Sleep In A Bottle
Location: D'ven and Teraneth's Weyr
Time: Night on Day 26, Month 11, Turn 2
Players: D'ven and Roa
Scene: Two angry men down, one to go.
It's getting up on times when good little dragonriders should be in bed. Roa was, perhaps, heading that way herself until D'ven's message filtered through Teraneth which filtered through Tialith, made it to her. So instead of crawling beneath the sheets, the little weyrwoman is hauling on her riding jacket and scrambling up onto the pale gold who waits, perched, on her ledge. It's a short trip, a matter of moments, before Roa's feet hit stone and she's pushing back D'ven's curtain to peer into his weyr.
"Ah, she arrives!" D'ven calls out from the chair he's half-slouched, half-sprawled in. The bronzerider seems the worse for drink, and there's an open bottle on the table. No sign of a glass. "I can't imagine this was convenient for you, but as you please." There's a pause. "Do come in, sit down. Help yourself. I had a friend come and visit me, the other day..."
'She' hovers by the curtain, head peering in, body staying outside for a long minute after that introduction. Dark blue eyes flick over the room, the bottle, the man himself, and Roa's fingers curled around the curtain tighten for an instant before falling away and she steps inside. She sniffs, the sound rather clogged and congested, before moving to a chair that she sets across from D'ven. The weyrwoman doesn't say a word. She only sits, watches the bronzerider, and keeps her coat on.
D'ven laughs darkly. "Yes, my friend. R'vain. Very cross with me, he was. He thought...and you'll laugh when I tell you this, Roa, really you will." There's a swig of the bottle. "He thought I'd betrayed his trust. Imagine, me, betray the trust of a friend. He'd somehow got it into his head that I'd given you his notes. Now...why on earth would he think that?"
One brow arches and Roa blinks slowly. "Well," she begins, her voice husky and the word sounding more like 'bell', "I know why he would think I saw his notes," (dotes) "but I can't figure why it would have anything to do with you." Her voice is carefully calm. Her fingers lace together and settle in her lap.
"Hmm, let me see...let me see..." D'ven pretends to think, occupying himself in the meantime with hits from the bottle. "That would be because I had them for quite some time. And it would seem people believe that I come running when you whistle." There's a pause. "Oh, I spoke to J'cor by the way." He comments, before remembering he is angry with Roa and returning to trying to pick a fight.
"Oh," Roa murmurs to that first. Her gaze sinks down to her hands. "I didn't realize that. You had his notes. I'm sorry." Her fingers steeple, lace, curl into fists, repeat. "Did you?" This, in reference to J'cor and asked to her knuckles.
D'ven nods. "I had his notes." He repeats for emphasis. The question may be directed at her knuckles, but he answers anyway. "Yes. Didn't go too well. Most worrying thing is S'lien apparently took note of my visit to Ista. So. Probably marked out as some sort of Instigator sympathizer now." There's a shake of his head. "And I couldn't tell J'cor the truth, because I know you must be doing something illegal to get this information if you can't tell me about it. And I was all alone there, with him. That was hard." There's a few more slugs from the bottle. He's supposed to be angry, dammit. "Can we at least make it so I get little snacks and a pat on the head when I answer your whistles?"
"It's hard," she agrees. "I'm sorry. I..." Roa head lifts, brows drawing down, "he really didn't bite? I thought he would." She looks back down to her knuckles, lips quirking upward at the perceived joke. "Snacks will be provided. I probably shouldn't do so much patting though, rumors being what they are." And Ashwin being who he is.
"He...well, suffice to say he made some good points." D'ven replies after a long pause. "Ah, yes, rumors. I forgot how much they controlled my life at the moment." There's a shake of his head, and more hits off the bottle. "This is ridiculous. I can't even manage to keep up anger properly. You come up here with your cold, and your sniffling, and your newly developed inability to look me in the eye...and suddenly I find it impossible to sustain anger at you."
