Logs:Combo Breaker
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| RL Date: 4 July, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Faryn and T'mic finally get some Alone Time. Yep. |
| Where: Hot Springs, High Reaches Area |
| When: Day 1, Month 3, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Damn, cold. |
| OOC Notes: Surprise, SFW! Please feel free to edit, I'm posting on fumes. |
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>---< Hot Springs, High Reaches Area (TP Room - HRW) >-----------------------< Even further north than the Weyr itself, a short flight between crags and over crevasses that even a wing-scarred veteran of Fall might undertake, a cluster of clearings lies low in the shelter of hardy trees and ancient stone. The outer two clearings might have been lost to more stubbly trees Turns ago, if it weren't for the centre-most: a natural pool of warm, softly bubbling water several dragonlengths across, with enough space for perhaps a half-dozen people and their lifemates. Though the air is cold all Turn round, and snowdrifts frequently whiten the ground, the geothermal activity heats the mineral-scented water to such a consistently comfortable heat that it becomes a refuge for those who don't wish to travel further afield to wash their dragons. Of the clearings that abut the spring, the nearest is only a few steps away, though it's small enough that only a few dragons can lounge at once. A steep trail descends to its substantially larger neighbor, a gravel-strewn crescent with enough space to spread out and enjoy the crisp air and the mountain range's admittedly spectacular views. There are hot springs. Faryn's delight when she finds out is palpable, if restrained, and the reasoning is plain enough: it's sharding cold, with the lowest levels of the lake freezing regularly, and if she's a drama queen about nothing else she is a drama queen about that, bundled and nestled in knit caps and gloves and approximately six sweaters under her jacket. That she can move her neck is astounding. "What other secrets do you get when you're a rider?" she demands when Jorrth lands and lets them off at the springs, putting her hands on her hips and looking almost affectionately at the steaming water. "Uh," says T'mic, looking over his shoulder from where he's busy freeing Jorrth from his straps. They're still the adjustable ones, but new ones? New ones are in progress, in their weyr. Soon. "Lots," is all he winds up with, though he tries. "Maybe I'll tell you some. When you're ready." It's not even a mock persona that the big bluerider does well at pulling off, shrugging once the straps are clear, and sweeping his own toque off. Jorrth heads straight for the water. Oooh, warm. Jorrth's got the right idea, as far as Faryn's concerned, but the process of getting out of those sweaters is -- well. Somehow more time-consuming, is what. She's half-stuck in one of the sweaters (there can't really be six, can there?) for T'mic's attempt, her response is muffled from it: "When I'm ready? What even constitutes that?" "Dunno," T'mic says, speculative. "It's one of those gut feelings, I think. When you're ready, we'll know." He nods, and pulls his (one) sweater up and over his head, with little to no trouble. It's got a big neck hole, see. "Guess I'm just gonna have to keep showing you. One by one." A sidelong look. "As you get readier." And then the grin. Jorrth is probably not listening. Jorrth is enjoying feeling that almost melting feel as warm water creeps up and over his ridges. Mmm. Faryn does not have as many sweaters as anticipated, because once she wriggles out of the one that's trapped her she's down to a shorter sleeved top, which she sheds easier. The swim clothes underneath are about as modest as any, maybe less because she has already sprouted goosebumps, but it's a brief thing before she sheds the rest of her clothes, without folding them, and seeks the comfort of the water as well, wading out after the blue. Only then, engulfed in warmth, does she turn to raise her eyebrows at T'mic for his explanation. "What if I am ready?" is fairly blunt, the herder flowing her arms back to drift into deeper waters. Modest or not, T'mic still looks, still watches, while she wades in. He's standing out in shorts long enough that when he thinks to go in, himself, there's a pretty decent temperature difference between his skin and the water. There are also a few decent facial expressions made. "Nah," her question is dismissed, while he's still progressing forward. "If you were, I'd feel it. Or at least, Jorrth would." Jorrth blows a bubble - from