If You Can't Beat Em, Fu- (C'loy)

[Requiem]

It wasn't an instant awakening. There was nothing moving about in this dark corner of the barn to startle him awake. Neither was he unaware of where he was, though. An odd thing happened to M'ta when Behruth chose to chase and didn't succeed. It wasn't so much loss of control, as a need that in its age seemed at once pressing and negligible (Behruth's rarely satisfied need to mate tempered by the knowledge of how unlikely a catch was, M'ta understood) married to what the brownrider could only describe as an anesthetic type quality. The imperative was there after a Flight and strong, but he was unlikely to hurt anyone and his mind was still very much involved. Most often he sought out Ruliana just as he'd sought out her brother before her, choosing a flightmoth if she wasn't available. The imperative was there, but it didn't demand immediate satisfaction. He was fully capable of realizing what he was doing, who he was doing it with, and making decisions, which made the fact that he had to complete the Flight that Behruth didn't not so serious a problem.

C'loy was not an accident. Though it was true that M'ta outside of Flight would not make the same decision, even under the same circumstances, the decision itself was born of reason. Diffusing a potentially hazardous situation. Behruth's influence simply removed the part of M'ta that would never have thought to distract C'loy this way. It was certainly better than his attacking and subduing the bronzerider, he acknowledged wryly as he shifted his body beneath the younger man's so that the bronzer's weight would settle more comfortably on top of him. Behruth's peaceful logic was almost always better than M'ta's more volatile protective nature, and over the turns the brown had managed to mellow the fiery little brownrider rather significantly. Fatherhood, healing and teaching also had an effect. Though he was still as emotional and sensitive as ever, he didn't tend to lash out with his emotions as much as he used to. Wasn't nearly as impulsive.

Or perhaps that was just the result of growing older.

Regardless, life as a dragonrider did much to repair a lot of the wounds experienced as a boy. There was an element of family and intimacy to a weyr that simply was not present in a hold. Traditional families didn't thrive well in a weyr setting, but similar bonds were developed between people who weren't blood in its stead. Bonds that more resembled what he'd known on the streets. Bonds formed by people relying on each other to survive difficulties together. And dragonriding also forced him into situations like these again and again, situations he would have otherwise avoided...it ensured that he get over his physical intimacy issues, differentiate between innocent and malicious. Get over the fear of hurting people. It might have taken many turns, but M'ta was surprisingly comfortable here right now. He didn't mistake C'loy's body for R'wign's even though his eyes were closed and his weyrmate's size and build had been similar enough to confuse a sleep-fogged mind. He just knew himself and the circumstances. Perhaps when C'loy woke up that would change. He really wasn't sure how his former student - presumably straight - would react. Potentially exceedingly negatively, despite how little sense that made to M'ta. Right now, though, there was nothing threatening about the man sprawled over him like a blanket, their clothes strewn about, some half-covering the bronzerider and some beneath M'ta. Almost as if the two had tried to cover themselves and make things more comfortable while in a great hurry.

No, M'ta loved C'loy. Not perhaps as much as he did some of his closer friends. Erilena. E'rro. T'san. Er'ani. Elysia. Certainly not as much as he did the ones he called family. Ruliana. Jazheera. Riaren. Terilyn. But he loved his students in his fashion, almost as if they were his children. Adopted, perhaps, and only for a comparatively short amount of time, but he cared about them. K'sel and Erilena he hadn't wanted to see hurt, but he was equally concerned for C'loy should a fight have truly broken out. M'ta was more than content to find himself beneath the bronzerider instead, even if he ached terribly. It had been turns since last he'd been with a man and all Flights tended to have an animal quality to them that made it rather uncomfortable afterwards if you weren't regularly engaging in such activities outside of Flight. It was warm here. Much warmer than it would be once C'loy woke up and moved. There also was a part of M'ta that missed the feeling, that protected feeling that waking up cuddled together with a woman didn't quite give. It wasn't a feeling he sought or even noticed missing, but it was comfortable, too. Enough so that he almost regretted it when it became clear that C'loy was stirring...waking up. The peaceful moment was about to be broken.

