[FIN] Breaking Point (Nadry/F'vel)

[Meepfur]

There were no words to describe what it had been like to all but drop out of the sky, plummeting towards the earth on the back of her screaming lifemate, his wing so tangled up and eaten through by Thread that there was no way he could have stayed aloft, powerless to do anything but fall, and hope that someone would catch them. Just sheer terror and shared agony, and finally the bone-jarring salvation of being caught. They weren't a splatter on the ground, at least, and had been taken safely back to the Weyr to be treated - pain numbed, injuries surveyed and tending begun, prognosis delivered. They would fly again...probably. In a month or two or three, depending on how they healed up. ('They' being Menankith, mostly. Nadry had been scored, but nothing that would have kept her from going up again as usual. But it was still they.)

And they'd waited, Menankith creeling quietly as he was seen to - but not neglecting to confidently assure several certain someones that he was really just fine and they needn't worry - while Nadry sat with her arms wrapped around his head and whispered to him about everything and nothing at all. But the air had dropped out from under them again when another pair was carried down, a familiar shade of blue that, in this one terrible context, was not one that they wanted to see. And it had very obviously been bad, but there had been nothing they could do but stay out of the way, and wait to hear. Something. Anything.

Two days since and that gut-wrenching fear hadn't lessened, just become a constant noise that they functioned around and in spite of. It didn't help that they had nothing to do besides worry back and forth at each other, at R'shahar and Viandarth, at anyone who came to visit. Didn't help that their flurry of rage that someone could have done something so stupidly reckless quickly turned into a gnarled mess of conflicting emotion when they'd found out who it had been. They were, the both of them, just restless, pacing, pent-up wrecks, with nothing to do but wait and worry, and pretend to let attempts at comfort work. Nadry was back and forth, alternately sitting with Menankith and sitting with C'lusi (and of course R'shahar), stopping to sit with Ichta (and commiserate quietly with G'ran), and maybe attempting to sleep here and there with limited success. She was frayed, and fraught, and sore. At least everyone was mostly in the same place, and all she had to do was shuffle inside then outside then inside again. Over and over.

The brownrider pulled her jacket around her in preparation to head outside into the late winter chill once more, barely wincing at the answering discomfort across her back, and trudged her way through the waiting area with little attention paid to her surroundings.

Uta

 

[Uta]

Meepfur

The rider was pacing just outside, periodically trudging up to the infirmary doors, before turning around on his hell and stomping madly back to where his pale-brown rested. Back and forth, back and forth, and with every turn the rider felt his irritation grow. It wasn't his own irritability--Yezmanth was hurting, and the numbweed wasn't touching the pain. The dragon had taken a nasty score along his flank, and part of his wingsail during Thread a few days before, but something just didn't seem right.

Yezmanth had tried to fight through the pain--both rider and dragon were well versed with Threadscore and knew how slow the nasty wounds could take to heal--but F'vel wasn't fooled. Something was wrong with his most precious brown and the healers were making them wait.

Threadscore had been brutal, with many injuries. F'vel understood that there were some who were worse off than Yezmanth and needed priority care. The healers had been working day and night on some of the riders and dragons, and during Threadfall F'vel had said nothing; he had waited, he had been tended to, had helped tend to Yezmanth, and had carried on. He knew the Healers were all working as hard as they could; he knew they were under pressure. But it had been two days since then! He had expected things to be back to normal. He had expected his Yezmanth to be tended to almost immediately.... and now, his Yezmanth and he were stuck waiting.

Him. Waiting. The audacity of it all!

He was a brownrider of High Reaches Weyr, shaffit all... The Journeyman who had begun to speak to him about Yezmanth had to excuse himself to help tend to a crash in some flame-crisped blue further down. So... He'd been stuck waiting. There were healers coming and going, but none of them came for him or Yezmanth. What could be taking so long? Were they short-staffed? This was High Reaches Weyr! Oooooh, he'd be complaining to someone about this today! Could they truly not spare ONE lousy healer?

