Azhdarchid
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Post by Azhdarchid on Feb 19, 2011 23:40:56 GMT -5
After several Turns of bending himself in half to get in and out of traders' wagons, Qosis had nothing but appreciation for the oversized scale at which a Weyr operated. Even the twisted, "narrow" tunnels clawed out of the mountain's flanks let him walk with enough space at his sides to drag a runner through. There was a mysterious openness off the top of his light brown head that he had previously associated only with the open skies of Pern, and a subsequent lifting of his thoughts not possible in a cramped wagon cabin. And his mind was full enough of idle, self-drawn chatter today that he required that extra atmosphere, just to keep from turning the points over in his brain like a firelizard confronted with its own reflection. But just as he had completed another silent, loving acknowledgment of the cavern ceilings, the corridor out of the dining hall ended, and the roof over his head was remade out of sunshine and dragon wings. He made the mistake of looking immediately up into the sun staked above the Bowl, and flinched his gaze away a second later. It still left him briefly blind, eyes barely settled to being out of the tunnel, nevermind acclimated to the beating heart of noon! He touched thumb and forefinger to his brow, and gave his head a shake, then started across the Bowl toward the tapering southern tail of the lake. There was a bridge for him to cross still in order to even access the side of the Weyr with the Candidate Barracks, and south of it ran the feeding grounds. He could have chosen the other path, toward the prominent northern waterfall, but that would bring him in range of the Weyrlings. Their immature beasts were no prettier than whers, but Qosis enjoyed the graceful winging down and swooping of their adult counterparts beyond the bridge. Privately to another Candidate he had referred to his observations as "watching the tithes." There was an ebb and flow to the appearance of dragons at their kills; to him it seemed that many acted in line with their riders' interests, such that now at lunchtime many membranous wings were cutting low through the air and then snapping shut as their owners splashed down to land in puffs of herdbeast blood. It was always crucial to cross the bridge only when the prevailing winds ran south. Whers came too, but only at night. And night was when Qosis had to sleep back the hours of exhaustion spent on a day's chores. He never saw those creatures but for dim twitches of movement at the cusps of the handlers' caverns. Right now his eyes were all for the dragons, hands gliding over the cool crest of the bridge wall before he leaned gently on it. It was too low for much more than that. As he surveyed the day's dining, he mentally recited one of the teaching ballads the Weyrsingers had been passing along to the Candidates. He had enjoyed the presence of young Harpers on the caravan, and valued their capacity to pass news across Pern in record time and jaunty tune. But these dragon-bound versions he could not trust. He knew the passion in their voices. It reminded him of Qosk. And he thought they were singing far too giddy a picture to the Candidates, most of whom were already over-idealistic. One ditty from a Weyrsinger and his classmates appeared to forget the lessons in practicality that came later: Hatching maulings, death by Threadscore, the seemingly wretched life of the man who lost his mount. It did not help that the lot of them were brats who had never been entrusted to more than a thimble-full of responsibility. His thick lips pulled to one side, and he wondered if the remainder of the Restday would not be better spent at exercise. Though even dragon-watching could not stir him from his reservations about the Weyr, the mindnumbing, repetitive process of sharpening his body always did. What did dragons think of the varying condition of humans, when they were always kept fit for fighting themselves? Qosis had spotted more than one fat old rider waddling about his weyr ledge, and could only conclude that the dragon involved in each case had both anticipated the tendency, and tolerated it. What a waste. [ OOC: I found this map very helpful. ] |
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
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Post by Kila on Mar 6, 2011 19:25:46 GMT -5
Nadya could not sleep. Deep in the Lower Caverns, she lay sleeplessly across her bed, staring crossly at the ceiling. Nadysk was asleep, for which she was glad, but it was because of him that her sleep schedule was off now. A few days ago they had been jarred awake in the middle of the day by the uproar caused by the killings. Whers and dragons alike had been called to catch the offenders, but for as fast as the faithful Brown Wher had sped to the mouth of the tunnel into the Bowl, he had been unneeded. The dragons had been all about and had the advantage of height and speed. Needless to say, the mysterious attackers had quickly been captured.
