in the palm with her stylus, a little hesitantly. It had been a long time since either Shallan or Kaladin had seen another person's naked safehand in any context. "So… you can grow a new one back in the next highstorm?"
"Maybe?" Lopen said. "But that means it's here until at least then."
"Next highstorm is in five days," Kaladin said, having determined it in a flurry of calculus a few days before.
"Lefty is here for another five days, at least," Shallan said.
"Lefty 2.0, Brightlady." Lopen corrected magnanimously.
"Which leaves us with five days to conceal this accident." Kaladin sighed, rubbing his left hand absentmindedly. His face was still quite red.
"Oh, of course," she said. The sinister glint in her eyes was terrifying to behold. "Which means we have five days to improve this prank."
