Logs:Golds Are Bullshit
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| RL Date: 5 September, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, K'zin, T'volt |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rasavyth lost Roszadyth's flight and K'zin offers Faryn a ride. Intrigue, morals, alcohol, and a captive-keeping dragon. |
| Where: Bowl and Artful Artifice Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions, Drex/Mentions, Edyis/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Laine/Mentions, T'mic/Mentions, T'volt/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions, X'vin/Mentions, Z'kiel/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Adult themes~ |
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| It's unclear how long Faryn's been standing in the rain, save an estimation based on how drenched her hair is and how muddy her boots are. The estimate: a long time. She's got her hands stuffed in her pockets, and is waiting where the elevator rider might customarily wait on this side of the weyr, fidgeting impatiently while she waits for the dragons to come down and normal processes to resume. At any rate, she seems to be in control of herself despite the tension in the air that screams sex. It's probably got a lot to do with the fact that she's standing there alone. Even elevator dragons have better things to do than this at a time like this. Faryn isn't the only one in search of one though, the way K'zin's still glazed eyes scan, he's looking for someone. It could be he's looking for anyone, and in fact there's more testament to that idea in the way that his eyes lock onto Faryn where she waits, even drenched as she is, and he swaggers toward her. "Faryn," is practically a purr with charming look to match. "Need a ride?" is offered with a dangerous flash of smile. "I have a dragon." Smooth, no? "Shards, finally." Condolences are probably in order, but there's a single-minded intensity with which Faryn keeps glancing up at the ledges, one in particular, that houses a blue who was once very very tiny. "I need to get up to T'mic's ledge. Please." Pause, and the obvious must follow, "Where is Rasavyth?" "Oh, he's coming," K'zin doesn't seem to have enough focus to mind that pesky thing called personal space as he's stepping into Faryn's trying another one of those smiles as he reaches for a stray tress of the wet hair to tuck behind her ear. "Are you sure you want T'mic to see you so enchantingly bedraggled? We could go up to my ledge and you could dry off." Faryn's brows drop into a perplexed expression, taking in K'zin's smile, the way he's stepping into her space. This, all very close on the edge of so many other feelings she's not quite keen on. "Yes," she says, glancing past K'zin to the sky, where dragons still descend; she went reasonably high, or at least it seems from this vantage. "He's waiting, I think. I hope. Did he chase?" Not T'mic. Rasavyth. "We could never have not, not with Roszadyth," K'zin answers almost absently. We though is telling. The man's hand moves away from that strand of hair and means to brush lightly across Faryn's jaw. "I'd've asked you on a date, you know. On several dates," he amends. "If we'd met at another time, Faryn. I think I might've been a little selfish in asking you to Stand the last time. I wanted you to stay. Liked that you would stay, if you Impressed. Glad that you did anyway." His voice gets quieter as he goes on until it's an intimate murmur. Still no Rasavyth, not yet. "Oh," Faryn says, without entirely understanding what he means, but willing to take it for what it seems to be. She flinches away from his touch, not violently, just a light sway that will put some distance between his fingers and her face, minute at best. There's a flash of misunderstanding, curiosity, hurt. "Do you mean to say Rasavyth didn't Search me?" She steps away then, looking agitated. "Did you lie to me?" "No, no. He may or may not have actually searched Z'kiel," off-handed, "but you he did. For sure." K'zin is certain of that and reassuring, soothing even in his tone. "Just that I was glad that he did, for me, selfishly. Because you're you. And I like you." Simple, with that good guy smile. The bronze glides down from the sky to land not far from him. His hand hovers as though he's deciding if following or giving her space is the right move in this long con (or whatever it is). "So, ride to the ledge?" He gestures to the bronze, eyebrows lifting. Faryn wears her feelings like a shawl around her shoulders, and shakes it out just as easily. There one moment, anger starting to coil up around her neck, then gone as he soothes, though it could still be a lie and she wouldn't know. Probably doesn't really care, since the dragon's finally