Coverup
Who: Br'ce and D'ven (and a cameo by Clare)
Where: Office, Wingleader 3C
When: Right after the last log.
What: D'ven comes in, deduces that Br'ce just had a fling with Clare, and helps figure out how to manage the coverup.
Office, Wingleader 3C.
It's a small, slinky blonde woman who closes the door to Br'ce's office, looking rosy-cheeked and with tousled hair. As she walks down the hall, there's an extra sway to her hips, and a pert look directed at the other people in the hallway. Meanwhile, inside the office, Br'ce is putting things back where they belong. He's looking equally disheveled, absently picking up some scattered hides and righting a fallen chair. His eyes are just a little bit wild looking. As is his hair.
D'ven is coming along the corridor, glancing around. While he's trying to be stealthy, it all falls apart when he sees the girl. It dosn't even register to him yet that she came out of the same door he did, the bronzerider's eyes locked on those swaying hips. Unconciously, he draws himself up a little taller and switches to a stance that displays his muscles better.
A smile, a giggle, and a flip of her hair, and Clare flounces off down the hallway without a further glance at D'ven. Apparently she has important other business to attend to. Br'ce slowly sinks into his chair in the office, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, and staring vacantly off into space. Alternating turning red, and then pale, and then red, and then pale...
D'ven watches her go, calling out "Hey, come visit me sometime." as she vanishes, before turning back to the task at hand. Breaking into Br'ce's office. Which...is the door she just came out of. Shrugging and deciding he must be mistaken, D'ven tries the door. Maybe it's unlocked.
Door rattle. It's unlocked. Panic. "WHO IS IT?!" Br'ce demands, leaping to his feet and knocking over the chair again, looking wildly around for a place to hide. The idea that might have been good to try to hide without asking who was there first seems not to have occurred to him. Underneath his desk is briefly considered--and immediately discarded as being too fraught with, uh, other significance at the moment.
D'ven swears under his breath. Br'ce wasn't supposed to be in the office, but there he is. And so the bronzerider picks an idea so crazy it can't possibly work. "It's nobody, you're imagining things!" He calls back, opening the door, stepping inside it, and closing it again. Then he wanders towards the desk. Time to see if Br'ce has been overworking himself.
"Oh, D'ven, it's just you." Br'ce sighs with relief, tugging his shirt straight. "You, uh, startled me." Chair is picked up and righted for the second time in as many minutes. "What are you doing here?" There's a bit of fussing over his appearance now. Cuffs need to be tugged at, and he belatedly discovers that he misaligned the buttons on the bottom half of his shirt. With a slight clearing of his throat, he begins adjusting. There's several neat little piles of hides on his desk, and an open inkwell. The more observant may note that the ink is long dry. Also, his lunch is uneaten.
Sighing when Br'ce seems determined to acknowledge him, D'ven shrugs and goes with the truth. "I'm here to look through your stuff and make sure you're not being unfair to yourself with the work allocation between us." He replies, before taking a closer look at his friend and the envrioment. "More to the point, Br'ce, what are, or should I say were, /you/ doing here?" He can't but grin slightly, especially when he notices the misaligned buttons and uneaten lunch.
There's a look given towards the pile of hides, one of baffled incomprehension. What are those? Oh yes. There are squiggly marks. Called 'writing'. Used for things like...'reports'! Slowly, intelligence trickles back. Very slowly. "I, uh. It's...not unfair. Work. No." he says incoherently. "You're just getting settled it, you don't know the paperwork routine around here. I'll slowly increase your workload, but I want you to spend more time getting to know ..." Br'ce manages to pull it together, only to lose it again. "...the other riders. What? I wasn't doing anything. Just, uh, working." He's a miserable, miserable liar as always. Both in terms of skill, and in the expression on his face.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." D'ven replies with a 'I knew it' grin. "Look, Br'ce, I spend plenty of time with the riders. But I did not waste three turns in Caucus so you could hog all the paperwork and so forth. I might also point out that, timewise, I do not have a lovely young lady I should be spending my time with. You? You do. Speaking of Aida, where did you hide her, anyway?" He begins to stalk around the room, peering into places she couldn't possibly fit. "Here Aida! Here Aida Aida Aida!" He calls with a wide grin. "There's no need to be so embaressed. I'm hardly gonna disappprove. Heck, you know perfectly well I've done worse while I was at Caucus. And even before that."
