Logs:During Roszadyth's Maiden Flight
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| RL Date: 5 September, 2015 |
| Who: Everett, Faryn, Minara, Quinlys, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Roszadyth interrupts sleep; grumpiness-- and then lustiness-- follows. |
| Where: Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Yesia/Mentions |
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| Darkness shrouds High Reaches as rain falls from the leaden skies overhead, and yet-- light and warmth holds the Weyr's sleeping denizens in its grasp, or more rightly, a certain junior queen's scintillating lust. It recedes somewhat as the petite gold sleeps, but in the hour before dawn, all of the cloying energy that's been hanging over the Weyr the past day grows; she wakes. Her awareness is slow in unraveling, and becomes a soft melody that builds into a bold crescendo. How can anyone sleep with all of that desire, noise and light? (To all dragons from Roszadyth) It's not dawn, yet, but who can sleep when Roszadyth's glowing like that, sending out waves of lusty lust? The serving staff always have food available for those people who are up before the sun, and there's more people than usual taking part in it, today. One of them is Quinlys, who looks as if she's barely slept, her upper body hunched over her klah at the table nearest the serving tables... If her expression is murderous, that's still not saying much, since on her features that's still not much worse than, well, adorable. "Shut up," she mutters. "Fucking queens." Some people wake up early. Some people just stay up unbelievably late. It isn't all that unusual for Everett to be lurking around here or the night hearth at this obscene hour. Sometimes he's got company, though. Other bar staff, that sort of thing. The night people. This particular morning, he's on his own as he comes in, pours klah, ignores the actual breakfast. He starts off surveying the cavern like he might be expecting... something. Of course, by now, probably everybody's expecting something or other. He downs a fairly large portion of the mug's contents, refills it, then starts towards that nearest table. "Guess I wasn't imagining it, huh?" He sits, without waiting for an invitation. Clatter. Faryn's not gentle this morning - no more than any other sleep deprived resident - and the tray she puts down on the table opposite of Quinlys is empty save a plate, with nothing on it, like she grabbed the entire setup with the intention of grabbing food and forgot. She didn't forget the klah, though. That she holds like a prize, possessive. She frowns expressively over it at the weyrlingmaster, the darkness under her eyes plain indication of lack of sleep. Join the club. "They're ruining our lives," she bemoans to what must certainly be a sympathetic ear, then leans forward to pillow her forehead on her arms with a shoulder-heaving sigh. "And AGAIN, NO." Silva's voice is way too loud for this time of morning, as is the sound of the doorway she comes through banging against a far wall. She has a tray in hand and looks more or less competent to be carrying it. Whatever she's saying no to doesn't materialize behind her, but it doesn't stop her from being huffy all the way over to where she can not-quite slam that platter down. Probably she should get her butt back to the kitchen but no, because there's a mirror right there. So Silva pauses and fluffs her hair, turning this way and that to make sure it's settled into place. Dragons are doing stuff? Silva's too inexperienced here to even take a second of notice. Quinlys', "No," is just short of murderous, but maybe it counts as a greeting for Everett; maybe. It's Faryn whose words draw a longer response from the bluerider. "Two clutches at once! A turn ahead of schedule! And they interrupt my sleep. Faryn, they want to kill me." Us. Quinlys probably means 'us,' but excuse her for the hyperbole just now; there's something desperately woeful in her tone that she can't seem to shake, not to mention the wild look in her eyes as she glances at the other woman. "I'm going to need a dragonload of klah." She turns, but fails in any attempt to actually get up and do anything about it; all she manages, really, is to glance at Silva, and then slump back into her seat. "Olly thinks she'll wake up shortly," she adds, dully. "Faryn," Everett greets. There, he knows one name, here. Granted, he would have picked that up from Quinlys, too, but he raises his mug in a sort of greeting. He seems considerably less put out by being awake than everybody else, but he at least keeps the smiling to a modest thing. "Two at once. I hadn't thought... I guess that does mean that, doesn't it? That's exciting. Anyway, everyone's been off. Even last night. Like when you get the moons both full or near-full at the same time, you know how everybody seems to be acting like maniacs? Been one of those sorts of nights. People tip like shit, on top of it, gripe about everything. I thought... I don't know, I wasn't working when it was Niahvth." Faryn cocks her head on her arm, opening an eye to take in the table again - Everett is part of that - but her answer is neutral for all parties, volunteering another example on