Red
The scoop: Right after the masquerade, T'ral and Ginella (a.k.a. The Weyrleaders, for one night only!) retire to their weyr. There is general silliness, some discussion of T'ral's hair and R'vain's leathers, and brief analysis of his imitation technique.
It's unusual for T'ral to be quite so light on his feet when he and his beloved return from a big night out, but tonight, he jumps down from Aneleth lightly, turning to smack a palm against her hide in thanks, before he lifts a hand to help Ginella down. "Well, my Weyrwoman," he roars, still using R'vain's voice -- not so hard, with their shared Bitran accent -- and laughing. "A successful night out, I think."
Ginella takes his hand, jumping lightly down from the gold, who then shifts over to lie next to Darageth. She's got her wings back on, but not all hooked up, so they hang a little crooked, and shift as she laughs, and smacks his chest, "Stop that!" she says, clearly having believed the voice would be gone by the time they got home, "I'm not letting the Weyrleader into our weyr late at night! Think how it would look!"
"Quite right," T'ral agrees, turning into her, and reaching for her to pull her in against him. "Nobody's looking at this but me." Their bodies come together with too much force, but his hands slide around under her wings to keep her there. "Have a good night, Sunshine?"
Ginella gets pulled, leaning back just a touch, to soften the blow to her dress, and always mindful of the wings. "I had a wonderful time," she confirms, tilting a bright grin up at him, "You make a better weyrleader than the weyrleader. Though," she adds, not quite finished, "I'm going to kill you for that hair."
"Wouldn't want to do it every day," T'ral replies, dropping his head so he can nuzzle into her neck, kissing his way down to her shoulder, for once perfectly cleanshaven, so there's no stubble to spike her skin. His words are spoken into her shoulder, giving her a chance to glance sideways at the offending hair. "I began to wonder when D'ven painted it on if it was going to come off."
"Of course, only after he began," Ginny replies, with a hint of a chuckle. Her head tilts a little as he bends to kiss neck and shoulder, and she lifts her other arm to touch his painted hair, poking at it, running fingers over it, and shaking her head. "I think we'll have to cut it off," she tells him. "Can try a bath, but... it's pretty hard."
"It didn't look that bad in the pot," T'ral replies repentently, kissing her shoulder again. "Didn't want to tell the weaver what it was for, when we were getting it. Suppose if it dyes clothes permanently..." He lifts his head, grinning without a trace of remorse. "That was a good night," he informs her, hands squeezing. "Now, let me help you off with those wings, before I break them hauling you into bed, and you tell me off."
Ginella laughs, shaking her head again, "I'd imagine it'll dye hair permanently, too. You two," she shakes her head again, leaving off poking at his hair, "Shouldn't be allowed out together unsupervised." She lets out a dramatic sigh, then a smile for the squeeze and his words, "It was," she agrees, adding a quick, "Don't break them!" as she turns to let him help her off with the wings. "It was a fun idea for a costume," she tells him over her shoulder, "I'll have to shave your pretty hair off, I think, but it was definitely fun."
"You'll have to supervise me every minute of the day," T'ral suggests, helping her off with her wings with the appropriate care and attention. "I'll look forward to that." He steps back, to cross over and set her wings down on one of the chairs by the hearth, laying them out carefully. "It'll grow back quick enough, you're always telling me it grows too fast anyway. At least it's not winter, I'd freeze."
"Mmm, I might," Ginny agrees with a faint, crooked little smile as she watches him head across the room with her wings. She trails after, stopping to lean against the couch and take off her shoes. She loses some height, but seems relieved, turning towards T'ral and nodding, "That's true, it'll grow back soon enough. I'll have to ignore the red tonight."
"Try and ignore the pillow in the morning, too," T'ral replies, thumping down on the unoccupied couch, and leaning over with a groan to unlace his boots. "I don't know how he runs around in those bloody leathers the whole time, they're so hot with all that dancing."
Ginella makes a face about the pillow and sets down beside him, shifting her dress carefully and flopping back against the couch with a sigh. Her eeys close as she yawns, then turns a quick grin on him, "They did look awfully hot."
