Difference between revisions of "Logs:Dimples For (Almost) Everyone"

Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr

The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.

Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

The Snowasis may be fluctuating more wildly in terms of relative calmness and relative excitement in the wake of Taikrin's announcement, it's in one of those calmer times that Telavi's forgone her usual haunts to find a stool before the bar and a glass of white wine to go with it. She's also foregone her knot, her riding leathers, and even her cap, two fine braids at her temples all that keeps the gilt-touched flow of her hair from being truly loose. Her bright turquoise top speaks more of summertime, too, its hem just overlapping her short coral skirt, and yet she doesn't seem cold. And there's something about the gleam of her eyes that suggests that relative excitement is bound to come around any moment now.

By the time K'del makes it up to the bar, he's already shucked off his jacket and hung it up; by now, he's busy running fingers through wind-rumpled curls, and looking both contemplative and... confused? Or is that just even deeper thought, that so knits his brows and purses his mouth? It's mere happenstance that has him drawing up alongside Telavi's stool, signalling the barmaid for his usual beer-- it speaks to his general distraction that he's not, immediately, conscious of anyone else around him, not even the pretty girl on his right.

Of course Tela's got to at least glance at whoever's walked up by her seat, if at first out of the corner of her eye in case it's someone she'd rather ignore. This stranger evidently warrants a moment's further contemplation, and any issues with the state of his hair must be outweighed by other factors, or perhaps she likes the casual look because after another glance, she goes so far as to tuck her hair on that side behind her ear. "Excuse me." That's her space he's taking up, arguably, but really it's an excuse when said with such a smile.

K'del's head turns at the sound of Telavi's voice, and the hand still mussing his curls drops abruptly, long, lean fingers moving to drape upon the smooth wood of the bar. "Sorry," he says, the cadence of his words speaking to a Tillekian background. "I'm in your way, aren't I? Need me to move?" He smiles, though, letting his mouth curve out of that earlier seriousness and in to something warmer. "Didn't even notice you there."

Tela's glance tracks the movement partway, maybe reflex, maybe checking for a rider's ring or just liking to look at hands, and it may not necessarily be K'del's politeness that raises her smiling gaze back to his, but it can't hurt. "Not yet, no." It's lightly said, her own accent from significantly eastward and at the moment untouched by anything local. "But it's a good thing I wasn't dancing atop the bar, isn't it? Else I'd have to have been offended. Also," and here her smile deepens, "possibly thrown out, as it looks as though they take good care of the wood."

He's wearing one of those silver rings, the ones all High Reachian Impressed riders receive: it looks a little old and battered, and so part of his finger that he doesn't even notice he's wearing it, now. They're rider-rough, those hands, chapped by wind and weather and-- maybe more than that. "If you'd been dancing on top of the bar," says K'del, his smile brightening further, "I can safely promise that you would've been noticed. Though-- you're right. Anvori might have a heart-attack or something." He takes a step backwards, sliding his height onto the adjacent barstool.

All those who make it far enough between, maybe, for Tela's fingers are bare, though she does have a trio of carved wooden bangles. They don't clatter on the bar when she picks up her drink again, only falling back along her wrist with a series of soft sounds as she raises it to toast. "In that case, let's toast to no heart attacks. At least... when you get your drink?" this last with a hint of sudden apology. "'Anvori.'" She looks away from K'del, if only to to reassess who's manning the pours today.

Maybe it's Telavi's glance that hurries the barmaid back with K'del's drink in tow. She gives the bronzerider a dimpled smile, and a bob that's almost, maybe, possibly respectful... though it could just be flirty. Having returned the smile, and issued an easy thanks, K'del wraps his fingers about the mug, and turns his attention back on Telavi. "Sounds like a good toast to me," he confirms, lifting the mug aloft. "To no heart attacks. For us or Anvori, preferably. And to afternoon drinks, too, because shells, do I need one."

At the barmaid's reaction, Telavi hides a smile behind the glass from which she sips. Her very transparent glass. Still, how convenient to be able to reach out and tip it to K'del's mug, and drink, and then to say with sympathy, "That bad? I hope it's just the weather." Her tone makes it so very close to a question, without quite making it there. She even enacts a shiver to go with it, if not to the dramatic heights a bar-dancer might achieve.

