[Log] Distracted
Who: P'draig, P'traul, T'mic, NPCs: Palia, Jaivery, Dylan, Lesialla-the-nanny
When: It is a spring afternoon, 13:47 of day 2, month 3, turn 19 of Interval 10.
Where: Main Beach, Ista Weyr
What: Aath's proddy. Hijinks ensue.
Blatantly thieved from the most luscious
jekzith
Aath is very, very proddy and Paddy had a rest-day anyway, but it does mean a joint rest-day for the weyrmates, even if it might not always seem like one for the brownrider part of the pair. He does have to keep an eye on Mic constantly after all, doesn't he? Right now though, it's beach time, with sun warm overhead and two chairs pulled close out in its light, a pitcher of iced tea set between the two, while Paddy also keeps an eye on Palia, Jaivery and the young nanny who's helping out today with Dylan in the sling sleeping away. They're all busy building a sand-fort though and collecting shells and what-have-you to decorate the fortification, leaving P'draig free enough. "Just a few more weeks," he's saying about the weyrlings who are that much time shy of getting tapped into wing and no longer being weyrlings.
"Mmm," answers Mic, flipping and tugging and otherwise molesting the poor corner of the towel he's currently reclined upon. Just now his eyes are on Dylan's nanny, blatantly ogling the woman, but Paddy's wisely put himself between the pair and the greenrider hasn't yet bothered to approach her. Not too much earlier he was doing the same to a handsome older bluerider jogging down the beach, and before that, a trio of teenage fishermen banded together in uncertainty. "Right. Wings."
Unfazed by the ogling, or the flirting, P'draig just grins over at his weyrmate. "Mmhm. And then we should take a vacation," he tells the greenrider before calling out to Palia: "Not too far out, sweetie!" given the nanny in question is trying to keep Jaivery from eating sand and the little girl's decided to go splash in the shallows.
Speak of the devil! Or weyrlings, at least; even more accurately, one in particular atop a distinctly bulky brown who is intent on lumbering down to the beach, lifemate clinging to his back or no. P'traul's got no straps, no shirt, and no shoes, though a pot of oil and rag in hand might indicate his earlier activity until single-minded Yjimeth took to Aath's summons. The pair are heralded by muttered curses on the boy's behalf, and the occasional hard thump of fist against dragon neck, but Yjimeth is undetered, and eventually the brownriding weyrling just swings down and lands, barefoot, in the black sand with a grimace. "Bonehead," he finishes irritably, lamely, left behind.
T'mic says, "Sure," because there's a pause and he ought to say something, but his eyes and attention never so much as flick toward the brownrider lazing beside him. Not that far down the beach Aath is flirting madly, the center of a cluster of about five males. And oh, here's Yjimeth, that makes six! She greets the young brown with a duck of her head and a flutter of one wing, her tail shivering against the sands. Her rider blinks and leans forward to see, letting the towel fall as he hunts out... oh. Low, satisfied, "/P'traul/." Then louder, waving with a bright welcoming beam, "P'traul! Come sit!"
Near, but not participating in Aath-flirt-fest-19, is Jekzith. He's in the water blowing bubbles and occasionally looking up towards the green. It's likely that every few minutes he's offering up an idle compliment, but he's also keeping a covert eye on Paddy's kids. "Hey P'traul," the brown's rider offers in far less come-hither-fashion than his weyrmate. "How's thing? Yjimeth in for the flirting game?"
P'traul today is inattentive at best, completely oblivious at worse: without a second look at his shoulder at Yjimeth, who arches his neck in response and sidles nearer, the lad hop-skips towards that welcoming voice. "Sir. Sirs. Good day," he nods, salutes. "Oh. /Oh/." Realization: "Right. Yes, I suppose he is. Oh, then --" he pauses, eyes scanning once over T'mic, then over to safer grounds, P'draig. "-- good. Things are good, yes. It's fine weather, isn't it?"
T'mic is more than a welcoming voice, he's a welcoming everything, but at least he sinks back against his chair and the now-wrinkled towel instead of doing the welcoming up close and personal. "Aath's proddy," he announces needlessly, as proud as can be of this fact. "If you want to sit, there's plenty of room on my chair." Or at least there will be, as soon as he straddles the chair and pats the lounging area invitingly.
