Logs:Unsettled and Uppity
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| RL Date: 8 March, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, G'laer, Lythronath, Teisyth |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: A few days after Teisyth's maiden flight, the men exchange words, while the dragons do their own thing as usual. |
| Where: Riders' Lounge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Rh'mis/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| Riders' Lounge, High Reaches Weyr About as high up the bowl wall as it is possible to get before hitting clear sky, right up against the rim, this ledge is tiny, narrow and not terribly inviting. Though angled towards the sun, there's not enough room to properly stretch out, and that same angle ensures it receives the worst of bad weather, with no shelter whatsoever. From above, there's not even an obvious passage inside, as if this particular ledge is, in the end, nothing more than a natural outcropping. It's only from atop the ledge itself that the cleverly concealed entrance becomes clear, angled into the stone as it is. Inside, there's a cavernous space, more than making up for the stinginess of the ledge. There's one large main room, and a much smaller back room that could probably be used as a bedroom - if this weyr were in traditional usage. Instead, the main cavern is largely filled with a collection of mismatched tables and chairs, with a trolley at the far end that contains a prodigious amount of liquor. Old, but still impressive, hangings cover the walls, all depicting scenes of High Reaches in glory. The back room has been turned into a storage area, with several cases of whisky and a variety of other spirits ready and waiting. A strange pipe contraption comes through the ceiling and towards the stone floor, where a large bucket sits beneath it. A lever turns on water from the pipe: fresh rain or snow, ready for drinking.
Lythronath doesn't particularly like the ledge that leads to this place. He stays out on it long enough to posture and snap at a passing blue, once A'rist has dismounted. By the time his rider has found G'laer and is on his way to him, the bronze has gone, much happier to buzz the ledges of familiar and unfamiliar dragons alike, and get up in everyone's business. A'rist, he's different. He heads to the greenrider's table and greets, "G'laer." And then waits. A glance flicked at the sound of footsteps, but the greenrider's gaze doesn't really find the bronzerider until he's finished approaching. "A'rist," is offered in returned greeting, before he flicks the book closed and gestures to one of the other chairs at his table. "Join me," He invites, "If you like." A'rist does just that, sliding almost fluidly into a chair, and bringing one arm up to lay across the table before him. He looks to the surface of G'laer's klah, watching for rising steam for a moment. Outside, Lythronath has started circling the sky, and after a moment, sends a sharp, « Where? » to Teisyth. "There's more on the hearth," G'laer points out after a moment of observing the observer. Then he lifts the mug to sip from it. "You're well? And Lythronath?" is asked next, casually, politely. Teisyth isn't quite so polite. If only because she's feeling playful. She can see Lynner. See him flying, see his wings. The view is from above. Does he see her yet? She hunkers down on the Southern Rim. which might be an effective form of hiding if it weren't for how she thinks tee-peeing her wings over herself will help instead of protruding from her hiding spot. This is a different kind of hiding than previous days. This is the fun kind! "Already had some," A'rist shrugs off the offer, though there's a look toward the hearth, a mental note made. "Yeah, he's - sure. We are." There is some hesitation, but A'rist finds his sense of bronzerider, narrows his eyes a little bit, and, inspecting G'laer, returns, "You?" quite pointedly. Lythronath, he does see her. And if it's playful on his part, it's not coy. This time, rather than prowl or stalk, the bronze outright charges, full speed toward the rim, talon's extended forward as he nears her. Or his intended landing spot. Hopefully they're not one in the same... "Mm." G'laer's first response is considering. "She's well. I'm... well enough." But that doesn't mean well. He meets A'rist's narrowed gaze steadily, watching and now waiting in silence. Teisyth was peeking, of course. So when he angles toward her, she sees it. She also knows better than to make herself prey by scrambling back, so instead she draws herself up and makes herself « Large! » And thankfully, fast, as she prepares herself to dodge if it becomes necessary. It becomes necessary. And it becomes necessary fast. « Little green, » is only once Lythronath has bumped or jostled or scattered the place clear enough for him. And once he's got hold of stone, he roars out across the bowl, and stretches his wings (even if someone might risk getting smacked in the face by one) for