Does Not Hurt, Either.
Day 22, month 1, turn 22 of Interval 10: Fort Weyr Bowl.
After Chielyth's flight, Jiella is almost sick, pisses off Y'nolek, nearly instigates a fight, is brutally honest about her need for petty vengeance, and somehow doesn't make C'sel think she's a horrible person. The only question? Plan A or Plan B.
As Jiella practically runs out of the weyr - full out bails, really - she's not looking to be in the best spirits. While /during/ the flight, she was in a decent enough mood for the situation, how things have shaken out seem to have gone down a little less well. The blonde makes it a good lang way away from the guest weyr before she'll drop to her knees in the snow, hands on her thighs, a lot like someone who might be sick any minute now. Tangled blonde hair covers her expression neatly.
Just ahead of Jiella, C'sel is hunkered down, one hand scooping up a handful of snow to press against the back of his neck. The sound of someone thunking down into the snow behind him turns him slightly and even in the dim light that's left, the gleam of fevered blue eyes might be caught. The brownrider's gaze remains fixed on the blonde for a long moment, maybe some kind of internal struggle going on. Finally though, he rasps out: "Take a long, slow, deep breath."
Y'nolek is not terribly far behind, though he's not moving quite so fast. His face is full of frustration and no small amount of embarrassment. He pauses alongside Jiella - he could walk on past, and probably should; after all, she told him to fuck off. He debates for a long moment and finally asks, grudgingly, "Are you okay?"
Already doing all that in-through-the-nose-out-through-the-mouth stuff, Jiella just gives C'sel a too-quick nod as she looks up, expression tense and narrow, dark eyes too bright. She's very pale beneath her tan - as much as can be seen of it at night. As far as Y'nolek goes - well. Hopefully the blonde will do some apologizing later. And hopefully pigs will fly. At the question, a slender fist pounds into snow, and she looks up at the bronzerider like, are you serious? "My /boyfriend/ is with /B'kaiv/. How the fuck do you think I am?"
C'sel's gaze meets Jiella's straight on, too-bright blue to too-bright brown and he nods once, jerkily. The back and forth between her and Y'nolek is taken in, and the brownrider takes a long slow breath of his own, pushes upright and takes two steps towards the younger pair of riders, his hand is held out to Jiella, a silent offer of help up. Clearly enunciated, though perhaps more by dint of exertion of a lot of willpower or the need to focus on the words: "It hurts," C'sel says, though for all the clarity of those two words, his voice still rasps.
"So go jerk off or whatever," Y'nolek snaps, losing his patience with Jiella. "You're a rider, he's a rider, this is part of what we all signed up for. Not one of those things that just goes away when you bat your eyelashes. Maybe if you write your dad, though, maybe he'll fix it for you," he concludes with a sneer, and then turns to stalk off.
Jiella doesn't really look like she wants to get up. Maybe if she stays right here in the snow, time will stand still and she won't have to do anything else. Not taking the offered hand from C'sel just yet, her answer is instinctive and entirely childish, "Does not." That's totally why she's about to throw up. Y'nolek snapping seems to be expected or at least understood - but it doesn't stop her from being completely pissed off at him, whipping a handful of snow after the bronzerider. "Guess that's your plan for the night?" she calls after, defiant.
Hand untaken, C'sel's fingers curl closed and his head snaps up at Y'nolek's remarks to the young woman. Two swift steps taken and he reaches for the younger man's collar, aiming to spin him about. Low-voiced, but intense, as intense as his gaze, C'sel's tone adopts the commanding quality of a long-time weyrlingmaster's assistant: "You will apologize." Pause. "You don't speak to a fellow in such a way."
"/I/ don't? You heard what she said, right?" Nolek shoots back, slapping at C'sel's hand on his collar. "Who the fuck are you, Lord of Double Standards Hold? Fuck off and die," he suggests, and grabs for the brownrider's hand to twist those fingers free of his shirt if he has to.
