somewhere in the middle (tag; m'ta)

[glamourie]

One day he was going to get enough that he actually managed to hit his exact target, instead of just part of it. Really, he was, even if the sight before him suggested quite the contrary. The tree had a nice red circle painted square in the center of the trunk. The circle was far from small… but ironically, two of the blades were stuck in the tree outside of the circle. Another blade was on the ground next to it and another was actually sticking in one of the upper branches of the tree (he still didn’t know how he’d managed to hit that). The good news was that he was mostly hitting his target… or, the general vicinity of his target… even if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hit. So he was making some progress. The bad news was that he was pretty sure he was damaging M’ta’s knives, something that he felt guilty about. He’d learned how much the other brownrider prized his weapons and he hated the idea of messing them up… but it wasn’t like he had a vast array of people he could ask to borrow weapons from. Ka’rys didn’t even have throwing knives (he’d asked) and no one else he knew wandered around with weapons. Where was a Gather when he could really use one? Mutter, mutter. Well, at least he was making progress at last and wasn’t coming home covered in bruises. That was an improvement above his previous situation.

“You don’t have to look so smug,” said the healer calmly with a look to his right. “I’m getting better, and I don’t need any of your sass.”

Said sassy creature was, of course, Grouch. The firelizard was perched precariously on the edge of a rock, next to Ellie who was pointedly watching him. The blue’s eyes were whirling and he chirped sarcastically back to His before flipping his wings; he was obviously of the opinion that it was a wasted effort. His was just a failure, you see. Ellie had a difference of opinion. The gold fluted encouragingly and whapped Grouch over the head with her wing (the blue fell backwards in alarm) before swishing her tail. Even in the bright afternoon light, the slight glow to her gradient hide was visible and it was clear that soon she’d Rise; fortunately, her temperament was still mild enough that she was a few days off (or R’wign probably would have been hiding – he needed to figure out his plan of escape for when she Rose still). Ellie thought Hers could do anything and see – he’d hit the tree, so he was doing better. Yes he was. She fluted again and settled down, watching R’wign with whirling eyes.

He flipped his last knife in his hand before raising an eyebrow at the gold. “I’m glad to know that someone has faith in me,” he said pleasantly, his free hand coming up to push the long braids of his hair over his shoulder. With some help from K’lir, he’d finally found a way to manage the strands that were now down to his elbows that was more efficient than the runner tail that had his bangs falling out constantly. Tight braids starting at his forehead and moving backwards made up his hair, spreading back down the back of his neck, though sometimes they fell over his shoulders. For the most part, they didn’t move though and he liked that he didn’t have to worry about his hair getting everywhere. He was having a competition with Kalerary to see who could go the longest without cutting their hair and in typical R’wign fashion, he refused to lose. Besides, he liked how the braids felt… even if he wasn’t sure he liked how they looked. Hmph.

Turning the knife again, R’wign chewed his bottom lip. It was early afternoon, which made it very unusual for R’wign to be outside. He usually worked in the infirmary. But he didn’t want to be in the infirmary for once. He wanted to practice. Part of that stemmed from the fact that it was his turnday – twenty one. He didn’t want to be around people because it reminded him of the fact that the only people who knew that fact were dead and gone. Pretending he was competent with blades took away the numbness inside, and he was sure the infirmary would survive just fine without him. Probably didn’t even notice he was missing. He turned and threw the knife at the tree, the blade sticking right in the ring of scarlet – by far his best effort thus far.

“Well blow me,” he said pleasantly to disguise his frustration. “That should be close enough to count as actually making it in. It should…”

[Requiem]

"I think I'll pass on that," M'ta commented, from his spot against a tree behind and to one side of R'wign. (He of course had elected not to make his presence known until all sharp objects were no longer endangering palms and fingers.) It wasn't that he'd precisely meant to sneak up on the healer, but when it was the man's back that he spied first, the question of startling him into cutting himself became a concern. The short brownrider didn't move from his lounging position, eyes assessing his friend frankly. Not bad form, really, and he'd clearly been practicing. That was good to see. "You're coming along better than I would have thought," he commented, with just the slightest note of surprise to make the statement genuine.

He strode forward, then, sliding in behind R'wign and handing the healer one of his own knives. (Not to be confused with the castoffs that were currently in the healer's possession.) "You've almost got the grip perfectly." M'ta rearranged the fingers, glancing up at his...weyrmate...friend...something. "See? Feels just a little different?" Gripping R'wign's wrist, he placed his other hand at the small of the man's back, bringing up the blade by the taller man's ear - a distinctly uncomfortable position for M'ta. "You have to go all the way back, though, and throw more from your elbow and wrist than your shoulder. The less your arm actually moves, the more accurate your throws." He released R'wign's arm, then, fading back and out of the way if the healer wished to try it again.

The grapevine was such an excellent source of information. Checkoth had told Behruth, who immediately relayed the information to M'ta. R'wign had apparently called it a day early at the infirmary and come out here. Odd way to spend your turning day, but then...M'ta didn't even know his. Just kind of randomly celebrated it - or acknowledged himself as a turn older - on a day he'd pulled out of his arse. So he really couldn't say much about someone wandering off on their own on theirs.

Those braids were rather amusing, though. He was still getting used to them. Had to be more efficient, but...well, he kind of liked R'wign's hair loose. Not that he was likely to say as much. They'd gone back to relative normalcy, and he liked it that way. Familiar. Speaking of the normal and the familiar...

