Frozen Common Sense
Who: Dasarth, Elaruth, Hattie, W'ton
Where: The Starstones
When: Almost lunchtime on day 2, month 2, turn 20
What: Hattie's lost her mind. There's no other explanation. Dasarth and Elaruth discuss having fun and places they might go to do so.
Note: Kissing, groping, implied sex.
While it's nearly lunchtime some people are not heading down to the living cavern just yet. W'ton's settled against the warm bulk of his dragon while said dragon sits up peering into the sky. Every now and again his head dips down to the bowl below. There's a light dusting of snow over the pair, but neither seems to be paying much attention to it. What are they doing? Well, not wing shadowing right now as there's no wing in sight. Maybe they're covering for the watchrider since him and his brown vanished down to the bowl not too long ago to warm up and get something to eat.
Wherever duty and shadowing have taken Elaruth and Hattie this morning, it must have been away from the Weyr some way, for the young queen blinks into view at the other end of the Bowl and dips into a smooth glide. When close to the Star Stones she changes course and instead tips up a little, aiming to land rather than loop round and idly spiral down and down back and forth across the expanse of the Bowl, which seems to have been her intention. Landing made as neatly as possible and she rustles her wings to rid them of snow collected during gliding, whilst Hattie clambers down and - unwisely - jumps a good length of the way. "Slackers," she accuses the pair already present, in a voice telling of how much she doesn't mean it at all.
Whatever has caught Dasarth's attention in the bowl it loses it once Elaruth begins coming in for her landing. He doesn't say anything as she lands, but there's a warm mental nudge of hello for the gold. Followed by a rustling of his wings meant to dislodge W'ton from his place so that there's room for someone else beside him instead. For his trouble the bronze gets a fond slap on his side and a low chuckle. "What a lady's man," gets shared before the bronzerider steps aside and holds out his arms wide. "Slackers indeed, woman. I refuse to justify that with a response. Come warm me up!" Fingers wiggle as he makes an exaggerated smoochy face.
Elaruth responds to the nudge in kind, quieter and more gently, like an echo of it bounced back. Snow mostly dislodged and wings tucked tight again, she pads over to Dasarth and stretches out, all limbs for a moment until she folds back and curls up beside him. Hattie shoots an overdone grimace back W'ton's way for his expression. "Don't make me want to kick you down into the Bowl instead," she threatens, though she heads across to him anyway and plasters herself right up against him, still cold from Between or simply the weather, snow collected in her hair and across her jacket. "What /are/ you doing up here anyway?"
One wing comes up to drape over the other dragon. The snow's lightening up for a bit so it won't be long before she doesn't need the cover, but he provides it anyway. << Have you been somewhere interesting? >> He's been nowhere so has nothing to share. "You wouldn't do that," W'ton says sure of himself. Wrapping his arms around her he kisses the top of her head and grins. "You'd miss me too much. Who else would treat you so well?" He lifts one hand up to brush snow from her hair as he says, "Not doing a thing. We were let off for lunch and I wasn't hungry yet so I thought I'd come let I'lian get down and get warm and cover for him for a bit."
The gold finishes carefully arranging her forepaws in such a way that they might not entirely make contact with stone and noses against Dasarth in response to the movement of his wing. << Only different airspace. Not far from here at all. It still snowed. Everywhere was white and cold, >> she replies. Hattie awkwardly shifts her arms, tucking them in, palms flat against the bronzerider's chest as she gives a mock shove. "Try me," she teases, tipping her head back to smile up at him. "Ah, so you're being more productive than me. This is wrong. I don't think I like it," she continues in that same tone.
Paws flex and talons scrape at the snow a bit to find stone underneath. << He has said we will go somewhere warm soon. But I do not know where. Maybe his parents. He keeps thinking of visiting. >> And never goes, but Dasarth sounds completely unconcerned about the whole mess. Right now there is the ground and the sky and himself and her between them. Life is good. "I could try you right here," W'ton says deliberately misunderstanding with a wide grin. "Might get a few bits cold, but I promise you won't notice after awhile." Not that his hands go anywhere near inappropriate town. It's all in the voice. "Ohhh. But you're right. I can call you a slacker. So, slacker."