Y'nolek also adds, for Jiella's benefit, "It wouldn't be the worst night I've had."
Really, Jiella's probably lucky that C'sel doesn't know her very well. Or maybe not, given the nature of his complaint and the situation itself - but she does herself and everyone else the favour of not looking smug or smirky about it. Not able to sit in the snow forever, she has to use a nearby boulder to pull herself up to her feet. The potential fight is something that'll take her mind off the situation at hand, but for one dark, amused comment with a vindictive smile, "I wish Mohraith had been here." For Y'nolek? A shrug. Her night might be in the top ten.
"You, we, riders," C'sel says in a low and rather deadly sounding tone. "Yes, flights have to be gotten used to, but there's no call to belittle so." The brownrider's fingers tighten in fabric a bit and for a moment it might seem like he's going to yank at Nolek again, or shove him, but instead his hands release, maybe even a bit suddenly, though not necessarily in response to the scrabble of the younger man's fingers. "Go stick your head in a snowbank and calm down," the brownrider suggests, still quietly, though there's that barely contained intensity in his voice and his jaw juts a little.
So many suggestions Nolek could make about what C'sel ought to stick where - and by the look on his face, at least half a dozen are on the tip of his tongue. But at the last moment he decides against saying anything more, after all, and turns around to stalk off. Again.
Though it's not quite as exciting as coming to blows, riders fighting is never a good thing. And though Jiella might still be deeply annoyed with Y'nolek, she's not about to say anything to stop him from stalking off. Now snowballs either. In fact, she's beginning to look a little ill now that the distraction is departing, and looks as if she might be considering similar. Or sitting back in the snow, just not in this part of the bowl.
This time, for whatever reason, either better sense, or something else, C'sel leaves Y'nolek well enough alone and the brownrider looks over towards Jiella with a faint touch of sympathy creasing the corners of his eyes. He takes a half step back in her direction just as a dark-winged shadow puts down in the bowl and Corvinth pads over closer letting out a quiet whuff and insinuates his flat-ridged head under C'sel's arm. Distracted, the rider lets out a breath, curl his hand around the brown's muzzle and looks back toward Jiella. "I find that cold water ... helps." Pause. "Or the snow." He mimes scooping it up and squints at her a bit more closely. "Or put your head down between your knees." Because she's looking green around the gills.
A little distantly, "Nothing helps." Jiella looks back over C'sel's way with a shrug as an arm slides across her stomach, as if it'll help any more than anything else will. "Sometimes I get sick when --" Well, there's no real denying it now, even to herself, "When I get upset, I can get really sick." There's something of what much be a gorgeous smile when she's feeling up to it; perhaps appreciative for the sympathy, as little as there may be, she offers, "Sorry that your trip turned out to suck. I'll be okay. I'm petty and vindictive and shallow. It's not like I'm not going to find something to make me feel better."
"Perhaps not," C'sel remarks quietly and looks down at the messed up snow, hands flexing for a moment and swallows a few times. Corvinth nudges his head under the rider's arm all the more and lets out a quiet croon. "I -- was not on a trip," C'sel notes absently and shakes his head a little. "Corvinth came alone." Beat. "I was -- caught off-guard." Breath out and he looks up again, fixes her with an intent look. "My weyrmate is a greenrider. I have been a rider for over sixteen turns and it still --" he gestures vaguely, "-- the first time another dragon than Corvinth caught her green. It still ... hurts." That word is slowly said, like it's not quite the one he's looking for. "But we have to set it aside," he says with quiet intensity. "Or try." Pause. "Spend time with him after. Tomorrow. Whenever. Don't let it lie between you unspoken." That's his advice anyway as he suddenly realizes just how badly his shirt is buttoned and reaches down to fix it. It's then that it might become obvious that his hands are shaking. "I -- should get home. Will you be all right?" Fingers pause mid-way up his chest and he looks up at her again. "Or do you need assistance to get somewhere?"
