Difference between revisions of "Logs:Confrontations Are Better with Alcohol"

Once his shift, the shift that felt like the longest one he'd ever worked, was over, Oliwer wasn't sure what to do with himself. He only knew what he didn't want to do with himself and that was to go home and face G'laer. So, after weighing his options, Oliwer decided to go to the Snowasis. And he stayed there. The healer drank until he didn't have to think anymore, until he couldn't see or walk straight and until he finally passed out in a booth with his head cradled in his arms. This isn't exactly his finest of moments.

Normally, the bartenders try to keep an eye on those that seem likely to do what Oliwer has done and cut them off soon enough that they'll still stumble back to their own beds, but someone might not have been paying attention, or else underestimated the healer's tolerance. But there he is. G'laer might even have missed him but for the server who stops him as he traverses the bar, perhaps just cutting through. Oliwer is pointed out and the greenrider frowns before heading his way. He slides into the booth next to the healer and gently shakes his shoulder. "Time to come to bed, Oli. Can you manage to get to Teisyth?"

Given how little the healer really drinks, it would be pretty easy to underestimate his tolerance. But it doesn't matter how he got here now that he's here, does it? Oliwer protests the shoulder shaking with a soft groan. No, he's fine right here, go away. When he lifts his head to squint at the shaker, though, he frowns at finding the face that matches the voice he recognizes all too well. "No. I'm okay. Can you get me a dr-- No, need the latrines." Oliwer starts shifting toward G'laer since that's the way out of the booth.

Oli drunk and frowning at him. It doesn't even take the Hold Idiot to know something's up. G'laer's movement onto his feet is smooth and he's reaching to try to assist the healer onto his, to help him in silence to the latrines; he'll carry him if he has to. If Oliwer lets him.

Oliwer will not let G'laer carry him. The only reason he allows the help at all is because he wouldn't be able to walk faster than a shuffle along the wall without it. He's at least quick to deal with his business once they get there, possibly because he might have thrown up anyway if he hadn't made it in time. When he emerges, he still looks pretty awful, and pale now on top of it. And he doesn't look any happier to see his weyrmate. "Why're you here?"

G'laer waits, with every appearance of patience. When awful-looking, pale Oliwer emerges, the greenrider is gazing at him steadily. He can't have missed the look, but answering a question with a question in that occasionally annoying way he has, he asks: "Why are you? What's going on, Oli?"

The questions earn a confused look from the poor, not quite as drunk as he was healer. That's not what is supposed to happen. Why is G'laer making things difficult for him? That isn't fair. It also isn't fair that Oliwer's face is ridiculously expressive when he doesn't have a handle on it. "I don't want to be here." So he starts walking, unsteadily, away. In the direction of not the bowl.

G'laer can catch up with a sober Oli without expending too much effort. For a drunk Oli it may very well seem like there wasn't a moment when the greenrider wasn't beside him. "Then let's go home." It's the logical suggestion, if Oliwer is this drunk and doesn't want to be here.

It is a very logical suggestion. Even Oliwer seems to consider it for a handful of moments before he, illogically, blurts out, "No! I can't go there. I need... I need to go somewhere." Somewhere else. He sounds kind of sad about it, too. But he sounds even more sad when he says, like he's talking to himself more than to the greenrider who may or may not actually be there beside him. "Why did you have to do it, Gal?"

It might be better for everyone if G'laer were a phantom of Oliwer's divising, but then he wouldn't be prepared to steady the healer at a moment's notice. "Do what, Oli?" His attention is mostly on the healer, keeping an eye out for pitfalls in their path with his peripheral vision. "Why can't you come home?"

Oliwer stops, hand steadying himself against the wall and his eyes closed. Maybe he's thinking about being sick again. He doesn't move or say anything for several moments and, when he does, it's only turning his head to look at G'laer with a pained expression more reminiscent of sobriety. "You hurt her."

G'laer should have the chagrined look of one caught after the fact, but he doesn't. He does frown, but that's the extent of it. His voice is quiet when he responds. "Let's go home where we can talk about this." Because here and now is not the time or place.

"Why?" asks Oliwer even though, even now in his less than completely sober state, he knows perfectly well. Which he proves by continuing with a somewhat louder voice, "You don't want anyone to know that you hurt defenseless women? Pregnant women?" His expression is oddly defiant now.

