Logs:Comet Confusion
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| RL Date: 29 December, 2013 |
| Who: K'zin, Leova, Rasavyth, Vrianth |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: After Rasavyth's first win, K'zin gets his first post-flight moment. |
| Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Weather: It's a warm, sunny summer evening. |
| Mentions: Telavi/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. Posted as part of the series. |
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| Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr This broad ledge is dappled with bright light in the morning and commands a lovely view of the eastern end of the bowl, including the lake and the trees that dot the shoreline. Reached by a flight of stone steps that climb up from the bowl floor, the ledge is relatively low, an easy jump down to the ground; possibly its selection was a safety precaution, so anyone stumbling out the wrong way after a flight would be unlikely to break his or her neck. Within the weyr itself is a comfortably-sized dragon wallow, rarely used but swept clean nonetheless. The cavern broadens as it stretches back away from the entrance to reveal a neatly made double-sized bed pushed up against the back wall, a press at its foot with an extra blanket folded on top of it and two chairs standing guard to either side of the hearth. A rectangular table lurks against the side wall, kept stocked with a pitcher of water and a basket of seasonal fruits. The weyr is well-lit and kept immaculately clean, the refreshing scents of citron-infused sweetsand mingling with the tang of herbs.
Her breathing's no less ragged, only just beginning to settle. Vrianth's rider works on deeper breaths, longer breaths, though the shorter ones still escape. The air isn't as fresh there. Only her bent arm, the arm she's leaning her forehead against, keeps her nose from the guest weyr's furs beneath. She shifts to move, automatically, then stills: there's nowhere to go. The shifting beneath him isn't possible to ignore, even in the hazy afterglow of flight-fueled four-legged frolic. It's hard, fighting his way back from the oneness with his dragon. It's oneness in a way that has never been before, and that makes it all the harder to try to sort out which thoughts and sensations are his own and which belong to the bronze. For a moment, K'zin thinks the feel of the wind on his wings is his own sensation, but a reminder of reality comes with a slight shift of his own. Slowly, he shifts more, creating room, allowing the woman her freedom to slip away while he works on untangling his brain from the invasive ooze. Which would work better if she didn't move into that room nearly as quickly as he makes it. She realizes, half-laughs at herself, that smoky voice roughened. She waits, then. When fully freed, she does slip away: far enough to tug her skirt back down, and then a few stiff steps more. She just stands there, then, leaning against the wall as though she still needs it to hold herself up. Perhaps she does. But then there are basic ablutions to do, so she starts them. She doesn't go far, but she also doesn't look back. Vrianth's still on her way. K'zin plays counterbalance to Leova's stillness and her motion. When she leans on the wall, he's turning to sit on the edge of the bed, a stunned and not altogether present look on his face as he stares at nothing. Rasavyth, too, is on his way back from where the flight took them, but he's not really following Vrianth, not even really actively linking himself to her mind, though his sense of relaxation and satisfaction is readily felt it reached for. It's some silent moments yet before K'zin's eyes pull from the nothing and find the woman (yes, she's a woman now, not a dragon that he sees and feels and senses). Then his jaw goes slack. Leova. "Faranth's finely filed fangs, I fucked you." Eloquent, as ever, K'zin. He sounds genuinely shocked when he says it. Leova, yes. That too, "Yes." It's said quite dryly, Vrianth's rider finally glancing back over her shoulder, just before she tugs her bodice the rest of the way into place. "Won't tell if you don't." "..." K'zin's mouth opens to say more, but nothing comes, and he's left with lips working like a fish. Then both hands find his face. There's another mumble behind them, likely another creative description of one of Faranth's finer features. Then his hands drop away. "I don't-- you're-- and--" Not much more coherent than the first attempt so he gives up to stare at her wordlessly; maybe he's going into shock. Leova's started to turn away. Only then she looks back again, and he's still looking at her. Her brows lift, one a trifle more than the other. "Do they normally hit you this hard?" Someone must not be versed on absolutely all the draconic ins and outs after all, then, or at least their heretofore lack. "Don't know," K'zin at least manages that much and a shrug of his shoulders, "He's never won before." The Ras Effect must be wearing off though, because as K'zin looks down to his hands on his knees he takes in-- well, the fact that he didn't really do any adjusting of clothes, and lickity split he's up on his feet tugging pants from hips back up to waist and working over the buttons, basic ablutions forgotten. He's even blushing deeply by the time the last button is closed. That's a cough from Leova, surely. Or a clearing of her throat. Certainly not a laugh. She doesn't say anything right off, not even, 'It took him a while,' but then she's back to being busy. Not that it takes long. "So you survived. Congratulations?" "Arguable." K'zin answers, one hand reaching to rub his face and then flick through his hair. "You might've broken me," he goes on, but surely he must not mean physically, since he's moving and doesn't seem to be in terrific pain or anything. He glances toward the wash basin that she's all too near for him to venture toward, and then his eyes resettle on the older woman. "Mm. You're talking, so there's that. Maybe it'll take your next one to do you in." His, not hers, though at least Leova sounds amused as she walks back around to the foot of the bed. Sandals, right where she left them before the flight. It's quick work to put them on, and then... how much more can there be, before she's gone? There's a mumble. It's not about Faranth this time. But K'zin doesn't enunciate well enough to make it heard. Now that she's moved away from the wash basin, he moves toward it to take his turn. Her footsteps might be quietly audible, departing, though perhaps not always over the splash of water. They also go silent before they strictly should. That would have to do with her having turned right before reaching the outer weyr, silent, watching. Maybe he's a curious specimen to observe. Once the preferable freshening up has been done, he glances around the guest weyr, looks to the bed, then starts toward it. K'zin doesn't bother to kick off his boots before he's flopping back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, hands folded over his stomach. Rasavyth's wings bring him sweeping over the bowl, but there's no indication that he's heading down toward the guest weyr; whatever need for togetherness the bronze might have (if any) is satisfied by mental contact alone. With a brain like Rasavyth, is that really any surprise? Under other circumstances, Vrianth's been known to luxuriate upon the Rim with her passing-fancy mate, not to gloat or anything... except quite a lot. There's his ledge, occasionally hers. But tonight, Ishawith's seems just the ticket, the well-exercised green lounging contentedly with her clutchmate once she's convinced her to move over just so. It's after she's well settled that Leova says, "Comfortable?" Well, he might have been, until she startled him by still being there. His muscles flex in unison as he jumps a little head jerking up and eyes going toward the exit to find the greenrider. "Confused," comes K'zin's answer, the word a little slowly, maybe even questioning. Is that really how he is? Not comfortable, that much is probably obvious. "Mmm." Leova's response is slower yet, not quite questioning in its own right. But there is the slightest of lifts near the end, and she is for the moment still there. Across the room. K'zin looks at her a long moment before laying back on the bed. Then the words come, "Someone told me that dragon sex was the best sex of their life. And-" Before he can get further his eyes are flickering shut because there's a sudden rush of realization, and he's sitting up abruptly. "Oh, fuck. I was supposed to lose." His legs swing of the bed and he's on his feet, moving toward the entrance with purpose. "Next time," is almost sympathetic. Leova's not about to keep him, even gives him a head start. But when she walks onto that ledge, she has her hands cupped about her mouth, silently laughing. |
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