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Post by glamourie on Aug 11, 2008 23:13:09 GMT -5
Ciceroth rumbled, his amusement completely undeniable. The sound was audible even from his weyr, the draconic equivalent of laughter impossible to mistake. No, as far as he knew, his Rys was incapable of human contact for long enough to have someone stored away in his weyr. A lover? No, no. Not that Ciceroth could remember; he'd conveniently forgotten that Ka'rys stayed with Leradi for three Turns back at Fort. It was too long ago for the bronze to recall with any clarity, and it didn't matter to him anymore. The fact that he felt a sudden flush of embarrassment from his Rys served only to encourage Ciceroth's rumbling; he found it very funny that without trying, Savitri had hit a soft spot. Not that she'd ever find out just how sensitive he was of that particular topic. Even Ciceroth didn't understand why the idea of hiding a lover away in his weyr offended Ka'rys so much, but he was smart enough not to ask.
Retaliating for Ciceroth's amusement - and particularly because he couldn't resist, Ka'rys met Mutasim's gaze quite sternly before saying quietly, "Perhaps he doesn't like being woken up." Actually he'd been stumbling because he was half-asleep, but whatever; he did not owe anyone an explanation. For what it was worth, it seemed his show of gracelessness had earned him some help in the scuffle, and he filed it away to mental note, but no, there was no one in his weyr. Amusingly enough, he was not at all finding it hard to picture Ciceroth shoving him out for waking him, either, though the bronze would not have ever risked him that way. Ka'rys kept that thought - and mental image - to himself. His remark, playful as it was meant, offended Ciss enough as it was. Besides, Savitri had just said something he distinctly disliked: his weyr was about to be invaded. No, no, he was not pleased by that idea at all...
Fortunately, before he could complain, he was released, and Ka'rys flopped bonelessly against the ground, knees pulled up slightly in front of him. He slowly moved to sit up, propping his weight on his right arm as opposed to the bleeding left one, and then moved to a kneeling position. The blades weren't his usual ones, and he had no where to put them as he stood up, so instead he moved both to one hand. Holding them was awkward, but that movement gave him the chance to offer his right arm to Mutasim to help him up. He'd need to check the blades over later, and to retrieve the ones he'd thrown from the floor of his weyr, but there was another time and place to deal with that. He wasn't entirely sure how the offer of help would be taken, but since he'd attacked first (and, he sheepishly thought, he'd been in the wrong), it was the least he could do without... looking petty...er.
But Muta's words brought a scowl over his face. "I'll be fine - you've got multiple injuries. You should be tended to first. More over, I have to reassure Ciceroth that I'm not going to fall over dead on a moment's notice." Okay, it was a fib. Ciceroth wasn't that worried, but his confusion needed to be addressed. True, Ka'rys could do that while tending injuries, but throwing the candidate at Savitri when she was clearly being particularly ornery was a justifiable revenge for his losing the knife fight. All for the better really; Ka'rys wasn't sure he would've been able to stop himself from a killing blow if he'd won. Still, that didn't mean he had to like it, and if he could throw Muta in front of Savitri's wrath, he was fully intending to just that. "I'll clean up the mess in the weyr, I know where all my stuff goes anyway. It's not like I'm going to bleed out in the time it takes to tend to your injuries. Just a couple cuts, right?"
He only really had that one wound on his arm, and it did hurt, it was bleeding badly, and Ka'rys honestly was beginning to feel nauseous. Would he ever admit any of that? No. He'd rather pick up the mess himself and not deal with the immediate anger Savitri was clearly displaying. The brown firelizard that appeared made him raise an eyebrow before he smiled, an amused expression that was undeniable. "Your firelizard is why mine is afraid of Aslath, you know." As if on cue, Ophelie appeared from between and scolded Mutasim once, Savitri once, and then Ka'rys once for good measure. The little green then daintily landed on Ka'rys's head and sent a flurry of images, all of his disheveled weyr, to him inquisitively. Ka'rys frowned and shook his head before looking up at her. "Oh, and now you appear - make yourself useful, would you, and go get some bandages from the infirmary?" Ophelie chirruped and then disappeared between before Ka'rys turned back to watch Mutasim with the same look a predator might an intruder in its territory. He couldn't help it; he was still coming off of auto pilot and ready for an attack at any second.
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Post by kysseh on Aug 13, 2008 3:58:25 GMT -5
Ciceroth's amused rumbling was gratifying, and Savitri took that as reassurance that Ka'rys was not as bad off as she had originally feared upon seeing that wound on his arm. It was deep and bleeding quite heavily, but it obviously was not life-threatening quite yet if Ciceroth was maintaining some sense of humor. The healer snorted softly and immediately set down the glowbasket to cast light over their section of hallway, as it was readily apparent that the seated candidate was not keen on moving. Leg or foot or ankle, she wondered? He must've had some lower limb injury if he could not get up to move away. That, or he was exhausted. Both options made her incredibly nervous. Mutasim seemed to never be still, that she had seen.
While the two bickered over who should be treated first, Savitri knelt down beside Mutasim and immediately took her bag off her shoulder, rummaging around until she found a few thick squares of bandage cloth. She folded them to an appropriate size and then immediately passed them to the weyrleader, heedless of whatever conversation she might be disturbing. "Fine. Sit. Put pressure on it to stop that bleeding," she said briskly before turning her attention to the candidate. If Ciceroth was not frantic, she was scarcely worried about Ka'rys bleeding to death. Besides that, the weyrleader was obviously tougher than he looked if he could take on Mutasim with little trouble. The boy was, quite frankly, frightening with a weapon, that she'd seem. "Still don't approve of my teachers, Ka'rys?" she asked mildly, taking a flask of warm water and wetting a square of cloth, lightly setting to work cleaning up Mutasim's face so that some of the dripping blood was gone from the cut on his forehead.
The appearance of the two flits was sudden and unexpected, and though Savitri should have protested at their continued arguments and the fact that Ka'rys sent his little green for more bandages--honestly, she had quite enough to swaddle them both up like oversized babes-- she stayed quiet and just worked on tending to the smaller combatant's cut to the head. It seemed shallow enough, but facial wounds always bled a rather large amount. "Where else are you hurt?" she asked as she used the square of bandage to apply some gentle pressure. She should have been concerned to be between two knife-wielding, adrenaline-pumped males, but as it was, she feared little from either of them... albeit for very different reasons for each.
The sniping that the weyrleader was inflicting on the poor dazed-seeming candidate was quite enough, and Savitri spared an honest glare for Ka'rys. Could he not just sit and sulk in quiet now that he had lost?! "Being rude won't help your pride, Ka'rys. Just leave him be. And neither of you should feel proud about throwing the other up for treatment first. You're worse than weyrbrats," she scolded them both in the end, though there was a mildly worried undertone to her words. She still could not fathom how close they had come to death and how easily, quickly it had happened.
She gently dabbed at Mutasim's face, repeatedly glancing over at Ka'rys to make sure he was not dying as she scolded. He seemed... upright, at least, and she asked Hepaticath to keep close tabs on Ciceroth for any signs of broadcasted mental distress. That, she figured, would be a better clue than Ka'rys' nonexistent facial expressions. Much as she was annoyed with him, she did not want to lose the bronzerider. The strange... strange bronzerider whose dragon was absolutely adored by her own Cath. Shard the man. He would have let her die without a second thought, it seemed. A pity it truly as that she had to genuinely care. Not that the men could tell by her words, of course, barring the occasional note of concern in her voice. But the gentleness with which she tended to the most visible of Mutasim's wounds was telling enough. She cared. She just... was not interested in broadcasting that fact, mostly since she saw no real point to it for the moment. The gentle, brief resting of a hand on the boy's shoulder was affection enough, and she generously slathered numbweed salve and redwort on the wound to deaden it and help prevent infection. "This'll need stitches, i think, if only to keep it from forming a puckered sort of scar. Ka'rys, how's the arm? Is the bleeding letting up?" Savitri wasted no time at all if she could help it. Keeping busy kept her from thinking, which was currently a very good thing.