show. A'rist is watching G'laer right back, maybe even in a way he'd learned first by emulating the greenrider - not that he'd recognise it as such. "I know I should've been there, you know. I tried to get down there." And he shrugs. "It was already started." Teisyth isn't put out by having to swiftly shift and and be jostled for Lythronath during his landing. « Pfft. Bronzes. » The green answers, though her mental alto is too amused to really get the inflection of his usual use for 'Blues'. But she tries. His wingspar gets licked. Or at least, she tries to lick it, when it ends up in her face like that. The greenrider's brows drop just a touch, expression serious (as usual), some touch of tension in the way he holds his lips before speaking. "You didn't miss much. Rhey punched me in the jaw, but--" But Rhey is Rhey. So even imagining the scrawny, short brownrider going after G'laer is good enough to explain why that wasn't missing much. "Where were you, anyway?" There's no resentment in the man's baritone. If the voice reveals anything, it's just a touch of curiosity. Lythronath snorts, and dips his head to try and get under that wing she's licking, and deliver a bite to... well, any part of Teisyth he can find, really. « Lythronath. » Proudly. "He's punched me, too, once. I guess it probably ended differently." It's agreement to that unspoken assessment. A'rist brings his arms to cross over his chest, tilting his head up - generally up, without a care for where the lounge is situated in relation to, "The closest ledge Lyn could find once we jumped out. So it worked out good, that he didn't catch." "Unless you two have been doing the horizontal hoe-down when no one was looking, then I'd say it ended quite differently." G'laer's expression sours briefly, but the klah mug is lifted to his lips and the expression is wiped to neutrality once more. "Even if you'd been there, it probably would've been good that he didn't catch." One hand reaches up to scrub across the man's face in an uncharacteristic gesture. "Someone should tell all of your dragons that you're too young to chase tail when the rider's as old as me." Not that age matters much to dragons, especially the kind sexually active before the age of one. "I suppose you could look at it as just good he let you down on a ledge and didn't take you along for the ride." Teisyth's body dances out of the way of the bronze's teeth. « Hey! » She objects, with the sharp crack of a back-firing machination, « No bitin', Lynner, or I ain't never givin' you another massage ever! » At least until she forgets she's said so. To that, Lythronath just snaps his teeth. And then throws a shoulder. « Haha, » is a bit less sharp than usual, more a commentary on her than him or something he's done. "You're sounding holdbred," A'rist warns G'laer, with only a glimmer of the defensive managing to make its way into his voice. The greenrider's perspective on the whole ledge affair brings a bit of a smirk from the younger man, though, unlike his dragon, A'rist seems content to keep his laughs. It's the first topic he turns back to: "It wasn't that weird, was it?" She'll take it. She'll even guffaw with him, now that the tension is done, not resisting the way his buffet sends her jostling to the side before she shifts back to lean against him, friendly-like. "Is it holdbred to not want to be fucked by scrawny teenage boys when one is nearing thirty turns?" G'laer inquires, canting his head slightly genuine curiosity showing in his keen gaze. Where is A'rist's line? "If it'd been you and another boy about your age, that'd be fine, but my age? Makes me feel like a pervert. Even if I had no say." Which he didn't. "It was pretty weird. But Rhey and I have a history. It was probably worse for him than for me. He hates me." The klah is set on the table carefully, before: "And he's well justified in that." "No," A'rist answers, evenly, overly measured really. "It's holdbred to feel like a pervert for having the one your dragon picks." There's something testing - not the first of such looks for him, these past months - in the younger man's eye when he adds, "Or, being had." He's uppity enough, even, to hold that challenging look a moment. Someone as sharp as G'laer when it comes to observation can't have missed all of the other incidences of those looks over these past months. Maybe that's why the arch of the greenrider's brow is warning. "A'rist," The older man articulates carefully, "You're not mistaking me for someone you should test, are you?" It's a challenge in turn, an opportunity to not make a mistake. A'rist wrinkles up his nose and makes a bit of a face, called out for something he's clearly not (consciously) doing. "What, am I wrong? You're the one who was talking about getting fucked by boys." His shrug isn't so much a backing-down, as a comment on the situation. "Even if it was just 'cause of your dragons. Even if you're both just riders in a flight." If G'laer were given to crossing his arms, this would probably