I think you're a fool
Who: R'en and Laelle
Where: Bowl
What: After Laelle sends R'en a note to meet her and they spend some time walking and talking in the lower caverns, they head out to the bowl to meet Sehkrath.
It hasn't been a long trek, from the tunnel to the bowl. At the end, just before exiting the living cavern - again - R'en slows to a pause to put Laelle between himself and the outside world. When they leave the inside in this manner, the Nerat girl will find herself able to observe a very calm bronze dragon, folded in on himself, hindlegs sprawled out to one side. Upon realizing this is a new human, which happens quickly, the bronze ducks his big boxy head and hunches his shoulders. This doesn't help hide his height - nine feet without counting his neck - but he tries. Behind Laelle, R'en has his chin lifted so he can watch his partner over her head and, when he recognizes the dragon's efforts for what they are, he furrows his brow and sets his jaw, making vague hand gestures and no doubt communicating within his own head that he would like that to stop. Hopefully she won't notice Sehkrath tilting his head and eyeing his human half in a most curious way; a noise happens, it is hoarse and inquisitive. Eh?
Laelle is not particularly likely to recognize much of the dragon's behavior, being wholly foreign to her. She walks ahead but stops a good deal shy of the bronze, leaving at least twice as much distance between them as might be common. She turns to look over back at R'en, brows raised in a plain and silent 'you first'.
Uh. Those gestures come to an abrupt - if belated - cessation. Laelle looks, R'en is still trying to express himself until he notices. His hands slow and pause, falling to his sides while he gives her a chagrined face and steps around in front. The face he gives Sehkrath is somewhat more scathing. Damn dragon. "Uh. So. C'mere." Sehkrath comes there, straightening up and taking a few hesitant steps forward. "This's him." After glancing down with a twist of his neck at R'en, the bronze fixes an eye on Laelle and ducks his snout to within her reach. Whuff. Hi. A croak occurs, deep in his throat, that might have been a pretty sound except, well, it isn't.
The arc of Laelle's brows changes from expectant to something more archly amused to find the former Captain caught in the middle of gesture and expression. But as entertaining as that is, he's calling the beast forward and so Laelle's attention is soon more acutely on the bronze. Not recognizing what he might be after, Sehkrath's angling to be within the girl's reach makes her pull back a step, draw hersef from arm's reach. Whuff. "Hi," she says, uncertain what tone would be appropriate and sounding rather reluctant. She looks to R'en again. "Now what?"
"Now. Touch 'im. He likes, uh." R'en's chin lifts again so he can put his hand underneath and pat the backs of his fingertips up against the underside. "Under there. Over 'is eyes. He's soft." But, because he might be able to understand such reluctance, he moves forward, taking first one shuffled step, leg stretched out, then another. "Here." Taking her hand and tugging a bit, then jerking his head at her for Sehkrath for the dragon to move himself closer, he touches her fingers to his hide and, if she'll allow it, presses her palm to the curve of his big cheek. Warm. Giant eyes blink three full sets of eyelids in a sleepy sort of way.
The reluctance does not fade, but Laelle seems willing to let R'en make these damands of her. She lifts a hand, curled lazyily, but pauses then and looks to the new rider. "Why? I mean, must I?" It matters little since he's taking her hand, dawing it away from herself to press her palm and fingers against the smooth dragon hide. She doesn't jerk away, since this seems to be something the young bronze wanted, but nor does her hand meander, rub or scatch. "Is touching important?" she wonders.
He'd been watching their hands. R'en had, that is. His eyes slide to hers when she asks that particular question. Something about that question. "More'n you know." But that was a little too serious and he realizes it after it's too late. To maybe fix it he adds, "For him," with a roll of his shoulders and a brush of his thumb over the back of hers. Sehkrath tilts his head against those hands, against hers specifically, and breathes her in, deep and somnolent. After a pause, "He'd like it if I told you hello, from him." The bronzerider's mouth curves while he watches her reaction. "Hello."
"Whatever you want. He can hear you." The curve twitches in one corner. "He says he wishes you could hear him." Since she hasn't made any protests to his hand being there, R'en doesn't move it. Instead he lets up on her own so when she moves it his comes along for the ride. Of course he'll put a little pressure in every now and again, a touch to the dip between two knuckles, a curl of his little finger under hers. Touching is important. He hasn't stopped watching her, either out of the corner of his eye or full on but always watching. Sehkrath, meanwhile, enjoys her attention and tells her so the only way he knows how: another croak - ribbit - and then a deep and resonating rumbling that could likely make bones ache but for now only thrums through skin.
