[Log] Holding Back
Who: E'tyn, R'dur
When: Day 26, Month 2, Turn 9
Where: Lakeshore, Telgar Weyr
What: R'dur and E'tyn discuss assorted things that make them blush.
Telgar Weyr Lake Shore
The vegetation thickens near the lake, becoming a meadow that runs along the edge of a narrow, sandy beach. The sands spill down into a crystal lake to the north, lapping against the crater walls to the north and east. A fence runs northwest-southeast, blocking off the lake from the feeding grounds. The meadow by the lake is covered with snow, and only the trail to the hot springs has been much trod upon. The trees make black, leafless shadows against the sky, each wearing a blanket of white. The herbs in the herb garden have all been cut back to wait for spring, and the water lilies are dead. The water of the lake is frozen over, forming a glassy sheet with only small cracks in it in places. Lines across the ice indicate that occasional ice-skating has occured in places. The air smells of frost. The red shades of sunset cast the meadow into deep, but peaceful shadows.
Contents:
DRAGONS: Niereth
PLAYERS: E'tyn R'dur
OTHER: Springy Diving Board
Obvious Exits:
Bowl Lake
E'tyn
Youth's distinctive scars dot E'tyn's face in a faded pattern, as well as a seeming permanent set of worry lines further marring the broad forehead. Dark eyes, bovine-like in their guilelessness are topped by thick brows and are deeply inset into his face. A blunt nose and full mouth round out his features and are craggily set so that shadows play along his general facial structure. The fly away curls of his dirty blonde stand in any which direction, ungroomed, even if clean, and a few loose locks fall to temper the wideness of his forehead.
The loose fit of E'tyn's dark trousers are kept tight at the waist with a belt, and fall to just below the tops of his boots. Nominally clean, despite the patchy stain of lingering oil in places, the neatness of the pants are found in the crisp lines of constant ironing. His undecorated and quite plain tunic is of a pale olive shade, fitted as well as can be over his lanky torso, and tied neatly at his collar. Pinned to his shoulder are the simple loops of Telgar indicative of a weyrling with a thread of coppery bronze intertwined.
Seated on a snow-dusted log along the lake shore, E'tyn draws on skates, lacing them up methodically one at a time. Over his shoulder, Niereth watches, a stillness in his large eyes that does not transfer to his limbs as the dragon's twilight-streaked tail drops to and swishes around languidly to clear a patch of snow off the ice lake. Taptap, he tests the thickness of the frozen lake before a croon sends his consent along a breath of warming air to his rider.
Tromping through the snow in the wake of his dragon, R'dur has an easy smile on his face. Alidaeth is stomping on in front of him, kicking up snow and periodically sending flakes of it fluttering backward toward his rider, to his apparent amusement. Even R'dur isn't flustered by it today; he lifts a hand absently to hail E'tyn when he sees him, a greeting quickly echoed in a rumble by the brown. "How are you?" the rider calls over.
"Mmmmmmm," E'tyn's nose wrinkles, red from wind and barely visible from above his scarf. "Herdbeast. My favorite." Still, the hint of a smile rises past his scarf to crinkle the corner of his eyes at Niereth's warming endeavors. Added simply, with a fond pat for the bronze's front flanks, "Thanks. Sir." The lanky young man is quick to scramble to his feet, forgetful of the skates on his feet now and wobbles precariously as he attempts a salute. At least he doesn't fall. "We're well, sir. And you and Alidaeth?" Dutifully, the young man's bovinish gaze lifts to accord the wingleader's brown a respectful little nod.
"Oh, we're well, too," R'dur seconds at once, wincing as E'tyn wobbles. "Are you all right? You're not going to fall, are you?" So much for his relaxation. Alidaeth rumbles with amusement at his rider's fretting, bobbing his head as he eyes Niereth. "Are you meeting someone? Don't let me keep you," adds the rider after a moment. "We're only out for a walk--Alidaeth insisted."
E'tyn's wobbling subsides, his balance gained with the slight bend of his knees and a steadying hand that seeks out Niereth's obliging side. "Oh. No." The young man's wide eyes blink downward at his skates and then lift back up, lips quirked into a tiny grin barely visible above his scarf. Wrenching the woolen material away from his face and down allows that grin to be more visible but also unmuffles much of his words. "Not meetin' anyone, sir. Just thought. Well, we're almost graduating and we have drills but not too much else and our free time is our free time now not like when they was younger. Were." Quick, his correction causes an embarrassed flush to rise on his cheeks. "Don't mind the company at any rate." Niereth expels his own agreement, his wings widening invitingly to the older brown.