there and she's very single-mindedly on a goal that, yes, K'zin could fix, but she has plans. She has promises, even if they're unspoken. "He searched Zak," she's sure. "Zak Impressed. It makes sense." By which logic, her not Impressing doesn't, but instead, "To T'mic's, yes. The elevator dragon is probably --" banging someone. Still. "I can take you, but I need to stop at my ledge first." K'zin counters as he moves toward his lifemate. "Don't think it'll take long." He shifts to climb part of the way up to offer down a hand, "Coming?" Faryn rolls her eyes, but this is K'zin. K'zin who defended her honor against H'vier, sort of. Who took her picnicking, rode runners with her and once hauled a mattress for Laine down the waterfalls. "Can you check with the elevator rider? I don't want to put you out. I can just wait, then you don't need another trip." Or, one better, "Or you can call Jorrth." It's the soulful look in K'zin's eyes that's really the killer. "You're sure you don't want to take a ride with me, Faryn?" There's a pause before a heartfelt, "I want you to." It's raining, and she's miserable, and frustrated beyond belief at this point. Another glance at T'mic's ledge. It's reasonable to go with K'zin, isn't it? He's her friend. She'd trust Z'kiel or Edyis the same way. She takes his hand, thankful for the help in absense of straps, explaining, "Do whatever you have to do, and I'll wait with Rasavyth. Then you an take me to T'mic's ledge." And she impresses, firmly, "I promised." "Okay," K'zin agrees, positioning himself behind Faryn helpfully to keep the strength of his flexed muscles around her to guard against the hazards of slippery dragon hide. The flight is gentle, the landing careful. K'zin doesn't linger, pressed against Faryn, despite how nice that might be. Instead he climbs half way down and offers her his hand. "Might want to wait just inside the curtain. Ras wants the rain on his hide right now. And I can at least get you a towel for your hair." An entire goldflight without physical contact means that when she's there, when K'zin pins her, there's an unwitting shudder without complaint. It's just contact, and the hop up to ledges is notoriously quick. If she jitters slightly - not enough to slip or be a hazard, just enough to be impatient - then she can't really be blamed. "K'zin," and the struggle she's having is plain, her eyes closing, a shake of the head. "I need to go." "And I need to go inside. Are you staying in the rain or getting off the dragon? I can't actually promise you he's going to not need to fly suddenly while I'm in there." K'zin notes as if it might be important. Faryn looks suspiciously at Rasavyth, weighing the odds. With straps, she might stay anyways; she's not a total stranger there. But without them, her odds of not falling to a muddy death on the bowl floor is astronomically high, so she growls and makes her way down, landing harder than might be strictly necessary. "Hurry up," she says, then adds, "Please," as a complete afterthought. It's good that Faryn gets down because no sooner has K'zin taken a pair of steps away from the bronze and girl does Rasavyth launch off the ledge. K'zin heads to one end of the curtain and ducks underneath it into the presumably warm and comfortable Weyr. "Towel's here for you, Faryn," he calls not long after. Nevermind that he's toweling off on the other side of that curtain. "Rasavyth!" That's angry again, and equally so is, "K'zin." When she comes around the curtain, Faryn's not after a towel but an explanation, wet-cat agitated. "Where is he going? You said--" Does Faryn know K'zin looks good naked? Maybe she does now. At least he has his back to her, so not everything is on display. The wet clothes donned hastily in the rush to get down to the bowl this morning are in a pile on the floor and the towel is being used with purpose to get dry. It's probably that lingering lust that has him turning his head to look evenly at Faryn, "He's going to fly until we're ready to go, apparently. He did just get jilted by Roszadyth." "Oh for fuck's sake, not again," Faryn whispers, or thinks she does. She has the good sense, this time, to look away, turning her back on him. "I'm ready," she insists. "I've been ready." "But I'm not. I got dragged out of bed at the asscrack of dawn to get in a brawl," K'zin answers placidly as he wraps the towel around his waist, heedless of her turning away and he moves past the wallows barefoot and ducks under the second curtain, calling back, "I need a drink and a change of clothes. Because I like you, I won't eat before taking you, alright?" It's a compromise, a bargain some might say. Faryn puffs a sigh towards her wet bangs, hesitating as she hears him pad out and risking a look over her shoulder. It's