Logs:Punchdrunk
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| RL Date: 31 July, 2013 |
| Who: D'kan, Kazavoth, R'co, Deveriteauxth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two brownriders walk into a bar. Ouch. |
| Where: Dive Bar, Greenfields Hold |
| When: Day 23, Month 5, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, G'mli/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Takes place after Hraedhyth's Senior Flight and Unexpected... but Welcome. Also, D'kan is awesome. <3 |
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| Dive Bar, Greenfields Hold Despite the dirt, the dim lighting, and the obviously battle-scarred furniture, there is nothing overtly dangerous about the dive bar tucked against the corner of Greenfields proper. The main bar room is low-slung and windowless, and lit with flickering glows that seem to be perpetually in danger of guttering out entirely. A long, darkly stained and pitted bar stretches across one end of the room, complete with rickety stools that often play host to a set of rough-looking (and drunk) characters. The rest of the room boasts a scattering of equally scarred round tables and oft-repaired chairs, filled with the same mix of gnarled laborers and somewhat disreputable young people in search of a quick thrill. Behind the bar is a shut door, which apparently leads to a set of storerooms and offices for the bar management types. There's a reek of spilled beer in the air, mixed with the sightly sour scent of sweat and the salty, greasy smell of the snacks brought in to appease the patrons. A couple hours after Hraedhyth's flight back at the Weyr, evening has settled in Greenfields, and this particular bar is already half-full of patrons that are growing increasingly rowdy. The vibe so far is edgy, but not too much so yet - typical, really, for those who might frequent the joint. Whether he's a frequent visitor or not, R'co is sat right up at the bar, currently a good few drinks in given the sloshed manner in which he's chatting to the burly-looking man beside him. It's a study in contrasts; the smooth-skinned, primped blonde brownrider and the roughed up worker-type with his scrubby beard and scruffy clothes. The latter seems to be only just tolerating the 'Reachian, who's currently waggling a finger at him as he talks about... something. It's all slurred, whatever it is. A draft accompanies D'kan's entry, a red tinge on his cheeks indicating the wind has picked up in the last couple hours. He's not currently wearing his knot, but the rest of the gear is clearly Rider. Not entirely out of place on its own, but he is. A skeptical look appears briefly as he gives the dive a study from left to right, and he's on the verge of leaving again when he spots R'co at the bar. The debate is all over the younger brownrider's face, once he's picked up on the body language. Does he stay and watch someone clean R'co's clock, or step in? Call it the Brotherhood of Brown, or something more charming, but he seems to have decided on the latter as he heads toward the two unlikely conversational partners. "Thought that might have been yours out there in the field," he says to R'co, though it's while shooting the other guy a quick look, probably to see if there's a clock cleaning on the docket anyway. It's not the draft that makes R'co look away from the bearded man, but the proximity of his fellow brownrider. The blonde turns his attention to D'kan, dropping that waggling finger from the face of his conversation partner to positively beam at the younger rider. "Oh, D'kaaaan. I remembered your name." And he seems especially pleased about it, too, as he looks up and seems to be expecting praise for his recollection. "That is my darling Dev outside - doesn't he look dashing? Greenfields is such a good look for him." Which... doesn't make sense, other than in R'co's head. There's throat-clearing to the side of him, and he looks back to the man with the beard and smiles gushily at him. "D'kan, darling, this is... is..." He bites his lip, flushed cheeks colouring as he can't recall the man's name. "Torynd," beardy-man supplies, not impressed. "Yes! Torynd. Of course. I was telling him all about how he really ought to moisturise - don't you think it would make him look so much more handsome, 'Kaaaan?" D'kan's eyes flick from one guy to the other, depending on which is speaking, then back to Torynd once R'co asks his question. He arches a brow slightly at the bearded guy, then moves over so he can catch the bartender's attention. Whatever it is he orders, it comes in a small glass, is paid for right away, then knocked back immediately following. But rather than order another, the younger rider takes a seat and fiddles with the empty shot glass, earning himself an odd look from the bartender before the guy heads toward R'co and Torynd to ask about refills. R'co holds a finger up to Torynd in an 'excuse me' manner, before slipping from his seat to sidle closer to