Second Pass Weyr - AU Canon Pern

Author Topic:  Pacing the Cage [Lymsleia, Open - Onlookers and others needed & welcome!]  (Read 3594 times)

IC Date: 28.04.232 - early evening

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It was early evening the day after Jada's visit and his unruly tantrum had opened his back wounds again. It had been a day of confusion, anger and conflicting emotions. Today was no better, except for the fact that he had not raged and he had not been drugged. He was highly anxious though and though his feet did not pace back and forth across the floor of his 'cage' his mind certainly was.

Currently he sat in one of the chairs near the table that was in the room. His pillow was behind his back, providing a gentle cushion. On the table before him was a mug of warm (not hot) klah and an half-eaten plate of 'healer slop' they dared to call food.

He was not allowed to leave his room at this point and he still had not been given his footwear back to help ensure it. What the healers failed to realize was that he could leave anytime he wanted. All he had to do was break the window and climb out. But he was not well enough to do so and he really didn't have a reason at this point. The last thing he wanted was another struggle with the healers as they dragged him back and drugged him up. He wasn't that desperate to escape his room. At least not yet. Being cooped up was not easy though. He was incredibly bored and highly anxious as well. He had no idea what the leaders would do to him or ask of him once he was allowed to leave the hall.

Twiddling the mug of klah in his hands, he took a sip, frowned at the lukewarmness of it and set it back down with a sigh.

« Last Edit: 08 Dec 2012 at 08:18 AM by Katila Weyr »

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Re: Pacing the Cage [Lymsleia, Open]
« Reply #1 on: 24 Aug 2012 at 10:06 PM »
Lymsleia leaned on the door to the room. She was a Healer and had as much right to be here as anyone else. But it was Sanderon she came to see. To speak to. "Umm,, Sanderon, was it... mind if I come in?" her voice was meek, though still passionately  alive with a vibration which might have been a desire to live. A few sniffles, "Look I am sorry I..." she drew a breath and struggled to collect her self.

"I want to say I am sorry I did, what I did.. I mean I am sorry.. that messed up, not sorry that I spoke out... though I am sorry about what happened to you." She opened the dor and stepped in. "I know the pain of that--" she raised an eyebrow like an upset head woman. " You've not touched for your food, Sanderon.."

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Re: Pacing the Cage [Lymsleia, Open]
« Reply #2 on: 24 Aug 2012 at 10:51 PM »
As he fiddled absentmindedly with his mug his sharp hearing picked up the sound of quiet footsteps coming closer. He did not recognize their sound. Having them stop right on the other side of his door caused him to frown with concern for a moment before his face took up his usual mask of angry defiance. Who would be coming to his room right now? The healers' assistants usually did not take his food plate away this early.

Turning his gaze upon the door he waited for it to open but it didn't. Not right away. His angry gaze slowly slipped into a frown of frustrated uncertainty. The voice that began to speak on the other side was unmistakeable. He would remember that voice any day. It had caused him added pain during his public lashing by delaying things when it began to speak up against things.

It was brave to speak up, but not when doing so did more harm than good. His anger returned as he listened. He wondered if she ever shut up or whether she would just rattle on throughout eternity if given the chance. Having her apologize in a rambling sort of way from the opposite side of the door was highly irritating. And he just wanted to throw his plate at the door and yell at her to go away.

But he didn't.

When the door finally did open, he looked upon her with intense scrutiny. His eyes still showed with anger but wasn't glaring like before. It might be some comfort to the young woman if she knew how close she had avoided his screaming abuse.

Although her rambling irritated him to no end, she was a meek sort that had taken the time to come and say she was sorry. He turned his anger away from her and onto his plate of half-eaten slop when she mentioned his lack of having touched it.

"You're more than welcome to eat it." He growled quietly, trying his best to 'behave'. "Come in." He offered out of a surprising show of good will. Though his words were kind, they were still sounded sharp with the anger he was suppressing.

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Re: Pacing the Cage [Lymsleia, Open]
« Reply #3 on: 24 Aug 2012 at 10:58 PM »
She shook her head. "No, you need it. Those wounds on your back are going to take time to heal. A good poltice amoung other things, including food." she brushed at her eyes. "But I came to give you this." she held out her hands. A book, was held in them simple and unadorned. Lymsleia looked down at her hands. She was shaking.

"I am sorry.' She sank to the floor by his bed. She wasn't this meek normally but it all just came down on her, Her eyes were an indeterminate hugh for a moment. "I didn't mean for it all to get so out of hand. I am.. Lymsleia, by the way, but I am sure you that and you probably want to stab me..."

