Difference between revisions of "Logs:Distracted"

Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.

Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.

The bowl floor is thick with fog brought in during the early morning, soupy cloud looking as though it intends to stay. It manages to mask Hraedhyth's bulk, reclining on her ledge as she is wont to do these days-- a glowing, amber beacon. Below the queen's ledge, a tall silhouette bounds through the fog and well within the dragon's protective gaze. Azaylia twirls in the cloud, laughter so bright one might be momentarily convinced that it's the middle of summer. It isn't, which makes her sundress unusual attire, even with the dark leggings shielding her limbs. "I'm going to get you!" A hop, skip, and more laughter. Seems as though she's finally snapped under the pressure of being a weyrwoman.

Errands done for the day, H'vier is making his way in the general direction of the caverns from further out in the bowl where Reisoth is absently stirring up the fog with slow motions of his expansive wings. The dragon, for all his rider's interest in the looming leadership flight, doesn't seem to have any obvious interest in the glowing gold. H'vier, however, comes close enough to see the weyrwoman through the fog. Doing whatever it is she's doing. The bronzerider, still decked out in his flying gear and after a brief pause, approaches. "Aren't you looking lovely today, weyrwoman," comes his deep, carrying voice in greeting. He probably looks less lovely with that bruise across his nose.

Azaylia doesn't notice H'vier as he approaches. With another leap, it's revealed that the goldrider's leggings stop to reveal bare feet. Yes, definitely crazy. When he's closer, the bronzerider might notice the sleek shadows disappearing, reappearing, diving into the near opaque fog at her feet. The goldrider spins around at the sound of his voice, smile still wide as she greets him. "Bronzerider." He started it, with the titles. "Thank you." There's impatient chittering from both green and brown firelizard: they were playing a game! "Hush." Pushing some of her loose hair out of her face with a hand, her question is more of a tease, "Is your nose better?" There's still some genuine concern in there, somewhere. Reisoth's lack of interest certainly has Hraedhyth interested, and he might feel her half-lidded gaze on him. Judging.

H'vier certainly doesn't seem to mind being called a bronzerider. That's what he is. And he's proud, maybe a little too proud sometimes, of it. He has a friendly smile on his face when he draws to a stop nearby, ignoring the firelizards' chittering about his interruption. "Still broken. It will heal. Should you be out here like this? Wouldn't you be more comfortable inside?" No doubt he would, but he doesn't point that out. With the gold's gaze on him, Reisoth turns his briefly on her, a quick, calculating sort of look to go with the stark, cool touch of his mind before he's launching himself skyward without a proper word.

With their playmate thoroughly distracted, the two firelizards disappear for good. "It's too warm inside." Azaylia explains with a faint huff, as if she has yet to escape that stifling heat. "Sometimes it burns nice, but now..." She explains, lips curling just a bit more. Hraedhyth sizzles with displeasure, redhot influence reaching out to the bronze with a shove that's more physical than mental. Shove. Why are you flying so funny? Shove shove. It's nothing that will endanger the bronze, and yes, she is that petty right now. The weyrwoman turns her gaze upwards, Reisoth's exit already covered by fog. "That's strange... I guess you two really aren't here to chase?" A playful glance toward H'vier.

Too warm. That actually makes H'vier laugh. A genuine laugh that has him smiling just past his current level of comfort. The wince that follows is less obvious as he turns his attention toward Hraedhyth on her ledge. "I suppose that may be the case," in regards to the heat. "Perhaps you'd rather take everything off, hmm? I don't know that anyone would complain. I certainly wouldn't." For all that he's probably telling the truth, the tone of his voice is teasing and indulgent. "But I think I'd rather do that inside, too." His gaze turns to follow the bronze for a moment and he explains, "He doesn't tend to get very excited until there's blood." Hopefully the blooding sort. Reisoth hisses through the shove of the gold's presence and his response is a scalpel-sharp chill against her heat. He doesn't like being pushed around, evidently.

Hraedhyth doesn't appreciate being ignored but they can't all get what they want, now can they? Oh wait, she can. Drums angrily pound in the bronze's head, matching the footfalls of nightmarish ranks which snarl and gnash frothing fangs at him. Azaylia is no doubt very aware of her lifemate's displeasure, used to the hot-potato between fury and sensuality. "Oh." She has other things to worry about, like H'vier's poor nose. It's not so funny when he actually winces, bare feet bringing her close enough to inspect it closer. "Poor thing." As for stripping the rest of the way, "That actually sounds kind of nice. Sunbathing," What sun?! "On the ledge with Hraedhyth."

