Wounded and Wasted
Day 23, month 1, turn 22 of Interval 10: Jiella and Orisoth's Weyr, Fort Weyr.
Late - or early in the morning - Jiella is trying to sleep, and At're is wasted, on multiple levels. There is drama, there are tears, but in the very end, there is bed - to sleep, for once.
It's late now - so given that, Orisoth, while not exactly real /thrilled/ about his life at the moment, is already forgetting about the blow to his ego, and already very close to his normally unflappably amused self. Even so, as Khazioth arrives, he's 'sleeping' apparently, curled into a comfortable loose ball on his couch, wide eyes closed and heavy breath slow. Despite that fact, there's still a glow unlidded on the ledge and one in the disordered living room, should one get that far - and beyond even that, there's Jiella's bed with all of her luxurious blankets and sheets, and a large, ball-like shape /under/ them that is presumably the blonde herself. This is not normally how she sleeps, but hey. Not a normal night.
And in stumbles At're, past Orisoth, into the living room. Khazioth seems torn between waiting on the ledge and presumably going back to cuddle with Chielyth - in the end, he goes up, to his own ledge and solitude. Trey manages to maneuver the living room, and stands in the doorway with his typical straight posture... though it probably bears mention that he seems to possibly be swaying on his feet. Apparently someone is up to his eyeballs with liquid courage - and /still/ hasn't the testicular fortitude to do more than clear his throat, in vain hope that Jiella isn't asleep.
Orisoth might offer at least a flash of gratitude for that, despite the fact he's clearly sleeping; normally a consummate host, especially for Khazioth, but tonight he just doesn't have the patience in him. The fact that At're's making a lot of noise doesn't disturb the brown in the least - he's determined - but it's not like Jiella's been home or in bed for very long, so any light doze she might have fallen into under all those blankets is all too easily disturbed. As he's swaying in the doorway, she shifts; after he clears his throat, a tousled blonde head slowly appears from the blankets - and as much as she tries not to have any expression at all, the wounded look in narrow eyes is kind of hard to miss.
It is, perhaps, surprising that Khazioth has enough grace to know to leave Orisoth in peace. At're must be rubbing off on him, at least a little bit. At're continues to sway, in that manner of a particularly soused individual, and opens his mouth to say something as Jiella's wounded look reaches him. Then he shuts his mouth, sways - or maybe sags - into the door frame itself, and just stands there, looking rather like a kicked puppy. Eventually, his hoarse comment is simple: "I'm sorry." He may slur the single silibant rather impressively, but at least his tone is rather earnest...ly miserable.
Voice quiet, a little too deep in her throat to be normal, "It's not your fault." Jiella might /look/ hurt, might /be/ hurt, but it's not like she can blame him. Maybe she'll find somewhere else to lay that. She can't quite look at At're for too long at once, especially when he looks like /that/; brown eyes flicker his way and down to the covers now and again, and as she shifts, it becomes apparent she's wearing totally uncharacteristically cute flannel pajamas. Eventually, she figures out, "You're drunk." Matter-of-fact, not as disgusted as she'd be if he came looking for her after a night at the bar. And though she's not drunk /now/, it might make him feel better to see she's looking about as abjectly miserable as he is.
"Yes." At're seems rather obstinate, his tried-and-true Gar Blood coming out to the forefront. "It is my fault." He seems more like to plant his feet, now, and try in that way of the totally tipsy to act as if he's, er, entirely sober. "I coulda... I could've held Khaz back." The bronzerider grips the trim for a moment, closes his eyes in the face of the rather truthful accusation. As is his duty to the conversation, he grinds out a, "Yes, I am." Epic fail. Let us all just hope this doesn't become epic-pass-out.
"Sit down, Trey." Jiella's tone is surprisingly soft, which might be comforting or scary, depending on your perspective. She's not buying the entirely sober, nor is she real sure how long he can keep himself on his feet. "And I was just asking. I was drinking, not like I can blame you for that either." Sitting up a bit more to push tangled blonde locks back from her face, she asks, a bit grimly, "Are you going to hold him back every time? Don't be -" A sigh. "That doesn't make sense."