Jiella tamps down snow with the toe of her boot in the same sort of way the other brownrider flexes his hands, staring down at it. Only mildly, vaguely curious, "But you had to have been here. Or near here." It's not for her to say, or to ask why C'sel has to get dressed after walking out of the flight - though now that attention's drawn to it again, she flickers a glance his way. Honestly, "I don't. I want to go and do something I know will hurt him, and that he'll hear about. I don't want to set it aside." She's almost petulant in her last, her foot stomping into the snow. A little bemused, she looks up for his last, asking, "Assistance?" Like, how do you mean?
"No. I was not," is the straightforward answer to that and C'sel provides no further explanation just now on the vagaries of his particular brown. "And if it were you with B'kaiv instead of him? Would you want him to hurt you so?" the brownrider questions in a voice that's rapidly shading back into neutrality though the intensity remains in his gaze. "An arm to lean on," is the brownrider's clarification, matter-of-fact as if he can't quite fathom meaning anything else.
Arching light brows, "Okay, then." As for questions about what would happen if the situations were reversed, Jiella is just a little puzzled. That sort of thing doesn't happen in her world. "It's a moot point anyway," she non-answers, with a note of regret that likely doesn't speak well of her. "I don't think my best option is around right now." With another slight smile for C'sel, this more appreciative, "I can walk. And Orisoth isn't far. Thank you for the advice. Even if I totally dismissed it because I really want to hurt something right now, I'll try to think about it. Or if I want to have a boyfriend in the first place." Her nose wrinkles girlishly, the comment seems flip.
Buttoning resumes and C'sel listens, finishes up and does up his jacket too, slides hands into pockets and considers the young woman for a moment. "Punching a pillow is another option," the brownrider suggests, utterly deadpan and inclines his head her way. "I -- hope that you figure things out." Sincere it seems and then he gives his head a little shake, like he's clearing it of fog. Corvinth has settled down behind him, waiting. "I'm C'sel by the way. And this is Corvinth." A tilt of his head towards the brown. "From the Reaches. He -- is good friends with Chielyth."
Jiella eyes C'sel for his suggestion. Unenthused would be putting it mildly. "You're really not a revenge kind of person, are you?" she asks, like she already knows the answer. "No, I think I'm likely just going to find someone harmless to sleep with because I can't really be blamed for it. And think about it tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day. Didn't someone say that?" With a little wave for Corvinth, "I'm Jiella. And as I said, Orisoth." She waves a hand to indicate the brown across the bowl. "She seems to like him, I guess." She's not much in the mood to talk about anything flight-related.
Again, simply: "No." And though C'sel's brows ramp up a little for Jiella's intentions he only inclines his head slightly: her choice. He's not offering either. "Good to meet you, Jiella. In spite of the circumstances," the Reachian declares. "Our regards to Orisoth and also sincere wishes for ... a more pleasant outcome the next he chases," C'sel continues mildly. He smiles just a little at the young woman's further remark. "Yes. They like each other." Breath taken. "If you'll excuse me, I must be getting back to the Reaches." His head bows then. "Good night to you."
Well, Jiella's not perfect. At least plan B is better than her plan A - lie in wait for the Weyrleader. Unfortunately - or fortunately - C'sel doesn't have to be aware of the full level of breathtaking self-interest that the brownrider can display. "Didn't think so," she notes with a grin. "We hope the same - and /I/ hope that you're given more notice next time. Clear skies." She'll even add on a little salute for good measure before heading away - apparently off to take advantage of a bad situation. Every cloud has a silver lining?
Ignorance is bliss? C'sel makes a funny little face about notice and shoots Corvinth a sidelong look. "Yes. Notice," he murmurs and draws himself upright. "Clear skies, Jiella." She heads one way, he heads to his brown to mount up and go home wher elikely there will be a /conversation/ about not sneaking off to fly foreign greens like that in the middle of snow storms. But not until tomorrow. C'sel's weyrmate is waiting up for him.