his nose, because right now there's some gravitas to the blue - at being included. "So probably you're not." Faryn laughs at him. Actually laughs, because of his expressions or because of his assessment, or both. "I think," she says, "you're just trying to keep secrets. To keep me interested." Jorrth, to solemn for her liking, as it were, is splashed. It could be an accident; probably it is. "I'll just have Farideh tell me. She's probably got more secrets on top of the normal ones you have. With Roszadyth, and all." She tilts her head back, letting some of her hair float. "I bet goldriders have their own special hot springs, or something." "Maybe. But what's gonna happen when I can't just be like... 'oh, hey, there's these top secret hot springs, or this super secret place to eat, or like... a forest that rains down sweet tarts or whatever?" Jorrth closes his eyes tight, and rocks back on his hind legs, shaking his head (with relatively minimal splashing, considering what it could be). "Oh, she definitely does. And I think a bath in her weyr. Almost makes a guy wish his dragon were gold, too." At which point Jorrth pushes forward and uses the full bulk of his chest and shoulders to splash back. Hah! "You didn't have super dragonriding secrets before, when I first met you," Faryn points out, plainly. "But if there's a forest that rains down sweet tarts, you've made a mistake on which secret to show me first. For future reference, free food is a priority. I know of a super secret place to eat. Maybe we should just start trading secrets. Like, I'll teach you--" Whatever she was thinking, it's lost in Jorrth's splash, and the herder turns on him, spluttering and affronted. "Oi, I think you're fine in blue." SPLASH. T'mic is wet even on his head now, enough to prompt a dunk, so he can get his hair back. Someone really should cut that. Or singe it off. There's a half-hearted swat of water back at Jorrth, Jorrth who is proud of himself, Jorrth who blows two bubbles, distinct, this time. "Okay. So I had no secrets before. Except weyrbrat secrets, and I couldn't tell you those anyway, 'cause I promised." But he's grinning again, and even moving in closer toward Faryn. "We'll do the sweet tart forest next time. Tell me one of yours." Faryn doesn't dunk, but combs her wet fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ears and continuing to tread. "They told me their secrets too, a bit. When you were busy, and stuff. You know, some of them still come by to see the runners, and to ask questions, and learn to ride a bit." She sounds not as put out as she should, in that. "I'll hold you to it. Mmmm. Well. It has to match the size of this secret," she says, with an encompassing gesture for the springs. "If mine is bigger, that's unfair." "Well," says T'mic, with a shrug, "we have been pretty busy." It makes him appreciate it, or something; there's a look around at the pool, the clearing, Faryn. "If yours is bigger," he offers, idly stroking at the water with what would be the laziest tread stroke in the world, "I'll tell you another one, how about. To even it out." Jorrth bubbles. "I like them. Most of the time. That little blonde girl with the braid though? Sometimes I want to swing her by it." For all the viciousness of word choice, Faryn sounds pretty mellow about the act itself, like the water's taken it out of her. "Alright," she says, catching her lower lip in her mouth and thinking. "Did you know, there's a bar near Boll that's hidden in the jungle? It's got a secret entrance and everything, and you have to go through this cave and down a ladder to get in." "I know you do," says the weyrling, and he's smiling that smile at her. He keeps on slow-motion flailing at the water, letting it tug at his fingers and spread them apart. Jorrth's into it, too. It's hard to be anything otherwise, when it's cold above and warm all around. "Nope," he didn't know. "Boll, huh. You know, we're going to be learning to between soon. Maybe then we could go." There's an element of caution in it, but not a lack of confidence. Faryn sticks her tongue out at him. "Don't you just know everything now," she teases, "you and that goofy dragon." Yeah, she's talking to you, Jorrth. She does give him a wary look, anticipating splashing retaliation for her words. She might drift closer to T'mic, so he'll definitely get splashed too, if that's the case. "Is that already?" is soft. "Good luck." There's not much else to say there; that it's dangerous is a given, and she gives a look to Jorrth now that is not so wary at all. "After that, then what?" "It's that silver thread," T'mic