"Well, that's a relief." Roa cants her head to the side and peers upwards. "I can't imagine R'vain spitting vinegar is so unusual as to send you a bottle's worth down into wherever you are. I can't even imagine J'cor did it. What's happened?" Her hand reaches into a pocket to draw out a wrinkly handkerchief. "Sorry," she murmurs preemptively before blowing her nose.
D'ven laughs bitterly. "R'vain spitting vinegar is one thing. R'vain accusing me of betrayin' a confidence is quite another." At the question, there's a shrug. "I have no idea. Nothing. Everything. Maybe I've just realised what a mess I've gotten myself into, and that even if I could get myself out of it I wouldn't. Maybe I'm lonely and all my drinking buddies are asleep. Maybe it's a day ending in y."
"T'ral's never -that- asleep I wouldn't bet," Roa chuckles. "Look it's...I'm sorry. I don't want you to be miserable, and I don't want you to feel like you owe me something. You don't. I'm just..." she shrugs weakly, "floundering a little. It'll be fine, if you want to take Teraneth, go on a little break somewhere when a gold hide starts getting a little brighter."
"Yeah, yeah...good plan." D'ven agrees with a little too enthusiastic nod. "Run away. Be a coward. Abandon you. You're right, perfect plan." There's a sigh. "Why did you have to get all sad on me, Roa? Why couldn't you have yelled, or fought back, or done something, anything, that didn't make me feel like I was pickin' on you?" There's a barking laugh. "He might not be, but Ginella gets awful mad if I turn up once they've bedded down. Though frankly, I think she gets at least a little mad if I turn up at all. Or talk to him. Or think about him."
"I don't yell much," Roa says with a small chuckle. "Ginella...she knows you're a good guy. I suspect she also knows you and T'ral have an inclination to bring out the worst in one another in certain respects. Anyhow, I really thought J'cor would be, if not glad, interested in what you to say. I didn't think he'd rationalize it." There is a faint frown. "It's not running, it'd just be making a choice. Just because you technically can doesn't mean you have to. If you don't think you can do it, and Teraneth catches...? Is that good for the Weyr?"
D'ven frowns then. "Did I say I thought I couldn't do it?" He asks sulkily, apparently determined to be unreasonable tonight. "And he was interested but...I don't think he believes it. Or wants to believe it. Or something. And it would be running, Roa. Running from something I know I can do, know I should do, because I'm having a frankly shitty couple of sevens."
"Then don't leave." The tissue transfers to the other hand to her right one can rub at her temple. "Stay. Chase. We'll see what happens. Shells," Roa's eyes close, "maybe I'll just be whisking Tia off to a quiet spot and leaving Citalth to do all the work. J'cor...I don't know. Not sure what to do next on that. Have to think on it a bit."
"Leave it be. S'lien ain't going anywhere. And sooner or later, be a new Weyrleader." D'ven suggests drunkenly, looking over at Roa thoughtfully. "You ain't your usual self. Even accounting for the cold and the failure of an argument we just had. Something's shaken ya. I can tell."
"Maybe I've had a lousy couple of sevens myself," Roa offers before blowing her nose again. "S'lien isn't going anywhere, apparently. He's young. He'll be around for quite some time." The tone, if neutral, lists towards gloomy.
D'ven sighs. "Didn't think of that one." Behind all that alcohol, there's something that sounds a little guilty in his tone. "Yeah. But, what I meant is, he ain't gonna run like some common criminal. He can be tackled later. Assuming he's guilty. J'cor gave me a lot to think about."
"No, he won't flee. He'll just, you know, control the lives of five hundred dragons and a couple thousand people, instead. Cheers." Roa's smile is sudden, bright, and wholly artificial. It fades into something rueful as she notes, softly, "Sorry. What did J'cor say?"
"Mostly, things he made me promise not to tell anyone. About other possibilities for the way things looked." D'ven replies with a slightly unhappy expression on his face. "He asked me to soothe the concerns of the people who came to me, while encouraging thought. Something like that. I'd remember better if I were in...a better state."
"Oh. Are you going to, then? Soothe and encourage? Once you're not, uhm, in this state?" Roa blows her nose again and tries to inhale. Snnrk.
