Logs:Skittish Salacity
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| RL Date: 12 July, 2013 |
| Who: Jo, Tayte |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo walks Tayte home. They talk of trust and much more. Jo's invited in for a nightcap and maybe more, if Tayte's not too skittish. |
| Where: Snowasis to Tayte's Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 3, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Cold, but clear. |
| Mentions: Z'ian/Mentions, Yvalia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Sexual themes. |
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| It was a happenstance meeting that found both Jo and Tayte in Snowasis this evening, hours earlier. It was intentional from there that they sat and drank and chatted, tonight opting for the lighter topics that had them mostly shooting the breeze. They talked of alcohol extensively, of card games, and of other equally benign but entertaining things. It had been a good night. Good enough and with just enough alcohol to coax Tayte to be bold. Well, bold for Tayte. A warm smile settles on her lips as the pair are rising, shrugging back into winter gear, Tayte's an ankle-length sky-blue, white fur-lined cloak. "Jo-" She starts, her voice turned a little quieter and shyer than moments before. "It's snowing out there," Not unusual as a winter left over, and certainly not so bad as the storms that raged then. "I'm not sure I can find my way to my room on my own. Would you mind walking me?" It's all pretense, of course. If she hasn't gotten lost by this point in the season, she's unlikely to now. Blue eyes linger on the rider's face, observing the reaction to her request with interest she's not wily enough to hide now, with the alcohol and the smile-high. It is certainly happenstance that Tayte finds Jo, and so, the bluerider is content enough to talk the blonde up and buy her drinks like a charmer would. Perhaps on her part, she keeps the topics light and easy, regaling her with tales of some of her travels once she Impressed Tacuseth. Tayte's observation has Jo regarding her before she says, "That it is," and so, the request gets one of her rakish looks up and down her before meeting her gaze and answering with a straight enough face, "We can' have that. Fuck knows ya might end up in some bluerider's room, then their bed, by accident if ya wander on yer own." Surely the choice of dragonrider is deliberate? "Come on," she gets to her feet, tossing down a few marks to pay for their drinks as she steps aside from the table. "I think the chill's even startin' to seep into here." She adjusts her black leather jacket closer to herself, looking towards that entrance outside as some riders can be seen still coming in. There's a laugh from Tayte as she readily agrees, "I might trip my way right onto their dragon and everything." She'll let Jo pay tonight, after all, it's apparently been Jo's turn to court the blonde. "Well, if that's the case," About the cold, "We'd best walk close. Huddle for warmth and all that." She slips her arm easily through Jo's, not that this helps the cloak stay closed, but maybe body heat will make up for that. Then they're off toward the bowl. "Will you introduce me to Tacuseth along the way? I mean, I've heard so much about him now." With Tayte's arm about hers, "I hear such accidents are common around these parts," Jo gives oh-so casually, laughing as they head out towards the bowl. "Appreciate the warmth. I get a distinct feelin' that I'm bein' seduce as we speak, though," and she eyes the blonde, trying to keep a straight face as she says. She almost fails. When her blue is brought up, "Ya wanna brave the cold and see Tac? Well actually-" she stops them not too far out on the garden patio ledge, facing a large nicked and scratched blue that seems right at home with the weather. "Meet Tacuseth," she states in introduction, gesturing to the dragon that's watching Tayte with a keen eye. "He's my ultimate man and wingmate." "Oh? Seduced? Are you worried you'll end up in some bluerider's bed, too?" Tayte quips back to the conveniently colored rider. The blonde's head leans a little toward Jo's shoulder on the heels of this question, smile still curving her lips. It doesn't make it all the way there though, because then there's Tacuseth. Her eyes follow his neck to his head and her smile broadens a little. "I can see why you say so. Hello, Tacuseth!" She greets cheerily, cheeks turning rosier between the booze and now the lick of the cold air. "Please tell him I'm positively charmed." "Ha," Jo returns on Tayte's quip. "Maybe I should be more worried about a sweet, blonde vintner. Findin' ways to lure an