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Post by reqqy on Aug 13, 2008 19:30:07 GMT -5
The candidate simply stared at Ka'rys skeptically, his sense of humor all but completely vanished. Ciceroth had not pushed Ka'rys out of the weyr and into a wall for being woken up. Yet it seemed just as clear that there truly was no one in the weyr. So the man had just run into the wall. Mutasim closed his eyes after a moment and just tried to think of an excuse for staying here rather than returning to the barracks looking like he'd been through a war without coming out and saying that he'd been breaking curfew and didn't want all the candidates - and the candidatemaster - asking questions. Strangely, he felt almost comfortable here, on the ground, not moving. The thought of having to get up was distressing. But he could manage this, he thought. Just...sitting here.
He sensed something before his face, his eyes flaring open, a dangerous light coming back into them before he realized that it was Ka'rys offering him a hand up. Muta's gaze shifted to the two blades, both bloodstained with his blood, in Ka'rys's other hand, and the candidate had to wonder if the Weyrleader had been born a fool, or if it had developed over time. He didn't want this man's help. His influence so far had just managed to, well, hurt. Realistically speaking, Ka'rys had gotten off with the lighter injuries and was in a better position physically to defend himself from further attack. By street standards, that meant he'd won this fight. Mercy was a weakness, and a flaw, which merely meant that Mutasim had lost for the same reason that any other combatant lost a fight - for some lack within himself. He couldn't be bitter about it, really. Muta just didn't feel like putting himself at the mercy of his opponent - any more than he already was.
He didn't appreciate the fact that Ka'rys fought him on the matter of these injuries, though. Couldn't he just be left to get to his own feet in peace? Was that too much to ask? Mutasim settled for a glare, gratified when Savitri seemed to turn to the Weyrleader first anyway. He stared off at a point down the hall and forced his mind back to searching out solutions. Her hand on his forehead made Mutasim jump, his eyes flaring wide as all his muscles tensed in clear 'flight or fight' reaction. Fortunately for her, his weariness slowed his natural response enough that he recognized her before he could actually strike out, the tension leaving his muscles as quickly as it had gathered. Eyes closing against her touch, he felt something inexplicable rising inside him, an actual emotion trying to push out. Gathering the tattered remnants of control around him, he only vaguely listened to the others, not registering their actual words.
Jabari's presence comforted him. The brown rubbed against his inner thigh, a mixture of a croon and a creel marking his desperate attempts on bringing Mutasim back to something like his normal self. The boy's hand stroked his firelizard in pure mechanical fashion, the injured right arm left limp at his side, an occasional twitch of his fingers any time one of Savitri's or Jabari's movements brought out a small flare of pain marking the only movement. Savitri's words managed to break through to the weary candidate after a moment. His eyes reopened to regard her searchingly, before he glared at Ka'rys even harder, not particularly fond of being fussed over. He couldn't very well tell her that he wasn't hurt anywhere else, but he didn't want Ka'rys - who continued to stare at him with that ravenous, predatory stare like he was meat - to know his foot was broken. Some part of him was convinced that would be enough to compel the Weyrleader to renew his attack.
He returned his attention to Savitri, to the play of light and shadow off her face as it huddled near him. "Left ear," he responded shortly. "I think." No, he wasn't sure, and he wasn't enough aware of himself at the moment to catalogue his injuries. All he knew was that ear had been ringing quite badly since Ka'rys had clipped it with his foot. "And a shallow cut on my right forearm." He lifted the offending limb to demonstrate. The cut truly was shallow. Mutasim said nothing about his foot, not realizing that Savitri had already noticed he was favoring his left leg.
The boy was very, very tired, as was evidenced in the way he left off stroking Jabari long enough to touch the hand on his shoulder, not holding it, just...resting his own hand there. For once, the comforting touch merely made him feel safe. He could still feel the wolf's eyes on him, but as long as Savitri was here...Definitely tired if his mind was making those sorts of connections. "That's okay," he responded to her comment about stitches, trying not to pull a face at the stench coming from the mixture of redwort and numbweed. That was...almost enough to rejuvenate him, that awful smell.
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Post by glamourie on Aug 14, 2008 1:25:28 GMT -5
Ka'rys took the offered cloth soundlessly and stepped away from Mutasim, putting a sizable distance between himself and the smaller male. His right hand clamped down firmly against the puncture wound on his left arm, holding it steady. He watched the pair out of the corner of his eye, but the flickering pain from the pressure (which would doubtlessly slow the bleeding some, but it hurt enough that he didn't like doing it) on his wound was enough to keep him from focusing intensely. It was fortunate for his distraction, as it prevented Ka'rys from giving voice to the immediate and quite snide response he had to Savitri's question. He settled for a warning look that made it clear she was treading on thin ice, but kept his mouth shut. He'd never said he disapproved of her teachers. If he had disapproved, he wouldn't have given her the slightest indication; she would not have suspected at all. He'd only said he didn't know who Mutasim was. Not knowing someone didn't disqualify them as competent. He could list a lot of people that he didn't know that were likely competent teachers. The back of his mind flooded with scolding remarks, not the least of which was that if she wanted to be totally honest, yes, he did disapprove of a teacher that seemed to feel it fine to wander into someone else's weyr at night in the dark when they were sleeping, regardless of the reasons. If the boy hadn't been as fast as he was, his guts would've been on the floor from that first strike. The second person Ka'rys killed was that way. He knew he was efficient. He just wasn't accustomed to dealing with people who matched him for speed - or surpassed him. Savitri didn't surpass him. If it had been her, she wouldn't have lived. Did she realize that, the dire nature of what had happened? No, probably not. He kept it to himself.
Rude? She thought he was being rude? Wasn't that a funny statement. Ka'rys bit his tongue and took the opportunity of Mutasim speaking (and Savitri's evident distraction in treating him) to wander properly back toward his weyr. He wasn't being rude. He'd just been trying to sway her attention away from him. She could say what she wanted but Ka'rys did not like being fussed over. He could just as easily bind his arm himself. It probably needed stitches, but he'd be fine if he kept it bandaged. It would scar, but better a scar than dealing with women nagging at him. He'd had a mother once and she'd abandoned him, as far as he knew. He'd been fostered out, and she'd abandoned him as soon as he was old enough to care for himself, too. There was no need for being mothered in his life. The only living entity allowed to scold and sneer at him for getting himself hurt was the great hulking bronze, who was busy being irritated over him being 'irrational' rather than over his injuries -- for the moment. Doubtlessly he hadn't heard the last of Ciceroth's complaints, but at least they weren't stacked on top of Savitri's.
And the fact that she felt compelled to mention pride made him angry. It wasn't entirely fair, but didn't she realize that there were some things one didn't comment on? Just as he was intelligent enough not to rub it in her face that she'd needed help at the river (and he'd given her a choice), she should have been proper enough not to smear what she felt was a 'loss' in his face. He was alive. That was victory enough in Ka'rys's eyes. Such a southern view, she had. Was his pride wounded? A little, but sometimes it was necessary to take a blow to one's pride to learn to improve, to succeed. He didn't think that the candidate would prove himself dangerous again; he'd be on his guard, of course, and never give his back to the boy, but he didn't expect an all out attack. He'd put Ciceroth on keeping an out for it just in case, but it seemed to Ka'rys that if the boy had meant to kill him, he'd have done it, and he didn't. Logic dictated that it was a misunderstanding. A potentially fatal one, but a misunderstanding nonetheless. Savitri could think what she wanted, but he wasn't mortally wounded and he'd live to fight another day. That meant his mistakes weren't entirely fatal. Bad enough that he'd be going back to practicing, but not so much that he was in fear for his life. So naive, so foolish. He bit his tongue.
Through the back of his mind, he counted, going over the entire 'fight' as though it was the most familiar thing to him. His eyes dropped to the ground and to his feet, replaying everything in his mind's eye like it was happening again. Each step, each movement, the sharp flare of pain - and then he was again distracted, though by a question rather than an insulting comment.
