Logs:Types
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| RL Date: 22 December, 2015 |
| Who: A'sran, Olivya |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Olivya drags A'sran out of the Weyr to make his love confession to Daviola, and boy is she in for a surprise. |
| Where: Blushing Boudoir, Benden Area |
| When: Day 10, Month 8, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| Fat gray clouds hang low over Benden, bringing with them rain, booming thunder, and lightning that zigzags up and down the sky. Nestled in the green fields and hills that surround the Hold is the squat, white-washed building of The Blushing Budoir. It may be raining.. it may be nasty outside, but that only means there is more reason to go within and snuggle up with one of the beautiful girls that work at the Budoir. It did not take much provocation from Olivya to get the erstwhile bronzerider to lead the way to the infamous brothel, and late in the evening, when they arrive, A'sran pauses beside his bronze, boots squelching in the mud. "We can always go back?" he suggests, pulling off his goggles and helmet to ruffle his red-blonde hair; Leczuth opens a protective wing to shield his rider from the worst of the storm. Up at the Budoir, a makeshift canopy has been made nearby the entrance, where the muscle lounges, eyeing the newcomers and watching for the riffraff. Perhaps it helps that Olivya's wearing a dress rather than any of her riding gear this evening, a black, inky thing that clings to every curve of her body with the skirts cut to make dragonriding easier but in a way that reveals long legs when she walks. It likely helps that she wouldn't take no for an answer, even if he wanted to, insistent on going anywhere that isn't Fort this evening. Her blonde curls are soaked by the time Ivraeth makes her landing beside Leczuth, the hood of her equally dark cloak pushed back at some point during their flight. And the Weyrlingmaster doesn't bother to fix it, not as she instead quickly, gracefully dismounts and starts towards the building with all the confidence of a woman who doesn't need to look back to make sure A'sran will follow. Thunderstorms, dominant women, and prostitutes.. the night is bound to end well for A'sran! He does not appear to mind in the least when she takes the lead, but he has to do twice the work with his long legs to catchup before she gets to the door. His respectful nod is for the doorman, who grunts at him -- in acceptance more than like. "Good man," the bronzerider says in a chipper voice, before he shoulders through the door and into the opulence that is The Blushing Budoir. Glows covered in gauzy fabric provide the only illuminated, though at best it is dull; it lends a certain something to the atmosphere, as much as the overpowering smell of floral perfume that fills the main room does. Exposed wood beams and a hearth made of stones give off home-y charms, but let us not forget where we are. Women, in all shapes, colors, and sizes flounce through the rooms that make up the brothel, giggling behind fans and jiggling their bosoms at their spellbound guests. Olivya's already sweeping off her dark cloak in a practiced movement, her soft blue gaze dragging appreciatively over one of the women who moves past her to attend to another guest. But she doesn't call for her or anyone else's attention, instead turning to A'sran with a slow smile and a warm, "Darling, get me a drink? Then you will have to point out your Daviola?" Her cloak is hung on the hooks made available, fingers lifting to twist back wet hair. It deserves a mention that the furniture in the room is feminine, at odds with the rustic quality of the interior, sporting pink sofas and plush rugs; lace doilies drape several chairs. "I am at your service, ma'am," A'sran says, boyish grin in evidence, and then saunters off towards where he can find the refreshments. A hue and a cry from one of the rooms reveals a card game in progress, with men of varying rank and ages sitting around a table draped with a fine cloth. Women crowd around, watching and inserting appropriate ohhs and ahhs. Olivya's lips linger in an appreciative smile, her fingers brushing against A'sran's arm even as he moves off to find them drinks. With him on such a mission, she is content to stride through the crowd, all confidence and swaying hips, though she doesn't seem to have any destination in particular in mind. So, it is the card game that she draws towards, studying the players more than the people around them. Luckily, she will be easy for the bronzerider to find in this feminine room with her dark clothing, even without her knot of rank. When A'sran returns, one glass of wine -- it is Benden, ok -- in one hand and a second in the other, he is trailed by a wizened looking old woman with a pale face and sharp eyes; she the usual look of an older woman from gray hair to buttoned-up collar. "This