Logs:Banging, Bloodshed, and Bargaining
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| RL Date: 2 July, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, H'vier, Oliwer, Teisyth, Reisoth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Teisyth gives herself a one-day-late 1st turnday present: a flight! As a special surprise, Reisoth brings H'vier! This can't possibly go poorly. Or end up needing a healer. |
| Where: Guest Weyr and Oliwer's Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 2, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Laghnei/Mentions, Rh'mis/Mentions, Tahvra/Mentions, Tayte/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Violence (fight), name-calling, threats, nudity, references to sex. Adult themes in general. Altcest. Maybe some angst but not a lot. Teisyth's 5th flight. |
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| The best warning sign G'laer got as Teisyth edged toward her bizarrely reclusive proddy state was that he suddenly didn't mind sleeping at home. Sure, looking at Oliwer's chair made him a little sad, but it was a very comfortable chair. Laghnei was glad to have her couch back after all this time. And G'laer was predictably cheerful and laid back for the few days before he woke in the middle of the night to stumble to his ledge where an elevator dragon was waiting for him. Boots, pants, jacket. It's the same less-than-complete outfit as the last time she rose at far-too-late o'clock. « The moooooons, G'laer! Look at the moons! » She couldn't resist. She was already launching into the sky when the green bringing him down landed outside the Guest Weyr. He was with it enough to say thank you and trudge through the night-frozen mud and into the weyr where the other riders roped in at this late hour, and there weren't many, were already assembling. Reisoth is an asshole. Not only because he's kept a very watchful eye on the uncharacteristically reclusive Teisyth, waiting for her to take to the skies, but also because he hasn't let on to the fact, not even a little bit, with his rider. H'vier is already grumpy about having to get out of bed for his damned unpredictable bronze to finally decide to chase something since Hraedhyth's flight. So when he shows up at the guest weyr, some minutes after G'laer, his first reaction is to growl, probably to his dragon more than anyone actually present, "You have got to be fucking kidding me!" Reisoth is not fucking kidding H'vier, though. He has his dark sights set on the hook-tailed green. « Fly far, fly high, brave Teisyth. » The bronze's deep baritone is oddly heated, but the meaning is clear. He will see her safely back to land. « I will! » Teisyth is delighted, of course. Not because she has any thought for the fact that this flight will end in lust satisfied, but because flying is a darn good time, especially when it's like this! She might search a moment through the nearby minds for Rosvelth, but the brown's mind isn't in ready reach, and she's easily distracted by the wisps of cloud she's begun to wing through. It isn't heavy cloud cover tonight, thankfully, since all she wants to do is dance with the moons and that's where she's aiming! High, high, higher! G'laer has never had a good flight experience. (Woe.) But he has been learning things each time Teisyth rises. One of these things is that if he starts on the bed or at least near it, there's a smaller chance of getting rug burn. So shortly after arriving, and certainly by the time H'vier does, G'laer is leaning on the edge of the bed, his arms at his sides. His eyes are taking in the faces. How many women? Will he luck out this time? When the bronzerider enters, azurite eyes fall on him and narrow. He's not so far gone that he doesn't know exactly who that is. Reisoth and Teisyth share something vaguely in common, anyway. Outside of the actual chase, his interest in everyday flights is fleeting at best. There's little further commentary from the bronze, he's not a naturally sweet talker, but the intense presence of his mind is there, encouraging her to push herself farther and faster, as he follows the green high over the wisps of clouds. He doesn't want to simply catch her. He wants to chase her. And he can do that until she's too tired to keep going, which seems to be his plan. In the weyr, H'vier eyes the greenrider while he paces past the few other chasers present. He has a smile for G'laer, one that lacks any hint of pleasantry or good will. There's only lust in that smile, lust for both body and blood. Teisyth and Reisoth and the other handful of chasers are going to have a very merry good time. The green is not a disappointment in leading the chase, her movements oddly agile for a green of her build, and there's plenty of drops and climbs and other things to keep them entertained. But things down below are hardly dull. G'laer rises smoothly from the bed and starts making his way toward H'vier. "Get the fuck out." Does that leave any doubt how the greenrider feels about this particular bronzerider? As