Well, that's awkward
About 8pm of day 22, month 1, turn 22 of Interval 10. (Language)
Guest Weyr, Fort Weyr
Slightly elevated from the bowl would be the ledge leading toward the guest weyr, a pair of steps being all that's necessary to venture onto the outcropping. The main portion of the weyr is built for a single dragon, with a rush-lined stone couch and some old blankets provided for padding. The rider's quarters are located to one side, curtained off from the main weyr for some semblance of privacy.
Within the rider's quarters is a bed and a wardrobe, with a niche containing a desk and a chair. The theme is a fairly bright one, with a blue and white quilt covering the bed and augmented with pale-hued furs. The tapestries on the walls are also lightly coloured, contrasting with the dark rugs on the floor.
Obvious exits:
Bowl
Despite the usual name for the after-effects of a flight, it really isn't the next morning when B'kaiv rouses. It's only an hour or two later when he pushes up from the pillows, bleary-eyed and with a trail of drool out of one corner of his mouth. A slurp-and-wipe takes care of one of those problems. The other is solved by time, as evidenced by their sudden widening and his resigned slump. Not entirely back to the bed, even if things might be easier if he just lay face down and pretended to be unconscious, or better yet, dead. Instead he swears again, under his breath, and rocking onto one hip, looks around for his partner. Chielyth's partner's rider. Shit.
Kai doesn't have to look far to find the person in question. Laying on his stomach, burrowed under the covers, and rather peacefully snoring is one At're. He may look a fair deal more mussed than normal, and he's sprawled out with no regards to space. Or crowding B'kaiv's space, more specifically. There's a pause, a hiccup of snoring that may be him beginning to wake up - and then he's subconciously scooting over to /really/ invade B'kaiv's space. Unsurprisingly, eyes flash open as it becomes obvious that Kai lacks the soft curves of Jiella, but he doesn't actually look /over/ at the greenrider. Instead? He utters the immortal words themselves: "Oh, crap."
B'kaiv? For the record? Maybe not as disturbed as he could be. One hand hesitates over Trey's sudden invasion like he's not sure if he's supposed to caress him or shove him away, and ends up doing neither. He croaks something, clears his throat and tries again: "Yeah." Agreement, not violence. Not yet, anyway. He coughs again and doesn't move, not even to drag a blanket over his legs. After an infinity of seconds more he adds roughly, "Her first."
B'kaiv not being disturbed is really disturbing Trey, who is very obviously disturbed to begin with. The bronzerider makes to move, a slow, cautious movement to put him on the other side of the bed, and finally moves grey gaze over to squarely look at Kai. "W--" Turns out he needs to clear his own throat. "What?" He forgets to be weirded out, for a moment, brows coming together in brief questioning.
That hand is still hovering, but it doesn't come down to prevent At're's escape. Maybe Kai's forgotten about it? "Her first," he repeats, and oh hey, he's got a free hand. He can use that to rub his jaw! And hair! This is great! But ultimately, not terribly engrossing, and the greenrider has to go back to words, staring at the rumpled sheets between them with hazel eyes flicking up to Trey's face every few beats. "She didn't... That weren't." That didn't clarify much, did it. "Shells." Also, "--Can still feel her, I think."
"Oh," finally dawning. Not her-first-before-something, her-first-flight. At're lifts a hand to scrub at his face, and makes no motion to move from his current position. "His first catch." It's quietly stated. Awkward, Trey falls into silence for a few minutes. Then- finally- "He's sleeping." A venturing, maybe a bit stilted, a little cautious, unsure. "Or close to it."
B'kaiv snorts an 'oh, really?' but that's as close as he gets to disturbing this delicate little detente. "Yeah." As in 'Khazioth's sleeping'. "She, uh. Likes him." Upon which his lips immediately twist into a scowl, because if there's anyone at Fort Chielyth /doesn't/ like, it's news to the entire Weyr. He mutters, "Shells," and hangs his jaw-rubbing hand across the back of his neck, all the better to stare at the bed with. "She ain't. Sleeping." It's a conversation! A stilted, disjointed, awkward conversation, maybe, but still: a conversation!
