Permanent Marks

Summer - Day 25 of Month 6 of Turn 2714

Ista Weyr - Main Beach

The famous black sands of Ista spread out about the great cove upon which the weyr has been built. Gleaming under the rays of both sun and moon they sit like diamonds in their own pristine beauty. The beach is nothing short of striking caught between the brilliance of the verdant greens of the forest and the crystalline blues of the shallows. The heat of Rukbat reaches into these sands by day, forever blazing underfoot. However the water remains cool and refreshing, never quite reaching the point of being tepid. Off to one side, spilling down from the plateau, a small waterfall empties into a catching pool that runs off toward the sea through a furrow of dark sand and pebbles.

It's only a few hours past morning, long enough for lunchtime to have come and gone, when Leketh bursts out of between with just a lingering chill for it. He circles only so long as it takes for Aedeluth to appear before winging down to black sand that makes up the beaches of Ista Weyr, a safe distance from the thatched hut sitting alone well out of the way of even the highest of tides. J'en unbuckles himself first, swinging a leg over and climbs down his lifemate's side as the dismounted bronze folds his flight limbs close against his body with a leathery rustle. Helmet, goggles, and gloves removed, he tosses the latter into the former and clips them to Leketh's riding straps. Golden eyes narrow, sliding from hut to sea and back again. "I dun think 'e's 'ere yet," he informs his compatriot as soon as he joins him, peeking around a bit before his shoulders slump and he unzips the front of his jacket. "I dun see no cook fire, so looks like 'e went back to the weyr for somethn' to eat." If S'van thought Jae could put it away, he had as of yet to meet the other son of P'rel.

Aedeluth's arrival from Between is mere seconds after Leketh's. The young bronze does not bugle his presence anymore; Between has become regular enough that he no longer feels the need to brag and crow about it, even if there's definitely an air of smugness to him as he follows the golden-bronze toward the beach. As always, his landing leaves something to be desired. His right hind simply does not allow him to be graceful despite extensive practice. But S'van is accustomed to the jarring motion, and is already unbuckled and in the process of climbing down before Aedeluth has even completed his landing or folded his wings. The young bronze settles himself near enough to Leketh to be companionable, but certainly not cozy. A similar sequence of events takes place with the weyrling; the accessories needed during flight but not necessary once landed are bundled up and attached to the younger dragon. A little thump-thump of affection before Sev closes the distance between him and J'en, shedding his jacket as he goes. Leketh gets a little thump-thump as well, just cause, and then grey eyes roam the beach, taking in the hut with curiosity. "Hm."

It couldn't be a more perfect day than it is this afternoon and with lunch now digesting in his belly, Cenrie is on his way back from the main weyr and well on his way towards the small thatched hut he calls home. It wasn't difficult to spot Leketh, considering how brightly colored and large he was, but the addition of a smaller darker beast of the same type comes as bit of a surprise. It doesn't slow his steps any or hurry them for that matter, surely not in any rush to meet his maker considering he'd heard from Tanit that his brother was well aware of certain developments as of late, nor was he the cowardly type that would run and hide from impending doom. No, the tattoo artist will face the consequences head on, chin up and with the sort of grin that perhaps only Jaelyn's companion would be able to recognize as a family trait. Devastating in effect, but one he shared with everyone rather than a select few. Cenrie was the outgoing one, after all, even if he lived a relatively hermit-like existence on those black sand beaches beneath their feet. There is a distinct pause, before either dragon can note his presence, when he sees who exactly has become so very attached to his little brother this time around. The difference between him and the last one, "Faranth," he breathes, hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers, "Jaelyn, he's enorm…oh." That bright and welcoming smile becomes devious indeed as he shoots the more familiar of the two bronzeriders a long and knowing look. "Nice." Shoulders bounce with his muted laughter, mingling with his utmost approval.

