Thinking it's a sign.. [ M'ta ]

[rii]

Annoyed.

Sharp steel bit into bark; off target, again. More annoyed. Throwing blades never was his style, but it did relieve stress. He only had one knife he kept for the purpose of throwing. An old beat-up, cheap thing he didn't care about, common sense to not throw a knife you liked and risk losing or damaging it. His current target was a knot in the middle of a tree just off the side of the river--down a ways from the Weyr. F'lix had not ventured out too far; still feeling a bit weak from his days spent unconscious and feverish, and with all the disappearances happening, best not to wander. But it should be far enough to avoid any sort of interaction with someone people.

It had been another restless morning, F'lix sleeping habits had been knocked off balance due to the infirmary (considering his were opposite of every other person at the Weyr) so he sought out something active to do with high hopes of tiring himself. Only, his mind seemed to work double time, not understanding he was trying to clear his thoughts. It kept reflecting on past events, those only a few days past, and those turns ago. So very frustrating, but they would not be ignored, and again and again they clawed their way to the front of his conscious.

The bluerider stood idly, in his usual dark leathers with more than the habitual dirk at his right thigh, and he glared hatefully at the knot. Stupid, worthless knot. Slender fingers ran through long raven strands before pinching the bridge of his nose. Flinging a blade was not helping to improve his mood. Ooh, lucky him he didn't drink when frustrated--or would it be, lucky that Selenitas didn't have any decent wine in which to indulge.

A small sigh escaped past his lips before he went to the tree to extract the knife..

[Requiem]

He'd finally slept, if only for a little while, and the brownrider looked better for it. The color was back in his face, his eyes were more focused, and the thin features of his face were beginning to fill back out again. Of course, he also looked a bit...odd. At least to anyone who didn't know him. (Actually, most who did would still find it odd.) His habitual dark clothing manifested in a royal blue tunic and deep brown trousers this afternoon, the collar open, the sleeves jaggedly torn off. Light blue shell shards adorned his neck, and straps crossed his chest, housing enough throwing knives to take on a small invasion. What amounted to a short sword for one so small was strapped openly at his hip, a dirk on the opposite thigh, and three more blades were hidden on his person, out of sight. All of these things were usual for M'ta of brown Behruth - when Ruth wasn't hiding the 'pointed shinies.'

What was strange and new was the brown bracelet (recently given to him by his weyrmate) circling one wrist, the simple black choker that he'd taken to wearing after one too many stares at the scars left over from getting his throat slit by one of the Benden attackers half a turn past, the single golden earing dangling from one ear near to his shoulder, and the hair that he hadn't worn long since his candidacy - now long enough to tie back. The small young man's broadshouldered, narrow-hipped frame eliminated any question of whether or not he was still a boy, and all in all he looked like a rather darkly colored...pirate. This didn't seem to bother him, though.

No, M'ta was out on his own because it was taxing to be around people so much, with so much stress, for so long. He'd done his part at the infirmary, and now that R'wign was better and Meira and her child were about to be released, he needed some space. Ruth was completely wiped out and dead to the world, curled up next to Checkoth.

There was something distinctly bestial about his movements as he reverted to behaviors beaten into him since childhood, flitting in and out of the shadows on the edge of the treeline. He was vigilant, but in an absentminded way; M'ta didn't really expect any trouble. Nor was he concerned that he wouldn't be able to handle it if he did happen upon anything unsavory. A sound caused him to freeze, however, his eyes narrowing as he searched for the source...

Just another person. M'ta pondered that for a moment, then mentally shrugged. He'd come here to avoid socialization. No need to bother the other man...who looked downright annoyed. The brownrider continued on his way, taking particular care to circle around the bluerider when he needed to go past...but, of course, that's when he heard the twig snapping beneath his foot...

[rii]

F'lix yanked the blade free and turned to stride back to his starting position; until he heard the snapping. His motion slowed for less than a second, head faintly turning, before he smoothly resumed his forward motion. The bluerider never did like giving away a potential surprise if people put the effort into it. His first instinct had been to throw the knife at the sound.. but the last time he had drawn a blade to warn off an attacker, it resulted in a death. (A mere flit, but F'lix had truly meant to harm, not kill.) So he banished those urges. Not due to any absurd reasoning of feeling regret toward the action, but merely wanting to avoid trouble.