Yezmanth tried to croon encouragement, but F'vel wasn't always a patient man. And right now, he wanted his brown tended to immediately. The longer he paced, the more irate he became. "Shaffing healers, shaffing cold," he growled to himself. "...Can't look at my brown, oh no! Gotta look at some half-dead blue. Can't let one of these eight healers go look at another patient--Oh no, no sir! Need every single one to save the Threadfodder... Honestly, if he's that close to death just let him go. Put him out of his misery and give him a mercy, for Faranth's sake.... There're a hundred more blues to replace 'im!"

Yezmanth's eyes whirled a bit yellow as his riders irritation grew, but the dragon did not object. He understood that, at his core, F'vel did not truly wish harm on another dragon--at least, that's what he wanted to believe--but right now, his rider was simply letting off steam, and coping with stress. Stress that Yezmanth had placed upon his brow after getting so terribly caught in a mess. The brown crooned quietly, before heaving a heavy sigh and resting his head against his forearms. He hurt...but he would wait. As a dragon, he had no real choice.

"Just ridiculous," F'vel snarled, resuming his pacing.

[[I assume Nadry was coming out somewhere there during his rant and grumbling. He's in a sour mood and if you're not a healer, or a bronze/goldrider, then you're not on his radar right now.]]  

[Meepfur]

There was no shortage of people inside, or people and dragons outside, any by this point, most of them blurred together. She was too tired, too wrapped up in her own worries, to pay much attention to them. Just a glance, skimming over or past, before they faded into the background to be quickly forgotten. At first, the pacing of another brownrider barely caught her eye for more than a moment, though she noted it because it was a state she sympathized with. There was a delay of long seconds between that back-of-her-mind observation and when the words actually filtered through. Not meant for her, just complaints voiced aloud, frustrations that turned any momentary sympathy she'd had to ash in an instant.

She'd spent enough of the last couple of days around the infirmary to know that there was more than one half-dead blue, but of course she immediately made the leap to one in particular. Turns of ingrained habit pushed at her to give him, as both a man and someone older and more experienced than her, the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she had misheard. Maybe she was just that tired. Or even if that weren't the case, she really ought to let it go. Pretend she hadn't heard and continue on her way. It would be easier.

Her steps stuttered and she stopped, half-turned and looked sideways at the older wingrider, tired eyes not quite meeting his from under her hood. Shaff easier. "...excuse me?"

"You shouldn't talk like that around here." A brief pause before she amended, "Or anywhere, for that matter."

Uta

 

[Uta]

Meepfur

"...excuse me?"

F'vel hadn't noticed Nadry--why should he? She wasn't a healer, wasn't someone of importance, and meant nothing to him. She wasn't friend, or enemy...she was just another rider in the Infirmary. And yet, when the girl spoke up, he paused, looking up to finally acknowledge her.

"You shouldn't talk like that around here. Or anywhere, for that matter."

F'vel immediately bristled. "And who," he sneered, "are you? Oh I'm sorry, did I offend you?" He was anything but apologetic. His brows knit, and he sized her up in his usual judgmental fashion. It took a moment but he finally placed her. Nadry. One of the few women who had the misfortune to Impress a defective brown. Yes, when she had first Impressed she'd been the talk of his circle, though they had all been less than complimentary. But a name and a face were about all he knew of the girl, and even if it weren't, it wouldn't have changed a thing.

He gave a snort. "Please. I'll say whatever I shaffing want to, to whomever I choose, girl, and I don't care who it offends." They might have both been brownriders, but it was clear he felt more than superior. She was, after all, practically a child... And as a woman on a brown, subpar to another man.

At least as far as F'vel was concerned.

"Besides which... last I checked, I hadn't been talking to you. Now get out of here." It was as much of an order as F'vel could give. He did outrank her, or at least, was her (way better) equal. V'mel clearly didn't teach them any manners...  