"Does she." It's a statement, not a question, but At're makes no effort into making it sardonic or sarcastic. Just more... an attempt to be amiable. "Is she talking your ear off?" This is a very forced rally for /conversation/, as mentioned. And perhaps a strive to make this seem less bizarre. "Maybe I should be grateful that Khazioth's sleeping." As so he isn't subjected to boasting of the young bronze's prowress, which... is undoubtedly coming. Eventually.
"Yeah," Kai says again. It's such a... a /useful/ word. He blinks up, startled, at the question, and has to think a moment about his answer. "Nah. Mean, she is, sorta, but it ain't. It ain't -words-. But she says that were fun, and they all done real good keeping up, and she thought her tail was just itchy." Whereupon there's promptly another grimace, and more staring at the sheets. After another second or two the greenrider flops onto his back where the ceiling is an easier thing to look at. Not so full of sense memories. "She should too. Ain't been sleeping too good, past few days."
Itchy tail gets a facial twitch from Trey, but it's almost as if he's staying still in that 'if I don't move maybe this will go away' manner - though he's slowly, slowly relaxing. "I think they all did pretty well, in keeping up with her. From what I could tell." His lips twitch, not quite a grimace -- "It was... it is slightly blurry." A sideling glance at the end- "Think it's because she was-- about to go up?" The lack of sleep, that is.
B'kaiv snorts again, decidedly more relaxed now that he isn't facing the other man. "Shit, how'd I know? Maybe. She ain't been this bad about sleeping since she were a baby." With a slight, entirely uncharacteristic smile just barely curving his lips, he stretches both arms over his head, hazel eyes slightly out of focus. Were Khazioth awake, Chielyth'd be doing the same, though with wings comfortably burning from exertion. "Weren't - it was good. See what V'rel meant now."
"A baby, huh? Khazioth likes to get up early, but he loves his sleep." At're's tone is conversational, and he maneuvers himself to settle back, too. Easier, definitely - and now it's awkward again, because At're is the definition of hidebound holder. So there's silence, here, for a thought-wrestling moment, then a brief, truthful, "Yes." It doesn't sound exactly unhappy, but not exactly overjoyed, either.
"She's always - well, until th' last couple days - up all night, and sleeps in th' morning," says Kai conversationally. Then more silence while Kai pulls his arms back and folds them across his middle as if, by blocking the view, there's nothing below his waist any more. At're's not the only non-Weyrbred man in the room. A second later, firmly, "That was for them," but he follows it up with a quick sidelong glance anyway.
"Total reversal, then, of Khazioth's habits," At're muses aloud. "He likes to take a long nap in the afternoon, then sleep again pretty early." Easy enough topic to discuss. Nice small talk. Comfy. Speaking of /uncomfortable/ topics... "Yeah. I mean. Hard to think that they only-- well. You know what I mean. They don't have the opportunities we have, to go... let off steam like that." 'we' and 'them' being nice vaguely generic terms.
A corner of Kai's mouth lifts again. "Part of why we weren't so good in Flint." Now that time's passed, perhaps he can speak of the Weyrleader's wing with equanimity. Another glance over and his smile twitches broader, then fades. "Last in her clutch t' rise. Thought she," he starts, only to come to a full, abrupt stop. After an obvious second he tries again: T"hought she weren't never gonna."
"Huh. I haven't started drilling yet. That's, um." At're pauses, draws a hand over his face, then dismisses the topic as irrelevant. He's silent as B'kaiv mentions it, nods though he's not looking. "Yeah, I remember." It's quietly stated. "Talking to you about it." There's another break in conversation, but it seems more natural now, less like a forced thing of awkward moments- "Have to be relieved, right?"
Not as lanky as prior turns, weyrlinghood has added a hint of bulk to At're's build: lean muscle limns broad shoulders and strong arms. His abs and legs show similar development, should they be bared, with a certain definition given by his naturally slim nature. His features are distinct, as if put together by design rather than chance: high forehead, narrow cheekbones that slope down intop a pointed chin. His eyebrows are darker than the sun-lightened wash of brassy brown that is his hair, and offer contrast to deep-set grey eyes. His features balance well, with a straight nose and even lips. His hair is shorn closer than yesteryear, which only enunciates a natural tendency to spike rather than curl.
