>> I bespoke Mrrth with: I sense that Gnaedath's mindtouch wanders in, slipping as a thief into the mind of the father of his rider, whispering as woodwinds through a soft string bass undertone. >>Mine asks if he can see your rider.<< A hint of concern colors the request, like an involuntary splash of sadness and pain. He hesitates, then adds, >>If it is safe.<< <<

>> I sense that Mrrth is curt, short and evidently riled, roused:  Storm's electric crackles through roiling waves, thick as her accent: << He says now is better, then we leave. >> << 

Infirmary

The outer infirmary is a large open room so the dragons have easy access to it. The most commonly needed supplies -- those for threadscore -- are here in abundance on a wide shelf. There is also a long sink with cold water for cleaning and numbing wounds and a student healer that can treat threadscore.

The inner infirmary is much smaller, as it need not accommodate a dragon. Intended as the exam room for sick and wounded riders and weyr staff, there is an exam table in the center of the room. There are some chairs scattered about for the concerned friends and family of the sick person.

Labelled cupboards for the major medicinal groups -- tonic, febrifuge, diaphoretic, diuretic, cough medicines, burn treatment, antispasmodic, anodyne, and analgesic -- as well as a general supplies cupboard, line the walls.

W’ren enters sort of halfway peering over his shoulder, puzzled expression splayed over facial features long since weathered by the experiences and pain of the past few turns, and especially the past few days. He points at the bowl entrance to the infirmary with his right hand, left arm held very closely to his side and waist, as if he were protecting it. “Da? What’s up with Es….” He turns his head, then, to find his father who should be here according to the chat between Gnaedath and Mrrth, and opens his mouth in surprise to find the greenrider in obvious distress. “Da! You okay?” rushing to his father’s side, he tilts his head, reaching out his hands to try and help him.

Stepping back fluidly, deftly avoiding the touch, T'jano's eyes sharpen, pale, and he'll shake his head, "Easy W'ren. I'm OK.  I'm not OK. I'm very not OK," he corrects, quietly, "But I can't handle -- Right now... I need time."  Back to that. No contact. Don't touch.  Calling for time. Time and, he agrees with himself privately, a good lot of fellis.  Laced with Benden, instead of the other way around. "Thera's pregnant.  I didn't handle it well.  I'm wherry-headed and can't keep that woman happy for more than ten minutes," and that's usually in bed, "Unless I'm not talking."  See above.  Immediate deploy of distraction technique: "What happened to your arm?  What did you do?"  T'jano moves out of the way of Hadamarth's exit, and leans back, as if he knows his own much smaller dragon will be right there, when he does so. Mrrth, is, her head swinging slowly over T'jano, her own body language still bordering on hostile. 

The application of the 'Da' moniker long in coming, it sounds almost foreign on the bronzerider's lips, not to mention the fact that the man he gifts it to stands about a turn or two his minor due quirk of fate and time. There it is. Time again. W'ren furrows his brow in anger, peering back over his shoulder again to where he saw and almost ran into Thera. "What the shards has gotten into the Barlord woman these days! The dragondung we have to put up with!" He gets the message. Don't touch. And it only fuels him more. Yet he steps back, runs his good hand through his hair until it is stopped by the leather tie at the back. "First ma goes wandering, then Taini thinking she's a holder all of a sudden, then Sass and now Thera..." He turns back to his father. "What do you mean you can't keep her happy? You just said she's pregnant. All she's ever wanted is to have a baby and live happily ever after with you! That isn't good enough for her?"

"I used to think I only had good luck, W'ren.  But when it comes to women, I've the worst ever. Got your mom pregnant and killed her.  Got Vyune pregnant and she up and took my child.  I've still not seen Anzan.  But that's the ... Irony."  T'jano surrenders to that word, almost, his voice softening. "I told her I didn't want any more kids, not the heartbreak coming with them.  And she has been making sure that she hadn't gotten pregnant.  But it's been making her sadder, and Hadamarth -- sweet giant that he is --  T'jano shakes his head wishing that he could indeed hate the brown for the predicament.  But he can't.  "Hadamarth has been feigning an injury, so she wouldn't go *between* again, and turns out she's pregnant again. I've been her lover for over three turns.  There was another man, during a flight, once."  T'jano murmurs. "Guess whose child it is."

