Difference between revisions of "Logs:Surprise"

Stars at Night Weyr

The deep dragon wallow dominates this still half-furnished weyr, a rounded seashell curve just to the right as one enters, while the remaining space is comparatively small and cozy despite sharing the same high ceiling; perhaps the newish-looking thick brown rug helps with that as well. The wide hearth is welcoming, if with only just enough room for a couch to someday sit precariously close, and the rock is carved with niches, shelves, and even cupboards for added storage, though a wardrobe might be appreciated as well. The far corner suits its small table and pair of chairs. (+details)

With so little floor space, the weyr makes up for it by building up. To one side of the hearth, a short ladder rises about five feet to reach a larger shelf: one that's deep enough that it holds a good-sized mattress, and tall enough for a grown man to stand without fear of hitting his head or bringing down the collection of glows stashed in nooks in its ceiling. More niches within the walls mean that much more room for treasures, but there's also a pictorial tapestry hanging above the foot of the bed, the better to see it before going to sleep: set on a cliff overlooking Southern Boll and its beach, the Hold's colors snapping brilliantly in the wind.

It's a clear, warm autumn day at Fort, with gorgeous blue skies - clearer than Iesaryth's, who shouldn't be around there to make the comparison. But there's some woodsmoke on her ocean breezes as she reaches out Vhaeryth's way, the skies above her waters bright and sunny despite a few dark clouds that threaten on her horizon. She's not really there for any /reason/, just wondering what he's doing, where they are. For no reason. No need to talk to his rider or anything. /Subtle/.

Over the past couple of sevendays, Vhaeryth has gradually been returning to his more dimensional self, and today's reply continues that general trend: pleased to hear from Iesaryth, to be sure, and to puff transparent flame-like breath at those clouds to try and blow them out of the frame, and also to share (with interest as to what /she's/ up to, there in his realm) a sense of sweeps over environs identifiable as Fort Hold. It seems they're not quite done but nearing it, and it'll be some time yet before they're back. Not /long/, unless one is impatient. But some. As to not talking to his rider, it barely registers, no convincing needed... although perhaps he can't entirely remember why, not really, not without his rider's memories to fall back on, just as his interpretation of time in human-understandable sense has suffered. Of course, Iesaryth isn't human either.

The clouds are stubborn things, even though Iesaryth certainly appreciates Vhaeryth's efforts, as always - and did she say she was in his lands? She's not quite chagrinned, but she is aware of her mistake, bemused as to where she gives herself away. What they /were/ doing is easy enough; she shows the traveling performer's camp with the tents and crowds with keen interest and disappointment, « She would not let me go look. » Looking through someone else is not as interesting. « And I am not as impatient as some. » Not naming names or anything. She is merely relieved at the last, not all too clear on that herself, unless she goes stealing things from Shan's mind.

A huff and a puff and a... snort, evidently, thanks to those unmoving clouds. The bronze's thoughts sharpen elsewhere for a few moments, she can sense him veering downward... but no, that's not an ovine that needs 'help' down there, it's not trapped after all and runs speedily enough. Maybe next time. Back to Iesaryth: « I do not know why not. /We/ had a place nearby, where we could look down and watch, » even if they weren't in the thick of things. Which, yes, might be interesting. Though it also runs the risk of dealing with more unwashed, and those who would like to point and possibly step on one's toes or tail, given half a chance (which he certainly would not). « Do you fly, » perhaps with Isyath, « or merely wait? » There are the heights which /he/ likes, the waterfall as long as it's raining anyway, Tooth Crag which makes for dramatic clinging, and the like. Or his ledge, that narrow curving place. That's good too. It's small, but high, and he'd share with /her/.

Apologetic for the permanence of clouds, even in the face of such perseverance, Iesaryth only has /someone else/ to blame. Were Iesaryth in charge, things would be much different. « You wait, Vhaeryth. You will see. » The ovine is briefly interesting, but the camp and their human 'issues' more so - there was something about some not /liking/ dragons, but who could dislike her? And she would have preferred to glide over a few more times, consider the tents and how they were placed, what was in them, what the people did. « Also, she did not throw any knives. » That had been highly anticipated. And she does not fly, but perches high above for now, watching. Sparkling bright on the waves, « I was supposed to /hide/, so I cannot be on your ledge. But I will come to you when you return. » As if she could do any less /now/.