Leketh notes that this time Aedeluth remains rather than taking off as he usually did, saying nothing of it, but only he that is his would know that the kinder of the two dragons is made all the happier for it. A gentle snort and lowering of his head towards Aedeluth's for the thump-thump and perhaps even a fond nuzzle for him as carefully as possible before he steps out of range. Distracted by all things new and certainly exciting, the pale-hided bronze is rather startled by the voice that chirps from the other side of him. Head swivelling that direction. Jae knew that voice far better than his mount, turning towards it on the pivot of one heel and taking in the smuggy smugginess that is his older brother. His mouth opening, unsurprising not a single sound comes out of his face, because that there comment seems to sucked all of the oxygen right out of the wingleader's lungs. Sputtering, decidedly blushing furiously for some reason or another, it takes J'en a few seconds to collect himself enough to be able to piece together enough mental status to reclaim even a little of the ground that he had lost so very quickly right off the bat. "S-Shut up!" Yes, so very clever, and oddly reminiscent of a certain Xandonian goldrider if one cared to notice. More scrambling, clawing his way back, the younger of the brothers jams a thumb at his mate. "…maybe 'e ain't who ya think 'e is, huh?" Close, but no cigar, and he knows it. He could already anticipate the reaction to this and tries to wave it off with a dismissive and rapid fanning of his hand, "Whatever. Tattoo okay, that's it. No embarrassin' stories, no comments on…stuff…abso-fuckin'-lutely no booze. Just, shut up, and do the thin'." he demands, considerably much more growly than he was moments ago and decidedly taking perhaps a single step protectively in front of S'van. Not that he thought Cenrie would hurt him, but rather to show the older man exactly where things stood.

Is Aedeluth being companionable? Surely a figment of Leketh's imagination. It's certainly not an attempt at Half Moon Bay solidarity in the face of Istan Weyr folks. Nope. Probably a coincidence. Even if the young bronze is getting a side-eye and smirking look from his human-half. But Aedeluth is distracted from looking aloof by the arrival of the blonde. There's no outward sign to indicate that the dragon is at all interested (or aware) of his presence, save for the way one great eye is decidedly whirling in his direction. For the weyrling's part, there is a general taking in of the older brother, a subtle acknowledgement of similarities and the comparison of differences. And if he's sizing Cenrie up just a little? Probably because he is also keenly aware of the ties between the tattoo-artist and a certain pearl diver. Comments on his person get a raised eyebrow but no answering vocals, though there's a quick glance for J'en and his eloquent response. And probably a twitch to the corner of his mouth, though he hides that quick enough. The 'ain't who ya think' suggestion gets an even more amused look and, for a moment it appears that S'van might actually say something. He changes his mind quick enough, probably biting back some sort teasing question related to the wondering of just how many people the Wingleader brings around to meet his brother. But no. S'van is just going to be quit through this mini family reunion, absorbing the interactions between siblings with silent and barely contained amusement and curiosity. The single step gets a lift of his arm and the press of his palm into the small of Jae's back; a simple show of support and affection.

Strolling. Strolling. Oh, so very casual. Cenrie closes the distance that remains between himself and the two riders, displaying easily that he might be older but he was certainly not larger than J'en, standing a full five inches shorter than him. Which meant that S'van would tower over him four inches shy of a whole foot. The deviance tinting his grin fades away and is instantly replaced with the deepest of amusement for all the stunned silence and stammering. As far as he was concerned, this was the perfect ending to a perfect day. He does shut up as bidden, for the moment, offering Leketh a welcome by bestowing a fond pat to the head that has come around. Though that jamming thumb gets a rise, out of his brows, sending them straight up as brown eyes slide to reappraise the gentleman that his sibling had brought for show and tell. Er, a tattoo. "Right," he answers slyly, ashen lashes lowering and his features growing almost completely doubtful. "Too bad a certain dolphineer slash pearl diver already gave me a quite detailed description of your S'van, and here you are showing up with a guy that fits said description to a tee." A few more friendly pats for Leketh and Cenrie's hand falls away, tucking hair behind the shell of his ear before he extends the very same one out towards the gigantic weyrling. It was all about observation. Those little twitches of almost smirk, the near commenting, and especially that single step forward and reassuring hand placement. Still, Cen offers S'van a friendly smile for the disturbingly tall weyrling, "Nice to meet you S'van, I've heard nothing about you from my brother, at all. I'm Cenrie." The flusteredness of the boy with the eyes almost exactly like their father's was delicious, but none of it done out of any other reason than enjoying teasing him relentlessly rather than with malicious intent. Whether or not his hand is shook and greeting returned, the artist returns his attention to J'en as he starts making demands, but rather than make further comment the man shrugs. "You know I can't promise anything, but I'm not going to get a weyrling plastered." Okay, maybe a little more comment, to tide him over until the next time he can get his brother all blushy and flabbergasted. "That's something I reserve specifically for you." Eyelash flutter. With that, a more discerning eye is brought upon S'van, stepping around the couple and taking in only Faranth knows what before he merely heads towards the hut. "Come on then…"

