Logs:A Date To Remember
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| RL Date: 8 May, 2013 |
| Who: K'zin, Rasavyth, Azaylia, Hraedhyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: With weyrling restrictions lifted, K'zin and Azaylia are finally able to go on their date. A first for both, possibly not the last. |
| Where: Somewhere near High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 9, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Alida/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, N'ky/Mentions, Jo/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated and finished via googledocs. A massive log with massive amounts of fluff. I mean it. Do not ingest. xD |
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| Warmth of oozy flame reaches Hraedhyth's mind before the purred words of Rasavyth, « My K'zin says it is time. » It would be ominous, except for the silly flashes of the ledge climb, the flower between K'zin's teeth, leaving no doubt as to what it is time for. « Our drills are about to end and everything is arranged. » He had acted as messenger once before, to verify a day or two before that Azaylia would be available and ready. But now it's time for the surprise date to begin its reveal. « My K'zin requests that your Azaylia meet him, dressed as he suggested, at the Weyr Entrance. » A crisp, clear image of the place flashes to the gold. (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth) Dark smoke is buffeted by wings, cool fog twining in cool contrast to the usual heat Hraedhyth offers. She is in the skies when his message reaches her, warmed from the inside out by her heart's hearth. « Time. » A curious thump accompanies her husky contralto, until, « Ah. » Realization rasps with amusement, « She will be there. » They both will be, Rasavyth's offered image singed at the corners by the flames of curiosity-- consumed and understood. (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth) « Perfection, as always. » Rasavyth compliments with oozy charm, letting flame suffocate down to smooth tendrils of smoke. They reach curiously at this new mood he's never seen. He doesn't press for explanations, but the sensation certainly is that he has interest to listen should she wish to speak to him, of anything. There is a vivid flash of the rim of the Weyr overlooking the stables. There is where he waits for her. (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth) K'zin is waiting just as far toward the Weyr's exit as he can be. He is dressed quite smartly, cleaned up properly from drills by the time that Azaylia would arrive. Tucked into his left boot is a thin riding crop. Either he has wild expectations of their date or that, and his riding chaps are a dead giveaway for what the first activity of the date is to be. The dual mood is not so different from Hraedhyth's typically intense joy. For there is pleasure there, happiness. The cool consideration is not her own, and yet she claims it, delves in the floral, pensive perfume. The what is not shared, guarded by Hraedhyth's ferocity, but there is no harm in sharing the fact that such misty musings exist. Once Rasavyth has shared his location, once Azaylia has been informed, the fog evaporates as the queen's exuberant flames are all there is. (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth) Azaylia has dressed with K'zin's words in mind, the almost black blue of her trousers borrowed from dragonriding leathers, as are her knee-high boots. White blouse is far less sufficient, long in the sleeves and failing to complete the climb up the curve of each shoulder. She's smiling brightly, curiosity a perfect excuse to have her gaze drop to the riding crop in his boot. If she takes her time returning to his face, well, "You look nice. Very nice." Light, genuine, with only an accidental hint of appraisal. She reaches for a hand, bright eyes and excited smile framed by side-swept hair, resulting braid secure and practical. It could be left at that, the bronze's simple interest and the gold's flames. It could be companionable silence. There are times when it is the lack of speaking that advances the depth of a relationship more than the speaking, but Rasavyth opts not to go that route today. Perhaps his clever mind senses the possibility that speech might serve him better. His mind offers distraction from whatever might cause a foggy mist, « I've finally convinced my K'zin it's time to repaint the weyr. » The fact that he has a new home brings a certain extra warmth to his mindtouch as he makes the simple statement to see if she is interested in speaking of mundanities. (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth) Azaylia's choice of dress earn a wide smile from K'zin, despite the potentially ill choice of shirt. "If I look nice, then you look spectacular. Seriously, you could put the stars to shame with your beauty." It's delivered ever so seriously, but then a little goofy grin appears. He means it, of course, but the overly flowery nature of the words surely hint at romantic exaggeration. "So, I know Aishani and Alida advised me against involving runner shit on a date, but I thought that hazarding it for a runner ride might appeal to you?" He offers her his arm, "Of course, if you think the risk is too great, I can always--" He trails off. Totally re-work his plans? Well, he could, but there's a hopeful hint to his face that means he's hopeful he won't have to. To Rasavyth, Hraedhyth dares to rob another of true silence, not that her steady drumbeats aren't companionable in themselves. When she joins the young bronze, she will aim an affectionate headbutt at him. He is not so little, to have a den of his own. « Oh? Will he need help? » Is she volunteering her lifemate? Others? As if Azaylia would object to her own involvement, if that is the case. « I would like to visit. » Not a question, but a warning. She will visit. Startled by the poetry, relieved at his grin, Azaylia's hand aims higher to rest on his arm. "Thank you." She uses the sturdy weyrling to pull herself up against his side, unable to stifle her own grin and the squeeze of anticipation to his arm. "Runners?" Said with delight, as if they both didn't ride giant flying beasts. "I don't know how long it's been since I've ridden a runner." How old is Hraedhyth again? When he trails off she leans into his side, insistant, "No, no! It sounds perfect. Let's go." There's a light tug forward, otherwise allowing K'zin to lead the way. The headbutt surprises Rasavyth, but likely only because Hrae has ever been so careful with her movements around the growing dragons before. He's still not full grown, but well on his way there. There's a little ruffle of his wings, as one re-adjusting his cloak. Tentatively, he reaches his head to try to mimic the gesture. It's uncertain, so a little weak. Then his head turns to peer up a the gold, as it to silently ask, 'is this how it goes?' « I am sure he would welcome help. Your Azaylia is most experienced from painting your trophies, is she not? » He certainly hasn't forgotten the colorful skulls among the gold's collection. « Do you suppose she would help him? You are most welcome to visit any time you like, with or without your Azaylia. There is plenty of room. And a nice view. » He offers, without image. After all, if he just showed her, what would be her reason to come? (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth) The tug and relief of having the idea accepted