Who

Hannah, Cha'el

What

Down South to visit with Br'er, Cha'el unexpectedly finds himself caught up in a goldflight. NOTHING could prepare him for the next morning.

When

It is before dawn of the seventh day of the fifth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr, Ground weyrs

OOC Date

 

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Ground Weyrs

Neatly ordered are a series of ground-weyrs, each generic and functional rather than ornate. The caverns are unevenly staggered in a variety of sizes: some so small as to be a snug fit for the smallest of nowtimer greens, while others are roomy enough to fit two oldtimer queens. Each ground-weyr is fitted with a reed-strewn couch and a cozy nook with a bed and clothespress.


The wind was a torrent of darkness and rain, the moon a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas. Rain danced like glittering jewels to highlight Dhiammarath's pale beauty in a storm-tossed sky. Watch for her by the moonlight, always the moonlight; she'll come to thee by the moonlight thought hell should bar the way. The flight itself is a frenzied act that leads to a long and lengthy competition by the collection of bronzes and browns that battle through the skies after Dhiammarath. Finally, finally, Sikorth has come up on top, catching in the last minute 'neath the great eye of the twin moons of Belior and Timor. Hannah's surprised as much as the other foreign bronzerider who very nearly went battle with Cha'el before the end became so much more. As even Th'seus fades from view, Dhiammarath's choice is made and so is Hannah's. The height of the flight's battle has calmed to the flush of skin to skin, dampness collecting in the heated pockets of bodies that dance the dance of dragons. The height difference is something that would need to be accounted for, but in the heat of that moment, Hannah is thinking of little else but Dhiammarath. When all the energy is spent, and candlemarks pass in vague haze of dreams, the moons sink to the horizon as dawn approaches.

After so recently having lost to the wiles of a traitorous blue, Sikorth had snarled, clawed and fought his way through the pack. Shoulder-checking, tail-lashing, a warrior in the sky intent on one thing and thing only – the ghostly golden prize. A roar of triumph had declared his victory as tails had twined and expansive wings had closed about his hard won beauty. HIS! Below on the ground, having been in Southern with the simple aim to visit with his cousin, Cha’el had fought hard to retain some measure of composure but had almost failed when a bronzerider whose dragon who had gotten shoved aside by the determined Sikorth, tried to come at him. But now, in the aftermath of high physical exertion and with the smug weight of his dragon’s mind weighing down on him, Igen’s Weyrsecond is aware of little else but a bone deep sense of satisfaction. That and the tiny scrap of humanity he’s currently curled about in much the same manner as Sikorth is wrapped about Dhiammarath. With tanned skin damp and chest rising and falling in even breaths, Cha’el is as good as dead to the world. Thank goodness he doesn’t snore.

Awareness is slow to come to Hannah, caught as she is by the warm flesh of another living being. Something pressing at the back of her mind urges the goldrider up from the depths of a satisfied sleep. Stretching in a liquid, feline-esque movement, the slide of skin to skin is a luxury that's exacerbated by the lingering sensations of the flight. Finally, questing hands find the warm give of flesh, though eyes do not yet open as the realm of dreams is slowly left. "Th'seus," a sleepy murmur comes at the same moment she gives the brownrider's chest a slight nudge, speaking from a half-asleep confusion. "…Move." Nudge, nudge. Recognition might be slow to come, but come it does. The spread of moonlight pale hair probably provides the bed upon which Cha'el's cheek rests upon. Finally, Hannah's eyes fly open and a breath catches as she sloooooowly turns her head to find herself staring face-to-face at Cha'el. Oh right. It's entirely possible that the wiggling Hannah is doing to sit up from the winner's embrace is what might wake him. Is there a sheet? Surely there's a sheet. Somewhere. Their final location, at least, did not end up in her bed, but in the ground weyrs where such endings usually come to play. "…sheet."

A thickly sleep fuzzed groan rumbles in Cha’el’s chest when said diminutive flight partner starts to elbow him in the solar plexus. “Can’t.” He grumbles, the arm slung about her waist tightening to keep her in place, certain parts of his anatomy perking with interest at the wriggling that ensues. “Dunno.” Is mumbled at next when the word ‘sheet’ is spoken and eyelids lashed by impossibly long black lashes twitch and then slowly slide open to reveal the deep blue of ocean depths. Oh hey there lovely lady! Currently there exists none of the ‘Oh shit!’ of realizing you’ve woken up in bed with a complete stranger thanks to the snippets that filter through from the night before. Flights are flights and Cha’el is old enough not to be phased by them. And so he spends a few moments of time groggily taking in the pale beauty staring at him. “Hi.” Comes moments before a faintly goofy smile.