/Hide/. /Not/ fly over. /Not/ throw knives (or see them thrown). All these near-incomprehensible things. « What will I see? » Vhaeryth half-teases, though he's also busy mulling over this further concern of some not liking dragons... and her having to skulk about instead of making them learn to like it or lump it. « You, not hiding? » Surely this 'hiding' need not be eternal? Because he sees no sense in it. Meanwhile, there are more hills, valleys, roads, valleys, hills, on and on and on. It's not so bad. The air is fresh. He's (they're, surely) flying.

It has been a terribly disappointing day for Iesaryth. And yet - not /so/ bad. A change of scenery is interesting, even if it is another Weyr, and there are other things for her to consider. As for what he will see, perhaps a bit smugly, « Eventually, she will have to see things the way I do. » One way or another. Those further concerns are bypassed by her, at least, for the time being - possibly because she has to admit, « I wasn't supposed to let you know we were here. It was a surprise. » It still might be, for some! That's the only reason she's 'skulking' around on the heights of the Fort rim. Prime hiding territory. Though it likely seems old to him - to them - and would to her after a while, she appreciates the glimpse. It's new to her.

Hear, hear. That's Vhaeryth's wordless agreement amid valleys, hills, the odd rocky structure that's probably a cothold though he doesn't bother putting it much into focus, valleys, roads, more and more stone fences. His rider might be wary of 'surprises' but Vhaeryth himself, not so much. Indeed, when it comes time to return, he'll give her warning.

Iesaryth is just pleased she hasn't set the whole plan awry - that never goes over well. Whatever would happen if there was no plan?! Who knows how patient her rider is, but the gold herself seems fairly content to watch the world go by and Vhaeryth's day pass... though she is glad to have the warning, and after a nudge or two from her other half, removes herself to a less conspicuous height.

So when they veer back, N'rov appears oblivious enough from his perch atop Vhaeryth's neck, though the dragon himself looking about with ill-concealed anticipation before he lands. And then afterward, if they're not interrupted in the meantime, N'rov carefully pats his dragon and heads on inside, starting to remove helmet and other gear along the way. Surely nothing's lurking!

No interruptions, no - and if there were some glows unshielded before, then there's no more now, but there's definitely something lurking. It's not too terrifying, though - and not immediately noticeable. At the foot of the short ladder are a pair of new leather boots, close in look to those wounded in feline attack, but perhaps a little more spendy, maybe a bit more stylish. They're pretty nice. And they're in N'rov's size - imagine that! Perhaps predictably, they have a little red bow.

And since the man himself is inside, Iesaryth figures she's clear to land on the ledge, right? Right! No one told her otherwise. When she wings her way up, she doesn't make a showy landing, but it's an undeniable /landing/ outside. Inside, there /might/ be a sigh.

So it turns out that N'rov likes to half-hum half-sing popular harper tunes while he shucks off his leathers, and while he unshields just a token glowbasket as he makes his way deeper into the weyr. It also turns out that he takes his time pausing by the table to munch on some crackers, by the crunching sound of them, and some fruit quickly sliced with a knife... and it might take longer if there weren't that /thump/. The thump that makes him /jump/, and then look around, eyes glancing off the boots as though he hadn't left his own in the outer weyr next to his backup pair. Looking, looking, and then finally seeing the boots for what they are. Carefully, "Brieli?" In case it's /not/ her.

It's taken some time, a little while longer isn't a big deal - and honestly, she likely /likes/ listening to what he does when he comes home, what he sounds like when no one else is around. Even if it's a bit creepy - it's not like she hasn't lurked in the shadows before. It's the thump that brings that near-sigh, and her voice drifts down from up above: "Up here. I hope it's not a bad time? We were at the Hold." Because clearly, Brieli/Aishani carries around gifts in case she's in the area and feels like stopping by, waiting around for a bit.

