Log: Maybe Silly, Maybe Something
Who: Hattie, P'draig
When: D18 M9 T24
Where: The Beach House Porch, Ista Weyr
What: Hattie and Paddy talk things through and maybe decide something. Sort of. Even if it's deciding not to decide.
Porch, The Beach House(#1051RAJ)
A big four seater swing sways in the breezes on the front porch, while the back porch is screened in and hung with several rope mesh and canvas sling chairs and a hammock. Wooden boxes placed at intervals along this porch hold toys and games for Paddy's kids and help keep tripping hazards to a manageable minimum. An outdoor, cistern-supplied shower and outhouse have been strategically built in a cluster of trees to provide some privacy from anyone passing by on the beach.
Trees surround the house on all sides but the front and someone's been working on transforming the area around the cothold into a more extensive garden than the veggies-and-herbs that are the focus of the kitchen garden. At the back of the cothold, the porch has been partially extended to provide a rain shelter for Jekzith and a white stone path leads around this area, threading through flower beds still under development.
>---< Local Weather for ISW >------------------------------------------------<
Current Temp: 81 F Today's Lo/Hi: 78 F / 87 F
Belior: waning gibbous Timor: new
Weather: Nice
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The day is hazy and hot, it's damn humid too. There's practically no
escaping it. The only saving grace today has is the occasional wind and
the fact that it doesn't downpour.
>----------------------------------------< 22:21 D18 M9 T24, summer night >---<
If there's one thing that can be said about Fort's senior queen, it's that she has manners. She might not going about loudly announcing herself everywhere, but nor does she spring herself and her rider upon anyone unexpectedly. Except for tonight. There's no warning of Hattie's arrival until she's padding across black sand towards the porch of The Beach House and Elaruth very, very carefully and quietly sneaks only the sensation of cool water Jekzith's way in apology or something of the sort. A few feet from the porch itself, Hattie slows to a halt and looks up at the building before her like she's trying to make a decision.
The cothold is largely dark at this hour, the little glows that bedeck the restaurant side of things all lidded and there's no light in the kitchen to indicate late night cleaning. The flicker of candlelight illumines a lone corner of the porch however, where P'draig lounges in the hammock post-work, enjoying a cool drink after laboring on a hot sticky day, in a terribly hot kitchen. The clink of ice in his glass might betray his presence further along with the creak of the hammock's ropes as it sways slowly in what little night breeze the ocean brings. The light is dim enough that Hattie may only catch a glimpse of his profile and damp hair, unruly from a recent washup. Jekzith sends a bright bubble ping back along that stream of cool water from Elaruth and it pops open to share the sensation of wind and clouds scudding across the waning face of Belior.
Hattie takes no further steps forward for a good minute or two, careful to remain absolutely still so that no movement can give her presence away until she's ready. When she finally does manage to unfreeze, she turns away from the cothold and takes a step back the way she came before turning around again and steadily gaining on the porch until she reaches it and steps up, footsteps likely signalling her arrival for all their quiet as she makes her way across to that corner of the porch and stands there silently for a moment or two, hands shoved into her pockets. It's nothing terribly clever that she finds to say, simply, "Hello," lowly.
Unaware at least until those footsteps sound out, P'draig looks up and squints through the dimness toward his unexpected guest. Apparently Jekzith did not give Elaruth away in the slightest. It takes a second, but recognition flashes across the brownrider's face and a warm smile promptly follows as Hattie approaches and greets him. "Hi," he answers as simply, gaze lifting in an attempt to meet the goldrider's. After a moment, he scooches over in the hammock and holds up his free hand in invitation. "Join me?"
"You need a haircut," Hattie states in the same low voice, as if it's something perfectly normal to answer or greet someone with, attention straying to the state of the brownrider's hair before she meets P'draig's gaze properly. "Hmm," turns out to be acceptance of the invitation, the Weyrwoman reaching out to take his hand and settle down next to him in the hammock as gracefully as one can possibly make doing such a thing. "Good day?" she questions once she's gone still.
