Saddest Panda Club

This log is two excerpts of post-goldflight loss by some of the saddest pandas. One is at Xanadu and one at Monaco.



The truth is that even the most valiant, most obviously superior mates don't always manage to BEST THEIR UNWORTHY SIRES. It's understandable, of course, since Xermiltoth RETURNED FROM THE GRAVE in order to fly Leirith. How does one beat a backstory like that? Spoiler alert, despite one's best efforts, one doesn't. Thus Glorioth is indulging in the briefest of brief flummoxes while F'yr stumbles away from where the doubtlessly UNGRATEFUL R'hyn is dealing with the hopefully SLIGHTLY LESS WOLVERINE-LIKE RISALI, throat already working against bile that wants to rise and make an unpleasant moment markedly worse. Good news, F'yr manages to keep his latest meal, if only just and he's moving in flight-drunk shambles in the direction of the nearest fount of alcohol in which to drown his SADDEST PANDA misery. There might only be one person in this Weyr with a higher right to frustration and misery tonight and… Oh look, there's K'vir now.

Y’know? Zekath isn’t going to even TOUCH that with a ten foot pole — the whole RETURNED FROM THE GRAVE thing. Even if it would amuse the hell out of him to egg Glorioth on about it! He had OTHER THINGS to focus on but to what ends? Of course Leirith was snared by Xermiltoth. Won’t stop him from trying again… and again… and again. With her, with any gold. K’vir, by this point, has grown numb to the majority of the fallout; all except THIS TIME. It still sucks, okay? HE CAN BE A SAD SINNAMON ROLL (PANDA)! He has the right! … right? Sure enough, he’s stalking his way to the usual sources of comfort, all tension and frustrated disappointment wrapped up in a foil of something else. It’s nothing overly dramatic, merely notable, even as he staggers to a lessening pace as F’yr registers familiar — oh right, he’d been there. NOT AWKWARD AT ALL! “Hey,” he calls out, a touch gruff until he clears his throat. “… you hanging in there?” Flight loss sucks ass, okay? K’vir’s been around (NOT LIKE THAT) enough times. Maybe he feels for the younger bronzerider and no, it isn’t pity (entirely). “Drinks?” Grunted. How manly, despite the SADNESS! K’vir does not mind company, or HIS company, specifically as he pursues one of the vices for ‘curing’ another loss — one that does not fall under the letter category ‘F’.

IS HE HANGING IN THERE?! WHAT DO YOU THINK, PANDA K'VIR?! Look at how F'yr's big blue eyes aren't even focusing on the other bronzerider when he swings around mid-stride, his arms inadvertently clipping a circle of air as he comes round to face the older man. POOR F'YRSOME BABY BRONZERIDER, he has no idea what to do with these feelings. It's definitely not even a little appropriate for him to answer back, "I didn't even know what want was until I met her!" … and he doesn't mean Leirith, folks. BUT, K'VIR, LOOK HOW SAD, HOW FORLORN, HOW COMPLETELY CONFOUNDED POOR BABY F'YR IS. He looks all helpless and pitiable like a puppy left at the bedroom door. WHAT DOES HE DO, K'VIR?! WHAT DOES HE DO?! Mind: this is his VERY FIRST flight loss, and also his VERY FIRST gold flight. That makes this a triple whammy. Have mercy~ The word 'drinks' doesn't seem to have made any impact. Maybe he didn't really hear it. Maybe he's just looking to do something that falls under the letter category 'F'. (FIGHT, get your mind out of the gutter. Talking about a person's weyrmate… thems fighting words, right?)

