I've got a bad feeling about this.
RL Date: 5/22/09
IC Date: 10/??/19 --Back-scened. Log from (the totally effeminate, very probably ragingly homosexual) A'son.
Wyaeth's Really Boring Weyr
It's a weyr and a ledge. There's nothing-- absolutely nothing-- remarkable about either of them. The ledge and the outer weyr has room for a bronze-and-guest, replete with all the standard trappings of dragons and their riders. A couch, some hooks for gear, a long hearth to heat the outer weyr, everything very impersonal, all neat and tidy with the look of seldom use for all that riding gear: It's Interval, after all.
The inner weyr, a sleeping cavern and a bathtub, is smaller and cozier and only slightly more lived-in. The furniture is sturdy but plain, bed and wardrobe and nightstand. A folding screen half-shields the sunken bathtub, usually with a towel slung over it and soap and wash rags within reach. The relics of a man's life are found here and there, large boots often kicked off carelessly in front of the smaller inner hearth, a rumpled tunic left where it fell, shaving kit by a washbasin. Also, an ass-ugly coat-rack.
A'son at the very least, doesn't show up in N'thei's weyr in the dead of night. He doesn't show up in the wee hours of the morning either to crawl into be- to surprise his friend. Nope, he comes just before lunchtime. Nikoth lands on Wyaeth's ledge, with no grace at all. His talons raking across the stone and producing an awful ear-bleed-worthy-sound. His rider dismounts, rubbing his ears once he's on the ground.
Mind, just-before-lunchtime is the middle of N'thei's night. So it's lucky there's Wyaeth, giving Nikoth one of his best go-away rumbles and arranging himself in such a way as to make it totally impossible that there's enough room on the ledge for his fellow bronze to get comfy, simultaneously warning his snoring rider that he oughta put on his drawers 'cause someone's come a-callin'. "Too fucking early," comes the call from inside, all the gravely hoarseness of a man ripped from the depths of slumber.
Nikoth rumbles back cheerfully, in what could possibly be described as a sarcastic fashion. This is just before he settles down on the ledge anyway, allowing his bulk to get all touchy with Wyaeth's if he doesn't give him space. A'son meanwhile, is wincing when he hears that tone. But he's here. So he goes in, averting his eyes to the floor and asking, "You've got clothes on right? Because I really don't know if we're that close."
Wyaeth flicks. Flick flick flick flicks endlessly with his wingtip, like a horsetail swatting at a super-annoying fly. Other than that, he pretends very hard that he's asleep. "No," answers N'thei, though he is attired enough that-- once he's done stepping into his pants and quick-buttoning his shirt-- things will look duly chaste. "Figured we may as well clear up once and for all who's the bigger man." This while he eyes A'son crossly and starts poking at his half-asleep hearth. "The hell do you want." At this god-forsaken hour.
Nikoth snakes his head next to Wyaeth's. Brotherly love. A'son doesn't look up for another minute or two, giving N'thei enough time to not be naked. When he does bring his gaze to him, it's with a lifted 'brow. "So does that mean you want me to drop my pants for you? Because with present company I'm not sure that it'll be in peak condition." He ends up leaning against one of the walls, watching him. "I'd like you to do something for me."
Coming hot on the heels of drop-my-pants, is it any wonder that N'thei's response is a violent, "Absolutely not happening." The fire agreeably roars to life about then, just to make it appropriately dramatic.
"Well, that's exactly what I figured would happen." A'son says, sounding a bit self-satisfied. Then he's pushing himself off that wall, "Sorry for waking you up."
Also, "It was a joke." N'thei's just not good at them. The fire-poker-thing goes clanging back into the fire-poker-thing rack, and he wiggles his bare toes toward the heat a little. "What do you want."
"Are you trying to develop a sense of humor?" A'son pauses in his wall-push, eyeballing the other man with a remotely amused look. He shrugs his shoulders as he drops back into place, "I need you to cover my ass."
Bland; "Yes. Is it working?" N'thei sends a few dim blinks toward A'son to really make sure the fact that even he knows he's not funny is fully bare. But this sounds important, and his head cocks with appropriate I'm-listening posture. "While you do what?"
"Absolutely." A'son answers, lips quirking up just a touch. "While I pretend to be a poor holder with the dubious honor of being married to Leova. While both of us hide on a tithe train." He blows out some air. "Need someone here to be on call for about a week while we're out. In case we get sacked."
