==== January 12th - 13th, 2014
==== Kyara, T'ral, Liareth, Esanth
==== Following Liareth's flight. T'ral isn't looking forward to the fallout back home after Esanth's win. Kyara tries to help.

Who Kyara, T'ral, Liareth, Esanth
What Following Liareth's flight. T'ral isn't looking forward to the fallout back home after Esanth's win. Kyara tries to help.
When Late afternoon. There are 2 months and 26 days until the 12th Pass.
Where Ground Weyrs, Igen Weyr

KyaraIcon.jpg t-ral_pensive.jpg


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Ground Weyrs
Spacious by necessity, these weyrs house couches made to fit dragons of various sizes and in various states of health, each with feeding and watering stations near to hand, as well as the necessary medical aids to treat any draconic illness. A small alcove offers up a different view: Healer's records stashed in meticulous order on a shelf, a cluttered desk full of hidework in process, and a polished small basin where fresh water may be poured. Above it, a small rocky shelf protrudes, holding various cleaning supplies in neatly labeled containers: redwort is most prevalent, followed by numbweed


Late afternoon - warm, still, peaceful. The day moves on - but only after a certain interruption for one rider. Or two. Drifting slowly out of a sleep brought on by post-flight exertions, Kyara remains still, drowsily testing each corner of her mind for control as the last of the fog lingering from Liareth’s mind slips away. Also lingering is the euphoria of it, and the greenrider gives a languid stretch, the ease of the win being Lia’s choice this time bringing a small smile to her lips. But… Her eyes snap open as she senses the proximity of the man beside her. Now reactions get more like the last time. Oh, Faranth. Carefully, Kyara raises up a bit onto an elbow, swallowing and looking over thoughtfully at the bluerider. T’ral. She’d managed to remember that. The last time she’d seen him, he’d worn a weyrling knot. She blinks, realizing just how possible it is that this could have been his first flight..and her, not someone he’s familiar with! Not that she’s any more familiar with him, but at least she’s seen him a few times before and knows it. “T’ral,” she calls, whispered, fingers gingerly touching a bare shoulder as she tries to rouse him.

Outside, ledge not far from where she lives in the first place, Liareth curls contentedly against her winner, neck resting easily over his as she stirs to a more wakeful state. The baths of her mind are a smaller, more singular affair for him - private, quiet and clear, a break in the stone roof high above allowing starlight and moonlight to slant gently down into the water. Candles flicker, and the scent of wax and sweetsand tickles the nose while a fountain laps gently in the shadows. « Your stars, » she ventures, the lilt of her soprano just above a whisper upon the steam of her thoughts across Esanth’s mind. « They are nearly like what is seen when the night falls on the world. They are beautiful. » With a gentle croon, she nuzzles at the side of his head. « You do well, Esanth. »

T'ral murmurs at Kyara's touch, stirring. His brain is still fogged and groggy, he shifts in place, turning to face the light touch, blinking, "Mmmm-whhaaaaa-NNGHH." His eyes go wide and crash closed, brow furrowing. He rolls onto his back, pressing palms to his forehead, mouth agape. He snaps his mouth closed with a clack, "So," he ventures, his voice is hoarse, raw, palms still pressed to his eyes, a bleakly rueful grin on his mouth, "How 'bout that weather, eh?" he rasps. He drops his arms and sits up, with a brief glance at Kyara and then he's looking out, making a visual inventory of the room, the location of clothes and items. It had been a good flight. Breathtaking, even. He'd been rapt in Esanth's raw joy. Inordinately proud that the stocky little blue had caught on his first flight. But this… this would not play well back home. Now what? It wouldn't do to make Kyara feel badly. He turns his head to the side so he can see Kyara out of the corner of his eye. "It was a good flight."

