it's noon; what's for lunch? [kostya]

[glamourie]

After about half a candlemark of staring at the ceiling and trying to will his bedmate awake, Marsayis was forced to accept that he had yet to develop a telepathic connection that would enable mere thought to make the greenhandler act on his will. While the realization was crushing, it occurred to him that if he wanted anything, he really was better off just waking the blond boy up. Sad.

“Wake up, Kostenka.”

What time was it? Too early, came the response from the dark blue wher curled up near his bed. Marsask was a constant companion for Marsayis, particularly of late. Calamari had been killed – by accident, but killed – over a week previous. It hit the bluehandler with the force of a ton of bricks falling on top of him and he hadn’t spoken since. He hadn’t really done much other than curl up (locations varied, really) and stare off into space. Well, ‘staring off into space’ wasn’t the right description. To the outward world, he certainly looked out of it, as if he was dazed and confused. Inside, he was fuming. It was pathological, the bluehandler’s anger. He hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings outwardly because he was focused, and the intensity of that focus really blocked everything but Marsask out. The wher had to drag him to eat because left to his own devices, Marsayis would’ve just sat and steamed, plotting. Plotting and listening. Listening got people a lot further than most realized and he was pissed enough to glean any and every bit of information of things he overheard. Not that he knew what he was going to do with it yet. He’d figure that out later. For now… he was storing.

He hadn’t spoken – period – until those three words, and inwardly he cringed at the way that his voice sounded. Low and raspy, from lack of use, with an almost hoarse edge. Marsask squirmed and he glanced without moving toward the wher. Too early. Probably daylight hours. He hadn’t actually been sleeping well, but that wasn’t really surprising since apparently the little worms (Del opposed being called that and any time he said it out loud, the salamandyr bit him) bonded intensely. Damn them. He was kind of irritated with himself for allowing the upset to so visibly shake him but for the moment, he was grateful that he didn’t really have many associates. Being antisocial had its perks.

He wanted to cut someone.

“I’m hungry.” He was, actually. He hadn’t eaten in how long? – Half a day. Grumbled thoughts. Marsask was angry – angry that the brown thing had abandoned them and hurt His so, angry that His was not willing to go on adventures lately, and angry in general that His was not okay. Also right then, angry at being woken up. I didn’t wake you up, you woke up on your own. Talking had that side effect. Marsask snorted and rose to his feet, then proceeded to move closer and lay his head on Marsayis’s arm protectively. He’d been over-protective of late, for good reason. Did His really think Konstask’s would go get him something because he asked? “Yeah, I do.” That was out loud. “I know that.” Just making sure. Marsayis ignored his blue’s amusement and cleared his throat before tacking on, oh-so-bossily (but surprisingly typical for Marsayis, all things considered), “You should get up and go get me something to eat and drink.”

[rii]

Kostenka.

The name alone drew a half-growl out of the blond. Kostya's arm tightened where it crossed over Marsayis's chest and absently turned his face into the shoulder to shield it from any attempts to wake. After starting his apprenticing shifts at the infirmary, Kostya was not happy about being woken from the sleep he needed. It was different when he had all the free time in the world to catch up on his sleep. Now, now, Kostya didn't want to wake up. If it was another damn invasion, by all means take the damn weyr.

Realization dawned more slowly than usual - Marsayis was talking. Kostya's head snapped upright; even if the rest of his body remained closely snuggled to his friend. He blinked a few times in failed attempt to see through the darkness. Talking was good; and because of this Kostya was willing to forgive the whole matter at being woken up at an ungodly hour. He had never known Marsayis to fall into such a .. funk.. about anything. It made him actually worry.

Nice that he didn't have to spare his mind to that nuisance of a feeling any longer.

Although, the last bit of words, maybe Kostya suddenly think Marsayis was merely talking in his sleep. Just to be sure, or maybe just because he was a brat (really, waking him get up to go fetch food, tch), Kostya lowered his hand to pinch Marsayis's flank.

[glamourie]

Pinch. Irritating. Grr.

“Not now, darling, can’t you hear that I’m hungry?”

