Difference between revisions of "Logs:Stay If You Want"

Southern Rim of the Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

Directly opposite the sharp spikes of the Reaches' characteristic spires lies the bowl's south rim, from above seeming pinched like a baker's pie crust to form this distinctive lip: a soft curve, several dragonlengths long but only four lengths wide before narrowing into impassable crags. It would have to be an apprentice effort, however, given how even the flatter area is riddled with cracks and hollows, dusted with glittery silicate quartz that is far more gritty than sweet.

Though the view down into the bowl is commanding, the views beyond it can be absolutely breathtaking on clear days: eternally snow-capped mountains descending to high-altitude meadows and the dark brush of evergreens, and greener valleys beyond even those, with only glimpses here and there of human habitation. But the views come with a risk: the wind can blow hard and strong, and whether looking inward or outward, there is no protection from the precipitous chasms that fall away from these heights.

It's that time of night, when all sane sorts are sleeping or giving it serious consideration. Then there are those who just want to get that one last thing done, most of whom are working on their second mug (or pot) of klah to do so. And then ... there are those who cannot sleep, despite the work that needs to be done. The pair winging up to the Southern Rim would fall into that last category, the rider grim-faced and the dragon gliding along with a surety of purpose. Uanth backwings dramatically before his hindtalons touch, oh-so-lightly, on the edge of the rim ... and then he crouches, just enough for Rascela to slide down and drag her hands over her face. Exhausted is an understatement for how she looks and no doubt feels. The brown provides a convenient place for her to lean, her gaze drifting, unseeing, across the bowl.

It must be a restless sort of night, this one, because Uanth and Rascela are not the only pair out and about, nevermind the lateness, the amount of work there is to be done. The brown pair have a few minutes to themselves, up there, but not all that much more than that, before another pair wing down to join them. The expression on K'del's face, as he and Cadejoth reach close enough to note the other pair, is abashed; for a moment, it looks as though he's about to move on, find some other refuge, but he does not - and Cadejoth lands, heavier than Uanth did, and towards the other end of the ledge. K'del doesn't dismount immediately, nor does he look back in Rascela's direction: he stares, instead, out over the lands beyond the weyr bowl.

There's a muted scrape of claws as Uanth shifts his posture, an amiable rattle-rumble being issued for the pair. It takes a moment longer for Raz to catch on; so lost in her own little world it takes a harder nudge from the brown to get her attention. A solid thump is aimed for her lifemate's shoulder, something growled not-quite-under breath, and then her head tips in Cadejoth and K'del's direction with a singular wave for them. "Hey." There's a beat, then, "Can't sleep neither, huh?"

Cadejoth returns Uanth's rumble with one of his own, one-part howl at the moons, and one part pleasant tenor, which is enough to draw K'del from at least part of his reverie, for his expression changes, a rueful, semi-amused expression settling onto his features, although he doesn't yet look up. Not until Rascela's address, at which point he turns his head, fixing the other weyrling with a tilt of the head in agreement. "Restless. Too much in my head, you know? And my weyr's kind of empty, still." And thus, no good for late-night thoughtfulness, apparently.

"Ayuh." A boot scuffs absently, kicking a few pebbles off the edge of the rim to go clattering down. "Same, I reckon. Lotta stuff t'do, can't focus. An' he's goin' on 'bout th' ... things on th' hearth-" she has to pause to recall the word "-calls 'em sporks." To which all Rascela can do is shake her head, slanting a look back to Uanth -- who is currently settled on the rim as the pale guardian he is, neck arched just so and looking toward the bowl -- before her gaze shifts back to K'del. "Empty ain't any good, neither. 'S ... too quiet."

"Sporks?" Despite asking the question, K'del doesn't seem to expect, or require, an answer; finally, he slides down towards the ledge, leaning up against Cadejoth in such a way as to allow him to look at Rascela - and over both sides of the ledge, should he desire. "Thought I'd like the quiet," he agrees, once content in his position, fingers traipsing the thin, rangy musculature of Cadejoth's forelimb beside him. The bronze shifts, stretching his tail towards the far edge of the rim, where it curls about the fragile rock. "Not sure, though. Maybe just need to get used to it."

"You'd have t'see 'em," is all Rascela can offer with a shrug. "Same with th' ledge. Th' whole shardin' place is just ..." she has no words, but Uanth relays to Cadejoth a /feel/ of iron and wood, a flickered image of stairs leading into the unknown and a fireplace of the same. And the sporks, of course; helpful as ever. "Th' bed, though. Jays." Incredulous. She lifts a hand, dragging it through her hair and ruffling it up a bit. "Yeah, prob'ly just ... have t'get used to it. Th' quiet. Any time he moves, 'slike I wake up, half-expectin' a tunnelsnake or somethin'."