For some reason, Nadysk had taken this as a personal offense. Nadya had little sense of place in the Weyr, caring only for what went on below and for those things that directly affected her, but her lifemate had a strong sense of duty. Nadysk had stayed up the whole day and night ranting in his slanted Wher speech about how such a thing wouldn’t have happened if it were night and the Whers had been on patrol. Ugly to some and certainly lacking the grace of their cousins, Whers were nevertheless attentive and intelligent creatures. Those at Dalibor, especially, conducted watch with a precision to be envied. He pair had participated in the same sort of thing at their old Weyr, so they had the necessary comparison.
Riled as he was, even when Nadysk did sleep is had been restlessly, and therefore Nadya’s had been as well. She had slept with her bonded on the ground, covering them both with her furs, and soothed him until he fell silent. Now, while he finally slept, she could not. She had slept some the night before, which was contrary to her normal nocturnal schedule, and now she was awake during the day- and not amused.
Though the day of the killings had contained enough sunshine to last her the turn, Nadya clothed herself and voyaged out and up to the mouth of a tunnel leading into the ‘Bowl. She shaded her eyes even before she reached the end, her eyes unaccustomed to the light. It had been her thought that spending a bit of time in the sun would fatigue her enough that she could fall asleep, but now, looking out at the harsh detail of day, she scorned her idea. Everything was so… straightforward in the daytime. At night there was mystery, cool breezes, and romance, but now everything stood out starkly, unmasked and unadorned by shadows. Nowhere to hide. She loathed it at that moment, but she was there, so she plowed on, stepping out into the ‘Bowl.
People of all ages were out and about, enjoying the day. She knew almost none of them, and the ones she did she knew intimately. She seemed like a ghost among them- tall, deathly pale, and unknown. No one strayed near, which suited her well. Even still, she sought out a space less occupied, away from the merry crowds, where she could be heated in peace. She knew the layout as well as any of them, though she had never seen if from above, from constant and thorough patrol, night after night. With no hesitation, then, she followed the curve of the lake, along the stream, until it came to the place where the cliffs were almost grounded. It was not as pretty there, thus less visited, but it was of no bother to Nadya. She selected a large, flat rock and stretched herself over it, arching one leg and folding it over the other with the effortless grace of a dancer. Her clothes were loose and light but long, covering her pale arms and legs to protect them from being burned, as they so easily would if she stayed there long. Thus settled, she blocked out the rest of the world- the people, the dragons, and all of their sounds. She was intruding in their world, taking only a little of their time, and wanted to be involved as little as possible.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Mar 7, 2011 0:15:30 GMT -5
A dragon circled over Qosis, her body too high and shadow too small to provoke a flinch. She closed the distance with hungry rapidity once she was over the feeding grounds, darting down into a flow of herdbeasts stampeding awkwardly across the center stream. Most present-- draconic and human --inclined their heads to her, for her skin was an especially vibrant yellow-green, like a lime with a luminescent peel. She landed on one beast and batted another down with a vicious swipe of her wing, the rest scattering. Not paying much attention to the animal she had crushed, she grabbed the other with her dextrous, five-fingered forepaws and snipped her jaws over its bawling head.
After studying her for a few seconds, the nearby male dragons went back to eating. She still had Qosis' eye, though through the gaps she was rending in the herdbeast's body he spied another figure of interest: a woman. Not a waif, or a boy that looked like a waif, or some other malnourished malcontent that the Weyr had called in for its eventual eggs. A woman. He could identify that much by the delicate white strain of her neck and the precise thickness of her thigh, even when the indecent scrub of hair on her head would not provide clarity.
Yet the tensing of muscle down his back and in his shoulders had nothing to do with her appeal. He did not know her. She stuck out among strangers, and the last time he had observed such a person-- it had been a murderer. The trader tallied the eye colors of the nearby dragons. He looked to the green that had descended before, but she was sweeping herself back off the killing field already, a herdbeast corpse stuck to her back talons. She made a lazy ascent back to her weyr, dripping an obscene red tattoo across the Bowl in her wake. That settled it then: this new fair was no assassin. It was now appropriate to consider her other capacities.
Qosis marched to the other bridge wall. He slapped his hands down on the top edge and leaned over, catching the look of his own face and chest in the clear water below. He ran his hand back through his hair, adjusted his blue hat...but he was already in order. The summer heat had forestalled his wherhide jacket, but the light jerkin he wore in its place was no work tunic spoiled by ill color and dirt. It closed at his waist with a silver-buckled belt, the pants beneath functional cloth instead of fashionable leather.
