Kultir and S'yn


Brooding the night away for the umpteenth time, Iaxryth decides to take matters into his own claws and bring in the one person he's convinced will jolt S'yn from his melancholy. Angst Warning


It is evening of the nineteenth day of the seventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Southern Weyr, Iaxryth's Ledge, and S'yn's weyr.

OOC Date


kultir2.jpg Sytin-Young_Icon.jpg


S'yn's Scintillating Sanctuary

It was a dark and stormy night… Well, it's dark and it's raining, at least. The autumn night enfolds Southern Weyr in a cloak of gray clouds and heavy drops of water, splatting across the denizens of the Weyr with equal prejudice. One such denizen being equanimously soaked by the hovering storm is a copper-pot bright bronze dragon with a frame so sparse it is nearly skeletal, ducking and weaving through the clouds strapless and riderless as keen glowing eyes seek something on the ground below. Spying their intended target, Iaxryth folds his wings and descends with rapidity in a steep dive from those murky mists, talons outstretched to claim his prize. No beast he seeks, but a man, his talons carefully curled to scoop the unsuspecting tracker from his feet as he screeches upward again, like an avian-of-prey with his kill. Wings beat, the sails issuing out a deep sound as the air moves about them, lifting the bare beast up into the clouds again. The bronze takes his catch back to his ledge then, rumbling deep in his chest even as he settles onto his hindquarters to land properly on that wide space, setting Kultir carefully down onto the worn stone. « Perhaps you can rouse him from his melancholy, » the beast muses with the rustle of old pages and crackle of a fire, woodsmoke and extinguished wick wafting through the young man's mind.

The only warning Kultir has of an impending change in his trudging through mud puddles in the drenching rain is a slight change in air pressure above him. Before he can even turn to see the cause of his prickling hairs, he finds himself scooped up in those talons as they wrap carefully around him and sweep him off his feet. The tracker has enough presence of mind not to struggle in that careful grasp but his mind shrieks in panic until he is deposited on that ledge and hears the coppery bronze's voice in his head. Turning, he blinks at Iaxryth in shock as his heart pounds in his chest. "All ye had t' do was ask, sharditall!" he gasps as he runs a hand through his dripping hair. Shaking his head in bemusement, he turns to enter the weyr though he tries to send a thought back to the young bronze. Not sure what I can do but I'll try. Kultir enters the weyr and pauses at the entryway. Dropping his soaked pack near the door, he looks around as he unclasps his sodden cloak to lay across the pack. "Sy? You here?"

Though littered with candles and glowbaskets, the inner sanctum of the young bronzerider's weyr is bereft of light save for the faint gloom that filters in from outside. There is a faintly spicy scent that lingers in the air, like sandalwood and plumeria, bit it is largely washed out by the crisp air of the rain sneaking in from outside. The sound of rain is faint here, but it patters on the ledge to muffle softer sounds within, the rugs scattered across the stone floor further dampening any footfall. Silhouetted in a large, plush wherhide chair, S'yn broods as only young men can, perched sideways in the wide seat with his back slumped against one arm, a too long leg cast over the other and the right leg canted at an angle to rest foot on the rug beneath as he stares up at the ceiling with out of focus eyes of bourbon. The sound of the tracker's voice filters in dimly through the youth's awareness, earning a frown as it is perceived more as a phantom than actual. "And now I'm hallucinating. That's just brilliant."

Kultir shakes his head slightly as he hears the young man's voice and moves further into the weyr, glancing around at the interior of his friend's weyr. "I dunno about hallucinations but I can come drip on you to prove I'm pretty substantial." He moves to where he can grin down at the younger man as his arms cross over his chest, his eyes glittering down at the youth ensconced in the leather chair. There's the hint of a grin tugging at his lips as he keeps his gaze on his young brother. "So … can you tell me just why your bronze decided he needed to stoop down on me like I was a plump herdbeast and carry me off to your weyr?"