G'laer moves toward him, H'vier shifts easily out of his relaxed stance and into his full height. "Oh, no. I'm staying right here, sunshine. Where I belong." It's challenging, baiting, and not at all gentlemanly. Above, Reisoth follows. He's not as agile as the smaller green, he's one of the largest bronzes in the Reaches. But he's one of the smartest, too. And he's determined to catch this rusty beacon of lust. H'vier only has three inches on G'laer, so he's not about to make just that little bit of difference make him back down. "If you want a chance at being half so pretty come morning, you'll get your damned dragon out of the sky right fucking now." G'laer doesn't swear, but apparently for H'vier, he'll make an exception. He hasn't stopped his advance, and when he's near enough, the greenrider will make move to shove the bronzerider toward the exit. Meanwhile at least two of the brownriders look ready to step in should it become necessary. Nevermind that it might take more than two. High above, Teisyth is oblivious. There is only her wings and the wind, and the moons. La la la. Reisoth isn't oblivious. But there is a reason he's chasing this particular green right now. It's only a shame that he's too distracted by his own needs to pay closer attention to his rider. H'vier is shoved, but instead of making any move to shove, or hit, the greenrider in turn, H'vier lifts his hands up peaceably. He's still grinning, though, in a less than promising fashion. "Easy now, man. My damned dragon is looking forward to fucking your ugly, green slut--" If H'vier was hoping when G'laer's fist swung at his jaw that flight would have a significant impact on either the greenrider's aim or strength of follow-through, he's bound to be disappointed if that fist connects. Who knew insulting his dragon was a button for G'laer? The fist isn't the only thing aiming H'vier's way, as soon as it's either missed or landed, the greenrider is stepping closer with the intent to knee the other man in the groin before the two brownriders can snag hold of him. The way G'laer's fist connects with H'vier's jaw should make it very clear to the other man, experienced as he is, that the bronzerider lets it happen without trying to stop it. Which isn't to say it might not have landed anyway, of course, but no defense is put up to deflect the blow on purpose. His groin, though? That, H'vier protects reflexively, turning and moving to shoulder himself into the greenrider as the brownriders are stepping in to diffuse the escalation. H'vier breaks away easily, almost casually, and still with that damnable, bleeding grin. He's not leaving. And it's probably not looking good above with Reisoth pushing Teisyth to expend herself as he closes in. This hound will know exactly what to do once he catches the tires he's chasing. It's possible that after the brownriders have pulled G'laer all the way back to the bed and have stopped him from getting up to reengage twice as the flight carries on above that the greenrider is having the age old debate about whether to murder the bronzerider now or after. It seems increasingly likely that lust will win out with the way others are dropping out of the chase. Until it is just the two of them alone. Until Teisyth is still leading a chase but for one chaser and losing momentum with every wingbeat. It's a wonder G'laer doesn't break any teeth the way he grinds them together as he looks at the bronzerider with hatred and lust together. H'vier isn't exactly helping. Not with the way he watches G'laer while the greenrider is kept from doing anything about it. Never mind that his mere presence is likely as much at fault as anything he could possibly do. He doesn't start moving closer until it's obvious that this is his, though he still keeps a certain distance as he pulls off his shirt, unfastens his pants, kicks off his boots. It's not until Reisoth closes in on the tiring green, grasping her against him and taking over the heavy burden of flying as necks and tails twine together in overwhelming lust, that H'vier advances properly, and ungently, on his own prey. Once it became obvious that Reisoth was the only runner left in the race, it probably would have been the prudent thing for G'laer to remove his own clothes. At least he had not belt or shirt and the laces on his pants were barely done up. So that's something, but he's resisting much as Teisyth resists until she can resist no longer. There's a wordless shout of annoyance and anger mixed with want as Teisyth finally takes up more of his head space than he does. Fine, fine. Sex it is. But he, too, has no interest in being gentle. If he can cause the bronzerider damage while satisfying Teisyth's-- now his need, mores the better. Really, he'd like it over and done with as quickly as possible, but the dragons have other ideas. Once the dragons have been sated and Reisoth is taking them to settle on his ledge, H'vier is left curled, panting, over G'laer, forehead practically touching his chest. He's tired, he's spent, but he's unwilling to