Even getting attention from Cenrie was bliss for Leketh, who is the ultimate in betraying betrayers as always as he adoringly croons for as long as it continues, and may or may not have just intentionally brushed himself against Aedeluth on his turn around to find a nice patch of sun for the next couple of hours. J'en simply eyeballs his lifemate, though short lived as Cenrie alludes to Tanit, which brings those golden eyes back to him right quick. It's probably only S'van stepping in, literally, and placing a hand on the small of his back that saves his elder brother and the holder of his heart from all sorts of things neither of them wanted to hear. Things were not yet settled between himself and the woman not named aloud, but the fire was well on its way from cooling as is suggested by Jae's ability to hold his tongue rather than let the first thing that comes to mind shoot out past his lips. No, those remain sealed, watching any exchange between Cenrie and S'van quietly. J'en is frowning slightly for the shrugged comment, scowling for the quip that follows and of course then deflating entirely because he'd just played right into the tattoo artist's hands. Sighing, he exchanges a glance with his future weyrmate as they are both circled like roadkill, which just might be apologetic before he's following after the blondest of ones. "No dicks, no lewd shit…and ya ain't allowed nowhere near his junk…" Jae growls as he rattles off conditions, even as he remains as close as he can to the weyrling undoubtedly following him in turn.

Whatever the young dragon thinks of the tattoo-artist-brother-creature is unknown to all but S'van. And maybe unknown to S'van as well. There is only the whirling eye, peering down upon the trio as Leketh gets fond attention, Jae gets abused, and S'van gets… well. Eyed like a piece of meat. Chuff. Amusement. And then Aedeluth is off as well, going in a decidedly different direction from the other dragon, because apparently touching him took things way too far. Bringing up Tanit is cause for further assessment, though there's nothing about the weyrling that is anything other than curious; he's not about to go into angry-big-brother mode, or anything of the sort. But he is, obviously, curious about the man his best-friend is dating. No questions or comments on that particular relationship, though. Not with Jae getting tense beneath his hand and clearly unwilling to address the subject. So he'll just focus on himself. "Likewise," for the lack of knowledge shared by J'en. But the weyrling is jovial enough, cracking a bit of a smile and giving his hand over for that handshake, offering a needless, "S'van," in response. He's not the type who feels he has to prove himself with how tight his grip is, so the handshake is firm but not circulation-cutting or awkward. Being circled and eyeballed is cause for additional amusement and another grin, though it's a softer smile spared the bronzerider for that apologetic look. Clearly, he is not bothered by this behavior. As the call to move is given, the hand on his back slides down to seek out his hand instead. He follows along, a willing lamb to the slaughter, looking only slightly concerned for the list of conditions being rattled off by his weyrmate. "You're joking, right…" cause he wouldn't actually try something so dangerous, surely.

Peasentries and dragons out of the way, Cenrie pulls open the door to the hut, stepping inside and letting whomever is last in to have the honor of closing it again, "He isn't," he muses, flashing a bright smile over his shoulder at S'van, walking around the small cot in the center of the intimate space. Things…things have happened on that cot guys, just saying. Try not to think about it. He dares you. "I wasn't planning on doing anything quite so horrendous." Yet. Though his stance on that might change if either or them did something that hurt Tanit, there was just something in his eyes or smile that twitches or twinkles that suggests the threat without actually being blatant about it. J'en might lack subtly, but his brother sure didn't. A hand extended in invitation towards the cot, "Take off your shirt and lay on your stomach if you could, I'll get things ready." Now the man was all business, going through the motions of something that he's done countless times before and practically ignoring the pair of them while he did it. A large heavy black plastic case is pulled out of its sacred spot and hauled over, sturdy legs flipped out from its base to support its weight. He flips it open, pulling out a peddle to the floor and then a large heavy looking pen thing, both with cords that connected to what looked like a big electric motor. It's turned on, now droning with a low hum, everything checked from the viability of the two components to selection of ink color. A stool eventually pulled out from under the cot to which he drops his backside, brown eyes lifting to J'en wordlessly before he snaps on some black gloves, and a few soft pristine squares of absorbent clothes.

