Difference between revisions of "Logs:A First Date"

Mivength is annoyed at needing to reach out to Olveraeth, but he does to share an image of the sun setting on a secluded cove on another continent. The image fails to contain details that aren't necessary, but that the pair will certainly see when they appear in the brightly colored sky. The white, warm beach has managed to collect a ring of lit candles, their light dancing in the ocean breeze but not extinguishing. They circle a soft, flannel blanket that has been spread out with care, which itself holds a large, covered basket. C'ris waits, barefoot, at the edge of his candle circle. And he only looks slightly scruffy, with his soft, wind-mussed hair, clad in an elegant, high quality blue shirt that is edged with black knotwork paired with simple black pants. Mivength has coiled himself on the beach, studying fish.

It's probably a good thing that Olveraeth is in charge of between and not Quinlys, because it's possible that the weyrlingmaster will take one look at this setup and want to flee again... her blue, however, is having none of it (it would be rude). And so he hands, and Quinlys steps down from him, a little reluctant and a little pink-cheeked, but here, and in a simple sundress beneath her heavy leathers. "You--" she begins. And: "Hi." Her hands clasp behind her back, fingers twisting in obvious discomfort.

C'ris steps forward as Olveraeth lands, but it seems that some advice has sunken in because he makes no move to help Quinlys down. Instead, he's just there with his brilliant flash of a smile once she's down, with his whole setup lit behind him, offering his own excited and nervous, "Hi. You look-- nice. Do you want me to take your jacket?"

It's for the best. One can only imagine how Quinlys might react, otherwise. Even as it is, she hesitates over that question, but finally tugs her arms out of her sleeves and offers it over. "Thanks," she says. "You-- this is nice. I hadn't exp-- well, I guess I just thought we'd go to a bar or something, but this is... nice." She's smiling, at least, and some of the tension is leaving her shoulders as she tries to become more comfortable with this whole dating thing.

"Yeah, I thought-- Well, I brought wine," C'ris offers, gesturing to the blanket inside that circle of candles before he folds the jacket over his arm. That is where he'll move, even as he adds, "Benden. And I brought dinner, too." There's a pause as he moves to settle the jacket next to the basket, turning back to only catch if Quinlys will be joining him. "It's easier this way. We can-- talk and get to know each other outside of work."

Quinlys hesitates, but only for a moment: she's agreed to this date, and she's made it, and... now it's time to follow through. Carefully, she steps over the ring of candles and moves to sit, kicking off her shoes as she does so. "I-- I suppose you're right. It's nice, C'ris. I mean, I expected that." Her words falter, but she presses her lips together for a moment, and then continues. "I'm trying. I am."

"It's nice," C'ris repeats in a murmur, even as he reaches for the bottle of wine in his basket. "But, nice is a good thing, Quinlys. You deserve someone who wants to do nice things for you." But, he flushes slightly, perhaps realizing he's gone too deep, too fast. Instead, he tries to backtrack and add lightly, "I am glad you are trying. I'm trying too. I haven't really dated in turns, not since--."

Quinlys' blush darkens, but she manages not to show any other reaction to that comment, as deep as it is. Instead, she turns her focus more directly onto the other bluerider, pressing her hands into her lap. "Since...?" she prompts, though yes, she must have some knowledge of C'ris' past after all these turns. "It's hard, when there's weyrlings. And easier for them, if they don't have to think about me having a private life."

"I had a girlfriend, a greenrider. But she fell in love with a bronzerider and moved in and weyrmated him," C'ris answers with the old story, but he puts a smile to it even as he moves to pour a glass of wine for her and hold it out. "There hasn't really been anyone since. I'm not-- the best with dating." Or approaching people, but that he doesn't say. Instead, he only replies, "That must be a lonely way to live. The weyrlings wouldn't be that scarred, would they?"

Quinlys makes a face. "That bitch," she declares, forthright and self-assured. Her fingers wrap around the stem of the wine glass, brushing past C'ris' only briefly in the process. "It's-- some of them. Some of them seem horrified at the idea that I might go off and fuck someone. But especially when they are weyrlings, and they're not allowed to do a lot of things, it makes sense not to rub things in their faces. I keep my pleasures outside the Weyr, as much as I can." She seems to regret that, a moment later, because she adds, "But discretion is fine. Part of it is time, too. The weyrlings keep me busy."

C'ris only shrugs a shoulder upwards, dismissive, for the topic of his ex-girlfriend without any seeming satisfaction in Quinlys' reaction. He does smile at her, gently, and reveals further about himself, "I keep myself pretty busy, too. When I'm not helping out with the weyrlings, there seems to be always something--. My mother works in the kitchens, so I spend a lot of time helping out in there, too. I've started to volunteer some free time in transport with-- everything happening." But then he stops himself from continuing to ramble by filling his own glass. "I think you become, you know, that type of figure to them. Children also are horrified about their parents having sex too, so."

