Difference between revisions of "Logs:Khiabeth's First Flight"

It's been a handful of days since the barracks collapse, and most of the Weyr still on edge, there isn't many bright spots to be hand. Life, however, goes on, and dragons forget for more rapidly than their human counterparts. Reesa, normally so bubbly, is taciturn throughout the day, and it's only in late afternoon that Khiabeth begins to glow, and rises almost immediately. That fairly destroys Hematites' drill, though being a heavier wing, most of those dragons are ignored in favor of the more agile blues that can keep up with the quick-moving green. It's not long after that Khiabeth is caught for the first time - by her clutchmate Muth. She's fairly sanguine about it, as is Reesa: the greenrider's just woken up and, with quick steps, hurries over to the bathroom then back into the bed to reclaim her warm spot before it gets /too/ cold.

Th'lad lays in the bed like a man made of stone, his arm bent awkwardly in the last position he happened to land in and his expression that of a boy not at all armed with the social grace to behave at all confident in such an exposed position. His characteristic pride has been ravaged and even when the pretty blonde Reesa hops off to the bathroom, the lanky bluerider remains frozen in place, unable (or unwilling?) to do anything but gulp down his nervousness and stare at the ceiling with wide, startled blue eyes. When she returns, he is in no better shape, all the more nervous for her return and the long, awkward silence that he welcomes her with. Muth, on the other hand, is quite the natural mate and happily bends to suit whatever Khiabeth's wishes are in the moment. Snuggling or not, Muth is as much the happy ray of sunshine he is every other moment of every day.

Would it help, or hinder his mood that Reesa shifts to drape a leg over his under the covers? By the impish smile on the greenrider's face, she's testing his measure- or maybe just seeking to warm up toes that have gone cold in the trip outside the bed. Something puzzled creeps into her expression, however, and she props her head on her elbow, staring at Th'lad thoughtfully. "This isn't your first time, is it? I've never seen a harper-" or ex, as the case may be, "-so lost for words." Khiabeth remains well pleased with herself- her only wish right now appears to be snuggling with Muth in what's left of the day's warmth, happy to leave their riders to their own devices.

Whether that leg is helpful or not really depends on what reaction Reesa is hoping to witness. Th'lad jumps (though surely some of that can be blamed on her cold toes, no?), but otherwise remains perfectly still, wide blue eyes roaming the ceiling for ideas before experimentally darting sidelong to steal a glimpse of the greenrider - a very, very short glimpse before those shy eyes dart away again to the safety of the ceiling. He gulps again, his prominent adam's apple bouncing up and down his narrow neck with a frequency that would betray his nervousness even if the rest of him weren't also blatantly giving him away. "I-" His first attempt to make words results in his voice cracking at a very unusually high octave for a man his age and he pauses to give a cough at try again. "Why would you ask me such an inappropriate and unnecessary question?" he manages to counter back.

Either way, it's a reaction, and it appears to please Reesa. She lets her leg rest there, though she does shift her weight just slightly so that he can feel the press of her skin against his side, before she stops. "Because you're wound tighter than a proddy goldrider, and that's /not/ the effect that hours in my bed usually engenders. I'm not sure whether to feel offended or not, really." She's probably teasing. Maybe. There is a glint in the eyes of the Harper-trained greenrider, however- /if/ he's looking. "It's nothing to be ashamed of; /I/ think it's sweet." If perhaps odd, but that seems to bother her less than the thought of him being unsatisfied.

"Not all proddy goldriders are wound up," Th'lad begins to defend before reconsidering his argument and adding: "And neither am I." Except that he is, laying in that clearly uncomfortable position. At least the talking does something for his level of discomfort as he doesn't need to swallow quite so hard in order to continue. "How might I have offended you?" His face twists in horror. "Was it /bad/?"

"Haven't met a one that wasn't," Reesa's pretty quick to counter. His expression of horror earns a quirk of lips, as the greenrider murmurs throatily, "/I/ enjoyed myself. But, if you want to see whether we can do better, I'm open to that, too. I mean- our dragons aren't going anywhere, it's cold outside- might as well entertain ourselves, right?" She's pretty casual about it: she doesn't press any closer, quite at ease.

That statement quiets Th'lad for a moment, thoughtful eyes roaming the ceiling as his mind churns. "I suppose I don't know any goldriders well enough to disprove your remark," he mumbles softly. "But it is highly improbable that /all/ proddy goldriders are wound up." Her offer silences him for a very, very long moment where he barely so much as breathes, the surest signs that he still lives being that his eyes never stop their erratic darting around the ceiling and his neck occasionally struggles to swallow down the tension in his throat. He dares a very brave sidelong glance at Reesa but it is that brief look that proves too much and the body that once lay immobilized now springs to life and /leaps/ out of the bed, grabbing the nearest articles of clothing and pulling them on without much thought into whose they are. It is definitely not his own shirt that he puts on for certain. "I-" he begins to stutter in a voice that attempts to convey the same casual air that she had but instead just comes across high-pitched and skittish. "I really would like to -um- stay," he stammers, putting the wrong leg into his pants. "But I have things. Tasks. I have tasks. To do. This was nice." All said without looking up at her, his focus on putting feet into boots and rummaging around for other belongings that have mysteriously disappeared until finally he stands. "Well, it... we... I... Could... Okay. Yes. Right. Good day, Wingwider." That accidental slip of the tongue leaving the usually so-composed and articulate Th'lad simply so mortified that he turns for the exit and Muth begins to unwind himself from Khiabeth. « We should do this again soon! » is Muth's bubbly sentiment.

In a matter-of-fact tone that might well have done the Apprentice Master proud, Reesa retorts: "You haven't lived in a Weyr long enough to make such a broad-sweeping generalization; I have." When Th'lad leaps into motion, there's a moment of stunned silence, as the greenrider sits up to watch him, curling the furs back around her more out of warmth than modesty. She can't help it: there's a low laugh. "Oh, come on, Th'lad. Don't be so jumpy. I don't want to weyrmate you or anything. Come back to bed, I promise, I won't touch." But the way he's determindly getting dressed - in his clothes or not - suggests even her persuasiveness won't suffice. "It /was/ nice," she agrees, as she stretches arms above her head before lying back down. "We should do it again sometime." Hard to tell whether that's mere coincidence or whether she's deliberately echoing Muth's sentiment. But for now, the greenrider seems content to snuggle back under the covers. Khiabeth, anyway, seems expressly disappointed that Muth's leaving: « You should come back once you've taken him where he needs to go. »

Whether her words fall upon deaf ears or if Th'lad is simply too far along to turn back now, he high tails it out of there in half of the greenrider's clothes and without some rather personal effects of his own. And although his rider is not much of a snuggler, Muth is and he doesn't need more than that subtle suggestion by Khiabeth to bring him flying back to her ledge after the blue has returned Th'lad to the safety of his private weyr where there is no snuggling happening anywhere in sight.