Logs:Unfinished Chances
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| RL Date: 28 August, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, Yesia, Tacuseth, Aeaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Taking some advice to heart, Jo stops by with gifts and a rare case of gentleness. |
| Where: Yesia's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Everett/Mentions, Canie/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Keysi/Mentions |
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| When Aeaeth's attention wanders, it is a minefield of technicolor, winding with and disengaging from mind after mind as she plucks them like guitar strings. The green who can't find the herdbeast she wants; the brown who is distracted by his rider's nervous attempts at flirting; the eldritch horrors that come from a blue low on the weyr wall and the feeling of Cadejoth's chains brushing through as he passes overhead. She leaves stains where she can; red wine here, blueberry purple there, grass-on-cloth green. And all it means is this: she is bored. When Aeaeth's attention wanders, she may find a certain blue with the deep, dark shadows seeking her out. His touch doesn't come until the end, the tendrils of his presence warm and inviting despite the chill of his shadowed mind and arena. « Sweets, » he greets, the dragon pleased to find her. « Mine would like to come visit. » And, in case that doesn't entice enough, there's the glimmers of an image of something shiny wrapped around rectangular-shaped boxes as he adds, « And I, too. She would like to try again. » No further images are sent. Mid-yawn, Aeaeth's rainbows catch the image and wrap around them, a gradient of color that accepts his suggestion and the option of a present, all at once. « She is working on her jewelry, » the green says, sending images: rings, trinkets, a couple woven necklace charms of thin metal and colorful stone. « Come visit me. I will tell her. » Which - of course - means no promises, but she will try. Tacuseth layers his shadows with her rainbows, creating a fine, balmy mist in the process as he goes over those images. « She has somethin' for her too, sweets, » he tells her, perhaps to help smooth over anything that should crop up. Humans like presents, too, right? Since Aeaeth gives him the greenlight, the bluepair lands lightly on the ledge and avoids the puddle. The blue positions himself so that Jo can dismount, the woman landing lightly as he did with a look towards the weyr proper as she reaches his side with the attached carrysack is. "How ya livin', Aeaeth?" she distractedly sends the green's way before looking, flipping up the carrysack lid and then quickly deciding against pulling anything out just yet. She walks over towards where the ledge ends and the weyr begins, calling out a brief, "Hey. Yesia." Aeaeth croons a low greeting and - Faranth help her - leans forward to nudge at Jo in welcome. Livin' good Jo. « I wouldn't bet that she can buy Yesia's... » Compliance? Forgiveness? Any number of things, likely, but she doesn't identify any of them overtly. « The puddle got bigger, » she laments for a moment, before, « I guess this means I'll have to sleep on your ledge when it is actually, really, truly rainy and wintery. » The curtain to the doorway has been drawn and tied back, and beyond it Yesia is sitting in the center of her bed with a wooden box open at the foot, and an array of items lain out meticulously around her. If she moves, they'll probably go everywhere, which explains her placid, "Hi, Jo. Was there something you needed?" Jo actually chuckles at the nudge from the green, her smile genuine as she reaches up to briefly rub around her headnobs. « She will try to smooth things over this time, » Tacuseth tells her, his voice and shadows a calm one. « And, yer welcome on my ledge anytime. No puddles there, and I have a nice place to sleep and watch the skies. » He sends images of the view from his ledge as Jo draws Yesia's attention, moving to lean up against the entrance as she watches the redhead with her things laid out all around her. There's a pause before she answers, "I wanted to see ya." The pause after it lingers, her gaze on her perhaps a bit intense before she looks away, straightens up and adds, "I've got somethin' for ya. For Aeaeth, too. Tac insisted," she adds on that last one with a roll of her eyes. "But, if yer busy, I can come back another time?" She now notes the position Yesia is in with her trinkets on her bed with a nodding gesture. "Snowdrift gives us time to work