Logs:Limping Hero
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 2 July, 2014 |
| Who: H'vier, Tayte |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After Reisoth catches Teisyth and their riders bloody each other up, H'vier comes home to Tayte. |
| Where: H'vier's weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 2, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: G'laer/Mentions, Oliwer/Mentions, Tahvra/Mentions, Yvalia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Mention of miscarriage and sex. |
  |
| Getting back to his weyr proves a little more difficult than leaving it was given that his useless dragon is dozing off the afterglow of the flight instead of caring about his rider. But, with the help the early morning elevator dragon on duty, H'vier makes it back in one piece. It's not the bed he goes to collapse in, though, it's his booze stash that needs his undivided attention. He doesn't bother with a glass when he grabs a bottle and limps it toward the couch. Tayte tried to stay awake. She really did. But when he was gone... and then gone... and she'd worked all day and was anticipating a good night's sleep before taking her first day off in a long while to spend with him, even, she just couldn't keep her eyes open. It's not the sound of the dragon landing on the ledge to deposit H'vier that wakes her though, it's the sound of him going for the booze. Bottles. Clinking. It wakes her in time for her to sit up, blinking bleary eyes that apparently only register: "Havi, you're limping!" with all the sudden surprise waking up to see him doing that entails. She's scrambling out of the bed and hurrying over to the couch to stand not quite in front of him but nearly, "Are you alright?" The tone is worried and sleep has fled from her; it's a talent mothers perfect when something is wrong. Once he's on the couch, H'vier's head tilts back and he lets out a long sigh. He's exhausted. "Fine," is his non-specific response. Not that he looks fine. Oliwer didn't clean up his face and there's still blood around his mouth. Not to mention his pants, which have a larger hole around where he was stabbed because that was the easiest thing for the healer to do. At least the stitches are neat. "Go back to bed." His head comes up so he can take a good, long drink. Tayte stands there a moment assessing in the light of the low burning fire. As she does, her hands pulse open and closed, open and closed as if this helps her to take it all in. She could argue with him, that he's not fine, and so on, but that would only waste time so she takes a different tact. She turns away from him and moves to feed the fire. Next, she sets water warming over it. Then she moves to fetch his wash basin and towels and washcloths (if he didn't own them Before Tayte, he owns them now). Then she stands near the fire and waits. Either he'll tell her about it (whatever 'it' is) or she'll continue once the water has warmed. "Flight," is added after a few moments of watching her. Her legs specifically. Because those are so much nicer than certain greenriders' legs. Granted, pretty much everything about Tayte is nicer. "You're safe now. If you wanted to leave." That's not cryptic at all. "I'd rather you stayed, though." H'vier continues watching her near the hearth, only breaking his gaze for a few moments to take another drink. Her eyes flick to him on the word flight and she starts to ask, "Won or-" only she gets distracted. What did he say? "I don't understand." Tayte offers plainly, looking now at the bronzerider with confusion. "Reisoth caught his green." His green. H'vier apparently just assumes that Tayte will know precisely who he's talking about. "We had words." And some fists. And a knife. "He won't be bothering you anymore. You and the girls are safe." Ocean blues widen as he speaks, and then wider still as he continues. Normally, a woman might rush to her hero with fawning gratitude, but... "Words?" She's looking at his face and then briefly his leg. "Is he... still alive?" Tayte looks worried, but she'd have woken if there were keening, right? Right? "Of course he's alive." H'vier, of course, doesn't sound entirely pleased by that fact. "Dead dragons draw attention. You'd know if he wasn't." Well, she'd know if some dragon had gone between. He takes another drink before setting the bottle aside and unfastening his pants to, gingerly, push them down off of his hips and past his thighs. He kicks off his boots to pull them off the rest of the way before fingering the stitches. Tayte's nod comes slowly. It's clearly still sinking in as she turns back to the hearth and carefully pours the warmed water into the wash basin besides bringing it over along with its compliment of towels. She sets it carefully within reach and the takes a cloth and indicates his face. "May I or would you rather?" "You can see it better than me," is H'vier's permission for her to go mom all over his face. But that won't keep him from talking. "We came to an agreement. I don't bother his