[Meepfur]

Even with a longer look at the man, Nadry failed to place him as anyone of note.  Just another miserable colorist deadglow, and she was used to those, to remarks about her and her brown, and more of the usual wouldn't have given her pause.  He could call her girl and worse all he wanted, but to stand right out here of all places and complain that someone else - someone she loved - should just die?  No.  Just no.  "Who am I?  Someone who doesn't appreciate you talking about someone I love like they're disposable."

"So I don't care who you were talking to.  You can't just stand in front of the infirmary and wish death on someone because they're inconvenient to you." She clenched her hand into a fist, fingers digging into her palm, and stepped closer into his space. "Even if- Even if Macuith doesn't fly again," and that was hard to say, she had to wrestle out the words, "He's still important.  Maybe you can replace him in a wing, but you can't replace him."

Losing him would break Menankith's and Viandarth's hearts, and C'lusi...hardly anyone ever chose to live dragonless.  They could very well still lose them both, and that someone could so heartlessly suggest that it just be allowed to happen struck raw pain. "You had sharding well better shut up and wait your turn."

The sudden spike of anger from His pulled Menankith from his own fretting haze, and though he didn't move from his spot, through their link the exchange had his full attention - and answering, simmering anger.

Uta

 

[Uta]

Meepfur

F'vel glared at the girl. Was she actually lecturing him? HIM!? While he might not have the title of Wingsecond, he still felt he outranked her purely by age and experience alone--and by virtue of being a man. She was hardly half his age, and here she was, telling him off just because she took his words personally.

Yezmanth's pain, and his own anger, were only heightened by everything she said. She stepped forward, and F'vel felt himself stand to his full height. He straightened out his shoulders, and tried to loom over her. He wasn't backing down. Not when she had been the one to heckle him. "Oh please. If your beloved IS a bluerider then you had sure better get used to the idea of losing them. Their fate was sealed the minute Impression was made, sweetheart," he sneered. "Everyone knows what the smaller colors are hatched for--why do you think there's so many every clutch? They're a tenth-mark a dozen, and that's probably more than they're worth." And that was something F'vel truly did feel.

There was no shame in Impressing to a lesser color, but there was no great pride, either. Everyone knew that the greens and blues were easily replaced. The made up the majority of dragons on Pern... but it was the larger colors that filled out the ranks. Everyone knew that the bronzes and golds were the natural leaders, browns the support class, and the rest? .... replaceable. "Those lessers take the Thread that keep the larger colors alive--including you and yours. Noble enough, certainly needed, but not worth the fuss being made to save one life--especially one so poorly off. Waste of resources, especially when other, more important sorts, could use that very same care." He sniffed haughtily.

Honestly... Didn't V'mel teach the weyrlings anything?

And, just because he was a d**k, he couldn't help but grin a toothy, feral grin. "Don't worry, sweetie--if they do succumb, there are plenty more blueriders out there. All you need to do is pick the age, the weight, the size." Perhaps the best thing they were good for, as far as F'vel was concerned; if they weren't taking hits away from the larger dragons, they made decent enough bedwarmers. Something Nadry, it seemed, had already discovered.  

[Meepfur]

Oh, please.  He thought he could intimidate her?  He was taller than her, but not tall.  Nothing like R'shahar or G'ran.  No, she wasn't impressed or daunted at all, and didn't even straighten up or square off her own posture in response.

No surprise that he kept arguing back, of course he wouldn't listen to someone like her and stop running his mouth.  He just kept spitting out the worst, unfiltered colorist nonsense she'd ever heard, and she'd heard a lot.  But to say it here, of all places, and right out in the open?  That saving a life was a waste of resources, just because that life was a blue's, and his rider's.  No doubt he would feel the same about permanently grounded Thanoth and V'tre, having the gall to live and continue to sap the Weyr's resources.  And what about Ichta, not downed by Thread but deathly ill nonetheless?  No, if anyone didn't deserve the Healers' time, it was this one.

