Bath Time! (Taylor)

[damien]

Bath day! Oh what a horrible day. A day that would normally keep small children crying in a corner with fear, adults quivering at the very thought. To bathe a garnet-one such as Banner was just-foolish. One did not merely bathe Banner. One had to go through a whole bunch of steps to even get to the point where Banner could possibly even be in water.

It was a day Kyprioth both cherished and loved. Since coming to the weyr a few scant days ago he had found that his flit had quite the enjoyment for frightening others. He tore his dinner limb from limb while It was still alive, turning his head up at cubed food with obvious dislike. Covered in blood and roaring his fury Banner paraded himself around the weyr proving that unlike the slugs that crawled across the ground before him-he was a king. Color or not. He was the rightful flit ruler and the rest, well the rest were just to daft to understand.

Earlier had been a massacre of tiny proportions. Banner had tore open the wherry of a dragons kill, rudely budding into the beasts gorging to steal slices of meat. Only when the dragon had nearly eaten him, and in fact had come a scant hairs width away from chewing off his wing-had Banner escaped to his handler all but slathered in drying blood and flecked with gore.

That was how Kyprioth found himself near the river, far enough away that should, and he would, Banner decide to get hostile no one would get hurt. It was pretty lonely around here in fact. He found himself missing his large family though he was glad for the open spaces and lack of tiny tiny rooms.

Elbow deep in the cold river he dunked the screaming, bawling firelizard into the liquid as carefully as he could. He wore falconer gloves, elbow high thick leather that usually protected from long talons. He was used to bath time and managed to contort his body into awkward angles so he didn’t find himself with a face full of claws, but still a few managed to land and soon the river was tinged pink around the screeching creature and the very wet human.

“Oh shards it all ya’ stupid over grown fly calm down! Ya can’ be flyin wit’ gore on ya wings ya know, and wha’ lady would want someone whos gone and covered himself in the guts o’ some creature anyway?” He loudly proclaimed as he scrubbed dutifully at the half drowned garnets back.

Banners only reaction was to screech even louder, a high pitched ear bleeding noise as he scrambled for a purchase trying to get away. Bath time was not fun time.

[Taylor]

Can I set the stick up your ass on fire? While Moryth had met each request (could he set his bed on fire? what about just one blanket? someone's clothing?) with a stern glare, this look had a bit of amusement mixed in as well. Well...and a bit of pity. He could feel the agonizing restlessness stirring through his bonded, right now. R'sren was not in a good mood, and if lighting things on fire would help...well, Moryth still wouldn't let him. But he would feel bad about not letting him.

R'sren had given up pacing his room; it didn't work, never would work, and the rhythmic sound of his feet hitting the floor just irritated him more. Now, he was laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, needing to do something and yet bored by the thought of any activity coming to mind.

Moryth crooned softly to his rider, waiting until R'sren looked up before glancing meaningfully at his back. He needed to get R'sren out of his weyr. Anything had to be better than laying there thinking about how miserable he was, right? R'sren figured out what the dragon wanted easily enough, but simply gave him a dismissive, somewhat peeved (it was him after all, who had spent the past hour shooting down every idea he had) look and turned his gaze back to the ceiling.

Mine.[/i] Moryth said no more, just that single possessive word, but there was enough sternness in it to have R'sren looking at him again. Shards, even the fact that he'd spoken was enough to get the ebonyrider's attention. This was his first word all day and it wouldn't be unusual if it was his only one.

R'sren hesitated, sighed, then got to his feet. Might as well, right? Not like it could make him feel any worse. It didn't take long to have himself strapped to Moryth's back, and the black dragon took off, gaining altitude as quickly as possible, as if height would reduce R'sren's restlessness.

Once they were up a fair distance, Moryth began circling the Weyr, expanding his circles, trying to think of something for them to do. As R'sren sat on his back, sulky and irritable and restless, Moryth dove sharply, snapping his rider's attention away from his negative thoughts and onto the moment. Moryth knew this would tire him out faster, but if fancy flying would help his rider...