"My arm is fine," he replied loftily, though it wasn't fine by any means. Though the bleeding was letting up, it hurt, and his stomach was starting to turn. He was fairly sure he was going pale, but he didn't give voice to that knowledge or outwardly acknowledge it in any way. Just as he refused to admit he needed stitches. It was probably the most blasé answer he could have offered, too; neither an honest answer or a commitment to any problem. Anyone with eyes in their head could tell his arm wasn't fine, but he didn't want help, and particularly not Savitri's, as he was angry with her. He settled for glancing down at the bandages he was pressing into his arm, his fingers weakly holding the daggers. It was harder to hold them than he wanted to admit, though, as the blood circulation in his arm was disrupted and so was his grip. Shards. "The bleeding is slowing - a little." He shrugged. He had to speak louder than he liked, since he was ever-so-slowly attempting to flee back into his weyr. (He hoped if he made no sudden movements the angry female would somehow miss that he was casually putting more and more distance between himself and her.) At least there he was semi-safe from the goldrider's wrath. Sort of.
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Post by kysseh on Aug 14, 2008 2:24:10 GMT -5
Though he had seemed initially startled by her treatment of his face, Mutasim had at least not put a blade through her. Savitri cursed her own stupidity. She really needed to get into this 'cautious' mentality, as difficult as it was. She could be very cautious around certain things. Wild felines... large fish... big, dangerous men. Apparently, knives needed to be added to the mix. She had seen the aftermath of violent fights before, sure, but the aftermath was all she had seen. Not the actual practice. This was an entirely new and unwelcome experience that she was going to have to adjust to rather quickly. Shardit. She hated dealing with vicious knife wounds like these.
She ignored Ka'rys for the moment, satisfied that he was not keeling over for now. Mutasim was her priority until some of the life returned to him, and she was startled but gratified when his hand came up to rest on hers, as she was already mentally cataloguing his list of wounds in an attempt to see what she should treat first. Well, the forehead wound was started, and she flicked him a brief smile tinted with a bit of concern before moving up to her knees to get on a better level to tend to his forehead. "The numbweed dulls the pain, but you may feel a bit of pulling. I'll try to make this quick," she told him as she fished out some needlethorn and stitch material. These stitches would have to be removed in a sevenday, and she made quick work of putting the edges back together, careful to not draw them too tightly. The stitches were running ones, which meant the scar would be less raised. It'd be a bit of a challenge to pull out, but numbweed could dull the pain quite easily and keep scar tissue from forming around the knots. She finished within moments and tied off and trimmed the end. More numbweed and a bandage covered up the rather unsightly wound, and she flicked him another sort of smile. "Done. See me in a sevenday, and I'll pull those out. Try to keep numbweed on it at least once or twice a day to keep it from drying out or getting too painful."
She moved to look at the injured ear, gratified to find only the start of a beautiful-looking bruise and some red rawness. What he'd done to that was beyond her, but it didn't seem quite that serious. "A little raw, a little bruised. You'll live," she told him dryly as she moved on to his arm. Ka'rys was not forgotten, but seeing as the weyrleader had now fallen silent and was probably sulking--she would not put that sort of childishness past him, and it buoyed her spirits to think that he had enough energy to sulk--Mutasim could be tended to first. The arm was only shallowly wounded and received numbweed and a decent coating of bandages before she was satisfied. Quick... efficient... but hurtful to her heart to see him so injured. And that still left the foot or ankle or leg, which could wait until the weyrleader was dealt with. "We'll talk about your leg in a minute. Ka'rys, what- Ka'rys!"
The healer only now noticed that one of her patients was attempting an escape, and she snorted in frustration, puffing up a bit and glaring in an attempt to cover the initial, concerned widening of her eyes. What was he doing?! The amount of his blood on the floor made him quite the liar. His arm was far from fine, and she was not going to let him wander off to deal with it. "A little isn't enough. Please come back here so I can deal with it." Her tone was one of slightly nervous impatience, and she backed it up with a threat. "And I'll chase you into your weyr if I have to. You look terrible." And honestly, he did, even in the weak light of the single glowbasket for as far away as he was.
She quickly realized that something slightly more diplomatic might work better... though she would rather not waste time with pleasantries. That being said, she gave up the impatient and frustrated act and resorted to something a little closer to reality, which meant that her eyes and tone softened up just enough to let the bronzerider know that she was not trying to humiliate, intimidate, or browbeat him purely out of anger. The gentleness she had displayed with Mutasim was genuine, and that would be extended to Ka'rys if he would only get over here so she could stop worrying that he was dying of blood loss. "Please?" Shardit, but that had almost hurt to say. If he had not been injured, it would have hurt to resort to that. Now, it was a necessary sacrifice.
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Post by reqqy on Aug 14, 2008 22:47:15 GMT -5
He just wanted her there. Her. Someone. Women, though he rarely acknowledged them as separate from himself in that manner, tended to have a soothing affect on Mutasim, who could never be comfortable around males. The candidate returned her smile, but it was not his. Too childlike and vulnerable to be the candidate's. Even at his most relaxed. His eyes never left her, truly, though they didn't seek out her face, just continuing to stare straight ahead. For anyone else, it would have been rude and crass, but Mutasim was merely comforted by the rise and fall of her chest because it meant that she lived. Her steady breaths meant there was nothing to fear, no danger. A part of him wanted to bury his head in her chest and just listen to her breathing, her living, but that would displease her. Mutasim wasn't sure why, he just knew it would.
Ka'rys was now just a presence in the back of his mind, an evil darkness that he wanted to run from. No, not Ka'rys, but what Ka'rys had come to represent as pain and bloodloss and emotional exhaustion worked together to bury Mutasim's faculties beneath a series of impressions that were just as much founded in his past and pure concepts as reality. He hardly even noticed the pull on his forehead. It was inconsequential. Then she was speaking again, and the candidate forced himself to return, to climb out from beneath the darkness and actually think. "Numbweed, once or twice. Come back in a sevenday," he repeated, trying to force himself to remember, knowing even now that he wouldn't unless by some miracle. Mutasim was back, but he could feel his mind struggling with him. The rational thoughts were being battered from all directions. Wouldn't it just be easier to shut them down? No. Concentrate.
Her tone and words were short with him, and for some reason the candidate felt violated when she spoke that way. Savitri was supposed to be the one who was protecting him, helping him, and yet she spoke like that. More of the candidate was returning with every passing moment as his wariness was beginning to reassert itself. Typical sharding healer. She saw someone bleeding and she couldn't resist 'fixing it,' upbraiding him all the while. The candidate knew this wasn't true, knew he was just pulling up his walls again, because vulnerability was something he'd been taught he couldn't afford. It didn't change the surge of betrayal he felt. "Of course," he replied, just as sharply. "They're all superficial. You think I'm going to take any real abuse from a southerner?"
No, Ka'rys wasn't a native southerner, but the south had most certainly softened him. Shells, had it not been for Mutasim's old wound coming back to bite him in the arse, he would have clearly dominated that fight on all levels. What was a few scratches and scrapes? Only the broken foot, which couldn't even be attributed to Ka'rys because it was really the result of falling out of a tree two turns ago and not going to a healer to get it properly set, was any real concern.
He settled for looking somewhere else as she worked on his arm, already feeling like he was just acting like a brat and wanting to apologize but...no, then he'd be right back where he started. It would do Savitri no good to grow attached to him in any way, anyway. People who got close to him died. Yes, better to just be an ornery cuss and drive them all away. Looking at Ka'rys, though, he didn't know if that's what he truly wanted for himself. Shardit! What did it matter? He couldn't handle any more losses like those he'd taken. He simply couldn't. Already, he suspected that losing Savitri would hurt him. Better cut it off now before it became deep enough to make him sink into a well like he had with Z'hin.
His leg? Shells, he didn't realize she'd notice. Had she seen him move, or was his foot already swelling up large enough to be obvious? Jumping as she called out Ka'rys's name, he reached for her, but his hand fell before he could complete the movement. Savitri needed to see to the man, too. Mutasim couldn't claim her. Couldn't justify the claiming, when he was trying to push her away at the same time. The conflicting desires were tearing through him and he just...wanted to get back to the barracks and sleep. Maybe for a sevenday. Just sleep. "Let her," he growled at the Weyrleader. His eyes flashed up to glare at Ka'rys. "You think you can get away with using me as a diversion? Suck it up, let her look at the arm, and you can go into your weyr and mope in private." The pent-up frustration was finally flaring at Ka'rys.
