==== February 15, 2014
==== K'vvan, Cha'el
==== Sikorth receives a panicked call for help from Nadeeth and Cha'el returns to their ledge to find one pinkified, passed out greenrider. Occurs directly after this

Who K'vvan, Cha'el
What Sikorth receives a panicked call for help from Nadeeth and Cha'el returns to their ledge to find one pinkified, passed out greenrider. Occurs directly after this
When It is sunset of the tenth day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Where Igen Weyr, Sanctum Sanctorum

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SANCTUM SANCTORUM


«Sikorth!» Nadeeth's ribbons lash out in the late evening air, reaching for bold pillars of stone. There is an edge of panic to her reaching, the ribbons frayed with it. «Come, please! Bring yours!» She begs the older brown.

Sikorth is of course, nowhere near his ledge, in fact, he and his rider aren’t even in Weyr. The desperate call however strikes a chord of alarm in both. « We come! » Succinct and then the brown’s mental touch is cut off by the black of Between. With a sudden downward rush of bitterly cold air, the mottled brown appears hanging in the air above Igen. « Where are you? »

«Here!» comes the tugging of the ribbons, showing a bare ledge large enough for both dragons to be perched. «Do not know where whose.» Not that the green is trying too hard to figure out. The edge of her mental picture of her surroundings shows a huddled mass with… pink on it?

“What the fuck!?” Cha’el curses, instantly recognizing the location through the link with his dragon. Grim-lipped he tightens his grip about the straps as Sikorth suddenly wheels to the left in a steep dive. « It is ours. » He returns, mind filled with the expedient whirl of rotor blades. Not moments later, the big brown makes a perpendicular landing, swirling the sand that has settled on his ledge. Before he’s even gathered his wings along his sides, his rider is unclipped and hitting the rock below with a thud of boots.

Nadeeth moves herself out of the way as best possible, though she doesn't move as far as she can. Her wings are just slightly spread as she is hunched over the figure on the cold stone. «He is sleeping. But… not sleeping.» She isn't exactly able to quantify the state K'vvan has found himself. For K'vvan's part, he's sprawled upon the ground in a rather untidy heap. Dirt covers a good bit of him, some of it still the almost-dry mud. His hair, usually so well kept, is plastered to one side of his face. The rest of him… well. There is a lot of pink. Each of his nails has a bold colour lacquered onto it. Ribbons dangle from piece of braided air (what isn't slicked with mud.) The smell…. is not that of the typical almost-floral scent that clings to him. Instead the wine that had put him into this state is almost overwhelming the closer one gets.

While his rider heads straight for the prostrate figure of the green’s rider, Sikorth turns his attention to the fretful Nadeeth. « He sleeps with the wine. » He tells her, whining mental blades slowly winding down in the background, monoliths rising up out of concealing mists. « Mine has slept so before » It clear that the brown disapproves of the situation his rider had gotten himself into to cause such a thing. As for Cha’el, it takes him a few moments to realize what he’s looking at but he doesn’t stop his forward progress. Crouching down next to K’vvan every last bit of un-K’vvan-like detail is taken in. “Aw shit, Prickles.” Concern weaves thickly into his lowered voice. Reaching out a hand, the brownrider lays the back of it against the greenrider’s cheek – ice cold. Alarm pierces through him for while Igen’s winters might not in any way rival those of the Reaches, exposure to the winter temperatures at night for too long a period of time could be fatal. “How long has he been here?” Cha’el asks of Nadeeth aloud, twisting to gather K’vvan’s arms and then grunting as he lifts him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

Nadeeth paces backwards, giving the werysecond more room to move. «He sleeps… almost always like this, lately. But always home. Or cave. Or with friends. Never alone. Never pink. Hates pink.» Her mindvoice doesn't lose all of her agitation at the situation though physically some of her muscles relax. At Cha'el's question she relays her answer to Sikorth, «The Moons were here.» A visual tapestry is woven, showing the position of the moons. There is a distinct change in their position now, several hours have passed. «I hope he would wake, he did not wake.» K'vvan's form is limp in Cha'el's arms. Somehow he has managed to lose even more weight since the last time Cha'el man-handled him. Does he ever eat?