And, to be quite honest, M'ta had absolutely no clue how to handle whatever was about to come next. C'loy was someone he wasn't likely to share any of these things with, or to be comfortable with them if M'ta did. The brownrider knew he was different. That he formed attachments strangely and altogether too strongly. And that he never really showed it unless someone was particularly good at reading his actions...only how was a guy supposed to act in this situation? Protect himself? Not fluster the other guy into a reaction that would both distress C'loy and probably hurt M'ta's feelings? (Which, yes, he was all too familiar with, too, and tried to ignore the best he could. He knew he wasn't right in the head, after all.)

Settling for something he thought would be less strange than touching C'loy in an attempt to calm him before he reacted poorly, M'ta commented lightly, "This is one way to get the upper hand on your old weyrlingmaster, but somehow I suspect most people choose a different route." It wasn't so much the words as the jesting manner behind them that he was going for, trying to let C'loy know through the tone that he wasn't upset, hurt or even uncomfortable. While not being too familiar. M'ta had no clue how well it would work, but it was an attempt, anyway.

[Sebz]

The shifting body underneath him woke C'loy from the deep sleep that always seemed to follow post flight activities. He resisted the urge to jerk away from the warm body beneath him as a flurry of images passed through his head. The bronze rider was ashamed. Ashamed of his decision to try and take Feyrianth by force. Ashamed that he had been prepared to injure another dragon rider. Ashamed of the potential hurt he had caused the man beneath him. And most of all, ashamed that he didn't regret a sing thing.

Years bonded with Kallandrith had changed C'loy. He had come to the weyr as a naïve albeit strange boy who was untainted by the world. Now he was anything but. Kallandrith was eloquent and charismatic, at least in appearance. But the truth was the bronze was ruthless and without sympathy, and very soon after impression, the same qualities had taken root in C'loy. True they had been suppressed at first, but they had festered and spread, until he couldn't escape it any longer. No longer was he the happy go lucky boy that could scare the hell out of Kaius (well in truth, he could still do that, but that was besides the point), now he was C'loy the cynicist. Well didn't that suck. He wasn't so lost to the point where he wasn't human anymore. He still had room for empathy, hence the ashamed feeling his was afflicted with. He could still care. Sometimes.

M'ta. M'ta had been his teacher throughout weyrling hood, and at times had been a pain in his ass. C'loy knew he had never been the best student, nor the easiest to get work with, and the weyrlingmaster had pushed him to be better. Kallandrith's superiority complex didn't help anything with “obeying authority”, but M'ta had kept them in line. It wasn't really any surprise that Kallandrith didn't particularly like anyone who had controlled him, and therefore, C'loy dealt with the falling out's that Kallandrith instigated. Hence the pain in the ass. But M'ta had always seemed to care about the pair, as well as all his students. He was perhaps the one rider in the weyr he truly respected, and therefore he fell into the small group of people that he actually cared about. It was strange, but C'loy wantedfor his old weyrlingmaster's approval, even now as fate had turned his teacher into his lover, if only for a few moments. He wanted reassurance that he hadn't turned out to be a terrible person. A monster.

C'loy and Kallandrith had participated in many flights, but never had one ended with him bedding with another man. It didn't really matter to him to much, men and woman were practically the same when under the influence of a flight. Both were a means to and end for release. He would just be lucky if he hadn't ended up hurting M'ta in the process. He knew he should check and see if the older man was alright, but C'loy didn't want to move. He liked the feeling of the brown rider near him, even if the body wasn't as soft as a woman's. M'ta would do for now at least, the bronze rider felt the need to be close, at least in proximity, to somebody at the moment. He didn't even want to give the impression of being awake, for all he knew, his old weyrlingmaster might push him away.

For all his self control, C'loy could not stop his eyes from snapping open at the sound of M'ta's voice. He looked down at the man beneath him, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. He had no idea how post flight etiquette worked when he was with another man, something he did not want to make a habit out of. M'ta didn't seem upset, so cautiously, the bronze rider untangled himself from his elder's body, and shifted to the side to of M'ta to alleviate him from carrying his weight. Never the less, his arm lingered across the man's waist, not wishing to completely break contact. “Hello,” he said uncertainly. C'loy's ego would not let him apologize for the activities that had left them both naked in the barn. He had been caught up in flightlust, and he would not apologize for something which he did not regret. But still he was concerned for the brown rider. Not quite meeting M'tas eyes, C'loy asked in a barely audible whisper, “Are you ok?”

