bribes, bloody noses and bruised butts (tag: m'ta)

[glamourie]

He hit the ground with a very noticeable ‘thud.’ Or at least, it would have been a thud were it not for the fact that the ground was sand. Just the same, R’wign looked comical splayed across the ground as he was. He brought one hand up to rub his face and shot a pointed look upward at Ka’rys, who was glaring down at him. From the dripping blood from his nose, there was little question as to why R’wign was upset. The healer was pretty obviously losing the little ‘duel’ the two were holding (big surprise) and the bloody nose was only one of many signs of his pathetic defeat. In an hour or so his back would be covered in bruises and he’d have a nice black-and-blue mark on his jaw, but at least his top lip wasn’t bruised and fat. Fate was somewhat merciful in that regard, if not in others. At least the sand made for a decent cushion when he collided with the ground. That was better than having to land on hard stone… which he’d had to on numerous occasions; Ka’rys kicked hard, even if his punches were something to laugh at.

The sight was probably hysterical: R’wign was leaning on his elbows in the sand, his hair tied back in a tight runnertail, with a nasty look painted on his face. He was dressed for the occasion, at least, in a pair of more tight pants than he normally wore (R’wign liked baggy clothes) and a more form-fitting shirt, if only so that he didn’t have mobility problems. For once, he had none of his firelizards on his person, nor Empress; the feline was probably plowed out on his furs with her babies around her (she’d given birth to four cubs right after he was discharged from the infirmary) and his firelizards were perched on Kalerary. It was early in the afternoon, which meant the line of the beach was mostly abandoned. Anyone outside was in possession of wings and sunning – thus, disinterested in the pair of misfit dragonriders attempting to practice self-defense. R’wign’s ego would be spared the torment of all of Selenitas laughing at him. It was bad enough that Ka’rys was getting annoyed.

And he was getting annoyed. There was no denying, when seeing the pair together alone, that Ka’rys and R’wign were friends – the level of tolerance the bronzerider exhibited gave away his fondness, even if he was gruff and terribly blunt. Unfortunately, after several months of virtually no progress, what little patience Ka’rys possessed was wearing very thin. It was obvious that R’wign was trying but… trying sometimes just wasn’t good enough. What made the whole situation more bothersome was that a healer ought to have been good at disabling people quickly. They knew a lot about anatomy. But R’wign seemed physically incapable of even staying upright most of the time, and Ka’rys was at a loss. He couldn’t make R’wign learn something that he was, for some reason, rejecting knowledge of. He’d asked for self-defense lessons, but he didn’t seem to be having any luck with it at all.

“Your backside and the sand must be getting quite familiar by now,” Ka’rys growled, pacing; he looked every bit the part of a disgruntled feline, a sight that would otherwise have amused R’wign… but that irritation was fixed on him and that was never good. “Why is it you can’t seem to keep yourself balanced? I don’t kick that hard; I’m not even trying to hurt you. I’ve told you before, I’ll say it again, keep your weight evenly distributed and stop letting yourself get distracted by everything going on around us. Your focus should be on me and your surroundings, nothing else!”

“That’s easier said than done. Shard it, Ka’rys, have you forgotten that you’ve been learning this your whole life? I thought I was doing good for six months.” Slowly, R’wign pushed himself up onto his knees, and then to his feet, dusting himself off in the process. He winced visibly and pushed one strand of black hair from his face. The wavy locks were beginning to straighten, which was bizarre to behold, but probably caused by the weather; Selenitas was entering one of the wettest springs it ever experienced. “You keep acting like I should know this by—”

“Now. You should. An enemy is not going to care how long you’ve been learning to fight. They’re not going to stop and say, ‘Oh, you haven’t been practicing that long? Excuse us while we find a seven turn old to beat you up.’ They’re going to fight you as an equal and if you can’t even stay upright, you’re going to be demolished. I’m pulling my punches – they won’t. So yes, I expect you to be able to stay standing after six months! By now you should even be able to dodge me from time to time. You’re not inept or incompetent, why is this so hard for you?” Without waiting for a response to his questions, Ka’rys shoved his left hand forward, open-palmed, hitting R’wign square in the nose. The newly-standing healer toppled back over onto his back and Ka’rys sighed. “See? I’m not even trying – why are you having such difficulty?! That was – that wasn’t even half as fast as I can move. This is pointless. Maybe we should just hire you a bodyguard?”

R’wign’s hands flew up to his nose, now bleeding more profusely. It was always the nose. Why did he always go for the nose? Any other time, R’wign would have made a mocking comment about not being able to reach his eyes, but… he had a feeling Ka’rys was avoiding hitting him in the good eye to keep from blinding him. Considerate, he supposed, but oh did his face throb. He didn’t make a move to get up, though he tilted his gaze upward and sighed. “I’m trying,” he said, annoyed at how nasal his voice sounded thanks to the injury. “I am. I just – I can’t move as fast as you, and I can’t predict what you’re going to do. You surprise me, so I fall. I don’t know how to make myself more balanced than that. I’ve been trying. I can keep myself balanced walking on thin planks of wood, or hopping rock to rock in the river, but I can’t take any hits; they always surprise me.”

Exhaling, Ka’rys dropped to the ground and settled his hands between his knees. He’d never had as much trouble teaching anyone as he did R’wign. Part of him believed it was psychological. He’d seen the way R’wign could move when he wanted to and he was a lot more graceful than what he was displaying on that beach. The healer could hop from chair to chair without the slightest wobble, easily turn cartwheels and flips without trouble, and he could wander around with jars of infirmary chemicals on his head and not spill them. He’d seen it all, and yet when it came to self-defense, he clamped up. Privately, the bronzerider was of the opinion it was some kind of internal fear, as if R’wign couldn’t hurt anyone, not even to save himself. He didn’t know how to approach the topic to him, though, because when he implied it, R’wign immediately became defensive, insisting that he was trying and that he was just being too hard on him. Ka’rys believed he was trying. He also believed R’wign was scared to death of hurting him. Silly, really, since he obviously had no reservations about turning R’wign into a black-and-blue stain on the sand.

“Maybe,” Kalerary suggested from beneath the mountain of firelizards perched on her (there were seven of them plus one salamandyr), “we could try rewards. You know, like we give Reggie treats when he does something good, or we give Shadow compliments when he’s being less of a pervert than normal. We can give R’wign pie when he doesn’t fall on his butt.” Her words drew a pair of startled looks from the two males and Kalerary quirked an eyebrow at them, puzzled. She saw no failing in her logic whatsoever. Because pie was the ultimate bribe where R’wign was concerned. She knew it, and they knew it, too. What could possibly go wrong?

[Requiem]

It felt a little like spying, to be honest.

M'ta was sprawled out belly-down on a rock, chin propped on a hand and frowning down at Ka'rys and R'wign. It was fortunate that people didn't have a tendency to look up. Kalerary was below, too, but he couldn't see her from this angle. Actually, he hadn't come here to spy at all, but P.M.S. had very definitely not shown him anything to suggest that his wingleader was on this beach, too. The sound of a struggle had drawn him, creeping over the rocks with blades drawn, the picnic basket that he'd thrown together upon P.M.S.'s discovery of Kale on the beach as well left behind...but what he'd found had been enough to startle him motionless as he peered over the lip of the rock. His first thought had seriously been that Ka'rys had finally taken leave of his senses and thought that R'wign had tried to kidnap his daughter or something.