<< If he thinks of it a great deal, you should go, >> is Elaruth's opinion on that subject, softly-spoken as usual. << We go to the place with the ocean and the river. Never /there/. But nearby. >> Hands might not move, but Hattie leans just a little bit more and something like laughter sounds under her breath. "You wouldn't," she goads, smirking. "But there is a lunch hour looming and I might just suggest going to find the cover of blankets to warm up properly," gets murmured low, lips just shy of actually making contact anywhere. But then the taunting registers and eyes narrow; voice drops down again. "You're getting closer and closer to the edge here, boy."
Dasarth rumbles quietly and leans his head against Elaruth. << We must all go somewhere together. >> It's not so much a suggestion as a demand. It is him after all. But at least he's learned enough to add, after some quiet thought << If you think you might enjoy it. >> If she's going to dare him she cannot complain when he does something about it. The hands on her back slide down to squeeze her behind as he chuckles. "There's not much I wouldn't do, woman. You should know that by now." His brows waggle, but his hands don't move. "If you push me off the edge I'm not letting go. We shall die in a triumph of stupidity!" W’ton's quiet and then he adds, "Listen to you with your big words. Calling me boy. You sure you want to do that, missy?"
As Elaruth moves, neck curving to reach and touch her nose gently to his, she concentrates and pieces together a memory-broken image of black sand and not-quite-clear skies, the picture scratched with the stretch of time since its creation. << Here? >> she suggests. << The water is not cold. And there are different things to see. >> Hattie's smirk remains fixed firmly in place as she states, once again, "You wouldn't." Her better sense must be taking a leave of absence. It's likely due for one, after all. "And call me missy one more sharding time and I swear it'll be the last thing you do, boy." She looks up at him, unblinking, sharp and focused.
The picture he gets is considered for some time. Dasarth studies it like a battlefield map. Finally he says << That looks interesting. We have not been there. Perhaps next time you go we shall be able to accompany you. >> Now he's all manners. For a moment. << I would like to try water that was not cold. >> Just because he is big and brave and the best does not mean he /likes/ cold water after all. Just puts up with it so as to seem all manly. "Now, see?" W'ton says with a growing grin. "You're doubting my word and that just hurts my feelings." His head drops down so he can put his mouth by her ear to ask, "Can I call you sexy?" After asking the question his hands move around to try to undo her coat. "Or how about desirable?" One hand stops so he can wrap his arm around her waist and haul her up tighter against him. He places a kiss to the side of her neck before asking, "Can I call you late for dinner?" Old jokes are the best ones.
The queen still tries to fix the image, even as it's studied, though she can't quite and feels she must say, << It might not be quite like that. But almost, perhaps. >> Maybe. Possibly. Maybe. And so forth, in an overly-careful way. << We have only been a very few times. It would be nice to go together. Stay longer. Swim. >> Hattie tilts her head in response to the touch of his kiss and smothers faint laughter somewhere near his collar. "Terribly sorry to have hurt your feelings," she says, ever so seriously. "But you still wouldn't." Despite her jacket being undone, despite there being no distance between them, despite, in fact, all evidence to the contrary. Perhaps she's just returned from somewhere where the air is thin.
In an instant then it is decided and Dasarth announces << We shall go. And stay longer. And swim. It would be nice to swim somewhere other than the lake. It is so small. >> There. All settled. His tail lashes once and then settles by hers. << We shall have a nice time. >> It's almost odd the way he says it like he's sure he should, but isn't exactly sure what a nice time is. Whatever it is Elaruth deserves one at least and so he shall make it so. If the bronze has made his decision then so has his rider. W'ton's fingers explore her shirt. If it buttons he sets to unbutton it. If it does not then he's just got to tug it up a bit to make sure it's free of her pants. Either way his hands are aiming to slide under her shirt. "You got one chance," he tells her softly as his hips press against hers. "You tell me to stop right now for serious or I'm not." And while she decides, although it stops her from answering while he does so, he adds a kiss to his words to show just how serious he is about going on.
