Difference between revisions of "Logs:Tayte's 26th Turnday"

Cadejoth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr

It's a broad ledge, this one: low enough to have an excellent vantage point above the living caverns and the feeding pens, but high enough to avoid the smell. Large enough for visitors, it also boasts a wide, deep overhang, set far enough back to cut the breeze.

A variety of hooks set deep into the stone suggest the ability to hang things, but the occupant has yet to do so. In winter, however, there are the icicles: dramatic ones that form in one specific point off to the side of the ledge. In summer - well, there's a tub to set beneath it, catching rainwater enough to offer a relatively secluded bath.

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.

« Cadejoth! » The cheery mind of forgetful green Dorith calls out to the bronze late in the evening. « There was a woman. You weren't there, but we left her there. She's on your ledge now. We brought her because she said she was your friend. Or K'del's friend. She was a friend, she said. And she needed a ride. So we gave her one. » There's pride in that. Dorith may be many things (among them, ditzy, sometimes dumb, and fanciful) but at least she did this right! She helped someone. « Lori- » Her rider, (yes, Lori and Dori and neither qualify as being bright). « -said she didn't think you would mind because the woman is so pretty. What was her name? » She struggles. « Um. Uh. » Her touch flits in the direction of her rider and then back again, like the swift movement of fish beneath the ocean waves. « Tayte! That's right. Tayte. She waits for you and yours there. » And then the touch is flitting away, distracted by something and then the fact that she was ever even speaking to Cadejoth is forgotten within moments.

She can't have been waiting on his ledge long, because she's not freezing. But she does make for quite the sight when Cadejoth comes to land. The light of Timor and Belior illuminate Tayte as she stands on the ledge. The moonlight streams across the train of the lavender dress that is caught by the wind, causing it to ripple and wave. The top half of the gather-and-then-some-worthy dress is hidden from view by the long heather grey shawl that's wrapped around Tayte's shoulders. Her hair and make-up are done up so that the whole sight of her would qualify to some as 'breathtaking'. Beside her, there's a sizable basket. It's not so large that she couldn't carry it herself, but large enough to house a bounty of goodies; or maybe it's an overnight bag. She doesn't exactly look as low maintenance as usual.

Tayte probably won't know it, but Taiga has a restday today - and for that reason, K'del and Cadejoth have been out-weyr almost since the break of down. The bronze seems surprised by Dorith's hail, and more surprised by the contents of it, but his thanks is evident: a rattle of chains, so like the wag of a tail, and the promise that he won't leave this surprise guest waiting for long.

Sure enough, it isn't long before Cadejoth appears above the Weyr, circling down towards his ledge to land upon the slick surface. There's dirt on K'del's face, and his clothes are muddy; it's quite a dramatic contrast to Tayte, and he seems conscious of it as he swings down to the ground, rubbing gloved hands upon his trousers. "Tayte," he says, unable to hide the surprise - and, okay, slight awe - from his voice. "You look-- amazing." And he does not - wind-tossed, pink-cheeked, dirty. He doesn't ask what she's doing her; instead, he says, "Uh, do you want to come in? It's cold out here."

Some ladies, after having taken such obvious pains to effect a jaw-dropping look, would be disgusted by the appearance of a dirty, muddy bronzerider. Not Tayte. When he's near enough for her to take in all the grit, there's a surprised little laugh that leaves her face all the warmer when it dies away. "Thank you." For both the compliment and the offer of shelter, "I would." She manages to remember her manners, "But perhaps I should be apologizing? It looks like I interrupted you doing something--" She looks him over now thoroughly, openly appraising, lips pressed together in silent mirth. "--laborious." she decides as the right term. "Or fun. Is it a bad time? What have you been doing?" She can't help but ask, shifting her grip, with the intention of holding her shawl in one hand the other reaching for the basket. But as she does, her hand slips and the wind's devilish gusting is all too eager to snatch the long knit thing up, stealing it away. Another gust shows its intention to take the shawl right off the ledge. This theft does two things, it reveals the other half of Tayte's dress, which is equally as snazzy as the flowing train, and it has the woman taking a pair of steps to reach after the shawl, with a little startled noise.