Sikorth takes in what the little green reveals, relaying it back to his rider, the frown in his mental voice his own, the alarm, his rider’s. « You should have told us sooner. » The brown gently chides. « We might have been able to help. Mine will remove the pink. » At which point Cha’el pauses on his inward path into his weyr and shoots the dragons a browlifted look. Right now, his main concern is K’vvan and how much lighter he is than he should be for his build and height, not to mention getting him warmed up if not sobered up. Once inside the slightly warmer and neatly appointed weyr, he doesn’t even hesitate and lays the muddied, wine-perfumed greenrider down on his crisply made bed sporting none other than…white linen and furs. But the brownrider doesn’t linger and immediately moves over to the hearth already layed out with kindling and wood and gets a fire going. Once he’s sure its taken, several more pieces of wood are added and then stripping off his flight jacket and thick sweater leaving him clad in a light blue polo neck, he takes up the bowl and pitcher of water and heads back to his bed. “You sad, sonnofabitch,” is muttered without heat while he goes about the task of removing K’vvan’s boots.

Even that hint of chastisement from the brown she so respects is devastating to Nadeeth on top of K'vvan's current position. Her mind voice is the quietest of whispers, «He does not like to be seen…» She physically pulls away from Sikorth, though she remains on the ledge, pressed against the far wall. Awake K'vvan would object to man handling. Drunk passed-out-cold (no pun intended) doesn't really care.

Sikorth is nothing if not blunt, he his however also not a total bastard and so the moment Nadeeth’s mental touch drops to a whisper, soothing mists come curling in. « You were right to call us. » He calms, apology sifting in and then arranges himself into a seated position, still as a rock thereafter so as to allow the little green the space she needs. « Mine will know what to do and shall not speak of it to any other. » Inside, the temperature of the air is slowly lifting while Cha’el works quickly to strip the greenrider of his boots and then clothing, struggling a little when it comes to trying to get his arms out of his shirt. But then there’s the matter of trying to get a naked K’vvan under the covers instead of on top of them. Tricky and he risks being punched if the slighter man should regain consciousness but eventually, with further manhandling he achieves his objective. Once done and still leaning over the comatose young man, the brownrider exhales a sigh and sifts back long locks of hair that had slid across K’vvan’s face. “You gotta let someone in, Kvv. You can’t keep on like this. You’re killing yourself.” Sad the murmured observation as he then begins to carefully unbraid the ribbon from the greenrider’s hair.

The ribbons do not rise above that whisper, still mortified by being called out. Even when Sikorth moves and arranges for more room, Nadeeth does not fill up the space. Instead she remains where she is, curling up instead into a tight ball of green dragon. Her head is tucked away, as if ashamed. «I am sorry.» The slowly rising temperature and manhanding are bringing K'vvan out, but it is a long slog, and consciousness remains still far off. Totally ineffectively he attempts to bat away whatever is touching him, though his arms just barely twitch.

Swinging his great head in Nadeeth’s direction, Sikorth is silent for a while and then, with a rustle of movement, shifts his large bulk closer to where she’s curled herself up and nudges her shoulder gently with his nose. « You have done right by bringing him to us. » For that’s the assumption the brown has made. « Mine will take care of yours. Rest, little one. » A pause and then in a somewhat awkward tone for Sikorth is not in general one to fuss over another. « Shall I fetch you something to eat? »

With the ribbon clumsily removed and tossed to one side, Cha’el turns to the pitcher and splashes water into the bowl. Dipping a cloth into the cold water and wringing it out, he sets about the task of trying to clean up K’vvan’s face. While he lacks the grace and finesses a woman might possess, he is nonetheless as gentle as he can be, muttering under his breath about the shimmery powder coating the greenrider’s lids. “You know, if it was anyone else, I’d think you’d been auditioning to be one of Rosie’s boys on the side.” A one-sided conversation but it serves to keep the brownrider’s levels of worry down to a quiet roar while he works. Eyelids as free of the stuff as he can get them, he rinses out the cloth and carefully swipes across cheekbones more hollowed than they should be and then up over the high sweep of proud forehead. “I wish you could learn to trust me.” Quiet with almost a wistful edge to it. “I’m not gonna hurt you, K’vv. I’m not your family.”
The coolness of the water serves to only further pull K'vvan from his stupor. His twiching arms finally are able to move…. only to find themselves hindered by a blanket. Confusion is rampant, but the fog of K'vvan's mind is sure of two things. One, his arms are trapped. Two, someone is touching him because there is noise. Most people would react to this situtation with a bit more calm, but this is K'vvan. He would try to escape. The lack of control over his body, and the edge of the alcohol still in his system do a really good job of preventing that though.

