Who

Myziri, J'ran, R'ik

What

Final warnings and reassurances are exchanged just before J'ran arrives on the heels of R'ik's departure.

Language

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-eighth day of the fifth month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr, Star Stones

OOC Date 17 Mar 2016 22:00

 

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"There you go again, putting words into my mouth. Told you, I'm done. You say you're done too. Stick a fork in it, its fucking done."


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Star Stones

Jutting from the jungles, the caldera's northern most edge has been fashioned into the necessary star stones; two great boulders push up against the sky, weathering the winds that scour the ever-encroaching lichens that cling to the humid-moistened rock. A singular stone, so obviously man-made, serves as the eye-rock, long forgotten with only the wind's erosive touch to keep the greenery away. The stones stand upon the flattest point of the caldera, and any who climb the winding stairs, up the mountain's face, will be treated with a view worthy of the effort of the climb of the seemingly endless stone steps. Far and away, the entire weyr is exposed as are the vast jungles and terraced fields that dot the horizon. The Southern Barrier Range looms above the weyr, and from this vantage point, one can see the snows that clings to the summits. The winding Black Rock River sparkles far, far below. The ledge itself is small, however, so only a few brave souls and possibly one dragon could fit up here. With no handrails, the edge of the star stones's ledge offer a danger to the unwary who think to stand where the rock curves down into the bowl below.


It's midmorning, and it's looking to be another bright, sunny day; the clouds remain distant and the temperatures not too chilly for autumn; just enough to wear a warm jacket, but not to leave one shivering in their boots. About the Weyr, people bustle about their daily activities; from the Star Stones, they look not much less than little worker ants going about the business of gathering food and building material. In the feeding pens, several dragons have already selected a meal and are gulping them down, whilst a few still hunt; one in particular, a moonscaped green, seems more inclined to scatter the herds again and again, looking for just the right one. Her rider sits atop the Star Stones with a mug of klah and a disgusted expression; Myziri is wearing a heavy sweater against the cold, and long pants and boots, while one arm is bandaged and held in a sling. The other is holding the sheaf of hides she was working on before her lifemate's indecision (or sadistic pleasure) distracted her (not hard to do - Myziri loathes paperwork). "Oh, just pick one already, you cruel creature."

While he's fully capable of moving silently and more often than not does, R'ik doesn't bother doing so now as he ascends the steps leading up the lofty Star Stones. With a steady rhythm the sound of heavily soled boots draws closer and closer until he emerges from the shroud of covered stairs and into the bracing air. Kitted out in full leathers for drills are set to occur within the half hour, he's well insulated against the slight nip in the wind. He doesn't seem to be there by accident either for the moment that light coloured eyes land on Myziri, the bronzerider angles in her direction. "Why pick one when you can harass them all?" He drawls and fixes the greenrider with a closely assessing look.

"Because I hate to see the poor things run around panicked. Look, there she goes again." Myziri doesn't even bother turning her head at the tromp of boots, nor at the familiar tones. "Look, there she goes again." Indeed, Sahizath is making another sweep of a herd of ovines, who run around like demented Q-tips, trying to escape. "Unfeeling creature." She mutters; she knows her lifemate will do this exactly how long she feels like it, no matter how much she remonstrates, so she finally glances over at the bronzerider. "Hey, R'ik. Drills coming up?" She noted the outfit, obvs. A sip of klah is taken as she regards him, before she turns away to set it carefully down next to her and looks out over the Weyr again.

"Eh." R'ik hitches a shoulder and steps right up to the edge to squint at the activity below. "S'what dragons do best." Next to flaming of course. "Its in their blood." Or at least, its in Hyrkeluth's. Remaining where he is, the bronzerider slings a sideways look at Myziri. "Uh huh." That's for drills coming up. Next he drops his attention to her sling and juts his chin at it. "You been pressing the wrong buttons again?"