Jiella doesn't have anyone waiting up for her! Ohwait. That's not good.
After Chielyth's flight, Jiella is almost sick, pisses off Y'nolek, nearly instigates a fight, is brutally honest about her need for petty vengeance, and somehow doesn't make C'sel think she's a horrible person. The only question? Plan A or Plan B.
As Jiella practically runs out of the weyr - full out bails, really - she's not looking to be in the best spirits. While /during/ the flight, she was in a decent enough mood for the situation, how things have shaken out seem to have gone down a little less well. The blonde makes it a good lang way away from the guest weyr before she'll drop to her knees in the snow, hands on her thighs, a lot like someone who might be sick any minute now. Tangled blonde hair covers her expression neatly.
Just ahead of Jiella, C'sel is hunkered down, one hand scooping up a handful of snow to press against the back of his neck. The sound of someone thunking down into the snow behind him turns him slightly and even in the dim light that's left, the gleam of fevered blue eyes might be caught. The brownrider's gaze remains fixed on the blonde for a long moment, maybe some kind of internal struggle going on. Finally though, he rasps out: "Take a long, slow, deep breath."
Y'nolek is not terribly far behind, though he's not moving quite so fast. His face is full of frustration and no small amount of embarrassment. He pauses alongside Jiella - he could walk on past, and probably should; after all, she told him to fuck off. He debates for a long moment and finally asks, grudgingly, "Are you okay?"
Already doing all that in-through-the-nose-out-through-the-mouth stuff, Jiella just gives C'sel a too-quick nod as she looks up, expression tense and narrow, dark eyes too bright. She's very pale beneath her tan - as much as can be seen of it at night. As far as Y'nolek goes - well. Hopefully the blonde will do some apologizing later. And hopefully pigs will fly. At the question, a slender fist pounds into snow, and she looks up at the bronzerider like, are you serious? "My /boyfriend/ is with /B'kaiv/. How the fuck do you think I am?"
C'sel's gaze meets Jiella's straight on, too-bright blue to too-bright brown and he nods once, jerkily. The back and forth between her and Y'nolek is taken in, and the brownrider takes a long slow breath of his own, pushes upright and takes two steps towards the younger pair of riders, his hand is held out to Jiella, a silent offer of help up. Clearly enunciated, though perhaps more by dint of exertion of a lot of willpower or the need to focus on the words: "It hurts," C'sel says, though for all the clarity of those two words, his voice still rasps.
"So go jerk off or whatever," Y'nolek snaps, losing his patience with Jiella. "You're a rider, he's a rider, this is part of what we all signed up for. Not one of those things that just goes away when you bat your eyelashes. Maybe if you write your dad, though, maybe he'll fix it for you," he concludes with a sneer, and then turns to stalk off.
Jiella doesn't really look like she wants to get up. Maybe if she stays right here in the snow, time will stand still and she won't have to do anything else. Not taking the offered hand from C'sel just yet, her answer is instinctive and entirely childish, "Does not." That's totally why she's about to throw up. Y'nolek snapping seems to be expected or at least understood - but it doesn't stop her from being completely pissed off at him, whipping a handful of snow after the bronzerider. "Guess that's your plan for the night?" she calls after, defiant.
Hand untaken, C'sel's fingers curl closed and his head snaps up at Y'nolek's remarks to the young woman. Two swift steps taken and he reaches for the younger man's collar, aiming to spin him about. Low-voiced, but intense, as intense as his gaze, C'sel's tone adopts the commanding quality of a long-time weyrlingmaster's assistant: "You will apologize." Pause. "You don't speak to a fellow in such a way."
"/I/ don't? You heard what she said, right?" Nolek shoots back, slapping at C'sel's hand on his collar. "Who the fuck are you, Lord of Double Standards Hold? Fuck off and die," he suggests, and grabs for the brownrider's hand to twist those fingers free of his shirt if he has to.
Y'nolek also adds, for Jiella's benefit, "It wouldn't be the worst night I've had."