His clothes are a simple affair, if made of finer-quality fabrics than one would think necessary. His heavy pants are a dark brown, paired with simple white shirt that has been washed perhaps one time too many, the pristine color faded under the weight of one too many stains, though no mark shows deliberate on the fabric. His boots are a dark brown, as is his belt.
At're wears the knot of a Fort Weyrling, a ribbon dyed to a blackened bronze to indicate his lifemate's color.
He appears to be in his early twenties.
As long as At're isn't looking each of Kai's glances gets bolder, longer, though his eyes hardly stray from the other man's profile. "It's... yeah. Glad she didn't go while I were sick, or nothing." Another silence falls, neither unnatural nor uncommon between these two, especially not now. "I, uh." He shifts, trying to find less irritating wrinkles to lay on, and finally gives up. "Guess I should, um. Go?"
"That would have been very unfortunate," and At're's quiet voice is, this time, shaded with a bit of relief for B'kaiv. "Probably wasn't good for you to be-- in here--" He falters. Yeah, avoiding that, carrying on! "Yeah, me too." There's a bit of a sigh, now, one of a trepidation-sort; "I reckon I'll need to track down Jiella." Thus bolstered, he maneuvers out from under the covers, boldly going where no Trey has gone before: bare-assed to find his damn shorts in the middle of the ground-weyr, thankyouverymuch.
B'kaiv groans at the brownrider's name and sags back into the bed, just two steps shy of theatrically flinging an arm across his eyes. "Shit," he says once more, with no further elaboration. Then tentatively, "You... want Chielyth t' ask after Orisoth?" Since his dragon is awake, and all. He doesn't follow Trey's example to leap from the bed, but cedes the bronzerider the floor.
"No," At're states, his voice slightly distracted - shorts have been found, and pants, both worn now; but his shirt eludes him, and this causes a knit of irritation between his brow. "I know where she is." Confident, much? "Think it'd be rubbing salt, too. I don't think Orisoth has chased that much." Khaz hasn't, either, but Trey's not going to say that. Shirt's found, and soon after his jacket, which he stares down at for a long moment, without saying much of anything.
"They ain't," Kai starts and stops as though unsure this is wise. But being Kai, after that hesitation he bulls onward. "They ain't that old." Maybe it's meant to be an apology, or explanation. The ceiling isn't that interesting after all, and the greenrider props up onto an elbow to frown distractedly at Trey while he isn't looking. "Go see what's left from supper, maybe." And a few seconds later, "If you go, I can get dressed." Not that either of them hasn't seen another naked man in the barracks by this point, so... maybe Kai's shy?
"No, they aren't." With that, At're straightens, jolted out of whatever wool-gathering he lost himself in. There's a laugh, dry humor, as he goes to pull on his boots. "Never thought Khazioth would ever catch a green like Chielyth, ever." Guess he proved that one wrong. Stupid bronze. "I'm leaving, I'm leaving." He manages not to call Kai a pansy. "I left my plate on the food buffet." Which means that all the good food is probably gone and he'll have to settle for stew, but he's not going to bitch about it. "So, uh." What the hell do you /leave/ with, on something like this? "Have a good one, B'kaiv," is all he states, striding towards the door while pulling on his jacket.
"Yeah," Kai agrees about Khazioth catching his girl, even managing a short laugh. "Least you got supper." He falls back to stare at the ceiling again, both hands under his head and elbows flared, while Trey takes his leave. Or mostly: he tosses an absent, "'Night," after the bronzerider. Chielyth looks quite comfortable in her spot under Khazioth's wing and rumbles pleasantly to At're as he passes, looking really quite smug about her situation.
Shit. Coulda asked him to stay; woulda got hit for it. Done good, shutting up.
...Him and /Jiella/. Shit, shit, /shit/.
...Wonder if G'dri's...? Shit. Food first, Kai. Go for easy. First clothes, then food.
