Chatting on the Cliffs

**Monaco Bay Weyr - Cliffs*

This is where Monaco's only permanent, rocky weyrs are. The cliff stands no more than a few dragonlengths high and all of the weyrs can be reached by foot as well as from the skies. No more than a dozen weyrs are available here and they're rarely occupied, but they have a forest-top view.
Night has fallen in this barely lit portion of the Weyr, leaving light only to fall from the few occupied cliff weyrs and from the natural light of the moons. Springtime has arrived on Monaco Bay Weyr, the flowers budding with wild abandon and all about new growth of the jungle seems to be the theme both in the animal and plant kingdoms.

Since he arrived back at the Weyr from his home hold of Greyfall not a handful of hours ago, Vantayne has avoided nearly everyone whenever possible. After all, most of Monaco's residents - both human and draconic - likely don't know about him, much less him now being a Candidate, so a young guy sporting dusty clothing and a black eye… Pfft. Nothing. He had to endure some keen pains to bear up under potential inspection along the way, but now - ensconced hopefully safely in the covering jungle - the holder nears a place he can finally rest, and inspect not only his eye, but the myriad of spectacular bruises covering his torso.

R'en isn't known for being around social places when he's not working - sure, he can put on the facade of a healer and be all smiles while in the infirmary when he needs to, but really he isn't that interested in making friends with people. Sindrieth is down on the sands with Ceresth, which is giving him some time to get away himself and go to the cliffs like he enjoys. The glows he brought with him are covered, and he's got himself enshrouded in shadows while he looks at the sky. Only once some footsteps near does he lean a little out of his hovel to peer at the newcomer. Narrowing his gaze a little more, he pics out features and asks, "Van..?" Whatever the rest of your name is, he remembered the first part.

He prides himself on being a person who's aware of their surroundings and the things in them, so when that voice - not yet fully recognized - breaks up his settling to the ground in groaning relief, Vantayne startles, dropping his little piece of reflector /and/ his own, partially-shaded glows to the ground. A quick flurry of curses from the typical to the intricately-tawdry tumble from the young man's mouth, and he quickly drops to his knees to try and gather up his lighting, his mirror, and his marbles…all while muttering darkly to the area that voice comes from, "Who's that?"

Having been out in the darkness for a while, R'en's eyes are well adjusted to the moonlight by this point. No, it's not an evening tryst he's out on either as he appears to be woefully alone, which is usually the norm for him. "Come over here." He says, before shifting a little more so perhaps Vantayne can see more of him. Blond hair picks up the moonlight here and there, so it might give him a bit of a clue before he actually says, "It's R'en. There's enough room for another over here." Over here, being nearly the edge of the cliff looking over. Perilous for the faint hearted.

The first thing he grabs is the small mirror, shoving it back into one of his pockets. Vantayne then gathers up the glows, tumbles them into their tiny basket - lidding it almost completely - finally climbing to his booted feet warily when R'en seems to order him over. Damn damn damn! After another few moments of silence to recover some of his wits, the candidate murmurs, "Didn't mean to bother anyone. Thought this place looked…peaceful." In other words: private. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

R'en had already seen too much, so it's too late to weasel out of it now. "Over here, now." He says firmly, though he isn't looking to see if Vantayne is going to dart off. No, it's far too late for that too. Even if he does run off, it's not like R'en won't run into him ever in the weyr if he stays as a Candidate. The glows he had covered up are now uncovered, and it's more obvious that he's sitting on a little ledge that has plenty of room for two or possibly three people if they were really friendly.

Shit. Found out. There's a slightly-droopy look on Tayne's bruised face for a moment before he subsides back into careful neutrality, picking his way over towards where R'en is seated. A quick look down gives the holder a little vertigo for a moment, making him take a half-step back, but he gains his ease quickly enough, remains standing as they both look over the velvet sky with its twin moons. Silence.
R'en isn't the sort of a healer that runs over when people have bruises to baby them, cooing over them and asking what hurts. No, he's the sort that watches a person's movements to see what hurts which he does when Vantayne comes over to claim the spot after the brief half-step back. "You start it?" He asks, figuring with his temper it might have been the Holder that picked a fight with someone rather than the other way around. But, he's not placing blame, simply asking a question. He leans back against the rockface, pulling out a flask of wine from the vitners that he procured for his quiet time on the cliffs.

