Dangerously Inconspicuous

Instructors

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 18:52:20 GMT

Three instructors encounter each other in the halls and discuss the students and aim of the Caucus. (Sieren, Anwyn, Kadily)
IC Date: Day 21, Month 7, Turn 6
OOC Date: 4-8-08
Note: I left this scene early and don't know if there was more after Kadily left. Pester Sieren or Anwyn if you're curious.

The midday rush between classes has slowed to a mere trickle of nearly late students and those with a break period. At a time like this, the officer to student ratio increases, and the snippets of conversation in the air are as much about the creation of lessons as the completing of them. Kadily is one of the instructors to be caught in the hall just now, lingering over pleasantries exchanged with one of her more ambitious (or brownnosing) students. She offers her graceful goodbye soon and slides on her way, eyes skimming over the faces she passes.

Sieren exits his classroom and pulls the door shut behind him, apparently having lingered long with the student who scampers out past him and down the hall to his next class with that look of 'late'. The Law instructor's gaze slides on down the hall and comes to rest on Kadily and he rearranges his armload of hides and starts in that direction, perhaps seeking to catch up with his former teacher.

The raised voice behind the nearby door is not that of Anwyn, though it /is/ from her class. Said door opens and the goldrider can be seen in the doorway, eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she finally allows the student - one of the Blood reluctant to be present at all - that she's kept behind for a few words of warning to escape. The student storms through the hall with her head down, whilst Anwyn steps out of the classroom to observe her progress, with a barely audible sigh and a purely mental shake of her head. Upon spotting Kadily and Sieren, she doesn't make to present herself, but remains where she is out of some form of politeness.

The glimpse of her fellow etiquette teacher in that classroom is what causes Kadily to pause, just across the hall, but it's Sieren who will catch up to her first and gain her attention. "Sieren," the name is wrapped up in the tone of glad greeting, as is her smile. "How are you?" Another glance into the classroom and at Anwyn causes her eyebrow to lift slightly, just enough to let him know she's noticed his proximity to the woman. "Ready to relax after class?"

"Master Kadily," Sieren greets the elder harper politely and inclines his head slightly. "I'm well thank you, and yourself?" His own expression reflects a similar warmth to hers. The glance towards Anwyn though lifts his brows and a perhaps automatic movement swings his head that way. "Anwyn, good day," he greets the other etiquette instructor with equal politeness and a fainter trace of warmth, though it is present for anyone paying close attention. The storming student earns a quizzical look and a return of his gaze to Rosalith's rider.

Perhaps driven to provide some explanation for her student's behaviour, Anwyn steps from the classroom doorway and shuts the door quietly behind her. A few paces away and she bobs her head, her greeting to follow. "Good afternoon, Master Kadily, Sieren." She pauses just shy of the two, glancing around them to ensure the student has left before continuing with, "My apologies for my student. She does not take well to the Caucus and it would seem she takes less well to her lessons and myself." She seems less than impressed, though it's unclear whether it's the student's behaviour or her current inability to tame her that irritates.

"I'm well," Kadily answers before letting Sieren's next greeting redirect her attention and her smile. An inclined nod and a murmured "Anwyn," to join Sieren's. "There's one in every class," she responds, her voice conveying her perfect indifference to the student's outburst. "More than one, it seems, in mine."

"I'm very pleased to hear that," Sieren murmurs and a look of sympathy crosses his face at Anwyn's words and the confirmation from Kadily. "More than one overall it would seem. Do you both find that the problems arise most with the ... Blooded students? The Crafters all seem to be very accustomed to this sort of course of study and seem to take it very seriously." Funny. He didn't mention riders at all.

"A comfort to know, if comfort is the word I'm searching for," Anwyn replies to Kadily's remark on the students, with another bob of her head. A wry smile fades into a frown as she mulls Sieren's question over. "I..." she begins, though she hesitates and carries on as if thinking aloud. "I admit to having encountered a great deal of trouble with the Blood. Though I find most problems present themselves when attempting to encourage, for example, Blood and rider to work together. Then the divide presents itself." She twitches her shoulders, conveying it could very well be just her experience.

"Of course it's the Blooded," Kadily replies to Sieren's supposition a coreographed wave of her hand communicating the ease with which she can make that statement. "Spoiled younglings used to having their every word heeded," she waxes, with an edge of humor twitching at the corner of her lips; the reason for it reveals itself as she turns to Sieren and adds a soft, "No offense, dear." Returning to Anwyn's point quickly, she comments, "Well, yes. There are some rifts that are beyond our fixing."

Sieren smirks a little at Kadily's aside. "I hope you've found me to have well grown out of that mode, Master?" An answering spark of humor in the journeyman's eyes. His expression becomes more serious again though as he nods agreement with the other two. "It's the same for me. The Blood want nothing to do with anyone else, come hell or high water and they're the ones who resist the homework the most as well. Most of the riders seem to understand the need, but some ..." he trails off and makes a helpless little gesture with one hand. "Let's just say that perhaps that rift is going to take a lot more than months or even a few turns to help overcome."

Anwyn seems unable to stop the smirk that claims her features following Kadily's softer words and glances down at the floor to compose herself. When she looks back up, she's straight back to business. "I admit the rift is not only the fault of the Blood. The riders have the tendency to see them as we appear to. Riders /have/ to work, almost constantly, simply because they cannot think only of themselves, but their dragon too. They're put through their paces at a very young age, on occasion." She exhales slowly and shakes her head. "It may be something we have to make our peace with being unable to fix. I would settle for merely a show of politeness on all sides, however false, for now."

Kadily nods, once only, in agreement with Sieren. "I think everyone's agreed that those that created the Caucus in the first place underestimated that rift. Case in point, High Reaches Weyr." She waves off that topic (and the possibility of another rift the creators failed to take into account) quickly. Her smile sparkles at Anwyn as she states what she would settle for. "That seems to fall under our job description, doesn't it?"

Sieren makes a little face at mention of the first caucus, studiously bringing his hides up to casually flip the top few. "I'm not prepared to give up yet, though I've made my peace with the idea that this sort of thing takes a lot more time than some would probably prefer. Even if the message is largely ignored while they're here, who's to say if at some point in the future, something doesn't resonate a little with some of these young people and they'll remember the rider's or the crafter's or the holder's perspective and choose to do things differently than they always have." His eyes lift to flick between the other two and rest longer on Anwyn than the Master. "I think I'll consider the Caucus a success if that's all it, and we, ever achieve."

Anwyn manages to keep her features mostly in an even expression, though the slight narrowing of her eyes betrays her considering Sieren's words before a smile captures her lips as she responds to Kadily with a curt nod of agreement. "It would seem so, indeed. I would rather release classes of thoughtful, honest, actors, but if acting alone can stop a future brawl, then I will accept it as being some way to a win." She glances at Sieren, smile still in place. "We should not give up, I agree, simply find new ways in which to 'attack', as it were."

Kadily stands in silence a moment, letting Anwyn deliver her reply before offering one of her own, a decisive, "I won't." She explains more, but not before letting that simple statement sink in. "They may see the other perspective, but will they act in consideration of it? How often?" Her tone takes on a teacher's tint, one Sieren may recognize from his experience as her once-student, a tone that signifies she's imposing her opinion whether they like it or not. "If we're really grasping for some tentative, elusive future effect, I would say we are at least close to failure. Well," the syllable is an almost musical departure from her heavy tone of before, and her smile springs to new life. "Too much seriousness before lunch will ruin my digestion. If you'll excuse me." Her hand give her well-dressed stomach a gentle pat. "I'll leave you two a moment alone," she adds as she begins her departure, polite nods given to each; Sieren may notice his is paired with a faint haze of disapproval in her gaze, however. "Enjoy your days." And then she's moving on, continuing on the path down the hall that she was on before encountering the pair.

Two goldriders and a greenrider walk into the Great Hall...

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 00:29:18 GMT

When a storm pushes everyone inside, a few women make each other's aquaintances. (Anwyn, Oden, Issa)
IC Date: Day 2, Month 5, Turn 6
OOC Date: 3-2-08

An especially loud clap of thunder fills the Great Hall with a sudden murmur and a few isolated choruses of surprised girlish shrieks. Several young men are lending a hand and rushing from window to window to pull closed the shutters against the rain that's blown in so suddenly, causing everyone who was recently outside and everyone who planned to be outside in the near future huddling into the Great Hall. Issa must have been one of the former set, because she stands nearer to the door, creating her own little puddle from the drops that fall from the bottom of her jacket, her hair. She stands with her arms crossed to one side of the entrance, idly watching the storm come down through the hold doors, which still stand open to admit drenched latecomers.

Oden appears to be one of the former, mentioned. With half a roll in one hand, and an unrolled scroll in the other, she was heading for the door when the loud clap of thunder and shrieking girls breaks her concentration. Looking up, she casts a curious look about the place. Issa is spotted, and given a once-over, and then a raised eyebrow. "You're all wet."

Anwyn is standing a few paces away from the door, dragging a shawl from her shoulders whilst water steadily drips from her long hair. She looks most unimpressed and seems almost frozen in place, as if silently demanding to know how the storm /dared/ to soak her. Her stern glare vanishes when a shiver races through her and she holds the shawl before her, wondering what to do with the saturated fabric.

Issa seems unphased by the wetness that Oden comments on, but when she does comment on it the greenrider turns to favor the girl with a friendly smile and a surveying gaze. "I am," she responds with a touch of humor in her voice. "And you're Telgar's goldrider," she adds with the same sort of bland observation, even mimicing Oden's lifted eyebrow. Her eyes drift forward again, taking note of the flash of lightning before her attention again swings away, to Anwyn this time. Standing nearby, she must have noticed the older goldrider before, but this is the first time she makes a comment to the stony woman. "It ruined?" she simply asks, nodding gently at the shawl as a gentler rumble of thunder sounds overhead.

Oden frowns, apparently not seeing the humor in being mimiced. "I am," she responds, nodding her head. She's distracted, then, by Issa's comment to Anwyn, and seems surprised to find the other goldrider there. "Oh," she says, smiling politely, "What a pitty, if it is ruined." She takes a bite of the roll she's got, if only to get it out of the way so that she can roll and stash her scroll.

Between the cold, wet and just how pathetic she must look peering at a soaked-through length of fabric, Anwyn is suddenly overcome by the urge to laugh at the ridiculous nature of it all. All that trickles through to her features, however, is a ghost of a smile and a quirk of her lips. Her head tilts, her arms fall - leaving the shawl to drag on the ground - and she glances between Issa and Oden. "I...would say so, yes. Still, worth trying to salvage it, maybe." She sighs. "I'd say I appreciate storms, but I could do without the rain."

"I'd think the farmers here would say the exact opposite," Issa speculates, looking around as if to pick those particular crafters out of the crowd, but she gives up before any of them can be identified. Her eyes drop to the shawl instead. "Well," she continues, "you could always commission one of your students to make a replacement." So she knows that Anwyn is an instructor at least. With a slight increase to her smile, she adds, "Or you could just wait for the next trader to come down the river, if you want a good one." The insult to the Caucus' weavers seems to be all in good fun, for she smiles at the only student in their little group, including Oden in the joke about her peers.

Oden shakes her head gently. "I don't like the rain, either." She takes a curious look outside, and shivers. "Cold and wet," she decides to herself. She titters girlishly at Issa's insult, more than it might have warented, and nods. "Could always send one of the dragonriders for it, too," she notes, glancing fleetingly towards Issa. "When they're not flying 'fall, of course. I'm sure they've got time." She's obviously not including herself in this offer.

"I think I'd rather..." Not /need/ something from one of her students? Associate with them too closely? Trouble anyone by asking for something? Anwyn doesn't know. "...Find a trader with reasonable prices," she finishes, the pause barely noticable. "Anwyn, Rosalith's," she states, more to be polite than to get introductions out of the way. She tries to drag strands of wet hair away from her face and over her shoulders, failing spectacularly. She's looking like less of an Instructor and less of a goldrider every second.

Issa catches Oden's glance and gives her a longer look in return, not bothering to respond to that little comment about riders' free time. Instead she moves on to Anwyn, watching the etiquette instructor's organizing adjustments with a slight slant to her smile. "I'd heard," Issa responds, instead of offering the appropriate response of names, hers and her dragon's. "How is Rosalith?" And, as almost a second thought, she adds, "And Veranth of course," freeing one of her hands to give Oden a slight wave to indicate that she should reply to the same question.

Oden's smile is sweet, but empty, and she doesn't seem to understand the insult she'd just given. "Oh, she's fine," replies the Telgari, cheerfully, "Enjoys the rain, actually. Never could understand that." She giggles again, and studies Anwyn for a moment, head tilted to the side. She's quizical looking, as if trying to place name and face. "Oh! You're the ettiquete teacher!" duh.

Anwyn doesn't seem disturbed by the lack of introductions - a good ten turns of fielding so called fellow 'diplomats' at Fort will do that to a person - and so bobs her head without even a trace of distaste or concern. She tilts her head to meet Oden's gaze properly and confirms, "Yes, I am. And you are Veranth's....?" An attempt to extract a name. There's as good a smile as anyone's going to get, trying to put the younger woman at ease, before Anwyn replies to Issa. This time the pause is noticable and there's a different, almost glazed, quality to her eyes. "She fares well in this environment, thank you. Better, even, than the weyr, maybe."

"That's good to hear," Issa comments sincerely before turning to Oden to await her answer to the instructor. As for herself, she doesn't offer an introduction just yet; she hasn't been prompted for hers, after all.

"Oden," replies the goldrider of that name, promptly and with a bright smile. "Of Telgar." Right. With another look towards Issa, Oden squares her shoulders and heads for the door, "And speaking of my 'mate, she's waiting for me now. Good day then!" With little more than a shudder at the rain, Oden rounds her back and makes her way out into the storm.

Anwyn nods. "Good day," she calls after Oden, grimacing at the rain that's flung back into the Hall with the opening of the door. Instinctive reaction, perhaps, considering her clothes couldn't exactly get any wetter. Trying to hold drenched skirts out of her path, she picks her way across the room to find a seat near where Issa stands. "I apologise, I don't believe we've met before now and I'm at a loss as to your name..." the Instructor admits.

And there's the prompt. Issa's smile slides up a bit higher at one corner before she responds to it. "We haven't really. Issa, Oshisyth's rider," she offers, wandering to put herself a step closer and at a better angle to Anwyn's chosen seat. The name isn't one mentioned at every turn by any means, but the goldrider may have heard it associated with one of her peers'; she's the greenrider attached to the math instructor, Reyce. "I've only been told your name. Because I am an insanely curious and nosy woman," she adds, her lips quirking along with the humor in her voice.

There's a smirk and a bark of laughter from Anwyn. She appreciates those who know themselves and aren't afraid to declare themselves as anything else. For all that she instructs her students to act, she'd take the truth any day. Sharding politics, social or otherwise. "Pleased to meet you, Issa," she says. "There isn't much to tell about me, I'm afraid. My stating that Kalinda is unfortunately misguided, for all my trying to assist her, and one look at Rosalith's pinions will reveal all." She tilts her head again. "As for yourself, I can say that I have met Reyce and discussed teaching with him, but little else."

Issa listens attentively, with the same interested expression she may instruct her students to assume on a first meeting, but with the addition of that curiously curled smile. "That's one conversation more than most," she tells the goldrider in regards to Reyce, as she casts a glance at the door, through which some people are beginning to brave the quieted storm. "Kalinda too soft for your tastes?" she asks, turning her gaze back to Anwyn again.

The smirk still half-formed on her features, Anwyn replies, "I did sense that Reyce was somewhat...reluctant to reveal any great hidden truths," she muses aloud. She maintains eye-contact with the greenrider, which is more honest attention that a great deal of people muster from her. Company or subject, she's rather focused. "Kalinda...is naive. She believes things will blow over and that everyone will always defer to Fort, simply because of the weyr's historical standing. I find her attitude an unwise one to have adopted." Her voice is low and she shakes her head, as if frustrated.

Issa nods faintly along with Anwyn's assertions, then replies with a soft, "Especially now." But after her gaze lingers on Anwyn a moment longer, she looks toward the door again and the patter of raindrops that can be seen beyond it. "I think it's letting up a bit," she comments, much lighter and more mundane than the subject they had been dipping into. "I think I'm going to try my luck with it. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon," she assures the goldrider, and though she's already begun to meander in the direction of the entrance, she hangs back for Anwyn's response.

Anwyn agrees, her eyes intense. "Especially now," she echoes. She follows Issa's gaze and nods. "Good luck," she states, lips curving upwards. "Rather you than me. I think I'll hang back and see if it improves any more." She stands, to be polite. "Yes, hopefully we can catch up soon." The goldrider bobs her head and awaits Issa's dash into the rain with a hint of grim anticipation. Damned weather.

Hidden Meaning

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 05:19:44 GMT

Issa comes across Amerigo in the orchards one evening and then they come across Windyl. Windyl subtly offends, while the other two proceed to subtly make fun of her.
IC Date: Day 2, Month 4, Turn 6
OOC Date: 2-17-08

So many people have been taking advantage of the pleasant change the weather's taken in the past few days, many of them students avoiding the less attractive option of doing schoolwork indoors. The orchards, pretty as it is in the evening light, are a popular option, too; the trees give the illusion of isolation once you step off of the main path, even though you are never very far from the other wanderers. Issa comes from the direction of the paddocks, her pace slowing as she reaches the outermost trees. She sticks to the dirt path that winds through the trees, eyes cast upward to peer at the darkening sky through the spindly branches.

Drawn out of her weyr for much the same reason as everyone else, Amerigo can be seen reaching up on her tippy toes and pulling one of the branches down towards her face. It has plenty of spring-time sprung to bend without hint of breaking. Probing fingers pluck ungently at the bumps, plucking one off and then letting the branch go with a swish. "Hm."

Hanging out in the orchards a bit later in the evening might be inviting people to speak. Especially when wandering off the path in the company of a young man. But, since Windyl would never do that it doesn't matter. When she wanders off the path it's entirely alone and even though she did that some time ago, well, she was alone. So, she clearly was not up to anything wrong. At all. Her hair may be a bit out of place when she does emerge on the path, but likely she was just snagged by a branch. Pesky branches will do that. Once on the path she picks a path at random to head down as if just out for a stroll like everyone else.

Issa's pace slows even further when she spots a student she knows up ahead, a friendly smile springing to her lips as Amerigo's tree branch springs away from her. Both hands go into the pockets of her riding jacket as she approaches and says, "Hello." Her walking comes to a stop, then, and after a short pause she continues. "There a botany-related project due soon, or are you just interested?" she asks, letting her gaze slide down to the tree bud in her hands. But then Windyl's entrance onto the path behind Amerigo's shoulder distracts her even further and the edges of her smile hitch a bit higher. "Everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves out here, at least," she comments jokingly before returning her to look at the goldrider.

"Just interested. Redfruit doesn't grow in my native climate," Amerigo says, head turning to regard the greenrider. The little bud rolls around in her palm as she tries to peel it open with her bitten-down nails. At Issa's last, she lifts her eyes from her palm to follow her eyeline to Windyl. "Heh." Amerigo flips some hair behind her ear and falls into step along side Issa as she uncurls a bright yellow-green leaf from its bud.

Not aware she's been spotted by anyone or what assumptions might be made Windyl stops a moment to brush a bit of dirt from the hem of her skirt. And they would all be assumptions because she would never be up to anything that is not proper and what a lady would do. When she makes note of people near by her steps change just a bit so she might intercept them. One hand slides into a pocket as she whistles. Nothing at all to see here that is not entirely innocent. Just out for a walk.

Issa begins to walk slowly on again as soon as Amerigo falls into step beside her. She nods faintly and considers Amerigo's comment for a moment, then replies, "Ah. I forget how odd it must have been to live in a desert." But though her conversation revolves around Amerigo, her gaze has drifted to the young holder girl who is casually angling towards them. After Amerigo has responded, she decides to initiate a greeting and says to Windyl, "Hello. Enjoying the evening?" The same phrasing used in her previous comment is an effect for Amerigo's benefit, clearly, as the greenrider glances sideways at her after she's asked the question.

Amerigo rolls her eyes beatifically towards the sky with an innocent smile on her face. Oh Issa. The gentle lilac color of the sky sure is captivating, or perhaps she's not comfortable showing Windyl her face at the moment. She straightens out her uncurled baby leaf by stroking it with her pinky finger as it starts to dry. "Good evening, Windyl," she says, tone bright, and then she looks over at Issa, mentally tisking at the greenrider.

"It's an evening," Windyl replies with a sunny smile as she nods to both riders. "It could be a lot worse and it could be a lot better. But, that is the way of most evenings. They tend to fall so short of what one expects them too." She pauses shortly to smile again. "Unless they do not." Since she is being so polite she follows up her comment with an inquiry of, "And you two? Enjoying yourselves?"

"Quite fully," Issa replies, seamlessly shifting into the more formal phrasing that Windyl seems to prefer, though the tone of her voice remains almost lazy. "How could I not, being in the company of two such important young women?" She breaks to glance at Amerigo once again, giving her a view of the broad grin her smile has grown into. "I'm Issa," she finally introduces herself to the new girl, watching Windyl's face with an attentive eye as she does so, "Oshisyth's rider."

Amerigo continues to be absorbed in her brand-new leaf for a moment, then locks eyes with Issa for a moment. Her eyes then flick to Windyl. "First leaf of spring?" She says, offering to pass the holder the thing that's been captivating her so much.

To Oshisyth> Zotzilath breaks in abruptly with a shower of flint sparks, << Mine says to yours, the kitchen boy. >>

Windyl's eyes drift towards the leaf and without a hesitation visible she takes it and then tucks it behind her ear. "It matches my skirt." Well, not exactly, but she is ever so polite. It also gives her a moment to try to place Issa's name, but when the visible glow over her head indicates she has there's a smile for the greenrider. "Oh, right! The one saddled with our math instructor. The best bet was that you were hunchbacked, you know. Although I told them that was silly since it was quite unlikely you'd have impressed." Even a green would be left unsaid because how rude would that be? "I think the second best bet was that you just had an odious personality, but again, that is silly. I mean, really, two of them together would never work."

Oshisyth pauses for only a moment, her mindtouch just a bare pressure, as she relates the information. Then she returns with a velvety dark giggle to add to the gold's sparks. <<She says she didn't think that would be her taste.>> A fleeting image of a vague-faced kitchen boy feeding the holder girl indulgent bonbons on the dirty ground flicks up and then away.

Amerigo squeaks back a giggle as Windyl takes her gift. Her laughing escapes her as she chips in, "Well, there's no accounting for taste," the words getting all skewed between heaves of her chest. Pesky oxygen needs. She coughs abruptly and tries to look a little less sarcastic or smug.

Issa listens to Windyl and watches her all the while, only her occasional, soft huffs of laughter a signal that she's heard what the woman is saying. She's about to reply, but Amerigo's chiming in gives her pause. On hearing it, she lets a single, free laugh come out before she checks it into a pressed-down smile. "That's true," she responds, the amusement leaking out of her voice. "You must have seen it before, Windyl? Sometimes the less-refined is a bit more appealing." Her shoulders give a short shrug as she casually tosses the idea out.

"I'm confused," Windyl says after a moment's consideration. She turns to look at Amerigo as if she expects her to explain. "Which of them is supposed to be the unrefined one?" Because it might be rude to speak of someone as if they are not there she looks back to Issa. "I mean, no offense at anything, but...Well, you must admit he hardly has the manners one would expect."

Amerigo folds her arms in front of her chest, "We're talking about Reyce," she asserts very quickly. Her eyes are fixed on Windyl.

Another single laugh escapes Issa for Windyl's comment and her smile doesn't fade in the slightest for it. She nods in agreement with Amerigo, but then asks, "Am I unrefined?" as if it were simply a matter of curiosity and clarification, turning first to the goldrider and then to Windyl with raised eyebrows. "I suppose if anyone would know it would be someone like you. But yes, relatively speaking at least, I was referring to Reyce."

Windyl's expression remains somewhat puzzled, but that's not going to stop her. Armed with a smile and a cheerful short laugh she shrugs her shoulders. "Oh, well. I wouldn't know. I mean, about you. One cannot trust rumors and gossip after all." Well, any of it that is not about Windyl is quite possibly believed, but she'll sound more sincere without making exceptions. "I am sure he must have some hidden charms. Or at least a decent income from more than just what he makes here." A quick glance is given to Amerigo as if to judge if she's said the right thing by the other woman's expression.

Amerigo looks over to Issa and shrugs a shoulder in response to the question. A moment of sober response. She turns her head to find Windyl looking at her. Her eyes widen in confusion for a moment and then she says, "Well, he /is/ a Lord Holder's bastard. They have so many of them, it's a bit proper." Right? She looks at Issa again, breaking her folded arms to smooth that hair behind her ear again.

"Oh, no," Issa corrects easily, letting her eyes wander to a pair of older students that are beginning to pass them on the path. "We mostly stand on our own now. He has charms," she assures them, her smile communicating her understanding of their inevitable disbelief. "They may be well-hidden, but they're there." She nods at Windyl then again, more subtly at Amerigo; she's told the goldrider as much before.

"Well, I suppose we should just be thankful. If he's this rude when he's getting sex I cannot imagine how horrid he'd be when he were not." Windyl smiles brightly at this declaration. "I don't think grandfather would approve at all if one of his sons showed up with a bastard. Just because some people...Well, grandfather would not do that sort of thing and neither would his children." Well, excepting Windyl's mother, but she was married before her child was born so it's all good.

Amerigo is also more willing to believe Issa, shrugging her shoulders -- lighter this time, then refolding her arms in front of her chest. At Windyl's response she smiles briefly, and then nods. "Oh sure. Of course. I wasn't talking about /your/ family, just the others. You know." It's all those other Lord Holder's she's talking about, nod nod.

Issa nods along with Amerigo, then adds, "Of course. I wouldn't presume to say that you or your family was of that sort at all." Assurances given, she glances at Amerigo and lets one corner of her smile slip higher than the other, just briefly, before looking forward at the ever nearing courtyard.

Assured that no one would make such comments about her family, or herself, Windyl smiles once more. "Well, I was just trying to be clear. I mean, Benden is quite unconcerned with such things, but Ista is not the same type of place at all." A soft clad toe connects with a small rock and it is kicked down the path in front of her. "Still, I suppose none of that matters. Ugh. I have a test in history I should be studying for. I don't see why I have to know stuff that happened ages ago. I really could not care at all about it."

Amerigo also spots the courtyard as Issa does, and sighs. The rapidly encroching night means that inside would probably be the most prudent destination. She stuffs her hands in her pockets in resignation. She attempts to cheer Windyl up, "If you get dinner quickly, I'll help you study? I'm getting good marks in that class." Believe it or not.

"Mmm," Issa hums noncommittally, "I really don't see why they bother you Caucus students with such trivial things." If there's any sarcasm in that comment it's hidden well behind a casual and inconsequential tone. For the continued talk of the class, she offers nothing more, just listens to the conversation with a tiny but friendly smile planted on her lips.

While Amerigo may not be the sort of study partner Windyl usually goes for, being female and all, she must not have any other plans. With a bright smile the Istan nods her head. "Oh! That would be wonderful! If we study in my room I have a bottle of rum my mother sent me we can share. Well, several, but since they're flavored we'd best stick to one." Drinking and studying, maybe that explains Windyl's poor grades across the board. Missing any hidden meaning or sarcasm Issa is given a cheery smile all her own. "Exactly. Practical stuff is dull enough."

Amerigo's face twists into a bit of shock. As if she's either never considered drinking during studying, or is perhaps, more afraid of what she just volunteered for. Gulp. "Yeah, hah, rum. That's..." She shakes her head slightly, "...great. It's absolutely how we should study." The goldrider looks back at Issa. Help?

The greenrider processes Amerigo's look for half a moment then says, "Well. You two have fun studying," and Issa smiles, letting another short, smiling pause fall. Then she adds to Amerigo specifically, "But don't stay too long. You promised me you'd fill me in on what's happening at the Weyr later today." Clearly no such promise was made, so she must have been simply providing an excuse for Amerigo's use; at any rate, she gives a subtle lift of one shoulder to dismiss any actual obligation.

"Right. G'mal told me something interesting," Amerigo smoothly continues off Issa's beat, and then nods to Windyl. "Just one drink and I'll help you memorize the important dates, then I have to meet with Issa again." Her hands unshrug and stuff into her pockets as they head for the indoors.

What spoilsports! Windyl just smiles and gives each woman a nod in turn. "That sounds horribly dull. I'm going to go get something to eat. Do you know where my room is, Amerigo? Just ask, it's not hard to find!" No comments, please. "Oh. I guess I better find my notes. I hope I have some still. Or at least my text book. I'll see you later! It was a pleasure meeting you, Issa!" A big wave and then she skips on ahead of the other two. Maybe she doesn't want to be seen with them? Or one of them.

Hardly Working

Sun, 03 Feb 2008 23:05:59 GMT

Issa sees Amerigo again, this time in the records room. She teaches her how a girl's supposed to get her way.
IC Date: Month 2, Turn 6
OOC Date: 1-29-08

It being a rest day for the students of the Caucus, the records room is less populated than usual, those slacking and those who've burnt out early avoiding the place as if the musty pages contained a new plague. So it's a different crowd that takes up the tables and chairs so shortly after dinner; there's a few students of course, but they hardly outnumber the instructors and officers. There's even a greenrider tonight, Issa, nestled into a chair all by her lonesome at a curve of the largest round table, contemplating the few hides stacked in front of her as she tickles her chin with the soft end of an ink-dipped quill.

