The Hidden Things

Day 25 of Month 4 of Turn 2714
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Rec Cavern

This large cavern is painted a pleasant shade of pale blue-green, with purple highlights along borders. The weyr's badge is featured in a twin tapestries hanging on either side of the entry. Directly inside the doors and to the right is an area with bookshelves and a long computer desk for the public computer. Several chairs line the desk so that people waiting for the computer may pursue other studies. To the left of the entrance is a sitting area with a chess set built into a table.

Along the wall to the left is a bar, set up against the storage closet. Tall metal chairs with bright purple and blue-green cushions line the bar; beside the bar is a pair of gambling machines. Prior to recent renovations, the bar was set up on the other side of the room in front of a huge mirror inset into the wall. Now that mirror is behind a slightly elevated stage featuring a piano recently built by the Harper Hall and transported to the islands. Several music stands and musician's chairs are stacked against the wall, for use when Harpers or weyrfolk desire to perform.

Along the wall opposite the entrance are dart boards, each with a set of couches and chairs nearby for relaxation between turns. And all throughout the room are sitting areas with similarly constructed couches and chairs, all featuring blue-green or purple fabric. Short, darkly stained wooden tables are centered inside each sitting area, for games, food, drinks, and whatever else weyrfolk need. Near the center of the room is a large, long table usable both for crafty pursuits or table tennis, and interspersed throughout the room are card tables with wooden, cushioned chairs.

That Xyvette goes out of her way of an evening to avoid going back to where the weyrlings are living and training is not something new, but it's certainly become more consistent of late. During the day, she's often late for lessons, sometimes absent entirely from others, and leads her to push at what time in the evening that she can take for herself, a couch in the rec cavern claimed this evening as her hideaway of choice, possessively guarded with a cold stare whenever anyone strays close enough that they might consider sitting on that couch with her. She has a book propped on an armrest, not to read, but simply to serve as a surface upon which she can set paper and write, pen flowing across the page.

Being late for lessons is not something S'van typically is, however that has not saved him from being labeled 'deviant' or 'troublesome' by most of the other weyrlings (and the weyrlingmaster staff), though most of the blame should likely fall upon the bronze beast he's bonded to, rather than the former butcher. This evening, perhaps seeking asylum from said creature (though certainly there is love to be found between man and dragon, if one were to look deep enough), S'van finds himself in the Rec Cavern once again. A glance is spared for the bar, but he does not even attempt a drink at this time. No. Straight to the back, to a couch already occupied by a familiar face. Undeterred by cold stares, he drops himself to the ground at the feet of Xyvette's place of residence, leaning his head back against the cushion so he can stare at the ceiling. As if he owned the damn place. Not at all caring if he is wanted or welcome here. "Hey." Good luck getting him to leave now.

"If any of the weyrlingstaff have been following you and find me because of you…" It's a lousy threat that starts off making vague sense before Xyvette gives in and lets weariness colour her tone and drag it into defeat, depending on S'van to understand the sentiment that would follow from what few words she provides. She slides a long look down at him, brow furrowing momentarily, and even that turns out to be an error, for the nib of her pen doesn't quite lift away from the paper beneath as she pauses, leaving an ink blot that starts to soak through to the book she's leaning on. "Oh, for…" The curses that follow are creative enough that they might be entertaining in other circumstances, yet there's not a shred of good humour about her now. "Who are you on the run from?" she enquires, aggressively crumpling up that sheet of paper.

"They didn't follow me," asserts S'van, looking rather confident in the statement. "They've no reason to, today." Her long look is missed, either because he is just lucky enough to have closed his eyes, or perhaps because he anticipated such a thing and the quick shut-eye was a tactical strategy. Whichever it may be, his eyes are closed. A heartbeat later, and he takes a deep breath that sounds as though it may precede sleep. Muscles relax, hands folded over his middle, fingers laced together, legs stretched out. He is the picture of relaxed. Maybe even content, save for that little furrow between dark brows. Her question is met with a soft huff of breath and one eye opens to glance at her; not asleep after all. "Catwin." And a shrug. "Or, perhaps she is running from me and I am doing her a courtesy by giving her space." Although, this simply begs the question, "Who are you hiding from?"

Months ago, there would likely have been no response - or at least not a response that would answer the question put to her. Enough has changed that, today, there is one, even if it doesn't lean towards any kind of neutral or polite. "All of you." Xyvette delivers the words in a manner that leaves them largely devoid of emotion, yet they remain crisp enough that that it would appear that she hasn't bothered to censor herself, whether she intends to risk causing offense or otherwise. "Evidently, I'm not having a particularly successful evening." That much sounds as if it must be meant to aggravate, and still she asks, "What have you and Catwin done to each other to merit stealing out of each other's company?"

S'van may just take offense to that statement, if he was the type to let words bother him. As it is, they simply roll right off his shoulders and into the ether; as if he didn't hear them at all. Though his next question belies this fact. "Why are you hiding from us?" because clearly, there is now an 'us' and a 'them' among the weyrlings. Grey eyes open fully, and he glances towards the Harper-weyrling in curiosity. It lasts only a moment before his brow has furrowed and he resolutely closes his eyes once again. There is no change in posture, though his voice is a forced neutral. "I did nothing. She… said some things she should not have said. To someone important to me."

"Usually, when people behave in such a way, they believe they are going to make things better. Or they at least intend to make things better." It may well sound like Xyvette is throwing her support behind whatever it is Catwin has done, until she adds, "But, without a comprehensive understanding of people's feelings, it normally ends up with someone getting hurt. Sometimes, the best thing that people can learn to do is not to consider their feelings about a situation the priority." She twitches a shoulder. "An error made in kindness is still an error. I suppose it depends on how long you intend to punish each other for it." It buys her a decent amount of time to consider how to phrase why she's hiding, though it doesn't seem any less blunt for it. "You all move forwards. I don't. Your practical lessons now focus on what I cannot do. Why would I want to be reminded of that any more than I already have to be?"

