Who

Moanna, Zh'ain

What

Zh'ain answers the call when Moanna needs a shoulder on which to vent.

When

It is the twenty-eighth day of the tenth month of the ninth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Maeveth and Kataskiath's Ledge, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 01 Jan 2017 05:00

 

maeveth_default.jpg moanna_default.jpg zhaine24.jpg josvikuth_default.jpg




Characters



Log

Maeveth brushes the sunlit glacier, fingers of color stretching and dancing in the ice as she invites Josvikuth down to cuddle. The tired green seeking warmth and company a little more sane than her lifemate who leans against a lip of rock, leg dangling down over the ledge while the other knee is tucked up under her chin, legs mostly bare as the wind danced around her limbs setting stray curls to dance on the breeze. A folded scrap of hide is held in the hand wrapped around her leg, green flecked eyes watching over the Bazaar in the light of the rising star.

Josvikuth is more than happy to follow those dancing colors, their touch a familiar sensation along his icy glaciers, especially when shadows of trouble linger at their source. He rises from his perch on a ledge just slightly to the side and above the one where Maeveth waits and drops smoothly down to hers. Burnished feather patterns ripple as he lands and folds his wings back to his sides, immediately cautious of the woman also occupying the ledge. Moving closer to his clutchmate he nudges the side of her neck with bronzed muzzle by way of greeting. «Is something wrong?» he asks, voice echoed by the low groan of massive ice shifting across a vast fjord. «Should I tell Mine to come too?»

Maeveth considers, tail flicking, « Company would be good I think, sporting would be better. » Sporting the word Mae had taken to use for mating rituals. « But, since Kataskiath’s is being… » There is no word, only lurid red paints splattered against canvas. « Company will do I think. » She nestles up to the bronze, taking up the portion of the ledge opposite where Moanna perches, dark curls caught on the air, a pair of shorts and practice costume suggesting that the dancer had been practicing up until a little while ago before she’d taken to perching on that narrow ledge as though it’s the most comfortable place in the world to be.

Zh’ain, fortunately, isn’t doing much at the moment. Perched on the edge of a small divan he’s running a sharpening tool down the length of a short blade over and over and over again. The slow, methodical movements come to a sudden halt as Josvikuth’s voice touches his mind. «You must come down to Maeveth’s ledge. Her Moanna needs you.» Zh’ain lifts his arm and swipes the upper half across his brow. Is something wrong? he asks, but the bronze remains elusive, only saying, «Something.» Getting up and setting his project aside the rider goes outside just as Josvikuth arrives, easily launching himself to the bronze’s neckridge and holding on for the short descent. When they land again he slides to the rocky ledge, brandy-rich gaze immediately spying Moanna and approaching her from behind. “What is it with you and dangerous edges?” he asks.

Mae takes back to cuddling unabashedly with the bronze. Rubbing the new mating scars along her neck ridges under the bronze’s chin. Jos’s chin was perfect for scratching the newly healed hide. Or so the green seemed to think.

Moanna laughs, “I like the sky, the air and the feel of the wind on my skin and in my hair.” She murmurs green flecked eyes lifting to the shape of the former Reika guard. “I swear one of these days I will break you of that fear you have of high places.” Yeah, right. She tucks the scrap of hide with the Zingari spymaster’s note into her pocket, though perhaps not quick enough for the item to go without notice. “We can sit on the bench if you’d rather, I know you hate high places.” Moving to stand in a fluid motion, the effort a clear result of years of practice as she walks the ledge back in the Reika man’s direction. “Name your poison, I’ve a new batch of Zingari whiskey, and a flask of Istan rum.”

Though he won’t admit it Zh’ain is much relieved when Moanna moves away from the edge. As to her assertions of him fearing heights he merely grunts in his typically singular manner and turns to the mentioned bench. The choices she offers, however, earn an approving spike to dark brows. He hadn’t been sure what his reception would be considering the vagueness of Josvikuth’s explanation but since the former dancer seems in favor of company and a drink who is he to question it? “Istan rum,” he says, sitting and crossing his ankles as long legs stretch outward. Leaning back he braces the upper half of one arm on the back of the bench, torso turned slightly so he’ll be facing her when she returns with the liquor.

Josvikuth plops himself beside Maeveth and offers his chin willingly, a deep rumble humming across bronzed hide as he notes the healing groves in hers. «Are you hurting?» he asks, the distant rumble of threatening storms skidding across the ice of vast open spaces.

« Tavuqth is not gentle when he catches. » The green rumbles in annoyance, more at the fact that her hide is marred rather than any lingering pain. Vanity and all. « He cleaned them well enough, at least. » The memories of the flight, fuzzy at the edges are shared with her clutchmate, the thrill of the air, and the wicked fun of leading half the males in the weyr on a merry chase that had resulted in a few pulled muscles in the chasers. Content to snuggle with her clutchmate happily.

