Ksenia, Cha'el, NPCs Jo & Vien


Testosterone rules the day when Cha’el confronts a stranger in a hut in the Mountain Pass.

Language & Violence


It is late afternoon of the twenty-third day of the sixth month of the second turn of the


Southern Weyr, Mountain Pass

OOC Date


31.jpg Chael18.png sikorth_default.jpg


Mountain Pass

The westward trail slants northward, rising to where the air is thin and cold and crisp. A change of climate is tangible from the highlands below, as this place is more remniscent of the snowy wastes of High Reaches than the indolent heat of Southern's jungles. The pass narrows into a barely-accessible trail carved by hand from the obdurate rock of the barrier mountains, the crest above promising some relief and the glint of sun against snow just beyond the apex of the trail.

It is late afternoon on a day where, in the weyr proper, the temperatures plummet to a cool fifty degrees. Just chilly enough to require a good hearth fire and blankets, but not cold enough to do more than tickle the senses. It is a night of rain… in the weyr proper. Up in the mountain passes, however, the afternoon is not so forgiving. as the temperatures plummet towards subzero zones as the winter wind whips around. It is not in the upper reaches of the mountain pass that skulks a trader woman, but in the midway point between the highlands of temperate temperatures and the frozen wasteland of the upper mountains. In a place where it's cold, but bone-freezing cold.

Thus it is at an outpost that Ksenia finds herself waiting. It's a small building made of stone with a single room and a hearth for the weary traveler to seek refuge if need be for the journey southward or northward. It is here that, when her brother arrives, Jo is sent off. This, see, is a private meeting. Or at least, private from Jo.

This is how Jo will come to find Cha'el on his way to the crafter's complex thinking that tonight will be the easiest night to do the inspections he intends for no sign of Ksenia can be seen in the weyr proper. Surely she must be manning her booth on the docks, yes? No. Jo's message is very clear. She's meeting a man (brother? cousin? she's entirely sure, here) in one of the outposts with a message as short and sweet as: "I'll be home late," that Jo delivers in a deadpan tone.

This doesn't bode well.

With his duties for the day behind him and yet still a few hours to go before Ksenia would expect him home, Cha’el’s mind is cast toward the project he currently has under way in a small room on the Crafter’s Complex. So it is that when Jo finds him about to enter the main area, the Weyrleader comes to an abrupt halt, quickly swiping the guilty expression from his face. Easier enough to do once Ksenia’s appointed guardian delivers her message.

“And you fucking left her ALONE!? With a man!?” Cha’el erupts. “WHAT man!?” Beat. “Are you TRYING to get yourself fired or are you just that fucking stupid!?” No time is left for Jo to provide an answer. “Where? Which outpost!?” The rider demands to know already doing an about face and calling for his dragon.

"Erm…" The only time that Jo looks more than a little flummoxed a hint of ire surfacing in the cold control she usually employs with thinned lips and drawn in brows. "The one just before the Pass climbs to the upper reaches." And then… Cha'el is disappearing and Jo is left shaking her head. What to do? Sent off by Ksenia and the 'man' and berated by Cha'el.

Is the damn guard worth this headache?! If only she could tie down the woman and make her stay put, but somehow, that might not bode well either.

Meanwhile, Ksenia is settling in the little outpost with a cheery hearth fire and shooting happy looks towards a tall, broad-shouldered man with auburn hair and stormy-grey eyes. "So much has happened since we last spoke," breathless comes her words of excitement, eyes shining. "I have gotten — "

"Sister," Vien, who's settled himself on a stool and watches as his sister stokes the fire, "there's a lot to talk about." His expression is both kind and stern, but hints of softening around his features as he struggles to maintain the seriousness of his demeanor. "But first, I'm wanting a little bit more thorough of an explanation than what I got last time and that better include how that man of yours is going to make you an honest woman."

"Well…" Ksenia hems and haws, focused on the fire making before she finally starts in on the long story. She's gotten most of it out of the way by the time Jo has reached and delivered his message to Cha'el, and she's just about to start explaining to her brother about the joyful news, probably the same moment Cha'el begins his trail of fury.

"Vien…" Deep breath. "… Now don't be mad. It's not like last time…" Her chin lifts, and a fire comes to tawny eyes as they meet his stormy greys.

"I— "

Sorry, Jo. You just so happened to have put yourself right in the middle of two willful and temperamental people. Consider this an excellent training ground for honing diplomatic skills. Once Cha’el has a location, the guardian is dismissed with an ominous. “I’ll talk to YOU later.” Swiftly he mounts the dragon just landed in an upsweep of wind and within moments the brownpair are aloft and winking Between, not wishing to waste time by flying straight.

With every emotion that bodes ill for anyone that might even think to be laying a hand on Ksenia structuring a hard expression in place, Southern’s Weyrleader barges into the small outpost, the door banging hard against the rocks of the wall its set into. Does he notice that his weyrmate appears to be completely at ease in the stranger’s company? No, he does not. All he registers is that she’s tucked away in the middle of nowhere with someone he’s never seen before. And he doesn’t like it. Not one little bit!

“Who the FUCK are you!?” Cold blue eyes snap to the auburn-haired man as he lifts a hand and gestures silently for Ksenia to come to him.

In fact, Ksenia looks to have a warm, excited expression curving along her pretty features. Her hands have instinctively strayed towards her belly as the news she's about to impart bubbles up her throat and puts a sparkle to her eye. That is, until Cha'el comes bursting through the door and her voice is strangled out with more than a hint of dismay, " — Cha'el!"

Vien, heretofore relaxed, is watching his sister with narrowed eyes as if the tale she's told is not entirely to his satisfaction. Impatiently does he await this jewel that his sister is about to impart to him, noting the softening of her features, but it's the happiness that clouds her vision that truly gives the man pause. That is, well, until a mad man bursts into the little bubble of warmth in the middle of a rainy winter's day. Vien reacts with a speed that speaks of a hard life on the road, shoving his sister behind his broad back and flashing a knife from where it was tucked away at his belt.

"I could ask the same thing of you, Stranger." A hardness encases features that are roughened by the sprinkle of dirt that speaks of a hard day's ride to get to this little hiding spot. "You better turn around and leave," the warning is hissed while storm-grey eyes assess the man, briefly lingering on his knot, "Weyrleader."

Ksenia, fish mouthing at the sudden way her happy reunion with her brother is quickly dissolving, did make a move to get to Cha'el's side (to help with her weyrmate's temper before he can kill her brother!) when she's so rudely pushed behind Vien.

"For Faranth's sake!" She yells, trying to skirt around Vien — who just rudely pushes her back again — before throwing her hands up. "Cha'el, don't kill my brother, please!" Maybe pleading will help.

