Logs:Turnday Traditions
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| RL Date: 12 August, 2015 |
| Who: H'vier, Yesia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Nobody knows it's Yesia's birthday, but she still wants presents. From H'vier in particular. |
| Where: Spinner's Haunt Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 6, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Lilah/Mentions, Tayte/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| It's the weyrlings week for shadowing Icicle, and they've been at acrobatics most of the afternoon with the smaller dragons of the wing, and the smaller weyrlings too. Aeaeth may not qualify for it entirely, large for a green as she is, but she is still nimble and agile in the air, and the adrenaline of loop-de-loops and barrel rolls prefaces her approach to Reisoth's ledge -- though she's polite enough to hover and ask her permissions. « Reisoth. Yesia wonders if your rider is available? » Ribbons - so many, blue, yellow, orange green, pink, unfurl and reach, and her voice becomes an almost whisper, such as minds are. « She says it is a special day. » Reisoth isn't welcoming, exactly, but he doesn't turn the green away. « He isn't otherwise indisposed, » is what he allows as he studies Aeaeth with an aloof curiosity, more like a scientist of a specimen than a sire of his progeny. « How is the day special? » Whether it's his question or his rider's is irrelevant. « Oh, good, » chirps the green pleasantly, oblivious to his demeanor. She dips a wing and drops down, to skirt her way on the ledge without really answering the second question immediately. When she's down, Yesia's quick to follow, removing her helmet and ruffling a hand through her hair but hesitating, just a moment. The impression of conversation behind hand and then, « It is her turnday. She says it is not feeling very special, but for some reason, she seems to think yours will make her day better. » There is a note of teenage girl criticism in there that can't be missed; she's dubious. « I'm not certain that I follow her logic. But I have no doubt mine will attempt to make her feel... special. » The way Reisoth says it is almost distasteful, but it could come off as simply uncertain. Fortunately H'vier emerges from the inner weyr before the bronze can say anything undeniably offensive. "Yesia." He still looks surprised by the visit, but he's been made well enough aware of it by his lifemate that he offers easily, "I'm told I ought to bid you a pleasant turnday." He doesn't sound entirely sure of that, but the casually dressed bronzerider gestures to the inner weyr anyway. "Care to come inside?" « Neither do I, » the green says airily, a shadow of her normally exuberant self as H'vier shows face. « It is always odd, what makes her happy. But so long as she is. » And so it is the green rustles her wings and settles, taking in the view of the bowl from this particular ledge while Yesia musters a smile for the bronzerider and his greeting. "Thanks. I was just - it's not a big deal," she says, though there's something to her tone that says otherwise. "I just was looking for bearable company. If you're not busy." She's speaking the caveat even as she accepts the invitation in. "Reisoth said we weren't interrupting." H'vier allows Yesia to go in ahead of him. He glances back at the green on the ledge before following her rider. Reisoth watches Aeaeth but doesn't seem particularly inclined to attempt conversation with her. The inside of H'vier's weyr is comfortable, but undeniably masculine. There's very little evidence of feminine touches anywhere save for the basket of toys tucked away under a table beside the sofa. The hearth is across from the sofa, a low table and a soft rug in between, and his bed is pressed against the wall on the opposite side of the cavern from the hearth with his wardrobe and press. It might mean something that his cabinet of alcohol is practically within arm's reach of the couch, but it's not a very spacious weyr. "I'm not busy. But I don't know if I often count as bearable company." It's smug more than self-deprecating. He probably enjoys being unbearable. "What did you have in mind?" "You're more bearable than most people," Yesia assures mildly, taking in his space in stages: sight, scent, sound. All of it. It's so very different from her own. The toys get an eyebrow, but no immediate comment. Eventually, most of her nervousness dissolves and she perches herself on the arm of the couch, not quite making herself at home. Her shrug is short, almost petulant. "Just your company. Maybe we could talk. You have drinks and - it could be fun." She stresses the word, then adds, "This is my second turnday here, you know. Last turn I got Searched, and that was the best present ever. This one, not really." "Are you sure you don't want to go to the beach again?" H'vier wonders with some amusement as he sets out two glasses to pour two drinks without asking her what she wants. Trust it to be strong and effective, but still smooth enough to go down without choking on it. He hands her one as he moves around to sit down nearby on the couch proper. "Make yourself comfortable," he adds, slouching down casually to do just as he suggests. "No. I mean, yes. We went to the Istan hatching. We don't have to go back now. Do you?" Yesia takes the drink, takes a sniff, takes a sip, finds it satisfactory and rests it on her thigh while she watches him move. "What do you do on