Look What You Made Me Do (Post Flight)

Guest Weyr
Rustic and simple, this one-roomed cottage sits at the edge of the forest near the feeding grounds. The decor is spartan with a wide, comfortable bed and a couch, table and chairs and small kitchenette. Kept stocked with food and drink, the bed freshened with sheets and coverlets after each use by the weyrstaff, it's nothing more than a place to give riders participating in mating flights a bit of privacy when they need it.

Content Warning- This log includes sexual themes, angry confused people, a lot of feelings and is rated M for Madness.

I don't like your little games
Don't like your tilted stage
The role you made me play
Of the fool, no, I don't like you
I don't like your perfect crime
How you laugh when you lie
You said the gun was mine
Isn't cool, no, I don't like you
—Taylor Swift

Being guided into the Guest weyr is not a new experience for Evi, body leaning back into waiting hands and grabbing at them with the needs that dominate this portion of the flight. Neifeth's desire finally breaking through her stubborn voracity, talons managing to find purchase and rake down any piece of hide she can reach. They aren't deep scours, but they'll mark Garouth for a short period, as hers, painting his brindled body like a brand. A reward, for his courage, a punishment for the audacity it takes to capture that which won't ever be truly tamed. EviNeifeth mirrors every swipe, mouth grabbing any flesh she can find and dig into muscle that will for sure be sore in the morning. Still, she does not look at who has her, mind entrapped in the throes of passion, hunger, and heat that has enveloped her lifemate. Finding the stranger's chest, she leaves circular bites on chest, shoulders, neck, arms; any portion that gets near her mouth will be subject to teeth to some degree, a personal trademark of this greenriding pair. This too shall pass, and eventually, Neifeth escapes Garouth, though not until he is good and ready to be done. By the end, she's satiated, even secretly enjoying the attention this garners, rippling sweetly for a scant few seconds, waves of violet water replace the blood forest, the sea glassy and reflecting a world of three moons and shining cerulean stars. Allowing the truth of who she is to enter, the place of wonder reserved for this moment, a gift of astonishing beauty and dangerous depth. Disentangling the striped and spotted green will land on the ridge, rider drifting off into the place in that vision. A vision shared with D'lei, soothing and wondrous, meant as a balm for the terrible things that have happened.

The night deepens, and a moonless black night hides the atrocities of the previous day. Splayed out amongst the sheets, Evi stirs slightly, her breathing catching as Neifeth's visions fade into the soothing pink mist that dominates the dragon's deep sleep. The option to remain resting or rouse is hers alone, toes wiggling and stretching before falling limp and still yet again. If D'lei wants to escape, now might be the time.

Talons and teeth, applied by Neifeth and Evi, mark skin and hide alike… another point of commonality, of shared experience that will leave marks to keep them in shared memory-reminders of this joint experience… until, of course, they fade. Garouth is more sparing with his talons and teeth, or at least, less concerned with spreading their marks across her hide - there's the grip of his talons, their prick as his body arches, the tug of a mating-bite… for Garouth is a beast of needs and desires, stoked by the flight, and he intends to sate them fully - not with cruelty, but with strength and passion that exults in the carnal experience just as he does the chase. D'lei is similarly wild; his voice deep with growls of passion and groans of pleasure, his grip firm as he guides Evi's body not just to the weyr but within it, the better to meet his and grant pleasure that intermingles with and transcends the pains of roughness and the bites that D'lei answers with his own nips and growls, or else the harder motion of his body as if spurred on by their sharpness to seek for greater sweetness.

And that sweetness achieved, by dragons and their mirror-humans, pleasure not just found but wallowed in, drunk to its depths like the bloodbath that presaged the flight, until riders and dragons alike are sated unto exhaustion. Neifeth slips from Garouth, and the bronze - satisfied - neither resists her escape nor chases her, his own glide-path arcing to a different place, hidden among the shadows with barely the glint of hide and eyes to reveal the lurking monster there, his own mind-presence all but subsumed, like a hunger sated, a shadow sunk into darkness… a beast who will slumber once more.

D'lei sleeps too, of course; sharing in that somnolence that comes after the chase and triumph… but sleep is not forever. Something brings him toward wakefulness; perhaps even Evi's own stirring, the motion of someone sharing his bed that… was once familiar, but has become less so over recent turns. Whatever it was, he shifts, and his eyes open onto darkness as he breathes in, the change of breath-cadence that denotes wakefulness as he takes a moment - or tries to - in order to put back together pieces of a flight with a brain that's already been tangled up in so much disorder and memory-loss.

