Logs:Reisoth and Solith Get Lucky
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| RL Date: 7 November, 2013 |
| Who: H'vier, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Solith finally rises again, and not overanalyzing works for Reisoth. |
| Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 3, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'zin/Mentions, N'gan/Mentions, Quielle/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Tayte/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Predet, of course. |
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| Is it coincidence that the older weyrlings-- and Olveraeth-- are a considerable distance from High Reaches when, at last, Solith leaves her newest friend's ledge and glides down towards the feeding pens? Or is it more that so many other wings are gone for the afternoon, or just that it's finally time? She'd been curled up with an ancient brown, too old to chase and badly Threadscarred down his left side to boot, but she'd been sweet and warm and listened to his stories, and he looks after her with a wistful air. There aren't any dramatic screeches to draw attention as she dips to take her first kill, no furious flapping of wings, but only a heady sense of a springtime breeze... and the gleam of gilt-green hide made the brighter for all the snow that casts sunlight back to her. And then blood. Some will notice; most may not. Telavi's one who does, tipping her head back with a sigh. "Finally! Take me down, would you?" she asks of the greenriding clutchmate she's been visiting, and despite teasing that no, no, she'll just keep Tela up here, does get that ride to the guest weyr's ledge itself. But, by then, Solith's killed a second time. There are perks to being as observant as Reisoth is, for sure. It makes him perfectly aware when Solith descends to the feeding ground. Never mind that he's wearing his straps and that H'vier probably has things to be doing this afternoon that don't involve drowning in lust. Reisoth doesn't care about details like that at times like these. The long, lean bronze is heading toward the feeding pens before H'vier has a chance to protest. The bronzerider isn't even in the bowl yet, off in the caverns dealing with something. It gives Reisoth more than enough time to catch a beast, which he bloods almost absently, much more focused on the young green as she does the same. At least someone has such things to be doing. Not Telavi; thanks to Solith, this is the only thing on her agenda, though she does have a fire to stoke while she still has a thought in her head to do it, and a fur-lined cloak to hang deep in the guest weyr where it's unlikely to be lifted-- or rummaged through-- by light-fingered visitors. Then, though, she returns to the mouth of the weyr where she can peer out as though she has any hope of seeing Solith with her own eyes; those who enter do get fleeting glances, some through her lashes, some with greater surprise and, once, for a certain tall rider who is not H'vier, a shivery press of teeth to her lip. As for Solith, among the clutchmates who have joined her are Nhidanth and Khadrenoth, which can't bode well; still, she greets them-- and Rasavyth-- with an arch of her neck and a restless glance of her own, savoring the last swallows of blood and youthfully aware of how she might look in their, and Reisoth's, and others' eyes. He hasn't flown for her before. She can't manage such a near-absent air as the bronze, doesn't even try, attentive right until she leaps fast and high. Oh. Look at it. Sky, cloudless sky, waiting for her and... oh, look at them too, the ones who've joined her, just a glimpse before she wheels and turns past the highest peaks and directly toward the sun. The first minutes pass fast, males sorting themselves out, Solith still relearning what this kind of flight is like. It's been a long time, too' long, but she'll swerve only when continued straight flight before those larger dragons would end the game too soon. Eventually H'vier will show and he looks, well, neutral mostly. But kind of like he definitely has other places that he could be. For a man that's known for being kind of a pig, he doesn't seem all that piggish just yet. Give him time. He'll come around. Outside Reisoth may not be worrying as much as some of the others about blooding but he's eager and quick to join her in the surge up toward the sky. Aloof he may be most of the time, but Solith is currently the most interesting thing in the Weyr. And that's practically the best compliment ever from the likes of Reisoth. And that's practically the best compliment ever for Solith herself, better yet for being displayed in actions; it's not something she's used to, and adds a delighted quality to her flight, augmenting the increasing abandon of how she moves. Perceptibly she enjoys the way it feels to be moving so athletically, so freely, the way that wind and whim entice her; there aren't any limitations of drills and formations or even decorum... and when she wants to slide into a spiral, she does, and if it means a guessing game for the males as to where she'll emerge, so be it. When she wants to dive, to feel that cool speed along her heated body, so be it. When she wants to waft along their thoughts, the pleasingly familiar or the attention-getting more than others... why, she does that too, and for some, she even leaves clues. As