El'ai, Yules


A man walks into a b— erm. A man walks into a (romantically lit) War Room and leaves with an entirely different knot. Yules is seen leaving soon after — is that a special smile on her lips?

Oh baby. Innuendo city.


It is evening of the tenth day of the third month of the fourth turn of the 12th pass.

In Southern:
It is the tenth day of Autumn and 63 degrees. Throughout the night, the warm autumn rain continues to fall steadily.


War Room, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 26 Feb 2015 08:00


27.jpg Yules10.jpg

"Something with special sauce exploded on you, so you banged one out."


War Room

Within this room there is a constant buzz, a low-pitched thrum of activity no matter the time of day — or night. Here are the records for the current leadership, and pertinent information for the time: inventories and star-charts, ledgers and tithe manifests and wing records. Such valuable information is kept twice-watched by two disparate forces: a guard at the door and the archivist at his table, and none quite sure which of the two is more dangerous.

Timor: moon6.jpg
Belior: moon8.jpg

If there were windows in this hallowed room of knowledge, they would be grey and bleak with rain streaking the outside, warping any view of night sky. Instead, it's dead quiet in the room - the Archivist on duty (guard) has been sent off to find… oh, something. Anything. And as much as she may protest to the death otherwise, Yules is one for dramatic lighting. Ergo, there is a line of glow baskets, each feeble with one glow trying its hardest to light a path. Anywhere else, this could be considered romantic. Heck, this is Yules - she might consider it so. But she's at a table, with a strange set-up before her: Around her, glows spill their warmth, picking up the hints of a tired woman in an Ocelot jacket, the flecks and dances of a crystal decanter and two heavy bottom glasses, both filled half-way with amber liquid. She stares at it, heavy contemplation drawn across her brow, turning the glass a quarter turn to the left, a half turn to the right. Not looking around. Waiting.

It is never good to keep your wingleader waiting, and this wingleader is no different but what does El'ai do? He keeps his wingleader waiting - but not overly long. Just long enough to have shrugged into his clothing, but not actually manage to button up his shirt. "Sorry," the cocky grin that tugs his lips comes with the breathless release of a breath as his fingers fumble with the buttons of the shirt that shows too much expanse of muscled chest. The dark hair is barely dry, hanging in wet clumps across his forehead. "I had a little snag," he claims as he manages to get his disordered self to the table with the same rolling gait of a young man that's come into his own. "And needed to, ah, take care of something." Does Yules notice the short little orange hairs that cling to black pants? The romance of the situation is lost on El'ai - or rather, maybe not 'lost' for he slows on his progress and looks around. "You," one dark brown quirks, devilish assumption filling those glacial blue eyes, "wanted to see me?"

The only acknowledgement Yules makes that El'ai is in the room is that her twirling of the glass stops. It's a long moment before she looks up and up, her expression entirely serious: "A snag." Yules doesn't actually the orange hairs because her attention is caught by the flash of chest before it's hidden away respectably. She aten't dead, you know. He speaks again which brings Yules out of her momentary train-of-thought with a slight arching of eyebrows. "Yes, I did. Sit, please." Waving to the chair across the table from her, Yules then pushes the glass of amber whiskey forward. "It's neat," she says in way of explanation, "I don't know if you like it that way, but it's there." Her own glass is ignored for the moment. "I have three questions for you, El'ai." Oh boy, this sounds serious.

"I like it," does he mean to laden his wolfish voice with innuendo? "… just about anyway you can make it." El'ai grabs up the glass and sits bonelessly in the chair, sipping at the liquid that sloshes in the glass as he kicks his feet up on the chair right next to him. Which is, admittedly, the best part of an empty conference-style room, let's be honest. Still, this behavior does not indicate a lack of respect, for Yules gets a briskly driven salute and the flash of a wide, wide smile of cheshire mischief. "Small one. Had an… issue with something exploding on me. I didn't want to come to you dripping with… ah… special sauce." Listen, it is NOT his fault that his words are just poorly chosen. "So I hit the baths first, banged a quick one out." A BATH people A BATH.