"Faranth, no." Hannah's voice is slightly strained so that when the blue-blue of eyes finally open, it is to almost wild emerald green with a sense of … urgency? Her derriere certainly wiggles against his groin in these slight, sleep-filled struggles. "Hi — Oh Faranthyougottamovenow." This rush comes with a renewed struggle that's going to lead to one conclusion: losing the contents of her stomach. Now whether that's still in Cha'el's arms or over the side of the bed where she's aiming to go, depends on how sleepy the brownrider is. How aware he is as she's wiggling against all those sensitive parts, and just how quick he is to actually react if any of the above catch his attention. By the low moan that escapes the goldrider, this is not quite the 'morning after' she expected.

Stop wiggling, woman! Says the croak of sound that catches in the back of Cha’el’s throat. But he does relax the wrap of his arm for he’ll not make a bed partner stay where they’re not inclined. “”Mnot gonna bite you.” He grumbles feeling about behind himself for an edge of sheet to pull over his hips in a bid to hide growing interest, mind warring against body, as she demands that he move. Still very much caught in the haze of sleep, he’s perhaps not quite as quick to disentangle legs and shift away as she might like him to be. There is however a wary look flicked Hannah’s way for the unhappy moan that comes from her. “Jays, it wasn’t that bad was it?” Clueless Cha’el, is clueless. “I’m Cha’el, by the way.” Because providing a name will help, yes? Who knows.

Spent, in a bad way this time, Hannah lays with a flushed cheek pressed to the edge of the bed after having just lost it all over the brownrider, tangled as they are in their post coitus embrace. "Oh Faranth. Oh my Faranth. I am so sorry." The goldrider is nearly sobbing now in utter and stupendous mortification as she's trying to (unsuccessfully) clean him up, which leaves a lot of random flailing and a little bit of pat-pat-pat all the sensitive areas. "I'm pregnant. I'm sorry. I'm pregnant. I didn't mean - " The color that flushes up from the creamy expanse of her chest climbs the column of her throat to suffuse her cheeks with a singular display of disorganized unhelpful embarrassment. Slowly, her hands come to rest on some part of him - not paying attention to where - as she answers, miserably. "Hannah. I mean, my name is Hannah." Pause. Then blink. "Wait. Who are you again?" Cha'el might just be a familiar name in terms of rank recognition! This would be the point that the goldrider is tugging that sheet up over her chest, tousled moon-pale hair hanging around her face.

If he wasn't awake before, Cha'el is the instant the warm rush of stomach contents are spewed all over his chest. "What the FUCK!?" Disbelief etches stark across bearded features, eyes thrown wide in horror crumpling into a slack-jawed STARE when the goldrider goes on to give mortified explanation. Utterly and completely dumbfounded, the brownrider just sits here as his mind tries to catch up while she pats about all over him, her tiny hand engaging sensitive bits quickly deflated from any earlier interest. "Oh. Oh fuck. This is bad. This is very, very…" Blink. Swallow and he's quickly swiping at his chest with one edge of the sheet while desperately trying to escape over the other side of the bed and take the sheet with him. A man generally not given to exhibitions of prudishness now suddenly feeling ten kinds of AWKWARD and oh so very NAKED in his embarassment!! That he's probably just stolen Hannah's cover by doing so, seems to currently escape him. He wants out and he wants out NOW! But then she's reaching out and touching him and blushing so fiercely she could rival the Red Star that all efforts to run and run hard, momentarily cease. "Cha'el," he mutters into his beard trying very hard NOT to look at the entirely enticing goldrider. "Igen Weyrsecond." A frown and then a heavy sigh exhaled into a hand that palms his face, the sheet slipping from his hand and claimed by Hannah. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. I just came to drop something off with my cousin. If I'd known…I'll uh…I'll pull Sikorth away."

