Difference between revisions of "Logs:"Turnday" is a Trigger"

View To A Kill Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

It's a step up from the ledge and its heavy curtain into the elegant, dark-flecked weyr. In the depths of the cavern, a short spiral staircase rises even further, ending abruptly in an alcove that extends over the dragon couch; bright, colorful scarves adorn its iron railing like so much festive fringe. To one side of the balcony, past the hooks that keep straps and stray gear contained above a small press for shoes, three more curved steps rise high enough to double as additional seating before they reach the archway to the inner weyr.

Past a faded tapestry, the crescent-shaped room is furnished with more ironwork and heavy wood that comprise a large hearth and an equally impressive sleigh bed, the latter with a colorful coverlet atop of all its furs. Standing at the foot of the bed, a huge, intricately carved armoire faces outward and creates a sort of alcove. Though there's certainly room for more furniture beyond the comfortable, curvilinear couch that sits before the hearth, even the traditional table and side chairs are missing in favor of space.

Despite the dark elegance of most of the furnishings, the bones of the weyr are quirky, charming like the ledge-cluster outside: each room slightly smaller than average, their heights staggered, growing stuffy in the summer while in winter remaining cozy and warm no matter how cold it gets outside.

Telavi's already reaped several benefits of K'zin feeling like he needs to make up to her the forgotten date night. Today's was a rest day spent in the forge with her showing her how a needle is made and letting her try her hand at a few, safe smithing activities.

Thanks in part to the heavy work gloves and the cap that bundled her tightly pinned-up braids, imprisoned as they hadn't been since she was a weyrling, Telavi managed to singe neither her hands nor her hair. Needle-making was fascinating, from drawing down the wire to final polish; nail-forging may not have been exactly up her alley, but gave her new appreciation for just how much hot and sweaty work got put into every nail of each weyrling's graduation-gifted storage chest alone, not to mention that this work is something K'zin likes.

Afterwards, a bath was in order, and some making up while making out, for once in her weyr instead of his. In the quiet that follows a lazy nap that words eventually find breath. Though even then, there's no hurry. It's just them, and it's summer, and every now and again the waft of Solith's wings lets fresh air flow past the drawn-back curtains.

"You know," Tela does say after a while, after the late afternoon's heat has eased enough for talking, "Not only is it their second summer, but it's been nearly a Turn since you got a silver thread of your very, very, very own. And you know what that means..." She really doesn't say it ominously, at least to outside ears, not with that teasing tone in her voice.

"It means we've graduated and things like silver threads don't matter to anyone anymore?" K'zin queries, brows raising up, his expression sobering a touch, but only because he's not sure where she's going with this.

Telavi sighs. Audibly, little puffs of air followed by a whoosh, and somehow that seems to entertain her that too, or maybe it's the underlying thought still, or that she just isn't so serious. It's fun, or so says her smile as she peeks at him. "It means... that it's approaching the anniversary... of someone's birth."

They're too close for Telavi not to notice that K'zin stiffens at the word. But smoothly, he murmurs, "Yours isn't for months yet. Unless you have requests for this turn. Although, Madilla's is coming up in not too long." He's nonchalant, but is he breathing more shallowly?

Maybe that shouldn't surprise her, given what his not-aunt had said, given those other little clues, given whatever had made her wait for a time that was at least as good as this... but still, faced with his reality, Tela's still taken aback. Which means that she begins to stroke his shoulders, slow and easy, and that lasts a moment or two before she observes, "Someone... could think that someone else wasn't particularly excited about his Turnday." She says it quietly, neither pointedly nor as a hook.

Yep, yep. They're definitely talking about this. Now. Right here. His breathing is definitely shallower. K'zin shifts from where he was laying until he's sitting, turning to let his legs hang off the edge of the bed, his hands finding the mattress on either side of his thighs and gripping there. "Tela," K'zin's voice is so serious, and she can likely see how tense his shoulders and back have become. "I don't celebrate my turnday." Can it just be left there? Just like that? He can hope.