Yules only picks up her glass when El'ai does, sipping just after he does. It's definitely not a klah kind of night. Still, there's the stirrings of curiosity and she'll bite: "Something with special sauce exploded on you, so you banged one out." She's just saying it like she hears it. That does call for another, longer sip of whiskey - not slurped, like klah. Never. Her eyes are dark in this light, almost brooding as she quirks one corner of her mouth at El'ai at the amusement. "So. You were there when Prymelia boldly put herself forth for first shift for Thread." Brood. "How do you think she's done at it?" It sounds like a test but Yules looks a little hungrier than any silly multiple-choice exam, even if she has to add, "Choice in footwear excluded, of course."

Slow is the smile that curves his lips as devilish laughter fills those eyes that even in the dark do not hold fast to shadows. In fact, they look so impossibly glacial even in the spare light given. "Something like that." El'ai is unashamed of her succinct collection of events into the worst possible understanding that one's wingleader can come to. For Yules's question, the bronzerider straightens and his expression is schooled into thought. "I was there," he remembers Prymelia's desire. "I think that she could do better," honest assessment, "if she devotes time to training. She can last longer if she starts in the beginning of 'Fall, of course, but she needs to work on Issaeryth's flight strength. Stamina gets you only so far, but if you're trying to defeat nature, then you need to know when to not hit the thermals head on." Maybe some of his assessment is not correct; El'ai is not perfect, but the potential within the greenrider is there. "If you put her towards the bottom of the formation, she might be able to use some of those updrafts to her advantage."

For all the liquid that's moving from Yules' glass to her mouth, she might as well be resting the edge of it against her lip. So caught up in listening to El'ai's recitation is she that she blinks when it comes to an end, pulling the glass away so she can nod without spilling whiskey all over herself. There are no napkins here and that would be such a waste. She still has to lick at the corner of her mouth for a moment to make sure no… accidents happen. "That's a very good analysis," the Wingleader says finally, shifting to settle comfortably in her chair a little more. "And did she tell you she was going to request this position before?"

Does El'ai's gaze linger on Yules's lips when she licks them? It's hard to tell but not without possibility as the young man has certainly enjoyed looking at his fair share of pretty ladies. Tipping his own glass to his lips, his careless slip comes with the bobbing swallow of adam's apple. "Thank you," he murmurs, caging his fingers around the rim of the glass before gently setting it down. "No, she didn't. Then again, Prymelia is not one to necessarily reveal her hand before she plays it."

If El'ai gets to watch Yules licking her lips, she get to watch him… swallow. And that makes the Wingleader take a healthy taste of whiskey on her own. A brief nod in response to Prymelia's covertness, but Yules shifts back into her own seat to look like she's doing her darnest to be casual: hand tucked in pocket, the other holding her glass aloft, and her usually good posture is relaxed in echo of El'ai's boneless grace. "That's quite true." Something then shifts about Yules, sharpens, when her eye moves from the whiskey it was observing make legs to the young wingrider before her. "Thank you for your assessment." She may look comfortable, but she doesn't have to sound it! Speaking of uncomfortable, "Did you hear the Weyrleader and I had a… discussion last week?" Was it last week? Earlier? Whatever. The whiskey's good.

El'ai brings the glass to his lips once more, the late afternoon shadow of at least a day's delay in shaving gracing his jaw. "You're welcome." The smile he gives is secretive, but otherwise innocuous. That is, until she asks her second question. If there is anything in this world that El'ai has, it is a highly honed sense of self-preservation and those glacial blue eyes of his widen, the dark brows winging up and the most innocent of innocent expressions cross his features. "I had only heard the Weyrleader's confidence in you, Yules." See the fall and lift of lushly dark lashes that bound such pale eyes. "I am sure that he would only want to compliment you on a job well done." Does the bronzerider butter Yules with his tongue? Maybe.

Innocent, Yules' fine hiney - she's seen that expression before and the corners of her mouth tip up in amusement. Instead of calling him on it though - perhaps some buttering doesn't go amiss - Yules opts to say, "He was quite magnanimous in his confidence." That's pretty broad, isn't it? "He's also charged me with an extra onus," thank goodness for the letter 'o', "and dropped a little recommendation." That hand that was in her pocket a moment ago? It isn't any longer, instead holding out the bells and tassles (okay, just tassles) of a WingSecond knot. As if it needs explanation, she continues, "You know the wing well. You know my drills, even the funky ones. You see the potential and room for improvement, and I'm going to need that eye in the coming weeks." It's a little like a strange proposal, "Will you?"