It was as he dove a third time, now over the forest and nearly skimming the treetops with his claws as he pulled back up, that he heard Banner's screech. He tilted his wings a little, turning towards the noise. As the tree cover broke around the river, R'sren and Moryth caught a glimpse of the sources of all the noise. The dragon hovered for a brief moment and then turned, dropped lower, and landed right near the two.

R'sren glowered down at his dragon. I found you entertainment.[/i] Moryth sounded a little desperate, a touch of pleading in his voice. R'sren's eyebrows rose in surprise and he gave Moryth at least the courtesy of looking in Kyprioth's direction. Entertainment? He considered for a second. Yeah. He'd do.

R'sren slid to the ground, walking towards the struggling pair. "It's too bad your accent won't wash off as easily as all that muck, huh? Bet he's not the only one who has trouble finding a lady." Really, he didn't mind the accent. It was interesting in a sort of cute way. He just wanted a reaction, right now, something to occupy him. Sex would be great, and if he thought that was an option he would have complimented the accent, instead. But seduction was often harder than aggravation, and a fight would work off some of that extra energy just as well as a good lay.

[damien]

Another person insulting his accent? It’s insult piled on top of injury on top of irritation.

Banner’s head is crooked, turned out of the water to stare at the black dragon with an odd frightening sense of interest. He manages to claw his way up his handlers arm during his period of staring, initiating a screaming fit to match his previous ones, before launching his wet body into the air flying around the black dragons head to inspect him.
Feeling more than irritated now, he’s wet and there are bleeding gouges on his arm even with the gloves, he managed to stand up and shoot a glare at the rider. Had the man been his elder he would have taken the time to give some respect-actually no respect for elders was put in the brain drawer right next to the need to comb his hair and the I don’t give a damns, since he looked around his age he just shook his head. Weyr manners it would seem were lacking.

He wants to yell and stomp at the rider, but it sounds manic even in his head, frustrated anger swamp over his normal good humored persona as his arms cross over his chest. He does not look as intimidating as he wanted to. His hair is sticking up every which way like a particularly badly thatched roof, his arms are dripping blood and his clothes are soaked. He smells faintly of the river weeds.

I can cop the bloody ladies just not so bad, right, thank yer right much.'”He said with acidic wit. Should have brought his knife with him this rider could do with a few scares he wagered. As it were he just stood there, glaring and hoped that he wouldn’t let his dragon interrupt should they find themselves in a fight. The very idea of it sent a faint rush tingling up his spine. He hadn’t been in a fight in awhile, couldn’t even think of any reason why he shouldn’t do it. It would get his blood pumping, he would do something amusing and he would teach this rider where to stick his words. Up his ass.

“Is it normal for ya’ to go ‘bout insultin folks?” He sounded amiable enough though he was hiding insults should the rider prove to be of fighting spirit. “Spose yer fink ya some special man because yer 'ave that dragon, then, mate? Hate ter break it ter yer but 'e 'ave a looks ravver...not special. He's not even right shiny. He cant be all that keen, right, he did bond ter yer after all.'

A spark in his eyes, he was amused actually.

Banner decided this dragon was interesting enough to land on perching on the beasts head as he inspected his skin with oddly gentle claws. Creeping them slowly up and down his head knob he crooned a question and pressed the image onto the beasts mind. Was he here to hurt his person.

[Taylor]

R'sren stared blankly at Kyprioth for a few seconds. Then, he raised one eyebrow, an amused smirk tilting his lips. "Tell me - were those actual words you drooled out, just there? Or were you just flopping your tongue around hoping it would sound close enough?" Something about ladies. He'd gotten that much. "Cause hate to break it to you, pal: it didn't work."

R'sren couldn't keep the feral grin from taking over his face. A fight! This was fun! Oh sure, they weren't fighting yet, but it just took one look at the other's face to know that was where they were headed. He found himself wishing he had brought his knife, as well. He normally had it with him...why hadn't he-? Oh right. Because Moryth had dragged him out on short notice. His smile turned slightly more fond, away from violently maniacal, at the thought - his dragon had found a fight for him! Made sure he wouldn't have his weapon which made it slightly less exciting, sure, but if that was the price he had to pay for his dragon to entertain him...

