Logs:Stage 1: Denial
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| RL Date: 25 November, 2013 |
| Who: K'zin, Sh'mel, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'zin's behavior is concerning. Turns out his father died, so at least there's a reason for it. At Sh'mel's behest, Telavi attempts to help. |
| Where: Rasavyth's Ledge and Artful Artifice Weyr (K'zin's), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 5, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'wlin/Mentions, Jo/Mentions, Lessa/Mentions, Moreta/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Zianarius/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Adult themes (including, but not limited to, death, nudity, and sex). Backdated to accommodate my crazy schedule. |
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| It was Sh'mel who checked on K'zin first. With the rumors, his once weyrling wingleader, was the lucky one to catch the bronzerider at home a few days after the rumor started to circulate. He didn't have much of a story to tell beyond the fact that he'd heard K'zin looked a little wild when he passed through the caverns earlier that day and that it looked like a pocket-sized tornado had torn through the man's weyr when he visited. Rasavyth, pacing (and still pacing) on the ledge, had warned them away, but Sh'mel had been insistent. He'd been rewarded by a liquor-plied K'zin shouting at him to just get out! Sh'mel, still ruffled from the experience, happened to run into Tela who, of course, was given this story of the erratic and sometimes errant clutchmate. "So you think I should get yelled at instead?" Telavi inquires of Sh'mel with ingenuous sweetness. "You think I'm that much of a glutton for punishment?" "What?" Sh'mel seems genuinely confused. "I -- no. I thought you and he were--" A blush touches his cheeks and rather than say aloud what he means, a hand gesture suffices to describe the relationship he thought she shared with K'zin. There's a moment there where Tela's brows go up prettily, like she's just about to ask him to explain because she just doesn't understand-- but Sh'mel's saved, because instead she decides to ask more practically, "Why not give the man his space?" "I would, only... Tayabeth says Rasavyth is worried." Sh'mel looks at Telavi uncertainly, "Have you ever known Rasavyth to be worried when something wasn't really wrong?" There was that time that K'zin spent the month in the infirmary; Rasavyth was worried then. If she had, would she let on to Sh'mel? "Mmm," says Tela, folding her arms, and she looks at the other greenrider. Whatever she might think of Rasavyth, she needn't let on about that either. But there's something about the way that he, Sh'mel, looks at her-- like he's counting on her in some strange way. So she folds her arms tighter and says, "So why, if he was so worried, didn't he--" only to cut herself off this time. She can kick puppies later. And then she sighs, heavily. "I've got drills," with the older weyrlings, "but... I'll think about it. Since you asked," or at least that's what she'll claim. It'll be later, near to the last of lengthening 'Reaches daylight, that Telavi finishes the last of her missions: drills, baths, kitchen, plus another couple stops along the way. Or, almost-last; it could be coincidence that Solith ascends in an arc around that particular part of the bowl, by Athimeroth's ledge, by Rasavyth's, onward. Except, « Hello. » Less exuberant than usual, it's touched with flame. And it's not for Athimeroth at all. Rasavyth is still pacing. He jerks to a halt at the touch, his head turning to swing so he can pinpoint the source. It's Solith but not-Solith. He's wary on top of worried. « Hello. » It's not that Telavi's supplanted Solith, but the green most definitely is not alone. « Do you have a warning for us? » « Are you planning to visit? » It's a simple and direct question tinged with the bronze's agitation, though it's not directly tied to the idea of their visit, but something else, something bigger and darker. « Something like that. » It could be roundabout, but for the layers of connotation that riffle-- or is it singe?-- along the edges of visit. And for the perhaps-simpler, « To stop by. » The agitation might fluster Solith, indirect and distanced though it is, were she on her own; as it is, there's the mere hint of a single shared shiver. There's silence on the other end. It's the silence that comes when Rasavyth is consumed elsewhere; it's a rare thing. Then he shifts on the ledge. Whatever his reasoning, the answer is: « You may come. It will not be pleasant. » So there's the warning for them. Essentially: come at your own risk. But at least now there's room on the ledge for Solith to make her landing. Telavi might not know, but Solith surely does, and uncertainty slows her even before his reply. Then it becomes simpler, in its way: « We do not expect it to be, » that nimbus of fire making the air that much more dry. Simpler, in that Solith slows this time with purpose. Simpler, in that this time she does land. Telavi, once she dismounts and swings her sack over her shoulder, runs a hand gently beneath the nearest stretch of leather; she does not, however, take those straps off. She looks at Rasavyth. Solith looks at Rasavyth, for once uncannily similar. And then, barring interruption, Telavi puts her hand to her forehead for one brief, fortifying moment... and strides within. Though Rasavyth is concerned, he's not concerned about the look from green or rider. Once Telavi has dismounted, he's back to pacing, albeit in a rather small circle on the ledge. It's bizarre behavior for the bronze, to say the least. No less bizarre, however, is the state of the weyr. K'zin has never been overly neat, but for a bachelor he does alright. The dirty plates usually make it to the dishes bin by the end of the day, and even when