Apparently, this is what friends are for.
RL Date: 4/19/09
IC Date: 7/7/19 --Language.
The sun is going down on this lovely summer day, transitioning it into evening. Just a hint of a breeze wafts its way from the ledge, making this weyr more than comfortable. A'son at some point since his return has built himself a modest sized work bench. And this is where he can be found tonight, sitting on a stool and diligently working on his newest piece of 'art'. An empty plate is pushed across from him, finished off along with an empty glass.
Wyaeth. Thump. Need we revisit the method of his landings, the reason it makes N'thei grind his teeth and try to jump off before the bronze actually lands? He doesn't stick around long, this being Nikoth's ledge and therefore sucky, just glides on over to the Star Stones and leaves his rider, rolling up his sleeves, to make his entrance. "On your feet." Hi-how-are-you.
A'son only looks mildly surprised when N'thei makes his 'oh so grand' entrance. "Are you here to punch me in the face?" He asks when takes his eyes away from his woodworking. Turning his face to show him the bruise, "Because Tiriana already beat on me. I think if you did it too that might be a little bit of overkill."
Sympathy and N'thei have never met before, sorry. "On your feet," he repeats simply, beckoning with one hand while the other gets his sleeve neatly to his elbow. He'll get around to noticing how gross this weyr looks in a minute, right now it's all eyes on his best bud over there.
A'son puts the piece of wood down and folds his arms over his chest. "No." He doesn't make a move, though he does eyeball the other man when he starts rolling up his sleeve.
N'thei will collar A'son if necessary. He'd rather not, but that's where this is headed. "Has to be done, brother," is all the more explanation he has before he, yes, reaches to haul his friend bodily to his feet.
A'son doesn't hesitate at this point to reach over and smack N'thei firmly upside the head when he goes to collar him. He also, quickly gets off of the stool and puts it between himself and the other bigger man. For whatever good that'll do him now.
Here's what good it does him: Now A'son has a broken stool and N'thei has a piece of wood that used to be a leg of it in his hand, the rest of it in splinters after its abrupt and unfriendly meeting with the wall. He's not a quick guy, N'thei, but he can probably take a lot of knocks upside the head before it has any impact on him, and he's bound to get ahold of A'son somewhere in that. Especially advancing on him one step at a time like that.
He did like that stool. But that's probably a moot point now that it's so many pieces on the floor. A'son's eyes dart around quickly, trying to land on the nearest thing that might be a good defense against a large man wielding a leg of wood. There's nothing and he just throws his arms up in a sort of resigned exasperation. What's one more beating? "Fine."
Good, then at least N'thei can toss aside the stump of wood amid the other wreckage. Only needed that to impress the point-- big, scary, armed. He really just needs three good pops anyway, just a chance to snag the front of A'son's shirt in one mitt and deliver those three crunchy blows; his jabs aren't all that bad, and he doesn't pull out the hook, the one that does damage. "What the fuck is wrong with you."
A'son takes it mostly like a man, though he does hold his face after it's all over. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You come back, you don't even say hello. You just show up to beat on me? Fuck you, man." He rubs the sides and front of his face, testing his nose. "If this is about that damn flight, get the fuck out now. I'm tired of explaining myself to everyone. It's not like there weren't other bronze dragons there /and/ I told that idiot woman I didn't want to be her Weyrleader before it started. Okay?"
If it helps any, N'thei's knuckles bleed? He rubs his right hand with his left one, says testily, "You fucking stabbed yourself, mate. You're lucky I don't do the same." And he reaches to flick A'son in the forehead in a real junior-high move. "Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?" One wordsmith to another there. But this seems, by the severity of the question and the whole beating-thing, to have to do with more than just losing a flight.
