Difference between revisions of "Logs:Jo's Tight Pants"

Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr

The far side of the lake gets much less foot traffic - there's less grass, due to the poorer soil, and the bed of the lake is muddy and not at all as nice to walk in. But a small stand of four willow trees with long branches hanging low and swinging in the breeze provides some relief from the sun during the heat of the day. A pair of small curved benches sit underneath the trees. The ground rises up sharply towards the northwest end of the lakeside, and the waterfall that feeds the lake thunders downwards there, foaming the water and creating a fine mist in the air that distorts the light.

Ooh, look over here! And over here! And over here! Exuberance just bounds from Teisyth's copper-and-nuts mindtouch much in the way that she is physically scampering amid the four trees that she's still able to fit beneath. Make the most of small size while she's got it! As usual, G'laer is a stark contrast to the mood of his lifemate, standing with an unnerving stillness where the rest of the lake shore meets this more distant section, only his eyes moving to track the green as she capers about. Every now and again she has to stop, of course, because she finds a particularly squishy section of mud that must be played in. Bathtime is certainly on the horizon. Still, G'laer doesn't seem to be particularly bothered. In the relative solitude of the place, his lips might even be starting to drift in the direction of a smile - not one of his 'for show' smiles that in of themselves are rare, but one of the still rarer real smiles that isn't art or artifice, just a genuine show of some vestige of affection for his energetic partner.

Of course, when there's the threat of genuinity and secretive smiles about, it works like a summoning spell for one convict bluerider! Tacuseth lands like the wind - all whishy and abrupt. Jo's dismounting evan faster if possible with all black leather and lethal-looking these days. It's likely noticed that the Glacier rider is less seen these days as she pulls off the riding helmet and claps it under one arm before she takes a long look at the little green dragon. Then at G'laer. Then at Teisyth again. Her blue sends the little weyrling green a brush of heated gravel and shadows on a horizon - his greeting as it was - before his rider starts to approach the weyrling. "So this is she," she greets, dark eyes more on dragon than rider right now as she busies herself in pulling off her gloves on finger at a time.

Ooh, look at-- Whatever was about to distract Teisyth next is stolen from here in the way that one's breath might catch when encountering something even more exciting and unexpected. There's a moment of hum from the green's mind, an idle, mechanical sort of noise, waiting to see if there's more than the brush and shadows. But in the split second where there might've been more but wasn't, she makes her greeting (apparently, she's not the most patient of dragons), « Hi!! » It's cheer seeks to sweep Tacuseth up in her everyday delight with being alive and in this exact moment. « I'm Teisyth, who're you? » Manners? Well... she makes up for it with charm, her mental voice a slow drawled alto, even if it did pitch toward squeaky soprano in her effervescent relation of her own name. G'laer in the meantime has turned at the sound of landing and traces of whatever secrets he might've been about to display are once again hidden well. Brows furrow until Jo's dismounted and her trademark black leather is seen. "Still wearing tight pants, I see." Because that's a proper greeting for a bluerider... Then he salutes, his lips slipping into a smirk as he lets the gesture fall, "Ma'am." Then a nod, "It is." He looks past Jo to Tacuseth, "And that's he." It's not really a question, but as much as she's never met his lifemate, nor has he met hers.

Tacuseth isn't the completely friendly sort of dragon, but there's that brush of curiosity from him that comes without words. And whether he was planning to stay silent or not, when Teisyth speaks, « Teisyth, » he echoes the name given, that slight glimmer in the breezy bluster of his amusement. « Name's Tacuseth, » he then adds. « What're ya doin' there? » "Yer obsessed with my tight pants," Jo makes that observation aloud as she comes to stand in front of Teisyth's weyrling. "Or, with tight pants in general? I can get ya a pair if ya want." Dark gaze briefly shifts to the little green, her amusement with the situation apparent. She flaps a hand at the salute and adds, "Call me ma'am one more time and I'll land ya on yer ass faster than ya can blink." Pause. "This is Tac," she makes the introduction abruptly with a curl of her lips, turning slightly to gesture towards the blue. "We saw ya over here and thought to stop by. Make acquaintances. Check out that green of yers."