on our own hobbies," Yesia says by way of explanation. "There's other things, but I don't care much for them. Mielline lets us do a lot of things the other wings don't. It's just a chance to have hobbies." The emphasis on the final word makes that all a long-winded way of saying she's not busy, and she stops leaning over her hands, dropping them into her crossed legs, and finally lifts her eyes to Jo, eyebrow raising in tacit inquiry. « I love this ledge, » she notes, « but I don't know if I want to spend another winter outside. » Which, somehow, will not be repaired by Tacuseth's ledge. "Congrats on the tappin', darlin'," Jo states to what gets revealed about Snowdrift, her grin natural and genuine. "Glacier's the same way, despite bein' stricter when we're there together. Before I ask, though, lemme getcha what I got." She's gone before Yesia could stop her, going back out to the ledge and resuming her rummage into the carrysack to pull out 2 large, thin, rectangular-shaped boxes. The 'shininess' on both boxes is the ribbons holding them together, one box slightly bigger and thicker than the other and requires both hands. The bluerider makes short work of getting them out of the long carrysack and hefts both onto her arms, the boxes all grey and silvery with white ribbonry. As she moves them into the weyr and looks for a place to drop them, « Do ya like Snowdrift? » Tacuseth is eavesdropping and asking, sending his shadows of comfort to Aeaeth on ledge trouble. « Maybe there's a way to add somethin' to this ledge, » the dragon considers, which means it's something Jo must consider since he doesn't know ledge mechanics. « Somethin' you can get under. » "Thank you." There's something very controlled about the way Yesia's holding herself, the way she's speaking. It's not entirely natural by any stretch of the imagination. "It's a wing. At least they wanted me, and it's not Savannah. Or Glacier." That's more pointed. "I wanted to go to Iceberg, but I don't know what happened and I don't get to choose. Anything. Ever." Including whether or not Jo goes to get those gifts, but Yesia stays put, and is sitting there when Jo comes back in with them, but maybe waiting would have been beneficial because, "I don't need a gift." There is the impression of a shrug from Aeaeth, her wings flexing as she settles down in perfect crescent around the puddle, « That might be nice. I wish I could get inside. Yesia said there is no couch in there, and the door is too small, obviously. I think we got so excited that we chose the wrong one. » Someone sharp at observing people's body languages like Jo is easily picking up the careful tone, and the curious tilt to her head is there before she went out to get the boxes. Still, once back in and settling the boxes at an unused corner of Yesia's bed, "Glacier's ain' so bad," she notes casually as she balances the boxes there and still holds onto them. "'N, ya can always transfer if ya really wanted Iceberg. I haven' heard anythin' bad 'bout bein' under H'vier's leadership there. Ya ever considered transferrin', or yer gonna wait?" She straightens long enough to nod for Yesia to take the topmost box, and to the comment about not needing a gift, "I know. I wanted to. It's yer graduatin' gift, among other things." There's a pregnant pause as though she's searching for the right words, and then, looking at her, "I wanna do this right'n it feels right." There's a 'please' there, not spoken, but it's there in her eyes. It's obvious that she's never considered the possibility of having her gifts being turned down before they're opened. « Anythin' I can do to make it better for ya, sweets? » Tacuseth is ever the gentleman-dragon, settling down on his legs and watching her with whirling eyes. « I can't have ya this unhappy. » « I'm not unhappy! » Aeaeth is quick to assure, « I just don't like it when she doesn't see these things that are right in front of her. She went on a date, » is scandalized, « with a bartender. She brought him home. But he was better than Reisoth's. Maybe he is who she needs. She seemed happy. » And yet: dubious. Yesia shrugs in answer to all of it, noncommital. "H'vier said he would tap me. He didn't. I probably did something wrong." Beat. "No point in asking now. Miellene's good." She watches Jo approach, reserved in that uncanny way, not reaching for the boxes when they're set down; her hands remain out of sight in her lap. And for all she'll act the fool, Yesia isn't completely oblivious. Her sigh is resigned. "Fine," in response to an unspoken query, though she