Wringing the cloth out again, Cha’el begins to swipe the bright pink dashes of lipstick from the greenrider’s lips. Slower and slower his hand moves until it stops altogether as the brownrider’s mind is filled with the memory of having kissed K’vvan. Catching himself when the comatose rider’s arms begin to twitch beneath the covers, the brownrider darts a look up to his eyes as if caught doing something he shouldn’t have. Quickly, memories are smothered and whatever feelings lurk, banished to a dark corner of his mind. And then he pulls the covers back, of a mind to free the greenrider’s arms but then catches sight of his too thin chest. It hadn’t registered before when he’d been trying to get him undressed and under warm blankets as quickly as possible, but now….Sea-blue eyes fill with sorrow and a lick of something else that exhales on a sigh of futility.

The freeing of his arms slowly registers in K'vvan's mind, and some of the panic ebbs. What had been rather shallow breathing evens out, that chest of his visibly moving as he breathes. His eyes flutter open and slowly focus themselves onto Cha'el's face with only limited success. He licks his lips, as if he might actually force words out.

With his gaze slowly meandering over the weave of muscle and skin over bone, Cha’el glances up and goes still as a rock when he finds himself under unfocussed inspection. Attention darts to that movement of tongue over lips and then he gives himself a mental shake and clearing his throat reaches for the pitcher. Water sloshes in a burble into a glass and then without asking for permission to do so, he slips a hand beneath K’vvvan’s head and lifts it from the pillow. “Here, have some water.” The rim of the glass held to the greenrider’s lips.

Whatever words are about to be born are dashed as a few more facts come to light. First, the person holding him is unmistakably male. Second, he's in a bed that isn't his. Third, this person is touching him. No matter that the touch is benevolent, K'vvan attempts to jerk away from the hands supporting him, the water spilling across his bare chest rather than into his lips. Only when the cold water hits does K'vvan realize an even more horrifying detail. He's naked. Completely. Panic begins to surface again as he tries to scramble and make sense of what is going on. His mind settles on one thought. «Nadeeth!» he calls; and the green is there, attempting to comfort and reassure, her ribbons wrapping tightly around his panicked mind.

That’s not quite the reaction Cha’el had expected. Though he should have given the bits of a past conversation Sikorth had shared with him. The moment K’vvan starts to freak out, the brownrider jerks backwards, hands, including the one with the glass in it, lifting in the air at his sides in a show of surrender. “K’vv, it’s me, Cha’el. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

K'vvan has regained enough control over his body to move away from the person identifying themselves as the weyrsecond. He scoots right to the edge of the bed, not realizing just how close that edge was, just a little more and he's going to fall right off it altogether onto the hard stone. The heat flickers against his skin as his mind continues to be covered by the soft velvet of Nadeeth's fabric as she attempts to sooth and explain; though her lack of knowledge as to how he came to be here is hardly helping quell the panic.

As he so often does, Cha’el reacts without thinking and quickly lunges toward K’vvan in a bid to grab a hold of an arm or leg to prevent the greenrider from going right off the edge of the bed. “K’vv! Sharditall, man! You’ll land on your arse on the floor. I’m not gonna do anything. Nothing happened. Nadeeth called us when she found you passed out on Sikorth’s ledge.” Explanations trip in quick succession off the brownrider’s tongue, expression earnest. “You were ice cold so I brought your near hypothermic ass in here to get you warmed up again. The only reason you’re naked is because your clothes smelled like a brewery and your boots were filthy.”

"What the F*ck," K'vvan manages to get out, but wait, no Cha'el is grabbing him, and he's naked. Whatever the words the man had been saying are completely ignored for that one fact. Dulled by drink, confusion, and fear the fist that K'vvan sends at Cha'el is clumsy at best and downright ineffective at worst.