And this, Cadejoth finds very interesting. So, apparently, does K'del, because he straightens, surprised. "Wow," he says. "Nothing like ours. Just pretty ordinary. One of the walls is kind of a funny colour. And I got a rug." But no bed, his tone implies. Nothing exciting. And if one eyebrow raises, at her response to the bed, he doesn't comment on it. "Sounds like Uanth's kind of place, though. Like to see it, at some point." For the rest, another nod, very firm. "Yeah, know that feeling. Least Cadejoth actually /stops/ moving, when he's sleeping. Else I'd never sleep."

"Yeah. It's ... yeah. Whoever had th' weyr before musta brought it in pieces. Shardin' huge." There's a funny quirk of her mouth, then: "Y'could see it now. Ain't like we got anythin' better t'do that we ain't doin' anyway." A blink for the description of his weyr, then a slight snort. "Gonna have t'fix that, ain't we?" The lack of a bed? The blandness? Probably all of it. She flicks a look to Cadejoth, then, though it's short-lived. "Woulda figured him t'be th' restless type. Sleepin'. Uanth ain't, usually, but sometimes-"

"Spent that much effort bringing it up there, to just leave it," marvels K'del. Beat. "Maybe he - she? - died in fall or something, I guess." It's a sobering thought, and one that seems to take most of his concentration for a few moments at least. Then: "Sure. Like to see it." Like he said. "Mm, that's the plan. Parents gave me bedding - like, pillows and blankets and stuff, nice stuff, for my turnday. Hopefully get something decent out of stores, for the rest." His own gaze slides towards Cadejoth, mirthful. "Nah, he exhausts himself during the day, then sleeps like the dead. Was lucky he was still awake, tonight, else I'd've been stranded."

"Reckon so." And she's silent for the thought, gaze distancing for a moment before her head shakes. Not so much to dismiss entirely, but to move on. "Need a table an' chairs. Maybe a couch or somethin', later." But as she speaks, she's hauling herself onto Uanth to settle between his 'ridges. And maybe there's a slight furrowing of her forehead at his gift's description, but it passes. "Huh. S'nice of 'em. Thoughtful, yeah?" A beat. "Oughtta be somethin' good in stores for a bed, though. If not, could pitch in later for a better one." Rascela nods to the last, mouth pulled a little to a side. "S'good, then, that he wasn't."

"Plenty of time to fill 'em in," muses K'del, bobbing his head along to Rascela's wishlist, at the same time as he swings back up onto Cadejoth. "Was," he agrees. "Good to have something nice, anyway. He looks pleased, certainly already less restless, as he adds, "Should be. Bet Milani's got some decent stuff down there, somewhere. Mm, lucky for me. Maybe it's just that kind of night."

"Yeah. S'the one thing we got plenty of. Time." A low chuckle from her, her hands resting on the brown's strapless neck. There's an affectionate pat, then Rascela's canting a look over. "Have t'see. Later. S'good t'have folks like that in yer life." And Uanth shifts his lean bulk, wings still folded to his back as he gathers his haunches beneath him. There's a flashed smile for K'del from the woman, though. "Lucky. Or maybe just th' way it was s'posed t'be." That's dropped cryptically, with a flick of 'follow us' fingers for the pair. And then Uanth drops, unfurling his wings only after a short, heart-stopping drop. Wings snap wide and then he's veering off in a sharp arc, leading the way.

"Definitely," agrees K'del, with the confident of the young, grinning broadly. "Mm, it is. They were so surprised to see me. Pleased. Was nice, to visit. Good to have them. Supposed to be? Fate. Ah-hah." It's said with a teasing laugh, though given the way Cadejoth drops after Uanth, thrusting himself into the air with his usual eagerness, the comment as a whole might get lost to the winds. Cadejoth's wings extend, allowing him to glide on after Uanth, wings beating only as often as they need to, to keep them sweeping on through the night sky.

Uanth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#1719RJ) A saber's curl of sleek rock, its edge jagged and walls sharply dropping, forms a narrow and nifty ledge. Tucked in tight against the walls in the shadow of larger ledges above, the shady surface is not an easy one for a dragon to land on. Once that feat is accomplished, however, a neat conglomeration of smaller sub-ledges set at varying heights create an area perfect for lounging dragons to catch a bit of sun and eavesdrop on the world below. There's even a smaller ledge built to human's scale to one side, though it bears an accumulation of dirt and leaves as well as assorted other flotsam under a couple of benches and in the small firepit.