Fortunately, M'ta's ever-present paranoia was tempered by simple observation; the brownrider had seen how Ka'rys moved when truly in a fight, and it only took him an instant to note that this was...a spar? But since when did R'wign show any interest in fighting? (It did explain all the odd bruises though.)

Curious despite himself - and knowing that Ka'rys had a habit of clamming up and disappearing entirely whenever he showed up - M'ta was swiftly growing more and more concerned as he watched. And, truth be told, rather surprised at how much Ka'rys seemed to actually...care...about R'wign. He'd never seen Ka'rys act like that. Still, the majority of his mind was caught up in the problem that...well...that R'wign really really sucked. He wasn't just sort of bad. He was hopeless. It defied logic. There was no reason for R'wign to be this bad after six months. (Yes, he was close enough to hear most of what was being said. Sneaky little eavesdropper.)

The brownrider might have remained up there indefinitely, picnic basket entirely forgotten, had not Kale piped up about treats and pies. He couldn't resist the chuckle. And, since that would likely have at least Ka'rys taking note of his presence, he swung his body around into a sitting position, drumming his heels against the rock. "Maybe she's got a point," he commented, almost too cheerily. "That or getting a certain goldrider to promise him kisses for every landed punch. Geez, R'wign. You look like a pie yourself...all black and blue."

P.M.S. vacated his spot by Kale's foot...apparently there was something very interesting about little girl feet, though only the salamandyr had any clue what it was...and scampered up her front, clinging to her shirt by the neck and cooing at her. Butt, he chimed in helpfully. Most of the flitters he knew, but there were two new creatures that kept on getting glances. Thus far, though, he was content to rub himself against the medium's hatchling. He liked her lots he did. Partially cause his bonded was very fond of her. Partially because she was nice. Duh.

M'ta pushed off the rock and landed lightly on his feet, glancing at Ka'rys with something that could only be interpreted as open curiosity. It was probably the most honest expression he'd ever given the man. A half-amused, half-sheepish smile tugged at his face. Was it weird that he was actually embarrassed for R'wign. Shards, but he was awful. "Really six months?"

[glamourie]

Speaking startled R’wign and Ka’rys both, and the two males turned to look up at the rocks above Kalerary in interest. Ka’rys cocked his head to the side, his expression inquisitive, though he otherwise didn’t move; it was almost comical, though, the way that R’wign reacted. His face turned red and he sniffed indignantly. The sniff drew Ka’rys’s attention over to him from M’ta, and dark brown eyes actually widened to saucers at how bright red R’wign’s face actually was; usually it was impossible to embarrass the healer. He lacked shame, so it wasn’t as though anything really got to him, but somehow M’ta had managed it. Talent or superior knowledge? Whatever it was, Ka’rys bit the insides of his cheeks to avoid smirking from ear-to-ear and rubbed the tip of his nose with his index finger. The amusement was visible in his eyes, if not on his features, but altogether it was irrelevant since R’wign wasn’t looking at him at all. He was quite busily staring at M’ta as if he’d sprouted a second, significantly less attractive head.

Where did M’ta come from? R’wign rubbed his bloody nose on his sleeve and pushed himself up to stand, his head cocking to the side. And why did he have to shoot his mouth off? There were certain people (one of whom was sitting in the sand) that he didn’t really want to know about his crush on Kaegan. Mostly because he doubted that it would ever go anywhere, but in Ka’rys’s case, it was because he knew very well how the bronzerider would react. (Ka’rys had never made any secret of the fact that he had no use for Kaegan; in his eyes she was just a broken Benden goldrider, not really worth acknowledging and R’wign just knew that he’d never be able to understand why R’wign liked her in the least.) He’d been careful to hide it from Ka’rys for that reason. While he was pretty sure that if things miraculously worked out (wouldn’t happen) he’d have to face the obvious ridicule, he didn’t plan on dealing with Ka’rys’s disappointment/agitation/whatever if he didn’t have to. Thanks, M’ta. Thanks a lot.

“I didn’t know that you and that girl – Meira? – were a couple…?”

Ka’rys’s words startled R’wign from his staring and he gaped like a fish for a moment before snapping his mouth closed. The bronzerider raised an eyebrow, waiting for explanation, which didn’t come as R’wign rounded on M’ta. “Started just after Benden attacked us, yes… don’t you start making fun of me too. I’m surprised you didn’t notice the bruises, your lack of observational skills is astounding.” He folded his arms, and then sniffed. “I’m not nearly as tasty as a pie… I don’t think. I could ask someone, I suppose.” He wouldn’t though… and yes, R’wign quite deliberately avoided talk of kisses from goldriders. Bad topic. Baaad topic. He just hoped that Ka’rys would forget about it in distraction with M’ta. Perhaps that was wishful thinking; even R’wign knew that Ka’rys wasn’t very good at conveniently forgetting things unless it was something he really didn’t want to know. Then he just magically “forgot” every chance he got.

Cocking her head back, Kalerary looked up at M’ta, and her gaze followed him, though one hand came down to stroke P.M.S. gently. Merce, from his position on her shoulder, looked agitated and actually dove into the girl’s hair. She ignored him, though, instead waving pleasantly to M’ta before turning back to R’wign. “I don’t think you’d be all that tasty, but I find pies to be nasty so I think our idea of what is yummy and what isn’t are too different. Why would you like a goldrider? Meira’s okay, but the rest of them are kind of…”

“Kale.” That one word made her look over at Ka’rys, who fixed her with a stare. The nine-turn-old gave an indignant sniff, and Ka’rys tilted his head. She didn’t pursue the topic, though; she knew better. Ka’rys turned back to look at M’ta, gaze unwavering. “He’s rubbish, and it’s been more like eight months as opposed to six; we started right after the attack. We’re focusing on balance and as you can see from the bloody nose, he isn’t learning very quickly.” It wasn’t meant to embarrass R’wign (though the healer’s cheeks tinged pink); Ka’rys was just being ridiculously blunt. He figured that M’ta would understand the implication of his words anyway – he had to know that R’wign wasn’t normally clumsy or prone to falling over easily. He just wasn’t. That and Ka’rys was able to take a hint: he knew what the look he got meant, and he offered a half shrug in response. What could he do? “He’s making almost no progress. Like I said, maybe we should hire him a bodyguard.”

R’wign winced. “I’m making some progress!” he whined; his voice made it clear that even he didn’t believe himself. What could he do though? He was trying. “I just – I’m never going to be as fast as you are, and you hit hard.”

“No. I don’t. I don’t hit hard at all, especially not when I’m not trying,” Ka’rys countered with an edged glare. “You’d know the difference if someone who hit hard actually hit you.” It wasn’t that Ka’rys thought he was weak – he just knew that ‘strength’ wasn’t his strong point, speed was. Speed and very quick reaction times. “You’re making even less progress than Savitri, R’wign; she at least has gotten to where she can avoid being hit sometimes. And she hits back.” Not that Ka’rys was teaching Savitri anything; he was incapable of hitting her, so it wouldn’t be good practice. He flat out refused to try and teach the goldrider anything. There was something inherently wrong with smacking around his weyrmate – the mother of his children – even if she was literally asking him to do so. His head wouldn’t wrap around the idea. He just kept coming back, mentally, to the fact that she was a woman.