WHO KNOWS PANDA F'YR! K'VIR'S LEVEL OF OBSERVATION IS QUESTIONABLE (sound like someone?)! Double that when his thoughts and focus are still throbbing with the leftover dregs of EMOTION OVERLOAD and Zekath's influence. There IS a language spoken without needing words and F'yr's giving THEM HINTS when he inadvertently comes round — K'vir likely adopts his own posturing stance without even THINKING because it just is by instinct. POOR BABY F'YR! It comes so close, SO CLOSE, because for a hair's breadth of a second, K'vir's features harden and eyes narrow coldly and — no. There's a visible struggle as his jawline tightens, lips pressed thin until he grimaces with a passing flash of teeth. Older doesn't mean WISER but in F'yr's LUCK, it means K'vir can control himself; because he's had Turns of this to master it (unwillingly but hey) and is old enough to KNOW BETTER. Despite what is being whispered at him, that temptation of easier routes of self expression and release. LIKE PUNCHING SOMEONE'S FACE "She has that impact on people." K'vir-the-marginally-wiser says through gritted teeth instead, as his posture begins to relax, hands flattening to raised palms as shoulders sag. His features twist, dropping to a forlorned, exhausted look of such profound SADNESS (SUCH WOE). COMMON KID, let's not tango like this? Maybe he realizes that TRIPLE WHAMMY F'yr might be experiencing or enough to get a glimpse, so he bites his tongue on a rather sharp 'get a grip' retort. PUPPY INDEED. "And we can both lament over that and want over some drinks." He stresses that last. "Drown it out." NOT WITH FISTS.

The thing is, of course, that THIS PANDA F'yr, has never been the sort to incite violence and thus every unwieldy motion that would be a sign or signal of a wish to fight in another man is really only the combined haphazard miscommunication of misleading actions, not any real intent. Even distraught, as he surely is, the big bronzerider's potential for damage is on par with that enormous puppy he might have been in another life: entirely through accident, mischance or self-defense. HE'S WEYRBROKEN. He might also be broken by the Weyr, but that's a story of which his first flight loss in one of Leirith's seniorship flights is only one piece of a chapter. Sure, Glorioth has been setting out to prove himself a persistent and unfairly constant winner where greens are concerned (local and foreign, poor F'yr), but it's not so with the shinier contingent. "Do the drinks even help?" He asks, despairingly, even as his whole self seems to sag in a double down of the defeat that's featured this evening. And whether they do or not… that's the direction they're bound.

And not so different from the next time a shiny prize eludes the self-centered bronze. F'yr's had time to check over his lifemate's injury and see it tended to and is tending to himself with yet more booze by the time that K'vir comes looking for him in Monaco. There's an up-nod to greet him this time, a blurry glance at his drink before it's being offered in the older man's direction. "It done?" The flight, he probably means. Clearly, he doesn't have to ask how Zekath fared… except Glorioth was hurt (if only mildly - enough), so he adds, "Zekath alright?"

“Not really.” K’vir’s bluntness is probably not the expected (or needed) thing, but he’s getting to the point. Now that he’s not so on guard once F’yr doubles down on defeat. “Not entirely, but it’ll help. Like slapping a bandage on a wound. You stop the bleeding but it still fucking hurts.” WHAT WISDOM! It’s all he has and while he’s not going to talk much beyond that, he can at least guide the younger bronzerider some of the way — and that is that.

Second round does begin with some semblance of deja vu, only F’yr’s got the head start and K’vir is much longer in crossing paths. WILL HE ADMIT IT? To having potentially hunted the bronzerider down? No, but it’s obvious enough. He could go home (and to a certain goldrider eeyyy, if’ya catch my drift?), but he doesn’t. TAKE NOTE, SAD PANDA F’yr (maybe when sobered)! “Yeah.” Grunted, because he’s not really in the mood to be cordial or proper. Fuck it. The offered drink is snatched up, knocked back and then returned without question. “He’ll get over it. Always does.” Surprisingly quick, but he omits that. A hard look to the younger bronzerider — it’s concern, but he squashes that down with a grim press of his lips. “How’s he doing?” Glorioth.