Dripping wet and looking like some or other monster from the deep, the moment Vien pulls his knife, so Cha’el’s hand drops to the hilt of his sword but he doesn’t draw it yet. Knife. Sword. Dick measuring contest much?

“Not without my weyrmate,” the Weyrleader growls, anger rising further when Ksenia is shoved behind the idiot with the knife. And it’s enough to have him draw his sword with a soft snicker of metal against leather scabbard and level its tip at the other man’s throat. “Step aside and let her go and maybe I’ll think about leaving you with enough blood to crawl back under the rock you came from.”

But then Ksenia is interceding and cold blue eyes skitter sideways to her. One, two, three…..there it is, the moment the glowbasket fully unlids and realization dawns. “Your WHAT?” Attention flicks back to Vien, this time in silent assessment the dragonrider looking no more appeased by this information given the nature of the rest of her family.

“What do you want with her?”

Don't you know it's not size that matters, but what you can do with it that does? Vien doesn't flinch from Cha'el's sword point, nor does he let his sister — already trying to creep out from behind him — go. "Ksenia, don't you dare move." Weyrmate is not a term that the trader is familiar with and thus merely offers a blank expression, but there's a single point of weakness when Ksenia levels her introductions and Cha'el's attention slides away from him. Vien, who's of roughly equivalent height, is already ducking the sword point by the time Cha'el's eyes are back on him. Ducking so he can step in and try to get in a sucker punch.

"Are YOU the man that kidnapped my sister?!" The roar that comes from Vien is given towards his sister the same time she's trying to skirt around to get to both men, yelling, "He's my brother! I swear, he's good! He's — VIEN!" At the same time he's trying to get another sucker punch in, Ksenia starts slapping her brother's back like an avenging harpy, shrieking as her face starts to purple, "DON'T HIT HIM, VIEN, IF ANYONE IS HITTING ANYONE, IT'S GONNA BE ME!!" Lest Cha'el think he's out of danger: "Don't you dare kill my big brother, baba!" The color in her face is probably not something she should be keeping up. Remember, she's a fainting sheep!

"What do YOU want with her — ow ow ow ow ow, FARANTH'S BALLS woman! STOPPIT!" Vien is under attack, and tries to swat at his sister to get her to stop sharding hitting him!

Really? See no one has thus far seen fit to clue Cha’el in on the whole ‘size doesn’t count’ thing. That sucker punch is successful and catches the Weyrleader right on the bridge of his nose, splitting a cut across it and drawing a flash of pain behind his eyes that erupts into a roar of fury.

“YOU COCKSUCKING, MOTHERFUCKING, SONOFFA…” The next punch catches his shoulder when he feints sideways. But Cha’el sees his opening the moment Vien is distracted by Ksenia’s attempts to slap him into line and throws a gut punch. And if he lands it, and the trader doubles over, he’ll grab him by the head and shove a knee into his face.

Oh. OH. It is ON like DONKEY KONG, Cha'el! Vien tosses aside his knife — because, let's face it, this is not a deadly weapons fight — and is just about to land another punch when the man catches him in the gut that's followed by a knee to the FACE. A sickening crunch as the perfect bridge of his nose is broken, which elicits a yowl of fury and pain! This only enrages Vien into using the fact that Cha'el's unbalanced himself to deliver that knee to the face and pushing the Weyrleader forward, trying to get him to go down or at the very least to crash against the stones. "YOU FARANTH FUCKING RUTTING DRAGONRIDER, TAKING MY SISTER AND MAKING A WHORE OUT OF HER!!!" Vien is no stranger to fighting, and attempts to deliver a kidney shot and use the hard-headedness of his skull for a head-butt. "I WILL KILL YOU!!!"

Ksenia moans when her attempts to dislodge Vien from Cha'el only succeeds in getting her brother hurt more. For a moment, she stares in shock as the men just… start… brawling. The sudden momentum of the fight has her ducking some almost unfortunate swing — this little outpost isn't very big now — and darting to the other side of the little room. "Stoppit!! STOPPIT!!! CHADAREL!!! VIENYA!!! STOP BEHAVING LIKE CHILDREN!!" She pauses to place her hand to the stone walls, dark spots swimming in her vision, but no way is she giving into a faint. Not now!

Slipping off her boot, she takes the thing and hurls it into the fray. "Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!!!"

Cha’el exhales a grunt when his back hits hard against the stone wall behind him and immediately he lowers his head and braces his shoulders and meets that head-butt well…head on. Thick skull this one has which in no way diminishes the stars that sparkle in front of his eyes as a result. “OW!! YOU FUCKING LITTLE SHIT!” The dragonrider complains when that fist slams into his kidney. But he’s by no means beaten and grabbing a hold of Vien by the throat he’ll try to use that hold to keep him in place while he beats the ever-loving crap out of the side of his head.


Twisting, pure brawn comes into play and if he manages to get any leverage whatsoever, Cha’el will do his level best to shove his attacker away from himself and sweep a foot behind Vien’s ankle in a bid to put him on the floor. With the air thick with testosterone Ksenia is of course, for the moment ignored.

“NOT IF I KILL YOU FIRST!” Cha’el bellows scattering droplets of blood streaming from the cut across his nose.

THUD! “OW!” Ksenia’s boot catches him upside the head. The unexpectedness of it is enough to give the rider a moment’s pause. “The FUCK!!??”

Now is not the time for words. Vien is intent on dodging some of these blows that Cha'el is aiming to land, but he's no superman. He's not able to dodge them all, especially not the blows to his head. But while his ears ring, he's not standing idly by just letting the brownrider sucker punch him, no, he's going to go for the knee to the balls to try and bring Cha'el down low enough to get in another good punch to the face, two or three if he can manage it.

When Ksenia's boot gives the other man pause, Vien is rushing Cha'el with hands braced on shoulders to allow him to bring his knee up to the brownrider's gut at the same time he's trying to slam his elbows into the man's back if his first hit lands.

Ksenia, meanwhile, throws both hands against her mouth when her boot catches Cha'el on the head. "Noooooooooo." So of course, she does the only thing she can think to do. And that's jump in and try to wiggle her way in between the pair of them, and cut that testosterone with some good, common sense.

"VIEN, stop. Stop! Cha'el… Stop!!"

Cha’el has gotten pretty good at dodging those shots to his nuts thanks to Ksenia’s penchant for schooling him in such a manner and so Vien’s knee catches him square in the thigh, numbing the muscle so that the rider wobbles forward, RIGHT into a hard fist - One to the side of the jaw that crushes his teeth against his lower lip and another under his chin that reverberates through his skull like a gong.