well-suspectin' bluerider into her room." But then, there's Tacuseth, his head dipping a bit towards the greeting given as his rider says, "He finds us all curious," them being humans, that is. "Doesn' get all the theatrics when we could just go to each other weyrs. His words, and he's appreciates. Come on, before I end up havin' to take ya to the infirmary instead." She'll even give her arm a tug. She's certainly not drunk, despite all the liquor that she was seen putting away. "Yeah?" Tayte then has to ask, the worry related to the one under discussion edging her voice. "Is that something you'd worry about? Would, maybe, another 'w' word be appropriate? Like... welcome?" There's a trace of a blush for her uncertainty of the verity of the bluerider's words, but it's hard to tell different from the pinkness the cold coaxes there. She regards the blue in the moments that his head dips a bit, "I'd say some things are simply more fun that way. The thrill of the hunt before the pleasure of victory. But I guess things do tend to be more straight-forward for dragons. Maybe even less fun." She's moving right along with that tug. She's far off from drunk, the alcohol doing just enough to cool her nerves and bolster her bravery. Snickering, "Welcome, hmm....." and Jo makes a show of looking the blonde over, considering her lips, her curves, and then her eyes with no apology before she says, "Yeah. I'd say yer right." Beat. "For dragons, it is pretty straight to the point, unless ya count all the teasin' that seems to go with their matin' flights." Entertained by the talk and the introductions, she lets Tayte take control of where they're going as she prompts, "Maybe when it's warmer, ya can help bathe him one day," she suggests with the presumption of seeing her around still in the future. "Or yer daughter. How is she, anyway?" It's coyly, then, that Tayte uses her free hand to draw her cloak a little further across herself to hide those curves the brown eyes are interested in. The Istan may question Jo's interest, but she doesn't doubt herself so much. "Some flights are more interesting than others," The blonde agrees, "To watch. I'm sure even more-so to participate in." She wears a mask then of considering the idea of helping bathe Tacuseth, "Well, I suppose. If you think he can put up with my-- our theatrics. You know, Yvalia's more dramatic than I am." That comes as a teasing warning to the blue pair. "She's well. I have someone watching her tonight. Somewhere other than my room." The way she answers the question might hint at Tayte's interest lying more in the bluerider than in talking about her daughter just now. "Depends," Jo agrees on flights being interesting. "If I have things I need to do, a sudden flight can be a real nuisance. Try convincin' a dragon larger than yerself that we need to deliver a package in Nabol within the hour. It's like talkin' to a Weyr wall, all of a sudden." She looks over her shoulder at the blue in question and gives him a snort. The snort could also be used for what Tayte answers on her and Yvalia washing one Tacuseth, too, but it's to the answer on the little girl's whereabouts that has the convict rider raising a brow at her companion. "Expectin' visitors, are we," she murmurs in a tease, letting Tayte lead her towards where this room is to be. "How fortunate that ya ran into me then." There's the flash of a cavalier smile, almost suggestive in its promise. "Is he more successful with you when there's a woman wet and waiting and you've other matters to attend to?" Tayte asks, her words chosen carefully, purposefully plain. "For that matter, I'm curious. Is it only women for you?" The blonde's arm tightens a little and she curls a little closer, "I was thinking about asking this one bluerider in for a nightcap. But I'm still on the fence." But obviously from her fond teasing leaning one direction more than another. "Are we talkin' flights here still, or...?" Jo is openly teasing now, the laugh boisterous as they walk. "Cuz, with flights it don' matter who's goin' up. If he catches, it goes down regardless. Sometimes I get irritated with him when he does catch though. If I'm needed elsewhere." There's a shrug for that to suggest that whatever irritation that does crop up, it's always short-lived between her and her dragon. The next question gets a wry but casual, "Only women? Nah, darlin'. What fun would that be?" Regarding her for a moment, she's breezy in adding, "Nah, I have someone. Bronzerider. Been longer than a turn now. He's solid'n stubborn as a dead runner on the side of the road. I'd ask the same of ya, but, obviously it ain' just men with ya either, right?" When the blonde curls close, along with the