Difference between revisions of "Logs:Post-Apocalypse Promise"

View To A Kill Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

It's a step up from the ledge and its heavy curtain into the elegant, dark-flecked weyr. In the depths of the cavern, a short spiral staircase rises even further, ending abruptly in an alcove that extends over the dragon couch; bright, colorful scarves adorn its iron railing like so much festive fringe. To one side beyond the balcony, past the hooks that keep straps and stray gear contained above a small press for shoes, three more curved steps rise high enough to double as additional seating before they reach the archway to the inner weyr.

Past a faded tapestry, the crescent-shaped room is furnished with more ironwork and heavy wood that comprise a large hearth and an equally impressive sleigh bed, the latter with a colorful coverlet atop of all its furs. Standing at the foot of the bed, a huge, intricately carved armoire faces outward and creates a sort of alcove. Though there's certainly room for more furniture beyond the comfortable, curvilinear couches that sit before the hearth, even the traditional table and side chairs are missing in favor of space.

Despite the dark elegance of most of the furnishings, the bones of the weyr are quirky, charming like the ledge-cluster outside: each room slightly smaller than average, their heights staggered, growing stuffy in the summer while in winter remaining cozy and warm no matter how cold it gets outside.

It's midnight, more or less, and no walls have yet been kicked. The pillows that had been thrown in a fit of frustration at the back of the armoire, just as soon as she and Solith had gotten back to their weyr, those have been picked up and tidied regimentally. Really, just about the whole place has been thoroughly aired and cleaned, not limited to the changing and blankets-fluffing from while she was waiting for that dragon of his to lose. She'd set out the nice liquor, too-- even though he'd always been fine with the less-nice sort-- and a pair of glasses on the low table, and then a bowl of dried fruit, jerky and nuts after thinking he'd be hungry, covering it with a plate so the firelizards wouldn't get at it... or, if they did, she'd know. She'd hummed to herself and Solith while she prepared. No, she hadn't liked the interruption one little bit, but she knew that neither had he, and that helped. It would be over soon, and she just couldn't wait.

Except then it wasn't over, or rather, it was and that dragon of his had won and then she had the pillows to pick up again. But she's a weyrgirl, weyrbred, a greenrider; she knows these things happen. They have, after all, happened to her before. But really, couldn't that green have waited? And then she had another pillow to pick up.

And she was hungry again too-- peckish, really-- but she'd already cancelled with the friends they'd planned to go flying with, and she'd feel bad going out with someone else and she didn't feel like going down to the caverns and wah wah wah, she mocked herself before anyone else could. So she asked one of her other clutchmates to come by with food, and they ate and Telavi cleaned with a vengeance this time, and then she kicked her friend out. Her friend was snickering, too.

Because, yes, she'd asked Solith to pay attention but not to consult that dragon of his under any circumstances whatsoever, and yes, Solith had said that there was movement.

But then she realized he wasn't coming... again.

She didn't throw any more pillows. She didn't look at the glasses sitting side by side, and she certainly didn't touch them. She methodically bound up her hair and changed into one of her nightgowns, one of those she'd designed to actually wear and not just be fun to take off, and then she took a light blanket and asked Solith to sleep in her couch instead of on the ledge so she could sleep with her too.

She hoped he was all right. She'd been hoping that all night, here and there, when her 'don't think about it' mantra failed her. If she let herself, she'd hope other things too, which was all the more reason not to let herself. She...

She touched Solith's soft hide, very gently, and shut her eyes.

Well, K'zin wasn't coming just then. Firstly, because he hadn't bathed. He knew how Telavi felt about cleanliness on a normal day and even with dull bronzer senses, he figured after sleeping with some other woman, a bath was a must. If he saw Leova slipping out of the bathing cavern instead of getting clean when she saw him, he wasn't going to worry about it now. Leova wasn't something he could bring himself to think about. Except that he was thinking about her. How could he not? The sex had been... and she was old enough to be his mother! He dunked himself, letting his focus become scrubbing the soapsand out of his hair.

He debated if it was wise to return to her so soon after, except he'd promised. And waiting wasn't going to make things better. He was ready to go up to the ledge, only, « It seems only fair that you clean me as well. »

That made sense, and yet... « It's your own fault that you need cleaning. I ought to let you chafe. » The request annoyed K'zin. Now that the flight lust was passed, he could feel properly vexed with the bronze, and did.

