Kyriatis and Omairhuith




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


Sands/Weyrling Barracks/Living Caverns, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 05 Jul 2018 23:00


kyri4.jpg omair.jpg


Weyrling Barracks

Natural entropy lies restrained by sheer force of will within the chaotic spiral of Southern's weyrling-barracks. The large entry hollows out into an immense common area at the front of the barracks, where sustenance can be procured for both sides of the lifebond: tables are typically set out with at least the trimmings for sandwiches, and often carcasses lie in the hollowed pit for fresh weyrlings to carve chunks of meat for their new lifemates. Beyond, the couches are set within a U-shape around a long pool, spring-fed, large enough to bathe growing dragons.

Heavy tapestries line the stone walls towards the rear of the barracks, while space is at a premium towards the front: shelves and pegs hold leathers and tools, books and useful trinkets of the dragonriding trade. The narrow-point of the U branches into two hallways: one for the candidate barracks, and one for the weyrlingmaster's office.

Water: so much water. Daughter of Southern that she is, Kyriatis is no stranger to water, but she's always been a child of the earth first and foremost, and the deluge is unsettling more than it is comforting, for all that it comes with a sense of rightness and certainty, too.

« Kyriatis… » he said. « I'm Omairhuith. »

He doesn't have any more words after that, and for a time, neither does Kyriatis. She's drowning— she's also rescued, but in truth she's not sure if the rescue is real, or if everything is just about to get so much worse.

He communicates in the abstract. Oh, she's sure of his love for her, she can feel that much pounding through her veins, but the rest seems opaque to her, reason and logic hidden beneath briny depths. Is he still hungry? She makes the mistake of deciding that no, he's not, only to find herself swept up in a panic that is not her own making; she feeds him another handful, and it subsides.

It's safe, in the recesses of this dark and murky waterworld, and it's warm, but ever-questioning Kyriatis can't help but fear it, too: who is this strange creature with whom she is now irrevocably linked?

He doesn't answer the question. He doesn't even acknowledge it.

The itching begins like a rustle of seagrasses (or tentacles? Or worse?!) around her brain, tickling and taunting. At least it's easy to work out what he's getting at, though she finds herself scratching her own arm raw in the process. "Stop that," she accuses him, but he doesn't acknowledge that, either: he's itching and itching and itching, and so she puts herself to work.

Later, he sleeps, and that's a blessing. In his sleep she can admire him, all those beautiful shades of blue, those heavy feet and powerful haunches. He's beautiful, and he's hers, and she's not even sure how she's supposed to feel.

Cos I didn't see this one coming, now I'm in too deep
I didn't see this one coming, now I'm in too deep
I think I'll just keep swimming down, down, down
There's no point in trying to reach dry ground

I'm drowned
I'm drowned

"He's perfect, Kyriatis." Her father is beaming and proud, though perhaps a teensy bit disappointed that she's not taking after him as a brownrider. "I knew he'd be there for you. What's he like?"

What is he like? Kyriatis finds she doesn't know how to begin or what to say, and so smiles, dumb and a little uncertain.

It's easy for L'riat to assume she's simply shellshocked, and so he pats her on the arm and sends her back to her friends.

She's happy. She's thrilled. (She's terrified.)

This is what she wanted.

But somehow, everything seems different.

It really is the first day of the rest of her life, isn't it?

She's ready.

… maybe.

I'm caught in the storm
I'm caught in the rain
I'm caught in the rush that hides this pain
I'm ready to drown
But it's coming down
But I feel so alive

Later, back in the barracks, she curls up around her blue, and watches him sleep again. Even in his sleep, he's nestled closer to her as she comes in, and she likes to imagine that it's not just because she's warm and the air is chilly.

No; she's absolutely sure it's because she's Kyriatis, and she's his. He may be bewildering, but that much she's certain of.

When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
You'll never walk alone.

Because she never will be alone ever again, will she?

She should have bathed more thoroughly, and she's regretting it now. But it's warm next to Omairhuith, and she's too tired to consider getting up again; it'll have to wait.

Sleep beckons. It's been a long day. She's wired though, still: adrenaline still coursing through her veins, and the intensity of the day still all too vivid.

Beside her, Omairhuith stirs in his sleep, his breath warm and meaty on her face. It's gross… and it's not gross, too.

Heaven help her heart.

Well I let it happen anyhow
And what I'm feeling now
Has no easy explanation
Reason plays no part
Heaven help my heart
I love him too much
What if he saw my whole existence
Turning around a word, a smile, a touch?

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