[PRP] Turn Back the Time (L'rua + O'rax)

[Prism Shine]

It seemed like the days were just slipping away from him one after the other. Blink and suddenly a turn goes by, yet here he is -- a fighting rider in a wing. A change of pace, certainly, from the life he had been living outside Western Weyr. Free days were sometimes taken to be useful at the infirmary -- especially with the influx of sick and injured riders. Yet he’s feeling more useful now. Routine felt good for him, after all.

I told you, this would be good. Invenirth’s cool voice feels like the soothing power of mint, a calm on him that could barely be rivaled. Western needed us, needs you.

The shuffle down the hallways is a bit cramped, for with the spring looming on, the weather was starting to heat up. Yet all he wanted was to pop down by the lower caverns. His lunch was missed despite the gentle reminders from his dragon, and the prospect of a snack and a cup of something sounded utterly wonderful. He smiles gently, tucked closer to his chest as he walks. Best to not gain attention that he didn’t want -- though riders having conversations with their partners was nothing odd in a Weyr, he supposed. ’Me?’ L’rua shakes his head gently, stepping around a pair who were stopped in the middle of the hallway to have a conversation. Rude. ’You mean you, beloved. I can’t spit fire, after all.

There’s a mental huff, like he could near feel Invenirth physically sigh. But what am I without you? The words were said quite lovingly, as up on his ledge, Invenirth rolled over to sun his belly.

L’rua’s smile widened a tad, but falls as he sees someone glance his way. Yet he’s finally upon the dining hall, the smells of food and drink enticing him in. ’You’re right, but what would I be without you?’ He doesn’t want to rightly think of it, and for once doesn’t let his mind slip to what he had been before, but luck would never be on his side. He bodily runs into someone a bit on the hard side, making the slight man grunt. Something splashes against him, tepid liquid against his legs. His face runs into a hard chest, and L’rua embarrassingly rubs at his face as he backs up. Ow. Ow…

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching-” His gaze flits up, spying the shoulder knots first, and his heart picks up a touch. A wingleader, shaffit. “I hadn’t been paying attention, I’m sorry, I- I… I-Is...” His voice dwindles into a stammer until it slowly dies out, for he’d finally gotten a good look at the man’s face. Up on his ledge, Invenirth stirs from his sunning, yet it all feels so far away. It.. couldn’t be, could it? Turns gone by hadn’t changed a face that he had been prepared to devote himself to, had spent the better part of a turn slowly tracing every line until he knew it by heart. The same face of a man who had crushed his heart so swiftly, he’d never been able to forget him. Yet he cannot even stammer out the man’s name -- would it even be the same? He was a rider, a wingleader. All he can do is stare.

Uta

 

[Uta]

Prism Shine

O'rax had missed lunch as well, and had stolen himself down to the Dining Hall for a bit of drink and some leftovers. Between Threadfall charts, meetings with R'mor & Hestina, meetings with Wingriders, visits to the Infirmary to check up on the wounded, sweeps, addressing complaints and concerns from local holds and groundcrews, Drills, and other such things, the Wingleader was a busy man. While he was proud of his rank as a Wingleader, it wasn't as glorious a position as the Ballads and Teaching Songs suggested. It was often a lot of hidework, and a lot of hours working on ironing out inter-personal relationships. If his wingriders weren't having drama, than some Holder or Crafter was! So, the man was kept busy, and that meant periodically missing meals, losing sleep, and spending far too much time in his office.

Thankfully, O'rax didn't mind.

It kept him focused, and allowed him to feel like he was actually making a difference in people's lives. Pern was a safer because of what he and his wingmates accomplished; maybe he could save others lives, maybe he could saothers meant he didn't have to think about his personal failures, or any of the scars that wounded him. The pain and upset he'd caused, the hurt, the regrets--maybe fighting Thread was his penance. Maybe, he could make up for everything, by flaming down Pern's ancient enemy.

So, O'rax threw himself into his work. But a Wingleader still had to eat, and with a goblet of wine in hand (filled perhaps too close to the brim) he was just on his way to another table filled with food, when someone ran into him. He hadn't expected it--and with a gasped curse--he found the wine splashing himself and the unexpected other. "Shaffit--!" Irritation colored his words, but only momentarily; he annoyance was fueled mostly by embarrassment and a worry that he'd soaked the stranger right through. But one look--then a double take--had him forgetting all about the wine.

It was...
It was...

"Lirua?" It couldn't be and yet it was.

The shock that overcame him was enough to cause Hiyuth to rumble with alarm from his ledge; but O'rax hardly heard it. How could this be possible? How could the other be here? He thought... He had assumed... He had... Just dumped half his wine on the two of them. "Is it really you?" His mouth suddenly went dry, even as the wine soaked through his skin. All at once, he felt the world drop away, and his stomach sink. His heart had to have skipped a beat.

"I mean--here. Don't apologize, I.. I over-filled it." He frantically reached into his pocket, pulling out a silken handkerchief. Old habits died hard, and the ex-Holder heir had never shed his proper upbringing, despite having been a rider some Turns. "Forgive my misstep." Faranth, the words he wanted to say, the shock, the horror, the joy, the feelings. He had never expected to see him again and yet, he was in the Weyr. He was here...now covered in his wine.