Logs:Before You Can't Come Back
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| RL Date: 16 September, 2015 |
| Who: Nala, M'vyn, Jynth, Elsyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Intent on a little more self-destruction, Nala seeks out M'vyn, who refuses to enable her in the ways she wants. |
| Where: M'vyn's Cosy For Keeps Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 10, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ebeny/Mentions, Aislara/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: NSFW. |
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| Jynth has been watching Laurienth. Not in a fashion that can be described as interested in that way, but because of where she is and all the possible whys. He lets - or they let - hours run by after the green has left Elsyth's ledge, and then he and his rider (and the fussy little gold clinging to her shoulder) drift across the bowl and make a landing on that same ledge. He doesn't announce his presence, and nor does Nala, but the latter slips down and slinks towards the mouth of the weyr, where she lingers in the darkness of the entryway. She might stay there unnoticed for longer than she does, only Tippetarius chitters at her, the sound loud enough to echo. Elsyth's rumble is both a warning to her rider and to the woman lingering near the entryway. Her frosty reach for Jynth is controlled enough for her that her recent rousing from sleep has tamed her more than anything else may, « Tell her to stop hovering like a thief in the night and go inside. He is awake. » Within, M'vyn is settled on the couch that has since been returned near to the hearth after his meeting with Ebeny. The children are asleep in his bed, tired after waking and being resettled. The greenrider's got a hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey as he stares moodily into the fire. Elsyth has done the talking for him and so he doesn't budge towards the entrance and Nala. « You try telling her. » It's not unkind, and maybe it is something of a real request, for all the good any pleas and protests have done Jynth so far, considering he now finds himself out in the cold night, on a cold ledge, with a cold reception. He waits, and Nala doesn't budge, but then Tippetarius sinks her claws into the bluerider's collarbone as she clambers down her and skitters off to find herself something to climb or somewhere to hide. Nala's curse is obscene, but once she's started, she finds it easier to move forward and reach a halt somewhere behind the couch. "I thought I would come and see if you were fucking the Weyrlingmaster. You know, one-upmanship. I had," not have, "the assistant, after all." "You would bring this shit to me tonight," M'vyn replies without turning to look at her, his gaze remaining steady on the flames in the hearth. He lifts his glass to sip in a far too casual way. "I did not think the Weyr viewed the Weyrlingmaster as quite the slut as her assistants," he jabs, hoping to hit the mark. He's far too riled up from both drink and his earlier altercation to not try, knowing Nala's responses to be far more satisfying than another's. Elsyth does not immediately extend an offer for him to come within her wallow, though she lets a small flash of her consideration reach him a gentle flurry of snow. Finally, she allows: « You may come inside. » "It is something they instruct you in when they are raising a lady. Timing is everything." Nala jams her hands into her pockets and briefly scans the floor for any sign of her odd little gold, yet finds nothing and finds that she has to look up again. "If the assistant is a slut, then maybe you should find out sometime. She could teach you a thing or two about how to please a girl." She lifts one shoulder. "If you are still into girls other than your vacuous little friend." Jynth hesitates for long enough to plainly be in two minds about his next course of action, for once not wanting to be nearer to his rider. And yet: « Thank you. » He does move inside, though he sits properly once he's done so, tensed. M'vyn lifts his gaze over and back to Nala as his brow angles upwards. "You want me to go and fuck her? Fine," his voice has no inflection or sense of emotion behind the words, "I'll rouse Elsyth from her wallow and we can go right now. You can watch. You'd want to, wouldn't you?" He barks out a forced laugh, "Oh yes. I've quite given up on women and have turned entirely to men. That'd make the most sense to you - yet, if that were true, you wouldn't be running here when you thought I was screwing the Weyrleader's weyrmate." Elsyth gives Jynth space, watching from the depths of her wallow with a dispassionate air. « I do not see the sense to her coming here. I thought they were done. » "She has better taste than I do," Nala says flatly, without bothering to spell out any further her belief that he would