D'kan once he's ordered another drink for himself; his earlier conversation partner will have to fend for himself, and he's not looking at all displeased by the brownrider's departed attention. Edging in close to the Glacier wingrider, R'co fixes him with a purse-lipped look, arms crossed over his chest. "That was rather rude, you know." He reaches out to tap a fingertip against the younger man's knee in reprimand. "I asked you a question." Two drinks arrive - two shots - and R'co pushes one to his fellow 'Reachian, while claiming the other for himself, raising it and waiting for D'kan to do the same, with the intention of downing them in unison. "It was a trick question," D'kan replies darkly as he continues turning the emptied shot glass. There's a glance toward the one R'co pushes toward him, then a glance toward the other brownrider. "I say no, I get punched by a guy twice my size for dissing him. I say yes, I get punched by a guy twice my size for coming onto him. The truthful answer, though, is that I don't give a wherry's ass whether or not anyone should put lotion on their face." He scoots the offered shot back toward R'co, explaining, "I'm not here to drink. Just wanted the one. Take the sharding edge off." "Darling. Do you really think he would've punched you? He didn't punch me." R'co seems to realise that he was probably pushing the poor guy's limits - and, with a quick look over his shoulder, he confirms that Torynd has made his escape while possible. "Huh," is the brownrider's reaction, as he turns back to D'kan, looking disappointed. "I think I'd been close to a sale, too." The younger rider gets a slender index finger prodding roughly at his chest. "There's value in what I do and make, y'know. People like it. And if you're not here to drink, then you're in the wrong fucking place, doll." Up comes the prodding finger, to pinch D'kan's cheek. D'kan's answer is a soft, swift snort as he looks away from R'co and back to his empty shot glass. "That guy wasn't going to buy shit from you," he mutters softly, now looking toward the bartender, though the guy's talking to other customers at the moment. Rethinking his drink tactic, maybe? And then R'co is touching him. How well does the Snowdrift rider know D'kan? He'd spent a fair bit of time around the wing, at least, both with G'mli and later shadowing. Even then, though, there wouldn't have been much warning. At the poke to the chest, D'kan's jaw tenses quickly, gaze boring darkly into the wall opposite, while his hands form fists on the counter to either side of the shot glass. Had it stopped there, he might have let it slide. But then there's the pinch. No further warnings are given before the younger rider's out of his chair, knocking it back with a clatter, while both hands come up to grip R'co's shirt before giving him a shove hard toward the bar. It's meant to be a forceful shake, but this soon after that gold flight, nerves are way too raw to allow for too much control. Those signs that he's pushing for trouble? R'co doesn't see them. Probably not even when it's too late, either, because he's smashed into the bar before he does anything even close to responding. "The f--" is cut off as he worms his hands in between himself and the taller, bulkier brownrider, to give him a shove, freeing just enough space for him to twist around and slam an elbow into D'kan's stomach. Slight as he might be, R'co's not devoid of moves - and he, too, is still feeling raw after Hraedhyth's flight, though somewhat soothed by Deveriteauxth's Igen win. "The fuck are you doing?" He braces for another round, jaw tense and blue eyes narrowed. The hit to his gut has D'kan releasing R'co's shirt and taking a step back, though the furious look on his face says clearly enough that he'd rather strike out again. "You can't just go touching people!" he answers, emphasizing the word "touching" with a finger pointed at R'co's chest. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" They've earned a bit of attention now, the possible pre-brawl scene between the riders to the liking of some of the bar's patrons. R'co's maybe noticed as much from the corner of his eye, as he tosses his head to clear his fringe from his eyes, and puffs up his chest like a peacock facing a... whatever D'kan might be. Something bigger, anyway. "You'd've known it if I touched you," the blonde snips, as he reaches out to jab that finger right back against the brownrider's chest. "Fucking pussy to be offended by that? Shoulda heard what I was thinking of doing to those cheeks..." The lewd gesture he makes leaves little to the imagination, as he curls his hand as if grasping something thick up to his mouth, puffing out one cheek to mime - well, it needs no explanation really, does it? No, that did not need an explanation. D'kan gets it loud and clear. R'co won't have time for more than one cheek puff before D'kan's fist is headed straight for it, and fast. He has the height, and he has the build, and