"I don't see why not, since it was what I was doing before." D'ven replies. "With the exception of you, of course. But then your situation is slightly different. And as you say...if I soothe or encourage too much, rumors'll get us."
"In most ways, they already have. I wouldn't take it too hard though. You're but one of the many men I trifle with, you know." Roa smirks, "At least now they're saying it's for Tialith. Very altruistic." Nod nod.
There's another hit of the bottle and a shake of his head, D'ven even managing a tiny smirk of his own. "You trifle with many men, and you're saying I shouldn't take it too hard? That what I am for you, Roa? Practice?" That smirk is still there, perhaps surprisingly.
"Practice? Oh, surely not," Roa lifts her hand and waves the thought away. "I've been around the weyr so many times I'd be quite a remedial student if I still needed practice. You're, you know, just for fun. Or something." The facade cracks just enough for a frown to slip through. "I'm not sure why they decided all that about me."
D'ven laughs softly, as if that was some private joke that only he got. Then he too frowns. "No idea. Maybe they're jealous of you. It's like being kids, except the gossip is nastier and more adult." He shrugs. "Who knows, really."
"Wish I could make it stop. It didn't matter so much before." Roa frowns faintly, leaning forward to clasp her hands together and rest her chin on them. "Don't really think there's a way to do it, though."
"Nope. 'cept waiting, and sooner or later they'll move on." D'ven shrugs, before sighing. "Reckon you should probably go. You're ill and sad. I'm drunk and sad. Neither of us can lean on the other. Reckon we should both seek comfort where we can find it, else we're going to talk ourselves out of months of progress."
"Probably so. Or, at the very least, I'll get snot on something." Roa leans back and seems about ready to stand, but then she stills. "You sure you're going to be all right?"
D'ven laughs slightly bitterly. "Of course I'm not going to be all right. Not for tonight, at least. Probably in the morning. Definitely in a few days." There's a shake of his head. "Just the way it is, I guess."
"You can tell me about it, you know." Still hovering. Still not leaving. "If you want. It'd make me feel better too, if you did."
"Nothing to tell." D'ven replies with a shrug of his shoulders. "Nothing I could put to words, anyway. You can't tell feelings. Not ones like this, that don't fit neatly into words."
"You can tell when they started. What happened to make you start to feel that way," Roa offers.
D'ven considers. "Well, there was the incident with Ashwin. That went horribly. Then the thing with J'cor. And now R'vain, and tonight, and..." There's a shrug. "Just everything going wrong lately, I think."
There is a faint wince. "Ashwin...yes," Roa admits weakly, "that went horribly, but it was mostly my fault. There's no real way it couldn't have gone horribly. Except, I suppose, if I didn't like you. And then it would have been horrible for all sorts of other reasons. But I think...next time, erm. You'd better just have Teraneth ask me to come visit, rather than stopping by yourself." She tips her head a little to the side. "What, exactly, did the weyrlingmaster say?"
"That bad, huh?" D'ven replies at the news meetings will be taking place in his home from now on. At the question about R'vain, he shrugs. "In regards to what? We talked a great deal."
"It was pretty bad," Roa notes with another small wince, "but it wasn't you, personally. It was just, sort of, the situation. As far as R'vain, in regards to whatever added to the lousy seven."
D'ven laughs. "That'd take far too long, and a much better memory than I have right now, to go through." He finally says, taking another swig from the bottle. "Maybe it's just best to wait for things to return to normal."
"Normal?" Roa blinks, one brow hitching upwards. "What the shells is that?"
"Dunno. Old word I found in the records." D'ven mutters. "Back then it seemed to be considered a good thing, if things were 'normal'. And things were 'normal' most of the time. Maybe it means, like, quiet or productive or something."
"Quiet," Roa says the word slowly as if experimenting with a new sound. "I'll have to look that one up. Productive, though, that one I know. I think we both know that one. And I think, really, normal is what we make of it." Snrrk. "What we allow and want it to be."
D'ven half-smiles. "Suppose that could well be the case." He agrees with a slow nod, stretching and reaching for the bottle at the same time. This doesn't work, and he finds himself on the floor. "Coulda sworn there was a chair here a second ago..."