Oliwer is barely allowed to get out the last two words and give G'laer that defiant look when the greenrider is wrapping an arm around him (whether he wants it or not) and the other has a hand clapping to the healer's mouth. There's anger in the man's face, but also control. His words come in an urgent hiss, "Do you want me to get exiled? Do you want that for Teisyth? Or worse to see us both forced to take ourselves between?" His blue eyes are intense, searching Oli's lighter ones.

Oliwer struggles but it's short-lived. Even in this state he's well aware that he's at a major disadvantage. There's no fear to meet that anger of G'laer's though, only the healer's own glassy-eyed anger. He doesn't answer and not only because there's a hand over his mouth. There's no response in his narrowed eyes, either.

"Oli, please," G'laer's voice is gently pleading now. "We can go to the weyr and you can yell all you like. Just not here. I'm going to take my hand away now. Please." Of course, that hand will be ready to return if there's more inappropriate noise.

When the hand moves, Oliwer still has nothing to say to G'laer. He stares at him for several more moments, and then he's trying to push away so he can keep on walking. This time, at least, he seems to be heading in a more bowl-oriented direction.

G'laer is willing to go on good faith, letting the healer push away from him. He follows, only a step behind. "Are we over?" Let it never be said that this greenrider doesn't just get to the point when there's a point to be had.

"Yes," is the first thing that comes to Oliwer's mind. It's angry and impulsive. But then he says, "No." Because the 'yes' isn't really what his heart wants. And finally, "I don't know. What if we are? Will I end up the same as any other?" He doesn't say witness but it's strongly implied.

"No." Firm. Possibly because... what does Oliwer know? Lots of things, surely, but no proof. G'laer sighs then, stopping a moment before catching up. "Come home, Oli. Please." Since the rider has no way to know if heading in this bowl-wards direction means the healer intends to go home or not. "I love you." It's totally not fair to use the three words, but he does anyway. G'laer fights dirty.

His conviction is faltering. He's too tired and too intoxicated, though blessedly not so much as he was before passing out, to be very good at holding onto that. "Don't say that. If you loved me, you would have left her alone." Oliwer shoots G'laer a dirty look, but then he glances away. Where the hell is he? "Fine, home." Possibly only because he never got a new mattress for his bed.

G'laer's lips are set in a tight line at the denial. But he doesn't speak again. He only moves to where Teisyth is anxiously awaiting them. He only touches Oliwer the required amount to get him safely into the straps and buckled. Teisyth is extra careful to fly as smoothly as possible and land gently. G'laer is careful not to let Oliwer fall on the way down and herds him away from the ledge just as Teisyth settles herself on its edge to further guard against mishaps.

Oliwer might mind being treated like a child that can't stand and move around properly on his own if he were an adult that could currently do those things. He might not even really notice the care the green pair takes. But once they're safely at home, he wanders into their weyr and toward their bed, trying to pull his shirt off and getting sort of lost in it on the way. He'll find his way out eventually. Without G'laer's help. When he does, he asks, "You know why she was in the infirmary today?"

So long as Oli isn't trying to take a header off the ledge, G'laer gives him space. He busies himself putting the tea kettle on, and has settled into Oli's chair to watch the healer as he makes his bedwards progress. "She was in the infirmary today?" That would be a 'no' and it certainly doesn't look like he is playing dumb.

When Oliwer looks in his weyrmate's direction, and realizes where he is sitting, he frowns. It distracts him from finding a shirt to change into for his usual bedtime routine and instead the healer is heading in the greenrider's direction. There's no demand for G'laer to move. Maybe it just looks strange. Just not strange enough for Oliwer to avoid eyeing their own collection of alcohol. "She lost the baby."

That makes G'laer frown. But he doesn't say he's sorry like he ought, even just for manners' sake. Instead he follows Oliwer's gaze. "You're cut off." In case he was really thinking about it.

Those words have Oliwer's gaze cutting back to G'laer with that same, slightly fuzzy edge of defiance from before. "That's not your decision. If you can go hurt the people I tell you not to hurt, I can sharding well drink whatever I sharding well like." Fortunately that distracts him from drinking onto more important things like, "How could you do that!"

Just because G'laer doesn't comment on the possibility of more booze doesn't mean Oliwer has won that fight. But he'll let it lie for the moment. "Because I'm angry, Oli! That's how!" The greenrider shouldn't let his drunk weyrmate provoke him. But he rises as he says it and his eyes are alive with that emotion.