Ineffective and clumsy that punch might be but not having expected it and being leaned over the bed as he is, it clips the corner of Cha’el’s mouth mashing teeth against soft flesh so that a small tear opens up. “Fuck!” The brownrider barks and jerks away, his tongue peeking out to explore the tiny abrasion at the corner of his mouth while his gaze rests heavy on K’vvan. “Get your ass back under covers before you get yourself sick on top of drunk. I’m not gonna touch you.” And as if to prove his point, he backs away to one of the wingback chairs placed before the hearth. Turning it around, the Weyrsecond slumps into it and sets the greenrider with an intent look and falls to silence.

Outside on the ledge Nadeeth hisses, low and quiet. Her ball has uncurled as she stares fixedly into the small weyr, keeping K'vvan in her limited sight. «Don't hurt him!» Her ribbons tie tightly around K'vvan's mind, their intensity momentarily shocking the greenrider out of his panic and forcing him to calm down. It is enough for the scattered remains of K'vvan's mind to shuffle back into some kind of coherent order that isn't fueled by blind emotion. "Where's m' clothes?" His words are slurred.

Confident in his rider's ability to defend himself, Sikorth isn't nearly as upset as Nadeeth is. « Mine will not hurt yours. » He seeks to reassure the unsettled green unaware of the conversation between her and her rider. Within the now cozy warmth of the neatly appointed weyr, Cha'el continues to eye the greenrider. He doesn't immediately answer him and pushing up from the chair, the corner of his mouth swollen, he heads over to a wardrobe built into the face of the rock. Rummaging around he extracts a black sweater and a pair of drawstring black pants then turning, moves cautiously toward the bed that K'vvan hovers on and puts them down on the edge of it, expression heavily guarded. "Yours are dirty. You can borrow these." Sure, they're rather too big but at least thanks to the drawstring the pants aren't likely to fall down.

«I am afraid for yours.» Nadeeth has no such reassurance that Cha'el is not going to break. Nadeeth remembers that he is the weyrsecond, though K'vvan seems to have forgotten with the combination of the wake-up and the fear. When Cha'el moves closer K'vvan twitches slightly back, and when the man stops short of arms reach K'vvan stops. Only after Cha'el moves away another step will K'vvan reach out to grab the clothing, donning the shirt quickly.

In such a situation, Cha’el is first and foremost, a friend, his knot of rank meaningless to him just now and Sikorth knows it. « Mine has been faced with worse. He can hold his own. » The brown reassures in so far as his rider’s physical ability to do so. Mentally and emotionally, he doesn’t offer opinion. “You’re not eating properly,” the brownrider quietly notes, turning his back to afford K’vvan belated privacy. “Why are you doing this to yourself, K’vv? Can’t you see how its hurting Nadeeth? Me? Anyone that cares about you?” All spoken in a volume that only just surpasses the crackle and pop of the logs in the hearth.

The voice level is unfortunate, as K'vvan is still a bit too far gone to actually differentiate Cha'el's words once he turns, just the general timbre of his voice. "I eat when I'm hungry." He declares, not stating the real reason- it was just easier to avoid the crush of bodies at meal times, and those minues when the crush didn't exist required a mental force the greenrider was simply not willing to give. The pants are pulled on, and the drawstring is tightened. Gingerly, testing each movement before he makes it, K'vvan stands, though he keeps one hand on the headrest to steady his oh-too-trembling legs.

“Sit your ass back down,” comes Cha’el’s order as he turns and catches K’vvan trying to stand. “You’re not going anywhere.” The fact that his questions have gone unanswered finds the brownrider fitting the other ‘rider with a long look and then giving a quiet shake of head. “I’ll sleep in the chair.” Moving over to a shelf set into an alcove, a half loaf of bread, an object wrapped in muslin and the fixings for klah are taken down and set on a waist-height table. “You gonna tell me why you wound up on my ledge?” Cha’el goes on to ask, tearing off a hunk of bread and slicing two thick wedges of cheese. Putting them on a plate he moves back to the bed and sets it down on a side table. “Eat.” A small pot is then filled with water and several scoops of klah and hung on a hook provided for just such purposes over the fire in the hearth.