During this whole explanation, Gnaedath has wandered in, perhaps in response to the ire in Mrrth's tone when they spoke, perhaps to endure W'ren is getting what he needs in the infirmary. "Shards, no, Da. Really?" W'ren turns to peer over at Mrrth and Gnaedath who, having entered, turns a curious eye on Mrrth, crooning softly. W'ren turns his gaze back to his father. "Shards," he says as softly as T'jano had. He scratches his head, then shakes it, sticking his hand under his arm pit and changes his balance from one foot to the other. "You know, " he pauses. What do you say to a man who's lost everything? W'ren guesses "I knew she was going between with the pregnancies' isn't one of them. "All I know, Da, is Es loves you more than anything except Hadamarth. I know she can get a little touchy..." Boy does he! "...but I think she's worth your time if you just show her you care. It's all she ever wanted was your devotion, Da."

"She's stuck with me."  T'jano mutters, "But I don't think that's good for her.  First, I'm going to have some words with the father of her babe."  His jaw tightens at that, uncharacteristic and a gesture much more at home on his biggest brother's features, than his own.  T'jano shakes his head. "Then I'm going to go find Qi and get laid.  Though I don't think that'll help.  She,"  T'jano jerks his head toward Mrrth, "Is making me crazy and I don't know when she'll go up.  The sooner the better, get it over with.  And I sure don't want to hurt Thera. Not if she's pregnant."  Vyune was a different story, not a sick day in her life, sturdy and lithe and fierce.  Thera, succumbing to so many weaknesses, and now pregnant... T'jano doesn't want to touch her.  Certainly not anytime in the near future, or in flight sex.  Back to the other topic, "What happened to you?  You're holding your arm, like you're hurt, W'ren."

Wren raises his brows. "Stuck?" he chuckles at that. "And Es will be the first to tell you she's to be the judge of what's good for her." The expression's likeness to Toncho is not lost on the not-really-youngest Barlord male and he glances quickly at Mrrth when T'jano indicates her with a thumb. "Crackdust, Da. She hasn't gone up yet?" As if it would help, W'ren steps a little bit away from both dragon and rider. "Don't you worry about Thera, Da. My advice?" He tilts his head and nods with every other word to accentuate it. "A little flight sex might be just what the healer ordered for the two of you. That woman is wound so tight, you could fling firesacks from her womb and still not be too rough." He untucks his hand and peers at his arm as if it's news to him that he's hurt. "Oh, this?" He laughs. "It's nothing. Really." Jeest a flesh wound, sah.

>> I bespoke Mrrth with: I sense that Gnaedath's mindtouch reaches in again tentatively, soothing in nature. >>Is yours hurt from Thread like mine?<< They are, after all in the infirmary, so this seems a logical enough question for the bronze.  <<

"That's what got her into the trouble, in the first place, Wae."  T'jano shakes his head. "And no."  Just no.  No to all of the above, evidently. "Arm.  What'd you do to your arm?  Or who did it?"  He asks this quietly, not disinterested, but certainly tired.  "Anyone I could kill for you? I'm in the mood."  Seems like it's a jest, but if one were to read the expression on T'jano's face... It's not.

>> I sense that Mrrth is not in a civil mood at the moment. Stormfront surges, lashes as if just out of reach. Warning. Gale forces, lie here.  And she's not inclined to talk.  She is more inclined to fly, possibly Fly. Almost. Not quite. Almost.  She could, if she wanted.  But the response is not words, anymore.  More of a feral seething whirlpool of raw emotions. <<

W'ren raises a brow. "Not unless you can figure out a way to kill Thread." He smirks from one side of his mouth. He shakes his head, lifting his arm. "I got winged out on border sweeps near the hold." He peers over at Mrrth. "I didn't think it was a good idea for me to be around when Mrrth went up." That's just what the Barlords need, right? "Come to think of it, Da, should we be talking? How close is she?" The prospect of the green going up with the two of them speaking here was a not a pretty thought to W'ren. "Maybe we can talk about Sass later."