can't bite her tongue enough to hold back, "Not sure you know how to do it right." At the very least, she leans carefully forward, so as not to disrupt her trinkets, and tries to take the top box. Tacuseth is ever the listener for both dragons and his rider, agreeing with Aeaeth in, « When do they ever truly listen to us?" » as if he can remember. Still, hearing about another - another that Aeaeth speaks of making her rider happy - that draws a contemplative silence from the ever-crafty dragon. It's slow that he returns with, « Oh. If he makes her happy. It does seem like mine only seems to make her upset. » It's a thinning of shadows that shows he hasn't thought of that before, the blue not seeming entirely please by the prospect. « None of ya should be upset, » he believes himself, his tone uncertain now as Jo catches the words on H'vier with a dubious, "Huh. Maybe it someone above him, right? I noticed Glacier didn' get anybody, which I find strange." Still, she nods on Miellene, allowing a brief, "Yeah. Canie tells me she's a good wingleader," and then falls silent. It's almost awkward how she just stands there with the boxes, and when Yesia leans for one, the bluerider releases the top and sets the other one down on the floor. The words on doing it right earn Yesia a look, but perhaps she's learned to mind her dirty tongue. For now. Should Yesia untie the ribbon free from the box, there's something folded inside in pale pink. Unfolded, it's a dress, all in flirty skirt and roses on the front made with the same gauzy material that the skirt and the halter strap is made out of. It's a simple yet elegant and delicate cut, the right shade of pale pink making the dress worthy of a proper gather. (Reference) "There aren't many of us." Weyrlings. Ex-weyrlings. "I heard someone say they probably wanted to keep us in groups, so we weren't thrown into it. Except Keysi. She's barely one of us anyways. There is another shrug for H'vier and the proposed explanation, "It's probably just that, and nobody else wanted to go there." The unboxing is a simple thing, her fingers grazing the light fabric before she pulls it out and very carefully lays it in front of her. Poker player Yesia is not. A face that pretty emotes inadvertently, which is the likely explanation for why she dips her head back down, hiding the way her features instantly become delighted. She touches the flowers and sighs, sounding a little wretched. "This must have cost you a fortune, I can't. It's - you all have to stop buying me things. It only makes me feel worse." Which Aeaeth will amend with, « Oh, it's perfect! » for Tacuseth. « She will keep it. » It is better than talking about...that bartender. She's forgotten his name. "It's a smart move, actually," Jo seems to consider that with a single nod. "'N really, it's not like ya can't transfer if the wing doesn' fit ya. Happens all the time. My friend Canie's in yer wing, so, ya should say hi." Mostly, she's focused on watching Yesia's hands and her face as the box gets unwrapped, the neatly folded pale pink dress visible in its box from where she stands. Sharp gaze tries to study that hidden face, and she doesn't answer the greenrider immediately as she takes a step forward. Her words easy and yet careful, "I really hope it fits. It's...Yesia, this is....new for me." She admits it. She even looks a little uncomfortable and awkward standing there, admitting it in that low, raspy voice. "I wanna try again'n...I wanna get ya somethin' pretty cuz....I meant all I said. Before." Apparently fortune means little to that, and one look at her face could tell that this convict rider is currently out of her element and into new territory. To her last now, "It doesn'....ya don' like it?" she asks as Tacuseth still seems a little preoccupied - likely currently dealing with his rider. « It's a nice color, » he does admit his approval of it. « She wasn' sure if it would be something good. I told her to take a gamble. You should see yours, » or rather, his gift to his green 'sweets'. Yesia's laughter is a sharp bark, not a sob, but she's been an emotional enigma since Aeaeth's flight regardless, so it might be easy to mistake it as one. "It's perfect," she corrects, although the requisite is still that it has to fit her, "which is why you can't buy me things that I need to give back but don't want to." Her emphasis is pointed, but when she moves it is to draw the dress up to her chest like she's hugging it; however this goes, the dress will stay, apparently. Aeaeth does a minimal amount of preening for the