Logs:Hasty
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| RL Date: 3 September, 2015 |
| Who: Roszadyth, Farideh, Jo, Tacuseth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo is surprised by a proddy Farideh, and one things leads to another. |
| Where: Greenhouse, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Drex/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: NSFW. |
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| It's a late afternoon that finds Jo in the greenhouse with only one other worker present. She occupies the back area, her black leather jacket off against the heat and draped over a stool as she tends a white-flowered plant with a water bottle. Even though the worker is closer towards the entrance, casual talk between the two can be heard even if they have to raise their voices to be heard. What a lovely, sunshiny day! Flowers are blooming! No clouds in the sky! Everything is sublime~ or, that could be the contented flirtatiousness oozing from High Reaches youngest queen, now confirmed to be glowing. Its got Farideh looking happy as she breezes into the greenhouse, a woven basket on one arm, dressed in a pastel blue number with her hair disarrayed around her shoulder. She wiggles her fingers at the gardener nearest the door, offering a jaunty grin, before she starts moving further back, touching this or that flower, humming low to herself. Once the flow of conversation is interrupted by a strange sort of humming - it's happy - Jo has her indication that they're no longer alone. She falls silent as Tacuseth senses the shift as well - sunshine? His desert shadows recognize her before she does, touching Roszadyth in silence. « Tacuseth, » is both gently chiding and delighted; a blend of coy emotions. Roszadyths soft tones are muted only by the slide of soft panels over one another and a distinct, lightweight pop. « Its a most appropriate day for flying. Isnt it, Tacuseth? » Meanwhile, Farideh, through walking the greenhouse path, eventually does stumble upon Jo with a bemused glance. Jo? You come to the greenhouses? Shes not exactly smug, but her smile is borderline as she skirts a bushy plant to stop a mere couple feet from the bluerider. « Seems pretty warm to me, » Tacuseth considers the day - considers Roszadyth with muted shadow tones and curiosity. « Why, you wanna go flyin'? » And, that Jo happens to look up in time to Farideh approaching her way - Farideh in that pastel blue number with that smile on her face - has her pausing in her plant tending. Looking her up and down openly, "What're ya doin' here?" is her greeting, as if a goldrider shouldn't be found in a greenhouse. Of all places. Maybe she's even looking taken back by the smile plastered on the young weyrwoman's face, too. A delightfully warm, soft sigh, « Do you prefer flying when it's warm, Tacuseth? » Roszadyth evading. "What am I doing here? I thought I'd like some flowers for my weyr. Is that a problem?" is all sweetly spoken, given with a pretty smile and a charming inflection. Jo has all of Farideh's attention, or maybe it's that flower she's working on. « When there's a chase to be had, » Tacuseth is openly blunt, much like his rider. « Now that I'm thinkin' of it, you're awfully.... » Should he say it? The blue's fooled by little. As for his rider in the greenhouse, "Flowers for yer weyr," Jo echoes that statement as if she doesn't believe it, and the look seems to be encompassing not just Farideh's words. "Drex around or somethin', to have ya all made up like that?" she takes a guess as she leans back against the table, her scars on display from her simple white tank top. The warmth in the greenhouse draws a slight sheen of sweat on her skin, indicating that she's been here for awhile. "Ya haven' said one snotty thing yet, either," she notes belatedly, looking skeptical. Pouting is more of a Farideh thing than a Roszadyth thing, but the gold seems downtrodden by the blue's lack of enthusiasm and insinuations. « Tacuseth, I do not know what you mean. I only meant to know what you liked. Should I not have a vested interest? » Farideh glances down at her dress, one hand running down the gossamer layers. "Made up? This is hardly made up, Jo," she replies, laughingly, as she moves closer to the table and the bluerider. "You haven't seen me on a diplomatic visit? To the nines." Of her beloved, she has no comment, but stares brazenly at Jo, affecting a coquettish pout. "I don't say snotty things." Showing amusement, « I like the warmth, » Tacuseth allows, the shadows lengthening. « Like flyin' in the cold, too. We can always fly together, you know. » As in, leave their rider behind. Of course he's interested. Farideh approaches and Jo is eyeing her like unknown prey sniffing too close to her home. Dark eyes on her blue-covered breasts, "Ya say snotty things to me all the time, Feline," she notes, meeting her gaze. "If I had some feelins', they'd be hurt by now. I'm not around for yer diplomatic visits. Is that sort of thing required by weyrwomen?" It's a subdued, but girlish approximation of a giggle that answers Tacuseth, a swirl of fabric and low-key whispers. « I would like that ever so much, Tacuseth, » Roszadyth