If At're was a little more cognizant at the moment... he'd probably be scared. But he's not, and so he trundles across the floor - just a handful of unstable steps - to precariously perch on the end of the bed. He's quiet. For a minute. "I..." He stops, and clears his throat, this time making a rather admirable effort at conversation. He struggles with the words, at times. "Jiella, I didn't.. I've never been like that, before. I haven't - not with you, not with anyone - I've never... not been myself. Not been in /control/ of my facilities. Never... I don't..." Too many pauses. Then, abruptly, "I love you, Jie." There's a plea under the phrase, sometime.
Staring at her slim hand atop the covers like she's trying to will it to move and it's refusing, Jiella is quiet while At're speaks - or tries to - and just listens. After a long moment, "That's... what it is. Not being yourself. We knew that, didn't we?" Maybe abstractly, but the reality is a little less easy to handle. His last, sudden statement causes her to quirk her lips in something that might be between a smile and a wince - she caught the pleading note. Blinking too quickly, the blonde bites her lower lip, nodding; haltingly, "I don't know if I can do this again. I don't like it." A little childish, even in this. "I don't like how it feels."
Head bows, sharp against his chest - and At're's rising quickly, too quickly. A hand reaches out to steady himself, palm to the corner of the bed. Whoops, dizzy. At least he doesn't end up in a heap on her floor. "I got it. I get it. I'll -- I'll see you." He's blindly heading back out for the living room, working to not stumble and mostly managing.
"No, wait -" Jiella didn't expect At're to get up at all, let alone so quickly - to the point where, when he starts heading out towards the living room, she's already out of bed, long legs quick to bring feet to the floor. Any attempt at holding back tears is pretty much abandoned at this point; they're streaking her face by the time she catches his arm to both steady and stop him. "I love you," she tells him, and this time, she's the one who might be asking for a little understanding. "I've just never felt like this. Please, Trey... I'm just..." Hurt. Terrified. "I don't know what to do."
Well, that was - very obviously not what At're was expecting, and he pulls up just as quick as he launched out of the room. He's reaching for her, just to pull her close, to convince himself that she's there, and not just some figment of his imagination. He's breathing carefully regulated breaths, as if he doesn't, he may just disintegrate. "I don't know what to do either," he states, his voice haggard, miserable again. "I've never..." He's never felt like this, either, but the words choke up in his throat before he can get them out.
Jiella doesn't usually cry for real - she'll cry for jewelry or to get out of a sticky situation or to guilt someone into doing what she wants. But when At're pulls her close, she's breaking down out of the sheer number of emotions she's managing at once, burying her head in his shoulder, letting him hold her. It takes her some time to be able to manage to speak again, her breath coming in the odd shuddering gasp when she does. Quietly, "I hate it. I didn't think I'd hate it. I didn't know that... I'd care so much." She's new to giving a damn about anyone other than herself, much less attempting a serious mature relationship, so it's not a shock. "I love you, Trey. Even if I wanted you to go, I couldn't make you."
And /Jiella/ crying isn't something that Trey's exactly used to, either. He's holding her, and not just to stand up, either - if his shoulders shake, well, it must be because of the beer. "I didn't want it. I still don't want it. I don't want him to-- I didn't want -- I wanted /you/," he rasps, in the end. He doesn't add how freaking weird it is because-- hello, straight boy here, just did the weyr thug. Not something that happens every day. That only adds to the convoluted emotions conflicting across his face, and he sways on his feet. "I don't want anyone /but/ you." There's a bit of bewildered anger in the background, a smothered rage at the circumstance.
The blonde isn't really one for expressing emotion any way but physically, so seeing Jiella in tears as she finally looks up, dark eyes reddened, cheeks flushed, might be a little strange too. She tentatively lifts a hand - one just beginning to bruise - to brush fingertips to At're's cheek as she murmurs, "I know." Though she's never really been convinced of anyone-but-her, is always a little surprised when he says it - and has to point out this time, "Someday, it might not be someone you mind, though." The swaying is enough to make her just leave all that alone for now. It just figures - the most serious conversation they've likely had, and one of them is wasted. Her fingers slip to his chin, and she leans in to kiss him once, sweetly. Eyes closed, "It's not /you/." Another brief kiss. "And I'm here."