He turned around, scouring the glittering stream by hunch alone and rediscovering Nadya atop a rock. Qosis went to her, though as he neared a nameless caution coursed into his blood again and he could not figure why. His step slowed, then resumed till he was taking a throne of the unraised ground beside the rock. Had the sound of his approach not brought her gaze to him, perhaps his sturdy seat in her peripheral would draw her. And if nothing else, the extension of his arm brought his striped hat over her, waggling in invitation.
"Those will do for your arms and legs," he informed Nadya, gesturing to her long garments. "But not for your face. And with a tone like yours, it is not long till you are painted red there." Qosis smirked-- his own hide had long since weathered to a sun-hardened brown, so the hat was a minimal, and hopefully temporary loss. The sleeveless arm holding the hat out was wrapped in scars, and there was almost nothing left healthy enough to burn there. "I imagine the only worse color to find on one's face is a bit of blue..." And he traced an invisible S on his own stately forehead.
Sitting as he was, the woman's head was above his. As he looked up to her, an unexpected twinge of enjoyment sparked out of the same indecipherable mental murk as his earlier caution. At this distance he noticed a certain weariness around her eyes, similar to what he sometimes observed in his own reflection. "What happened to your hair...?" he continued, exhibiting a trailing silence in which she could place her name.
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
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Post by Kila on Mar 11, 2011 18:03:08 GMT -5
Nadya had not been settled for long when she heard the tell-tale signs of approach. Her hearing was very keen, so the imminent arrival was painfully obvious. Great; she thought sarcastically to herself. Still, she did not move, nor did she make any sign of having heard the offending footsteps. Perhaps whoever it was would just leave.
A shadow fell over her face and whoever-it-was began to talk. No such luck. “It’s not long till you are painted red there,” she heard. Cracking one eye open, Nadya saw the face of a young man perched beside her. His arm was streatched out over her, holding something that cast a shadow over her face, diverting the sun. Tilting her head back slightly and opening the other eye, she identified it as a hat. Blue, and bright like the rest of his ensemble. Plucky. Reaching one slender arm up, she lazily slid the hat from his hand. Lowering it, she placed it jauntily on the forefront of her head so that came down diagonally from one side of her head and nearly covered her eyes, shielding them from the sun so that she could better observe the stranger.
Nadya remained silent and studied the man when he studied her, neither embarrassed by his gaze nor afraid to meet it. He was bearded and well built, from what she could see from where she was draped on the rock. She had never seen him before, but that meant nothing; she hadn’t seen many of the weyrfolk. She could tell he was new, though, from his fancy attire. Some of the Riders had more ambitious fashion sense than others, but this one was dressed to the 9’s, clothed in bright colors and moderately unworn garments. It was warm, so it was not odd that he lacked a riding jacket, but neither did he sport any form of knots. He was handsome, though, which forgave his status as a newbie. He was younger than her, but then that never been something that had bothered her before.
His question about her hair, though rude and offensive, didn’t ruffle her in the least. ”What happened to your manners?” she retorted without hesitation in a low, sultry voice. It wasn’t a dashing start to the conversation of either of their parts, but Nadya was curious to see if he could dish it and take it in stride. He had clearly sought her name, but she didn’t feel quite inclined to give it yet.
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Azhdarchid
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Post by Azhdarchid on Mar 12, 2011 10:23:04 GMT -5
The acceptance of the hat, in Qosis' mind, fairly outweighed the notation of his brusqueness in determining the thrust of the conversation. His eyes still widened at her prompt reply, a sliver of the overhanging sunlight just beginning to reflect off the green irises when he recovered, smirking toothily.
"Of course you are right," he agreed with her protest. Qosis kept his gaze to hers, like a hatchling trying to get a lock for Impression. He had about the same mischievous glitter in his eyes as a hungry dragonet, too. "...I should not mention exiles in such upstanding company." He was pleased at his neat avoidance of authentic apology. It might have been more conducive to his goals to meet her every whimsy of courtesy with slavish devotion, but if she could stand testing then all the better. Besides, the sun was bright. Everyone could see everyone else in stark detail. It was no place to lie about who he was.
