==== September 21, 2013
==== Kultir, Sytin
==== The minds of developing dragonets disturb the mental balance of a couple of Candidates who find solace together. Angst Warning

Who Kultir, Sytin
What The minds of developing dragonets disturb the mental balance of a couple of Candidates who find solace together. Angst Warning
When Minutes after Twice Bitten, Twice Shy
Where Southern Weyr - Library
Theme Nubuo Uematsu - Suteki Da Ne (Isn't it Beautiful)

Kultir Sytin-Young_Icon.jpg


archive_library.jpg

Archive Library
There's a skybroom tree in here. It's surprising. There is also a stage, and this room has been cleaned and tidied; it's an interesting space to be sure.


Kultir stumbles into the cool, semi-dark archives still dripping with sweat from being on the Hatching Sands. Somehow he has managed to contain his tears until he reached the semi-privacy of this room that few people ever visit. He slams open the door, giving it a shove to make it slam shut behind him, and slumps on the stage, shoving himself backward to lean against the tree so that he can bury his face in his arms on his upraised knees. Once alone, he can let his barriers down and sob out the pain, hurt and loneliness that has been building up and brought to the surface by the emotionally charged egg touching.

The emotional turmoil brought on by the minds inside the eggs is not Kultir's purview alone. Perhaps following the elder man, the younger Sytin makes his way into the archives as well, though with much more stealth than the previous entrant. Door is shoved open and then shoved closed with only a small shudder of wood and stone. He sniffles, the sensations of le Fay's Magic Egg lingering most in his mind as he leans against the door, forehead pressed against his forearm as his own sob rocks his shoulders in a shuddering gasp as tears well up, spilling over cheeks to drip down from chin and nose to the floor. Kultir hasn't been noticed yet, but surely will be once the wave of nauseating emotional upset dies down and no longer drowns the outside world in sorrow and longing.

Kultir has learned to keep his sobs silent, his health having depended on silence from an early age. Despite the rushing of blood in his ears as tears stream into his sleeves, he hears the stealthy open and close of the door that he had slammed not that long ago. He scrubs his face against his tunic sleeves as he looks up, toward the door and notes Sytin leaning against the door. He chooses to allow the younger boy his privacy to let out his emotional upset and remain silent. He lowers his knees to cross his legs in front of him, draping his hands in his lap.

While the younger Candidate isn't loud, he isn't exactly quiet either, his sobs coming out in gasps as he finds a well of emotion he didn't even know he had bottled away. Legs turn to jelly and Sytin sinks slowly to his knees, forearm sliding along the wooden door until he finally rests on the floor. A trickle has turned into a river from his tear-ducts, drops steadily sliding off the point of his nose and his chin. He sniffles occasionally, trying to keep the flow of mucus from his nose from getting too out of hand but it seems a largely lost cause at this juncture. It takes several minutes, but eventually the sobs turn to drier heaves and gasps, his torso not bouncing quite so much with shuddered breaths. Eyes close tightly and the boy takes in a deep breath, steadying himself before rolling over onto his butt, back to the wall that is right next to the door, pulling a knee to his chest as he exhales, staring up at the ceiling as his emotions are finally spent, leaving his eyes momentarily glazed over by their egress.

Kultir soon realizes that Sytin's sobs are bordering on hysterical and pushes himself to his feet. The younger boy is his friend and his friend need support. He kneels beside the boy, his hand hovering hesitantly over his shoulder. When the boy finally turns to sit with his back to the door, Kultir settles back onto his own seat, one knee drawn up in front of him. He smiles slightly, his own eyes sad as Sytin's glazed eyes stare up over his head. "Hey …" he mutters, offering a clean cloth to the younger boy.

Senses slowly clear and Sytin realizes that he isn't alone. Not only that, he's a wreck. He tries to muster up the wherewith-all to give a damn and finds his reserve lacking. He does manage to strength of limb to take the cloth from his friend, laying it across his face as eyes fall closed and composure is reached for. His hand slides the handkerchief across his damp cheeks and pinches under his nose, clearing away most of the bodily fluids with the gesture. The cloth is folded in half and his nose tackled again with a sniffle. "Thanks," he manages with a nasal quality. He blows his nose into the cloth with an ungraceful honk, folding it again to wipe the last trails of snot from his face. "Didn' know anyone was here."

