Freak Out Central

Xanadu Weyr - Secret Garden Refuge
How has this gem stood empty so long? Constructed of hand-chiseled whitestone, this cottage is unique in that it appears to have been here from before the time Xanadu was founded, it's stones bearing a resemblance to the ruins in the old forest. Large windows, flanked by raw wooden shutters faded to a silvery-grey, have thick-leaded diamond panes that allow the meadow's light inside. Pink climbing roses scale the front wall, the porcelain blossoms scenting the air with their delicate fragrance and providing shade over the three shallow stone steps leading to a portico in which an arch-topped door is set.

The space within the cottage - sitting room, kitchenette, sleeping and bathing room - is simple: stone floors are covered in vast rugs in pale, pastel shades and the walls have been painted white. Some spaces have built-in storage: cupboards in the sitting room; counters and a cooling/heating unit for food in the kitchenette. The sitting room has a double-wide, deeply-inset window that make the sunny room perfect for housing potted plants, Isyriath's portion opening off of one side. Comfortable couches in pale pink line two of the walls, standing opposite each other, a long, low table set between them in the centre of the room. On the wall, above one of the couches, hangs a painting of meadow, in which both the cottage and Marel herself feature, the picture signed with a capital M. To the rear of the cottage, the bedroom has French doors that open onto a private retreat formed by a three-walled, flag-stoned courtyard of the same material that makes up the cottage walls. In the centre lies a flower garden, neat rows of tulips and rose bushes planted in fresh soil, a non-functional stone fountain serving as decoration alone, for now.

[DTU/Project] Isyriath senses that Xeosoth brushes his mind lightly to yours with the gentleness of a babbling brook deep within a forest of leafy trees. « My rider wishes to know if you are available to meet for talking? »

[DTU/Project] Xeosoth senses that Isyriath is hesitant, lurking somewhere within a tangle of fragile vines and tree roots. « Is it me or Marel that he seeks? » he queries, not so confident about either. « He is yours to speak with, not mine. »

[DTU/Project] Xeosoth projects to Isyriath . o O ( « My pardon…I did mean to say mine wishes to speak to yours. » his mind searches for yours within the tangles of vines and roots though it is still a gentle touch. « He seeks out your rider out of concern. » )

[DTU/Project] Xeosoth senses that Isyriath stubbornly sticks to the 'story' when he replies, « She is fine.» It's not clear whose the reluctance is, but he's in no hurry, possibly stalling for time. « …He may see her at home, if he wishes. »

Passing by the retreat built for Isyriath, M'kal will give a quick nod in greeting to the brown if he is lounging there. His focus though is on the front door which he knock. Lurking in the doorway he doesn't yet step over the threshold as he calls out a name. "Marel?"

Marel still isn't going anywhere fast, the days that followed after her injury ones of running on adrenaline and denial, and now the matter of the damage that she's done is truly beginning to sink in. Pain has become familiar and wearing, and though the brownrider has managed to get better at using her borrowed crutch to support her weight properly, walking is still more tiring than it should be. She's slower than usual to get to the door, but she gets there in the end and opens it perhaps a foot or two to see who is out there before opening it properly. "M'kal." Said flatly, as she turns away and heads back into the cottage, leaving the door open.

Having completely thrown himself into his tasks with the wing as well as long hours studying healing text books there has been quite a gap since M'kal has much time to see anyone. This includes Marel. With the length of time that has passed since the flight and the injury, perhaps then it is just recently that M'kal has come to learn of this. His deep green eyes reflect an internal struggle inside as he watches her head back into the cottage. The door being left open is a good sign so he steps in and quickly moves to her side. Unless she stops him or protests too much his intention is to curl an arm around her waist and offer himself as something to lean on. "Marel…" he murmurs, heart stricken at the knowledge of her injury. "Don't lock away inside yourself. Let me in."

As his arm goes around her, Marel makes an unintelligible noise that could be protest or inadvertent acknowledgement of the pain that her slight shift in balance causes. "…What do you want me to say?" she murmurs, meaning to head towards one of the couches, a little office made of it by the paperwork strewn around. "I made a choice. It worked. I'm living with the consequences. The alternative still doesn't bear thinking about." Monotone, all of it, no real investment in her own argument. "The shop is still open and right now I'm the go-to woman for paperwork in my wing. I have little to complain about."