A shadow crosses Quinlys' expression at that mention of the 'everything' that has been happening, but she waits to actually comment until after she's had a sip... and promptly choked on her drink at that last comment. "That's a terrible thought," she declares. "Not, mind you, that I cared to think about Meara having sex, way back when. But still. Why do you like keeping busy so much? You could... spend more time in places like this, lounging. Or something."

"Sorry. I didn't mean it that way," apologizes C'ris quickly, concerned for the choking as he winces. But then he's unpacking more of the food he brought, quite the spread of a meal to accompany them including still warm bread and pastries. He admits as he does so, "I guess I just-- don't really enjoy lounging. I'm not a big drinker, either, and I don't gamble or hang out in bars. And I've never been good at anything crafty, or arty. What do you do with your spare time, usually?"

A firm shake of the head is obviously intended as reassurance for C'ris, and in any case, she's clearly fine after that. She picks up a piece of bread, tearing it between her fingers as she says, "I do drink. And I sleep around. I go dancing as often as I can. Lounging is fun, but only for a while... I get bored. But, well. After a group of weyrlings graduate? It's a relief to have time to do nothing, even if I end up itching for work after a while."

"I don't mind dancing. I, uh-- never got particularly good at it, but. We can go dancing, next time," C'ris tells her with a flash of a grin.

Quinlys lets that 'next time' past without commenting on it-- and anyway, she's grinning back. "I'll teach you," she promises. "I have a few moves in me, despite my advanced age." She leans back, now, curling her legs up in a way that speaks to rather improved comfort (hurray!). "I like gathers. I'm not a big shopper but there's always... so much atmosphere, I suppose. Excitement. They tend to feel exhilarating." Beat. "Until someone has plague and, you know, kills off a bunch of people."

"Right, that--. I imagine there isn't going to be another gather until--. The healers will figure something out; they have before," is where C'ris places his faith firmly, offering a soft smile to Quinlys. He picks up a pastry to only offer it to the other bluerider, even as he adds, "In the meantime, I'd-- you should teach me. I'd like that."

The face Quinlys makes is probably to do with the whole plague part and not C'ris (or the need to teach him how to dance). The redhead accepts the pastry on offer and says, as she tears off a piece of it to bring to her mouth, "All right. One set of dancing lessons; it's a deal. By the time... once things are all sorted, and everything goes back to normal, you'll be ready to tear up the floor with me, I promise."

There is a smile for that response, because of course there is. C'ris only exhales a soft, warm, "Good. I will even buy a new gather shirt. Since, uh, apparently all of my clothes are unacceptable." He picks lightly at the black knot work of his slightly too long shirt, before he catches himself and abandons it. "So, tell me about your family."

"According to whom?" Quinlys prompts for an answer to 'that with a lift of one red eyebrow, but she's equally quick (after another sip of her wine, and a bite of her pastry), to answer the question. "I'm second of four. Both my parents are dragonriders, so are both of my younger siblings-- you know N'qui, of course, and my sister Impressed at Monaco. My older brother's a Star Smith."

"Uh, K'zin. He's the one who got me this shirt for tonight," admits C'ris hesitantly, as if saying it will change the whole direction of this date. "Are you close? To your parents and your siblings?" He is quick to refill her wine glass, for all that it is not empty, with a careful pour.

"K'zin." It's true that the name gives Quinlys pause; no doubt C'ris will be well aware of how angry the bluerider was with that particular bronzerider, when he chose to fly for Tundra instead of returning to her service. But she sighs, and shakes away that with a toss of her curls; not worth commenting on, perhaps. "Yes. For the most part, anyway. They try to... rein me in, I suppose." She makes a face. "My father's a staunch K'del loyalist. They don't like that I can be outspoken when something bothers me."

"He misses you," is C'ris' quiet murmur for the absent bronzerider. "I think, I mean--. You are his friend. I know he left but-- he didn't leave us." Apparently, he can't help but stick his nose into it, but at least he seems to regret it a little, bringing up bitter topics on his date and all. "I think it is just what parents do. They still want, you know, the best for you. My mother's wanted me to quit helping with weyrlings since I started, but only because she thinks it'd be better if I was focused on my wing, or something."

Quinlys makes a face, and takes another long sip from her glass. "He's... I just wish he'd talked to me first. Explained it. Rather than just gone out and done it. He didn't even tell Tela." Loyalty to her friend aside, it is nonetheless quite obvious that her own perceived betrayal matters more. Still, blue eyes focus intently upon C'ris. "Does she want you to get yourself a wingsecond position?" she wonders. "Aim higher? It's just you and your mom, right?"

"I know," C'ris agrees simply, not arguing against the other bluerider's wishes. But he does continue reasonably, "But sooner or later you are going to have to forgive him, or you'll lose the friendship entirely. It'll fade away and you won't be able to get it back." He exhales a breath he must have been holding, shrugging up a shoulder in an indication that he is dropping that rather than pushing further. "Yeah, just my mom. She never bothered to have any other kids after she came to the Weyr and she could-- You know. But she'd probably be happy with wingsecond, yeah."