The words made R’wign flinch and he turned his unpleasant look onto Ka’rys – it was definitely unfriendly. “Well, Savitri I could probably dodge,” he said defiantly, then folded his arms. “And I refuse to believe that your weyrmate is making any more progress than I am. Proof or you’re lying.” Because Ka’rys would so lie about that to damage his ego. Definitely. (Even R’wign didn’t believe that but it stung his ego to imagine that Savitri was a better fighter than him. Ouch.)

“She’s still pretty pathetic, but she is better – but that’s because Aliscia just makes her mad and she throws a hissyfit,” Kalerary offered helpfully, then looked at M’ta. “I didn’t think you needed self-defense lessons…”

[Requiem]

M'ta kept his face carefully neutral, and for once he didn't even notice that Ka'rys was currently engaged in the very same thing. He'd never seen R'wign blush so deep...or maybe he had, but the face paint had obscured it. What R'wign saw in Kaegan was beyond him, but he accepted it as he accepted many things - without knowing the reason. It was enough that he actually had a card to play when R'wign started teasing him now. If the healer thought he wouldn't bring something harmless like a crush out, he was mistaken.

"Not very yummy, no," M'ta agreed seriously. More than that would probably be crossing the line with Kalerary right there, so he didn't say anything more. Besides, it was true; he wasn't much of a one for sweets, but he'd eat pie over kissing R'wign again. He did find it funny that his weyrmate didn't say anything about him and Meira, as he usually would. Kind of stuck if he didn't want Ka'rys to know about Kaegan, wasn't he? She was the only goldrider left if he ruled out Meira.

Again, Ka'rys spoke more easily than M'ta was used to when around him, but the words were of enough interest that he ended up concentrating more on them than the oddity of the man's behavior. Since the siege. Eight months. It made sense that the siege might inspire someone who previously hadn't desired to learn to pick up at least some basics. The loss of the eye and a weyrmate...yes, that would definitely be enough to justify a reconsideration. He was pretty sure. But he'd have guessed no more than a month, upon seeing what was going on (although admittedly it had been awhile since he'd seen true beginners and the time estimation could be very off). This didn't bode well.

Why was R'wign refusing to learn? M'ta doubted it was conscious, but it was refusal nonetheless, because there was no other explanation. The healer simply wasn't a bumbling fool.

Waiting for the half-argument to die down, the brownrider shook his head mildly. "He really doesn't hit very hard, R'wign." And yes, M'ta knew that firsthand. In fact...he packed a more solid punch, though he didn't really ever fight hand-to-hand and Ka'rys could likely wipe the floor with him, even if he did have the barest edge on speed. The bronzerider hit hard enough, though, as was evidenced by the bruises. "There's got to be something that works for you. It's not as if you're not capable," M'ta commented, mostly to himself, before he flicked a glance at Kalerary.

P.M.S. was crooning happily at her, pressing firmly against her hand. His utter lack of worry...and Ruth's sleepy contentedness as the back of his mind...made it difficult for M'ta to be truly concerned. Or at least overly so. He smiled down at Kalerary. "Oh, your father can definitely teach me a few things. Take away the daggers and I tend to be at something of a loss." Among other failings, a list that was growing longer as time went on. M'ta had hit his plateau as far as teaching himself went, and he knew he'd never get past it unless he found someone else to train with. Ka'rys was unlikely - and he had no idea who - but that was something that would have to be addressed. He wasn't playing this 'tear myself to pieces and hope someone else can put me back together in time' game again if he could help it. "But I mostly just came to see you and R'wign." He didn't mention that he hadn't known Ka'rys was here until he arrived.

"I even bro - wait. Where did I leave it?" M'ta frowned, then promptly disappeared back around the rock he'd jumped down from, returning a few moments later with the basket. He managed a somewhat awkward smile...as it didn't really fit the present mood...but set it down beside Kale anyway. "Pays to help out the drudges once in awhile. Nuts...cheeses...fruit...I think a loaf of bread, too. And they even managed to squeeze in a couple of pies."

The brownrider straightened, then, regarding R'wign contemplatively. "I wonder if a pie would work. You have anything left, healer?" The question was faintly teasing...not quite a taunt, but there was definitely some challenge behind it.

[glamourie]

R’wign blinked and crinkled his nose in distaste. He was tempted to point out that he was plenty yummy, thank you very much, but refrained. He was distinctly reminded of a conversation with Kalierre by those words, and let his head fall to the side curiously. His eye flicked from Ka’rys to M’ta and back again in interest. They were both playing emotionless doll. Pfft. Didn’t they know that the more emotions were hidden away under passive masks, the easier it was to tell something was wrong? He didn’t point it out; he liked being able to read both of them with relatively little difficulty. Ka’rys he actually had more luck with than M’ta, but that was because he’d known Ka’rys for turns – and Ka’rys had zero idea that he was onto him. Sneaky, sneaky healer, he was.

Oh, M’ta was speaking to him. R’wign turned to look at the other brownrider before twisting his face into an unpleasant scowl that made Kale snicker at him, and Ka’rys roll his eyes. R’wign ignored them both.

“I’d forgotten that you and Ka’rys had some weird love affair when he was Weyrleader that involved punching and stabbing,” R’wign said with a sniff; he was obviously attempting to salvage his dignity, though there was absolutely no sting in his voice. He knew very well what had happened, from Ka’rys (and he could feel the dirty look boring into the side of his skull from said bronzerider). It was pretty difficult to forget something like that. Nevertheless, M’ta had it coming with teasing him about Kaegan… in front of Ka’rys, no less! Oh, yes, he definitely deserved that remark. “I’m sorry that I don’t possess the rampant paranoia that has made the two of you soul mates, but if you give me a few Turns and enough effort, I might be able to lose a few inches in height and join in your grouchy short people club.”

“We could always cut your legs off at the knee,” Ka’rys countered as he rested comfortably in the sand; there was something distinctly pleasant in his tone. That he hadn’t gotten up and walked off though was indication of his interest, but Ka’rys didn’t linger; as M’ta addressed R’wign, he actually crawled across the sand to sit next to Kalerary, his legs pulled up at the knee. His chin rested on top of his knees. He didn’t feel particularly threatened or threatening – but it wasn’t his desire to argue back and forth with M’ta over R’wign, nor was it his job. Capable or not, R’wign was clearly unwilling to learn to fight and if M’ta thought he could coerce the healer into it, more power to him. He genuinely wished better luck to him than he was having – although that statement… “Judging from R’wign’s current state, I would guess that my capabilities for teaching are sorely lacking.” He eyed M’ta thoughtfully before watching the brownrider disappear behind the rock with interest.

R’wign scowled, folded his arms, and exhaled. “I’m trying, Ka’rys. I am. I’m just not any good. Maybe I’m not capable. Maybe being able to fight is just some kind of genetic thing and I’m missing the gene. With height comes inability or something. I don’t know. I can’t do any better and where are you going – M’ta?” His gaze followed his roommate and he blinked awkwardly as he put down the picnic basket (earning an array of snickers from Kalerary) before snorting. “I doubt it. I can steal pies just fine on my own. I’m trying. I’m just… I can’t move like you, or Ka’rys, I can’t even stay upright. Maybe I’m just meant to save lives, not fight with people. I’m good at that.”

