Log: Happy Birthday Mic
Who: P'draig, T'mic
When: It is a morning of day 19, month 8, turn 21 of Interval 10. (Close to Mic's actual birthday)
Where: Casa Mic y Paddy, Ista Weyr
What: It's Mic's birthday and thus Paddy must wake him up as he always does on his birthday. Then they talk about plans for the day, a little bit about Hattie and Millie and wind up deciding to have a party.
Sunset Patio Weyr, Ista Weyr
The broad ledge of this forest weyr on the southwestern side of Ista's bowl is spacious, but more notably, there is a lip to one side creating a low wall. While the eastern expanse has been worn smooth but for a few claw marks, the walled section is slightly scuffed from turns of use as a small patio overlooking the Istan jungle. The view is spectacular: jungle, the thin thread of black sand, and then miles upon miles of ocean out to the blue-smudged horizon.
The main entrance opens up to a broad couch, large enough for two dragons, with just enough of a rim around the hollow to keep blankets and bedding within. The main living space is wide and open, large enough to be separated out into different portions; a rug and chairs mark a sitting area by the little hearth and a large dining table with mismatched seating for five claims the eating space. There is an alcove to one side that can easily be curtained off for privacy with a child's bed and small press within. To the back of the weyr is a moderately sized bedchamber with a bed in the center, a small table, and a dresser with a small mirror affixed flat to the top.
Morning, but not too early, the scent of hot klah wafts through into the bedroom along with other mouth-watering scents. Pancakes. Fruit syrup. Eggs. Cheese. Someone's been cooking! But that someone has also snuck back in under the covers to wake Mic up in one of his favorite ways. Naughty, naughty Paddy.
Morning. Klah. Breakfast. Three little things that coax Mic's eyes open after another late night, though the greenrider only barely manages a questioning grunt before the mattress dips and rolls again. There's Paddy for a fourth, even better thing to wake up to, and when they're finished Mic's sporting a wide, sloppy smile and seems even less inclined to peel himself away from the blankets.
Crawling his way upward, P'draig lounges alongside his weyrmate, kisses trailed up his neck. "Hungry?" he murmurs invitingly just shy of the greenrider's ear. "Because I've put together a really really nice meal for you, birthday boy," the brownrider continues. "Otherwise the day is yours to do with as you like."
T'mic arches his neck away to offer a better palate for kisses, stretches toes and fingers in decadent laziness. "Might be hungry," he allows, just before one eye slides open. "...Birthday? Wait. S'your birthday?" Up onto his elbows he struggles, peering over through the haze of satisfaction. "Did I forget?"
Fingers trail down Mic's chest and P'draig laughs a little. "No, lover mine, it's yours," the brownrider says merrily. "Or close to anyway, shall I bring you breakfast in bed?"
His birthday and Mic slumps back, smirking. "Whew. Thought I was going to have to pull out the red thing again and distract you so you forgot you'd seen it already." As for breakfast in bed, he squints one eye. "Will I get to eat it? Or is this a, 'eat it eventually' thing? Someone going to be a table, or what?"
"Noo, though I do have something to wear for you if you're choosing to spend the day at home, with me, having sex," P'draig answers that blithely and drops another kiss to Mic's cheek. "So the answer to that question is another question. Do you want me to be your table? Because otherwise, I have a perfectly innocent tray to bring it in on and it will all taste much better hot than cold."
"Everything else comes a poor second," Mic assures him, and distracts himself for a few seconds with the other man's earlobe. Eventually, with a hand placed on Paddy's shoulder, he manages the willpower to push away those crucial few inches in order to focus on blue eyes instead. "Uh... tray. But let's go eat at the table; the last time we ate in here there were crumbs for days."
"Mm, considering not-sex means not coming at all," P'draig quips until words are robbed away by lips-to-ear. "There's no toast to make crumbs, but right you are, greenrider." Stretching very prettily, Paddy rolls over and out of bed, holds out hands to Mic. "It's our anniversary too you know."
T'mic says, "We'll find something to make into crumbs," with a waggle of eyebrows just before he takes the brownrider's hands. "Oh, is it?" Pleasantly surprised: this day just gets better and better! "Well, we should do something to celebrate. It's what, five turns now? Or six? Do you want to go to Fort, or something?"
