Logs:Not A Gambler, Except When She Is
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| RL Date: 17 November, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, N'rov |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Shani (Brieli) and Iesaryth are at Ista, which is Not Home. N'rov and Vhaeryth are not so much about home themselves. |
| Where: The Lucky Seven, Ista Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, E'ten/Mentions |
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| The tide slips out again, not as dark and stormy as of late - the waters are quieter and calmer, the clouds mostly gone, the sound of the ocean oddly echoed. There's warm sand and bright water and little else where Iesaryth is, and she's feeling particularly at peace, so far from cold and home - where there is mainly work and irritation and a growing /resentment/. She's content now, though; curious what Vhaeryth is doing. She is of the opinion that he /could/ be enjoying the beach. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) /Not/ a good time. He's tight, protective, mirroring her away from what's inside and beating to get out: not antagonistic, more like one human steering another by the shoulders from what she shouldn't see. It's not personal, or at least it's not /him/. But he has to focus. Soon, perhaps. He remembers liking that. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) To Vhaeryth, Iesaryth might be surprised by that, a little spray of foam betraying it as she senses the redirection almost before he does it, the waters slipping back and away. She's always been understanding of what one might hide, given the secrets she holds; she doesn't fight it but she does linger, only where she won't distract, the sound of the ocean a whisper. But she is /concerned/. There's less of that beating now, that agitating, that struggle: more somberness, another struggle, this time to walk away on shaky ground. Before it gets worse. Again. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) She's paying attention still, but from a distance - the trace of salt water is borne on the winds, his way, meant to be comforting. Meant to support him the way he does her; she doesn't always have the energy he does, but she has strength in her own quiet way. She's glad to lend it, even if it's not /him/, it affects him, and she cares for that. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) It's later, considerably later, forever! Or, well, roughly an hour. /Now/ Vhaeryth seeks Iesaryth out, is again in the air (can she feel it?) and has the invitation: « Distract me. » He's sure she has her ways. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Forever! Maybe not so long for her, but Iesaryth has distractions, if Vhaeryth is in need. There's the reflection of the moons on the waves far from shore, light shining over them until they crash on the dark Istan sand and die; there's her busy fish further under the waters than usual, but still flashing bright; there's the warmth of the sea air that relaxes her and her rider both, even if one of them isn't thrilled about what the humidity is doing to their hair. There's Shan, too - the sense of being inside and overly pleased with herself, and maybe the fuzziness of drinking there, blurring the edges of thoughts. « Should I go on? » Her distractions could be his, perhaps - if he's flying, maybe he can come to her? Or, if she can distract her rider (rather than /help/, as she has been), they could go elsewhere. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) « Go on swimming, » Vhaeryth determines, quick and even playful. Certainly there's a place where she's left her straps, a place that she trusts to keep her straps safe? (He and his are careful about that much, even now.) The warmth, the fish, he homes in on them where they're sharp: one jump to Ista prepares for straight flight, following her cues. (Better to keep /between/ to a minimum, just now.) Sea-warmth, other-fish, but no fuzziness for Iesaryth herself? Yet. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Iesaryth's not swimming, not /yet/, but it's easy enough to find her still, a bright spot lounging in the sand on one of the island's quieter beaches. And yes, she made sure of /that/, before her rider left, for who knows how long she'll be, in the mood to be /away/ from the Reaches and its problems and their /responsibility/. It weighs on them both, worries them, but there's little time to think, only /do/. But not here, not just now. When she can spot Vhaeryth in the skies, she pulls herself to sitting indolently, rustles the sand from her wings - and to get his attention. Here she is. « I'll wait for you. » She's in no rush. No? Perhaps she could be (should be?) soon. Away from all the... but no, they needn't so much as /think/ of /that/, and Vhaeryth pushes it away as he does the wind, only the wind is friendlier by far. She's getting his attention, he can feel by those gestures that he's got hers, and so he