"Isn't that why you wear them? To make men obsessed?" G'laer arches a brow. He sounds serious, the delivery has the smirk fading to the usual line his lips sit in, but maybe it's a little too deadpan to be without humor. He spares the briefest of glance down toward his own loosely fitted trousers then back to the bluerider. "Nah. Chafing." That's all. That's why no tight pants for G'laer. "Though I suppose now that I'm a greenrider, I am supposed to be a little more fashionable." This has a dry edge to it. "Not that my mother is, particularly." So clearly he knows stereotypes aren't always accurate. "You could try to land me on my ass." G'laer allows, "But you might find it a challenge." Maybe. There's no overconfidence in him here, simple statement of experience; call it a fair warning. He moves one hand to make an inviting gesture; they're welcome to meet Teisyth, especially seeing as how she's galumphing her way over to Jo, past the hand, tongue lolling out the side of her buck-teeth. « Oh, just lookin' at the bottom of the trees. G'laer- » It sounds like the laziest way to say Gallagher ever, « -says soon I'll be too big t'get under 'em. So best take advantage while I can. He says I won't remember, even, but that don't much matter right now, do it. » It's not really a question. Her drawl has a babbling quality to it and as she speaks the tastes of copper and nuts strengthen and mix bizarrely. « Whoo-ee you got a pretty one. » She assesses Jo. « She looks dangerous. Is she dangerous? » Only in this case, dangerous comes with the connotation of innocent admiration, much the way a child who doesn't understand that assassins, even if they're sent by the good guys, still have their own brand of darkness that isn't to be revered. « Maybe I'll be pretty as her when I grow up. » Unlikely. But a dragon can dream!

« Why would'ja wanna look at the bottom of trees? » Tacuseth is intrigued by the idea, at least, but he doesn't linger on the subject if the little green doesn't. When she turns to assess his rider, there's the blossoming of fondness for Jo that mixes with pride. « She is, » is simply answered on her dangerousness. Or her prettiness. He's not exactly pointing to which or both. « He is an interesting choice, » he sends on account of her rider then, while Jo flaps a hand at said rider for his questioning of her pants. "What, I can' have personal style?" she sends right back to that. "Ya -should- be more fashionable. Greenrider and all. Ya think cuz yer mother was one, that Impressin' to a green could have been inherited?" There's a concept, one given with a raised brow. She snorts on his own retort on trying to take him down, her attention on Teisyth as she studies her color and her growing form. Then, "How's weyrlin'hood been?" she asks now.

« Why not? » Teisyth counters brightly. « Oh, shoot, he's the best. » There's unbridled affection for the stern man. « I mean, sure, he can be a little rough 'round the edges, » At least some might see this as them being perfect for one another, « But underneath all that seriosity, he's loads of fun! » Probably Teisyth is the only being on the face of Pern that would think so. But then, the green is busy making up words for him, too. So. Consider the source. "You can," G'laer concedes without hesitation, "But it's unreasonable to think that if that personal style includes tight pants that men mightn't notice, and comment." The half-smirk settles itself back onto his lips. "If it was inherited then Teisyth got it all wrong and she and Knioth-," His sister's blue in the same clutch, "-should've flip-flopped. At least then the genders would be closer to the model of our parents. I was just listing one greenrider in my acquaintance who isn't terribly fashion-conscious, but the Cromese aren't known for their attention to fashion trends. We leave that to Boll, I think." What with the location of the WeaverCraft and all. There's a shrug to his shoulders for the matter of weyrlinghood. "It's just another kind of training." A glance toward Teisyth might hint at more that goes unsaid.

« Loads of fun, how? » Tacuseth jumps on that one, his curiosity piqued by the little green. He's moving forward to see what's the deal with looking under trees, too. As for Jo, there's a shrug from her along with an answer. "Ain' nothin' wrong with my tight pants, weyrlin'," she states, openly easy in her tone. "S'not my fault ya men get all in a hissy over it. If this is yer way of sayin' I should be skirtin' about in a dress, then..." the bluerider makes a face at him. No way. "Didn' know ya had a sister here, though," she adds, but then, looking the man over, it's obvious she does know little about him. "She Impressed too? Which one was she?" She then snorts over his answer on weyrlinghood before settling down on the bench as she says, "Don' get excited, why doncha, then," in her deadpan voice.

Since Tac's going to look under trees, Teisyth's going to return to her previous positioning under them, leaving the humans to their human-y talk to sprawl out under one and then roll (in the mud) until she's got a good angle, sharing the view of the way the leaves fold across each other and cast a pattern. « Does it look nifty on my tummy? » She wants to know from the outsider's perspective since she imagines it must. Maybe like shadow dragons! Or shooting stars! Or any one of a number of ridiculous things that the dappled shadows don't resemble in the least. « Well, » Of G'laer, « He's crafty. His brain works so neat, an' he's real good at huntin' an' I like huntin' so that's somethin' we have in common. An' he's fast. An' strong. An' smart. I do get bored sometimes. When he reads the books without pictures. » Booring. " I'll try to contain my excitement." Over weyrlinghood, probably, even if he goes on to the subject of her tight pants: "Never said there was anything wrong with your pants, ..." There's space left and the slight curl of the edge of his lips and a tiny raise of his brows let the 'ma'am' sass go unsaid, but distinctly implied. "Alls I was saying was that you can't expect a man not to look when you're wearing them." Beat. "I suspect the day I see you in a dress is the day you see me in my pretty floral bonnet, which is about the same day the world comes to an end. Or near enough to." But that's enough of that, so, "I've more sisters her than I know what to do with. Do you need some? I've got extras. Ghena's the one who Impressed this time 'round. To blue Knioth. Could be you know one or another of the others. There are ten of them. Though not all here, anymore."