last, there's quiet laughter for it and drawled, "It's a hard decision. Should this one bluerider still expect a door to be closed in her face, then?" Tease for a tease. Tayte's wry smile of amusement is all that answers Jo's first question, laughing a little herself after more words are spoken, but perhaps that's because Jo's explaining how flights work. "Really?" She can't help the sass-sodden word from leaving her lips, giving a wide-eyed blink at the bluerider like she was fresh off the farm. She gives a little shake of her head, expression more serious to answer the bluerider's other inquiry, "No. I'm attracted to the individual. My body doesn't much seem to mind whether an individual comes with curves or dangly bits." Her smile curves in amusement then as they take their last steps in the chilly bowl and come into the cover of the Crafters' Complex. "No, but this one bluerider should probably be made aware that I've still not done more than kiss anyone since I found out I was pregnant. So. I'm rusty and possibly--" She admits this more quietly, the blush becomes distinctive, "Skittish." Snorting, "Yeah, yeah, Lady Smart-ass," Jo quips on the first, well used to Tayte's sass at this point in humor. She does nod and grunt on the answer given from the woman on the next, putting in, "Definitely not a holdbred view. Though, here I thought ya were just attracted to my choice in drinks." Smirk. She gives the crafters' complex a study, perhaps a place in the Weyr that she rarely traverses as the last thing said gets a considering look from the convict rider. She tightens her hold of Tayte's arm then with a raised brow, "Ya sure?" It's murmured quietly, possibly more sober than anything she's spoken along the way from the Snowasis. "Cuz, I ain' exactly one that girls go to for gentleness, if ya get what I mean." The look is pointed, perhaps almost a gentle warning. There's a roll of Tayte's shoulders as she answers, "Maybe the way you drink them..." But not so much the choice. The words are drawn out slowly, in pretended pensiveness. She loops back then to the idea of her non-holdbred views. "My body was born in a Weyr. My parents never managed to get the Holder lass thing to stick, try as they might. It's probably why I'm twenty-six, unattached, and have a three turn old." There's humor there, but it's tinged with a little bitterness. But she's not about to let that kind of mood take hold. Not when there's another question to answer. "I don't need gentility." Her alto is even and serious, not slowing her meandering gait as they turn to head down one of the tunnels. "I need trust. And I can trust you, can't I, Jo? That if I were to say 'stop' and mean it, that you'd listen? And if I say, 'give me a minute', and mean it, you'll listen to that too?" Blue gaze does turn to seek brown, needing to see the truth there. "It must be that," Jo counters back on the way she drinks, her grin cheeky. Then, "Did'ja want to be attached?" she asks on holdbred views as they walk, curious. "I mean, yeah. Same here. Jothan didn' even want me to become a guard like my brothers were goin' to be. Thought I should be handfasted off like some prized herdbeast to the best bidder or some shit like that. I imagine he'd be tearin' his hair out, if he knew how I turned out in the end anyway." She gives the tunnel they turn down more of her study, slowing her steps along with Tayte since she really doesn't know where she's going. The talk of trust draws her gaze back to the blonde's, silence greeting all that's said there before she finally inclines her head and answers quietly, "Ain' got nothin' to worry about there, darlin'. I'll stop if ya want me to. Just tell me what ya want. How ya want it." Her words are silvered and smooth, the quiet confidence of one that's in control. "Not in the traditional sense, I don't think. I've never been that girl, but there are some nice things about having a someone to rely on sometimes, I think." Tayte's smile is rueful for that and for the talk of Jo's upbringing, "Your father sounds a little like mine. I'm just glad I apprenticed. After that they sort of figured the handfasting business was in the hands of the craft. Why they thought that, I'm not sure, but I count my lucky stars when I think on it." She comes to a halt outside a door, reaching up a hand to brush brown locks behind one of Jo's ear, "I'm glad he didn't have a chance to raffle you off." Because they wouldn't be standing here had history gone a different way. Her smile warms for the answer of what she doesn't have to worry about. "In that case, Jo, would you care to join me for a nightcap?" She doesn't actually wait for an answer, so sure she is of its positive