Difference between revisions of "Logs:Playing with Fire"

On occasion, Avalanche's tough wingleader has been known to let the riders enjoy a rest day. So Z'ian has spend most of his outside of the the weyr. Prompting for information from Tsanth would indicate that they're up at the Hold, but returning by nightfall. Which is pretty much what they end up doing. The pair returns sometime just before the light completely escapes from the sky. The bronze relaxes in his couch while his rider relaxes on his. Sprawled out over the not really long enough piece of furniture, his legs hang off and he lays there with a pillow covering his face. He's lost his shoes and jacket, down to his casual 'I'm at home and not going to see anyone else' clothes.

As natural, Jo and Tacuseth has mostly been outside the Weyr, too, and if anyone's dragon was asking where, the usual return from the nicked blue was that it was business. Whatever that meant. But the blue did ask after Tsanth's rider's whereabouts sometime in the evening, and so, apparently after 'business' was done, the blue pair is landing on his ledge without much announcement. In her black riding leathers, Jo dismounts and immediately pulls free a bottle of something strong from the carrying sack attached to her dragon before she tosses a wave Tsanth's way and heads right on into the weyr like she owns it. She has a witty greeting on her tongue - something like 'Hey slacker!' or somesuch - but it all stalls when she gets past the drapery and spots the bronzerider lying there on his couch with a pillow over his face. It's enough to get her to pause on the threshold, but, then she's quietly setting the bottle down on his table and moving as silently as she could towards the couch.

Tsanth is a useless dragon tonight, if he was any help at all he'd be letting his rider know that they have visitors. But as it is, he's clearly not trying to rouse Z'ian from his naptime on the couch. The pillow remains where it is, covering his face. He's definitely not awake, his breathing is far too even and slow for anything that requires him to be conscious. Plus, who lays like that when they're not sleeping? Then there's the other thing, he sleeps like a rock. There's no way that he's hearing a single footstep of Jo's as she moves across the room. She could probably knock over some furniture and he'd hardly flutter his eyelashes.

By the time Jo is close to the couch, she realizes that Z'ian is fast asleep. Prime opportunity. She takes a leisurely look about his weyr, clearly casing the place as if a quick theft was an option, but no...her gaze returns to the man asleep, a crafty look of speculation crossing her dark features. What would she do in this situation? It's a few breaths of a moment of her studying him before she has her plan of action: unless Z'ian comes awake in that split second to throw her off, Jo straddles him. She's all leather and lean muscle, straddling his waist and leaning right on his chest with hands drawing up his shoulders. Pressing her weight down on him, as if she had every intention of keeping him trapped between her thighs, she drawls to the peaceful silence, "Hey. Ya really shouldn't let folks up in yer weyr like this. Imagine some dirty thief, straddlin' ya and makin' ya tell them where yer most prized possession is in here, huh?" Perhaps, she means her.

He doesn't wake for the noise of her poking around his weyr. It's mostly clean, just a bit of clutter here and there. What he does wake up for is the weight of a full grown woman suddenly resting on his waist and chest, hands running up his shoulders. Alarmed and surprised, Z'ian is quick to bring his hand up to the pillow so as to pull it away, but by then she's already talking into the silence. He ends up pausing and eventually takes a long breath of air into his lungs. "Funny, I thought being so far off the ground would keep me safe from most petty thieves." It's then that he pulls that thing off his face and tosses it onto the floor. "I guess I forgot I had to worry about the ones that fly in on their blue dragons." Looking up at her he cocks an eyebrow and fights back the beginnings of a smile. "You going to force me to talk?"

When Z'ian wakes, amusement cracks a smile on Jo's face. She doesn't let off him either, seeming pretty content to keep him trapped. His words get a snort and a "I've yet to steal anything to be called a thief," in a fake-huffy tone, sniffing. Once he can see her, she's all devil-may-care smiles as she meets his gaze head-on. As to that question, she makes a show of sliding that dark glance to the left, and the right before she leans forward with eyes narrowing down. "I have ways," she gives, her stern gaze lacking any heat. "I think I've got one of the darts back from Snowasis in my pocket. I ain' so drunk this time, either." Harking back to Taikrin's party, a brow lifting at him as fights to bear teeth in a returning smile.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything, hurt your feelings." Z'ian attempts to sound apologetic to her fake-huffiness. His hands land on her knees and creep up to her hips where they take a light purchase of her, fingers pressing carefully when she leans in. "Yeah? Are you going to take one and shoot it into my ass? Now that your friend isn't here to get annoyed by it?" He asks, trying to look serious even as that smile threatens to breakthrough. "No, you look pretty sober right now." He stretches and cranes his neck around, trying to get a glance in at his table. There's the bottle of booze. "Not planning on being that way for long though."

