Logs:How To Get Over It
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| RL Date: 8 December, 2014 |
| Who: Alida, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin is still on a bender, and runs into Alida at Honshu Weyr. |
| Where: Honshu Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 6, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Teris/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions |
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| News spread fairly quickly around the Weyr about the death of the former High Reaches goldrider, Teris. R'hin's been gone for a couple of days already -- almost like he was anticipating it -- and two days after sees him at Honshu Weyr, as if he's drinking his way south. While the Honshu Weyrwoman knows Teris, most of the other occupants it's a normal day -- something that suits the Savannah Wingleader perfectly. The Weyr's regular hang out is flat, man-made structure with open sides to let in the warm summer breezes. A card game is in progress, a handful of riders sitting around a table, expressions mostly jocular. R'hin? He looks distracted, not even looking at his cards, a half consumed bottle near to his hand. For Alida, the news of Teris' death was pretty much the last straw in a string of deaths that have been occuring since the new Turn. First Jaecar, then Aishani and Iesaryth, now Teris and her queen. What had been slowly healing within the bluerider is once more festering again, and finally she was driven out of 'Reaches by memories and dreams that refused to be banished. With her Wingleader's (grumbly) blessing, a pair of free days are now hers, and 'lida and Ilicaeth are - much like R'hin - making their way South, the human part of the pair imbibing (and scrapping) along their flight path. Southern wound up being too painful to bear because of its mental connection to the sailor that was once her lover, and Monaco - besides not much caring for 'Reaches riders - was the restive seat of all her memories of her father. Striking out to try and rid her mind of pain, Honshu entered Ilicaeth's mind as having potential, and without much preamble, the blue took them Between there on his own initiative. Not wanting the company of unknown others, but unable to stand being utterly alone at this time, the blonde now steps just a little slowly into the Weyr's hangout, moving directly towards whatever might double as a bar...her usually seeking green gaze remaining steadfastly glued to her destination. If the dour-faced woman's seen R'hin, she gives no sign of such. Ilicaeth senses a flicker of the familiar, cold winds of High Reaches as he appears above Honshu, though the bronze's whereabouts aren't elaborated on, seeking only to greet his fellow Reachian. Nicely inebriated though R'hin might be, that doesn't mean mere habit has completely left him; pale eyes flicker up now and then. Perhaps it's coincidence that mere moments after his gaze passes over the blonde, he makes a grunt of disgust at his cards, tosses them face down onto the table, and unevenly pushes to his feet. One of the other players chuckles, pleased with himself, reaching for the pot in the middle of the table. The Savannah rider collects his half-full bottle, and makes his way steadily towards the bar, the bump of his shoulder into Alida's as he slides onto the stool next to her probably accidental. Ilicaeth's own contact is much more toned-down than his usual, hearty swirl of furnace-hot sands. This time, Leiventh's acknowledged with a mere flurry of gritty particulates that disappear almost as soon as they manifest, the blue unable, or perhaps unwilling - for once - to chat with his fellow 'Reachian bronze. His rider's mood has finally inflicted itself on even *him*. Within the hangout, an only-partially inebriated Alida finds herself finally jerking her chill gaze up to the lout her shouldered her - poised to let him have it with both barrels - suddenly pausing as she recognizes him. "Asshole..." is murmured with a quiet sigh, the epithet lacking any real ire...possessing only a fraction of her typical darkly-humored delivery. At least he's known...and tolerated. A low chortle comes from the bronzerider, like he's well aware of the aborted reaction the movement caused. Pale eyes are, however, not on the bluerider, but on his bottle, taking a gulp, before pushing it along the bar in her direction. R'hin's rather dishevelled -- shirt unbuttoned, hair uneven, and there's the unmistakable scent of alcohol he brings with his mere presence. At some point between his chortle and that pass of his bottle, R'hin's given a solid bump of her own shoulder in return, Alida simply accepting the glass vessel into her grasp, and taking a solid, long pull from it. If he's dishevelled, she's