Up go N'thei's brows. "Come again?" That's an awfully high-level overview there. "You." A'son? Really? "And Leova." Even more dubious derision. "Are hiding on a tithe train. Why?"
"Because I got sucked into it by that /woman/." A'son says that part with a certain amount of tired resignation before continuing, "We're hoping they try and nail the caravan while we're on it. Then we try to snag some people. The other tithe trains are going to have our people on them too. Doing the same thing." He gestures towards him. "Need some reliable people to swoop in and save the day."
There's something blatant behind the look N'thei sends over, with his brows drawn up and a dry smile pulling the corner of his mouth: A'son's an idiot and this plan is flawed. "Bringing Leova? Not sure as I'm much obliged to swoop in at all. Would rather she just..." He trails off with casual indifference. "So you and Leova are playing at holders, and what? Get sacked and me and half the Reaches show up and all hell breaks loose and someone gets thumped on the skull this time?"
"Well, you can let her die. But save me." A'son answers with a roll of his eyes. "No, you don't show up with half the Reaches. I imagine any dragons at all popping up in the middle of the night would be enough to scare the shit out of them. Most of 'em will probably run screaming into the woods." There's a moments pause before he puts on there, "Look. I know this is shit. But you know I don't normally do this crap and it's the best I could come up with on short notice. Just do me a favor and be /there/ if I need you?"
N'thei's thumbnail wears a groove in his lip for now, arms folded and shoulder finding purchase against the mantle and A'son still subjected to that /look/. "You say be there and I'll be there, brother," is where he lands, not without a long, pained exhale.
A'son does appear uncomfortable under the "look" shifting his weight. But he bears up sort of well. "Thank you, I appreciate it." He sighs then, rubbing his face. "If you end up having to come? Have Wyaeth let Secath know? They probably won't come but..."
N'thei, brow twitched, "Asking me to bring Persie?"
A'son is rubbing his face, looking particularly pained on this. "Yeah."
At least it's simple; "No."
If it's possible, A'son actually looks relieved at this. "Alright." There's not even an argument there, not even a bad one.
For most people, that would be the end of it from N'thei. But, since it's A'son, he tacks on helpfully, "Tell her I said she's too skinny and stup-- just leave it at skinny. To be useful. When does this--" Really stupid idea. "--take shape?"
"I just won't tell her. Let her yell at me when I get home." A'son says in response to N'thei's helpfullness. "We're leaving tonight or tomorrow night. Once K'del gets his shit in gear and finds out what we need from Milani."
Interesting. "So the little boy signed off on this?" Hmn. "Have Nikoth give us a word when you're settled, then. Will talk to F'rint in the morning. Think you're going about this all wrong," N'thei concludes, just so he can told-you-so when the time comes.
"At the encouragement, likely threat, from that woman." A'son detaches himself from the wall. "We will. I'll keep in touch. Long as I get home okay and this doesn't turn into a total fuck-fest?" He shrugs his shoulders. "I think I'll be a little glad." He purses his lips, "Though... I might be a little more glad if we catch one of the fucks. But."
"Or maybe Leova'll get clubbed and left in a ditch somewhere. Least then something good would come of it." Shaking his head, N'thei adds with a dry laugh, "You catch one, brother, you let me know. We'll have him sing Crom's name and put an end to this shit once and for all, neh?"
"You're not that lucky. She's one tough butch." A'son's tone is derisive. "Well, we'll try. With my luck he'll be deaf, dumb and unable to write his /own/ name." The bronzerider takes steps towards the ledge. Where his dragon is probably still trying to spoon Wyaeth. "Again, thanks."
N'thei, with a smile that likes the idea way too much, "We'll teach him to talk right before we cut out his tongue, how's that? --Thank me when I've done something." Now, awake, he has to piddle around his weyr a while and console Wyaeth for the loss of his masculinity. << That's why he can only fly damn Istan queens, y'know, >> and the like.
A'son's eyebrows lift at that, as if torture probably isn't his thing most days of the week. But. "We'll get whatever we need out of him. However it has to be done." His look is a little grim as he heads out, just a wave over his shoulder and, "Whatever you want, brother." From the outside N'thei might hear, "Are you serious? Get off of him, you damn pansy." Then the sound of talons raking again and they're gone.
