K'vvan, Cha'el


The epic begins with Cha'el sending for K'vvan.


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


Sanctum Santorum (Cha'el's weyr), Igen Weyr

OOC Date


kvvanbrown.jpg Chael1.png
nadeeth_default.jpg Sikorth.jpg




Sanctum Santorum

Because I'm lazy. This is Cha'el's weyr. Go check it out:

On the ledge, you see a brown and a green dragon.

On the perch is Butterball.

Obvious exits:


For several days Cha’el had had the skin of pink wine. It wasn’t really his drink of choice but having completely decimated the one K’vvan had had he felt it only fair to replace it. Or so he told himself when he’d bought it. That giving it to the greenrider meant having an excuse to see him again was something he’d denied any time Sikorth had brought it up until finally, denial had dwindled to being little more than a river in old Earth Egypt.

Late evening and with drills done and the last meeting of the day struck off his To Do list, the brownrider faced with yet another night of listening to the sound of his own breathing, finally caves.

Okay fine. Lets do this. Ask Nadeeth if she’ll bring K’vv over.

Sikorth doesn’t even pause to give his rider a reply, the cooling mists of his mind immediately seeking silky ribbons out « Nadeeth. Are you home? Mine would ask that you bring yours here, to us. He has something for him. »

Too easily has the greenrider slipped back into solitude, spending evenings alone- though he has managed to avoid drinking himself into a stupor or other such self-destructive activities, he has closed himself off as much as one who is responsible for others can from human contact. The small green has given up pushing and spends her evenings quietly waiting for K’vvan to reach out.

Sikorth’s abrupt thought is met with welcome greeting, and a hint of surprise. «Will try.» She disengages from the brown’s thoughts to curl around K’vvan’s. Though not a natural liar, perhaps… it would be best for once.

«The weyrsecond has business for us.» She leaves it ambiguous, though she overlays the thought with images of Arroyo’s dragons. K’vvan looks up from the table where her straps are laid out, minor repairs being made after the last threadfall had burned pieces into them. “Can it wait until morning?” His desire to meet with the weyrsecond at night… well, actually is fairly high. But it wars with a nagging idea that being at the weyrsecond’s ledge this late is less than prudent. Nadeeth’s reply is eager enough to cause the young man to look suspicious. «Now.»

“Well s*it.” K’vvan shoves away from the table. Onto the ledge he steps, and not bothering with the straps, but just pulls himself onto Nadeeth’s neck for the short hop up to Cha’el’s ledge. When Nadeeth lands, pulling her wings in tightly to be safe K’vvan holds himself on her back for a long moment, eyes closed against the wave of memories swirling up at the strangely familiar surroundings. “f*ck it.” He mutters as he gathers courage and swings down off of Nadeeth’s neck. “Weyrsecond?” He calls out, tone clipped and formal.

Nervous? Cha’el? Never. He hadn’t just moved from chair, to stand, to chair and then standing again trying to look as casual as possible before Nadeeth had arrived. Nope. Not he. When the air is stirred beyond by the green pair’s arrival, the brownrider is within, finally seated at his desk as if he’d been there the whole time. At the curt use of his title, he cringes internally. “Aye, inside.” The brownrider calls out and scratches a few more doodles on a piece of hide because he’s busy see? Out on the ledge, Sikorth offers the equivalent of a draconic roll of eyes. « He pretends. » He tells the dainty green welcoming her with rumbling croon while creating a space just for her.

K’vvan straightens his shirt, checking the wide belt that crosses just above his hips. From behind Nadeeth gently nudges him forward while twirling a thought out to the brown. «He thinks he has been called on business.» But he’s here, see? And now Sikorth’s human can take care of the rest of it. With one last deep breath K’vvan steps forward into the weyr. Mental steeling occurs as he passes that threshold. Upon entering his eyes find Cha’el’s for one brief moment. No, he shakes his head just slightly, hair escaping to fall into his eyes for a moment as he directs his gaze at the wall just behind the weyrsecond’s head. “Nadeeth said you were looking to speak with us? If it is on Arroyo business you might be better spent speaking to Wingleader Trek.” A moment of inner pride- not once did his voice waiver as he spoke, and even a slight measure of professionalism had crept in.