So she's supposed to talk to the dragon. Laelle frowns a little for that notion, wets her lips. "I don't talk much," she tells the huge dragon head. Indeed, there is something in the way that she shares this that is reminiscent of the manner in which someone might talk to an object - just a head rather than an alert consciousness. But even that registers in her somewhere, turning her soft exale into something apologetic. "Hello," she greets him again more gently, and her palm lifts from his cheek to let her fingertips alone graze beneath his eye, the alternating lift of those fingers like tease of touch under R'en's hand.
For her 'hello' Sehkrath emits a more pleased sound. Or one could easily assume it's pleased, the lilt at the end and all. His tail, long and gangly behind him, twitches once and he shifts a little, giddy. Something passes from him to an amused R'en. The rider obliges. "He says he likes your voice," is the first, said in a very matter of fact tone, "and," here he pauses, "that you don't have t'talk. Even if he wishes you would more often on account o'the fact that you drive his other half absolutely insane." There's a shift of the eyes in there, then he adds after clearing his throat awkwardly, "That mighta been just me, that last part." His fingers move, lacing briefly with hers. And now he isn't watching her but their roving hands.
Sehkrath's movement urges Laelle to pull her hand away but R'en's fingers stops her, the instinctive withdraw of a smaller creature getting out of the way of a larger one that puts her hand more firmly in the former captain's than against his new mount. That the dragon only a shifts a little and then stills leaves her more calm, not that the stiffness of anxiety doesn't still linger in her shoulders or the downturned line of her lips. She looks at the beast curiously when R'en relays what he's said of her voice, but the rest of his words find that knowing expression returning to her eyes - eyes that she turns on the bronzerider at her side. Her lips part as if sh might say something to Jen, but instead focuses again on Sehkrath. "Do you mind that?" she asks of his rider being driven mad.
"Mind what?" R'en drops his eyes to hers, carefully casual. "You makin' me crazy? Or you not talkin'?" Even if one did lead to the other, maybe in his head they are really two separate issues, more separate anyway than he led on. Sehkrath makes apologetic for his antsiness with a low rumble and tenses up as if that might help him keep still for her. "I don't," he answers a moment later, without enough pause for her to do so herself and without looking at her this time. With her hand pressed in against his palm he curls his long fingers some, like he might wrap her up in them.
Only the hint of tension in Laelle's freckled cheek shows the smile she might like to wear. "That I make you crazy. If I do." She lets her palm find purchase on Sekhrath's hide again, lifting her fingers up to twine Jen's, as if a simple stretch has gone wrong. Or right, if he does indeed seek to wrap his hand with hers. "And I was asking him. Does he mind?" More clarification.
His quiet affirmation is just that. Quiet. "He was tellin' you." And somehow, but definitely on purpose, R'en used first person. Maybe doing away with all of that 'he says' stuff makes things easier. Maybe it makes it harder. If it does, he's doing it anyway. The unfocused look is back in his eyes, she might have missed it before but now if she's looking she'll find it. "I don't. Lots of things make 'im crazy. Not all of those things make 'im-- Make 'im right again sometimes." He swallows, tilts his head and closes those fingers in one final sweep that does indeed wrap her hand up in his. The dragon rumbles and lays his big and boxy head down.
There's new understanding in Laelle's eyes as they shift from Sekhrath to R'en and back again. Whether because the words are coming from the bronze, or because they aren't, she looks at his large, angular face rather than that of the man who speaks for him. Her reply comes after a slow pause. "And what sort of thing am I?" She lets Jensen claim her hand without resistence, slim and soft in his grip.
A pause, here, before Sehkrath's words come again in R'en's low and articulate drawl. It's for thinking, that hesitation, not for uncertainty. "You're one o'the good things. Foot in both the then and the now. Still here after everything. Needs you." The small vertical lines of tension between the weyrling's eyebrows deepens and he blinks to clear himself, to look down at the ground and let loose a long and sighing exhale. His hand remains.
Despite the source of these thoughts, Laelle's eyes are on R'en, watching as his brow creases, as his eyes see again. "You don't need me," she tells him quietly, caught between disbelief and refusal. The bronze is forgotten and her hand withdraws from his cheek without pulling loose from the fingers wrapped about hers.
