==== February 26, 2014
==== Cha'el, Erissa
==== Cha'el wakes up stiff. Erissa wakes up with a hangover. You do the math. (Occurs the morning after Willpower versus Alcohol )

Who Cha'el, Erissa
What Cha'el wakes up stiff. Erissa wakes up with a hangover. You do the math. (Occurs the morning after Willpower versus Alcohol )
When It is the 55th day of Winter.
Where Danorath's Den, Igen Weyr

Chael1.png erissa14.jpg




It is 12:26 AM where you are.
It is before dawn of the twenty-fifth day of the second month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
It is the fifty-fifth day of Winter and 38 degrees. It is a clear night.

Erissa wakes up feeling like her head is stuffed with scratchy fuzz. Groaning softly she turns her face into the pillow, fingers bunching to bring the edge up close. No good. It's still there. In fact, the more awake she becomes the worse it gets. And the more awake she gets the more other sensations begin to register, the most disturbing of which is that she's fully clothed and laying on top of her bedding with just a throw blanket on top of her.

"What the blazes……?" she murmurs, moving the pillow aside to look down at herself. Flipping the blanket off she starts to sit up - and immediately closes her eyes as the whole room tilts drastically to one side. Leaning forward she presses palms tightly over her eyelids, another low groan slipping from her throat. "Crack it!" she curses as her head feels like it's going to explode.

Memories sift back through the misery - Vienn, dead. Dano's hatching date. Something else that slips away before she can nail it down. But then a clear image of the Oasis and her intention of getting dead drunk. Oh, right. There was that. That explains everything. With a sigh of self-loathing she realizes she must have succeeded and gotten so drunk she doesn't remember getting home and crashing on her bed. So much for thinking it'd make her feel better to drown her sorrows in alcohol.

"Klah. I need klah," she mumbles to herself and tries pushing up off the bed.


In trying to squish a three-seater length of frame onto a two-seater span of couch, Cha'el had not slept well. He'd tossed and turned and then tossed some more and at one point, had almost considered joining Erissa on the bed when he'd landed on the floor. Eventually, about an hour before dawn, he'd finally fallen asleep in a position that felt like he had his knees wrapped up around his ears. Through the light haze of what passes for sleep, Erissa's wakening groans and grumbles stir the brownrider. There's a rumbling groan of his own when he tries to lift his head and is assaulted by a muscle spasm induced by the odd angle of sleep. Slowly, slowly, as if he were the one that had drunk themselves into oblivion, he tests the mobility of arms and legs which is only partially successful with one of each having gone numb from the cramped position on the couch. "Make that two of us," he mumbles thickly finally managing to organize himself up into a sitting position while rubbing vigorously at his arm to coax feeling back into it.

“Cha’el!!” Erissa blurts, pale lashes blinking furiously over dark blue eyes shot through with red. “What’re you doing on my couch??” And how did she not know this, is an even more pertinent question! «Sikorth brought you home.» The familiar mindtouch of Danorath soothes as he provides a snippet of explanation, his usual cool tempo tinged with respect for the big brown. Instantly the rider’s gaze snaps to the blue’s couch but finds it empty. Before she can even frame a question Danorath is answering it. «I am on the ledge. The morning sun felt good. I would not leave you.» Sighing through her nose Erissa turns her focus back on her apparent guest. This did not bode well for her pride.

“Making sure you didn't sleepwalk off the ledge," Cha'el returns in a muzzy rumble putting his attention to the leg that's currently afire with pins and needles. Once feeling returns to his toes, the brownrider attempts the standing thing. Ah, not too bad. With dark curls all fluffed on the one side and squooshed on the other, he fits Erissa with an assessing look. "Got a harper in your head with a drum?" And yes, that's a flicker of dry amusement in those still sleepy blue eyes. "Where d'you keep the klah?"