"Aida?!" Br'ce nearly squeals. Lovely young lady?! Eyes are wide with panic. "Why do you mention Aida? What makes you think--Why do you bring her up?" he demands defensively. "She's in the Headmaster's office. She's his assistant, she works from early in the morning until evening every day. She's not around. She's not around. And there's nothing to disapprove of. Nothing at all. Nothing." There's the unnecessary repetition, and a nervous glance towards the door. Beads of sweat pop out once more on his forehead. "Enough with the questioning, D'ven. If you really want paperwork, I'm sure I can find some for you. Here, uh, take this pile." One is chosen at random, and pushed. Unfortunately, it's the outbox of hides.
"I'll be sure to deliver them to wherever they're supposed to be going." D'ven replies with a roll of his eyes as he takes the hides. "Look, Br'ce, it's me. D'ven. Remember? Person who has known you for turns? Are we all on the same page now? Good good." The questions seem to be entirely rhetorical. "So, you're acting guilty as anything. You did your shirt up wrong, and I know you're way too neat to have done it like that this morning and not noticed till now. Which means it was done up in a hurry. I know lunchtime was a while ago, but yours hasn't been eaten. Which means you had to have been doing something else. Aida also gets a lunchtime, thus the 'She's working' excuse does not apply." He pauses to savor the moment, really quite enjoying himself. "So, I'm thinking steamy lunchtime sex romp. But the one thing I can't figure out...is where she's hiding. Unless she left earlier. But if she'd left earlier...that wouldn't explain the shirt and uneaten food. That kind of exercise makes a man hungry. Believe me, I know." The bronzerider's grin threatens to split his head in half. It's not everyday he gets to lord something involving the powers of the mind over Br'ce, and it suits his penchant for showmanship.
"I knew there was a reason sending you to Caucus was a bad idea." Br'ce mutters, shifty-eyed. When the hell did D'ven learn to reason so well? Argh. "No. No...lunch..." He can't even get the words out, and he turns absolutely bright lobster red. That is, if Pern had lobsters. He fumbles with the buttons, retucking his shirt into his pants. "She's ...she's not hiding." He confesses after a moment, looking shamefaced. "Can we please stop with the questions? Nothing happened! Nothing at all." he continues to deny vehemently. "I'm just...not hungry." Even this, too, is belied by the sudden growling of his stomach. Once again, betrayed by his body.
D'ven has always been brighter than he likes to pretend, and sadly for Br'ce Caucus only made it worse. "Liar." He comments, almost as though replying the growl itself. "Fine, Br'ce, whatever. Nothing happened." The latter is said a little sulkily, as the wind leaves his sails. "But I wouldn't have any meetings this afternoon if I were you. This room reeks of sex." It's an idle, throwaway comment, accompanied by a wrinkling of the nose for emphasis.
Br'ce is surrounded by jocks who pretend to be a lot dumber than they actually are. What is wrong with the world? There's a stricken look on his face. "It reeks? Quick, how do I get rid of it? Should I keep the door open? Or is it just going to spill into the hallway?" He jitters in anxiety, gnawing frantically on one knuckle and appealing to his friend who should, after all, be expert in these matters. "Do I smell like it? Does it stick to me? Will Aida be able to tell?"
"Calm down Br'ce, it's easily dealt with." D'ven replies, his teasing being pushed aside as the sight of his friend's anxiety tugs on his heartstrings. "There's a number of things you can use to get rid of it. You know those scented things some people burn? They will make it impossible to smell it, and they'll cling to you as well. Though in the case of smell on you, a simple bath should do. Aida will have no idea." He pauses then, blinking several times as he thinks about what his friend just asked, what his reply was, and what's wrong with this picture.
"I don't have any of that stuff. And if I go anywhere, they'll be able to smell it on me. I reek. I've got to take a bath here. I can't let anyone see. You've got to get me some warm water. And a change of clothing. And don't /tell/ anybody!" The restless energy overflows into pacing, and more knuckle-gnawing. He's going to end up eating his entire hand if this keeps up, the skin is already scraped red. "A bath. And incense. Cancel afternoon exercises. No, wait, tell them physical conditioning. Put I'sen in charge of it, tell him he can throw boots at their heads if they run too slowly." Brain is galloping at a mile a minute, far ahead of his feet. "I need to wash. I need to wash." Out, out, damned spot!
D'ven nods and listens, deciding to save the interrogation for another time. Right now, what's important is that his friend needs him. "Alright, I'll go and get what you need, and get the Wing started on my way. Lock your door, and pretend you're not here. You'll know when it's me, because I'll whistle some of Oh, Susannah when I knock." He starts towards the door, waiting only for acknowledgement, before slipping through it. "And I want that food eaten by the time I get back, you clearly need it." are his final words as he closes the door behind him.