says, though there's something a bit wry and tired there, just even in mentioning it. Jorrth looks straight on at Faryn, that big, flat head aimed directly at her. So far, no retaliation. "Well, not right away." The arm-waving motion serves a purpose, subtly, to orient him so he's facing Faryn better, once she's nearer. (Still no wave.) "But... we're doing lots of these like... these detail things. Work. Things. And then... then we're almost like a wing, I think, except we get to go out with the real ones. Well, grown-up ones? The ones that aren't the weyrling wing. But we're not just Flurry anymore. Well, unless we go back." A vague gesture between himself and the blue. That we. Faryn's return stare might be a bit of a challenge, taken away only long enough so she can angle herself towards T'mic, testing. If he moves his arms too close in he'll bump her on either side, and she's still sliding towards him through the water, mistrusting of Jorrth, and his apparent intention to not take advantage of a splash. "Visualization. Of things? Of places?" She clicks her tongue behind her teeth. "Sounds hard, either way. And when you're with the real wings, you're graduated, yeah? What is that, a month? Three?" "Places are gonna be what's important," says T'mic. "But I guess it's more like... I don't know. It's confusing, hearing them talk about it sometimes, 'cause it's like, if you get too exact, then you're going to mess everything up, but if you're not enough, then-" Those arms were flowing before, floating. They still, so near her. He lets his palms turn up. Jorrth moves, but it's not a wave; just a slight push of water. "Uh, yeah. Well, whenever we're ready I guess, but it's not like we'd be able to drill with only three people left in the senior wing. Not really." "Ah," says Faryn, sounding like the entire process lacks clarity for her, too. "Good thing you have that silver thread with all the knowledge, then; it'll be a piece of cake." Faryn floats there between his arms, not moving -- maybe he'll sink if he doesn't tread. Or maybe Jorrth will move what is, for him, a small amount of water, and move her, weightless like a fishing bobber, even closer. "I thought they'd put you all in wings at once. Seems silly, to let it dwindle." "And Jorrth," T'mic adds, with the weight of importance. "He makes things easier." Has his head started to move, faintly, up and down with those bobs? Yes. "Most things." Bob, bob, bob. "We have to shadow, first. Find a good fit. Have been doing some of that, but like... really..." He looks puzzled for a moment, then decided. Those hands close in. "We got asked about getting in on the weyrling program. It's kind of a secret. No free food, though." "And Jorrth," Faryn sighs, with a smile. "You're good together," she admits, "from what I've seen. Better than some others. I never really understood how some people can mesh with their dragons so well," a nod to acknowledge him. "And others," no names, but they hang silently there, Edyis and Keysi and and of course her own mother, "seem to have so much trouble." Her brows raise: for his closing hands which also manage to elicit a grin, and for this new secret. "Like, as a weyrlingmaster? Like Telavi and K'zin?" "We're lucky," T'mic acknowledges. "It's weird..." and how it's weird he never fully gets to saying. He seems intent to, and then... hands. "Yeah," sounds like something of a revelation, that next question refocusing him. A bit. "Sometime. I don't know if that means in a few turns... think we will, though." He tongues at his teeth. He nods. He pulls in, just a little, to see if he can. "Oh. Wow." Faryn's smile is soft, bemused, and she is weightless in the water. T'mic won't meet any resistance, and even if she could she doesn't seem to mind. She's warm and in good company, and, hey, still not splashed. "That's - you'll be good at that. Here I thought all that time teaching the weyrbrats silly things and watching them would never come in handy." She bites the inside of her cheek, and as he pulls her closer she puts her hands out, to stop herself when they touch his chest, but not to push him away. She just leaves them there while she thinks, before, "Secret for secret." Because she agreed. "I'm going to leave the Hall." Still not splashed. Jorrth sure is watching though. Watching, while his rider grins like a complete idiot, and seemingly will not be stopping this anytime soon. Especially with her hands on his chest. "Yeah, but with them... it's that you're teaching and watching, not what or how. I think we got to learn more, I don't know. I need to talk to Quinlys." The difference