crystallized (closed) (rom)

[Restrenon]

Restrenon emerged from the cold void of between with his arms wrapped like a vise around the very dragonrider he had attacked not thirty minutes prior. He had heard of between but never imagined he would experience it himself.

It was fucking horrible.

They emerged almost directly in front of the entrance to the dragonrider's dwelling, so Restrenon hadn't a chance to view the Weyr, but even if he had, he would have been too distracted by noticing that the dragonrider's blood had crystalized on his shirt.

The mottled blue dragon landed softly, more softly than he thought a creature of that size could be capable of. The rider extricated himself from his abductee and sprang off with the ease and springiness of long practice. Restrenon more... toppled out of the saddle, sliding down the creature's shoulder and landing on legs that shook uncontrollably but did not collapse. He looked around and found himself unable to take in his surroundings. Everything was alien - so different from the Hold that had been his home until those fateful thirty minutes ago. He would have thought himself dreaming if there wasn't still the thick smell of runnerbeast on his clothes, and a few stray roan hairs on his front.

[Rom]

Rom didn't particularly like going between. At first, they were terrified of it, knowing well what the sickness in the past had wrought upon dragons, knowing that some who went between simply couldn't return. They hated the cold, the breathlessness, the uncertainty of every trip that they made when the Search brought them to distant Holds. But S'ris had deemed it necessary, in the interest of keeping Candidates as fit as possible for the Hatchings and not exhausting them with extended flights. Over time, Rom had adjusted, even if going between still brought them a sense of malaise.

Touching down on the stone floor, Imith let out a long breath, huge nostrils flaring. She turned her head back and regarded her rider and their passenger with a cool green eye. "He rides like a sack of grain."

Rom made a sound that was like a laugh, a soft khh behind their teeth, as they peeled the Candidate's arms off of their waist and slipped easily down Imith's foreleg and to the ground. "Please. You're at least large enough to ignore it. Try having another Blue strapped to your back and trying to concentrate on going between."

They turned as the Candidate -- Restrenon was his name, Imith had said -- wobbled on his feet and gawked at his new surroundings. Once certain he wasn't going to be sick on their floor, Rom set a quick pace, rifling through their belongings. There was a basin of water carved into the stone with a mirror hanging above, and Rom beelined for it, eager to rub the blood off of their mouth and nose. They inspected the damage and found that, to their horror, their nose had been bent slightly and was swollen and purple, even into their cheeks. They touched it and uttered a hiss.

"Little bastard," Rom growled, leaning into the mirror, and was mortified to hear how nasally their voice came out. Turning red with both embarrassment and rage, they quickly rinsed their whole face again in hopes that the cold water would dissipate some of the heat. They would have to visit the healers now, instead of just coming back to their weyr and resting as planned. "If you don't Impress at this hatching, I'll kill you, Restrenon."

[Restrenon]

Restrenon could see and feel that the rider and the dragon were sharing something, in the way they moved around each other, in the rider's half breath of laughter, and yet there was total unnerving silence. He had heard of draconic telepathy but to see it in action was absolutely unnerving. His heart remembered the whicker of runnerbeasts as he toted grain.

The rider went to splash water on his face and inspect the damage his abductee had wrought, and Restrenon was silently pleased by the sound of cursing. Apparently he had left a physical impression that would last even after the blood had washed off the rider's wherhide. Which reminded him of his own bloody tunic. He plucked at it somewhat timidly, looking around the weyr as if it were his own room and he were looking for fresh clothing. His hands itched in instinct to wash something. If he were home, he would be done with his chores now, and he would be bathing and changing his clothes for the politeness of dinner.

His stomach growled. But of course he didn't dare mention food.

The rider didn't bother to turn their head to threaten him, so they probably didn't see how Restrenon opened and closed his mouth repeatedly in sudden outrage.

If I don't Impress, you'll kill me?

"You brought me here!" cried Restrenon, with all the infuriation his voice could boil up.

[Rom]

The runnerbeast tender was squawking and indignant, and Rom smiled to themself in the mirror before beginning to undo their wherhides while they strode to a simple wardrobe. They'd have to wear something else while they sent that to the washers, especially since they were about to have a brief but important meeting. The Weyrleader needed to know just how... unruly, the Holdfolk were getting.

"I certainly did. Stop shouting and turn around." Rom was modest. Well, less modest and more deeply uncomfortable with their body, so they stepped to where they would be obscured by Imith's great mass while changing into a new tunic. For a bit of added incentive, Imith herself lowered her head and bumped Restrenon's shoulder with her nose to more or less force him to turn. She was remarkably gentle, with her head as large as Restrenon's body, but forceful enough to get her point across succinctly. A snort sent a blast of hot air down at the ground as she drew away and simply stared at him.

"He reeks of runnerbeasts."

"I wonder why that might be?"

"I mean to say that he should bathe." Imith flipped her tail once, turning to her rider and eyeing them critically.