The pleasure found is surprising to Evi, her body tingling in the wake of a fantastic flight. The taste of the stranger lingers on her tongue and refuses to dissipate as saliva is allowed to pool and swallowed down. Nope, still, right there, sore spots griping as awareness seeps in, and there's a groan of rejection to the idea of moving. Not now, body, she's tired. Lazily a hand stretches out, delicate fingers sweeping to find the winner and confirm she didn't have a terrible dream mixed with possibly falling out a 4th story window. Stranger things have happened. A new scent fills the air, inhaling it and allowing the aroma to burrow deep and create a memory, mark this fresh feeling of exhausted relief with the musk of this man. Walking hands carefully along the hem of the coverlet, digits eventually meet flesh and find his side body, like reading braille. There's a sweep up toward the face, silken finger pads tracing the strong jawline before pausing and splaying palm out on his bare chest. With an easy twist of her neck, she buries into a sweaty smelling pillow, eyes shutting in an attempt to find rest again. But now, she has her hand on him, and he's not going to do what she does to R'que and evaporate into the night. Whoever will not move without waking her up, and she murmurs, "Five more minutes, I am hungry." A strange mix of confused tired, as pangs of her human needs try and jockey for position. "Hmmm.. Do you like pancakes? I love pancakes." Right now, she might eat anything, tapping gently, lovingly along bite mark pocked flesh.

Pieces. The soft feel of this bed, neither familiar nor alien; it was never his, but D'lei certainly ended up here more than once. The shadows of ceiling and walls around him. The scents of sweat, of lingering alcohol, of another human near to him. The touch of fingertips, their trace a gentleness in contrast to the soreness of bites and bruises. Those pieces could be enough to puzzle together the story even without Garouth-sense to amplify and explicate them, but that too is present. D'lei breathes out, but it's Evi's breath that carries words… and those words are also another piece of this, another fragment that comes together to make the story. "…I don't think I'm hungry." Which is a strange thing to say, after all those exertions whose sweat still soaks the sheets, whose scent lingers in the air; but then, the quiet, almost somber-ness of his tone is a bit strange as well, as is the way his own hand reaches up to Evi's in an attempt to (gently) remove it from his chest.

Moments between sleep and wake are strange; curling up on her side, she pulls her feet up in the fetal position and falls asleep for a solid minute that feels like hours. Evi's toes wiggle in an attempt to bring awareness to the rest of the body, as reality presses away the exhaustion, head bobbing, and a shudder of sudden goosebumps traveling down her frame as the voice denies hunger. Even as he moves her hand, she snaps it back, his body a hot surface that's about to do permanent damage should the contact maintain. That hand grips fearfully into the bruised opposite shoulder, arms crossing reflexively to protect the body and brace for the oncoming impact. She's in the assumed crash position, chin tucked as chills become a tremor of fear, brown-green eyes wide as a high pitched whine shakes loose. "What- the." Kicking out with dainty, pointy little feet that could leave yet another bruise she makes to kick him in the thigh, covers hampering her efforts that are clearly based in fear, fear of who this is and why he is here. Of what is all happening as she rouses Neifeth and demands an explanation, screaming at the top of her mind in panic. "WHO ARE YOU." Louder then needed, screeching hoarsely as she pulls the blankets up to her neck as armor. "D'lei…" The name finding her mind from a far off source, cheeks narrowing in disbelief, eyebrows raised as high as they can go with trepidation. "You're supposed to be dead." Unable to filter anything in her current state, fear making room for honest bewilderment. "You, you're dead. Nei, this can't be D'lei he died like five turns ago." Zombie dash crashed her flight /great/.

Sometimes, the pieces come together and things make sense, become stable. Sometimes, the pieces are like dynamite and fire, lightning and kindling, and that union clicks togther into an explosion. So that's what happens here, as Evi recoils, kicks out with what turns out as nothing more than a muffled thump through cloth, shrieks out demands followed by denials… and D'lei winces slightly at the sudden volume, follows it with a wry half-smile. "…am I? I hadn't heard." Not that most people hear that they themselves are dead, not unless it's some sort of ghost-type scenario… but D'lei's body certainly felt warm and non-rotting to the touch. But never mind that, now; or at least, he doesn't, because now that it's quite clear that the question of whether or not he can get up without waking Evi is past, he… proceeds in that direction regardless, sitting up in bed and starting to swing his legs around to the side.