There's the snick of the lock. And then the sound of heavy dragging noises. Perhaps Br'ce pushing his desk to block the door? Momentary silence. And then a faint thud. And another. He's hitting his head against the tabletop. Over. And over. And over again. Rhythmically. And ignoring the food.
After what probably seems like an eternity for poor Br'ce, there's the sound of a familiar tune being whistled. It's accompanied by a knock on the door. Waiting outside is D'ven, with the necessaries for washing. One of his pockets is bulging with the incense, and oddly there's a small cut on his cheek that wasn't there before.
"D'ven, is that you?" Br'ce hisses in a whisper that comes muffled through the door. As if anyone else would be whistling that tune and knocking? Still, he waits for confirmation before dragging noises indicate furniture being moved away from the door, and unlocking occurs. "Oh god, the smell. You're right. It reeks. /I/ reek. Even the furniture reeks. We're going to have to wash /everything/ in here." His eyes are bloodshot. Clearly the time confined alone in the room has not been good for him, and he appears on the brink of becoming completely unhinged.
"Mmmhmm, it's me." D'ven replies, coming and settings things down at the rear of the room. "Lock the door again, Br'ce. And really, we're not. The incence scent will overpower it to the point where you can't smell anything but. And by the time it fades, the sex smell will be long gone. All we need to wash is you." His eyes fall to the plate. "I see you didn't eat."
"Yes, but what am I going to do if they ask about the incense? We're going to have to get rid of the incense smell too. What if other people know about incense hiding sex?" Br'ce locks the door, going immediately back to his frenetic pacing. "I'm not hungry. I can't eat at a time like this. I'm doomed. I'm doomed. There's nothing I can do. I can't believe myself. I'm an idiot. I'm worse than an idiot. I'm--" There's a bit of floudering while he searches for a word strong enough. "--a dolt!" he settles for in the end, immediately starting to strip off his shirt. There are fingernail marks underneath.
D'ven laughs softly, and there's a fondness to his tone. "It's alright, I already thought of that. Nobody's going to investigate too closely. I knicked myself before going for the water and so forth, and said I had an accident shaving." There's definetly a streak of manipulation and deceit in D'ven that's assisting him right now, even if it rarely shows most of the time. "As for the incense, tell them I came in to talk to you after morning drills and so forth without bothering to clean up, and you wanted to get rid of the smell." The fingernail marks are eyed with interest, and an eyebrow raises. "Wow. Whoeever she was, she was quite the animal."
The comment penetrates far enough into Br'ce's self absorption that he stops to actually /look/ at D'ven. "You actually cut yourself, just to get some washing water?" He's not sure whether to be amazed, touched, or irritated. There's a moment's stare at D'ven, but even that can't keep Br'ce's mind off his troubles for very long. "Right, right. You smell. That will work perfectly." A washtowel is dipped into the water, and Br'ce begins the arduous process of sponging himself down, wincing gingerly as he washes around the already scabbed-over wounds. "I don't know what came over me, D'ven. She wouldn't stop! And she..." There's a helpless look of utter mortification, though it's unclear what mortifies him more. The act, or the fact that he probably actually enjoyed it. "You mean you don't know? Oh, good. I swear, when you came in so soon, I was sure that you'd spotted her." He sighs with relief.
"Well, I didn't want you crying all over me about how people would want to know what it was used for." D'ven replies casually, attempting to blow it off. "It's only a little nick, anyway." He shrugs, sitting down in Br'ce's seat behind the desk and watching as his friend cleans up. "Oh...you mean." A grin comes over his face as he remembers the earlier encounter. "The slinky blonde with the hips that moved like a Harper keeping time? I'm jealous, Br'ce!" He pauses, before asking "Did you get her name? Cause if you're done with her..."
"You saw her?" Br'ce freezes, water dripping down his torso. Note that he keeps his pants on, even ini the presence of D'ven. Some things are even more important than descending into gibbering panic attack mode. "I am not about to give you her name! And I am not /done/ with her. That's degrading. She's not some object, to be used and then cast aside." he spouts high-minded rhetoric immediately.
D'ven grins. "So you're keeping her, then?" He asks, ignoring the rhetoric. It would seem he's deliberately trying to get his friend back to something resembling normal. "And here I thought I was gonna be the only one with a collection anymore. Well, I guess you can keep her. I mean, you /did/ find her first. But, can I borrow her occasionally?" While his mouth runs, his hands are busy setting up and lighting the incense.
"No!" Comes Br'ce's vehement denial, followed by a very familiar-looking scowl at D'ven. "I didn't find her. She found me. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen to a word I said! Just plunked herself down in my lap and...and...started /doing/ things..." His face colors once again in utter mortification. "Even fainting didn't put her off for very long!" he growls, wringing the towel out in the basin and starting over again from the beginning. "She is not mine, nor do I put any claim on her. I just want to wake up, and for this to be some terribly nightmare. Pinching has not worked so far." he moans, wallowing in self-pity.