Tacuseth sees nothing of the sort, but then, he's never been a playful sort of dragon. Well, playful in the 'playful' sense. Her question is met with dubiousness, and then he speaks on G'laer with « Innerestin'. He hunts how? What did he do before you? » Is he fishing? More than likely! "I never said that I didn' want a man to look," Jo counters, her bold return coupled with that dangerous glint and that raised brow. "In fact, I welcome it. Men are easy to distract." Beat. "I have brothers," she answers now on siblings, leaning back on the bench and setting her helmet down beside her. "I don' need sisters. Ghena. I think I remember hearin' that name during the hatchin'. Are ya the oldest, then?"

If Tacuseth is hunting, Teisyth is the blithely unsuspecting trout gobbling up the phony lure. « Well, all kinds of huntin'. The kind that takes brawn an' the kind that takes brains, an' the kind that takes 'em both together. He was a guard down somewhere else. It were the best guard, o'course, » Nothing but the best for her G'laer. « An' he done real well with that, an' with the rest that he do, only that bit's secret. » Which she seems to realize after the fact she's not supposed to say. « But you won't tell, right? » She queries, now worried. If G'laer's aware of the ongoing conversation between the dragons, it doesn't show. "Are you trying to distract me?" He asks evenly, head tilting very slightly as he regards the bluerider measuringly. "Fourth-born. Ghena's seventh." So that says something about their ages. "Might you should introduce yourself. Offer her your wisdom. Her blue's a bit of a handful." He considers the woman on the bench before moving to sit beside her, but not overly close. "I'd peg you at youngest. Am I right?" Then, "Were you close with them?"

Taking every bit of information in, his shadows surrounding Teisyth's mind with the blares of encouragement, « What rest that he does? » he sends back first before adding in a gruff-like purr, « Of course, I won' tell. I've heard many a secret, Little One. » Nope, neither Jo nor G'laer are aware of the conversation, apparently, since the latter is more interested in her own. There's a roll of shoulders from her, a subtle shift of movement that's predatory and feline to his question. "If I was, then we'd be talkin' about somethin' far more inappropriate than our siblin's," she answers that with a brief raise of her brows. "What wisdom would I have for yer sister, anyway? How is her blue a handful?" She watches him as he sits, noting his distance with a curl of her lips, before she answers on her own. "I'm the middle," she says with an incline of her head. "Two younger, two older. I used to be close with them. Times change. Perhaps they think me dead. Perhaps they think me out somewhere, followin' in their footsteps. Are ya close with yers?" It's brisk, her tone. Usual.

« Phew. » Teisyth is relieved. Some mightn't be swayed so easily, but it's easy to tell in this moment that the green is completely lacking in guile, and possibly even in the understanding of such a concept. « Well, I probably shouldn't say, since it's a secret, » And that she seems to understand. « But I can say that the rest has him bein' sometimes real brave, and other times real fierce, and other times real smart. And some people love him for it and some people hate him for it. » Because that's not cryptic and unhelpful. But in the interests of respecting her lifemate's secrets... "Like tight pants?" G'laer quips with a raise of his brow. "Middle." He absorbs her answer with a thoughtful look. Back to the apparently family friendly topic at hand. "Interesting." Why? He doesn't say. "Knioth seems to expect a lot from her and she was never really much for hard work before he came along." It comes after a moment of consideration, and another moment later, "We've an older sister who rides blue here, but I'm not sure they've ever been close. Not sure what you could offer her, but you seem curious enough about me, I thought as I'd give you an excuse to speak to her. You never know what secrets about me she'll divulge." If she knows any. All of this is delivered without much inflection, so it might be humor or it might be serious. "I'm close with one of mine. Others so-so. The younger ones, not so much. I'm not really a kid person." As the nannies who watched him skip nursery duty time and time again as a candidate can certainly attest to. "You don't have any, do you?"

