Logs:No Boys Allowed
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| RL Date: 13 October, 2012 |
| Who: Taikrin, Leova, Azaylia, Riorde, I'kris, Ralah, Beka |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: The gals of Glacier decide they need time to themselves. Determined to see titties, I'kris knows not of the danger he will be facing. |
| Where: Hot Springs, High Reaches Area |
| When: Day 18, Month 13, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'kon/Mentions, F'rint/Mentions |
| Hot Springs, High Reaches Area Even further north than the Weyr itself, a short flight between crags and over crevasses that even a wing-scarred veteran of Fall might undertake, a cluster of clearings lies low in the shelter of hardy trees and ancient stone. The outer two clearings might have been lost to more stubbly trees Turns ago, if it weren't for the centre-most: a natural pool of warm, softly bubbling water several dragonlengths across, with enough space for perhaps a half-dozen people and their lifemates. Though the air is cold all Turn round, and snowdrifts frequently whiten the ground, the geothermal activity heats the mineral-scented water to such a consistently comfortable heat that it becomes a refuge for those who don't wish to travel further afield to wash their dragons. Of the clearings that abut the spring, the nearest is only a few steps away, though it's small enough that only a few dragons can lounge at once. A steep trail descends to its substantially larger neighbor, a gravel-strewn crescent with enough space to spread out and enjoy the crisp air and the mountain range's admittedly spectacular views. Too bad for the pair of greenriders and bluerider making use of the hot springs: Taikrin and Szadath are on the job. They pop out of between already making enough noise to wake the dead... and then they start bellowing. "Everybody out! Wingleader's orders!" Szadath broadcasts a similar message, though his mental voice is approaching deafening. He flumps to the ground, scattering mucky snow and wetness all over the place. "We got Glacier business, that means EVERYONE OUT!" Taikrin is taking a gleeful joy in her task today, that's for sure. Skimming over the treetops, there's a green and a pair of blues, though /they're/ Glacier, which makes all the difference. Vrianth's in no hurry, however: best to see the place cleared before she deigns to descend, a narrow screen of static separating her from the worst of her wingmate's broadcast. Hraedhyth's enthusiasm rivals Szadath's, as it always seems to, popping into existence with a deep bellow. Her roars are soon stifled by her rider, but the gold's intentions will certainly be felt. You all heard the brown! When the fully grown gold lands, Azaylia slides down and begins relieving her dragon of those riding straps. She quickly regrets this, as Hraedhyth lumbers after the stragglers with jaws left open wide and clubbed wings cocked. The young woman can only stare with embarrassed disbelief as the gold fully supports what has temporarily become Glacier's territory. Glacier's arriving in force, Sforzath among them. He's quiet today, content to soar along amongst his wingmates and then lurk off to the side when he finally touches down. This bit of earth? It is his. His claiming of the territory is more along the lines of glowering threat: don't mess. Out. Just when it seems like Szadath's reached maximum possible volume, Hraedhyth appears; his greeting to her brings the noise level up to a whole new level. If the dragons and their riders were prone to lingering, they're definitely high-tailing it now. Taikrin doesn't even bother to pull of Szadath's straps, because it's all she can do to get herself clear of them when Szadath bulls off to ram his shoulder into the gold's -- as he's wont to do in his 'affectionate' greetings with his wingmates. At least she managed not to get too mud-splattered on the way down? What's this 'temporarily' bit? Vrianth, who doesn't have straps at all, chooses to land on the waters' very edge. Steam snakes up about her paws, and as though summoned, a few orange flecks appear in her gaze at the young queen's sending. Her head turns to Hraedhyth. Her rider chooses the correct side to dismount on, a little awkwardly, clutching the handles of two buckets with what aren't just waterskins inside. "Ho, the wing!" Azaylia squeaks and flinches as the brown barrels past, using the heavy jumble of leather in her arms as a shield. The moment jolt of fear has Hraedhyth turning a protective eye which has her catching sight of Szadath. Her hanging jaws are put to use, deep bellow a mix of battle cry and joyous greeting. There are many shoulder shoves to be had. Azaylia gives a tolerant sigh through a weak smile, turning to greet Taikrin and the others. "Hi, everyone." Quiet voice possibly missed in the commotion, she'll raise her hand to those who arrive as she heads towards the water's edge. Hraedhyth will peek over the brown's shoulders to find Vrianth's stare, whurfing a hello through oversized jaws. "Guys," Riorde drawls as she drops down from Sforzath's back. "Last one in covers my sweeps." Because she's