echo of her assessment, with a pointed look to her blue companion. « Like I said. But also, like she said, » with some degree of reservation, sweet and not agitated in the way Yesia seems to be, « you don't have to bring us gifts. I, for one, do just fine with good company. » And roaring crowds, and someone she can nudge very close to, flicking her tail over his, flirtatious or affectionate -- or flippant. To Yesia's response, some of the charming Jo returns through the lopsided smile that curves her lips. She reaches the bed and draws one finger along the dress's soft pink material, "'N how am I to show ya that I like ya other than to take ya to bed like I want to?" It's an honest question despite how that 'like' could easily be interchangeable with 'want'. It's at least a touch suggestive rather than something crass and blatant. Then, after a pause as her voice turns more serious, "I don' like upsettin' ya, darlin'," she admits, alluding to that upsetting her, too, lately. It's also, suspiciously, an apology. « Company's nice, » Tacuseth can agree, and there's an odd sort of relief in his shadows as if something had been resolved for the moment - likely something between dragon and rider since Aeaeth has his full focus once more. « But nothin's wrong with a little giving every now and then. We're good for it, sweets. We even know a place for this company! » His wedged-shaped head angles towards her, his one eye on the missing box still inside the weyr. "Did you seriously buy me a dress to get into my pants," is not even a question. It's that queer sort of deadpan statement Yesia has really gotten good at, still holding that dress up like she is picturing it on. Eventually she lays it flat in front of her again, saying very slowly, like she's explaining to a child, "You show people you like them by caring about - about their personalities, and their goals and their dreams. You ask about their hobbies and their days and you have fun together, and when you really care I hear the days without them are harder to get through." But she doesn't know; she's an untried child. "And then, the sex comes and it's all those things bundled together. Unless there are dragons involved." Quinlys would be proud of the diplomacy with which she presents these facts: even and cool, and maybe a little detached. So detached, in fact, that outside Aeaeth curls up against Tacuseth and nuzzles her head beneath his chin, like she might block it all out. « What's in my box? I don't know if she's going to open it. » Fret fret. "I didn' buy the dress to fuck ya," Jo is direct in saying, watching her hug the dress to herself. "That's not even who I am. I know I'm...a lot of things, but..." it trails, taking in the rest Yesia says and not interrupting her. It's only when she's done that she steps close to the bed with her lips pressed together before she responds with, "I've been wantin' that'n tryin' to, but....ya don' really make that easy, darlin'. I wanna get to know all those things 'bout ya'n take ya out. I wanna see ya wear that dress'n maybe dance with ya'n make ya smile. I wanna know all the things ya like'n yer dreams'n what ya wanna do now that ya have the freedom to fly. 'N yeah, I'm rough around the edges," she admits with a nod and a slight shrug. "It's not like anyone's ever courted me before, or I ever courted anyone. I'm interested in the fact ya make jewelry. I'm interested in you. That's not just yer tits'n what's between yer legs." If she can be honest. Nodding towards the dress, "I bought that cuz' I wanna take ya out in it," she states, watching her. "If ya want me to. I won' even try'n fuck ya." Which really, is probably a big step. Tacuseth drapes his head against Aeaeth's, his content with just being with her strong as he sends, « Those straps to help keep yours in place, » comes his answer. « It's pink. » It isn't often that Yesia really listens, attentive and bright eyed and focused. Ask any of the weyrlingmasters, who had to deal with her bored, glazed expression through lessons she felt weren't worth her time, or any of her peers when they tried to tell her anything. It makes it more poignant, then, when Yesia draws her gaze up from the dress to look at Jo, intent, her brow furrowed in half-warning as the bluerider advances. But she listens, actively, and her expression softens in stages as Jo winds down. And there's silence, long enough that she might not answer at all, might be driving Jo away with silence, then, "It is the perfect dress for dancing." Pink straps? Her mind absently flicks through every