He extended his nearer hand, one finger a slight shorter than it should have been. "I was only wondering if they made you cut it," he began in a nonchalant return to the point of offense. "For the riding of your--" But sitting up straighter now, he could finally pay attention to the shoulder-knot summing Nadya's existence. He did not recognize every detail in the woven label, but knew the primary calling: wherhandler. "--oh." His offered fingers wilted till he returned from his surprise, and he straightened them immediately, pushing the hand closer.
The Candidate smiled his apology this time. "Qosis," he admitted. "Of...Dalibor, at the moment. Trader." The shaped brows above his eyes wrinkled toward each other, then drew themselves into a non-verbal challenge again as he added, "And dragon Candidate."
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
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Post by Kila on Mar 12, 2011 12:01:07 GMT -5
Nadya was pleased to see that her retort had not thrown the young man off too much. In fact, he seemed amused by it. The beginnings of a smile touched the corners of Nadya’s lips as he spoke his flowery words, possessing all the grace and charm that any fast-talker should have. He did not apologize, she noticed, but his conceit (“Of course you are right”) was enough. Nadya loved it when other people admitted that they were wrong. Still, the man was not sorry for it. It seemed as though she could read his personality, though she suspected it to be much more complex than it was being presented to her, as though it were a scroll. It was not the most savory of personalities, with so many whispers and suggestion in his looks, words, and actions, but neither was hers. He did not cache his intentions, and she liked it.
It was Qosis’s faltering, strangely enough, that sparked her real interest. After starting again on her hair, pursuing the subject rudely, he stuck out his hand to her, all ready to offer her his acquaintance, until he spied her knots. Nadya did not care enough to wear then normally, so one of her many lovers, a kindly, motivated woman, had sewn them straight onto her shirt so she wouldn’t forget. Nadya did not miss the way his fingers crumpled and he withdrew into himself ever so slightly, his face reflecting more than just surprise. That complete destruction of his arrogant mask was what intrigued her. The show was back in no time, this time with a hint of genuine apology for his reaction, whatever it had been. He reoffered his hand and this time added his name: Qosis. Trader. Dragon Candidate.
Knew it, she thought with lazy satisfaction when he revealed his trade. The man bounced back in no time, emphasizing his status as a Dragon Candidate as though it made him something special- something more than he really was. But the light was bright, and Nadya saw him in the starkest of details. Sliding one hand from behind her head, she reached over and placed it lightly in his. Her hands were thin, white, and smooth compared to his bigger, rougher, working ones. Laying both her eyes on his from beneath the rim of the hat, she finally spoke. ”Nayda,” she introduced herself leisurely, but gave him nothing more. She aimed for mystery and was enjoying their little game of cat and mouse. She wanted him to bite and want to know more. She wanted him to want her. ”And they didn’t make me cut it, the weyrfolk,” she continued. ”I did it myself, and have done so for a long time. Why don’t you wear your hair long, Trader? It’s much more convenient to take care of this way, don’t you think? she drawled. Her words were unaggressive, but her eyes challenged him to disagree with her logic.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Mar 12, 2011 14:58:47 GMT -5
Qosis' hand tightened around hers, strength just shy of discomfort. He had swallowed many a feminine finger in his own grip when marketing his wares across the sea. Back then, it had been customary to meet standing, and to kiss the back of the granted flesh. Nadya's hand was at the wrong angle to perform the same without looking oafish, and besides, it would spoil too much to lay his lips on her already! He kept her eyes with his more steadily now. He had taken that earlier discord and settled it privately, and expected no more incongruities of such magnitude. His hand unleashed hers from its net and he stroked his own hair with newly unoccupied fingers.
"My father would call this overly lengthy already," he said, making a chopping motion at the long strands before letting his hand back down to the warm stone beneath him. "Even if he wears his the same way." The trader's lips coiled with what he could only hope was contagious amusement, then with a stroke of inspiration brushed his well-clipped beard, too. "Not so much here, though. He does not appreciate being called 'Pepper.'" His smile sharpened; he was never beyond a few jokes at the expense of old Rebalt. "I suppose the benefits of shortness have never been a concern to me," the trader posed, restraining a chuckle that would announce the pun.