replies, with her sunshine-y warmth. "You think so?" Farideh's head tilts to the side, her eyes scrutinizing Jo's face while she speaks. "I'm sorry, then. I shouldn't have said anything that upset you." Weird! "Yes," of diplomatic visits, semi-swaying on her feet so those skirts move, "Irianke has us visiting the Holds in rounds of three, and of course, there's always hatchings, weddings, gathers--" Her voice hitches and her lips curve into a winsome smile. Giggling draws the crack of the arena crowd from Tacuseth to show is amusement - and interest - even though he sends, « Perhaps, » in an amusing sweep of promise. « When will we? » The blue wants to know. In the greenhouse, it's like the invasion of the bodysnatchers, by the look on Jo's face as she scrutinezes Farideh. "Yer sorry." Yeah, she picks that one out, staring her down. As if those two words just don't go together. Eyes dips towards the sway of skirts with an angling of her head before she states, "Gathers," in echo. "Proddy Feline," she declares at last with a snap of fingers - as if this just came to her. "Lil' gold ain' so lil' anymore, is it? Guess it makes sense ya'd be a flirty sort under the influence." Promises, promises! « Up, » that coursing feel of shooting through the clouds, white streaks soaring by. « Why, whenever you desire to go, Tacuseth, » Roszadyth informs the blue, polite even in her affections. Scrutiny doesn't bother Farideh nor the observant nature of the bluerider's conversational picks. She brushes something invisible off the pleated shoulder of her dress, and then returns hazel eyes, formerly brimming with laughter, to Jo, slightly narrowed; it doesn't last. "I don't know what you're talking about," she just about purrs, in a quiet voice. Promises, Tacuseth seems to be good at giving. The blue seems to be feeling the gold dragon out since he's crafty in saying, « Well, right now, dear Roszadyth. Maybe I'll catch that tail of yours, » or more, seems to be implied. As for Jo, "Tacuseth's tellin' me yer dragon's enticin' him to fly," she informs Farideh blithely, as if this was the topic of weather watching. "Which explains why yer so nice to me right now. Ya missed the glowin' hide outside yer ledge today?" and she watches the younger woman with interest, that purr drawing a lifted brow. Roszadyth tempers that amusement of hers with another, softly chiding, « You can try. » Challenge? Flirtation? It's hard to tell, but it's certainly something, oozing that same ladylike charm of hers. "So? Dragons fly? What's strange about that?" Farideh can't seem to stay still for too long, and takes a couple steps to the side, to study a waxy plant. "I wonder what a dress made out of flowers would look like," she says, her fingertips reaching out to touch one of the leaves. In glancing back to Jo, her lips start again in curving upwards, "Only flowers." « I wouldn' make it, » Tacuseth is smart enough to admit - him being but a blue dragon and all, « but I could still try. If Jo lets me. I'm faster than most these bronzes here. » 'All' is hanging in the air between them, his cockiness to the fore. "Dragons fly," Jo is amused in echoing, finally permitting her lips to curve to something more sensuous than hardline. "Ain' nothin' strange 'bout flyin', Feline. It's interestin' to see ya've made peace with that." A peace that's to her advantage, is what's not spoken between them. The convict rider seems to be playing it cool, though, watching Farideh as she moves amongst the flowers. To such a suggestion, she meets that gaze with an open challenge and an open, "I wonder what no dress at all would look like," her bold tone likely expected. "Flowers just get in the way." Warmth and approval, all tied up in a pretty satin bow. « I would not deny you the chance, » Roszadyth assures the cocky blue, obviously impressed by his persistence. "No, there's nothing strange about flying." Farideh pulls her arm from the basket and sets it on the floor; the better to examine a white bloom nearby, which she brings her nose down to. "Your approach is hasty," she laughs, without looking at the bluerider. "If the petals are soft and the fragrance nice--" punctuated by the snap as she plucks the flower free, and twirls it between her fingers, eyes slanting to Jo in time with the sensual curve of her mouth. "Impatient." « Better not, babe, » Tacuseth is all male and alluring, down for a chase that he would lose anyway. « Blue's just a color. » "I tend to be a hasty woman," comes from Jo at the same time as her blue in her easy banter with the goldrider. "'Less ya generous enough to show me how slow ya want it, Feline. Ya'll find me to be a fast learned." By the tension in her wiry frame, it's clear that it's through shear will that she's not all over this flirty Farideh by now. Nodding towards the single flower plucked, "Thought ya were here to pick flowers." Yeah, she's noting. Only one, apparently, does not count. « Show me? » is definitely an invitation; pitting the blue's shadows and strength against Roszadyth's sunlight and softness, much like-- "Why? You don't want to savor it?" On cue, when Jo mentions her lack of a bouquet, Farideh drops the one blossom into her basket, and reaches for another, giving Jo another backwards glance; see? "So, so impatient," she murmurs, taking the second flower, and tucking it behind her ear before plucking a third. Tacuseth is a patron of entertaining both greens and golds - especially the glowing ones. He lauches from his high-up ledge, putting wings to words as he makes a shadow by Roszadyth's ledge before turning on a wing towards the lake. It's his counter invitation along with an easy, « Lake's good on a warm day, babe. Come join me. » -- "What would I be savorin'?" is Jo's counter, picking up her water bottle with an eye remaining on Farideh. "The tease? Ya rubbin' up on me'n 'till I can't breathe? 