There's a light touch of Paddy's hand to Mic's arm and he nods P'traul's way. "Very nice weather. The kids are loving it," he nods towards his brood, Palia jumping waves now while Jaivery keeps piling up the walls of the sand-fort with the nanny's help and Dylan's pudgy little baby foot kicks up over the edge of the nanny's sling now and then. "There's a couple more chairs over there, if you'd rather," he tilts his head a little further along the beach for P'traul's benefit.
Paul didn't notice, really. He smiles wanly, nods again and clasps his hands behind his back. "Is she! But I think, um, I'll pass on the, ah..." Tailing off into silence, he instead brightens at P'draig's suggestion. "Yes! I mean. Yes. Another chair, thank you sir. Lovely children," he adds passingly as he trots to the nearest to drag it over. "So long as Yjimeth is here, I suppose I can spend some time. Visiting." Strictly visiting.
Possibly happily for P'traul, as soon as Paddy's touched his arm Mic's refocused on his weyrmate, offering that same brilliant smile and leaning over as far as the arm of his chair will allow. It keeps him distracted until P'traul's returned, and by then he's in enough of a good mood to only flash a pout the younger brownrider's way. "Paddy's got three," he tells P'traul, one hand roaming up and down P'draig's forearm. "I've got more than that. What about you?"
"You bet," P'draig says genially and grins at the compliment to his family. "Thanks. I've got a very biased opinion of course," he adds laughingly and while the younger brownrider is chair-fetching, makes much of Mic just as Jekzith plays along somewhat with Aath, only Paddy's a lot more into it than his brown today. Politely though he leans back when P'traul returns. "Six," he numbers Mic'soffspring with a fond smile.
"... about me?" Startled into laughter, P'traul plants his chair into the sand and (gratefully unmolested) tucks his feets under his body as he seats himself. His gaze is just-as politely averted for as long as the weyrlingmasters continue to cuddle; not rudely, but Paul's looking quite intent at the ocean. "I don't have any children." Appends thoughtfully, "That I know of. -- six?" He turns 'round with the word, eyes round. "But. You're young, sir."
T'mic decides firmly, "You're sweet," and at least brings his legs back up on the chair even if he doesn't stop leaning into P'draig or looking at P'traul. "Six. Like Solla. Ask me in a day or two who the others are." The greenrider is a man well aware of his own limitations, it would seem. "You know how though, right? I'll practice with you...."
"Mic got an early start in life," P'draig says gently and moves his hand behind Mic as the greenrider goes on with that offer. Distract. Distract. "Solla's just turned sixteen and Mic's only 31," he offers over to P'traul so he can do the math himself. "Palia down there's just turned 5, I wasn't so quick about it myself," he jokes.
P'traul flushes red, from the heat, surely, and toys with the edge of his chair for a moment, stammering, "Oh, uh, well, oh, Tosolla, right. Early bloomer-like, sir." The brownriding weyrling hesitates for a moment, directs his next words mostly to P'draig with a small upward-turned smile, "No, but thank you. That's a kind offer, T'mic." So distracted himself, Paul peers out towards Palia. "Oh, she's yours! I've seen her about. What a darling."
T'mic's easily distracted, happily for Petey. He drops the younger man with an almost audible thump and turns back to P'draig who at least has experience dealing with his weyrmate's mayfly attention span. "--I'm hot," he decides apropos of nothing, and toys with the buttons on his vest, shooting a look from under his lashes at the other two men that Neraset ought to freeze and study.
"My eldest," P'draig continues on sunnily about Palia for P'traul's benefit. "She was born at Fort but she's made the transition to Ista nicely," the brownrider continues and it's highly likely that hand of his is continuing to do distracting things behind Mic's back. "Should we fan you with palm fronds?" he offers to the greenrider next though, even as he shifts to pick up one of those glasses of iced tea. "Here, against the back of your neck ought to help." Patient as ever, Paddy. And it's a good thing Neraset only has eyes for M'ljen these days.
Whether P'traul takes the older brownrider seriously or not, he turns right around in his seat to cast around for the nearest palm trees, and by association, fronds. "Could take a dip in the water," he manages under that Look of T'mic's but not without the return of pinkness to his cheeks. "Born at Fort, sir? Who wouldn't take to the warmer weather? Young children are, um, so resiliant."