She could have argued with him until she was blue in the face, and gotten nowhere at all.  Theoretically, she could have walked away, but there was absolutely no way she'd have done that, and let him think he'd won.  Instead, as he ranted on, only getting worse as he went, offering up that there were plenty of blueriders who could replace C'lusi for her, Nadry pulled her thumb from inside the fist she was clenching and tucked it carefully under her knuckles where, hopefully, she wouldn't break it.

"I thought I told you to shut up," she said icily into the pause when he'd finally finished, "So why are you still talking?" And she swung, up and hard, at his miserable, stupid face, with full intent to do real harm.

Whatever V'mel had or hadn't taught her, Illa had taught her how to fight.  She'd never struck anyone with real force or intent before, it had never been anything more than practice until just now, but there was a first time for everything.  Still, it was very much a conscious decision - impulsive, maybe, but definitely a choice, not blind rage.  If he wasn't going to shut himself up, she'd do it for him, and gladly.

Uta

 

[Uta]

Meepfur

LOL I am sorry. F'vel apparently has sexist feelings about ladies, and.... unless she gets him again, he's trying to not get involved.
Though I suspect the healers will be like WTF in another post or two, with Yezmanth's bellow there. LOL

He certainly didn't expect the girl to throw a swing at him... and he definitely didn't expect it to land so hard! There was a crunch, a burst of pain, and a lot of blood, all stemming from a nose that was most certainly broken. The man heard Yezmanth bellow in objection, and he felt himself recoil a moment, hissing and sputtering in pain.

This wasn't the first time he'd been decked, and it likely wouldn't be the last; his mouth, opinions, and taste of friends meant he had a reputation that got him into more trouble than out of it. While F'vel was used to a pecking order, and being periodically pushed around, or heckled, he didn't have to take being hit by some girl!

The gall of this b***h!

Part of him wanted to tackle her, throw her to the ground, and break that nose clear from her face. And yet... She was still a damned woman. Weaker. Lesser. Could he really take her down like he might have tried a man?

....no.

Where Nadry had spoke, F'vel had no words.

Instead, he lunged forward, grabbing for her hair, and hoping to pull it hard and back--enough to force her to keep some distance between them or force her off balance. Let the little upstart think that she had the upperhand! F'vel was a true rider, and had been trained for longer than she'd been alive...even if he was bleeding copiously down his best wherhide jacket. The nerve of this girl, thinking that she could put him in his place. If he could but hold her at arm's length, there was little that she could do to him in retaliation.

He had self control...unlike some. But if she clocked him again, he'd have little choice but to defend himself.

Yezmanth, on the other hand, was livid! The pale dragon was on his feet in a moment, snarling a loud warning at Nadry. How dare she lay a hand on His! He bared his fangs, leaping over to where the two stood, wings spread, quite ready to lodge himself between his rider and Nadry if she dare try to strike again.

 

[Meepfur]

The results were simultaneously shocking (Faranth that was a lot of blood, she'd never fully realized how messy hitting someone could be) and immensely satisfying. A little part of her almost fell bad. Almost. In the ensuing shock and satisfaction of she had actually done that, she stayed too close and too open. She flinched reflexively back when he lunged, but not fast enough, and gave a short yelp as her hair was pulled hard.

There was a moment of panicked scrabbling before Nadry brought to mind what she'd been taught to do in this sort of situation. She set her feet, grabbed his wrist with one hand, and used the other to grab for his pinkie to try to bend it back until it hurt enough that he let go - and if she had to break it, so be it. If it worked, she'd waste no time in striking again (albeit more wildly rather than with clear aim), even if the wiser path would have been to try to get away entirely...that had really ceased to be an option. Her first swing might have been a conscious choice, but everything after? That started to get fuzzy. She barely even registered the fuss the other dragon was kicking up - all her focus was on his rider.

Menankith had jerked to attention the moment he'd felt Nadry throw her punch. His eyes, which had mostly held a steady mix of gray and yellow for two days, flashed red but were flecked through with purple. That deadglow had deserved to be hit, and he was fiercely proud of His for stepping up to do it. And he wanted a better view! With a fond nuzzle for nearby Viandarth and the most gentle press of mental affection for their poor Macuith, he said casually, I'll be right back, loves.

