A flight over the new hold takes Khalyssrielth and her suitors FAR from the weyr, but Bailey refused to BUDGE this time. As such, once the sweat has dried and a few hours blissfully blacked out in post-flight-coital exhaustion, Bailey's rising from sleep is slow, drowsy, languid, her limbs tangled in her partners and a soft 'mmmmmm' of pleasant satisfaction rising from her lips. She is SHAMELESS, in the best kind of way. Until her blind stretching moves her against something soft and firm and deliciously curvy, and not at all what she was EXPECTING. There's a soft noise of surprise, but it's not BAD surprise.

I sleep now! Yules is not quick to rise this morning (or whatever time). Instead, as movement starts next to her, the woman's determined to stay asleep, going so far as to bury her head deeper into something soft and pillowy. And arms. Wait, since when do pillows have arms? Still, Yules is not having any of this and squeezes her eyes firmly shut, mumbling incoherent vowels and syllables. A pause in the mumbles and one hazel eyes cracks open, almost unwillingly. The mumbles start again because this isn't her weyr. Instead, that one eye slowly opens further and further, until the mumbles become coherent only long enough to say in a rough, husky voice, "Bailey."

There is MORE surprise about clinging, but Bailey seems to not mind it, allowing herself to be drawn back into relaxation with a hum of contentment. Still, her grey eyes are fixed blearily on the top of Yules' head, then on those hazel eyes when they slant upwards towards her. "Yules," Bailey responds, her voice as rough-cracked as her bedmate's. Her eyes lid, despite herself: "You're warm." That's apparently a good thing.

Yes, warm, comfy, soft Bailey. Yules quiets for a moment and breathes quietly, then mmms. "S'nice," is her response, and indeed Yules isn't shrugging away. "Ummmm," but it's the lazy version of the word, before the other eye pops open and breathing deepens: "Wait…" Clues start falling into place and Yules has to blink a few times. "Desmeth won?" Oh hey, Captain Obvious.

If there is only one thing in life that is true, it will be that Bailey is a SURPRISE CUDDLER. Yeah that's right. She reaches down to grab one of the bright-orange sheets and yank it up, the butter-soft fabric slithering over flesh as it goes. "I would think so," Bailey replies, her voice still husky, "Or there's one hellaciously pissed off and frustrated bronzerider somewhere." Amusement rolls through her low-alto tones.

Surprise cuddles are surprising. And great. Yules relaxes again and snuggles under the sheet and into Bailey a bit more. "Well," she says philosophically after a moment, "It rather sucks to be him, doesn't it." Awww, muffin; Yules doesn't sound nearly as sympathetic as that bronzer might want. "You know, Desmeth's going to be prouder than Faranth for this," she says conversationally, "How's Khalyssrielth?"

"Mmmm, I can only imagine." Bailey stretches, one of those LONG slow sprawls of back-arching proportion, toe-curlingly thorough. "I hope it's Xh'zil." Out there painfully blue-balling it. Bailey's a bitch. "Desmeth has every right to be. Khalyssrielth's a fucking snake." It's fondly enough stated, for… the verbal content. "She's fine. Desmeth?" Her voice lifts in question.

A strange expression crosses over Yules' face, like she's contemplating something as she watches Bailey stretch, but in the end, the brownrider stays still until Bailey's done stretching and then Yules moves to make her own quick stretch and relaxes with a strangely easy grin. "He liked that," she'll let Bailey in on Desmeth's little secret, "And he's fine. He'll probably start bellowing or something soon," Snarkysnark, "Just to tell everyone," like Mishonth "that he won." Dragon balls. Desmeth has them. A long yawn interrupts Yules then and she asks, "You want any klah?" the short-haired woman's moving about like she's going to go find some. Naked, if she has to.

"Bellowing, hmm? Stories of his victory?" Bailey's voice is unusually curious, and she moves apart from Yules enough to prop herself up on one side, the side of her face cupped by a hand with elbow above her shoulder. Her eyes follow Yules as the other woman gets up and starts nakedly MOVING ABOUT. "There should be a pot on the hearth, though it's probably klah-soup by now," lightly expressed.

"Something like that." Yules' head cocks to the side for a moment as if she's listening, "That, and telling everyone how wonderful his children are going to be." Proud Fathers Anonymous. Desmeth is president. In the hunt for klah, there's no need for modesty: Yules makes for the hearth like a VTOL and ahhs in delight as she makes her way back to Bailey with the pot and two mugs. One's already full so Yules carefully pours the other mug and offers it to Bailey: "It could be worse," is her generous verdict.

"Oh, children," Bailey groans as if she's been reminded of something she'd much rather have forgotten permanent. "I *hate* the Sands," the goldrider mutters, pinning the sheet around her in loose waves as she sits up. One hand reaches for the klah and she murmurs a quick, "Thank you," as she takes the mug. She squints. "It could be some of the swill they serve in Nerat, I suppose," she lightly responds.