Amerigo enters the room with a small shoulder bag, and very quickly finds a place across table from the greenrider. She places the bag on the table and takes out quill and glass ink bottle, which she ever so gently shakes to re-mix. Then she places the bag down by her feet. She reaches out to take the stopper out of the bottle, but stops mid-motion to look around the room speculatively. Hm. That's a different crowd than usual.

Issa looks up to catch sight of her new tablemate, pale blue eyes flicking up, down, then back again as recognition of the woman across from her sinks in. A smile slowly stretches into being as she idly watches, her hands folding the hides in front of her along just one of the well-worn creases that cross them. "Junior Igen," she greets, as if it were the goldrider's name, when Amerigo's eyes skip back to find her.

"Greenrider," Amerigo says, looking up at Issa briefly before looking down at the table. "Good evening." Oh hum, she forgot the hide. She puts the ink bottle down and leans down to rustles through her rucksack and take a few sheets out. She smooths them out with the palm of her hands against the table, then uncorks her ink. Her quill makes light tapping noises against the glass as she fills it.

Issa's curious gaze perseveres in watching Amerigo as she goes about rustling through her sack, an attention that borders on being rude. But she's stopped writing on her own hide, so she has nothing else to do, really, it can't be helped. Her manners do stretch far enough to cause her to return an amiable, "Evening." A few more beats fall, during which she glances away to the shelves, the other occupants, only once or twice. "Doesn't seem like a very fun way to spend your free day," she comments.

Amerigo flips a strand of black hair behind her ear. "It's almost over now, isn't it? I'm getting a start on tomorrow." She takes her quill out of the ink bottle, taps off the last stray drop and then begins to write on her hide. She's a lefty, and her hand is fairly crabbed, which doesn't bode well for upside-down reading. After she finishes her first line, she looks back over to Issa and asks, "And what are you writing?"

Issa has little interest in spying on the supposed schoolwork; she spares a single look for the crabbed hand that writes it out, then returns to watching Amerigo's face. "A letter," she responds casually, shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug as her hands blindly re-crease the hides fully. The little square it turns into is given a little wave as she adds, "Hardly more interesting, I'm sure, than..." She gestures at Amerigo's writing; whatever class that's for.

Amerigo mms an agreement to that, but her eyes follow the letter in its wave before returning to her hide. She's mildly interested, enough to break her line of thought for a moment, but she picks it back up after a moment. The goldrider re-wets her quill and does a second line, then a third. Bless the teacher who has to decipher it later. "Do you have the Threadfall schedule?" She asks.

"Not on me," Issa replies. "I'd like to say I have it all up here," and she gives her temple a slight tap with the corner of her folded letter, "but I'm getting old." Her smile twists up at one corner, a self-deprecating little twitch that she doesn't linger over. "I seem to remember at least a couple of sevens before we fly, though. What do you need it for?" she asks, relaxing back into the curve of her chair easily.

"Like I said, I like to get a head start on things." Amerigo says, sounding a touch disappointed. The goldrider looks over at her and then shrugs. If she doesn't have it, she doesn't have it. She scrawls out another line and then continues: "Do you know where I could get it? I'd hate to have to chart it on my own."

Issa's smile parts, a glimpse of teeth shining through for a second before she speaks again. "Use what you've got," she advises the young goldrider, rather enigmatically, before she looks away. A quick scan later, she lifts her hand into a tiny wave and, in a carrying whisper, utters, "Gandeman." The name, apparently, of one of the records room attendants, who shows up a few short moments later, skimming past Amerigo to lean over and hear Issa's request. "Hello, handsome," she greets him teasingly and the older man, grey and nearly balding, blushes like a young boy. "Issa. Did you need something or did you just want to torture me some more?" "Some of both," the greenrider admits, as good natured in her response as the man was in his question. "Could you find the copy of the Threadfall schedule they keep in with all of the administrative stuff? I've forgotten when I'm next expected to risk my life." The man nods and picks his way back to the main aisle, muttering to himself, and Issa switches her gaze to Amerigo again, smile broad once again.

The goldrider watches the exchange, eyes flicking from the balding guy to Issa, and back. She quirks her lips in a fake smile, "Or I could have done that." Yes, of course she could have done so. The goldrider watches Gandeman search for the records out of the corner of her eyes, flicking the feathered end of her quill against her still quirked lips.

"You could have," Issa agrees lightly, finally getting around to putting away the letter that she's folded, deftly sticking it in one of the internal pockets of the riding jacket she still wears. She shrugs. "But Gandeman likes me. And it's less likely he'd fork over the administrative records to someone he doesn't know." She takes a beat and lets herself fall back against her chair again, fingers lifting into a slow tap against the arm of it. "Don't worry, I was happy to lend a hand." And there Gandeman is again, swinging back to their table with a rolled set of new-looking hides. After thanking him genuinely, Issa takes it and slides it across the table to the goldrider a few seconds later. "It's towards the back," she tells her helpfully.

Amerigo sticks her quill in the ink bottle and moves it cautiously far from the scroll. Only after she has done so does she say, to Issa, "Thank you." Her appreciation is genuine and she looks at Issa and holds it for a moment before picking the roll up and winding them towards the end. It takes several winds before she gets there, and once she does, she sets it back on the table and begins to copy the dates down on a fresh sheet. As she writes, she occasionally looks up to catch a glimpse of what Issa is doing. Hm. Amerigo nibbles her lip as she writes.

"You're welcome," Issa returns, and though she holds Amerigo's gaze, the tone is much more casual. She idly watches the other woman as she copies, but isn't intent enough that she can't spare a smile for that same balding attendant as he crosses by the table again, caught up in some other errand. "Don't waste time looking at the rest," she comments when Amerigo is nearly finished. "There's nothing interesting in the whole of it. Just dry logistics stuff."

Amerigo briefly scrolls through it as soon as her pen is down. "I'm actually interested in logistics, but..." She rolls the scroll back up and hands it over the table to the greenrider. "If we had a class in that, I might actually be more interested in my classes." She shrugs lightly, nothing can be done.

Issa drags the hides over to her side of the table but seems more interested in fiddling with the dog-eared corner of one edge than in reading anything in it. "You'd like math then, yeah?" she asks. "Mostly the same, pushing numbers around to where they're supposed to be." Such a superficial view of it all, really, from the woman attached to the math instructor.

Amerigo ehs. "I'm okay, but it's boring. How many yards of hide come from a herd of cattle. If the sun rises at a 45 angle, at what degree do the Dawn Sisters rise? Very dull stuff. Only good if you're running out of hide, right?" She looks over to Issa.

Issa's smile gives another hitch upwards as soon as Amerigo declares the math boring, the lift mirrored seconds later as she shrugs. "The Caucus uses a lot of hide, it makes sense that they'd be worried about running out. But I'll pass the boredom concern on to Reyce," she mentions, "maybe that'll help some."

Amerigo snorts and raises an eyebrow. "No offense, I'm pretty sure that ledgers being /dull/ is not the reason he has difficulty with the class." She picks up her quill and starts to write again.

Issa laughs, a soft one appropriate for their setting. "Not a fan of his, I take it?" With a short shift, she places her chin in the palm of her raised hand, elbow on the chair of the arm, and rests it there. "I can't imagine he's all that popular with the students."

"Not really." Amerigo fills her in, and then says, "If he acted less like he hadn't taken a crap in ten years, he'd probably wouldn't be everyone's least favorite professor." She stops scribbling to look at Issa like, you should really do something about that.

The laughing continues, but this time Issa has to use the hand her chin is resting on to cover her mouth to keep it from escalating in volume. "He does seem a bit like that sometimes, doesn't he?" She quiets into easily suppressable chuckles before continuing further. "He just hasn't warmed up to you yet," she tells the goldrider. Hard to tell if she's joking, with that half-teasing tone. "Tell him you want to see less boring math someday, see if he doesn't relax a bit."

Amerigo snorts, and says, "Only all the time. And if I did what you suggest, well, then I'd have to see the 'less boring math', wouldn't I?" She leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest. "If that's the only way to butter him up, I'd rather not. In fact, I'd really just rather not in general."

"Looks like you'll have to deal with the same stick-up-the-ass instructor then," Issa concludes for her, giving a noncommittal shrug to go with it. "I doubt he'll change much if you don't make an effort." And what's more, she won't be doing the changing, her undertone seems to suggest.

No doubt. Amerigo snorts once more, but turns back to her papers. After a moment or two of staring at her writing, she blows on it, and says, "Very likely." But she obviously won't be doing the hard work either. "I think I'll finish this in my weyr."

Issa simply nods, an odd little smile playing on her lips as she acknowledges the goldrider's leave-taking. "Good luck on it," she offers as her own farewell and as Amerigo picks up her things that letter makes a reappearance. Nudging the scroll away from her and the ink both, she turns back to her own business, slowly beginning to unfold the few small hides again and tucking the now-dry quill in between her fingers.

Amerigo shoves her items in her rucksack on the way out, paying very little attention to what the greenrider is doing. After everything is stowed away, she heads out.

Asha's Third Birthday

Sun, 03 Feb 2008 23:02:13 GMT

Reyce and Issa celebrate Asha's birthday by giving her her present-- a big girl bed. After they've put her to bed, they celebrate their own, adult way-- with drinks and cuddling.
Warning: cussing
IC Date: Day 18, Month 1, Turn 6
OOC Date: 1-15-08

It took two sevens to do it, but the weyr has been cleaned up - and in time for Asha's birthday. The dust in the corners has been swept out, the curtains installed between Reyce and Issa's bedroom, and the furniture moved in. The unchangeable things - like the crooked entrance, which angles to one side and is set on an upward slope - have become bearable, and that leaves only one thing yet to be set up: Asha's bedroom. It's really more of a niche in the wall, but it's enough to fit the bed Reyce weedled out of storage, and it's still short enough for him to put up a bar for curtains just like he and Issa have. The curtains are being installed this moment, with Reyce standing precariously on the cot-frame bed and looping them over the top. The rest of the components of Asha' bedroom are lined up along the wall - thin mattress, flat pillow, old sheets and her baby blanket - being reverently inspected by their soon-to-be owner, who up till this point has not been allowing herself (or has not been allowed) to use any of them, waiting patiently in her crib for the day when it would all be properly presented to her. Her birthday.

Issa adds another component to the bedroom in limbo, returning from her improvised seat atop the trunk with Asha's mended stuffed dragon in her hand. "There you go," she announces, handing the beloved toy down to the girl, who takes a break from idly slapping the corner of the mattress to wrap her arms possessively around the worn thing. "His eye's all fixed, no lasting damage," her mother continues, humor as well as adoration in her tone. She plants her now empty hand atop Asha's curls and, after a moment, her gaze follows her daughter's up to Reyce. Asha's staring up at him now that she has her toy, fingers fidgeting impatiently around the worn leather wing. "Daddy, hurry," she prompts as she all but dances closer, stopping just short of the zone she's been instructed to stay out of for her own safety. Her voice teeters on the edge, too; there's a bit of a whine to it, sure, but it's overshadowed by the measured politeness she knows he's more likely to respond favorably to. "Mommy's already done." Issa's eyes squint at him with silent humor, her grin proclaiming him the loser of a race he didn't know he was in.

Reyce pauses as he's adjusting the last strip of curtain, glancing over the bar at his daughter. She judged her tone right, though, and he passes on her pushy comments with a grunt. "Almost done," he tells her. He sticks a pin into the curtain, making sure it will hold, and then slips down from the bed. "You're not," he mutters to Issa as he passes her, his hand swiping her thigh in a muted effort to harass her without drawing the child's attention. "Your mom has to sew the curtains in later, Asha. Don't pull them." He warned her about that before he put them up, but you can never repeat yourself too often to a two-year-old. He hefts one side of the mattress and starts hauling it back towards the little bedroom, leaving Issa to catch up with him if she's going to pick up the other side - as most likely Asha will bother her to do, once she notices her precious new mattress is getting dragged along the dirty floor.

[Monitor] Tavmonster has disconnected.

As soon as Reyce steps down, Asha moves in, a hand leaving the leather dragon to reach up to the edge of the curtain. "I'm not," she refutes when she's told again not to pull, but her hand retreats anyway and she turns to watch as they drag in the mattress for her big girl bed. Issa greets Reyce's rejection of the loss with that same smile, her eyes sticking with him until he walks past her periphery. The hand on her thigh provokes an amused, "Mmm," out of her, though it's really too vague to determine whether it's in response to the comment or the touch. Issa turns out to be more concerned with the integrity of the mattress than her daughter and slips forward to help as soon as she notices the dragging. "Careful," she admonishes him quietly as she leans in to pick up the slack, hefting it across the distance with him and onto the bed frame. She bends to straighten it a bit, but before she can, Asha's dashing forward to test it for herself, she and the tiny dragon hurtling in a face-forward leap on top of it. Issa starts to correct her, but the girl's giggles quickly put to rest fears of injury and she just watches, saying, "Don't get too comfortable, you. The sheets are coming next." Asha doesn't get too comfortable, either, she pushes herself to her feet and hops her way over to Reyce, the dragon's head bobbing along with each bounce. "Daddy, daddy," she chants breathlessly, holding her arms out, ushering him to join in this fun new game.

Asha's judged her jump well, and dives right between her parents, but Reyce still sidesteps when he hears the pitter-patter of little feet picking up momentum. He squints over a low smile at her enjoyment of the bed, which is his own, long-awaited reward for having hauled this thing back to the weyr through ice and snow and reluctant stores worker. "Hey, kid," he murmurs, reaching out to catch her waist as she bounces in front of him. Asha's bouncing slows to a stop as she prepares to get scolded for it, her face already drawn into a little pout, but instead Reyce says, "Go on. Jump." When she does, his hands boost her into the air, adding height to her bounce and provoking a wild scream of delight. The next bounces go higher and higher, right up till she goes over Reyce's shoulder and he steals around the room with her screaming and laughing by turns, her poor dragon toy getting thrashed around madly. While Reyce keeps her occupied, there'll be time for Issa to quickly put on the sheets (if the squealing doesn't distract her too much).

Issa leans onto the low footboard of the bed, hands spread apart on it, and watches, her laughs lower, milder echoes of Asha's own. The jaunt around the room does distract her, in the beginning, but when the pair swings past the pile of the rest of the bedroom, her gaze trips on a tangent over to it and she pushes herself into action again. Grabbing it all in one load, she hauls it over. The sheets fall to the mattress after a couple of snaps and the blanket and pillow soon follow, so that Reyce and Asha return to a rumpled but completed bed. Issa pivots and picks Asha off of Reyce's shoulder and drops her with a controlled flop to where the pillow lies, sitting down quickly herself and bending over her. "Happy birthday, little girl," she murmurs. "Big girl." Corrected, Issa repeats, "Big girl, of course," and gives Asha a little tickle along her sides, provoking another wriggling laugh before she adds, "What do you say to Daddy?" Issa straightens again so that Asha has a clear view of her father when she delivers a dutiful, "Thank you, Daddy," awkwardly kicking her feet until she can sit up and see to it that her dragon gets settled as well. Issa reaches over to him and her hand brushes his thigh in nearly the same spot his brushed hers earlier, only the touch quickly turns into a tug at his pant leg that guides him down into a spot she scoots down to clear for him.

Swinging a two year old around the room for several minutes while she screams in your ear and kicks you in the back is not as easy as it looks. Once Issa's taken the little girl from him, Reyce has to stand there for a moment and catch his breath, doing so quietly through his nose lest any panting interrupt the birthday wishes - or the thanks that follow. "Yeah," he answers, swiping a hand back over Asha's forehead and scratching up her curls, which were already mussed from the shoulder ride. He adds, "You're welcome," just to reinforce her good manners, then answers Issa's pull and sits down with the both of them. "Going to make it every day, yeah, Asha?" He pinches the back of her dress and gives her a pull to scoot into him, where his side is still warm and moving slightly with each breath after running her around the room.

Asha allows herself to be scooted back but makes no effort to do so herself, too busy pushing back the sheet in order to make a spot for the dragon. She tucks the toy in while she answers, a distracted, "Yeah," coming out while she deals out a few doting pats to the dragon as it's put to bed. "You're not going to want to go back to your crib?" Issa prods further, her hand coming to a comfortable rest over Reyce's knee. "No," Asha responds, just as distractedly, shaking her head and throwing her hair into such a mess that Issa has to fix it, her other hand sweeping up to pet it down into something less wild. "Your poor daddy's going to have to haul it to the stores then, I suppose," Issa continues, giving Reyce a teasingly tilted smile and a quick squeeze to his knee, "for some other little girl to use." She casts a glance down at Asha's face, searching out a response, but there is none; the girl's unbothered by the potential fate of the crib that was once her own.

Reyce's eyes thin, watching how quickly his daughter becomes distracted and distant now that she's gotten her present, but since she did submit to being tucked into his side, he doesn't try to raise her attention. Instead, that glance shifts to Issa when she touches her knee, though the sight of her smile lightens him up a bit, provoking a one-sided flick of a smile in return. "Gift from your parents," he points out, bringing his hand up from Asha's arm to stroke her cheek lightly, and oh-so unwittingly push her face towards the crib - although surely by accident, as Reyce is talking to Issa about this, not her. Surely. "Or she'd have grown up in a basket. Can't give it away."

Asha hums under her breath as she tugs the corner of the blanket up over the rounded side of the toy dragon, ignoring Reyce’s slyly pushing touch for a moment while she does so. Only after she’s finished patting everything in place does she submit and turn her head, passing a brief and curious look back at him to begin with. “I know it is,” Issa responds, idly watching her daughter’s ministration, “but what are we supposed to do with a crib now? Wouldn’t it be better to let someone get some use out of it?” Asha latches onto the word crib and, perhaps because it’s in her field of vision now as well, she decides to add her own comment. “Lala sleeps there,” she informs them calmly, referring to the no-longer so bright ragdoll that remains flopped in the crib as they speak. “Still a baby.” Issa gives a quiet laugh and flattens back Asha’s curls again, saying, “I think we can let her sleep with you.”

Asha sits under Reyce's praise, her fidgeting quieted to a low (for her) level, but doesn't respond; Reyce's daughter indeed, she lacks the social tools to formulate an appropriate thing to say. But then, that might also be because she's two. After a moment of silence she simply squirms away from him again to continue boucing around her soundly sleeping toy. "Not so close to the edge," Issa warns mildly, holding out a hand to physically delineate the boundary for the girl, who then continues bouncing but in a single spot, rotating in place. Issa's hand then drops and she leans back onto it, giving Reyce a quick look before she asks the spinning girl, "So how old are you now, Asha?" She bounces slower and eventually stops as she considers her hand. After blinking at it for a moment, she manages to manipulate her fingers to put up just two of them and shows them both, grinning silently before she begins to bounce again.

Reyce lets her go, lifting his arm as she squeezes away from him to start bouncing on her new bed. When she does, of course, the frame shakes with each bounce, and Reyce opts to stand up rather than endure the constant shaking of his seat. He tucks himself into the small amount of wall space between the curtains and the bed, leaning on it with his foot cocked back to brace him. "Could swear it was three," he comments, squinting at the girl as she spins. "Sure it's not three?"

The spinning stops again and Asha whirls to face Reyce with her mouth held open, breath coming heavier after all her efforts. Issa watches her closely, grinning, as her daughter figures through that one. The girl stares down at her hand again and this time has to bring her other one into play, pushing her third finger into place next to the other two. "Three," she corrects herself with a giggle, then spins into another few, quick bounces before flopping herself down into a sitting position, out of breath. Issa sizes her up when she drags a hand across her eyes and asks her casually, "Are you sleepy yet?" "No," Asha affirms strongly, dropping her hands quickly lest any further hint to that effect be given.

Asha's correction gets her father to laugh softly under his breath, with a quick glance at Issa to share the amusement. He's done by the time Asha plops down to recover, and slips out through the curtain when the little girl denies being tired. "Can stay awake," he murmurs as he goes, though the words are hardly audible. He leans over the crib when he reaches it, picking up the doll that Asha left there. "Just be a while till you find out what the bed's like." This time he projects his voice. "That's fine." Stepping back into Asha's new 'bedroom,' he lifts the blanket to tuck Lala in alongside the dragon toy, pulling the blankets up to the doll's chin and making sure she's secure before he goes back to leaning on that wall again, arms crossed over his chest to wait.

Asha, while Reyce is away, has begun to crawl over into her mother's lap, but when she sees where Lala's being put she straightens again. "No, no, no," Asha corrects him, a tiny reproduction of her mother's corrections, which she's heard often enough. "Can't put her there." She squirms her way to the head of the bed and with a tiny frown creasing her forehead undoes all of Reyce's work with a yank. "She'll get smooshed." Then, with the same gentle tucking that the dragon got, the ragdoll is moved to the other edge and nestled in there so that Asha now sits between them. Issa leans down to lounge across the foot of the bed while she watches, beaming her amusement up at Reyce as he did earlier with that flick of a glance.

Reyce leans a glance Issa's way, pulling up a corner of a smile for her before he goes back to poking Asha's sensibilities again. "Makes sense," he agrees, uncrossing his arms and leaning down so he can observe how the girl puts her toy to sleep. When she's done, he points a finger at her, sitting up between them. "And you go there?" he guesses, flicking his finger up and down to indicate her sitting frame.

Asha is immediately suspicious when her father turns the subject back to her and she gives him a glance over the minute adjustments she's making to her new, larger pillow. "Yeah," she says, then adds matter-of-factly, "when I'm sleepy." Which she most definitely is not, a fact she affirms by crawling out of that spot again and back to her mother's lap. Issa straightens to tuck her into her arms and she drops her chin down over the girl's head when she requests a story. After a moment of pause, part of which is spent grinning knowingly at Reyce, she launches into a tale of two young apprentices, one who spends the summer days avoiding his duties and another who ignores all temptation to stick with them and eventually prospers from it. Issa hasn't even reached the point where the second apprentice gets to walk the tables and Asha is already breathing steadily, eyes closed, with her head dropped against her mother's arm. Hesitant to move, Issa gives Reyce a subtle nod to take her so she won't have to jostle the girl in her awkward position.

Can't fool her. Another of Reyce's silent laughs follows the girl as she climbs over to her mother, escaping his subtle manipulations once again. He waits out Issa's story until he gets the nod, then (undoing some of Asha's good work tucking in the toys) pulls down the top of the blanket to create a place for the girl herself to go. Taking her gently out of Issa's lap, he moves her into that space he created and sets her down, pausing while she adjusts in her sleep before he pulls the covers over her and nudges Lala towards her splayed out hand. He stays a moment - a moment to him, but a good few minutes in real time - to watch her sleep, then shoots Issa a glance before he ducks silently out of the alcove and leaves her to close the curtains whenever she follows.

Issa stays seated at the foot of the bed for a while, one hand cupped over the lump of the covers that is Asha's foot. Painstakingly inching herself away from the still girl, she stands and slips into the spot at Reyce's side, just leaning against his arm and following the line of his sight for a good portion of the time he spends. She separates from the bed sooner than he does, however, and stands at the hem of the curtain when he turns, waiting for him to do so. She perks a smile at him before pivoting to sweep the curtains closed, peering up at the tops and commenting in a near-whisper, "I'll finish that tomorrow morning when she wakes up." Then it's over to the trunk to wrap up other loose ends; there's thread to be rewound and a pincushion to be replaced along with it in the trunk.

Since Issa's waiting for him just outside the curtains, Reyce stops there too, his chin tucked down to his chest while he looks back at her. "Yeah," he breathes as she moves away, his chin lifting again as he watches her go over to the trunk. He himself stays there for a few beats more, then moves aimlessly away from Asha's curtain, winding up near the couch. He plants his knuckles on it, just to give himself something to lean on, and murmurs softly, "Issa?"

Issa looks across at him from where she's bent down to replace her sewing supplies, flicking hair from her eyes with her free hand so she can give him a quietly inquisitive look. "Hm?" she murmurs when she straightens again to complete the impression that she's paying attention, the sound slightly louder than the click of the lid she lowers softly into place.

"I want a son," Reyce admits quietly. His eyes move to the crib, pointing out the cause of this sudden revelation, then back to her. "Not this turn," he continues, tugging up his chin so he can look down at her from an angle while he speaks. "But going to."

Issa takes the two more steps keeping her from being in front of the couch, eyes pensively pinned to the blanket which they fell to when he made that initial admission. Her cleaning bent takes no hits, though, and she reaches down to fold the rumpled blanket while the silence stretches a moment longer. "That's one thing I never thought I'd hear you say," she admits herself, though it's much more joking than his was. Her gaze returns, at least, as she jerks the blanket up to fold it properly, forgoing pinning it with her chin and just trusting that her hands can do the job untended.

Reyce grunts softly, pulling away from the back of the couch and making his way over to the sideboard where they now keep their booze - out of Asha's curious reach. "Don't have to say anything. Dropped it on you. Just that I should tell you, it's been on my mind." He knocks the cap off on the edge of the shelf and takes a drink from the bottle, his gaze finding Issa again while he tips it back.

When he turns around Issa's eyes drop back down, looking at her hands as they finish up the nitpicking she started and drape the blanket over the arm of the couch. She wanders, then, back to him, her cleaning abandoned. With a sigh, she bluntly plants her hands on his hips and trails her gaze up to meet his. "I don't know," is all she says at first, relating it as if it were a thoughtful decision, quiet and concluding, then studying his face in the pause that follows it. "I have enough trouble keeping up with her as it is, Reyce," she tells him, her eyes glancing momentarily off to the side where Asha's alcove can be found. "And we got here by the skin of our teeth, anything that might..." She shrugs. "I just don't know."

Reyce stops drinking when she comes up to him, leaning his booze-carrying arm over her shoulder and leaving it there. "Realize it's asking a lot, rider with one kid's hard enough. Don't have to know, Issa. Not a decision yet. Another turn." He brings his free hand up to her chin, balancing it on the curl of his index finger. After holding her there a moment so he can watch her eye, he lets that hand drop away and pulls his beer back from her shoulder. "Right now, think you should have something to drink. Asha's birthday. Your party too, you had her." In the name of Asha's birthday, he's actually selected a good beer for once from their collection, but he still assumes she'll prefer her own drinks and opens his arm back towards the sideboard.

A small, flattened smile tips onto her lips as her chin is balanced on his finger and she meets his eye straight, somewhat searchingly. That breaks with a subtle sigh when he motions to the sideboard and Issa answers, dryly joking, "Oh, I remember," while letting her hands slip from his hips to the wooden doors. Smoothly, she sinks into a crouch and surveys the choices lined up there, eventually digging further to the back to find a Tillek white that's been saved for quite a bit of time. Despite the ease of it all, there's still something niggling behind it, evident in the way she squints at the glass she finds and the wine that's gently poured into it. A few seconds later she turns those thoughtful eyes up to Reyce again, her hands restoppering the bottle meanwhile. "Reyce, what if I still don't know a turn from now?" she asks, calmly curious now, folding her hands over the top of the now-closed bottle and resting her chin atop them as she watches his face.

He keeps it admirably straight, that face, though he doesn't meet her eyes right away. There's a swig of beer in his mouth and he keeps it there for a second more, buying himself some time before he has to meet her eye. But he does so, and evenly. "Bother you about it more," Reyce admits. He continues, "Want a kid, Issa. Not going to try and convince you tonight, but can talk about it when you've had a chance. Gather your thoughts. But we go a turn and you're still not sure, figure that's about what it comes down to. Isn't like I'm unhappy with Asha. Love her, and love you. Do what we need to stay together, all of us. What it comes down to," he repeats, and ends with a small swig from his beer bottle that doesn't break his gaze from her face this time.

Issa listens receptively from her position leaning against that bottle, her tiny smile put on hold until he's finished. Then it perks up again and she gives a stunted nod, murmuring only a simple, "Okay," to answer him. Then she shifts into motion again, shoving the bottle away, taking up her glass, full and heavy, and then snagging his free hand with hers, pulling him without a word back to the couch. She makes a show of slinging him forward onto the cushions, but there's no force behind it really, just a slight drag on the grip of their hands. Then, standing there with a more playful tilt to her smile, she waits for him to drag her down in return.

And it seems he will, but at the last moment his lean forward turns into a lean down so he can set his beer bottle down safely next to the couch. Once she's waited that out, /then/ he'll pull her in, dragging her onto the cushions next to him - but sideways, so it's the arm of the couch she'll have to lean on. He pulls her legs up over his lap and settles them there, murmuring to her as he readjusts her pant leg, "Do more with you later." The pants leg fixed, he gives it a little tug to make it look neater. "You're too drunk to say anything." His gaze angles sideways, seemingly innocent at first but slowly picking up a smug look as he looks at her. To keep that smugness down for now, he reaches down to get his beer bottle again and breaks the eye contact.

Issa lets out a quiet laughs as he pulls her down, exaggerating her efforts to keep her wine level all the way down as a subtle, teasing protest for the treatments she invited. She's about to take a sip of that overly protected wine but pauses for his comment, an eyebrow arching slowly higher as she listens. "You'll have to make sure you're not too drunk to do anything about it," she counters, a smile curling up to make that arched eyebrow into a challenge. Then a sip of her own follows his, slow and deliberate.

