Logs:Act One, Scene One
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| RL Date: 4 September, 2015 |
| Who: Roszadyth, Farideh, X'vin, Besmernyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: X'vin brings a very proddy Farideh a present! It goes like one might expect. |
| Where: Farideh and Roszadyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: NSFW. |
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| The weather outside is not rainy and muddy, and the orange-gold light from the setting sun dapples over the bowl, melding with shadows cast by low-hanging clouds. All is not quiet or still-- there's a glowing gold lounging on her ledge, composed and watchful of everyone within her domain. She's radiating coquettish sexual tension; not as aggressive in her charms as her dame. Inside the junior weyrwoman's weyr, it's a mess. Normally everything has a place, but there are books strewn around, multiple wineglasses literally different surfaces, and a trail of pretty dresses just outside of the bedroom entryway to well within. And in that bedroom, Farideh is standing in front of a tall mirror dressed in a silky negligee, holding up a lacy pink confection to her body, twisting and turning as she admires her reflection. She sighs and tosses that gown to the side, only to pick up another. A foreign bronze has been in the bowl since morning, when he appeared for the simple task of dropping his equally foreign rider off bipedal business, and was relegated to the arduous task of waiting to go home again. Or, well. It would be that way, what with the weather being cooperative and the sun hanging in the sky like so much relentless happiness, but there is something to dwell upon: the brightness of the junior gold, and the gentle radation of her mood against the frigid door of his mind. This, while X'vin goes about whatever business he has, and eventually returns to retrieve a package strapped to his lifemate's straps, share a moment of regard for Roszadyth's clear state before X'vin whistles his merry way to the weyrleader's complex with the box in hand. It's not hard to find Farideh, not with the help of a caverns girl and then the extremely helpful trail of dresses, his expression increasingly bemused but his manners ever intact. "Farideh?" he calls, stepping over one of the dresses so he's just inside. "Are you busy?" Besmernyth is noticed and greeted early in the morning, with a subtlety that is both coy and polite, but as the day wears and he's still thee, her interest is piqued; she's mindful of his proximity. One more buttercup yellow dress gets tossed in the pile, and Farideh's about to dive into another overstuffed trunk when X'vin's voice penetrates her awareness. Her head turns, eyes widening, and the smile that comes to her way is too easy. "X'vin," she breathes, delighted. "Did you come to see me?" There's insinuation in her voice, and no doubt about the source of the smugness of her smile as it stretches wider. He's a polite creature, Besmernyth, and a patient one, but once she's acknowledged him, then she'll find his attentions slightly more interesting. It's natural for his mind to be cold; it makes it more startling when his mind creaks like a door on bad hinges, squeaking as it cracks, and inside? The smells of fresh baking and warm drinks; promises of thick blankets and a steadily crackling fire. But he keeps his distance. X'vin does not, so much. Her call is invitation enough that he minces across the dress trail, careful not to tread on them and moving at least two off the floor entirely, "Yes. I brought you something, though it seems," wry, "you have plenty to choose from already, so maybe I'll take it back...." He isn't even taunting her; the box would be just perfect for a dress. His smile is always easy, and in this case a little bemused. "You look...nice." Curious though Roszadyth is, she's a sensible dragon, and the unspoken promises that Besmernyth offers do little to rouse her further. « Besmernyth, » is polite, social, but she's testing, trying to figure out this foreign bronze and his purpose; pursue, her? « What brings you all the way to High Reaches? » she asks, her bright, sunshine-y warmth towards the bronze's cold. "You did?" Farideh is further delighted, dropping the fabric she'd grasped between her fingertips next. "I don't have a single thing to wear," she pouts, hands on her hips, before one is held out and up, to receive the box he's brought. "You're just saying that," is not quite so convincingly underwhelmed; her mouth still curves appreciatively at him. Besmernyth is reclined politely in his own mind around those aromas. « My rider had a gift for yours; he thought to bring it today. » His presence is a coincidence, then, though he won't call it such. And coincidence or not, he warms from the inside out, even with the door cracked. Wisely, X'vin says nothing about the quantity of clothing she's strewn around like a human hurricane, or the quality of anything he's stepped over or moved. Surely, he's familiar with this sort of fickle demeanor. He is obliging in handing over the box, and his eyes linger on the negligee at her shoulders, her chest, before he takes a steadying sigh and relinquishes it entirely. "If it doesn't suit you, I'll take it back; it just reminded me of you, when you said you still miss home." Not here; the way he says it makes it clear he means Igen. Even so, perhaps prepared for her to be fickle, he notes, "I thought to ask you to the Hall myself, let you pick your fabrics and style, but Niahvth." Yes, it's her fault. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, though. You'd look stunning in nothing." Try again. "Anything." Inside the, the dress inside is periwinkle and gold, the upper bodice and sleeves diaphanous and fitted right down to the wide cuffs. It's not as light as those fabrics it takes inspiration from - not with Reaches winter so close, and snow so recent on the ground in the weyr - but it is a very close approximation, complete with a shawl that looks lighter than it is, embroidered with matching flowers in blue-and-white. There's little need for jewelry with all the craftsmanship, and even so, at the bottom a box with earrings rests. Accessories are the most important part, after all. The mood shifts as easily as a quartet changing sets, from light and casual to fast and sensual. Roszadyth takes note-- a gift bearer. She doesn't hide her delight in receiving a gift, even if it's only her Farideh, but then, Farideh is her everything and she rejoices in her rider's successes. « He did not have to, and yet he took the time. » She's appreciative. « Your thoughtfulness, how rare, Besmernyth, » is applause. "We shall see how good your tastes are," Farideh says, laughter in her voice, as she accepts the box and tugs off the lid; it could very well be innuendo, that statement. It's a delighted sigh that slips from her lips when she pulls the dress from the box and examines it, resplendent in Igenite fashion. "X'vin," she says, her eyes examining each facet appreciatively, "it's lovely." And because it's so lovely, she has no issues setting it, with the box, down on top of the mound of other clothes already discarded, so she can extricate herself from her negligee; modesty not present. "You know me so well," is, perhaps, perfectly timed with the silky piece of fabric hitting the floor, before she reaches for the gifted dress, again. « We do try to have manners, » Besmernyth observes, a cloud of mist condensing like a sigh. « I only wish I had more than my company to offer you. » It lacks the insistent press of a dragon ready to chase, the demand; just a silver-plattered offer without strings...yet. Company, as something tugs his strings from the quarter of Farideh's weyr. « But what need have we for objects, anyways? » X'vin's laugh is rich, plainly amused. "I have excellent taste. It comes with good breeding." Her sigh elicits a smile that is toothy white and openly (self-)satisfied. "Good. I'd hoped--" the rest of the sentence lodges in his throat, where he'll work to get it down as her minimal clothing becomes none, like the universe was listening and is granting wishes, today. Even vague ones, with no foundation. His sigh is meant to be steadying, the same way the dress serves as an apology she's meant to accept this time, and even so, dragging his eyes away is a struggle. "I know what I'd like to see you in, that's all." « Do you? » Roszadyth grows steadily more intrigued by the bronze, but she's reserved in showing it, by small and smaller degrees. « Good company is only what I would ask for, » the gold assures, « while flashy gifts are nice, Besmernyth, character interests me more. » She's playing with him now, with a tremor of jolliness and flirtatiousness underlying her gentle tones. "How is your family?" Farideh asks, lowly, with an arch of her brow and a wicked smile, but there's a dress to put on and she isn't oblivious to his stare. She puts it over her head, letting the material slide down over her body, before presenting her back to him, where the buttons need tending to. Sweeping her hair to the side, she cants her head to the side. "Everyday? In blue and heavy?" « It takes less effort than many would suggest. » Oh, she can tease, but Besmernyth is steady, the way a venus flytrap stays so very still until just the moment it needs to close. He is very warm now; someone could put the fire out and be none the worse for it. « If it is character, I'm happy to oblige you, young queen. Tell me what else interests you. » X'vin waves a hand, dismissive. "Busy. They're always busy, as I'm sure yours is. They're worried about -- well. That's not your concern, is it? Reaches' holds have their own problems about now." He doesn't sound terribly invested in either grouping of problems, however, as he watches her put the dress on - to another sigh, this one less forceful. He smoothes at the fabric around her shoulders, fingers grazing the back of her neck, a curl of hair, bare skin as he moves to the lowest with intention to fasten it, at a snail's pace. "Whenever you'd like. Blue and heavy today, yellow and flirty tomorrow. Maybe I'll get you another, to make you feel more at home. For each of your moods." A whisper of silks carries Roszadyth's captivation, and then she's bending, answering with a carefully cultivated attentiveness. « I find far too many things fascinating. I share my rider's love of beautiful things, » with flashes of exotic flowers, fabrics, and gems. « Travelling to far off places, listening to implausible stories, dancing, » not that she can dance, but her mind swirls and whorls, bringing to the fore the notes of a haunting harper's song and myriad bodies moving in time, illuminated by backlight. "Everyone's busy," has the ring of her usual petulance, but it's followed by a sunny laugh. "I suppose-- you might