Leketh is busy, far too busy to worry about having taken things too far, curled up and happy as a clam where things are warm and perfect. J'en leaves him to it, letting his hand be taken and leading the weyrling up the stairs and into the hut. Pointedly he does not look at the cot, nope, not even tempted to or think about it. He's just going to give S'van a look though that suggests that no, there was no joking in his list of conditions. A fleeting flicker of eyes to Cenrie, then back to the brunette. "I think Cen's the only tattoo artist on Pern who dun need to sketch out nothin' beforehand. Usually, 'e dun take requests, just looks at someone and knows what's right. People dun usually ask the meanin' but 'e sees shit inside of them and says 'e just draws it to the surface." As poetic as that may sound, Jae was frowning heavily at Cenrie for it, pulling his mate towards the cot of unspeakable things and lets go of his hand so that the guy can do as he is told, but not before he gives it a squeeze. He'll watch his brother set up though, not so much fascinated as used to it, probably something he'd done more than a few times in his life. Cen's wordless look his way has the bronzerider immediately off to a drawer of the room's only dresser, pulling it open and removing two elastic hair ties. One, is used to gather up all of Sev's brown locks into a runner at the back of his head and the other is applied to his brother's so that there are no distractions or locks getting in the way. Soon as this is done, Jae is back at his lover's side, seating himself on the floor and leaning against the cot at the weyrling's head. "…'ow long, Cen?" he asks, after smoothing some stray strands from S'van's forehead with a gentle sweep of fingertips.

Brief though the walk may be, S'van will still use the time to twine their fingers together and pull him close and even try to steal a kiss. Because it is what he does. And then into the house, through the door, a little nudge of his foot and then the reach of his free hand to close it gently behind him. That cot? Not paying it any mind. As far as he is concerned in this moment, Tanit does not do things of that nature. DO NOT TELL HIM OTHERWISE. So why would things have happened on it? Nope. That is a perfectly innocent cot. That he is being directed to lie down on. After stripping. Hm. But the poetic explanation has his attention, and he offers a subtle nod of acknowledgement and acceptance for the unusual practice. Does Sev even know it's unusual? What does he really know about tattoos in the first place, besides the basics? Probably not a lot. But he trusts Jae, so he's quickly doing as he is bidden. A glance at Cenrie, then at J'en before his shirt is remove and offered towards the bronzerider to hold, a soft "please" accompanying the gesture. There is a brief moment of awkwardness as he goes to lie down; S'van trying to sort out where various long limbs are supposed go that will result in the most comfortable position possible. Eventually he finds something that will suffice, and manages to get arms and legs in places that are not going to inhibit movement or result in the loss of circulation. He props his head on an arm, following Jae as he moves around the hut before ducking his head to allow for the gathering of hair. 'How long' is definitely a question he may be asking himself, and grey eyes find the artist when the question is voiced for him, though the brush of fingers along his forehead has him just about melting.

Cenrie didn't need to watch and make sure J'en was doing what he was asked to, even if it was just a silent exchange, placing his foot on the peddle he'd placed on the floor and pressing downwards. This makes the pen in his hand buzz to life, letting his hair get pulled back as he changes needle tips and settles a bottle of jet black into a slot he can get to easily enough. When his brother comes into view again from behind him, his gaze rests primarily at the scar on the back of his neck, following his progression until he's seated if only to let his eyes drop to the giant laying more or less face down on his bed. "Not long…" he replies to J'en, sounding as if his mind was somewhere else, using his free hand to adjust the weyrling's head so that the back of his neck and the bones beneath were straight. This means that while eyes and nose are above the end of the cot, lips and chin are pressed against the mattress, still allowing the smell of sunshine that clean sheets bring. "This is going to hurt S'van, please try to keep as still as you can so none of the line work gets distorted." Even as he says this, the buzzing starts, using his free hand to brace himself as he leans forward and starts right there on the back of the younger man's neck. In his very next breath though, "I take it that you're the one responsible for my little brother's new scar?" Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Sure he might be pressing just a little bit harder than is entirely necessary, but that just means a bolder application of ink. Or so he'll defend.