K'del's mouth opens, presumably so that he can explain his appearance, but the flight of Tayte's shawl catches him out; he lunges for it, missing it, right as Cadejoth attempts to do likewise. The bronze has size on his side, at least, and with any luck, will manage to trap the shawl before it gets too far... and hopefully without ruining it. "Shells," says K'del, watching, though it may be said that he casts another glance back at Tayte, appreciative of this improved view of her dress. "No, it's no interruption. It was time for me to head back home, anyway. It was-- it's just a project I'm working on. Something to keep me busy."

"The one that you were going to ask my help with?" Tayte asks, even as her eyes track the shawl to where Cadejoth's frame gets enough in the way for the shawl to catch on his nose and half-wrap around it. This prompts a giggle from the woman, and she moves, without basket toward the bronze. "My hero!" She calls to Cadejoth with a smile, moving near enough to K'del that her skirt tickles across his pant-leg (thankfully not retaining what mud it comes into contact with, at least not visibly). She turns her head back to glance at K'del over her shoulder, setting the beaded earrings swinging, "You two do work as a team, right? Or shall I climb up to get it myself?" It's a ridiculous notion and the wry smile shows she knows it. "I brought drinks, if you could see your way to joining me for some." A nod toward the large basket. "And cake. And some other things."

Lifting both hands (dirty, of course) to waggle in Tayte's direction, even if they stay well away from her, K'del says, "Believe me, you don't want me touching anything you're wearing at the moment, not until I've cleaned up." Luckily, Cadejoth is happy enough to drop his nose down - carefully, making sure the shawl stays - towards the woman's height: here. His tail wags against the icy surface of the ledge, his pleasure intensely obvious. "Reckon I could do that. I should clean up, first-- should I be putting on my best, too?" Beat. "Come on in before you freeze. Shouldn't take too long for the hearth to start doing what it needs to." He'll even be a gentleman, and stoop to pick up that basket for her, leaving her both hands to keep that shawl from flying away again.

There's a laugh for the wiggling fingers and all their crusted dirt. Tayte steps to where Cadejoth has lowered his head, beaming at the bronze with her warmest smile yet. She peels the shawl away and then leans in to press a kiss to his hide, following it up with a good scritch. "Heroes get kisses from the fair maidens in all the Harper stories." She tells the dragon, by way of explanation. "Thank you, Cadejoth." She stays scritching him while she casts another look that qualifies as sultry amusement at K'del, "You can wear whatever you like, I'm the turnday girl." Which obviously means she's the one who needs to look her best. "But I'd consider it my turnday gift if you would clean up in case I need another hero before the night is over. Heroes are supposed to be ruggedly handsome and all," She glances to Cadejoth with a renewal of the smile, then back to K'del, "And sometimes they do have to get a little messy to be the hero, but I'd rather my turnday tale not end with a ruined dress." Then she's heeding his words, not bothering to re-wrap the shawl since shes' just following him inside. Once they're safe from the winds though, she thinks better of that choice, chill coaxing goose-pimples from the flesh of her shoulders, and around her shoulders that shawl goes again, leastways until the hearth actually does start warming the place up. Her ocean eyes scan across the weyr as they enter, interest obvious on her face.

"Perhaps I should wear my turnday suit to match the turnday girl," teases K'del, in a way that is a long way off serious. "Happy turnday, though! I'm tickled, that you decided to spend it with me." Cadejoth blows warm air in Tayte's direction. Thankfully, it must have been a day or two since he last ate: it's not especially meaty, just a hint of brine, as though he's been out in the ocean, somewhere, or at least flying above one. "He says he makes a better hero than I do; you should stick with him. But he's lying." Another huff from Cadejoth: is not. Inside, past the tapestry, it's not as cold as it could be, though the fire in the hearth has burned low. K'del's quick to coax it back up again, after setting down her basket, saying, "Make yourself at home. Poke through my things, whatever you like. I'll go clean up." Which means going around the corner, behind the hearth, but not so far that the sound of splashing water won't carry.