Or puns. He did watch her carefully to see which way she might take it. It kept coming back to him that Nadya freely met his eyes. She did not even blush. "Only women must make the choice between short and long. Though there are some rogues, back in the North..." And he tipped his head pointedly eastward, the actual direction of the Northern Continent. The Western Continent was just as high up the planet's surface as the Northern, but did not have to share the chilly impression of that name. "...who will grow it long, then tie it out behind and say it is somehow stylish. I heard tell of one such man: he was a runner. He fell off his horse, and he would have been alright save that his excessive hair caught in the stirrup, and he was dragged under his own beast."
Of course this all did nothing but support Nadya's point. "I suppose practicality is the greater virtue in a Weyr," Qosis allowed as a conclusion. He sat back from her, making a feint at disinterest. Nadya had made due with testing-- how did she handle an absence of spotlight?
Yet his eyes wandered from the chosen random point, automatically up the stream, to the eastern Weyr wall. The bottom level was perforated with openings, one of which tunneled into the wherhandlers' quarters. He had snuck many an uncertain glance there before, at dusk, and gone unrewarded. Whers always passed quiet and sleek into the night, beyond the furtive peering of a mere Candidate. Dragons really were their brassy antithesis, and a man could not take two steps across the Bowl without hearing the day watch rumbling. He wondered if Nadya did not have a nice Green tucked away in the twilight, and his attention went back to her at the thought.
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
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Post by Kila on Mar 16, 2011 18:28:29 GMT -5
Nadya liked the way his hand swallowed hers up. He squeezed like he meant it, which threatened to bring back that grin. She liked a man who didn’t think she was something that could be easily broken. A kiss on the hand would have been nice, but she had other ideas of where she wanted him lips. She could wait.
The Handler allowed the inevitable smile to appear as the words that Qosis said only supported her point. He was a long-winded one, that was for sure, but she supposed it was all a part of him trying to be friendly. Though she had little interest in puns or his father’s beard, she listened and chuckled where appropriate. ”It is quite handy in a Weyr, yes,” she reiterated, repeating her original statement and summing up all of Qosis’ last one. ”I do love long hair on others, though,” she said slyly. ”It gives you something to grab, or at least run your fingers through.” She left that statement for him to think of it what he would.
When the Candidate looked away, Nadya allowed her eyes to roam over him, unperturbed by the lull in conversation. Yes, he was a good-looking man- a little too flashy for her taste, perhaps, but Weyr life would tone him down some. Besides, clothes weren’t a worry if they were on the floor. She smirked at the thought and lay back against the rock again, closing her eyes. She did not see his eyes and attention return. ”So, Mr. Candidate, don’t you have chores to do? Last I heard they kept your lot busy here. Done, perhaps? Or did you duck out?” She laughed softly. ”Have you nothing to do with your day?”
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Mar 16, 2011 21:56:26 GMT -5
It can't have grown that long, the trader wondered to himself. But it was nice to think of Nadya grabbing what was there. Maybe in desperation, a last-second plea for everything he had to give her.
"Qosis," he amended automatically, sternly, when she dared to call him by another name. "Do not forget it." The haughty bluster in his words was reinforced by how he sat up straight, every inch grave with insistence. There was no anger in him, as noted by the instant changeover in his tone as he continued: "'My lot' is mostly children. I do not have to stand by what restrictions are in place to protect the rest of them." His smile was narrow, but his teeth still flashed into it. "Unless you are going to run off and tell on me, Lady Nadya." Her name, with its trappings, just so she knew that he never forgot such things either.
Then he waved his hand, dismissing the notion that he was here out-of-turn. "Sometimes they give us days that resemble freedom," he explained. "And I have found something to do." Qosis could have asked similar questions of a wherhandler out and about in the daylight. He had never abided by too nocturnal a time for the sake of his own, but as he understood it the handlers here operated under audacious formality, including a schedule that matched human to watcher.
But he did not inquire of the high noon's hospitality yet. "I think I can turn over all the candlemarks till dusk with this thing too. You need not worry. To some degree, it involves negotiations, which I happen to be very good at. And the rest is physical effort...which I am also very good at." He appraised his own shape and brought up his shoulders. He did not require her agreement to know the truth. Qosis drew his legs in and stood, gaining height above her till he was a tower against the sun, his head blocking what the gifted hat did not, and his face shadowed in contrast. "Was that coy enough?" he snorted, then bent down to offer out his hand again.