"I've never skated," admits R'dur, glancing away kindly when E'tyn blushes. "Is it very hard to learn? I don't think I have the balance for it, really. I'm... not very coordinated. Are you looking forward to graduating?" He looks back from the ice to the bronzerider then, once he judges E'tyn's flushing is under control. "I... I may have to do the tapping myself, this time, unless we've a new wingleader by then."
"Congratulations," E'tyn says quickly, prompted by the brownrider's remarks. "I mean, for being the acting wingleader and everything. They wouldn't do that if they didn't believe you could, right?" Who this nebulous 'they' is though, is not expounded upon. His flushing is well under control, having receded though the high points of his cheeks still remain red from exposure to the wind. "I am, we. /We/ are. I wondered how tapping works. Is there any kind of rider and dragonpair you prefer in Thunderbolt, sir?" Earnestly leaning forward, he soon forgets to hold onto Niereth for balance, though by now it's a moot point.
"Er, thank you." It's R'dur's turn to flush and glance away again, embarrassed. "It's only temporary," he feels compelled to ask. Then, silence, until he can face E'tyn again, still pink--but then, that's almost his natural state. "We... Well, not really. I'm--well, Thunderbolt has something of a reputation for being... wild. Partying, that sort of thing. ... Obviously, I don't fit in," he admits wryly. "But I've no preference, really--I know Weyrlingmaster Breena has trained you all well, so I'd be happy to fly with any of them. Do... /you/ have a preference, E'tyn?"
He learns, this once woodcrafting man, and when R'dur blushes, E'tyn's eyes cast away, down to the imprints left by his skate blades in the snow. Wobble. Steady. "Ah," exhales the young man, "I'm not so sure about partying, and it seems most likely that since Claret is my mentor, I might join her wing, but..." The tenor trails off hesitantly, until E'tyn wobbles once more due to Niereth's nudge against his back, encouragement no doubt, that sends the young man to flail until his knees drop and hands find the log again. Mumbly, a dark look is turned to his dragon. "Gee, thanks."
"But...?" R'dur prompts gently, tilting his head just a bit as he studies the young bronzerider. A glance is cast at Neireth when the bronze moves, along with a hint of a smile, as he asks automatically, "Are you all right?"
"S'fine." Still mumbly, and quickly verging on grumbly, E'tyn brushes aside any attempt at help from either the bronze nose that persists in nudging at his back, or R'dur's inquiry. "M'fine. Really. He just gets... He doesn't... Well," not quite stammering, it's more the bronzerider starts a line of thought, then stops it, moving to a next and then stops again, testing out various ways to say something and instead, with a shrug, pushes himself back to his feet. Snow dusts his pants and gloved hands, but without regard for it, one of those hands rake through his shaggy blond hair. "I'd hoped to join the Weyrleader's wing. But there's no Weyrleader anymore, and so..." Clear eyes pause on R'dur, turning rueful with a sheepish smile on his lips.
R'dur cracks a small smile for E'tyn, nodding in understanding. "Well, we'll have another Weyrleader soon, don't worry. I expect Soraeth will rise and provide us with one at some point. And in the meantime, there's still a /wing/, you know. If you'd like to join it, perhaps you should speak to the weyrlingmaster about it?" he suggests.
"Not Malaith?" The thought, unbidden, just tumbles from E'tyn's mouth, immediately turning into a wide-eyed look again. "Not that I don't think Soraeth, but this being an Interval and I like Ail- the Weyrwoman, but doesn't it seem more likely that Malaith will rise to leadership?" Whatever R'dur says of wings goes unheard, or at least uncommented on, with the young bronzerider's mind muddling about the Weyr's shaky future chain of command.
R'dur hesitates at the question, biting his lower lip. "I... I really don't know," he confesses, ducking his head at being called out so. His cheeks are touched with pink again, unsurprisingly. "She might. It's... Well, it's not something that can really be predicted that well, I don't think. I misspoke. I'm sorry."
Chagrinned that his unthinking words elicit such a reaction in the wingleader, the bronzerider lifts one hand to shake at R'dur, trying to stave off his apologies. "I spoke out of line. I... I do hope Soraeth does fly again, soon, though not of any particular dislike of Juliri," he's quick to add. "Simply- well, Soraeth is Niereth's clutch dam, and the Weyrwoman seems more approachable than Malaith's rider. I don't-, I don't even think I could pick her out of a crowd of woman." E'tyn's admission is low-spoken, embarrassed and in accordance with such, the young man's head lowers to watch the absent lift of his feet, one at a time, to shake off excess snow.