"Shells!" Roa is, of course, up on her feet as soon as D'ven is upended, walking over to crouch down and help him up. "You bleeding or anything? I think maybe you've had enough to drink for one night, hmm?"
"No, just a little surprised." D'ven replies, trying to protest away the help up while at the same time accepting. "Never had enough to drink." He protests, though his heart clearly isn't in it. "I'm just tired, tha's all."
"Then you've clearly mistaken a bottle for a bed, and we'll rectify that problem now." Wants or not, help D'ven has got, though considering their respective sizes, Roa is more guiding, than actually lifting.
D'ven grins. "Been to bed in a bottle before." He proclaims, before looking around and whispering, like a child with something only he believes is a secret, "It wasn't very comfortable."
"Can't imagine it was. They're round and pokey, those bottles. C'mon," Roa has hold of D'ven's arm and she uses it to tug him towards the waiting bed. "Let's try something different, tonight."
There's so many possibly responses Roa could get. It's probably a relief when the one she actually gets is merely a lot of drunken giggling and snickering. Look kids, she said something that could be vaguely sexual! Having demonstrated his advanced age and maturity, D'ven allows himself to be helped toward the bed by Roa.
So the bed gets closer to them. Or the other way around. Roa gives D'ven's arm a tug. "Hush, you," she murmurs over the giggling. "Sit, get your boots off. I'll help with the laces." She's relaxed somewhat and maybe a bit suddenly. If nothing else, the little weyrwoman seems to know her way around a drunk and sullen man.
D'ven does indeed hush, he too suddenly relaxed and compliant. Boots are held out proudly for the laces to be helped with, after which he'll discard them. "Normally I go to bed with them on, nights like this. Tera always chides me over it. 's not...not..." Apparently he can't remember what his bronze claims it isn't.
"Not comfortable, I shouldn't think," Roa offers. "Belt, knife, or anything else metal is to be handed over now, please." She holds her hands out for said objects.
"Belt." D'ven echoes as he turns it over to Roa. "Knife." follows, and then "Belt" is repeated, an empty hand held out before the bronzerider remembers "Whoops, done that already."
"Two belts, one invisible." Roa pauses a moment, setting belt and knife down on the floor near the boots. "Anything else that you're wearing that you'll regret you wore all night, come morning?"
D'ven considers this for a moment. "Heart on my sleeve?" He ventures finally, apparently making some sort of joke. It probably makes sense to him, at least. "Don't think there's anything else." He finally decides.
"Naw," Roa replies, "just aces there. Besides, it's the funniest thing. When my friends get drunk, I tend to forget the morning after. Under the covers, please."
"Maybe I won't remember either." D'ven ponders hopefully as he slips under the covers with what sounds a little like a contented sigh. "What's next?"
"Lying down," Roa suggests, "is a good next step. Then closing your eyes, after." She seats herself on the edge of the bed, hands again resting in her lap.
"Laying down." D'ven agrees happily, his eyes slipping closed as he does so. "And closing my eyes. Gotcha."
"Last one. It's tricky." Roa is smiling faintly now. "Get some sleep."
"Get some sle..." D'ven trails off. "But I don't wanna sleep! I want..." What he does want will never be known, since the bronzerider chooses that moment to slip happily into unconsciousness.
The little weyrwoman remains seated on the edge of the bed a minute longer, just watching D'ven breathe. Then she pushes up and makes her way quietly towards the exit, slipping out onto the ledge where Tialith waits. "Good night, Teraneth," she murmurs as she passes the bronze. She scrambles up onto her queen, settling between her neckridges. "No," she muses as the gold crouches and spreads her wings. "he gets drunk differently than him. Shells, what is it with me and bronzeriders in their cups?" But any further conversation is lost to the wind and the cold as Tialith and her rider make their way back to their own weyr.
A little time after Roa has departed, D'ven turns over in his sleep. "Read me a story?" He mumbles to someone long dead, but who right now he imagines is there. Then he drops into a deeper sleep once more, and is silent.