variation it could be: magenta, mountbatten, cerise, carmine, slamon, persian, hot hot pink. « Wait for it, » she says through them, angling her head so she can peer inside, waiting for a fallout. That she's listening is good. Jo doesn't advance further, keeping space between them. She continues to study Yesia as much as Yesia listens, her body far from relaxed but at least not as taut as a bowstring. That the greenrider hasn't cut a scathing word her way or thrown her out is probably noted heavily. Even if the silence amps up the tension in the weyr between them, the bluerider at least has the sense not to run. That she does finally speak, "I bet it looks amazin' on ya," she breaks her own silence to comment, one corner of her mouth lifting once more. "I reckon ya smilin' in it would light the whole floor in the damn place." Well, it's not poetic, but Jo's not a harper either. Meeting her gaze fully, "I wanna get to know ya," she injects as much sincerity as she could, her voice lower and roughened like whiskey. "I want ya to get to know me. See that I ain' so bad as I seem. You control how this goes, darlin'. I'll follow ya lead. It can be as slow as ya want it." There's a pause before she adds, "Even if it's platonic, baby." Tacuseth seems to try to figure out what kind of pink the straps are, but he's clearly failing. « It's kind of dark? » he considers, but Aeaeth's drawing his attention within, his own touch as he keeps close to the green curious. For now, he seems to be giving his rider her space. In matters of space, Aeaeth's mind is almost wholly present there, with Tacuseth on the ledge and not drifting too far into Yesia's thoughts at present, but she tries a pink at Tacuseth again absently: deep pink with purple mixed in, darkening it to something like watered red wine. Just a guess. For Yesia, it is maybe the culmination of all Jo's said that convinces the line of her shoulders to soften and the stand-offish tilt of her head to neutralize: even if it's platonic. Not that the compliments don't help soften her too; the way to her heart is through that, it seems, because the left side of her mouth has quirked up a little bit, however narrow and suspicious her eyes might be above it. Soon enough, that melts too. The greenrider concedes eventually. "I wish Aeaeth hadn't rose so early, so you can have another chance." Grinning with a twist as she briefly looks down at the floor for a moment, "So, that chance is off the table?" Jo has to ask, watching the culmination of her responses in body language as well as words. "Will I ever get to take ya out?" Tacuseth considers the pink sent his way, musing over it just as absently as Aeaeth does before he chooses to lessen the purple's presence in it. « That's a nice color, » Aeaeth says, simultaneously to Yesia's pat response of, "This is the last one. And you keep your hands to yourself, and if you're mean, I'll use my freedom to fly anywhere to leave and never, ever talk to you again, even if you end up in the same wing as me and I have to be next to you in formation." « I think I'm gettin' the color wrong, » Tacuseth consider, his mind tone actually colored towards sheepish. « That was never my strong suit. It took them a long time to make the color, though. I don' think straps are suppose to be that color. We got a weird look, mine says. » Clearly. Pink straps. The tension in the weyr is so heavy one could cut it with a knife. That Yesia answers the way she does - that first line first - maybe she can catch that brief puff on exhale from Jo before there's a slightly visible release of tension from her shoulders. "I won' fuck it up," she vows quietly, shaking her head slow. Once. "I won' give ya reason to wanna fly away, darlin'. If yer willin', then so am I." There's a grin at the end of that before she finally does remember the other box and gestures at it, adding, "For Aeaeth. They're straps. Pink ridin' straps." Considering the adjustments with half her mind, Aeaeth says, « I am going to make her open them. I want to see them. I want to see how they look against me. » Her very particular, very specific, very pale green; she is nothing if not vain, and this is probably the most enthusiastic a dragon has ever been in the history of Pern to put on straps for any other reason than because they're necessary. Truly, it will be wonder later if she ever takes them off. "I bet I could find someone who wants to stab you," threatens Yesia, and it can't be anything but precious coming from her, all innocent long ringlets and fierce expression. She's content