[Log] End, Part One

[brazenbronzer]

Who: Giremi, Tiriana
When: Day 31, Month 4, Turn 13
Where: Giremi's Room, Telgar Weyr
What: After V'delin leaves her, Tiriana slinks down to Giremi's room, expecting some sort of comfort. She doesn't get it.

It's dawn, or nearly so, when Tiriana goes creeping through the halls of Telgar again, clothes rumpled and eyes half-closed against the light. She knows, though, well enough despite her hungover state, how to get to her destination, and she arrives at Giremi's door shortly--it's not a far walk from where she spent the night. The door is edged quietly open, just far enough for her to slip past; and she shuts it with the same silence before she glances for him: first to bed and then to the hearth, where she finds him asleep in his chair. She frowns slightly, and heads that way to stand over him and watch him sleep a moment, before she moves to slide into his lap and wake him. "Don't you ever go to bed when I'm not here?" she asks.

For once, Giremi's sleeping the sleep of the dead and the sound of his door opening and closing, soft as it is, doesn't cause him to stir. Her in his lap though, well that definitely garners a response and the harper's eyes open, betraying bleary depths, the blue altered bye the red in them to a hazy aqua. "Tiri ..." he says muzzily and after the barest pause his arms come up around her and he holds her too him fiercely. "Shells, there you are," his voice is all crackly and ruined by too much drink, lack of sleep and emotion barely held back. His hands slide up her spine and his lips press a little sloppily into the join of jaw and throat. "Sure I do ... I ... the flight ... I ..." he clears his throat a few times and looks into her eyes. "I'd hoped you'd come."

Unusually affectionate, Tiriana snuggles in against Giremi, face leaned against the curve of his neck after a moment, her arms sliding around him. She smells of too much alcohol as much as he does, though at least its effects seem to be wearing, or worn, off of her. "Yeah, the flight," she agrees. "And... I did. It just kinda took me a while. I... think I drank too much. Though, leastways I had help." She lifts her head enough to lean sideways and eye his own bottle.

"I looked for you," confesses Giremi, likely swayed by the snuggliness, basking in it a little even. "I was in the Records Room when she went up. Came back here to stay out of the way ... but then I went looking. It was ... pretty wild out there. After a while, I thought I'd be better off just coming back here after a rather ... insistent brownrider pinned me against a wall for a minute. I thought I'd never get away." His eyes follow hers towards the bottle. "Half-empty when I started. It took the edge off. I never quite got used to goldflights. Greens aren't nearly as .... loud." One hand drifts up to her hair, sinks into it and he tries to bring her face back up towards him for a kiss.

"I was in the living cavern," Tiriana answers herself, wiggling a bit until she's more comfortable. "With Cyrra and that Yronica girl. We drank a whole one--me 'n' Cyrra, anyway. And that guy." She frowns at that mention, brows knitting as she tries to find a better word for him. "From Fort. I think he was a bronzerider. With the thing on his lip and a scar." A vague motion is meant to sum up V'delin, based on that vague description. She concludes, flatly, lips pursing, "I fucked him."

"I must have ... just missed you," says Giremi quietly, making a face. "I wound up in here with that for company instead. Guess I drank too much of it." Her last finally catches up with him and his hand tightens reflexively in her hair, almost painful. The harper's face goes quite white, making his freckles stand out all the more and his eyes search hers for the truth of her words, frantic. It's stars falling out of the heavens in his gaze: he's clearly crushed though he's struggling to hide it as best he can which means that he's completely silent.

Tiriana bites back a wince as Giremi's hand tangles in her hair, and she leans back from him enough to see his face, studying his in turn. Her own is expectant, waiting for some sort of reaction from him as she grows very still. The silence, though, gets to her, and she says quickly, as though that will fix everything, "It wasn't very good, though, probably 'cause we were both so drunk. He said we could break another table but we didn't even do that, and he had that furry thing on his mouth and it was kinda gross. His shoulders were crooked. I mean, he didn't even tell me his name, or I don't remember it anyway."

Every additional word about her escapade with V'delin only piles on the pain for Giremi and after a moment he forces his hand to loosen, the color slowly returning to his face, all blotchy and red now. "And I suppose that makes it okay?" he asks in dangerously calm and quiet voice, though there's a knife edge to it.

