Unstoppable
Who Jet, Th'ero
What Th'ero visits with Jet; she makes a request and he grants it…
When Day 24 of Month 3 of Turn 2712; Winter-Spring
Where Central Infirmary, Fort Weyr

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Central Infirmary
This room looks fairly similar to most other infirmaries, with it's faint scent of antiseptic and an eerie quiet that goes along with convalescence. Rows of cots line both walls, each separated by a privacy screen. Breaking the line of cots along the outside wall is a entrance to the dragonhealing section of the infirmary. The far end of the oval room is filled with metal cabinets that hold the tools of the Weyrhealers trade, as well as a desk from which the healer can supervise his domain. Upon one wall rests a thick 'chart' containing the information on all patients within the infirmary.


Anyone expecting a fairytale reunion of Jet and Kyramith must have been sorely disappointed upon the former's return, for all the two permitted to be seen in public was a long moment of silent staring and the weakened greenrider allowing herself an instant of leaning against her lifemate's shoulder. While Kyramith has not strayed far from the infirmary, she at least has continued to observe lessons, leaving a silent Jet to let life carry on around her as she stares blankly towards some distant horizon that only she can see. There have been words here and there, the healers report. Instructions followed. However, ultimately, she seems thoroughly uninterested in the world around her.

One wasn’t foolish enough to expect a fairytale reunion and that, perhaps, would not be surprising. Very little about Th’ero would say he believes in such things and even with Jet now returned, his mood and temper have barely improved. He’s spoken with the Healers, of course and with Nyalle and the rest of his staff and that could be reason why he has not visited in person until today. The Weyr continues to move through the usual routines, barring the continued disruptions with the weyrling barracks only partially functional. It has not been an easy Turn and the new one is looking no better. Today though, despite everything else plaguing him, Th’ero makes the time to visit. He irritably waves off the Healers who come to inform him that Jet hasn’t really responded or whatever else. Instead he simply quietly settles himself by the green weyrling’s cot, sitting a little farther down than most would but he does not address her. Cloaked in shadows, brooding and as cold and unapproachable as ever, Th’ero sits there and waits, with his gaze fixed on her and unreadable.

The two bronze firelizards hogging what free space there is on Jet's pillow observe Th'ero more keenly than she does, though whether she is cheating and borrowing their sight to watch him is another matter. Minutes pass, the pair of them as still as she is, their gazes directed towards him, while hers remains fixed on some indefinable point ahead, lending a glassy, empty quality to her dark eyes and leaving it impossible to tell if she has noticed the Weyrleader's presence. Just how much of that silence and distance from the world is of her own volition and not a carefully crafted defence mechanism designed to help her endure what she has been through may be just as unclear for a good while, but, eventually, she gives a single, heavy and deliberate blink, exhaling. "Do you have a punishment for me?" It sounds as if she could not care less, her voice empty and hollow.

“From what I can see,” Th’ero takes his time in speaking up, even drawing it out then with a considerable pause between his words. His gaze does not waver from Jet or those two bronze firelizards, ever quiet in his observation and withdrawn in his judgment. “You are suffering punishment enough for whatever actions you feel are punishable. Are you claiming, then, that this is all your doing?” It’s a blunt question, but an honest one. While Metan has explained some, if not most, to him, he’s still attempting to piece it all together. Now he needs Jet’s side of this whole sordid affair.

"…I left the Weyr. I had to… to get out. I needed air." Perhaps it sounds humiliatingly ridiculous as a concept, even to her, since Jet closes her eyes as if she could deny that weakness and the belief of a phantom caging that became a very real one as a consequence. "I knew what he was." Past tense. "What he did. I tried to help him, where I could. I wanted to protect him. Keep him safe. But I was useless. He only stayed here because of me. I didn't fight hard enough. I only stopped to keep Kyramith alive." What eloquence she's ever had is gone, only one statement handled at a time and ill-connected at that. "I never met any of those people. I only knew what he told me. Maybe it was all lies."

Not so ridiculous to Th’ero; he’s notorious for leaving the Weyr at times for similar reasons. So perhaps she’ll find a sympathetic ear in that regard, even if he does not show an ounce of it. “Knew who? Metan? Or Hassoun?” he asks, brows furrowing for the rest which more or less fits with what he already knows but there is truth for the poor connection. There are more gaps between the pieces than before and he exhales heavily. “You knew him then, prior to being a Candidate?”

