Who

Cha'el, Trek

What

Words are thrown, then fists, then knots, as Trek earns a one-way trip to the rank-free curb, and Cha'el receives a rather unearned black eye.

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-second day of the eleventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Dragonhealer Yard, Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Dragonhealer Yard

Painfully elegant, a stubborn brand of cleanliness is retained in the gentle colors of faded murals and various curtains hung from the rusted metal poles meant to shelter injured dragons on spacious couches lining the permanently soot-stained limestone walls. Of a dusty no-color somewhere between brown and gold, the floor extends onward, fading beneath ragged cabinets built to withstand anything from lashing draconic tails to various medicinal spills.

It is the fifty-second day of Autumn and 78 degrees.


Elsewhere in the Weyr, the breakfast hours are beginning to wind down as people head back into the meat of their days. Here in the dragonhealer area, however, there is an oddly tense hush. Far more full than usual after the last few bad 'Falls, dragonhealers and their assistants are in almost constant motion, replacing bandages, checking on healing Threadscores, and quietly conversing in pockets amid the ground weyrs. Near one such weyr, a certain blue rider is perched rather precariously on a short, three-legged stool. Her left leg is extended and bared to above the knee. The sheen of numbweed over a still-fresh 'score on her calf would be the reason why. It's not bad enough it needs to be bandaged, but either the numbweed is wearing off, or she's feeling sympathy pains, going by the look on Trek's face. Deep inside the cave-like weyr, the dull, dark hide of her blue can just be seen. Kanyith is sleeping heavily, with his injured wing outstretched and partially immobilized. It's only been six days since the Threadfall that felled him, so the rather garish shreds of his ruined mainsail are still rather hard to look at.

Cha'el has been up since before dawn and not because he's been involved in his usual PT routine. In fact, he looks somewhat disheveled and wasn't seen in the living caverns for breakfast. He wasn't there for dinner the night before either. But, he has injured riders to look in on, riders that he's grown rather fond of. One of which, is his former wingleader, a woman under whose leadership he flew the first fall of Thread over Keroon. And it's in her direction that he now wends his way, a weary yet warm smile on his face. As he draws closer so his gaze is allowed to slip over first her injury and then drifts in the direction of her severely injured blue. "Hey, Trek. Ready to go dancing with me yet?" Gentle tease meant to draw a smile from the bluerider.

Sadly, the tease falls flat. In more normal times, if such things still exist, Trek would likely have laughed or at least given Cha'el the expected smile, then likely tossed back a volleying tease of her own. Today, she slowly turns her head to regard the other rider, her hazel eyes distant and at least as weary as the weyrsecond's appear. Eventually his words do seem to register with her, and the wide-eyed stare lessens somewhat. There is no volley, though, and no smile. She just starts to push herself to her feet, using the wall behind her to ease some of the pressure. "If you've come with more bad news, please keep going," she says in a dull voice that is oddly echoed by a humming sort of groan from within the ground weyr, though Kanyith is still asleep.

Concern threads through Cha'el when Trek doesn't come back at him with a parrying tease, deepening for the vacant stare glassing hazel eyes. The moment she begins to move, he steps closer and holds out a hand for her to use to pull herself up only for it to fall to his side when she manages on her own. " I'm just here checking in on a friend and fellow 'rider, Trek." Perhaps sounding a mite more snappish than he may have otherwise. "And to see if there's anything I can get you."

"How about another dozen dragons," Trek retorts, just shy of a growl. The hand still on the wall presses into a fist as she continues to lean, while her other hand clutches at her left thigh as she gets that leg situated. She turns away, scowling in a rather ugly fashion as she closes her eyes tightly for a moment, but after a deep breath she's able to ease some of it away. She mutters an apology that could very well be heartfelt, though her tone is ambiguous. There is a long scrape from within the ground weyr as Kanyith shifts, which refocuses Trek's focus to the blue before she half glares at Cha'el. "We're fine." Riiiight. "We just need time. Shells, maybe we should just time it back and tell everyone to let the sharding Thread eat the sharding desert next time."

Trek's retort catches deep at Cha'el, mirroring the frustration and pain he lives with daily, each death and injury felt as surely as if they were his own. "Trek…" the Weyrsecond begins. "You can't think like that. It's hard and its draining and it takes everything you've got to get through the day after something like that, but we're their best chance of surviving." It's not meant to be a lecture but he's tired and has been putting up with a cranky weyr guest more devious and manipulative than he's ever dealt with before and so it might come out as one.