Esanth isn't one for pillow talk. Fallen stars gather in the corners and on the bottom of the pool, slowly shifting motes of blue, drifted into piles, swirling lazily in the waters. « And your baths, a balm, Miss Liareth. » The drifts stir and sift and begin to coalesce. « We all did. It was well-flown all around. »

While T’ral does his waking up, Kyara does her best to gauge what his demeanor is going to be, biting her lips together absently and then glancing around in search of her own clothes. Not too far away, fortunately; they’re haphazardly hanging on a chair nearby, and she takes advantage of his eyes being covered to reach over, grab her shirt, and slip it quickly back on. The same goes for her skirt, though at this point, he might be looking again, and if there’s more of her seen than intended…sorry. At least it’s not for long! His initial words draw a quiet chuckle, and turning back, she gives him a small, gentle smile for his last. “It was,” she agrees. “He impressed her quite a bit. I…uhm.” Her eyebrows rise, furrowing her brow slightly. “I’m surprised you remembered my name; we never did get to officially meet, did we? Though I know I’ve seen you a few times.” She rubs at her neck a bit as her bright amber gaze studies his face, her kind expression softly apologetic. “I’m…going to guess this was probably your first time at this. Are…are you alright?”

Liareth, on the other hand, is one for pillow talk - talk in general, really. Though she has grown enough to know that it isn’t always everyone’s way. « I’m pleased that you approve, » she all but purrs in return, and rather than saying more, she stretches to fit against him a little more, a slight thickening and heating of steam across mindscapes a silent extension of her contentedness in the moment.

Haphazard is right. Shades of the goldflight some months ago. She's rustling about and getting into clothes. T'ral waits until she's more or less stilled before he stands, dragging the bedclothes with him, clutched around his waist with a single hand. The baths were one thing, but… this… was more personal, the need for space, privacy stronger. He snatches his clothes from where they're scattered, blinking away the flickering imagery, kaleidoscopic, dimly remembered and he's rather trying to not remember. He gives himself a shake. Mantled in bedclothes, he dresses quickly. Underclothes. The slanting of the light meant he'd be picking his father up soon and he definitely needed to settle his head before that. Pants go on. He clears his throat, still rasping, "Igen rider. Dancing with E'don." He shrugs, "You stood out." Now decently covered, for all practical purposes, T'ral tosses the bedclothes on the bed and shrugs into his shirt. "Got an uncomfortable conversation ahead of me, but… yeah." He cocks his head, doing up the buttons of his shirt. "I didn't expect…" he winces, "Joy." He shakes his head, "Lust, passion…all that I expected." He purses his lips and shakes his head, eyes widening slightly. "But… none of that." He winces again, "Well, not much. But. JOY." T'ral nods emphatically. He blinks off towards where Esanth is collecting himself to leave. He laughs, a huff of air from his nose. "He loves to fly. I haven't felt that from him…ever. Not like that." His eyes narrow a bit. What is that…jealousy? Is that…no. He looks at Kyara. "Is it like that with Liareth?"

Esanth rumbles a low, grinding, rasp. Approve he does. Of himself, of her. Of how it all had gone. But there was work to see to now and an uneasy feeling from his 'mate. He stretches into Liareth and begins the slow process of disentangling himself. The column of blue lights shifts and lifts away, a few lights lingering in the corners, drifting on the mists and rippling water. « I'm afraid we have to skedaddle, ma'am. » The lights scatter in every direction, resuming their place in the firmament, hanging in the dark, vast cold. The tiny, warm brightness that is Esanth in the glittering starscape, sends, « It has been my great pleasure, Miss Liareth. »

While T’ral is retrieving his own clothes, Kyara turns away to afford him more privacy, sorting through her own flickers of memory and placing them elsewhere, out of sight. She doesn’t remember much of after, nor did she the last time; it all consists more in impressions and lingering feelings than anything. A good thing? She has yet to decide. But the joy that the bluerider is talking about is something she can relate to. It’s an element to Lia’s end of things as well; that much is apparent after two flights. “Joy is something we find in being with the right person,” she observes quietly, a secretive smirk pulling at the side of her face closest to him. “It only makes sense that they would feel the same, when the right catch is made.” Glancing over to find T’ral decent, she shifts back around to give him another small smile. “I understand,” she replies to his mention of an uncomfortable conversation. “I’m sure this isn’t what you were planning on having happen on a visit here, and I’m…I’m very sorry your first was here and not at Southern. With someone you knew better. But at least I’m not…completely unfamiliar, yeah?” She flushes a little at his last, studying her hands for a moment. “A bit. She likes flights…so I’m finding I do as well, by extension. She loves being in the air, too. Loves a good-looking guy who flies well, and that can feel like…she ignores me in favor of that, from time to time. But that’s never really true.” Finding herself a bit abashed, she folds her arms, hugging herself a little and glancing back up at him momentarily before her eyes settle on the bed again. “I do wish we’d met under different circumstances, T’ral. Not that it was…bad; far from it, but…you know. And thank you for not just…running away.” Another glance up at him is given, her smirk cautious. “Not that you seem the sort. But I appreciate it, all the same.”