The very tip of Elaruth's white-gold tail touches down on the stone and snow to either side of Dasarth's, tap, tap, almost playful, then aims to curl around it just a little. << We will have fun, >> she elaborates, probably sill on her self-imposed mission to teach the bronze the meaning of such a thing. << You will have fun, >> sounds like she might be teasing, but also as close to bossing around as she ever really gets. And all the while there are buttons being undone and even so, Hattie still doesn't seem terribly concerned. Maybe because the dragons mostly between them and the Bowl might provide some sense of privacy in a place not at all private, maybe she just doesn't care for once. "You wouldn't," she breathes, in the wake of that kiss, suddenly absolutely still and gazing steadily up at him, as if still wondering whether she's going to let it happen; whether he'll actually do it.
There's that word. Fun. As if fun were anything important. But Dasarth, maturing as he is perhaps is willing to let the gold have this. << Fun. >> He repeats it with uncertainty. Still not convinced it's anything one need worry about. << For you I will have fun. >> How suave, how debonair, now...no, it's Dasarth. It's not any of those things, but it is a declaration of intent. A call to arms. A chance to overcome some obstacle. The same way his rider has obstacles to overcome. Like buttons. His own shirt, for instance, must be undone so that when he pulls her as close as he can there's his skin to touch hers. Rather than argue with her he just uses his actions to prove her wrong. There is, for instance, another kiss although this time when his mouth moves from hers it's only to lay a trail down her neck. And W’ton’s hands, free of the trouble with shirts can attend to other things. Like pants. Hers to be exact. And there's no stopping there from him if she lets him go on after all he has pants as well that should be undone.
<< You will have fun. For you, >> Elaruth gently deflects, dawn light flickering over slow, clear water and refracting to shine through her words and voice. The intent alone is pleasing enough and the soft tremble of a noise she makes is, as ever, clattering and not quite in the right key, yet the fact that she 'speaks' at all must convey her happiness at the thought. From Hattie, there's only one split-second of a possibly slightly frightened look, like she knows people this close to graduating shouldn't be doing something this stupid, in the freezing cold and the trying-to-snow-more besides. Then it's gone, like most of and then all of her clothes, and shortly his pants and any other annoying piece of clothing that might stand between them. Hands roam and set to gripping when breath runs short, her mouth intent on claiming his and any sensitive skin she can possibly reach, without words uttered to stop him and without any measures taken to make him think that stopping would be at all acceptable.
<< The value of fun must be determined I suppose. >> Dasarth then has found an acceptable excuse to have fun. Because if he does not how can he relate those who do? This 'fun' will be tried and he will pass verdict on it. Either it can come around again or it will be set before the firing squad at dawn. Although these thoughts he keeps to himself. For Elaruth there is just the warmth of the campfire and the familiar milling of soldiers settling in for a rest. Because clearly they are going to be there for awhile. At least as long as it takes for his rider and hers to get this insanity out of their systems. For W'ton that means trying to keep the pace away from too fast out of fear of them freezing. At least before he sank down into debauchery he had the forethought to tell Dasarth to warn anyone trying to land off. So he has time to make it enjoyable despite the cold and by the time it's all over but the cuddling and kissing at the end he's out of breath and warm to the touch even with the snow beginning to fall again. "It's still lunchtime," he points out while nuzzling at her neck. "What say we take round two to a bed? Or at least out of the snow?"
<< If it must be, >> Elaruth concedes, settling down against Dasarth to determinedly ignore the insanity that's going on, just like she's been doing the whole time. Look at the snow! Look at the ice! Look at that poor chap down in the Bowl that just slipped and fell! There's nothing else going on! "Hmm?" Hattie eloquently questions, thoughts evidently not quite in order yet. "Oh. Bed. Yes. My bed," she murmurs, words punctuated by the touch of her lips against his jaw. "Need to wait for..." the rider whose name she's already forgotten. This requires hazarding a guess. "I'lian? To take watch again. Need to look respectable. And dressed." Neither of which they must look right now. "You're a bad influence," she laughs against his shoulder.
Humans are just odd. It's always been that way and always will be. Dasarth has no comment besides it's always fun to watch someone slip. "He'll be here in five minutes," W'ton points out and gives her a playful slap wherever is handy. "So get dressed quick, woman! My favorite bits are going to freeze!" One thing about being a former rakish individual is the ability to get dressed quickly. And so he does so they can be proper by the time they're free to go. As for being a bad influence? All she got when she said that was a kiss.