HEY! SAD PANDAS BRONZERIDERS DON'T RUB SALT IN OTHER SAD PANDAS BRONZERIDERS' WOUNDS… or do they?? LEAVE THE ONE THAT STARTED ALL THIS OUT IF IT. (She'll get a big head and then even all that hair won't be able to hide it.) AS IT HAPPENS, since this gold was not Leirith, and perhaps just because they're on foreign soil, F'yr doesn't appear to be quite as sad if still quite dejected. He manages a grunt of his own that probably could be interpreted by avid wildlife watchers to be, 'Glad to hear Zekath is alright.' And another that sounds only slightly different in answer to the question, that might be, 'Yeah, the glorious dumbass is fine.' He does actually follow this up with words, "It's not the first wounding he's taken. He just usually comes out of it with something to show." The bronzerider frowns and looks over to the older man. "Wouldn't've wanted him to win this one," THIS ONE WASN'T HERS. (SORRY, WENDYN. NOTHING PERSONAL.) "I'd hate to be stuck somewhere for months. Pretty terrified to think of him as any kind of a sire anyway." It IS a terrifying thought, NO? He pushes away from where he was letting the wall support him and toward the older man. "Walk?" Or something. Movement, anyway.

WOAH, HEY? Are they gonna start writing a rule book here!? K’VIR WOULD FOLLOW IT (like the “good” boy he is… ahaha). In seriousness, he’d not be the one to initiate the salt-rubbing in wounds and even then, WHO KNOWS! For now he accepts those grunted answers as though it is totally some unspoken lingo between two men. See? He’s even nodding a little! Relieved, maybe, that he won’t be part of the paperwork (read: witness) if Glorioth ended up grounded. “If you asked Zekath’s opinion on it, he’d just say that the female’s dig scars,” K’vir grimaces, trying not to heave a sigh that sounds as exhausted and overwhelmed as FEELS. What’re feels? He has too many and he hates it. “Mhm. Can relate to that,” he mutters, on the potential of being stuck HERE and not HOME for weeks on end and well, THAT (seriously, no offence WENDYN)! It wasn’t hers but K’vir has long since stopped putting much hope in it; now he just accepts it and rides out the inevitable. “Can you walk?” K’vir smirks for the light ribbing to the other bronzerider, PURPOSELY glancing from F’yr, to the drink and back — but in the next breath he’s moving, regardless.

Some might mistake K'vir for an innocent sad panda sinnamon roll, upstanding role-model for bronzeriders who still have that new rider smell, but some people are ONTO HIM. HIM and his "good boy" act. "You wouldn't have to ask Glorioth for him to tell you it was only encouragement." No, really, they wouldn't, because he's already made sure EVERYONE KNOWS. One might wonder how F'yr lives like this. It's one of life's great mysteries~~ AND LO', VINDICATION COMES AS K'VIR UNFAIRLY MAKES DIGS AT THE BABY BRONZERIDER. He's wounded here. Obviously. "If I trip, you'll catch me." He sounds sure. (Probably because he's too trusting, but so it goes.) At least the walk becomes less shambling and more ground-eating stride in a few steps that seems to bode well for the lack of K'vir needing to prove his (NON-EXISTENT) heroism. "I don't suppose dragonhealers have ever come up with a way to keep them from chasing when they've a mind? I'm so fucking tired." That's fucking tired. He's been in and out of that damned guest weyr like it had a revolving door in the last couple of months, a trend that currently shows no sign of slowing.

HOW YOU GONNA PROVE IT, HUH? Not that he’d care, really, to be “outed” because let’s be honest… does anyone really notice? K’vir’s recall of banter during the flight is only what he caught through Zekath, so it COULD BE that he has some inkling (and all the more sympathy for F’yr, seriously, man). Oh, sorry, did that hurt? Suck it up baby bronzerider! “Yeah,” Uh huh. “Sure will.” Or maaaybe his reflexes won’t be quick enough and he’ll be a fraction too late and F’yr will eat the ground first (and THEN be helped up because he’s not a monster, folks! He’s just in a weird-bad mood). “Nope. Sorry,” He almost says ‘kid’ there and catches himself, with a grim sort’ve ‘ugh, kill me now’ scowl. DAMNED FLIGHTS! “Never heard of anything that sticks and those who have done it once or twice, well… it’s not good. For anyone.” As for the fucking tired, K’vir makes a sound that’s something between a gruff chuckle and a cough — was he… was he just about to laugh? He says NOTHING, but that little hiccuped betrayed him.