"I /really/ did not want to be a Weyrleader again." A'son tells him again. "I didn't stab myself in the fucking heart. I'm find. It's just... painful. He bats N'thei's arm away before he can flick him in the head. Moving past him he goes back to the work bench and rummages beneath it. Finding a cloth he tosses it to him. "Here. Clean the blood off your hands." Then he's picking up the pieces of his stool that are all over the ground. "I'm fucking fine now. What's up your ass?"
N'thei solves his problem like a man; he wipes the blood on his thigh, but he catches the cloth anyway. "Every damn time," he says crossly, wrapping the cloth around his palm and holding it in his fist. "So, what? Not there to talk you out of it and the blade's the only alternative?" Being helpful, he kicks a few chunks of former-stool toward the main part of the debris, adds, "You fucked Milani. She told me."
"There's a jug of water over there on the table. If you want to really clean your hand." A'son's tone indicates he probably doesn't think he does. He collects most of the big pieces and places them in a pile by the wall. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Nikoth wasn't going to come back that easily. I'm trying not to dwell on it too much." As he's finishing placing the wood, he catches the end of what N'thei says. He straightens up and turns back to face him. "Oh yeah?"
"Yep." N'thei takes a few steps toward the water but, predictably, has no intentions of putting it to any good use. It's just a direction to go in, a place to stop with his arms folded to watch blood seep through to the surface of the cloth, then to look back across the 'safe' distance at A'son. "And ditched her." Three sins, three punches-to-the-face, three fingers held up to drive home the point.
"Right. Ditched her. Is that the story she's going with?" A'son's expression is unreadable as he goes to collect a broom and dust pan to get the splinters. In a rather numb tone, "Well, you can tell her that you reclaimed her honor by beating on the man that fucked her and ran out. And that's the tale she can tell everyone of her little cronies. And if you believe that? That's fine too."
Well, that surprises N'thei some, gives him pause even. "What story are you going with?" Wait! It's possible there may be two sides to this?! The thought, judging by the surprised, doubtful shape on the man's face, never occurred to him.
A'son gives N'thei possibly the dirtiest look in history. "The one where I didn't ditch her." He watches the doubtful look on his friend's face and shrugs his shoulders. "I came back, okay? I was gone for a few hours. I took a bath and this stupid knife wound started to bleed. I get it patched up again at the infirmary. I go back after getting it looked it. The door to her quarters was unlocked. I go in, she's fucking K'del. I leave." He proceeds to sweep up the splinters. "I guess me just flat leaving her is a better story for her reputation than that she /is/ a slut."
Aw hell. N'thei lashes out rather than apologizes; "I fucking told you she was a whore, mate! How are you going to act like it's some big crushing blow?" He waves his hand helplessly at A'son at the end there, ends with it rubbing viciously up across his forehead and then busily across what passes for his hair. "She didn't tell me she was fucking K'del within the hour," he admits grudgingly.
Now time for the confused look. "I haven't been acting like anything. I didn't run around and smear her name, I haven't even talked to her. I just stay out of her way and leave it alone." A'son finishes the second stage of clean up. "Yeah, I know that you did. I just didn't want to believe it, I loved her." There's a little helplessness in that. "Whatever man, don't even worry about it." He shakes his head and puts the broom and pan away.
"The kicked puppy routine," answers N'thei, gestures to A'son, all cleaning up his weyr, all demonstrated in the echo, "And if you believe that, that's fine too." There's lingering derision, lingering disappointment while he takes a moment to wander his eyes around the weyr. "Just-- pull yourself together, brother. Shave again regular. Show your face sometimes without it being morose. This place is butt-ugly."
"That's going to be hard to do with people regularly punching me in the face." A'son points. "And I'm allowed to clean my weyr, that's hardly 'kicked-puppy' syndrome. And I /like/ it this way. And Persie helped me decorate it so I'm sort of inclined to keep it the way it is." He does seem a bit defensive on that point, as if he is rather pleased with the decorations. "I never liked shaving. I'll try to smile though, if that'll make you happy?"
