painful failure [orintek]

[tovaana]

Orintek;

His fists released their tension when the announcement was made. Disappointment plunked to the bottom of his stomach and the man swallowed back irritation that flashed through him. Multiple of his own supporters had patted him sympathetically and somewhat disappointedly on the back. He had disappointed them… but worse, was he had disappointed his uncle… or at least, he wouldn’t be coming home with any good news, no good news to send home – he again was without a way to make his uncle proud of him. Orintek couldn’t bear to think of the look he might get from his uncle, or worse – the looks he wouldn’t get, that he’d be more ignored and pushed aside because he hadn’t proved himself.

It was hard to hide when one was so tall and he knew better than to slouch, but all he wanted to do was get away from the celebration. He glanced toward Asirikai, not at all surprised that of any of the competitors that had won, it had been him. The man drew people in toward him with a confidence and air that Orintek didn’t have – he was not nearly as loud or shrewd, or obviously - influential. Really, Orintek had never had the vicious ambition that other leaders had, so perhaps he really hadn’t tried hard enough because he really hadn’t wanted it. Still, that was a sour thought, because he was still empty handed for his uncle. He sighed and moved back out of the crowd, nodding and smiling the best he could as he moved.

Mavros, as small as it was, had become familiar to him. He’d fallen in love with the dismal island, the holder folk, and seeing dragons flying about. It would hurt to stay and suffer his new friends’ sympathetic gestures, but not as bad as it would be to return home. He needed something else to make his uncle proud, to show him his worth… but what? Marry? Marry and do what? Perhaps he could find a smaller hold to lead or establish a hold somewhere in Southern… but that left a bad taste in his mouth, especially after losing the vote.

He was walking aimlessly and hopelessly lost in thought and turmoil. He somehow found a drink in his hand and then down at the docks with the creaking of ships and gentle swish of the ocean. Whatever he did, it would have to wait… there was no way he could go back to Southern so raw and vulnerable. He’d need a plan first. He’d write his uncle – better he found out from himself than someone else… then he’d… he’d… he growled, uncharacteristically flustered, breaking his cup on the railing and sending the rest into the ocean, pain flaring in his hand. He looked down at the blood that dripped down his hand from a new cut. He watched it with dumb fascination… he was afraid of death, but this was just a cut… the pain was a nice distraction from his dismal thoughts. He leaned into the railing and looked down the line of boats and out of the cavern, the cold breeze tugging at his jacket, beckoning him toward the beaches.

[tovaana]

Orintek;

He stumbled into the sand – how many drinks had he had on his way to the docks? He hadn’t thought he’d had more than one, but he supposed what he was feeling was a bit more than a buzz of one glass of wine. He sighed, breathing in the cool salty air, looking around at the somewhat populated beach. Normally he wouldn’t mind company, but he didn’t feel like it at the moment, but the beach felt nice – but he kept tripping over his shoes – sharding shoes! He took one off at a time, shedding them like a snake’s old skin, left behind in his wake. Orintek found a rock to sit on, well, he didn’t quite make it on the rock, and slipped off and landed facing the cliffs… he hadn’t meant that either. He’d been hoping to watch the people and rolling waves, instead he was left to face the cliffside, arching his neck up at the ledges and holes where dragon weyrs were carved crudely away. Watching dragons come in and out of them reminded him disturbingly of a hive, bugs crawling in and out… and it was somewhat mesmerizing.

“Hi there…” A voice interrupted his reverie and he looked up on the rock where he had tried to sit, and there atop was an unassuming girl in a pale dress was sitting. Unassuming in the way she sat and presented herself with her soft and quiet voice, but her hair was a bright amber that was like a fire in the dimming light of day.

“Hey.” He simply responded with a smile. Usually he was more talkative, social, but either the gloomy events or the wine tied his tongue.

“I think these are yours.” She presented the shoes to him and he nodded slowly in admission, they did look familiar.

“You okay?”

He blinked up at her, his head tilting a little and squinting his eyes. Did he know her? No… he didn’t think so anyways, thought was getting a little more difficult. Why was she being so nice?

“Do… I know you?”

