Who

Chelsa, Th'bek

What

Arroyo wingmates chat in the Archives.

When

It is evening of the tenth day of the eighth month of the tenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Archives, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 06 Apr 2017 05:00

 

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"… neither of which he can do and it's taken the heart right outta him."


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Archives

A grand room, lost to more pressing concerns, the Archives hold many treasures well past their prime, from instruments to examples of older flying gear and agenothree tanks. Faded and disused Records lean tiredly against their shelves, their bindings peeling and creating layers of dust on surfaces long left without maintenance. The floors are dirty, various footprints creating crisscrossing paths between rickety wooden chairs and drunkenly off-kilter tables. Columns rise upward to the ceiling, hung with glow-baskets scarcely tended and fast losing their strength. The hum of activity is duller, here in this forgotten space - few visit in search of historical facts.


Now back at the Weyr, place of Tavuqth's birth, Th'bek is as restive as a menagerie animal. Unable to resume many basic rider tasks, he splits his time between caring for his life-mate, reading Oldtimer manuscripts imported from their time period, cleaning flamethrowers, and compiling bag after bag of firestone. Manual labor is the best cure he's found for feeling useless. He's fidgety, sweeping fingers through his hair, rolling his neck and shoulder muscles, and giving an apprentice the hairy eyeball for even sharing space.

Chelsa doesn't find herself in the archives very often. She really isn't much of a reader, unless the book has a lot of pictures or diagrams. Mostly, opening a book makes her want to run outside and do something real. But she's at a table now, writing a letter… or rather, decorating the paper's edge with an elaborate drawing of flowers and leaves. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots someone waving his arms(?), and she recognizes him. "Hey, Th'bek!" She cheerfully "waves back."

Chelsa and Th'bek are cut from the same cloth, doers instead of thinkers. When his 'doing' was curtailed, reading, especially aloud to Tavuqth, became a way to salvage some of their sanity. When his fretting draws Chelsa's attentions, the brownrider truly lifts a hand and begins with, "happy tenth," the particular day of the month, no holiday expected.

Chelsa just grins, fanning the ink dry on her page before adding it to a stack of similar pages. "Happy tenth to you too. I feel like I should make the most of it, but it was too hot outside, and I had to find somewhere cool. Are you looking for something here? How's Tavuqth?" A little frown at that. She has been worried.

Th'bek hasn't neglected hygiene in this newfound state of being, but notes of firestone can be smelled close to his vicinity, indicative of bathing in the lake without any sort of cleanser. A weather topic has him smiling in mild agreement and he notices the hides Chelsa has. "Agertha assigning you any extra?" Keeping his place with an index finger lodged between pages, there's a too-quick pause for the status update on Tavuqth, and he doesn't seek eye contact. "Better and not, he's asleep at the lake right now," an irritable as an animal with its leg snared.

Chelsa shrugs one shoulder. "I was writing a letter to my brother, then I got distracted by writing a letter to someone else, though I don't think I'll send it." She frowns at the complications. "Agertha's doing great, though. I mean, we miss you loads in the wing, but I'm sure you'll be back soon, right?" She hears the worry in the brownrider's voice. "If you want me to send Kuramaeth down to keep him company, I can. They could probably flirt and bicker an entire afternoon if he needs a distraction."

Th'bek gives up and slips his finger out between pages, he'll either find his place again in the future or has given up making the effort. "Surely it must have been important enough at the time to write it to begin with," Th'bek sits up straighter, the chair squeaks. "How is your brother?" He knew his name but has since forgot it. Itching an area around his collar bone, "I hope so, time will tell." That's a truncated response, but thinking about when Tavuqth will fly again always leads to 'if'. "I'd recommend against it, he doesn't seem too… patient with other dragons these days." To put it mildly. Ask Kukonth about the fresh bite marks he's sporting.

Chelsa's gaze darts aside with some uncertainty. "Maybe more important for me to write it than for them to read it, you know?" No, probably not, she probably just sounds crazy. "M'noq? He's fine. He recently got promoted to wingleader, so he can't be doing that badly." Handwave, then more worry when Tavuqth's attitude is brought up. "Oh no, maybe he does need a visit, then. Kuramaeth always has extra unasked-for advice, if you think that would help. And she can say it in the nicest way possible… when she's not being impatient or sarcastic." Sounds super helpful, right?

"Maybe," he concedes, never a gifted writer or forger of thoughts he would like to maintain as written word. "Congratulations to him," Th'bek's eyebrows leap and hold position in surprise. "M'noq you said, hm…" Never met him, perhaps never will, but Rev has the charity to see the other brownrider succeed. "I don't think so," pronoun extend just slightly, his bottom lip twisting. "He hasn't spoken in a sev—, no today's the sixth day, he just," stretching out his fingers, "wants to be left alone."

"He doesn't come up to Igen often from Southern. Too sandy, he says," Chelsa says with a dismissive wave of her hand. She leans in as he talks about the brown again. "He isn't talking to you? Or just to other dragons? That doesn't sound good." Thanks, now Chelsa is going to be super worried about you. "What have you been doing to keep him busy? Swimming? What does he like to do normally?" She would say flying and hunting, but those are obviously out.

The tragedy of Th'bek's own words is a solemn thing, something the brownrider has come to face head on. The usual good-natured man is connected to a dragon who lost his purpose, a proud, bitter beast who has fallen in love with misery and is all too willing to be a vector to spread it. This strangling of optimism is a new burden to Th'bek as Tavuqth's black mood crosses the bond between them like blood mixing. He elongates his legs as a gifted stretcher and tries to find renewed comfort in this chair. "None," crooking his mouth as his bond communicates through images and memories. "Not a sharding lot, reading mostly, and treading some of the sand outside in some semblance of sweepriding. Tavuqth lives for facing Thread and flying females, neither of which he can do and it's taken the heart right outta him."

Chelsa sighs a little, feeling the real heartache the man must be experiencing. "Oh no, that's awful. You need to do something different. Help him break out of his bad attitude. Maybe something totally different from what he used to do. Find some silly novel to read him. Or hire a harper apprentice to play music for him for a candlemark. No wonder he's depressed, if all he has to look forward to in the day is walking through the desert, pretending like he's on sweeps." She reaches out and touches the man's sleeve reassuringly, if he doesn't draw back. "Let me know if there's anything I can do, all right? I mean, what else do I have to do besides write letters no one but myself will read?" An embarrassed smile.

"I've got another meeting with healers just after first light tomorrow, maybe they'll have better news," Th'bek plants his feet and slides the chair back enough for him to stand and redistribute the reading material back to where it went to start with. He seems to have taken up the cause of habit-forming optimism again. Chelsa's suggestions seem tailored to a child— maybe that's what it will take. Deep down Th'bek doesn't think so, doubt stirring in his heart like river silt, despite physically seeing Chelsa's hopeful helpfulness makes him feel like a betrayer. His eyes feel like they're watering and now, despite a summer evening's lingering oppression, he needs to breathe outside. "You're a polished gem." Appreciative, sharing the heat of a hand over hers in a dedicated pat, before directing a path for the bowl.

Just from the man's reaction, Chelsa can tell her suggestions aren't really taken to heart. They are things that she would do, but maybe that's why even many of her fellow riders don't take her seriously. "Just saying, if you don't do something different, you can't expect different results," she calls after Th'bek, even though she's not very hopeful he will listen. Alone again, she goes back to finishing her letters and mutters to herself, "A 'polished gem'? What's that supposed to mean?" An unvoiced comment, from the green warming herself out in the bowl. "Ugh, I'm sure he didn't mean that!" she says too loudly, before being hushed by an archivist.

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