Logs:Blowing off steam
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| RL Date: 1 July, 2013 |
| Who: Telavi, K'zin, Solith, Rasavyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After punching K'del in the face, K'zin runs into Telavi trying to cause her own destruction. They go to blow of steam. |
| Where: Weyr Entrance and Questionably Painted Weyr (K'zin's), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 2, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, C'wlin/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Angst, angst, angst, and did I mention angst? And some language. Back-dated, started on game and finished via gdoc. |
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| Weyr Entrance, High Reaches Weyr Cutting through the Weyr's massive outer flank, the tunnel from the outside spills out into a smooth-cut space where wagons often pull in to unload supplies or take shelter during bad weather. Crates and dollies line one wall, ready to be pressed into service for carting stuff around. Five other passageways, dimly lit by well-spaced glows, lead deeper into the Weyr; a draft from the centermost hints at the bowl beyond.
When K'zin exits Snowasis, it's with a stumble. Despite the stumble, the foot falls are akin to stomps, purposeful and leading him toward the bowl. A steady stream of swears exit the bronzerider's lips as though he's hardly aware of them. He's not aware of them, but he does catch sight as he goes, of the familiar female form and the kick she directs at the wall brings him up short. "Tela," He calls, baritone gruffer than usual, attitude certainly surly. If he gets her attention, he has only a one-line proposition for her, "Want to blow off steam?" Caught. Tela twists in a near one-eighty, wide-eyed, but when she recognizes him... ducks her chin into her collar and shoves her hands into her pockets before tromping his way, refusing to be in a hurry. Since he's seen her do it anyway, "Does it involve kicking?" "Sure," K'zin's tone is suddenly blaise. "Kicking, punching, breaking, fucking. Whatever strikes your fancy." With that, he wiggles a finger to beckon her to follow as he moves to the bowl where Rasavyth, eyes whirling a dangerous red-orange awaits. "Not kicking you," Telavi's suddenly compelled to point out, never mind the rest. She speeds up enough strides to catch up, just one uncertain sideways glance at him that doesn't notice Rasavyth at all. But Solith does, Solith who for once chooses to stick her landing instead of the slide she likes. « ...Rasavyth? » « Solith. » Rasavyth's tenor is hard. It's not with her that he is angry though, but he is angry. "Fine." One word. Apparently that's enough. It's clipped but simply an acknowledgement that she can have things her way. K'zin is swift in pulling himself up into Rasavyth's straps. He fumbles with the buckles, so it takes a little extra time before the bronze is taking off, but at least being buckled in, there's no unpleasant mishap that ends with K'zin splattered on the bowl. Up, up, up they soar, alighting on their ledge, Rasavyth quickly moving aside so Solith has plenty of room (not that she needs him to move when the ledge is so broad). Solith doesn't land immediately, but rather banks in a circle that bypasses Rasavyth's ledge: is Telavi certain she wants to go there? Athimeroth might be better company just now, the green privately points out, and his ledge is right over there... but it seems that Telavi is indeed, if not wholly certain, certain enough that the green consents to land. Besides, Rasavyth had made room, extra room, it's almost like a welcome. Solith peers at him, a buffer of airspace between her fleet-skimming attention and the bronze, but questioning all the same. Her rider eyes the ledge in a decidedly different way, then looks to follow K'zin in. If he's going in. It's almost familiar. It's different. He's going in. In fact, he's going straight to the closed door to the former spare bedroom that's always been shut in her previous visits. A second mural has been scrubbed and the wall primed since the last time she's been in. But that's not of consequence now. K'zin's seated on the mat inside the training room, tugging off uncooperative boots when she catches up with him. "Have at it," He invites, letting her take her pick. K'zin's Training Room The big bubble of a cavern that matches the one on the other side of the shared hearth provides plenty of space now that the big bed has been cleared out of it. In the entry way, there's a set of shelves holding all variety of training equipment, many of smith-work to provide added resistance. The floor is mostly covered in a layer of matting, just enough to keep a person from hurting themselves on the stone when thrown to the floor. Suspended on one side of the room is a large punching bag that looks like a hand-me-down from somewhere, and certainly seeing a fair bit of use, as some spots show bloody knuckle-prints that can't yet be qualified as old. There's a little more than waist high set of parallel bars, though not longer than is useful for a single person, and a pull up bar installed high on one wall. On the other side of the room from the punching bag is something that looks a little like a totem pole, layers of cylindrical trunk stacked with arms of varying sizes sticking out from each layer. Each layer twists independently, and it looks like the arms can be taken off as desired; something to test and practice one's agility and ability to dodge.
