For What It's Worth

Half Moon Bay Weyr - The Weyr of Leketh
The interior is almost what you would expect, considering the occupant's choice of riding leathers and straps. Everything is black leather, chrome and glass. Immediately upon entering the space opens up into a small living space which comfortably contains an enormous four cushioned couch, and two armchairs to match. There are two glass tables, one tall and thin situated between the chairs, and the other short and squat nestled in the middle of the setting complete with a blood red shaggy looking carpet beneath. Along the back wall is a fully stocked bar with a black stone slab counter and four tall chrome stools which seamlessly blends into a matching kitchen type area, with all cabinets for storage recessed to save on space. An island serves as both food prep and an intimate dining area with two more of those stools, a refrigerator tucked into a nook where it will not be in the way. To the right, a long row of bookshelves leading to a reading area, a strange looking machine set up on a desk across the way which occasionally makes a mechanical whirring sound, but the single chair pushed up against it says that it probably not as intimidating as it appears. The lighting in the main area is all recessed up into the ceiling, with a panel beside the entryway to control them.

To the left is complex bit of construction carved out of the very rock itself. On the bottom level is a private bathroom with latrine and a glass encased shower, as well as a workbench laid out with various tools of a computer crafter's trade, a single rolling stool the only place to perch. To access the upper level, one will have to climb. A set of stairs depicted by industrial steps affixed into stone lead up to a loft of sorts. A railing prevents accidental falls, and is just wide enough to support the low set king sized bed with its black and red bedding and two small nightstands on either side. Atop them are small electric lights which turn off and on with but a single touch. An upright piano has been tucked against the wall across from the stairs, the stool before it small enough to fit beneath, and a storage space for clothing is hidden behind a silky red curtain just there to the left. All and all it is maximizing space and convenience, but certainly lacks a warm and inviting vibe.


There is no doubt that someone wouldn’t notice the wreckage the second they arrived on the enormous ledge that Leketh occupies, as it spills out the arched entryway that leads into the weyr proper. Glass is broken, metal twisted only Faranth knows how, and furniture has been not only turned over and scattered about, but punched through. There isn’t a single place on the ground floor that isn’t in chaos, bits and pieces of things unidentifiable scattered about and flung down from the small loft above. A piano lies shattered at the foot of the stairs leading up, mattress and clothes shredded and tossed about presumably by bare hands. J’en is there, seen walking across the mess with bare feet of all things wearing little more than a pair of sleep pants. He had cuts, scrapes and abrasions all over him and one seriously busted up left hand where the bone is even a little exposed past the scar tissue that had already been present there. He moves around inside as if his home wasn’t looking like some over the top crime scene, heading towards the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. It’s only saving grace is that it was bolted to the wall, otherwise it would have very well be face down on the floor as well. Leketh is curled up as far away from the entry as possible, sleeping, so whatever took place has likely been over for some time.

Faranth, but what was Risali thinking when she came here? She wasn’t; Risali wasn’t thinking at all about the fact that she would be trapped and at the mercy of J’en’s possibly eradicated kindness to get back down once the dragonrider that brought her here left; she wasn’t thinking about the fact that J’en was in pain and hurting and if the state of his weyr means anything hurting bad and maybe she wouldn’t be welcome; Risali really wasn’t thinking much of anything at all except to get an update on the search for her cousins and her father, to hear the words and cling to offered reassurances that we are doing all we can and — “J’en?” Risali’s voice sounds unsteady and unsure even to her, sparking a distant irritation for herself that stays muted as grey eyes take in the explosion of fury and furniture; they’re taking in too much and not enough and there’s a part of Risali that goes terrified and still at the casual show of violent-capabilities, wanting to run, but instead Risali forces her focus on the bronzerider. She’s trespassing. Sue her. “J’en are you…” Risali’s in the doorway, but has come in no further. The harper leans over the threshold, but does not a toe put in as she looks up and down and Faranth why is she here silences the small voice inside of her telling her to flee. J’en is a dragonrider. He can’t hurt her.

