Cha'el, K'vvan, Nadeeth, Sikorth


After an intense night of Cha'el chipping away at K'vvan's secrets there is a bit of peace.


Morning of the twenty-fifth day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Sanctum Santorum

OOC Date


k-vvan_default.jpg cha-el_default.jpg


Sanctum Santorum

«We should let them sleep if they choose to…» Nadeeth remains curled under Sikorth’s wing where she had stayed all night long, somehow twining her tail with his as their combined effort to help their riders within wore on. There is tired in her mind’s ribbons, as they barely flap at all, the effort of bolstering K’vvan to keep him from flight having taken it out of the green.

Hours ticked past- At some point the small fire has gone out, but slow burning heat from deep within had kept either rider from rising to feed its flames. Sometime had seen them moving from the floor to the bed where they are found now, tucked under a blanket. K’vvan sleeps, finally, undisturbed by dreams for the first time in… weeks, though only recently had he drifted off after a night which had rocked him to the very core leaving him emotionally and physically drained. His body is carelessly flung under that blanket, an openness to his posture that is atypical of the prickly greenrider.

As mentally exhausted as he is, Sikorth shifts in the curl about the dainty green, a soft rumble of disagreement more felt than heard. « Dawn has come, they should prepare their bodies for the day ahead. » He tells Nadeeth though not with much conviction given that the large mottled brown is himself weary.

Within the still of the weyr, sprawled on his stomach with arms tucked under the pillow beneath his head, Cha’el groans. “Fuggoff, Sikorfff!” The complaint muffled against his bicep when the obnoxious blare of a trumpet goes off in his head. Every muscle in his body aches, pleasantly so and although he’s pretty sure he’s lost the ability to walk due to exertion, he doesn’t bother to test the theory. On the peripheries of consciousness the brownrider then becomes aware of another warm body spread out next to him and he stiffens. Flight? The blare of trumpet fades. « Not I. » Sikorth is quick to supply, « You. And him. » A heated image from the night before is provided. K’vvan. Thick dark lashes that women would kill for flutter and Cha’el cracks an eyelid. True as the Red Star hangs in the sky, the person next to him is none other than the greenrider. Shifting slightly so that his face is no longer mooshed between pillow and arm, he allows his gaze to drift over what can be seen of K’vvan peeking from the blankets. It had been a long time since he’d chosen to take a man to his bed outside of a flight. Over a turn, in fact. Painful memories of the good looking bronzerider and the mocking light in his eyes the last he’d seen him are swiftly banished. Now was not the time.

Nadeeth sighs heavily, uncurling her tail from his and beginning to slide herself from under a molted wing. The usually graceful green moves very slowly, as if the mental strain has left her exhausted physically as well as,mentally. «Tell yours to be careful how he wakes. » This is K'vvan still after all.

The quiet.cursing is enough to begin the braking of the light doze that holds K'vvan. Eyes flutter open as he tries to understand who, what, when, where and why. His attention shifts abruptly as memories, out of order and fragmented sling into razor sharp detail. He becomes aware of the ache in his body, then turns his head. Oh no… "Oh hell. Cha'el. Oh… Oh Faranath." The relaxed posture is gone, replaced by a knowledge of what he has done. Without the abrupt passion driving him forward, and the brush of Nadeeth's support a mind that characterizes all actions exclusively into black and white categories has to categorize -that-. His stomach abruptly rolls and he'll tumble off the side of the bed the chill of the morning intensifying upon his naked skin as he attempts to catch himself on his feet and stand, using the bed as a support.