[Requiem]

Nh. That expression certainly made it seem like the brownrider had made the wrong choice just now in an attempt at humor. The shuttered look coming over M'ta's face was a natural defense mechanism against what he felt certain was going to be a negative reaction. To his credit, though, he didn't do anything else to give off the impression that he was feeling threatened. In all honesty, he wasn't, at least not physically. He trusted the younger man not to have any designs against him, even if he didn't know C'loy as well as he knew a lot of the others he'd taught over the turns. It turned out to be a good thing that his face had taken on more neutral planes, however, because when the bronzerider rolled off him seconds later he couldn't quite stop the flash of hurt that rippled through him. The neutrality kept it from reaching his face.

No amount of self-control over his expressions and body language could ward off the shiver, though, as the cold air suddenly hit his naked skin. What caused him to turn into C'loy's side and curl against him for warmth he couldn't exactly say. Subtleties in the younger man's tone that indicated uncertainty rather than discomfort or revulsion with the odd set of circumstances that had landed them together in the first place? The arm that remained loosely draped over M'ta's waist? Maybe it really was something as simple as it being cold and C'loy being warm...and M'ta feeling close enough to the bronzerider because of having taught him to not hesitate or think about stealing that warmth. There wasn't anything the least bit sexual about the move, either. Nudity was not something M'ta tended to notice or associate with anything more dirty. He tended to avoid going around undressed, but that was for other reasons. Namely, the scars that upon close examination - and yes, it was paranoid to assume that anyone would care to look that closely, but he'd never claimed not to be paranoid - would make it clear he'd been imprisoned for a time. The other, newer ones that were not battle scars and hinted at Z'ves and other things he wasn't proud of. All things he'd rather not explain. It had nothing to do with being self-conscious or attaching sexual connotations to nudity, though.

Nope, he was simply cold, and short of dressing C'loy was his best source of warmth. Probably his best source of warmth anyway.

Groping for what little of the clothing he could find, he dropped it haphazardly over them, suppressing another shiver as he began to warm back up and his muscles relaxed again. "Fine," he murmured. Then, because this was M'ta and he had a tendency of being more direct than necessary (that, and because he knew that sometimes people wondered if you were telling the truth or knew what they were asking if you didn't make it clear) the older brownrider added, "It's been almost ten turns, and I'm sore, but I'm fine. You didn't hurt me." No, he had no reason to end up curled up with a man unless Behruth or Devon had caught...and then, naturally, he was not in the same position as he was now. So yes, of course he was sore. Out of practice, and a smaller man anyway. But he knew the difference between the soreness that came from eagerness and the very real pain when someone wished to harm you. He might be sore for a bit, even bleed a little, but it wasn't anything to worry about or anything that bothered him.

The brief flare of hurt had vanished with the uncertainty in C'loy's voice that he recognized and the arm still draped over him when the bronzerider first pulled away. It was worry and unease with an unfamiliar situation, not distaste or accusation that had prompted the distancing, and M'ta took the action as it was meant now. The neutral stoniness that had briefly dominated his face had melted. He didn't wriggle closer to C'loy, not wanting to make the man more uneasy, but he didn't apologize for their current close proximity either. Or explain it. If the bronzerider couldn't figure out it was damn cold in February here up north to be sprawled out naked on the floor of a barn, M'ta had given his intelligence way too much credit. "Do flights usually get violent for you?" From another the words might have been an accusation, but worry was the only detectable emotion behind M'ta's question. He hadn't heard about any incidents related to C'loy... "Though I suppose Feyrianth isn't a normal green, and doesn't attract normal chasers," he concluded dryly. "Most greens don't freak out at a force catch, and most males won't attack another who already has his claws on her." His eyes flicked toward the bronzerider's face, which he only then realized was probably a little too close for comfort. He considered shifting position, but...well, he was warm. M'ta simply waited for C'loy to answer his question. He was worried, if it turned out that violent flights were the norm for the bronzepair.