About that time, that she looks at him, K'zin's approaching the bag, bare-fisted. His right fist? It already has a smear of blood on it, but not K'zin's own. Powerful arms are then slamming punches into the bag which begins to swing. The bronzerider stops after ten or so swings and reaches into steady the bag, shifting so he can hold it for the greenrider. That blood, too. The whites of her eyes are showing, nothing to conceal them with her braids up that way, nothing but for how he's focused on the bag like that. He reaches to steady the bag, Tela reaches for his wrist, her aim to bring his knuckles into view and see just how injured they are. Because they're his injuries, surely. She'd see them a lot better if she weren't looking up at him, too. "K'zin? Have you been hitting walls?" Tell her it's walls he's been hitting. Turns out they're not his. In fact, the bag only smeared his. Though, there's an angry color pink to all his knuckles now. If he keeps going like that, there's sure to be splits in the flesh. Since she doesn't seem interested in hitting the bag, K'zin reclaims his hand with a not overly gentle pull and shifts back to his original position to keep wailing on it. The words are punctuated by the breaths he takes as he slams into the bag, "No." Grunt. "I've been hitting-" Slam. "K'del's stupid-" Slam! "-face." "What?!" Telavi, horrified. Rather than stay near him, she circles away, if just enough to avoid getting hit by the bag and to get a better read on his expression. And also, away. She might do better to get out of the place altogether, but no. Not yet, at least. "Why would you do that, K'zin? What did he ever... never mind that, why?" Solith's all of a sudden straightened to her paws, air rushing near-visibly about her. « Rasavyth? Why does he hit people. » Hit. Hit people. Hit that person. (To Rasavyth from Solith) "Because," K'zin's guard drops, and the bag swings free. "He's a bossy, know-it-all wannabe-Weyrleader asshole." That seems to explain everything as far as he is concerned. "Why were you kicking a wall?" There's sweat on K'zin's brow, but with the liquor smell on his breath, that's likely a good thing. "Since when do we hit assholes?" Since when does he hit assholes? Tela moves close enough to the bag to block it with a forearm, not to make it swing even harder, just to show it down. "Because I felt like it." Not enough of an answer, she knows it. "Fine. Because I was frustrated and I wouldn't hurt it." "Since assholes keep secrets from the whole damned Weyr! And think they know better than anyone who should know what's what and who should know what. The arrogance of it all. And then to say something about how he'd hate to have to take other people's orders and do what he's told, and then he turns around and tells me like he's got any right to it. He's not my fucking father!" K'zin rails, turning to slam the bag again. "And he's not my Weyrleader, either! He's nothing!" Slam! Slam! Slam! Then K'zin's sinking to his knees on the mat. It takes time for Rasavyth to form an answer. He has calmed significantly, his eyes no longer whirling red, but settled more to a calm blue-green. « Because he is angry. And because he is drunk. And because he his angry. » The reasons for the anger seem different between the first and the last time that it is said. « It is... » He starts, « ...my fault. Mostly. Cadejoth's K'del made it worse. » (To Solith from Rasavyth) So too has Solith calmed in her way, which is to say channeled, distress still nearly visible here and there at her edges. « I listen, Rasavyth, » she tells him, for she senses this is just the beginning, and with that she throws herself off his ledge and into the slowly falling snow. Not away, as it turns out, but to... and soon he'll be able to feel with her, if he chooses, the sharp anticipation amid the musk of prey, and then the way the throat yields before her fangs just before she punctures it, the warm, spurting elixir of ichor. She shouldn't hunt in these pens, perhaps, but hunt she does. It echoes: I listen. (To Rasavyth from Solith) Perhaps his exclamations are the more intense for how he doesn't shout, even before the duller thuds of his fists; when he turns to go after that bag, Telavi gets out of the way, a sidestep that's not a little spooked even as she's trying to remember why she should stay calm. But then he drops. It's as though he'd been hit. Quick footsteps take her despite herself towards him... only to slow and then come to a stop, just out of the range of his reach that she knows so well. She swallows, hard. Then she closes the distance after all, sinking into a half-crouch next to him. Her hand reaches for his shoulder, so much more deliberate than the escaping sound of his name. « I appreciate that, my dear Solith, but... » The bronze considers his words carefully, watching the green as she wings