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Post by glamourie on Aug 29, 2009 20:26:18 GMT -5
But she should have, R’wign thought with a slight frown at Meira; if she got sick because of him, he’d never be able to forgive himself. It wasn’t just her, either, that was at risk, didn’t she realize that? He didn’t say anything, primarily due to the rapid whirl in his head (and Checkoth still throwing a minor hissy fit at him, lecturing him about being more careful and how dare he scare him that way?), and Jingth’s light touch made him turn his focus to the gold dragon. Yes, he understood what she was trying to say, but he didn’t feel much like laying down right then. He didn’t want to close his eyes. Despite all appearances to the contrary, he was scared. Too scared to go to sleep, too scared to be alone. He reached over and picked up Empress, his arms wrapping around the feline (what was she doing there?) in an attempt to comfort himself. He didn’t respond to Meira’s words, or indeed continue looking at her, instead cuddling up to the creature in his arms as if she was the only thing in the world that could take away his bad feelings. If he laid down and closed his eyes, everything might go dark again, and then he might not wake up this time. He didn’t want to not wake up. Even if he thought Meira was a fool… he wasn’t ready to die.
His eye flicked up as M’ta picked Meira up and… proceeded to cart her off. He reached up with his right hand and pushed the long, bobbling wave-curls from his face, his head leaning back against the headboard of the bed. Both knees slowly pulled up (despite the fact that he knew Jingth was trying to get him to lay down) and he set Empress down next to him to rest his chin on his knees… making it plainly obvious he didn’t intend to go back to sleep any time soon. He was too afraid to sleep, and Checkoth was much too upset, so were his flitters – they needed him awake to comfort them, didn’t they? Yes, yes, they did; they all needed him there to lean on. Those that remained anyway… R’wign dropped one hand and gently ran his fingers over Empress’s back, the feline bumping his hand encouragingly. He turned his head to watch her, petting gently, as M’ta returned; he heard, rather than saw, him come back.
The moving of P.M.S. on his head was enough to warn him, and R’wign actually tensed visibly as M’ta spoke. Empress turned her head, flattened her ears, and gave M’ta one of the most terrible looks that she owned, her tail flaring to twice its normal size. She didn’t understand what he said, no, but she knew that Hers was more upset than before and it was all his doing. Bad.
It was tempting to bark at M’ta that yes, Meira accepted the risks, but their unborn child didn’t. It wasn’t that he thought his life was worthless – he didn’t. More, he wasn’t sure that he could live with the guilt of making Meira so sick, especially when she was pregnant and so far along – what if the baby didn’t survive it? It would be all his fault and he could never live with that knowledge. He just wouldn’t be able to. R’wign was smart enough not to say that to M’ta, though the more the other brownrider spoke, the more he recoiled, actually laying his face against the back of his knees to avoid having to look at M’ta. If he didn’t look at him, maybe he wouldn’t completely fall apart? Wishful thinking, perhaps, but his pride wouldn’t let him have an emotional breakdown in front of anyone… but especially not M’ta, who was, whether he knew it or not, making it worse. His chest and head both hurt.
At his side, Empress mewled low in her throat and put one paw up onto his leg. Then she stood on her hind legs, trying to climb between R’wign’s chest and his knees, but to little success. He was just curled up too tightly. Frustrated, the feline plopped back down onto her paws and took to rubbing her entire body against his legs protectively, her gaze never quite leaving M’ta, as if she didn’t trust him at all. Considering that she didn’t like anyone but R’wign, that was probably not terribly surprising, but the low growl in her throat was menacing and intended as such. Didn’t the Bad Man see that he was upsetting Hers? Bad, bad man.