As Esanth starts to shift, Liareth gives a low rumble - disappointed, but only subtly so. « Must you? » The atmosphere of the bath dims; more candles flicker, heat rises, mists gather in an effort at enticement to remain…but there isn’t too much insistence to it. She knows that there are things to do; hers must tend to her own, eventually. « I’m sorry it must be so. But I understand. » She touches her nose to his cheek again, whuffling warmly. « The pleasure has been mine, Esanth. »

T'ral gives his head a sharp shake. "No. Not the catch." He shrugs, "I mean… of course the catch, but I'm talking about the flight. The flying." He's looking off, up and away as his fingers work buttons. Done. Shirt buttoned, T'ral sits on the edge of the bed to pull on socks and boots. He nods, listening, agreeing silently. He barks a laugh, standing and stomping into his boot and shaking his head emphatically, "Ah. NO. This was not on the to-do list." Tucking in the shirt. Belt, sash, neckerchief. Voila. Dapper bluerider. He fixes Kyara with a look. "It's best this way. No entanglements. Consider it a bridge between the Weyrs." Flight leathers are next, pants first. His brow furrows and he sucks air across his teeth. "I don't think E'don will be thrilled." Jacket. "Do you want to tell him or should I?" He winces, shrugging - or should anyone? Riding belt, gloves tucked into it, helmet under his arm, T'ral holds a hand out to Kyara. "Shall we?"

« It's distance that gives closeness meanin', Miss Liareth. » He rumbles deep in his chest, the thrumming of his mind and body attuned. He carefully extracts himself from his languid sprawl, one paw tucked to his chest. It makes him hop. He dips his heavily jawed muzzled down and nudges the lovely green. « Some other sunset, ma'am. »

T’ral’s donning of footwear reminds her that she has some of her own. Somewhere. Casting about on the floor, she spies her sandals and slips them on as well. No entanglements. The observation has her nodding, a quiet chuckle underlying the act. “I suppose that’s true,” she concedes, an eyebrow quirking. His next, though, has her blinking. “You think…E’don is going to be…jealous? I hope not. Yes, he’s my friend, and I care about him, but…” Brow furrowing, she folds her arms for a moment. “He hasn’t said we’re otherwise, has he? Faranth help me, if he has…” Presently, the crease between her eyebrows gives way to a more rueful expression. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t surprise me. He can be such a prat sometimes. Though I’m sure you know that well enough. But I can tell him; that’s fine.” Smirking, she pushes to her feet. “Are you back to Southern, now? Or do you have other business around Igen?”

T'ral drops his hand. Kyara wasn't ready to leave just yet. He waits. "No. No, he hasn't said anything about you. Not to me." He shrugs, leathers creaking, "Not that he would. We, ah, don't exactly see eye to eye on much. And I think he sorta hates me. Because of a girl. And other stuff." He shrugs, cocking his head, "So. You're a friend of his. We just…" He flaps his hands in the air. "Like I said. He won't be thrilled." Nor will the girl. He sighs. When Kyara is ready, he offers her his arm and escorts her out, a proper Southern gentleman (though he's probably one of the only examples of that breed). Eyes hard forward, he flicks a glance at the greenrider. T'ral's voice is low, a rough-sounding whisper, "Thank you for making this easy."

Slipping her hand into her his arm with a smile of thanks, Kyara lets T’ral lead her out, and she gives a shake of her head about her lanky friend. “Well, I’m sorry you two are butting heads,” she sighs, “though I know he doesn’t mesh well with a lot of people. Hopefully that will pass. And once he knows…well. Hopefully I can convince him to not hold it against you or anything. Not as if it was your fault. Or mine, for that matter.” She shrugs, slanting a wry smile. “Except in that I just had to go become a greenrider.” At his last, she nods, her smile evening out and softening. “You’re welcome. And if there’s anything else I can help with…just let me know.” With that, the matter comes to its end - or an end, at any rate - as bluerider and greenrider leave the ground weyrs behind for other business.

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