After the flight.
I shamelessly stole this log from Milani. At least I'm writing my own intro. Which is barely an intro.
What happens after he stumbles out!
Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
Two sets of double doors, one from the the inner caverns and a recently built set from the dragon infirmary, lead into the unnaturally hushed human infirmary. Despite fastidious cleaning, the scent of redwort and numbweed has long since soaked into every smooth-carved surface, along with other, subtler medicinal smells. Pristinely made cots are lined up against the walls; most of them>are left open to view, but some in the back are surrounded by curtains for delicate procedures or critical patients.
About halfway between the two entrances is the counter for the healers on duty; it guards the entrance to the storage rooms just beyond, their shelves and cabinets lined with meticulously labeled bottles, boxes, jars, and even vats of supplies. The Weyrhealer's office is also here, along with another side room for mixing up medicines and the like.
It's only just after Cadejoth has won Iovniath and the weyr is still more than wheeling from the events. There's murmurs about what's going to happen next, chit-chat and overall gossip. Most of it is very hushed and there are glances towards a curtained off booth at the end of the infirmary. Knowing glances. Behind that curtain as silent as stone and pale in the face, sits A'son. His shoulder is bandaged up and a glass of brandy sits half-drank on the small table next to his cot. The bronzerider's eyes are distant voids as he remains there, just passing time.
Rumors fly fast in a Weyr and though Milani's had other people to look after, once things are under control and Alieva's been left making sure the liquor keeps flowing pretty freely, the headwoman's steps steer briskly towards the infirmary. She looks along the rows of cots, pauses to inquire from one of the healers on duty, nods once and moves on to that curtain at the end. A moment later, blue-green eyes peek around its edge and she catches that empty look on A'son's face. Teeth catch at her lower lip and without invitation she steps around into the semi-privacy of that booth. She doesn't say a word, just moves forward, reaching a hand towards his un-bandaged shoulder.
A sigh and a glance towards her hand when it comes at him. He doesn't try to move or get out of the way. He doesn't try to intercept the touch with his good arm. A'son merely sits there, stares at it and then looks off towards the wall.
That hand moves, slides up towards A'son's neck and then stops. Still she doesn't say anything either, steps closer, aims her other hand for his cheek, meaning to tip his gaze up to hers. Should he look, he'd find hers steady enough, searching.
He's not a totally passive, empty, ninny. A'son is definitely not looking at her on purpose. When she tips his head, he clearly averts his eyes of his own free will. "I don't think this was a good night." He finally says, as if he's coming to some conclusion he really had to think about.
"Flights are whacky," Milani says calmly, her tone gentle. "I -- just wanted to see if you were all right." There's a little pause and then more softly still. "Why won't you look at me, Ays? I know why you did it. You don't have to be ashamed."
"I have to keep this thing on for awhile. And come back for check ups. And not move it that much." A'son is probably talking about the thick bandaging around his little "wound" that he inflicted. The last part stops him before he starts to get into talking about more instructionsn. He sighs again, still looking away, "Because now I'm going to be the crazy former criminal. As opposed to just the former criminal."
"Doesn't sound too bad," Milani says about the wound, starts to slide her hand back along his cheek, but it drops downward as he looks away. "It's possible some people might think about you that way. But I'd lay odds on it not being a majority and I am not one of them." Millie takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "You've got a lot on your mind, I can see that. And a lot to face. But it doesn't make you crazy and you're more than just a former criminal."
A'son reaches out to take her hand as it starts to pull away. "I think that plenty of people think that. And it's a little naive to think that they're not." He looks up at her, finally, searching her eyes. "I'm a lot of things and some of them are nothing at all."
That hand pauses, slides back, fitting itself into his. "I'm not being naive, A'son. I'm pretty well-aware of what people say in these caverns. I didn't say there /weren't/ any that think that. There are some. Could even introduce you. But there's others who still see you and N'thei as providers for the Weyr. It's just not that clear cut," she says voice steady, the expression in her eyes sincere, frank. There's strength there too, in spite of lingering concern. "You are who you are, Ays. I don't know why nothing figures in there, what's made you think that." The hand he's not holding slides up along his shoulder again, lingers somewhere just shy of his collar, fingers smoothing it out absently.
A'son squeezes her hand hard and reaches for the glass of brandy. He takes it and while looking at her pours the rest of it's contents onto the floor. Then drops the glass. There's the sound of it breaking and silence from outside the booth. No one however, bothers to peek their heads in. "Tell them I dropped it on accident, please?" He asks in a harsh whisper. "They want me to relax with it. I- I can't." There isn't a hint of liqour on his breath and his eyes are sharp, if haunted. He glances down at her fingers on his shoulder and dips his head down, kissing her hand.