"Being angry doesn't give you the right to hurt people, G'laer!" Oliwer steps forward as the greenrider rises. In another person, it might be challenging, but it's hard to say just what it is in the healer. "And a mother. A mother, G'laer! Are her children next? Is that the plan? Go on, tell me! I'd really like some insight into your fucking head!"

"For fuck's sake, Oli." The greenrider shifts as though to move past him and then decides otherwise. "You want to know what else she is? The dimmest glow I've ever sharding well met. Do you have any idea how sharding lucky you are that all that man did to you was punch you?!" G'laer's expression is barely bridled fury. "She knows what kind of man he is. She knows that he's just as capable as I am of awful things and that he has a tenuousness handle on his temper at best, and still, she keeps putting you in danger!" His yell is thunderous, but he doesn't stop there. He returns to a more forceful than usual intensity, but no longer a yell. "The first time I went there was to find out about him. I told her to stay away from you because it's dangerous every time she speaks to you. I reminded her that there would be consequences if she didn't. And the little idiot came to you anyway, putting you in danger again. So There Were Consequences. I waited for her to be alone. The children were never in danger," of anything other than losing their mother, "and when I found out she was pregnant with possibly your child, I stopped." Would he if it had been the other man's? "I told her you were never to know to keep you safe. I just want you safe, Oli." The anger tempers now that he's gotten that all out, but his lips are set in a hard line and his gaze is oh so intense.

The greenrider's yelling leaves Oliwer unable to find his own voice, though it's hard to tell if he even tries. He stares at G'laer with a hint of anxiety in his eyes but, by the time his weyrmate has finished, the healer is looking away, unable or unwilling to meet G'laer's intense gaze. He doesn't move, either, though he's started to look like he might possibly cry. Too many feelings!

Damnit. That might-be-about-to-cry look seldom sits well with any man, even G'laer. He pulls in a deep breath and then releases it, closing his eyes a long moment. When they open again, the anger has been further dampened, until it's hardly there at all. It's been replaced by concern. "May I touch you?" He asks and his voice has gentled to it's usual timbre and volume.

Oliwer is torn on how to answer that question. It should be simple. But some part of him wants nothing more than for G'laer to touch him while the other part wants to go demand that Teisyth take him somewhere, anywhere else. The healer ends up nodding his head, though, possibly before his brain has actually given it his full permission.

The greenrider's reach is slow, time enough for Oliwer to change his mind, if he wants. G'laer's intention is to gather the healer in, to hold him in his embrace, to press his cheek beside the healer's ear and murmur. "You are the most important person in my world," Teisyth's a dragon. It's different. "I would do anything to protect you. Even if you hated me forever. I won't let anything happen to you."

There's no movement from the healer at first, but he lets G'laer embrace him. "I don't want to hate you, Gal. I don't hate you. But. I need-- I think I'm going back to the Hall for awhile." His arms finally move around the greenrider, tentative, and his head leans ever so slightly against that cheek.

G'laer's body tenses. Given what he just said, is it any wonder that he'd be instantly against this? "I can't protect you there." That's where Oliwer got slugged in the first place! "You're going-- to be away from me?" He's just checking that he has this right. "We're separating?" And he just had those sharding rings made, too.

Oliwer draws his head back so he can try to look G'laer in the face. Even if that's probably not a good idea anyway. Being strong doesn't come easily to the healer. "I don't need you to protect me. It's better, I think. For both of us. I won't run into her. You won't have to worry about it. I'll be able to... think."

G'laer's arms slowly loosen. Then he pulls back enough to let Oliwer do as he wishes. The greenrider's expression is suddenly an impassive mask. "So we're separating," is what he gets from that. He looks at Oliwer a moment longer. After a deep intake of breath, he nods. "Okay." And his arms fall to his sides. "Teisyth and I would like to take you, when it's time. If you'll let us."

The greenrider's face might be impassive but Oliwer's looks pained. Perhaps in part because G'laer doesn't seem to be very affected. His gaze drops as he steps back and starts to turn away, "I don't know if that's a good idea." When did he start sounding so sober? "But you can take me down after I've packed a few things. To stay in my room. Or the dorms, I suppose."