She really should thank him. She should. But somehow her tongue doesn’t want to cooperate. Even through the veil of hangover hell a part of Erissa wants to go to Cha’el and try to take advantage of the situation. But unfortunately (or fortunately?) the physical demands of her body’s revenge for the previous night’s excess overwhelm everything else. Padding forward with stumbling steps the bluerider pauses at the back of the couch, one hand used to brace herself against it while the other rubs a pounding temple. “Not just one. The whole damn orchestra,” she replies to his tease. His question sees her lifting the lower hand and waggling it in the air in the direction of a cupboard along the opposite wall. “Klah’s over there.” Whatever is left is going to be cold but at the moment she didn’t care.

Amusement is woven through with concern at Erissa's wobbly-weavy path to the couch. Instinctively, Cha'el reaches out a hand and if she takes it, will guide her to the seating he's just stiffly vacated. Man, when were there so many muscles in his neck and shoulders. OW!! "Sit before you faceplant," he instructs and goes off to retrieve the klah. But it shall not be cold for long for when he returns with it, the brownrider angles to the hearth and with a grunt for abused muscles complaining, he crouches before it and stokes it back to life again. "You should eat something too," he advises turning a look over his shoulder to the bluerider. "Do you have any food up here?"

It’s a good thing Erissa is too oblivious to notice the humor in Cha’el’s demeanor. The fuse on her temper is questionable considering the pounding in her skull. As a hand appears within her view she takes it, letting him lead her to a seat. Without preamble she flops into it, long legs stretching outward and both hands rising to ruffle through the tousled mess of her white-blond hair. Food? Ugh! Pretty features scrunch into a scowl as even the thought of food makes her feel ill. One hand frees itself to waggle again in the same direction as before. “Two doors over. There are some crackers and bread in there, I think?” More snack material than meal, unfortunately.

Nodding at the reply given, Cha'el messes with the hearth for a little longer and then once the embers are glowing, he heads back to the cupboard and retrieves what apparently passes as food in Erissa's estimation. Finding a flat board to put them on he sets it all down on the couch next to bluerider. "Eat," is directed and then he's fussing with the klah, pouring it into two mugs he'd gotten earlier and setting them on the stone lip of the hearth to warm through. Dropped to silence, shoulders hunched beneath wrinkled fabric, the brownrider remains crouched there as if perhaps the brew needs constant supervision. And then out of the blue (excuse the pun), "So Dano's been visiting with Nadeeth, eh?" Or maybe not given how the one situation of tending a drunk is close to the current one.

Erissa doesn’t comply as the food is sat beside her, instead sliding her hands from hair to face as her palms press against closed eyes. “Do you have to talk so looooooud?” she complains. His use of the hearth seems to go unnoticed, her mind an unhealthy jumble of cranky static and misplaced thrill for having her brownrider not only in her weyr but waiting on her. If only she was in the condition to appreciate it more! Then said brownrider is asking her a question and it takes an extra moment for the words to penetrate. “Huh?” is her intelligent first response. “Nadeeth?” Nose wrinkling she tries to make the connection. Oh right. That greenrider, K’vvan. Even in her mind she says it with heavy sarcasm. Twitchy, as she likes to call him. “I guess,” she answers with a snort, not liking it herself but unable to do anything about it. Being the Weyrsecond she can only assume he probably knows most of the riders and their dragons but the unexpected question does leave her wondering. “Why do you ask?”

Its just as well his back is turned because Cha'el is a little too half-asleep just now to have schooled his face free of expression. There's a short nod while he tests the temperature of the klah - Only just lukewarm, still needs a bit more time. "You the one that got him so drunk?" Erissa's question answered with another while he continues to present her with his back.

Still heavily distracted, Erissa lets her arms fall and tilts her head back to rest on the couch cushion. “What? Got him drunk?? Are you insane?” she blurts, pale lashes lifting just slightly. “That twitchy arse about rips my head off every time we’re anywhere near each other.” If the greenrider got himself in trouble, however, that’d be interesting. So she asks, “What’d he do drunk?” The irony of her asking seems to go right over her own drunken-recovering head.