He was annoyed. Yes, annoyed. The way M’ta worded it… made it sound like he wasn’t trying. He was getting really sick of the implication that he wasn’t trying when he was. How was he supposed to make M’ta and Ka’rys both understand that? He was doing his best, but… he just couldn’t bring himself to hit Ka’rys, and Ka’rys hit him and he fell and he didn’t know why he couldn’t remain standing. He was frustrated. It wasn’t just Ka’rys who was bothered, didn’t they know? He hated getting his face smashed in, coming home covered in bruises and he had a baby, he had to get better if he was going to protect a child. He just couldn’t. R’wign shot M’ta a dirty look and then rose to his feet shakily, one hand coming up to wipe the blood from underneath his nose. It stained the back of his hand and he pushed his hair out of his face before sniffing… which hurt. Bad.

“Make you a deal. I’ll try this – probably make a fool of myself, but if I manage to stay upright, you have to change Riaren all of Meira’s next weyrling class. ‘Cause I can steal pies myself, so those aren’t worth a thing to me.”

Petting P.M.S. was relatively distracting. Kalerary shot M’ta a bemused look; he’d come down to the beach just to see her and R’wign? Or was he avoiding her papa? She wasn’t dumb; she’d noticed her father’s discomfort with the brownrider, but she never asked. Kalerary didn’t want to know. Her hands moved over the salamandyr and she stroked his back with gentle affection. Her other hand went up to the basket to sieze a small piece of cheese, which she poked into her mouth before saying, “You mean he doesn’t always have to change the baby’s diapers?” but it came out sounding more like “Chu-man-fe-doshnt-aface-hash-to-change-da-baby-diafer?” because of the food in her mouth. Manners, thy name was Kalerary.

[Requiem]

"Mmmm. Yes. But he wanted a couple little nuisances and I don't have the parts. A shame, really," M'ta added drolly. He'd spent far too much time around R'wign to really be put off by the healer's jabs. Grouchy short person club, eh? Scratching at his eyebrow with a pinky, he glanced at Ka'rys, gifting the junior weyrleader with a brief flash of teeth. "No need to be jealous, now. He was willing to make it just a onetime deal and keep me on." Protective of his weyrmate? Just a little. All the bruises the healer kept coming back to the weyr with certainly didn't impress M'ta very much. If it's what R'wign was willing to put up with, fine, but the younger of the men didn't have to like it, just the same.

Cocking his head lightly to one side, he smiled at Kale briefly before wrinkling his nose at R'wign. "You'd really do anything to get out of that, wouldn't you? No deal, though." M'ta shook out a hand and glanced down at his nails. "I'm not going to lie. I flat out suck at unarmed fighting, and I'm not taking a knife to you. Mostly because if you can't even throw a punch with some real desire to hit behind it, there's no way you'd try with a blade. Even though Ka'rys or I would have to be sleeping for you to do any real damage."

He looked up and met R'wign's eyes. "Your problem isn't staying up. I'd call that a symptom of your problem. What you lack is intent. Desire. Seen it plenty of times. People will put up with a lot because they're too scared or too soft to hurt anyone else." M'ta, on the other hand, fell on the opposite end of the spectrum. He wasn't above hurting people he cared about if it made it so they wouldn't hurt as much later. Because he wasn't meaning to destroy, and others were. Sometimes you had to strip away all trust of anyone - even if it hurt you to do so - to make sure they made it through. He wasn't sure, now, that it had been at all merciful to do such things. But...eh...what was done was done.

Flicking the gathered hair back over his shoulder, he smiled at R'wign. "I'll change him for a sevenday - unless Meira has him - if you can land a punch that at least bruises. Punch or a kick. I'm not picky." M'ta cocked a brow at R'wign. "Won't even dodge. It's really simple for you. Nothing could be simpler." Being darker skinned, it would require more force to bruise him than someone paler, but it still wasn't that high an order. Because if R'wign couldn't even bring himself to strike someone, no amount of fighting lessons would change anything. And, from what he'd said and what M'ta had seen, that seemed to be what the issue was.

"Surely you've wanted to hit me before." He smiled cheekily. "When you really fight, it's not to hurt the other person, so much as to make sure they don't hurt someone else. Kill someone else. You can't just...lie still and let them do what they want...and if you get away, most of the time their attention shifts to the people who weren't as fast. As quick to react. Not fighting allows hurt." A mild shrug. The hand dropped entirely - a hand devoid of a few nails.

[glamourie]

Shard it, he was trying! Why did M’ta not realize that? And Ka’rys? Why did everyone assume that he wasn’t? R’wign glared daggers at M’ta, the look considerably more icy than any he’d ever shot at the other brownrider – which was something, really, considering that he’d given the other boy quite an impressively nasty look when he first found out about him liking Kaegan. It was tempting to flail around and hiss, or stomp away in a fit. He was trying. So, so hard, in fact, was he trying. He just… didn’t really know what to do. The harder he tried, the more difficult it was to fall on his face and after so many months, he was losing hope. Part of him felt like he’d be better off just entirely giving up – it was only Riaren that had him back on the sands. He’d planned after getting sick to just give up and he knew that Ka’rys wouldn’t push him too hard to keep trying; it wasn’t in the bronzerider’s nature. But then Riaren was born and he felt like he owed the baby, if no one else, to try and learn to defend himself… even if he wasn’t naturally adept, he thought Riaren deserved that. Was it neurotic? Maybe. He didn’t really know. But R’wign didn’t like the idea of being helpless and a parent at once. Riaren was the only one of the two of them allowed to be helpless. He got that right by being a baby… R’wign’s glare wavered and he sighed. He couldn’t make M’ta or Ka’rys understand that he just… wasn’t capable of hurting people. He tried. He did. But… it didn’t go so well. Obviously.

He didn’t think he was too soft or too scared. Those terms didn’t really apply to him in his mind. He’d seen enough death to not term himself soft by any stretch of the imagination. When he first went to healer hall, how many lives had slipped through everyone’s fingers? So many charred bodies, burnt black, unrecognizable as humans. Severe burns mutated people beyond any kind of resemblance to their own species let alone identification. He hadn’t gone cold – but that was more the resilience of youth than anything else; it was a wonder that seeing so many people die didn’t break him. He’d mentally latched onto the ones who didn’t die, who were grateful for his help, and appreciated him helping to save their lives. He taught himself young to live in the present and think only about them as they walked out the door – not what they were going off to do. He didn’t think that made him soft, just… sane. Scared? Was he too scared? He wanted to defend himself, it was why he was asking for lessons in the first place. He didn’t think that he was scared. R’wign wasn’t sure what he was, but those two words weren’t what he attributed his inability to at all. Soft people didn’t last as healers. It just didn’t work.

“Simple,” R’wign echoed, with a definite note of displeasure in his voice; he wasn’t even going to attempt to hide how little he liked the idea of practicing on M’ta. Aside from the fact that the other brownrider was probably his best friend, there were other things to consider – like the fact that M’ta was so short. He didn’t want to hurt him and M’ta could claim what he wanted about sleeping and such but R’wign did not enjoy the idea of leaving bruises on someone he cared about. The concept made his head hurt. Maybe ‘soft’ was appropriate? He couldn’t bring himself to hurt friends. Intellectually, he knew how to take a human being apart and put them back together again with no problem. He was a healer; it was his job to know human anatomy that well. But… he’d never really tried. Or, perhaps it was because of his being a healer that he never tried. He didn’t know if he could just hurt someone in defense and he didn’t become a healer to take lives, he became a healer to save them. Who was he to decide what life was more valuable than the next? Everyone put stock in different things and who was to say that he was right?