only a little unkempt, the woman only a quarter-of-a-day into her own personal binge of alcohol and forgetfulness...her breath not yet reeking of booze. Not *yet*. If the gut-rot's quite potent, it'll draw a small reaction from the woman, but nothing dramatic. Maybe she's starting to need the heavier stuff to attain a buzz. No matter, then second pull comes soon enough, followed by a laconic, soft alto, "Ol' man...on th' risk uv' soundin'...maudlin..." *snort* "...it's really startin' ta' seem like 'Reaches is a charnel house." The drink is definitely not up to his usual standard, but then it might be the best the bar in question has. R'hin waits to catch the eye of the bartender, gesturing wordlessly to the bottle and tapping the bar to indicate another will be needed. A sharp exhale of breath precedes the bronzerider's first, growled words: "That is fucking maudlin. People fucking die," another tap against the bar, perhaps a little harder than necessary, "All over. It's for the old to focus on death. The young should live for no regret," the latter remarked with bloodshot, pale eyes fixing on Alida, pointedly. There's a wasteland of a bitter, tired little smile on Alida's mouth - not in those gelid greens of hers - at R'hin's response, another deep draught taken before what's left in the bottle is passed back to him. "Die... yeah. We gotta' penchant fer goldriders, though, it seems..." Snerk. Her gaze finally drags from bartop to bloodshot greys, meeting them solidly...and without the usual passion that seems to often characterize the woman. "Dun' matter...I'm sick uv' it." Those low words offer only a fraction of a twist on the word 'sick,' vague intimations of her outrage, impotence, anger, and sadness ghosted within. R'hin doesn't speak until the bartender returns with another bottle, the tightness of his jaw only easing once he's taken a couple of gulps of the liquid. Shaking his head sharply, he says with a roughness in his voice that is perhaps only partially due to the alcohol: "Go find someone to fight. Or fuck. Or crawl into a hole." Spoken like someone who apparently has experience in all three. "I hear you..." the blonde replies with uncharacteristic gentleness to the roughness in R'hin's reply, her eyes wincing subtly in the process before turning inward for a moment. A faint jerk of her form has her looking back outside of herself again - some pain and a haunted cast lingering about Alida's expression - as she casts her gaze around for that new bottle, while mouthing in the process, "Been in three already." Fights, fucks, holes...or any combination of the above? Where's that fucking booze?! Another a pause, R'hin nudges the newer bottle Alida's way. "This isn't about Teris." An observation, not a question, stated with an abruptly steady repose. And perhaps not even a request for further information, given he's claiming his half-drunk bottle back. "It's about feeling small and futile and helpless. Sometimes the," he's grimacing, and it folds, oddly, to a self-deprecating laugh, "Most important, personal, things fall out of ones' control." Is she agreeing or disagreeing? No matter; Alida's head shakes side-to-side a few times with R'hin's first observation, that new bottle opened by still-steady hands, then applied to her lips with the need of someone who very much does *not* want to be of sound mind, at this point. After some long moments to take another pair of long pulls from 'her own' bottle, greens try to slide partially over to the man's face from their sides, her words a bare whisper: "Her." Beat. "Yer own spinner Queen." R'hin goes still, abruptly, staring at her, anger growing in pale eyes as expression hardens. Between one beat and the next he's standing, the stool tumbling over somewhere behind him, one hand gripping to that bottle as he stumbles out. Numbed from some emotions, sensitized to others in her state, Alida merely stares at stumbling R'hin for a couple of moments before she snags up her own bottle, careening off after the bronzer in silence. She won't interrupt his bargings unless he threatens to get away or leave, following the man like a bloodhound no matter where he might go...and taking jerky little pulls from her booze along the way. R'hin's not difficult to track, especially given his uneven cast and the trail of clothes he leaves behind, ending with his shorts and the discarded, now empty, bottle. The ocean might still be warm from the day's heat, but it's cool enough by contrast, and it's straight into the water that the bronzerider heads, deep enough to splash under the surface. She just stands there - 100 feet behind him on that beach - thickly watching the last of those clothes be shed, and R'hin's plunge into the waters of the ocean. Rather suddenly, Alida's trudging