Logs:Horizons
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| RL Date: 6 July, 2011 |
| Who: Riorde, Taikrin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: It's sunny but Riorde won't go outside. Taikrin offers to take her on a clandestine trip instead. |
| Where: Lower Caverns, HRW and Southern Beach |
| When: Day 23, Month 2, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Teris/Mentions |
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| The rare, sunny day has driven a great many of the weyrfolk outside today, despite the chill in the early afternoon air. Taikrin is one of those -- or rather, she was. Now she's returning to the caverns, wearing nothing but a long-sleeved shirt and loose pants, and steaming. Literally. Her cheeks are flushed bright pink, and she's visibly a little sweaty as she flops down right in the entrance of the cavern to wrestle off her snowy, muddy boots. The islanders aren't used to a life lived indoors, shut away from the wind and the sea. Even when they took to their caves, it was only as forced reprieve from the elements, lasting only as long as was necessary and often not even that long when hunger or necessity or cabin-fever got the best of them. Thus most of the exile-weyrfolk have piled outdoors along with the just weyrfolk-weyrfolk, and thus it is all the stranger that Riorde has chosen to hole up inside, claiming a two-seater sofa and burying her nose in a book. Perhaps it's the relative solitude that appealed to her. Perhaps something else. Now shoe-less, Taikrin shambles further inside with the loose-limbed grace of someone who has just finished a great deal of exercise. The further in towards the warmth she goes, the less she steams-- until, when she spots Riorde laid out on the couch, she's barely doing it at all. The brownrider hesitates, nearly goes past on her way towards the bathing caverns, then changes course to flop the upper half of her body along the top of the couch and offer, with a cheeky grin, "Hey." Even engrossed or at least concentrating, some habits die hard. The sound and sight of movement out of the corner of her eye pulls Riorde's attention away from the book, although she doesn't actually look up until Taikrin's nearly upon her. Then, as the brownrider drapes herself over the couch, Riorde looks at her with a big-eyed gaze that's rather unreadable until she concedes a cautious smile a second later, holding back a fuller version. Poorly though - a wider smile threatens to take over. "Hey," she mimics, marking her place in her reading with her finger; she's not far into it, making laborious progress. "Whacha doin'?" At least the cold and relative lack of clothing has kept Taikrin from getting too fragrant, despite the slight sheen of moisture visible on her skin. Her gaze flicks down towards the book, dismisses it, then trails slowly back up. "Flamin' too nice of a day to be hangin' around inside, ain't it?" Riorde holds up her book rather than answering, giving it a wave in front of her own face. She stretches a little, having been in one position for too long, and obtains a subtle pop in her spine for her efforts. "So I hear," she replies, not really answering, and tries a deflection. "What are you doing?" Never having been an avid reader, Taikrin wrinkles her nose at the book. She even goes so far as to swat in the general direction of the offending tome. "Just had a good run, me. Nearly beat Szad in the sprint down the lake-- he likes to cheat, though, so I reckon it's basically like I won." She lifts off the couch, stretches upwards as though in response to Riorde, then leans her arms against the top of the couch in a slightly more dignified manner. "Really, why're you hangin' around in here?" The book is easily batted away, landing in Riorde's lap. She loses her place without fuss. "A run," the younger woman repeats, considering it as if it were held out to her as a suggestion. "Maybe running in snow like this wouldn't be so different from running in sand." The idea holds appeal, heard within the muted shift in her tone that evidences an itch for activity. "Just, you know. I like being alone." Riorde gives answer but continues to looks at Taikrin in hesitation, indecisive about sharing more - though of course she's shared a lot more than reasons to stay indoors. "It doesn't feel right," she eventually confesses, a halfway house answer. "Gets everythin' movin' well enough, at least. 'Specially the mud around the lake, from where the dragons melted it all? Skinny thing like you, reckon you'd make it through without hardly even sinkin'in too far." It's a tease, complete with raised eyebrow and less than G-rated smile. Which gaves way to confusion and what might be a hint of concern. Or it maybe hunger. Or maybe a little of both. "What don't feel right?" ... Taikrin. Riorde smiles too, at first for the imagined feel for mud between her toes and then in response to Taikrin's, turning startled and shy but also smug. "There's no sky," Riorde blurts out, off-balance and moved to disclosure. Her smile shrinks. "No horizon." "No sky?" Taikrin draws back, startled, and looks up at the roof of rock overhead as if she could see straight through to the sky overhead. "Reckon it's pretty blue, today. But what d'you mean, a'course you can-- oh. But you can't." With a rueful laugh, she slides down the back of the couch again until she's just propped up on her elbows. "See it every day