"I suppose…" Myziri agrees, though it doesn't mean she has to like it. "She just seems to do it longer than other dragons. For instance, those two blues over there have eaten one, and started another and they all started hunting at the same time." And Sahizath's still worrying the flocks. "It's weird how little she eats, anyway, considering how much stamina she has. I don't know what keeps her running, to be perfectly honest. I'd be starving on what little she eats." She smiles faintly "The new wing formations, though; she's happy about those and getting to stay in threadfall longer because of it." Reminder of wing-type stuff has her glancing away from lifemate and back at bronzerider again "Lucky you. I'm grounded for a seven. With paperwork." Tones are rueful, though her expression morphs into a confused frown at R'ik's question. "Pressing buttons? I don't think so. This was wing related." She tilts her own head toward the slung arm.

The bronzerider's attention leaves the feeding pens far below while Myziri whittles on about her green's eating habits and stamina, and shifts to the greenrider herself. With an inscrutable expression in place, he lets her talk, not adding anything along the way until the end. Then finally, R'ik nods a few times. "I see." A seemingly non-committal answer. And then, moving away from the edge to lean his back against one up the upright columns of rock set in place, he says, "Wanna tell me what happened the last time you saw Sam?" And there it is, confirmation that he'd deliberately sought her out this day.

Maybe she can see that R'ik's attention isn't really all there as she natters on. Maybe she doesn't have anything left to natter about; either way, Myziri falls silent in lieu of import to say, reaching for her klah again and her gaze fixed on Sahizath, who has finally chosen a caprine and settled down to eat it with dainty slowness. There's a little sigh of relief for that, and she's just about to take a sip of her klah when the bronzerider adds his additional question. At which point she freezes, mug at lips but liquid undrunk. Slowly, deliberately, she takes a sip and swallows, setting the klah mug back down on stone 'just so,' without looking at R'ik. When she finally does, it's with a valiantly inscrutable expression - except if you look at the eyes. The eyes always give Myziri away and today's no different; moss-green has darkened to aventurine, and just as hard as the stone. "No, thank you." Very polite, that response. And she calmly goes back to looking at Sahizath. Avoiding eye contact is a good thing.

And where is Hrykeluth in all of this? See that flash of bronze here and there stalking the tiered pastures where the Weyr's livestock are kept? Yup. He's where he's not supposed to be. Either R'ik hasn't noticed, or, and this most likely, just now he has other things on his mind that don't involve having to pay recompense because his dragon took out a fat herdbeast meant for the table. "Mmhm." He probably expected Myziri to be obdurate since its her nature to be so but he had felt it fair to offer her the chance to deliver her thoughts. She can avoid eye contact all she likes, it won't stop R'ik from fixing her with an intent stare. Time ticks by into a fat pregnant silence until its allowed birth when he speaks again. "You're treading on very dangerous ground, greenrider." Echoes of the past there. "And this is the last time I'm gonna say this." Quietly, slowly and deliberately does he state the next. "Stay the fuck away from him."

"Or what?" Myziri says, her tones absolutely reasonable (for her). She shrugs her shoulders, winces a bit as it jars her still-tender wound. "What are you going to do, R'ik?" Finally, she looks at him. "It's none of your business, anyway. Sam's a big boy. He can take care of himself." Unhappy little moue as she watches Sahizath pick apart her meal, selecting tidbits and leaving behind the parts she doesn't particularly care for. "So can I." And if she's at all phased by that stare, she doesn't show it. Just stares right back, though her hand clench more firmly on the sheaf of hides. She deliberetely loosens her fingers' grip, letting go of the reports and smoothing them on her lap; it gives her an excuse to drop her gaze, finally, allowing her a moment to renew the thin veneer of her defiance as she does so, and a vulnerability she has no intention of sharing.

R'ik barely reacts. In fact, he doesn't. He just stands there with arms folded staring at Myziri. But then, something shifts behind those pale green eyes and it brings with it a humourless curve of lips. "Or nothing." Suddenly the bronzerider goes from leaned up against that rock to dropped into a crouch at her side. "I ain't gonna do a fucking thing." His gaze hardens as does that executioner's smile, his voice low and rasping as just two words are delivered on a razor's edge. "I'm done." With that, he unfurls back up to his full height and takes a step back.