Time: Night on Day 26, Month 11, Turn 2
Players: D'ven and Roa
Scene: Two angry men down, one to go.
It's getting up on times when good little dragonriders should be in bed. Roa was, perhaps, heading that way herself until D'ven's message filtered through Teraneth which filtered through Tialith, made it to her. So instead of crawling beneath the sheets, the little weyrwoman is hauling on her riding jacket and scrambling up onto the pale gold who waits, perched, on her ledge. It's a short trip, a matter of moments, before Roa's feet hit stone and she's pushing back D'ven's curtain to peer into his weyr.
"Ah, she arrives!" D'ven calls out from the chair he's half-slouched, half-sprawled in. The bronzerider seems the worse for drink, and there's an open bottle on the table. No sign of a glass. "I can't imagine this was convenient for you, but as you please." There's a pause. "Do come in, sit down. Help yourself. I had a friend come and visit me, the other day..."
'She' hovers by the curtain, head peering in, body staying outside for a long minute after that introduction. Dark blue eyes flick over the room, the bottle, the man himself, and Roa's fingers curled around the curtain tighten for an instant before falling away and she steps inside. She sniffs, the sound rather clogged and congested, before moving to a chair that she sets across from D'ven. The weyrwoman doesn't say a word. She only sits, watches the bronzerider, and keeps her coat on.
D'ven laughs darkly. "Yes, my friend. R'vain. Very cross with me, he was. He thought...and you'll laugh when I tell you this, Roa, really you will." There's a swig of the bottle. "He thought I'd betrayed his trust. Imagine, me, betray the trust of a friend. He'd somehow got it into his head that I'd given you his notes. Now...why on earth would he think that?"
One brow arches and Roa blinks slowly. "Well," she begins, her voice husky and the word sounding more like 'bell', "I know why he would think I saw his notes," (dotes) "but I can't figure why it would have anything to do with you." Her voice is carefully calm. Her fingers lace together and settle in her lap.
"Hmm, let me see...let me see..." D'ven pretends to think, occupying himself in the meantime with hits from the bottle. "That would be because I had them for quite some time. And it would seem people believe that I come running when you whistle." There's a pause. "Oh, I spoke to J'cor by the way." He comments, before remembering he is angry with Roa and returning to trying to pick a fight.
"Oh," Roa murmurs to that first. Her gaze sinks down to her hands. "I didn't realize that. You had his notes. I'm sorry." Her fingers steeple, lace, curl into fists, repeat. "Did you?" This, in reference to J'cor and asked to her knuckles.
D'ven nods. "I had his notes." He repeats for emphasis. The question may be directed at her knuckles, but he answers anyway. "Yes. Didn't go too well. Most worrying thing is S'lien apparently took note of my visit to Ista. So. Probably marked out as some sort of Instigator sympathizer now." There's a shake of his head. "And I couldn't tell J'cor the truth, because I know you must be doing something illegal to get this information if you can't tell me about it. And I was all alone there, with him. That was hard." There's a few more slugs from the bottle. He's supposed to be angry, dammit. "Can we at least make it so I get little snacks and a pat on the head when I answer your whistles?"
"It's hard," she agrees. "I'm sorry. I..." Roa head lifts, brows drawing down, "he really didn't bite? I thought he would." She looks back down to her knuckles, lips quirking upward at the perceived joke. "Snacks will be provided. I probably shouldn't do so much patting though, rumors being what they are." And Ashwin being who he is.
"He...well, suffice to say he made some good points." D'ven replies after a long pause. "Ah, yes, rumors. I forgot how much they controlled my life at the moment." There's a shake of his head, and more hits off the bottle. "This is ridiculous. I can't even manage to keep up anger properly. You come up here with your cold, and your sniffling, and your newly developed inability to look me in the eye...and suddenly I find it impossible to sustain anger at you."
"Well, that's a relief." Roa cants her head to the side and peers upwards. "I can't imagine R'vain spitting vinegar is so unusual as to send you a bottle's worth down into wherever you are. I can't even imagine J'cor did it. What's happened?" Her hand reaches into a pocket to draw out a wrinkly handkerchief. "Sorry," she murmurs preemptively before blowing her nose.