Kultir smiles a little weakly at the younger boy when he manages to compose himself and shrugs. "I guess we both had the same idea …" he mutters, resting his chin on his raised knee with his arms wrapped tight around his leg. His eyes are red rimmed and still look a little teary and dull, his nose is a bit red and swollen and his face has a bit of a pallor under the dark tan. He cocks a shoulder and glances away from the boy's face and asks, "Eggs give ye a hard time, eh?"

Do great minds really think alike, or is it all merely coincidence? A ghost of a smile haunts Sytin's lips before moving beyond between and he inhales, sighing heavily. "You could say that," he obviates away from a proper answer, still sorting through the feelings that linger inside, now numb from the outpouring. The pallor of his companion is noted with an observant eye and he leans forward slightly, lower back still pressed against the wall. Time to talk about something else. "You never did tell me what really happened." Amber gaze levels with Kultir's own, the statement an implicit question with an obvious subject.

Kultir almost feels trapped when the younger boy captures his gaze and blinks, stunned at the change in subject. For just a moment, his heart races and his breath quickens as he looks at the boy. Then that moment is past and he chuckles softly, forcing a smile to curl his lips as naturally as possible and rolls up onto his feet with a soft grunt. He paces away from the boy and throws a hand out in gesture toward the ladder. "I tol' ye, Sytin … I fell off'n th' shardin' ladder." he says, eyes flitting rapidly to find something he could have tried to catch himself on to explain the dislocated shoulder.

The panic in the elder youth's eyes does not go unnoticed by Sytin and he frowns in response to the unnatural smile. He rises as Kultir does, glancing at the ladder as it is gestured toward, frown deepening as the fellow Candidate tries to prevaricate further. Anger sparks in his belly, rising up into his chest, a painful fire in the hollow aftermath of the egg touching. "Kultir," he starts, his tone one of checked ire, fists clenching at his sides. "I thought we were friends." Hurt and sadness war with anger and injustice inside, the statement lashing out with unintended force.

Kultir's right hand is lifted over his head, fingers tangled in the sweat-damp hair and tugging sharply … a nervous habit he's had since he was asked to Stand. He turns shadowed eyes onto Sytin and frowns, a slightly sick expression on his face. "Aye, Sytin … we be friends, aye." he says, noting the clenched fists with a frown. "Why ye be askin' tha' kinda question, eh?" His eyes bordering more to green rather than gold search the boy's face, trying to fathom why it looks like the younger kid wants to take a piece out of his hide.

Taking a deep breath, Sytin forces his hands to unclench in an act of will, the handkerchief fluttering to the ground as it is released. Ire flickers, embers rising up like firestone in his belly. He bites his lip, exhaling a breath as he tries to rein it in. "Because real friends are honest." He lays his sentiment bare between them, his stance taut with too much inner conflict as he stares the elder boy down. He doesn't want a fight, but he feels betrayed by the blatant falsehood being thrown at him, causing him to snap: "We both know you didn't fall off that ladder, so if you're really my friend, why don't you cut the crap?" He's shaking now, whole body trembling.

Kultir flinches back from the boy's anger and stumbles against the stage and barely catches himself from falling backwards again. He hisses softly as his shoulder twinges from catching himself by planting his left hand against the side, the numbweed having been sweated off during that time on the Sands. That fluttery sensation is stronger in his guts now, that trapped feeling that hasn't left him for the past day or two keeps getting stronger and he's not entirely sure how to handle it. His eyes dart from Sytin to the door and back again while his breath comes in ragged gasps. "Ye don' need t' know everythin', Sytin." he says sullenly, sitting down on the edge of the stage and frowning at the kid. "We be friends … I like ye … but … ye jes don' need t' know everythin', okay?" He really doesn't want to have to tell the younger boy the truth. He's not sure if the other boy would be able to understand how the teen felt, the helplessness and humiliation.

Sensations flutter in Sytin's gut as the feelings war within him, coming to crash in the temporary void, like the eye of the storm being overtaken by the hurricane again. Concern flickers across his face as his friend hisses in pain, taking a step toward him but then flinching away as Kultir verbally backlashes. Frustration bubbles to the surface of the emotional cauldron and the boy's fist smacks down onto a nearby table with a sharp rattle. "Shaffit, Kultir!" Teeth clench, and he crumples slowly, somehow making it into the chair, head down on the table and the slamming fist still clenched. Nostrils flare as breath moves in and out in distressed huffs before the fellow Candidate finally speaks again, his voice low and surprisingly lacking with inflection. "When my dad died I got put with my foster-da." A pause, swallowing. "At first, it was okay. I had my foster-sister. Something changed though." His breath comes in a hard shudder from him, the revealing difficult. "He started to… hurt us. At first, I thought it was 'cause we'd done something wrong. But even when we did everything right, he—" Voice breaks with sudden emotion, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

