Logs:At Date's End
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| RL Date: 15 May, 2016 |
| Who: Lys, V'ret |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lys and V'ret relax after their date. |
| Where: The Women-Watching Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 10, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
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| Lys and V'ret have more Normal Couple dates than not; the sort where they go to a place and hang out, sometimes drink or meet with friends and acquaintances or enjoy the local offerings (swimming, hiking, etc.). Sometimes, though, having found kindred spirits (to some degree) in matters of less than wholly moral activities, they go on a special sort of date. Tonight's was cards in a tavern with those who can afford to be fleeced and not starve because of it. As such, Lys was dressed up. That dress is long since abandoned on V'ret's floor, and the blonde draws lazy shapes on the bronzerider's scarred back with her gentle fingertips. "So are we spending our earnings in Ista or Bitra this time?" Her tone is one of casual inquiry, but touched with the enjoyment she always has when planning how to make use of their winnings. The thing about these nights is that, fun as they are, they are work, and work requires some measure of sobriety. Afterwards, well, afterwards doesn't require any such thing. The thing about lying on your stomach on the bed, though, is that it makes it very difficult to actually drink anything, even if, like V'ret, the bottle is within arm's reach. Lys' hands have so far been very persuasive about keeping him where he is, but he's looking over at the bedside table very thoughtfully. "It's getting cool enough to make Ista seem attractive." "Ista's always attractive. Disgustingly picturesque," Lys tells him, sardonic humor coloring her tone. "Maybe we can get our schedules to line up long enough for an overnight. Sleep on the beach, but not get sunburned." Her lips twitch into a pressed smile. Her hands make a final pass over the whole of his back, palms brushing the skin before she withdraws them and shifts to lean back on a pair of pillows, reaching (subtly) for that bottle in reach of V'ret. "Still liking Glacier?" It may've been a while since they've spoken more than generally about their wings or exchanged simple anecdotes. V'ret is just sitting up, there, but perceptive enough to note that Lys is going for the bottle, and he lets her have it. Or maybe he's just distracted by the fact that he can get a better look at her from this angle, but let's be charitable. He sits up himself, settling beside her. "Everything's... straightforward. Just trying to find that line where I'm not 'the kid' anymore, but, you know, the guy who acts like the biggest guy in the room, you know for sure he's not." And V'ret might have gotten a bit broader in the shoulders over the last Turn or two, but there are limits to how far that's going to go. Lys is not above using a good view to her advantage but her smile changes a little when she realizes she's caught but permitted the bottle anyway. After she takes a small drink, she offers it to the bronzerider. "Straightforward in a helpful way or in a boring way? I always heard Glacier was pretty lively." She quirks an eyebrow in inquiry. "The guy who acts like the biggest guy in the room is always a distraction," she observes. That isn't to say that they shouldn't be noted in case they're either A. useful to one's purpose or B. potentially hazardous, of course. A laugh, there. "Not boring, no. But maybe it's because of Taikrin--it's all just like the sort of guys I've been around all my life." A beat. "Even the women, a lot of them. Nobody fussing about my personal life, nobody giving me shit." It probably helps that there's not much to give him shit about, of course. V'ret's life, as far as outsiders are concerned, must look quite conventional. For Weyrfolk. He takes the bottle to have his own drink, holds onto it afterwards. "I'm sure it doesn't hurt," Lys drawls with a smirk and a nudge to his shoulder with her own, "that you used to serve the lot of them drinks. Everyone knows how Glacier likes to drink," and party, though she doesn't say that. "I think I'm glad I didn't get tapped into Glacier, though I'd thought maybe I'd feel otherwise a bit after graduation," though she surely never mentioned those doubts. She threw herself into Equinox with verve and dedication, to all appearances. A nudge right back. "I'd still probably sooner be on the other side of the bar--but I'm getting used to it. Some of them aren't the best tippers, anyway, especially later on in the evening." Like now, when you've had a few drinks, and then maybe another out of the bottle, and you're as relaxed as V'ret is on his way towards. "I think you would have done fine anywhere, but I'm glad we're not in the same wing. You'd be sick of me in no time." Smiling with that--it's mostly a jest. "At least our salaries are steady on this side," Lys finds a silver lining, but her voice is edged with humor because 'steady' doesn't mean 'better.' "I don't suppose Zoth would approve of you spending your days as a bartender?" She glances toward the ledge but certainly makes no move to go inquire directly of the bronze. Instead she shifts so she can slide a knee across his lap and settle herself on his thighs. "I spent a turn in weyrlinghood with you. I don't think I'd manage worse now. And we work so well together," she smiles winsomely down at him. Nevermind that wings don't con or cheat or steal (mostly). A soft 'mm' is V'ret's answer, so presumably he's thinking the same thing. "Zoth is quite firmly on the side of such work being beneath me." Voice pitched a little louder: "Not that we're ever going to be Weyrleader at this rate." There's a stirring out there, but not much more than that. Apparently this is an ongoing dispute. It's not like V'ret can really be paying too much attention to it, with Lys positioned such and his hands swiftly taking advantage of that fact. "We work better together when we're having fun." "Of course," Lys concedes with gravity to Zoth's good sense (with just a hint of her dimples to reveal that she might just be humoring the dragon). "I think most Weyrleaders don't become Weyrleaders in a short-term way out of weyrlinghood. Faranth knows I wouldn't have wanted to be a rider when K'del was seventeen and took his first turn." Teenage Weyrleaders - yuck. The blonde closes her eyes to enjoy the way he's taking advantage of her new position only to open one to squint at him suspiciously, "So you're saying you'd tire of me then?" "Of course you wouldn't have. Whoever heard of infant dragonriders?" That isn't what she meant, but sometimes it's easier to make the joke than to have the substantive conversation. V'ret's hands settle on her hips while she's giving him that look, all proper and attempting to seem disinterested. "I suppose I might. I mean, it's hard for you to measure up next to all those other girls." The nonexistent ones. "Infant dragonriders would be more than enough to make Quin and Tela go mad." Of course, this makes Lys' dimples put in another appearance and nevermind that she wouldn't be any better off. The blonde rarely seems unwilling to trade substance for something lighter and V'ret's so very good at that - it earns him a kiss, in spite of his last words, perhaps because of them. "Mm, well, I suppose if you do get sick of me, I'll have more time to practice my embroidery." It's funny because it's true. The kiss ends in a sigh of breath--relief? V'ret was already relaxed enough, he could almost melt in it. Her continuing gives him some structure again, as he reaches up to touch her hair. "I think your embroidery hardly needs the help. If I'm above bartending, then surely you must be above needlework by now. Fine way to pass the time, but I can think of better, can't you?" "Evyth doesn't share Zoth's outlook, though I suppose I should be concerned that Zoth should think it makes me below you in such an occupation," Lys pretends deep distress. "I am resolved," she tosses her hair, choosing a high manner of speech as might've befitted her role from earlier in the evening. "I shan't shame you, V'ret, not with needlework." She'll probably think of something better if there's ever real cause. In the meanwhile, there are certainly better things she can think of doing here, now. It involves kissing, more, and eventually a contented sleep. |
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