Logs:Fresh Wounds
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| RL Date: 18 October, 2014 |
| Who: K'zin, Solith, Telavi, Rasavyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After the storm, K'zin and Telavi process separately and then together. |
| Where: Artful Artifice Weyr (K'zin's), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 1, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Edeline/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Collab vig/scene. Angst. Back-dated. |
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| The went the one place Rasavyth knew he could get them safely. Home. Always, they could get home if they could fly. The winds had tired him, and the loss of his queen blinded him to much else, but he could still fly. He could still between. They had saved no one, personally, though perhaps some ships benefitted from their warning, so there were no passengers stranded on the wide ledge when they arrived. He was cold. No, K'zin was cold. They both were? They were numb, but only physically. It was strange, the bronze knew, to be so docile, to respond to K'zin's authoritative instruction of, "Inside," without so much as a hackle raising for the audacity of it. K'zin cranked the curtain open for him and he went after a shake which threw off some of the rain. He didn't care if he made his pillows wet. He sat in the wallow anyway. K'zin didn't bother with himself, not right away. He tore off goggles, helmet and gloves, just enough so he could see and so his hands weren't bulky as well as stiff and clumsy. He went for towels, and rags, not caring a stitch whether this was the purpose they were meant for and still squelching in his boots, he set about drying the massive form of the bronze.
The rugs were cannibalized after a good shaking and thrown over the bronze's form as he lacked any blankets warm enough. It wasn't that Ras was truly so cold, but that he was hollow, empty, as if the loss of Iesaryth had gone straight into him and cored his heart out as easily as one might take seeds from a redfruit. Once he'd covered the bronze, he saw to himself, stripping off wet clothes and not bothering to find any new ones before he climbed under the few blankets he had brought for himself-- under Madilla's quilt, sitting against his dragon's neck, stroking his headknobs, even as suddenly exhaustion hits and he starts to doze. Telavi had always had more to do with Aishani-- whether related to work, such as reporting Edeline-news even after the weyrwoman had stepped down from Acting, or more of the friendship and fun ostensibly arisen from their shared vanity, including the time they'd lingerie-shopped with Lilah-- than Iesaryth. But Telavi also remembered, and then Solith 'remembered' through her, how Iesaryth had yanked them back from between when they were weyrlings; when they were just skilled enough to think they didn't have to focus quite so much anymore; when they were wrong. She had choked on the lack of air like she was drowning. It was so cold... and then salt-warm, blood-warm, home. She supposed the weyrlingmasters must have known, and she had told one or two of her classmates, but it hadn't made it 'round the barracks the way it could have done. They hadn't answered the call, hadn't joined the search. Would things have been different if they had? She didn't think so; or, maybe what she really thought was that things would have been different if they had, but different for the weyrlings to whose barracks she had run. Those weyrlings were of Iesaryth's blood, just like Solith. They hadn't been in their own weyrs all that long, and not all of them came, but for those who had, they had each other. Telavi raided Quinlys' stash, but for small doses; this was no joyous occasion. One boy flicked droplets over his left shoulder, afterwards saying a little self-consciously that that's what they did where he came from. Telavi tried it too. She figured it wouldn't hurt. She thought, but did not say to the weyrlings-- even the one her age-- that it should be pouring in torrents here too. Or perhaps the moons should be in conjunction, or both full at least, or with rings around them, or possibly weird colors with something not dragon-shaped flying across. The sky should be silver, with lightning or-- she shivered again-- Thread. It was a lot of thinking. It helped. Or at least, it didn't hurt more. She didn't like asking Solith for things, but she asked her-- not told her-- to watch for certain other dragons' return; when they were all as back as they were going to get, she moved to go... but then the weeping had started up again and never mind how it yanked at her nerves, there she was. Once she finally could leave-- she told herself she could before, she just chose not to-- she stopped by her own ledge first, in case anyone was there, even anyone who shouldn't be. Then, instead of taking off Solith's straps, she went with the green as she circled the cliffs. When Solith landed, Telavi was glad, and when Solith nosed her way past the curtain-- she was only green-sized, it didn't have to move much-- Telavi ducked behind a neckridge but stayed astride.