"There's a very good barber here I can go see," Paddy notes with a little grin. "I was growing it out but ..." he trails off, one shoulder lifting. "Not much need to anymore," he notes quietly and slides an arm around Hattie's shoulders as she joins him in the hammock. "Hot day," the brownrider answers further and tilts his glass back and forth making the ice clink more. "Thought I might melt right into the kitchen floor at one point tonight. We wound up closing early because it was slow. Tends to be on the really hot nights. Idly, his fingers brush up along the side of her arm. "You?"
"Just make sure you don't get it cut too short then, huh? You might change your mind again," Hattie murmurs, eyes closing as she tucks close to P'draig and relaxes, exhaling slowly. "Need some sort of fan and mechanism. Employ someone to keep it running," might be a very dry joke, one of the goldrider's fingers drawing a circle in the air like someone running round and round. One shoulder twitches in a not-quite shrug and she sighs. "Meetings. I think there's trouble brewing. Could be bad. We'll see. There's little enough to be done about it now."
"Enough to keep it from getting in my eyes when I cook, but longer than I kept it when there was Thread or I was trying to be a good example for Weyrlings and keeping it regulation-length," P'draig says with a low chuckle and his arm curls that much more around her as she tucks in closer. "Usually that's what I have kids for," the brownrider jokes back. "Sadly, it's past their bedtime and they're all sleeping, but the sea breeze seems to be picking up finally." He turns as Hattie continues to relax against him and brushes a light kiss to her forehead. "What kind of trouble? Or would you rather not think about it right now?"
"Oh, so /that's/ what you're training Gethin for on his days here," Hattie answers quietly, smirk tugging at her lips. "Noted. I thought he was far too steady on his feet." Her head shakes just a little and she keeps her eyes tight closed when she confirms, "I'd really rather not think about it right now or I'm going to get angry and potentially stress out you and Elaruth. I didn't come here to agitate you or make my Weyr's problems yours," continuing to hold her voice low, one arm reaching out to settle across the brownrider's chest.
"It's good for his arm strength," P'draig claims, with a little flex of his drink-bearing arm. Hattie's answer sees him setting the glass down, however, the hammock swaying a little in counter-motion. Once his hand is free, he brings his arm around the goldrider and his forehead dips down toward hers. "I'm not worried about getting stressed if you need an ear," the brownrider says quietly. "But I'd rather avoid the angry part." He might've been on the brink of saying something else about Weyr problems, but in the end he keeps whatever those thoughts were to himself in favor of pressing another kiss to Hattie's forehead. "Sounds like you could use a little downtime. Have you eaten? It's just about supper time at Fort, isn't it?"
Hattie shakes her head again, the motion barely perceptible so that she doesn't jostling P'draig, dark eyes opening. "But I /am/ worried about stressing you out, so..." she replies softly. It might not be that surprising that her gaze goes distant and she seemingly has to try and remember whether she's eaten or not until she can respond further. "I vaguely recall eating on the go. Made sure Gethin and the girls were settled with Nell, checked in with Shevena and then... we were here," she explains. "I could really do with a drink though, if there's anything hanging about."
"Hattie ..." P'draig says her name lowly, with a gentle chiding note in his voice. His hand lifts, backs of fingers grazing against her cheek bone. "Iced tea," he states of his own beverage. "It's spiked with lemon cordial. I'll get you a glass? Maybe tempt you with dessert?" His curled fingers linger just beneath her chin, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. "It's good to see you. I'm glad you've come."
"Oh, you do not have a leg to stand on in the working day department, so don't start," Hattie declares with faint humour, tilting her head a little to press a kiss to his cheek. "Iced tea sounds great, thank you. I'll trust you about dessert and assume I won't make much protest on that subject," she continues, eyes closing again as his thumb traces her jaw. "I nearly came here the other day," the goldrider confesses. "But I convinced myself I was being silly."
"Maybe so, but my work involves preparing food which generally means not forgetting meals," P'draig points out with a touch of humor. He lingers in the hammock as she agrees to dessert, palm curving to fit the shape of her face. "Why would it be silly?" he inquires calmly and leans in to kiss her properly this time before he draws back and starts to unwind from her. "I'll be right back with that drink and a little something for dessert."