"So a rather larged winged creature that isn't a birdy told my Ruth that you're a turn older today. Doesn't look like much of a celebration, though." He adjusted his collar - what was becoming a habitual behavior these days, as if he needed to touch it just to make sure it was still in place - and ducked behind a tree. "Don't laugh at me. I had help, but they still probably taste like crap. Thus the generous cream." Seriously, who could spend a R'wign turnday with no pies?

He had a gift, too, but that could wait. He'd been making it off and on for a couple sevendays now, but hadn't known when to give it to R'wign until Checkoth mentioned the occasion earlier. Convenient, actually. It might have been awkward, otherwise. Oh, here. I just made this for you on a whim.

[glamourie]

Speaking – jump - fluuush. Okay. No one was supposed to overhear that comment – although, to be honest, were it anyone but M’ta, it probably wouldn’t have earned a slight pink hue playing over his tanned features. Maybe Kaegan would have gotten a similar response, but she wouldn’t have made such a comment. As it was, R’wign snorted and jutted his chin defiantly, obviously attempting to seize back the bit of dignity that he lost due to the red hues on his face (yes, he was embarrassed). “Well you’re no fun.” Because it wouldn’t be R’wign if he didn’t make a sarcastic comment – even if he was bearing a remarkable resemblance to a redfruit in color. “See if I make an offer like that again. Really.” The joke actually pushed back some of his discomfort and R’wign’s blush faded near completely as he turned to look back at the tree. “I’m telling you, it’s moving. I throw and it moves just enough to spite me. I speak fluent tree, you see, and I know that it’s laughing at me and calling me pathetic. You hear me tree? Hear me? I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING.” He lifted his free hand and shook his fist at the tree before dropping it to his side and scoffing. Oh, he knew he was full of it, intellectually, but it felt better to blame someone or something else other than his own incompetence… and anyway the tree couldn’t fight back. So ha.

Fidgeting in an attempt to disguise that M’ta had more than just surprised him (he was lucky that he wasn’t holding any knives or he almost certainly would have cut himself up), R’wign turned to look at the other brownrider. His stomach twisted at the knife handed to him and he almost recoiled; he didn’t feel right using a nice blade, he was good at messing them up. Didn’t M’ta understand that? He didn’t speak, instead letting the shorter man guide his arm. He mentally prodded Ellie and Grouch, who took to wing and flew over to the tree to retrieve the knife from the ground. As they returned, he dropped his hand to offer M’ta’s blade back to him – not damaging any more of his weapons, thank you. He took the one that his firelizards brought, but didn’t immediately throw it because M’ta was talking and his face twisted into a very confused expression. He brushed Checkoth’s mind to find only amusement – evil brown. He’d tattled.

“Er – I never celebrate – what – I don’t like turndays,” he sputtered, moving to follow M’ta because he said the word ‘cream’ and R’wign was not dense. He knew very well what people would make for him with generous cream on it and R’wign had an internal pie detector. “You made me pie…?” He had a hard time imagining M’ta in the kitchens cooking, but the visual was incredibly amusing just the same. “You know it’s pretty much impossible to go wrong where I’m concerned… you could probably put whipped cream on fruit on bread, call it pie and I’d still love it because I just do. The filling is really the only part that matters anyway… I’m annoyed at Checkoth for telling you though. I didn’t really want anyone to know…” Mainly because he didn’t like celebrating, but he didn’t specify that to M’ta. “I don’t even know what your Turnday is. Not fair.”

Leaning against the tree that M’ta had ducked behind, R’wign twirled his knife in his hand before glancing down at it. The blade was definitely knicked – not surprising considering that R’wign was not doing a very good job of hitting targets with any level of accuracy. His fingers curled around the hilt and he rubbed his nose slightly before saying softly, “I don’t feel comfortable using your nice blades. I’m already mutilating the not-so-nice ones pretty well. The blade is all nicked up. I’m sorry about that – I’ll get you replacements come Gather time.” He really meant that. R’wign wasn’t someone who could destroy another person’s property without feeling absolutely horrible for having down so. There was a reason that he didn’t usually ‘borrow’ other people’s things (though one might note that R’wign did always take care of them – same as he did his own property; he was pretty considerate about that). “Do you really think I’m improving? It seems like I’m not doing so well at this either. I can’t hit inside the circle reliably, though I did manage to earlier.”

[Requiem]

Was that a blush? M'ta was faintly amused, if only because R'wign was definitely of the shameless variety. And, sure enough, the healer followed up with a statement that was nothing short of scandalous. M'ta's lips twitched, a brow lifting, almost as if to say 'really?' That was the extent of his reaction, however, given that he was only likely to embarrass R'wign more if he returned the teasing. He shrugged expressively.

The mildly amused expression changed into something that looked distinctly like disbelief. He glanced at the tree. "Does it talk back to you?" M'ta questioned quietly, teasingly. R'wign being R'wign. It was nice to see, even if the dramatics might be considered a bit...excessive...by some. The younger brownrider noticed it seemed to come out more when the healer was uncomfortable, though.

M'ta accepted the blade absently, perhaps figuring that R'wign was finished for now, though he wasn't concerned enough either way. His mind was on other things. The blade returned to its sheath as he collected what he was looking for behind the tree. Shrugging the braid over his shoulder, M'ta emerged with pies in hand, balancing them easily. Four. "I don't really have one. The tenth month of each turn I count myself older." Small shrug. "You should at least let people be happy for you, stingy. It's an excuse to celebrate. Besides, it's hardly making a fuss when it's just you and me." He offered R'wign a small smile. If the healer truly had a problem with it, Checkoth would not have told Behruth.