[Sebz]

Though M'tas face had not revealed the hurt that he had experienced, C'loy interpreted the shiver to mean just that. He stiffened slightly, muscles tensing immediately as the expression registered. Kallandrith may have made him more ruthless, but he hadn't completely stripped away C'loy's fundamental nature, a nature which required him to be sympathetic to those he considered close. M'ta fell into that category. The bronze rider did not relax as the brown rider's body turned into his own, but after feeling M'ta's cool skin against his, he made the decision to wrap his arms around his ex-weyrlingmaster the best he could. The movement was sharp and not at all fluid, but he hoped that it would be interpreted to mean that he did care. Not a monster.

He didn't mind that they were both in a state of undress, he abhorred clothes in all it's forms, and if it wasn't for “social expectations,” he could go without. True there was linger awkwardness for C'loy, as bedding his old teacher hadn't really been on his list of things to do, but M'ta was obviously cold, and he was warm. Why not share the body heat and make them both more comfortable while they lay there. Anyways, C'loy was in no hurry to get up, he was tired and confused, and wanted to get a bearing on things before he made the decision to leave the barn. Besides, C'loy would not be so rude as to rush out and leave M'ta after the flight, he had always found that practice to be... unkind. The least he could do was pay him the curtesy of lingering long enough to ensure that he was indeed alright. Perhaps talk for a little while would be nice. There really was no rush.

As M'ta made to cover them with clothes, C'loy shifted the garments that had been lain on him so that they covered the brown rider. He was warm enough without the extra covering, and it seemed like M'ta needed them more than he did. He was still not relaxed, and he was sure that his weyrlingmaster could feel the stiffness in his muscles considering their proximity. When M'ta bluntly told him that he was sore, C'loy experienced the closest thing to a blush that he had in years. Oops. Well it seemed that despite his wishes, he had caused the other man discomfort. But then again, who really thought at all after a flight. C'loy didn't. At least M'ta said he wasn't hurt The rush of sympathy he had experienced began to ebb away, replaced by something more neutral. His expression remained as neutral as could be as he studied M'tas face. It wasn't nearly as open as he remembered it. But then again, the situations that he had been in his company before and know were entirely different.

But then the brown rider seemed to relax, or at least that's what C'loy perceived as the body next to him untensed . C'loy struggled to do the same; it had become ingrained that he should do as M'ta did in his weyrling days, a habit that apparently remained with him. He didn't succeed entirely, but at least know his limbs weren't quite as rigid. With M'tas question, C'loy looked away, his face slipping back into the stoic mask he had adopted before. “No,” he said shortly, not wishing to meet the other man's eyes. It was strange. Try as he might to deny it, C'loy actually cared about the brown rider's opinion of him. The bronze rider remained silent as M'ta continued on, not seizing on any of the viable excuses that were being offered to him. Well not excuses, because his behavior had been out of line, but it was still something C'loy didn't want excuses though. He had know excactly what he had been doing. He had been the one who had goaded Kallandrith into using violence. C'loy had wanted Feyrianth, wanted her baddly, and perhaps it showed what kind of person he was that he was willing to do almost anything to get what he wanted. “This is what I have become,” he murmured, realizing full well that M'ta would probably be baffled by this statement; only those privy to his inner conflict would be able to make sense of it. “I am who I am.”

[Requiem]

It was strange, he knew. Much about M'ta was strange. He tried to make sense of it sometimes, because making sense of his stranger tendencies sometimes helped him to control them...or at least not overreact toward other people thrown off by his oddities or doing normal, harmless things that still managed to upset him in some way. He knew that the snuggling right now didn't fall into the normal category, not between two men who would not normally end up together. Or with men at all. (Because, yes, despite having had a male for a weyrmate once upon a time, M'ta was definitely more attracted to and comfortable around women now that his mind wasn't getting in the way, and he adored Ruliana.) Still, he couldn't complain at all about the arms that went around him, if awkwardly. Almost as if they were meant to comfort him. M'ta instead took that as an invitation to shift and fit himself better against C'loy within the space defined for him inside the bronzerider's arms.

Yes, he'd been cold, but if he was completely honest with himself...staying coiled close was probably what was allowing him to be so calm and okay with the situation. Knowing that he'd chosen to put himself here - even if it was to break up a fight before it got out of hand and not something he'd normally do - and that it was a Flight and the soreness was normal for how long it had been only went so far. Remaining close prevented it from smacking too much of his time in Bitra. M'ta rarely thought of himself as a victim of rape or abuse; that life was behind him. Long behind him. Still, he'd huddled for warmth with his den and never once been treated kindly by the men who'd touched him as a child, so somewhere deep down it was still distressing to participate in a Flight like this...and infinitely helpful to be held.

