Who F'inn, K'zre
What The blizzard is still going, and F'inn is still struggling with emotions not his own.
When Winter - Month 2 of Turn 2719
Where Elysion Garden Weyr, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - Elysion Garden Weyr
The well-worn pathway leading from the ledge opens onto a cavern that is nearly as massive in scope as the one before. To the left of the entrance, a hearth adorned with ornate stonework affords glimpses of the dragon hollow beyond. The hearth, itself, is massive in scope, more then large enough for two full grown men to stand side by side, arms akimbo. To either side of the hearth towering shelves have been carved into the wall, the upper portions reachable only by narrow ladders affixed to the wall. The exterior edge of the mantel has been carved with a depiction of a pair of dragons in flight, the intricately crafted dragons depicted in perpetual pursuit of the full moon resting dead center. From the hearth, the room sweeps out in wide half circle, the cavernous space more then large enough to comfortably house a modest-sized dragon (although there is no way a dragon could navigate the pathway). It is immediately noticable that this weyr is not equipped with electric lighting, although there are numerous nooks for glows and fixtures for candles and torches adorning the walls.

To the right of the entrance, the room sweeps into a gentler arc, an ancient hearth for cooking dug directly into the stone. To either side of the hearth shelves have been carved into the walls, a taller opening leading to long narrow room that is clearly meant for storage. At the far end of this area, almost directly opposite of the entrance, an opening leads to spiral staircase— carved directly into the stone— that descends deeper into the weyr.

Before the hearth a plethora of soft, lush furs have been added, massive pillows in bronze trimmed green and green trimmed bronze added for additional comfort. A pair of sturdy, comfortable chairs in dark wood are arranged before the hearth, a small table bearing a glass sconced candle resting between them. Each of the chairs is complete with comfortable, dark green cushions and matching footrest. Upon the hearth graceful candlabras are arranged, a massive beveled glass vase in the shape of a crescent moon, with two small crescents dangling by bronze links, and filled with lush red roses, settled dead center. Not to far from the 'kitchen' area, a long wooden table with four sturdy chairs has been arranged. Near the western most wall, a sturdy dark wood couch and coffee table have been arranged atop a plush carpet in forest hues. Opposite it, tucked out of the way, along the eastern wall, a potters wheel, kiln and a pair of easels have been arranged. Settled along the wall within easy reach are canvas, barrels of clay and a set of shelves containing numerous paints, glazes, brushes and dyes.

The storm is still raging. But it is not raging *as bad* as it has been. It's still snowing, the wind is still howling, but there are now moments (a few minutes here, a few minutes there) when it calms down enough to make travel a little less hazardous. Inadvisable, yes. But not impossible. There's a big difference, and it is one that K'zre has been considering a lot lately. Emergency situations - they can leave. Baring traumatic accidents, sudden loss of all food (which might happen. Kez has been snacking a lot without realizing it), or them being called formally for Wing-things… they're still weyr-bound. Somewhat dressed (he's got a sweater, pants, socks, no boots or jacket), and with a heavy blanket acting as a shawl, Kez has slipped out to the ledge to stand with Yasminath and stare out into the white mess of snow that is currently their home. He's got a cup of something hot (probably tea) in one hand, his other clutching the blanket at his chest to keep it from falling off his shoulders. The green is settled close by, acting as a small source of heat as they watch the storm.

F'inn has been working out as much as he can in the absence of running. And while he's been very affectionate, and more then a little pouncey, he's still starting to get a bit of cabin fever. It is that that has him wandering out, clad only in a towel from the bath to search for K'zre. "I overslept," he grumps as he pads up behind his weyrmate and winds his arms around his waist. Stepping in, until K'zre is firmly pressed up against his chest, he glances out at the snow, his nose wrinkling mildly. "It's beautiful," he sighs. "But it feels like it is never going to end." Which, of course, presents a few problems for him regarding the Yokohama.

Cabin fever. Definitely felt by both dragonriders. And while F'inn might have overslept, it is likely that K'zre doesn't sleep much at all, though he's done his best to keep that little fact from distressing his weyrmate. The appearance of the bronzerider on the ledge, clad only in a towel, has Kez looking surprised and mildly disapproving. Even as he's pulled in against him, there's a tip of his head and a scowl that comes with the greenrider's admonishment that, "You're going to catch a cold," before he's promptly attempting to get that blanket of his around both of them. It's only once he's certain that his weyrmate is not about to freeze to death that he turns to regard the blizzard once more. "It is," he agrees. "And it will." Even if Kez sounds like he might not believe it himself. "I am glad I'm not stuck down in the tunnels. I would go crazy. And it does let up," he notes, twisting to regard F'inn once again. "Every now and then, it seems to… not be so bad."

