What Do? [Ruin]

”Worry not, I’m here to do something stupidly heroic!” The smile on his face was bright and did not at all match the sluggish rumble that accompanied his words; no longer did he seem eloquent or even broodingly sultry—more like a hissing tunnelsnake caught in a wherry’s mouth. The rag in his bandaged hands dropped to the floor at his direction and he used one of his booted feet to mop up at the water—the lacerations across his back were still too tight for him to easily kneel or bend over. ”Need more water? Speaking of things we say when half-conscious after almost being blown to pieces—I hear you find Xiro’el quite pretty.”

The glass may well have stayed there save for Sigard; the little creature had damn near clung to him inseparably since the fire: Those few heartbeats he had spent inside the inferno above his bonded had shaken him—although he had found some comfort with Avsiran as his brother sat by Xiro’el. ”How are you feeling? Coming along well—I don’t suppose you’re trying to make good your escape. Do you know what they’ll do if they see one of their injured Candidates attempting to flee?” Sebol gave a soft smile to Cassia and then returned his chiding gaze to Taavetti. ”You need more rest, need to heal so you can stand for your dragon.”

Accepting the cup back from Sigard as the flit delivered it to his hands, Sebolaren refilled it with water from the chilled pitcher—how did they do that anyway? While he did this the Baker was losing himself into a stumbling ramble that made the ex-Herder wonder if he’d hit a nerve more sensitive than he had expected—what had become a silly word now seemed to ring with some honest truth. Well that was certainly sweet, and he couldn’t help but smile stupidly down at the young Dragon Candidate. ”Too late, I’ve already told him, but I don’t think you’ll have much to worry about—he now thinks I am the gay one. Not that there’s anything wrong with loving men of course,” those words followed a sedate but serious pace, he wasn’t entirely sure if it was drugs, stress, or more that caused the Baker to ramble on, but whatever it was—it was curious.

Sitting wearily beside his friend, as the man wasn’t exactly using his entire bed at the moment, Sebol offered up the cool glass of water with what he hoped was a comforting smile; the best he could muster under circumstances. ”I’ve been better, got a few scrapes and burns for the cause, but—“ trailing off he allowed himself to just smile. The boy was recuperating, there wasn’t any reason to bring up the depressing bits now was there? The dead, the child he had carried out, those transferring in terror, the destruction that he was working his wounded hands raw to help clean, and fix. No, for now there could just be fun, and comfort. ”I wouldn’t escape if I were you. They’ve set up fire pits down by the beach; awful long walk—not all that fun. “

The finger in his chest had caught a spot sore enough to make him wince and hiss through his teeth, but he brushed off the pain as he did the others. ”I’ve declined all drugs save for the ones—” biting back his words he covered up his falter with a cough. He was going to say that he only used useful drugs, but he didn’t want to make his friend feel weak for using something to dull the pain—especially what with everything he’d been through. ”The ones I’m used to. Never know if I’d have a bad reaction to something, and I need to be fit to stand—as do you, so no running away.”

Scooping up the Green and her little ball he cradled Cassia in his lap; Sigard, amused by this, landed on his shoulder and then scuttled down his arm (also causing tightness to pass across his bonded’s face). For one moment longer the ex-Herder smiled down on the firelizards—one Blue, one Green—as Sigard greeted the ever-growing addition to Taavi’s life. ”He wouldn’t stab you, he’s far too vain a creature—I’m sure he would be flattered. Besides, he’s like a shipfish.”

Those words of promise, and challenge, caused him to lay a lovely grin out on his wounded friend. ”I always win, you’ll find that out very soon—even when it seems I’ve lost, if you take a moment to tabulate you’ll find I’ve won. S’alright though, I know it can be hard to see past the clumsy luckless man you see before you. Never fear, Taavi dear, there will always be another—and I shall win it.”

”I know you are, but the man has been at the Weyr for a few moons short of a turn and the only person he’s managed to stab—twice mind you—is me. So you’re quite safe, I assure you.” His blood-brother had given no indication that he found being pretty a slight against his person, in fact he’d actually liked it, he’d just assumed the wrong thing about all of it. Hopefully once the drug wore of he’d have quite forgotten the experience and would not in fact be under the impression that Sebolaren loved him and found him—of all things—pretty. Troublesome was more like it.

”Ah, well, you see. I was attempting to dissuade Edison from leveling Daymar’s face one day and attempted to distract him by asking if he was a shipfish—by that I mean indiscriminate, because you know shipfish will have sex with each other for the fun of it, males and females. They don’t form any lasting bonds. Free sex for everyone.” It probably would have been funny to him; explaining this for the second time, but the fire still weighed heavily in his heart, and only the faintest smile crossed his face in the speaking of the description. Shipfish indeed.