K'del's low laugh is self-conscious and edging towards bemused, rather as though he doesn't expect to have been asked - as though he expects the badness (or otherwise) to be well known. It sets him to studying Telavi's expression, though at least his mouth does get hidden by the solidity of his mug. "Could be worse. We could be flying 'fall' in the driving rain." There's no missing his disdain. "Or snow. No, things are just complicated. Same as always, though, really. What's your name?"

Her mobile brows highlight an initial expression of now-quizzical interest, though lightly so. But under K'del's study she easily smiles, like she's a girl that's used to being looked at and quite likes it. Even that edges to a bemusement of her own as he continues, enough that Tela's leaning slightly forward. "I suppose. But isn't it supposed to freeze in snow? The real thing, I mean?" By her tone it's a surmise, she doesn't expect to know with the same expertise he might, and isn't fussed by it. At least the rest she can say with humorous confidence, "Tela. Yours?"

"The real thing, yes. I don't imagine Taikrin would take that into account if we had a sudden, early autumn snowfall, though." K'del's not making any attempt to hide his antipathy for that particular brownrider, and nor does he conceal his reaction to being asked for his name. It might be dismay; it might be surprise. It's certainly not comfortable, and leaves him silent for several moments long before he says, edging towards awkward, "K'del. Nice to meet you, Tela."

And increasingly, for those several moments, Tela's beginning to show discomfort: beginning with the antipathy, just maybe, but progressing rapidly thereafter into uncertainty. She sits up, just enough that she's sitting straight though not yet beginning to slide away, and a little while later wraps her fingers back around the glass she'd set down not long before. When he finally identifies himself, "Oh." Yes, she's blushing, and she steals a quick sip and a quicker glance back at him before lifting her shoulders in a shrug: what can she do? Clear her throat, apparently, a ladylike half-cough. "That wasn't awkward at all, was it. I can't imagine... that that happens too often." Still she can't help but look, surprise and curiosity and, no doubt, comparing this man to all the tales. What she doesn't do is ask the bartender for anything like proof.

An apology is written all over K'del's face; he grimaces. "Sorry," he says, after a moment. "No. Not so much. Maybe more these days, I guess." His blue eyes linger on Telavi, watching her reaction, and at least, now, he's beginning to seem more amused, even if he's quick to cover his mouth with his mug, and take another sit. Afterwards, as he sets the mug back upon the bar, he adds, "Do I measure up to legend? Does it even count as legend? Whatever. It's fine-- actually, it's kind of refreshing. Maybe I should have told you another name, and just been anonymous for a while: just another rider."

Even that trace of amusement leads to something like exasperation on Telavi's part, if mostly self-inflicted, but by now it has to give way to laughter. "Yes. No. I don't know." She sips her wine, crossing her legs at the knee.in a way that's roughly parallel to the tilt of her head. "Do you like being K'del, right now? I was about to ask if you'd rather stay 'Cute Stranger,' but maybe that's a little forward. The benefit to not having given me another name is, of course, that I don't have to be affronted when I find out."

"Being K'del is... improving, slowly. It had some rough patches, and now I'm trying to make things good again. Actually, I lie. A lot of being K'del right now is pretty good." It sends a shadow over K'del's expression, like there's a thought he's not quite able to express, one that's semi-haunting him. He waves it away, instead turning the tenor of the conversation back towards the forwardness-that-wasn't. "Might enjoy being 'Cute Stranger'. I can see upsides." His dimples show. "Better that than having you throw a drink in my face, later, when you find out."

Is it? Telavi's still got that head-tilt, or maybe has it again, but she doesn't call K'del on the difference between what he says and what she might think she can read. She has the beginnings of a smile, instead, and one that heightens at upsides, at dimples. She has them, after all; she can appreciate another who can employ them well... which means that she refuses to let the barmaid count. So, "What a waste of a drink," replies Tela with a lift of her glass. "Unless I didn't like it anyway, and it's someone's red, right?" And there are her own dimples, at last. "The only problem is, it's a little unwieldy. Even C'stranger's a little long."

K'del grants, after a moment, "Would then have felt obligated to buy you another drink, and even then... you're right: it's still a waste of a drink. So it's for the better, then, that I was upfront." Dimples, dimples, everywhere. He seems to appreciate them, too: he watches, pleased and amused, and not quite fluttering his lengthy eyelashes, though he's obviously flirting in at least a casual sense. "Suppose it is. Guess 'K'del' will have to do. No matter. Guess I've had it as a name long enough now that, for better or for worse, it's mine."