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Re: Pacing the Cage [Lymsleia, Open]
« Reply #4 on: 24 Aug 2012 at 11:31 PM »
"This..." He gestured to his plate, " anything but good. And what I really need is for certain persons to keep their mouth shut. Right or not, you have the worst timing and the most annoying habit of rambling on about the same thing more than once. Just shut it. Think long and hard. Then speak your thought once. And you better be picking the right place and time for it or someone else might not be so willing to not shut your mouth for you."

Yes, Sanderon was ticked. This young woman, no matter how sincere had to learn that there is a time and place for most everything. Her actions had not done anyone any good, least of all him. And least of all herself.

He saw her timidity and part of him just wanted to keep berating her. Part of him wanted to scream in rage in her very face. Another part actually felt sorry for her. When she held out to him a book he stared at it with uncertainty and his first instinct was to become suspicious. As he examined the book in her hands with his eyes he also noticed that her hands were shaking. Was she scared of him? He wondered with something akin to surprise. His face was passive-aggressive at this point though and did not reveal anything of how or what he was thinking. His 'mask' was firmly in place.

Reaching out his hands, they brushed hers ever so softly as he carefully took the book from her grasp. The weight of the book pulled on tender muscles but thankfully it did not pain him nearly as much as he thought it might. Looking at the title of the book he nearly grinned but didn't. It was obviously something she thought might be entertaining or enlightening. Maybe both? He wasn't sure what her reason for the gift was. All he knew right now is that by reading it, his boredom from being locked up wouldn't be nearly as unbearable. Perhaps he could forgive this loud mouth after all.

Giving her a slight nod to acknowledge the book, he put it on the table beside his plate and watched as she took a few steps closer to his bed. Instead of taking a chair or sitting on the edge of the bed, as he began to surmise she might do, she sank to the floor instead.

His brow creased with true confusion. He truly did not know what to make of this person sitting there trembling and as meek as a little bird. When she apologized again, he frowned and his anger flashed across his features. I'shan had completely ruined those words for him. I'm sorry, was all he heard all throughout his forced search. It was horrible that he felt that way about 'I am sorry' now, but he couldn't help it. It brought back too many horrible memories, even the most unpleasant recent ones.

Sanderon was opening his mouth to tell her off when her sad emotional state as she sat upon the floor came back into the forefront of his mind. Her next words softened his anger slightly before it had a chance to burst forth. She 'hadn't meant for it all to get so out of hand' was a much more sincere and heartfelt apology and one he felt he could accept.

Her name was Lymsleia. He nodded once for her apology and name and worked on putting her name to memory. It wasn't difficult. She was a hard sort to forget.

The very soft sound that issued forth through his mouth when she spoke about him wanting to stab her might have caused Lymsleia to think he had actually chuckled. Though it was very short-lived as he didn't make a habit of smiling much let alone actually chuckling. His words to her statement were meant to be given in humor but they came out a little more serious than he intended. He wasn't used to humor anymore and his voice was too keen on speaking with anger.

"Sure I do. Got a knife?"

« Last Edit: 24 Aug 2012 at 11:41 PM by Sanderon »

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Re: Pacing the Cage [Lymsleia, Open]
« Reply #5 on: 26 Aug 2012 at 12:07 PM »
The dark skinned woman  reached for the plate and then stopped. "Not any good huh? Do you want me to cook you something? It shouldn't be too bad, the kitchens are a bit quiet this time, and I could make you something delicious."

She considered what ingredients might be in the kitchens at this time and then cleared her throat as he railled at her. "You're completely right. I didn't exactly think it out... this'll be the second time. But  in truth. The WEyr seems to be coming appart." She crouched there at his bed side allowing her knees to finally touch the floor.

 At the comment about the the knife she smiled. "I do though its really only good for stabbing vegetables, and thin slices of meat." she said with a little grin. She could tell he maybe wasn't  serious about attacking her.
 "I gues s we should jsut start over. WE got off to such a bad start."

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Re: Pacing the Cage [Lymsleia, Open]
« Reply #6 on: 26 Aug 2012 at 01:31 PM »
When she offered to cook himself something to eat from the kitchens, he bit back the thought that came to his mind. Add a little poison and it will be very good indeed. He frowned at himself for even thinking such a thing. Was his control breaking?

"I'm coming apart too."

His anger flared quickly when he realized what he had just spoken. His eyes glared and his lips tightened. Shaking his head, he tried to distract her from his words by trying to relax a little and adding more. "We all are."