"You're smaller than I am," Reyce reminds her, fitting his hand over her ankle and giving it a squeeze. "Get drunk faster and I'm used to it, drinking. Fucking you." He doesn't return her look, but he does return the arched eyebrow as he tries this word out for the first time in this room - now that Asha's got her own alcove behind a curtain (nevermind that the curtain hides nothing), this place is apparently safe enough to swear in. Echoing her again, he takes a slower sip of his beer.

Issa laughs, but softly, the use of that forbidden word prompting remembrance of the little girl that they're trying to keep asleep not far away. "Shame on you," she mutters, shifting so her legs lie more snugly on top of his and grinning while she does so. "Using your physical prowess to take advantage of me." Shaking her head, she makes only a half-hearted attempt at seeming disappointed in him; after a few seconds that disappears into the same grin and she ducks to take a hearty mouthful of wine, swishing it gently before swallowing. "Looks like I have no choice," she notes, staring at the level of her wine then darting a playful glance up at him.

Despite Reyce's best efforts, the smugness is creeping back into his face: a smirk is curling at the corners of his lips, and his eyelids have sunk low in that contented way that's so common to him. "Don't think so," he agrees, stretching his thumb down the length of her ankle, and literally extending his hold over her. "Should just drink like I tell you. Whatever else like I tell you." Even with his eyelids dropped like this, it's not hard to tell when his gaze shifts to Issa - the corners of the smirk go even higher up.

Issa heaves a sigh much deeper than it needs to be and huffs it out over the top of her glass, giving a thoughtful, resigned little hum to follow it. "And here I thought it was supposed to be my party," she comments, shaking her head to her wine as if it were a confidant in her victim woes. Still, she drinks, draining another sizeable mouthful of wine from the glass then leaning her head against the back of the couch while she swallows it down.

The beer has almost run out after all this talk (and drinking, natch), but Reyce gives the bottle a little swirl to determine whether anything is left. Since there is, he drinks it, upending the bottle over his mouth and waiting there till he's sure he got the very last drop. This is the good beer, after all. "Is your party," he assures Issa, pressing his lips together to press a few stray droplets of beer off his stubble. Always happens. "Your present." He glances back at her, holding up the beer bottle that briefly held his attention and giving it a shake. He's out. This is a sign that he's going to get more, and now's the time to request something while he's up.

Issa lets out another laugh, a trifle too loud at first as she tosses her head back; she quickly checks it, draws it down into more subdued chuckles. "Don't feign altruism," she instructs him, "it doesn't suit you." She keeps him pinned with her legs while she knocks back another long swallow of her wine. When surfaces from it, there's still a swirling pool of pale liquid at the bottom of her glass but she requests a refill anyway, just sticking out the glass in his direction as she smiles sweetly.

Reyce gives a grunt and pushes forward, but both his response and his movement are checked when her legs pin him back to the couch. There's no point in pushing free, so he just waits there for her to finish her drink, then takes it from her and tosses down the rest of the wine himself. Tosses it down - does not pause to savor. "Just going to fuck you, then," he says before he heaves himself free, more drunk on the power of being able to drink and swear in his own living room than on the strength of a single bottle of beer.

Issa snorts at that, but doesn't respond with anything more that might serve to delay him from bringing her back more wine. Even while he's at it, she lets him do the business of pouring undisturbed; only a rustling of wherhide rises up from the couch while he does. And the reason for that will become clear when he returns, for in his absence she's slouched even further across the couch, only her shoulders against the arm of the couch to prop her up into a drink-friendly angle. This of course leaves Reyce to make room for himself; Issa pointedly ignores the issue of his seat as she holds out a hand for her wine and grins at him.

The drinks filled, Reyce turns around to come back - and finds his place on the couch has disappeared. He stops in his tracks, exhaling slowly and heavily while he ponders this new arrangement she's set up for him. Finally he moves forward, setting the drinks on the floor, nestled up against the far corner of the couch, and bends over Issa. There's plenty of time for her to figure out what he's got in mind, because it's not in the least subtle when he sticks one arm under her thighs and the other under her shoulders. The only time his efforts to keep in shape come in handy is when he decides he needs to pick up Issa for one reason or another, and oddly enough he gets to make that decision rather often. Because the angle's bad she goes up with a huff and a grumble from Reyce, but up she goes, whether or not she wished it. Turning around with her, he goes to the other end of the couch and sits down (a bit too heavily) with her now on his lap. "You want to get the drinks?" he asks, looking down at her face. He releases her legs to let her stretch out again - this time, not in his way.

Issa is unmistakably pleased with the trouble she's making him go through, her smile broad and her tone subtly goading as she says, "Don't hurt yourself," into his ear. She responds to the heavy landing with a slight grunt of her own, but hers leads straight into a chuckle as she lets the arms she'd draped around his neck slide to her lap again. "That was your job," she protests faintly, even as she's leaning down to retrieve said drinks. She leans over and comes up with his beer first, telling him to, "Drink up," as she retrieves her glass. When she straightens, she takes her own advice, too, tipping up her wine as she watches him over the rim, eyes thin with a hidden smile. "So how many do you think I need to drink?" she asks after recovering from a drawn out sip.

Reyce is already drinking up by the time she gets her glass, chugging down a heavy mouthful and resurfacing with a small sigh. Holding the bottle by its neck, he wraps the other arm possessively around Issa's waist and pulls her up close, breathing beer-heavy breath down her cheek. "Your lucky number," he tells her. In case she forgot, "Three," he adds, and taps three fingers one-by-one on her stomach. Then the whole hand starts moving, sliding its way boldly along her leg for a ways and then coming back up. "Want you to be limber." He weights the last word slightly, following it out with a breath of soft laughter: look how educated he is, using that word.

"Limber," Issa repeats between drinks, tugging the word out from the curve of her amused smile. "Limber, but not passed out." She considers the concept while her lips rest against the cool bend of her glass. "Three's a good number," she decides then and studies the level of her wine before acting to lower it significantly. But on the tail end of that swallow, she turns a faint frown on him, false when mixed with her persistent smile. "Don't tell me you've done this before?"

"I won't," Reyce promises, dodging the issue with a creeping smirk. He tips his mouth further inwards so his lips are moving on her ear when he speaks. "Just think three's a good number. You're drunk enough, and I don't have to wait much longer till I fuck you." He gives his beer bottle a little shake, drawing her attention to what's left in it, then tips it back and chugs it all down to set a good example.

"Not drunk yet," Issa notes idly, though her attention is clearly still on the quick escape he took earlier, her thinned eyes considering him heavily. A beat later, she changes her mind. "No, do tell me," she urges. Going along with the pressure of his arm around her waist, she inches closer and nudges her nose against his cheek. "When have you done this before?" The fact that he has is, of course, taken for granted. Her wine, meanwhile, is neglected in the sudden flurry of curiosity.

Reyce resurfaces from his bottle warily, her efforts to get to the bottom of this new mystery having pulled him back from his horny stupor. Not so much that he didn't finish the beer first, though; he twists with her in his lap to put the thing back down on the floor. "Don't know, Issa," he grumps at her as he pulls himself back up. "We're going to fuck, then usually we drink, then we fuck. Trying to mess around with you, I'm not meaning anything." Despite the grouchy tone his voice has picked up, he has no trouble with her nuzzling closer to him, and pulls her into both arms now that he has them free.

"I know you were," Issa tells him, her tone just as light and unbothered despite his grumpiness, "but now I'm actually curious." She pulls her arm out from between them and curls it around his neck, her fingers beginning to tease at the edges of his curls. "You don't talk about it much. How many girls did you seduce before me?" A silent laugh, wine-touched, breathes out against his cheek. "I won't even remember, I'm getting drunk remember?" She even takes a hearty swig of the wine that's supposed to be sipped as a show of good faith. "And I'll still let you fuck me, don't worry." A wet kiss settles down onto the line of his jaw, more good faith.

Reyce growls at her all the same, his throat already rumbling with it as she plants that kiss on his jaw. Too bad he finished that drink, because now there are no props around to give him an excuse for delay while he broods above her head for a few moments. "There was two," he finally mutters. His eye turns down to the wine glass, making sure she'll keep carrying out her end of the bargain. He answers, she drinks. But he's not very forthcoming.

Issa listens, her ear cocked up toward his mouth. When she hears how short it is she gives another huff of laughter and follows through with the routine again. She sucks down more wine, leaving only a single good mouthful left in the glass when she's through, and then tucks her lips down to his skin again. This time they land on his neck, lingering lazily before she pulls back to prompt him with, "Pia?"

Reyce had braced himself for more of a response than that, and when none is forthcoming, it takes him a while to unwind muscles that had slowly built up to brace him against the (surely) tangible assault of her words. His eye stays on her, though, and stays wary of her; he can't see much of her face while she's nestled against him, so he pins it all on her torso. "Yeah." There's a long, silent beat when he tries to get away with that, but he can recognize the prompt in her voice and eventually follows up with the other one. "And before her was once with a whore." This time, trying to play it a little more cool, his defense is to let his eyelids drop low, shielding his gaze in case she should look up.

The batting of eyelashes signals Issa's surprised blink when that other one is revealed. It only lasts for a beat before she uses her arm to leverage herself up and pushes her face into view, eyes smiling as they look into his. "A whore?" She sounds almost excited by this new prospect and amused at the very least, her voice barely concealing the signs of a laugh held back. Her free hand drops down to the side of his face, keeping him facing her even after she asks, "How was she?"

Even Issa is not immune to Reyce's ire, and as soon as he picks up on the excitement in her voice, the low slant of his eyelids ceases being lazy and picks up a hint of irritation. "Cheap," he answers. "All I cared." He lets her hand hold his cheek for a beat more, then gives his head a shake to throw her off. Freed, he makes no effort to get away: the point here is that he doesn't need her holding him, damnit, and he'll glare her in the eye just the same.

That hand just falls down to his chest where it rests carefully, not holding onto anything. Under his gaze, Issa's smile falters in the span of the slowed blink she gives him, her lips flattening just slightly before she speaks. "Reyce," she says, her voice softened, lowered, and devoid of laughter this time. "Why are you getting so tense about this? You know I don’t care who you’ve fucked, as long as you keep fucking me." She tries a little hitch of a smile on him before she continues to get more limber, like a good girl doing as she’s told; she downs the rest of her wine in a swift swallow while keeping her eyes on his face.

Reyce takes the empty wine glass from her, but all he does with it is place it next to his beer bottle. He's not going for any refills right now, not with her sitting on him and him in a sour mood. "Why you're getting so much fun out of it?" he throws back at her, settling back in his seat with a low grunt. "Was a dumb thing to do, and - dumb," he reiterates, after stretching around for a better word. His vocabulary was exhausted after limber.

Her other hand freed, Issa cups her hands against his neck, over the collar of his shirt; they stay there long after they're useful to steady her when he leans over to place the wineglass on the ground. "Same reason I get so much fun out of all the other stories you've told me," she answers him, tilting her face in close, eyes flicking as they try to keep his completely in sight. "It's fun to think about you before you knew me. Even if you were dumb then," she adds, her hands slowly sliding up and pulling as they go, angling him in to kiss her, though they submit into stillness if there's any resistance.

There is resistance, but once he's left alone, Reyce picks up the idea from her and pulls himself up for a kiss. Anger has not thrown his libido off very much, although he leaves her alone after only a few grabs at her mouth; she still hasn't finished the three drinks he required of her. "Was dumb," he confirms finally, letting his frustration resolve itself into a chesty rumble. "Take it more seriously than you do; 's fine, maybe shouldn't. You don't care." Which is not an accusation; he's already come around to appreciating her detachment, however slightly he shows it by a quick dip of his chin. "Just can't keep up sometimes, I brace for it and you're already laughing. Still dumb that way. Hn." By his standards, that little sound does more to sum up his thoughts on the matter than any of the words preceding it, and he shuts up with a short puff of a sigh.

Issa simply enjoys the kiss, her hands fallen between them limply and her eyes sinking closed. They're slower to open after they separate, but after they do she keeps them on him, listening with a focus that betrays the tipsiness that threatens to distract her. "It's okay," she tells him, suddenly moving her hand to run fingers through the hair along the side of his head, "you keep up when it matters." Her lips part into a little grin again and a chuckle escapes before she pulls her hand back to clap it over the laugh before it can grow any further. "I don't laugh to mock you," she mumbles past the obstacle of her fingers. "You're just... funny sometimes. I can't help it."

Growling at her laughter, Reyce wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls the hand away from her mouth. "You're going to laugh at me, you just do it, then." He drops the hand between their bodies again and leaves it there, his own hands sneaking around Issa for a quick pinch at her hips to exact his weak revenge. He lets his arms stay wrapped around her waist. "Was a dumb kid, already said that, and know that you're going to laugh. Caught up now," he lets her know.

Issa twines her fingers into the loose fabric of his shirt, letting her smile grow unhindered, breaking it only to press a brief peck of a kiss against his cheek. "So. A whore," she reintroduces, waiting a short few seconds before laughing softly. "How old were you when you were that dumb?" she asks as the chuckles drift off again. Settling in for the answer, she shifts into a comfortable curl in his lap, her legs pulled back to her and her chin dropping to his shoulder.

Reyce loosens his hold on her, glancing down as she rearranges herself so he can move his own body accordingly. Once they've gotten through this without him accidentally getting hit by rearranged knees or anything, he answers simply, "Fifteen." Well prepared for the interview he's more or less set up himself, he puffs out another sigh and lets his gaze wander past her, finding its way inevitably to the sideboard where their third and final drink awaits - delayd.

From her position, Issa can still see Reyce's face and, for the most part, follow his line of sight. What she's watching, however, doesn't seem to sink in for a while; in the meantime she muses over what he's told her. "So enterprising, so young," she teases good-naturedly. "Might've made a better investment with your marks, but..." She shrugs and nuzzles her nose down against his shoulder, chuckling over the aforementioned stupidity of young Reyce. After a glance up at him, though, she catches the drift of his own thought and decides to indulge it. "I think I need another-- wait." That indulging doesn't get very far; she has only begun to lean down for the glass when she stops short at her own verbal interruption. "That means I'm only..." Instead of finishing, she just turns to look at him and, smiling with that same amusement, holds up three fingers.

One should never try confusing the count with a math instructor; even with sex involved, Reyce has to deny it. He gives a grunt and finishes for her, "You're one away. Can't get the next one you're sitting on me, should fetch it since I'm letting you bother me. Laugh at me." He lifts a brow at her, and the corner of his mouth goes so far as to turn up: amusement.

Issa shakes her head, persisting in holding her three fingers out. "No, no, no," she says, though negation can't really be for the insistence that she get her own drink, because she's already starting to pull herself off of his lap. "I mean, I'm only your third," she says, planting those three fingers against his shoulder to help brace her as she stands. But once she's up she just leans a knee onto the cushion to bring her closer to his level when she says, "Maybe it isn't just /my/ lucky number," she adds, grinning.

There's a blink, and then the edge of that smile goes a little bit higher as he leans in to meet her at his own level. "Not sure the whore should count," he informs her, getting so close that his nose taps her own. He pauses for the hint to sink in, silent until she's stopping grinning long enough for him to plant another kiss on her. "Might be there's another woman I'm supposed to have, get my real third fuck."

Issa leans into the kiss, hums into it, which could as easily be a too-late protest as an expression of enjoyment. For his last comment, he only gets a quickly thinned glare and her hand, spread fully over his face as she pushes his head back into the couch cushion. Then she leaves to find her third drink, snagging her glass and walking steadily over to the sideboard. Instead of pouring from the same old bottle, she secures the stopper and replaces it, straightening again with some stronger brandy instead. A few fingers are poured into the wine glass and she cradles it in one hand while fishing around for a beer bottle. At one point the bottle she finds makes a loud clink and she winces, pausing to spare a glance for Asha's little alcove before returning to the couch. She hands him his beer, but doesn't bother maneuvering her way back into his lap; she just plops herself down on the opposite end and makes a point of glaring playfully at him over her careful sip of the darker liquid.

Lucky for them, Asha doesn't take after her father: she sleeps like a rock. Reyce glances her way also, but trusts her to stay true to form, and Issa winds up in his field of vision anyhow when she sits back on the couch. Opposite from him. He turns around so he's sitting sideways and facing her; one knee gets propped up as a rest for his beer-holding arm and the other leg stretches all the way out to where Issa's glowering at him. "Why you shouldn't take random numbers so serious," he advises her, his voice calm and his eyes lidded lazily. This time, he recognizes she's toying with him and relaxes into it. "But can count the whore, you really want."

The tiny slant of a smile tugging at Issa's lips grows gently when he concedes that she can be his third. Clearing her throat, she swings her feet up onto the couch and stretches them out next to his, letting his foot rest along the inside next to her hip, while her feet bump against him a little lower. Her toes rub against his pants as she looks across at him, the glare gone, and decides, "I want to count the whore. You did fuck her, after all." Sound logic there. Issa gives a slight nod and then treats herself to a mouthful of brandy.

Reyce has stopped for a drink, satisfied now that he has beer and knows sex is on the way, but he lifts his eyebrows at her and comes away from it smirking. "Kind of low-minded, Issa," he remonstrates softly with her. "Other way is I fucked her and left, but see it like that then you're second for me actually staying with you." It took that sentence a while to put itself together, and not very well when it did; even Reyce notices the effects. He squints down at his beer as if debating whether or not two bottles are enough to blame for that mess.

An eyebrow arches up to answer him when he calls her low-minded, but Issa lets that one go as soon as she's had another sip from her glass. "That just means I'm your second relationship," she counters, but not before she's let out a soft chuckle for the oddly phrased sentence. "I'm still your third fuck." She slouches lower and her foot pokes up under the hem of his shirt, wriggling until it finds bare skin. When it does she gives him a suddenly stronger grin that's just as quickly ducked into the brandy.

Reyce snorts at her counter, reaching down to find her ankle again. He finds it on the move, and pauses to watch her foot wriggle in towards him. For her efforts, she gets a grunt when her toes touch him, but he gets to catch hold of her ankle and give it a light squeeze. "That's the important part," he agrees, lifting his beer significantly. An eyebrow goes up with it as he watches her and takes a drink.

Issa's glass follows his bottle a second later, a silent confirmation that she's matching him drink for drink just before she does, taking a swallow of brandy that has her grimacing faintly after. Her foot, though still for the squeeze he gives her, moves against his skin, the side of her foot sliding up and then down again in slow, repetitive strokes. "I guess we should both just be thank... thankful I'm not your number seven anything." But her eyebrows twitch up with a silent question: is she?

"Far as I know," Reyce assures her, picking up on the question and giving her ankle another rub. It's smaller this time: since she's already started it, he's perfectly content to leave the petting to her. For his part, he gets to relax and blow a heavy sigh over it. "Not sure how you would be," he says on the exhalation, "haven't done six of anything else."

"Good," Issa declares as she gives the liquor she has left an assessing swirl. She throws the rest of it back in one quick swallow. "I think we're safe then," she adds, looking her empty glass up and down then turning that gaze on him, letting the glass waggle a bit in her grip.

Reyce watches the last drop of that brandy go down, his eyes intent on the liquid that remains in her glass. As soon as he sees for sure that she's finished it, he pulls himself up and away from her wriggling foot, turning to sit properly on the couch again as he tips back his beer bottle and chugs it heavily down. A little too quickly: a belch that built up while he drank catches him as soon as he stops, forcing him to pull back his chin as he reins it back in and grimace as the thing shakes his throat. Pause to let that settle. Then he sets the bottle down and turns towards Issa, latching onto her legs so he can drag her - hand over hand - back from her end of the couch.

That last taste of brandy seems to have made Issa more giggly, because she chuckles softly at his burp and then lets out a louder laugh when the dragging begins. She drowsily submits to it, letting her eyelids sink lower and her arms, glass included, stretch up over her head. Only when he's run out of leg to tug does she arch up, lift her ass into his lap, and struggle to sit up. Eventually she gets her arms to rest on his shoulders, the empty glass tilting sideways against his ear, and uses them to draw her face in close. "Happy... Asha's Birthday," she mumbles with a half laugh before nudging forward into a open-mouthed kiss.

Issa's more giggly, Reyce is more horny. As soon as he has her in his lap his hands start to wander, working around under her shirt even while he's drawing out that kiss for as long as he can. When he finally has to break for some air, it takes him a moment to remember where the conversation was, which is all well and good because it gives him more time with the front of her shirt, which he's just found his way into. "Did my part," he murmurs, closing his hand over her breast. "Sat there, got my hand crushed, cut the cord. You just sat there," he points out, and punctuates the tease by moving his hand quickly to Issa's back and undoing the clasp of her bra. The other arm goes under her legs, preparing to ball her up and carry her around again.

Issa realizes that she still has her hand cupped around her empty glass when she's given space for thought, Reyce's hands busy maneuvering around the front of her shirt. She gives it a hard look at tosses it at the other end of the couch, already ignoring it before it even has a chance to bounce on the cushion. She'd rather be attacking the side of his neck with tongued kisses, which only hesitate for a second as she listens to his comment. "Mmm," she hums against his skin when she continues, then mumbles, "easiest thing I've ever done... did." The sarcasm is heavy but the bite she gives to get him back for that tease is no more than a light nip. Sensing an imminent move, her arms tighten around his neck, but that doesn't mean the touch of her lips and the scrape of her teeth let up in the slightest.

While she's nibbling his neck, she'll be able to feel the cords of muscle tugging with soundless laughter. Thus distracted by her, it takes Reyce two tries to get them off the couch, and when he does succeed at it he gives Issa a squeeze as punishment for making it harder. Of course, he doesn't tip his cheek down or do anything to make her stop. "Looked like it," he murmurs on the way across the room. "Can make up for it now, though, have an idea for you." Walking straight through the closed curtain, he carries her into their bedroom.

While dragons play...

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 00:26:45 GMT

Issa and Amerigo meet by the side of the waterfall as their dragons bathe. They don't really start off on the right foot. (Amerigo, Issa)
IC Date: Day 12, Month 2, Turn 6
OOC Date: 1-25-08

Good caucus students should probably be inside right now, filling up on a nutritious lunch. Unfortunately, the caucus schedule doesn't exactly seem to have taken the needs of dragons into consideration. That's why Amerigo is outside, wrapped up in thick woollen shawls and chewing on a meatpie while Zotzilath crouches in the pool, her wings spread out over the pool.

The Caucus can be so inconsiderate at times. But luckily for the greenrider and her dragon, just now coming into a hover over the pool clearing, they don't have quite as strict a schedule to adhere to. Their descent is lazy, heavy, though that may have something to do with the bloody smudges marring the bright color of the green's muzzle and talons. Lunchtime for someone else, it seems. The pair settles onto one of the lower natural stone terraces on the same level as Amerigo, and the effort to keep out of the cool mist thrown up by the waterfall keeps them close. The rider who steps down shouldn't be an unfamiliar one; anyone who's seen the grumpy math instructor walking with his family would be able to pin her as Issa, even though she's bundled up in her winter riding gear with her hair pinned down under a close-fitting cap. "You don't happen to have an extra, do you?" she calls across to the woman out of the blue, nodding to the meatpie in her hand as she gives Oshisyth a parting pat. The green holds back though, casually grooming a talon while she deferentially eyes the gold already in the pool.

Amerigo shakes her head. "Sorry!" She calls back, "If you'd been here ten minutes ago?" She shrugs and then picks a little bit of tuber out of the meatpie and drops it in the mud, before taking another bite. "You're Issa, right?" The goldrider hauls herself off the rock she's been sitting on to close the difference between them, but gives a look to her gold.

Zotzilath folds her wings up and then steps over, making space for the green, rumbling a non-verbal greeting. Then she goes back to crouching in the water.

Issa mirrors the goldrider's shrug over the lack of meatpie as she watches the discarded tuber with idle curiosity. "I am," she answers with a smile, returning her gaze to Amerigo after a quick glance at the water. But then she gives the girl a short wave. "Sit, eat. I don't mind." Indeed, she's already stepping closer, closing the distance herself so that the other woman won't have to. "And you're Igen's girl, hm?" she comments without even a flicked look towards the normally knotted shoulder. If she knows that much she must know Amerigo's name, but she doesn't reveal as much.

Behind her, Oshisyth drops the talon charade as soon as the greeting sounds. She trills an answer, high and light, then spends another hesitant moment surveying the water space left open before hopping down, spreading her wings to catch herself before she lands in the shallows with a muted splash.

When you become attached to a big gold dragon, don't you stop noticing when people can pick you out of the crowd? "Yes," Amerigo says, in between more bites of meatpie. There isn't much left, and Amerigo finds herself a new stone to sit on as she finishes the last. Her eyes flick to the greenrider as she chews and swallows the last, and she wipes her hands of crumbs before tucking them back in her pocket. "Move over more, Zotz." She calls out, eyeing her gold.

Zotzilath snorts in her rider's direction, then turns her wedge-head to look at the pool. She sloshes over more, watching her legs, then estimating the distance between her and the green, then sloshing over a touch more. She does this three times, exactingly, before she decides there is now equal room and settles back down.

Issa settles into a lean against a bulge of the wall within casual conversation range which, considering the noise from the waterfall, is closer than usual. "How is G'mal doing?" the greenrider asks, so casual now that she doesn't even bother to look over at Amerigo. Instead, she watches the bathing dragons.

Oshisyth wades out deeper as the gold begins to slosh over, but hardly takes up as much room as she's left. For a moment, she enjoys it, ducking under, splaying out her wings, splashing at the water with her bloodied muzzle. But when she settles into a section where she can lounge with the water level at shoulder height, she politely sends an invitation for the gold to retake the space. She doesn't need it.

Zotzilath raises her wings again and looks particularly sassily toward her rider before she retakes some of that space. The appreciation that Zotzilath sends comes in fuzzy light bubbles, that resemble the sun covered by clouds, rather grey and downcast. Zotzilath lowers herself back into the water, so that her head is mostly submerged, save for her nostrils and eyes.

Amerigo thinks about the question, and then says, "He's G'mal. They're both in good health. Why?" She asks, looking in the greenrider's direction speculatively.

Oshisyth answers with bubbles of her own, far more physical. Her nose, washed free of much of the signs of her feeding by now, is stuck deep into the water and she playfully huffs out a breath, shooting out a stream of little bubbles that rush to pop on the surface. Meanwhile she blinks across at the gold who shares the pool, her eyes whirling a serene but curious green.

"Just curious," Issa answers as she turns to return the goldrider's look, a smooth smile rising to her lips. "I met him a few turns ago. Was just wondering how he was doing." Her eyes flick side to side a bit as she studies the goldrider's expression and the sides of her smile lift a bit higher. "Surely a Caucus student like yourself gets curious from time to time."

"About my Weyrleader?" Amerigo asks, raised eyebrows lumping together. "Listen, I don't even really /want/ to be here. I think you assume too much." Her eyes flick from the greenrider to her dragon.

Zotzilath continues to serenely (or perhaps sulkily) hide herself in the water for a long moment after the green makes her bubbles. Until a great sweep of her tail sends a wave in the directon of the green's side. Zotzilath snorts a few bubbles herself from underwater in self-satisfaction.

Oshisyth lifts her head, dripping big, fat droplets, a second after that wave hits her, interest piqued. With a bright little hum to herself she settles again. But slyly she begins to sneak into deeper water; with a sigh, she rolls and, with a stretch, she slinks further towards the gold, edging her way closer. When she deems it to be close enough, she stretches out her neck, lowers her head, and shoots an underwater stream of bubbles right at Zotzilath's flank. When they reach her, though, they're little more than a flurry of tiny ones.

Issa lifts her eyebrows sharply at the reply she gets for her comment, but the smile she has on her lips doesn't waver. "I was just speaking in general," she responds calmly. "So, if you don't mind my saying, I don't think I'm the only one doing the assuming."

Zotzilath 's attention has been momentarily distracted by Amerigo and she whuffles at her rider, glittering eyes agitating into yellow on her behalf. That's why it takes a moment for her to notice the tickling of bubbles against her flank, and when she does, her head pops out of the water and she bounces to her feet. Another tail slap in the green's directon, but the gold seems to good-naturedly realize she got outplayed.

Amerigo presses her lips together and her arms go to her hips. "If you say so." The heavy layers of sweater fall down and hide her hands. It takes a moment but she looks from her gold to the greenrider and then asks, "Do you know him? We can pass on your well-wishes if you like."

Oshisyth lets out an uncharacteristically deep honk as the gold rises and she quickly paddles back to her spot, playfully ducking her head in and out of the water as she goes. She curls around in the water to view the gold again, settling down into an easy crouch and pulling her tail in. But not without using it to send a tiny splash towards the gold first.

"Not really," Issa replies, keeping her hands firmly rooted in her pockets as she leans. Her eyes turn away from Amerigo as the moodiness seems to subside and keeps talking as she surveys the moss patterns on the rock before her feet. "Can't say I really wish him well, either. I was just curious, don't worry about it." In the last bit there's a subtle reminder in her tone; you're the one who keeps talking about him.

Zotzilath lets out a war-warble as she spreads her wings and then charges the green's curled up form. She stops just short of hitting her, letting all the momentum rush the waves toward her.

Amerigo has her attention on Zotzilath's charge, and then says, "Okay." But she's the one who brought him up! "I'm going to be late for class."