There's laughter from Tayte at his suggestion. "Well, if that's really what makes you most comfortable. Although, it is cold," A glance slides down his body pointedly, and back up, "And would you really want that to be the most significant memory on the anniversary of my twenty-sixth turn?" There's more laughter for the exchange between dragon and man, "Well, you two just keep on out-doing each other and I'll let you know when I've decided who's the better hero. A girl can never have too many, can she?" Obviously, this gets her the greatest benefit. Clever girl. She takes him at his word. Look around? Poke through his things? Don't mind if she does. Tayte starts with a general perusal of the main room, pausing momentarily to assess the whiskey, and then she's poking into the bedroom. Crossing the line of first visit etiquette? Probably, but he said. Soon Tayte is poking her nose into his closet. After all, maybe she does have a preference for what he might wear once he's cleaned up after all. What she comes out with has a deeply amused smile on her lips and a faint blush coloring between her freckles. "You know, you didn't strike me as the type to play dress-up." She calls to K'del, sticking a hand around the corner with women's panties dangled from a fingertip. "Though," Her alto comes playfully, "I guess these are a little small for you."

"Those," says K'del, drying himself with a towel as he turns back to see what Tayte is up to, "belong to the last woman who went hunting through my things. Though she didn't make it quite this far." At least... not in terms of looking through his things. He doesn't seem bothered to have them pointed out - he doesn't seem even remotely bothered that Tayte has taken his offer this far. He did say, after all! "Ought to get them back to her at some point, but..." One day. "Worked out what I ought to wear, yet?" He comes to a halt behind her, peering past her into the closet space.

This nonchalance seems to please Tayte for there's laughter in her eyes and smile, if not vocalized. The blouse and knickers are replaced where she found them (and carefully, too!). "Well," The blonde begins as she slides outfits on the hanging rod, "You have a shocking lack of string bikini bottoms, but I guess that's what happens when you live somewhere this cold. Not a lot of occasions to get them out and flaunt them." There's a fluttery sigh, that's certainly all in play, and she picks two shirts out that she apparently likes, probably two of his more stylish ones, turning toward him to let him pick. "There is always that fancy turnday suit if neither of these strike your fancy." Her lips betray her tease for what it is: a continuation of his earlier joke.

"We can't all live at Ista," agrees K'del, towelling his hair for a few moments more before the towel - so untidily - gets tossed towards the floor behind him. No doubt he'll clean it up later; certainly, his weyr seems relatively tidy, for the home of a bachelor. Both shirts get apparently serious consideration, but while some people would take time to make a decision, he seems relatively decisive, picking the finely woven shirt in a similar shade of blue as his eyes a moment later. "Pretty sure I can make do with this one. Not sure anyone really needs to see me shivering in my altogether, however... festive it might seem." The shirt goes on, buttoned with quick, efficient movements. His curls are untidy, and still damp-dark, but he's otherwise relatively presentable, now.

"Still, not even one for visits is a real shame." Tayte smirks, and then the smirk turns broader as her eyes follow the towel to the floor. She doesn't say anything but it's clear there's some silent joke she doesn't choose to voice as upper lip parts from lower showing her teeth and her dimples. "Suit yourself." If her eyes dip away from his face as he's reaching for the shirt and putting it on before she turns to replace the unchosen shirt, well... it is her turnday. She's allowed to look. She makes move back to the main room to her basket where he left it by the couch and she withdraws a bottle. "I have to confess something before we start drinking, because it's sure to come out either way." A pair of shot glasses are snagged in her other hand, "You know how you said you were tickled I was spending my turnday with you? Well, I spent it with Yvalia first. But she goes to bed early, and she's a terrible drinking partner." There's a grin, and her alto shifts in obvious jest, at least on the front of her daughter as a drinking partner. "And you should know this is my second set of make-up today. The first Vali did for me, and nice as it was, it was a little... well," she chuckles, "I looked like the most frightening old auntie you've ever met after a fight with an eyeshadow brush. It was sweet of her to do it, of course." She drops down onto the couch. The glasses are set on the low side table and she looks to find K'del before patting the cushion beside her in silent request before she pours the clear liquid. Clear. The most dangerous of drink colors.

It's hard to tell if K'del even notices the looking; certainly, he makes no comment on it, and neither does he exaggerate his actions, or smirk, or anything else that might give a hint to his thoughts. Following her, he smooths back his curls, padding across the cool stone in socked feet, and laughing at her confession. "If you hadn't spent it with your daughter, first, I would've disapproved," he tells her, moving to join her on the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him. "But that doesn't mean I'm not pleased that I beat her as drinking partner. Though..." He gives Tayte an appraising glance, amusement so-obvious in his expression, "I'm disappointed you destroyed her handiwork. That I would've liked to see."