There was a voice calling him, J’en could hear his honorific and it wasn’t being spoken in his weyrmate’s soft youthful tenor. No, that was a woman’s voice but other then that he didn’t recognize it. Golden eyes come around with the turning of his head upon the swivel of his neck, soon followed by his shoulders and torso. So many tattoos on this guy, and with room for more it’s probably only a matter of time before he covers himself with them. Lashes lower as his gaze settles on the apprehensive young woman lingering in his doorway, seconds before his chin comes upwards, looking at her for several long moments. “Jae,” he says at last, tipping back his bottle of water and drinking down half of it without spilling a drop. This wasn’t one of those ridiculous commercials where half of it trickles down his perfect pecs or mouthwatering abs in order to sell manly scented body wash. “…please.” Despite his weyr looking like a mini tornado tore through it, the bronzerider was no less calm and collected than he had been back in the bar at Fort. Even if there might be a blood smear on him here and there that he hasn’t bothered to fix up. “What brings ya by?” Icy and even in tone, he pays absolutely no attention to the condition of his home, so maybe it was just a figment of Risali’s grief stricken mind.

It could be a figment of Risali’s grief stricken imagination, but it’s not; she’s not imagining the tattoos on the younger bronzerider (and yes, grey eyes linger for perhaps a moment longer than what might be considered polite), she’s not imagining that he just corrected his honorific to Jae, and she’s not imagining the blood or the mess or the ruined flesh on the back of J’en’s hand that’s similar to the ruin on her own. Possibly the only difference is that Risali’s wound came from punching another human repeatedly in an attempt to save herself. The harper steps over a piece of ruined furniture, eyes trained on the spot before she looks up again at Jae with brows furrowed and something unreadable in her gaze, but ? “Jae, then. Are you ?“ Grey eyes go right back to his hand, and the woman shakes her head. Most people might comment on the mess or lecture him or do any number of expected things, but Risa does not. Amid so much debris, the woman kneels down and starts to pick up pieces without so much as a word. It might be rude, but the mechanical, repetitive nature of it soothes her. Risali doesn’t ask after J’en’s wellbeing either, because the state of his weyr says better than any lies or dismissiveness she anticipates he would impart upon her for the trouble can convey. “You said I could see you if I wanted to talk; does that offer still stand?” And Risa pauses in her work to look up, hands full of broken things as she waits.

J’en pays absolutely no mind to the way that Risali’s eyes wander and linger, he just goes back to drinking his water and hydrating himself. In fact, he seems to care very little about a great number of things, likely not limited to his current banged up state or weyr. He does watch Risali though, as she crouches and begins to scoop up the tiny shattered pieces of his life. Saying nothing for a time, at some point he pushes himself off the counter that he was leaned against after depositing the half-drunk bottle of liquid there, and disappears from the room entirely. From the equally destroyed bathroom he reemerges with a large plastic bucket, probably used for cleaning, and carries it over. He stands for a moment behind her as his golden eyes survey her own destruction, before setting the bucket down beside her. “Dun use yer hands, ya’ll cut yerself.” Sage advice, but the bronzerider doesn’t push it beyond that, even if he steps over a nearby dustpan and small broom combination rather heavily as is to emphasize their location. How he didn’t have shredded feet from all that walking around broken glass in bare feet is anyone’s guess. He returns to the counter, leaning back into that exact same spot, and reclaims his beverage. He gives neither his approval of her actions, or use of his preferred name. He just watches in relative silence for a long time before he inhales sharply through his nose and then slowly lets it out without making much of a sound. “I ain’t tossin’ ya from mah ledge or nothin’ so safe to assume if ya wanna talk, I’ll listen.” Every word that leaves his lips as cold and empty as the next.

Risali looks up as soon as J’en brings the bucket to her, eyes following him as he moves in a way that perfectly draws her attention to the waiting pan and broom ? but that isn’t what interests her. With a rather sudden abruptness, Risali is reaching out to grab J’en’s wrist in tiny hands, shifting from her position on her knees to stand even if it means having to temporarily use the bronzerider as leverage to get back up ? but she doesn’t let him go. Grey eyes are no longer on his face or his tattoos or the mess he’s made of his weyr, but on his hand as she smooths her fingers over the back of his ruined one (sans where she obviously should not touch), and she brings it closer to eye-level. One, two, three ? an exhale. “J’en,” she says softly, and there’s irritation in her voice ? possibly the reason why she opted out of ‘Jae’ again and chose to use his honorific. “You aren’t going to go see a healer for this, are you.” It’s less a question, more a statement, and said with the exasperation of a woman who knows because she avoids the healers herself and who might also possibly have spent time fussing over others with wounds. There’s a gentle pull then, through the ruins, towards the kitchen as she asks, “Did you already wash it? And don’t you dare fight me, J’en. I will throw you from the ledge, and don’t think I won’t. You should at least bandage it until somebody can come and get a better look at it. I’m no healer, but…” A pause, another look down and a soft curse. “Faranth, Jae. Walls don’t yield.” She’s assuming from the mess. “Neither does the ground, or the piano, or the furniture.”