Yeah, it was directly in response to the location being pinched. Marsayis narrowed his eyes and then sat up abruptly, most likely dislodging Kostya from being curled against him. He’d been nice to start with by speaking but since that clearly wasn’t working, he would settle for brute force. Both hands came up and he quite literally shoved Kostya out of the furs. If words didn’t get him up and motivated, he was betting that hitting the cold stone flooring would. Some people might’ve questioned how someone could so easily be near-violent with a friend of theirs, but Marsayis would have insisted that Kostya was being a poorly behaved pet, not a friend. He’d trained him better than that, he had. Surely he knew he was supposed to be at his beck and call or what have you. Then again, it was daylight (and something told him probably midday too – shards) and functioning for a wherhandler at those hours was rare. Considering Marsayis himself would normally growl and threaten anyone who woke him up before full dark, it was wildly hypocritical of him to expect Kostya to not only get up at his request but actually fulfill it. But he expected it nonetheless. His friend-servant did not usually argue with him on things like that.

And Marsayis did not usually ask for food. He was a finicky eater, having to prepare things entirely on his own or they just were not good enough in his mind. He had an unusual and downright weird phobia about vomiting, to the point of mistrusting meat unless he prepared it, most kinds of fish, and honestly, anything that might sit improperly on his stomach. Thus, Marsayis didn’t drink, he rarely ate sweets, hated poultry, was weird on most meat in general and always ate in small patches throughout the day instead of large ones all at once. Dairy was simply out of the question. None of these were new little habits though. The fact that he was trusting Kostya to get him food – it spoke volumes. About his trust of Kostya, yes, but also about his laziness. He wasn’t feeling too hot. That tended to happen when one didn’t sleep or eat properly.

He cocked his head to the side. Marsask lifted his and slipped around the bed, stopping in front of Kostya’s fallen form to lick his face messily. Lots and lots of wher slobber. His tail thumped lightly behind him before he leapt up into the furs like some kind of overgrown canine, body half drooping off the side, and he cocked his head to the side. If whers could smile, it was likely that Marsask would’ve been at that moment. Smile, smile. Hello, Konstask’s. How were you sleeping? Basically, that was what the expression asked and Marsayis eyed the wher for a moment before nudging him with one hand, an irritated look on his face.

“Bed. Get off of it. You’re dirty and you smell.” He did not. And if he did, it was His’s fault for neglecting him terribly. Marsayis rolled his eyes and pulled his knees to his chest. Pale; yes, he was pale. “I’m going to have to change the bedding now because of you.”

[rii]

The warmth moved away, and Kostya might have complained if not for the smile plastered on his face. Definitely not innocent in just making sure Marsayis was awake and not babbling away in his sleep. If it had been with anyone else, the sudden push would of been met with a growl and immediate pinning. As it was, Kostya chuckled as he seat found the rough stone. A hand lifted to rub away the sleep from the corner of his eye. Marsayis was allowed certain graces since thier 'friendship' went back to when they were both children. After Kostya's sister died, and the death of the lord holder's son, the two only had each other as a stable presence - not that Kostya would ever consider either one of them to fit the term stable.

"Blekk," Kostya's hand, once at his eye, dropped to push Marsask's muzzle aside. Gross. The blue beast then saw it fit to take his spot on the bed. Kostya toyed with the idea of whining about being unwanted and going to find a new bed and room to reside in during the night. Empty words, as the only other choice he even considered wouldn't be very keen to let him in beyond the frame of door. There was the whole factor that most people found it odd that he didn't like to sleep alone in a bed. What a shame.

Grabbing a nearby shirt, regardless of the owner, Kostya used it to wipe the slobber off his face then toss the article at Marsask's head. Food, right. Rolling onto his feet, Kostya rifled through the drawers until he found a suitable shirt to pull on over his head. Half way out the door he paused, leaning against the wood while shooting a dramatic look back at his friend. "Anything else I can get you? With a bit of coin I'm sure I could find a decent body to warm your furs in my place, one with a nice set of breasts?"

He tilted his head, brow rising inquiringly before he slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him. It was a relatively short and quiet trip to the kitchens. Kostya returned a few moments later with a bowl containing mostly fruits and a simple cup of water to drink. No he didn't mind, at all, fetching these things for Marsayis. Perhaps he had gotten use to it over time, and frankly at the moment he was a bit too tired argue.. just for the sake of arguing. "I've grave news, it seems at noon -" a shrewd look was shot pointlessly in Marsayis's direction. "-the wenches are no where to be found. Did I happen to mention that the sun is very bright?"

Because now he had a headache from squinting against the over-abundance of light.