IC Date: 10/??/19 --Back-scened. Log from (the totally effeminate, very probably ragingly homosexual) A'son.
Wyaeth's Really Boring Weyr
It's a weyr and a ledge. There's nothing-- absolutely nothing-- remarkable about either of them. The ledge and the outer weyr has room for a bronze-and-guest, replete with all the standard trappings of dragons and their riders. A couch, some hooks for gear, a long hearth to heat the outer weyr, everything very impersonal, all neat and tidy with the look of seldom use for all that riding gear: It's Interval, after all.
The inner weyr, a sleeping cavern and a bathtub, is smaller and cozier and only slightly more lived-in. The furniture is sturdy but plain, bed and wardrobe and nightstand. A folding screen half-shields the sunken bathtub, usually with a towel slung over it and soap and wash rags within reach. The relics of a man's life are found here and there, large boots often kicked off carelessly in front of the smaller inner hearth, a rumpled tunic left where it fell, shaving kit by a washbasin. Also, an ass-ugly coat-rack.
A'son at the very least, doesn't show up in N'thei's weyr in the dead of night. He doesn't show up in the wee hours of the morning either to crawl into be- to surprise his friend. Nope, he comes just before lunchtime. Nikoth lands on Wyaeth's ledge, with no grace at all. His talons raking across the stone and producing an awful ear-bleed-worthy-sound. His rider dismounts, rubbing his ears once he's on the ground.
Mind, just-before-lunchtime is the middle of N'thei's night. So it's lucky there's Wyaeth, giving Nikoth one of his best go-away rumbles and arranging himself in such a way as to make it totally impossible that there's enough room on the ledge for his fellow bronze to get comfy, simultaneously warning his snoring rider that he oughta put on his drawers 'cause someone's come a-callin'. "Too fucking early," comes the call from inside, all the gravely hoarseness of a man ripped from the depths of slumber.
Nikoth rumbles back cheerfully, in what could possibly be described as a sarcastic fashion. This is just before he settles down on the ledge anyway, allowing his bulk to get all touchy with Wyaeth's if he doesn't give him space. A'son meanwhile, is wincing when he hears that tone. But he's here. So he goes in, averting his eyes to the floor and asking, "You've got clothes on right? Because I really don't know if we're that close."
Wyaeth flicks. Flick flick flick flicks endlessly with his wingtip, like a horsetail swatting at a super-annoying fly. Other than that, he pretends very hard that he's asleep. "No," answers N'thei, though he is attired enough that-- once he's done stepping into his pants and quick-buttoning his shirt-- things will look duly chaste. "Figured we may as well clear up once and for all who's the bigger man." This while he eyes A'son crossly and starts poking at his half-asleep hearth. "The hell do you want." At this god-forsaken hour.
Nikoth snakes his head next to Wyaeth's. Brotherly love. A'son doesn't look up for another minute or two, giving N'thei enough time to not be naked. When he does bring his gaze to him, it's with a lifted 'brow. "So does that mean you want me to drop my pants for you? Because with present company I'm not sure that it'll be in peak condition." He ends up leaning against one of the walls, watching him. "I'd like you to do something for me."
Coming hot on the heels of drop-my-pants, is it any wonder that N'thei's response is a violent, "Absolutely not happening." The fire agreeably roars to life about then, just to make it appropriately dramatic.
"Well, that's exactly what I figured would happen." A'son says, sounding a bit self-satisfied. Then he's pushing himself off that wall, "Sorry for waking you up."
Also, "It was a joke." N'thei's just not good at them. The fire-poker-thing goes clanging back into the fire-poker-thing rack, and he wiggles his bare toes toward the heat a little. "What do you want."
"Are you trying to develop a sense of humor?" A'son pauses in his wall-push, eyeballing the other man with a remotely amused look. He shrugs his shoulders as he drops back into place, "I need you to cover my ass."
Bland; "Yes. Is it working?" N'thei sends a few dim blinks toward A'son to really make sure the fact that even he knows he's not funny is fully bare. But this sounds important, and his head cocks with appropriate I'm-listening posture. "While you do what?"
"Absolutely." A'son answers, lips quirking up just a touch. "While I pretend to be a poor holder with the dubious honor of being married to Leova. While both of us hide on a tithe train." He blows out some air. "Need someone here to be on call for about a week while we're out. In case we get sacked."