let his guard down enough to simply give in to the combined exhaustion of waking up in the middle of the night and a flight as intense as this. G'laer isn't in much better shape, breath coming and going swifty, pulse still thundering in his ears, and sweat making them both slick. "Here's the deal, kitten," the greenrider starts and for all his mocking tone, his eyes are deadly serious now that they're no longer hazed with lust. "You have one minute to get your shit and put as much distance as you can between us, or I'll be only too glad to do what I wanted to do the night I found out you broke my weyrmate's face." What does he have to lose? Not Oliwer. Not anymore. H'vier is not grinning anymore. "I'd say fuck you, faggot. But I already did." H'vier is moving to shift away, though, quite willing to put some distance between himself and the other man, if only because he's not comfortable being that close, like that, for that long. He's not, however, looking for his clothes. "I'd be fucking happy to break the rest of him for what you've done to my weyrmate, greenrider. Do you want to watch?" "Do you really want to play this game, prize-fighter?" The term, which under other circumstances might command respect, is said with a sneer that makes it sound like something laughable. The greenrider isn't idle, shifting into a more defensible pose. "Thing is, handsome," because if it's going to make H'vier uncomfortable, G'laer's happy to do it, "Mine left me for what I didn't do to your slut. And the facts of the matter are that you have far more to lose." G'laer doesn't really like his kids, after all. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I won't take them from you if you fuck with Oliwer or me. You can't be with them every moment." That last is a haunting phrase full of threat or promise. The bronzerider's face is barely contained rage, at this point. And the only reason it's probably contained as much as it is is because H'vier knows well the truth in the greenrider's words. Without taking his eyes off of G'laer for more than a second here and there, he starts to gather up his clothes. Being naked in front of a greenrider calling him things like 'kitten' and 'handsome', especially after doing what they just did, is unpleasant to say the least. As he starts to put his clothes back on, he says the most uncharacteristic thing ever, "This is fucking stupid. You know that, right? We could both fuck each other's worlds up. More than we've already managed ourselves. There's only one thing in the world I want more than to bash your fucking head into the wall. I want them to be safe." G'laer allows himself a roll of his eyes. "Why do you think I asked if you wanted to play this game?" That would be because he knows it's stupid. "But you're a businessman." He's done his homework. "What do you propose?" He isn't moving for his clothes because being naked probably keeps H'vier that much more uncomfortable, but at least he's entertaining things that don't land either of them between with their dragons. Their dragons who are so happily tucked with one another. Later, G'laer will be sure to be upset with the fact that Teisyth enjoys how Reisoth pushes her. H'vier is called a lot of things. One would imagine being called a businessman is of the least offensive. But it gives the bronzerider pause and he looks at G'laer as though possibly reevaluating what he sees. "I propose a truce. I'll leave your healer," which is easier to say than man, "alone. And you leave my family untouched. Off limits. If we have problems, we work them out between you and I. Not through anyone else." It's a proposal. But it's not business. "Without fists." Which is asking a lot of both of them, but that's G'laer's addendum to the proposal. He's looking at H'vier with extreme seriousness, but the look in his eyes that makes him look just a little bit dangerous (and perhaps a little crazy at this point) is still there. "And you apologize to him. Seems only fair since you're asking me to leave an entire family in peace." "Without fists." H'vier can agree to that readily enough. Tayte would be so proud. She's never around for these moments. "Apologize to him? For fucking my woman? I think we're even. I didn't even hit him that hard. And you have a lot of sisters." Okay, probably a good thing that Tayte isn't here to hear any of that. "I could do with less." Sisters. There is no indication that that's anything less than true. Either he has a great mask or he's kind of a heartless asshole. "And not for fucking Kaytee." The use of this name must be calculated. "Besides which, sweet-britches, Oliwer is gay. Can you say the same for 'your' woman?" He makes the air quotes. "You might not like it, but we both know who came onto whom. Gold flight or no gold flight." Or at least that's what he tells himself. "I want you to apologize to him for hitting him." He shifts forward just a little bit. "Of course, Tavi is only just one... maybe you haven't had a chance to become attached to her, hm?" He knows he's pressing a button, so