Logs:Last
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| RL Date: 11 September, 2015 |
| Who: Leova, T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: T'mic asks Leova questions about dragon sex and timing. |
| Where: Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 10, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions |
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| Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
There was some waiting, and the air's humid from the heated pool and from outside, but at least it's warm enough within and there's klah for those as want it. Leova does, or did. After she shows the previous pair out, the dragon a grizzled brown who isn't keen on doing his stretches, she takes a moment to top hers up before moving toward the broad young man and his Jorrth. "What's up?" follows a first glance and precedes a professional look-over. Vrianth, who's been lightly perceptible all along as a subtle sense of presence: « She might want to see your wings. » That bulk of blue Jorrth is waiting, and watches Leova intently, through that first glance, and into the look-over. Which means he'll be turning his head and maybe even shifting those little feet, trying to glean from her gaze what it is she's checking out. "Nothing really," T'mic says with a shrug. Shortly thereafter, a bit of a curling of his lip, more some revelation than actual humour. "I mean, he's not hurt or anything. I just... wanted to ask about sex." To Vrianth: « Does she? » Static. However, Leova does look at those craggy wings along the way. Also his paws: had he stepped on something? « Of course. » Vrianth does not take it back, either, when T'mic clarifies and Leova can't very well not repeat, "'Sex.'" She lifts her mug like she's going to drink, only she doesn't. Calmly, so very calmly, "What appears to be the problem?" And then she goes and looks at his wings again. Jorrth stretches the main and relaxes the rest of that wing; pliable and ready for inspection. If she wants. Otherwise, just on display. Those little feet lift and drop, tap. At least no strange smells waft up there. And he never stops watching. T'mic finds that cot to lean against. "He doesn't want it?" It's not long at all before a lean turns into a sit, those big hands clasping before him. « Better. » There's the barest spark to it, a hoarded glint. Leova holds up her hand to T'mic, and progresses all around his broad-beamed blue. The dragonhealer does not put her own feet in a place to be stepped on. When she's coming around the other side again, before she gets anywhere near that cot, "Refusing? Or not caring." If it matters, nobody else seems immediately around, just that older man in the far back cataloguing inventory. She doesn't speak in a hush. T'mic waits patiently, while Jorrth tries so hard to watch. It's tougher she she's around his hindquarters. He's not that bendy. There are little shuffly steps from his back legs, but he doesn't really move. The other wing is extended in that same way as she comes around, the first folding back. He seems the more satisfied, when those eyes can settle on the dragonhealer again. "Well... it's not like I tell him he has to, so he can't refuse. And he watches them. He just doesn't," an almost apologetic look to his lifemate, in the pause before, "feel it, you know?" Leova acknowledges what T'mic's said with a nod, and a clearing of her throat that's at least a decade shy of being a harrumph. She looks at Jorrth then, right at his nearest eye, and waits. That eye whirls into focus on that up close dragonrider, contentedly blue, just like Jorrth himself. "I know some take longer, but everyone else in his clutch is ready enough that they're either flying or chasing or at least leaving during flights. He can just sit and watch. With nothing going on. Down there." T'mic's face twitches. "I just want to make sure it's not weird?" "Even Roszadyth," Leova says absently, still looking upward. She nods at Jorrth now, then steps back enough to address T'mic but still glance at Jorrth and Jorrth's gaze at times. "You'll have heard, 'Somebody has to be last.'" Her calm, ever-smoky voice doesn't expect it to be consolation. "Does he watch more than he used to? Or is that about the same as ever." "Yeah," T'mic confirms for the gold. Jorrth blinks, as she steps away. "I don't know if it's changed much. It depends what he's doing. Who's flying. Where. He watches it because it's interesting and part of what happens in his Weyr, I think. He used to watch me and- I mean he used to