unless the other brownrider is quick enough to overcome intoxication, this one's going to hurt. He's not trying to hit R'co's nose, at least. Did the patrons want a show? Looks like they've got one. Quick enough when sober perhaps, but a few drinks in? R'co has no chance, and that fist lands a crushing blow to his cheek, forcing out all the air that had it puffed up so prettily, just before. The smaller brownrider grunts as he stumbles from the impact, one hand grabbing the bar for stability while the other reaches for the other nearest thing: D'kan's shirt. His fingers curl into it and, in the seconds that it takes him to recover, grip tighter - drawing the younger man towards him and just so, so as to line him up for the return uppercut that's headed right for the left side of his jaw. D'kan has enough time to turn his head, but not enough experience or wit to know how to turn, exactly, especially with R'co's grip on his own shirt. The punch misses the jaw, but at the angle, there's a hard hit to one of those chipmunk cheeks and the corner of his eye, splitting the skin and heralding something dark and ugly come morning. Dazed somewhat, it's about all D'kan can do to shove R'co away from him enough to break that grip, losing a few buttons in the process. The respite is brief, however, and his other eye is still fine, so with the very next break, there's a low, hard jab to the other brownrider's gut. While the punch to his cheek might have knocked some of the drunkenness out of him, R'co's still trying to fight against the booze and the brownrider, who's ripped away from him and... broken his nail. The blonde winces and shakes his hand to try and dispel the pain of the to-the-cuticle rip, which means he misses the fact that there's a fist coming right for his stomach. It hits home hard and he doubles up over it, cheeks puffed out (like D'kan's!) in pain - and in part to hold back the heave of booze that the jab's forced back up his gullet. He swallows, then takes advantage of his bent-over position to ram himself against D'kan, arms wrapping around his waist as he tackles and shoves backwards, trying to get a foot behind the taller man's to trip him. And while this goes down? There's some cheering from the other patrons, for sure - though that guy behind the bar doesn't look pleased as he hollers for them to quit it. But will either brownrider hear it? The tackle is quite effective, especially when paired with the tripping foot, plus a leg from the toppled chair from earlier. D'kan falls straight back and lands flat on his back. If R'co's head hasn't already knocked the wind out of him, this finishes the job, leaving the younger rider grimacing with his eyes shut tightly. He shoves again, this time with all four limbs to make sure the other rider's off him, then he rolls onto his stomach and pushes up to kneel on his knees, one hand reaching blindly for that felled chair. Not as a weapon, but in an effort to help himself to his feet. Maybe in another minute. Or two. He finally opens his eyes, though the left one is starting to get puffy. Some of those cheering patrons start reaching to put the combatants back on their feet, completely disregarding the bartender's objections. A fight's better than no fight any night though, isn't it? Or at least that's the general buzz as R'co, too, is helped to his feet, rubbing the back of his hand over his bruised cheek and spitting - him, spitting! - out a mouthful of what looks like bloodied saliva. The ginger poking of his tongue into the inside of his cheek might give away where it could be coming from, but he only gives himself a moment of delicate exploration before he's coming in at D'kan again with fists raised and ready for both offence and defence. He's not quite that disciplined of a fighter though to go through with nothing but punches, and with the younger rider being bigger and certainly more powerful-looking, if not actually so, he knows he needs an advantage... and he takes one when he sees it. That drink, pushed along the bar to D'kan earlier? R'co grabs it, flinging the booze at the brownrider's eyes before lunging to plant a fist in his belly. Well. Now D'kan's just angry. Angrier. Offended, really. Outraged! "Sharding cheater!" he growls, eyes now streaming from the sting of alcohol. Outside the bar, there's a screech of protest from one brown Kazavoth, who is just as outraged on behalf of his rider. He's not going to go rampaging or anything, but he's a bit put out! Not that he transfers the outrage to R'co's lifemate. That would just be silly. Instead, his voice is infused with disdain as he hisses, « Our riders have gone insane, Deveriteauxth. » However, if he's trying to influence his own rider at all, it's not having the desired effect, because D'kan has grabbed the lunging R'co's shoulders and shoved him down toward that beautifully clean floor. Deveriteauxth has been uncharacteristically quiet up until now - perhaps because he's nursing a