With his wrist suddenly grabbed, Jae’s return to the counter and his chilly brooding is delayed at the very least. It’s likely the fact that Risali is female that the bronzerider doesn’t react as he so often does being touched without permission. He says nothing, nor does he yank his arm away, simply looking down at her past the length of his nose as his lashes slowly lower to about halfway. He doesn’t help her to her feet when she shifts her position, allowing her to use his captured limb to ease herself up to standing, golden eyes remaining transfixed to her silver. He seems to have distracted himself there, missing entirely her use of his honorific and the examination of his battered left hand. With the right, he gently grasps Risa’s chin and tips her face up so that he can look deeper into her. He was almost a foot taller and he takes his time to bend forward until he was well within her personal space. Specks of sapphire can be made out amongst the overall gold color of his own, “Ya have the same eyes.” he murmurs, and he could only mean one person. Risa may not like her renegade cousin, but Jae loved Taeski and missed him even if he was unable to show it given his present state. The pad of his thumb brushes rather intimately along the flesh of her bottom lip. He lingers there only a moment, before he once again stands tall and his interloping hand is dropped back to his side. Oddly, when Risali caresses the back of his damaged one, the bronzerider stiffens bodily, drawing in a quick breath through his nose and the flesh of his arm is suddenly covered with thousands of goosebumps, before he shivers and he seals his gaze behind his eyelids. He exhales past parted lips, unable to respond to anything that the girl has said, and certainly very pliable in being pulled towards the kitchen sink. He seems to have recovered some, from whatever that was, by the time they arrive and he starts getting bombarded with questions. “No.” He had not seen a healer, and would not seek one out on his own, and considering that the shredded knuckles were still thickly crusted with blood and torn flesh, it was fairly obvious he had not done anything other than fuck it up. “It’s fine.” Yeah, nothing about any of this was fine.

Risali’s attention is focused on Jae’s hand right up until the bronzerider forces her gaze to his. Grey eyes come up slowly, with distraction, as if she hadn’t at all noticed the gentle application of fingers to her jaw or the bronzerider closing in until he was right there and — “J’en,” Risali breathes, and despite the uncertainty in her tone, there’s steel within, as if daring the bronzerider to take it further ? and he does (in her mind, anyway), when he applies that intimate touch to her bottom lip and immediately one of Risa’s hands reaches up between them to make a sort of cage with her fingers over Jae’s mouth and nose and she pushes before he’s even drawn away. It’s not that Risali doesn’t think J’en is handsome with that bad-boy edge to make most girls curl their toes in delight at the attention, it’s that Risali’s already got somebody in her mind that supersedes all of that ? and it’s him that she thinks about when the bronzerider gets too close. “You do that again and I really will throw you off the ledge.” And don’t think that Risali doesn’t notice the goosebumps, or the shiver, or all of that, either. She does, but instead of connecting it to some kind of pleasurable rush at the gentle application of her fingers to J’en’s skin, she dismisses it entirely as perhaps bruising that didn’t feel particularly pleasant even when she was being gentle. She doesn’t let him go, she does drag him into the kitchen, and there she fixes him with the most wrath, rage, dryly sarcastic look that she can manage for all of his answers and his dismissal. “It’s FINE? It is not FINE, J’en. I can see bone and you are going to get an infection. Do you understand that? INFECTION.” She yells the last (as best she can, given her bruised voice) to simply prove her point, and then she lets him go as she starts the process of getting water heated and digging around for salve or bandages, or anything. “You are going to see a healer. I will drag you there myself, over my shoulder, if I have to.” Nevermind she’s going to have to get down from his ledge, and he’s bigger than she is, and — alas it’s more bark than bite. “WHERE ARE YOUR SHARDING BANDAGES?” Like she’s mad that she can’t find them. Because she would know where they are, right? EVERYBODY SHOULD KEEP THEM IN THE SAME PLACE. “And some firewhiskey or something so that the alcohol and stave off any infection in the meantime.”