As he walks over to stand with R'en, the bronzerider's trained Healer eyes can likely tell there's a world of pain Vantayne's suffering from, his motions stiffer, his torso carried with guarded posture as legs take up the slack to try and ease pounded muscle, bone. When the question comes, as he knew it must, Tayne's light-brown head shakes a couple of times. "No…" is finally murmured out in spare baritone, the sound of his voice a little thin.

R'en does note the apparent issues that can be told by posture and demeanor, but he doesn't say anything about them yet. His blue gaze waits for the young man to sit beside him before he tugs his satchel over to look through it a little. "So, tell me what happened?" He asks and actually has a pleasant tenor voice himself, but with a tone that sounds like the young man may as well spill the beans. No offer of wine is given to Vantyane, instead he hands over a tin of something that actually doesn't smell half bad really. Not what one would expect to be given from a healer. The tin has a liniment in it with the scent of cinnamon amongst other scents, but that's the strongest.

He doesn't know R'en's a Healer, but Tayne's glancing warily down at the bronzerider's offer of that tin of linament, slowly accepting it as he remains standing…and silent. After some moments, "It's a…personal thing." He sounds not one whit sullen, like so many his age might be after a fight. Instead, the holder's voice - though carefully couched - is littered with hints of emotional pain, left-over anger, hopelessness…and utter weariness. Murmured quietly, "What's this?" A look down at the tin presages his look out of the corner of hazel eyes to R'en.

R'en isn't as skilled as a mindhealer in those sorts of things, and he's aware of his limitations. He's only good at physical pains, which he's already seemed to assess as needing some liniment more than him poking around. "Cream for the sore muscles, not so much for the bruises. They'll fade on their own with time." He says lightly, and takes in a sharp breath before letting it out slowly. The next thing he says probably won't make the Holder any happier, "You'll make an appointment with a mindhealer before checking into the barracks." He decides, since it's not his specialty and he does want to see that the boy gets in the right state of mind sooner than later.

There's a spare nod again from Vantayne when the cream is explained to him, the stuff lifted under nose and carefully sniffed at before the young man shrugs - and quickly winces at the pain that motion causes - then starts carefully daubing it on his shiner. Ow-owie-ouch. The next words that come out of the bronzer's mouth, however, have Tayne jerking his head to the side to stare at the other man…and instantly regretting it as his shoulders howl in pain. A soft intake of breath between clenched teeth in a hiss presage his tight, "I'm /not/ insane, if that's what you're getting at." Glare.

R'en pushes himself to his feet, which makes him on the same level as Vantayne. Not the tallest guy, or the broadest guy, but he still has some weight on the younger man. "You'll do it, or you may as well start heading back to your hold." He says flatly, not playing any games here and even though he might not be the Weyrleader, his dragon is one of the clutchfathers and was the one who searched him in the first place. "Shards, it's not only crazy people that need to talk to mindhealers. I've talked to them too." No, he doesn't go into detail, and since Vantayne doesn't know he's a healer - he could even be talking about in passing, never know.

There's the barest hint of a flinch from Vantayne - as if in his pushing to feet, R'en might be pissed off and willing to toss another fist at the battered young man. With the bronzerider's words first comes a flare of anger in those hazel eyes…but it's instantly replaced by a look of quiet misery and dejection. Whispered without hope, "I /can't/," Tayne then continuing to apply the balm around his eye as he shivers just a little. There's only a bare bit of a nod of assent, the candidate then inquiring only half-heartedly, "Are you a Healer, too?" Actually, he could care less if R'en answers or not, right now.

R'en doesn't do what the holder might expect, instead he stands there for a moment before reaching for the tin to take it away from him. "Here, let me. Take off your shirt too." He says, though it's not nearly as lecherous sounding as it might initially be as he follows it up with, "Yes, I'm a healer. But, not a mindhealer." He waits to see if the young man will comply, as well as if he was successful at taking back the tin. "If you can't go back, then I guess you'll just have to go talk to the Mindhealer before checking into the barracks." Nope, he doesn't seem to be willing to back off on the topic.

