A Man and Two Babies (R'wign)

[Requiem]

Their girl safely tucked away into the creche for the night, he backed through the door, glancing at the lump still curled up beneath the blankets. Much as he'd left him this morning. M'ta set down the tray, a pot of broth with an easily digestible amount of wherry meat, rice, carrots and celery couched in a clay warmer. Slices of soft bread and fruit were piled on a serving platter. He arranged it on the table, setting the plates and bowls, then crossed over to the bed, stealing a pillow and setting it against the base of the couch. Boots were tugged off, socks removed to free his toes, which he wiggled against the floor before heading back to his lump of a weyrmate.

"Come on, whiny. Up with you." M'ta wasn't keen on waiting for R'wign to move himself, however, or the broth was like to go cold. He braced a knee on the mattress, bending and bunching the blankets around the other brownrider as he slid his arms behind his knees and back, pulling him up against his chest. A soft grunt sounded in his throat when he straightened. "Not getting any lighter, are you? Good. Used to be too skinny." M'ta didn't speak again until after he'd set the man down with the pillow at his back, crouching beside the coffee table to pull off the lid to the broth and ladle it into the bowls. He pushed a piece of bread into R'wign's hand and added more to his plate with the fruit.

Instead of joining him right away, he stood and leaned against the table, taking his braid between his hands and pulling it free, before refastening the hair loosely down past the sweep of his shoulders to keep it out of the way. "Are all healers such wimps about a case of the sniffles?" he questioned teasingly. M'ta's legs folded neatly beneath him. He sat almost touching his weyrmate, stealing a wedge of fruit and sipping at the water. His hand reached up and he pushed the hair back from one side of R'wign's head, tracing his fingertips along the edge of the empty socket as he pulled the sheet of hair back behind the man's ear. "Voice is kind of sexy though," he added, amusement still lacing his words. R'wign had something of a rasp today. Not that he used it for much but whining and complaining.

Healers rarely made good patients, as it turned out.

[glamourie]

Was R’wign whiny? Yes. He’d always been whiny. Truthfully, it took a fair amount to actually knock him out of commission, though. R’wign was very much a workaholic and if he could justify going to the infirmary... he would. As it was, though, R’wign stood up and goodbye went his ability to remain upright. He’d tried to stand several times (usually when M’ta was out – he really didn’t want to be made fun of for falling on his face like an imbecile, thanks much) and hadn’t managed to succeed. His head spun and he became nauseous, a throbbing pain resounding behind his eyes strong enough to make him want to just burrow into his blankets and never come out again. He also had the chills, which he was sure meant he had a fairly high fever. It was a cold – nothing horrible; he’d definitely experienced worse, but it was uncomfortable just the same. The only thing that kept him from wanting to bash his head off of walls was that his behavior seemed to be irritating M’ta and if he could be a pain in the butt, R’wign was usually all about that. He was still R’wign, sick or not. Well, that and getting to a wall to facesmack was difficult since he couldn’t properly walk.

His firelizards found the whole thing amusing. R’wign was tempted to bat them away. The only one who seemed remotely sympathetic was Ellie, who insisted upon nesting in his hair as if she owned it. Pain in the butt Gold.

Everyone was on his nerves right then. Especially his weyrmate, though.

Nestling into his blankets, R’wign was just about to fall asleep when the sound of someone moving into the weyr awoke him. He did the best he could to remain a perfectly still lump beneath the mountain of blankets, operating under the assumption that if he didn’t move, he wouldn’t be seen. Someone had clearly forgotten to alert R’wign to the fact that that didn’t work on people or even most animals. Whatever; it was worth the effort, particularly since it didn’t take much in the way of effort to begin with. The contact with him earned a very loud whine and rather than make removing him from the bed easier, R’wign grabbed onto the blankets beneath his pile and clung for dear life. Noooo. No dislodging him from nest of warmth. Noooo. Not that it did him much good, since he was pulled (blankets and all, by Faranth he wasn’t letting them go from the bed).