A hand had moved to C'loy's side, M'ta still unsure exactly how much the other was comfortable with so letting the younger man define it. His eyes naturally went to the man's face at the sharp negation, but there was nothing that could be read there...and the eyes were turned away. The weyrlingmaster couldn't help but frown slightly in concern and confusion. Something was clearly bothering his former student, but he wasn't even sure how to ask about it. He didn't want to make things worse. (And much as he hated to admit it, the thought of upsetting C'loy enough to leave also played a role in his indecision.) If he noticed the tightness still lingering in the bronzerider's muscles, it didn't seem to bother or offend him.

"...well, yes. Everyone is who he is." A note of questioning was there. He doubted C'loy meant it to be as obvious and useless a phrase as it appeared to be. Oranges were oranges. C'loy was C'loy. M'ta was M'ta. "But how can this be what you've become if the Flights you participate in don't usually end up turning violent? I know Kallandrith Chases...I don't really keep track, but I know he does. I guess I just don't really know what you're trying to say." The phrasing left C'loy a way out. Just because M'ta didn't understand what he meant didn't mean that he'd have to elaborate, and the way the brownrider had said the words made it clear he wasn't going to probe if C'loy decided not to tell him. The bronzerider wasn't his weyrling and under his authority anymore. M'ta still felt responsible for him and protective of him, but that was a personal thing and had nothing to do with rank or authority, so he couldn't demand anything of C'loy. He just wanted to understand...since the bronzerider seemed so upset.

[Sebz]

C'loy didn't stiffen this time as M'ta moved to snuggle closer to him, but he did remain still until the movement was complete. He wasn't sure he would ever be at ease with a man this close to him, but at least he was sure that M'ta meant him no harm. Nothing bad would come out of their proximity, so he would allow it. And in truth, he wanted to allow it, it really was nice having somebody so close. C'loy unconsciously tightened his grip on the brown rider, drawing him closer if that was at all possible. M'tas skin was both comfortable and calming, he long yearned for this closeness... just not with this particular rider. Human contact... he had deprived himself of it for far to long.

C'loy failed to acknowledge the hand at his waist, in fact he was to busy keeping any trace of emotion off of his face. He was struggling with the idea of relinquishing any sort of control. An odd sentiment, but the bronze rider felt that if he shared any part of his inner conflict with anybody, he would loose control of himself. If other's were to know about what he truly thought of himself, what he truly was, they would surely judge him just as harshly as he judged himself. C'loy rejected the idea. He was ashamed enough already, he didn't need anyone further to confirm what he had become.

C'loy's eyes flicked dully to M'tas face at his statement. “Neither do I,” murmured the bronze rider. C'loy turned his face so it rested more comfortably on the hay beneath him, and stared up at the ceiling blankly. Before he had said spoken, he had been content to not tell M'ta anything. This was his problem, and therefore he could deal with it alone. But it felt good talking to the brown rider, and really, even if it was selfish of him, he liked the idea of being able to unload to M'ta. Not everything, but just enough. His fingers brushing the other man's hair in what could be perceived as a sign of affection. C'loy meant it as a small thank you, for caring. Sometimes he felt like nobody cared at all. He really wished that it was possible for M'ta to just know what was wrong, instead of him having to vocalize it. But because that wasn't a viable option...

“I'm different M'ta,” he finally said, choosing his words carefully and speaking slowly. “I never used to be this...” he trailed off, unable to find the right word. C'loy remained silent for a second before starting again. “I love Kallandrith, and he loves me. But he has made me realize things about myself that I never knew.” The statement was vague, but C'loy couldn't figure out any way to phrase it better. He realized that he was probably leaving M'ta much more confused than he had been, but C'loy couldn't help it. His struggle to voice what was bothering him was just a reflection of his struggle to name the problem himself. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that you hated yourself. “I told Kallandrith to take Feyrianth by any means necessary.” Not just a force catch. But C'loy didn't say that. If M'ta figured that out by himself, well then good for him. But he wasn't going to offer that information, at least not yet.