"She's close. Not tonight, I don't think."  T'jano, dragonhealer in all but name, turns to assess his lifemate.  Even in that brief look, with the dragon's high fires rampant, she is beautiful to him, and his features soften perceptibly.  "What about Sass? Saskia, right?"  Veronika.  He knows the connection, doesn't bother to voice it, but instead turns back to study his progeny.  "And Tanika?  Or just Sass?" 

"Is something wrong with Tanika?" W'ren's brows furrow again, the cogs beginning to churn on that woman. "Saskia," he says with venom. He reaches over to take the elbow of his hurt arm and move it closer to his body. "The woman was cold as High Reaches yesterday when I stopped in and she was dressed like Veronika." Something about that visit just didn't sit well, aside from the obvious. "And she told Gnaedath that he wasn't good enough for her anymore. I just don't get it, Da. Gnae worships that woman. Why would a woman do something like that to someone who loves her?" Whether he means himself or Gnae is unclear. Nothing obtuse about the anger and hurt in his voice, though.

"Well."  T'jano can't help but point out, "She is Veronika.  And no, nothing wrong with Tanika, as far as I have heard.  Something about her being with Toncho now; he's taking care of her. I haven't been over there recently. Mrrth hates that blue at Boll and we tend not to go there."  The question though, is given consideration. "To drive that someone away.   You hurt folks, to drive them away.  Either for good or for bad, but that's the reason, usually.  Or you run away, if you can't drive them away.  Those are the choices, if you don't have the authority to lock them up, or send them away."  He glances up at the bronze and shakes his head, "I like her too, bub, but she's not my kind."

W'ren takes in a deep breath, staring down at the ground like it has the answers to the puzzle, something more than what his father tells him. "To drive someone away. " Something in that sort of makes sense in an insane Saskia sort of way. The more he thinks about it, the more he really comes to the conclusion that this actually sounds a LOT like the woman he loves. He tilts his head back up at T'jano and narrows his eyes, pursing his lips. "Now why would Sass be trying to push me away, Da? And what does that have to do with her looking like Veronika these days instead of Saskia?" The man has obviously known Saskia-Veronika much longer than he.

T'jano stands, with his green arrayed behind him in the vestiges of what appears to be a somewhat defensive posture. Her head is directly over T'jano's, and her eyes whirl in hues of orange and red, at the moment.  Her rider, the long-haired lean man, immaculate in his normal appearance, stands with his attention and pale-green eyes on W'ren.  The bronzer, who actually looks considerably like T'jano, holds himself in the guise of one whose arm is hurt; bandages suggest this is the reality.  They are speaking, quietly.

Ita steps in from the caverns, the last bite of her supper in her mouth.  "Jack?"  She calls after swallowing, assuming if there are gentlemen talking in the infirmary, her friend and superior is going to be one of them. "I think ..." She pauses as she sees the two men.  "Oh. I'm sorry."  Not J'cobi.  "T'jano... W'ren."   She remembers the bronzerider's name.  "My apologies.  I thought J'cobi might've been..."  She flushes, and hurries toward a stack of hides waiting for her.

As if he is about to impart some wisdom that comes at a price, likely a price that W'ren has already paid, T'jano steps forward, toward the other man, "Women, W'ren," T'jano murmurs, "Are insane.  Trying to apply logic to their actions, emotions... Motivations... Seems nothing more than an exercise in annoyance.  If they weren't insane... They'd probably be felines, or something.  The big spotted kind, in Southern.  With the big teeth.  Maybe they still /are/ that sort, but now that they're insane, they disguise themselves better."  He shrugs then, an elaborate roll of one shoulder, "I am still not clear on why Vyune left me."  As if W'ren didn't know /that/ particular complaint of T'jano. "But I know I've tried to drive Thera away a few times, because I was afraid I'd hurt her, if she stayed. Thadd does the same thing. Brutal to women, trying to drive them away.  He's pretty sure, on any given day, that he's going to die or self-destruct, and he figures he's doing them a favor."  T'jano takes another breath's time to think, before he adds, "Veronika is a warrior. Saskia was a traveler.  I'd guess your answer is there, W'ren.  She's done traveling."  Hearing Ita, T'jano turns toward her and studies her a moment, as if he has to pull her identity from the whirl of other thoughts going on in his mind. "Ita. Haven't seen him. Still.  Sorry."