Caught in that pleasant state, drowsing between wakefulness and sleep, Cha’el is startled by the abrupt departure K’vvan makes from the bed and doesn’t immediately parse the advice sent by Sikorth. Still lying on his stomach, he shoves up onto his forearms, the blankets sliding down his back to pool about lean hips. “Where? What? What’s happened?” Still half-asleep, the brownrider is completely baffled. “Are we late?” A glance is darted the way of the ledge from where Sikorth is glaring back at him. « Way to go, idiot! »

Legs burnt with tired, muscles put to totally unfamiliar uses in the past few hours firmly reject K'vvan's attempt to actually stand. Only his hand upon the side of the bed keeps him from plunging all the way downwards to his knees. Instead, he catches himself even as knees attempt to buckle. His stomach rolls again, vividly contrasting the pleasant feelings of the hours precious with K'vvan's accepted world paradigm. He is dizzy for a moment as he shakes off sleep. Cha'el's question is ignored, he needs his pants. Or a bucket.

The muzzy grab of having been rudely woken from a deep sleep by Sikorth, sloughs right off the moment K’vvan looks like he’s about to go down. Without a thought, Cha’el throws himself across the bed, alarm etched across sleep-softened features, cursing when his legs become tangled in the blankets. In no time at all he’s on his feet on the other side of the bed he’d woken up in as bare-arsed as the day he was born and wrapping an arm about the greenrider’s waist in a bid to keep him on his feet. “Jays. Are you okay? Something you ate?” Yeeeah, he’s not getting it just yet, fairly certain that after the slow bone melting passion of those last few hours of night that K’vvan’s managed to at least make a start toward getting his feet under him. No pun intended.

The K’vvan of just a few hours ago would have yanked away from that helping hand- having only one thing to compare it to. But now? As Cha’el wraps his arm around his waist that traitorous snake of heat, though very small, springs up his spine, curling up from where the brownriders’s hand is pressed against his waist. This does nothing for the rolling in K’vvan’s stomach and he fights to keep what little he has in his stomach (thankfully, not much) there. His face has lost some of its colour. Finally, his mind focuses on a thought. “I need my pants.” Good compromise there. Trying to ignore what Cha’el’s presence is doing to already confused emotions and totally upset world-view, the greenrider looks around for said article of clothing.

Nadeeth’s mind is gently soothing from where she stretches on the ledge like a cat, her every movement meant to test a muscle before she actually needs to use it. Her thoughts are gentle satisfaction, though the ribbons she twines around K’vvan still are gently encouraging. The black embroidery upon her ribbons has vanished, leaving them bright and cheerful. «We do not usually rise so early.» Beauty sleep, check it.

The addition of K’vvan paling strikes an even deeper sense of alarm that thankfully drains away the sudden perk of physical interest the brownrider’s betraying body has at being so close to the younger man. “Uh…” Cha’el glances about and then over to the hearth, “Heh, they’re over there. You sit, I’ll get them.” For while he himself is absolutely comfortable in his own skin he’s aware there are those are not. Once he’s sure the greenrider isn’t going to faceplant on the hard floor, he quickly retrieves the requested pants and scoops up his own that had landed over the back of the chair. “You don’t look so good,” Cha’el notes, handing K’vvan’s pants out to him. The man should have been Sherlock.

Outside on the ledge, although agitated by his rider’s lack of concern for the early morning workout regime, Sikorth is otherwise delightfully distracted by the lithe from of one dainty green as she stretches. « Early to bed, » a battle he has yet to win with his rider, « and early to rise, » that one he’s gotten down pat, « makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise. » The big brown solemnly tells Nadeeth.

For once K’vvan doesn’t even attempt to fight back or insist he can do it himself. Instead he perches upon the side of the bed, eyes closing in an attempt to quell the confusion that swirls around him. When Cha’el speaks he opens his eyes just long enough to grab the pants, and begin pulling them on. His hands fumble at the ties, vaguely grateful that the clothes he sleeps in are much looser than his normal day-to-day garb, he doubts his own ability to pull on anything else. His mind latches onto a very not-so-happy, but not-so-bad thought- it’s probably a good thing he didn’t eat anything recently.

