Logs:After Suraieth's Maiden Flight
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| RL Date: 23 January, 2014 |
| Who: Alida, N'dalis |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Somewhere between flight's end and now it has begun to rain. It's a soft sort of rain: a drizzling, misty sort of rain, one that dapples Suraieth's hide where she rests upon her ledge with her new mate, and sets her mental waves to rocking - gently, sleepily. Down in the flight weyr, exhaustion (physical, mental, emotional) has taken its toll upon N'dalis, who sleeps like a child: arms and legs akimbo, face buried into the pillow. One arm has been flung across Alida, one leg tangled with hers, and though he's still very definitely asleep, his fingertips are beginning to trace idle, familiar lines upon her. Ilicaeth's a true warrior: unpreturbed by weather conditions. And since he's 'braving the peril' in the name of 'love,' the gritty blue is quite happy to do so, his tail coiled a little with his green mate's, his neck and jaw touching Suraieth's own in places. He radiates deep contentment and a lazy pride, the typical golden sands of his arid, scorching desert turned into fertile soils that burgeon with rich crops and the faint buzz of pollinating insects. Those waves of the green's are a fine and supportive lullaby of sorts, watering his rich ground while he forms a perfect 'cistern' for her moisture. Inside the flight weyr, Alida's deep in the sleep of the exhausted, her updone hair now dishevelled, pulled from a neat braid all about her head, back. She's facing up, in comparison to N'dalis, one hand pillowed under the back of her head while its twin is flopped over the side of the bed. Not that he likely remembers how she looked outside the Flight, but right now the pale-skinned blonde looks peaceful, sated...quite different than her usual state of being. But when those familiar lines are traced upon her soft skin - some scars perhaps felt under fingertips in places - the 'Reachian finally drags her consciousness up in laggardly fashion, and murmurs in sluggish, well-sated alto, "Sorry, Jaecar; didn' mean ta surprise ya this way..." She's yet to open her eyes, or realize where she is, yet. "Maybe another round, though?" is rumbled off around another little grin, and even as her body protests her movement, she's turning over towards N'dalis, and wriggling a hand under the sheets, attempting to gently grab at his crotch and squeeze provocatively. There's logic in this pairing: in the mixture of arid desert and salty waves. Suraieth can see that, now - can see it all. She's still short of wakefulness, but that powerful sense of knowing and of rightness radiates through each wave. So it was written; so it is. In his own pre-waking state, it takes Dal rather longer than it otherwise might to register that Alida's alto is not the sweet soprano of his (dead; miscarriage) wife. Certainly, her hand is already on those tender, responsive bits before dark eyes fling themselves open and he lets out a yelp. "You're not--" And he's not, either. Abruptly, he pulls away, rolling onto his side so that he can stare at the bluerider. Logic? Oh, uhm... Sure! Though Ilicaeth's bright enough in his own fashion, he tends to enjoy more visceral things, and so the faintly-dozing blue's happy enough to bask in Suraieth's calm and 'rightness,' the 'Reachian dragon even nuzzling lightly along her jaw for a moment before he slips back into delectable torpidness...until his lifemate finds out *she's* not in her own weyr, nor in the company of her own lover. N'dalis' yelp occurs in tandem with her hand jerking away from his tender bits like it was burned by dragon fire, the blonde then rolling out of bed onto the floor, and up to her feet in a fighting pose... not even noting her own nudeness. In her sharpening green eyes is seen a faint gleam of battle-readiness, those gentle hands now firmed and planed like fleshy knives ready to kill. Her expression... well, it's definitely more chill and professional than her previous demeanor. Only she can hear Ilicaeth's sudden groan and mental baritone, « ReLAX. » Gheeze, woman! « Yer fine. » And then all the lusty pleasure of he and Suraieth's tangle in the air are aimed towards the woman in a bolt that leaves her first