Kultir winces at Sytin's abrupt movement but then relaxes again when the expected blow isn't against him … just a table. The words are directed at the older boy and, he winces again, hearing all the conflicting emotions in those two words. However, the boy doesn't move, can't move, as Sytin starts to speak again. He swallows hard as he listens, sudden tears starting in his eyes before too much is offered. There is a slight hardening of Kultir's eyes as he asks himself why the kid is telling him this? He didn't ask anything! Then, the look softens and after a moment he settles into a chair at the other side of the table. Taking a deep breath, the teenager sighs softly and stares at the floor. "Why ye tellin' me this, Sytin?" he asks. "Ye wantin' t' trade a … secret f'r a secret, or somethin'?" If this is the case, things might get a bit … sappy, after a while.

Eyes close as Sytin tries to get ahold of the most rampantly running emotions, forehead back against his forearm as his face hovers above the tabletop. Nostrils flare as breath flutters in and out and he swallows, lifting his head to look at Kultir with red-rimmed eyes at the question. Tongue presses against the back of his teeth as he tries to find his voice again, wiping his damp cheeks on his sleeve. "Because—" Another crack and he takes another moment to compose himself, nodding. "Because I wanted you to know I've been there too." There being that emotional wasteland of abuse and despair, of helplessness and humiliation. Lower lip is bitten and chewed thoughtfully. "I thought… I thought maybe it might be a little less lonely. To share our secrets."

Kultir sits back in his chair, staring at the younger boy and chewing on his lower lip as thoughts flit through his mind. Eyes narrow slightly as his naturally suspicious nature comes to the fore but then it's quickly suppressed again with a shake of his head. He cocks his head consideringly at Sytin for a several minutes, a warring of emotions playing across his face as he tries to find a reason not to trust this kid. He doesn't find one so … clearing his throat, he finally speaks. "I was in here … working on my robe." He sighs softly, searching his memory for what had happened before continuing. "There was a man here … an older man, he had a little grey in his hair. He … talked to me? at me? I don't know … I could understand his words but … the meaning was … twisted?" A hand lifts to run through his hair and over his face as he tries to push the remembered fear and anger back down. "I was … scared … of him." His tone is dripping with self-disgust for his fear of the man. "He touched my shoulder and … I shoved him away but … he didn't move except to get right in my face. He got me in a wristlock … my hand between my shoulders." The tone of voice is frightened awe of the way the man moved. The boy swallows hard and shakes his head to clear it before he finishes in a rush. "Instinct took over. I just wanted to get away …" Kultir couldn't look at the boy all through this, his face turning crimson and his ear burning with shame. He's been taking care of himself for nearly 5 Turns … he's put on a lot of muscle and honed his fighting techniques since he came to the Weyr. He should have been able to take care of himself … shouldn't he?

The description of the man clearly sets of alarm bells in Sytin. He doesn't interrupt Kultir as he speaks, but he curls up just a little bit, heels planting on the bar between the front chair legs and drawing his knees closer to his chest. The sick miasma of shared fear as his own memories are elicited causes the boy's stomach to churn, bile licking at the inside of his esophagus. He swallows it down but the burning sensation lingers, causing his features to twist in a grimace of distaste. Feelings of camaraderie well up as the elder trails off, clearly shamed by his desire to get away from his assailant. The Smith reaches out then, hand sliding across the table slowly until it comes to rest gingerly on his peer's forearm, meant to reassure. "When my foster-da comes after me, I just wish I could vanish between," he whispers softly. "You— you never see it coming either, because he never seems angry…" Amber eyes dare to lift from the wood grain and look at the other Candidate. "Did he… did he mention his name?"

The gentle touch of the younger boy's hand is reacted to with a slight jerk away before Kultir can stop the movement. The fear and stark panic of the incident still too close to the surface and too strong to shove back down where they can be controlled. There is an apologetic look on his face when he looks back at Sytin, just the hint of a smile curving one side of his lips. "He … he said to … give his regards to you." he murmurs, the words practically dragged from him. "He said his name was …" The boy frowns, trying to remember the name heard through the fog of intense pain. "Vorick? I think that's it … Vorick."