After a moment, he perceptibly relaxes, not just in his voice but also the dim greenness that the glows show of him, half-clothed. He even laughs. "I'll be right up," he says, footsteps receding as he moves back to get a look up towards the alcove. Though the glows don't light the rest, it's succeeded by the slop of water that's his employing a washcloth to be a little closer to presentable before he climbs. Once his head's above the edge, he says with a smile in his voice, "Nice boots."

"I'm in no rush." Whatever reaction she /might/ have to the concern that someone else might go sneaking into his weyr is hidden in the dim light - and Aishani, for some reason, tries to make it difficult for N'rov to get a good look at her from below. A reason that's more obvious when his head /is/ above the edge, and it's apparent she's barely dressed in ruby-red, some near-sheer confection with so much ribbon - very familiar ribbon - she might as well be wrapped up like a present. A living, bright-eyed present that's all sun-bronzed skin, long legs and a slow, wicked grin. "I'm glad you like them. No felines came near them. I made sure of it."

"Like it lots," N'rov says, but his eyes are on her instead of remembering anything so mundane, so not-her, as boots. Or ladders, and so it's a good thing that habit and inclination have him swaying forward instead of back and starting to climb the rest of the way. His voice stays dropped down those notches, deeper into baritone: "Are you sure, though, 'Shani? Seems to me that felines would /like/ ribbons. To play with. I think I should check."

A little breathy already from the way his eyes are on her, those low tones, "I told you I'd use the ribbon. And would they?" Shani's own gaze is fixed on N'rov as he climbs up, as if she's been waiting all week instead of just all afternoon - and that's not all that far off, is it? Dark eyes drifting to his shoulders, his chest, like she's never seen him like that before, "It seemed to me that you might like ribbons to play with too. Either way, I think you /should/. If only to make sure that good use was made of your gift."

Where to touch her first, now, that's the difficult question. N'rov does ask, "Where does it start?" but his eyes are still on her as he stands half on the ladder, tracing what he can see of the ribbon with his gaze alone. Over, under, around, like every part of Aishani is a place he'd like to touch and touch again, like it's just a question of /when/. "Back when I was a little boy," he adds, "I would have loved this. If only so I could play at driving my little toy carts and runners along the roads." The ribbons. "Only...I think they would have fallen off some of these."

His eyes tracing the ribbon, tracing her body all over, causes Aishani to flush, first pink in her cheeks, then down her throat, barely perceptible in low light - not from embarrassment, but desire. It's as if he /is/ touching her; she shivers. Lowly, she asks, "Start? There's a few places..." A hand lifts to gently pull at a bow that seems to hold one strap; it starts to slide as she looks up to meet his gaze and then stops, with a little grin. Glancing down, as if imagining ribbon into roads, "I think they would have. And I don't know if I'd lie around all day to be the earth below. If you /must/..." She rolls her eyes, tries to look put upon - which doesn't work well at all, not right now.

"Don't," N'rov says just as she stops. "That's my job," and he has a decidedly wicked tilt to his brows as she continues talking, and he crawls up the rest of the way onto that mattress. Not that he touches the bow. No, he searches for something nearer to her feet, first, that shoulder-bow only his fallback. It could take him hours if not all day to trace those paths, not only with his gaze then but with his hand... or maybe it'll just seem that way.

"I thought you might say that..." Shani is all too ready to have him come into bed, even if he's not going to undress her just yet. In fact, she is in full support of his plan when it becomes apparent, no matter how long it takes, or seems like it takes, or no matter how it seems to drive her completely to distraction. Her enthusiasm for him is equal when he's done, and when they're done together, she might be exhausted, but she's smiling widely - the sort of smile that can't be repressed, or at least couldn't be, if you weren't her. Or maybe not.

And N'rov? His eyes have all but closed with her twined about him that way. No. /Closed/, now, though he does linger another kiss onto the curve of her shoulder: if there's going to be post-prandial conversation, she shouldn't count on his contributions being particularly intelligible. Maybe later. They did skip dinner, after all.

She has a soft, low, contented sound for that kiss, for being so warm and close and entangled. Shani can brush her own kiss to his cheek before resting her head against his, finding her own eyes closing. She isn't very much for talk herself for a time, stretching out the dark and the quiet for who knows how long - just not long enough to fall asleep. Sliding fingers into his curls, she murmurs eventually, "I'm glad I waited around."