El'ai will continue to butter Yules with his tongue if he needs to — what? Wrong story? Okay then. Slowly, he lets his feet fall to the floor and the chair tip forward as the glass comes to rest on the surface of the table. Pushing it aside, the young man's eyes focus first on the knot and then on the wingleader. All joking aside, the bronzerider is caught in a moment of seriousness that leaves his expression encased in vulnerability, however brief it is. As well, it chases away the cobwebs of jaded cynicism for the moment. "Really?" Maybe he lacks belief, but this dumbfoundedness does not last long for the young man is scooping up the knot and gripping it in his fist. "Yes. I will." Fierce, this is the side of El'ai that does well in his drills and flight, however cavalier he is in his personal life.

She's not going to tease El'ai any longer - Yules lets the knot go from her possession to his immediately before retracting her arm - the cuff of her jacket has rolled up to reveal healed but still dull Threadscar, the mark that's kept her out of the skies as of late. For all that the Wingleader's not one for showing nerves, perhaps there is as much gladness to have the offer made and accepted on her part as his as the whiskey is raised in salute, "Yes. And good." She mmms for a moment before the startling flash of a smile, "I will need your attention for more than drills and such, of course. Q'fex started me on paperwork and that's served me well." Her own glass getting low, Yules plunks it down to grab the decanter and open it, waving it towards the new Wingsecond's glass first. "And since you're my WingSecond now, you also get the pleasure of coming up with a couple of new drills on your own." His first assignment!

El'ai freezes like a cat squirted with water, all wide eyes and parted lips and heavy breathing. Did Yules just mention hidework?? This expression lasts only a brief moment before he's once more as smooth as honey. "Of course. Anything," somehow even he manages to laden this simple statement with the echo of innuendo, "you need." The half-smile is devilish and full of mischief, but there's excitement there too. "New drills?" Now that does inspire the juices of creativity and the Ocelot wingleader can almost see the ideas bristling up from El'ai, leaving little doubt that carefully laid out drills will find themselves on her desk to peruse in short order. Why, he may not even last the sevenday before providing this first assignment! "Thank you," for however cocky confident the bronzerider may affect, his tone is serious and almost hesitant. "For having faith in me."

Oh, there's more to this than a shiny knot, but Yules watches El'ai with an air of smug amusement, all the positive feels and more innuendos than a room can hold without smelling of naughtiness. "Yes, WingSecond. It's how I started and by gum," or whatever the Pernese chew on when they're bored, "I'm starting to get bored with them." Glasses refilled as necessary, Yules recaps the decanter and puts it away; she's staring into the liquid of her glass, eddying back and forth for a long moment before replying, "You know the wing. You know its people. You can talk with me, and people can talk with you." Those are separate issues and here's something in that tone that might indicate further backstory, but Yules shakes her head briefly, either to dispell the thought or indicate she won't speak more on it. "You're the man for the job, El'ai. And I trust you to do it, and well."

Forgive him, Yules, for how he takes his glass and throws it back with the full frontal exposure of his throat. By now the dark locks of his hair have started to dry, fluffing up around his head enough that he feels the need to run his hands through it — it's really not nervousness, not at all. El'ai slowly stands, that cock-sure smile already in place. "I'll make sure you drown in…" the low sweep of lashes, the devilish cast to his grin, "… new drills when I rub them out." One corner of his mouth curls upward in wolfish half-smile laden, laden with sarcastic humor. "If you don't mind, I'll just go celebrate." He jerks a thumb towards the door as the smooth locomotion of movement has him backpedaling with grace. With a brief, crisp salute, the young bronzerider leaves Yules with a room heavy in innuendo but only the lovely scent of whiskey to fill the air.

Yules is a woman of her word: if her eyes are heavy on El'ai right now, it's not watching and waiting. "Go ahead," she says with uncharacteristic daring, "Drown me." Oh baby yeah. Maybe Yules should hand out knots more often. There's a quick raise of the glass in salute as El'ai starts to move back and a brief cough and warning, "Just remember…" is he even still there? "Drills tomorrow!" Nope. Missed him. And books are so good at absorbing sound. As the echo of El'ai's departure dies, Yules sits back and stares at the WingSecond's now empty glass before finishing her own - leaving the glasses for the Archivist to rant and rail about (maybe for not sharing), she takes up the decanter and heads her own way home.

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