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Post by glamourie on Aug 14, 2008 23:27:12 GMT -5
Ka'rys glanced at Savitri, mentally flinching. Thwarted. He stopped with his slow amble backwards, and he was going to let her look at his arm. He was. But then Mutasim spoke and any amount of ability to cooperate he had completely dissolved into cold fury. All of his emotions buried deep down -- under lock and key. He raised an eyebrow and looked away from the goldrider to the candidate and the expression he wore was blank. Guarded.
There were so many things he wanted to do. The first, instinctive reaction was to point out that the boy had gotten lucky to avoid his guts splattered over the floor. The second was to eliminate a possible threat to him. Survival instinct was flaring and Ka'rys had no problem being sneaky and unpleasant. He didn't care much about honor or fairness, as long as he was safe. Safety trumped all else. All of that, though, was buried down with the simple knowledge that the insult the boy had thrown at him (and it was an insult) applied to him as well. He'd attacked first. He'd nearly gutted the candidate, and when he had the chance to finish it, he'd backed away. He'd shown 'mercy' and mercy was weakness that no one in the north would respect. Were they in the north, the boy would've been killed for his indiscretion. Ka'rys knew it, and he strongly suspected that the boy with the smart mouth knew it, too. He wouldn't have returned the courtesy. Were their positions flipped, he'd have killed him. That mercy wasn't what Ka'rys's plague was - he was simply out of practice. There was quite a difference, and he kept his mouth shut about it. He didn't need to rub that fact in the boy's face. He might have thought he was being kind. Ka'rys didn't, and he didn't let himself get angry enough to retaliate.
No, Ka'rys had noticed that one single movement - his arm reaching out toward Savitri - and Ka'rys was nothing if not vindictive, particularly when he was angry. He glanced at Mutasim, and then quite deliberately stopped backing away, instead walking over and holding out his left arm for Savitri to check. It was meant to be malicious. If he wanted her attention so much, he shouldn't have shot off his mouth. Ka'rys would've happily waited until he was fine - checked out, but fine. But no, the boy felt the need to be insulting, when Ka'rys hadn't been, and he was going to milk any weakness he could for all it was worth. He wasn't above being childish. While he wanted more than anything else to simply slink away and 'lick his wounds' so to speak (he was capable of stitching himself up, albeit poorly), he was not going to give in and give the boy what he completely wanted. Oh, true, he'd told him to stay, but Ka'rys strongly suspected having to completely share Savitri's attention wasn't exactly high on his good lists. He'd been reaching out for her, hadn't he? Hmph.
He didn't respond out loud to the argumentative comments, either. He wasn't a child, it wasn't his job to bicker. Ka'rys simply turned his attention back to Savitri and fixed her with an intent stare. No smile. No expression. His stomach was twisting and he thanked Faranth that he hadn't eaten. Had he, he might have had trouble stabilizing himself. The pain was bad enough that his vision was blurring too - or was it blood loss? He wasn't sure. His skin had taken on a pasty shade that wasn't entirely healthy, either, but he kept himself as outwardly composed as ever. Ka'rys was used to pain. It wasn't new to him, and neither was the light-headed feeling from bloodloss, although he was secretly concerned he was about to faint. Ciceroth at the back of his mind reassured him, but only slightly. He didn't feel very safe, and he wasn't about to give any indication to how uncomfortable he was, if he could help it.
"It likely just needs a couple stitches, Savitri; I'll be fine." He raised an eyebrow at her, then removed the bandages for her to get a better look at the wound. "I've seen worse. I can stitch it up myself. You might do better to tend to your candidate friend." His voice was guarded, but the refusal to use Mutasim's name was a sure sign he was annoyed. He felt a hint of amusement coming from Ciceroth, and glanced toward his weyr. He was tempted to shout that there was nothing funny, and he honestly did not know what Ciceroth found so humorous. However, he kept it to himself, instead looking back at the healer with both eyebrows raised, waiting to be 'dismissed' -- so he could go back to his weyr and, as the candidate had put it, 'mope.' (More likely plot, but semantics...)
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Post by kysseh on Aug 17, 2008 2:00:34 GMT -5
Savitri noticed Mutasim's staring but chose to not comment. The candidate seemed so unusually childlike that she could scarcely call him on such an adolescent indulgence. Staring at her chest... really? He had never, ever stared like that before. Maybe he was trying to distract himself, and she could hardly deny him that. It made her job easier if his mind was largely occupied and he was not focused on fighting her as she tried to treat him. All these were positive things, though the tone of his repetition made her think that he was not listening or paying attention to her at all. Ah well. At least he was not in pain. The numbweed should have handled that.
His sharpness was unexpected, and Savitri was startled enough to stare at his face for a brief second in the less-than-ideal lighting, her expression clearly displaying her honest surprise at his sudden turn in behavior. What... how... well, this was more like the normal Mutasim, but it was a rather dramatic jump in attitudes, even for him. She was trying to help, and he snapped at her with glaring inaccuracies about Ka'rys' origins. She would have corrected his assumptions, but it was hardly worth the effort. Her bewilderment with his sudden change in behavior was obvious and written all over her expressive face, brow furrowed and head tilted a bit as she tried to digest the implications of this new Mutasim.
Then everything went awry.
Stupid, she was not, and she would have to have been stupid to miss that Mutasim reached for her. Whether it was or comfort or possession was debatable, but he had reached for her nonetheless, snapping at Ka'rys in an effort to 'help' perhaps. She gave a startled, dismayed exclamation at the young man and turned to Ka'rys just in time to see his expression replaced by a cold, flat, emotionless mask. Blank. Perfectly formless. Perfectly..... devastating to Savitri in her current emotional state, and her hurt was obvious. Her shoulders slumped for a moment, her thoughts of efficient healing gone in the light of the fact that she was stunned at how negatively both men had reacted to her extra attempts at kindness. She was always gentle with her patients, in her touch at the very least. Her words were not soft and compassionate and lightly spoken, but she was never harsh or uncaring or emotionally detached. But... at the same time, putting forth enough effort to be visibly gentle, visibly caring... it made her wish for some sort of response. Instead, what she got was snappishness, avoidance, and the cold shoulder.
It was far from encouraging.
Her lapse in focus lasted only a brief second, and then her chin was up, her usual practicality and neutral expression returning minus the wounded expression that she could not seem to chase from her eyes. "Sit." If the tone was a tad on the frosty side of her usual briskness, the men should have been able to understand. Should have. Apparently, each was too busy wallowing in his own injured pride and self-pity to give a care about what she wanted beyond appeasing her enough to leave them alone to fight again. Well, fine, then. She doubted they'd have the energy to do it, and based on Ka'rys' rather ghastly appearance, that was almost a certainty.
She didn't bother to wait for him to obey and simply grasped his wrist in her left hand. As soon as the bandages were free, she liberally smeared on the numbweed, not bothering to be especially gentle in her haste. The salve would numb it within an instant, so any pain from her lack of finesse would last the most fleeting of moments. "It'll take internal stitches. You've severed a vein. Hold still," she said shortly, ignoring his comment to tend to Mutasim first. He was not even snapping at the boy, though he had to be irritated. She doubted that Ka'rys possessed the capacity for just letting those sort of comments slide. Her right hand efficiently collected needlethorn and the attached line of organic stitch material. These would not have to be removed, though they took awhile to dissolve into the body. Just as well, really, for she did not want to have to re-open his arm to fix again a severed vessel. Luckily, it was only cut and not completely shorn in half, and she moved her left hand up to open up the wound, ignoring the blood flowing freely out. "This will hurt."