The slight twitch of his shoulders was the only outward response R’wign offered in the beginning, at least visibly. He kept his face pressed to his knees to disguise the fact that he was near tears, a combination of pain and fear overwhelming him. It wasn’t that he thought his life wasn’t worthwhile. It wasn’t. It was that he didn’t want to imagine himself as responsible for his child’s death. Meira could make whatever decisions she wanted; R’wign would think she was foolish but it was her right. But their baby didn’t deserve to be put at risk and yes, he did put that baby before him, before Meira, before M’ta. He’d gotten attached to the idea of a little R’wign running about, and as sick as he was, that might well be all he’d have left… Pessimistic thought, but he felt he owed it to the child to be mad at Meira for not thinking of the baby’s welfare first.
Despite himself, a few tears did actually escape; he was glad for his knees in the way, simply because it would be impossible to tell anything from his ill-wheezing. His arms tightened on his knees, and he laughed – a low, bitter sound.
“It’s only my life I was risking – mine and my mindmate’s. Yes, I knew the risks I was taking. And so does Meira. Last I checked, I’m not seven months pregnant, though.” Maybe it was petty to bring it up, but he had to say something. Sitting there hysterical wasn’t going to make him feel better. “She’s higher risk… because it’s two lives now, not one, and two lives are always better than one. I’m mad at her because she didn’t just put herself at risk, M’ta, she put our child at risk, and I don’t want our baby to – to –” His voice caught in his throat and he slowly lifted his face, before he bowed his head again. Apparently he was unwilling to defend himself on anything else – or maybe he just didn’t have a defense. For the moment, his head hurt so bad that he wasn’t sure he could form a coherent argument anyway.
The breathing? Checkoth asked, and then it dawned on him. You mean his chest ouchies? He didn’t want Yours to know because he got it back when the Bads attacked us. He got it because he was out in the rain helping Yours, and he thought Yours would believe it was his fault; R’wignmine doesn’t want Yours to feel bad or responsible. While R’wign might have been good about keeping secrets, especially when he was worried, Checkoth had no problem telling Behruth the truth about anything he wanted to know – he trusted his clutchbrother, he did. He got hurt, one of the Bads hit him in the chest, and then he got sick from being in the rain, and it was just bad for him. Yours was so sick, too, and then he got well and R’wignmine was sure that Yours would believe it was his fault, because he was the one out in the rain. He doesn’t want Yours to feel responsible for something that isn’t his fault. Both of Checkoth’s tails flicked back and forth, before he looked toward the room with His, nervously. MeiraJingth’s won’t lose her clutch because of mine will she? He thinks she will. He wanted to go black so that their clutch was safe. I don’t understand how the clutch is in danger because of his sickness… Aren’t eggs safe because of their shells?
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Aug 29, 2009 22:36:14 GMT -5
Bad brownrider. Jingth’s tail flicked in a show of blatant frustration; couldn’t he tell what he was supposed to do? It wasn’t this. He wasn’t doing – he wasn’t being right. Hmm, did she have to somehow tie him down to a bed? That happened sometimes, didn’t it? Certainly it had been threatened before, to patients who couldn’t stay down themselves; she’d heard it. There had to be basis behind those…too bad her claws lacked the dexterity necessary for restraining someone to a cot, hrm…maybe she could get Dsoleth to ask His to do it? Dsoleth’s would help, Jingth was sure, but for the moment…the gold huffed at him, the agitation clear in that one sound, before she dropped back down onto the floor and flopped down, stretching herself out on the floor and efficiently made it impossible to get to R’wign from that side of the bed unless she was literally climbed over; the quick whirling of her eyes had not lost its orange shade of distress, though it was much fainter, tinted with a shade best described as weariness; she was so tired of this sickness thing and Checkoth’s was being very, very silly indeed, and she was going to have to pin him to the bed with her tail or something, wasn’t she?
