Logs:(Un)Desirable Distraction
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 30 October, 2013 |
| Who: Alida, Gallagher |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Gallagher's shady and apparently doesn't smile enough. Alida tries to surprise him into one. |
| Where: Outside High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Weather: A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today. |
  |
| Outside High Reaches Weyr Impressive enough at a distance, up close, the sheer size of the mountain is imposing -- to the vulnerable, overwhelming -- the more so as its crown of spires, distinguishing High Reaches from every other Weyr on Pern, thrusts long fingers of rock into the sky. The plateau just short of the Weyr's shadowy entrance can seem very small and very flat at the best of times, pinned as it is against the side of the mountain, but at least it's a refuge from the narrow, tight-kinked road that has to twist its way through the rest of the mountain range to reach the rest of Pern. A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today.
Who else is found inhabiting the tunnel right as that exchange is made? It would have to be Alida, the white wher's steps falling light and quiet as she makes her way towards wherever the hell she's going. With the advent of words out beyond her comes a slowing of her steps until she's stopped in place about a hundred feet away...poised in the gloom between glow sconces...listening in as much as she can. It ain't easy, given the distance, but voices do carry, echo in this confined space. Keen green eyes observe Gallagher and the other male, their exchange and manners, that hand of the candidate's upon the other's shoulder which speaks of some bit of fond familiarity. It wars within Alida for a few moments: should I follow the knotless one or not? It's ultimately Pyrite who 'chooses' for her, however, the gold firelizard zipping like a speed maniac into the tunnel from the nearer, open end, and buzzing past Gal on her way to her mistress...something clutched in the flit's claws. Chittering in excitement, the autumnal-sunflower-toned beastie dumps her load at her owner's boots, then tries to land upon her shadowed shoulder. "Damnit..." is huffed out darkly, quietly from the small gloom. The words themselves are unintelligible, each man having taken care with tone and volume to reduce the likelihood of being overheard. Clearly, there was conversation, the sound of the voices make that much clear but the words themselves aren't. The outdoors path to the stables that the men stand on makes the voices carry less than they might were they in an enclosed space. Perhaps that's why this spot was selected over any other for such a meeting. Gallagher's head jerks as gold flashes past him, too near judging from the way his lips pull down at the corners. He turns in order to follow it with his eyes and finds, "Alida." A single brow arches in her direction, not really questioning, just... maybe that's how he looks when he's surprised. Nothing like almost having a firelizard graze your face at warp jesus. Gal's jerk away from Pyrite was good reflexes - something Alida did manage to catch, approve of in her guardly fashion - but right now, all the woman in the pale braid can manage to 'admire' is the dead tunnelsnake dumped at her feet...her expression wanly, darkly ironic. "Yes...very good girl," the woman murmurs to her pet, the perched flit rubbing her cheek happily on the bluie's jaw. Onward those bootsteps resume towards Gallagher, the Glacier rider's hands moving smoothly to open one of those belt pouches, and pluck out a small piece of herdbeast jerky to offer to Pyrite. As she recloses her pouch and nears the candidate, her casual alto notes, "Hope yer not sellin' out the Weyr." Though there's enough dark humor in the words, there's still a decent hint of a cop's curious questioning within. Gallagher's azurite gaze follows Pyrite's prey drop, Alida's reaction and then her path as she nears him. The single brow climbs a little higher at the question. He meets her eyes silently, but his expression doesn't betray anything. Answering her question with a question, he asks, without obvious humor, "Do I strike you like the type that would?" "You strike me as a person who does what has ta be done..." Alida notes low, her expression gone a little guarded, though green eyes might contain a touch of continuing, dark humor. "I don' think so...but I've been wrong at times..." is finally admitted as she peers up into the candidate's blue eyes, fingertips absently caressing along the spine of her jerky-chewing little queen. A quick look over her shoulder towards that branch in the tunnel precedes