A Royal's Jacket [Show!]

[jack]

Things just hadn’t been the same lately. It seemed that even the weather had been dreary, a dark and depressing scene that the white-haired man couldn’t escape. Even in his own weyr, where the glows kept things bright as they bounced off of a great metallic hide, filling the room with a cheery bronze, he couldn’t help but feel a looming gloom in the background.

But the worst part was…he knew what was causing this despairing dreariness.

B’rak slunk through the halls slowly, his boots shuffling with wary apprehension as he approached the dreaded area. Sticking close to walls, with his eyes wide and his bottom lip seemingly permanently stuck between his teeth, he looked the part of a child slinking around the mines when they weren’t supposed to be…if it weren’t for the massive lump of metal following him around. …is there any particular reason you are slinking around like a tunnelsnake, Mine?

The white-haired youth froze at the brazen sound of his companion, turning to shush the large creature a heartbeat before he realized that the dragon was speaking entirely in his mind, and for once not announcing his opinion to the world. He gave a soft sigh, turning the finger over his mouth into a sudden run through his hair as he glanced down the hallway, staring at the flickering light that was the infirmary doorway.
“I need to see B’nyur.”
And you can’t just…pop in like normal squishies?
B’rak flinched at the odd harshness to his dragon’s tone, glancing up at the small Bronze with knitted brows. “Oh, so you want me to be normal now?”

Shoth gave the draconic equivalent of a lifted brow, his eyes whirling with an unreadable shade as he slunk closer to the other, looming over him as though trying to intimidate, his neck arched and his nose a good three feet above the rider’s head. When courting…I believe normality is appreciated, at least for your silly type.
B’rak flushed, the bright red oddly noticeable on his bronzed cheeks, and Shoth gave a soft humph of victory, “I’m not courting him!” He clapped his hands over his mouth with childish disbelief, his eyes widening as he realized he had just yelled out a reply, and that Shoth was cackling as loud as a dragon could over the matter. The white-haired rider gave a long sigh, running a hand through his hair again, and tugged absently at one ear. “Thanks, Shoth. Honestly.”

Without continuing he turned and shuffled down the hall, Shoth following at a leisurely pace, oddly quiet at the sudden mood change in His. He hadn’t intended this result—it was not approved of! B’rak poked his head into the infirmary with Shoth looming a few moments later, his lost look replaced with a soft smile. “B’nyur? Are you here?”

[4horseshowgirl4]

B'nyur was still stuck in his depressed rut, though it had now been almost a season since the three Weyrlings had died in that terrible accident. He still blamed himself, and he was almost stubbornly clinging to the idea that there was no grief long enough or deep enough to fully make up for the fact that he had killed six promising young teenagers and dragons... but he was now functioning. His 'functioning' was hardly that, but the Dragonhealer was managing to stagger to meals and tend to patients, though his bedside manner had deteriorated to something that resembled being treated by a cold, stone statue.

He was sprawled half-unconscious, wholly unresponsive on the spare cot in the infirmary, with Oveth lying next to him, attentive for any sign of life and one wing covering His protectively, as was now depressingly usual for the Bluepair. It was obvious that B'nyur had lost a lot of weight through the ordeal, and he was looking quite haggard with his unruly stubble and hair that badly needed a trim, but even Oveth was showing signs of stress, too. He was quickly losing muscle tone, and his eyes were never quite rid of their unfamiliar yellow tinge. He hated, simply hated, His being so sad all the time. He wasn't used to it; he didn't know how to fix it!

It was oddly quiet in the infirmary, as it usually was. There was no B'nyur and Oveth making trips to their garden and back, preparing their herbs for use, no Shanza flying around, fetching things from high places, fewer patients bustling in and out, no drudges or Candidates coming in to do a bit of cleaning, no friends coming to pay a visit, just no... anything. Sounds echoed in the empty infirmary. It was slightly unnerving. Mostly, there was silence, the loudest silence Oveth had ever heard.

Then, Oveth heard something else... his head shot up at the sound of soft footsteps approaching the infirmary; a walking dragon could only be so quiet, after all. B'nyur, however, tuned out the noise. Oveth would have to forcibly rouse him if the approaching dragon needed him, which made Oveth sigh sadly. However, the near-silence was rent by a loud yell. That voice was recognized by B'nyur before Oveth, and the Dragonhealer sat up, wondering if he'd heard right.

A tiny little ray of hope that he had heard right shot through B'nyur, and that shocked Oveth far more than the draconic footsteps or someone yelling something about courting. He looked at B'nyur questioningly, but B'nyur didn't have eyes for the Blue at the moment; his attention was on the entrances to the infirmary, staring dazedly at them, not really able to focus his eyes on anything.

And then... that voice again. B'nyur was looking in the wrong direction, so he whipped his head around, or, at least what he thought was whipping and was really turning slowly and laboriously. There was that shock of white hair, that big, well-muscled frame, even that Bronze hide: all so familiar, and all so welcome. "B-B'rak?" he said hoarsely, not really able to say anything more. Hi, Shoth,"

[/color] Oveth greeted wearily, though he tried to be happy about seeing the Bronze. There was worse company; at least his name was short so Oveth could remember it![/right][/font]

[jack]

B'rak's eyes widened, and he felt his heart sink. B'nyur...looked...oh Faranth. Without a word he strode insistently into the room, crossing the distance in a few hungry strides before kneeling quickly before the blond, wrapping his arms around him almost desperately. "That's right. Its me." He whispered, burying his face in the other's neck, "Faranth, B'nyur...I'm so sorry. I should have been here.." He lifted his head, running one hand through the man's long locks, "You've been eating, haven't you? Faranth..."

Without warning, he wrapped the other up in another hug, getting to his feet to scoop up the man, cradling him possessively, "Why haven't you talked to me? I had no idea you...." He bit his lip and pressed his face again into the man's neck, kissing it gently. "Why wouldn't you talk with me, B'nyur?"

Shoth came in slower than His, observing the scene with a distant distaste. He did not approve of the way his Mine's squishy was looking. It was...unnatural. He settled near Oveth, but merely gave the Blue a glance. He was no longer in the mood for talking.