Hattie might think it could be easy enough for a response to that enquiry to be forgotten about in the wake of that kiss and the beginnings of departing from the hammock, since she remains silent on that subject, nothing giving her away as she innocently answers the statement of intent instead with a serene, "Okay." She doesn't make any effort to sit up and simply lies there, apparently content and with no evidence of deliberate avoidance.
Grinning a little as he steps away, P'draig leaves a caress to her arm behind and his bare feet pad away across the porch and inside, though he's careful not to bang the door as he steps within. While he's gone, the sea continues to roll in and out along the shore with a soft shushing sound and insects chirr in the undergrowth at the back of the cothold. The stars gleam brightly overhead and the breeze blows more consistently, lifting the heat and wafting the scent of tropical blooms across the beach. It's no wonder Paddy likes to swing here in a hammock of an evening? Shortly, the brownrider returns juggling a glass and a dish with a spoon sticking up out of it. "Here, take the bowl? I'll put your glass down here and pour after I've climbed back in to avoid spills," the brownrider states and passes the bowl to Hattie. Though it's no longer warm, the peach cobbler within probably still tastes pretty good and it's topped with a single scoop of ice cream which is already getting melty around the edges.
It's not a terribly long time that she's on her own out there, but it might look like Hattie has drifted off in the meantime, completely still and relaxed before P'draig's voice has her opening her eyes and making to sit up a bit, reaching for the bowl with a murmur of thanks. The spoon ends up in her mouth not two seconds later, which might point to that hazy recollection of dinner on the go being not entirely accurately. It's inelegant, but she keeps the spoon lodged in her mouth and balances the bowl with both hands for the duration of hammock clambering.
The lodging of the spoon in Hattie's mouth draws another grin from P'draig and he eases carefully into the hammock, but remains upright rather than lounging back down right away, leaning over to pour a glassful of tea, lemon stuff and ice into the goldrider's glass. Then he does lean back, sliding his arm behind Hattie again to provide support for her head. "Eat up, that ice cream is not long for this world," he notes. "And see, why would it be silly to come see someone who feeds you so well, huh?" He makes light, her glass still held in his hand.
Between bites, Hattie manages a very quick, deadpan, "Can't talk. Eating," shovelling continuing on in a fashion that a Weyrwoman probably shouldn't be seen to do, say, in the middle of the living cavern. When she's down to the last couple of spoonfuls, she settles back and finishes the rest of the bowl, then carefully leans to set bowl and spoon down on the porch without setting the hammock to swaying too much. Reaching to unburden P'draig of her glass, she jokes, "I don't know. You might think I was just here for the food."
Laughter answers that statement and Paddy looks pleased by the enjoyment of his offering. Her glass is handed over without resistance and the brownrider plumps up some of the hammock pillows behind his own head then curls his arm beneath those, settling in comfortably. "Are you?" he asks though, half-teasingly, half-seriously. "I mean, it can't /possibly/ be for the sex, right?"
Hattie focuses on her glass as if it contains answers or might talk for her, but, of course, it doesn't, and so she has to settle for sipping at iced tea for a while in silence. After she's regained what composure has been lost since his half-serious, half-not enquiry, she lets herself lie back properly, glass held against her hip. "I think," she says slowly, as though expecting to regret every word she utters, "that if it was that simple, I wouldn't think it was silly."
Remaining relaxed, P'draig waits while Hattie communes with her drink. His hand slides a little bit further down her arm and curls in place comfortably while she's still not speaking. When she does though, his fingers trace along the edge of her arm again and his head turns to find her gaze. "So it's not simple," he concludes quietly, seems to consider that for a moment before asking another question: "How ... complicated and silly do you see this getting?"
"It could be simple," Hattie quietly insists. "It could be very simple. You could tell me I'm an idiot and I could go home and we can say I came here for the food or to have my way with you and forget this whole conversation," she says steadily, clearly having some difficulty in meeting P'draig's gaze. "If I knew exactly why I came here, I'd try and tell you, but I don't. It doesn't have to be anything more than that. It doesn't even have to be anything."