Nadeeth’s morning routine is as exacting of any lady preparing for her day. Each wing is checked completely, though she moves to one side to make sure her outstretched sails do not bat against the brown who has so kindly lent her space. Small cascades of fuzzballs roll at the axinom which rolls from the stoic brown, «The night can hold fun that the morning cannot.» Though still tired her minds ribbons curl themselves upwards, stretching to weave pictures of the allure of the night. Heavy wind, and the excitement of darkness holding that which is to be discovered, the games which can be played only when visibility wanes and tired bodies relax from their day to day troubles. «But,» she adds, always fair, «the morn brings a new day.» And new days spell new possibilities.

The fact that K’vvan doesn’t answer him but instead begins pulling his pants on in silence, lends Cha’el the first clue. And so, once he’s pulled his own on and tied them securely so that they’re not likely to slip from lean hips, he busies himself with stirring the fire in the hearth back to life. With his upper torso still bare and back turned to the greenrider for he can’t bring himself to face the disgust he’s sure will be the other man’s facial response, he quietly puts a question to him while arranging slender slivers of wood over the cold embers from the night before. “Do you regret last night?”

Sikorth for his part is rather approving of the stretching preparations the dainty green conducts and moves himself off to the side so as to afford her as much space as the ledge will allow for. Her return earns her a tickle of faintly amused mists. « You sound like mine. He says that one should play as hard as they work. » By the mental equivalent of a sniff, its not hard to see that he himself is unsure about such assertions.

K’vvan’s eyes catch on Cha’el’s bare back, watching the smooth muscles move under his skin. Thoughts tick back to the night before till finally he yanks his eyes away and puts it firmly back where it should be. “No. But I’m not quite sure what to do about it either.” Uncertainty, thy name is K’vvan. He reaches upwards to run a hand through tousled hair, though it does little to return any sense of order to it.

Nadeeth turns in a tight circle as she finishes her self check. All that is left now are the parts that require human hands and she isn’t about to bother K’vvan just yet for that assistance. A mental brush with K’vvan attempts to soothe some of his confusion, but there is only so much she can do at this point. «Fly?» she offers to the brown, not at all, meaning totally on purpose, attempting to distract the brown from his own morning schedule. She edges towards the side of the ledge, gaze turned backwards to invite Sikorth into the sky.

The sweet draught of relief sweeps through the older man, broad shoulders visibly relaxing. “What to do about it?” Still crouched before the hearth, Cha’el swivels on a bare heel and fits K’vvan with a look hovering somewhere between faint amusement and curiosity. “There’s nothing to do about it, K’vv. We’re two consenting adults that were attracted to each other and acted on it. There’s no shame in that and no expectations.” At least not from his side of things. There is however a small smile that emerges for the disobedient arrangement of the greenrider’s hair. Not that his own is behaving any better. With a soft hiss the kindling comes to life and after carefully a couple of smaller logs over the top of it, Cha’el pushes to his feet and crossing back over to the bed, flops onto it on his back, arms pillowed behind his head.

Sikorth would absolutely offer to help reach those hard to get to spots but alas, he doesn’t have opposable thumbs and so instead, he offers a compliment which outside of the thrum of a flight comes awkward through his mental touch. « You look like a wingsecond should. » Yeah, he needs to work on those compliments. The invitation to fly has the brown casting one last look his rider’s way and then giving up, taps Nadeeth with his tail and launches straight up into the air like an arrow. Tag. You’re it!

The faint smile on Cha’el’s face is not at all mirrored on K’vvan’s. He perches right on the edge of the bed watching Cha’el till he comes to thump back onto the bed. Shifting position K’vvan draws both legs up to his chest where he can rest a head upon both needs and look at the brown rider. His mind is a riot of thoughts, feelings, and shifting attentions; none of which settle easily or form into words. Instead the frown will even out till simple puzzlement folds on the younger man’s face.

«Cheating!» Nadeeth tosses her fuzzballs upwards as Sikorth launches himself past her. She takes an extra second to test her wings before she drops and rises rather lazily into the sky. No effort is made to actually catch the brown just yet- instead she circles keeping him within eyesight, mischief silently being planned.