"Shut up," T'ral replies, kicking off one boot, and then the other, and peeling his socks off to drop them on the floor. "Excuse me if I don't keep them on," he grins at her, coming to his feet, and unfastening them.
"Fine, then. Last compliment you're getting from me," Ginny retorts, leaning over to stick her tongue out at him before flopping back again. She plays at disinterest as he announces he's taking his pants off, folding her arms across her chest and lifting her nose to look down it at the mantle. She doesn't care one bit.
"Compliments? Hard to catch them, in amongst all the chastising," T'ral replies, exaggeratedly wounded. There's not much that's graceful in getting flying leathers off, and doubly so after they've been on for hours and hours, but he's as unconcerned as she, wriggling out of them, and managing at the same time to walk along the mantlepiece to where a bottle of D'ven's latest sits.
"Pffft," Ginella replies flippantly, flopping onto her back on the couch as he moves away, "I've been telling people all night what a wonderful dancer you are, despite the hair and the general lack of distinguishment. You haven't said one thing about my outfit." She tries to sulk for a minute or two, but if the fact that he's moved away and probably can't see doesn't ruin it, her yawn does. "You should take your shirt off, too," she points out as the yawn ends, gesturing absently, "Even it off."
"Oh, Sunshine," T'ral half-growls, sounding for a moment not unlike the man he pretended to be tonight. "The things I want to say about your dress were completely unsuitable for public consumption. That can't be unexpected. You want a drink?" He uncorks the bottle, and with one hand unbuttons his shirt, pouring himself a glass with the other.
"Well, we aren't in public now, are we?" Ginny points out, tilting her head back even further to see him. Bottle is eyed upside-down for a second, then she nods, "Sure."
"Good girl, the night's young," T'ral approves, splashing a second glass full, and dropping his shirt on the floor. He kicks his pants off with one foot, and pads across the hearth rug in his shorts, a drink in each hand, so he can drdop to a crouch in front of her. "Here you go, get that into you."
Ginella looks up as he removes his shirt, and gives up pretending to be snooty and disinterested, turning onto her side to watch him, instead. She takes the glass as he comes close, and takes a quick experimental sip, just in case it's something that burns or makes her eyes pop out. Once she knows what it is, she takes another, longer sip, and then leans forward to get a hand on T'ral's shoulder and pull him close enough to kiss.
He's managed to gulp down half of his glass before she hauls him in for that kiss, and he comes willingly, mouth coming down on hers for a kiss that's demanding, rather than the slow, drawn out thing it often is at that time of night. Finally he pulls back, lifting his glass and tipping back his head to get rid of the rest of it, with relish. "Been waiting on a drink all night."
Ginella holds her glass safely out of the way as she gives what he demands, lifting it to her lips again once he's pulled back. She takes another sip, then smiles, brows coming together, "You weren't drinking at all, were you? I hadn't noticed then. Here, finish mine for me," she says, handing him the glass, with about a quarter left, "I had some wine already."
"Wanted to keep folks laughing, but it never pays to pick a joke too close to the bone," T'ral replies, claiming her glass, and downing the contents. He sets it on the ground beside his, and leans in to kiss her again. "You look incredible," he murmurs, in between kisses. "Thought about dancing every dance with you."
"Very astute of you," Ginny responds, smiling. She lets her glass go easily, and leans up for the kiss, smiling at him in between. "That wouldn't've been very realistic, though, would it?" she says, looping an arm around his neck but uncharacteristically avoiding his hair, "Would've given me away right off." There's a pause, for a kiss, then she admits, "It was fun anyways. We danced a lot. My feet are killing me."
"Well, that's what I thought," T'ral replies, wriggling one arm in underneath her so he can begin to scoop her in against him. "Wouldn't want to start rumours about the Weyrleader and the Weyrwoman, would it? I heard there's a guard Captain involved, with knives. So, you know. Cautious." His hand wriggles in a little further, and he ducks his head to kiss her neck.
"No, can't have that," Ginny agrees, shifting around as he sneaks an arm under her, "And I did hear someone mention knives. We should keep those away from you, I think." He wriggles his arm around, and she shifts further, sliding off the couch and onto his lap. "Cautious is practically your middle name," she agrees with a grin, eyes slipping shut with a faint, pleased noise as he kisses her neck.