"She's only just starting to understand turndays, so it's--" Tayte trails off looking a little embarrassed, but only after her face reveals an all too enchanted look in the way that mothers of only one child get - the step before cooing over their offspring, "Sweet." She concludes. "If you'd rather," Tayte responds arching a brow and her tone taking on a little edge (though mostly still playful), "I can go back and have her re-do it." A woman that took pains to look this good ought to be appreciated for her artistry, the tone implies. "Or just find someone who'll appreciate my efforts properly. Since at least one bronzerider in this room is proving himself lacking." For all that, and the roll of her eyes that goes with it, she offers him over a filled shot glass, prepared to clink and drink with her own.

"Of course it is. And," K'del straightens, hastily, his expression abruptly more serious, even as he takes that shot glass, "You look beautiful. Did I mention that? Really beautiful. So while I would've enjoyed seeing Yvalia's efforts... I'm not disappointed with what I see in front of me. Come to think of it... why did I get the turnday surprise of your fine company? That's hardly fair." His glass is clinked against hers, his gaze seeking hers as he does so. "To your successful revolution around the sun," he says. "May there be many more to come. Happy turnday, Tayte."

Tayte seems mollified by his expressions of praise, smile renewed and gaze meeting his. She taps her glass to his at the appropriate moment. Her expression shows her appreciation for the toast. The drink is swallowed down expertly; clearly she's taken many more than one shot in her time. And the clear liquid? It's as strong as they come, with a strong kick and throat burn. Neither of which seems to bother her. She does take a moment to take a breath and lick her lips before looking back to him. "Thank you, K'del. For all of that. Especially the beautiful part. The least a man can do for a lonely woman on her turnday is let her believe through her efforts she could get laid if she wanted to. Especially when there are all those unavoidable thoughts of youth and beauty and age that dredge themselves to the surface when a turnday comes 'round. Not that twenty-six is old, of course. But, shells, the turns have flown." As to the reason he got her company, she answers that as she's reaching into her basket again to withdraw a covered plate which is revealed to be a fancy iced cake when she removes the lid and slides the plate onto the table. "I thought that's the kind of thing best-friends were for. And I'd rather enjoy myself with one person I know, than a bunch of strangers. Those turndays are past."

K'del, too, has clearly had a fair amount of practice with shots-- he doesn't seem even remotely surprised by the strength of it, nor the kick, though he does exhale at the end of it and shake his head, smiling. "Pretty sure you could get laid even without all the trimmings," he tells her. "But I can see the appeal of getting especially dressed up, for a turnday. Turndays are important. It seems a shame not to celebrate them." With cake and booze, preferably. He sets down his shot glass, giving the cake a glance, though it doesn't take long for his attention to slide back to Tayte so that he can say, directly to her, "That's exactly the kind of thing best-friends are there for. Seems entirely reasonable to me. It's-- hm. Feels like having a smaller number of better friends is more important, now, than it ever used to be. Felt like the more friends the better, once. But I'm glad for all the ones I have, and... think I should probably try and be a better friend to all of them."

She doesn't do more with the cake just yet, reaching for the bottle instead. The proper ratio is two or three shots to a piece of cake, right? She pours as she says, "Now, now, K'del. Resolutions are best made on your own turnday. But I suppose," Her alto is playful from the start, but especially so as she says, "I'll allow you to have some as well since I've a number I want to make. I'd like to be less private, about myself. Less... shut down, I guess, is one way to say it. I have little doubt that you're right that I could get laid with or without the trimmings, if I didn't care who it was I was lying with. But the trouble is, now I do." Tayte shrugs her shoulders, "I guess that's part of growing up for me. Sort of like your fewer but better friends idea. Fewer, but better lovers. And friends. And sometimes both, I suppose, could be. Although," and here she lifts her glass, "I suppose I can't get fewer than none for lovers and hard to get fewer than two for friends. So maybe I ought to be thinking more rather than less." Then a toast, "To getting laid sometime before I'm old."

Though thoughtfully silent while Tayte speaks - and appropriately, if not seriously contrite for her chide - K'del does rather look as though he'd like to interrupt. He doesn't; instead, he holds his words in until those glasses are being lifted again, at which point he matches her toast with a firm nod, and downs the burning liquor. "Pretty sure getting laid has been one of my turnday wishes since I was-- old enough to think along those lines. Missed out, the past two, but maybe next turn..." He stops, then rolls his eyes, apparently at himself. "And there I go, talking about me again, when tonight should be all about you. Fewer but better lovers, though, I think that's the key. Is it so hard, to find the right kind of person here?" He doesn't disbelieve, from the sounds of it, despite the question.