Blue-green eyes track the path of that glass, the trickle of the stuff to the ground and then the smashing. Her brows lift a little but then she just nods. She won't rat him out. "Tea ... warm milk, better for relaxing anyway," Milani murmurs and her breath catches at the press of his lips to her fingers. She bites down on her lip for about half a second before curling that hand the rest of the way around his neck and aims to sit in his lap, a kiss offered for his cheek.
A'son looks up from where he's kissing her fingertips to listen to her. "Yeah, that's what I hear. I've just been drinking water." He runs his hand up her arms and to her neck, touching it all firmly, gently. There's no resistance when she climbs into his lap and kisses his cheek, he wraps his arms around her. There's a wince when he has to lift the one, but it comes anyway.
"Probably better for it anyway," Milani notes about his choice of beverage for the evening and she leans her forehead towards his. His hand to her neck draws out a slight shiver and another one of those deep breaths. "Careful," she says with some humor slipping into her voice now and her hand releases his to slide up that arm, skirting the bandaging carefully. "Do you have to stay here tonight?"
"I guess, maybe not. Probably not." A'son's answer is careless, indication that he has no real idea whatsoever. Her forehead against his, he breathes out, deep exhale similar to her own. He moves his hand from her neck to the back of her head and pushes against her gently. He tips his chin up to meet her lips, to kiss her if she'll let him. "I hope not." He murmurs.
"I'll find out," Milani says decisively but any motion away is arrested by his hand shifting, by the tilt of his chin upward and his lips meeting hers. The headwoman makes a quiet sound in the back of her throat and kisses back, eyes closing. Her fingers slide up the back of his neck, tighten in his hair. "Is that an invitation?" Millie whispers against his mouth, eyes still closed, just breathing in and out, cheeks a little flushed.
"If you want it." A'son quietly says into her lips, before pressing into them again. His hands move away from just wrapping around her to moving up her, touching her. Being as close as he can to her, basically being as bad as he can be in public without being too awful. After all, this is just a curtained in booth and there are other people around.
She'd answer she would, but he's kissing her again and she is very, very distracted by all that edge-of-bad he's doing. Finally though, she tilts her head back enough to say: "Yes," followed by a breathless: "Your place or mine? Mine's closer."
"You have a bed." A'son helpfully points out. "Just tell them you're going to help me get settled into my weyr. And then we just go someplace else. Like your room." But then he's kissing her again and obviously not thinking too much about the plan. No, not at all.
"Nice, big bed," Milani agrees and gets lost in kissing all over again. She's the one who breaks away again ultimately, lays a finger across his lips. Very flushed cheeks. Eyes all alight from those kisses. "Hold that thought," she murmurs, then disentangles herself from his lap to go have a quiet and brief conversation with the healer just outside. On her return: "Imagine that. They've released you to my care," she says, making big innocent eyes at him, though her smile immediately following is incredibly bright. "Let's get you settled," she says with passable seriousness and reaches for his hand.
A'son bites his lip when she pulls away and disappears. He leans forward trying to hear what she's saying to the healers, but doesn't seem to get any satisfaction from that as he sits straight again. Then she's returned. "Imagine that. If they only knew." There's an attempt at looking serious as he gets up off the bed, grasping at her hand. "I'll try to behave on the walk there." He tells her when he leans over and whispers into her ear.
Milani threads her fingers through his as he takes her hand. "You don't have to," she tells him, eyes merry as she tips a look back at him, smile full of mischief. Then she's leading the way out, at least maintaining a semblance of decorum through the infirmary. Out in the hallway though, with things a little ... topsy turvy anyway, who's going to notice one more couple taking a little break against the walls before staggering off to find a room? It's not a long walk to where Milani lives now. A'son hasn't seen her rooms yes, just the office. It's a big step up from the little closet she lived in before, with its single bed and the trappings of a young girl's life. Her rooms as headwoman are appropriately decorated, with a style that's distinctly hers, but has nothing to do with the girlish pinks and sparkles of the old digs.
A'son takes full advantage of the topsy-turvy that's High Reaches after a leadership gold flight. Seeing as how he's more than involved in that emotional roller coaster it seems only natural that he's behaving this way. And by this way it would seem he now deems it appropriate to be quite... handsy with Milani. There are several "breaks" he needs to take before they reach her room. When they finally get there he's only got a cursory look for the place. "It's much more... different than the last one. Good choices as usual." He says breathlessly between kissing her again.
Milani is not fighting any taking advantage at all. The opposite in fact. Encouraging. Cutting loose even. At her door, it takes a moment for her to fumble up the keys, but then they're inside and she's kicking the door closed. "It's a nice place," she answers before winding her arms around his neck to answer that kiss, gentle pressure exerted to draw him inward through the curtained archway towards the bedroom.