To the first, Jo gives Z'ian a chin-dropping look. "S'okay," she counters easily with shrug. "Just means that next time, I'm not givin' ya no warnin'. I'm comin' in here and paintin' yer weyr bright orange. Bet the girls would love it." Jo's not above pranking, apparently, and when his hands find purchase on her hips, there's that barest flicker of playful speculation. She outright snorts at his words on her wingmate before she puts folded arms to his chest and leans all the more to prop against them - predatory in the way she stretches and arches that back of hers. Perhaps she seeks to undo the man, but one wouldn't know with her sometimes. "I'm tempted," comes in low, amused. "Haven' shot a dart into someone's ass in a long time." Pause. "I've bought a nightcap," she then, belatedly, announces when Z'ian brings up her being sober, and when he tries to see the bottle sitting by its lonesome on his table. "But, it looks like I've disturbed ya. Been runnin' ragged today?"

"Would they? You're going to have paint it orange so that I can find out." Z'ian shoots back playfully, glancing between them as she stretches along his chest. He groans helplessly at the move before continuing on with, "Then when you're done, you can go back to your weyr and decide if the shade of fuchsia I picked out really matches your furniture." It was inevitable; he gives in and grins when she makes her 'tempted' comment. His hands move from her hips to lower back, where his thumbs gently rub slow circles. "I can see that. What game are we going to play tonight?" Her question brings him back and his smile becomes close-lipped as he shakes his head. "I'm alright. My father just isn't doing so well, he got sick a few months ago. I was helping my folks today; the ragged feeling is more mental than anything else."

"They'd probably hate it," Jo is quick to counter, deadpan. "That's why I'm goin' to paint it that. And I don' like fuchsia. I'll take a nice shade of pink, though." She must be joking, but the baring of her teeth in that little smile could either be taken for her jokes - or, the fact that she heard that helpless little groan. On games, there's a very low chuckle as she quips back, "I thought we were playin' one right now?" Pause. "Which, I think I'm winnin', by certain indications." Cocky. But some of that cockiness slides to something genial as he answers her query, head tilting only slightly at him with just the smallest crinkle of brows. "Shit, that sucks," she says, her tone falling evenly. "Yer a good son, though. Helpin' them out. Just as well I brought up something strong." The drink, which for the moment, is being forgotten.

He laughs, dropping his head back onto the couch. "So you plan to deter other women from wanting to be here. Why would you want to do something like that?" Z'ian asks, lifting one eyebrow questioningly to her. "Hot pink? Salmon pink? Sunset pink? I need to know if I'm going to pick the right shade." There's more laughter, this time pitched low and he flattens a hand against the small of her back. "You've got me at an unfair advantage. Proud of yourself?" The crooked smile he sports would indicate that he's not terribly put out by it. Then he's shrugging, "It happens. With any luck he can push past it before winter really sets in. It's hard thinking of him not being... not old? Strong? Something." As if to signal the end of a topic certain to only bring unpleasantness on his part, he tries to shift himself upwards. That means taking his hands back so that he can prop himself up onto his elbows.

"Is that what I'm doing?" Jo counters in the dance of bantering, not looking quite so innocent. "Thought ya bronzeriders got enough flash and charm that a little old thing like that would take nothing away?" She merely snorts at his color choices on pink, though she does shift her weight deliberately and says, "Paint my weyr and see what happens. Ya'll wish ya were worryin' about petty crooks stealin' yer prized possession after it." Pointed look that turns quite wolfish along with that crooked grin when Z'ian admits to indeed, being at an unfair advantage. With that hand flattened on her back that she deliberately leans into, "What, don' like me bein' on top?" There's rakish laughter. Banter does lace and ebb in with the more serious topic, easy to respond back to it all, "It does." And then, he's shifting upwards, and she has to at least release him from her trap or find herself misplaced some. She straightens back up and sharply gestures with her chin towards the table before she offers, "Bottle's by its lonesome. Don't even have to use glasses this time." Because drinking always makes everything better, is indicated.