Quinlys' disapproval over that line of conversation marks itself in her expression; she does not like being told off, however reasonably. But that shrug eases the line of her shoulders, at least a little and she focuses, instead, on looking smug for the rest of what the other bluerider has to say. "But not assistant weyrlingmaster? Or does my reputation put her off? Where's she from, originally?"

"I, uh, don't know. I just don't think she thinks of the weyrlingmaster staff as the same as being-- a dragonrider. In a wing," C'ris explains, apologetic for his absent mother's opinions and clearly not holding the same. "Tillek, originally. But she was young when she came here. She works in the kitchens now."

The weyrlingmaster scowls in disapproval for this particular opinion, but C'ris' apology is evidently good enough to let her move on from it except for a, "I suppose she thinks harpers are a waste of time and space, too. The kitchens-- that would be the reason we have pastries so often, then? And does she know that you're here, today?"

There is a moment where it is evident that C'ris briefly finds pleasure in teasing Quinlys with the answer. "Actually, she enjoys harpers." His warm brown eyes dance with laughter and his lips curve into a grin, even, as he nods to the first question, at least. "No. I didn't tell her. I had one of the young assistants help me instead."

That tease? It's surprising. It's surprising enough that it leaves Quinlys bewildered for a moment, unsure of her appropriate reply-- but then, blushing, she sticks her tongue out at C'ris instead. "Why?" is what she asks, then. And, because that's not exactly a proper question, she follows it up hastily: "Why me?"

That humor and playfulness immediately sobers into something thoughtful, even as C'ris sets aside his wine glass and straightens before reaching for Quinlys' hand, just to simply hold, if she'll let him. "I think you are beautiful. And you are strong and smart, and because you will speak your mind, yes, but you are loyal," he answers slowly. "Because-- I want to see more of what you keep separated out between being Weyrlingmaster and yourself and whatever else you need to be."

She'll let him, though there's an expression of bemusement to her features for the act; how quaint! How... C'ris. The rest, though, has her ducking her gaze away from the other bluerider, focused upon the blanket beneath her rather than on him. "Do you know," she says, "I think you're the first person to actually ask me on a date in... probably since I was a teenager. I've never been that kind of girl. You'd think I would be, given the example my parents set."

"Maybe you just weren't that girl yet," says C'rid softly, hopefully', as his fingers press lightly against hers.

"Why am I now?" Quinlys' uncertainty is-- almost!-- adorable; as if she, for once, is the puppy-dog and not the defiant, ferocious wolf.

C'ris doesn't answer that with words. Would he even know the right one if he tried? Instead, it is with a slow, careful movement that he reaches to hook a knuckle against her jaw lightly, never letting go of her other hand as he tries to tip her gaze back up to meet his before he claims an almost chaste brush of his lips against hers.

It may start chaste, but 'chaste' is not a word that exists in Quinlys' vocabulary; no sooner have C'ris' lips met hers than she's pushing it into something significantly more intense, her tongue pressing to invade past the other bluerider's lips, if only he'll let her.

C'ris does for a moment, giving in to the intensity of the kiss with a deeply seeded need of his own. But then-- no. He is breaking away that kiss with a whispered, feeling, "Quinlys." He cups her face with both hands, smiling gently. "We should finish dinner. And talk."

"Why?" Quinlys' voice is plaintive, but not, at least, inclined towards whining. She seems reluctant to pull away... though that may be more to do with her natural inclinations than C'ris himself. Or not. Who can tell? "You want me. I want you."

"Because I want-- more. Than one night and one date," C'ris admits to that, the pad of his thumb briefly sliding against her cheek but nothing more. "I want to know more about you, and I want you to know me. And if we do-- then it will only ever be about sex."

Quinlys reaches out, aiming to slide her hand down C'ris' chest in a distinctly provocative way (if only he'll let her). "It can be both," she insists. "We can still talk."

C'rid doesn't stop her, but he does make a quiet appeal of a simple, "Quinlys, please." And those warm brown eyes catch hers, studying hers.

"C'ris." Quinlys' hand doesn't retreat, but it also doesn't try anything further. And then, abruptly, she sighs. Her hand withdraws, moving to rest upon her knee. "Fine. Fine. We'll talk."

Not unaffected, there is a slow sigh of his own as Quinlys withdraws, but C'ris is quickly reaching to refill her glass again. "Tell me about Olveraeth?" he asks lightly.

There is, perhaps, something smug in Quinlys' expression for that sigh: at least her charms are not wholly lost on the other bluerider! And for now, she'll play by his rules, exhaling, but only for a moment. "Olveraeth," she begins, "Is about as different from me as you can imagine, except we've always just... fitted." And on it goes. Chances are she won't go to bed alone, tonight... but her companion will not be C'ris. This time.