Log: A Lazy Day At The Beach
Who: P'draig, T'mic
When: It is an autumn afternoon, 14:32 of day 27, month 11, turn 22 of Interval 10.
Where: Main Beach, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy and Mic. Being Paddy and Mic. With some mention of not WLMing this time and two pretty young women. And the weather.
Main Beach, Ista Weyr(#444RJ)
The coastline of black sand stretches out in either direction, tropical waters lapping ceaselessly against the subtle decline of the main beach that rests at the base of the plateau cliff. To the northeast, water from the upper pool cascades over the plateau's edge, its destination shrouded in the lush fronts of the jungle's edge and a hint of blue-tinged mist. The Sandbar, Ista's seaside tavern, stands to the south beside the long branching structure of the docks.
The heat continues to cling to Ista, the humidity's a living thing up at the Weyr proper and in the jungles. It's one of those rare days when P'draig neither has duty nor restaurant to see to and his horde of whippersnappers are down at the water line building one heck of a sand fort with some other kids, with Miara looking on. The brownrider therefore is at liberty to sip from a cool glass of what looks like lemonade and work on his tan.
T'mic comes out from the private areas of the Beach House, towel slung over his shoulder and sipping at his own glass of probably lemonade. Aath is a little way off, far enough from the running and yelling and splashing that she won't be bothered, but close enough so everyone can see her. Mic pads out to join the brownrider and flop down beside him, share one of his bright grins. "Nice day, huh." He's being sincere.
Head tilting back at Mic's approach, Paddy grins at the greenrider. "It's a little hot, but it's better out here than in there," he says with a jerk of his head towards the restaurant. Jekzith is doing his usual 'nanny' impression and serving as a barricade against bigger waves in the shallows as the kids run back and forth to fill up buckets of water. "I think they're trying to haul half of the ocean up onto the beach," Paddy notes further with a nod towards the horde this time.
"Better them than me," Mic decides after watching the play for a few seconds. The horde of rugrats isn't as interesting to him as the man beside him, however, and he flips onto his side to give P'draig his full attention. "You know what's weird, is weyrlings in the barracks and not being there. Can't say I don't miss not sleeping through the night, though."
"I might go help out in a little bit," P'draig answers with a chuckle. "Right now though, I'm happy being /off/ my feet," the brownrider admits and then goes still as Mic puts that question out there. He's quiet for a moment or two then reaches over to slide a fond hand through close-shorn curls. "Yeah. It is weird, even though there was no way to really keep the restaurant up and teach at the same time. Maybe next turn when the place is established better ..." he trails off and his mouth pulls in a faint grin. "Nope, your nights are all yours and partly mine," Paddy quips.
T'mic pahs and catches the hand, drawing it down to kiss the palm. "Next turn," he chides, teasingly. "Better hope Safriath doesn't go up again that fast. Nah, I'm just as happy helping you with the Beach House. I've been hip-deep in weyrlings so long, it's nice to take a clutch off. Those were some pretty hatchlings though, weren't they? Except for that one brown."
"Mm. Things are stretching out more and more," P'draig agrees, curls his fingers a little under that kiss. "And I've got /plenty/ of work for you to do," he teases the greenrider. "Sure you're still happy with it? Not that I don't think the job suits you. You're good at talking with people and making them comfortable." The brownrider's glass lifts up and he sinks a goodly mouthful of the liquid inside of it. "Which brown? They all looked pretty healthy to me. And one of 'my' candidates impressed," he boasts just a little, though his eyes dance with good-natured humor about it.
Blue eyes laughing, the greenrider makes short work of... kissing the fingers, nothing more lascivious, before releasing Paddy's hand back into the wild. "I just bet you do. And I didn't catch his name. Oh, he /looked/ healthy enough, but his color...." The greenrider's nose wrinkles before he perks up. "Oh yeah? Which one? How many'd he get, this time? I've just about given up on Aath searching, at least not without me prodding her."
Those kisses earn another fond smile from Paddy and his head tilts curiously to the side. "The color? I didn't notice one that looked like baby dragon doody," he jokes then nods. "Mm. Vyshani. From the Reaches. To the green with the really big paws."