Wasted is a good word for Trey, at the moment. Physically drunk, emotionally exhausted, mentally just-- done. He leans his forehead against hers for a moment, after that sweet kiss, just trying to get his bearings. It would be hard to deal with this even with control of all his mental facilities. He struggles. Can he do anything but? "There doesn't exist. /They/ don't exist," he corrects himself, moving to press a kiss against her forehead. "Just you." The next is breathed out, more of a murmur than a statement- "I'm not going anywhere."
Jiella doesn't seem all that sure that At're could go anywhere even if he wanted to - and though she might not be feeling the effects of anything she might have been drinking earlier, the night itself weighs fairly heavily on the blonde. "Come to bed with me," she murmurs, opening her eyes after the press of lips to forehead, finding his hand in both of hers - and the ring that's on it with her fingers - guiding him back towards it. There's nothing of her usual suggestiveness in her request - though, you know. It is Jiella. It's not like she'd say no either.
"Okay." Sometimes, At're can be very prettily-worded, pouring his feelings and emotions out in words. Right now? Not so much. But he follows, docile as a lamb, his expression grateful if Jiella was to look back. Weary - so tired - but grateful. His fingers are tight on hers, a tangible hold onto reality. He'll be fast out, once boots are off and he's tucked close to /his/ brownrider. Sleep will indeed find him soon, but perhaps he'll make it all up to Jiella in the morning. Or-- well, try his damndest to make what he can up.
Dressed for comfort, Jiella isn't intent on much more than that for tonight; at least now, with At're here next to her, she'll stand a chance of sleeping. And the way she wraps herself around him tonight is decidedly possessive, much more so than she's ever been before. If she's /his/ brownrider, he's equally /her/ bronzerider - and though it just confirms her selfishness, she doesn't like sharing. In the morning, there'll be a chance to start things off better - and making things up to one another is always a good place to start.
Late - or early in the morning - Jiella is trying to sleep, and At're is wasted, on multiple levels. There is drama, there are tears, but in the very end, there is bed - to sleep, for once.
It's late now - so given that, Orisoth, while not exactly real /thrilled/ about his life at the moment, is already forgetting about the blow to his ego, and already very close to his normally unflappably amused self. Even so, as Khazioth arrives, he's 'sleeping' apparently, curled into a comfortable loose ball on his couch, wide eyes closed and heavy breath slow. Despite that fact, there's still a glow unlidded on the ledge and one in the disordered living room, should one get that far - and beyond even that, there's Jiella's bed with all of her luxurious blankets and sheets, and a large, ball-like shape /under/ them that is presumably the blonde herself. This is not normally how she sleeps, but hey. Not a normal night.
And in stumbles At're, past Orisoth, into the living room. Khazioth seems torn between waiting on the ledge and presumably going back to cuddle with Chielyth - in the end, he goes up, to his own ledge and solitude. Trey manages to maneuver the living room, and stands in the doorway with his typical straight posture... though it probably bears mention that he seems to possibly be swaying on his feet. Apparently someone is up to his eyeballs with liquid courage - and /still/ hasn't the testicular fortitude to do more than clear his throat, in vain hope that Jiella isn't asleep.
Orisoth might offer at least a flash of gratitude for that, despite the fact he's clearly sleeping; normally a consummate host, especially for Khazioth, but tonight he just doesn't have the patience in him. The fact that At're's making a lot of noise doesn't disturb the brown in the least - he's determined - but it's not like Jiella's been home or in bed for very long, so any light doze she might have fallen into under all those blankets is all too easily disturbed. As he's swaying in the doorway, she shifts; after he clears his throat, a tousled blonde head slowly appears from the blankets - and as much as she tries not to have any expression at all, the wounded look in narrow eyes is kind of hard to miss.