'N that's all before the not-promised foreplay," and there's a tsking sound from her mouth for that. Watching those flowers, "I'm patient if I know it ain' gonna be a waste of my time'n libido," she admits in returns with a slight smirk. "'Sides, I still think that Feline in ya's lurkin' somewhere, waitin' to catch me unawares." My what big wings you have, Tacuseth! Roszadyth is attentive from her sun spot, where all the Weyr can see her pale, but glowing, hide on display. « Should I? » she sighs, which sounds much more expensive fabrics rubbing together than actual breath; playing coy still. "Do I have to explain it to you?" Down goes a fourth, and Farideh turns her head to the side, raking Jo with her eyes, toes to her head; pink cheeks must certainly be from the heat in the greenhouse. "It's a waste if it's all over before it's barely started." Turning away from the flowers, she faces the bluerider, hands on her slim waist. "Would it be a waste?" Tacuseth dives into the lake, his pleasure of the coolness of water enveloping him is a sensation that he sends towards Roszadyth in his silence. It's accompanied with desert shadows and gold, twisting and twirling before laughter can be heard. It's playful and teasing and everything the blue offers the little queen. Despite remaining on that stool, her water bottle raised towards the flowers she was tending, Jo hasn't really returned to her work. Farideh's raking gaze gets one in return - even if hers is tinged with an open challenge. Dark gaze taking in those pinkening cheeks, "Us slow low-born types live on specifics'n details, yeah," is her answer to that, forcibly deadpan in contrast to the heat in her gaze. She straightens up when the other faces her, that question getting soft click of her tongue. Her arms moving to prop back against the table, leaning back with her lap almost looking suspiciously like an invitation, "I would know what I'm doin', darlin'," comes low with that husky intent from her. "Best not tease me. My self-control only goes so far." When Roszadyth finally deigns to get off her ledge and stretches the length of her petite form, muscle rippling underneath glowing gold hide, it's to head in the direction of the lake; ambling at first and then in a low glide that takes her up and above, to perch above the lake. Does it seem like those undercurrents of flirtatiousness and lust the gold has been putting off get stronger? She's a lively sigil above the water, sunlight dancing off her hide, but her mind touch to Tacuseth is silken and cool. "No," Farideh says, abruptly. "That's not what I asked you," doesn't sound annoyed, but it does sound mildly amused. "Jo--" Her voice softens, lilting low and amorous, even if she doesn't make a move to take that lap-invitation, yet. Tacuseth might be underwater, his blue wings spread laguidly, but he lingers right there as Roszadyth is near. Maybe he's playing with fire, much like his rider is apt to do, but the blue doesn't seem to care. He resends the call of cool waters, this time with « Much better, » pleased with at least getting her to the lake. To Farideh, "Ya've heard me'n Irianke," Jo chooses to answer her question this way, her chin lifting. "Does it sound like it would be a waste to ya?" Challenge. Dark eyes drop to those lips for her name, her warned self-control starting to noticeably slip as she sets the water bottle down and she parts her leather-covered legs a little as she sits back more on the stool. Then, "Where's Drex?" Bursts of light, bright and-- airy? And then she's dipping down from on high, leisurely gliding towards the water, but never actually touch it, to wing out at the last minute and soar towards the shore. Roszadyth's laugh is like piano keys tinkling whimsically, this time. « Have you ever been to the ocean, Tacuseth? » Foolishly, Farideh pushes back, but without her usual venomousness. "That could be you, screaming," she replies, fingers spreading along the fabric gathered at her waist. "I--" His name, again, has her frowning, momentarily, and then her chin jerks up and she meets Jo's gaze head on. "Does it matter?" Roszadyth's a tease. She's a tease but it's okay since it's an arena crowd's laughter that would enter her mind the moment she wings toward the shore. « All the time, » is Tacuseth's calming answer, and he sends her visuals of a certain piece of beach down south with white sand and very blue water. « It's better there than here, » he relates, finally letting his wedge-shaped head come to the surface. "I'm sure ya can tell the