Who: Nala, Rori, Jynth, Inaskashath
When: Month 12, 203 AT
Where: Rori’s Weyr, Honshu Weyrhold
What: After returning from Fort, Rori trashes her weyr.
She shouldn’t, she shouldn’t, she shouldn’t contact Nala and Rori had no intentions of doing so once she returned to Honshu’s skies. However, Inaskashath has ever been her own force, and it is her mental steel, the sharpened axe that clangs in the night against Jynth’s mind. << I have visited our offspring. Transferring them to Fort was a //mistake//. Our son will not fly. Rori is upset, that //bitch// >> the word is tugged from Rori’s vocabulary, even if the goldrider would never apply that to Fort’s Weyrleader, << Hurt her beyond measure. Please send yours to her. Come to me. I hurt. >> Inaskashath’s hurt and anguish are broadcasted at large at Honshu until Roreliuth steps in to soothe his daughter, leaving the scarred gold to sulk on her ledge for things that are beyond her control. Rori’s in her own rooms, what little she has within that was nice, wrecked and thrown on the floor in her anger and hurt.
Of all the things that Jynth chooses to respond to, he picks perhaps the least inflammatory, outright fury and aggression not truly part of his nature outside provocation in flight. << ‘Will not’ is awfully final for a hatchling so young, >> is what he offers Inaskashath, keeping to a line that makes it unclear whether he believes she is wrong in her assumption or that to never fly is a terrible sentence for a newly hatched dragon. Whichever he means, he launches himself towards her ledge and sits there next to her with a proprietary air directed at any who look his way, doing his best to dampen her hurt and anger with an engine’s hum and warmth. When Nala reaches Rori’s weyr, all she can do is stare, until she goes looking for her, reaching for her wrists to hold her fast without supplying any warning. “What have you done?” she demands, meaning to force Rori’s hands to flatten so that she can inspect them for signs of damage. “What are you doing?”
Inaskashath curls herself closer to Jynth, soothed by the hum of his engines. << He will then? >> She asks it, she has to, though she lets him choose to ignore it further if he wishes. Rori’s broken every glass in her kitchen, every bowl smashed into the ground in her anger. She’s wild-eyed when Nala grabs her, tears streaking her face, her hands showing cuts and scrapes she’s yet to feel. “I’m destroying it all,” she tells Nala with a gulping sob, “Like I always do.” She steps through the broken dishware to fall into Nala’s arms, shoulders shaking as she cries against her. “I ruined it,” she sniffles some time later, finding breath again and herself all out of tears. “I’ll ruin this too. Because I don’t know the rules. I never understand them.” She clutches to Nala, not moving her face. “I’m sorry.”
<< I think it’s better to believe we can achieve anything, if we want it badly enough. >> After all, Jynth did catch her, no matter what it may have resulted in for one of their offspring. He’s not so big as to be able to curl around Inaskashath, but he drapes one of his heavy wings over her and loops his tail around hers just as Nala tightens her hold on Rori and tries to keep her from pressing her bloodied palms down in any way that might push any lingering shards or fragments deeper. “Ruined what? What do you mean?” Questions are all she has, until she exploits what is, in all likelihood, greater strength than Rori’s to secure her wrists with one hand and loop her free arm around her waist to drag her away from the carnage at their feet. “What could be worth this? After raising Inaskashath, I would have thought you would have had enough of cuts and bleeding for a lifetime.”
It’s only at the mention of bleeding and Inaskashath that Rori gets a jolt, having walked with Nala in compliance. She looks down at her hands and frowns, “I didn’t realize,” she murmurs, then settled enough to look around her, her cheeks go scarlet with her shame. “I’m behaving like a child,” she murmurs, lowering her eyes and moving towards her bathroom to wash her hands. She lets the water run red with her blood as she picks free a few broken pieces of glass. She still hasn’t given Nala any explanation when she finally faces her again. “Before you and me.. Before we started..,” she pauses, shaking her head, “I hurt Arlet in taking you to my bed. I didn’t think I would, but I did. And I hurt her because I chose not to visit her, because it was easier to let their be distance between us, than to explain my feelings. She thinks I used her and I think I did,” she moves to sit on the ground against a wall, her eyes focusing on her cuts. “And I’m awful for it.”
Nala continues to keep an eye on Rori’s hands, her gaze straying to them far too often, as if anticipating that she will need to stop her reaching or doing something else to hurt herself further. “If her feelings are greater than yours, that is not your responsibility,” she claims, backing up to stand against the opposite wall. “If, however, you only cultivated her affections with one purpose in mind, then your assessment may be a fair one.” She never has been one for words too kind or sweet for the sake of them. “The matter of my being in your bed does not leave you solely at fault. It was I who made a pass at you outside the flight itself, after all. That is fixed easily enough, if that is the sticking point for matters between you to be mended.”