away. « It is not the kind of story that should be told. » And that seems to be that, he directs his attention away from the story that gets no birth and to the joy of her hunt, the sensations she shares and all that she delights in. (To Solith from Rasavyth) Once she's close, she can see them. The traitorous tears that mark him as K'del's son. The crying Weyrleader's crying protege. They trickle down his face and his expression is now completely drained of anger and settled into a deep look of tortured pain and self-recrimination. He stays silent, but the regret is obvious. K'zin's been an idiot enough times to know when he's been one, and usually feel awful about it, as with this. Despite her proximity, he doesn't reach for her. His hands at his sides ball up as he seeks in vain for control of the salty seditionists. It's possible she hadn't truly heard, despite what she'd said, despite the rush of wind that's glad, so glad for flight and for doing instead of waiting, waiting, waiting. She tears into the wherry, chews, but then in the second bite her strong jaws fasten through muscle and around bone and there's the thrust against gravity that is her leap. Leap, and a more diffuse sense of flight, followed by the meaty thwack of the corpse being dropped. Satisfaction. « Would you appreciate one, Rasavyth? » Perhaps she shouldn't hunt a second, arguably she shouldn't have that first, but for him she would. Even though he isn't sharing his story, yet. (To Rasavyth from Solith) Oh, K'zin. He doesn't reach for her, but now that Tela can see-- see that the anger's gone, see what's replaced it, see what a mess he's in-- she's safe to more squarely face him and drop lower, to her own knees too, to try and wrap her arms about him. To try and tug him forward, even. It's not like it's payment for when Solith was hurt, nothing like it, but she has a shoulder, too. If he'll take it. « I might... » Rasavyth's usually so decisive and in control tenor seems tentative, considering Solith's offer. Is it simply an offer? Is sweet Solith simply being sweet? « Though I do not think it wise that I go just now. My K'zin might have need of me. » This is not to imply that he's not already being needed, since... well, tears, but that he feels the potential for a physical need, the need to escape... maybe! This sensation is shared, and his patience for the potential. (To Solith from Rasavyth) It's not until K'zin's arms have wrapped needily around Tela with his face mashed between shoulder and neck that a whimper of words get out in between silent sobs that seem to only be making the bronzerider feel worse, not better. These are not cleansing tears. The words are: "I hit him. Why did I hit him?" The same question she asked him, that he even answered moments ago, but now? Now that the rage has left him? He doesn't know. "Everything's so messed up, Tela, and I can't fix it. I can't fix any of it." Helplessness, despair, darkness, it's all there. She can't see his face with the way he's pulled himself against her, but it must be there in his look, too. Is helpful Solith simply being helpful? Is bloodthirsty Solith simply being bloodthirsty? Even as he speaks, there arise overlapping almost-words as he completes the sentence, ...to run. The shared sensation comes as confirmation. « I will bring you one, » the young green decides, surely out of the goodness of her heart. Again she descends, hunting, choosing. From her ledge, she can watch them for hours if she likes... and this wherry she's identified is young, succulent. It seems she thinks Rasavyth would like that. (To Rasavyth from Solith) Tela can fix even less, and tears that don't cleanse but burn... they're not wholly out of her bailiwick, but close. Sabella was right. All she can do is hug him, and listen, and admit, "I don't know either. I wish I knew. You've been so... away, I guess, it seems like. And the drinking," she likes drinking too, but this? "When was the last time you even drew something, K'zin?" Something, anything. If he's hearing her, if it makes any difference at all. Rasavyth is surprised by Solith's decision. Surprised and... touched! It's better than when she helps him hunt there because he doesn't even have to fly down to catch his own. She's done all the work for him! And if he thinks of the blood and mess it might make on his ledge? Well, that's why he has a rider, right? K'zin probably could use some manual labor to take his mind off things and feel like he's punishing himself at the same time. (To Solith from Rasavyth) When he breaks free of her arms, it's not violent, it's just a simple motion, one he mightn't've have known before, that extricates himself neatly from what translates into a bearhug. K'zin pushes up onto his feet and straggles to the doorway, beckoning that she should follow. The silent sobs? They're still coming. He's trying, but