M'kal stifles a scowl and instead concentrates on aiding her to sit down on the couch she's aiming for. Settling into it also he simply sits and looks at her with a concerned expression. "Doesn't seem like a strong choice. You hurt yourself!" he says quietly, trying to keep any infliction out of his tone as he talks. "And you've been hobbling around with this injury and you never once tried to ask /me/ for help." now hurt creeps into his voice.

Maybe Marel has spent too long with her paperwork, for she lifts a hand and begins to count off: "Scenario A: Isyriath wins Seryth's flight and I am Weyrleader. Neither my mother, nor I ever live down the rumours of the result of that flight." And then: "Scenario B: I stop him chasing somehow and neither of us has to worry about any of that haunting us for the rest of our lives." He can't see the bandages, but her limp and that crutch speak for themselves. "I hit some muscle, that's all. Not an artery or anything like that. It's a small price." Rebounding off his hurt, she's immediately on the defensive, calm though she may be. "You were busy. You're always busy. I'm not going to make a nuisance of myself."

"Scenario A: Seryth has some choice in the matter of who wins. You are the Weyrwoman's daughter. Didn't it occur to you that Thea herself could have influenced her Gold's choice?" M'kal rebukes her arguments with one of his own. "Isy is often does a Brown win a flight?" he continues pushing the matter. At her defense though he bristles. "I am /never/ too busy to stop what I am doing to come to you. Never." he emphasizes with a suddenly burst of anger that pushes him off the couch and pacing across the room. Spinning he lays an unhappy look upon Marel. "I always want to be with you. Forever and always! I'd…" he runs a hand through his hair that's actually grown out long enough to do so and growls at his inability to express his feelings. "I'd move in here if you wanted me to just so I could hold you every night before we fell asleep!"

"Don't misunderstand me," Marel says slowly, "I love Ka'el," in that same way she might state she loves her twin, "but if my mother had had a true choice, do you think she would have chosen a boy; her junior's /boyfriend/ as her Weyrleader? How was I to know whether she has any choice, when I don't know how to make Isyriath choose or make him stop?" Avoidant, she stares down into her lap as M'kal paces and his anger grows, determined not to look up at him and play into it or let herself be drawn into anything like losing her temper, but it's the last thing that he says that bites or tugs enough at her to make her look up and shout, "Fine! Move in here with me then!" her calm mask shattered.

Suddenly she's shouting and it's…an invitation to move in? Not the most usual way to get one but without any thought to what he is going to do, M'kal is striding forward once more and falling to his knees before her. "Fine, I will!" but his reply isn't a shout but an amused and quirky grin actually plays on his expression as he reaches for her hands with both of his. "Bronzeriders are the Weyrleaders and I've yet to see a female one." he point out with determined logic. "Do you think that Thea would let You withstand such heavy criticism if Isy won? There were plenty of riders there that night I am sure. Thea's embrace would have been to one of them." he stops with a shake of his head, perhaps not wishing to simply go down that road. Instead his jumbled thoughts go back to… "I want to be here for you. Whenevrer you need me."

Marel looks downright ashamed of herself for shouting, but that burst of temper has left her shaking, trembling hands caught in M'kal's. "…I don't want you to do it because you think I can't cope or need looking after or that I'm… a burden," she says softly. "What if I do something else you don't like and you don't want to be with me anymore?" No guesses needed as to where she's got that idea of relationships from. She shakes her head a little, murmuring, "I don't want you doing something you might regret." As for the rest: "I think there's nothing you can do about rumours and gossip. You can ignore them all you like, but they're still going to be there. Whatever the truth of it had been… it wouldn't have been the truth to others." There's such an air of finality to her words that they may well be the last she has on that subject.

Instead of answering right away with whatever response comes immediately to mind, M'kal simply holds Marel's trembling hands within his own grasp. Slowly as he filters through what is said and perhaps some of the implied words as well, he says hesitantly at first. "Some of the blame I lay on myself for you not wishing to burden me with anything. That's now how a team works and we're a team." his gaze lifts to meet hers. "I want to be here with you when I'm needed….when I ain’t needed." a shy smile appears. "Hey… couples fight right? But my parents always had fun making up after!"