"I suppose telling you that's exactly what my hallucination would say to convince me would imply I'm clever enough to trick myself." The brooding bronzerider peers up at the tracker, amber eyes lacking in their usual warm glow and more haunted than when the boy Impressed. The glistening of water on the cloak and the actual dripping of that carried in rain makes S'yn sigh, still on the fence about whether or not he is experiencing an hallucination or not. "I don't know," he finally answers, pushing himself upright in the chair and coming to his feet, though he has to put a hand on Kultir's sternum to push the man out of his way. Their height difference is almost negligible now, the boy as tall as his mentor though still fairly sparse on bulk. "I suppose if you're not a hallucination then I ought to offer you a drink." A firestriker is fished off a nearby counter and one of the large pillar candles lit, providing a little bit of cozy light to the room, several more ignited as he makes his way over to the icebox to rummage. "Water? Juice? Cold klah?" He inquiry is made with his back to the tracker as he crouches in front of the open door to see what he has.

Kultir raises an eyebrow as the younger unfolds from the chair, the height a little surprising since he hasn't seen the youth in a while. At the touch of the other's hand on his chest, he steps back to allow the younger man to pass. "I suppose it would. But, since I'm not a hallucination … I'd love a drink." He listens to the offers and shrugs with a slight grimace. "Well, I guess anything is fine since you haven't anything stronger than that." A wry grin is given as he considers the option of keeping a flask on his person like the Weyrsmith does.

S'yn snorts softly at the tracker's comeback, still not entirely convinced. "Actually I do, but I didn't think you'd want something stronger." Closing the icebox the young rider unfurls again to go rummaging in another cabinet, pulling out a tall bottle of amber liquid that catches the candlelight brilliantly as it sloshes around inside gently. "Aaron gave it to me as a graduation gift, but I doubt I'll get around to it anytime soon." He moves to another cabinet and pulls out a crystal tumbler, setting it on the countertop and uncorking the sealed bottle with a little effort. Several fingers of the spiced rum are poured out and the glass offered to Kultir. "Don't spill any on the rug." Unlike the brightly colored liquid the teenager's eyes are darkened from depression, his mood far more forlorn than the last time the pair of them interacted.

Kultir echoes that snort with one of his own as he shakes his head at the youth. "And why would I not want something stronger? At the very least it'll warm me up a bit after being out in the rain for so long." Accepting the tumbler, he nods his thanks with a smile as he lifts it to sip the amber liquid. "Mmm … that's good. Thanks." Gesturing gently with the hand holding the glass, he takes in the whole weyr. "Nice place you got here. A bit bigger than Kalea's weyr." Stepping carefully back to where he'd found his brother seated and waits for the bronzerider. "Come sit down and talk to me, eh? From the look on your face, something's up and you're not talking to anyone about it."

"True," S'yn admits after a moment of thought. "Guess a phantom wouldn't need warming." The bottle is sealed and left to rest on the counter in case the tracker wants more, the youth going to get himself a more suitable mug to pour some iced klah into, deciding he needs the stimulant for his wits. "You're welcome," he responds habitually, putting the container of klah back into the icebox to close and keep cold before coming to sink back into the large chair, gesturing in half invitation to the ridiculously long wherhide couch that sits roughly across from his plush perch. "I'm not really sure what you're talking about, Kul," he murmurs a little flatly, taking a sip of his cup. "I've just been doing my duty to Pern, after all."

At the half-hearted invitation, Kultir sinks into the embrace of that long couch to slouch comfortably. He frowns slightly at his brother's comment and takes a long drink of that spiced rum, savoring the burn as it slides down into his stomach. "Well… you're sitting here moping. Your bronze decides to snatch me out of the middle of the bowl after I've finally gotten in from trudging through the mud and rain damn near all day. I get called a hallucination instead of the greeting I'm used to getting from you." He cocks a shoulder at the younger man as he peers across the intervening space. "So… tell me what's chewing your tail. Maybe I can help."

