====February 15, 2014
====Br'er and Q'fex
====Br'er bothers Q'fex in the Living Caverns. It turns out to be a opportunity long planned for. Warning for a few sexual allusions… and incredible amounts of sap.

Who Br'er and Q'fex
What Br'er bothers Q'fex in the Living Caverns. It turns out to be a opportunity long planned for. Warning for a few sexual allusions… and incredible amounts of sap.
When It is afternoon of the twenty-second day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Where SW - Living Caverns

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Southern Weyr - Living Caverns
Grand and spacious, the cavern curves high aloft in naturally-vaulted ceiling that soothes any sense of claustrophiba. Rich woods line the cavern floor, varnished and stained a rich mahogany, while round tables scatter about candlelit and intimate. The largest table lies southerly next the sideboard, long trestles that seem oriented to providing for the weyr's youngest. The rich blue of Azov can be seen from a distance in good weather, when the heavy stone doors covering the entrance are allowed to stand open.


What's Southern without an obnoxious weyrleader? … probably better off, but. Q'fex is nonetheless haunting the lower caverns, one by one, likely in a dumb attempt to keep his mind off the Thread that is supposedly coming but has decided to be fashionably late to the party. At least he's not drunk. The salt-and-pepper-haired bronzerider is currently snooping behind a particular Harper who apparently doesn't realize he's got someone behind him; whatever the Harper's reading, apparently Q'fex finds it FASCINATING.

Who creeps on the creeper? Who snoops on the snooper? What evil lurks in the hearts of man? The SHADOW knows - and so does Br'er, who comes pussyfooting softly up behind Q'fex. Quiet footsteps carry him closer, until his hand can reach for the other hand's shoulder, landing at the same time as he murmurs, oh-so-lightly: "Hi."

Oh Br'er. Q'fex startles, this time, because he's so ABSORBED in using his excellent 20/20 vision to snoop on that poor dang Harper, half-turns with eyebrows raised before his brain can figure out, oh, it's just HIM. That one guy who is ALWAYS AROUND and stealing his clothes. "Hey, you," Q'fex returns, his own voice loud enough to startle the Harper, who turns with the quickness of a man caught out at something he'd rather not have been. Fex smirks at him briefly before shifting about to look at Br'er. "You're too damn sneaky," he announces to the wingsecond.

"Is that pornography?" Trust Br'er to immediately make that inquiry. "I found this really charmingly illustrated copy of The Lady Holder's Diary at Fort Hold the other day, and -" Hand remaining affectionately in place on Q'fex's shoulder, the greenrider edges further up to stand besides him, and join in the staring. "And thank you, Weyrleader." Said in that particular TONE Br'er always uses when using his proper title, too. The subtly mocking one. "It used to be my job to be sneaky."

"Written pornography. Though I don't really know why anyone would want to write about sex when you could just have it," Q'fex, unpeturbed, obviously would not be engaged in writing slashfic. … or at least admitting to doing so. "Ha. The job that got you locked up, you mean?" Q'fex, with the winningly bright smile and the closing-in on Br'er: hey, he knows punches are softer if they come from a shorter distance, hello.

The poor Harper. Br'er leans over to have himself a closer look. "Not everyone," said right in the Harper's ear, "has my raw charisma. Or your… whatever it is you have." He scans the page. "Oh! I think I've read this one." Pulling back, Br'er dutifully gives Q'fex a light punch, pow, right in the shoulderblade. "Oh, fuck you." What a difference nearly two turns make in being able to talk lightly of False Imprisonment. Speaking of which: "Did I tell you I found out one of my relatives is that shithole's Weyrsecond now? I should go -" build connections "- congratulate him."

Poor, poor Harper. Q'fex smirks at Br'er: "My pure sex appeal," he informs the greenrider. "It isn't hard." Beat. "Yet." What? If he can't crack bawdy jokes what CAN he do, this is part of his personality. Unfortunately. "Mmm, I'd rather…" He drops off at THAT, though, given where they are at. "Oh. The. Hmm. He's from a different weyr, isn't he?" Q'fex doesn't keep up with Igen politics these days, obviously; enough of his own to manage. "You do mean you are going to offer him condolences." Dubious expression GO.