"I could juggle them, if you'd let me practice more," T'ral informs her, more for the pleasure of speaking words against her skin than to any other end. He catches her up as she slides into his lap, lips moving along her throat, so he can nose her chin higher, and kiss the exposed skin. Then he comes to his feet, gathering her in against his chest. "Let's see if I can remember to be cautious about getting your dress off, then."
Ginella snorts at his words, eyes coming open again as she thinks about it for another second, and then snickers again, leaning to kiss his ear before moving her head obligingly, back to closed eyes and soft noises as he moves to her throat. Arms go back around his neck as he lifts her, and she smiles, kissing his shoulder and nodding, "Little ties hidden down the back," she explains, "I should've told her clasps, you'll probably tear them."
"Should have told her," T'ral agrees, easing her down onto the bed, and leaning down straight over her, so he can hook a hand under her hip to help her oblige him once he speaks again. "Turn over then, let me at them."
"I should know better," Ginny sighs dramatically, rolling over and reaching a hand to gesture to the middle of her back, where the dress begins again, "See the teeny little ribbons hidden in there? If you can get a couple, I should be able to get it off."
"Sure can, Sunshine," T'ral replies, proving it by reaching for the first, and pulling it undone. "There's something to this, not drinking. In a far better position to take advantage at this end of the night, I've got to say." He's not working at top speed, leaning down to kiss her back, and kiss the skin he reveals when he gets the first unfastening done, as he reaches for the second.
"Wow, there is something to this," Ginny agrees with a teasing laugh, turning her head to lay one cheek against her forearm, almost but not quite looking at him out the corner of her eye, "I was sure you'd pull the whole thing apart immediately." He kisses down her back, and she smiles, shifting just a little til the straps come off her shoulders.
"And pass up the chance to see you wearing it again? Not bloody likely," T'ral replies, kissing the curve of her back, as he eases the dress away. "Everybody admired you, Sunshine. But I got to bring you home." He peels the rest of the fabric back, and continues kissing, laughter in his voice when he speaks again. "Let me show you how glad, love."
It's unusual for T'ral to be quite so light on his feet when he and his beloved return from a big night out, but tonight, he jumps down from Aneleth lightly, turning to smack a palm against her hide in thanks, before he lifts a hand to help Ginella down. "Well, my Weyrwoman," he roars, still using R'vain's voice -- not so hard, with their shared Bitran accent -- and laughing. "A successful night out, I think."
Ginella takes his hand, jumping lightly down from the gold, who then shifts over to lie next to Darageth. She's got her wings back on, but not all hooked up, so they hang a little crooked, and shift as she laughs, and smacks his chest, "Stop that!" she says, clearly having believed the voice would be gone by the time they got home, "I'm not letting the Weyrleader into our weyr late at night! Think how it would look!"
"Quite right," T'ral agrees, turning into her, and reaching for her to pull her in against him. "Nobody's looking at this but me." Their bodies come together with too much force, but his hands slide around under her wings to keep her there. "Have a good night, Sunshine?"
Ginella gets pulled, leaning back just a touch, to soften the blow to her dress, and always mindful of the wings. "I had a wonderful time," she confirms, tilting a bright grin up at him, "You make a better weyrleader than the weyrleader. Though," she adds, not quite finished, "I'm going to kill you for that hair."
"Wouldn't want to do it every day," T'ral replies, dropping his head so he can nuzzle into her neck, kissing his way down to her shoulder, for once perfectly cleanshaven, so there's no stubble to spike her skin. His words are spoken into her shoulder, giving her a chance to glance sideways at the offending hair. "I began to wonder when D'ven painted it on if it was going to come off."
"Of course, only after he began," Ginny replies, with a hint of a chuckle. Her head tilts a little as he bends to kiss neck and shoulder, and she lifts her other arm to touch his painted hair, poking at it, running fingers over it, and shaking her head. "I think we'll have to cut it off," she tells him. "Can try a bath, but... it's pretty hard."