Gaze holding steady, P'draig waits Hattie out before answering. "You're not an idiot." He reaches for his glass though, takes a drink, then sets it down again and brings his other arm up around Hattie once more. "So, I'm going to tell you something and I hope it won't unsettle you too much," the brownrider says slowly after another moment or three of silence. "The other night ... was the first time I've been close with anyone since T'mic left, since I ended it with him, outside of a couple of flights Jekzith won." He takes a breath, then goes on. "I haven't ... really wanted to be. Until you climbed into my lap the other day."
Following a few deep breaths, Hattie murmurs, "It doesn't have to..." and quiets again, biting down on her bottom lip. "It doesn't have to be anything more than I was the girl who ended up close enough to wind up in your lap. If not me, it could have been another girl. Another friend," she says gently. "I've been /awful/ to you over the turns, P'draig. Isn't it better to think of it all a coincidence? Biology or lapse in sense or... something," the goldrider protests.
"It'd probably be easier if that's all it was," P'draig answers that protest. "But I missed /you/," he answers steadily, with careful emphasis. "I wanted /you/." His fingers drift upward, brush along that bottom lip, trying to distract teeth from mutilating it. "At this point in my life and relationships, no, it couldn't have been anyone else. And I don't think that's a lapse in sense." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "At the same time, I'm not looking to rush into anything. But there is /something/ here, between us and I don't think it's silly either."
"I think it says far too much that I've spent too much time since then thinking about /you/," Hattie eventually responds, not able to look at him as she speaks, though she leaves off biting at her lip. "But, beyond working ourselves into the ground, we don't see eye to eye on anything," she claims. "Not really. Probably not even about how 'anything' would work. Why go buying yourself that trouble? You might think differently in a sevenday or so. We might not be thinking entirely with our minds alone here."
"I'll take that as a compliment," P'draig says with a quiet chuckle and his hand slides up to frame her cheek again. "We both believe in family and loyalty and friendship. I think that the sticking point, is trust. I trust easily. Probably too easily. And it's hard for anyone to gain your trust. Especially most of humanity," Paddy jokes just a little on the end of serious. "As for how it'd work, like I said, I'm not rushing. Right now, I'm just happy to see you. Happy you came. Happy you've been thinking about me, probably as much as I've thought about you." His head dips, lips seeking hers for a light kiss. "I'm pretty sure it's all three of mind, body and heart. And that's not a bad thing."
A hand lifts to shove at P'draig's shoulder, Hattie muttering, "Shut up, you," to go with the gesture, trying to scowl in a suitably threatening manner through reluctant amusement. "I just don't want you to look back in a few days' time at having said all this and realize that it was just a passing... thing. An idea. A need. I don't know," she tries to explain, closing her eyes before she returns his kiss and having to right her glass before it tips too far over. "I hate not knowing. I really should change my mind about hating you," she says dryly.
In spite of that shove, P'draig only smiles good-naturedly. "I've done 'passing' before. This ... isn't that," the brownrider assures quietly. "But going slow, treading carefully, those aren't bad ideas, Hattie, given our background." That last though makes him laugh and he reaches down to take her glass away, sets it aside where it won't fall over and pulls her in close. "Let me know if you decide one way or the other. Okay? For now though, tonight ... just shut up and be with me?"
"I have just spent the past while trying to convince you that we're a few beads short of an abacus - do you really think I'd have everything done and dusted before sunrise?" Hattie asks rhetorically, arching a brow. "I could be yelling at you before dawn. You could hate me before tomorrow. I'm not about to rush into anything," she quietly assures, winding arms around him once she's been relieved of her glass. "As for now... I don't think I can do everything I want to do to you in this here hammock," the goldrider murmurs.
"There you go," P'draig answers, not touching yelling and hating with a ten foot pole, or at least setting them aside for now. Her arms go around him in turn and he /smiles/ at that murmur. "Now that, sounds promising," the brownrider replies and this time when he kisses her, it's very serious business indeed. The candle flickers for a while in the incoming breeze, the hammock swaying with it, as that kiss goes on. In its wake, the brownrider tilts the hammock enough to spill out of it and then bends to scoop Hattie up into his arms. The last thing he does before leaving the porch, bearing his burden of goldrider, is blow out the candle. It sputters, dies and the smoke trails off on the tropical breeze while P'draig carries Hattie off through the porchside door into his room and the sanctuary of his bed.