more Gal-peering, and a murmured, "Messenger fer the Nabol area..." It's neither a statement or a question, more a simple observation, given what little facts she has. "And what could be going on that would necessitate my selling out the Weyr?" Gallagher asks, letting his brow drop though his eyes don't stray even a hair from their meeting with her greens. As to her conjecture, he doesn't make answer. It wasn't a question, after all. "Yer wantin' more information on the inner workings, asking that..." Alida murmurs, hooking her thumbs lightly into the belt loops of her pants, the woman's features lighting with an expression of knowing humor for a few moments. "If ya' Impress, I might answer that, later." Damned Weyr autonomy. And from the blue comes a different subject: "If I wasn't such a frowner myself, I might suggest that you smile a little more." Cue a small smirk. "Maybe I'm just wanting more information on your inner workings." Gallagher proposes as an alternative, his lips twitching as one corner starts to pull toward his smirk. "If I'm not to know things about the inner workings 'til I Impress, then what could I possibly know worth selling?" He cants his head to one side, still challenging. The matter of the smile nearly makes him do so. The other side of his mouth fights to stretch, but doesn't win out. "Maybe I need more to smile about." "Maybe..." Alida allows, then grinning some at the man's lip-twitching. "Yer usin' that dangerous charm again. Tsk-tsk..." the blonde soon notes wryly, shaking her braided head just a little, then noting back to the candidate's question, "You tell me." It's that last bit of his that has the self-confident woman stepping forward right up in the man's grille, seeking to hook her left index finger into the neck of his shirt, and draw his face down to her level for a quick, if fiery little kiss before she releases him again. "How 'bout that?" is then inquired almost-merrily as her chittering firelizard takes wing to avoid being potentially bumped into the male. The smirk stays but Gallagher's expression is impassive as he regards the blonde, not reacting in a way that either confirms or denies her accusation of him using charm on her. His lips have just started to part to answer the words 'you tell me' when her finger hooks into his collar. In this moment, Alida does something she's yet to do with the Crom-trained man: she catches him off his guard. If he thought she intended him harm or perhaps if he thought it was harm he couldn't recover from, there'd be resistance, but as is, there's betrayal of curiosity in his eyes as his face is directed down. He doesn't expect the kiss, but with as many turns as he has, his lips are programmed to respond, though it's more surprised than anything, and it's quick, so there's no time to see if it becomes something else. As she pulls back and pops her query toward him, his head stays where it was drawn, eyes that never closed staring at her, searching her eyes for something. "That..." He starts, then after a beat finishes, "... was unexpected." Slowly, he straightens. He's not smiling, but his expression does show something: puzzlement. "Gotchaaa..." Alida notes with a feline-like pleasure, humor...and something else dancing behind those usually merciless green eyes. Her own eyes remained quite open during that quick kiss, watching her 'victim's' reactions, enjoying Gallagher's moment of surprise. And yet... "Still no smile..." is noted, the blonde shaking her head in mock-sadness, one of her elbows cocking so as to place a hand upon its hip. Her stance is both vaguely mocking and subtly challenging, though the bluie's next words are burred with dark humor and something...slinky? "If you Impress a dragon - especially a female - yer gonna be so fuckin' overwhelmed when they Fly." Not lower case, that last word. Grin. Gallagher's brows dip, his lips tightening just slightly though not going so far as to frown. Then the expression shifts subtly, "Alida," He starts, though it's taking him longer than usual to put words together. "I'm not unfamiliar with any of what passes between a man and a woman; I've been a guard for turns, and as such I'm not even unfamiliar with what happens when there's one man or one woman in whom there's intense interest." Dragon driven or not, he doesn't clarify. He clears his throat softly, "But I thought we had an understanding. I'm here to take my one and only chance on the sands. Romance or even just kissing... It's a distraction I can't afford right now." He doesn't sugar coat it. Perhaps as a guard, he doesn't know how. He simply states it as he finds it, though he looks a touch awkward after the fact. She watches him, listens with