Logs:Broken
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| RL Date: 7 June, 2014 |
| Who: K'del, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After Hraedhyth's flight, there are injured dragons and old wounds to tend to. |
| Where: Weyrleader's Weyr/Western Bowl/Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 12, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, A'rist/Mentions, Barnabas/Mentions |
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| Weyrleader's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Rank certainly has its privileges, and among them are amply appointed apartments. The short flight of stairs from the Weyrleader's Complex opens up into the larger of two chambers, formally decorated and clearly designed to cater as much to important guests as the occupant's personal living. Old, but obviously expensive, llama wool rugs dyed blue-and-black cover the stone floor, leading towards the second chamber, the stairs, and the rush-filled dragon couch and ledge beyond it. A formal seating arrangement - a sofa and chairs, all blue-and-black - sits around a large, tiled fireplace, whilst along the other wall, a finely made, if now somewhat antique, desk sits between a bookshelf and a tall cupboard to which tack-hooks have been attached, riding gear arranged neatly inside. Two tapestries hung from the high walls depict overdone splendour for High Reaches Weyr, one a long view of the snow-covered bowl, and the other a hazy impressionist piece of dragons flaming over a springtime countryside. The inner weyr, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area, is smaller and cosier and distinctly less ostentatious. An oversized wooden sleigh bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter, their covers dyed in varying shades of navy blue, light blue and bronze. There's a nightstand on either side, both with reading lamps, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf holding toiletries, shaving equipment, and clean towels.
For several moments, Hraedhyth is able to shut out their shared pain, the bliss of flight not completely stolen away. Reality is unforgiving when it does return, slamming into Hraedhyth as she breaks away from Cadejoth for her own rough landing. The sting of her scrapes are felt in Azaylia's rugburns, ignored as she grips K'del, pulling him closer even after he jerks beneath her hands. "No..." An insatiable plea, despite her own peak only seconds earlier. Then, "No." A reminder, brows furrowing as she struggles to focus on the pain bleeding through that draconic bond. Panting, she manages a breathless, "Is he..?" It's not an especially pleasant way to be brought back to reality, though K'del doesn't pull away: he focuses his gaze, glancing down at Azaylia with an expression that's caught between satisfied pleasure and utter concern; not a combination that's especially common. "His wing," he says, in a pained voice, blinking again. "It doesn't feel right. It-- shells, I've never experienced him injured like that." Not properly injured. He breathes, focusing on that for several more seconds before, "Should go to him. Need to--" But he's here, and now that he's safely on the ground, Cadejoth's pain is less. Manageable. Azaylia's fingers run over K'del's shoulder blade, as if that alone could wash away Cadejoth's hurt. "Should." She agrees with an upward tilt of her chin, though she does nothing to untangle herself from the bronzerider. If anything, her hold on him becomes more possessive. That is until Hraedhyth gives a croon of concern for her new mate, ignoring her ichor-stained hide in favor of comforting Cadejoth. Azaylia grits her teeth, managing to pull her hands away, "Wrong. It feels wrong to... I want to." But, "They're hurt. He's hurt." Guilt flashes in those unfocused eyes, concern fueling her slow retreat from K'del. Can a dragonrider truly ignore his or her dragon when they're in pain? Not K'del. No matter how much his flight-fuelled thoughts want to stay right here. He exhales through his teeth, eyes closing as, shudderingly, he attempts once more to clear his head. When his eyes open again, a few moments later, he's much more himself: enough so that he actively moves, this time, pulling himself away. His pants are still tangled around his ankles; at least that's one thing that's easy to fix. It's only as he's buttoning them again that he manages to glance back at the Weyrwoman and say, "Didn't mean for it to be like that." His actions? Lythronath's? Everyone's? Cadejoth buries his head into Hraedhyth, as if by doing so he can block out the pain, which lurks like a red haze in his thoughts. Neither can Azaylia, even if her own dragon's injuries are far less severe. Cadejoth is enough of a reason to feel around for her robe, though a quiet noise of frustration sounds from the back of her throat as she does. Yes, the Weyrwoman growled. It's the last remnant of that selfish haze, her voice quivering with forced calm, "No one ever does. It... happens." Twice, now. Hraedhyth takes great care not to aggravate Cadejoth's wing as she presses into him, wide muzzle nosing at his 'knobs and neck. As exhausted as she is the gold does her best to clamp down on his pain with protective jaws, warm influence attempting to muffle what it can. "You can go. I'll be there. I need clothes." Because now Azaylia is able to feel winter's bite through that flimsy silk. "I know," says K'del, after a moment, as he attempts to pull his shirt back on - the rest of his clothes, too. It's winter, and it's cold, especially in this weyr where the hearth's not lit. "It's