ISN'T HE A MONSTER?! Who, but a monster, would HICCUP at their fellow dragon-victim?! Cue F'yr punching K'vir's shoulder as if he were his cousin. That comparison is probably lost on the big blond right now, and the punch is certainly pulled, but enough to properly acknowledge the other man's humor at the baby bronzer's pain. Maybe the younger man's helpless question will be distraction enough from the moment of good-natured(?) violence, "Why do we do any of this, again?" As if he can't remember just now. But then, he's got Mr. SHROUD YOUR PERVERSIONS to share a head with, so. Can he be blamed?

K’vir’s gonna take that punch because he DESERVED IT (and maybe enjoyed it, don’t look too far into that, mkay?)! There’s only an equally cousin-ly shove to F’yr’s shoulder in return — or the attempt, at least. What, they can’t have an ‘innocent’ scuffle and still talk? There’s another patented grunt from the older of the pair and a hefty shrug of shoulders. Damned if he knows (and he’s getting close to ‘damned if he cares anymore, why bother’)? “Because it’s not like we got a choice in the matter?” he mutters, pausing a breath afterwards to peer sidelong at him. Wait, are they on the same page here? ARE THEY STILL ON FLIGHTS, HERE?

Sure, sure. An innocent scuffle. With no tension to speak of. That's why one shove begets another that's slightly more inciting (exciting?) RISA, STOP BITING YOUR KNUCKLES wherein F'yr follows it up with a sway of his body into the older man's. If K'vir wants to tussle, that's ENTIRELY DIFFERENT from real violence and entirely up F'yr's alley. There's even an acknowledging grunt, even as the baby bruiser bronzer moves to make this scuffle a real thing full of body contact that couldn't possibly be misinterpreted by the wild imaginings of some people. (Do they include F'yr and K'vir? Remains to be seen. STAY TUNED.) "Story of our lives, probably." Not getting a choice on matters. Right? RIGHT? WHO SENT THESE FEELZ ANYWAY?!

“Unfortunate has been the story of mine half my fucking life.” K’vir will gruffly mutter. Hey, he’s not going to judge! ZEKATH WON’T JUDGE (he’s probably APPROVING SOMEWHERE while he mulls over whatever ‘calibrations’ haunt his days)! There’s many ways to ‘blow off steam’ and who’s to say how any of it will go? K’vir’s surprise is short lived, just a blink really, when F’yr follows up like he does. OH! SO ITS LIKE THAT, IS IT? Game on! His surprise melts into a broadening grin and he’s prompt to make a ‘come at me’ gesture when it’s obvious the wee bruiser bronze is up for some PLAYTIME! He’s all in and right from the start it’ll show that K’vir knows how to scuffle and how to sense out his current dance partner’s skill. It doesn’t make him invincible and F’yr may come out on top (DO NOT READ INTO THAT… or do, eyyyy~) yet! SURELY those wild imaginations of some people won’t misinterpret the heavier colouring to cheeks or the way K’vir is excitedly enjoying this a little too much to put an immediate STOP to it.

If we're being honest, and we're among NON-JUDGMENTAL FRIENDS HERE, RIGHT, then F'yr's expression is briefly troubled by the older man's response and it's practically a promise that it's going to come right back around to that sometime, some way, unless things get spoiled for that kind of deeper discussion by the distractions of young men, even if one is younger than the other. Would it be weird if it was because the set of these motions are familiar for all that K'vir is a different partner than his younger cousin, that F'yr falls so naturally into the grab and press, the flex and shift of muscle that is dance and combat and release of energy or that as the color gets high in the cheek and the breath starts to run ragged that, as they end up in just one of those happenstance positions that is as suggestive as it is close for reasons of friendly violence that F'yr follows impulse (habit? THANKS, RU'IEN) and tries press a kiss to the older man's lips. This can't get awkward at all. Blame it on the booze? Blame it on the flight? BLAME IT ON THE EAGER SPECTATORS. HEY, LOTS OF EXCUSES TO GO 'ROUND.