Having been staring up at the domed ceiling waiting for the fire take hold enough so as to put a pot of water on to boil for klah, the extended silence has him turning his head in K’vvan’s direction. Catching the bemusement that settles across the greenrider’s face, he’s quiet for a few moments longer. And then: “What?” Asked in a low voice that’s more enquiring than it is demanding.

Up in the air, the heavy throb of whirring blades beats through the mental connection currently shared with Nadeeth. « Strategy. » Sikoth negates the accusation of cheating sweeping those fuzzballs along in his mental wake, leaving a stream of mist trailing out behind him. Higher and higher, expansive wings carry the mottled brown and then he suddenly tucks his wings and dives straight down.

There are dozens of questions, most half formed, some just vague outlines bouncing around K’vvan’s mind. Cha’el’s question is thus not quite answered right away, and K’vvan simply continues to look at the weyrsecond. Green eyes manage to stay on his face, rather than trail down to more… interesting views. “How did you do that?” One hand comes free to wave slightly as if ‘that’ seems to refer to a lot more than he is explaining.

Nadeeth doesn’t respond to this obvious nonsense answer. Instead she continues to rise lazily into the air, the sunlight as it breaks over the horizon causing her scales to sparkle just slightly. When Sikorth dives a small cascade of fuzzballs showers down. Right when Sikorth would pass by her position she flips suddenly, dodging out of the way with a small flick of her tail. «Tag!»

Cha’el’s gaze isn’t quite so stationery and meanders across the stark plains of bone and muscle constructing the greenrider’s upper torso. Although he gets the gist of what he thinks K’vvan might be asking, without a point of reference, the brownrider finds himself at a bit of a loss. “Well, first I lay a few pieces of kindling. Then I blow gently on the coals to get the embers to glow…” Yes, he’s teasing, construed in the lopsided smile that goes with it. “How do I do what, K’vv?” Sea-blue eyes return to the younger man’s face, latching to deep green.

Up in the sky, Sikorth, far more maneuverable than one might assume for his size, spins on a dime at the sneaky flick of tail and lets loose with a sound that could resemble draconic laughter. « Now who’s cheating? » He rumbles in a grind of finely tuned machinery and shoots off after Nadeeth, enchanted by the play of early morning light across green hide.

“I’ve never told… anyone. Any of,” a hand moves to gesture where his pallet, still disturbed from his restless turning the night before lays abandoned by the wall. “… anything, then you and just. How the hell did you do that?” He doesn’t actually seem upset, more genuine confusion. “Then,” and this time a full on blush heats up his never-needs-to-be-shaved face and he stumbles to a stop. “Just. How?”

«Nonsense. Be ready for anything.» Her ribbons tail behind her tauntingly, a swirl of golden yellow, pale green and soft purples. She makes no effort to escape his faster wingbeats, instead focusing on her own dance in the sky; though each move is not quite as fine as it could be. Would he see the opening and join, or leave her dancing alone in her joy? The twirling lifts her upwards and then sends her streaming down, her body laid out much like those ribbons in her mind as it streams effortlessly through the pale morning light.

Listening in silence, attention flicking between the way K’vvan’s lips move and his eyes, Cha’el forces his straying mind to FOCUS on what’s being said and not on the graceful lines of the younger rider’s body. Ahem. “I didn’t do anything,” the brownrider returns with a small smile and rolling over on to his side, props his head in his hand. “It was all you. You took the first step toward trusting someone. All I did was listen,” and touch and kiss and…FOCUS!! Reaching out his other hand, fingertips brush lightly over the bridge of the greenrider’s bared foot. “Thank you…” a pause wherein gazes lock, “for trusting me with…everything.” Quietly spoken. Almost a whisper but no less heartfelt, the enormity of the trust K’vvan has placedin him one that sends a lick of fear through the brownrider for the enormous sense of responsibility he now feels. His hand flattens and comes to a rest palm flat on top of the younger man’s foot. “Are you okay?” Earnest the expression now etched across bearded features.