he's ready if that pushes H'vier into the red zone. Where some people might take that heartlessness poorly, H'vier doesn't. Instead his attention focuses on the name G'laer uses and he can't hide the fact that it's unfamiliar to him in regards to Tayte. He might even ask. But once the greenrider mentions his daughter, H'vier is lunging at G'laer with a yell of entirely less contained fury. If this truce thing is going to work, you can't go baiting the bull. The truce can work later. G'laer's been spoiling for this fight for months if the behavior during the flight wasn't clue enough of that. So he's ready for H'vier when he comes. Being on the bed affords him a certain tactical advantage. Namely, that when H'vier's significant mass starts to lean toward him, G'laer's foot is ready to meet it, using the man's own momentum and just strength from his leg and direction from his foot to send the bronzerider sailing head-first into the wall behind the bed. If H'vier's fast, a tuck of his head will guard against a broken neck, if not the shock of running into a wall. It's in the moments after impact that the well-trained greenrider is moving to box the larger man's ears. H'vier might not be as precise a machine as G'laer, especially not when his drive to violence is fueled with protective, fatherly fury. He tucks as he hits the wall with a heavy thud. There's another yell, more pained, when the greenrider's hands box his ears as the bronzerider struggles to regain his balance and bearings. Some of his fury has focused into self-preserving instinct and H'vier stays low, close to the bed as he grapples for an advantage, any advantage, over the naked man. It's not that G'laer isn't trained for wrestling or that he didn't foresee this as the next step in this particular battle, but now his nakedness is a disadvantage. There are no clothes to rip away from when the bronzerider's hands make purchase on him. Though three inches isn't significant when staring someone down, it and the muscle weight that comes with it does make a difference in a grappling match. The greenrider is on his way to recovering the advantage when the bigger man gets ahold of his left arm and the loud, sucking pop of his shoulder dislocating is unmistakable. That takes the wind momentarily entirely out of his sails and a wordless cry of pain from his lungs. By now the greenrider's nudity doesn't seem to be bothering the bronzerider at all. All he's focused on is where he is, where G'laer is, and how much damage he can possibly do to the other man in that confined proximity. Not as much as he'd like, admittedly, but the sound of G'laer's shoulder dislocating is probably kind of satisfying. While he's distracted by the pain, H'vier shoves him from the bed onto the floor. It's only moments later that the bronzerider is after him with a fist aimed at his face now that there's some leverage on his side. G'laer's left arm is useless and laying awkwardly where he fell on his back since there's nothing he can do about that at present. He's too busy turning his head so the blow that connects is glancing, even if it does break the thin skin to the side of his brow. That's only the beginning of the blood though, because the hand that still functions fell fortuitously atop his boot which means in the wake of the blow, his right hand is driving his boot knife into H'vier's thigh and yanking it free again. Of course, the fact that he doesn't twist the knife probably means there's still hope for this truce after all! The fact that he's been stabbed doesn't process immediately. H'vier is drawing his fist back like he might hit the greenrider again before he stops short. Whether it's that he knows G'laer can't hit him that hard from that angle, the heat of blood against his leg or just that he actually sees the blade, it's not until he's aware that the pain takes hold and the bronzerider is scrambling away from G'laer with a growl and a hand trying to put pressure to the new hole in his leg. "What the fuck!" G'laer doesn't grace the bronzerider with an answer to the not-question. Isn't it obvious? "Either we keep going and one or both of us ends up dead or we calm the fuck down and revert to plan A." By the time he gets the last words out, he's gritting his teeth and sitting up, knife still held in a ready position. If H'vier wants to come back at him, he's going to taste the knife again. By this point, Teisyth is happy no longer. She huuuuuuuurts! Reisoth, it huuuuurts! She needs no words just unfiltered feelings conveyed to the bronze. It's a surely unexpected burst of the taste of copper and pistachio into the healer's mind with a surge of panic and pain. « Oli, please! Please Oli! It hurts. He's hurt. And there's blood! » She frets and panics and panics and frets. She was only to speak to him in a true emergency. Well. Here it is. « Guest weyr, please, healers! Now! » And then she's gone. (Teisyth to Oliwer) There's no indication from H'vier that he'd like to keep going. He'll just sit there, backing up against the side of the