He had some consolation when she took his attempted joke for what he had meant it to be. A joke. Why he was trying for humor right now, he had no clue. He didn't feel up to any sort of happiness or laughter. Just the opposite was true. He wanted to curl up and let the world go on without him.

"We did get off to a bad start." He mentioned, trying to appease her so she wouldn't berate him for his hidden thoughts. Maybe if he was nice to her, she couldn't tell what was happening to his mind. "I'm Sanderon." He offered his name to begin the 'new' start she hoped for and put on his best attempt at a smile. He felt though that it was horribly wrong to smile, even if it wasn't a true one.

Talian had said that he was only going to be kept overnight for observation. Why was he still here after a three days? Could they tell what sort of things he was thinking? Maybe they were just waiting for him to leave on his own. He had not been allowed before. Maybe they wouldn't care now. He could only hope no one would really be around to notice.

Trying a new tactic, he spoke up to Lymsleia and said, "The healer said I could go tonight actually." He lied. "So if you could find my footwear for me that would help a lot. Maybe a shirt too? It's getting a bit chilly during the nights now."
« Last Edit: 26 Aug 2012 at 08:54 PM by Sanderon »

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Re: Pacing the Cage [Lymsleia, Open]
« Reply #7 on: 26 Aug 2012 at 07:43 PM »
 Lymsleia looked up at him. He was coming apart? That didn't surprise her. "The Weyr is sick. Part of it .. I think.. is the... fact that we're being controled. Even the riders are controling themselves. they've told themselves- we will not leave and being crowded into these places, without leave to... go anywhere... is driving them---" She breathed slowly realizing her ramblings were probably not welcome.
 When Sanderon spoken up about leaving she brightened. "Yes.. I could do that I think, a shirt shouldn't be to hard, and pants... not to difficult.  The shoes might be tricky to get though. But still do able.: she admited after a thought. "Believe me, we'll be able to get you out of here, and you can walk around the Weyr... Believe me... uh... what kind of craft do you do-- I mean if you have one?" She tapped her knots. "Healer, though I specialize in midwifery.."  she punched the matress. "Apparently that gets me little respect... I can't do amazing things with wounds like Talian. I mean I can close them and stuff... but... he's just.. amazing."

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Re: Pacing the Cage [Lymsleia, Open]
« Reply #8 on: 26 Aug 2012 at 08:16 PM »
Despite his attempt at a fake smile, and his try at being amiable, Sanderon's mind was shattering. Piece by piece the control he had set solidly in place after his capture was dangerously close to breaking. It had been cracking ever since his public lashing. His goal at this very moment wasn't to make friends with Lymsleia. It was to coax her into getting the things he needed to make his way out of this tortured building.

Perhaps he picked the wrong person to 'befriend' because with her rambling on about the weyr being sick and not being able to go anywhere was driving him crazy. Maybe even literally. That was a scary thought.

Yes! His mind hollered in silence when she agreed to get him what he needed. Why did she mention pants though? He was already wearing pants. Just shut up and hurry. He silently begged in desperation as he tried his hardest to look calm and friendly. His eyes kept shifting in and out of focus though as his mind demanded his full attention.

No. No. No! Lymsleia did NOT just ask him about his trade, did she? Did nobody here know that it was a taboo subject one should never bring up to him? He tried. He really did. But the moment she started talking about healers, respect and wounds and how absolutely amazing Talian was and wasn't she so clever for being respected too, he lost it.

His carefully guarded expression broke completely and the mask of rage wasn't a mask anymore. Weak or not, He came out of his chair and tried to pick her up and slam her against the wall. In her face he would be with haunted eyes full of rage and anguish. His very quiet, calm rage had come. He did not scream in her face, he spoke methodically and almost without feeling. "Shut your mouth and just get my sharding boots. I can't do this anymore. I can't live like this. You know what? Forget it. I'll get them myself."