That's not quite the reaction Cha'el expected and it shows when he swivels slowly about and fits the tousle haired blonde with a lifted brow. He's quiet a few moments longer and then an odd expression makes appearance before its swiftly banished. "His people skills aren't very good," he can agree though strangely it comes with a small smile. "Nothing," the brownrider initially says and then turning back to the fire because its SO much easier to have that to put his focus than those enquiring eyes of Erissa's. "Someone dumped him passed out on my ledge. In the middle of the bloody night, in the freezing cold!" Stated in a tight growl of threat if he ever finds out who risked the greenrider's health by doing so.

Confusion is just par for the course at the moment so when Cha’el’s responses don’t quite add up the bluerider isn’t of a mind to put it all together. Maybe later when she muses over the mental replay it will click. Or, maybe not. The story she gets, however, snags a good portion of her attention and dark blue hues heavily shaded with silvery gray make more of an appearance as she opens her eyes fully. Pale brows make an effort to knit inward though limbs remain sprawled in lethargic limbo. “Seriously?” is the short-type reply she seems to have in abundance this morning. “What’d you do?” Hopefully something good and embarrassing for the hard-assed greenrider.

Testing the klah again and finding it to his satisfaction, Cha’el takes up both mugs, stands carefully and crossing the short distance and holds one out to Erissa. “Cleaned him up and let him sleep it off.” The short answer supplied with no mention made of braided hair, ribbons, eye make-up or pink glossed nails. “Poor kid was in a bad way.” Much like Erissa had been sans the ‘dress-up doll’ K’vvan had been turned into by someone. Lifting the wooden board with crackers and bread on it, Cha’el settles next to the bluerider and setting the board across his knees, eyes her sidelong as he takes a sampling sip of the klah. “How do you know him?”

Under normal circumstances Erissa can be sympathetic but at the moment she isn’t feeling very charitable and especially not for that particular greenriding thorn. Heavily shadowed eyes watch Cha’el as he returns to the couch, appreciative of that spectacular well-built frame of his, and when he offers the mug she sits up to take it with reverent care.

Lifting it to her lips she blows lightly across the top, musing as she does, “No doubt the twitchy bastard deserved it.” She might not know the details of just how bad it was but for Cha’el to have taken him in says a lot. Then a cautious drink is sampled and even though it’s a day old the heat and stimulants hit her stomach with a hearty splash. “Ahhhhhhhh, good ol’ klah,” she sighs. Taking another drink she lets that one work into her system a bit and tilts her head to the side, lifting a hand to rub one eye with the back of her hand.

“I’ve run into him a few times,” she finally answers Cha’el’s question. “And every time he’s been a total asshole.” Fingers flutter a bit before she lets her hand drop with sleepy resignation, the setting and company loosening her tongue a bit more than usual. “The first time he about bit my head off just for being a female rider. No hello. No how-do-you-do or what’s-your-name. Just a complete head chopping for what I am. If he had a problem with who I am that’d at least be understandable - I’m used to that - but we just crossed paths accidently in the stores and he didn’t know me from Faranth.” Her tone and emphasis rise with the retelling, pique ticked at the memory, but then exhaustion reasserts itself by the end and she finishes with a heavy sigh. “Then there was the pink ribbon/wrestling thing and the wagon we had to guard.” She shakes her head at the last, not about to go there! Knowing Cha’el’s curiosity, however, she quickly moves on dismissively. “All bad. Just all bad. Bad. Bad.” Time for another drink.

Cha’el probably doesn’t look nearly as sympathetically outraged as Erissa might expect him to. If anything, that look he’s sending her is somewhat disapproving. “Aye, he can be an arsehole sometimes and he has an issue with female riders, but you can be just as prickly yourself when it comes to that,” he points out and then narrows a frown onto the pretty blonde. “Pink ribbon wrestling thing?” Yes, he totally went there. A heavy sigh follows a drink of warming klah for her last. Leaning his head against the back of the couch, the brownrider stares off into space for a few moments before rolling it to the side to eye her, “He’s a nice guy when you get to know him, Riss. You just need to give him a chance.”