be refused. "Except perhaps in one of her choices." Another shrug. "And I would hardly call this 'running'. You really do grant yourself too much credit. She did not stay very long, so I wondered if you had simply got what you wanted all too quickly and been quite the disappointment. She and I could have swapped stories." She leaves that to settle for a moment, her silence one that must hold the promise of another stab or twist of the knife, only then she asks, with a dose of disinterest, "Do you want me?" With that utterance from his rider, Jynth lodges his head beneath one of his wings. « Never. » Whether his belief or Nala's, he doesn't like it. "I was not aware that you were stalking me so effectively as to time the comings and goings of my visitors," M'vyn replies after a few thoughtful sips of his whiskey. He watches Nala with sharpened interest at her later words, sipping once more from the whiskey before he leans forward to set it on the table. "It's that then?" he questions, leaning back on the couch as he appraises her. "I'll take you," he tells her, noting that disinterest with coolness, "but I won't have someone who doesn't want to be had." Elsyth heaves a sigh to the turn of events. She doesn't hide her head but she tenses against her rider's mind. « So be it. » "I do not have very much else to do with my time." Nala declares it so dryly that it's difficult to tell whether it's an admittance of any kind, sarcasm, or a sure reference to either of the matters they're presently addressing. She shrugs again, evidently making it a habit now. "If I did not want to be, why would I suggest it?" she questions rhetorically, her tone much unchanged. "Or is this just a ploy to get me to beg? I could, if you wanted." Not that it sounds like an option she'll embrace. "I am probably the only one who would." "Your bitterness suits you far more than any amount of begging would," M'vyn notes, though he doesn't rise to reach for her. His hand lifts and he gives her a two-fingered beckoning. "You'll have to find it in you to be quiet," he tells her, "and not rouse the children. They're asleep in ou- in my bed," he catches himself on that phrasing, though his slip cannot be entirely erased. He reaches forward to grab and down the rest of his whiskey, making no move to refill it or offer Nala any. He returns a hooded gaze back towards her, his lips twitching against a satisfied smirk. "You can strip on your way over." "I can probably manage that," Nala replies, matter of fact, the speed of her response paired with her continued lack of emotional involvement edging her answer somewhere near to a disparaging insult she might not mean it to be. There's no argument about her clothes either, not that they're shed in any entertaining way, jacket, shirt and trousers dropped to the floor piece by piece. Some things don't change; she's still too skinny, her skin marked here and there with fading bruises from training or some scrap or another. When she finally closes distance, it's just to plant herself in his lap without offering or seeking a kiss or anything kind. This lack of emotional involvement stirs something in M'vyn more than any sign of anger would. His face loses some of the heat behind its expression, that smirk dropped into stiller lines as he settles Nala in his lap. He hides a sudden surge of sadness from Nala by letting his gaze drop to her bruises. He touches them in a feather-light way, inspecting their size and location thoughtfully. He doesn't seek to claim her nor kiss her, for all the talk he had used earlier. Once he has inspected all her marks, he draws his arms around her and shifts forward to hold her close against him. He rests his lips and nose against her skin, closing his eyes to breathe her in. Nala waits. She makes no move to take control of the situation, nor to supply any direction, and her instinct is to flinch away from the first of the touches that ghosts over dark marks against pale skin, if only because it makes her unable to ignore them. She stills, though, and lets him continue his exploration without remark or efforts to be obstructive, her gaze fixed distantly on the far wall. It's only when M'vyn draws her closer that she truly tenses, a murmur of something near to protest given as she begins to twist like she would escape, yet she doesn't struggle and ultimately lets him do as he wishes, which leaves her breathing hard, gone still once more in his embrace. It's her protest and twist that settles something in M'vyn's mind. He breaks his embrace and reaches to the top of the couch to pull down an afghan. He drapes this over Nala's shoulders and tucks it in close, covering what he can of her nakedness. "Should you go back to Southern?" his question breaks the silence of the room, "It helped you-- I think, last time you..," he pauses more than he hesitates as he lifts his gaze to try and