Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Very Last Drop"

The middle of the night is no one's favorite time. Least of all those who've been awoken enough times that all the times blur together so one can't even count how often. G'laer is on night duty tonight, settled on a spare cot, Teisyth curled up and mostly asleep in the couch there. He's watchful, keeping eyes and ears attentive in case some weyrling should need some help. G'laer is surely just the person they'd want to see at these absurd hours, right?

Jadzia hasn't been sleeping well. She hasn't been doing a lot of things well, but she's at least had the benefit of a relatively sociable, easy to get along with dragon. It's this time of night, while Savroveth is sound asleep along with more or less everyone else, that the new weyrling can try to sneak a drink without going anywhere. Granted, having a flask in the barracks means hiding a flask in the barracks, so she's up on her feet to carefully open her press and dig it out from where it's stowed. She doesn't even move before she's opening it to take a drink. One that's entirely too short because she hasn't had a chance to refill it lately. "No," Jadzia whispers at it, earnestly. That's not enough!

If the whisper was coming from a different couch/cot combo, G'laer mightn't check it out. But since it's Jadzia's, he's up and strolling silently to it. He doesn't say anything upon his approach, which is probably the wrong move given the baby dragon asleep there, but it seems everyone was right about him not being very good at this. He takes in Jadzia, her flask, the sleeping Savroveth and then just watches. What will happen next?

Just in case the flask isn't completely empty, Jadzia is trying to make sure she gets the very last drop. It's not particularly satisfying, not for what she needs. It is distracting, though, so her notice of G'laer is belated, startling her to her feet, flask still in hand. Savroveth stirs, but he resettles himself rather than coming to full consciousness, all while Jadzia stares silently at G'laer.

G'laer stares silently back for a long few moments; does he need to look to the flask for her to know he's seen it? He does anyway so there can be no mistake. Rather than speak here, he beckons for her to follow and turns to move toward the Weyrlingmaster's office which has a door he can close behind them.

Jadzia hesitates to follow, watching after the greenrider for a handful of moments before she's glancing at her lifemate. Since he's seen the flask, she doesn't bother putting it away and carries it with her as she pads after G'laer into the Weyrlingmaster's office. Once there, though, she still doesn't say anything, waiting for him to say or do something first.

How many times before have they ended up in this very situation? Turns ago, sure, but Jadzia ending up sent to G'laer for some sort of transgression. As with all those times, he starts with, "Would you like to explain or for me to assume?" He always gives her the option. This is only after he closes the door and moves to lean against the front of the desk; so much the same and yet so different.

"You've always been shit at assuming," says Jadzia. Which isn't necessarily true. But she wouldn't be herself if she didn't say something like that, would she? "I need to drink." Not that she just needs a drink now. Or needed one then. It's a bigger problem than that.

"You haven't always thought so." G'laer responds evenly, but that's hardly the bigger issue here. The greenrider regards her silently. Then he asks, this much, if not the question itself is also a known pattern, "How long ago did it start?"

"I don't have the best track record of being smart around you." Somehow Jadzia makes this sound more like she thinks it's an insult of him than of her own failings. "Four or so turns, I guess." Right around when the life she'd been working toward fell apart. She doesn't sound accusatory, though.

"No. You don't." Surprise, surprise, G'laer doesn't seem to take it the way she'd probably like him to. His blunt answer shouldn't be surprising though. He is G'laer after all. "Do you want to change it now?" His tone isn't judgmental, simply asking the question.

"No." There's a beat before she adds, "I don't know. I don't know if I can." Jadzia hesitates again because if she keeps talking, she'll probably say things that are kind of personal to her. And she's probably not sure she wants to say them to him.

"You can. If you choose." G'laer's voice is firm, as if it's not really a question. "But that kind of thing is not easy. And will not be made easier by what you are doing now." Weyrlinghood. Dragons. All that. "It's harder to do it alone." The way he says this might suggest some sort of personal experience, but he doesn't offer up any stories that confirm such a thing.

"Does your dragon-- Teisyth. Does she... feel like anything? Taste like anything?" Jadzia clearly feels a little awkward asking this question. It's not really something anyone ever talked about before so maybe it's just her dragon. Or, worse, maybe it's just her addiction. In any case, it must be relevant and not just asked for the hell of it.

