Logs:Talk Over Tea
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| RL Date: 28 January, 2014 |
| Who: Alida, G'laer, Ilicaeth, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After backing out on drinks the month before, G'laer makes it up to Alida by inviting her up. They have tea. (The regular kind this time.) |
| Where: Teisyth's Ledge and Bookworm's Paradise Weyr (G'laer's), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 12, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions, Arvan/Mentions, Aseana/Mentions, Aughan/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, B'gherio/Mentions, Baera/Mentions, Gaela/Mentions, Gallania/Mentions, Ghena/Mentions, Giorda/Mentions, Ienavi/Mentions, J'vain/Mentions, Jo/Mentions, K'zin/Mentions, L'sha/Mentions, Laghnei/Mentions, Melinda/Mentions, Miravea/Mentions, N'dalis/Mentions, Nieri/Mentions, Raleri/Mentions, Rone/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
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| Teisyth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr A broad and welcoming ledge, wide enough to accommodate two medium-sized dragons slants slightly towards the Bowl, turns of landings on its edge having worn the stone down to a smooth finish. Along one side of the ledge a rocky outcropping hugs the outward curve of the ledge, providing some shelter against wind and rain for a tiny terraced garden. Currently, the beds contain a variety of herbs, sturdy plants that in the right season give off the heady scents of sage, rosemary and thyme. The wide maw of the weyr opens up onto a fairly standard couch-space, with hooks in the walls and a storage container for dragon-care equipment. A sturdy woolen curtain separates couch from weyr to keep out the elements. Bookworm's Paradise Weyr, High Reaches Weyr In clear weather, sun dapples the floor of the southward-facing weyr and reflects prisms of light from the fine glass that fronts wall after wall of neatly carved bookshelves. Empty now, but for a few volumes tucked up on a shelf, clearly this weyr is a bookworm's delight, all ready to welcome someone's collection of scrolls and finely bound volumes. The living space here has been sacrificed somewhat, cozy rather than spacious. There's enough room for a table and chairs in front of a hearth overhung with a precious maple-stained skybroom mantle, but the sleeping area is another nook carved into the wall, neatly laid with a comfortable double mattress. The linens are presumably stored in the lovely trunk set just to the side of the nook, a match in stain and wood-type to the mantle. Niches for glows are well-spaced along the tops of every shelf, the glow-holders made of interlacing strips of copper set with mica to give the light a mellow cast. All in all the space invites one to come in, curl up with a favorite drink and a book to read.
No; those aren't the blues you want. Move on. Ilicaeth is about 40 seconds behind the flight of his like-colored brethren, a stick-out not only in his burliness, but with those 'eye'-marked wings stroking the fervidly cold breeze. Whirling green eyes spy the correct ledge, and even as Ilicaeth's angling in, then backwinging for a landing, he's noting in chipper baritone, « Comin' down, toots. Watch yer six. » Since many might not understand that, a clock's face - composed of golden sand grains - is supplied to Teisyth, with the hands indicating 6 o'clock. The small hand is colored ocher, however, and - of course - is pointing down. Get it? She should, given she's G'laer's lifemate. Once he's landed solidly, Alida scrambles down her blue's lowered neck and shoulder in a thunk of boots to stone, then gives a polite nod to her draconic 'hostess' while proceeding within. "Teisyth..." is noted quietly as she passes, green eyes scanning the weyrling curiously for a few moments...but as she wants to get out of the cold, it's a quicker thing. There's no announcement of herself as she moves past outer, then inner hangings; G'laer knows she's here, after all. If, despite the blue's explanation, Teisyth needs to ask G'laer what her six is, at least that much is done more quietly. It's likely that she does because after Ilicaeth's words there's a moment where she's frozen on the ledge, and then jumping to make space, practically dancing her way out of the way and squishing herself (unnecessarily) against the wall until the blue has landed. Then she breathes in deep, because, of course, holding her breath was going to give him that much more room. « Welcome t'our home, Ilicaeth! » Her thrill over visitors is enough to override all else. Alida gets an enthusiastic warble, but Teisyth's concern is the visitor her size. Alida's left to G'laer, for better or worse. The man appears around a corner of one of the many rows of bookshelves, "Alida," He greets evenly. "Can I take your jacket?" Polite, mannerly, even, and he gestures toward an empty hook next to where his jacket hangs. He's dressed as what qualifies as 'down' for him. Still neat, still pressed, but a whole two buttons of his loose long-sleeved button-up tunic are undone. At least Ilicaeth knows the basics of Teisyth's behaviors, and the blue makes few real bones about her ridiculous enthusiasm except to eyeball her a little, and then shrug his wide shoulders a little. « Thanks, toots. I'm good... » is noted in slightly humored baritone before he arches his neck a little and tries to peek into the tunnel his lifemate's already gone into. « Gonna show me yer rack? » No, not her nonexistent boobage; her wallow. Alida, meanwhile, smile-smirks a little at Teisyth's greeting warble for her, and it lingers about her lips a bit when G'laer greets her within. "Please..." is noted almost as politely, the