...Shit, where's my jacket?
Guest Weyr, Fort Weyr
Slightly elevated from the bowl would be the ledge leading toward the guest weyr, a pair of steps being all that's necessary to venture onto the outcropping. The main portion of the weyr is built for a single dragon, with a rush-lined stone couch and some old blankets provided for padding. The rider's quarters are located to one side, curtained off from the main weyr for some semblance of privacy.
Within the rider's quarters is a bed and a wardrobe, with a niche containing a desk and a chair. The theme is a fairly bright one, with a blue and white quilt covering the bed and augmented with pale-hued furs. The tapestries on the walls are also lightly coloured, contrasting with the dark rugs on the floor.
Obvious exits:
Bowl
Despite the usual name for the after-effects of a flight, it really isn't the next morning when B'kaiv rouses. It's only an hour or two later when he pushes up from the pillows, bleary-eyed and with a trail of drool out of one corner of his mouth. A slurp-and-wipe takes care of one of those problems. The other is solved by time, as evidenced by their sudden widening and his resigned slump. Not entirely back to the bed, even if things might be easier if he just lay face down and pretended to be unconscious, or better yet, dead. Instead he swears again, under his breath, and rocking onto one hip, looks around for his partner. Chielyth's partner's rider. Shit.
Kai doesn't have to look far to find the person in question. Laying on his stomach, burrowed under the covers, and rather peacefully snoring is one At're. He may look a fair deal more mussed than normal, and he's sprawled out with no regards to space. Or crowding B'kaiv's space, more specifically. There's a pause, a hiccup of snoring that may be him beginning to wake up - and then he's subconciously scooting over to /really/ invade B'kaiv's space. Unsurprisingly, eyes flash open as it becomes obvious that Kai lacks the soft curves of Jiella, but he doesn't actually look /over/ at the greenrider. Instead? He utters the immortal words themselves: "Oh, crap."
B'kaiv? For the record? Maybe not as disturbed as he could be. One hand hesitates over Trey's sudden invasion like he's not sure if he's supposed to caress him or shove him away, and ends up doing neither. He croaks something, clears his throat and tries again: "Yeah." Agreement, not violence. Not yet, anyway. He coughs again and doesn't move, not even to drag a blanket over his legs. After an infinity of seconds more he adds roughly, "Her first."
B'kaiv not being disturbed is really disturbing Trey, who is very obviously disturbed to begin with. The bronzerider makes to move, a slow, cautious movement to put him on the other side of the bed, and finally moves grey gaze over to squarely look at Kai. "W--" Turns out he needs to clear his own throat. "What?" He forgets to be weirded out, for a moment, brows coming together in brief questioning.
That hand is still hovering, but it doesn't come down to prevent At're's escape. Maybe Kai's forgotten about it? "Her first," he repeats, and oh hey, he's got a free hand. He can use that to rub his jaw! And hair! This is great! But ultimately, not terribly engrossing, and the greenrider has to go back to words, staring at the rumpled sheets between them with hazel eyes flicking up to Trey's face every few beats. "She didn't... That weren't." That didn't clarify much, did it. "Shells." Also, "--Can still feel her, I think."
"Oh," finally dawning. Not her-first-before-something, her-first-flight. At're lifts a hand to scrub at his face, and makes no motion to move from his current position. "His first catch." It's quietly stated. Awkward, Trey falls into silence for a few minutes. Then- finally- "He's sleeping." A venturing, maybe a bit stilted, a little cautious, unsure. "Or close to it."
B'kaiv snorts an 'oh, really?' but that's as close as he gets to disturbing this delicate little detente. "Yeah." As in 'Khazioth's sleeping'. "She, uh. Likes him." Upon which his lips immediately twist into a scowl, because if there's anyone at Fort Chielyth /doesn't/ like, it's news to the entire Weyr. He mutters, "Shells," and hangs his jaw-rubbing hand across the back of his neck, all the better to stare at the bed with. "She ain't. Sleeping." It's a conversation! A stilted, disjointed, awkward conversation, maybe, but still: a conversation!
