Who

K'vvan, Cha'el

What

Encounter of the K'vvan kind.

When

It is the first day of the eleventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr, North Bowl

OOC Date

 

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North Bowl

In the quieter spaces of the Northern Bowl, there is less activity; all is kept serene for young, forming draconic bonds. Beneath the sweep of skies' ever-changing colors, this round little panorama hosts the short distances between the Hatching Cavern and the weyrlings' ultimate destination: the barracks and training grounds. More packed dirt and tiny little hillocks than clean white sand, the floor is an uneven thing, a startling trap for the unwary and the clumsy. Further onward, the Ground Weyrs beckon, a haven for those who may seek medical attention.


It's cooled down significantly from the soaring heat of the summer, and with no hint of moisture nor sandstorm on the horizon, it could almost be called the perfect day to fly. Whirlwind's morning drills have gone with only minor incidents, and when they disband it is a more or less chipper attitude all around. Except for one small corner which holds a small green and her rider. K'vvan pulls the straps from Nadeeth's back and tugs on them. "F*ck." He mutters quietly as one of the straps comes apart in his tugging hands. He could have sworn that they hadn't been that worn this morning when they had begun, but a quick turn had almost completly broken. There are dark shadows under his eyes, a hint of exhaustion he hasn't quite managed to shake, though his hands are steady.

Over the span of days and then sevens, Cha’el has come to master the mask he wears. The one that interleaves in a close knit about bearded features allowing no emotion that counts to show through. So much so that one might call his demeanor indifferent as he breaks away from the small knot of riders he’d been talking to and starts to head off. Stalled by the muttered curse, blue eyes track in K’vvan’s direction, settle and then slide away again. Nope. Not gonna go there. One step, two and then three he starts to move by where the greenrider is only to stall as he draws abreast of the other rider. For a full minute the Weyrsecond merely stands there staring straight ahead not saying or doing anything and then gravel crunches under foot as he swivels about. “There a problem, wingrider?” Words and baritone evenly matched to cool professionalism.

K'vvan had noticed Cha'el's approach. But without W'rin looking over his shoulder to ensure proper behavior K'vvan was going to ignore it. Just… easier to stay silent and try to ignore the pressure that Cha'el's presence still brings up, even a month later. But he's speaking. K'vvan's eyes, no longer hidden by the long hair he once wore snap upwards and focus on Cha'el's. Those straps, the wear clear now is only a sign of lack, one which the greenrider feels only too keenly as the odd man out among the elite wing. "Nothing." A breatk, "sir." He doesn't go to hide those straps though, it's too late for that.

The first day K’vvan had arrived at drills sporting that new cut, Cha’el had been hard-pressed to concentrate on the firestone tossing exercise they’d been conducting but he’d soon hardened himself to the allure by simply keeping his attention constantly elsewhere. Now however, it’s a different story especially when he finds his gaze trapped by deep green. The only sign of distress might be shown in the tight clench of jaw and subsequent tick of muscle beneath the neat cover of beard. Attention drops firmly to the straps in question. “You checked them before drills?” He knows the answer but it’s the same question he’d put to any other wingrider and so it gets asked in a clipped tone.

K'vvan didn't mean to stare. He holds that gaze for too long for it to be anything else though before he yanks it away again, down to those straps. "No." An admission of failure. It's doubly hard before Cha'el, but he says it. "Just after yesterday."

Dammit! Why couldn't K'vvan have lied? It would be so much easier with the others of Whirlwind still milling about. But now…Now Cha'el's hand is forced into doing his job and now a frown escapes, pitching heavy between his brows. "Every day before drills," he's not shouting merely emphasizing his words loud enough for the others to overhear if they happen to be eavesdropping, "you check your straps." And then his voice drops and he rocks forward on his toes so as keep the next just between the two of them in a low growl. "Fuckit, K'vv! If you're not coping," the dark shadows under his eyes taken note of, "you need to tell me."

It's a physical wince. K'vvan knows that. His shoulders tighten as he attempts to reign in the temper that snaps up. No. The headshake isn't a no to the order but a physical reminder of what he's trying to do, trying to become, though that might not be totally clear. A breath is taken in, as K'vvan allows the straps in his hands to fall, each one holding half of the broken piece. "We're fine weyrsecond." It's an attempt at cool. It doesn't really work.

“Bullshit.” Cha’el counters in that same low burr of words, heavily guarded eyes searching the greenrider’s face. Rolling back onto his heels a heavy sigh grinds free in the manner of a superior disgruntled by a junior’s error. Except that it’s so much more than that, none of which makes it passed that mask held so firmly in place. “Is your spare set oiled up and ready to go?”

«He did not mean to. We were tired.» Nadeeth's voice stretches out on the thinnest of threads. As K'vvan has withdrawn so has the little green, speaking only when prompted. Her threads which had attached so firmly to each dragon in Arroyo, helping to keep them a unit have not reformed here in Whirlwind. Even to Sikorth and Danorath, she has been almost completely silent, keeping her replies to the affirmation of gray silk or negative of dark velvet. Unaware Nadeeth has reached out K'vvan nods. His eyes tight on the chest of the brownrider. There's a tightening in his jaw for words he'll leave unsaid. “It won't happen again.”