the end of Everett's considerations. "It's like girls on their cycles. Only worse. So much worse." Wretched, she sounds, but doesn't clarify. Instead, "We were this close," lifting her hand to put her fingers a half-inch apart, with a meaningful look at the weyrlingmaster. "This close." Faryn's mouth twitches at the corners, a half-hearted smile. "You got your vacation, Quinlys. Back to work with you. I, on the other hand, have the day off now." "SILVA." The name gets flung out from within the kitchen, carrying dire over tones of will-kill-her-if-butt-isn't-come-right-now along with it. "UGH." Audible protest from the teen as she flicks her hair over her shoulder and flounces her way back into the kitchen. A muttered scolding can be heard before Silva is back, this time with a pitcher of Klah. It's a good thing that the jug has a lid, because the way Silva walks with her hips exaggerated (just in case, right?) would cause any lesser pitcher to spill. Seeking out someone to serve she beelines it for the group of people over there. "Ma'am, sir," the respectful words are there, but how legit respectful the tone is might just be left to be questioned, "glasses." A flourish of the klah pot - She is come to SERVE. "It's usually more... celebratory," admits Quinlys, squeezing her eyes closed (as if that will do any good) and then opening them again, all exaggerated gestures. "Faryn, don't... I don't want to think about it. I-- I'd usually be off fucking someone, but Olveraeth's been sharing lusty thoughts all night and I'm just exhaust-- klah. Yes. Give me the klah." She even smiles at Silva, and now Roszadyth's lusty thoughts must be seeping through the exhaustion, because there's something a little predatory about that smile. Minara scrubs at her face for a moment as she enters from the corridor leading to the residential area. She spots someone with a klah pot and starts in that direction, eventually reaching behind her head to start finger-combing her hair and quickly braiding it, not too concerned with how it looks as long as it's off her face. "There are some things," Everett informs Faryn, his face serious but only just, "that I'm really okay with not actually understanding, in this world, and that's one of them." He will take his male privilege, thank you, and wield it like a shield against any such thoughts. "Oh, you would, wouldn't you? Day off. Hah." He's not so amused by this notion as to dwell on it impolitely, though. There's a pitcher, he's making short work, Silva's interruption is no interruption at all. "This is what I like. Someone else doing the service, for once. Good morning." A little bit of chipper is creeping through. "I thought I was going to head to bed after this, but maybe not, now." "Klah," gets Faryn upright, so she can down the warm mugful she already has so she can be in the perfect position for a refill. She grunts at the mention of celebrations, muttering, "Is that what we call it? Just wild, wanton sex all over the place? Celebration!" She, for one, doesn't seem inclined to eye contact - her eyes fall on Everett for a good five count while she refills her mug, then skips away to Silva, and past her to an undefined point on the wall - and she says, "I'm sure plenty of people would sleep with you." Any of you. "You could literally sleep. Wouldn't that be cathartic?" Right, this is the point where Silva should be pouring klah. She's even been instructed to do so. But she's not. Because she caught the tail end of that conversation. "Oh. My. Word. You did //not// just talk about //fucking// in the middle of //everything// did you? My daddy," because that's how she totally rolls, DADDY, "would be DEAD if he knew." Which might be why a bright smile lights up Silva's face. "Does that really happy? Or is it, like, just a saying or something?" She really needs to get on with that pouring. Maybe after she's done staring. Till then the mug will just hang there. Roszadyth, it seems, is awake. This is a thing that is happening. Quinlys shudders as it happens, eyes squeezing shut as if this will allow her to push back against the wave of lust that is certainly evident to more than just dragonriders, now more than ever. Expression twitching, she thrusts her mug closer to Silva. "It's a gold flight," she says through gritted teeth. "This is Weyr. It's what happens. Celebration." Yes, that phrase has been adopted for innuendo, now. "And," those words are a little more solid, a little more weyrlingmaster-who-isn't-wholly-ruled-by-her-emotions, "if you don't want to get caught up in it, I'd go find somewhere private. All of you," extends to the others, for all that that's probably unnecessary. "Good plan," Minara replies on the tail end of Quinlys' words, though she just plops down into a seat and asks if there are any free mugs nearby. The number cruncher waggles her fingers to Silva, then grins lazily toward Faryn and Everett. Just 'cause. Catching Minara, now, Everett raises his mug in her direction, too. "Morning." Less cheerful. He's moderating it. With some effort. He sets his mug down to stretch, fingers lacing over his head, then drops them to pick the mug back up, and this time to wave it slightly more emphatically in Silva's direction. Maybe