… Wanted to hit…? “Not really.” He wasn’t a violent person. “My revenge tactics tend to be ‘humiliate’ more than violence. I’m not…” Not a violent creature. “I know it’s dumb to just hold still. I’m not totally stupid. I just…” Couldn’t do it? He’d hit people before – usually not as anything more than a brush of anger; he distinctly remembered smacking Marra back once when she backhanded him.

“You focus too much on the fear of hurting people. That day in the kitchens, you were more interested in flirting with Lennae to make her leave you alone than responding the way you should have. Someone waves a knife at you, you don’t hope to weird them out – you teach them not to be waving that knife at you.” Ka’rys’s response was offered with an edge of iciness that made R’wign glance at him. “And you don’t associate with people who spontaneously threaten you with knives, no matter how much you may have done to embarrass them… because knife waving means the person’s first response is violence and just because you think you’re cute enough to talk your way out of anything doesn’t mean it will always work to your advantage. Lennae might back off from blade licking and flirtatious smiles but the average person holding a knife at you won’t.”

He just had to mention that. R’wign winced, giving Ka’rys a borderline vicious look as well. There was a reason he didn’t tell M’ta about that – he was sure to be scolded. He knew very well that Lennae’s behavior was off, but he’d provoked her. It was his fault.

“I started –”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ka’rys cut off with a wave of his hand. “You humiliated her. Fine. You deserve to be slugged for that. Knife wielding, no, you didn’t deserve that. We can assume your greenrider pet is over dramatic, but if you’re going to make excuses for violence, you will find yourself continually getting pummeled. Anyone waving a knife at you is out of line and it’s up to you to stop them, and trust me, licking the blade isn’t always going to work. Next time you’ll get that fast tongue of yours cut off. Take his offer and try.”

The bronzerider gave R’wign a pointed look and glanced at his daughter, who was watching the brown pair in interest. R’wign, on the other hand, threw up his arms in defeat (being tagteamed was not fair) and he turned back to M’ta. “Make it more than a sevenday if I have to bruise you because then I have to treat the bruise. Two sevendays,” he said with an indignant sniff; really, a sevenday alone was more than fair, but it just wouldn’t be R’wign if he didn’t go out of his way to try and get something for nothing. And yes, he really would do almost anything to not have to change a smelly diaper. Riaren was precious… but he had a gift for reeking. Pee-yew.

[Requiem]

The glare was met with a grim smile from M'ta. What, he didn't like that what the brownrider was saying was true? There was a lack of desire, a hesitation that was standing in the healer's way. M'ta wasn't exactly sure of the source, but it was dreadfully obvious just the same. Wasn't it? The younger rider honestly would have just about as much trouble hitting R'wign, but...that wasn't just because R'wign was a friend. It was more because R'wign was R'wign. Hitting the healer would be like striking a child. Left a bad tasted in the brownrider's mouth.

Maybe once - if - R'wign started showing some ability, he'd be able to make it more real. M'ta was determined to get the healer to that point, though. Obstinately determined. After all, if R'wign didn't want to learn he would have given up after eight months, wouldn't he?

Ka'rys's sudden two cents interrupted M'ta's train of thought, and he turned to get a look at the bronzerider, his eyes narrowing. One glance back at R'wign made it obvious that Ka'rys wasn't at all exagerrating. "Shard it, R'wign," he growled, beneath his breath. Ridiculous healer. Ridiculous healer. How could someone who got their eye cut clear out of their face look down another blade being waved at him...and lick it? "Did you really lick...?" But of course he did. This was R'wign they were talking about. Not worth making anything up about him, because his actions were outlandish enough all on their own.

M'ta probably would have been less bothered by the whole thing if he wasn't thoroughly convinced that Lennae really was capable of cutting off someone's tongue in the proper mood. He didn't like her. She reeked of an all-too-familiar darkness, the same one he'd grown to accept in himself - and saw so easily in Ka'rys. But he trusted her even less because she hid hers, or had when he'd met her all those turns ago. Hiding things. Paranoid little brownrider, paranoid.

Nevertheless, M'ta leveled a glare at Ka'rys. "I think he gets the point," the teenager stated frostily. Most likely he'd never lost the point. M'ta doubted R'wign simply didn't understand. His glare turned to R'wign, though this one was far less pointed, more an expression of irritation. Then he smirked slightly. "If we're going to put two weeks on it, I'm not just standing still. That treating a bruise excuse won't fly." As if he'd really let R'wign waste his time on something so trivial. "Besides, I'm yet to be convinced that you can."

Nudging rocks into a loose circle with his feet, he nodded to R'wign. "Sparring circle. I step out, you get your two weeks, but not if you try to lick me or anything." Yes, he knew the healer well. "If I step out or you land a hit. Deal?"

[glamourie]

How quickly the brownrider was forgetting that it was his class being interrupted. Ka’rys met M’ta’s glare with an even-eyed stare that said without words his total disinterest. It would take more than dirty looks to faze him. He’d known R’wign for turns – since the boy was what, nine? – and he wasn’t about to let R’wign get killed because he was squeamish. If M’ta wanted to hold the healer’s hand, that was his problem. He wasn’t someone who beat around the bush when it came to facts (and he lectured when he was uncomfortable – Savitri had no doubt learned that fast). R’wign took too many risks – and he was a target for so many, many reasons. Being one of the more important healers in the infirmary meant that he’d always – always – be targeted early by logical attacks. It only made sense. Remove the people who could help treat the fighters. Kalierre and R’wign were at the top of that list. He also had a child with a goldrider and whether he liked it or not, that made him a target too simply because most people would assume that R’wign and Meira were a couple… and… they were, weren’t they? Then the last fact that Ka’rys wouldn’t voice was that R’wign’s closeness to him actually was to his detriment. He was a target. C’leon was gone, but he had little doubt that R’anatar didn’t think much of him, and he was a Wingleader, Junior Weyrleader, and practically guaranteed to always be in a position of authority at Selenitas. R’wign being close to him painted a target on his head.

R’wign crinkled his nose back at M’ta, oblivious to Ka’rys’s musing. “I humiliated her. She was furious,” he said weakly. “I knew she wouldn’t do it. Why would she? I mean, it wasn’t that bad. She just wanted to scare me, and if I acted scared or upset, she would have won. I wasn’t about to her let win.” Arrogant enough to assume that of course she’d back off before hurting him? Perhaps – R’wign didn’t believe that Lennae would really kill anyone, and he had a hard time imagining that she was vicious enough to hurt him as well. Especially considering her salamandyr and Hazard being mates. He’d learned from K’lir just how much salamandyrs could impact their mindmates and even though he was sure Lennae wasn’t besotted with him or anything weird, he doubted that Brat would let her hurt him. Yes, he was confident in that.

“If you think I can’t hit you, then what do you have to lose making bets with me? And that is not fair. I thought this was supposed to be simulation of what we’d do in a fight and I’m totally not above licking someone to make them back off,” R’wign said with an indignant sniff. He wasn’t joking, either, although it might have been more comforting to imagine that he was. In his experience, being unpredictable kept him alive… and he took pride in that. But he understood what M’ta was trying to say, even if he was being difficult about it. “And I’m insistent on treating bruises if I manage to actually cause one.” The last bit was said more firmly than the rest. As far as he was concerned, bruises needed to at least be looked at – maybe not by a healer, but someone who could tell how severe they were, and M’ta himself did not qualify under that category. Him causing one was… a frightening thought. M’ta was his friend.

