Who

k'vvan, Cha'el

What

Directly after leaving the hatching caverns, the cream pasty of doom takes its revenge (Occurs directly after: Creamy Anchovies)

When

It is late night of the tenth day of the seventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr, Leadership Courtyard

OOC Date

 

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Leadership Courtyard

Nigh palatial, this gorgeous sweep of cultivated bowl: a courtyard proper, a fountain bubbles in the middle of a grove of orange-trees, next to a stone bench that has weathered many a turn. Rare metal stands out at the sweep of steps upwards to the landings of queens'-weyrs and other administrative personnel; handrails to prevent… mishaps, and sparse doors of spiraled cast-iron to lock out any vagrants.


About fifteen meters from the hatching caverns on a path tracking toward his temporary guest weyr, Cha’el pales, bile rises and sweat breaks out across his forehead when his stomach refuses the creamy anchovy pastry it had been fed. “I don’t feel so good.” He groans, the hand about K’vvan’s clutching tighter as he fights back a wave of nausea.

K’vvan, his own uneaten anchovy pastry having been abandoned into a bush just outside of the hatching cavern, had allowed Cha’el to reclaim his hand though he keeps an eye out for anyone else who might be telling stories. “Cha’el?” K’vvan reacts to the announcement by stepping closer. “That pastry?” K’vvan is suddenly really happy to not have eaten his.

If only Cha’el hadn’t eaten his. Except he’d let male pride get in the way and like a big muggins had ignored previous experience and eaten the damn thing. “Aye,” he gets out and then quickly clamps his mouth shut as his stomach lurches in rebellion. “I think ’m gonna be sick.” He woefully states when K’vvan steps closer.

K’vvan, frowning in concern steps forwards and lets that hand go. Before Cha’el can protest, he’ll slide his arm around the brownrider’s waist. “Common, where are the latrines?” He’ll help support him if Cha’el will allows him, and hopefully those latrines aren’t too far away.

Further away Nadeeth curls out a tentative thought to Sikorth. She had been scared by the abrupt shift to iciness at the sands and had withdrawn. With the waves of concern rolling off K’vvan she inquiries to the brown in a series of shifting silk, «What is wrong?»

Cha’el is no position to argue and so when K’vvan slips in against his side, he slings an arm about the slighter man’s shoulders and trying not to lean to heavily on him, stumbles along in the general direction of said latrines. “Pregnant women…” a pause to swallow hard, his other arm clamped tightly about his stomach, “are cracked in the head.” The brownrider complains as he gets himself completely turned around so that now they’re heading toward the Leadership courtyard instead of said latrines.

Much like an older brother would be, Sikorth is highly amused by his willful rider’s gastronomic distress, his mists infused with sly mirth. « He’s an idiot and is about to pay for it. » Smirk.

Cha’el will find that K’vvan is a bit stronger than his slight frame suggests. He’ll silently encourage the brownrider to lean more fully onto him as he supports his steps towards the courtyard. Looking up he glances around once. Huh. Pretty. “You going to be alright?” There is real concern in his voice, not at all helped by the concern coming from Nadeeth.

«That is not nice.» that same green will gently chide the brownrider, before pulling away.

Having had his attention turned downward, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other while battling nausea, Cha’el glances up and frowns. “This ain’t the….fuck.” He groans and suddenly shoves away from K’vvan stumbling toward an orange tree but miscalculating in his hazy state and doubling over when knees knock into the fountain. Throwing out his hands to steady himself a deep groan tears from the brownrider and under cover of the fountain’s cheerful bubbling, deposits Hannah’s Delight into the ornamental waters. But his stomach isn’t done, furious with the noxious morsel it keeps the brawny Igenite curled over and retching until it might seem he’s going to deposit his lungs there too.

« It is not. » Sikorth agrees. « In fact. It was foolish. » Mists slip after those retreating ribbons to see if perhaps he can coax them into weaving a story for him.

K’vvan doesn’t allow himself to be shoved away for too long. After just a moment of standing a bit bewildered he’ll tentatively step up to Cha’el, gently brush a hand across the rider’s forehead, and run his fingers through the brownriders hair. The other hand comes to rest upon his shoulder, he’s here if the weyrsecond needs any support. His eyes avert themselves from the mess Cha’el is making into the clear waters, and meet those of a weyrbrat moving past them. When the kid pauses K’vvan will glower at him. Keep moving kid.

Sikorth might not like what his flippant reply gets him. Rather than a story Nadeeth will send a gentle reminder- doesn’t he have eggs to be watching?

In between what is now little more than dry heaving, that gentle brush of fingers and comforting weight of hand on his shoulder is registered and Cha’el looks up, eyes glistening with tears from the effort of throwing up are filled with small wonder, gratitude and something else that softens miserable features. Thankfully the fountain’s constant motion carries the mess away and allows the brownrider some clean water to splash on his face and scrub through the bristle of beard and moustache. Hanging his head for a few moments, hands curled over the stone of the fountain’s base, his next is a croak from a tortured throat. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Kvv. S’not quite how I’d planned this to go.”

That reminder sent him by Nadeeth will find a gap of silence from Sikorth. Chagrined not for his comment about his rider but rather for having potentially earned her disdain. « I watch. » He tells the dainty little green and begins offering her images of the jewel toned hues lovingly hidden in the sand and carefully tended.

“You weren’t kidding when you said Southern food doesn’t agree with you.” Conversationalist K’vvan will put in here, shifting to sit on the edge of the fountain and look around at the wet courtyard. One hand will linger on Cha’el’s shoulder, a bit awkwardly. “So um. That was the goldrider. I remember her… a bit from when they all came forward.”