After downing her own, ocean eyes shift to him, listening as he speaks. The keen could see that she picked this kind of alcohol because it's starting to soften her expression, relax her body, and when it does that to as practiced a system as a vintner, it's the good stuff. There's a mock noise of exasperation for him talking of himself again, and a playful roll of her eyes as Tayte slouches back on the couch, knees sliding to where they touch his, and laying on an angle into the armrest so she's practically half lying down. "Well, when is your turnday? I'll make note to have someone pretty and smart lined up for you." She teases, though there might be a genuine offer there. After all, they have been over her wingmanning quota to continue as his best friend and so on. Then her expression turns more serious, more thoughtful. "I don't-- no. I don't think it would be difficult to find the right kind of person here. I think the challenge really is more-- being the right person myself." Her shot glass is set aside and her finger pluck gently at the gauzy lavender fabric, resettling it into new folds there. "I was always... wild, before." A little color comes to her cheeks at this admission. "You know how they say everything in moderation? I was never good at moderating. And then Vali happened. And I stopped entirely. Drinking, sex, everything that got me in trouble." She doesn't mean it as the real meaning of the word, just as the old-fashioned Holder's way of saying with child. "Obviously I started drinking again, and I do fairly well with moderating that, now. But sex? How do you moderate something that feels so good?"

It no doubt makes for quite a picture: 'Ballgown in Repose' . K'del's got his head turned so he can look at Tayte, and now he shifts his position, one knee rising as he slides his foot up to cross over the other knee. "Month seven," is his prompt answer. "So you've got some time to work something out. Though-- it's not like I had a disappointing turnday, this turn, even without the getting laid bit. Sometimes... Well. A friend did something perfect for me, surprised me. Anyway." All of that is a prelude to the real topic of conversation, the one that has his own expression turned serious. Quietly: "Ah." More of an exhale than a word, really. "People often seem to say that the longer you put something off, the more it builds in your head. The more difficult and complicated it seems. Mind you, I'm pretty good at avoiding stuff, at letting it build up, so it's not as though I've listened to that, clearly."

"I'll see what I can do," Tayte's quip slides in before they get to the serious matter, smiling toward him. More quietly, "Glad you had a good one. Mine's shaping up nicely as well," A nudge to his knee for that. The ballgown does not stay in repose long, and is instead abruptly sitting up, and leaning forward to pluck a knife out of the basket. She listens as she moves to slice the cake. "You're probably right. I guess that means I should jump the next sexy and suitable thing that comes into my path, hm?" Her voice has a teasing edge, but there's a nervousness beneath it - and her steady hand trembles as the knife hovers over the cake. A life of it's own the thing indeed does have, enough to make the calm woman quake. Alcohol-plied or no. She solves the visibility of the tremble by making the slice. "I forgot plates, so you'll have to share with me." Not that she thinks this would bother him after the careful towel placement earlier. That's what floors are for, right?

It's probably coincidence that has K'del's gaze dropping towards Tayte's hands as she hovers over the cake - or maybe it's that he's caught the nervousness in her face. "Hey," he says, reaching to put his hand on her arm. "No. I think... Shells, I don't know." But he sympathises - empathises, even, probably more than that - and sounds even outright concerned. "It shouldn't be something to be nervous about, because that kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it? It has to be comfortable. Safe." Whatever 'safe' means, in this context. The cake is, for the moment, completely ignored.

The 'hey' grabs her attention enough to have her tilt her chin to look at him out of the corner of her eyes. To her credit, the touch to her arm doesn't cause her to tense. She slides the knife from its confectionary sheath and lies it on its side, hands drawing back to fold atop her knee. "I'm not sure that I could not be nervous about something like that." She swallows, brow furrowing. "When I was at the Hall, there was this one auntie who helped mind the female apprentices. And she caught me kissing a boy once and dragged me back to the dorms by my ear, swearing up and down that the moment I spread my legs, I'd know I lost my sense and quickly my virtue and as divine punishment I'd get knocked up within a seven." There's a deep blush then. "It was longer than a seven," Her eyes are latched firmly on the table, but not more than a month from the first time that I found out I was pregnant." Talk about traumatic and scarring. "I-- kissed a woman, in Snowasis a-- seven or two ago." This is said quietly, "And then felt terrible about it while I walked home." Ocean gaze is stormy with emotion as it seeks K'del's, expression begging acceptance for all her apparent issues.