from the ledge of my weyr, more or less. Forgot that you ain't got a way to see it, bein' land-bound and all. That's all what's botherin' you, why didn't you say so? Me and Szad're happy enough to take a flight, 'specially on a restday." She pauses, and that smile makes a return. "'Course, then you might owe me..." "There's all those walls," Riorde continues, suddenly expansive and not stopping now that she's started, even if it means talking over Taikrin here and there. "I go out and it all feels so constricted, like it's going to cave in, and the lake isn't an ocean, not even close, and it's no use pretending otherwise -- really?" She draws herself up short. The ingenuous look she turns on Taikrin has much in common with the expression she had held shortly after meeting the brownrider, as if this offer in some way saves her from some sort of peril and she can't quite believe it. Except now that look is also coloured with a different sort of knowledge, too. "I'm sure we could arrange something." "Reckon we could probably go see some ocean or other too, if y'ain't too picky. Real warm down at Southern, this time of turn. Might be liable to get burnt, but." If Taikrin has any idea of the magnitude of what she's offering Riorde, she's playing it pretty cool: she's all casual offerings with lascivious overtones. "Shame to miss out on such a fine day here, but it'd be good flyings, at least. If y'ain't too busy readin' or nothin'. You got any flying gear? Jacket, at least?" "What, this?" Riorde practically flings the book away from her as she scrambles off the couch. Just after, she stoops to retrieve the slim volume, not accustomed to being careless with property. For a moment when she straightens, she looks unaccountably delighted before her guarded nature sets in and tempers the expression. "Warm is good," she says agreeably, not actually understanding what Southern warm would mean. "I've got a jacket. What's warm enough on the ground should be warm enough for flying, right?" "Uhhh, not really. Needs t'be leather, an'-- you know what? I got a spare set in my weyr. You're a lot taller, but-- uh. Sure it's fine." Taikrin's expression gets a little lip-pursey weird for a minute, and it's easy to see that she's nearly the same height as Riorde herself. But she shrugs her way out of it, straightening herself and scrubbing a hand through her short hair. "Tell you what, I gotta go get my stuff from my weyr anyways, why don't me and Szad meet you out in the bowl in a coupl'a minuntes? Just-- try not to say anythin', yeah? Don't wanna be hostin' a field trip, now. Was thinkin' somethin' a little more... private." That grin, it means nothing good is going to happen. Or... maybe something very good? It's hard to tell. The comment on heights brings out Riorde's curiosity, but she says nothing to question it, focusing instead on the promise of a real vista that includes the sea. The intimations of a private nature have their draw, too. "I can be discreet." Her earnestness is closely related to eagerness. "I'll just go put this away." Her book, gestured with again. The jacket that Taikrin brings back for Riorde is probably both a little short and too wide, but it'll get the task done-- as will the riding helmet and gloves. Taikrin isn't quiet, precisely, but more inclined towards the physical: help mounting whether it's needed or not, strong arms to steady her passenger mid-flight, all sorts of subtle little personal space intrusions. Szadath himself is eager to be up and out, and flies with his usual athletic flamboyance to do a couple of loops around the Weyr -- look, horizon EVERYWHERE -- before disappearing between to the overwhelming heat of a muggy, sunny Southern day, where he spirals lazily above the brilliant sea. Riorde almost doesn't notice her familiar anxiety in the few minutes it takes to leave the Weyr. She waits just inside the yawning entrance between caverns and bowl, stepping out when she spots Taikrin, and with the idea of ocean and real, unenclosed sky before her, she holds onto that until they're up in the air, and then the breath she's been holding comes out with the relaxed whoosh of relief: a reaction opposite to many newcomers to dragonflight, whose nervousness makes them seize up the more altitude is gained. All that constriction comes back with the short trip between - if it's the absence of horizons that Riorde finds hard to abide, then between is hellish, but at least it's short. Her pounding heart might as well be audible; as close as Taikrin is, it could likely be felt, and there's no mistaking the way Riorde inadvertently clutches at the rider. "Hot!" she exclaims in surprise, turning her head towards where she thinks Taikrin's ear should be, staring and staring. The sea. Southern Beach(#1636R) Golden stand stretches in both directions for as far as the eye can see, broken only by the occasional encroaching cliff, the ancient stone formed into rockpools and outcroppings. Inland, open sand is gradually taken over by lush greenery: dense forest extending all the way back to distant mountains that might even be days of walking from here. The ocean, too, stretches out unbroken: there's no other land to be seen, nothing but blue and blue and blue until the point at which it hits the horizon, where blue meets another kind of blue, in the endless, cloudless sky. A tent-like structure has been strung up between trees and a few tall posts, providing