woman soon ducking out of her heavy jacket, then handing it to the greenrider as she lifts her chin a little to scent at the air. "Smells nice... familiar." Next comes the assessing, relaxed look at G'laer in 'resting' mode, her gaze taking him in in that likely familiar fashion, then moving on to the rest of the man's abode. "Decent in here, all around. Spartan but welcoming." She's trying so hard to be good. She really is. But then there's that word again. So after a moment it becomes apparent that Teisyth's boxy form is shaking and if one listens carefully, there's peals of mental giggles, followed by, « G'laer says that's another word for fartin'. » Toots. Pronounced a little differently, of course. Giggle. Giggle. So much for being an elegant hostess. Once she gets the giggles in hand, « G'laer says I oughtn't take everybody who comes by t'bed with me, » Beat. « But I don't care! » Guffaw. So she turns to let her neck snake in to where the wallow can be seen. « Here it is. » Then a touch of sadness. « G'laer moved m'favorite pillow though. He says I can have it back after y'all're gone. » G'laer's hand accepts the jacket and he crosses the blonde's path to move to the hooks, careful as he sets it onto one. "Books, herbs, and leather." He answers the matter of the familiar scents, following her the rest of the way in. "It suits us. Don't really need to make any changes." Except the ones you don't talk about, like secret hiding places. "Beer? Wine? Tea? Whiskey?" Each is offered with a small breath between. A down-to-earth guy like Ilicaeth can appreciate low humor, and when Teisyth lets him in on the joke, the blue rumbles his own version of a chuckle, his head bobbing in agreement. A shrug of golden sand grains for what G'laer thinks of her couch habits precedes his « I still got my old blanket from when I was a weyrling in the barracks. » An image of a slightly threadbare, patchwork-sewn blanket appears in her mind, the size of it show as it lies beneath a suddenly curled-up and snoozing Ilicaeth: so small as to only be able to barely line a barracks wallow. Deeply-set green eyes take in the green's personal home, but the blue doesn't try to enter it without permission, instead inquiring of his hostess, « What's it look like? » Her pillow, that is. "Mostly the herbs, I meant..." Alida notes after handing over her jacket, the blonde then moving over towards the bookcase to peer at the few volumes G'laer's collected. "Been bustin' yer ass even more lately, I hear..." is noted over her shoulder, then following it with, "You got peppermint tea?" That Teisyth drawing a vivid mental picture of a pink and orange monstrosity sort of defeats the purpose of G'laer putting it away doesn't seem to occur to the green as she happily shows (in waxy color-stick style) her favorite pillow, little scribbles denoting the many many stains and the ripped sections where she accidentally might have maybe chewed it a little while she was sleeping. But just the edges where there's no fluff to lose. So that's alright, right? If Ilicaeth needs an invitation to test out her wallow, Teisyth seems wholly oblivious to this necessity. He's on her ledge and so far as she's concerned, what's hers is his for the duration of his visit, no sense of possessiveness or anything like some of those other weyrling dragons. G'laer's weyr might as well be its own records room for as many bookshelves as there are. Very few of them contain books just now, though there are several crates stacked at the end of each of the aisles. Those on the most obvious shelf have titles pertaining to Pernese history, a few referencing High Reaches sweep and Crom in particular on the spines. "She's finally betweening most days," is G'laer's answer for the extra hours. "I've been drawing flowers for her so she doesn't add them to our visualizations." Maybe that sounds silly, but it's working, so he's not abashed about it. "I can have it." Meaning maybe that he doesn't? But without explaining further he's walking to the farthest rows of bookshelves that face one another and disappearing between them. Ilicaeth rumbles more humor at the image of her pillow, the blue mentally adding in different-colored 'flower patches' all over it as he picks up on some of Alida's conversation with G'laer. Testing his hostess' forbearance, the blue finally does slowly wriggle into her couch, testing it out by first moving about and inspecting it closely before finally settling himself down and curling up some. « Not bad... » Chuff. Within the inner weyr, Alida's nodding some at those volumes, then noting the crates with a curious, "More packed away, yet? Different stuff?" With the man's reassurance that Teisyth is indeed finally Betweening at least some comes the blonde's pivot back around to face her fellow Guard, and a serious, "Glad yer takin' it the cautious way. Seems way too easy ta me ta screw up a visualization. One little thing off, an' ya never know if y'll be goin' to the past, future, 'r..." Or much worse. There's a little smile for his mention of fobbing Teisyth off with drawn flowers, but she doesn't give him a hard time over it. "You're an artist, too?" As for her choice of tea... "What? Gonna go strong-arm some outta' the Headwoman?" Smirk. Flowers! How exciting. Teisyth's attention is caught. And if she adds some of her own now too? Well, that's just as fun. The green really doesn't seem to mind the blue getting a feel for her couch. « I like it. Only time it's a little squished is when Lynner tries ter fit in there with me. But he likes squishin' things anyway, so it don't bother him none. » Even if she might wish to be a little less squished, sometimes. But shh, don't tell, she wouldn't want to hurt the sensitive