Logs:Absence Makes The Heart...
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| RL Date: 28 November, 2015 |
| Who: C'ris, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys finally comes to visit C'ris. |
| Where: Tidy, Tiny Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 5, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Alida/Mentions, Lys/Mentions, Silva/Mentions |
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| It's possible that Quinlys has had Olveraeth on lookout, keeping an eye out for Mivength's return; that would certainly explain why it's no more than ten minutes later when the smaller blue approaches, hovering low beside the ledge rather than dislodge Mivength. « She's visiting, » he tells the other blue. « I won't intrude. » At least that gives C'ris a moment or two of warning before Quinlys strides her way in. "C'ris." It is best not to dislodge Mivength at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. Plague duty is even worse than regular drills for the dragon, and he's grumpy even before Olveraeth and Quinlys come near. He glowers for being disturbed even as he tells the other dragon dryly, « You already have. » But he's all talk, no bite, even as Quinlys strides past him, though he doesn't give his rider any notice. (Revenge for his choices.) It leaves C'ris in the middle of stripping off his shirt, caught on his head even as he greets quickly, "Quinlys." The shirt is pulled hurriedly down, not off. "Hey, uh. Hi." « I'll come back and get her when she's done, » promises Olveraeth, but then he's off: there are definitely friendlier places for him to visit! Quinlys' gaze, meanwhile, automatically drops towards what's visible of C'ris' bare chest, lingering there until, alas, it gets covered up and it becomes much more polite to meet his gaze instead. "I think I ruined the scarf you gave me," she blurts. "but it was an emergency. I needed Silva not to bleed everywhere and freak everyone out. Please don't be mad." "You-- ruined the scarf?" C'ris questions, but he is quick to listen to the rest of the explanation, his lips caught into a frown but softened with understanding. Because of course, this is C'ris and he is quick to add with easy reassurance, "Of course I'm not mad. I mean, is Silva ok?" "She's fine," Quinlys is quick to reassure, but maybe Quinlys isn't, because her gaze has dropped towards the floor, uncertain and unsure. "But I felt bad. Because it was a gift," and she was wearing it! "And I--" She falters. "I was worried about you." "No, don't. It's just a thing. I'll get you another one," promises C'ris quickly, worried brown eyes watching her even as he steps forward, closing the distance between them with only to squeeze her arm lightly in a comforting gesture. "I'm fine. I mean, the plague wing isn't-- I'm immune now. I can't get sick again. You still could, so--." Quinlys' eyes lift again. She sounds much more like herself when she says, "Well, you should get changed and cleaned up, then, and then it'll be safe for me to be around you." Is that a smug smile? Yes, yes it is. "It's getting better out there, though, isn't it? Fewer cases." She sounds hopeful rather than convinced. That reminder does have C'ris drawing away again quickly, reminded, as he steps back to his clothes press. This time, the shirt does come off, leaving his bare back to Quinlys as he starts washing up with the bowl and soapsand that's been left on top of his bureau. He answers carefully, "It's-- In some places, it seems to be. I've heard Fort and Southern Boll. And people are being careful; it's not spreading as quickly now." "That's good," says Quinlys, on an exhale. "I keep-- you're doing a good thing. I don't know if I could. If I'd step up, even if..." Even if she already knew she was immune. "And I'm glad you're safe. One kiss that could've killed me means you now owe me something more than that." C'ris' breath exhales slowly on that point, and the bluerider finally turns back with soapsand still unrinsed. "I-- I am so sorry, Quinlys. I could have killed you," he agrees quietly. "You or the weyrlings or anyone. That was the worst part of it all, knowing that I put everyone in danger." Quinlys' expression tightens. "That was a joke, C'ris. Don't beat yourself up over it." She draws her shoulders back, her posture straight and true. "It's not like you knew. It's not like you had any say in it at all. Although," she pauses. "Letting Lys stay for even a moment was a stupid thing to do. But-- don't blame yourself. Don't. I'm fine. The weyrlings are fine. And when all of this is over, we want you back." "I know and if I could have done anything to prevent it, but it still doesn't-- I can't stand that I put you in danger, when all I want is for you to be safe and happy," C'ris replies simply, helplessly. "That's all." But then he's turning back to rinse himself off quickly, adding, "And I would have thrown her and Alida both out, if I could have, but that seemed like a bad idea. And neither of them would listen to me." Despite his rather intimidating presence, right. "Alida too?" Quinlys sounds disgusted, but not surprised. Her hands get tucked into the pockets of her jacket as she strains up on her toes to gain some extra height, a gesture that doesn't seem to mean much; she shakes her head. "I am safe and happy, C'ris. You don't need to worry about me, even if it's sweet that you do." As he digs out another shirt (that worn, blue sweater, to be exact), C'ris only nods to the question. He draws the sweater over his head before he turns back around, all safely decontaminated (for the most part?) before he moves across the small weyr to be closer again, reaching only for her hand as he says, "I know I don't have to, that you don't need me or anyone. That you're fine on your own. But I