And moved to trundle in that direction for a look, with a hiss along the way as Nadry's hair was pulled.

Uta

Ahaha, yeah that will surely get some attention around here. XDD

Mr Cheri

because brb boyf, just have to...go do a thing....

 

[Uta]

((Let's see what happens...
1. Pinky breaks
2. Pinky doesn't break but he does recoil/let go ))

Nadry was just full of painful surprises.

One minute he had pulled her hair back, hoping to get the girl to stop her assault without having to throw a punch, but the next he found himself in another unfortunate position. Before he had time to react, his wrist had been wrenched, and his pinky pulled back! For a moment he held onto that hair, blood-stained face crinkling up in a snarl of frustration--but then she pulled back just a bit too hard and something gave way...

Oh for Faranth's sake!

He once again recoiled immediately, letting go of her hair, attempting to wrench his hand back so he might cradle it. Unfortunately, even as he tried to take a few steps back, the onslaught continued! The girl lunged again, following up with a series of blows, as if he were some sort of punching bag. F'vel was angry and confused at how this had happened, but now, he just wanted it to stop. He hadn't come here to cause trouble or get into a fight; he hadn't come here to let some little snot think she had some right.

While he wasn't the sort to hit a woman, it was clear Nadry was no lady--she was just a b***h.

"Enough of this!" He sputtered, putting up his arms to try to protect himself from taking any more hits. It was time to end this! She was still well within his space; instead of leaning back, instead, the man stepped forward, getting even closer to Nadry. In an instant, he grabbed her shoulders, and shoved her backwards--even as he slipped one of his legs behind her to instigate a trip. Even if she didn't fall, the push might give him enough time to make a a swift retreat...

Yezmanth, of course, was already near.

The brown dragon was livid. His eyes were red, and he gave another bellow of indignation. How dare Menankith's! When the other brown drew near, Yezmanth took a snap at the air, glaring at the other. Call Yours off if you have a lick of sense. It wasn't quite an order, but it the brown was incredulous how cool Menankith seemed to be; in fact, how the brown almost seemed pleased.

What was the Weyr coming to these days?

Meepfur

She doesn't have to fall or trip or anything... He's just trying to knock her off balance so he can get awaaaay! I suspect Healers might be running over at this point....

 

[Meepfur]

Having her hair pulled and held that way had not only hurt, but for those moments that she'd been mostly immobilized, had been on some level deeply frightening, because of the advantage it gave him, and all the things he could do with that.  There was a rush of relief when her trick to get free worked, and if she'd been thinking more clearly, maybe she would have used the opportunity to get away, but her gut instinct was to lash out again, and that was exactly what she did.

Her blows weren't as well-aimed, and were unlikely to cause damage as spectacular as the first, especially since she didn't have the element of surprise anymore.  But, having never been in a real fight before, Nadry was rather...caught in it, now that she was.  Just as she landed another hit, and felt something in her hand give, he grabbed her again and shoved her backwards.  She went down hard enough that it knocked the air out of her - nevermind landing on two-day-old scores - and as she gasped for air, she curled in on herself in case he was inclined to any vengeful stomping.

Menankith had been careful not to get too close - he simply wanted to see firsthand just what was going on, not interpose himself or start anything with the other brown.  He had few concerns about His, as he had an abundance of confidence that she could handle this herself.  After all, how could she not?  Fenrith's had been her teacher!  Not that he relished that she could get hurt, but he was quite certain it wouldn't be anything s-

Oh, well, that was looking a bit...hmm.  He did consider calling on someone - both Viandarth's and Elzebuth's were just inside, after all - but such an action could be taken as undermining her decision or abilities, and he was loathe to do it.  He also didn't want to take them away from their respective vigils.  No, he would let it be for now.  Besides, they had already attracted some attention, from the looks of it, so it would soon be over with regardless.