[glamourie]

Shiiiirt. The shiiiirt was thrown at his head, and Marsayis smiled indulgently as he caught it. And then promptly tossed it aside, letting it fall lifelessly to the floor at the side of the bed. His hands went to the blankets and he pulled them up over himself, around his legs and over his shoulders as though chilled. He was. It wasn’t that the air was cold though – it was just that Marsayis was practically skin and bones. He got cold easy and he rarely wore clothing to bed, so it was a catch-22. The intelligent thing to do would be to put on something but that involved getting up and honestly, he found it uncomfortable to get clothed just because of a temporary case of the shivers. So he wouldn’t. He’d just shiver, bundle in blankets and deal with it. At least he wasn’t complaining, though. In his mind, it was one thing to complain and quite another to complain about something that he could fix. Yes, he was somewhat proactive when it came to his own personal feelings. If he had something to gripe about and he could fix it, he usually didn’t complain as much. Not to say he didn’t at all though.

The question made him smile again, and he bowed his head, a wave of long hair falling over his face. His dark blue eyes narrowed into slits, playful, teasing, mocking.

“If I have to pay, it’s obviously not worth it. Half the fun is convincing them without coin.”

Which, of course, Kostya knew about him. Despite the fact that he’d been close to nonfunctioning over the past few days (he handled grief poorly), that part of his personality hadn’t changed and likely never would. He had too much of an ego. The thrill of the hunt (metaphorically speaking) was what made a conquest all the more satisfying – so, no. Paying was out. Besides, Kostya did just fine for keeping him warm most of the time, literally and figuratively; he didn’t actually need contact for that. Some people were incredibly touchy feely – like Kostya – but he wasn’t. The knowledge that Kostya was his (in the sense of master-and-slave as much as friends – yes, Marsayis was somewhat damaged in that regard) was enough to keep him from getting too depressed. Most of the time, anyway. Marsask also helped, despite his tendency to want to play all the time. Because Marsask did love him; he could feel that. Weirdly enough.

His gaze followed Kostya out of the room and then he took to stretching, his arms first above his head and then his legs out in front of him. The movement had him flopping on the bed like a fish out of water, arms and legs both stretched out, with his back and shoulders popping musically. Only once he was completely satisfied did he go back to sitting up properly and finger-brushing his hair with one hand, picking at his eyes with the other. Marsask chose that moment to hop off the furs and go back to his spot to sleep, and he fell that way nearly instantly; Marsayis was jealous of his ability to relax. Fortunately, it didn’t take the greenhandler long to return with the food he’d demanded strenuously requested, and the expected complaints that brought a wry smile to his face.

“Would it be the sun if it wasn’t?” He held one hand out expectantly and then raised an eyebrow. “You would think that the wenches, as it were, would be more active during the daylight hours. You must have them trained very well. I’m proud of you.”

[rii]

Kostya placed the bowl of fruit in Marsayis's expecting palm without a fuss, or a stray pondering of the dynamics of their friendship. To rationalize it all would mean Kostya would have to acknowledge the weird attachment issue he developed after his sister's death, and it was never a good day, for anyone, when his mind went down those paths. He set the cup of water within reach, casing a glance at the green wher comfortably sprawled out over his bed (Konstask long ago claimed it for herself), before he shifted over and crawled past Marsayis to lay down on his side facing the wall. Maybe Saysis had gotten enough sleep on and off in the past week - since he had done little else - but Kostya was tired.

"I'm sure that wenching is a night-time profession to accommodate the daylighters, and that most of them bond to green dragons and if not that, flounce around the flightrooms as moths." Which he wondered how often really got used if the flights were anything like wher runs. It didn't seem at all that uncommon to find salamandyr or wher influenced minds having a good old time in the halls or common room. It make Kostya want to lock his door. Not that he minded the show, but hell if he would tolerate some lust-driven pair to fill his room with their stench. The thought brought a fresh wave of irritation to mind, and Kostya lifted his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I've also decided, aside from the sun being too bright, that there are too many male wher handlers. Now that you've finished your vow of silence, you should work on tempting the female candidates to the wher hatchings." Making light of his friend's odd stage of grief. Kostya was just glad it was over with for the simple fact he didn't know how to comfort like a normal person might. The tender caring words were beyond him. Usually Kostya's brand of comfort, to Marsayis, came in the form of mentioning the newest person he found in need of tormenting.

It shouldn't have been any surprise that the very idea of this brought forth the image of Damori. Kostya snorted - expelling the thoughts from his mind. He was going to be good, damnit. "Or just new handlers in general. I'm getting quickly bored of this crowd." It was never good when he got bored. Traveling around the north had made it so much easier to deal with - yet they had been at the weyr for nearly a turn now. "I started apprenticing with the healers to help with it.." The boredom, that is.

Kostya yawned, shifting to drape the raised arm over his face. "You need anything else?"