N'thei's face... changes... for a split-second there. But he's quick to shake it off, to point out, "If getting punched in the face is part of what's causing you to be a morose bastard, then that's a catch-22, isn't it. Can't stop punching you in the face till you stop acting like a morose bastard." N'thei-logic: the beatings will continue until morale improves. "You would like it," is the derisive mutter at the end, and he strolls the room in search of things he can fuck up, like window-boxes he could scrape at with his belt-knife, that'll work.
In a tired voice, "Don't fuck with those. I don't want to have to fix them and Persie will look all heartbroken if she sees they got messed up. I can't take seeing her look sad." A'son rubs his face and puts away the things on his workbench. He doesn't take any steps towards actually stopping N'thei. "How're you holding up?"
There's that name again. There's that head-shake again. There's N'thei eye-balling the fake windows and palming the hilt of his knife absently. (Sounds like a total euphemism, huh?) "Some days are better than others. Would you just man up and paint it all blue? This is depressing me."
"I'm not painting it all blue, I like it this way. It makes it a little more cheerful. Covering it all would just be depressing." Once it looks like all things are back in order, he leans up against the wall. "That's good, at least. Did you get out all the things you came here to get out?"
"Where's the paint? Will do it for you." N'thei palms the middle of one of those fake windows, shakes his head one last time before he pushes away from it, hand twitching to get the borrowed cloth to come loose. "Suppose so. Just-- try and keep your dick away from Milani for a while? You know she's not going to let this go, but keep it in your pants?" Ledge. Wyaeth.
"It's gone, used up. Done. Not painting it again, but thanks for the offer." A'son watches the other man with an amused eyebrow. "Not a problem there, brother. And thanks, I think too. For beating on me. I guess." He has somewhat of a wry smile for that as he glances towards the ledge.
A menacing look finds its way to the fake-windows, one that threatens them with extermination, but N'thei's already on his way out. "Any time," while he's flexing his fingers, hastening to get Wyaeth off the ledge before he thinks of something charming to say to Nikoth.
IC Date: 7/7/19 --Language.
The sun is going down on this lovely summer day, transitioning it into evening. Just a hint of a breeze wafts its way from the ledge, making this weyr more than comfortable. A'son at some point since his return has built himself a modest sized work bench. And this is where he can be found tonight, sitting on a stool and diligently working on his newest piece of 'art'. An empty plate is pushed across from him, finished off along with an empty glass.
Wyaeth. Thump. Need we revisit the method of his landings, the reason it makes N'thei grind his teeth and try to jump off before the bronze actually lands? He doesn't stick around long, this being Nikoth's ledge and therefore sucky, just glides on over to the Star Stones and leaves his rider, rolling up his sleeves, to make his entrance. "On your feet." Hi-how-are-you.
A'son only looks mildly surprised when N'thei makes his 'oh so grand' entrance. "Are you here to punch me in the face?" He asks when takes his eyes away from his woodworking. Turning his face to show him the bruise, "Because Tiriana already beat on me. I think if you did it too that might be a little bit of overkill."
Sympathy and N'thei have never met before, sorry. "On your feet," he repeats simply, beckoning with one hand while the other gets his sleeve neatly to his elbow. He'll get around to noticing how gross this weyr looks in a minute, right now it's all eyes on his best bud over there.
A'son puts the piece of wood down and folds his arms over his chest. "No." He doesn't make a move, though he does eyeball the other man when he starts rolling up his sleeve.
N'thei will collar A'son if necessary. He'd rather not, but that's where this is headed. "Has to be done, brother," is all the more explanation he has before he, yes, reaches to haul his friend bodily to his feet.
A'son doesn't hesitate at this point to reach over and smack N'thei firmly upside the head when he goes to collar him. He also, quickly gets off of the stool and puts it between himself and the other bigger man. For whatever good that'll do him now.