So their hands will hang, joined and most stubborn about it. Sehkrath doesn't take offense, he watches the continuing interaction unfold with one slow, gentle eye, both apart and very much involved. R'en says, "Yeah," while passing his thumb again over the back of hers. "I do." And though he can't quite understand what's passing between the two humans he knows what His is feeling and so the bronze makes a very, very small noise. 'bit. Touching is important.
"You shouldn't," Laelle tells him, her voice quiet, if not particularly soft, gentled only in its lack of volume. "I make you insane," she reminds him. "I'll upset him." She inclines her head forward lightly, toward the quietly observant bronze. "I upset you."
"Oh," that was heavy, yet when R'en lifts his head to look at her his eyes are crinkled and he's grinning boyishly at her, "I know." But. There must be a but. "Can't shake you though. Like you even when you're annoyin' me. Maybe 'cause you do. 'Sides, I give's good as I get." As if just noticing their hands for the first time, he looks down at them and seems confused. Huh. "'M not upset now."
"You don't need me," Laelle says again, firmer, as if she might will it to b true. "It's not me." Let that be the distinction, that his needing -something- is not in question. But she looks down at their hands as well, an amused breath for the play on confusion on his face. She moves a finger, a tap against his hand - yes, their hands are together. He's not imagining it. "How long does now last?" There is enough resignation in her voice to suggest the answer is 'not long'.
She'd be right. The number of things on a daily basis that rouse R'en to some degree of upset has risen considerably since he impressed. Or maybe the things that helped him cope diminished in amount. It certainly doesn't help that he can't drink, not that he did much of that before restrictions were put in place and boundaries settled. The tap on his finger brings his eyes back to meet hers again. If he can't answer her - she knows - then he can at least argue with her. "Laelle." Hesitance. "I do."
She looks away, her head turning just enough to keep her eyes from view, to hide whatever expression she wears. It leaves him with a view of the back of her head, the twist of her pale neck and the coil of blonde hair wrapped neatly around itself. It is only for a moment, then Laelle draws her gaze back to him. "And what do you need from me? What do you think I can give you?" It is some display of kindness that she allows him to answer this without her keen eyes on him. They turn to Sehkrath, watching him instead.
But Sehkrath doesn't take her stare very well either. At first he remains as still, but after a few seconds of meeting her eyes with his one he fidgets, one paw twitching. Is she staring at his head? It's big, he knows. She's probably thinking about how ugly he is. They all do. Egads. A ribbit of some concern surfaces like a belch, up from within and out of his control. "Didn't say I wanted anything from you," R'en tells her, nothing more. But his other hand moves to that long slope of her neck, to put the tips of his fingers to her skin.
"You know what I mean," Laelle says, unimpressed by his attempt to twist her words or catch her in a net of semantics. "If you need me, what do you need me for?" Despite her attention resting on the dragon, his nervousness, even that burp, are completely ignored, as if such things simply don't happen. And then she spots R'en's hand along the edge of her vision, feels his touch find her skin. Her head turns and she pins him with an unyeilding gaze. "Jen..." because they've tried such touches before and this time Sekhrath is definitely awake.
"Laelle." Just like the times before, R'en can only say her name back at her. This time, though, he doesn't stop there. "Need you here for me. Need someone t'talk to. He doesn't always know what I'm talkin' about." In fact 'doesn't always' means a lot more often than it implies. "I need you." Being definitely awake, and now more relaxed since Laelle's taken her eyes off him, Sehkrath shifts in place, lifting his head from the ground so that he can look on like a doting mother upon a playdate. The human half of the pair slants a short look up at the dragon. "He's fine. We're gettin' good at this."
Laelle's jaw tightens - there's nothing in his explanation for which she has a ready objection. No quick answer to send him off or dissuade him. She has to watch him for a moment, scanning him with lashes barely narrowed, before a response comes. "Alright." It seems she agrees to these requests and her chin lifts in challenge. "I think you're a fool." But she has yet to reclaim her hand or pull away from the touch that sought her neck.
There's a certain alleviation of tension when she doesn't push him away. Grateful, R'en traces the delicate curve of her ear with his thumb, all the way around and under. His grin for her is that same from before, the one that makes him look younger. Or, more accurately, it makes him look his age and not ten years older. "You wouldn't be the first," he admits, laughter expressed in his voice. "But I must be a good fool, 'cause I don't think you'd hang around."