"Indeed. I don't like obligations." It's enough to make Telavi push the base of her stool with one foot, an idle gesture that still manages to swing her all the way around until she's more or less facing him again. "And in that case, it's just as well." She considers her wine, what's left of it, and then peeks at him through her long lashes. It's a game, it's fun, and her gaze is momentarily wicked with secret and undoubtedly entertaining knowledge. Hearsay, or otherwise.

"You'd rather," K'del supposes, following what he is no doubt assuming is her point, "I offer to buy you a drink because I want to. Would you like one?" Between the competitiveness of dimples and lashes, he's more pleased than ever, though maybe he does study her more intently - and more seriously - than the situation properly warrants; something to do with that momentarily wickedness, perhaps. "No doubt," he adds, casually, "knowing my name means you know rather more about me than you did. Should I know anything about you in return?"

"Of course I would," Telavi readily replies on cue, only she follows that up with another of those smiles, warm and sunny as can be. "Which is to say thatif we run into each other again, K'del, I'll kindly let you buy me one... if you want to. Would you say that's fair?" This is his chance to bargain, after all. "As to what you should know of me," Tela seems to give it genuine consideration, the touch of her toe letting her stool swing back and forth a time or two. "I'm afraid I'm none too notorious, and without great ambition to change that." Even if she is talking to him. In public! "I'm an only child, unless you count being raised in the caverns with all the others, today my favorite color is butter yellow, and... songs about three Intervals ago tend to put me to sleep." She even mimes a prettily covered yawn.

K'del would argue-- well, would argue sooner, maybe, but Telavi has more to say, and he's not so rude as to interrupt her, though he will pick up his drink again and sip it as she talks. "What about the really interesting songs? Or are they just too... old fashioned for you?" It seems a genuine question, despite the (still dimpled) smile that accompanies it. "Anyway, I don't know if I like that if business. Why not tell me that next time we run into each other, you'll let me buy you a drink? Or I could buy you one now... unless it's bad to have two drinks in the afternoon? Maybe it is."

Telavi's easy shrug doesn't seem to care at all about that potentially being bad. Rather, "I hadn't decided whether to go hunt down some fresh air," and for once she forgoes her own opportunity to dimple at him if only for a change of pace, "if you must know." At least... she forgoes it for about two whole seconds. "As for the songs? If they're really interesting, and they're from that many Intervals, I have to say that I haven't heard them. What do you like, what can you recommend," as though they could be two different things, "and... can you sing? I admit I've never heard that, one way or another."

"Damp air, at this time of turn," remarks K'del, as though this in and of itself should be incentive to stay in here (in the dry! And warm! And with... okay, with him!) for the foreseeable future. "My brother's the Harper in the family, not me, but-- I can hold a tune, sure. Do you know the one about 'way-ho, way-hee, don't forget your du-ty'?" Beat. "Uh, not that I'm suggesting that's one of the good ones; it really isn't." He's not even trying to ration the dimples, not now.

This time, the hand-to-mouth gesture is not a yawn, but dismay! "Well. In that case I might stay a little longer," Tela teases, "until I can be properly courageous and damp-defying." In the meantime she can chime in with the way-ho, mostly under her breath for the other patrons' sake, if possibly also because she's begun to eye K'del. At least, until that beat's past, and he explains, and she laughs. "I was beginning to be concerned about you, you know. If this keeps up much longer, I might have to dare you to sing one of the good ones after all. Because if that song gets stuck in my head..." she raises her glass as though in menace, even if what's left of it isn't red.

K'del lifts his arm as if to protect his face with the crook of his elbow, just in case she decides to throw that wine at him despite the rest of their conversation thus far. "I'll be good, I'll be good!" he promises, smile (yes, and the dimples) visible beneath the inverted 'v' of his arm. He drops his arm pretty quickly, though, and says: "Clearly, you should. Stay longer, I mean. I'll be good company. No more terrible songs, and if you're very good I'll demonstrate one of the good ones, but it's not as though I think 'good' isn't relative. I'm more interested in history than songs." Beat. "And more interested in other things, still. Like talking with pretty girls."