"You said they were probably going to hate it and that's why you were doing it. That's not you trying to deter them?" Z'ian asks, challengingly before laughing again. "I could probably work around the hideous orange paint, honestly. But I think you think I bring more women up here than I really do." The deliberate shift of her weight makes him catch his breath. Despite the veiled threat of bad things happening to him if he paints her weyr, he manages to get out, "How about day glow pink? No?" He grins crookedly at her and works himself into a nearly sitting position, trying not to totally displace her at the same time. "Not liking you on top isn't something you have to worry about." He turns his head, glancing back at the bottle. "We should just give up on the glasses entirely. Admit that we're not civilized people."

Jo is quick to return that challenging look, which is really all she's giving him. It's only the his next that she responds to, propping up an elbow to Z'ian's chest like he was merely part of the couch and dropping her chin on an open palm to fit a look down at him. "Come on," she goads, kneading that elbow down in resemblance to poking her finger at his chest. "With those eyes? And yer nice, for a bronzerider? Please." She knows what she's doing to him, naturally, if that little smirk is any indication, and the fact that he still manages to try and find a color to paint weyr gets a deadpan, "Ya love playin' with fire, doncha?" and she at least shifts when he does as he tries to sit up, but his response to her being on top has her outright laughing before she's suddenly up off him and to her feet. "Yeah, yeah," she drawls to that, tossing a raised brow over her shoulder at him as she heads to the table for the bottle. "So easy to say, and yet here I am, still in my leathers." She must seem to be content not being civilized, for that bottle's getting uncorked, she tips her head back, and she takes a long enough drink before coughing.

Silence can say a lot of things, so when she doesn't answer his first question with anything other than a look he lifts his eyebrows at her. He winces just a bit when she starts to work her elbow into his chest, so he takes her wrist with his hand. Z'ian glances away briefly when she goads him, laughing lightly before saying very seriously, "Not that I never did but I'm not exactly measuring my self-worth in how many hot women I can get naked in my weyr. At least not right now." His fingers still lightly wrapped just below her hand, "Something like that. You do too." It's when he begins to lean forward that she so abruptly gets up and abandons him on the couch. He groans, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling before getting up himself and following after her to the table. It's not the bottle that he goes for first, he'll let her keep that for now, it's Jo herself. If she doesn't put up any significant resistance, he'll place his hands around her hips and crowd the bluerider up against the closest wall. Quietly, "I like your leathers."

"Uh-huh," Jo is easy to counter, is easy to have her wrist taken even if she's inflicting just a little pain into the bronzerider - something that seems to go hand in hand with the convict rider. And no, she doesn't exactly contest what Z'ian says on her loving to play with fire. The look she gives him for it is almost speculative, almost odd. "Well," she says after a moment and just a bit soberly, "maybe it's the risk of getting burned that draws me to the fire." Perhaps she's a tease and enjoys it, having left him for the bottle that was her nightcap when he had leaned forward - but as if caught by surprise, the bluerider's back is suddenly against the wall and with bottle held up and out of the way between them, Jo seems to be quite shocked by the move. She makes a show of flicking a look down to where his hands go for a moment, then back up to lift her chin at him before she says, looking him in the eyes, "So we're passed the 'kiss-and-run' phase, is it?" Looking him up and down openly, as if she were a canine giving the man fair warning that he might get bitten, "Ya sure ya know what yer doin', darlin'? I ain' like the other girls." Suggestive. Challenging him. Her voice keeps low, and like a rock star she's turning her head slightly to bring that bottle right to her lips.

"You ever think of just sitting next to it and getting warm instead?" Z'ian asks speculatively as he releases her hips. One hand goes to the wall above her head, fingers spread and bracing his weight. If she looks surprised, his expression is more on the confident side as he exhales and relaxes, catching her flickering glance and smiling wolfishly at her. He waits for her to take that drink from the bottle before he swipes it from her, fingers wrapping around the neck. "I didn't run away. You're not the only one who knows how to tease, woman." The needling, challenging as he brings the mouth to his lips and takes a long swallow from it. "Yeah, don't I know it." It's somewhat detached as he glances down at the space between them again. "You're something else entirely. What are you doing to me?" The last question brings his eyes back to hers again. Eventually he laughs and it's short, helpless but not unhappy. More the opposite, actually. "I don't know what I'm doing, honestly. But I want to know you."