"I like swimming," Mic agrees lowly, like he's revealing a secret. "I could dry you off, too." But yet again P'draig intervenes in the greenrider's unsubtle flirting and yet again T'mic lets himself be distracted. "Both of you." He doesn't put the glass against his neck, but rolls it over his face instead, wipes the condensation over his neck instead while his eyes droop closed. "Mmm - when it's cold everything shuts down. Creeps up. Sun is much, much better.
"Good exercise, swimming," P'draig puts in and reaches over to knuckle a water droplet off of Mic's cheek. "I was the weyrlingmaster at Fort for over ten turns," he goes on to explain to P'traul. "I've only actually lived at Ista for the past few turns. I brought Palia with me when I transferred. Her mother -- wasn't interested," he adds, voice mostly neutral. "It was a little difficult for both of us to get used to the heat. We don't mind snow." There's a wink after that too.
"No, I, no --" flustered again with Mic's offer, P'traul flutters his hands in the air for a moment before shutting his mouth firmly and latching onto P'draig's welcome diversion with a half-hearted sigh. "Oh, did you? It's wonderful she can be here with the rest of her siblings, too, isn't it?" Snow. Cold. Brisk. "Oh, yes. Neither do I, mind you."
T'mic tries to capture Paddy's wrist and fails, settles back into his chair (and against the brownrider's hand, not-so-coincidentally) with another pout. "Only good thing about snow is fireplaces," he injects into the conversation, vaguely. "Otherwise there's too much clothing."
"Mmhm. Moved here for Mic," P'draig adds with sudden humor in his smile, but he's laughing and shaking his head about the siblings. "Actually, Jaivery's only here visiting. He usually lives at Telgar with his mother." Beat. "They all have different mothers," he adds on with a wry grin. "Flights, you know," he notes further and eyes Mic for a moment as his hand is trapped. "Fireplaces are very good things on a snowy day."
Too much clothing... flights...! P'traul squirms, finally slips from his seat -- hot sands and barefoot or not! -- and he snaps off a salute for the pair of older riders. "Sirs, I -- ah. Oh. I never finished, I mean, oiling, Yjimeth. He still needs..." and with that, and one last flush of his neck, he's padding off to drag his dragon away by the ear and finish what he started before he was interrupted by innocent little Aath.
When: It is a spring afternoon, 13:47 of day 2, month 3, turn 19 of Interval 10.
Where: Main Beach, Ista Weyr
What: Aath's proddy. Hijinks ensue.
Blatantly thieved from the most luscious
jekzith
Aath is very, very proddy and Paddy had a rest-day anyway, but it does mean a joint rest-day for the weyrmates, even if it might not always seem like one for the brownrider part of the pair. He does have to keep an eye on Mic constantly after all, doesn't he? Right now though, it's beach time, with sun warm overhead and two chairs pulled close out in its light, a pitcher of iced tea set between the two, while Paddy also keeps an eye on Palia, Jaivery and the young nanny who's helping out today with Dylan in the sling sleeping away. They're all busy building a sand-fort though and collecting shells and what-have-you to decorate the fortification, leaving P'draig free enough. "Just a few more weeks," he's saying about the weyrlings who are that much time shy of getting tapped into wing and no longer being weyrlings.
"Mmm," answers Mic, flipping and tugging and otherwise molesting the poor corner of the towel he's currently reclined upon. Just now his eyes are on Dylan's nanny, blatantly ogling the woman, but Paddy's wisely put himself between the pair and the greenrider hasn't yet bothered to approach her. Not too much earlier he was doing the same to a handsome older bluerider jogging down the beach, and before that, a trio of teenage fishermen banded together in uncertainty. "Right. Wings."
Unfazed by the ogling, or the flirting, P'draig just grins over at his weyrmate. "Mmhm. And then we should take a vacation," he tells the greenrider before calling out to Palia: "Not too far out, sweetie!" given the nanny in question is trying to keep Jaivery from eating sand and the little girl's decided to go splash in the shallows.
Speak of the devil! Or weyrlings, at least; even more accurately, one in particular atop a distinctly bulky brown who is intent on lumbering down to the beach, lifemate clinging to his back or no. P'traul's got no straps, no shirt, and no shoes, though a pot of oil and rag in hand might indicate his earlier activity until single-minded Yjimeth took to Aath's summons. The pair are heralded by muttered curses on the boy's behalf, and the occasional hard thump of fist against dragon neck, but Yjimeth is undetered, and eventually the brownriding weyrling just swings down and lands, barefoot, in the black sand with a grimace. "Bonehead," he finishes irritably, lamely, left behind.