Then it’s his gut with ANOTHER knee and then elbows smash into his kidneys. “Fuck!” Cha’el groans. However, brawling is what he cut his milk teeth on as the son of a seacrafter and the fight has far from gone out of him. With his head down, he launches forward, shoving his skull into Vien’s diaphragm while wrapping thickly muscled arms about the trader’s waist with enough momentum that the pair might land up crashing onto the table.

But then it all goes pear-shaped when Ksenia physically tries to shove herself between them. Does it stop the Weyrleader? Not a chance, he’ll just reach around her and try to smack her brother upside the head with an open palm instead.

“KSENIA!! Get outta the way!!”

That little table never hurt anyone. And yet, here it is, getting smashed to smithereens. Of course, it's not the first crash into it that seals its fate. Nay, because while Cha'el is trying to slap around Ksenia, Vien is digging his fingers into the Weyrleader's shirt to bring him foreword for another headbutt when his sister backs out of the way. That's just enough to overset the balance of the table as the trader gets his footing brought out from beneath him. The combined weight of Vien and Cha'el is enough to crush the wood and send them both crashing to the ground.

Ksenia throws her hands up in the air and delivers little kicks to BOTH men on her way out of the little outpost. "I give up. When you boys can talk like MEN and not like CHILDREN, you can find me back at the weyr." Cheeks are red, flushed and eyes are snapping as anger floods her senses. Damned if she's not now crying from ANGER. Damn those hormones!

"If you kill each other, I'll never forgive EITHER OF YOU!!" OUT she goes, SLAMMING the door with a SATISFYING BANG. And that is how she trots her ass down the mountain pass, sniffling and rubbing at her eyes. And if Sikorth even DARES to get close to her, she will level a finger at the brown and say, "No. You stay back. Neither of them are my favorite people right now. Dumb males and their … fighting." On and on her tirade will go, yelled and screamed to the sky as blood pressure skyrockets.

When the table gives way beneath them, heads collide in a sudden jolt and in a perfect enactment of insult to injury, Vien’s forehead lands RIGHT where the first head-butt had and dislodges cartilage from bone, effectively, breaking Cha’el’s nose. Between that and the slam of the door, the Weyrleader finally registers Ksenia’s distress and releases her brother attempting to shove him away from himself with one hand and a knee while the other cups over his nose now streaming blood down the sides of his face and into his ears. “GEROFF, ya fuckin’ eejit!” He growls, accent thick. His only interest now being in going after his weyrmate.

As for Sikorth, who has been waiting outside rolling his eyes mentally at his rider’s hot-blooded temper, the moment Ksenia exits, he completely ignores her order and lumbers to his feet. Like a giant canine, the big brown trundles after her. « Shall I drop him in the ocean for you? » He asks of his rider’s mate, his mental touch lacking the beat of metal blades and instead sifting in on a cooling mist scented with the sweet earthiness of meadows at dawn.

Vien's head not only impacts Cha'el's head but the stones of the floor as well, and while there's nothing but a bloody smile for the satisfaction of breaking the other man's nose as WELL. Since his own is throbbing a complaint beneath the rage that simmers. But his blood is not so hot as Cha'el's and while they are fairly evenly matched, the depth of that brawler's rage is lacking in the trader as his is more of a cold intent. So that when the other man starts to disentangle himself, he lets go easily. "That's my sister…" he grumbles, but his head is currently circled by tweeting birds as his ears ring. Pushing himself to a half-sit, half-sprawl, he narrows his eyes at the other man so intent to get to his sister. One eye is surely already swelling from those punches.

Sikorth's words have Ksenia sobbing in earnest now, grateful glances cast at the brown. "Yes. Drop them BOTH in the ocean. They BOTH deserve to have their hides flayed. Neither one of them," hiccup, "listening and just … fighting. I don't want to see their FACES!" She takes a moment to pause and throw her head back to the sky and just yell out her frustration and anger. The dark spots threaten again, but she holds herself to consciousness by sheer grit and the fact that Sikorth is watching. Slower, unsteady steps send her walking forward once more. Deep, calming breaths. "They didn't even care," apparently, the brown is now Dr. Sikorth, for he's getting her endless tale of woes, "about me. Just about their penises and making sure they proved that theirs were bigger and longer than the other." She pauses and puts a hand to her belly, blindly reaching for a brown body part to stabilize her, while she pulls at a rock that lodged into the tender flesh of her socked foot. "Ohhhhhh, I'm gonna be sick. Look what he's done. I've half a mind to tear his hide from his bones!!!" Her emotions are all over the board, pegging around nausea, anger, rage, frustration, and the tears that just won't stop. And she's only got one shoe on.

Rolling over onto his side once Vien’s weight is off of him, Cha’el spits a mouthful of blood to one side and glares blearily at the trader. “Aye, well she’s my weyrmate now.” The dragonrider gives, his face a garish mess of bruises coming up, broken nose, split lip and blood. “You’re an eejit.” He tells Vien again just in case he missed it the first time. “And you broke my fucking nose.” Just in case he mised that too.

Stifling a groan as his kidneys and ribs weigh in with complaint the Weyrleader rolls to his knees and slowly gets to his feet. “I’m going after her and when I get back with her, you’d better have an apology ready for calling her a whore.” Swiping his sleeve under nose and then sniffing hard in poor attempt to stem the flow of blood, he casts Vien a last disgruntled look and limping, heads out into the rain.


« She does not wish to speak with you. » Comes his dragon’s sharp reply colored in gunmetal grey. We are not amused.

Letting Ksenia ramble on, giving nothing away of how much he understands of what she’s saying, the dragon lengthens his stride a touch and plants himself across her path, disallowing her from continuing further unless she plans on going over him. Offering a sturdy wall of brown for her to lean against, Sikorth mantles a wing to provide shelter from the wintry rain. « Your clutch sibling. » Vien. « He is like mine. » A pause before explanation is provided in which the sigh of a soft breeze weaving through the ancient monoliths of his mind spills out. « They fight for the right to protect you and the egg. »

Vien merely shoots blood out from between his teeth, giving Cha'el's list of complaints a very male eye roll. "Yeah, well. You don't see me complaining." Sitting up, he leans over and with another sickening crunch, resets his nose in what's become a practiced move. Of course, a manly sound of pain comes out after that, but he doesn't do anything but grunt at the Weyrleader's demands. "Unless weyrmate is marriage, you've dishonored her." Says the staunch, trader now time older brother who's gotten some real joy out of kicking the ass (and getting his own handed back to him) of his sister's kidnapper.

