Difference between revisions of "Logs:Aftermath - Morning"

Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia.

Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy.

Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries.

Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. The hearth is brand new, too, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced.

A rough evening (one for the records) leads into a fitful night that has Azaylia waking frequently. Like a good hostess she'll lead Taikrin from hard rug to warm bed, covers claimed to help shield bare flesh from the cold. Even then, until morning, the goldrider can only manage to doze on and off. It's when Hraedhyth, smug, sore, and satisfied Hraedhyth, reaches out to quiet troubled thoughts that Azaylia manages a few hours before actual morning. Out on her foggy ledge, the warrior queen surveys her Weyr. The name cheered by her monstrous ranks: Szadath. Sza. Dath. Her drums pound it in a steady rhythm, sharing her pleasure and pride with the rest of her tribe. It may be the cause behind Azaylia's content sigh when she finally decides to give up on sleep. That doesn't mean she has to dig herself out of the pillows piled around her. Them.

As much as Azaylia might be restless, Taikrin is very close to dead to the world. The woman sleeps like a log, albiet one with a habit of reaching out in its sleep and flinging an arm over the poor goldrider. Maybe it's the drumbeat that permeats through Szadath's being that wakes her, or maybe it's the monstrous stiffness in wrenched wing-joints, or maybe it's just that she craves a little more of that shared heat. Her eyes are still closed when she finally gives a low hum deep in her throat and gropes a hand blindly over the warm figure sharing the bed.

Azaylia is all too obliging, some might say. This morning she's no different, squirming closer to the brownrider and easing herself beneath that groping hand. Tired brown eyes flick up to look at Taikrin's face, situating herself lower on the bed in order to do so. She's slept with shorter riders before. Hraedhyth keeps herself close to Szadath, curled into her mate with tail snuck around his-- as if to recapture their moment. She's not overly saccharine, though there is something tender in the way she noses at his sore shoulders and licks at wounds she herself inflicted. Okay, so the queen is absolutely doting on him. Who's going to call her out on it?

Certainly not Szadath. He revels in the attention as his just spoils of war and stoically pushes through the pain-- well, most of it. There is the occasional grunt when she gets in a particularly deep cut on his haunch. Taikrin, meanwhile, lingers in that happy place somewhere between sleep and awake. Though her eyes don't open, her lips twist into a simple, satisfied smile. "Mmmm, don't go, it ain't morning already is it?"

Azaylia smiles in return, voice carrying the faint twist to her lips. "I wasn't going anywhere. It is morning, though." A simple fact, sweetly stated. On her side, she's facing the woman (woman!) and letting her eyes look over what she didn't have time for, earlier. Her smile falters as those thoughts which plagued her are even more insistant now that she's conscious. In fact, if Taikrin ever opens her eyes she'll be able to see Azaylia's unfocused worry aimed at her chest. Hraedhyth carries on despite his pain, cleaning each injury carefully to ensure that it doesn't get infected. Or so she says. There's the roar of her cozy flames and savage cheers of his name to help keep his mind occupied.

There's probably more scarred Taikrin laid out for the ogling than she's ever seen-- than most people have seen, even the greenriders she's 'conquered'. Several are obviously knife wounds, like the raised flesh that curls across her ribs, while some are of more questionable provinence like the white lines running over her arms or the knot of scar tissue by her collarbone. She stretches, languid, then reluctantly cracks an eye open. "Well. So long as you ain't leaving. Feeling okay?" Taikrin can be solicitous in her triumph. Szadath leans into it, even rolling over to give her better access to the wounds hidden by his bulk--- and he even rests his muzzle against her warm hide when he does so. Awww.

The urge to touch those scars has come and gone, Azaylia snapping out of her thoughts at Taikrin's question. "I'm... I feel good. Really good." She makes sure to mention that, first. "It was amazing. After she stopped being so- after they found each other." For that, there's a weak smile as she mirrors her dragon's persistence and snuggles up against the brownrider. All too soon her mouth flattens, tucking in so she can chew on her lower lip. Hraedhyth's growl is good humored, simultaneously accepting Szadath's movements while making sure they stay close. The gold is only stroking that dangerous ego, and is probably well aware of this fact. He's earned it.

Oh, the ego-stroking. Szadath rumbles enough for the both of them, leaving Taikrin to possessively pull Azaylia closer into those snuggles. She's remarkably gentlemanly about it, too, given that her hand is only making slow circles somewhere around the goldrider's mid-back. "It was amazing," she agrees in a voice made particularly deep and gravelly by the early hour. "She did good." Beat. "You did good, with her." Well, that's certainly an opinion.