be a moment for that. Instead, the warning brow rises just a tad more at the face being made, "Yes, you're wrong." There it is. The greenrider has no hesitation or doubt in the simple delivery. "Each man, weyrbred or holdbred has certain lines when it comes to where they put their cocks. Some have too many and some have too few. Fucking men doesn't bother me," Which isn't to say that that's his particular inclination (but it also doesn't say it isn't, in typical G'laer fashion), "Fucking people half my age does." So what if Rhey is a little less than half his age. Close enough. "Particularly when the person in question would probably rather have eaten a feast of grubs than fuck me. Dragons are dragons, so it wasn't rape, but you know... it sort of might as well have been," There's a certain amount of emotion betrayed in his articulation of this; clearly it goes beyond just the surface facts, and then his expression is clear of all emotion and just disturbingly cold. His voice is hushed for the next words, meant for A'rist's ears only: "Those are the kind of men I hunt down and kill." And now he sort of feels like he sort of is one. See the internal dilemma? A'rist gives a snort, waiting through G'laer's explanation with only the slightest bit of a tension, expressed in rippling of his fingers, more motion than actually change of position. "If you're hunting down and killing men who fuck the riders of whoevers dragon catches theirs, then maybe you deserve to feel bad." Maybe it's moral high ground that has A'rist easing, opening up his posture, hands to the table on either side of him, if he's still staring, hard, at the older man, his friend. "Because it's different. And I think you gotta get over that part. Or else find some way to take Teisyth's girl-balls." He dares inch a smile there, just for the thought. Maybe it's related, that Lythronath should nudge at the green just then. Or not. G'laer allows himself a real eyeroll for the interpretation of who he hunts down and kills. "Rapists," is the bland correction, as if he were saying, 'Tea,' instead of indicating klah in his mug. "I'm not saying I am one. I know it's different, but it still doesn't feel very good." Yep, now he's used the F word. "Am I not allowed to have shit to work through?" And a curse. These things together pair this as practically a heart-to-heart for the former guard. "Pretty sure if they wouldn't let me give her fellis when she was keeping me up nights for months on end at the beginning, they'd frown upon spaying my dragon." He lets this topic start to ease the tension, lifting his klah to his lips. Teisyth is distracted, but the nudge brings her back to the here and now and she looks to Lythronath, eyes whirling slowly with concern. « Is sex bad, Lynner? » Clearly, someone's been eavesdropping. "Guess you'll just have to get working through the shit, then," isn't exactly charitable, but it's not malicious, at least. "I want klah now," is the only excuse the bronzerider offers as he stands. Out on the rim, Lythronath's head lifts, and his wings stretch straight back as he stands up on his back legs, balancing with swaying tail, if not as well as he could when he was a fresh-out-of-the-shell weyrling with smaller wings and forelimbs. « Flight? » Eager, eyes scanning. What did she see, where'd she see it, how glowy was it? G'laer's eyes narrow just slightly. Then he's on his feet, "Before you go," To get his klah or whatever he might have been planning on doing next, "Do you want to tell me what chip you're carrying on your shoulder? Because pretty soon you're going to flash your attitude to someone less patient than I am and you're going to end up hurt or worse. And I, for one, don't like to see friends acting like idiots or bleeding because of it." The greenrider's expression is serious; he's not asking to be a dick, there's a genuine quality about his delivery, even if it's not exactly sweetner-coated. Teisyth sighs, « No, no flight. Not now. » The green, by contrast to the risen bronze, puts belly to stone and sets about making herself as small as possible, mind troubled. Still, she doesn't find Lythronath wanting, just not sure she can explain herself to the dragon, because, probably, she's not entirely sure what, if anything is actually wrong. The bronze isn't so ready to take her word for it, staying balanced and scanning the skies for at least a full minute longer, sniffing, reaching. The bronze's rider, he stops and turns back on his heel, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips, just a little. "I don't know what you mean. Look, all I'm saying is, we got prepped same as you. They even talked to Rh'mis, they had to. All I'm saying is maybe you should try let it go. Stuff happens in a Weyr." He shrugs. Finally, Lythronath seems satisfied that, no, there is no action to be had. When he drops back and settles, it's with a heavy, rumbling sigh. Fine. The bronze's continued searching elicits a little sigh from Teisyth and her head moves to rest on her