Apparently J'en is being pulled close and getting kissed, this is perfectly fine in his book even if he tries to accomplish this while his brother was busy setting things up rather than paying attention to them. Suffice to say it's quick and over before he tsks affectionately at the man, and leaves him to close that door for him. He would never intentionally leave him astray, or permanently mark him with something less than stellar, which is why he took him to Cenrie rather than that other guy who's been haunting the weyrs as of late. He had proof on his own skin of his abilities and while he might argue about the location of the one that was now in full bloom upon Tanit, he couldn't fault the work. It was beautiful, as always. So, Jae ends up holding his mate's shirt, and maybe just looking him over a bit with the newly revealed flesh. Certainly there is no lingering in places or biting of his lip, no, that is not a thing. But there is sitting and nearly melting weyrlings eventually, nodding at the answer that he gets from his sibling. That brushing hand gets lightly rested on one of Sev's naked shoulders throughout the explanation of why stillness was important, if only so that it can be felt when he startles at the accusation leveled upon the laying man. "Cenrie!" he hisses, a long hard stare over the top of S'van's head that he won't be able to see, promising all of the death…all of the time…all at once. A glance downwards, seeing the slightly more force then needs to happen, and growls in warning. "Cut the shit."

Likewise, the weyrling cannot fault the skill that is displayed upon both his future weyrmate and his best friend-sister-person. Not that he's about to bring up Tanit's name on this particular visit. Nope. Maybe next time. If there is a next time. Head directed down, warning of pain and instructions to remain still are noted. There is a slow inhale followed by an equally slow exhale, which is all the acknowledgement he gives as a sign that he is ready. Not that an inquiry was made, because suddenly there is a needle going furiously into his skin. There is no startled twitch or jerk for the sudden biting sensation into the back of his neck, though his face sort of scrunches up and his eyes close as he breathes through it. He is definitely trying to channel his attention into that hand on his shoulder instead, but depending on where Cenrie's needle is currently passing, there is accompanying tension in his jaw and a flinching of fingers against the cot. Particularly when he's working on the thin skin that lays over vertebrae, where there is no protective cushion. That question though? That definitely gets his attention and for a moment there is indecision and even a flicker of guilt that is quickly swallowed up by more grimacing and general expressions of discomfort and pain. Eventually, S'van decides that the best answer is no answer at all, and will allow both Jae and Cenrie think whatever they wish about his lack of response. He's just going to sit here and bare this in silence for a while.