D'ven laughs bitterly. "R'vain spitting vinegar is one thing. R'vain accusing me of betrayin' a confidence is quite another." At the question, there's a shrug. "I have no idea. Nothing. Everything. Maybe I've just realised what a mess I've gotten myself into, and that even if I could get myself out of it I wouldn't. Maybe I'm lonely and all my drinking buddies are asleep. Maybe it's a day ending in y."
"T'ral's never -that- asleep I wouldn't bet," Roa chuckles. "Look it's...I'm sorry. I don't want you to be miserable, and I don't want you to feel like you owe me something. You don't. I'm just..." she shrugs weakly, "floundering a little. It'll be fine, if you want to take Teraneth, go on a little break somewhere when a gold hide starts getting a little brighter."
"Yeah, yeah...good plan." D'ven agrees with a little too enthusiastic nod. "Run away. Be a coward. Abandon you. You're right, perfect plan." There's a sigh. "Why did you have to get all sad on me, Roa? Why couldn't you have yelled, or fought back, or done something, anything, that didn't make me feel like I was pickin' on you?" There's a barking laugh. "He might not be, but Ginella gets awful mad if I turn up once they've bedded down. Though frankly, I think she gets at least a little mad if I turn up at all. Or talk to him. Or think about him."
"I don't yell much," Roa says with a small chuckle. "Ginella...she knows you're a good guy. I suspect she also knows you and T'ral have an inclination to bring out the worst in one another in certain respects. Anyhow, I really thought J'cor would be, if not glad, interested in what you to say. I didn't think he'd rationalize it." There is a faint frown. "It's not running, it'd just be making a choice. Just because you technically can doesn't mean you have to. If you don't think you can do it, and Teraneth catches...? Is that good for the Weyr?"
D'ven frowns then. "Did I say I thought I couldn't do it?" He asks sulkily, apparently determined to be unreasonable tonight. "And he was interested but...I don't think he believes it. Or wants to believe it. Or something. And it would be running, Roa. Running from something I know I can do, know I should do, because I'm having a frankly shitty couple of sevens."
"Then don't leave." The tissue transfers to the other hand to her right one can rub at her temple. "Stay. Chase. We'll see what happens. Shells," Roa's eyes close, "maybe I'll just be whisking Tia off to a quiet spot and leaving Citalth to do all the work. J'cor...I don't know. Not sure what to do next on that. Have to think on it a bit."
"Leave it be. S'lien ain't going anywhere. And sooner or later, be a new Weyrleader." D'ven suggests drunkenly, looking over at Roa thoughtfully. "You ain't your usual self. Even accounting for the cold and the failure of an argument we just had. Something's shaken ya. I can tell."
"Maybe I've had a lousy couple of sevens myself," Roa offers before blowing her nose again. "S'lien isn't going anywhere, apparently. He's young. He'll be around for quite some time." The tone, if neutral, lists towards gloomy.
D'ven sighs. "Didn't think of that one." Behind all that alcohol, there's something that sounds a little guilty in his tone. "Yeah. But, what I meant is, he ain't gonna run like some common criminal. He can be tackled later. Assuming he's guilty. J'cor gave me a lot to think about."
"No, he won't flee. He'll just, you know, control the lives of five hundred dragons and a couple thousand people, instead. Cheers." Roa's smile is sudden, bright, and wholly artificial. It fades into something rueful as she notes, softly, "Sorry. What did J'cor say?"
"Mostly, things he made me promise not to tell anyone. About other possibilities for the way things looked." D'ven replies with a slightly unhappy expression on his face. "He asked me to soothe the concerns of the people who came to me, while encouraging thought. Something like that. I'd remember better if I were in...a better state."
"Oh. Are you going to, then? Soothe and encourage? Once you're not, uhm, in this state?" Roa blows her nose again and tries to inhale. Snnrk.
