Descent into Depravity (1/2)

Writers: Corrin, Duskdog, Sia
Date Posted: 26th March 2026

Characters: Zaphare, Sybana, Varethos
Description: Three people gather for an intimate occasion…
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 8, day 10 of Turn 12
Notes: Follows Skating Around the Issue

Zaphare

Sybana

Varethos

Zaphare did not normally go out of her way to keep a tidy weyr.

She wasn’t a _slob_ or anything. She just didn’t care that much if a few things were out of place, or if the bed wasn’t made, or if her jacket fell off the chair she had tossed it over.

But today, she wanted it to be… comfortable. Welcoming? No, soothing? Whatever. _Nice_. She had tidied up, put things in a reasonable approximation of their designated space, stoked the stove up to make sure it was warm enough to be inviting. Her bed had nice clean sheets, and she’d sent her favorite cozy blanket to be laundered this week, too, so it was ready to go (even if it was about to need laundering again). Normally she only bothered with one pillow, because she tended to thrash around in her sleep and knock the other one out of bed, anyway. But she’d found it under the bed, gotten it washed, and put it back on the bed where it should have been all along.

Should she fluff the pillows? Of course, she did that. Should she make tea? Maybe -- maybe, if unsure, she should just do it, and if they didn’t get around to drinking it, they just didn’t get around to drinking it. But maybe Sybana would appreciate having something to calm her nerves. If she was feeling nerves. Maybe she wasn’t. But probably she was.

Right?

As she put the kettle on, Zaphare tried not to reflect too hard on how ridiculous she felt for caring this much. It was sex. Since when was sex such a big deal? Especially here at the Weyr. People did it all the time. It didn’t mean anything.

Even if Sybana was maybe different.

Not that she should be.

Not that it should matter.

Not that Varethos should matter.

Not that he was different, or anything.

…this whole line of thought was stupid. She was overthinking it. Just sex. That was all. The tea was just because tea is nice. The fluffed pillows were just because everybody likes to be comfortable, right? The laundry had absolutely _nothing_ to do with wanting to impress _anybody_.

She just felt like doing laundry. It wasn’t a crime.

(…maybe the incense meant something, though.)

BUT IT WASN’T A CRIME, EITHER.

The tea was nearly ready by the time Sybana should be arriving. Zaphare poured herself some, even though it wasn’t even really supposed to be for her, and settled down to not-wait, like someone who was not-waiting for something that was not-important at all.

---

“Oh, it smells lovely in here.”

Sybana stepped in from the ledge looking beautifully put together and only slightly nervous-- when in actual fact she was beautifully put together and _incredibly_ nervous. She was nearly late for their appointment because she had been wracked with indecision as to what to wear. What _did_ one wear to their deflowering? Or was it an orgy now? (Was it still a deflowering? She wasn’t sure how to factor in what she had already done with Zaphare). It was all terribly confusing and she didn’t like the discomfort that came when she thought too hard about it, but she knew one thing for certain: the right outfit always helped.

That's how she ended up in her very best underclothes and a favorite gown of emerald green. She hadn't fluffed the pillows per se, but the light corsetry was helping to present things to their best advantage. She was, she knew, probably over dressed, but over was better than under and it helped her feel more like herself as she waded out into unfamiliar waters.

“I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble,” she said as she came to join Zaphare on the couch. “Is that tea?"

Zaphare waved a hand. “Trouble? No, no trouble. I just thought it should smell nice in here. Since we’re going to have guy stench.” She laughed a little, a slight edge of nerves to it. “No, he doesn’t stink, at least. And yes, there’s tea. Do you want some? It’s, um…” She actually didn’t know. It’s not like she paid that much attention to tea. She’d just picked the container with the prettiest label. “...something good.”

“I would love some,” she said, brightening at the prospect. She didn’t want to overindulge before the activities of the evening, but it _would_ be a comfort.

Zaphare took that as a sign that she had, indeed, chosen correctly when she decided to make tea. She poured a cup -- probably not the “proper” way of doing it (there probably was a proper way, right?) -- and passed it to Sybana. “I thought it might be good for… you know. Nerves. You’re okay, right? You look gorgeous.”