"I figured." Cool little voice hiding a big, big hurt. "Not much you can do, is there?" She finally looks up, shrugs again - the one shoulder thsi time. "Not much I'm going to do, either. You're a little late, any road, R'ik. Pretty sure you don't have to worry." Hard little smile. "You can tell Sam he doesn't have to worry about me anymore. I'm not going near him. Not until…" she trails off, gaze shifting from bronzerider to lifemate, who has finished what she's actually going to eat and rises, heading toward a sunny spot in which to digest her meal; Sahizath may be a slavedriver, but that doesn't mean she doesn't like a bit of downtime herself, and an aftermeal nap in autumn sunlight seems in order. It brings a faint smile to Myziri's face, which fades as she glances back at R'ik, suddenly businesslike. "I've no intention of inflicting myself on Sa'mael anymore. He's made it fairly evident I'm not needed." Or wanted, for that matter. "Just as you have. So, no need to seek me out to remonstrate anymore. You're off the hook for that unpleasant duty. Both of you are Myziri free." She waves a hand, as if she had a wand - Abracadabra, and Tada! Safe!

From where he stands, a step off to the side of Myziri, the look R'ik drops down on her is nothing but angles and planes of jaw, cheekbones and the softer construction of pursed lips set within a thin coating of black stubble. Out of all that she says and possibly unwittingly reveals, he picks that one aborted sentence to hone in on. "Not until what?" He'll address what she means about being 'Myziri free' later.

Myziri sighs…figures that out of all she says, that's what he focuses on. "Not until ever. I'm out." She picks up her klah mug, stares resolutely out at the Weyr as she takes a sip. "Isn't that what you want? Nothing to do with me? You and Sam both? Well, wish granted. You can live your lives happily without ever having to worry about me pissing you off ever again. No help, no hindrance from me at all. It's a big Weyr. I'm sure we can rub along nicely without running into one another overmuch. We're all busy people, right?" She may be babbling a bit here, but then that stare is kind of unnerving. "Different wings, different duties and all that." She finally glances over at him, even manages a smile. "Glad we could have this little talk. It's made my seven." Right up there with getting brain fever, this. "You're a good friend." If only to Sam.

"Bullshit." R'ik calls her out on reply to his question but he doesn't press it any further. Instead, he mutters something under his breath and then just shakes his head. "Would you like some cheese to go with that fucking whine?" Black brows have lifted and arms are still folded across his chest, the leather straining across the breadth of his shoulders. "Can the sarcasm, Myziri." He goes on to growl with an edge of irritation leaking through. "And don't be making decisions for me neither." A sharp breath is huffed out that fogs the air a little. "Tell me you wouldn't do whatever you needed to if it were J'ran on the edge of his losing shit." Pointed is the look that snaps to the greenrider.

You overhear R'ik mutter, "Fucking females … … … … … … … it so a … … … … piss … … without it being … … … taking … … … … …" to himself.

"Jeez, fuck. I'm tired of you taking everything I say the wrong way. I don't really know what you want me to say, that you'll believe me." Myziri does sound tired, indeed - there's no heat to her own words, despite R'ik's sudden irritation. "I'm being totally serious here. You will never have to tell me to stay away from Sam again." She speaks slowly, concisely, so he understands "Isn't that what you just asked me to do? Stay away from him? Well, mission accomplished. Wish granted. Orders understood." How else does she have to say it, exactly? She picks up her mug of klah, takes a sip and deliberately does not look at him again as she does so, silent as she swallows and sets the mug down again "Didn't I just say you're a good friend? I know I'd do the same for J'ran in a heartbeat." And has - or would have, if the stupid man would have mentioned it. She's sitting with her back up against a star stone, bandaged arm in a sling, looking resigned whilst R'ik's lurking over her looking irritated. "And I have nothing to do with Sam losing anything." Even when she tries to taunt him into it. And if there's a little wobble to her voice that she can't quite get rid of, well - put it down to the fact that she's only a day or so out of the infirmary.