“Go away.”

R’wign grumbled to himself as he formed a cocoon of fabric around his body. He was tempted to complain that he wasn’t fat, thank you. The food being shoved at him was literally pulled under the blankets as if he was an animal retreating into a burrow. It wasn’t an inaccurate comparison to how he felt right at that moment.

“This is not a very nice way to treat a dead man.” Ellie chirruped from R’wign’s hair, quite thoroughly tangled in it; she liked to be touching R’wign any time he got sick. She worried, did Ellie. She worried about everyone, though. Mother-hen. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired. You’re obviously bored – maybe I should find work for you...”

[Requiem]

"You're the squirmiest, noisiest dead man I've ever seen," M'ta commented dryly. Diabetics and not eating rarely ended well, and he wasn't about to let grumpy sickie complain his way into a diabetic coma. Not that the younger man said as much. He tugged at the blankets. "Now eat your soup like a normal human being. I sleep in those blankets, too, and don't want them smelling like wherry and salt." He snorted softly. Honestly. Was he this ridiculous when he was sick? If so, it was a wonder he hadn't been tossed over the ledge and cheered all the way down the side of the cliff.

M'ta laughed outright at the comment on his bedside manner, ignoring it in favor of wrestling the blankets down enough for R'wign to eat without spilling things all over them. Crazy man. "Tenderness is wasted on you. And I have been working. All day. Sourpuss." He felt his forehead with the back of his hand, clicking his tongue lightly. "Come on, eat up and I'll put you back to bed, blanket mountain and all." Still had a fever to sweat out. "And drink." He pushed the cup of water into his hands, not taking no for an answer. Whether R'wign wanted to acknowledge it or not, simply sleeping all day was not going to get him better.

His voice dropped to a more soothing tone. "If you don't give me so much trouble, R'wign, I'll tell you a story or whatever else you want unless you just want to sleep. But you know you can't just huddle in bed and nothing else, hm?" M'ta went back to eating some of his own food, seeing as how he was starving after the long day. Not really his type of fare, namely because soup tended to be pretty salty no matter how you made it, and bread wasn't something he had any particular fondness for, but it went together okay and hunger made anything taste good. "Do you feel any better than you did this morning?"

[glamourie]

Pfft. He wasn’t squirmy if M’ta wasn’t moving him. If he was being moved, of course he was squirmy. He wasn’t noisy either, thanks much. At least, not in an unpleasant way. M’ta was just terribly lacking in the bedside manner department. “I’m not a normal human being. I dye my hair pink and wear dresses and I’m male. How dare you imply that I should act normal,” R’wign grumbled, but he did remove some of the blanket tent around himself with one hand. He kept the blankets wrapped, at least partially, around his arms. He was too cold to actually put them all down, even if he did understand the reason for the complaint and sympathize (at least partially) with M’ta’s position. If he were well, he’d have been having a conniption at someone eating near his blankets and probably would have insisted on them being washed five million times in order to get any strange odors out. But he wasn’t well and he couldn’t smell anything anyway so it didn’t really matter all that much to him. As far as he was concerned, M’ta could take his complaints and shove ‘em, pfft. M’ta’s helping of him to remove the blankets just earned a disdainful look that said without words what he was thinking. Oaf.

He took a sip of the broth, despite the complete lack of hunger that he felt, and he couldn’t taste it. Period. He couldn’t even taste the brininess that came with a broth. All he felt was liquid on his tongue. That was the worst part of being sick: food lost all of its flavor so eating ceased being enjoyable and started just being a pain in the backside. A regrettable nuisance, really.

“You’re so bossy. When did you get so bossy?” R’wign inquired, leaning away from the drink being thrust at him so pushily. He wasn’t really interested in trying to drink when he was attempting (unsuccessfully) to eat the flavorless broth. “You obviously weren’t working long enough if you’re back here interrupting naptime.” He crinkled his nose to emphasize his point before adding seriously, “I can’t taste any of this.” It wasn’t that it was bad – it was that his nose was stuffed up and thus took the enjoyment out of consuming anything. He was tempted to grumble that he didn’t need stories to fall asleep, he needed quiet weyrmates not forcing him out of his blanket mountain fortress. Because really, if he sat still for very long he was passing out of late. It was a side effect of having all of his energy sapped from being sick.