bronze's feelings. "Just started bringing my things from Crom. Now that we're betweening. Lived there a while. Accrued not an insignificant number over the turns." G'laer answers about the crates. "I can draw stick figures with great exactness." The man's baritone comes, serious, of course, though, perhaps with a faint flicker of humor. "Nah. Just have to crush the leaves." And almost on cue there's the faint sound of grinding (which would become louder if Alida heads his way and doesn't get distracted by the long crates in the next aisle which a guard could guess is packed weaponry). Count on soldierly Ilicaeth to add in some gratuitous splats of grass, mud, and blood on that flowery, bright pillow when word of Lynner comes up...a small swell of pride welling within the blue. He recently beat out that dinosaur of a bronze to win Suraieth's favor, after all. Noted in casual fashion, « Thinkin' about sparrin' with 'im someday soon. Boy's a potential danger, so I figure 'e's gotta be worthy. » A worthy opponent, that is. A flex of strong haunches to show off his own martial physique presages a chuffed, « Gonna flop down? » Next to him? "You had yer own place?" Alida inquires of G'laer, a hint of wistfulness touching her alto. "I was always stuck in the Barracks, since I was young 'n single." Shrug. "No room 'n not enough pay ta collect more 'n meager bits." Ahh, the life of a small-Holding. A low chuckle issues from Alida at her host's words of his stick figures, a quick look soon darted over in his general direction when he starts grinding those fragrant leaves. "Remind me ta' stop over more often fer tea..." is noted brightly, the woman unable to resist the call of those crates. Light hands dance over them at times, and finally she has to inquire, "Can we see what's inside?" There's bright curiosity and eagerness within her tone, but it's held in check by polite caution. Blood! For a moment Teisyth is concerned. It's not G'laer's blood, is it? Because that would be very upsetting indeed. (All other blood is fair game.) She might've been about to move to join him, only, the idea of bronze and blue sparring, has her sitting down right where she is, eyes suddenly whirling with alarm. « He don't know how to spar. » Beat. « An' he don't like blues. » Her brain is positively tingling with true danger. "Mm," G'laer confirms the room, "When you're in charge of people, they don't encourage you sleeping in the same room as them." So, he had some rank, not that he states it in quite so many words. "And I was married once. They don't put you back in the barracks after that. Like some mystical rite of passage having survived it." He relates in turn. Though he can't be seen with all the book shelves between where Alida stands and where he works the mortar and pestle, the scent does carry. He's done in short order and heading for the hearth, "We can see what's inside when they're unpacked. If I don't have to put in for a change of weyrs." Which is to say, not now. He works carefully to transfer the leaves into the steeping ball while waiting for the kettle now over the flames to heat sufficiently. Ilicaeth tries to calm Teisyth with a projection of calm self-confidence, a sense of rocky solidity. « Exactly, toots. Boy needs somethin' ta measure 'imself against. Somethin' safer, more experienced, just as tough. » Like Ilicaeth. « Might have Hraedyth overlookin', just in case Lynner flips out, 'r somethin'. » Ilicaeth's no fool: sometimes, one just needs the 'oomph' of a queen. « Get over 'ere. » Relax, chica. "Not Captain, surely?" Alida inquires over her shoulder with mixed dark humor and faint surprise at G'laer's admission of rank back at Crom. "My da' was the old Captain's second Turns ago." Back at Pars, apparently. Softly to herself, "Rank always hath its privileges." Snert. Back out to her host, "Survivin' marriage? Shit, son, you oughtta' have gotten a medal." Eyeroll. And then her bubble's being busted, and the blonde can't help but frown and sigh as her hope of ogling (and maybe getting to handle) weapons is dashed. Still, she tries to find out more with a pointed, "Yer no fun. What kinds uv' weaponry 'r in 'em?" « No, you don't understand. » Teisyth answers, her alarm not lessened. « Lynner don't do sparrin'. He don't know how to stop. These things ain't games to him. » Her tail twitches. Inside, blue eyes turn the direction of the ledge. Despite what she knows in her bones about golds, there's doubt there, that Hraedhyth could control him in time for things not to go horribly wrong. She hunkers down where she's at, nose going onto her forepaws. G'laer continues to gaze toward the ledge for a long moment and then snaps the steeping ball together and twists to lock its two halves together. "Not Captain," G'laer confirms, but there are other ranks between guardsman and Captain and he doesn't clarify which he held. "Easier to answer what kinds there are not. Became a bit of a collector, though I don't own anything I can't use. Even if in some cases the skill is rudimentary. But there's no point in unpacking everything if I'm just going to be packing them up again to move." The blue's mental emanations are of the continued calming type, even as he rumbles, « Well then, I'll put aside the sparrin', fer now. » Until the blue can more thoroughly suss out Lythronath, anyway. That ought to calm the boxy green. « Now, get over 'ere. » It's stated with a certain humored fondness, one large blue wing crooked up some so she can climb under it, if she so desires. A smirk-tipped nod is all for G'laer, Alida finally moving from the crates (leSigh!) and slowly over towards the greenrider, her motions coinciding with a low, "Well, when yer ready ta' unpack those, gimme' a shout, 'n