be curious about-" the bluerider is looking concerned, here. "You're not going to tell anyone this right?" Because somehow, saying it out loud makes it stranger. "What needs to be set down, will. Want to keep track of when you brought it up, so we can check for later. Baseline." Leova keeps all that matter-of-fact. Normal. "But if you mean, will I tell Glacier over drinks, the answer is," a very firm, "no." T'mic nods a little, then looks toward that guy with the inventory. He, at least, does lower his voice some, to say, "I couldn't even do anything like that, for a longer time than the others. And then he watched that for a bit, but then kind of stopped? Mostly. But just... nothing. He's just curious about it like he was about trundlebugs when he was little." A beat. "Are there any dragons who just don't fly? Don't even ever want to?" Well then. "Ah," Leova says, as though it might be significant. Or not. She checks on Jorrth's eyes again, a brief but open glance. She has more klah. "Not not ever, not in my recollection. After injury is one thing. Some of those. More of those that, after injury, want to but can't. It's rough." She exhales. "Does he worry, that you worry?" T'mic considers this, looks over to Jorrth, who is then looking back at him. The blue's tail swats at something that's maybe not even there. "I don't think he worries. I don't think he's bothered by everyone else chasing and him not, either... It's not like it's getting in the way of anything, it's just. Late." "Better that way," Leova says. "Would say, think to yourself... Roszadyth, she's early. Not like she stole it from him, just, early. He isn't out-of-bounds early, T'mic." More klah. "I'd say, if he's not interested in another half-Turn, let me know. If he is, earlier, let me know. I'll add it to the chart either way. If it's another full Turn and he's not even eyeing them that way, I've got some ideas. But... the main thing is, he's not hurting. Maybe you are, but he's not feeling clogged or nothing, he's just fine." That makes T'mic's face go red. "I'm not... I'm not hurting like that. Not for him to go chase." The bluerider shakes his head, quickly, and shifts, all awkward now. "Anyway. Okay. I just wanted to make sure is all." Which prompts him to his feet, with a glance sent to Jorrth again. Jorrth, who shakes those wings out, although only minimally, lest he break something or smack someone, and snorts. "But thanks." "Easy now." Leova waits. It isn't a step forward, not a hand to his arm. It's that plain firm tone, the earth-rooted posture. Wait. T'mic has been trained up from young to listen to tones. He stops where he is. Jorrth does, too, unconsciously. Slowly, T'mic's eyes trace toward Leova. His head moves too, eventually. Leova holds him there for that long, and a breath or two longer. "Reckon he's fine, T'mic." Not that he will be, but that he is. "Anything to add, Jorrth?" T'mic waits. The ruddiness of his face lessens a little, but only does so slowly. "Okay," T'mic nods. And then shifts his stance, and tucks his hands into his pocket, and looks over toward his blue. « Is there anything she wants to know? » to Vrianth. The answer is yes, but, « Is there anything you would share? » Which is to say: what she might want to know might not be anything he could tell her. Or his rider. Or have to do with their pairing at all. "He seems to be in fine fettle. Otherwise healthy, then?" Leova. Jorrth's tongue goes all the way up to his nose. « I don't think so. T'mic said it already. I don't think it's a big deal. » Which he might mean any number of ways, as he tilts his head, eyes still on T'mic. "Oh, yeah," agrees the latter. "We've been doing lots of sweeps, flame training, everything... oiling him a bit more now that it's getting colder, but I think he's doing really well." Only at the end does he look away from his dragon, and back to Leova. The greenrider cracks a smile at that, that tongue. « I agree, » says her dragon, a flick of electricity laying down that comma into a period. "All right." Now Leova's looking back at T'mic. "You got yourself a steady wing. See you both in that half-Turn, then. Or before." "Yeah," says T'mic, "we like it pretty good." And he nods. "Okay. Thanks." Jorrth is the first to move, brushing past Leova on his way, with a refined awareness of just exactly where the edge of his shoulder starts and ends. T'mic follows, turning back just before exiting to give a smile and little wave, final shows of gratitude. And a mind at ease. |
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