T'mic says, "Sure," because there's a pause and he ought to say something, but his eyes and attention never so much as flick toward the brownrider lazing beside him. Not that far down the beach Aath is flirting madly, the center of a cluster of about five males. And oh, here's Yjimeth, that makes six! She greets the young brown with a duck of her head and a flutter of one wing, her tail shivering against the sands. Her rider blinks and leans forward to see, letting the towel fall as he hunts out... oh. Low, satisfied, "/P'traul/." Then louder, waving with a bright welcoming beam, "P'traul! Come sit!"
Near, but not participating in Aath-flirt-fest-19, is Jekzith. He's in the water blowing bubbles and occasionally looking up towards the green. It's likely that every few minutes he's offering up an idle compliment, but he's also keeping a covert eye on Paddy's kids. "Hey P'traul," the brown's rider offers in far less come-hither-fashion than his weyrmate. "How's thing? Yjimeth in for the flirting game?"
P'traul today is inattentive at best, completely oblivious at worse: without a second look at his shoulder at Yjimeth, who arches his neck in response and sidles nearer, the lad hop-skips towards that welcoming voice. "Sir. Sirs. Good day," he nods, salutes. "Oh. /Oh/." Realization: "Right. Yes, I suppose he is. Oh, then --" he pauses, eyes scanning once over T'mic, then over to safer grounds, P'draig. "-- good. Things are good, yes. It's fine weather, isn't it?"
T'mic is more than a welcoming voice, he's a welcoming everything, but at least he sinks back against his chair and the now-wrinkled towel instead of doing the welcoming up close and personal. "Aath's proddy," he announces needlessly, as proud as can be of this fact. "If you want to sit, there's plenty of room on my chair." Or at least there will be, as soon as he straddles the chair and pats the lounging area invitingly.
There's a light touch of Paddy's hand to Mic's arm and he nods P'traul's way. "Very nice weather. The kids are loving it," he nods towards his brood, Palia jumping waves now while Jaivery keeps piling up the walls of the sand-fort with the nanny's help and Dylan's pudgy little baby foot kicks up over the edge of the nanny's sling now and then. "There's a couple more chairs over there, if you'd rather," he tilts his head a little further along the beach for P'traul's benefit.
Paul didn't notice, really. He smiles wanly, nods again and clasps his hands behind his back. "Is she! But I think, um, I'll pass on the, ah..." Tailing off into silence, he instead brightens at P'draig's suggestion. "Yes! I mean. Yes. Another chair, thank you sir. Lovely children," he adds passingly as he trots to the nearest to drag it over. "So long as Yjimeth is here, I suppose I can spend some time. Visiting." Strictly visiting.
Possibly happily for P'traul, as soon as Paddy's touched his arm Mic's refocused on his weyrmate, offering that same brilliant smile and leaning over as far as the arm of his chair will allow. It keeps him distracted until P'traul's returned, and by then he's in enough of a good mood to only flash a pout the younger brownrider's way. "Paddy's got three," he tells P'traul, one hand roaming up and down P'draig's forearm. "I've got more than that. What about you?"
"You bet," P'draig says genially and grins at the compliment to his family. "Thanks. I've got a very biased opinion of course," he adds laughingly and while the younger brownrider is chair-fetching, makes much of Mic just as Jekzith plays along somewhat with Aath, only Paddy's a lot more into it than his brown today. Politely though he leans back when P'traul returns. "Six," he numbers Mic'soffspring with a fond smile.
"... about me?" Startled into laughter, P'traul plants his chair into the sand and (gratefully unmolested) tucks his feets under his body as he seats himself. His gaze is just-as politely averted for as long as the weyrlingmasters continue to cuddle; not rudely, but Paul's looking quite intent at the ocean. "I don't have any children." Appends thoughtfully, "That I know of. -- six?" He turns 'round with the word, eyes round. "But. You're young, sir."
T'mic decides firmly, "You're sweet," and at least brings his legs back up on the chair even if he doesn't stop leaning into P'draig or looking at P'traul. "Six. Like Solla. Ask me in a day or two who the others are." The greenrider is a man well aware of his own limitations, it would seem. "You know how though, right? I'll practice with you...."