In response to R'wign's comments about the knife, M'ta plucked it from his fingers, extending one of the pies to his friend as he took a closer look at it. "Mm." A glance towards the tree. "You're doing more than fine. What, did you expect to start hitting what you're aiming at right away? It's something that comes with time..." A flick of the wrist, and he had the hilt presented to R'wign. "I've been doing this for eight turns. Keep that in mind before you start getting too hard on yourself. I never use these, so don't worry about it. We'll get you some good ones once you get more into the swing of things."

Another pie was thrust into the healer's hands. "No more talk of throwing right now. It's not every day that a man turns twenty-one. You've officially crested the two decades mark, and Pern is still intact. Now that's something." The roguish grin directed at R'wign faded after a moment. "They're not too terribly bad, are they?"

[glamourie]

“You don’t… have one…?” How could someone not have a turnday…? Of course he had one; he just didn’t know it, which was a shame. That statement sent off warning bells in the back of R’wign’s mind; if he didn’t know his turnday did that mean that he also didn’t know his mother and father…? (He himself hadn’t spoken to his parents since he was a child – well over ten turns previous – but he’d at least known them). R’wign immediately felt guilty for having asked – and he knew he shouldn’t have. He hadn’t done anything wrong. M’ta probably didn’t even mind that he asked, even if it was yet another case of foot-in-mouth. The explanation that he just picked a random day made R’wign click his tongue before he thought to himself. Ka’rys’s turnday (that he refused to celebrate) was near the end of the tenth month; the last thing he wanted was for them to be near the same date. So, being who he was, R’wign casually said, “Fifth day. We’ll call your turnday the fifth day of the tenth month.” There was an edge of resolution to his voice that made it clear there was no arguing. “Since you don’t know what day it really is, that’ll have to work. And we’re going to celebrate it every turn, since you seem to want to celebrate mine. How old are you now? So I know how many little cookies to bring you.” Sassy, who, R’wign? Neeeever. He’d always just assumed M’ta was two or three Turns younger than him – around Meira’s age – but if they were discussing, the least he could do was ask. Assuming wasn’t good!

The question about the tree was ignored, though it was tempting to explain that it didn’t have to talk back… it was a spiteful, evil tree and could just shove off. Hopefully someone came for it with an axe. The tree had it coming, nemesis.

Having his knife stolen jolted his attention to the pie at hand and most of his complaints and, indeed, his problems at all completely vanished. One scoop of cream was plucked up on his index finger and then sucked away before he happily dropped to the ground in a posture describable only as boneless. He immediately delved into the pie and took a bite of the fruity center. It wasn’t quite as well mixed as some pies he had (being more fruity than sugary, with a decided lack of cinnamon) but it was far from bad. Of course, R’wign loved pie so it wasn’t as though he was an unbiased judge and that it was made for him specifically just made it all the more appealing to him. He finished the pie in record time, taking extra care to lick the cream off of all of his fingers. The offered knife was taken in his wrists (pressing both of them against the hilt so that his fingers didn’t touch it) and he set it down next to him on the ground before eagerly taking the second pie – nom, nom, nom. The look on his face could accurately be described as nearly delirious joy as he bit into the tasty treat.

“They’re good,” he said with his mouth full (so what if he had no manners). Swallowing, he crinkled his nose before saying, “I don’t usually celebrate my turnday, but if I’m going to be getting pie for it I think I might start. You made them?” As if to confirm, R’wign held the pie up for M’ta to see… and then poked another bit into his mouth, obviously having no problem just snarfing it down like an animal denied food for a long period of time. It took him approximately five minutes to finish the pie before he went back to licking his hand clean in a very distinctly feline manner. “Thank you~ I love pie.” As if there was ever any doubt as to what R’wign’s favorite food actually was. Really.

Kind of odd to imagine being twenty-one, though. He remembered the fuss that Savitri made about her birthday because Ka’rys came to him complaining. Quite funny in retrospect. “I wasn’t always this amazing, you know. I used to be a very polite child. Mother taught me well to respect my elders, always be polite and keep my head down, speak when spoken to – it lasted until I got to Healer Hall and then my mouth expanded to three times its natural size and well, you can see the end result. They don’t have a cure for me yet, I’m afraid: gigantic mouth and ego syndrome remains one of Pern’s few fatal ailments.” His head tilted to the side and he gestured for M’ta to sit. “I’m very rude, I didn’t even offer you any. Sorry.”

[Requiem]

Pies were a marvelous distraction. They allowed him to assimilate R'wign's words without having to reply immediately, which was just fine with M'ta, particularly considering he was just enjoying the other brownrider eating his pies. He was so clearly enjoying them that M'ta wanted to make him more. Nothing like seeing someone enjoying something that much that just made you want to continue. R'wign was so often frustrated, too. Kind of funny, though. Pies as the cure all answer to everything. Only R'wign.

"Yes. I made them. Or helped make them. At least, I entertained the drudges for awhile, but that's not entirely unusual." He smiled down at R'wign. "I'll keep that in mind next time." Crouching, he silently placed the other two near the brownrider as well, reaching a hand in his pocket and idly fiddling with the gift he'd made. He wasn't sure if the other man would like it. Girls seemed to like it when he made things for them, but he'd never made anything for another man before...other than Z'hin's cane. Well, that was a little different. Maybe M'ta was just being silly, though - Z'hin had liked the cane well enoughy.

It would definitely be a little weird, celebrating a turnday like he'd never done in his life. He couldn't say he was precisely opposed to it, though. People celebrated with people they cared about, and if that was one more excuse to enjoy the company of his friends, he wasn't going to protest it. The question of age was a somewhat awkward one though. "I'm..I've only been counting for about fourteen turns. So...right now I'd guess I'm anywhere from seventeen to twenty-one. Probably nineteen though. It makes the most sense."