Sikorth just keeps getting better and better, so that even when he steps in front of her, she doesn't protest. Instead, she drapes herself on that brown hide and sooooooooooooobs into it. It's one of those release of emotions that females do, that lets everything out. "Didn't… listen… what if… they had … crashed… into … me?! They… didn't even… all they could… measuring dicks… well… THEIR DICKS ARE TINY SAUSAGES!!!" The fury of her rage is manifest in the fury of her sobs, her arms encircling (or trying to) the leg she's got her face pressed against. Hopefully, Sikorth didn't just kill dinner prior to coming, because otherwise, she's mashing her face into his ankle. "Damn men. Yes, they are two fardling peas in a sharding pod!! They can HAVE EACH OTHER!" Hearing Cha'el yelling gets a hot poker of anger through her spine, which nearly snaps in two for how straight she keeps it. "I don't suppose," her voice is thick and hiccuppy, "that we can just leave them?" Sniffle, sniffle.

"I like you best, Sikorth." Dawww. Can he feel the love? Cause he is her absolute favorite right now. She's noticed the wingbrella! Hastily, she tries to dry her eyes but those damn tears keep coming and her face is a mess (haw haw, nothing like Cha'el's and Vien's!) and her stomach is roiling and her cheeks are flushed and her hair is an absolute wreck!

Cha’el won’t even dignify that first with a response. Instead he flicks Vien the bird over his departing shoulder upon which droops limply, the fancy and now somewhat tangled, knot of his rank. As to the second, that just catches him within hearing distance but the Weyrleader is rather more intent on catching up with his weyrmate than soothing the trader’s sense of honor.

Being bonded to a male and one not given to emotional displays – except for a few very rare times – Sikorth is somewhat bemused when Ksenia curls herself about his leg and sobs her heart out. Fastidious about his cleanliness – save it seems to appear for those deadly teeth of his – the warm trickle of tears down his hide is endured with as much dignity as the brown can muster. Eventually, once her sobs have subsided to sniffles and hiccups, the brown reaches out once again. « Dry your eyes, straighten your shoulders and put those fools to rights. If you leave now, you do not leave the victor. » Such is the advice of one that commands hundreds of dragons in the thick of Fall though his words are delivered in a gentler tone than he might otherwise use with another.

A dragon of Sikorth’s size isn’t hard to find. Drawing closer, the rain diluting the blood from the various injuries to his face so that it trickles in pink rivulets down his neck to seep into the fabric of the pale blue shirt he’s wearing, Cha’el’s limping steps slow and then halt altogether just outside of the reach of that wing-brella that Ksenia seeks shelter under.

“Ksenia.” A pause in which the rather bedraggled Weyrleader presses his palm to his lower back. Fucking eejit trader pounding his kidneys!! “Love, come back inside where its warm, you’re going to catch a cold out here.” Practicalities first, apologies later it seems.

Ksenia's back does straighten even further, a regal dignity slowly falling into place. "You're right," she whispers, her voice rough from all the crying. With her back still given to Cha'el, she places her palms on her lower belly and hisses, "I need just ten minutes of no crying, baby. Your mama's got to kick your papa in the backside." Giving her belly a pat, she slowly turns and and lifts her chin. Ducking out from under the wingbrella that Sikorth offers, she slowly advances on the brown rider. Her beloved. "No, no, no. Don't you 'love' me, Cha'el. You almost killed my brother," fury enrages, mottling the honey'd skin of her pretty features. Flushing cheeks and sending a creeping red stain down her neck and into the tip of her nose.

The rain has pulled her hair down into a soggy rope of dark chair, and plasters silky strands around a pale moon of her face, the tawny eyes like golden fire as she advances on the brown rider. "You didn't even ASK what was happening first! You just BARGED in. Did you LOOK at my face? No?" Finally her steps take her close to Cha'el and her hand whips out to slap him in the face. "I was just about to deliver MY GOOD NEWS, YOU ARROGANT BASTARD!!!!!" Small hands rail against his chest as Ksenia becomes a dervish of anger, a devil of frustration and damned if tears don't threaten AGAIN upon the horizon.

"You go and apologize, Chadarel!! Look… Look at yourself!!" How exactly? "You've gone and got yourself bleeding and you — you are BLEEDING all over my shirt!" Given the level of her anger, and the fact that she's wailing on him, he very likely will have time to realize that she's going to knee him in the nuts if he's not quick enough. "YOU'RE HURT!" this is screamed at him whether her knee makes contact or not.

The gravest of offenses, especially when her hands are slapping at him! She isn't making a lick of sense. "I just wanted my brother to approve. More than anyone… and now…" Yes that's a sniffle, dammit! "I didn't even get to tell him that I'M SHARDING PREGNANT AND OH MY GREAT FARANTH YOU BOTH DIDN'T EVEN CARE ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT YOU ACCIDENTALLY HIT ME!!!!"

Fingers dig into his tunic, trying to shake him.

“He started it.” Cha’el begins almost petulantly much like a wayward teen would accused of fighting in the school yard. “And then he called you a whor…How was I supposed to KNOW!?” Quickly he makes a grab at taking the offensive though he does take a half step back when his furious weyrmate begins to advance on him already thinking ahead to take measures to protect his nuts should she decide to go that route. “You don’t tell Jo what’s going on just to ‘Leave, it’s a private meeting’. What the fuck was I SUPPOSED to think!? You very conveniently left that off of the schedu…” CRACK her palm connects with the bruised side of his face.

He barely has time to recover from that stinging slap when as he’d predicted, she goes for his nuts. At least this time, he’s prepared and turns to the side so that her knee catches him exactly where Vien’s had. “Fuck!” Cha’el staggers a step sideways as once again his thigh muscle goes numb. “What is it with you lot and fucking kneeing a man in the nuts.” Pause. “Your brother fights like a girl.” He goes on to mumble without very much heat attached. If anything, there’s a strange glimmer of respect in blue eyes for the trader’s ability to handle himself.

But, he’s still under vehement female attack and that which has Cha’el going rather wide-eyed and quiet. Until she’s tries to shake him. That seems to wobble him out of the trance he’d gone into. “I’m fine, I’m fine!” The rider is quick to assure unable to see how very much un-fine he currently looks. All that currently registers is Ksenia, how upset she is and that she’s drenched with rain and standing outside in the cold. “And so is your brother.” He adds and then stares at her for her last, a salient point made that has him blanching and suddenly looking like he might be about to throw up.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t…think.” And there it is – He didn’t think.