Is it possible to overdose on dimples? At this rate, they may find out, particularly given how Telavi reemploys hers right after lowering her glass with a very, very stern, "You had better be." Another small sip lets her continue to make her wine last, wetting her throat before she's back for more teasing. "But are you most interested in talking about history, with those pretty girls? Or about songs, for that matter? I'm a little despondent about needing to be good to hear that song, since I'm afraid," here she has to lower her voice, "that mightn't be my strong suit."

"Perhaps," offers K'del, "my implication is that you shouldn't be good, which means you can avoid the song altogether... because there are far more interesting things than songs." That they could be talking about? That they could be doing? His expression, so very, very flirty, certainly implies it. "It's one of the refreshing things about not being the Weyrleader, see: I don't have to be good. I can have that second drink in the middle of the afternoon, if I want - and I can while away the hours with a pretty girl, too, for that matter.

Shouldn't she? Are there? Telavi gets to be dismayed again, or at least conspiratorially shocked. This time portrayed not only with rounded eyes but the equally classic loop of her hair about her hand. She hasn't looked about for quite some time now, and Quinlys could have sat on the stool on her other side and she probably wouldn't have noticed. "Just maybe even three... drinks, if not girls," mischief in her eyes. "If you can hold your liquor. But I don't know if you've convinced me, yet, about the delights of non-songs. Do they involve demonstrations, too?"

K'del's turn to play the innocent and to ask, "What would I do with three girls, Tela? The one in front of me hasn't been convinced of delights I know would delight her. Pretty sure three might be completely beyond me to convince." He sets his beer down again, dropping both hands towards his knees, where they flex, idly, against the fabric of his trousers. "I can, however, hold my liquor. That's one skills I've learned, promise. Do you want a demonstration?" He's not paying any more attention to their surrounds than she is; his smile is brightly brilliant, enjoying the spontaneity of the flirtation in a focused, almost intense kind of way.

Know is a strong, strong word, one that has Tela lifting her brows beneath the fall of her hair in a challenge that's not verbal at all. "Well..." and she does like to linger on that word, smiling, or else the word likes to linger with her. Nor has she missed the play of his hands, though her gaze rises back to his such a short while later. "You know I'm not responsible for your imagination, K'del." Though it seems she'll happily play into it. "And... I suppose I should take your word for the rest. I hear that's polite," possibly even 'good'! "Please. Demonstrate away. I have to admit, I'm curious just how much of an audience you have in mind." Dimples again, need it be said? It's a dance, and not the sort they practice formally in weyrling class.

It's her reference to an audience that seems to remind K'del of where they are, his gaze abruptly leaving Telavi for the first time in some minutes to do an idle sweep of the room, though it's not clear whether he does so to reassure himself that they're not being watched... or to find out if they are, so he can reassure the world that, hey, he really is back to his normal self (which would be kind of pathetic). "Won't lie: my best performances are generally to an audience of one. It's not my fault you--" He grins, abruptly, apparently pleased with himself, "stimulate my imagination." He's out of practice, though: is that sudden movement of his head, roughly aimed towards the distant exit, combined with his raised eyebrows, intended as an invitation?

In some ways, it's not completely dissimilar from a too-recent encounter with her favorite assistant weyrlingmaster: Telavi is seated, and Telavi doesn't look. This time, though, she has the dregs of her wine to sip while she waits to see what the man makes of it, and this time, she's so very much more at ease. "Far be it for me to doubt you," Tela assures K'del with a sweet smile... only to go right ahead and do so by giving him another inquiring glance. "Is that an invitation?" Or has he just gotten twitchy all of a sudden? She must know. "Because I have under very good authority that," and here she leans in to share the shocking news, "it's dreadfully damp out there." Of course, with that lean, she's also set down her glass.

K'del's moment of indecision is, perhaps, more obvious than he'd like it to be, but this post-Iolene flirting game involves uncertain waters indeed, for all that this can't be the first time he's dipped his toes back in. "It could be," he offers, dimples deployed as a distraction from any further uncertainty. "Sometimes," he adds, "it's worth facing temporarily damp for-- well." His words fall short. His hand lifts to run through those tousled curls again. "Greater gain. If you like." His free hand nudges the remains of his beer away, without turning his gaze: he's got raised eyebrows, aimed at Telavi, but at least he's not looking pathetically hopeful, only amused.