The sound of water sloshing made him frown, and a scolding glare shot toward the river. Saboth had lifted his head from the grass (the rest of his body under the water, blending into the shifting hues of blue. It was a hot day.) and the blue peered curiously at the trees. So much for subtlety. Do you at least see who it is? F'lix kept his back to the trees, feigning ignorance.

No, and I'd rather not let a feline get close enough to pounce.

It's not a feline, sounded bipedal.

And with the disappearances, yes, why should I be concerned..

What a kill joy. F'lix lightly shook his head and steered his path alongside the trees. He highly doubted he was in danger, not this close to the river and Weyr anyway. F'lix nerves had calmed a bit after months of being at Selenitas and no one had tried to launch a surprise attack on him. And, with that assurance (and his frustration of not wanting to deal with any more annoyances.) the bluerider stepped between the trees, scowl clear on his expression and thin blade ready to be tossed playfully at his visitor. He shouldered against a tree, eyes not quite taking in the individual just beyond the green blades of a tall fern. "It's becoming inconvenient to keep running into you like this." His soft tone growled at the stranger. "Is there a reason you are sneaking by or.. "

His expression smoothed, golden eyes blinking twice as he recognized--or rather, did not recognize the individual. "You're not him." His tone sounded apologetic in those few words, disregarding he had absently pointed the tip of the knife at M'ta in the process. A quick, flickering glance at the weaponry on the other, a good deal more armed than himself, and a single brow raised. Perhaps he should not have been so lax on his approach, but after seeing that the person was not.. one in particular, F'lix felt his hostility vanish.

Noticing the pointing blade, F'lix flipped it around to lay against the inside of his wrist instead. The bluerider was quick to school his expression back into one of his usual narrowed glares, this one questioning. "You know how to use all that?" His tone sounded interested and.. playful, not at all taunting. What could be said, the bluerider had a penchant for dangerous individuals.

[Requiem]

For a moment he was certain that the bluerider had heard him, especially when something moved in the shallows and M'ta made out the shape of a dragon head. He had just about decided that it was better to simply reveal himself rather than risk the man getting jumpy and attacking him, when the slender figure began to walk away. Well. That worked better, anyway. M'ta stood still, perfectly willing to let F'lix pass so he could get back to wandering...

Blinking, the young man's body went lax, a definite sign of trouble to anyone familiar with him, his lids falling so that he was regarding F'lix through his lashes. He didn't know the bluerider. At all. But by the tone of the voice, he didn't take it that F'lix was too pleased with this other person, and his hand passed before his chest, palming one of his throwing daggers in silence as he rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, his hand again at his side. The move itself seemed more like a reaction to the words and not a defensive posture. M'ta was quite good at giving off the impression that he was not concerned.

He bent into his knees, however, the dirk clearing its sheathe in his left hand with considerable more noise - a warning. M'ta's eyes flicked from the dull blade pointed his direction, up to F'lix's face. Still, he didn't say anything. Waiting. M'ta wasn't sure whether or not it was good to not be 'him', whoever 'him' was. As soon as the bladetip stopped waving in the direction of the brownrider's nose, however, the dirk twirled to rest back against his elbow. Out of play, but not if he needed it quickly.

M'ta's eyes narrowed at the question, trying to read what was behind it and rather...failing. It didn't really sound like F'lix was mocking him, but nor did the stranger sound like he was asking a serious question. "Yes," the brownrider commented shortly. His voice came flat. "There's little point in carrying something you can't use unless you hope to bluff." Which...wasn't entirely intelligent in a weyr full of northern defectors. "You can't use that though," he added, nodding to the poor quality blade the bluerider had been throwing.

[rii]

The words were heard, but it was M'ta's actions that held F'lix interest. A subtle flow of motion, not at all awkward around the array of small blades. For his part, F'lix didn't bat an eye or even tense in response to the drawn dirk. His golden eyes remained on the brownrider's face while he lazily spread his fingers wide, thumb still holding onto the hilt of the small knife, but his pale palms stood out against his dark leathers, making the message very clear that he did not seek a fight – at least not immediately.

F'lix pushed off the tree, stood lightly on his feet, and gave an eloquent shrug. "True, but someone could also see it as a challenge." He quickly raised his empty hand, palm out and head turned aside for that second. His black bangs shading the face around the dark golden eye. "Before you think it, no, I'm not challenging you. Just curious." The hand lowered back down to his hang loosely at his side. A man usually wouldn't show his weapon before he attacks. Those foolish enough to brandish weapons in places where weapons were common didn't live long themselves. Not that the brownrider had been waving around a blade, but the display was a tad over excessive, in F'lix opinion (He himself only had six blades, only three readily visible). It really gave off the message of DANGER! complete in big bold letters – identifying himself as a threat, and obvious threats always died first.