A low sigh escaped him. Just because R’wign was a brat didn’t mean that he wasn’t trying. Most notably, he was getting decent at dodging. Not that it was obvious, given his appearance, but R’wign was becoming quite gifted at avoiding the full impact of blows. The problem he ran into was that Ka’rys was simply too fast for him to completely dodge, and R’wign wasn’t naturally adept at it; he was graceful, yes, but his mind just wasn’t prepared for the flurry of punches and tripping. He was used to being peaceful…

“I don’t even know how to go about starting…”

Skeptically, R’wign glanced over toward Ka’rys and Kalerary. The bronzerider was pointedly paying him no mind. No help. Evidently, Ka’rys was insulted… and R’wign wasn’t sure that he knew why. Or that he cared. It seemed like Ka’rys was more determined to simply let M’ta have his way, so… hmph. “I don’t want to hit you, M’ta.” That was possibly the core of the problem – he didn’t really want to do it. R’wign turned away from Ka’rys and his head tilted to the side. “Isn’t there a way to learn to just… keep from getting hurt, without having to actually hurt people…?”

[Requiem]

He'd just known he didn't want to know this thing with Lennae. Most people likely wouldn't be able to read the expression that passed over his face, a slackening that wasn't so much neutral as other. People didn't have expressions like that. But then it was gone. He rolled his eyes in silent disdain. Honestly. Only R'wign would be capable of turning that into a game. It wasn't like trying to push someone until they were uncomfortable enough to back down and admit that they were uncomfortable. Lennae was more than capable of killing someone. How he knew M'ta couldn't say, but he did know. Not on the level of someone trained to fight, but on the level of someone who liked it in some way, or took pride in it, or...how to explain that, even to himself? The girl wasn't someone who killed. She was a killer. There was a distinction. M'ta should know.

Needless to say, this made him less than comfortable with the idea of her threatening R'wign. But...whatever...it was done. He wasn't arguing with the healer on that. Ka'rys was doing the job well enough, and all M'ta could offer was a feeling to back up what the bronzerider had said.

The brownrider merely eyed his friend, shaking his head slowly. "Ka'rys is right. You're more likely to get your tongue cut off than anything else...Lennae's one of ours." He managed to say it without twitching. "I'd kill anyone who licked me in a fight." Actually, he'd likely violently kill anyone who did something like that, and the only reason R'wign hadn't been attacked over the kiss was he was R'wign. Yes, M'ta had initiated, but that wasn't the reason. The reason simply was he knew R'wign well enough that he could fight his gut reactions with him. Nothing more and nothing less.

M'ta's eyes flashed briefly with irritation, his lips thining. "What is it with you healers? Torn ears and bruises are not anything worth fretting over. It's a wonder you people don't make yourself sick all the time. Fine. But you'd have to bruise me first, anyway." He folded his arms across his chest and leveled a pointed look at R'wign.

Only to drop his arms again in exasperation a moment later. "Stop being so selfish about it. I don't care about your conscience, R'wign. I'd rather you shatter me - which you won't - than have to find out from Ruth that you managed to get yourself killed. You are a target. You're the sharding Weyrhealer, if we just completely disregard your associations. That's enough. No one will thank you for not learning to take care of yourself." He stepped forward. "I wasn't going to pressure you, but I can't protect you, R'wign. And clearly something made you change your mind. Remember what that is and follow through, will you?"

He sighed, rubbing at his chin. "And no. Dodging one person forever will just wear you out, and like as not it won't be just one. Can't dodge forever."

[glamourie]

Killing required not being shocked to be successful: R’wign was pretty sure that someone spontaneously licking an enemy would surprise them enough for him to run. And he was getting very good at running away (as evidenced by Lennae). Nevertheless, he saw no virtue in arguing with M’ta. He settled for fixing the other boy with a steady stare; part of him had trouble imagining M’ta killing anyone, yet he talked about it so flippantly… did he realize that it made him uncomfortable? All life was precious. Even that of one’s enemies. R’wign was a healer because of that belief; he didn’t know if he had it in him to ever be a killer, simply because he wanted to save lives. He somehow doubted that M’ta would understand how he felt even if he explained it. It was easier to fight if he thought he was helping other people… but he’d never be able to kill, he didn’t think. His mind just didn’t work that way. He looked at injured people and saw patients, not enemies; he’d seen too many people die to not make that mental connection and he prided himself on saving lives. On the flipside, if he wasn’t able to kill to defend himself or others, what good was he? He wanted to be able to protect the people who meant something to him… and he didn’t want to be ay anyone’s mercy again. So conflicted.

He was fortunately distracted from his thoughts by M’ta speaking again. Torn ears? An inquisitive look went across R’wign’s face and he cocked his head to the side. “I don’t recall you tearing your ears?” he asked, interested. He cared about bruises and cuts because it was his job and he felt better, more useful in life, when he was treating other people’s injuries. He felt like he had a purpose – and ultimately, that was what R’wign needed, a purpose. He didn’t explain that to M’ta, as it sounded weird even in his own mind. He measured his own self-worth by how many lives he saved; there was a reason for his incessant moping following major catastrophes at Selenitas and nothing – nothing – could change that about him. He’d been that way his whole life. “When did you tear up your ears? Either way, I concern myself with bruises because while they’re typically minor, they can sometimes lead to more serious complications depending on location. As for my worrying, at least I’m not jumping under women’s skirts… unlike some people…”

Though, in retrospect, he almost wished he was; that was probably one of the most amusing things that M’ta had ever done.

The sudden burst into lecture made him flinch and R’wign looked away; he wasn’t very good at meeting people’s gazes when he was embarrassed. It was extraordinarily difficult to embarrass him, though. M’ta just managed to find one of the few (rare) areas that actually worked to bother him. R’wign squirmed awkwardly, head bowing so that his gaze rested on the tops of his feet. ‘Selfish’ about it… Most people wouldn’t deem a refusal to fight as selfish, but it was, on most levels. He didn’t want to stain his own conscience. He wasn’t sure that he was mentally strong enough to handle hurting someone. He’d asked to learn to fight because… because he hated being helpless. But he wasn’t sure that he could handle it.

“Religna,” he said, slowly glancing up at M’ta. “Marra, Cezine, K’ran – they are what made me ask. Tr’esn and Riaren, too.” Four of the names mentioned were deceased: they died in the Benden attack. Of them, all were important to R’wign in some way. Marra and Religna more than the rest, but Cezine was his friend and K’ran was K’lir’s brother; he’d goofed off with K’ran. K’ran was seventeen; he’d barely made it to adulthood. The two living names – Riaren was for obvious reasons, but Tr’esn was because he didn’t want to ever put anyone through having to watch… what Tr’esn had to watch. Part of him was protective of the greenrider in the way that someone was protective of a child.