Eep! That's almost the exact sound Oshisyth makes when she finds a big gold charging at her. She doesn't move, but simply hunkers down in deeper into the water to await what's coming. This only makes the wave sweep over her entirely and leaves her sputtering when she comes up, shaking her head to clear her nose. She looks up at the gold and trills again, still good natured and playful despite the soaking. Then she dips her nose into the water and sends a couple of drops back, almost an admission of defeat in the wake of the rush of water she was treated to.

Issa nods, casually sliding her gaze back to the goldrider. "Don't keep the instructors waiting," she advises, her tone gaining the warmth of a tease. "I hear they don't like that." And she would know.

Zotzilath looks inordinately pleased with herself, but sends a wave of good sport feelings to the green before turning around and bounding towards Amerigo. Amerigo gives a skeptical look to her soaking dragon and then says, "No, you can stay and soak yourself. It's ah, okay." She then turns her head to Issa and says, "I'm discovering that to be true." With a little wave to the rider, she heads down the path. Zotzilath shakes off a bit and then follows her rider with a croon.

One Last Dinner

Sun, 16 Sep 2007 05:07:40 GMT

Issa and Reyce have Neiran up for a dinner in the week before they leave for Benden Weyr. They share thank yous and friendly conversation. (Neiran, Reyce, Issa, Asha)
IC Date: Month 5, Turn 4
OOC Date: 9-10-07 to 9-14-07

The remnants of dinner have been left scattered across the tiny, circular table sitting at the ledge's entrance that was dragged up to the weyr for the night's more exclusive, friendly dinner, an occassion that will be the last for some time with the couple's move little more than a sevenday away. Already crates have begun to accumulate at the weyr's entrance, a peripheral reminder of the transfer that, for the most part, has been an unspoken subject during dinner. The food they had brought up was, perhaps with Neiran in mind, simple fare but filling enough, with a skin of juice from the first berry harvest instead of wine. Now things have moved to the sitting area and a gurgling Asha has been brought from her crib to sit with the adults. She and Issa both pin down the white blanket that's been spread over a section of carpet, along with a small array of baby toys, Issa leaning her back against the foot of the couch while Asha leans against her mother's ever-present hand, though her little arm wavers out, stretching to rake forward a colored block that's just out of her reach. "I think that's what Reyce is going to miss the most," Issa turns the conversation from talk of that final project the two students have wrapped up, oblivious to her daughter's predicament. "The writing," she says, not at all serious as she sneaks a teasing glance to Reyce before turning back to look at Neiran. "Almost as much as those etiquette classes he missed out on."

Whatever etiquette classes he missed out on, Reyce picked up enough to learn subtle ways of humoring his guest - or really, with him, not getting in his guest's way. Food that Neiran favored found itself placed on his side of the table, just in case the ascetic healer went for an indulgent extra bite, and now the Bendenite has taken the couch so the healer may have the more comfortable armchair. As subtle as he is with his guest, he's equally subtle with his child, and when he spies Asha's interest in the block he starts slouching lower till he can reach the thing with his foot, and kick it toward her. "Don't think," he answers Issa, catching her teasing glance while still leaning out on the couch. His sentence ends when he realizes he's not exactly in the most dignified position from which to take part in conversation, and attempts just as subtly to pull himself back upright.

Neiran has been subdued during the whole of the evening. Certainly, his hosts' were thanked for their courteous observation of his mealtime needs, and conversation has been carried on in a cordial vein. But as much as the Journeyman is usually called bland or tranquil to the point of near-death, those that know him better - and best - will know that he's even more reticent tonight than he has been recently. He leans back against the armchair, sinking into it for the first time, in order to make an effort to appear relaxed, and genuinely do so. But the dark eyes that travel from Reyce, to Issa, to Asha, and back to the bastard of Benden again hold some other emotion at bay: pre-emptive loss and loneliness at their imminent departure from his daily life. "I shall endeavor to make up for the absence of Reyce's charm in etiquette classes, and the Weyr at large," he says softly, lips barely moving to form those words. Sentence finished, rather than stilling, they twitch furtively, once, before resuming again their neutral line. His eyes leave Reyce, go to Asha, and beyond her. "I may be unable to fulfill that promise, however. I would apologize for not having the foresight and means to produce a suitable gift for you, as individuals or as a family, during this occasion you've been kind enough to invite me to."

Issa's smiles have been all the brighter to compensate for the reserve of her guest, and for Neiran's comment about Reyce's charm, she gives him a particularly wide grin, silent laughter lifting her shoulders. Asha scrabbled after the block that suddenly moved her way, cooing as she set her hand on it, but her grasp proved not tight enough to deal with the thing once she had it, and it drops harmelssly down next to the other resting between her feet, red settling with a soft knock against blue. "Bah!" she announces loudly, cheerfully at the pairing, pulling her mother's beaming attention down to her. "You didn't need to. You can consider your gift the future visits you're going to pay to us," Issa tells Neiran while she watches the baby, feeding the red block into her tiny grip again only to have it thrown down again with more enthusiasm.

The red block strikes the carpet on its corner and bounces away from Asha, adding even more delight to her burbles. This time, Reyce isn't subtle about stretching down to knock the thing back towards her before she notices that cool sideways bounce = block goes out of reach again. "You're in her life," Reyce reminds Neiran. Since he first roped the healer into that responsibility, he has never been shy about calling on it as an oath whose perpetuity goes unquestioned. "Gift enough." After straightening himself on the couch again, he looks across to meet Neiran's eye, and if he can catch it, will give a small, brusque nod to give weight to his unspoken thanks.

Neiran's gaze lingers on Reyce for a while after it's departed Issa's visage, the stare communicating in his stoic way his full acknowledgment of his duties, and his willingness to respond to that oath's bondage. "It is a gift to me, as well - one which I am honored to possess. I have expressed such sentiments before, but thank you. Both." He shifts his weight in the chair, adjusts the freshly-pressed linen blouse he's worn under his vest, his notion of dressing up a little without being too stuffy, apparently. He slides forward, rises from the seat, to better straighten his shirt. Once risen, though, he decides not to sit down again. He's always been one to prefer peering down at people than looking up at them. "I am uncertain about what qualities you would wish or expect me to impart to your child, but I shall endeavor to do nothing to displease you or call into question your decision." Tentative, the healer laces his hands behind his back, and approaches the edge of the blanket; a border he won't cross, but lingers on the fringes of. "I will look forward to such visits, Issa," he informs the mother, voice drifting down from above, carried by its own weight like detritus to the sea floor. "Having an excuse to acquaint myself with varied locales is appreciated, and seeing two faces that I will be missing will be...welcome," he murmurs, looking at the tops of his boots.

Issa fields the red block this time, snatching it up from the roll Reyce's knock gave it; it's transfer to Asha's hand is delayed, though, as she looks up to field Neiran's heartfelt thanks with a sincere nod. "We'll miss you too, Neiran," Issa returns, voice dropped to a more serious note though her smile is maintained, mostly for Asha's sake as she shakes the block playfully in front of her, smiling as the teasing nearness prompts another jumbled noise from the girl's mouth. "And we'll write, yes?" she asks on another glance back up. "Or I will," she amends, looking briefly at Reyce this time, a corner of her smile sliding back as she recognizes the aversion to writing they touched on earlier. "It'll be good to hear something of what's happening here, with the Caucus." As soon as the block's sandwiched between both of Asha's tiny hands, Issa lifts her own away, giving the space of blanket to her left a subtle pat, invitation if Neiran was waiting on one.

Reyce's eyebrows lift when the healer, having gotten up, stays that way, and for once his attention leaves Asha so he can consider the other man's behavior. He has a lot of time to do so, while Neiran makes his lengthy reply and Issa puts in her own goodbye. But: "She'll write," he agrees, picking his way back into Issa's conversation. He channels his attention through her, leaving his gaze on her even after she's turned back to Neiran and watching the play of her smile set the tone.

He wasn't waiting for an invitation, but it seems that he's not one to decline it. Figuring out how to sit on a baby blanket without disturbing the fabric while maintaining one's grace is an involved process; the Journeyman stands there for a few moments more, blinking, calculating, before he finally lowers himself to his knees with all the deliberateness he can muster. His rump rests on the heels of his boots, and he folds his arms across his chest, looking decidedly unnatural in the not-quite-actually-sitting-with-mom-and-baby posture he's adopted. "I will certainly write. I do not know how busy my new duties once I am a Caucus graduate will find me, but I imagine that I will have time enough to delegate to correspondence." Unaware he looks like he has a pole for a spine, the healer looks up at Reyce. "I would be pleased if you would dictate news of yourself to her so I do not feel so deeply that you are on the other side of Pern, as you will be." Neiran looks down at Asha then, bearing the mildly wary expression of someone who finds children to be foreign things, unsure if his proximity will prove a disturbance, but curious about the unscripted play going on.

Asha loses the red block once again, but this time it's less dramatic, a simple drop that hardly bounces at all. Just as she's about to retrieve it, Issa sweeps her up, the supporting hand dragging lower to catch her bottom while the other hooks under her arms; Asha's repositioned closer to Neiran and facing him now, in between him and her supporting mother. A vaguely fussy noise precedes the return of her toys, but as soon as the blocks are brought after, the beginning quiets into happy coos again. Issa drags a ragdoll over for good measure, though this one remains in her hands instead, fidgeted with while she reminds quietly, "Her too, when she starts talking."

Reyce managed to avoid watching Issa's invitation for the healer to settle down on the blanket with her, but when it's accepted, he can't help but be mildly surprised and intrigued by the sight of Neiran lowering himself for a little baby tete-a-tete. He's waiting there, then, when the healer looks up to get some sense of his inclusion in these future letters. "'h will," he confirms for the healer, pulling one leg onto the couch as he turns in that direction: the better to keep an eye on everyone now they're all sitting on the floor together. "Just that she'll write them. Issa." Because Asha was such a legitimate possibility for that 'she.' He looks at her briefly before going back to Neiran. "Better she does it since I don't write very good." Or speak, for that matter; his error would seem a deliberate irony if not for the fact that he makes that one often.

Confronted with the baby, Neiran unfolds his arms and rests his hands on his thighs, upper body inching forward ever so slightly. There's that surgeon's scrutiny in his eyes, picking over the child like he'd forgotten to do the usual finger and toes check when he delivered her. "If there is anything you would like to know about High Reaches while I remain here, do not hesitate to request it in writing, and I will endeavor to retrieve the requisite news for you." An offer to keep abreast of current events, or an offer to be eyes and ears? If he means the latter, he has a casual way of offering to be a spy. He's focused on the curiosity that is Asha, eyes sliding between mother and father every so often, clearly piecing together what bits of who she's inherited. "I wonder how long it will seem...until she's our age."

Asha entertains herself without regard for the surgeon's stare, now simply banging the top of the block with her spread hand, her little noises punctuating each tiny slap. Issa slouches more deeply against the couch, sighing slightly as she briefly ponders what news items she will beg of Neiran. “Anything,” she mutters, continuing in the casual vein, with a tiny twist at the corner of her smile, a lazy shrug lifting as she adds, “everything.” She reflects a moment on that everything she’s going to be separated from soon, eyes skipping down to the carpet, but her attention is easily brought back by Neiran’s pondering. “I’m still working on the now,” she admits the hint of a chuckle rounding her words, her supporting hand reaching up to stroke lightly over the baby’s thin, dark hair before returning to its sentry spot.

Reyce provides a good subject for Neiran's comparison, sitting still like an artist's model while the other man's gaze moves between him and Asha and picks out the similarities. That kind of examination is something he's grown used to, and from the healer, doesn't mind. "She grows fast," he admits of his daughter, looking down while she beats up that block. His hand, however, goes to Issa's shoulder, not bothering to disguise an offering of affection when she's paused by the thought of leaving High Reaches. It doesn't stay there longer than it needs to give a comforting squeeze, retreating soon after to an innocuous position on his own knee. "Already changed a lot. Won't be long." He's pretty level about it, shrugging the idea off easily.

"Although I am certain the Hall's agents at Benden Hall and Weyr both are competent, do not hesitate to call on me for advice if you fail to find satisfactory answers to your questions regarding her, there. I am at your disposal." A pause, his eyes remaining now on Asha. Tentatively, Neiran lifts his right hand from his thigh, outstretches it towards the baby in an offer of contact. Impossible to tell whether the Journeyman wants to satisfy the curiosity he imagines the babe must have (despite her preoccupation with the block), or if it's he himself who's actually satisfied. One thing is clear: dealing with babies is not his forte, for he's offering his hand palm-down, wrist dangling somewhat, exactly like how one offers their hand to a canine to sniff for the first time. He doesn't dare venture it too close, either, as though afraid the thing will bite. A furtive glance towards Issa's face suggests awkwardness under scrutiny as the real reason.

Asha remains preoccupied with that block for several seconds before the hand that hovers nearby draws her attention. The banging ceases as she moves her hazel eyes, more green than her father's, to the meticulous, red-tinged nails held in front of her then up to the face that they belong to, mouth held wetly open. After a hanging moment she lets out another loud noise, half screech and half laugh, face scrunching up at him as she blindly begins to bang the block under her hand once again. The exertion causes her to rock back against her mother's waiting hand, which keeps her upright. Issa, who offered Neiran a slight smile of reassurance when he glanced up at her, slouches down and lets her head drop down against the knee Reyce's hand lays over. "Thanks, Neiran," she returns in a relaxed murmur. "That'll help a lot. Especially if you're the only one Reyce trusts with her." She pauses to let her jibe settle, then adds more sincerely, "It really does mean a lot, you know. Your helping with her." A knee-hindered nod emphasizes the point.

Giving Neiran some freedom from scrutiny while he's testing boundaries with Asha, Reyce focuses on Issa as her head comes to rest on his knee. His hand lifts through her hair, giving a few small strokes to encourage her to stay there and then settling again. "Don't mind," he murmurs, some off-hand comment that he puts into the conversation distractedly, with no real attention to where it belongs. He's more on the ball in a moment, popping off a low grunt to confirm the suggestion that Neiran is the only one he trusts - jibe though it may have been initially. "You're okay with it?" he wonders, taking a small step outside the solemn oath he reinforced earlier to check whether the healer he shanghaied has any thoughts of his own. His eyebrows lift when he meets Neiran's eye. "Know kids aren't the best." And his own is too young to be offended when he makes this suggestion now.

Neiran lifts his dark eyes from Asha, just as he returns his tentative hand to his lap, perhaps disappointed that she did not, indeed, sniff it. "I am a surgeon," he begins, meeting that gaze of Reyce's which seeks to find reassurance that the healer does not mind the oath he's been bound to. "But I am also a physician, and a man who is interested in bettering himself in the Craft's many fields. It will give me purpose to increase my pediatric expertise. I thank you for the occasion to do so." His eyes drop to the kid in question, that 'not the best' little thing he's agreeing to overshadow from afar. "Yes," he agrees with Reyce. "But I would fail in doing what Caucus has taught me if I did not address my discomfiture in this arena and attempt to overcome it. Healers who avoid all matters of caring for children also garner themselves unfavorable reputations amongst their peers. I am honored by the trust you show me, as well." His eyes swing to Issa as he says that; it's the mother's trust as much as the father's he's thankful for. "I wonder if I might ask no small favor in return - ask you to concern yourselves - namely you, Issa, I would imagine - with my own, ah, figurative child, while you are at Benden Weyr..?" The question is blurted out in a quiet rush, a breath of air that shows for all the careful planning behind the request, the Journeyman is awkward with it and eager to lay it on the table so he can put it behind him.

Interest piques in Issa's expression, both eyebrows lifting though she keeps her head heavy against Reyce's knee. Her reassuring, "Of course," is quick to come, though it carries a hint of curious confusion at the idea that the healer could have any child but his craft, a tone that's dissappeared by the time she adds, "You've done so much for us already." The baby loses interest in her banging and begins again to try and pick the thing up. That too bores her, and with one last bump of her palm, she blinks up, looking for other entertainment; with the ragdoll still captured in Issa's hand, Neiran's the only interesting thing she finds in front of her, so she stares up at him, again relying on her mother to keep from teetering over.

Reyce holds his gaze steady on the healer for the length of that response, his acceptance of it summed up in one simple nod at the end, just before Neiran turns to Issa for that odd request of his. He leaves it to her to accept it, since she's particularly indicated as the target, only tacking on a grunt to show his own willingness in the matter.

Neiran realizes that he's being looked at, and so returns Asha's stare; open curiosity and innocence meets educated scrutiny. It gives him a convenient excuse not to have to look at mother or father, suddenly shy. "I mean it in the most figurative sense," he hurries to explain, having caught that curious confusion in the greenrider's tone. "And, admittedly, one I have nursed for far too long and am thus eager to be rid of. My dragonhealing manuscript. If you would be so kind as to...test the waters for its reception abroad? I would keep revising it incessantly if I do not send it away, soon, or at least a copy of it. The purpose of it was to spread cohesive knowledge about it, and it has not yet done so. I am also curious about how procedures and outlines within it would be received. It is...a fairly large task, I would imagine," he muses, looking at Reyce almost apologetically, for putting this task on his lady friend; it'll inevitably result in some measure of time spent apart that would otherwise be spent together, or so he perceives. He looks at Asha again, and extends his hand, palm-up this time, and deigns to address her directly. "Hello."

Recognition sparks this time-- so it is the Craft-- as Issa lifts her head to attend to Neiran's explanation, her interest becoming more and more fixed as he continues. Asha, too, focuses further on the surgeon, though for an entirely different reason; she hasn't the slightest idea what to do with that extended hand, but it's all she has to watch now so she does just that, blinking between it and Neiran's face while she burbles out the occasional nonsense noise. "Of course," Issa repeats with more enthusiasm now, nodding. "Roa's mentioned it several times, but I didn't realize it was so far along. Of course I'll take it." She resettles the back of her head against Reyce's knee, a relaxed smile sweeping up as she adds, half-teasingly, "On the condition that I get to read through it, that is."

Neiran's apologetic look deserves an answer, and Reyce communicates in equal silence, giving a small nod to convey acceptance without interrupting the conversation. The proposed read-through, more than the burden of presenting it, will probably be the real culprit in taking Issa's time away from Reyce, and he pulls one of his sinus-clearing sniffs when she brings it up. Still, he keeps his knee there for her head: the fact that he shifts away just gives him a better angle to watch this Neiran-Asha exchange, and meanwhile he lifts his fingers back into Issa's hair to steal some tiny contact while the healer is distracted. "She likes fingers," he puts in, giving his chin a small tug towards his daughter. "Grabs onto them. Might put it in her mouth though, have to watch out for that you don't want it." With excellent timing, Asha makes another of her nonsense noises, gawping her wet little mouth for Neiran to see.

Neiran watches Asha's mouth as she gurgles, as though those ruminations are moments away from becoming a 'how do you do,' and he's determined to be the one to catch it. Instead, he eases forward a little, gestures towards her chubby hand. Expecting a proper handshake, even though they've already fully met. "My next request was to be for you to do me the kindness of reading it over...I would be grateful for a dragonrider's eyes, and ones so discerning as yours, Issa. Thank you." The Journeyman looks up at the mother again, and returns her relaxed smile with a press of his lips, signs of shyness and anxiety about the request washed away. "I intend to offer it to Roa for the official distribution, but I do not think it would do any harm to test its reception on a more casual grounds. In fact, it may be beneficial..." Now he registers his associate's warning, and looks speculatively between his fingers and that ominous mouth. "I imagine she will regret it if she does. They taste, I imagine, like a combination of redwort and feverfew. Perhaps also parchment. I assure you they are aseptic." Wouldn't want them to worry about their daughter contracting something. If anyone has clean hands, Neiran does. He doesn't pull his hand back despite the warning, apparently still waiting for that handshake to see if this baby creature is civilized or not.

Asha just keeps staring until her aimlessly wandering hand happens to bump into his waiting one, which centers all of her attention on those large fingers. She grips the side of his first finger, grasp clenching with the scratch of tiny fingernails, loosening and then tightening again, curiously testing. Her mother watches on from behind, utterly pleased at the fact that she's to get new reading material and at the attention her daughter is getting at the moment. To the conversation she contributes nothing but a smooth, proud smile and the occasional attentive or accepting nod.

Reyce cannot simply watch this introduction: he holds still for a little while, watching Asha test her grip, but then he heaves forward on the couch with a grunt and without asking takes control of the healer's hand. His fingers push down the extraneous few, leaving only the one that Asha's hanging onto. The girl herself seems only mildly interested in this exchange, looking up at her interfering father with a few simple blinks. Once the path has been cleared for her hand to close around that single finger, though, she does so automatically, enclosing the whole thing inside her hand after Reyce's moves out of the way. She forgets about him as soon as he's gone, choosing instead to look at the new person whom she has trapped by the finger. "Ahhh," she tells Neiran informatively.

The surgeon looks more surprised to find Reyce's hand on his than he would look if he found a disembodied head at his disposal. Surprise (note the widening of narrow eyes, the rapid blinking) doesn't carry over into dismay, however - the mathematician's earned himself that. He looks at the new configuration his hand's been pushed to, assesses it for a silent moment. When he realizes the utility of the arrangement, he remarks, "ah." Echoed by Asha, Neiran blinks, one corner of his mouth giving a twitch. He studies the offspring, even goes so far as to wiggle that entrapped finger ever so slightly. "She is...healthy. You are both proud for good reason." That 'health' may have meant to be another adjective. Mom and dad can fill in, as they wish.

While Reyce leans forward to correct the hand that she was content to simply watch, however mistaken it was, Issa quickly switches to watching Neiran's face, a faint twist of amusement pulling at the edge of her smile as she observes the moment of surprise played out there. The amusement only grows as the healer comments, probably predictably, on her daughter's health. Proud mama that she is, her hand strokes absently down Asha's back, smile growing slowly broader. "Make you want to have one of your own?" she asks, a definite tease in her voice though her raised eyebrow is enough to suggest she wants an answer at least.

Reyce lacks the imagination to substitute some other word for healthy, and greets that assessment with a nod and grunt of thanks: Asha's check-up satisfies. Though he settled back on the couch and let healer and baby alone to navigate their latest introduction, he's still decidedly leaned forward where he can watch them clearly. Given the trust he's already shown in the healer, it's unlikely that he does this out of a protective instinct; more likely that pride that Neiran mentioned cropping up. Asha hangs onto the wiggled finger, pouching her mouth at this new challenge, and brings her other hand up to grasp it more securely. She may not connect Neiran's face directly with the wiggling incident, but her eyes haven't left him yet, and so he happens to be the focus of her concentrated frown as she figures out her new plan of action.

Neiran's used to making girls frown. The look he watches Asha with is less adversarial and scrutinizing than before, some of that frigidity he's shown over dinner melting away as the meal digests and this family thing infects his system like an inhaled miasma. Issa's question has the power nevertheless to elicit a sharp look. Surprise, not reproach. More blinking, and the healer leans back on his rump, straightening again where he'd fallen into a slight stoop. From this vantage, he assesses the offspring down the bridge of his nose, eyes half-lidded. "I...imagine that the...prerequisite situations and criteria which are conducive to producing progeny are...not those which I myself will face, so...ah..." Torn between his instinct to worm out of questions lest he expose himself, and the desire to be truthful to a friend who'll be departing all too soon, he finds himself looking at Reyce with rounded eyes. How's a man supposed to answer a question like that?

Even if she catches that appealing glance to Reyce, Issa's not about to let him off with only that vague answer. "Oh, why not?" she asks him next, managing to be quietly encouraging and curiously prodding all at once. She gives him a break from her inquisitive stare, at least, lowering her gaze to Asha's survey of the healer instead.

The problem with relying on a mathematician as your social barrier is that mathematicians aren't very socially adept themselves. Reyce is watching Asha, trusting Issa to carry on the conversation, and doesn't realize that the situation has turned awkward until Neiran directly pins him with that strange look. And even then he doesn't know quite what to do with himself, any more than the healer does, his brow wrinkling with worry as his glance escapes to the already distracted Issa.

Seeing that his usual quietly desperate look isn't evoking the response it has in the past, the healer is forced to fend for himself. Neiran draws in a long breath through his teeth, and turns his head to look at the greenrider feigning nonchalance. "My Craft has demanded all my focus for many years. As you are both aware, I do not enjoy activities which I must...practice while under scrutiny. I prefer to perfect what I can in privacy. However, the steps of courtship are not something to which that principle can apply, so even if I desired it, I would be hesitant to engage myself in the pursuit of that desire. I will admit to you in confidence that...sometimes the idea of a continuation of myself is appealing...However, I believe that the work I do for the Hall will serve the same function without the awkward preamble of partnership. There are no candidates for the necessary other in offspring production, in any case, and I am not yet in a position to properly support a family, and I fear that family would be neglected for my preference for my work. That is my honest answer." And now, a long breath is slowly exhaled, his shoulders easing downward a little, a weight lifted. His eyes fall to Asha, and he lifts his thumb to tap at the back of one of those chubby hands holding his finger so determinedly.

Her prodding now paid off, Issa accepts that honest answer of his, smile fizzling slightly though she nods amiably. "Maybe when you walk the tables again," she suggests cheerfully in the next beat, amusement returning so soon after its slight fade. "I hear girls flock to Masters almost as much as they do to Blooded holder boys." As if they didn't already know her preference, she curls her hand, ragdoll and all, around Reyce's ankle.

Aware, quite clearly, that he failed Neiran in this, Reyce tries to make up for himself by speaking at last. "It happens," he says. It's a paltry effort. But his hand sweeps onto Issa's, brushing the back of her arm as far as he can reach without shifting his position away from Asha and Neiran. "That you can't have both. Pick one, think it's reasonable. Not easy." Yet he proclaims it 'not easy' in a very simple tone of voice, shrugging it off as his hand runs back to the top of Issa's. Squeezing her fingers, making sure they'll stay around his ankle, he draws his hand away there and drops it on the couch. "Can do better, though, just don't want to be seen trying it. Said that, Caucus taught you different. Won't bother you about it, though." He includes both himself and Issa in that last statement with a quick gesture of his freed hands that encompasses them both, then resettles with one of his quick sniffs.

Neiran's not one to hold grudges about social failings; Reyce was forgiven even before he decided to make the effort. He taps Asha's hand once more with his thumb, then withdraws his hand gently, working with patience to worm his finger free from the infant's grasp. He rises, uncurling his spine with all the speed of an opening fern shoot. One of his kneecaps pops when he rights himself, drawing a sharp look and a lifting of the healer's brows. They stay risen, while he folds his hands behind his back and regards the parents. Walking the tables. Now there's something that sparks an eagerness in the Journeyman's dark eyes. "Yes," he replies to Issa, the corners of his mouth working self-consciously to restrain something. "My Master's is my next goal. I have only a handful of Turns remaining to me if I wish to be entered into records as one of the youngest healers to receive his Master's knot. That would...that would make me very happy," he admits. "It is a more exciting prospect than any family. Perhaps afterward my priorities will readjust themselves, but I cannot abide such distractions now." A beat. "But, ah, I can tell you this all in a letter if you cared for it. I have forgotten what Caucus has taught me already - tell me what you intend for yourselves, as individuals and as a trio, in your new locale." Eyes sweep between man and woman.

Issa's expression grows warmer as she picks up on that subtle eagerness in Neiran, settling for this variant, though it's not the enthusiasm over future family that she hoped to win out of him. She nods a quick affirmative when he suggests elaborating in a letter, then again, more hesitant, when he turns a question back on them. "We're not really sure," she prefaces, tilting her head back to shoot Reyce a glance. "Working in a wing, wherever the Weyrleader puts me." Her fingers on Reyce's ankle close tighter as she abandons the ragdoll to the floor. "Finding Reyce a job. At the Weyr, hopefully." Asha watches the healer's retreating finger for a moment, but quickly loses interest, turning her attention to the brightly colored things in front of her. Her fingers scrabble against the edge of the blue block this time, her posture leaning forward precariously so she can do so.

Reyce's eyes drop aside for a moment, a breath of silent laughter whuffing out. His gaze tracks it way back across Asha with her blocks till it finds the standing healer again, giving him a quick, wry twist of the lips. Speaking of choices. "Where they put me," he agrees with Issa's phrasing, touching her hand on his ankle again.

The Journeyman's lips move with the words, "I wish the both of you - three of you - the best," as his eyes complete the obligatory look between the pair, and rest on Reyce's mouth as that puff of silent laughter dies. "Beyond what I have already offered, if there is anything I can do to make you comfortable in your new home, do not hesitate to make it known." That's said crisply, easily. But there's the sense of more that needs be said. He laces his fingers together in front of him, fingertips plucking at the cuff of his blouse for a moment. He tugs his vest snug, idle preens that stall. "Thank you for arranging this dinner." No, there's more yet he needs to say, and he seems to be looking at the ground to find the words. "I'm...I shall miss you both. Very much. You have...you have been instrumental in these formative Caucus years for me. I cannot imagine what they would have been without the both of you. I am indebted...for, for your friendship during these Turns." Compelled by his own awkward, stuffy formality, he presents a brief, jerky half-bow.

Issa will do him one better than that sketched bow. After a moment of smiling up at him she abandons her hold on Reyce's wrist and the mostly superfluous support of Asha's back. She rolls swiftly up, edging around Asha's blocks and leaning over to close him in a hug. If Reyce's finger-touch threw him off, he'll have to hold off a heart attack at the firm circle of Issa's arms around his waist; she gives him plenty of time to get used to it, at least, holding him steady as she utters a muffled, but still audible, "Thank you, too," in return. She backs away from her slightly awkward lean, giving him his personal bubble back as she notes with a small smile, "The feeling's mutual." Instead of adopting a mirror of his kneeling posture, she collapses into a cross-legged one, one bracing arm falling quite purposely behind Asha, who has been happily fiddling with the blocks, turning them over and over, the whole time.