« That makes no sense, kid, » Tacuseth will flat out say it, the shadows about Teisyth shifting. « How can he be only brave some of the time? » "Depends on the context of said pants," Jo says at the same time that her dragon speaks, pulling free a flask from her jacket. "Sucks to be that sister of yers, though. Where I come from, there wasn' a whole lot of reward for overachievin'. I was lucky with Tac. He really doesn't give a fuck half the time." She pops open the lid to the flask right then as she regards G'laer on the bench, letting the pause lengthen before she says, "If I run into her, I'll talk to her. Are there secrets about ya I should be indulgin' in? Would they be worth my time?" Brow lifts to that before she gives into a low chuckle and a long drink from the flask. When she's done with her drink, she only addresses the last bit with a "Have any what?"

« Well, » Teisyth has to think it through, so the first word is drawled especially slowly. « He only needs t'be brave some of the time. The other times, he's doing things that... Well, I guess it's sort of brave to kill those that need killing, but that's a different kind of bravery. » Uh. Oops? That might've been a secret. She doesn't seem to realizes she's told it it though so... "The ones Ghena knows... probably not. The rest... Doesn't everyone have secrets worth discovering?" Blue eyes are intent as they look at Jo then, the question having more meaning than just as it applies to him. "Children," is the answer to the last, quite directly.

« Killin'. » That, Tacuseth jumps on, the shadows around the little green seem to be pulsing like a heartrate. « He....kills? As a guard, » he can make that assumption, though there's the touch of a query there as well. As to secrets being divulged - the irony - "Do ya want me to discover the ones Ghena doesn' know about?" It's like Jo's playing with her food. She answers question for question, seeming to revel in the play as she idly drinks from her flask before, belatedly, she wordlessly offers it to him. "And no. Not everyone has secrets worth discoverin'. Some folks really do live borin' lives. Ain' nothin' wrong with that," she notes with a slow shake of her head. "As for children," and she pauses to give G'laer an admonishing look. "Why the fuck would I have any kids? Are ya sayin' I need to get my ass knocked up or somethin'?" Trust Jo to take it that way.

Oops. Now Teisyth realizes her mistake. Embarrassment floods the connection, an intense wave of feeling. She rolls over in the mud and starts to paw at it as though it were the most interesting thing ever. Maybe it's because she's young, or maybe it's because she's so transparent, but the sensation comes without her meaning it to: no. Not as a guard. But what? That doesn't come with the sensation. Normally, G'laer would probably notice this kind of strong feeling from Teisyth, but he's distracted, at least from her, by his own laughter. It's a light sound, a chuckle that boarders on chortle. "Shells no. If you ask me, there're few more appealing qualities to a woman than a lack of 'brats at her heels." It might not be polite, but it's honest. Then, "Depends," G'laer answers as he reaches for the flask, "Do you want me to discover all the secrets you don't want me to know about you?" Apparently, the deal is that if she leaves his be, he might do her the same courtesy. Beat. "Well, that's me then. Boring G'laer." Nothing to see here. The lie is too obvious to not be meant to be discovered in the same moment that it's said.

Mistakes realized, and the shadows that surround her ebbs and flows like a sunset. Tacuseth watches her before sending, « How is this an embarrassment? » while Jo smirks a bit at G'laer's response on kids. "I don' have kids," she reiterates with a touch of humor. "Don' see a need for me to have them at the moment. As for secrets, what makes ya think that I have any?" Head tilts slightly, and her legs cross perhaps in a vow of innocence in that regard. "Yer the one that brought up secrets, not I. Ya made it seem like I should be feelin' yer sister up for yer secrets," and yes, she's going to say it just like that. "An invitation like that, someone so bored like me could take ya up on that. It's not fair to turn it back on me, darlin'." It's a tease. "Just like ya shouldn' lie," she goes on to say when he calls himself 'boring'. "Ya guards are all the same, ya know that? Takin' down the scum of Pern from one corner and then claim ya live a borin' life in the next. Tsk, tsk."

« Because I weren't supposed to say, » Teisyth digs into the mud, the gesture somehow self-conscious, « An' then I sort of accidentally did. » And if G'laer finds that out, he's gonna be so mad. And then she'll be so sad. Even the idea of it strikes her as overwhelming. "No one without secrets wears pants that tight." G'laer responds, his baritone oh-so-serious. Whether or not that's his real rationale, well... "If you're going to feel my sister up, I'd rather not hear about it. Fifteen is pretty young. And I'd hate to have to be less concerned with your tight pants." He's yet to take a drink from the flask, instead his eyes drop to it thoughtfully. "You came from guards. You know it's not like that. A guard's life is a lot of boring punctuated by moments of extreme excitement. Unless you make something more of it on your own." Which maybe he has.