Really, Jiella's probably lucky that C'sel doesn't know her very well. Or maybe not, given the nature of his complaint and the situation itself - but she does herself and everyone else the favour of not looking smug or smirky about it. Not able to sit in the snow forever, she has to use a nearby boulder to pull herself up to her feet. The potential fight is something that'll take her mind off the situation at hand, but for one dark, amused comment with a vindictive smile, "I wish Mohraith had been here." For Y'nolek? A shrug. Her night might be in the top ten.
"You, we, riders," C'sel says in a low and rather deadly sounding tone. "Yes, flights have to be gotten used to, but there's no call to belittle so." The brownrider's fingers tighten in fabric a bit and for a moment it might seem like he's going to yank at Nolek again, or shove him, but instead his hands release, maybe even a bit suddenly, though not necessarily in response to the scrabble of the younger man's fingers. "Go stick your head in a snowbank and calm down," the brownrider suggests, still quietly, though there's that barely contained intensity in his voice and his jaw juts a little.
So many suggestions Nolek could make about what C'sel ought to stick where - and by the look on his face, at least half a dozen are on the tip of his tongue. But at the last moment he decides against saying anything more, after all, and turns around to stalk off. Again.
Though it's not quite as exciting as coming to blows, riders fighting is never a good thing. And though Jiella might still be deeply annoyed with Y'nolek, she's not about to say anything to stop him from stalking off. Now snowballs either. In fact, she's beginning to look a little ill now that the distraction is departing, and looks as if she might be considering similar. Or sitting back in the snow, just not in this part of the bowl.
This time, for whatever reason, either better sense, or something else, C'sel leaves Y'nolek well enough alone and the brownrider looks over towards Jiella with a faint touch of sympathy creasing the corners of his eyes. He takes a half step back in her direction just as a dark-winged shadow puts down in the bowl and Corvinth pads over closer letting out a quiet whuff and insinuates his flat-ridged head under C'sel's arm. Distracted, the rider lets out a breath, curl his hand around the brown's muzzle and looks back toward Jiella. "I find that cold water ... helps." Pause. "Or the snow." He mimes scooping it up and squints at her a bit more closely. "Or put your head down between your knees." Because she's looking green around the gills.
A little distantly, "Nothing helps." Jiella looks back over C'sel's way with a shrug as an arm slides across her stomach, as if it'll help any more than anything else will. "Sometimes I get sick when --" Well, there's no real denying it now, even to herself, "When I get upset, I can get really sick." There's something of what much be a gorgeous smile when she's feeling up to it; perhaps appreciative for the sympathy, as little as there may be, she offers, "Sorry that your trip turned out to suck. I'll be okay. I'm petty and vindictive and shallow. It's not like I'm not going to find something to make me feel better."
"Perhaps not," C'sel remarks quietly and looks down at the messed up snow, hands flexing for a moment and swallows a few times. Corvinth nudges his head under the rider's arm all the more and lets out a quiet croon. "I -- was not on a trip," C'sel notes absently and shakes his head a little. "Corvinth came alone." Beat. "I was -- caught off-guard." Breath out and he looks up again, fixes her with an intent look. "My weyrmate is a greenrider. I have been a rider for over sixteen turns and it still --" he gestures vaguely, "-- the first time another dragon than Corvinth caught her green. It still ... hurts." That word is slowly said, like it's not quite the one he's looking for. "But we have to set it aside," he says with quiet intensity. "Or try." Pause. "Spend time with him after. Tomorrow. Whenever. Don't let it lie between you unspoken." That's his advice anyway as he suddenly realizes just how badly his shirt is buttoned and reaches down to fix it. It's then that it might become obvious that his hands are shaking. "I -- should get home. Will you be all right?" Fingers pause mid-way up his chest and he looks up at her again. "Or do you need assistance to get somewhere?"