"Oh, is that what we're calling it today?" Br'er inquires, innocent. "Last time you wanted me to call it your Staff of Office, as I recall -" Who knows if that one is true, Br'er is a LIAR who enjoys discomforting Harpers. The poor man can breathe easy, though, for the greenrider's curiosity is sated, and he begins to use his shoulder-gripping hand to steer Q'fex towards a different table. "Cha'el," is provided. "Brown Sikorth. His mother is my aunt; the smarter sister, the one who stayed in sunny, pleasant Ista, not on-fire, smoky Crom. We should probably build up connections to them, you know. As much as I might dislike W'rin…"

"Staff of Office was an excellent concept," Q'fex returns with a faint lift of his eyebrows. Don't hate the player, hate the game. "Cha'el," Q'fex returns, brows furrowing. "I think I've heard of that name…" Go figure. He wrinkles his nose about W'rin. "Well, you know. W'rin and I were wingleaders together for many turns." And Q'fex fucked off for many of those. Great working relationship, there. He does allow himself to be led off, though, docile as a lamb.

"Sometimes I am mystified by my tolerance of your antics." The table is arrived at. No longer needing to steer, Br'er lifts his hand from Q'fex's shoulder, absentmindedly grooming him. "And yes, I know. You don't get along. But he's solid… and our Weyrwomen like each other…" Well, Tuli seems to enjoy hanging out with Hannah, anyway, that obviously counts. "… and if we need to beg firestone from someone, I'd sooner it be Igen than anybody else." Because man, screw BENDEN. Or REACHES.

"It's because I tolerate your antics," beat, "And the fact that you always steal my clothes. Why do you steal my clothes? Go find your own damn clothes." It has no heat. Q'fex doesn't really care, as long as Br'er brings things back that are clean and not rumpled or destroyed or — you know. All of that. "Lendai and Sadaiya." He sighs at that sentence, as if all of the enthusiasm just leeched out of him into the air.

"I only steal your shirts," says Br'er, with dignity. This may be because loose shirts are less terrible than loose pants, and by loose pants we of course mean Q'fex is a fatass. (Or he's just tall. Whichever.) Poor Q'fex. "And your belts. And other miscellany. Which reminds me, that ridiculous hat of yours," they both know the one, "is in my weyr, although I don't recall allowing you in there while you were wearing it." A comfortable patter, delivered absently. Most of Br'er's attention is really on the other subject at hand, which is: "Well, you have to deal with politics sometime. I don't know Sadaiya well. Lendai I avoid."

"Maybe I went into your weyr when you weren't there," Q'fex returns, unpeturbed. And then, abruptly, because he is TERRIBLE, "Why do you still have one, anyhow?"

"Well," says the greenrider, in reasonable tones, "you never asked me to move in. I can't move in without telling you. It's not like me taking your belts or borrowing that nice stylus of yours." Borrowing, sure. Br'er, the kleptomaniac. "And the extra closet space of a second weyr is handy, you have to admit."

"Of course you could move in without telling me. You're Br'er. Isn't that how this relationship has worked?" Or maybe it was the other way around. Q'fex drops into his seat, finally, and squints over at Br'er thoughtfully. He just leaves that idea hanging out in the aether for the moment, because he's a jackass.

"It's hardly my fault you don't protect your rear flanks from piracy." Take that maritime metaphor as you will. "You're just lucky it's me doing it, and not someone with bad intentions." Br'er will take a cup of klah straight off the tray of a passing drudge. He sips it, and waits. EXPECTANTLY.

"It wasn't my rear flanks being pirated last night," Q'fex smirks across the table. The weyrleader idly looks off into the distance — probably staring at some chick's rack. He's a guy, he can't help it. And man, he is GREAT at silence when he needs to be. What? There's an elephant in the room? Where?!