is left to make itself clear. Grin, grin, grin. Even when his eyebrows lift a little. "Wow," is said back to her. Fingers test lightly at her sides. "Did you decide that, when you were away?" "All those rider secrets you have to keep," Faryn laughs. "And flying and flaming. It's somehow appropriate, I think. I can see it. Weyrlingmaster T'mic." Especially if he stages a coup and overthrows Quinlys. Of her own decision she shrugs a little, or maybe wriggles a little, ticklish, saying, "When I got back, I think. Or maybe before I left? Hard to say. It wasn't making me happy, when I left, and when I came back - well. Farideh." Like that's some sort of an explanation. "She has trouble." T'mic is listening, no really. Enough so that the grin spikes, and then dulls. Even makes him look concerned, to hear she was unhappy, or thoughtful, because, well. "Farideh," repeats the bluerider, then. Focusing on the words. No. Really. Jorrth's intensity drops down a bit. Enough that he blows another bubble. "But you didn't... you aren't leaving because of her." It's almost a question. The way that his expression shifts makes hers shift in correlation. Her unhappiness makes him thoughtful makes her...unhappy? Hard to tell. She's quick to shake her head, sprinkling droplets of water she's so forceful with it. "No, not -- only her." Her brow has wrinkled down, and Faryn takes a deep breath as she tries to figure how she's going to string it together. "I was looking for a reason to go. And to stay here. Something I could do for work," she adds, to mitigate any hurt that her words might cause. "I'm tired of runner shit and worrying about whether they're going to transfer me, and - well. I want to Stand again, or I'll spend my entire life wondering. But Farideh needs an assistant, and I could stay. It's..." She huffs a laugh, diverting her gaze to the ripples on the water, "reckless and stupid but it's what I want, right now. I'm good at managing people, and things. I can help her figure it out. I think. And it comes with free food." T'mic's eyes wince toward closed, just for the water, just quickly. And then he's nodding. And maybe sliding his hands up and down a little, for the shrug of his shoulders. "It makes sense. It-" and air is huffed out of his nose, a la Jorrth. Jorrth, who has big bunches of shoulder muscle being relaxed in the warm water. Jorrth, who's feeling nice again. "And," picked out from her list of pros, "you'll be here." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. And then falls. "There's lots I kinda missed, huh." It sounds like it's heralding an apology. The way his eyes get all big and sincere, too. "It's just a chance," she says, "and yeah, I could stay. R'hin says this place gets in you, and you don't want to leave. And I don't." The confession is quietly resigned, but happy to be so. Her eyes come back up to meet his, her grin slow. "Yeah. There is. But you're busy." A pause, since she's learning, then, "You both are busy. I could say you're all busy - I barely see any of you guys, even the people who aren't part of Quinlys' fancy program." All that, it just makes T'mic frown a little bit. in an inward sort of way that really doesn't suit him at all. He starts to shake his head. And he starts to open his mouth, and surely there's lots of things he could say. Except that it's all abandoned, and sliding hands try a bit of a more secure hold, and he goes to kiss her instead. It's almost like Faryn's been waiting for that, because she's not surprised. She's no stranger to this, if the way she responds is any indication; when he tightens his grip she moves her hands up, to wrap her arms around his neck and draw herself close, and she's not shy about returning the gesture, but she's also careful with him. Just in case he breaks. She'll be the one to pull back first, too, her grin a little sharp at the edges. Jorrth is all interested again. All stares again, and no bubbles. His head's fully up out of the water, in fact. T'mic, he doesn't break; he's not a pro, but he's solid, and apparently there's something to be said for that. He takes a quick breath. He makes like to keep her close, arms wrapping a bit more. And he says, "Shit. Does this mean no stables?" Funnily, Faryn isn't interested in Jorrth. She grabs her wrist loosely, leveraging up and pressing against him just so, in a way that makes them level height above the water. She just floats there, a little concerned for where his mind has gone. Maybe she's lost some finesse. "Not officially. I doubt anyone will stop me, they know me...why?" "I just always figured," says T'mic, phrasing it