Let's just go over here... [Cezine]

[glamourie]

So tired.

Rawign wobbled into the candidate barracks, half-asleep. He'd been up a big part of the night helping one of the other Healers with one of the dragonless; he was raving, and on top of it, covered completely in burns. It was a dark experience to say the least, and the Healer wasn't sure how he felt. A big part of him had numbed to the tragedy. That was the cost of growing up in the North with the war; you either turned off the ability to feel sorrow and regret at every person's suffering or you went mad. That was not to say that he didn't recognize how awful what he witnessed was -- he did, and that was the source of his conflict -- but the days when such sights completely ruled Rawign were gone. Part of him felt immensely guilty that he didn't come back from treating such patients and fall apart, as he had when he was younger. Another part was grateful; if he was crippled with anguish, he was no good to anyone. That didn't change the fact that he felt as though he should have been so much more immensely moved, though. But Rawign responded less to death than he did life. At Healer Hall, he hadn't cried at any of the injuries he saw, or anything of that nature. But he nearly did when one of the women gave birth to a healthy, happy baby. There was something far more impressive about that. Anyone could kill under the right circumstances, and so many people and dragons alike lost their lives every day. Not anyone could give life.

Arriving in the common rooms, Rawign sought a chair and plopped down into it. Several strands of his long black hair had fallen free, despite the fact that it was tied back so severely when he'd started out, and he looked as tired as he felt. Beggar left him long ago to sleep; the little firelizard was probably curled up on Rawign's cot on the second floor. But despite his exhaustion and the aching of his joints and muscles, he wasn't eager to go up to sleep. Aside from needing to calm down (his heartbeat was still racing; it always did after he finished in the infirmary for the day), Rawign didn't trust his mind. If he closed his eyes he would have nightmares of what was going on in the north, and he didn't want to deal with that. He needed to still his mind and focus on more pleasant things, so he would sit in the common room and relax.

At least they (and it wasn't just him; he had help) had managed to calm the man enough that he wasn't raving, and his burns were bandaged. Behind Rawign's eyes were burn scar images; awful. Burns were disgusting to look at, though. They leaked and pussed and - gross. They didn't bleed, but blood wasn't half as disgusting as the stuff that came out of burns. He still smelled numbweed, too; it would take a good night's sleep to rob him of that image and the smell. Maybe a bath too, because he honestly felt dirty, though much of that likely stemmed from sweat and nerves. Anxiety was good about completely robbing him of his senses, and he was anxious. Returning to the barracks brought back some of the dread that the Weyr always offered him. Dragons were the ones who caused those burns, too --- No, no, better to not think that way. His stomach twisted uncomfortably. He'd do much better not to think about it. His fingers massaged his eyelids as he sat, hunched over, in the chair. It was dark, most people would be asleep; only the earliest risers would be stirring, but possibly not for awhile. Good. Rawign felt dead on his feet and he didn't want everyone and their firelizard to see him.

[boober]

But it wasn't a firelizard that happened upon the Healer in common room. Cezine was just returning from a bath, her bare feet silent as she padded back toward the barracks. She was clad in a loose garment that looked rather like a very oversized shirt. One shoulder was exposed, and she idly reached up to pull the collar back up where it belonged. Her skin was still warm and damp from her bath, her hair loose and wet, lying across her shoulder in a dark twist. The common room had been empty when she'd gone, so imagine her surprise when she walked in to find someone sitting in one of the chairs. Blinking, the young woman watched him for a moment, wondering who he was. He didn't look familiar to her, and she knew quite a few people within the Weyr. She'd been there for quite a while after all, and most of the failed Candidates (like her) were kept rather than sent home... if that was where they wanted to be. No, that wasn't quite fair. Most of them hadn't bothered to ask. They honestly preferred staying at the Weyr. Which was why Cezine knew quite a few of the younger people within the Weyr.

Shifting her weight somewhat toward the women's barracks, she glanced away before looking at the hunched figure in the chair once more. Whatever he was doing here, it was none of her business. He had plenty of things to get off his mind, she knew just from looking at him. But didn't everyone? Cezine herself, for example, was really still somewhat bitter about how she'd come to be at this Weyr... but no one knew of it. No one, that is, except her and the Searchrider who had brought her back. And the whole of Southern Hold. But that was another matter. For the most part, Cezine had... let go, if not entirely forgiven, if only because she knew that she was more suited for life there at the Weyr than she ever had been for Holdlife. So in some ironic way, it was almost... fortunate... that she'd been pulled away from her home and family and everything that was familiar and dear to her. Almost fortunate.