with such delight has K'zin laughing. "Alright, alright, we're not in a rush. Much." Not that she pulled hard, but his delivery is with comedic exaggeration, and there's a sly grin for the word 'much'. On the heels of it, he's tugging her forward. He in fact, breaks free of the gallant arm-hold he'd offered, and instead, says, "Last one there owes the other a kiss!" And he's running toward the stables where their mounts for the day await, already loaded with the necessary supplies for the rest of their surprise, nothing that won't fit in the pair of saddlebags on each beast. To Rasavyth, Hraedhyth may enjoy the bronze's surprise, though her flames flare in delight when he mimics the gesture. While he and his clutchsiblings are not fully grown, neither are they as fragile as before. The second is given with a fond rub, pleased growls echoed in thought and life, « She does. » The trophies are much more ferocious when lit by her fire, shadows flickering across painted bone, a thrum of pride for each remembered kill. « She might. She enjoys helping. » And enjoys Rasavyth's K'zin, of course. As for his ledge, « I will have to see. » There's a brush of coarse fur, more of a warning that he will not only have to endure her company. Surely there are dragons to tell horror stories of Hraedhyth's forceful affection. With a flash of delighted fire in her dark eyes, "You're on!" Azaylia's long stride gives her no advantage against the likes of K'zin. Though, she doesn't have to carry as much bulk in her swift approach, slowing when they're close so as not to spook the runners. If she can, she'll grab K'zin's arm to slow him with that same consideration in mind. "We can call it a tie?" Quickened breath has her voice even softer, speaking through her wide smile. Surely they do. And just as surely, Rasavyth has heard the stories. For being so slight and slender of build, it's taken much to mentally prepare for what it will take to try to woo, or at least encourage the affections of, Hraedhyth. None of this preparation or trepidation shows in his touch or his body. The only thing that shows is his inexperience. Her rub is returned with his own. « Perhaps he shall ask her for her assistance then. I have learned that paint can be fun. » A series of images tell Hraedhyth the story of Rasavyth helping to paint the large sections of backdrops for Mave's play with his tail. The story includes scenes of teens with paint slinging it at one another with laughter, Rasavyth's bronzen hide lit in different places by friendly fire. It's an amusing anecdote, to be sure, showing a more playful side to the bronze than most are permitted to see. (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth) The reach to K'zin's arm is easy, he was just barely ahead, and only owing to his head-start. There's laughter that resolves in a cough as a bit of saliva manages to catch in his throat. "Sure, sure." The bronzer agrees once he's recovered himself a moment later. "So long as it means two kisses." He winks to the goldrider before approaching the runners with an easy step. "Yours is Thunder," He notes. "I know the chivalrous thing to do is to offer you a hand up onto your runner, but I won't insult you." She was a beastcrafter after all and surely must be practiced at the task, even it's been turns. He leads her dark-haired horse (save for a bit of white on the nose) over to the stairs that serve as mounting blocks. It's not that experienced riders couldn't just hop up, but why not use what's there. "I'll get on SweetiePie once you're up." He notes, breezing across the deceptively girly name for the very large, tawny-haired runner that will be his mount. It doesn't take much to encourage Hraedhyth's touch, a trait shared by rider and dragon. Though that is where that particular similarity ends without the encouragement of a glowing hide. There's a low rumble, for both future assistance and Rasavyth returning the rub. « It helps her think. » The image is framed by fire and smoke, Azaylia bent over a herdbeasts' skull and being as meticulous as she can in tracing over bony landmarks with a brush. But, « It can be fun. » Her agreement comes with a sense of another, of jars tipped and ignored, of paint marking smooth, bronze flesh. Like Rasavyth's hide, yes? (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth) There's concern, even as Azaylia's laughing over his plight, one that has been suffered by just about everyone. Before she can ask if he's alright, K'zin is recovering so that she can also stifle her soft giggling. "Only two? You're not very ambitious, are you?" She teases, approaching Thunder with a casual, comfortable gait with the runner's temperament in mind. She takes a moment to stroke over the white marking Thunder's nose, simply enjoying the beast before following to the steps. There's no bravado, using the stairs in mounting the runner and giving his sturdy neck a pat. Easing back into the saddle, "SweetiePie?" She doesn't pick on him for long, urging Thunder away from the steps, "Where to?" A shy smile, realizing her own impatience, "I'm excited." To ride again. To Hraedhyth, Rasavyth can't but to have interest in the sense that she offers. Like, his, yes. Though not his, he gathers. There's a gentle sensation of probing for a timeframe. An image, clearly not of his own seeing, is flashed questioningly: the mock falls of Taikrin's devising. Don't they use paint? He's not sure, the image is blurred, just dragons, many dragons, in an unfamiliar sky and the sliver that must certainly be the fake Thread. Perhaps around this time? « My K'zin finds that using his hammer at the Forge does that best for him. His mind is too focused on his art when he engages in it; he has trouble remembering there is anything else in the world besides the subject and the sketch, or painting, now. » Painting is new to the repertoire of the bronzerider's artistic endeavors. Like Rasavyth's, but not. Hraedhyth answers his interest simply, knowing or caring little of human business or decency. Tipped paint jars, other hands leaving careless prints in the wake of gnawing urges that burn as hotly as the gold's flames. Drums falter from their imitation of a more primal rhythm, slipping into a reprise from earlier: Painting can be fun. Not clinical, but casual, far more interested in answer the bronze's curiosity than the behavior of riders. « Does he paint for you? » As Azaylia does for her? A spark is spat from her flames, an idea, « Does he paint you? » Now that's interesting human business! (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth) "Oh, we have all afternoon, and evening." The time from the end of drills at about 3 pm until whenever they must adjourn from where they're going to return before dark. And then? "Who says I won't just keep racking them up?" K'zin teases in response. "But if you'd like me to start higher, let's say a hundred kisses, and you can take one off for every time I say something stupid or do something that displeases you. If I get to zero, we'll know the date is over." His suggestion of all this is clearly off the cuff. He's helpful in making sure that her feet are comfortably fit into the length of the stirrups, adjusting them a little longer. This, of course, affords him the opportunity (which he takes) to touch her heel, her leg, her knee. He grins up to her before stepping toward SweetiePie. He's soon up the stairs himself and settling in, the straps already adjusted. "Well, there's no accounting