as a full and complete explanation. But she's all pressed against him then, and maybe with the water and all, she doesn't need his arms to shift to keep her there, but it's not like T'mic is wanting to take chances right now. A quick and deep breath, enough it makes his chest and shoulders move. A blink. Jorrth is leaning in and staring more. T'mic just wants another kiss, please. (And goes for it.) It's unsurprising how aggressive Faryn can be when piqued, since she's a little scary when she's being low-key. That Jorrth might be too close for comfort, like a curious dog at the end of the bed, doesn't seem to sway her from pointing out that T'mic didn't even provide a proper answer, and instead she turns her attention to giving T'mic what he wants, and maybe more. There are definitely gently testing teeth, and she's definitely good at climbing, and...moving. Just so. And there's a laugh when she seems to remember, "At any point, a dragon could land right over there." It's perhaps also unsurprising that T'mic is just trying to deal with this all, and leaving the aggressor role all to Faryn. But he can start to engage his arms, all stronger now with the rider training, and he can certainly move right back at her, and he can then pant when she breaks to say something, and gasp out a, "What?" And a moment later, the wave comes from Jorrth's sudden press even closer, and T'mic issues a much sharper, almost fierce even, demand of, "What?" The moving, it stops. And Jorrth, he snorts. "I said -" Faryn begins, still laughing, willing to move her affections across his cheek, to his jaw, back towards his ear. Jorrth's movement might even get ignored on principle, but then T'mic's tone changes and Faryn draws back, looking at the blue dragon with dismay. "Seriously?" she asks, the question not really aimed directly at either of them. Since she's done the climbing, she's good at the disengaging, too, if extremely frowny about the whole thing as she drops away, to float in the water. Nooooo. Disengagement will be met with some resistance - at first, at least. But T'mic gets hold of himself - figuratively - and once Faryn's clear of his arms, he's using them to bring water up over his face. Water that is far too hot for this. Jorrth, he's staring again. His rider has started taking a few breaths. "He doesn't get this," is next, frustrated, and trying to be even, and reasonable, and loyal, and all those things. He's staring straight down into the water. Faryn is apparently not good with this explanation, and she sucks the back of her teeth to make the same disappointed sound T'mic might recognize that she uses with the runners, when they're being churlish. "Right," she says, looking at Jorrth very carefully. Then back at T'mic. When she makes her way to the lip of the pools to drag herself out into the dreadful cold, it's with the oppressive silence of an ill-tempered woman, one who is likely to say she's fine when asked. "I'd have liked to know we were working on when he was ready to chase some silly green. My money's on Aeaeth. Yesia might get her way yet." It's cold, and goosebumps prickle visibly on her arms, but she makes haste for all those sweaters, even if she's dampening them. "Faryn-" is the best T'mic's got, in that instant. Jorrth gets... well, it was supposed to be a glare, but even that can't last long. And when T'mic hits the water with a broad swipe of that big paw of his, it's not at Jorrth, or at anyone. Another few deep breaths, and then he's heaving himself up onto the ledge. Jorrth is getting out, too. He's their ride, after all, and that part he's got absolutely and 100% down. "Just wait a second, 'kay?" T'mic's in pursuit, awkwardly tugging at his shorts as he goes. He's lucky he's her ride, and that she can't call the transport rider. Getting into her sweaters is easier than getting out was, but as Faryn pulls her cap over her wet hair she's shivering, and which is a good excuse for arm folding that doubles to express how she feels besides cold. "I kind of have to," she says, "since that random rider I mentioned definitely isn't here." She inhales to calm herself, exhales it slower. "Are you sure he's not just jealous? Possessive? Disinclined to share? He's old enough. I heard about all your flight chats, I know he is." Getting his clothes on is harder. Whatever satisfaction, or relief, or whatever it was that the knowledge of the time he has to try and explain isn't entirely well-expressed on his face, what with the grimacing and the way his clothes are trying to cling. Should've dried off first. The winter isn't quick enough to ice him