Although his reclining position against Xyvette's couch, head tipped back against the cushion with eyes closed and fingers clasped across his stomach, may speak to relaxation and perhaps a nap, there is nothing about his voice to suggest he wasn't doing anything besides listening. "Whatever her intention was, she had no right to give away something that was mine," he says decisively, though it trails off into nothingness; the anger that once accompanied this statement is gone, faded into something more resigned. It simply is what it is. A rather neutral expression, and then a glance her direction once more, as if he cannot hold the 'almost asleep' look for longer than a moment or two. "Are you talking about Catwin, or yourself, now?" he wonders, an eyebrow lifted in curiosity. However, her next words turn that curiosity into confusion, and he says quite honestly, "I don't understand what you mean. You're in the same lessons we are… how is that not moving forward?"

"No, she didn't." Xyvette's agreement is as simple as that. "Ultimately, it's your decision as to whether you want to continue to cultivate the supposed moral high ground or consider if she's important enough to you to want to meet somewhere down the slope." She glances towards S'van for his wonderings, but she can't look at him when he challenges her with that look and question, hands curling at the edge of the book she's damaged, and though it's quite plain that she'd sorely like to speak again at all, it turns out there is a lesser of two evils, first question ignored in favour of the second. "I'm in the same lessons to listen. When you all fly and learn how to go Between, I won't. Until the healers and weyrlingmasters agree I'm healthy enough for it, I'm the weak link. You're all going to graduate together. I'm not." And then: "And Nehehkath is the one paying for his decision."

There is the barest flicker of frustration for her words, and S'van looks ready to challenge that 'moral high ground' until he just… doesn't. Lips press into a thin line as his gaze is directed decidedly elsewhere, and he leaves her logic unanswered. So, too, he does not challenge her again for his unanswered question, though a brief glance toward her again, there and away, may say he was tempted to push on the subject. But no. He's too busy in his own head to really push on a delicate subject. So he will let it go, and move on to the more concerning topic. "What did you do?" and he looks back at her, really looks at her, with an assessing gaze that trails over whatever is visible. "You're sick?" But he doesn't let it linger before he offers a snorting exhale, a gruff sort of sound in the back of his throat. "Please. Whatever. If Aedeluth and I graduate on time, I'll be shocked." He's half joking, half serious. "You sound like you're feeling sorry for yourself. Are you?"

"Apparently, it's more a case of what I didn't do." There's enough bitterness there that Xyvette need not say that she still does not agree with what assessments have been made, but she shakes her head to state, "Not sick." How true that is is debatable, for though she doesn't elaborate, her shoulders shift awkwardly again. "…My weyrmate decided that I'm not in good enough shape and believes I'm ill, so took it upon himself to have a chat with people behind my back." Anger surfaces again, briefly curling her lips into the beginnings of a snarl, but that the battle is already lost and all out of her control leaves her drifting back towards resigned before her temper rises any further. "…So I know something of people interfering where they aren't wanted," she murmurs. Is she feeling sorry for herself? "I'm sorry that I got myself into this situation," is all she admits. 'Situation' is a nice, broad term.

Listening once again, S'van's expression is thoughtful as he considers both woman and words. A slight narrowing of his eyes, as if to hone in on particular points of her person as she speaks. Though his own assessment of her health is left unknown; he's smart enough not to comment on a woman's weight. The mention of 'weyrmate' has his eyebrows shooting upwards, but again, no comment. At least, not for that particular bit of information. And there they will stay, as she continues on. No smart-ass comment on her perceived hypocrisy on the subject of letting things go. "Well. I don't know if this is the same thing…" but does he want to get into this discussion? His hesitation says 'no' even if he trudges right along with, "My health was not in danger. But it sounds like the Healers agree with your weyrmate…"

"Everyone agrees with him," is a grand exaggeration, played for the overdramatic assessment it is with drawn out vowels and the deliberate hanging of her head, crafted to try and drag herself out of that spiral of anger and irritability. "And I understand. I do. I'm just not at a stage where I can be gracious about it." Xyvette closes her eyes and exhales slowly, then peers down at that book to check the ink is dry before she hugs it against her. "I may not have much intention of forgiving him, but I can at least try to get to a place where I understand why he did it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you tried the same with Catwin?" She sneaks another quick look at S'van, though her attention has been reluctantly caught by someone with a Healer's knot, as if the mere mention of them could summon them. "If you are avoiding each other, hopefully there is still time to avoid reaching the issuing of ultimatums." For that, whatever she's done, there's a touch of sadness, but then she's easing herself up onto painful legs to assure that Healer, "I'm here; you don't need to accost me." Pride still smarting, she can't stomach looking back at S'van as she heads off, but she moves quickly enough that her rising shouldn't alert anyone to his presence.

"Seems as though he loves you a lot, if he is willing to risk your wrath for your health," notes the bronzeling idly. Though maybe not so idly, with the way those grey eyes have focused on her. S'van shrugs, a quick lift and drop of one shoulder, as he acquiesces, "Though, I don't know the man…" so he cannot speak to motives. "But I'd hope, if he is your weyrmate," and there is just a touch of stress on that particular word, to distinguish it from the rest in his sentence, "that you could at least try to forgive him." A pause, and then a rather softer, "You just have to decide if love is worth it." And maybe, just maybe, he's not only talking about her now. But then the discussion is at an end. There is no response in regards to his situation with Catwin, though a little side-ways glance of avoidance may speak for him. As she leaves, he will remain, draping an arm across the vacant seat and settling down on the ground a bit more, as if he did intend to take a nap right then, and there.

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