M'ta snorted mildly. "Fatal ailments?" He crossed his legs neatly beneath him. "Well, there are two pies left if you want to rectify it. But I don't really like pie, anyway. Too sweet." Fingering the gift in his pocket again, he yielded to Behruth's mental nudges...if only because he wouldn't put it past the dragon to tell Checkoth so M'ta had to give it to R'wign. He wanted to, anyway, just found himself shy about it. Strange how often that feeling was cropping up lately. He'd never been so shy around the healer, and now he was nervous all too often.

Slipping the small item out of his pocket, he found himself talking without a fliter, but couldn't get himself to stop. "I'd originally intended it to be...worn in your ear, but I just remembered you don't have them pierced. We can always find a chain for it. Ruth's sure to have something useful stashed away somewhere. If you like it, I mean. I've been kind of...experimenting...so it's not really normal." Time to just shut up and hand it to him. He reached forward and placed the wooden pendant on R'wign's knee. A stylized dragon, it wasn't too terribly large (he had meant for it to be warn in an ear after all) and as such the detail work had taken a long time. It was sanded and oiled to an even shine.

M'ta watched him closely. He hoped he liked it...he really did.

[glamourie]

For some reason, he could just imagine M’ta in the kitchens. Of course, it helped that he had once ‘helped’ make pies with M’ta (as candidates with Savitri, whose existence he liked to ignore), so he had an accurate visual to fall back on, but it was entertaining nonetheless. He was extremely flattered though. Only one person had ever made pies for him – specifically for him! – in his life, and he always took it as the highest compliment. That one person was Cezine, and he missed her terribly; she’d died in the Siege like so many others. Strangely, he hadn’t thought about her as much but… he was glad for the memory. It was nice to think of someone who was gone and not worry their death was his fault. He’d gotten her son a home, hadn’t he? Got Calerin taken in from the crèche by someone who would care for him. As far as Cezine went, R’wign didn’t feel as though he owed her – and that made it easier to think about her in general. Awkward. He didn’t give voice to those thoughts, instead cocking his head to the side to listen to M’ta with rapt attention. His hands settled on his knees. Whenever R’wign was curious, he always tilted his head just slightly to one side – it was very clear indication that he was fascinated.

How could someone not know their age? It seemed so foreign to R’wign. If he had to guess, he would’ve pegged M’ta around eighteen – the boy didn’t look close to his age, though much of that was the height (R’wign couldn’t mentally connect short people to being his age). He supposed nineteen was fair, since that was what M’ta felt comfortable claiming, and he gave a slight nod. “Nineteen it is, I still get to be the oldest of our trio.” Third part being Meira – since she was one of the few friends the two of them had in common. It hadn’t escaped R’wign’s notice that M’ta didn’t seem to talk to too many people. There was Mer, but R’wign didn’t really consider Mer his friend. He didn’t dislike her or anything (far from), he just… barely saw her as an associate; they didn’t talk often. Did they have any other mutual friends…? R’wign actually didn’t have that many friends, period. Probably because he spent all of his time in the infirmary.

The subject of pies being left distracted him and R’wign leaned forward to snatch one of them before biting into it; nom, pie. It really was his favorite food by far.

Why was M’ta babbling? Blink, blink. R’wign popped the rest of the pie into his mouth and raised an eyebrow. Wanted what to be worn in his ear? His head tilted to the side and he opened his mouth to speak before immediately shutting it; his eyes dropped to his knee and his clean hand (the other had pie gook) went to the wooden pendant resting there. He picked it up and turned it over in his fingers curiously, holding the pendant in the light to get a better look.

“You made this?”

He turned the pendant over in his hand, analyzing it; it seemed too big to go into an ear, but then, R’wign wasn’t really a jewelry person. He owned a whopping one piece of jewelry: a silver belled anklet more for his amusement than anything else and he only wore it when he wanted to be particularly annoying. The little wooden pendant was adorable though. After a moment, he flipped it into his palm and rubbed his fingers over the surface, as though in fascination. He had a hard time accepting that someone had simply carved the shape – it looked very well done. He didn’t even know M’ta was interested in any kind of woodcrafting, but the pendant was quite pretty. If it had two tails, it would’ve reminded him strongly of Checkoth.

“I need some kind of black cord to put it on, yeah,” he said, holding it up to his chest. “Did you use Behruth for the model? It’s really nice. How long did it take…? How long has Check been plotting against me by telling people when my turnday is?” He turned and shot a look in the general direction of the brown dragon, who neatly ignored him. Pfft.

[Requiem]

M'ta wrinkled his nose at R'wign playfully. "Since age is so important." Older, younger, did it really matter? Not to M'ta, anyway.

He watched R'wign's face, but still couldn't really read what was going on in the healer's mind. Not that this was entirely unusual. Or unusual at all, really. He could tell when something was off, but that was about as far as he could read the other man. (Most likely that was the point.) At any rate, he was reduced to keeping from fidgeting as R'wign looked at the small object. Why did it matter if he liked it or not? Sure, M'ta had put a lot of time into it, but someone was bound to want it if R'wign didn't. Behruth, probably, for starters.

M'ta nodded, only adding the 'yes,' when he realized R'wign probably wouldn't see the gesture. Yes, he'd made it. The questions didn't really help much; the short brownrider was still having difficulties gauging R'wign's reaction. "No, I don't usually use models. Anymore." Not since Meira and Meisk. It might be a little crazy and all, but...people were allowed to be a little superstitious, weren't they? He still had that one, somewhere. And the one of Amith and Jabari. M'ta shifted slightly, drawing his knees up so that he could drape his arms over them in a boneless hunch.