receipt at this point. As she speaks, she's turning the knob and pushing in on the door, stepping inside and to the side so Jo can pass the threshold, the door ready to shut behind her. Tayte's Room, High Reaches Weyr The peculiar shape of this room suggests that it was unintentionally expanded, cement holding the ceiling together towards the peculiarly shaped alcove build into the back corner. It's larger than most personal quarters as a result, and though the uneven walls mean nothing sits flush, there's plenty of room for more than the usual amount of furniture. The larger lobe of the lopsided kidney shape that the room has might be considered a studio room. A large bed is tucked into the roundest part of the alcove, though there's a gap behind where the straight headboard does not meet the wall. It's piled high with furs and pillows. In this curve there's also a wardrobe, a dresser, and nightstands. Hooks extending from the ceiling over the dresser have been rigged with two layered chain-link that holds a number of bottles of alcohol of different varieties. The highest drawer in the dresser which is bizarrely the largest locks with a key. Opposite it, closer to the door, is a hearth that's had a throw rug and loveseat set in front of it, along with a few low tables. A set of shelves and a small desk sit opposite the curve of the smaller end of the room. Around the curve and into the little lobe, one finds a great change. There's color everywhere instead of the muted things in the front half. Scarves and streamers hang from little hooks installed in the ceiling, their lengths varying, and a crib is set up in the middle with two small boxes that have toys poking out of their not-quite-shut lids. There's a tall table stocked with all the tools a mother needs (well, those that are safe to be at toddler height) and a small dresser and wardrobe. The furniture is all hand-me-downs but in decent enough condition to make the occupants comfortable.
"Hm," Tayte's brows furrow in thought, "You know, I never thought about it quite like that. Maybe it is too bad after all that none of the dragons that hatched the day I was on the sands were meant to match up with me." Then a smile, "Good that Tacuseth found you. I quite like you this way. Not leaving men and women heartbroken all over. Although, arguably... maybe you do that anyway." The door is pushed closed neatly, the room lit, but not overly so with no one at home. "I hear this is one of the newest developed caverns in the whole Weyr. The Craft Complex I mean. Something about a meteor. And I imagine having a daughter helped a lot. I've poked my head into another Journeyman's room or two, and some are quite small. Not that I'd've minded small," She's babbling now and seems to know it and thusly quiets herself, a self-conscious smile settling on her lips. "Any preference for a drink?" If she even wants one. Pretense isn't really necessary anymore now that the door is closed and they're wholly alone. Is it? Chuckling, "Would'ja want to be a rider in comparison to what ya do now?" Jo asks, though that next gets almost a shy smile before she tacks on, "Compliment after compliment. Yer right, though. It is a good thing Tac found me. Imagine all the trouble I could've gotten into if not." Yeah, right. She studies the room once more as Tayte explains it, though she's regarding the other more than the room now. "Yer babblin'," she'll be the ass to point out, smiling all the more as she turns to face her. "And I'll take anythin' good ya got." No pretense on her end, really. She's already unfastening down her jacket and shrugging out of it. She has to laugh about Tacuseth and trouble before she can speak, smile warm. "No. I'm happy enough. And those bits that aren't as happy as I'd like would hardly be solved by a dragon, dragonrider duties, and all that comes with it." Tayte answers without needing to think about it, the mark of a decision she's made before. "I wasn't broken up like some when I was left standing." She pulls her cloak off and moves to Jo's side, "Can I hang your jacket?" She offers, offering out a hand before murmuring, "You know, there are better, more polite ways of shutting up a pretty girl." Just in case she didn't know. "Life goes on," Jo states on being left standing, drawing the jacket to one arm to reveal her white tank top and the set of knives strapped to her belt. Her bared arms are crossed with various scars in different degrees of healed, some seeming to not have been healed properly. "Didn' honestly expect to Impress, myself. Just one of those things that's the luck of the draw." She holds out her jacket when Tayte asks, though she does remark to the last as she closes