K'zin rouses when Rasavyth lifts his head. He looks at Solith before letting his head droop back to the ground again. He has no words. He can't find them. Maybe they went between with Iesaryth, never to return. He doesn't know. Perhaps most importantly, he makes an effort for her. He can't bring down his walls, but his shimmers can invite her to find the spots where the pieces don't come together perfectly, or where a piece has been forgotten entirely. The pain behind it, though, might make her glad that he's not capable of letting her in completely, even if he wanted to. The rider shifts upon waking, brow furrowed at the dragon coming through the curtain until Telavi is spotted on her neck. "Tela," his voice is a little hoarse from having shouted against the wind to the ships and from the punishment of the briny air that gave him voice out there in the storm. He's shifting up from where he's settled, looking a little confused. Is she just going to stay up there? How is he supposed to hug her from here? Solith is a glimmer to the shimmers, hazily so but there; she's there before she's there physically, and must intuit on some level what Rasavyth's doing or, rather, not doing. "Coming," her rider says, soft. She's listened more than talked, hasn't been the one to shout. They come closer; Telavi slips down; Telavi doesn't side-eye the bronze, not even figuratively, though she does glance his way in between looking at his rider whom she approaches-- and not as though he were just that rider's backrest. Solith, there may not be room for Solith, not exactly, and she can't make it all better... but her eyes are open as her presence is open, for once even the most transparent of lids lifted. Telavi is so far beneath Rasavyth's notice just now that she could probably stab him in the neck give him a prostate exam boop him on the nose before he'd even send a wisp of thought in her direction. Thankfully, now is not the time for booping, and K'zin is there to intercept her and any nefarious intentions she might harbor with his embrace that draws her so close and so tight, though not painfully. He just wants her close to him. "Are you okay?" He asks, raspy voice quiet in her ear. The bronze shifts a little, just a little, so there's room between the curtain and his head if she'd like to put hers there as well, for the moment. "I'm okay," Tela murmurs, and she's not 'okay,' but how could anyone be? She's not bleeding out, she's not squished after booping-- K'zin's saved her from that-- and she's here, holding him. "You're here," not out there, not okay but not gone. She pats him down anyway, to be certain of it, that his arms are there and his shoulders and his neck and his back. Not gone. Solith does put her head there by Rasavyth, for the moment; for all that she'd just been outside, she's warmer and softer than stone, insulating more solidly than even the curtain can do. "Yes," K'zin answers the not question as additional reassurance, or perhaps he needs to say it aloud to be sure himself, there's a lot going on in the shared consciousness that he has with his dragon in times of pain. Rasavyth angles his nose to touch Solith's lightly. It's just contact. Just enough to be sure she's there too. "We had to go," the rider relates a little raggedly, sagging a little against Telavi. "Iesaryth-- and Ras--" He looks exhausted, sounds exhausted. "I'm sorry." He apologizes to her because-- what if they'd been gone too? What if they hadn't come back to her? She's there; she's breathing, Solith is, warm and there and here and Telavi's not asking what's to be sorry about, she's holding K'zin tighter, bones and muscle and skin and self, like she could keep him intact that way. Let him sag; she's there, she doesn't fall, she's not gone. Not yet. I love you, she says. And, "How-- I don't know how this can even happen." K'zin shakes his head and dips it to silence her with a kiss. "I can't think about it now." It's too much. "Will you stay? Both of you?" Solith is helping. Ras is shifting a little more now, making himself more inviting because-- he wants the closeness too, as much as his rider. And where K'zin will have that mental closeness, wherever he is, there's only so much his small frame can do to give his dragon a sense of not being alone. Solith, for all her green-size, is still much larger than K'zin. "We can camp out," he suggests, gesturing to the space between the wallows, not that Rasavyth wants Solith using a separate wallow, no, he wants her here, closer, against him. "With wine. And them." Doesn't wine sound like a great idea? "Both of us," Telavi agrees, Solith agrees, though Telavi will have straps to remove first; Tela doesn't want to be parted long enough for even that, but it's not like it's far, and it's them. 'Camping out,' that almost, almost gets a smile-- starts to, even, until she realizes, guilty-- "As long as the wine isn't very far." Her hands want to stay on him despite her own task, the loosening of the leather before Solith can ease up. The leather moves, the clasps clink. Solith's small; she can shape herself to where she's needed, tuck herself close and breathe in, breathe out, breathe in again. K'zin stops to have quiet words and stroke Rasavyth's headknobs a few more times before tending to his own half of the bargain. Dragging the mattress out from his room is too monumental an undertaking when strength is so lacking, but he does manage to pull some of the extra mats from the exercise room, the ones that make the walkway vanish when he's a mind to make it padded from end to end, or needs to tie some up on a wall, to lay on the floor where their proposed campsite is to be, quite near both dragons so that either can reach out and touch them, or simply settle with a tail touching or whatever else they might wish. He brings a glow and a thin fabric to throw over it, making the light red; must be left over from his turnday rager some turns back. He brings wine, but no cups, and water too, along with pillows, not that they'll likely use them with the way K'zin seem to want to lean up against Rasavyth and invites Telavi into his arms. It's like the night they graduated, so long ago now, when they went to Weaver and then to Boll and ended on the beach to see the sunrise, only they're not looking for the sunrise in the same way. Today it only sought to take away the the woes of yesterday and make the wound a little older. One sunrise, and then another, and then another and maybe eventually it won't hurt so bad, but they have to get through tonight first. |
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