call an injured Weyrleader a problem, some might call it a blessing," yet her tone doesn't imply which she considers it; it's too airy. She's patient while he buttons her up, her own fingers flicking over and smoothing down the front of the dress, to sit where it should in the curves of her body. "You shouldn't spend your hard-earned marks on me, X'vin," is her only murmured comment, more of a verbal caress than an admonition. The warmth deepens benevolently under her attentions, his head finally lifting from his paws to truly watch the young gold. Her mind will not take him up so well, not in spinning delight, but it will kick up snow that dances away on silver moonlight before being barred at the warmth of the door. « I'm afraid I am not much of a dancer, but I have plenty of stories to tell you. Implausible - extraordinary - but true so long as you relish them. If you don't believe them, they fade away. » Farideh won't see the twitch of X'vin's mouth as he does the last button and runs a hand over her shoulder, smoothing the fabric as she does her skirts. "He's going to live, though," isn't a question. "And I can tell you, it's harder not having a proper weyrleader than it is having one who is more convenient when injured." He steps away from her, giving her just enough space to move. "I put my marks where they're best spent, and today that was on you. Now. Give us a twirl." His lack of enthusiasm for dancing is disappointing, but, still: « What kind of stories? » Roszadyth might be lounging lackadaisically on her ledge, feigning disinterest in that coquettish way of hers; his eyes on her brings her own, wide-set and inquisitive about this Benden-born bronze. "Yes, he's going to live," Farideh repeats, robotically, without much interest. "He gets to be at Southern, while we are stuck here." She's a self-proclaimed winter hater, but the weather isn't that yet. "With please," is laughed. She makes a slow turn in her ring of exquisite dresses, showing off the twirl of the pale skirt on this particular dress. "Blue is my favorite color, you know," the goldrider tells him when she comes to a stop, facing him instead of the mirror. « It depends what kind of stories you like, little queen. » Besmernyth is barely fooled, unwavering in his intensity. « Some of them will scare you; some might make you happy. I know stories about firebirds and witches, magic and heroines. Hounds and hearthstones. Lands stuck in winter and those where the sun is too bright. Do you want to be pleased, or thrilled? Or are you feeling melancholy today? » X'vin's laughter is throaty and low. "I suppose not. But soon enough he'll be back, and you'll have solidarity in being stuck in the same place. It's not so bad here, is it?" It's barely consolation, nor does he seem to be trying to console her especially as she comes to a stop in front of him, looking intently down at her, smile soft "I didn't. I'll keep it in mind. What were you getting dressed for, that you went through so many choices?" « I like all stories-- true and false, wild or tame. » Roszadyth's attention isn't mercurial, and she answers after the faint tick-tock of a clock signifies her thought process. « What story is your favorite? » Choosing the questions, wisely, for whatever purpose she deems. "Can we not talk about K'del?" Farideh says, cushioning her demand with a cat-that-gets-the-cream smile. "He doesn't matter," she sighs, her fingers experimentally exploring the designing on her new dress, down the sleeves and over the bodice. "Dressed for?" she asks and promptly laughs, a delighted sort of laugh. "I don't have anywhere to go," she pouts, "and nothing to wear-- didn't. I still don't have anywhere to go, but--" Her eyes flick over X'vin, brusquely, seconds before she turns back to the mirror, admiring her trim figure in the mirror again; priorities. The foreign bronze waits, ever patient, cold breaths against warm air at a level ccadence that falls into rhythm with her rhythmic clock. There are plumes of breath from jagged mouths filled with teeth, attached to lean bodies with jutting bones at the hips and arch of the back. « My favorite? Act one, scene one: pretty girl. » The story he begins is not a kind one: it's filled with magic and winter and witches who trick her, a handsome man who steals her away, keeps her warm when nothing else does. She is brave and clever, fearless by all accounts. The story is about love, though he doesn't use the word once. "We can talk about whatever you want." X'vin is very agreeable wih her there, watching her fingers, watching her with an expression that is very carefully schooled into neutrality. "You can't go anywhere," he says, sounding apologetic if he doesn't look it, and finally reaching for her, a hand sliding around her waist to rest there, not possessive. Suggestive in a flex of fingers. "Take it off. Save it for when we - you - have somewhere to go." Roszadyth falls for the trap-- romance? Idealistic at heart that the young queen is -- however much she tries to hide it -- she listens with bated "breath" and never interrupts. She's swept up and hardly notices the ending, though her spiral of warmth and sunshine, that twines, like a grosgrain ribbon, is ovation enough. « Wonderful. » Heavy-lidded eyes lift from her own reflection in the mirror, up to X'vin's face, her lips parting without words. Her fingers brush his hand on their way to her hips, settling, when she