This time he would pull her onto her feet with it-- a position soon remedied. "Come," Qosis ordered, investigating the handler's resistance to handling. "...my room has none other in it, but there are well-meaning guards everywhere. Nevermind the brats." He was thinking aloud, excited as he voiced the challenge. "I have never seen a flit flinch away from a wher, so no doubt there's a few staked in the corridors to your quarters too. They talk endlessly. They'll tell. Seems there are always empty rooms in the lower caverns though." That was all for the sake of his own hide. He thought a moment on what might appeal to Nadya about the location. And he had to grin: "It's darker there."
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
kilact[M:217]
Let's move to a cloud so we're never under the weather
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Post by Kila on Mar 17, 2011 14:57:46 GMT -5
Nadya opened her eyes again when Qosis corrected her. Her speech might tire him if he stuck around, for Nadya loved nicknames and used them wherever she saw fit- which was at almost every opportunity. He sat up straight and asserted himself, addressing her and telling her exactly what he thought. Qosis was stubborn- that much she could tell easily. It was only a matter of time until they butted heads, for she was just as stubborn in her own way, but for now his forwardness and blasé attitude were attractive.
”The Weyrleaders wouldn’t agree with your opinions about the rules,” she drawled, tipping the hat even further down over her eyes. ”The Weyrlingmasters and Candidatemasters, I’ve heard, are for the most part quite incapable and disliked, but those are only the rumors that have floated down into the Lower Caverns. The Weyrleaders seem to have their heads about them. Dalibor seems to be the punching bag of Pern, but we’re still here.” She peeked out at him from under that and gave him a devilish smile. ”I might just run and tell the bosses yet, kiddo. Depends on how nice you are to me.”
And it seemed like Qosis planned to be very nice indeed. His “coy” description of what he wanted to do with his free time and the lovely little thing he’d found sounded just fine to Nadya. The smile on her face stuck around, spurred on by the suggestions in his words. ”It was coy,” she agreed with a purr, ”Until you asked.” She admired his body as he flexed his shoulders and stood up, towering over her and blocking the sun far better than his hat had been. When he reached out to her, his invitation was more like a command. It was forceful- she liked it. She wasn’t sure if he thought she was a passive, delicate woman to be pulled around or dominated, but she would let him think that for now if he wanted. Normally it was she who was the aggressive one, making the moves, but it was not to say that she lacked the grace and beauty of her sex. It would be a nice change; and if that’s what she wanted she could certainly give it to him.
Giving him her hand, she allowed herself to be pulled up, throwing her long legs gracefully over the edge of the rock and sliding off so she stood right in front of him, their bodies painfully close to touching. ”I do like the dark,” she said, her voice low and sultry and her face only a breath away from his. ”All this sunlight is not to my taste anymore. I was hoping it would tire me out, but I think we’ve both found something better for that.” She was more than ready for some Handling. ”I do think you’re right- there are far too many well-meaning wherries around here. I do know of some rooms in the Lower Caverns, big, dark, empty ones, that I could show you.” She swayed as if she was going to lean into him and close the small distance, but instead fell back, pulling him along with her in the direction from which he had come. ”Care to visit my world?” she asked with a glimmer in her eye as they headed towards the dark mouth of the tunnel.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Mar 18, 2011 11:16:46 GMT -5
The Candidate had nothing to say for the capability of Weyrleaders or Weyrlingmasters. There were neither compliments nor insults stewing in his throat, awaiting just such a moment. That had not been true just after the attack, when the mildest prompt unleashed his condemnation of Dalibor's leadership. But he had enjoyed a handful of days to chew on his righteousness, and found it swallowed back in favor of wary calculation. As for the Candidatemasters-- he had learned many useful things about dragons from his lessons thus far. Some of those things would have helped with Qosk. Nadya's take on them all was checked, shelved, but Qosis did not accept lone opinions in place of his own analysis.
"Dalibor suffers from youngest brother syndrome?" he floated as the tunnel entrance swung over their heads-- with several feet's clearance even beyond his own --and the din of the Bowl was sucked from their ears. It was replaced by the underland's own stony whisperings. So many lonely rooms for their purposes, and others'. So many corridors unchecked for candlemarks at a time. Perhaps entrances unknown, from the outside, feeding assassins into their Bowl, to kill their Weyrlings. The proprietary snarl in his own thoughts was not lost on Qosis, though the Candidate did not know what to make of it. It might have been the ghost of the wher, looking out of memory at him. Qosk had been highly possessive: my caravan, my traders, my firelizard, mine mine Mine.
