Xanthee, Malosim


Xanthee finally makes peace with the shock of finding her father, and learning her mother wasn't as perfect as she makes her out to be, with a lot of help from her beau Mal.

Sexual Innuendo with a fade to black ending.
Directly follows Can it be True?


It is late evening of the twenty-fifth day of the tenth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.


Crafter Quarters, Malosim's Room, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 27 Dec 2017 05:00



"But they had nothing to do with the fiery, smart, sexy, determined…good-hearted girl I love."

Malosim's Room

Simple in the way that can only belong to a new arrival (or a minimalist), Malosim's room has only the bare necessities for the moment. A span of hooks on a welded iron bar are set into the wall to the left of the sturdy skybroom door, a heavy wherhide jacket and a thick work belt being its usual occupants. Beyond this is a small table and two chairs, then dividing wall sheltering a washbasin and a privy. To the right is a full-sized bed, almost always neatly made with simple linens in cream and blue. There is also a desk taking up the corner between the bed and the entryway, perpetually strewn with jewel-working tools and scraps of Mal's latest project, official or personal. Though small, the space is warmly lit by glows, the lightly ruddy hue of the walls lending the room a subtly cheery feeling.

It is closing in to midnight, the air is still and there is little stirring in the Crafters’ Quarters as people are probably drifting off to dreamland. That is until a certain raven-haired girl jogs up the sloping road towards the Journeymen quarters. She is breathing hard, rather sweaty and looking distressed, her trio of firelizards fluttering in behind her, eyes glowing orange in the low light as they try to land on her shoulders. She keeps shooing them off her. Tendrils of her black hair are plastered to her forehead and cheeks with sweat. She is still wearing her workout outfit of shorts, a tank, and sandals. When she comes to a familiar door, she throws herself against it, rapping loudly against the wood. She is muttering to herself, “Please be home. Please be home.” It almost turns into a mantra, as if she says it enough times she will make it true.

Fortunately, what Xanthee hopes for is true whether she chants those words over and over or not. Malosim isn’t away on a Craft excursion, nor is he working late. He isn’t quite asleep, however. He’s sitting on his bed, in fact, writing a short note on a scrap of hide by the light of a single open glowbasket. Little does he know that the note’s intended target is presently on her way to his door.

Suddenly there’s a thump and a rapping on said door, quite unexpected at this time of night. It makes him jump a bit, a curse uttered under his breath as the act makes him bobble the stylus on the hide. But he sets it aside and gets to his feet, making certain the drawstring of the shorts he sleeps in is secure before unlatching and opening his door.

“Xan!” He’s instantly glad to see her, as the hike of his brows and brightening of his eyes indicates…but he quickly picks up on the fact that something is off. Dark brows drop again, furling in concern. “What’s wrong?” He angles himself so that she can come in without moving away from her in case she wants to come closer first instead of moving on through.

“Oh thank Faranth you are here.” Xanthee breathes in relief as he opens the door, emerald eyes flashing in distress. Going with her first reflex, she throws herself into his strong arms, wanting to feel his solid warmth against her, pulling him inside the room as she tucks herself up against his body, hands resting on his chest. Her whole body trembles as she presses it to his, completely ignoring the fact that her clothes are damp with her own sweat after all the running she had endured this day. Her fair flitters in past them to the room, filling the air with wings and creels of distress.

She mumbles something inaudible into his chest, and suddenly the trembling turns into actual sobs that wrack her body as she hides her face against him, hot tears spilling onto him as her whole body is consumed by her emotions. Several times she tries to communicate with him, but the crying doesn't seem to leave any room for words as nothing comes out coherently. So she'll just continue to cling to him for now in the hopes that she can actually bring herself back under control…eventually.

Mal is thrown a little off balance when Xanthee basically flings herself against him, but he recovers quickly, an arm immediately curling tight around her as the other tends to pushing the door shut. Then he feels her tremble and he makes certain he can complete the embrace as soon as possible. “Shells… Xan, what happened?” He doesn’t care that she might be damp and sweaty in the least, especially when she starts to cry.

There’s nothing there to absorb her tears, so he can tell when they start quite readily. He’s fleetingly relieved that he has a little sister who’s practiced this sort of thing on him, else he might not be so comfortable with this. Though it isn’t really comfortable; the girl he’s crazy about is distraught, and he doesn’t know what the matter is yet! So all he can do is hold her tight and offer all the strength and comfort he’s able until she can tell him. He keeps her tucked fast to his chest, uttering soothing murmurs against her temple, her ear, her cheek, stroking at her hair and listening for whatever she might be able to get out.