Rori looks up at Nala, noticing the distance, and reaches her hand out. “Don’t be over there. Come sit beside me,” she tells her, waiting. “I want you outside of the flight. I want you to be in my bed, be by my side. I know you have Aislara and she’s your weyrmate. I know that,” she shrugs her shoulders, looking back at her hands, “what we have is physical. I’m selfish and Inaskashath’s selfish, but we want you.” She curls her knees up towards her chest and rests her chin on top of them, her arms circling around them as her skirts pool around her. She looks younger than her years like that, her face splotchy from crying, her hair mussed still from flight. “I shouldn’t have let her ask you to come. You don’t deserve to witness this and you don’t have to pick up my mess.”
Nala blinks, the distance something she clearly hadn’t considered to be significant, and easily crosses the room to ease herself down to sit beside Rori, where she reaches for her wrists again to keep her hands still, now unable to watch without the urge to do something clamouring too loudly. “I love Aislara with everything that I am,” she states unabashedly. “I will always do anything that I can to make her happy. But that does not mean that I spend time in your bed only because you are someone I can please.” The idea of her own needs always seems to be an afterthought. “If it was that I wanted, I could go picking up riders who lose flights. I like being with you. I do not love her any less. But I do.” Rather than await Rori’s reaction to what she’s shared, she tilts one of the goldrider’s palms to the light and frowns. “You ought to see the Healers. If any fragments remains, even tiny ones, the wounds will not heal right.”
Rori tips herself against Nala, resting her head against the bluerider’s shoulder as something eases in her chest by the physical closeness. “I’m not sure I know how to love someone that hard, like that. I think Arlet deserves that. Maybe I can’t give it.” Her words fall flat and she sighs, closing her eyes. “But she’s with child and Weyrleader of Fort and I’m over here throwing tantrums and crying.” She shakes her head. “No one wants to be with that.” She looks to her hands and then sidelong at Nala. “I don’t want to see the Healers. If you want to check my hands you can,” she presses closer again, lips seeking to press against Nala’s cheek. “I hope I please you,” she murmurs softly in her ear, “I hope I can find a way to be worthy of your time.” She shifts her legs out in front of her and adjusts her skirts around them as a distraction.
Bluntly, Nala insists, “I have little care of whether you //want// to see the Healers or not. You are going to, because you need your hands and Inaskashath needs them too. Neither one of us has the medical skills to ensure a complete recovery like they do.” She still refuses to let go of Rori’s hands, turning her head slightly to touch a kiss of her own against her cheek as some recompense for what she refuses to go along with. “I think that you need to decide whether you truly care for Arlet or not. If she is expecting a child, she plainly is not the only one who has taken another to their bed. Perhaps this is where you are meant to part ways. Or perhaps that you have destroyed your weyr over her says more than you believe.” Slowly, she begins to get to her feet, meaning to tug Rori with her by securing a grip on her forearms. “In any eventuality, being with her or with me should not be about being worthy.”
Rori stands up as Nala instructs, looking embarrassed as her eyes drift down to her hands. “Let’s go to the Healers then,” she murmurs, taking Nala’s blunt words and tucking them away to consider later. She leads Nala out of her weyr and down to the Healers, where her cuts and scrapes are tsk’d over and her hands are gently bandaged. Exhausted from the emotional upheavel, Rori mutely returns to her weyr. She walks past the mess she made in her kitchen and heads right to her bed where she crawls inside and pulls the covers over her. “You don’t have to stay,” she murmurs to Nala without looking at her, blankets tucked against her cheek as she stares at the wall.
Nala makes a huff of a sound that could be wry amusement or acknowledgement of the absurdity of leaving Rori after what’s transpired, then simply starts stripping out of her clothes, letting them fall where they may. “You will have to stop making less ridiculous suggestions one day,” is meant to tease, but it’s all she says before climbing into bed with her and claiming some of those blankets for herself as she wraps herself around her and just holds on in silence. She waits until she’s sure Rori has fallen asleep to slip from her bed and tug on her rumpled clothes, her attention turned to the damage that has been done in the weyr beyond her bedroom. As quietly as she possibly can, she sets to brushing up shards and cleaning surfaces, finally creeping back to bed when she feels satisfied enough with her work. She manages a few hours of sleep, though work demands and has her leaving Rori’s weyr at dawn, a note left where she slept. It’s out on the kitchen table that a new teapot and a mug sit, wherever she located them, evidently deemed to be the most vital items to replace before the new day.