bruised ego. Perhaps because R'co's making him stay quiet. Perhaps... oh, who knows? But the invitation to conversation from Kazavoth is met with a mental whuff of aniseed smoke and ice, followed by that delightfully rough, heavily accented tone of his. « Insanity? No - this is passion. » He doesn't seem too bothered by it all, not just yet - so perhaps R'co believes he's got things under some sort of tenuous control. Perhaps. It'd be hard to believe, given the way D'kan catches him off-guard and makes him hit the deck - it doesn't wind him, but it does confuse him to have lost his footing so easily. That doesn't stop him from taking a sideswipe at the younger rider's ankles with his booted foot though, sitting up to grab at his clothing to help knock him off-balance and bring him down to the floor with him. There is a mental puff of dark amusement from Kazavoth as he shifts in his spot in the field, turning so he can look directly toward where he can feel his rider is. « Passion is insanity, Deveriteauxth, » he counters, his own voice a soft, scratchy tenor. « Either way, they have lost their minds. » He would seem correct on some levels, at least. When R'co goes for D'kan's ankles, one is caught quite squarely, kicking it out from under the younger rider, and D'kan goes down to one knee. However, that one knee happens to be on top of R'co before he falls to the side, off-balance by the grip on his shirt. It might have turned into a rough and tumble wrestling match from there, but just then the bartender and a few bouncer-looking types step in, not only to pull the two apart, but also to toss them like so many tubers out into the evening's darkness. « This is passion, » Deveriteauxth croons mentally to Kazavoth, before sharing with him not the typical clinking of ice and aniseed's sweetness, but the heat of flightlust and a rather graphic image of himself, twined around a dark green dragon, with the distinct satisfaction that comes with a memory that is fresh - fresh enough to have been mere hours ago, in fact. « Mine is sane. And satisfied. » And yet... still fighting in a bar? Maybe not that satisfied after all. After a knee to the gut it's hard for R'co to protest when he's hauled up and hoyed out by bigger, burlier men - given the size of them, he'd have trouble escaping them under normal circumstances, let alone in his current state. The brownrider tumbles to the ground when he's let loose, rolling onto his knees once he can and groaning as he rubs at his belly, clearly sore. "Fucking kid, what'd you go and do that for?" Because it's D'kan's fault. All his fault. Naturally. « If you are delusional, perhaps, » Kazavoth replies in a soft voice, quickly retreating as soon as both their riders end up in plain view. Softer yet, and infused with inky swirls of nebulaic dust, « Then again, mine felt a thousand things I did not recognize when first we landed in this... this... » The brown must trail off, vocabulary suddenly unable to come up with just the right word for Greenfields, until finally and lamely, he finishes with a whispered, « This place. » D'kan might have landed funny when one of the bouncers tosses him out the door, because he's even longer getting to his hands and knees, then finally up to a kneeling position, or perhaps this is the aftereffect of having the wind thoroughly knocked out of him earlier. "The last was an accident," he croaks hoarsely, managing to get one foot under him, then the other. While still doubled over, he makes his way toward R'co and holds out a hand, offering to help him up. Delusional? Deveriteauxth? Never. He entertains the younger brown's thoughts on a puffy little cloud of aniseed smoke, that is both amusement and tolerance. « This place is good for - » he shares an image of R'co drunk, « and for - » another image, of his rider getting overly-friendly with a woman. « For that, it is beautiful; it incites passion and inspiration and lust, and these are beautiful. » R'co glares warily up at D'kan and his offered hand, waiting a good few moments before he takes it - and takes advantage of it, perhaps, as he uses it to haul his full weight up. Standing causes him to grunt and gasp in pain, and he ends up doubled over just like the younger rider. "'Fuck." There is definitely a tinge of red in Kazavoth's whirling eyes, mixing with concerned shades of yellow-orange, with only the rare spike of neon green. He does not really heed Deveriteauxth's mental images, because he can see the other brown's rider for himself, and that is the image he sends back to the other. « And for this? » questions the young one, as earlier amusement turns to stomach-turning disgust. He rises to his feet and begins stalking slowly toward the riders, severing his conversation with the other brown for the moment as his focus turns entirely to D'kan. At least that rider seems to be recovering, now lifting a hand to gingerly prod at a puffy and nearly closed eye. He hasn't straightened his back