[Requiem]

It was strange. He didn't protest the arm that tightened around him and pressed him even closer to the bronzerider who used to be one of his weyrlings, but M'ta wasn't so out to lunch as to read much of anything into it. Unless you counted the brownrider's growing sense that C'loy was actually pretty upset about whatever he'd been trying to describe just a moment ago. It wasn't anything necessarily blatant, just all the little subtle hintings of posture, word choice, expression that clued the older man in. He lay quietly against C'loy as he waited for the young man to find the words. Even the fingers absently going through M'ta's hair didn't prompt him to break the silence.

Different. The brownrider almost chuckled. Yes, a bronzerider who likes wearing skirts could definitely be classified as different. He didn't comment on that, though. Just continued waiting, and though it took C'loy a bit of time to get everything said...it at least made a little more sense once he did. That didn't prompt M'ta to respond right away, however, the brownrider keeping his silence for a long moment afterwards. Part of what he said was a little surprising but M'ta didn't stiffen or suddenly find himself wanting to distance himself from the bronzerider as might have been expected. It sounded...natural. Only M'ta wasn't quite sure why, and he was taking the time to mull it over in his mind.

"I can't say...as I quite understand why Feyrianth warrants such special consideration...even though I noticed how much time you liked to spend with her and Erilena as a weyrling." Like he could forget that when it had caused one of the more fiery fights between the greenrider and himself. M'ta and Erilena were friends - close ones, even - but they seemed to fight quite often despite that.

"But this idea of whatever it takes, that type of ruthlessness...is a classic bronzerider trait. It's also necessary in a leader. I find it unlikely a bronze, particularly one like Kallandrith, would ever choose a rider who didn't have it. Wanting something enough to do things others couldn't do is necessary, but you have to know what you want. For instance...I don't think you actually wanted Feyrianth whatever it took. I don't think you wanted her to attack your bronze like that, or your bronze to hurt her in turn, and I don't think you wanted to kill or seriously hurt anyone over it. You did come with me and I didn't force you. That's part of learning how to be a leader, too...seeing the consequences of your actions beforehand, and making a decision based on that. I'd call it growing pains. Cr'oph is only now beginning to act like a leader and he's about my age. Sometimes it takes time."

[Sebz]

Despite himself, C'loy's lips twitched upwards at M'tas comment about the butterfly green. Yes, Feyrianth had indeed captured his attention since the time he was a candidate. The green had been the first dragon to break the silence that the blonde had assumed would be lifted as soon as he stepped into the weyr. He had taken to Feyrianth like a fish to water. It was a shame that she disliked bronzes. The small flicker of a smile that had apeared on his face was gone in an instant as the repercussions of what he had attemped hit him. Kallandrith claw's were dangerous, and he hated the think of them digging into Feyrianth's hide.

"She used to take me flying," C'loy interjected softly. And really, the bronze rider was sure despite the fact that M'ta had been his weyrlingmaster, that even he could see the appeal of flying over lessons. anyday. That was no knock to the brownrider, for the few times that C'loy had actually showed up and paid attention to the lessons, he had decided that M'ta knew his stuff pretty well.

He shifted slightly at M'tas next statement, absorbing it, analyzing it, and applying it to himself the best he could. Was his old weyrlingmaster right? Were these things about him that he despised so much nessasary? Maybe. Maybe not. He could not deny that since impressing to Kallandrith that he lost many of the traits that used to define him. Now the lack of said traits were what made him who he was.

Absently he felt for Kallandrith's presence. The bronze was awake, but in no mood for talking. C'loy sighed, withdrawing from his mind, letting the dragon nurse his injured pride in peace. He was lucky that his ego was more injured than his body, the bronze's thick hide had protected him from the brunt of Feyrianth's fury. He was drawn back into the conversation as M'ta mentioned Cr'oph. The name was familiar but he had no face to match it with. "Whose... nevermind." Frowning slightly the bronzerider pressed forward. "You're a leader, aren't you? Have you ever gotten so mad that... you really would do anything? You would kill," he murmered more quietly, as he remembered the emotions that had coursed through him as the legitimate winner of the flight took his Erilena and Feyrianth away from him.