For Sikorth, while there is joy in it, flight is mostly a business of getting from point A to point B in the most efficient way possible. No acrobatics, though he’s surely capable of them, and no playing about - His approach militaristic. Thus it is that when Nadeeth goes twirling away, he doesn’t follow in the game but instead hovers off to one side, enjoying the happy show she puts on, tendrils of mist sent streaming after those enticing ribbons. « You speak wisely, little one. » He remarks on being prepared for anything, his gravelly tone thoroughly approving of such a thing.

K'vvan, already sitting almost painfully ceases all movement for a hair's breathe of time as Cha'el reaches out to touch his foot. A lifetime of habits don't fail in the course of a single night. His eyes have fallen from Cha' el's face to that hand, transferring all of his inner confusion there. "You… won't say anything? To W'rin or Trek?" Softly falls the question from his lips. As the words still he bites his lower lip. "I do not want people to know. Not anyone." Including the brownrider before him. His stock of secrets is examined carefully, only a few remain, safely hidden deep under his skin.

Nadeeth curves one last time in the air before she is curving back towards the brown all of her body lazy satisfaction. «The dance creates grace.» The strings upon her mind swirl together, weaving upon them a picture, examples for the military minded brown. Images of practice where painted chords are avoided, «Less dance,» images replace words as pure white cotton represents the need to skip between. «And… Fun.» The last tease is added with her own special cascade of fuzzballs, sure that her brown friend would reject this notion.

Leaving his hand to drape casually over K’vvan’s foot, the thumb stroking lightly over the jutted bone of his ankle - either as a means to test the younger man’s ability to now accept at least some small measure of physical or because he’s just a touchy-feely kinda guy – Cha’el lends him a smile and shakes his head. “Its not mine to tell, K’vv. Just promise one thing, aye?” A pause and before adding, “You’ll come and talk to me when it all gets too much. Don’t keep it bottled up inside and don’t try to hit the bottle to drown it out either. I don’t care what time of the day or night it is, you come and find me. Even it just means sitting with you until the edge wears off.”

Although not one to indulge in pointless endeavors, Sikorth listens carefully to what Nadeeth has to say, his hovered position in the sky maintained as effortlessly as if he’d been suspended there by a string. The images she sends him are taken and hung between solid monoliths and then closely inspected from every angle. The dancing he gets when presented to him in that way but the last…. « To what purpose fun? » The fuzzballs gathered up and arranged in neat fighting formations.

That hand is slowly growing more distracting, but K'vvan attempts to shove it to one side. Half wishes to pull away half to take it in his own hand. The divided dichotomy messes with his head till he shakes it just slightly to clear it. "I'm not sure if I can promise that," the greenrider slowly begins. "It is… Unsettling," like that gentle rub to his ankle at the moment, "to have you know so much. I don't even barely know you." Which is true,

Nadeeth is not made for hovering, being more the hummingbird to his clank and machinery. She weaves around him carefully, occasionally allowing the most careful brush of wing or tail to back or stomach. «To make happy, when else makes you sad » Her ribbons eskew the idea of illustrating the sadness instead drifting away to settle on other positives. No darkness upon those ribbons at all!
«or to show happy, when ought goes as it should.» This,time the mental picture is utterly clear, of K'vvan and Cha'el right before they had awoken.

“Aye,” Cha’el agrees on K’vvan knowing little about him, for he’s not exactly the most forthcoming guy himself, “and that’s what trust is about. A risk taken trusting that the gamble will fall in your favor.” There the brownrider pauses as does the slow back and forth movement of his thumb. “You assume I would use this information against you because you know others that would. But you also assumed that I would simply take what I wanted,” pointed his expression, his hand squeezing gently about the myriad of fragile bones beneath it that compose the greenrider’s foot, as he references the night before. “But I will never betray something spoken in confidence unless it might save your life. And I will never take that which isn’t willingly given.” With that said, Cha’el rolls into a sitting position with a flex of taut abdominal muscles and scrubbing his hands through his hair in display of still not yet being completely awake, sets about getting a pot of water on the boil.