the distance, "Than pointin' out that yer babblin'? Like what?" she plays, lips drawn into an indulgent smile as she lifts her thumb to try and brush against the blonde's bottom lip. "Ya know I ain' proper," she point out then, too, meeting her gaze. "I ain' polite, either. I've got ways of shuttin' up a pretty girl, too." Brows lift and fall to that, her tone smooth. "No? Did you want to, though?" Tayte's curiosity prompts the question before she accepts the jacket. It's folded daintily across her arm with the other. Blue gaze surely takes in the scars, but there's no gasp, no outward show of more than passing interest. It's interest in the skin more than the marks borne there. As the blueriders thumb brushes across her lower lip, she can't seem to resist a playful flick with the tip of her tongue to catch just the edge of the finger, lip pulling into a wider smile under the touch. "Putting a pretty girl's lips to some better use than babbling doesn't make your impolite and improper list? Here I thought that kind of thing could be on both." Proper and improper. Polite and not. "Of course, our winter wear will get wrinkled," Not that Jo's jacket wrinkles or that it's strictly for use in winter. Then again, it doesn't sound like she's serious. Just more minor theatrics with the exaggeratedly mournful glance down toward the items over her arm. It's a simple question that gets Jo's silence, which might be odd, considering. Then, there's a light shrug that seems just a bit mechanical as she answers, "Seemed like a good idea at the time, since I needed to be at the Weyr'n all." Lips quirk up to Tayte's playful flick of tongue to her thumb, fingers trailing down her jaw, then her chin before drawing downwards to try snake that arm about her waist and pull her forward. "Ya have no idea what's on my impolite and improper list," she states with certainty. "And I want my nightcap, but, since yer more into findin' better uses for those lips of yers," She'll attempt to pull her forward, up against her own body before drawing her into a searing kiss. It looks for a moment like Tayte might ask a follow up question, but then Jo's paying attention to the tongue flick, and smiling and then things just tumble together in her focus until she's pressed up against Jo, lips locked with the bluerider's. The excitement and the nerves behind the kiss pair together to make 'more into' an understatement. She's enthusiastic, laughably so. In fact, her laughter interrupts the kiss, as she steps back from Jo, though not breaking free of the woman's arm, her face flushed and smile vibrant. "Maybe you'd better let me get you that nightcap now, because I'm not like to want to stop once we start..." For all that she makes the suggestion, she doesn't move yet. With her laughter interrupting and stepping back just a bit, "Temptress," Jo announces, only now letting her go to get that nightcap. With Tayte not seeming to be skittish, the bluerider seems easy enough now to take her time. She goes on to study the room once more, then the bed before she tries to give the blonde a playful push on her ass. "Got anythin' exotic?" she asks now, taking her time in pulling off her rider gloves by the finger. Just for that title, Tayte makes sure her hips swing just a little extra as she moves now to the wardrobe to first hang the winter wear, careful in her arrangement of them, as though they weren't going to be used for the next season at least. "Depends on how you define exotic. I've a lot of things with interesting flavors, some things that are of interesting years, and I think exotic probably depends on where you usually end up drinking. What's exotic to me always having been in the Bitra and Benden region until Ista and visiting scant few places after that might be very different to you who grew up on the other side of the continent until you somehow got yourself thrown into the mines and eventually came to the Weyr." There's curiosity there. Tayte moves to the opposite side of the room where bottles hang through crisscrossing chains from the ceiling. She fills in the rumored history as she goes, "And somewhere in there you learned to talk to tunnelsnakes and bit a canine." She adds, her expression feigned thoughtfulness, though she doesn't look over to the brunette. There's amusement in her tone, though. She reaches into a pocket then and pulls out a small ring of keys, sorting through them one at a time until she finds the right one and inserts it into the drawer lock on the dresser below the hanging bottles. Eyes on the blonde's swaying hips of course, Jo regards that answer in amused silence - not moving from her spot just yet. She does have an answer, her lips parting