Date: Jan 1, 2011 (Directly after log: "Don't die.")
Location: EW: Weyrling Barracks
Synopsis: Rio returns to the barracks after running into Kaskan and tries to deal with the emotional aftermath.
Rating: PG
Logger: Rio (Vignette)

Another favor owed. Rio asks a brown weyrling to please, /please/ fetch her dinner.

She'd arrived back in the barracks well after sunset, but the interior glows still revealed, to some, the jagged scars that Kaskan knows now has seared into his memory. Rio's hair could hide the fierce, ugly trail of whitish-grey scar tissue, if she held her head down, but invariably someone is going to greet her, to say hello. And it's only polite to look at someone, when speaking to them, to look at them. Rio is short, so… She looks up to most any other adult.

There was the AWLM who had not seen her pass, to whom the green weyrling had lied - Yes ma'am. She was the last.

That AWLM comes up to Rio and, taking one look at the woman's expression, seeing for the first time the gold weyrling's scars, catches Rio by the chin. The slight woman allows this, allows her head turned both ways, so that the AWLM can ascertain that the scars are not, indeed, fresh.

Dot connects to dot. Connects to dot. The woman nods. Rio goes on her way, with Eovarijath trailing after.

Rio's veil is, likely, in Kaskan's possession, or on the bowl floor. Of all the veils she could have left laying around, this is not the one that the woman would have preferred anyone keep as a personal momento. Old, ratty. Her dragon-oiling veil. A slight smile to herself — if she can no longer afford vanity about her features, she can, at least, about her veils.

But that night, alone with the sleeping Eovarijath, Rio picks at her food. Paces. Discovers that someone else has found her secret cache of wine, and removed it. The gold dragon is touched, eliciting the barest response in sleepy mind. And Rio finally lays down in her cot, staring at the ceiling.

The darkness hides her fingers coming to touch her lips. Her tongue as well. Damp, wet sensation. She had practice at this, used to indulge herself, sometimes, in her prison cell. Kaskan's eyes. Memories. His voice. His touch. Her mouth opens and Rio groans, shifting, the cot suddenly uncomfortable. The man's taste, salty and dusty, like the tears that dampen her cheeks. Today's red-fruit flavor in there, recent and warm. Strong arms. Damn, but he's so much better-looking than the skinny fellow Rocio fell for.

She flops on the cot, and it squeaks, and there's a wish for a more comfortable bed, before the mental recoil from the memory of her marriage bed. Very comfortable. And it bleeds.

Rio's sitting up on the cot again, pushing those memories away with force of will. They may not tinge… She touches her lips again. Remembers Kaskan's scent. The accent, when he dropped the attempts at Boll's. Weyrlings are allowed to kiss. She knows that, heard the girls talking about it. It had not been a personal consideration, then. Hold hands? She's fairly sure that's allowed.

Eovarijath fair gleams in the faint light that escapes the hooded glow. The dragon is beautiful. Rio admires her, studies her, before she gets up and catches up the glow, nudging the cover so it flicks light on the mirror that is, as usual, covered with a cloth. Rio looks at her scars. She cannot even touch them. But she forces herself to look at them. "I will forget your name." Rio murmurs the mantra she's repeated for so many months. "What you did to me, will not matter." But her eyes close and tears fall, and the cloth goes back up over the mirror. Rio paces, like a caged cat.

The next point of rest is back on the cot. Again, a touch on her lips, as if she might commit that to memory. "Kaskan. Where do you sleep at night? Have I chained you here? Were you happy? I'm.. So sorry." Rio twists back into her cot, mind and body at war, irrational fear and desire each vying for her focus.

Her solace, the gold, lies sleeping. Her solace, and, at the moment, her bedevilment. "I can. And I will." These words vowed to the dragon.

A light touch to her own breast, her own stomach, her crotch, drags out a frustrated moan. Rio tosses again and lays, finally, on her stomach. Wonders if Kaskan sleeps. If he sleeps alone. Where he is. What he is thinking.

Le sigh.

She was doing so well, getting her head together, too.

Eventually, after reviewing, revisiting every possible ending to the scene between the runners, and driving herself half-mad with a desire that terrifies her, Rio will sleep.

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