Ducking his head, twisting it this way and that, Sikorth follows the nimble little green’s antics, his tail snaking out to tickle along her side whenever she comes close enough for him to do so. « When one is sad, one works to find a solution. » He tells her after trying to wrap his mind around the concept of using fun to chase the blues away. No pun intended. Glittering ribbons free of darkness are studied for a moment as they dance and twirl through their mental link. Somewhere from far off in the distance of the brown’s mind, comes the clink of glasses and sound of deep masculine laughter. Its faint, but its there. Perhaps he’s beginning to get the idea. « How can there be fun. When they sleep? » He asks peering closer at the image of their riders sprawled in the bed.

K’vvan’s gaze follows the brownrider, his own rebuttal sitting silent for now. He reaches down to rub his foot just briefly when Cha’el’s back is turned, perhaps considering his words- though not yet accepting them forthrightly. As he fusses with the water K’vvan uncurls himself slightly, turning his back on the brownrider to test again the standing-thing. Cool stone meets his feet as he stands, one hand staying on the bed. In no way has the knot in his stomach untied, but it has settled like a rock rather than fluctuating wildly. When steady enough K’vvan makes his way over to that forgotten pallet, reaching for a clean shirt before kneeling to begin to put it back to order. It is one of the few things Cha’el didn’t have to pry out of him- he hates mess of all sorts and can be more than a bit obsessively clean.

«Because they worry less. Or mine does.» Nadeeth says firmly, sewing the idea along her ribbons. «Do you not enjoy rest?» With one last twirl around the brown she slows, then begins a gradual descent towards the lake and some rather pleasant rocks from which to lay upon.

With the pot hung from the curved hook over the fire, and silence from K’vvan hanging heavy in the air, Cha’el turns, his gaze slipping from the bed to the greenrider’s pallet when he finds him moved. It bothers him that the other rider gives no comment to what he’d said but he’s not about to press him for one and so, still bare-chested he makes short work of making the bed. With practiced ease, blankets are pulled back into place and smoothed free of wrinkles, corners are crisply folded and pillows plumped just so before the white furs are shaken out and laid with precision over the center of the bed. That done, another glance goes K’vvan’s way and then stifling a sigh the brownrider takes up the sweater from where it had been discarded on the floor the night before and pulling it over his head, pads on bare feet through the short tunnel that leads to the ledge. Halting in the archway he leans a shoulder against the side of the rocky wall and stares out over the Northern view of the bowl below with arms folded about his chest.

Spreading his wings and catching the morning breeze, Sikorth follows the dainty green down toward the lake. « Rest is necessary. » He states, seeming surprised that enjoying it might be an option. « When mine sleeps, he dreams. It isn’t always free of worry or restful. »

K’vvan takes his time with the small chores- there being not much more here to clean than there was in his own small weyr. With his back to the brownrider he does not notice any of the glances, though as he moves past and onto the ledge the movement catches the eye. One last adjustment to the furs before K’vvan is rolling the whole thing up to tuck neatly into a corner. A small sense of not quite-beasumesment, more weary acknowledgement, of just how easily almost everything about him was to set to one side. He crouches there for a long moment, considering that rather bitter thought before he rises. With Nadeeth gone there is little he can do but follow the brownrider, pausing just behind him to bite a lip in uncertainty. “I’ve had little enough reason to trust Cha’el, and I’m a terrible gambler.” Cha’el will just have to take his word on that one, because K’vvan isn’t about to explain.

A ripple of muscled sholders as Nadeeth touches down is perhaps a shrug. «No. Not always. But. It can be.» She is overall hopeful, especially on a morning with such a positive beginning. (Look, K’vvan hasn’t sworn or hit anyone yet, this is good.)

