Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Jul 15, 2013 0:34:25 GMT -8
3075.08.05 | Early morning | the floor
T’kar shifted slightly, then tucked his head against his chest. His eyes didn’t open.
Ancalanath’s voice was a little louder this time, but T’kar still didn’t respond, except to throw an arm over the person next to him. Whatever surface it was they were on was much too hard, what had possessed them to do this when there was that perfectly good bed… T’kar tightened his arm slightly, snuggling.
T’karMine, wake up!
T’kar lifted his arm and rolled over so he was flat on his back. His head hurt. What is it Ancalanath, and why can’t it wait until morning?
Because it is morning now; Wing practice is soon and I won’t make your excuses to Rilora!
T’kar blinked. “What excuses?” he mouthed at the ceiling, slowly sitting up and opening his eyes and trying to think around his pounding head. It’s not my fault that the floor… T’kar’s thought came to a sudden end as he glanced over his shoulder at his the woman beside him. In fact, he screamed, a sound compounded of shock, something almost like horror, and no little amount of frustration, high-pitched enough with shock to sound like that of a girl.
Dalonia? he thought, staring at the woman. This is seriously not how I needed to start today.
After the ordeal she'd suffered the night before that had been followed by an exorbinant amount of drinking and an emotional outpouring, it was no wonder that Dalonia was near dead to the world at such an early hour. She stirred only briefly when an arm was draped over her and pulled her close; almost as though her mind sought to react but her body was far too tired for such thing. Nevermind that she never would have allowed someone so close otherwise, or that wherever it was she was laying was decidedly uncomfortable; she was going to sleep until she couldn't sleep anymore. If that happened to be an entire day or more, so be it. She'd damn well deserved it!
She didn't get a chance, however, when a scream split the still air of whatever storage room or shadowed corner they'd ended up in. Her body jolted and she flailed, hands groping for a weapon. No pillow to hide a knife under...no clothes...finally her fingertips brushed what felt like leather and she fumbled around until her hand closed on the hilt of a blade. She curse; her hand was stiff and throbbed. Switching the blade to her left hand she tried to jump to her feet, faltered and landed on her hip then tried again, finally managing to pry her eyes open, searching through bleary eyes for the source of the scream. If it was Misk scaring one of the wherlings awake she was going to...
Her slow, uncoordinated spinning came to a halt as she found herself staring at T'kar. She stared for a long while as her still slightly inebriated mind struggled to catch up with all the information she was feeding it. It took her a moment to realize that all the clothing strewn about belonged to the both of them and in the absence of any young women being gummed on by an over eager Citrine wher, there was only one place the scream could have come from. Squinting her eyes, knife still in hand she gave T'kar an incredulous look and took a halting step forward when her body threatened to pitch forward. "Was that you?"
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Jul 15, 2013 18:28:49 GMT -8
Majorly not how I needed to start today, T’kar thought, staring at Dalonia, who was standing there, holding his knife and swaying slightly.
He sighed. What was I thinking?
“Dalonia, can I have my knife back?” he asked, rather carefully pushing himself up. His head felt light, and his balance was definitely off. Nothing that tying the straps tight wouldn’t fix, but he had to get out there first.
Placing a hand on the wall, he leaned over carefully and picked up his shirt. Slinging it over his shoulder, he grabbed Dalonia’s shirt and held it out to her mutely.
Dalonia scowled and looked down at the knife she was holding then her severe look melted into a simple frown. It wasn't her knife. Blinking she looked back at T'kar as he pushed himself up and with practiced flip of the knife which probably wasn't the best ideas given her condition, she caught it by the blade and promptly nicked her thumb. Hissing, she held out the blade and reached for the shirt T'kar was holding out to her. Once he'd taking his knife, she took the shirt and shook it out, wobbling slightly from the brisk motion and stared at it.
The shirt, one of the few lighter ones she owned was stained with blood and torn across the back and on top of it all there were a few vomit stains on the front and the whole thing looked like it had been trampled by whers. Her expression became unreadable as she balled up the shirt and tossed it into a corner. Pale green eyes began to scan the floor and when she spotted her trousers she shuffled over to them and slipping first one foot in and then the other she begna the awkward process of putting on her pants. When she finally had them pulled up, she left the ties open and paused and bowing her head slightly, rubbed her brow. "So I guess it wasn't a drunken nightmare, eh?"
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Jul 17, 2013 0:39:13 GMT -8
“Nightmare?” T’kar asked, pulling on his pants and buckling the knife in place. “I would hope I’m better at this than that!” There was no heat in the exclamation, just a teasing laughter.
T’kar sighed. He really wasn’t going to hear the end of this. Pulling his own, much cleaner if still on the dirty side, shirt off again, he settled his flight jacket in its place and offered the vibrant red shirt to Dalonia. “Here, use this one,” he said. “It’s not like anyone can tell what I’m wearing under my flight jacket anyway.”
I’m coming. Tell Star, Boot, and Shadow to put the straps on.
Contrary to his words, T’kar just stood there for a moment, as if trying to reconcile this morning with all his earlier interactions with Dalonia.
Finally, he nodded slightly. “I guess I’ll see you tonight at Wherling training then,” he said. “Because if I don’t make to practice on time, Ancalanath is going to try and use me as an appetizer.”
Placing one hand on the wall to steady himself, he walked down the corridor towards the WeyrBowl.
Dalonia gave a vaguely amused snort and idly poked at the scraped up side of her face before turning her attention to the garish red shirt that the Weyrleader held out to her. It was one of many shirts she rather thought should be burned for how hideous they were but seeing as she had nothing else, she reached out and took it.
In all honesty she only remember a bit of the evening here or there once the alcohol hit her but she supposed there could have been worse ways to end the night and certainly with worse people. Somehow over the months a grudging truce had been called between herself and T'kar and despite all that what had just happened between them baffled her.
Deciding that it would probably be better if she just went to sleep and forgot it happened, she slipped on the shirt. It was far too large for her but it would do until she got back to her room and cleaned up a bit. As T'kar left, promising to see her later that day, Dalonia grunted and shuffled over to the wall and leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool stone. The skin across her back was throbbing and too tight which likely meant some sort of infection was brewing and since she couldn't easily reach the wound, it was off to the healers with her...then bed.
Of course, that would require her to gather her boots and belt and walk halfway across the weyr. Heaving a sigh she closed her eyes and stayed exactly where she was, swimming in an unsightly red shirt, her pants unlaced, oblivious to the little moonlight that was doing his best to tug one of her sturdy boots towards her.