stripping in record speed, dumping everything at the edge of the pool, and dropping right in before the cold air can chill her straight to the core. As she ambles towards Azaylia at a more sedate pace, Taikrin offers, "At least she's big enough that we know she can take it now." Clearly, the brownrider is unconcerned about the gold's massive size advantage. "Welcome to your first Glacier--- shit!" She breaks off when Riorde issues her challenge, and with a cockeyed grin at Azaylia she starts pulling at her clothes while chasing towards the brownrider at the water's edge. As she runs, she bellows good-naturedly at Riorde, "YOU ARE A FLAMING BLOODY SCORCHING CHEATER!!!" Leova's distracted, Vrianth's distracted: game's afoot! Laughing, she shoves one bucket in Ralah's way, in case it'll slow the bluerider down, and tosses the other towards Azaylia before tugging off her own fur-lined gear. It doesn't take long, not to slip in, hissing at the new-found heat as Vrianth lunges overhead only to plunge into the depths beyond. Splash! "Aren't you worr-eep!"The straps fall from Azaylia's hands. She totally meant to do that, and wasn't at all startled. Nope. That's a good place for them to be, almost flattening a bush, which is also where she decides to pile her dress, leggings and the rest of her clothing. Not the fastest at getting naked, she is distracted by Leova's tossed bucket, scrambling-jiggling for it and using long legs to hopefully make up for lost time. When she finally splash-runs into the spring it's with a yelp, bucket held above her head. Hraedhyth is busying herself with gnawing on various parts of her wingmates, she'll get to the spring eventually. "Also in first!" Riorde yells back at Taikrin, utterly unperturbed as she splashes in and starts swimming across the pool to get out of the way of the others' attempts to barrel in after her. And possibly dunk her, or some other indignity. Above, another brown appears out from Between, and begins to glide lower over the clearing. He's definitely not a glacier brown-- in fact, he's not even (really) a local. Taikrin's clothes are scattered all along her path, and she's actually still tugging off a boot when she makes a slightly too hasty tip into the hot sprint. Oh well! When she surfaces, she tosses the sodden thing back to shore and swims the remaining distance towards Riorde: dunk battle! Szadath doesn't seem to mind the gnawing, especially as it gives him an excuse to test his weight against Hraedhyth's. Can he knock her over this way? How about like this? What about if he gets his shoulder underneath her breastbone? One of the blue's offering himself up for mutual Hraedhyth-gnawing, sacrificial not-so-lamb that he is, and Vrianth just splashes more, but Leova's cheering: "Go get her! Drowning first, drinking later!" From the sidelines, mind. Applauding. Already her cheeks are flushed. Her Vrianth's more observant, lunging partway out of the water with an interrogatory bugle to the outsider that is not, precisely, disinviting. "I swear I will throw all your clothes between," Riorde threatens Taikrin as she backs away in the water, hands up to ward her off. "Don't even think about it. I will ruin you -- Leova I hear you!" She momentarily points at the greenrider with the clear intent of a threat before it's back to fending off Taikrin's attack. Hraedhyth's more than happy to sample the flavors, blue and brown, if only the latter weren't trying to tip her like an overgrown golden herdbeast. So she'll give as good as she gets. Meanwhile, Azaylia is realizing the miracles of the bucket and how it floats in the frothing water. "Well would you look at-" She sputters, some upset water catching her in the face and turning her attention to Taikrin and Riorde. She laughs while giving them a wide berth, "Toss her in deeper, Taikrin!" Gently, of course. Svissath (for that is who it is, of course) wings lower and lower, caramel-smooth hide turned brighter in the reflected sun. « Hello, » he says, salty-sweet. Interrogatory bugles don't seem to faze him, for all that he does tilt his head in their direction; a moment later, he's backswinging to a landing at the edge of the clearing. Hi. "You ain't gonna go between after I DROWN YOU," Taikrin crows back, completely unintimidated. "For bein' a dirty rotten liar and also because you drank the last of the whisky AND because your feet are cold!" Each one of Taikrin's accusations is accompanied by a swipe at the other rider. Szadath is, at least, doing his best to shelter the smaller blue from Hraedhyth's bulk. In fact, he pulls back a minute to bellow at Sforzath, clearly demanding his brother join in the melee. "All of you, I will personally hunt down all of you," Riorde threatens her wingmates when they fail to back her. She's nearly all the way at the far side by now and spares a glance over her shoulder to judge the distance -- time to start evade Taikrin sideways. Off at the edge of the dragons gathered there, Sforzath simply isn't going to play along. This? This is disdain. "'Heard'... and witnessed!" that other bluerider carols after Riorde, flexing to show off her guns before plonking back into