What happens after he stumbles out!
Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
Two sets of double doors, one from the the inner caverns and a recently built set from the dragon infirmary, lead into the unnaturally hushed human infirmary. Despite fastidious cleaning, the scent of redwort and numbweed has long since soaked into every smooth-carved surface, along with other, subtler medicinal smells. Pristinely made cots are lined up against the walls; most of them>are left open to view, but some in the back are surrounded by curtains for delicate procedures or critical patients.
About halfway between the two entrances is the counter for the healers on duty; it guards the entrance to the storage rooms just beyond, their shelves and cabinets lined with meticulously labeled bottles, boxes, jars, and even vats of supplies. The Weyrhealer's office is also here, along with another side room for mixing up medicines and the like.
It's only just after Cadejoth has won Iovniath and the weyr is still more than wheeling from the events. There's murmurs about what's going to happen next, chit-chat and overall gossip. Most of it is very hushed and there are glances towards a curtained off booth at the end of the infirmary. Knowing glances. Behind that curtain as silent as stone and pale in the face, sits A'son. His shoulder is bandaged up and a glass of brandy sits half-drank on the small table next to his cot. The bronzerider's eyes are distant voids as he remains there, just passing time.
Rumors fly fast in a Weyr and though Milani's had other people to look after, once things are under control and Alieva's been left making sure the liquor keeps flowing pretty freely, the headwoman's steps steer briskly towards the infirmary. She looks along the rows of cots, pauses to inquire from one of the healers on duty, nods once and moves on to that curtain at the end. A moment later, blue-green eyes peek around its edge and she catches that empty look on A'son's face. Teeth catch at her lower lip and without invitation she steps around into the semi-privacy of that booth. She doesn't say a word, just moves forward, reaching a hand towards his un-bandaged shoulder.
A sigh and a glance towards her hand when it comes at him. He doesn't try to move or get out of the way. He doesn't try to intercept the touch with his good arm. A'son merely sits there, stares at it and then looks off towards the wall.
That hand moves, slides up towards A'son's neck and then stops. Still she doesn't say anything either, steps closer, aims her other hand for his cheek, meaning to tip his gaze up to hers. Should he look, he'd find hers steady enough, searching.
He's not a totally passive, empty, ninny. A'son is definitely not looking at her on purpose. When she tips his head, he clearly averts his eyes of his own free will. "I don't think this was a good night." He finally says, as if he's coming to some conclusion he really had to think about.
"Flights are whacky," Milani says calmly, her tone gentle. "I -- just wanted to see if you were all right." There's a little pause and then more softly still. "Why won't you look at me, Ays? I know why you did it. You don't have to be ashamed."
"I have to keep this thing on for awhile. And come back for check ups. And not move it that much." A'son is probably talking about the thick bandaging around his little "wound" that he inflicted. The last part stops him before he starts to get into talking about more instructionsn. He sighs again, still looking away, "Because now I'm going to be the crazy former criminal. As opposed to just the former criminal."
"Doesn't sound too bad," Milani says about the wound, starts to slide her hand back along his cheek, but it drops downward as he looks away. "It's possible some people might think about you that way. But I'd lay odds on it not being a majority and I am not one of them." Millie takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "You've got a lot on your mind, I can see that. And a lot to face. But it doesn't make you crazy and you're more than just a former criminal."
A'son reaches out to take her hand as it starts to pull away. "I think that plenty of people think that. And it's a little naive to think that they're not." He looks up at her, finally, searching her eyes. "I'm a lot of things and some of them are nothing at all."
That hand pauses, slides back, fitting itself into his. "I'm not being naive, A'son. I'm pretty well-aware of what people say in these caverns. I didn't say there /weren't/ any that think that. There are some. Could even introduce you. But there's others who still see you and N'thei as providers for the Weyr. It's just not that clear cut," she says voice steady, the expression in her eyes sincere, frank. There's strength there too, in spite of lingering concern. "You are who you are, Ays. I don't know why nothing figures in there, what's made you think that." The hand he's not holding slides up along his shoulder again, lingers somewhere just shy of his collar, fingers smoothing it out absently.
A'son squeezes her hand hard and reaches for the glass of brandy. He takes it and while looking at her pours the rest of it's contents onto the floor. Then drops the glass. There's the sound of it breaking and silence from outside the booth. No one however, bothers to peek their heads in. "Tell them I dropped it on accident, please?" He asks in a harsh whisper. "They want me to relax with it. I- I can't." There isn't a hint of liqour on his breath and his eyes are sharp, if haunted. He glances down at her fingers on his shoulder and dips his head down, kissing her hand.