Moryth grumbled lightly, highly uncomfortable with R'sren's train of thought. Him? Organize a fight for his rider? Never! Okay okay so sure, he had thought it might happen, and he had selected someone far away from the weyr, but...still. That wasn't the same as siccing his rider on another human. Right?

"Well...that or go about dragging folks into bed, yeah." He looked Kyprioth over. "No bed in sight but we could try that route if you'd prefer. Wonder if your accent would still sound that ridiculous when it's wrapped around my name as you come." He looked at his (gorgeous, wonderful, perfectly shiny enough, shard off) dragon. "All dragons are shiny mate." There was a mocking emphasis on that word. "What would be special about being the exact same as everyone else?" He rolled his eyes. Silly person. "Anyway, what'll it be. Are we getting naked or bloody?" He grinned at the thought of either one, looking like this was a delightful game rather than something that might hurt.

Moryth was at first uncertain as the firelizard circled him. When he landed on his head, the black dragon tensed. The touches were gentle, even like a tiny massage, and Moryth relaxed, surprised. He liked this firelizard, he decided. He liked him a lot. Much better than dragons who barged into your head, trumpetting their inane message before blasting off again. Even other firelizards tended to feel invasive. But this one's thoughts were so gentle, starting the conversation out smoothly. Unfortunately, Moryth wasn't sure how to respond to the question. Was R'sren here to hurt the firelizard's person...? Weeell...

Moryth considered a moment, then sent back an image. It was their two humans, stripped down and intertwined on the ground. There was no doubt about what they were doing. He sent it back with a tone of questioning - was that an option? Of not, then yes probably hurting.

[damien]

What was this? He searched through the image with careful delicate mental fingers sorting it out before a snort of amusement actually escaped the fire lizard. Oh, did he truly think his rider would do that? He did not have the skills to tell him the truth; at least he didn’t know how to picture it anyway. Instead, still patting the dragons head in an absent minded way, he truly was a rather nice shade like a deep puddle of blood or darkness, he sent a feeling of wrongness to the dragon and the image of Kyprioth scampering up a tree. Probably would happen ayway.

Nothing sat right with him. His belly curled in a mixture of anger, disgust and absolute terrified horror. His eyes widened at the riders words and he took a step back shaking his head far too quickly. He wonders if this man stops everyone to be intractable or if he’s a special case, and was everyone in this weyr gay?! He’s covered in scratches and drying blood-nothing to serious really but ever since coming here with a gay man hitting on him the entire way he had been moody at best. Even his normally ever so happy persona had been tainted to a snappish and worried one.

He wonders if everyone around here thinks that you need to fly with a shiny dragon between your leg to feel special-and rub it into others faces while you do it. Of course he forgets the fact that he himself wanted a dragon of his own very badly, he loved the terrifying little lump that was Banner with all his heart. Dragons obviously chose very badly here.

“"Id ravver bed yor dragon then touch yer. I'd 'ave ter be dead ter even be near yer in such a way. Why don't yer stop bein' a fairy and twinkle yor toes over 'ere so I can wipe that smug look off yo’face?” He sounded quite amused-in fact he was. He hasn’t had this much fun in some time, since the last fight he had with his sister which had turned quite volatile. He had let her win that one; she was a girl after all. If he was going to fight he supposed it was best to fight someone who for all appearances might very well be a few rocks short of a rock garden.

“Dont let yor dragon interfere. Yer seem the type 'oo cant 'andle 'is own fights, right, bein' a fairy and all. Is that the bloody only way for yer ter get any action, right, go 'round and freaten random men and assault them?" Calling a man that looked about ready to snap a rapist perhaps was not the smartest thing he has ever done.

Sitting on the dragons head Banner chortled a noise that sounded oddly like a laugh. He continued his odd little massage of the dragons flesh sending gentle pleasure that he was truly enjoying himself. He would stop if asked its just..he hadn’t touched something so interesting before. He sent a questioning image of Moryth eating and the feeling if he would share his food or not with him. That was a sure way to his little crooked heart.

[Taylor]

((For reference: any strikes which land in the post where they originate have already been pre-approved. We're not just punching each other without letting the other react.))