"Heh. Yes, you will, mister fidgety," Paddy accuses fondly and helps Mic up, aims to pull him close as they both get to their feet. "Four," the brownrider supplies the correct number and bends his head to kiss the greenrider most soundly. "And no, I don't want to go to Fort. If we bump into Hattie she might not be able to keep a straight face," he notes with a wry grin. "I was thinking we could go see Millie for a bit, actually. Poor girl is big as a house and just about ready to pop any day now. Then I was thinking the island ... because I think we should go there every turn on our anniversary. What do you think?"
"Four," Mic repeats, just like hearing it again will cement it into his brain for turns to come. Or even more than a few days. "Why do we need Hattie to keep a straight face? Maybe she'd like to celebrate with us." Who wouldn't like to celebrate with them? "Ooh, Millie could be fun. It's been a while since I've seen her. And definitely the island. I suppose she's too close to go, isn't she? Otherwise could be fun, having a party out there, all our friends."
"Four," Paddy affirms with a wide smile as he leads the way to the table. "Because Hattie will want to keep a straight face," the brownrider notes. "When I see her in public, I'm just a brownrider from Ista, a friendly acquaintance," P'draig explains further. A nod follows about his sister as he draws the covers off of dishes on that tray, shares them out across two seats at the table. Pancakes are a golden stack, surrounded by a couple of choices for fruit syrups in small pitchers. The eggs are actually done up as omelets, stuffed with cheese, bacon and Istan peppers. "Yeah, Millie's too close to delivering to be able to run away with us. But you're right, a party would be fun."
T'mic only detaches himself from his arm about Paddy's waist when they reach the table, and slips into his chair to eagerly await breakfast. "See why you wanted this hot - looks great!" He digs in enthusiastically, surfacing only long enough to say through half-full mouth, and with fork waving, "You know, having everyone you sleep with smile when they seen you is good. S'bad when they frown, or pick up things to throw."
"Always better when it's hot," P'draig says rather archly, settles in to dig in to his own portion. "I'm not saying she won't smile, just need to keep things you know, discreet there. Pleasant. Amiable." Fork to pancakegs and now his mouth is full for chewing.
T'mic's eyes roll fondly. "All right," says he after a swallow, "I'll go invite her to whatever, whenever we want to invite her somewhere. Then she can smile all she wants, and you can pretend it's for... wait, why's it have to be discreet?" So says the man for whom the word is in someone else's dictionary. "Who cares if you're banging every goldrider on Pern?"
P'draig shakes his head a couple of times and fixes T'mic with a look. "Please Mic, don't," he says quietly. "If I'm inviting her somewhere, it's easy enough to pass word between dragons or to send a casual note," the brownrider adds, once his mouth is fully clear. "Because that's how Hattie would prefer it to be," P'draig explains, clearly unbothered by this state of affairs. "We're friends with mutual needs and she asked me to keep it quiet. I only told you because you're my weyrmate and have a right to know that I'm occasionally banging Fort's junior and to help avoid any possibly awkward situations," he concludes and smears some pancake through berry syrup.
T'mic rolls his eyes again but settles back to eating. "All right, I understand that. S'just... seems awfully silly, to me. But if it's what she wants, and you don't mind, then it's none of my business." Silence falls while he fork-cuts some omelet with its spicy peppers, chews and swallows like they're as hot as the pancakes. Out of the blue, "Think Millie'd like to see the red pants?"
"The Weyrwoman at Fort is strict about appearances, is what I gather and Hattie has high expectations for herself too," P'draig replies. "And she's holdbred herself and has a strong sense of propriety. So yeah. The least I can do is respect her wishes and even if you think it's silly, I don't think she's wrong to want to keep things on an even keel between Weyrs, even if I'm not wearing the Weyrlingmaster's knot right now." Another bite of food makes its way down the hatch and he looks up at Mic across their plates, swallows hastily. "Just to see them or to you know, see them?" the brownrider queries, amused.
The greenrider tsks for those poor women, pauses in his eating to lick his lips clean. "You'll notice I'm not asking for details. Your arrangements are your own, babe. Who knows - I might even do the same if it were me in your shoes." His grin flashes, "So to speak. And either. Could be a nice present for her, finding me in her bed wearing them."
P'draig grins at Mic, nods. "Yeah. It is what it is. I don't expect it'll go on all that long," the brownrider says thoughtfully, fork poised with another bite of breakfast food ready to go. "But she's a lovely woman and I'm not going to complain about a mutually satisfying arrangement right now. She needs someone who's honestly fond of her and attracted to her and won't cause problems. If I'm being completley, ruthlessly practical, I'm a safe bet for her." He gives a little shake of his head then bursts out laughing, fork move away from his face so he doesn't stab himself in the eye by mistake. "Could be, though I don't think she's exactly hurting for company. She seems pretty happy other than the whole big as a hold aspect."