not gaining any ground with them. It's out one door and in the one beside it, separated from the first by only the thickness of the hearth that is shared by both rooms. "I draw," he croaks as the door is pushed wide and Telavi can lean in and see past him. The murals have been covered. It's not a complete wall-papering, but drawings have been tacked up all over the place, some taking multiple pages to complete. Dead faces stare out of the drawing, bloated, sickly, fish-nibbled. True, there were only two below, but the sensation of swimming, of being submersed with them... Clearly it's gone to his head. The nightmares aren't the only thing. He leans on the doorframe a moment and then into the room he goes, the sobs suddenly suppressed as he starts tearing down the sketches. Once he has a fistful, it's to the hearthfire with them, flinging them down onto the still-glowing embers. It's so convenient how that works out, and if by the time Solith's deposited this fresh, steaming kill before Rasavyth, it also has a bite taken out... the majority of the wherry's still there, and indeed, its wings are twitching feebly. It's still partly alive. That will help his rider immensely. Though hers... distractedly she leans a clawed paw on one wing, though it's not as though it's likely to be evading the bronze in the slightest, and twists a look towards the weyr because someone is disturbed and she does not like it. (To Rasavyth from Solith) Between one blink and the next he's up and gone and how did he even do that, and he's beckoning and Tela's standing after all, off to go and look and... stare, except then she has to look away with a gasp because it's just that awful. Not just the being dead and the nibbles, but those with such detail on the tattered throats and the shattered skulls and fragments of pale bone against darkly matted hair. And he slept with this, or tried... She might even have said that last out loud, it's possible, but finally comprehending not just what he'd been doing but what he's doing now, she gets to the ripping too. At first it's a couple actual sketches, but then she follows behind and uses a precious thumbnail to get rid of the little bits stuck on after he's torn the larger chunks down, so they can't stay and contaminate the whole. He will, however, have to be the one to commit them to the flames. Solith doesn't need to hold the wherry long. Rasavyth is good at killing, just not hunting. He lowers his maw and cleanly (well, relatively) renders the wherry inert. His jaws start tearing into the flesh, some of the more brittle bones that don't need to be picked around making a nice crunching noise. Is there something disturbing inside? Maybe, but he doesn't admit it. His opinions are kept quiet along with his story. (To Solith from Rasavyth) He commits handful after handful to the embers. With Telavi handing him pages, K'zin is free to use his other hand to grab up the poker from the stand that holds it and delve the tip into the coals to make things catch faster. Once they've started though, the fire's all too happy to flare into life, bingeing on the sketches. The faces dissolve into ash. He doesn't stop until they're all gone. The tears may not have been cleansing, but this surely has been. He looks a little more sane at any rate, a little more with it, but also more weary. Without words, he replaces the poker and turns to the greenrider, his arms extending in invitation for a hug that will surely be as much for her as for him. This cleansing? It might qualify as traumatic. It's not until his arms are wrapped around her with his chin touched to the side of her head that he murmurs, "Sleep here tonight?" There can be no doubt that in this moment, he means just sleep. The idea of just sleeping makes it so much easier to say yes right now, even if it's yes without words, just the slide of her head against his jaw and the way she presses closer into his larger frame to hug him back. Just sleep, none of the spiral of his self-recrimination and her own worry making it not only frustrating but worse for next time, back when there was a next time. Tela breathes in deeply, shirt and smoke and sweat and sorrow and all. She's leaning into him less than sometimes, too, as though he might actually be knocked over if she's not careful. It's later, when they're curled up close in that big bed, that she murmurs penitently, "I have a confession." « Some stories are better shown. » With that, Solith leans in to lick at one torn-up wherry flank, just one more taste of the prey she's shared before padding on inside to disappear. Out of sight, out of mind? (To Rasavyth from Solith) He might have been on the edge of sleep. He'd been quiet enough since he'd gotten into the bed, in the sleep pants he probably hadn't noticed got patched some months back. He'd almost forgotten about the pants, but once she