"I don't see why not, since it was what I was doing before." D'ven replies. "With the exception of you, of course. But then your situation is slightly different. And as you say...if I soothe or encourage too much, rumors'll get us."
"In most ways, they already have. I wouldn't take it too hard though. You're but one of the many men I trifle with, you know." Roa smirks, "At least now they're saying it's for Tialith. Very altruistic." Nod nod.
There's another hit of the bottle and a shake of his head, D'ven even managing a tiny smirk of his own. "You trifle with many men, and you're saying I shouldn't take it too hard? That what I am for you, Roa? Practice?" That smirk is still there, perhaps surprisingly.
"Practice? Oh, surely not," Roa lifts her hand and waves the thought away. "I've been around the weyr so many times I'd be quite a remedial student if I still needed practice. You're, you know, just for fun. Or something." The facade cracks just enough for a frown to slip through. "I'm not sure why they decided all that about me."
D'ven laughs softly, as if that was some private joke that only he got. Then he too frowns. "No idea. Maybe they're jealous of you. It's like being kids, except the gossip is nastier and more adult." He shrugs. "Who knows, really."
"Wish I could make it stop. It didn't matter so much before." Roa frowns faintly, leaning forward to clasp her hands together and rest her chin on them. "Don't really think there's a way to do it, though."
"Nope. 'cept waiting, and sooner or later they'll move on." D'ven shrugs, before sighing. "Reckon you should probably go. You're ill and sad. I'm drunk and sad. Neither of us can lean on the other. Reckon we should both seek comfort where we can find it, else we're going to talk ourselves out of months of progress."
"Probably so. Or, at the very least, I'll get snot on something." Roa leans back and seems about ready to stand, but then she stills. "You sure you're going to be all right?"
D'ven laughs slightly bitterly. "Of course I'm not going to be all right. Not for tonight, at least. Probably in the morning. Definitely in a few days." There's a shake of his head. "Just the way it is, I guess."
"You can tell me about it, you know." Still hovering. Still not leaving. "If you want. It'd make me feel better too, if you did."
"Nothing to tell." D'ven replies with a shrug of his shoulders. "Nothing I could put to words, anyway. You can't tell feelings. Not ones like this, that don't fit neatly into words."
"You can tell when they started. What happened to make you start to feel that way," Roa offers.
D'ven considers. "Well, there was the incident with Ashwin. That went horribly. Then the thing with J'cor. And now R'vain, and tonight, and..." There's a shrug. "Just everything going wrong lately, I think."
There is a faint wince. "Ashwin...yes," Roa admits weakly, "that went horribly, but it was mostly my fault. There's no real way it couldn't have gone horribly. Except, I suppose, if I didn't like you. And then it would have been horrible for all sorts of other reasons. But I think...next time, erm. You'd better just have Teraneth ask me to come visit, rather than stopping by yourself." She tips her head a little to the side. "What, exactly, did the weyrlingmaster say?"
"That bad, huh?" D'ven replies at the news meetings will be taking place in his home from now on. At the question about R'vain, he shrugs. "In regards to what? We talked a great deal."
"It was pretty bad," Roa notes with another small wince, "but it wasn't you, personally. It was just, sort of, the situation. As far as R'vain, in regards to whatever added to the lousy seven."
D'ven laughs. "That'd take far too long, and a much better memory than I have right now, to go through." He finally says, taking another swig from the bottle. "Maybe it's just best to wait for things to return to normal."
"Normal?" Roa blinks, one brow hitching upwards. "What the shells is that?"
"Dunno. Old word I found in the records." D'ven mutters. "Back then it seemed to be considered a good thing, if things were 'normal'. And things were 'normal' most of the time. Maybe it means, like, quiet or productive or something."
"Quiet," Roa says the word slowly as if experimenting with a new sound. "I'll have to look that one up. Productive, though, that one I know. I think we both know that one. And I think, really, normal is what we make of it." Snrrk. "What we allow and want it to be."
D'ven half-smiles. "Suppose that could well be the case." He agrees with a slow nod, stretching and reaching for the bottle at the same time. This doesn't work, and he finds himself on the floor. "Coulda sworn there was a chair here a second ago..."
