Jonavan's High And Saying Goodbye


Indira.jpg Jonavan.jpg

Date: 28 May 2011
Location: Lower Bowl West, Eastern Weyr
Synopsis: Indira comes across Jonavan, who's high on fellis. They understand each other surprisingly well.
Rating: PG; drug use reference.
Logger: Jonavan

Belior is a thin crescent shedding little light on the dark and empty Bowl, smaller Timor cresting the crater walls to join her sister in the night sky overhead. The flickering flame of a sweet-burning candle gives away the presence of at least one person moving away from the entrance to the infirmary, then coming to a pause some distance further. Jonavan finds a boulder to sit on that hasn't been carted away and sits, head tilted back as he stares at the sky.

Since becoming Hope's primary caregiver and having found the majority of the burden of running the Weyr on her shoulders, Indira's had to modify her habits accordingly. Where before if woken by nightmares or unable to sleep, she may have looked to hitting the bottle, these days, or nights as the case would be, she's taken to leaving her sleeping granddaughter under Doran's watchful eye and wandering the Weyr. And so it is that with just a half-liddded glowbasket to light her way, hair loosed and with a light shawl drawn about her shoulders that Eastern's Headwoman, like a wraith, moves silently in the direction of where Jonavan has taken up residence.

Jonavan doesn't indicate that he's seen Indira, continuing to stare at nothing in particular. Up there are only stars showing themselves, briefly blotted out with the passing shadow of a dragon flying home or to another's weyr. "Out and about at this hour is only for those with an assignation or failing to find one. Which one are you?" The words drift out lazily with an idle, almost dreamy curiousity.

Coming to a halt where Jonavan is seated, Indira carefully sets her glowbasket on the ground at her feet and then she too tilts her head back. "The starsmiths are liars you know," she comments as if not having heard his question put to her, "there are no answers up there." Slowly her gaze swings back down and lands on the healer, lips curling a touch in a show of quiet amusement, "I could ask the same of you." No real answer given as the Headwoman lifts a hand in attempt to tap at his hip, "Move on over and let a woman sit and perhaps between the two of us we can figure out the meaning of life, hmm?" tone softly teasing.

"You can always find answers." Jonavan lowers his gaze and lets it rest on Indira. "If you look hard enough. Most people don't, do they?" He's slow to react but does inch over to create space, less welcoming then ceding to Indira. There is no challenge in him tonight. Up close, he smells of alcohol and something sweet, though not enough of a boozy reek to suggest he's drunk. "I think you do, though."

"No they don't," Indira agrees and then adds, "Mostly because more often than not we don't really want to know the answers, do we?" Tone suggesting she speaks from experience there. Whether he does so reluctantly or not, as Jonavan shifts over so the tousled blonde slips onto the boulder beside him, legs lifting and arms wrapping about them with heels hooked to keep her in place. Turning her head to rest her cheek against her knees, she sets the healer with a long look. "You're quiet tonight," she remarks on his oddly unchallenging demeanour not yet quite able to place the sweet smell that's laced in with that of booze that lingers about the man. Instead, she adds quiet tease, "Someone steal your favourite stuffy?"

Jonavan concedes the point with a nod that may be missed in the dark. "I don't think," he confesses with the same lethargic turn to his words that's characterised them thus far, "I could ever cope with not having answers. It's what to do with them, afterwards. Do you know what I mean?" He adjusts his position, turning towards Indira so he can have a long look at her. The question isn't rhetorical; he expects an answer. The Headwoman's own question occasions a short, low laugh as he apparently finds it funny. "Yes, I suppose they did." Then, completely blase, he actually answers rather than deflect. "Oh, I took a dose of fellis, added a shot of grain liquor, topped it off with fruit juice. Secret recipe for a good, floating high."