started helping herself to one of his shirts, he thought about the boundaries that had built up when before there had been none. It was for the best. The tensing of his body was minute, barely noticeable, but there. "Yes?" He asks softly, not shifting, though his eyes open and brown eyes find the shadowed crags of the ceiling. (To Solith from Rasavyth) So there was a catch. Rasavyth takes the suggestion as a prompting for payment. His muzzle pauses in its tearing of flesh and considers. The wherry was plump and tasty. And Solith? Sweet Solith... What harm could she do? She wouldn't talk so freely of his secrets as she does with some others, he was sure. But... He'd been sharing a lot lately. All of these thing were weighed before his mind stretches to Solith's. If he was careful... Images come. This time, however, Solith might find that this story is not better shown. The shown story comes in black and white, the lips move occasionally but there is no sound. Rasavyth on the ledge. Iesaryth winging away. K'zin sitting, the sudden feeling of nothing. Rasavyth trying to push into the weyr, the pain of the shoulder-scrapes now healed. K'zin knocking the chair over as he ran to the bronze, hand connecting with this nose in order to make the straining of muscles stop. Then, connection. A shared wash of emotion that can be identified as intense, but the details of which emotions are not included in the 'showing'. Then... nothing. That's it, the whole story. At least the visual version. "Or maybe it's a secret, I don't know." Barely noticeable, and she's noticing, sliding her palm across his chest in a way that isn't quite petting. It doesn't quite stop her, it is minute, and it shouldn't surprise her. Tuned to his further reactions, "I... I kicked the wall because I wanted to and I knew I wouldn't hurt it but I did want to. Hurt it. I wanted a piece to break off and, all right, a little one, a Tela-was-here one, not a big chunk to fall and bash my head in or to bring the whole place down," not when she's anywhere near reasonable about it, "but wouldn't it be something to be able to? But..." she trails off, uncertain. Solith is not impatient. Solith is settling in with the first tinges of sleepiness. The beginnings of the story meet with a wisp of surprise, of pleasure, and then she's simply the audience again. A leaning-forward audience, as though that could help her hear what can't be heard. Nothing. Connection. The movements. « I do not understand, » she admits. Too avant-garde! No arthouse films for her! (To Rasavyth from Solith) He's quiet, still. Maybe if she seemed that she would stop he would prompt, or maybe just fall asleep, but she does go on, so K'zin stays silent. His body starts to relax at the nature of her confession and/or secret-telling. "I'm sorry you didn't get what you wanted." He says after a moment when there is only the crackling of the fire, one that paper and the few logs he added after the fact will keep them toasty tonight, with the door closed to the wider chamber. "I think it's okay to want things like that," He adds a moment later, but his tone might convey that he's not exactly sure he's getting what she wants him to get. Then again, maybe it's not about him and what he gets. « Sometimes, » Rasavyth's purr is soft, but hollow, « I think on it, and I do not understand either. » It is not what Solith means, of course, but it's what Rasavyth is willing to share before his nose dips back to the bloody carcass. (To Solith from Rasavyth) She wonders, perceptibly... because how could Rasavyth not understand, he who understands so much? and yet she doesn't question, simply believing as she so often does. Solith can recognize when a curtain's fallen. It doesn't mean that a tiny firelizard doesn't pop out of between to gnaw on any scraps Rasavyth leaves behind, but if if Solith's notified him, she's also warned him not to press the older bronze. (To Rasavyth from Solith) Maybe she isn't sure yet what it's about, or maybe what she's about, and maybe that's part of what's going on right there. "But when..." Tela begins, only this time it's less uncertain-voice and more thinking-voice except... as she's thinking, the fire's crackling and he's relaxed and there and she's relaxing too, her breathing slowing even further like there's just no hurry to get around to the next one, it's all warm and it's quiet and it's like what she's missed... except for the punching bag in the other room, anyway, smudged with two men's blood. She shivers then, yet turns toward him rather than away. She doesn't question, but Rasavyth has an answer for this, at least, « Sometimes, there are things in life that cannot be understood. The heart has it's reasons where reason knows nothing. » His tenor lacks the purr, the words coming in a simple tone, a tone that might sound a little tired. Enough so that now that