Though the numbweed likely dulled the pain, she imagined he could feel the neat, even stitches she was making in the side of the vessel in an attempt to halt the free-flowing blood. The stitches were tiny, but her hand was steady, despite her upset. She forced herself to think of it as just another wound and was thusly pleased when finished, using one of the towels from her bag to put pressure on the still-open wound. It could have been far worse, and she still had to do the outside. She chanced a glance up at his face. "Are you doing all right?" she inquired, and she could not quite keep her voice neutral, a faint note of worry creeping in that she attempted to ignore. "If you pass out on me, I'm taking you to the Infirmary. Both of you." Mutasim was included with a quick glance this time. She was loathe to bring them there and have to spit out the whole sordid tale, but she would, if she thought either was in real danger of dying. The healer refused to lose either of her two patients.... friends... acquaintances... whatever-they-were-to-her. She couldn't give an honest answer to that.
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Post by reqqy on Aug 17, 2008 21:42:01 GMT -5
Mutasim's glare focused to a pinpoint the moment he noticed when Ka'rys decided to comply. Not when Savitri spoke, not even when he did. No, the bronzerider had been moving before then. He mentally shrugged. Whatever. If the Weyrleader was childish enough that he could only allow himself to be treated if it was to spite Mutasim, he was both negligible and Muta supposed he was serving his purpose, such as it was. He didn't care one whit if Ka'rys passed out due to blood loss. The stupid fool had attacked someone he couldn't match for no reason other than his own paranoia, and he couldn't even graciously - no, rationally - deal with the consequences. If Ka'rys died, however, because of his idiocy, Mutasim would not fare well, and he'd much prefer not to go through that. So if Ka'rys had to think that Mutasim would prefer that Savitri just remain with him in order to ensure he didn't bleed to death, the candidate could handle looking like a pathetic fool. Besides, he wasn't selfish enough to want her all to himself. He'd just been caught off-guard when she pulled away, was all.
No, it wasn't Ka'rys's actions toward him that first inspired the anger. It was the fact that the man didn't seem to be reacting to Savitri at all. That wouldn't even bother him, considering Mutasim would have been grateful if someone like that man didn't react to him, but it obviously hurt Savitri. Any fool could have seen that clearly. Of course, Mutasim could say nothing about it, because this was between Ka'rys and the goldweyrling and because...he hadn't been much better. It was done. Overwith. No turning back now. Somehow, he'd already come to the point where just seeing that shocked look on her face had nearly made him break down, despite his determination. If he ever did anything to cause that reaction that he now saw turned on the Weyrleader, Mutasim would not be able to continue. He'd have to stop and beg her forgiveness. The look pained him.
Even directed at someone else.
He wanted to apologize right now, to tell her he wasn't mad at her at all, that he shouldn't have snapped at her. Yet this wasn't the time. And he couldn't - couldn't continue to look at that expression and do nothing. He had to admit, though...Mutasim took a perverse pleasure from the fact that Ka'rys had been wounded that deeply, if only because it made up for the man's idiocy a little. And, well, while Muta wasn't particularly prideful, he liked the idea of being able to clearly dominate in a fight with a bronzerider orginally from the north, even if the man had obviously been softened by his turns here. The boy carefully kept this feeling to himself, both because he knew it wouldn't be appreciated by the other two people here, and because it disturbed him a little that he still got a thrill out of being able to...kill someone. A monster. Yes, the north had forged him into something - other. Even for the north. Especially for the south. Or was it always inside him, this evil creature?
Time to stop thinking down those lines. He definitely couldn't watch Savitri's pain. Pulling up his leg, he winced, carefully moving to try to avoid Ka'rys's attention. The man should be very much preoccupied with his arm right now, anyway. Mutasim suppressed a sigh, stroking Jabari lightly as his eyes traced what was already becoming a bruise, one that seemed to spiderweb out from that old scar where the bone had originally punctured his foot. Definitely broken. At this point, he was beginning to suspect it had been properly shattered. One weak point...That would explain why every movement practically had him grinding his teeth. The hand that wasn't occupied with Jabari drifted down, delicately trying to feel out the foot without it becoming so painful that - he blanched and immediately left off. Worse than before. Mutasim had pushed the bone back into his foot the first time, but now he could barely touch it.
Probably shattered. Just...wonderful. Well, it was bound to happen eventually, if his foot was that weak. His skin had paled, but it would not be obvious. That, at least, he had on Ka'rys - everyone could tell that the Weyrleader was barely holding himself together, despite his impassive mask. He looked up at Savitri, not even noticing that he'd been biting his lip until the pressure finally worked past the radiating pain in his foot. Mutasim met her eyes and nodded, his own gaze flicking toward Ka'rys, as if to say that she needed to concentrate on the Weyrleader now instead of diverting her attention to him. The candidate would be fine so long as he didn't try to move on the shard-blasted thing. He wasn't bleeding all over the place.
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Post by glamourie on Aug 17, 2008 23:28:28 GMT -5
What, exactly, was with that look? A cold surge of annoyance flashed through his mind, along with confusion and a hint of hurt. What had he done wrong now? He wanted, so much, to snap that he didn't deserve that look; Ka'rys, as far as he knew, hadn't done anything but what Savitri asked. And she was clearly upset. Some part of him was exasperated, and only the fact that he had a startling amount of control over his facial features prevented the annoyance and anger from spilling over into view. As it was, he tensed and she was close enough to touching him that she would doubtlessly be able to pick up on the fact that Ka'rys was no where near as calm as he was. If the world wasn't blurring before his eyes, he might have snarled something unpleasant and stalked off, or at least done the latter. He could've found another healer, he could have done something - anything - but he didn't. He settled for sitting exactly as he was told, and turning his eyes back to Mutasim. The boy presented the perfect excuse to not have to look at Savitri or acknowledge the turbulence flaring through his insides.
A sharp tinge of pain and then hideous - hideous smell - and numb. The numb sent alarm through Ka'rys and, against his better judgment, he glanced back at his arm. The blood didn't bother him. The numbweed did. He hated numbweed, hated the feeling of his injuries being numbed; it felt alien and unreal. Even threadscore he would avoid numbweed treatment if he could help it. He hated that feeling. He'd take pain over wondering whether or not his limb had just been cut off any chance he got.
Unblinking, Ka'rys watched Savitri with an almost perverse fascination. The cold expression on his face faded slightly, into a more inquisitive expression; a severed vein, really? He was impressed, privately, as he'd managed to keep going despite the pain. No, he wasn't happy, but at least he knew he had a higher pain tolerance than he'd given himself credit for. The blood was interesting, too. No, he wasn't someone intensely fascinated by it usually, but watching himself bleed was a rather curious experience. He felt like he was standing on the sidelines watching a show, detached and distant. The nausea was bad enough that he was fairly sure he'd need to sleep for a while to recover, but the sight of stained red along his torn and tattered sleeve, coupled with the knowledge that the blood was his, the injury his own, was enough to diminish his anger to a more acceptable level.
Ciceroth, tell Hepaticath to tell Savitri that I'm nauseous - I don't want him overhearing. And can you ask if there's a treatment for this, standardly, that doesn't involve numbweed? He felt a surge of annoyance from the bronze, and blinked twice, his confusion showing clearly over his face. What are you angry about?
Hepaticath's is upset, and you haven't asked why. You ask her, or I won't ask Hepaticath what you want to know. You ask her. The amount of firmness in his response surprised Ka'rys and he had the distinct impression he'd somehow offended Ciceroth. She's helping you and she doesn't have to, you owe her better than that, and I will not stand by and help you disrespect her. I'll tell her your answer to her question if you ask her what she's upset about, no more, no less. Otherwise you can answer out loud and let that candidate hear, and I know you don't want that, Rysmine. Do it.
Ka'rys twisted his face up, scrunching his nose comically. His own dragon was blackmailing him. He'd have found it entertaining, if not for the fact that he really did not want to discuss anything of emotional complexity in front of a complete and total stranger. Nor did he fancy the idea of admitting ignorance in front of .. anyone. Yet, admitting weakness wasn't exactly appealing, either. He weighed his options carefully for a moment before turning to look at Savitri, so that he could not see the candidate at all. It would be easier, if he didn't have to have a reminder of why he was upset at all, or so he hoped. Besides, the boy looked distracted enough, and if he gutted him while he tried to talk, well, it was Ciss's fault. He was not going to take a hint of responsibility for it - none.