I'll be glad ta' help." Here's to hoping it'll be sooner, rather than later, damn it. After some inner rumination, the bluie murmurs, "I've got Dad's sword." The assurance that Ilicaeth will wait, for now anyway, does help calm some of Teisyth's immediate alarm, but she is a dragon who's given to over-reacting, especially emotionally. She's mentally distant a moment, and inside, G'laer looks to Alida, "I'll let you know when they're unpacked. We're friends now, right? So it's not like it's the last time you'll be here wherever I'm living." Then he's looking to the ledge, "Excuse me a moment," No permission asked, just the polite words before he's moving around to the small alcove that is his sleeping space, and plucks with two fingers a very large, very ugly pillow with dried dragon drool on it. Carrying it ahead of him as if it might come alive and try to swallow him whole, he moves serenely but swiftly past Alida and out to the wallow area. His glance to Ilicaeth is brief and it's to his dragon he goes to deposit the pillow between her paws and nose. Before returning, he spends a brief moment with his hand laid flat atop her head, silent, the sensation through Teisyth's mind being that his touch and mere momentary presence is reassuring. Then G'laer's going back, back to the tea kettle about to whistle on the hearth. "Your father. He's passed?" The greenrider asks as he reappears, following up, certainly, on the matter of his sword. "Right..." the woman notes in return, then muttering, "Damned well better..." to G'laer's back when he goes to fetch that...drool-y pillow. A small cough of humor is well-hidden behind her hand at the sight of that thing, 'lida then silently sharing a few words with her own dragon before her host pops back out to tend to that kettle. G'laer's inquiry faintly-startles her out of her inner ruminations - nobody at the Weyr's ever dared to ask her, before, after all - and gets the blonde moving around on slowly pacing feet as she answers. "Yeah. When I was eleven. Rode out in mid Spring with a couple other guards on some secret errand." Eyeroll. "We got word a sevenday 'r so after that there was a freak snow-squall 'n avalanche in the pass they went through." Such things - though uncommon - are quite possible within High Reaches territory. "The bodies were never found." Though she makes a show of being uncaring through her recitation, Alida's eyes grow simultaneously darker and lighter as she speaks of her sire. « What's up? Teisyth upset, 'r somethin'? » (Alida to Ilicaeth) « Just a little... She says Lynner... er, Lythronath's a loose sword. » Pause. « Gonna check that stupid bronze out. » (Ilicaeth to Alida) She won't belittle her lifemate by telling him to be careful, but the feeling's there, nonetheless, behind her cautious agreement. (Alida to Ilicaeth) G'laer isn't anybody else at the Weyr, of course, so as such there isn't any appropriately sympathetic sounds from him, simply a nod. "Did the sword come to you after it happened?" It's a simple enough question. There might be more. Another question. But he holds it for the time being, his lips slightly pinched to indicate its presence there as he pours the hot water into a small ceramic teapot and replaces the kettle in its home near the hearth and pops the herbs in to steep. Exactly. He knows how to handle such things, given their paired 'heritage.' Condolences tend to get on Alida's nerves. "Yes 'n no." Lip-twist. "It was mine, but command didn' think I was old enough, trained enough ta' merit havin' it directly in my keep until I was seventeen." A mix of old bitterness and grudging understanding touch her tone. After a few moments: "Smells good." G'laer gives a slight nod to his head. "They were particular about what weapons were permitted to trainees and even some of the younger guardsmen at Crom." He relates this as a similarity; surely, for he and his fellows the decision didn't have to do with gender though, and he makes no claim of sameness. "Strange that no bodies were recovered." He observes then, followed by a simple question, "Did they speculate on why?" She seems about to reply - and a bit tartly at that - but then Alida snaps her trap shut and simply bobs her own head back at G'laer, soon answering him thoughtfully, "Yeah. Their route wasn't set fully in stone, so they may've deviated, been higher up... 'n stayed frozen up there fer ever." Even now, many Turns after, this idea still appears to bother her some. "Or the bodies might've been swept away in the river's Spring runoff...inta the ocean." G'laer's nod is simple, accepting of her words. There's no sign that he noticed the cut off retort, though he probably did. He waits in silence for a minute. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Then finally he pours, sliding Alida one of the mugs and claiming the other for himself before sliding into a chair at the table. "I take it you were considered too young and not read in on the secrecy of the mission that you never found out what business they were about when it happened?" She knows that he likely knows, but Alida doesn't admit to such, simply accepting the mug of fragrant tea from G'laer with a low, "Thanks..." then blowing across it's surface after she comes to a halt. Wouldn't do to accidentally slosh scalding liquid on her skin. After taking a very careful tiny sip of her drink and then savoring the taste, "Yep... but I heard a few bits here 'n there on the grapevine over the Turns. What it all added up to was somethin' about escortin' someone in hiding...somethin' ta do with the South, Holders..." Shrug. "I keep it on my back fires...poke around fer more now 'n again. Pretty cold." "Must be at least ten turns, if not more?" G'laer guesses, his