"Ummm. That piece...about a sevenday." It didn't take long to carve out the base, but all the detail work, the sanding, the coats of polish...that took longer. "But, you know, I was busy with other things, so it's not like I was doing nothing but working on it for that long." He smiled awkwardly. M'ta didn't mention that it had actually been more like a month, experimentng with different things that weren't to his satisfaction in one way or another. This wasn't quite it, either, but...it was close. Close enough to accept, anyway.

Tugging lightly at the laces of one boot, he twined his fingers through it. "That's...well...Checkoth only told us today, that is. No one was really plotting. I didn't know how to give it to you, or if you'd like it at all, but it being your turnday and all..." He glanced up. "Seemed as good an excuse as any."

[glamourie]

Pfft. In some ways, age was – in others, it wasn’t. Not where M’ta was concerned, at least, but… it struck him as strange that M’ta didn’t know his age. R’wign wanted to hug him for that. He refrained because M’ta, in general, didn’t like being touched and he’d learned fast not to push the boundaries of physical contact with M’ta; he’d razz him verbally until the end of time, but actually touching him was very rare. Braiding his hair was about the extent of how far he’d push it. So no hugging, even if it was tempting. R’wign fingered the charm, turning it from side to side to watch the way the light played off the wood. He’d never put much thought into M’ta’s past. Intellectually, he knew it wasn’t pretty; M’ta carried around knives all the time and was jumpy about physical contact, it didn’t take a mindhealer to put two and two together. But finding out that he not only didn’t know his turnday but his age was… disheartening. There was no pity; R’wign saw no reason to pity M’ta because he seemed to have managed just fine on his own (he was alive, wasn’t he?). It was more a sense of sorrow… though he was smart enough not to voice that; he didn’t want to offend. Part of him wondered what happened to M’ta’s parents – did he know? – but he didn’t ask. It wasn’t as though he knew anything about his own parents, having not seen them since he was a child…

“That piece?” R’wign inquired curiously, holding it up. “This piece…? How many pieces did you make…? Why – why were you making something for me? You don’t have to do that.” He turned the little charm in the light again and lowered his hand to go back to staring at it. Truthfully, he was flattered. R’wign didn’t receive very many gifts. In fact, aside from pie, most people didn’t buy or make him anything. He had a collar from Kalierre and an eye that Dorava had tried to get made for him; her heart was in the right place, even if it wasn’t quite what he’d been looking for, and he kept it because he appreciated the thought. “Thank you. Really. If you didn’t know it was my turnday, though, I don’t understand why you’d spend so much time on something for me – I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful and I love it but – why…?”

Oh, part of him thought it was probably because of M’ta mentioned having feelings for him – he hadn’t forgotten that part, even if he wasn’t sure entirely of how to react. Labeling any gesture as covered under that though was petty, and M’ta deserved better than assumptions. Or maybe he just wanted to hear it. Whatever the reason: he didn’t make an effort to stop himself from asking, despite knowing it would probably make M’ta feel embarrassed. Explaining kind gestures had that effect on him, anyway. Maybe it was inconsiderate. Maybe it wasn’t. He wanted to know, though; he was… bursting to know. Making pies for him was understandable. Cezine had done it, and people at Healer Hall did, pretty much everyone on Pern knew well that he loved pies… but… a necklace…? He’d wear it, of course, once he acquired some kind of chain to put it on, or black cord. It was just strange somehow. Surreal. Yes, flattered was the word, but also… well, no, just flattered.

He didn’t ask why M’ta didn’t use models – primarily because he was distracted by playing with the object in his fingers. His mind brushed that of his firelizards, silently requesting their help; if he was going to wear it, he needed a chain or cord. Roxie, at least, knew very well how to steal (she liked Showoff). Grouch gave a low scolding chirp and fluttered his wings, agitated; he had better things to do than play fetch. Ellie made no effort to move. R’wign ignored the blue, though he did hold the charm out for Ellie to look at. The gold bounced over to nose at it before fluting approvingly to M’ta; she liked browns and to her, it looked like a brown dragon. Browns really were her favorite. R’wign watched her interest with amusement before moving the pendant back to in front of him. Turn, turn, turn…

[Requiem]

R'wign listened well, didn't he? Most people wouldn't pick up the 'that piece' comment. M'ta found it mildly amusing that the healer had, his mind going over possible answers to that one. So many truthful answers, all that suggested different things. It would be easiest, of course, to just joke about it. You didn't pick up a knife one day and carve something like that out of the blue. He'd made many pieces over the last few turns...some for other people and some just to indulge a whim. All lay nestled in the bottom of his trunk...or in Behruth's hoard, if the brown took a particular shining to it. Yes, easiest to just joke about it, and not mention how many ideas he'd discarded over the last month, but it wasn't like he was hiding anything from R'wign anymore. Not necessary. Still, he didn't like to talk about anything that might remind R'wign of the day he'd punched...and kissed...him. Because he didn't want to rush the healer in any way.

By now...well, it seemed R'wign had already made his decision. M'ta was fine with that. Not exploring his feelings was perfectly fine with him. He just wished they'd go away and stop bothering him.