A faint smile curved on his lips and F'lix turned the blade back around in his hand, not pointing it at M'ta, but letting it lay sideways against his up-turned palm; displaying the pitiful metal for better viewing. He couldn't be offended by the truth, it really was a ill-suited weapon. "I don't see the sense in throwing blades actually worth their marks." Softly spoken while his eyes carefully counted the knives strapped across M'ta's chest. He pivoted and with a quick flick of his wrist buried the dull blade into a nearby tree. Hm, at least he had hit the tree. His method could use work, but F'lix had not been trying to show off, just throwing the knife while his other hand brushed the hilt of a different blade.. tempted, but no. His fingers fell away empty. "Not with my aim, anyway." An self-amused smirk quirked at the corner of his lips. "It's more of a tool to relieve some stress.. " His eyes narrowed on the quivering hilt before shifting side-long to M'ta. "Not really working today, however. What of you, looking for trouble, or is this.. normal for you?"

Social? F'lix? Not really. If the shorter male was looking for trouble, he had found the ideal person to vent upon. Otherwise, F'lix blamed his almost.. friendly demeanor on the fact that the stranger was not yet a person he loathed. Oh, he didn't like anyone one, just regarded them all with an equal amount of disdain. To hate, however, required a reason. Saboth had given him a lecture a day ago about how trying to be mean to people to make them leave him alone didn't work. And, honestly, he was too tired to put forth the effort to be unfriendly..

[Requiem]

M'ta didn't trust him. Truthfully, he didn't trust many people at all, but he knew by the stance and the movements that this bluerider at least knew how to handle himself...and it didn't help that the man had been waving around a dagger just a moment ago. By the cheerfulness, the brownrider could guess that the man probably...liked...a little thrill, and he wasn't altogether interested in becoming the other's amusement for the afternoon.

A challenge? The brownrider supposed that was true, to a point, but it hardly dissuaded him. (Admittedly, he had kept all his weapons hidden at one point, but it was inconvenient to try to find concealment for all the throwing knives, and after running out during the siege...he really didn't care to do so again.) He shrugged mildly, still watching F'lix for any threatening movements. "Where I come from, blades are hard to come by; the ones with the most are the ones dangerous enough to keep them." And, truly, he'd rather have someone attack him than one of the many southerners that couldn't defend themselves. It had been the same in Bitra. Better him than one of the little ones he claimed.

Tracking the path of the thrown dagger from the corner of his eye, M'ta let a mild smile touch one corner of his mouth...a wry expression. The palmed dagger flew from the level of his hip, the brownrider's eyes still firmly on the bluerider. His peripheral vision, however, was up to the challenge of so near a target, even if the dagger was traveling at a fraction of its usual speed due to the position of weakness he'd thrown it in. Sparks as the metal caught each other, the tip burying into the tree trunk right next to the other...as the leather grip began to unravel on F'lix's blade. "I suppose that makes sense if you don't intend to actually use it for anything but - venting."

The brownrider figured the small demonstration would likely keep the bluerider from challenging him (despite the fact that he'd said he had no interest in doing so). He was at least polite enough to answer the question, though he truly wasn't very interested in company right now. At all. "Is this normal...I suppose. For the last few turns or so, anyway. There are felines, wild whers, and whoever is behind the disappearances is likely out here, too. Used to carry just half a dozen, but that didn't work out so well in the siege. You run out of knives much faster than they run out of people to throw at you."

M'ta could lie. Probably. But he'd never been overly inclined to try. No, if he was ever deceptive it had to do with what he was and wasn't telling, as opposed to being actually untruthful.

[rii]

Golden eyes never left the brownrider, instead making a quick study of M'ta's movements. Demonstrations were great teachings to F'lix and he would not pass up the opportunity. Even if people used moves on him, beat him, he still learned from them. Only after the skilled throw was over, did F'lix eyes slide nonchalantly to the second blade to pierce the innocent tree. And where did the stranger come from? F'lix almost pondered the question, went so far to divulge the other as northerner, then decided he did not care to know the young man's origin. If he wanted people to stop judging him by his Benden roots, maybe he should try showing the same courtesy.

