Logs:Can'ts and Wants
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| RL Date: 20 September, 2013 |
| Who: K'zin, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Telavi tracks K'zin down at last. It turns out there are a lot of can'ts and even some won'ts in the way of what she wants. |
| Where: K'zin's Training Room/Questionably Painted Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 11, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Aaaaangst. Back-dated, played via gdocs. |
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| K'zin's Training Room, Questionably Painted Weyr The big bubble of a cavern that matches the one on the other side of the shared hearth provides plenty of space now that the big bed has been cleared out of it. In the entry way, there's a set of shelves holding all variety of training equipment, many of smith-work to provide added resistance. The floor is mostly covered in a layer of matting, just enough to keep a person from hurting themselves on the stone when thrown to the floor. Suspended on one side of the room is a large punching bag that looks like a hand-me-down from somewhere, and certainly seeing a fair bit of use, as some spots show bloody knuckle-prints that can't yet be qualified as old. There's a little more than waist high set of parallel bars, though not longer than is useful for a single person, and a pull up bar installed high on one wall. On the other side of the room from the punching bag is something that looks a little like a totem pole, layers of cylindrical trunk stacked with arms of varying sizes sticking out from each layer. Each layer twists independently, and it looks like the arms can be taken off as desired; something to test and practice one's agility and ability to dodge.
At the back of the weyr the cavern branches into two good-sized back rooms with a double-sided fireplace occupying the wall they share. The weyr even comes already decorated. It has an ornately carved bed and press in both of the rooms; the front area offers a polished rectangular table and six matching chairs, a set-up perfect for entertaining. Rugs are scattered across the floor, their colors bright and cheery to match the walls. But oh, those walls! Some artistic hand has painted mural on every wall, filled with bright colors and bordered by mixed fruits and vegetables. The mildest murals are filled with exuberant scenes of dancing people, but most of them are of a more... questionable nature. They're certainly not the sort of thing any concerned parent would want their children to see, though they give the weyr a definite party atmosphere.
It's fairly typical that K'zin is out of his weyr most evenings for one reason or another. The reasons vary. Sometimes it's duties. Other times it's brawls out of weyr at shady establishments where it doesn't raise brows or cause knotted knickers, or 'get in, get off, get out' liaisons that never last too long, or just getting drunk. The three seldom overlap, and if someone were paying very close attention, there might even appear to be some semblance of a schedule. The unusual amount of light in his training room begs investigation. It's not that others aren't permitted to use the room when he's not around, but there are fewer that would come at this hour, so maybe someone's just forgotten to close the glow. The sound of thudding warns him that he's not alone. When he pulls the door fully open and steps into the room, the most notable differences to his usual look are the fresh black eye that's swollen his left eye shut and the still slowly bleeding split of his lower lip. The door is quiet and, more to the point, his visitor is focused; she's been going at it for some time, if the light sheen of sweat is any indication, down to a tank top and trous with her hair in a high-knotted ponytail that sweeps her shoulderblades when she strikes. Her form isn't great, more a kept-up version of what a beginner's been taught to get the basics across, but there's rhythm to it and willful endurance, too. What there isn't is surprise, at least not until he steps further into the light; Solith must not have completely slacked off on the job from wherever she is, then, but she couldn't prepare Tela for that. Not that she hasn't seen similar before, but... never so fresh. The bag nearly catches her this time, and she settles for deflecting it, sticking with it and slowing it down. Maybe it's been a long night. Or maybe he just can't bring himself to not take advantage of her usually friendly face being here right now, but his first words aren't to throw her out or demand what she's doing here. Instead, he's taking the moment to kick off already loosened boots and cross the mat. In silence, lips set to stony neutrality, K'zin steps around behind her, one hand touching her hip and the other to her opposite shoulder. He faces her toward the bag. It's not exactly gentle, but far from rough, 'purposeful' is probably the right word for it. He adjusts other things to, small things, a nudge of his foot to her ankle until she's repositioned it to where he wants it. Eventually, a hand arrives to just above the small of her back, "When you punch, think of punching from here. Your back muscles engage and it gives the strike more power than shoulder and arm alone." Then his hands leave her and he's swiftly stepping 'round the bag to hold it. His lip and eye probably want some tending, but for the moment, that's not what he's doing. Since he's not throwing her out, yet, she's not resisting; not only is she not resisting, she's actively focused on learning, at least after that first look at him over her shoulder before he turned her to the bag. She does have to glance down at times to check where her feet are, things like that, to better remember their location, but then-- "All right." With him stepping around, she reaches back to rub that spot on her spine for a moment, the better to remember that too and engage. There's a pause before the first blow, visualizing, and then the second comes more quickly; the third... after that it's slipped and she pauses, resetting her