There might be a lot that needs to come right back around and be discussed, but right THEN and now, is not the best of timing! Distractions are, indeed, fully engaged and K’vir is no stranger to these familiar paths that tread too close to ONE THING or the OTHER (read: he’s a bit dense in a way that is not the same as his cousin’s). He follows the movements set by the younger bronzerider, edging in when he can, deflecting when he cannot; it’s hard to tell when the scuffle shifts or just how often it does. K’vir isn’t keeping tally, he’s lost himself into the thrum of excess energy and emotional output, though it’s all reading as the same blaring-red lit message in the recesses of his thoughts. Proximity error could be blamed for this (or yes, let’s all blame he who is aptly named RUIN) too. The kiss finds its mark and thanks to the momentum of that particular point in time, it’s returned. Nothing overtly passionate, there’s depth and heat to it, before K’vir’s mind does a FULL reverse-stop! It doesn’t end abruptly, despite the way his eyes widen and narrow — there is no hard shove or curse or angry retort, though the older bronzerider does make something akin to a pained-groaned curse as he draws back. Where once he was relaxed, supple, now tension leeches in, posture stiffening (MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER) and hands lift to grip F’yr’s shoulders tight. His head does pull back and holds, wavering there as expression turns troubled, conflicted before OHMY~ IS HE GOING TO HEADBUTT HIM!? wait, no he leans in… to rest his head by F’yr’s as he aims to go for a (maybe too fiercely tight) embrace. It’s not a ‘NO’ but a clear spoken ‘NOT YET, NOT LIKE THIS’, for all that he doesn’t just shove (or punch) F’yr away for overstepping with him. NEVER MIND HE STARTED THIS SCUFFLE, HUSH.

Really? F'yr surprised not only K'vir but himself, too, with this shift. It's not the first time that gold STUFF has made him kiss impulsively, so that tracks. It's also not the first time F'yr has thought of kissing K'vir in particular, even if he has made an effort not to think too hard about that for oh-so-many reasons. But the thing is, it's also not the first time that an impulsive contained explosion of passion - because that's really what that kiss was, for F'yr - has abruptly shifted into too fierce, too tight, too needful an embrace to be denied. Sure, K'vir's taller and shaped differently than other people for whom these things have been true, but F'yr-the-people-pleaser meets this need as much as he gave and took and gave more in the reciprocated kisses in the moment before. He holds K'vir as much as clings to him, a mutual support for emotions grown too large to be held on the shoulders of one alone. In the moments of harsh breath drawn and lost, in the touch of cheek to cheek and body to body, they can share this burden in silence. Notably, even as the breathing starts to even out and the muscles begin to release bit by bit, F'yr doesn't apologize. He doesn't even look for words. As far as he's concerned, they don't need them right now; they'd only complicate things. Even as he draws back enough to study K'vir's face (WHICH IS NOT THE SAME AS RU'IEN'S DESPITE FAMILIAL RESEMBLANCE), he doesn't look anything other than steady, even with his cheeks touched with a flush. Oh well, that happened and now here they are. He'll let K'vir speak first, if words are needed, and if not, he'll just turn to walk alongside the older man again in silence.

EMOTIONS are not K’vir’s strength and never have been. F’yr may yet learn that, the longer he is around the older bronzerider and discovers all that makes him tick (along with all the flaws). WILL HE STILL WANT TO KISS HIM THEN? So it’s no wonder that nothing is said, while they cling hold to each other and come down from that charged high. A much younger K’vir would’ve reacted so poorly to all this (RISA AREN’T YOU PROUD?) and the risk of F’yr being assaulted much higher; why talk when one can fight, right? Breathing slows, heart rate too as gradually his body relaxes (but not wholly). He’ll allow that study, his expression showing much lingering conflict and a dash of… maybe that’s sheepishness buried under some frustration? But it’s not anger (and not at the bronzerider, hardly that) — it will manifest that way only after they’ve stepped apart and K’vir does begin to walk. Only after he grunts, “Drinks.” AND IT’S NOT QUESTIONABLE. F’yr’s expected to come because words ARE NEEDED, just not now as K’vir has to work through it in his head first. Only after all that, as they pass some native flora that he grabs a handful of overhanging leaves and… starts to shred them to oblivion one at a time between his hands. It’s cathartic, OKAY? Something to focus on, rather than the tumbled mess his head is now because of FEELZ (and flight echo).