Where: The Starstones
When: Almost lunchtime on day 2, month 2, turn 20
What: Hattie's lost her mind. There's no other explanation. Dasarth and Elaruth discuss having fun and places they might go to do so.
Note: Kissing, groping, implied sex.
While it's nearly lunchtime some people are not heading down to the living cavern just yet. W'ton's settled against the warm bulk of his dragon while said dragon sits up peering into the sky. Every now and again his head dips down to the bowl below. There's a light dusting of snow over the pair, but neither seems to be paying much attention to it. What are they doing? Well, not wing shadowing right now as there's no wing in sight. Maybe they're covering for the watchrider since him and his brown vanished down to the bowl not too long ago to warm up and get something to eat.
Wherever duty and shadowing have taken Elaruth and Hattie this morning, it must have been away from the Weyr some way, for the young queen blinks into view at the other end of the Bowl and dips into a smooth glide. When close to the Star Stones she changes course and instead tips up a little, aiming to land rather than loop round and idly spiral down and down back and forth across the expanse of the Bowl, which seems to have been her intention. Landing made as neatly as possible and she rustles her wings to rid them of snow collected during gliding, whilst Hattie clambers down and - unwisely - jumps a good length of the way. "Slackers," she accuses the pair already present, in a voice telling of how much she doesn't mean it at all.
Whatever has caught Dasarth's attention in the bowl it loses it once Elaruth begins coming in for her landing. He doesn't say anything as she lands, but there's a warm mental nudge of hello for the gold. Followed by a rustling of his wings meant to dislodge W'ton from his place so that there's room for someone else beside him instead. For his trouble the bronze gets a fond slap on his side and a low chuckle. "What a lady's man," gets shared before the bronzerider steps aside and holds out his arms wide. "Slackers indeed, woman. I refuse to justify that with a response. Come warm me up!" Fingers wiggle as he makes an exaggerated smoochy face.
Elaruth responds to the nudge in kind, quieter and more gently, like an echo of it bounced back. Snow mostly dislodged and wings tucked tight again, she pads over to Dasarth and stretches out, all limbs for a moment until she folds back and curls up beside him. Hattie shoots an overdone grimace back W'ton's way for his expression. "Don't make me want to kick you down into the Bowl instead," she threatens, though she heads across to him anyway and plasters herself right up against him, still cold from Between or simply the weather, snow collected in her hair and across her jacket. "What /are/ you doing up here anyway?"
One wing comes up to drape over the other dragon. The snow's lightening up for a bit so it won't be long before she doesn't need the cover, but he provides it anyway. << Have you been somewhere interesting? >> He's been nowhere so has nothing to share. "You wouldn't do that," W'ton says sure of himself. Wrapping his arms around her he kisses the top of her head and grins. "You'd miss me too much. Who else would treat you so well?" He lifts one hand up to brush snow from her hair as he says, "Not doing a thing. We were let off for lunch and I wasn't hungry yet so I thought I'd come let I'lian get down and get warm and cover for him for a bit."
The gold finishes carefully arranging her forepaws in such a way that they might not entirely make contact with stone and noses against Dasarth in response to the movement of his wing. << Only different airspace. Not far from here at all. It still snowed. Everywhere was white and cold, >> she replies. Hattie awkwardly shifts her arms, tucking them in, palms flat against the bronzerider's chest as she gives a mock shove. "Try me," she teases, tipping her head back to smile up at him. "Ah, so you're being more productive than me. This is wrong. I don't think I like it," she continues in that same tone.
Paws flex and talons scrape at the snow a bit to find stone underneath. << He has said we will go somewhere warm soon. But I do not know where. Maybe his parents. He keeps thinking of visiting. >> And never goes, but Dasarth sounds completely unconcerned about the whole mess. Right now there is the ground and the sky and himself and her between them. Life is good. "I could try you right here," W'ton says deliberately misunderstanding with a wide grin. "Might get a few bits cold, but I promise you won't notice after awhile." Not that his hands go anywhere near inappropriate town. It's all in the voice. "Ohhh. But you're right. I can call you a slacker. So, slacker."