one?" she snaps at the bronzerider, giving the greenrider a rushed once over. "Too skinny!" the woman gruffs, reaching a hand to lift one part of Olivya's black skirt. "Olivya," he interrupts, voice quivering with suppressed laughter, "this.. is madam Daviola." In response, the lady in question squints one eye up at the blonde's face, assessing her like livestock. "Bah!" One brow flies upwards as the woman lifts her skirt, but rather than be offended-- the greenrider seems ready to laugh as well, getting over the shock and surprise quickly as she defends, "Skinny, but it's all muscle. I don't tire quickly." Her gaze slides past the woman to A'sran at his introduction, lingering there in a Look for the bronzerider before she meets Daviola's gaze again quickly as she's studied. (What, maybe she wants a good grade.) "Daviola, a pleasure. I'd imagined you differently. A'sran led me to believe--." Well. Another gruff sound follows as the gray-haired matron tries to disengage, but the blonde's words have her turning her keen gaze on A'sran. "Him? Nothin' but trouble," she spits, swatting a hand towards the bronzerider in an attempt to slap whatever part of his body she can reach; she is a bit short, given givens. He steps out of her reach fairly easily and laughs. "Showin' up here and not payin' a thing, gettin' everyone all riled," through a glare and a pointed finger. "Harmless," is A'sran's defense, with a mock bow, and then he grabs Olivya's arm and tries to steer her away. "Disappointed?" he whispers, when they get a distance from the old woman. Accepting her glass of wine and letting A'sran steer her away, Olivya exhales a laugh. But then she's brushing closer against him, leaning to murmur back in a challenging counter, "Curious." She sweeps a look past Daviola, towards the other women working there, before her attention returns to the bronzerider. The bronzerider's blue eyes follow her gaze, but quickly return to the woman at his side. "Curious?" A'sran lifts his glass and takes a careful sip. "I am not suspicious naturally and I am not overly cautious, but I would not share a true love confession with someone I just met. No matter how," his smile widens, "beautiful she is. It would be disrespectful." It is obvious that someone hasn't given A'sran enough credit, since surprise shifts in Olivya's gaze, but her lips curve into a soft smile of her own before she lifts her glass for a slow sip, obscuring it. After, she answers, "One day, then, A'sran. One day, I will find out." A pause. "But at least let me buy your evening with one of the girls. Since I dragged you here for no reason, it seems." Again, she shifts to examine the girls, but this time with a more keen eye as if determining who might be worth her companion. Warmth infuses his voice when A'sran leans to the side to counter, "I look forward to the day, but tonight.." He glances around the room in a cursory scan. "What do you suggest? The tall one with the red hair," while he gestures to the corseted, long-legged creature by the card table, "or the one, over there," of the busy blonde sitting on one of the settees, wearing only pearls and a pair of gaudy panties, while she fans herself luxuriantly. "I am eager to hear what you think my type is," since it seems not to be.. gray and old. "No," Olivya dismisses easily of them both, her fingers brushing over the bronzerider's arm in a gesture as she thinks, watching those women move around. It isn't a quick pick, but finally she nods a subtle thing towards a woman talking with an older man. A petite woman with dark hair, dark eyes perfectly framed with kohl, and fine-featured, and she appears to really be listening to her companion, but that may be an act. And that she seems every inch the opposite of Olivya physically? Well--. "There. Someone who will listen." The wine is either really good, or.. A'sran is distracted when he lifts his head, blue eyes flicking to the fine-featured woman Olivya indicates. He makes a considering sound in his throat, but remains where he stands, next to the greenrider. "Listen? Do you think I need it that badly?" he asks, querulous gaze falling back to the blonde as his side. "Mmm," is a soft affirmative noise, but Olivya's smile (more of a smirk, really) has caught in the corner of her lips as she lifts her gaze to A'sran under the soft veil of lashes. "And it helps that she's paid to do whatever you want." She doesn't bother to ask if she's right or not, not as she takes another sip of her wine and studies him now. Olivya might want him to stare at the dark-haired woman, who is obviously quite a beauty, but A'sran stares down into her face instead. "Your feelings are hurt," he says, holding his arm wide with his wineglass held up and out of the way. "I should apologize. You mistake my humor for.." His eyes wander to the woman-who-listens, briefly. The timing is off; perhaps Olivya is just attempting to assure A'sran