the water, even that more an accident of timing than an attempt to evade flashing I'kris. Since she's only noticing him now, frowning. Meanwhile, Leova calls, "So scared!" back to the brownrider before making as though to gawk. "Can you believe that, Az? Drank the last of the whisky? Any bets on what Taikrin did to deserve it?" She's not looking towards the foreign brown, and maybe she just hasn't noticed, except for how she keeps one well-muscled shoulder towards the man. A golden crown pops up out of what seems to be a growing pit of dragons, caramel hue catching Hraedhyth's whirling gaze. Drums roll with a growled warning, « You are not of Glacier. » And she'd go about chasing Svissath, but that would require her to trample her wingmates. "I didn't do anything!" Azaylia argues with Riorde from a distance. She's keeping up with the energy of the group despite her voice only slightly louder than usual. To Leova, with her back to the shore, "Maybe Taikrin drank the last of the wine?" Which could be a playful insult to both battling brownriders. « No, » agrees Svissath, as neutral as he ever is. « But I would like to bathe. » That seems to be what is intended - certainly, his rider is dismounting, now, and removing straps, with a small bag of bathing supplies set off to one side. I'kris hasn't spared much of a glance for the Glacierites - not yet, at any rate. "I didn't do nothin'!" Taikrin protests voluably at Leova. "It's all her fault-- get BACK here woman!" Rather than continue to chase Riorde in circles, the brownrider instead hauls herself out of the water and plants her fists on her hips. "Git back here and face me!" Her and all her naked, steaming, scarred-up glory. Szadath likewise pauses in his battle to tilt his head all the way back to stare at Svissath. « You cannot have her, go back to your own! » So much for a friendly greeting-- but at least he does seem to be aware of who he is. "You better believe it," Riorde retorts in answer to the traditional refrain. "She," the brownrider adds accusingly, diving out of the way just in time and fleeing back to the center of the pool, "drank the first bottle all by herself." She's smug in her escape -- one does not grow up on an island without swimming like a fish -- and treads water with no intention of conceding to Taikrin. "Make me." "Close enough," Leova says to Azaylia after Riorde sets out her side of things, and she's still making with ignoring I'kris, though tension's growing in the set of her shoulders. She doesn't look back, auburn hair wholly dark where it streaks wetly against her skin. Quietly, so he and his dragon at least shouldn't hear, "Someone get rid of him." Vrianth won't put it in the words: she's swum to the bank, from where she watches, gleaming-eyed. What will her wingmates do? Or not do. It'll matter. Azaylia's hands find her cheeks, the ones on her face, and she cooes quietly at Riorde and Taikrin. Rumors and her own eyes have clued her in to the two, and needless to say that the junior is a fan. "They're so cute." Hopefully no wingmates nearby will feel like punching her for that one. Leova startles her into straightening, "Him? Who?" A glance over her shoulder has the rider dunking down in the water, sitting so she's covered up to her chin. Uhm! She can't count on the cover of her hair, wrapped up in dual buns at the back of her head. Hraedhyth growls even lower at the foreign brown's insistence. However, she does turn an eye onto Szadath- which her is he talking about, exactly? Svissath pushes up off the dirty group and back into the air, with the obvious intention of submerging himself within the spring-- though at least he seems to be aiming well away from the riders. « I am not after any other queens. Or, » his thoughts seek towards the greens amongst them, « greens, for that matter. I want a bath. » His rider is beginning to walk closer, slinging that back of supplies over his now-bare shoulder. He looks... cold. And either oblivious to the reactions to his presence, or deliberately ignoring them. I'kris is certainly getting an eyeful of Taikrin's boobs, small though they are, as she postures at Riorde. "It was MY bottle and I paid for it and I bought you another one anyways!" Her gaze flickers towards I'kris, a momentary pause in the show she's putting on, but she makes a deliberate choice to ignore him. For now. "You get over here, woman, or I reckon I'm going to go and fill your weyr with snow. And THEN you'll have to sleep with me, and THEN I'll get my revenge. Git over here and git drowned. We got drinks we gotta be drinking!" Szadath is entirely unconvinced. He puffs himself up, so as to give the impression of being larger than the other brown, and stalks after him. « This is our bath. You're not on our team. » "Cute my ass." Riorde heard that. She'll punch Azaylia if no one else will, once she's out of danger with Taikrin. "So drink, then. Leova will take me in," she counters meanwhile, volunteering the greenrider willy-nilly. She ignores the whole debacle with the non-Glacier rider; much like her dragon, such things are beneath her purview at present. "I'm not stopping you from drinking." There's