After a time, he drops his lower arm so that he can pick her up against him and carry her the few paces to his bed, where he sits and settles her upon his lap. He waits, his embrace unyielding, until he thinks she might be closer to talking. “Xan….tell me what’s going on,” he encourages softly, a hand lifting to stroke her cheek.

Feeding off of his steadiness as he does the one thing she needs right now and just holds her, Xanthee’s sobs die down to weak sniffling, and that’s good enough for her fair of three, who finally find places to settle and perch, although their eyes are alert and never leave their humanpet. For her part, Xanthee finally is able to regain some semblance of speech when she is gathered up and carried over to the bed, settled into Mal’s lap. Then the sniffling subsides and she tests her voice. “Oh Mal.” A little hoarse at first, and she has to stop frequently for little hiccuping breaths, but she manages to spill the story.

“I’ve been asking around for a few months now. Trying to find if anyone might know who my father is. Well, I ran into this old bronzerider when I was sweeping outside the Tea Room almost a seven ago now. He admitted he knew my mom, but then he didn’t answer any of my questions about her, and he’s really quite an ass.” She snickers bitterly at that, leaning into the hand stroking her cheek. “So I figured he didn’t know anything, just like everyone else I’ve asked. But today, I was just on a jog and came across him again. And after another couple stupid comments from him, he said…” Her voice catches in her throat, fresh tears welling in her eyes, and then she continues in a whisper. “He said..he’s my dad.” That was the first time she voiced it out loud, and another frisson runs through her body and she nestles closer to Mal, waiting to hear what he has to say.

Though Malosim is initially a little surprised to hear what Xanthee has been doing, it subsides into understanding. Of course it would be something she wants to know; who wouldn’t, especially growing up without blood family around and knowing they aren’t all gone from the world. He can’t help but frown when she mentions what this bronzerider is like, though continues his comforting of her without pausing. “Wow, Xan,” he breathes when her last revelation is made. “That’s…huge. But not really a pleasant way of finding out, huh? Are you sure?” he asks, gently tilting her chin up toward him so that he can see her eyes. “He wasn’t just saying it to needle you some more? I mean, this guy sounds like he could use gold pan upside the head or two.”

Xanthee scoffs a little bit, bitter humour in her voice as she continues. “That's what I thought at first too when he told me. I laughed in his face and told him to pull the other one.” She winces as she remembers that moment. “But then, his poor bronze, who is just now recovering from injuries, looked so sad at my reaction, and Ha’ze himself,” so NOT ready to call him Dad, “just told me to go speak to this dragonless man in the Bazaar, name of Fen. It took me almost all evening to find out where he lived.”. Her heart breaks just a little bit remembering the hallowness that was Fen.

“But he confirmed it,” Xan continues, “told me mom was mad when Ha’ze got kicked out of Igen all those turns ago, so she kept his paternity a secret. Out of spite.”. Now anger rises up in the girl causing her to bolt to her feet and begin to pace the length of Mal’s room as she continues. “I mean, who does that? Completely denies their own kid their father, their blood, out of spite? What kind of monster was she?” Xanthee loses it again, sobs wracking her body and she crumples down to her knees, hands covering her face, shoulders shaking with every cry.

Malosim hasn’t had enough interaction with dragons to not end up a bit bemused when Xanthee notes the man’s dragon looking sad. He isn’t sure how a dragon can look sad. But with Xan being Weyrbred, he takes her word for it. Loosening his arms when he feels her tense to move, he watches her pace for a moment, rising at some point and bracing his hands on his hips. Until she folds to her knees, that is. Then he’s down there with her in a blink, a broad palm stroking her back before he exerts some of his strength to unbind her enough to meld to his chest again. “You have your answer now, Xan,” he tells her, speaking softly at her ear. “You know who he is…and you have that foundation now. Knowing who both your parents are. You can’t change who your mom was, or who your dad is…but in the end, after all this time…what does it all really mean for you, huh? Does it change anything for you?

Bolstered by his comforting presence, Xanthee lets herself be gathered up to his chest once more, hand brushing the damp spot her tears left on his chest. When he speaks in her ear, her body noticeably relaxes, taking strength from his close proximity and using it to bolster herself to stop crying, the last of her tears drying on her cheeks. “I always knew I was the result of a flight, so I never deluded myself into thinking that my parents were the loves of each other’s lives. But now? Now I know I am the product of spite and misery, and it just leaves me feeling so….cold.” She says struggling to find the right words for the numbing emptiness that has spread through her being ever since Ha’ze uttered his confession earlier that day.