Reyce scoots towards the edge of the couch, but before he can move any further Issa's blocking the way with a hug. He's suprised himself to see it, but her openness is a familiar thing, at least, and surprise soon fades from his expression. The healer will have a moment or two to breathe but then, in what will seem a far tamer gesture after that hug, Reyce firmly clasps his hand. Another grip lands on Neiran's shoulder, holding him there while Reyce fixes eye contact. "Been good," the Bendenite summons out of his vocabulary. "Got my thanks." The idea gets a beat or two to circulate, then he lets the healer go and steps back.

Neiran looks wary for a brief moment as Issa approaches that area of space he vehemently guards as his own. But instinctive surveillance systems recognize her, and allow her entrance. The hug is still shocking, and the Journeyman in the greenrider's arms is a scrawny, terse thing for a few seconds. His arms raise after he comprehends that, yes, he is being hugged, and it's okay, and his palms dither about her shoulderblades in a feeble attempt to return the gesture. A slightly firm pat to her upper back should constitute some measure of success. "Thank you," he murmurs needlessly, before she steps away. Just as his bubble is re-forming, Reyce intrudes on it, but in a fashion he's at least somewhat used to. He clasps the Bendenite's hand somewhat firmly, and nods in lieu of a hearty shoulder-slap. "Thank you, Reyce." When the Bendenite steps back, his own space fully awarded to him once again, the Journeyman allows one corner of his mouth to succeed in twitching itself upward just a little, and holding itself there. "If you feel a lack of intellectual stimulation in your new residence, tell me and perhaps we could devise a mathematical game to amuse ourselves across the distance."

Issa lets the men share their bonding experience now that hers is done, turning her attentions on Asha instead, who gets scooped up away from her blocks and into her mother's lap. A subdued noise of protest sounds when she's relocated, but when a doll, duller than the one Issa fussed with earlier, is brought over for her to paw. At the mention of a mathematical game, she beams a smile over at the two, nodding briefly at Reyce; she agrees they should, apparently.

Reyce glances down when he hears Asha's fussy noise, reflexively stepping aside in case his standing up is somehow the cause of her distress. Finding nothing there but Issa's beaming smile, he returns his attention to Neiran. "Should," he responds. "Try it anyway. Get too busy won't mind if you let it sit a while, but get it set up with the letters." His near hand tugs towards Issa, the appointed scribe of such letters, to clarify the reference. "Good idea."

"I shall do my utmost not to propose any game too simple," the Journeyman muses, the other corner of his mouth briefly joining the one in its upward cant, before lips return to an even line. "I would not wish you to retract your offer of arranging visits for fear of having dreary company." Neiran looks at the contented toddler on her equally contented mother's lap. And the contented, if surly-dispositioned, father. "Issa..as it falls to you and Oshisyth to convey me to the ground at some point this evening, I put my hour of departure at your hands. But it may be pertinent to know that I expressly removed myself from the call-in list this evening except in cases of the most dire emergency surgery. And in my bag," he gestures vaguely towards the satchel he ditched in one corner before dinner, "I have that go set." An offer to play until they decide to kick him out, a gift of his hoarded time, albeit a selfish one, for his gift of time commands theirs in return. "I understand if you would prefer to sleep early, however."

Asha and Issa both look at Neiran when he speaks again, their resemblance more striking so close together. The latter simply mouths idly at the ambiguous head of the ragdoll being held in front of her while the former is much more intent, excitement growing at the mere mention of Go. "No, no," she assures him of her alert state, adding a short shake of her head for good measure, "I can sleep anytime. Let's play." She appeals to Reyce now, scooping up the contentedly gnawing Asha and lifting her to indicate that he should take her so she's free to attend to this last little indulgence.

Reyce does not have to guess to figure out whether Issa would be willing to prolong her evening to play a game, and he's already turned and ready to take Asha when Issa turns to him. Since she gets to keep her ragdoll, the baby goes without a fuss, barely even pausing to register the movement as she's lifted from one set of arms to another. "Welcome to stay," he tells Neiran, tilting his head to one side to get around the obstruction that is Asha lifted to one shoulder. "And can get you what more you want, food or anything." So as not to single out the healer with excessive guest courtesy, he glances over to include Issa in this offer as well, but shortly has to move out of the way to keep Asha occupied while the two of them set up their Go board.

Better

Thu, 06 Sep 2007 04:35:16 GMT

Reyce forgets his and Issa's anniversary, but she eventually forgives him and drags him off to a secluded spot to, among other things, talk about their future. (Reyce, Issa)
IC Date: Day 25, Month 4, Turn 4
OOC Date: 8-27-07 to 9-5-07

With Issa's resignation from weyrling wingsecond, her time has become more her own after drills and meetings with her temporarily assigned wing and she takes advantage of it this afternoon. She found Reyce with a surprise hug from behind and a shamelessly involved kiss to follow it, then fell back into the routine of normal conversation as they sat, thigh to thigh, to eat their food. As the meal wore on, he may have noticed a shred of suspicion in the glances she gave him, but if pressed she would simply shrug it off, shake her head. That sneaking sense persists still, as they dispose of their dishes, her eyes searching his face briefly before she twines her newly freed hand with his and guides them at a meandering pace out the nearby bowl entrance. "So I was thinking," she announces slowly, taking a pause to gauge his reaction to just that crisply stated beginning before she continues, "that we could let my mother take Asha for a while today." With Missima's departure more imminent than their own, she's been spending as much time as possible with her daughter, granddaughter, and, when he happens to be attached to the other two, Reyce himself. "And we could have some time alone," she adds, eyes snapping back up to watch his face again, remaining as she goes on to suggest casually, "maybe find that big rock again, the one you took me to for my birthday." A rush of riders ahead of them, freshly dusted from sweeps, hurries in to catch the last round of hot food, but they barely have to pause before passing out into the bowl, streaked with sun and shade on this cloudy but pleasantly springy day.

It's a proportional thing. The more free time Issa has, the less Reyce has to spend with her. Putnam's grudging acceptance of his star pupil's decision to leave did not extend far enough to excuse him from the duties he agreed to before, and this week Reyce had to step in to teach class for the third and final time. Add that preparation to the papers he's been swimming in lately, and his recent presence in the weyr has mostly been a formality. He roused himself far enough to press around the issue of her suspicious glances, but unable to find traction with any of his questions, soon gave up the matter for a mystery and went back to dinner as usual. Her suggestion for some alone time, when it's finally offered, gets him to duck his head and let out a small breath of amusement. "Yeah," he answers, lifting his head with a quick sniff. "Could really climb it, this time." His hand squeezes hers as he pulls it behind his back, pushing it towards his waist and waiting to see if it takes before he puts his own arm over her shoulders. Meanwhile his eyes are following that rush of riders, watching them carefully to ensure his little tug on her hand, the subtle shift of his steps to one side, was enough to get them both out of the hungry warpath; once the riders are past, then he looks down at Issa.

Issa's gaze is still silently curious when it meets his, as if he were in possession of a particularly alluring secret and she was trying to make him reveal it without even realizing it. She's smiling though, easy and unconcerned with whatever sticks in her mind. Her hand went obligingly where he guided it and now it lies flat for several steps more before settling into a slight tapping motion that just rustles the fabric of his shirt. "Did you want to bring anything along?" she asks, a sudden, curious whim tossed away with a vague shrug that presses against his draped arm.

Reyce hadn't considered bringing something, and the question makes him miss half a beat in his step. He catches up with one long stride that easily puts him in synch with Issa again, then settles down into the shorter paces he must adopt to keep time with her. "Could bring your blanket," he supposes, but he's already shrugging the suggestion off as he makes it. "Not that cold, so don't have to." And, since he's still heading towards the weyr's exit tunnel: "Would just go, unless you want something." His turn to aim a curious look back at her, his eyebrows lifting blandly.

To balance, Issa's brows drop lower, too shallow to even etch out the crease between them, as she puzzles out his nonchalant response to her suggestion. The expression lasts for several steps more in silence, then a slow, one-edged smile drifts up to join it as she accuses lightly and half-disbelieving, "You really did forget, didn't you?" Finally out in the bowl, they manage to avoid any near misses like the one before and find a goal for their easy pace; Oshisyth makes her backwinged entrance not far off, settling into a puff of dust that's already settling by the time they reach the edge of it.

Curious becomes confused, then concerned, as Reyce's steps slow past the point of just needing to keep pace with Issa and eventually bring them to the halt. The dust whisks around their ankles as Reyce turns to frown at Issa, making it clear beyond doubt that whatever it is, he really did forget it. And then he remembers. His eyebrows reverse direction again, popping back up his forehead without disturbing the creased lines of worry. "I forgot." He barely raises his voice above a whisper, but even quiet, it's easy to detect the surprise and disbelief in his words. How could he have forgotten? Another hand reaches out to Issa, holding her just within arm's reach as it strokes down her shoulder, unconsciously begging forgiveness. "Didn't even think the month, Issa, I'm sorry."

Issa lets out a sigh full of forced patience when she's caught back by his stopping, smile dropping into a displeased little pout at his quiet admission. She levels a gaze at him that's only mildly annoyed as those looks go, and utters, "Reyce," with a long-drawn and breathy tone. Then she casts a sweeping glance over the rest of the bowl, her approaching green given a look while she's at it. Oshisyth stops a few feet off, eyes whirling greener by the second as she looks Reyce's way, issuing a dust-spreading snort that sounds vaguely amused. "Don't worry, dear," she responds with a bit of half-teasing sourness as she looks back at him, the inflection dropped for a more sincere tone, shaded by disappointment. "You'll make it up somehow, I'm sure."

Reyce pulls her closer, his arms encircling her waist and making it arch into him. "I'll make it up," he promises, still with that wrinkle of worry marking his brow. He gently swings Issa, rocking her from one side to another so it slowly becomes harder for her to keep her feet anchored in one place. "Really will. Want to." One of his swings is not so gentle, forcing her to stumble sideways and over his foot, which put itself in the way when she wasn't looking. Reyce turns with the motion, giving her no room to recover as he winds her down and then crumples her back together as he picks her up in a ball. A heavy grunt puffs out of him as he gets back up with her in his arms, tossing her weight and ignoring her protests if she has any. "Don't need a dragon to get to the rock," he comments, murmuring over her head as he watches Oshisyth.

Issa is only minorly resistant to his little rocking motions, going along with them grudgingly until he simply bowls her over. Her protest is just a light grunt, surprised when she trips down and he doesn't keep her upright, followed by another when he hoists her back up. She can't help but throw her arms haphazardly around his neck to keep herself steady, and her fingers dig into his skin less than politely where she finds it to pay him back for the sudden lift. When he looks at Oshisyth, she follows suit, explaining, "She wanted to find a place to sun anyway." Oshisyth dips her head under the paired scrutiny, dropping into a more comfortable crouch while they wait. "She says she won't get in the way," she adds as a side note, one leg kicking out slowly before she just submits to his holding grip, relaxing into it and letting her head drop sideways against her arm.

This mode of transportation means Reyce doesn't get to go very far with Issa in his arms, but he makes what he can of the distance. "Make sure you're not up to something," he tells her, meandering toward Oshisyth. "She's fine." Alas, despite his meandering efforts, the green is still only a few paces away, and by the time he's finished speaking he's already reached her side. Issa gets jounced again, the reproachful dig of her fingernails ignored, as he turns her upright and bends down to set her feet on the ground.

"No," Issa confirms for him as he sets her down again, "I'm not up to anything." With a flick of her wrist she straightens the jacket he's shifted up with his hefting and a toss of her head rights stubborn curls. "I thought you were up to something," she continues, passing only a quick glance at him before she starts to scale the straps to her usual seat. "Pretending to have no plans, playing dumb," she all but grumbles while she's scaling her dragon's side, her leg tossed over with a soft grunt to finish it all off.

Reyce watches her climb up, his hands slipping towards his pants pockets while he stands there. "Really am dumb," he answers on a heavy exhalation, turning his eyes down to the ground and knocking a loose stone away with his boot. It goes skittering under Oshisyth's belly while he approaches her shoulder, giving her a quick touch with his palm before he grabs the straps and climbs up.

Oshisyth flinches at the bouncing crack of the stone as it rolls under her, but catches herself as he approaches, peering around instead of startling any further. His one-handed touch gets a soft snort, and then she turns forward again. "You're not dumb," Issa corrects him in a low murmur as he reaches the ridges, even though it was her implication that sparked the comment in the first place. She leaves it at that though, as he situates himself, as relaxed in her own spot as she would be on any couch, the harnesses left unbuckled for the short trip. He'll have only a handful of seconds of sitting before Oshisyth, deciding they're sufficiently secure, throws herself into the air, winging up over the bowl wall in a lazy arc and swooping back down in the direction of the cliff that marks the spot of the flat rock they found months ago. She has to crunch a few newly budding bushes in her landing, but she sets them down a short walk's distance from the side of it and crouches low again for the dismount.

After this long, Reyce has grown comfortable enough to go for a ride without strapping up, but he still prefers not to if his hands aren't otherwise occupied with dinner plates or homework. Buckling himself in keeps him occupied until Oshisyth springs up, where the fast whoosh of air makes it impossible to say anything, anyway. Since she didn't strap in, Issa will beat him to the ground by a long shot, but Reyce catches up quickly and plants himself in front of her, arms going around her waist and dragging her up tight again. "Really am sorry, then," he tries, slowly walking her backwards out of Oshisyth's wing reach.

Issa waits for him on the ground near Oshisyth's forearm, but she's not exactly idle. While he's busy extricating himself, she's busy extricating something else from one of the pouches along the very front section of the straps. She's only just fastened up the flap again, a square, hide-wrapped package in her hand, when he pulls her in to him. She goes along easily and submits to his walking, all the resistance in her voice as she tells him, "You should be." Even then, it's a small, waning amount. Her arms are tucked against his chest, and the package along with them; it's soft, cushy beneath the rough hide that's been closed with a string, done up with a bow tied by a more precise and professional hand than Issa's. As soon as they're clear, Oshisyth takes one last look at them then takes off again, spreading dust again as she wings up and over the outcropping of rock, out of sight on her way to some ideal spot to soak up the returned spring sunlight.

Reyce waits for the dust to settle, ceasing to walk Issa anywhere for a moment and using the downtime to tip his chin down, eyeing that package she has pressed between them. "'m sorry," he says again, this time with less remorse, more simple reassurance that he is - as he should be - sorry. "Find another day as special, you get two parties." As he speaks, his face leans closer to hers, his shadow taking over from Oshisyth's as the green wings away. If he can catch her mouth, he'll kiss it; otherwise it's the bridge of her nose that gets the attention. "Anniversary of the first time we fucked," he suggests, parting the kiss suddenly and lowering his hands just below her ass, giving her thighs a pull towards him but stepping back, reversing direction now that Oshisyth's left the path to the rock clear, so the gesture goes nowhere except to leave Issa with the responsibility of walking him toward their goal.

Issa lifts her chin, an expression of interest in this new suggestion as much as a move to meet his nearing mouth. She allows him a reserved kiss, her eyes remaining open and on his the whole time. When he grabs her, pulls her closer, she rocks up onto the balls of her feet, so while she's now providing the movement, he'll be in charge of stability; only the fingers she has curled into the a crease of his shirt and his hands on her ass keep her from toppling over backwards as she keeps them walking towards the rock. "Mmm," she hums indecisively, a flash of impish mischief coming to her eyes as she looks up at him and wonders, "Was it really that memorable?" A shrug is given for effect, a play of indifference that's immediately undercut by the comment that follows. "You forget that, though, and you're going to be in real trouble." A finger lifts from the package and jabs into his chest then, her point made, a small smile slides up, unspoken agreement to this second anniversary that's been proposed. Now, along with stability, Reyce will have to look out for direction, for even as the side of the rock nears, Issa doesn't turn to see how close her steps are taking them.

Although he left Issa in charge of guiding him back, Reyce doesn't trust her for long once he notices that she's watching him more than their path. Each step becomes slower, his heels sliding back to test the ground she has him walking into. "Was okay," he answers, pausing as his next step knocks into a raised tree root. His hands pull her up as she moves along after him, bringing her to her tiptoes in those big rider boots and half-carrying her over the root. "Fucked you better since. But I remember." One of his ground-scuffing heels comes up to the rock, finally, letting him know that they're there; all the same, he lets Issa put him another step back till he's pressed up against it, using the straight lines of this part of its face to reinforce his ramrod posture. This poise, and the sober look he turns down on her, are completely at odds with the way his hands have begun traveling around her ass and thighs, rubbing her closer to him while his body stays unresponsive.

Issa says nothing in return for his answer to her tease, but subtle clues-- a hitch to her smile, her gaze dropping away, unfocused, for a few seconds, the slow rock of her hips beneath his hands-- suggests that she can remember well enough herself. With a forceful pat to the rather rumpled package, she leaves it in his keeping and peels away from his wandering hands, muttering a soft, "Come on." Only a few steps to their left she finds the crack that provides footholds and, with much less effort than before, climbs to the top, motioning for him to toss the package up once she reaches it.

The problem with teasing Issa is that Reyce eventually winds up teasing himself, and by the time she pulls away his breathing has grown decidedly short. He's not too far gone to return, though; it just takes a few moments while he stands where he is and watches her climb up the rock, that package she left him with punched absently up to his chest. He doesn't even seem to notice till she gestures for it, and he has to send a glance down to confirm that there is indeed something on his chest that she's motioning at. Getting onto his own tiptoes, he reaches as high as he can before giving the thing a small, final toss to carry it the rest of the way, waiting a second to make sure she got it before he follows her path up the footholds. At the top, he remains standing, surveying what he can see of the area and not looking for Issa till a few seconds after.

Hands made deft by turns of tossing firestone snatch the package out of the air and bring it back to Issa's side, where it's held safe until he gets to the top. She has enough courtesy to wait until he's done with his survey before slinging the thing right back to him again. "It's for you," she explains while she watches him deal with it, a lopsided smile on her face. Then she steps over to his side, one hand falling idly at his waist while she urges him to open it with a little flick from the other one. Already a corner of the hide has come undone with all their tossing it about, revealing a glimpse of the black fabric beneath it. "When I ordered them, you were still going to be teaching," she explains quietly as the pair of nicely tailored, buttoned shirts are uncovered, one the predicted black and the other a dark, navy blue.

Reyce doesn't expect the thing to be thrown back, and he doesn't have turns of firestone sacks behind him, but his reflexes are good enough to catch the thing even though it gets a little bent in the snap of his palm. He may have guessed, already, that it's a gift, because he looks immediately guilty for crushing it and makes haste to try and smooth it back out. The flick from her hand stops him, and after a beat he redirects his energy into unwrapping it as he was ordered. The hides go into his pocket as he lifts the shirts up, turning them around so he can see the black on one side and the blue on the other. "Still going to be working," he points out in a murmur. Then his eyes go to her. "Thanks." A hand frees itself up to find her chin and pull it towards him for a short, gentle kiss. His eyes close for it, but they're quick to reopen and find hers when their lips part, before he's let her have her chin back. He scans her gaze rapidly, holding her steady for it, then gives the new shirts a vague twitch in her direction and says, "It's good." She can have her chin back now.

The loose hold Issa has on his waist tightens when he draws her in for that kiss, pressing even further into a half-hug while he scans her gaze. While she pivots to stand in front of him, she draws the shirts and his hand in between them, paying no heed to the rumping she gives the fabric. "The weaver said they'd breathe better than what you have now, too," she continues, expanding on just how good they really are, her voice lighter for all his encouragement. "I would have ordered Benden colors," she says, watching as she rolls a fold of the blue one between her thumb and forefinger, "but I like you in blue better." Her eyes squint with humor as she turns them up to him, smilingly waiting for him to drop another kiss.

Reyce drops that kiss promptly, rumpling the new clothes some more when they get caught between him and his goal. Annoyed more by the sound of their rustling than by his chances of creasing them, now, he parts from the kiss to pull the shirts out from in front of him, throwing his arm around Issa's back and letting the shirts dangle there while he returns to make the kiss longer. "Blue's better," he agrees, once he has his mouth back. "Don't like Benden colors." So sayeth its once-future Lord.

Issa lets out a soft little laugh for his proclaimed dislike of the red and purple combination, utters a quick, "Good," then simply draws him back down by the collar for another kiss. They stand, pressed together and locked at the lips, for a long moment more before Issa tugs him down even further. Ignoring the complication of those new, mostly clean shirts, she drags them to their knees before letting her hands wander, stroking downward over his clothes. She rocks slowly back to sit, enticing him along with her with caressing nudges and quicker pecks, but finally has to break altogeter to scoot back onto a more flat section of the stone. She sinks onto her back when she finds an acceptable spot, laying out and squinting up into the sun, but as soon as he tries to follow, she stops him with a hand on his shoulder, mischief blooming in her smile. Slowly, she shakes her head and gives him a light push to send him back up again. "Strip," she orders, lifting her hand until only a pointing finger is left, jabbing into his skin. Then even it falls away and she moves it, along with her other arm, behind her head, reclining while she smugly waits for him to comply.

The mostly clean shirts become a little less so when Reyce sets them aside, mindful of the need to treat them with respect but careless of the dirt on top of the rock. That taken care of, he moves immediately to join Issa when she stretches out below him, snorting when she catches him up short and glaring down at the offending hand. Her light push isn't enough to repel him, though, and he remains in place for a few moments to watch her through narrowed eyes and consider her command. All of a sudden he moves back with a grunt, ripping his shirt off over his head and tossing it away. Pants are next, although once he rips open their laces he has to stand up to kick them off his legs, stepping on the heels of his boots to pull them off meanwhile. In the span of less than two minutes he stands naked above Issa, trusting to his earlier survey of the area to have eliminated the possibility of onlookers and remaining unabashedly on his feet, in clear view and watching only his girlfriend below.

Issa breaks in to a grin when he begins to unceremoniously rip his clothes off, her eyes unabashedly tracking over the skin he so quickly uncovers. When he's finished she lets him stand there for a moment, watching her while she gets an appraising eyeful. A hand slides out from under her head again, but instead of beckoning him back down, she points again, drawing a quick circle in the air while she continues to beam mischief up at him. Apparently, he's expected to turn around for her now.

Reyce's eyelids fall into a heavy slant when she makes that gesture at him, but he doesn't move for her. If she wants to see his backside, she'll have to scoot herself around. All he's going to do is stand still for it.

"Oh, come on," Issa makes her appeal, smile pulled down into a quietly playful pout. Her booted foot is stretched out and she prods the inside of his ankle gently with the toe of it. "I just want to look at you," she explains with a bit of pleading left in her tone, smile spreading wide again as she tilts her head and holds eye contact steady, trying to win him over with sheer cuteness.

Reyce shifts his ankle out from the poke, solidifying his stance as he sets his feet down firmly. "Letting you look at me," he answers, opening his eyes to a regular set now when he looks down at her. "Letting you move around wherever you want, so you can look at me." He shrugs, leaving it to her to decide just how much she wants to look at his ass next.

Issa considers this option, her eyes already squinted against the sun's gleam thinning even further. After a moment of thought, though, she grunts and heaves herself up, rolling up to a crouch before springing up. She meets his eye impishly once more before moving her gaze down to the rest of his body. Not only does she look, now she touches, laying her fingers lightly along his stomach and letting them trail down low to glance teasingly off his hip before she steps around behind him. She can be heard humming musingly while she surveys his backside, while running her touch down the line of his spine then indecently down to cover over his bare ass. She leans forward while she lets that gentle grasp linger, so that her little laugh is breathed down between his shoulder blades.

When she springs up in front of him, Reyce snorts and gives his head a little shake, but he settles at the touch of her fingers. His eyes trail her fingers down his body as far as they're still visible, then follow her face past his shoulder when she moves around behind. The ass-grasp gets him, though, light as it is; there's a full-on grunt this time as he shifts up on the balls of his feet, reflexively getting away from her touch and stubbornly remaining that way even when instinct fades back to awareness. It was a pretty nice show, that movement: accompanied by a slight tensing of muscles, it sent a ripple along his back and firmed up his ass even more. "Would," Reyce begins, only to stop short and give a 'hrr' of annoyance when he finds his voice gone unexpectedly whisper on him. He clears it, and tries again: "You were naked too, it would work for me."

That little laugh grows stronger at his comment, and her hands stroke up from their hold on his ass to the muscles of his back, touch grown more greedy so that it's almost a small massage. "Then undress me already," she utters in a more purposeful whisper touched with a hint of laughter, lips brushing down in that same spot on his back.

His shoulder blades press in towards the spot her lips rest on, a brief warning before his arms bend back to catch her and push her out from behind him. As soon as she's moving, he's moving into her, turning around and pressing himself to her body as he grabs a kiss off her neck. His hands inch up beneath her shirt, finding the clasp of her bra and undoing it quickly. The kiss breaks and a swift skywards tug brings both shirt and bra over her head, forceful if she doesn't lift her arms fast enough. No kiss follows it up, as Reyce must shift his whole attention to the fastenings of her pants, then to her boots as the pants pile around her ankles and he squats in front of her to get the boots out of the way. He lifts her legs for her, one at a time, and slides away the pile of clothing; for whatever reason, he left the underwear on till last but finally pulls it down from her hips and leaves it to her to step out of them when they fall to the ground. Standing again, he seizes two more kisses without laying a hand on her, then draws back to look her face, adopting the same immovable stance he had when she was examining him with her clothes on.

Issa smiles broadly while he goes about stripping her, chuckling softly at his haste when he drags her arms upward with the shirt. A hand strikes out and lands atop his head for balance when he moves into a crouch, fingers ruffling down into his hair after she's steady. The underwear is tossed away with a toe when she steps out of them, but her smile-squinted eyes are already on his face when he slips a couple kisses in. She steps along with him when he withdraws, hands on his waist as she presses her newly bared body up against his stoic stance, asking simply, "Better?"

Reyce's nostrils flare as he puffs a hot breath into her face, still studying her eyes. "Could be," he murmurs thoughtfully, reaching out to close an arm around her waist. He pulls his arm up to the small of her back, dragging her to her tiptoes and making sure her body remains tightly pressed against his the whole time so that their stomachs and chests rub. Suddenly both hands move to her shoulders, giving her a strong push to force her into a kneel in front of him - and if she doesn't get the idea, he'll help her by locking a leg behind her knees and pulling forward, ready to step out of the way if they buckle. Whether she ultimately kneels or gets some other idea, he remains standing after she's down, slowly circling with a hand on her cheek to maintain contact while he surveys the lines of her body.

The surprise at the sudden press downward doesn't last very long, replaced by a knowing smile and a roguish lift of an eyebrow as the idea suddenly comes to her. Issa slides herself lower, far slower than he might prefer, her grip on his waist used to help her knees find the stone without any jarring. Once she's down she takes things, quite literally, into her own hands, and then her mouth, in that soft, teasing way she has. Her hands oh-so-gradually work their way up the backs of his legs and when they reach his ass again she stops, using that hold to give him a short tug downward, lips curling up as she lets him know that he's welcome to join her down on that smooth and waiting piece of rock.

Reyce stops the instant she touches him, emitting a small noise from the back of his throat. The hand that was on her cheek moves to the back of her head, its fingers digging slowly and deeply through her hair; the other hand finds one of hers on his leg and speeds up her caresses, pulling her fingertips swiftly up the back of his leg. It's already retreated to find balance on her shoulder when she withdraws and gives his ass that tug, earning another noise in his throat as he trips towards her. He catches himself, but to little end: as soon as he's steady, he starts pushing her back and himself stretches out over her. His hands flatten her legs beneath him, pinning her knees out while he scrapes her body with hard, staccato shoves against the stone. He shifts around, searching for a spot that will make her cry out, and once he's found it he stays and increases the pressure and speed until even he's giving out groans of effort. A final push jolts him against her, scratching her up and down the rough stone, when he comes and stretches out one of those groans several seconds. He ducks his face down over hers, panting out into her mouth.

That first cry is colored with surprise as well as pleasure, fumbling hands finding his arms, his shoulders, his neck with approving little strokes as she laughs distractedly at herself and her reaction. With the next drawn out groan her hands slide back down, brushing across her stomach before simply falling to the stone beside her. The rest of her body is as good as putty beneath him, absorbing his rhythm and mimicing it heedless of the hard stone beneath. Low grunts give way to more urgent cries as she arches into the tremor that runs through her, her breath coming in short rasps when she collapses again under his final few thrusts. "Ohh," she drags, transitioning into a low moan as she closes her mouth to his in a kiss sloppy with delight. Her little praises have become more and more a matter of inflection and now is no exception as she murmurs, adoring and utterly pleased, "Reyce," then even more extended, "Reyce." Her hands start back into caressing, starting with his ass, popular territory today, and working haphazardly up his back.

Reyce meets that kiss with equal sloppiness, his eyes closed and his motions guided by the heat off her mouth. He's let go of her knees, giving his arms time to recover, but eventually he stirs again, bracing out his elbows and pushing off her. With a groan, he rolls onto his back, flopping an arm out to its full length only to bring it back for Issa. His fingers drag along her ribs, pulling her toward him, but too weak to insist so quite soon his hand just winds up flopped out again. "Better," he croaks, stopping the sentence to swallow when he finds his voice thrown out by the groaning. "Since the first." His eyes open, flicking around quickly till he finds where her face has moved in the time he's been out of it. "Told you that."

