[Log] She Says I Should Threaten You
Who: R'dur, St'vren
When: Day 6, Month 4, Turn 7, 11th Interval
Where: Lakeshore, Telgar Weyr
What: St'vren "threatens" R'dur on behalf of Brijana after Nalaieth's flight.
Notes: Dragon pro introduction lost in computer crash.
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 grass has a clean green color and is tender with spring. The first water lilies on the pond are blooming in yellow and white, and pink, yellow, and white wildflowers scatter the field. The white climbs even into the trees, with blowing petals amid the new green leaves. The herb garden, still mostly cut back for the winter, is hemmed about with crocuses. The lake is cast into dark shadows, though it reflects the lights from the weyrs and the sky overhead, making a constellation in the waters.
Contents:
DRAGONS: Rusuth
PLAYERS: St'vren R'dur
OTHER: Springy Diving Board
Obvious Exits:
Bowl Lake
St'vren
Six feet three inches and still getting used to it, this young man walks with a hint of care and on the lookout for low doorframes. Long-legged and long-armed, his skin is naturally golden-brown, and marked here and there with the tiny burn scars any Smithcrafter falls prey to. Dark brown hair is cropped in a near-burr, as much for practicality as to hide the early signs of a bald spot. His eyes are deep-set and brown, with heavy brows and a dark fringe of lashes. His nose is...prominent (but well-shaped), and his mouth seems permanently set in a small tolerant smile. Cords of muscle are evident in his arms, and the rest of him is correspondingly solid. His hands, also scarred here and there from small burns, are broad and short-fingered with hints of soot under the nails. St'vren has 24 Turns, 6 months, and 14 days.
A long-sleeved shirt of dark charcoal-grey, long khaki trous, and battered black leather boots clothe St'vren's long body. While not fancy, the clothes are well-fitted and clearly comfortable. His one concession to semi-decorative dress is the black cord around his neck, from which dangles a pendant made of a pale eggshard. A worn leather belt secures the trous, its brass buckle polished into something resembling brightness, and a pair of brown riding gloves are tucked securely into the beltloop. The wherhide riding jacket he wears is painfully new in contrast, smooth and supple brown material lined in warm fleece. An oval Dawnslight wingbadge is displayed proudly on one shoulder, and a knot of black, white, and one cord of vivid bronze is looped on the other. He is thus labelled a bronzerider of Telgar Weyr.
St'vren is sitting back against Rusuth--his customary position. Man and dragon are both so near the water's edge that a few stray ripples lap Stav's boot-toes and Rusuth's dark talons. Rusuth rumbles slightly, acknowledging R'dur's arrival. St'vren doesn't even turn from his distracted study of the lake. "Bri would have me believe you had Alidaeth chase because you're getting tired of her or she's losing her looks or something like that. She says I should threaten you. Though I really don't feel like it, and I doubt she's got the facts straight anyway."
Mincing footsteps take R'dur toward the lake, the brownrider followed by his dragon. Alidaeth is still tired, and he picks a spot quickly and settles himself down for another rest. R'dur continues onward toward St'vren, forcing a wavery smile. "Ah. Hello, St'vren," he greets the bronzerider, shifting his weight as he comes to a stop. "It's, well. Alidaeth was--well, you know how he is, and I can't--we were just at Ista, when Nalaieth..." He stops, shakes his head, and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset her."
"Shards, I know you didn't." There's a bit of a laugh under Stav's weariness. "She's probably just having a delayed reaction to the fact that you *might* have won, and *might* have had to stay at Ista with Nolee for the clutch, and then she would have lost you forever, woe. Et cetera." He waves a hand, and glances over his shoulder at the brownrider with a wry half-smile. "Consider yourself soundly threatened, and assured that if you ever try to abandon my sister like that again, heads will roll. There." Pause. "Alidaeth flew well. From what I remember. Rusuth's jealous that he can maneuver like that."
R'dur hesitates, then offers a small smile as he moves to take a seat nearby, settling down as St'vren finishes the obligatory threatening. "I... Well. I won't be visiting anywhere else for a while, at least," he decides. "It's bad enough that Alidaeth chases here, let alone other places. I don't /want/ to go to Ista--I don't even like it that much, considering. It's so hot." He shrugs his shoulders, then blushes, half-pleased and half-embarrassed, at St'vren's compliments. "Ah, thank you. You and Rusuth... you did well, too, I'm sure. I don't--I don't remember seeing you, but then, it's... mostly a blur. I don't think I could name anyone there, and I'm sure I knew /some/ of them, at least. Although not--although not the weyrwoman, which... I'm glad he lost."
St'vren nods. "I'm not even officially weyrmated, and I can guess how weird it must be," he agrees. Weirder still to be discussing this with his sister's weyrmate, so he won't go into details. "But she knew what she was getting into when she picked you. We talked about it." Rusuth makes a wistful sound, and he reaches up to rub the bronze's jaw. "Yes, you liked her. I'm sure she's quite nice. I'll be delighted to meet her at some point when we're not both half-crazy. Why he will insist on chasing females with riders I've never *met*...I agree, Ista's too far away."
"It reminds me of Southern," notes R'dur, wrinkling his nose. "I didn't like Southern very much. Too many--" But he shakes his head, dismissing that thought. "Perhaps we should, ah, make it a quest to meet every female-dragon rider on Pern, for situations such as this," he remarks instead, only half-joking. Then, pausing, he asks tentatively, "... Officially?"
St'vren is not blushing. And if he is, it's too dark to tell, and he'll deny it until the end. "There's someone. We've...talked about things. But I'm unsure, and so is she, and we'll see. Maybe." Ah, the faint desperation of the bachelor. "Meeting all the green- and goldriders would make some things easier. Though those that had weyrmates might be less happy about our plan."
R'dur bites his lower lip, nodding slowly as he listens to St'vren; after a moment, he offers a sympathetic smile. "I hope things work out for you, then," he replies. "It's an, um. It's a big step." And that's all he's going to say on /that/ subject. He moves on quickly, remarking, "Oh, right. I wasn't really--I mean, we couldn't, anyway, but--well. Nice to dream. The only thing I can think of worse than, um, someone I know is someone I don't. I don't think I make good first impressions." He makes a face, flushing.
St'vren grins, a more relaxed expression than earlier. "Ask Bri about that," he teases. "You made a good first impression on her, even if it was 'he needs someone to dress him'." Rusuth yawns ostentatiously, and Stav stands up with a sigh. "I believe that's my cue to go home and sleep off the rest of this. Remember to tell Bri that I terrified you."
R'dur's blush intensifies. "Er. I--I suppose," he murmurs in agreement. Then, with a sheepish smile: "Thank you, St'vren. I'll--I'll see you later. I'll tell Bri--it's true enough, I suppose. Good night."