<< If he thinks of it a great deal, you should go, >> is Elaruth's opinion on that subject, softly-spoken as usual. << We go to the place with the ocean and the river. Never /there/. But nearby. >> Hands might not move, but Hattie leans just a little bit more and something like laughter sounds under her breath. "You wouldn't," she goads, smirking. "But there is a lunch hour looming and I might just suggest going to find the cover of blankets to warm up properly," gets murmured low, lips just shy of actually making contact anywhere. But then the taunting registers and eyes narrow; voice drops down again. "You're getting closer and closer to the edge here, boy."
Dasarth rumbles quietly and leans his head against Elaruth. << We must all go somewhere together. >> It's not so much a suggestion as a demand. It is him after all. But at least he's learned enough to add, after some quiet thought << If you think you might enjoy it. >> If she's going to dare him she cannot complain when he does something about it. The hands on her back slide down to squeeze her behind as he chuckles. "There's not much I wouldn't do, woman. You should know that by now." His brows waggle, but his hands don't move. "If you push me off the edge I'm not letting go. We shall die in a triumph of stupidity!" W’ton's quiet and then he adds, "Listen to you with your big words. Calling me boy. You sure you want to do that, missy?"
As Elaruth moves, neck curving to reach and touch her nose gently to his, she concentrates and pieces together a memory-broken image of black sand and not-quite-clear skies, the picture scratched with the stretch of time since its creation. << Here? >> she suggests. << The water is not cold. And there are different things to see. >> Hattie's smirk remains fixed firmly in place as she states, once again, "You wouldn't." Her better sense must be taking a leave of absence. It's likely due for one, after all. "And call me missy one more sharding time and I swear it'll be the last thing you do, boy." She looks up at him, unblinking, sharp and focused.
The picture he gets is considered for some time. Dasarth studies it like a battlefield map. Finally he says << That looks interesting. We have not been there. Perhaps next time you go we shall be able to accompany you. >> Now he's all manners. For a moment. << I would like to try water that was not cold. >> Just because he is big and brave and the best does not mean he /likes/ cold water after all. Just puts up with it so as to seem all manly. "Now, see?" W'ton says with a growing grin. "You're doubting my word and that just hurts my feelings." His head drops down so he can put his mouth by her ear to ask, "Can I call you sexy?" After asking the question his hands move around to try to undo her coat. "Or how about desirable?" One hand stops so he can wrap his arm around her waist and haul her up tighter against him. He places a kiss to the side of her neck before asking, "Can I call you late for dinner?" Old jokes are the best ones.
The queen still tries to fix the image, even as it's studied, though she can't quite and feels she must say, << It might not be quite like that. But almost, perhaps. >> Maybe. Possibly. Maybe. And so forth, in an overly-careful way. << We have only been a very few times. It would be nice to go together. Stay longer. Swim. >> Hattie tilts her head in response to the touch of his kiss and smothers faint laughter somewhere near his collar. "Terribly sorry to have hurt your feelings," she says, ever so seriously. "But you still wouldn't." Despite her jacket being undone, despite there being no distance between them, despite, in fact, all evidence to the contrary. Perhaps she's just returned from somewhere where the air is thin.
In an instant then it is decided and Dasarth announces << We shall go. And stay longer. And swim. It would be nice to swim somewhere other than the lake. It is so small. >> There. All settled. His tail lashes once and then settles by hers. << We shall have a nice time. >> It's almost odd the way he says it like he's sure he should, but isn't exactly sure what a nice time is. Whatever it is Elaruth deserves one at least and so he shall make it so. If the bronze has made his decision then so has his rider. W'ton's fingers explore her shirt. If it buttons he sets to unbutton it. If it does not then he's just got to tug it up a bit to make sure it's free of her pants. Either way his hands are aiming to slide under her shirt. "You got one chance," he tells her softly as his hips press against hers. "You tell me to stop right now for serious or I'm not." And while she decides, although it stops her from answering while he does so, he adds a kiss to his words to show just how serious he is about going on.