over, either. "He's not those things. He's not- this was just..." T'mic finally succeeds in cinching his belt, and looks back to Jorrth, who is shaking off water droplets in the background. "I don't know. It makes him funny. Anxious or..." The shirt gets settled, and the bluerider gives a little shiver. Still, it's easier to settle on a key point once clothed: "I don't want to lose more time." That she listens to him is fair enough, though she doesn't seem particularly enthused or convinced. When he concludes, all she says is, "Yep," without any particular reference point in his fumbling explanation. "Then teach him about it. You're going to be a weyrlingmaster, or you want to, or - whatever." Faryn's brows knit down, and she pulls her sweaters around her closer as she glares at Jorrth; it's a rehash of the way she looked at him in the first weeks of hatching when T'mic was too busy or too tired to look. "He is time. You can't see that? He's all the extra time that you might have had. All seventen of them are." She lets that stand, is ruthlessly silent, then, "Can you just take me back? We're going to catch our deaths." "I've been trying." He borders on losing that patience he's trying so hard to maintain; T'mic doesn't have lots of edges, but there's a hint of one here, at least. Did he see that look? "For months. He knows everything I know about it except how to feel it or understand that side of it." There's no spoken acknowledgement of her request, though he does look over to Jorrth, who stretches his wings and heads toward his straps. "I can't do more with this on my own." T'mic heads for Jorrth and straps. He doesn't think to be grateful that his fingers still have some warmth in them, and can work fairly well. "And I'm not trying to be tricky or anything. What's so wrong with slow anyway?" Even if there's still that hint of an edge there. "There's slow," Faryn laughs - actually laughs, but not the same as before, this one bites - "and then there's," she gestures expressively between them. "He's almost a turn. He'll be having sex before you, and this isn't even about that. I can't even -- we didn't even do anything." She stamps her feet, as much to keep the blood flowing in the chill as to get out some of that frustration. "I'm not being impatient, but I don't know what they told you at Benden, or during flight talks, or whatever. Women have needs too. We're not all blushing virgins waiting for husbands" A buckle is adjusted, a few strips of leather are tugged, and Jorrth is ready. When T'mic turns, his face is red. Not just in the cute, blushing bride(groom) way. But when he says, "Okay," it's calmer, again. His belt gets a tug. "It's just that, we've finally got time, Faryn. Didn't even have to ask for it; all the extra stuff, it's off for a bit." And then, Jorrth's shoulder gets a smack, invitation for Faryn, of a sort. "So maybe we go back to our weyr and get a fire going and play cards and fall asleep in the hay like before, and I at least get to think about all of it without it being when we're both almost asleep, so he can do that part properly, and it starts getting better that way. Faranth, maybe it's me who's the problem, and if I get to actually sleep a couple days," was that an admission?, "it'll be better next time for everyone." Faryn runs her tongue over her teeth. Did she get that from him? That she has to get on Jorrth to get out of here is just a fact, so she swallows whatever resentment she has just to make sure that happens, and it's not until she's buckling in with hands that are stiff with cold that she says, resigned, "Fine. Maybe. If you think." And even more strange silence that isn't like their normal, companionable sort, but is at least better than the mean one, then she mumbles, "Sorry." Jorrth isn't really okay with all these feelings floating around, and directed at him. But he's not a little dragonet anymore. Entirely. His wings get a shimmy once both T'mic and Faryn are mounted. And he waits, while T'mic reaches to grip Faryn's fingers, quickly, and only for a moment. "Not super good at thinking right now when you're all close to me. Just have to feel it out." She'll get a, "Sorry, too," back. And then, a tap of warning. Because Jorrth makes one of those impossibly high jumps, and they're airborne. |
Comments
Alida (02:19, 6 July 2015 (MDT)) said...
Awwwwwwwwww.... :(
Squishy (12:03, 6 July 2015 (MDT)) said...
I sorta feel bad for T'mic. Though Faryn a teeny bit too, it was interesting though to see a dragon that responded very differently to the whole intimacy issue.
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