He had left Nadya without elaboration, or attention, for several seconds. He looked at her Wherhandler's knot rather than her face and mouthed an apology, glad for dark places that did not reveal his occasional humility. "That will stop when Threadfall starts," he proposed, but his pitch tipped up at the end, questioning. Dalibor protected two holds, and was wrapped in seas that needed no guarding. Unless there was more to the Weyr's duty than he knew, Dalibor was not only the youngest Weyr but one of the smallest in terms of coverage during a Fall. There was not much to claim respect for against the other Weyrs. He really needed a proper map of the continent. His arm twisted behind Nadya's back, his hand covering her hip. There were still strangers to pass, any one of whom could report their potential conduct. But his grip on her played brazen consent to her offer, working the threat of mischievous eyes into a show of bravado.
Refocusing on Nadya brought a lazy smirk across his lips, as if he were mimicking her constant shows of dry amusement. A fork in the path ahead brought his gaze to the ceiling: the left tunnel wound back into the Bowl and was lined with glows, the right tunnel suffered with shadows and borrowed light. Using his grip on the Handler as a tiller, he nudged her toward the darker hall. Just as they left, a pack of children screamed through the main corridor, missing them by inches and fragmenting the glow-light with their wiry silhouettes. "Oh look, the future," Qosis announced drolly, tightening his hold on the woman at his side.
And yet he only released her moments later, when he was sure their sounds were no longer being transmitted back to the main corridor. Her world was a literal touch-and-go: after he let her free, he could feel only the suggestion of her, and of all Dalibor. His feet were connected to the stone, a sole truth in the dark land. Her breathing he heard. Her breathing, but his own heartbeat. When he peeled off his shirt the sigh of an open room somewhere to the left breathed across his chest. They would get there eventually.
He oriented on his vague impression of Nadya and advanced till he was upon her, then kept pushing with the intent of pinning her to the wall. And his hands looked for hers, not to hold but to hold back, restrained to the rock so that he could claim the overtures.
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
kilact[M:217]
Let's move to a cloud so we're never under the weather
Posts: 1,574
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Post by Kila on Mar 27, 2011 14:58:54 GMT -5
Nadya allowed herself to be guided through the tunnels, though she knew them well. It was entertaining to be ferried around. They slipped into the darker tunnel at a fork in the path just in time to dodge a large group of brats, their screeches breaking the beautiful silence of her home. It was good to keep secrets from children- children always talked. Nadya did not care for children. She was, however, quite fond of secrets. Qosis’ droll remark brought a smile of genuine amusement to her face; it was too bad he couldn’t see it in the dark. It was the wittiest thing he had said since he’d arrived, though he’d made many attempts since then. It was exactly her kind of humor and it turned her on.
As soon as he took his hand from her waist, his hat was on the floor and her loose shirt was over her head, floating down to join his own discarded one. She couldn’t see him but she could sense him. When you were as accustomed to the dark as she, you developed a sort of sixth sense. She could hear his breathing, the sound of his shirt sliding over his skin and hitting the ground, and the steps he took toward her. She could read them, and trusted her more frequently used senses than the one she only used on occasion.
Sliding backwards so that her back was against the wall, Nadya reached her hands forward so that her fingers touch his. She let him swallow her hands again and pin her against the wall. She smiled as her blood began to pound; she loved this. The feel of his body pressing up against hers, the inevitable follow through of his push forward, made her body tingle. He was strong, muscled, and hard- so much unlike what she was used to. Inclining her head forward, her lips found his and she kissed him hungrily. Sliding her hands from his, she ran them down his arm and to his shoulders, feeling the taunt muscles with appreciation, and then down his chest. Hooking her fingers in the front of his pants, she pulled him even closer to her, curving her body to match his.