Jo seems to be quite comfortable against that wall as she's being asked about only minutely playing fire instead of going head-forward, and the convict rider quips to that, "Now what's the fun in that." Odd, but it almost sounds rehearsed, those words, as if she's expected to answer that way. She releases the bottle when Z'ian takes hold, only tightening her hand on it for a few seconds as if she was going to be stingy, and his response on that last time in her weyr earns him a pursed look that doesn't last all that long. She falls silent and leans casually against the wall when he asks the next, that growing smile pure trouble - which, she was. It's the smile that greets that question, not giving any answer at all until it slips, just a bit, for the last. Dark eyes flick away from him for a brief moment, but there's amusement to linger in her husky tone as she responds with, "I ain' the kind of girl a good guy like ya want to know, either." Free hands reaching up to grip the front of his shirt, not quite pulling him towards or away, the weight of her feet shifting, "Perhaps I'm that girl ya bang and run-tell yer boys all about the next day, nicks and scratches and all on proud display."

"I don't know if it's fun, exactly. But I've found not having to drain burn blisters to really be quite a relief at times." It's serious, but he dresses it up with a teasing, light twist to his tone. She's one drink ahead of him in the bottle, so he does need to catch up. Z'ian tips the bottle back again before shifting to reach over and place it on the table. She might not be aiming to adjust his position one way or the other when she grabs his shirt, but he moves with the motion anyway and comes closer to her. His hand no longer tied up with the bottle comes up to brush a stray piece of hair away from her, out of her face. "I can make that decision on my own, whether I want to know you or not. I made it already anyway." He's giving her a searching look for her last, his eyes focused on hers. "Are you saying that because you think that's what you're really worth or because you're thinking that's the type of person I really might be?" This question isn't a challenge, just honest.

"Ha, ha," Jo quips back, deadpan, even though he detects the seriousness within. "Says the man that has me up against the wall in his weyr." She doesn't reach to reclaim the bottle, watching Z'ian's throat as the strong liquor is guzzled before being placed back on the table. She's almost wary, searching his gaze when he comes close enough to have her tightening her hold of the front of his shirt. His fingers to her hair doesn't have her flinching at all, though his words on having made his decision gets that briefly guarded flicker through her piercing gaze. His words were taking her from that 'tough-Jo' place, and it's clear she's struggling with something to say. It seems much easier for her to communicate when it's crass or couched in open innuendos. Finally, she clears her throat, fitting a long look onto the bronzerider as she drawls out quietly, "And just what do ya think ya want to learn of me, huh?" But then, the last. She meets that searching look head-on and the resulting answer is evasive: "I know what I'm worth, darlin'. And I know yer ain' that type."

He drops his chin and laughs, giving a slow shake of his head. The irony of that isn't lost on him. "Yeah, says the me who has you up against the wall of my weyr." Z'ian's face is his own worst enemy in situations like this, he's nearly always an open book. That he's stumbling into territory he doesn't know how to talk himself through should be becoming readily apparent when he finally brings his eyes back up to her. "You, past the bravado. Maybe before the weyr, if you wanted to tell me. I get that maybe you wouldn't." He takes his hand then and ends up covering his mouth, silent for a few seconds before he drops it again. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot; this is probably not how you were hoping this night was going to go." Breaking away from that steady gaze, he has another one of those short, quick laughs for her evasive answer. Responding slowly, "I only believe part of that." It's inevitable that he regains the courage to look at her again, really noticing now how close they've become these last couple of minutes. And now is when he tries to kiss her, canting his head and searching for her lips with his mouth.