"It's a perfectly valid question, Jaelyn." Cenrie continues on, despite all the hissing and growling, though there is no accusation or anger behind the words. The tattoo artist was the epitome of calm and serenity, even if he continues to press harder than he has to, brown eyes flickering upwards to his brother if just to drop back down to the design already taking shape. He works in silence for what must feel like an age, perhaps gathering his thoughts or stunned there by the rapidly building ire of the bronzerider. Maybe he was just cutting the poo as he had been told, but then his voice cuts through the silence about the time he's gotten the outline completed. "Don't you think you have enough scars?" Whatever he thinks of the weyrling's non-response is kept to himself, seemingly concentrating on his sibling and the work he was doing on his not so cute and not even remotely little boyfriend there. "Don't lie to me and tell me you liked it or asked for it either. That thing is turns old, and I only got to hear about your new friend here not so long ago. Is that what won you over? That he hurts you?" Another glance between the two before he starts to shade, a back and forth motion that is excruciating at best as he passes over bone. Yet, the tone was nothing but one of mild concern, all the rest of Cen's emotions being poured into how hard he was applying needle to skin for bolder lines, depth, and definition. As long as S'van held still and kept up being still and silent, he would continue, but the second he was none of them he would pull that hand away quickly as not to ruin his work so far. Though as finer detail is brought into being, blood being wiped away with those soft cloths as needed, the heavy hand returns in sharp quick movements that start wide and then narrow as they move outwards. "Roll on your side left, S'van. Jaelyn, keep his head straight for me would you?" Instruction is given softly, gently, and once obeyed he gets back to work but not before. No, he'll sit back and stare his little brother down expectantly. It's clear that this was a weird mix of professionalism and personal, his brows lifting. "First a really older guy with commitment issues, then a renegade who cut and left you, and now this…" Leaning over, he murmurs. "You tell me you love him, fine. You love him. Tanit likes him, so I'm going to assume that bite was an accident during an act of passion and that for as long as you live it isn't ever going to happen again." A smack is then delivered to the back of the weyrling's head, not very nicely. "Understood? The both of you?" Eyeballing for all from the twenty eight turn old was sadly the shortest of them all, but he had turns and experience to make up for it. Back to work he goes with more of those sharp, deep jabs that feels like he's stabbing an ice pick straight into the soft tissue, in various locations along the side of Sev's neck. Wipe. Wipe. Without looking up, "Oh, and Jaelyn? You ever speak to Tanit like that again, and you won't be welcome here anymore. I'm a big boy, I don't need you sticking up for me." A pause, "But thank you for being so protective. I love you too…" He pulls away then, the pen set aside and comes back with an ointment that he spreads over the places he'd just tortured into feeling like the skin had been removed. His chin, jerking upwards at his brother, as he pulls his gloves of and offers the remains of the small metal tube to S'van. "No swimming in the sea until this is healed, apply this everyday, and don't pick at it. The scabs will fall off in a day or two…and will for about a sevenday or so, completely healed in a fortnight." He offers a small hand mirror then as well, having signalled J'en to get the other. What Sev had there was a healthy and mighty tree with wide outstretched branches with a bit of shaded grass at its trunk base. One half, covered in thick foliage, while the other side's branches were surprisingly bare. Not because the leaves had fallen away, but rather have taken flight as a flock of birds (represented by variously rendered 'v's) that trail off around the right side of the weyrling's neck. The flock thins out gradually, until a solitary leader can be found nestled just there over his pulse point under his jaw.

The deepest of frowns etches itself onto the bronzerider's lips, not for Sev's silence, but for Cenrie's continuance. Sure, he hadn't promised him anything other than no booze, but he was not expecting an inquisition. The fact that his brother was using that tone, makes his shoulders lift and tighten as golden eyes fix and harden. When there is nothing else, for a long time, little by little J'en begins to relax enough to try and sooth his mate with gentle touches and soft caresses along his back, arm and even his face. This temporarily one-sided closeness is enough to almost return him to a state of relaxation when Cen is opening his mouth again and that's when it all comes back with a vengeance. For a while there, Jae says nothing because he honestly didn't have the words to express just how pissed he was at him and he had a needle thing piercing his lover's skin. He doesn't try to lie though or make excuses, other than hissing an aggressive, "Ya dun know what yer fuckin' talkin' about. S'van ain't never hurt meh on purpose, Cenrie." Even if he looked and sounded like he wanted nothing more than to tear the older man into shreds with his bare hands, the note of truth under the suggestions being made for certain facts were wearing away at Jae's resolve. While he may help S'van turn as he is told, it's not keeping him from glaring at his brother poisonously or the glossy build up in those golden eyes. "Stop." comes from behind clenched teeth, not enough to stop one drop, or the other that soon races down his cheeks. "But it was…" Crumbling. Crumbling. Swallowing thickly, he looks at S'van at mention of love, and even if he's falling apart a bit right now, the expression on his face spoke clearly of the accuracy of the sentiment spoken aloud by the blonde in regards to how J'en felt for him. Oh the rage now, despite tears and screwed up insides on conflicting emotion, he snaps a snarled. "I do!" And then the smack, and without thinking he's moving to place himself protectively between his brother and future weyrmate. A commanding tone, far more requiring obedience than previously and perhaps ever before. "Stop it, Cenrie!" But the older man keeps poking at all the sore spots and instead of going after the mirror like he's supposed to, he's getting to his feet and pulling at S'van. Up. Up. Good thing the tattoo wasn't half finished, because from the looks of it this might just be Jae's final visit to Ista for a while. "Fuck Tanit, and fuck ya. I fuckin' hate ya." No he doesn't, but he was so angry he was shaking visibly, and rather than smear his brother over the dark sands outside or decorate the inside of the hut all pretty and red, they were going to leave even if he had to drag the much larger man within his grasp with him. Though, he'll be taking that tube thing and be sure to make sure that beautiful tattoo gets taken care of. Cenrie might be his only brother (that he knows of) but he was saying things that he didn't want to hear. So he had entered full out rebellious, not thinking of things, wanting to escape, too pissed to even breathe mode. In fact, he was already yanking poor S'van out of there, no matter who was still talking.