If dragons were capable of such things or understood the concept, there might well be a Hi5 offered Nadeeth’s way by Sikorth. Instead he gives a rumble of approval and settles himself with great wedged head upon his forepaws, a wing lifted in usual invitation. The moment K’vvan steps in from the short tunnel, blue eyes latch to him and Cha’el shoves to his feet in such a manner that he almost knocks his chair over backwards. Ahem. A warm smile escapes the intended mask of bland and a brow lifts at the continuation of formality coming from the greenrider. Lifting a hand, he rubs at the back of his neck looking oddly awkwardl in that moment. “Uh yes. But no.” Frown. He was messing this up. “I wanted to give you something. Figured I owed you.”

Nadeeth will so take that invitation, allowing herself to tuck under the mottled wing. Glowing eyes follow the pair within.

K’vvan makes a mistake, and allows his gaze to settle fully for a long moment. Some of his stiffness eases in response before he snaps it up again. "Something that could not have waited?" This time he does allow emotion ti soak in, impatience.

Within, things aren’t going quite so swell. When K’vvan lets his guard down just long enough to properly look at Cha’el, blue eyes that latch to green are left wanting when the younger rider snaps his attention away again. Wariness builds for the impatient response. “Oh….Uh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were busy. I should have checked.” Ten kinds of awkward followed by a low curse and the brownrider breaks from immobility and taking up the wineskin that had been laying on his desk, crosses the short distance and holds it out to K’vvan. “I got this to replace the one I drank…” There’s more he wants to say, so much more but right now he finds himself coming up short. “I thought maybe we could have some and uh,” why was this so HARD, “catch up a bit?” Shoulders shift in discomforted gesture. “But if you have somewhere else you need to be we can do it another time.”

K’vvan moves a step backward from Cha’el, working to smother the longing that has worked its way into his green eyes. Rather than look at Cha’el he focuses on the bottle, frowning slightly. “Corks & Works?” He reaches out for the bottle, hand brushing against Cha’el’s just for the briefest of moments. “It is late but, um.” He shifts slightly on his feet, “we could talk. For a bit.”

The step back that K’vvan takes draws the brownrider up short, faintly uncertain. “Aye,” conversation about wine gratefully accepted. “Wine’s not really my thing but Eollyn knew which it was.” A quick smile appears and then is frozen by that brief brush of hand. “K’vv…” Cha’el’s baritone drops a few octaves gaze searching but once again words fail him and so with a shake of head, he moves off to snag a pair of glasses. “You hear about the females the weyrwoman are letting into the guard?” A topic of conversation hastily sought as a cover.

K'vvan's gaze is utterly guarded, protecting carefully what thoughts linger behind his eyes. But then, what an interesting conundrum. This sounds suspiciously like something K'vvan has heard about, but rarely partakes in- 'conversation'. As Cha'el moves away to snag the glasses K'vvan will open the bottle and move towards the table to set it down. The first chair he comes to has him snapping back to… no. He shakes his head to clear the memory, and moves purposefully away from that chair. Hopefully the other one wasn't Cha'el's favorite. "Aye. I heard about them. Think it's as sharding stupid as," but K'vvan is snapping his lips shut, rethinking his words carefully. "stupid as the stores being such a mess." He winces slightly at the awkwardness of his reply. Eyes are now firmly fixed upon the table, with his back to the brownrider bringing the cups. Tension curls over his shoulders as he beats back the still lingering anxiety that having someone behind him causes.

“Aye,” Cha’el agrees on the matter of female guards, and turns a look over his shoulder at the other man, faintly amused for the comparison he makes though whether he notices the deliberate refusal of that chair in particular, is kept carefully from expression. Returning with the glasses, the brownrider pauses behind K’vvan, not as a means to unsettling him but rather taking a moment to school unruly thoughts. Leaning passed the greenrider so that his chest brushes his shoulder, the glasses are set down. “Its not right.” Yup, he’s still making a go at conversation there, “female riders is one thing, the dragon chooses but women choosing to…” Abruptly that thought is cut off. “You gonna open that wine or just sit there staring at it?” Cha’el asks, his voice huskier than he’d like it to be. He can totally do friends without benefits. Absolutely! Mmhm.