Here's what good it does him: Now A'son has a broken stool and N'thei has a piece of wood that used to be a leg of it in his hand, the rest of it in splinters after its abrupt and unfriendly meeting with the wall. He's not a quick guy, N'thei, but he can probably take a lot of knocks upside the head before it has any impact on him, and he's bound to get ahold of A'son somewhere in that. Especially advancing on him one step at a time like that.
He did like that stool. But that's probably a moot point now that it's so many pieces on the floor. A'son's eyes dart around quickly, trying to land on the nearest thing that might be a good defense against a large man wielding a leg of wood. There's nothing and he just throws his arms up in a sort of resigned exasperation. What's one more beating? "Fine."
Good, then at least N'thei can toss aside the stump of wood amid the other wreckage. Only needed that to impress the point-- big, scary, armed. He really just needs three good pops anyway, just a chance to snag the front of A'son's shirt in one mitt and deliver those three crunchy blows; his jabs aren't all that bad, and he doesn't pull out the hook, the one that does damage. "What the fuck is wrong with you."
A'son takes it mostly like a man, though he does hold his face after it's all over. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You come back, you don't even say hello. You just show up to beat on me? Fuck you, man." He rubs the sides and front of his face, testing his nose. "If this is about that damn flight, get the fuck out now. I'm tired of explaining myself to everyone. It's not like there weren't other bronze dragons there /and/ I told that idiot woman I didn't want to be her Weyrleader before it started. Okay?"
If it helps any, N'thei's knuckles bleed? He rubs his right hand with his left one, says testily, "You fucking stabbed yourself, mate. You're lucky I don't do the same." And he reaches to flick A'son in the forehead in a real junior-high move. "Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?" One wordsmith to another there. But this seems, by the severity of the question and the whole beating-thing, to have to do with more than just losing a flight.
"I /really/ did not want to be a Weyrleader again." A'son tells him again. "I didn't stab myself in the fucking heart. I'm find. It's just... painful. He bats N'thei's arm away before he can flick him in the head. Moving past him he goes back to the work bench and rummages beneath it. Finding a cloth he tosses it to him. "Here. Clean the blood off your hands." Then he's picking up the pieces of his stool that are all over the ground. "I'm fucking fine now. What's up your ass?"
N'thei solves his problem like a man; he wipes the blood on his thigh, but he catches the cloth anyway. "Every damn time," he says crossly, wrapping the cloth around his palm and holding it in his fist. "So, what? Not there to talk you out of it and the blade's the only alternative?" Being helpful, he kicks a few chunks of former-stool toward the main part of the debris, adds, "You fucked Milani. She told me."
"There's a jug of water over there on the table. If you want to really clean your hand." A'son's tone indicates he probably doesn't think he does. He collects most of the big pieces and places them in a pile by the wall. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Nikoth wasn't going to come back that easily. I'm trying not to dwell on it too much." As he's finishing placing the wood, he catches the end of what N'thei says. He straightens up and turns back to face him. "Oh yeah?"
"Yep." N'thei takes a few steps toward the water but, predictably, has no intentions of putting it to any good use. It's just a direction to go in, a place to stop with his arms folded to watch blood seep through to the surface of the cloth, then to look back across the 'safe' distance at A'son. "And ditched her." Three sins, three punches-to-the-face, three fingers held up to drive home the point.
"Right. Ditched her. Is that the story she's going with?" A'son's expression is unreadable as he goes to collect a broom and dust pan to get the splinters. In a rather numb tone, "Well, you can tell her that you reclaimed her honor by beating on the man that fucked her and ran out. And that's the tale she can tell everyone of her little cronies. And if you believe that? That's fine too."
Well, that surprises N'thei some, gives him pause even. "What story are you going with?" Wait! It's possible there may be two sides to this?! The thought, judging by the surprised, doubtful shape on the man's face, never occurred to him.