he leaves a project spread on the large table, it's an orderly mess. What Telavi walks into now is pure chaos. The rugs that scatter the floor have been littered with papers. Drafts of plans, sketches, notes, blank pages. Here and there are pockets that are safe to use a walkway without risk of slipping into the sea of insanity. K'zin isn't apparent in the inner weyr though. The sounds that one might think would be coming from the workout room are, instead, coming from the bedroom. There's rustling and mumbles that are unintelligible. And when Telavi arrives, K'zin is shirtless, abs streaked with the fingers of a handprint that must be charcoal because there's other evidence here and there on K'zin's person that indicates that has been art in the works. You know, if the sketches, some only partly formed, of the same face over and over and over again weren't enough to give it away. He's digging in the long press at the foot of the bed, and an interesting assortment of items has hit the floor in his disorderly searching. "No, because it's got to be here. Where the shard else would it be?" His words are slightly slurred and there's a bottle on the nightstand. Clearly these aren't to Tela, so they must be to Ras. Perched on the top of the dresser watching it all is a blue firelizard; eyes glinting merrily; chaos attracts certain personalities, of which Kazi is one. Telavi's slowed; she picks her way delicately, looking around as though this were a snowstorm hitting not dark stone but dark Istan sand. When the rustling becomes audible she hesitates, glances back over her shoulder, but then sets those shoulders and goes anyway. When it's just K'zin-- well, K'zin and the firelizard-- her tension alters character to something that can't be relief, not really; she leans just inside the doorway, hip and shoulder brushing the upright at opposite angles, everything else curved. She may not recognize the man, though she can guess, but... at least he doesn't seem to be drowned. After a few moments, "What is it?" Maybe she's not really here, because why would she be here. Maybe she's just his imagination. On the other hand, wouldn't his imaginary Tela already know? Imaginary Tela might not know and it would be therefore quite logical for imaginary Tela to ask. Telas, real and imaginary, do seem to enjoy asking questions. His dark gaze jerks to the door where she stands, and it seems to take him a moment to decide whether her state is corporial or mental only. Or maybe he's just surprised to see her. At least she doesn't get shouted at like poor Sh'mel. "My sketchbook. From when I was young. The others are here. They're all here. Just the one... it's not with the rest. I can't get his face right," Now K'zin is moving toward her, snatching up pages with one hand as he comes, too swiftly not to be unnerving, his feet trampling others as he arrives too close, so close with barely more than an inch separating them unless she steps back, and he holds up the pages. "I can't get it right. If I could just see what I drew. After they left. After I stayed. I could get it right. I know I could." Crazy check? Yep. Seems like insanity. Or drunkenness. Or both. Sketchbook tugs Tela's brows together, uncertain right at first. "I thought you knew all the fa...ces?" It becomes more of a question with his onrush, and as it continues instinct has her stepping to the side, away from the door, as though she expects him to get past and out. As it is-- there's only so much room left, particularly with that sack still over her shoulder. Turning her head to try for a better glimpse of the pages, though keeping an eye on him still, always on him, even if he weren't right there, "Are you going to show me?" Her hand lifts for the pages, tight-held though they are, would settle for his wrist. "Wait, your father?" At first K'zin can't speak. Her hand finds his wrist easily enough, but the papers aren't relinquished. Then he swallows hard. Then he nods. And maybe with him this close, despite the relative dim, she can probably identify the puffiness of eyes too-long spent crying. "He's gone. I can't get his face right. It's gone too." And so is the notebook that would, apparently, magically solve all his drawing problems. His fingers release, letting the papers fall to the floor and without any warning beyond the shifting of his weight forward, he's pressing his body to hers and seeking her lips with his own. His charcoal-smudged body; his breath-- and it can't be comfortable, that sack digging into her back-- but she'd seen that, heard that, starts to say that she's so sorry except then there isn't room for words. She loses the words like the papers she hadn't caught either and she's up on her toes, kissing him urgently back because in the next moment may be something else entirely. The next moment, for all she knows, might be yelling for which Sh'mel might count himself grateful for having escaped. No, in the next moment, the kissing goes on and on the ledge, Rasavyth stills. Then strong (if charcoal-soiled) hands are reaching down to her thighs and down, never breaking the kiss as K'zin seeks to lift her, to encourage her legs to move round him so he can carry her to the bed. The bed covered in failed sketches. The sack... well... he doesn't even know it exists. It's been a long time, though not so long that Tela's forgotten; she wraps herself about K'zin like he's the traders' smoke and she's just got to inhale, one arm about his neck, the other trying to dislodge the sack she's just now remembering. Failed sketches. More smudging. There's no sense that she cares, if she's even noticed, though the bag might be another story if she can't get it free in time-- no sharp corners, no notebook, but it's both solid and squishable. Grief makes people do strange things. Under normal circumstances, K'zin probably wouldn't be carrying his ex-not-girlfriend