A rabbit frozen under the gaze of a hawk might be an apt description for how still K’vvan goes when Cha’el presses against him briefly. Thoughts scatter to the high winds and he has to scramble to organize them. “The weyrwoman does as she…” but then Cha’el is asking about the wine. A flush spreads across the back of his neck as he reaches for the bottle and begins to fumble it open. Wait, conversation, it had stopped all sorts of abruptly. “They won’t last, not in the Bazaar.”

Out on the ledge Nadeeth huffs slightly- if dragons could roll their eyes she would be. Instead she tucks her head to one side, lids closing against the awkward going on inside as a ribbon twines about stone monoliths. «Mine thinks too much at times.»

“They’re gonna get themselves into trouble,” Cha’el remarks drawing slowly back, pulse rattling along at an irregular rate. But at least his voice sounds normal, right? Sure, if you don’t take off marks for the hitch of breath just moments before he steps away and sprawls into the other chair with long legs stretching out before him. “Or worse,” he adds. Never mind that he’s just pushed another young hopeful the way of questionable change. Silence spools around an uncomfortable gap in conversation in which he leans his head back against the chair and fits K’vvan with a lazy half-lidded look. Catching himself, the brownrider clears his throat and leaning forward takes up the glasses and holds them out for his guest to fill. “So, this young messenger girl told me she delivered a message to you the other day in the council chambers. Said you weren’t none too pleased about it.” Focus narrows, familiar features watched intently for what reaction such a statement might pull from the other rider.

Beyond, curled about his dainty green visitor on the ledge, Sikorth utters a harrumph of sound. « They share the same trait. » The big brown gives back, his mind thumping closer to view that twining ribbon. « Will you finish your tale about the one that stole fire? »

There’s a long moment of rather stupefied silence as K’vvan’s hungry eyes twine around the way Cha’el’s body is sprawled onto the chair across from him. Stop it. he demands of himself, ripping his eyes away and leaning forward with the bottle that he has finally opened after a great more deal of effort then it really should have taken. Mostly because his attention was you know, over there, and not right here. K’vvan stands from his chair to pour the liquid… then stops paying attention when Cha’el shifts the topic of conversation. Guarded and wary green eyes snap up to search Cha’el’s face as if looking for a clue as to the thoughts behind the statement. Hopefully that cup doesn’t overflow too fast, as the greenrider is no longer at all paying attention to the liquid slipping into it. Slowly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nadeeth perks up a bit at the request from the brown. Ribbons twirl and narrow, becoming multi-coloured threads. The loom is cast aside in favor of using the monoliths as her base and she begins to set them carefully before drawing her shuttle across the stretched threads. The images begin to form slowly, but pick up speed till they seem to create animated movement. Blurry pictures settle as the shuttle flashes into vivid images of a small furred creature who climbs a lonely mountain, dancing fire at the apex, while frozen wastes curl below.

Cha’el is paying just about as much attention to the wine going into the glasses as K’vvan is. Which is absolutely, ZERO. With the other rider leaned in and gaze latched to those deep green eyes, his mind goes a-wandering down paths that would have a Lady Holder reaching for the smelling salts. “Katzir, she said his name was,” the brownrider returns a brow cocking upward in prompting query – Familiar?

Forever fascinated by the dexterity and speed with which Nadeeth loads her loom, the steady thwump-thwump of blades is replaced by the quiet sigh of a breeze sifting across the still meadow set into the center of the monolith’s. « What does this creature wish with the fire? » He asks, straining to identify the small furred body.

S*it. K’vvan’s hand jerks as his cousin’s name slips out of the brownrider’s lips. The wine, no longer pouring into the cup is now spilling out over the side and on to the table without K’vvan’s particular attention being paid to it. Much too quickly, “I wouldn’t know who that is.” Except, his eyes are still fixed on weyrsecond in an attempt to prove that really, he has no connection to the name that was just cast out.