Though – the question was one that he didn’t really mind answering. He took another bite of his soup, trying to down at least some of it for M’ta’s benefit. Salty or not, it had no flavor that could get through his plugged up nose. Unpleasant. “I still can’t walk but my head isn’t throbbing quite as bad.” It was definitely an honest answer. Whether it was what M’ta wanted to hear or not was irrelevant at that point. “Checkoth is making me crazy. Apparently, he’s itching behind his wing. You should go oil him so that he stops complaining.” Checkoth wasn’t complaining. R’wign was just… being R’wign. And seeing what he could convince M’ta to do. Typical.

[Requiem]

Irritable, irritable. M'ta would blame it on being sick, and to some extent it was, but his weyrmate was contrary by nature anyway. Which, in effect, made him mostly immune to the grumblings and death glares; he'd seen and heard it all before. The younger of the brownriders was more interested in devouring his food. He'd been working all day, after all, and M'ta had never been accused of a small appetite. Well, actually...yes, he had, but that was many years ago. Shrunken stomachs didn't tend to want for a lot of food at once.

Ignoring bossy comments and complaints about naps, M'ta glanced sidelong at him. "Yes, well, that's to be expected. Still need to eat." Nor did he intend to let R'wign go back to sleep until he did. R'wign would thank him later...or not. The man rarely thanked anyone, preferring to complain, but he'd know it was for his own good, at any rate, and that was the important thing.

The brownrider ignored comments of Checkoth's wing, as well, partly because he didn't really believe R'wign, seeing as how adult dragons needed oilings less than ones that were still growing and his weyrmate took good care of Checkoth. Even should the man be telling the truth, it was too close to darkness for him to start oiling even just a part of a dragon the size of a small mountain. "Is it normal for head colds to be this severe?" M'ta mused quietly. Most people just coughed and sneezed and maybe got a touch feverish, as far as he could tell, but then, R'wign had never been one to do things small, now had he? The younger man wondered if part of the issue wasn't R'wign's blood sugar, considering he was pretty sure the man hadn't eaten anything but what had been shoved down his throat all day.

He shrugged one shoulder. If he had to stay home tomorrow to look after the lug, then he had to. Healers and their unwillingness to look after themselves like they knew they should. With so many firelizards and a whole infirmary at his disposal, there was no reason R'wign shouldn't be kept comfortable and fed...at least as much as was possible with a stuffy nose and a headache. "Did you have anything reasonable to ask, or no?" he added, with a wry smile. He'd get Behruth to ascertain the truth about Checkoth and take care of it tomorrow if R'wign wasn't just being dramatic. "You'd best get better quickly. I saw someone putting the medical supplies back in odd places, and Kalierre's not nearly as anal about organization as you are." The words came teasingly.

[glamourie]

“They differ person to person,” R’wign replied knowingly. Honestly, were colds normally as severe as his? No. But R’wign also had a compromised immune system, especially in comparison to people like M’ta who didn’t seem to get sick. Ever since the attack by Benden turns ago, he’d been much more susceptible to illnesses. Typically R’wign worked and slept and worked and slept to get rid of them; he couldn’t stand taking time off work. And he was of the opinion that his symptoms were more severe because it was psychological: he felt he had to justify taking the time off the infirmary by being really sick. There was a strong chance that he was right, too. “It’s all about body chemistry and makeup, tolerance and personal health. For instance, you’re pretty much immune to most types of colds. Ka’rys is immune to them. You two are freaks in this regard.” Actually, it was because they came from climates that had colder weather and thus, likely both had a lot of colds as children. R’wign didn’t. “You’re pretty healthy, you eat right so you don’t actually manage to catch things much. Your body fights off infections very well. So when you do get sick, you do it with style. I, on the other hand, have a pretty horrible immune system – I’m lucky in that I don’t seem to catch ailments much but when I do, I get sicker than most people.”