"I... don't really know her, either," admits R'dur, still fixing his gaze downward. "Weyrwoman Ailani, though, I remember when she impressed. She stood with my Brijana." He can't help the sappy look that slides across his face then, not one bit. But, when he realized it, he quickly looks sheepish, ruffling the back of his hair. "Um. Well. I guess we'll just wait and see," he decides lamely.
"Your Brijana." A new topic gains E'tyn's interest, his embarrassment fading out into a well-humored sort of jibe at the brownrider. His even little grin seeks out R'dur's sappy look. "I suppose we shall. In the mean time," he looks to the lake, "I suppose finding a wing wouldn't be bad and mentionin' it to the Weyrlingmaster. Though, she prolly already thinks I'm hopeless."
E'tyn's repeating of his wording inspires another of those bright blushes from R'dur, though he certainly doesn't protest it. Instead, looking sheepish again, and clearing his throat, he continues, "I doubt that. From what I've seen of you--you weyrlings, I mean, all of you--you seem very well-prepared. Are you... Did she... Why do you think that?"
"I asked her if-, well, I." It's the battle of the blushes, as the subject of Brijana and R'dur's infatuation with his weyrmate is forgotten in favor of Breena. E'tyn digs the blade of his skate into the ground. "I've been preventing Niereth from chasing greens," he admits quietly. "It seems wrong, somehow, as we're weyrlings, but he keeps- He wants to."
Oh, great, says R'dur's expression--this wasn't what he expected. He can't completely suppress his grimace, for all he manages a sympathetic look for E'tyn. "I understand," he agrees. "Too well. I... When I was a weyrling, my friend St'vren was visiting High Reaches when one of their golds rose. Rusuth lost, of course, but... St'vren got into a lot of trouble, and it was--well." He's bright pink, brighter even than when teased about his own weyrmate. "It's... You're better off waiting on that. It's... not pleasant, though--though he will eventually, of course."
"I'm not altogether settled with the idea of waking in a bed next to a strange woman myself." E'tyn's gaze lingers on Niereth, the bronze having taken his leave of the boring chatter and intent on amusing some weyr children a distance off. "But it's growing more and more difficult to hold him back, and his reaction afterwards. Well..." a shrug separates his thoughts, "I spoke to the weyrlingmaster of it, and she advised not to hold him back, but I haven't quite heeded her words."
Wryly, R'dur nods, averting his eyes. He's still red-faced, but he does manage to answer, "It's not a pleasant experience," he admits. "Whether you know her or not." Pause. "Or him," he concedes, redder than ever. "I'd hold Alidaeth back if I could, but--I didn't have the willpower then, and... I know better now."
"Him. /Shells/." E'tyn exhales, the thought having just occurred to him again. His holdbred nature rises quickly to touch his face with as red a shade as R'dur. Quickly, the subject must be changed. "It must be difficult, sir. With a weyrmate and being a dragonrider when she's not."
"Him," commiserates R'dur mournfully. "The--the first time Alidaeth caught--" A grimace finishes that statement, and he adds, "In my /wing/." Another grimace, another blush, fiercer than ever. "It's... not easy. Alidaeth, though--Alidaeth doesn't chase /that/ much, considering, and, well. Most dragons will have a losing record, I think, so..." A shrug. He most assuredly does /not/ look at E'tyn now.
E'tyn also does not look to R'dur. "Ah, hmm. Well..." Awkwardly, the young man gestures to the lake. "I shouldn't let all this ice go to waste, and a free afternoon, lest the weyrlingmaster decides to call for extra drills tonight."
"Oh, right!" R'dur agrees too quickly, gesturing to the lake. "You should enjoy it. Don't let me keep you. We should--we should... Brijana will be looking for us," he finally decides, giving Alidaeth a look. The brown, long since turned to lounging in the snow, cracks open one eye to look at his rider, not moving.
Relief that he can exit this conversation fast turning towards embarrassing with some grace, E'tyn turns to test his blades on the patch of ice Niereth's cleared away. Test one. Test two. And then he's off with only the slightest wobble as he familiarizes himself with the ice again. To his back, only belatedly remembering, he calls, "Have a good evening, sir."
"And you," answers R'dur with a small smile, blush fading slightly as he lifts a hand to the man and then continues onward. Alidaeth, after several seconds, shakes himself off, dog-like, and follows.