a trial spark flicked across Svissath's bow: it'll sting, if it hits. If he stays. Vrianth's otherwise closed, impervious, watching. Her rider's less so, though she does laugh slightly, stilted. "You got it, Riorde." And then she does turn. Her voice carries, the smoky alto made rough by the chill air and her mood. She's still collarbones-low in the water. "Private party," this to I'kris. "There are other places to get clean. Use them. Or come back tomorrow." "Taikrin probably thinks it is!" Riorde's ass being cute, and all. Whatever made her brave enough to utter such a thing is gone in a flash, making it a point to put some distance between herself and Riorde. Hraedhyth doesn't advance as Szadath does, though the queen does use the opening he's made to untangle herself from the blue without hurting him. « There is a lake at the weyr. » The words nearly as icy as the water there must be, if not for her flames. Steam, then. Azaylia ducks lower, letting Leova's words fly over her head without actually hitting the junior. "I...it's a pretty big hot spring?" She tries, not looking at anyone in particular. "Take you in so's you can be a babysitter! You're leaving me for a woman with a baby! I knew it!" Her eyes glitter even as Taikrin puts on a wounded face. "I can't drink, you took all the life out of me. I reckon I'm just gonna go ahead and die, now." And then she calls across the spring to I'kris, because someone should say a nice word to him. "See what you're getting yourself into, kid? You can't ever trust a woman, all she'll do is break your heart and stomp on it and drink all the last of your whisky, and she won't even let you drown her to make up for it." "Svissath doesn't want to go too far from the Weyr," explains I'kris, and at least he looks suitably apologetic for his intrusion. He also hasn't taken off his pants, so maybe that helps in letting him retain at least a little dignity. "The lake is too cold. I don't know any other places nearby. Please. We won't interrupt. It's not my intention to cause a problem." Azaylia earns a smile for her remark; a hopeful one. But it's Taikrin who really wins his heart today. "You can drown me if you like," he offers. "If that would help." Svissath is backswinging into the water, now, causing a splash. "Not my baby." And that's what matters. Riorde far too smug with this, along with the agreement that follows. "Yes, I am a terrible terrible person." She's finally forced to pay attention when Svissath hits the water -- and the water hits her. "The fuck," she snarls, all play slipping right off as she wipes the water out of her eyes so she can well and truly glare. "Can't you hear? It's private. Out." Dragon> There's a shiver of awareness that's Vrianth's presence: look at him, just lying there. Don't think she doesn't notice. At least his rider will act. (Vrianth to Sforzath) Dragon> She notices his defense, does Vrianth, and there's a spark of approval that should be warm but isn't. Szadath had spoke in the singular, after all. (Vrianth to Szadath) Dragon> To Vrianth, Sforzath, goaded, responds with a flare of sullenly dangerous red in a sea of inky black. Don't piss him off. Dragon> And why shouldn't she? It's not like he's doing anything else. And there's that tasty red energy to soak up, in the meantime. (Vrianth to Sforzath) Given Riorde's taking up the cause, Leova can spare an askance look at Azaylia, even as the waves slop higher across her shoulders, threatening her jaw: really? Really? For the foreign brownrider, "Nice that you mean well and all." If he does. "Come back tomorrow. Reckon it's free then." "Yeah, well, everyone knows breeding babies spreads from close contact, so you never know if it might not just be you next." At this point, Taikrin has got to be cold: she's no longer steaming, and it looks as if her hair might just be starting to freeze into outrageous spikes. But-- there. Riorde's focusing on I'kris. That means it's the perfect time for Taikrin to quietly slip into the water and attempt to sneak up from behind and drown her, right? Right. Szadath even gives a jolt and all at once makes a show of rumbling and stomping and causing a ruckus of splattering mud. « You have to be one of us. You're one of them. » Squeakglub! Azaylia's face being so close to the surface ends up being a bad thing when Svissath drops in, choking some. She stands and coughs, wiping her face and peering at the persistent brown who is now in the water. Hraedhyth snarls, lumbering towards the edge and stopping to protectively arch her neck over the Glacier riders. These? These are hers. And the other Glacier dragons- also hers. Leova's look has the young woman shrinking some, "W-well. It's cold. And... He's gone and sired the new eggs but- uhm." The longer the look persists, the quieter Azaylia becomes. Finally, she shoots I'kris an apologetic wince. She can't go against her wing! I'kris's face falls. Teenagers. If his goal was to get an eyeful of nubile female riders, he's probably achieved it (and let's face it: it probably was), but he doesn't seem happy about the situation. "He needs washing," he protests, shifting attention from one