Nadeeth remains aloof for a bit longer, making sure he has her point that really, he should be nicer, but caves to the images of the pretty eggs. «They are wonderful.»

Slowly turning himself around to park his butt next to K’vvan on the fountain’s edge, Cha’el lifts a hand and covers the one on resting on his shoulder, a bit of a hangdog expression in place, mortified to have been thrown into such a state of weakness in front of the greenrider. “Aye, I dunno what it is. Either the food tastes too salty, burns the shit out of my mouth or…does that to me. I’m gonna start bringing food with me.” Drawing a shuddering breath, the brownrider lists sideways against his companion who if he’s not careful, might wind up with his head on his shoulder because throwing up is hard work, you! “You were in Igen when she came forward with them?”

One day, Sikorth might explain to Nadeeth why it is that he’s so hard on his rider but not this day. This day, he gets to brag and show off his eggs, sharing the moment with the dainty green. « They are. » The brown agrees, no false modesty for this one. « I wish to remember them always. But mine says I will not. »

“Other then the…” and K’vv will clear his throat rather than say fish, “in the middle, uh, it did seem to have a lot of butter? I mean, more than nor…” But he cuts off again as Cha’el’s head is suddenly on his shoulder and he has no idea how to react to this. Deer in headlights for a long moment before he allows that arm of his to slide over to Cha’el’s further arm and hug just a little. “Um.” Reacing for scattered thoughts here buddy, “yeah, uh. When that first one dropped out of the sky on us till uh, the rest of them, uh, Cha’el?”

«There is a way… to remember. At least… a little.» Nadeeth invites the brown a bit closer, and gently twitches away the gray silk covering of her inner basket from where all her ribbons, needles and silk issue forth. There is little chaos here now, so unlike the last time the brown had peaked within her innermind. Everything is placed neatly, small boxes labeled with clear indication of what they contrain. Unlike a typical sewing basket it seems to have no end, and the arrays of fabrics within are of a dizzing assortment. From deep within she pulls a small square of fabric and offers it to the brown. Stitched thereon is the figure of a green dragon, faded and worn but picked out in loving detail. Another tapestry is unrolled, Nadeeth’s greatest treasure, this one is larger and holds every dragon in the weyr upon it. Some are the barest of shadows picked out in dark blacks against the dark background. Others stand out in bright relief, their colours vibrant and alive. «It is memory tapestry. It… fades if not kept up,» and mental fingers run across those dark spots, «And I remember not who all… but it is there.»

Exhaustion that he’s only just barely kept at bay with the to’ing and fro’ing between Southern and Igen, weighs in. The reassuring and totally unexpected comfort offered by K’vvan lending further weight to the weary Weyrsecond finds him just sort of leaning there with his head on the greenrider’s shoulder, not really paying close attention to what is being said but rather to the rise and fall of the other rider’s voice. Until his name is spoken. “Mmm?”

Drawn in by curiosity, Sikorth is silent for a very long few moments when Nadeeth reveals the silken treasures of her mental mind basket. Respect grows in leaps and bounds for how ordered it is, doubling as she begins to show him the tapestries she’s wrought. Approval is sent in the heartbeat of blades thumping in his mind dimming as a hesitancy hitches their steady beat. « Would you make one? » The brown tentatively puts forth sweeping out an image of forty two oval jewels couched in sand, « Of these? So that I might remember. »

"Shouldn't we, uh… Go? Before anyone else comes along?" K'vvan hesitantly offers this observation. "And it is uh, a bit wet. It is probably a bit drier inside. " K'vvan licks his lips gently, looking out across the pretty little courtyard.

Nadeeth hides her treasures away again, slipping that cover back over the contents. «Yes. But… You must keep up. Daily like….» Her mind.falters for an apt comparison to the painful work she most do daily to keep her memories in place.

Go. That earns K’vvan a grumbling groan from the brownrider who is currently loathe to move just yet. “How ‘bout you just grab a hold of my boots and drag me under a tree.” The suggestion swept away as he leans away from the greenrider and flicks some water from his face. “Aye, we should go. I need to change. And get that recipe book for Hannah. And you should meet Br’er.” There’s a pause in which eyes of rich blue latch to the young man at his side. “Thanks.” Quietly given. “For not being a prick about…” A hand waves behind him to indicate the embarrassing distress he’d been in earlier.

There’s a sense of regret that drifts from Sikorth when Nadeeth covers her basket again and then a perplexed fog rolls in when she tells him to keep to a daily regime. « I do not know how to do what you do. » The brown admits, assuming she speaks of the intricate tapestries she creates.

"I… Think she left the.sands too Cha'el." He might not have noticed with his stomach revolting against him. K'vvan's arm drops back to his side and curls up in his lap before… "Couldn't we just…" There is a hint of pleading that makes it into K'vvan's voice. Maybe his liquid courage from earlier has faded into a memory from the encounter with the blond goldrider and the potential the fifteen year old runner presents to his secret relationship. He‘’ll look upwards at Cha `el" just… go to the ground weyr? I mean… if you`re not feeling well…" He trails off.

«I could keep it,» The green will offer after a moment of mental silence. «But. I would need help.. and the details still fade. It may not work.»

“Oh. Aye. That she did,” Cha’el says, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck, his mind still a little foggy. Mistaking the origin of the pleading in K’vvan’s tone, assuming he’s wanting some alone time, the brownrider affords him a lopsided smile and nods. “Aye, I think we can do that before Sikorth starts getting twitchy and calls me back to the sands.” Pushing himself up with a hand to K’vvan’s shoulder, Cha’el tests rubbery legs and then holds out a hand. “Lets go.”

« I will help. » Sikorth stoutly assures. « And will look and remember every day with your help. »

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