shelter from the hot sun. There are no tables, and no chairs, beneath it, however: just a few haphazardly slung blankets, providing only the most basic comfort. A few paces beyond the edge of the tent is a bonfire built from driftwood. The water is shallow, here, protected by a sandbar a few lengths out. Riorde might be able to hear Taikrin's laughter in her ear, though it's just as likely the hot breeze will snatch it away; more likely, she can feel it vibrating out of the brownrider just as Szadath's amused rumbles echoe through the brown's body. He wheels around, turning sharply enough to strain his riders against their straps as he tips them over that expanse of ocean, then levels up just long enough to plow into the empty beach in a shower of sand and water. "Welcome to Southern!" Taikrin's laughter cues Riorde's, and it spills out uninhibited. No one can see her grin so it is wholly her own, huge and dimpling and delighted. Most of it remains when Szadath lands as if Riorde's unable to contain it once it's unleashed. "It's hot!" she says a second time, unable to fully comprehend how air can be this hot and humid. "Like the baths." It's the only point of comparison in her limited experience. Taikrin releases Riorde to make short work of removing her jacket, and flings it as far up the beach as she can manage. "Shells yeah, it is. You like?" Taikrin's own grin is delighted, even moreso at Riorde's child-like enjoyment of something that's become commonplace for the brownrider herself. She thumps Riorde on the shoulder then shimmies down the straps without Szadath's help. "Like the baths, but better. Sand's hot, water's warm, and Szad says there ain't another person within a klick today." Which might, technically, make this a kidnapping. Riorde's fingers work at her throat to unfasten the snaps so she too can shrug out of her borrowed jacket and, in echo of Taikrin's grand gesture, throw it in the opposite direction. "I don't know if I've ever been this hot!" Which explains why she's fixated on the weather. Riorde follows Taikrin's progress down, more careful given her inexperience but enthusiastic enough to not pay it as much attention as she probably should. She nearly slips, catches herself, and finally thumps down onto the sand -- real sand, not mixed with rocks. "Shells." A curse she's picked up encapsulates her disbelieving wonder before, without warning, she flings herself at Taikrin, utterly exuberant. "Y'do look pretty hot from here." Taikrin is being pretty blatant about staring at Riorde as she dismounts, and warm weather hasn't made her any less corny. "Y'al-- oof!" It's a good thing Taikrin is nothing but solid muscle, because otherwise she might do more than just stagger backwards a couple of steps. Her arms come up to wrap around Riorde, and she lets out a bark of helpless laughter. "Shells, girl-- easy. Don't want to break somethin' before we got a chance to enjoy ourselves!" Riorde is too thrilled to be anything except amused and forgiving of Taikrin's line. "I'm not going to break something," she returns with a bit of mischief in the way she stresses the first word, though the words themselves don't have much sense to them. She steps away - the point was the display of gratitude, not an intent to linger - and crouches so she can undo the laces of her boots. "It's wonderful," she says from there, glancing up. "I know we're not supposed to miss it, but. Thank you." Taikrin releases Riorde, albiet a little reluctantly, to continue shucking off her clothes. "Hey, we're happy for any excuse t'get out of the Weyr, y'know? Don't know how I ever made it through the winter, before, without a little break." With typical dragonrider immodesty, she's down to nothing but underwear in short order, and proceeds to start unbuckling Szadath's straps as well; the brown appears interested in little but looking out over the ocean, and as soon as the buckles are undone, he wiggles out of them and lumbers down towards the water. "S'okay to miss your home, y'know." Perhaps surprisingly, Riorde displays no holder-like scruples about naked bodies - the islands simply had no room for such luxuries. She's peeling off clothing too as soon as the boots are off, layer by winter layer. "Our winters," she says with the voice of fact rather than remembrance, "were all salt-fish and too many people in the caves and you'd get out at the first sign of clear weather." She doesn't say anything else about where she came from and certainly nothing more about missing it, watches Szadath instead. Reminding herself for the upteenth time that dragons are not just animals, she asks, "Does he like being out, too?" "Winters in caves-- don't like thinking about that much, me." Whether from personal experience or something else, she doesn't clarify; instead, she brushes sand from her hands and gestures for Riorde to follow towards the moderate shelter of the battered old canopy. "He likes the snow more'n most, but-- all dragons love sand and heat, y'know? And swimming," she adds hastily, as the brown plunges headlong into the water and starts swimming. "He's happier when he's got Iskiveth t'share it with, but he's okay with bein' alone, too." Happily for Taikrin's peace of mind as well as her own, Riorde doesn't go on. She jogs forward a step or two to join Taikrin and leaves her clothes scattered behind her. "Don't know anyone who doesn't like swimming," she answers, expanding the statement to include Szadath. "Why Is-ke-vith?" She only mangles the gold's name a little, knowing it on hearing but stumbling over unfamiliar syllables. "I ain't much of a swimmer," Taikrin admits offhandledly as she flings herself down onto the sand, then props herself up on one elbow to smirk at Riorde. "'Cause they get on like, well, dragons from the same shell. 