She shifts as he shifts, until she's sitting next to him, simple as that. That tension-- she seeks to slip a hand through the crook of his elbow and down until she can set it on his. "You're so generous with other people's. Including," especially, "mine." It also isn't a question.

K'zin's fingers twitch under her touch, but otherwise he's motionless. "I don't celebrate my turnday, Tela." He repeats, this time more softly, and it might be a plea for her to understand without needing to understand. There is the glimmer of tears in his eyes that he can't help as he stares like he means to put holes in her floor.

So her hand holds his more closely, not that there's not room to adjust because it's not a prison, it's just there, and that means Tela has to reach across K'zin to give him a hug. For once, there's not even a thought to flashing him. "I'm so sorry," she says, finally.

Initially, K'zin can't move to return the hug, but after a few moments, one arm moves to curl loosely around her. It's not a firm return, there's really no pressure to it, but it's contact. So that's something. "Do we have to keep talking about this?" He asks in a very small voice, a tear working its way down his cheek.

And with that, and a little clambering, Telavi shifts around to sit on his lap if he still stays relatively still, not out of his arm but within it. Facing K'zin, Tela seeks to wind her free hand into his hair and knot it there, just enough that he can feel it; her kiss would intercept that tear. She's not talking about it. Neither is she talking about anything else.

The movement of Telavi into his lap has K'zin tensing up, the hand in his hair, and the kiss, have him nearly flinching. It's not what Telavi is doing, so much as how the bronzerider, in his irrational state, is receiving those actions. It doesn't feel like it's over. Elsewhere, Rasavyth is agitated and it bleeds to Solith, as does the sensation that he is coming to her ledge. Now.

It isn't, couldn't have been what she expected. Sitting up slightly though she's still straddling his lap, her eyes staying on his, Telavi says intently, "I'm not talking about it. K'zin. We don't have to talk about it, and I'm not trying to make you." If he glances away, crawls into himself, "K'zin? Stay with me." Figuratively, literally. It's enough that Solith looks towards the inner room before sticking her head out over the ledge, looking for Rasavyth before retreating. « Why? » It's right that he's coming but why, why does he need to?

He's not really seeing her, as he looks at her. His eyes have gone somehow eerily hollow. Whatever it is he isn't saying, as if weren't obvious from the tears and his reaction thus far, is obviously something bad. "Tela," K'zin's voice is strangled, "I need you to slide off me. Please." This, too, is practically a beg, and not a rational something. There's even apology in his tone, he can't find the words to explain why he needs it. He just needs it. Rasavyth is winging closer, but not arriving yet. He's a bronze shape in the sky, growing larger as he starts to make his approach to the tricky ledge. « She asks him of deep, old hurts he cannot face. He needs me. » Or maybe it is that Rasavyth can't stand to feel K'zin this way, because maybe he, like Telavi likely does, feels helpless.

Now that's freaky, and Telavi is worried and, "Yes. Yes, K'zin." She's doing it, it's not instantaneous but it's as fast as she can and not fall. He doesn't have to explain why he needs it. She'll give it to him anyway, one bare sole landing on stone and quickly joined by the other, she'll walk him to his dragon if he heads that way, will give him a hand up from the bed despite her slighter frame if he needs that too. Is that tricky ledge a wise ledge to approach emotionally, at speed? Solith's all the way back into her weyr, at least, giving Rasavyth all the room she can. « She... did not ask...? » but it's hesitant in the face of the bronze's statement, not really expecting a reply because more important is, « He needs you. » She believes it, at least.

She's doing more than he asked, by standing up beside the bed and reaching to try to help him up. It makes K'zin's hands grasp Telavi's offered arm firmly but not allow himself to be pulled up. "Wait." He breathes out in that same strange choked voice. "Just wait." Rasavyth may be coming, but K'zin isn't going to meet him. He manages the tricky landing on the second try, the first having him forced to veer off at the last moment. His croon echoes worryingly into the inner weyr, his nose poking rudely behind the curtain without invitation. « Syntax. » Rasavyth dismisses the fact that Tela technically did not ask. Because even not asking, she asked. « He says to wait. » Why this is shared is anyone's guess. There's annoyance coloring it and Rasavyth's tail snaps at the air behind him, lashing at the nothingness of the sky beyond the ledge, his butt hanging off, but he waits.