And like blaring sunlight into the quiet shadows comes Jack, striding into his infirmary shift with his usual whistle and a rather lovely bounce in his step.  Reineth--preferring to stay outside this time thankyouverymuch--does deign in her manner to offer a musical crooning 'hello' to the other dragons.  "Right here, Itsy bits!  What'd you need?" he asks her with an insouciant grin.  "Ah!  Guests!"  He strides over to W'ren and peers at the bandage.  "Not bad work.  What'd you do, piss off the feline?"  Then he looks up sharply and mumbles 'felines' before groaning.  "Aww, naw, you too?  I swear that woman's /insatiable/!  Though really, just what's so attractive about red hair I swear I'll never know..."  Rolling his eyes and throwing his hands in the air, he spins on his heel and shoves them into his pockets.  "Ah, that would be me, here I am.  Jack, Jacobi, J'cobi, Hey You, Trouble, all sorts of names, me."

W'ren leans into his father's advice as if it were the food that sustained him. All this until the part about them being insane. Talk about the clouds parting and the winged beings singing hymns of adoration and illumination. To W'ren's ears, ALL of this sounds like his Saskia, the Lioness herself, insatiable feline extraordinaire with a flare for the dramatic and a finely honed skill at pushing people away. "Protection, hmm?" Sounds right. If W'ren could think of any way on Pern to drive a lovesick bronzerider form the woman he loved it might be to upset his dragon so badly he had no choice but to leave. He takes a deep breath, pausing in his thoughts when J'cobi comes over to check the bandage. "No, she didn't... well, yes, she /is/ fierce.." Warrior mode, hmm? He glances back and forth from the one man to the other. "But what should I do, then?" Really, Saskia is his /first/ woman and he really has no experience with these things at all. T'jano on the other hand....

"Nothing in particular, Jack. I was just going to..." Ita's a little flustered, and she looks up, embarrassment on her face. She did hear some of what the men were saying, and is thinking about it, and part of what she's thinking about is her mother and if it's hereditary.  Or part of her mind is.  Another part is appreciating the comments on her bandaging work. "Thank you."  She accepts the compliment. The other stuff about women and felines and such, she makes no particular comment on, instead hiding in, resorting to the work that is always around in the infirmary. "Jack, I did wonder if the dosage might have been too strong for..."  She says, holding on to the hide she's got.  Loathe to name the patient with the others around.  

A glance rolls over to J'cobi, and turns into a longer, somewhat intrigued observation. "Which woman is insatiable?" He might be requesting clarification, or could be taking notes.  T'jano looks back at W'ren and rather dryly, and with all seeming seriousness, suggests, "Stay single and raise ovines.  That, or consider a nice fellow."  Another moment's pause. "Or a fellow that is decidedly not nice, if that happens to be your taste.  I don't know, W'ren.  Find out what she's up to, and why she's doing it. Or respect her choice."  The last is quieter.  "That's the hardest thing to do.  But it might be the best."  T'jano looks over at Ita, at her words, for she'll serve as a momentary distraction.

"Dosage of what, Itsy?" Jack asks, suddenly curious.  He spins on his heel--again--and moves to read the hide over her shoulder.  "Not fellis, is it?  We've been dropping low on that /awfully/ fast..."  T'jano's query has his partial attention and he glances up long enough to answer before turning back to the hide.  "Wha-?  Oh!  My brother's pet feline.  Istan now, doubt you'd know her-Ita when did you administer this last?"  Again his words roll right over each other in a near continuous stream.  "Ha!  Ovines!  Brilliant!"  He laughs at that before turning his head to the ceiling and making an awful face as he crunches numbers.  "Try halving it actually, the body's natural response to losing the support might be enough to boost him out of it all together...  Now."  He turns to the other two riders.  "Who was looking for a fellow?  I just happen to know where the best of the best--or the worst of the worst if that's your kink--drink the finest piss in the whole northern range."

