Logs:Apology
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| RL Date: 20 September, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Jadzia, Oliwer |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After sevens of inviting Jadzia by, she finally takes G'laer up on his offer. Things get weird. And weirder. And perhaps weirdest yet when, later, he returns home to his weyrmate. |
| Where: G'laer's weyr, Jadzia's weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 11, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Gheara/Mentions, Oliwer/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Violence, nudity. Adult themes. Angst. Back-dated. |
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| Teisyth is visibly excited with the way she wiggles and bugle-honks her greeting to the incoming brown. G'laer is... well, G'laer, so he doesn't look excited at all, but he's waiting on the ledge, too, to greet their invited guests when they arrive the night after yet another training session where, like all the sevens before, he had issued an invitation for her to come by. "Can I take your coat?" The greenrider offers, very mannerly as he conducts Jadzia into the inner weyr, leaving Teisyth to show Savroveth around her totally rockin' ledge and wallow. Wait til he sees her treasure pebbles! Savroveth's greeting is comparatively smooth, but no less enthusiastic. He stands still long enough for Jadzia to dismount with some semblance of grace, or at least probably not drunken stumbling, but once she's clear, he's all Teisyth's! "Am I staying long?" she asks in return as she follows the greenrider inside, shrugging out of her jacket regardless. "If you like. I thought we'd have a drink." G'laer answers her. So this is a social call. He takes her jacket and hangs it on one of the hooks on the way into the weyr. "Do I need to ask if you want something hard? I have beer or tea, also." Not that his tone suggests he expects her to take him up on either of the others. He gestures to a chair at the old, crummy looking table that must've been here when the greenrider moved in. It serves it's purpose well enough. And if he happens to put his body between the brownrider and Oliwer's Chair... well, it's probably a coincidence, right? Once they're inside, Jadzia is taking in everything openly. No need to be subtle with G'laer. Speaking of which, "Why? And why here?" She's not shy. "Whiskey, if you have it," is added reflexively. And if he doesn't, whatever is closest will probably suffice. Just definitely not tea. If Jadzia notices G'laer's positioning between herself and a particular chair, she doesn't show it, moving to one of the ones that are evidently deemed acceptable for her to sit in. She doesn't get too comfortable, though, sitting on the edge and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "I wanted to see how you were doing." G'laer answers with what is probably the truth because... what reason does he really have to lie to her? He turns to the shelf and pulls over a bottle, one that was set specially off to the side and sets about opening it. "Here because..." He glances briefly around the room. He shrugs. Maybe he doesn't know. "Would you prefer we go elsewhere?" He slides a glass and the bottle to Jadzia while he turns to pour himself a cup of tea from the kettle hanging over the hearth before moving to sit across from her. Then he waits. He already told her what he wants. So why ask. Jadzia reaches for the bottle. She even pours a glass for herself instead of drinking it straight out. She takes a drink. A long one. It's not until G'laer has settled into the other seat that she says, simply, "I'm fine. Great, even. Worried you made a mistake Searching me?" She means for it to be, well, a little baiting. The brownrider is apparently incapable of talking to the greenrider without trying to force a reaction of some sort out of him. G'laer looks at her, frowns and lifts his tea to blow on it, daintily. "I didn't make a mistake." Obviously. He's clearly totally infallible. "Enjoying your new weyr?" What he means by that isn't immediately obvious, but few things are where G'laer is concerned. That roll of her eyes can hardly be surprising. But since there's a new question, Jadzia will focus on that instead. "I love it. I feel like it's the first time I've had any privacy in... ever." Except for the new voice in her head. He obviously doesn't count. "There's even a bath. Who says you can't fuck your way to nice things." Not her, anyway. G'laer-- plainly doesn't believe she fucked her way to the weyr she got. He doesn't believe it so much that he doesn't deign to contradict her. Instead he takes a sip of tea. "Sounds nice." But obviously asking her about her weyr wasn't the point, maybe this is: "Are you making good use of it?" "Probably depends on what you mean by 'making good use of it.' I think I am. But I prefer to visit company, not bring them in." It's hard to have a private space when you let too many people into it, after all. Jadzia finishes her drink and sets her glass down, but only so she can pour herself another one. At least she's only going with a couple fingers at a time! "Probably making better use of mine than you are of yours." This is accompanied by another, nosy, look around from where she's sitting. The greenrider looks at her, "Tell me, is it because you've been recently talked to about mating flights that makes you interested in my sex life or would you have asked anyway?" Apparently, G'laer