T'mic says, "That's a polite way of putting it," with another wrinkle of his nose. "Well, I'm sure whoever he looks to adores him." Just as he adores Aath, sending her a look while she pretends to ignore it and rustles her wings. "I don't think I remember her, but I'm sure I would if we were introduced. You know how bad I am with names."
"Huh. Well maybe he'll grow out of it," is P'draig's easygoing response about the ugly brown. "THat's why I mentioned the green," the brownrider says with a laugh. "Probably the biggest one of all the greens that hatched." He holds up a hand to indicate Vyshani's height relative to himself. "Dark hair, straight, almond-shaped eyes. Talks like Milani."
"Oh, /her/!" -Now- Mic can identify her, once the green is more clearly identified. "I remember her now." Sipping at his glass, he wriggles toes into the sand and throws back his head, basking. "Vyshani. Pretty name. Pretty girl?" The look he slides to his weyrmate is impish.
"Yep, very pretty and very vivacious," P'draig answers laughingly. "She's from a waystation in Fort's coverage area originally, but she was searched to stand at the Reaches. Met her up there, but the funny thing is that I'd probably seen her before when she was younger, just a kid, when I stopped by her parents' place time and again on sweeps."
"Reeeeallllly." The greenrider's attention is most definitely snagged now. "Why would someone go up to the /Reaches/?" He tacks on, "--I wonder," just barely managing not to swallow his ankle too. "I wonder if I've met her too, then. Probably not, but I might've seen her when visiting Millie, or with you at Fort."
"You know I'm from there, right?" P'draig teases Mic, mirth alight in his eyes. "It's a very nice place so long as you like snowy winters." He winks over at the greenrider. "I had a long conversation with Evaly recently about why anyone would move /here/ actually. I don't think she was all that impressed with my answer." Both shoulders lift, drop. "Could be, maybe. The place is down on the border between Boll and Gar. I don't think I ever took you there. But she's been at the Reaches for almost a half turn now I guess."
T'mic tries his very best to pretend his mouth isn't stuffed full of foot, eyes gone all wide and faux-innocent. "/Really/? I thought you just rose from the bath in your weyr back at Fort." Maybe on some sort of half-shell. "Evaly... Evaly... remind me which one is that? Is she the red-head a couple days ago who ordered the oysters?"
"Now there's a vision," P'draig exclaims and starts laughing all over again. "No, curvy blonde. She was a candidate too but she's from around here. She knows you, apparently you met when you were either taking a bath or lounging around somewhere naked because she's seen 'the whole package'." Quotes audible.
Evaly's not the red-headed oyster? Dang, now Mic has no ready-made identification. Rather than snapping his fingers, though, he has more lemonade. "--/Oh/. I think I remember her now. She didn't want me to say anything admiring. Which," he notes, "was hard, because did you -see- her? She seemed nice, though. I think I told you about her."
"Mm. Yeah, you're the one who said you'd met a gorgeous blonde," P'draig teases Mic a little more, reaches over to slide his hand down the greenrider's arm. "And yes. We're lucky sods here at Ista, lots of very attractive women running around." Still amused.
"The men aren't half bad either," Mic grins, giving the rim of his glass some strictly unnecessary tongue action - not that it seems to mind. "So which side were you on? The 'why would anyone move here' side, or the 'why -wouldn't- they' side?"
"Uh huh, some of them are interesting," P'draig answers and puts his glass down, well out of the way, reaches for T'mic's next, apparently meaning to tug him closer. "C'mon, you know which side I was on," he murmurs and slides his arm around the greenrider. "I was on the side that says wherever Mic is, that's where I'm going."
T'mic hastily takes a last swallow before relinquishing his glass; nor does he protest getting closer to his weyrmate. "Oh, so if I said I was moving to Benden...?" he teases. "Or to Fort after all? --Wait, why was Evaly confused why someone would want to live here?"
"Mm, we'd have to talk about it, because you know, we're grownups with kids we've got responsibilities to," P'draig says, still jokingly as he edges that much closer. "Because it's pretty soggy," the brownrider notes with a quirky little smile. "When it's not so hot you can drown in the air, it's still rainy."