yet, though. Still taking stock of all the various injuries. He starts to say something, then has to clear his throat before spitting somewhere away from the both of them. Then, with a grimace, he does start to straighten, forcing his back to stretch toward the end before he starts speaking again. "If this is what goldflights are like, may I just say they are a pretty raw deal." « A necessity of human hormones, » Deveriteauxth brushes it off, nowhere near as concerned as the recent-weyrling is. Whether or not Kazavoth is listening doesn't really make a difference to him, as the pale brown bunny-hops after him towards their riders, dropping his muzzle curiously to R'co. The brownrider uses that rose-kissed nose to help him straighten up, leaning lovingly against it as he looks all squinty-eyed at D'kan, before he, too, needs to spit. "Are you really putting this down to a goldflight?" He seems surprised, brows raised high beneath his blonde fringe. "Darling, you weren't even in the weyr with us." R'co scoffs softly, shaking his head. "Honestly? Goldflights are fabulous, especially if you win. This," he wiggles a slender finger between the two of them - the one with the broken nail, which he whimpers over when he catches sight of it and remembers, "was... was... something." Lost for words, he gingerly touches his cheek, which is swelling up just as the younger rider's eye is. "I've got some ointment you ought to use on that eye if you're going to keep looking pretty." "This? No," D'kan answers once R'co finishes. Kazavoth takes a little more time to join them, too curious about the rest of the situation, drinking it in. The rider stretches an arm up over his head while testing a couple of his ribs. "This was because you just..." But he trails off and waves a hand before gingerly lowering the other arm. "There aren't people like you in the Hold. Don't know what to do with you," he explains, voice still hoarse. He pauses to clear his throat again and leans down, hands on his knees. He lifts a hand to his face, then wipes blood off his fingers using the ground, then the tail end of his trousers. "We cleared out of the Weyr as soon as we could, and ever since, I just wanted to--." He breaks off suddenly and looks over at R'co. If it's not too dark, the other rider might be able to see a slightly sheepish grin on the younger rider's face. "Well, like I wanted to punch something. Sorry about that." "Don't know what to do with me, so you punch me. Such a Holder thing to do." R'co rolls his eyes, shaking his head. And when D'kan continues? The brownrider looks pissed - but only momentarily. It quickly dissolves into a half-amused scoff, and then from there? To an bark of laughter, which is followed by him wincing and having to spit; if it were lighter, it'd be easier to see the blood in his spit, that's just visible as pink on his teeth as he smiles wryly. "Fuck you, D'kan. I'm no fucking punching bag... though I guess it's been long enough between that I had it coming." He rubs the back of his hand gently over his mouth, before touching gingerly at his cheek again. "Made me bite my cheek, y'know? I'm bleeding. Do you know what that's going to mean for my lovelife? No blowjobs for--oh, but you don't know what to do with that, do you, darling?" His amusement piques, pain momentarily forgotten in favour of a little teasing. "What you do with me, sweetstuff, is you treat me nice, and I'll treat you even nicer. Now. I've offered you something to help with that awfully good punch I managed to land. Will you take it?" D'kan might have taken R'co's offer for the eye, but then there's that stuff mentioned. He shakes his head while he straightens again. "Just going to get back to the Weyr. Find a Healer. The air up there will probably feel nice, anyway." He prods at his face again, then walks toward Kazavoth to check the brown's straps. Kazavoth seems more amused than concerned now that his rider is moving about mostly normally. Some of that amusement is shared along the mindlink with Deveriteauxth, but that is all. "I am a Healer, you know." Of sorts, but R'co's not going to get into specifics. "And," he walks after D'kan, still reeling a little from the booze as the fight adrenaline begins to wear off, "the benefit of being in Snowdrift is that I've got a first aid kit riiiiight..." The blonde turns to look up at Deveriteauxth, pointing to his straps. "...there. With my own special bruise cream and everything - I can make that, y'know, because I'm a Healer." Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, he watches the Glacier rider and waits, because maybe he'll turn around. Maybe he won't... which isn't such a bad thing, really, as it allows R'co to check out the younger rider's arse for longer. He's blatantly staring at it already. Deveriteauxth receives Kazavoth's amusement with a little of his own, though he refrains from commenting in return, other than to send a ripple of icy green to the younger brown. In answer, D'kan glances at R'co, likely catching the staring, though he makes no comment on it. Instead, his expression (one-eyed and all) is skeptical. "I just want to get back to the Weyr. And I think Kaz and I both could use the time it'll take to fly straight." He takes two tries to get up to Kazavoth's shoulders. The first is aborted, because, oh right, that side hurts. The second goes more smoothly, followed by the usual procedure of clipping into the straps. "You're welcome to join us." It's a hesitant invitation, but a heartfelt one all the same. Still, the pair doesn't seem to be waiting too long; Kazavoth has already begun the first little stretches he prefers before getting ready for a longer flight. Flying straight would probably be the smart thing to do, given R'co's state of sobriety. The brownrider steps back to watch Kazavoth do his exercises, both him and Deveriteauxth highly amused by them. Then, deciding that he will join the other pair in flying straight after all, R'co attempts his own mounting-up, with much the same level of failure that D'kan experienced, thanks to the knee he got in the gut. Eventually he's up and buckled in, and Deveriteauxth takes off without any of those stretches, circling overhead to wait for the other pair to join them. But the stretches, you see, they feel so good! Kazavoth revels in the sensation, then leaps into the air moments after Deveriteauxth, enjoying the sheer power of his wings, and the feel of the evening air over his hide, the delicious residual thermals that buffet the air this soon after the sun sets. He might not be all that much younger than the other brown, but he's still young enough that this feels new and wonderful every sharding time. It's probably a good thing D'kan didn't have all that much to drink tonight, because Kazavoth is taking full advantage of being airborne, caressing those thermals with wanton abandon as he skims the wind, turning toward the Weyr. In the hours it takes them to near that seven-spindled home, the sky grows entirely dark, and the air has grown decided chilly up where the dragons fly. A mental image is sent in Dev's direction, indicating that D'kan and Kazavoth would be landing just outside the ground weyr area. The advantage R'co has to having had a good seven turns with his lifemate is that he can trust him to get them home - which means the brownrider can lean in against Deveriteauxth's neckridge and snooze for most of the flight back to the Weyr. The older brown simply watches Kazavoth's antics, encouraging him on but not participating. He's been in two flights today, and he's tired! He acknowledges their landing position and follows them down, with R'co waking up at some point before his dragon touches the ground. He's in quite a sleep-grump when he dismounts stiffly, first aid kit in hand, squinting through the darkness once he's got his goggles off to find D'kan. "You gonna let me touch you up or what, then, darling? 'cos I know I need taking care of." Getting down to the ground is an uncomfortable affair as bruises have had plenty of time to develop by now. When he hits the ground, muscles sore and stiff from both the flight and the time it took to fly here cause the younger rider to double over again. It's not a critical thing, he's just really feeling the aftereffects right now. "The infirmary is right. There," he answers R'co, waving in the general direction. With a hiss of breath, he straightens and starts heading toward the dragon infirmary area, clearly meaning to cut through to the human infirmary that way. "Shells, man. Just what kind of liquor do they server there?" Not the infirmary. Greenfields. Or maybe the infirmary. "Oh fine. You want the infirmary? Fine." R'co waves a hand and makes a dismissive sound at D'kan, offended that his patching-up skills aren't good enough. "You go waltzing on in there and see what they say about you getting into a brawl, you bad boy." This is spoken in a poor imitation of a matronly, old aunty sort of voice, with a waggling finger to accompany it. "You go on in there and have them ground you or some shit, because you're too fucking... Holderly." It's not quite an insult, but all the talking opens up that inner cheek wound again and means R'co has to spit to clear the blood from his mouth once more. Maybe the spitting makes it more offensive? "I'm not getting into shit with the Healers. I can fix myself up. Offer's still there, if you want it..." D'kan is still moving his feet in the same direction, though he spares R'co another look. "It's the evening after a flight. A gold flight," he responds quietly, bruised and abraded hands now stuffed into his jacket pockets. "We're hardly the only ones showing up hours later with... stuff to patch up," the younger rider finishes in a quiet voice. In the bowl, Kazavoth is once again stretching and has begun sharing with any other dragons awake in the bowl just how nice it feels to stretch after a nice long flight. Not flight, but