to not linger on the details, not now, not as the tension in the weyr melts to something bearable, and Yesia's ferocity melts to -- bemusement? "Straps? How do you get pink straps?" She's very careful in leaning forward for the second box, as careful as the first, and outside Aeaeth squirms. And squirms, and is forced to wait because Yesia's not taking that seriously, clearly expecting it to be something not pink straps. Aeaeth, then, has to wait as Yesia says, haltingly, "I had -- uh. I made this thing, for practice. It's nothing special. For you, I guess, but then," that handwave that is meant to indicate everything revolving around Aeaeth's flight. She's not reaching for anything as she speaks. "It's stupid, though." Better to open the box, as a form of distraction. On finding someone to stab her, "Ya wouldn' have to look far, or long," Jo is oddly neutral in delivering an answer to that, the slight frown marring her features. "'Sweetheart' is definitely not a name folks ever described me as." She'll nudge the box forward without having to bend down and invade her space - perhaps she's taking the 'hands off' rule to heart - as she answers on the pink straps. "Ah, I know folks that travel," she explains. "Good with leather. It was a strange request so they looked at me funny. I mean, comin' from me, anyway," and there's an amused soft snort given there. "It's the dye that took the longest though." Should she open the box, the leather straps would be there and dyed like she explained, in a hue of pink that's a brilliant shade to be sen easily, darkened at the edges. Tacuseth adds, « I'm hopin' to get blue ones, » he admits for himself to Aeaeth as Yesia speaks on a gift, the bluerider straightening from her lean and clearly not expecting that. "For me?" she echoes, eyes narrowing slightly as she tries to search the redhead's face. "Can I see it?" Aeaeth has lifted her head to crane it, angling her head so she can see directly into the weyr and spot a glimpse of those straps, before the rest of her mind disappears to share Yesia's eyes. « You're the best at gifts, Tacuseth. The very best. Thank you! » Even when he gave her an empty basket. And of his own straps, there's a moment before, « But....you're already blue. You...should get something else. Something that looks nice against your hide. » She thinks on it, and what comes up is purple. Trust her; makeovers are her thing. Yesia's own thank you is softer, her fingers working across the supple leather to the contrast of the straps. "It's stupid," is of her own work. "Aeaeth thought the rock looked like Tacuseth is all, and I needed the practice. It's not any good." No, go away, you can't see it. Tacuseth's eyes whirling with pleasure, « Just a lil' somethin', » he sends Aeaeth, laying his head back down near hers. « Glad'ja like it, though. I agree, though, » he adds, harkening back to something the green said. « I prefer company best, too. Purple, huh? » He'll even provide her a dark shade of it in askance, set against the color of his hide. Honestly he does need the advice. When Yesia thanks her, the brief incline of her Jo's head is given in return along with, "Glad ya like'm. Yer welcome." She looks over what she can see of the trinkets spread out over the bed before she addresses the last with, "I doubt it's stupid. It's obvious ya gotta knack for it. Maybe one day ya'll let me see it finished up. If it looks like Tacuseth, I think he'd even get behind noticin' it. He's not into anythin' 'less it has to do with water or sand." Yesia seems to be considering the box, which is stacked in levels and filled with trinkets, rings, unfinished weaves of thin rope in intricate patterns, but Jo's last has her hesitating. "It was just practice," she repeats apologetically, a little self-conscious, setting the straps aside and lifting one of the layers, then another one. Fishing through the the pieces there, the greenrider eventually comes up with a stone that - yes - resembles Tacuseth quite a lot, even wrapped in thick bronze trappings in intricately woven curls. It's flanked with tiny blue orbs in the curls, with a thin chain of that same bronze, weathered handsomely. It fits in her palm with room to spare, but she holds it out by the chain to Jo. "It's not sand. Or water," all that apologizing without saying sorry, until, "Sorry." (Reference) Jo studies what she can of the work that surrounds Yesia on the bed before she finds the greenrider fishing out the necklace. Sharp dark eyes take in what she can see from where Yesia holds it, and then in