Slouching in that overlarge chair, S'yn frowns at the tracker from behind his mug, taking a long drink of the iced klah as he considers how to reply to person he considered his best friend for the longest time. "Iaxryth does strange things for his own reasons. I apologize for his… presumption." The youth decides that's a good word for it, taking another drink before letting the cup come and rest on the side of his knee as his leg cants. "I have a bath if you'd like to get clean?" He glances up and down the long frame, the elder male having put in more height and muscle since he last saw Kultir but suspecting he might have something to fit him in, like his robe. "Given that you came out of nowhere and can't get here on your own, you can't blame me for thinking you an illusion." The bronzerider sighs softly. "The only thing chewing my tail is how I'm going to keep my skin intact come the next Fall, which I doubt you can help with."

Kultir waves off the apology with a soft chuckle rumbling in his throat. "No big deal. Scared the piss out of me but otherwise I'm not harmed." He cocks his head at the offer of a bath, seriously considering it since it would let him get warm and clean without having to deal with the crowds in the weyrbaths. Grinning at the younger man, he sips the rum again as he sees the other sizing him up. "I can understand why you'd think that, Sy. But I'm real and I'm here." When the bronzerider finally gets around to explaining, the tracker nods slightly in understanding. "Hmm, yeah… I can't really help that, not being a rider and all. But you've been through training, you've got drills that give you practice… you're smart, Sy. Do what you know how to do and pray Faranth that Thread doesn't get as smart as you."

"Well, since you're real and here, why don't you get clean and dry, rather than soaking my couch?" S'yn inquires, taking another drink of his mug before pushing up out of the chair again to head toward the bathing room tucked in the back. "I hope to Faranth you're right about my being smart… more than likely I'm just lucky. And that always runs out eventually. Just ask any Bitran." The youth snags one of the plain but fluffy towels from the shelves in the bathing alcove, waving it at the tracker. "C'mon, I could use a hot bath anyway. I feel like the storm is cleaning to my skin." He tromps back into the bathing chamber to set out a pair of towels and some of his sweetsand for them to use before sliding over to the sleeping alcove instead, the natural cave system giving the bedroom a good measure of privacy that is further cordoned off by a heavy drape. He emerges naked after a few moments, a robe in hand. "Here, you can wrap up in this afterward. Shouldn't be too snug on you."

Kultir laughs softly at the not so subtle request and nods. "Sure luck runs out but I think you are smart enough to keep your hide intact, little brother." Pushing himself off the couch, he deposits his tumbler of liquor on the table and starts peeling his sodden clothing off. Tossing the garments over his pack and cloak, the tall tracker is soon stark naked and snags the robe from the other man as he strolls toward the bathing chamber. "Your bath is big enough for both of us, I guess?" Entering into the bathing chamber, he slips into the pool and heaves a sigh of relief as the hot water starts soaking into his chilled flesh. "Oh, that's nice. It's been miserable out there today. Did you have drills at all or were they rained out?"

S'yn snorts softly at that. "We'll see. If I don't come back one day we'll know that I wasn't." The robe is released as Kultir snags it from him, the younger man following the better built tracker into the bathing room. "Almost big enough to bathe my dragon," he jokes, though a little flatly. Indeed the tub is large enough to host a handful of people, as if it were intended for use as a party feature rather than simply bathing. The young bronzerider is soon to follow the elder boy into the tub, groaning as the water soaks into his body, feeling the weight of Turns he doesn't even possess yet. "We tried earlier in the day when the rain wasn't as bad, but the visibility is so bad that we gave up after a few near collisions." He sinks down up to his neck in the fluid, letting it swirl around him as the natural hot springs send the water washing about their frames. "It's raining so heavily now that any Thread would just drown… thank Faranth."

Kultir feels a cold wash roll through his body at the rather morbid joke of his brother. "Hey… don't even joke like that, okay? It's bad enough I have to say goodbye to Kalea and you every Fall, I'd rather not think about either of you not coming back." The amber eyes darken as tears mist them and his tone thickens with emotion. He sighs softly, trying to relax from that sudden tensing of his muscles in alarm as the other man explains the attempts of the wings to drill.