Which of those names shuts Jet down again will have to remain a mystery for the time being. Perhaps it's both. She doesn't flinch or twitch or anything of the sort, but what little animation she's summoned slips away and leaves her impassive and still once again. Whole minutes pass before she takes a deep breath and drags words into being again, rough-voiced. "Metan." Another minute. "I knew him. By chance. I didn't know he'd been Searched. It doesn't matter now, does it? I knew he was in trouble. He would be hurt and he'd lie. Nothing… improper went on. I never got to do more than kiss him." Though there is a ring on her finger, visible on the hand that clenches the sheets.

Th’ero is a patient man and he will quietly note the change in Jet at the use of those names. Yet as her use of Metan’s name does not bring about a second episode, he will make an assumption that it was the other name. “I didn’t mean to imply that there’d be anything beyond knowing the man,” he mutters gruffly, catching sight of that ring and making him frown, grimly, all the more. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, but I wouldn’t say the blame is on your head. No one would assume that anyone would be as insane as Hassoun was or the lengths he would go.”

"You don't do what they did to me just for knowing someone." She's blunt about it, at first offered merely as explanation and observation, but as Jet lets the thought settle, she opens her dark eyes to reveal a grim, bitter focus somehow much worse than the distance and disengagement. Only now does she actually look at Th'ero, her attention fixed and sharp. "When the barracks collapsed, the concussion impaired my sight. It's still correcting itself." What use is there in hiding it now? "You know blades. Weapons. Forging is… different to wielding." Where is she going with this? "When my sight is restored, I want you to make me unstoppable." It's not a question, delivered with any deference, weyrling to Weyrleader, but, truly, how much further can she fall?

Her bluntness doesn’t seem to bring surprise to the man, but rather a quiet amusement, if grim. Th’ero is no stranger to what could have happened to Jet; he can assume much and there’s plenty he hopes she did not endure but is no fool to say as much out loud. He can see enough with his own eyes and the change that overcomes her. “True,” he admits and listens intently as she reveals her still mending sight. That brings a change in the Weyrleader and his sigh carries a weary, tired note to it. “Does anyone know this? Or have you kept it to yourself?” he asks, only to go silent again. Her request has him regarding her with his dark eyes and his mouth presses into a grim, tense line. “Are you sure this is what you want…?” It’s offered quietly, without hesitation but hangs there, weighing heavily above them both.

"Admit I might forever be a grounded burden to my dragon, the Weyr and my craft?" Jet could be clearer about it, yet her tone is enough to say it all, its disparaging and derogatory taint direct solely at herself. "That a falling rock could rob me of everything?" In hindsight, it's the lesser of the evils she's faced, and so she leaves that train of thought well enough alone, choosing to only declare that, "It is not as bad as it was." She can certainly fix Th'ero with a proper stare now - at least for short stretches of time. "I will not be anyone's pawn or plaything or bargaining chip ever again. Teach me or leave me at the mercy of another instructor's failings."

Th’ero scowls, “Never a burden to your dragon,” he’s quick to firmly correct her, near to scolding. “Do you think you’re the first rider to have vision problems after Impression? You are neither a burden to the Weyr.” He does not speak of or for her Craft, however. “What happened to you was unfortunate and if we could have foreseen the damage to the barracks…” Regret lingers there, for a scant few seconds before evaporating with a subtle shake of his head and a tense grimace. “No, I will teach you all I can.” Yet? There’s a catch but perhaps he figures Jet is quick and smart enough to know it. “There are a few who could teach you, but if you insist on that path, then I will start it for you.”

For just a moment, it looks like Jet is going to argue, but once she understands that Th'ero has not completely refused her, she closes her eyes and lets her head rest back against her pillow, rather than strain to keep her gaze on him. "Thank you." A curt response, just bordering the line of polite - and it may well be all that he's going to get from her for the foreseeable. She's managed to communicate more to him than she has to anyone else since her return, but the effort looks to have left her more exhausted than she's willing to let on. Lucky - or unlucky - for her, she's asleep not a second later and won't have to face the embarrassment of her own incapability.

Another time, Th’ero will ask after her well being and Kyramith’s. For now he’s had enough of a report on both their states that it’s moot point. While little of what he wanted answered was answered, he does gain a little more insight. He’ll nod, once, to her thanks. “We’ll talk again soon,” That, in itself, is a promise that will be upheld, regardless if she heard him say it or not. When it’s obvious she’s fallen asleep, the Weyrleader does not linger but quietly rises from his seat and signals a Healer before taking his leave. He has much to think over… and a fair deal to discuss with a select few concerning the greenrider’s request.


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