for taste when it comes to naming runners, is there." He jokes, "I'm just not sure if he was named for his sweetness or if it's facetious. I might be in trouble." He doesn't actually seem concerned, though, so he must either know or not care. With a small urging of his thighs pressed to the beast's flanks, he's moving ahead of Azaylia, "Just follow me." is all the hint he gives. It's not as Harpers portray a romantic runner ride to be. Runners don't adore walking side by side. In fact, SweetiePie makes a couple of attempts to bite Thunder when that's the case. So it limits conversation, keeping K'zin and SweetiePie leading the way. The ride is nice, though. The weather isn't particularly chilly, though there is some fog to the day. The fog dissipates some as the decrease in altitude. After about a half hour of a comfortable trot, the path widens and comes to a small plateau. It's not very green or lush or pretty the way some places are in other parts of the world, but for the 'Reaches, it's nice enough. There's rocky outcroppings and trees. A small stream runs through at one side with a miniature waterfall trailing down the cliff-face that presses close to the spot. Picturesque. Upon arrival, K'zin's dismounting, moving to tie SweetiePie to a low-hanging branch before moving to assist Azaylia, if she has want or need of it. "Hope this is an alright spot for a picnic?" It's secluded enough to make for a proper one-on-one date, anyway. To Hraedhyth, Rasavyth's amusement only deepens and widens from the trickle that's always there at the edge of his touch. « I'd imagine he would define that as fun. » He is interested, but not in any way judgmental about the facts that are shared with him: it's just interesting to know. It's always interesting to know new things. He takes to wing when their riders begin to move, chatting as he flies. « He will paint his weyr for me. » Which is not exactly what she meant, but it's as close a thing as he can come to something similar. « He does not mind the images of food, dancing and carnal acts. I feel it could be better. I would like a map. » For starters. « He does not paint me. » The answer is simple. « He does draw me, and well. My K'zin is quite talented. He gifted the Weyrhealer with a sketch of her child for her turnday. She was delighted. He is very good. » Pride swells and then redoubles when he reiterates his degree of talent. « He prefers to draw women, though. Not dragons or children. He has some lovely ones of your Azaylia. » Lovely, if not altogether appropriate, but why would Ras think of that? « They are, I think, inexact. Since he has never seen her... » The sentiment is shared without the exact words for it: naked. "That sounds fair..." Azaylia drawls, as if hesitant to agree with anything K'zin might suggest. Surely he's out to take advantage of her, so the goldrider must keep her wits about her. And yet, when he does take advantage, she watches from on high with a impish curl to her lips. There's no objection to following him and SweetiePie, the act of riding keeping her in high spirits. There are sights to see along the way, though should K'zin look back he will likely find her eyes aimed straight ahead-- at him. Thunder is spared an actual bite by Azaylia's quick direction and soft scolds, not that they do any actual good. Once they arrive, she dismounts with ease and secures her own runner, seeking K'zin's hand afterward. "You..." Some discomfort is obvious, unable to help but smile through it, "You put a lot of thought into this, K'zin." Her hand squeezes his, the occasional squirm of fingers hinting at nerves. "I'm impressed." Quietly so, bashful at such obvious effort. To Rasavyth, Hraedhyth is quick to join him in the skies, shedding her own dark cloak to wield bone clubs against the foggy air. « Mine enjoys it. » Surely K'zin would. Curiosity has harmless tongues of flame reaching for the bronze, clearly interested in the contents of his weyr. She is not always patient, but the inevitability of seeing it for herself will keep her insistence at bay. « He draws you. » Not paint, but enough to snag the warrior's focus. The Weyrhealer is named with a crackle from her hearth: Madilla. It's all dusted with soot, interest dimming as she lights upon this new information, « Of Mine. He draws her? » The gold is not sure how she feels about that; protective nature battling against pleasure at hers acting as inspiration. « They are not correct? » That won't do. "Zay." K'zin's tone is reminiscent of the joking-chiding one when he told her she got her blocking wrong that night on the ledge. "It's my first date ever. And I've been planning it since candidacy. That's given me nearly a full turn," More like three quarters, "To plan. And fret. And change things. And plan. And fret some more." He grins at her. "The planning's all done now, so now I've just got to not ruin it." He is good at that. He gives a squeeze in return to her hand, but is soon slipping out of her grasp to fuss with the saddle bags, tossing a checkered picnic blanket over one shoulder while he removes small boxes that no doubt hold the lunch-dinner vittles. "Thankfully, I thought to ask them to prepare the food this morning, or it would've been quite stale." If he'd asked them when he first planned. It's a poor joke, but he offers a smile that might help it float. "Want to spread the blanket out for me? Pretty please?" To Hraedhyth, Rasavyth doesn't offer images of his weyr, despite the gold's sensed interest in its contents. Too much is still stock and not up to standard for him to offer glimpses of the currently gaudy decor. « He draws all. » The bronze's purr is meant to be soothing. « He likes the way people look. Especially women. So he draws them. Only he has to guess about things he has not seen. He does not show anyone, on purpose. Cailluneth's N'ky saw some once, but none of her. One if Iesaryth's one. He only drew her once though, » This seems to puzzle the bronze since he finds the other gold a desirable conversation partner. He shakes off his confusion quickly though, « Your Azaylia he has drawn many times. He thinks she is beautiful. » It's not often Azaylia rolls her eyes, rather than complete the circuit they aim shyly to the side. "I realized the other day that this would be my first date." An explanation of her own nerves. There's also the fact that as giving as the goldrider can be, she's unused to being on the receiving end of such overwhelming kindness. "Riders... well, I guess it never crossed my mind to go on one before." Before now, and before other instances. "It sounds as though you've always been a romantic, K'zin." A light tease, far more fond than anything as she reaches to tug the blanket off his shoulder. "Of course. Anything else I can help with?" All too eager, even as she claims a patch of ground with the checkered fabric. To Rasavyth, Hraedhyth keeps to the skies above, predator's awareness keeping a close eye on the bronze. It's to keep conscious of his endurance as it would do no good to have Rasavyth tiring before they return home. « Does he. » His purr is joined by her easy growl, a noise of consideration. Does that make things better or worse? As he swells with pride for K'zin's art, so does her smoke rise, her drums lifting with a song of adoration. « She is. » Spoken with the certainty most dragons have when regarding their lifemates. « I am pleased Yours is able to see. » That pleasure is what keeps her protective nature to a subtle