Logs:Pretty Boy Support Network
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| RL Date: 21 October, 2014 |
| Who: K'zin, N'rov |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'zin goes to pay his respects at Fort and, apparently, to bore N'rov to sleep. |
| Where: Vhaeryth's Stars at Night Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 1, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: miserable |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, G'var/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Ienavi/Mentions, Kinzi/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Angst, back-dated. |
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| The skies are cloudy, the night is dark, as though designed for moody bronzerider brooding; the wind even howls against Tooth Crag and drowns out the endlessly screaming mouths of weyrs. In front of Vhaeryth's, the snow's piled high upon the otherwise empty ledge, though only at its edges; dead center it's been crushed with pawprints facing inward, not out. Someone's home. Rasavyth has been roused from his own grieving to make this trip. Still, he's keeping close counsel to the point that he doesn't extend any courtesies beyond a brief acknowledgment to the watchdragon; they simply come, land and K'zin is let off and Rasavyth takes wing again. K'zin pulls goggles up and facemask down as he moves toward the entrance to the weyr. Once he's closer, he calls, "N'rov? May I come in?" Chances are good that since he's asking the other bronzerider could simply turn him away and have done. He wouldn't be the first person N'rov's told to go away albeit in much more colorful terms; there's just silence, though, silence followed eventually by the movement of the weyr's heavy curtain and the dim yellow light of long-changed glows. These move outward and up, the basket's owner squinting to identify the arrival and taking too long about it before, at last, there's a rough nod and a beckon. "Yeah," might not have much to do with anything. The light's already retreating, past the seashell-curve of a wallow to the right that holds shadows and Vhaeryth and more shadows, opening out into a smallish weyr that at first glimpse doesn't hold much of anything. There's light, though, silhouetting the rider crouched before the hearth, a prod leading to a flurry of sparks. The glowbasket's dull by comparison and there's no other light anywhere tonight. K'zin isn't stupid about letting the only source of light get too far away in the unfamiliar territory. His eye shift briefly to Vhaeryth as he passes, but he hurries on, only bothering to stop to tap off his boots so they don't track snow everywhere. Then once he can see the figure by the hearth, he's moving there, not to the figure, just to the floor in front of the hearth where he sits to undo his bootlaces and rid himself of the other winter weather gear. Like most men, K'zin isn't great at feelings, and these are some of the big bad sort, but still, he came. "I thought I'd come." He offers with a slow exhale. "I figured you probably had people, but maybe another wouldn't hurt." N'rov turns his head to look at his visitor. It's a slow movement, and not smooth. At this vantage his jaw isn't smooth either, and his hair's long enough that Aishani would have liked it, for all that it barely curls. "Yeah. Most of 'em, gone already." His tone's ambivalent, his accent thick enough to weatherproof Vhaeryth's hide. K'zin nods in answer, looking more at the fire than the man, then he does. It's not so much forcing himself as deciding it's time. He considers N'rov for some long moments in silence. "Need anything?" Notice that he doesn't ask if N'rov is okay. That's just a dumb question and even this bronzerider of very little brain knows it. "Bring her back?" It's not joking, it's not rhetorical, it's not to underscore why it is he's here how he's here. It's also not expectant. N'rov might well ask this of all his visitors. Someday, one of them might answer the right way. "If it were in my power," K'zin answers solemnly. He doesn't think it's funny. He doesn't think it doesn't deserve an answer. He's grim. There's a sigh some moments later, but not one that comes with words. N'rov exhales, rough. Then he nods. He leans forward, shifting his hold on the poker, and nudges the fire just enough to make a difference. The difference, whatever it is, might be invisible to anyone else. After a while, "Just the other day." "I know." K'zin doesn't speak too quickly, he considers the full weight of the Fortian's words. "You need time yet, I know," because just the other day. "Maybe it's stupid and maybe it doesn't mean anything and maybe you'd rather I go, but if you ever want, I'm here." That's really what he came to say. "I'm-- we're mourning her too. Not the same. Not the same, I know," that last is added quickly; the 'Reaches rider knows his pain can't compare to N'rov's, that Rasavyth's can't compare to Vhaeryth's, "but we're-- in this. With you. If you ever want company." Doesn't misery love that sort of thing? Instead of thanking the other man, instead of nodding even, "Tell me something good about her," N'rov says. It's not as though if he didn't say 'good' K'zin might come up with 'bad,' it's just that. Something good. "There was a time, I thought, we might have become partners of a sort." K'zin doesn't have to spend any time coming up with something, so that's probably a positive sign that he wasn't just pretending. "When she