...Kids? Responsibilities? --Oh right, those. Reminded, Mic takes a peek, but in the fraction of second he actually looks must not see anything concerning, for he focuses right back on Paddy. "That's what makes it so pretty, though. It's just like Southern." A beat. "You don't want to move to /Southern/, do you?"
Nope, just the horde, playing. Though maybe slinging wet sand at each other was not the most brilliant thing for Palia and Jaivery to teac Dylan and Dharia. "That's one way to look at it," Paddy replies fondly, dips his forehead down to T'mic's. "But no, I don't want to move to Southern. I think I'm actually ... good with staying put in one place for a long time."
"You brownriders," Mic teases, slipping his hand behind Paddy's neck. "Always so -settled-." Rhymes with 'responsible', maybe. "You know, if we weren't watching children," or lying on the beach while the children entertained themselves, "I could think of one or two other things to do that involved staying put."
"We do have that reputation," P'draig answers with a winning grin and looks up and over Mic's shoulder toward the beach. "Miara's got things in hand. We could slip away for a little bit," he offers all the more winningly.
Oh, twist his arm! "All right," Mic agrees promptly, and leans in to steal a kiss before sitting up. "Want to go back inside, or just back into the trees? What /I/ had in mind involved a bed, but I think I can figure something out."
"Back in," P'draig agrees. "It's not that far and I'm liking where your imagination is going," the brownrider answers in the wake of that kiss, pushes back up to a sitting position to reach for his glass, drain it down, then gets to his feet and holds a hand down for Mic to grab.
Well, if Paddy's going to waste the time to drain his glass, Mic'll at least take the chance to collect his own again, and waggle his eyebrows up at his weyrmate over the rim. "Lead on," he invites, holding up an arm to let Paddy haul him to his feet. Once he's there, he hollers, "We're just going in!" to Miara - Faranth only knows if she heard or not, but he tried - and slips his free arm about Paddy's waist as they amble for the house.
"Just this way, sir, we can find you a spot with a /great/ view," P'draig teases again and slings his arm around Mic in turn, looks over to see if Miara heard. She's waving and from the expression on her face, is highly amused as she tries to encourage the kids to stop pelting each other with sand mud.
"I didn't know you were putting beds in the restaurant!" says Mic, all agog and too wide-eyed to be sincere. "That'll bring in a different clientele, that's for sure." Look at him, using words like 'clientele'. He's been around Paddy too long. "A little performance with their dining, huh. Nah, I wanted the private room, in the back." Grinning up at his weyrmate, he bumps his hip into the taller man's leg before taking a draught of lemonade.
Brows waggling. "It's the latest thing," P'draig continues the joke. "Dinner in bed," he winks over and leads on back up to the porch and the room in the back, where there's a nice door that can be shut to keep the party a private one.
It's a good thing both Miara and Jekzith are there to keep an eye on the kids, for neither Paddy nor Mic returns from their private party for quite some time. When they do, both men are in a fine mood, thank you, despite the liberal coating of sweat, and the greenrider is once again swigging from a freshly refilled glass. "Can't do /that/ at Fort," he declares, beaming his delight at all the world. "Someone'd freeze important bits off."
"Only in winter," is P'draig's answer, arms stretching up over his head and he pauses on the porch, leaning one shoulder into the post, looks out at the beach. "And it's cooler down here by the beach. Your old weyr used to get pretty stuffy if we spent all afternoon in there. Could barely move after a go."
"/My/ old weyr?" Mic repeats, grinning sidelong. "You talking the one we have now, or the one Javeri moved into?"
"The one Javeri moved into, yours," P'draig says with a laugh. "Ours seem to have better airflow, but this," and the brownrider holds one arm out to catch that thread of a breeze. "This is airflow," he jokes and then hops down off the step to amble across the sand towards where the kids are playing.
"
T'mic snerks at the brownrider. "This is standing in the middle of a beach," he corrects, grinning up. "So you just want to ...." He trails off for a moment, lost in thought, before tilting an eye at Paddy again. "Remember when we used to go put blankets on the beach and sleep there? Back before you moved in?"