stance with a glance at him to check: better? K'zin is watching, intently. He doesn't say anything, doesn't offer further corrections, or even any visual signs of whether she's doing well or poorly. He has to lean slightly to the right of the bag so he can see her out of his good eye, he's probably getting nothing out of the other for the moment. At her silent request for him to provide her with feedback, he grunts, giving a half nod. He'll hold the bag for one more flurry of blows before he says simply, "Better." And turns, moving to the shelves at the entrance that hold his bruise balm, numbweed, and other first aid supplies. It takes him time to gather what he needs, but short of being stopped, he's heading back to the main room and then picking up a bucket that was left outside the door to the training room, into his bedroom. Better. She keeps at it, attempting to set it into her muscle memory, though she does miss a spot when her eyes flick to his busying himself with the shelves. They're shelves that she's going to take a closer look at on her way out, but right now, Tela's getting back into the beat. Only when that's settled as best she can does she stop and attempt to mirror the other side, and a few blows later, that's when he leaves. She doesn't stop him, though again there's that brief distraction. It'll be a couple minutes more before she stops for good, maybe even a few, leaning against the bag and panting until her breathing evens out. Then she straightens. She rolls her shoulders. And, after that overview of what's left on the shelves, she makes her way to his bedroom door. By the time she's come to the bedroom door, the fire's been built, glow baskets opened for some brighter light, and K'zin's changed into pair of relaxed pants with drawstring tie, and lost his shirt. He's laid back on the bed with pillows propping up his torso and head. There's what looks to be a cold compress (he must've brought a bucket of snow from somewhere through between, convenient that!) on the nightstand, and he's squinting down at the bruises that dot his torso, possibly trying to distinguish which ones need the bruise balm and which one might be severe enough to simply be in want of straight numbweed. He probably hasn't talked with Madilla at length about the proper care and tending of bruises won in brawls, for obvious reasons. From the threshold, she looks into the room for a silent moment before crossing it; there's something about the way she walks toward where he lies that speaks of what she'd just been doing, the energy that continues to rock her forward on still-bare feet. Settling onto the very edge of the bed, "Here." She curls her fingers: why doesn't he hand that balm on over. Okay, so now is the part where he throws her out, or tries to. The squint paired with the grimace is probably a little more fierce a look than K'zin intends as he looks up at Telavi's curled fingers and the way she's sitting, too slow to have stopped that just now. "No. Tela, go home." Simple, direct. "I can take care of myself." Added a moment later, despite all the evidence that points to this being a total lie. It's enough that her lashes drop briefly, and then she's looking at him all over again. "You can," Tela agrees calmly, or at least chooses not to dispute; it may also have to do with the difference between 'can' and 'do.' "It's just you don't have to. Here," and this time she leans to actually reach for the little ceramic jar, though she'll settle for his hand if he tries to intercept. She has a second one, after all. His hand does move to intercept, "Tela, seriously. Stop it." It's half growled in frustration. This is a man frustrated and in some discomfort already. And the greenrider is choosing to dangerously poke the proverbial jungle cat with a stick, albeit with more altruistic motives. He's not aiming to let her get ahold of the balm, though he's courteously trying to avoid putting the fingertips smeared with the stuff in contact with her, but if pushed, courtesy will go out the window. "I can't have you touching me like that." K'zin's tone is starting to edge with exasperation. Tela does stop, though she doesn't take her hand away, a quick tilt of her head sending her ponytail over that shoulder; her lips part like she's just about to say something, perhaps even to straighten, only then she says instead, "Why not?' Still calm. "Because," Immediate. Then a pause to draw breath and let his stubborn jaw settle into place. His hand slips the hold it has on hers. "Because we can't be together and having you touch me like that," Or at all, really. "I'm only going to want to be with you, and we can't. So it will just make it harder." Simple enough, right? K'zin watches her, ready to be met with some variety of protest. Just barely, just barely he forestalled the otherwise-inevitable 'Because why?' and possibly its illicit cousin, 'Because because.' "About that," Telavi says, and obligingly takes her hand away, even if it's only to put it on the quilt on his other side to support her weight when she leans. But look, not touching! "I have some ideas. But go ahead, put it on." She'll just hang out. K'zin doesn't move. Instead, "I'd rather you go." His eyes (well, eye) follow her form, from the arm supporting her weight up and through her shoulders, down her torso and to where her legs disappear off the other side of the bed. His look of suppressed longing is contrary to the words, but he still manages them. Surely she doesn't consciously shift beneath the weight of his gaze, as familiar as though it were a touch-- but, "I know," Tela says very softly. It would be so easy to touch him, right now. "I will, after I've seen that you've taken care of yourself." "I always do. You don't--" K'zin starts and then frowns; the words aren't right. "You shouldn't concern yourself with me anymore." If she hasn't come to understand that, what has been the point of all the womanizing, drinking, and fighting he's been doing? (Other than to feel something other than the internal misery.) Telavi has a simple answer, a complicated answer, for that. "I can't