Logs:Third Time's the Charm?
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| RL Date: 10 May, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Rh'mis, Rosvelth, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rosvelth and Teisyth do it again. Literally. |
| Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 10, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. Teisyth's third flight. |
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| If Teisyth's flights were consistent, maybe Rhey could avoid them completely. But tonight's had been late in the evening. So late that Teisyth had had to rouse G'laer from his bed when it was time. As such, the rider only managed pants, flight jacket and unlaced boots before leaving the ledge and trudging to the Guest Weyr. If there was consistency in Teisyth's flights it was in her manner of being beforehand, and his. He was always too cheerful and she, suddenly abashed and hard to find. Seeing as how Lythronath and Rosvelth are two of the dragons she spoke most consistently with, maybe they marked her sudden absence from the daily chatter. Could it be that Rosvelth knew what was coming? Maybe it was just lucky happenstance that he was there at all to rise in a flight that proved to be as merry a chase as ever she flew, made all the more fun in her estimation by the stars playing witness! Tonight as she's leaning against Rosvelth's sturdy mass, she wants to know about them - the stars. What are they really? Did they watch as they flew together? And just what is a 'voyeur' anyway? The word must have been plucked out of her distracted rider's mind. This time, G'laer isn't taking his time to recover; this time he grabbed what he needed by way of preparation on the way out of his weyr, so at least he isn't as sore as he rolls off the bed and onto his feet. One hand wipes away sweat from his brow and pushes back through his short locks before a glance is spared for Rh'mis. This time, Rhey has been drinking. No doubt he'd already started before Teisyth decided it was time; even so, he certainly continued afterwards, all the way through the flight, only abandoning his bottle after Rosvelth's well-executed catch. It now lies in pieces upon the floor, amidst a (small) pool of dark liquid; Rhey, curled into a ball atop the rumpled covers, looks rather the worse for wear given the rest of that liquid. As G'laer moves, the brownrider's head lifts, blinking owlishly; he seems to be struggling to process things. Not so for Rosvelth - Rosvelth who certainly knew what was coming, and may even have encouraged his rider towards that bottle of brown liquor in the first place. He's in his element, now, illustrating his explanation of the stars with brilliant and delight. « The stars were our voyeur, » he tells her, delightedly. « Of course they watched us. They knew that we were making perfection. » The greenrider must have had a plan for if this happened. It is, after all, an unavoidably vulnerable few moments, and who likes getting stabbed? The plan must not have accounted for alcohol. G'laer surely must have noticed before now, but now things aren't clouded by happenings aloft. Now it's sinking in. He looks back at the lump of blinking brownrider that probably can't help looking small to him and offers, "I wouldn't try a knife fight after drinking ." One finger points out a long scar on his side, "It doesn't tend to go well." « Hot dang! I ain't never made anything perfect before! » But then Teisyth doesn't remember that they've performed this dance before. More than once, even. « I'm glad they was voyeuring us, 'cuz I might not ever do another thing perfect just like this ever. » The green's eyes are perusing the sky. « Which one do you think is the biggest perv? » Yet another word plucked from G'laer, likely meant to answer her earlier question; chances are good that she doesn't really know what a perv is either. There's a slur in Rhey's voice when he answers, as he struggles to pull himself up and out of that post-coital, post-drunken haze. "Never said I'd do it here and now," he insists, not meeting the greenrider's gaze. "I know my strengths." And his weaknesses, too, allegedly. "You'll never see me coming." « The stars will remember, » Rosvelth promises. « They will carry our perfection on and on through the ages - this one, perfect night. » As for which is the biggest perv... that is a more difficult question, one he pauses to consider. Teisyth is pleased that the stars will remember, even though she won't. She might press the question, but there's something more pressing from her rider. « G'laer wants to know if Rh'mis is gonna be alright without him? With the drinkin' an' all, or if he oughter stay an' make sure he doesn't like... choke. » She's not certain what exactly he would choke on. Maybe drinking alcohol is a bit like chewing firestone. She can imagine Rh'mis with a pile of ash at his feet, and does, cartoonishly. "You really don't need to do it at all." G'laer answers candidly as he moves toward where his pants got discarded. "I'm not after you. Not interested in you. If you really want to try to stab me, that's your time and effort to waste. If you ask me," Which is didn't, "You might as well spend it on someone you give a damn about stabbing." Whoever that might be. "You miss the point." Rhey doesn't slur, this time. "I do give a damn about stabbing you." It's hard to look dignified when you're naked, and when you're as small and shrimpy as he is, but he does his best. "So fuck off." Rosvelth considers Teisyth's question, displaying obvious amusement for the ash. « Silly, » he says, though it's full of affection. « He'll be fine. Better, if yours leaves. Rhey's... well, he's Rhey. » His Rhey; their Rh'mis. « Best to leave him alone to poach in his own juices a while. » « Okay! » This answer makes Teisyth happy because it makes G'laer happy. And, of course, it means no ash, which is always happy so far as she's concerned, but then she did struggle so with flaming. "Aw, Rhey," Yes, G'laer did just say 'aw', he even made it sound like he found something adorable. "I didn't know you cared." Which is probably not the best way to de-escalate matters as he finishes with the laces on his pants. One advantage to not having arrived in much in the way of clothes is it makes for a quick exit. He's not fleeing, of course; the stop to shove his feet into his boots is unhurried. Snagging up his jacket is all that there's left before the greenrider is offering, "'Til next time, prick," by way of affectionate parting. It's only after that Teisyth, who hasn't shown any sign of departing herself, shares her thought, « It'd be so much nicer if'n they could just like each other for a couple of hours. » "Fuck you," is Rhey's answer to all of that, albeit one delivered to the stone wall beside the bed and not to the greenrider. Not even a little. He does not like it in a weyr; he does not like it anywh-- pretend that rhymes, okay. « Wouldn't it? Silly. Silly, silly, silly. » But Rosvelth is nonetheless fond. That's just the way it goes, with his rider. Who can argue with that? |
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