"That's my weyrmate," Mic laughs, "the safe one. Mothers all over Pern rejoice when you meet their little girls." It's hard to take him seriously with the way his eyes dance so, the mischievous glint bubbling to the surface. "If only they knew you the way I know you, brownrider. And pish - just because you've got bedmates doesn't mean you'll turn another one down, right? Besides, if she's as happy as you say, maybe she'll just want to look at me."
P'draig actually chokes on the bite of food he just put in his mouth, has to grab for his napkin to cover it with and coughs a few times before resurfacing. "Actually, I am pretty safe," the brownrider claims, voice quiet. "And right now, I am turning down most other bedmates and so is Millie, unless she's changed her mind since I last talked to her. Not that I've ever really known her to turn down your company, in or out of bed."
T'mic grins merrily and returns to his breakfast, letting Paddy recover on his own. "Easy, babe; I'm teasing. Which you can tell by," his fork scribes a circle around his face and shoulders - laughing eyes, laughing voice, and all, "the teasing. Maybe I'll just see you for supper, or something. Want to meet on the island, or meet somewhere else and go there together?"
P'draig just grins over at T'mic. "I know, you can't laugh and eat at the same time," he points out, "much as my lungs have tried." He props his chin up on his hand puts his fork down. "Got duties in between?" he queries, brows up. "Because otherwise, could just go now."
Mic has to stop and think about that one, marking time's passage with an unwitty, "Uh." "--Sweeps," he finally decides (or remembers), cuts more omelette. "Over the ocean, looking for storms and ships. What about you? Have anything today, or are you at loose ends?"
"Day off," P'draig says with a laugh. "Which is why I was planning so much debauchery for you. I could come along with you, or I can see about drumming up some party-goers and really making a party of it tonight."
T'mic snickers appreciatively. "If I'd remembered, I probably would have asked for it too." Oh well. "Uh... you know, either? The company'd be nice, but so would a party. In face," he decides after another thoughtful bite, "Why not the party? I can ask Solla if she wants to come on sweeps with me, or else it can just be me and Aath. Plus I think I owe her a nice bath and an oiling." Beat. "Aath, not Solla."
"Silly," Paddy says fondly and reaches over to brush his fingers along Mic's arm. "Party it is then," the brownrider agrees and ducks his head, laughing again. "Yeah I think even you might have trouble explaining that one," he teases his weyrmate gently, then picks his fork back up to finish off the last of the food on his plate. "So. Presents now or at the party?"
T'mic says, "I'd just give her the oils and tell her to do it herself." Beat. "Solla, not Aath," now with eyes dancing furiously. His arm turns beneath Paddy's touch, fingers curling up to steal his own caresses before they're taken away, returning demurely to his lap after. "Oh, um... both?" So says the man who thinks 'or' is a dirty word. "Give me one now and the rest later. I don't have sweeps until closer to noon."
"Or send someone over to help her," P'draig quips back and he pushes to his feet, but steps over behind T'mic, strong hands massaging the greenrider's shoulders. "Okay, one now, one later," the brownrider agrees and drops his mouth to the side of his weyrmate's neck. When he steps away again, he doesn't go far, brings back a small package.
Mic's eyes light and his breath catches in mock-admiration. "I do have this weyrmate...." But all teasing falls away under the ministration of first hands, then hands-and-lips. "Mmm. All right." Said in such lazy of a tone that Paddy could have been suggesting high explosives and Mic probably would have still agreed. When the brownrider returns Mic's finished off what he's going to of breakfast and is twisted about in his chair, arm slung over the back to watch. "Oooh. It's too small for a set of straps. For Aath." Eyebrows leap in lieu of a laugh as he takes the package, starts wriggling a finger under the wrappings.
"You do at that," P'draig teases back while he's getting that package. "It's your birthday, not hers," the brownrider reminds and sets the package into Mic's hands. Inside is a little bottle of oil. "New scent to try," Paddy notes with a wink. And that of course, might need some trying out before they head off in different directions for the rest of the day. Later, when Mic comes to that island, he'll find a warm welcome from family and friends, Paddy's cooking to feed them all and even some music, courtesy of one stringbean red-headed harper. For all the short notice, his weyrmate sure can pull a party together quickly.