Sikorth, not a dragon that easily feels the pang of rejection, after a few attempts to maintain contact with Nadeeth, had politely withdrawn when she’d continued to keep to herself. But even in the brown’s withdrawal, the airwaves had been left wide open to the dainty green. Thus it is that when threads slip in whisper-soft and thin, immediately the welcoming throb of engines idling in the background, lifts up. « We worry for you and yours. » His rider’s demand that Sikorth not meddle by revealing what isn’t his to reveal, overruled in this instance. As for Cha’el, his attention fallen to the straps in K’vvan’s hands, remains firmly there. “Report back here before you and Nadeeth head out on sweeps this afternoon so that I can check them.” Much the same order he’d give any other rider. But then the greenrider isn’t just any other rider despite what his cool tone of voice might say.

A waiver of silence, and Nadeeth almost pulls away. But the concern in the brown's thought is clear, so the spider-thin thread is allowed to remain. «Miss Arroyo.» She knows she will forget eventually, and has almost made her peace with that. But… not quite. «He spends time with Kehemath's. But no one else.» A picture of the curved assistant weyrling master is shown on thin silk before taken away again. The order just brings another wince. One more thing to get done in days that start too early and are too long. "Yes sir." K'vvan's voice fails at all coolness, dull and devoid of colour as it is. An onlooker unaware of the situation might think that Cha'el is picking on K'vvan by the way the greenrider acts like a whipped puppy.

« Miss you. » Sikorth’s retort is quick and imbued with the sense that it comes not just from himself alone. « It is good not to be alone. » The image of Kehemath’s studied and found to be satisfactory though there isn’t one given in return of whom his rider may or may not be spending time with, only a flat chord of isolation suggested before it fades to black. The frown that had dropped between Cha’el’s brows is gone but is replaced by a dissatisfied press of lips at K’vvan’s reply. Glancing up he catches one or two curious onlookers one of which is viewing the pair with the narrowed look of suspicion. Abruptly the brownrider draws himself to his full height, squares his shoulders and gives a sharp nod of head. “See that you do.” A pause, bulging with a bellyful of things left unsaid. Words of encouragement for how well the greenpair have been doing in a wing they’re really not built for hover in thought and die without the breath of verbalization to fan life into them. At the whipped puppy demeanor, the Weyrsecond’s lips part and then snap shut again, his brawny frame jerking about to march himself off before he says or does something he might truly regret.

«Alone is not good.» Nadeeth will softly reply, her agreement of thicker silk than the spiderthread. «He says it is fine if we speak, but… It hurts.» Nadeeth finally gives an explination for her own withdrawl from her favorite brown. Curving physically around she will seek him out from the others of Whirlwind, eyes whirling gently. K'vvan grinds his teeth together and nods. Flicking his gaze upwards he sees the onlookers also and tightens his shoulders. Those watchful eyes are a goodly reason why he stays alone. He turns away and walks the other direction from Cha'el, though really, he had meant to go the same direction as the weyrsecond.

It hurts. Alarm threads through Sikorth strong enough that as he walks away, Cha’el inadvertently finds himself flicking a glance over his shoulder in K’vvan’s direction, his expression inscrutable. « They need not know of what we speak. » The mottled brown posed like a sentinel cast from rock at the outer edges of the others, returns swinging his blocky head in Nadeeth’s direction.

K'vvan's walls are up, as strong as he can put them between himself and his green lifemate. He cannot block out the knowledge that she speaks to the lifemate of the one person in the world he wants to speak to, to celebrate a month of sobriety. But he can at least purposefully not listen. Around a corner he disappears, though not far. Out of sight of Whirlwind that stiff exterior is allowed to drop as he leans against the side of the building and slowly slides to the ground. He'll just stay here a moment. Not long. Just till Cha'el is gone. The alarm spooks Nadeeth and she shys away from Sikorth's thoughts, coming back only seconds later in chagrin. «Mine does not.»

Unfortunately for Cha’el, his chosen path sets him marching across the bowl in plain view of all. No hiding behind a rock for him to allow a short ease of tension. Nope, he gets to do the stick-up-his-butt stalk for all to see. “Rosie’s….whore….legover….” someone mutters from the knot of riders still clustered together eliciting a snicker or four to lift up, quickly muted when the Weyrsecond’s head whips about at a call from someone from another wing. Perplexed by the sudden loss of those fragile threads, Sikorth waits in patient silence to see if they return. When they do, the big brown emits an audible rumble of sound, breaks from his pose and lumbers to his feet « Come. We fly. »

Nadeeth stands, still as stone, unsure. But finally, her own isolation overcomes her not wanting to cause K'vvan more pain. Stretching her wings she springs into the sky, stretching her wings and almost manageing to hide the flash of pain from where she had strained a muscle in the same turn which had caused the strap to snap.

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