He might have given her another hard shove that would probably leave bruises on her arms, before he turned and stumbled towards the door as his throat keened with agony and his mind finally shattered. He had to get away!
« Last Edit: 26 Aug 2012 at 08:59 PM by Sanderon »

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Re: Pacing the Cage [Lymsleia, Open]
« Reply #9 on: 26 Aug 2012 at 08:27 PM »
 One moment she'd been talking. THe next... she felt the air in her lungs being forced out, violently.
Shards and Shells!
  The pain behind her eyes and along her back stung, but that's when she felt the fact that her feet were no longer touching the floor. It scared her, but it was like she could scream, persay. She didn't struggle. No that would burn oxygen in her blood, and cause her to black out. She went limp, trying to quell the rising panic in her body. Sanderon she realized was stronger than her. WAs bigger and well MALE.
   She breathed through her nose, and torrent of thoughts collided in side her.
    Appease a male if you must to survive, do what ever it takes but do not under any circumstances make a man angry. Her Cousins had said. But apparently the advice was too little too late. She'd pissed this particular male off to no end.
   She felt herself side to the floor... "Yes, my lord." was all she managed to say scrabbling to find his shoes. Appease she would if it saved her neck. She hadn't come all the way here to die.  And not at the hands of some irrate male who got so worked up over a worthless, loud mouthed, unintelligent, female. She berated herself. Yes she was all those things... Her Cousins, her aunts, those at Healer  Hall.. had made sure demon-eyes knew it.
    Lymsleia felt herself shaking, she could tell she wasn't moving. The floor in front of her seemed to spin, not quiet vertigo, no that was a different sensation. But she did feel like she was falling. And suddenly the world, went black.

T'shiro had been on his way to pick up a little tonic for a headache and a tickle in his throat he didn't want turning into a full blown cold. The man was rubbing at his temples when he heard the first of the racket coming from the infirmary room. A quickened cadence of riding boots brought him to the threshold, widening the door for him to enter. It took all of a split second for the instinctive training of his militaristic trade to kick in. A quick study, T'shiro's walnut hued gaze became a testament to the ferocity that remain well hidden within the crevices of his heart; but he contained it until release was necessary.

T'shiro  didn't take the time yet to find out if Lyms was alright -he was certain the woman was hurt...but she was moving so that had to at least be a 'good sign'. His priority however, was to restrain the the he who'd inflicted the harm. What came next was a soundless reaction which happened within perhaps the span of only one or two breaths since Sanderon had already been heading in his direction.

T'shiro met Sand's forward momentum with a rush of his own. Jabbing his right knee into Sand's diaphragm, T’shiro took Sand’s wrist as he would have been doubling over, stance already weakened. Manipulating the joint to an extreme that locked the bones of the wrist against the bones of the forearm, Sand's arm became immobile.  Using Sand’s arm now like a lever, Sand’s own weight worked against him, and with the use of that controlling lever, T’shiro brought the other man to the ground; mercifully, he allowed Sand to remain on his knees -the perfect position to ask for an apology.

"If you want to use this arm ever again, you'll think twice about not apologizing to the lady! Explain yourself, you sorry excuse for a man! And apologize!"

While Sand was for the most part under his control now, T'shiro's grim gaze gave Lyms another scrutinizing glance, trying to ascertain by sight alone how much damage had been done to her and if he should knock the boy out cold in order to assist her.
« Last Edit: 26 Aug 2012 at 09:19 PM by T'shiro »
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[span style="background-color:#330000;"][color=#663333]Cruclith Speech[/color][/span]

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With his voice still keening with the horrible shattering of his mind, he left Lymsleia out cold upon the floor and stumbled towards the door. Nothing made the least bit of sense anymore. It was as if he could not see things for what they were. The door was not a door, just an obstacle to move beyond. He was barefoot, without a shirt, bandaged on the back and wrists and going insane with rage and anguish. He had no control any more. That was shattered like his mind.

Wild black eyes sought what he thought was the way out. But who was this thing, this man that blocked his way. In a rage he lifted his fists and attempted to plow his way through.

No air! With the knee in his gut, he fell forward only to have the agony of his mind also present itself in his wrist. How dare this creature cause him pain! How dare it force him to his knees!

Guttural screeches came forth from Sanderon's throat. Apology? He no longer knew what that meant. He did not care about his pain. It did not matter anymore. Kill or be killed! His animal rage kicked in and he kicked out his feet from his kneeling position and tried to kick and overturn the person's balance even if it broke his wrist in the process.

Fighting rage came up and when his arm was free, he pounced with fists flying. He also attempted to reach for T'shiro's throat.

Yes, Sanderon's mind was gone. His wall of anger and rage that had guarded his great anguish had failed. No longer caring if he lived or died, Sanderon held nothing back.
« Last Edit: 26 Aug 2012 at 09:58 PM by Sanderon »

 Why, the nerve!!When Sand fought back, T'shiro's grip released enough tension that he wouldn't actually shatter any joints or dislocate the man's shoulder. He didn't need healers on his case about getting too rowdy with potential candidates, even if this one did seem to be more trouble than he was worth.