The greenrider is quiet a moment. He has choices to make. Teisyth shares everything ever with her rider, so there's a very good chance he knows what Jadzia's about to talk about, but fortunately he believes in there being a process to things, and has a phenomenal poker face. "She tastes like rusted metal and nuts. I've gotten used to it." Though it can't exactly be pleasant. Rusted metal. "And she makes images with colored wax sticks. The way kids in the caverns do. Usually in not even close to the real colors of things." That makes him sound a little tired. This is his life, with his oh-so-special lifemate. "I don't know that anyone's ever asked me that before." This is added in 'for the record' way, perhaps meaning to make it a little less awkward for her to volunteer personal things, since he is. Sort of.

While G'laer explains the finer points of his lifemate's mindvoice, Jadzia moves to sit down in the chair in front of the desk, pushing it back just enough to not be too close. "Savroveth tastes like whiskey. Like... really good whiskey. He sounds like it, too. I don't even know how that works. Sometimes it feels like I'm imagining it, you know? Maybe I just need a drink that bad or something. I don't know how I'm supposed to stop when it's always there. He's the best and most unsatisfying drink I've ever had."

G'laer doesn't react too soon, doesn't give the game away. After a moment he nods slowly, "Do you think there's a whiskey in this world that could actually compare to him?" It might be a strange question, but strange has never bothered this greenrider. At least, not that variety of strange. "You're probably not imagining it, if that helps. Dragons have a way of getting inside you and messing with things." That probably doesn't help, but it's true in his experience. And they're sharing right now.

Jadzia draws her legs up into her seat and wraps her arms around them. It's a vulnerable position, but she's exhausted and edgy and, unfortunately for her, and possibly him, G'laer is one of the more familiar things about this whole weyrlinghood horror show. "I don't know. Probably not. But he's not doing much for..." She lifts a hand and holds it out. It's shaking in a way that it really shouldn't be, but she lowers it again to wrap around her leg.

"If I got you a bottle of the world's best whiskey, and it wasn't as good, would that give you motivation to kick it?" The habit. G'laer is looking at her. He hasn't moved from where he leans against the desk. There's nothing to suggest he's got any plans to take advantage of her vulnerability. "Do you know that drinking bits will prolong the side-effects of withdrawal?" Maybe he's making that up. Maybe it's true. It's impossible to tell from his face. "Has it affected Savroveth? Your drinking or your withdrawal, that you can tell?"

"Shells, I've been trying," says Jadzia, doing her best not to snap at the greenrider. That ought to be worth something! "There was this guy I knew a few turns back. He decided to quit drinking. And you know what? He almost died. Said he'd gone off too quick. I don't want that to happen to me." That's kind of earnest. Of course she doesn't want to almost die! "I don't want anything to happen to Sav. He probably just thinks I'm some bitchy crazy person now. You think they ever regret picking who they pick?"

G'laer's hands rise to indicate a wish for peace. "I didn't intend to imply that you weren't. I just thought it might help to know there isn't better out there as a fact. But since you don't need it, forget I said it." The greenrider ditches the idea without hesitation. "Would you consider speaking to a healer about it? About how to go about it so you're not at risk?" G'laer doesn't like healers, but he weyrmated one, so that's probably changed his perspective a little bit from the 'just suck it up' mentality of the Crom guard. "I can only speak to my experience. Teisyth's been ashamed of me, but she's never regretted choosing me. And you'll find that most dragon memories last less than a handful of days, so when you're clear of things, he can see that you are, in fact, a--" The greenrider looks at her gauging her pose and then doesn't finish the sentence.

"I didn't say I didn't need it." It's said a little quickly, like she's not actually sure she wants to forget that G'laer made that sort of offer. But maybe right now isn't the best time for Jadzia to be making those sorts of decisions. "You think I should talk to a healer? Quinlys probably won't care, even if I do. She's been riding my ass just to cut my fucking hair." Her hands lift to rub over her face, then push back through said hair. "So he'll forget." Maybe she doesn't actually want to hear what G'laer things she is. She doesn't ask.