"I don't think we have time." Rom stepped out from behind her then, wearing a blue tunic that almost matched the satiny blue hue of the dragon's hide. They felt only marginally better wearing it; their face still felt swollen and hot and likely would until they could get some numbweed from the healers. Observing Restrenon again, they were perhaps a bit more inclined to agree with Imith's thoughts. He did smell like runnerbeasts, he had blood frozen to his raggy shirt, he was covered in dirt from their scrabbling in the stables. S'ris would think Rom an idiot if they presented him like that. A long, frustrated sigh escaped them.

"I'm taking you to the baths. You can't possibly go about the weyr looking like something fished out of a manure pile."

[Restrenon]

The dragonrider snapped another order at Restrenon, an order emphasized by the Blue dragon swinging its massive head around to poke him. It was slow and careful enough to be a nudge, but given the dragon's bulk, it felt like a shove. Thinking of the probably enormous teeth hidden in those jaws, Restrenon didn't need more than that nudge to leap out of the way and turn and do as he was bidden.

When the dragonrider re-emerged, dressed in what must have been casual attire for the Weyr, Restrenon felt an odd ping. Out of the riding gear, they wouldn't have been out of place at his own home. Or what had been his home.

The dragon was staring at him, their face somehow aloof despite its inhuman features.

"I'm taking you to the baths," said the dragonrider, and again, there was no option in their voice. Their words stung. They spoke of the superiority of the Weyr that had been a shadow over Restrenon's hold for most of his life, the unspoken distaste, the condescension for His Kind.

"And I suppose if I don't, you'll have your beast carry me there in your claws?" asked Restrenon, his own voice full of bitterness and distaste.

[Rom]

There was a beat of silence as Imith and Rom stared at Restrenon, expecting some sort of fight out of him. He was spunky, and Rom knew that was likely the potential that Imith saw in him and that the Weyrleader would see too: he was full of fire. Rom had some of their own, and they showed a lick of it as the stablehand posed his bitter question. Fury burned in their eyes for a moment before evening to a simmer, then vanishing completely.

"Oh, great Faranth, of course not!" Their voice was positively dripping with sarcasm, with a grinning veneer that only barely covered the hate beneath. "I am so sorry that I and my lowly beast made such a dreadful impression on you. Truly! It is a disgrace to all the Weyr."

Rom laid a hand then on Restrenon's shoulder and dug their fingertips in. It was a silent, but very effective method of communicating 'if you don't start showing some respect I will throw you off the cliff behind you and tell the Weyrleader the search came up empty.' Not that Rom was being the pinnacle of respectful conduct themself, but they would at least clean up their act if he did. At the moment, they held the power here, and while they weren't one for the formalities associated with rank, they did at least want the stable boy to realise whose weyr he was standing in.

"You know, it's just getting so tiresome referring to her as 'my dragon' and 'beast,' how about I introduce us proper?" With their other hand, Rom gestured back to Imith, who was nudging at their tunic collar with her upper lip. "This half-bleached monstrosity is Blue Imith, fastest and most agile of her kind in the Weyr. A real fireball and more beautiful than any runnerbeast I've ever seen, bleaching or not."

They grazed that hand along the side of Imith's long, dished head, and then jabbed themself in the chest with the thumb of it. "I'm Rom. That's it. I don't care what other names the Weyr wants to call me; my name is Rom. Imith and I are both misfits, so we're more than used to taking some lip. Don't waste your breath on me. Now, I am going to take you to the baths and Imith is going to take a nice rest. Surely you'll agree that it would do to look and smell nice before I take you to the Weyrleader, yes?"

With their introductions over, they gave Imith a parting scratch on the forehead before pushing Restrenon towards the door in the back of the weyr, which would lead to the halls of the main Weyr and the baths. "You can even borrow some of my clothes. I'm sure I can find some that will fit you."

[Restrenon]

The dragonrider met him ugly eye for ugly eye, and for an apprehensive moment Restrenon thought they had lost the end of their rope, and he remembered with a blipping heartbeat the abyss that lay just yards behind him.

But instead (perhaps more terrifyingly), the dragonrider smiled at him. The smile was almost all teeth. Seizing Restrenon by the shoulder, reminding him of how powerful those fingers were, the rider ground their nails into his bone and proceeded to introduce themselves and their dragon with all the gentility of a Lord to a Lady. The dragon observed with apparent interest.

Restrenon gritted his teeth to avoid a single whimper over the shoulder grasp, and committed both rider and dragon to vengeful memory, not that he was likely to forget face or pigmentation any time soon.

Rom stroked their dragon, whose honor they seemed to be defending (again, nearly like a Lord to a Lady), then released their captive and gave Restrenon a hefty shove away from the threatening ledge and presumably towards the interior of the Weyr. Baths, he thought disdainfully, not because he had a problem with baths, but because of the way Rom said it, like he'd never had a bath in his sharding life.

Restrenon went without any grumbling, except when it occurred to him what Rom had said in their entirety, and exclaimed, "Weyrleader? What?"

Was he expected to meet the man??

(end here, move to baths, then mb move to dining hall?)