F'inn grins as the blanket is swung around them both, his head turning to brush a kiss to the nape of K'zre's neck. "I'm fine," he assures as he snugs up tight against the greenrider's back. "We'd go swimming in the lake when it was colder then this." He's crazy, clearly. And from the grin on his face? He's pretty much aware of the fact. "The lower tunnels would suck," he admits. "…. Although…. there are those tunnels we have yet to exploit for our own nefarious purposes." The thought inspires a lopsided smile and an unconcious rise and fall of his brows. "Nym says that there are dragons out, but none of them with riders."

Kez is definitely looking at him like he's crazy, all shocked and disapproving. "You didn't…" because the healer is sensing a joke. Or maybe, he's really hoping it's a joke. And that question is serious enough that he spends a moment or two just staring at him. Waiting for F'inn to confirm or deny that he's insane, and actually swam in a frozen lake. It's enough that even the suggestion of nefarious tunnel-exploration does not deter that scowl, though there might be a bit of a throat clearing and a little shift of his weight. Of course, that could just as easily be for the smile bestowed upon him. A second later, he's twisting around to put his back to his weyrmate's chest so that he can lean against him and stare at the snow. "Are they having trouble navigating?" he wonders, more thoughtful than concerned. "I don't want Yasminath going out there…" yet. Even if the green seems perfectly content with the idea. And eventually, they're gonna need to eat, too.

"I have many times," F'inn assures. "It's bracing, changes your whole day." At the look on K'zre's face, he grins a bit more his chin raising to drop a kiss on the end of his nose. "Lots of people do it you know," he points out. "After skiing for instance? A dip in the lake and a mad dash to the bath chamber? It's amazing." When K'zre resettles, his chin returns to his shoulder, his arms snugging more securely around the greenriders waist. "The smaller ones are. Nym's fine, as are the rest of the bronzes and a few of the larger browns. Yasminath is a strong flier, I think she'd have no problem." Falling silent, he draws in a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over the blanket of white stretching as far as the eye can see. "We'll be called out as a wing relatively soon," he guesses. "The minute it stops it'll start warming up and the real trouble will begin."

It should be obvious enough that K'zre is unconvinced as to the benefits of jumping into a frozen lake. Nope. Not gonna happen. And while the healer could launch into a lecture about all the reasons why that particular habit is one that ought to be broken… he refrains from doing such and settles for a long, slow sip of his tea instead. But it is hard to be upset with F'inn's arms around him, and his chin resting on his shoulder, and the murmur of his voice at his ear. So the scowl fades, and a softer expression takes its place, even if it's turned toward the weather and not the bronzerider it's meant for. "Yasminath is small," he answers, casting a quick look to the green. She is not offended, though she's a little bored and itching to fly again. "I am surprised they haven't called you and Nymionth yet," he admits. "He's huge, and with his… talents…" A frown. "There are bound to be accidents, and lost people and…" All manner of things that Kez does not want to dwell on. "Avalanches will be an issue," he guesses.

F'inn exhales a sigh, clearly in agreement with K'zre's assessment of impending dangers. "I expect if it doesn't come sometime today? They'll be calling us out tomorrow. Once this snow starts melting, we'll have avalanches, yes… And the flooding, a ton of cold injuries with people being constantly wet…. It's not going to be good." That much he knows for certain. Frowning, he gives a mild shake of his head, his arms tightening around K'zre's waist. "You'll likely be called to the infirmary to help out. You have to promise me that you'll stay masked and not risk catching anything from the people we bring in." He knows for a fact that at least one person has died so far. He felt it happen.

"I am not the one coming to stand on the ledge in nothing but a towel, with hair still wet from the bath," scolds K'zre, darting a slanty side-eye to his shoulder-resting weyrmate. But he understands the warning, and he understands the sentiment. And he well remembers what F'inn has recently experienced. So his hand finds his weyrmate's arm, offering a subtle squeeze in return for the tightening of his own, and after a moment of pause and a bit of a sigh, he offers, "I will be very careful. If they send me to the infirmary," rather than sending him out with the Wing. "Please don't be reckless," comes in return demand. "Be careful when you are out there. Don't take unnecessary risks…"

F'inn exhales a quietly mellow laugh at the mention of the towel, his weight shifting as he twists his hips and sends it spilling to the floor. "Better?" Even as the question is asked, he's drawing K'zre back in against the heat of his body, his head lowering to nuzzle at the greenrider's brow. "I promise not to take any risks that are not absolutely necessary to save a life." That he will take necessary risks? That goes without saying. "They might just send you with us," he points out. "We'll definately need a healer on hand." Course, the thought inspires a frown that he does his level best to keep under control.

