Logs:Breaking the Boredom
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| RL Date: 2 September, 2014 |
| Who: H'vier, Reisoth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Reisoth breaks important news to H'vier while H'vier gets his face broken. |
| Where: High Reaches and Ista Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 9, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Fayla/Mentions, Tayte/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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| This was one of the only times he could avoid thinking about all of the things that usually plagued his thoughts. It was a rote motion, a carnal process that he could completely lose himself in for a while. Too short a while, unfortunately, before he had to face his thoughts again. He could draw it out, though. He usually tried. He was close, painfully close, when that severe, all too familiar chill encroached on the blissful emptiness of his mind. « Boring. » Completely unapologetic. "No." His groan was mostly frustrated but there was an undertone of anger. This was not the sort of drawing out he was interested in. The chill was heavier now, though, more severe, more encompassing. It wasn't going to give him the privacy he needed to finish what he'd started. « Get dressed. We're going. » "Where could we possibly need to go right now?! Get out of my head!" H'vier yelled at the ledge. No need for subtlety now. « Ista. » "I'm busy, shardit. Go by yourself." « You're boring. We're going to Ista. » And that was that. H'vier knew better than to argue with Reisoth when he was in a determined mood. So he gave up and got dressed. But he wasn't happy about it. --- It didn't take long for H'vier to realize why Reisoth had brought him back to the place that had been their home for so long. Or it didn't take long for him to assume the reason, anyway. There was a fight that night. And it didn't take long for Reisoth to convince H'vier to enter. He was out of practice. And he certainly wasn't getting any younger. But there were people that were excited to see the bronzerider back in the ring after so many turns. He was one of them. There was even an air of anticipation, albeit more subtle, in the lingering presence of his lifemate. When it was his turn to fight, H'vier was pumped with adrenaline and eager to hit something. His opponent was around his age, but a more active participant than he had become since transferring to High Reaches. They shook hands at the center of the ring. H'vier didn't hear the ref start the bout, though. All he heard was Reisoth's voice in his head. « The child is yours. » He didn't get a chance to react before a fist caught him in the gut and he through up reflexive defenses. And those brief seconds let him growl back, What the fuck are you talking about? He saw the next blow coming and deflected, rounding his own fist toward the other rider's jaw before ducking away. Reisoth, however, was impossible to dodge. « The woman's child. » Tayte. Not Fayla. He didn't say her name, but he was familiar enough with H'vier's feelings for her to trigger his rider's natural possessiveness. « You are its sire. There is no other man. » Obvious, of course, to the bronze. H'vier's attention was focused on the bronze rather than his opponent again and it earned him a sharp pain in his jaw with lights dancing through his vision. But all he could think about was that she'd lied to him. If it was true, and he had little reason to question the validity of his lifemate's claims, Tayte had lied to him about his child. Why? « You hurt her. She doesn't want you to be its sire. » The bronzerider's temper, the one he'd been holding together so very carefully for months, began to slip, bit by bit, until all he wanted to do was hurt something until it stopped moving. When the referee called foul and tried to stop the fight, H'vier didn't hear him. He couldn't hear anything but ringing and the too-loud thump of his own heartbeat in his ears. It was the blood in his eyes, though, that let his opponent claim enough of an advantage to knock him out cold. Reisoth was there in his head when the bronzerider came to sometime later. He was laying on a makeshift cot in a place that was definitely not an infirmary, even if he'd clearly been tended to to some extent by someone with healer training. H'vier hurt, everywhere, but the dragon wasn't interested in that. He only probed for some indication that H'vier remembered what he'd been told. That the memory was now part of his rider's pain satisfied the bronze somehow. |
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