He deigned not to respond to Yezmanth, and to most appearances remained rather unbothered, save for some yellow-gray that had worked its way back into his eyes.  While outwardly he ignored the other dragon, and successfully suppressed any urge to do something overprotective, he did offer a mental nudge to Nadry that was a mix of pride, affection, and concern, I think it is alright to be done now, Mine.

The point had been made, and rather loudly.

Uta

Ahaha I am sorry the randomizer hates you, F'vel. XD

 

[Uta]

When the girl landed, F'vel almost followed up with a solid kick for good measure, but pulled it at the last second. Instead, he gave a snarl of pain, and instead spat near her, a mixture of saliva, phlegm, and blood. "You're not worth it," he sneered angrily, half shaking with adrenaline, pain, and fear. For F'vel was a coward at his heart, and he had not expected such a small girl to break his very bones.

Well, he wouldn't forget it, and he would be sure to file a complaint against her. He'd go to D'mon himself if he had to... for he was the victim. Did he really deserve such treatment just because she didn't like what he said.? Did he really deserve this just for grumbling to himself?! Minding his own business... Well, she was a temperamental fool, and he wasn't going to stand for it. Maybe he deserved the first punch, but he certainly didn't deserve to have his hand crushed in the process! "Hope you're proud of yourself. Truly, a credit to your gender," he sneered, the sarcasm thick.

Ah, but F'vel was the sort who was more talk than action, particularly when he didn't have someone else to take orders from. He knew he'd likely hear from V'kenti about this--but he already had an argument for his defense in hand. He was the victim--not the other way around.

As a few healers (and a few riders) rushed over to see what the fuss was about, and to break the them up, F'vel hobbled over to Yezmanth and leaned against his brown's head. He had nothing more to say, and would be feeling wretched soon enough... But Nadry made an enemy this day, and certainly didn't endear him to colors so well beneath him.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he assured Yezmanth, lying to his dragon, hoping to temper the brown's feelings.

"What insanity is this!?" A woman with silvering red hair finally stepped forward, and quite a presence, demanded. A little green firelizard sat upon her shoulder, looking imperious. "Fighting in my infirmary!? We have patients here who need rest and quiet! Dragons who need peace and calm thoughts! Enough with this nonsense!"

The woman was absolutely livid, eyes bright with fury and disgust.

"Salaros, help her up and see to her wounds," she barked. "Meivin, tend to the other and clean up that mess. The rest of you, back to work." The Master Healer was absolutely irate that such fools had caused a scene and taken healers away from those who needed their care the most. While Niaha understood that tensions could be high when individuals weren't feeling good or their dragons were at risk, she couldn't believe that an actual tussle had occurred upon the infirmary stoop. Worse, they now were adding to the numbers who needed treatment and care!

...idiots, both of them.  

[Meepfur]

Nadry's only response to the other brownrider's parting words was to make a rude gesture - an action that caused an answering pain in her right hand.  Shaffit.  Observing that he'd retreated, she started to let herself uncurl, but beyond that, would have been perfectly content to not move for the foreseeable future.  She, too, was shaking, gasping, still coming down not just from anger and adrenaline, but the panic that had gripped her when he'd gotten ahold of her hair that way, and what she'd done in the wake of it.

Learning to fight was one thing.  Actually fighting was another entirely.  Not that she had thought it would be fun, but it had been frightening in ways she hadn't imagined.  The Master Healer was dimly heard at first, but her tone was unmistakable.  Nadry was quick to right herself, but her gaze stayed fixed on the ground and her cheeks heated with shame.

"It's fine," she mumbled to the one who was sent to get her up, stubbornly doing it herself if allowed half a chance. "He didn't hurt me.  I'm fine." All she had was a sore hand and back, and that was her own fault.

Menankith crooned worry, far more concerned now than he had been about the fight. The urge was there to interject and explain what had happened and why, to justify the actions of His - which he did believe were mostly right - but even he could see that it was not the time. So he would just creel until she'd gone back inside, before returning to his loves.

Uta