Telavi waits. She's so intent on K'zin, stooped to him still in that near-crouch as she is; after a moment she says it in so many words, "I'm waiting." Waiting, not hurrying. She takes a deep breath, too, not a showy one, but dragging air into her lungs all the same. As for Solith, another dragon under other circumstances might have been all too tempted to try to push Rasavyth off; as it is, she crouches too, low to the stone of her couch with her wings pinned to her back. Sparks of yellow and a few of orange dance like unnerved fireflies in her fully unlidded eyes.This time, she disputes the bronze even less, whether or not she is fully convinced; a touch of brackish wind even breathes acknowledgement. They wait.

After a few long breaths, K'zin pulls lightly on the arm that he holds, silently requesting she sit back down beside him. The breaths seem hard to draw. Before he can bring himself to speak, three more tears have lept down his cheeks. "The last time--" He starts, and it proves to be too difficult. Several swallows later, he manages a little more, "I celebrated, I was twelve. A man." Well. "Man enough to choose my craft." His fingers twitch subconsciously, "It didn't go well." That's what he can manage to sum up that night. "My family left the next day." There are hard swallows between each sentence. "I don't celebrate my turnday." Back to the original statement.

So of course Telavi sits, and she listens, and she doesn't put her arm around him or lean her head on his shoulder but it's hard. Hard to hear, too. Harder, so much harder to live through. "I'm sorry," she says again, finally, and so softly, as though twelve Turn old K'zin could hear it, too.

He manages to look at her, even as tears start to fall more swiftly. "I didn't go to the healers for a couple days after. Told them I took a couple of bad jumps off the diving cliff." These lines come more smoothly than the others, but it's an outpouring, words he can't stop. "My rib was cracked and I was bruised all over, but they bought it, and Dad was long gone and I was alone. They all left me. And I've always been alone since. Alone until Ras." Now he's sobbing. Sobbing and reaching for Telavi, for comfort, he's curling toward her, urgently seeking her arms. "I don't celebrate my turnday. I can't." K'zin's sobs aren't even close to manful. They're the painfully pathetic sobs of the twelve turn old who's never told this secret. And it will be time before he can start to regain control of himself.

Wait. Healers. Healers? Bad jumps? Telavi's starting to look actively protective, and kind of fierce and then there's a sucked-in breath for cracked rib and then he gets to bruised only he's not just bruised but bruised all over and oh, K'zin and she says that, out loud, as she hugs him close and he can have all the time he needs. And if that means sobbing in her hair, it says quite a bit that he can do that too. "You don't have to. That's horrible of him and he should never have done that and, and, K'zin," and it might bleed through to more than just Solith that she's feeling particularly vindictive right now. Not that she'd want K'zin to feel that, lest he take any antipathy as being against him, but... "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, and by yourself. K'zin." It won't be the last time she says his name before finally she settles, not trying to calm him as such but trying to be there for him as he gets out all that he can, because he's not alone... and she says that out loud too. But as for his father? It's a good thing that man's not here right now. It is, after all, a notoriously tricky ledge.

Oh, there's a lot to get out. Turns of pent up tears that just can't be staunched now. Rasavyth is less agitated now that concerned, crooning repeatedly toward the bed his neck can't stretch to reach. But in time, perhaps even enough time that Telavi might come to regret having brought up the topic at all, K'zin eventually quiets, clinging to Telavi in an embarrassingly unmacho way. But it's only the two of them here in this place, right? It's their secret. After even more time, he's starting to disentangle himself, and a hand is brushing across his face. "Sorry. Tela. Sorry." So much sobbing has come and gone.