The Bronzerider's eyes narrowed, his focus seeing through each of Sand's movements and every shift in his stance. The Bronzerider's arms came up, deflecting each blow, giving himself time to consider how he wanted to take Sand out. In all honesty, if T'shiro'd wanted to destroy him right then and there, it would have been over in a matter of three or four seconds.  But such was not the case, and T'shiro was being lazy with Sand. The fact that he'd given Sand the time to even get off the floor was testament to the fact he knew Sand posed no real threat to himself and that he could be in full control of the situation at any moment if he so desired.

After all, there was no way such wild swings or an attempted grab would make contact with T'shiro unless he meant it to. T'shiro was too well-trained for that. There was no need for him to exchange the acceptance of a blow for a strike in this case either; this was pathetic. 
Once he'd gotten the feel for his opponent, understanding in Sand's case there would be no reasoning with him, T'shiro decided just how he would handle the man.

When Sand's arm extended for a grab, T'shiro rammed his foot into the man’s gut again at the same time he took hold the man’s left arm just below the elbow. Letting himself fall back, he used his own weight and Sand's unstable stance to take the man with him. Before they could land however, T'shiro's leg swung up to hook the backside of his opponent’s neck, forcing Sand into a sideways and downward roll that took him to his back. The Bronzerider rolled with him, pinning Sand in place with the vice-like hold of both legs that now wrapped around him from behind in a position that would have seemed very awkward. Sand’s left arm was torqued weirdly with his elbow through the fulcrum of T'shiro’s hip, so when T’shiro laid back, straightening Sand's arm as he went, an excruciating pressure applied to the weak elbow joint.

Sand was now completely immobilized on the ground. T'shiro had control of his torso and legs in such a grapple, and Sand's arm should have become a distraction for him because of the pain... if T'shiro increased the pressure any further, he could completely destroy Sand's elbow by shattering the joint.

"Stop fighting, you stubborn..." T'shiro growled through gritted teeth, a little frustrated by the insolence Sand displayed.  "I don't want to break your arm! Don't make me knock you out either, you wherry-brained shit?!"

T'shiro would hold Sand in that position tirelessly until the man relaxed and stopped fighting. There was nothing else Sand could do but comply at that point.  If he struggled any more, he might just never use that arm again... not for dragon riding...not for hunting...
« Last Edit: 26 Aug 2012 at 11:16 PM by T'shiro »

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She heard the voices first; an animal snarling and growling. Hissing like an upset feline- a big feline.. like those rumored to stalk the night here in the South. But the second voice was human distinct masculine.  She moaned, struggling to make her limbs make sense of their positions. Where was she?

She blinked her eyes. The mis-matched colors, blue-grey flickered and fluttered as she trying to make te world focus. She saw double. Two men.. and then-focus. THere were two men. Sanderon-- and... her eyes fell on the knots, briefly in the struggle. A rider. A male rider.

Lymsleia felt herself get to her knees. She took a few slow breaths. Her chest hurt, but that wasn't unusual the adrenline had kicked in, and she knew the feeling- her body was trying to decide whether to bolt or strike. She felt her arms shiver a bit as she leaned against the bed. She really was fuzzy.

 THe cursing the yelling,
"Don't make me knock you out either, you wherry-brained shit?!"
 though brought back memories... things she did not want to think about.. She  pursed her lips together. She would not cry she would not cry. She would not. She must not cry...  she felt the tears following though and as a wail left her. She seemed started. She hadn't cried like this since her mother left the hold... or rather since she'd awoke at the tender age of four to find her aunts barring her from trying to find her, distracting her with chores.

 And the men.. oh the men.

Far had been in Healer Hall getting his leg checked up, when he heard the commotion and decided that now...

Was probably not the time to heckle the unfortunate kid.

Seeing that the bronzerider seemed to have the source of the problem well in hand, however, he made his way over to Lymsleia and slammed his walking stick into the stone floor, gracelessly kneeling down next to her. "Are you alright, Lym?" He hated seeing a woman in such a situation, and if he had been more of a man instead of a wounded wherry, he would have been the one in the bronzer's position.

Alas, kneeling down next to the wounded and eying her attentively was about the most eh could do. He was a sharding useless lump.

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Krypth had been informed of what was going in the Healer Hall by some methods which Jada had not yet been advised of. She supposed it had to do with their mind-communication- but sometimes it was better not to ask. Jada had been at the Sands at the time, when the Gold had (smugly) advised her that the wherry she had found herself attached to was squawking and pecking out eyeballs. Oh, and he'd tried to choke/maim/kill that midwife. The gossip chain was a bit vague on that.