Half laughing, half coughing, he had caught the quick quip from the Baker and it amused him, but he sobered up quickly enough under serious questions. ”Daymar is a bit of a frightened feline, and threw a mug at Puff the Pink firelizard—Edison’s—which ended up hitting Xiro’el in the face. He’s actually attacked Xiro with quite a few mugs, but you get used to it.” Finding that he was parched himself, he flicked Sigard into the air casually earning a soft chirp in return—unfortunately the creature was too small to pour him a mug of something and bring it to him, but he did bring the cup. Into this Sebol poured more of the chilled pitcher’s contents and then brought it to his lips to ease some of the ache in his throat.

”I suppose that is enough of a difference, isn’t it? If by ‘okay’ you mean ‘alive’ well; there are some dead. Candidate Pen is one of them. Four Dragonriders, one of the children for certain, many of the Kitchenfolk including the head cook. Some of the bodies are beyond recognition, but numbers will tell once things calm down.” They were sorry words, but they needed to be said, and it was better they were spoken by a friend than someone using the cold authority of a death tally.

Sebol chose to handle Taavi’s obvious difficulty with the scope of the loss by simply forging ahead; the deaths had struck everyone, not a one person would be free of it, so this reaction was expected. It was better to discuss and talk rather than avoid. ”Xiro'el is fine. I’ll be looking for him after this. Khemres and Khesk are fine—as they gave me word about stupid heroism and prettiness. Who else were you interested in by name? Adaline, Osine, and Ridley were some of the other Candidates wounded. I’m sure I could get a more complete list from one of the healers concerning your current roommates”

He did turn his head to seek out a healer, but was certain Taavi wasn’t ready for a compiled list just yet; shards the man had only wanted to chase the opportunity of a dragon, not get himself half destroyed in the process. It wasn’t such a shock for Sebol where so much ill luck seemed to befall not only him but the Weyr, however Taavi didn’t seem a man down on his luck—or jaded. ”It could have been a lot worse, but some of those wounded will be recovering for quite a while. Some may never.”

”Yes,” came the dry retort; Sebolaren remembered this so-called ‘comfortopia’; what he really remembered was seeing all apparent signs of it and turning tail back to the stables for a good night’s rest that wouldn’t be punctuated by his ruining Taavi’s fun by sending for K’var. To each their own. ”Saia pulled some folks from the fire, the girl is a dragon; give her a flamethrower or firestone and she’ll take care of thread all by herself. Edison slept his way through it in the wherhold, and Daymar—though you didn’t directly ask—missed it and is now completely crazy assuming there was a plot.”

Pausing to come up for air he lifted a finger and tapped the boy on the shoulder to regain his attention. ”Though all the rumors of bucket stealing aside, the one thing that is known—from metal shrapnel dug out of your body and from the wreckage of the Dining Hall—is that there was a flamethrower left carelessly on the table. That is what exploded. Otherwise the fire could have been handled easily, but the liquid stuck to everything in flames and—“ Trailing off he gave a delicate shrug. There had been one dangerous moment, alone with Delilah, where he allowed himself to feel the brutality of the day, but now he was coping as he did—by taking care of others.

Hide and quill, he could do that. Tapping Sigard on the head to regain his attention from the Green, who was wandering off of Sebol’s lap to maul her bonded, the ex-Herder gave the Blue precise instructions and then gave him a toss into the free-air between their heads and the infirmary ceiling. While he was gone Sebol instead watched the Baker with a quite consideration. The moments may have stretched for the boy—being that he was under scrutiny—but it felt like mere seconds before the firelizard was delivering one item after another in quick succession. Hide, quill, inkwell. ”Daymar teaches me scrollwork, and G’dan drafting—plenty of supplies in my room.”

”You’ll be a catch for everyone in the Weyr, Taavi-dear. You flash those scars wherever you go—I promise—you survived the great fire of 200.” Of course he was joking, but only mildly—women did like scars, right? Besides, anything to keep him from feeling too horrible, and anything to help him as well. ”I’m sorry I left you behind, Taavi. I should have grabbed you up and forced you out with me. I didn’t realize I had outpaced you to the door when I was going to get water.” Somewhere, he knew the man wouldn’t exactly accept an apology for that, but it was something that Sebolaren still needed to say—if not for the Baker than for himself. He had been warned away from forcing his ‘stupid heroism’ onto other people, but for once he genuinely felt as if he’d made the wrong decision and could have saved the boy some pain.

The mention of writing home reminded Sebolaren that he did not have that option; more in point it reminded him that he no longer cared, because it hadn’t occurred to him until Taavi mentioned it. It was an interesting realization: He neither had the option, nor cared enough to recall his loss—he was healing, or at least moving on. Settling in. ”Khem has something of a sweet-tooth, not sure about Khesk but you could always stage a wild hunt of wherries for him to frolic into and destroy.”