has come to see her barbs as Jadzia's form of inquiries of questionable manners. "Because I had no idea what sex was before that talk," returns Jadzia with a roll of her eyes. "I'm not interested in your sex life. Especially not with..." She doesn't say anything outright mean about G'laer's weyrmate. She's in his home. That would be rude. But the implication is that she doesn't get the attraction. Not even a little. It's a subtle move. One that proves G'laer is a total asshole. His foot hooks around the familiar home of the opposite chair and with a sharp move of his leg, the chair goes crashing onto it's back. Fortunately, there's a soft rug there, so if Jadzia hits her head, it shouldn't be fatal. And with a leisurely sip of tea, the greenrider says, "You really need to stop talking about people I care about. It's not good for your health," cool as a 'Reaches autumn day. Jadzia goes down with her chair. She spills her drink on herself. There's a sound that's slightly pained. It's hard to tell which upsets her more. (It's probably the drink.) "Fuck. You are such an asshole. I didn't even say anything." She tries to shove at the table with her feet before she's getting back up onto her feet and setting her glass down firmly. Now she has to pour herself another drink. But before she picks the glass up again, Jadzia is pulling her wet shirt off over her head. She's not wearing anything underneath. The table pressing against his chest only evokes a grunt from G'laer and has his tea sloshing out over his hand, but it's not hot enough to burn him. So the timing is really great when she's taking off her shirt and he's licking his hand. Thank Faranth Oliwer is busy with needy patients in the infirmary. The greenrider, as he's licking his hand, leans back in his chair and watches her. "Classy," Jadzia tells him, totally at ease with both being topless and being watched. "Are you going to just sit there or are you going to find me another shirt?" She glances toward the places where clothes are bound to be as she tosses hers onto the table. She could just go looking for one herself, if he really wants. "Sit here." Because he's an asshole, as they're both well aware. G'laer looks at her and takes a sip of his tea. He's sitting, thanks to her table shove, far enough against the table that it's impossible to tell just from looking just how much he's enjoying himself. Jadzia rolls her eyes again before she's turning toward the nearest wardrobe to find a shirt herself. If she smiles once she's turned away, well, it's not like he can see that she's pleased he'd apparently rather look at her than cover her up. "If you want me to keep helping you with the girl, you should probably avoid giving me concussions." Only it doesn't exactly seem likely that G'laer is going to let Jadzia help herself. Because he does rise and step up behind her, reaching for her wrist as she reaches for the wardrobe. "I don't really care. She wants it for the wrong reasons and she'll never be any good with the attitude she has," so sayeth G'laer, who clearly just Knows these things. Jadzia being Jadzia, she twists toward G'laer when he grabs her wrist to keep her from the wardrobe, looking up at him with an edge of annoyance. And maybe still a hint of that whole being pleased thing. "You're always so judgmental. Maybe she'll surprise you." Not that she's really thinking that much about the scribe now that she can look at the greenrider up close and personal. "Then I'll be surprised," his tone suggests he finds that unlikely. G'laer holds the wrist for a moment, a little too close to be casual, then with a hard swallow, he shifts to step past her opens the wardrobe. A moment later, he's offering her a shirt, expression not as impassive as he'd probably like and touched with sadness. She takes the shirt, but doesn't seem to be in a huge hurry to put it on. Not when she can study his face. "Why do you fight it so hard?" she asks without context. It almost sounds like Jadzia even cares. She should really know better where the greenrider is concerned by now, though. G'laer isn't as close as he was moments ago, but he's still close. He turns to let one of the wardrobe doors partially block him with Jadzia on its other side. Barriers are good, right? "What?" He requests the context, looking at her with a quiet but intense sort of focus. The brownrider's gaze shifts from G'laer to the bits of the weyr that are visible without actually turning to look at the rest of it. It's the bits that are obviously his weyrmate's that her attention lingers on while she readies the shirt for putting on. "Never mind," says Jadzia as she starts to turn away, back to the table, lifting her arms to slip into the shirt as she does. G'laer reaches for her, her wrist again, the door still between them. His aim is to stop her. To get her to look at him perhaps simply by force of his nearly soulful stare. Jadzia stops, glancing down at his hand before her eyes are shifting up toward his face. There's a silent question there but, where she might have been possibly hopeful at one point, it's only waiting now. He was probably hoping he wouldn't have to say words. "What did you mean?" She looks at him, studying his face, resisting the very strong urge to just say 'nothing' and leave it at that. "Yourself," is what Jadzia decides to say, because that's the closest thing to her first impulse that she'll actually let herself use. "Everything." Us. She's not quite emotionally masochistic