It's her touch that wakens N'rov, if slowly and not thoroughly, into a mumbled, "Too." Him too. He yawns, winds up kissing her again, and... starts sliding down the long road to sleep. Again. A poke might help.

She kisses him back, distractedly then-- "No, I'm not sleeping like this..." Quietly, though. /Apologetically/, even. "N'rov." Aishani tries to disengage herself from him - reluctantly - in hopes that it might help. Another kiss before, "It's not that late."

"S'midnight." It's not. At least the disentangling has gotten him that far from sleep, to the point that he fumbles to try and slow her down. Since that flight, since the change between him and Vhaeryth, N'rov's tended to sleep longer and more readily if not more easily: shallow sleep, less restful, more uneasy. "Why can't y' sleep? Like this. What's this."

It's not difficult to slow her down, but she will point out, "It's not midnight. There's hours before midnight." Shani brushes back an errant curl from N'rov's face, stroking his hair lightly after, fine brows drawn together in concern. "You're always tired," she murmurs, before explaining, "Hard not to wake you up if I move when we're all wrapped up like that." If she could see her own expression right now, looking down at him, she'd likely hate herself for it.

N'rov turns toward that caress, and then eventually murmurs, "Oh." His eyes shut, then open. "But it's dark." What with the curtain pulled, and all. At least there's some dim glowlight left, for her to see him by, and for him to smile up at her by. Hazily still, "You found your pillow?" he asks, and dutifully moves enough that she has more room. The glowlight turns the ocean greener too, on that tapestry hanging upon the alcove's wall. His eyes find it too. "How was your day."

"Are you all right?" There's concern there, with only a thread of anxiety - Aishani is paranoid, so clearly N'rov's sleeping, even if Vhaeryth-related, is worth asking about. But his smile makes her return it, in that wide, irrepressible way from earlier, and lean in to kiss him. After, duly impressed, "I did. It's an excellent pillow. Thank you. I like it here. It's less... echoey than my weyr." And has more personality, certainly - she follows his gaze to the tapestry, giving a short laugh. "Interesting. I went to that carnivale. You have a good eye."

"'M fine." N'rov might look a little smugly self-satisfied, Shani-satisfied, even now. He has a pillow too, after all. "Thanks. I'm looking forward to finishing the doors. Like a caravan? Maybe." Right now, they're big slabs of wood, old carved ones leaning against the wall below, where he's only begun to deepen the crevices here and there into actual pierced holes. "Didn't pick that out, though I would have if I'd seen... oh. What did you find? They're supposed," and he yawns, "to be around here today. Unless that was yesterday. I forget."

Accepting that for now, Shani settles against N'rov, only to sit up a little, turn around as if she might be able to catch sight of the doors-to-be again. "Oh! That's what they're for... maybe..." She looks around the space as she slides back into bed, next to him; "A little. It's not the same without hearing what's around you... but it'd be close, like that. Close enough to pretend." Her smile is slight, wistful. It fades a touch as she considers what to say, then just goes with: "A cousin we all thought was dead." To the point.

Drowsily N'rov listens, wondering at the end, "What happened to... her?" He'd wondered at a girl, surely, though that's surely no guarantee. "Was she happy to see you? Not sure what you mean, about not hearing what's around you, unless you mean wagon noises, maybe. Whatever noises. What noises were there?"

Careful, quiet, "I haven't really told you this story, but... when they came for my father, from High Reaches... they came for a lot of people. One of the children got separated. We thought they'd taken her too, or..." Shani shrugs, trying to keep it short, not too morose. "And she was scared, then she seemed happy. But she doesn't know about Iesaryth. That... we'll see." With a sigh, "I hope she isn't armed. And all kinds." Quick to move on, "The wind in the trees, in the grasses. Depending where you are. The water falling from the skies or rushing past. Animals, sometimes. Bugs, mostly. Everything."