“_Thank you_,” Sybana said gratefully, taking the cup and the compliment both. “I _feel_ like a bundle of nerves, it’s a mercy if I don’t look it.” She ventured a sip of the tea. It was indeed good. A light, citron forward blend, with a hint of spice.

“...But I am ‘okay,’ ” she said, meeting Zaphare’s eyes. “I… want to be here. I need to be here.”

It was an affirmative, and that should have been enough. _Was_ enough, really. What more needed to be said? But Zaphare turned it over in her mind for a moment, busying herself with putting her own mug away (or off to the side somewhere, at least). “That’s good, glad you’re ready to go! Because it’s not fun if you’re not, right?” She moved the mug again, this time to the other side. Somewhere. Because her hands needed a purpose. “But, you know, I’m wondering. If you didn’t _need_ to be here… would you still want to be? Not that it matters, or anything,” she added quickly. “Just curious.”

Sybana looked down at her cup, at the depths of her tea. Finally she swallowed. “If you asked me a seven’ ago, that would have been simple to answer. I used to be perfectly happy with a light flirtation and perhaps a kiss.”

“But now…” she blushed, and the words began to tumble out in a rush. “Now I’d be lying if I said I didn't like what you did to me. Or that I wasn't curious what Varethos is like… So yes, I would want to be here. I'm a lady, not stone.”

“...But I _am_ a lady,“ Sybana continued almost apologetically, looking back up at last. “And if I didn't need to be here, I expect I wouldn't be. I-- I know I am a weyrwoman now, and things are different, but I don't think I'd have the nerve.”

“Yeah, you’re a lady,” Zaphare replied, and despite her wry grin, the word came out soft. Clearly, the word meant something to her -- though perhaps not exactly what it meant to Sybana. “But lucky for us… for you, I mean… that you’re in the best possible position for that, you know? A goldrider gets to be a lady, and _still_ gets to do what she wants. So when you feel better about it, if you want… it’s not like anybody can stop you.”

The grin turned impish -- more like her usual smile -- but still a little soft around the edges.

“At the very least, be picky about your men. You can afford to. You can kick them out after the flight if they have a stupid face and you don’t like it. Then outside of flights you can have whoever you want. I just want you to know what’s good, so you never have to settle for anything bad. Know what’s possible and what you deserve!”

Sybana's thoughts had drifted into uncomfortable waters after the question about _need_. That sinking feeling that she was doing something terribly wrong was starting to creep up again, so she was grateful when Zaphare changed tack. “Right,” she agreed, thrusting away her doubts about women and orgies and ladies ever being free to do as they like. “It’s only sensible to learn what's possible. Even if this method is… unorthodox.”

She smiled, really smiled, for the first time since she'd walked in. “You always know what to say, Zaphare.”

Zaphare’s laugh was genuine, but also genuinely disbelieving. “Ha, that’s the first time anybody’s ever said anything like _that_! Usually, it’s my mouth getting me in trouble. It’s nice to have somebody who listens.” She paused. “...Varethos is way better at words than me, anyway. I’m more of a do-er. He’ll say something a lot more reassuring. Boring, but reassuring. You guys could probably talk about… I don’t know… books and stuff. If you’d met for different reasons, I mean.”

“Perhaps,” Sybana said, and now it was her turn to be skeptical. "He may be a harper, but he's still so very Weyr. I don't think he understands me.”

She glanced towards the door before shifting closer on the couch, confiding softly: “He suggested meeting in his quarters when we spoke yesterday. I tried to tell him it would be a terrible idea, but he didn't really grasp what I meant.” This close, she smelled like lilies and lilac.

Oh, she smelled like a _lady_. It made Zaphare a little giddy. “Yeah, that’s true. I guess the weyrbred will never _quite_ get it. Especially not the boys. The _hold_boys don’t even really get how it is for girls. Not really. But… Varethos cares, at least. Enough to try.”

"Try what?" Varethos asked. His voice came from the ledge, and a moment later he appeared with his winter jacket neatly folded over one arm. Wings of a dragon taking off from the ledge echoed from outside.

}: You'll let me know when to come get him, Zollarth.:{ Fianwyth asked, though it wasn't a question.

Last updated on the April 1st 2026

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Descent into Depravity (1/2)