to a bed covered with unfinished sketches of his dead father's face. On the outside, it's really fucking creepy. But thankfully, there's no one here to observe the outside as K'zin leans forward, using the arm not wrapped around the greenrider's waist to catch their weight and lower her gently onto the bed. Still kissing. The kissing has to stop though, at least for a time, because at least he thinks to shove the pages off the bed, around her, even if he misses those under her. And there's Tela's sack which becomes apparent to divest her of. And, well, pants are a problem. A problem that Telavi clearly wants to remedy, if that frustrated sound when kissing stops is any indication, not to mention the way she's reaching for her boot to try and yank the laces loose one-handed. One boot. It only takes one. If all those sketches are staring at her, well, she's just not staring back, and that's all there is to it. Surely K'zin's pants won't be so much of a problem? At least, if nothing catches on fire that shouldn't. No, K'zin's won't be a problem, with their simple drawstring. And nothing catches on fire. Unless you count the way the edges of some of the sketches that fell too near it are starting to brown at the edges and curl in on themselves... But surely that's just baking. There's not enough of a smell to notice at any rate a K'zin's hands work at the problematic closures, only to realize as Tela tries to work on a boot and he tries to work at her waist how hard they're making it for each other, so his hands leave her middle and go for the other boot, his jerks at the laces increasingly agitated. Pants were a problem. Boot laces are downright cruel and unusual punishment to one with so much sudden need. The thing about such punishment is that actual focus and even delicacy can get the job done where simple yanking can just get those knots tighter, as Telavi discovers all over again. Finally-- maybe he knows how long it takes, might just be a few seconds, but to her it's forever-- Tela's just about ready to cut those laces right off when whoosh! There goes the boot, tumbling with a thump not so different from the one the sack had made; now she can try and scramble out of that one pantleg, and even if K'zin hasn't made much progress, pants hooked inelegantly about one ankle are better than around both. And if he's succeeded, well, so much the better! The rest... the rest should be so much easier to take care of, the better to welcome him close. 'Baking' is positively homey. See no evil, smell no evil. Tela is fortunate that K'zin manages the laces just as she's scrambling, because he doesn't bother with the boot itself when she's created enough clearance for his purposes. So if she wants the boot off or the other pant leg, she's on her own. In the meantime, he's solved the much simpler problem of his own and is reaching for her hips to pull her toward the edge of the bed when: "Fuck!" And he's turning away from her. Sometimes, he really does benefit from Rasavyth paying such close attention to K'zin's mind in times like these. Smoke is just starting to curl up from the edges of the pages by the fire. No fire yet, but it's starting to smolder. It's surprise after surprise today! "What?" Telavi, urgent and a bit imploring, like there had better be Thread falling. Or an earthshake. Or a fire. Or a comet. Or-- wait. She scoots herself towards the bed's edge to try and look past K'zin, and then when she doesn't see anything-- the smoldering, it all blends in from that angle-- at him, like he might be running. Again. Only he's not running. Not more than a few paces at any rate. He's not even pausing long enough to pull up his dropped drawers. Nope, he's actually kicking them the rest of the way off as he goes to his knees in front of the fire. He's snatching up pages and putting them fully into the hearth. Perhaps as he moves them Telavi will be able to see the few curls of smoke working their way up from ember-brightened edges. Yes. Yes, she can, if her abrupt gasp is any indication, and then Telavi's stopped with the bafflement and she's hopping off the bed, grabbing her spare pantleg and wrapping it around her wrist so it won't flop while she tries to stomp... on the edges of those pages that are not near his fingers. With her booted foot, mind, not the bare one. If she's lucky, K'zin's amazing memory will have conked out on this too, because it's not a vision that needs to be seen over and over again. Finally, when it seems like they've gotten them all, she takes a deeper breath and starts collecting the pages that aren't in accidental danger, the better to silently offer them to him: shades of drawn drowned men. K'zin doesn't look at her, but takes the pages she offers and feeds them to the fire. Rising from the knee he'd taken, once the danger is passed, he reaches for his pants and pulls them on, deftly re-tying the draw-string before he starts systematically gathering pages for the fire to consume. Telavi less settles than perches, barely, on the bed's edge again; though she steps into her trous again, she equally quickly removes that second boot to go about in her stocking feet, and leaves the waistband unbuttoned to show just a bit of skin. She glances into the outer cavern, but those weren't the drawings of that man; she settles for checking the less-obvious places where papers might have hidden, the crevices between the nightstands-- the bottle getting a quick sniff along the way-- and the bed, behind the headboard, that sort of thing. The poor smudged quilt get a pat. And... look, more to tidy, except that though she manages not to trip on what he'd flung out from the press, she's distracted into giving it a second look. A third look, wider-eyed, that becomes a quick glance at K'zin that can't decide if it's becoming a smile, and she leaves all that be in favor of bringing those last