"That makes me a fool then," Laelle says, nothing soft in her for this assessment, her tone hard, her eyes harder. Then her brows pinch inward and she looks away again, her ear slipping from under his thumb, leaving him to withdraw, advance or linger awkwardly at her turned nape. The fingers in his hand start to relax and ready to pull away.
If she wants to move away from him R'en won't chase her. He's done that before, it didn't work. Instead he leaves her with one last trailing touch down her neck with his entire hand and puts both away, into his pockets. Her bag still hangs from his shoulder, ignored. "Rather die a fool'n die alone," he tells her quickly, narrowing his eyes to squint almost anxiously at her. Sehkrath moves, standing to his full height and stretching his wings out above them both.
"No Jen," Laelle tells him. "Don't say those things. Don't say them while you're thinking about me. I-," but Sehkrath moves, and moves seriously with height and breadth and wings fanning out. Laelle jerks away from both of them with a betrayed expression, wariness cold in her eyes as she backsteps a few paces.
The dragon speaks for the rider, even if it is in slow and deliberate movement, preparation for departure and all of that. "Everybody dies alone." Which is saying something. Sehkrath's wings flip to his back and he rumbles gently. His isn't a presence to be afraid of, little girl. "Still rather be a fool, if this is what bein' a fool is. Still gonna be thinkin' about you." R'en steps forward, slides the strap of her bag off his shoulder and sets the thing down on the ground between them. "'M around, you find you need me back." But for now he's not here, not anymore. Turning, he begins walking away, toward the lake in the dark. After a last long lingering look at Laelle, the bronze turns to follow him. What would have been a graceful, serpentine movement is ruined by the trip over his big paw, there.
She should stop him, she should say something kind or encouraging. She should do something other than stand there as he puts her bag down and walks away. But she can't. Nor does she manage the mild, unaffected mask she wears so often. Instead her brows are drawn together, her lips tight and their downturned corners curved in a frown. Laelle watches him as if she doesn't understand what he's said or what he's done. She is useless for a long moment, watching the retreat before she steps up to take her bag from the ground and walk off in the opposite direction.
Where: Bowl
What: After Laelle sends R'en a note to meet her and they spend some time walking and talking in the lower caverns, they head out to the bowl to meet Sehkrath.
It hasn't been a long trek, from the tunnel to the bowl. At the end, just before exiting the living cavern - again - R'en slows to a pause to put Laelle between himself and the outside world. When they leave the inside in this manner, the Nerat girl will find herself able to observe a very calm bronze dragon, folded in on himself, hindlegs sprawled out to one side. Upon realizing this is a new human, which happens quickly, the bronze ducks his big boxy head and hunches his shoulders. This doesn't help hide his height - nine feet without counting his neck - but he tries. Behind Laelle, R'en has his chin lifted so he can watch his partner over her head and, when he recognizes the dragon's efforts for what they are, he furrows his brow and sets his jaw, making vague hand gestures and no doubt communicating within his own head that he would like that to stop. Hopefully she won't notice Sehkrath tilting his head and eyeing his human half in a most curious way; a noise happens, it is hoarse and inquisitive. Eh?
Laelle is not particularly likely to recognize much of the dragon's behavior, being wholly foreign to her. She walks ahead but stops a good deal shy of the bronze, leaving at least twice as much distance between them as might be common. She turns to look over back at R'en, brows raised in a plain and silent 'you first'.
Uh. Those gestures come to an abrupt - if belated - cessation. Laelle looks, R'en is still trying to express himself until he notices. His hands slow and pause, falling to his sides while he gives her a chagrined face and steps around in front. The face he gives Sehkrath is somewhat more scathing. Damn dragon. "Uh. So. C'mere." Sehkrath comes there, straightening up and taking a few hesitant steps forward. "This's him." After glancing down with a twist of his neck at R'en, the bronze fixes an eye on Laelle and ducks his snout to within her reach. Whuff. Hi. A croak occurs, deep in his throat, that might have been a pretty sound except, well, it isn't.
The arc of Laelle's brows changes from expectant to something more archly amused to find the former Captain caught in the middle of gesture and expression. But as entertaining as that is, he's calling the beast forward and so Laelle's attention is soon more acutely on the bronze. Not recognizing what he might be after, Sehkrath's angling to be within the girl's reach makes her pull back a step, draw hersef from arm's reach. Whuff. "Hi," she says, uncertain what tone would be appropriate and sounding rather reluctant. She looks to R'en again. "Now what?"