Up go N'thei's brows. "Come again?" That's an awfully high-level overview there. "You." A'son? Really? "And Leova." Even more dubious derision. "Are hiding on a tithe train. Why?"
"Because I got sucked into it by that /woman/." A'son says that part with a certain amount of tired resignation before continuing, "We're hoping they try and nail the caravan while we're on it. Then we try to snag some people. The other tithe trains are going to have our people on them too. Doing the same thing." He gestures towards him. "Need some reliable people to swoop in and save the day."
There's something blatant behind the look N'thei sends over, with his brows drawn up and a dry smile pulling the corner of his mouth: A'son's an idiot and this plan is flawed. "Bringing Leova? Not sure as I'm much obliged to swoop in at all. Would rather she just..." He trails off with casual indifference. "So you and Leova are playing at holders, and what? Get sacked and me and half the Reaches show up and all hell breaks loose and someone gets thumped on the skull this time?"
"Well, you can let her die. But save me." A'son answers with a roll of his eyes. "No, you don't show up with half the Reaches. I imagine any dragons at all popping up in the middle of the night would be enough to scare the shit out of them. Most of 'em will probably run screaming into the woods." There's a moments pause before he puts on there, "Look. I know this is shit. But you know I don't normally do this crap and it's the best I could come up with on short notice. Just do me a favor and be /there/ if I need you?"
N'thei's thumbnail wears a groove in his lip for now, arms folded and shoulder finding purchase against the mantle and A'son still subjected to that /look/. "You say be there and I'll be there, brother," is where he lands, not without a long, pained exhale.
A'son does appear uncomfortable under the "look" shifting his weight. But he bears up sort of well. "Thank you, I appreciate it." He sighs then, rubbing his face. "If you end up having to come? Have Wyaeth let Secath know? They probably won't come but..."
N'thei, brow twitched, "Asking me to bring Persie?"
A'son is rubbing his face, looking particularly pained on this. "Yeah."
At least it's simple; "No."
If it's possible, A'son actually looks relieved at this. "Alright." There's not even an argument there, not even a bad one.
For most people, that would be the end of it from N'thei. But, since it's A'son, he tacks on helpfully, "Tell her I said she's too skinny and stup-- just leave it at skinny. To be useful. When does this--" Really stupid idea. "--take shape?"
"I just won't tell her. Let her yell at me when I get home." A'son says in response to N'thei's helpfullness. "We're leaving tonight or tomorrow night. Once K'del gets his shit in gear and finds out what we need from Milani."
Interesting. "So the little boy signed off on this?" Hmn. "Have Nikoth give us a word when you're settled, then. Will talk to F'rint in the morning. Think you're going about this all wrong," N'thei concludes, just so he can told-you-so when the time comes.
"At the encouragement, likely threat, from that woman." A'son detaches himself from the wall. "We will. I'll keep in touch. Long as I get home okay and this doesn't turn into a total fuck-fest?" He shrugs his shoulders. "I think I'll be a little glad." He purses his lips, "Though... I might be a little more glad if we catch one of the fucks. But."
"Or maybe Leova'll get clubbed and left in a ditch somewhere. Least then something good would come of it." Shaking his head, N'thei adds with a dry laugh, "You catch one, brother, you let me know. We'll have him sing Crom's name and put an end to this shit once and for all, neh?"
"You're not that lucky. She's one tough butch." A'son's tone is derisive. "Well, we'll try. With my luck he'll be deaf, dumb and unable to write his /own/ name." The bronzerider takes steps towards the ledge. Where his dragon is probably still trying to spoon Wyaeth. "Again, thanks."
N'thei, with a smile that likes the idea way too much, "We'll teach him to talk right before we cut out his tongue, how's that? --Thank me when I've done something." Now, awake, he has to piddle around his weyr a while and console Wyaeth for the loss of his masculinity. << That's why he can only fly damn Istan queens, y'know, >> and the like.
A'son's eyebrows lift at that, as if torture probably isn't his thing most days of the week. But. "We'll get whatever we need out of him. However it has to be done." His look is a little grim as he heads out, just a wave over his shoulder and, "Whatever you want, brother." From the outside N'thei might hear, "Are you serious? Get off of him, you damn pansy." Then the sound of talons raking again and they're gone.