that's all this needs is more emphasis? "If the last one was any indication, I haven't any intention of avoiding getting caught up in it, no offense." Mug stays exactly where it is, but his eyes cast towards the bowl entrance. "Though there was someone I was hoping to see. Just my luck, this hour, she's probably sleeping straight through it." He doesn't sound like he entirely believes that, but he's trying. Effort. "Everett," Faryn says with some annoyance, "nobody, and I mean nobody is sleeping right now. I bet you could go find her." Her smile is toothy, with edges, but she's really not after anyone or anything but, "Klah,, woman. By the egg, don't be scandalized and give us our morning doses before we eat you alive." That's not meant to sound particularly full of innuendo, but it might. She's tired, guys. "No one cares what your daddy, anyways. You better find yourself a pretty boy to take care of you or you'll end up breaking a nail handling it yourself." A beat for Quinlys' suggestion, and then, "Sounds like you should maybe go, Quinlys. I'll be right behind you." Not literally. She just wants caffeine, please. "So. Like. Literally? You guys just," and the Klah pot is suddenly a crude prop as the sixteen year old doesn't make the words but instead gestures them. At Faryn's comments Silva gives an exaggerated shudder. "EW. I mean, like, have you //seen// the people that are in the kitchen? One of them has WARTS. On. his. face." A fate worse than death in Silva's world. Ugliness must be a wake-up call for the girl to do her job though, because she puts Klah in cups and PAYS ATTENTION. As weary as Quinlys is, as worked up as her libido is, she manages-- more or less-- to be patient. "Yes," she answers Silva. "During a goldflight, yes. So if you're not interested..." But she has klah, and Silva's not the only person talking; blue eyes cast around again, considering the rest of the assembled group. "Flights are fun," she admits, then. "No consequences, no inhibitions... but shells, she could've waited until we were awake enough to enjoy it. Also, she could have waited until I didn't have to deal with two groups of weyrlings at once, damn them all." Klah in cups. It's the best of all possible worlds. Everett has klah, alll is right, except the other thing. "Do you think so? But she's--well, I don't exactly have a lift up to her place, and if she were going to come looking for me, this would be the obvious place, right?" He sounds like he's trying very, very, very hard at this point to stay casual about it. This isn't a big deal. Of course it's not a big deal. Thus the fidgeting, which he thankfully has a solution for, involving a flask extracted from a hip pocket, and a generous amount poured into his klah mug. "That's the spirit," Minara says, grinning at Everett. "Embrace the Weyrlife! One person at a time." She pauses in the act of reaching for one of those mugs as she considers Faryn's words. "Or more than one, I suppose." She manages to snag a handle with her finger and drags it closer before looking hopefully at Silva, she of the magical klah. She all but beams as said klah starts flowing, though she adds a moment later, "The ones who aren't as good looking seem to try harder. That's not a bad thing on a day like today." She takes a first sip of klah and sighs with pleasure as she relaxes against the table, then she looks toward Quinlys. "Just means you need to hire more help, right?" Because that's surely how that works. "They're inconsiderate like that," Faryn notes dryly, dragging her mug back and taking a sip with a face that suggests it's terrible. "I have to go," she whispers suddenly, taking Quinlys' advice. She leaves her klah, as she quicksteps out, muttering. "But, like, I don't want to //look// at them if they're ugly." Another put-on shudder has Silva dropping some of her klah on the floor before she jerks back, sneding a slightly guilty look over her shoulder at the doorway as if aunt might MAGIC appear at the sound of a few misplaced dots. No aunt? Rock. Back to the conversation. "I probably have to like, get back before my aunt flips, but just so I am clear, if like, I find the right guy RIGHT NOW, not someone with warts and what not, it would happen." She's even leaning slightly forward. "Cuz, like, I could totally use that." Quinlys shoots Everett a look, plainly somehow amused by his oh-so-casual words. "Do you want me to try and find her for you?" she wonders, lightly. The klah may be helping; or perhaps it's that, as the flight continues, it's harder and harder to care. "More help. Yes, that's true. It's just... shells. It's a pain. That's all." Faryn's departure earns a perplexed glance, but the bluerider doesn't have time to think too much about it, not with an oh-so-obviously innocent Silva to give glance to. "You... do that," is what she seems to finally come up with. "Take charge." Minara is drawing something absolutely innocent on the table right now, using some of the spilled klah as her ink. "All kinds of likely candidates," she tells Silva with a crooked grin. She then watches Faryn depart before shooting Everett and Quinlys a weighing look. To the first, she finally says with a drawl, "I'm not sure you should take her up