descends in flamboyant figure-eight swoops that anyone could see lead only to one destination. His rider's less with the showing off as he dismounts, right before Iesaryth where Vhaeryth's put them both, but there's an amusement breaking through the darker humors as he sees to the bronze's straps. Vhaeryth will lounge afterward, it's no great hardship, but now he's got to go, go, go. Won't she come? Or will she /watch/. She agrees; no thinking of anything bad or awful - they're far away and mostly alone, uninterrupted by any of the issues that fly away with the wind, pushed just that easily. And Iesaryth, though she's not one for being showy, can be impressed (and amused as well) by Vhaeryth's decent, and maybe just a little /pleased/. When they land, she's a rumble for them both, though she watches his rider during all the strap-removal - probably passing along anything hers might want to know. So they can go, she offers the bronze the path through the jungle to the tavern for his rider, where it's loud and there's drinking and Shan is playing at something that requires Iesaryth's attention more than she'd like. And then, she'll go, she'll come - even if she's slower about moving into the water than he ever will be. Then they'll go, swim, play, and this is no competition to see who's fastest in the /water/: sometimes it's just to see what they can do with the water and what the water can do for them, and for once, water that isn't /theirs/. Either of theirs. N'rov will take far longer with merely human strides. He doesn't run. He stays on the path. He swats, too, the occasional insect that's inclined towards bronzerider snack. But he's smiling, a little, just before he pauses at the tavern's entrance and the human lights and the human noise and all the /people/. He waits to enter until he's gotten that smile back, or rather a version of it, designed for human consumption. And then, of course, seeking out Aishani is no hardship at all. Water that's warm besides - not that cold water is all that bad, but the warm ocean just /feels/ nicer, more amenable to flowing freely. And not /theirs/ is a relief she shares, is glad he's come to share with her. Once the bronzerider's decided to face the people and all else that comes with them, he'll find a reasonably crowded and lively tavern, a few tables full, a group drinking near the corner of the bar. Aishani's ditched her jacket with Iesaryth's straps, it seems, as bright a spot as the gold in a short white dress, sitting with long legs crossed in a way that everyone at her table can get a look, sandal dangling from one foot. It's a distraction that seems to have worked well for her, as she's in the process of gathering some winnings, looking terribly apologetic. Yes, just a shame that she has to walk away right now. So sad. Any of the other players that seem less-than-pleased are perhaps more so when the dark girl glances up to catch N'rov's entrance and offer him a brilliant smile for a welcome. Sucks to be them. It's a fleeting thought (of course he did, of course he would...) that is the bronze's reply, just before the ocean swallows them up. By the time her rider looks up, his has been watching for a little while, a beer appeared in one hand through the magic of one of those particularly solicitous tavern maids who knows how to earn her marks. The smile he gives /her/ is more bemused, congratulatory even, an assortment of things that she can read where others might only see a white flash of approval. Of course he walks over to join her, adding once they're close, "I hadn't wanted to interrupt." "And I was going to buy you a drink," Shani says, all disappointment, though dark eyes are bright on him when she looks up. She might even feign a pout. As she pushes back from the table, rises (with sandal firmly back on her foot), "Your timing is, in fact, perfect. I was just telling everyone I had someone to meet, and here you are." She's quick to offer her farewells and take the bronzerider's arm, leaning on his shoulder as they start away. Quietly, "I think I'm a little drunk." Which means she totally is, which means she wasn't kidding about his timing. "You can buy me the next one," N'rov tells Shani dryly, more humor kept back in his eyes, and turns just enough to nod towards the others in friendly fashion: if he's going to take the pretty woman who's taken all their winnings, at least he'll be congenial about it. Lower, not too much so any listeners-in can get a smirk out of it, "I'm surprised you've got anywhere to /put/ all those marks." Lower yet, now that they're some distance away and he's pressed a light kiss into her hair for the 'little' drunk, "Who was the backup plan?" At least he sounds amused. As if she's offended, "I have a little pouch." Dangling from one finger now, rather than from her belt or somewhere else safer. "But if you want to check to make sure there's nothing else hiding..." Shani won't mind, not at all. Closing her eyes, smiling at that kiss, it might be easier to