eyes lingering on the woman. Surely he's guessed at her age before, but this is probably the most direct reference to it that he's made. "It's a long time to find anything you could pursue. Still. Someone might know something, somewhere." There's a beat. "I have some contacts I could ask about that kind of thing. Might know something, might not. But I'll ask if you like." She's almost always on the ball, and so G'laer's question is met with a knowing little half-smirk, and a low, "If not more..." before she too takes up a chair opposite him, and settles down, mug upon her thighs. "Exactly... and only recently has my range uv investigation become...extended." A small smile and a momentary flick of green eyes out to where Ilicaeth now lies in Teisyth's couch is followed by the blonde's quirk of head back at her host, then a quiet, "I'd appreciate that. Thank you." A small sigh is soon drowned behind more tea-sipping, but she can't keep from adding a little more on the subject. "My da' wasn't a good one after mother died, but he taught me all 'e knew... more than the average guard likely ever gets. He deserves more than havin' his life...his efforts just fuckin' written off." "You'll give me more of the particulars sometime so I know what I'm asking about?" G'laer asks, this probably means on a piece of paper with names and things, but he doesn't press for such a thing just now. Then he sips his tea, reflecting a moment. "Many deserve more than they get in death. Both sides of the coin, some deserve better and others deserve worse. What do you expect people are saying about Rone now that he's passed? And turns from now, what will they say then?" Chances are good that the greenrider is bringing up the Nabolese wannabe as a door for Alida, one she doesn't have to take, but an option, since clearly one's dead father is a more emotional topic than a dead son of a bitch. There's a firm nod for G'laer's inquiry, Alida then quietly turning her intense gaze from him onto his weyr again, as if memorizing it for later perusal. After a few moments of easy quiet, her alto takes up a dark rebuttal with, "Yes." Peer. "There's three 'r more sides ta' every coin... so, even though I personally detested that bastard, I bet there's still a shitload more that went on behind the scenes at Nabol ta land it where it is, now." Beat. "Especially since what's her face likely decided that discretion was the better part uv valor, 'n married Aughan." Eyeroll, sip. "Two sides to a coin. And one edge." G'laer answers with a challenging arch of his brow. "That's like saying there's more than four fingers to a hand, only one is a thumb." Why it matters? Well, it might be another offered distraction. "Lady Ienavi." He fills in what's her face's name. "Lord Aughan." This is corrected with resolve but without rancor. That would be the Lord he was sworn to, before he Impressed on the Sands. "And a hundred faces ta every die...'n human." Smirk, sip. "Y'know that once those Lordly and Lady airs are put aside, they're all just men 'n women, like everyone else." This of Aughan and Ienavi. "You still hold allegiance ta' him?" It's bland, casually delivered, Alida flicking her eyes up to G'laer's from behind the rim of her steamy mug. "They're not, though." G'laer disagrees, "They are leaders of men." And women, but this is the all-encompassing term. "And leaders are beasts of a different breed." He sips his tea, regarding the woman across the rim. "My allegiance is to my home. My Weyr. My dragon. But Lord Aughan's done nothing," Publicly, "-to cause me to break faith with him. There's no conflict that forces me to forsake him. Though you know which way I'd choose if it ever became necessary." His eyes go briefly toward the ledge where Teisyth's fallen asleep against her pillow, drooling on it. "Even leaders bleed red... 'r green, if they're dragons..." Alida notes flatly. "Point is, they're all still subject t'the same rules, th' same framework. Human." Beat. "Or dragon." Wink. To G'laer's words of allegiance come the bluerider's own, "Fair enough." The man's brief look towards Teisyth inspires a quiet, "They have this way uv kinda' makin' us choose them, the Weyr over anything else." Grin, sip. Briefly, G'laer looks amused. "They're really not. Except in the ways that matter least." Evidently, he still disagrees and is not swayed by Alida's argument. But at least on the dragons they can agree, because that gets a nod. "I don't know that I really feel made to choose her. I'm from this place, remember. This is where I was a boy. Where I grew to be a man." Well, sort of. If twelve and being sent away to training is manhood. It's likely G'laer was told it was. Alida simply waves off G'laer's disagreement with her free hand, paying more attention to that rare look of amusement on his features, instead. "I saw that..." is noted with a point of finger beside her lifted mug, more tea sipped with quiet delight. The blonde responds to his latter-most words first, a scoffing face donned as she notes, "Unless you were recruited at sixteen, ya grew ta be a man outside the Weyr." And then, with some curiosity, "How'd she rope ya out there on the Sands? I mean... in yer head." "What?" G'laer's look says he knows exactly what she's talking about. Exactly. "Twelve. But my father said entering that sort of training makes you a man. Or makes it so you need to act like one." He sips at his tea a moment before answering the last question. "Same way she ropes most people in." There is, for just a second, a flash of a smile. "She was irritatingly happy and made me feel so. She's really kind of a bully that way." Then, evenly, "What about Ilicaeth?" A small smirk greets his 'what,' Alida then noting a bit caustically, "Well