Blue-green eyes track the path of that glass, the trickle of the stuff to the ground and then the smashing. Her brows lift a little but then she just nods. She won't rat him out. "Tea ... warm milk, better for relaxing anyway," Milani murmurs and her breath catches at the press of his lips to her fingers. She bites down on her lip for about half a second before curling that hand the rest of the way around his neck and aims to sit in his lap, a kiss offered for his cheek.
A'son looks up from where he's kissing her fingertips to listen to her. "Yeah, that's what I hear. I've just been drinking water." He runs his hand up her arms and to her neck, touching it all firmly, gently. There's no resistance when she climbs into his lap and kisses his cheek, he wraps his arms around her. There's a wince when he has to lift the one, but it comes anyway.
"Probably better for it anyway," Milani notes about his choice of beverage for the evening and she leans her forehead towards his. His hand to her neck draws out a slight shiver and another one of those deep breaths. "Careful," she says with some humor slipping into her voice now and her hand releases his to slide up that arm, skirting the bandaging carefully. "Do you have to stay here tonight?"
"I guess, maybe not. Probably not." A'son's answer is careless, indication that he has no real idea whatsoever. Her forehead against his, he breathes out, deep exhale similar to her own. He moves his hand from her neck to the back of her head and pushes against her gently. He tips his chin up to meet her lips, to kiss her if she'll let him. "I hope not." He murmurs.
"I'll find out," Milani says decisively but any motion away is arrested by his hand shifting, by the tilt of his chin upward and his lips meeting hers. The headwoman makes a quiet sound in the back of her throat and kisses back, eyes closing. Her fingers slide up the back of his neck, tighten in his hair. "Is that an invitation?" Millie whispers against his mouth, eyes still closed, just breathing in and out, cheeks a little flushed.
"If you want it." A'son quietly says into her lips, before pressing into them again. His hands move away from just wrapping around her to moving up her, touching her. Being as close as he can to her, basically being as bad as he can be in public without being too awful. After all, this is just a curtained in booth and there are other people around.
She'd answer she would, but he's kissing her again and she is very, very distracted by all that edge-of-bad he's doing. Finally though, she tilts her head back enough to say: "Yes," followed by a breathless: "Your place or mine? Mine's closer."
"You have a bed." A'son helpfully points out. "Just tell them you're going to help me get settled into my weyr. And then we just go someplace else. Like your room." But then he's kissing her again and obviously not thinking too much about the plan. No, not at all.
"Nice, big bed," Milani agrees and gets lost in kissing all over again. She's the one who breaks away again ultimately, lays a finger across his lips. Very flushed cheeks. Eyes all alight from those kisses. "Hold that thought," she murmurs, then disentangles herself from his lap to go have a quiet and brief conversation with the healer just outside. On her return: "Imagine that. They've released you to my care," she says, making big innocent eyes at him, though her smile immediately following is incredibly bright. "Let's get you settled," she says with passable seriousness and reaches for his hand.
A'son bites his lip when she pulls away and disappears. He leans forward trying to hear what she's saying to the healers, but doesn't seem to get any satisfaction from that as he sits straight again. Then she's returned. "Imagine that. If they only knew." There's an attempt at looking serious as he gets up off the bed, grasping at her hand. "I'll try to behave on the walk there." He tells her when he leans over and whispers into her ear.
Milani threads her fingers through his as he takes her hand. "You don't have to," she tells him, eyes merry as she tips a look back at him, smile full of mischief. Then she's leading the way out, at least maintaining a semblance of decorum through the infirmary. Out in the hallway though, with things a little ... topsy turvy anyway, who's going to notice one more couple taking a little break against the walls before staggering off to find a room? It's not a long walk to where Milani lives now. A'son hasn't seen her rooms yes, just the office. It's a big step up from the little closet she lived in before, with its single bed and the trappings of a young girl's life. Her rooms as headwoman are appropriately decorated, with a style that's distinctly hers, but has nothing to do with the girlish pinks and sparkles of the old digs.
A'son takes full advantage of the topsy-turvy that's High Reaches after a leadership gold flight. Seeing as how he's more than involved in that emotional roller coaster it seems only natural that he's behaving this way. And by this way it would seem he now deems it appropriate to be quite... handsy with Milani. There are several "breaks" he needs to take before they reach her room. When they finally get there he's only got a cursory look for the place. "It's much more... different than the last one. Good choices as usual." He says breathlessly between kissing her again.
Milani is not fighting any taking advantage at all. The opposite in fact. Encouraging. Cutting loose even. At her door, it takes a moment for her to fumble up the keys, but then they're inside and she's kicking the door closed. "It's a nice place," she answers before winding her arms around his neck to answer that kiss, gentle pressure exerted to draw him inward through the curtained archway towards the bedroom.