do and I will, you know. And-- I am glad you were worried about me, too." Quinlys accepts that hand, twining her fingers through C'ris' in a gesture of something, something that is amplified as she squeezes. "I do know," she says, firmly. "I don't know if I get it, properly, but I know. And... it's kind of nice." She glances around, tearing her gaze away from him as if to get away from the discomfort of this niceness and says, abruptly: "You have a tiny weyr." C'ris seems satisfied with this simple gesture, with her words. And he doesn't press the subject, letting it slip aside as he casts a look around his weyr as if he's just noticing it himself. "Yeah. I mean, I guess. I took the first one they showed us when I was a weyrling, and I never thought about moving out," he answers with a hint of self-deprecating humor. "Mivength didn't want to spend all day looking around at empty weyrs." "Jadzia had a weyr with a bath, and she moved to Igen just before the plague hit... it's probably still empty. You're a hero, now; you did the right thing and helped out. I bet you could scoop it up." Quinlys' enthusiasm for this may be a little self-serving... but maybe not. She glances back at C'ris. "And if you're going to move, doing so before the weyrlings are ready for weyrs is probably a good idea." Beat. "I mean, if you want to. This one is cute." "I'm not-- I could ask, I suppose. Do you think I should?" is C'ris' thoughtful answer, his attention returning and settling on Quinlys with a hint of a smile for her enthusiasm. "I think," Quinlys says, giving C'ris' hand another squeeze-- perhaps she's not even fully aware that she's doing it, or even that she's still holding on-- "You should do what you feel comfortable with. If you're happy here, stay. If you want something bigger, or with a bath, or whatever, well, I think you can justify it." She may not be aware, but C'ris definitely is as the smile only grows warmer before he lifts their twine hands to press a soft kiss against her fingers. And with the gesture, he answers, "A bath would be nice. And something bigger, for visitors." Does his gaze flick, very briefly, to that small bed? Well, at least he seems a bit embarrassed by that thought as he gives one more glance around the room to cover it. "It'd be nice to get a weyr on the ground for Beastly, but--." A flush promptly suffuses Quinlys' cheeks, but she doesn't pull her hand away. It's probably that this embarrassment has nothing to do with what C'ris is embarrassed about. "You could ask," she says, of a weyr on the ground. "If there's anything available. Though... Beastly's doing just fine in the barracks." With all those weyrlings around, how could he not? "No one's eaten him yet, anyway." "Good, I'm glad. I'm sorry I haven't been around to take care of him, like I promised, but--. I'll come by tomorrow," C'ris promises now, firmly, as he offers a smile to the Weyrlingmaster. "I'll bring pastries." A pause. "How are the weyrlings?" "You've been busy. It's fine." He may make it back to the barracks to find that young Beastly now has his own little bed in the weyrlingmaster's office; how things change! Quinlys presses her lips together, and then smiles. "They've missed you. They're good. The older ones are flying together, now, and the younger ones are flying on their own. They're all safe; that's the important thing." A soft little sigh punctuates C'ris' answer of, "That's good. With everything else-- It's good that they're all healthy." Then, it seems as if he doesn't know what else to say, as warm brown eyes linger on Quinlys in a silent, thoughtful look. Quinlys' turn, then, to make a move: she leans in to kiss the other bluerider, drawing him closer with her free hand curled behind the back of his neck. Sure, he could pull away if he wanted to... but does he? C'ris doesn't. The kiss is met with the slow claim of his lips over hers, gentle and soft but not chaste. His free fingers curve against her hip, as if to keep her close in turn. Good. Good. Quinlys is not a chaste kisser; really, she's anything but, demanding her way as she aims to intensify the whole thing. When she draws back, ostensibly for breath, her eyes are gleaming. "Do you want me to go?" she murmurs, husky-voiced. "Or...?" His fingers press more firmly against her hip as she draws away, but C'ris answers with a low, regrettable, "I don't want you to go, no, but you should." His thumb brushes against her hip, dragging a pattern there before his hand falls away. "I still owe you dancing, and a gather, and a night where we don't have to worry about half of Pern." The low sound Quinlys exhales from the back of her throat is frustrated, but evidently not so frustrated that she will make any further attempt to wheedle her own way. Her hand withdraws from C'ris, and the other tugs itself free of his hands; she uses it to run fingers through her hair, and to nod, however reluctantly. "You do," she agrees. "And we'll do that. Next time... next time I won't give up so easily, all right?" But for now? Olveraeth is on his way back. "Neither will I," C'ris replies with a quick smile, his hand lifting to brush through her hair briefly after her, before he leans forward to claim one last, quick kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow." For once, Quinlys allows that kiss to be just that: the last, and quick. As she steps back, there's a pretty smug, contented expression on her face, and a nod. "Tomorrow," she agrees, stepping back further, and then turning to leave properly. Her chariot awaits. |
Comments
Alida (00:30, 29 November 2015 (PST)) said...
Da'aaaawwwwww... They're so damned CUTE together. ^^ That said, Quinlys really shouldn't be surprised that Alida did exactly what she wanted to do. ;D
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