Food. K'vvan looks at it, then evaluates the state of his stomach and the creeping headache that has begun to break past the confusion. "I couldn't eat if I wanted to." But the order to sit down… K'vvan does do that, allowing himself to slump down onto the bed, his back to the weyrsecond. "I don't know. Ask NAdeeth." Which is what K'vvan is doing, though her pictures are not making any coherent sense.

“You’ll want it after the klah kicks in,” Cha’el states, unconcerned just yet by K’vvan’s refusal to eat. Stirring the brew in the small pot, he makes another trip to the shelves and from a glass jar, extracts a strange looking root. This time he rounds the bed so that he’s standing in front of the greenrider and holding out his hand reveals the shriveled looking lump of brown. “Here, chew on this, it’ll help.” Help what, he doesn’t say. The vague reply given, not a reply at all really, engenders a roll of eyes, the Weyrsecond continuing to wear that guarded expression. “What was with all the pink? The braided hair and the ribbon and the eye stuff and…” he waves at K’vvan’s hands where the pink nail polish remains for Cha’el has NO clue how to get that stuff off, “that.”

"What the f*ck do you…. what the hell happened to my hands?!" K'vvan reaches out for the root. It was either poison or something that was going to help at this point. His hands are halfway to reaching out for the root when his eyes focus on what he had been too busy freaking out before to notice. "I didn't… NADEETH?!" His head snaps out to the ledge, demanding answers of his green. This only distresses the little dragon more, as she shifts outside. «I do not know!» She shares her image of the rider, slumped upon the ledge where she had found him. Then replays the last prior, when K'vvan had entered the seediest drinking spot in the bazaar for the evening's take. «Where were you?» K'vvan demands, not at all sure how the green could have allowed him to be dumped. Nadeeth doesn't respond… not wanting to answer.

“Hey, don’t look at me, that’s what they looked like when I got here.” Cha’el is quick to defend himself and then frowns when K’vvan’s gaze glazes over in the classical manner of one communicating with their dragon. “What’s she saying?” For his part, Sikorth, picking up on the green’s added tension, foregoes propriety and glides in next to her, offering her the warmth of his solid frame as comfort, a wing canting should she wish to creep in beneath it. « What troubles you, little one? » Aside from the obvious of course. Inside, the brownrider tries to pull K’vvan’s focus back to him by simply taking one of his hands and pressing the root into it. “Klah’s almost ready,” he tells him and moves away, frame and demeanor still stiff as it had been after K’vvan’s punch had found its target.

Well, Physical touch is totally the way to get K'vvan to yank back to reality. His fingers close around the root, but Cha'el is walking away too soon for K'vvan to react any more. "She says she doesn't know." He pushes harder at his green, though the edge he had been sharpening between himself and Nadeeth in their battle of wills (well, HIS battle of Wills, her stubbornness) is dulled to almost nothing. She continues to resist his inquiry as to where she had been, though overtones of something blue manage to break out. It takes all of her effort to keep the secret from K'vvan, and she leans into Sikorth's side.

Even although Nadeeth doesn’t reply, Sikorth is fine with just lending physical support. And so there he remains, quiet and immobile as a rock with the little green tucked in against his side. “She doesn’t know?” That draws a glance from Cha’el who is carefully pouring the steaming brew into a pair of mugs. Sweetener is added to both, whether K’vvan wants it or not. Setting the one mug on the bedside table where he’d put the greenrider’s plate of simple food, the brownrider claims an edge of the bed farthest away from the younger man. “Is it possible someone else brought you here? Who would even know to bring you here?” That in itself gives the Weyrsecond pause for thought.

"Why the f*ck would they bring me here? Unless," And the thought makes K'vvan go cold, "they were looking for me to get reamed and didn't want to chance W'rin's ledge." K'vvan stares at the root in his hand, then begins to chew on it slowly. His mind relaxes against Nadeeth's, allowing her… for now… to keep the secret she is hiding. As the pressure relaxes Nadeeth's shaking calms and stills, and she opens herself back up to the brown, sharing her secret. «He would be unhappy to know I flew with Danorath. He does not like his rider.»