bed and trying to keep his blood inside of his body where it belongs. He doesn't seem to be particularly worried about G'laer and his knife now that the violence has broken, head tilting back, eyes closing, and breaths coming is shallow pants. "I'm calm," is all he says. Reisoth is not the most empathetic of dragons. But it's difficult to ignore feelings like Teisyth's. Especially when he, too, is dealing with pain in stoic silence. The bronze shares some of the chilly, blank nothingness of his mind with the green in some attempt to alleviate that hurting. "Plan A," G'laer's knife lowers, but it's no less ready. "I leave your family alone, you leave Oliwer alone and apologize to him for hitting him. And everyone stays alive and well." If perhaps not happy. He nods toward the bed, "Grab the sheet and put pressure on that." The greenrider, trained in such things would do it for him, but... there's that one arm hanging completely, absurdly limp at his side. "Fine," is his rough agreement to the terms. "Put the fucking knife away," grumbles H'vier as he reaches to jerk at the sheet so he can put better pressure on his wound. "You should probably get that looked at," he says without really looking at the greenrider. He's still naked, after all, and H'vier has better places to put his attention. G'laer wipes it on his thigh before slipping it back into his boot. "Yeah. Healers are on their way." The greenrider grunts as he tries to shift a little more to reach for his pants. It's no good, so he just draws his legs up and leans back against the bed much like H'vier. "Teisyth panicked." She does that, his tone implies. "And much as I'd love to keep all this quiet, you shouldn't walk anywhere before they've stopped the bleeding if you don't want a limp or something." Which probably means stitches and maybe then some. At least boot knives aren't large. So there's that. "What's our story?" Since surely they don't want to tell the real reason for the fight. "Or shall we just stonewall all inquiries?" "I have a reputation for... overreacting." The first step to overcoming a problem is admitting you have a problem. But, in this case, H'vier is only suggesting a plausible reason for the fight. It also means taking the brunt of the blame. "Not sure they'd demand answers if we aren't giving them, though." Not right now, anyway. "You aren't bad, greenrider." It might be an understatement. But it's still a compliment and H'vier doesn't hand those out to men he's fucked very regularly. Maybe he's just losing more blood than they realize. The healers are on their way. Oliwer is on his way, anyway. His entrance is hurried, carrying one of those bags he always has on hand now, still wearing his sleeping clothes under his jacket. When he realizes that G'laer is not alone, and just who he is with, though, the healer stops abruptly and looks between the two of them with open confusion. And then it's gone. Healer mode activated. Irrelevant questions can come later. "Are you bleeding?" he asks G'laer as he approaches since he can see that the bronzerider is bleeding well enough. He probably means more significantly than what's on his face. "That we're not fans of each other and that it got out of hand due to drink might suffice. Everyone at the flight saw me tell you to get--" out. The last word doesn't make it because Oliwer arrives and G'laer's eyes are on him. Then they flick back to H'vier, expression now impassive but for the tightness that comes with the pain. "Dislocated shoulder," he's almost certainly had one before. The fact that the split skin near his brow has extensively wept blood down that side of his face seems almost a forgotten thing in this moment. "He's more immediate," which isn't to say that they're not both in significant pain. This might not be the right time to laugh, but H'vier laughs anyway when it's this healer that shows up. It's better than violence. That's all that matters, isn't it? Oliwer certainly doesn't seem to think anything's funny. He might even be a little wary of the bronzerider. It doesn't keep him from doing what he does, though, and he gets to work at that with only the few words he needs to know what happened while he makes sure the bleeding has stopped in H'vier's thigh. And once it has, and a smear of numbweed has been applied, evidently the stitches can wait until G'laer's shoulder has been taken care of, so Oliwer turns to him, asking, "Have you dislocated that shoulder before? Are you relaxed enough to try putting it back?" "Yes. And yes." G'laer's answers are simple. He looks to the bronzerider a moment, then back to the healer and offers quietly. "Thank you for coming." He doesn't bother to say he wishes Teisyth hadn't bothered him, or to pretend he didn't know the healer was back in the Weyr. After that, it's all business. To H'vier, "Can I borrow your belt?" To bite on. H'vier doesn't need to answer out loud, he just starts unthreading his belt so he can hand it over to the greenrider. He's going to enjoy watching this and he doesn't try to hide that