then, guess I must be a man." Snerk. And then there's truths being spoken about lifemates, and the woman's greens cant help but crinkle up some in their sockets when she grins at G'laer's smile. "Two different personalities that needed balance." Voila! "Ilicaeth says she's pretty open, happy-go-lucky, too. Different from Lythronath, fer sure." Eyeroll. "Bully?" As for her own lifemate - still hanging out quietly in his hostess' couch - Alida can't help but sober...while she too lights up some inside at the thought of their own bonding. "He... he figured out immediately that fightin' ta get me wouldn't work..." A long pause is finally terminated with her soft, reflective, "... So 'e went deeper." If there's some reticence in her tone, a hint of faint embarrassment in those green eyes, it's not spoken of. "The things we learn now that we're friends." G'laer's voice is so even it must be humorous. It's dry enough to be, in answer to Alida's first words. "Lythronath is dangerous." There is no humor now. "A'rist is doing his best, and he's getting better with him as time goes on, but make no mistake, that bronze is more wild beast than dragon." Then, moving along, "Bully." He confirms. "She likes me to feel what she feels, and feel it deeply. Likes to make my mood different than it is." But not right now, because she's asleep! So this is all G'laer. "I've learned how to block her most times. But she's persistent. Even though she knows I don't care for it." He swallows down what seems to be the last of his tea. "Sounds like he knew you well from the start," is commented of Ilicaeth and their Impression. "Don't let it go ta yer head... And don't tell anyone else..." Alida ripostes with mixed humor and sarcasm to G'laer. As for the subject of Lythronath, the woman grows more serious, her own mostly-drained mug settled to her lap again as she thinks aloud. "D'ya think he'd turn on other dragons, even humans, if given even half an excuse? Ilicaeth's mullin' over drawin' him out, testin' Lythronath's limits. Fer safety's sake." The sobered expression remains upon the blonde's features even as her host speaks of his own lifemate trying to hijack his emotions. "Might be pretty funny ta see ya acting like her once in awhile..." is noted in glib fashion, a little twinkle in 'lida's eyes for just a moment before she bobs her head. "He dove inta' my mind like 'e never meant ta surface... all 'r nothin'." Sigh, smile...eyeroll. "I never had a fuckin' chance. Bastard blue." Cue a soft little rumble from Teisyth's couch. Of course she never had a chance: this is Ilicaeth we're talking about! Ultimate warrior... uv luuurrrrv, baby! (Ilicaeth to Alida) "Never fear, your manhood is safe with me." This is the only quip. Because the bronze is much too serious a topic. G'laer's expression is suddenly intense, "I watched him sink talons deep into his own rider because he got between him and our human clutchmate that he wanted to tear up. It wouldn't take much provocation and it would take all of A'rist's will and maybe a permanent limp in the other leg to stop him. Or worse. Teisyth knows Lythronath better than probably anyone other than A'rist. If you care for Ilicaeth's safety, and I don't care how big and bad he thinks he is, you won't let him provoke Lythronath. If for no other reason than to respect how hard A'rist works to keep him in check. A'rist always pays the price." If not physically, mentally. "He took out my sister's dragon at that flight you won. It wasn't a game then, it won't be a game any other time, and he has a permanent dislike of blues." He might be repeating some of what his lifemate has already said, but there's no doubt to be seen that this is anything other than complete candid counsel. It's so serious to him that he can't even get his head out of it to deal with the talk of their own dragons just then. She heard rumors about this weyrling class, but Alida's always taken them with a large grain of salt, given the nature of hearsay getting distorted with the more tongues it winds up waggling on. Hearing a steady, frank and most importantly directly involved sort like G'laer spell it out in black and white for her is reason for Alida to drop all other tacks of conversation as well... the bluerider inclining her torso a little towards the greenrider, her mug gripped just a little tighter. After some time spent ruminating comes her low and no-nonsense, "Okay... we got it. No need ta disturb A'rist more, like y'said. We'll observe more from afar, as it were." As for that Fortian greenflight Ilicaeth won, "'Caeth told me later about how Lythronath'd ripped inta a blue, another bronze. Didn't realize it was yer sis' blue." Head bob. "'r they recoverin' okay?" As for the latter-most... "Why the shell does 'e hate blues, in specific?" Nearly immediately, in tandem with G'laer's warning about Lythronath, Alida alerts her lifemate to the situation, letting him hear every word, every thought, every rumination about the wayward bronze. (Alida to Ilicaeth) He's there in a twinkling, instantly focused from some quiet conversation with another dragon out beyond this weyr, taking in what his partner has to offer, and bouncing some ideas and thoughts back. A creaking kind of warning sound - akin to the first motions of a rockslide - emanates with his last mental 'motion,' and a darker-swirling, sand-baritone notes aridly, « Agreed. Observation, no physical interaction unless absolutely necessary. » Ilicaeth doesn't truly 'fear' the bestial bronze, but he's wise enough to let crazy lie. (Ilicaeth to Alida) "A'rist has a lot of promise." As a person. As a friend? "I appreciate your restraint in deference to him. He'll get where he needs to be with Lythronath, I hope, but he's