papers back to the hearth. It's the second time they've done this; if she's wondering at all what might be a third, she certainly doesn't put it into words. "I'm glad you caught it," she says. "The fire," and she offers the hug he'd asked of her back then. He doesn't speak until the job is done. Until the room is clear of papers. There's still mess on the floor near the press, his many older sketchbooks strewn there among other things. But he doesn't move to clean those up just now. K'zin's dark gaze settles on Telavi, but it doesn't look like he's about to take her up on the offer of a hug. Instead, he rounds the bed moving to the far side, 'his' side, and rolls onto his back. His eyes return to her once he's settled, and then he shifts an arm in a way that's a subtle invitation for her to come lie alongside him. "Ras caught it." He finally volunteers. Not that his own senses didn't have a lot to do with it. Words. Telavi does like words, and there aren't any, not for quite some time. There's a moment of stillness, poised, before she moves to him in the relative silence of the hungry fire and the way the mattress and blankets yield before weight; off go her leathers but more deliberately this time, and then she tucks up into the curve of his arm, bare knee slid over his thigh and no more. It isn't even grudging when she says, "I'm glad he did, then." When she exhales, it's too quiet to be a sigh. K'zin's arm wraps around her shoulders, pulling her gently closer still, and he turns his head, dipping it down enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. It's not a particularly lustful gesture, but at least it's much better than him shouting at her or telling her to go away. Then silence. No words for her now either. Even his expression isn't giving her anything to really go on. He's just there, with her. For now. For now. The kiss closes her eyes, lashes feather-soft against skin, and she goes willingly closer with a soft, barely-there sound that might at other times be a smile. Nor does Tela say anything, herself; she listens for the sound of his breathing, whether it seems to slow towards sleep, whether it's ragged, whether it calms. She doesn't question, doesn't even speak-- but she could. It's not quite tension, not of the body; it's not quite waiting, not for any one thing, except perhaps inevitably the end.. The silence stretches on. Slowly, K'zin's body starts to relax, little bit by little bit. The sound of his breathing doesn't really seem to change much. But if Telavi looks up at some point, K'zin's eyes have flickered shut and he is, in fact, asleep. It's not the same sort of release, but it's not screaming in the night in a bad way, either, so that's something. Telavi doesn't disturb that sleep, not on purpose, though at some point she does tug at the edge of the quilt so it flops over her at the very least. She can't watch over him, not at that angle, but she does drift into a shallow semblance of rest that's attuned to any new restlessness. If the firelizard's still watching, it may be really, really boring. This particular firelizard doesn't do boring. Once the action's calmed down and the chaos is put to order (more or less), he's out, leaving them alone. Normally, K'zin sleeps like a rock once he's out, but tonight, his sleep is troubled. So whether it's Telavi's shifting or his dreams that wake him, it's anyone's guess. He's not even really fully awake when his lips find hers and not even when he sleepily rolls on top of her. Once there's blood flowing, though, wakefulness finds him, but it doesn't deter the path he's on now to find that other kind of release. Possibly less boring for firelizards, if barely; for living, breathing, unburnt humans-- this time Telavi really does get to welcome him, slowly at first, eventually like the better sort of dream. It's considerably later yet, when they've slept again and have only gradually approached wakefulness-- or when Telavi has, and K'zin's no longer out like a light-- that she murmurs something other than an endearment: "That sketchbook... did it have Quinlys, back when she was young?" "Mm." The response is sleep-laden, though he isn't asleep. He yawns, lifting a hand that doesn't make it to his mouth in time. "Probably. That's about when I liked her." In his sleep-state, it doesn't seem to occur to him to ask why she asks. "It had all my family in it. And my practice sketches. I was pretty terrible back then." Well, terrible by talented standards. "Mmm." Hers is less sleepy-- though there's that there too-- and more thoughtful. Maybe reluctant, maybe more resigned, but both of those just shadows in the quietness of it all. She's kept one hand on his chest, her thumb gradually moving back and forth, just a little. Just where she can feel his heart beat. Tela says, not really a question, "And you're still missing it," and that's all very quiet too. Quieter yet, "I think..." no, "I can find it for you." Her words are confusing to a waking mind. He's missing it- yes, that's true. Telavi can find it? K'zin's mind starts to become more aware and he shifts a little to sit up so he can look down at her, hair falling in front of his face. He needs a haircut. "Yeah?" That's all he manages, maybe because he's confused, maybe because he thinks he might still be sleeping. Tela might have waited, she must surely have wished to wait, but that might have meant never admitting it at all. Nor can she quite help smiling up at K'zin, even so, a musing glimmer of a thing as she lifts her fingertips so as to drift them through the very tips of his hair. And then she moves to lower them, to tuck that hand behind her head. "Yeah." She's borrowed the word but not the intonation, in no hurry to describe all the details. Maybe details don't matter? A girl can hope. Too bad, Tela. Too few details can make for as many questions as too many. "I'm sorry." K'zin