Of all the things to be vague on-!!!

The dragon had warned Jada to watch herself, and not trip anyone, and to enjoy her visit, then settled around her eggs for a nap. Sharding useless golden- Jada would, one day, wear her hide for boots. Probably not literally. Definitely not literally, actually. Still, her threats had been little more than an amusing moment for the Gold, before the Harper was darting her way through the Weyr, ducking around a few obstacles on her way to Healer Hall.

Which was in an uproar. Screaming, and fighting, and more than one person in her way, telling her to stay back 'it is too dangerous, Miss Jada' and all sorts of utter nonsense.

It was funny, in a sick way, that medics had so rudely interrupted that nice cathartic rage-moment he had been having with her, yet no one could seem to get in there and drug him now. She pushed in behind a tall mahogany-haired man, taking in Lymsleia on the floor and Sanderon on his belly, arm outstretched, T'shiro kneeling on him. "Sand!" She caught herself in a firm yelp, then squawked as a Healer grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back out of the room. "Sanderon, STOP!"

Not that her yelling would so anything, but shard it, he was going to get himself hurt!

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His eyes saw shapes moving. Threatening and blocking all of his rage rendering his efforts to destroy this fearful menace useless. No logical thought occupied Sanderon's brain at this point. The extreme control he had exercised over his mind, to shove down his deep anguish and feral rage the last turn and a half had taken a turn for the worst at his public lashing. From that point forward, his control had begun to leak. He could not stop himself now. It was as if his true self was now trapped inside and all of his feralness had taken control. Deep inside he was crying and terrified but held no more mental strength to stop himself. He heard Jada's scream but was powerless to respond. He was trapped deep within.

Sure he felt the extreme pain in his injured back and wrists. His elbow even now was in excruciating pain. The logical thing to do would be for him to calm down, think clearly and end all the madness right then and there. But he couldn't.

Not being able to move, he arched his back and tried to rip himself free of that which restrained him, but it was no good. His throat screamed forth with desperate wordless rages. Sanderon's mind had shattered. Maybe those pieces could be collected and put back time. Maybe they couldn't. At this point it was really hard to tell.

What was obvious was that he had totally lost control. Bucking up, twisting, raging! He had not been physically strong to begin with considering his already injured state. But even then, it was a while before his breath came in tortured gasps and he finally lay still, completely and utterly spent. Only a quiet groaning could be heard under his breath.
« Last Edit: 27 Aug 2012 at 12:58 AM by Sanderon »

T'shiro's body flexed with Sand's movement; core tightening and limbs hooked to keep the man locked down. No matter how strong Sand was, strength would do little to relinquish him from the opposing forces of the position his joints and limbs had been situated in. T'shiro knew very well that muscle only meant so much in combat -the rest was in the articulation, timing and placement, etc. Not to mention, muscle couldn't be built around every area of the body. There were always weak points and nerves that could be targeted.

The Bronzerider sighed and rolled his eyes as Jada came waltzing through the door. Oh, he'd have to apologize for this one later. How inappropriate of him to be in such a position in the presence of a Goldrider. What was he supposed to say to her? 'Oh, yah, hi Jada. Glad to see you. Hope you're doing well? Oh fantastic. Don't mind the squabble going on on the floor. Just step over the mess of tangled limbs and blood if you have to.' ??!!?!?

The displeasure was almost enough to make him consider knocking Sand unconscious. Or maybe he'd just throttle him for the hell of it!

"I hope you're happy with yourself, kid. If you need someone to hit and let some anger out, ask me next time. You can take shots at me all you want, but .. the Lady? She WILL get an apology; I'll make sure of that. No matter how long it takes. It's only proper."

T'shiro was relieved when others in the room worked at ushering Jada from the room. He continued holding on to Sand, even as he tried to buck and find some way of releasing himself. The Bronzerider constantly adjusted his grapple on the young man as was necessary until gradually Sand began to wear out. He noticed the stain of crimson beginning to soak through Sand's clothing where the wounds of his back had opened up, still being so fresh from the lashing. T'shiro winced inwardly, looking away.

It wasn't the blood itself that sickened him, it was the memory, the inner nature that it threatened to bring out in him that he'd rather avoid. For that reason, though Sand's body had begun to relax, he held on all the tighter for just a little longer. Just to be sure.
« Last Edit: 27 Aug 2012 at 01:18 AM by T'shiro »

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I Screwed Tsuen
There was an awful lot going on.