« He won' find out, darlin', » Tacuseth gives in soothing manner - or, the shadows seem to take on this sort of soothing feeling about the green. « We are not the sort to toss such secrets to the winds. » He must mean his rider, too. "Do I look like I feel up the young?" Jo puts to her rider then before handing over her flask. "Maybe it's you lookin' to feel me up in my tight pants. Or maybe it's the tight pants itself." Hands lifting, "Hey, darlin', I'm the last to judge someone on their kinks if so." When talk shifts to guards, her lips press together at him as he speaks. "Perhaps ya didn' get the full pleasure of trainin' under my father, then," is her response to that. "With Jothan, there was never a dull moment."

"They must do things differently in Keogh." G'laer comments without any note of surprise. Every guard trains a little differently. "Maybe it's because in Crom proper there are so many guards and not enough to do." It sounds plausible anyway. "I would hope you're not the type." Then, mirroring her words from before, "If I were interested in your tight pants, we'd be talking about something far more inappropriate than guard training." The flask is handed back, still untouched. Obviously, in accepting it, he thought about drinking it, but has decided better of it. « He'll know. » Teisyth seems convinced. It actually sounds spooky the way she says it. « He always knows. » More likely, she always forgets he's not supposed to and accidentally ends up telling him and is then surprised that he does know, but...

"Mm," is all Jo says on guard training, watching G'laer intently. Then borrows her words and that has the bluerider giving one chuckle and an incline of her head. Touche. She takes the flask back then before noting, "Ya like to follow the rules. Is that a guard thing or you?" « If he knows, then what will he do? » Tacuseth asks, the shadows warping about Teisyth's mind now.

"It's not against the rules," G'laer responds. Which doesn't answer her observation or her question, of course. He glances toward his lifemate, "Only, even a little has... well, side effects. Sometimes it's just not worth getting her worked up." « He'll be mad. » She already said that. But that's apparently the whole answer. Something about the shadows seems to make her shiver and that prompts her to come out from wallow under the trees and into the sunlight. That's better. To Teisyth, G'laer being mad at her is just the worst.

"Ya just don' drink," Jo chooses to conclude, briefly lifting up the denied flask once she gets it back and takes a long pull. "For yer dragon's sake. Yer better than me, then." She stops up the flask again and slips it back into the inside of her jacket pocket as she asks, "I hear Alida's helpin' yer class out? Is that true?" Tacuseth's shadows start to dissipate, as if the blue is withdrawing from Teisyth's mind with a faint, « If he gets mad, then, he can shift that anger to me, kid. Jo'n I can handle him. » It's as simple as that.

"Well, no." G'laer admits after a moment of frowning silence. "She doesn't mind it at all. I just--" Beat. "Screw it. The flask?" He reaches a hand toward her, palm up, for all that she just put the thing away. "You'll see. He'll see." Explaining is always a challenge. He gives a shake of his head as he waits, "No. With Hraedhyth's weyrlings. The ones that are senior weyrlings. Quinlys' set up some advanced study classes, or something like that. We won't have that kind of thing for months yet, beyond the extra stuff this-" He flicks a finger toward the silver thread woven into his knot, "-gives us." Teisyth seems surprised by the thought. « Why would he go an' do somethin' like that? It'd be silly to be mad at someone who didn't do nothin'. » And one thing Teisyth is certain of, G'laer is not silly.

With the flask put back in, Jo eyes that hand that's out before she reaches for it and pulls it back out. "I shouldn' be the reason for yer fuck-up," is all she says, though, by the tone it's likely that she wouldn't care if she was the reason one way or another. She hands it over to G'laer then as she adds in, "That's good, for Alida. Always thought she would be good in a position of teachin'. Influence. Do ya get on with the other assistants? I'zech? Tela?" « Then I will take it back, » Tacuseth isn't one for complications, apparently. If his help is not wanted, he takes it back. Instead, « How 'bout ya show me this tree business, eh? » A change in subject to something lighter.