At K’vvan’s comment, the brownrider jerks about and sets him with an oddly shaped stare. Snorting he turns back around so that once again they’re positioned back to back on opposite sides of the bed. “Well if that was the thinking they failed miserably,” Cha’el states with an odd twist threaded through his tone. “K’vv…” he begins as if he means to add more, and then doesn’t. Instead the bed dips as the Weyrsecond stands and fetches his own mug of klah. He doesn’t return to the bed but instead slumps into the wingback chair letting silence spool out across the fire warmed air. As Nadeeth’s trembles start to subside, Sikorth dips his head and in a rare gesture for him, nuzzles the underneath of his jaw against the top of her head. « Danorath’sssss. » The name released in a hiss of steam. « Plays too many games. » If the brown is in any way dissatisfied with Nadeeth having flown with the oceanic blue, he keeps it to himself.

K’vvan’s head is looking downwards from his perch on the edge of the bed so he misses the stare for his poorly chosen words. When Cha’el does rise K’vvan’s gaze follows him. For all he freaked out when Cha’el had been touching him earlier there is something in his gaze, like he hadn’t wanted the other man to move that far away. “What?” When he finally speaks his voice is snappish like always, the underlying bitterness more than apparent. Nadeeth will take that caress, no matter how small and lean into it. «Games are good for the heart. Mine plays not enough games.» Her ribbons are a lighter touch than typical; as she still pulls herself from the strain of holding out against K’vvan’s demands.

Already sprawled in the chair by the time K’vvan’s short demand is snapped, Cha’el fits the younger man with a searching look. “You scare the shit out of me.” He eventually confesses. With a sigh long legs are gathered beneath him and he crosses back to the bed except that this time, he claims a space on the same side as the greenrider. Sitting with his knees spread apart and legs crossed at the ankles, his hands molded about the mug in the well created, once again the brownrider falls to silence. “That helping?” He asks finally of the root the greenrider is chewing on. « Some games. » Sikorth concedes. « Others merely serve to damage and hurt. » In the quiet of his mind space, misty tendrils weave about those delicate ribbons, urging them toward the sturdy monoliths, to rest and take support from them.

Whatever response the greenrider had been expecting was not at all what he had gotten. He blinks, half from the emerging headache and half in confusion at that statement. “I don’t scare the s*iit out of anyone.” His voice suggests he think’s Cha’el is pulling his leg and K’vvan is wholly unamused. Some of the longing in his gaze is cut off, replaced instead by reservation. The words in Sikorth’s mind seem to have the opposite effect Nadeeth than they should have. Instead of reassuring they cause the green to shrink slightly, tucking her wings tightly. «I did not mean to be distracted.» She finally ventures, jus one ribbon now twisting in the wind..

“Aye, because you’re so flame-bent on killing yourself slowly that you don’t notice what’s going on around you.” The brownrider’s tone is resigned more than it holds any sort of bite. Lifting his mug, Cha’el blows at the steam curling from it and takes a careful sip. “Drink.” The order is given quietly along with a jerk of chin to indicate the mug he’d set down on the side table next to K’vvan. Startled when Nadeeth retreats even further, those silky mists go streaming after her ribbons and Sikorth pulls his wing closer about her. « If we are to be strong for ours, then we must take time for ourselves. » The mottled brown asserts.

The half chewed root is finally set aside, and K’vvan’s hands reach for the klah. They shake badly enough that the liquid in the cup sloshes dangerously around, though somehow, the greenrider manages to lift the brew to his lips. Rather than lift the steaming mug to his lips and chance the hot liquid rushing down his chest at an inopportune twitch, K’vvan allows the mug to rest up a leg, both hands still curled around as the warmth seeps into his palms. “I’m not killing myself slowly or fast.” A weak assertion, and he doesn’t look at the brownrider. Nadeeth remains pulled away, allowing just a tiny thread to stay open so she can hear the brown’s words. She is utterly convinced all of this is her personal fault.