Jiella tamps down snow with the toe of her boot in the same sort of way the other brownrider flexes his hands, staring down at it. Only mildly, vaguely curious, "But you had to have been here. Or near here." It's not for her to say, or to ask why C'sel has to get dressed after walking out of the flight - though now that attention's drawn to it again, she flickers a glance his way. Honestly, "I don't. I want to go and do something I know will hurt him, and that he'll hear about. I don't want to set it aside." She's almost petulant in her last, her foot stomping into the snow. A little bemused, she looks up for his last, asking, "Assistance?" Like, how do you mean?
"No. I was not," is the straightforward answer to that and C'sel provides no further explanation just now on the vagaries of his particular brown. "And if it were you with B'kaiv instead of him? Would you want him to hurt you so?" the brownrider questions in a voice that's rapidly shading back into neutrality though the intensity remains in his gaze. "An arm to lean on," is the brownrider's clarification, matter-of-fact as if he can't quite fathom meaning anything else.
Arching light brows, "Okay, then." As for questions about what would happen if the situations were reversed, Jiella is just a little puzzled. That sort of thing doesn't happen in her world. "It's a moot point anyway," she non-answers, with a note of regret that likely doesn't speak well of her. "I don't think my best option is around right now." With another slight smile for C'sel, this more appreciative, "I can walk. And Orisoth isn't far. Thank you for the advice. Even if I totally dismissed it because I really want to hurt something right now, I'll try to think about it. Or if I want to have a boyfriend in the first place." Her nose wrinkles girlishly, the comment seems flip.
Buttoning resumes and C'sel listens, finishes up and does up his jacket too, slides hands into pockets and considers the young woman for a moment. "Punching a pillow is another option," the brownrider suggests, utterly deadpan and inclines his head her way. "I -- hope that you figure things out." Sincere it seems and then he gives his head a little shake, like he's clearing it of fog. Corvinth has settled down behind him, waiting. "I'm C'sel by the way. And this is Corvinth." A tilt of his head towards the brown. "From the Reaches. He -- is good friends with Chielyth."
Jiella eyes C'sel for his suggestion. Unenthused would be putting it mildly. "You're really not a revenge kind of person, are you?" she asks, like she already knows the answer. "No, I think I'm likely just going to find someone harmless to sleep with because I can't really be blamed for it. And think about it tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day. Didn't someone say that?" With a little wave for Corvinth, "I'm Jiella. And as I said, Orisoth." She waves a hand to indicate the brown across the bowl. "She seems to like him, I guess." She's not much in the mood to talk about anything flight-related.
Again, simply: "No." And though C'sel's brows ramp up a little for Jiella's intentions he only inclines his head slightly: her choice. He's not offering either. "Good to meet you, Jiella. In spite of the circumstances," the Reachian declares. "Our regards to Orisoth and also sincere wishes for ... a more pleasant outcome the next he chases," C'sel continues mildly. He smiles just a little at the young woman's further remark. "Yes. They like each other." Breath taken. "If you'll excuse me, I must be getting back to the Reaches." His head bows then. "Good night to you."
Well, Jiella's not perfect. At least plan B is better than her plan A - lie in wait for the Weyrleader. Unfortunately - or fortunately - C'sel doesn't have to be aware of the full level of breathtaking self-interest that the brownrider can display. "Didn't think so," she notes with a grin. "We hope the same - and /I/ hope that you're given more notice next time. Clear skies." She'll even add on a little salute for good measure before heading away - apparently off to take advantage of a bad situation. Every cloud has a silver lining?
Ignorance is bliss? C'sel makes a funny little face about notice and shoots Corvinth a sidelong look. "Yes. Notice," he murmurs and draws himself upright. "Clear skies, Jiella." She heads one way, he heads to his brown to mount up and go home wher elikely there will be a /conversation/ about not sneaking off to fly foreign greens like that in the middle of snow storms. But not until tomorrow. C'sel's weyrmate is waiting up for him.
Jiella doesn't have anyone waiting up for her! Ohwait. That's not good.