==== September 21, 2013
==== Sienna, Cullen
==== When Sienna is placed on bed rest orders, Cullen comes to visit. And confuses the hell out of Sienna. Again.

Who Sienna, Cullen
What When Sienna is placed on bed rest orders, Cullen comes to visit. And confuses the hell out of Sienna. Again.
When There is 1 turn 2 months and 3 days until the 12th pass.
Where The Watchman's Barbican

The Watchman's Barbican
Broad and unyielding, the tough exterior of draconic fortresses must always have a defensible entrance: here, the stone's proud outthrust from the Weyr's curving wall is reminiscent of a ship's prow cleaving the sky, defiant and proud; the surface long scored by both weather and centuries of dragons' skilled landing yet retains its deep sand-brown warmth, eschewing the flashier blends that may be seen elsewhere. Instead, what it lacks in flash, it more than makes up for in sheer magnitude, drawing down the sun's unflinching rays to reflect warmly back upon its resident, a faint bluish cast winking subtly among the darker slate patterns marring — nay, softening — the edges of a stiff and unbending formality.


A chilly, rainy evening makes for a perfect time to stay inside, warm and snuggled on the couch. Unless you're /forced/ to stay inside, warm and snuggled on the couch, and then it sucks. While the rain slicks the steps that lead to the weyrleader's weyr, the ledge is barren of dragons, W'rin and Valiuth off on sweeps and Kehemath elsewhere. A warm glow from the hearth fire lights the main cavern, and Sienna is bundled up in blankets on the wide, rustic couch, staring into the flames.

News has a way of spreading, in a tight-knit community, and with the spread of news, inevitably will it also attract… well. Bad news. It might be more dramatic with a bolt of lightning outside to throw his shadow violently into the heart of the weyr, but sadly… this is real life. Cullen manages less menacing and more wet-dog, lurking in the doorway for a moment in something as close as you will probably ever see this man… uncertain. He actually, at one moment, turns like he might stalk back off into the storm and then turns back again and pats an open hand against the wall to announce himself. "Oya."

Sienna startles - darn lack of dragons - and turns, eyes widening at the wet and shadowy /figure/ lurking in the entrance. "Cullen." It's a statement, surprised. Nervous. Uncertain, yes. The fire casts an orange glow against pale cheeks, her body given over to the pregnancy and the massive belly that is inescapable despite the blankets around her. Brown eyes dart around and with a sinking in the pit of her stomach she realizes she's alone. She really needs to get a dog. "What are you doing here?" Last she heard, he was in the brig. She didn't go visit.

If Cullen notices the anxiety of Sienna's gaze, he doesn't give much response to it. It wouldn't really be Cullen if he did. He only remains in the doorway, coming in no further, and levelly watching the woman. "Heard they put you up." It's — a statement. But it could be a question. Especially as it's followed up with the grim glance at the tell-tale lump beneath her blankets.

Sienna shifts both of her hands over her belly and nods. "They did," she says, a soft answer. "Said I was working too hard and it was putting a strain on the baby." Plus she was so tired she was falling asleep at her desk. She hesitates and then takes a slow breath. "Why don't you come in out of the rain, Cullen." See, A'lory? She's trying!

For a moment, Cullen doesn't move. He just lurks there, leaning against the wall and gazing steadily at Sienna. Weighing, maybe looking for so many small signs that he's long-since known to look for. Then, he - leans forward? Almost like he's thinking of spitting on the ground, or looking down at his shoes. It would take a moment to realize this is a slight bow, managing to lack sarcasm if also lacking flourish or grace, the same movement pulling him away from the wall and into the weyr. From this point, he's not looking at the greenrider - his attention is focused hearthward, where he kneels at the fire. "That all the Healers said?"

Sienna looks a little startled at the bow, brows lifting behind messy, unkempt curls. Sienna does not look like her sister. Her body has not been consumed by this pregnancy. She looks tired and worn, but she is not vanishing before his eyes. Her belly is massive, her body padded with extra fat, feet and hands swollen so much that her weyrmating ring is on a silver chain around her neck. She watches him settle by the hearth and glances around, automatically towards the table where bread and cheeses are set out - things her baker apprentice delivered not too long ago. But she doesn't offer them yet. "That, and that I needed to rest, and that it'd be soon. And that I was one of the biggest they'd ever seen." There's a grimace for that, a worried look at her massive stomach. It makes her look tiny.

Reflexively, Cullen is maintaining the fire as he has so many times before, in another life. How a woman they both knew and loved liked it. "—could it be two?" He asks like they're talking shop, and are discussing how best to salvage a batch of bloomyrind cheeses that have ripened too far.

Sienna watches those movements, and she notices how he's tending it. She recognizes them, the movements and the outcome. It clenches her heart and she has to look away. "It could, I suppose," she admits. No denying she hasn't considered that, "but the Healers say no. They've only heard one heartbeat. They think it's one." One /huge/ one.