the imminent possibility of needing to go away seems to have passed, he noses past the first curtain to claim his couch. Is someone sleeping in his bed? There are two wallows, but a thin thread of oozy thought seems to imply that he thinks it likely that Solith is a creature who occasionally embodies his sentiment. The tiny firelizard isn't the only scrapper. There's a blue, which seems damned determined to drag little bits of viscera across the ledge, in between bites. Helping with providing K'zin a solid clean-up effort. (To Solith from Rasavyth) "When?" It's obvious from the pregnant pause and the uncertain tone in K'zin's voice that he's not sure he wants to know where this is going, but he asks anyway. He asks because it might not be about him, because she might need his listening ear the way she's provided him one. This wasn't just about him blowing off steam, so he owes her at least the chance, the encouragement to say what she will. As she turns toward him, his arm shifts to be more around her, squeezing her a little closer, his body solidly there, no trembles or shivers, offering the physical support he's trying to provide mentally as well. « Sometimes, » comes Solith's soft-voiced agreement, though within the wind currents can be felt some that diverge only to rejoin, or perhaps it's that the whole rejoins them. Some things may not be understood. Perhaps they cannot, she doesn't know, though she feels that they might be... comprehended. She hasn't words for this, not really. He's right, she's affiliated with affection and intuition, the heart isn't so separate for her except in how Telavi is separate, sometimes; he's right, too, that she's taken some small part of his wallow. She doesn't have to understand the stone to let it support her, and she doesn't have to understand the winds to fly; she knows them, and not with anything so distant and codified as reason. If Solith also knows that Telavi and her boots won't care for slipping on iced-over wherry-innards... well, the firelizards are happy, and she's happy too. (To Rasavyth from Solith) She rubs her cheek against him for that, might even be murmuring a thank you; it's the right timing even if it's inaudible, perceptible mostly as movement and breath. "But when I want them, it's harder to not try to get them," Tela admits to K'zin at last, her voice a whisper as though even the fire shouldn't hear. "I get so tired of, of holding back... Your punching bag. Does it help?" Well, Solith knew who's couch she was getting into, so Rasavyth moves to join her. The nudge of his nose (perhaps still a touch bloody, but not much thanks to the cold temperatures) against her middle as he settles, and shifts, and settles, and shifts, is playful. Something lighter than all that's been. It's maybe not intended as a dragon-tickle, but it might be. It's more like he's trying to get her to shift and resettle, maybe even snuggled closer. (To Solith from Rasavyth) "It is hard to try not to get them." K'zin answers quietly, a little louder than hers, and his arm gives another squeeze, "And I suck at it. Especially now. I never used to be angry, almost ever. Now, just-- almost always." He sighs. "You're probably a lot better at it all than I am, but I know what you mean. Tired of holding back. I'm so tired of holding everything back I punched the one man who's taken interest in helping me become a respectable man, a respectable rider." There's a sad, sad laugh for that. "The punching bag helps. Especially when they don't punch back." They. K'del's not the first. Now that Telavi's closer than when he was changing, she might notice some yellowed bruises on his torso. "Quinlys has a punching bag in her weyr, too. Olveraeth told Ras that it helps her." What's his point? Well, maybe that the punching bag is not just for boys. "You can come use mine, if you like. Or I can try to help you find one of your own?" Solith... might have forgotten? Well, no, and the way she consents to readjust speaks of welcome, even if the owner of this wallow is being unusually wiggly when she had gotten herself comfortable already. Her wings are drawn back long enough to avoid poking him with their spars or, for that matter, getting stepped on, happy to overlap once she's done licking the fading ichor-imprints off her side; she even takes up more room than she had, it's just that now it's curved and recurved to fit about him. She even gives Rasavyth's nose a congenial sniff: has he wiped off all that ichor? If not, she might have to try to lick that clean too, as much as it might imperil his reputation. (To Rasavyth from Solith) It makes Tela smile a little after all, K'zin's phrasing or maybe possibly Solith or... "It's almost like you're making up for lost time," she says, though she goes quieter again even before he speaks of what he'd done to K'del. She doesn't bring up I'zech, might