Trek draws out of her own pain and that of her lifemate long enough to fix Cha'el with a look. One of those coldly scathing ones some women can pull off so well when they really want to. Or can't help themselves. "No shit," she bites back, moving to get away from the wall, though that means putting pressure on calf muscles that just aren't up for random motion yet. That brings a hiss of pain as she stumbles, reaching out for the next best crutch. Like a big muscular brownrider who towers over her even when she's not falling.

Yeah see, that cold scathing expression? Cha'el has had just about enough of in the past few days so the one coming from Trek lights a short fuse on his temper. "Hey. I'm here as a friend there's no need for…shit." That when she stumbles and falls into him. "What is it with stubborn bloody women!?" He grouses, wrapping an arm about Trek to try and keep her steady on her feet. "Is there some kind of unwritten female law that says you're not allowed to take help from a man or is that just pure bloody mindedness?"

Trek has no real reply as she makes some rather unladylike sounds, twisting as her attempts to regain her balance are both helped and hindered by Cha'el's arm, though by no fault of his own. She twists harder, arms rising in a sharp thrash as she fights her way free. Unfortunately, the frantic motion sends one of her flailing fists directly toward the tall man's face, whacking into his eye with a solid slapping sound. For a stunned moment, Trek goes still, eyes wide as she stares up at him. No way she doesn't know that's gotta hurt. Her own distress has managed to wake her lifemate, though, sending a feedback loop of pain through the bluerider's already overtaxed brain, so does she apologise? Not bloody likely. "I thought you all wanted me to be a sharding leader, and aren't we all supposed to be sharding stubborn?!" she shouts rather lamely as she gives Cha'el a shove, though it does more to send her back against the wall with a thud as she loses her balance again, then down onto the stool, nearly tipping it. She'll just… sit there for a moment.

The more Trek struggles, so the more Cha'el tries to hold onto her, growing more alarmed by the moment. Until that fist connects with him square in the eye. Stars zing behind his eyes and with a shout of pain he stumbles backward. "The FUCK!!?" The Weyrsecond bellows, the last straw breaking the camel's back as the split in his eyebrow begins to leak a thin trickle of blood. "What is your problem!?" He growls swatting away a healer that comes running at the brownrider's pained holler. And then, then the bluerider has the gall to still shove at him. "THAT'S IT!! You're grounded!" Well duh! "Leadership isn't about being stubborn its about…you know what?" The blood dribbles a gory path down his temple over his cheek and mats into the neat groom of his beard. "If you don't know what it is to be a leader of men and women," there's a pot and kettle moment in there somewhere, "then maybe you shouldn't be leading at all. I want your knot on my desk, first thing tomorrow morning. You are relieved of your duty, bluerider!"

That should really have more of an impact on the sprawled bluerider, and in more ways than one. Trek blinks a couple times while Cha'el shouts back at her, and for a half a tick, that odd expression on her face might be relief. That makes no sense, though… right? Then again, maybe it's that she's seconds from puking, which is what happens next, just as a couple dragonhealers race by (leaping the mess with enviable agility) to see to Kanyith as the blue begins to do some thrashing of his own. At least the dragon's pain seems to be refocusing some of her own, because Trek reaches up with one hand and rips the knot free with enough force to tear fabric, then throws it at Cha'el's feet. She's then pushing herself sickly to her feet, shouldering the wall as she drags her leg along. Those tears in her eyes could be for any of the present reasons, but she refuses to look at the weyrsecond again as she hobbles her way into the ground weyr to see to her lifemate, effectively dismissing, Cha'el, wingleading, and maybe even Arroyo in one fell swoop. Nothing quite like puke and near death to help a girl prioritise her life, right?

Were they anywhere else BUT in full public view, Cha'el might well have had second thoughts about his snap decision and perhaps even given Trek a chance to explain herself. But alas, what's done is now done, cemented when Arroyo's wingleader tears her knot off and throws it as his feet. Jaw clenched tight, face a mess of blood and swiftly swelling eye, his attention latches square to her back as she drags herself off to tend to her lifemate. Only once she's gone from sight, does the Weyrsecond exhale a heavy sigh and bending, takes up the discarded knot, running the loops through his fingers with an expression of regret making a brief appearance. Jerking his head up he catches an aide staring, sends a heavy scowl back and pocketing the knot, heads off to find W'rin and explain why they were going to need another to lead the chromatic heavy wing.

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