The rather emotional response of the tracker is enough to make S'yn wince with regret. "Okay… Okay. I'm sorry." He sits up to reach for the satchel of sweetsand and offers it to his companion. "Here, why don't you scrub the muck from your skin. You'll feel better." He puts the focus on Kultir instead of himself, hoping the elder teen will drop the line of conversation, his own mind still turning morbidly. Eyes go out of focus as his dragon inserts himself abruptly into his internal monologue, making him frown deeply, brow furrowing in an irritated scowl that doesn't really suit his young features. Finally he sighs with a soft expression of disgust that he smooths away hurriedly, returning to his shelf to perch and just soak in some warmth in relative silence.

Kultir accepts the pouch with a nod as he manages a smile at the younger man. "Thanks. I might, but I doubt it." The tracker drops the line of the conversation as he ducks beneath the water to wet his hair with the warm water before surfacing to dig a handful of sand out to scrub into his scalp. Peering at the younger man as he works the lather up through the golden strands of his hair, he watches the changing expressions as the youth speaks to his bronze. When the other's expression clears, he tilts his head in curiosity. "So… tell me why exactly you are worried that you won't keep your hide intact, Sy? You know I won't let it drop… not till I help you start feeling better." Feeling the lather start to drip down his back and around his face, he slips down to rinse the foam from his long tresses. Surfacing pretty quickly, he strips his hands through his hair to slick it back on his head before taking more soapsand to scrub at his arms and chest.

"Why won't you feel better?" S'yn asks in a faintly puzzled tone, knowing that being clean after a long day of being dirty usually improves his mood. The question from the tracker earns a scowl, irritation flaring in the teen as Kultir keeps pressing the issue. "Flaming shells, you're just as bad as Vorick." Arms fold over his chest in defiance, though the youth doesn't seem to have the muscle to back up his stance, his lanky frame still shooting up rather than filling out. "I'm worried because all around me I see death and injuries? Because the reality of the situation is that dragonriding isn't glorious or grand, it's gritty and gruesome." The muscles in his body tense in an emotionally fueled flight or fight response, amber eyes darkening to a burnt sienna as his tone grows more sharp. "Would you like me to spell out all the potentially horrific ways I could die, perhaps in order of severity and pain?"

Kultir shrugs his broad shoulders as he scrubs, a grimace crossing his features. "I just won't." He closes his lips on what he wants to say, knowing the younger man won't understand the difficulties the tracker has had to deal with and wanting to concentrate on helping his brother. He raises an eyebrow at the mention of the other's foster father and almost smiles at the defiant stance the youth tries to adopt. At the rather tense and emotional response, he nods slightly and works at scrubbing his lower portions after he hefts himself up on the edge of the pool. "Ahh, yeah. I can understand that. No, you don't have to spell it out. I know all too well the different ways a man can die." The tracker sighs as some of the ways a dragonrider could die flit through his mind again. "At least with a flaming dragon, you have a fighting chance. Us ground-bound types don't always have that chance." As he slips from the edge, he drops beneath the water to rinse and hope that the water and his movement masks the shudder that runs through him at the close call he'd had during the last groundcrew duty he had pulled.

S'yn's fists clench tightly below the water line, digging his nails into the flesh of his palms as he tries to rein in the anger that has risen up in response to his fear, his muscles trembling with the tension he's holding and sending ripples outward from his body as it fairly vibrates with want for a suitable outlet. "Then maybe you should stop asking fardling stupid questions." Unable to contain his irritation in the presence of the tracker the youth pushes himself off the ledge and stalks over to where he can egress from that pool, snatching up his towel as soon as his feet are on the floor, body moving with the finesse of a prowling feline in his ire. He stomps out of the bathing chamber and back into the living area of the weyr, dripping across the rugs and floor as he goes to stand at the very edge of where the rain still patters on the sheltered portion of the ledge, Iaxryth crooning at his frustrated rider with obvious worry.