to deliver some sort of smartalec answer in return on exotic, until Tayte brings up all the rumors swirling about her in the Weyr. She watches the other closely now, her interest piqued as she doesn't interrupt her. Once keys are being revealed, "The canine bit is totally true," comes in a drawl, one corner of her mouth lifting in marked humor, "though, I do vaguely remember having a long conversation with a tunnelsnake while I was too wasted to stand. Tac seemed to think it amusing enough to pass that one around himself." She's joking, right? After a brief pause, though, she adds in, "Ya know some girls find me havin' been locked up to be a turn-on." The key is turned in the lock, and with an effort that requires both hands on the far-set handles, Tayte hauls the heavy, deep drawer open. It's not like a drawer in most girls' dressers. It's full of bottles. Yvalia is surely too young to heft such a drawer, not to mention being too short to reach it anyway as the two deep drawers on the dresser, the two lockable, deep ones on top while the bottom was a shallower one with no lock. Obviously, the reason for the lock is that this is where the good stuff is kept. There are bottles and bottles and bottles. "Well, I can't fault you for the tunnelsnake. At least that moves. I apparently once parlayed with a stuffed animal for rights to exit a bed when I was blitzed." Being wasted is something she knows too well her tone tells more than her words. Ocean eyes peruse the bottletops. She must know every bottle that's in there, for she doesn't start pulling them up to look at labels. "Are you looking more for flavor or fortitude in your nightcap?" She asks before twisting at the waist to look at the bluerider, "I find you to be a turn-on, Jo. Being locked up..." She falls silent only a moment, expression thoughtful, then her shoulders shrug, "It's just part of what's made you you. So I guess you could say it turns me on in a roundabout way. But you've said I can trust you, so I do." Her eyes are intent. The warning in them is not because Jo's lived through the mines, because she's a convict, but because of the betrayals Tayte's lived through. Trust has been given, but it can be lost is the warning. "So ask me if you decide to help yourself to one of my special stock, hm? Some of them are very sentimental." And exotic. And probably expensive. There's a teasing edge to her voice. Either she doesn't expect Jo would do such a thing, or she expects it's so inevitable, that this is simply pre-empting an unpleasant conversation down the road. Jo studies all the machinations she can see of the dresser, but it's the words she hears that's getting more of her attention - at least it seems. "Don' need the fortitude," she answers that in her usual cocky way, being boistered up even more by the obvious compliment that comes after it. Chuckling to it, "Ya shouldn' trust a convict, darlin'," she does notes, amused by it all as her gaze flicks off Tayte and back to casing the room. "Hasn' anyone told'ja that? We steal more than possessions." Well, that sounded pretty suggestive. "But I wouldn' worry about me takin' yer stock, Tayte," she goes on to add, her gaze back on the woman's back. "That's not what I got locked up for, though, back in the day I took if it meant I survived. Sometimes." "Flavor it is, then." Tayte's hand moves with certainty, third row in fourth bottle back. It gets withdrawn, showing a golden liquid within. Then she reaches for the handles and the drawer is shut and locked. She bends at the waist - maybe she would've chosen something more lady-like, but Jo might be watching, and she is wearing her fitted leather pants. The lowest drawer is open and from it is pulled two tumbler glasses. "If you'd like to take back what you said about trusting you... we can go back to that conversation. I'm not asking a convict, I'm asking you, Jo. Can I trust you?" She turns to face the bluerider full to ask. Then the glasses are taken with her over to the living area where there's a latched metal box on top of a wooden stand. Opening it, there's a metal bowl holding ice. Trust a mixologist vintner to always have what she needs on hand. She uses a pick to chip off some ice to put in the glasses. "Would you like to tell me what you got locked up for?" Something in the way Jo says her last prompts Tayte to ask the question in this way, her tone even, touched with interest, but still not pressing. "I said ya can trust me," Jo states in clarification, her tone wry. "I only add that normally, ya shouldn. Considerin'. But, I suppose ya could trust me. Had some trouble in that department? Folks ya ended up trustin' that turned on ya?" She meets her gaze head-on