meet hers. "You're struggling," he clarifies, "and this," he rests his hands on her hips, "though I want it, doesn't seem like what's best for you." It's a repeat of her parting words after their last fight that has him saying, "I won't be like my father and turn a blind eye to the woman I care for as she heads in that- that direction you can't always come back from." She watches now - actually watches M'vyn rather than the wall - and tries to slow her breathing as he covers her up, hands eventually lifting to help hold the blanket in place, despite having been so far unabashed about her state of undress. Nala listens, her gaze both sharp and distant at the same time, turned inward to process what she's asked and told. "...I cannot go anywhere," she says, quiet and hollow, and finally supplying words that are genuine takes much of the fight out of her, cold and brave replaced by hurt and embarrassed, as she makes to retreat from his lap. "You should have taken me," she murmurs, ducking her gaze away again. Silence, then whatever else she might have managed becomes a simple echo. "...You... should have taken me." M'vyn may have ended the further steps of their love-making by the placement of that blanket and his questions but when Nala seeks to leave his laps he holds firm to her hips. "Don't move," he tells her, voice low and laced with that tone he often uses when they do make love. "I want you," he reminds her, shifting so that she may know that he does. "And I'll have you," he continues, tightening his fingers against her hips, "because you're mine to have," he claims her with that and the gaze he settles on her. Once he is sure she will not try and leave his lap he releases one hand to move towards her face. He grips her chin, tight enough to gain her attention, as he lifts her chin and holds her face to his. "But you know something isn't right. Why are you waiting until you have allowed yourself to slip so far you can't come back?" That she must find easier to handle than the prospect of kindness or sweetness, as Nala doesn't attempt to fight her way free, and all it takes is two syllables in that voice to keep her from insisting on getting some distance between them. She closes her eyes when he moves her, and begins to reach like she'd pull off his shirt, only then he makes her look at him and she doesn't fight that either, but stares passively back at him. "...Don't you think I wish it was that simple? That the healers could give me a tea to take in the morning and promise me that it stops you wanting to hurt yourself and be hurt and from hating everyone and being afraid of them too?" There's no looking away now; she affords them both that much. "How is anyone to know what is wrong with me if I do not even know myself?" "Southern helped last time," M'vyn seems resolute on this, his fingers remaining on her chin lest his removal of them break the progress of the conversation. "I don't know if it was being away from here, away from me," he has the decency to fault himself in her struggles, "but I know you came back -- or I assumed, anyway, that you were...," he hesitates, "better." He lets silence fall then as he releases her chin. He lowers his hand towards her shoulder and then downwards, moving beneath the blanket he had placed over her. His hand wanders along her body, easing the seriousness of the conversation with a touch that knows where to move to elicit an entirely different response from her. "...Maybe I will never be better," Nala murmurs, her words a practical analysis and little else. "Maybe I will have to live with this forever. Maybe it only... feels easier sometimes. It all felt more manageable... for a time." Her expression only grows more shadowed as she lets that realisation settle and take root, and when her dark gaze begins to go distant again is when M'vyn's hand moves as it does, the touch one that makes her lean into him and bite down on her lip to keep from making a sound. Perhaps her own pleasure lies too near to kindness, for she tells him, "You should just take me," again, if more unsteadily this time. "I'm not worth it." How many times has she repeated his words, and to how many people? "I was wrong when I took you against the wall and used you like you were nothing to me," M'vyn does not still his hand, he continues to try and bring Nala to a point of distraction. He leans forward to press his lips against her neck and then in the hollow between her clavicles. "And for the things I said," he continues before he nips her shoulder, "I wanted to hurt you." He doesn't seem intent on hurting her - not now, not with how his hand continues to move, and certainly not with words that he has used so often as weapons. He stops talking then, wanting space to fall between the heavier aspect of their conversation. He moves then to place his lips over hers, hoping to draw her further from her