difference in voices," Jo muses, that playful little smile coming to her face. "I wouldn' even be surprised if ya've gotten off on hearin' us. Bet that's why ya were so pissed about it last time." It's her turn to tease, and perhaps to turn the tables - maybe to keep from taking Farideh right there in public. But even then, her question on Drex gets a brief pause before a dropped, "No." Gaze meets gaze. Booted feet hit the ground before she's up from that stool, the heat clinging to her in all the right places. Roszadyth basks in the blue's amusement, her golden form resplendent on the sandy shore, where the glow of her hide stands out better; undoubtedly she's aware of the myriad stares of other dragons, biding time, beyond Tacuseth's, but it's him she's entertaining. « I will have to content myself with dreaming, » she tells him, reasonable. Now isn't the time. "You would like that, wouldn't you?" Farideh's gaze doesn't waver, but then Jo's answer and subsequent movement, standing up from the stool, has the goldrider's teeth tugging at her lower lip. She doesn't move for a few breaths, as if hesitating, and then she's breeching the distance between. « Dreams don' beat the real thing, » Tacuseth sends, but he concedes to that in agreement. Glowing golds wouldn't leave the Weyr and all. « We're always there when there's time, » he adds while Jo wagers her own challenge with the queen's rider with, "I have an active imagination," to what she would like, self-control maybe damned. "Ya thought about it. Don' lie to me." Closing the distance, her gaze never leaving Farideh's, "Smart girl like you should run." She watches her, saying nothing else, and not moving further. The convict rider seems to aiming on the goldrider coming to her. « No, » Roszadyth agrees from her vantage at the shore. « We would never presume, but if you or yours were so kind as to invite us, we could never say no. » However much Farideh actually says no, her dragon is confident of acceptance. "I wouldn't admit it to you if I had," is what the goldrider shoots back, stopping just in front of Jo. "Didn't you say I was proddy, that I was--" And the end comes out a sigh, Farideh's eyes dropping to Jo's lips. « The more, the merrier, » Tacuseth is in agreement, pleased about the queen coming along. « The sun would look really nice on yer hide there. Someday. Soon. » He doesn't seem worried about Farideh, however. Neither is Jo. "Why not?" she doesn't let up on her admitting anything. "Embarrassed? Harborin' some...." dark eyes sweep over her dress, her breasts, her lips, "...somethin' for me?" she finishes with a purr. "All that anger, Feline. Gotta come from somewhere." But then, Farideh is there. Farideh didn't run. With that look to her own lips, Jo must feel justified in shutting down the remaining distance between them to press the length of herself against the weyrwoman with a hand reaching to cup the back of her neck before the convict rider's lips aim hungrily to claim her own. Even a gold like Roszadyth can appreciate a compliment, with a pleased shift of dappled light. « You know how to flatter, Tacuseth, » is praise, in her own way. If she's aware of what their riders are up to, she's certainly not bothered; coy, sensual tension keeps seeping. "Because, that's too easy," Farideh says, not hiding the smirk that briefly haunts her mouth. It's useless to say much else, not when nothing stands between them and Farideh is already breathless by the time Jo kisses her. She presses right back, leaning into the bluerider, her lips soft and then insistent Jo's; demanding. Tacuseth is indeed a charmer. Surely he didn't learn that from Jo. « I speak truth, » is his humble response as he floats serenely in the lake. He doesn't have to be in tension with a rising gold, after all. He seems to revel in that sensual tension as much as his rider does. "A secret for a secret," Jo tempts on it being too easy, that smile there before there were better things to do. Things like claiming Farideh by the waist and walking them both back towards that stool while their lips are interlocked. Things like letting her backside hit the edge of the table where her plant is and using that as leverage to draw one of the goldrider's legs up and around her own waist as she openly explores her soft mouth and tongue with such hungry demand. Things like trying to settle Farideh firmly against her body with the firm intent of making out with her - in public. Apparently the garden tender still being present in the hot greenhouse is a non-factor at all. Roszadyth's pleasure is evident, with or without words, and for now she's content to remain stretched out on the crescent of sand around the lake, sunbathing; she's got a busy day ahead of lying around and projecting lustful cravings. "No," is distracted, as they walk in sync towards the stool, but then it's a much more distracted, fevered, "yes" breathed against Jo's lips-- mixed signals. She's at least amenable to the change in stance, her pliant body responding by straining against the bluerider's, with a throaty half-laugh, half-moan as her leg is hitched up. "Here?" she says, but doesn't wait for the answer, re-claiming Jo's lips as her hands sink