Logs:Two Men
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| RL Date: 14 November, 2015 |
| Who: C'ris, R'oan |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: In two Weyrs, two different dragonriders fall ill. |
| Where: Tidy, Tiny Weyr, High Reaches / R'oan's Weyr, Fort |
| When: Day 11, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Dahlia/Mentions |
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| It was the coughing that woke him up, sometime before even his usual pre-dawn routine. He couldn't help himself, the spasm racking him awake as it tore from his throat. His chest hurt; his throat burned. He was not getting back to bed. So he got up, started getting ready for his day. He worried over his clothing, finally settling on that worn blue sweater. It might be faded, yes, but it did look good on him and if he went to the barracks today--. It wasn't until he stoked the fire in his weyr that he caught sight of his hands, and his heart plummeted in his chest. That distinctive rash, like some scarlet letter, and more on his chest once he frantically stripped to search for it. Despair immediately gripped him, enough that he did not recognize even his own dragon's voice in his mind, couldn't make out any words in the annoyed thoughts. Instead--. Quinlys, his mother. Countless others. He could have gotten any of them sick, any of them--. He couldn't finish the thought, not at the moment. There were things he needed to do. Mivength reluctantly sent the messages to his wingleader and to Olveraeth, that he wouldn't be showing up for either drills or volunteering his time. And then, he made the blue send the thought to Niahvth and Cadejoth, that he had brought the sickness into High Reaches. Mivength wouldn't say that he was sorry. That he was so sorry. There was the impression of tangled limbs, sweat. He woke slowly, still drunk from last night. His finger brushed against the smooth thigh because it was there, but he was too sweltering to linger near her. He rolled away, exhaling a slow breath. The half-empty bottle was close enough to reach for, taking a quick gulp to cool his mouth. His movement had stirred hers, though, and the gasp--. "R'oan." He couldn't remember her name. What was it, again? "R'oan, you have the rash on your back," was half terrified, the woman already scrambling away and gathering up her own clothes. He heard her steps as she retreated. He heard a dragon land on the ledge. Ah, so she must have been a rider as well. « You have the rash, » is the silky, intoxicating thoughts of his dragon, invading his buzz. Did he care? It was hard to tell, even as he tried to concentrate on it. Of course he had the rash. Why wouldn't he? Half of the Weyr had the rash, Dahlia had it. When had he ever been special? « When you are done feeling sorry for yourself, maybe you'll think of me, » came the smoke into his thoughts again. Thoughts that were already on fire, so it only seemed apt to be accompanied by smoke. « You need to go to the infirmary. » He took another drink, first, before dragging his pants on and allowing his dragon to have his way, for once. |
Comments
K'del (13:26, 14 November 2015 (PST)) said...
Oh, C'ris. D:
Ok, R'oan too, but... C'ris.
Alida (18:09, 14 November 2015 (PST)) said...
Argh! Noooo! I enjoy them BOTH! :(
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