There's a grunt that's agreement. Sure, drinks. That's fine. F'yr still doesn't need words and maybe K'vir will one day learn that F'yr doesn't care that emotions are not K'vir's strong suit (or will learn that, SURPRISE!, they're not F'yr's either, not really; so the default coping mechanism is to ROLL WITH IT when he doesn't know what to do, not that this could ever get him into complicated trouble, or already has). And thus they find somewhere, with drinks, and even a place to sit that is more or less publicly private, unless, true privacy is needed. If F'yr was, in any way, concerned that the destruction of POOR INNOCENT FLORA was any kind of redirect from poor innocent baby bronzers, he doesn't show it (because, spoiler alert, he didn't even begin to think that direction). Only after he's had some to drink and is twisting his mug a little in his hand in a fidgety way that is ALSO CATHARTIC, shup, he looks to K'vir and hazards, "Alright?" Is he? Was that? Is anyone…? Who can say.

One day, K’vir may learn! HOW LONG (ask Risa)? Who knows. His coping mechanism is not as smoothly linear, but it meshes well for now. There is relief when F’yr agrees and follows and that no awkward prying questions are asked or WORSE — the dreaded canned apology. It’s good that no assumptions are made either because that POOR DEFENCELESS FLORA is not a representation of the baby bronzerider at all! Not in the slightest. By the time they’ve settled in a decently semi-private spot with drinks, K’vir is collected again. Calm? Not quite. But his head feels less of a mess and for him that is massively important! “Yeah.” he replies, with a grimace that hints for the first time - not as ‘sorry’ - but as thanks for all things. For what? Everything, it seems, that the bronzerider has done thus far after this… little scuffle of theirs (and the kiss). He doesn’t pay attention to the fidgeting, taking his time to nurse his drink a little before PLUNGING AHEAD! “So…” RIGHT INTO AWKWARDS-VILLE because oop, will you look at that? Words fail him and K’vir just ends up looking miserable — at himself. DAMN IT! Maybe F’yr should start this?

If K'vir were SOMEONE ELSE, F'yr might just let him stew in his awkwardness. But he's not, and as with everyone, the blond takes this person on his own terms, and that means on what he's read of the other bronzerider's individual needs. It doesn't, of course, mean that he's going to have any talent for redirecting them out of the heart of Awkwards-ville with his quiet, candid, "I was probably going to do that sometime." There's still no apology. Blue eyes are studying his mug, the one he's still twisting. He clears his throat and looks up at the older man, and yes, his cheeks are colored with more than just drink and post-flight. "I probably could have picked a better time." Better than post flight? Better than… well. Now it's his turn to look slightly abashed, "But I really can't say I'm sorry." SORRYNOTSORRY, K'VIR, AND AVID SINNAMON ROLL FANS. His eyes come back up to K'vir's face from where they've wandered.