Kultir startles at the ire coming from his brother and watches in shock as the younger man leaves the pool and snatches his towel before stalking out of the chamber. Heaving a sigh, he moves out of the pool and grabs his towel to wrap around himself and follow the younger man out to the main area of the weyr. Spotting the tall youth near the entry, he moves silently in that direction and rests his hands on the younger's shoulders as his fingers squeeze gently in reassurance. "Hey, Sy… you and me don't fight like this. Come on, man… it's obvious we both got stuff going on that the other isn't privy to so… let's talk, eh?" He tries to get the other youth to turn to face him, still amazed at how much taller his friend has gotten in the short time that they have been separated.

"Why'd you go and put your snout where it didn't belong, you toothless wher?" S'yn grouses at the burnished bronze, shoving at the rain-slicked snout trying to nuzzle him in comfort. "If you hadn't brought him here we wouldn't be fighting." So focused on his interaction with Iaxryth, the youth doesn't hear Kultir's silent approach and nearly decks the elder teen as he whirls about in startlement, the fight response invoked as all his body quivers, the towel dropping away at the sudden twisting to leave him nude. Fists are curled and his chest heaves, jaw clenched and teeth gritted as he looks up the few inches necessary to glower at the man he has called brother. "You go out into the jungle for months at a time, you never come by, you never share my table, even Aleile doesn't see you much, and now you suddenly want to be best friends again?" Arms trembles with effort as he makes himself drop his hands and unclench his fists. "I know you have better things to do than listen to the rambling of a boy, Kul."

Kultir doesn't pull away as the other spins about but he's ready should the younger man actually punch him. Once his brother drops his hands, the tracker bends carefully to pick up the other's towel to offer it to his friend before looking back into those mirror eyes. The older boy's expression flickers between sullenness and sadness, unable to settle on a single emotion. His gaze drops as the youth's rant continues, his head nodding slightly in agreement. "You're right… I got no right to be here. According to some… no right to be in anyone's weyr much less Southern Weyr. But I still love you, Sy. You're still my brother… even if we aren't best friends." Lifting his eyes and hands once more, he meets his friend's gaze as his hands rest on the broadening shoulders of the younger man before pulling the other into a gentle hug. "I'm sorry, Sy… for everything."

The younger teen takes the towel from the elder when it is offered, though his movements are stiff with the tension still bunching up the wiry muscle S'yn does carry. Habitual movements have him wrapping the cloth about his waist and tucking it into itself to hold it about his slight frame, listening to the response being offered critically, his mind whirling with the force of the emotions running through his troubled psyche. The offer of love — a genuine offer near as the boy can tell — and the gentle touches start to break down the barrier of resistance the bronzerider had thrown up to protect himself from everyone around him, but when Kultir hugs him that wall truly crumbles after a moment's pause. The slim arms curl around the tracker's thicker frame as the former Smith's cheek comes to rest on his brother's shoulder, tears leaking out to dampen their flesh as a soft sob escapes the young male, words eluding him as his throat tightens shut.

Despite being unsure of how the youth would react, Kultir wraps his arms around the slender frame in a loving hug. His eyes close as he just holds the younger man in that brotherly embrace though one hand slips up to caress the damp hair. "It's okay, Sy… it'll be okay." The tracker's eyes close against the burn of his own tears as he does his best to comfort the youth. His jaw clenches as he swallows hard, the older youth feeling his own barriers wavering as his memory sparks images of everything he and his brother have been through together. "Come on… let's go sit down on the couch. You can cry on my shoulder if you need to… maybe I'll cry on yours." His voice is thick and hoarse with the emotions roiling through him.

Those gentle comforts are accepted as S'yn's emotions overflow from that internal pressure cooker he'd been keeping them stuffed into, trembling like a leaf in the wind as the tracker holds him close. "O-okay," he agrees unsteadily after several swallows to get his throat working again. Legs work stiffly once he legs go of Kultir to half stumble to the long wherhide couch, benumbed brain processing the empty tumbler on mostly subconscious level and redirecting him to the bottle of rum still on the counter before he finally does settle on the couch, offering it to the elder teen. "Here." He briefly considers imbibing several swallows of it, wondering how bad his head will ache on the morrow. The notion is weighed but not acted on yet as no decision is made, the rider simply settling on the couch, half in his companion's lap as he seeks the comfort his brother has extended to him. "I'm scared, Kul," he admits in a very quiet voice, looking up into the mirror gaze with eyes glossed with tears. "P-promise me something…" He gnaws at his lower lip for a moment. "Promise me… you'll take care of Ali if… if I don't come back."