"Q'fex," says Br'er, patiently, interrupting the silence. But that is the only break in the hush. He sits, and drinks his klah, staring at the bronzerider with pale eyes narrowed in expectation. LET'S JUST SEE WHO WINS A WAITING GAME.

Q'fex doesn't say ANYTHING, but does gesture at a kitchen-worker absently; it's not like they don't know what the man drinks, after all. He waits for his milk and he waits for Br'er, his eyes turning to the greenrider, eyebrows lifting just SLIGHTLY. Is that a smile he's trying to hide?

Br'er's fingers leave the side of the mug, tap-tap-tapping on the table between them. Waiting games are not his favorite. But he sits still, and WAITS. Sits… mostly still. He's starting to fidget. A dark glint has entered his expression. It says, quite clearly: ASSHOLE.

Q'fex makes a low 'ahh', but not really any WORDS, when his milk arrive. He tosses the server a quick smile of thanks and very deliberately fusses with the cup, turning it this way and that way on the table before taking a very prim sip and not bothering to wipe off the milk-mustache it leaves. He settles the glass back on the table and FINALLY looks back up to Br'er. His look: asshole, who, me?

"Faranth's careworn tail, you're annoying." Br'er loses the silent game. WHEN DOES HE NOT. The greenrider leans forward, elbows on the table, glaring. "Ask."

Q'fex tilts a FANTASTIC grin to Br'er when he gives, first. What? Q'fex is an ASSHOLE. He pats at his the pockets of his jacket — here, there, no, not that one, oh hey, what's that in the inside one? He pulls out a tiny box and settles it down on the table before pushing it across with two fingers. SILENTLY. "Steal my covers and my clothes, Br'er?" Maybe his voice is a little hoarser than normal. "You've already stolen everything else."

The sight of the BOX arrests Br'er from whatever smartalec comment he was about to make. The greenrider opens his mouth - closes it - finally manages: "You've been waiting ages for an opportunity to do this in the most annoying way imaginable, haven't you?" This is not a statement that is meant to be accompanied by a dopey smile, much less a hand held out - for Q'fex's, not for the box. "You're such a little fucker. I love you." (The box is remembered, as an afterthought. Br'er absently starts trying to open it with his offhand. His right hand, naturally. OF COURSE Br'er is a lefty.)

Q'fex can't admit walking around with a ring for the last six months. That would show weakness. And possibly piss off Br'er. "Maybe," is what he returns, his smile unshaded, and the man reaches across the table to thread fingers with Br'er's. The ring, once Br'er pries it open, is simple but gorgeous nonetheless: silver, patterned matte against hammered shine, the two textures intertwining in a complex, elegant pattern. Smooth against rough, polished against raw, Br'er against Q'fex.

They are both embarrassments. UTTER embarrassments. A pair of total SAPS. "I don't have anything for you," Br'er confesses, "unless you want your turnday present extremely early." Incredibly early. Br'er is already shopping for it? It's like eight months away! "This is gorgeous, and you're ridiculous, and - we should go to… our weyr," there is a certain unsubtle satisfaction in the words, "so I can be appropriately appreciative, because jumping you in the middle of the Living Caverns, while tempting, would surely cause problems -"

"You didn't need to get anything for me." Q'fex beams across the way like a total loon, derailed slightly by, "Wait, you're already shopping for me a turnday present?" His eyebrows FURROW in CONSTERNATION. That's a lot of lead-up and, uh, effort. He needs to up his game, OBVIOUSLY. But as to the rest of it, the bronzerider wastes LITTLE TIME to get to his feet and tug Br'er along with him. "I'm sure it would. Lendai could walk in on us, and then where would we be?" Teeth gleam white against the darkness of his goatee, and then Q'fex is tugging Br'er after him. COME ON HE WANTS TO UNWRAP HIS PRESENT.

"Well, it's custom-made, and it's taken me a month just to get the right - nevermind." Q'fex's inquiring mind will just have to WAIT. Br'er allows himself to be dragged off, smirking. Someone is having a GOOD DAY.

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