“Uh…” K’vir’s visibly taken aback by that first statement from F’yr, but it does a GOOD JOB of shattering that awkwardness — like pulling off a bandage, you just do it ALL AT ONCE! Except now they’re both blushing how ADORABLE but he’s going to address that. NOPE! He’ll keep his gaze on F’yr, blink and then dart it elsewhere. “Were you.” It almost sounds like ‘why’, unspoken. He can understand wanting to with a certain goldrider, but him? Shoulders lift at the mention of ‘timing’ but that’s not his immediate focus; the lack of apology is. “Don’t want one, anyways.” SO TAKE THAT and uh… YEAH! “Doesn’t seem right.” Saying sorry, that is. He shakes his head, exhaling heavily and scrubbing at his face while sinking heavier into the back of his chair. Well, now that they’re clearing the air? K’vir’s finally gaining enough traction to settle into rolling with it — so long as he’s not pushed off that groove again. “Pointless to apologize, anyhow.” K’vir picks up again, moving carefully forwards with his words; it is slow and ponderous but he’s getting there — pauses and all. “When I’m not… against the idea, just — hmm… Goldflight loss is a shitty way to lay foundation to anything.” He holds up a lone hand, palm out and warding. “Not that I’m saying it wasn’t REAL or nothing just…” Now it gestures vaguely, floundering as much as his speech. “Things get muddy? Too much going on.”

While we're being honest, we might as well acknowledge that although goldflight loss surely does muddy the waters, this is… well, a lot more progress than they might have made toward any of this under any other set of circumstance. F'yr shifts slightly in his seat. "Yeah." Yeah, that's fair. That's what he's saying, entirely fair. "Well." The younger man uses that word to try to pull some of those muddied, muddled thoughts together and ends with, "Good. Because you can't have one." That prompts him to grin at K'vir, even though it was already established. IT'S KIND OF NICE TO BE ON THE SAME PAGE, if only the one about apologies for kisses. "We can…" TALK ABOUT IT LATER? "…deal with it all later. When things aren't so…" The blond makes a gesture with his mug to encompass all the muddy, muddled details of it all. "You know." Then he drinks because that's a good idea, right? "We should probably head back, before too long." Or before too many drinks force them to ground themselves in Monaco for long enough to sober up properly. "Although I don't suspect any other golds are about to rise here and now, so we might be safe… unless one of the greens-" and since F'yr HAS been victim to BACK TO BACK green flight wins, he has every right to his grimace now.

Definitely helped with progress or they would’ve gone half a TURN through this, no doubt. K’vir scoffs first for that great TERRIBLE prompt, then actually laughs for a beat under his breath. Head shaking slightly, he’ll tip his glass just-so and take a deep sip from the contents. “Fine, be that way,” he prompts back. “You don’t get one from me, either.” Brows furrow heavily as he mulls over the “terms” thus set by the younger bronzerider and does not find them disagreeable and so he nods. “Alright.” DO THEY SHAKE HANDS? Is there some sort of formality here or just a ‘swear on some secret code’ going on? K’vir’s not going to be hunting F’yr down, but expect at least a day (week?) or two of grace before paths may “cross” again. When and where and how? WHO KNOWS. There’s a grimace and a sighed curse, “Don’t tempt fate, please? I don’t think I could handle a double right now.” OH-HO, say what? Poor F’yr, POOR THEM. Are they back to being sad pandas? “Is Glorioth okay to fly?” K’vir is genuine in his worry for them both, in that little statement, but as he waits on F’yr to confirm (or lie), he doesn’t seem overly rushed to down his drink. or hurry on out and back to Xanadu.

F'yr doesn't make move to shake hands, nor will he be hounding the older man for that moment of dealing to come any sooner (but then, the blond is the sort to allow things their own time and place, whenever and wherever that ultimately is or isn't or yet may be). He will however move to clink mugs with K'vir in emphatic, empathetic agreement about not handling a double. THANKS MUCH. Of course, if there's one waiting for them back in Xanadu and them all UNKNOWINGLY BLUNDERING INTO IT, well. Oops? "I don't like to think what it would take to keep him from flying." Although it did happen a time or two during weyrlinghood for him to know about wound severities and degree. "He'll be limited to more ground adventures the next few days," IN THEORY, HAHAHAHAHAAH, "to let the healing get a head start, they said, but I'll have our dragonhealers check him over once we're back." Like the good, responsible young rider he is. On the bright side, at least F'yr isn't in K'vir's direct chain of command (NOT THAT THAT WOULD STOP HIM EYOOOOO~~~) and they appear to still be able to converse without any awkwardness on regular matters. He swallows down the last from his glass before setting it aside and rising. "Shall we?" They can be sad pandas when they land just in time for a green to be MAKING A STATEMENT back home. One of freedom. Maybe, just maybe, F'yr will luck out and Zekath will be the lucky one this time.