rumble in the distance. "Really?" K'zin can't help but laugh in his surprise. "Great! That means if I screw up, you'll never know!" His delivery of these words come as a drawn out almost-sing song, a way of speaking that might also be appropriate to the end of a scary campfire story. Then he's laughing again, though not ominously. "Truthfully, I think I like it so far, but shells it was hard not knowing if I'd pick the right thing or if you mightn't want to see me again after if I had picked the wrong one, and so on. It was a lot to worry about." This is confessed with exaggerated drama. She did once tell him he worried too much. His lips snake into a smirk, "Well, don't tell anyone. Otherwise I'll be expected to live up to this level of romance anytime I want to take someone home with me. As is, Rasavyth's certain no woman would stay after she got inside anyway. There are some nice murals on the walls, but Ras says they're not appropriate, so I'll have to paint over them, "No, I think that's about it. Oh! Except, there's a thermos of klah in Thunder's saddlebag. Want to grab that?" He doesn't mind letting her help. True, he's the romantic, but he can appreciate wanting to feel like one is doing something useful. No sooner is the blanket down than he kneels to lay out the spread. The large box of full of little finger sandwiches. It looks like more than they two could possibly eat, but then one of them is K'zin. There's also a smaller box with green and red grapes. "Kept it simple. Hope that's alright?" He asks as the third box is opened to reveal a collection of iced cookies. « Of course he can. I'm surprised anyone can miss it. But perhaps not all dragons are so lucky as I to have a partner like my K'zin. » The words are all carefully chosen and sweetly delivered with just the right amount of emotional tonality seeping into the phrases. Woe for the thought of being a bronze without a partner clever enough to recognize Azaylia's beauty and other admirable traits. « I'm sure he would show her, if she asked to see them. He does not like to bring such things up, lest someone be unhappy about his drawing. » The fact that people have and do get upset about the drawings is ridiculous to Rasavyth. They should be flattered that K'zin draws them at all. (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth) After the blanket is set, Azaylia and her idle hands take their time in returning to K'zin. He won't find her at his side, telling pressure warming his back as she wraps him up in a loose embrace. Her arms are low and out of the way of his own as he empties the saddle bags. "Your secret is safe with me." Cheek at his shoulder, she aims a smile up at him. "Murals?" Curiosity lingers in the air as she pulls away, fetching the thermos from Thunder's bag and joining the weyrling on the blanket. She crouches, setting the klah down before shifting to settle next to K'zin, aiming to keep close but not hinder his own comfort. With a soft laugh, "Of course it is. It's not alright. It's just right." A gentle caress to the weyrling's nerves, honesty hoping to encourage some confidence. One of them is Azaylia, and those sandwiches may have fewer survivors than originally thought. There's a thrum of consideration, Hraedhyth obviously thoughtful even if the contents of such are guarded by fang and flame. The decision is favorable, « We enjoy Yours. » As there are, have been, times when dragon and rider do not always agree on the company kept. Rasavyth's compliments are enjoyed, savored, but there is the worry of overindulgence bordering on insincerity. So far, she has yet to near that threshold, accepting the bronze's words as they are. « Mine would not be displeased. » Of this, she is sure. Suddenly, « You are not tired? » A hint of maternal concern, not yet seeing him as grown. (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth) A pleasantly surprised laugh dies quickly as K'zin feels warmth on his back and feels the wrap of arms. "Good!" He responds, grinning as his hands pause in the effort to get everything settled just long enough to brush the arms around him lightly and give a light squeeze. By the time that she's back with the thermos, K'zin has sprawled on the blanket, boots politely kept off, while he rests on one side, hand supporting his head. "Murals." He confirms, reconsidering his positioning and sitting up enough (though still half lying, resting on one hand to the ground) to create a nice back-rest should she feel the want to sit up against him. "Food, dancing, and-" He checks to make sure there's no choking hazard, "-fucking. Apparently the guy who had it before me had interesting taste in art. I think they're neat, but some people would prefer boring things like maps." There's a note of light teasing in his voice as his eyes cast skyward, to where, high up, the bronze is circling lazily, not having any difficulty with his endurance thus far. He's well rested and happy for the chance to stretch his wings. "But you know, enough about that. This is the part where you tell me about yourself. I think. Isn't that how it goes on dates?" Not that she knows. "You get to know each other and see if you want to go on another? You're from Keroon. Family still there? Brothers, sisters?" He puts her on the spot, though his interest is gentle. This is wholly unsurprising to Rasavyth. From where he sits, what's not to love about K'zin? Sure, there are little rough patches to round out, yet, but all in all? A great package. These sentiments share to her with the words: « As do I. » They have that in common then. That and their ability to see Azaylia. His mind is abuzz with playful excitement, the ooze shimmering especially bright as it reflects flame and bone. Isn't it exciting that they have so much in common? If there is insincerity in any of this, it can't be identified, beyond the usual niggling sensation that is always a part of his oozy touch. « I am far from it! I savor this flight. It is wonderful! » Excited, indeed. (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth) Shoulders overlap shoulders, Azaylia echoing K'zin's casual lean as her brow brushes his jaw from time to time. Her hand is next to his, supporting what she doesn't ease against the weyrling's sturdy chest. She's eagerly reaching for a sandwich, gone too quickly for her to choke once he reveals the subject of his murals. "Really?" Interest is piqued, head tilting up to aim an amused glance up at him. "That sounds... Well." Sentence goes unfinished, nibbling past her stifled, sly smile. She approves. Tugging one of the boxes closer, she offers him some of the spred, "Keroon, yes. A minor hold. My Papa's a Beastcrafter, my Mama takes care of the kids." What are left, "I've got an older sister," Cooly spoken of, voice warming considerably at, "And two younger brothers. I visit when I can." If this is how it goes, she's willing to play along if he will. She doesn't check for choking hazards, "Will you paint more naked women on your walls? Or just maps?" Steady drums easily shift into a more festive rhythm, one befitting a savage dance and Rasavyth's bright excitement. Hraedhyth mirrors it, happy to do so as she circles with the bronze up high-- sometimes breaking off to widen their temporary territory within the clouds and fog. « I am glad. » Though the queen herself shows some preference for the ground, even she is able to revel in the joys of flying. Especially with company, given they have so much in common. Comfortable, thumping