'Cept she's gold. Clutchmates, y'know? They're-- real similar. Szad's pretty sure she set the moons in the sky, and he's her favorite source of fire. Even had a clutch together, on account of Szadath being so awesome." She gestures for Riorde to join her, then smirks in a cat-in-the-cream way. "That was a flamin' thing, it was. Figure how it was when Iovniath went up, 'cept times about a million." Riorde's eyebrows arch to convey her incredulity when Taikrin says the unthinkable. She looks out at the water, no longer squinting under the shade of the canopy. Settling down next to the rider outweighs her desire to throw herself headlong into the warm waves so she saves it for later and arranges herself alongside Taikrin in a lazy, sandy sprawl. "That would be..." She doesn't come up with an appropriate word. "Something. You should have heard some of after Ee-yov--" Riorde gives up on the name. "That gold flew. It was all, 'my husband slept with a man,' and 'my wife slept with a woman,' and 'my daughter's ruined for marriage' - bet there'll be a load of babies. But not me," she adds hastily, like that needs to be said. "Kinda wish I could'a stayed, you know?" Taikrin raises an eyebrow, implications clear. "'Cept it was real important we made sure Iskiveth and Teris left clear, and then Szad really wanted t'go with her since I wouldn't let him chase after Iovniath, so--" It's sort of got the sound of a Pernese soap opera... at least as much as Riorde's tale. "Poor sots. As if flight-sex even counted for anything." Which apparently, in Taikrin's estimation, it doesn't. "Anyways, ain't nobody offered to take 'em between? Solve that problem right quick. And-- good. Girl like you's too pretty to be havin' babies." Riorde gets a look of pleased embarrassment, unused to the idea of herself in this light. Still listening, she drops her gaze and idly watches the sand she sifts through her fingers, digging a shallow hole and depositing the sand in front of it. "Oh, probably. I keep forgetting about -- that. And I entirely agree." The babies part, not the pretty part. Firmly, "No babies for me." "See, this is what I keep tellin' Teris! She can't let Iskiveth get caught by anyone else, otherwise she's gonna end up knocked up if she ain't careful!" Taikrin laughs, as if sharing Pern's biggest joke, then considers, "You met Teris, right? Heard she was doin' somethin' or other to do with your, uh, situation. Blonde girl, awful serious?" Riorde makes a noise of polite laughter contained behind a close-mouthed smile, though she doesn't really know what's so funny. She puts her elbow in the hole she's created and turns towards Taikrin, on her side. "Don't think so. I mean, I think I know who she is. But haven't actually talked to her. I just keep my head down, go to the lessons they've got set up." "Ah, well, don't reckon it matters. Didn't bring you down all this way just to talk about Teris." Taikrin raises herself up on her elbow, the better to look down on Riorde. "Keepin' your head down, that's good. Lessons're important. They get to the one where they tell you not to go haring off with strange brownriders?" Her voice drops as she looms closer, lips curving upwards in a private little smile. Still held up on her elbow with her jaw on the hard cushion of her fist, Riorde shifts to a more open posture in subtle welcome of Taikrin's attentions, the other arm now lying along her side in conformity with the line of her body. "No," she answers, her tone straight but her smile crooked and undisguised - later, she wants to swim, but now, it's the furthest thing from her mind. "Good, wanted t'give you that one myself." Taikrin is happy to be on top -- more than happy. In the bright light, Riorde might notice the impressive scarring that Taikrin has going on - most of which would have probably been difficult to see in low-light conditions. The flush of pink in her skin from the heat makes them all the more prominent: older, pale traceries all over her hands and arms, several thick ugly lines on her torso - those have the look of knife wounds of varying ages. That is, they might be visible before Taikrin is kissing Riorde again with plenty of enthusiasm. Riorde has her faint scars, but nothing like Taikrin's - places where she fell on the rocks or cut herself, marks of labour rather than violence. "If this is the lesson where I'm not supposed to run off like this," she says into a pause, uncomplaining that she's ended up on her back with the sand sticking to her heat-slicked skin in a way that is comfortingly familiar and strangely not, "I don't think I'm a very good student." "Well," Taikrin murmurs in response, "Nobody said I was a very good teacher, neither. Guess we're just gonna have to do remedial lessons. Lots and lots of remedial lessons. 'Till you really got the... point." The brownrider punctuates her statement with purposefully wandering hands, and then seems pretty disinclined for words when, after all, actions get it across SO much more clearly. |
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