mind by focusing her lips on his own. Nala loses her grip on the blanket when she reaches to curl her fingers into M'vyn's shoulders to steady herself more than anything, and to keep from deliberately moving in such a way as to encourage him. Biting down on her lip doesn't seem to be working for her, and when she tips her head back, the shaky breath she exhales is accompanied by a quiet, appreciative sound, though a plea or unbidden half-echo of, "Hurt me," escapes her not a full moment later. When she finds the focus to look down again, it might be with the intent of repeating herself, yet a surrender to silence is made when he kisses her, her fingers digging into his shoulders. No, M'vyn will not hurt her. Nor does he seek permission as he moves Nala from his lap and onto the couch. Time moves forward with his focus being on her and drawing her out without the use of force or the pain she seeks to ground her. When he is sure she has found pleasure more than once, then he moves to find his own. He is faster than he would like to be, but with the length of time he spent focusing on her his restraint has long since been strained past the point of control. He presses himself down on her afterwards, allowing the full weight of his body to rest against her. Words like, 'I love you,' and 'you're mine' linger unsaid as he presses his lips one last time to hers. Finally, he pulls himself off of her and seeks to right his pants and straighten his shirt. He leaves the couch then, moving to gather another glass for hers and now he finally pours her a glass of whiskey and refills his own. It's not so long before Nala has forgotten any requests to use her or cause her pain, and probably even her own name for a little while somewhere along the way, and even though she might be too strung out and blissed out all at once by the time M'vyn finally takes her, she clings to him, eager to please and just as welcoming of his lack of restraint. When it's all too much, she sinks her teeth into his shoulder, just to keep herself quiet, but by the time that he lies still over her, she has one hand fisted in his hair and mouth pressed to that mark in silent apology. Her clothes are too far away to contemplate while he sorts out his, so she retrieves the blanket and nothing else before now steadier hands wrap folds of fabric to reinstate what modesty she's not been much concerned about. M'vyn takes a moment to enter the bedroom he and Nala once shared, pausing in the entryway to check on the children still sprawled and sleeping soundly amongst his furs. He steps back and turns to face the couch once more, glasses in hand. He passes one towards Nala, assuming she'll take it, as he eases himself onto the floor. He settles his back against the couch as he stretches his legs out towards the flickering flames. A few sips are taken from his glass as he contemplates the fire for answers he may never find. He doesn't turn to face Nala as he reaches a hand up and to the side to find hers to clasp. Silence continues to linger as once more the greenrider fears saying enough to ruin the peace of the moment. Nala accepts the glass and takes a lazy sip that soon has the rest of the whiskey following after it in one smooth move made more to be practical or for the sake of it than any great need to dose herself with alcohol. It allows her to set the glass down safely and sprawl down onto her front, where she twines the fingers of one hand with M'vyn's and reaches with her other to run her fingers through his hair in a slow, rhythmic motion perhaps meant to soothe herself as much as him. She keeps doing so until it sends her to sleep, the only signs that she's no longer awake the loosening of the grip of one hand and the halt of another halfway along its path. She's softer in sleep, if still shadow-marked in more ways than one, the hurt and anger gone from her features. M'vyn drowses against Nala's fingers, lulled into a near-slumber state until her movements cease and he rouses from his unfocused view of the fire. He shifts carefully, releasing her hand as he eases from the couch. As he would with their children, he very gently arranges her on the couch for her comfort. An additional blanket is added to her current one, the look he gives her is far more tender than anything he'd show her awake. He moves to brush a tendril of hair from her face but stops himself short, lest the action wake her. He leaves the fire banked and then heads towards the bedroom where he will spend the rest of the night curled amongst the small bodies there for warmth. In the morning, if he doesn't find Nala, he won't press her to visit again in the coming days. If Elsyth touches against Jynth's mind every now and then to "check", it certainly is not the green herself who chooses to do so. It isn't much, but it's something. |
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