"I like living at the beach, yes," P'draig says agreeably and slides his hands into his pockets, comes to a halt just shy of the tired crew of sand fort builders who are currently flopped on towels and munching on grapes. "Yeah?" Paddy tilts a look over at T'mic. "Good times."
T'mic casts an eye on the grapes but refrains from helping himself. Just yet. "Hard times," he agrees. "Me here, you there, Thread in between. Much as I loved your weyr at Fort, I'm glad you're here."
"Ah. That too," P'draig says quietly, curls his toes into the sand and reaches over to hook an arm around T'mic again. "I'm glad I'm here too. Glad /we're/ here," he elaborates and grins down at the sandy cluster of kids at their feet. "So. What should I make for dinner tonight? It's your turn to pick." This back to his weyrmate, with a wide smile.
T'mic gladly accepts a twist of grapes from Palia, offers her a grin in return and eats a couple straight off the stem. "S'your day off," he reminds Paddy through a mouthful, chews quick and swallows. "Thought we'd eat in the living caverns. Know you -like- cooking, but you don't always have to." He offers Paddy grapes as well. "You want to go, I dunno, over to Fort or somewhere after? --Is it snowing there?" Which is Mic for 'do I have to wear clothes'.
"No thanks," is P'draig's reaction to mention of the living cavern. "I was hoping to make a family night of it," he explains and apparently doesn't consider trouping everyone up to the caverns to be 'family night'. A little shake of his head follows, turning down fruit. "We could head out though after they're in bed," a nod to the kids and he laughs. "No it's not snowing there yet. Or at least, shouldn't be if it is, it's early for it."
T'mic says, "Let me go look at the menu, see if I get any ideas," with a shrug and another grape. "Fort sounds fun. Or we could go up to the Reaches, visit Mil- oh wait. It probably /is/ snowing up there." Darn climate, spoiling all his fun. "I should ask, though. I have the feeling I was supposed to meet somebody for something today. Or maybe that's tomorrow."
"Okay, I've changed out all the specials for autumn ones, from summer," P'draig reminds and he nods, laughs a little. "Sionath says it is snowing," he relates after touching base with his mother's green, then squints over at T'mic. "I think that's tomorrow? Unless you made a date you didn't mention," Paddy adds with a grin.
T'mic settles down on the beach, just out of arm's reach from the children (though not sand-flinging distance) and continues to work on the grapes, one nibble at a time. "Snow," he echoes, equal parts dismayed and disgusted. "And... I think it's tonight, too?" That apologetically. "Tomorrow is... oh! Durmeny. You remember I told you about him? But it feels like there's something tonight, too." He frowns at a grape, pops it into his mouth. "Maybe you'd better plan something without me, so I don't have to rush off in the middle."
"Snow," P'draig confirms though in much more light-hearted a manner and looks down Mic, still fondly as the greenrider tries to put his schedule back together. "Okay," the brownrider says quietly, though there's a faint note of disappointment in his voice. "Guess I'd better get this crew back to the house to wash up then and get cracking."
"I really ought to write this down," Mic says, sending a quick apologetic grin upwards. "Except we never actually /look/ in the desk. Desks. If you want to get them washed, I'll go poke about, see if I can figure out what's going on. Maybe it's Durmeny twice, you think?"
"Writing down doesn't always seem to help much," P'draig notes and claps his hands. "C'mon kids, time to head up to get rinsed down." Predictably, this is met by a chorus of 'Awww but daaaaaaad' type responses. "Figure it out and we can go from there," he tells T'mic. "In the meantime, I think I'll make pancakes unless you want fancy."
T'mic pops the last grape into his mouth and joins the general uprising, dusting off his shorts. What's stuck to his legs isn't coming off without a wash. "Pancakes sounds fine. If I don't get back down, I'll have Aath tell Jekzith, all right?"
"We'll keep them warm until we hear otherwise," P'draig says cheerily, leans over to kiss his weyrmate, then with help from Miara, ushers the gaggle up to the beach house to hose off, wash up and otherwise make themselves presentable for a jolly meal.
