Logs:Apologies and Exhaustion
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| RL Date: 7 January, 2016 |
| Who: K'zin, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'zin and Telavi, post the post-flights. |
| Where: Artful Artifice Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Slightly back-dated. Follows for K'zin, Logs:Dream_Come_True and for Telavi, Logs:Not_a_Double_Date. |
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| By now, Telavi is practically sterile. She'd practically hijacked a weyrling she'd spotted on her way out of that cave, only to realize that no, they can't between yet-- much less a long trip between-- because she hadn't taught them yet, and tossed her head and moved on. Solith was no help, leaning against that Mivength and falling back asleep, and all the way up on his ledge besides; Telavi's only consolation had to be that at least they weren't cuddling, or even snuggling, not anymore. Solith wasn't even helping, she had to find a friend all on her own in the middle of the night who wasn't too drunk to help her do the deed, and Tela had to settle for a little bit tipsy at that. Still, now that was done-- poor Quinlys!-- and she was washed and her hair was washed and maybe it wasn't dried, but it was braided so fiercely that it would be its own set of tidal waves tomorrow, and maybe her clothes were borrowed, right down to that jacket with the weyrlingmaster's knot that she didn't even want, but still there she is, stepping carefully off onto K'zin's-she-won't-say-Rasavyth's ledge, and her slippers are her own. K'zin was clean when he got back to his ledge, but he's been here a while now. Exercising was first, though the 'I just used these muscles' plump has receded by now. Drinking was next. He's waiting up for her, as is his habit if the flight wasn't too late in the day or too early to warrant it, but he's lying in bed now, wearing only the sleep pants Telavi replaced for him when his sentimental attachment to the ever holey and thread-bare ones he'd had since before weyrlinghood proved too be too much for him to do so. A sketch pad is forgotten beside him, with pencil, the doodle there of stars. He's singing quietly, off-key, some sappy song about a girl waiting for her love to come home, one that Tela's been known to like (even if she likes it better when it's sung by someone else who isn't habitually off-key). The whiskey bottle is on the night stand, within easy reach, but he seems to be just staring and singing now, perhaps already comfortably drunk, or at least tipsy, or somewhere in between. By the time the inner door opens wider, not only is that jacket off, Telavi's wearing a tablecloth; trust her, it's better than the alternative. Then the door's closing behind her, not loud but louder than the whisper of the exercise room's door earlier, and that tablecloth becomes a cape as she tosses herself onto the bed next to him, face down. "Umph." The tune breaks off, his head turning at the movement of the door. He must not be that far gone to still be noticing. K'zin looks briefly surprised, as anyone would or should, in his place. He doesn't move until she's down on the bed, rolling onto his side to look her over. His hand is tentative as it reaches to rub down her back gently. "Bad?" He asks it quietly with genuine concern. "No-o," but with a perplexed-or-something wrinkle of her nose; Tela turns too, and burrows into him, awfully snuggle-like. One hand moves out just long enough to pat his hip over the nicer pants, and then his own back, before moving to take shelter again. "You? Did you get hurt? It's cold in here." Strong arms gather her in against him once he's more sure his reception is at least okay for now. "You're wearing a tablecloth," he observes, perhaps as explanation for why he wondered if it was bad. "Ribs are a little sore. Nothing I didn't deserve." It's probably only the jaw lubrication that booze provides that has him continuing on, "I have a lot to apologize for, Tela. That all might hurt worse. I'm a moron. And an idiot." A tablecloth she's gradually losing, by dint of all that snuggling and gathering, but a tablecloth nonetheless-- but-- "What?" Her head lifts a little, her voice gone a little bleak, for once not anticipating anything. It might be that K'zin regrets having chosen this moment (if indeed 'chosen' is the right word for what happens when booze is involved). He hesitates, looking down at her. "First, I'm sorry. And Quinlys wouldn't want me to do this now or like this, but she's not here, so--" So Quinlys'-voice-in-his-head can butt out. "I'm not happy in Tundra." She knew that, but possibly not: "Really unhappy." He reaches up to push a stray lock away from her face, to tuck it behind her ear gently. "I should've talked to you about that first, but I didn't want you to worry if I didn't have a choice, if I just had to do the job even if I hated it. So I asked Quinlys yesterday if there was any chance of me getting my job back because if there was no chance, I didn't want to get your hopes up since it was already hard for me to ask and harder for me to hear her say no. And I should've talked to you before any of that. I'm an idiot and a moron and I'm sorry." But, but that means he can see her face, better anyway. Telavi doesn't protest; she doesn't protest any of that really, just nods a little nod... and drops her head back down. Hello, mattress. Hello, blankets over the mattress. K'zin presses his lips together as he watches this reaction with concern. "And then she said that I should apologize to you because I'm a moron," which he's just done, "and because I haven't learned anything and I'm an idiot," all these points are important to reiterate, "and ask you very nicely if you would let me volunteer my time to help teach the weyrlings how to between." He probably wishes that was all, only then he has to rush to say, "And I'm really sorry that I slept with Quinlys after the flight." At least it's all out there now, though. Somewhere in there, Telavi has to draw up her arm so she can lean her face in it and not actually breathe the mattress or even the blankets that go with it. She also nods, a few times, and then goes so far as to tilt her head enough to peek at him one-eyed for that volunteering... which means he could see that eye widen when he drops that last. One beat. Two. Then, with remarkable collectedness, "Well! If you just do C'ris, that's the whole lot." "Somehow," K'zin manages, dryly after a beat, "I don't suspect that would help anything. And he seemed pretty flustered when he found out I swung that way, so--" unlikely. He moves a hand to knuckle across Tela's shoulders. "It was just flight stuff, you know? Wouldn't have ever happened otherwise. She's our friend." Our. "More yours than mine," of course, but 'ours' all the same. "What do you need?" He asks it quietly, "Whatever it is," he'll do it. "Even if it's me propositioning C'ris." The worst part about that humor is that it is humor, but he also means it. It might help Telavi right this moment, her expression suggests. At the touch, her head lowers to her arm, less about hiding that expression or even just collapsing like before, instead giving way with a sigh. "Yes," she says tiredly, and then sort of twitches her shoulders; she doesn't know. Except the last, "No, don't. Neither of you would have any fun." "It would probably just give him a good reason to give me a sore jaw," not that C'ris would, necessarily, under normal circumstances. K'zin shifts to sit up, to move around, to get to where he can draw her into his arms, intending to keep her half-reclined but so he can give himself better access to her back for more of the same, and to also hold her. "I love you, Tela. Sorry this one was-- sorry the things I did around now made this a rough one." He does blame himself, of course. "In the hitting sort of way," isn't quite a question and isn't quite funny, though not at his expense. Telavi consents to be drawn in, somewhat more than just physically, though she does tuck her chin. It's a moment before, "I love you too," and then a few more. "Can we go to sleep now?" Tired, tired... tired. There's silence from K'zin. Silence for everything. Still, how can he refuse her? "Of course." He can't. It's with care that he moves back out of the position he'd come to, letting her gently back down onto the bed. "I'll just put the whiskey away, build up the fire a little." Before leaving the bed, he presses a kiss to her temple. "Sleep well," he wishes, truly, before moving to take care of those thing, moving the sketchbook with its stars and its pencil to somewhere safer. He might take a little longer building up the fire, putting the whiskey away and refilling the water pitcher than is strictly necessary, but when he comes back to the bed and lays down, it's not like he's about to fall asleep anyway. |
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