When: It is a morning of day 19, month 8, turn 21 of Interval 10. (Close to Mic's actual birthday)
Where: Casa Mic y Paddy, Ista Weyr
What: It's Mic's birthday and thus Paddy must wake him up as he always does on his birthday. Then they talk about plans for the day, a little bit about Hattie and Millie and wind up deciding to have a party.
Sunset Patio Weyr, Ista Weyr
The broad ledge of this forest weyr on the southwestern side of Ista's bowl is spacious, but more notably, there is a lip to one side creating a low wall. While the eastern expanse has been worn smooth but for a few claw marks, the walled section is slightly scuffed from turns of use as a small patio overlooking the Istan jungle. The view is spectacular: jungle, the thin thread of black sand, and then miles upon miles of ocean out to the blue-smudged horizon.
The main entrance opens up to a broad couch, large enough for two dragons, with just enough of a rim around the hollow to keep blankets and bedding within. The main living space is wide and open, large enough to be separated out into different portions; a rug and chairs mark a sitting area by the little hearth and a large dining table with mismatched seating for five claims the eating space. There is an alcove to one side that can easily be curtained off for privacy with a child's bed and small press within. To the back of the weyr is a moderately sized bedchamber with a bed in the center, a small table, and a dresser with a small mirror affixed flat to the top.
Morning, but not too early, the scent of hot klah wafts through into the bedroom along with other mouth-watering scents. Pancakes. Fruit syrup. Eggs. Cheese. Someone's been cooking! But that someone has also snuck back in under the covers to wake Mic up in one of his favorite ways. Naughty, naughty Paddy.
Morning. Klah. Breakfast. Three little things that coax Mic's eyes open after another late night, though the greenrider only barely manages a questioning grunt before the mattress dips and rolls again. There's Paddy for a fourth, even better thing to wake up to, and when they're finished Mic's sporting a wide, sloppy smile and seems even less inclined to peel himself away from the blankets.
Crawling his way upward, P'draig lounges alongside his weyrmate, kisses trailed up his neck. "Hungry?" he murmurs invitingly just shy of the greenrider's ear. "Because I've put together a really really nice meal for you, birthday boy," the brownrider continues. "Otherwise the day is yours to do with as you like."
T'mic arches his neck away to offer a better palate for kisses, stretches toes and fingers in decadent laziness. "Might be hungry," he allows, just before one eye slides open. "...Birthday? Wait. S'your birthday?" Up onto his elbows he struggles, peering over through the haze of satisfaction. "Did I forget?"
Fingers trail down Mic's chest and P'draig laughs a little. "No, lover mine, it's yours," the brownrider says merrily. "Or close to anyway, shall I bring you breakfast in bed?"
His birthday and Mic slumps back, smirking. "Whew. Thought I was going to have to pull out the red thing again and distract you so you forgot you'd seen it already." As for breakfast in bed, he squints one eye. "Will I get to eat it? Or is this a, 'eat it eventually' thing? Someone going to be a table, or what?"
"Noo, though I do have something to wear for you if you're choosing to spend the day at home, with me, having sex," P'draig answers that blithely and drops another kiss to Mic's cheek. "So the answer to that question is another question. Do you want me to be your table? Because otherwise, I have a perfectly innocent tray to bring it in on and it will all taste much better hot than cold."
"Everything else comes a poor second," Mic assures him, and distracts himself for a few seconds with the other man's earlobe. Eventually, with a hand placed on Paddy's shoulder, he manages the willpower to push away those crucial few inches in order to focus on blue eyes instead. "Uh... tray. But let's go eat at the table; the last time we ate in here there were crumbs for days."
"Mm, considering not-sex means not coming at all," P'draig quips until words are robbed away by lips-to-ear. "There's no toast to make crumbs, but right you are, greenrider." Stretching very prettily, Paddy rolls over and out of bed, holds out hands to Mic. "It's our anniversary too you know."
T'mic says, "We'll find something to make into crumbs," with a waggle of eyebrows just before he takes the brownrider's hands. "Oh, is it?" Pleasantly surprised: this day just gets better and better! "Well, we should do something to celebrate. It's what, five turns now? Or six? Do you want to go to Fort, or something?"