“I… I have no words for you right now.” Ksenia wipes her nose with the back of her hand and tries not to show just how very many words she does have for him, especially in the face department. She carries her bruised dignity around her like the most precious of shrouds, chin lifted. “Sikorth is right.” What? What has his meddlesome dragon been meddling into? “You deserve to be dropped into the ocean, you both do.” Hefting her soggy skirts in her hand, she skirts around Cha’el and starts stalking back to the little outpost. “Forgive me if I wanted a private moment with my brother. I cannot even believe you would think,” her voice is pure, affronted female, “that I would be having a tryst,” as the wrong assumption is made. “Really, Chadarel. Really.” Oh how he would wither beneath the look she gives him, every inch the vengeful phoenix as rage flash-burns the through the verbal tinder he gives. “Just… Really. “

She spears him with a look over her shoulder. “Life is made for surprises, m’lord. Sometimes they aren’t ON YOUR SHARDING SCHEDULE!!!” That last is screeched out as the blood pressure rises as rage simmers at the boiling point, but she takes a deep breath. Getting herself under control. Only briefly are tawny eyes vacant and unseeing before she turns around and marches back towards the little building. “Now you need to come and right the damage you did.” Also known as, Cha’el, come fix it. As for her last comment and the blanching, she leaves that to settle and simmer for a bit. She’s not yet done with her anger, boyo!

The narrowed look Cha’el levels on Ksenia says it all – She sure had a LOT of words for him just moments ago. But he’s not about to spend any further time in the cold winter rain arguing with her about it. Instead, after throwing a GLARE Sikorth’s way, he turns himself around and limps after Ksenia with a resigned expression in place. He’s in the shit. All there is to do now is try to determine the depth thereof.

“I didn’t.” Cha’el finally retorts though to which of those ‘words she doesn’t have for him’ tossed his way it applies, he doesn’t bother to explain. There is a light a flinch for the screeching level she’s able to pitch her voice towards but still. NO comment. What.so.ever. He just follows behind her back toward the dry shelter of the little building in which hopefully, Vien has thought to put the broken table to good use and feed the fire.

Vien was not thoughtful enough to use the table to feed the fire. Instead, he’s taken the only stool and sprawled in it while dabbing at his face with the tail of his tunic, exposing his belly and what little of it can be seen, the trader’s well toned and not given to fat. When Ksenia steps into the little shelter, the brother looks from his sister to the man trailing behind her and cannot stop the smirk that touches on expressive lips. Hey, better Cha’el than Vien. Take one for the team, buddy. “Not a word out of you,” Ksenia mutters, pointing a judgmental finger in Vien’s direction. “And if you two start fighting, I’m going have Sikorth drop you BOTH in the ocean.” Defiance runs rampant in her expression when she turns ‘round on Cha’el. “And he’d do it for me, just see that he doesn’t!”

Mulishly, she folds her arms across her chest and looks from Cha’el to Vien and back to Cha’el again. Huffing in ire, she mutters when she gives the men her back. “You two are a mess. Vien, this Cha’el. Please don’t punch him. I told you the kidnapping … was… resolved.” She apparently spilled the beans on that one. “Cha’el, this is my big brother,” oh the dark look that’s leveled on her weyrmate from over her shoulder, the fire in the hearth flickering an angry orange glow over her features, “Vien.” Vien, for all his aggression, is a smart man and doesn’t chance talking, but merely lifting a hand in belated greeting before letting it slap against his thigh. Turning back to face them both, she lifts her chin and states, “I’m pregnant, Vien.” Not exactly the joyful and soft and gentle delivery she’d been aiming for before. And for that, both men get glares. Until she backs up and presses her shoulderblades against the stabilizing agent of the wall. Deep breaths, deep breaths as control is sought. Vien’s expression isn’t entirely shocked but neither is it entirely pleased.

Aaaah see, Cha’el is starting to learn to pick his battles, hence his silence as he follows Ksenia inside. Which shouldn’t be mistaken for being in any way cowed. To Vien sprawled on that stool his attention latches that smirk returned with a silent shrug of shoulders in a ‘Women. What can you do?’ gesture. But that’s only once Ksenia has given them her back. He’s not stupid! Several broken planks are taken up and fed into the fire with the dragonrider darting a sharp look over his shoulder first to his weyrmate and then her brother when she brings up the kidnapping. He says nothing however until the introductions are formally made.

Then, the Weyrleader stands to his feet, dusts his hands off on his butt and extends the other man a proper dose of his attention. “Well met, Vien.” As easygoing and casual as if they hadn’t just tried to beat the crap out of each other. “A weyrmate is like a mar…” Cha’el begins to clarify on the comment that had been tossed at his back when he’d gone after Ksenia earlier but is cut off by her announcement of the pregnancy.

“Jays, love. You wanna give the man a chance to catch his breath first? Maybe let him know that we’re ‘mate…married and all before you go telling him he’s gonna be an uncle or an aunty?” One of those blows to the head must have been a good one going by his last.

Vien, sprawled as he is on the ONE STOOL, half-leans up with one arm around his own ribs before giving Cha’el a tight-gripped clasp of hand for that introduction. “Vien. Roma trader.” He gives little details as to his position in the Roma, though his eyes slide to his sister. “Well met,” his own greeting is quirked into a smile that half-lifts the side of his mouth. As for the topic of ‘woman’, that absolutely earns Cha’el a tilt of his head, but only so far as Ksenia can’t see. “I’m not daft, Cha’el,” the man’s name rolls off weirdly on Vien’s trader’s tongue, but thus far he’s keeping his counsel. “A dragonrider can’t marry and if I know anything, I know a fancypants Weyrleader isn’t a man without a dragon.” Brows lift as attention goes back to his sister. Ksenia has kind of stared off into space for a moment before her attention snaps back to the bruised and bloodied members of her family.

“He can’t be an aunty, Cha’el.” Tawny eyes narrow sharply on Cha’el for that remark. “If you have a concussion, so help me, Faranth, I will smack you upside the head.” Which isn’t going to do anyone any favors. She tangles her fingers together and takes a deep breath. “But he will be an uncle.” Something lingers in the statement, a shadow of the past, but she lifts her chin. “A real uncle. Vien, you can’t hate Cha’el.” With a savagery that belies just how angry she is, she tears a strip off of her tunic and balls it up, and advances on Cha’el. The glitter of gold catches the firelight which automatically draws Vien’s eye. Which earns the brownrider a shuttered look from the trader, the intensity of storm-grey eyes assessing the other man for what might be the first time.

“I’m waiting, sister, on making my assessment before hearing some of this story by this man’s own account.” Namely, how the man could kidnap his sister. Hey, this is a STICKING point.

