Post by nozomi on Jun 5, 2011 17:26:01 GMT -5
T'di fretted. He never claimed to be good at impulse control, or emotions, or anything that a proper Weyrleader should be. Maybe it was why he Impressed a blue as a child, and not the Bronze many expected of the loud and excitable young man. He had emotions, and failed to keep them under control when under things like Flightlust and blind panic. Ralvyn took J'thir to the cot, and pushed him down, and T'di stood somewhat behind him, hands twisted together, and tried not to squirm.
Too many men all in this joint. Most, the younger and slimmer ones, those didn't bother him so much. The bigger guys - T'di had to keep himself from tackling some of the larger guys, and did so by staring at that hole he put into the weyrling. (Sorry H'und, T'di thought dirty, nasty things about you.) J'thir, he lay there, knife wound, and blood, and, Shards, T'di wanted to puke, just for a minute.
Thankfully that need-want-flightlust hindered the ability to throw up. He wavered, fingers tightening into fists against one another, and that was about the time J'thir grabbed at the healer saving his life.
The bluerider bolted over to the cot, crouching down to be level with it. His own hand went out to grab J'thir's tight fingers, eyes wide. "Grabbing the healer is a bad idea," The bluerider hissed, prying at the weyrling's fingers off of the damned healers and he continued to cling at J'thir's hand unless the man tried to pull it away.
"Just, like, squeeze my hand. It's useless anyway and the healer is fixing you. Right?" Wide eyes went riiiight back to Ral, owl-esque on that pale freckled face and shivering chin. "I mean. I'm not a healer but - but, I didn't just kill him, did I?"
If he had a hand in his, T'di was the one to squeeze. Fright! He didn't want to kill someone.
Too many men all in this joint. Most, the younger and slimmer ones, those didn't bother him so much. The bigger guys - T'di had to keep himself from tackling some of the larger guys, and did so by staring at that hole he put into the weyrling. (Sorry H'und, T'di thought dirty, nasty things about you.) J'thir, he lay there, knife wound, and blood, and, Shards, T'di wanted to puke, just for a minute.
Thankfully that need-want-flightlust hindered the ability to throw up. He wavered, fingers tightening into fists against one another, and that was about the time J'thir grabbed at the healer saving his life.
The bluerider bolted over to the cot, crouching down to be level with it. His own hand went out to grab J'thir's tight fingers, eyes wide. "Grabbing the healer is a bad idea," The bluerider hissed, prying at the weyrling's fingers off of the damned healers and he continued to cling at J'thir's hand unless the man tried to pull it away.
"Just, like, squeeze my hand. It's useless anyway and the healer is fixing you. Right?" Wide eyes went riiiight back to Ral, owl-esque on that pale freckled face and shivering chin. "I mean. I'm not a healer but - but, I didn't just kill him, did I?"
If he had a hand in his, T'di was the one to squeeze. Fright! He didn't want to kill someone.