As though suddenly realizing it was odd to just stand there and stare at someone, Cezine glanced down and away, her lips parting as she started to speak. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to disturb you." For surely she had disturbed him, perhaps as much as he had startled her. A drop of water rolled down her chest from her hair, and she reached up to swipe it away self-consciously. Rather than walk away from him at that, she paused to study him with smoky, dusky eyes. "You're new here, aren't you?" Her voice was soft and quiet, likely to avoid waking those sleeping within the barracks. But Cezine was a quiet speaker by default; she never yelled or even raised her voice unless she was given good reason to. And she wasn't pushy, either. If he insisted on not talking and/or being alone, then she would not speak again and leave him. But she couldn't deny that she enjoyed meeting and talking to new people... and he looked like he could use someone to talk to.

[glamourie]

Footsteps made Rawign look up, just in time to hear the young woman's greeting. His eyebrows raised slightly. The way she was dressed (or rather, not dressed) was noted with mild interest; he didn't do too well at ignoring barely-dressed women, who could expect anything but? However, he refrained from commenting on it, no matter how tempting she looked. It wasn't his place to say anything about how the women of the Weyr, candidate or not, were dressed... or not dressed. (And he didn't have any complaints.)

"No apology is necessary," Rawign said softly. She had disturbed him, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, since all he was doing was letting himself drift into darker thoughts than he was willing to fess up to. He wasn't prone to brooding. He just had to adjust mentally, that was all. It wasn't as though she'd made any racket; actually, if he hadn't heard her footsteps, she probably could have gone past without him so much as looking up, that was how deep in thought Rawign was. He appreciated the courtesy, though. He hadn't received a whole lot of that since his arrival at Selenitas. The only people he'd met, he was sure disliked him. Kalierre, perhaps, did not. He was sure that Z'hin and Marra did, and he wasn't sure he cared all that much. That was literally the only people he knew very well, though he'd spoken to a particularly rude redheaded boy on one occasion, only to be scolded because his firelizard snored. (Actually, the boy accused him of snoring, but pfft!! Rawign didn't believe that for a second! Him? Snore? Laughable!) It was... nice to actually be treated like an equal by someone.

The question of whether he was new or not sent his defenses up, though. He was under the impression most people treated new individuals rudely. He didn't want to admit it, but truth was truth, and Rawign was not an accomplished liar; he'd never seen the virtue in practicing such a skill. "I'm a Healer. I transferred here as my first station and the dragon who brought me, his rider politely informed me that I was to stand on the Sands as a candidate." His voice went completely cold, lacking in emotion, which was probably a hint to how he felt about that. He was scared of dragons. Kalierre's Green had not helped that matter by running into him when Marra fell off the rocks. That hurt. And further emphasized the idea that dragons were dangerous. He was afraid of them for other reasons, though. The wars in the north were enough to stain anyone's opinion of the great beasts; it was a wonder he wasn't frightened of flitters, too. But he wasn't. "Politely in the form of 'You're a candidate, barracks are this way, follow me.'" He gave a slightly sheepish smile. "My name is Rawign. I don't know yours." Which was funny; she wasn't a Craftswoman then, and she was not a rider. Then again, he'd known that. She was, after all, in the candidate barracks.

One hand moved up to brush his hair from his face before Rawign uncurled slightly. The Healer knots he wore were more readily visible than the candidate knots. He had a habit of conveniently forgetting he was a candidate at all. While he didn't run from the dragons or break down, Rawign did keep a healthy distance from them. He was convinced the rider who brought him (and really, Rawign was scared half to death of that brown, no matter how nice the rider had been) was trying to traumatize him. Thought it would be funny, "Haha, he's afraid of dragons, let's put him on the Sands!" - although the logic for that was completely askew. Why, the rider had told him he had nothing to fear, hadn't he? Listening wasn't Rawign's strong point when he was afraid; reassurances rarely worked for him. So he pretended not to be a candidate in hopes of 'accidentally' getting lost... even if he was getting over his fear of dragons. The ones at Selenitas didn't seem quite as dangerous as the ones in the north. In fact, aside from being mutated and almost sickly at times, the dragonets were almost... cute. Almost.