Cha'el's embarrassment could rival Hannah's; the goldrider is now doing her best to draw up her knees and curl beneath the thin sheet and hide her face. That is until the brownrider makes his last statement. Her head snaps up and her eyes narrow. "You'll do no such thing, Weyrsecond." The feral hint that lies beneath a voice suddenly rife with midnight warning and hints of a shadowed sepulcher is at odds with the blushing, very feminine softness that etches into her expression. It's the eyes that tie the image together: large and dark with a bottomless depth to emerald hue. "No one was supposed to know yet," she drily comments, and yet still tugging the sheet up to hide behind the veil to protect her from utter and complete mortification. Poor Cha'el. The lightest of touches, fingertips caressing the curve of the point of his shoulder, just before the form slopes into the bicep muscles of the upper arm. "Don't be sorry. You won. Sikorth won. Dhiammarath chose her suitor. I'm sorry that I… um… on you… and." Well. "I didn't expect the morning sickness to hit with a bang and… I have never thrown up… in all my turns as a dragonrider… after and…," the thought breaks down as she's reminded exactly what she's done with some bit of detritus falls slips off the brownrider causing mortification to well anew. Peering up at Cha'el, Hannah bites her lower lip as if waiting for more explosions or condemnations or rejections. Surely… surely those aren't tears welling up in those big, green eyes?

Hints of the spectacular creature from the night before making a flickering appearance, Cha’el is caught in the smoke of reminder of her continued lurking existence, sea-blue eyes lashed with the heat of patchy memory. Clearing his throat he gives a small shake of head. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He tells her, a shadow of a smile appearing as he lifts a hand and dares to tuck a stray lock of wheat-blonde hair behind her ear. “It happens. Well, not the…you know…” His hand retreats and waves vaguely at is barf-speckled chest. “That’s a first.” Attempting to use gentle tease to diffuse the situation. But then he glances up and sees the moisture gathering in limpid pools of green and like any man, he stiffens. Oh dear, Faranth. Not the tears. NOT THE TEARS!! “Hey now, it could be worse, aye?” Though quite how he’s not sure. Again he reaches for an edge of the sheet, the little bit he’s been left that drapes over lean hips and swipes at his chest, trying to gather up a morning after result he’d not in any way been prepared for. Quietly as he does so: “You weyrmated?” Because if so, he’s gonna be outta there faster than the shake of a dragon’s tail rather than have to face said weyrmate.

A throaty laughter follows some of his statements, Hannah ducking her head after he's tucked the bit of hair behind her ear. "I have to say this is a first." This she admits to, color highlighting her cheeks a little more, but for different reasons. "The pregnancy, too. I've never been proddy and pregnant. It's … different, and I guess it caught up to me." Now that some of the embarrassment has been smoothed over a tad, the goldrider is more than willing to relinquish bits of the sheet for Cha'el to use, wiping at her eyes and rubbing her nose. "Remember that sexy tall bronzerider that stood almost a good head over everyone else?" C'mon. Th'seus is tall. "That's him." Finally relaxed, the blubbering gone and the confusion and mortification erased into nothingness (mostly), the woman winds her arms around her knees and stares at him with an intensity. "Really. I'm sorry and don't — Dhiammarath chose Sikorth." The resurfacing of the feral command coats husky tones, "I'll see you and yours back here when it's time." One brow quirks. Demanding little thing, but given that Dhiammarath will be making little Sikorth babies, perhaps not unwarranted!

Tall and sexy bronzerider? Oh yeah, Cha’el remembers him well though for reasons both he and the goldrider would probably rather not know. Attention jerks back to Hannah, those ocean depths widened again. “Oh. Crap. That’s him?” Hahaha. Shit! Now who’s the one with color deepening the tan of skin that peeks above the neat groom of beard. “Uh. Well shit. That’s uh…” Awkward? With his chest as clean as he’s going to get it, the Igen Weyrsecond spies his pants draped over the back of a chair and rather then deny the pregnant lady her cover, takes his nuts in his hand (Not literally!!) and throwing long legs over the side of the bed, saunters bare-arsed to retrieve them. Quickly pulling them on and only turning once fasteners are safely engaged, he flips Hannah a short smile. “Wild felines wouldn’t keep him away.” He says of Sikorth. Next his shirt is spotted and note made of the fact that its being held together by one lonely button that had managed to maintain a tenacious hold. Ah well, better than nothing. Pulling it on so that it sags open in two halves caught together at the bottom, he returns to where Hannah is, concern heavy across his expression. “Are you okay? I don’t remember much of last night but it seemed….” Wild and unfettered? “You should maybe see the healers or something.” Worried not that he might have caused harm in some way.