"Wow. Most men would love that to happen to them." D'ven replies with a grin, though there's something behind his eyes. At the comment about pinching, he sighs. "Sorry Br'ce, but if this is a dream I'm having it too. And in my dreams /I'm/ the one sleeping with girls like that." There's a thoughtful pause. "So, what are you we going to do about this mess, then? I mean, we've covered up all the evidence here. But we can't control what this girl of yours says or does, particularly when she finds out you're don't want her. Though as I said, I'd be happy to take her off your hands."
"I...suspect it may be a moot point." Br'ce hangs his head. "Aida was the one who told me the girl liked me. And she even arranged to send the girl up to bring me lunch. I don't think there's a good way out of this one. Other than perhaps suicide." he says glumly. "If I jump off a cliff and botch it, do you think you could get Teraneth to sit on me?" He finishes washing, and starts putting on the new shirt. "I need to talk to T'ral. Maybe he'll know how best to apologize." The conversation seems to have settled him a great deal, however. For one thing, he's no longer pacing frantically and looking like he's about to bounce off the walls.
D'ven looks a little confused, and very thoughtful. "She did?" He asks with a slight frown. "And don't be silly, nobody's killing themselves. As for the apology...yeah, T'ral would probably be the better person to ask. But if you want my advice, you need to be the one to tell her. Not this... whatever her name was. That'd probably go down better."
"Clare." Br'ce supplies glumly. The nervous panic of the previous moment seems to have been replaced by an increasingly fatalistic attitude. You know, the kind one gets when one knows one is mortally wounded. Or something. "Maybe you can track her down, try to... you know. Distract her. Long enough so that I can tell Aida first. I'd much rather her hear it from me." There's a morose set to his face.
"Clare." D'ven repeates, memorising the name. "And yes, I was planning on doing that. I'll make sure to find her before Aida will get out of her work. I'll see to it she dosn't talk, at least not until you've had a chance to." There's a pause. "Now, I'm not saying this is the right thing to do, necessarily, but it might be easier just to cover the whole thing up. I'm sure I could persuade Clare not to talk. Maybe she might like a dragonride to a destination of her choice somewhere far away. Certain Holds are very nice at this time of year, for example."
Oh no. Hope is a very bad thing to give Br'ce in a time like this. "Really? You think she might be persuaded?" Br'ce suddenly perks up, a sudden light coming back into his eyes. "Well. I'm not sure it would be right..." It's not. But it's horribly, horribly tempting. "You do that. I'll talk to T'ral. We'd better hurry, who knows who she's telling /right now/." Oh, great, now he's full of nervous energy again.
"She might." D'ven replies with a smile, happy to see his friend perk up. "I'll see what I can do. At the very least, I'll see to it that she dosn't talk before you've had a chance too. But if she can persuaded not to talk at all, I'll do that instead." There's a pause, as the man wrestles with himself. "Just...whatever you decide, Br'ce, make sure it's something true to who you are and what you really want to do." He knows where the blame will fall should stress and the strangeness of the situation lead Br'ce into doing something that goes against what he belives, and he'd rather not be responsible for the anguish he knows that would cause his friend.
There's a somber nod, and a sudden moment of introspective thoughtfulness. "You're right." A moment's pause, and then an awkward moment. "Thank you, D'ven. For...you know." A shy gesture makes note of not just the change of clothes and the washing, but of a number of sticky situations that D'ven has bailed Br'ce out of, one way or another. A sudden Male Bonding Moment.
D'ven smiles softly. "Hey, don't worry about it. Without you and Tiv, I'd probably be dead in some dive after deciding I could take twenty men armed with knives." He stands, and heads towards the door. "Besides, I'm your Wingsecond. It's my job to help carry the load now, as well as my pleasure. I'll go find Clare, and I'll see you later. Oh, and Br'ce? Eat, or you'll just feel worse than you already do and that won't help you one bit."
Wingseconds are supposed to hide evidence of their Wingleader's sordid affairs with sultry kitchen girls? Perhaps it's a good thing Br'ce never made wingsecond, and went straight to wingleader. "I'll eat, I promise." He's pulling the tray towards himself even as he speaks, taking a deep breath and eating. He's not really noticing the taste of the food, but at least he's shoving it down.
"I appreciate it." D'ven replies with a final fond smile, before he slips out of the door and closes it softly behind him. Then it's off through the corridors to find a certain Clare, whistling softly as he goes.
