Logs:Tucker...ed
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| RL Date: 18 July, 2015 |
| Who: Alida |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: The feeling is mutual between rider and dragon. |
| Where: Alida's Rest and Relaxation Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 3, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Cool, showers. |
| Mentions: F'manis/Mentions |
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| Neither of them - most especially Alida - could keep this up for much longer. Her plate was now, officially, too full. Ilicaeth was incapable of more than mental monosyllabic grunts by the time both he and his rider were done with the thousand and one necessary things they needed to do during their day (and enough of the evening, as well). The blue had precious little energy left to get himself away from the Pens (and a quick snack found therein), into the Bowl, and finally up to their own ledge... his frame feeling every ounce of his ponderous weight in trembling wings, then along the plod to his padded couch. Once his broad body met careworn fabrics and his head kissed stone, he was out like a snuffed glow. Alida wasn't much behind her lifemate, the circles beneath her eyes standing out like bruises against very fair skin. After abandoning her dragon's straps at the entrance to her own quarters, the blonde literally forced herself to list further inside in order to dump all her equipment and clothing into a heap in the center of the room...for once uncaring of neatness or caution. Her hair still damp, but at least combed out, the woman groaned aloud as she barely remembered to check the guttering little fire in her hearth, her urgent need for sleep very apparent to anyone...if they had been awake to hear it. The addition of few chunks of coal and a small log (and some damned poking) prodded the flames back into life enough to keep the place passably warm for most of the night. Unable to do anything more, or care one more whit about reality, the woman staggered over to the nook holding her bed, shoved a protesting Pyrite farther up towards the head of it...and crashed nearly face-first into the inviting softness of down and linens. Before the bottomless gulf of sleep sucked her down, a quick series of random thoughts from their long day invaded Alida's brain, fighting for dominance in their whirling mish-mash: F'manis' dark visage calling out orders during Taiga's firestone drills; her every-other-sevenday 3 hour long lesson with the Journeyman at Harper; her hour-long stint with the Dragonhealers that sevenday; the pair of hours needed to deal with the whole profitable (but more often irritating) spiced rum business venture; the 'quickie' with her lover she'd allowed herself while down at Broad Leaves; and finally the oddity of Ilicaeth spitting out a huge mouthful of water - *and* a flopping fish - at some arrogant, fancy-pants brown dragon who'd been showing off to a proddy green down at Monaco. It was that last, gratuitously humorous image that found her mouth in a ghost of a grin before all of her relaxed into a sleep so sound that even dreams couldn't find her. |
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