Logs:Friendly?
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| RL Date: 16 July, 2016 |
| Who: T'zur, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Bar, button, weyr, wine, confusion. |
| Where: HRW Rider's Lounge |
| When: Day 18, Month 4, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
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| The lounge is fairly packed tonight -- it's spring, after all, and with the weather turning better even the less social folk are venturing out. At one table in the midst of the lounge, a smattering of Glacier riders are drinking, talking loudly -- or arguing, more like -- about which bar is next. T'zur is with them, leaning forward but not arguing any particular point, but rather looking like he doesn't need another early morning with a serious hangover -- he looks tired. Quickly draining his mug, he mutters something about draining that other thing, and eases away from the table, walking quickly. T'zur may be ending the night, but Silva is just begnining. Having failed for so long to find the stupid pirate the bluerider has set the issue to once side (and for chance to make it happen.) She's dressed in an evening gown tonight with sleeveless arms - her bruises long since healed - well, until the next time. Her hair is done up and she is here for just the start of the evening. It really is too bad that T'zur exits his table right then because she walks right into him and reaches out to tangle her hands in his shirt rather then tumble towards the ground. The noise of surprise T'zur exhales is more an ungainly oof and a brief stumble, than some manly clutch to rescue her, so it's a good thing she rescues herself. Unfortunately several of his buttons pop and go flying towards the floor. "Uh," his trader's eyes take a quick assessment of Silva and what she's wearing, and he grins. "Hello there. My apologies, I'm an absolute klutz." Also a liar, but it's a lie of convenience. Silva now has a button in her hand. She gets herself righted and looks down at the button before looking up... and up some more at T'zur. A blink, then another, "I don't know you." She'll just be completely blunt as she steps away from him, looking down from his face, then back up again. "And I just ruined your shirt." There's more than a hint of frustration in her words. "No," T'zur says, amused, to the first, and, "Yes," just as amused, to the second. "It's okay. I'm overdue to get new things, anyway. Really," he says, reassuringly. He tugs his shirt mostly closed, tipping his head as if listening to something, but his gaze is still focused on you. "Rider?" he guesses. Reaching out Silva slips a finger into the fold of his shirt, feeling the progression of buttonholes. There's a twist to her lips that seems like regret, "It would be a shame... this isn't a bad shirt actually." Glancing upwards Silva checks the fit around his shoulders, "And it fits you pretty well." Her fashionista-ness is coming out- she clearly isn't drunk yet. "Blue Zaisyreth," she says it with a hint of distraction before, "I could sew them back on for you." T'zur's brow furrows briefly throughout Silva's expression of regret over the shirt. "It's just a shirt," he reassures her. "And not even a shirt I particularly like or anything." It's hard to tell whether the silence that follows is bemusement at the bluerider's assessment, or simply the lack of any strong opinion on the subject. "I," and a pause, "And you?" With a flickered smile, "I'm T'zur, Tziveth's my bronze." The latter offer earns a grin, now: "Oh. That'd be nice, only -- I've just moved in, and I haven't a clue where anything is." Silva glances out of her shoulder at the position of the sun, biting her lip slightly. Finally, decisevly, she lets go of his shirt. "Go get us something to drink and we can go back to my weyr." Silent while she studies the sun, T'zur instead studies the woman whose name he still doesn't know, head tipped to one side. If there's any objections on T'zur's part to being treated so peremptorily, it's a passing expression at best. With a crooked grin, he turns towards the bar, secures something (relatively) inexpensive, and seeks out the woman again. "Your Tziveth up to taking both of us?" Silva reaches out for the bottle, turning it to read the label before glancing up with an eyebrow raised. "Zaisyreth's asleep." "Of course," is T'zur's quick assurance, even if there's a slight shift of his expression a beat later. When she reaches for the bottle, he reaches to slide a hand around her waist, guiding her towards the ledge. Moments later, a dark bronze wings to a landing -- turning head to stare at the pair of them. Or probably more likely, Silva. "After you?" the former Bendenite gestures. >---< Lofted Dreams Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#963R) >-------------------------< Inside, the weyr itself is also tall but narrow, the wallow a two-story affair while the living area's made more spacious by the loft installed above it. While outside it was plain, inside, it's all about the details: the stone cleverly worked to shape heat and sound into comfort, the built-in benches smoothly chiseled into a corner where a table might fit, and best of all, what seems to have been a ship's mast wedged from the loft level to the floor - a smoothly polished pole, the better to slide down in a hurry for a literal or metaphorical