« But, my dear K'zin, I've wounds. » Rasavyth's tone was one K'zin could identify as his manipulatively reproachful one; only, it was true that ichor was leaking from shallow-talon scratches and what kind of rider would he be if he let his dragon suffer? That was the true line between them, Rasavyth knew. K'zin was good and dutiful; he'd not let his lifemate suffer, where as Ras? If it served his purpose for his lifemate to experience short term pain for a long term gain? Let him suffer.

Rasavyth met him at the lake and after he was cleaned, they alighted to their ledge for the dragon to be oiled. Tonight was a grand night, so he even opted for the specially scented one. Once K'zin was done, then he was permitted to change into a fresh outfit and Rasavyth reached for Solith's mind. His touch was barely more than a tickle before he related his concern to K'zin, « She's sleeping. It would be rude to disturb them, my dear K'zin. »

Part of K'zin bought it; the rest knew better. Was Solith really sleeping? With the hour so late, it was certainly possible. But he'd promised. So he insisted and it showed the improvement that Rasavyth didn't protest beyond a resigned sigh as they departed their ledge.

Landing is quiet, but his mind is still broadcasting, quietly, what a very fine and relaxed mood he's in. K'zin's slipping off the bronze's neck, not having bothered with straps for the short flight is equally soft and he pads inside.

Solith stirs, sensitive to arrivals in her space, and in the near-darkness her eyes unlid fully with a largely peaceful glow that's largely blue. 'Relaxed' fits in with the mood she'd like to maintain. She might do well to let Telavi sleep, but Solith knows better; instead of a yawn she exhales a whuffling snort. "...Hm?" Drowsily. Telavi yawns.

Rasavyth doesn't offer any verbal agreement, nor does he plan to linger on the ledge, taking wing once K'zin has dismounted. The man moves past the couch, nodding to Solith, but apparently not noticing the blanket-curled Tela as he heads for the inner weyr, and the bed, where, in theory, the greenrider should be, right?

Maybe she's an invisible greenrider. Imagine what Telavi could do with the power of invisibility! The bed is not only made but tidy, the rumpling from his tossing her on the covers erased as though it had never been; the first couch is vacant, and so is the second. In the outer weyr, Telavi yawns again, twisting to stare at Solith. "It is not time for-- What?"

Not in the bed. That makes K'zin's spirits sink. Maybe after Ras won, Tela decided to console some other schmuck. Maybe she'd decided that they shouldn't get back not-together. Maybe-- there were too many maybes for him to consider as he moved to look at the empty couches and head back for the ledge. The bronze's wings hadn't taken him so far, so circling back would have him arriving on the ledge again soon.

That's when Telavi arrives after all, a ghost in that plain pale nightgown, her hair plaited too finely and firmly to have gotten mussed but also not welcomingly loose. The archway frames her as she looks at him, and then back behind her, and then back at him again. "...K'zin?" Like it could be someone else, scoping out her weyr, or maybe like she'd never expected to see him again.

"Tela," there's a mixture of relief and nerves when K'zin breathes her name on his exhale. His eyes are on her, and his feet, too, are frozen. "I-" He starts a moment later, brow starting to furrow. What does one say in a situation like this?

"You came back!" If one is Tela, anyway, just-woken-up Tela, who's found her feet and flinging herself towards him... and not the awake Telavi who'd have been more doubtful of her welcome, or simply more restrained, or with more pride.

That'll work! It saves K'zin from having to come up with the right words to get back into his good graces. So once he's reasonably sure that Telavi isn't moving toward him with intent to maim, he moves to meet her, wrapping her up in his arms. "I promised," comes the murmur in her ear.

She can't quite wrap herself back around him, not with that tea-length gown, but she runs her hands across his shoulders as though to check that he's intact at least that far. "It felt like forever," Tela admits no more loudly, but with a kind of laughter in her voice. The fretting, it can seem so silly now.

"Sorry," K'zin apologizes aloud for the first time. "I wanted to get clean and then he wanted to get clean, which-- there's a lot of him, so it took a while," And surely Tela can smell the woody-scented oil on K'zin as close as she is. His arms keep squeezing her tight. "I wasn't sure you'd want me to come back, after..." He trails off awkwardly.

She's nodding, Telavi is, and just presses closer. "It happens," she says. "It's going to happen again," she predicts. At least, if neither of them runs. "I wasn't sure you'd want to come back--" and even now she's not asking, not even a lift in her voice, just a stop. It could have been just his promise.

"What?" K'zin pulls his head back and gives her a look. "Of course, I wanted to come back. I didn't want to go in the first place." He bemoans as one hand moves to slide lightly down one of her braids, grasped gently between thumb and index finger.

