Who

N'tael, Nasrin

What

Aftermath of Rajakhelath's maiden flight.

I can't believe I never posted this ;_;

When

It is late night of the thirteenth day of the twelfth month of the tenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Archives

OOC Date 18 May 2017 04:00

 

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"I might be glad we picked you."


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Archives

A remarkable legacy for those with the eyes to appreciate it, Igen's Archives are modest, in proportion to the Weyr's similarly modest status; but though they be small, the room itself is mighty, with grandiose portent to the high, vaulted arches. These walls hold many treasures past their prime, from instruments to examples of older flying gear and agenothree tanks. The meticulous task of re-scribing old records is continually ongoing, with faded and disued hides replaced on a daily basis. The chairs and off-kilter tables seem to be heritage of a time long past, not in line with the rest of the vision of this room; but in all Weyrs are budgets, and perhaps you've found one of Igen's budget cuts.


The POOR WEYR GUARDS. They probably find it super awkward to be all 'yeah so, please don't come in, our goldrider is nekked in there~' especially if they're talking to non-riders who chance getting offended. This isn't Nate's first rodeo though, so as the flight vapors fade and Tlazotezath begins to untangle himself to put the DISTANCE REQUIRED between himself and the female, N'tael is doing himself the same. Pants… pants… right. "Ye doin' a'right Nasrin?" Always the gentleman, even pantsless.

Catryn need not be too alarmed, her kingdom of antiquity and the written word is still largely intact. Any relics displaced Nasrin will remedy as soon as her head clears from the massive sinkhole of dragon-based absence. A quick check and Rajakhelath has spanned the distance to Igen Hold and is attracting quite an audience. The young woman grapples with clothing, both expedient and competent in finding where at least one arm goes. "They weren't lying when they said it'd be a blur." She gathers hair at her neck, forgets about it, times another arm through her off-white blouse. "Wait, this is yours. And I was doing so well."

A cocky grin - N'tael's developed into such a self assured asshole *tearwipes* - from N'tael as he reaches forward to try to help her out of the wrong clothing. A kindness, seriously, it's a kindness. "Aye. Ye get a li'l wrapped up. Tlaz 'n I been t'gether long enough, but I remember 'e first flight he decided t' be takin' up." OLD TIMES NOW.

How many items of clothing can there be in this room? Whatever came off their backs. Smoky-blue eyes make a short circuit to the bronzerider's face and upper torso. At least he isn't wearing her clothes. "Ah, here," her true blouse underneath her is revealed as she shifts on her rump. Nate's help is uncommon, she hardly lets a male get this near. Defensive mode, activate. "I'm— can you please look that way, at the deceased weyrwoman's chair?" Don't ask, something the Oldtimers brought with them that was Chey's or some unknown figure. She enjoys some tantalizing silence, then, in clarity of voice, "you were Weyrleader once."

The GENTLEMAN in the room will totally look away. N'tael even pulls his shirt on while he does so before he leans himself against a table and obediently directs his gaze at dead woman chair. "Ah, yes, Chey's. Got told 'bout that once. Mayte had a real fondness f'r this room, cuz Rhis ate books." #FACTSABOUTGOLDRIDERS Random fact is also him saying 'yup, did that'.

Once her shift and blouse are intact, Nasrin has an easier time of her riding breeches though her cheeks are as red as sunburn as she cinches the belt tight. Then she's exhaling without making a sound, a tremendous effort on her part. Sober disbelief, "she ate them." Looking up from under her brows, the junior kneels and twists her skein of curly hair until it's more or less restricted to her back. Rajakhelath would burn books, so maybe mother and daughter aren't so dissimilar. She observes the rider's back and sequence of ribs visible when he turned. Then she's taking a chair and peeking at the level of cold tea left.

STILL LOOKING AWAY. N'TAEL IS A GOOD GUY. "Chewed on 'em to be specific. Especially 'e real raunchy 'uns. But I'm gonna figure ye proly don't read 'em." The ones with all the rippling muscles and sweaty nights rolling one another, y'know. The good ones. "So. Ye got any idea 'bout 'e level of involvement Raja is thinkin' she'll be wantin' from Tlaz? Cuz I gotta admit he's a love 'em 'n leave 'em type."

Nasrin slinks a fine gold chain around her neck under her thumbnail, a back and forth slide, as she sips some of the cold tea to rid her mouth of the sulfuric taste of burnt match heads. "Why," swallowing completely and licking a mouth corner, "because I seem prudish?" Pause, glance at the bronzerider's head. "I'm clothed, you can turn back now." She even makes a spinny gesture with an index finger. "I'm afraid I can't answer that yet, this is her first clutch. But be prepared for it, in case. Your time can be more fluid." Well then!

"Figured. Tlaz is already complainin'. Raja can jus' be orderin him down if'n she is really wantin' his company." Though Nate can't imagine why she WOULD want him there, the grumpy sand-sitting-butt that he is. "Nah. Just don't seem like ye would be readin' that. If'n ye do, I ain't judgin'. But ye're more northern bred. So." The prude goes without saying. SORRY NASRIN. "I don't mind doin' a clip o' sittin tho." SO HE CAN BE THERE.

A coil of dark hair slants down one shoulder as she reaches for a square of date bread. She crumbles it between fingers, getting the same short-lived glee as felling a sand castle. "I'll tell her. She's at Igen Hold right now, and her presence is… unplanned." Rather than recall the gold, Nasrin keeps a subconscious gilded string around the marauding queen. "You're an awfully forgiving sort." Her calm surface cracks a small, agile grin. "I might be glad we picked you." Now she's pinching the bread crumbs into flat dough blobs.

"They'll be dealin'." Nate has zero pity for the poor holders who are suddenly dealing with a gold dragon all up and in their business. A shrug of his shoulders as he pushes himself up and turns toward the goldrider. "It ain't m'first dance." A half-wry smile at Nasrin. "Tho I gotta find somethin' super pretty t' be gettin' Rocio 'cuz it ain't easy when flights end different."

Nasrin eats one of said dough blobs as creator and destroyer. She'll check on the Hold's status within a day or thus. The Weyr will be needing a tithe in candidates soon enough. As Nate mentions his sweetheart, Nasrin sits back and settles her hands in her lap. "As an archer, she might appreciate a new," quick thinking! "quiver." She was this close to saying 'arrow bag'. "I don't know her tastes as well as you do, perhaps dedicate a trip with her somewhere." At the door is knocking, and Duivan's voice to match. "Everything right in there?"

"I got a few ideas of somethin' I can be doin'." N'tael isn't going to let this thing go till he makes it right for his sweetie. Louder, "Ain't no'un naked 'ere!" He'll give Nasrin a wink on the sly as the door opens and Duivan pokes his head in. "I'll be around if'n ye're needin' somethin' Nasrin?" Before he'll begin edging his way towards the door~

Nasrin lifts her dominant hand up, both a dismissal and a wave farewell. "I should be self-sufficient, but I know where to find your services." A squint and the junior edits the implementations of that comment in her head, but N'tael is gone and she can live with the double entendre.

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