for Telavi in her long pale dress, still buttoned up from collarbone to toes against the cold, there aren't many clues for her. This is Solith's show, and for once, she's the one who's along for the ride. She abandons the exit to ghost about; past the girl with the imploring eyes, past even the man who stares down like he could burn a hole through the rock they stand on, past with a darting-quick step the woman who'd catch at her sleeve. There's a little time to be piggish yet. But time's running out for that, at least the time before Solith's caught. There's laughter, sometimes, bursts of it but not from her. There are curses, mostly laughing when her green turns too sharply and sending too-close followers close to crashing into each other... but not from her. Solith's tiring, but she doesn't seem to mind; she gives her energy freely, shares it, and now glances back with eyes as well as mind; who's near, who'll dare? Given his size, Reisoth isn't the fastest dragon here. But, if one were to ask his opinion anyway, he's by far the smartest. Unfortunately his analyzing of flights while they're in progress is probably one of the reasons he wins them so rarely in relation to how often he chases. And maybe it's some realization there that makes the bronze throw himself into the chase with somewhat less thinking and a lot more following the flow of Solith's wake. He has no words for the green, he rarely speaks while he chases, but he's there with her, just as yearning and earnest as any of the other chasers. If he were less addled by lust, he'd probably be embarrassed for himself. But he can be embarrassed later. Reisoth throwing himself into the chase the way that he does is unbalancing for H'vier, who's familiar with the way that the bronze usually chases. He's usually pretty much himself until right when the flight ends. But now the bronzerider's gaze is fixed on Telavi like a predator that knows its prey doesn't have anywhere left to run. Reisoth is still Reisoth, though, and he's surging for an opportunity to take advantage of. Its prey doesn't even know to run, not right now, breathless; her head turns, but it's Solith's head that's turning, though the green doesn't truly need to look to see... and then, right then, that's the opportunity he needs: when whatever it is that goes beyond impulse has her narrowing her wings, darting away from a savvy blue and towards, distinctly and decisively towards a cinnabar-bronze who is very much not Reisoth and very much himself... but that surge of the older bronze's is so sudden, the way he throws himself so unpredictable, that even so he manages to steal Solith away. Maybe it's Telavi who will be embarrassed for her dragon, later, the way she twines herself with Reisoth; maybe she'll have to be embarrassed for herself. Nobody should be embarrassed because of Reisoth, anyway. He's a big, strong, strapping bronze. And he proves as much. Then again, H'vier is a big, strong, strapping bronzerider and there are plenty of reasons to be embarrassed of associating with him. But that will have to be something Telavi deals with later. When it's over, H'vier still has an arm wrapped possessively around the greenrider. Reisoth is less possessive but whatever bits of him can be curled around Solith, his tail and neck and a bit of one wing, more or less are. No argument from Solith, who's more than pleased with all this, quite as though she and not he had planned it: big, strong, strapping and surely warm for the win. As for Telavi, she's not to the point of argument yet, but then she's not entirely awake, and also she might not even have really seen H'vier's face to remember him by. What she is, is bonelessly relaxed and as satisfied as her green; when she senses that arm, she shifts against it, perhaps actually to move but possibly also to see whether whoever-it-is will let her. Or... just to see what will happen. H'vier has totally forgotten about whatever responsibilities he'd had lined up this afternoon. This is much better right here. For now, anyway. When the woman under his arm shifts, he rumbles something incoherent and reflexively tries to pull her in closer against him. Consciousness might start becoming more apparnet after that, though. Not that he was passed out. But a nice doze after these sorts of activities is always in order. "Stop," is much more coherent. "Stop?" Telavi attempts to glance back, but there's all that undone blonde hair in the way. And then, very quietly, she also attempts to sniff the air; if he's not smelly-- well, more than can be expected from these sorts of activities-- or sweaty-- though see the above caveat-- or shriveled, she can settle back in with a slight shift of her hips. Why not. Why not, indeed. That's better. H'vier makes a contented sound, drawn out by the shift of her hips. "No need to run off so quick. This is nice." Well, it's nice for him anyway. Any time he has an attractive young woman trapped in his arms, it's pretty nice for him, after all. "We could even do it again if you give me a bit longer." Just what every girl wants to hear when she's in bed with someone she didn't choose for herself, right? Especially when she doesn't know his face or his name. Of course, it's not like Telavi has anything better to do-- or anyone waiting for her-- and he's right, it was nice. Thank you, flights! Speaking of, though, more drowsy than arch but only