Oops? Yules leaves the pot on the ground next to the bed and sits gingerly on it again while holding her klah between both hands. "Well, if there's anything you need…" she offers a little tentatively, "Like, um, food, or books…" a slight wince as Desmeth seems to chime in, and Yules presses her lips before continuing, "A brown who wants to see every moment…" which will totally be entertainment value, right? "Does Khalyssrielth, um, mind the father, usually? Being there?" Wince at a bellow from possibly across the bowl, or just outside, "He says he'll be there. With bells on." A huff, and a roll of eyes at Nerat, "I still remember my first dose of good klah. I grew up near Nerat." In thankfulness, Yules takes a long draught of her mug.

"Oh, I have a feeling we'll become well-acquainted by the end of this, you and I." Bailey's voice is terribly dry. "Khalyssrielth isn't at all protective of her… things. At first. So it'll be all Desmeth, I'm afraid. At least on the onset. I hope he isn't terribly attached to sleeping!" Her voice is a merry-merry sing song, except with more sarcasm. "Oh, did you? Benden, myself. Far up north, by the snowy wastes." Her lips twist, some memory prompting a far-off look. "Klah was a treat."

Not perturbing at all. In fact, Yules's lips twist (involuntarily, by how quickly she smoothes them out): "Desmeth says he's delighted to be of service, wherever he can." Someone should tell him about making promises or something. Still Yules applies herself to her klah mug for a moment but the horror in her tone, "Klah isn't a treat. It's a right!" pulls her out of any other thought. Good ol' dependable Yules. Still, she manages to cut herself off from saying anything too inflammatory, instead switching it to, "Well. Damn good thing you're here then." A nod of satisfaction and salutatory raise of Yules' klah mug.

"I hope you don't mind. Wingleader." There's a touch of — ALMOST apology, in Bailey's tone, for the situation at hand. "You may need to find yourself an apt wingsecond." Bailey settles back against her pillows, half-reclined, the best to sip at her klah and keep an eye on Yules. "Oh no — it was a treat. A rare one, at that. We were… El'ai and I came from a very poor background." That selfsame, almost-brittle smile. Then: "Aye, right?" She'll salute to that. "And you." Her lips curve into a smile.

Yules looks just a touch mulish at the word 'wingsecond' but she huffs: "I will investigate the possibilities," she replies, which is hardly a promise, but busies herself with refilling her own mug and holding the pot out as suggestion for Bailey: "Well." This sounds as prim as someone very offended can, but she hums: "Your brother's been… interesting since he came back." While some might put 'interesting' in quote marks, from Yules, it's the only word to aptly describe. And they were having such a nice morning… More klah?

"Mmm," Bailey replies, more of a smile than an actual… sound. Bailey dips her wrist out, steadying her cup with her other hand to take some more klah, yes-and-thank-you. "El'ai has been quite the… special case, recently, hasn't he. He's… hmm. I think he thinks he's growing up." Bailey has the dubious sound of a Big Sister in her voice, denying the true fact that El'ai is running around as grown man these days, and not the big-eyed kid he was just a few turns prior.

Yules pours out a generous amount of klah for Bailey then puts the pot back down. There's a little sigh about El'ai and Yules shuffles about to sit a little more comfortably, lifting the covers to at least pretend some modesty of her own. "I knew when I took the WingSecond knot that there would be trouble. But El'ai wasn't part of it. Now…" Yules trails off for a moment, thinks, and continues: "Well. I saw my elder brother do this," never having been an older sister, "And he turned out fine." Is Yules trying to be comforting: "El'ai will find his man-legs and even out." She's confident in this, at least.

"Hmm. Well… hopefully." Bailey's voice is a little dubious on the point of subject regarding her brother. Her eyes twist past Yules momentarily, and her face pales, something just now communicated to her by her sex-smug lifemate — an interruption previously unnoticed. "Yules," she states, her voice a little strained, "I think we need to put some clothes on." Her voice grates as her eyes find the brownrider's: "Ja'kai is dead."

Dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN.

For once, Desmeth is not the first to know-and-tell Yules. Hearing it from Bailey first has the Wingleader staring intently at the goldrider, her mouth opening and shutting a few times. Duh, wut? "Ja'kai?" and while Yules' eyes are round, she doesn't sound like she's about to faint. "How?" It takes a moment for Yules to concentrate enough to make sure her mug is set down without turning out the klah within it and she nods, "Yes. Clothing. Clothing will be helpful." Clothing is good, as Yules gathers hers ("Hey, how did that get torn?"), and as she dresses and goes to leave, there's one last observation: "Hey. This'll be the first body that I knew." Classy, Yules. Stay classy.