just--" He runs his fingers through his hair, struggling with this; it's all not going the way he must have hoped and planned. "It's-- never mind." Even so, he waits for a few more seconds, teeth grit against shared pain. "We'll talk later." For now: now he's not waiting, not hesitating. Hraedhyth's efforts have certainly helped his bronze, but Cadejoth needs his rider, and needs the dragonhealers that are surely on their way. "It's alright." Not completely, but she urges him on, "Later." Without Azaylia there to curb her ferocious nature, those dragonhealers are going to have trouble getting to the bronze. Spent muscles strain to keep her dark wing up, not touching Cadejoth while still trying to shield him. It's only when K'del arrives that she relents, a rumble of discontent offered: he hurts. As if his rider didn't already know. The speed in which Azaylia dresses is obvious in her messy hair and missed buttons, riding jacket providing enough warmth during her run over. Cadejoth's wing hangs awkwardly, and though his hide always has a greenish tinge to it, it's rather more obvious now, between the ichor (which has at least stopped running) and the greyness seeping in to it. K'del stops short just in front of the two dragons, gaze sliding from Cadejoth to Hraedhyth and then back again. He steps forward, then, to press his hand to Cadejoth's head, as the dragon huffs warm air at him. "Thank you for looking after him, Hraedhyth," he murmurs. "He's going to be okay." Is he aware of Azaylia's arrival? Perhaps. Hraedhyth answers with another low rumble, wing collapsing against her back as she eases off of Cadejoth some. There's a need for a sliver of contact, even as the queen honors their bond-- knows that K'del comes first. Her own attention is snatched away as Azaylia approaches, not slowing in her run until she's thumped against Hraedhyth's lowered muzzle. Soon, that floral perfume seeps into the gold's smoke, warmed by her flames into a soothing balm. With her cheek still pressed into her lifemate's hide, the Weyrwoman looks between K'del and Cadejoth. "I... we'll stay out of the way. Or won't. Whatever you need." "It helps him," answers K'del, without looking. "Having her there. Stay." Please. Cadejoth lets out a low rumble as Hraedhyth eases off, but clearly is soothed by her continued presence. K'del, too, is easier now that he's physically in contact with his dragon; he breathes easier, and his gaze is sharper. Soon enough, the dragonhealers will be here; soon enough, their work will be underway, though there's no moving Cadejoth - not tonight. The real work will have to wait until tomorrow, when there's light enough to see by, but in the short time they're there, at least they're able to make sure both dragons are comfortable. It's after his bronze has begun to slide into sleep, at last, that K'del glances back to Azaylia, though now he doesn't seem to know what to say. Both gold and rider are watching the new-old Weyrleader as he answers, Hraedhyth's huff of relief the most audible. "Good. It'd be hard, keeping her away." Not that Azaylia couldn't manage. The dragonhealers are left to their duty, the queen's wounds tended to with a liberal amount of numbweed. 'Likely to scar' has become a familiar phrase to the pair, and Azaylia accepts it with a gentle nod. The queen fights to keep awake, refusing to succumb until Cadejoth is completely under-- only then does she falls into a heavy slumber. That very moment is punctuated by Azaylia's gusty sigh, eyes refusing to tear away from the dragons as she murmurs, "It could have been much worse." Even now, even once Cadejoth is sleeping, K'del's hand remains in contact with the bronze; he seems utterly unwilling to let go. "It could have been," he agrees, after a careful exhale. "So much." At least the dragonhealers seem positive: the wing is fractured, but it will heal. Patience. Patience. "But they're both going to be okay. It's--" His gaze goes distant, though he's staring out over the weyr and not communing with his sleeping dragon. "Well. It is what it is. You should get some sleep, Azaylia." Azaylia eventually steps away from Hraedhyth, though her eyes linger as she moves to rest a hand on K'del's back. His suggestion earns a quiet, if pointed, "Can you sleep?" There's little chance that her own attempts would be anymore successful. For comfort as much as warmth she moves to lean into K'del, freezing just short of tucking against his side. "Do... you want to stay out here?" Uncertain, suddenly careful, "There's tea in my weyr, if you'd like to come in." Perhaps it's that arm on his back, or the intimacies they've only recently shared, or simply the stress of the whole situation; whichever it is, K'del releases his dragon so that he can wrap his arm around the goldrider's shoulder and draw her in. "Probably not," he admits, after a moment, his sigh visible, a white breath in the air. "I-- tea. That'd be good. Tea." Tonight is not, after everything, a night for whiskey. Through the tension, Azaylia allows herself to be pulled the rest of the way in. Physical contact is a familiar comfort, one that helps her muscles relax and press tighter against him. She'll be the one to lead them in a turn, steps falling into a steady rhythm across the bowl. She's quiet, until there's a high-pitched chuff from the goldrider, "I already know what they'll say," Soft voice is sullen, "How dangerous she is. Her flights are. It's not-- it was supposed to be good." A sudden glance up at K'del and she quickly adds, "Better. It was good." Save for the injuries all around. K'del is easily led, though if