WHEN IN EXPLOSIONS...
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Xanadu Weyr - Main Clearing
A wide clearing stretches from east to west, the ground packed hard although grass grows across most of it. Trees are strictly forbidden in this space, their danger to the constant draconic traffic reason enough to banish them to the forest that creates a border to the north. Where the ground is less trampled, tiny flowers poke their delicate heads out from their shaded hiding places with upturned petals to wave to whoever may be looking.
The cliff looms imposingly on two sides. Toward the southwest, a spire stretches up to high above where the everpresent watchdragon sits on a lonely peak with Xanadu's Starstones. A massive rocky spur extends to the north, curved slightly to hold the clearing and pocked with doors and windows.
The hatching arena and Dragonhealers' Annex sit to the southeast, built together into a single complex that takes up a large portion of the perimeter beneath its domed roof. To the southwest, wide steps lead up to the caverns, and almost directly south is the entrance to the Infirmary. Nestled between the infirmary and the main caverns there's a human-sized archway with frequent traffic - it leads to the Wanderin' Wherry Tavern.
Tucked near the arch, just off to one side is a tiny wood-frame shop bearing the name 'Wildflower Boutique'. Windows have been cut along the cliff in various places along the cliff. Those of the administrative offices are placed to have the best view of Xanadu's airspace - to the southwest, over the entrance to the caverns and the infirmary. Others mark the dormitories and those of lucky residents, while toward the northern edge of that spur cluster the windows and entrances to the crafters' complex.
The rest of the Weyr lies to the north and east - a broad road that leads through the meadow and the trees of the forest beyond. At the far northern edge of the clearing, just inside the perimeter kept clear of trees, a clocktower sits and proudly displays the hour.


… DO AS EXPLOSIONS DO? Juuuuust kidding. Don't do that. Then we'd be having a different kind of search and rescue and we're gonna have to hard pass on that. So instead of combustion gumption, there is only this: Risali, emerging from somewhere in the deeps of her office, eyeliner smeared, hair falling from the bun she executed with careless endeavor, chin lofted with calculated defiance (a silent challenge issued for anybody debating comment on her current state of disarray) as she spills into the crowd. Look. She's a mess, and she looks a mess as she picks her way through the still-amassed gather of less urgent, but no less hardworking people to find the one face she hasn't accounted for yet: K'vir. She knows he's okay, heard the truth of it in summary reports delivered by healers confident in their diagnosis; she knows it by the sheer magnitude of relief Leirith tethering herself to Zekath for the constant reassurance of that answer provides. She knows it because there isn't any other outcome allowed in her mind. K'vir and Th'ero and Ila'den and R'hyn and F'yr are alive, they are better than okay, they are alive and she — "Excuse me." She isn't tall enough to see around the press of bodies to her vertically unchallenged weyrmate. "Excuse me," comes again, a sidetracked acknowledgement after another shoulder-brush with a rescue-worker in her search. Grey eyes scour, those tiny hands catch on the forearm of some random stranger for balance as she goes up on the tips of her toes, as if these precious few inches might actually garner her enough height to see better but — "Shardit!" WHODUNNIT? Those grey eyes shift up in fleeting realization, an attempt (probably) to apologize for her manners (or lack thereof), except… that's not a stranger she's holding onto at all. It's — "K'vir." And for half a second, true to Risali's basest nature, the tiny, frightful weyrwoman looks as though she might be angry in lieu of channeling any other emotion, as if her rattled composure were the fault of K'vir and not the outcome of her own inattentive posturing. One, two, five, and brows sink, lips pull, that entire expression crumbles. "Kyzen," comes too soft, syllables broken, decibels breathless, eyes suddenly too bright in the wake of a relief sharp enough to bruise. And then she's on him, heedless of their surroundings. That tiny body pitches forward, throwing her into a collision course with his that pushes air from her lungs, that finds her arms wrapped around the bronzerider's hips. Fingers scramble for a hold in the fabric of his jacket, his shirt, whatever part of him she can get ahold of as she crushes the soft press of her body into the hard lines of his, as she shakes and finds herself at the sudden mercy of knees threatening to go weak. That wasn't a sob, you just heard from trembling lips, honest. Or, well… if it was, she's stifling any predecessors in a press if her face against his sternum.