Moanna moves to pull the bottle from the shelf, two blown glasses with a blue green cast pulled down as she fills them, passing one to the guard before lifting her own to her lips, setting the bottle on the ground between them as she joins the man on the bench. “It’s quieter, with S’ayde on the opposite side of the bowl.” She notes with a rough sigh, lifting the glass to her lips and drinking down the fiery liquid. “I suppose you prefer it that way.” She notes with a little half smirk, and flicker of conflicting emotions.

Images of Tavugth frozen in a wall of ice erupt within the scape Josvikuth shares with Maeveth, the brown twisted in an awkwardly twisted pose. Another cavernous wall closes in upon it and then a landslide of snow falls atop it, burying the entire wall and the dragon within it. Before Josvikuth can envision any further dastardly end for the brown in question Maeveth is sharing some memories from the flight and Josvikuth is distracted enough to take curious note. The overcast sheen of his mental touch brightens a bit as the chasers fail miserably. He shouldn’t be humored by others misfortune but can’t help himself, one wing lifting to spread over the smaller green protectively. «Rest now.»

Zh’ain watches Moanna closely, his dark gaze unsettlingly keen when so focused. He takes the offered rum but only sips it, waiting until she sits as well. Her musing comment earns another noncommittal snort. He doesn’t harbor nearly as much animosity for the male greenrider as he used to, the two of them having come to a manly understanding of sorts at one point. But recent shenanigans had sparked an unspoken feud for which Zh’ain had yet to seek his revenge. “I suppose I’m safe from any unexpected droppings as long as you’re sitting near me.”

Purple splashes of laughter, erupt as frozen Tavuqth is shared, and she settles in sleepily. Moanna watches the two dragons with a snort before Zh’ain’s comment earns a sigh. “He did go a little far.” She notes biting her lower lip, “But so long as you aren’t covered in slop you're free to use the bath in my weyr as recompense. Give me a little warning though. I don’t need to drool myself to death.” She teases, tucking her foot up on the bench. Another sigh and she catches herself looking to the empty ledge with a frown.

“He can be childish, terrifying, and stubborn - but I do love him Zh’ain.” She says after a few moments of silence, a ‘no accounting for taste’ shrug given shortly after. She glances over at Zh’ain. “Onari’s in love with you, and she’s about as … straight laced as any I know. She believes in a definitive right and wrong, that the means are just as important as the end.” Perhaps there’s a reason Moanna doesn’t confide in the woman very often. “Do you believe the same? Or do you believe that sometimes, terrible things are necessary for the greater good?”

A slight twitch to the corner of trim moustache is Zh’ain’s only response to the offer of using her bath. Even if he was tempted to take her up on it he wouldn’t risk coming out of it to find S’ayde eyeballing his goods, thank you very much! As for her being in love with the greenrider he can only tilt his head and offer another noncommittal snort. They do say that love is blind, eh? Being a better listener than talker the bronzerider isn’t about to offer advice on the topic until she mentions Onari and asks him his opinion directly. Something in the big man’s expression softens for a moment, a gentling of the lines that frequent his brow and barest of lightening to the press of straight-lined lips. Her question delves deeply into areas the former guard typically avoids but his fondness for the young woman garners a desire to at least attempt a helpful answer. First up – another drink. The rum is good and hits his stomach with a solid punch of rich flavor. It helps loosen his tongue even if finding the right words is still difficult.

“I’ve seen too many terrible things in life to believe there’s ever just one way of things,” he finally offers, hesitant and frowning thoughtfully. “People will let you down most of the time.” Pessimism is his natural bent but growth shows as he goes on to add, “I used to believe you couldn’t truly trust anyone but I have to admit I’ve come to know a few that have made me think otherwise.” Thick brows rise slightly as he asks, “Do you trust him, Moanna?”

“I’ve seen it too.” She admits, eyes drifting out to the desert beyond, “Seen things, done things. And If I’m honest with myself, I don’t entirely regret them.” She swallows, and the other question is easier. “I don’t know that I would call it trust - trust implies something that is built. This is something both simpler and more profound. I have faith in him, absolute faith. The kind that makes you trust in someone even when every fiber of your being tells you you should run the other way.” She frowns, “Same kind of faith I have in you in a way. I know you’ll look out for me. We aren’t blood kin, or even of the same clan, but I have a gut feeling that if someone tried to do harm, you’d react the same way you would if someone tried to do harm to Zarrah.” She shrugs. “Whether or not it’s the truth seems immaterial. The faith, the belief seems to be the important part.”