brought Lady Ienavi to Healer, I was working another angle. We colluded a bit. She was smart, you know? A lot smarter than I am." He doesn't try to compare to the dragons because who could, really? "I was young, and she was too, but not as young, not as unworldly. She helped me." Sure, there was probably some lack of helping in there too, but that falls into the category of speaking ill of not only the dead but the heroic. N'rov swings another look at him, gray eyes sharpening nearly into focus before the fire brings them back. "She likes to be the smartest one in the room," he says. "With them not so not-smart that it's boring. That was a long time ago. I don't even know how long that was." K'zin looks sad, he thinks in silence a moment before asking quietly, "Does it help if I don't correct you?" He means his tense. "It's happening that way, all over 'Reaches, people trying to remember they can't speak of her like she's still with us anywhere but--" He touches a hand to his heart. Really, it's not his heart Aishani is in, but Rasavyth's and it's about Iesaryth for him, not Aishani. But Iesaryth is Not without Aishani just as sure as there is no separation between what Rasavyth is feeling and what K'zin does, when it comes to these sorts of serious feelings. "Huh?" Then, "Oh." Then, "Don't." N'rov twitches his shoulder. The other rider's words go by. He jerks a nod. "I have to go to her weyr tomorrow." Where he might run into some of those 'Reaches people. "There's a bottle here somewhere." "Okay," is accepting. He won't pressure his fellow. "You want I should make myself black and blue trying to find it?" K'zin asks of the bottle, squinting out into the darkness of the unfamiliar weyr. "I mean, if you really want..." He'll do it. But then he's saying, "I thought of a better one. You can punch me if you like, after, but let me tell it." He glances to N'rov then to the fire. "The last batch of candidates we had, there was this big guy from Monaco. Liked the ladies worse than any bronzerider I'd ever met. Including H'vier," which is saying a lot. Perhaps N'rov's heard the rumors. Anyway, we were eating in the living cavern, this guy and I, and Aishani's there in the food line and we got to talking about sweet buns." K'zin is probably blushing, though in the light, it's difficult to see to know for certain; his voice is sheepish at least. "I could never see sweet buns the same way after that." Sure, N'rov can punch him. He gets up and moves unerringly deeper into the cavern, such as it is; it's just that the bottle he reaches for first proves to be empty. He replaces it on the shelf with a grunt, presumably for H'vier and not the weight of taking its replacement (Reisoth flew Iesaryth; no doubt people were falling over themselves to give him rumors), and uncaps it on the way back with so little bother that this must not have been the first time it's been opened. While he takes the first pull, K'zin can have the second, not even directed at his skull. Not even after N'rov finally does catch on. "Let me guess," he says with resignation. "Short skirt." Any day's a good day for a short skirt in Shani-land, pretty much. "She's probably inspired countless... Forget it." He liked the other one. He extends his hand, too, to take the bottle back. When K'zin hands the bottle back after his turn, his opposite hand moves to touch the back of N'rov's, briefly. The tactile contact is meant to mean something, though it doesn't have an explanation attached. Perhaps K'zin thinks people, to this point, might've been handing N'rov with the careful sort of attention one gives the mentally unbalanced, and that that simple touch might reinforce his purpose in coming: support, if it can be given, and whatever else he can do. Even men need hugs sometimes, and they both know N'rov's primary hug giver is no longer available and K'zin doesn't, on this occasion, stand on manly ceremony. Still, he doesn't try to force that on an unsuspecting N'rov (who perhaps should be handled in the careful way one does the mentally unbalanced). "Do you know how I know she loved you?" He asks as he relinquishes the bottle. N'rov is definitely an unsuspecting N'rov when it comes to that last part, though his reflexes are enough still there that the bottle doesn't hit the floor. If asked, no doubt he'd disavow any need for any touch whatsoever (as well as allegiance to balance of any variety), if he could talk; as it is, he stares at K'zin as though he'd been gaffed, minus the tail and all but two rows of teeth. K'zin looks up toward the other man with furrowed brow, as if not sure if he's said something wrong (in that, of all things). But he goes on, perhaps it will help to at least complete the thought. "She never let any of the rest of us have even enough time of her day to give us half a chance." His eyes go to the fire, letting N'rov process or-- whatever, without his unintentionally prying eyes. Huh. It's a different sort of surprise, relief even. N'rov closes his eyes, scrubbing his brow with the knuckles of his free hand; the bottle hangs by the other, all but forgotten. If, another time, he could say something of isolation that's willful or otherwise, that's not now. He steps back to the hearth, leaning his back against one side of the mantel, letting the screen catch the sparks. "She's single-minded, sometimes." Handy thing, contractions, when they can be past-tense or present-. "Driven," K'zin says it like the compliment he means it to be and then shifts to