Logs:Risqui Business
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| RL Date: 25 January, 2016 |
| Who: C'ris, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys finally manages to give C'ris a certain important little piece of news. |
| Where: Romantic Hideaway Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 12, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, K'zin/Mentions, Risca/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
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| A lot of dating C'ris is quiet time in rather than crazy nights out. This afternoon, on a rest day that happens to be shared, is one of those times. C'ris is attempting his book again, the same one that he'd started two months ago and still hasn't managed his way through. This time, however, he has managed to distract himself with Quinlys' bright curls. With the Weyrlingmaster curled against his side as they share the couch, he distractedly twists her hair softly into little braids as the words on the page lose his interest. He doesn't speak, in some contained attempt not to equally distract her from her task. Traditionally, Quinlys enjoys those crazy nights out, though she doesn't seem to have been very much interested of late-- indeed, she has a habit of dozing off, which at least makes her a cute piece of art in the corner, if you like that kind of thing. There may have been moments, over the past couple of months, where it has seemed like she's about to say something, or her thoughts are far away, or there's something weighing on her; she's never admitted to any of it. This afternoon, she's got reports to go through, but she doesn't seem to be making much more progress than C'ris is, and probably that's only in part because of the sensation of those fingers in her hair. "Mmm," she says. "That feels nice." C'ris hasn't pressed, the awkwardness of the flight and the following conversation enough that he hasn't been willing to strain their relationship again so soon, content to get back to 'normal' and stay on that nice even keel. Nor has he seemed to notice other clues, alas. There is a slow smile at her words, before the bluerider is slowly, gently undoing the braid and brushing it out with his fingers, only to start another one. "Should I give you two? Pigtails, aren't they called?" he teases lightly. "You can be an intimidating Weyrlingmaster even in braids." And without the pressing... Quinlys, perhaps, hasn't had the guts to introduce an effective bombshell into their relationship-- which is, after all, still terribly new. "I like to think I'd be doubly intimidating, with two. If I can be when most of them are taller than I am..." She breaks off. "Maybe I'll hire you as my official hairdresser. Did you play with the little girls when you were little and learn how from them?" Ostensibly, her gaze is still on the paperwork in front of her. C'ris laughs, assuring her, "I don't think you can be any more intimidating than you already are. Or less. You're perfectly intimidating." But he'll still continue braiding her hair, anyways, with that lingering smile. "No, not really. But I pulled enough nursery shifts in my day." 'Perfectly intimidating.' It makes Quinlys smile, though something falters in her expression after that, followed by a shift in her shoulders, as if she's squaring them against something. "Would I be more intimidating if I were the size of a Weyr?" is oddly reluctant and uncomfortable. "I promise, you're perfectly intimidating the way you are now," C'ris repeats gently, his fingers lingering in a brush through her hair even as he shifts to catch a gaze from his angle along the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. Quinlys makes a sound that might be frustration, turning her head so that she can meet C'ris' gaze. "That's--" She swallows, and shakes her head. "That's not what I meant. I--" Abruptly, she reaches to take C'ris' hand and tug it away from her hair, drawing it down to the now slightly exaggerated curve of her belly, the one that could just be normal relationship weight gain, the kind she's prone to given her natural build. The braid half-unravels and then holds, but C'ris' fingers spread over her stomach and then slip sideways to curve against her hip, if she lets him. (There is a reason someone hasn't noticed until now, oblivious as he is--.) "You can get as big as you want, Quin. You'll still be perfect," he promises, only hesitating for a moment over the emotions in those words that he offers to her. There is a hint of worry there, but his smile is genuine if soft. Again, that little sound of frustration. "I'm not getting fat, C'ris." "I wasn't saying-- I didn't mean--." Poor C'ris seems so confused, flushing for Quinlys' frustration. At least he seems to get that he isn't getting something, the smile fading away and leaving him helpless as his hand finally attempts to fall away. "No, no--" begins Quinlys, but clearly this isn't going to work. She sits up, dislodging her papers, and turns so that she can look down at the other bluerider, giving him a look that is frankly not far off embarrassed, and certainly holds a fair amount of awkwardness to it. One hand cups her stomach, the other hovering awkwardly at her side. "I know I'm getting fat. But it's not because-- it's because I'm pregnant." "Oh, oh," exhales C'ris slowly, a smile slowly catching and building at the corners of his lips as he quickly reaches out to press his fingers over Quinlys'. But then that awkwardness, that embarrassment on her part seems to catch at the bluerider, and he can't help but ask with his own edge of embarrassment, unable not to, "Is it-- It's K'zin's?" That flush, and that somewhat giddy attempt at a smile, abruptly fade into nothing. "What?" Her hand pulls away from C'ris', sharp and unhappy. "Do you really think I would keep K'zin's baby, C'ris?" Her voice is brittle, now, and with an edge of anger. "I'm four months pregnant. Four and a bit." And a half, but who's counting? "Quin," is entreated softly, apologetically. But C'ris can't help his own flushed happiness that grows