When: D18 M9 T24
Where: The Beach House Porch, Ista Weyr
What: Hattie and Paddy talk things through and maybe decide something. Sort of. Even if it's deciding not to decide.
Porch, The Beach House(#1051RAJ)
A big four seater swing sways in the breezes on the front porch, while the back porch is screened in and hung with several rope mesh and canvas sling chairs and a hammock. Wooden boxes placed at intervals along this porch hold toys and games for Paddy's kids and help keep tripping hazards to a manageable minimum. An outdoor, cistern-supplied shower and outhouse have been strategically built in a cluster of trees to provide some privacy from anyone passing by on the beach.
Trees surround the house on all sides but the front and someone's been working on transforming the area around the cothold into a more extensive garden than the veggies-and-herbs that are the focus of the kitchen garden. At the back of the cothold, the porch has been partially extended to provide a rain shelter for Jekzith and a white stone path leads around this area, threading through flower beds still under development.
>---< Local Weather for ISW >------------------------------------------------<
Current Temp: 81 F Today's Lo/Hi: 78 F / 87 F
Belior: waning gibbous Timor: new
Weather: Nice
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The day is hazy and hot, it's damn humid too. There's practically no
escaping it. The only saving grace today has is the occasional wind and
the fact that it doesn't downpour.
>----------------------------------------< 22:21 D18 M9 T24, summer night >---<
If there's one thing that can be said about Fort's senior queen, it's that she has manners. She might not going about loudly announcing herself everywhere, but nor does she spring herself and her rider upon anyone unexpectedly. Except for tonight. There's no warning of Hattie's arrival until she's padding across black sand towards the porch of The Beach House and Elaruth very, very carefully and quietly sneaks only the sensation of cool water Jekzith's way in apology or something of the sort. A few feet from the porch itself, Hattie slows to a halt and looks up at the building before her like she's trying to make a decision.
The cothold is largely dark at this hour, the little glows that bedeck the restaurant side of things all lidded and there's no light in the kitchen to indicate late night cleaning. The flicker of candlelight illumines a lone corner of the porch however, where P'draig lounges in the hammock post-work, enjoying a cool drink after laboring on a hot sticky day, in a terribly hot kitchen. The clink of ice in his glass might betray his presence further along with the creak of the hammock's ropes as it sways slowly in what little night breeze the ocean brings. The light is dim enough that Hattie may only catch a glimpse of his profile and damp hair, unruly from a recent washup. Jekzith sends a bright bubble ping back along that stream of cool water from Elaruth and it pops open to share the sensation of wind and clouds scudding across the waning face of Belior.
Hattie takes no further steps forward for a good minute or two, careful to remain absolutely still so that no movement can give her presence away until she's ready. When she finally does manage to unfreeze, she turns away from the cothold and takes a step back the way she came before turning around again and steadily gaining on the porch until she reaches it and steps up, footsteps likely signalling her arrival for all their quiet as she makes her way across to that corner of the porch and stands there silently for a moment or two, hands shoved into her pockets. It's nothing terribly clever that she finds to say, simply, "Hello," lowly.
Unaware at least until those footsteps sound out, P'draig looks up and squints through the dimness toward his unexpected guest. Apparently Jekzith did not give Elaruth away in the slightest. It takes a second, but recognition flashes across the brownrider's face and a warm smile promptly follows as Hattie approaches and greets him. "Hi," he answers as simply, gaze lifting in an attempt to meet the goldrider's. After a moment, he scooches over in the hammock and holds up his free hand in invitation. "Join me?"
"You need a haircut," Hattie states in the same low voice, as if it's something perfectly normal to answer or greet someone with, attention straying to the state of the brownrider's hair before she meets P'draig's gaze properly. "Hmm," turns out to be acceptance of the invitation, the Weyrwoman reaching out to take his hand and settle down next to him in the hammock as gracefully as one can possibly make doing such a thing. "Good day?" she questions once she's gone still.