flight all the same. Deveriteauxth is listening in to Kazavoth's thoughts, rolling ice and aniseed back at him, before purring in that luscious, husky accent of his, « If you think relaxing that way after a flight is nice, wait until you have this... » All the emotions and sensations of catching a green are shared, broadcast to whoever may be listening. He's not shy! And he doesn't spare the details, either. "Dev," R'co warns him idly, shooting a look over his shoulder to the over-smug brown. "He caught. Not Hraedhyth, obviously, but we hopped straight to Igen after and... can't be unlucky twice in a day now, can you, darling?" But, D'kan does have a point about there likely being other post-flight wounds to be tended, and he snorts and rolls his eyes even as he totters towards the taller, younger man. "Fine, I'll let them deal with it, but I won't be happy about it. Alright, peaches?" Kazavoth, who has been on the losing side of all of two green flights now, kind of gives Deveriteauxth the blank stare reaction. It shuts him up, at least, for which the other dragons nearby might thank Dev. D'kan also glances back toward the dragons, but they're making steady progress toward the infirmary now, and he's not going to stop. "So, Z'ian, huh?" the younger rider asks a beat later, just making conversation that isn't, 'So I totally hit your face earlier.' The pass through the doors into the quiet infirmary and are directed by an apprentice to take a seat in the waiting area. This long after the flight, they're the only two waiting, at least, though a journeyman on duty is still busy with another rider sporting injuries not dissimilar to their own. D'kan eases his way onto the bench and gingerly touches the increasingly puffy left eye. "Dunno him other than by sight. Don't care, really, so long's he doesn't go fucking things up." R'co snorts, then adds, "Fucking things up further." He smirks, wrinkling his nose as he looks to D'kan - only that hurts, so he quickly quits it. The blonde does have a cheeky wink for the apprentice who seats them though, willing to work those bruised muscles if it might mean they, or even him on his own, get bumped up and seen slightly quicker. He settles stiffly onto the bench beside D'kan, and bats at the brownrider's wrist when he prods at his eye. "Stop it. Stop poking it." At least this time D'kan doesn't deck R'co for touching him. It's progress, right? He does lean back, resting his head against the wall and closing his good eye. "Well, whatever they do, it's all official now, and that's fine by me," he murmurs before that hand starts to rise again. He doesn't touch his face this time. It just feels funny. "Just one less thing to worry about. Bitch about. Debate about. Kinda too bad it was another bronze, though. I had a hope." He opens the good eye and tries to open the bad while looking in the direction of the Healer on duty. They don't exactly merit life-threatening levels, do they? Going to be a while. "Might just go home. Drink a cup or two of whatever I have in the weyr. Sleep this off. Faranth. Sorry about the..." Whatever it is, he just vaguely waves a hand to indicate in R'co's direction. R'co peers out of the corner of his eye at D'kan, smirking. "Why d'you think we moved back here? Though fuck, that was a stupid idea, me even thinking..." He shakes his head, hissing and wincing when some previously unknown about injury twinges. "Fuck being Weyrleader. Dev's caught a gold before, he can do it, but... fuck that. Too much like hard work, no time to do business on the side... I tried to keep him down when Hraedhyth went up, but... heh. He needed it as much as I did." The brownrider snorts, leaning back gingerly. When D'kan's talking about leaving, R'co frowns at him. "Are you serious? You dragged me in here," not really, but doesn't the exaggeration sound more dramatic? "and now you want to leave? I could've fixed us up outside without even stepping foot in here, and..." With a frustrated huff, he stands up, jerking his head (painfully!) towards the door. "Come on. I'll sort you out." "I dragged nothing," D'kan counters, not budging from his spot on the bench. "I'd meant, sorry for taking out my foul mood via my fist to your face." Shoulders that are steadily developing toward burly shrug slightly before he leans his head back again with eyes closed. Farther inside the infirmary, the Healer seems about to set someone's leg. Won't that be fun. The apprentice lining up to assist looks just a wee bit squeamish. D'kan opens his good eye when the patient lets out a groan, though he's not entirely with it. Dosed with something? Numbweed slathered? D'kan doesn't know. Except it might be they're up next. "Just sit down. Take a load off. We have nothing left for the day but this." R'co eyes D'kan with a narrowed gaze - he tries to cross his arms over his chest as well, but that seems to hurt too much to try. Maybe the falls of the fight, or being tossed out, did something to his