particular fact in any way, shape or form. Once G'laer has the belt and Oliwer has directed the greenrider to lay down with as few words as possible, the most important of which is for him to stay relaxed, the healer gets them both into position and does the job as quickly as G'laer's joint will allow. If he seems unaffected by his ex-weyrmate's pain, that's probably only part of the job. "You'll need an anti-inflammatory to keep the swelling in check," is all he says to the greenrider as he cleans and stitches the split in the flesh of G'laer's brow before turning back to the bronzerider to stitch his thigh in silence. G'laer doesn't care if H'vier enjoys it. It needs to be done. It's a testament to how many injuries he's had in the past that he does an exceptionally good job of following Oliwer's instructions. There's noise enough to please the bronzerider as the joint is put back into place, and that bite mark on the belt might be lasting, but maybe that can be considered a trophy for the prize fighter? He nods to the healer and then hands the belt back before finally, finally finding his way to his pants, using his good arm and leaving the other to hang at his side. He manages to get them, but putting them on proves to be an awkward problem. He probably doesn't like having to ask, "Oliwer, when you're done, would you please lend me a hand?" Since he's short a functional one. Once the entertainment is over and the healer's attention is back on him, H'vier watches Oliwer's stitching. It's not until after G'laer has spoken that he does the same, waiting until they're between stitches to say, "I'm sorry." The glance up from the healer has him adding, "For hitting you. I was angry and not in a good place. I'm sorry." When Oliwer's gaze returns to H'vier's thigh, the bronzerider only continues watching him instead of glancing toward G'laer to make sure he's heard. Oliwer nods his acknowledgement of the apology, perhaps his acceptance. What would he do if he didn't accept it, anyway? To G'laer his only response is, "Yes." Once he's finished with his stitching, he suggests H'vier visit the infirmary in the morning but he's free to go now. He doesn't, notably, offer anything for the pain except the numbweed that's already been applied. Then he's rising and turning to G'laer to give his assistance without offering the man still down a hand up. The greenrider nods his approval to the bronzerider over the healer's head while the older man is still working. That will do. It was probably a better one than G'laer was really expecting out of him. But that's one half of the bargain kept; it won't be a problem for the greenrider to keep his. Hopefully. G'laer certainly doesn't have any more real attention to spare for H'vier. "Thank you." He offers to the healer quietly as they navigate getting his pants pulled up and laced. "Happen to have a sling in your kit or shall we make one out of the bedsheet?" He knows as well as the healer that his arm needs to be immobilized to help reduce the swelling and to remind him not to try to use it. When he's given leave, H'vier is up on his feet as quickly as can be expected for a man who has been stabbed in the thigh. He picks up his remaining things and has little interest in staying around the pair of men who have been lovers any longer than necessary. They might start doing it or something. "I have one," says Oliwer once G'laer's pants are dealt with. He glances toward the departing bronzerider like he's almost not sure he wants to be left alone with the greenrider, but goes to his bag to get the sling so he can help G'laer put it on instead of following suit. G'laer's eyes follow Oliwer moves to his bag. He's silent as he watches. "I'm not sure I can keep staying away, Oli." There's a hard swallow there. It's hardly a fair thing to bring up just now, but there it is. Oliwer's gaze finally shifts up to meet G'laer's. Just for a moment. It's the first time since he arrived that he's really looked at the greenrider. But then his gaze drops to the sling. Once it's situated, he asks, "Is that comfortable?" Considering. "It's fine, thank you." G'laer sighs softly, looking down at the healer. His look is resigned. "When should I bring you your chair?" Not that he can lift it in his present state. "I miss you." It's probably an unexpected thing for Oliwer to say considering how he's behaved up until this point. His voice is quiet, small, but there's emotion there that wouldn't be there if this weren't hard for him. "Come home." It's not the smartest thing to say in answer to that; not a little step, but a big one. G'laer's voice is pained and his eyes echo the feeling. It probably isn't just his shoulder. Oliwer's expression is pained in it's own way when G'laer says that. He moves to turn away to put everything back into his bag, though, as he asks, "Don't you think I want to?" "I don't know. You didn't want to see me when you were at the Hall. You haven't wanted to see me here." G'laer's logic must be that if Oliwer had wanted to, he would've asked, or