Imagine the balancing scales in W'ren's head. On one side, he is pissing off the felines as J'cobi so succinctly puts it, and on the other side, he's raising ovines or a nice young human buck to .... well, one knows these things happen, but really, who could compare the lure of that naughty female to... But then J'cobi's comment about the body's natural responses and the question about fellows just starts him out of it. "Da was," W'ren offers gratuitously. "Mrrth's about to rise, and he's proddy as Saskia after a good knife fight." The fellis commentary goes over his head because, honestly? He's trying to figure out which piece of advice of his father's NOT to follow. "I don't want to drive Sass away, but I've a feeling I really played into her plans the other night by jumping out without even my gear.” His head jerks J'cobi-ward. "How soon before I can ::Between:: safely with this threadscore?"

For once, T'jano stays quiet. W'ren said enough for him, and he is, for him, downright lethargic.  His gaze goes to Ita, then lingers on J'cobi for his piece, then comes back to watch W'ren, then back to J'cobi for his answer. Mrrth shifts, restless. Being here seems more than enough.

Ita noticed the fellis drop. "Yeah. I saw that.  I haven't been able to track where it's going. I might know her..." The young healer says. "N'lon /is/ weyrleader.  Is she a rider?"  She gives Jack the details of the dosage, pointing out where she recorded it on the hide.  "Halve it?  That might work."  She nods.   She watches the interplay between the father and son, curious at how they can be the same age.  The rest of the conversation?  Again. Considered, but not commented on.

"Aww, welp!" Jack begins, accentuating his 'p' with a satisfying /pop/.  "You know me," only of course, W'ren /doesn't/--more's the mercy.  "So long's it's not that green stuff I say make the jump.  Cold gets to tissues so to warm up they increase blood flow which in turn speeds healing.  Nice job all 'round, see?"  Ista.  Rider.  Ah!  "Yes!  You know her Its...that brown who literally had Rei crawling up the Bowl wall at Telgar.  Dia.  You know, Cass' feline pet?"  Or so he likes to call her.  T'jano's silence gets him a long look.  "You're awful quiet, but I remember you with almost as big a gob as me.  Everything alright?" he inquires, brown eyes narrowed in concern.

W'ren turns T'jano-ward, having also noticed his silence as well, quite the different sort of man than the one who was here a few minutes ago doubled over in pain, the emotional and physical kind. "I think I have to get over to Boll and pay a visit to a female who thanks to Da here won't be getting away with what she probably thought she /did/." And if you can understand that, you must be a long lost Barlord whose father just happens also to be your son and... well the rest is lost in infamy. He takes a deep breath, focusing on T'jano again. "What do you think that woman is up to?" And don't say No good.

"No.  Things have been better, but thank you for inquiring." T'jano murmurs, mild tenor. "And Dia's my sister. And not anybody's pet."  There's a sense of charged danger in that single statement. Of a willingness to engage in some sort of confrontation over the point, which T'jano might have, in another mood, conceded or dismissed all too easily.  "Don't know who Cass is, though.  Dragons," he adds, "Scar worse when they go *between* with wounds," he nods to W'ren, "Like that. Humans must react differently."  T'jano glances over at Ita once more,  a nod to her for her question, before he eyes W'ren and then J'cobi. "Where's this drinking establishment?  Mrrth asks if dragonriders frequent it, as well."  Actually, she couldn't care less about the dragonriders, but is wondering if their dragons do.   Back to W'ren, T'jano shakes his head. "Don't know. I haven't paid attention over there. I've been at Ista Hold. But.if you're going to see her again, leave Gnaedath somewhere else, so she can't ... So you can think clearly, W'ren."

"Dia?" Ita's eyebrows raise, and she smiles. "Torcoth's.  Of course I know her.  She was raised around here.  I think she taught Brien a few things, unfortunately."  She says, snorting.  "The Barlords claim..." She begins, and then nods at T'jano. "Right."  What he said.  "She /is/ weyrbred, so ..." And she conveniently leaves off the part about Barlords being known for being an 'insatiable' bunch as well.  Privately, Ita thinks Dia fits right in.  She listens and nods to T'jano's explanations, the words being stored away, likely in that room full of scrolls the dragons see as her mind. She listens to father lecture son, and falls silent again.