"There's a very good barber here I can go see," Paddy notes with a little grin. "I was growing it out but ..." he trails off, one shoulder lifting. "Not much need to anymore," he notes quietly and slides an arm around Hattie's shoulders as she joins him in the hammock. "Hot day," the brownrider answers further and tilts his glass back and forth making the ice clink more. "Thought I might melt right into the kitchen floor at one point tonight. We wound up closing early because it was slow. Tends to be on the really hot nights. Idly, his fingers brush up along the side of her arm. "You?"
"Just make sure you don't get it cut too short then, huh? You might change your mind again," Hattie murmurs, eyes closing as she tucks close to P'draig and relaxes, exhaling slowly. "Need some sort of fan and mechanism. Employ someone to keep it running," might be a very dry joke, one of the goldrider's fingers drawing a circle in the air like someone running round and round. One shoulder twitches in a not-quite shrug and she sighs. "Meetings. I think there's trouble brewing. Could be bad. We'll see. There's little enough to be done about it now."
"Enough to keep it from getting in my eyes when I cook, but longer than I kept it when there was Thread or I was trying to be a good example for Weyrlings and keeping it regulation-length," P'draig says with a low chuckle and his arm curls that much more around her as she tucks in closer. "Usually that's what I have kids for," the brownrider jokes back. "Sadly, it's past their bedtime and they're all sleeping, but the sea breeze seems to be picking up finally." He turns as Hattie continues to relax against him and brushes a light kiss to her forehead. "What kind of trouble? Or would you rather not think about it right now?"
"Oh, so /that's/ what you're training Gethin for on his days here," Hattie answers quietly, smirk tugging at her lips. "Noted. I thought he was far too steady on his feet." Her head shakes just a little and she keeps her eyes tight closed when she confirms, "I'd really rather not think about it right now or I'm going to get angry and potentially stress out you and Elaruth. I didn't come here to agitate you or make my Weyr's problems yours," continuing to hold her voice low, one arm reaching out to settle across the brownrider's chest.
"It's good for his arm strength," P'draig claims, with a little flex of his drink-bearing arm. Hattie's answer sees him setting the glass down, however, the hammock swaying a little in counter-motion. Once his hand is free, he brings his arm around the goldrider and his forehead dips down toward hers. "I'm not worried about getting stressed if you need an ear," the brownrider says quietly. "But I'd rather avoid the angry part." He might've been on the brink of saying something else about Weyr problems, but in the end he keeps whatever those thoughts were to himself in favor of pressing another kiss to Hattie's forehead. "Sounds like you could use a little downtime. Have you eaten? It's just about supper time at Fort, isn't it?"
Hattie shakes her head again, the motion barely perceptible so that she doesn't jostling P'draig, dark eyes opening. "But I /am/ worried about stressing you out, so..." she replies softly. It might not be that surprising that her gaze goes distant and she seemingly has to try and remember whether she's eaten or not until she can respond further. "I vaguely recall eating on the go. Made sure Gethin and the girls were settled with Nell, checked in with Shevena and then... we were here," she explains. "I could really do with a drink though, if there's anything hanging about."
"Hattie ..." P'draig says her name lowly, with a gentle chiding note in his voice. His hand lifts, backs of fingers grazing against her cheek bone. "Iced tea," he states of his own beverage. "It's spiked with lemon cordial. I'll get you a glass? Maybe tempt you with dessert?" His curled fingers linger just beneath her chin, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. "It's good to see you. I'm glad you've come."
"Oh, you do not have a leg to stand on in the working day department, so don't start," Hattie declares with faint humour, tilting her head a little to press a kiss to his cheek. "Iced tea sounds great, thank you. I'll trust you about dessert and assume I won't make much protest on that subject," she continues, eyes closing again as his thumb traces her jaw. "I nearly came here the other day," the goldrider confesses. "But I convinced myself I was being silly."
"Maybe so, but my work involves preparing food which generally means not forgetting meals," P'draig points out with a touch of humor. He lingers in the hammock as she agrees to dessert, palm curving to fit the shape of her face. "Why would it be silly?" he inquires calmly and leans in to kiss her properly this time before he draws back and starts to unwind from her. "I'll be right back with that drink and a little something for dessert."