on her offer to find this girl for you. Might end up... messy." Everett has to consider that offer. A couple swallows of his... somewhat augmented klah seem to go a long way towards clearing his head. "That's the usual way of things," he agrees to Silva, although in a fashion that's considerably more distracted than it might otherwise be. Internal conflict! It must be said that on his face, it looks more like passing indigestion. But it does pass, at least. "If she wants to be found, she will be. She's... that sort of girl." Minara gets a kind of odd glance, there, like maybe he doesn't entirely get it. "I bet... oh man. Who to CHOOSE. If I go quick..." She's not really talking to the others now, more just staring off into space with a particularly vapid little smile. The klah pot swings her her hand as she thinks really hard. Too bad she isn't quicker though, because her guardian extrodinarre just got the memo about the glowy gold and bursts into the room. It's the same voice as before that yells her name. The riders get tight nods from the brown haired aunt who grips onto Silva's arm and isn't about to give her the chance to think through her plans. "But AUNTIE." Silva's voice is a wail, "they SAID.. WHEN IN THE WEYR..." as she's dragged through the doorway, still holding the rest of the klah she really did mean to pour. Quinlys honestly just stares after the departing Silva, and the aunt who has so much power over her. "Sucks to be her," is the conclusion she makes, as much to herself as to anyone else, though it's Minara and Everett that she glances back towards after that. "Well," is what she says to them. "If you're sure. But if she yells at you for going off with someone else-- which, let's face it, is not unlikely-- don't blame me. Who is she anyway?" Minara winces when she hears that aunt yelling for Silva, and she waggles her fingers again, this time to bid the teen farewell. She then gives Everett a look in response to his odd glance before she turns to Quinlys, grinning. "I'd like to know that, too," she practically purrs, leaning her elbow on the table, chin in her hand while her free hand just traces 'round and 'round the rim of her mug, klah all but untouched. It isn't just Quinlys staring, anyway. "It does," Everett is forced to agree, with a visible shudder. But now there's a lot of attention on him, or else maybe he's just remembered what all is going on, here. "Anyway, it's complicated. I don't know if she'd be upset. Yesia. You'll know her, she was a weyrling," that last to Quinlys. He says the name like it might have some kind of talismanic power, but it utterly fails to have any magical effect whatsoever. "There's a pretty vast gulf between 'non-exclusive' and not being there for her. Right? I... don't know. Maybe I should go outside and see... I don't know." Yesia. Way to crush any lust Quinlys might have been tempted to give into, Everett; the bluerider looks plainly horrified. "That's disgusting," she says, albeit cheerfully. And to Minara, "I wouldn't go for him, in that case, if you're looking for a man." And plainly, she has picked up on that all-but-purr. "He's been somewhere disgusting. And... if you don't think she'd be upset, you don't know her at all. Yesia and upset are practically synonyms." Gross. So gross. The name means nothing to Minara, going by her blank look, though Quinlys' reaction to it makes the woman frown. "That... wasn't the direction I was headed, so no worries there," she says, pausing to shoot Everett a look. A moment later, she throws up her hands and gets up from the table, only to lean on it the next moment. "Wait," she says, right back to grinning at Quinlys. "So if he's off the table, so to speak..." She trails off, then nods her head to the side in a rather crass "you wanna?" gesture. The bartender looks just as surprised as Quinlys could possibly look horrified. "What? I--what?" Words. Words are hard, especially under the circumstances, but his lips work at trying to figure out the vocabulary in the spaces where there is no sound. "I've never heard anything so... so ridiculous in my life." And Minara's reaction, Minara's reaction only gets an appalled look, and then he's downing the rest of his mug at once and pushing out his chair. He doesn't even bother with goodbyes, under the circumstances; he's just making for the bowl like there's anything out there that's actually going to make all of this better. Quinlys has enough attention on Minara to notice the woman as she stands, though it's Everett and his departure that capture much of her attention in the immediate sense. She makes a face after him, evidently just as upset as he is at the very idea... but this is a flight, and she's Quinlys, and Minara is a very attractive woman. She lets Everett go; with a smile curving back around her mouth, abruptly sultry and smug and not irritated or tired at all, she says, "Yes. Let's go." Because this? This is much more interesting. |
Comments
Yesia (11:53, 7 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
Excuse you all, Yesia has had fewer partners than Quinlys. And also she hates you. And also you're lesbians and yuck. Everett is the lucky one here.
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