His can't be the most smooth-talking offer Telavi's ever encountered, nor the most convincing argument in even the past sevenday, but the intersection when she's in such a mood to be convinced? It's a good thing. Especially when, yes, there K'del goes, playing with his hair again. And there's something about the way he handles his beer, like it doesn't even matter, not anymore. "Why not?" It seems to have become her mantra only, here, its carelessness is belied by the warmth of her smile as she stands. Now, to make it outside, and without being intercepted, please. And onward. Please.

She can't be seeing him at his best (if his reputation is to be believed), but hey-- it worked, and K'del seems not surprised, thankfully, but certainly pleased. Thus, he's also all smiles as he stands, leading the way - gentlemanly - towards the exit, where he reclaims his jacket (with those identifiers-- his wing badge and knot). It certainly doesn't seem as though they've been especially noticed on their way out of the Snowasis, nor even in the bowl, where K'del is so gentlemanly about putting his arm around Tela to protect her from the chilly breeze. Cadejoth's not far away, though, and the bronzerider's weyr only a short flight up. "Welcome," says K'del, as he leads the way in, past those miniature glowing moons.

It's not so cold that Tela has to shiver too much without her own jacket, especially with K'del's arm so convenient like that, but the ride up doesn't go quite that easily. Oh, getting up on Cadejoth's neck shows the unthinking ease of familiarity, and he does get an appreciative smile that's not unthinking at all, and it's not only fun but comfortably less in the wind to rest her cheek against K'del's back for the ride up... but it's not just a matter of flyabout hair getting in her face, it's her linked hands tightening about his waist with a hissed-in breath, not long after Cadejoth makes for the air. Maybe she's scared of heights? Tela's quick to say, "It's fine." Even though it's not, but K'del doesn't have to be privy to that: a suddenly present Solith, quick to object. Telavi can't quite puzzle it out, at first, though at least it's a distraction from the the unaccustomed stretch of sitting a full-grown bronze neck instead of her young green's. « You didn't mind Olveraeth, » the girl points out, showing her the memory, only to be tossed about in mental gusts so different from the bronze's steady progress. « That was different! I couldn't, then, » but now she can. Telavi tensely gives her back, « It's done now. Just... let me be. For now. Please? » only then, sensing Solith's vulnerability, she follows it up with a softer, « I'll call for you when I'm ready to... when it's time to come back. » Please.

Lights in Darkness Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

A heavy, brocade curtain separates the ledge from the weyr within, which opens up into a long, wide wallow and a walkway beside it. There's easily enough room for a bronze in here; the ceiling is high enough that sound tends to echo. Down the wall beside the walkway, small circles appear to float within the dim light like miniature moons; a high panel of them that's perhaps four or five times as long as a man is tall. They end abruptly as the wall curves around and opens out into the rest of the weyr.

It's a good sized weyr, and laid out nicely with a fine collection of solid, expensive furniture. A niche off to one side offers built-in shelving and a desk set out beneath it, while much of the rest of the space has been taken up by a couch and several chairs, laid out in front of the hearth. It's reflective, that hearth, made up of squares tiled on point, many of which look very new indeed. To one side of that is a dark opening that might be another niche, or perhaps a passageway.

A tunnel leads off from that dark opening - narrow, if still tall. It turns a corner and then opens out into an expansive room set against the other side of the hearth. Most of /this/ space is taken up by a bed that has clearly been made to fit the space exactly, although there's still room to step around to another niche - this one with a plugged basin above and a drain below. There are more of those moons here, too: moons that glow with light from the room beyond.

There's certainly a moment, during that flight, in which K'del seems uncertain, if not outright confused, but he takes Telavi's words on face value and makes no further remark on it. He does, however,lean behind him and rest one hand on her knee, a gesture that may be intended as comforting. Or maybe he's just macking on her. It's on their way into the weyr, when he's taken her hand in his (if she'll let him) that he glances back to say, "Cadejoth's not the smoothest of fliers; sorry. You're okay? Do you want some-- water? Or another drink?" His concern seems genuine, but not overplayed. It's definitely not enough to put an end to his intentions!