Moryth gave a little snort of amusement at the image of Kyprioth fleeing. He was enjoying this company, and his pleasure was evident; his eyes were a pleasant blue green and he was beaming contentment at both R'sren and Banner. He'd planned this just for his rider's benefit, but he was quite enjoying the encounter, himself.

R'sren was carefully watching the other human, trying to guess at what he would do next from his body language and expression. Not that he'd ever been overly good at such things, but...still. Worth a try. He may not be able to guess Kyprioth's thoughts, but at least he would see a punch coming.

Apparently they were talking more, first. That was fine, too. He laughed when Kyprioth said he'd rather bed Moryth than him. "There's a rather important size difference involved there. Really, I'm not that bad. I'd even let you top; doubt you'd get that offer from Moryth." He grinned, as if he believed his invitation had any chance of being taken up. He even spread his arms, a welcoming gesture, inviting Kyprioth into them.

The slur did darken his expression somewhat, and he glared at Kyprioth. "You won't last long here if you keep saying things like that. You do realize how most flights end, yeah?" It wasn't universal, of course, but...well, the feelings radiating from dragons were certainly strong, and you took what you could get, regardless of your orientation.

He rolled his eyes, not seeming bothered by the rapist crack. "Hardly, honey. I get plenty of action, and I'll show you why, if you like. After I've pounded you into the ground, that is. And no, Moryth won't be helping me. Might help you, even, depending how pitiful you are. Seems likely, I'd say."

Enough words, now. He'd been invited to "twinkle his toes" over to Kyprioth, after all - might as well give the man what he wanted. Striding forward, he wasted no time, pulling his fist back and letting it fly, the sting in his knuckles as he hit Kyprioth's face sending a thrill up his spine.

Moryth glanced at the pair as the sound of flesh hitting flesh reached him, but seemed entirely unconcerned. He gave a tiny nod, hoping not to unseat Banner. The nod was accompanied by the image of the two of them feeding together, a freshly slain herdbeast torn open and bleeding on the grass.

[damien]

Banner seemed not at all concerned that his handler was fighting. He was learning, and fighting only made you stronger anyway. He would be concerned if he lost. He enjoyed the image that was sent to him crooning a rare little noise of pleasure as he settled down to watch the fight before him. The set of his body said how relaxed he truly was. Finally a dragon that he liked, and one that understood him. He would share? Even better. He could not bring down the large kills himself, with the aide of Moryth they would make a terrifying team.

Kyprioth was a fast quick little thing. He could move from one end of a room to the other in seconds, he had the reflexes of a cat. That did not mean he could gauge when a punch was coming, or when to dodge it. He did not figure that the rider would actually attack him. He was at a disadvantaged, covered in red flecks from the scratches and completely caught off guard.

The hit landed and took his head back with the force of it. He felt his lip split and the copper taste of blood fill his mouth. Staggering he was quick to dodge out of the way shaking his head till his eyes were clear of the mist that had gathered over it. He could feel his blood start to warm and the familiar tingling sensation that ran over his body was met with enjoyment. No he did not want to get hurt, but the feeling of adrenaline flowing over him, the light headed giddiness that took over was far to euphoric for him to ignore.
“Tha’s tha best ya got?” He cackled eyes sparkling with amusement as he danced around the man. He never stayed still. He’s not attacking, not at first merely watching the others body and the muscle movements to know when the next hit would come. He was enjoying himself.

One never did win a fight on the defense completely though. Yes he could run the other man ragged and let him waste his energy on trying to hit him down-but that wasn’t the point of this. That would do nothing for the high he craved so much either and with a wink he feinted to the left with his leg before he curled it up against his chest and kicked out hard aiming for the others solar plexus as he went.

Before his foot landed he had brought up his arm in a swing using the momentum from his kick to hopefully land a blow following on the others chest.

[Taylor]

How far will yours take this?[/color] Moryth followed the words with a slideshow of images: Kyprioth unconscious on the ground, R'sren unconscious on the ground, both of them bleeding and out of breath, an arm at an angle which suggested it was broken. R'sren wasn't looking to win, after all. He just wanted entertainment. That made it hard to know when he would declare himself done with this activity; he wasn't necessarily trying to get Kyprioth to back down and surrender.