It's simple, what Marel says, though she probably doesn't mean it to be quite the conversation killer that it could be. "…And sometimes they don't. Make up." Staring down at her knees again, she blinks and her brows knit, something else drawn forth by what he's said. "What if we end up parents? What if that happens next month or never?"

There is a moment in which M'kal seems uncertain of how to reply to such a simple statement from Marel. "No, sometimes they don't. But don't be so certain that will happen to us." he says quietly. At her next statement he blinks in surprise. Several times. Then he gets a look like he's been hit on the head. With a board. Several times. "Parents? You mean you are…." he trails off unable to say the word pregnant.

What? "No!" Marel blurts out, yet on the heels of that shock at his assumption, there's a guarded look back in her green eyes that suggests that she's got the answer to the question she's put to him, from his and then her reaction. "Of course I'm not." They'd have actually have had to spend time together for that. "…You don't need to look so afraid." Matter of fact, that, not the slightest bit angry or annoyed. And still, that whole exchange and jump to conclusions look to have made her restless, as she goes to push herself to her feet with her weight resting more on one leg than the other, the motion propelled by hands planted down against the couch.

Her reaction draws a scowl from him as he stands quickly, rocking back on his heels. "I wasn't afraid!" he denies hotly. "Taken off guard. Look!" M'kal stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing for her. "There is always a chance we become parents. What do you think I am gonna do? Just run out on ya? I'll be here for you. And the baby. And it could happen next month. Or we could plan it to happen in three months!" he tries to keep from raising his voice though perhaps he's not making the most sense. One can almost see the conversation between Marel and her mother now. 'He is such a boy! He has no idea!'. Or something to that effect. Still he tries again with perhaps a foot already in mouth. "I would love to move in here. With you. I… I won't even track in mud!" he says wildly. Definitely not keeping on track well now.

"You want to plan it to happen in three months!?" It's Marel's turn to freak out now, her voice lifting higher than she'd like it to as she hobbles across the room, minus the crutch to support her. "Knowing us, when I went into labour, you'd be the one to deliver it on our kitchen floor!" Too busy dealing in absurdities now, she definitely doesn't notice that she's referred to that kitchen floor as theirs and not hers. And, well, he is a healer. "And you're not going to track in mud, or you can live out there," she gestures with a grand sweep of one arm (that nearly unbalances her) at the break in the wall that leads to her brown's barn, "with Isyriath and Xeosoth!"

"I could do that." He juts his chin out defiantly. "If I read up on it first. I mean…there would be plenty of time before then right?" M'kal is babbling a bit and he even misses the fact that she said 'our' kitchen floor. Mostly. Somewhere deep in his mind. At the mud comment a giggle bursts out. Then two. As she's nearly unbalanced, he hurries to once more curl an arm around her protectively. "Then in order to ensure I don't sleep between a brown and a blue, I shall strive to not track in mud into our clean home."

"You are not delivering any baby of ours on the kitchen floor," Marel insists of this potential child somewhere in the days-months-turns ahead. It's just as well that he reaches her in time, for she seems destined for the floor otherwise, her fingers scrabbling for purchase against his shoulders. Only when she's sure she isn't going to fall does her simmering agitation find a different outlet to laughter, in that she snags a grip on his collar, intending to pull him down to her for a fierce kiss.

And to which suddenly no more words are needed as he is snagged and he easily succumbs to the fierce kiss from her. Swiftly, M'kal lets the kiss ignite their passions as he carefully and gently tries to coax her back to the couch.

There's really not much that Marel can do in the way of finding her own path, unless she really does want to fall over, and so she lets him guide her back towards the couch, trusting with every little half step that he won't let her trip or stumble over. She's got far more important things to be getting on with, besides, namely aiming to get him as free of his clothes as she possibly can, once that course of action is set in her mind. The return to words is not one that she intends to initiate; at least not to proper, intelligible words of discussion. She doesn't have time for words, choosing to better express herself through actions.

Add a New Comment
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License