“You gonna leave a pregnant woman standing?” Cha’el asks making a point of LOOMING over the seated trader despite the civilized ease of their having just exchanged greetings. “I’m not all that familiar with your customs yet but where I come from, a man gives his seat to a woman.” Hey, there are SOME good things about Nowtimer sensibilities. As for Vien’s next comment, there’s a lopsided tilt of lips. “Aye, not in the traditional sense but we can,” warmth infuses the look that slips over to Ksenia, “and do, commit in our own way.” That he’s done so by taking on Roma tradition isn’t something he’s about to reveal just yet.

“Of course he can,” Cha’el goes on to answer Ksenia with a goofy grin starting to make an emergence. “Uncle for a boy, aunty for a girl.” See? Not concussed, just him being a doofus. And then he’s being advanced upon with that wadded up piece of her tunic and in as much as he knows she means to tend his wounds, the Weyrleader nonetheless draws his head back a little. At any other time he’d milk that kind of attention down to the last drop but with another male in the room? A man has to hold onto that whole act of stoicism. And so, he forces himself to remain in position while sliding a look Vien’s way. For a long time he’s quiet and then, in a low voice prompt is given:

“Ask what you want to know.”

Vien stares up at Cha’el, brows lifting. “Yeah? Well, you must not know my sister that well then, dragonrider. She’s not ready to sit.” He does shift, however, preparing to move his sore body lest Ksenia show any sign of sitting, but then his sister is doing just as he expected her to. Only not for him! Woe! That she goes first to Cha’el is pretty telling and again, another sharp look is given to the Weyrleader. “I ain’t asking, brother. I’m demanding to hear your explanation. I’ve yet to hear anything beyond some lovesick drivel my sister gives, but I’m not buying it. She might want to protect you, but your fate’s come calling, mate.” Auburn brows lift, expectation given to storm-grey eyes. “My grandmother is a romantic biddy, and has a soft spot for my sister that would make her overlook Thread himself if it got her out of a shitty situation, but I ain’t yet convinced you’re,” a soft groan escapes when he rotates his shoulder, “all that. Commit in your own way. Explain that too while you’re giving me your other expalanation.”

Ksenia swats at Cha’el for his doofus-ying, but she’s hard-pressed to fully smother the smile that threatens her stern expression. She is not deterred from Cha’el’s leaning back, and keeps coming right at him with that damp cloth. Wincing, she presses the cloth to Cha’el’s nose and snaps, “Hold that.” Another long strip of cloth is torn, this time from her skirt, with the aid of Vien’s knife that she plucks off the ground. “You need to see a healer. Both of you.” Yeah, her anger’s coming back, surfacing as she presses the cloth to Cha’el’s face. Despite the anger, by position and tending, she subtly lets her brother know where her allegiance lies.

“Choice should be hers.” Cha’el stubbornly gives back though its more an observation for it holds no heat to it. With purpling starting to show at the inner corners of his eyes caused by the trauma to his nose, the Weyrleader eyes the trader in silence. It’s a silence that spools out thicker and longer broken only by a sharp hiss from the rider when Ksenia presses that cloth to his nose. That hurts!! However, he does as bidden and keeps it there. “No healers. You just gotta shove it back into place before it gets too swollen.” Cha’el states somewhat nasally. Finally, he can no longer ignore the elephant in the room. Unsure of what Ksenia might have told her grandmother or her brother for that matter, he gleans what he can from what’s just been said and cuts to the chase with eyes straight ahead, staring at a spot on the opposite wall.

“We met when she knifed me for saving her ass from an avalanche that got us stuck in a cave up in the Ice Fields. There uh…a goldflight went up right above and Sikorth chased in it. He lost. We uh…” talk about AWKWARD, “we hooked up.” Skip the bit about passing out due to blood loss. “Long story short, Ksenia dragged me out but not before we had a disagreement.” A pause and wince as the split at the corner of his mouth stretches and leaks a fresh beading of blood. “I went back to Igen but I couldn’t get what she’d said out my head about how she’d sell a child or get rid of it if she got pregnant from our…from the uh…” Cue the clearing of throat. “Long story short, I wasn’t going to let some crazy woman,” there attention flicks back to Ksenia with brief apology writ in blue eyes, “get rid of any kid of mine, so I…came back and uh…took her away back to Igen with me. I wanted to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid. We started to get to know each other. I realized what I’d done and offered to take her back, she didn’t want to go. Told me about the man your father had sold her to.” Which is how Cha’el equates Ksenia’s former betrothal in his mind. “I couldn’t send her back to that. So she stayed.” Sentences become shorter but at the same time, the dragonrider’s attention strays more and more to the woman tending his wounds until it falls fully on her and it appears that he’s talking to her more than he is Vien. “We fell in love. Went through some pretty rough patches but made it because we had each other. Then, I came down here on an errand and Sikorth chased in another goldflight. This time, he won.” Lower his voice drops until it’s almost a purr of sound seeming to be intended for Ksenia’s ears only. “We moved down here. She went to visit your family. Your father tried to steal her. I stole her back with your grandmother’s help. I asked her to be my weyrmate and…” finally blue eyes slide sideways to the trader, “we became so following and observing the ways of your people. In full.” There, the rumble of his baritone comes to a rest.

In silence, Vien listens, expression giving little away while the rider explains the history behind his meeting with his sister. His eyes don’t stray from Cha’el until it seems like the man is talking to Ksenia and not to himself, which earns them both a narrow-eyed look. Ksenia, for her part, keeps her expression contained as well. She waits until he’s done and then, before Cha’el can have time to prepare, she takes care of his nose. Quick, efficient, and with a thin-lipped look given her weyrmate. Volumes could be spoken in the look she gives him, but they are for later and not now. Oh she hears him, all right, but now’s not the time. Not when so much hangs in the balance.

Settling a hand on the Weyrleader’s shoulder, she turns to her brother and takes a deep breath, lets it out. “See? He saved me from that man. Papa didn’t care, and I didn’t want to be shackled to a cruel person for the rest of my life. Obviously, my choices… my road to freedom… wasn’t the best road to take.” She bites her lip, seemingly hesitant of incurring her brother’s judgment. “But I’m happy.” The kidnapping itself is glossed over, though Vien’s stormy eyes don’t seem to be too too forgiving about this, but finally an exhalation of breath is given. “No, Kenzi. You’ve made one hell of a mess.” He holds his hands up, squinting at Cha’el to stop any protests from the brownrider, “Father didn’t help any either, but just like the last time you got yourself with a,” another dagger of a look towards the Weyrleader, “dragonrider, you’ve gone and complicated things. Again.” Although, distaste clouds her brother’s demeanor at the mention of that whole incident. “Father…” What breaks through the containment of emotion is an anger so deep, directed at his father rather than at his sister.