"Nor is thy man," Cullen goes on as though he hadn't heard her - though of course, he must have, "A small man." A log topples over, sending up a snarling ratchet of rough bark and sizzling embers. It's a sound oddly reminiscent of Cullen's own voice. "His family?" So much unsaid by it. So much that needs no saying, in this small tenuous truce - is there tragedy, in W'rin's family. Do the women live long, once they become mothers.

Sienna shakes her head, glancing towards the door. "No, he is not." There's a long pause and a soft exhale of breath. Something /comforting/ in Cullen's questions. Someone who understands, like no one else has. Someone who knows - possibly shares - Sienna's worries that others have just shrugged off. His presence is comforting and that causes Sienna confusion and unease, in a paradox typical of her interactions with this man. "His mother birthed three large, healthy sons." She doesn't know if the woman still lives, but if she doesn't, her death was not caused by childbirth. Sienna shifts on the couch, adjusting a pillow at her back to make herself more comfortable, and then her hands rub over her belly once more.

"Fffffff," Cullen runs a hand over his face and, after a moment, deigns to crouch back on his hunkers. Weather-beaten and graying, dyed savage orange by the fire light, he could be cast against a backdrop of any harsh wild landscape as easily. But here, indoors, he's… misplaced and at odds. His gaze soon roving the weyr interior, even if he remains where he is. The movement of Sienna's hand drops his eyes back to her belly. The elephant in the room - though probably not a polite thing to call a pregnant woman. His gaze is not warm, nor soft. "Too late to back out now." Not accusative - it's a fact. Just said bluntly between them.

Sienna nods her agreement with that fact. It's one she's often repeated to herself these last few months. "Yes. At this point, what happens, happens." And there's a shrug, a resignation that this was the path she chose. And she chose it well knowing what she would be risking. No doubt there is fear in her, but there is nothing to be done but accept it and push through. Good practice for threadfall, perhaps.

"Couldn't be satisfied just getting a fucking canine." Cullen STATES, abruptly, towards the fire.

Sienna frowns sharply, chin lifting. "Are you upset with me?" she asks, just as abrupt.

Cullen turns, his dead mudflat-brown eyes meeting Sienna's, "What would you have of me, Sienna of Blacksands."

Sienna blinks at him twice, before her gaze steadies, meeting his eyes without looking away. "Of you?" What exactly is he offering? "The truth," she replies.

Cullen laughs. It's a grim ratchet, and does not merit a smile. "Of that, greenrider, you've always had of me." He shakes his head, "You've chosen a hard path. It's one Mir chose as well. Twice on me. It isn't mine to choose for you." He takes in a slow breath, eyes narrowed. "But it's not one I'll rush to celebrate. —survive this birth. And ask me this again."

Sienna nods. She does have to admit, she has always had the truth from him - like it or not. "I will." Survive the birth? Or ask the question? She doesn't clarify. Her dark eyes turn to stare at the fire, one hand reaching to rub her other wrist. Where she always wears her sister bracelet - until recently when she had to take it off before it cut into her circulation.

For a long while, that's all then. Cullen scrubs at his wet hair, falling forward from his downturned brow in greying clumps. Is he… stalling? A low grumbling sound rises up eventually from the back of his throat, "Right." And he pushes down on his knees to stand.

Sienna watches him as he lingers. "Is…was that all?" she asks, quiet. Almost…gentle. "There's food on the table, if you'd like." She'd usually serve him - any guest - but…she's stuck on the couch.

Cullen glances to the food, his flat animal eyes always somehow hungry and vaguely strung out. But after a moment of blank(?) staring he decides on, "I'll pass." Because he's THAT generous, right? He walks towards Sienna, on her bed, his head tipped down. And - after a moment of looking down at her, he opens up his fingers and presses their splayed tips so slightly down against the bump that is Sienna's abdomen. Gazing down at it. Then, he turns away. And heads for the door. "Don't die, little sister," he murmur over the distant sound of pouring rain. And it has a foul laugh to accompany it. "Not yet."

Either that or he doesn't like her cheese. Sienna's gaze lifts when he approaches the couch, watching him cautiously. This has been a nice conversation but turns of animosity are hard to just set aside, no matter how hard she's trying. She holds herself still when he touches her belly, the baby within kicking in response - or maybe just a coincidence. "I'll try not to," she answers quietly. Not yet. That earns a low, humorless laugh. No. Not yet. She can't die for so selfish a cause as birthing a child. If she is to die it will be in threadfighting glory, yes?

It's a conundrum Cullen sadly won't be answering. And possibly for more reasons than that it's a question he hasn't been asked. He looks a little agitated when Sienna's baby kicks him, frowning hugely down at it like it might try further funny business. Watch it, tiny, tiny asshole. Without another word, then, he's turning to stalk off into the rain. He's lit up for one moment by a silent flicker of lightning. And by the time it's gone dark, the thunder rolls in and the weyr is rid of him once more.

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