Fortunately for R’wign, Jingth didn’t actually carry out the thought; Hers being lifted up effectively distracted her, mostly because Meira hadn’t been expecting it either: The first thought that flashed through the weyrlingrider’s mind was confusion – what was M’ta doing…? Instinctively, so she wouldn’t fall, one arm slid around his neck, fingers curling around the brownrider’s shoulder; the other arm wound around both Stumpy and her abdomen; now that the thoughtless panic had evaporated – for the most part, anyway – her concern was primarily for the baby. She’d seen the sick people; it was never fun to be sick, but how far the sickness affected an unborn child…Meira didn’t know, and she didn’t want to find out – if only the epidemic could have waited until the baby had been born, so she didn’t have to worry so much…not that it would have been much better, but – still. Better. Slightly. Right…? She was stroking Stumpy, trying to keep the panic, rising again, hidden, her head bowed against her collarbone until the cot beneath her roused her from the disturbing…what would it be called? A waking nightmare?
Pulling herself backwards, more to the center of the cot, Meira nodded at M’ta’s words, only partially comprehending what was being said before she leaned down to help – she wasn’t sure if she ought to be embarrassed or not, at being carried and now this; she ought to be perfectly capable of doing everything on her own, after all. Regardless, she was still too – too numb to feel anything. Staying here – she almost protested before Jingth’s firm wave of reassurance, warmth, love washed over her, quelling arguments, and Meira just nodded, pulling her legs onto the cot to cross them. She wasn’t exactly tired, but she did want to sleep; it’d certainly provide a welcome distraction from…everything. As M’ta finished speaking, Meira nodded her understanding, the word “okay” barely audible as it emerged from her lips before she turned to look for Jingth. Who was…not there; she hadn’t yet left R’wign’s room. The mental touch made Jingth respond with another loving, wordless response before she said, quietly, I think you should do as Behruth’s says. MineLove, please, please take a maternity leave if you’re worried about the clutch. It would…it would make me very happy.
Still, she didn’t wait for M’ta’s return – the hatchling rolled to her feet and, after another conciliatory croon to R’wign that said, clearer than words, that he had to rest, Jingth nudged the door open with her muzzle (fortunately it hadn’t actually closed entirely on their way out) before she moved to one side to let M’ta past – and then flopped down in the middle of the Infirmary, directly outside of the door. That it closed did not bother her; just because she couldn’t hear every word uttered didn’t mean she couldn’t understand the general meaning and emotion. The queen’s head tilted, eyes whirling very slowly now; more clearly than M’ta could she hear R’wign, and once the brownrider-who-would-not-lie-down finished talking, Jingth crooned quietly to herself, agitated. After a moment of hesitation, though, the hatchling decided that eavesdropping would not be prudent – simply because she could hear didn’t mean she wanted to hear, and she didn’t. Hers wouldn’t get sick, and her clutch would not be hurt, didn’t they see that? She wouldn’t let it happen. It distressed her, the idea that it would, and in the end, Jingth rose to her feet (again) to pad over to M’ta’s room.
Hers, the hatchling decided as she curled up in front of that door, did not need to know what had been said; it would make her worry and Jingth would not be the cause of worrying. It did not matter, in any case. LoveHers wouldn’t get sick; she refused to let it happen. So silly, that they didn’t see that…
((Aaand...Meira and Jingth are out~))
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Aug 29, 2009 23:50:05 GMT -5
He should have felt remorse. Should have. Maybe tomorrow. Or in a candlemark. Right now he just felt...tired and betrayed on some level, because he equated trust with openness, and he was most open with R'wign of anyone. It shouldn't have mattered. M'ta hadn't told him everything, but with him there was little point - R'wign knew the effects if not the causes, and the causes would only change their relationship. How, M'ta wasn't sure, but he knew it would. If R'wign ever asked, he'd tell him...in a fashion...but there was no need otherwise. He hadn't even known about R'wign's condition, though. What if he'd done something in ignorance that could have hurt the other brownrider? Why wouldn't R'wign tell him something like that?