Ouch! Erissa’s chin jerks in Cha’el’s direction as he has the audacity to compare her to the greenrider. “I am not!” she counters. “I can’t help it if most people are annoying. I’m just honest. HE is a rude jerk!” Movements stiff, she pulls her legs up and crosses them, turning her back against the arm of the couch so she’s facing the brownrider. Damn! The mental curse is reflected in a tightening of full lips as Cha’el asks his question. At least telling him that story is the lesser of two evils. Taking another drink she breathes out slowly, then braces her elbows on her knees and lets the mug hang in front of her, slim fingers curled firmly around it. “I picked up a pink ribbon from a trader; on a whim, really. It wasn’t what I really wanted. Anyway, next thing I know K’vvan is coming up to me and asking for it. After how rude he was to me in the stores I wasn’t about to just hand it over - I did pay for it, after all. But he said it was for his dragon, which, ok that was kinda sweet.” Dark blue eyes roll at that admission. “So I told him I’d wrestle him for it.” Stated matter-of-factly as if it was the most sensible thing to do. End of story. Her mug is raised. Of course, the brownrider’s last assertion can’t go by unremarked upon though, earning a quick snort from the bluerider and a muffled, “Don’t be absurd,” as she pauses with the mug to her lips then takes a long swallow.

Right now, Cha'el is too stiff to fold or curl or bend any part of his anatomy and instead goes the opposite route to the bluerider, stretching his legs out in front of him and looking very much like he might fall asleep on her. With his mug resting on the wooden board balanced across his thighs, there's a wry quirk of lips for her vehement denial. He doesn't counter but instead takes in what she says about ribbons and greenriders and…wrestling? It's at that point that eyes snap open again. "Wait. K'vvan wrestled with you?" Spoken with the same disbelief as if she'd told him the greenrider had sprouted wings of his own and taken flight.

Erissa leans forward heavily, the opposite of her usual straight-backed posture. Pale lashes feather downward repeatedly and a perpetual shadow marks the crease across her brow. This hangover stuff is for the wherries! Making an effort to pull her foggy thoughts back in line as Cha’el responds with so much shock to his tone she rolls her eyes. “If you can call it that. He freaked out and fled as soon as I got the upper hand.” In a brief flash of clarity she narrows gray tinged blues at the other rider. “How do you know him so well?”

Faintly amused if not also a touch sympathetic of Erissa's current state, Cha'el lifts a cracker from the board and holds it out to her. Eat, is the silent order that goes along with that gesture and the pointed lift of brow. But then she's answering his question and sea-blue eyes instantly shadow. "Aw shit!" The brownrider curses. "Shit!" And lightly bumps his head against the back of the couch in frustration. "He doesn't like to be touched," he states and fits the bluerider with an exasperated look. "He must really have wanted that ribbon for Nadeeth to have agreed to even attempt to wrestle you for it." His gaze drags away and lands on the hearth, mouth pursed about a frown. Was that what had triggered K'vvan's drinking binge? The question Erissa then sets on him has the brownrider shooting her a sidelong look. "Flew with him in Arroyo." Safe answer.

Stubborn as usual Erissa snags the cracker but then just fiddles with it, eventually setting it on her knee while she uses both hands to lift the mug again. Pale brows draw even closer at the brownrider’s cursing and head bashing, confusion marking a scrunch to her expression. Once he explains, however, she shakes her head and white-blond layers fall forward to veil one eye. “Apparently!” she concludes in an annoyed tone. Fingertips tap the mug in her hand absently a moment before she adds in a lowered voice, “I took it to him later. For her.” Cha’el’s reply as to his connection with the greenrider makes sense so she doesn’t question it further. Wanting to divert the brownrider she lowers her mug and fits him with a tilted sidelong look that’s as impish as it is wary. “About last night….. what happened at the inn?” With the way they woke up it’s obvious nothing untoward happened but knowing what her intentions were in going to the remote location leaves her wondering what the other rider now knows.