face to the next. "We won't be long, honest." It doesn't look as though he's expecting much, though-- and Svissath, having caused that wave so recently, pushes back up off the water and into the air again. He, at least, seems to be taking the hint. Dragon> Better. It isn't approval. But she recognizes he exists. (Vrianth to Svissath) Don't think Leova didn't see that apology. Or maybe Vrianth did. "Every other part of our fucking lives," the normally taciturn woman tells the goldrider tightly, "we have to answer to men, we have to do what they say, we have to let them in," and by the sound of it, she sure doesn't just mean this nice warm pool. "And here you would... here." Dragon> To Vrianth, Svissath exists. He has no apology; he has no explanation. He neither seeks to argue, nor runs away in shame. The caramel-warmth of his touch gleams with frozen light, a hint of Rielsath in his thoughts even now. If he's not wanted, he won't linger. Dragon> He itches, though. (Svissath to Vrianth) "Did you not understand?" Now Riorde moves, starting to head towards Leova so she can join her in the face-off against this upstart brownrider. That is, until Taikrin gets it in her head that she needs to be drowned. Ri goes down, spluttering, and looks severely pissed off by the time she surfaces. "Fuck it, Taikrin, not now." Someone is not sharing the whisky tonight. Dragon> Rielsath may have a bath, albeit a human-sized bath, but Vrianth's in no way inclined to suggest alternatives. Not inclined to make nice. He is not her clutchmate, but only Rielsath's small, so small reflection, and just now she won't even recognize that. He's got an itch? He can scratch it somewhere else. (Vrianth to Svissath) Dragon> To Vrianth, Sforzath is the sharing caring kind; he gives and gives, dull red brightening into crimson, flame-toned, flaring, dying away only to surge up again. Should he unleash that lava on the other brown? Should he? "I... I didn't mean..?" Azaylia tries, blisfully unaware of what might be learned in her years yet unlived. For now, it's her inexperience versus Leova's rightful anger. "I understand." She likely doesn't, but she wants to, for all that she looks properly scolded. Hraedhyth follows the brown's movements, watching him rise with a satisfied huff. Though her eyes are still rapidly whirling, turned to the women with most of her focus on Leova. The protective arch doesn't let up. Azaylia's back to sinking up to her shoulders, inching a bit to the side, past Riorde and Leova to hopefully scootch out of range of their anger. Poor Taikrin, completely tone-deaf to the situation. That doesn't stop her from looking smug, even in the face of Riorde's anger. "You shouldn'ta run away," she retorts, then swims on past so she can lever herself back out of the water on the other side to confront I'kris. "Picked a bad time, kid," she remarks, not unsympathetically. "This is Glacier-swim time; reckon the Weyrleader oughta have told you about it, if only he weren't so-- whatever. Why don't you come back in an hour or two, yeah?" "Tomorrow," Leova interjects. She's got one swift sidelong look for Azaylia, but dosn't say more: not in front of him. Not with her willing. Not with him going, if there's any chance of that. Dragon> She drinks that in, flares with it, a shower of brilliant sparks given off that would be invisible to human sight. Beyond purple. Beyond red. Her eyes gleam with it. Should he? He should have, not just now when she can sense that the foreigner may not, after all, linger. (Vrianth to Sforzath) Dragon> Now? It's too easy. (Vrianth to Sforzath) Dragon> To Vrianth, Svissath withdraws. He's not an arguer - there's no fight here. (Which doesn't mean she might not catch a note of pity, floating away across the icy breeze.) "Fine," says I'kris, abruptly frustrated. "We're leaving. Shells, all we wanted was a bath. A bath. I'm not trying to impose my will on you, or kick you out, or fucking anything." The look he aims in Leova's direction is derisive; he'd probably have done the same to Riorde, were it not for that sudden drowning. "How was I supposed to fucking know that this was some... feminist convention. Down with the patriarchy! Women power! Men suck!" He turns on his heel to go - to meet Svissath on the other side of the clearing, and to take his (cold and wet) dragon home. Grumpily. Dragon> Poor stranger, pitying and pitiable. Let him itch. (Vrianth to Svissath) "Whatever." Riorde's still quite cool towards Taikrin, swimming off and away to go sulk beside Leova. "Other wings suck," she corrects I'kris as he goes. Run away, little brownrider. Completely and totally satisfied with that result, and still heedless to the upset in the spring, Taikrin turns around with her hands on her hips and nods. "There. Now, where's my drink?" She eases herself back into the water, all business, so she can join the riders hoarding all the alcohol. "That's the kid from Monaco, you know. Lujayn's kid," she adds, as if this were some sort of important fact. Leova darts a thankful glance at this brownrider, but doesn't loosen her grip on herself until the other one's gone. "Not to keep talking about him," she