With a smile he accepted his forgiveness—or rather as much of a shake to his senses as the lad could give while down for the count. ”Fine then, I won’t allow myself to be eaten alive by guilt for your exploded state—next time, however, don’t be surprised when I pick you up and carry you with me. Just to be safe. You know. Need to protect you in case you find someone pretty.” Cruel, but entertaining, there was certainly something about that story which set the Baker to squirming, and they all needed amused and distracted by things other than the fire.

Sigard was amazed with how stupid the Green was. Really, she was stupid, but regardless of her stupidity he adored her—in his own way. He wouldn’t fly her, ball of light forbid he clutched stupid children, but at least she was entertaining what with her pink fuzzy ball and need-to-please attitude. Perhaps he could coerce her into fun time with Avsiran; that might make her less stupid. Snorting, the Blue doubted it, and regained his perch on Sebol’s shoulder to watch Cassia intently.

”Bunches here, I more meant you should gather some up live and set them loose like a game where he can catch them. He seemed to need a bit of loosening up.” Probably like other people that Sebolaren would never admit was him—nope; no fun here.

His smile was bright, unrepentant, and probably wouldn’t have been either if there hadn’t been a privacy screen shielding him from view—nothing like laughing around people in too much pain to see any sort of silver lining. Not something Sebol wanted to rub the wrong way; of course that smile was wiped away by the gentle—but serious—smack to the back of his head. He’d never actually been smacked before—it was rather…feminine…but even the women hadn’t slapped him. Curious. Of course he wasn’t angry, just surprised, and interested—why oh why did Taavi hate the pretty comment so much? It would probably be a mystery for the time being as the boy was diving off into conversation again, and Sebol followed willingly.

”Sounds like a plan, I’m sure Xiro would love to lead an expedition onto the Island. Maybe it’ll even be snowing; some of these folks haven’t seen what real snow can look like on the Northern Continent—which Xiro and I have both experienced. Plus, hunting, and friends.” Hopefully nothing more than that, though Sebol doubted it—Xiro meant trouble, and so did Taavi if their original meeting had shown him anything. Couldn’t trust those two to co-mingle without disaster. Sigard, for his part, was quite content to not join in on the game, and he was fairly certain that Cassia wouldn’t notice. She’d probably forget she’d even offered once her two-legger tossed the pinkball away again. Silly females.

”No, not yet; probably still a little ways off as well, but I look forward to it—I miss the snow. You, I’m sure, simply miss the outside. Won’t be getting yourself hurt for some time after this, will you.” Taavi better not, anyway, not with the Hatching in the next few moons and other sorts of things, like Threadfall, and hunts, and all things that were good and right with the world—as few as those things existed. Or at least existed in the manner with which they were intended free of shanking and maulings.

Sigard was pleased to find he had been correct about the silly female—she really was silly. He was entertained by her antics, but he wasn’t entirely ready to give in to them. Still; somewhere in the back of his Blue mind, he was considering how to involve her in something he wanted to do. Which was more to say that it was something Avsiran would need to plan; his darker brother was the firelizard of plots. He was simply the firelizard of logic.

”How is Cassia working out for you anyway, haven’t had much time to interact with her; what with the craziness of the party, and then the fire.” Hopefully the Green wasn’t too much of a handful, he’d feel badly.

”Never useless,” he hadn’t missed that word, nor it’s context. ”There are plenty of Weyrfolk laid up here inside the infirmary, Dragonriders, Candidates, a Master Harper—none of you are useless.” Perhaps Q’sis had wandered in and paid the Candidate a visit; that would be fitting considering the Tanrider’s treatment of G’dan. In the very least Taavi had been legitimately wounded in an event that was outside his control; whereas G’dan had caused his own injuries—even the overbearing Weyrling could see that. Should see that, at any rate. ”You’ll be back on your feet and Baking before you know it, or hunting with Khem and Khesk.”

It was certain, in his mind, but he didn’t press it further; instead he chose to watch as Taavi showed the ex-Herder exactly how Cassia was the best firelizard in the Weyr. The best, and the stupidest. Without even realizing it, Sebolaren echoed Sigard’s previous thoughts as he watched—and felt—the Green flit crawling all over attempting to find her bonded; shards but it was adorable. If silly. Poor dear would probably worry herself to death if Taavi did manage to kill himself off. ”I see now why you’ve decided I should care for her in your stead—it’s like a curse but so much better because she’s too adorable to abandon. Like a perpetual child. Mouthy too.”

Sigard was not impressed, but when was he ever?