"You, you said your name was- Dashi- Shards." Whining pitifully, the explosive revelation blows the dam she'd built to keep herself together and tears flow down cheeks, fists balling the sheets up as every aching section of flesh feels dirty and foreign, the taste slathering the roof of her mouth causing nausea where hunger once bloomed. Killing off parts of her that needed to grow, needed to thrive and live again after she set fire to the entirety of her world. The blaze had barely extinguished; she had not found new growth as much as peace in the ashes of what she once had. Sobs replace tremors, anger at having been this stupid, at having trusted again. It's possible he could have waited, but the move to get up sharpens her senses as she lunges with the strength inherent in her role for the Weyr. Muscular thighs and calves shake off the blankets, not caring about her own nudity as the need to drag this creature back overtakes reason. Grabbing his shoulder, she positions her knees over the top of his, meaning to pin his legs with knees like giant pincers. Trap this animal and demand decency, or scream at him. "Who even does this, who goes about.Being. LIKE THIS?" Outraged, though, the apparent pain finds sleep reddened cheeks, tears flowing even as she despises the weakness she's revealing. Moments such as this one make people dangerous. Did they teach de-escalation of conflict at Weyrleader school? Maybe they should start.

"Aye," D'lei agrees readily. "Dashiel, D'lei… born to the one, got the other from Garouth." He shrugs, and there's no dishonesty to his tone… or, technically, to his words before; Dashiel most assuredly is the name his mothers gave him, and there's been no secret made of it except by happenstance and the strangeness of his absence and return. He moves to get up, unmoved by that weeping… but Evi has other ideas, pounces at him, and… well, perhaps D'lei could have managed an escape, despite the tangle of blankets that impedes them, perhaps he couldn't have, but the reality is that he doesn't; he ends up with Evi over him, hair wild, expression similar, and… D'lei's mouth tugs sideways, just a little, as he looks up at her, but his tone is almost dead in its calm even if the words are assuredly loud enough to hear. "You tell me, Neith's rider."

"We've spoken, half a dozen times, and you conveniently forget to mention you were sleeping with the senior Weyrwoman, leading, this Weyr, for turns." Evi's moving from wild and angry to offended in no time flat, pressing palms into shoulders with no concern for how they might smart the bite marks she left. He could easily get her off him; she's strong but not a physical match for D'lei. Only anger keeps her perched above him, stomach grumbling and bile burning the tongue as only rage keeps her from barfing on him. "Neith is what she prefers; your dragon doesn't have preferences? You wouldn't do anything to keep him happy?" The secret society built between the two is nearly as old as pern itself, though it's doubtful Kitty Ping ever imagined a creature like Neifeth. "Your dragon. Fuck." She never says such things. The word breaking free causes a blush to creep unabated up her face, eyes closed in apology for her language, though when they open, the look could rend flesh from bone. "It's- not." Catching herself almost saying 'the same,' the falsehood hits her like a punch to the gut. She rolls off without another word and pulls a sheet over herself, knees to chest. How long can she stay here before she's kicked out? Before she has to go get Izzy, wash Nei, or do one of the billion things that have prevented her from hiding in a closet since she lost Lyu. Probably until morning, at least.

D'lei doesn't fight Evi, not at the moment; he lets her shove him against the bed, glare down at his almost-impassive face. There's the slight arch of his brows, as if to question… something; what, exactly, is perhaps unclear. (But then, there have been a lot of unclear things, haven't there?) D'lei expresses his measure of skepticism for that offense at things he didn't say, that… perhaps he intentionally avoided, perhaps simply never found the opportunity where he thought it was the most important thing for him to say, and never mind that Evi has a different idea of what it is that matters, that ought to be revealed promptly lest it send everything else cascading down into ruins. And in another form of asymmetry, that profanity that makes Evi flush doesn't even make a stir on D'lei's face, his expression - or near lack thereof - as her eyes close the same as the one they open to see. Same, different, and as suddenly as Evi pinned him to the bed she's gone again, rolled off D'lei and curled in on herself, collapsed into the pit of her despair that… perhaps she thought was turns gone from her, the collapsing house a place she'd never have to return and yet here it is in its new form. And D'lei? He continues to the motion that she interrupted, sitting up in the bed, putting his legs over the edge, standing up and leaving her there. He moves, unhurried and quiet, to gather his clothing - now adorned with a few new stains, a few new rips - and put it on, and then… he pauses, stands there a moment before… "Evi," he says, and there's a certain aspect of softness to his voice. "I know it hurts." He'd have to be a fool not to, wouldn't he? And blind and deaf besides. "Some things aren't your fault. Some are. But… you can change things. Even if it seems impossible, you can make things better." Another moment's hesitation, and then - if his words fall as deep into that pit of pain as it seems they may, deep enough to never escape (or at least, not until morning and some other incident forces Evi to move)… well. Unless she moves again to stop him, D'lei will depart.