"Yeah, that's him." Hannah stays where she is, in the mess she's made of the stranger's bed in which they had just so recently coupled. "It's a flight is what it is," some hint of pragmatism underlines the husky voice, but even still touches of vulnerability can be heard. She's polite enough to not look as the man gathers up his clothing and puts it on, until she feels the Weyrsecond's weight press into the mattress. Tipping her head back, she blinks at Cha'el, "The healers? I'm fine. I think the proddy and all the, ah, movement," sex, "just stirred things up. The baby's the size of a nut or something. It's protected by my bones and stuff." She pauses, and then doesn't stop herself from adding with a dry humor, "I'm actually feeling much better now." That she tossed her cookies on his chest. Right. Smooth, Hannah, smooth. Finally, uncurling from her position has the goldrider in search of her own clothing, dragging the sheet with her. The dress she wore — a thing of dark blue that was meant to accentuate the curves of her body and leave little and everything to the imagination — is nose-winkled at. "I think I'll just steal this sheet rather than try to put this thing back on. Renalde won't care." Turning to Cha'el, the limp remains of her dress dangling from one side. "Yeah, so. Maybe a bath is in order. Then we can, ah, go from there."

Cha’el doesn’t look quite so convinced. Just a flight is when its JUST a flight but becomes less so when a pregnant women is involved and snatched out from under her weyrmate’s nose. Bro-code. It exists!! However, genuine interest comes into play when Hannah goes on to answer his question. “Small as a nut, eh?” His gaze drops to more or less where the smooth plane of her belly lies hidden beneath the sheet and a small smile that’s almost wistful at the edges appears. “I wish you both all the luck.” A chuckle rolls out next, rich and throaty at declaration to her current state of well-being. “Glad to have been of help.” Teasing as he pats at his chest and then stands and gathers up his jacket from where it had flung and landed hooked over a glowbasket. The dress Hannah had been wearing is eyed a particular heated memory flashing into place. Phewee! It is hot in there? Another clearing of throat. “Aye, I’ll leave him with your girl for a bit if that’s okay, hit the bathing caverns and then see if I can hunt Br’er down.” That having been said, the brawny brownrider steps up to the sheet clad Weyrwoman and without warning, drops a kiss to the top of her head. “You take care now, aye? And we’ll back in a few to check in.”

A bob of her head answers his question, Hannah's delight at the idea of a nut-sized thing growing inside of her coming out in the sparkle of her eyes and the glow of her expression. "Yeah, it's really tiny." Involuntarily, she splays her hand across her lower abdomen before low laughter escapes. "Psh," but that's all he gets out of her for that. "I'm going to find my own weyr and my own bath," and though it's unstated, she's going to seek out Th'seus most likely so she can assure him that all is well, "so I'll be in and around the council area this morning." The kiss to the top of her head surprises her, causing eyes to widen so briefly. "I will. Tell Br'er I said 'good morning'." The wicked curve of her lips precedes the following, "He's a good man, that Br'er. The best stripper pole in the weyr." A joke that begs for more but's forestalled with: "Make him tell you the story, but Cha'el…" Slinging the dress over one arm, she clutches the sheet and shuffles the first steps towards escape. "Don't tell anyone, please. I didn't mean to blurt it out and not everyone knows, yet."

A laugh colored by sly intrigue greets the comment made about the greenrider. “He’s my cousin.” Cha’el states juuuust in case she got the wrong idea. “Stipper pole, eh?” Sly amusement deepens and rolls through the set of his baritone. “I’ll be sure to ask him.” Pausing before getting into the long loping stride that is uniquely his, the brownrider passes a warm smile to Hannah. “Like I said. Your secret’s safe with me.” Touching two fingers to his lips he taps at his chest beneath which beats the steady rhythm of his heart. “Locked up safer than a Holder girl’s virginity.” And with that and a wink, he slings his jacket over his shoulder and heads down the short flight of stairs.

"Do so." Cha'el's claim to Br'er's blood has Hannah's eyes really widening, which prevents any further comment from the goldrider before the slight, slack-jawed nod of her head when he claims to keep her secret. "Br'er, our Br'er, my frenemy-turned-friend Br'er has a cousin." So he didn't hop from an egg! And she just slept with Br'er's cousin. Rubbing her face in her hand, she indulges in a moment of a quiet catch of emotion before pivoting on her heel, a needy whisper falling from her lips, "Th'seus." Which is how the goldrider shuffles from the ground weyrs and beyond. To take a bath, find Th'seus and figure out how Igen's Weyrsecond is going to be spending a good chunk of time in Southern! First things first, she needs a reminder of love.

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