The ledge is a tricky one, being narrow-yet-long as it is. There's another flare of wings as Uanth nears, hovering just a beat in the air before touching down in much the same way as he did on the rim. Rascela doesn't hesitate in dismounting, retreating partially to the entrance to keep the rest of the tiered ledge wide open for Cadejoth and K'del. The brown remains where he is, craning his head back to watch the other pair make their approach; soundless, now. Just watchful.

For once in his life, Cadejoth visibly slows on his descent towards the ledge, controlling his movements as best he can so as to give himself the best chance to land cleaning. Even with this precaution, it's a bit of a wobbly landing - but, ultimately, successful. K'del, as he scrambles down, looks impressed. "Weird," he says, glancing around. "But interesting. Nice."

Cadejoth's landing elicits a tilted smile from the brownrider and a satisfied rumbling from Uanth. The brown slinks nimbly past, pressing flat against the wall to move his way up to the next tier for the purpose of sprawling on it. "S'like that inside, too. Th' rooms. Kinda staggered up. Small, though." Raz' chin lifts, indicating the topmost tier, "Firepit an' benches. Gonna be nice." Her thumbs hook in her beltloops, head jerking toward the entrance for him to go first.

Cadejoth looks - and feels, his mental touch light, but not impossible to catch - terribly pleased with himself, though now safely landed, his constant motion begins again, tail flicking against the tier upon which he rests, his forelimbs reaching curiously for another. "Weird kinda layout. But. Nice. Mm, good place to spend time," K'del agrees, following Raz's indication towards the top tier. But she indicates the entrance, and, with an expression of interest, he heads for it.

And Uanth stretches in kind, his thoughts drifting to Cadejoth. Idle flutterings and musings, images of the chitterlings chasing each other around with the sporks. All in all pleased, for now, to have company. As for Rascela, she just nods, once, and follows along on in with a conversational, "So, how's yers look? Ain't had a chance t'see th' others yet; want to, though. Busy." Somehow, the word comes out sounding ... /tired/. Once inside, she continues, "How y'been doin'? With all th' catchin' up?"

Rascela heads to the inner weyr.

You head to the inner weyr.

Rascela and Uanth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Inside the elegant, dark-flecked weyr, the decor incorporates ironwork and heavy wood into a large hearth and an equally impressive bed. A short spiral staircase ends abruptly in a child-sized sleeping alcove that extends over the dragon couch. The main decoration is a large collection of sporks displayed on the mantle: some are just rough wooden spoon-forks with a place name carved along the handle, while others are really quite pretty, inlaid with bits of metal or intricate woodcarving. In summer, the weyr grows stuffy, though in winter it remains cozy and warm no matter how cold it gets outside. Still, like the ledge-cluster outside, each room is slightly smaller than average, their height staggered. It's a quirky, charming little weyr, overall.

Cadejoth is particularly interested in the sporks, adopting the word mentally without hesitation, and immediately adapting his own slinking chains to sneak towards them, twining about their ends. "Nothing like this," says K'del, on his way in, eyes seeking this way and that, eager and curious all at the same time. "I'll show you, promise. Visit any time." He seems aware of her tiredness, turning his head to watch her even as he answers, head tilted just slightly, and brows half-raised. "Harder than I expected. I mean, I worked hard before, but I missed stuff. Feels like there's no time at all, anymore."

Luckily, there is no mental illustration of how sporks came to be. At least, not tonight. The chains manage to loop around some and turn into chain-sporks, something which amuses Uanth beyond words. "Ayuh. S'different." Rascela lifts her hands, lacing them behind the back of her head and tipping it back. Eyes slide shut, but it doesn't preclude her from answering, "A'right. Sounds good. Tomorrow, maybe, dependin'." Then silence as he speaks, with her just letting him survey at his leisure. No curtains exist as yet, leaving the living area and the sleeping area beyond plainly within view; a heap of paperwork is on the floor in the living area, opposite a fireplace that's still in need of being cleaned out. Everything else, though, is nice and clean, down to the dragon couch -- which has a battered blanket over rushes to keep it warm. Her bed is covered, though not in anything particularly fancy or warm ... the weyr seems to retain its heat fairly well. Eventually: "Yeah? Reckon it'll settle out, once yer caught up."