R'sren should get in a fighter's pose, really. He should bend his knees and bring up his hands and do anything, really, to protect himself. But instead he simply turned as Kyprioth moved around him, keeping the other man in front of him but looking as casual as he might if they were just having a regular conversation. He gave a little laugh at Kyprioth's challenge. "All that talk of me twinkling my toes and now you're the one prancing about. Got something you wanna tell me, babe?" Clearly flirting with the man trying to hurt him, who he had just punched in the face, was the best course of action right now.

Had he been in a state of readiness, he may have been able to dodge the kick or perhaps block it. As it was, he could only shift a bit to the side before Kyprioth's foot struck. The blow landed on the front of his shoulder, snapping it backwards, opening up his chest and creating a perfect target. Kyprioth's fist landed hard against his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Clearly, being at this height was dangerous. The blow had left R'sren a bit lightheaded and dizzy and he figured he may as well give into the sensation. He dropped to his knees but, rather than simply staying there miserably, he launched himself forward, trying to tackle Kyprioth with his arms tight around the candidate's waist.

[damien]

The blood tastes like the sweetest wine on his lips as he moves and the grin on his face is abosolutely feral as he watches his kick land and his punch follow through. He does not want to kill the young rider, he could use his height and skills of fighting with various elder brothers against him but that would be cheating. He was never fond of people who rubbed in how good they were at things, toyed with others when they knew they could win. What was the point, or the fun in that? But he also was not fond of authority figures and a dragon rider had a rank above him, a simple candidate.

“S’not mah fault ya can be movin’ faster than a one legged turtle.” He barked out at the rider and having been expecting him to punch him in the groin, he had brothers after all they fought dirty, he stumbled back and fell under the weight of R’srens body. A noise of pain escapes him as something inside snaps. He can feel it like a sharp lance of pain up his side and into his lungs. He’s momentarily stunned eyes wide as he gasps for air he cant seem to get.

He’s fighting now without thinking about it. The fun has gone out of this. There is a man on top of him, there is no air, the space is closing slowly and slowly in and he’s going to die. He cant breathe, every breath is like claws tightening around his lungs, harder and harder.

He fights with automatic reactions, the response to save his own life. The look on his face is no longer one of someone having fun but of a terrified creature. Hands claw and gouge along the nearest thing he can grab, R’srens neck. He finds purchase in his hair and curls digits around them till he can yank his head back by the roots of it, a painful position he knows from experience but all he knows right now is he cant breathe, its so close and tiny and he’s going to die, and he cant die not like this.

Even out of it he refuses to say stop. His pride is to large and he couldn’t speak if he wanted to anyway. His breath is coming in short ragged squeaking pants each one hurting the broken or cracked rib as he went.

On top of the dragon Banner uncurls and hisses his displeasure. Yes he wanted his handler to fight but this? He could feel his fear swamping his own mind and cruely he tugged Moryth into the rapport showing him what was going on. It was not the fear from the rib that the boy was scared of, he was panicking from his fear of closed spaces. To him R’sren was blocking him in and taking all the air away from him.

He stopped the rapport as quickly as he starts it and apologies to the dragon with a croon and awkward pat on an eyeridge. He doesn’t want him to hate him, after all it’s a rare dragon that he likes and this one was a dragon he could enjoy company with.

[Taylor]

R'sren ignored the taunt about his speed; a retort wouldn't make him faster, after all. He grinned as he felt the other man's body yield, Kyprioth going down more easily than R'sren would have expected. Kyprioth's little whimper of pain pulled a short laugh of delight from R'sren. He was clearly winning this little battle. Not that winning was exactly the goal, here, but it was certainly a nice bonus. Kyprioth seemed to realize R'sren was winning, as well, because he suddenly grew more desperate in his attacks. Not that it would matter, of course, with R'sren on top. He had the upper han-

R'sren let out a hiss of pain as the other man jerked his head back and clawed at his throat. Not exactly the sensation he wanted, right now. One hand grabbed Kyprioth's wrist, dragging his hand off of the ebony rider's throat. He could feel the candidate's nails scratching at his throat, dragging a bit of blood even, as he pulled them away, but it was better than leaving those claws where they had been.