"If it works for you, that's all that matters." Each to their own, so to say. Two strides took him over to the tree and he wretched M'ta's blade free, it had sunk in nicely considering he had thrown from the hip – not even a full extension of the arm. F'lix pivoted back around, flipping the blade around in his hand, testing out the weight. Again he flipped it, catching it by the hilt and pointing the sharp point at his neck. "F'lix." The silvery point shifted to the forest behind him, the direction of the river. "Saboth." Blade turned and pointed to M'ta, but F'lix quickly flipped it over and extended the handle toward the brownrider. It left him open to be harmed, his intention, a test maybe – foe or friend neutral individual at an undecided level of dislike.

"And you," He took another step, not crowding the brownrider, but making it easier for him to take the offered blade. "can surely do more than that. But, since I am not the sparring type–" A truth, F'lix knew how to kill, but sparring required not inflicting a killing blow, to adjust, to trust the person could block a move. He did so poorly when pitted against someone he couldn't kill. And he fought with blades, and they were made to spill blood, to end a life. He did know better how to defend himself against someone who did have a knife than if they came at him with bare hands. But attack? How could he attack someone without out the intent to harm? "–I will believe you know how to use them."

F'lix tried, he really did, not to judge by the words M'ta spoke. It made him think the shorter male opted to fight at a distance, if the number of throwing knives were any indication to the youth's words, and he wondered how he faired in melee. F'lix preferred to be up close and personal with a favored blade in hand, because a knife didn't need power, it just needed to touch. Even against the best of opponents, a few cuts would reduce their movements and eventually the blood loss won. Add in a rapid heart beat, adrenaline, and it happened faster. Just wait for their strength to fail before finishing the job.

[Requiem]

M'ta turned slightly to keep himself square to F'lix, still watching the bluerider with an almost bored look, though the fact that he never seemed to blink gave away his wariness. The bluerider looked vaguely familiar. Vaguely. M'ta had a good memory, though, and he couldn't place the man...which probably meant he'd just seen his face. Somewhere. In a crowd, like as not. Which didn't mean that the stranger was safe. People were disappearing for a reason, and it couldn't hurt to be a little suspicious of those you weren't sure of.

F'lix. No, definitely didn't know the man by name. His left shoulder twitched, but the blade didn't swing forward, M'ta's instinct proving correct in the next moment when F'lix extended the blade to him hilt first. "M'ta." Which may or may not ring a bell. A rider who went around constantly armed to the teeth after being left standing five Hatchings...and then Impressing to an eccentric shiny-collecting brown who claimed his clutchbrother as weyrmate...living with the unofficial Weyrhealer of the Weyr...it was possible that he'd be known by name, if not by sight. Only possible, though; he tried to stay out of the limelight as much as his associations would allow. "Behruth's."

He didn't snatch the blade back from F'lix, but neither did he hesitate, lifting it to avoid catching the edge - however slightly - on the bluerider's hand before sliding it back into its sheath. A sort of...compromise, so to speak. The other blade still rested along the length of his forearm. "It's probably for the best. I don't really spar." True enough. Nor would he trust F'lix not to attempt to kill, as he didn't know him. M'ta had little doubt - and yes, he was probably overly arrogant in this respect - that in a true fight he'd be the one still standing. But if he thought it was a spar, he'd miss opportunities, and eventually F'lix would find one. That's just how such things worked. A true fight with M'ta usually lasted...twenty seconds at a stretch. He fought for keeps, and he was somewhat self-sacrificial in order to get his kill. It would be best to say he was more of a duelist than a warrior...he didn't really fight in a manner that catered to several more fights in quick succession.

Thus it was good that he preferred to kill from a distance unless forced to close.

"When did you get here?" he asked, suddenly curious. Probably when he was ill...or more recently. M'ta would have remembered him otherwise, he thought. (And, really, most riders knew him if they'd been here during the siege.)

[rii]

M'ta. Behruth. F'lix repeated the names in his head a few times, probing the dark corners for any form of recognition. It did not come as a surprise when nothing came to mind. F'lix made a habit of avoiding people, and those he brushed in brief meetings were usually not acknowledged with names. Terms such as Idiot, Moron, Brat, so on and so forth served as suitable references. It created a nice, friendly distance between himself and the Weyr. Constantly scrapping for bits of information made him feel like a spy, and people already suspected him enough without him acting the part. Willingly he feigned ignorance.

Hn.