On any other day, Risali may not have had to resort to SCALING PEOPLE to get K'vir's attention. This happens to be a special occasion that no one wanted in the slightest bit and thus far K'vir has been in Hard Focus Mode; it's likely he kicked into gear the second the explosion was felt and heard, that Zekath began passing along information and orders. All those Turns of training and he was prepared and then he was not and it's a very strange sort of in-between to be trapped in. Right now he's with other Galaxy riders, a crew of Crafters to aid in the investigation and whoever else needs to be there to figure shit out. So when he feels himself being held on to, K'vir's initial reaction is one of detached annoyance and a 'WHAT NOW' hardened look in his eyes — which instantly vanishes when he recognizes Risali. Softens further, at the state she is in. "Risali," he replies, only to have her suddenly crumbling and HE feeling awfully protective given their current location. Not that Risa NEEDS protecting, but he's too frayed and too raw to care. Just like he doesn't give a damned what anyone thinks, as he gathers her against him in a fierce hold and his gaze levels on whoever else is in charge here. "I'll be back." In a moment? A few hours? He doesn't say because it's none of their business and then he is taking her away from there with him. Somewhere quieter, at least semi-private but out of the way where eyes and ears aren't so capable of eavesdropping. "Hey," he murmurs, once they're settled, with her still tucked against him as he envelops her with his arms. It's okay, it's alright. He gives her safety and quiet and steadfastness even though he must be fraying further at the seams by now. "I'm here, Risa."

Maybe it's selfish, but Risali takes it, grasps at the threads keeping K'vir together and pulls. She allows herself one more moment of vulnerable demonstration beneath the hands of her weyrmate, against his body, in all that quiet, steadfast strength she knows is probably straining under the weight of too much. But she takes it from him. "I know," comes broken, voice cracking over the jagged edges of such simple words, sound that comes raw and tender and not nearly strong enough. She's breaking. But then she's drawing back, smearing smoked liner into almost comical disarray as those grey eyes jump in tandem with the way she goes up onto the tips of her toes, the way her hands lead in ascent as if she expects that K'vir will lean into them, will accommodate her unspoken request. She needs this for just a moment, her hands against his face, her thumbs sweeping the give of cheeks, her forehead pressed to his in the quiet reassurance of shared breath as Risali reassembles her failing strength and takes comfort in the heat rising through K'vir's clothes. One, two, five and — "I can't stay long, but I needed to see you." To make sure that he was okay, to ensure that those healers had not merely overlooked the signs of physical trauma. "I need to be sure that… that you're okay." It's an observation made to bolster her own strength, to rein in lips trembling against the use of words in a physical manifestation of tumultuous discord. "Everybody is okay — you, and R'hyn, and —" And Ila'den, and Th'ero, and F'yr, and Rhodelia. Risali forces herself to smile, the gesture turning quick to a grimace, the sudden onslaught of tears pulling another sob from her until it's wrong, everything is wrong, until that defective caricature of quiet reassurance crumbles beneath the gravity of possibilities. So Risali's eyes drop, and her hands find K'vir's chest where they pat once, thrice, gently smoothing fabric in a bid for distraction, an attempt to keep her hands busy while she swallows down air and finds level, mental footing. "I know you aren't going to listen to me, but I need you to rest." Go home. Breathe. Don't be a hero — though the worst of it is over, the bodies pulled to safety so that the lasting damage might be reassessed for structural stability. "R'hyn is… is already trying to schedule meetings while he's in the infirmary, and I —" need him to rest too. She doesn't say it; the sentiment hitches in her throat and lodges there for the span of another breath. "… Are you going to be okay?" Because it will be a long night for her, because she will be picking up the work R'hyn is trying to do when his focus should be on recovery and spending increasingly precious time with the family she is about to collect and unleash upon him. Because she doesn't get to stop being a Weyrwoman, even for him. "Have you seen your Dad?"