Oh, he still hadn't answered R'wign, and now the healer was speaking again. He smiled, the expression almost shy. Yes, he could believe R'wign did like it and wasn't just trying to be polite. That was good, because M'ta knew he didn't really wear jewelry or anything. The short brownrider wanted to do something different for R'wign, though, not the figures he usually carved - because R'wign was different and not just a friend that M'ta wanted to do something for - but he really didn't know how to make anything functional. Hinges and wood screws and whatnot he wasn't familiar with. He was willing to experiment, yes, but not with a gift. "I'm glad." He snugged his knees, retying the boot he'd managed to unlace through nervous fiddling.

"It's...not really that...unusual. I make things. Have for turns. Sometimes I make things for people, but I'd be making something anyway, as like as not. I wanted to make something for you this time. I...don't really have any other way to show that I appreciate someone, I guess, and words are cheap." Yes, he wasn't good at displays of affection, and didn't think anyone else should have to deal with his awkwardness. It would be awkward, too, because he'd be forcing himself, and he didn't want to upset anyone who read it wrong. Which they might. People could be really sensitive at times.

He smiled briefly at Ellie. They should probably talk about something else now. Yes, he'd be more comfortable with that. Trying to figure out what that something else should be, though, wasn't exactly easy. "Do you come our here often by yourself?" he asked finally. A trace of unease in his words. He wasn't sure he liked that idea much. Not when people were disappearing. Not when he rarely went into the forests himself without Ruth, because of the incident with the knife thrower and F'lix. "You should probably bring someone...me, someone else, it doesn't matter." Not trying to be a nag, really, but he'd rather not have the healer just disappear on him randomly. It would be - upsetting. On multiple levels. Not the least of which being Behruth was ever so attached to Checkoth.

[glamourie]

R’wign did not move his gaze away from the little pendant. In fact, he pointedly kept staring at it, as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world. To him it was, though M’ta’s words made him deflate ever-so-slightly (not that any of that showed outwardly). It was stupid – stupid to think it was because he was special. He didn’t want to think himself so petty, a gift was a gift and he did appreciate it; why did it matter what the motives were so very much? He felt like an idiot for having, for even one moment, gotten flattered. Why did it matter anyway? He still didn’t know if he felt anything for M’ta as more than a friend so why…? Stupid, stupid. Mentally berating himself, R’wign rubbed his nose on the side of his arm and turned the pendant in front of his face. Regardless of what the motivations for making it were, he did like it, and he would wear it. He’d just… hoped maybe it was… no. No, he was not going to let his mind go down that path. R’wign utterly refused. It was a nice gift, and that was that. There was no further analysis needed, no critically looking at everything under the glass and being hurt, of all things, because it was a gift from a friend to a friend. He was being stupid.

“Words are cheap; thoughts are priceless. Thank you,” he said, again, because repeating himself would obviously make the point more valid. He didn’t linger on the topic, though, and when M’ta changed it, he was grateful; he felt less like a fool talking about something – anything – else. Sentimental fool, yes, he was being ridiculous. He shouldn’t have asked. The old adage ‘Don’t ask if you don’t want to know’ was coming back to haunt him…

But that question, and the following… scold? … amused R’wign endlessly. He lifted his head and indicated the tree nearby. “See those vines growing along the base of that tree? Follow them down to the ground, to the right until you see a bunch of knotted roots with red leaves. See the leaves? That’s the plant of redwort. The root, as you know, is used to disinfect wounds.” He turned his head to look at M’ta and rubbed his nose again. “Our jungles are pretty unique, in the respect that almost every medicinal herb grows wild in them; the founders of Selenitas really picked a good location to put a Weyr, even if they didn’t go about organizing it well. There’s also tea trees and numerous kitchen spices that grow further in.” He seized the last pie and nipped a bite of it before shrugging. “I come out here a lot, yes, because someone has to gather the herbs and I don’t really trust the apprentices to get the best specimens. I usually come out here for a candlemark or two every sevenday to gather supplies and then spend half a day cleaning and processing them. Technically it’s apprentice work, and sometimes I let them help, but… I find it therapeutic. Except boiling numbweed. I don’t know anyone who enjoys that.”

His legs stretched out in front of him and he waved his feet back and forth awkwardly. “I also come here to throw because it’s out of the way – and I’ve been practicing.” He really didn’t want to disappoint M’ta by not improving at all. There was nothing that R’wign feared more in the world than being a disappointment to people that he cared about. The list was rapidly growing shorter (partially due to R’wign pretty deliberately pushing people away) but M’ta was still there and… he was determined to impress the other brownrider, somehow. He didn’t like failing at anything. “Usually Checkoth is nearby – isn’t he good enough…? He wouldn’t let anything happen to me, after all.” Checkoth had the most to lose. And yes, R’wign was able to connect that M’ta was probably worried about the disappearances, but… he didn’t think anyone would want him. It wasn’t as though he was exactly valuable to kill. Whoopee, one less brownrider, of which Selenitas had plenty. He didn’t think he was worth killing… or worse.

“I don’t even know who would want to come wandering in the forest with me. It’s pretty boring if you’re not into plants the way I am…”

[Requiem]

Glancing toward the redwort, he eyed it for a long moment, thinking he might be able to tuck the visual idenitfication away into memory. It was possible, after all. Not likely, though. He still didn't tend to notice distinctions in plant life. M'ta distinctly remembered Z'hin attempting to teach him a little, but, despite honest attempts to learn, it had been beyond his grasp. Plants simply looked like plants to him. Leafy things that grew. Despite the great amount of time he'd spent out doors since coming here five turns before...M'ta was still very much an urban boy. He could read his own particular jungle of people, filth and buildings better than most woodsmen could their domain. Not that it meant much of anything, in the end, because Selenitas definitely wasn't anything like home. (Bitra, home?) For which he was decidedly grateful.