When: It is an autumn afternoon, 14:32 of day 27, month 11, turn 22 of Interval 10.
Where: Main Beach, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy and Mic. Being Paddy and Mic. With some mention of not WLMing this time and two pretty young women. And the weather.
Main Beach, Ista Weyr(#444RJ)
The coastline of black sand stretches out in either direction, tropical waters lapping ceaselessly against the subtle decline of the main beach that rests at the base of the plateau cliff. To the northeast, water from the upper pool cascades over the plateau's edge, its destination shrouded in the lush fronts of the jungle's edge and a hint of blue-tinged mist. The Sandbar, Ista's seaside tavern, stands to the south beside the long branching structure of the docks.
The heat continues to cling to Ista, the humidity's a living thing up at the Weyr proper and in the jungles. It's one of those rare days when P'draig neither has duty nor restaurant to see to and his horde of whippersnappers are down at the water line building one heck of a sand fort with some other kids, with Miara looking on. The brownrider therefore is at liberty to sip from a cool glass of what looks like lemonade and work on his tan.
T'mic comes out from the private areas of the Beach House, towel slung over his shoulder and sipping at his own glass of probably lemonade. Aath is a little way off, far enough from the running and yelling and splashing that she won't be bothered, but close enough so everyone can see her. Mic pads out to join the brownrider and flop down beside him, share one of his bright grins. "Nice day, huh." He's being sincere.
Head tilting back at Mic's approach, Paddy grins at the greenrider. "It's a little hot, but it's better out here than in there," he says with a jerk of his head towards the restaurant. Jekzith is doing his usual 'nanny' impression and serving as a barricade against bigger waves in the shallows as the kids run back and forth to fill up buckets of water. "I think they're trying to haul half of the ocean up onto the beach," Paddy notes further with a nod towards the horde this time.
"Better them than me," Mic decides after watching the play for a few seconds. The horde of rugrats isn't as interesting to him as the man beside him, however, and he flips onto his side to give P'draig his full attention. "You know what's weird, is weyrlings in the barracks and not being there. Can't say I don't miss not sleeping through the night, though."
"I might go help out in a little bit," P'draig answers with a chuckle. "Right now though, I'm happy being /off/ my feet," the brownrider admits and then goes still as Mic puts that question out there. He's quiet for a moment or two then reaches over to slide a fond hand through close-shorn curls. "Yeah. It is weird, even though there was no way to really keep the restaurant up and teach at the same time. Maybe next turn when the place is established better ..." he trails off and his mouth pulls in a faint grin. "Nope, your nights are all yours and partly mine," Paddy quips.
T'mic pahs and catches the hand, drawing it down to kiss the palm. "Next turn," he chides, teasingly. "Better hope Safriath doesn't go up again that fast. Nah, I'm just as happy helping you with the Beach House. I've been hip-deep in weyrlings so long, it's nice to take a clutch off. Those were some pretty hatchlings though, weren't they? Except for that one brown."
"Mm. Things are stretching out more and more," P'draig agrees, curls his fingers a little under that kiss. "And I've got /plenty/ of work for you to do," he teases the greenrider. "Sure you're still happy with it? Not that I don't think the job suits you. You're good at talking with people and making them comfortable." The brownrider's glass lifts up and he sinks a goodly mouthful of the liquid inside of it. "Which brown? They all looked pretty healthy to me. And one of 'my' candidates impressed," he boasts just a little, though his eyes dance with good-natured humor about it.
Blue eyes laughing, the greenrider makes short work of... kissing the fingers, nothing more lascivious, before releasing Paddy's hand back into the wild. "I just bet you do. And I didn't catch his name. Oh, he /looked/ healthy enough, but his color...." The greenrider's nose wrinkles before he perks up. "Oh yeah? Which one? How many'd he get, this time? I've just about given up on Aath searching, at least not without me prodding her."
Those kisses earn another fond smile from Paddy and his head tilts curiously to the side. "The color? I didn't notice one that looked like baby dragon doody," he jokes then nods. "Mm. Vyshani. From the Reaches. To the green with the really big paws."