the opposite way she needs to be going, and indeed it seems like she might linger just behind that first curtain until he's done and Rasavyth returns, but eventually she comes out with a towel on her soaked hair, looking decidedly less like she has been dropped in pool. "Oh, how nice," she says sarcastically, her frustrations manifesting yet again. "Can you have him tell Jorrth I'll be there soon, at least?" Surely that's not too much to do while also flying around. "I can ask, but I'm not even sure he bespoke Nicaith to ask Ty to come by for me so..." K'zin can't be sure Jorrth will get the message either. The bronzerider moves through the right hand of the far doors, leaving it open as beyond it he strips the towel off, tossing it onto his massive bed and stepping around to find himself acceptable clothes. In the absence of her own means of message transmission (short of standing on the ledge with flags and a lot of hope T'mic might see it), that will have to suffice. Her sigh is nevertheless disappointed, keeping herself a fair distance away and, when she sees that towel flick again, she finds something very interesting to look at. The map on the wall, for example. And small talk. "Are you mad he lost?" "No. I mean, I could really go for a good fuck right now, but I'm not mad. We've had six and a half or so turns practice at losing. It sucks, and if you wanted to, I'd take you here and now, but you don't so." So that seems to be that? K'zin tugs on pants before sitting on the edge of the bed to deal with socks, faced away from Faryn on the far side. Don't worry Faryn there's a lot of distance between you and the horny bronzerider, you're probably safe~ "Golds are worse than greens, but I'm always more glad when he doesn't catch gold. Greens are only as complicated as the 'after.'" Sure, he sounds like he's got his shit together now; just wait til he finds out Ras isn't coming back~ With his back to her, he won't see Faryn drag her hand down her face at his answer, pressing her forehead to the wall in exasperation. He might hear her sigh. "That's why I need to go to T'mic. Please." Summon your wings or sprout them. There's an endgame elsewhere. Just wait until he has to tell her about their ride. "Golds are just complicated, all around. I've been recently accused of lacking self-control, and this isn't-- I didn't think they rose so close together. Who caught her?" Keep chattering. Let him get his boots on. Just socks, then shirt. The boots have to wait because gentlemen like K'zin leave theirs out where they're not tracking water and mud (that he'd just have to clean up later) into the Weyr. To K'zin's credit, he's not even really taking his time about it all. He's not dressing with the care that indicates he intends to be in these clothes very long regardless of how things go. "Not the Fortian guy she was sleeping with right before the flight started." He saunters out of his bedroom, moving to the cabinets behind the table to pull out the bottle of whiskey kept there and a pair of glasses. He pours both but doesn't formally offer to Faryn; he did say he needed a drink and this is him taking it, and quickly. "Lythronath, I think. A'rist. I was surprised Tela wasn't outside the guest weyr since she brought me down," the bronzerider's brow creases then he shrugs, "She's probably found someone else now, to scratch the itch." That itch which bothers K'zin, but that he's minding well not to try to scratch in present company. "Let's--" is started. Then, louder, "Faranth's frisky flighty fucks, Ras--!" There's anger and annoyance there suddenly, his jaw tightening as a brief, silent conversation ensues with shut eyes. K'zin doesn't win though, judging by his growl. "Asshole." Then to Faryn, "We're stuck." "The wingleader?" Faryn is, apparently, perfectly aware of whom they're talking about, though she sounds unimpressed. "She booted her boyfriend for him. At least, I think that was why. It was a mess last time I was in. I need to go put her dresses back,they're everywhere. I'm technically off now, after all that, but I think it's best to keep busy." Neither Lythronath nor A'rist spark any recognition, and her small 'oh' is perfunctory. Faryn glances back towards the entrance at the mention of Telavi, like the greenrider might show up at mention if her name, and wouldn't that be a relief? His abbreviated prompt that suggests, yes, they're leaving has her spinning on her heel, not letting him finish even if he weren't silently interrupted. "Great, he's w--" and then she spins back at his outburst, her eagerness dropping. She doesn't need clarification, and is darkly silent for a handful of moments. "No. No, you make him come back, K'zin. I'm not staying here, with you. Make him." K'zin pours a second