22.Aug.12, 02:13 AM
V'zire wasn't the type of person who could truly feel the sort of anger that A'liran felt. He couldn't bring himself to think of getting S'kef seriously harmed for what he had done to him. He wanted the man to be punished for what he did, but who really would rise to his defense? V'zire certainly didn't think far enough to want the brownrider dead either. He just wanted some justice, which was what Katila seemed to be sorely lacking these days. "I-I would prefer it if you didn't, too." Again his voice was soft enough that if someone wasn't listening for it, his words would be unintelligible.
He really didn't want to talk about S'kef though, and as A'liran commented about the previous Weyrsecond winning Astoreth's flights he grew uncomfortable. V'zire knew what the man was capable of firsthand, and did not want to have to hear what else he could do. A lot of people probably suffered because of that one man, and it was terrible. It made him feel sick, so much so that he wasn't sure he could move if he wanted to. "I j-just don't understand why he would..." and he really couldn't get out much more than that. He'd start crying if he thought about it more.
V'zire hesitated just a little when A'liran held out a hand to him. His gaze tilted upwards, eyes a little glossy but trusting nonetheless. He reached out to take A'liran's hand and pulled himself to his feet. His other hand bunched the fabric of his pants at his hip, holding them up. S'kef's knife had cut a slit through them that had made it easy for him to remove them. V'zire had quickly reclaimed them when the dirty act had been finished, desperately needing the security of being clothed. "O-okay," he answered mutely. "I don't think anyone would want to t-touch me right now anyways."
After a few seconds, he offered A'liran the tiniest, most uncertain smile. "Thank you."
He really didn't want to talk about S'kef though, and as A'liran commented about the previous Weyrsecond winning Astoreth's flights he grew uncomfortable. V'zire knew what the man was capable of firsthand, and did not want to have to hear what else he could do. A lot of people probably suffered because of that one man, and it was terrible. It made him feel sick, so much so that he wasn't sure he could move if he wanted to. "I j-just don't understand why he would..." and he really couldn't get out much more than that. He'd start crying if he thought about it more.
V'zire hesitated just a little when A'liran held out a hand to him. His gaze tilted upwards, eyes a little glossy but trusting nonetheless. He reached out to take A'liran's hand and pulled himself to his feet. His other hand bunched the fabric of his pants at his hip, holding them up. S'kef's knife had cut a slit through them that had made it easy for him to remove them. V'zire had quickly reclaimed them when the dirty act had been finished, desperately needing the security of being clothed. "O-okay," he answered mutely. "I don't think anyone would want to t-touch me right now anyways."
After a few seconds, he offered A'liran the tiniest, most uncertain smile. "Thank you."
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[span style="background-color:#64B116;"][color=#CCFFCC]Niskziath Speech[/color][/span]