There's more hesitance and suspicion from Vantayne at R'en's first words, the young man then sighing softly, giving a small nod as he hands the salve back to the Healer, then starts carefully undoing his buttons…his battered torso soon open for viewing, after he winces and grunts himself out of the shirt. Looks like someone worked him over good, knowing all the places to hit to cause the worst pain; there's bruising over kidneys, ribs, and other tender places, aside from the general stuff upon hard stomach, slightly-broad shoulders. How someone else could manage to inflict this remains a mystery. Again, there's a bare nod from the downcast face of the holder, hazels avoiding R'en, now.

They say healers have gentle hands, but R'en isn't as gentle as one would expect. He crouches to set the tin on the ground after getting some on his hands and starts from the shoulders. It's bound to hurt, but it won't be long after the liniment gets onto the skin that it starts numbing it. There's probably some numbweed in it, but not so much as to take out all sensation - diluted. If he's assessing, he's silent about it - starting from the back. "I'll get you to be assigned some chores in the infirmary. Nobody'll be any the wiser." He offers, hopefully making it a bit less of a worry even if it's not taking away the stipulation that it must be done. Even if the infirmary is the last place in the world most people want to go.

He tolerates the attention, especially since R'en isn't babying him, and since that dash of numbweed is helping to lessen the pain…allowing Tayne to loosen his muscles from their tightness with a small sigh of relief. As the bronzerider continues to quietly talk, the holder can't help but listen, even glance at him on occasion, something of mixed distrust and incomprehension on his features. Again quietly, but with a faint wonderment, "Why?"

R'en has his gaze fixed on the young man's bruises more than anything, working the liniment in with experience that one would get in Healer's. Pressure in places that might hurt for a moment, but afterwards it numbs down to the point that it's not as terrible a pain even if it's still present. Pale blue eyes flicker over the ones he's dealt with, before nudging the shoulders so he can get Vantayne to turn around and face him to deal with the ones on the front which are probably a little less painful. "Because, I want you to go." And the more he bends to accommodate the young man, the more likely he is to follow through. Once finished, he picks up the tin off the ground and puts it back in Vantayne's hand. Maybe his own hands are nearly immune to the amount of numb weed in the tin as he seems to be just fine.

He'll bend with his fortunes, as usual, Vantayne shifting his position when R'en requires it, faint hisses given when those initial touches are offered upon his bruised ribs. The younger man's head cocks slightly at the bronzerider's answer, and - with the faintest of dry ghost-smiles - the candidate shakes his head once. The expression is gone swiftly enough, reality settling in again, though he does murmur, "Why are you…not throwing me out?" Helping him.

R'en lifts his gaze to meet Vantayne's hazel, looking at the bruised eye perhaps though he doesn't do anything for it - it's already been dealt with. "I asked if you started it, you said no. If I can't believe your word now, then how could I if you were part of a wing? I ask you to to go a mindhealer for your /own/ good, as well as for your future wingmates if you manage to walk off the sands with a dragon." He does have a rational explanation for his reasoning, at least, it does seem that way. He leans to start gathering up his things - seems his evening on the cliffs has come to an end, and he's ready to make his way back to the weyr.

"I didn't lie…" Tayne ripostes quietly, but with intensity to R'en, the holder's honor struck by potential doubt, even if it's in his own mind. What the other man says gives him something deeper to mull over, even as the 'rider stands after finishing his ministrations. With somewhat more ease, Tayne pulls on his shirt, buttons it, then tucks it into his light pants after slipping the tin of salve into his pants pocket. Even as R'en departs, there's not much more to say to the Healer other than a perhaps oddly-heartfelt, "Thank you." Once the bronzer's gone, Vantayne takes some time to look over - with the aid of mirror and glowlight - just how messed up he is. And after that, he manages to settle into a sit beside the place R'en once sat…and finds a little time for those damned unmanly tears that threatened him all the time on his way back to the Weyr.

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