Outside, a dragon watched through the windows with the greatest of interest, though his true focus was less on the action and more the emotion. He couldn't see through those humans' eyes, but he could sense their anger and frustration through the walls. He could hear their shouting. He could smell their hate.

Humans, squabbling so foolishly. They built walls between themselves and their own kind, walls that had become far more effective a prison than the southern continent ever could be. The dragon knew he should not rejoice, but he couldn't help but feel a hint of smugness. If things continued as they were, he and His would get their way after all.

He vanished. He had someone very important to talk to.


D'ren opened his eyes and groaned. He'd fallen asleep over his desk? What is it? he asked wearily. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He could sense the anxiety and panic in Ronarth's voice. While that was enough to wake him up, he also took it with a grain of salt. Ronarth was easily alarmed and prone to overreaction. It could be a real disaster, but it might also be a distant stormcloud.

As a torrent of information filled his mind, D'ren realized this was no stormcloud. It was a hurricane.

He stood up slowly, a dour expression sinking into his face. He had a lot of conflicted emotions over this, but one of the most prominent was disappointment. Stupid kid.

A minute or so later, Ronarth dropped into view over the healing hall.
Stop! he cried, landing heavily on the ground as he made his order. The dragon carried all the forcefulness and natural authority of a bronze when he needed, but that didn't erase the anxiety. Ronarth didn't like fighting. The forcefulness in his voice came purely from a desire for it to end. It caused his rider too much pain.

D'ren quickly went inside, pushing past some medics and other riders as he made his way to the scene of the fight. Thank Tyrrisath for the information D'ren said as he moved into the room where Ronarth told him the conflict would be found. He stepped inside, green eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

Lymsleia, a chronic troublemaker. He still needed to meet with her to decide her punishment for her foolish activism. D'ren wanted to like the girl, but she caused trouble every chance she got.

Sanderon, a disappointment. D'ren had high hopes for the kid. He'd hoped that his own intervention and a hand of kindness might soften the edge, but it seemed like he was wrong.

Jada, always at the wrong place at the wrong time and often trying to fill shoes that she wasn't big enough for yet. He wasn't surprised to see her, but he still wished he hadn't.

T'shiro, who lacked an excuse. A dragonrider, most of all a bronzerider, should have handled the situation better. It looked like he'd been participating in the fight, and that was just disgusting.

"What's going on in here?" D'ren demanded. His eyes naturally moved to T'shiro. While D'ren wasn't pleased to see him fighting, at the moment it looked like he was at least trying to restrain Sanderon from causing more chaos. The Weyrleader's face was torn with anger and disappointment.

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[span style="background-color:#777733;"][color=#FFD700]Ronarth Speech![/color][/span]

An unfamiliar voice of draconic warning became forecast of who would soon be entering the room; at least, that was, T'shiro could wager a guess.

As soon as D'ren came through the door and turned to him for answers, the Bronzerider released Sand's body. Since he was already on the floor, T'shir's own posture bent into a kneeling bow, one clenched hand supporting himself up off the floor.  "Weyrleader. Forgive me. The events that led up to the altercation are still unclear to me. I arrived too late to be able to prevent the lady's harm, but her attacker was going to escape if I didn't intervene and I assumed he would pose a threat to others as well. I restrained him first with a simple joint lock but he fought back. When he attacked me, I felt I had little choice but to fully restrain him. That is all I know."

The Bronzerider remained in the kneel as if to await orders, hands coming to rest atop his thigh. He considered replaying events as he'd seen them, into Crucluith's mind so that they could be passed on to the Weyrleader, but figured if that were necessary, it would be requested. He would wait to hear what the Weyrleader desired.

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Farlint's voice jarred her and for a brief moment Lymsleia struggled. She could hear him and then she heard D'ren . She cringed.  the world was over wasn't it?

She was absolutely useless, try and be-friend someone and they attack you, but try and  help them... and they attack you. She exhaled. "No.. I am fine.." She hadn't broken anything at least not yet...

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The part of Sanderon that could still reason, knew that voice. He wanted to cry out, to beg the bronze to save him. He tried but even his fragmented mind might not be heard. He was trapped so deeply in this murky, twirling madness. Sanderon was in torment. His mind and his body were useless and both screamed for release. Broken and desperate and lost. Save me! His tiny, pathetic plea from behind a raging sea of shattered emotions was weak at best.

He heard D'ren's anger and disappointed voice. He no longer had the ability to understand the words that were spoken though. The sound of every syllable went wildly astray in his mind and he could not comprehend what was being said. He could only discerned the feelings behind them.