Head still turned in his direction and resting her cheek on her knees, Indira utters a quietly spoken, "Aye. Sometimes I think it would be easier never to have known in the first place but then," here she pauses a soft sigh spilling, "then we'd drive ourselves crazy with wanting to know. Damned if you do, damned if you don't," the last spoken with an almost resigned air. Dark blonde brows then twitch toward a frown when Jonavan answers in the affirmative. "You should go knock their lights out; it would make you feel better. It sure as shards always makes me feel better." Ah, so that's where her son gets his fighting spirit from then. She even looks to set to add more, a smirk starting to curl on her mouth and then it drops off with the blas confession and the Headwoman blinks in the dark. Long the study he's then put under with the woman leaning in a little closer to get a confirming whiff of what he's just said. Still more silence and then: "That bad, huh?" And rather than disapproval there's nothing but gentle understanding in her tone.

"Am I allowed to hit girls?" the healer puts to Indira with the air of asking permission. "You always have the advantage." Jonavan holds up well under examination with a small, faintly mocking smile bringing up one half of his mouth. His shoulders lift and fall with an easy shrug. The sigh following is not quite as effortless. "Am I in trouble?"

Where Indira might have handed him some or other dry quip, something about Jonavan's demeanour has her refraining from doing so though she does make wry offer, "I could do it for you?" How kind of her. It's his last however, followed by that sigh that has her fitting him with an unwavering gaze and sending a query in return, "Are you?" In trouble that is.

Jonavan appears to consider the offer with his head tilting to one side and now the other side of his mouth quirking at the thought. The second sigh is even more problematic than the first. "No, she'd hit back. And I don't think I want her hit." A trace of wry doubt. Jonavan leans back again to look up, though as Indira has pointed out, there are no answers waiting for him there. "There's been worse." He answers an earlier question, thoughts skipping without linear direction. "I think it was worse."

"I've had worse," Indira sends back in return on the matter of another woman hitting her. And then despite the flicker of a wry smile in response, the next was inevitable, "You love her." Not a question, a statement, quietly spoken. Jonavan turns his attention back up to the night sky and she in turns puts open study to his profile. "Trying to numb the pain," she comments having apparently being able to figure where his train of thought had skipped to. That line of understanding is left on the air for a while and then it's her that utters a soft sigh, "It doesn't, does it? It's always there, lingering just behind your eyes, mocking you for…failing." That last word barely audible on the night air. Yeah, she's been where it is she thinks he is, more times than she can count.

Any confirmation is mute, tacit, with a look sliding across that suggests a mutual understanding has been reached. "You sound like you know." Jonavan gazes at Indira now rather than the moons, stars, and sky. "I was thinking I'd go sit my exams. I've been ready for…" He comes to a pause in order to loose a low, helpless laugh. "Oh, ages." For someone as openly ambitious as this particular healer, the confession speaks volumes.

Meeting Jonavan's eyes silently for a moment, Indira's cheek then moves against her knees in a nod, "Aye, that I do," she confirms. And then she turns her head, chin resting between the valley of her knees and she contemplates the small pool of light being cast by the glowbasket she'd set on the ground before the boulder. "You stayed…for her," the Headwoman states low, his words and decision indeed speaking volumes, "but now…you need space," sloe eyed gaze turning back to the healer. "I stayed far longer than most sane women would have," wry confession to her perhaps not being entirely sane at times, "At least you have the balls not to make the same mistake I did." Pause, "You'll be leaving soon?"

"How well you know me." Coming from Jonavan such a comment is almost unfailingly sarcastic, but tonight it is paired with understanding. "Aye," he says finally, the affirmation a turn of phrase picked up from Indira's son and here, for once, used for something other than a taunt. "Might've helped if I'd told her, eh?" This time, he mocks himself. "I don't know if I'll come back." The disclosure comes lightly to Jonavan's lips though with the comprehension between them it'll be easy for Indira to grasp that it is anything but. "Cheusia's good, she can run everything without me." Rarity of rarities, the healer actually has praise or at least acknowledgment for his counterpart in the infirmary.