man. He doesn't bother any of you. And if we have issues in the future, we'll talk about them." See how responsible he is? Never mind the fact that they clearly had some sort of physical disagreement either before, during or after the sex. No, no. This is loving, care-taking not-weyrmate. Mom involves more licking and rubbing and of not the variety H'vier would most wish for. "Talk?" This word is a little more incredulous than polite. She even pauses the gentle touch if the cloth to his face. The face that might just justify her tone. "How... How do we know he's telling the truth?" Is the next, wary question. "Because if he ever touches you again, if he ever threatens my daughter again, I'll break his fag's neck." And probably vice versa with Tayte if H'vier hurts Oliwer. And, no, he probably doesn't realize the irony of name-calling after just fucking another man. "We both know it's better if we don't resort to... typical means. Neither of us wants to lose the ones we love." Surely she can understand that. "Havi..." That surprised and briefly disappointed look comes when the bronzerider name-calls. The rag arrests in it's path back to the man's face. But it's looking at that face that has her protest quickly being hidden, because now is not the time and even she's smart enough to see that. So instead, the rag moves gently to his neck. There's not much in the way of blood there but she seems intent on working her way down across his chest anyway. She can probably tell from how he smells that he's not fresh from the bathes. As she moves onto his chest, she leans in to press a kiss to his neck. "Thank you, Havi." Her gratitude is deep and genuine, reflected in both voice and eyes. The way she says his name has H'vier looking at Tayte, but he doesn't look apologetic about it. Not even a little bit. Since she's not pressing the point, however, he reaches for the bottle as she continues her journey with the rag. There's another long drink taken but the bottle is set aside again once he's done. Her kiss, or maybe just her words, has his hand moving to tip her chin up so he can kiss her properly. It's oddly gentle and tender, though, considering his beaten up state. "I would do anything in my power to keep you safe, Tayte." Tayte returns the kiss, pliable partner to his wants, though hers has an edge of the gratitude of course. She's already said thank you, so when he says that she offers back a heart-felt, "I love you, H'vier." The use of his full honorific always means significance; sure, it's usually when she's scolding him for something particularly repugnant, but now it's for something deep and meaningful. Her cloth stopped for the kiss but begins again now, moving gradually southward. Tayte is nothing if not fastidious in this as in all things, so the bath is thorough. It inevitably becomes more than just a bath. A reminder of why he prefers to lie with her than some greenrider. She ends up sprawled next to him on the couch, eyes closed and expression gratifying. H'vier doesn't mind her sprawled because it means he can lean over and press kisses to her heated skin, directly and through fabric as he travels further up. He can't go too far, though, which seems to frustrate him. "You're so beautiful." His hand slides up to rest on her abdomen and it lingers there for a few moments before he's murmuring, "When the girls come back, when you're ready, can we try again?" Tayte was sublimely happy in that moment. Satisfied, safe, not having to think about hard things for once, living in the moment. And then that. Shock erases her smile and she's left blinking at him. For a moment, she can't find any words at all. Then with knitted brows, she manages, "I thought you didn't want...?" After all, he had been the one to suggest she do what she could to rid herself of this last child. There's sadness in her face now too. It's still fresh. It's only after she reacts that H'vier realizes he was a little caught in the moment and he actually looks apologetic. But since he can't just swerve back to the happiness he intruded upon, "I do. I just want to know that it's mine. That it's ours." But that's where he leaves it, starting to shift up so he can try pushing himself up onto his feet. "We can still get a few hours of sleep before," well, he's probably not going to be terribly useful for much but paperwork. But sleep will be better than talking about this. Before he can get very far with the getting up thing, she's sitting up to reach and catch his arm, her hand seeming small against his bicep. "We can talk about it," is what Tayte manages to summon up a moment later. "But not yet. Not now. Let's just-- work on us first, okay?" One step at a time. But having said that, the blonde is perfectly willing to rise and reach to help steady him on his way up. She's a few minutes longer in coming to bed herself because, of course, the basin needs to be emptied and cleaned up and put away; if there was clutter those few hours of sleep would be no good to Tayte anyway. |
Leave A Comment