Kultir follows his brother to the couch and settles into the leather cushions as the other man retrieves the bottle of rum. Accepting that bottle, he sets it on the table beside them so that he can pour it out when he's ready. As the youth settles half in his lap, he wraps his arms around the younger man gently as he looks down into those amber eyes that are so similar to his own. "I know you are, Sy. I promise. She's like my little sister, of course I'll take care of her should anything happen to you. But you'll come back… you and Iaxaryth are a good pair from all I've heard." Smiling down at his friend, he presses his lips to the youth's forehead as if he was as small as Rikus before pulling the other's head to his shoulder and resting his cheek on the soft crown. His eyes close as a bitterness rises within him at his lack of a dragon so that he could join his brother and give him at least a little support.

S'yn swallows hard against the persistent tightness in his throat, though the promise eases some of the worry clenching about his internal organs. "Thank you," he breathes, tongue slipping out to moisten his dry lips as his throat works again. The vote of confidence means a lot to the younger teen, and his lips manage to quirk into an almost smile, though the expression quickly falls again. Eyes drop closed at that gentle, brotherly kiss, nostrils flaring with the soft but ragged breath moving from the rider's lungs as he leans against the tracker's shoulder, not caring if his frame is entirely to long to be curled up like a child's, though his legs are mostly stretched out over the long seat. Thoughts whirl through his head as they sit there in silence, listening to the sound of the rain pattering on the ledge and bathed in the soft glow of the slowly burning candles. A chill runs through the boy and nets a shivering, making him huddle closer against Kultir for support. "I love you too, Kul."

Kultir keeps one arm curled close around the youth as he reaches out with the other to pour several fingers of rum into his tumbler. Setting the bottle down he takes up the tumbler and takes a long drink before offering the liquor to his friend. "You're welcome, little brother." He sighs softly as he strokes the youth's back comfortingly when he feels that shiver run through the younger's body. "I know you're scared but… we just have to do what our job is, even if we are scared. I know you can do what you've been trained to do, Sy. You have to trust your training as well as yourself." He claims the glass back from the other youth and takes a long swallow as he tries to still the shudder that is trying to run through his own tense muscles.

When he is offered the tumbler of rum is offered to him, S'yn looks at it for a long moment before lifting his hand and taking a swallow of the strong alcohol. It burns though the spiced blend is well mixed, so he doesn't immediately spit it out and manages to even swallow, the warmth of it settling into his belly and helping to dispel a little of the cold knot settled there like a frozen iron ball. The youth clears his throat after swallowing with a little cough, nodding at the encouragement. "You're right." Tongue darts over his lips and he swallows his own spit to wash down that oily feeling left in his mouth, relinquishing the glass and letting his legs relax out straight, leaning on the arm of the couch. "Will you stay here tonight?" he asks softly, realizing he doesn't want to be alone tonight.

Kultir smiles as he watches the youth take that swallow and nods as the other manages to swallow that one mouthful. As his friend asks for his company for the night, he frowns slightly in thought before nodding. "Yeah, I'll stay with you, Sy. If Iaxaryth could let Ryadranth know, I'd appreciate it. I don't want Kalea thinking I drowned on the way back from my bath and supper." He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pats the youth's back gently. His glance goes to his still sodden pack and wonders if the clothing inside might still be dry after getting drenched so thoroughly. "At least I have a clean set of clothes with me… provided they are still dry."

The amber eyes go out of focus as S'yn communes with his lifemate for a few moments before a faintly sheepish smile tugs at his lips once his gaze sharpens again. "Iax says he told Ryadranth you were here when he captured you. I guess he didn't want Kalea to worry… or maybe he just wants to stay on Ryadranth's good side." He bites his lip in worry that the bronze might chase the lime-colored dragon the next time she rises, though the youth shakes his head slightly to clear the notion away. "Well, you might fit some of my lounging trous, though they'll be a bit short. Worst case, anyway." The bronzerider shrugs slightly at that and pushes himself out of the tracker's lap so the elder can check his pack should he wish, moving to go and claim some clothing for himself out of his wardrobe. "We can take you back down in time for breakfast in the morning. Probably will have drills if the weather lets up anyway."