Cadejoth makes the chain-sporks tinkle, merrily, like windchimes (though this is not a comparison he would use, having never seen, or heard of, such a thing), and this amuses him, too. "Tomorrow," he agrees. "If you like." As he says this, he's already making his way through the weyr, exploring quite without embarrassment or nervousness, for someone else's space. He runs his hand across the foot of the bed, clearly impressed, and then turns back to his host, striding back through the series of rooms. "Bet it will. Just - bad timing. Time. Never is any, unless you sacrifice something else. You've a nice place. Suits you." And Uanth.

A breeze is stirred up to further make those chain-sporks chime, scented with the woods and wilds and further churned by the wings of the chitterlings; the sound is accompanied by their nonsense, sing-song language. Uanth is reduced to an entity in the background, a fixture of trees and stone and earth; fitting, for him. Rascela nods once and the consensus of "Tomorrow." is confirmed. While he explores, she heads toward the bedroom and then the bed, plunking down on the edge of it. Boots and socks are stripped off and tossed, haphazardly, into a corner. "Yeah. Reckon it'd kill 'em to have good timin' once in a while," she snorts. To the last, she tilts her head a little. "Reckon so? S' ... S'home. Figure anythin' woulda suited."

And there are the moons, adding their eerie light - Cadejoth's contribution. He does not take a backseat to this, however, too enthralled and enthused to just sit back and watch, his tendrils, glowing greenish-bronze, slink into the tableau, to play with the chitterlings, and manually chime the chain-sporks. Ah, such fun! K'del ends up hovering not far from the bedroom, as she strips off her boots and socks, leaning up against a wall so he can see her, still. "Bet they do it on purpose," he tells her, ruefully, grinning. "Probably. Don't care what mine looks like: it's mine, that's what I care about. Going to try and get some good stuff from Milani, though, to fill it out."

There's a surreptitious tilt of the moons, turning them into smiling crescents; the chitterlings are all the presence he needs and they flutter and dance, creating their own fey melody. K'del can hover over there; Rascela's not intending on moving any time soon. "Hnh." It's a thoughtful sort of noise, though a bit distracted. Her shirt is the next thing to be shed, heedless of his presence; that done, she hunkers forward to press her palms against her face in a futile effort to rub the tiredness away. "Yeah. Sure she'll set you up proper; seems th' sort t'know what she's talkin' 'bout with it, anyway." Her nose wrinkles. "Uanth's got ideas for here. Cadejoth doin' th' same?"

Cadejoth adds in some stars - just for fun! - and, finally, seems content with the scene, though this doesn't stop him from continuing to play with it, and enjoy that tinkling, fluttering tune. To his credit, K'del keeps his gaze mostly (mostly!) to Rascela's face, as the shirt comes off, and otherwise doesn't move much, though his lips purse as her palms press against her face. "Think so," he agrees. "Oh - not so much. I think he's like me, in this. It's home, so it doesn't matter what's in it, or not. So long as we're comfortable." Pause. "You getting sleepy? Or still just tired, but can't sleep."

And so it lingers in the background, the melody and the imagery; things start to take a dreamlike tilt as Uanth seems to withdraw further, mist rolling forth to mask that withdrawal. Rascela, though, just shakes her head and drops her hands, pushing to her feet and planting a hand against one of the posts at the corner of the bed. She twists a little to look at K'del, one eyebrow quirking up slightly. "Ah. Lucky." Evidently, Uanth is much, much more involved than that. There's a shake of her head to the latter. "Restless. Should prob'ly try t'sleep, though." And then there's a beat, a long one, before: "Y'can stay, if y'want."

Cadejoth's low, half-howl, is a farewell - or perhaps an ode to that mist. He'll play, still, but the dreamlike landscape seems to have affected him; he's slower, wearier, less active, and more content. "Uanth being... particular," he concludes. "About his living space. And yours." He nods, for her explanation, and for the offer, there's a pause. A short one. Very short. But deliberate. "Uanth won't object?"

"Yeah. Wants t'do all kinds of stuff." But, she won't elaborate -- or just can't, given the way her face scrunches up -- and Raz remains where she is, leaned up against the post slightly, bare feet crossing at the ankles. "Ain't sure I'll ever have enough marks t'do it." Her free hand comes up, dragging through her hair, gaze distancing before fixing more securely on K'del. "Nah. We talked. Found out what his problem was." There's a lift of her chin his way. "But we got a small problem, too."