says, still tightly. Only a little less so, "But. Az. Do you see? You're here because you want to be, because they gave you special permission, because you're agreeing to answer to F'rint. Anytime you want, you can say you've had enough, you can leave and the only person on the whole planet you have to answer to is the Weyrwoman," whatever Iolene wants to be called. The greenrider doesn't even pause in flipping Taikrin a milder and better-humored version out of her repertoire. "You're..." It takes two hands for her next gesture, and even then it's more directionless, frustrated. She looks at Riorde: what's the word? Azaylia has drifted off a bit, retrieving the bucket and pushing it with her fingertips. Look, she has alcohol. Don't hate her! The junior's movements are very much like a scolded pup, tail tucked between her legs as she sends the bucket Taikrin's way. "Hraedhyth recognized his dragon." It isn't as if she's chummy with the teen or anything. The gold in question gives a disatisfied huff, giving a leap that's prolonged by her open wings, clearing their heads to replace the foreign brown's splash with her own. Azaylia's eyes widen as she's spoken to, peering at Leova. Her mouth opens, possibly to argue, which is why it snaps close and she nods her head a few times. Meanwhile, one of their other wingmates is still preoccupied with watching I'kris and company go, like he'll sneak back though the trees or something. Rahla? She comes back, silently, with the second bucket of booze. Oh, there's water there too. But mostly booze. "Incorrigible," Riorde decides after a minute of having to hunt for something suitable. Look, she knows some big words. "Fucking incorrigible. And a drunk to boot." She sinks down to her chin, then starts towards Rahla. Bucket, please. "She's right," she says of Leova, quite possibly unnecessarily. "Awesome," Taikrin supplies, right over the top of Riorde's complaints. "Reckon that's the word y'all are looking for. Awesome." Her smugness is poured on thick, as thick as the accent. "There's a girl!" And oh look, she'll reach an arm out to loop around Azaylia's shoulders in a show of solidarity-- but also to subtly drag her closer with her oh-so-precious alcohol. "Keeping the drinks cold for me." Azaylia squeaks, meshing up against Taikrin and not knowing how she feels about this. It's on her face, plain as day. "Is whiskey supposed to be cold? Or maybe it's wine? Is there anything fruity?" Whatever is in the skins, she offers the brownrider, both hands on the bucket. A glance towards Leova and Riorde, "If it bothers you," The whole scheme of things, "Then how come you don't tell? You could... kick the male riders out of your flights from now on, until they stop... doing things." Whatever things that have upset the older women so much. Ah, youthful naivete. There's a double take from Leova, and then she laughs abruptly. "That too. I meant, though." She tips a nod in Azaylia's direction, in time to eye Taikrin with the younger woman. There's no move to intervene, not here. Well, except to snag a 'skin from the goldrider, since Rahla's obliging Riorde at the moment. "It's more, you can choose. You're... working like us, you're flying with us, and that's great and all. But at the end of the day, you can choose and we just can't. And if we don't want to let a kid in, even if he's being nice at first, even if we don't want him smelly either, back us up. See?" As to that other idea, "It's not that simple." Would that it were. "I only mind when they think they can do whatever the fuck they want thanks to the fact that they have balls," Riorde mutters right before she hits the booze. That shuts her up momentarily. It's probably a good thing. "Reckon you'll understand more when you done a flight or two," Taikrin allows. She releases Azaylia in order to pluck a likely skin out of the bucket for herself. Only once she's eased it open and had her first swallow does she actually seem to relax and drop some of the show. "Riders like us, we gotta prove we're ten times as good as the maleriders. 'Specially the company we keep. F'rint's alright, but he ain't gonna cut any of us slack for having girly problems or whatever." Sagging back happily into the water, she adds slyly, "Of course, some of us are ten times more awesome than any malerider ever shelled, so... it ain't that hard." Once released from Taikrin's clutches, Azaylia floats to her own little spot still within the gaggle of Glacier riders. "I don't understand." She admits, tone apologetic. "I can't choose. I wouldn't- I made a choice to join the wing, and I'm staying." But even she realizes that it doesn't change the fact that she is given that option. As for backing them up, she gives a firm nod. At least that lesson has been learned. "What about flights?" Taikrin and Riorde also have her attention, "But all riders have to... Why does it matter?" She gives a whimpering sign for Leova, frustrated with herself. "Why isn't it that simple? Everyone in the weyr is important. The only thing that should matter is rank..." Leova slants a sidelong look Riorde's way, like she's all set to get distracted by what's really