Issa rolls onto her side at the silent signal from those dragging fingers, but the motion is marked with another groan, faintly pained this time as her back leaves the stone. She rearranges herself under his arm, whole body leaning up against his side while her back, gradually turning redder under its cover of dust and the occasional tiny pebble that's managed to stick, is left open to recover from that rough scraping. Her drooping eyes open again when he speaks and there's a dreamy little smile waiting for him when he looks to meet them. "Better," she purrs agreement before her lips seal a few little kisses against that side of his chest. As she's pulling away from those, she picks herself up from the stone as well, deciding that he's a much more comfortable surface to lay on and moves to straddle him, to lay her stomach out flat on top of his. "And better," she says as she relaxes heavily on top of him, another couple of kisses planted along his breastbone before she mutters, "and better." She lingers off into a low laugh, lips just brushing along his skin now without any distinct kisses, all the way up to the base of his neck. "I've taught you so much," she murmurs through that laugh, shifting up slightly so that she can use her elbows, placed on either side of his head, to brace some of her weight.

Reyce helps her crawl onto him, summoning his hand again to pull her the rest of the way up and then gently push around till she's comfortably situated for him. His eyelids have settled low again, leaving just a slant of his eyes, but there's a distinct smirk turning the corner of his mouth in. "Older woman," he comments, lifting his head off the ground and opening his eyes again to look down at her back. He moves his hands over her skin with big, sweeping movements that send the pebbles there flying away. "And greenrider. You'd know a lot." Not thinking, he drops his head back as soon as the pebbles are gone, but he fails to consider that they're still on a hard rock and so he fails to check the speed of his head. It knocks the stone with a loud sound, probably painful, but all he gives it is an irritated breath hissed through his teeth.

Issa winces slightly, muscles tensing, whenever his hand sweeps over certain spots-- her shoulder blades, low on her back-- that have been rubbed too raw, but she endures it without a sound. "You have no..." she begins to say, but the crack of his head against the stone interrupts that train of thought. If he won't groan about the pain she'll do it for him, a short, sympathetic sound let out as she pushes her hands in to cup the injured area. "I know enough not to hit my head on the rock," she teases him before touching her nose gently to the tip of his.

Reyce squints his eyes down when she lifts his head, but it goes easily into her touch. Another puff greets the touch of her nose, washing hot air over her, but the gesture only lasts a beat when Reyce decides to stretch beneath her. He gets a quiet spine-crick out of it and tries to get another one, twisting his back far to one side, and when that fails he just pins himself out, arms stretched high above his head and feet tipped down to get a full stretch out of it. "This all you had for me?" wonders the one who had nothing at all planned for their anniversary. Despite the dangerous ground he's walking on, there's still a hint of smugness on his mouth and behind his heavily-lidded eyes. "Shirts and get to fuck you?" A hand abruptly returns from above his head, perhaps retaliating for earlier as it falls over her ass with as yet unmoving fingers stretched further down.

Issa lifts herself a bit to accomodate his stretching, elbows moved and the heels of her hands pressed down instead. She still hangs over him, though, loose hair curling down on either side of her face and draping low enough to tickle at his neck. She just stares down at him as he asks his questions, eyes blinking a shade thinner though her smile drops not an inch. Her hands pull up to his shoulders and she presses them down firmly, saying with a dry tease, "You're lucky you got that much." She pushes herself up even further from there, hands sliding back as she gradually props herself upright; she'll wind up sitting on his fingers if he doesn't move them. After a glance to mark where exactly those shirts ended up she turns her eyes on the green-speckled landscape around them, moving her hair over one shoulder as she blinks lazily into the afternoon sun that's just emerged again from behind a puffed cloud.

His arm reaches down the length of her back, and when she starts to lift that back, his arm goes up with it. Reyce just watches it, detached, then returns his now simplified (no longer smug) gaze to her face. Eventually, his arm tires of staying on her shoulder and he brings it back down to her stomach, tracing random lines around her belly with the rough tips of his fingers. "Am lucky," he murmurs. He traces her line of sight out to the sky, his eyes thinned against the brightness of the newly returned sun. A few beats pass while they both watch the horizon, and when he's done with that, he announces it by bringing his fingers together and giving them a light jab into her stomach. "Thanks," he says after she's turned to look, his eyes opened again and waiting to meet hers. "Letting me have you." His hand slips along her side, settling on the first rise of her hip.

Issa's wandering gaze has fallen to a single mountain top in the distance for several beats by the time he gives her that little jab, and it takes her the span of a few blinks to banish her unfocused stare and look down at him again. She grins at his thanks and bends over him again, hair dangling, to utter a, "You're welcome," that's just a bit playful. A soft kiss later, it's up she goes again, letting her hands run the same course over his chest again as she slowly straightens. "It was my gift too, you know," she adds with a lopsided lift to her smile.

Reyce hems at the back of his throat, dropping away from eye contact for a beat. When he returns, it's with his chin tucked down, his jawline bunching back with skin. "Meant in general." His free hand lifts, moving toward her with a helpless flick of fingers to encompass the whole abstract idea of her being. "Thanks for staying with me, and it's been turns." With a sigh, he straightens out his chin and gives his neck a rest. It's easier to speak that way, and his words come out less thick. "I love you. Lucky to have you. Thanks." His gaze is fixed on hers, calm and steady, while he speaks; brightened by the sun, every speck of green can be counted on the hazel fade of color in his eyes.

The slant to her smile slips away again and Issa changes tracks with a murmured, “Oh,” smile dimming as her whole expression falls into softer lines. A slow-dawning smile creeps back as he speaks, though, wider than before and more candid. When he’s done, she immediately cups his face with both of her hands and leans down once more to place a firm kiss on his lips. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” she murmurs softly, her hand stroking down the side of his face as she breaks for a quicker kiss. “I want to be with you.” Another few seconds are tied up in a kiss then she hovers inches over him, staring into those hazel eyes from up close now. “But you’re welcome,” she whispers after a short sigh, a little grin breaking for the repetition of her earlier response.

Reyce lifts into that kiss, bringing a hand up to the side of her face to scrape her hair back behind her ear and at the same time hold her still. When the kiss breaks, he lets his head drop back to the stone again, but the distance is shorter, the bonking sound softer, and he seems no more hurt by it than he was the first time. Still, he predicts a saucy comment, and watches her mouth for the first sign of movement; as soon as he has it, he rolls into her, putting her back in the uncomfortable position of being on bottom on this dusty, rough old rock. "Like it when you get me wrong," he comments, letting a soft breath of laughter out with his last word. "Maybe you’re not so smart." The smugness, it turns out, was only on its lunch break while he was telling her he loved her; now it's back in full force, with squinting eyes and a muffled, inward quirk of his lips.

Issa's sound of surprise leads into a little laugh as he turns her, which suffers a bump, a slightly pained grunt, when her back comes into contact with the stone again. She tries to shift under him after he's rolled on top, but that proves to be a worse idea than just lying there, so she settles again. "Must not be," she agrees with him easily, her arms winding around his neck as she attempts to lift her scraped shoulders. "I keep letting you fuck me in rough spots." The complaint comes with another hummed laugh, her face drawn right up next to his as she tightens her arms.

"Like that, too," Reyce answers, but his hands slip in under her shoulders when she lifts them. After dabbing gently with his palms, which is a difficult and not entirely successful effort to brush pebbles off of skin he cannot see, he settles in to cup her shoulder blades inside his hands and shield them from the stone. Anything else he scraped, however, is left to its own devices: he has only so many hands. "But I make it up to you," he murmurs, turning his face against her so his lips brush every word out on her cheek, and those touches are reminders of just how he makes it up to her.

The strength of Issa's smile presses her cheek up against those brushing lips and she murmurs into his ear, "Yeah. I think I rather like being not so smart." A breath of laughter puffs out then she relaxes her weight onto his helpful palms, nuzzling against his stubble as she goes. She looks up at him with a faintly flicking gaze as she unwraps her arms, fingers venturing up into his hair when they reach that far. "Turns, Reyce," she emphasizes the word from his earlier comment-- turns, plural-- as her fingers curl down into a light, playful tug that releases just as quickly. "Seems like it all went so fast."

Reyce turns his gaze on her when she brings back that plural with emphasis, but all he does about it is push his chin forward and press his lips to the side of her face. "Turns," he agrees, and the new positioning of his face makes that word sound all the more clearly on her skin. His mouth slips past afterwards, though, stubble roughing her cheek as his passes by, and he winds up with his nose nestled inside her curls, practically touching the ground. "Want to spend all of them with you." Because of the ground or the curls, those words get muffled by the time they reach her, and Reyce only gives her half a beat to figure them out till he twists his mouth in for a quick, compulsive kiss to the side of her neck and subsides again into silence.

Issa's hands have given up his hair, moving to settle in idle caresses over the muscles of his back instead, arms lying comfortably snug at his sides. When that muffled comment and the kiss hit her, their motions pause for a beat before they part ways; one remains motionless beneath his shoulder blade while the other slips up to find his cheek again, gently drawing him away from his nestling at the same time she ducks her face to the side to catch his eye. They end up mere inches from each other, her pale eyes skipping as they try to capture all of his hazel ones at once. "All of them?" she asks, and though the question is simply stated there's a tiny upward twitch at one corner of her mouth.

Reyce's head weighs heavy in the hand that tries to claim it, not resisting it, just not helping it. His eyes are open when they're lifted from her hair, though, and his gaze meets hers straight on and endures her scrutiny. The only hint that his calm exterior is being forced is a tiny wrinkle that's just visible above his nose. "All of them." He turns his cheek away from the hand that was supporting it, bringing his head up to support itself while he looks straight back at Issa.

He'll have another beat more to look straight back at Issa and may just catch the beginnings of a pleased smile before she yanks the distance between them closed, leaning up and meeting him with just as much force as she uses to tug his chin to her. Their lips lock and she shoves her tongue deep into his mouth, hand switching to the back of his head to keep him as close as possible. Her urgency slows to something softer as the kiss progresses but that doesn't make it any less involved, and she has to regain her breath with a quick sigh when they separate, her forehead tilted against his so the puff is blown away from him. "I do too," she utters along with a tiny, pleased chuckle, her eyes still watching his. "With you."

During that beat before the kiss, Reyce's heart beats so strongly that it can be felt, as a thin drumming, over her ribs. It only speeds up when she yanks him down to her, and his tongue vies with hers while her presses her mouth back with the force from his own. That fervor does not gentle, but dies, exhausted in that heady rush for her mouth; he hangs in there just to soak up the last kisses she has for him, then rest over her forehead. Closed for the kiss, his eyes haven't opened when she answers him verbally, and in fact she catches him inhaling to recover. The effort gets quickly reversed as he breathes her name, "Issa," and /then/ his eyes open, finding hers and staring back into them even though their closeness makes it hard to focus. "Issa," he says again, with more voice and more warmth to go with it.

Issa echoes that warmth, but her answer is just a hum as her mouth is already busy pressing smaller kisses randomly along his cheek. Her legs are lifted and wrapped snugly around his waist, a second hug to join the one her arms form above, hands falling flush between his shoulder blades. The kisses taper off and she spends another few beats just looking at him, smile beaming before relaxing back down. Though she teased him about it moments before, her head falls to the stone heavier than it should have, the bump not quite audible as his was but advertised by the grunt she gives because of it. Her hand flinches instinctively to reach for the injured spot, but she stops it, realizing the retribution before she goes through all the effort to disentangle her arm from him. After a knowing glance up at him, her eyes sink closed and she begins to laugh, slow chuckles growing into giggles, grin spread wide.

Initially, Reyce tries to return the little shows of affection, tilting his head so he can catch glancing kisses off her cheek whenever it nears to plant better kisses on his. After he's accidentally knocked her mouth away once or twice, trying to get his in for a turn, he gives the whole thing up as counterproductive and lets her lay out the affection single-handedly while he just holds still and bathes in it. When that crack of her head sounds, his lazily sinking eyes blink back wide open, finding her face quickly as his arm gives a fruitless tug to get away from the shoulders still pinning it. Her laughter only surprises him, his eyes blinking wider again, until memory sets in or her laughter infects him and he starts to puff low notes of laughter.

Belatedly, Issa’s hand does reach up from its spot on his back, slipping behind her head and rubbing briefly at the bumped spot, her laugh tapering off to make room for a short groan. A few chuckles linger still, softer but no less amused, when she moves that hand to his face, her thumb tracing the faintly upturned corner of his lips then pressing back through his stubble. “I love you,” she murmurs as the laughing dies out, switching her eyes from their path following her thumb to meet his hazel gaze. This time, she makes him come to her, guiding his lips into a short kiss then tilting his face to touch their noses together, hers bumping gently against the side of his, her words little puffs of warm air. “I do know that,” she stresses with utmost certainty, smile lifting higher as she tucks her arm back under his and replaces her hand next to its partner on his back.

Reyce nudges her cheek when she lets out that groan, his laughter dropping off immediately even though hers continues. He pulls back into the caress of her thumb, his lips so pliant that they part under her touch and she can shape the contours of his mouth. "Love you," he responds as soon as he has control back, after her thumb leaves and she's pulled him in for that kiss. Yet he lifts away from her close embrace, his hips twisting above hers as he retrives one of his hands and stretches sideways with it. Her pants are the first thing to come up, and after shaking out her underwear he brings them back, nudging his fingers under her head until he can lift it or she gets the idea. Pushing the pants underneath her as a temporary pillow, he puts his hand back under her raw shoulder and arches his body over her so he can reach the line of her neck with a kiss. "Better?" His eyes tip up to reach hers.

"Better," Issa answers, looking down to meet his gaze while one edge of her smile twists higher. Her head tilts back then, an action that both nestles her comfortably on that makeshift pillow and spreads her neck out under his attentions, which she enjoys in silence for a moment. Her eyelids sink but the occasional flutter of lashes shows that they haven't closed completely, gaze flitting over the cloud-dotted sky. "We'll get away from here," comes out suddenly, gentle though the murmur is. "Find somewhere for us." The last word gets all the weight; not her home, or his, really, but somehow /theirs/. Her hands, which drifted to the small of his back when he took up that arched position, sweep up his sides again, on an idle mission to find somewhere new to lay. "It'll be better."

Getting that confirmation, Reyce settles back down to kiss her neck a few more times, eventually just inching his body down so his cheek can rest on her breastbone. His breathing evens out while she watches the sky, but her words are greeted quickly enough by a twitch of movement as he tips his chin upwards, a token gesture that lets her know he's paying attention but doesn't really help him see her face. "It will," he answers, sighing over her chest. Her left shoulder will have to deal with the stone again when he brings his supporting hand up to her face, tracing lines he can't see. "Be us from now on. Stay together." But he shifts restlessly on top of her, turning his head back at a harsh angle so he can begin to see her eyes (over the rise of her chin and cheeks). "You're okay?" he wonders, enclosing her whole cheek inside his palm.

Issa lifts a hand from its wandering caress of his shoulders, covering over his covering hand. "I'm okay," she assures him, the press of her hand as reassuring as her calm tone. With one smooth motion, she slides her hand into his and brings them both to her mouth, a few more little kisses raining down onto the knuckle side of his fingers. Then she releases and sets her hand to stroking along the side of his curls instead. "I can't deal with them anymore," she states while twining her fingers in his hair, her vague pronoun still leaving no question as to who she speaks of. "Here, that wouldn't even be an option. It's good we're getting her out. Gets me out, too." Her chest beneath his ear trembles with a quick snort and then she mutters dryly, "Maybe it is just an excuse."

Reyce lets out another breath when her hand digs into his hair, pressing his cheek close against her so she can feel the itch of his eyelashes closing on her skin. She'll feel it again when she lets out that snort. "Don't care if it is," he answers, tightening his own hand where it's fallen to her shoulder again. He pulls himself up with it, abandoning her other shoulder to the stone as well as he takes that hand back and braces himself up on it. Stretched above her, he blocks the sunlight from her eyes and examines her features in the shade. "And it isn't," is his somewhat conflicted final judgment, delivered as his gaze flicks rapidly back and forth across hers. "It's about her then it comes first, not an excuse for anything when it's the first thing.

Issa stares up at his newly silhouetted form, blinking a few times to let her eyes adjust. "I know, I know, just..." Her head shakes back and forth a bit on the pants-made-pillow, then she draws up a stronger smile, finishing with, "It's fine." The hands that so recently traced down the back of him return again to trace down the front, pressing down his chest, fingers wrapping around to his sides when the heels of her hands find where his skin and hers meet. "You're right. The important thing's we get her out anyway."

"And us," Reyce points out. The pace of his skimming eyes eventually slows to a stop, and his sides lift under her hands as he heaves a soft sigh. "We're getting out," he murmurs, bending his face down towards hers and letting his eyes slip closed. The tip of his nose doesn't quite reach hers, but his breath goes almost straight into her nostrils. "Be something new."

Issa tilts her face up to his, not to touch her nose to his, but to brush it with her lips instead, a tiny point of a kiss falling at its tip. "It'll be a change," she murmurs in assent as she sinks back to her pillow, her shoulder twitching a bit uncomfortably on the bed of stone. A beat later her lips draw up into an amused little smile and she says, as if it were their primary concern right now, "I'll need to cut my hair again." The corner of a grin emerges, but then she shifts again, giving his side a nudge with her knuckles before she attempts to sit up whether he's moved or not.

Reyce shifts to one side, but he keeps an arm stretched over her so when she sits up, she moves straight back into his embrace. "Can't just braid it out of the way?" he wonders, stretching his arm down her torso and pulling her snugly against him. He nudges his face into her curls till he can reach her neck for a quick kiss. "Like when you braid it." Another kiss, and then he withdraws, giving her body a quick rub to combat the colder air she's now exposed to without his body pressed over her.

Though Issa shivers slightly when that first kiss lands, she doesn't seem particularly cold; she seems to generating her own heat, in fact, from the fan of redness spread over her shoulders, which she now leans into his chest. "So much effort," she comments, though it's tempered with a faintly playful tone that doesn't altogether dismiss the option. "Are you going to braid it for me?" she asks him teasingly, eyebrows lifted as she ducks a glance sideways to meet his eyes.

Reyce skims her shoulders when she turns them towards him and inches into his hold, but if he feels any guilt for having caused that redness, it doesn't show. His arm moves around from her back, curling instead over her stomach and pulling her warm shoulders into his chest. Soon, though, he lifts back, eyeing her hair and bringing up both hands to gather it into a mass. Splitting it into two parts, he winds them uselessly together, then pull the whole thing forward over her shoulder so she can see his work. "Asha gets old enough, can maybe teach her to do it," he says as he takes her back into his arms, rubbing her body up just for fun now.

Issa laughs lightly when he takes her up on her teasing offer, and again when he tosses the finished product up for her to see. She examines it for a beat while he pulls her back, unresistant, then leaves it as is, to gradually unwind or tangle in on itself as it will. "You're going to have to learn some of this stuff eventually, you know," she turns it back on him, as her head bumps against his shoulder again. "For her. She's going to want you to braid and tie pretty bows and things like that. And what if I'm not around?" Her tone is purely casual, her hypothetical question putting her merely in another room or flying sweeps, but there's another implication that's not a far jump, what with her rejoining the fighting wings.

Her quitting the weyrling wing to move out with him is a mixed bag; though quite ready to start this new phase of their lives, Reyce does not welcome the return of her Thread-flying. So far his policy is not to comment on it, though it's quite clear that it troubles him from time to time; right now, for example, he brings his other arm into play and tightens his hold, but his tone is perfectly normal. "'ll tell her she looks fine without them and should stop messing around."

Another laugh springs up for his answer, ringing approval even before she tilts her face in to tuck a quick kiss underneath his jaw. With, "Alright, fine," she releases him from the obligation of learning such girly things. For now. During a content beat of silence she lays her arm out on top of his, her hand falling over his without guiding or hindering, simply following along with whatever his intent may be. "Are you going to miss any of it?" she asks him, her head rolled in attentively after her subject-changing prompt though her eyes are still cast ahead over the view of the Reaches mountains they have now.

Finding her hand on top of his, Reyce pushes his fingers back till they find their way between hers, then close down once he has them. But, "No," he answers frankly. Planting his chin on top of her head, he looks over her at the same Reaches mountains that have captured her attention. "Not from here." Already his chin falls away from her, his eyes turning inwards as he finds his way back to her neck for a few simple kisses. "One thing though," he says, transitioning his way up to a softer, sucking kiss. "Going to have to start all over again." He moves their linked hands lower, using her knuckles to run a caress down to her hip.

"Mmm," is Issa's response to his negation, a mostly neutral sound that's shaded with only a hint of disappointment. But that hum is followed immediately by another, lighter and genuinely pleased when he sets his lips to her neck again; encouraging, she stretches her chin up a little more, her voice vibrating along the tightened skin of her throat. "You can piss off a whole new set of people," she says, teasing him with a tone that suggests he should be thrilled by this opportunity while her fingers squeeze together over his. "And we'll have a whole new Weyr to explore," she adds with more optimism than teasing, expecting to discover more gems like the rock they sit on now.

Reyce stretches out his fingers, slowly slipping his hand away from under hers while making sure that hers stay in place. A little push from his now freed fingers tells her to leave her hand there while his wanders, dragging straight up her stomach with a tickling touch. "Meant more than that," he answers, the slow, small curve of his smile still touching her neck. "Fuck you," he murmurs, "all over again. The places you go to, so you walk down the halls and remember when we fucked there." His hand slips back down her body, finding hers where he left it and pressing down over it.

Issa's hand is idly cooperative, staying put not out of any sense of obedience really, but just because she's far more focused on their conversation and the feel of his kisses and caresses on her skin. "Well, that's going to take a while," she answers him after a short rumble of laughter. "Benden Weyr has a lot of hallways, I don't even know where they all are. And I can be so forgetful sometimes," she adds, her voice growing more and more teasing as she continues, "I may need a bit of repetition sometimes. Sounds like hard work." Her fingers twitch playfully under his, but her smile is only hinted at with her words.

Reyce closes up those playfully twitching fingers, trapping them inside his warm, dry palm. "We'll have a while," he points out, pulling her hand with him as he repositions his arm between her breasts, stretching up her torso so he can control how close she's leaned against him just by pulling in his arm. "And don't mind the work." He returns to her neck, nibbling around a bit before he latches on to see if her humming delight in them will be enough to distract her from the hickey he's working up.

It is. Or maybe Issa doesn't care that she's in for a very visible bruise, for now that he's fully in control of her lean she lifts her bracing hand away from the stone and, without even brushing the dust from it, flattens it over his curls. "You have more immediate things to worry about," she advises him while he works away at her neck, voice still low, humming and teasingly serious. "Like fetching me every pillow we own, when we get back to the weyr. Finding me some salve for my shoulders." A short laugh ripples under his lips.

While she speaks, she'll be less likely to notice the soft sucking sounds as Reyce pulls his lips in closer to her skin. It would be harder to miss the hand that squeezes her breast, though, massaging it while he gradually leans back. When she finishes speaking, he pulls away from his kissing and shifts his body out of the way, catching her back before she can fall through the space he just emptied. "That it?" he wonders, squinting amusedly down at her while he continues his subtle campaign to lower her back to the ground.

"Oh, no," Issa assures him quickly, bringing that amused squint closer to her with both hands dug deep into the back of his hair, keeping herself elevated even as he tries to lower her. "That's just to start with," she informs him with an air of gravity that's easy to see straight through thanks to her playful little grin. "You'll be doing many," and in the break between words she hooks a leg over his hip and, with hair-bound hands tugging strongly, starts into a quick roll to put him on bottom instead, "many more things," she finishes with a whisper dropped down to an inch above his lips.

Transfer

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 04:52:09 GMT

Issa needs to ask Roa to transfer her out of High Reaches, but with the two of them already on shaky terms to begin with, the resulting conversation is tough on both of them. (Roa, Issa)
IC Date: Day ??, Month 4, Turn 4
OOC Date: 8-29-07

Winter is, in it slow and grudging way at High Reaches, slowly giving over to spring. Snow has become slush that gets weighed down with chilly rain and becomes grey and mucky. The wings of dragons boasts slightly swelled ranks, thanks to new arrivals that not everyone is delighted to have, and the other Weyrs seem to essentially be stuffing their fingers in their ears and singing loudly whenever High reaches gets mentioned.

It's a great day.

In the weyrwoman's weyr, a small domestic scene. Jashin, four months old and experimenting with keeping his head lifted while on his stomach, is busy staring at some sort of wooden toy on wheels while Tialith is busy staring at him. Roa is staring at hidework and Ashwin is absent.

One of those not delighted would be Issa, who was more than a little distraught at the news that the Instigators were returning so soon after the death of a beloved goldrider, so soon after she swore off having anything to do with them. And though she left Roa's weyr that day with less than her usual composure, apologies have been imparted and the ice has been broken again. Still, things are a little awkward, as that greenrider returns to the Weyrwoman's quarters, Oshisyth sinking down onto the ledge and delivering her rider, who enters a moment later. Her greeting smile is a tad thin and there's a hanging second before she says, "Hey." Then her eyes wander across to Tialith and, a respectful nod later, to Jashin. "How's he doing?"

The weyrwoman looks over, though the gold keeps her attention where it is. Oshisyth is sent a mental welcome that's a bit distracted, but cheerful. Jashin kicks out his legs in a slow and deliberate motion and finds this makes him rock forward. Bending his legs again? Back. Huh. Roa smiles faintly, almost shyly, as Issa moves into the room. "Hi," she offers softly. "He's well. How's Asha?"

Issa steps further in, comfortable with her surroundings if not completely with one of the occupants. Her manner warms at the mention of her own daughter, though, arms uncrossing and falling casually to her pockets. "She's great," she answers with a nod and a stronger smile. "Laughs a lot now. Reyce can't get enough of her." She grows more comfortable by degrees, but not enough to avoid the slightly awkward pause that follows. "She's kind of why I've come by, actually," she says, shrugging and meeting Roa's eye.

"I think he used to be worried," the weyrwoman muses, "that he wouldn't be able to like her. Or wouldn't care, maybe. I wonder what he'll do when she's old enough to think about boys." Roa smiles faintly at that before inching her chair back and turning to regard Issa more fully. She doesn't ask. Not with words. But Roa's brows lift and she waits.

Issa lets out a soft laugh at the thought of Reyce protecting Asha from a hoard of adoring boys, but sobers rather quickly, other thoughts crowding her mind. "Well, we've decided," she prefaces slowly, continuing after a short glance toward Jashin's crib, "that... we think it's too dangerous to raise her here." Her eyes want to fall to the ground, but after a brief dip she forces them back up to meet Roa's. "I came to ask if you could find a Weyr that would take a transfer," she concludes, leaving it implied that the transfer in question would be her.

Roa follows Issa's gaze over to the crib, though it stays there a bit longer than the greenrider. After several long blinks, she looks back, her face blank. "Oh," she murmurs. "I see. Well," the weyrwoman's fingers tap lightly against the desk, "I'll see what can be done. Benden, preferably, I presume?"

Issa lets out a slow breath at Roa's response, her eye contact wandering for only the second it takes to notice the tapping fingers. "Yeah," she utters softly at the tail end of that lengthened sigh. "Benden." Her own hands dig deeper into her pockets. "I'm sorry. I know it seems like I'm just... running away. But I'm done with them, Roa," she says, her voice firming with a note of determination. "I won't get behind them any more. I can't. I know it's a mess, but I'm not going to be much help in fixing it constructively, anyway." A weary-looking shrug lifts at the end, rounding it all off.

The weyrwoman only blinks slowly. She lets Issa have her say and then looks over at her desk and draws up a piece of blank parchment, dipping her quill into the ink jar. "I'll write to Benden first, then," is all she says.

"Roa," Issa breathes out, "don't brush me off like that. It has nothing to do with you. I... If I thought there were still a way for me to... to help, I'd consider staying. You have no idea how hard," and here she breaks, forcing out a sharp breath as she drops her gaze to the floor. "It's going to be," she continues on, composure salvaged and eye contact returned, "to leave everyone here. You, and the weyrlings, all my old wingriders..."

"Hard," the weyrwoman agrees. "Just not hard enough." Her lips twist into a smile that doesn't hold much cheer as she glances back at the other woman. "There are ways for you to help. You just don't want to help, any longer. You want to go somewhere else and keep Asha safe from the many threats that are suddenly all around her." Roa's own gaze returns to the little dark-haired infant kicking his feet under Tialith's watch.

Issa takes the correction without any sign of a smile, not even of the humorless variety. "She matters more now," she comments quietly, eyes remaining solid on Roa when the weyrwoman looks toward her son. "Wouldn't you, if you could?" she hazards to ask.

"It depends on which 'could' you mean," Roa says flatly. "The 'could' where I'm not tied to them? The one where I'm not tied to Reaches? If I thought he was in danger, I would even if I couldn't. She matters more? Or she's a good excuse?" She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Never mind. I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I'll let you know when I heard from benden."

Issa's jaw clenches tightly at the insinuation that she's using Asha as an excuse and her gaze, far from fighting to stay up, meets Roa's firmly. A stiff little nod is given, thanks for the prompt response to her request, but after it she says coolly, "Say what you want. I don't want to leave with you angry at me, Roa, but I don't need your approval to do this."