enough to say that one out loud. It probably takes an equal amount of resistance for G'laer not to revert to saying nothing. But what he shouldn't say is, "Maybe I don't want to. Anymore." It's a weird thing for him to say. Mostly weird because Jadzia isn't sure how to respond to it. Or if she's supposed to at all. In the end she murmurs, "You don't have to. Not with me." The hold on her wrist shifts down to her hand. Then G'laer is both drawing her in and stepping to her until his minty breath can be felt on her face. He's looking at her so intently that he probably doesn't realize the inner struggle is visible there. He hesitates. Jadzia hesitates, too. Because there's what she wants and what she's worried about doing or saying that will spook him back to his usual distance. Her hand squeezes his gently and she tilts her lips toward that breath without actually making contact. For once, G'laer doesn't do what he shouldn't do. Yet, anyway. G'laer doesn't move away from their closeness, nor release her hand, but instead of using his lips for what Jadzia might prefer, he murmurs, "I want to leave him." Want to, but not going to; the decision still unmade. Jadzia might be disappointed if he was simply refusing to kiss her outright. But those words make a difference. She draws back and looks at G'laer like she's not sure she heard him properly. Or maybe just isn't sure how to respond to that sort of admission. So she waits, attentive but not pressing. There isn't even any hint to suggest she'd really like for that to happen, because she probably would. Right now it's only concern for the man she has inexplicable feelings for. When she draws back, his eyes follow her. "I'm tired of pretending to be a good man." G'laer says in that same quiet murmur. Then he's drawing back. "You should go, Jadzia." But he's not throwing her out. It's what he can muster out of concern for her well-being. She watches him withdraw, not exactly frowning, but still looking kind of concerned. "I don't want you to pretend, G'laer." Jadzia certainly doesn't pretend to be a good person. Possibly a more balanced person, but barely even that a lot of the time. "Do I have to?" He considers her. "No." Then, "But you might not like what happens if you stay." This, of course, requires a few moments of consideration. Jadzia doesn't seem worried, precisely, just not as impulsive as he's well aware she's capable of being. After a few moments, she hangs the shirt over the door and asks him, "Will you?" "I don't know." G'laer answers candidly, his eyes first on her face then dipping lower. "I might disappoint you again, you know." It's a warning because he doesn't know what comes next. Despite his airs of control and always knowing, in this moment they're stripped away. He doesn't know. He doesn't pretend to. That he's not sure if he'll enjoy it seems to mean more to her than whether or not she might. Jadzia bites her lip, torn. But then she turns away. If he lets her go, it's just to the table, though, so she can pour out a couple more fingers and then throw them all back at once. She doesn't turn back when she sets the glass down again, but she does crouch down to untie her boots. It's an impulse as he watches her stoop to her boots, "Can we go to your place?" G'laer steps after her to the table to pick up his tea and drain it. Jadzia pauses and glances over at him once he's at the table, judging the question before saying, "Sure, if you'd rather." She rises again, grabbing her shirt, reaching to grab a handful of his as she passes so she can lead him to fetch her jacket and then out to the ledge. She'll at least put that on before they mount up. He goes. He doesn't object, even, to her grabbing his shirt. "We're going to visit Savroveth's ledge, Teisyth," he tells the green. It isn't technically a lie. And she's excited enough at the prospect of visiting; it's one of her favorite things! So she goes, without question. When they arrive, G'laer waits for Jadzia to lead the way. Intricate Carvings Weyr Long and narrow, this ledge presumably has a lot of space for dragons to perch, but not necessarily for more than one to lounge. The rock is smooth, well-worn and marked with centuries' worth of talons, forming an uneven pattern all along the edge. A slight overhang at the back of the ledge marks the entrance to the weyr proper; the bulge of stone has been carved into an intricate lintel above the entryway, abstract whorls and slender lines curling like vines captured in stone. Past the lintel, the dragon's area opens up with a deep wallow to one side and a wall of hooks and niches on the other, designed for storing, jackets and straps. Someone who lived here seems to have been quite the hand at stone-carving because the same decorations that mark the entrance continue, becoming more elaborate further in. Pattern upon pattern reveals the odd treasure--a flower, a shipfish, a firelizard, and so on, past the curve that narrows to the entrance of the rider's quarters. The ceiling is oddly low, though still raised high enough for most people to walk inside comfortably. And the carvings continue here, too, glowlight casting interesting shadows in the dips and whorls. The weyr's a little on the small side, cozy rather than spacious, with a stone shelf for a bed and a table, also stone, jutting from the wall a little ways down from it. The size might be balanced be the presence of that rarity in weyrs: a small bathing chamber with a pool just big enough for two.