shoulder, as he starts to massage what he can reach with delicate fingers. "You're fucking weird," he snorts at D'kan, though he does sit once more, and gives that apology a nod of acceptance. There's none of his own offered, as he's too busy trying to distract himself so that he doesn't look towards the sounds made around that poor guy with the busted leg. He sighs, leans back delicately so as to avoid hurting sore parts that he's only just discovering he has, and one hand is slipped into his trouser pocket to pull out a little hip flask. It's uncorked; the blonde takes a mouthful and hisses when the booze passes over the cut on the inside of his cheek, then hands it to D'kan. "Here. Fuck, I hurt everywhere." The "weird" comment receives a soft snort of laughter, but no objection otherwise. And no more laughter, as even that soft sound produces a grimace right after. D'kan opens his eyes when he hears the cork of the hip flask come clear, then smiles his thanks to R'co as he takes the offered booze. "Cheers," is uttered even more quietly, perhaps wishing to draw less attention at that particular moment. It's only after he's taken a sip, followed by his own drawn in hiss, that he teases with the tiniest of smirks, "Sure all that's my fault?" while handing back the flask. With the left eye puffy, closed, and growing steadily darker, the smile probably looks a little crazy. Not that D'kan can tell. "Other than a bit of scuffing on my knees from the flight in Igen? Absolutely your fault, darling. This is certainly not the after-effects of a good flight-fucking." R'co snorts, taking the flask back and downing a decent swallow. It makes him hiss again, and he drops the flask to rest on his thigh as he cants his head back with a groan. Hurting! "You wouldn't know though, would you? Your brown not caught any greens yet?" Because he certainly didn't catch the only gold that's gone up in recent times. "That greenrider, in Igen... he was a bitch. A pretty bitch, but a bitch. I've never known a rider to up and out so quickly. Or to give me such a look... hah. Fuck. D'you know how long it's been since Deveriteauxth caught? I'd started to lose all hope. It's High Reaches. Fucks with his flight mojo, or something... send him somewhere warmer and he'll woo 'em all into twining tails with him." Either D'kan is acclimating to the flight stuff, or he's passed out. Or at least dozed off. His head doesn't bob or anything, but there's a slightly slack-jawed look that falls just shy of his mouth actually opening. Or maybe D'kan is going to his happy place. In any case, he doesn't move or respond much at all until the very end when his good eye opens focuses on R'co. "Warmer," he repeats in a dull, slightly slurred tone. Dozed off, or concussed? Or was that alcohol a moment later spiked with something else? Saved by the Healer, the journeyman from earlier heads toward them, still drying off his hands from having washed them for possibly the five-hundredth time that day. "All right, which one of you is first," he asks both brownriders while the apprentice gets a station ready. D'kan is alert enough to point toward R'co before he closes his eyes again. Maybe he'll just sleep it off right here. "I punched him first," he says, eyes still closed, "so he should be seen first." The Healer isn't going to argue, since any triage priority would be fairly dead even, so he just ends up looking pointedly at R'co, waiting. Is R'co first? He frowns at D'kan for suggesting it, then turns that frown onto the Healer. "I'm quite capable of looking after myself, as I told this one," he points at the younger man beside him, "before I even came in here." And, given that R'co's sitting there quite perky, if a little stiff and battered, in comparison to the Glacier rider's apparently fuzzy-headedness, he would definitely seem to be the better off of the two of them. "I'd recommend you look at him first. I just want someone to have a look over my ribs." And so the Healer looks back at the younger rider, as R'co stands up - with a wince and a grunt of hurt - to hop to the journeyman's side. "Poor darling. He does look a mess, doesn't he?" That would be D'kan, of course. "If you can see to him, I'll get him up to his weyr - unless you'll be keeping him down here for the night?" D'kan opens his good eye again and slouches away from the wall, then up to his feet. "Fine, fine," he mutters before trying extremely hard to stifle a yawn. Probably because it hurts. "I don't need a sharding escort, though, so don't wait around," he tells R'co before walking away with the journeyman. They begin talking in low voices that quickly fade to nothing but background noise as the evening starts to tip toward the wee hours. In that dark hour before the sky turns light again, Kazavoth's speckled self might be seen finally heading up to his own ledge, with one very tired rider slowly making his way from ledge to weyr. Alone. |
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