"No." Well. It's kind of better. But Kez isn't about to admit as much, stubbornly grumping even if there's a suspicious flush creeping across his cheeks. "Better would be putting on proper clothes before you stand in subzero temperatures." Is it subzero? Maybe? But Kez is trying to make a point, and he's not really thinking logically anymore (which might have something to do with that towel now on the floor…) and doesn't care if his facts are a bit… fictional. But the nuzzle at his brow at least softens the scowl. Necessary risks are just that… necessary. And while K'zre does not relish the thought of his weyrmate in any sort of dangerous situation, he knows that risks, and dangerous situations, are par for the course with Thunderbird. But the promise mollifies him, somewhat. Though the frown that flits fleetingly across F'inn's face has him expressing one in return, briefly confused and then somewhat disgruntled for the misunderstanding of it. "I'm perfectly capable. Yasminath and I… we're just as suited to the Wing as anyone else."

"That doesn't…" Trailing off, F'inn shakes his head, drawing in a slow breath as he tries to push away the the memory of his 'night terror'. The effort is only marginally successful, an unconcious shudder running the length of his frame as he tightens his hold. "I thought I'd lost you," he reminds. "It doesn't matter that it wasn't… real… I just…" He can't. He just can't. "You are probably more capable then most of us," he sighs as he steps back and scoops up the towel. "I know that," he assures as he rewraps it around his hips.

That softens him, and for a moment there's a somewhat contrite expression as K'zre turns to watch F'inn retrieve his towel. A final sip of his tea, and Kez peeks around for somewhere to put the mug. He takes a few steps to place it on the shelving, quickly returning to press himself up against F'inn, arms wrapped around his waist as he leans in. He's not sure what he can say, and so settles for saying nothing. A tip of his head, and he presses a kiss to the bronzerider's sternum. A moment or two, brown eyes studying pale skin, before he finally decides, "I will be very careful. No matter where I am. And if… if you'd prefer Yasminath and I stay in the Weyr…"

F'inn closes his eyes, his arms wrapping tightly around K'zre. It is the kiss that has his head lowering, his face pressing into dark hair. "No," he whispers after a few long moments. "I trust you and Yasminath and I know you will be far more careful then I could ever be." In the wake of the words, he meets K'zre's eyes, one hand raising to brush his fingers over his cheek. "You have to be careful." Because if anything ever happened to them, he and Nymionth would only be a heartbeat behind them. Exhaling a breath, he clears his throat rather then let emotion get control, his head giving a sharp shake. "I know it's stupid," he sighs. "I know you are fine, but it felt… You can't imagine…"

"I will be." It doesn't matter the K'zre has already promised this, several times. He will promise it again, as much as needed, if it will reassure F'inn and ease a bit of that lingering strain. "I will be extremely careful. I promise." His arms tighten, his gaze briefly searching beloved blue eyes. His gaze remains even through the exhaling of breath, through the seeking of control, brown eyes watching it all and offering no commentary for the moment. Because he can't. He can't imagine it at all. Just the thought has his throat tightening, and he didn't feel it. But he saw what the feeling did to F'inn, and that is enough to have him squirming in as close as he possibly can, in an attempt to provide comfort, and reassurance, however he can. Even if it's just in his solid, warm, living presence squished up against the bronzerider.

It takes a few shuddering breaths before F'inn can push the memory of that horror aside. And, even as he does, it is still there, a haunted shadow lingering in blue eyes. "Lets go inside," he finally murmurs in hoarse tones. Keeping K'zre pressed in close against makes walking akward, but at the moment? The alternative is intolerable. "Do we have any alcohol? Scotch? Maybe whiskey?" He hates feeling like this, hates the fact that it is completely unreasonable, and impossible to stop once it gets into gear. "Never, ever think that I do not think you are perfectly suited to Thunderbird," he states in suddenly serious tones. "You are. More so then I am, certainly." Really, his one really useful 'skill' is Nymionth's and not his own.