"What did I do?" he asked, quietly, as if keeping his voice down could keep Mutasim from hearing him. It wasn't the most .. polite of responses, but it was better than completely ignoring her feelings, he supposed. He'd have preferred to talk about it when they were alone, but since Ciceroth wouldn't allow it... "You're upset - I get that, what I don't get is why...?"
Ciceroth huffed, quite audible, even from his spot in his weyr. But he was true to his word, Hepaticath, Rysmine wants Yours to know that he's nauseous, but otherwise okay; he does not believe he is close to fainting. He also does not feel comfortable saying it in front of KnifeBoyWithTheGlows, so he asked me to tell you. He did not ask Ka'rys's question, though. No, Ka'rys could ask Savitri himself if he wanted to know. Ciceroth was not going to play messenger when His was being ridiculous.
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Post by kysseh on Aug 18, 2008 2:02:13 GMT -5
Savitri was not foolish and inattentive enough to miss Mutasim's attempt at movement, and she flicked him a remonstrative look. He did not need to further harm that injury by walking on it, and though her hold on Ka'rys' arm did not slack in the least, she pinned Mutasim with a forceful look. It was tempered somewhat by the fact that she could not seem to handle the conflicting emotions of concern, anger, hurt, and her eyes seemed to show it. "Don't try. It'll only make it worse. Just give me a minute," she said quietly, her voice as steady as she could make it. She hated her lack of composure. She prided herself on her control, even if she was expressive about her feelings. "I'll be done with him really soon."
She returned her attention to Ka'rys only to find him staring with some sort of perverse curiosity at his injury... at what she was doing to it. He seemed... interested, and then he was suddenly confused, and Savitri wanted to slap him around the face for his utter ridiculousness, his selfishness. She supposed it was a typical male, typical bronzerider response. Of course he thought only of himself and his pride. He would care little for Mutasim or for her own feelings on the matter, and suddenly, it didn't surprise her that he did fail to notice her upset at his lack of response to the kindness she had shown him. Or... was trying to show him.
Her attention returned to his arm. She wanted to express her anger at him, her frustration, her hurt, but she could not force any viciousness into her touch. The healer knew that she had to keep her focus on the wound just to keep herself in check, and that was the extent of her attention. She just kept up the pressure on his arm for a moment and then removed the towel, looking over the injury, satisfied with the way the vein was repaired. The bleeding continued, but she simply set aside the towel and fetched a needlethorn and more stiff stitches from her bag with her right hand. These stitches would have to be removed later, but she was relying on that. It would give her some relief to see him again and know he was uninjured, and then she could be satisfied with ignoring and avoiding the selfish, arrogant-
His words had her startled, and she flicked her eyes up toward his face for just a moment, her surprise evident on her face. Then the reality of the words struck her, and her brow furrowed as she heard a disdainful sounding noise from Ciceroth in his weyr. Hepaticath's dutiful relay of the message only made Savitri duck her head and focus on the wound. His selfish pride made her face tense, her jaw locking firmly as she fought back an overwhelming feeling of upset and distress. How could he not understand?! All he cared about was the fact that his pride not be damaged, and she just smeared on another generous helping of numbweed and redwort and started to stitch, ignoring his question for the moment as she worked to close up the neat puncture wound.
It was done too soon, and she was aware of Hepaticath's worried presence in the back of her mind as she dabbed away the last of the blood and then commenced wrapping the arm in a bandage. Her voice was quiet and even as she gave him instructions. "Keep it moist with numbweed or aloe. I'll remove the stitches in about a sevenday. Then you can be rid of me, since that's obviously what you want." Her face was wet, she realized suddenly, and she blinked rapidly in obvious confusion, wondering if his blood had splattered on to her. She turned and rubbed her face against her short sleeve, pausing in her bandaging as she pulled her face away from her sleeve to see what the problem was.
Oh, shards, she was crying!
She just stared in complete silence at her damp sleeve. One tear... maybe two, but she was sure her eyes were red due to the stinging she now noticed, something she had disregarded before. She swallowed and then lifted her chin and refocused her attention to bandaging Ka'rys' arm, neatly tying the ends of the bandage and then pulling away. She finally lifted her face to look him in the eye. "I'm upset because I'm making an effort to be kind to you and help, and you're spitting that right back in my face." That was far from all she wanted to say to him, but she could not force out the rest. She did not make that extra effort often, but for both of them, Ka'rys even moreso, to reject her attempts at friendliness was... discouraging at best.
Hepaticath responded with an outpouring of love and adoration to Hers, crooning softly from her couch in the barracks as she attempted to soothe the upset and angry young woman. She touched on her playmate's mind, wanting to know what could possibly motivate Ciceroth's to be so cruel. Ciceroth, why is Yours being mean to Mine? She is upset! Her upset was obvious, and though she regretted her own rudeness in asking Ciceroth, she was too worried about Hers--her obvious first priority--to be all too guilty. The fact that Savitri was hurting made her hurt, and if Hepaticath could have reached Hers, she would have.
Savitri tried to soothe her dragon, but with both of them already worked up, it was useless. The healer just composed herself and turned away from Ka'rys to rummage through her bag for more supplies. "I'd suggest you do something to have this hallway cleaned of blood," she told the weyrleader in a very even tone, cleaning the blood off her hands and then pulling out a handful of roll bandages. Time to tend to her other patient, it seemed. "I'm not going to say a word about this, but a lot of blood will make other people ask questions." And frankly, she was not in the mood to clean up the entirety of this disaster with the way they were treating her. She was tired, she was upset, and she was nearing the point where she wanted to just shove the idiot off his weyrledge. But... that would be punishing poor Ciceroth. "Mutasim, what's wrong with your foot?" Shardit, she needed to work on keeping control of her voice!
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Post by reqqy on Aug 18, 2008 3:02:44 GMT -5
The candidate froze as Savitri apparently noticed what he was up to. He really didn't intend to...move on it. Mutasim just had wanted to see what it looked like, if it really was what he thought it was. And, of course, he'd been rather hoping it wasn't. Just the distress that seemed to radiate from her, though, made him freeze, and he decided that distressing her further would definitely fall somewhere within the 'bad' category. If it wasn't Savitri they were talking about, she'd likely be crying. Mutasim hated tears. They reminded him of hungry, weary children, of death and, most of all, of Shitaki. The boy himself didn't cry as a general rule - with the noticeable exception of when he was drunk. He was supposed to be the strong one for so long, and then afterwards crying was acknowledging not only that he hurt, but that he had reason to. No, Mutasim didn't cry.
Then she was occupied again, and Ka'rys was more than just a bit obviously off in space, so Mutasim went back to his surrepitious investigations, probing from the outside in until he couldn't stand it anymore. Jabari nuzzled up against him, but remained silent. Definitely the same bone, but he thought he might have broken another one when this one snapped, or at least chipped it in a couple of places. Not that it mattered, really, considering he wasn't a healer. Swelling up. Almost made him want to poke it with a knife to see if it would explode in puss and blood. Probably not puss yet, he considered after a moment, but almost definitely blood. Blood, blood, everywhere. The Weyrleader's blood and a little of his. Did that make them blood brothers?
Staring at the stains on the ground, he leaned toward one, tracing the outer edge with a finger. That one looked strange, familiar, like he should know what it was, what it represented, but couldn't quite place it. Mutasim stared at the bloodstain quite pensively. He scratched at his nose, smearing some of it on his face, then made a little distressed sound and tried to wipe it away with his arm. Then, of course, the blood was on his bare arm, because he didn't wear sleeves anymore and had quite forgotten. There was no easy way to clean his arm without getting the blood on another part of him. Blood. Too much blood. They'd bled, hadn't they? Yes. That was the point. So quick and fast he'd been practically covered from head to toe. Stupid, stupid men, falling asleep. He'd bound them...and...too much blood. His fingers twitched.