The handy thing about a big bed is, it's almost like it's equipped with a really big handkerchief of a sheet. In lieu of the real thing, Tela's not above using a handful of it to help clean up, carefully... but she also peeks past that hand-brushing for when it settles so she can try and meet his eyes and say, "You have nothing to be sorry about, so far as I'm concerned. Nothing. So there." It does have to be reassuring that he's settled some, though, and Solith reflects that along with Rasavyth's own diminished disturbance, her eyes still murky though she's calmer too, relieved. But Telavi doesn't look away from K'zin, not even to kiss his brow, not until she can see how he accepts that.

K'zin is probably at his least attractive. Eyes are puffy and, yeah, he's a little snotty. At least he doesn't blow his nose into the sheet. His shirt? Once it's reclaimed from the floor, well, that's fair game. "I just," He's sitting cross-legged now, and not flinching away from her affections, just generally looking messy and embarrassed, "I like to make sure that no one else has awful turndays." He shrugs his shoulders, not really able to explain it beyond that.

"Thank you for not beating people up on their Turndays." Tela's nod is firm. if she'd prefer not any other day either, well, never mind that. She pets his shoulder and then says, "I'm going to see about a glass of water," before getting up, so he knows why she's getting up and going that far, even if it's also so that he can honk his nose as many more times as he likes in relative peace. If there's also a little more emphasis to each step, and a little less easy swing to her hips... well, at least it shouldn't take her too long-- unless there get to be more sounds that suggest that she discreetly hold off.

"Thanks." He manages to the glass of water. The humor doesn't seem to register - neither off-putting nor particularly welcomed. Just something that's said. But K'zin's brain may still be rebooting after such an emotional experience. There's no literal honking, but indeed, his nose does get blown enough that he's probably made some progress in clearing it, stuffy as it remains from the sobbing. There's no sign that Telavi should wait, and even, there's a tiny smile for her when she reappears and a grateful reach for the water glass.

Though the water isn't icy cold or anything, it's not as though the 'Reaches ever get that hot, and Telavi can hope it's refreshing. Certainly she has a bit of a smile for K'zin to go along with it, one that widens upon seeing his, as well as how gladly he seems to take what comparatively little she can give him. She's wearing a light robe upon her return, a gauzy thing worn open and unbelted, fluttering behind her when she paces. She looks in on the dragons, even. Does he finish the water? She has more water. She can pace a little more, too, her jaw working just short of saying something a time or two. Or three.

"You put your clothes back on." K'zin makes note of the obvious after drinking down the whole offering in slow, measured sips. He sounds disappointed (as any red-blooded man would!). "I guess I'm pretty unattractive right now." He adds with a little laugh at himself. "Just promise me this clothes thing isn't permanent because now I've sobbed all over you?"

Unthinking surprise from Tela, glancing down at herself, and then a quick laugh. "So many clothes," she 'agrees,' starting to wander back. "The turtleneck," a flick of fingers towards her bare throat, "the layers and layers of sweaters, my clompy boots," going up on her toes for a few mincing steps to allude to heels and show off bare feet. But then she looks at K'zin again, and her voice changes, less airy now. "No, it isn't permanent," she really does agree, right before resting a knee on the bed next to him and then leaning in for a kiss, so there. Even softer, "Are clothes so bad? If I don't wear them, you can't take them off." Which is to say, no, he hasn't been banished to the Snotty Zone.

The description of the clothes that aren't there has K'zin smiling a little more broadly and he rolls his reddened eyes, "What were you thinking? All those clothes. He meets her kiss tenderly, but doesn't linger. It's still hard to breathe after all. "How about we go to the Hot Springs and deal with the clothing problem there if no one's around?" He suggests, starting to edge for the side of the bed.

"Perfect. Although," with an amused glance down at herself, "I'll wear just a little more between here and there." With that, Telavi gathers up a few necessities, leaving the rest where it is; she can clean up the scene of the confession later. And if she's also considering just how his father might best be paid back... might not that be part of tidying up the mess?