Finally, Vien really, really, looks at Cha’el. “I don’t know if I like how you operate,” pure honesty here, “Kidnapping just because some hot-headed chit decides to rile you up,” yeah, there’s a wince here for the IMAGES that Cha’el has put into his head, gross, “but I can see my sister likes you.” The trader looks positively forlorn, “Which means I can’t kill you. She’d never forgive me.” Doesn’t mean he might not still want to do more damage to those pretty features of his. Still. “You ever fuck around on her, I’ll cut your balls off.” Just so they’re clear.

Another hard look to Ksenia. “He treat you right, then, Kenzi-bear?” There’s little to guess as to what kind of response he’ll get if the answer is ‘no’.

“FARANTH’S FUCKING….ARRRRGH!” Cha’el yowls when Ksenia unexpectedly zaps his nose straight again and clapping his hands over his nose jerks away and glares at her through water eyes over their tops. It needed to be done. He knows this. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a bitch!! As to that look he gets from her, there is but a brief frown in return and already he’s trying to figure out – beyond the obvious of the brawl with her brother – just what he’s done wrong this time.

The temptation to jump to Ksenia’s defense when Vien climbs into her rises like hot lava through his veins and while Cha’el holds his tongue, there’s no denying the narrowed look the trader is set with. Biased? Absolutely! And then focus is being turned back onto him again.

“Aye well, I fucked up.” His ill-advised actions openly accepted. As is the threat laid at his feet should he ever be unfaithful to his weyrmate for which there is a solemn nod of head given. “Fair enough. But if your father so much as touches her again, either directly or indirectly, I’ll kill him.” Digging in the inner pocket of his jacket, the torc about his neck gleaming in the glow of firelight as he moves, Cha’el extracts a personal silver flask and tosses it over to Vien.

Contrary to the signals she’s giving off, Ksenia pets Cha’el on the side of the neck, murmuring, “Hush, y’big’baby.” She doesn’t move away from his side, and in face leans her slight weight into his shoulder as if she can sense that rising lava of defense that would do them no good right now. Her gaze never leaves her brother's, letting the question hang between them for a long moment before she states quietly, her voice still thick from the tears that were falling mere moments before, "He treats me better than I ever could want and better than I deserve."

It is that assurance from his sister that has Vien turning from Ksenia to Cha'el, lips pressing together. "Y'did." He states it, but seems unconcerned unlike moments before, but there's something oddly soothing and releasing for having pounded out his frustrations upon the brownrider's skin. A strange slip of a smile is shared with Cha'el even as he shifts to a better position to aid in alleviating the pain of a bruised body. "You need not threaten me with my father. I could give two shits what happens to that man. Kill him if you can." Ksenia gasps loudly at this bald statement given by her brother through the hard glitter of stormy eyes.

A flask! Vien leans forward to catch the thing, one arm still slung around his ribs. "Fancy necklace," he comments on the glint of silver. But then there's only the flask that catches his attention, allowing the alcohol to burn a line of fire down his throat.

Once the throbbing in his nose – which had superceded any other aches for a moment – has subsided to a dull pinch timed to his heartbeat and Ksenia leans in against him, Cha’el slings an arm about her waist and draws her in closer. Possession and reassurance sought and given in equal parts, gaze leveled on Vien. For the reply given by Ksenia, his arm tightens slightly about her and the Weyrleader fits her with a stern look, silently disagreeing with her self-assessment.

With the trader occupying the only form of seating in the room, the rider puts his back to the wall and slowly slides down into a sitting position, stifling a groan as his body complains though there is a cold smirk on the matter of the current Roma leader. If Ksenia is amenable, he’ll draw her down too and tuck her into the ‘V’ of his drawn up legs. “Weyrmating gift from Ksenia,” Cha’el returns on the chain of silver about his neck. “We uh…your nana gave us something to hold for you when I took Ksenia away from the camp.”

All of the emotion of the moment has taken it's toll on Ksenia as the fire ebbs out of her body, where energy is at a premium these days. This means that she is easily drawn into Cha'el's lap, a silent participant now to this meeting between Cha'el and Vien. She keeps her eye on her brother, but she just might let herself relax enough to hesitantly let her head lightly rest against her weyrmate's shoulder, unsure of the amount of pain he's in. Which just gets her bristling again, but it's only half-hearted at best, for the moment she's just not got the energy for it.

Vien's brows raise when Cha'el sinks to the floor and while he half-starts to offer his sister the stool, he pauses when the dragonrider draws her into his lap. Still not sure about that — who wants to think of their baby sister with a man?? — he lays his head back against the stone, stemming the blood from is own broken nose that's slowly trickled to a gummy plug. A few drops leak out from his nostrils, but for the moment, it holds. "Yeah? I know what you got. Can't hold it yet." He pauses, fixes Cha'el with a look, something serious sliding behind the grey eyes that yield so very little, and says slowly, "I'm sure Nana's got a lot to say about a lot, truth be told. Biddy always wants to meddle." Briefly, his eyes fall to Ksenia and then back to Cha'el, possibly a silent communication attempted.

Thankfully the shoulder Ksenia chooses to rest her head against isn’t the one her brother had thumped and so all it takes is a bit of shifting about from Cha’el to settle more comfortably and then he’s all good being her personal armchair. Absently a knuckle grazed hand lifts and begins to toy with the feathered end of her braid. “Aye.” The Weyrleader acknowledges meeting Vien’s gaze with a level one of his own. “Well, we’ll hang onto it until you want it back.” There’s a pause in which his attention drops to the top of Ksenia’s head before lifting back to the trader again. “She might be old but there ain’t nothing wrong with that mind of hers. Sharp as a tack she is. She sees right through bullshit.” The respect for the wily old woman in his lowheld baritone is as clear as day.

"You try living with her," Vien mutters, and while there's certainly love for his grandmother, there's also a healthy amount of exasperation of one who's lived with the woman's meddlesome and embarrassing ways. Just imagine growing up as a teen boy and having your girlfriends told about the size of your — ahem. Yes. Whatever exposure the brownrider got, it's no where near living with her! Insufferable! Still, the expression that warms grey eyes is soft, gentle. "Mmmhmmm. I'm surprised she let him marry my mother, but he was a good swindler in his day. And my mother is," he halts suddenly and glances at his sister, who is struggling to hold onto the threads of conversation. Cha'el is warm, and he's playing with her hair, which is pulling a lassitude to her limbs when little strands are plucked, felt allllllllll the way up to her scalp. A little sigh is let out. "Anyway. S'the only reason why you're still alive." This is cheerfully stated. "Cause Nana told me she'd strip bits from my hide if I killed you, though it was sorely tempting." Somehow, someway, Cha'el is no longer the evil kidnapper bastard. Hey, they fought it out, right? Despite the easy smiles and the even the wincing from pain, there's a deeper exhaustion. As if Vien — who's of roughly equivalent age to Cha'el — is shouldering something far, far weightier than taking his sister's lover to task. A blur of exhaustion that etches lines into his handsome face.