It is, perhaps, surprising that Khazioth has enough grace to know to leave Orisoth in peace. At're must be rubbing off on him, at least a little bit. At're continues to sway, in that manner of a particularly soused individual, and opens his mouth to say something as Jiella's wounded look reaches him. Then he shuts his mouth, sways - or maybe sags - into the door frame itself, and just stands there, looking rather like a kicked puppy. Eventually, his hoarse comment is simple: "I'm sorry." He may slur the single silibant rather impressively, but at least his tone is rather earnest...ly miserable.
Voice quiet, a little too deep in her throat to be normal, "It's not your fault." Jiella might /look/ hurt, might /be/ hurt, but it's not like she can blame him. Maybe she'll find somewhere else to lay that. She can't quite look at At're for too long at once, especially when he looks like /that/; brown eyes flicker his way and down to the covers now and again, and as she shifts, it becomes apparent she's wearing totally uncharacteristically cute flannel pajamas. Eventually, she figures out, "You're drunk." Matter-of-fact, not as disgusted as she'd be if he came looking for her after a night at the bar. And though she's not drunk /now/, it might make him feel better to see she's looking about as abjectly miserable as he is.
"Yes." At're seems rather obstinate, his tried-and-true Gar Blood coming out to the forefront. "It is my fault." He seems more like to plant his feet, now, and try in that way of the totally tipsy to act as if he's, er, entirely sober. "I coulda... I could've held Khaz back." The bronzerider grips the trim for a moment, closes his eyes in the face of the rather truthful accusation. As is his duty to the conversation, he grinds out a, "Yes, I am." Epic fail. Let us all just hope this doesn't become epic-pass-out.
"Sit down, Trey." Jiella's tone is surprisingly soft, which might be comforting or scary, depending on your perspective. She's not buying the entirely sober, nor is she real sure how long he can keep himself on his feet. "And I was just asking. I was drinking, not like I can blame you for that either." Sitting up a bit more to push tangled blonde locks back from her face, she asks, a bit grimly, "Are you going to hold him back every time? Don't be -" A sigh. "That doesn't make sense."
If At're was a little more cognizant at the moment... he'd probably be scared. But he's not, and so he trundles across the floor - just a handful of unstable steps - to precariously perch on the end of the bed. He's quiet. For a minute. "I..." He stops, and clears his throat, this time making a rather admirable effort at conversation. He struggles with the words, at times. "Jiella, I didn't.. I've never been like that, before. I haven't - not with you, not with anyone - I've never... not been myself. Not been in /control/ of my facilities. Never... I don't..." Too many pauses. Then, abruptly, "I love you, Jie." There's a plea under the phrase, sometime.
Staring at her slim hand atop the covers like she's trying to will it to move and it's refusing, Jiella is quiet while At're speaks - or tries to - and just listens. After a long moment, "That's... what it is. Not being yourself. We knew that, didn't we?" Maybe abstractly, but the reality is a little less easy to handle. His last, sudden statement causes her to quirk her lips in something that might be between a smile and a wince - she caught the pleading note. Blinking too quickly, the blonde bites her lower lip, nodding; haltingly, "I don't know if I can do this again. I don't like it." A little childish, even in this. "I don't like how it feels."
Head bows, sharp against his chest - and At're's rising quickly, too quickly. A hand reaches out to steady himself, palm to the corner of the bed. Whoops, dizzy. At least he doesn't end up in a heap on her floor. "I got it. I get it. I'll -- I'll see you." He's blindly heading back out for the living room, working to not stumble and mostly managing.
"No, wait -" Jiella didn't expect At're to get up at all, let alone so quickly - to the point where, when he starts heading out towards the living room, she's already out of bed, long legs quick to bring feet to the floor. Any attempt at holding back tears is pretty much abandoned at this point; they're streaking her face by the time she catches his arm to both steady and stop him. "I love you," she tells him, and this time, she's the one who might be asking for a little understanding. "I've just never felt like this. Please, Trey... I'm just..." Hurt. Terrified. "I don't know what to do."