detect the flush on her cheeks now that they're closer, and further away from the tables and the crowd. Perhaps surprisingly, "Oh, I didn't really have one. I thought something might come up, and it did." That's said lightly, but there's concern in her expression, eyes questioning - what's going on? "Are you all right?" Of course he looks, gives the pouch an agreeable whistle even. There's a firelizard watching too: /currently/ well-behaved on a burly man's shoulder, but if she's going to taunt it like that... "I think I should," N'rov determines. "Check. As a safety measure. You understand," and he takes a deeper pull from the beer with his free hand, getting further toward the goal of getting rid of the glass and then swinging her over the threshold and out. "I'm better. /Been/ better, but still: better." It doesn't mesh with the pretty girl and the concern where there hadn't been some before, and so he doesn't linger on it. Instead, for her entertainment, "Remind me not to play strip poker with you." There's a low, pleased sound from Aishani before she looks up through dark lashes, murmurs, "I understand." That might be why she's not all that resistant to getting out of there, drink owed or not. She doesn't even /try/ to mess with her belt right now, just tucking the pouch into one of N'rov's free pockets. There. And if he keeps it, she knows where he lives. Not quite drunk enough to miss him bypassing the question, she purses her lips before, first, "Why would I remind you of /that/? And I think you might know me too well. And be more resistant to my attempts at distraction." Then, careful, "You don't want to talk about it?" If not, no more questions. "That assumes I'd want to be resistant," N'rov points out, once he's eyed just where she's put that pouch, his brows raised that little bit... but not in complaint. Since they're stalled for the moment by a 'hen night' group bustling in, "I don't /want/ to talk about it, but: just got into it with a certain clutchmate, the one who ditched me to play wingsecond." No names, it mightn't just be the firelizard who'd like to listen, but enough for her to put other conversational scraps together: the clutchmate he hasn't been referring to recently, the grumblings about a certain wingsecond, the flat reference to a new one being tried on for size. Ruefully, "Harder to yell at a man when he apologizes... or cries," this with a sideways look at Aishani for a certain anecdote /she's/ told. "There's that too," Shani can allow. "I don't really see the point of strip poker, to be honest. Delaying the inevitable?" At least, in their case. Most of the time. The women might get an impatient glance, but she's more focused on him, and what he's telling her; it draws fine brows together, makes her glance up to gauge his expression. She'll wait until they're outside to speak - and to slide arms around his waist in the sudden dark. With an edge of frustration, "Isn't it? Even if not much /changes/." Once that's done with, she has a lingering kiss for his cheek before she whispers, "I'm sorry. That's the last thing you need." A pause before, "If I haven't told you I think what you did deserves /something/, I should have. The right thing doesn't come easily to everyone." Her, for example, but no need to voice that. "Tell her you'll give her something to cry about?" N'rov mutters, at the moment not entirely joking, but it seems he'd rather not talk about her clutchmate any more than his. There must be a tree to lean Shani up against as promised, after all, one without stickers or sap or the wrong kind of moss: that white dress practically glows in the dark. That /short/ white dress. "Thank you," he says finally, and runs his hand into her hair to try and guide her next kiss closer than his cheek. "You're... just about the only one. Though I haven't mentioned to people that it was /us/. Shani. It kills me when they act as though all we're doing is making trouble, and talk about /reputation/ when," he pushes back. Enough. Wryly, "I appreciate it, anyway. Appreciate /you/." That makes her laugh, low and soft. "Maybe I should." Shani isn't seeming too concerned about her short white dress and what a tree might do to it; she'll find one if N'rov can't and pull him against her besides, with another quiet pleased sound, less a laugh than a /purr/. Her next kiss is easily guided to the corner of his mouth, then his lips, slow, but certainly /insistent/. "Reputation matters, but being able to live with yourself, your choices - that's more important." Her tone might be a little wry at the end there - can she live with her choices? - but she touches his cheek and murmurs, "I don't like that I'm the only one." But only in that specific sense; that's there in a sudden, amused smile that dissolves before another kiss. Before; "Appreciate me, then." There's a very specific sense to that as well, one that's quickly apparent - and probably no hardship for him. Or for her.
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