Kultir chuckles softly and shakes his head at the younger man, amusement suffusing his expression. "I guess I should have figured as much." As his friend pushes himself out of his lap, he lifts a hand to ruffle the youth's hair affectionately before standing himself to check his pack. "Yeah… I think I'll need something to sleep in. All I've got is clothes for tomorrow at best." Crouching next to his pack, he slides the wet clothes and cloak to the floor so the pack can be unfastened and rummaged through. Clean tunic and leather trous are pulled from the depths of the pack and are shaken slightly. "Ahh, good. Just a little damp but that'll dry by morning, I'm sure. I'd appreciate the ride back down… I've got to go to flamethrower drills if the weather is good tomorrow. Faranth help me not get singed." Glancing around, he finds a place to drape his tunic and trous so that the dampness will dry out before morning.

S'yn rubs the back of his neck with an expression of sheepish chagrin. "Clearly Iax has been making plans without me." His hand drops as he slips into the bedroom and pulls out two pairs of lounging trous, pulling one pair on himself after a quick swiping of the towel against his lower half to remove the lingering moisture. "Here," he offers, trading Kultir the trous in favor of taking the slightly damp garments from the tracker. The trous he drapes over his writing desk chair and the tunic he takes back to put on a wooden hanger and hang on the outside of his dresser off one of the knobs. Kultir's cloak is hung on his cloak rack near the entrance so it can at least dry by morning before the rider is satisfied with the arrangement. "You'd better not get singed…" He glances toward the elder teen with a wry chuckle. "You'd look pretty funny without eyebrows." The youth's mood has improved somewhat, allowing him to at least crack a few jokes at his brother.

Kultir grins as the younger man hands him the trous and nods slightly. "Thanks." Tugging the towel off his hips, he tosses it over his shoulder and slips into the loose trous that fit him fairly well though a little tighter than he likes for sleeping in. He laughs softly at the joke and shrugs. "Hey, at least if I'm singed in drills the Healers are right there… a lot different if we're out at the site of Fall where those idiots panic and forget what we learned in drills and practice." As soon as he ties those trous around his waist, he takes up the tumbler once more and drains it in one gulp. He looks at the bottle and considers one more glass and sets it down with a wry expression on his face since it's the first time he's not had at least half a bottle before bed.

"Yeah… Drills are one thing, but when you're out in the actual chaos…" S'yn trails off, letting the ramifications remain unsaid. The teen glances at the bottle, following the tracker's own gaze toward that golden liquid and almost contemplating another swallow himself, the lingering warmth in his center better than the cold, hard knot that has been his omnipresent companion for so many months. "How're the twins?" he inquires somewhat abruptly, realizing he hasn't asked Kultir about what's going on with him and feeling abruptly bad about that oversight. As he listens he busies himself in cleaning up, a habit made while a Weyrling sticking with the youth for now, the mug rinsed out with a little water from the bath and put away for use in the morning. The bottle and tumbler are picked up and carried over to where they originated, the rider pouring a couple fingers of the liquid on a lark before stowing the bottle, snuffing the candles and heading back toward the bedroom with the tumbler and glowbasket.

Kultir snorts softly at the unspoken consequences and nods slightly. At the abrupt change of subject, the older youth smiles and shrugs one shoulder. "They are growing. Still look exactly the same until it's changing time. The nannies say they are almost always happy and that they've got appetites the likes they haven't seen before. Guess they take after me in that regard." A slight blush colors the young man's cheeks as he follows his friend toward the bedroom, wondering if he shouldn't just bed down on the long couch since it looks long enough to accommodate his length.