The very tip of Elaruth's white-gold tail touches down on the stone and snow to either side of Dasarth's, tap, tap, almost playful, then aims to curl around it just a little. << We will have fun, >> she elaborates, probably sill on her self-imposed mission to teach the bronze the meaning of such a thing. << You will have fun, >> sounds like she might be teasing, but also as close to bossing around as she ever really gets. And all the while there are buttons being undone and even so, Hattie still doesn't seem terribly concerned. Maybe because the dragons mostly between them and the Bowl might provide some sense of privacy in a place not at all private, maybe she just doesn't care for once. "You wouldn't," she breathes, in the wake of that kiss, suddenly absolutely still and gazing steadily up at him, as if still wondering whether she's going to let it happen; whether he'll actually do it.
There's that word. Fun. As if fun were anything important. But Dasarth, maturing as he is perhaps is willing to let the gold have this. << Fun. >> He repeats it with uncertainty. Still not convinced it's anything one need worry about. << For you I will have fun. >> How suave, how debonair, now...no, it's Dasarth. It's not any of those things, but it is a declaration of intent. A call to arms. A chance to overcome some obstacle. The same way his rider has obstacles to overcome. Like buttons. His own shirt, for instance, must be undone so that when he pulls her as close as he can there's his skin to touch hers. Rather than argue with her he just uses his actions to prove her wrong. There is, for instance, another kiss although this time when his mouth moves from hers it's only to lay a trail down her neck. And W’ton’s hands, free of the trouble with shirts can attend to other things. Like pants. Hers to be exact. And there's no stopping there from him if she lets him go on after all he has pants as well that should be undone.
<< You will have fun. For you, >> Elaruth gently deflects, dawn light flickering over slow, clear water and refracting to shine through her words and voice. The intent alone is pleasing enough and the soft tremble of a noise she makes is, as ever, clattering and not quite in the right key, yet the fact that she 'speaks' at all must convey her happiness at the thought. From Hattie, there's only one split-second of a possibly slightly frightened look, like she knows people this close to graduating shouldn't be doing something this stupid, in the freezing cold and the trying-to-snow-more besides. Then it's gone, like most of and then all of her clothes, and shortly his pants and any other annoying piece of clothing that might stand between them. Hands roam and set to gripping when breath runs short, her mouth intent on claiming his and any sensitive skin she can possibly reach, without words uttered to stop him and without any measures taken to make him think that stopping would be at all acceptable.
<< The value of fun must be determined I suppose. >> Dasarth then has found an acceptable excuse to have fun. Because if he does not how can he relate those who do? This 'fun' will be tried and he will pass verdict on it. Either it can come around again or it will be set before the firing squad at dawn. Although these thoughts he keeps to himself. For Elaruth there is just the warmth of the campfire and the familiar milling of soldiers settling in for a rest. Because clearly they are going to be there for awhile. At least as long as it takes for his rider and hers to get this insanity out of their systems. For W'ton that means trying to keep the pace away from too fast out of fear of them freezing. At least before he sank down into debauchery he had the forethought to tell Dasarth to warn anyone trying to land off. So he has time to make it enjoyable despite the cold and by the time it's all over but the cuddling and kissing at the end he's out of breath and warm to the touch even with the snow beginning to fall again. "It's still lunchtime," he points out while nuzzling at her neck. "What say we take round two to a bed? Or at least out of the snow?"
<< If it must be, >> Elaruth concedes, settling down against Dasarth to determinedly ignore the insanity that's going on, just like she's been doing the whole time. Look at the snow! Look at the ice! Look at that poor chap down in the Bowl that just slipped and fell! There's nothing else going on! "Hmm?" Hattie eloquently questions, thoughts evidently not quite in order yet. "Oh. Bed. Yes. My bed," she murmurs, words punctuated by the touch of her lips against his jaw. "Need to wait for..." the rider whose name she's already forgotten. This requires hazarding a guess. "I'lian? To take watch again. Need to look respectable. And dressed." Neither of which they must look right now. "You're a bad influence," she laughs against his shoulder.
Humans are just odd. It's always been that way and always will be. Dasarth has no comment besides it's always fun to watch someone slip. "He'll be here in five minutes," W'ton points out and gives her a playful slap wherever is handy. "So get dressed quick, woman! My favorite bits are going to freeze!" One thing about being a former rakish individual is the ability to get dressed quickly. And so he does so they can be proper by the time they're free to go. As for being a bad influence? All she got when she said that was a kiss.