fire. It's a show of how much Silva's NORM has changed that she doesn't beat an eye when T'zur slips his arm around her waist and leads her out. The bronze is bigger then her Zaisyreth, but that only means she's going to show a lot of leg in the process. Her back is to the bronzerider though, so if he HAPPENS to look she won't notice. When they reach her ledge she slides off with a bit of distraction a move which leaves pretty much nothing under her dress up to speculation. "There are cups in the cupboard over there." She waves a hand in the direction of over-there. It might be that T'zur is looking. But then she can't see to confirm, and by the time she's settled, T'zur's already climbing up behind her, settling in. He seeks direction, Tziveth veering towards the ledge she indicates, backwinging. There's a stretch of Tziveth's thought to the owner, touching the sleeping Zaisyreth and withdrawing moments later. Once both of his passengers are off, the dark bronze drops off the ledge, circling up in the skies again. T'zur's watching for a moment, before he follows Silva into the weyr, veering as directed towards the cupboard, while nosying about with his gaze. "I didn't get your name," he reminds, with a grin over his shoulder as he pulls out a pair of cups and moves to join her. Silva's touch is everywhere. It's not the neatest place in the weyr, but it's not a pigstye. A faint scent of perfume hovers over everything. Kicking off her heels Silva digs into a drawer to find her thread and needles. "Most guys don't bother to ask. It's Silva. Ah-ha!" She pulls out some different threads and turns back towards the bronzerider to see which thread will match his shirt. "Oh," T'zur says in tone that suggests he's aware he's made some mistake according to the woman code, but not quite sure what. His gaze tracks Silva, and when she offers her name, he grins. "That's a pretty name." There might be a moment of surprise that she's actually getting thread and needle -- before he starts unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, shrugging out of it and laying it across the table for her. "Were you a seamstress, before?" Flicking a stray lock of hair out of her face Silva chooses a thread and discards the rest, then she turns back and blinks at his shirtlessness. "Thanks," She sounds completely surprised by the compliment, then shakes her head swiftly. "Nah, but knowing how to sew a button is child's play. You pour the drinks?" Just move on to that. Thinks totally make more sense when she's a bit tipsy. T'zur does just that -- reaching for the bottle and pouring the liquid into the two glasses. It's a southern white, crisp and chilled -- he sets one of the glasses closer to Silva, and just drinks from the other without waiting. "I like your weyr," he says, as his gaze roves. "I looked at a few before I moved in, myself." Silva takes up the shirt before, "I'm... going to have to replace all the buttons." Since they didn't actually pick up all the ones that popped off before. Irritation writes itself across Silva's features as she mentally kicks herself for forgetting. "Damn it." Silva's way too hard on herself. Turning she takes up the glass and is just going to drink it a little too quickly. Apparently T'zur didn't think of that, either. In contrast to Silva, however, he seems completely unbothered. "Mm. Honestly, don't even worry about it," he waves a hand dismissively. "I'm probably overdue a trip to the weavers, regardless." The former Bendenite's studying the bluerider over the top of his glass, looking thoughtful. Silva eyes her empty glass and turns towards the bottle so she can pour herself another glass. "Whatever. Nothing new." She moves away from him and settles down on a bench made more comfortable by a //lot// of pillows. "So. T'zur. New to the weyr?" After a moment, T'zur refills his cup, picks up the bottle, and moves to join Silva. Not too close, though, setting the bottle between them on an empty space. "Brand new. Practically know not a single soul," he's exaggerating, but that's okay, right? "So if you want to shower me in tips or hints or secrets or... anything, I'd be grateful." The snort from Silva is more than a little bit unladylike. She pulls her feet up and tucks them under her, leaning her head against the solid wood of the masthead which makes up her home. "I'm not well liked." She says it with bluntness that doesn't hold a bit of self-pity. It's like she's practiced it. "Not sure if my advice would do you any good." Something twists its way across T'zur's expression, and into the timbre of his voice when he admits, "I wasn't either, at Benden. Part of why I wanted to start anew, you know?" He tugs a hand through unkempt hair, thoughtfully. "Maybe we can, uh, help each other?" Silva frowns at his admission, her eyes on his chest as she works on that second glass of wine. "What do you mean?" Something akin to speculation works its way into that evaluating look. "I don't know," T'zur admits, like he hadn't thought he'd get as far as getting interest for the proposition. He seems to have forgotten he hasn't put his shirt back on, and is looking distantly at the far wall of her weyr, thinking. "Maybe... you can help me with my clothes. And I can... uh, bring you along to the Glacier outings? Some of them, anyway. They're... they can be pretty intense." "Glacier wouldn't accept