"Oli, please." It's soft. It's betraying a small percent of the hurt that hides under the surface. "Don't go tonight. In fact, don't go from here until you have to go go. I'll go stay on Laghnei's couch. Teisyth can stay here to give you rides. Your blue can find her when you need to come up. You don't even have to see me, if you don't want to. But don't--" G'laer can't finish, eyes closing. This place isn't home without Oliwer, not that he can find the words to say that just now.

"No." It's firm, almost sharp considering its source. "I don't want to stay here unless you're here, too. And if you're here..." Oliwer might not be able to leave at all. "I don't want to go, Gal. But I need to. For awhile, anyway. I love you. I do. But you make it hard for me to think properly." Which might be why he's saying this while mostly turned away. "I can make arrangements in the next few days."

"Okay." This is quiet. Then quieter still, "I'll wait for you on the ledge." G'laer turns and starts moving with a less than efficient stride.

When G'laer turns to head for the ledge, Oliwer stops what he's doing to watch him. And when he emerges, now with a shirt on and a bag of clothes held in one hand, that he's been crying is readily obvious. That it wouldn't take much for him to continue is, too. He doesn't say anything, simply waits to mount Teisyth so the pair can take him to the bowl.

When Oliwer appears on the ledge, there is a strange sight for him. G'laer is settled between Teisyth's forepaws, arms wrapped around his knees and head bowed. Teisyth's nose is against his back. In a way, maybe G'laer is lucky he has her to comfort him. When Oliwer appears, bejeweled eyes and large head move away from her rider and toward the healer to croon softly, sadly, perhaps pleadingly. Does G'laer need to translate?

Oliwer isn't accustomed to the two against one game turned on him. Not that G'laer is doing anything but sitting there. But that's enough, evidently. Teisyth's attention turning on him brings tears back into the healer's eyes. "That's not fair," he tells the green, voice wavering despite trying to keep it steady.

The green's head dips and her nose in a pose of apology, but she can't help the way her eyes whirl swiftly a sad grey, so different than her usual blues and greens. G'laer rises slowly and moves to the healer to offer to take the bag. It's surely a trick of the moonlight that the man's eyes look wet.

Oliwer doesn't pay much attention to his own tears at this point. There's nothing to be done for them. He lets G'laer take his bag, watching the man with eyes as sad as the green's. When his gaze shifts to her, he murmurs, "I'm sorry."

Teisyth is silent now, just looking at Oliwer while G'laer stows the bag. He can't look at Oliwer's face, so he just climbs up and offers down his hand.

The healer hesitates. Maybe he's changed his mind. Maybe he doesn't want to leave. Well, one of those are true, anyway. But he can't stay. So Oliwer takes G'laer's hand and climbs up onto the green, rubbing a hand affectionately against her hide once he's settled.

No amount of affectionate rubs are going to cure the sadness green and rider share tonight. The drop to the bowl is swift and silent after Teisyth's long hesitation on the ledge. Once they've landed, G'laer climbs down and offers up a hand before moving to get the bag.

Once he's on the ground, Oliwer seems reluctant to pay anymore attention to the green. He feels guilty enough as it is and he probably couldn't say what he has to be guilty of. When G'laer has gotten his bag, Oliwer says, very softly, "Will you kiss me? Please?"

The only hesitation in acquiescing is probably a moment to confirm with Teisyth that he heard what he thinks he heard for fear it was only what he wanted to hear. Then Oliwer is in his arms and the kiss is suitable for one that fears it shall be the last. G'laer certainly doesn't want it to end, but when Oliwer moves to break it, he won't try to prolong it.

Oliwer would probably like that kiss to last much longer than it does. But if it lasts too long, he might not be able to walk away. So he withdraws reluctantly, murmuring as he does, "I love you." He looks at G'laer, tears in his eyes, for only a moment, then he swallows and turns to leaves.

Then G'laer reaches. He reaches and catches the healer's wrist, waiting for him to look back. Because he has words too. Words that need to be said. "No matter what you think of me, what kind of man I am, the things I do, I need you to know that I love you as deeply as I've ever loved and I only wish I could have done it better. None of that will ever change." Then he lets go. Lets go and moves to mount up. Staying would mean going to pieces in public, and he can't have that.

Oliwer looks back and he listens. And even after G'laer has gone to mount his dragon, the healer still watches. He watches until it's difficult to see Teisyth anymore. And then he turns again, to find somewhere that he can break down properly without his weyrmate's arms to comfort him.