Where: Office, Wingleader 3C
When: Right after the last log.
What: D'ven comes in, deduces that Br'ce just had a fling with Clare, and helps figure out how to manage the coverup.
Office, Wingleader 3C.
It's a small, slinky blonde woman who closes the door to Br'ce's office, looking rosy-cheeked and with tousled hair. As she walks down the hall, there's an extra sway to her hips, and a pert look directed at the other people in the hallway. Meanwhile, inside the office, Br'ce is putting things back where they belong. He's looking equally disheveled, absently picking up some scattered hides and righting a fallen chair. His eyes are just a little bit wild looking. As is his hair.
D'ven is coming along the corridor, glancing around. While he's trying to be stealthy, it all falls apart when he sees the girl. It dosn't even register to him yet that she came out of the same door he did, the bronzerider's eyes locked on those swaying hips. Unconciously, he draws himself up a little taller and switches to a stance that displays his muscles better.
A smile, a giggle, and a flip of her hair, and Clare flounces off down the hallway without a further glance at D'ven. Apparently she has important other business to attend to. Br'ce slowly sinks into his chair in the office, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, and staring vacantly off into space. Alternating turning red, and then pale, and then red, and then pale...
D'ven watches her go, calling out "Hey, come visit me sometime." as she vanishes, before turning back to the task at hand. Breaking into Br'ce's office. Which...is the door she just came out of. Shrugging and deciding he must be mistaken, D'ven tries the door. Maybe it's unlocked.
Door rattle. It's unlocked. Panic. "WHO IS IT?!" Br'ce demands, leaping to his feet and knocking over the chair again, looking wildly around for a place to hide. The idea that might have been good to try to hide without asking who was there first seems not to have occurred to him. Underneath his desk is briefly considered--and immediately discarded as being too fraught with, uh, other significance at the moment.
D'ven swears under his breath. Br'ce wasn't supposed to be in the office, but there he is. And so the bronzerider picks an idea so crazy it can't possibly work. "It's nobody, you're imagining things!" He calls back, opening the door, stepping inside it, and closing it again. Then he wanders towards the desk. Time to see if Br'ce has been overworking himself.
"Oh, D'ven, it's just you." Br'ce sighs with relief, tugging his shirt straight. "You, uh, startled me." Chair is picked up and righted for the second time in as many minutes. "What are you doing here?" There's a bit of fussing over his appearance now. Cuffs need to be tugged at, and he belatedly discovers that he misaligned the buttons on the bottom half of his shirt. With a slight clearing of his throat, he begins adjusting. There's several neat little piles of hides on his desk, and an open inkwell. The more observant may note that the ink is long dry. Also, his lunch is uneaten.
Sighing when Br'ce seems determined to acknowledge him, D'ven shrugs and goes with the truth. "I'm here to look through your stuff and make sure you're not being unfair to yourself with the work allocation between us." He replies, before taking a closer look at his friend and the envrioment. "More to the point, Br'ce, what are, or should I say were, /you/ doing here?" He can't but grin slightly, especially when he notices the misaligned buttons and uneaten lunch.
There's a look given towards the pile of hides, one of baffled incomprehension. What are those? Oh yes. There are squiggly marks. Called 'writing'. Used for things like...'reports'! Slowly, intelligence trickles back. Very slowly. "I, uh. It's...not unfair. Work. No." he says incoherently. "You're just getting settled it, you don't know the paperwork routine around here. I'll slowly increase your workload, but I want you to spend more time getting to know ..." Br'ce manages to pull it together, only to lose it again. "...the other riders. What? I wasn't doing anything. Just, uh, working." He's a miserable, miserable liar as always. Both in terms of skill, and in the expression on his face.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." D'ven replies with a 'I knew it' grin. "Look, Br'ce, I spend plenty of time with the riders. But I did not waste three turns in Caucus so you could hog all the paperwork and so forth. I might also point out that, timewise, I do not have a lovely young lady I should be spending my time with. You? You do. Speaking of Aida, where did you hide her, anyway?" He begins to stalk around the room, peering into places she couldn't possibly fit. "Here Aida! Here Aida Aida Aida!" He calls with a wide grin. "There's no need to be so embaressed. I'm hardly gonna disappprove. Heck, you know perfectly well I've done worse while I was at Caucus. And even before that."