“Bullshit,” Cha’el calls it quietly without hesitation and reaches out to close a hand about K’vvan’s, his intention to take the mug from him and lift it to the greenrider’s lips. “You can’t keep this up, K’vv. The next time you wind up six sheets to the wind and passed out, could be in the Bazaar with your throat slit. That what you want for Nadeeth?” « Nadeeth… » The green’s name uttered in a soft susurration of sound filled with unusual compassion and understanding. « We are right where we need to be. » No explanation given.

Only an overwhelming desire to not have that cup of hot poured into his lap has K’vvan finally allowing Cha’el’s presence into his bubble. His hands shake, tremors running down his arms a steady vibration that is hard to see but is easily felt. “Just have to be more careful. Stay in my weyr.” It’s a plan with action attached. Not too bad for this time of night and this kind of condition. Nadeeth does not respond to the whisper, stilling herself to wait. And watch.

Carefully extracting the mug from the curl of K’vvan’s hands, the trembling put down to what must now be a horrific hangover, Cha’el holds its rim to the greenrider’s lips and tilts it slightly in much the same manner he’d attempted with the water earlier. “Its hot,” he needlessly cautions. A few moments of quiet after K’vvan’s assertion in which lips tuck about a disapproving line. “I tried that shit,” drinking himself into oblivion, “it didn’t work. If anything, it made it worse.”

“Not your call to make.” K’vvan sips at the drink, then lowers his hands, hoping that Cha’el does the same or there will be a hot mess in his bed that isn’t named K’vvan. “So far it’s working so you can f*ck off.” Except it has landed K’vvan right on the weyrseconds ledge, not completely able to take care of himself.

“It wasn’t.” Cha’el agrees in the past tense, lowering his steadying hand when K’vvan does his. “Until an hour ago when you wound up on my ledge. Now it is my call to make not only as your Weyrsecond,” yup, there’s the rank card, “but also as your friend. You need help, K’vvan and I’m not so sure sending you back to your place is the clever thing to do right now. So…” there’s a pause as the thought fully formulates itself, “you’re gonna move in with me for a bit. I’ll figure something out for sleeping arrangements.”

F*ck. K’vvan’s eyes lift to rest on Cha’el’s, green orbs meeting sea-blue. “There is no f*cking way I’m staying here.” His voice is dead, though hints of panic bubble upwards as he lays down his own rebuttal to the weyrsecond’s ultimatum. “Nadeeth and I are fine, just stressed like everyone else. Everything under control.” Outside Nadeeth shifts, her own thoughts becoming sharper. «He does not mean it… that K’vvan is to stay?» Her ribbons are a mess, half pale green with hope that maybe this would turn out to something positive, the other half a dark black with fear for her rider, knowing the phobias he deals with.

“You don’t got no choice, K’vv.” Cha’el tells him, meeting that panicked stare dead on. “You either move in with me for a bit or I’ll be forced to have a meeting with Trek.” Probably deemed a bit of a shmuck move but a gamble he’s taking in the hopes of appealing to the younger rider’s sense of duty. “You take the bed tonight and in the morning we’ll go get your stuff and figure sleeping arrangements.” Beyond, on the ledge, even Sikorth is surprised by his rider’s bold move. Enough so that that even the soft sigh of wind between the circled arrangements of monolith’s stills. But then, rummaging through his rider’s mind, he finds a clue and shares it with Nadeeth. « He fears for yours and feels this is the best way to help him. » Another thought chases in. « And you will no longer have to deal with this alone. I will be here. » Quickly adding, « You will of course be free to come and go as you please. »

Rock, meet your hard place, with K’vvan left stranded right in between. His mouth had already opened to continue to plead his case when Cha’el drops one of two names that could stop him in his tracks. “No, don’t tell Trek, please.” That panic is back, and he’s actually reaching out towards Cha’el, the mug now held by one shaking hand rather than two. The reaching only goes half way before K’vvan allows his hand to drop, all of the fire inside of him wilting as if its engine had suddenly been cut. “This is not a good idea. I can’t stay here…” his voice has dropped down to a whisper. «You think this will help? He does not like to be confined.» Here, have an understatement.