[glamourie]

Nom. Marsayis curled his hands around the bowl and scooted back further, then set it down in his lap. A sliced piece of redfruit was retrieved and nibbled as his dark blue eyes followed Kostya’s movements curiously. A quiet hum of appreciation was offered as the only acknowledgment to the water but it was all he needed; some people thanked, some people got excited, Marsayis just sort of nodded and people were expected to know that it meant he was grateful and happy about something. After as long as the two of them had known each other, yes, Marsayis held Kostya to that standard. And he didn’t think he was wrong to do so. The blond certainly had never seemed to mind it before. Babbling on about how he was so grateful when he was popping orders and making demands would’ve been awkward, anyway, and he was trying to minimalize how weirdly he behaved. For the moment, anyway. Weirding out Kostya had a place and a time and when he was hungry wasn’t it. (His ability to be creative was hampered. Boohoo.)

“Green dragons. Not to be mistaken for green handlers, who are decidedly less eager to be involved in the wenching profession.”

The edge of mockery to his voice was undeniable. He didn’t really see a dramatic difference between dragonriders and wherhandlers in terms of personalities but then, Marsayis disliked everyone. He was pretty sure though that Kostya was not in the least qualified to mock greenriders, considering that his mindmate was also green and flighty. Though, it was likely that regardless of what (if anything) Kostya Impressed, Sayis would’ve managed to make a comparison simply because he was Marsayis and it was what he did. That it fit relatively well just put him in a slightly better mood. Or maybe that was the fruit’s doing. Whatever.

He nibbled the piece of fruit in his hand as his friend spoke, and after a moment he popped the rest of it in his mouth with an intrigued look. Too many male wherhandlers? He’d never really paid them much mind. Honestly, he only talked to Kostya and sort of vaguely acknowledged the others as existing. They weren’t interesting. In fact, in his opinion, they were all disgustingly boring. Marsask was not eager to socialize with them either; in fact, the wher seemed more content to go exploring and haul him into weyrs in the dead of night. He was more interested in dragonriders. Bigger variety, less having to deal with them afterwards. So… he’d never noticed.

“Why don’t you convince some of the female candidates?” he inquired, more to sate his own curiosity than anything else. “You’re just as capable as I am. Though, to be honest, I’ve never known you to be so particular. If the wherhandlers don’t have enough variety for you, why settle for only them? I pay more attention to the dragonriders, really. Although my plaything has left before she could actually fulfill her role as my plaything. This is what I get for being nocturnal.” He scratched his bottom lip and then added dryly, “What do I gain from putting forth effort again?” Nothing without gain.

Wait. Healers?

“You’re what?” He almost dropped the bowl, but managed to hold it by sheer virtue of his hands staying in place. His grip definitely faltered. And the look on his face was priceless. “You? A healer? Um. What?” Broken brain…

[rii]

Kostya merely grunted at the comment and reminder that Konstask was very much green. He had been told that whers don't hold to the same gender, or personality quirks that guided the dragons to impress to certain people. Kostya didn't think of himself as a green, truth be told he didn't think of himself in terms as color, but if green needed to equate to feminine or liked to be ridden, it didn't apply to him. His damn wher had wanted to impress to the woman, and had only chosen him after finding no one else she considered as beautiful. He muttered sourly to himself. It fit Nautic just fine and, oh – "Yoalla was a doxie. But my point was that wenching is like drinking, you shouldn't start indulging in it until at late afternoon."

Pulling off his shirt, Kostya tossed it over toward the other side of the room. If Marsayis wanted him to go out again he was out of luck. He got one freebie and he had used it to make him fetch food and water. "You lure, I scare away. That's how it works. That's how it has always been done. You get a crowd, and I get to pick my one from it." He didn't care for quantity, and had always been satisfied with just having one particular toy to play with at a time. "I'm not going to mess up my sleeping schedule just to play with dragonriders. We just need more female handlers so there aren't so many male threesomes."

A simple logic really, if girls could impress the other colors - like Ximera and that one bronze girl did - then he could appeal Konstask to one of them because he really wasn't looking forward to Konstask running. He had seen the possible catches during Vix's run and he was not impressed. The incredulous tone in Marsayis questions did well enough to pick Kostya's mood back up. "Why not? I get to be around new people that have to blindly give me their trust. I've been reading the notes from the other healers, it's actually really interesting practice to learn about."

In the fashion of cut here, a person would die. Give him too much of this and they'd die of poisoning. A healer often enough held people's lives in their very hands – why wouldn't Kostya be interested in it. "So far, I like watching the stitching."