The greenrider follows her, his expression more impassive than it was back in his own domain and his eyes range across the carvings as he follows her, perhaps seeming more interested in the space than the woman in front of him. Nevertheless, he's stripping as he walks. By the time they're inside, he's down to boots and pants. He deposits the lot of clothes on the floor next to the bed without ceremony and heads for the spoken of bath, crouching there to remove his boots. Well, it is an interesting weyr. And Jadzia is certainly not used to affection being part of anything that happens here. So while G'laer goes to the bath, Jadzia removes her boots, her pants, and starts to undo the braids that hold her hair back away from her face in a way that's probably habitual. No need giving anyone a hand pulling chunks of hair out of her scalp. "Do you want a drink?" "No. I don't mix tea and alcohol." G'laer answers as he finishes unlacing one of his boots and switches to the other. He's silent again, of course. "Nice weyr," is probably more because Teisyth is thinking about just how truly and very awesome the ledge is. Once the boots are unlaced he rises, kicking them off before reaching for his belt. Pants are dropping to the floor in short order and he's moving, unhurried, to climb into the pool, no thought for towels or other practicalities. Then he looks back toward the blonde. There's some acknowledging murmur for the weyr's niceness. Jadzia is pretty fond of it herself. As he continues to strip, the brownrider watches, shameless. Once he's in the bath and she's finished with her braids, she follows, slipping into the water and aiming for his lap as soon as she's in. His eyes have closed by the time she joins him, which really says a lot among guards. They do come open as she straddles him, but his hands only move to rest on her hips, not hinder her. G'laer looks up at her, obviously mellow, his expression thoughtful. "Are you happy, Jadzi?" Jadzia gets comfortable, looking down at his chest and the hand that settles there, smoothing water across his skin, when his eyes open. "I have Savroveth," she says as though that's a perfectly valid answer. His hands slide on her hips around to the small of her back. "I have Teisyth, but I'm not happy." G'laer says quite calmly and in a way, detached, thusly invalidating her answer. "Ask me again when I graduate." Presumably when Jadzia has more freedom to do the things that might make her happy. Might being the key word there. "What would make you happy, G'laer?" "Living in a world where things make sense." The words are out of his mouth before he can censor them. Thanks, special tea! G'laer's cheek tinge just slightly with color and he bends his head to rest his forehead against her collarbone. It's quietly that he confesses, "My Gran died." She didn't know the woman very well, but those words make Jadzia go still for several moments before she's wrapping her arms around him in a way that's probably supposed to be comforting. "Oh, G'laer. I'm so sorry." It's sincere and sympathetic. She doesn't ask if he's okay because she knows he's not. The brownrider kisses the greenrider's temple before murmuring, "Is there anything I can do?" "You're doing it." G'laer answers, slipping his hands so he can wrap her in his strong arms. It's probably not exactly the emotional motivation Jadzia wanted for so significant an embrace, but at least it's happening, right? He turns his head so he can press his cheek against her shoulder, letting himself just stay like that, breathing slowly, evenly. He's definitely not tearing up. The water must have splashed him when she got in, and anyway, his head is turned away from her. This is definitely not the emotional motivation Jadzia would have hoped for. But thoughts of other things seem to have been pushed aside. Right now, she just holds him, lips pressed against his head until she tilts her head to rest her cheek against his. It's some-- no, many moments before he moves again. When he does, he has enough sense and manners to use his own hand to splash water across his face before he looks at her. "I'm sorry," yes, he's apologizing and it even sounds real and he even looks a little vulnerable still. "I'm not the man you wanted me to be." It's hard to say if this apology to Jadzia is meant to also be one served up to Oliwer, to his sisters, his parents, the world at large and perhaps especially to Gran; a woman to whom he can no longer offer this apology. All those other people will have to come up with their own answers to his apology. Or not, as the case may be. Jadzia can only speak for herself. "You are the man I want you to be, G'laer." It's said quietly, somewhat sadly. It's hard to tell if that sadness is because she thinks that means she's the one who isn't who he wants her to be, because of the innate sadness of mourning his Gran, or some combination of the two, though. "You don't need to apologize for being you." Even if he is usually an asshole. He is usually an asshole. Arguably, the next move he makes