She knew there was an empty room nearby. Her hands would not stay in place long, and neither would the two of them.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on Mar 27, 2011 21:04:40 GMT -5
His occupied mouth still found room to smile when Nadya stole her hands free of his, and sent her fingers playing down his skin. It was just the right level of attention, marred only by his surprise when she took initiative to drag him into a forceful lock with her. That momentary confusion ebbed as soon as she made a sinuous curve of her flesh to accommodate him, and he pushed against that welcoming flexibility to test its gentle extent. A few minutes later he sighed against her skin, "Woman," as if she were the first one he had ever met and he was only now discovering the traits that differed between them.
After that he was quiet-- well, wordless, save the occasional brief command. One excursion had already been exhausted by the time he seized Nadya's arm and hauled her into the proper hideaway, striding through the dark till he stubbed his toe on the first interruption of furniture. By the time evening dawned, he knew every chair and shelf and dip-in-the-stone crowding the room, all by touch. At one point he had smacked head-first into a glowbasket. It might have been the Wherhandler's will taking at his wrist like a restraining hand, but he did not tweak the glow on even for the sake of various body parts endangered by his blindness. The resulting maneuvers were near artistry, unrestricted by what an eye might find impossible.
Nadya too he could recognize in any pitch of night. That hair he had questioned and nearly taunted had become a favored handhold, because it was virtually the same as cupping her head, and no danger of pulling apart long and fragile curls of femininity. Just now he was loosing his fingers, and seconds later running them to the small of her back before he allowed her to turn over. Then he was down on her again, this time only for a kiss, even if he was too breathless to hold it for long. There was a knot of pride glowing around his heart at the notion that the cavern was warmer now than when they had entered it.
His thoughts turned to the shining dragon he had witnessed before joining the Handler in the dark. In fact the glow of her filled his eyes where they had nothing real to see. Had that been the truth of it, a Flight outside and in? No...it had to be more inspiration than acquiescence. That green had not been setting off yet. And he knew what he had been doing. His imagination continued on its own track separate from all logic, envisioning Nadya's lazy smirk at tricking a dopey Candidate into entertaining her. Not how it happened, he insisted against the daydream. Just because Nadya felt oddly feisty at times-- it meant nothing. Besides, A green made me do it sounded like an excuse so old it had become a saying.
"Now is when you should be waking up," Qosis said with a touch of false reproach. There was no external reference for what he stated as a fact. But two Turns gone, despite never sharing the schedule, he still had the appropriate twitch of timing. He sat back, panting still, but got onto his feet from there and began feeling around for his clothing. He did not quite remember that most of it had been abandoned in the hall. "You need me again, you can go to the barracks," he noted, sans any courtesy for her rank. "I don't think you should go walking into my room or anything, but you can check the schedule to see where I am. They always post it where everybody can see it."
His forehead tapped the very same glow again, but with a mulish grunt he refused to knock it open. So much for being a man of the night. "They expect those chores they give us to last right up to dinner, but I find myself consistently more efficient than predicted." He ran one of his hands over its counterpart, and cracked his knuckles before shaking some of the soreness from his arm. "And there are a lot more Restdays between now and Hatching."
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
kilact[M:217]
Let's move to a cloud so we're never under the weather
Posts: 1,574
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Post by Kila on Mar 29, 2011 17:02:44 GMT -5
For the first time in quite a while, Nadya enjoyed the day. Though it was passed indoors, far away from the actual light for which she had so much disdain, her inner clock was not fooled. In the abandoned little room she stretched herself every which way, letting her newfound “friend” do with her as he pleased. They explored in the darkness until they were well-acquainted with the room and with each other. Very few words passed between them, true, but there was no need for them. Nadya liked silence.
When Qosis departed, he did so suddenly. Pulling back he uttered the obvious before casting about for his clothing. He was not polite, but he was not rude. He treated the whole thing more as business rather than fun, but Nadya was unabashed; she had gotten what she wanted. Besides, she preferred a short end to a long, drawn-out one. Though she was glad he seemed to have developed no attachment to her, it was nice, however starkly as it was put, that he left room for more.
She sat up, running a hand through her hair, which had been put to good use after all. ”You know, those Rest Days might not be all that restful,” she said. Getting up, she crept across the bare floor towards him and the door. Brushing up against him one last time, she nipped the tip of his nose playfully and slipped out, leaning over to grab her shirt in the tunnel before disappearing into the darkness. Nadysk was awake and worried, waiting for her anxiously in the room, she could tell. I’m coming, my love, she assured him. How do you feel about a nap?
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