Logs:Dicks and Hearts
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| RL Date: 4 March, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Rh'mis, Rosvelth, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Things are awkward after dragon passions cool, leaving two dicks and their messed up hearts to sort things out. Or not. |
| Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 2, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Forward-dated. |
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| Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr This broad ledge is dappled with bright light in the morning and commands a lovely view of the eastern end of the bowl, including the lake and the trees that dot the shoreline. Reached by a flight of stone steps that climb up from the bowl floor, the ledge is relatively low, an easy jump down to the ground; possibly its selection was a safety precaution, so anyone stumbling out the wrong way after a flight would be unlikely to break his or her neck. Within the weyr itself is a comfortably-sized dragon wallow, rarely used but swept clean nonetheless. The cavern broadens as it stretches back away from the entrance to reveal a neatly made double-sized bed pushed up against the back wall, a press at its foot with an extra blanket folded on top of it and two chairs standing guard to either side of the hearth. A rectangular table lurks against the side wall, kept stocked with a pitcher of water and a basket of seasonal fruits. The weyr is well-lit and kept immaculately clean, the refreshing scents of citron-infused sweetsand mingling with the tang of herbs.
Teisyth feels better now. More herself, more balanced. And now she's willing audience for Rosvelth to regale her with the tale of his(their) glory, though it's in her usual friendly way that doesn't always seem to remember the whole story even though she was there, willing to accept his exaggerations. It sounds cooler when he tells it anyway! So no snuggling dotingness from the dragon, and certainly none from G'laer. He's also not asleep, and perhaps a little more 'with it' than his much younger counterpart. There's no doubt things are done now, so it's after an even draw of breath and exhale that his voice cuts the silence. "You okay?" And boy does Rosvelth have a story to tell. Teisyth's the perfect audience for this, really, and Rosvelth - not really a cuddler, either; more of a talker - is eager to show it off. Did she know that he saved her from certain doom? He did, you know. He really did. Rhey's instant reaction to the sound of G'laer's voice is to throw himself away from the other rider, bodily and wholeheartedly. "Fine," he says, once he's sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away, though his shoulders may be shaking. "Not that you care. I'm fine." That's amazing! Teisyth certainly thinks so. She didn't know, but now she's so grateful! In a totally platonic way. G'laer doesn't, in any way, try to keep Rhey and he doesn't follow, but he does slowly sit himself up. "Look, I'm a dick, but I'm not heartless. You're not hurt?" Because the possibility must exist after that first punch, even if G'laer never threw any back, and even if the likelihood is higher (despite G'laer's Always Be Prepared preparations) that the greenrider would be the one hurting now. He does move a little delicately as he shifts to swing his legs off the other side of the bed. "I'm fine," answers Rhey, tone just on the edge of outright anger. "Just... shut up. Fuck off." It can't be unexpected that he doesn't think to ask the same of the greenrider; it's entirely likely it doesn't even occur to him to do so. Instead, he stands, apparently unbothered by his nakedness, though he's clearly eager to try and find his clothes. Rosvelth, pleased by his willing audience, gives no hint as to his rider's present state of mind. He's still busy (this is almost - almost! - the best part of the whole flight.). Teisyth is too enraptured in the story to be bothered with what's going on in the ground weyr. And all might've been well, they might've just quickly gone their separate ways, only... those are Rh'mis' pants that G'laer's holding, his own search for his clothes finding something other than the object of his own search. "Look, I'm not happy about this either." For the record. He looks down at the not-his pants, briefly indecisive. "You know I'm not your enemy, right? You were a contract. And as it turns out, not one I would've fulfilled once I had the facts." The fact that he did fulfill a similar one without the facts and has to live with that? Well... that's another matter, right? "Would you have taken the time to get the facts?" Rhey's conclusion is obviously 'no'. He swings around, now, having found no sign of his clothes - which is not surprising, given he's pretty close to the wall, and thus nowhere near where they were when the clothes came off. "It's bullshit. Your whole job was bullshit. All of this..." he waves his hand around the guest weyr, though it's entirely possible he's including the entire Weyr in the gesture, "is bullshit. And I am so tired of you pretending... just forget it. Give me my fucking pants." "By the time I got to you? Yes." In theory. Thankfully, it's not one that has to be tested. "But not soon enough." G'laer will admit that much. "You don't know what my job was or why I did any of it. You just assume. A lot." The pants don't look like they're going anywhere just now. "This-" Well, maybe not nowhere. G'laer uses them to gesture to the guest weyr and whatever else Rhey meant to include. "-is my life now. I won't tell you I'll never turn in another bounty, because I will. But I wouldn't've turned you in." Well, at least not looking back now. "This is your life too, whether you like it or not. Maybe you should stop pretending it's not." Now he looks down at the pants, probably trying to decide if he's said enough to want to give them back. Rh'mis' cheeks flame, anger now increasingly obvious in both them and the way he stands, that too-thin body shaking like a violently angry leaf. "Then maybe you should stop making assumptions about me," he says in answer, his voice low and dangerous and unhappy. "Because you don't know a damned thing about me, or what I think. Give. Me. My. Pants." Now, suddenly, his hands are dropping to cover himself, though just seconds ago he was completely unbothered by his own nudity. "Fine." That seems to be all there is to that from G'laer. "No more assumptions." Any more than any reasonable person. The pants are tossed toward the brownrider. "I'm sorry he caught. For your sake. For whatever it's worth." The greenrider's eyes don't linger on Rh'mis, not even a little, instead, continuing to gather clothes tossing things that are clearly too small for him to the opposite side of the bed for the other rider. Rh'mis turns his back to pull his pants on, and to stare, obliquely, at the wall for for a while. His breathing is a little ragged, a little angry, but it calms; he calms. "Whatever," he says. "Save your sympathy for someone who actually fucking wants it." When he does turn around again, to reclaim the rest of his clothes, his cheeks have cooled again. He doesn't bother to put them on, just grabs what has been collected thus far and heads for the door. Frostbite, it seems, is preferable to G'laer. And that exit is why the pants had to be held hostage as long as they were. G'laer's certainly not trying to stop him now as he goes. He doesn't even make a farewell remark, though he does glance from where he's lacing his own pants to track the rider's exit. If he didn't find a sock... well, did Rh'mis really need those toes? It wasn't intentional at any rate. He settles back on the bed, pulling his shirt on, frowning, deeply. "Well, at least one of us feels normal," are the words murmured to the walls. |
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