World of Pern
[G] [C] [EVENT] 742.04.26 | Contemplation - Printable Version

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742.04.26 | Contemplation - B'jin - 26.Apr.21

B’jin had begged an hour for himself, which of course meant he’d had to make his wishes known through means other than speech, since speech was still something he wasn’t capable of. It was also something everyone but he was convinced would never be his again. So he’d kissed R’nd, and shaken his head with a small smile when the bluerider offered to accompany him. He’d taken his favourite towel, and a clean change of clothes, and made his way to their favourite bathing room, slipping in and closing the door behind him. B’jin didn’t lock it, in case R’nd decided to come find him at a later time, but knew the bluerider would give him at least an hour to himself before he came searching. Maybe even longer, depending on if he found something to entertain himself, but considering B’jin’s current health, and the deaths that were happening across all the Weyrs, B’jin didn’t think he’d be left along for overly long. He was surprised R’nd hadn’t insisted on coming just to make sure the bath was safe.

Rolling his eyes fondly to himself, B’jin had stripped and slipped into the hot water, sighing contentedly as the heat soaked into his muscles and warmed him up thoroughly. It had been too long since he’d had a relaxing bath. Washing was one thing, but actually lounging in the bath water and enjoying the heat for no other reason than pure enjoyment was something else entirely and B’jin felt it had definitely been far too long. Unfortunately, that reminded him of his current limitations, and one wet hand rose to brush gentle fingertips across the healing wound. It was still stitched, and he was still on a liquid diet – which still hurt to much to swallow for him to fight for chewed foods. B’jin sighed; he already missed the sound of his own voice and while there had been some teasing thrown his way it had been half-hearted and had stopped once the teaser was told his voice wouldn’t be coming back. B’jin still refused to believe it.

How could something as powerful and personal as his voice be gone? He’d always had his voice, B’jin couldn’t even remember being so sick as to lose it, and he’d always taken good care of it – especially when he was an active Harper – that losing it was unfathomable! He sighed again, but despite wanting to test his chances, he refrained. B’jin didn’t want to end up with some half voice because he was impatient and tried to talk before his throat was healed properly. If he didn’t get his voice back, it was going to be the fault of the bastard that caused the injury, and the Healers, who had been too useless to put it back together properly! Not his fault for trying to use it too soon.

Tipping his head forward, B’jin scrubbed his hair in the water without soaking his stitches; it hurt a bit, but he’d been warned not to get the stitches too wet and he didn’t want to be put on sponge baths because he couldn’t keep them dry enough! Carefully putting himself upright again, B’jin brushed the water towards the back of his head as he sighed again. All of this, of course, was overlaid with the weirdest type of grief that came with the latest murders; Goldrider Ashara had been the latest victim, but it was the brownriders that had accompanied her between that confused B’jin the most. N’mall had always been a spiteful and mean spirited bastard – even if B’jin was sure he’d been loved deeply in his twisted way – but B’jin had never fathomed that N’mall could actually be capable of murder.

But the bigger question to him, was that if N’mall were the one who was responsible for all the murders and mayhem, had he also been responsible for the injury B’jin had sustained?

The most common of sense said yes, but B’jin wasn’t sure. He didn’t remember much about the attack, but he was sure the body he’d been pulled up against in the moments before the knife bit into his skin, was not N’malls… But then, on the other hand, it had been more than a decade since he’d been anywhere near the brownrider, so how would he know he hadn’t changed? Surely he would have changed, but so much so that B’jin couldn’t recognise him when he was held? He’d certainly been thrown around by the brownrider enough in their many years together to recognise the hold, so how could he not recognise that N’mall was the one doing the holding?

Maybe it had been the other rider? D’ser?

That was confusing, too. B’jin couldn’t think of anything he had ever done to piss off D’ser enough to have him be a target, and even going to visit the young Nerili, from what he understood he’d been on his way there before the girl had died? Or was it after? Surely if it had been before the murderer could have just bypassed him and murdered her at a later date, so he must have – no, he would have hard her dragon cry out and the keening if she’d died before he had gotten to her weyr and he had not. So why would the murderer attack him, then go on to kill her, when they could have just moved their grand plan to another time and date? Had B’jin been targeted? If so, why wasn’t he dead? Surely if he’d been actually targeted he wouldn’t have survived?

B’jin made a rusty sounding groan of frustration and snatched up a wash cloth to scrub at his face with, trying to scrub away the whirling thoughts that hadn’t left him alone since he’d been conscious long enough after the attack to start thinking, and which had only gotten more complicated and confusing since N’mall and D’ser had died. The only relief from it all, of course, was the note that had been left – the one stating that N’mall and D’ser had been involved and now were both dead – which gave hope that no more murders would follow.

Snorting out a breath, B’jin slapped a hand on the water, making it splash up, and glared at the surface, trying once more to clear his mind of the horrible events, and the men and women who were involved in one way or another… which brought his mind to Parella, and B’jin bit his bottom lip. He loved the crazy old greenrider and her ridiculous dragon, and knew they would be sorely missed by almost everyone that had ever set foot in Katila. He was sad she hadn’t gotten to go out on her own terms like she’d always sworn she would; that she and Grith would have a grand party before saying their final farewells and going out with a grate flair. It was such a Par’a thing to want to do, and it would have suited her beautifully. Instead, the bastard stole her from the world with a sniff of a flower… She didn’t get her final farewell, or to even make that last trip with her beloved dragon. That alone broke B’jin’s heart in a way he couldn’t explain.

And he’d almost joined her; his thoughts travelled back to his own attack, to the injury he now carried, to the lingering threat of never speaking again. He loved talking! He loved singing! He’d been doing both for as long as he could remember! What was he supposed to do without his voice? How could he express himself fully? How could he talk to his friends? He could never tell R’nd how much he loved him. He’d never get to say his daughter’s name, or tease his son as they sang together. B’jin wanted nothing so much as to sink under the surface of the water and soak in the heat with every inch of his body for as long as his lungs could hold out. Instead, he climbed out of the pool to scrub himself with the washcloth and soapsand so hard his skin turned a ruddy red of objection before he slunk back into the pool to rinse off.

R’nd is starting to get antsy. Larrikith said, breaking through her rider’s thoughts and soothing him gently. B’jin sighed, and ran a hand through his wet hair. At least he had his dragon, for all her sass and attitude, she loved him and she was a means of communication that was still available to him; he was glad she wasn’t shy about talking to anyone she decided she needed or wanted to. B’jin smiled slightly and sighed again. Tell him he can join me, if he wants. Otherwise I’ll be heading home in a few minutes. This bath wasn’t nearly as relaxing as I hoped it would be. B’jin cupped his hands together, and lifted them, watching as the water escaped through his fingers, and dripped down his arms and back into the pool.