"Uh huh, uh huh," R'ik's nodding and making the appropriate sounds as Myziri reiterates what she's already said. Maybe he's a little slow and needs things spelled out for him. Flash cards might be helpful next time. He really doesn't have much more to say. He could ask about her stint in the infirmary but she's already told him it was wing stuff and everyone knows that when it comes to Lynx that means 'Don't ask.' and so he doesn't. "Yeah. Well." The bronzerider backs up another step, features composed about a bland mask. Its better than his usual brooding scowl, right?

J'ran emerges from the stairs leading up from the Nighthearth and pauses when he hears what seems to be an arguement in progress. He considers just slipping back down the stairs but he hears his name and that, of course, makes him curious as to what he has to do with this debate. When he realizes that it's Myziri and R'ik speaking, he steps out of that faint shadow and moves closer to the pair. "And just what is it you'd do for me, Myz?" His tone is light with just a touch of weariness but his stint in the Infirmary had been a lot shorter than Myziri's. R'ik is given a nod and grin by way of greeting as the younger man leans against one of the stones nearby, a depression making the perfect perch for his backside, and crosses one leg over the other comfortably.

"You still don't believe me." Now Myziri's tone is flat, because now she's becoming irritated. Her expression is also starting to become irritated, because it has seriously been a sucky last few days, starting with the fever and ending with this harangue when she was minding her own fucking business. Plus, her arm hurts. Then J'ran is there, and there's definite relief in her expression, "I'd do anything for you, you know that." She dredges up some teasing to put in her own (forced) lighthearted tones. "We were just discussing the things we would do for friends, is all." Her glance goes back to R'ik "He, of course, is speaking about Sam. Apparently, I'm torturing him somehow." When everyone knows she's mostly torturing herself.

Pale eyes are made to widen and unfolding his arms, R'ik holds both hands up palms out in show of a warding gesture. "There you go again, putting words into my mouth. Told you, I'm done. You say you're done too. Stick a fork in it, its fucking done." And so is he with this conversation apparently since the bronzerider starts to turn away only to find J'ran arrived. "Hey." There's not much of a smile but there is a hitch of mouth for the arriving greenrider. He has nothing to add to Myziri's explanation though he does turn an unreadable look back to her.

J'ran chuckles softly at Myziri's explanation and dips his head slightly in agreement. "And have when I needed it." His head cants a bit at their bronzeriding clutchmate's rejoinder and sighs at the age-old friction the two seem to still have going on. "But it's so easy to do that. Shit, I've done it myself, remember?" There is a bit more humor in his tone as he recalls the days — and fights — they'd shared a weyr. "That's just part of you though, in my opinion." He lifts a shoulder indicating it's something he's learned to deal with and work harder on understanding his friend if he wants to remain friends. "Besides, I wouldn't mind torturing Sa'mael" Or R'ik! "a little myself." Is that a hint of mischief? Nope, it's dripping from the words.

"I'm doing nothing but what you just told me to do, R'ik." Myziri reiterates, than nods her agreement as he affirms this. "Good. Glad we got that cleared up." that in her best 'mmkay, thanks for coming' tones. She huffs a little laugh at J'ran's words "Now you know that's not entirely true. I know of a time not too far off…" Brow raises significantly - remember that first flight nonsense? But then, he's getting all mischievious and she grimaces. "That's your call. I'm done." Gaze returns to R'ik. "Right?" She holds sage-green eyes for a moment with her own mossy ones, then the corners of her mouth lift in a little smile. "You looking for me for something, J'ran? Please say it's not more hidework." She ruffles those in her lap "I've got plenty, thanks."

There's a mental pinch to the bridge of his nose when yet again, Myziri misunderstands what he'd said, shown in the way R'ik's eyes squeeze shut for a second. But he says nothing and simply gives her a curt nod and takes another step toward the staircase that leads down to the nighthearth far below. He's arrested once again and while J'ran's statement with regards to Sa'mael is very obviously intended to be humorous, it is sadly a case of poor timing. R'ik isn't laughing. In fact, he's not even cracking a smile. Instead, he just flicks a sharp look at the male greenrider though he offers no remonstration. There's been very little to laugh about since being arrested, recognized by a smuggler and then discovering that arseholes have been gaining access to the innards of the Weyr. "Mmm." That's agreement with Myziri on the matter of being done. He walks a few steps away and again pauses. This time, the bronzerider doesn't turn around but he does speak. "Hope they're taking good care of you." The healers, with her arm. But he doesn't qualify that statement and continues on his way soon to be swallowed up into the stairwell.