Not hearing Ka'rys's softly spoken words, the boy stared at Jabari curiously, as the brown was nibbling at him. Silly, silly firelizard. Why the nibbles? That was when Savitri's voice came, chilly and distressed, and this time he paid a little more attention. What? Crying? Crying! He hated crying. They'd all cried, he thought, but he'd been too dead. Yes, they all cried when the blood soaked their...Blinking, he snarled at Jabari, who had firmly latched onto his thumb at the knuckle. It did the trick, though, Muta's mind sliding back over into reality, and he stared at Savitri and Ka'rys. The bronzerider looked completely shocked - which said a lot, given the man had been practically expressionless the entire time.
Mutasim couldn't deal with tears. He wanted to, really (well, not generally, but with Savitri he would have liked to erase them), but they always started him off. Just remembering Narna made him uneasy. He would not cry in front of that sharding bronzerider. What had Savitri all worked up, anyway? He had half a mind to pound some sense into the other male on pure principle, just for making his friend cry. Savitri wasn't the sort to do so for no reason. The Weyrleader most certainly was at fault. Uneasy, the candidate's gaze flicked toward the stairs, torn between comforting her, sniping at Ka'rys, or fleeing. None of them were a particularly good option.
Immediately sobering at her words, now he was even more torn as to what to do. If she was mad at Ka'rys for 'spitting her kindness back in her face' to the point of tears, she couldn't be regarding him much more favorably. He didn't know that he wanted to be around when she turned her attention to him. Then again, he didn't want to leave her here feeling like this, either. Shard-blast it. Not that he could, really, aside from rolling about like a loon. Which was beginning to look more and more feasible as Savitri spoke about the blood on the floor in such a deadpan tone.
He blinked, disoriented by the sudden change in topic, then glanced back down at the offending appendage. Mutasim also cast a glance at Ka'rys, but...he figured that if the bronzerider decided to take advantage of his weakness, he could simply stick a few daggers in him to make his point. Savitri wouldn't be happy, and Ka'rys certainly wouldn't, but self-defense was self-defense. "Old injury," he replied softly, almost sullenly, because he knew it was his own sharding fault that his foot was acting up again. "Fell out of a tree and broke it, but...I hate infirmarys." The goldweyrling was certainly smart enough to deduce that it meant he probably hadn't gone to one, and probably hadn't received anything in the way of proper treatment. "I think I just rebroke it." Yes, he did say 'I.' It could have been anything, anyone. Certainly taking a blow like that from Ka'rys on a normal day would not be breaking anything, so he refused to acknowledge the bronzerider's part in it.
He finally met Savitri's gaze, his own brown eyes distressed and - truthfully - a little hazed by pain, though it would probably be hard to tell in the dim light. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Sav. My mind keeps...wandering funny." It was the only explanation he had for the strange things his thoughts were doing, and he didn't intend it as an excuse. If she'd been close enough, he would have touched her, but she wasn't, and he didn't. Instead, he just sat still and tried not to aggravate the pain in his foot any more than was absolutely necessary.
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Post by glamourie on Aug 18, 2008 3:29:16 GMT -5
She looked so startled, and Ka'rys tilted his head slightly in confusion. But her words made that confusion turn into plain, evident shock that showed quite prominently on his face; he vaguely resembled a child that had been slapped for the first time. He remained silent long enough for Savitri to continue speaking and finish tending to the injury, and forced his expression back to some level of normal confusion, which took some effort given that only seconds previous he'd been gaping not unlike a fish. He completely forgot Mutasim's presence. Was she... crying? What in the - Ka'rys recoiled, visibly squirming away as much as he could, as if the idea of a crying female petrified him. He'd take being hacked and slashed over tears any day. Tears from a female were like... designed to break males or something; he couldn't put it into words, but the sudden amount of guilt and horror at himself he felt was enough. The fact that it was quickly followed by a fresh surge of fury from Ciceroth and an icy tone from Savitri didn't help, and he was grateful when Ophelie reappeared on his shoulder, curling up at the bend of his neck and trilling musically. She was trying to comfort, but it didn't help very much.
Hepaticath's words made Ciceroth angry enough that Ka'rys could not deny that something was very wrong. When the bronze got angry with him, something inside of him always recoiled, relapsing back to when he was the smallest weyrbrat of the boys at Fort and it frightened him. He bit the sides of his tongue and looked away, trying to will the numbness to slip from his arm to his insides.
Glancing at Mutasim, Ka'rys waited for him to finish speaking before glancing at the blood on the floor. It would need to be cleaned up. So he nodded mutely and stood up again, moving back into his weyr to retrieve some of the towels he had in his trunk. Against his better judgment, he came back and knelt down to clean up the blood himself. The less people who knew about what happened, the better, was his logic - and in part it gave him something to distract from the anger he felt from Ciceroth. He managed to get his face back under control as he went over, mentally, what to say in response. He wasn't very good at dealing with people, and Ciceroth was so angry with him - he didn't like that feeling. Ciceroth was the only thing that ever really loved him, aside from Ophelie (whose eyes had gone a worried whirl so rapid it was hard to identify a color and she was positively vibrating against his neck, despite his attempts to emotionally reassure her), and he didn't like the idea of... losing that. That was why he pushed people away, wasn't it?
"I'm not intentionally spitting anything back in your face, or trying to push you away or anything," he said quietly, then realized a moment after he said it that.. yes, yes he was; he was trying to push her away. If he scared her off, she wouldn't be able to hurt him. Admitting that made him feel physically nauseous, but he hated more the feeling of Ciceroth being angry at him.. and the tears. Ka'rys couldn't handle tears; it was one of the few ways to completely make him cave. His natural instinct was to run away, but where would he go? If he went back to his weyr he had to face Ciceroth. As it was he fully intended to hide somewhere else. A physical distance would mean he didn't have to see the rapidly whirling scarlet eyes. That would be too hard to deal with. He bit his tongue and continued, quietly, "At least, not for the reasons that you seem to think. I don't like caring about people. They become a liability when you care about them - a liability, and it puts them in danger. So people that I like, I try to run off."
Admitting that in front of Mutasim was ... annoying at best. But the boy had just confessed to having a more severe injury and ... Ka'rys wouldn't have wanted to in his position. He wouldn't have wanted someone he deemed an enemy to know. It seemed only right to return the favor, though he doubted the kid or Savitri would understand his motives for it. An eye for an eye. If he gave the boy that knowledge, he'd know they were on even ground... if he had half a brain. And if he didn't? Well, it wasn't Ka'rys's problem. At least Savitri might have a chance to understand and maybe she'd stop crying, because the feeling made him want to curl up and hide somewhere. Guilt was one of the few emotions that the bronzerider completely hid from if he could help it. It wasn't one he experienced very often and he didn't like the taste of it at all. The guilt made him both angry - and sad. He was extraordinarily hurt that Ciceroth was angry. Ka'rys swallowed those feelings, instead keeping his face blank.
The towels beneath his hands were stained scarlet. He stared at them, though he watched Mutasim out the corner of his eye, as if he expected an attack at any minute. He did. He expected a blade to be slung at his throat, and he couldn't have dodged it. The thought made him edge away a little more, but fortunately, most of the blood was cleaned up. He was going easy on his left arm, or as easy as he could. It didn't hurt anymore, at least. And he felt like a drudge. Privately, he hoped they both appreciated the level of irritation he felt at that. It was just... more practical to clean it up himself than come up with a lie to explain all of the blood away. Odds were, people would suspect even if he did. Or suspect something worse. He didn't want to deal with Shmee's wrath anyway. She was hard enough to deal with on a normal day, let alone when he'd done something to deserve her anger.
He is broken, Ciceroth replied to Hepaticath, with no further explanation. He was too busy being angry with Ka'rys, and even though he recognized that His was trying to fix things by admitting that much, it didn't help. Privately, he spoke to his lifemate, mindvoice like ice, Stop upsetting her. You should just leave before you make it worse. No, he had very little sympathy for Ka'rys; he didn't understand why he felt the need to push people away and, despite the fact that Ka'rys was His, he wouldn't accept him acting so... bizarre. No, he would not. He also would not accept him upsetting Hepaticath's, as that meant Hepaticath was upset - and an upset queen was never a good thing.