The bed proves to be large enough and long enough to accommodate both their long, lean frames with room to spare, a thick mattress set atop an ornate wood frame in an antiqued klah finish, topped with cool cotton sheets and a fluffy comforter to ward off the draft. "I'm glad to hear they're doing well," S'yn replies as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed, clearly not giving their sleeping arrangements any unusual thought as he pats the bed beside him in invitation with an innocent smile. "I'll have to try and make some time to see them on one of my rest days." He bites his lower lip briefly. "Er… if that's okay with you and Kalea, anyway." The lightly tanned features darken with a mildly embarrassed blush. "C'mon, it's getting late." A careful swallow of the rum is taken, the youth hoping it might help him get to sleep along with the comfort present company offers. "Iaxryth will make sure we're up in time."

Kultir admires the sleeping area as he slips beyond the curtain and smiles at his friend. "You're more than welcome to visit them. You're their uncle, didn't you know that?" He chuckles as he settles onto the edge of the bed a bit hesitantly and tosses a glance at the closed curtain as he bites his lower lip. "I can bed down on the couch… you know, if you're not comfortable sharing your bed with me. I doesn't bother me but… I've been having nightmares so I might end up thrashing around a bit." He shrugs slightly in embarrassment, his cheeks darkening slightly.

"I did not," S'yn admits, surprise coloring his expression though a faint smile tugs at his lips after a moment. "I'm a bit young to be an uncle, but… I'll try to be a good role model." Another swallow of the rum is taken, the tumbler offered to Kultir in an effort to be polite. "Why wouldn't I be comfortable sharing my bed with my brother?" he inquires with obvious naiveté. "I was hoping your company would help keep my own nightmares at bay for a change." He chuckles softly, the sound faintly rueful. "I guess some things really don't change… We're both still having nightmares, even after Candidacy." The teen shakes his head slightly and reaches up with his free hand to pull the covers down. "Maybe we'll keep the nightmares at bay for each other," he suggests in a faintly hopeful tone.

Kultir chuckles softly and shrugs as he slips down beneath the covers, propping himself up on his elbow and grinning at the younger man. "It don't matter if you're young… they're just babies, all they want right now is to be loved. Worry about the age difference when they are talking and walking." He shrugs slightly once more, a chagrinned smile curling his lips at the question. "Well, you know… couple guys sharing the same bed… morning wood and the fact that I'm used to cuddling Kalea when I sleep… don't want you getting the wrong idea." The older youth laughs softly and yawns hugely as he rolls onto his back. "Mmm… maybe we will. I might actually get a full nights sleep… though I warn you, you might end up with a permanent bedmate out of it if I do." He winks at his brother before he curls up neatly on his side though he doesn't close his eyes for a while, waiting to see the younger man's reaction.

S'yn grins softly at the assertion that the twins just want love. "Well, I think I can give them that… or try to?" The rider polishes the tumbler of rum and sets it on his nightstand to worry about in the morning, the several shots of liquor in his belly giving him an unusual warmth and a sort of sloshy relaxed feeling. It makes it easy to laugh softly at the explanation being given, rather than feel embarrassed by it. "Heh… Sorry, Kul, you're a good looking fellow and all, but that's just not my style." He covers the glowbasket then slips beneath the covers himself and thumps the pillows about until they are comfortable for his head, curling arms around them to hug the stuffed object close, the coolness of the cover pleasant against his cheek. "If you keep my nightmares away then I don't care if you sleep with me every night," he murmurs, the alcohol and fatigue catching up to him quickly now that he's horizontal. "Mmm… G'night Kul…" He yawns at the end of the sentence, the breath trailing out into a sigh as he spirals down into slumber.

Kultir chuckles softly at the rejoinder as his grin fades to a gentle smile. "Well, that's good. Wouldn't want to mess up our friendship with a misunderstanding." He tucks his arm beneath the pillow as he cradles it and lays his head down more comfortably. "Hmm… I hope I can let you sleep one night without nightmares… maybe I will too." His voice trails off as he sighs deeply, a yawn catching him off-guard and sending a shiver through his body. "Mmm… Night, Sy…" His eyes drift closed once more as he sighs once more and slips deeper into sleep.

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