Yes, R’wign loved to answer rhetorical questions with long, boring babble. It made him happy. Well, that and talking shop was something that relaxed him enough that he didn’t feel it such a chore to try and eat in between words. R’wign liked cooking – that much was fact and he regularly did so when he was well. He didn’t like eating, and he especially didn’t like eating food with no flavor. Congested sinuses did that to a person.

Did he have anything reasonable to ask? Well, if they were sitting around waiting for him to be reasonable, they could be waiting a very long time. He didn’t really do reasonable. He was R’wign! He did… whatever the heck he felt like, impulsively most of the time, and he saw only black and white. Though, he was too distracted to point any of that out because after much deliberation, he managed to finish the soup off carefully. Setting the bowl aside, R’wign took a sip of the water, and then set that down too. His blanket was pulled tightly around himself and he crinkled his nose slightly before electing not to respond to that comment save for a haughty huff. Anyway, M’ta’s next remark had enough jab to it that R’wign very visibly winced. Because R’wign was obsessive, sometimes to the point of brutality while at others it was minor. He was R’wign, after all.

“They’re what? I thought you wanted me to relax and get better, not stress myself out. Well, help me up and help me get to the infirmary, if I’m going to be knocking heads together, now’s as good a time as any,” he grumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. But he had noooo intentions of going anywhere. R’wign was pretty sure if he stood up he’d throw up. Still, it was all for show. “I hope you told them if they muck up my organization, I will make everyone’s life miserable until it’s fixed~”

[Requiem]

That was a...really long explanation. Informative, M'ta supposed, but he really was just wondering if there was more than just a cold involved here. He decided not to press the issue, though. Breathing issues and diabetes probably didn't do much good for any sort of illness, and anyway, despite the whining and dramatics, R'wign wasn't dying. He probably felt like he was, though. M'ta should be nicer to him. Should. (He was feeding him and carrying him around, though, so that should count for something, right? Maybe.)

M'ta didn't move from his position curled up against the arm of the couch, watching R'wign with some amusement. If he got up and walked now, M'ta refused to carry him anymore. R'wign weighed more than him, not to mention being larger. He could manage. Didn't mean it was easy, though, and he wasn't doing it if R'wign was just playing up how sick he was. More than likely, though, he really was too light-headed to walk, in which case he wasn't going anywhere; M'ta wasn't bringing sickie with the weak immune system into a place full of more sickies. Sorry.

"I'm sure they're aware you'll freak at them. I put it back. Oh, it's probably a few centimeters too far to the left, but I'm sure you can manage." He nudged R'wign's leg with his toes, or where he guessed his leg might be beneath all the blankets. "Finish your water, too. I'm not taking you back to bed or letting you sleep here until I'm sure you won't get dehydrated on me." He might have insisted on the fruit and bread, too, but honestly you had to choose your battles and the water was more important. Maybe one piece of fruit. He'd have to poke Kalierre about the whole blood sugar thing if this lasted much longer; R'wign knew enough to take care of himself, so M'ta really didn't pay that close attention to which foods were best and whatnot.

"Does Checkoth really have an itch?" he asked, out of the blue. Behruth could ask, of course, but he wanted to get R'wign talking a little more. Didn't seem delirious or anything, which was good. "Cause I'm getting the distinct impression you'd say just about anything to get me to go away right about now." He tsked softly to himself.

[glamourie]

Okay, he couldn’t stand. R’wign was pretty sure if he tried, his legs would give out underneath him and/or he’d vomit on M’ta’s shoes. While the prospect of doing that to M’ta was highly entertaining (hadn’t he puked on Kaegan, eh eh?), the thought of vomit touching their floors was enough to make his neat-freak side have a minor conniption. So the antics? Yeah. All theatrics, all for show. As was typical of him, really. Though, it was mildly disappointing that even if he tried, they didn’t work on M’ta anymore. Were he feeling better, he’d have made some big to-do about how M’ta couldn’t possibly love him because anyone who loved him would indulge him and not continually pop his ego. As it were, he settled for pouting. Yeah. Full-blown pouting. Wouldn’t get him anywhere but hey, at least he didn’t feel like he was doing nothing.