"Aida?!" Br'ce nearly squeals. Lovely young lady?! Eyes are wide with panic. "Why do you mention Aida? What makes you think--Why do you bring her up?" he demands defensively. "She's in the Headmaster's office. She's his assistant, she works from early in the morning until evening every day. She's not around. She's not around. And there's nothing to disapprove of. Nothing at all. Nothing." There's the unnecessary repetition, and a nervous glance towards the door. Beads of sweat pop out once more on his forehead. "Enough with the questioning, D'ven. If you really want paperwork, I'm sure I can find some for you. Here, uh, take this pile." One is chosen at random, and pushed. Unfortunately, it's the outbox of hides.
"I'll be sure to deliver them to wherever they're supposed to be going." D'ven replies with a roll of his eyes as he takes the hides. "Look, Br'ce, it's me. D'ven. Remember? Person who has known you for turns? Are we all on the same page now? Good good." The questions seem to be entirely rhetorical. "So, you're acting guilty as anything. You did your shirt up wrong, and I know you're way too neat to have done it like that this morning and not noticed till now. Which means it was done up in a hurry. I know lunchtime was a while ago, but yours hasn't been eaten. Which means you had to have been doing something else. Aida also gets a lunchtime, thus the 'She's working' excuse does not apply." He pauses to savor the moment, really quite enjoying himself. "So, I'm thinking steamy lunchtime sex romp. But the one thing I can't figure out...is where she's hiding. Unless she left earlier. But if she'd left earlier...that wouldn't explain the shirt and uneaten food. That kind of exercise makes a man hungry. Believe me, I know." The bronzerider's grin threatens to split his head in half. It's not everyday he gets to lord something involving the powers of the mind over Br'ce, and it suits his penchant for showmanship.
"I knew there was a reason sending you to Caucus was a bad idea." Br'ce mutters, shifty-eyed. When the hell did D'ven learn to reason so well? Argh. "No. No...lunch..." He can't even get the words out, and he turns absolutely bright lobster red. That is, if Pern had lobsters. He fumbles with the buttons, retucking his shirt into his pants. "She's ...she's not hiding." He confesses after a moment, looking shamefaced. "Can we please stop with the questions? Nothing happened! Nothing at all." he continues to deny vehemently. "I'm just...not hungry." Even this, too, is belied by the sudden growling of his stomach. Once again, betrayed by his body.
D'ven has always been brighter than he likes to pretend, and sadly for Br'ce Caucus only made it worse. "Liar." He comments, almost as though replying the growl itself. "Fine, Br'ce, whatever. Nothing happened." The latter is said a little sulkily, as the wind leaves his sails. "But I wouldn't have any meetings this afternoon if I were you. This room reeks of sex." It's an idle, throwaway comment, accompanied by a wrinkling of the nose for emphasis.
Br'ce is surrounded by jocks who pretend to be a lot dumber than they actually are. What is wrong with the world? There's a stricken look on his face. "It reeks? Quick, how do I get rid of it? Should I keep the door open? Or is it just going to spill into the hallway?" He jitters in anxiety, gnawing frantically on one knuckle and appealing to his friend who should, after all, be expert in these matters. "Do I smell like it? Does it stick to me? Will Aida be able to tell?"
"Calm down Br'ce, it's easily dealt with." D'ven replies, his teasing being pushed aside as the sight of his friend's anxiety tugs on his heartstrings. "There's a number of things you can use to get rid of it. You know those scented things some people burn? They will make it impossible to smell it, and they'll cling to you as well. Though in the case of smell on you, a simple bath should do. Aida will have no idea." He pauses then, blinking several times as he thinks about what his friend just asked, what his reply was, and what's wrong with this picture.
"I don't have any of that stuff. And if I go anywhere, they'll be able to smell it on me. I reek. I've got to take a bath here. I can't let anyone see. You've got to get me some warm water. And a change of clothing. And don't /tell/ anybody!" The restless energy overflows into pacing, and more knuckle-gnawing. He's going to end up eating his entire hand if this keeps up, the skin is already scraped red. "A bath. And incense. Cancel afternoon exercises. No, wait, tell them physical conditioning. Put I'sen in charge of it, tell him he can throw boots at their heads if they run too slowly." Brain is galloping at a mile a minute, far ahead of his feet. "I need to wash. I need to wash." Out, out, damned spot!
D'ven nods and listens, deciding to save the interrogation for another time. Right now, what's important is that his friend needs him. "Alright, I'll go and get what you need, and get the Wing started on my way. Lock your door, and pretend you're not here. You'll know when it's me, because I'll whistle some of Oh, Susannah when I knock." He starts towards the door, waiting only for acknowledgement, before slipping through it. "And I want that food eaten by the time I get back, you clearly need it." are his final words as he closes the door behind him.