when she turns back, her own gaze quite steady. She then follows where the glasses go, shucking off the heavy boots along the way with deft leg movements that didn't require that much bending over. When Tayte asks, "Murder," comes the answer - succinct. It's matter-of-fact in the way it's delivered, her gaze transferring from the glasses to what she can see of Tayte's face to perhaps gauge her expression. Sometimes the order of things matters in life. If the 'murder' had come before the 'trust', perhaps Tayte would've had a different reaction. But the way that it happens, the reassurance and the following question receives a soft, "Mm," of confirmation with a nod. Yes, she's been burned. The 'm' word registers a little surprise in the once-bartender's face, a slight raising of the brows. She replaces the pick and closes the lid on the metal case, latching it. Then she turns to face the bluerider, "Is that how they name what they locked you up for or how you name it?" Her expression has recovered from the surprise and is neutral. She's gathering information. Jo continues to watch Tayte's face, her gaze betraying nothing as the other speaks. "How they named it," she answers, just a touch of humor coloring her tone. "Kinda hard not to when there's a dead man layin' at yer feet." She take a side step and starts to slowly approach, eyes flicking from her towards the dresser. "That one, I didn' do," she actually admits matter-of-factly, "but ya know guards. If yer in the wrong place at the wrong time....and well, that and the thief I was rollin' with tossed my name out there in his dyin' breath. Guess it's all poetic that way when the holdbred thief gets put away for a dumb move." Dark gaze turns to Tayte before she adds, "It's a lot more elaborate than that, but, why ruin a good mood'n bring up old, borin' memories?" Because clearly, a story like that would be boring. "Why the trust issues?" she asks now. "Was it cuz of yer daughter's...?" Father? Tayte's interest is evident in her face as Jo speaks, her expression simply thoughtful, but for once, not smiling. This is not a smiling topic. She nods, simply to the explanation provided. But then Jo's talking about ruining a good mood with old, boring memories, and then asking that question. The first had her smiling again, the second has her laughing, a light, merry sound. Apparently her mood is not ruined. "Because those memories are surely going to make us hornier than a couple of teenage crafters." She steps to Jo then, one cup in each hand, "I'll make you a deal. Some other night, we'll crack open the good stuff and have ourselves a long talk about all the old, boring memories that could ruin a good mood. But, tonight, let's try for that horny teenager thing." She leans to place a light kiss on Jo's cheek, "So, better question, what turns you on, Jo?" Then, if Jo wants her nightcap, she'll have to chase Tayte one more time across the room as the vintner bounces off toward the dresser again, setting the glasses down. She has to bend over again to get something to open the booze from that bottom drawer. Snorting at something said, her tone and demeanor still amused despite it all, "Some other night," she echoes, seeming to agree with the invitation since she turns to that light kiss and follows Tayte over to where the drinks are. Instead of answering on what turns her on, arms come up about the blonde's waist, right when she starts to bend down. "Forget the glasses," she murmurs in her ear if she can, trying to draw her back against her. Her smile suggestive and full of intent, "I'd rather show ya than answer that." Nodding towards the bottle, "And that can come with us. I like to mix drink with pleasure." She'll get her nightcap, still. Skittish makes it's first appearance in the form of a surprised half-yelp half-squeal as leather is touched to leather. Slippery, Tayte proves to be, taking a half step forward as she straightens and turns in one fluid, graceful motion to face the bluerider. Someone trained like Jo would recognize that this is someone trained to evade. She uses a foot to close the bottom drawer so she can step back against the dresser, a flush coloring not only her cheeks but the little bit of flesh that can be seen through the laced vee at her neck. "After I've done all this work?" She protests, alto suddenly nervous. So apparently, while it's all still games and suggestion, she's all bravery, but now faced with a genuine intention that skittishness she mention comes into play. "I-- it's-- It's been a long time." As she's already admitted on more than one occasion, but now it matters. The half-yelp and squeal, if sudden and loud enough, will have Jo losing her grip on the