F'lix eyes narrowed ever so slightly, scanning M'ta's face as if trying to recognize him, but a different series of thoughts went through his mind. He blamed the height. Yes, for lack of a better reason. F'lix hostility toward men revolved around the fact that most were taller, brutes, with an arrogance that made his fingers itch for a blade. Benden had been full of aggressors that all vied to be pack leaders. M'ta didn't fit that criteria. The brownrider pass right under that bar, a rather chuckle-worthy thought when imagined literally. Although F'lix would never under-estimate someone for their height or build, the smaller they got, the quicker they became.

That all-too-familiar tension still hummed in the air, and F'lix purposely countered the aura by crossing his arms loosely and shifting his weight to one foot. The bluerider was willing to put himself in the under-handed position if he felt the need to dissuade someone's 'on-toes' demeanor. Body language could be a powerful tool when used and read correctly. He had spoken truth about not seeking a fight, and if he had to prove it, he would. "Good." He complimented lightly. "I don't know how a spar would work, really. I keep imagining two people standing toe-to-toe, with the same weapons, and try to kill each other like civilized gentlemen." He gave a brief, wry grin at the thought. "Doesn't work like that."

And.. that was the extend of F'lix social skills, if it could even be called that. The bluerider let loose his arms, half-turned to go retrieve his abused dagger with plans of returning to the riverside; allow the brownrider to pass. The question, however, made him noticeably pause mid-step, and F'lix inclined his head, regarding M'ta through the corners of his eyes. The inquiry didn't seem too prying, but F'lix didn't like it none-the-less. Likely it would be the moment the brownrider would pass judgment. Pivoting back to the brownrider, to make sure he didn't miss any visible response, the bluerider answered.

"Shortly after the siege," Selenitas terms, not his own. He doubted M'ta would understand the level of unease that had risen back at Benden with the shift in power to J'loin. The uncertainty of what would happen, if life would get better or worse. Typical the most powerful, the most vicious rose to power at Benden. It had been safe to assume the worst. The next part he added softly, casually watching M'ta for any hidden responses. "From Benden."

[Requiem]

M'ta allowed a wry smile to pass over his face, something that gave away he was beginning to become more comfortable with F'lix. After all, if he was allowing his mind to wander enough that he would be having amusing thoughts on the side, clearly he wasn't watching the bluerider as closely as before. It was just that...the one fight he really could call a spar that he'd been in had pretty much been just as F'lix described. Ka'rys thought he was trying to...invade? Attack? And M'ta was merely reacting to the fact that the bronzerider had just tried to gut him. You didn't kill at Selenitas unless it was an attacking enemy (i.e. Benden or Fort) or there was no chance anyone would know who was behind it. So he'd been fighting for his life...and avoiding a kill. He imagined Ka'rys's reasoning was much the same. It also happened to be a longer fight...almost a full minute...because of that. So, yes, F'lix's words did manage to spark a small amount of grim amusement.

M'ta's eyebrow rose, another indication that he wasn't as wary around F'lix anymore; his reactions were actually registering on his face. The bluerider clearly didn't much like that line of questioning, which only sparked the brownrider's curiosity. There were questions he wouldn't answer, or at least mistrusted, so his mind could conjure up quite a few explanations in that regard. Most of which probably were worse than the truth. Thus it was good that F'lix chose to actually answer, lest M'ta act on a guess that was completely wrong.

After the siege didn't surprise the brownrider at all. In fact, if anything it might have been a relief to him, though not enough to register...he trusted that he knew most of the faces here, so it would have been mildly disturbing if F'lix had come before the siege. Being unconscious and feverish for the better part of six months tended to get a person a bit behind the loop, and this plague had hit not long thereafter. It made sense that he wouldn't know most of the newer people.

At F'lix's clarification, however, M'ta snorted openly, returning the blade to its sheath with distinct finality. Truth. "Hardly have to tell me that. Grew up under Benden's thumb," M'ta commented quietly. He could spot them - yes spot them - from a distance. It was a matter of survival for a time, and he'd never lost the skill. But M'ta didn't have a lot of the prejudices northerners did, other than against Benden bronzeriders specifically. Well, the brownrider tended to be fair, if nothing else, and that wouldn't be an easy thing for this F'lix to admit.