"It's not a fuck-up. Just wait for it." G'laer responds evenly taking the flask and opening it. He knocks back a long draw from the mouth. Not so much as to be rude, but getting right to the threshold of it. He recaps the flask. "You know her well? Alida." He clarifies though it's likely unnecessary. "I get on well enough. They're my teachers, I'm their student. It's a fairly straight-forward relationship." For all that he's of an age with one and turns older than the other. "The only ones I seem to have trouble getting on with are the other weyrlings. And I'm not so much sure that it's me having trouble getting on with them as them expecting me to be more... chummy than I am. I'm not there to braid hair and talk about their latest and greatest crushes." He is markedly older than the rest of the class, having turns on even the oldest of the others from Iesaryth's clutch. « What're you takin' back? » Now Teisyth is confused again. Did he give her something she can't remember? Sometimes she can't remember things, she knows. She never knows what it is she can't remember, but she is reminded that there's something. The trees. She does remember the trees and why she was under them. And so she shows. When she shows, however, it's not the real memory but a cartoon impression of the memory, and scribbled in a childlike hand. With crayon. That colors outside the lines. And surely those leaves aren't really purple and pink...

Jo watches him knock it back with raised brows, staying silent until he answers on Alida. "I dunno if well would be the right word, darlin'," she says on her wingmate. "I doubt anyone knows her, but yeah, she's a wingmate of mine. Do you?" she now asks him. She nods, seeming to expect his next on getting along with his clutchmates, though she does say, "Is everythin' so....I dunno, black'n white to ya? 'They're my teachers, I'm their student. It's a fairly straight-forward relationship.'" She imitates his voice, including all of its reflections. As for Tacuseth, the blue likely figures explaining it would only confuse the little green more so he simply warms the shadows dissipating about Teisyth in a gesture that says 'Nevermind' and focuses on what's under the tree.

"Not well. But we've spoken. Took me hunting once during candidacy." So, more than just spoken. The mimicry coaxes his lips from flat line to ever-so-slightly curved. If one weren't keen of sight, the ghostly smile would be missed entirely. "There are shades of grey." G'laer admits with a shrug, "Just haven't had cause to see things as grey with the assistants. I grew up here with Quinlys, so that's a little more grey, but not much. We weren't close." The doodles continue. Sure, they're bright and not the right colors, but that's still in the spectrum of 'normal' for Teisyth. It takes time for the 'side effects' to hit.

"Sounds like more than talkin' then," Jo notes on hunting with Alida, giving a brief laugh. "I think she'd make a good mentor for ya. And....shades of grey, ya said. My father would have loved ya." There's a flicker of interest at the mention of him knowing the Weyrlingmaster, and there's a simple nod to it as she now studies Teisyth. Tacuseth, for his part, is watching those colors, seeming to be mesmerized by them. He welcomes the entertainment, only putting in bits of dust and rust-colored shadow wisps here and there on those doodles.

"Yeah." G'laer admits. "Hunting." That's what's more. "Wrestling porcines. Playing hero." That kind of thing. "Friend, maybe. Mentor, I'm not so sure." Beat. "And I'm not sure she's interested in mentoring me." There's a subtle implication there. "It might make things overly complicated." Especially for one for whom so many relationship seem to be quite straight-forward. "But I'll let you ask her about that yourself, if you're curious and daring enough." Here it comes. It's subtle at first. The doodles start to come a little bit faster, the colors are more vibrant, and Teisyth herself is suddenly fidgety. At first it's little shifts, then soon, she's twitchy and just-- just-- she has more energy than even she knows what to do with! In an effort to let some of it out she bound over to Tacuseth and swings her tail to tag his side. And then fleeeeeeees! She frolics as she goes. Nevermind that he could overtake her in two steps. Tag is fun! Games are fun! Fun fun fun fun fun fun fun! There's even a sensation of internal bouncing. Boingboingboingboingboing! And just think, G'laer gets to feel this acutely. His fingers twitch, once, but that's all. "Is being the kind of man your father would've loved something that endears me more to you or warns you away? You seem like the type to like what her daddy hates." Why on Pern he would think that with all the black leather and attitude... well, the world may never know.

Quirking her brows to an implication given, "What? Somethin' goin' down with ya and....?" Jo asks on G'laer and Alida, a lopsided grin petering out. "Blonde guards're yer thing? Shit, I ain' askin' her," and she shakes her head to that notion. "She's not one ya can joke around with on it. A shame, too." Not that she's all messed up about it. She's smiling all the same. Her gaze shifts in time to see Teisyth suddenly smack Tacuseth with her tail before running. Tacuseth does bound after her, and of course he reaches her enough to reach his head out to give the green a bump. "Why do ya wanna know?" Jo asks on how he's perceived from her, smirking a bit. "I look like the sort to spite my da?" Something she's looking entertained by for some reason.