blinking...and then turning a torrid pink at face and neck. From battle to retreat she leaps, jumping for the covers, and yanking them off of Dal to pull up before her. Holder. N'dalis, also holder. He manages not to look wholly horrified when Alida jerks away, but by the time she's up and standing, he's pink-cheeked, and as those covers get yanked away? Scarlet, brilliant upon naturally dark skin. This has disrupted Suraieth's calm, too, and gathered a storm above her oceans, though it is concern for her rider, and not upset, that threatens a tsunami. Her wakefulness has another effect, though, and that is in soothing Dal's nervousness. He may reach to cover his lap with a pillow, but aside from that, his reaction is calm. "Hello," he says. "I'm... so sorry. Shall I look away, as you dress?" Ilicaeth returns to nuzzling his green mate a few times, while chiming in with a more sandy, gritty baritone, « They're alright. They just surprised the crap outta' one another. » The 'Reaches dragon sounds both faintly irritated and bemused by turns...most defintely not concerned, though. And the human side of the equation? She's winding those covers around her like a cloth shield, but pride in her profession keeps Alida from slinking away to hide her embarrassment. Fighting down some of her blush, she turns her livid green eyes away from him, and finally is able to mutter out, "Whatever... Yes." Wait... no. Yes... Her indecision is glimpsable upon reactive features, but finally the woman sticks with what she uttered aloud, and sweeps around to go search up her scattered clothing. « They're silly, » is Suraieth's opinion on the subject. « They have been mates. They have seen it all. /I/ am not ashamed of you. » Indeed, she's rather smugly pleased with Ilicaeth. « But my Dal has not had a mate in a very long time. Perhaps he's forgotten. We may need to practice this. » She's pleased with the nuzzles, and blows warm air in the blue's direction. N'dalis probably can determine that indecision, but he obeys her answer without hesitation, both hands lifting to cover his eyes. "I'm Dal," he says. "N'dalis. She's Suraieth. This... was our first." « No figurin' out humans, sometimes... » Ilicaeth rumble-chuckles in a drowsy puff of sand that glitters from sunshine reflecting the silica flakes within it. Indeed; why would either of them be ashamed of anything? Smug meets smug just as sated/happy also does, and Ilicaeth continues to bask in all the essential 'rightness' of the whole experience...of Suraieth. Mmm... good times. « Mine's only had one mate, so she ain't super-experienced. » Oh drat, the cat's out of the bag. « Don't spread that around, 'r I'll never hear the end uv' it. » Drifting sands swirl into an eyeroll. As Alida scoops up her clothing piece-by-piece and dons it with quick fingers, her brusque, hard-accented, fast alto responds in clipped fashion to the greenrider, "Alida... Ilicaeth's." Oh jheeeeeze! Their first? If he could see her face right now, the wince upon it would be very obvious. After a few moments, "Not meanin' ta be rude. Not used ta this." « Mine, also, » says Suraieth, joining in on this show-and-tell experience. « He was married to her, » she adds. « But she has been gone for a long time. » Pre-Suraieth; important, therefore, only because it is important to her Dal. "It's nice to meet you, Alida," says N'dalis, promptly, from behind his hands. He's not peeking. "No, no. I understand. I'm not, either. Obviously. I mean... uh." Dal sounds awkward, as though he'd like to squirm, and is keeping himself from doing so only barely. "I don't remember much. Did some of the dragons really hurt each other?" Ilicaeth silently digests what Suraieth shares, the blue rumbling his understanding, then returning to whuffling and nuzzling along her neck, and now headknobs. Humans made this good time a little rougher, but damn it, he's going to smooth it out for them again! Granite-steady feelings of warmth and contentment are sent back to the green, even as Alida jerks her boots back on while sitting on the floor, the woman suddenly feeling at her dishevelled head, and sighing darkly as her fingers spontaneously move to try and comb some rough order into the sweaty, tangled stuff. Dal's words are heard, but in a bit of a distant fashion, so she