not even if he hadn't said respectable. But, "They?" She cranes up enough to look down at K'zin's face, first, like there could be giveaways there, searching out his gaze when she doesn't find immediate evidence of a broken nose or split eyebrow or even something she wouldn't have had to be blind to miss before. Distractedly, "Does she. I could... that's a good idea. Try it for a while, see how it works before trying to find room I-don't-know-where?" But, still, they. Rasavyth observes the licking of her side. The curve of his form shifts as she does so, to one that is wary. Then she comes sniffing about his nose. There's surely more there, but the way his head moves, it's like a three turn old avoiding Mom's licked finger. « Are you Hraedhyth's daughter? » comes his abrupt questioning, a bid for distraction. (To Solith from Rasavyth) "Maybe I am," K'zin admits with a sigh. "Maybe it's because I was never angry about the things I should have been angry about. My brothers--" He starts and then abruptly cuts himself off, shaking his head. He doesn't talk about his brothers. "Yeah. Try it. I don't know how much you know beyond sparring lessons. I'm not great, but I know how to not hurt myself... when I don't want to." There were old bloodstains on that bag. Then, "They-- the guys I've punched. I've-- maybe-- sort of started a barfight. Or two. Nothing major. Nowhere anyone would care about." He winces all the same, even with his hurried defense. He anticipates that even though no one else cared, Tela might. The frowny kind of caring. Solith has a long tongue. She could slurp. Right when she's starting to lift a paw like she'd try to hold him down, « What? » with a puff of bonfire-smoke on the wind. It is distracting, from that at least. For the moment, at least. (To Rasavyth from Solith) "So you never got the practice," and Telavi's parted her lips just to ask and shuts them again just in time. Brothers. His anticipation is well-deserved, the drawing-together of her brows for wanting to hurt himself a presentiment of the frown that does indeed come. "K'zin." Tela presses more fully up on her elbow now, and though the view would have been much better a few months ago, her view is quite focused indeed. She spares a fingertip to trace the line of that wince where it's crossed his face, very gently, like it could be a wound all by itself. And then she's looking lower, and her sharp intake of breath may be a pretty good clue that she's seen those yellowed marks. She's seen him bruised there before, so much longer ago, though these are fainter if just as numerous as those had been. If she hadn't been looking for them... "K'zin?" She's looking to meet his gaze again, only now she's not frowning as such, more like stricken. Yes! Yes, distraction is good. Go with it, Solith! Rasavyth encourages it by conjuring up his mental reflection of Hraedhyth for her. An oozy ghost of drums, flame, heat and smoke. « Are you Hraedhyth's daughter? Or Iesaryth's? » He asks again, taking the chance to slide his head, that much further away from the green. (To Solith from Rasavyth) « You, » Solith has determined, « are ducking. » Surely it would have been better strategy to lead him on while edging her muzzle closer again, but this is Solith. As he slides away, she slides closer, though at least it's designed not to actually knock into him if he moves more sharply after that. (To Rasavyth from Solith) "What?" K'zin grumps in the face of her admonishment. He's watching her, though, as her eyes wander. The caught breath and direction of her gaze together clue him in to just what she's seeing. He reaches up his far hand to catch up the one of hers that had been tracing his face. His grip is firm, but delicate. "Sometimes it hurts less to hurt instead of hurt. I think that's why men get stupid about things. We don't just cry it out, or whatever." Well, most men don't cry. Or at least not where anyone can see. Her lips press together; her eyes soften. But. "Maybe you men should cry it out." At least he still seems to count in that category just now. But. "So, wait. Sometimes it hurts less to hurt them? Or, no," though Tela's checking K'zin's reactions, seeing how close she's getting. "For them to hurt you? Really? But you said it helps when they don't punch-- but you meant the bag helps when they don't but they... should? I should punch you right now for pulling something like that," except what she does is pull his hand up with hers, if she can, to kiss those poor bruised knuckles instead. Rasavyth is rolling. Gradually he shifts onto his back, trying to sprawl his long neck out of the couch and inching toward the curtain. He might be able to hide his head out there. Out of sight, out of mind, right? « You are avoiding the question. I can't share with you properly a fact you might like to know unless you tell me. » He