Well, that was - very obviously not what At're was expecting, and he pulls up just as quick as he launched out of the room. He's reaching for her, just to pull her close, to convince himself that she's there, and not just some figment of his imagination. He's breathing carefully regulated breaths, as if he doesn't, he may just disintegrate. "I don't know what to do either," he states, his voice haggard, miserable again. "I've never..." He's never felt like this, either, but the words choke up in his throat before he can get them out.
Jiella doesn't usually cry for real - she'll cry for jewelry or to get out of a sticky situation or to guilt someone into doing what she wants. But when At're pulls her close, she's breaking down out of the sheer number of emotions she's managing at once, burying her head in his shoulder, letting him hold her. It takes her some time to be able to manage to speak again, her breath coming in the odd shuddering gasp when she does. Quietly, "I hate it. I didn't think I'd hate it. I didn't know that... I'd care so much." She's new to giving a damn about anyone other than herself, much less attempting a serious mature relationship, so it's not a shock. "I love you, Trey. Even if I wanted you to go, I couldn't make you."
And /Jiella/ crying isn't something that Trey's exactly used to, either. He's holding her, and not just to stand up, either - if his shoulders shake, well, it must be because of the beer. "I didn't want it. I still don't want it. I don't want him to-- I didn't want -- I wanted /you/," he rasps, in the end. He doesn't add how freaking weird it is because-- hello, straight boy here, just did the weyr thug. Not something that happens every day. That only adds to the convoluted emotions conflicting across his face, and he sways on his feet. "I don't want anyone /but/ you." There's a bit of bewildered anger in the background, a smothered rage at the circumstance.
The blonde isn't really one for expressing emotion any way but physically, so seeing Jiella in tears as she finally looks up, dark eyes reddened, cheeks flushed, might be a little strange too. She tentatively lifts a hand - one just beginning to bruise - to brush fingertips to At're's cheek as she murmurs, "I know." Though she's never really been convinced of anyone-but-her, is always a little surprised when he says it - and has to point out this time, "Someday, it might not be someone you mind, though." The swaying is enough to make her just leave all that alone for now. It just figures - the most serious conversation they've likely had, and one of them is wasted. Her fingers slip to his chin, and she leans in to kiss him once, sweetly. Eyes closed, "It's not /you/." Another brief kiss. "And I'm here."
Wasted is a good word for Trey, at the moment. Physically drunk, emotionally exhausted, mentally just-- done. He leans his forehead against hers for a moment, after that sweet kiss, just trying to get his bearings. It would be hard to deal with this even with control of all his mental facilities. He struggles. Can he do anything but? "There doesn't exist. /They/ don't exist," he corrects himself, moving to press a kiss against her forehead. "Just you." The next is breathed out, more of a murmur than a statement- "I'm not going anywhere."
Jiella doesn't seem all that sure that At're could go anywhere even if he wanted to - and though she might not be feeling the effects of anything she might have been drinking earlier, the night itself weighs fairly heavily on the blonde. "Come to bed with me," she murmurs, opening her eyes after the press of lips to forehead, finding his hand in both of hers - and the ring that's on it with her fingers - guiding him back towards it. There's nothing of her usual suggestiveness in her request - though, you know. It is Jiella. It's not like she'd say no either.
"Okay." Sometimes, At're can be very prettily-worded, pouring his feelings and emotions out in words. Right now? Not so much. But he follows, docile as a lamb, his expression grateful if Jiella was to look back. Weary - so tired - but grateful. His fingers are tight on hers, a tangible hold onto reality. He'll be fast out, once boots are off and he's tucked close to /his/ brownrider. Sleep will indeed find him soon, but perhaps he'll make it all up to Jiella in the morning. Or-- well, try his damndest to make what he can up.
Dressed for comfort, Jiella isn't intent on much more than that for tonight; at least now, with At're here next to her, she'll stand a chance of sleeping. And the way she wraps herself around him tonight is decidedly possessive, much more so than she's ever been before. If she's /his/ brownrider, he's equally /her/ bronzerider - and though it just confirms her selfishness, she doesn't like sharing. In the morning, there'll be a chance to start things off better - and making things up to one another is always a good place to start.