says a moment later, "I don't follow. How can you find it for me?" He's awake now, but there's no accusation in his face, just the confusion. He shifts a little more to get a better angle on looking down at her face. Tela's lashes had dropped, but now she looks back up again; if there's a slight wiggle, it's for once unintentional, shifting against the wrinkles of the quilt. Another time, before all this, she might have managed to bring it up casually, with poise; as it is, she draws her lower lip in beneath her teeth for a moment before she speaks. Her eyes aren't just dilated from the dimness. "A long time ago," she says, they used to be friends. "Your press got gotten into or tumbled or whatever, things were scattered all over-- which reminds me that this group we have now, they've been breaking cots left and right," and she might really rather talk about that and maybe he could interrupt her because breaking cots is much more exciting, right? but in the meantime words spill out between quick breaths, "and I think it was Solith or else she took advantage, and I tried to put them back then but found the two other notebooks later. And I got one back to you, that's how Jo knew what you could do, but not the older one, it's still safe." And she keeps looking up at him, all too vulnerable, like retribution might be coming but she wants a last look first. K'zin's expression stays confused as though he's not really following her words. Then slowly as she speaks, the bits that are actually relevant to the story have him slowly making realizations. His brows start to sink downward. Maybe it's because he's just woken, but the words that react lead with: "So, let me make sure I have this right. Someone, maybe Solith, got into my press when we were weyrlings, and you put things back and later found two of my sketchbooks and you gave one to Jo and... what? Kept the other?" Maybe lack of decisive reaction is worse. At least he's trying to make sure he has things straight before he reacts. "To give to you!" is the first thing Telavi interjects, biting off whatever expansive complication might have made its way out otherwise. Make that the only thing she interjects, because the small nod is really just an answer, except for the part where it's also an admission. More quietly, "I'm sorry I didn't give it back to you sooner." Not that she has, yet, but it's the plan. "To give to me when exactly?" K'zin queries next. Maybe he didn't hear the apology, or maybe he's so upset with her that apologies are useless, or maybe he just doesn't care. The tone is still neutral, brow still furrowed and his brown eyes still study her face. Her face is an increasingly pale face but for the burn of her cheeks. It is not a Happy Face, though she's not looking away, not hiding herself from him. "Right away. She was supposed to give it to you right away, or at least as soon as she could," since Jo-schedules and weyrling-schedules didn't and don't always predictably intersect. "Not that one." K'zin seems patient enough as he corrects. "The one you kept. When were you going to give it back to me?" There's a short pause where, no, Moreta doesn't flash forward in time to save the greenrider, who couldn't have had hopes of Lessa's taking pity. "When it wouldn't make things worse," she finally says. "I kept trying to think of-- It's too heavy for my firelizards to carry," even if they could be that coordinated. In a smaller voice, "If you're going to yell or leave or tell me to leave or tell me how awful and stupid that was and then tell me to leave, would you please get it over with? I'm sorry," and for all that K'zin's historically done most of the crying where they're concerned, this time it's her eyes that have begun to look liquidly bright. Starting to sit up, "I'll get it right now." K'zin's brows stay furrowed and his lips purse just slightly as she speaks. When she starts to sit up, he shifts more toward sitting himself. The smaller voice pulls his eyes, but-- that's a lot to take in, on a brain that in the past few days has had a lot to take in. He's just not finding words yet. So she not only sits up but starts to swing her legs over the edge but they're not in her bed, they're in his even wider one and so it's further to go and he still hasn't said anything and, and, "...K'zin?" "Are you going somewhere?" This seems to be the most pressing question since the greenrider is making moves like she's leaving the bed. K'zin is frowning. Frowning. "I... just said? I was g-going," and that doesn't come out without a tremble but at least the tears haven't escaped her yet, "to get the notebook? For you? Now?" Apparently, he managed to miss that. The frown deepens. "No." "...No?" Telavi's blinking all of a sudden and yes, a tear escapes in all that motion but more importantly, "Why not?" "Because I don't need it right now." K'zin shifts on the bed, pulling his legs up until he's sitting cross-legged. "You... don't?" Telavi, so baffled that she continues to resort to repetition. "Not right now." K'zin answers. "Sometime soon, though, would be nice." Instead of doing any of the things she suggested he might do, he lifts a hand and beckons, requesting, "Come here." Presumably into his lap since he's settled just so. "All... right?" winds up part uncertain agreement, part question-- are they, somehow, all right?