The trouble with being sweet and kind is that it's easy for kindness to become cruel; her intentions have normally been harmless, and releasing Lyu was for the best. Sometimes the high road sucks, it's a lot harder to go up than down and this climb is a doozy. No one tells you the high road is actually an out of order bridge that may drop you into an endless free fall of despair. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, but it might be a train. The lack of reaction barely grazes her, paying no mind to his dressing, pushing up on forearms and leaning over the side of the mattress to vomit up a stream of colored liquor, body clenching inward as ragged breathing fills the space where D'lei's words once were. "You don't know; no one who knows would ever do this. I, I spent a long time during Weyrlinghood wondering what you were like. Wishing I could meet you could know you. I had not seen you, but Nana had nice things to say." Nana, a woman who has lived in this Weyr for 65 turns, a brownrider, and wingleader for 20 turns. Someone whose opinion might matter, maybe. Even if there's no easy way to connect Evi to her. This girl always took after L'ton in face, and her mother Evance in the body. "I-i-i-, had hoped to compare you to R'hyn." Pressing herself out of bed, eyes on the in-suite shower that she desperately needs now, there's a pull of sheets around her body. "R'hyn would have never done this to me." With those words, she hops over the pool of vomit, "So Risali made the right choice, sh-sh-she chose someone better." The monologue is made worse by the stuttering and old habit of extreme distress that she hadn't displayed in a long time. Sweet candor slipping off her lips, betrayal, and pain oozing from her. "We were going to be friends." The old him, the crazy person from the park who only 3 sevens ago she told the editted version of her life story. She will wait for him to leave to enter the shower, breathing labored and slumped forward with defeat.

D'lei pauses in his departure, turns back to watch Evi, to listen to her. "…maybe you're right," he replies. "I certainly don't know things as you do. It's your life, not mine." He shrugs, just a little. "And you're right, too, that R'hyn isn't me. As for what he would or wouldn't do… that, I can't say. Maybe you're right; I don't know." Another shrug, and then… a half-smile. "Risali, well… right, wrong, or something in between, what she does or doesn't have to do with me is her choice and none of your business." D'lei smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes; those have a sort of somber sadness to them, shadows that obscure their furthest depths. They were going to be friends? "…well. Now you know a little more about me." His lips quirk a bit further, a bit more of that not-smile. "And you can make your own choices about what to do about that." Him. Her. That pool of vomit. The only one he's having anything more to do with tonight is himself, because - with that - D'lei turns again and walks out that door into the night.

MAYBE SHE IS RIGHT? Nah, there's no doubt by the scowl on her face that Evi feels entitled to be right, but it's hard to judge things clearly in her current physical state. It's her turn to peer impassively, brows knit, and arms crossed with all the glower imparted on a wet kitten. Opening her mouth to spit a reply, it's cut off, body aching, hungry, sick, tired, and head pounding heavily from any combination of factors, including alcohol. Raising a hand to lean heavily into a palm, to press the terrible night from her memory and groaning pitifully with a wave of fresh nausea threatening to add to the puddle on the ground, she turns, saying, "Nei nei, I want to go home." Slamming the door behind her, content to try and pull everything back together and think of every mean thing she could possibly do to an ex-weyrleader. Neifeth will help, and even if the concrete shoes, or tied to a tree and devoured by felines, never come to fruition, it's the thought that counts. Maybe that's not meant to be used that way. Either way, the puddle will get cleaned up in the morning, gold Tulle will bring fresh clothing. The anger is useful, better than the despair; she can run off of anger, use it, and in that, he granted her a small gift.

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