Jo is indeed, studying that open face, hearing the honesty in Z'ian's words despite the slight wariness in hers. Honest words of seeing beyond her bravado, and when he covers his mouth and apologizes, the convict rider predictably silent throughout it all, she blinks and shakes her head, saying, "Shit....don' be." Lips parting, about to say more, but she doesn't, seeming to be lost a little in thought. It's only when Z'ian tries to kiss her that she moves, releasing his shirt to go up around his neck. Unlike last time, this time her kiss is far more demanding, a nip of her teeth to his bottom lip perhaps, touching on her general aggressive nature. She's the one to break it off after a few moments to say on heavy breath, her lips still close to his, "So ya wanna hear about how little Jolie ended up from a guard's family into the mines?" is her question, perhaps rhetorical since she adds fairly quickly, "Cuz that's the 'me', before the Weyr." Maybe lending some credence to rumors heard about the Reaches. "I think it'll have ya runnin'," she this time teases quietly before her lips are on him again.

His body was taught until her arms went around his neck. And there's definitely some relief now, in the way his shoulders relax and he puts his hand to her face. His fingers brush against her skin before sinking into her hair. Z'ian returns the nip that she gives him, his mouth curving into the kiss until she breaks it off. He breathes heavily and bites down on his lower lip. "Your name was Jolie?" His eyes are searching her face, maybe trying to see if that name matches the woman in front of him. The first question was more curiosity, his next statement is serious. "Yes. I want to know how that girl got here." No longer worrying about bracing himself against the stone behind her, he drops his hand from the wall and lets it drag down her side. He breaks their second kiss to quietly talk into her ear, teasingly and with a hint of amusement, "Running is an option?" because he didn't know that it was.

"Yeah, before Tacuseth," Jo, confirms with a firm nod. "He thought it was too....I dunno... too soft for me." She studies Z'ian's face, now in the constant mode of indecision on what to say - or rather, what to reveal - despite her ardor. The more serious statement to come after that has her momentarily silent, of course. Then, seeming to cling to that bravado like it was a security blanket, there's the glimmers of a cocky smile and a wry, "It's long and sordid, and I'm gonna need a whole lot more than just that bottle." She pauses before adding more evenly, "And...I can give ya the short version of it, I suppose." But then she leans forward and presses the leathered length of her body against him, answering his question on running with another lingering kiss before she pulls back and draws lips to his own ear this time and says, in a blatant whisper, "But it's gettin' late, and I've already disturbed yer sleep tonite already, haven' I?" As in, she was done talking, and the tease she could be is playfully drawing hands down from his neck to his chest and giving him a little push back - not enough to have him fall, but, strong enough that he could take a step back. Her laughter warm as she takes up the bottle she came in with - that long-suffering bravado of hers back in full swing - she tosses out, "Perhaps next time, bronzerider."

"And Tsanth just told me mine was too long to remember." A lighthearted interjection amongst all the seriousness that they've steeped themselves into tonight. Z'ian plays with the hair that he's got his fingers tangled into, bumping his forehead into hers. "So... we're going to need two bottles of hard liquor next time? When we get to the bottom of this thing you and I are both going to be fall down drunks. Do you know that?" Then like a little light has gone over his head, there's a glimmer in his eyes. Sly, teasing. "Or maybe you want more next time than to just ply me with alcohol. You want me to take my clothes off?" She pushes him away and he takes the step back, closing his eyes, taking a pause before opening them and watching her scoop up her bottle. "My sleep is pretty well fucked for tonight." He watches her carefully, before his mouth twitches into a smile. When she goes to leave, he'll reach out to touch her arm. "And now who's kissing and running?" And there's the challenge again, thrown out to her as she tries to make an exit.

Curiosity does rear its head: "What was it before?" His name. And then Jo snorts when Z'ian teases on the booze - and him getting naked - and she steps back to look him over as if him out of clothes was a serious option. "We could skip the booze get straight to naked," is her response. Crass. Crass she can do, along with driving someone else crazy like she was likely doing now. She hefts the bottle up, it still pretty heavy in weight and by the crafty look on her face, seems like she was all for leaving him high and dry for the night. She was turning before he stops her with that touch, and that open challenge - the push-and-pull game of the night laid bare between them. With a low huff of laughter when the bluerider regards him with that knowing, crooked smile, "I stay any longer, ya ain't getting' any sleep tonite. And I'm done talkin' shit."