Tiriana's brows knit as she studies Giremi, a little confused and taken aback by his expression and tone. "Well," she begins slowly. "It is a Weyr, s'not like anybody really cares. And I didn't really /mean/ to, it just kind of... happened. Nobody /else/ wanted him, not Cyrra or Yronica or anybody."

There's another long silence as various emotions spill across Giremi's face: pain, disappointment, anger, frustration, love, still, though it gets all muddied up by everything else. "I care," the words finally struggle their way out of his chest, all raw and rough. "I know you don't want me to care so much, but I do. And the least you could have done Tiriana, before /fucking/ some other guy, is break things off with me first. It would have been the honorable thing to do." So saying he dumps her unceremoniously off of his lap and walks away from her, going to the mantle where his hands take up positions spread far apart, his shoulders hunched, head bowed between them, the line of them tight with tension.

Tiriana tumbles out hard, landing heavily and sucking in her breath at the pain from the hard stone floor. "Break off /what/?" she snaps back, sneering, as she stays where she's fallen. There's the light of a fight in her eyes again now, shoulders stiffening as she tenses up as well, glaring hatefully at his back. "Being friends? 'Cause I dunno what /you're/ deluding yourself about but that's all this's ever been. Friends, practice, whatever."

There's a sudden bunching muscles in Giremi's back as those words hit like physical blows and then suddenly the books he keeps on his mantel go flying with the force of his hand through the neat stack. This is very un-Remi-like behavior, usually so neat, so careful, so contained. "Dammit, Tiriana, you know it's more than that to me." One bloodshot eye appears over his shoulder, glaring at her angrily, though there's an ache behind the anger that speaks of the hurt she just keeps on dealing out. "I don't want to be 'practice'. Friends, yes. Lovers, shells, yes. But if you're going to fuck around ... go fuck everyone else and leave me out of it."

Throwing things around is not something that scares Tiriana, though there's a hint of surprise in her raised brows nevertheless. "Fuck you," she says, stung herself as she finally pushes herself back to her feet, hands balling. "I never said it was. I told you I didn't love you, and--and--it's not like I meant to, anyway. It's a Weyr, it happens, get the fuck over it already. I sleep with one other guy by accident and you think I'm some kind of whore? Some friends, huh."

"I /know/ you don't love me," says Giremi bitterly. "But I never thought you'd go chasing down someone else. I thought this was between you and me, whatever the hell this is." He turns around again, arm sweeping a wide gesture at them both and includes the room with his broken and repaired table. "Yes, it's a Weyr. And just because it's a Weyr, does not mean that you go taking up the first desperate bronzerider to ask, if you're already sleeping with someone else. And no, I don't think you're a whore. You're better than that. But I could say the same thing of you: some friend. Couldn't even keep your pants on long enough to come find the guy you were already fucking. Shells, Tiri, it's not like you even had a dragon chasing after Aleith." His hand scrubs across his face and his eyes lift to find hers, the hurt plain to see now as he doesn't bother to try to hide it anymore. "I won't be your fuck toy, Tiriana. if that's all I am to you, go find someone else. I can live with friends and lovers. I can't ... I can't --" he breaks off and turns around, stupidly slamming his fist into the wall. Promptly his knuckles bloody and there's a sharp gasp of pain from the harper. It's likely the idiot just broke his hand.

"I didn't chase him, you bastard," says Tiriana, flushing up her neck and into her cheeks at his accusations. "I didn't mean to and I wished I hadn't but I'd do it again now just 'cause you're such a fucking ass. Go on, break the other one too," she snaps at him, shoulders stiff and breathing jerky as she stares at him, and then, in her own show of anger, moves to flip over his chair carelessly as she stalks toward the door, stubbornly refusing to run.

The pain from the injury seems to have sobered Giremi considerably and he cradles his hand a little, shock registering on his face as he regards the limpness of his fingers. "Shit!" he borrows one of her favorit cuss words. For a harper, a broken hand is probably a much bigger deal than for some other folks. The anger starts to drain out of him a little, the blotchiness in his face fading, remorse creeping into his expression. "Wait ... Tiri ..." he strides after her hastily and reaches out with his good hand to catch at her arm, turn her about. His brow crinkles up as that last set of words registers. "You wish you hadn't?"

