Logs:Solith Flew Again
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| RL Date: 31 March, 2015 |
| Who: A'rist, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lythronath caught Solith. There is unexplained awkwardness after. |
| Where: Ground Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 5, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| It's done: Lythronath has repaid the marks on his haunches with his marks own, and A'rist likewise has made and received his. The dragon rests, after a frustratedly managing to gain access to Solith's ledge, happy to have the green alongside him, his prize and warm company for the time being. A'rist does not rest, not so deeply; he's sat up against the wall of the ground weyr, knees up, forearms resting on them with hands hanging free, naked, but seemingly not minding, letting the humid air cool his skin, catching his breath, and above all, watching Telavi intently and silently. Silent, now. She's lounged between him and the fire, drowsing, the light golden on her closed eyelids and her silhouette showing the curves of shoulder and waist and hip; one of those marks is more prosaic, the outline of a lain-on button. Solith is comfortable, sprawled partway atop the bronze even if it's a lot like draping oneself along a hill. Solith has proper bedding, not the remains of clothes. Solith is... contentedly awake, her own eyelids mostly shut... but awake. The longer he sits, the more he wants to move. A'rist's core muscles tense, no quite bringing his whole self off the wall, but some of his weight. Then, they relax. This repeats at least once more, perhaps twice, if the grenrider remains quiet and he's given long enough. He carries on watching, inspecting her, a mathematical sort of gaze rather than one of hazy passion, or even proud triumph. He waits. After a while-- some time after the first repetition, a little while before the second might have been-- she stirs: a slow stretch, utterly unselfconscious and utterly within herself, one arm arcing above her head. Luckily for Telavi, firelight doesn't tickle, not even her armpit. A'rist freezes when she stretches like that, holds his breath, waits. After a moment, breathing resumes. He stretches his toes up, then down, then reaches them forward, calves remembering themselves and easing from the bracing they've done. It will be another few beats before he finally asks, "Staying here?", though his voice only really catches and hangs on at the second syllable of the sentence. Words. That stretch continues, gradually rolling into a twist that has her face coming back up the other side, his side, her now up on an elbow but otherwise quite pleasantly prone. Tela considers him: him in his lankiness. Lythronath-ness, that was. "Yes," she says, with as much certainty as though this were her weyr. Tonight, it might as well be. Lythronian. While the most Lythronian one of all has fallen asleep, belly rising slowly, falling steadily, back and forth. Winner. A'rist's nod shows his cataloguing of her response. He looks about the room, next. Plays 'spot the clothing scraps' for a breath. Looks back to Telavi, the marks around her neck, artistic, otherwise. "Should I..." The next glance is upward, as if he might see his sleeping lifemate through the roof. Considering. She looks at him look; she considers him, her eyes ambiguously green-blue or blue-green. The redwort penned on her skin days ago might as well be lace, around her neck and around one toe. "There's no 'should.'" A'rist brings a hand up to scratch right around the middle of his chest, and extends one leg, prodding at the bed with his foot once it's fully stretched out. "Is if you want me gone." Another glance around the little ground weyr, mapping his preparation, his escape. "Mm." Telavi doesn't get around to the -hmm, continuing to contemplate him. She drifts into a slow, single blink, and then a little while later she curves back onto her side once more. A little while later yet, her toes reach for the furs, to draw them up from wherever they'd gone. A'rist waits, but only so long as it takes her to toe at those furs. It must be getting cold; he's up, padding about the room, assembling what clothes are still serviceable. He won't make it back to his weyr this evening, with Lythronath down for the count. But he won't spend what's left of his night in the ground weyr, either. She will, and stay warm between the furs and the fire once her toes have found what they're looking for and her hand draws them up. One half-unlidded eye observes him for a time... finally drifting closed well before he's found what he's sought. He could wander off in her skirt and she still wouldn't see. |
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