arranged for it to happen somehow. G'laer certainly would've come at the drop of a hat. "What's stopping you?" "It's safer." Not that Oliwer has ever really feared for himself so it must mean, "For anyone that might inadvertently get on your bad side because of me. I can't be responsible for someone else getting hurt. Not like..." He doesn't say her name, but he glances up at G'laer again after setting his bag on the bed and closing it. "She's safe." The words come immediately as he trails off and firmly. "I know it doesn't make what I did better. But I won't be doing it again." To her, anyway. G'laer moves alongside the bed, too, now, not ostensibly to be near Oliwer but because his boots happen to be there and he needs to flip them up with his feet before carefully trying to slide his feet into them. At least they're of the mid-calf and therefore not floppy at the tops. "It's not wrong of me to want to protect the man I love. I'm sorry it hurts you that I want to. I'm sorry I took it too far this time. I'd take it back, if I could." "I love you, Gal. I miss you so much it aches to think about you," says Oliwer. "But I don't know what to do-- how to move on from here. I've been trying to figure out how, you know? But I don't know. Would you come back? If you were me?" Given how different they are, that might not be a fair question for either of them. And it's with that in mind that G'laer answers quietly, "Oli, I could never be you. You are too good for me to even think I could be half so much. But you make me better. You've..." He trails off, inwardly debating, and then says, "You've become the voice in my head, Oli." A conscience. "I've been trying to figure out how to make things right." In his own twisted way. His eyes close a long moment. "If I were you, I wouldn't. Because I'm not sure I can ever be the man you wish I were." He takes a deep breath and then moves to crouch gingerly and pick his jacket up off the floor. Now he asks a very different sort of question, "Are you going to report this?" None of that is easy for Oliwer to listen to. And he's not really sure it's what he wants to hear. So, it's the last question that he answers, "I don't know." Which isn't really much of an answer. "Is it going to happen again? Am I going to find you with a knife in your throat next time?" Excuse him if he sounds just a little bit angry about having to patch up both of them. "No. We made peace." Okay, so it was a bloody bargaining process, but... "Everyone is safe. No one is getting hurt, and if there are issues in the future, he and I will sort them out without fists. Or knives. Or whatever." G'laer's answer is firm. "It would be easier to keep that peace if neither of us has professional repercussions because of this." He looks at Oliwer evenly now, though that pain is still haunting his gaze. Oliwer doesn't look like he entirely believes that. But after a few long moments of consideration, the healer offers a slow nod. And then he's moving closer to G'laer. Careful of his arm, he wraps his own around the greenrider's freer side and tucks his head in against his chest. Judging from G'laer's look of surprise, this isn't what he was expecting. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't wrap his good arm around the healer and hold him just as tight as he can comfortably manage. His chin is quick to find the once-familiar place against the older man's head. "I miss you." His turn to murmur this, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't let go when it seems Oliwer would like to be freed of the one-armed embrace. Oliwer would probably stay there a lot longer than he does under different circumstances. When he does pull away, he says, "We should talk. Sometime soon." Just not right now. "Tell Teisyth thank you for me? Will you be all right getting back to your weyr?" His weyr. Not theirs. He might not even realize he's said it. G'laer does, and he flinches. Maybe that's just the shoulder. He doesn't comment though. "I'll have Laghnei come get me. Teisyth is still with Reisoth." Damnit. "I've been staying with her anyway. Since you left." They'll doubtless have to stop at his weyr anyway to raid the stash of herbs and salves and so on that he has for such occasions. « Thank you. » (G'laer to Teisyth) There's relief. So much relief. « I knew he would come. You needed him. » (Teisyth to G'laer) G'laer couldn't answer that. It was too hard to think about. « Please ask Reisoth to tell his rider that Oliwer won't report the incident. Our cover stories need not be linked. » (G'laer to Teisyth) Teisyth was only too happy to talk to Reisoth, although, to her credit, she was doing well with not talking as that might be preferred to her rambling about any old thing by this particular bronze. But she wasn't only happy. There was sadness too. « He's not coming home. » (Teisyth to G'laer) « No. He is not. It's not home to him anymore. » G'laer managed that much before he had to start putting the walls in place; Teisyth would want to be there for him and he might dislike, though