stretch his back a little as he sits. Then, without lead up, "Ever been rock climbing in the ice? Or just the more tropical stuff?" Maybe he's about to make some grand metaphor. "I try to avoid ice," N'rov notes, "except in drinks." Speaking of, bottoms not-quite-up. The bottle's not as heavy when he extends it to K'zin this time. "Yeah? Don't like a good challenge or just not the cold?" K'zin probably knows the answer to that. He sips, but it barely makes a difference in the weight when the bottle is handed back. N'rov gives him a long, narrow look and then, after this drink, twists just enough to put the bottle on the shelf. He looks out into the room, and if it can't all (or even mostly) be seen in the darkness, maybe memory works well enough for some things... if not for dark-eyed women. "Have you ever lived somewhere warm." "Nope." The 'p' pops out of habit. "Born in Tillek, shipped off to Crom to grow up at Minecraft, to the Weyr when I was eight, and then only Telgar for Smith classes after that. The closest thing to living somewhere warm I've ever had is summer." K'zin shrugs. Who needs warm? "All those sound suspiciously northern," N'rov says, suspiciously. When he's done with the sentence, though, he leans his head back further. "Closest thing I ever had to winter was fostering, and even that wasn't as up north as Fort. No. There's enough ice here, I don't need any more." K'zin nods. And that's it. No grand metaphor after all. The fire crackles. It's warm, here, no ice like there is on the ledge just dragonlengths away. Even that's warmer than Between. N'rov says finally, just before he pushes away from the hearth, "Guess that'll be my last Turn sliding around on knives for a while, anyway. Knives," and his voice gets even more dry, "strapped to someone else's boots." "Doesn't have to be," K'zin answers, pursing his lips. "Think of the stir if we went. I'd have to wear a dress, of course," of course. "But," he considers the other man, "For you... I think I could swing it. I'm not shaving though." It could be that the 'Reaches man is working at getting a laugh, or at least a smile, or some sort of sign that N'rov might one day be whole again, but since K'zin sounds perfectly serious and it doesn't relent to one of his goofy grins, he may actually be that: perfectly serious. N'rov does chuckle, so somewhere between the two; "No shaving, that's no commitment." He turns, leaning crossed arms on the mantel now. The fire silhouettes him sharply below, a more diffuse light rising past upper arms' shadows. "Though I think," there's a musing pause here in which he could change his mind, "I didn't while playing Weyrwoman. More than usual, anyway. Just don't wear a wig." Wearing a dress is one thing, apparently; getting too specific (copying Shani?), that's going too far. K'zin sighs, "I didn't need a wig last time. But that was before." He shifts again, letting his legs draw in to cross. "And last time it was to impress Azaylia when she was a pretty woman who gave me the time of day. Long before bronzes. Long before growing up. Do grown up men wear dresses?" Perhaps it's just so much easier to talk about this than that that K'zin seems content to stay on the topic for the moment, especially since N'rov chuckled. Anything he can do to somehow make this extremely sucky time of life a little easier. "I suppose you're pretty enough, but not a woman, even if you have a shiny lifemate too. Though I don't expect my wearing a dress would be enough to impress you." The corner of his mouth tugs into an echo of a smile if not an actual one. "That sort of thing does impress some women," N'rov allows. If never Aishani. He rubs his forehead, then leans it against his arms; a little while later he shifts from one foot to the next while the rhythm of K'zin's words goes by, resettling. A while after that, "Do me a favor?" "Name it." Right now, it's that simple. N'rov can ask whatever he likes of K'zin and if it's within K'zin's power, it will be done. Loss grants a lot of free passes; this is just one of them. "Keep talking." This time, when N'rov pushes away from the hearth, his gray gaze swings over K'zin and pauses there. "I need some sleep." Does the other rider see the connection? If it seems like he might not, "About whatever, that's not," what's going to call up more nightmares, even if N'rov can only express that in the roll of his shoulder. "If I didn't know better, N'rov," K'zin drawls with a touch of amusement, because all bronzeriders know better about this, "I'd think you thought I'm boring." There's just a little bit of tease to that, but his expression is as understanding as can be, though presumably the reason he can understand might conjure up nightmares. "Have I told you about the time my little sister broke my toe?" And so it begins. K'zin steers clear of topics like his girlfriend, which is challenging in its own way since they've been so much a part of one another's lives for so long now. But K'zin has plenty of boyhood anecdotes. If N'rov stays awake long enough, he'll hear all about the pet rocks too (each named and well cared for until one dastardly brother or another chose to drop them off too far from home for them to roll their way back). Hard to say how long N'rov stays awake, up there in the high niche with its incised caravan-doors all but pulled shut... but at least, if he has nightmares, he (unlike so many other nights) manages to keep them to himself. |
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