Logs:Cardio
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 28 July, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, N'rov |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'rov comes to see Brieli's new weyr. There is not much looking, but there is exercise, of a sort. (NSFW-ish?) |
| Where: Brieli and Iesaryth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 5, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today. |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Meara/Mentions |
 |
| This hollowed out bubble cavern is large enough to fit at least three large dragons, the immensity dwarfing what little furniture is visible. A small portion of the room contains a personal bath, enclosed by a carefully carved out strip of rock wall. Faint tendrils of stream waft from the corner, permeating the immediate area with a merging of warmth and cooler temperatures. In the outermost room, a large stone table is centered in the entranceway, five chairs of wicked wood surrounding it. Nearby is an old elevator-pulley trap door to the kitchens - rusted, but slowly coming back to life. In the further corner form the ledge entrance, nearer the baths, is a collection of stands and ceiling hooks, suggesting that this area was once used to hold - perhaps - a collection of plants, though for now it is empty. Just next to this is a large glassed-in bookshelf built into the well, empty for now, as well as two large, cozy-looking armchairs. Behind a curtain made of brightly coloured glass beads is a smaller, blue-wash walled room, one that is mostly filled by a large bed, made up in shades of blue to match, with lots of pillows. At the foot of the bed is a large, ornately carved chest that matches the sweet redwood wardrobe that stands along the far wall. A short tunnel from this room leads into another that is a little larger, and contains an ornate desk and set of shelves - a cozy, private study. Sunset drifts transparent red across Fort's sky, brighter against the few, floating clouds, and Vhaeryth's... ready to abandon it. « Iesaryth. Are you free? » Even if it's to stay, to host the long-anticipated tour, not to go. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) The end of the day is always good for Iesaryth; the hours past give her much to consider, bright thoughts passing through the water. She'll abandon them to the back of her mind for Vhaeryth and his sunset - briefly admiring, she is welcoming as usual. « I am. We are. » She could stay and show, and she'll show nothing in anticipation of that - but she could go after, even if their riders stay. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) « Then we come! » And... yes. Yes, they can do that too, they should, a tour of another kind. But first... (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Just another visitor, surely, is the dragon who floats high above High Reaches with sunset firing his hide to crimson: an apologetic visitor who seeks out the unfamiliar queen, tinged by the chains of her mate's request (demand!) that's the source of such a disturbance. « Ysavaeth? » It's deferential, as is his, « I am Vhaeryth. We visit. » They were supposed to tell her. Just another visitor, and never mind the youthful excitement that underlies it all. It requires no reply. (And Iesaryth? Hers... is a private glimpse.) (Vhaeryth to Ysavaeth and Iesaryth) Her own excitement for visitors on her ledge and in her big giant space isn't dampened by whatever concern there is from her rider on the whole matter of informing Ysavaeth of his presence; Iesaryth isn't worried, is just watching from far below, perhaps admiring. A little. « The view is better higher than from my ledge. It bothers Hraedhyth - she 'borrows' others. » Lucky other dragons, with the tawny gold for company! (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) Indulgent Vhaeryth, circling, shares his sympathy: that is a drawback. Poor Iesaryth. And yet, « At least it is large, for those who visit who cannot land as well, » unlike him, clearly, and she need not huddle within an admittedly comfortable wallow so those others may have sufficient room. « Why not the Rim? » Or the Star Stones? Her Hraedhyth could perch atop them, posed in dramatic silhouette. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) To Vhaeryth, Iesaryth can watch some interesting things as well; dragons take off and land by the caverns, sometimes by the lake, people walk in and out, across the bowl. But they're so hard to tell apart, they all look the same sometimes. And clearly, he can land just fine. « There is that. And... she likes company. » Her tone is a little bemused at that, as if she can't quite figure it out - here are images of her sister forcefully snuggling and wrestling with dragons, things that Iesaryth does not really do. « I will suggest that though, she may like that. » And... all seems well, so perhaps he should come down? Somehow Hraedhyth looks so small, so young, so puppyish like that, or maybe it's that Vhaeryth's in a mood to extend some of that indulgence. « I will come down, » and there's the rush of air, he's doing it fast, designed to impress or at least ruffle his rider up some. And then they can go up! Up and away! (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Sometimes Hraedhyth can be sort-of kind-of cute. When she's not drooling all over your head, which Iesaryth supposes could be considered puppyish, when you're not being drooled on. She's pleased to see him coming down fast, clearing the way on her ledge for Vhaeryth to land; it's not quite as large a ledge as she claimed before, but it's big enough for both she and he both - she'll offer a pleased rumble of greeting, wings rustling. Going is good - the skies are clear, the air is warm. Warm enough that inside, her rider's ditched her boots and socks both to curl up in an armchair and read some papers that are undoubtedly exciting. Or, more likely, pretend to read, given company's on the way. Inspired, Vhaeryth's answering rumble starts out quietly enough, but maybe it's the attractive acoustics and maybe it's a still very young dragon's forgetfulness where out-of-sight out-of-mind Cadejoth is concerned, but then he's making with the thunder. Delightedly. What a great weyr Iesaryth has. Look, those people looking over there, they like it too! N'rov, meanwhile, has to climb down off his dragon with a bunch of sticks in his hand, only a couple of them still with petals still attached, and even they are beginning to drop more along the ledge as he loiters along it. "Knock knock," he calls without actually rapping knuckles against stone, entering thereafter. "These, ah, were for you. If people follow their path to your door, it really is all my fault." Iesaryth doesn't mind that much - she's used to Hraedhyth, so anything that Vhaeryth does isn't likely to make her mind that much. It's just not in her nature to be bothered. Thankfully for all involved. And she thinks it's pretty awesome too, but much better inside. Look in there! « But not so loud, she won't like it. » The gold is likely right about that, though Brieli - Aishani to everyone here, no matter their level of comfort with that - seems to be in a good mood, made better for the sticks-that-were-once-flowers, despite their condition. Pushing out of the chair and tossing her work into it, "Oh... that was sweet of you. I won't fault you for how they ended up. But I might if I don't like who turns up." She likes that N'rov's turned up at least, by her smile. "Here for the grand tour? Isn't it a bit much?" And Vhaeryth had just put his nose in, too. He pulls it back out to regard Iesaryth with such a wistful tilt of his head, even if the bright green of his eyes is a dead giveaway. There might, there might be teasing involved. So he goes back in, and for now he's quiet about it, suspiciously quiet as he pads after his rider and towards... no. He stops. There's a bath, fit for him to dip his paw in and see if it's really as hot as it looks. N'rov doesn't stop, though, relieved enough to grin back, nearly laugh as he approaches. "It looks great." He isn't looking at the place at all. "Where do you want these?" They might have been flowers once, but he's not dressed up at all, never mind that that's got to have been a fresh shave and he sure doesn't smell like sweeps. If Iesaryth could look stern, she would try to - but she's not very good at hiding things, so her bright blue eyes and the sparkle on the waves of her ocean both make it obvious she's just amused. Though that might shift to suspicious as he's so quiet coming in - but then, look, there's something else shiny for Vhaeryth to be distracted by. She'll just watch; she's been through all this before. As for her rider, Aishani has an arch of fine brows, a curious look for that sense of relief, but she doesn't ask otherwise. "Oh... on the table, I suppose. I can take them." She's padded over to him, reaching out for the once-flowers with one hand, his hand with the other, lingering close. "You look nice," she murmurs, glancing up, dark eyes brightened. "For me?" So many shiny things. Including beads, though Vhaeryth hasn't gotten there yet. "Take them," N'rov says even as he hands them over, only then he exaggerates gesturing towards himself, looking down. "What? Nothing fancy." The way his head's tipped, he could still be looking down, only then he slides those gray eyes up to catch her, laughing without so much as moving his mouth. Not initially, anyway. "Congratulations. No more barracks. Do you like it?" Iesaryth is patient. She's a day's worth of things to think about; conversations. Taking the stems, glancing down at them with an expression that hovers between amused