"If they are," G'laer answers with a little distraction, his eyes following his green, "It's always a surprise to me." Beat. "You might imagine I'm not much of a charmer." For all that he did convince Jo to have a drink with him that once. "Truthfully, someone ought to warn her off, most like. My track record isn't..." He doesn't find the right word so he just leaves it. Teisyth's mental giggle at being tagged back is shrill with excitement and she pauses, tail swaying, waiting for the blue to run so she can take her turn. Then she moves. And pauses. And moves. And pauses. Staying still is just not an option right now. And after that stellar sales pitch from the greenrider, he offers without a lot of intention behind it, "Maybe brunettes with daddy issues are more my thing." He gives a nod that she looks like she'd be the sort to spite her father, but doesn't add comment to it.

"Is not bein' much of a charmer somethin' ya pride yerself in?" Jo asks to his comments, shaking her head a bit. "And, if ya think she needs warnin' off, then that's suggestin' to me that she's the one that's been pursuin' ya. Is that right? Alida's pursuin' ya? Cuz, now ya got me curious about this track record of yers." If tag's the game, then Tacuseth is gone. He dives into the lake with a flick of his blue tail, his head only bobbing up to the surface with one big eye on Teisyth. G'laer's last earns him a deadpan, "Somethin' tells me that it's not, and I don' have daddy issues. I just know he's a prick, is all. Want more to drink before I go?" Even if it's having visible effects on his dragon, it doesn't seem to phase the bad influential bluerider.

Like a play-craze feline or canine kept too long indoors, Teisyth's chase is zig-zagging, for no apparent reason. Until, scamper scamper, bound bound, leap, glide, splash! And she's into the lake to continue her pursuit of the big blue. "In for a quarter-piece in for a mark, right?" G'laer extends his hand for the flask. "She's going to be keyed up for hours. Might as well get a mental buffer for the onslaught." It probably goes a lot like: « G'laerG'laerG'laerG'laerG'laerG'laer! » What? Beat. « LOOKATMEEEEEEE!! » or something. All. Night. Long. Then, "Are you just saying that because I'm a greenrider and I ought to prefer the company of my own fair sex?" For a moment, he's playful, pretending to be taken aback by the idea that she doubts the genuity of his interest. "It's not that I pride myself on not being a charmer, it's that I've given up any hope of ever rectifying that state." He reaches up to scrub at his chin because one of her first questions that he now answers last requires some thought. "Might be she is. Might be she's not. It's not seemed too clear to me. Might just be she likes having another former guard for company in a land of fools." His lips pull into his half-smirk, and his shoulders shrug. Maybe it should be clearer. But maybe he's trying to look from too many possible angles. What's to be gained? It's a complicated question, except when it's not.

Tacuseth dips back underwater, taking the chase low with relish. He seems to have no qualms with the game, and Jo is willing to be oblivious to his and Teisyth's antics. She pulls the flask right back out and unlids it before handing it over with a breezy, "Is she always this hyper, or is it only under the influence? Could be useful, ya know. Her condition." Smirk. There's open laughter for his answering question, returning on the banter, "Once she goes up? Maybe the charm will come then. Nope, ain' got nothin' to do with yer bein' on green, though now that ya brought it up, it does make me wonder. Would it be easier with yer own fair sex, ya think? Won' need much charm there. Anyway," and there's a shrug, "I don' know what yer preferences are. It's fun to guess. For all I know, perhaps yer like Alida'n keep all that behind closed doors from the public eye that is me. Which, in Alida's case, can' really help ya there on if she's after ya or not. She seems keen on keepin' everyone at arm's length, so..." She's no help, really.

Maybe it's the alcohol or Teisyth's mood, but the idea of the dragon's condition being useful has G'laer's smirk slipping to a thin, but amused smile. "Oh, no, a bluerider in tight leather pants trying to take advantage of me, what. ever. will. I. do." He punctuates each word of the last phrase as separate and distinct. He probably should throw his hand to his forehead and swoon, but apparently the smile and return of humor is as far as his condition will get her. So instead, he throws back the flask for another long, but not quite rude draw before handing it back to Jo. "Only when I drink. Not that she isn't usually energetic." Because she is. His shoulders shrug about flights, apparently unconcerned about the idea. "I can't see Teisyth as a sexual being. Maybe she's still too young, but-- I'm not sure it'll add to my charm. Shells, she's the most charming thing about me as is." His fingers flick toward the lake and the antics that, to some, would be considered endearing. "You don't think getting a man takes charm? You must meet a lot of easy men." Not that that gives her any hints about his preferences. Let her guess. There's another shrug for Jo not being of help with clarifying the situation with Alida. He probably really didn't expect her to have insight on the matter; he's met Alida, after all.