just, "I don't know... how are you without your dragon?" Because he's totally going to tell her the truth. Especially when she stretches just a little, just because she can. Well, he'd probably respond to that more quickly but with the greenrider stretching against him in a way, the bronzerider's thoughts are disrupted. He manages to only shift back against her briefly rather than a full on ordeal. "There's a chance I'm slightly more capable of being considerate without my dragon," returns H'vier without any offense taken at the suggestion that he's not perfectly capable of being amazing on his own. He's far too content with himself right now for anything like that. "There is?" Her voice really should be paired with big round eyes, a little too breathy not to be that same little bit tongue in cheek, right before she angles her head to yawn into her upper arm. "...Imagine that," an audible smile added to the mix, still driftingly enough to invite imagining. Such a shift hasn't caused Tela to run screaming yet, but the evening's still young. Also, residual endorphins. Also, the work of getting up. Since she's not doing anything like flailing to get away, H'vier will accept it as an invitation to let a hand wander over her curves. "It sounds like you don't believe me. Being an asshole isn't the only reputation I have, you know." It probably says something that the bronzerider assumes everyone knows he's an asshole over other things. Beneath that hand Telavi sighs, and stretches, that smile lingering in her voice. "No? What sorts of reputations do you have," she wonders indulgently, as though she suspects that the already-named version might well be an exaggeration: the sort of thing anonymous riders do to add points to their cred. "I'm a little new to this, you see, I'm not exactly enlightened." Perhaps the hesitation before her words can be excused by what the hand's up to, and not some element of uncertainty. Perhaps it can count as playful exaggeration of her own. "I suppose it depends on who you talk to," admits the bronzerider thoughtfully. "Amazing in bed is the one I was talking about, though. Not sure if you have a special someone to worry about but anything we do can be blamed on your horny little green." H'vier, man of honesty. Except when honesty is inconvenient. Which is most of the time, admittedly. He doesn't offer any of his other reputations. Those are irrelevant to the situation, evidently. "This isn't your first, is it?" he sounds like he didn't think it was. There's a laugh early on and then-- "Ugh. No." Telavi, pained. By way of distraction, "What about you, do you have one of those? Are you planning on blaming something on my little green too?" Whatever her teasing tone might imply about blame-shifting, there's nothing about volunteering for the very special job. Abandoning reputations, "My first with a man," Tela admits with something of a sigh. She leaves it a little too long before adding, "And a stranger. It's her first with a," she has to check before she adds, "bronze." Bronze, brown, big. Sometimes they look so much the same! The bronzerider hesitates over the question of special someones. It's apparently a hard one to answer. So, in the end, he just doesn't. "Oh, really. Lucky you, then." That's not just confident arrogance. There's some humor in there, too. "Well, we can change that." Being a stranger, presumably. "H'vier. And it has been quite a pleasure making your acquaintance." Fortunately Reisoth is still dozing enough to not be horribly offended at the implication that any brown could ever possibly be on his level. Don't think Tela doesn't notice all these questions not getting answered-- though in the moment it just doesn't seem to matter, his humor sparking an easy, appreciative laugh from her. "Someone's--" full of himself, maybe, but in the next moment it really doesn't matter because those warm, pliant curves are tensing into, "What. Wait," and now she's striving to somehow get past that arm and get up and stare back at him in shock. "H'vier? Tayte's H'vier?!" For his part, H'vier doesn't try to keep Telavi from pulling away from him. His arm releases her as soon as she starts moving. And once she's looking back at him, she'll see he's looking a little confused himself. Things have changed quickly, his brain needs a moment to catch up. "I... suppose that's one way to put it." But he's not going to say a whole lot about their relationship, slightly more cautious about what comes out of his mouth now. "You know her, I take it?" Admitting it may or may not be an improvement; hard to tell when she's turning away like that, loose blonde hair falling forward, hunting. It's that classic 'where'd my dress go' scan, though she moves with the unselfconsciousness of someone weyrbred or very well acclimated; it's just that she's shivering because it's cold. Or because, "I don't do my girls' guys." Pause. "Not on purpose." Anymore. There's the dress, at least; she has to turn it right-side-out before she can slip it on. "You were fun. This was going to be fun," at once vexed and wistful like H'vier has history on purpose. "It could still be fun," counters H'vier, sitting up but not making any move to actually get out of bed yet. It's warmer here. "It's not like she'd know if there was anything extra." He probably wins all of the Best Boyfriend awards. "Besides, I'm not really sure that you could say either of