T'mic says, "That's a polite way of putting it," with another wrinkle of his nose. "Well, I'm sure whoever he looks to adores him." Just as he adores Aath, sending her a look while she pretends to ignore it and rustles her wings. "I don't think I remember her, but I'm sure I would if we were introduced. You know how bad I am with names."
"Huh. Well maybe he'll grow out of it," is P'draig's easygoing response about the ugly brown. "THat's why I mentioned the green," the brownrider says with a laugh. "Probably the biggest one of all the greens that hatched." He holds up a hand to indicate Vyshani's height relative to himself. "Dark hair, straight, almond-shaped eyes. Talks like Milani."
"Oh, /her/!" -Now- Mic can identify her, once the green is more clearly identified. "I remember her now." Sipping at his glass, he wriggles toes into the sand and throws back his head, basking. "Vyshani. Pretty name. Pretty girl?" The look he slides to his weyrmate is impish.
"Yep, very pretty and very vivacious," P'draig answers laughingly. "She's from a waystation in Fort's coverage area originally, but she was searched to stand at the Reaches. Met her up there, but the funny thing is that I'd probably seen her before when she was younger, just a kid, when I stopped by her parents' place time and again on sweeps."
"Reeeeallllly." The greenrider's attention is most definitely snagged now. "Why would someone go up to the /Reaches/?" He tacks on, "--I wonder," just barely managing not to swallow his ankle too. "I wonder if I've met her too, then. Probably not, but I might've seen her when visiting Millie, or with you at Fort."
"You know I'm from there, right?" P'draig teases Mic, mirth alight in his eyes. "It's a very nice place so long as you like snowy winters." He winks over at the greenrider. "I had a long conversation with Evaly recently about why anyone would move /here/ actually. I don't think she was all that impressed with my answer." Both shoulders lift, drop. "Could be, maybe. The place is down on the border between Boll and Gar. I don't think I ever took you there. But she's been at the Reaches for almost a half turn now I guess."
T'mic tries his very best to pretend his mouth isn't stuffed full of foot, eyes gone all wide and faux-innocent. "/Really/? I thought you just rose from the bath in your weyr back at Fort." Maybe on some sort of half-shell. "Evaly... Evaly... remind me which one is that? Is she the red-head a couple days ago who ordered the oysters?"
"Now there's a vision," P'draig exclaims and starts laughing all over again. "No, curvy blonde. She was a candidate too but she's from around here. She knows you, apparently you met when you were either taking a bath or lounging around somewhere naked because she's seen 'the whole package'." Quotes audible.
Evaly's not the red-headed oyster? Dang, now Mic has no ready-made identification. Rather than snapping his fingers, though, he has more lemonade. "--/Oh/. I think I remember her now. She didn't want me to say anything admiring. Which," he notes, "was hard, because did you -see- her? She seemed nice, though. I think I told you about her."
"Mm. Yeah, you're the one who said you'd met a gorgeous blonde," P'draig teases Mic a little more, reaches over to slide his hand down the greenrider's arm. "And yes. We're lucky sods here at Ista, lots of very attractive women running around." Still amused.
"The men aren't half bad either," Mic grins, giving the rim of his glass some strictly unnecessary tongue action - not that it seems to mind. "So which side were you on? The 'why would anyone move here' side, or the 'why -wouldn't- they' side?"
"Uh huh, some of them are interesting," P'draig answers and puts his glass down, well out of the way, reaches for T'mic's next, apparently meaning to tug him closer. "C'mon, you know which side I was on," he murmurs and slides his arm around the greenrider. "I was on the side that says wherever Mic is, that's where I'm going."
T'mic hastily takes a last swallow before relinquishing his glass; nor does he protest getting closer to his weyrmate. "Oh, so if I said I was moving to Benden...?" he teases. "Or to Fort after all? --Wait, why was Evaly confused why someone would want to live here?"
"Mm, we'd have to talk about it, because you know, we're grownups with kids we've got responsibilities to," P'draig says, still jokingly as he edges that much closer. "Because it's pretty soggy," the brownrider notes with a quirky little smile. "When it's not so hot you can drown in the air, it's still rainy."