"I'm Bitran. Came here...about five turns ago now? Give or take." He didn't look Bitran, and he acted less like someone from that corrupt place than he had upon arrival, but some of his mannerisms still matched up quite well. Open displays of power, for one, and the wariness that was still very much a part of him. "You look familiar to me...vaguely. I don't suppose we've met or anything?" M'ta didn't think so, but it was possible. And he preferred to have the bluerider in sight until he'd decided whether to classify the man as a threat or not.

[rii]

That was.. different. F'lix own expression remained blank, except for the faint narrowing of eyes–a norm for him. His gaze travel between both of M'ta's eyes, not trying to hide, anymore, that he was looking for something else. He had expected a different response. After a few seconds he shifted his line of sight to a the jungle, mulling over the lack of dislike. Most people liked to spit out the word alone. Benden. And he didn't slight them for it. Afterall, he had come from the place that had attack and killed their loved ones. Had even helped gather information to organize the seige. He may not be proud of everything he had done, but he had done what he needed to in order to survive. F'lix would not apologizing for that.

Bitra. The bluerider made a slight face, as if saying. 'Oh. That place.' in a sarcastic tone. "That explains a bit." Dark golden eyes returned, giving M'ta a new measuring look–not sizing him up, but certainly appraising his young age and demeanor. "Rough place." Gave a new lighting to M'ta, in F'lix's point of view. The other wasn't just a fighter, he was a survivor. It was what came from living a hellishly hard life. While they had physical skill that helped them, what kept them alive, what allowed them to strike fast enough, hard enough and brutally enough wasn't an art – it was the commitment not to die. The grim savagery to do whatever was necessary and to it faster and harder than the other person that kept them alive.

Of course, his views and opinions on the matter were his own, and he could be giving too much credit. For all he knew M'ta could of had a very easy life. His mannerisms didn't tell that sort of story, but one could never be too sure–F'lix would not purposely pry either. Looked familiar, did he? Absently F'lix turned the left side of his face away from the brownrider. The scars were rather noteworthy, likely M'ta had seen him in passing at some point—

–Suddenly grimacing, F'lix shot a glare back toward the river, momentarily ruffling at an unknown annoyance. The bluerider looked back to M'ta, then nodded his head in the particular direction. "Saboth says.. " the tone growled, obviously irritated–but not at M'ta. "..you helped carry me to the infirmary."

That had been an embarrassing story to learn from Saboth after getting well. And F'lix expression twisted further, so much so that he turned away and went to retrieve his dagger just for a justifiable distraction. Shards, he hoped no one had heard about the way he had apparently tried to drag the acting weyrleader into his furs. Scowl. F'lix wretched the dagger free, pivoted back around while idly unraveling the damaged leather strip from the hilt. Here he gave a very pointed, disapproving glance at the brownrider. Why did everyone have to go and damage his stuff? Yes, it was cheap and not worth a mark, but it was still his.

[Requiem]

"Mmm," M'ta agreed, wholly noncommittal. Doubtless F'lix didn't have the right idea, but he didn't care to educate the bluerider or anyone else. It was something of a Bitran arrogance, really; few would speak of what really went on in the cesspit. Not of the overflow of orphans due to the practices of the place, the disappearance of women, the underground slave trade, the gambling houses, the supply of bodies to the mines... There was no point. Outsiders could never understand what it meant, to grow up there, simply judging from a standpoint of utter ignorance. They might pity, sympathize, but do anything about it? Shards no. Sometimes M'ta still got the urge to attempt to singlehandedly clean the place up...but most of the time he was just glad to have it behind him. Completely behind him. Besides, he couldn't fix it on his own, and Behruth would never stand for that kind of - justice.

A flicker behind M'ta's eyes. "Helped carry you..." He frowned mildly as his memory failed him. The brownrider had been working on no sleep for quite awhile during the height of the plague, and he couldn't even remember how many people - alive and dead - he'd carried in and out of the infirmary. Despite his small size, the young man's broad shoulders could manage quite a load. He really didn't even struggle until they broke about a hundred and fifty pounds or so...which most of the Weyr didn't. Dragonriders, fortunately, tended to run on the small side. "Guess that explains it, anyway," he commented offhandedly.

F'lix's clear disgruntlement was a bit amusing, though. Surely he wasn't one of those who couldn't handle being carried when he needed the help...? Some people had far too much pride for their own good. (Nevermind the fact that M'ta had a tendency to utterly freak out when being carried. It was fortunate he'd been unconscious after the siege, because he seriously doubted R'wign could have taken him to the infirmary, at least by himself.)