He watched R'wign from behind his legs, frowning slightly (and completely ignoring the cat who had thoroughly established a bias in the young man against all felines). Then the healer was speaking. Of course, of course he didn't address what M'ta wanted an explanation for. The headache behind his left eye was beginning to spread, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to dim its effects. Not particularly helpful. Strange, really, to find that R'wign didn't think so much differently than M'ta. One life or two? Sacrifice the one. "She'll be fine...Meira and your baby," M'ta told R'wign, perhaps too firmly. "Both of you will be. As soon as you're well enough, both of you are out of this death house if I have to drag you kicking and screaming."
He eyed the healer for a moment. Should he just drop it? Perhaps so. Perhaps...he just expected too much of people, the ones that he chose to -burden?- with his trust. Maybe it was a burden and little more. But M'ta didn't want to let it go. He wanted to have something like he used to, a connection with someone - the one he'd thought he'd had. "I'm sorry, R'wign. You just scared all of us. And...I thought we didn't keep the important things from each other." He was tempted to reach out and touch the other brownrider's foot, but a glance at Empress had him reconsidering. "Is it too much to ask why?"
Don't ask that. M'ta was surprised, as Behruth had been too concerned with Checkoth to be much of a mental presence until just now. What are you talking about? You don't want to know the answer. Ruth...it's okay if it's R'wign, but why are you keeping things from me, too? M'ta brought up his legs, curling them beneath him as he fiddled with the furs on the cot in agitation. A long pause. He was hurt, but you were very hurt. It was raining. Checkoth says the cold made him sick...and now he has the 'chest ouchies'. The younger man's head bowed for a moment, the sound coming from his throat sounding suspiciously like a half-strangled laugh. Of course. Of sharding course. R'wign had gotten himself sick taking care of him, and now M'ta was giving him shit for it. Unwittingly, but that didn't change anything.
I told you that you didn't want the answer.
"Nevermind that. It doesn't matter," M'ta told R'wign, hoping to avoid having to hear it from his weyrmate's lips. They could both play their ignorant games. And...he made a mental note to have Behruth ask Checkoth if he ever needed to know anything, if only to avoid situations like this one. The brownrider crawled up beside R'wign, ignoring the disappearance of Jingth, the presence of the cat. P.M.S. vacated R'wign to return to one of his favorite nesting spots - M'ta's hair. "You should sleep," he stated, almost tentatively. "I'll be right here...Behruth says Phremath and Hers just got here, too. You should sleep."
Behruth didn't tell Checkoth that ShortyHis knew, certain that Check would end up telling His and knowing M'ta didn't want that right now. Fortunately, his clutchbrother was on a new topic. Behruth crooned to the green that settled near them, watching the disheveled woman struggling down from the dragon. Phremath's entered the infirmary at a swift pace, and Behruth turned his attention back to Checkoth. Mine says they come soft. Not in shells. He snugged against Checkoth. Don't worry, though. Mine won't let anything bad happen to Jingth's or the clutch.
Phremath slid over near the two browns, shaking out her small wings before settling them against her sides. Are you all right, Checky? You were screaming. Mine tried to move fast, but she is not so fast, and she promises not to leave again until Yours is good. Yours isall right now, isn't he? She ignored the blood, too, snuggling against Checkoth's other side.
Kalierre lingered outside the door, half-dressed and rumpled, watching the two men and their pets for awhile. She didn't want to interrupt. Turning, she gestured to one of the apprentices, whispering a series of commands, and in a few moments the woman was curled up in a chair next to the door, just out of sight of the occupants of the room. Perusing the information they'd gathered on the plague thus far by candlelight, her eyes were heavy...but she knew she wouldn't be getting any sleep for some time yet.
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Post by glamourie on Aug 30, 2009 1:41:11 GMT -5
Nervously, the healer lifted his head to watch Jingth depart, her final croon bringing a smile to his face. Yes, he knew what she was trying to hell him to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually go to sleep. Not with the fear that he’d never wake up. Didn’t she understand…? He didn’t say anything to her, instead leaning his head down onto his knees once more.