"Heh. Yes, you will, mister fidgety," Paddy accuses fondly and helps Mic up, aims to pull him close as they both get to their feet. "Four," the brownrider supplies the correct number and bends his head to kiss the greenrider most soundly. "And no, I don't want to go to Fort. If we bump into Hattie she might not be able to keep a straight face," he notes with a wry grin. "I was thinking we could go see Millie for a bit, actually. Poor girl is big as a house and just about ready to pop any day now. Then I was thinking the island ... because I think we should go there every turn on our anniversary. What do you think?"
"Four," Mic repeats, just like hearing it again will cement it into his brain for turns to come. Or even more than a few days. "Why do we need Hattie to keep a straight face? Maybe she'd like to celebrate with us." Who wouldn't like to celebrate with them? "Ooh, Millie could be fun. It's been a while since I've seen her. And definitely the island. I suppose she's too close to go, isn't she? Otherwise could be fun, having a party out there, all our friends."
"Four," Paddy affirms with a wide smile as he leads the way to the table. "Because Hattie will want to keep a straight face," the brownrider notes. "When I see her in public, I'm just a brownrider from Ista, a friendly acquaintance," P'draig explains further. A nod follows about his sister as he draws the covers off of dishes on that tray, shares them out across two seats at the table. Pancakes are a golden stack, surrounded by a couple of choices for fruit syrups in small pitchers. The eggs are actually done up as omelets, stuffed with cheese, bacon and Istan peppers. "Yeah, Millie's too close to delivering to be able to run away with us. But you're right, a party would be fun."
T'mic only detaches himself from his arm about Paddy's waist when they reach the table, and slips into his chair to eagerly await breakfast. "See why you wanted this hot - looks great!" He digs in enthusiastically, surfacing only long enough to say through half-full mouth, and with fork waving, "You know, having everyone you sleep with smile when they seen you is good. S'bad when they frown, or pick up things to throw."
"Always better when it's hot," P'draig says rather archly, settles in to dig in to his own portion. "I'm not saying she won't smile, just need to keep things you know, discreet there. Pleasant. Amiable." Fork to pancakegs and now his mouth is full for chewing.
T'mic's eyes roll fondly. "All right," says he after a swallow, "I'll go invite her to whatever, whenever we want to invite her somewhere. Then she can smile all she wants, and you can pretend it's for... wait, why's it have to be discreet?" So says the man for whom the word is in someone else's dictionary. "Who cares if you're banging every goldrider on Pern?"
P'draig shakes his head a couple of times and fixes T'mic with a look. "Please Mic, don't," he says quietly. "If I'm inviting her somewhere, it's easy enough to pass word between dragons or to send a casual note," the brownrider adds, once his mouth is fully clear. "Because that's how Hattie would prefer it to be," P'draig explains, clearly unbothered by this state of affairs. "We're friends with mutual needs and she asked me to keep it quiet. I only told you because you're my weyrmate and have a right to know that I'm occasionally banging Fort's junior and to help avoid any possibly awkward situations," he concludes and smears some pancake through berry syrup.
T'mic rolls his eyes again but settles back to eating. "All right, I understand that. S'just... seems awfully silly, to me. But if it's what she wants, and you don't mind, then it's none of my business." Silence falls while he fork-cuts some omelet with its spicy peppers, chews and swallows like they're as hot as the pancakes. Out of the blue, "Think Millie'd like to see the red pants?"
"The Weyrwoman at Fort is strict about appearances, is what I gather and Hattie has high expectations for herself too," P'draig replies. "And she's holdbred herself and has a strong sense of propriety. So yeah. The least I can do is respect her wishes and even if you think it's silly, I don't think she's wrong to want to keep things on an even keel between Weyrs, even if I'm not wearing the Weyrlingmaster's knot right now." Another bite of food makes its way down the hatch and he looks up at Mic across their plates, swallows hastily. "Just to see them or to you know, see them?" the brownrider queries, amused.
The greenrider tsks for those poor women, pauses in his eating to lick his lips clean. "You'll notice I'm not asking for details. Your arrangements are your own, babe. Who knows - I might even do the same if it were me in your shoes." His grin flashes, "So to speak. And either. Could be a nice present for her, finding me in her bed wearing them."
P'draig grins at Mic, nods. "Yeah. It is what it is. I don't expect it'll go on all that long," the brownrider says thoughtfully, fork poised with another bite of breakfast food ready to go. "But she's a lovely woman and I'm not going to complain about a mutually satisfying arrangement right now. She needs someone who's honestly fond of her and attracted to her and won't cause problems. If I'm being completley, ruthlessly practical, I'm a safe bet for her." He gives a little shake of his head then bursts out laughing, fork move away from his face so he doesn't stab himself in the eye by mistake. "Could be, though I don't think she's exactly hurting for company. She seems pretty happy other than the whole big as a hold aspect."