Why not have an ego? Szadath was the best out of those who chased, Hraedhyth will remind. As if he needs it. The queen's violent fury has already been forgotten, smoke twisting his foul play into easily forgivable ambition. Azaylia hesitates to touch Taikrin, nervous now that her dragon isn't clouding her mind. Resting a hand on the woman's shoulder, she whispers, "No I didn't. I was stupid. I let R'hin... It's my fault other dragons got hurt." Either quiet tears have already be shed, or she just doesn't have the energy right now. Desperate for comfort, even if she doesn't feel it's deserved, she tucks her face into Taikrin's neck. "My fault. And you, you can't be--" She bites back the comment, giving a squeeze of apology. "The Weyr."

"Stop. It ain't your fault nothing. Sometimes things happen, especially in a flight. Dragons're their own creatures, ain't they? They do what they do." Taikrin shifts over and props herself up and gently twines her fingers into the hair at Azaylia's neck. "You got me now. You and me, we'll take care of everything. The Weyr. It'll be fine. That-- that's what we do now, right? Take care of everything?" Whatever hesitations Azaylia has, clearly Taikrin doesn't share them as she asks her leading questions.

Azaylia is an equal opportunist when it comes to snuggling. Even naked. The fact that Taikrin is a woman only seems to bother her as far as the Weyrleadership is concerned. "That's what we do." It would be, says her tone. She's reminded with a thoughtful drumstrike, breath catching in her throat. "Iesaryth." Brieli. H'kon!? She follows the brownrider, sitting up as palm meets her own forehead, "How... This isn't what was supposed to happen." Now there's panic, "Browns? Has there ever been a brown Weyrleader? Oh no no no." Closing her eyes, the goldrider sinks back into bed as if to give up. "Everything was supposed to be fixed after."

"Did Iesaryth actually go up, afterwards?" Because there's no question in Taikrin's mind that it WAS afterwards. "Szad ain't exactly been forthcoming. Reckon it'll be good to have her around to help, and whoever she ended up with. Do you know if they made it back to the Weyr?" Though Taikrin remains upright as Azaylia goes down again, she does lean over to cup a hand on the other's cheek. "Way I see it, things work out how they're meant to work out, yeah? Don't matter if there's ever been a brown Weyrleader before, 'cause we got one now. Way I see it, there were probably plenty, before the Long Interval and that whole mess, and the records're just gone or something. Who knows? In a billion turns of dragons, it ain't possible we're the first to do much of anything." There's not a hint of self-doubt in the lines she's feeding Azaylia, only the smug confidence that bounces back and forth between rider and dragon in pulses that keep time with Hraedhyth's drum beats.

The look Azaylia aims at Taikrin is one of disbelief, and then forgiveness. Perhaps she didn't realize, "They went up at the same time." In this she is absolutely certain. "Which means we have two Weyrwomen and two..." The touch to her cheek has her falling quiet, accepting it as an opportunity to try and think before she speaks. For once. "Yes, they made it back. Arekoth caught Iesaryth." Hraedhyth is proud there, too. It's a handsome, Fortian-less match that will result in strong offspring. Not as strong as her and Szadath's, of course. It's unclear how much of Taikrin's words are hitting home but Azaylia will allow, "If browns couldn't be Weyrleaders, then they wouldn't be able to catch a queen." And if a female rider can ride brown... it does little to soothe her unease.

"Can't have two Weyrwoman. Not senior ones. Hraedhyth went up here, and she's older. It's Hraedhyth." There'd been a little moment of doubt, there, before she'd placed a rider and color to Arekoth. Then, nothing. "Exactly. If a brown weren't capable of catching a queen, it'd be different yeah? And Szad's already done it once and made a good strong clutch, so he's proven. No question to it." If Taikrin's not convincing Azaylia, well, she's at least working herself up into a righteous froth. Taikrin sits back on her heels, completely heedless of her own nudity, and grins cockily down at Azaylia. "No sad faces, yeah? We got this. No problem."

"People might agree with you if..." Azaylia comes out and says it, "...if she had been caught by someone else." Not naming names, or especially dragon colors. Gentle voice is quick to explain, "Not that I don't think Szadath won't be a good clutchsire. Hraedhyth's happy." Which counts for a lot, perhaps too much, as far as she's concerned. For all of her previous gigglefits about the idea of being with a woman, she's surprisingly fine with Taikrin's nudity as well as her own. Sitting up once again, "The Weyr isn't going to suddenly stop because of what happened." It's not quite an agreement, "Brieli and I still have work to do. And you..." It pains her to be so bold as to ask, with perhaps a hint of fear in her tone, "What are you going to do?"