"Does she." It's a statement, not a question, but At're makes no effort into making it sardonic or sarcastic. Just more... an attempt to be amiable. "Is she talking your ear off?" This is a very forced rally for /conversation/, as mentioned. And perhaps a strive to make this seem less bizarre. "Maybe I should be grateful that Khazioth's sleeping." As so he isn't subjected to boasting of the young bronze's prowress, which... is undoubtedly coming. Eventually.
"Yeah," Kai says again. It's such a... a /useful/ word. He blinks up, startled, at the question, and has to think a moment about his answer. "Nah. Mean, she is, sorta, but it ain't. It ain't -words-. But she says that were fun, and they all done real good keeping up, and she thought her tail was just itchy." Whereupon there's promptly another grimace, and more staring at the sheets. After another second or two the greenrider flops onto his back where the ceiling is an easier thing to look at. Not so full of sense memories. "She should too. Ain't been sleeping too good, past few days."
Itchy tail gets a facial twitch from Trey, but it's almost as if he's staying still in that 'if I don't move maybe this will go away' manner - though he's slowly, slowly relaxing. "I think they all did pretty well, in keeping up with her. From what I could tell." His lips twitch, not quite a grimace -- "It was... it is slightly blurry." A sideling glance at the end- "Think it's because she was-- about to go up?" The lack of sleep, that is.
B'kaiv snorts again, decidedly more relaxed now that he isn't facing the other man. "Shit, how'd I know? Maybe. She ain't been this bad about sleeping since she were a baby." With a slight, entirely uncharacteristic smile just barely curving his lips, he stretches both arms over his head, hazel eyes slightly out of focus. Were Khazioth awake, Chielyth'd be doing the same, though with wings comfortably burning from exertion. "Weren't - it was good. See what V'rel meant now."
"A baby, huh? Khazioth likes to get up early, but he loves his sleep." At're's tone is conversational, and he maneuvers himself to settle back, too. Easier, definitely - and now it's awkward again, because At're is the definition of hidebound holder. So there's silence, here, for a thought-wrestling moment, then a brief, truthful, "Yes." It doesn't sound exactly unhappy, but not exactly overjoyed, either.
"She's always - well, until th' last couple days - up all night, and sleeps in th' morning," says Kai conversationally. Then more silence while Kai pulls his arms back and folds them across his middle as if, by blocking the view, there's nothing below his waist any more. At're's not the only non-Weyrbred man in the room. A second later, firmly, "That was for them," but he follows it up with a quick sidelong glance anyway.
"Total reversal, then, of Khazioth's habits," At're muses aloud. "He likes to take a long nap in the afternoon, then sleep again pretty early." Easy enough topic to discuss. Nice small talk. Comfy. Speaking of /uncomfortable/ topics... "Yeah. I mean. Hard to think that they only-- well. You know what I mean. They don't have the opportunities we have, to go... let off steam like that." 'we' and 'them' being nice vaguely generic terms.
A corner of Kai's mouth lifts again. "Part of why we weren't so good in Flint." Now that time's passed, perhaps he can speak of the Weyrleader's wing with equanimity. Another glance over and his smile twitches broader, then fades. "Last in her clutch t' rise. Thought she," he starts, only to come to a full, abrupt stop. After an obvious second he tries again: T"hought she weren't never gonna."
"Huh. I haven't started drilling yet. That's, um." At're pauses, draws a hand over his face, then dismisses the topic as irrelevant. He's silent as B'kaiv mentions it, nods though he's not looking. "Yeah, I remember." It's quietly stated. "Talking to you about it." There's another break in conversation, but it seems more natural now, less like a forced thing of awkward moments- "Have to be relieved, right?"
Not as lanky as prior turns, weyrlinghood has added a hint of bulk to At're's build: lean muscle limns broad shoulders and strong arms. His abs and legs show similar development, should they be bared, with a certain definition given by his naturally slim nature. His features are distinct, as if put together by design rather than chance: high forehead, narrow cheekbones that slope down intop a pointed chin. His eyebrows are darker than the sun-lightened wash of brassy brown that is his hair, and offer contrast to deep-set grey eyes. His features balance well, with a straight nose and even lips. His hair is shorn closer than yesteryear, which only enunciates a natural tendency to spike rather than curl.