[boober]

A small smile curved across Cezine's mouth as she looked at the young man named Rawign. Slowly, she padded forward to settle into the chair next to his and draped her left leg over her right knee. She was showing off an almost dangerous amount of thigh in that position, but if she was aware of it, she ignored it. She was not a promiscuous woman, but she did tend to dress in a slightly more provocative manner than she had at home. The truth of the matter was simply that she enjoyed comfortable clothes... and if 'comfortable' consisted of too large to stay on her body properly, then that was what she was going to wear. And the young woman was perfectly aware that she might be sending him.. signals. Normally, this would have been carefully avoided, but at this particular point in time, she found she didn't care. Whether they ended up going their separate ways, or.. not.. she didn't mind either way.

His reaction to what she'd thought had been a perfectly innocent question threw her off a bit. Tilting her head somewhat, Cezine listened without interruption, as always. One of her best qualities (she felt) was her listening skills. She almost never had to ask someone to repeat themselves, even if she was performing another task at the same time. And thus it was she realized when he mentioned it that she hadn't introduced herself. Mirroring his sheepish smile, she quickly remedied this. "I'm Cezine. It's a pleasure to meet you, Rawign." She offered her hand, because a polite handshake was always in order. "I apologize if er.. my state of dress offends you. There was no one here when I left for a bath, and I'd intended to go to sleep afterward." Somehow, she didn't think he was offended at all, but there was no harm in being polite.

Upon hearing how he was Searched, Cezine couldn't make up her mind as to whether she found it amusing or if it irritated her. Displaying neither, she simply sighed and reached up to brush a long strand of wet hair behind her ear. "I'm afraid Selenitas Searchriders are somewhat lacking in their technique. Apparently still." Her voice was dry. "I was taken from my Hold at fourteen. Whatever the Searchdragon sees in people apparently fit for dragonriding, he must have seen in abundance in me, for I was worth the risk of kidnapping." Now humor danced through her words, as if there was some great irony to be had here... and there was, actually. "I've stood at two Hatchings since, and, as you can see, I've not Impressed anything even remotely desirable." She'd Impressed dragon scars, but that was about it. And she'd have happily gone without those. "Very ironic, don't you think?" Even still, Cezine's voice was soft and light, certainly not enough to wake anyone sleeping, but enough for the man beside her to hear perfectly what she was saying.

She looked at him for a moment, her dark eyes (their color almost indiscernible in the gloom) studying him briefly. "And... how are you finding it here at Selenitas?" The question was gentle, nothing probing or demanding. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. If he didn't, he would not, but either way, she would be there to listen if he did. Not only would she listen, but Cezine could also sympathize; she had absolutely despised Selenitas Weyr for the first Turn, easily, before she slowly came to the realization that life in a Weyr was better for her, and this Weyr was better than one of those warring against each other in the north. Not much improvement, she thought, but some was better than none.

[glamourie]

Rawign blinked, smiled, and took her hand with a light shake that was not firm, but definitely not weak, either. In his experience, the people whose handshakes were too firm were usually the ones insecure in themselves; he wasn't. While he might have felt like he was lost in the Weyr, he didn't doubt that he was intelligent, talented and capable of handling himself. He didn't feel as though he needed to push Cezine in any way by proxy, although he knew others who would. She'd obviously been there longer than him; should he have been intimidated? Rawign decided not to think about it, instead giving her a curiously raised eyebrow, as though he thought her apology for the way she was dressed was strange. He didn't see why that would offend any thinking man, but Rawign was well-aware (having met Marra) that some individuals at Selenitas seemed to possess all the common sense of a wherry drowned in wine. And surely only someone with that intellectual capacity would find the way that Cezine was dressed to be offensive.