R’wign was not naturally an optimist, so the attempt at reassuring him did little to assuage his feelings of guilt. Being a healer, he knew just how dangerous diseases could be, and he knew exactly how deadly the one sweeping Selenitas was so far – and it was airborne; it was only a matter of time before it reached the holds, then traveled overseas… There was no way for Selenitas Weyr to keep the affliction contained. He knew that Kalierre had to have told the Hall about what was happening and he had no doubt that they were preparing for the worst, but that didn’t help Selenitas, or the people there; how long would it be before the disease fizzled out? Plenty of people had died already, and others still were sick. Then there were people like M’ta, who seemed to be immune… M’ta, and perhaps Meira…? He hoped that was the case, but he didn’t really believe it; Meira was probably just lucky, but luck only took someone so far. R’wign exhaled sharply and leaned his forehead on his knees. He didn’t really want to stay in the infirmary any more than he already did. Was it pointless to point out to M’ta that he didn’t know when he’d get well? He was cold; he felt like his skin was ice, and his head hurt so badly. Though, being awake was a good sign. It was the only good sign.
The question made R’wign freeze visibly and he peeked out from around his knees before saying softly, “It didn’t even occur to me to tell you, M’ta.” It wasn’t a total lie. R’wign was not a person who easily confessed his weaknesses. It had occurred to him, yes, when it first happened, but M’ta was so sick for so long that by the time he woke up, R’wign was used to everyone already knowing if it was anything that would matter to them. He really hadn’t thought of telling M’ta, though even if he had, he wouldn’t have. The sudden dropping of the topic made him somewhat suspicious, and he narrowed his good eye before turning his head away… but he didn’t protest; he didn’t want to talk about that, and if M’ta was willing to not push on it, more’s the better. He would’ve told him if he was forced, but he didn’t like the idea very much. Why was he laughing though…? And why was he letting it go? Just a moment ago he sounded so hurt. It didn’t make any sense – unless –
You told.
It was the first words he’d spoken to Checkoth since he woke up; the rest was just emotion. The brown didn’t respond verbally to his rider, but he didn’t need to. The slight sheepishness was enough. R’wign exhaled sharply, but… decided not to pursue the topic. If M’ta wasn’t going to push it, he wouldn’t, either. His head hurt too much to fight with someone that he cared about. When he was well, he’d annoy M’ta until he was sure that everything with them was okay… but right then, all he felt was the desire to curl up and cry. But he couldn’t do that with M’ta there. There was a reason that he was hiding his face in his knees. He didn’t want the other brownrider to see his tears.
Phremath is here, Checkoth offered weakly (though R’wign mentally reassured him that he wasn’t angry, the brown was not entirely convinced) as he laid his head against Behruth’s side. Phremath’s presence earned a low croon from him and he spoke to her as pleasantly as he could given how upset he still was, R’wignmine is okay now. MeiraJingth’s helped him. He went black for awhile, and it was scary. I couldn’t feel him anymore, and two of the little cousins left us. Even though it was selfish, Checkoth was glad to hear that Phremath’s wouldn’t be leaving – he trusted her, he did. MeiraJingth’s was also trusted, but R’wignHis didn’t want her there, want her to get sick. Thank you for coming, Phre. Carefully nudging the green, Checkoth crooned. He, too, was oblivious to the blood, though his eyes fell on the food; he was starting to get hungry again.
“Checkoth told me, too,” R’wign said softly without looking up; his voice was garbled as a result. “I’m not tired though.” He was, but he didn’t feel comfortable trying to sleep, so he wasn’t going to. P.M.S.’s movements alerted him to M’ta’s presence first and R’wign slowly turned his head, having to lift it some to get a look at M’ta sitting next to him since he was in his blind spot. “You look tired. You should sleep. All I’ve done is sleep.” He paused, and then looked down. “Checkoth is too upset for me to sleep now anyway. He’s still half-panicked.”