at her answer, despite her anger. Her hand may have pulled away, but it only means that his fingers spread against the curve of her belly instead, very gently. "Quinlys, I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry. Even if it was, even if you were-- I would love it, just as much as I love its mother." Quinlys' gaze drops, and it's probably not coincidental that it is her belly, and C'ris' hand, that she's studying so intently. There are tears, there, but that's probably not surprising given all those pregnancy hormones. Thickly, tearfully: "At first I wasn't sure if I wanted to... to keep it, and then I didn't know how to tell you and... and... it's not his. And... and I don't know if I know how to be a mother, but I know you're going to be a good father, and that's... that's important." By the end of that, she's crying in earnest. Because of course she is. "I know, Quin. I know," murmurs C'ris comfortingly, even as he shifts to draw the Weyrlingmaster back against him and curve his arms around her in a protective cocoon. Once he's resettled her back against his chest, though, his fingers return to rest against her stomach again. "We're going to have a baby," still holds a depth of awe and happiness. "A baby. And he or she will be loved and cared for, and everything will be perfect, I promise. And you-- you are going to be a great mother, Quinlys. I know it." All of this? It just makes Quinlys cry harder, though at least, now, she cries into C'ris' shirt rather than letting tears slide down her face (this is better, somehow). Between sharp, sobbings breaths, she says, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you." It takes a good few tries to get those words out, but she manages. "I'm happy you did," is what C'ris counters lightly, pressing a kiss against her bright hair with his smile still caught on his lips. "I just-- I am so happy." He can't even help the laugh that slips out with the words, his fingers drawing a soft circle against her belly. He is happy. And though it takes Quinlys some more time to actually calm her breathing and stop hiccuping, she does manage to smile. "Good," she says, a little shakily. "Just... can we come up with a better name than 'Risqui' in the next couple of months?" A laugh escapes again, even as C'ris promises, "Anything you want, Quin. Anything. I will start thinking of names right now, if that's--." It must be right now, even, because though he pauses to press a kiss against her neck, then against her cheek, he adds after, "How about Culy?" "Curly," decides Quinlys, intentionally or unintentionally adding the consonant. She reaches up to aim to kiss the bluerider directly on the lips, instead, and though it's not a lingering kiss, it's more than just a peck, too. "Isys. Risys. Quis. Quisrin." That kiss is returned lovingly, all of his happiness spilling over into that single gesture as C'ris' curled arm tightens to draw her closer. He opines lightly, "I like Isys. Quirin, for a boy?" If she can add consonants, he can apparently drop them. But the names don't seem to hold his interest all that long, since he sobers to ask, "Quin, can I... tell people? My mom-- She's going to want to know." Quinlys snuggles against the bluerider, now, and though she may well have further opinions on those names, she sets them side; C'ris' sobering, and the question on his mind, garner more of her attention. "Telavi knows," she admits. "She had to. And Farideh... it just sort of came out." She does not mention T'gar. "You should definitely tell your mom. I need to tell mine, too. But... yes. Of course. Tell anyone you like. It's... safer, now. I'm less likely to miscarry." C'ris tips his head in an acknowledging nod, satisfied with the answer. He doesn't even seem to care (or notice) that he wasn't the first to know. Instead, he will snuggle back, as he repeats softly, "We're going to have a baby, Quin. I just-- I want everyone to know. But my mom first. She's going to, well, want to meet you. If you want." Whatever misgivings or uncertainties Quinlys might still feel about this whole having-a-baby thing, it's difficult to dwell on them in the face of C'ris' so-obvious pleasure and pride. "I can hardly refuse," she tells him, with a somewhat self-conscious little laugh. "I have her grandchild in here. Of course I'll meet your mother. She... she won't mind me?" "She'll love you," C'ris replies without any hesitation, his smile only growing brighter for her agreement. But it's soon buried in the crook of her neck, though his gaze falls onto his fingers against her belly. Then he's adding, softly, "Lyri." Quinlys seems genuinely hesitant over the prospect of C'ris' mother's opinion, but accepts it; she smiles, too, lifting one hand to wipe away the last of her tears. "I like Lyri," she admits. "Lyri. Or Lyris. Or Quirin for a boy." Those fingers now drop towards the loose weight of her shirt, calmly beginning to unbutton it: clearly, all this news requires a repeat of the act that brought it about in the first place. "Maybe it will be one of both," C'ris offers in a way that is much too delighted by the prospect, probably considering he won't be the one carrying that burden. "Then we could have a Lyris and a Quirin." She's unbuttoning her shirt, however, and that's enough to distract the bluerider from the current topic despite everything. He shifts to brush his lips against hers again, fingers catching at the next button to continue her work with teasingly slow movements. Quinlys shoots C'ris a horrified glance. "Please don't even joke about that," she tells him, though she's half-laughing all the same. As teasingly slow as his fingers are, hers are fast: while her mouth is busy with his, her shirt hits the ground, and no doubt his (and the rest of their clothes) will follow soon after, gathering on top of those long-since abandoned reports. This is much more important. There are some things she can rush, and others-- Well, C'ris is apt to take his time, since it is a lazy, long rest day and he has a lot of joy to share. |
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