he's in shock, he's coming out of it, now. He's shivering, though: even with his jacket on, he's not really fully dressed, not for a High Reaches winter. "It wasn't her fault," he says, gaze dropping towards Azaylia's; indeed, he attempts to meet her gaze squarely. "Lythronath started the violence. He's the one who hurt Cadejoth." For a wonder, he doesn't sound angry at the far younger bronze; just tired. Emotional. "Hraedhyth flew well. It was an excellent flight, and it'll be a good clutch, too." Despite the somewhat abrupt end. Azaylia's eyes find his, relief held within warm brown, "Thank you." Mention of Lythronath brings a squint to her gaze, not quite a guilty wince, "We-- she wanted him. Wanted both of them. Then the fighting started and..." A repeat in history, if only more severe. "She's happy with Cadejoth." Determined to push past the negative, "They'll have adorable babies." Or what the Weyrwoman considers adorable, at least. When they eventually reach her weyr, the hostess is quick to stoke up the near-dead fire. "You can stay here if... Or, you know. Your weyr." The Weyrleader's. K'del could comment on Lythronath, on the situation, on... no doubt a lot of things. He doesn't. Instead, he simply nods, just the once, perhaps to confirm the adorableness of the babies; perhaps not. "Wouldn't want to put you out," he says, as he stands in front of the hearth, watching Azaylia as she stokes. "It's... good timing, in a way. Ali's due any day now, so I'll probably end up with Iska, for a while." And no dragon to get him there and back again. He holds his hands out towards the flame, silent for a moment before he adds, "We'll do our best, Cadejoth and I. No fuckups." "You wouldn't be." Azaylia's motions speed up, unnecessary and rushed to cope with how quickly she answers. Once the embarrassment passes, she straightens with a small smile for K'del, "Oh. You must have mentioned it... Well, congratulations." There's an awkward pause as she stands there, remembering all too suddenly, "Tea. Right." Which means a pot on the fire, and other things that keep her blissfully busy and not looking at him. "I know. You did a good job as Acting, so..." Honest, if somewhat strained. K'del is silent for a long time after that, not even responding to those congratulations, or to Azaylia's sudden busyness. In the end, he sighs, just quietly. "You and I were friends, once," he says. "A long time ago. We going to manage that again, Azaylia?" He sounds tired as he asks that, and tired still as he says, quickly, "Don't answer that. It's a stupid question. We are what we are." The silence builds, only the clink of cups and crackle of fire filling the spacious ground weyr. Just when it becomes too much, K'del's voice cuts through, cutting off Azaylia's own thought. She seems grateful for it, although her answer doesn't come quickly. "We could." She finally offers, despite his earlier dismissal. Setting cups and bags of tea on the small table, she aims a searching glance his way, "I'm just... scared." K'del stares into the flames of the hearth during most of the time, focusing there instead of trying to find anything in Azaylia's reaction (or lack thereof). When she does finally speak, though, he half-turns to look at her. His brow furrows in thought, his mouth opening partway without any visible intention - it seems - of offering words. Not, that is, until after that last statement. "Of?" It's a prompt, but a quiet one; reflective, more than anything. Hugging herself, Azaylia aims to sit on the edge of the couch's armrest, focused on the shadowy figure in front of the fire. The question earns a faint shrug that doesn't end, the Weyrwoman hunched in on herself. Slow, painfully so, "I can't-- don't want to trust you." Neither apologetic or accusing, the words are drawn out and weightless, despite what they mean. "Not just you." Silence. Then, K'del's chin lifted as he answers, though not in a defensive way, he wonders, "Do you trust anyone anymore, Azaylia?" "One." Azaylia's hands drop to press into both sides of the armrest, an anchor and a tell. "He's not the Weyr." Or of it, despite the steady work and residence. Words carried on a slow exhale, "We'll work. We have been." Isn't that good enough? It's not good enough. Not for K'del, K'del who was Weyrleader to Tiriana and then Iolene; one whom he loved, one whom he couldn't stand, and neither of whom, in the end, could be proper partners. "Hate that it's done this to you," he says, as condescending as it may come across, for all that it's not meant that way. "This job. It used to be--" But it doesn't matter. He exhales, straightening. "We'll manage. And maybe, eventually..." One day. "We'll see about the rest." As tender as she is, Azaylia doesn't find insult in his words. Instead, it's she who tries to comfort him, "We're strong enough to handle it." She and Hraedhyth. And yet she's swallowing once, twice, before she's able to manage a tight smile, "We'll see." It's not a promise, but it's what she can manage, for now. Clearing her throat, "Tea. Then..." He can go, even if she can't say it. "No one," K'del murmurs, just quietly, "Should have to carry that burden alone. However strong." It's not a statement he means to force further conversation on the subject, though: no, he forces himself to a smile, however tired and unravelled, and nods. "Tea," he confirms. And then he will go: to check on his dragon, yes, and perhaps, if he's very lucky, to snatch a few hours of sleep before the new day dawns. |
Comments
A'rist said...
Everything is broken. :(
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