“Maybe this is why I’ve been subconsciously craving love from all the wrong places.” Xan says in a moment of self-clarity, though she quickly adds, “Well until I met you that is.” She says as she finally looks up at him again, her emerald eyes raw and red from all the spent emotion. Pulling him closer, she gives him a kiss so deep with need and yearning, and not just sexual either, but for a deepening connection, one forged in the fires of the heart.

Mal finds himself shaking his head when Xanthee proceeds to paint herself in such a drab light. He whispers her name, not quite believing that she could say such a thing…yet for the moment, it shouldn’t be surprising that it comes out. Brown eyes glitter earnestly as she looks up at him…and then she’s plying him with a kiss that he can feel the layers to, down into the very center of his bones. There is desire in how he returns it, certainly; there is always desire present where she’s concerned. But that need for connection resonates across from her with his own need so profoundly that he feels as though his heart is trying to leap out of his chest.

“Xan,” he begins when their lips part, his tone automatically rendered husky by the draw they share. He shifts, pulling her onto his lap again and framing her face in his hands as he locks eyes with her. “You are not the product of spite and misery. Your parents, no matter who they were and are and why they did what they did, aren’t responsible for you.” Shaking his head, he sifts a hand back into her hair and comes up against the tie holding it into a runnertail, which he gently tugs free so that he can keep doing what he wants to do properly.

“They might’ve made you out of a flight, but they didn’t make you who you are. Their spite and misery didn’t raise you. They were gone. Igen raised you. The Xanthee in my arms has nothing to do with them. You have full dragonrider blood in your veins, and that’s all you need to claim from them. But they had nothing to do with the fiery, smart, sexy, determined…good-hearted girl I love.” His hand comes back to her cheek, his thumb caressing her lower lip as he smiles warm reassurance at her. “You’re your own person. And you’re amazing.”

Willing to be gathered up once more into his lap after that kiss that began to thaw the edges of her frozen soul, Xanthee sighs happily at once more feeling the warmth of his bare skin against her. And the words that follow, the conviction with which they are delivered, stoke the embers to make quick work of the remaining emptiness that had once threatened to consumer her. Her eyes glisten once again with unspent tears, but the warm smile that now reanimates her lips hint that these are the other kind of tears, brought on by overwhelming happiness.

When his hand goes to her hair to undo the runnertail, she shakes out cascading ebon waves, a happy sigh escapes her lips as her hair is finally free of its tether, enjoying the feel of his fingers running through it. Then comes a increasingly blush-inducing list of compliments until he comes to the end, and with that last declaration of love her breath catches briefly before she says softly, lips barely touching his own as she does so, “I think that's the first time you actually came out and said you love me.” Well kinda, in a way…. It may be a stretch but Xanthee doesn't care. She feels the love coming off him, feels it light her up inside as well. “You are really the most amazing man. How on Pern did I get lucky enough to find you?” Her worries over her parentage may still rear their ugly heads in the sevendays to come, but for now, they are no longer weighing her down and she can examine them with fresh eyes later as she puts her arms around his neck, letting her own fingers run through his dark brown hair.

Mal just laughs softly, broad shoulders shifting in a subtle shrug beneath Xanthee’s arms. “Maybe…we just came along for each other exactly when we needed to,” he speculates quietly, sighing happily as the sensation of her fingers in his hair awakens a pleasant buzz all along his nerves. He grins for her noticing his wording, feeling his heart speed up a bit more as he realizes the sentiment is well and truly out in the open again. Only this time, he knows he’s placed it rightly. “I do love you, Xan,” he murmurs, sifting fingers coming to rest at her nape as he pulls her into another kiss that’s decidedly much more sensual than the last few. “Let me make that what you fall asleep on tonight. Let me take the rest away for a while.”

“Maybe.” Xanthee agrees with his sentiment wholeheartedly. Until he finally utters those little words that she had so wanted to hear from him. To show just how much hearing that means to her, she tightens her grip slightly on his hair, pulling him to her lips as she gives him a loooooong, slow, toe-curling kiss. When he then mentions sleep, she giggles wickedly, “That will be a wonderful thing to fall asleep on…eventually.” With that she pulls them up to their feet, guiding him over to the bed by the hand, “Why don’t you get me out of these damp clothes first.” She says with a coy flutter of her lashes as she takes him to bed to show him exactly what she has in mind before she will let sleep take her.

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