-- and part just plain questioning, but that's a lot to translate out of two words and a pause; it's also not as though she's not doing what he asks, carefully. Tela rests her head against K'zin's shoulder, because answers or not, he's here and she's here and just now no one's running. K'zin's arms slip around Telavi's waist when she arrives in his lap, and gently he snugs her against him, his head bowing to rest against hers. Any subtleties or added meanings beyond acquiescence are obviously lost on him, and he just stays there, his breathing slow and steady. That, that which she must interpret as tenderness, yields a bit of a sniffle; with that she readjusts with the intent to put her arms about his shoulders, holding him, not just acquiescing but glad: to be there, if nothing else. "Why are you crying?" Or were, but you know, same thing in boy world. The question is asked gently. Blink. Telavi could protest that she's not crying, it was just that little bit but-- "Because you're not yelling," is what escapes. "Now." "Would you rather I be yelling?" K'zin queries, his tone thoughtful. Maybe it was supposed to be more playful, but he can't muster it. He does press a kiss to the top of her head, though. The kind that should've been accompanied by a chuckle, but isn't. "No," Tela admits. "I definitely would--" she sighs, half-smiling even if it is invisible, because that kiss, "...not." If her voice is quieter again, it's not so much shrunk this time as just a whisper, even more just between the two of them. "At least, not if you're not going to be upset about it later.... Here we are, you're reassuring me." When it's his father's face. Things were okay until... K'zin stiffens, the weight of everything rushing back, flooding him in that moment. He has to stay silent because his voice can't be trusted. His breathing is faster now, and his grip tighter, perhaps unintentionally uncomfortably so. "I'm not." He manages after a moment of just breathing, "You're comforting me." By being here. Even if he's wrapped around her; she's the rock the paper clings to so it doesn't get swept away by an unkind wind. If Telavi's yet again regretting her propensity to talk, at least she keeps that to herself; that tightness isn't something she protests, not even with an indrawn breath, but rather welcomes: he's not pushing her away, not even letting go. The slight lift of her head-- she's not?-- becomes, "...Oh." She may not wholly understand, but she'll take it, tightening her own hold of him and starting to rub one hand, carefully and firmly, along the back of his shoulder. And she doesn't say another word, not just yet. K'zin's body doesn't fully relax, but he does stay, curled around her and silent for a long time. It's not just minutes, though probably not hours either, because eventually the necessities of the world start to intrude. He helps her slide out of his lap when the time comes before he's up and stretching, and scratching his charcoal-marked abs, before getting on with things. The things eventually find him with pants on and returning from the main room with two empty mugs which he fills with the klah he'd set to brew some time before. "Are you needed for duties?" he finally speaks, not looking at the greenrider. Tela's is going to be the Walk of Smudge at the very least. For once she doesn't steal a shirt of his, but rather-- once she's taken care of her own share, including locating the sack she'd brought-- bunches up the quilt enough that she can wrap up in it, one fold going over her head like a hood. "Not anymore." If she wound up owing one of the other assistants big, negotiated during one of those quiet times, so be it. And, "I have sandwiches." That may have been squished. She digs into the sack, to see. "Mm. Sandwiches." K'zin's back is to her, but the sound is appreciative. He moves to the nightstand and places the steaming mugs carefully before leaning onto the bed and the Tela-cocoon, reaching for the sack before she's gotten to far and carefully, slides it out of her grip, setting it too on the nightstand. "But before that..." K'zin's advancing on her now, intending to use his looming presence to encourage her to lie back on the bed. For Tela, this is a face she's seen before. He has other ideas about what to do next. Once those ideas have played themselves out and limbs are untangled, K'zin's first reach is for the sack that was fabled to contain sandwiches. Fuel. He needs fuel. He can go for those sandwiches, that had cheese melted over other tasty things; Telavi can stretch. "Feeeed me," she requests once he's had some bites, though she must know the peril of giving him continued access to her sandwich too. Or rather, sandwiches: there are enough to historically satisfy a K'zin who'd just been working out, plus extra, in case. Also, if he'd kept delving, a container of soup; another has what's been passing as dessert, scones and jam, and then there's a smooth linen towel and another skin that has boring but useful water. "You mean this isn't all for me?" K'zin asks, his tone carrying lightness to it, so clearly, despite the fact that over half of a sandwich is in his mouth, puffing out his cheeks and he's talking through it, he plans to share. Although, the tease is carried further to tearing of the tiniest section of sandwich and extending it to her lips. So far, only the top-most sandwich has been discovered, but that's because the priority was stuffing his face, not exploring the offerings. It could've been nothing but hardtack and he would have shoved it into his mouth all the same. Tela narrows her eyes at him, playful contrast to the can't-be-helped smile beneath, and since it's not the already-masticated sandwich that he's offered to share... she can lean to accept even such a so-tiny bit, especially as an opportunity to sample K'zin's fingertips with it. And then-- since 'When did you last eat' is on the don't-ask list, though there's a moment where she just barely catches herself in time-- Telavi glances at him, and then reaches for the edge of that sack, her fingers opening and closing all the while like the pincers of some spiderclaw. If K'zin misses the fact that there was an unspoken question, even one that was so nearly spoken, it can be chalked up to the licking of fingers. For a moment he looks torn between the sandwich in his hand and Telavi's mouth. What to do. It must be a while since he has