"Ah," says K'del, but he doesn't press, maybe from watching her face scrunch, maybe for other reasons; he just nods, instead. "There's time. You'll get the marks eventually, I bet." As her gaze fixes on him like that, his own stays where it is, watching, his eyebrows just lighting - just slightly. "Yes?" Then, a few moments later. "What?" His left hand is pressed flush against the stone beside him, his head tilted just slightly.

"Can't explain like he did," Raz finally says, pushing away and walking very slowly, very deliberately toward him. "But." A hand extends toward him, intent on catching at the waistband of his pants and then giving it a tug. "S'okay, for now. Could even sleep here once in a while 'til y'get a bed, if y'wanted." And then she's smiling and it's a strange and wicked thing to answer the last. "Y'still got clothes on. That's th' problem you'n'me got."

K'del doesn't seem to need the proper explanation - or, at least, he doesn't seem to expect one, since there's a Raz walking towards him, and then, catching his waistband; at this point, he looks /exceptionally/ pleased, his own hands lifting to touch her bare skin, run down her back. "I think I'd like that," he says, keeping his voice from betraying anything other than calm, coolness. And to her last? Another smile, maybe more of a smirk, to match hers. "I'd better remedy that," he says, as if this is a most serious matter. And, see: already doing so, withdrawing one hand to flick buttons undone, one by one, to allow his clothes to join hers, on the floor.

There's a delighted little shiver for the feel of his hands down her back, Raz' smile tip-tilted in an uncharacteristically, yet oh-so-fittingly, impish way. She would help him, of course, but she has her pants to get off -- which she does -- and then she's stretching up just a little to try to catch his lips with hers in a fierce, hungry sort of kiss; all insistent lips and teeth and tongue. "C'mon," is barely more than a growl, scarcely a proper word, uttered somewhere at the back of her throat.

K'del, with more clothes to get off, is still struggling with his when her lips reach for his own - but there's no way he's going to turn down that, so the undressing efforts are delayed, slightly, while he engages wholeheartedly in that. His pants do slide to the ground, though, and just in time: with that growl of a word, his grin broadens to pure satisfaction, as his arms wrap more tightly about her, and, without disengaging, he attempts to maneuver them backwards towards the bed. Quickly.

Quickly, yes. And she's obliging to that end, as unwilling as he to disengage now that things have gone this far and so very well, for that. To the bed, then, with him trying to maneuver and her trying to /pull/ him, something which successfully gets them to the bed without tripping or stumbling -- miraculously. But, getting /onto/ the bed without breaking that kiss will be an awkward venture at best, but one Rascela's willing to try by leaning back and trying to pull him along with.

Awkward. To say the least. But a man will do many awkward things in the pursuit of this particular goal, and care little about how silly it might look. After all, who's to notice? Or care? So K'del allows himself to be pulled along, attempting to measure his progress so as not to drop full-weight atop her - it's hard going, and at the last moment, it fails. With the kiss broken, there's nothing for it but to crawl onto the bed, in a more normal fashion - and /then/ resume the kiss, with extra fervor for the interruption.

And, in this case, a woman will definitely do many awkward things in pursuit of this goal. A low laugh for the breaking of the kiss, for the awkwardness, for all of it. Relieved; almost incredulous, but in a good way. On the bed now, Raz squirms just enough to get properly situated for now and then she's looping an arm around his neck and kissing back just as greedily as before. The other hand is reaching to pull /him/ a bit more snugly to her, fingers meaning to reside at his hip and linger there.

A laugh that K'del shares, between breaths, and then, between kisses - kisses that all sort of fade into one big kiss, as before, one he seems to have no intention of breaking off at any time. One of his arms slides up to rest above her head, letting his fingers play with her hair, or stroke down her face, while the other curls in to explore the contours of her body, wherever he can reach around his own body, as he allows himself to be pulled in, matching body to body.

Such exploration is encouraged, her body arching into his touch; she has no particular need explore, however, her fingers kneading at his hip instead, as if only to anchor his presence to her senses, if not to her body. The kiss starts to slip after a little while, her mouth moving from his to his neck and to his shoulder, with a languid drag of tongue and rasp of teeth here and there. Biting, though gently. For now.

And so, his mouth follows her lead, reaching for whatever skin it can find, both echoing and finding new ways to enjoy itself. And so, too, do his hands continue to explore, and then, more and more, to please - though it may also be said that, after so many months of abstinence, they are perhaps more insistent, more desperate, than they might otherwise be. And so, it continues. Many pleasures. And, eventually, sleep.