Satisfaction lifts when Erissa takes the cracker and then dwindles when she doesn't eat it. "Eat," he directs setting a pointed look to the item in question, "you should know by now it'll settle your stomach." Back to the conversation at hand, her addition about K'vvan and the ribbon for his green is rewarded with a faint smile. "That was sweet of you. I'm sure he appreciated it." Even although the prickly rider probably had barely acknowledged the gesture. Grateful that the reply he'd given her satisfies the blonde's curiosity, Cha'el is quiet for a bit and then glances back over to her. Finally he rules on the side of saving her pride. "Nothing much. You drank, we talked. You drank some more and then Dano let us bring you home to sleep it off." His mug is lifted for another drink and then the brownrider nudges at her knee and echoes his earlier directive. "C'mon, get something in your belly. We've got mid-morning drills today."

Bah! Erissa sets her jaw and huffs through her nose as Cha’el orders her to eat. “You’re worse than an old auntie,” she tells him in a cranky mutter. Picking up the cracker she takes a deliberate bite while dark blue hues are locked on his. See? She ate. Washing it down with another drink nearly empties her mug. Dismissing his comment on the ribbon she instead eyes him closely, suspicious of his reply to her question. Would he tell her if she’d spoken of things she shouldn’t have? It’d be like him to get all chivalrous and not do so. As much as she enjoys looking at him she can’t tell for sure so when he again pushes her toward eating she groans and tosses her head back. “Not drillllllllllls,” she drawls, closed eyes only managing to make the throbbing of her head worse. “I’m not gonna make it through today without exploding.” Probably taking along a lot of collateral damage while she’s at it too. Suddenly she leans forward and sets her mug on the floor, then takes the wooden plank from his lap and does the same. Surprisingly quick for her condition she then turns and lays down on his lap - her cheek on his thigh and the back of her head against his stomach. Slender frame curls, her arms tucked to her chest and legs drawn up on the couch. Again the lack of forward flirtatiousness is markedly noticeable - though unsurprising considering how much of the ale and rum she consumed the night before.

That pointed look doesn't lessen for the 'just one bite' approach and Cha'el is about to say as much but in an unexpected move Erissa removes the tray and curls up with her head in his lap. For a few moments, the brownrider freezes. Uuuhhh… Lending comfort he has no problem with but with the ash blonde bluerider he's never quite sure where he's at with her. After a few moments of hesitation, he gives in to instinct and dropping a hand, sifts his fingers into those irregular lengths of her hair, as much comfort drawn as given as he idly brushes strands back from her face. "Riss?"

A giddy comfort underscores the effects of Erissa’s hangover, pale lashes falling completely to feather lightly tanned cheeks. The touch of his hand elicits a sigh and shifting as she nuzzles against his leg like a sleepy feline, completely with silky mewing noises. At the sound of her name, in particular the nickname he often uses, she stirs just enough for a moaned response of, “Hmmm?”

An only child, Cha'el would probably have loved having siblings. Instead he draws on the next best thing: friends. Erissa being one of those that he counts as one. "Do you think we're doomed to repeat our mistakes?" He asks, baritone set to a low rumble of introspection.

Erissa doesn’t answer at first. It might seem she’s fallen asleep. But then one hand lifts to set on his thigh alongside her head and slim fingers squeeze gently. “I hope not,” she replies without opening her eyes. “I don’t plan on it.”

There's a short smile angled down at Erissa, wry in its origin. "I didn't either." Cha'el replies and then groans when Sikorth starts to become insistent about the Get Up And GO!! "C'mon, lazybones. Time waits for no man. Or woman. Up." And with that, he'll lightly wiggle his legs beneath the blonde's resting head.