"I'm okay," is Tela's automatic reply, with an automatic but bright smile to go with it that has something to do with watching her footing through all that hair, but then the squeeze of his hand with hers is genuinely thankful. "If you have it? Whatever you have, just a little something... oh." She's seen the moons, then, and she pauses to touch her fingertips to one of them, turning it from full to nearly so. A quick shake of her head gets her hair out of her face enough that she can look up at the bronzerider wonderingly. "How do these work? You don't have glows in there, do you? The color..."

This time, K'del accepts that answer wholly; if he has lingering doubts, they're abandoned to other thoughts quickly. He seems pleased by her reaction to his moons, and indicates them with a tilt of his head. "Have a closer look, both sides," is his answer, amused. "Take a wander around. And I'll get you that drink." It means releasing her hand, but not before he's given it another encouraging squeeze, a gesture that's much more 'friendly' than 'flirty'... right up until he runs his fingertips lingeringly over her hand when his finally pulls away.

Tela's smile widens, delighted. "I will." She's already turned to wander, the clasp of her hand warmly returning his but loosening as willingly... only then she's looking back, surprised and intrigued, with eyes far more for K'del than his weyr. Yes, he's still got some moves! A deep breath later, though, she does indeed start exploring: not like she's wanting to hang curtains, but to see what's there, and just maybe to examine the architecture and the decorations with a weyrling's eye for what kind of weyr she might want. She wanders into the wallow to check out the sheer space of it, circles back to finger the curtain.... and then again with a seamstress's eye, because brocade?! ...and then touch the moons here and there in a loose pattern as she follows them back towards wherever he's wound up. She's smiling.

By then, he's more or less lounging on the couch, having removed his jacket once again, and his boots, and set out a couple of glasses, plus water and whisky. He's been keeping half an eye on her progress, pleased with that critical evaluation, and obviously amused with himself when he says, "Like what you see?" His weyr, surely! But... well. "I got lucky, with this place. Better than the weyr I got as a weyrling, anyway." Probably not as fancy as the one he had as Weyrleader, but possibly more interesting. He offers his hand towards her again.

Telavi just can't let that slide too far, the initial pleased amusement at his setup shading but absolutely not fading into an ever so pensive-looking smile. Of course she has to wind her hair around her hand again before she can answer, the better to let him see her gaze rove from ceiling, to glassware, to him like she really has to think about it. "So far," she answers lightly. "But I haven't looked into your closet, yet... If you're so lucky, I'm guessing you have a remarkably," huge! "spacious one." If she regrets having made her expression so much more easily readable, it doesn't show on her face, not the way that initial 'got as a w...' had made her blink. She's just smiling, walking over to him unhurriedly, her steps placed to advantage to let her short skirt sway. When she stops, it's not so soon as to let her hand take his, but rather a little later, so that coral hem is right there. "I noticed your boots were off. Is this a no-shoes territory? I still have mine," and little strappy things they are, too.

Yes, K'del does watch her progress towards him, and no, he's got no apology for it in his expression when he slides his gaze back up to meet hers again. "It's a decent size," he answers, keeping a closer eye on her expression, now, as his hand slides towards her hem, fingertips grazing over her skin. "Would you like to go through my drawers, too?" He's noticed those little strappy shoes, though he's not looking there now: just at her face. "There's no requirement to take off your shoes-- though you're welcome to. No real rules around here."

He touches her, and Tela's gaze slides down toward K'del's fingertips, long lashes descended and lips lightly parted. Her teeth press into that lower lip a moment, holding it still so that her smile can't quite deepen, it's just that her dimples show up all of a sudden. It even lasts through the unthinking flutter of those lashes, that lack of rules. She can wish. "I'll remember that... but are you sure you want to go that far, K'del? I could be a thief, after your jewels." Her gaze drifts, just as subtle as his was, before it lights, once again laughing, upon his again. "Anyway, wasn't there a rule somewhere about not sitting before being invited? Or maybe that's just for men. It's good to know I don't have to worry about it." Indeed, Tela moves to sit. Possibly, even, on the edge of the couch.

"What jewels?" he lobs back at her, laughing, as he shifts himself to make more room on the couch (those long legs do rather get in the way, even when a person is not adverse to physical contact... or, let's face it, seeking to avoid it even a little bit). "If I ever had any... a crazy weyrwoman burned them all up." Which he says as his fingers trace a circle onto her knee, and as a smile plays upon her expression. "So unless you intend to do that... Which would be a waste, for the record... I figure we're probably safe. Do you want to be invited to sit, all the same? I can do that. Can flutter my eyelashes and hope you sit even closer, even."