There's not much Tiriana can do to fight him off as he turns her around, except plant her feet and pull back, still fiercely glaring. "Not now I fucking well don't. Don't touch me," she spits back at him, reaching to pry his hand off her arm, not careful at all of jarring his hurt hand. She's still worked up herself, too much so to be really effective, even with her usual skills in fighting.

Resisting being pried off, Giremi makes a rather pathetic whimpering noise as he forces his damaged hand around her other shoulder. It doesn't open real well. He's definitely broken at least two fingers. "Okay, so I'm an ass as well as a dork. What'd you expect, that I'd be thrilled to hear all this? I'm jealous, dammit." His voice starts out all ruffled and ends quiet, calmer as his eyes seek hers again. "But ... shells, I was worried about you too and ... worried now and ..." he tries to wrap his arms around her again. "Don't go? Please?"

Tiriana is still stiff, unrelenting as Giremi pulls her in closer; there's really not much she can do against a much older and bigger man except drag her heels and make the inevitable as difficult as possible. "I hate you," she says, words tumbling out. The next are jerkier as she can't quite get her breath under control. "I thought you'd--friends, and I--Cyrra hates me again, and--"

"Why'd you still come here if you hate me so much?" asks Giremi, temper fading further. He's not forceful in the attempt to draw her near, he doesn't really have the strength for it now. But he does tighten his arms a little. "You fought with Cyrra again?" he sighs deeply and moves back a little, looking down into her face. There's several long moments of silence. "Maybe ... we're better of being just friends. Without the sex part." His unbroken hand reaches for her cheek, tracing along it gently, another long silence ensuing then he jumps topics again, the combination of too much alcholo the night before, lack of sleep, pain and shock combining to make him less coherent than usual. "What happened Tiri? Are you okay?"

"I tried to set her up with him first," says Tiriana. "'Cause she needs to get laid already. And she, she got all mad 'n' stuff and stomped off again." She gives in finally, sniffing very bravely as she moves to slide her arms around him, pressing close. "But--but I told her, them, told them about us and they were all impressed and stuff. I'm fine. I'm /fine/. Nothing's wrong. I feel sick again."

"Oh Tiri ... you should know better than to try to push Cyrra like that," mumbles Giremi with a slight shake of his head. "Hopefully she'll get over it." Wincing still with the pain, his damaged hand clumsily strokes at her back. Then he blinks a few times. "You ... told them about us?" Color him surprised. The confusion of sentiments she expresses tear at the harper as much as what she confessed earlier. "He didn't ... rape you did he?" he asks gently, though there's another edge in his voice with that question. "C'mon ... let's sit down again, if you want. Or ... do you want something to drink? Something that won't mess with your head? Tea? Klah?"

Tiriana mutters, "I think they knew anyway. We were, it was something about teaching nice guys to be fun, I think, and I mentioned you." Pause. "And the table, I definitely mentioned the table." She nods once, and once again to his offer to sit, though she doesn't move to do so, seeming content to stay where she is with him for now. "Water. Or tea. 'N' no, course not," she says, pulling back slightly at his former question, brows knitting. "I mean, I can take care of myself. I'd have killed him myself if he tried. We were just... drunk. And the flight, it still kinda gets to you, and... It sounded like a good idea at the time? I couldn't back down, anyway."

"You can always back down Tiri. Especially if it's something you don't want." There's a slight worried frown on Giremi's face now, but he seems to accept the rest of what she says and keeps his arms where they are and then after a moment, he moves to lift her up as he has before and carries her not to the chair, but to the bed, where he sets her down and kisses her forehead. "Stay put okay, while I go get the tea?" His fire's mostly out so he's off to the living caverns for that. He's gone a little bit longer than expected and when he comes back the reason why is evident: he stopped by the Infirmary too and his two middle fingers are braced by a piece of wood and some hefty bandaging, and he's carrying a tray a little clumsily, with two mugs and a teapot on it and a few day-old pastries leftover from yesterday's dessert. "Tiri? you still here?"