"Now. Touch 'im. He likes, uh." R'en's chin lifts again so he can put his hand underneath and pat the backs of his fingertips up against the underside. "Under there. Over 'is eyes. He's soft." But, because he might be able to understand such reluctance, he moves forward, taking first one shuffled step, leg stretched out, then another. "Here." Taking her hand and tugging a bit, then jerking his head at her for Sehkrath for the dragon to move himself closer, he touches her fingers to his hide and, if she'll allow it, presses her palm to the curve of his big cheek. Warm. Giant eyes blink three full sets of eyelids in a sleepy sort of way.
The reluctance does not fade, but Laelle seems willing to let R'en make these damands of her. She lifts a hand, curled lazyily, but pauses then and looks to the new rider. "Why? I mean, must I?" It matters little since he's taking her hand, dawing it away from herself to press her palm and fingers against the smooth dragon hide. She doesn't jerk away, since this seems to be something the young bronze wanted, but nor does her hand meander, rub or scatch. "Is touching important?" she wonders.
He'd been watching their hands. R'en had, that is. His eyes slide to hers when she asks that particular question. Something about that question. "More'n you know." But that was a little too serious and he realizes it after it's too late. To maybe fix it he adds, "For him," with a roll of his shoulders and a brush of his thumb over the back of hers. Sehkrath tilts his head against those hands, against hers specifically, and breathes her in, deep and somnolent. After a pause, "He'd like it if I told you hello, from him." The bronzerider's mouth curves while he watches her reaction. "Hello."
"Whatever you want. He can hear you." The curve twitches in one corner. "He says he wishes you could hear him." Since she hasn't made any protests to his hand being there, R'en doesn't move it. Instead he lets up on her own so when she moves it his comes along for the ride. Of course he'll put a little pressure in every now and again, a touch to the dip between two knuckles, a curl of his little finger under hers. Touching is important. He hasn't stopped watching her, either out of the corner of his eye or full on but always watching. Sehkrath, meanwhile, enjoys her attention and tells her so the only way he knows how: another croak - ribbit - and then a deep and resonating rumbling that could likely make bones ache but for now only thrums through skin.
So she's supposed to talk to the dragon. Laelle frowns a little for that notion, wets her lips. "I don't talk much," she tells the huge dragon head. Indeed, there is something in the way that she shares this that is reminiscent of the manner in which someone might talk to an object - just a head rather than an alert consciousness. But even that registers in her somewhere, turning her soft exale into something apologetic. "Hello," she greets him again more gently, and her palm lifts from his cheek to let her fingertips alone graze beneath his eye, the alternating lift of those fingers like tease of touch under R'en's hand.
For her 'hello' Sehkrath emits a more pleased sound. Or one could easily assume it's pleased, the lilt at the end and all. His tail, long and gangly behind him, twitches once and he shifts a little, giddy. Something passes from him to an amused R'en. The rider obliges. "He says he likes your voice," is the first, said in a very matter of fact tone, "and," here he pauses, "that you don't have t'talk. Even if he wishes you would more often on account o'the fact that you drive his other half absolutely insane." There's a shift of the eyes in there, then he adds after clearing his throat awkwardly, "That mighta been just me, that last part." His fingers move, lacing briefly with hers. And now he isn't watching her but their roving hands.
Sehkrath's movement urges Laelle to pull her hand away but R'en's fingers stops her, the instinctive withdraw of a smaller creature getting out of the way of a larger one that puts her hand more firmly in the former captain's than against his new mount. That the dragon only a shifts a little and then stills leaves her more calm, not that the stiffness of anxiety doesn't still linger in her shoulders or the downturned line of her lips. She looks at the beast curiously when R'en relays what he's said of her voice, but the rest of his words find that knowing expression returning to her eyes - eyes that she turns on the bronzerider at her side. Her lips part as if sh might say something to Jen, but instead focuses again on Sehkrath. "Do you mind that?" she asks of his rider being driven mad.