...Kids? Responsibilities? --Oh right, those. Reminded, Mic takes a peek, but in the fraction of second he actually looks must not see anything concerning, for he focuses right back on Paddy. "That's what makes it so pretty, though. It's just like Southern." A beat. "You don't want to move to /Southern/, do you?"
Nope, just the horde, playing. Though maybe slinging wet sand at each other was not the most brilliant thing for Palia and Jaivery to teac Dylan and Dharia. "That's one way to look at it," Paddy replies fondly, dips his forehead down to T'mic's. "But no, I don't want to move to Southern. I think I'm actually ... good with staying put in one place for a long time."
"You brownriders," Mic teases, slipping his hand behind Paddy's neck. "Always so -settled-." Rhymes with 'responsible', maybe. "You know, if we weren't watching children," or lying on the beach while the children entertained themselves, "I could think of one or two other things to do that involved staying put."
"We do have that reputation," P'draig answers with a winning grin and looks up and over Mic's shoulder toward the beach. "Miara's got things in hand. We could slip away for a little bit," he offers all the more winningly.
Oh, twist his arm! "All right," Mic agrees promptly, and leans in to steal a kiss before sitting up. "Want to go back inside, or just back into the trees? What /I/ had in mind involved a bed, but I think I can figure something out."
"Back in," P'draig agrees. "It's not that far and I'm liking where your imagination is going," the brownrider answers in the wake of that kiss, pushes back up to a sitting position to reach for his glass, drain it down, then gets to his feet and holds a hand down for Mic to grab.
Well, if Paddy's going to waste the time to drain his glass, Mic'll at least take the chance to collect his own again, and waggle his eyebrows up at his weyrmate over the rim. "Lead on," he invites, holding up an arm to let Paddy haul him to his feet. Once he's there, he hollers, "We're just going in!" to Miara - Faranth only knows if she heard or not, but he tried - and slips his free arm about Paddy's waist as they amble for the house.
"Just this way, sir, we can find you a spot with a /great/ view," P'draig teases again and slings his arm around Mic in turn, looks over to see if Miara heard. She's waving and from the expression on her face, is highly amused as she tries to encourage the kids to stop pelting each other with sand mud.
"I didn't know you were putting beds in the restaurant!" says Mic, all agog and too wide-eyed to be sincere. "That'll bring in a different clientele, that's for sure." Look at him, using words like 'clientele'. He's been around Paddy too long. "A little performance with their dining, huh. Nah, I wanted the private room, in the back." Grinning up at his weyrmate, he bumps his hip into the taller man's leg before taking a draught of lemonade.
Brows waggling. "It's the latest thing," P'draig continues the joke. "Dinner in bed," he winks over and leads on back up to the porch and the room in the back, where there's a nice door that can be shut to keep the party a private one.
It's a good thing both Miara and Jekzith are there to keep an eye on the kids, for neither Paddy nor Mic returns from their private party for quite some time. When they do, both men are in a fine mood, thank you, despite the liberal coating of sweat, and the greenrider is once again swigging from a freshly refilled glass. "Can't do /that/ at Fort," he declares, beaming his delight at all the world. "Someone'd freeze important bits off."
"Only in winter," is P'draig's answer, arms stretching up over his head and he pauses on the porch, leaning one shoulder into the post, looks out at the beach. "And it's cooler down here by the beach. Your old weyr used to get pretty stuffy if we spent all afternoon in there. Could barely move after a go."
"/My/ old weyr?" Mic repeats, grinning sidelong. "You talking the one we have now, or the one Javeri moved into?"
"The one Javeri moved into, yours," P'draig says with a laugh. "Ours seem to have better airflow, but this," and the brownrider holds one arm out to catch that thread of a breeze. "This is airflow," he jokes and then hops down off the step to amble across the sand towards where the kids are playing.
"
T'mic snerks at the brownrider. "This is standing in the middle of a beach," he corrects, grinning up. "So you just want to ...." He trails off for a moment, lost in thought, before tilting an eye at Paddy again. "Remember when we used to go put blankets on the beach and sleep there? Back before you moved in?"