But if she thought the attitude problem was exclusive to Searchriders, she was mistaken. Rawign was surprised to hear she was kidnapped (He was from the north after all, and lived around the wars; kidnapping wasn't that uncommon there, but it was strange to think of it as happening in the south.) but he didn't comment on it; what was it to him? She didn't sound too terribly upset and since she hadn't run away from the Weyr yet, she was obviously not too put out. That was his stance, anyway. Besides, she wasn't his friend. Her problems weren't his to concern himself with. He listened with a curt nod; she spoke quietly, but so did he, rarely raising his voice even when angered. Yelling from Rawign was unusual.

"In my experience, Selenitas Weyrfolk are not all that much better in the form of manners and helpful attitudes," Rawign snipped, then realized the statement applied to her and frowned. "Not everyone. But there have been a few who made me wish I'd accepted being stationed at either Fort or Benden." Bite his tongue; he could well end up there. He didn't really mean it though. Selenitas was considerably more appealing, despite the fact that there were a few dungheads about. "I've never been to a Hatching. I don't know enough to say whether anything would be desirable or not." That statement was probably the best insight into Rawign's mind that he'd given anyone, short of the Searchrider who brought him. In that one sentence, it was clear Rawign was uncomfortable about dragons, and anyone with knowledge of the wars in the north would be able to connect why, and likely how he felt.

If he wanted to be completely honest, he'd have told her he was miserable. It was too close to the truth. He didn't make friends easily, and he'd already made at least one enemy. He felt a little isolated, and the fact that there were so many dragons made him frightened much of the time. And working with the dragonless was dreadful. Some part of him still felt dead inside. He decided to go with a lie; he didn't like doing so, but it was better than trying to explain his feelings, or the hollowness overwhelming him. "It's beautiful here." There. A nice, noncommittal response. It was true, too; Selenitas was lovely. He liked sitting out by the river; it was peaceful and good for thinking. "It's nice to meet you, too, Cezine." That was more added as an after-thought. "I apologize if I seem distant. I haven't slept; I've just come back from... rounds." An image of burn scars flashed behind his eyes and he clenched them closed as his head bowed. Rounds was a good term for it. "If I'm keeping you awake, please don't feel inclined to stay for me. I would hate to rob you of a proper night's sleep." Amazingly, there was no sarcasm in his response. He was too tired to be nasty.

[boober]

Cezine said nothing at first, opting instead to quietly study the young man before her. He looked... tired. More than tired, he looked like she had felt upon her own arrival at the Weyr, and the young woman was deeply sympathetic. She felt a rather irritating urge to comfort him, but she wasn't sure how to go about doing so or if he would even appreciate any attempts to do so. So she kept quietly to herself, though she did make up her mind about something: she would try and be a friend to him. He looked like he could use one. She smiled somewhat, glancing down. "No; I probably would still be awake anyway. And I can certainly sympathize." Cezine did not miss the vague response to her question, and she left it alone. If he didn't want to talk about how he /really/ felt, she would not make him. "I despised it here when I came." Pausing, she seemed to be contemplating the best possible way to say what she meant. "I'm... used to it, I suppose." One slim shoulder came up in a shrug, causing the shirt she wore to slide down more.

"It does get better, some. But if you have the opportunity to go someplace better, it may not be an entirely bad idea." She sighed and looked down again. "Although I'm hard-pressed to think of any better places right now." Somehow, she felt that a subject change was in order. "Hatchings are... definitely interesting." A smile spread across her face, somewhat dry. "Never a dull moment; those hatchlings keep you on your toes. Or at least, they should." And she was living proof of that. The scars down her back and legs had been a very painful lesson, but one well-learned. Cezine was not afraid to stand at the Hatching; she was not afraid of the dragonets, and she certainly didn't hate them. Not even the one who'd given her the scars; he (or she) had grown into a fine young dragon by now. A shame she didn't know which one it was... it would have been interesting to see what kind of creature s/he had grown into.

But, remembering how tired he'd looked to her, Cezine studied Rawign briefly. "Well. If /you/ want to sleep, then I'll leave you be. You look exhausted." And her voice dropped slightly, a note of sympathy creeping into it. Not pity; there was a difference, at least to her, between feeling sorry for someone (or one's self) and sympathizing. Sympathy was acceptable; pity almost never was. And she was expecting neither from him. Yes, she'd been kidnapped to be dumped onto Sands she had no desire to be on at a Weyr she'd detested for Turns. She missed her family and her friends, and she'd been savagely mauled from behind by some random dragonet. But all of these things (except missing her family, of course) were in the past; they were over and done with, and she had moved on. She neither wanted nor expected sympathy from anyone, least of all someone who didn't even know her. Which was probably why she didn't launch into her whole life's story. He knew she'd been kidnapped, and that was all he needed to know... though if he /wanted/ to know more, she would tell him. All he had to do was ask.

