Difference between revisions of "Logs:Dreams & Realities"

Hard to say how late it is, with noise still going on from the weyr beyond. The dragons should have the worst of it, but Vhaeryth's wound up solidly asleep even so, tipped back against the rock in a sprawl that should leave room for Iesaryth yet theatens to impinge upon her personal space even so; if he hadn't been able to sleep amid his own noisy clutch, he'd never have slept at all. Here, inside, even that racket is muffled substantially by stone and angles and distance, but N'rov's all but buried under the covers anyway, only his feet sticking out as his chest rises and falls irregularly. He doesn't moan.

Iesaryth isn't a light sleeper, really; nor is she one that needs a lot of space to herself - she's not quite the cuddler that her sister is, but she's happy enough to doze beside Vhaeryth, even if his sprawl brings him close. The noise might keep her from full sleep, but typically, she's not bothered. In the bed, Brieli-actually-Aishani is likewise buried, but possibly only because she's curled up next to N'rov in her sleep. Nothing sticks out, not even tousled head - that, she's buried under pillows. Just in case.

Abruptly N'rov wakes up. It isn't a dramatic thing, no eyes flashing open, no sitting bolt upright. It isn't even a complete thing, with Vhaeryth so far under the way he is. His eyes stay shut, and he takes a deep breath, which leads to easing the comforter down past his chin. Another breath. No dragon to ask, where are we, not without waking him. Another, and now he does open his eyes a little and with that realizes. Now he moves suddenly, as much as he can and not make the mattress start imitating too much of an earthquake, but it's to flop onto his other side so he can wrap his arm around got-to-remember-Aishani. Gratefully.

Maybe it's the way he tenses when he wakes, or that deep breath; maybe there's a good reason her head is buried. But when he shifts to his other side, wraps his arm around her, Aishani is already awake, has already surfaced from the pillows, is already slipping an arm around N'rov in return after brushing tangled curls out of her eyes. She'll be quiet for some time, tightening her hold on him before she tilts her chin up to press a kiss to his forehead, where she murmurs, as soft as she can with the party in the background, "Are you all right?"

At that, he lets out a softer breath that roughens into a chuckle. "Just... bad dream." He frees a hand to poke exploratorily at his temple, and then, relieved, plays with her hair instead. "Not a hangover, even. So that's good." N'rov's still playing with her hair, winding a lock around his fingers and then letting it slip free only to steal it again. Hushed, less steady than the sequence of words might seem, "What was it like, a kid in a trader caravan? Was there lots of running around, were your legs long even then?"

"I have those, sometimes. One... one was, is here. Strange, now." Another kiss for his forehead, then his cheek, then his lips, all brief, comforting. Aishani never minds N'rov playing with her hair, for all it's still shorter than she'd like; holding him tighter briefly, her expression flickers between uncertain and sympathetic before she can go on, change the subject for the sake of that lack of steadiness. "It... When I was young, there was lots of running around, yes. And I always had long legs. There were always cousins around, family. Aunts. I-- I followed my father around, mostly. When he was there." A pause, before lightly, "Your turn."

He bumps a knee against hers, a long leg's knee. "How's it strange?" he wonders, but tentatively: it's a bad dream, after all, she might not want to speak. And it doesn't stop him from learning with his fingers the edges of her hair, how far it goes down her neck, the way it curves over her ear and rises up towards her temple. If his speech is slow, and irregular still, it isn't because of that. "It sounds... busy. We stayed in one place, mostly, except for trips to learn this and that, fosterages here and there, never too long. I'm the third son, you see. My sister's younger."

Resting her head on the pillows so it tilts against his, closing her eyes with a quiet sigh for the fingers in her hair, she'll explain quietly, "It's strange to be here. When it started, I'd never been here; my mind made it differently. It changed, of course." She's in no hurry to speak, for him to finish what he has to say - there's time. Even if morning is a little less fun than usual. Shifting to free her other hand to rest it along his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek, "It was. And that's something at least, here and there. Some people never get to go anywhere. -- Third son. Was much expected of you?"

N'rov takes a moment to think, or maybe it's a little longer than that, so hard to keep track of time here in dark seclusion with the noisy world held at bay. Even if one wanted to. "Enough," he finally decides on. "To make a decent way in the world, to act in my family's interests, to not embarrass them more than I... well, a boy could be expected to," and there's that smile returning to his voice again. "I won't say there wasn't some 'Boys will be boys,' but not all the time. And it wasn't quite like most third sons, but that gets more complicated," and still he strokes her hair. "And I wonder how you saw it, when you first came," drifting off there at the last, but in a deliberate sort of way: he can let it go.

Aishani might sound like she's smiling as well, amused as her own fingers give up the fight, go creeping into the dark curls at the nape of his neck. "That doesn't sound too difficult," she notes. "For most people. But as you said, in a sense - I don't think you're most people." Moving her feet in against his, thankfully, not too cold, she has to ask, on a near-laugh, "Would you tell me if there were any embarrassments?" As for his last, she has a slow breath for that before; "That's complicated too. It was... frightening and seemed terribly... I don't know. Not exactly lavish but at the same time..." Look at where they are.

Not most people: he pinches the sheet awkwardly with his toes and tugs it down a bit, so hers will stay not too cold. "I'm telling you right now that there are embarrassments," N'rov tells Aishani. "And that there would be far too many to count. We could be here all night," and there's more unvoiced laughter for that: won't they be anyway? Or, almost all. Then, musing, "They can go anywhere, practically, anytime. Collect plants or hunt beasts in season, speak to each other across a crowded party when they don't even know for sure where the other one is. And we don't go hungry."

"I," Aishani whispers, moving in closer to rest her forehead against N'rov's, nose-to-nose, that other slender arm sliding around him, "Can think of better things to do all night." And isn't that a surprise? She kisses him, not so long that they'll lose track of the conversation, not so long that he can't say he needs the sleep if he must, then pulls back only enough to speak, so her lips brush his as she does. "All true." But there must be something keeping her here, despite nightmares and Weyrleader and all, but they've dug up enough history for now. Why not lose a little more sleep in a less cerebral way?