us are each others', could you?" He sounds like he expects the greenrider to be familiar enough with his history with her friend to understand what he's talking about. It was warmer there. Telavi's glance in that direction is that much more wistful too, surely for the blankets rather than the bronzerider-shaped hot water bottle, especially if Tayte's the one asking. "She'd know," the greenrider now says darkly, fingers lingering over a loosened button, then the broken threads where the next should be. "And close enough." Maybe she knows something he doesn't! "Besides, what else would we have been doing in here? Playing poke--" hearing herself, she can't help but laugh before ever getting to the r, a dimple peeking briefly into existence. "Sleeping," H'vier supplies readily. He has all of the answers. Or excuses. However you want to look at it. But the bronzerider also seems to have resigned himself to the fact that having seconds of Telavi is not in his foreseeable future. That doesn't mean he's not disappointed. It does mean there's no shame in the way he watches her, like he would really like seconds. Woe, the life of a bronzerider. "I suppose you running off means you aren't interested in-- is it dinner time now? -- either?" She's clearly unreasonable. "Sleeping." Not convinced, but still amused, by the sound of it. "Are you better at lying than I am?" Telavi has to ask, even while she's tilting the glowbasket for a brief button-scan: brief, not because she's found what she's looking for on the floor, but because her shrug gives it up for a lost cause. That's what friends who tidy guest weyrs are for. She does look back over her shoulder at his last question, right when she's reaching for her cloak. There's a slight, smiling pause before, "Now dinner, dinner could be had. Points if it's delivered." Maybe she wants to look reasonable! Maybe she's just hungry. "I don't think that's a question I should answer." Which is probably as good of an answer as anything else. H'vier moves, finally, to get out of bed and search for his clothes, pulling his pants up when he pauses to look at the greenrider. Her answer isn't quite what he'd been expecting. "Delivered? If you're worried about what Tayte would think about us here, I'm not sure she'd be any happier if I had dinner with you in private." The possibility that he's been uninvited from his proposed dinner will just be ignored for now. His pants are fastened, his shirt shrugged on. "She might even prefer my first idea." There goes that dimple again, Telavi's only response to that not-answering answer. She watches him a moment, then shrugs too, though into her cloak; "So, what? A tasty spread in the living cavern," yes, she has a little too much fun saying that, "is that what you had in mind?" She pauses by the water pitcher to pour some out onto a cloth, the better to go over her face and hands and then-- belatedly she pats her hair, her rumpled hair, smoothing it into shape. "I'm not worried about dinner, no." Whatever H'vier had in mind is irrelevant because it's already been shot down. He doesn't say that, though. He says, "I'm content with lady's choice." Though there's something in the way he says it that suggests he doesn't think Telavi is any lady, in the proper sense of the word. "Shall I have it delivered to your weyr, then?" He might still sound vaguely hopeful that this could lead to other things. Not that Telavi's life's ambition is to be proper, as a lady or otherwise, but there's something about that that has her glancing at him from beneath lowered lashes, and it's not at all flirtatious. "My ledge is tricky," she admits truthfully as she looks down long enough to step into her light boots, even putting a touch of polite apology into it. "And I've no mind to disturb Solith this soon, unless you're bothering your dragon anyway," what's-his-name. "Let's... go for the caverns, then. It's not like there should be much of a rush. Should I try to look overawed by your sheer masculinity?" "Sure. Of course," says H'vier, dismissive. He takes it for an excuse, whether it really is or not. There are ways to get to a weyr without ones own dragon, after all. But he doesn't push that point. "Look however you like, gorgeous. I don't need theatrics to stroke my ego. Or get me laid, for that matter. Just a flight." Just a green flight, is left unspecified. Even less important. H'vier straightens himself, pushing a hand through his ruffled hair as he picks up his jacket and shrugs it into place. "Shall we?" It's true, though Solith is ordinarily less than happy about some other dragon carrying Telavi, just now she may be more forgiving. Perhaps that colors Telavi's laugh, open and warm once again; "I'm glad to hear it. Yes, let's." Her eyes flicker to the other rider's hair, his shoulders-- and knot-- in that jacket, but it's his arm she reaches to tuck her hand around once he's near, if he'll lend her that much against ice and cold: companionable rather than clingy, for a dinner with no more theatrics than... well, than usual before they go their separate ways. H'vier accepts the hand tucked against his arm without a second thought. It's a natural place for a woman's hand, after all. The bronzerider leads them to the caverns, practically a decent gentleman, if somewhat crude at times, until they go about their own business again. |
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