[glamourie]

It didn't seem as though the Weyr was a hard place to despise. While he was able to think of several good points (the dragonets were cute, if strange, and Phremath seemed nice enough), the people alone made it unpleasant. But Rawign did not have a skill for people. Something like that took years to develop, and his whole life was spent separating parts of his personality into neat, organized containers. Here is the part that deals with people as a Healer, here is the part that is a seventeen-turn-old male, and here is the part that is holdbred. Neat, organized, gift-wrapped and put apart so that they rarely ever collided. Like flying dragons, though, when they did collide, things were ugly very quickly. So far, all Rawign found was collisions of the sides of him that existed upon his arrival at Selenitas. The Healer side had to loan patience to the other two, and the other two had to loan bravery to the Healer part, the male half had to learn to control his tongue, and everything about him had to remind him that Nerat Hold was very different from the Weyr and he was better off not expecting the same things. It was most definitely a project.

Did it really get better? Rawign had a very hard time imagining that. His mind kept flashing on the fact that everyone he met, Cezine and Kalierre exempted, was so.. obnoxious. (His judgments of Z'hin were unfair and the part of him that was a Healer knew that; it also vocalized that he was being incredibly unfair to Marra, but he never listened to that little voice.) Maybe it was because he was new, or because he just didn't fit in... He didn't know anymore. He really didn't.

"I'm not tired," Rawign replied, though it wasn't entirely truthful. Tired though he was, he probably wouldn't get much in the way of sleep anyway, and conversing with her was one of the first things he'd found at Selenitas to be fun and not awkward. At least she didn't seem to dislike him on principle. "If I become tired, I will let you know, and I will leave." He brought one hand up to run through his bangs, pushing the shorter strands from his face, though they fell right back into their place. Unruly hair! That thought made him flash on a rumour he heard; if candidates Impressed, they had to hack off their hair very short. Would he have to? Was it compulsory? He hoped so. He wanted to be rid of the long strands, but if he missed them, he liked the idea of blaming someone else. Very strange, the connections his mind made, especially when he was exhausted. Rawign did not give voice to any of those ideas.

A thought occurred to him. Rawign looked over at Cezine. She was kidnapped from her home. Fitting in must have been dreadful for her, so she likely knew, "How does one go about fitting in better at a place so different from their home that they might as well have sprouted wings, for how well they blend in?" It was probably a strangely worded question and not one many people would ask, but pride was one thing. Rawign was fairly sure if he didn't learn or a least try, he was going to go insane. Selenitas could not be all that bad. Their dragons weren't as badly scarred. They didn't seem as vicious as the northern ones. He could and would fit in. He'd make himself fit in. If that required admitting how awkward he felt, so be it. His pride could take the blow in the face of his sanity and happiness. It would be worth it, in the end.

[boober]

Cezine nodded when he replied that he wasn't tired; as long as she wasn't boring him to death, then it was fine. She didn't mind staying up with someone as long as they didn't mind staying up with her. While he looked tired to her, it didn't occur to the young woman to accuse him of lying. She simply took his statement to mean that he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he was tired. Something she was all too familiar with, though not so much anymore. When she had first arrived at the Weyr, sleep had only been possible once she'd exhausted her body beyond what it could tolerate, causing it to shut down without regard to where she was or what she was doing. The worst part of it was that none of it had been by choice; attempts to sleep like a 'normal' person had resulted in restless nights spent tossing and turning in her furs and thinking of and missing her family dreadfully, among other things. Now sleep came easier, though she was still prone to lying awake at night and thinking of things she probably shouldn't until sleep came and laid her mind to rest.