the Prime Mover, but: "You tell it, Taikrin. Shouldn't need slack. But. Do some of 'em good to feel like they're getting cut into with a rusty saw, all regular-like." She drinks, long and hard, though habit keeps her low in the water even now. And when it comes to Azaylia, she chooses her battles. Dryly, "Like you said." Now, to see what the goldrider will do with that. Meanwhile, the other bluerider, she's pushed off the side of the pool, starting to work through some laps despite the heat. Like that'll cool her down. On the matter of rank, Riorde keeps her mouth well and truly shut. Metaphorically. She's drinking, over here. "Just sayin', you ain't got near as much choice in a flight as you think you do. Szad's chased more'n a few greens what had maleriders, whether I liked it or no." As Taikrin relaxes and works her way through the skin, her accent thickens yet deeper. "Ain't like you always get to choose." Beat. "Still fun though, mostly." Because this is girl time, and not girly-makeout-time, Taikrin settles for only giving a long, very slightly worried look at Riorde and her continuing lack of participation -- instead of slogging over there and doing something about it. Azaylia falls silent, still looking between her wingmates. A moment longer and she decides to join them, tugging the pail her way and peering in to see what's left. If there isn't anything as fruity as she'd like, the goldrider will settle for whatever her comerades are drinking. After a sip, wince, shudder, she'll finally add, "That's all that matters to me." And she's a junior, so maybe that's something? Taikrin's words have her giving a quiet 'oh', mouth in a little 'o'. "You really don't like men? At all?" The brownrider might as well have two heads with the way she says this. "Besides, Hraedhyth's the picky one. Everyone has a fair chance." Azaylia's had the talk, she's prepared to have rider or ridette in her bed. Riorde can't really keep up the sulk, since the brunt of her annoyance was towards that boy-rider who finally got the message and left. She passes the bucket back to Rahla and little by little floats on over to Taikrin, having caught that look. All's forgiven. She does not, for the record, answer Azaylia's question. "Whether they liked it either," Leova murmurs Taikrin's way, and at least she's teasing a little. Not much louder, not further addressing rank any more than Riorde is, "It's never fair. Not like rolling the dice, anyway. Not with her." There's not another greenrider to look at, to bump shoulders with, to drink with. As Riorde comes back, Taikrin's lips twitch upwards of their own accord. "What, me?" she asks of Azaylia, surprised. "Never. Not once in my whole entire life, not like that. I mean-- why would I?" The question sounds genuine enough, even if that lip-twitch has turned into a full-fledged smile. "I ain't interested in being climbed on by a sweaty, hairy thing that's just tryin' to get his rocks off on me." Beat, and an apologetic look at Leova: "Sometimes makes me feel bad for the greenriders, 'cause they ain't got a choice in it." Azaylia hisses in an exhale after taking another swig, "You've been through it." All of them, so she has to take their words for it. Certainly the junior knows she's been wrong before. But now the subject of men, F'rint, flights, all of it is in her head. What else can she do but ask, "So have any of you been caught," Or simply slept with, "The Wingleader?" Face open and innocent, it's simple curiosity that prompts the words. Taikrin's response has her staring, even after what should be an unappealing image, "Be-because it's fun?" But, they can agree to disagree. Azaylia's latest question? It has Riorde cracking up. A peal of laughter, there, undignified with a loud snort in the middle of it. "F'rint," she spits out when she gets her breath back. As if. Taikrin, in the meantime, splutters out her mouthful of wine in genuine surprise. "F'rint?!" "They're always sweaty," the greenrider mutters, and then she's snickering right behind Riorde. "No. Don't you jinx me, neither." She's got a sharp look, not for Azaylia, but her Vrianth over there, who's radiating stolen energy as though she'd never need even these pools to keep her warm. On that note, though, Rahla levers herself out of the water, laughing. "He's not so bad! Except I'd wager he'd fall asleep partway through, but then I'm tired too. Night, you all." She's got a daughter to tend to, after all. "It's nice." Azaylia knows she's in the majority, as far as liking sweaty, hairy things goes. But oh, she's supposed to be backing them up, right? "I-I mean... Uhm. They... always quit too early and fall asleep." She even saws at the air with an arm, the classic 'oh darn' motion. "And F'rint isn't at all dashing." She's making an attempt, at least. Realizing how silly she must sound, the junior dissolves into giggles and stifles them with more whisky. She'll put some hair on her chest, just like Taikrin! "Night," Riorde calls back to Rahla. She's got herself back under control, happy to lounge there in the warm warm water along with her wingmates. "I don't want to think of him that way, ever," she