"Zach." correction, "Zachrian. Not so long, but Tsanth talks alot. He didn't want it interfering with his constant rambling. Too many syllables." Z'ian can only shrug his shoulders for his dragon's particular tastes. Stepping back, he's gone to leaning against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. His lips find their way into a broad smile, all teeth for her crassness. "I don't think you want to go there yet, you're enjoying torturing me. You still like the way we are now. Correct me if I'm wrong." His eyes drift to the hefted bottle and he lifts his eyebrows, "Yeah? No more shit talking. Does that mean you're not going to tell me if you won your bet?" It's such a push-and-pull game, full of power plays and challenges between them. And he can't help himself from asking that last question.

"Zach," Jo repeats that name, hefting it like she was doing the bottle. "Think I'll use that one from now on." And oh, Z'ian's return on torture has the woman dropping a look that was full of trouble and the promise of debauchery to come as she turns to face him and tucks that bottle right under one arm. After a pause, "Yer right," she actually admits, amused and letting that brief moment of honesty bleed through. "Not with you. Not yet." It's few words that say a lot from the convict rider. "Yer not the only one bein' tortured, here." But then, he looks at the bottle and brings up the bet from Taikrin's turnday party, which has her rolling her eyes expressively and taking booted steps towards the table where she sets the bottle back down. Leaning a hip to that table, "Wanna know how dirty I got, huh?" she muses, arms coming to a fold across her chest. "Mmm. I didn' win, predictably. I got a drink thrown in my face for tellin' a girl I liked her fat ass. Think I even groped another one, sometime in the night. I still think I'm the shit though, but it was Taikrin's night. Girl's got good game." Then, after a pause, "Unless ya were lookin' for a play-by-play."

"That would be different. I only hear it now when I go back to the hold." Z'ian seems rather amused that she would start using part of his old name, instead of the one that Tsanth gave to him. He smiles at her when she concedes the truth to his assumption and he uncrosses his arms, choosing instead to rake his hands through his hair and then using them to pillow his head against the stone. "I don't mind." He admits quietly before laughing when they change subjects again. "I try not to tell women I like their asses because of how fat they are. I learned a long time ago that usually only results in disappointment for me." Musing now, "Of course if I was really drunk I'd probably be about as truthful." The bronzerider lets his eyes track up and down Jo's leather clad form. To her question, "Not tonight. Otherwise I can't guarantee I'd be able to hold out on you for another nightcap."

Jo snorts, "Zach's just easier to say, for me," is her easy excuse to using his old name. "I mean, ya can call me Jolie if ya wanted. It's no big." His smile to her when she admits the truth, and his response thereof, gets that crooked little smirk before she says, "Yeah, I know." On the matter of any women and fat asses, there's a long suffering fake sigh born of turns of being misunderstood. "It was a compliment," she tells him, shaking her head. "But hey, it was all well and good. I came close to winnin', but then Taikrin had that thing and all. What can ya expect." She laughs a little at her own statements, catching that meandering look from the bronzerider along with his accompanying response has her narrowing her eyes and lifting a finger at him. "Next one's on ya, darlin'," she notes on nightcaps, picking up her bottle once more. "And, on that note, I should scram before I really, lose my resolve. Ain' runnin'," she adds, touch wry as she raises the bottle in his direction. "But my awesomeness can really, only be taken in small doses."

"Yeah?" Z'ian lets his teeth sink into his bottom lip again while he considers her, "I like that name." Quickly laughing, he shakes his head. "I'm sure you meant it to be one. And I'm sure if you had one of those things, you'd have done just as well." He's smirking, so it's hard to tell if he's necessarily being really serious right now. "She had an unfair advantage." The bronzerider remains with his back against the wall, fingers linked behind his head. "Of course. Not running at all. Don't trip on the step on your way out. Not that I'm worried, since you're not rushing out of here." He lifts his eyebrows at her last and lets loose a long faux-exasperated sigh, complete with a crooked smile. "Good night, Jolie. I'll see you later."

On Taikrin's little help-mate, "Ahh, ya think I should get one, then?" Jo's totally turning Z'ian's words around to mean that, bearing teeth in a smile. Then she's taking steps backward with her bottle as he speaks on her running, all laughter and usual cockiness in her leather-clad body for it. "Yeah. Keep tellin' yerself that," to it all, lifting a hand to run it through her already-messy hair before she pivots to face forward and keeps on walking out of there. She throws up a backhand, her steps deliberately slow and leisurely as if she has all the time in the world to get back out to that ledge, but she does toss back over her shoulder, "As always. Zach." Then she's gone.