With a groan Erissa lifts both arms over her head, denial in every inch of her curled frame. “UGH, don’t do that!!” she whines to his juggling leg, the pounding in her head seeming to multiply with each sharp shift in movement. One hand finds his shirt and fingers curl into the material, her eyes still pressed shut. “No, no, no, no….” she chants. “I refuse! I won’t go! You can’t make me!”

A low chuckle greets Erissa's pained complaint. "Oh but I can. As Weyrsecond and your wingsecond, I most certainly can make you go. Let's see," Cha'el pretends to muse. "A couple of laps around the lake carrying a bag of firestone? Or how about, polishing the entire wing's boots? That sound like fair payment for begging off drills?" Bastard!

Pulling rank?? The man doesn't fight fair! Erissa cracks a look at her erstwhile pillow-man from beneath the lift of one forearm, pretty features set in a hard scowl. The fingers curled in his shirt let go to form a fist instead and punch his chest with all the strength of a one-legged vtol. "You wouldn't dare!" she exclaims, her voice hoarse. Having been on restrictions not that long ago while her leg healed she's in no hurry to have regular duties curtailed again.

A quiet 'oof' greets the unexpected tap of small fist to his chest and finds Cha'el smirking down at Erissa. "Try me." He purrs and then, ever so carefully because he's not a total prick, he slides his hands in under her head, lifts it and scooches sideways out from under her. Getting to his feet with all the speed and agility of an old uncle, the brownrider stretches his arms above his head, stifles a yawn and then cracks his back. "Your couch sucks." He tells her and gathers up their mugs and the wooden board.

Erissa complains as he gets up, whimpered groans accompanying the rearranging of limbs. Stretching a bit herself she pushes back into the cushions, apparently not intending on getting up. She can’t resist catching a narrow-eyed look of Cha’el stretching out but when he looks her way she closes them. “No it doesn’t. It fits me perfectly,” she informs him, demonstrating by her cozy pose. “You’re just too big. All that delicious muscle.” He’s cleaning up too? Oh yes, she’s so milking this!

Don't get your hopes up, its more moving the items from place to another. But hey, it's something right? Returning to take up his boots from where he'd discarded them the night before, Cha'el snorts and sends Erissa a wary look. "I'm just as I need to be," he states with a sniff pulling footwear into place. "I'm gonna go hit the bathing pools. See you at drills?" This asked as he stands, crosses over to where she is and then bracing a hand to the back of the couch leans over a plants a kiss to the top of head. "You going to be okay?"

One hand lifts in waggling dismissal as Cha'el mentions drills. "Yes, yes, go get clean. Go do drills. Be happy." Words slur as she tries to get more comfortable, thoughts of the hunky brownrider in the baths vying with the annoying throb of post-rum drums. Then there's a light kiss and his inquiry that instantly sets her heart to a quickened pace. Lashes flutter as she opens her eyes a sliver. "No!" she firmly informs him, though her tone only carries a dejected resignation. "I'm going to die of a split head by lunch and it'll be all your fault! I expect you to do the eulogy at my Betweening ceremony as payback!"

Cha'el doesn't even bother to disguise his amusement at the bluerider's woeful words. Grinning down at her, laughter dances in those sea-blue eyes of his. "Oh I will. Have no fear of that. And I'll be sure to tally the vast quantities of ale and rum you so bravely imbibed. There goes Erissa, a little sloshed, a little hot but a lot missed." Before he's even finished teasing, the brownrider pulls back, well out of range of the swat that would probably follow. Taking his jacket from the back of the armchair, Erissa is given a last look, colored by a brief display of indefinable thoughts that drift across bearded features and then ticking off a two-fingered salute, the Weyrsecond is away to the ledge and on to the baths to ease stiff muscles.

Erissa perks at last when the particular wording of his impromptu eulogy strikes her pride. “A little hot??” she echoes, her incredulous tone stronger. Noting how he backs up she pushes herself into a sitting position. As he goes for his jacket and ticks off that salute she grabs one of the decorative pillows on the couch and throws it after him, lobbing one last accusation along with it. “Scoundrel!!”

Add a New Comment