says, "Please." It's in reference to those buttons he just did up, which now need to be undone for the dress to go. There's a silver tongue in Besmernyth's muzzle, and his pacing for the tale is perfect: all the appropriate pauses and rhetorical questions, letting her savor relief when the girl esapes wolves, letting her hearts pound at the deliberate clip of words for shared kisses at the end, and he will wrap in that ovation with a sigh of pleasure. « I would tell you more, whenever you'd like. » Even now, the suggestion hangs. "Good," X'vin breathes, fitting his fingers to hers briefly. They're quicker in his favor than they were in hers, his free hand unfastening the buttons deftly and sliding against skin to push it off one shoulder. He dips his head to her ear, whispering, "Let me keep you company. Just for a little while." The gold's enjoyment of the tale doesn't fade easily, lingering in the dappled light and whisper of a laugh, that precedes her jovial, « I would gladly listen to your stories any day. Where did you learn them? » Farideh rolls the shoulder that get released first, shrugging it further down her arm, and nimble fingers lift to nudge the other side. "Only for a little while?" she asks, laughing seductively, her eyes slanting up to his in the mirror. "I'm not the same untried girl you had once," is a challenging reminder of their previous assignation. « I told you, » Besmernyth says easily, without a hint of trickery. He lets her sun fall on crystallized snow; it's beautiful that way, even if everything is still barren. « They're all true. I have a very good memory. » X'vin's lips touch her neck for a kiss, lacking in hesitation now. He helps, but is careful; the fabric is too easily torn for roughing it, even if he lets it bunch around his wrist as he pushes it down, laughing eyes meeting hers in their reflections. "Of course you're not. However long it takes then. However long you'll have me. Stop talking. Show me." And just in case she isn't inclined, he claims her mouth, and that is nothing but possessive. « With your own eyes? » Roszadyth hesitates, wanting sincerity, but not quire sure. Not one to be insensitive, she happily adds, « Yours is a quick mind, Besmernyth. Sharp. A good quality. » She makes it sound like she's sizing him up, weighing his pros, however kind and gentle she intends the compliment. It's not long before the fabric is down from her shoulders, arms, and easily pushed the rest of the way to the floor. "X'vin," rings of amused-tinged desire, but it's short-lived when Farideh's lips are as eagerly meeting his with familiarity; they're already acquainted. And that too, lasts only a short time, before the goldrider pushes him towards the bed, careless of the dresses strewn on the floor. Besmernyth's hesitation is to consider her wishes, and when he answers it's filled with sincerity. « In its parts, yes. I have told you nothing but truths. » Certainly he's seen brave, clever girls who've whisked away on wings of love, and wolves, and winter, and women with agency -- witches. « But it is not a story if I don't tell you just the right way. That is the art. » There is no special pride in her evaluation of X'vin, but the warmth pulses -- he knows who he chose. « Yes. He has his eyes on very great things; he knows the world as it should be. » They'll ruin the dresses, at least some of them, but X'vin doesn't seem to care so much now, not even about the one he's spent a pretty mark on. He doesn't talk anymore, more focused on getting her there. When they hit the edge, he sits, pulling her down into his lap with his hands on her hips, his mouth moving across her skin -- mouth, neck, throat, shoulders, chest -- almost reverently. Surprisingly, the gold has an invitation for Besmernyth, which is almost inevitable as they're both aware of where their riders are. Roszadyth is mildly amused, but flirty when she insists: « Will you share my ledge tonight, Besmernyth? It would seem you are not leaving tonight. » She would never imply anything bad about Farideh, and yet, there's a conspiratorial undercurrent to each suggestion. Matters more pressing than tidy dresses keep Farideh from exclamation or worry, her hands smoothing over his shoulders as she settles in his lap, hips flexing against his fingers. It's easy enough to divest him of his shirt, and a little trickier on the bottom half, but once there's nothing between them and it's skin on skin, she goes about showing him exactly what she's learned. Besmernyth doesn't seem particularly surprised, as it were, but he does have the grace to hesitate briefly, like either of them have face to save given the circumstances. « I could never turn down a polite invitation. » When does shift his weight in the bowl, it's to spread his large wings and glide to her ledge, landing lean and long with a light grace for his size. He isn't too forward in settling there, with a good view of the bowl, giving her space to take - or close - as she wishes. And as Farideh wishes, inside, too. Roszadyth's subtle sexuality has no place between them, even if it perhaps is better than what would happen were the gold more aggressive. He lets her do as she will - does as she bids, even, indulgent as he is. Eventually, he'll even wait for her to sleep, holding her rather than running off into the night as he did once before, though in fairness...she's worn him out. |
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