Hattie might think it could be easy enough for a response to that enquiry to be forgotten about in the wake of that kiss and the beginnings of departing from the hammock, since she remains silent on that subject, nothing giving her away as she innocently answers the statement of intent instead with a serene, "Okay." She doesn't make any effort to sit up and simply lies there, apparently content and with no evidence of deliberate avoidance.
Grinning a little as he steps away, P'draig leaves a caress to her arm behind and his bare feet pad away across the porch and inside, though he's careful not to bang the door as he steps within. While he's gone, the sea continues to roll in and out along the shore with a soft shushing sound and insects chirr in the undergrowth at the back of the cothold. The stars gleam brightly overhead and the breeze blows more consistently, lifting the heat and wafting the scent of tropical blooms across the beach. It's no wonder Paddy likes to swing here in a hammock of an evening? Shortly, the brownrider returns juggling a glass and a dish with a spoon sticking up out of it. "Here, take the bowl? I'll put your glass down here and pour after I've climbed back in to avoid spills," the brownrider states and passes the bowl to Hattie. Though it's no longer warm, the peach cobbler within probably still tastes pretty good and it's topped with a single scoop of ice cream which is already getting melty around the edges.
It's not a terribly long time that she's on her own out there, but it might look like Hattie has drifted off in the meantime, completely still and relaxed before P'draig's voice has her opening her eyes and making to sit up a bit, reaching for the bowl with a murmur of thanks. The spoon ends up in her mouth not two seconds later, which might point to that hazy recollection of dinner on the go being not entirely accurately. It's inelegant, but she keeps the spoon lodged in her mouth and balances the bowl with both hands for the duration of hammock clambering.
The lodging of the spoon in Hattie's mouth draws another grin from P'draig and he eases carefully into the hammock, but remains upright rather than lounging back down right away, leaning over to pour a glassful of tea, lemon stuff and ice into the goldrider's glass. Then he does lean back, sliding his arm behind Hattie again to provide support for her head. "Eat up, that ice cream is not long for this world," he notes. "And see, why would it be silly to come see someone who feeds you so well, huh?" He makes light, her glass still held in his hand.
Between bites, Hattie manages a very quick, deadpan, "Can't talk. Eating," shovelling continuing on in a fashion that a Weyrwoman probably shouldn't be seen to do, say, in the middle of the living cavern. When she's down to the last couple of spoonfuls, she settles back and finishes the rest of the bowl, then carefully leans to set bowl and spoon down on the porch without setting the hammock to swaying too much. Reaching to unburden P'draig of her glass, she jokes, "I don't know. You might think I was just here for the food."
Laughter answers that statement and Paddy looks pleased by the enjoyment of his offering. Her glass is handed over without resistance and the brownrider plumps up some of the hammock pillows behind his own head then curls his arm beneath those, settling in comfortably. "Are you?" he asks though, half-teasingly, half-seriously. "I mean, it can't /possibly/ be for the sex, right?"
Hattie focuses on her glass as if it contains answers or might talk for her, but, of course, it doesn't, and so she has to settle for sipping at iced tea for a while in silence. After she's regained what composure has been lost since his half-serious, half-not enquiry, she lets herself lie back properly, glass held against her hip. "I think," she says slowly, as though expecting to regret every word she utters, "that if it was that simple, I wouldn't think it was silly."
Remaining relaxed, P'draig waits while Hattie communes with her drink. His hand slides a little bit further down her arm and curls in place comfortably while she's still not speaking. When she does though, his fingers trace along the edge of her arm again and his head turns to find her gaze. "So it's not simple," he concludes quietly, seems to consider that for a moment before asking another question: "How ... complicated and silly do you see this getting?"
"It could be simple," Hattie quietly insists. "It could be very simple. You could tell me I'm an idiot and I could go home and we can say I came here for the food or to have my way with you and forget this whole conversation," she says steadily, clearly having some difficulty in meeting P'draig's gaze. "If I knew exactly why I came here, I'd try and tell you, but I don't. It doesn't have to be anything more than that. It doesn't even have to be anything."