white noise is interrupted by a growl that lifts with curiosity at the end, « This, » The 'elaborate' courtship, « Is odd. Why does he simply not fly her? » A phrase scavenged from a certain Acting Weyrleader's brown. K'zin's free arm wraps around Azaylia in the process of coming to fetch some of the vittles Azaylia brings near enough for him to grab. Added bonus is that it's half like a little snug hug for the goldrider as before the hand retreats with a sandwich to stuff in his mouth while he listens. "Yes," is his simple answer to the murals. "If you want to see them, you'll have to come by soon to take a peek. Ras won't stand for them much longer." He listens again, stealing another two sandwiches as he talks of Keroon. "How much older is your sister? Do you get along with her? What about the younger ones? Do you have a favorite? Do they want to be riders when they grow up?" Follow-ups, all, delivered one after another with gentle interest. Her question about what he will paint earns a laugh. "No. I save the naked women for my notebooks. I don't think naked women will set the tone Ras wants in the weyr. A map, and then... then, we don't know. We've talked about a lot of different things. The walls are pretty huge. And then there's the bedrooms." Plural. « It is sometimes different for them. » Rasavyth's tenor half-sings in his amusement. « He has never flown anyone before. And was raised differently than some others. It does not yet occur to him that it could be so simple. » The bronze explains his lifemate as smoothly as he flies through the air, sliding between clouds. « Wait until after our first flight. » During which, he will surely catch, of course. « Then he shall see our way is the better way. Without all this-- » His mental gesture seems to encompass the picnic, the runners, the ledge, the worry in the galleries when Rasavyth was but an egg; all of it. They're close enough that he might catch her pleased hum as Azaylia presses into the crook of his neck. It's a fleeting caress with no goal in mind, the weyrwoman simply savoring the touch. "Can't argue with what the dragon wants." At least when it comes to the decor of a weyr, made obvious by Hraedhyth's trophies laying about. As for her sister, "Seven turns. She's..." If one can't say something nice, they take a harder than necessary bite out of their sandwich. "I'm... We're close, as much as we can be with me living so far away. Which... might not be very." In comparison to certain visiting traders. Slight discomfort at talk of family is ignored in favor of a quiet laugh, "Your notebook." She doesn't sound terribly surprised, aiming a sidelong glance up at him, "I hear you have some interesting sketches of women. Of me?" As if Hraedhyth might be mistaken. Far from upset, she's stifling a soft laugh even as she suggests, "Why not make a mural about Rasavyth? Or maybe Smithing?" Something that interests K'zin. Grunt. Hraedhyth understands, in that often times riders make simple things far more complicated than they need be. Drums roll in the distance of her plains, ominous, and yet the gold's contralto carries as much amusement as it does warning, « Then she will fly him. » If he is not careful. It has as much weight as her dark smoke, as the clouds and mist that dissipate as she wills them-- theatrics for the sake of amusement? She seems capable of such, but the inspiration for it must come from a genuine source. At least, « They are enjoying it. » Watching all that Rasavyth encompasses in his gesture from on high. "Nope." The bronzerider's agreement is emphatic. Arguing with Rasavyth is often futile. K'zin is all ears for the rest of her answers, his expression following appropriately. "I'm not close with my older brothers, either. The oldest one is..." He has to think about it, if that is any sign of just how not close they are. "Eight turns older than me. Or nine. I lose track sometimes. He apprenticed just a couple turns after Mom dropped me off at the Hall with Dad." Uncomfortable though the topic of his family is in general, he seems to be okay talking about the specific details of it, especially if he's not having to talk about the present. As the topic of his notebook is revisited, there is a bright blush on his cheeks. "I--how-- have-- have you been talking to Jo?" He's confused, clearly. Evidently the only one out of this loop is K'zin. "I-- yes. I have-- I have drawn you." His cheeks are a deep crimson now, and he's sitting up, leaning away from Azaylia, as though expecting some sort of revilement on her part. "I'm sorry. I didn't-- I've stopped drawing real people now." Gulp. The issue of the murals is forgotten in this moment of embarrassment. « She may wish to wait? » Rasavyth suggests. « Having never flown, he may need to learn much and more. She might enjoy it better if he learns before... » The bronze is ponderous about this. He's learned much and more of women, but he is uncertain about some things, yet, like the details of sexual encounters. « Ultimately, if they are enjoying it, whatever comes, that is what is important. » K'zin's happiness is, of course important to him, as well as Hraedhyth's and, by extension of both relations to dragon and his own lifemate, her rider's. Familiar enough with the subject of K'zin's family, Azaylia doesn't ask after them. It's the source of her gentle surprise when he offers to speak of his brother, "I only remember because Daizi would lord every turn of her seven over my head." Memories prompt a smile, as thin and tense as it is. Is there enough heat rolling off his cheeks to alert the weyrwoman? Blush and stutters are blood in the water, sibling rivalry of the past forgotten in an instant. Boxes are nudged by a hand to make room, K'zin welcome to feel every inch of her descent as she eases down onto the blanket. On her back, it's easier to enjoy his blush, "No... Was I not supposed to know?" Her warm gaze is mischievous, intrigued. "K'zin, you don't have to apologize. Not to me." She doesn't speak for the other women in his notebook. With a soft laugh, "I'm actually flattered. I'd like to see them, sometime." She doesn't chase to comfort him, content to offer it from the ground. "What are you drawing, now?" If not real people. « Mine may. » Hraedhyth has no say in the desires of her lifemate when it involves such intimacy. Not to say that she is unfamiliar with the happenings, « Mine could teach him. Show him. » His wouldn't be the first. Flames curl, roiling in a shrug as the subject delves too deeply into the complicated. Rasavyth's last sentiment is one that earns a cheer from afar, nightmarish troops in agreement. « Yes! And we must enjoy ourselves. » They must. The gold breaks away, climbing higher to test the young bronze's wings. She's mindful of his limits, but how is she to know what they are without trial? The intensity of this blush is certainly enough to wash away talk of family, focusing his art as the only relevant topic. "I don't tell people--" Although him doing the backdrops for Mave's play might have let that feline out of it's sack. "I don't?" The bronzer seems genuinely surprised for this as he stares down at the goldrider, expression both deeply confused and embarrassed but slightly hopeful. "So you understand that I only drew you naked because I thought you were attractive and not because I'm a perv or something?" As he has been called before. The nakedness is assumed as already known and so it's glossed right in there with the rest of