She smiled softly and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so – oh! Your hand!” In a movement swifter than he thought possible she was off the rock and on her knees in a very unlady like fashion, eying his hand that had a mix of caked sand and blood.

“Oh, it’s fine, doesn’t even hurt.” He said, his eye brows pulling together as she opened a satchel she’d been wearing with a canister of water and was pouring it over the wound. “Ouch!” He tried yanking his hand away, but her grip was surprisingly firm, as if she knew he’d jerk away. “Now it does, shards girl.”

She didn’t answer him, but starting pulling out a couple of containers and applying a salve that didn’t smell all that great, but the stinging started to fade. He watched, somewhat mesmerized as he had been before with the dragons as she nimbly and quickly wrapped his hand. He looked at the satchel where she was pulling things out – as if pulling things from between itself.

“You just… carry things like that around with you all the time?”

Her pale cheeks reddened and she offered a nervous smile. “Uh, yes…” She tucked in the last bit of material and let his hand go. “There… the cut isn’t too deep, but you should change the binding – and then give it air to breath when it starts healing…” She looked at him and her eyes seem to register something, like he wasn’t quite listening – which he was, but he somewhat distantly.

“You should also make sure to drink water… here.” She offered him the canister of water, which he took hesitantly. She was being so… nice. He had come across many kind people at Mavros, but he assumed most of the time there was some sort of ulterior motive. He took a sip and gave it back, or at least, tried to. She shook her head, “more.” He grinned at her and took a sip.

“You’re some sort of healer I suppose.”

“Apprentice.” She said in her quiet voice and small smile. “I uh, saw you walking down and lose your shoes… I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

He squinted his eyes at her and considered her doe like eyes that seemed genuine. “Alright… I’m okay, well, now I am.” He chuckled raising his wrapped hand, shaking his head lightly. “I am… a bit drunk I think.” He noticed her try and stifle a smile, but didn’t respond. “I should get back to my quarters, would you mind helping me? Just for a bit….” He didn’t want to get lost in thought again, especially since the pain had woken him up a bit from his dulled senses.

She hesitated a moment before answering, looking at him with a certain caution before nodding. “Sure.” She helped him up, mostly steadying him when he got to his feet, and quickly gave him space as she let go.

“I’m Raxalin. What’s your name? Are you from the hold?”

He glanced over at her, her eyes were focused on him with a soft intensity and curiosity.

“Orintek of Southern…” He paused and sighed. “I’m just visiting Mavros… I’ll be heading home in the next month or so.” They walked off the beach and toward the hold side where he’d been staying. “You’re not a healer from the hold, then?” She had asked if he was from the hold, which meant she wasn’t familiar with the hold… he rubbed his head, it was starting to throb from a headache.

“I visit the hold sometimes, but mostly I help in the Weyr with Threadfall. Dragons are bigger targets, but the riders get hit often enough.”

He glanced down at her with some alarm at how matter-of-factly she spoke of the travesties of Threadfall. She was hugging herself, though it could have been because of the cold. Orintek was impressed the young woman was an apprentice of the healing craft, that she knew what she wanted to do with her life…. When there was nothing in his future.

“How did you know you wanted to be a healer?”

She looked a little surprised at the question, as if the answer should be obvious. “Oh. Well, my mother is a healer…” She trailed off, glancing at him as if she wasn’t sure if she should continue on. “And… I guess I wanted to do something to help fight Thread. Or, just anything to do to help out. I like feeling like I’m doing something active against our Enemy.”

His stormy hued gaze looked down at the younger girl, impressed that so young she could have so much… passion… or just a mission for her life. He pursed his lips, trying to think against the growing headache. He needed a mission, something that drove him like what drove this young girl.

He hummed at her answer, nodding – realizing he was getting lost in his thoughts even with a guide and he stopped, glancing around and realized where he was and how to get back to his quarters. “Thanks Raxalin. I hope you enjoy the festivities.” She flashed a small smile, a bit of relief coming through as she turned to leave. He turned away, climbing eagerly toward his temporary home – a race against his headache and the new thoughts the healer had put in his mind. What he couldn’t have known was that the girl had paused and turned around, watching and making sure he found his way toward the town, slight worry in her watchful gaze.