J'ran grins at her reminder of those confusing days when he really could have used a good friend to help him work through that frustration and shrugs. "That was different." R'ik's pointed look earns a bit of a shiver when it is caught — BRRR! — but his smile remains good natured since he knows the stress the bronzerider has been under recently. He watches as the big man moves to leave, his expression sliding more toward concerned for his friend but knows he can't really do anything about it right now. "See you around, R'ik. Give our best to Hrykeluth too." And then the bronzer is gone and it's just them again. "Hmm? No, not really. Just checking to make sure you were okay. Sahizath said you were here so … here I am."

"Sure, thanks. They are." Carefully polite rejoinder to R'ik - she knew what he meant. "And what he said." J'ran. "Give Hrykeluth my best." The bronze dragon, at least, seemed to like her for the most part on the occasions he'd slobbered on her. She watches the bronzerider go, then turns a frown on her friend "Are you fucking crazy?" she bites out - and knows he'll forgive her, because her emotion isn't really directed at him. "Jeez fuck." She whispers, her head clunking back against stone. "I'm okay. Thanks. And…thanks. You had the best timing." Because now she can wipe away the stupid tears without R'ik seeing them. Which she does with her good hand. "Is this seven over yet?" she wonders. "I need to get back to work." The real work of fighting thread, not this stupid ass hidework.

J'ran blinks at the vehemence of Myziri's tone and pulls back a little though even he knows he'll forgive her that snapping, it's what he does when it's a friend. A frown furrows his brow as he looks at her and watches those tears get wiped away, his arms crossing over his chest as he leans more against the stone. "No … not for a couple more days. And if you don't start getting your energy back the Healers are going to ground you for another seven." This would be why he's not quite as tired as she seems to be, he's been forcing himself to sleep while he's grounded besides having a lighter touch of that wound fever they both got to enjoy.

"Being wingsecond is partly punishment for leaving the Weyr when we weren't supposed to, not just a promotion, so I'm pretty sure T'ral's not going to be happy if I don't get this hidework done, regardless of injury. He's likely pissed enough I'm grounded." Myziri points out. "Not my fault that stupid knife wound got infected. I didn't think it was that bad, and neither did the healer who sewed it up. If it hadn't been for that little bit of bone getting knicked off…." She shrugs her good shoulder, wipes at her eyes again even as she assiduously ignores J'ran's frown. "There's only so much I can sleep, anyway. I'm bored out of my mind." She glances over at him. "Sorry I snapped. It was bad timing, is all. The Sam thing." Story of her life.

J'ran sighs softly at Myziri's explanation and nods slightly in understanding. He didn't realize that part of her promotion. "I hope not. It's not like you could know that a cut like that would get infected or whatever it was. I got a touch of it too … fever, aches, tired … kinda like the flu, and mine didn't even need stitches." He shrugs and determines to find out why a cut caused a fever after they went between when a threadscore doesn't. Her apology earns a faint smile that turns rueful as he glances out to where Yerenath can just be seen peering up at them from the far end of the bowl. "That's okay. I guess I'll go deal with Yer and let you get your work done. I know you're bored and can't sleep all day, but try to get a bit more rest … even if you're just reading in your weyr, huh?"

Myziri wipes away a last bit of moisture with a self-irritated gesture, and shakes her head. "Yeah, not sure T'ral will see it like that." And in truth, she's been kind of avoiding the wingleader since getting out of the infirmary; she knows he was there with Catryn and the baby, but she doesn't remember much of what he said at the time - but she knows he'd have something to say about it. But now…"I'd best go face the music, even so. Need to return these reports anyway." She says, sighing and getting to her feet with the use of her good arm. "I'll seeyou later, J'ran. And I promise - I'll get some rest." She waves him off and, after a few minutes to drain her klah and search out Sahizath in her sunny patch, gathers her own things together before following him down the stairs.

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