"It didn't look that bad in the pot," T'ral replies repentently, kissing her shoulder again. "Didn't want to tell the weaver what it was for, when we were getting it. Suppose if it dyes clothes permanently..." He lifts his head, grinning without a trace of remorse. "That was a good night," he informs her, hands squeezing. "Now, let me help you off with those wings, before I break them hauling you into bed, and you tell me off."
Ginella laughs, shaking her head again, "I'd imagine it'll dye hair permanently, too. You two," she shakes her head again, leaving off poking at his hair, "Shouldn't be allowed out together unsupervised." She lets out a dramatic sigh, then a smile for the squeeze and his words, "It was," she agrees, adding a quick, "Don't break them!" as she turns to let him help her off with the wings. "It was a fun idea for a costume," she tells him over her shoulder, "I'll have to shave your pretty hair off, I think, but it was definitely fun."
"You'll have to supervise me every minute of the day," T'ral suggests, helping her off with her wings with the appropriate care and attention. "I'll look forward to that." He steps back, to cross over and set her wings down on one of the chairs by the hearth, laying them out carefully. "It'll grow back quick enough, you're always telling me it grows too fast anyway. At least it's not winter, I'd freeze."
"Mmm, I might," Ginny agrees with a faint, crooked little smile as she watches him head across the room with her wings. She trails after, stopping to lean against the couch and take off her shoes. She loses some height, but seems relieved, turning towards T'ral and nodding, "That's true, it'll grow back soon enough. I'll have to ignore the red tonight."
"Try and ignore the pillow in the morning, too," T'ral replies, thumping down on the unoccupied couch, and leaning over with a groan to unlace his boots. "I don't know how he runs around in those bloody leathers the whole time, they're so hot with all that dancing."
Ginella makes a face about the pillow and sets down beside him, shifting her dress carefully and flopping back against the couch with a sigh. Her eeys close as she yawns, then turns a quick grin on him, "They did look awfully hot."
"Shut up," T'ral replies, kicking off one boot, and then the other, and peeling his socks off to drop them on the floor. "Excuse me if I don't keep them on," he grins at her, coming to his feet, and unfastening them.
"Fine, then. Last compliment you're getting from me," Ginny retorts, leaning over to stick her tongue out at him before flopping back again. She plays at disinterest as he announces he's taking his pants off, folding her arms across her chest and lifting her nose to look down it at the mantle. She doesn't care one bit.
"Compliments? Hard to catch them, in amongst all the chastising," T'ral replies, exaggeratedly wounded. There's not much that's graceful in getting flying leathers off, and doubly so after they've been on for hours and hours, but he's as unconcerned as she, wriggling out of them, and managing at the same time to walk along the mantlepiece to where a bottle of D'ven's latest sits.
"Pffft," Ginella replies flippantly, flopping onto her back on the couch as he moves away, "I've been telling people all night what a wonderful dancer you are, despite the hair and the general lack of distinguishment. You haven't said one thing about my outfit." She tries to sulk for a minute or two, but if the fact that he's moved away and probably can't see doesn't ruin it, her yawn does. "You should take your shirt off, too," she points out as the yawn ends, gesturing absently, "Even it off."
"Oh, Sunshine," T'ral half-growls, sounding for a moment not unlike the man he pretended to be tonight. "The things I want to say about your dress were completely unsuitable for public consumption. That can't be unexpected. You want a drink?" He uncorks the bottle, and with one hand unbuttons his shirt, pouring himself a glass with the other.
"Well, we aren't in public now, are we?" Ginny points out, tilting her head back even further to see him. Bottle is eyed upside-down for a second, then she nods, "Sure."
"Good girl, the night's young," T'ral approves, splashing a second glass full, and dropping his shirt on the floor. He kicks his pants off with one foot, and pads across the hearth rug in his shorts, a drink in each hand, so he can drdop to a crouch in front of her. "Here you go, get that into you."
Ginella looks up as he removes his shirt, and gives up pretending to be snooty and disinterested, turning onto her side to watch him, instead. She takes the glass as he comes close, and takes a quick experimental sip, just in case it's something that burns or makes her eyes pop out. Once she knows what it is, she takes another, longer sip, and then leans forward to get a hand on T'ral's shoulder and pull him close enough to kiss.