and those subsequent moves he intends to make, could label him that for life, if one likes Oliwer even a little bit. Because the next thing G'laer does is lift his head to kiss her. It's not an impulsive kiss. It would be less awful if it were. This is a purposeful, intense kiss, infused with feelings not primarily of a lustful nature. But even not lustful, the purpose is clear. He's going to take her to bed now. And he's going to make love to her. If she lets him. It's certainly not Oliwer that Jadzia is thinking of when she returns G'laer's kiss. It's not his weyrmate that she's thinking of when he lays her against the bed. And it's not the healer she's thinking of when she she whispers breathlessly, "G'laer. Wait." Wait. Not stop. She doesn't want him to stop. But. "Is this really what you want?" Is he thinking clearly enough to know what he wants? Well, at least this time, if he stops, it really can't be considered G'laer's fault, can it? The greenrider listens, his hands arresting but not removing from her skin. He looks down at the brownrider from his position. It's probably not the moment to answer a question with a question, but this is G'laer we're talking about. "You really didn't believe me when I told you I'd been in love with you, did you." Okay, so it's a G'laer kind of question. The kind that doesn't necessarily sound like one, but he waits for a response to anyway. "I don't know," Jadzia admits quietly. But even if she does, he'd only been in love with her. And what about now? Her uncertainty is obvious, but there's one thing she's very certain of, "I want you." There's a sense that she might say more, but she only leans up to try catching his lips again. His lips... he lets her have them. To borrow, but not to keep. The kiss is long, it's meaningful, it's emotionally-charged, as if through his lips alone he might be able to convince her the depth of his feeling that was, and... still might be? G'laer doesn't clarify, and he's breathless as he forces himself to pull back. "Jadzi--" He doesn't know what he wants. "If we do this, everything we have after this will be trussed up in the mess that will be my life," his love life, anyway. "It--" it might sound like a line, "this, you, mean more to me than that." But he's not making the decision alone, he's looking to her, looking for what she wants, taking it into account. Does she want him definitely now or maybe something better, later. The way Jadzia looks up at G'laer is both sad and frustrated. The latter because they're here and stopping now is basically the very last thing she wants to do. But sad because she has to say, "I don't want to do this right now if it means you might hate me later for letting you." It's not worth that much to her. There are tears starting to glisten in her eyes. Surely, here, now, G'laer can't predict far enough into the future to know if that would be the case. But he can't take the risk, and they both must know that. It doesn't keep him from kissing her again, but this one has the bitter aftertaste of resignation. "Would you like to lie here with me a while?" It's asked softly before he shifts to her side. "Yes," breathes Jadzia, no hesitation, even as she starts to twist around so she can tuck herself against him and wrap an arm over his torso all at once. It's as close to holding him as she can manage. She could say things now, certainly, but she seems content to simply look at him right now. G'laer tucks one arm around her and the other he lets lightly find her arm on him, just resting there. The greenrider's expression is pensive and if not wholly unguarded, less guarded. He doesn't seem of a mind to talk about what he's thinking, but then he's never been a man given to an over-abundance of words. He'll stay there, a long while, thinking his private thoughts but keeping the comfort of her embrace, until at last his eyes flick toward the ledge and he sighs. "I have to go." They both knew he would right? It still sounds like a sad thing from his lips. By the time G'laer speaks again, Jadzia has closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest to listen to the beat of his heart. When he does speak, she looks up at him, trying not to look as disappointed as she feels. "I'm glad, by the way. That I ended up here. And found Savroveth." The brownrider smiles at G'laer, letting go of him and pushing herself up so she can watch while he puts himself back together to leave. G'laer tilts his head to brush a kiss on her forehead after she speaks. He's slow but methodical about gathering himself, both physically and mentally. He pauses on the edge of the bed to draw a slow breath before rising and moving to put his clothes on, carefully tucking his shirt and securing his boot laces. Once he's dressed, he looks to her a moment, not long but perhaps longing. Then, wordlessly, he goes. Jadzia watches G'laer in silence and she still doesn't say anything as he goes. Once he's gone, though, she curls back up against her bed to let all of those feelings overwhelm her in tearful silence.