it, brown eyes anxious as he looks down at her. "Fake people." He answers with a breath. "Combinations of eyes and faces and bodies together but that don't belong with anyone. « She could. » Rasavyth confirms. It is certainly possible. « I am sure that he will learn many and more things from her should she like to fly him. He will be great. » Not yet. But Rasavyth is entirely certain that it will come to pass that K'zin will be a great lover. Then he's intent, following the gold's movements, up, up, up! He is up for the challenge, though he has sense enough to say if these trials begin to tax him dangerously. For a moment, Azaylia bares a resemblance to that feline K'zin's gone and let out of the bag. If said feline had gotten into some cream, that is. "You don't." Her smile is still warm, genuine, despite the fun she's having in learning about his talents. Another laugh, "You might still be." A perv. She isn't one to claim such an authority on labels, but, "I like that you thought... think?" Curiosity is renewed in her easy gaze, edging towards uncertainty, "That I'm attractive. I want to see what you think I look like, naked." Elbows dig into the blanket, propping herself up as she takes interest in his new subjects. "That sounds... better? Well, if you're worried about upsetting some girls." Like he seemed to be, moments ago. Could, would, should. Hraedhyth leaves such musings below, bashing her way higher and higher. What she lacks in speed, in fluidity, the gold makes up for in power. Rasavyth is never far from her thoughts, leaving a trail of ebon smoke for him to follow. He is not so large that she might spar with him in the air, but the queen will impart a few lessons, what maneuvers she might know. All for the sheer joy of it. "Oh, thank Faranth." K'zin's relief is profound, the tenseness escaping his form as he flops onto the blanket beside her. "You're the first one whose found out to not think so solely based on the fact that I draw naked women I think are hot." It makes him feel a little more normal. There's a little bit of excitement there for him to be able to talk about this without those judgy eyes or the little teasing barbs trying to get him to blush that some people have been partial to. The energy of his excitement has him rolling on his side, bringing his body to press lightly along the goldrider's length. "Think. Definitely think." K'zin confirms the present tense of that belief. "I'll show you. I don't have them with me, of course." How weird would that be, his tone seems to suggest. "But I have them back at my weyr." Sketchbooks full of naked women and people humping on his walls, and he wonders why people think him a perv. "Yeah. That's what I figured. No one gets hurt that way. I hadn't even really thought about sketching people who weren't real until recently. I'm trying to work on sketching men, too, but I'm not as good with that. Probably because I'm not as interested. And they tend to be all angles instead of--" A hand floats up over her middle and gestures an hour-glassy curve in the air. "It'd be nice... sometime... to see how close to the truth I got." The weyrling's words are a little tentative, but there's humor in them as he asks slyly to see the woman naked at some point. Rasavyth is a keen student. The trail is appreciated by the bronze, for he does need it to keep up with the older, more experienced Hraedhyth. He seems to gather all the information in stride, easily keeping up mentally, though the physical execution of some of the movements proves to be a little more challenging. She could easily see from his thoughts that he understands every aspect of it, but just can't seem to get his body to do exactly what it needs to to do it right. He never gives up, though, to his credit. Though Azaylia might tease, it's without the barbs that he may have been expecting. "Oh?" Mild surprise leads to a thoughtful, "I might have been upset about them a few turns ago. Now? I don't see the harm..." His excitement gives her pause, taking a moment to enjoy the thrum of it as she eases against him even more. "I can understand why some women might be upset. But it isn't as if you treat me badly, or like I don't matter because you've drawn me." Brown eyes lead her head in a turn, taking in the picnic as well as the two idle runners. No, not badly at all. His hand draws her back in, watching the curved path K'zin cuts through the air. The weyrwoman reaches up to brush the back of her own hand against an angle of his that she admires, his jaw. "K'zin." Firm, playfully so, "All you had to do was ask." And since he has, "When I see the sketches, I'll show you what you got wrong." An offer as easy as her smile. Rasavyth's intelligence has not gone unnoticed even before now. A predator can sense cunning, and Hraedhyth has never doubted the bronze's mind. His body, however... the queen enjoys pushing him to his limit, in watching him struggle. She is far from cruel. There's heartfelt celebrations for his success, and wordless drumbeats when he struggles-- no condescension. No babying. Before too long the queen will land within sight of their riders, with enough distance between them to keep from spooking the runners. "Really?" If K'zin's expression was light with excitement before, now he's practically glowing. His grin is huge at the prospect. Huge and kind of dopey. Maybe someday he'll get past the novelty of it all, but for now... it's that adorable pleasure at it all. "I'm pretty sure that that isn't usual first date content, though. So in the interests of creating a pristine first, first date experience for both of us. I think maybe we'd better stop at just kissing... Or maybe me touching your breasts." The last is added after a beat, and definitely meant to be a joke (though it does sound entirely hopeful). "Let me think. First, first date stuff," He tries to force himself back on track, even as his brown eyes begin to trace across those curves that so inspire his pencil., "Uuuum. What was the biggest change you noticed in yourself after you Impressed Hraedhyth? How would you describe her? What's your favorite part of your job?" Those are all solid first date material. He must have made a list in the many months of his planning that he draws from now. It wouldn't be fair if he were good at everything. Rasavyth certainly excels in the mental realm, more so than the physical. He isn't awful at most things, and certainly none of what has been tried here in the sky, but it takes him time to learn and to practice and many of the tricks Hraedhyth show him will take much more time to mimic than his current stamina allows for. He does send a lick of fizzling smoke to Hraedhyth to signify when he is tuckered out, or at least, near enough to know he needs the rest of his energy reserves for the return trip and follows her down to the ground. His landing is fairly graceful beside her in the wider, emptier plateau that is just a bit further down the range than where their riders enjoy themselves. He sprawls once there, after giving his wings a good stretch as K'zin taught him he ought. "Really." As much of a promise that can be coaxed out of her warm murmur. Azaylia's brows lift, quiet confidence shed at what K'zin is sure isn't right for a first date. The weyrwoman takes her time with a quick inhale, drawn out sigh carrying with it a pleasant lilt-- more than enough to mask her disappointment, if there is any. "Let's see," She's been bombarded, not that the weyrwoman seems to