"Mic got an early start in life," P'draig says gently and moves his hand behind Mic as the greenrider goes on with that offer. Distract. Distract. "Solla's just turned sixteen and Mic's only 31," he offers over to P'traul so he can do the math himself. "Palia down there's just turned 5, I wasn't so quick about it myself," he jokes.
P'traul flushes red, from the heat, surely, and toys with the edge of his chair for a moment, stammering, "Oh, uh, well, oh, Tosolla, right. Early bloomer-like, sir." The brownriding weyrling hesitates for a moment, directs his next words mostly to P'draig with a small upward-turned smile, "No, but thank you. That's a kind offer, T'mic." So distracted himself, Paul peers out towards Palia. "Oh, she's yours! I've seen her about. What a darling."
T'mic's easily distracted, happily for Petey. He drops the younger man with an almost audible thump and turns back to P'draig who at least has experience dealing with his weyrmate's mayfly attention span. "--I'm hot," he decides apropos of nothing, and toys with the buttons on his vest, shooting a look from under his lashes at the other two men that Neraset ought to freeze and study.
"My eldest," P'draig continues on sunnily about Palia for P'traul's benefit. "She was born at Fort but she's made the transition to Ista nicely," the brownrider continues and it's highly likely that hand of his is continuing to do distracting things behind Mic's back. "Should we fan you with palm fronds?" he offers to the greenrider next though, even as he shifts to pick up one of those glasses of iced tea. "Here, against the back of your neck ought to help." Patient as ever, Paddy. And it's a good thing Neraset only has eyes for M'ljen these days.
Whether P'traul takes the older brownrider seriously or not, he turns right around in his seat to cast around for the nearest palm trees, and by association, fronds. "Could take a dip in the water," he manages under that Look of T'mic's but not without the return of pinkness to his cheeks. "Born at Fort, sir? Who wouldn't take to the warmer weather? Young children are, um, so resiliant."
"I like swimming," Mic agrees lowly, like he's revealing a secret. "I could dry you off, too." But yet again P'draig intervenes in the greenrider's unsubtle flirting and yet again T'mic lets himself be distracted. "Both of you." He doesn't put the glass against his neck, but rolls it over his face instead, wipes the condensation over his neck instead while his eyes droop closed. "Mmm - when it's cold everything shuts down. Creeps up. Sun is much, much better.
"Good exercise, swimming," P'draig puts in and reaches over to knuckle a water droplet off of Mic's cheek. "I was the weyrlingmaster at Fort for over ten turns," he goes on to explain to P'traul. "I've only actually lived at Ista for the past few turns. I brought Palia with me when I transferred. Her mother -- wasn't interested," he adds, voice mostly neutral. "It was a little difficult for both of us to get used to the heat. We don't mind snow." There's a wink after that too.
"No, I, no --" flustered again with Mic's offer, P'traul flutters his hands in the air for a moment before shutting his mouth firmly and latching onto P'draig's welcome diversion with a half-hearted sigh. "Oh, did you? It's wonderful she can be here with the rest of her siblings, too, isn't it?" Snow. Cold. Brisk. "Oh, yes. Neither do I, mind you."
T'mic tries to capture Paddy's wrist and fails, settles back into his chair (and against the brownrider's hand, not-so-coincidentally) with another pout. "Only good thing about snow is fireplaces," he injects into the conversation, vaguely. "Otherwise there's too much clothing."
"Mmhm. Moved here for Mic," P'draig adds with sudden humor in his smile, but he's laughing and shaking his head about the siblings. "Actually, Jaivery's only here visiting. He usually lives at Telgar with his mother." Beat. "They all have different mothers," he adds on with a wry grin. "Flights, you know," he notes further and eyes Mic for a moment as his hand is trapped. "Fireplaces are very good things on a snowy day."
Too much clothing... flights...! P'traul squirms, finally slips from his seat -- hot sands and barefoot or not! -- and he snaps off a salute for the pair of older riders. "Sirs, I -- ah. Oh. I never finished, I mean, oiling, Yjimeth. He still needs..." and with that, and one last flush of his neck, he's padding off to drag his dragon away by the ear and finish what he started before he was interrupted by innocent little Aath.