eaten, though, since food wins out. But he's not so hungry, at least now that he's actually putting food in his face, that he doesn't pull the sack just out of reach, arching a brow at Telavi as he chews. Challenged. If it looked like she were wasting away, he probably wouldn't tease, but she just looks regular hungry. So. Game on. The pincers snap shut with an audible tongue-to-palate snick as Telavi eyes K'zin and his sack-control issues. Where did that quilt wind up-- she tugs it closer and tucks it just partway about her this time, one hand lifting her hair to drape over it like a rumpled gilt shawl. "There are so many sandwiches," she claims with a deep sigh, her first volley. "You couldn't possibly eat them all." That could be a dare. K'zin snorts. Whether he snorts because: "So what part of getting my turnday quilt crummy is supposed to motivate me to feed you?" or because, "Are you sure you're hungry at all? Because you seem to be trying to get me to eat everything," and whether that's him actually being astute or just thinking he's cleverly continuing a tease instead of uncovering her true desires... Well, all of it's left up to interpretation. "I could be convinced to share, of course." He glances at the blonde, smiling close-lipped (and dotted with crumbs himself). Turnday quilt. One shoulder's now uncovered, at least, as Tela peers down at it-- the quilt, not her skin. "Could you? That's so kind of you," she murmurs. "I wonder how you could possibly be convinced-- but then, it's not as though you like jam, so probably you wouldn't want that anyway. Jam, and rolls to put jam in on. I hope they didn't get crushed; they were probably near the bottom..." She does glance at K'zin now and again through that, of course, but she's also looking over the quilt and its piecing and stitching with new interest. Turnday quilt. Jam. K'zin's like a toddler told in front of his minder that there are fresh-baked cookies in the jar. Without even thinking of the consequences, he delves into the sack, forgetting the game, forgetting the sandwich quarter left in his hand, possibly even forgetting Tela. Just for the moment. For the pursuit of jam. Here, let Tela hold that sandwich! That way, he can delve with both hands. At least, that's the aim of her quick, would-be sandwich-lifting-- only she stops just before her fingers might graze the sandwich-remnants and she sinks back instead, that bared shoulder becoming a bared elbow for propping herself up. It's not as dramatic as potentially winning the game, but this way, she gets to enjoy him in this other kind of enthusiasm, and smile-- and not because there really isn't any jam and it's all a fakeout, either. As it happens, K'zin needs both hands, thank you very much, so the sandwich quarter gets generously extended toward the greenrider. Not that he looks to see if she takes it, but if she hesitates there's an impatient wiggle of his hand. He's not finding the treasure trove, so the sandwiches in their paper wrappings come out one after another after another. Once they hit the bed, and they do, they're probably fair game for the hungry occupants of the bed. And those that suddenly occupy the top of the wardrobe with their brightly whirling eyes. There's a not-entirely-silent laugh for the wiggle, and naturally Telavi cherishes what's now her sandwich for... about as long as it takes to eat it. Along the way she plays her part in valiantly saving the quilt if not the sheets from sandwich-impacts, piling the nearby ones up until-- "No, Mimi, don't even think about it." After all, it doesn't have bacon. At least her voice has dropped the stern overlay and is back to humor when she asks, "Any luck? It's about, hm, the size of my fist." Hopefully he isn't finding the jar via sticking his hand into a passel of jammy shards. No, luckily, when K'zin's hand withdraws from the sack, it's not in tatters. Instead, it holds the jam jar up triumphantly, before it transfers it to just about as far away from Telavi as he can comfortably get, lest she turn out to be a jam thief. Then the other discoveries are made; the scones, the soup. Like a well-trained child, he sets aside the scones and jam in favor of the soup. He doesn't bother with spoons, but rather carefully unscrews the fitted wooden lid and drinks from the container, not spilling a drop. He doesn't trust her. Wide, soulful eyes; teasing little pout of a mouth. Telavi doesn't disrupt K'zin's drinking the soup, no, and might even have too much of a good time watching the way his throat works when he does it. There's a point where her breath catches like she might say something, dimple winking into existence-- but instead she sliiides onto her side where she might be able to tuck one hand around his nearer foot, to lean her cheek on her arm and drift toward mostly-closed eyes and a drowsy near-smile... surely not because she's waiting. Waiting for him to fill up on the soup and possibly the sandwiches again, which are not the jam. And definitely not because it's not really waiting at all, because what she wants is less the jam, even, than to be there. It seems to dawn on K'zin that he's drinking all the soup when Tela's hand falls to his foot. He shifts a little, and the container is offered out to her with a touch of a sheepish smile. "Soup?" After all, it really was supposed to be just a game to have her bargain for her own food. "Mmm." Her smile curls up at the corners, and she takes the container, if just for a token sip before she hands it back. Maybe she's saving her bargaining for the jam. Maybe it's just that she has to tilt a yawn into the crook of her arm. He doesn't take the soup container when she tries to hand it, looking at her, his expression tinged with guilt. "You can have more, you know. I was just playing around." He gestures too to the sandwiches. Even if K'zins torso shifts to block the view of