not." Of course, she hasn't been engaging in the womanizing and so forth herself. Maybe if she went to fight club... The look K'zin gives Telavi is dark, almost reproachful with it's mix of pain and self-loathing. "You have to figure it out. We both do." "That's my point, we have to figure things out-- " Telavi begins. "No." He interrupts as she makes the 'we' something more than he would have it be. "We, separately. We, not together. That's the point. We're not together. You figure things out for you and forget I exist." You know, because that's easy. He makes it sound that way. Maybe easy to an eavesdropper, but to Telavi-- not so much. "Listen." She licks her lips as though she's only just discovered they're dry. "You're hurting, I'm thirsty, I'm really thirsty, are you thirsty? and there's that stuff for your eye. Can you just tell me all that stuff afterward? Really." It's measured but starting to sound strained, tinged with frustration of her own, at least until she yanks it down hard. "None of that matters, Tela." K'zin's use of her name is admonishing. "None of it's going to change when I'm not battered, when you're not thirsty, or when my eye's not swollen. The longer you stay, the longer it goes without tending." If she cares, this is him using that against her. It's a desperate act, even if the desperation doesn't show in his tone or expression. "Really. Really." Tela eyes him. "You're going to use your body as hostage," not to mention hers, but that's her choice. Her lips pull to one side, fighting off-- something. "Well. In that case." She lets out a breath, starts to straighten... and he can hold that jar all he wants, because that's only so she can start to slide both her hands up his chest, leaning into him as she does. Bruises or no bruises. K'zin's good eye bugs. The other one must try to, also, because the gesture causes an instant wince of pain. It's distracting enough that her hands find their aim on his chest and start to slide before he can react at all beyond a half-hissed scold, "Tela!" He doesn't even know what else to say, or where to go from there. His hands move to wrap around her wrists, to try to push her hands off and away, but it's a half-hearted effort. If he'd put more effort into it-- as it is, he can have her wrists, but it's more than inertia that continues to slide them forward, and where did the poor little jar go, anyway? That brings her forward over him, her ponytail swinging down, and if it weren't for how she'd been half-sitting, this would be getting all too familiar. Right in his already banged-up face, "Fine. No tending. I get it." At least, in the moment, for the moment. The temptation to will himself between rather than have to deal with this particular scenario is strong. And perhaps he does, for a brief second when he closes his eyes. But reality is waiting for him when his eyes open. His grip on Telavi's wrists tightens. It's not so much to hurt, but enough to leave no doubt that he means business as he swiftly pushes her back, following through with sitting up himself, causing the bruise balm to tumble the rest of the way down from abdomen to between hip and bed. "Stop it." Two words. Two simple words that are hard. Hard to say, hard, likely, to hear. His hand snatches the jar up, depositing it on the nightstand as he slides out of the bed to stand. She doesn't fight it; she doesn't fight him. She does-- one word for it is comply. Pushed back that way, once her back untwists, she winds up seated much as she had been... except that he's up and out. She rubs her wrists half-automatically and then her hands go over her face and her head has bent; there's only room for a nod. Her shoulders, her neck are taut, the lines of muscle pressed up against skin. "I'm sorry." It's so quiet. K'zin starts for the door, or seems to. Only, he doesn't make it all the way before he just explodes. It's messy. Not in the guts and gore all over everywhere sense but in the unmanly way his initially fierce and frustrated roar dissolves into a sob. He freezes in place, paces away from the open door. At least it's just the one sob. Unless you count the way his shoulders start shaking. The roar freezes her, but what caved her own shoulders in were the footsteps, retreating, that came before it. Within that hurt and isolation, the transition-- what he's come to-- can't register until it's already died away to silence. Even then... even then it's an act of will to lift so much as her eyes. Even then she can't see straight. Except, no, it's him shaking, not her, or not just her even if most of hers is on the inside. Earlier, sevendays ago, she would have gotten up and gone to him; earlier, moments ago, she would have stayed still and silent; now all Tela has to reach K'zin with-- if it's that at all-- is his name. It feels like forever to K'zin, but in actuality it's less than a minute. The bronzerider manages not to let the single sob become a series. He staunches the threatening outflow of emotion and starts moving again. He can't help a look back at Telavi, the look saying so much that he can't say to her, at least not now. But the look back takes in the greenrider, and that hurts as much as anything in this moment, so he runs. The footsteps retreat. He's bootless as he reaches the ledge, swings up onto Rasavyth's bare neck and wings find wind to speed them away, away and down. By then she's raised her head, even if her chin's still tucked in; if her cheeks are damp, she can't see them, can feel only the way they burn. Telavi looks at K'zin before he moves, looks at him as he goes, looks at him as he looks at her, as he leaves. One hand's wrapped around the end of her ponytail as though for support or, perhaps, to keep herself in place. Or to keep her tears from falling too fast, too hard. She doesn't try to remonstrate, to negotiate, to explain what she'd come here to explain. At least there's the pillow, pillows, and if one gets wet, well, it'll just have to survive. As for the balm, she might literally put a cork in it. But not, definitely not now. |
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