There's no disapproval in K'del's expression, and no dismay. Instead, his hand slides down towards hers, to spread out atop them and rest there with a gentle pressure that is clearly only intended to be comforting. "Oh Tay," he says, his voice not much louder than a breath - a whisper. "I'm sorry. It shouldn't be like that. It-- I hate the way it turns into this dramatic, terrible thing. Something to be disapproved of, or felt guilty over. Know it's different for women, when there's the whole possibility of pregnancy," his voice breaks, just slightly, at that, "but there are ways to prevent that, too. And it just-- shells, I don't know. I'm sorry it's been like that for you. And for upsetting you, on your turnday, too."

Her hands shift under his, the bottom one flipping and the top slipping out from under his, gently turning his over atop her own. The fingers of her free hand begin to trace across his palm, her expression not upset, exactly, just- deeply thoughtful. "I think that there are things for each person that happens in a way it shouldn't. That leaves them scars and even open wounds that time hasn't yet healed. My things certainly aren't the worst to be endured." Tayte doesn't point out that he has had more than his share of things that shouldn't be as they have been, but likely she doesn't need to. "They're just silly and embarrassing. And I know, because I'm not the kind that goes for fortune telling and ghosts, that it was just coincidence. But that still doesn't make it easy." She takes a breath, "Don't-- say that." 'That' is ambiguous since she's gone this long after he's said whichever that she means, "That about upsetting me." She turns her face then, looking squarely at him, "I said my turnday resolution was to be less private. Less shut down. I never said that would be easy, or pleasant, but you didn't run away screaming or calling me crazy, so--" Here a soft smile curls onto her lips, small, but there. "That's a pretty good turnday gift, I think. Add a hug and you'll be friend of the turn." The last has her voice lightening with humor.

"Still rather not upset you," points out K'del. "If I can manage it. Especially on your turnday. Even if... Well. Not like I can't see your point. It's important, to make that stand, to decide that you want to change things, stop letting the past--" He breaks off; yes, he knows about these feelings, these trials, all too well. "And I would never call you crazy." His gaze drops loosely towards their hands, but it's his other one that moves: his arm, reaching to draw her towards him, and wrap snugly around her into a hug. The other hand will slide away from hers a moment later, but only so that he can make good on a proper, two-armed hug, complete with a squeeze, and a kiss pressed to the top of her head.

There's a light laugh for his preference, Tayte awarding him with a rueful smile and nod. "Alright, if you insist," is her murmured answer to that. The shade of the smile turns to gratitude for his reassurance over the crazy factor, and the smile warms for the hug she's drawn into. "There, see? All better. If only everything were so simple." There's a grin for this, but as she tilts her face up to look at him now, her expression turns puzzled, lips pursing slightly. It would seem natural for her to speak then, but she doesn't. The moment of silence that follows might be awkward, but if it is, it doesn't appear to seem so to her as she studies his face from this close vantage point.

"A hug and a kiss make everything better, or so my boys seemed to think... up until recently." K'del's words hang in the air, though, because in the moment that follows he's caught Tayte's look, and is returning her glance with one of his own - though his is more even, with none of that puzzlement. He could raise his eyebrows to ask the question, but he doesn't: instead, he simply waits, arms still snug around her, blue eyes still lowered to consider her face.

The silence goes on. Tayte stays just where she is, in his embrace. After another few breaths, her lips move, alto soft, "I've spent most of my life watching faces. One becomes a vintner as much for the people as the booze. I pride myself on my innate and schooled ability to read people - their mood, desires, dreams, to find their buttons. And for being someone I feel so strangely close to in such a short time, I can't read you at all." Her gaze shifts across his face, then back to his eyes. "Do other women have as much trouble with you?" She tilts her head now, ever so slightly, trying to solve this puzzle.