that her feelings aren't or perhaps it is that he's looking at the other woman now, but the greenrider wraps her free hand against the back of his neck, pulling him down for one long, deep kiss. This is a brothel, surely no one will mind such a public display. Only after being thorough does she pull back only enough to murmur, "I don't think I was wrong about your type, was I?" Those particular attentions are not unwanted, but A'sran is certainly surprised when she plants one on him and his response is delayed. One hand curves around the back of her waist when he warms to the action, pulling her closer, and he seems loath to break the kiss despite.. being in the middle of a brothel. Who is watching, eh!? "You make a lot of assumptions, weyrlingmaster," he says, using the formal address without any of the formality in his voice. "Is that a no?" teases Olivya, her thumb tracing a soft line against his neck as she melds into that closeness, fitting herself against him with a hint of a smile. "I will find out one way or another, in any case. As soon as you choose." "No?" Distracted, remember? A'sran moves his head up and down like a bobble head, and takes a fortifying drink from his wine glass. "You make the assumption that I have not already," is his retort, as he returns his much amused gaze to Olivya's face. A laugh escapes, only on her words as Olivya agrees, "You're right. I am horrible about making assumptions." Her fingers curl into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, dragging him down yet again for a quick kiss to taste the wine on his lips before she adds in a murmur, "Daviola will be happy you're finally buying. But you're going to tell me later exactly how you get them riled." "Daviola.." A'sran starts by murmuring against her mouth, but he withdraws further to laugh outright an crane his blonde head to spot the old crone hanging around the gambling table, sassing her girls. "I think she looks down on women who come into her parlor and steal her potential clients," he says, trying hard to keep a straight face. "Can you imagine it?" And back, back, back, he starts walking them, towards the door, unless she protests and even then. Olivya will protest, but not before she drains her wine glass and sets it onto a table as they pass it, never one to waste a drink. Only with that done does she hook a finger against A'sran's belt, as if to stop him from walking further. "And here I thought I was bringing her a potential client," she replies, her brow curving upwards. Her gaze sweeps back to Daviola as well, and her girls and that one in particular, before she lifts those blue eyes to meet his. "There's nothing wrong in taking me up on my offer, you know, A'sran." A'sran must approve of the drain-the-wineglass situation, because he follows suit and barely gets his glass on the table before she tugs at his belt. "Hm?" Now, his eyes rove back to the brunette, but only because she pointed it out. "I like who I chose, but.." but, "what kind of gentleman denies a lady's pleasure?" He cocks an eyebrow at her, lips parted in another one of his grins. "If you were really concerned with my pleasure, you'd tell me who," counters Olivya, though she can't help the soft play of a smile at the corners of her mouth as he grins at her. That might be why she tugs at his belt again, to draw him close. "We can still go back to Fort, but--." She wants to know, dammit. Slowly, back and forth, that blonde-crowned head does sway. "You drive me mad," A'sran laughs, taking one step and leaning into the greenrider. "There is no one. No one, but you do not leave me the slightest bit of mystery. I am bereft," and so he will take a kiss to fill the void, yes. A laugh is lost in the kiss that A'sran claims, with Olivya responding so quickly by deepening it into a kiss not at all appropriate for a public setting, especially as her fingers brush from his belt against his crotch lightly. And when she pulls away, teasingly further to reach for her cloak, she promises him, "You will learn to live with it, darling. Though, I suspect there is enough mystery that I haven't found yet." "Faranth, save me" A'sran swears under his breath, and though it is hard to look away from Olivya, he pulls his eyes away from her long enough to gauge the situation inside the Boudoir. "We should hurry before they notice, or.." He does not bother finishing that statement, but moves to the door to hold it open for the greenrider. "After you, ma'am," carries both laughter and promise, his blue eyes settling with yearning on her. Olivya is rather shameless about their behavior; they are certainly not going to look forward to having her back again. Wrapped into her cloak and back out into the storm, it doesn't seem to do much to dampen her mood either even before they return to Fort. And once there, well, she has a new weyr to be broken in. |
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