There's the snick of the lock. And then the sound of heavy dragging noises. Perhaps Br'ce pushing his desk to block the door? Momentary silence. And then a faint thud. And another. He's hitting his head against the tabletop. Over. And over. And over again. Rhythmically. And ignoring the food.
After what probably seems like an eternity for poor Br'ce, there's the sound of a familiar tune being whistled. It's accompanied by a knock on the door. Waiting outside is D'ven, with the necessaries for washing. One of his pockets is bulging with the incense, and oddly there's a small cut on his cheek that wasn't there before.
"D'ven, is that you?" Br'ce hisses in a whisper that comes muffled through the door. As if anyone else would be whistling that tune and knocking? Still, he waits for confirmation before dragging noises indicate furniture being moved away from the door, and unlocking occurs. "Oh god, the smell. You're right. It reeks. /I/ reek. Even the furniture reeks. We're going to have to wash /everything/ in here." His eyes are bloodshot. Clearly the time confined alone in the room has not been good for him, and he appears on the brink of becoming completely unhinged.
"Mmmhmm, it's me." D'ven replies, coming and settings things down at the rear of the room. "Lock the door again, Br'ce. And really, we're not. The incence scent will overpower it to the point where you can't smell anything but. And by the time it fades, the sex smell will be long gone. All we need to wash is you." His eyes fall to the plate. "I see you didn't eat."
"Yes, but what am I going to do if they ask about the incense? We're going to have to get rid of the incense smell too. What if other people know about incense hiding sex?" Br'ce locks the door, going immediately back to his frenetic pacing. "I'm not hungry. I can't eat at a time like this. I'm doomed. I'm doomed. There's nothing I can do. I can't believe myself. I'm an idiot. I'm worse than an idiot. I'm--" There's a bit of floudering while he searches for a word strong enough. "--a dolt!" he settles for in the end, immediately starting to strip off his shirt. There are fingernail marks underneath.
D'ven laughs softly, and there's a fondness to his tone. "It's alright, I already thought of that. Nobody's going to investigate too closely. I knicked myself before going for the water and so forth, and said I had an accident shaving." There's definetly a streak of manipulation and deceit in D'ven that's assisting him right now, even if it rarely shows most of the time. "As for the incense, tell them I came in to talk to you after morning drills and so forth without bothering to clean up, and you wanted to get rid of the smell." The fingernail marks are eyed with interest, and an eyebrow raises. "Wow. Whoeever she was, she was quite the animal."
The comment penetrates far enough into Br'ce's self absorption that he stops to actually /look/ at D'ven. "You actually cut yourself, just to get some washing water?" He's not sure whether to be amazed, touched, or irritated. There's a moment's stare at D'ven, but even that can't keep Br'ce's mind off his troubles for very long. "Right, right. You smell. That will work perfectly." A washtowel is dipped into the water, and Br'ce begins the arduous process of sponging himself down, wincing gingerly as he washes around the already scabbed-over wounds. "I don't know what came over me, D'ven. She wouldn't stop! And she..." There's a helpless look of utter mortification, though it's unclear what mortifies him more. The act, or the fact that he probably actually enjoyed it. "You mean you don't know? Oh, good. I swear, when you came in so soon, I was sure that you'd spotted her." He sighs with relief.
"Well, I didn't want you crying all over me about how people would want to know what it was used for." D'ven replies casually, attempting to blow it off. "It's only a little nick, anyway." He shrugs, sitting down in Br'ce's seat behind the desk and watching as his friend cleans up. "Oh...you mean." A grin comes over his face as he remembers the earlier encounter. "The slinky blonde with the hips that moved like a Harper keeping time? I'm jealous, Br'ce!" He pauses, before asking "Did you get her name? Cause if you're done with her..."
"You saw her?" Br'ce freezes, water dripping down his torso. Note that he keeps his pants on, even ini the presence of D'ven. Some things are even more important than descending into gibbering panic attack mode. "I am not about to give you her name! And I am not /done/ with her. That's degrading. She's not some object, to be used and then cast aside." he spouts high-minded rhetoric immediately.
D'ven grins. "So you're keeping her, then?" He asks, ignoring the rhetoric. It would seem he's deliberately trying to get his friend back to something resembling normal. "And here I thought I was gonna be the only one with a collection anymore. Well, I guess you can keep her. I mean, you /did/ find her first. But, can I borrow her occasionally?" While his mouth runs, his hands are busy setting up and lighting the incense.
"No!" Comes Br'ce's vehement denial, followed by a very familiar-looking scowl at D'ven. "I didn't find her. She found me. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen to a word I said! Just plunked herself down in my lap and...and...started /doing/ things..." His face colors once again in utter mortification. "Even fainting didn't put her off for very long!" he growls, wringing the towel out in the basin and starting over again from the beginning. "She is not mine, nor do I put any claim on her. I just want to wake up, and for this to be some terribly nightmare. Pinching has not worked so far." he moans, wallowing in self-pity.