“I hope you never have to find out.” K’vir MEANS it too! Who would ever wish that on someone? He’s further put at ease and very much in APPROVAL of F’yr’s plan of having Glorioth checked upon their return and he does not push further on the subject. No, they’re not of the same Wing but he COULD try to pull rank (Hey, that’s a THING AND WE’LL STOP THERE—), if ever he had the desire to even delve into that mess. K’vir will finish the last of his drink in one long swig, setting the empty mug aside as he rises to his feet. “Yeah, ‘bout time we got back.” Before anything ELSE happens and damn it, let’s not jinx these poor bastards any further, alright? Though it might be more that FLIGHTS that F’yr will have to worry about, as they’re not even out of this tavern or drinking hole before K’vir is glancing sidelong at the younger bronzerider. “I’m going to tell her.” Sorry, not sorry. RIP, F’yr for your potentially WEIRD work day coming? It’s not out of malice or a ‘tattling’ situation; it’s more that he’s not going to waste the energy of keeping this a secret because it DOESN’T HAVE TO BE. He won’t let it be and whatever other reasons he may have, he keeps to himself, as they drift on back to wherever it is that Zekath and Glorioth wait.

Blue eyes return the askance glance, no surprise in his features and broad shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "Yeah, she should know." F'yr has apparently zero blames for that, especially after the long-ago realization that Risa had, of course, told Sinnamon Roll about what had occurred between the two of them. "But," the younger man's brow creases slightly. Is here where he makes an impassioned bid for some of his dignity?! (Ahahaha, no, he has none, it's fine.) No, this is where he pauses briefly, one hand meaning to catch K'vir's forearm to encourage him to at least slightly face the younger man. "You might as well also tell her that I want to talk to you about it before I talk to her about it." A weird work day in which no one asks and no one tells? WHO CAN SAY. Maybe F'yr will find a litter of puppies on his way to work and save them all the trouble of conversation that isn't cooed. He won't keep K'vir longer than it takes to express that much, and it's sort of fair, right? K'vir and Risa are inarguably a unit, and now F'yr has gone and provisionally involved himself that much more, and yet, these are still not… stories of a greater whole, but individuals finding their way where F'yr is concerned. Perhaps it's thus fair that he wants to deal with each and in order of nearest to the particular situation at hand. If Risa wants to talk about kissing F'yr, well… BEST GET ON THOSE DRAGONS AND NOT LINGER ON THE TOPIC, EH?

AHAHAHAHA! DIGNITY!? What’s that? K’vir might have some but let’s be honest… it’s not much. Still, he’ll hesitate for a moment for that request, brows knitted as he mulls over the choices. Eventually, he nods. “Alright, I’ll tell her that too.” Yet his tone brokers no promises on how RISA will act. He has his assumptions and maybe that’s where his confidence in sharing and telling is coming from but he doesn’t elaborate further. F’yr should take some small comfort that his involvement between him and Risa doesn’t seem negative as most would think — if K’vir, for any reason, felt his bond ‘threatened’, well… F’yr would know and not by words but probably BY FISTS (first). There’s more to tell here, a greater story perhaps in the wings waiting to be written and K’vir’s learned the hard way to look at the larger picture. In time, there will be greater conversations that’ll come about but that is not here or now. What does happen, is K’vir giving a parting close of his hand to F’yr’s shoulder and a firm squeeze in part of a farewell gesture. “Take care, F’yr.” And yes, there’s a smirk, an amused one. “Stay out of trouble.” Pat pat. Then he’s moving off and away and… DOES IT LOOK LIKE HE’S LINGERING, F’YR? K’vir hasn’t stopped and so long as the young bronzerider isn’t stalling either of them further, they’ll get home quick enough!

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