forelimbs. It's possible G'laer wishes to to do the same, as the fingers on one hand twitch, wanting an action that is immediately disallowed by all the greenrider's training. "I'm not talking about the flight. Or Rh'mis. That's my shit. I'm talking about yours. What crawled up your ass and died? Or have you decided suddenly to embrace your dragon's attitude and wear it on your own?" "I don't know what you mean," A'rist repeats, bringing his arms up over his chest again. "And I'm not Lythronath, not any more than he's me." Lythronath, who throws a shoulder again to give Teisyth a nudge, encouraging, « Up, » even as he starts to settle lower. "Look, I gotta get some klah, do you want to wait or are you about done?" "That." G'laer says as he takes a step toward A'rist that borders on menacing. Despite being a familiar sight, the way he's standing, the way that the step is an aggressive movement more like Lythronath than the familiar manner of the greenrider. "'Are you about done?'" The man mimics darkly. "Are you suddenly so self-conscious about the size of your dick that you can't resist whipping it out for comparison?" Teisyth sighs again, but she presses herself up a little, just so her chest and head is up, letting the rest of herself continue to lay, but it doesn't much help her mental state. Lythronath's lowering turns almost into a digging, pressing, pushing, angling, all to try and get his belly down and his wings out of the way, so that he can give his 'suggestion' of, « Shoulder. » A'rist, his teeth set together when G'laer comes forward, and he glares at the older man. "I was asking if I should come back or not. Faranth." At least he manages not to roll his eyes. "Dodging." The greenrider states. Another step toward the young bronzerider is taken, no less aggressive, but without further threat of action. G'laer stares down that glare. He waits. Teisyth, in contrast, is a pushover. Obviously, the rider isn't taking on any of his dragons traits in this case. Though maybe he knows how to massage? A'rist isn't likely to find out just now, though the green's nose is already starting to work it's way across the bronze's shoulder. There's a flash of uncertainty for that second step. The decision winds up being to widen his own stance a bit, and A'rist reaches a hand forward, not quite to touch G'laer, but ready to stop him should he approach any more. "I don't know what you mean," is frustrated, if earnest. "You're the one being like Lythronath." Which brings another change, something calmer, a bit cooler, a bit more confident in, "So knock it off." Lythronath himself makes some happy throat noise, and rolls and leans and is probably going to push Teisyth around the rim a little with the rest of his settling, if only because of his bulk. Right there. Good. "Don't you?" G'laer questions, but it seems rhetorical since he continues on, voice holding a hard edge, "Then I'd start paying attention to yourself, if I were you." He adjusts his stance, settling into one of neutrality instead of aggression. "Before you get hurt." There's briefly a mix of frustration and concern that flashes across the greenrider's face. "And before you pat yourself on the back, I didn't knock it off because you told me to. I'm not like your dragon, that way." But in others? He's not denying some similarities exist. Teisyth's clumsy in her answering movements to where exactly the bronze wants her, and she might trip on him at least once, but eventually she's where he wants her doing what he wants her to do. Her mind is still discontent, but at least she doesn't let it affect the caliber of her massage. A'rist's jaw works, eyes flashing, but no smart response coming to that. Not now. He does give a softer correction of, "He doesn't knock it off because of what I say." And then, it's a step away from the table. "So you gonna be here, or should I get klah somewhere else?" There's still that edge of attitude, but his eyes are wider, and he speaks it carefully, at least self-conscious, at least trying. But A'rist can never be faulted for not trying, can he? And Lythronath, he's settled and content for the time being. That's available to anyone who cares to dip a toe, the same as anything else is. Unoffered comfort is the only kind the bronze is capable of, and that hardly on purpose, but at least it's there for the taking, if Teisyth can tap in. The correction doesn't give rise to any bridling from G'laer or any further antagonism for the younger rider. There's acknowledgement for the correction in the simple lift of his chin. "What, you think a little thing like this is going to make me leave my klah?" The greenrider's voice has just the slightest hint of humor to it and one of his brows gains a subtle lift as his half-smirk slides into place. "You can re-join me, if you like." Or not. Maybe the man doesn't care. Either way, he settles back into his chair, and takes up his klah again leaving A'rist to fetching his own.
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