"That's my weyrmate," Mic laughs, "the safe one. Mothers all over Pern rejoice when you meet their little girls." It's hard to take him seriously with the way his eyes dance so, the mischievous glint bubbling to the surface. "If only they knew you the way I know you, brownrider. And pish - just because you've got bedmates doesn't mean you'll turn another one down, right? Besides, if she's as happy as you say, maybe she'll just want to look at me."
P'draig actually chokes on the bite of food he just put in his mouth, has to grab for his napkin to cover it with and coughs a few times before resurfacing. "Actually, I am pretty safe," the brownrider claims, voice quiet. "And right now, I am turning down most other bedmates and so is Millie, unless she's changed her mind since I last talked to her. Not that I've ever really known her to turn down your company, in or out of bed."
T'mic grins merrily and returns to his breakfast, letting Paddy recover on his own. "Easy, babe; I'm teasing. Which you can tell by," his fork scribes a circle around his face and shoulders - laughing eyes, laughing voice, and all, "the teasing. Maybe I'll just see you for supper, or something. Want to meet on the island, or meet somewhere else and go there together?"
P'draig just grins over at T'mic. "I know, you can't laugh and eat at the same time," he points out, "much as my lungs have tried." He props his chin up on his hand puts his fork down. "Got duties in between?" he queries, brows up. "Because otherwise, could just go now."
Mic has to stop and think about that one, marking time's passage with an unwitty, "Uh." "--Sweeps," he finally decides (or remembers), cuts more omelette. "Over the ocean, looking for storms and ships. What about you? Have anything today, or are you at loose ends?"
"Day off," P'draig says with a laugh. "Which is why I was planning so much debauchery for you. I could come along with you, or I can see about drumming up some party-goers and really making a party of it tonight."
T'mic snickers appreciatively. "If I'd remembered, I probably would have asked for it too." Oh well. "Uh... you know, either? The company'd be nice, but so would a party. In face," he decides after another thoughtful bite, "Why not the party? I can ask Solla if she wants to come on sweeps with me, or else it can just be me and Aath. Plus I think I owe her a nice bath and an oiling." Beat. "Aath, not Solla."
"Silly," Paddy says fondly and reaches over to brush his fingers along Mic's arm. "Party it is then," the brownrider agrees and ducks his head, laughing again. "Yeah I think even you might have trouble explaining that one," he teases his weyrmate gently, then picks his fork back up to finish off the last of the food on his plate. "So. Presents now or at the party?"
T'mic says, "I'd just give her the oils and tell her to do it herself." Beat. "Solla, not Aath," now with eyes dancing furiously. His arm turns beneath Paddy's touch, fingers curling up to steal his own caresses before they're taken away, returning demurely to his lap after. "Oh, um... both?" So says the man who thinks 'or' is a dirty word. "Give me one now and the rest later. I don't have sweeps until closer to noon."
"Or send someone over to help her," P'draig quips back and he pushes to his feet, but steps over behind T'mic, strong hands massaging the greenrider's shoulders. "Okay, one now, one later," the brownrider agrees and drops his mouth to the side of his weyrmate's neck. When he steps away again, he doesn't go far, brings back a small package.
Mic's eyes light and his breath catches in mock-admiration. "I do have this weyrmate...." But all teasing falls away under the ministration of first hands, then hands-and-lips. "Mmm. All right." Said in such lazy of a tone that Paddy could have been suggesting high explosives and Mic probably would have still agreed. When the brownrider returns Mic's finished off what he's going to of breakfast and is twisted about in his chair, arm slung over the back to watch. "Oooh. It's too small for a set of straps. For Aath." Eyebrows leap in lieu of a laugh as he takes the package, starts wriggling a finger under the wrappings.
"You do at that," P'draig teases back while he's getting that package. "It's your birthday, not hers," the brownrider reminds and sets the package into Mic's hands. Inside is a little bottle of oil. "New scent to try," Paddy notes with a wink. And that of course, might need some trying out before they head off in different directions for the rest of the day. Later, when Mic comes to that island, he'll find a warm welcome from family and friends, Paddy's cooking to feed them all and even some music, courtesy of one stringbean red-headed harper. For all the short notice, his weyrmate sure can pull a party together quickly.