Moryth shifted a little, somewhat uncomfortable even before Banner made it clear that this was abnormal. He could feel the change in tone, here, the way that Kyprioth's mocking confidence had evaporated. When Banner suddenly shoved the emotions at him, Moryth flinched. Yes, it was time for this to be done.

R'sren. It was unusual for the dragon to speak only his rider's name, and both knew it to be a signal that something was serious and needed R'sren's attention now.

Since Moryth tended to prefer using as few words as possible, hearing his name told R'sren that he needed to figure this out on his own. Something in this situation was wrong, apparently. He flicked his eyes towards his dragon. While it was difficult to get a good look at him, head ripped back as it was, he could see enough to know that the ebony wasn't in danger or great discomfort. The firelizard on his head, however...

He focused in on the man beneath him. His breathing didn't exactly feel right, and his body was tense between R'sren's legs. Right. Time to end this, then.

R'sren tried to pull his head free but the movement just caused more pain, prompting a sharp intake of breath which did nothing for the pain in his ribs from the earlier kick and punch. Well if everyone was so insistent that this end and Kyprioth wasn't allowing him to end it...

R'sren threw one last punch, aiming for the man's ribs, hoping to hit what was clearly a vulnerable area. As he'd hoped would happen, the blow had the fingers in his hair loosening. He took advantage of it, rolling off of Kyprioth. He didn't stay laying down, quickly coming into a low crouch, ready to move away if the panicking youth attacked again. "Alright, easy, easy. I'm off. Calm down, babe." Gone were the animosity and mocking which had so colored his words earlier. Now he spoke in a low, soothing voice, the kind of voice he had used with panicked runnerbeasts in turns before. "Just lay there and breathe for a bit." He didn't know what was wrong - had he hurt him horribly? was he just scared? - but he figured breathing and calming down would be good, regardless.

[damien]

The punch came unexpected and he curls up around himself trying vainly to protect his now flaming side. He felt the bone break-it had just been a crack before but now every intake of breath was killing him and he could do nothing about the tears that streamed from his eyes. Never had he suffered a broken rib before. Legs yes, arms as well but his ribs? Never. He didn’t know anything could hurt so bad, that your ribs made every move ache. He doesn’t even know that when the punch had landed a mewling noise of pitiful pain escaped him.

The punch has the desired effect, though not for the reasons R’sren thinks it does. He’s starting to realize his surroundings that he’s no longer closed in. He can’t breathe through; each intake follows with a stab of pain that makes him whimper and moan. He tries to calm himself down; panting will do nothing but make this entire situation worse. His vision is still edged with a grey mist as he turns over onto his back. It relieves some of the pain on his chest but it’s not much.

“How, “ He pants out eyes darting to where R’sren is, not aware that he’s taken over ten minutes to actually see him properly or speak, “Am I suppose tah’ calm down and breathe when ya broke a rib?” He sounded…surprisingly bland. Being mad wouldn’t help anything, in fact he’s sure if he was mad it would just make his injuries aggravated even more. There was no point in turning angry. He wants nothing more then to crawl into the river and let the cold water ease the throbbing but the very thought of moving stops him from doing anything.

“Bloody bastid.” He grumbles quietly to himself. The sky’s nice, he thinks as he stares up at it. Moving, not to nice. He could stay here for a bit, possibly for ever. Its nice and open here, there’s nothing crowding him, the smell of the river is pleasant and green and he can feel the worry, though it was halved with mock dislike so he doesn’t think his firelizard loves him, from Banner.

The pinched look on his face is starting to ebb, replaced by the wide eyes of someone who knows they are hurt and are trying their best to pretend otherwise. “Dun be callin’ me babe.” He grumbled quietly at him sending him a look. “No’ into tha’.”

[Taylor]

When it became clear that Kyprioth was somewhat beyond seeing him, right now, R'sren got up, walking to Moryth. He kept a first aid kit on his riding straps at all times; while it was mainly intended to be used during Threadfall, if someone was injured and couldn't get straight to a healer, it would come in handy now. Unfastening it from his dragon's back, he carried it with him as he returned to Kyprioth's side, kneeling beside him as he waited for the younger man to recover enough to process that he was there. Perhaps punching his rib hadn't been the best idea...