The offer is gone, or at least G'laer doesn't reissue it. "If you're worried about the physical effects, I do. Not Oliwer. But Madilla, maybe. Or one of the others." The greenrider suggests. "They're the ones that will know best what's safe and what isn't. And their orders supersede Quinlys' where the health of weyrlings is concerned, I'd imagine." Perhaps he hasn't read that particular reg yet. "I'm not sure you give Quinlys enough credit. This isn't the guard. You aren't one of a few women here. And Quinlys has been in your shoes. She put up with me as a weyrling, and we had harper lessons together when I was young," since they're sharing! "She's smug and infuriating at times, but she's damned good at her job and she'll teach you what you need to know about dragonriding if you'll let her. That being said, if you don't want to cut your hair, you should speak with Telavi about how wonderously long hers is." Which isn't exactly saying, but certainly is a strong hint in what direction to go.

The 'not Oliwer' makes Jadzia glance up at G'laer, but she doesn't comment on that, either. There's not much fight in her right now. At least not enough to pick fights about things that don't really matter. "I give her plenty of credit. I met her before. In Crom. I liked her then." Now, perhaps, not so much. But that's not really the bluerider's fault. "My hair seemed really important the other day. Now I don't know if I care that much. Do you want to cut it off?" It's an impulsive question. But maybe they could both earn Quinlys points!

"You don't want me to do it, unless you want it to look like a bad training cut." Who can blame Crom's hairdressers for getting used to doing the male trainee cuts and accidentally doing some of the females the same way? (Probably most of the female recruits it happened to.) "It might serve you to smooth things over with Quinlys. Maybe offer her the honor. Or just show up with a haircut. It will make things easier to have short hair, I think. Save you time, in the least, from having to fix it before dawn every day." And sleep is precious; whatever little she can get. G'laer's tone is candid; it's not that he wouldn't do her the favor if she really wanted him to, just that scissors are not one of the weapons he's formally trained with.

"You don't know anything about women, do you." It's a rhetorical question but it makes Jadzia roll her eyes all the same, tilting her head back over the back of the chair with a sigh to stare up. At nothing. She stays there as she asks, "Is there anything to drink in here or do I need to sneak off and find something somewhere else?"

"Not much, no. Every time I get involved with one, it turns out poorly." G'laer gestures to Jadzia as case in point; apparently secretly requited interest counts as involved. "What was I supposed to know this time?" This question is posed in a way that suggests he's had to ask it before and also that he genuinely wants to know. "There is. But you'd have to find it and it probably won't help matters with Quinlys. Do you need a drink?"

"We were never involved," Jadzia reminds him as she lifts her head up to look at him again. "But thanks for helping to make sure I never wanted to get involved with anyone." Ever. Random hookups clearly don't count as getting involved. "Nothing," she answers like a true woman, slightly agitated. Jadzia starts to unfold her legs, stretching them out before rising up to her feet. "I wouldn't be awake if I didn't need a drink. I'll go look somewhere else," she says, already turning toward the door.

"Do you really want to talk about this?" Last time she asked him to stay away from her. G'laer looks tired. It's not going to help his weariness or her mood when he moves to block her exit. "You didn't answer me before. Is the drinking affecting Savroveth that you can tell?" This is important. This is him doing his job beyond simply reporting it to Quinlys.

No, G'laer in her way doesn't seem to help Jadzia's mood very much. She doesn't seem sure whether to be angry or cry, though, which is kind of annoying all on its own. She closes her eyes instead, trying so very hard not to lash out, physically or verbally. When she opens them again, looking past the greenrider toward the door, "I don't know. I don't think so. It's probably affecting him more that I'm not." At least not as much as usual. Not enough.

"Promise me you'll see a healer in the morning to figure out how to not need it safely." G'laer says without emotion. "I will get you a drink."

Jadzia sort of wants to object. It's in her expression. Making promises to people like him isn't really her favorite thing ever. But it's apparently better than not having to go figure out how to get her own drink. "Fine, whatever. I promise."

"Do I need to talk about what will happen if it turns out you're just saying the words?" G'laer asks, and his tone is reminiscent of the way he once spoke of taking the oaths of enlistment in Crom's guard.

"What's gonna happen, huh? You can't get me kicked out of this. I got Savroveth no matter what you do." Jadzia glares at the greenrider for just a moment before her gaze shifts away. She's not trying to be confrontational. It just happens sometimes. "I'm sorry. Just one. Please? I'll go, I promise."

He listens. He looks at her. And then he simply turns and walks away; out the door, and away.

Jadzia watches him leave and all she can do is stand there for a long while. Her hand meets tears when she lifts it to wipe across her cheek, but once she's pretty sure she's not going to go sobbing or screaming, she slips out, turning toward the training cavern instead of her cot.