He suddenly felt when the 'threat' released his body. He was no longer being held against his will. The extreme pressure-pain that his arm had felt cooled dramatically and offered a little relief to his tortured soul. A part of him begged for a second wind so he could continue raging, but Sanderon did not have anything left to give. There was no second wind in him. His breathing came a little easier with the passing of each breath and he did not gulp the air as frantically as he once had. His eyes were only half open and trying to make sense of what they saw. They held very little comprehension at this point.

The heartwrenching sobs that came from another direction of the room irritated his senses and he growled weakly hoping they could be silenced. The crying was painful to hear. He heard the agony of his lost family in those sobs. It was becoming unbearable. His animal mind wanted to pummel the world and to stop the crying forever. But he couldn't even lift his head. He lay with his back upon the floor making a bloody imprint there.

His head was turned to the side and his whole entire being was limp. Come what may, the mess that was Sanderon was completely subdued.

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I Screwed Tsuen
D'ren surveyed the scene, taking it all in for a moment while he calmed his own nerves and prepared a response. He didn't wait too long, but he figured the few long seconds of silence would do everyone a little bit of good. They needed to catch their breaths...and find their heads.

"Thank you, T'shiro," D'ren said afterwards, giving his fellow bronzerider a polite nod.  He instantly regretted jumping to conclusions. T'shiro had never given him problems and didn't seem like the lying type. Perhaps that was why D'ren felt so instantly upset when it appeared that the man had been willfully fighting. D'ren was perfectly willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, and all said he was glad someone had been able to stop the fight.

"Good work," D'ren continued. He eyed Lymsleia for a moment. As angry as he was with her, he hated to see her hurt. "Lym," he said, recalling that she liked being called by her nickname. "I need you to go find a healer to tend to you. You and I still need to talk, but your safety comes first."  He spoke softly as he approached her, stern like an angry parent yet concerned at the same time. He gave her a light pat on the arm. "Go on. I'll deal with this, and we can talk once you're feeling better." She wasn't getting off the hook, but some things were more immediately important.

And finally, Sanderon. D'ren turned, looking down in disappointment at the young man. D'ren had made a huge show of defending the boy only a couple days before. This was what he got in return? D'ren didn't even have the energy to be angry at this point. That was just how leadership went. What a tragedy, this was.

D'ren? I think his mind is breaking. He wants to be saved Ronarth crooned worriedly. He brushed his mind against Sanderon's, trying to ease the pain. Ronarth hated pain. He hated not being able to make everything perfect. He hated it!

D'ren sighed. "T'shiro? Please take Sanderon back to the candidate island. I'm placing him under weyr arrest. I want him locked in a secure room where he's safe and can't hurt himself or anyone else...And I'll be assigning him a warden and a healer to try and keep a watch on him and help him sort out his problems." He looked down at Sanderon as he spoke, eyes filled with pity and guilt.

Try to keep him calm, if you can

I'm trying... the bronze whimpered. Sanderon? Please don't fight.  Let us help you

T'shiro  nodded, acknowledging D'ren's wish. "Yes, sir."

Without taking much care for Sanderon's injuries, the Bronzerider hauled the young man off the floor, letting him hang over his shoulder where T'shiro could keep an arm tightly restrictive about Sand's legs, holding him in place. T'shiro may not have been hugely built, but that never seemed to diminish his physical capability; usually T'shiro liked to think it worked to his advantage.

Cru, I'm on my way to you.

As he straightened from the floor with the new, added weight, T'shiro turned his eyes back to D'ren. "Weyrleader. If you don't mind, I'd like to suggest that I be allowed to assist in warden duties."

T'shiro honestly didn't know how much D'ren knew about his history, or the nature of his 'trade' as it were, but it only made sense to him that he be allowed to put his skills to use in some way.

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Lymsleia didn't stand. She could tell her body was shocked and scared. She shook her head mutely. She was pretty sure D'ren was commanding her to find a healer. She was absolutely sure he had- but now her legs just didn't chime with getting to move. They didn't want to move. She didn't want to move.

She jsut wanted to remain here. A slow deep breath, as her voice failed her. She opened her mouth- and silence. Absolute silence.  Her lips formed a thin line. She'd lost her voice- shock-loss. That made the most sense.  The Entire Weyr would cheer at that. But as she sat there trying to focus her thoughts on how to explain with no voice she tilted her head back. And then made simply eye contact with D'ren, mouthing the words. "No voice.".

Tags: lymsleia Sanderon 

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