He didn’t think of himself as a target. He just didn’t. There were more important people; he was relatively harmless in a fight, most people wouldn’t target someone who was mostly-useless. R’wign crinkled his nose, but bit his tongue; he didn’t want to offend M’ta by pointing that out. He seemed to take offense at R’wign discarding his own worth, even if he was sure that he was right. “I became a healer to save lives, M’ta; it might be easy for you to just say that I’m not trying, maybe you even believe that, but I am trying. I’m just – it’s not easy for me to just casually hurt someone, even if it is to save my own skin. Because I’m used to being the person who puts those people who are hurt back together. I’m trying. It’s just not as easy as you make it sound… and I don’t even know how to begin, like, I usually just spend more time trying not to get my face pummeled in…”

“Just rear back and punch him. Imagine he’s trying to steal your pies or something,” Ka’rys helpfully added, and R’wign glared at him. He quirked an eyebrow in response. “Well, you’re not skilled enough yet to start trying tactics. Just try to hit him. Then he’ll tell you what’s wrong with your formation and go from there.”

[Requiem]

The look directed at R'wign could only be described as patient irritation. This wasn't the time to discuss torn ears or bruises. Yes, bruises could be serious. They often indicated internal damage, but could R'wign bruise him in that manner unless it was a blind fluke? No. And he was relatively certain that the healer was aware of that as well...just arguing to argue. Which, unfortunately, was not all that unusual for the healer. Normally, it didn't bother M'ta. He didn't have a problem with backing down from ridiculous arguments when he got tired of them and letting R'wign 'win.' It seemed important to the other man that he win, after all, important enough to waste obscene amounts of time simply out of a natural contrariness. The smaller of the brownriders wasn't so competitive that he had to come out on top all the time in their frequent verbal spats...or at all the vast majority of the time. Which was likely why they got on at all.

Because if it came down to ever winning a verbal fight with R'wign, M'ta simply didn't. Not because he couldn't...but because R'wign refused to allow it. He'd argue until he was blue in the face that the sky was green just to win the argument. Frankly, M'ta wondered how the healer got along with Kalierre at all. The two had to be in pissing contests constantly. Testosterone-driven, stubborn little selfish brat. Not so little, but...eh...

His mouth twitched, a light snort coming from the teenager. Yes, ducking under other people's skirts...best to let him keep his daggers or he went just a little crazy with paranoia. The idea was funny, but the why wasn't so much, and he wasn't in a light enough mood to appreciate the humor.

M'ta was probably being entirely too sensitive, but R'wign could get under his skin that way all too easily. His face was growing more and more neutral with each passing moment. The healer thought that listing off people's names was some sort of proof that he was trying? The younger rider hadn't said he wasn't, had he? If M'ta wasn't absolutely convinced that the healer's mind was getting in the way of learning, he wouldn't have bothered arguing at all. R'wign wasn't looking at things the right way, wasn't in the right mindset, but considering the things he was saying, it was perfectly clear what the man must think of M'ta. And this was only increasing his annoyance.

Enough. Just plain enough.

He stepped forward with the speed of a coiled serpent, driving his fist into R'wign's gut with a great deal of force. M'ta pulled the punch, yes, but the goal was to wind the healer and shut him up. "Now maybe you'll clam up enough to listen," he murmured, not retreating from the healer...his words soft enough to be for the other only. "Yes, you're a shard-blasted healer. Your goal is to save people from all us vicious brutes. But, pretty, that's going to be a bit hard to do dead, don't you think? No one cares about your skin. I'd likely be dead if you'd been killed in the siege, not to mention a good number of other people." His voice lowered. "You can't find it all that distasteful, or you would have left me so I wouldn't harm anyone else. Or did you just want me around to do your dirty work for you, so you could keep your squeaky white conscience clean?"

The words came out with a sharp bite, as if there was any doubt that R'wign's comments had hurt him. M'ta didn't kill people because he didn't value life, but the healer was making him out to be a monster. He'd accept that - he would - insofar as it was true. And in some ways it was. But shards if he was going to accept that ignorant, judgmental attitude when it wasn't. His tone chilled as the volume raised enough to be heard by people other than the healer. "It might be a little too cold for someone like you to wrap your mind around, seeing as how your moral standing is so much better developed, but I consider it simple math. Taking one person's life so he won't take a handful of others...because forgive me if I'm wrong, but not stepping in when you can stop it just puts their blood on your hands as well."

He shrugged then. "But why listen to me? I'm just a monster without a conscience." M'ta turned his back on R'wign, then, fully intending to leave the circle. He didn't care anymore. He should. And knew he would later. But right now he really just didn't. "Go back to playing your games of high morality, looking down your nose at us. It suits you."

[glamourie]

Ow. That was the only thought to pass through R’wign’s mind as he doubled over instinctively, his knees hitting the ground hard. His head bowed, a few loose strands of black hair covering his face and the definitely pained look that went across it; he was fortunate that M’ta was distracted in practically yelling at him, so the other brownrider probably wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t moving very quickly to stand up… or indeed, moving very quickly at all. He didn’t even tilt his head upward to listen, though he was paying attention to what the other brownrider was saying. His problem came with being able to catch his breath. Despite himself, R’wign was gasping (quietly enough that it would take someone paying intense attention to notice, but gasping nonetheless). He brought the back of his left hand up to cover his eye, fingers curling around to cover his mouth so that M’ta wouldn’t be able to see that he was frantically trying to breathe. He didn’t take hits to the chest well. There was a reason Ka’rys always went for the face or his back; hitting him in the chest or stomach always had… bad results. He inhaled sharply, his free hand going down to the sand to try and brace himself, and he mentally reinforced the desire to breathe. Breathe.

“I didn’t – ” R’wign started, but he wasn’t able to speak further. He couldn’t yet; it was too difficult to breathe.

“Trust you to take that comment personally,” Ka’rys said with an underlying edge of annoyance in his voice that made Kalerary look at him sharply; he ignored her. From his spot perched next to his daughter, it was plain as day that he wasn’t leaving. “I don’t know which of you is more selfish – him for having such a difficult time learning to fight, or you for being angry at him for not being as hard as you are.” Was he trying to make M’ta listen to him? Of course not. Ka’rys was a creature of logic and logic dictated that being a raging bastard wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He was actually trying to stall M’ta from leaving before R’wign could speak – though, unhelpfully, he added, “You put a lot of thought into that, slugging someone with a breathing disorder in the stomach. Well done.” Because if trying to reason didn’t work, pointing out that he’d probably aggravated R’wign’s injuries would; he had faith in M’ta’s ability to reason out the accusation in those words even if he himself didn’t feel them.

Anger was Kalerary’s response. The little girl stood up, flinging all the pets off of her in a show of rage, and she whirled first on Ka’rys (due to his proximity). “Stop trying to pick a fight. You’re not helping things and you’re supposed to be a grown up.” The small dark-haired storm turned to M’ta with a look that was disturbingly reminiscent of her father. “If you run away after making an accusation like that, you’re more of a coward than you’re saying that R’wign is and you deserve to believe whatever you’ve twisted into your head. You don’t say stuff like that and then storm off in a huff, all that does is push people away and you don’t really want to do that. Stop acting like my papa.” Ignoring the scalding look she received from her father for that comparison, Kale whirled on R’wign. “He’s still here, so you better explain before he goes, ‘cause I know you and if you don’t you’re going to sulk and I hate it when you sulk.”