Back in their weyr, that they share as weyrmates, Oliwer has changed out of his work clothes. He has a mug of tea and he's sitting in his chair with it cupped in his hands while he watches the fire in the hearth. His head tilts toward the ledge when he hears Teisyth land, but he waits to say anything until G'laer has come inside. "Something come up?" G'laer's jacket and boots are off, as usual when he enters, footfalls very nearly silent. "Yes." It's simple and without explanation. This, too, is fairly typical of the greenrider, as is his stop by Oliwer's chair to bend and seek to brush a kiss to his lips. Everything's just fine see, "Have a good day?" He asks, glancing to where the rug is stained with the amber of the whiskey, where the chair is still on its back, where his shirt is on the table, along with glass and whiskey bottle, and his empty teacup. He moves to right the chair, nonchalantly, as if by grace of his acting like everything is completely normal, he can avoid questions. Oliwer lets G'laer brush a kiss against his lips, but he's just slightly tense about returning it even the little bit that he does. "Well enough. Nobody died." Which is sort of his baseline for having a good day. "Did you have company?" he asks as he turns just enough to watch the greenrider. "Yes." G'laer answers again, simply. For other couples, a lack of accompanying explanation would likely seem evasive; for them, it's par for the course. The greenrider corks the whiskey and sets it back on the shelf before moving the glass to the squat tray they use to collect dirty dishes. Usually, Oliwer would probably leave it at that. But something else is bothering him and, despite what's probably a desire not to, he says, "I saw Teisyth on the brownrider's ledge." The brownrider. Oliwer doesn't, necessarily, sound upset. But he's still making a point of pointing out that he knows. "Yes. She was here." G'laer doesn't hesitate in answering that much. He reaches for his teacup and moves to pick up the tea kettle for a refill of hot water, the leavings of Oliwer's daily end-of-workday ritual. "She's been helping with Edyis." That much, too, isn't a lie. That doesn't answer why Teisyth was there, however. Or why G'laer was gone when Oliwer got home. But the healer doesn't ask, explicitly, why his weyrmate's dragon was on the ledge of the woman who he's had some sort of involvement with in the past. "I see," is all he says, though. And that's probably where he'll leave it. It's possible that had it been a simple, nothing special meeting at the brownrider's weyr, that G'laer might've sought to put his weyrmate's mind at ease. But this time he doesn't. He doesn't have the energy and his fatigue, if nothing else, shows. That's probably not encouraging even if he is fatigued for reasons far more innocent than they might've been. Taking his tea, he moves. "I'm going to read and call it a night early, I think." The teacup is set on the nightstand before he starts stripping out of the clothes he so recently donned. "Okay," says Oliwer, turning his head to follow the greenrider's progress, watching with a frown he might not even be aware of as his weyrmate takes off his clothes. "I love you, G'laer," is the last thing he says before reaching for his own book and focusing on that instead. G'laer stops, fingers still on the laces of his pants and looks over his shoulders to try to meet Oliwer's gaze. "I love you, Oliwer." The sentiment is returned with sincerity, and the greenrider looks away before his expression contorts quite uncontrollably to one of pained confusion and silence reigns. |
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