Zh’ain listens grimly, empathizing with her misgivings more closely than he would like. The darker elements of the past never seem to completely let go even if he manages to forget them for a while. Her comparison earns a small nod as she mentions his role. She has the right of it, mostly. Truthfully he isn’t quite as protective of her as he is with his sister otherwise he and S’ayde would have come to blows by now, but then again no one will ever be good enough for his twin. Onari is another matter entirely. Moanna, on the other hand, is allowed to make her own choices and if, despite a possible glitch in her sense of taste, she actually loves the greenrider then Zh’ain isn’t going to interfere. He can, however, help her sort through her feelings.

Tipping his glass toward her a bit he concludes, “Well there you have it then. If you love him and have absolute faith in him then whatever he’s done shouldn’t change that, eh?”

Her eyes close and she leans back chin tipping up to the sky. “Yeah.” Her head flops over to Zh’ain’s shoulder with a sigh. “So why is he the only one who doesn’t seem to think so at the moment?” She breathes out, “He can be a little shit sometimes. I suppose I am pissed enough at him to help plot your revenge.” He really had scared her, but Moanna had lived with enough crazies to know that showing she was afraid was the worst possible thing she could do. She trusted that S’ayde wouldn’t try to physically hurt her, but he’d wanted to scare her off by parading out the crazy. Her eyes squeeze shut again.

“I’m glad you two figured things out.” She notes after a few beats of silence, “I don’t understand Onari, and I think she’s impossibly naive, and incredibly judgmental, and I think she isn’t honest enough with herself sometimes but you two seem to make a good pairing.” The green-rider notes. “I can’t exactly fault her taste in men.” Laughter bubbling in the words. With a playful nudge of her shoulder as she sits up.

Zh’ain shifts his drink to the side as Moanna leans on his shoulder, a grunt of agreement rumbling his chest as to her description of S’ayde. The offer that follows lifts dark brows at an angle. To take her up on it would be evil indeed but then again it would open up so many more delicious opportunities. Would it be so wrong to take advantage of a bump in their relationship to assuage his pride? Choices, choices…..!

Out of the corner of his eye he notices when she squeezes hers shut and a twinge of guilt rises. Curling his arm behind her he gives her shoulders a light hug. Another of his single syllable grunts responds to her remark about him and S’ayde. No comment there. They tolerate each other. Zh’ain wouldn’t go so far as to say he understood the greenrider. Too many layers on either side for that to happen without a lot more effort from both parties; neither of which were inclined to do so.

Then Moanna is commenting on Onari, however, and the bronzerider stiffens slightly, drawing in a deep breath. Her tease and nudge cyphens some of the shadow from rugged features but lips still press beneath trim moustache as he says, “Don’t critique Onari to me, Mo. I know she has faults but I have ten times as many and she still cares for me so as far as I’m concerned that makes her the most perfect woman I’ve ever met.”

Lifting his glass he looks away and takes a drink to fill the moment that follows, not able to explain the chord that twinges on the topic of Onari. Instead he swallows and veers the conversation back to her as he tilts her chin in her direction again. “So what’d he do that has you all upset, anyway?”

Moanna laughs, “Not a critique an honest opinion, she’s the perfect woman for you and that is what counts.” but there was a reason she was confiding in Zh’ain and not Onari. And it wasn't just the tangled history between them.

“He tried to scare me off, like he was all monster and no man.” The hurt seeps in the words, the shiver of something half forgotten resurfacing. ”Like I didn't grow up around enough monsters to know what the real ones look like.” She knocks back her drink, a line of tension sewn in her shoulders. “Maybe we should fill his bathtub with gelatin, or make him put up with fair after fair of dive bombing firelizards armed with practice thread dye balloons.” Turn him green for weeks.

Thick brows furrow as Moanna tries to explain S’ayde’s behavior, the tension that flows across the dense muscle of his chest and shoulders of a different nature than earlier. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Zh’ain automatically asks. Even as he says it there’s doubt in his words. For all his dislike of the greenrider he never saw the man as dangerous. Moanna’s obvious distress makes him ask anyway though just to be sure.

The suggestions she offers, however, are of a much lighter nature and earn another of his singular grunts, this time with a hint of amusement in that quick tone. “Remind me never to get you mad at me,” he quips.

“No, not physically at least. Scared me pretty damn bad, though.” She admits, “Haven’t been that afraid of someone in a while.” And even then she had attempted to serve the person tunnel snake venom in his tea. Fear is not something Moanna deals well with, either you face it down, or rig it so that you never have to be afraid again. Needless to say thread fall was still a work in progress.