not hate, not anymore, the bronzerider, but he wouldn't make his green leave her evening companion just now. « Please wake Cerzoth with our apologies and ask Laghnei to please come collect me from the bowl. If you tell them I'm injured but have seen a healer, it might get them moving faster and I'll owe her less later. » (G'laer to Teisyth) That G'laer has been staying with his sister instead of in the weyr they shared makes Oliwer give the greenrider an odd look. "Why haven't you been staying at home?" It's an impulsive question and one that he seems to realize isn't any of his business anyway. So he shakes his head almost immediately after, "Right. Never mind. I'll... see you soon, G'laer." Then the healer is picking up his bag and heading for the bowl. G'laer answers the question anyway, to the healer's back as it must be with him walking away, his voice raised to carry, "It's not home without you, Oli." But he doesn't move to follow even as he casually hooks his jacket over his good shoulder. Being shirtless, he can't be eager to get to the bowl let alone fly anywhere. It's near the weyr's entrance that Oliwer pauses to glance back at G'laer. It's a few moments before he says anything, but when he does, it's, "Do you... will you stay with me tonight?" It's kind of a big leap from not knowing how to deal with anything to inviting his ex-weyrmate back to his quarters with him. But he asks it anyway. The greenrider approaches the healer with a wrinkled brow, considering. "Of course I want to." That part needs no consideration. "Are you sure you want me to?" It can't help that G'laer is looking at him intensely and with just a tiny bit of hope. Whether he's sure or not, Oliwer nods his head. They've been separated for a too long a time and after not only seeing, but also interacting with G'laer, walking away from him is just too hard. "I'm sure. Just no trying to figure anything out tonight. Okay?" He drives such a hard bargain. "Okay." G'laer would probably agree to anything just then. Quietly, he asks. "You don't happen to have something for the pain in your bag or in your room, do you?" « Teisyth, tell Cerzoth we're sorry to have woken them and I'll tell Laghnei the whole story later, but I'm going home with the healer after all. » G'laer couldn't help feeling glad. He'd owe Laghnei extra for the cancelled request in the middle of the night, but what did that matter when he got to go home, if only for the night. (G'laer to Teisyth) « Yippee!! » (Teisyth to G'laer) There's a flicker of a smile on Oliwer's lips and he nods his head again. "We'll find you something for the pain. Though I've half a mind to make you deal with it without." See? He's totally not as great of a person as G'laer thinks he is, either. "Been there, done that. See me here again? Think I learned anything more than how much it shelling hurts to have a dislocated shoulder?" G'laer's questions hold just the tiniest hint of humor. But seriously, he's going to get something for the pain one way or another. In the end, it requires a stop in the infirmary, during which G'laer waits out in the very cold night so as not to chance arousing any suspicion just yet. Then he's following Oliwer to his room, surrendering himself to a series of shivers as they go that improve a little once they're inside and not still exposed to the elements. Once they're in, G'laer smiles, just a little. The pain is there too, wearing on him, more obvious now than it was back in the guest weyr. The shivers can't have helped. But there's a smile nonetheless. Back in his quarters, with G'laer medicated and everything over with, Oliwer is looking a little exhausted. And he didn't even deal with any of the excitement that the greenrider had to. Except for the clean up, anyway. He has a new mattress on his still not-very-big frame, but it's plenty of room for Oliwer to curl up against the greenrider's good side once he settles himself. "I've missed the way you smell," can't be that weird of a thing to say. It takes a little doing for G'laer to get comfortable. He's left his pants on, but since he has no shirt there's little he can do about that. His arm curls around his once-weyrmate, but his eyes have already drifted closed. "Mmm," is the rumbly response from the greenrider. A noise of acknowledgement, maybe even reciprocation, but there's no indication he finds it in any way weird. Since both of his arms work just fine, Oliwer makes sure there's a blanket pulled up over them and that G'laer is as comfortable as he's going to get. Even if he's probably given a lot of thought as to how he'd like to reunite with the greenrider, and this isn't quite how he'd imagined, it's good enough to have Oliwer drifting off against the other man much sooner than he'd like. |
Comments
Alida on 04:20, 3 July 2014 said...
Glad to see they're back together. May they be less fucked up than H'vier and Tayte. ;)
Alida on 04:32, 3 July 2014 said...
Also... I LURV the snarly interactions and dialogue! Woot!
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