drink, because clearly he'll need that, "There's no 'making' a dragon do something any more there is making you do something." He doesn't like that much at all, either side of it, so he drinks deeply. "I can go sit in the rain on the ledge if you want the use of the weyr. There's porn on the walls in the bedroom," he gestures to the room he came from. As if she'd need the help under the circumstances. Faryn groans low, then swears a blue streak at K'zin, or at least in his general direction. Likely, it can be relayed to Rasavyth, who each expletive and insult is for. "It's raining. You'll get sick. Don't sit out there. But," with the same levity she told him their stop would be brief, "don't touch me. I can't do that to T'mic. Not again." Her look for the bedroom is distasteful. "I'll stay out here. You can have all that," with a flipped wave that direction. "Think you can manage?" K'zin takes the swearing in stride. It's a stride that turns him back to the cabinets, pulls out another bottle of whiskey. "Don't worry about me." He has a full bottle of whiskey. She can keep the partially full one. And someone has to come to his ledge eventually, right? He heads for the bedroom and closes the door behind him. It's fine. She's fine. Faryn won't move until the door closes, and she settles with that bottle on the floor on all those rugs, her back against the wall and her eyes on the doorknob for several minutes. The whiskey helps, if she's going to handle her business on the floor of someone's weyr (again) instead of opting for the obvious solution, but - well. Morals. The door opens just a smidge. It's a Smith's weyr, so of course there's no warning creak before K'zin's voice calls, "Faryn, are you sure? It doesn't-- it wouldn't mean anything. Just-- golds." JUST CHECKING. He sounds a little pitiable. The obvious solution would be so much more satisfying than booze and this. "Of course I'm not!" Faryn snaps back, strained. He has two options, apparently. Poor self-control her ass. "Close the door or get Rasavyth back!" Did Faryn mean for K'zin to be on her side of the door when it closed? Well, he leans against the closed door and looks at her, the longing that was waylaid by his valiant attempt to be a good guy plain enough in his face now. "Faryn," is throatier, pleading. "We're stuck. I'm sorry. But please?" Please? "Please," echoes his desperation, but for a different reason. "Go back in there. Don't make it harder than it has to be. If you'd just taken me home first we'd be fine." Faryn doesn't seem terribly keen being lower than him, and she finds her feet again with the bottle dangling between her fingers at her side. "It's just golds for you. Golds are bullshit. This is all bullshit." K'zin's look is hurt, not in a playing it up for pity sex kind of way, but genuinely hurt. "Okay," he murmurs it, just loud enough to be heard. "Sorry," as if it's really his fault, as if he feels terrible about it all. "Sorry," again, softer. The handle turns and K'zin leans his weight on the door to disappear within. It's some time later that the scrape of boots on stone probably gives Faryn enough time to 'settle her business' before the saturnine man-- with a look that mixes amusement with not-yet-exasperated indulgence-- arrives inside the second curtain and dark eyes fall to Faryn. "You're the captive in need of release?" It isn't really a question. "Meet me on the ledge," is the invitation to freedom he offers, making a pit-stop to open the bedroom door and lean in with the ease of one accustomed with taking liberties in this place and exchange some words with the bronzerider within before closing it behind him and heading for the ledge himself. As far as Faryn is concerned, it is entirely his fault, and she curtails her step towards him just in time for the door to close, so she can sink back to her seat. K'zin is certainly right about one thing: it's not as satisfying, the way she makes them handle it, but by the time someone appears past the curtain she's managed to pilfer another bottle of alcohol and is sitting there with her legs drawn up, some semblance of in order, if already halfway through the bottle. "Fuck, finally." Wobbly to her feet, then, and without a word for K'zin while her rescuer leans into the bedroom. Nevermind that he must have told someone to come for her; he won't get a thank you just now. A little drunk and half-sated, she makes her way as directed, onto the ledge. Wobbly. Self-control intact. |
Comments
Edyis (20:55, 6 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
- Passes Faryn marks* Fine you win that bet, you /do/ have self control.
Alida (01:17, 7 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
GooOOO Fary! Kudos! :)
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