So… so human hatchlings come out soft? Checkoth asked of both Phremath and Behruth. What happens to their shell? And how will Yours fight the scary sickness, Clutchbrothermine? If Behruth’s knew how to fight it, maybe His could fight it too. It needed to be fought against. The sickness was scary and evil!
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Aug 30, 2009 22:15:30 GMT -5
Maybe it was because he really was exhausted. Perhaps it had more to do with the nagging guilt that he'd gotten upset over R'wign hiding things from him when he had so much he'd never told anyone, including R'wign. Hypocrisy was not something M'ta tended to tolerate, and he hated it most in himself - once discovered. Or it could simply be because he needed the healer to understand, so he'd stop pressing for something that M'ta really couldn't do right now. He couldn't sleep. It wasn't particularly rational, either (although it wasn't so outlandish that it could be dismissed outright as irrational which made it even more difficult to fight). Every time he thought of sleep, he just knew...he knew that he'd wake up and R'wign would be dead.
"I can't. Don't you think I've tried?" Actually, he wasn't sure if R'wign had really thought about it at all. M'ta slid an arm underneath his head, one knee up as he stared at the ceiling. "Every time I start to nod off, I get a chill and it's...it's almost like a small terror. Then I'm wide awake again. Part of me is certain that if I sleep I'll wake up and you'll be..." He laughed nervously, unwilling to finish the sentence. "It's stupid, I know." Perhaps not so stupid, given R'wign really had just died on all of them, but M'ta wasn't going to admit that out loud.
He took a breath. Released it. Maybe it wasn't so much the earlier reasons at all, but rather the need to tell someone so that it wasn't just his burden to bear anymore. Behruth knew, but he didn't understand. Some things dragons simply couldn't comprehend. When he spoke again, his voice came quietly. "There was a girl...in Bitra. I knew her for nearly ten turns. She told me, during the darkest time of our lives. I knew what she intended. I knew that, as long as I stayed awake, she'd be safe and we could leave and everything would be...if not okay, then better. But even though I meant to stay awake, even though I should have, I didn't." And she threw herself from the window.
The part that was most bitter of all? She'd said that she was the only thing still keeping him there, his fear for her. And the very next day he'd walked out of that place. Bereft. Half-crazed. But very much free. She'd been right. It stung so terribly. Fortunately, M'ta didn't have any more tears. He just stared up at the ceiling blankly. "So even though it's not the same, I still can't sleep." He turned his head to glance at R'wign, managing a wry smile. "I guess you can have confidence in my pyschosis? If anything happens, I'll know. Checkoth has Phremath and Behruth. I doubt he'll protest you sleeping when you need to sleep." M'ta knew an excuse made out of fear when he heard it.
He'd been making similar excuses to himself all his life, after all.
Of course we came! I am sorry about the little cousins. Mine will make everything better again, though, you'll see, Phremath added cheerfully, with the trust in Hers that you rarely saw in anything but weyrlings and children. KaliHers could fix anything, she could. (It was a good thing the green had such a short memory, or she wouldn't be nearly so certain.) Her mind brushed that of Checkoth's Mine, the green just as comfortable bespeaking people as she'd been ever since she was hatched. KaliMine sits and guards outside your door, so you don't have to be afraid about anything, she told him kindly. Of course she didn't know he was afraid, but since she would be, it only made sense that he was, right?
I'm not sure. Maybe they never have a shell? Behruth looked questioningly over Checkoth at Phremath, but she just whined; the green didn't know either. Mine has the pointed shinies now, Ruth told Checkoth earnestly. He can protect Yours from anything with the pointed shinies! Even sickness, of course. Behruth had faith.