me." It's simply said with all the belief that Silva has. (She doesn't think much of herself - which is probably the reason for her next move.) Setting her glass to one side Silva reaches out to bring T'zur's gaze back to her. "Your hand was around my waist earlier." "Yeah. Taikrin made it... didn't make it easy for me, either," T'zur admits, with a grimace. "I thought I was going to die the next day." He's distracted by that thought, and only belated does he look back at Silva. "I, uh... yeah. Sorry about that?" there's a lilt at the end, like he's not sure whether she's saying it to ask for an apology or not. Silva blinks at the apology, before a half smile slips onto her lips. "You're a good guy aren't you?" It almost makes her pause, but no, instead she scoots forward, her dress falling to one side so her legs are almost completely uncovered. "Depends," T'zur says, with a sudden grin as she moves closer, "If you like that kind of thing or not." He's quick to move the bottle out of the way, leaning forward, one hand drifting to brush against one of those bare legs, while he leans into try and kiss her. It doesn't take Silva much encouragement to move into that kiss. In fact, she's going to take it one step further and just move herself right onto his lap. She'll let her actions take the place of more words. Yes, that's pretty clear -- even to T'zur. Talk of exchanges and other such things will have to wait, as his attention is wholly focused on Silva, pulling her further on top of him. It won't take long before he's pulling off that nice blue dress of hers without a care for the speed with which he does it or what state it ends up in. There's only one place this ends up - handwaving how they actually got there - Silva's bed on the second tier of her weyr. When they're done she disentangles herself, moving to one side. The glows are below and so this level is cast into shadows and it's hard to actually see her expression. T'zur looks pretty comfortable -- and pretty sastified -- all things being even -- stretched out comfortably in her bed. When she moves to sit up, he glances over, silent for a moment, and then: "You want me to leave, right? It's okay, you can just say it," he says, pushing up, yawning. Silva gives off sitting up, and instead lays back, one hand reaching out to snag a pillow and wrapping her arms around it. "You really //were// a nice guy." The words are //super// surprised as she whispers them. "I don't have a single bruise." While the bluerider lies back down, T'zur doesn't, sitting up to watch her, unbothered by his nakedness. His forehead crinkles, like the first words aren't exactly welcome, but it's the second words that make him take in a sharp breath. "Faranth's tits. Who have you been with that's been leaving bruises?" He makes a face, somewhat between a grimace and a growl, but doesn't manage either overly well. Silva only gathers that pillow closer to her brest, obscuring any view of her more interesting parts. It's like she's drawing into herself, much different from the forward way she's acted all evening. The anger in his words steals any answer she might give. She's not use to them talking after either. T'zur lets out a breath. Perhaps he misunderstands; then again, perhaps he doesn't: "I'm not going to hurt you." His gaze rests on her for moments more, before he moves to stand, casting about the floor for his shorts. "It's okay. I'm just... most of the guys that pick me up aren't like this." Silva sits up, still keeping herself curled around the pillow with the blanket cast over her legs. "You... don't have to go." The bronzerider is momentarily distracted by finding his shorts crumpled into a ball in the corner. Shaking them out, T'zur pulls them on with a glance over his shoulder. "I know uncomfortable when I see it," he says, wryly. "No sweat. I still mean what I said earlier, though. You should think about it. Uh... have you seen my pants?" "Hey, it's..." Silva finally uncurls herself, and slips out of the bed leaving the pillow behind. "T'zur, it's not like that." She reaches out to try to stop him from his search for his pants. "I meet most of my guys only after I'm drunk." T'zur's brow creases briefly, but her touch stops him. He stares at her for a moment. "I get it. I do, but... it's cold. You should get back to bed." His eyes go unfocused a moment. "Tziveth needs me." It might be an excuse, it might not: either way, the bronze is winging in to land on the blue's ledge. "T'zur..." But any and all fight has gone out of the bluerider, replaced with complete confusion. She steps backwards away from him, and sits back on her bed. Hair askew she'll watch the bronzerider as he moves to leave. It might seem at first like T'zur's trying hard to avoid looking at her, but once he's located and put on his pants again, he flickers her a grin. "We'll grab something to eat sometime, yeah?" And then he's totally going to use that pole to slide back down to the bottom of the loft, finding his boots and his shirt, before padding out to join Tziveth. For all of the //terrible// encounters Silva has had, this one is the worst. The worst because she can't figure out exactly what went wrong - or why she really didn't want him to leave. Only once Tziveth has left does she move from her bed, calling out to Zaisyreth to come home please. |
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