into the other woman's hair. With Roszadyth doing her lustful things in the Weyr, Tacuseth is content to ride both waves in shadows and in the lake. He's not the least bit worried. Farideh's 'no' gets a hissed out 'Yes' from Jo, the woman not letting up in her devouring of her. Rather, once they could breathe and Farideh brings attention to where they are, there's a growl of frustration as she realizes where they are, too and forces herself to break the kiss. "Not here," she agrees, her eyes half-glazed as she moves them from the table and collects up her jacket. The flower seems to be staying. Against those lips, "Know a place 'round here?" she asks, weyrs clearly too far for an option. Dissatisfaction flashes across Farideh's face when Jo turns away to gather her things in anticipation of moving; instant gratification isn't coming. "I don't--" Her hands rake forcefully through her wild curls and she blows out a shaky breath, but then her eyes cut to the side, her brow furrowing. "The craft complex is right here-- it's-- there's unused rooms--" seems to invite the mischievous smile that surfaces, her fingertips just trail down Jo's shirt, before she's trying to step away and back down that path that will lead them out. "Unused would be nice," and Jo is close again, hooking an arm around Farideh's waist briefly before those fingertips trail. She'll try and steal another lingering kiss from her before slinging that jacket over one shoulder and follows her out. She steps passed the dubious garden tender, looking between the two of them before she slips long fingers into her jacket pockets to go and toss a mark piece towards them. "Ya saw'n heard nothin'," she tells them, the knowing smile touching her lips on her way out after her. The flower basket gets left in Farideh's wake, her laughter following her down the path, and when they get close to those gardeners, and Jo's paying for their silence, her smile is positively devilish. Her eyes rove the bluerider one last time in the greenhouse, until she's pushing open the doors and stepping out into the sunlight. She'll lead them away and towards the craft area, past the workrooms and into the complex of crafter living areas; she walks with purpose and no shame, giving the occasional nod but remaining resolutely quiet. Up to the door, she pauses, leaning back against it, and reaches up Jo with hand, the other turning the knob. That garden tender catches that mark, looking down at it and then at the retreating back of the Weyr's younger weyrwoman. Once paid, Jo doesn't seem to consider anymore thought to the tender as she leaves. She's content to follow rather than lead, looking the part of a bluerider following the weyrwoman for some mundane task or orders that needs done. If any show curiosity, there's a shrug for them and a roll of her eyes. Nothing to see here, clearly. It's once Farideh leads them to a door that she raises a brow at her with a playful little smirk and a simple, "Last chance, Feline." One last resistance, the bluerider holding back in the case Farideh returns to her senses and attacks her. "Are you having second thoughts?" Farideh sounds smug, and even with Jo's resistance, she's turning the knob and pushing the door inward. "That would be a waste," she sighs, slipping through the opening, into the darkened room with its simple bed and clothes press. From the vacantness of the room -- and the cobwebs in the corners -- it's obvious this room hasn't been occupied in a while, but the goldrider doesn't seem to mind as she skirts the bedframe, her fingers already working on the row of tiny buttons at the back of her dress; with or without. "As if ya don' know that I'm down for anythin'," is Jo's answers, head tilting down as she gives Farideh a look. "I have no one waitin' at home for me other than my dragon." Which is all she has to say on the matter since she enters the room and firmly shuts and locks the door behind her without turning her back on Farideh. That jacket gets tossed somewhere on the floor and she simultaneously works on unlacing her pants and slipping out of her boots as she closes the distance between them. Her steps are cocky. One button, two, all ten, and that sky-blue dress with the gossamer cloth is sliding past her shoulders and hitting the floor in a puddle of shimmering, pale fabric. Farideh steps away from it and towards Jo, wearing nothing but a wanton smile. "Shut up," she says, finally, grabbing the front of Jo's shirt in an effort to pull her closer and repossess her mouth in another needy, intense kiss. "Make me," because Jo has to have the final words, right? She steps free from those pants and those boots, and Farideh's wanton smile gets claimed with just as much heat as before. The bluerider, despite her resistance before, seems to be all in once her mind is made up. Hopefully there's no crafters nearby. |
Comments
Alida (03:00, 5 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
Ohhhh, JoJo; you're SUCH a 'bad influence!* *cackles* Loved this!
Jo (09:06, 6 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
Jo actually tried to keep her hands off someone this time! Blame Farideh! >.>
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