Gaze holding steady, P'draig waits Hattie out before answering. "You're not an idiot." He reaches for his glass though, takes a drink, then sets it down again and brings his other arm up around Hattie once more. "So, I'm going to tell you something and I hope it won't unsettle you too much," the brownrider says slowly after another moment or three of silence. "The other night ... was the first time I've been close with anyone since T'mic left, since I ended it with him, outside of a couple of flights Jekzith won." He takes a breath, then goes on. "I haven't ... really wanted to be. Until you climbed into my lap the other day."
Following a few deep breaths, Hattie murmurs, "It doesn't have to..." and quiets again, biting down on her bottom lip. "It doesn't have to be anything more than I was the girl who ended up close enough to wind up in your lap. If not me, it could have been another girl. Another friend," she says gently. "I've been /awful/ to you over the turns, P'draig. Isn't it better to think of it all a coincidence? Biology or lapse in sense or... something," the goldrider protests.
"It'd probably be easier if that's all it was," P'draig answers that protest. "But I missed /you/," he answers steadily, with careful emphasis. "I wanted /you/." His fingers drift upward, brush along that bottom lip, trying to distract teeth from mutilating it. "At this point in my life and relationships, no, it couldn't have been anyone else. And I don't think that's a lapse in sense." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "At the same time, I'm not looking to rush into anything. But there is /something/ here, between us and I don't think it's silly either."
"I think it says far too much that I've spent too much time since then thinking about /you/," Hattie eventually responds, not able to look at him as she speaks, though she leaves off biting at her lip. "But, beyond working ourselves into the ground, we don't see eye to eye on anything," she claims. "Not really. Probably not even about how 'anything' would work. Why go buying yourself that trouble? You might think differently in a sevenday or so. We might not be thinking entirely with our minds alone here."
"I'll take that as a compliment," P'draig says with a quiet chuckle and his hand slides up to frame her cheek again. "We both believe in family and loyalty and friendship. I think that the sticking point, is trust. I trust easily. Probably too easily. And it's hard for anyone to gain your trust. Especially most of humanity," Paddy jokes just a little on the end of serious. "As for how it'd work, like I said, I'm not rushing. Right now, I'm just happy to see you. Happy you came. Happy you've been thinking about me, probably as much as I've thought about you." His head dips, lips seeking hers for a light kiss. "I'm pretty sure it's all three of mind, body and heart. And that's not a bad thing."
A hand lifts to shove at P'draig's shoulder, Hattie muttering, "Shut up, you," to go with the gesture, trying to scowl in a suitably threatening manner through reluctant amusement. "I just don't want you to look back in a few days' time at having said all this and realize that it was just a passing... thing. An idea. A need. I don't know," she tries to explain, closing her eyes before she returns his kiss and having to right her glass before it tips too far over. "I hate not knowing. I really should change my mind about hating you," she says dryly.
In spite of that shove, P'draig only smiles good-naturedly. "I've done 'passing' before. This ... isn't that," the brownrider assures quietly. "But going slow, treading carefully, those aren't bad ideas, Hattie, given our background." That last though makes him laugh and he reaches down to take her glass away, sets it aside where it won't fall over and pulls her in close. "Let me know if you decide one way or the other. Okay? For now though, tonight ... just shut up and be with me?"
"I have just spent the past while trying to convince you that we're a few beads short of an abacus - do you really think I'd have everything done and dusted before sunrise?" Hattie asks rhetorically, arching a brow. "I could be yelling at you before dawn. You could hate me before tomorrow. I'm not about to rush into anything," she quietly assures, winding arms around him once she's been relieved of her glass. "As for now... I don't think I can do everything I want to do to you in this here hammock," the goldrider murmurs.
"There you go," P'draig answers, not touching yelling and hating with a ten foot pole, or at least setting them aside for now. Her arms go around him in turn and he /smiles/ at that murmur. "Now that, sounds promising," the brownrider replies and this time when he kisses her, it's very serious business indeed. The candle flickers for a while in the incoming breeze, the hammock swaying with it, as that kiss goes on. In its wake, the brownrider tilts the hammock enough to spill out of it and then bends to scoop Hattie up into his arms. The last thing he does before leaving the porch, bearing his burden of goldrider, is blow out the candle. It sputters, dies and the smoke trails off on the tropical breeze while P'draig carries Hattie off through the porchside door into his room and the sanctuary of his bed.