K'del's laugh is low - a little uncomfortable, a little bitter. "Used to wear my heart on my sleeve," he says, his arms relaxing, now, and drawing away, though he doesn't move his body: they're still sitting close. "Not anymore. There've been too many secrets, and too many things-- too much hurt. Feels easier, now, to keep my distance from things. Keep my own council. Honestly," one of his hands reaches to play, idly, with the fabric of her dress, "It surprised me that you were so quick to make me your friend; it's been nice." 'Nice' may be an understatement. 'Nice' may be one of those words that gets used when something more accurate escapes a person. "There're a few women who've known me for turns, and probably that helps. A few people, in general."

The discomfort, however slight, is heard and recognized by those adept ears of Tayte's and while she doesn't interrupt his word, one of her hands moves to lay lightly upon his thigh. She likely would have gone for his knee as it's merely a gesture of comfort, but that would have her leaning awkwardly forward, so thigh it is. She watches his face with both intensity and compassion, listening as though each word he speaks now were vitally important, and maybe they are. Her gaze flickers away only a moment to take in what his fingers are doing with her dress, and once she's assured that it's not hurting the gown, she's back to looking at him, "It surprised me, too." She admits quietly once he's finished. "Normally, that's just a thing I say because I'm 'friends' with everyone." Beat. "I didn't actually expect to become friends with you by the end of our first conversation. But-- there it was: real before I knew it." She shrugs her shoulders a little bit, as though such things happen without rhyme or reason. The heart has its reasons where reason knows nothing, it is said. Her expression becomes soft, the natural warmth of her face made mild in this moment as she looks to him. "Would you do something for me?"

"Well," says K'del, abruptly certain. "I'm glad, in any case." He's smiling again, and if it's not a smile that suggests overwhelming joy, it seems a genuine one nonetheless. He'll even stop playing with her dress again, soon after, as though the need to have something to do with his hands has ceased; now, they'll drop loosely to his lap, one grazing past Tayte's as it falls. "Of course. What is it?"

Tayte takes a breath, and the hand that was on his thigh moves to mingle with his, as though perhaps drawn by the graze. She tangles her fingers with his, though leaving her grasp loose. Her gaze as she turns it up to him from where it had fallen to those hands is serious and holds the look of one who knows what they are asking is not to be asked lightly nor an easy thing to be given. "Try not to keep your distance from me. I'm going to try to be less private about myself, with you, which you make -- well, not easy exactly, but less difficult than anyone else I've met. So... try not to keep me at arm's length?"

Given the way K'del exhales, he's probably anticipated a request along these lines... which doesn't mean that he's looking forward to it, and certainly doesn't mean that he's wholly comfortable. Then, he swallows, allowing his fingers to curve further around hers, not tight, but certainly in a way that suggests his answer before he's actually managed to put words to it. His nod is minute; his eyes meet hers unhesitatingly. "I'll try," he says, finally, in a low voice. "Pretty sure that's the best I can offer. For now. But I'll do my best, I swear it."

Her thumb brushes along the back of his hand after he's done speaking, her expression momentarily unreadable. "Kas," She uses the agreed upon temporary nickname and her alto is tinged with affection with just the smallest bit of amusement detectable, "Maybe you didn't hear me." She turns her face abruptly to him, smiling warmly. "To try is all that I asked," Perhaps he's used to being pressed for more. She leans to lay her head upon his shoulder. "You can no easier drop all the defenses you've built up over the turns than I, and I would never ask the impossible of you. But I'm patient. As I think you may be, too. So perhaps, in time, we'll both learn to let our guards down." Or maybe they won't. But it's a nice thought. And a girl should be allowed nice thoughts on her turnday.

"Feels like sometimes people say 'try' and expect it to work," admits K'del, whose arm reaches around, as her head rests upon his shoulder, hand draping over her shoulder. "But I know you don't mean that. It's just-- reflexive, I guess. But," he smiles, even if she won't be able to see it. "Guess I'm pretty patient, yes. We'll get there. And in the meantime... there's cake. And more booze. So we're going to just be the best people we can be, and have as much fun as we can have, okay?" Okay.

Tayte's head nods in agreement, against his shoulder. Is she ever not agreeable? Well, sometimes, probably, but not now, certainly. She lingers a moment longer before sitting up and reaching for the bottle. Shots are poured and his glass handed over for another toast, "To patience, cake, booze, being the best people we can be, having fun, and getting a little silly." Glasses are clinked, shots taken, and it marks the beginning of just exactly that.