and touched, Aishani leans over to drop them on the stone table, quirking a smile. "Mmm. Nothing fancy," she agrees, lifting fingers to trace along N'rov's jaw - not so rough at the moment. "And yes. I do like it. It's... a lot of space sometimes, but." With a reluctant step back, a tug on his hand, "There's three whole rooms." "Three," N'rov repeats like he's proving he can count, not so dutifully that the hint of smirk doesn't show he's aware of it. "You can fill it up, right? I mean, as much as you want." He does trail his fingers along the edge of the table as long as it's nearby, then pokes it like he's gauging just how sturdy it is, before going along with that tug. More than going along with her tug. "What do you want me to look at first?" and that's all ingenuous invitation, the earlier hint deepened. Nodding soberly, as if impressed at his counting skills, Aishani shrugs a little, unconcerned. "I could. I have an advance to do that. But with what?" Possessions are clearly not her thing. Not right now, anyway. There's a flicker of a look to that poke at the table, another arch of her brows, but she only returns, grinning slowly, "What do you want to look at first?" The place is at least big enough that she can walk backwards, lead him towards that glass-beaded doorway without tripping over anything on the way. With those same bright eyes, she asks, "Or do you want to stop pretending you're here for the weyr?" Those unnecessary possessions, they just start to make a place look like home. "'First.' So many choices," N'rov says back to Brieli-no-Aishani, walking after her with intent: like they're dancing, almost like she's not leading, and her not even in high heels. Glass shivers around them like crystallized seafoam, touching, chiming even when they're past and gone. "But I am here for the weyr." Right? "A weyr that happens to have you in it," and yes, apparently he can make his eyebrows go up and down, as smarmily as possible. "You do know the good spots, don't you?" Not something she's used to, stationary, home. But that's something that will have to change. "Are there that many?" The girl with two names seems entertained by that, for some reason - and she seems to like that intent, for all it puts N'rov in her space, closer to her when she can't quite lead fast enough. Breath picking up in the wake of chiming glass, she releases his hand in favor of slipping slender arms around his waist; there's another room beyond, it looks like, but that can wait. Despite smarmy eyebrows that get a little eyeroll, she'll sidle in against him to murmur, "I spend a lot of time here. I was hoping you might like it." It's blue and pleasant, and oh look. A big bed. "What do you think of it so far, then?" It catches his breath, she catches his breath. N'rov can get a glimpse of the rest of the place, maybe, but what's that to the look in even rolling brown eyes? "So far it's... all right," he supposes blandly, not touching her any longer with the hands she'd discarded for all that he's still moving forward, slower now, a press of his hips to hers within the circle of her arms. "Hospitable, maybe? Welcoming. In fact, it's the pleasantest weyr I've seen so far this..." Please let it not be too big a room. Please let the (surprise!) big bed be not too far away. "...Tour." "All right," Aishani breathes, suddenly rather flushed at that press of hips; despite the fact that he's not touching her. Her fingers pressing into his back, she doesn't resist that slow, forward motion - and it is a small room, there's not too much other than bed in it. They're up against it, tumbling onto it before she can laugh, before; "Welcoming. I'd hate to see what I'd have to do to be effusive." Or maybe not, because she's kissing him now, her fingers irresistibly finding their way into his curls, with that same sort of intent, with the same sort of heat she's had in the past - but there's no sense she's holding back. She can toy with his hair all she likes, and he's laughing too, low laughter that she can feel between the two of them, bounding and rebounding. Only, looking down at Aishani (he has to remember that, Aishani), there's also wicked mischief in those gray eyes... because as long as her hands are occupied, N'rov's have other discoveries in mind. It might take some time. (At least, the second time.) That wicked light in grey eyes, that laughter, brings a slow smile from Aishani - and her hands, and her lips can remain occupied for as long as N'rov likes. Because she's more than content to have his go wandering, to see what reactions he can draw from her over time, while she'll express her appreciation in quiet gasps and whispers in his ear, kisses pressed where ever she might reach. (And Vhaeryth and Iesaryth fly away because it's loud, and they can be happy for them and all, but they don't need to be around for it.)