S'van had been of a mind that the question of J'en's neck scar was rhetorical. There was no reason that Cenrie would bring it up if he didn't already know. So in that case, what possible answer could the weyrling offer that would suffice? If he said 'yes' it would certainly be met with ire. If he said 'no' it would be a lie, and incur further anger. So for S'van, at least, silence seemed to be the best answer for the moment. Until he knew what the game was about. The gentle touches to back, arm, face, are met with unspoken gratitude, though the needle in his neck is not so bad that he can't think or breathe through it. And even this is becoming acceptable, even with the firmer than necessary pressure being applied. For the span of silence, S'van simply does his best to relax and breathe and remain as still as a statue. All things he is accomplishing with relative ease until Cenrie is speaking once again. And what he is now saying? Definitely not cool. And were it not for the needles currently jabbing into his neck and inspiring a sort of stillness that comes with not wanting to die, he'd probably be up and off of this cot and out the door in a hot minute. The sudden tension in his jaw and the curling of his fingers into a fist, nails biting into his palm, the way every muscle has suddenly turned to stone, is certainly not for the needles and artistry happening on the back of his neck. Oh no. Definitely not. It's for the comments on a situation and a moment that he knew had been a loss of control. That he sometimes looked back on with regret, and certainly did not take lightly in the least. And the idea that he would intentionally hurt him so badly, or would even consider continue it? That has him livid. He's fairly shaking against the cot with the effort to stay put, to not move, to not jump up and hit something really fucking hard. It's the sudden increase in pain at the back of his neck that keeps him still, a small part of him thankful for the distraction of the intense sensation along his skin. It's this that he lets consume his thoughts, not even trying to fight it, allowing feeling to drown out a bit of the rage that was threatening; something he hadn't felt for several months now. It wipes all other thought from his mind, to the point that he is only dimply aware of the answering response of the bronzerider, his tone of voice and the subtle inflection that tells him things are 'not right' with J'en. It's distant, lost somewhere beyond the haze of rage and pain and general distraction He's breathing. Just breathing. And seething. When it stops, when the appeal to move comes, it takes the weyrling a moment to process this new request. Roll? ROLL?! S'van is about to roll right the fuck off the cot and out the door, probably breaking something on the way out. It is very likely that the only reason he complies is because he cannot get his mind to process the situation enough to inspire any other action. He is, decidedly, not looking at the blond tattooing him but rather past him and into the wall. Boring a hole into it with the heat of his gaze. It's a wonder the whole place doesn't burst into flame, really. The unnecessary threat, the smack to the back of the head, is met with equal silence and not even a twitch. There are words, so many words that want to spill out of his mouth. Angry words. Threatening words. Filled with righteous anger and indignation at all the perceived implications of what was spoken over him as he lay on the cot getting tattooed. But S'van cannot make any of them come out, the muscles along his jaw working with the effort though he just… can't. Caught between his brain and his vocal cords, stuck as he tries to process a situation that is blinded by anger. So instead, there is just silence, a really dangerous look directed at no one, and the complete abandonment of the situation the moment he is allowed. Mirrors ignored. Tubes of ointment dismissed. Made easier by the insistence of the bronzerider trying to pull him along. There is certainly no need to drag him; the minute those fingers leave the back of his neck and he's under the impression that moving is OK, he is gone; out the door before he can do something stupid like break something. Aedeluth is waiting, poised and ready, muzzle pointed in their direction as rapidly whirling eyes assess the situation at hand. There is no comment between them, certainly nothing audible, and for once the bronze creature is not projecting vibes of dissidence or opposition.

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