“This is where a nice weyrmate would have insisted that I’m sick and can’t go and kick their butts. A nice person would’ve told me that they were sorry the apprentices were incompetent. Maybe asked what they could do to fix things. You, sir, are not nice.”

His stomach churned. At least he didn’t throw up, though. R’wign did settle for trying to glare, but a one-eyed glare was really not very efficient, or so he was coming to realize. Or maybe it was just that M’ta didn’t take him seriously anymore. Probably right – he didn’t usually get mad at M’ta. Annoyed at times, yes, but really angry, no. Although, it was tempting to dump the water on his head and claim he slipped. “It’s not my fault you’re so short.” Riiight. Only the knowledge that, well, M’ta was right stopped him from doing that. He needed to keep hydrated or he was going to be very sick. So he took the water and drank some of it – slowly, though. Too much too fast and he’d be seeing it again, so it would be worthless. That was the whole point of guzzling water – to remain hydrated. Ugk.

The question caught him off-guard, and R’wign tilted his head for a moment, inclining it toward the ledge where Checkoth was laying. The brown’s tails gave a distinct twitch, first the left one and then the right, restlessly moving.

“No itches, but he is bored. I keep telling him to go fly, and he says he’d rather not leave me.” R’wign knew why; Checkoth didn’t remember a lot of things, but R’wign nearly dying was enough to scare the brown into not wanting to leave his side any time he got sick. This was just a cold – R’wign was positive of that. He wasn’t running a high enough fever, and though he was throwing up, it wasn’t often enough to be that worrisome. And he was taking it easy, wasn’t he? Sleeping like he was supposed to, not working, even eating semi-properly. He thought that his dragon was fussing a little too much, being a little too overprotective, but R’wign wasn’t agitated enough to call him on it. “He doesn’t want to leave the ledge. So he’s bored, and he complains of boredom but does nothing to fix it. I am rubbing off on him in a bad way.” Crinkling his nose, R’wign turned to M’ta and then asked softly, “How’s Teri? I feel bad not getting to see her. I just... don’t... want to make her sick too. You, on the other hand – I am completely okay with infecting you.”

[Requiem]

He chuckled at the pout that he could barely make out, shadowed as it was by R'wign's blanket cave. "You know me well enough by now to know I'm not nice," the man commented lightly. M'ta didn't say anything at all about R'wign's being incapable of going to the infirmary on his own power, or that there was little point in 'fixing' something already fixed to the best of anyone's ability but R'wign's. His weyrmate had some neurotic tendencies when it came to organizing that infirmary of his. Keeping his eyes on R'wign long enough to be sure that the man was going to drink as he should, M'ta pulled something out of his pocket and began looking over it, tucking his feet neatly in beneath him.

He didn't look up, even at R'wign's answer. It wasn't surprising, after all. "Behruth will keep him company for awhile." The brown was already curled up with his clutchbrother, though 'Ruth had been worked just as hard as M'ta today and was already drowsing. He could use a break. They both could. 'Ruth already had told Ciceroth that Checkoth's was ill enough to stay home, that they may not be in tomorrow. May. It depended on if R'wign was doing any better or not. M'ta had left thinking the dizziness would pass, but given a whole day had gone by, he wasn't inclined to let R'wign spend another day with no mobility. Not that he was going to share that with his lover.

Looking up from the slip of paper at the change in R'wign's tone, he met the man's gaze for a long moment, then reaced out to brush the hair back from his temple, letting his hand slide back to cup his head. "She's fine. Worried for you. She knows her daddy is supposed to get up every morning, but she likes playing with the other kids." M'ta didn't like having her out of the weyr at night, but he and R'wign were agreed on not exposing her. Another thing he didn't voice. "Come 'ere." He tugged the man over, wrapping his arms around him, blankets and all. "Just you try to infect me. I dare you." Pressing lips to his forehead, M'ta resettled so he could hold his weyrmate comfortably.