your turnday?" she wants to know, even as she wiggles down to sit on the couch properly, with one leg curled underneath her. She's careful not to spill her drink and still taking in the room with curious eyes, like they might alight on some secret. "Not now, no. Not if you'd rather not." It's her turnday. H'vier is apparently willing enough to oblige the young woman on an occasion she thinks is special. "I used to go out, depending. When I was with Tayte, we'd go somewhere like a gather or something. Otherwise, it was to find some sort of company. Or to get drunk. Now it's mostly staying in and getting drunk. They aren't especially important to me, to be honest." As though he expects her to protest their importance, he adds, "I've had a few of them now." Yesia grins at him. "Maybe later. Istan sunsets are better than Reaches ones." His explanation has her squinting at him, then into her glass. "Tayte?" the question is simple, curious, and surprisingly lacking in jealously. And for the rest, there's a silence, even after he explains why they're not important. "That's really sad, H'vier." Because she calls it like she sees it. "It's your day to feel special or loved or...whatever." Which maybe explains a little more about her and this random appearance than what his life might be like. "Tayte was my-- she's the mother of two of my children. She's engaged to another man now. I don't get to see them very often." The children, presumably, not the woman and her fianc?. H'vier dismisses the sadness with a shrug. "Lilah doesn't seem to think they're very important, either, so I'm hoping we can stay in and enjoy each others' company on my next." This will obviously make Yesia feel that much more special and loved. "You look like her a bit, you know." Even better! "Oh." That, of course, is much sadder, calling for a drink from the glass that is a lot longer than she usually goes for. Other women. Gross. "I didn't know you had -- well, I guess you must. Is that why the...?" She casts around, her eyes lighting on the basket of toys with a smile and a quick point towards them. For his plans, though, the smile falters very slightly. She's gotten so much better at hiding her emotions since that first time, and the smile that settles is dimmer, her finger moving around the rim of her glass. "Should she care? Are you dating her?" This is a very important question, because there are rules, but then, "Like Lilah? I don't know. I think people say that about anyone who has red hair." That he must makes H'vier grin at the weyrling. "That's for them, yeah." As for Lilah, the bronzerider considers it for a handful of moments, taking a drink, then says, "I suppose so. She doesn't want me to fuck anyone else. And I don't want her to fuck anyone else." And that's what dating is, right? "That doesn't mean we can't have fun, though. Unless that's all you were wanting. I can probably find someone for you, if that's the case." Granted, the look H'vier has for a moment there is a pretty good indication that he'd very much like to give her all the fun she could possibly want. "Help yourself to the booze if you want more," is added as he deliberately looks toward the hearth, away from her. "I thought you didn't date people," Yesia doesn't-quite-ask, but it's pointed enough to be inquiry anyways, her finger still tracing the mostly-full glass. Her gaze remains on the basket, and very pointed when she purses her lips and adds, "Anymore. You must really like her." More, obviously, than our weyrling ingenue. "It sure sounds like you're dating, yeah. That's pretty much the rules as Telavi told them to me." Her gaze turns incredulous for his suggestion, all of his suggestions, starting with the fun and ending with the booze, all of it met with a shrug. "It's not all. I thought it might be some of it though. What are we going to do? Play with their toys?" It sounds much worse than she means it; promise. "I didn't think I did," H'vier admits. "She just kind of... happened to me." He's still looking at the hearth, but the bronzerider is smiling fondly to himself. It's totally disgusting. Fortunately he takes a drink and it fades away when he turns his gaze back on the younger redhead. "You drive a hard bargain. Maybe being alone with you isn't such a great idea. I kind of want you in my lap." Lilah is such a lucky woman. "That's love," Yesia says matter-of-factly. "Every book says so. One minute, you're just thinking they're attractive, then, bam," SNAP!, "you're head over heels in love. It's the romantic equation." She, for one, doesn't think anything about it is disgusting, and one of her hands has come up to squish her cheek up in delight at the prospect of true love, even for someone like H'vier. Only then he ruins it, and she ruins it right back. "I can't," she says, shaking those curls. "Not if you're dating her and maybe in love. That would be bad. I can go." She's punctuating with long pulls from her glass, in an attempt to put back the rest of her alcohol, as is only proper. "Every book says so, does it?" H'vier is amused by this idea, but he won't deny the possibility of love. He's familiar with the concept, after all, so he probably recognizes it for what it is. "No," he says, reaching out to touch a hand to the greenrider, if not actually force her to stay. "You don't have to go." But she can if she really wants to. Presumably. "What do you usually do for your turnday?" "Every book I've read," the greenrider clarifies, saying more about