Day 11, Month 5, Turn 29 It's possibly been a late night for an early morning - or at least, an active night - so when dawn begins to creep over High Reaches, and weyrling scheduling overtakes any exhaustion, the girl that stirs in the small blue bedroom is not a happy one. Not used to sharing her bed, her initial response to being awake is a rough, complaining groan, but once she registers there's someone there with her, well. She remembers, she quiets to shift closer to him, drape an arm over him with a slight smile, pretend she doesn't have to get up for a little while. If she closes her eyes, it's not really sleeping, right? That groan meets with a muted chuckle, a chuckle that's trying to be quiet, a chuckle that still can't help a certain satisfaction. The man had disappeared for a little while when it was still night, not long (the dragons might have noticed some stumbling about in this weyr he'd barely even looked at), and now warm hands slide up along that arm as though discovering it for the first time. "Cold," he claims in a whisper, and starts to burrow beneath her like she's his living, silken blanket. Which might have pointy knees, but he'll deal with those when they get there. "Mmmm..." Drowsy, contented, those warm hands are appreciated, it seems - enough that any satisfaction in that laugh doesn't bother her. Why would it now, really? Her voice lowered in return as she's not only unresisting to that burrowing effort, but helpful, sliding over him, warm and close, "Don't feel that cold. Did you go somewhere?" She might have woken at the time, but doesn't seem to remember. As for pointy knees, she's careful to make sure they don't go anywhere important. Look, a collarbone. It needs a kiss. He obliges. "Not out..." and there's a good-humored quality to it. Just the water closet, thanks. "You can't feel me shivering?" There, he shakes beneath her, sliding his hands up her legs to her hips so she won't fall off: public service, ma'am. But in the meantime he keeps talking, and it's still low and lazy, but he's also saying, "I need a name for you. Something that won't get you into trouble if I say it on accident. Aisha? Shani? Shi...?" It's an 'ee' sound, but he leaves off a 't' anyway. Tilting her head obligingly so he can kiss that collarbone all he likes, her own hands can't seem to stay off him, moving over broad shoulders and the part of his chest she's not pressed against, up again to bring fingers along his neck, into his hair. Sympathetically, "Poor thing. Am I warming you? Can I do anything more?" And if that's suggestive, it would have to be in this situation. As for a name, it's a good time to bring it up; she's still sleepy-relaxed, smile already warming her whisper. After a moment, "Some people used to call me Shani at home. Iesaryth calls me Shan, I'm not sure why. If you want to call me Brieli, you can. Everyone does." But N'rov isn't necessarily everyone; not everyone is getting kissed by her, for example. There's a problem with her tilting her head that way: it makes the curve of her neck more available, more attractive, and so it's against her throat that he relinquishes a slow breath that might be a groan, too. A groan of the keep-doing variety, not her ugh-morning from earlier. "Shan. Hmmm. Shani. Shan. DId you like it, when they called you that? Did you ever want to have a different name, back when you just had the one. Shani's... softer." Than Shan. 'Brieli' seems, at the moment, to be off the table. She presses another kiss to his temple, sighing as that breath raises gooseflesh across her skin; her hands begin to drift again, tracing the harder lines of his body down his chest, his sides, lower. "Oh... You're going to make me late," she breathes in a rush, not caring in the least, by her tone. Whatever. What's the worst they can do? "I liked it. And I suppose, when I was little, maybe I did. Maybe everyone does. But now..." Now she can admit, if a bit reluctantly, "I like hearing you say it." He should care, and maybe he even does, but the thing is that the's encouraging him to care about other things instead (as though that's so difficult) and it's her weyr, her lateness, and if she isn't stopping then why should he? Why shouldn't he arch his back when she does that, and try to listen, and taste her throat again and then lower as she moves lower, too. "Aishani," he presses into her skin, giving her what she likes and what he likes, now, too. "Shani, Shan, Shani, Aishani, shh, 'shani, 'ani, on me, Aishani." There's a little pleased surprise in his voice, too, even now: who'd have thought back then, when they didn't get to dance, that this would be so much fun. She should care too, and maybe she will if her punishment keeps her away from him, because she doesn't seem to be able to get enough right now. "N'rov," she murmurs in return, just the once - and she gasps at that arch to his back, grips his hips to hold him tight against her. If she weren't so distracted, that note of surprise might register - who knew indeed - but she's now all desire for him, perhaps fired by her name - it doesn't take very long before she's definitely going to be late, but at least it's sort of like running, in a way? Sadly, the argument's not likely to work. He'd be convinced: sort of like running, possibly even stretching, though they haven't even gotten into the more flexible maneuvers or, for that matter, beyond this one room. Perhaps her weyrlingmaster could set them assignments? Nor have they reached a wingleader's prying or what-if this or what-if that, the brief cessation of bad dreams. It's all very simple, for starters, having their way. With each other. This way. Later he'll have to wave congenially to any passersby after he's seen her off, after he's made the bed and re-examined the table. But that's then, and this is now, and besides: cardio, it's good for the heart. There's time. For more rooms, other maneuvers, whatever else they come up with, if they come up for air long enough to consider alternatives. And let's not think of Meara now, because - no. Aishani's as enthusiastic in the morning as she was in the evening - maybe more so with sleep; and later, when she's trying to rush off to not be even more late, she's loathe to leave without kissing him more times than she likely should. The day might not go well for her, but in the moment, she really doesn't care, and she might actually believe that this cardio is enough to make up for what she's meant to do. (Not likely.)
|
Leave A Comment