Lopsided the grin, favoring the side of his mouth split by the trader’s fist in response to that first. One encounter of the embarrassing kind had been enough for Cha’el. Humor falls away in light of the more serious topic and catching the direction of Vien’s glance, the Weyrleader casts a look about the tiny shelter. “There maybe a blanket in here somewhere?” For perhaps if he can create a makeshift nest for Ksenia, he and her brother might step outside to talk in private. A snort that draws a wince of pain for how it vibrates through his damaged nose, greets comment of being ‘allowed’ to still be alive. “I fear her more than I fear you.” The Weyrleader responds leaving the trader to decide for himself to which ‘her’ he’s referring for it could be the woman curled in his arms, the old lady with a will of steel or his diminutive Weyrwoman. Either way, amusement and approval are what reflect in blue eyes becoming ever brighter the further the purpling of bruising seeps about them. That weight that burdens the other man’s shoulders is one easily recognized for as a ‘leader in his own right, Cha’el is all too familiar with it. But with the soft pliancy of Ksenia between them, it’s not a subject he’s able to broach just now.

Vien pushes off the stool with a grunt and looks around for what might be kept in this little shelter hastily built to wait out Thread. There is the tiniest of cupboards with a moth eaten blanket, yes, but it's not the best. Ksenia is struggling to stay awake, lulled into a light sleep by the rumbled baritone that reverberates through Cha'el's body and the sudden cessation of violence and energy. Shambling over to Cha'el and his sister, he drops the blanket next to the brownrider and shrugs out of his own jacket. "Awful hot in here," he mutters, not necessarily wanting to alert his nosy sister over what he's picked up from Cha'el's action. "Yeah, well I fear her more than I fear you too." His statement is more definitive, adding, "I'll find tunnelsnake poison in my breakfast quicker than I'll ever have to worry about you." So lovingly said. Even with a SMILE! That he has to pause and dab the inside of his mouth, hissing with pain as teeth have cut into the soft tissues of his cheek. Briefly does he pause and give his sister a look. "You can have the seat now, dragonrider." Wolfish is the grin (or would have been) given to Cha'el before he ducks outside. Surely that's a cue. By degrees, Ksenia's body has relaxed into Cha'el's, a yawn having long slipped free as a last call before the low-toned voices have added a lovely white noise to help aid the drift to sleep.

The holey blanket Vien ferrets out of the cupboard is viewed with heavy wariness for Cha’el would prefer that his weyrmate not become acquainted with bedbugs thank-you-very-much. But its all there is and so will have to do. Grateful the look given the Roma trader when he goes on to add his jacket to the sad little nest. “C’mon love, I need to take a piss.” Lying sometimes does come smoothly. “You wait here where it’s warm, aye?” With utmost care, as if she were a goblet made of fragile crystal, he lays Ksenia down and shrugging out of his own jacket, drapes it over her shoulders. Stiffly he then comes to his feet, favoring the leg thumped twice by sharp, hard knees, crosses over to the fire to add a few more pieces of broken table and then makes his way outside leaving the door slightly ajar. Keeping to the eaves so as to avoid getting drenched all over again, he seeks out the man that has essentially become, his brother-in-‘mating.

Surrounded, literally, the warmth of the people who love her, Ksenia only offers a mild protest when Cha'el has to move. The addition of his jacket makes the little bed of blankets palatable to the woman who curls her arms in the warmth still left by his body. It's nap time for this girl, though she does struggle to awaken enough to open her eyes as Cha'el heads out to take a piss, and there might be a glint to follow him except for the warmth of the fire. It is, actually, the height of her usual 'rest her eyes' time which isn't helping things any. Finally, she gives up the ghost and falls asleep. Too much mental and physical exhaustion to not. Vien is waiting under the small eaves, but it doesn't do much to help other than let bulk of the rain fall away from him. "Sharding miserable in this place in the winter," he mutters. The shivers that curl through a much abused body do little to put his temper to rights, but at least it's not focused on Cha'el. He glances warily at the door that was left ajar, but doesn't question it. "We should talk. Not everything I want my sister to know, especially now given her," that might be a judgmental look for Cha'el, the CULPRIT, "delicate condition." Someone is still overprotective of his younger sister. "Going home isn't an option." Stated, hard. Hesitates. "Don't let anyone come sniffing around either. Seems like when it rains, it pours. Someone's claiming that Maeyra might not be my full-blooded sister." A significance there.

Folding his arms across his chest, the flats of his palms tucking up under his pits for warmth, Cha’el slides a look the trader’s way and offers a wry turn of mouth. “I could do without the rain in winter. At least in Ista, the winters were dry.” He idly remarks before putting the full focus of his attention to what Vien reveals, gaze drifting out into the steady rainfall to where his dragon crouches like a chunk of slick rock. After a patch of silence, the Weyrleader sighs and nods that accusatory look dismissed with a faint smirk edged with pride. That be his baby baking in there. “Aye, she uh…I don’t think she really wants to see what’s truly going on in the camp.” That stated the other man is sent a sideways glance. “You need somewhere to set your hat, I can figure somewhere dry at the Weyr if you’re needing to lay low for a bit. Maybe with the herders.” With the offer made, dark brows drag down over swollen eyes. “That’s…an interesting accusation for someone to make. You reckon there’s grounds to look into it?”

"She might be content now, but I know my sister, Cha'el. She will eventually turn her attention back home. Might be she's living with you lot, but her Roma blood runs deep," Vien cautions. Whether for Cha'el or himself is hard to tell. Turning his eyes away from the Weyleader, he watches the rain fall as auburn hair falls into his eyes. "Might take you up on that, might need to go and negotiate some alliances. Probably going to have to get married to make it work." That doesn't sit well, but one's duty is often not always what goes hand in hand to one's heart's desire. "Dunno," a deep breath is taken which only gets a hiss and a wince as the various aches and punches are beginning to sound an alarm. "She looks like my mother. But if she isn't, then…" He leaves the rest unsaid, shifting his weight from foot to foot. With that thought left to simmer, the pair of them spend a long time talking and assessing each other. Perhaps not fully easy with each other yet, they have a very precious person in common and on that they find common ground.

Add a New Comment