If she is breaking, then K’vir will support her as she does, steadfast despite his own fracturing. He has always taken the weight of too much, is aware of this flaw and even so he cannot so easily let it go. Her words have him smoothing a hand over her hair, down along her back in one long, firm comforting stroke. As she steps back, he will straighten a little, but only to meet those smokey ringed eyes (and trying not to smirk for the look; he doesn’t wish to tempt death by another source tonight). Of course he’ll lean into her requests, doing so wordlessly and without hesitation once he catches on to the meaning. Her fingers have his eyes closing even before their foreheads touch and K’vir’s hands will seek to rest somewhere on her smaller frame, to find the familiar comfort there of just holding her. One, three, five — he’s not counting how long they remain like that. Dimly he’s aware that duty will take him away soon enough but he is not anxious to return. Not while Risali is here and not when they clearly need this and each other. The world can damn well wait a moment! “I know,” he murmurs quietly and slow, taking care in selecting the words that aren’t really his forte under duress. “And I needed this too. I’m sorry I couldn’t get away.” But she came and found him anyways. “I’m okay.” He doesn’t expressly ask her the same but it hangs there unsaid — and how he already knows the answer but does not pressure her to give it to him. Not yet. “The worst didn’t happen, Risa. Take some comfort in that…” K’vir sighs, shakily himself, because even that had been jarring for him and he’s been through plenty. At the sob, he will quietly gather her against him again, letting the moment come and pass with just the enveloping presence of his body. He will let her press her hands against his chest and smooth that fabric there, all while his blue eyed gaze watches her closely. Her request IS met with humor this time, a grim sort of dry one. She knows him well but he’s not of the mood to start one of their arguments. “And I know you wouldn’t listen to me either, if I asked you the same.” he quips back, gently. “Do what you must, Risa but don’t — the Weyr can wait.” Not in all respects, he’s not that stupid but whatever is lowest priority can wait. There’s a slight scoff, mostly grunted, for R’hyn’s attempt to keep working in the infirmary. Are they all like this? “I should be.” he replies honestly, leaning back just enough to place a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not sure.” Comes more truth, because K’vir knows better than to try to hide it. There’s a tighter grimace, almost a flinch when she brings up Th’ero. “No.” K’vir rumbles the answer, almost a growled breath. “He’d just chase me off, anyways. I’ll deal with him in the morning. Ru’ien will probably keep his distance too.” For the better and not because the greenrider would be at fault from that reunion.

OF COURSE SHE WOULDN'T LISTEN, K'VIR. And nobody would be surprised. Maybe that's why she answers his grim humor with a quiet pull of her lips — one that lacks amusement, that echoes only pain and crumbles again beneath the pressure of so much possibility. "We're a pair," comes as forced as that smile, broken and fractured and — "Okay." A lie. The weyr won't wait, she won't let it wait, and later — once bones mend and fragile minds assign meaning to so much chaos — he can yell at her for it. But not now. Now is for the quiet way she watches K'vir from beneath thick lashes, for the way she goes up on the tips of her toes to receive that kiss to the top of her head even while she listens. "Okay," she says again, because she understands the tentative reassurance he offers, the one she answers with, "F'yr was going to look for you." After this, after she goes… she doesn't know. She doesn't elaborate, either, except to say, "Neither of you have to be alone." Or maybe she won't have to worry as much if they're safe together. But that smile that comes in answer to K'vir's intentions with his own father is more a grimace, one that gutters out as she rises back to the tips of her toes, reaches up with hands intent on framing his face between the soft press of them so that she might coax him down to her level. She presses her mouth to his in that shared space, a kiss that's too much and too little in equal measure; it's broken and desperate and painful — soft, and hard and somehow not hard enough. It's reassurance and celebration and sorrow, and when she pulls back, Risali keeps her forehead pressed to K'vir's as she swallows down one, two, five breaths. Assuming, of course, that he accommodates her. "Okay," she says once more, blinking open eyes to find blue with grey. "It's okay. We're okay. I'm… I'm going to go and see them." R'hyn, Ila, Th'ero. "But I have to go." Not because she wants to, but because she needs to thwart R'hyn before those he's summoned can reach him; because she has brothers and sisters and shared children who will need to be informed and reassured; because the weyr doesn't wait, and Risali won't make it. Still, she has time for one more kiss — softer, lingering, wet with her own tears before she takes one step back, then two to break it. "I love you," comes on a whisper too soft, close enough to be felt — three words she says often but, perhaps, carry more weight within the gravity of this shared moment. And then her arm is being caught at the elbow by somebody who was looking for her amid the detritus of her weyr. Risali's eyes linger for a moment longer on blue, pulling strength from K'vir even now, and then she turns that borrowed stability onto the nameless stranger at her side as they walk. "I need you to find me…" And so it goes.


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