"We can terrorize the apprentices together when you're feeling better. I throw a mean pillow, if you recall."

[glamourie]

Thiiis was true. M’ta wasn’t nice. M’ta was meaaaan. Yeah. Really. R’wign knew better; his weyrmate was hardly ever mean. Sometimes bratty, often actually, but maliciously mean was something that he’d never seen from the other brownrider. He was pretty sure that he’d have never fallen in love with him if M’ta was legitly mean. It was just not something he found remotely attractive. That aside, R’wign was perfectly willing to call him mean any and every chance he got because M’ta deserved to be sassed until the end of time, please and thank you very much. The day he stopped teasing the other brownrider was the day that M’ta would have a full-blown anxiety attack in worry over him, so R’wign was convinced. He seemed to believe (perhaps not without foundation) that R’wign only stopped being sassy when he was really sick or really depressed. Pah. He was sick. But not sick enough to not sass his weyrmate. Nope nope nope.

“Yeah yeah, I told him that too. I tell him, go do something then, I’m the one who falls on my face when I stand up but nooo, he insists on stressing and being upset constantly.” His eye rolled and he scooted over closer to M’ta before taking another drink of his water. “He doesn’t want to be away from me any more than you do, apparently. I’ll be fine, you know.” See, see, he still had energy enough to be sassing, right right? The hug made him smile and he pushed the blankets back from his head before leaning forward to kiss M’ta’s nose; it was such a gentle action that it reeked of affection. R’wign was very fond of touchy-feely, so sue him. It made him happy, so he’d be overly maudlin and obnoxious if he so chose. “Right. Try and infect you. If I had more energy, I’d show you just how infectious I can be. You’re just going to have to settle for me snuggling up to you, though.”

And with that ‘threat’ (which wasn’t much of one, really), R’wign scooted closer and half-sprawled against M’ta, not quite letting go of his blankets yet. His head rested on M’ta’s shoulder and he nuzzled his nose into the smaller man’s neck, light and affectionate as always. His comments about Checkoth earned a distant feeling of amusement from the brown as well as silent scolding; he was just being cautious. R’wign tuned it out; he’d heard the lecture before. He was trying. He was taking care of himself. See, see, he wasn’t working when he felt sick. Anyone who nagged him could just get off it. Considering that he was staying in bed and not working or trying to micromanage the infirmary from afar (which was tempting, he had Vex who could boss people around for him), R’wign thought he was being remarkably responsible. And M’ta was warm – warm enough to make him feel less chilled. That was satisfying.

“I do recall. Pillow throwing menace. What was that for, anyway? I keep forgetting to ask,” he replied with a hint of a sulk. “I’ll let you throw pillows and I’ll just yell. A lot. I’m good at that.”

[Requiem]

"You may just have to humor us a little," M'ta commented dryly. His arms tightened around R'wign, though, wrinkling his nose in feigned protest at the kiss. He couldn't help but laugh in disbelief at R'wign's comment. "You have got to be feeling better than you were when I first dragged you out of bed. Really? Coming on to me when you've been stuck in bed all day? I'm more than happy to just snuggle with you, Mr. Contagious." He put actions to words and slide his arm lower around R'wign's waist, coiling the fingers of his other hand in his hair as the man nuzzled M'ta's neck.

An eyebrow rose at the tone coming from the man he was Joined to. "You'd think I was winging ashtrays at your head," he responded chidingly. "My weyrmate was having one of his obssessive compulsive episodes over a jar of redwort. I was merely jarring you out of it. Get used to it," he added, a mixture of defiance and smugness in his voice. "You're just lucky you didn't get anything else thrown at you that day." He leveled a look at R'wign, clearly not as upset as his words implied. "I saw you flirting with that Ba'sun person. Awfully bold to start that right in front of me. Or were you trying to get me jealous again? You do realize that I know you lean more toward women and I wouldn't feel threatened by men that old anyway, right?" An amused twinkle had entered into his eyes.