slippery woman, watching her intently as Tayte turns to face her. "Glasses are too civilized," Jo notes on the work, a brow lifting. "Or is this a ploy to get me too drunk?" Her tone's playful, but it's only a breath of a moment before she adds a touch more soberly, "We ain' gotta do anythin', Tayte." Both hands lift away from her body just a bit in a gesture of 'hands off'. "A long time perhaps is somethin' that shouldn' be rushed. Like I've said, I ain' exactly gentle, whether ya can trust me or not." Or patient, perhaps, judging by the previous move, but the bluerider seems content enough to leave the ball in her court since she uses one of the hands to gesture at her and add, "Glasses, then, if we must." It's a drawl, placating at the least. "But it's better with ice," Tayte protests more, but half-heartedly now. Once Jo's hands are up, Tayte turns back around to open the bottle. "If I'd wanted you drunk, I'd've gone for fortitude over flavor." It's easiest to answer this point first. Once it's opened though, she takes a deep breath, wraps her fingers around the neck before turning back to the brunette. "The trouble is, Jo," Her blush deepens as she speaks, "-is that I want you." It's a quiet but resolved confession. "I'm just worried I'm going to be total rubbish in the sack, or that I'll freak out or over think and not be able to get off or--" She stops herself from rambling this time by stepping to close the distance between them, her lips seeking the ungentle, possibly impatient pair of the bluerider's own. "Ya vintners are the ones with the finesse," Jo stands corrected, inclining her head towards the other on the point as she folds her arms across her chest. She falls silent for the rest, meeting her gaze and that blush on her confession until towards the end. Her lips part as if she was going to speak, but then there's Tayte's lips on his own and she unfolds her arms to reach one about her waist in order to pull her forward. The motion is smooth and unhurried, intending to pull the blonde snug up against her own wiry frame as she works to deepen that kiss. Perhaps it's to calm all those vocal thoughts and worries given from the woman, her lips demanding for more but not all that rough at the moment. To her credit, Tayte keeps a grip on the bottle neck as this time she willingly comes to touch the length of her curvier form to the more wiry athletic one of the bluerider. It's not much work on Jo's part to have Tayte's lips parting to allow more depth and more passion to the kiss. She can't seem to help a soft, throaty sound that might be a brief moan or a sigh or both at once. It's a sound that's helplessness and surrender rolled together. She gives into her want, but also her fear. There's a probably a moment as her breath catches where she's telling herself that she trusts Jo, but she doesn't stop. Her hands lift, the one occupied with the bottle not able to do anything but come to rest wrapped fingers against Jo's upper arm. Her free hand finds its way to Jo's face, index and middle finger V-ing around her ear while palm spreads across joining of chin and neck, not trying to temper the kiss, but instead pulling gently as though she might be able to get her nearer. That lips are still on lips, that draws Jo's own to curve into a smile. She doesn't break it, a breathy sigh escaping to that moan and the sense of Tayte's surrender being all the indications that she needs. When that breath catches, she gentles the kiss at just that moment, letting her explore with her free hand while she takes the time to hold onto her with her own at the hips. It's only then, once her other hand finds purchase at the small of Tayte's back that she breaks the kiss, sending her one of her lopsided grins as she lifts a hand up to draw Tayte's hand into hers. "Just relax, darlin'," is all she says, taking a deliberate step back and releasing her hold on her waist to try and pull her backwards towards the bed. "Don' let go of that bottle." It's almost naughty the way she says it. Blue eyes blink up at Jo once their lips have parted, Tayte looking nervous and excited. She's a little breathless, really. When Jo collects her hand from where it lingered against Jo's face, her slender fingers grip gently. It might be a mix of gratitude for the words and encouragement for what comes next. Her small, shy smile blossoms a little as she steps after Jo. Who knows how successful the blonde will be at relaxing or if she and Jo will get all they want from one another this night. One thing is for sure, Tayte's not about to abuse the alcohol by dropping or spilling it anywhere it can't be licked up from. |
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