her poor taste in literature than the notion of love. Yesia's incredulous when he stops her, especially because she's finally finished the smooth liquor. "Usually? Before I got here, we always made a day of it. My dad would take the day off work to spend the day with us. And my my mother cooks a big supper for us, sometimes she makes a cake, and she always makes me jewelry. They do it together, my dad gets the stones and she sets them." Her smile is wry when she turns it on him. "It's no big thing. We didn't have a lot, and two turns ago my brother dropped the cake." "So why didn't you go visit them today? I'm sure someone would've taken you. I would've taken you." That's especially easy to say now that he doesn't really have to. "You're next turnday, you'll be able to take yourself. But it's nice to make your own traditions for them, too. Like staying in. Or going to a gather. Or buying yourself something nice. Or getting a blowjob from a beautiful woman." The last makes H'vier pause, then wave a hand dismissively. "You know what I mean. Make it your own." "Because," Yesia says, simply. "Because I don't think it'll be the same. They'd feel terrible if I showed up and they didn't have the food, or the cake or anything. And...it would be harder to have to leave after." A puff of breath as she leans forward to put her glass down, curling her legs close to her body and facing him, with her back on the arm of the couch. "Maybe. You could have been my tradition," she says, flicking a hand in a mimic of his own dismissal. "I'll just buy a dress next year, then." She smiles at him slyly, glancing around at the ledge. "I'll really go. I better start looking for someone new, now. That way your girlfriend doesn't have any reason to be mad with you. Or me. Maybe I'll find someone better." "I suppose, ideally, you would've planned it beforehand," teases the bronzerider, but he doesn't press further. H'vier would more than likely rather she be where she is, which is right here with him. He sits up and looks genuinely disappointed about her wanting to go, but this time he doesn't try to keep her there forcibly. "What about a turnday kiss, at least? If I'd been prepared, I could have had something nicer ready for you." Alas, all he has right now are lips. And other things she shouldn't touch. Yesia shrugs dismissively. "Everything is drills and shadowing. It's easy to lose track of what day it is. There's always next turn. Or next seven." Her smile is a quick flash as she stands, setting the glass on the table. She meets his offer with a chirp of laughter, and when the points are tallied later never let it be said she didn't try to leave things alone. A girl can only be so strong though, and who turns down the consolation prize? "One kiss," she holds up a single finger. "Because it's my turnday, and I deserve something for coming all the way here." It's his suggestion, but she'll be the aggressor since she's already up, leaning over him and bracing her hand just behind him as she leans down to take her present. H'vier sets his glass down on the table behind the couch as though it's second nature, a motion he's done on numerous occasions in the past. "One kiss." He grins at her acceptance, but once she's leaning down to take her present, he's reaching up to catch her at the hip to try pulling her properly into his lap so he can give it to her. The kiss, that is. It's better with physical contact, after all. Nobody's ever accused Yesia of having a lick of sense. If she had sense she'd break away and leave as intended, not make that little laugh in the back of her throat as he pulls her forward. She certainly wouldn't let the arm that was bracing her relax, or orient herself just so she fits against him. The resistance is minimal, enough to keep her mostly standing, deepening the kiss for several breaths before she sighs, "You're terrible," and melts down at the insistence of his hand. "And you're gorgeous." That's what they're doing, right? Stating the obvious? H'vier doesn't seem at all ashamed of being terrible, but it's harder for him to think about anything other than whatever weight ends up in his lap as she relaxes. "And you can't tell me that you don't like it." He might not believe her if she tried, admittedly. Yesia doesn't deny it, and the way she wraps her arms around his shoulders would invalidate it anyways. "It is my day to get what I want," she says after a minute, dipping her head to bite at his neck while she appears to think it over. The willpower of teenagers is finite and easily drained. There is one - well, two, as she squirms in his lap just so - item of concern: "You won't run off and tell on me to her, will you?" Like some other bronzerider. There's a deep, rumbling chuckle from the bronzerider at her first comment, but nothing about him seems to think that isn't the case. This is definitely her day to get what she wants. "Only if you promise you won't do the same." She's probably not the one who'd get into the most amount of trouble, after all. It's ultimately H'vier's balls on the line. "Probably shouldn't tell anyone else, either." This is a great plan. "Deal," Yesia says. The greatest plan. They are masterminds. With the tricky stuff out of the way, the turnday girl's decree is, "Less talking. More kissing," and she moves again to claim his mouth ardently, her other hand already working towards buttons and snaps. It's better with more contact. |
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