His question came a surprise to her, though it didn't show beyond a blink. She glanced down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap; how did one go about answering a question they had no idea how to answer? "Well..." Cezine paused, looking up thoughtfully before shaking her head. "To be honest, I don't really know." She gave him a smile that was slightly apologetic. "I made absolutely no effort to fit in here. I hated it with a passion. I would fight with everyone all the time and refuse to do chores and other things asked of me." A slim shoulder was lifted in a helpless shrug. "I guess what happened was, I just realized one day that I'm better suited for a life at the Weyr than I am for Hold life. I stopped fighting it so much, and it gradually got easier." She reached up to comb fingers through her wet hair, something of a nervous habit. "I don't know if the same will apply to you or not; honestly, I still don't even know if I truly 'fit in' here. I'm pretty sure that very few people here who know of me actually like me." But was that her problem? Some would say yes, but Cezine said no. What did she care if people liked her or not? While popularity could make life easier, it was also considered cheating (at least by her standards). She'd rather have something because she had /earned/ it and deserved it, not because she was liked.

"I wish I could be more helpful." As far as Rawign was concerned, she liked him already. He was one of the few people in the Weyr that Cezine actually liked. Sure, there could be some quirk of his that she'd find out about later that might make her rethink her opinion, but for now, he was safe with her. And she would answer any of his questions to the best of her ability. "I think it goes on a case-by-case basis... whatever is keeping you from fitting in, try to fix it in whatever way you can. It's not always your fault, and it isn't always something you /can/ fix. But at least you try." She offered another shrug, showing she was finished. "You're always welcome to come talk to me if you need to."

[glamourie]

Rawign nodded silently and leaned back in his chair. His head tilted back and he stared up at the ceiling of the common room in the barracks with a blank expression, but his feelings were anything but. Was he really making it too hard on himself, like she had? The truth was, he was afraid of dragons, and that fear gave him a weakness he had trouble disguising. As a result, Rawign kept most of the Weyr at a distance, was deliberately being friendly but not overly so to everyone he met, in hopes of avoiding them becoming angry with him, or worse, noticing that he wasn't completely in his element. His pride wouldn't let him befriend anyone outright. He couldn't bear the thought of people thinking of him as pathetic and that was exactly how he felt. In a way, he probably was bringing it more on himself, though he did that everywhere he went. Even at Healer Hall, he'd been on the nasty side, solely to keep anyone from trying to become his friend. He had no real explanation for it except as a self-defense technique, but there was a chance he was going to be at Selenitas for a very long time. He probably should make the best of the arrangement...

"I don't think it's something I can easily fix, like mending a tear in my tunic or something of that nature. It isn't something one can easily remedy..."

Trailing off, Rawign pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged them to himself as his eyes dropped. Would it hurt to tell her? Probably. But he had to admit it to someone, didn't he, if he was ever to get better? Kalierre had to have picked up on it, and probably the brownrider Z'hin and Harper Marra. He hadn't exactly been subtle in hiding his raw terror at the sight of the dragonets. He'd tried really hard, but trying didn't always win someone over. In his case, it happened to work in reverse more often than not.

"I grew up in the North. I was born in Nerat, a fishing hold to be specific... and I'm a Journeyman Healer. When I was younger, I actually traveled on foot to Healer CraftHall. I saw... a lot of horrible things. Healer Hall is Fort territory and..." Fidgeting, Rawign lowered his head. His hair swept over his eyes; he was 'hiding' behind the strands. "One of the first patients I treated as an apprentice, when I was still learning, was a boy who was singed badly by a dragon from the war. It was an accident, everyone thought, but the burn... it was one of the ugliest things I've ever seen. I remember saying to myself, 'How can these beasts be similar to my Beggar, when they're so vicious?' -- Beggar is my firelizard. I remember wondering, and I wonder still. The dragons here, they're not as badly scarred up from the war, not like the North, but that doesn't change the fact that they're mutated and -- I look at them and I see burn victims all around me, people who have been hurt in this war, and I wonder how anyone can ask me to stand on the sands and face them. All I see when I look at them is death. You're the first person I've ever told that to..."

The truth was, he was afraid beyond words, and he knew how strange that must have sounded. Dragonriders were supposed to be honorable, but he wasn't seeing very much honor in them. All he saw was the death they brought, and the pain. How anyone could expect him to ever want to be such an individual was beyond him.