Tiriana, in the meantime, takes the liberty of curling up in Giremi's bed, too tired for once to protest being carried around. She tangles up in the covers until the only thing visible is a hint of face and a lot of black hair going everywhere as usual. By the time he gets back she's mostly asleep, and though she stirs again at the sound of his return, her voice is still a little drowsy when she says, "Oh, yeah. Here," and pushes herself back up a little. "Well, I could," she finally responds to a much earlier remark. "But I /don't/ back down. I didn't want to."

Giremi sets the tray down on his clothes press and passes her one of the mugs of tea, then sits on the edge of the bed with his hand curled around his own, the broken one held awkwardly. He looks up at her, a hint of pain again in his face, but he stuffs it away manfully and nods a few times. "No, it's not like you to give up on something once you've made up your mind." The harper's mug makes the journey up to his mouth and drinks a swallow or two, the beverage apparently having cooled enough in transit for safe drinking. "But ... you don't have to see something through if you think you're going to regret it. You just don't." He takes another drink, then leans over to set down his mug and kicks off his shoes, lining them up neatly alongside the bed, peels off his socks and tucks them into his shoes, then pulls off his shirt, only half-buttoned anyway and lobs it into his dirty-laundry basket. He turns then to pull the covers back a little, to undress Tiriana too, though he leaves her shirt on and his funny shorts-like underwear. "You need some sleep." The covers are put back around her, neatly of course, then the harper slips into the other side of the bed and rests there, head propped up on damaged hand, fingers held a little bit away at a funny angle.

"Didn't think I would," admits Tiriana with a haphazard sort of shrug as she takes the tea and sips from it, grimacing at the taste. She's unresisting to his ministrations, holding on to her drink and then moving to lean against him when they're both in bed. "It's... maybe not so great when it's just sex, all meaningless after all. I don't even know his name or anything. He just kind of... was there, and then he left again, a while before I came here. Where else 'm'I supposed to go, anyway? Cyrra hates me and Bri and R'dur would lecture me and there's not anybody else."

There's probably a lot of other things Giremi'd like to say, but her admissions, each in turn prompt him to keep his mouth shut and wind his arms around her again, careful not to jostle her drink. "You can always come here." His lips brush her temple lightly and his head dips down towards hers resting lightly atop it. "I'm sorry I lost my temper Tiri. I ... you just mean that much to me. In spite of everything." He falls silent then, content enough just to hold her until she's through with her drink and falling asleep again.

Tiriana is silent then, finishing her drink and then sliding down in bed for what sleep she can get. However, her eyes are still on the far wall as she does so, and finally she asks, "Then how come you don't want to sleep with me anymore?"

It takes a little while for Giremi to answer, though he doesn't move away. "I still /want/ to. But I think maybe I can be a better friend if we don't. I ... I'm jealous. I want to be the only one." His tone of voice is heavy as if loathe to let the words out. His head finds a resting place in the pillows as she slides downward and he shifts a little as well, to get comfortable, body spooning up against hers.

Tiriana says, mildly matter-of-factly, "Then I don't think we can really be friends. Not /now/." She sounds a little sad, mostly resigned, as she shifts around, messing up the covers as always before she's finally situated.

Giremi's arm slung around Tiriana's waist now, tightens a little as she says what she says. "What do you mean?" he asks slowly, dread apparent in his tone unmindful of the messing of his covers.

"'Cause," explains Tiriana. "You aren't goin' to stop being jealous just 'cause I'm not sleeping with you. And so either I'll just be upsetting you all the time or not telling you anything to keep from upsetting you, and either way I'm not playing that game. You can't go backward like that, you know? Not like that."

"It'd be easier not to get upset if we're not sleeping together, because sleeping with you makes me think I have a snowball's chance in heck of winning your heart," says Giremi a bit muzzily as fatigue starts to get the better of him. "I don't want to not see you at all ..." the desperation she's always accused him of surfaces there.

"Yeah," is all Tiriana says, a mix of resignation and wistfulness in her tone as she settles in finally, and falls silent herself. After a little while, she's drifting into her own restless sleep finally then.

Giremi is a while longer finding sleep, tired as he is, trying to sort through what she said. Ultimately though it's been a hard night and he just watches her sleep for a while, then slowly drifts off himself. She's a busy sleeper, but he tries to stay in contact with her, even slumbering, as if somehow he knows that when he wakes up in the morning, he'll probably have lost her.