"Well," Taikrin begins, letting her smile at the praise lapse into thoughtfulness. "Been about a million turns since those classes we had to take as weyrlings. I think I'm supposed to meet with all the Wingleaders, yeah? Reckon I ought to meet with B'sil, too, so as he can officially hand everything off." Her lips purse as she muses further, heedless of the doubt Azaylia had been not-so-subtly expressing. "Maybe H'kon, too. He'll likely be good to have on board. And F'rint. He'll back me. And I got you, and Brieli. We're supposed to have meetings, right?"

Not the answer Azaylia is hoping for, judging from the way her face drains of color. "Taikrin, you can't." Perhaps not for the reasons other might voice, reaching over to place a hand on the older rider's knee. "Iesaryth rose at the same time. I felt it. Hraedhyth felt it. You can't tell me she didn't." The goldrider almost sounds sad, certainly apologetic as her face softens. "Either H'kon is also Weyrleader or..." She won't say it. They've been without solid leadership for so long. "It wouldn't be fair." With a steady stare into Taikrin's eyes, she loses that firm resolve and drops her gaze. Scooting towards the edge of her bed, "I... want a bath?" Not that she's changing the huge tangle of a subject.

The way Taikrin is looking at Azaylia now, with that little frown, it's as if she's seeing the much younger girl for the first time all morning. "Of course I sharding well can. Earned it, didn't I? Hraedhyth rose here, everyone saw it. Clear as day. I'm happy to work with H'kon-- he can help me out, since I reckon there's a lot to do, but you and me, we're it. That's what's fair." Now Azaylia can see what lurks under that smug confidence: an iron-hard, no-holds-barred determination. She's all business-like as she follows Azaylia to the end of the bed, then stands up with a stiffness borrowed from Szadath. "Do you want-- do you need me?" There, finally, a hint of uncertainty.

It's not that Azaylia gives up, exactly. She keeps quiet, other than the mewling squeak that escapes her standing, stretching form. The exhale that follows is tired, "Okay, Taikrin." Perhaps meek, compared to that steely determination. "The Weyr needs to settle down. I need... I need time to think." And talk to Brieli, of course. "Take a few days to enjoy that you won." That's not a fact that can be argued, at least. At Taikrin's uncharacteristic uncertainty, she doesn't have an immediate answer. Fidget. Bite lip. "I think it would be nice, having company. I don't know about..." Splayed fingers make a vague, fanning gesture between their more intimate parts. "I can't promise you that." She's confused enough already.

At that gesture Taikrin laughs, and it's like the tension drains right back out of her with the noise. "I ain't after your body, Azaylia, shardin' eh." She leans over to nudge against the goldrider's shoulder. "Just, you know. Want to get your thoughts. Talk. Same as it ever was, right? I got your back. And now you got mine, right? Wingmates, still." Even so, maybe her eyebrows twitch a little enticingly as she straightens up and streeeeeetches out the length of her pale, muscular figure.

The nudge isn't returned, but she keeps on her feet. "Oh." Confusion mingles with doubt, "Why not?" Azaylia might inspect herself the short walk to her private bath. Fingers brush over the darkly raised scars on her stomach, gesture almost fond if it wasn't so self conscious. "Wait-- no. It's okay." Taikrin doesn't need to answer that. It's not relevant, right? There's a glance over her shoulder, honest face warming ever so slightly, "I do have your back, Taikrin. You have to believe that. No matter what." Sentence is complete, despite the unspoken 'happens' that lingers on parted lips. "If I can put my thoughts together, I'll share them." For now, Azaylia wants to be selfish and pretend that everything is okay. The warm tub water will help with that, as will doting on her wingmate in a similar fashion as Hraedhyth: Here, let me scrub that for you!

"Hey, you know, if you want me after that it can be arranged," Taikrin teases on the way to the bath. "Believe me, I am all over that. Just, you know. No pressure." Because she will certainly enjoy the doting, whether or not she can coax Azaylia into more educational exploits. She'll even try to keep it light, for now: there will be plenty of time for establishing her political clout later. After the being wet and naked.

Azaylia doesn't have an answer for that. What's more surprising is that she won't have too many objections when Taikrin pushes her luck. Hesitent, and certainly curious in an inexperienced way that borders on unarousing (to some), it's an interesting bath. The weyrwoman will succeed in offering cleaner services, and somehow escapes the tub to go back to handling her share of the workload. If Azaylia focuses on reports and hidework, maybe she can pretend it's a normal day for just a little while longer.