Wake Up! [B'jin + others welcome/encouraged as well]

Talian exhaled softly. These was truth to B'jin's words, but the young healer also masked a bit of disappointment that B'jin still didn't seem to be listening to him. The whole problem was that he finally had control of his own life, briefly. It was indescribably frustrating to lose it. It didn't matter anymore, though. He smiled sadly and decided to let it go. He still felt like a captive, but after trying to remove himself from the situation and realizing he still valued his life more than his freedom, he didn't think he had room to say much. That was just how things had to be. He wondered idly if he'd ever be actually happy with it. He imagined he could settle for be content, thought.

"I know," he said afterwards. He puzzled him a bit, since he heard suicide discussed rather often by dragonriders. He'd concluded that it was culturally okay for them to do, but not anyone else. It was another example of their amazing bias and perhaps even bigotry. He wrinkled his nose a bit, realizing at once that he still hated the Weyr. Things couldn't change overnight. He frowned a little and pouted apologetically at B'jin. "...I wouldn't have changed my mind if you hadn't come along. I couldn't stand the thought of doing that to you," he whispered.

None of it changed the fact that he, in his own mind, had no future. He looked at B'jin with a confused haze in his eyes. "I just don't know what to do now. No girlfriend, no career, nothing really to look forward to," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching slight as he spoke. His words carried less spite than before, just confusion and a distant hint of sadness. "...The only thing I got out of that is whatever I do, I don't want to die..." he said. "And well...You and the others are a better family than my old one." He seemed to perk up a bit at the end there. He was less giving a speech and more just thinking out loud trying to find a way to justify his existence. Even still, none of these unpleasant thoughts could completely drown his utter delight in being actually alive.

"Thank you both so much. I owe you a lot more than just a new shirt..."

He watched silently as Larrikith made her way into the room. For once, he didn't cringe at the sight of her. He had no idea what to make of the green dragon now, though he didn't truly understand how much of a role she'd played in the entire thing. That alone was one of the reasons he hesitated. He knew she must have participated, she just didn't know how much. He smiled a little, amusd by how she'd only just managed to wiggle her way inside. Were he on the floor instead of on a sickbed, he'd porobably have panicked over a dragon crawling through what he was slowly coming to think of as his healing hall. Hey, there was an idea...

Before he knew it, he had visitors.  His eyes widened as Valerian made his entrance, looking confused and concerned; an odd set of expressions to see on the usually mellow and somewhat unknowable harper, which made Tal's heart race all the more. His friends! Well, one of them, and he couldn't imagine the others being far behind. He felt a pleasant warmth in his chest as he realized exactly that; he had people he could actually expect to be worried about him. In spite of himself, he realized there was a knot in his throat.

"No, Val. No surgery. I-"

He was cut off as a second person made their appearance, this time his temperamental friend Erisi. Tal froze, eyes widening momentarily with fear, but primarily with joy. He adored Eri, but he also feared how the man would react to the news. Val would probably be more understanding.

Probably.

His excitement at seeing them withered when he realized what he was going to have to tell them. He supposed he could lie about it to cover himself, but if he knew anything about a Weyr, it's that there were no secrets.


"I'm glad to see you guys," he said meekly, his old habit of wringing his hands reappearing as he laced his fingers together in his lap. "I guess I have a lot of explaining to do..."

An explain he did, with nervous frowns and gasping breath, starting with the previous day's decision and leading up to the very minute before they appeared. Once he started to speak, it was hard for him to hold in. He didn't cry and managed to mostly avoid the telltale rasp in his voice, but there was also a great slant of modesty in his voice.  He was ashamed of himself, but in an odd way, happy that it had happened.

"That was the stupidest thing I've ever done," he said, looking away, fearful to meet their reactions. "And I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me."