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Post by glamourie on Sept 1, 2009 7:01:37 GMT -5
A frown passed over R’wign’s face and he turned to look at M’ta as he spoke. He remained curled into a tight, defensive ball; it wasn’t really personal, he just… felt horrible. Everything was colliding with him all at once. Fear. Loneliness. Emptiness. Guilt. Worry. Anxiety. Not just because of the fact that he was sick, but because of everything. No one could deny that it had been a rough turn for R’wign – perhaps worse for him than most, simply because he didn’t respond to his emotions. He turned everything inside, curled up mentally and worked himself to the point of being dead on his feet. Probably not the most healthy of attitudes, but no one ever claimed that R’wign was healthy. He couldn’t tell people when he was upset. His mind shut down. Something inside of him snapped at the idea of expressing such weakness in a manner that other people could take advantage of and he broke. R’wign was self-contained even as a child, but in adulthood he’d snapped all his feelings up to be bottled away until he was alone and then to explode somewhere privately. But he wasn’t alone, and despite himself, he couldn’t keep a lid on all of his emotions. That fact disgusted him, and the disgust made it worse; looking at M’ta was difficult, simply because he felt pathetic, and R’wign didn’t like that sensation at all. The only thing he had going for him was being a reliable rock, and he was crumbling away. Even with M’ta he was failing.
“I’m not going anywhere,” R’wign said, and he meant it, though the words probably were nothing; it certainly wasn’t as though he could do anything to help himself. Logic dictated that resting was best for someone who was ill but he didn’t feel comfortable going to sleep. He just knew that – that M’ta’s fears were right. The idea terrified him and that was why he couldn’t sleep. How could M’ta ask him to face his fears and not face his own? It wasn’t fair. R’wign bit back the urge to snipe that (because fear made him touchy) and pressed his face firmly into the fabric of the sleep pants that he wore, in hopes of the material soaking in his tears. Maybe M’ta would not notice. He could hope, right? He was just about to insist that he couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to (he’d reinforce that his mindmates were to blame), when M’ta spoke again and despite himself, R’wign looked up.
He didn’t know much about M’ta’s past. His appearance and manner of speaking indicated Bitra – that didn’t take a genius. R’wign was from Benden territory too so he could identify all the areas with ease. But… he’d deliberately tried to avoid thinking about anyone’s past, since it wasn’t his business. Ka’rys taught him that, when they first came to Selenitas; the bronzerider didn’t talk about his past at all if it could be helped, and R’wign learned quickly not to ask questions if he didn’t want to get an agitated response. He frowned slowly, his legs uncurling almost in instinct, and he half turned to get a better look at M’ta before shaking his head… which he immediately regretted as it made his vision spin before his eyes.
“It’s not the same. You staying awake doesn’t help me, M’ta,” he said, trying to keep his voice as firm as he could. “You’re not a healer – you wouldn’t know what to do if something went bad. I want you here to keep me company, but I don’t want you hurting yourself by not sleeping.” He was just healer enough to be a nag, apparently. “Kalierre’s outside the door, Phremath just said. You can sleep. If anything happens, she’ll fix it. Okay?” His head bowed slightly and he raised his arm to rub at his eyes, as his mind brushed Ellie’s. The gold disappeared between in a wink. “I can’t sleep. I mean, Checkoth wants me to, but he’s scared, and so is Ellie and the rest – they’re terrified. They’re all continually checking in on me to make sure that I’m still here and even if they told me to go sleep I wouldn’t be able to because I have - … seven minds attached to mine, all of which are panicking.”
At that exact moment, Elegance reappeared, swooping around M’ta before dropping the 12-stranded-bracelet that R’wign purchased at the Gather (in shades of brown and red) in the boy’s lap. She glided over to land on R’wign’s shoulder and nudged him soundlessly, as R’wign nodded to the bracelet. “That’s for you. I have something for Behruth too… I guess now’s as good a time as any to give it to you.” Especially since he might not survive the night. If he didn’t, he wanted to at least know he managed to give M’ta his gift. Was that on the selfish side? A little. Oh well. At least it got him off the topic of sleeping. He felt like he owed it to M’ta to tell him something secret, something true. But what was there? R’wign’s past didn’t have any big, lurking secrets… he was boring. The only ‘secrets’ he had, M’ta already knew anyway. It felt… weird.