"Mind what?" R'en drops his eyes to hers, carefully casual. "You makin' me crazy? Or you not talkin'?" Even if one did lead to the other, maybe in his head they are really two separate issues, more separate anyway than he led on. Sehkrath makes apologetic for his antsiness with a low rumble and tenses up as if that might help him keep still for her. "I don't," he answers a moment later, without enough pause for her to do so herself and without looking at her this time. With her hand pressed in against his palm he curls his long fingers some, like he might wrap her up in them.
Only the hint of tension in Laelle's freckled cheek shows the smile she might like to wear. "That I make you crazy. If I do." She lets her palm find purchase on Sekhrath's hide again, lifting her fingers up to twine Jen's, as if a simple stretch has gone wrong. Or right, if he does indeed seek to wrap his hand with hers. "And I was asking him. Does he mind?" More clarification.
His quiet affirmation is just that. Quiet. "He was tellin' you." And somehow, but definitely on purpose, R'en used first person. Maybe doing away with all of that 'he says' stuff makes things easier. Maybe it makes it harder. If it does, he's doing it anyway. The unfocused look is back in his eyes, she might have missed it before but now if she's looking she'll find it. "I don't. Lots of things make 'im crazy. Not all of those things make 'im-- Make 'im right again sometimes." He swallows, tilts his head and closes those fingers in one final sweep that does indeed wrap her hand up in his. The dragon rumbles and lays his big and boxy head down.
There's new understanding in Laelle's eyes as they shift from Sekhrath to R'en and back again. Whether because the words are coming from the bronze, or because they aren't, she looks at his large, angular face rather than that of the man who speaks for him. Her reply comes after a slow pause. "And what sort of thing am I?" She lets Jensen claim her hand without resistence, slim and soft in his grip.
A pause, here, before Sehkrath's words come again in R'en's low and articulate drawl. It's for thinking, that hesitation, not for uncertainty. "You're one o'the good things. Foot in both the then and the now. Still here after everything. Needs you." The small vertical lines of tension between the weyrling's eyebrows deepens and he blinks to clear himself, to look down at the ground and let loose a long and sighing exhale. His hand remains.
Despite the source of these thoughts, Laelle's eyes are on R'en, watching as his brow creases, as his eyes see again. "You don't need me," she tells him quietly, caught between disbelief and refusal. The bronze is forgotten and her hand withdraws from his cheek without pulling loose from the fingers wrapped about hers.
So their hands will hang, joined and most stubborn about it. Sehkrath doesn't take offense, he watches the continuing interaction unfold with one slow, gentle eye, both apart and very much involved. R'en says, "Yeah," while passing his thumb again over the back of hers. "I do." And though he can't quite understand what's passing between the two humans he knows what His is feeling and so the bronze makes a very, very small noise. 'bit. Touching is important.
"You shouldn't," Laelle tells him, her voice quiet, if not particularly soft, gentled only in its lack of volume. "I make you insane," she reminds him. "I'll upset him." She inclines her head forward lightly, toward the quietly observant bronze. "I upset you."
"Oh," that was heavy, yet when R'en lifts his head to look at her his eyes are crinkled and he's grinning boyishly at her, "I know." But. There must be a but. "Can't shake you though. Like you even when you're annoyin' me. Maybe 'cause you do. 'Sides, I give's good as I get." As if just noticing their hands for the first time, he looks down at them and seems confused. Huh. "'M not upset now."
"You don't need me," Laelle says again, firmer, as if she might will it to b true. "It's not me." Let that be the distinction, that his needing -something- is not in question. But she looks down at their hands as well, an amused breath for the play on confusion on his face. She moves a finger, a tap against his hand - yes, their hands are together. He's not imagining it. "How long does now last?" There is enough resignation in her voice to suggest the answer is 'not long'.
She'd be right. The number of things on a daily basis that rouse R'en to some degree of upset has risen considerably since he impressed. Or maybe the things that helped him cope diminished in amount. It certainly doesn't help that he can't drink, not that he did much of that before restrictions were put in place and boundaries settled. The tap on his finger brings his eyes back to meet hers again. If he can't answer her - she knows - then he can at least argue with her. "Laelle." Hesitance. "I do."
She looks away, her head turning just enough to keep her eyes from view, to hide whatever expression she wears. It leaves him with a view of the back of her head, the twist of her pale neck and the coil of blonde hair wrapped neatly around itself. It is only for a moment, then Laelle draws her gaze back to him. "And what do you need from me? What do you think I can give you?" It is some display of kindness that she allows him to answer this without her keen eyes on him. They turn to Sehkrath, watching him instead.