"I'd never take advantage," Jo manages to say this with a completely straight face. She takes the flask back and takes one last drink before closing it up and putting it away again. "I don' think we'd get along that way, darlin'. I see far beyond the grey." Brows waggle a bit at him before adding, "And I'm not one for stickin' to rules. It's hardly entertainin'. Guardstock without all the guard tendencies, I am." Nodding to Teisyth on his response about her, "Most charmin' outta the two of ya? Interestin'. I suppose that's so. She's managed to get Tac to play her game, at least - though, he is partial to greens in general." There's low laughter at his remarks on easy men, briefly rolling her eyes before she returns that with, "Darlin', I mostly deal with bronzeriders. Doesn' take much to charm'em. Maybe it's just me. Not that I won' take up the more challengin' men about, but...well, let's be frank. They usually only see me as a lay'n nothin' more. Or someone not worth their time. I don' got the time to convince'em otherwise." She's not apologetic about that fact neither.

"Sometimes," G'laer points out, "It's more fun when you don't get along." The way he does it, however, doesn't imply interest or lack of, but rather continues to leave it generally ambiguous. "Neither of us has to be interested or get along with each other for me to enjoy your tight pants." Although, it seems he has trouble getting away from the topic of them. He leans just a little toward Jo, "For the record, I'm not guardstock. But you're welcome to keep making whatever assumptions you like. I'm not one to take away a person's cozy misconceptions." Implying she has gained some of him. Then he's leaning back, arms shifting on the bench into one of relative repose. "Maybe you should try a different flavor sometime then. Other than bronze. Those that are a challenge are not always those that need convincing. Everyone has their reasons for being as they are, even if some aren't an open book about how that came to be." Now it's vague, it's cryptic. Unhelpful. Teisyth wiggles in the water as she draws near to Tacuseth, having to swim because of the depth, but she's strong and solid for a green, though still growing to be sure. There's the inevitable attempt - one which she herself botches, ending up rolling in the water instead of actually tagging him, and a second will be made, that while it may not land is at least closer to the motion she meant with the first one, neck stretching to try to tag the blue.

"Ya just want my tight pants," Jo sums it up, taking in G'laer's ambiguous tone succinctly. "Like I've said, I know the man that made them for me. I'll hook ya up if ya got the marks." Beat. "And for the record," she adds right then when he leans in to speak, "I know yer not guardstock. Weyrstock. Holdstock. Craftstock. It's all the same to me. Ya both carry yer own righteous set of rules. Where we come from does shape us, in a way." She pats the hidden flask in her jacket before turning to watch their dragons at play when he speaks on flavors. There's a short humph for that one, remarking back, "Didn' say I was exclusive to bronze. I've been known to enjoy green. Do I need a challenge, accordin' to ya?" She looks at him then. "What do you need? Do ya even know?" Hard questions to probe into his mind. Tacuseth keeps the chase up for sure, not going too fast but managing to turn in the nick of time whenever Teisyth attempt to tag him. He gives her that semblance that she will, though - At least until he snatches that semblance away at the last moment before diving again.

"Haven't the marks. Why do you think I avoid paying for drinks?" G'laer tosses back since she's back to offering to hook him up for a set of his own. "It's interesting that you're so sure I'm rule-bound." He adds in a detached voice of observation. "I wonder what gives you that idea." But he doesn't ask. "Well, if you've got time to track me down to meet my dragon, you're probably in need of some kind of distraction. If talking to me is the most interesting thing you could be doing right now..." Then sure, Jo could use a challenge. "What I need-" He starts, leaning in a bit once more, letting his voice fall low and secretive, "Is a dose of fellis to drown out my dragon." Then louder and directed to the dragon in the lake who's abruptly broken off her chase, despite the excellent fun it had been in the moment before, "Who doesn't remember to tell me when she's getting itchy until it's too late!" Teisyth. She looks guilty, but twitchy, and she's all apology to Tacuseth. Well, apology and itch! With a sigh, G'laer pushes up from the bench and runs a hand across his short-shorn locks. "Thanks for the drink, Jo. Clear skies." He offers by way of farewell.

"Better work on that, then," Jo is quick to say on G'laer needing marks to buy pants, shaking her head in her amusement. That amusement lingers on through his remarks on her thinking him rule-bound - she doesn't ask, really. His next on challenges has her stating, "Don' buff yerself up to be that special for my sake, darlin'." Egos and all. She watches him even when he leans in close to speak about what he needs, brows lifting at his needs being those of his green. In as much soberness that she can draw, she nods and answers with "As it should be. Clear skies indeed, G'laer." She doesn't plan on leaving just yet. Not with Tacuseth dripping wet as he drags himself out of the lake. The both of them watch the weyrling pair off before a half an hour later, the two can be seen wheeling up in the sky towards the weyrs.