forward, and soon dipping down in slightly-swaying fashion to deposit her own bottle on the sand beside the empty - hers now half-empty - and likewise tugging off her own clothes. Leaving them in a pile about the bottles, the blonde's finally joining him in the water, the ebb and swell of the waves drawing her attention for long moments before greens seek out her fellow 'Reachian again. The ocean is oddly soothing, the flow of the incoming waves an inevitability. R'hin surfaces, finally, the gasp of his breath likely marking his position, having missed Alida's advance into the water. He doesn't fight the waves, nor does he seek the safety of the beach; instead he floats on his back, letting each successive wave wash over him and push him slowly back towards the shore. Soothing...and yet, evocative, for Alida. The sound, scent, roll of the waters also bring back treasured, but painful memories for the bluerider, the tug of the ocean likely forever to remind her of her drowned sailor. In the near-ceaseless, low roar of the waves - the wetness of their surroundings - tears are easily subsumed, and for once, the woman lets them have their way with her...kneeling on sand as the tide rushes around her shoulders, her form shuddering heavily. Eventually, the tides wash up more than memories -- a drunken old bronzerider rising from the water with slightly less unsteady steps. He stops, in the shallows, pale eyes on Alida, but he doesn't interrupt her grief. Instead, he heads towards where he discarded his shorts and more importantly the bottle, which gets attention first. And there, he waits. Her own grief is newer, perhaps more raw than his, and it takes the woman some handful of minutes to try and wrestle herself back under at least partial control, her gasps and groans mostly blending with the sounds of the sea. And when she's spent enough to grasp at the edges of her personal boundaries, Alida staggers up out of the water like the drunk she now is, lurching around some to look for her bottle...and soon finding it in R'hin's grasp...the bluie standing there dripping wet and nude...and glaring a little at him. *Mine*. While R'hin may have given her physical space, there's no question, when she finally staggers closer, that he's been watching, pale eyes tracking her progress. The glaring earns a deliberately casual lift of the bottle to his lips, as if to counter the point, not yours, but at least he's gracious enough to offer it to her afterwards. "Shitter..." is glowered out to him in growly fashion, the woman finally flopping to an 'oof'ing sit beside him in order to accept that bottle and toss back more of its contents...followed by a short, raucous belch. Fuck manners. After some long moments she allows herself to feel the potent burn of the alcohol - allow it to ease the lingering tightness in her chest and throat - Alida slowly hunches forward some, staring at the sand before her. Give her uncounted seconds (minutes?), and she'll finally remember the bronzerider is there, and comment, "Does it ever get easier?" There's the space of three heartbeats where he allows silence after her question, by no coincidence. "No," R'hin says, with a practicality backed by a tone of certainty. There's no reassuring give it time platitudes following, either, and that, too, is by design. The bluerider's shoulders slump forward further at her beachmate's firm assurance, but she doesn't react in any other way. Alida is rarely one to be able to deny reality for any length of time, a pragmatic woman in many things. Still... her form shudders once again...and the bottle is raised, while bleak, reddening green eyes stare out over the starlit ocean. R'hin lapses into silence again, and it's some time before he moves. His shorts are within reach, and he tugs those on, moving past Alida. It might just be the breeze, rather than the brief touch of fingers to her hair, and then he's gone, following the line of his discarded clothing, picking up each item one by one on his way back to the Weyr proper. And her? There's a soft sigh somewhere in there between the silence and his return to motion, but she's too new to this grief-inspired drunkeness to do much more of anything but slowly fall into the bowels of a near-dreamless sleep on the beach. Nothing bothers the nude and defenseless woman curled into a semi-fetal position upon one side, though, since her partner in crime and the other half of her soul is to be found curled around her, Ilicaeth protecting his own when she cannot do so herself. And when the morning comes and reality makes a painful intrusion, the blonde rises unsteadily, re-clothes herself, and finally finds the Honshu baths to be more welcoming than sand was. Rinse and repeat. |
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