remains silent until the reality of the harsher aspects of the Flight are spoken. Another pause presiges her low, "Ilicaeth says yes. A few moderate ones, most light wounds." Beat. "He 'n yer Suraieth 'r undamaged." Phew! That's a relief, especially given the blue's recent history. This is clearly preferable, yes: Suraieth streeeeeetches, allowing herself to simply enjoy these ministrations which are, clearly, her due. Her waters have stilled; she's peaceful and content. Dal's exhale is through his teeth, a whistling, unhappy sound. "I think she was egging them on," he admits. "We were. I don't remember. I'll have to check in. Apologize." Abruptly: "And /you're/ fine?" It may be that he's just recognized how sore /he/ is, given the experimental way in which he moves, eyes still covered. "I dunno..." Alida notes briskly to N'dalis' admission of his green, the woman shrugging once as she gets to her feet after re-plaiting her frazzled, long hair into a ragged braid. No tie... grump. As for the apology: "None needed. She was..." Cue a handwave upon the air. Yeah: Flight. Herself? At some point, the bluerider finally gets up enough gumption to slowly crane her neck and head around to glance at N'dalis...and suddenly figure out just what he's talking about. It takes a large flex of will for her not to blush brightly again, but a hint of pink might be noticable upon her pale neck. "I'm fine." From the way she walks just a bit hesitantly when moving about the room, such assurances might be false, but nothing else in her manner or bearing shows the pains of 'rough use.' After a few moments, "You c'n open yer eyes." The way Dal bites at his lip, he's unsure about a lot of things, but he refrains from saying anything more on the subject - not until he's been given leave to open his eyes again. Really, he seems relatively comfortable on the bed, with only a pillow to cover his nakedness. Just... tired. He gives Alida an uncertain nod, and something that could almost be described as a distant relation to a smile. "Uh," he says. "Good. It... thanks. This could have been a lot more awkward. I was afraid it would be..." worse? A man? More violent? His cheeks are pink again; his thoughts are clearly of the embarrassing variety. "Su likes your blue a lot. Ilicaeth? She likes him." There's only a singular nod from the woman as she moves around a little cautiously to scoop up her riding jacket, helmet, goggles, then the satchel of missives. The latter, fortunately, was well-secured, and so nothing spilled out or broke when it was unceremoniously abandoned upon the floor. Again Alida handles her own urge to blush at Dal's next words, and greens eyes flick out to the exit of the weyr before the 'Reachian mutters, "I remember some'a the people there." Cue a dark frown as her gaze shift back to the man in the bed...to his face only. "If it would uv' gone differently... yeah." She understands. Huh? "Oh... him." Finally it happens: a more typical bit of a lop-sided smirk touching her lips for a moment. "He's easier ta like." Than who? Her? "He thinks she's fine, too." N'dalis doesn't answer that 'easier to like' comment; doesn't smile, either. "Uh," he says. And then: "Well. Thank you. For... making this not too strange. For us. If he wants to visit Su again, I think she'd be more than happy. Until she forgets. But... she's good at remembering. Most things, anyway." The words are coming out in awkward torrents, now, until he stops himself. "So. Yeah. Nice to meet you, Alida." Yep... she's wanting to flee (albeit in a controlled, somewhat dignified fashion) at this point, so when N'dalis gives her a credible out, Alida simply nods to him, settles the satchel across her shoulder, and then murmurs almost formally to the greenrider, "Have a...a decent rest uv yer day, N'dalis." And off she steps towards the exit, then out into the crappy weather. And if the woman expects her pleased lifemate to hustle his rump off of Suraieth's ledge to collect her... she's dead wrong. As a matter of fact, after a minute of trying to argue with her hardheaded blue, Alida's storming off - with a slight limp - towards Fort's baths, where she'll spend her sweet old time cleaning up...and hopefully making *Ilicaeth* wait for *her*. |
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