mind. Closing her eyes in thought, too honest answers are uttered without shame, "I get angry easier... I get angry at all." After her correction, "Powerful. And I guess... knowing that I can," There's a faint crease to her brow as she falters, "That I'm supposed to have the power to make things better for other people." Rather than dwell on it, the goldrider opens her eyes to find his own, "What about you? Rasavyth?" Hraedhyth makes no comment on having to land, the act itself executed without grace in mind. She lands with a WHUMP, and seems no worse for it. The queen's gaze whorls with curiosity for Rasavyth's stretching, familiar enough with the act to approve. There's little warning when the gold picks herself up and snuggles firmly against Rasavyth's side. She'll inspect his wings, snuffling over his cloak for any sign of overexertion. Once satisfied, the muscles beneath her tawny hide finally begin to relax. Despite his talk of what's not appropriate of a first date, as K'zin listens, his body pressed lightly against Azaylia's side as his own touches the ground, his head dips slowly down, closer to the Weyrwoman's ear and neck. Should the action cause any hesitation in her words, K'zin is prepared to answer with a soft, "Go on, I'm listening." In the meantime one of his hand moves to trace across the fingertips of the hand resting on her stomach, then trails just as lightly up her arm. When she's finished making her answers, he reflects in silence. After moments of continued light caresses (unless she's shown some objection), K'zin delivers his answer. "That I know myself now. I never used to have any idea, really. I just sort of went along with whatever. Now, I know who I am, and some of what I'm capable of. Rasavyth sees me, where it felt like no one had ever bothered to take the time before. Even my closest friends never saw me as clearly as he did from the beginning." The admissions are quiet, and this is perhaps the answer to much and more of how he's changed, how he's grown, how he's matured in the months since Impression. "Rasavyth is strong. And smart." He pulls his head back slowly to look down at her, "Actually, he's pretty much a genius." Of course, coming from sweet but sometimes slow-minded K'zin, this mightn't be a real endorsement. "What was weyrlinghood like for you?" Ahh! Snuggle attack! The most dangerous of all ambushes! It does seem to surprise Rasavyth, but he takes the going over with all the grace of a fluffly kitten in the face of his mother. He might just be grateful she doesn't start any awkward communal grooming habits. Once he's checked out and given the Gold seal of approval, he's shifting a little, to get a little more comfortable, snuggling up against Hraedhyth. Just as Azaylia's words begin to trail with tell-tale distraction, K'zin's quiet encouragement ensures he gets his answers in full. Warm skin tenses beneath his touch in the odd shiver, hardly meant to discourage those wandering fingertips. "They're... amazing." She settles on the word, knowing it doesn't do the creatures justice. "They see everything you are, everything you could be... and even if you struggle, they just... love you." Her gaze flicks up to him as he pulls back, "And sometimes, they're smarter than we ever could be." The weyrling's claim is taken quite seriously as he wouldn't be the first to make it. "Hard. There was... Aishani. She and Iesaryth helped us a lot. Hraedhyth was so... everything was a threat to protect me from. Even my own emotions." Spoken with the casual distance between memories and the present, "I had worried that Hraedhyth had made a mistake, that maybe I wasn't strong enough to be a weyrwoman. To be her rider." What tension she's gained is done away with in a sigh, recovering the smile she hadn't realized she lost. "I know better, now." Rasavyth has no idea at how close Hraedhyth came to giving his 'knobs a once-over with her tongue. It's an occasional habit, but today she decides against it. Instead, she adjusts her wings while the bronze shifts, the edges of her dark cloak resting over him some. It's cozy, and the queen is obviously pleased, soft growls accompanying the comforting crackle of her flames. No doubt the gold is content to stay snuggled until their riders head back to the weyr. K'zin's hands may wander, and certainly his attention is split between observing the little response he's able to evoke with gestures so simple, his focus seems able to follow her thoughts quite well enough. He can't help a laugh at her words about her fear that Hraedhyth had made a mistake. Yes, let that be a surprise for another day. It is enough of a push to the usually non-cuddly bronze's boundaries to, today, settle close against Hraedhyth, his tail stroking idly along hers as his head settles near hers. Snuggle ambush clearly successful. He can't really help that his thoughts start to immediately get drowsy: he doesn't do it often, but it is quite comfortable. He's been warned before about teasing the weyrwoman, especially when Azaylia is attempting to behave for his sake. Tempted into action by his fingertips, K'zin is allowed his laughter until she aims to stifle it. Closing in slowly, she intends to savor what is proper for a first date. There's no denying the intensity she's capable of, doing her best not to overwhelm him. And yet, the more she tastes-- tongue no longer the imagined flick in the galleries -- the more she gives in to a hunger she's all too familiar with. Oh it will be. Today, Hraedhyth is content to watch over Rasavyth as he rests, her pale head lifted high and proud as she surveys their surroundings. The touch of his tail is returned along with a faint nudge of her nose at his neck, tucking him in. More than ever he will be able to feel her presence draped over the mental and physical: all is well. Making out is acceptable first date behavior, right? Well, maybe not as hot-and-heavy as they're quickly becoming. K'zin's hands are only shy until certain small indicators are noted (noise, movements, etc.) and then they explore a little more freely as his lips remain latched to her. His kisses are almost too neat and tidy, but minutes of mixing tongue with tongue has him loosening up a little bit and growing more confident. It does go on a while, for he's hardly eager to put an end to something going so successfully. But with a groan of decided regret, he's pulling back, hands withdrawing. "Shells, Zay. I wish this wasn't our first, first date." Because otherwise they could go further without possibly ruining a pristine, pure, innocent experience, presumably. He shifts back further, shaking himself off a little bit, trying to rid himself of the passion haze that comes with hot-and-heavy make-out sessions. "We need to do something. Or I'm going to do something to mess this up." K'zin glances around, looking for inspiration and his eyes linger on a tree, "Do you climb trees?" He asks abruptly. A groan. One that is distinctly different from those Azaylia has managed to draw from him with soft lips and inspired hands. She looks to correct his regretful sound with well placed pressure, with pleasure, fingers releasing him only when he succeeds in pulling away. Her palm slides back up his body, as if innocent this entire time. Now, frustration is all too obvious in a curt, audible sigh, "Okay." Another test of her unending patience, one that the goldrider intends to pass. "I thought we were doing something..." Resigned, she's able to avoid annoyance with