====August 27, 2013
====Q'fex and Br'er
====Q'fex enlists Br'er's help in raking the Sands. A conversation is had. They aren't very productive.

Who Q'fex and Br'er
What Q'fex enlists Br'er's help in raking the Sands. A conversation is had. They aren't very productive.
When There is 1 turn 4 months and 24 days until the 12th pass.
Where SW - Hatching Sands



Southern Weyr - Hatching Sands
The Sands are surprisingly soft to the feet and to the eyes: rich grains of gold commingle with the ground basalt-black that mark the shores of Azov's Sea. The whorls of lighter color pattern into the sands, larger-grained and often settling at the top, as golden driftwood against dark shores. … but the moaning from above sounds like the chorus of the damned, lessening the natural beauty here below.

The storms. They are RIDICULOUS, right? Q'fex, exasperated by this typhoon, is currently going over the Sands in his typical Sandswalk prior to a clutch imminent; even if Dhia is just GLOWING at this point. Wingleaders are dispersing, while the weyrleader takes the spot in front of the galleries proper, combing through with a long-handled two-tined rake.

The storms are definitely ridiculous. Br'er has been thin on the ground for the past three days, as his standard ride from his weyr is his dragon, and his dragon wants nothing to do with The Outdoors at the moment. But he's out and about now, and he's in hot pursuit of PREY. Prey that is currently on the Sands. Which is not where Br'er is: Br'er, like a good little non-ranker, is in the galleries, descending oh-so-quietly down the steps, then taking up a perch leaning on the railing, right above Q'fex's head. He waits a beat. Then: "Hi."

Poor Inlayraith. At least Q'fex's weyr is MOSTLY accessible from the inner caverns: just a quick dart from the overhang of the council chambers across to the stairs up. "Oh, get your ass down here," is Q'fex's knee-jerk reaction, offering a lazy smile upwards after; "You can help me SIFT." Not like Yulena wasn't just in here raking not too long ago, but you can NEVER BE TOO SURE, right?

"But it's so much nicer up here," replies Br'er, leaning pointedly on the rail. But let it not be said his heart is of stone: he's soon climbing that rail, and making an agile drop down. It's none too many feet, and sand is giving. Another rake is acquired, hefted up over his shoulders, before the greenrider pads closer. "So." A toothy grin twitches into place. "Kraaken hoping for two for two?"

"So I see." Q'fex shakes his head amused, and then smirks at the man's drop to the sand. "No broken ankles?" oh-so-helpfully questioned; hey, he's just making SURE he doesn't need to call a healer. That LAST question receives just a raised eyebrow and LOOK. "I'll be escorting Bailey and Lendai when they leave," he dryly returns; "I have no intention on being Sandsbound again." His mouth twitches. "What about you? Planning on tossing Inlayraith up after that behemoth?" His mouth twitches in amusement.

"Why, looking to play healer?" There are multiple ways one could take that sentence: Br'er's broad smile suggests the intended meaning is ALL OF THEM. Slinging the rake back down to touch the ground, he begins a dutiful assistance. "Pity," is the fond reply. "He makes cute babies for such an ugly beast." Rake, rake. The man snorts. "Can you imagine? She'd spend the whole time trying to hide behind other dragons in the pack."

"Mmmm," Q'fex lazily draws his eyes over Br'er's form, tip to… tail. "Maybe later." An eyebrow quirks, just SO. "He does, doesn't he?" His voice is strangely proud about his lifemate's offspring; "Valiuth notwithstanding," half in a mutter. He pries up a bit of petrified eggshell and tosses it towards the middle, where such a pile has been forming. "Poor Inly. I can't really imagine it. I feel like you or I would have better chance of catching, running after her on the ground." Sad, sad Inly.

Br'er has nothing to say on the matter of playing healer: only a slanted smile with a hint of TEEF. Faintly promising. A half-muffled chortle follows. "Valiuth is a fine dragon. Maybe a little dull, is all." Dull here meaning: dutiful, normal, not a total mess like half the other dragons around here. "It's the rider you don't like." He continues his raking, after a momentary pause to watch Q'fex make his throw, eyes on the man's shoulders. "Mm. Don't count her out," he replies, dutifully defensive of his dragon's hypothetical chances at lesbianism. "She's faster than your bloated beasts, at least."

Oh teefs. Gaga sung a song about them, once. Q'fex would like it. Uh. What? DISTRACTED…. "Well. I don't know," he hedges about W'rin; "I was actually thinking…" his voice trails off. Br'er don't LOOK at him like that. "Faster, sure. But no endurance," he teases. "Though I suppose you LIKE that wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am." Glint of teeth, this time on Q'fex's side of things.

Br'er will look if he wants to look. He's doing it right now, in fact. Though it's sadly (fortunately?) more on the buddy-buddy end of Br'er-looking-at-Q'fex expressions. "Thinking? Do tell me more." Buddy-buddy takes a slight detour towards the 'smirky', even as the greenrider sedately shepherds a few eggshards towards the pile. "Implying something about my dragon and I?" Rake, rake. Drawlingly, he replies: "Enjoying a bag lunch doesn't mean one can't enjoy a twelve-course meal, thank you." Accidentally appropriate metaphors, go!