A sympathetic smile creeps across Sytin's lips as Kultir looks at him in apology, head shaking slightly as if to say 'Don't worry, I get it'. Fingers give a slight squeeze to the elder's arm before withdrawing, respecting the need for personal space. He freezes halfway through the movement, however, when Kultir passes the regards along, eyes widening and breath catching in renewed terror. He swallows and forces himself to breathe as his lungs seem to have momentarily forgotten their function. "V-Vorick's my foster-da." His voice trembles with trepidation and tears spring up renewed in the boy's eyes. "Oh, Faranth, Kultir, I'm so sharding sorry… I…" He bites his lower lip to keep it from trembling as his voice breaks. "He shouldn' have done that." He wants to be angry but the fear of his patron drowns his psyche with its tsunami.

Kultir manages not to pull away when the younger boy squeezes his arm and then pulls his hand away. The tension in his shoulders slowly lessens as he makes himself straighten and lift his head a bit. He glances at Sytin when he apologizes and shake his head. "You didn't send him here to wait for me, did you?" he asks wryly. "You don't need to apologize to me for anything." He sighs softly and shrugs. "But … I have to apologize to you, Sytin. You're my friend and I asked you to lie for me. I … didn't want to get in more trouble and … seemed the easiest way to deal with it if anyone found out." He forces himself to relax further and sit back in the chair, unconsciously reaching up to rub the sore left shoulder as he stares at a spot on the floor just beyond his feet.

A weak smile flutters across Sytin's lips as he gets the panic under control in the face of Kultir's humor. He takes a breath in and lets it shudder out slowly, eyes down on the table for a moment as he thinks, listening. Amber orbs flick up to meet the man across from him and he shakes his head. "I understand why you did it." He pauses, licking his lips. "I even agree with you now. It can be our secret though." Glints of fear linger behind his eyes as he meets the other Candidate's gaze. "I… I don't want anyone getting hurt because of it." He looks concerned as the blond man rubs at his shoulder. "Is the numbweed wearing off?"

Kultir smiles slightly as Sytin meets his eyes and barely nods, acknowledging the fear the other tries to control. "Thanks, Sytin." is said with an upward quirk of his lips. He sighs heavily at the question and glances down at his hand rubbing his shoulder without realizing it. "Yeah … it has been for a while. Kinda tweaked the shoulder out there on the Sands and … well, it hurts now." He shrugs his right shoulder as if it isn't a big deal. "It's not as bad as you think … I've had worse so, this is nothing." He forces his right hand down to rest on his thigh, rubbing it doesn't help anyway.

The boy nods understandingly in regards to the pain and tweaking, offering a warmer smile. "I'm glad no permanent damage was done." And indeed Sytin is genuinely relieved by this fact, the sentiment shining clearly through his gaze as he glances at Kultir's shoulder. He rubs at his eyes suddenly, wiping away the tear streaks from his cheeks and exhaling gustily. "I don't know about you, but I could seriously use a bath right now." He stands, sliding the chair neatly back into place and offering his hand to his fellow Candidate. "Care to join me?"

Kultir chuckles softly and nods. "Aye … I'm starting to smell like the inside of my boots." he says with an attempt at a joke. "I was filthy enough before they herded us out to play with the eggs … now I have sand in my ass and … it's not comfortable." He can't help the attempt at levity, humor, sarcasm silence, and fighting … the ways Kultir tries to control his fear. He sighs as he looks at Sytin's hand for a moment before clasping it tightly and pushing himself up to his feet. "Thanks." is grunted as he pulls against Sytin's strong grip.

A laugh escapes Sytin at the joke, honest and genuine in its throaty fullness. It's a good way to dispel the inner gloom, at least for now. The guffaw dies down into merely a grin. "I'm not too fresh and flowery myself," he admits as he helps Kultir up, clasping the slightly taller man to him in a brief hug, mindful of the shoulder. "Thanks for everything," he murmurs quietly before breaking the embrace. He backs away then, letting the elder's hand go and moves towards the door. "C'mon, I want to have some time to soak before curfew." And with a final beckoning gesture the boy is off, pulling the door open and departing into the hallway, a man on a mission of cleanliness.

Kultir's grin fades slightly as a worried frown creases his brow when Sytin pulls him into a hug. The older boy stiffens slightly, suspicion flaring, with his free hand held out from both their bodies. Almost instantly, the suspicion is gone and he can complete the pat on the younger boy's back in a more natural feel. Released, the teen chuckles at the younger boy and gestures out the door and down the hallway. "Let's get going then before them girls use all the hot water." is the echoing joke as they troop down to the Baths.

Add a New Comment