"I like living at the beach, yes," P'draig says agreeably and slides his hands into his pockets, comes to a halt just shy of the tired crew of sand fort builders who are currently flopped on towels and munching on grapes. "Yeah?" Paddy tilts a look over at T'mic. "Good times."
T'mic casts an eye on the grapes but refrains from helping himself. Just yet. "Hard times," he agrees. "Me here, you there, Thread in between. Much as I loved your weyr at Fort, I'm glad you're here."
"Ah. That too," P'draig says quietly, curls his toes into the sand and reaches over to hook an arm around T'mic again. "I'm glad I'm here too. Glad /we're/ here," he elaborates and grins down at the sandy cluster of kids at their feet. "So. What should I make for dinner tonight? It's your turn to pick." This back to his weyrmate, with a wide smile.
T'mic gladly accepts a twist of grapes from Palia, offers her a grin in return and eats a couple straight off the stem. "S'your day off," he reminds Paddy through a mouthful, chews quick and swallows. "Thought we'd eat in the living caverns. Know you -like- cooking, but you don't always have to." He offers Paddy grapes as well. "You want to go, I dunno, over to Fort or somewhere after? --Is it snowing there?" Which is Mic for 'do I have to wear clothes'.
"No thanks," is P'draig's reaction to mention of the living cavern. "I was hoping to make a family night of it," he explains and apparently doesn't consider trouping everyone up to the caverns to be 'family night'. A little shake of his head follows, turning down fruit. "We could head out though after they're in bed," a nod to the kids and he laughs. "No it's not snowing there yet. Or at least, shouldn't be if it is, it's early for it."
T'mic says, "Let me go look at the menu, see if I get any ideas," with a shrug and another grape. "Fort sounds fun. Or we could go up to the Reaches, visit Mil- oh wait. It probably /is/ snowing up there." Darn climate, spoiling all his fun. "I should ask, though. I have the feeling I was supposed to meet somebody for something today. Or maybe that's tomorrow."
"Okay, I've changed out all the specials for autumn ones, from summer," P'draig reminds and he nods, laughs a little. "Sionath says it is snowing," he relates after touching base with his mother's green, then squints over at T'mic. "I think that's tomorrow? Unless you made a date you didn't mention," Paddy adds with a grin.
T'mic settles down on the beach, just out of arm's reach from the children (though not sand-flinging distance) and continues to work on the grapes, one nibble at a time. "Snow," he echoes, equal parts dismayed and disgusted. "And... I think it's tonight, too?" That apologetically. "Tomorrow is... oh! Durmeny. You remember I told you about him? But it feels like there's something tonight, too." He frowns at a grape, pops it into his mouth. "Maybe you'd better plan something without me, so I don't have to rush off in the middle."
"Snow," P'draig confirms though in much more light-hearted a manner and looks down Mic, still fondly as the greenrider tries to put his schedule back together. "Okay," the brownrider says quietly, though there's a faint note of disappointment in his voice. "Guess I'd better get this crew back to the house to wash up then and get cracking."
"I really ought to write this down," Mic says, sending a quick apologetic grin upwards. "Except we never actually /look/ in the desk. Desks. If you want to get them washed, I'll go poke about, see if I can figure out what's going on. Maybe it's Durmeny twice, you think?"
"Writing down doesn't always seem to help much," P'draig notes and claps his hands. "C'mon kids, time to head up to get rinsed down." Predictably, this is met by a chorus of 'Awww but daaaaaaad' type responses. "Figure it out and we can go from there," he tells T'mic. "In the meantime, I think I'll make pancakes unless you want fancy."
T'mic pops the last grape into his mouth and joins the general uprising, dusting off his shorts. What's stuck to his legs isn't coming off without a wash. "Pancakes sounds fine. If I don't get back down, I'll have Aath tell Jekzith, all right?"
"We'll keep them warm until we hear otherwise," P'draig says cheerily, leans over to kiss his weyrmate, then with help from Miara, ushers the gaggle up to the beach house to hose off, wash up and otherwise make themselves presentable for a jolly meal.