When the man finally spoke, his first words more a pant of air than proper syllables, R'sren gave him an apologetic, somewhat sheepish smile. "Well I had to get you off me so I could get off you, didn't I? And it worked." He crawled forward the small distance between them. "Anyway, broken ribs aren't that bad; you'll be fine." He'd broken a rib during weyrling training and while he hadn't exactly appreciated the "treatment" he recieved (a few hard pokes to find where it was broken, then advice to breathe deep, sleep on the broken rib each night, and treat the pain if he needed to), it had assured him that broken ribs weren't too big of a deal.

He let the man's grumbles wash over him, figuring he deserved the name calling, or at least could tolerate it if it made Kyprioth feel better. As he seemed to recover a bit, enough to protest the term of endearment, R'sren deemed him okay to be examined. ""Babe" is a rather odd one, isn't it? Not like I have any urge to sleep with an infant. Anyway, sweetheart, I'm gonna take off your shirt to look at your chest. I've got some herbs here which should take the edge off the pain, and we can go to the healer if you'd like, once you feel ready to ride Moryth. But there's not much you do for a broken rib - toss some ice on it and do all you can to make it hurt, basically." He smiled a little at that. Not how a healer would describe the treatment, but...it did basically feel like "heal a broken rib" was code for "piss off the injury".

He opened the first aid kit, finding the small knife that it held. Hoping Kyprioth wasn't too fond of his shirt, R'sren cut the garment down the middle and along each sleeve, letting the fabric flop off limply to the ground. He returned the knife to its place and then looked Kyprioth over. "You may be weirdly proportioned, kid, but you've got nice collar bones. Nice muscle definition, too." He ran his hands over Kyprioth's chest, down to his stomach, which he pressed lightly. The man's abdomen didn't feel overly tight, which meant no internal bleeding...he thought. He wasn't a healer, after all, but he was pretty sure what that meant. "Alright, honey, let me know how much this hurts on a scale of one to ten." He brought his hands back up, locating the place where he had punched Kyprioth. He pressed against Kyprioth's ribs - not hard, nothing like his earlier punch, but certainly enough that he expected at least a yelp.

[damien]

Kyprioth settles a rather wary glance on the rider as he comes back towards him, shaking his head a little bit to try and clear the dizzy spell he was suffering from. “Ive broken plenty of fings before, yer use yor chest a bit though yo’ know.” He grumbles under his breath not about to admit that it wasn’t so much the rib that bothered him as the fact that he had a panic attack. Even now he could feel it stirring back within him, the feeling that he would curl up in a ball and feel like he’d rather die. He tries to stop it from happening again, once was enough for him and he was already to raw to deal with it again. He feels like he doesn’t fit in his skin, it itches and feels wrong. Awkwardly he scratches at the half healed cuts and scratches on his arm trying his best to ease the feeling. It does nothing.

Warily Kyprioth watches the rider, keeping him in his gaze like a rabbit would a hawk. He still doesn’t trust him, after all he had broken his rib without much of a care, and he forgets that he was just as likely to break one of R’srens ribs in return, or worse. It doesn’t matter. He had obviously given up the fight in his scrambling attack to get him off of him, and R’sren had broken some sort of code by punching him in the side. It wouldn’t have been so bad had he injured him some where else.

It was the final last straw that broke the firelizards resolve to pretend he doesn’t care, when the rider turns what he’s doing sexual and makes the already uncomfortable Kyprioth even worse. Banner feels the reaction before his handler does and launches off of the dragons head. He’s smart enough to keep his claws fisted, like a goshawk does when hunting duck, slamming down to smack at the riders head before he took off. It was a move that broke the necks of small birds, but for the rider it would just smart a bit.

“My s-shirt.” Kyprioth looks torn between screaming in utter fear, running up the nearest tree and dying of embarrassment on the spot. His pants are thankfully baggy enough that they cover his reaction-some what. R’sren is to close though and he’ll notice, he knows he will. It’s a common enough reaction after stress and near death experience’s but its happening with a man touching him. A man!

A yelp that has nothing to do with the pain from his rib and he flails ineffectively at the other mans chest trying to push him away. “Ah’ be fine!” He said voice high pitched and panicked. He looks ready to bolt and he tries his best to look for the nearest exit. Anywhere but here.