M'ta's amusement manifested in an actual grin, this one slightly mocking. Was F'lix really throwing a fit over that piece of junk? His hand moved with the swift surety of familiarity, unstrapping one of the sheaths resting against his broad chest, and he tossed blade and sheath at F'lix's feet. "I'd get rid of that thing if I were you." He had enough that he could spare one throwing knife, considering the other would need new leatherwork done for the hilt. And oil, and honing of a blade that probably would thin it so much as to be completely worthless. Better just to give it up entirely, in M'ta's estimation.

Only then did it occur to M'ta that he was actually...getting along...with a near stranger. That caused him pause, eyes briefly narrowing suspiciously. Hmmmm. Maybe it was simply that F'lix seemed to speak his language, and he hadn't yet caught him in a lie or a half-truth. M'ta wasn't fond of liars. He himself tended to be fairly direct when he actually spoke, and his actions and expressions didn't tell a different tale, either, even if he controlled them at times. Or it could be that the bluerider was more devious than most and just good at playing him.

"None of our recent additions know anything about the plague, do they?" A probe of sorts, yes. It wasn't a direct accusation, and he really didn't believe F'lix knew anything, but M'ta trusted his own ability to read others to warn him if the bluerider did have an idea about the origins of the fatal disease. Whether he chose to tell the truth or not. Of a sudden, a small blue head popped up out of M'ta's gathered curls, peering around the curve of the young man's head and trilling at F'lix curiously. The salamandyr extricated himself and relocated to his medium-pet's shoulder, rising to hind legs with his overlong tail as anchor, frill displaying in cheerful greeting.

M'ta looked nothing if not...irritated. And there was something of a grudging affection for the creature, though it was well-buried. P.M.S. had been...a mistake, to say the least. He was also more Behruth's salamandyr than M'ta's, if truth be told. M'ta was simply a substitute because mandyrs apparently couldn't Impress to dragons. "This is P.M.S." the brownrider told the other man, his tone deadpan.

[rii]

F'lix carefully balled the strips of leather into his fist–the pieces might have a future use. No, the bluerider didn't know what for, but he didn't like to waste. The cheap blade still was moderately functional as well, suited for the less than ideal tasks. As he tucked the strips into his pocket F'lix eyes rose to study M'ta's actions, curious to why the brownrider removed one of the daggers until – hm. Subtly the bluerider's body swayed away from the tossed item, his eyes regarding it as it were a small, rotting carcass.

He distrusted the gesture all together, and after a long, analyzing moment he set inquiring eyes on the other male. People always expected things in return, so what did the brownrider want? If not now, surely M'ta would expect a favor or something in the future. F'lix didn't like owing that kind of debt, but he had nothing on himself to give back and make things even. Very peculiar this Bitran. F'lix tucked his own worn blade into his belt before cautiously crouching low over heels to carefully pick up the new blade. He remained there, idly brushing the dirt off the leather as he silently eyed the shorter male. F'lix would be unable to accept such.. generosity. He didn't like what, in his eyes, it implied.

He rolled the question over in his head, as his hands did a similar action to the small sheath. "You think someone is directly responsible for it?" Truely, F'lix did not quite understand the question. An a hint of confusion touched his words. "The jungle breeds such diseases on it's own, and then we have people constantly streaming in from far off regions.. put that together in one place, sweating, festering together. Sooner or later a natural order of things is bound to be triggered." He never really gave thought that someone might be responsible. To him such sickness was a force of nature, culling out the surplus of creatures before their numbers grew too epidemic. The world had an unsympathetic way of regulating itself, but therein laid truth, an ugly thing. "But–" A single brow rose, as he continued in a lighter tone. "–if you are asking me if I think Benden has a hand in it, my answer is no.. or it would be. I don't know how much has changed with J'loin in charge. Enough time has passed for things to have changed there, for better or worse, I'm not sure."

A lofty shrug of a single shoulder before F'lix gracefully rose to his feet. Upon seeing the mandyr, F'lix lips twitched in a brief frown. It was frilling at him, and the bluerider didn't know how to translate the action. He anticipated it to start hissing and spitting half-wit words at him within a few seconds. What.. vermin. He gave a slow nod at the creature, not wanting to offend M'ta–people were so touchy about those pests. Silently he hoped it wouldn't talk, because a faint headache threatened to throb behind his eyes at the idea of having to listen to such idiocy. He lifted a brow at the name, "That stand for something in particular?"