"Shells!" Roa is, of course, up on her feet as soon as D'ven is upended, walking over to crouch down and help him up. "You bleeding or anything? I think maybe you've had enough to drink for one night, hmm?"
"No, just a little surprised." D'ven replies, trying to protest away the help up while at the same time accepting. "Never had enough to drink." He protests, though his heart clearly isn't in it. "I'm just tired, tha's all."
"Then you've clearly mistaken a bottle for a bed, and we'll rectify that problem now." Wants or not, help D'ven has got, though considering their respective sizes, Roa is more guiding, than actually lifting.
D'ven grins. "Been to bed in a bottle before." He proclaims, before looking around and whispering, like a child with something only he believes is a secret, "It wasn't very comfortable."
"Can't imagine it was. They're round and pokey, those bottles. C'mon," Roa has hold of D'ven's arm and she uses it to tug him towards the waiting bed. "Let's try something different, tonight."
There's so many possibly responses Roa could get. It's probably a relief when the one she actually gets is merely a lot of drunken giggling and snickering. Look kids, she said something that could be vaguely sexual! Having demonstrated his advanced age and maturity, D'ven allows himself to be helped toward the bed by Roa.
So the bed gets closer to them. Or the other way around. Roa gives D'ven's arm a tug. "Hush, you," she murmurs over the giggling. "Sit, get your boots off. I'll help with the laces." She's relaxed somewhat and maybe a bit suddenly. If nothing else, the little weyrwoman seems to know her way around a drunk and sullen man.
D'ven does indeed hush, he too suddenly relaxed and compliant. Boots are held out proudly for the laces to be helped with, after which he'll discard them. "Normally I go to bed with them on, nights like this. Tera always chides me over it. 's not...not..." Apparently he can't remember what his bronze claims it isn't.
"Not comfortable, I shouldn't think," Roa offers. "Belt, knife, or anything else metal is to be handed over now, please." She holds her hands out for said objects.
"Belt." D'ven echoes as he turns it over to Roa. "Knife." follows, and then "Belt" is repeated, an empty hand held out before the bronzerider remembers "Whoops, done that already."
"Two belts, one invisible." Roa pauses a moment, setting belt and knife down on the floor near the boots. "Anything else that you're wearing that you'll regret you wore all night, come morning?"
D'ven considers this for a moment. "Heart on my sleeve?" He ventures finally, apparently making some sort of joke. It probably makes sense to him, at least. "Don't think there's anything else." He finally decides.
"Naw," Roa replies, "just aces there. Besides, it's the funniest thing. When my friends get drunk, I tend to forget the morning after. Under the covers, please."
"Maybe I won't remember either." D'ven ponders hopefully as he slips under the covers with what sounds a little like a contented sigh. "What's next?"
"Lying down," Roa suggests, "is a good next step. Then closing your eyes, after." She seats herself on the edge of the bed, hands again resting in her lap.
"Laying down." D'ven agrees happily, his eyes slipping closed as he does so. "And closing my eyes. Gotcha."
"Last one. It's tricky." Roa is smiling faintly now. "Get some sleep."
"Get some sle..." D'ven trails off. "But I don't wanna sleep! I want..." What he does want will never be known, since the bronzerider chooses that moment to slip happily into unconsciousness.
The little weyrwoman remains seated on the edge of the bed a minute longer, just watching D'ven breathe. Then she pushes up and makes her way quietly towards the exit, slipping out onto the ledge where Tialith waits. "Good night, Teraneth," she murmurs as she passes the bronze. She scrambles up onto her queen, settling between her neckridges. "No," she muses as the gold crouches and spreads her wings. "he gets drunk differently than him. Shells, what is it with me and bronzeriders in their cups?" But any further conversation is lost to the wind and the cold as Tialith and her rider make their way back to their own weyr.
A little time after Roa has departed, D'ven turns over in his sleep. "Read me a story?" He mumbles to someone long dead, but who right now he imagines is there. Then he drops into a deeper sleep once more, and is silent.