counters, entreating. (To Solith from Rasavyth) In that case, Solith doesn't so much avoid the question as avoid being distracted into the question, thanks to the new distraction he's presented... by dint of simply reaching out to lick his exposed belly in what she'd like to be a long swath of that threatened slurp. (To Rasavyth from Solith) K'zin maintains a tactful silence as Telavi starts to work out his meaning. His expression becomes carefully distracted, not looking at the greenrider. The silence continues as she finishes, but his gaze does pull back from where it had wandered to the ceiling above her head to watch her kiss his knuckles. "Tela-- I--" He tries to find words. Some words. Any words, in answer, but finds nothing and lets out a sigh. Now he pulls her hand to his lips and kisses the back of it lightly. "Let's sleep, alright?" A pause. "That might be easier to do if your dragon would stop licking my dragon." The tone manages bland even though whatever he's seeing and feeling through his lifemate's experience is now making him grin. It's a wicked sort of grin, as if, for once he's getting to enjoy Rasavyth's uncertainty and confusion. Ahh! Ahh! She's licking me! Rasavyth has no idea what to do with this. « Is this normal for dragons to lick each other? » He wonders aloud, « Did I miss the lesson on this? » It's extra confusing though, now, because the time that Hraedhyth licked him, it just felt like a lick. It was perplexing. Now it's a lick that is perplexing but also, maybe, sort of, kind of feels... good? All of this is shared in a stream of consciousness that is available to Solith. He freezes, head inches from the curtain-edge. Maybe he wants to let her clean his muzzle after all. Even though a tongue is wet and lives in another dragon's mouth, which seems questionable to him, from a hygienic standpoint. (To Solith from Rasavyth) For once, or perhaps twice, Telavi doesn't fill that silence with words... though once K'zin starts to speak, her expressive face hints that she's about to, coupled with how she leans forward like that. But whatever she might have speculated about his brothers, whatever she'd saved until after she'd put the rest together, will have to wait another day. Or a sevenday, or a month, because that grin is something she's minded not to spoil. Her eyes roll dragon-ward. "'Licking.'" Solith. She would. Convenient, this telepathy thing. « It is grooming, » Solith informs Rasavayth without having to use her tongue for anything as prosaic as speech, and not in a way that suggests she thinks he doesn't know better, either. Sometimes a lick is just a lick, and from her point of view, so too is hers. How it perplexes him, and that maybe-possibly-good-ness, that's a flicker of confusion of her own. She won't reach as far as his muzzle, that's too far and somehow too off-kilter to stretch out herself now, but since he's just frozen... why, now Solith can't completely let it go, not when she can swipe a second time, X marks the spot immediately below his ribs. Better! And then perhaps she can pull back and curl up, the better to occupy his wallow some more. (To Rasavyth from Solith) K'zin falls silent, retreating into himself now. Now that they've talked. Now that the fire is crackling so pleasantly. Now that it's toasty, and comfortable. Ish. Sure, there are still secrets, still cold-spots, but it's better than it was, right? Maybe. Only time can tell. He settles into a rhythm of simply caressing Telavi's arm, his eyes falling closed. He'll leave the licker-wrangling to the greenrider. Slowly, carefully, quietly, he starts reeling his neck in, bringing the muzzle in-need-of-grooming closer, until it's within comfortable range. « You could-- » Rasavyth starts, confusion rumbling and making his oozy, webs quiver in the fresh breeze. « You could groom me, » Now decided, « If you wish. » (To Solith from Rasavyth) That's far too soothing. Tela might pull the quilt up over her before settling in again, but that would require a degree of disentangling, and besides there's the fire and if she has to wear a shirt, it had better be good for something. As it is, she just leans her head back on his shoulder and sleep... sleep's got to show up any moment. Any time now. Curled-up Solith blinks a sleepy blink, an uncertain blink, the more so since Rasavyth's uncertain too and when does that ever happen that he'll admit to? But... there is that smudge... and the rumbling isn't unpleasant to her, and he did suggest... « A little, » she ends up tentatively agreeing. « Hold still? I will be careful, » more careful than she would have been, minutes before. Careful, and tidy as long as he's so statue-still, followed up by a pleased nudge to his neck once he's all clean. He can relax now. She can relax now. And sleep. (To Rasavyth from Solith) |
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