says, finally giving an opinion. And then waggles her fingers at Azaylia. "Whisky me." Leova's seconding Riorde again, only she adds, "Only ever hit on me the once. Twice. More or less." She stretches up, then, to return Rahla's grip before she and silent, no longer lap-swimming Beka make tracks. "Don't chase much, either. Just as well." "This is a weird and terrible thing for us to be talking about, and I don't think we should be doing it," Taikrin declares with as much dignity as she can muster. Which, given that she's naked and well on her way to drunk and still shocked out of her mind, is not a whole lot. "How do you even come up with this stuff?" she goggles at Azaylia. Clearly this thought has never, ever crossed the brownrider's mind. "And what should we be talking about?" Leova slips in, with an eye for brownrider #1. Azaylia calls out a quiet farewell for Rahla, turning towards Riorde with a blink. "Oh. Uhm. Okay." Rather than reach into the bucket, she floats over to hand off the skin she's been drinking. To no one's surprise, it's mostly full. "Huh." For Leova's experience, only to cover her face and giggles at Taikrin. "I just- I dunno. Sorry." She means it, too, peeking between her fingers. Hraedhyth is once more content, soaking up the heat of the springs with all of her lids lowered. Aah. Riorde, promptly: "Who should catch your next flight." More booze for her, always a good idea. "Fuck that." Or, no, after another swallow, Leova tickles the air with her fingers. "Give me names." Because drinking in hot pools, always such a great idea. But then, they're Glacier. Right? Right! "Bonus points f'r why." Thank Faranth for Riorde, because Taikrin's desperate casting about for another topic has her glancing helplessly from woman to woman's breasts, and then up to the sky in a fruitless display. Who says she's any better than a teenage boy? After all, teenage boys grow up. Open for another topic, Azaylia is a bit lost when asked to bring up a name. "Uhhhhm." She sinks lower, to her nose, blowing pensive bubbles and eventually coming up with nothing. Until, "Brownrider H'kon." Why? "Because he probably won't say anything and then leave right after?" Efficient! To which Riorde asks an all important question. "Man or woman? Or both? Let's go with both." She answers her own question, then tips her own chin back for altogether different reasons than Taikrin. She's thinking, here. "Oh, that's no fun," she tells Azaylia meanwhile. "You need someone fun." "Names of what?" Taikrin asks cautiously, once she dares to look back down. At Leova's face. Definitely her face, and nothing lower. "Want or done?" "H'kon...," Leova half-questions, like she's heard the name, like she knows the name, but it's just not getting there... and then she's dissolving into laughter that's suspiciously like giggles, here and there. Both, evidently, is fine. Or just as not-fine. Whichever, it's all below the waterline. Another "Oh." For Riorde, "Yeah, he is not fun. He's the opposite of fun..." Azaylia trails, whisky on her breath and heat sucking the non-alcoholic moisture out of her. "I thought Flights weren't fun?" Hence her answer. "He's the most boring brownrider in the whole world and he hates me." Huff. "Okay, he doesn't hate me, but he's like a cranky old man." She'll try again, "Why not Taikrin or Riorde?" "Who should win Leova's next flight." If there's a possibility of discomfort, Riorde pays it no mind. That, or she enjoys needling the other wingrider. "Yeah," she picks up on then, turning to Leova with a big Cheshire smile. "Why not one of us?" Leova reemerges long enough to scowl, actually scowl at Azaylia. "You wished a cranky old man on me. Shame on you." To Riorde, something more like puzzlement, soon followed by wariness. "'Cause you're my wingmates," she tells her. "And you'll gloat. And you'll know and I'll know and mostly it's that you'll gloat. An' then you'll hassle each other an' I'm not a bone." Taikrin's only words of wisdom, before she contents herself with drinking into oblivion? "Flights are plenty of fun, when you catch the right people." Azaylia ducks into the water even more, up to her eyes which crinkle with an obvious smile. "Sorry!" For Leova, lowering back down where it's safe. There's a tilt to her head for the greenrider's reasoning. "Good point." There's a glance for both green and gold dragon, as if paranoid that the talk will have either glowing. Since they aren't, and won't, the time with her wingmates is something the junior greatly enjoys. "We will gloat," Riorde admits. It's true. Her smile only dims a little, though, which leaves one to wonder how serious - or not serious - she actually is. "You're not a bone," she repeats. Parrots? And then leaves off the subject, contenting herself to company that, while naked, is not the kind that corresponds with flights. There's a flicker in Leova's gaze for that, and then: wingmates, drinks, not flights. It's better, all the way from there. |
Comments
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Mon, 15 Oct 2012 16:48:06 GMT.
< Tell 'em, Leova. Truth.
Love this scene. :)
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