M'ta's nose wrinkled at mention of boiling numbweed. Oh, he knew what that smelled like. It was pretty sad when you were more willing to go and bury corpses than boil the stuff. "Yes, Checkoth should be enough," he agreed quietly, if only because he only took Behruth and M'ta, if nothing else, was not a hypocrite. Of course, there was the other matter - namely that M'ta had a much better chance of walking out of something unpleasant than his weyrmate. He didn't feel the need to mention that, though; R'wign already knew. He wouldn't be trying to change things like he was if he didn't.

M'ta snorted. "You'd be surprised how many crazies frequent the jungles." F'lix. Evrgarde. Meira. R'wign. Ka'rys. W'yn. And those were just the names that immediately sprung to mind. Not to mention M'ta himself, who wouldn't have come upon any of them if he hadn't ventured into the jungles. "Including myself. I'm out here enough anyway...might as well come along." It would make him feel much better if he could assure himself of R'wign's safety personally, even though it was unlikely that anything would actually happen. M'ta didn't mention that, either. He really didn't want to disconcert R'wign by being terribly overprotective.

Even if he was. "Then maybe I could help with the throwing. Most is just practice, of course, but until you get the technique down..." R'wign's technique wasn't that bad, either, but was it really so wrong for M'ta to want to be close to him? It was a valid excuse, particularly in that it served a more pragmatic purpose. If R'wign learned faster, his mind could be put at ease. Or at least he wouldn't worry as much.

[glamourie]

R’wign resisted the urge to snicker at the decidedly not-pleased expression M’ta wore at the mere mention of boiling numbweed. Yes, most people hated it; R’wign included. He didn’t mind it half as much as most people though, primarily due to being used to it (being an apprentice at Healer Hall with a particularly big mouth had him boiling numbweed a lot). The response was amusing though. One hand came up to rub behind his ear, the other still clutching the pendant as if it was the most important thing in the world. He really didn’t have anywhere else that he could put it, considering that it didn’t have any kind of chain to it yet (and his firelizards were raiding Behruth’s hoard in search thereof). He didn’t want to risk losing it so soon after receiving. He almost wished that his ears were pierced, just for the sake of having somewhere to put the thing. Alas, wishing didn’t get him anywhere. R’wign patted himself down, looking for a pocket, before finally setting on the one at the back of his pants. At least there he knew it wouldn’t fall free.

“If you want to, you’re welcome, but it’s really not very interesting, what I spend my time doing,” R’wign admitted with a shrug. “I just pick plants. I can teach you about them as I do it, though, so you’re not quite so bored. Speaking of throwing though – would you mind helping me a little? I don’t know what it is I’m doing wrong, aside from the arm holding thing…”

Yes, M’ta had said enough about throwing but R’wign wasn’t content to just let it go; he’d come outside for a purpose, and he intended to accomplish just that. Yes, technically it was his turn day, but R’wign didn’t celebrate. He appreciated the gift, the pies and M’ta’s company, but… celebrating made him miss Religna too much; it made him want to fall apart inside. So he was doing his best not to focus on that feeling and instead fix things – fix the reason he’d been unable to protect her, Marra, himself and Tr’esn. Though, he didn’t feel horribly guilty about Tr’esn… because he wasn’t hurt. He hadn’t gotten beat up; just R’wign did, and R’wign didn’t mind it so long as Tr’esn was fine. Marra and Religna, though… Part of him felt horribly responsible, like he’d failed them somehow, and he didn’t want that feeling anymore. He really did want to get better at throwing if only to somehow be able to protect himself. Somehow. It wasn’t M’ta’s responsibility to protect him, nor anyone else’s, and he didn’t want to rely on other people. He was sick of being defenseless.

This was, really, why R’wign did not object to M’ta following him into the forest. Not that he minded M’ta’s company ever but it was boring and he could just foresee the other brownrider wanting to hit himself over the head to break up the monotony. If it got him more help with throwing, though, he was more than willing to bore M’ta to tears. It was his choice, after all. R’wign hadn’t made it a secret what he did in the jungles, and he wasn’t about to mix his routine up just for M’ta’s sake. He collected herbs for the infirmary, and he cared a great deal about how organized it was. (The level of obsession he displayed with his herb cabinet was borderline terrifying to some people – he kept it meticulously organized, labeled and with the best quality herbs that he could find. Everyone had their little triggers; the herb cabinet was his. Letting it get anything short of perfection made him want to strangle someone.)

“I think I’m improving though,” R’wign tacked on, almost defensively; M’ta hadn’t said he wasn’t, but it wasn’t M’ta he needed to prove himself to – he was a much harsher judge of himself than anyone else he’d ever met. R’wign usually held himself to ridiculous standards, and ironically, he knew he was doing it but couldn’t stop. “I just wish I could actually hit the target once. I come out here several times a sevenday and I still can’t hit the targets I’m aiming for. I usually hit the tree now, though, and sometimes I’ve hit the outside of the circle. It’s just a pain because I usually come out at twilight and it’s harder for me to see and I know you said it isn’t really about seeing but it feels like it is…”

[Requiem]

"You can try. Plants all look the same to me, though," he commented, with just a touch of apology. Not a lot, mind you, but he knew plants were R'wign's thing, and he didn't want the man thinking he simply wasn't interested in something the healer obssessed so much over. M'ta just couldn't differentiate. Green and leafy. If they were a different color or were flowering he had a little better luck, but on the whole one plant looked much the same as another to him

"More instruction, huh?" It was...kind of odd, really. By his own reckoning he'd been what...about seven?...when he started using throwing knives and daggers. Throwing knives in particular. He was now coming up on about twentyish. Over ten turns, even if you factored in the two he hadn't touched a blade. The last thing he really thought about these days was how he threw a knife. Just as with his brief fights, it had become mostly instinct - something that held its own dangers, at least when you were faced off within arm's reach of someone else. Reacting was important, but so was thinking. At any rate, he didn't know if he really could just explain. Without fully realizing it, he'd drawn one of his daggers and was spinning it idly through his fingers. He smiled wryly at himself. Most kids had a scrap of cloth or a toy or something that served as a security blanket. He had cold steel. Forcibly stilling his hand, he arched a brow in R'wign's direction.