[Taylor]

R'sren gave a little laugh at Kyprioth's words, though he knew the candidate didn't mean them to be funny. "Oh believe me, I know. Breaking my rib in weyrling lessons was certainly not my favorite thing on Pern. Just...think of it as an excuse to get pity sex, if you like. Does that make it more tolerable?" Sex made everything more tolerable...right? R'sren thought so, anyway. He could see that the other man wasn't doing too well, though. And it wasn't about the rib - if he was going into shock, he would have just...done it, right? Not gone into shock, gotten better, then gone back into shock.

Any questioning he might have done, though, was stopped the second Banner collided with his head. His head snapped sideways, the blow making his ear ring for a few seconds. He levelled a glare at the firelizard as a string of inventive curses left his lips. "Sharditall, I'm just helping. Bugger off."

He turned his attention back to Kyprioth, only to have the man freak out again. "Oh for Faranth's sake! Nothing I do is appreciated, around here. I'll buy you a new sharding one, okay?" As Kyprioth suddenly yelped and started slapping at him, clearly panicked, R'sren lifted his hands off the candidate, holding them up in a calming gesture. "Shardit, calm down. I'm not about to rip your throat out with my teeth or whatever nonsense is running through your head." His gaze dropped to Kyprioth's groin, well aware of what was going on there and wondering if that was what had the Candidate so upset. "I'd be all for a romp in the woods and I honestly think it might be good for you - endorphins and all that - but I'm not gonna pounce on you and hold you down, babe. Just...just calm down."

He frowned at him. "You wanna tell me what's really going on? 'cause it clearly ain't about your rib, and I think my chance of getting out of this without another punch to the face - assuming I don't just leave you out here all broken on the ground - is gonna go up if you stop freaking out for mysterious reasons."

[damien]

Banner, hissing his displeasure gives full view of his sharp teeth before settling down beside his person. He can feel how uncomfortable Kyprioth is. Obviously it’s not the same level as a dragon-rider bond, and he does his best most of the time to pretend he can’t feel a thing for Kyprioth at all, but it`s there. He turns his head to stare at what`s bothering his handler and shakes his head in confusion. Mate reactions, again?! His person truly needed to hurry up and have another mate dance, he was clearly in season. Odd, Banner had been under the impression that humans were always in season but his handler was only showing signs of wanting to mate with others when he had gotten to this weyr and met their male folk.

Oh shards oh shards he saw! Mortified Kyprioth holds his hands to his face feeling how warm his flesh was and to his intense shame he could feel tears prick at his eyes. Pathetic, he was pathetic. His sister would love to make fun of him for this. Why was his body betraying him so? He was in the peak of his life, fine condition of course he would react like this around a reasonably attractive ma-NO HE WASN’T GAY.

“I’m not gay.” He said quietly each word carefully sounded out so his accent didn’t affect any of it as bad it would have normally. The look on his face was pure terror as he tried to wiggle back stopping though when his rib protests and he finds himself stuck, with a man who’s bound to just jump him and do things to him and argh, why doesn’t he just get it over with? Surely it can’t be that bad, R’sren had actually given him an adrenaline high before he had broken his rib and scared him senseless, it might actually be-no why was he thinking like that! He wasn’t some fairy whore.

“Pa said that likin' yor own sex is wrong. It's disgustin'.He 'ated me uncle because 'e 'ad luvrs and I don't want 'im ter hate me. I'm not disgustin'! Oi! Ruddy ladies are just frightenin' and even fough I've tried I 'aven't been able ter even cop it-oh shards wot am I sayin', isit?Yer don't even care! I just...I just I need a drink." All of this was said with such quick frequency that he hasn’t taken a breath till the very end. It’s only then that he flounders gasping for air and turns a rather interesting shade of plum.

Not sure what to say anymore, he after all has just dug his grave rather deep, the man lets his head hang as he mutters something about ‘please don’t tell anyone’ and scratches at the ground. He’s torn between bolting but the knowledge that this would hurt his rib even more makes him stay still for the moment, he’s vibrating with the urge to move though. To run, to hide to do –something-.