She'd softened him all up, and then has /this/ story to relate... N'rov listens more closely, now, stroking Shani's shoulder as she speaks, though his hand tightens for a moment at the question of the girl being armed. At what that could imply. "I like having the curtain up sometimes," he says after a moment. "LIstening to the rain. And... well, let's save that. You think she'd take offense at your," barely a pause, "riding? I'm glad she was happy, at least for now." His hand is certain and warm on her shoulder. "Glad they didn't get you."

Covering his hand with hers, Aishani tries to be reassuring, with a squeeze; with a quiet, "She's with the knife thrower. And she's just scared. And angry. Like..." She was? There's just as much for her to be angry about, but his fingers on her shoulder, in her hair make that much difference. As do other things, no doubt. "I like that too," she smiles. "And I think... I think I didn't trust weyrfolk, so I wouldn't blame her for being wary. Like my family." Turning to kiss his hand, lips brushing his skin, "They only wanted the ones they could put on trial. But it felt like they would."

"Then she's probably armed," N'rov surmises. "Or could be, if she wanted to be. So be careful," because that squeeze to his hand might help, but it seems that can't alleviate all of his concern. Affectionately, keeping his hand mostly still though he must be ticklish under that kiss, "I heard that, you know. That you didn't trust weyrfolk. Though I don't think I'll have to worry that you'll go out and trust everyone, now." He hesitates. "How old were you? When you did escape. I'm trying to imagine it."

"I'm always careful. And I'm not without my own abilities. But I promise. I won't let anything happen." There's another squeeze for his hand before Shani will release it, though this is likely more reassuring: "And neither will Iesaryth." There's even a little snort from outside. As if. Falling back into her pillow, grinning up at him, half-teasing, "I barely even trust myself sometimes." She'll reach out to trace his mouth with a fingertip, sobering as she says, "I didn't escape, I just left. I was... almost seventeen, when I left for Crom." A flicker of a look to the tapestry before she'll guess, "Older?"

So, of course, N'rov has to try and nibble on her finger, complete with munching noises that lead into a kiss upon hearing of how she left. "'Older'?" he wonders of her question. Though, "Guess I was thinking, then, about how old you were when they came for him. As well as wondering about your abilities. Maybe you can tell people what to do like Iesaryth will, 'These aren't the people you're looking for,'" and that with a half-smile.

"When you left home. Sorry." She'll say that after nearly giggling at the nibbling, rolling her eyes at the noises for all she's smiling, kissing him back. Shani's a little less bright for the older memory, but it's a fair question. "Eight. Close to nine. And will you lose sleep if you know too much? If /only/ I could tell people what to do like that..." She's nearly blissful with the very idea. "Nothing so useful. I can fight better than most people, if I have to. A few other little things I thought might be helpful. Do you want all my secrets?"

"Mmm. I want the ones you want to tell me," N'rov says with a quick grin back at her. "And the first time? Younger than you. But it's not the same: I was fostered, with another boy who'd been fostered to /our/ family, and I wanted to go. Mostly, anyway." Leaning on his elbow as he is, he can still partially shrug. "Not the same. But you, you'll go visit her again, then?"

With a truly delighted laugh, Aishani tells N'rov, "No, you don't. You're just saying that. You want to know everything." Not that she minds, from how she's smiling at him. "I wanted to go. Just for different reasons. I /had/ to go. But you're right that it's not the same." There's a pause - and she nods. Quiet now, "I don't have anyone else left. And she should know what's there, if she wants to go to them." With a purse of her lips, shaking that off, "I'm sorry I woke you, if you are that tired. If you need the sleep, we can stay. Or go. Whatever you want."

N'rov makes a show of peeking this way and that way, all shifty. But it doesn't last long. "We should get you some dinner," he decides. "You'll wear the ribbons, right?" But he also goes on to guess, more slowly and no longer teasingly, before they go: "If she goes... then you won't have her either."

"Think twice before you ask me that again," Aishani tells him dryly, but she seems amenable to the idea - it's not like she ever minds eating. Though that guess, before they go, does give her pause, make her look up at N'rov with some concern in those brown eyes before, resigned, "I'll burn that bridge when I get to it." Almost literally. Catching his hand for a kiss, then they can go. And not starve to death. It happens.