"Thinking," Q'fex half-reluctantly returns. "Well. I need a weyrsecond, and since some people have all but turned me down," he sends a jaded eye to Br'er, though the smirk that he sports kind of belies that expression, "Well. You know, he would be very good at spot-checking individual dragonrider training, which is really what I need." So Q'fex can work on managing the MANAGEMENT, right? Or something. The mention of LUNCH may make him color a little, but, uh, he doesn't COMMENT. What, Q'fex, abashed? Hahahahahaha.

Br'er is genuinely surprised: he even stops raking for a long beat, the better to STARE. Congratulations, Q'fex, you have DUMBFOUNDED him! When he speaks, it's the most trivial point he begins with: "If I can't be in your wing, I obviously can't be your Weyrsecond," the greenrider points out, leaving off raking entirely. He leans on the lawn tool instead. "He's not a bad choice, exactly," he continues, slowly. "Though I wonder if he wouldn't undermine your authority. He doesn't exactly… respect you, unless things have changed since I left Igen. I don't think he could bring himself to cause trouble intentionally, but." A second's hesitation. Then, he shrugs. The blush at LUNCH is noted, with a raised eyebrow. Br'er doesn't ask, though.

Oh look, Fex can be surprising! The man takes a shrug of a shoulder, philosophical. "Well, as my weyrsecond you could be a member of a different wing," he points out, SO LOGICALLY. "But I know you want to live out your retired days in rest and relaxation," deadpan. Ahem. "It's just a — pipe dream, so to speak, at this point. I don't know if I really need a weyrsecond at this point." A bit of hesitation; "I'm sure it will resolve itself."

"Yes," Br'er points out, drily, "but if I'm your weyrsecond, it carries all sorts of costs. I can't sleep with you, for one thing." He doesn't, noticeably, bring up the OTHER issues he's previously aired, re: power, pursuit of. But they're hinted at, in his quiet voice. "At any rate," the man continues, briskly. "You could always bring him down for a chat, and see if you can stand each other better, nowadays. Even if he wants to stay at Igen, it can't hurt to have strong relationships with another Weyr."

"Well, in that case, I forbid you from ever becoming weyrsecond." And damn any watchers, because Q'fex is shifting from his rake to reach out, a mild touch of fingers to the back of Br'er's neck, entirely too intimate for… coworkers. "Truth to that. Valiuth won a gold last, Faranth only knows what he's in for in the future."

Pfft, who's going to be around when there are no eggs on the Sands? Br'er leans into the touch without conniption or care for who might be watching, lids dropping contentedly. "Mm. If even that beast of yours," so fondly he says it, "can catch…" Shifting his rake, he reaches up, running a light finger along the edge of Q'fex's own hand. "If you can get him to behave, I'm tempted to try coaxing Inlayraith to camp in your weyr, while this storm lasts. Unless you object." His mouth twitches. "I'm tired of having to spend a half hour building up her courage every time I want to eat hot food."

Fingers curl, thumb and middle finger strongly massaging, edging at the strong lines of muscle at the join where back meets neck. "Hey now," a protest about Kraakenaeth; "If that beast didn't catch, you wouldn't have the opportunity to…" A lazy smirk here, sweeping downwards towards perfectly-presented Br'er, "…hog half of my bed and hide from the rain." That is obviously invitation, right?

"Mm." Okay, sure, getting a micro-massage on the Sands is a weird thing to do. But they've done WEIRDER. Br'er gives a soft, pleased little sigh, and stretches up into it, feet flexing slightly on the heated ground below. His own hand shifts to rest lightly, affectionately, atop Q'fex's. It takes him a… while… to muster up a reply. "Mm. I do love your weyr." It's for the best that Q'fex can't will it to him. Br'er might be willing to consider passing up (official) power for the sake of affection, but excellent real estate is FAR MORE TEMPTING. "I should really go get dinner," he adds, apropos of nothing, and not actually moving.

They HAVE done weirder, haven't they? "I like having you in it." His weyr, that is. Q'fex slowly ceases the tempo of the massage, until he gives one final flex of finger-and-thumb before withdrawing his hand entirely. An eye scanning over the Sands; "Well," he states aloud, "I could join you, I suppose. If you wanted company, that is." There's that half-smile, dark eyes hooded with amusement and silent promises.

Poor Fort. Poor, poor Fort. "Mm," says Br'er, again: to the comment, to the last traces of the massage, perhaps to the conversation in general. His eyes reopen, their pale blue warm with unabashed affection. Go get a room, you two embarrassments. He grins, teeth showing. "Well. I'm said to be a sociable man." A final glance at the Sands themselves, slightly closer to ready, and the greenrider moves forward, beckoning for Q'fex to follow.

"A sociable man. You? The best socializing I've ever seen you do," Q'fex complains, bitch-bitch, moan-moan, "…Was through letters." And just ignore that slight, somewhat-dopey smile that follows Br'er inward. And that hand placed just SO on Br'er's ass. And… well. Dinner. There're bound to be sandwiches there. What does Br'er feel about turkey and melted provolone?

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