Her arms pull her knees to her chest, exhaling. “I think he never expected me to see the side of him people whisper about.” Spymaster, assassin, prostitute, there were so many things whispered about the Zingari and S'ayde has his own nest of rumors.

Despite how good it is the rum is momentarily forgotten as Zh’ain’s hand lowers to let the glass rest on his thigh, his attention focusing on the woman sitting next to him. He doesn’t like what he’s hearing and it raises a protective instinct buried deep within masculine genes. But at the same time he learned long ago to shun empathy and preserve his own hide. He usually had enough of his own problems to purposely add more. Only since coming to Igen had he started to loosen those guards and break down those walls enough to develop relationships worth letting emotions get involved.

Once she finishes he’s quiet a moment, then he asks, “Do you feel safe being alone with him now?”

Moanna thinks about it. “I think he was being a jackass. I think some of it was for show. I'm fairly sure if he pulls his head out of his ass before I decide to soak his bedding in fire pepper sauce or syrup to attract biting insects, it should be ok.” If not, he had already burned his free pass. He wouldn’t get another.

Zh’ain grumbles at that reply, not sure he’s ok with it for an answer. The latest of her evil designs, however, leaves him even more convinced to stay on her good side. “Hey,” he starts, tone deepening with the country burr of his origins. She talks tough enough but he can’t help making an offer anyway. His hand curls from the other side of her shoulder to give a light squeeze. “I know you have Maeveth but if you’re ever where she can’t reach you and need help just send word. I’m only a quick hop away.” Literally.

She leans her head against his shoulder, grateful for the contact. “I know, and that goes both ways.” She grins with a siblings mischief. “Not that you have a shortage of pretty nurse maids or drinking buddies. ” She grins at him. “Or if you need Jos out of your hair for a few hours.” Eyes glittering with amusement.

The image of Moanna, with her dancer’s lithe figure and delicate, feminine features, coming to his rescue is enough to tug a grin from Zh’ain’s lips. Unfortunately, the chivalry that had him feeling protective and earning her favor doesn’t know enough to stop while he’s ahead and expresses his chauvinistic amusement aloud. “You going to break out some slick Zingari moves I don’t know about and kick someone’s ass for me?”

Moanna grins a cats smile at the suggestion. “Didn't you know, it is the harmless seeming ones who always surprise you.” Nevermind that she keeps a deleri laced knife in a sheath hidden, and a few other equally nasty tricks when things got really messy. When you are Mo’s size fighting fair gets you hurt. Of course fighting at all is best avoided. She never says any of this, after all, Mo likes being mostly harmless, and she is willing to rely on chauvinistic chivalry. It is kind of adorable.

“Hm.” Zh’ain tilts a significant sidelong look of calculated doubt at the greenrider, dark brows hitched and trim moustache tugging to one side. “Harmless, eh? Don’t know if I’d go that far.” He’s seen her in drills, after all, not to mention all that PT they did as weyrlings and as candidates before that. Teasing her might be fun but he would never make the mistake of equating her with the simpering, spoiled females often found in the ranks of the Blooded, for example.

Lifting his glass he takes a drink, the rim conveniently hiding what might be the slightest of curls at the corner of his lips. It’s gone by time he lowers the glass, and a quiet moment passes while he savors the taste of the rum. Then he tilts stubbled chin in her direction again and asks in all seriousness. “Are you going to be ok Moanna?”

“I honestly don’t know.” She admits the warmth from the tease leaking from her face. “I really do love the jackass, but he’s used up his freebie. I hate being afraid Zh’ain. I hate anything that tries to scare me usually, no matter how good the intention.” She sighs. “I’m not going to burst into tears and sobs yet though if that is what you mean.”

Zh’ain is quiet a long moment, brooding over her words and demeanor. Finally, he gives her shoulder one more light squeeze as if to conclude that topic on an encouraging note and lifts his glass, pausing just before it reaches his lips to slip back into teasing mode, saying with seeming emphasis, “That’s good because I can’t stand a sobbing, bawling female.” Brandy hues stare straight ahead as he takes that drink, humor hidden behind rugged profile.

There are so many things Moanna could say to that, instead, “I’m getting ready to fix myself something to eat. If you don’t have a hot date, I can cook for two as easily as I can one. I’ll even let you drink my Liquor.” She notes with a smirk.

Zh’ain is mildly surprised she let that one go, the lingering hint of a grin remaining when he lowers his glass. But heh, then she’s offering food and alcohol and all other matters fall by the wayside! He’d be a fool to turn down a fresh-cooked meal made for two rather than one made in bulk for mass consumption. Pulling long legs in to sit up straighter he tilts his head in a receptive nod, confirming with more enthusiasm than he gives most topics, “For rum and food? I’m free.”

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