He didn't answer Ciceroth, instead focusing on cleaning up the floor. He'd go find somewhere to sleep later. He was extremely nauseous, and trying to kneel and clean up blood didn't really help, but he wasn't about to admit that - and he got the distinct impression Ciceroth thought he deserved it. Figured.
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Post by kysseh on Aug 19, 2008 0:28:02 GMT -5
Ka'rys' shocked reponse gave Savitri a sadistic sort of delight, if only because she was one-up on the arrogant little jerk. He could not seem to believe it, and she wondered if that was because she had not tempered her words a great deal. She hated to do so, and she wanted to explicitly tell him the extensive list of her grievances. However, she did not trust her voice, and if she looked at him again, she would probably let another tear slip from the genuine hurt of his callousness. And she was sick of being humiliated and emotionally abused by these two. She had far better things to do than have them whine at her for interrupting a fight that could have easily resulted in her losing one or both of them, people on the short list of those in the weyr that she actually liked enough to tolerate.... Mutasim far more than Ka'rys at the moment.
Then Mutasim finally decided to admit to what was wrong, and she was fully distracted with listening, her brow furrowed in concern as he hesitantly explained the problem. Broken bones... probably rebroken from an improperly healed old one. She fixed him with a look of disapproval obviously meant for his failure to visit the infirmary. No matter... she would tend to it now, and she scooted closer to him, still on her knees, and lightly ran her hands along the outside edges of his foot, noting the swelling on the top of the appendage. Broken metatarsals, probably.... and they would need to be set and then immobilized to keep them from drifting and improperly healing again. It would hurt very, very badly, though. "How much pain can you tolerate?" she asked, turning sympathetic eyes toward him.
Then she saw the pain and honest distress in his eyes, and she had to hold back a sigh at the rawness of it. He was sorry, it seemed... truly sorry, and she had to give him credit for being at least partway honest with her. She would rather he just explain it all, but... given how unstable her mood was this evening, perhaps keeping it short had been best. She flicked him something resembling a smile. All was not forgiven or forgotten, but his apology was accepted in the spirit it was given, meaning that he was spared her wrath for now.
She had scarcely noticed Ka'rys disappearing, but she noticed when he reappeared and began to clean, his firelizard clinging tightly around his neck. Ophelie... wasn't it? She wondered if it was shameful for him to have to clean up this own mess for once, but she did him a mercy by not rubbing it in his face. She did not want to alienate him. She wanted to make a point, and she had made it as clear as she possibly could in telling him straight what the problem was. Now, it was up to him, and he seemed to be wanting to make an attempt, the first few statements of which had her back straightening and her eyes narrowing to a disbelieving glare. If this was unintentional, she was loathe to see-
Wait.... he did care?!
She just stared at him for a moment, mulling his words over in silence. He cared... so he wounded her emotionally and shoved her away on purpose? He stated it was to save her, but she just knew it was for his own selfish reasons, that he did not want to devote any time, any care, any thought to someone else. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and she nodded once, her eyes betraying her sadness. That was far worse than just effort wasted. It was effort wasted on someone who was just going to be an open hole for everyone to throw attentions into and get nothing in return. But... he said he liked her while his actions said something else, and Hepaticath's distress at Ciceroth's shortness of reply had her further upset. She just gave her head a violent shake. No, this was too much to deal with for right now, and she spared Ka'rys a quick flicker of a grimacing smile. "I'll see you in a sevenday to take those stitches out," was all she trusted herself to say before she returned her attention to Mutasim and his foot. "I'm going to have to set these bones... and it looks like at least one, maybe two breaks. You'll have to hobble for awhile." 'Awhile' being more than a sevenday and less than a Turn. It all depended on how the bones healed. "I'll help you." Even if he had been a jerk, his apology had counted for quite a lot.
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Post by reqqy on Aug 19, 2008 7:06:05 GMT -5
Ka'rys's recoil did not escape Muta's attention and, for the briefest of moments, he actually felt a small bit of sympathy for the bronzerider. Tears seemed to be the bane of most males. There was just something about a distressed female crying that made you feel like a complete jerk and a bumbling fool all at once, because you had no idea how to fix it and, whether you knew what had brought it on or not, the fact that you'd made her cry was equally distressing. Of course, the sympathy didn't last very long. Thus far, Ka'rys had managed to nearly kill Mutasim (yes, entering the weyr was obviously a glaring mistake, but he still thought trying to gut him was probably just a tad overboard) and completely wound Savitri. Hard to feel too much sympathy. Besides, Muta disliked bronzeriders as a general rule.
Mutasim weathered Savitri's disapproval with a ragged sort of grace. What did it matter if she didn't like how he'd handled it? That was in the past. He had his reasons. Still did, truly, though he wasn't as uptight about his scars as he'd been then. In his defense, it hadn't been long before that he'd fought for his life in the candidate barracks, so being paranoid didn't seem that - unreasonable. Even now, he was a little anxious about the goldweyrling looking at his foot. The scars weren't nearly as raw as they had been, but neither would they ever go away. Part of him was glad for that; he didn't want to forget. Not completely. That was - the worst time of his life, bar none. Not just what was done to him, but what he'd done, and he wanted to remind himself of what he was capable of so that he could find that measure of control that would never allow him to go that far off the deep end again. He still had nightmares...
Biting his lip, he was a little surprised that her touch wasn't causing the pain to increase very much, the boy looking at her curiously. Her words, though, caused him to feel just a little ill. He was already losing touch with reality from time to time, and her tone clearly suggested more pain. Part of him worried about what he might do if he lost touch completely. Glancing at the bronzerider who was now returning to begin mopping up the blood, Mutasim made a decision that would likely shock any northerner - or anyone familiar with his level of paranoia. He quite deliberately began to remove the bandolier, the two blades he'd fought Ka'rys with, and a third. The vulnerability was almost enough to make him want to lunge for them again, or cling to Savitri like a frightened child, but he would not risk striking out at her in delirium. Even if that meant baring himself to Ka'rys.
He pushed everything beyond his reach before he could change his mind. Yet the boy could not deny his racing heart. Fortunately, though, it seemed to clear some of the fog in his mind, the fast flow of adrenaline. Quietly, he stated, "Usually, I've got a pretty high tolerance, but I've been...hallucinating a little." His gaze flicked away from Savitri. "I may pass out on you." It was a hard thing for him to admit, but Mutasim didn't do anything halfway. He'd chosen to trust Savitri, despite his better judgment. And no, he didn't go the next step and tell her that he thought that, if the pain was too great and he had a blade at hand, he'd likely try to stop it by stabbing her. No, he wouldn't be in his right mind at that point, but it didn't matter. Only the end result did.
The young man almost sneered at Ka'rys's explanation of his behavior. It was so...annoying because Muta's own reasoning wasn't much different. He didn't like being close to people, didn't like having to deal with their loss, and yet he still didn't act like this person who was supposed to be the more mature of the two. In the end, Mutasim couldn't completely cut himself off from the rest of the world, couldn't completely push down his emotions because...because he already knew what it was like to be close to people and, despite everything, still yearned for that bond somewhere deep down. It felt empty without it. Constantly at war with himself, he wasn't this cruel. Maybe he was just weaker. No. Make that definitely, since he was willing to completely disarm in the presence of a man who has just tried to kill him, simply so he couldn't be a threat to Savitri. That was weakness if ever there was one. Still, he could not regret it. Not...this.
No, he did not sneer, or otherwise acknowledge Ka'rys. If only for purely practical reasons. He was more or less helpless without his weapons when he couldn't move. Antagonizing the bronzerider would be the height of stupidity. Mutasim regarded Savitri with an open expression that had more to do with exhaustion than ought else. The boy was clearly apprehensive at her description of what she was going to do, and even more clearly upset about the whole thing. Nevertheless, he nodded, placing his palms on the ground behind him and willing himself to take what had to be done and move on. "I...appreciate it." Her offer of help. Considering how she'd just dismissed Ka'rys, that offer meant quite a bit. Jabari wound around his left arm, crooning in a fashion that was meant to comfort, clearly.
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