"I believe I already said that," he commented teasingly. There was hardly a need to get defensive with him. "Seeing isn't important. As long as you know where your target is in relation to you...you'll be just as accurate blindfolded." Not that M'ta had tried this, but he didn't always look at a target, and he'd thrown enough in the night when seeing was impossible to know the truth of the statement. He worried his lip lightly. "I'm not really sure how to explain it. But it is a matter of muscle memory and I don't see why you think you should have already mastered it. This sort of thing takes practice. Haven't you ever done anything that takes a while to get good at?"

Like healing? M'ta was pretty sure R'wign hadn't learned that overnight.

He rose, the blade twirling through his fingers again, though this time he didn't quell the nervous habit. Eyeing R'wign's target, his mouth twitched and he attempted to slow down his process enough to analyze it. What resulted was a decidedly less...powerful...throw, but it still quivered at the center of the healer's makeshift target. "Uh...other than the arm thing? Keep relaxed...and...shoulder square. Not necessarily square on the target but square...over your hips. Strength comes from stability, and so does accuracy. You don't want your shoulder or bicep moving at all."

He flashed R'wign an awkward smile. "I'm sorry, that's about as good as I can do as far as technique goes. Consistency is more important than accuracy right now, though. If you always throw wide to the same side and by about the same amount, it's a simple matter to adjust your aim. Not so much if you're all over the place."

[glamourie]

It was hard not to grin. Somehow, R’wign could just see M’ta accidentally snarfing down poison berries because “They looked the same as the good ones!” That was a mistake almost all children made in Nerat at least once: the dense rainforest made it hard not to get confused. R’wign on the other hand had grown up close enough to the woods that he’d learned all about the plants that grew there young. His mother was a cook, so he was frequently sent after spices and herbs, and as one of the women of the Hold, she was also responsible for treating some of the more minor injuries (to prevent the Hold Healer – who was a Journeyman – from being bogged down with work). R’wign learned a lot about basic herbal remedies and, ironically, cooking when he was a child… though only seafood; his father being a fisherman meant he spent a lot of time on boats, too. He was fairly good at a lot of things and ‘great’ at only one – finding and identifying plans. It amused him endlessly that M’ta seemed so terrible at the very thing he was best at. He didn’t point that out though – it seemed tactless to do so. He just smiled and looked down.

“I think you could learn to understand the difference between plants if you wanted to and had a good reason,” R’wign said with a slight shrug. “I imagine it’d be no more difficult for you than for me learning to throw knives.” A sideways glance was spared to the brownrider, obviously teasing, before he nodded toward the tree. “Being as accurate blindfolded wouldn’t help me, I don’t think. I’m barely managing to hit the tree as it is.” The emphasis on throwing taking practice made him sigh in exasperation. He didn’t do well with things that didn’t come naturally to him. He just didn’t. He was trying but R’wign was frustrated; he liked being talented at things. There weren’t many things he wasn’t at least decent at, but… apparently defense was on that list. How ironic, since it was one of the things he needed the most. “Just the same I think I’d rather nix the idea of a blindfold… and if you start throwing knives blindfolded around me, I hope you won’t take it personally when I run for the hills.”

The question made R’wign frown and he froze, save for wringing his fingers. “No,” he admitted softly. “I don’t usually stick with things that I’m not good at. I don’t like being bad at things. I have to display some talent or I lose interest fast… unless I force myself. I am trying, but…” His gaze went back to the tree and he resisted the urge to blow a raspberry in frustration. “I don’t like being bad at things. I just don’t. I’m a perfectionist in everything that I do. Even things I’m good at, I tear apart. I think the only thing I’m okay at that I don’t sit and stress myself out over is collecting and maintaining herbs and that’s because after doing it my whole life, I had better be good at it by now. But I’m used to being… well, better than this. I’m trying though.”

And his ego was more than a little dented at M’ta very easily managing to hit the target that he’d been trying for weeks to nail. He didn’t voice that; he knew it was stupid. He’d told Ka’rys in passing that M’ta was teaching him to throw and the bronzerider replied with something akin to “Good luck; I can’t do it” before going back to obsessively slaving over parchments (he tended to do that when anxious). It must have been hard and a long process to learn – logic said as much – but shards if he wasn’t getting tired of being bad. He wanted to be good at something defensive for once and it just… did not come naturally to him at all. Yes, he was growing frustrated, not with M’ta but with himself. It was easy to be angry at his own failure, and it very clearly was him, not his teachers. He just… sucked… at defending himself.

“I don’t know if anything I do is consistent,” he admitted, frowning. “It’s difficult for me to judge that. I think I’m almost always above the target though.” Not that that helped since it was all over the place beyond that. Picking up his practice blade (he was positive he was damaging them, which made him feel guilty), R’wign turned, aimed and threw; his knife came to stick in the trunk of the tree right above the target and he frowned. “Was my arm better that time…?”