"Yes-- well, sometimes--" but if dragons change people's minds sometimes, or what dragons do, or even people just on their own... that just isn't a path Telavi plans to go down right now. "Good." She tilts her head, brushes her cheek against his fingers, follows it with a just-as-gentle kiss in that very same place.

That's all the invitation K'zin needs. She barely has time to place her kiss before her lips are otherwise occupied. His arms flex, and if she feels crushed against him? Well, that won't last long because they're getting a do-over. Sort of. His intention, anyway, is to sweep her up and return the bed to it's previously disheveled state.

No argument from Telavi, even if she had so carefully placed those pillows, over and over and over again. No argument, no awkward questions-- for now-- no discussions of any future under the sun. But there is a whole lot of kissing. Solith... well, it's hard to tell with dragons when they roll their eyes.

It's a rookie mistake; but then, K'zin is a complete amateur when it comes to winning flights. The lesson here is never ever ever ever ever try to make love to your not-girlfriend in the hours following dragon-sponsored doing of the dirty. If there had been a night in between, or better yet, days, the differences wouldn't be so obvious. It's not that K'zin can't perform, as was once the case, but the sex that was supposed to be the best he ever had just doesn't live up, leaving him confused and therefore distant when all is said and done. He doesn't lay in languid satisfaction, instead he's restless and shifts into a seated position on the edge of the bed.

'Distant' is never ever ever (ever) good in Telavi-land, at least when it's not her. She yawns in leisurely fashion, like she just might be all ready to go back to sleep, only-- that difference registers. She turns onto her side, facing K'zin... but all he's given her to see is his back. Waiting, she lets a few more moments of silence pass, her breath not quite caught: postponing the question.

Awkward moment is awkward. What's a man to do? It's not like tonight this was supposed to be casual enough for him to just get up and walk away. And yet... There goes K'zin, standing up, reaching for his pants and starting to pull them on. Must the question be asked?

No. No, no, no. Not again. Now it's not a question of postponing so much as, perhaps, not trusting herself to speak. She sits up, but only to scoot far enough that the headboard has her back. She pulls her knees up to herself, pulls the covers over that, and now holds it all in her arms. He can't, surely, think she's asleep.

His back is to her, initially, as he does up the laces on his pants and then bends to fish on the dark floor for his shirt. Once he's done that, K'zin walks around the foot of the bed's sleigh, and there might be the tiniest of moments where greenriders given to imagining the worst might think he's simply about to walk out with nary another word. Only he keeps rounding the bed until he's on her side and settles himself on it's edge, next to her. His eyes study her face in the dark. It's not terribly enlightening of an experience so a moment later his hands are searching for it, to settle lightly along either side of her jaw, meaning to draw her face to his for a kiss. Granted, a kiss that is not near so passionate as they first began.

So serious. Just at first, she's literally stiff-necked, but then he might feel her soften: not only the way she lets herself lean to him, but the way her muscles begin to relax beneath his hands. She shares his breath in that kiss, and then her lips start to shape a different word before, instead, they become his name. It's a different sort of question.

As he pulls back, there's a soft sigh he probably doesn't realize escapes him. It's a troubled sound, not one of an amorous nature. "It's..." K'zin starts and then trails off, trying to find the right words. A moment later, "It's been a really long day. I want to sleep in my own bed." Something in his tone begs for no more question, just for understanding.

Her exhale is softer yet. "In peace," Telavi says on her next breath, as though she supposes that tonight, whatever she is, she's not that for him. "That--" would take too long. Instead, she tries to give him what he's asked for. "Good night, K'zin. I hope you rest well."

He doesn't go immediately. One hand moves to touch one of her braids lightly, trailing down it's messed length. He leans in, using the hand still along her jaw as his guide in the dark and presses another kiss to her lips. When he pulls back moments later, K'zin's baritone is hushed. "I love you, Tela." And then up he gets and heads for the ledge. His boots are snagged in a smooth bend and reach as he walks, but his socks? Abandoned. There's Tela's prize for the night. That, and well, the words K'zin's never said to a lover before.

Socks. She has socks! Not that Tela knows that yet, and her hands are still cupped over her mouth enough that she can't have expected that at all-- no matter that he'd told her once before, still-- and it's just as well that he's fast because then, well. Then she doesn't have to figure out what to say or-- or anything. As it is, pulling the covers over her head seems like the grown-up thing to do, as though that could quiet all the buzz. She can find those socks, and darn the one that needs it-- literally-- in the morning.