He's managed to gulp down half of his glass before she hauls him in for that kiss, and he comes willingly, mouth coming down on hers for a kiss that's demanding, rather than the slow, drawn out thing it often is at that time of night. Finally he pulls back, lifting his glass and tipping back his head to get rid of the rest of it, with relish. "Been waiting on a drink all night."
Ginella holds her glass safely out of the way as she gives what he demands, lifting it to her lips again once he's pulled back. She takes another sip, then smiles, brows coming together, "You weren't drinking at all, were you? I hadn't noticed then. Here, finish mine for me," she says, handing him the glass, with about a quarter left, "I had some wine already."
"Wanted to keep folks laughing, but it never pays to pick a joke too close to the bone," T'ral replies, claiming her glass, and downing the contents. He sets it on the ground beside his, and leans in to kiss her again. "You look incredible," he murmurs, in between kisses. "Thought about dancing every dance with you."
"Very astute of you," Ginny responds, smiling. She lets her glass go easily, and leans up for the kiss, smiling at him in between. "That wouldn't've been very realistic, though, would it?" she says, looping an arm around his neck but uncharacteristically avoiding his hair, "Would've given me away right off." There's a pause, for a kiss, then she admits, "It was fun anyways. We danced a lot. My feet are killing me."
"Well, that's what I thought," T'ral replies, wriggling one arm in underneath her so he can begin to scoop her in against him. "Wouldn't want to start rumours about the Weyrleader and the Weyrwoman, would it? I heard there's a guard Captain involved, with knives. So, you know. Cautious." His hand wriggles in a little further, and he ducks his head to kiss her neck.
"No, can't have that," Ginny agrees, shifting around as he sneaks an arm under her, "And I did hear someone mention knives. We should keep those away from you, I think." He wriggles his arm around, and she shifts further, sliding off the couch and onto his lap. "Cautious is practically your middle name," she agrees with a grin, eyes slipping shut with a faint, pleased noise as he kisses her neck.
"I could juggle them, if you'd let me practice more," T'ral informs her, more for the pleasure of speaking words against her skin than to any other end. He catches her up as she slides into his lap, lips moving along her throat, so he can nose her chin higher, and kiss the exposed skin. Then he comes to his feet, gathering her in against his chest. "Let's see if I can remember to be cautious about getting your dress off, then."
Ginella snorts at his words, eyes coming open again as she thinks about it for another second, and then snickers again, leaning to kiss his ear before moving her head obligingly, back to closed eyes and soft noises as he moves to her throat. Arms go back around his neck as he lifts her, and she smiles, kissing his shoulder and nodding, "Little ties hidden down the back," she explains, "I should've told her clasps, you'll probably tear them."
"Should have told her," T'ral agrees, easing her down onto the bed, and leaning down straight over her, so he can hook a hand under her hip to help her oblige him once he speaks again. "Turn over then, let me at them."
"I should know better," Ginny sighs dramatically, rolling over and reaching a hand to gesture to the middle of her back, where the dress begins again, "See the teeny little ribbons hidden in there? If you can get a couple, I should be able to get it off."
"Sure can, Sunshine," T'ral replies, proving it by reaching for the first, and pulling it undone. "There's something to this, not drinking. In a far better position to take advantage at this end of the night, I've got to say." He's not working at top speed, leaning down to kiss her back, and kiss the skin he reveals when he gets the first unfastening done, as he reaches for the second.
"Wow, there is something to this," Ginny agrees with a teasing laugh, turning her head to lay one cheek against her forearm, almost but not quite looking at him out the corner of her eye, "I was sure you'd pull the whole thing apart immediately." He kisses down her back, and she smiles, shifting just a little til the straps come off her shoulders.
"And pass up the chance to see you wearing it again? Not bloody likely," T'ral replies, kissing the curve of her back, as he eases the dress away. "Everybody admired you, Sunshine. But I got to bring you home." He peels the rest of the fabric back, and continues kissing, laughter in his voice when he speaks again. "Let me show you how glad, love."