open senses, and instead of upset, more dark humor seems to grow within Alida as Gallagher continues to speak, respond, the bluerider's lips slowly shifting from smirk into grin. And when he's finished, she can't help but take that one hand upon hip, and move it - along with its twin - into an arm-crossing tuck over her chest, while she once again shakes her pale head. "This isn't romance...'r even a prelude ta bumpin' uglies. All I wanted from ya in that second was an honest smile... Thought I could surprise it outta ya." While the woman's features express one thing, her green gaze hints at another, different emotion: disappointment. After some moments spent in studying the candidate's reactions to her words, the woman slowly unfolds her arms, holding up one hand so that silently-summoned Pyrite can flit back towards then, and settle upon the bluie's fingers with a sweet chirrup. "My pardons if I 'distracted' ya..." is noted with both smooth and professional clarity and a subtle undercurrent of continued, if small disappointment. A pivot upon bootheel presages what's likely her leavetaking, alto noting mildly over her shoulder, "G'day, Gal." If Gallagher were any other man, it's possible that he would miss the hint of disappointment, but he's Gallagher, and he's watching her too intensely to miss it. There's a ghost of a wince when he recognizes the emotion, but not enough to really be called a wince. He doesn't seem to find words, or at least not the ones that seem right to him until she's turned to go. Arms move, perhaps without conscious bidding, the decision having been made in a split second, his hands first finding her waist and applying gentle pressure, meaning to rock her back on her step instead of letting her get further from him, just as he takes a long step to bring his body up behind her. His breath is a touch more rapid than it was moments ago, but it seems more the sort of thing that comes with some degree of risk-taking than any sort of desire that might endanger her. Still, he puts his lips beside her ear to murmur, "Try it again, if you like. After the hatching. See if it doesn't make me smile then." His head tilts and his lips draw achingly close to her bare neck, the man hesitating there a moment before he's moving to release her and step back. There's a tightening of her sculpted, hardened, yet still somewhat female frame at that touch of his upon her waist. Gallagher's likely well-trained enough to recognize such as a ramping up, a prelude to some kind of retaliatory action...and the suddenly-yellow-orange eyes of Pyrite could just back such sentiment up. And yet...she invited some kind of reaction...and the candidate is being rather suitably cautious in his approach of her. And so there's no jerk away, nor a kick or punch or worse coming from the rider. Instead, her only slightly less stiff form remains still, poised, awaiting whatever might come, though Gallagher's first words elicit her low, "I think ya know how very lucky you are right now, doncha'?" Him getting away with touching her, that is. Still, she sounds almost as amused as dangerous. As for after the hatching, "Maybe. If y' do wind up with a dragon, I c'n almost guarantee ya' it'll be way too needy uv yer every attention ta even try." Smirk. "Shit; maybe just bein' out there'll make that clam face uv' yers bust apart fer a second, dragon 'r no." At that ghosting almost-hint of lips near her neck, a small wealth of goosepimples break out just beneath the outrush of warm air from Gal's lungs, inspiring the bluie to slowly, but firmly remove herself from his presence just as he steps back. Note that - in her measured and controlled retreat back into the tunnel she formerly emerged from - Pyrite's eyes are a bright blue once again, the nearly-full grown flit tucking her small form into her owner's neck amidst a soft churr. Thems fightin' words, or at least challenging ones. Her query of how lucky he is is something he almost certainly would give answer to. After all, wasn't it she who grasped his collar first and she who came into his personal space? If training in Crom is as good as they say, Gallagher certainly doesn't have any problem punching pretty faces, female or no, if he was threatened. So perhaps they're equally lucky. In the end, he says none of this, he doesn't even comment about smiles on the hatching sands. Instead, he simply watches her go, his expression back to the puzzled of moments past. Then he shakes his head before murmuring to himself as he heads toward the inner caverns, "That could've gone worse." Whether he means the matter of the kissing or the exchange she saw that sparked the whole interlude... it may never be known. |
Leave A Comment