It only takes an easy adjustment of her hips to settle that much more into the space K'del's put on offer, and Tela leans to drape her arm along the back of the couch and, yes, smile down at the bronzerider. And his hand on her knee. And his smile. And yes, there are those dimples again. "I'm not so motivated for burning, no, and may I say that I'm very happy for you that you replaced them? Or got them back, however that works, in which case I imagine they got a good polish... to get the smoke off." She glances over to the hearth, possible source for smoke that it is, but doesn't look away from him for long at all. "Really, I'm quite comfortable here, but if you insist..." Flutter away!

K'del's laugh is low and warm. "Ashy, smoky silver not your cup of tea? Crispy sapphires? Never did have much by way of that, but I've kept it simple, since." It's true that there aren't many knickknacks around the weyr, now... just the detritus of childhood that is more or less obligatory in the home of any parent. His eyes study her, and that smile, those dimples, fractionally more serious in this than he has been for much of this extended conversation. "Don't insist on anything," he murmurs. "You're equally welcome to stay right there, have that drink. Talk about the contents of my closets some more. Not sure how delighting that would be, though."

Something about the way he laughs, or maybe it's the way he talks, has Telavi drawing in a deeper breath just so she can release it, happy for that little while. Her hair's fallen about her shoulders, drifted across his knee with the liveness of having been braided up for so long and so recently unbound. It'll tangle, if left that way, but it hasn't yet. Tela doesn't look around the room again, not at its simplicity and not at anything else, just has a quirky lift of her brow at that lack of fluttering that turns out to disappear with her blush. "I didn't mean..." A deeper breath. "That's good to know. But equally welcome, you're absolutely certain? Because I was really," really, "looking forward to being convinced. If you still have faith in your powers of non-closet demonstration."

"Well," says K'del. "Maybe not equally..." Because that would be a waste, right? Coming up all the way up here, deploying those dimples so very strategically. A waste. If his knee were bare, her hair would no doubt be tickling it - the way his fingers could be tickling hers, except that they're moving so gently. Even so, his gaze drops to her hair for a moment, right before he leans across, bridging the distance between them until his face draws up towards hers. Kissing is convincing, right?

Possibly even delighting, here and there! Surely it won't be a surprise that Tela tastes of wine, when she meets K'del partway, one hand shielding them from her hair so he doesn't have to taste that too. A little while later, when her eyes open again, they're smiling every bit as much as her low, near-laughing voice. "You're thinking, aren't you."

By then, K'del has snaked his arm around Telavi's shoulder, his other hand continuing exploratory adventures around her knee and higher, now, though not higher than her thigh. "I'm not," he attempts to swear, in a low voice that is so close to a whisper, but audible given their proximity. He corrects himself, with a laugh, after a moment: "I'm trying not to. No more thinking, I swear." Beat. And then, right before he goes back in for another kiss: "Let me demonstrate."

As it turns out, while K'del did aptly demonstrate, he did not defenestrate. So it is that half an hour before curfew, the humans are still alive and tucked up together quite comfortably, thank you, having negotiated both the sheets and perhaps even more critically, Tela's hair. It's Solith who's finally had enough. She slips through the darkness, fluttering here and there until she reaches the ledge she'd kept her back to for some time: not far, just a little further towards the caverns and down a bit. Hello, Cadejoth! Incoming.

It's only relatively recently that Cadejoth has returned to his ledge, having spent his afternoon and evening engaged in a more singular activity: flying high over the weyr and far beyond. He's weary, now, but not yet dead asleep - not when he can survey the Weyr-in-darkness... and find unexpected company in the form of not-fully-grown greens. His head lifts from its position atop his forelimbs as she approaches, his wings drawing back against him, and rustling just quietly in the cool, damp night-time air. The dull rattle of bones awaits her arrival, and the quiet clank of metal. « Solith. » It could be a question, if only he would stir himself to make it so.

She lands with a hop and, because she can, a slight skid. Unlidded, moon-luminous eyes take in the so much larger bronze as she rears her head back.... only to pause. « Cadejoth? » Chains, and the drift of breeze that's now so much fresher than moments-earlier stagnation. Still, Solith doesn't spend time on questioning his presence. « Where did you put her? I am looking for her, » and all of a sudden she'll slip past the adult if she can, airy-quick.