It takes everything within Cha’el’s considerable reserve of willpower to hold strong in the face of such withering and not do what he most wants to. With a muscle ticking in his jaw from teeth being so tightly clamped together, the brownrider holds firm to the vow he’d made to K’vvan not all that long ago. “Aye, well I’m not one to have sleepovers so I guess we’re stuck with each other.” In his lap, the hand not currently wrapped about his mug twitches, pressed toward an action of its own accord but then suddenly curls into a white knuckled fist. Sikorth, knowing how intensely private his rider is about his personal space, is a little dubious about the arrangement himself but he’s not about to further alarm Nadeeth by relaying as much. « He will be free to come and go. Within reason. »

“You have a f*king choice.” K’vvan’s shaking hands take the still mostly-full cup of Klah and put it back on the side table next to the ignored food. He’s in no position to see the emotional strain this is taking on the weyrsecond. Only slightly steadier than he had been minutes before K’vvan pushes himself to his feet again, one hand reaching out to steady himself on the bedframe. “If I stay, you’ll not say anything to Trek.” Statement of fact, perhaps making sure that the weyrsecond isn’t about to do something dubious anyway.

“No, I don’t,” Cha’el negates quietly staring down into his mug and forcing his hand to relax. There is more than just K’vvan’s emotional and mental wellbeing, there’s Nadeeth’s too and the Weyr is going to need every fighting pair available in tip-top condition. Sea-blue eyes latch to the greenrider as pushes himself up on wobbly legs. “That’s the deal,” the brownrider agrees on keeping his concerns over K’vvan to himself. “But if you do get yourself this legless again,” excuse the pun, “I can’t guarantee there won’t be repercussions.” Aaaah. A condition to the rooming. There had to be one. “Now finish that klah and for the love of Nadeeth, fucking eat something.”

“I won’t sleep in your bed.” K’vvan feels he has to make some kind of statement, otherwise he’s going to be ceeding all of the control to Cha’el- and that is unacceptable. Underbreath muttering has a vauge suggestion where Cha’el can shove it, though he does reach out and take a piece of bread. Then, slow, deliberate steps with a whole pile of swaying and reaching out to grab solid objects takes K’vvan closer to that fire the weyrsecond has built. Once there he begins the process of lowering himself to the floor, only to have his knees buckle half way though and sending him crashing to his butt. Totally on purpose, okay?

“Wasn’ gonna give it to you,” Cha’el smoothly lies, allowing the greenrider some small measure of ground. “I’ll get a cot or something brought up.” Several times as K’vvan makes his wibbly-wobbly way over to the hearth, the brownrider is of a mind to jump up and steady him but again, he refrains himself from doing so. Instead, he takes up the plate and wanders over to join the greenrider settling down on the ground next to him rather than taking up seating on a chair, the plate set between them. “Reveille is half an hour before dawn. Laps around the lake and then up the stairs to the star stones. One hundred push-ups. Back down the stairs. More laps around the lake and then chin-ups at the Hanging Tree.” Sea-blue eyes sliiiide sideways to monitor K’vvan’s reaction to that little gem.

He’ll be waiting a long while because the effort seems to have drained whatever fear induced energy had infused K’vvan. With his head leaning against the wall and the fire sprinklng warmth upon his body K’vvan has passed out again without once letting the bread, which now slips from his hand to hit the floor, touch his lips.

Watching as K’vvan slowly keels over and the breads falls from his hand, Cha’el exhales a sigh. “Sorry, kid,” he murmurs hunkering down next to the greenrider slipping one arm beneath his thin shoulders and another beneath his knees, “I lied.” About the bed. Although the slighter man has lost more weight than is healthy for his frame, he’s still a fully grown adult male and thus it takes effort to lift him off the ground. With a grunt the brownrider slowly gets to his feet and makes his way back over to the bed. This time, clothing is left in place, the greenrider carefully set down and the blankets pulled up to his chest so that arms are left free. And then, gathering up the klah and replacing it with water, Cha’el sets a bucket next to the bed and quietly goes about lidding the glows in the weyr. That done, boots are shucked, a knitted blanket taken from a closet and he settles himself down in the chair facing the bed. Not long thereafter, he dozes off only to jerk awake a half hour later to set a bleary eye on the younger ‘rider, the rest of the night spent sleeping in fits and starts.

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