His clothes are a simple affair, if made of finer-quality fabrics than one would think necessary. His heavy pants are a dark brown, paired with simple white shirt that has been washed perhaps one time too many, the pristine color faded under the weight of one too many stains, though no mark shows deliberate on the fabric. His boots are a dark brown, as is his belt.
At're wears the knot of a Fort Weyrling, a ribbon dyed to a blackened bronze to indicate his lifemate's color.
He appears to be in his early twenties.
As long as At're isn't looking each of Kai's glances gets bolder, longer, though his eyes hardly stray from the other man's profile. "It's... yeah. Glad she didn't go while I were sick, or nothing." Another silence falls, neither unnatural nor uncommon between these two, especially not now. "I, uh." He shifts, trying to find less irritating wrinkles to lay on, and finally gives up. "Guess I should, um. Go?"
"That would have been very unfortunate," and At're's quiet voice is, this time, shaded with a bit of relief for B'kaiv. "Probably wasn't good for you to be-- in here--" He falters. Yeah, avoiding that, carrying on! "Yeah, me too." There's a bit of a sigh, now, one of a trepidation-sort; "I reckon I'll need to track down Jiella." Thus bolstered, he maneuvers out from under the covers, boldly going where no Trey has gone before: bare-assed to find his damn shorts in the middle of the ground-weyr, thankyouverymuch.
B'kaiv groans at the brownrider's name and sags back into the bed, just two steps shy of theatrically flinging an arm across his eyes. "Shit," he says once more, with no further elaboration. Then tentatively, "You... want Chielyth t' ask after Orisoth?" Since his dragon is awake, and all. He doesn't follow Trey's example to leap from the bed, but cedes the bronzerider the floor.
"No," At're states, his voice slightly distracted - shorts have been found, and pants, both worn now; but his shirt eludes him, and this causes a knit of irritation between his brow. "I know where she is." Confident, much? "Think it'd be rubbing salt, too. I don't think Orisoth has chased that much." Khaz hasn't, either, but Trey's not going to say that. Shirt's found, and soon after his jacket, which he stares down at for a long moment, without saying much of anything.
"They ain't," Kai starts and stops as though unsure this is wise. But being Kai, after that hesitation he bulls onward. "They ain't that old." Maybe it's meant to be an apology, or explanation. The ceiling isn't that interesting after all, and the greenrider props up onto an elbow to frown distractedly at Trey while he isn't looking. "Go see what's left from supper, maybe." And a few seconds later, "If you go, I can get dressed." Not that either of them hasn't seen another naked man in the barracks by this point, so... maybe Kai's shy?
"No, they aren't." With that, At're straightens, jolted out of whatever wool-gathering he lost himself in. There's a laugh, dry humor, as he goes to pull on his boots. "Never thought Khazioth would ever catch a green like Chielyth, ever." Guess he proved that one wrong. Stupid bronze. "I'm leaving, I'm leaving." He manages not to call Kai a pansy. "I left my plate on the food buffet." Which means that all the good food is probably gone and he'll have to settle for stew, but he's not going to bitch about it. "So, uh." What the hell do you /leave/ with, on something like this? "Have a good one, B'kaiv," is all he states, striding towards the door while pulling on his jacket.
"Yeah," Kai agrees about Khazioth catching his girl, even managing a short laugh. "Least you got supper." He falls back to stare at the ceiling again, both hands under his head and elbows flared, while Trey takes his leave. Or mostly: he tosses an absent, "'Night," after the bronzerider. Chielyth looks quite comfortable in her spot under Khazioth's wing and rumbles pleasantly to At're as he passes, looking really quite smug about her situation.
Shit. Coulda asked him to stay; woulda got hit for it. Done good, shutting up.
...Him and /Jiella/. Shit, shit, /shit/.
...Wonder if G'dri's...? Shit. Food first, Kai. Go for easy. First clothes, then food.
...Shit, where's my jacket?