But Sehkrath doesn't take her stare very well either. At first he remains as still, but after a few seconds of meeting her eyes with his one he fidgets, one paw twitching. Is she staring at his head? It's big, he knows. She's probably thinking about how ugly he is. They all do. Egads. A ribbit of some concern surfaces like a belch, up from within and out of his control. "Didn't say I wanted anything from you," R'en tells her, nothing more. But his other hand moves to that long slope of her neck, to put the tips of his fingers to her skin.
"You know what I mean," Laelle says, unimpressed by his attempt to twist her words or catch her in a net of semantics. "If you need me, what do you need me for?" Despite her attention resting on the dragon, his nervousness, even that burp, are completely ignored, as if such things simply don't happen. And then she spots R'en's hand along the edge of her vision, feels his touch find her skin. Her head turns and she pins him with an unyeilding gaze. "Jen..." because they've tried such touches before and this time Sekhrath is definitely awake.
"Laelle." Just like the times before, R'en can only say her name back at her. This time, though, he doesn't stop there. "Need you here for me. Need someone t'talk to. He doesn't always know what I'm talkin' about." In fact 'doesn't always' means a lot more often than it implies. "I need you." Being definitely awake, and now more relaxed since Laelle's taken her eyes off him, Sehkrath shifts in place, lifting his head from the ground so that he can look on like a doting mother upon a playdate. The human half of the pair slants a short look up at the dragon. "He's fine. We're gettin' good at this."
Laelle's jaw tightens - there's nothing in his explanation for which she has a ready objection. No quick answer to send him off or dissuade him. She has to watch him for a moment, scanning him with lashes barely narrowed, before a response comes. "Alright." It seems she agrees to these requests and her chin lifts in challenge. "I think you're a fool." But she has yet to reclaim her hand or pull away from the touch that sought her neck.
There's a certain alleviation of tension when she doesn't push him away. Grateful, R'en traces the delicate curve of her ear with his thumb, all the way around and under. His grin for her is that same from before, the one that makes him look younger. Or, more accurately, it makes him look his age and not ten years older. "You wouldn't be the first," he admits, laughter expressed in his voice. "But I must be a good fool, 'cause I don't think you'd hang around."
"That makes me a fool then," Laelle says, nothing soft in her for this assessment, her tone hard, her eyes harder. Then her brows pinch inward and she looks away again, her ear slipping from under his thumb, leaving him to withdraw, advance or linger awkwardly at her turned nape. The fingers in his hand start to relax and ready to pull away.
If she wants to move away from him R'en won't chase her. He's done that before, it didn't work. Instead he leaves her with one last trailing touch down her neck with his entire hand and puts both away, into his pockets. Her bag still hangs from his shoulder, ignored. "Rather die a fool'n die alone," he tells her quickly, narrowing his eyes to squint almost anxiously at her. Sehkrath moves, standing to his full height and stretching his wings out above them both.
"No Jen," Laelle tells him. "Don't say those things. Don't say them while you're thinking about me. I-," but Sehkrath moves, and moves seriously with height and breadth and wings fanning out. Laelle jerks away from both of them with a betrayed expression, wariness cold in her eyes as she backsteps a few paces.
The dragon speaks for the rider, even if it is in slow and deliberate movement, preparation for departure and all of that. "Everybody dies alone." Which is saying something. Sehkrath's wings flip to his back and he rumbles gently. His isn't a presence to be afraid of, little girl. "Still rather be a fool, if this is what bein' a fool is. Still gonna be thinkin' about you." R'en steps forward, slides the strap of her bag off his shoulder and sets the thing down on the ground between them. "'M around, you find you need me back." But for now he's not here, not anymore. Turning, he begins walking away, toward the lake in the dark. After a last long lingering look at Laelle, the bronze turns to follow him. What would have been a graceful, serpentine movement is ruined by the trip over his big paw, there.
She should stop him, she should say something kind or encouraging. She should do something other than stand there as he puts her bag down and walks away. But she can't. Nor does she manage the mild, unaffected mask she wears so often. Instead her brows are drawn together, her lips tight and their downturned corners curved in a frown. Laelle watches him as if she doesn't understand what he's said or what he's done. She is useless for a long moment, watching the retreat before she steps up to take her bag from the ground and walk off in the opposite direction.