«It is cold,» Nadeeth explains gently, her weaving moving to place the creature and the fire in the distance, and focusing on the below. White snow drifts around huddled tents are pitched in low valleys. Water sits in frozen rivers as humans shift below in attempts to get warm. «He wishes to help, and seeks the fire to help them.» Slowly she pans out again, focusing back on the creature as dancing steps bring him closer to the fire. Licks of orange, yellow and soft blue highlight the warmth of the fire, as white gives way to the green of spring. «They wish not to share.» Ghostly images dance about the fire, basking in the warmth and occasionally sending wisps of glances downwards at the humans freezing below. Her shuttle speeds to show the swiftness of the dancers.

That telling jerk of hand isn’t missed, neither is the way that K’vvan continues to lock gazes with him. What is missed, is the wine pooling on the table that’s running a rapid rivulet to the edge where Cha’el is sitting. “C’mon, Kvv, this is me.” The brownrider states in a quiet voice, gaze softening. “Who is he to…” The ‘you’ part of that query never makes it out to complete the sentence for in the next moment, Cha’el becomes uncomfortably aware of suddenly having a cold and very wet crotch. “What the fuck!?” He curses and leaps to his feet with shock stitched across his features.

Out on the ledge, Sikorth accepts the explanation Nadeeth gives him and turns his focus back to the tale being woven. The setting as well as the tents huddled together and the brave little creature who seeks to help them are all taken in. When the picture changes to show those above enjoying the warmth while those below are freezing, the big brown rumbles his discontent. « These ones, » The uncaring dancers, « Should be flamed. »

Mayte’s pink wine just isn’t appreciated like it ought to be. First guzzled down, and now splashed across the surface of the table and Cha’el’s pants. It takes K’vvan a moment to realize exactly what has happened and stop pouring the wine onto the table. K’vvan really ought to be more upset at this sudden shift in events, but it has completely distracted the weyrsecond from his uncomfortable line of questioning and his utter suckage at lying and therefore might just be able to be chalked under ‘a fortuitous event’ in the greenrider’s book. Setting the wine down K’vvan casts about for a cloth to begin cleaning up the spilled wine with, and finds one just a step away. Reaching out he snags the cloth and begins to sop up the liquid from the wooden surface, his distraction with the task bringing him brushing up against the weyrsecond as he attempts to keep more of the pale pink liquid from dripping downwards onto the floor.

Nadeeth passes no judgment calls upon the dancing figures, simply displays the story. The furred creature comes closer to the dancers then leaps into their midst to join the dance. For only a second are the ghostly fire proprietors started, but they seem to know the creature and allow him to dance with them in the flickering light of the flames. «He asks why they keep the fire. They reply that they fear the humans having power if they should take it. There are more of them.»

Sorry, K’vv, maybe one day Cha’el’s palate will adjust and the wine will be appreciated as it should be. Right now, he’s wet in the most uncomfortable of places and doing his best to try and swipe the excess liquid from his crotch area. The accident has apparently drowned mental filters for the next words out of his mouth are pure representation of where his mind had been and not the easygoing façade he’d been trying to wear. “Shit, K’vv. If you want me to strip just say so. No need to waste good wine.” Blink. “Uh. I mean, hand me another…..” mental faculties wane when the greenrider is suddenly right up in his personal space, “…cloth.” A low rumbling purr with sea-blue eyes flickering with poorly suppressed heat.

Still grumbling about the perceived injustice being committed against those freezing with cold in the snowy lower reaches, Sikorth continues to watch the furred creature closely. The explanation stills the steady thump of blades, the brown’s mind hovering in place as he turns the relayed exchange over. « The humans will die if they do not. » He points out while cooling mists twine about the intricately woven image. « What will the creature do? »

K’vvan looks up, his green eyes suddenly brilliantly illuminated by inner heat that rushes through his body at Cha’el’s words. The wine is ignored as it seeps into the rag then begins to twine a river around the cloth to drip back onto the floor again. “Maybe it would be best if you just changed…” For a split second K’vvan’s accent flicks out, only to be repressed when his words trail off. Lacking a cloth he reaches out to brush a hand against Cha’el’s chest and steps slightly closer.

«Patience,» Nadeeth smooths against Sikorth’s thoughts gently. As the dangers spin the small creature curls closer and closer to the fire, seemingly engulfed in the joy of the dance. The weaving seems to slow as it focuses in onto the creature. His mouth opens wide and reaches out to snatch the flames, hiding them under his tongue.


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