Difference between revisions of "Logs:Stranger"

The night is clear, gibbous Belior waning as though crescent Timor were stealing it, Vhaeryth settled from earlier's evening excursion. N'rov's slipped into the deepest shadows just inside the entrance, too, all the better to lurk for awaited passersby.

Clear enough to catch Iesaryth high above, if someone's looking for her; clear enough for her to try to catch a glimpse of the shadowed clutch as she angles down into the bowl. Aishani's not long after her dragon passes over, dressed for warmth in that jacket with that collar, but risking the cold for short skirt and high boots, higher stockings. She can only be so quiet in approaching, the better for lurking bronzeriders to surprise her. And probably (hopefully) not get punched. Who else would it be?

N'rov's had enough experience with the ways of the wild Aishani that he doesn't just grab her, but rather hisses to get her attention. "You. Over here, stranger. You with the short skirt. I seen you walkin' around."

That sound gets her attention, narrow-eyed though it is -- though those dark eyes brighten once she can make him out in the darkness. It's a slow approach, Aishani's, but she does get close to N'rov, close enough to touch the toes of her boots to his without touching any of the rest of him. "Is that a problem?"

One sandal, oddly more like what she might normally wear, lifts so he can hook his ankle about hers. Of course, that doesn't help his balance any, but apparently N'rov's the trusting sort. "I think it is, ma'am. I think you look plenty suspicious, a pretty thing like you around a place like here."

Maybe it's a chilly booted ankle for a sandaled one, but at least she doesn't leave him off-balance for long, letting that little lure draw her in. Wide-eyed, as she pulls off her hat to put in her pocket, jacket front pressing up against his shirt, Aishani echoes, "Suspicious? Maybe I got lost." She tilts a look up at him that seems definitely less-than-lost. "How can I convince you."

"Well, ma'am," N'rov says, still with that broad accent, but the moonlight catches at a grin that widens as she moves closer. "You might tell me where exactly you're intending to go. I can check it against my records. Thing is, ma'am, if you were really lost out there, you'd be cold, and you don't look cold to me." Time to reach for her upper arms, only there it's to rub them up and down for friction, in case she really has been cold out there from flying and the hatching cavern hasn't yet warmed her up.

If she wasn't cold, would she lean in the way she does as he tries to warm her? Maybe, as Aishani's leaned close enough for her breath to tickle his ear, her grin in return heard more than felt as she murmurs, "It might be a secret. Not in your records. Then you'd just have to trust me." She catches one of his hands in hers, guiding it between them to one of the clasps on her jacket; she's definitely grinning now, but it doesn't stop her tone from lowering pleasantly, nor stop her from saying it: "You can search me." Because of course he can.

"Then you'd better come with me, ma'am," N'rov instructs his stranger, his free hand pulling her even deeper into the shadows. "We have rules about this sort of thing. One of the rules is that you have to keep whispering like that, see." He doesn't fake having any difficulty with that familiar clasp, and in fact he's quick to move to the next.

Aishani doesn't even try to resist, but she might try to look contrite for the moment she pulls back to look at him, for all it doesn't reach her eyes at all. "I'd like to pretend that's a trial," she whispers as told, after a faint graze of teeth against his earlobe. "But it's not a bad rule. What else?" Since he can be trusted to take care of the jacket on his own, hands run up his chest, one into what hair he has left. Stupid hatching cavern.

Stupid hatching cavern. N'rov mutters, once he's survived her whisper, "Now I throw you over my shoulder," even if that sounds even less like a guard than before, and even if he does still have those platform sandals on. "Iesaryth?" Vhaeryth will survive, but only if the bronze doesn't leave.

"She's outside. Just outside." In case walking so far would be an issue, but she's not arguing with being thrown over his shoulder either. Aishani can't help but press a kiss just below his ear before starting to peel away from N'rov, breath notably quicker.

The bronzerider laughs at that kiss, reels her back in just long enough to give her a kiss back, and forgoes the shoulder-throwing this time. Vhaeryth may rumble, but the faster they go, the faster they're outta there.