breathy laughter. She doesn't bother setting her clothing right, not yet. "Trees? I..." The furthest thing from her mind, it takes her a moment, "Yes. I mean, I did. I used to." Not many trees in a Weyr, after all. There's a hand on his pants. ... There's a hand on his pants. That's Zay's hand on his pants! His eyes have dropped abruptly to this bizarre happening, eyes bulging slightly. It's almost enough to make him forget this whole first, first date best behavior business. Another groan comes as he finally pulls fully away. Then his sentiment of wishing is reiterated. "We are doing something. We're having a date. Like normal people who've never been on a first date before. We're getting to know each other, and we're having a good time." The last is said with firm resolve. It actually might be very comedic since the seriousness is in contrast with the words. "We can do all kinds of freaky not normal first date things any day that we're not on our first date." Freaky? Maybe he didn't mean it just like that. The trees are grasped as distraction, "Let's do that then. I haven't done it in turns, but it used to be fun." He pushes himself up off the blanket, taking a second to adjust his waistband, a blush on his cheeks, before he offers down a hand to the goldrider. As amusing as K'zin's determination is, it helps to remind Azaylia the reason behind the runners, the picnic. Granting herself one last second of selfish satisfaction, she watches him adjust. The last of the heat is snuffed from her gaze with a slow smile, reaching up to accept his help. On her feet, the weyrwoman adjusts her rumpled blouse and fastens a button or two. "You're right. Today is special." As proof, she places a chaste kiss to his jaw. "Rematch." is his only whispered warning before she flings her reluctant body into motion. It's not the one she had in mind, but... the weyrwoman takes her head start in racing towards a particularly sturdy looking tree. "Augh!" is K'zin's cry of protest as soon as he's done having his moment of hazy enjoyment at the chaste kiss. "Chhhheeeater!" He accuses, laughingly as he's scrambling to pursue. He's behind her getting to the base of the tree, and there's not much height separating the two, so there's no advantage there. And shells! Has she always been that strong? She's making him work for it, to be sure as he starts pulling himself up into the branches, one level at a time. He's exercising a bit of caution, of course, testing branches before climbing higher, and higher, and eventually, he's as high as he feels he can safely go. Then he's looking for her. Did he win? His face is flushed with excitement and healthy exertion. The perfect cure for the itch they didn't scratch. K'zin's accusation echoes in the branches they have yet to reach, heard above Azaylia's own laughter. Past mornings have proven to both he and Alida that the weyrwoman is no slouch-- yes, she's always been this strong. There's genuine effort in trying to carry her victory up into the tree, hard leather of her boot biting into the flaky bark. Sturdy limbs are put to use, soft grunts of effort the last hint of what could have been as the weyrwoman throws herself into scaling the branches. When he stops, she's several branches below, joining the weyrling after a bit more climbing. Breathing quickly past a wide grin, she keeps a tight hold on a thick bough against her chest, "Next time, we'll need a tree that has fruit." Just about perfect for the likes of them, so keen to work up their beastly appetites. She admits with no reluctance, "That was fun." K'zin makes room for her on the sturdy branch he stopped on (one of the last of its kind on the tree's heights). He's straddled the branch allowing her the less risky spot nearer the tree's trunk. But his reasoning for this becomes obvious as he leans in, hands on either side of her, allowing no escape. "I win. Where's my kiss?" It's half-growled, playfully and if she doesn't immediately give, he'll lean in to take - a swift, soft thing. He's laughing by the time he pulls away. "Maybe next time we'll plan to climb trees. Or hike. Assuming, of course, that there is a next time? I hear second dates are racier than firsts. Though, you'll have to forgive me if it's not as good in other ways. I'm not planning on taking nine-ten months to plan it." He grins at her, withdrawing his hands and letting them settle back on the branch in between his legs. The thin fabric of Azaylia's blouse offers little protection from the rough bark at her back as she joins him on the thick branch. So much for cornered prey, the goldrider's face brightening at the sound of K'zin's playful rumble. He's already advancing when she leans forward the last inch, lips brushing against the victor's. "Hike? What about swim? You still haven't been to Ista." Her eyes are bright with the possibilities, one hand in front of the other as she leans forward. "Of course there'll be a next time." Her fingers creep over his with only so much room on the bough between them. "I'm hardly an expert, but... I think this is a wonderful first date, K'zin. Thank you." Another kiss is owed from their earlier race, delivered with a happy, lingering warmth. "I like to swim." K'zin agrees readily. "Really, anything outdoors. Except herb gathering." The man makes a face. "I remember once going to help gather numbweed with my mother when I was very young." Three. "I don't remember anything but that smell and worse when they were boiling it later." Everyone helps with large efforts like that, Holder and Crafter alike. "I'm glad you like it." He murmurs, soft after returning the won kiss with one of his own; it was a tie after all. "There's just one downside to all of this. If we expect to finish eating and get back to the Weyr before dark, we'd better go back down to earth and get to it." With one more peck, he shifts his hands up to the branch above them so he can start his own climb back down. It will be rougher going for him. Up is always easy, down? There's a real chance of injury. "I don't think you have to worry about that." As neither of them are likely to suggest that they gather numbweed during their next outing. Azaylia is more than content to stay up in the tree with him, distracting herself from duty and protests with sweet kisses. Sadly, K'zin isn't wrong. "I wouldn't want to get you in trouble." That's truly what motivates her, waiting for the weyrling to climb down a few feet before following suit. The descent proves tricky, certainly enough to grab Hraedhyth's attention, the queen watching with tense muscles and an unblinking gaze. When the ground seems more in reach, the weyrwoman chooses to push off from the trunk and land with a gentle oof. Straightening up, the woman is pleasantly disheveled with smudges and wrinkles in her clothing, but looking no worse for it. Despite concerns by both dragons for the safety of their lifemates, they both make it to the ground safely. Food is eaten, a few more stories and laughs shared. The picnic is packed up and the pair are soon mounted again and on their way back to the Weyr. They won't part ways at the stables, no. K'zin will walk Azaylia to her ultimate destination and bid her goodnight with a first-date kiss, no hanky panky allowed! but a promise of later offered to the goldrider. Then, the only 'bad thing' that happened during the day, despite the many that were anticipated, comes to pass: the date comes to an end. |
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