"No good," answers Jack automatically.  Sorry W'ren.  T'jano and his response catch his interest and his deep brown eyes narrow further.  An oddly fight-ready response...  Stepping into boundaries of Personal Space, he examines T'jano quickly, reaching to pull up an eyelid or tug an earlobe to look inside for...something.  Reaching his neck, he checks pulse and moves on to press his ear to the other greenrider's chest to listen to him breathe and then bending lower to tap the soft place in the knee.  Just checking.  All this while, he talks.  "Well, see now.  Sisters are all right in their own way, I suppose but really, her being your sister has no effect on whether or not she's my brother's pet.  Which--" he looks up from that knee with a grin and a wink.  "She very much /is/, the little scamp and a spoilt one she is too."  Insane?  yes.  Stupid? It's questionable now.  Experimenting?  Always.

Hey. The truth is the truth. W'ren smiles slightly at J'cobi's response and nods at his father, only to hear Ita's question and remarks about Dia. "And my ... Aunt?" Is that the correct word for it? "Listen, Dia could run anyone into a wall, regardless of what it is. Quite a good trader, too. She managed to offload all that hemp I had stored in the wine cellars, at any rate, and a good eye..." Stopping mid-sentence, he suddenly realizes he's admitted to running a funny weed industry from the wine cellar of Pern's oldest weyr. Blush colors him guilty before he jumps on the boozers bandwagon and turns to Ita, asking, "Getting drunk interact with any of that stuff you gave me for the pain?" Rhetorical, this, but alslo diverting. One can hope. Yet he waits for the answer from Ita before daring to release the smile on his face in exchange for a raised eyebrow J'cobi-ward, if for no other reason than he seems to be the authority on all things crude, rude and socially unacceptable. In a good way, of course. "I bet a few of them wouldn't mind a bit of a romp in the air after tying on a few with Da, hmm?" And yes. All Barlord women are insane. We've established this.

"Don't think so."  T'jano returns to J'cobi. "Her lover's the healer master.  Probably has others, but she isn't anyone's pet, healer."  There's a tingling of warning in the words. Mrrth tilts her head around T'jano's torso, however, to examine the examiner with interest.  A flush of purple slides through the dragon's eyes, and T'jano's attention remains /quite firmly/ on J'cobi. T'jano seems to be in reasonably good health for a man who doesn't sleep unless he doctors his wine with fellis, who just had his lady tell him that she's pregnant with someone else's babe, and who walked out, after she hit him. And we won't forget proddy, either, shall we?  T'jano reaches to brush his fingers through J'cobi's hair, comb it back, with the lightest of touches to the man's face, as well.  "You just like the idea of someone's... Being a pet, J'cobi?"  T'jano asks, his hand flicking to draw under the other greenrider's jaw, as if to urge J'cobi to look at him.  "We going to go get drunk, W'ren?"  The question is put, without T'jano's actually looking at his son. And he'll just help Ita pretend she isn't here, for this, by pretending that, in fact, Ita isn't here.

Ita shakes her head. "No, W'ren, in fact we often mix it in with alcohol to diminish the taste."  She glances toward the older greenrider with a non-verbal request for confirmation.  "In fact, it might lessen the need for it, if you're using more .... traditional methods for pain management."  Her dust-dry sense of humor sparkles for just a moment.   She watches Jack and a growing sense of unease starts to rise, and she doesn't know where it's coming from.  Being weyrbred, there shouldn't be any.  Normally isn't.  She turns away, starting to straighten up needlessly.  VTOL - wall... that's this girl right now.

It's true that Reineth has been a particularly lovely shade lately, but she's nowhere near Mrrth's state of proddiness.  So why the shudder when T'jano runs fingers through his hair?  Why the acquiescence when his chin is touched and tilts up for brown eyes to meet green.  Well, could be that Jack's just overtly tactile.  Probably.  Maybe.  Mostly.  Possibly.  "The Masterhealer, really?" he asks--and if it's a little breathless it's only the 'exertion' of a swift examination.  "So /she's/ his latest find...  I'd heard he found a new one.  I hate to say it, T'jano, but if she's with him too, she really is a pet."  Rising slowly from where he'd knelt to test reflexes, he tilts his face accordingly, never letting T'jano out of his sight.  "Yes Ita," he confirms absently.  "But not too much.  Don't get drunk while on it.  You'll sleep."  Something about the way he says that doesn't seem to imply normal slumber.  "Pet?" he asks quietly then, the words meant just for the other greenrider.  "Can't say as I've ever tried it.  Could be fun..."