[Requiem]

Watching F'lix's odd behavior, M'ta couldn't help but smile slightly. He looked like an animal worrying at something like that, all crouched and - for lack of a better description - pawing at the blade. "I haven't poisoned it," the Bitran commented drolly. He didn't really care whether or not F'lix accepted the knife; it was only offered because M'ta had half-destroyed the bluerider's own and he didn't care to owe anyone anything. The offer was enough to fulfill that obligation.

M'ta shrugged mildly. He'd come to accept that, in most things, he was likely to be more paranoid than the rest of the people around him. Everything else that had happened at Selenitas since he first came had originated with someone. Clearly F'lix knew nothing, though, even if there was someone behind it. "The timing is interesting." If the disappearances had started after the plague, it wouldn't have seemed so...odd. Someone taking advantage of a natural phenomenon made sense. But that it started after the disappearances? He had to wonder. If one of the other Weyrs could poison the tithes, was it really so unbelievable that they might just introduce an illness? Perhaps it had been isolated elsewhere and one of the transfers was coerced into coming to Selenitas for that purpose.

"That's why you left." Not a question. The concept was one that he didn't have much trouble understanding. No matter how bad the situation you were currently in...you could adapt. Grow accustomed to it. For spans of time, you might even forget just how terrible it was. Humans could be remarkably resilient when the situation required it. But the concept of change? Little was scarier...the idea that the new might be worse than the old. Or maybe M'ta was simply projecting. F'lix could have enjoyed his time at Benden...quite possibly...and simply couldn't abide the idea of being led by a Fortian. It seemed unlikely, though; Selenitas had so many northerners running around now (and Ka'rys was a Fortian, after all) that it made no sense to leave Benden to escape them.

"Pretty Mandyr Shiny." The sky-blue mandyr crooned at sound of his name, nudging up under M'ta's jaw, but still very much interested in this other person that amused his pet. "Behruth named him. He's...he'd have bonded to Ruth if it was possible. I'm something of a necessary substitute," M'ta added dryly. Then his nose wrinkled. "I wasn't in the best of moods when Behruth landed us in the middle of the hatching and proceeded to attract this one. Mandyrs are a pain. P.M.S. has been relatively good, though." Perhaps a bit too cheery, but as far as salamandyrs went, he should be thankful. Most were nothing short of obnoxious.

A subtle change came over M'ta. He glanced away, toward the river, turning that direction.

[rii]

A light snort sounded at M'ta's words. The act didn't even things out, in his head–it was too.. nice. Such a strange sentiment, that, and F'lix mistrusted the gesture as if indeed the blade had been coated with poison. No good deed goes unpunished. F'lix absently tilted his head, turning it away in such a well-practiced fashion to hide the scars even further. Such a small, almost pointless gesture, yet it bothered the bluerider so. "Thanks." A single word spoken no higher than a whisper.

Later he would figure out what M'ta wanted.

F'lix brows drew together, creasing between his eyes as he gave M'ta a thoughtful look. When he tried to combine the two incidents together it created a rather unusual situation. "Someone hoping no one would take notice of a few extra disappearances if there was plague?" It seemed like a stretch. And even so, people did take notice of the odd vanishings. F'lix lightly shook his head. It would be a very poor way to cover tracks. He felt more worried about the disappearances than the disease that had run rampant through the Weyr. The plague would pass, but they had yet to find a single spot of blood of those unaccounted for.

The bluerider shook his head for a second time. He usually didn't mind when people made assumptions about why he defected from Benden, not like he was willing to discuss all the little reasons that had piled up over time. "More or less." It had been the last bit of convincing he needed to finally leave. His lips parted as if to say more, but instead they pressed back together into a thin line. No, he wouldn't elaborate any further. So his mind rolled, reluctantly, over to the topic of the blue salamandyr.

Brows rose, a faint nod of agreement. Yes, he knew very well the little pests could be nothing but pain. About to comment as such, the words fell away from his mind when he noticed the change in M'ta. It had been subtle yes, but plainly obvious from what the brownrider had been a second before. F'lix own stance loosened, fingers of his left hand absently brushing against the inside of thumb. Someone there? Golden eyes flicked to the corners, toward the river, before returning to M'ta to wait for a sign. Was the other playing some sort of game? F'lix touched Saboth's mind–the gray-blue in turn opened his eyes, not lifting his head from the tall grasses, but peering through the thin stalks toward the trees..