"Wow. Most men would love that to happen to them." D'ven replies with a grin, though there's something behind his eyes. At the comment about pinching, he sighs. "Sorry Br'ce, but if this is a dream I'm having it too. And in my dreams /I'm/ the one sleeping with girls like that." There's a thoughtful pause. "So, what are you we going to do about this mess, then? I mean, we've covered up all the evidence here. But we can't control what this girl of yours says or does, particularly when she finds out you're don't want her. Though as I said, I'd be happy to take her off your hands."
"I...suspect it may be a moot point." Br'ce hangs his head. "Aida was the one who told me the girl liked me. And she even arranged to send the girl up to bring me lunch. I don't think there's a good way out of this one. Other than perhaps suicide." he says glumly. "If I jump off a cliff and botch it, do you think you could get Teraneth to sit on me?" He finishes washing, and starts putting on the new shirt. "I need to talk to T'ral. Maybe he'll know how best to apologize." The conversation seems to have settled him a great deal, however. For one thing, he's no longer pacing frantically and looking like he's about to bounce off the walls.
D'ven looks a little confused, and very thoughtful. "She did?" He asks with a slight frown. "And don't be silly, nobody's killing themselves. As for the apology...yeah, T'ral would probably be the better person to ask. But if you want my advice, you need to be the one to tell her. Not this... whatever her name was. That'd probably go down better."
"Clare." Br'ce supplies glumly. The nervous panic of the previous moment seems to have been replaced by an increasingly fatalistic attitude. You know, the kind one gets when one knows one is mortally wounded. Or something. "Maybe you can track her down, try to... you know. Distract her. Long enough so that I can tell Aida first. I'd much rather her hear it from me." There's a morose set to his face.
"Clare." D'ven repeates, memorising the name. "And yes, I was planning on doing that. I'll make sure to find her before Aida will get out of her work. I'll see to it she dosn't talk, at least not until you've had a chance to." There's a pause. "Now, I'm not saying this is the right thing to do, necessarily, but it might be easier just to cover the whole thing up. I'm sure I could persuade Clare not to talk. Maybe she might like a dragonride to a destination of her choice somewhere far away. Certain Holds are very nice at this time of year, for example."
Oh no. Hope is a very bad thing to give Br'ce in a time like this. "Really? You think she might be persuaded?" Br'ce suddenly perks up, a sudden light coming back into his eyes. "Well. I'm not sure it would be right..." It's not. But it's horribly, horribly tempting. "You do that. I'll talk to T'ral. We'd better hurry, who knows who she's telling /right now/." Oh, great, now he's full of nervous energy again.
"She might." D'ven replies with a smile, happy to see his friend perk up. "I'll see what I can do. At the very least, I'll see to it that she dosn't talk before you've had a chance too. But if she can persuaded not to talk at all, I'll do that instead." There's a pause, as the man wrestles with himself. "Just...whatever you decide, Br'ce, make sure it's something true to who you are and what you really want to do." He knows where the blame will fall should stress and the strangeness of the situation lead Br'ce into doing something that goes against what he belives, and he'd rather not be responsible for the anguish he knows that would cause his friend.
There's a somber nod, and a sudden moment of introspective thoughtfulness. "You're right." A moment's pause, and then an awkward moment. "Thank you, D'ven. For...you know." A shy gesture makes note of not just the change of clothes and the washing, but of a number of sticky situations that D'ven has bailed Br'ce out of, one way or another. A sudden Male Bonding Moment.
D'ven smiles softly. "Hey, don't worry about it. Without you and Tiv, I'd probably be dead in some dive after deciding I could take twenty men armed with knives." He stands, and heads towards the door. "Besides, I'm your Wingsecond. It's my job to help carry the load now, as well as my pleasure. I'll go find Clare, and I'll see you later. Oh, and Br'ce? Eat, or you'll just feel worse than you already do and that won't help you one bit."
Wingseconds are supposed to hide evidence of their Wingleader's sordid affairs with sultry kitchen girls? Perhaps it's a good thing Br'ce never made wingsecond, and went straight to wingleader. "I'll eat, I promise." He's pulling the tray towards himself even as he speaks, taking a deep breath and eating. He's not really noticing the taste of the food, but at least he's shoving it down.
"I appreciate it." D'ven replies with a final fond smile, before he slips out of the door and closes it softly behind him. Then it's off through the corridors to find a certain Clare, whistling softly as he goes.