"Yes, we are," W'ren says without missing a beat, smiling avariciously at T'jano's sheer lack of inhibition. Getting drunk with one's father  when the women in the family go berserk is sort of a rite of passage or something in some cultures. If not, time to make a new rite! His mouth opens sort of to the side, eyes shifting to J'cobi to see how he'll react to the advances his father makes, and if there were a wall nearby, he'd have his arms crossed leaning on it, waiting for the reaction of the other greenrider to those caresses. "Oh, we wouldn't want to sleep on a night like this, would we gentlemen?" Ita might as well be that V'tol for all his attention is on the mating ritual center stage. "The night is young and we are all strong, virile men." It's almost a prodding of them onward. "J'cobi, won't you please say you'll join Da and me as we ....raise... some spirits?"

The rustle of wings trades sea-glass green for electric greys in so many folds across lithe Mrrth's back.   The dragon's eyes have turned fully lavender, and she'll watch with a sort of intent fascination, here.  T'jano, for his part, will shake his head, "No, no. A Masterhealer. Don't know if it's /the/ Masterhealer. Arnold. And I'm not sure who has whom, J'cobi."  Long fingers, laced with finer scars than those across T'jano's arms, slide once more through the wild hair of the healer.   Now, both hands slide feather-light across the other man's skin, fingers on Jack's jawline and opposite hand on the neck of the other man, encourage J'cobi into T'jano's personal space.  T'jano's pale eyes stare with avid interest, his tenor dropping to silky tones, "Life's awfully short.  Shouldn't miss out on any experiences, don't you think?"  T'jano'll step in to join that distance, then slip to the side of the other man. Fluid movements, assassin's dance in brevity of space, T'jano eases himself behind J'cobi, while still facing him.  "Yes."  To W'ren's suggestion, "You could join us.  Sleeping is optional."  T'jano's hands will, then, draw back the most wispy of J'cobi's brown hair from its array,  while he leans forward to breathe the words into the crook of J'cobi's neck and shoulder, "I don't sleep much usually, anyway."

There's a catch in Ita's breath for a moment, and a mental flurry of scrolls flying around the room looking more like paper airplanes than scrolls or books.  The curtains on the windowed room seem to close, and she finishes what she's doing, and says, quickly to Jack. "Goodnight, J'cobi."  Terse, formal and final. At least for now.  And she's gone, back toward the lower caverns.

Leaning into those caresses like a homeless puppy, Jack lets his eyes slide closed in pure tactile pleasure.  He'll take that encouragement and step into that space, turning as T'jano whispers against his neck.  Nearly nose to nose with the Barlord now, he tilts his head ever so slightly, leaning in to brush just the lightest of kisses over the other man's mouth before pulling back and licking his lips as if to sample a flavor.  As Ita leaves, he appears torn, ready to go after her when T'jano mentions experiences.  And he's hooked.  "Oh no, mustn't miss out on any /experiences/ now, must we?"  The invitation is tempting and he nods, leaning in to close the deal with another kiss when something clicks in his brain.  "Hang on," he starts, brow wrinkled in confusion as he backs away and looks from W'ren to T'jano.  "He's your dad and you look the same age and you're standing there, watching him participate in a mutual pawing--"  Though admittedly Jack's not done much pawing.  Yet.  "And you look as if this is not only normal, but you're /enjoying/ it...  Does this seem a bit odd to anyone besides me?"