"No. Just my signature." Roa pinches the bridge of her nose again. "Was that everything, Issa?"

"That's everything, Weyrwoman," Issa returns with a formality so stark it comes off as a near insult. "Thank you. For your time. For bothering. Clear skies." It may very well be the first time that Issa has saluted her, and if there were any time before, joking or no, it's so far in the past as to be negligible. The one she gives now is sharp and simple, dropped as soon as it's released. The weyrwoman has to last only a beat longer under her piercing blue gaze before the greenrider turns to walk in the direction of the ledge.

The weyrwoman waits until the greenrider has gone before shoving her paperwork away, pushing into a stand, and pacing around the perimeter of the room. F-" but she glances at the baby on the blanket and bites her bottom lip, instead. So it's Tialith that shakes her head a rumbles in bewildered sympathy and the litany that suddenly travels from her rider's head to her own.

We should leave

Mon, 27 Aug 2007 04:03:23 GMT

Reyce suggests leaving High Reaches, for Asha's safety, now that the Instigators have settled in. Issa eventually agrees. (Reyce, Asha, Issa)
IC Date: Day ?? Month 4, Turn 4
OOC Date: 8-20-07 to 8-26-07

Dinner was delayed by about half an hour because Reyce didn't turn up. After harassing Issa for the past sevenday not to neglect her meals, he's the one who almost missed one today; when he did remember, he showed up smelling of alcohol and vomit. He was not much inclined to talk, beyond what it took to answer her questions, if she herself could be budged out of her stupor to ask any. The rest of the weyr has moved on, more concerned with the presence of Instigators at High Reaches, but Diya's death still hangs over their little family. Asha was the one who finally called it quits, without knowing she did so, by bursting into nigh-inconsolable tears and refusing to take the breast that was offered to her. Since nobody seemed to have an appetite, dinner was called off early, and now the whole set of them returns to the weyr grumpy and morose. Reyce is the last one off Oshisyth, waiting for Issa to get away with Asha (now hushed, but not happy) before he attempts an unsteady dismount and scuffs his way onto the couch.

At the dinner that didn't happen, Issa's questions were few, stopping after she'd ascertained where he'd been, that he had in fact, as her suspicious little sniff told her, been drinking. Her own words were as spare as his, after that, and her silence grown more tense in the time it took for them to give up on eating. She all but ignores him now as she walks into the weyr, sliding Asha out of her harness and earning a fussy whine for her troubles. Cradling her tightly, Issa drapes the leather thing over the back of the rocking chair and leans in to snag a forgotten rattle from it's seat, requesting Asha's attention with a quick shake. Her attention is not so easily won, however, and it takes Issa a couple of minutes of slow pacing to cheer her, during which Oshisyth takes up her coiled position on her couch, lids lowered lazily in the relative heat provided by the fire that's still going strong from its stoking before dinner. Finally, Asha is convinced to grasp at the ball of the rattle, bringing it to her mouth an laying a line of drool along it's top, and Issa comes to a stop near where he's flopped his feet. "So is this how bad it's gotten with us, then?" she demands, her voice subdued but edged with a coolness that's too familiar for comfort these days, her eyes unwavering as they stare down at his face. "That you have to go off and drink alone now? Show up drunk to dinner?"

Reyce has stretched himself out on the couch, opting to hang his feet over the edge rather than use the armrest to support his head. He's also lifted his shirt so the fire's heat warms his belly directly, while an arm slung over his eyes prevents any of its light from disturbing him. Quite comfortable, then, while Issa looks to the baby. When she comes up near the couch and addresses him, Reyce lifts that arm out of the way and fixes his pink, bleary gaze on her sharpened stare. After a beat, he breathes, "Yes," unable to come up with a better answer (or, for that matter, a worse one). His arm falls down again, but this time it's crossing his chest; it makes little difference since his eyes close.

A heavy breath seeps out of Issa for his answer, but her stiff presence doesn't move for another minute more. Meanwhile, Asha lets out a slow coo of something bordering on contentment while she explores the rounded surface of that rattle. With a sharp sniff, she pivots and drops to sit on the arm of the couch, his feet nudged back so she can take possession of the outside edge. While she shakes her head to unspoken questions, Asha releases the rattle, following it with her eyes as her mother gives it a listless rattle.

Reyce's feet move off when nudged, but the rest of him stays put, and he doesn't look at her. The silence is broken only by Asha's rattle until he suddenly pops out with, "We should leave." His eyes are open again, still reddened but no longer unfocused since they're fixed pretty solidly on her.

The rattling stops at the first sound of his voice, and Asha's hands wave up to catch at it again. Issa's face angles to him to listen, but her eyes don't dart up to him again until what he's said has been given a moment to sink in. "Leave," she repeats, requesting clarification and embellishment in the quiet heaviness of her tone. Asha begins another bleat, but though a swift twitch of the rattle quiets her again, Issa turns down to look at her.

Reyce's nostrils flare when she answers him, but he gives a short nod to confirm it. He regrets that gesture quickly, his eyes squinting down while he waits off the pain that's begun to sunk in as the alcohol fades in his system. "She shouldn't be here," he says once he's ready, indicating Asha with a glance. "Not safe," he continues, his voice automatically lowering while he watches his daughter, though his eyes turn to Issa afterwards.

Issa continues to watch her daughter as she's distracting her, considering the little girl's face as she's informed that it's not safe. A succinct, restrained nod agrees with that statement; she wasn't at all happy on seeing the exile's erupt into the sky over the Weyr or with the things that came from it, but she's been unusually tight-lipped about the events that followed so closely on the heels of Diya's death. "And go where?" she asks him while tilting a glance back in his direction, the residue of her snapping tone lurking subtly under the words.

The nod he received for bringing in Asha surprised Reyce, but the tone he picks up in her words makes him tighten his jaw. "Benden." No big surprise, but he lets it sit with her half a beat before he continues. "M'arik's solid, keeps a good eye on his weyr. Could get work there in storerooms or something, what I'm supposed to be trained for. Otherwise, can't be steward now but I'll get something under it, work at the hold but I get days off and I spend my evenings with you. Have ideas," he tells her, somewhat defensive about it.

Issa absorbs his suggestions in silence, looking away from both him and Asha to focus on a green whorl on the carpet, her expression as blank as her stare. A moment after he’s finished, she finally responds with, “I don’t know.” There’s not a shred of that irritated undertone left now, or even any outright rejection, just a quiet helplessness for the situation. She shifts uncomfortably on her improvised seat, then just stands altogether, switching her seat to one on the floor, in front of the couch’s middle cushion. She slides down with Asha curled close to her chest and the rattle dangling from her fingers gives up a little clatter as she bumps down. “I don’t know,” she mumbles again, more thoughtfully, as she bends her knees and rearranges her daughter over her angled thighs.

Reyce's eyes track her silently, not leaving even when he has to drag in his chin for a quick belch that's suppressed in his cheeks. When she picks a new seat in front of his couch, he turns toward her, flopping onto his side and wincing slightly as the motion jars his head. "Can't stay here," he answers softly, holding his gaze on her for a few more seconds - in the hopes of making eye contact - before he drops it to Asha and the rattle. Watching her makes a thin frown appear on his forehead.

Issa's eye contact, however, is reserved for her daughter, a tiny, transient smile appearing as Asha unknowingly hits her hand against the rattle and sparks a sound that causes a gurgle from her in return. "Can't just leave, either," she tells him quietly. "I have to be transferred. Even if I stepped down as wingsecond, I'm still a rider. And... you should hear them talk... there weren't that many that wanted them before Five Mines, and now... The Weyr can't handle that many riders leaving, not without more coming in." She takes a deep breath, a hand pushing heavily through her uncooperative curls, and, softly, she boils it all down to, "There's a chance I may not be able to leave."

"She owes you," Reyce murmurs, his gaze shooting straight back to Issa. Dropping his arm over the edge of the couch, he pushes his fingers into the rug and pulls himself forward. "Weyrwoman. Went with messages for her, didn't you?" Reaching the end of the cushions, he melts off them entirely, pouring himself into the floor space between her and the couch. Getting upright takes a bit more effort, his jaw clenching down as he struggles for balance. "You went," he reiterates, letting out a breath still heavy with wine. "Got to do this now, and she owes you." Catching a belch in his cheeks, he pulls his chin down and squints.

Issa slides her gaze over to watch him as he begins to drop off the couch, a small frown already tugging at her brows. Her eyes flick a swift study over his face, then meet his bleary gaze silently for several seconds more. "I'll talk to her," she finally says, but by then she's already looking away, back down to Asha, who's settled and uninterested now in the rattle still being dangled near her hands. So Issa drops it to the ground and presses both of her forearms in at Asha's sides, cupping her tiny head in her hands. That's as much of a decision as she's going to make tonight, it seems, for when she speaks again a moment later, she just advises inconsequentially, "You should drink some water," and lets her gaze wander across the rug and up to the rest of the room.

Reyce's nostrils flare when she comes to that decision, sensing immediately that note of finality, but he doesn't offer an objection and merely puffs a breath out as he relaxes his nose. Like Issa, he lets his attention wander back to Asha, but his hands stay in place, pushing down into the rug. "Nn," he answers indistinctly when she suggests water, but a moment later he's again making the effort to move, using the couch to pull himself up so he can go fetch an ordinary waterskin from Issa's own, untouched, wine collection.

With Asha nestled comfortably in between her arms, Issa leans back against the couch, her head tipping back onto the cushions so her eyes are able to trace the far away ceiling as if she were leaving it forever the next day. "My," she begins, but has to clear her throat against a bit of tightness stuck in it. When she starts again, her voice is bare, simple. "My mother told me yesterday that she thinks that she's going to be leaving soon. Thinks it's likely they'll pull her back to the Hall, reassign her."

Reyce still has the waterskin lifted up in front of his face, draining down the last drops, but when it moves away, his eyes are on Issa already. Taking advantage of her preoccupation with the ceiling, he swings a careful study over her features, stoppering the waterskin and setting it aside before he goes after another one. "She want to go?" He focuses on the cap as he unscrews it, then closes his eyes completely as he starts to down more water.

"She will now, I suppose," Issa comments, a bit dryly, as her eyes drop back to him briefly before returning to their wandering. "I was pretty much the only reason she stayed in the first place." Her position is maintained, but her hands begin to move in small, gentle caresses along the top of Asha's head.

The second waterskin defeats him, and Reyce only gets in a few mouthfuls before he has to take a break. Stuffing the cap back in place, he takes it with him back to the hearth where he plants himself on the trunk, behind Issa. Leaning down, and unwittingly bringing the scent of booze with him, he grabs his own foot and hauls it up onto his knee, anchoring it there while he tugs at his boot laces. "Loves you," he comments simply. One hand, as it's untying, lifts far enough away to touch the back of her neck, where it lingers for a half-beat before necessity silently recalls it to the boot.

Issa lifts her head when he comes back, changing her staring to straight ahead rather than straight up. Neither his comment nor his touch, while it lingers, gain a reaction, but after his fingers leave she lets her chin drop to her chest so that if she's watching Asha at all, she's watching her feet. The baby meanwhile sticks her knuckles into her mouth, blinking up at her mother's face and searching out her father's. "Reyce," Issa pipes up hesitantly a few moments later from that bowed position, "I know I haven't been... very..." A puff of breath is all that finishes that sentence and, to fill the silence with something even if it's only fidgeting, she slowly brings her finger to Asha's hand to watch the girl clutch at it tightly.

Reyce does not catch Asha's stare immediately, but he never goes too long without glancing at his daughter, and when the next periodic glance catches her eye he stops to look back at her. He's beginning to lean forward, a hand uncurling beyond Issa's shoulder, when a word from the latter arrests the motion and he stops, withdraws, leaving Asha to suck on her knuckles in peace until Issa's finger distracts her. "'S fine," he answers, turning to his boot. Smelly feet gets added to the list of odors Reyce brings with him at this moment, and he's probably aware of it, since he grabs his foot and wraps it in both hands as though this could help suppress it. This is what he chooses to stare at after offering his brief reassurance.

Issa drops a brief glance back at him and the foot he holds, but gives no other indication that she notices the smells he gives off. She just goes back to idly entertaining Asha, sliding her finger away only to bring it within grasping range again a few seconds later. His reassurance has ample time to sink in and then she continues despite it. "I don't mean... I don't want to push you out." Then, a beat later she adds in a near whisper, "I'm gonna try to be better."

Issa goes on playing with Asha, and Reyce goes on cupping his foot after she's turned away. Her addition does at least get him to watch her (the back of her head, really), but his next move comes with a rustle of clothing as he bends down to switch in the other foot. Laces zip against each other as he deftly pulls them free, more skilled in this habit when not distracted by his libido. "Okay," is his response, the vowels thick with an exhalation. "Don't want to be pushed out." Faster with this one, he gets the boot untied and pushes it off, once again squeezing his foot up to try harnessing the smell.

The back of Issa's head is really all he'll be getting still, for his response settles into a space of motionless silence from her. Only Asha breaks it, feet kicking aimlessly at her mother’s belly while her head turns back and forth. Slowly, then, Issa peels her finger away from the baby's tight grip and slips her hand along the floor until it comes up against Reyce's foot. Though her face angles closer to him, her eyes are still elusively turned down while her touch curls around his ankle, creeping onto bare skin where it lingers quietly for a moment, thumb stroking down. Her fingers tighten in a faint squeeze and she pulls back to tend to Asha; instead of asking him to take her, like she normally might, she lifts her against one shoulder and holds her steady with one curled arm while she uses the other to help her stand again.

In return, the only sound from Reyce is that of his breathing. When Issa lifts the baby to her shoulder, though, he leans forward to stare at the little thing, who's peering at him curiously. "Ahhh," she bleats out merrily, one hand clutching the neck of Issa's shirt while she's being lifted off the ground. Reyce rises after her, keeping close to Issa's back so he can keep bothering his daughter, swiping a finger along her chubby cheek and provoking another squeal as Asha flails her arms, tugging Issa's collar around her neck.

Issa turns toward Asha when she blurts out her excitement, but the sideways look lasts only long enough for her to note Reyce's presence, then she just continues on her way with him following. He'll have to peel away soon, though, because she slides herself into the rocking chair, the motive for her move becoming evident. The rocking chair's begun to work like a charm at night when putting Asha to sleep and only a few minutes of the repetitious back and forth has the power to reduce her to yawns. Asha's dropped back into cradling arms again as soon as Issa's settled, and she stares down at the girl's face though she's still searching for the entertaining presense of her father.

Her father has exhausted his ability to be entertaining, although he sits close by, having returned to the couch. This time he's on Issa's side of it, leaning into the arm with a hand supporting his chin. Although he watched Asha initially, his attention has since shifted to the hearth, its flames still burning high and casting a flickering light over the area. Reyce seems to have zoned out while he watches it, moving only once to take drink from the waterskin.

Asha gives up searching soon enough; her mother's slow rocking and tiny caresses are too much to resist and her eyes drop down sleepily. Soon enough, those drooping eyes close completely and Issa carefully transports her to the nearby crib, hovering over her for a moment more to insure her comfort before she steps away. She heads back over to Reyce and plants a knee next to his leg on the couch; she stops short of climbing into his lap, though, leaving one foot rooted to the ground as she leans over him, a bracing hand placed on the cushion near his shoulder. With the other hand she captures his chin and lifts it. "I'll take care of her tonight," she tells him, and a note of subtle insistence makes it far from an offer.

Reyce's attention has been reclaimed from the moment she stuck her knee down on the couch, but he lets his chin be pulled up anyway. "Yeah," he answers, dropping his eyes to the side. Stable as he's had time to become, still better he not put his alcohol tolerance to the test with Asha. Still keeping away eye contact, he leans his cheek into her cupped palm, his eyes going almost closed. "'m sorry." Just visible in the slim space left open between his lids, his eyes turn back towards her face.

While her thumb strokes lightly from his nose down onto his cheek, Issa puts more of her weight onto that knee, leaning down closer to press a short kiss in the middle of his forehead. "I love you," she murmurs with the same tone he uses with his usual, dismissive, 'doesn't matter,' eye contact steady. Her hand drops away from his face as if pulled by gravity alone, but when it reaches his collar she curls her fingers tightly around it. "Don't make it a habit, she adds more firmly, though the corners of her lip tug upward immediately after. After crinkling his shirt in her grip for a second, it's released and smoothed down again, her hand sweeping all the way to his waist.

Reyce's eyes close the rest of the way when he gets that answer, his cheek still leaning on her palm. Till she takes it away, anyhow; then his eyes open again and he straightens with a sinus clearing sniff. "Already was a habit," he answers, his own hand skimming up till it finds hers and can trap it to his side. "Once." While she's partially pinned, he stretches his other hand out to find her collar - as it happens, just like Asha - and start pulling it towards him.

Issa sinks all the way onto the couch under the influence of his hand, eventually leaning off of her knee so that she's sitting beside him, leaning against his side and her other leg draped across his lap. "I mean the hiding," she murmurs as she settles her head in closer, inching up to press her nose against his jaw in a subdued nuzzle. "If you're going to get drunk, get drunk where I can make fun of you." And though she jokes, her tone is dry, lacking the normal, rounded amusement.

As soon as his suggestion nets response, Reyce releases Issa's collar and plops that hand into his lap to wait for her. Sure enough, her leg takes up a spot there pretty soon, and he slips his hand over her thigh and tugs it in securely. "Did too," he answers simply, lifting his chin to give her more room to nuzzle in. Her dry tone keeps him on his guard, however, and while he helps her settle, he becomes alert, his eyes staring off over her head. His remaining arm wraps up her shoulders, giving her a rub to keep her distracted.

Issa heaves a big breath and gives one final shift before the tension drains out of her and she's heavy against his side, her eyes cast towards the crib. Moments later she speaks again, voice still hushed and careful around the sleeping baby. "Feel like I'm abandoning. Everyone," she admits.

With his normal speaking voice set just a whisper, Reyce doesn't need to lower his voice around sleeping Asha, but he never can help picking up on Issa's hushed tones and doing it anyway. If she weren't nuzzled up right next to him, his extra-softened murmur would be almost inaudible as he says, "Not her." Turning his mouth down to the top of her head, he gives her a gentle nudge. "Not me. Not Oshisyth. Need you. Me," he adds, in the interest of total honesty. Although it's not really a stretch to suppose, he can't /really/ speak for the other two, and it is after all his appeal.

“I know,” Issa answers when he brings up Asha, and it’s likely, as she’s been staring toward the crib, that it was already on her mind. “I know,” she repeats again after he’s done, fingernails curling into his side, she presses so hard. “Me too,” she mumbles into his shirt, her face turned against him, burrowed into a fold of his shirt. Seconds pass before she adds, “That’s why I’m going,” a subtle decisiveness that wasn’t there before creeping up in her voice. “Doesn’t mean I don’t feel horrible,” she adds, her mouth angled outward for speaking ease though her eyes remain hidden. “I wanted this. Not like it turned out, but I did. And when it turns into this mess, I’m not trying to fix it; I’m just leaving.”

Reyce twists towards her, running his arm up the length of her leg until it, too, reaches around her back. "Yeah," he admits. "How it is." His hands climb further around, trying to gather her up completely in a closer hold. "Glad you are, though. I am." This time it's not for identification, but for insistence that he adds that last sentence. His gladness carries through into a kiss, pressed firmly to the top of her head before he has to break the moment, pop her hair out of his lips and scrub his cheek on her to pull away the lingering tendrils. "Be with you and I'll help, whatever you need, help you live there." He keeps his mouth pointed away from her hair while he speaks, his eyes traveling over the wall of the weyr he's encouraging her to leave.

Issa's face remains snugly pressed against his shoulder, but she nods faintly, agreement or appreciation or both as she listens silently to what he says. "If I can't," she says a moment later, voice dropped to a rougher murmur. "Can't transfer. You should take her." She breaks, a short pause for another nod to emphasize what she's suggesting. "Oshisyth and I can always go where you are," she adds, softer still.

Reyce pauses, his chin lifting off the top of her head. His breath shortens itself into quick, audible puffs, but as she goes on with her new thought his eyes begin to slide closed. "Nabol," he responds, decisive in the face of her growing softness. Concern for Asha's sleep must have slipped his mind, for his voice even goes a step louder than usual. "Stay in the territory, and you won't - easier to get out there. Issa." He arches back from her, hands slipping forward to pin her cheeks and hold her face steady when he removes the shoulder she's been hiding in. "It gets like Five Mines, it even starts to, want you to leave." His eyes search hers very slowly. "You have to be weyrless it doesn't matter, you leave."

Issa meets his eye, but her gaze remains a bit thoughtfully vacant, brows taut with the thought of being separated from the both of them. "R'vain is having them watched now," she reminds him, blinking away most of that distraction, "that's not going to change if they try anything. He's a lot of things, he's not stupid. But I will. I will," she adds quietly, as if the agreement part had simply slipped her mind before. Her head tilts to the side, the weight of it dropped against just one of his hands. "It's just in case, though. I think Roa will help."

A thumb lifts out of the cup he's provided for her, tracing the line of her cheekbone. "This is just in case, too," Reyce informs her, dropping his voice back to a murmur. "Won't take any risks with you." He holds still for a beat longer, keeping both hands framed around her face, but eventually drops his face away so he can give out a puff of laughter, humorless in addition to its typical soundlessness. His thumb strokes her cheek again, an idle distraction for them both.

Issa lets him retreat, but only for a short moment; a curled finger catches him beneath his chin, guides him back to her for a simple kiss and holds him there for a few seconds after as she makes an attempt at a smile. The one she manages is a trifle thin, but it lasts until her gaze drops away from his, until she begins to move. After a soft nudge of her nose against his, she pulls back from his hands, only to toss both of her feet onto the couch and slide down to place her head in his lap. She lets out a heavy sigh as she settles, her shoulder shoved against the side of his leg along with her hands, and there starts her staring anew, eyelids drooping lower after a few moments.

Reyce lets his face be guided back around, exhaling a sigh over her nose and mouth when the kiss has been dealt. He studies that smile, gaze swinging back and forth like a pendulum till her tugs it back up to meet hers, not long before it drops away. The hand that was holding her face up converts her withdrawal into a caress as it follows her cheek, moving off to the arm of the couch when it does let her go. While she gets settled, he simply watches, though he twists around looking for her white blanket once he realizes she's lying down. Finding it out of reach, he stiffens his arms over her, hands braced on his knees to create a protective framework somewhat like the poles of a tent.

Issa reaches up and removes the nearest hand he sets down in front of her, fingers drifting from that hasty hold on his wrist to a more stable handhold. She deals out another quick kiss, this time to his once-injured knuckle, before tucking their joined hands against her chest, leaving him to rest his elbow along her arm. Her eyes slip closed eventually, but it's not sleep that grabs ahold of her; she proves that many minutes later when she suddenly mumbles something about bed and, her hand never leaving his, proceeds to drag him quietly around the sleeping Asha and through the small curtain.

Diya's dead

Sun, 12 Aug 2007 04:57:29 GMT

Issa finds out, along with the rest of the Weyr, that Diya is dead. (Reyce, Asherei, Issa)
IC Date: Day ??, Month 3, Turn 4
OOC Date: 8-10-07 to 8-11-07

Issa and Reyce lie much the same as they were when they collapsed after placing the sleeping baby in the crib just outside the curtain, after fooling around a bit, after murmuring back and forth in the hushed tones that have become commonplace now. Issa is curled to face him, her face half-buried in the pillow, one leg splayed over onto his side of the bed. There's little ripples in her dozing stillness, but when it tears for good, it tears suddenly, her head springing up as if starting from a nightmare that surely hasn't had time to grip her yet. Her gaze passes him right by, flying to the curtain as she struggles to untwist herself from the sheets. With a harsh kick or two she manages it, then slaps her feet onto the floor, rushing to put on clothes just as hastily as they were shed. Her distress is merely an undercurrent, popping through with stiff mutters too low and fast to be comprehensible and too distracted to be an reply to anything Reyce is saying. Out she brushes into the main weyr and it's not a beat later that the shrill keen of a dragon's death reverberates through the very walls. Oshisyth's own voice joins even louder, higher, from out on the ledge. Issa freezes. Slowly one hand drifts shakily up to catch at the back of the chair and she stands, unresponsive even to the confused wailing of Asha in her crib.

Reyce fell asleep quickly after the murmuring stopped, rolling onto his back but leaving one hand stretched out where it lay, near her stomach. The second she jerks awake, however, that hand flips around and grips the bed tightly, his eyes focusing straight above him while he waits for whatever understanding woke up Issa to reach him as well. It doesn't, but there's no sitting still through her struggles with the bedclothes, and she's not even clothed by the time he rolls out after her, in less of a frantic hurry and so less badly impeded by the sheets. "What?" he wants to know, but when the muttering non-reply is cut off by a keen, he knows enough to guess. He locks his arms over his head, elbows pinned to his ears to dampen the sound of keens, and by the time he turns to look for Issa again she's gone into the main weyr. He grabs his robe from the wardrobe as he walks by, leaving the door to smack against the foot of the bed behind him while he goes outside, so hurried that he's not even entirely covered by the time he gets through the curtain. His robe ties get a vicious tug, as if they had somehow erred in letting him walk into the baby room half-naked, but Issa's left to herself as he directs his steps straight towards the (un)-offended baby, muffling her ears against his chest and jouncing her nervously, quite unsure how he's supposed to handle her in a situation like this.

The keening dies slowly, tapering down to a mere echo, Oshisyth's whine one of the last to fade. Issa remains where she is, though, as the last note leaves a deeper, emptier silence in its wake. Her fingers clench over the top of the chair, white with tension, but with her back still turned to him and the baby, it's the only clue as to the effect that this rider's death has taken on her.

Even with the keening gone, there is no silence in the weyr. Asha is still screaming, her cries more than sharp enough to make up for the silence from Oshisyth. Reyce's brow is nearly as wrinkled as hers, his focus mainly on her but lifting for a moment or two to watch her mother's tense back. She calls his attention back almost instantly with a particularly loud scream, and he loosens his chest-tightened hold of her as he walks her over to the chair Issa's gripping, his head so close that some of those curls she keeps cutting longer than he likes brush against her knuckles.

Those brushes bring Issa back from her distraction, though it takes several stunned blinks to bring her eyes down to look at him. Her hand pulls back, making it to her side as she hesitates in place, looking back toward the bedroom, around the weyr almost as if she had never seen it before. With a deep breath that shudders out of her again, and then her breathing is steady again, too steady. She doesn't so much decide on a direction as just let her feet wander, and they wander heavily toward the couch first, pausing aimlessly there before they take her to the sideboard. Her posture is rigidly straight, but the initial shock of it seems to have worn, resignation squinting her eyes and turning down the corners of her mouth. By bare routine alone, she reaches at random for a bottle of wine, and pulls up a glass with it. But once they're settled softly in place, Issa can't go any further. The ground under her feet has been shaken and now it gives way; she slides slowly to her knees, crumpling as her breaths come to her in half-gasps. One hand is left along the edge of the counter, clutching desperately as if to a failing life raft, but the rest of her has fallen all but limp, her forehead falling foreward to hit the wood with dull thump. Her sobbing is soft, restrained, almost unnoticeable from the distance between them.

Reyce's mouth opens in a protest when she goes for that wine, but he pulls it back uncertainly. His lips draw into his mouth, the muscles around his eyes tightening up with worry that doesn't ease much even when she puts the glass back. Without taking his eyes from Issa, he calls out suddenly, "Oshisyth," voice twisted with all the concern that shows up in his face but not in his actions. It's a plea, although he doesn't hang around to specify what for; anxious for movement, even with Asha still untouched by his efforts to comfort her, he heaves himself off the chair and starts pacing restlessly before hearth, his steps too quick to comfort Asha and seeming to do nothing to release his own, considerably lesser stress. He can't stop glancing up - at Issa, at the weyr ledge Oshisyth took herself out to - but what he sees only throws him further off his balance, and his steps speed up accordingly. Soon he has to give up and sink down on the corner of the trunk, his eyes fixing on Issa even while he keeps trying to quiet Asha with little bounces and comforting strokes.

Oshisyth reappears soon after Reyce calls, soon enough to throw some doubt on the fact that it was his summon that brought her. She picks her way mincingly over to where Issa is kneeling, her eyes greyed to a sick-looking yellow, butting her muzzle firmly against her rider's bent back when she reaches her. Issa gives up her grasp on the counter finger by finger and turns, falling to a sit from her knees as she limply shoves herself up against the green hide, which somehow seems duller as well. Reyce might get a glimpse of her pained grimace, streaked with tears, as she turns toward him when she moves, but then she flattens her nose against Oshisyth, her hair falling across the side of her face. Her shoulders tremble as she releases stronger sobs against her dragon, and between them can be heard snippets of garbled words, the most comprehensible of which is an almost unbelieving and wheezed, "She's gone."

Whether his summon recalled Oshisyth or not, Reyce seems relieved to see her, though he's still watching closely as the green edges up to Issa and offers comfort in the form of a big, grabbable green nose. Although he doesn't look up to see the pained grimace, turned at him for an instant, he must see it peripherally, or be able to guess, because he winces anyway. Asha, meanwhile, has either picked the worst night to be at her most troublesome, or has picked up on the apparent catastrophe in the draconic cries. Nothing Reyce has tried has made the slightest dent in her upset, and finally in desperation he leans to the couch - nearly unbalancing and certainly exposing himself, both nuisances to be discarded in his current straits - and snags one of Issa's old ragdolls that has become one of Asha's new ones; the baby wails as it's pressed up next to her, and her chubby arm swats it thoughtlessly away when it's held above her, but Reyce continues to hang it there determinedly, making little swoops and dips to try and get her interest. If it doesn't seem to be work immediately, at least he's no worse off than he was with any of his other methods.