« Solith, » he says, repeating the name, slotting the green into the fine metal mesh of his understanding of the world. Although that seems to please him, her presence leaves uncertainty, and sets his chains to jangling just that little bit more intensely-- now he's confused. There are pieces not slotting in, for all that they fit - and for all that his thoughts still carry the low haze of his rider's contentment. He's too slow, and too weary, to get in the way of her movement, though he certainly turns to watch. « Her? This is my weyr? He-- » A pause. A metaphorical lightbulb. And then a question, wordless and hazy: Tela's hair spread out across a pillow, her shoulder beneath the quilts. Her?

There's a fluttering of a wingtip along his side as she passes by, a chance brush of her tail against one huge hindpaw, distracted. Yes, yes, her, that image momentarily lit up with ozone's palest blue. Solith disappears neatly into maybe-Cadejoth's weyr, pattering down the walkway without so much as once detouring through what otherwise would be a very tempting wallow, those moons smaller-scale renditions of her eyes. Down the walkway, into the human weyr with at least some automatic care taken for the furniture, and then... stymied. She used to fit through a passageway this small! At this point, given how whisky's less than filling, a human might be forgiven for thinking that the ensuing noise is someone's rumbling belly after that well-missed dinner. At least, until Tela sits bolt upright and, heedless of the shirt she's still mostly wearing, starts to slide out of bed. Only it's not her cot in the barracks, much less her bed back at Benden, and there's a wall right there, and, "Ouch." Except it's not as nicely spoken as that.

Cadejoth's thought processes are slower than they might be, at some other moment: it's the dull sound of two lengths of chain brushing against each other, not quite grinding but close, so close. It's the eventual abruptness of a spark, too: an oh. « You won't-- » fit, clearly, but it's too late for that. The bronze has followed as far as he can (which isn't very far, it's true), and now waits. « Please don't panic. » It's warm in bed, and there's a warm body to curl up around, and isn't that so much more important than dinner, right now? K'del's mostly-asleep, and his sound of protest when Tela pulls away is accordingly non-verbal, albeit one that turns abruptly verbal - and fully awake - a moment later. "Tela?" He sits up in bed, bare-chested, curls rumpled. "Shit, are you okay? What's--" Maybe Cadejoth is filling him in on something. Maybe he's not quite there yet.'.

She won't, she doesn't, fit. She might, she doesn't yet, panic. The please helps with that sudden thump, or maybe it's simply that Cadejoth's speaking to her. Solith would pace if she could, but as it is her wings vibrate despite herself, dimly reflected in the tiles. It has Tela sitting nearly as abruptly back down with a different thump, this one on the mattress with a plaintive, "I hit my head." Why does K'del have such a dangerous weyr? Still, as long as she's here, she leans over, twisting, to offer the man a kiss that openly says how much she'd like to linger. "I have to get back to the barracks. Bye, handsome." Nice meeting you!

« She's here. She's fine. Everything's fine, » says Cadejoth, soothingly. His apology, which follows, is wordless again: if only he'd known, he would have invited her skywards with him, and to rest upon this ledge, afterwards. But he didn't know-- and his rider, whose confusion is temporarily put aside in order to return that kiss (with enthusiasm, and a definite declaration of I-wish-you-would-stay!), well, he's still catching up. "... Barracks?" Oh. There it is. He rubs at his eyes, and he stares, but at least his expression trends more towards the bewildered than the oh-shit-what-have-I-done.

He's bright, he'll catch on. As it is, if he keeps staring like that, he'll get a flash of more-than-leg as Tela pulls on her skirt, searches briefly but fruitlessly for more of her clothing, and blows K'del a last kiss before all but bouncing out to the weyr. Solith meets her at the pass, glad to see her but no help in bundling up her hair or collecting her gear (at least she finds both sandals). With Tela in reach, Solith doesn't need to be soothed, she certainly doesn't need an apology, she's altogether good... especially since Solith is going to be taking her back and no one else is, thanks, Cadejoth. By the way? Nice weyr.

K'del watches her go from where he is, likely too busy thinking to follow, protest, or otherwise (though don't think for a moment he's too distracted not to appreciate the view). Cadejoth? Well - he'll watch them all the way down, as far as he can see. It is a nice weyr. And it definitely is his.