certainly not there yet. Cerzoth is evidence of that much." Beat, "That's Laghnei's dragon." Since it occurs to him in hindsight of making the remark that she might not know. "She's a turn older, but been riding since she was sixteen." So she has a lot of experience on him, on them both even. "They're back at 'Reaches now, but still grounded for recovery. He will recover, at least. It could've been a lot worse." There's a pause, "I've contemplated that if he chases when Teisyth rises, which... he will, if he's here," Of that G'laer has no doubt, "I've contemplated trying to get her to cut the flight short and just tangle with him to save everyone the bloodshed. Not that I want to bed a fifteen turn old." No, that makes him shudder, in point of fact. "But it wouldn't do A'rist any favors to have her do that; it'd save him the one flight, but not help him learn the control he needs." G'laer reaches for his empty mug and taps it on the table top lightly, "Can't say exactly why he hates blues specifically. I know he and Knioth don't get on. But he and just about all of the other blues don't get on. He might get on with Sveianth, but I'm not sure about that either." "How? As leadership?" Alida inquires of the young bronze's rider, then quieting to listen again. As for G'laer's sisters... "How many uv them d' you have again? And here I thought you were the oldest kid, fer some reason." Headshake. There's another headshake, coming immediately on the heels of the greenrider's words about Teisyth and Lythronath...and though she wants to butt in, the palest-blonde forces herself to wait for the close of her friend's words to respond. "Like ya said, Gal, y'd only be hurtin' both uv 'em more in the long run. I know this." Hard experience time. "Ilicaeth was incredibly fierce about eating just-killed flesh when they graduated from bein' hand-fed. He just totally got into the blood thing...bloodlusty, in a way. I remember breaking out in sweats from the effort ta' hold 'im back from shredding carcasses... keepin' 'im from bellowing an' challenging others for hot meat." Hints of those memories are vivid for a moment on her face. "He broke through a time or two... but I always got 'im back under control." Beat. "If it's gonna be even harder fer A'rist...he'd best learn quickly, by immersion. Like ya said." Cue her small nod, and the rest of her mug is lifted, drained, its bottom them peered at, as if to will more tea into being. "How's A'rist feel about talkin' ta other riders? He's got... somethin' goin' on in his head, I know." From when she was watching the younger class of weyrlings and training the older ones. "As a person. He's young, but has potential." G'laer answers, "He might yet get counted among my friends. Only time can tell." Given how selective G'laer is, that's probably a rating of some kind. "He's like most of us, I'd expect. Not unwilling to talk to other riders, but not liking to be forced into it. He's got a mentors and assistant weyrlingmaster J'vain's taken an interest in him. Which isn't to say you couldn't try, just that he's not in it alone. There's a simple nod for her experiences of Ilicaeth and his early kills. "And really, I don't know what she'll be like when she rises. If it would even be possible to sway her. I hear they get pretty independent." He shrugs his shoulders as though it doesn't particularly concern him. "Ahh..." Alida notes dryly, something behind those often flat greens twinkling a little. "Maybe ya' enjoy the basic Taikrin type." Smirk. "Well, maybe I'll chat 'im up soon, if possible." She understands the whole 'don't force me to talk to you' thing very intimately. "Yeah... I wasn't sure about how Ilicaeth'd be when he went up, either. Guess even dragons c'n deviate from the norm in a Flight." Shrug. "Some 'r easier ta influence than others. One thing I did know about that oaf from the start, though: he'd have an even harder head than usual chasing." Is the blue just beyond them laughing? There's a rolling little rumble-chuff taking place. "A'rist doesn't strike me as much like Taikrin." G'laer replies, "Unless that's not what you meant?" Beat. "Especially what with Taikrin being an ex-con." Let it not be forgotten. "Did it take you long to learn about him as he is in flights? I think I'd rather be on your side of things than mine." The chaser instead of the chased. This is said evenly as the fingers of one hand twist the empty mug in front of him. "I was being...facetious. At least when talkin' about A'rist versus that type," Alida notes with a smidge of humor, her own hand echoing G'laer's as it absently twirls her empty mug. "You know Jo at all?" Smirkie. Word of chaser versus chased inspires a quick little nod from the woman - silent agreement that expands into a low, "Dunno what I'd've done if I somehow Impressed a green." The way she says all of that gives it many layers of meaning. "I'd know her tight pants anywhere," G'laer answers with a half-smirk. "Might even recognize her face if I tried." Which is to say, yes, he knows Jo. They probably have even exchanged words. "You asked," He moves on from the topic of the other bluerider swiftly, "How many sisters I had. I have ten. I'm the fourth-born, but the only boy. And at Crom whatever growing up I did was as an only child." More or less. So that might explain why he comes off like 'oldest.' He even elaborates. Is this enough to distract from his possibly inappropriate remarks about Jo and her pants? "My parents are here of course. Laghnei's the oldest that's still here, bluerider." Which Alida already knows, "If your laundry's ever come back dirty or more stained than when you sent it, or not your laundry, then that might've been Baera's fault. Why they thought that was a