[Requiem]

Had they not been so close, M'ta might not have noticed C'loy's comment, but it hardly came to him as a surprise. Everyone responded to dragons differently. Many candidates and weyrlings with dragons too small to fly yet looked forward eagerly to any chance to fly. There were also a fair number who feared it and remained uncomfortable with it after multiple experiences, which had been the case with the weyrlingmaster. If he was honest with himself, he still didn't like riding dragons that weren't Behruth. They flew differently, for one, and he had no control where he was going. Not everyone was as paranoid as M'ta was, though. Certainly not most young teenagers.

That was something of a loaded question, now wasn't it? M'ta didn't hesitate long before answering, but it was still a hesitation. "Yes. And I've killed while that angry, too," he responded quietly. "One of the times Fort attacked us - granted, I understand that defending yourself from an attack is hardly something to feel guilty for but hear me out - my weyrmate was being tortured and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. I wasn't even anywhere near him. I was so angry that I overwhelmed Behruth completely, and he nearly made his first kill. Tore a green out of the sky. A'emi's green, Kyrahth, actually." Wasn't sure if C'loy would know who that was, either. "When they surrendered, one of the dragonpairs was too badly wounded and I just killed the man. No one said anything about it, but I killed him because I was angry...and not even angry at him. He's not the only one I've killed out of anger, either. Also did some things that I'd rather not remember when I was a boy before I was Searched."

He fell silent for several moments. "I've always been able to do what has to be done. It's harder on your conscience to kill or hurt people out of cold blood, just because it's necessary, at least in my experience. But there's less shame in that than letting your passions take over and doing things simply because you can't control yourself. Control is important. Ruthlessness unchecked...can lead to all manner of things that shouldn't happen. Dead that shouldn't be dead, for starters. I can almost guarantee though that I've done worse than you've even thought about doing."

A rather grim smile was offered C'loy. "I don't know if that helped any at all." Maybe the bronzerider would have more questions, or perhaps even be willing to share what was really eating at him.

[Sebz]

(I am so sorry Req, Venezualla kept me away, but now my health has kept me away for far longer than I expected Here you go, sorry it's pretty choppy, I need to get back into the rp groove)

C'loy listened in stony silence at M'ta's explanation, surprised that it was forthcoming at all, but it didn't change the fact that he didn't like what he was told. He shied away from the idea that M'ta was a killer, even more so that he had faltered in morals when he was controlled by his emotions. That, that right there is what scared him the most. If M'ta, his weyrlingmaster, the man who was supposed to set the examples for them could succomb to anger, than it was more than possible for him...

In the interlude between M'ta's revelations, C'loy looked back with disgust at his own first kill. It still tasted bad in his mouth. True, they had been defending themselves in a border squabble, but Kallandrith was in no danger of being hurt, least of all by that little green... but still the bronze pair had taken no time in making the decision to take their lives. Defense seemed like a shabby excuse for cold blooded murder...

Ruthlessness unchecked, that resonated with C'loy all to well. All the times that he had felt terrible urges, and given into them... could he really control himself? The strange thing was, the bronze rider was confident that he could force Kallandrith to toe the line when push went to shove, but could he do the same for himself? A guttural sound left the blonde's mouth, a mixture between a grunt and a short laugh. If only M'ta knew.

He was slow to respond, but when he did, offered M'ta a short nod. "You've raised some concerns that I need to address." He meant to leave it at that, and began to extricate himself from M'ta's limbs, but paused, deep in thought before settling back warrilly back into a more comfortable position. Without prompt, he began. "Kallandrith and I were assigned to patrol the border before the war ended, and there was a squirmish. A northern green bit Kallandrith's tail, barely leaving a mark," he added dully, "And Kallandrith got... upset." Understatement of the year. "We both went ballistic." Kallandrith truned and got a hold of the green in his claws. We made her pay, screaming in pain until Kal's teeth snapped around it's neck, and dropped it carelessly to the ground. But it wasn't enough. I wanted more, more blood. So we turned." C'loy closed his eyes with disgust. "Friend or Foe, in that moment, it didn't matter. I guess you could say it was lucky that the next dragon to catch our sights was one of our's. We... I was responsible for a lot of blood shed that day. And I'm afraid." Snapping his eyes, Open, C'loy looked desperatly down at M'ta. "Afraid to loose control again."