Still half-sprawled on the ground, R’wign coughed. His hand smudged in the sand before he slowly turned and wrapped his legs under his body. He rubbed his mouth with his other hand and his gaze flicked up toward M’ta, almost sheepishly, but he didn’t look at the other boy’s face. He couldn’t. He settled for staring straight at M’ta’s chest, as if that was a second-best alternative. His face was very carefully schooled blank, but he was able to (after a moment of trying) breathe through his nose again, and he felt considerably less pathetic in response. His ego just could not handle being helpless, though he was angry with Kalerary and Ka’rys both. That anger didn’t manifest outwardly (as R’wign’s temper rarely did). He settled for looking up at M’ta with a nervous sort of fidget.

“I don’t think that you’re a monster. You’re my best friend. I stayed out in the rain because I didn’t want you to die… not because… because of any kind of ulterior motive to using you or anything weird. It was selfish but not in the way you’re thinking. I don’t want to watch someone I care about die if I can help it… why would you… why would I think you’re a monster…? You’re my best friend, friends aren’t monsters…?”

[Requiem]

It really just didn't occur to him. Possibly because M'ta didn't notice pain like other people did, had been helpless but never physically weakened except in the odd bout of illness or due to severe injury. A punch was part of his language - a rarely communicated part, but a part nonetheless. It was how men - at least those raised as he'd been - spoke when they didn't know how to speak. Because you didn't show weakness. You didn't tell someone that they'd said something hurtful, didn't expose where your raw nerves were. Part of the code was communicating that hurt in this manner...where the other would know, but would never acknowledge it later. That he did so with R'wign said much.

The healer not getting up was simply accepting that. Or so he interpreted it...too angry to truly be grateful but at least R'wign wasn't arguing anymore. He walked out of the circle and - consequently - toward Ka'rys, not acknowledging the man at all. The bronzerider might have been able to stall him if he had it right, but he didn't, and M'ta wasn't interested in stopping. He needed distance before he said or did anything else. He didn't like fighting with R'wign, after all, but the thought that the healer despised him on some level was...really rather unbearable. No, he needed distance.

One thing Ka'rys was right about, however, was that his next comment would stop the short brownrider. Anger flashed sharply behind his eyes. He wouldn't really hurt R'wi- Glancing over his shoulder, M'ta was genuinely surprised to see the healer still in the dirt, his hands twitching slightly. He should have known. He really should have. Ka'rys was right...he hadn't been thinking, or he wouldn't have done such a thing. Maybe punched him in the face instead, but that was hard for him to reach and it carried a different meaning for the teenager, anyway.

Kalerary received nothing but a sharp look from M'ta. This wasn't any of her business, for one, and secondly she was just a child. An astute child, perhaps - sometimes even frighteningly so - but things weren't as simple as she saw them. He knew himself too well to believe that sticking around while still angry was ever a good idea. M'ta was far too good at finding the weakest points while hurting and, like a wild animal, twisting the knife. Though most of that anger had fled now that the prospect of having actually hurt his weyrmate was a real possibility. Either way, the lecture was completely unnecessary.

Yes, most of the anger had fled. Not enough though, apparently, because there was no sympathy in him for R'wign at this moment. M'ta should have had more control over himself, yes, and he'd take responsibility for that mistake. But that loss of control was a direct result of R'wign's words, and in that way the healer had it coming. He stepped forward, kneeling and catching the healer by the arms. His words lacked mercy. "I don't know how you choose your friends, healer. But if you really feel this way about what Ka'rys and I are trying to teach you, then all I can think is you must not really know me very well, to call me friend. Because what you can't stomach is second nature for me."

He slid underneath one arm, levering the larger browrnider up, waiting for R'wign to find his own feet. "And I don't tend to believe that people can judge the act and not the person." Definitely still upset, because his tone was so flat it barely even sounded human. "But if you really want to pursue this, then you're going to have to suck it up, because, believe it or not, there's probably not a single person on Pern who just woke up one morning and thought it would be a wonderful pasttime to go snuff someone out, right out of the blue. One of the first things you're going to have to do is learn how to protect your torso or you'll be helpless anyway."

[glamourie]

Don’t. The silent thought was a command, but it never quite reached his lips; there was a very good reason he hadn’t told M’ta of his upset, he simply didn’t want M’ta to know and how dare Ka’rys bring it up? He jerked his arms away forcibly – perhaps faster than he meant to, but when he was angry R’wign could not stand to be touched. Especially not when he was practically being yelled at. The proper thing to do would have been to accept the help, but his pride was wounded – and… so were his feelings, which was perhaps more devastating than the former in some ways; R’wign wouldn’t admit hurt feelings to anyone, let alone the person who caused them. He squirmed away from M’ta as he managed to climb to his feet, and actually stumbled across the sand until he was several feet away. His arms folded over his lower stomach, a decidedly protective gesture that he normally would have held off on, had it not been for M’ta’s words; he couldn’t bring himself not to feel cornered, and he wasn’t going to even try to spare M’ta’s feelings if the other boy was just… going to turn his apology on its nose. Their audience was totally ignored.

“You’re right. I totally think you’re a monster, and I judge you constantly, I’m just that kind of person,” he said quietly, but not without his own note of irritation in his voice. “I asked to learn to fight so that people didn’t have to protect me anymore, because I know I’m weak. Just because I find it hard doesn’t mean that I find it monstrous, and you need to stop superimposing your own insecurities onto me; I don’t shove mine at you, and I don’t appreciate you biting my head off.” Angry R’wign actually displaying that anger was a very rare thing indeed, but… he wasn’t even trying to be discreet. “I don’t judge you for what you do, and it’s stupid for you to assume that I do. You should know by now that I like you just for you, but if you’re so quick to believe the worst of me, that begs the question of why you kept me around in the first place – or maybe you are guilty of what you accuse me; maybe you’re the one passing judgment and you don’t like me half as much now that you know beneath the surface I’m not a Ka’rys, Kalierre or you! Well, I’m very sorry to disappoint you, M’ta, I really am. I’m always going to be weaker, and nothing anyone says is going to change that, so if you can’t handle that, maybe we’re all wasting our time?”

Were it anyone but M’ta that he was arguing with, R’wign would have chose that moment to storm off and totally avoid M’ta… indefinitely. Part of him very badly wanted to. He didn’t. He settled himself in the sand and curled his legs up in front of his chest protectively.

Did he believe that M’ta really was using him? Actually, R’wign did. The thought was one he didn’t give voice to usually – in fact, he never had before – but… he didn’t think he had any real friends. Marra was his friend, but she was dead. Everyone else used him in their own way, and didn’t like him; he wasn’t himself with them, either. He had to pretend to be someone – anyone – else. Usually he pretended to be a playful jokester. Everyone he talked to had ulterior motives and it… bothered him. He didn’t tell anyone his problems for real. No one. Not K’lir, not M’ta, not Kali, not Ka’rys. No one. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about his problems – he just… couldn’t. And he felt terrible for shooting his mouth off.

“I’m sorry. I’m frustrated, because I can’t understand why you’d ever think I think anything like that about you. You should know by now that I consider you my absolute best friend – for Faranth’s sake, M’ta, you’re who I would want to take care of my son if I died. I don’t know how else to tell you that I trust you and definitely don’t think of you as a monster.” His head bowed. “But I shouldn’t blow up. So I’m sorry.”

While R’wign spoke, Kalerary and Ka’rys chose that moment to stand up. R’wign did not notice as the brown-haired pair scampered off toward the Weyr. He still wasn’t meeting M’ta’s eyes but…