the scones and jam. Surely that's purely accidental. "I know," Telavi relents, not that she goes to drink again, herself. "It's not like I wrote 'Property of K'zin' on their wrappers." He might have thrown them out, after all, and not just them. "I'm just-- looking forward to the jam, too," she winds up with. "Oh." Simply. K'zin looks at her a moment and then frowns. "Well," Beat. "The jam is a different matter." As ever, he has trouble keeping up the ruse and smile starts to slip into place. "Different. I can't wait." She can smile at him. "So you're all done with the soup? You don't want even a bit more, I could toss it over the edge?" "Don't be ridiculous." K'zin rolls his eyes at the greenrider. "You know I'll finish anything you don't eat. Don't act like you've never seen me eat." And he is eating. He picks up a sandwich and tears the paper open to start chewing it. "Though, I suppose we could save some things for later. For when we need more energy." So there's to be more if he's got anything to say about it. "Anything?" Tela, at once entertained and bemused, because who died and brought back a good facsimile of the old K'-- oh, wait. His father. "The sandwiches would probably keep better," she allows demurely, and with that, goes after the soup. It's still not with her usual high-metabolism appetite, but maybe she ate before showing up, or else never did get as worn out. Or maybe she's still after the jam, because it isn't too much longer before she caps the soup again and looks expectant. Maybe... she never got... worn out?! This possibility might be one K'zin picks up on because he frowns. And clearly that would be frown-worthy. A situation to be rectified. Can't have his bronzer reputation in jeopardy just because his Dad died and things weren't up to snuff in the tiring-out department. Or it's possible that he frowns because the sandwiches would keep better and he's eating one. Well, a man can't give it his best without fuel. So the sandwich continues to get put away. "Never met a food I didn't like." Although, to keep up his muscles and activity level, K'zin's preference for food is probably the "in" kind. In his belly. "Yet," Telavi says teasingly enough, complete with a sideways look-- like that may yet become a challenge!-- though those blue eyes wind up lingering a thoughtful moment more. "At the last Gather I went to, they had crisp-fried bugs..." Her brows tilt up, all ingenuous, right before she stretches to try and deposit the soup container on his other side. Kind of near the jam, actually. "Yeah, they have a nice crunch to them." K'zin answers. If it were someone else, that might be a joke, but this is K'zin, so it's a genuine, not even thought about response to her bringing up the bugs. And Tela lets him kiss her with that mouth! Crazy, Tela, crazy. "So probably crisp-fried bugs that sat out too long and got soggy, they wouldn't be nearly as tasty," she determines, looking up at him even as her fingers start to curl about the jar. "Don't know, never tried them." K'zin answers with a shrug. He doesn't seem unwilling to try them. "I think that for it to count, the food really should be how it's supposed to be prepared, by the locals or whatever, not just be food that's gone bad," Telavi determines, casually stretching back with that jar in her lowered hand-- surreptitious as long as she can manage, but ready for a quick roll towards the other side of the bed if she should sense that he's catching on. Let it not be forgotten that Rasavyth is the smart one in this pair. K'zin is unaware of Telavi's dastardly jam heist plotting. She's just putting the soup down, that's all. That's all, right? "That's probably true. Most people don't care for food that's gone bad." As it happens. "Right," Tela agrees, and as they talk, prises out the cork just as quietly as she can manage without looking at it. "That would make it too easy. And also unsafe, really. And unfun. Fun is better." It really is, which is why-- if she's not intercepted-- as long as she's leaning back anyway, a slightly crooked finger's worth of stolen jam starts to become even more dastardly decoration. "Hey-!" K'zin's protest dies on his lips. It's a good thing he finished the sandwich, or it would have probably fallen to the sheets as the paper it was in does now. He stares. Then, "I didn't know you could paint." "Fingerpainting, it's a highly valued skill in some parts," Telavi says airily, though now she has to tilt her chin down and look a little more closely if she's going to add what might be flower petals like that, at least if they're going to look vaguely proportionate. She slides a look at him. "What do you think, what should I add next? I do take suggestions." "I can see why." K'zin answers, dumbly. You'd think he'd never seen her before. To be fair, he's never seen her wearing jam, so perhaps it's understandable. "Add." The bronzerider echoes. Then he shifts forward onto his hands and knees and leans to close the distance, "Are you sure it's not what should I take away? Give you a fresh canvas to work on?" Her lashes sweep wide, what with him being so near and all, her artwork imperiled. Those flowers, they don't look so unlike some of her embroidery in terms of general outline, and neither are the fern-like leaves she'd just begun to add. Tela puts her finger to her lips, all considering, and then she decides, "I think that's a very good idea. Not yet but, you know, when I've gotten a lit-- actually, could you get these after all? I thought of a different motif." These meaning the bits of leaves, in case pointing helps more than words. Oh, he can. And does. Only, then line by line she starts losing the rest. K'zin's intent is clear: time to tire her out. Telavi's art! Her precious art! Telavi even protests as much, at least for a moment or maybe even two. |
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