Logs:Poor Daehyeth
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| RL Date: 16 November, 2014 |
| Who: Lia, Rh'mis |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Daehyeth rises; Rosvelth catches. |
| Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 4, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
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>---< Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#466RJs) >-------------------------------<
This broad ledge is dappled with bright light in the morning and commands
a lovely view of the eastern end of the bowl, including the lake and the
trees that dot the shoreline. Reached by a flight of stone steps that
climb up from the bowl floor, the ledge is relatively low, an easy jump
down to the ground; possibly its selection was a safety precaution, so
anyone stumbling out the wrong way after a flight would be unlikely to
break his or her neck. Within the weyr itself is a comfortably-sized
dragon wallow, rarely used but swept clean nonetheless.
The cavern broadens as it stretches back away from the entrance to reveal
a neatly made double-sized bed pushed up against the back wall, a press at
its foot with an extra blanket folded on top of it and two chairs standing
guard to either side of the hearth. A rectangular table lurks against the
side wall, kept stocked with a pitcher of water and a basket of seasonal
fruits. The weyr is well-lit and kept immaculately clean, the refreshing
scents of citron-infused sweetsand mingling with the tang of herbs.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Lia F 28 5'5" slender, black hair, brown eyes 1m
Rh'mis M 19 5'6" Scrawny, Brown hair, Blue eyes 0s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Bowl
>-----------------------------------------< 14D 4M 36T I10, spring afternoon >---< Greens rise often at High Reaches and always, always, males chase in their wake until, through one maneuver or other, the greens are caught and brought back down to the ground. Sometimes, the dragons know each other though the riders do not. Other times, both are strangers. It's at the tail end of a foggy morning, where light begins to just break through in hazy streaks, that Daehyeth rises; and the fog has completely burned into a cool spring afternoon by the time she's snared in unexpected fashion by Rh'mis' Rosvelth. It's with a surprisingly limber twist of his tail and strong jerk of that turn that collides delicate green spars into thick shoulders and her sinuous length against his blocky frame. Nearly double the expanse of her own wingspan, his buffets their fall, even as within the guest weyr, other male dragon riders depart, leaving Lia and Rh'mis to an early afternoon delight where the roles above are reversed with the green's rider impatient to strip her clothed prize. She, after all, was already mostly nude before flight's end. There's only one assured consequence of flights for her. Sleep doesn't claim the greenrider after she's spent, her lean frame sprawled atop his length and idle fingers trace lazy circles on Rh'mis' scrawny chest. "Didn't throw enough firestone sacks while training?" she asks, voice low, just in case he might be asleep still. The moment when Rhey is jolted from his post-flight narcolepsy is obvious; it's the sound of Lia's voice that does it, more than those fingers, though both are plainly unwelcome once he's aware of himself. His torso stiffens instantly, his blue eyes squeezed tight, as if this might make this whole awful reality become somehow un. Perhaps if he lays still long enough... « She shouldn't mind him, » is the brown's advice for green (and via her, greenrider), muzzy with post-coital satisfaction. « He's no sense of wonder, no greatness to him. At least I've enough for both of us. » She's naked and so very close to him that the stiffening is immediately recognizeable. He can pretend to be dead (or asleep, whichever), all he wants. But the pretense of it all causes Lia to snuggle in all the morning and reach down to pull a fur over their bodies. The lazy circles of her fingers peter out, the hand sliding down and under his back to make naked bodies all the more closer. Cause that's what you do when someone is clearly uncomfortable. Daehyeth refrains from words, but trills a humored and humoring melody. Sure, she won't mind him. Sure, he's great for the both of them. Sure. Snuggling? Is she trying to kill him? It's not that Rhey can get much stiffer (unless we're talking other body parts which are, notably, completely disinterested at present), but still, Lia. Still! Finally, he lets out a strangled breath, the kind that makes it sound as though he really is dying, and then, then: "Please stop." Rosvelth's sigh is dramatic, and largely seems to prompt a withdrawal from his rider; let him be awkward, and he, he will enjoy himself. Separately. Daehyeth seems to be playing the part of a more artful Rh'mis in the scene between dragons, her disinterest in continuing to cuddle, snuggle and make this large brown feel even larger quite low on her to do list for today. But rather than stiffen, she is merely less pliable. Her side is warm, her wing is still tucked neatly against Rosvelth's side, but her tail inches away from being twined, under the guise of needing to breath and swish about on the dusty ledge. She'll extricate her neck at some point, where her draconic breath exhales in a very steadily paced (timed) fashion into his chest. "Oh," exhales Lia, into the other one's chest, "I thought you wanted to sleep." The mirth underscoring her words immediately marks the innocent as faux. "Lia," is offered, even if she doesn't roll off or away. Daehyeth's disinterest in snuggling is, ultimately, immaterial; Rosvelth's very good at entertaining himself, and if it seems like the green's not interested in hearing his tale of victory... well, that's fine. For the moment, she's a warm presence beside him, and that's plenty. Lia doesn't make Rhey blush, but there's no mistaking his continued discomfort; her faux-innocence is worse than anything else, honestly, and his him turning his head away to stare resolutely at the wall. He's so tense he's all but vibrating, his breathing heavy enough that he could very well be on the edge of a panic attack. He doesn't answer. Though she might be inching away, if he even notices, her mind sparks alive the moment her tail unentwines with his, going from a melodic series of noncommittal responses to a low toned, « Tell me about yourself. » The way the words form are a little awkward, almost as if Daehyeth doesn't typically bother with mere words, and it's meaning lies more in the little emotions and color and myriad of layered thoughts that decorate those words. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about him. Tell me everything you'd like. I'm here. I'm yours. I'll listen. Just tell me. (To Rosvelth from Daehyeth) Something in the way he moves in those minute little ways, compels Lia to roll off, leaving him the safety of the furs while she walks shamelessly to the neatly folded stack she made of her own clothing (was it just a scant hour ago?). She's busy tugging on her undergarments first and then the skinny pants meant for riding. "You don't have to introduce yourself. Rosvelth can do it for you, I'm sure," flickers of her earlier mirth creep into that statement. "Would you like me to ring for something to drink? A beer? Don't worry," adds the greenrider, a grunt punctuating her reassurance as she finally gets those damn pants on, "We don't have to do that again ever." A captive audience? Rosvelth needs no second invitation. « I'm Rosvelth, » he says, though of course that's a given; she must know that, know him, after what they've shared. « He's Rh'mis, and she shouldn't let him get away with 'Rhey.' I'm the teller of stories, the haver of adventures. » His thoughts gleam, water on sparkling stones. « I have claimed you for mine... for now, anyway. » What does it say that he doesn't ask after her? (To Daehyeth from Rosvelth) Go on. This time, Daehyeth doesn't bother with words, just nudges encouragements in a dance of bright-colored attentiveness. (To Rosvelth from Daehyeth) Rh'mis does not look, as Lia rolls away and gets dressed. Mind you, he wouldn't look if she were a man, either. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut, so intensely focused upon his own breathing that it takes him some time to even register that the greenrider is talking again. "No," he says, finally, the word short and clipped and still edged with anxiety. On the other hand, he's sitting up, now, even if he still won't look at the greenrider. "I'm fine." Honestly. Really truly. « I found him in the Stands, » says the brown, bouyed and encouraged by Daehyeth's attentiveness. « He wasn't where he was supposed to be, but I found him anyway. I was always going to. How could I not? » It doesn't matter that he can't remember this, of course. « We're from Nabol. He is. He pretends he's not, sometimes, but then, he pretends a lot of things. He's as big on stories as I am, just... different. » (To Daehyeth from Rosvelth) "I was away at sweeps when you Impressed," apologizes Lia, as if it matters. "But Daehyeth tells me it was a Stands Impression." The greenrider unfurls her blouse and begins to button it up, turning as she does so, to observe Rh'mis in the bed. "I'm very sorry that happened to you." To Rosvelth, Daehyeth allows a wondrous amazement to color her thoughts in a sheen of bright gold. « In the Stands? » is repeated, as if she needs verification. « Riders cannot hide from what we know to be truths. » Such as who to Impress to. That, finally, draws Rhey's gaze towards Lia, his eyes wide enough, confused enough, to leave him looking utterly bewilder. "No one ever says that," he says, stiffly, as if he's not used to being anything but defensive. "Why would you?" To Daehyeth, Rosvelth confirms this, with a gleam of gold in his own thoughts; treasures and wonders, each thought. « In the Stands, » he confirms. « Hiding in plain sight. But I would have found him anywhere. It was just simpler, that he decided to come that day. » Can Daehyeth imagine new-hatched Rosvelth hunting across Pern? Believe it. He seems to. "I chose this life. I chose to stand, and I chose to show up on the Sands that day." Lia says simply, her dulcet voice even. Her finger don't even pause in their buttoning up. "Impressing from the Stands robbed you of that decision. That," the slim greenrider considers the ceiling above Rh'mis before those dark eyes drop to find him again with certainty, "Even if it's fake, notion that we're in charge of our lives. I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to decide if you wanted to Impress." As quickly as he opened up, as minutely as it was, Rhey's expression darkens, shutting down. "Well, whatever," he says. "It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine. You should go." To Rosvelth, Daehyeth seems to have made up her mind about Rosvelth, the inching away slinking back slowly, with her tail sliding against his and swishing about affably until she's claimed the very tip of it. « Mine, » she states. « For now. » Hers? Yes. Rosvelth's tail has no interest in being elsehwere, or indeed in being claimed by anyone else. « For now, » he agrees, pleased that she understands the situation so well. « Shall I tell you tales of our greatness? Yours and mine? How very high we flew! How spectacularly perfect my catch was. » (To Daehyeth from Rosvelth) "Try to have a better day." Somewhere, in between the teasing, the pity, the not-great-sex and the nakedness, Lia's discerned all the little signs of Rh'mis' discomfort. "And I'll pretend this never happened and we don't know each other, the next time we cross paths." A beat passes, a hesitation about her mouth, but she overcomes whatever she might have wanted to say and walks out, finishing up the last of her buttons as she reaches for the jacket she'd neatly hung before the ruckus began. To Rosvelth, Daehyeth's mind glimmers her assent. Sure, why not. And somewhere else in the Weyr, Lia's making sure to ask special favors of the herders. Y'know, set aside that particular herdbeast. Yes, that one. No, the fattest one. Rh'mis opens his mouth to say something in return, but stops, rather as though he's worked out there's nothing he really needs to say; nothing, too, that will improve this situation. So-- he lets her go. And hey, maybe he won't actually vomit on his way out, this time. To Daehyeth, Rosvelth, pleased. Oh, such a wonderful flight! |
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