The younger brownrider stroked his hand through R'wign's hair, dark eyes drifting across the room at Sneak's heightened interest. PMS had found Vex again and was doing his best to tie the two of them into a knot, from the looks of it. "Your turnday's coming up again. And our anniversary. Did you have any requests? I'm open to anything but cutting more patterns into your skin." His hand traced over the vine in R'wign's side, rather ineffectually given the blankets in the way. It had been everything R'wign promised. He liked feeling the difference in textures, it was interesting to look at, and R'wign was far more sensitive there now. He was glad that some benefit had come of it. While he still didn't find it worth the pain or the upset, it would've been much worse if it hadn't worked out so successfully.

[glamourie]

Baaaah. Just baaaah.

He was pretty sure that Checkoth and M’ta were synchronized in some kind of weird (and highly alarming) mission to be overprotective and meddlesome. Fortunately for R’wign, his weyrmate had plenty of wing responsibilities (he was tempted to kiss Ka’rys for that), so he didn’t have to worry about M’ta fussing over him all the time. It was flattering, at times, and he did appreciate the help, but when he was awake for more than five minutes, the ornery I’m fine, look, I can take care of myself mentality took over. Under five minutes and he just complained a lot, especially if he had to get out of bed. Could anyone blame him? His entire body was sore. And R’wign never woke up gracefully. He always complained. Of course, the ideal situation for that was to be sprawled out on top of his weyrmate like some kind of bizarre human blanket, but he was perfectly willing to snuggle into his mountain of blankets (he needed at least three or he would claim that he was at risk for heart failure – dramatic much?) when he was denied his favored sleeping companion. He wasn’t picky. And when he was sick, he just slept more. Normal response, right? Honestly, in his not-so-humble opinion, Checkoth and M’ta were becoming way too much alike. And they tagteamed him. How horrifying.

“I was not having an obsessive meltdown; the redwort spilled all over the floor and I didn’t freak out and clean it up immediately, did I?” He wanted to. Oh, had he wanted to. It’d been really hard not to, in fact. But he didn’t! Mainly because the bluerider distracted him, but still! “And I wasn’t flirting with him. If I was flirting with him, I would’ve been licking the redwort off his hands and arms. I didn’t do that, did I? I was behaving. If I wanted to make you jealous, I would just… flirt with Meira at light speed or something. As far as what I prefer, I prefer you, pain in my backside.” He rolled his eye and snuggled back against M’ta, despite his grumbling. Oh, his weyrmate was right; as a rule, he generally was more attracted to women than he was men, with M’ta being the only real exception to the rule (though he certainly flirted enough with men to lead others to be confused); that didn’t change anything because he’d really just seen his interactions with Ba’sun as amusingly harmless. If he’d been trying to make M’ta jealous, there were much better people for that. People like Kaegan.

Course, that would get him in trouble. He didn’t really like it when M’ta was mad at him. Annoyed, yes. Mad? No. Not at all~

A hint of mild exasperation filled his mind and R’wign turned to follow M’ta’s gaze before crinkling his nose. Vex didn’t seem to know what to make of PMS – and R’wign found it highly amusing. She didn’t dislike him. She didn’t have any problem with him. She just… was confused by the blue more often than not and just sort of went with it; but she tended to prefer not-so-physical showings of affection. Oh well. She could take care of herself. The question made his nose crinkle and R’wign gave M’ta a look that bordered on unfriendly. “If I have to tell you what I want for our anniversary or my turnday, it doesn’t count as a surprise. And I don’t really want anything in particular anyway. I’m happiest just like we are. That’s going to make you call me difficult, though, isn’t it?” He shrugged before M’ta could respond. “Oh well. Too bad. You could try grilling Checkoth for ideas. You’re not supposed to ask me…”