Yours has the pointed shinies? I don’t think Mine would be happy that he has the pointies, Checkoth told Behruth seriously. He couldn’t explain why, though, without asking R’wign and he seemed… distracted. Whining in his throat, Checkoth curled some to pull away and grab the herdbeast he’d started to tear into; maybe it was rude to eat in front of others but he didn’t care, he was hungry. Healer and Shorty will fix mine, they will; I believe that~ Maybe the little Cousins will come back… maybe… I don’t think they will… Behruthclutchbrother…? What happened to the one Yours spoke of, so sadly? R’wignmine is worried…? Trust Check to always be totally honest… even if he didn’t mean to be. Lying just wasn’t in his nature.
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Sept 4, 2009 0:10:38 GMT -5
Sometimes battles have to be chosen. Mine doesn't do well without shinies when things are tense, Behruth commented easily. His was prone to paranoia, something that was mostly kept in check when he felt relatively secure - which meant either a fairly comfortable situation or pointy shinies. ShortyHis was comfortable far more often, but the plague had him on edge and Ruth didn't want His hurting himself or others because he was too paranoid to deal with things rationally. The brown wasn't about to explain anything that complicated to Checkoth, though; most of it was still confusing to him, at least a little bit.
Behruth cuddled Checkoth, forgetting Phre was even there. Her silent presence was appreciated, however. If nothing else, it reminded Ruth...and M'ta through him...that Phremath's was within easy reach. Maybe, he offered, for Checkoth's sake rather than out of any true belief. The Jabber had left, and ShortyHis hadn't even died. (Thank Faranth!) It seemed unlikely that the little ones would be back.
It was a difficult question, though. ShortyHis never spoke about it, rarely thought about it, but the memories had been opened up again as he was speaking to Checkoth's. Ah. The special one. Ummm... It was in the before place? They were like one large clutch, and she was to him like you are to me. Most special. A bad man caught them once. Betweened all the clutch but ShortyMine and the special one. They were...made to stay? In a bad place. She said, at the end, that he could leave if he wasn't worried about what might happen to her...and she Betweened herself when he was asleep. A lot remained omitted. Behruth knew that His wouldn't like him saying even that much, but he definitely would be upset if the brown said any more. The dragon felt that was for His to tell, anyway, not him. He didn't understand it well enough.
Listening to R'wign's reply, M'ta didn't answer, his gaze still on the ceiling. He knew all this intellectually, but that didn't take away the unreasonable fear. Fortunately, the weight on his lap captured his attention and he rose up on his elbows to look at it, a glance flitting over at R'wign questioningly...but the healer was already explaining. For a moment...heh. He clearly needed more sleep if his first thought had been that. It was far too big to thread through the piercings. Completely ridiculous. Plucking it up, he turned it over in one hand, his vision blurring for a moment, eyes unfocusing.
Maybe it wasn't so impossible to sleep, with R'wign right next to him...and the cot was surprisingly comfortable. "Thank you," he murmured. The tears didn't go unnoticed. Nor did he realize how weird it might have been for the healer, as he hadn't noticed how careful R'wign was with him regarding touch. M'ta reached out, threading an arm around his weyrmate and drawing him down until the healer's shoulders were supported against his chest. "You don't have to sleep, but indulge me..." Because he wouldn't be able to otherwise.
It was an old, old habit, from Bitra, where you used the other's body warmth to keep you warm and alive...Some awoke to corpses in their arms, but most, most became sensitive enough that they could sense when their partner for the night was chilling. It was the only way he knew to ensure that R'wign was still alive while he slept. And...well, it was M'ta's natural response to tears. Even for strangers.
If R'wign protested or squirmed, he was not aware. The brownrider had built up enough weariness over the last week to put him out almost instantly once he stilled his mind enough. Any worries over catching the plague were at the back of his mind...if present at all. If he could dispose of corpses (among other things) without catching it, the possibility of contracting the disease from R'wign seemed slim.
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