It was impossible to miss the hand coming for his face, so J’en merely pulls his head back all the quicker and drops his hand away from Risali before she can push him away. He doesn’t explain himself, nor does he apologize for the intrusion, taking the breadth of the girl’s anger into him or perhaps even through him. He doesn’t appear to be any worse for wear for it, or that he was upset that whatever that was that he was doing was rejected. He was still as stoic and icy as ever, even as she drags him off towards his own kitchen and starts rummaging through the drawers. He just stands there, watching, even if things are being pulled out and thrown around in the air and then to the ground around him. “Why do ya care?” he does finally ask quietly, with no change in expression to show for it. “Vauril and Taeski will keep lookin’ even if somethin’ happens to meh.” Curiosity perhaps? When asked where the bandages are he lifts his damaged hand up, because it's his dominant one, and points towards the large bathroom located under the loft. It was wrecked. Everything had been pulled down and off and was strewn about carelessly. The shattered mirror above the sink had a perfect radiating fracture in its center, and was accented by what could only be the bronzerider’s blood. Somewhere in there was the first aid kit, and it was stocked with everything Risa had been wasting her time looking for.

Risali doesn’t respond, she’s too busy stomping off towards J’en’s bathroom and tearing the broken place apart even more so that she can return with some bandages — and hopefully salve because she does not envy the descent back to the bowl and arguing with the infirmary to just let her take the damn stuff. SLAM. SLAM. Both items go into the countertop and Risa pushes herself forward until she’s in front of J’en again. “I trust Vauril and Taeski about as much as I trust a feral feline or a tunnelsnake. They might look pretty, but they bite. Hard. Vauril in particular.” Risa’s reaching out to grab his hand again, tilting it this way and that as if to decide what angle she’s going to start at, and then she lets him go so that she can start heating water and looking for a cloth. SLAM. SLAM. While she waits for the water to boil, Risali pulls herself up onto on of the counters and, resting her forearms on her thighs and interdigitating her fingers, she leans forward. Her next question is softer now, missing any hint of pity or sympathy, but heavy in inexplicable empathy, “Faranth, what happened to you to make you so cynical?” She waits, a beat, and then shakes her head. “I came here to ask how the search is going for my father. What’s being done, what the rotation is like.” WATER’S DONE. Risa slips off the counter and retrieves the water, dipping the cloth into it and giving it a moment to cool before she grabs Jae’s hand again and very, very gently begins to dab at the ruin and blood around the wounds first. “I could ask you the same thing, though. Why you care. You didn’t have to tell me that I could talk to you if I needed to. But you did. Why?”

The bronzerider remains where Risali had pulled him to, simply watching her stalk about and slam things around his decimated weyr. There are bandages and salve to be found and forcibly placed on flat surfaces, so that works out well for her. J’en hasn’t moved a muscle from where he was placed, even when the perturbed Ila’den spawn comes to stand before him, lashes lowering as she talks of Vauril and Taeski. “I’m aware.” he says cool and soft, not defending them, but not showing much interest in bad-mouthing the brothers either. He allows her to do what she will with his hand, having no reaction as she examines or she abandons it in favor of boiling water and slamming things again. He silently tracks her movements, likely only because she seemed to be a flurry of motion and there really wasn’t much else for him do other than stand there. He’d broken everything. As Risa settles on the counter, the boy eyes remain on her, her question not eliciting even the smallest of a physical reaction, “I was raped, repeatedly, from when I was ten until I was twelve. Mah body, trained.” he replies just as coolly and even, without seeming to have any other intention other than to simply answer her bluntly and truthfully. No sugar coating. “Mah brother killed the man who’d started it when he found out, but I’d already been passed around and sold off a couple times by then.” There is no reflection of anything on Jae’s face, as if he was talking about the weather, “Mah trust ain’t easily given ‘cause of that, and I made the mistake of tryin’ to trust the wrong people.” He doesn’t name names or point fingers, possibly because he may believe that despite her bloodline, Risali wasn’t stupid. Without lingering or floundering in the past his words had dredged up, J’en merely continues on to the next series of words that required a response, “The weyr is sendin’ out riders in six hour shifts to keep the dragons and riders as alert as possible, with Seamount resupplyin’ as not to deplete the stores of any willin’ to house their rest periods.” He pauses as she gets up, golden eyes with lashes low following her throughout the preparation process, only starting up again once she has his hand in hers and gets to fixing him up. He doesn’t even so much as flinch as she pats at the damage, but she may notice there is just the smallest inflection of strain in his cooled words, the flesh beneath all that blood dark and purple with bruising. “Vauril, Taeski and R’hyn are coverin’ as much ground as they can without Xermiltoth, tryin’ to keep a low profile. They’ve been followin’ a few leads, some of them promisin’ but ain’t yielded the fruit yer askin’ after.” He goes quiet after that, even after Risa inquires after his reasoning for wanting to help her out. Wetting his lips, he inhales softly and exhales her answer. “I want not to care, but yer in pain, and I can’t help but want to do all I can to ease it. I can’t do much, but yer welcome to it, for what it’s worth.”


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