If only Cha’el were aware of that bitter passage of thought he might point out that a person’s impact on the lives of those around him isn’t broken down by the material possessions that define his existence but rather by the man or woman themselves. None the wiser, his gaze slips from the dawn of orange and gold streaking across the lightening sky and turning his head, settles it on the young man behind him. At first struck by the play of early morning’s caress across features free of scowl or frown for the time being and how young K’vvan appears when painted in such a light, the brownrider is silent. “Aye,” Cha’el quietly agrees on the first for he won’t diminish the traumas the greenrider has encountered by trying to scent them with rose water. “I know.” Solemn acceptance thereof. “But if you never pick up the cards, you run the risk of never winning the hand.”

Landing in his usual squall of dust and sand, Sikorth arranges himself into a statue of vigilance, a sliver of good humor allowed to peek through the chinks in the arrangement of ancient stones. « You are a credit to your rider and the Weyr. » He remarks, gruff tone taking on an oddly fond note. « Would that all carried your optimism. »

For a moment K’vvan just looks at Cha’el before a smile breaks out on his face, which slowly slips into a chuckle. It doesn’t take long before the greenrider has to close his eyes on what could almost be tears as his chuckie grows into full on laughter. Clearly there is some irony that the brownrider has no clue in, and K’vvan is laughing a bit too hard to clue him in. He leans against the stone wall for support as mirth peeks through.

«It is good to be wanted.» Nadeeth is honest. Though her memory does not extend as far back as their turns at Bendan, there will always be a vague feeling which tinges around that particular thought. «I am glad you and yours are with us.» Warmth wraps in Nadeeth’s voice, the soft velvet very affectionate. Upon the stones the sunlight is begining to pour their warmth and Nadeeth sprawls out, wingsails open to catch every ray.

Initially, Cha’el stares at the greenrider as if perhaps he’s grown another head. What is that expression? That sound? Is K’vvan…laughing? Having no clue as to the origin thereof and heedless of whether it might be at his expense or not, a smile grows across the brownrider’s mouth. It’s a sound that he would be tempted to move the Red Star to ensure becomes a regular thing. “You gonna share the joke or just stand there yucking it up?” He asks, a fond expression in place.

« You are wanted, Nadeeth » Sikorth solemnly confirms. « And needed. » He adds and then feeling a little foolish shifts slightly in that statue-like pose of his, the mists of his mind twining about the gay ribbons of hers. Chalk and cheese.

K’vvan doesn’t laugh often (obviously), so he doesn’t keep laughing for very long. Shoulders slowly stop shaking from the rolling laughter and he takes a deep breath before letting the last few chuckles out. Eyes, when they open, are a bright green as he wipes the stray tears of laughter from his cheeks. “Just…” oh and the irony, “trust me, gambling is the last thing I need to be doing.” The moisture upon his hands is wiped off on a sleeve before K’vvan shakes his head. “Cha,” a nickame? “I don’t even know what to think right now.”

A severe contrast can be drawn between the relaxed pile of green and the statuesque pose of the brown. Curling gaiety and whirring machinery. Soft silks and stone monoliths. But there is also a strange serenity between them also- perhaps in that Nadeeth has utter and inquenchible trust in the stoic Sikorth. Much different from that which exists between their riders. Her next thought is a bit wistful, «Will you stay? When my game is at hand?»

Still the none the wiser at to the source of K’vvan’s mirth, Cha’el simply enjoys watching the younger rider give in to it with an indulgent smile in place. Once the greenrider is finally able to offer explanation, lips twist about a wry line. “I didn’t mean literally.” He returns with an amused roll of eyes. Turning so that his back is against the wall and bending a leg to brace his foot to it as well, there’s a small smile for the nickname spoken that softens at K’vvan’s admission. “Told you.” The gentle thread of a tease slips into his baritone. “Mind blowing.” Tossing a wink at the greenrider, he pushes away from the wall and heads inside to put together two mugs of klah with a dash of rum to ward off the winter chill.

A study in contrasts indeed. But one that works. At least it does for Sikorth who finds the cheerful green a refreshing breeze even if he doesn’t understand her reasoning half the time. But then she asks that question of him and briefly his mind retracts, unsure of whether to tell her what his rider had suggested to hers or not. Eventually, he goes for the safer alternative. « Nothing would please me more. »

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