silence, she takes it by chain from her to have it close to her gaze before letting it fall to the palm of her hand. Then, there's a shy smile that peters out, faltering and coming back, as if the smile itself was at war with the aloof masks she usually has in place. It's all in silence that she doesn't speak, in end lifting the chain and carefully working it around her neck so that it settles just above her half-hidden cleavage before finally meets Yesia's gaze. "I like it," she finally says, looking back down to arrange it on herself. "I like the way it's made. Unfinished. Kinda like me'n him." Looking at her, her gaze steady, "Thanks, darlin'," she says, that curious smile touching her lips. "I think Tac'll like it all the same. He seems to like ya'n Aeaeth rather well." Which is curious, apparently, for her making note of it at all as she fingers the curling metalwork on the pendant. "Don't -- it's not done," because it's not, and it doesn't belong anywhere but back in the bottom of her box until she can finish it. Even so, she still stays right in the middle of the bed, hyper-aware of all those tiny threads of metal and little stones and gems, unwilling to disturb them to stop Jo from claiming it. It was, after all, a gift. "I'll make you something better, maybe, someday. That's just...toying around with something." Aeaeth sighs, settles, her mind having done that slow whirl through colors to land on purple again, really considering: this is the fate of the world, after all, so, « Purple. And mine pink, and Yesia in her dress and yours with her necklace that does remind me of you. And all in good company. » Finally. A hand covering over it despite it being already being hidden by black leather, "I'll wear it 'till the next one comes along," Jo says, that slight lopsided grin in place despite its tentativeness. Nodding towards the other trinkets there on the bed that Yesia was working on, "I guess I'll leave ya to yer work." Hand slips from the pendant and she starts to back up towards the ledge, and when she gets halfway, "I wanna see ya again." It's bold, maybe, the 'hope' easily interchangeable, but then, she wouldn't be Jo otherwise if not for her boldness. At the same time, that seems to be all she says once she reaches the entrance towards the ledge where Tacuseth finally rouses and stretches from his cuddling with Aeaeth. Having seen the necklace through Jo's eyes, « I like the color, » he does appreciate, giving her a gentle bump as he prepares for his rider to mount. « I like this. » Them, everything. Better. "Sure." Unmistakable relief, though the reasoning must surely be the awkward tension, even as it's lessened. Still there. It's a bedfellow. Yesia leaves that alone as answer: sure, keep it until something better comes along. Sure, you leave. Sure, we'll see each other. It's as good a word as farewell with a better run of implications. She lifts a hand in a short wave that will see Jo to the exit, and then she slouches down over her things. Aeaeth, ever put out, wouldn't accept this interruption from anyone else, and even now sighs. « Fine, » she says, definitely bummed, but, « Me too. I like this a lot better than that. » No supplementary images accompany the statement. Just a flash of royal purple as a reminder. « I'll come visit, next time, » she promises, settling prettily in the fading afternoon sun. Jo seems to take that answer for all, sending Yesia a deep nod of farewell and brief, "Next time, then." She turns to face the ledge and heads on out towards her waiting blue, sending little, saying little as she closes up shop with the carrysack and mounts. Tacuseth slips a wing briefly over Aeaeth as he turns to drop from her ledge, his shadows lingering longer than he does as he takes his lady away with the regret of not being able to stay longer. « I look forward to it, » his answer lingers in the space he occupied, poured in with all the anticipation of a man waiting for his paramour before the last tendrils of his desert shadows fade from her mind. |
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Comments
Squishy (17:25, 30 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Aww. So cute.
Everett (18:32, 30 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
So cute. So terrifying.
Alida (20:57, 30 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Alida is going to be floored when she learns Jo has a thing for YESIA. 'Of course Jo can have feelings for someone! But... YESIA?!?' Omg - asking for trouble - YIKES! ;) :D
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