"No, but I know what its like to have loved andnot been seen." The self-mocking confession that Jonavan delivers earns him a half-smile that's lightly sardonic, "Might have helped, yes. Then again such confessions didn't do me any good back then, so…" ," a be-shawled shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug that equates to a gesture of 'who knows?' Words on him not returning, that has Indira straightening slightly from the idle pose she'd been in, her head lifting to set an intent look on the younger man. "But she's not you," she finally notes, and then adds with small warmth creeping into tone and eyes, "and its you not her that Hope is going to miss…Bastard." A smirk curling around that last word that also serves as confirmation of her knowing of the name the two turn old has bestowed upon him.

"You're right. She's prettier than me," is what Jonavan says, but something in his eyes communicates how appreciated Indira's remark is. His manner softens further to carry far more affection and fondness than he's been seen to show for an adult. "I'll miss teaching her how to harass you. You can tell Max how to reach me though. For the rest…" A lengthy hesitation unbroken in the still, dark night. "Don't."

"In a dress, certainly," Indira quips right back with a twitch of a smile attached. Tipping her head to one side Jonavan's demeanour, a side of him she's never seen before (Perhaps the real man behind all the snap and snark?) is given long inspection and then a wry chuckle sounds out, rich and earthy. "I'm sure once she's reading and writing you'll send her long letters of instruction on how to do just that." Harass her. Pause is given for his missive and then she nods, sadness mirrored in her eyes for the pain the younger man must be in that's sending him back to the 'safety' of the Hall and his studies. Arms unwrap from about her legs and the fingers of one hand touches gently to the side of the healer's face if he allows, "Don't give up on love, Jonavan. Someday, it will find you. When you've stopped looking and least expect it." A soft smile brackets those last words and then legs stretch and she drops back down to the ground. "Write to me?"

Perhaps. Or perhaps a side unexplored even by the man himself unless under the influence of powerful narcotics. "Someone has to do it." Jonavan moves sedately between one quip and the next, reactions coming slow. "I always wanted a secure posting at Hall." The irony of the remark spurs a smile to accompany it. For a man who holds himself apart, Indira's touch comes as a surprise and he hasn't the self-control tonight to hide it, eyebrows lifting in open question. "I'm not made for love," he answers at last after Indira has stood, followed by an unhurried nod of assent.

Another low, rich chuckle follows his return on teaching Hope the ways of the world according to Jonavan. "So long as you know she'll be spending her summers with you for she'll need someone to practice her newfound skills on, aye?" Jonavan's slowing reactions give Indira pause for concern and so once she's bent to once again take up her glowbasket, she's hold out a hand to him, stating sombrely as she does so, "We're all made for love, Jonavan. It just takes some of us longer than others to get passed our own bullshit lines and defences to do so." Firmly planting herself in that category with a wink. "Now come on, let's get you to your quarters and you can continue to beat yourself raw while I at least get to sleep knowing you didn't stumble down to the lake and drown or something." Wry tease wrapped into a warm smile.

"Are you sure you want to let me put knives in her hands and who knows what else?" Jonavan's tease has an indolent, drifting humour. He takes her hand, allowing himself to be helped up, then stoops to retrieve the candle he'd taken from the infirmary entrance. "I'll settle for just being the best damn Healer there is," he responds at length, looking down at the Headwoman with a calmness that is false for being self-inflicted. "You're alright, Indi." The healer uses the name she had given herself before they knew each other and settled into their respective roles and allows her to escort him back to his room.

Open laughter flows now, "Oh darlin', come on now. With a father like hers and me as her…" she refuses to call herself grandma, "…Nan, you don't honestly think a scalpel will be the first sharp weapon she has in her hand, hmm?" Amusement wanes and Indira's gaze sets openly to Jonavan's face, watching the man in that lengthy pause before his telling statement. She gives no verbal response just a smile touched with melancholy before giving him a light nudge of shoulder as they make their way back in the direction of his quarters, "Not too bad yourself, Master." Affording him the title she has no doubt will soon be his to own.

Jonavan's Soundtrack Suggestion: Aimee Mann, Calling It Quits
Indira's Soundtrack Suggestion: Journey, Separate Ways

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