"We have wine," offers K'zre, who is not going to contest being held tightly, even if it makes walking difficult. Slow going is just fine with him. "I can pour you a glass," he offers, though he makes no move to drift away, or even unwrap his own arms from around his weyrmate's waist. "And I have… I can get you something stronger, if you need it." A purse of his lips, and he turns his gaze toward their direction of travel, eyes cast to the stone as if to mind his footing. "I don't know about that," comes in a quiet counter, though it isn't against his suitability for the wing, but rather the idea that he is more suited than F'inn. "I cannot imagine you in any other Wing." And someday, Kez sees F'inn leading it. "I am a healer. I have some… minor skills that are useful in the woods. But Search and Rescuer requires a lot more than… healing and tracking."

"Wine is fine," F'inn assures. While he would love something stronger, there is no chance that he can handle K'zre going out into the storm. There is just not enough alcohol in Fort to get him through the panic that would inspire. "I know you are right," he sighs as he loosens his grip. "I'm still trying to get over that night terror is all." In the wake of the words, he catches K'zre's chin, brushing a tender kiss over his lips. "Grab the wine, I'll stoke the fire," he whispers before stepping toward the hearth. Tossing his towel onto one of the chairs, he drops into a crouch while feeding logs into the flames.

A longer pause stretches out, the time between the catch of his chin, the brush of lips, the whisper, stretching out unnaturally before Kez murmurs an affirmative, "Alright." And yet even so, he lingers, hesitates, remains poised in the spot where he stood when F'inn steps toward the hearth. A slow gaze travels over the length of his weyrmate's form, and while there is definitely appreciation in his eyes, it's primarily concern that dominates his expression and his thoughts. And it's that concern that has briefly frozen him, rendering him incapable of moving until he shakes the thought from his head. Turning, he's quick about moving through their weyr to find the bottle, a pair of glasses, a corkscrew. Soon enough, he's back, a glass offered to F'inn with the bottle tucked in the crook of his arm and at the ready for refills.

F'inn drags his hands through his hair, his lips pressed into a thinline as he stares at the flames. He's trying, very hard, to get ahold of himself, to remind himself that that feeling was an echo and not reality. And, while he KNOWS that logically? Emotionally, that horror is still there, even the memory of that soul crushing loss enough to inspire a violent shudder to running down his spine. It is only the glass being offered that breaks the spell, his hand instinctively reaching for K'zre's wrist in an attempt to draw him down to the furs with him. "I'm alright," he whispers. Despite the whisper, he's avoiding his weyrmate's gaze, focusing his attention on reaching for the bottle and corkscrew to open the wine.

K'zre might not know how to handle social situations. He might be utterly useless at discerning sarcasm and wit from serious statements. But when he puts his mind to it, he is incredibly observant. Able to pick up on the subtle cues that tell him when things are not *right*. It's his job, as a healer at least, to suss out what might be illness or injury. And that attention is rather firmly focused upon F'inn. For the catch of his wrist that draws him down. For the avoidance of his gaze. It does not deter the greenrider from scrutinizing his weyrmate. Everything from the look on his face to where he might be holding tension in his body. And all of it is filed away, tucked into the back of K'zre's mind to be mulled over at another time. For now he says nothing, settling himself on the furs and tucking his legs up against his side, one hand pressed to the ground to support his weight while the other reaches out to settle on F'inn's thigh.

F'inn glances up at the hand on his thigh, his nostrils flaring as he draws in a slow breath and sets the wine aside in favor of pulling K'zre in closer. It's an odd battle, his mind pointing out that K'zre is right there, while his heart is still trying to process the sensation of traumatic loss. "I might need to talk to someone," he sighs as he winds his arms around K'zre's shoulders. "If this doesn't pass soon, I will." He will. He might. He probably won't, but he'll intend to. Tightening his hold, he buries his face in dark hair, letting the greenrider's scent surround him before he finally relaxes fractionally. "I'll be fine," he murmurs.

"You will," agrees K'zre. And even if he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that F'inn ought to talk to someone about this… he's at a loss about who that person should be. Logic would dictate the answer be "a mindhealer", but Kez doesn't know any that he trusts, and he's not about to send his weyrmate to someone he doesn't know. So, while he's worried, and trying not to let it show, he has nothing useful to offer. But he does what he can. He leans into that embrace, wraps his arms around F'inn's waist and lets himself be pulled in tight. Holding him in return until the bronzerider is comfortable letting go again. "You will," he says a bit more assertively. Because Kez is determined to make it true. "You will be fine."

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