Reisoth's flying falters enough now that H'vier glances in his dragon's direction. But the bronze rights himself enough to swing around and aim himself at the gold's ledge. He seems to have every intention of landing somewhere along there or in front of the ledges on the floor of the bowl where the riders are speaking. H'vier's attention is already back on Azaylia with her moving closer. He watches her not unlike a hungry feline stalking prey. "I bet the stone would be cool and soothing." So what if he'd let her strip in the cold? Whatever he might have meant to speak with her about seems to have been pushed to the back of his mind in the face of her behavior.

Azaylia lifts a hand to delicately touch a finger to the very tip of H'vier's nose, stroking it some. There, there. "She says it is." The young woman speaks in a murmur, given how close they are. "I'd have to wait for Bones to leave, though." There's a giggle, as if an audience might not be so bad. Hraedhyth doesn't move from where she's spread out, brown and umber hide replaced by darkly molten gold. Once the bronze lands, there is a severe silence. Drums, snarls, it all falls away to reveal a black soot snub. Hmph. How does he like being ignored? The queen has all three lids closed, not moving an inch and acting as if none of that has happened.

H'vier doesn't move away from the nose-stroking though there's a tension as she does it like he's waiting for her to do something to deliberately hurt him. The fact that he seems as though he'd let her probably means something that no one needs to consider right now. "I can make him leave, if you like. It's not right for a man like him to be there anyway." Ever, judging by the tone of his voice. Once Reisoth has landed, he doesn't actually seem to care that Hraedhyth is ignoring him. In fact, he might prefer it that way. It lets him study her glowing form in a way he might not otherwise be able to at such proximity.

There's also tension in Azaylia's figure, certainly, but none of it seems malicious. Her hand lowers to rest on his riding leather, intrigued by them or the whole of the bronzerider. "I thought you wanted your nose to heal?" More of that teasing concern, head tilted up look past H'vier's nose. "A man like what? Loud?" She offers with a laugh, using her grip on his jacket to pull herself up against him. Much like Reisoth, she's taking the opportunity to inspect her potential mate up close. Hraedhyth lifts her head while keeping it turned away from the bronze, wings spread wide as she stretches one muscled limb after the next. When she's done with the shameless display does she settles back down onto her belly, jaw meeting the ledge's cool stone.

"Violent," returns H'vier fluidly and with a very slight arch of one brow. Remember his nose? "Crude. Dirty," he continues as his gaze drops down to her hand on his jacket. His thoughts drift when she presses against him, though. Reisoth may not seem very affected by the proddy gold but H'vier is very aware of Azaylia's attentions and proximity. "You should have someone respectable and dependable close to you, darling." Like him, obviously. Imagine that. Reisoth seems perfectly content so stay on the ledge even if neither of them end up paying much attention to each other. Appearances can be deceiving, after all. And the appearance of favor even if there's none there seems to be something he is interested in.

That sunny laugh returns, something slightly more grown than a giggle at H'vier's answer. She isn't laughing at him, "Bones is a big, silly puppy. He probably feels bad about what happened." Whether or not that's the truth, she believes it is. "He is that." She'll give him 'crude' and 'dirty', even if each word is matched with a forward motion that has her nearly crushed against his chest. Her arms reach up to circle the bronzerider's neck, "I don't know if you're dependable. Or even respectable." He's still so new. Her next breath carries a tremble, "I can't wait to find out." Whispered words are followed by what has to be a nip at the tip of his nose. Athletic limbs are put to use, pushing off of his broad chest, bare feet smacking the cold ground as the goldrider gleefully flees. He's welcome to come chase, but in that fog who knows when (or where) he'll find her next?

Whatever else H'vier might have to say about the other man is forgotten in favor of focusing on Azaylia being right there. Or being distracted, rather. It's very distracting to have her so close, willingly, with arms around around his neck. He even puts a hand against her waist but there's no attempt to keep her close when she pushes away from him. Instead he swallows, sighs out a careful breath and watches as she disappears into the fog. He needs a few moments here, though he spends at least on of them shooting a glare in Reisoth's direction.