W'ren grins with pleasure, watching his father strut out his prod to the pleasure and benefit of the other. His lips purse amusedly, eyebrows rising when his father slips around behind the man to taunt and plea the very hair on his neck to rise with the heat of it. A soft chuckle falls at the illusive retreat Ita executes, amazingly coy for one so bred as she. Then his eyes fall on T'jano, that sultry sisal sidle he suffers is enough to make any weyr man rise up and take notice. Will J'cobi? W'ren nearly purrs when he does indeed take the bait. Suddenly, he laughs, responding to J'cobi. "Well, actually, I'm older than he is." The bronzerider smirks raising an eyebrow. "I've traveled a bit more than he has, but he's traveled backwhen further than I, obviously." He peers over at the lusty Teej, and shakes his head admiringly, holding out his hand toward the man. "And what dragonrider in his right mind would mind watching something as obviously sensual as a greenrider in heat, hmm?" His brow rises to accent the question.

"It's my brother's fault."  T'jano murmurs, as if that might explain everything, because isn't everything else Th'deus' fault?  T'jano liked that almost-kiss, and will reach to try to capture the other man's hair and thus mild control over his head, so that he could return that kiss with a sort of growing passion mirrored in the voyeuristic green dragon's eyes. "Timing is everything, healer. He's actually older than I am.   And you're not pawing enough,"  T'jano points out, "For this to be mutual.  Hop to it, Rider."  So sayeth the Weyrling. "And W'ren -- Igen-bred. Different set of standards, I'm told."  

"Your brother's fault?"  This, clearly, makes absolutely No Sense to Jack, who lets that hand tangle in his hair but looks back and forth between the other two riders.  "Not enough pawing, hmm?  We'll have to fix that..."  So saying, he /dives/ into T'jano, kissing him fiercely and letting his hands move around his waist, stroking briefly over arse before travelling up his back and shoulders until he's cupping the rider's jaw, all this time kissing.  Finally, when he feels he'll do something horridly inappropriate right here in the Infirmary, he gentles the kiss and pulls back slowly, smiling.  "I don't do families, Bright Eyes.  Go drink with your son, I'll not be leaving Fort anytime soon."  He leans into the side and lips his earlobe gently.  "Come and find me when you've the attention to devote /just/ me."  That lip turns into a sharp little bite.  "Believe me," he murmurs.  "You'll need it."

And therein lies the crux of it. Igen-bred, W'ren can appreciate the convenience and even necessity of boys and young men satisfying the needs of each other instead of defiling the women. Such interaction is encouraged where he comes from. And here, in this juncture of time, his father /needs/ this. So he encourages. But alas, all good things must come to an end, and herein with the entrance of Avarra lies as good an exit as any. He glances at Gnaedath, eyes glazing over and the dragon slowly rises, begins to take an exit but for the curling of his neck back to nudge W'ren from his amused stance. "Da?" he says, "Don't stop on account of me. Please find what you need tonight, hmm?" And before his father has a chance to say anything else, he's out of there, followed by his bronze and sporting only a mere nod of the head to Avarra upon departure with a little piece of advice. "I think the healers are busy right now. You might want to try back later, hmm?" He winks at his father and leaves.

Moss green eyes widen with surprise at the scene that plays out, pale brows lowering as W'ren offers advice.  Head half-turning to track his passing Avarra gives it serious consideration.  "Um... I was looking for Ita or yourself, J'cobi, but I can certainly come back later."  The other rider is given a nod of blond-topped head as well, only recently met but name logged.  "T'jano."

T'jano has relinquished much of his frontal lobe function to more primative brainstem urges, and he is egged on by his dragon, whose restlessness only increases.  "I need it."  T'jano hisses, though he does release the other man at his words.  Nevermind the shiver that makes the lean Barlord weak-kneed.  "Don't do families either."  W'ren's exit is noted, through a vague film of need and disappointment that wells up the deeper and more sincere dramas of the evening.  "Later.  I'll come and find you, Healer."   A sharp expression, then, poignant, flickers over T'jano's features, before he'll reach to draw a hand over the dragon's hide. "Mrrth."  He'll go then, a lingering study on J'cobi that transfers to Avarra as well, before he's out the door, on the dragon and heading up to the no-doubt empty weyr that he has shared with his weyrmate.  There, in the comfort of his bed, T'jano will explore just how drunk one might have to get, with fellis-laced wine, to /sleep/.  Sleep, the way that J'cobi voiced the verb.