Face the Morning

Writers: Eimi, Yvonne
Date Posted: 6th June 2006

Characters: Firsa, K'far
Description: Firsa and K'far have to face the morning after.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 11, day 26 of Turn 3
Notes: Comes after 'Stories' and is seriously backposted. Sorry!

Firsa woke slowly. Thankfully. She opened her eyes in the dark and muzzily made out the unfamiliar shapes of furniture, felt soft fur tickle her cheek. She usually slept with blankets. **Shards and shells...** Nausea rose and closed her eyes to keep it in check, but that only prompted a headache to pounce on her. Daremek's letter, drinking with K'far... **Shards- what did I do?!**

If she thought about it, she could feel someone's leg against her own. Bits of the previous night came back in fragments; K'far telling her about his Impression, about his childhood, her talking about Daremek. How it felt to kiss him. She stifled a groan. **Time...
shards, what time is it? I have to be at the stables...** She took a deep breath and willed her limbs to work. Miraculously, they did, and she slipped out of bed. The cold of the floor made her gasp and her hangover made the room spin. Nausea clawed at her insides. She glanced back at K'far - he faced away from her. Was he asleep? She needed to leave before he woke up and asked awkward questions... or, alternately, she threw up on his lap. **I will never drink again. Where are my pants?**

}:She's awake now,:{ Torth mentally nudged his rider.

**Huh?** K'far sat straight up, and quickly regretted it. He groaned loudly. "Shards! That doesn't feel good." He grabbed his head with his hand before flopping back down into the pillows. Even the cushioned impact made it that much worse. "Shell cracks, what were we _thinking_ drinking that much."

"What's this 'we'?" Firsa snapped. "I distinctly remember _you_ being the one who was supposed to moderate intake."

"As if I have so much experience drinking with you I should _know_ what you consider 'moderate'," he grumbled as he rubbed at his temples. "You're as much of an adult as I am. Don't go putting all the responsibility for your actions on me."

Firsa bit back her reply. Her pants were nowhere in sight, and the searching made her head spin. "Shells..." She swallowed thickly and put out a hand to steady herself. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Whoa!" That made him sit up, despite the headache. "Ok, hold on." He had to have something to use as a bucket...

Firsa sat, put her head between her knees, closed her eyes, and concentrated on breathing. In, out. And she tried not to think about how much better she'd feel once she'd emptied her stomach. Shards, nothing about last night had been a good idea, and it was mortifyingly embarrassing to find herself contemplating being sick all over K'far's floor simply because Daremek was getting married. After having _sex_ with K'far. Shards.... she stifled a moan. It just got better and better. "All right, here we go," he said as he dumped out his trash bucket on his table. He could clean up the mess later. Rushing over he handed her the bucket started pulling her hair out of the way. K'far had learned the drill by now.

"Where are my clothes," she said tightly, and pushed the bucket away.
Her eyes were screwed shut and she'd rather be left out for Thread than empty her insides in front of him. "Uhhhhh... I'll find them." Shards but she was a high maintenance drunk. He got up and walked around the bed, picking up a shirt here, an undergarment there, a sock way over there... Firsa tried to get to her feet and find something - anything! - to cover herself with. No go. Her body betrayed her and she found herself heaving over the bucket, trying her best to catch her breath and hold her shaking body together.

"Whoa! Ok... Hold on," K'far dropped the clothes and ran to pull her hair out of the way. "All right, I think you'll feel a little better now..."

She spat into the mess in the bucket and closed her eyes. Her throat burned, she was frozen and shaking like a leaf, and she was embarrassed enough to curl up and die in the corner. "Not really."

"What can I get you?"

"Nothing." Her voice came out as a croak, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Nothing. My pants."

"Right." He was pretty sure he had found those. Walking over to the pile he extracted her trousers and tunic and brought them over to her. "How about some water?"

She held the tunic between shaking fingers and shook her head.

"You know, you really should drink something," he said gently as he pushed a few strands out of her face. "Nothing is worse than getting sick on an empty stomach." And looking at the bucket, he was pretty sure there couldn't be a whole lot more in there.

"I'll be fine." After a brief, awkward struggle, she pulled the tunic over her head. It was long enough to cover her completely, and warm.
She wrapped her arms around herself. "Shards, I'm sorry."

"It happens to all of us sometimes," he said rubbing her back gently.
"Nothing to apologize for."

"Just because it happens to everyone doesn't make it right." She rubbed her hands over her face. "I should go."

"Why don't you sleep a little longer? It might make you feel better.
Come on back to bed with me a while."

"I stink like vomit and I'm probably late." Shards- the stables!
"What time is it?"

"Oh shards, I don't know." K'far was sure Torth would have warned him if they had been in danger of being late for drills. "I'd say the sun has been up a couple candlemarks by now."

Firsa froze. Shells- several candlemarks!? Her assistants would know she was gone, that she was not in the Infirmary, and that she was certainly not in her own bed. She closed her eyes, tried not to be sick again, and slowly stood. "I have to go."

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" he asked as he stood up with her, reaching out to steady her as she certainly didn't look well enough to be on her feet. "I could send a message to the stables for you. Really, you don't seem to be in much shape to be going to work."

"That's not the point," she snapped.

"Well, you'll feel pretty sharding foolish puking in the feeding trough," K'far said with a resigned shrug. "All right. I'll walk you down."

Firsa shook her head. "I'll be fine."

"At least let me walk you back to your weyr," he offered helpfully as he picked up her trousers and underthings from his floor.

"I'll be _fine_." Suddenly she didn't want him to know where she lived. "I'll probably just send someone down to the stables before me and hit the baths anyway." Her words left a sour taste on her lips, but admitting to a weakness was better than him finding out that she lived in the same weyr that Nineba used to occupy. And possibly risk him discovering that she had Nineba's diary.

"Would you... like some company?" he asked uncertainly as he held her trousers out to her. Perhaps it was just the hangover that made it seem like she would be happy to be rid of him, but maybe it had just been the alcohol that lead to go with him in the first place.

"I'll probably just be sick again. Nobody wants to see that," Firsa said. She took her trousers from him and pulled them over her hips.
Her underthings she stuck in a pocket.

"All right then." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. After what he had seen come out of her mouth, no matter how much he would have like to have, it dissuaded him from attempting a kiss on the lips. "May I see you to the door at least?"

The Journeywoman frowned. "I can't stop you."

"But you'd rather I didn't. I hear you." He flopped back on the bed and tried to ignore the pain the jostling of his head caused. "Let me know if you forgot anything. I can drop it by the stables for you later."

Firsa picked up her bucket and left. She didn't look back.

Last updated on the June 6th 2006

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Face the Morning