good position for her, I don't know." He shakes his head slightly, "She's younger than me, but older than Ghena," He adds. "Then Ghena's another that's here, obviously and then the three that are younger than eleven are still here living with my parents in the family weyr." Look! Information! Let's not talk about Jo's pants anymore! G'laer even adds a faint smile to sweeten the unspoken proposal. Listening to those first words of Jo emerge from G'laer's smirking face...and then listening to his verbal diarrhea afterwards is reason for Alida to first smirk back, and then grin quite evilly. After a few moments, the bluie can't help but chime in, "Yer coverin' up, captin obvious." And then suggestively, "There's few males that c'n resist those tight pants uv hers. And enough females, as well." The blonde's obviously delighting in catching the usually terse G'laer in an 'off' moment. "That said... I'll know who ta berate if they screw up my comforter." "She doesn't like it when I talk about her pants. Can't imagine why." The man says with a shrug. Although, funny how talking about Jo's pants keep him from having to say anything else about her and their dealings. Maybe it's been a game since the start. "Berating isn't going to help you. Baera's-- we'll call her special and have done with it." Then with an arch of G'laer's brow, "Are you saying you can't resist her tight pants? Here I thought with you kissing me, you swayed a different way, bluerider." Alida makes a bit of an 'Oh really?' arch expression at G'laer, trying her best not to smirk at him more. She's not foolish in the ways of redirection, but the bluie doesn't push for specifics, merely quirking her head and then nodding in understanding when the man speaks of his sister again. As for the subject of Jo being broached again... "Careful, green...rider." Smirk. "Jo's known ta leave shreds uv used-up lovers on her ledge." Cue another evil little grin. "She's not my type...bed type, anyway." Brow-waggle, smirk. "Well, clearly I'm so dainty and delicate, being a greenrider," G'laer begins, expression shifting to be appropriately dramatic (see? His face can look other ways than 'serious' and 'more serious'), "That I'm in dreadful danger of being taken advantage of by the Weyr's bewitching bluerider population." Then the expression shifts to deadpan to ask, "How ever will I survive even one flight? Let alone the rest of my days here." There's a pointed looking up and down at G'laer's rather tall and strong frame as he speaks of being delicate, Alida finally nodding sagely and announcing in a droll fashion, "Think you should go see Telavi about a dress fitting..." Instantly, those words bring up a memory of better times: Waki and his little 'dress fetish...' and Alida's face is suddenly lurching into a small, but cold frown that she quickly sublimates into a sly expression. Screw K'zin. "I think that you're about one uv' the last people in this Weyr anyone might take advantage uv'." Snert. "Much less survive. Flourish, most likely." Eyeroll. "I think I'll pass. Jo already wants to hook me up with her tight pants guy for a set of my own." Which it goes without saying, G'laer will also be passing on. Surely he notes the frown and its rapid shift into something else, but he doesn't ask. Instead, "Damn shame, isn't it? Everyone getting take advantage of around here but me. Guess I'll just have to wait 'til she rises." Speaking of rising, he's sliding out of his chair to move to place his mug in the basin he likely uses to wash these small use items in. "Best send you on your way before we start talking the frightening specifics of my sex life." Lack thereof. "And if I let Teisyth sleep on the ledge all night she'll wake up sore and want a massage. And that's a lot of dragon to massage." "Smart kid..." Alida note wryly, then lackadaisically flipping G'laer off when he even suggests that she's one of those getting 'taken advantage of.' And for those words of Teisyth? "I can't guarantee it, uv course, but I think Ilicaeth likes Teisyth enough that he'll scramble after 'er. So, that'll give me a chance ta put you in the ranks uv the screwed over." And, in tandem with the greenie's words of his sex life comes Alida's sudden realization of how what she just said could be interpreted... The blonde's suddenly nodding quickly, and setting her mug aside while standing a little quickly and stiffly. At least she's not blushing a bright pink. "Thanks fer the tea. Keep growin' the mint, too, please." Time to stide over to her jacket, don it, and call over her shoulder to the man, "Next time, we c'n do my place." Oh crap! Another unintended intimation... time to skedaddle! At this point, Ilicaeth's prying himself up from Teisyth's couch, and preceding his lifemate out to the ledge, where he nudges and lightly bumps the green awake, if possible. « Yer couch's warmed. Get up 'n go ta bed, toots. » Soon enough, the blue pair are away. "That mint was from the healer's stash," G'laer chooses to let this be the point he answered. "Dried and crushed. I'm renovating the herbs on the ledge. If we stay here, I'll see what I can do." About growing his own mint. On another occasion, he might have taken the opportunity to make Alida feel awkward with the sex talk, but he's in the middle of kicking her out, so it's a little bit of a counter purpose. And if he smirks once he's turned away from the retreating bluerider, well, no one needs to know. Teisyth's nudged, and there's a sleepy answer. It's a giggle. « Farts. » No doubt she'll get there eventually. G'laer will see to it. And if his dreams are smelly tonight, he'll have to thank Ilicaeth for leaving Teisyth with that one vivid thought. |
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