A'son gives N'thei possibly the dirtiest look in history. "The one where I didn't ditch her." He watches the doubtful look on his friend's face and shrugs his shoulders. "I came back, okay? I was gone for a few hours. I took a bath and this stupid knife wound started to bleed. I get it patched up again at the infirmary. I go back after getting it looked it. The door to her quarters was unlocked. I go in, she's fucking K'del. I leave." He proceeds to sweep up the splinters. "I guess me just flat leaving her is a better story for her reputation than that she /is/ a slut."
Aw hell. N'thei lashes out rather than apologizes; "I fucking told you she was a whore, mate! How are you going to act like it's some big crushing blow?" He waves his hand helplessly at A'son at the end there, ends with it rubbing viciously up across his forehead and then busily across what passes for his hair. "She didn't tell me she was fucking K'del within the hour," he admits grudgingly.
Now time for the confused look. "I haven't been acting like anything. I didn't run around and smear her name, I haven't even talked to her. I just stay out of her way and leave it alone." A'son finishes the second stage of clean up. "Yeah, I know that you did. I just didn't want to believe it, I loved her." There's a little helplessness in that. "Whatever man, don't even worry about it." He shakes his head and puts the broom and pan away.
"The kicked puppy routine," answers N'thei, gestures to A'son, all cleaning up his weyr, all demonstrated in the echo, "And if you believe that, that's fine too." There's lingering derision, lingering disappointment while he takes a moment to wander his eyes around the weyr. "Just-- pull yourself together, brother. Shave again regular. Show your face sometimes without it being morose. This place is butt-ugly."
"That's going to be hard to do with people regularly punching me in the face." A'son points. "And I'm allowed to clean my weyr, that's hardly 'kicked-puppy' syndrome. And I /like/ it this way. And Persie helped me decorate it so I'm sort of inclined to keep it the way it is." He does seem a bit defensive on that point, as if he is rather pleased with the decorations. "I never liked shaving. I'll try to smile though, if that'll make you happy?"
N'thei's face... changes... for a split-second there. But he's quick to shake it off, to point out, "If getting punched in the face is part of what's causing you to be a morose bastard, then that's a catch-22, isn't it. Can't stop punching you in the face till you stop acting like a morose bastard." N'thei-logic: the beatings will continue until morale improves. "You would like it," is the derisive mutter at the end, and he strolls the room in search of things he can fuck up, like window-boxes he could scrape at with his belt-knife, that'll work.
In a tired voice, "Don't fuck with those. I don't want to have to fix them and Persie will look all heartbroken if she sees they got messed up. I can't take seeing her look sad." A'son rubs his face and puts away the things on his workbench. He doesn't take any steps towards actually stopping N'thei. "How're you holding up?"
There's that name again. There's that head-shake again. There's N'thei eye-balling the fake windows and palming the hilt of his knife absently. (Sounds like a total euphemism, huh?) "Some days are better than others. Would you just man up and paint it all blue? This is depressing me."
"I'm not painting it all blue, I like it this way. It makes it a little more cheerful. Covering it all would just be depressing." Once it looks like all things are back in order, he leans up against the wall. "That's good, at least. Did you get out all the things you came here to get out?"
"Where's the paint? Will do it for you." N'thei palms the middle of one of those fake windows, shakes his head one last time before he pushes away from it, hand twitching to get the borrowed cloth to come loose. "Suppose so. Just-- try and keep your dick away from Milani for a while? You know she's not going to let this go, but keep it in your pants?" Ledge. Wyaeth.
"It's gone, used up. Done. Not painting it again, but thanks for the offer." A'son watches the other man with an amused eyebrow. "Not a problem there, brother. And thanks, I think too. For beating on me. I guess." He has somewhat of a wry smile for that as he glances towards the ledge.
A menacing look finds its way to the fake-windows, one that threatens them with extermination, but N'thei's already on his way out. "Any time," while he's flexing his fingers, hastening to get Wyaeth off the ledge before he thinks of something charming to say to Nikoth.