Issa sucks in a breath and coughs out an, "I can't," as she suddenly struggles to stand, hands planted one on either side of Oshisyth's big green muzzle to help push her up. Her hair is flipped out of her eyes once she finds her feet, smoothed back hastily while she forcefully swipes away remnants of tears that still haven't quite stopped. But still, she doesn't look at him, eyes tracing the floor as she repeats, thickly, "I... can't..." Her face is more under control, but the change seems fragile, so easy to tip back into the grieving mask of moments before. She picks her way around Oshisyth, her goal uncertain even to her. "I need," she begins on the edge of a heaved breath, looking back at Oshisyth as she stumbles around behind the couch, "I need to go." Then the search for shoes begins, and there's an almost frantic air to the way she casts around the floor for them.

"No." Reyce's negative is interrupted by an angry scream from Asha, so he says it again, more loudly. "No." He pushes the doll between Asha and his chest, wedging it there and creating an infuriating obstacle for her as the movements of her arms are suddenly interrupted by a stuffed thing in the way. She bawls as Reyce stands up with her, her face a rival for her mother's in the amount of tears and snot coursing down it. "You stay here." Reyce still has no idea who they're talking about, or where Issa wants to go, but this he knows: "You're staying." It's hard to look imposing and resolute whilst carrying a squalling, angry child, but he does his level best, ignoring Asha to stare down her mother. He comes around the side of the couch, placing himself between Issa and the doorway, not a large enough obstacle to block the way entirely but a reminder of his and Asha's existence that she'd have to deliberately disregard to get by.

Issa comes up against Reyce and halts as if he were a wall, eyes lifting only so far as to brush his face before she looks down to Asha's wailing face. Her shred of composure trickles away in the face of her baby's tears and she sheds a few more to add to them, a frown building on her forehead. "Reyce, I can't..." she protests, low and almost desperately pleading. She starts to turn back but catches sight of another wall behind her, Oshisyth's head, which she's turned in order to keep a watchful eye on her rider. "I just can’t," she heaves as she simply falls back against Oshisyth's side, “just can’t take this.” With that repetition, her voice falls lower and so does she, inching in a slide down to the ground again. She sits, elbows planted on her upraised knees, her forehead plopped unceremoniously against the heels of her hands as her head shakes slowly back and forth, bowed with a crying that’s quieter. Oshisyth's nose nudges close as it can again, still a few feet off, and there they both stay, despite all Issa's talk, until stirred again.

Even when her eyes move off him, Reyce continues to watch her face, his eyes flicking rapidly back and forth across the many details of her expression. He shifts his weight forward when she says his name, but doesn't complete the step; by the time she sinks to the floor he's moved back again, and when her face drops out of view he looks at Oshisyth. There's a moment of silence, from him; screams from Asha, while Issa weeps on the floor. Then a doll drops in front of her, given a nudge by Reyce's bare foot as he makes room for himself to follow, and settles himself cross-legged again in front of her. His robe requires a quick readjustment, Asha held carefully in one arm while he does it, then he shifts forward so his knees are bracketing her and the doll is pushed between them. "Issa," is all he says; this close, he doesn't bother raising his voice over Asha's continual cries, and his words carry to her softly. When she looks up, she'll find his brow heavily furrowed, his lips quirked strangely inwards with an unsuccessfully suppressed expression of sadness that's carried over from her weeping.

Issa doesn't look up from where her face is hidden behind her hands and tumbled curls when he sits, but his quiet address wins him an almost instantaneous response. "Don't," she tells him stiffly, words clogged with snot. "Don't," she adds, softer. "Just get her..." Like the other sentences before, it goes unfinished, doused in a thick sniff. A beat later her head tilts toward Oshisyth's rapidly whirling gaze, a subtle glance through the curtain of her hair. "Diya," she says for him as her head rocks back down, her voice stripped raw and bare. "Diya's dead."

Reyce tugs back at that first word, closing his arms tightly around Asha. His chin drops so he can watch the little girl, making full use of the extra arm-space she's acquired since he moved that doll out of the way and still screaming at the top of her lungs. He inhales quickly when she reveals what's upset her so, but his silence persists. Freeing an arm from the baby, he reclaims the doll that's squished between them and stuffs it under his elbow, grunting quietly as he pushes back and gets to his feet. "Don't leave," he requests quietly, lingering in front of her for a moment extra before he goes padding back to the bedroom with Asha. She's left with Oshisyth, then, while Asha's cries are softened by the curtain between them. Calming her, after such a long upset, takes Reyce quite a long time, but eventually her wails soften, tail off, and fade. Reyce walks back into the main weyr with her in his arms, a soppy toy-cum-handkerchief hanging over his shoulder where Asha quietly stares at it while mouthing on her fists, and looks around immediately to see where Issa's gone.

But Issa can't be seen immediately. Not even Oshisyth is in sight. The wavering, open edge of the ledge's curtain and the chill that comes from it aren't exactly promising, but a closer inspection will find Oshisyth's green bulk safely hunched out on the far lip of the ledge, a snippet of bundled white indicating that Issa is still glued to her side. A light wind catches her hair an billows it over her shoulders unchecked as she leans against the warmth of her dragon, perched in the bend of Oshisyth's forearm and wrapped in her big white blanket. They both watch the reaction that's rippled through the Weyr after the keening that marked another goldrider dead: bodies shouting voicelessly across the bowl below, the buzz around the weyrleader's quarters, who visits whose ledge. But though her watching eyes are dry now, they're detached, cynically squinted at the scene before them.

And when Issa's not immediately visible, Reyce stops dead in the doorway, his face going blank. Asha senses something wrong, and shifts her attention from the dangling ragdoll to her father with a curious bleat, followed by an empty "aaah." He jolts back into the present with that sound from her, tracking her cheek with a caress from his finger, and moves woodenly back to her crib. She's tucked away with the doll that finally quieted her, its dry side tucked against her, and simply watches quietly while Reyce withdraws from sight and turns towards the ledge. There, finally, he sees the huddled white shape, its huge green guardian; with a choked sound, he picks up a stride that becomes a jog as he leaves Asha to join her. His enthusiasm seems somewhat silly as he approaches the unmoving figure, and so he skids to a halt when he gets there, but embarassment doesn't keep him from kneeling on the other side of Oshisyth's forearm and reaching across to hug Issa from behind.

Issa's icily blank face angles toward the sudden hug that surrounds her, but she turns back to watching dragons wing up and down across the bowl again, unmoved. A beat later her voice cuts through the wind. "I'm not stupid," she notes in a harshly even mutter. "I'm not going there."

"'h don't care," Reyce informs her, still gripping her tight. Let her be as icy as she wants: she'll either have to break it, or hold still while he satisfies himself with her continued presence. Once the hug relents, his hands continue touching her, gripping her shoulders and sliding down, then cupping her cheek and pulling it towards him in what could almost be intentional provocation. It's certainly not very solicitous. His eyes don't meer hers at all, far too busy taking advantage of the pose he's just manhandled her into to skim the rest of her face for some sign of tears or emotion. Finding none, he releases her and sets his palms on Oshisyth, still leaning on the green he's usually so shy of touching for anything more than his ride up and the occasional grooming assist. In silence, he makes himself more comfortable there, easing his knees to the stone floor and leaning forward on the dragon's forearm, his elbows pushed up over it.

Issa doesn't seem to care about his readjustments at all; but then she doesn't seem to care about much of anything at the moment, her face subtly drawn and tense but otherwise blank. She looks at him, but when he doesn't meet her eye she just turns back slowly into the position she had when he came out, head dropped sideways again to rest against Oshisyth. The green is more responsive to Reyce's arrival, tucking her head back towards the pair of them and letting out a labored huff as her chin settles over her leg several feet from Issa's spot.

And shortly after Oshisyth, Reyce lets out a huff of his own as he tucks his chin down, pushing his face into the crook of an arm. It's a cold night, and full of noises, otherwise he'd be at risk of falling asleep. The bowl doesn't interest him, so he closes his eyes, and Issa's not moving, so he just stays put. From within the weyr, there are a few little burbles and ahhhs from their daughter, but the sounds are faint, dampened by distance and the winds sweeping them away when they do reach the ledge.

Eventually Issa blinks away from her cursory watch of the Weyr still visible to her, most of which is already drifting back to its sleepy nighttime habits, and notices Reyce's closed eyed position. "You should get back to bed," she tells him dryly, voice drained even of any prodding disapproval or annoyed teasing. A couple of short coughs, expelled into her closed fist, interrupt her train of thought. "You have class in the morning." This reminder comes without a glance, her gaze just skimming past the bit of hide near his elbow before she directs it forward again, at least looking Oshisyth full in the eye.

Night has done its job in keeping Reyce not only awake, but alert: he opens his eyes and lifts them to her as soon as she speaks to him. "Skipped class before," he answers, indifferent. And he'll do it again, if he feels like it. He shifts back from Oshisyth, elbow joints creaking softly as they move against the setting cold. "Should go inside, though," he points out, not moving from his spot. His eyes are on Issa, waiting for her. "Get sick, you sit out here."

"Sat out here before," Issa replies, giving him a dose of his own indifference, while still staring down Oshisyth's wide eye. But seconds later, she's picking herself up, perhaps in response to the little twitch of her green's arm. Still clutching the blanket around her shoulders, she inches past Reyce and slides to the ground, never touching him as she wordlessly strides back to the weyr. Oshisyth is soon to follow and if Reyce doesn't move quick they'll both soon be leaving him behind. And even then, Oshisyth may get in his way, stubborn on her track to take up a position behind the couch, curling tightly around it as if it were the grieving rider. Issa heads for Asha's crib instead, disregarding Reyce just as strongly as she hovers over their daughter, lips pressed tight in the closest she's gotten to an actual expression in the past hour. Her hand ventures outside the boundary of the blanket to brush down to Asha's cheek, her chest, and the girl burbles, kicking her legs in enthusiastic bliss of the circumstances. With a stiff sniff, Issa drags her finger away from Asha's grasping hand and steps over to the couch, curling at what would be her end while Oshisyth beats Reyce to the other end, head dropped down gently so she's breathing over her rider's feet.

Reyce has to move quick just to get off Oshisyth's arm before she knocks him over, and he steps back out of the way while dragon and rider skirt him. His robe has deep pockets, and his hands submerge past the wrists as he pushes them inside. Otherwise, though, he doesn't move until Oshisyth's tail is slinking through the curtain; then he finally breaks his hands free, making fists of them one at a time and warming each in the cup of the opposite palm. While he warms, he moves, pushing silently through the curtain and moving toward the crib until Issa abandons it. Again he's stopped short, turning only his head to follow her path towards the couch. His hands go back in the pockets. He waits.

And so he'll wait. Issa's fascinated with her hand, it seems, for it's that she keeps staring at there in front of her face, gaze distracted with more than just dragonspeak. She shifts idly in an attempt to get comfortable: her back presses further against the cushions, her head lifts to the arm of the couch, her feet slip down beside Oshisyth's muzzle. A couple of minutes later, her eyes jump to him. "I'm staying here," she simply lets him know, voice less stiff but no less drained for it.

"For the night?" His voice has been drained intentionally, no hint of his own emotion allowed to show through it. Reyce stays where he is, his gaze level.

Issa's eyes flick around his face for a few seconds delay, but she doesn't nod until she's looked away again, gaze fallen to benign stone instead. Her hand lifts, swiping the skin beneath her eyes as if taking away tears, imaginary by the looks of it.

This time Reyce drops his gaze when she does. Beats of silence, disturbed by the rustle of Asha still moving wakefully in her crib, then Reyce draws up with a short, sinus-clearing sniff and finds Issa again. "Do you want me with you?" His chin tips a little higher, but he keeps his expression even.

Issa's lips quiver on the edge of that question before she clennches her jaw against it, swallowing before she answers, "No," while staring blankly ahead. Her eyes are drawn vaguely in his direction, but they never make it to his face.

This time there's no period of silence: the negative hits, there's a shuddering whoof as Reyce draws in breath, and he turns around to leave. He doesn't go towards the bedroom, though, not more than a couple of steps. He hasn't even reached the entrance yet before he turns aside, stalks a few steps, reverses direction and stalks back. The bare pads of footsteps rip up the stone, the noise enough to attract Asha's attention and wring gleeful cooing from her: whatever that sound is, it's funny. Her laughter gets through to him and he stops, again. It's Oshisyth his side-cast gaze catches, but there doesn't seem to be any more significance to it than that's where he looked and where she was lying. Soundless again, he vanishes into the bedroom, his arrival there marked by the flap of the covers as he hauls them off the bed. Then silence again: whatever he ripped off the covers for, it wasn't to bring them to Issa.

That pacing has much the same effect on Issa and a swift exhale breaks the tense silence from her. "I'm sorry," is mumbled beneath her breath, rougher to compensate for the tremor running through her voice. Her eyes well with tears again and her face contorts against them, an expression that's not left in the light long for she turns over, her face buried in a shadowed nook of the cushions just before he stalks off to the bedroom.

That silence doesn't last more than a second. A low sound emits from the bedroom, its mood undistinguishable, and bare feet hit the floor again. For the second time tonight, Reyce walks out in his robe, but now he's taken the time to ensure it's tied and settled well on his shoulders before entering the main weyr. Oshisyth is an obstacle, nothing more, as he swings around and steps over her tail, coming up next to the side of the couch Issa's claimed. "Stop." The word comes out as he's already reaching for her, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of her sorrowful huddle on the couch. His fingers are closed like a vise around her arm, brooking no argument while he hauls her to him and on her feet so quickly and powerful that she's like to bump into him as soon as she's up.

Issa’s slow to realize his goal and ends up tangling her feet, first on the edge of the couch and then in the blanket that falls to the floor as he hauls her up. One hand swings up to grasp at his arm for balance, support, even while the one belonging to the arm he’s captured pushes him back on the other side. That half push leans her back as she stares silently up at him, face slick with new tears and splotchy from old ones, a newly dropped frown joining red-rimmed eyes blinking back alarm and surprise. Her head gives a tiny shake, expressing her heavy confusion while she waits for him to explain his order.

Reyce grabs both her shoulders now and pushed downwards, stamping her in place while his hands move brusquely over her face to swipe away the new tears on her skin. "You're pissed, you're sad, the hell you're telling me no for." From the sound of it, he's not too far from pissed himself, but he takes his frustration out by tending to her with those same rough movements, bending after he's wiped off her tears to retrieve the blanket from the floor and wrap her back up in it.

Issa snatches the blanket from his hands when he drags it back up, pulling the ends of it tight over her chest and bunching them there. She takes advantage of the lump she's built and watches the contours of it for a moment. "I can't," she says before she interrupts herself with a snorted sniff and, through some effort drags her chin back up to look at him, finishing quietly but evenly, "talk about her with you." The faint stress on the pronouns is telling enough; she knows his thoughts on Diya and they're not exactly comforting. "Not now," she adds, turning her eyes away as she plops herself back down onto the couch and away from him again, just sitting for now.

Reyce gives up the blanket without protest, although a quick shake of his hand afterwards suggests the cloth caught on his finger. It tucks into his robe afterwards, though the other hand stays out in the open. "Don't have to," he replies, his eyes meeting hers when she finally looks at him. When she drops back to the couch, though, he turns his head aside with a short sniff, casting his gaze down at the floor. "Won't say anything. 'N I'm not thinking bad about her." Those emphasized pronouns are apparently enough to give him a good idea what's behind her reluctance.

Issa draws her feet up from the floor and tucks them under the edge of her blanket, turning her body into a white blob that leans up against the curve of Oshisyth's muzzle. Several beats pass after his last word in silence, but then she replies with a mumbled, "Okay." Perhaps it's merely acknowledgement or perhaps permission to stay, she gives no further clue; room enough remains to her right for him to sit, but she certainly makes no invitation. Her face is drawn and her lips, so often turned up, are weighted down at the corners while she stares at the very same floor he does.

Having received her permission, Reyce continues to hang still for a moment. Then he breaks away from the couch, swinging wide around Oshisyth and heading to Asha's crib. There's a murmur - if Issa's listening close, she'll be able to make out his soft voice saying, "Still up, kid?" - followed by the baby's delighted "Ah!" Reyce snorts, but leaves the crib and returns to the bedroom. This time he brings back the covers, slung over his shoulder like a dead beast, and drops them with a whump in front of the couch. They are, as it turns out, still for him: a few sweeping kicks stretch them out in front of the couch, providing an arguably softer surface than the plain floor, then he lowers himself on them, grunting softly when his elbow impacts the ground but otherwise going without a word.

Issa tracks his progress with just a few idle glances brought up from her brooding silence, but otherwise she stays put even after he's settled himself down on the makeshift bed he's arranged. When she cries, she does so quietly, betrayed only by her erratic breathing and wet snorts. More often than not, though, it's just a heavy silence that presses down over them. At one point, Issa rises without a word to tend Asha, minorly stirring, with a feeding, edging over Reyce's legs and ending up in the rocking chair for several minutes before the baby's returned and she steps back over to her same spot. The light of the fire fades and the heat with it, though with spring on the horizon their blankets are enough to keep the chill at bay. The false light of pre-dawn is peeking in around the ledge curtain's edge when Issa moves again. Just a foot sneaks down next to him, then the other follows as she slowly, hesitantly wedges her blanket-wrapped self in between him and the couch. Oshisyth stretches up from the couch not long after, giving her head a short shake before moving it to the floor and resuming her fitful dozing.

Every sound out of place disturbs Reyce's light sleep, from the masked weeping to the footsteps picking deliberately over him. He rarely moves, though, even when he's awake; maybe his eyes roll towards her while she's in the rocking chair, maybe his curls scratch the blankets as he moves his, but it's hard to pin down in the darkness. Morning stretches in to find him still lying on his back, his robe parted wide over his chest but still in place, the covers pushed down to his waist. His eyes are already open, staring blankly at the ceiling while he watches time pass in the progressive slanting of light into the weyr, but when Issa moves they find her immediately. He watches her ease down into the space next to him, making no move - since she's already found room - to accomodate her any further. An audibly exhaled breath lets her know, in case she didn't look, that he's up, and aware of her, but though he keeps staring there's no movement or speaking as yet.

Issa's eyes are half-lidded, more concerned with arranging herself gently beside him than with his stare. Her hands are still buried within the folds of her white blanket when she finally lies next to him, but she butts her forehead against his arm and leaving it firmly pressed there while she speaks, in a thick whisper, "Need you," to serve as apology and thanks both for his vigil. And though she's long done with sobbing, a shuddered breath shakes through her after it, a few silent tears sliding down the sides of her nose.

Reyce's opposite arm lifts, crosses over his chest and falls with its hand in her hair. He digs his fingers through a loose wrap of curls mussed during sleep, letting out another, softer exhalation once each one's been buried. "Love you," he says, pushing his elbow down to clamp over her shoulder. Her tears keep rolling down till they drop on his chest, where the splash provokes a sudden shiver but is otherwise ignored. "Get in the blanket," are his next words, a command but one softened in the face of her tears. Both his hands are too busy to do it for her, the one acting as a pillow for her head and the other keeping that head close while it rests in her hair.

With a sniff, Issa complies. Her legs curl up to let her feet slip in past the edge and then push down again, rubbing her much-wrinkled pants against his bare legs. Her body leans against his and for a moment she just presses her face against him, moving her chin, her mouth, her nose idly against the towelly texture of his robe; the weary looseness of her movements suggests what little sleep she got up there on the couch wasn't any good. "Nothing's going to change," she suddenly says, but instead of being promising, that comment carries a note of despair, the pressure of the mundane day ahead closing in with the sunrise. Diya left her life long before she died, and now there won't even be the traces of her presence left; it's likely she won't even have a body to lend closure. Her tears have dried up now, but her weepiness continues on with her intermittent little sniffs.

Once she's securely under the covers with him, Reyce can release Issa's head, though it takes him a few moments to disentangle his fingers from the curls he wound them in so deeply. As his hand resituates on her shoulder, encircling her in a loose hold, he says, "Don't know." He lacks the despair, but his answer's no more optimistic than hers was: it's a simple admission, unembellished with any promises or reassurance. His hand gentles the uncertainty, somewhat, by stroking lightly down between her shoulder blades, a reflex prompted by proximity.

Issa just draws herself more compact in response to the reflexive caress, arms tucked between them, folded tight to her chest. Her head lies still, too, forehead dropped against him so her words are murmured quietly into a fold of his robe. “I wanted her to meet you,” she continues, voice as heavy and weary as her frame feels beneath his hands. “Asha.” That thought settles for a beat before she adds, resigned and tired beyond tears, “Kind of stupid to think that she’d ever be able to come back at all.” She shakes her head minutely, producing a slight nuzzling motion of her nose against him. “Should’ve known,” she mutters in the middle of an exhaled breath.

"Can't," Reyce responds, pragmatic as ever. And vague as ever: can't what? But his hand makes a more concerted effort to gather her in, since the first idle strokes proved encouraging. His arm hikes its way across her shoulders, elbow bending when it reaches her spine so his forearm can lie over it, covering her. "You good here?" he wonders, hand lifting from her back long enough to make a quick, generalized flick. "Spend the day with you, want you where you'll feel -" but his lips press together over the last word, suppressing it. "Nn," is the inarticulate substitute he replaces it with, indifferently.

Issa takes in a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds as if testing her environs, then lets it out again in one soft rush. "Doesn't matter," she answers, and her head finally comes to rest, bumping heavily down against his chest, her eyes slipping closed. "Here's as good as anywhere," she continues despite her relative relaxation. "Just want a drink," she bemoans in a quiet mutter, though they both know that single drink would easily evolve into bottles.

Reyce breathes quietly back at her, his fingers resuming their idle rub between her shoulders. "Can get you water," he offers. "Or tea." Other kinds of drink are still guarded from her, even though other kinds of drink are precisely what she means. Apologizing for his deliberate obtuseness, perhaps, he pushes his fingers in harder on both sides of her spine, pressing into the tension of her muscles till it turns painful then abruptly releasing to let tingling relief spread through that area of her back. It's not a precisely aimed sequence of pressure points, since he just jabbed his fingers down where they were, but what the maneuever lacked in finesse Reyce compensated for with brute strength that made the effect surprisingly good.

"Mmm," Issa mumbles, though it's more in the tone of a whimper-- for his obtuseness and his pressing fingers both-- than the one of musing it normally is. "No," she answers his offer humorlessly; that's not what she meant, he knows it, and she has no patience for playing stupid. But the momentary massage had a surprisingly good effect indeed, and with one final, settling squirm against him, she lets her breathing fall into a sleepier, if still stuffy, rhythm and, after just a few minutes, relaxes limply in his arms.

Back to bed

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 06:42:43 GMT

When the baby is put to sleep again, Issa makes Reyce take a break from his math to drag him into a bed that's seen far too little action lately. (Reyce, Asha, Issa)
Warning: sex, of course
IC Date: Early month 3, Turn 4
OOC Date: 8-1-07 to 8-4-07

Issa has been serving as a sounding board for the particulars of Reyce's lesson plans, a sort of game made out of how much he can teach in her one night's crash course, a test for his methods. His notes and hides are scattered here and there around their central spot on the couch, but the wax tablet she used to scratch uncertain figures has been abandoned in the seat she vacated to tend to squirming Asha. The baby has settled into a general schedule by now, and they've learned to expect feeding time, catch her fussiness before it becomes a true wail. The crib has been rolled up next to the rocking chair, so after she's scooped up Asha she sinks into it, one leg tucked under her and one left to push against the floor, the rocking as much a minor amusement as a soothing motion for Asha. "I’m not finished with that last one," she tells Reyce while dragging up her tunic, settling Asha into the right position. There's a tiny smile on her lips when she peeks up at him again, a loose, wavy tendril that’s sprung free of her bun bobbing in front of her eyes. "It doesn’t count." She looks down again at Asha, who paws a bit at the breast she's presented with before tucking it into her mouth and suckling away happily.

With his test-run teaching Putnam's class looming on the horizon, Reyce has become increasingly attentive during their test sessions, feeling the need to check in with her constantly on his teaching methods. Did she understand that? Would it make more sense if he explained it this other way? So now, as soon as she leaves to check up on Asha, he grabs the wax tablet and turns it towards himself so he can check on her latest efforts. "Good, would have got it wrong," he responds, though he's exaggerating: if there are any problems in her work so far, it's only that - as she stated - she's not finished yet. Chalk it up to the nerves. He slides the wax tablet back where she left it and twists to look at her, still sitting on the floor himself, cross-legged and dressed in slacks and a nice button-up that would be good teacher clothing if he hadn't rolled up the sleeves on the latter to avoid getting ink on them while he scribbled more notes onto his hide collection earlier in their session.

Issa shrugs off the possibility of failure in her figurings, the motion subdued in consideration for the feeding babe. After a quick check down on that same babe and a soft pat against her back, she looks back to Reyce and tells him, "Good thing I'm cozy with the instructor," she muses, playful gleam overtaking her expression while she nudges the chair into a stronger rock. "Otherwise I'd never pass." She has no shame for her lack of mathematical ability, but to her credit (and most likely his as well) she's absorbed the basics he's taught her so far fairly quickly.

Reyce quirks the corner of a smile at her, but it doesn't last long: he wants to check something in his notes, and there's no point smiling at his notes. "You'd pass," he mumurs back at her meanwhile, running his finger down the nearest page till it finds a cluster of computations far beyond anything he's been teaching her so far. "Just wouldn't get the highest grade." Now he's located the desired note, he can spare a moment to squint up at her, his eyes briefly amused.

Issa quietly rolls her eyes as soon as he has his gaze again, commenting, "Not really much point, if I'm not getting the highest grade." She looks over at the wax tablet he cast aside, as if it were an actual assignment that was the one thing to decide where she stood. That look breaks, though, and she spends a quiet minute rocking back and forth, idly passing her watch from him to Asha and back again. "You know," she begins again, sparing one hand to smooth back the free tendrils of her hair back, "maybe I should try begging sometime." A curious suggestion, until she explains a beat later, after investigating one of the baby's sounds. "That way you can practice heartlessly turning down young student's requests for better grades." And young girls offering other things for the same gain, of course, that goes unsaid.

Reyce immerses himself in whatever math problem it is that wobbles illegibly across his notes, shifting out of his cross-legged seat with a long stretch to get the blood going before promptly setting down in a kneel, his knees apart and hands braced on them while he leans over the hide. Issa will find a small, considering frown on his face whenever she looks up from Asha, and when she speaks, it takes him a quick beat to break out of his concentration. For a moment he seems to think that perhaps he didn't resurface entirely, as the origin of that begging suggestion is lost on him, but the explanation that follows reassures him and he heaves a snort. "Don't need practice at that. I don't care what their grades are." His hand crosses over to rub the opposite arm, which - despite his fears - is only lightly grayed by ink. "They want to argue something stupid it's their risk." He's found an itchy spot on his forearm, and his face squints up as he makes himself comfortable scratching it.

Issa hums a little chuckle with the tone of an unspoken of 'good thing' when he claims to be as heartless as he's going to get, without any plan of indulging desperate students. She busies herself making minor adjustments, edging up the tunic where it's fallen and shifting her arm minutely beneath Asha, as he finishes speaking. But Asha's finished, refusing prodding attempts to keep her feeding, so then Issa pushes her up to her shoulder and rises from the chair, bouncing her way gradually back over to where Reyce sits. Head cocked to the side opposite Asha, she peers down at the notes spread before him and taps one set with the tip of her big toe. "Teach me this one next," she requests bluntly, the hide she indicates a more complicated but flashy-looking process that's also far beyond her current competency.

Itch satisfied, woman occupied, Reyce drops himself back into his math problem, though not so deeply that he doesn't hear her come up beside him and turn his head slightly, acknowledging her without looking. The motion already has him angled in the direction of the process she selects, and when she demands it, his eyes snap down to see what it is. "Not part of my lesson plan," he answers once he's identified it. His hand brushes over, touching her big toe and moving it off the page. "One of mine." One of his own assignments, it can only be assumed. Reyce plants his hand over the bare foot, now it's made itself available to him by being close, his fingers stretching down the length of it.

Toes wriggle faintly under his grasp, but there's no attempt to move her foot away. Issa's hair has fallen forward again and drapes over in front of her surveying eyes. "Does that mean you can't teach it to me?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow at him with a note of challenge. Asha lifts her head and begins to squirm slightly, so her mother begins to pat more strongly against her back, a tiny burp erupting seconds later.

When she challenges him, Reyce lifts an eyebrow right back. "Means I won't teach it to you," he corrects, lightly emphasizing his new choice of word. His hand moves up from her foot, arm locking around the back of her leg as he traps her ankle like a shackle. "You pin down what you're learning now, the course you're on, and after you can ask again." Unconsciously imitating her motions with Asha, he runs his hand gently (a bit distractedly: now she's drawn his attention to it, he has to take a moment to consider this other problem she brought into the picture) - that is to say, he runs his hand gently up and down her calf, offering a light pat when he comes a halt at the bottom and before he encloses her ankles in his hand again.

"Oh, fine," Issa concedes quite easily, a testament to how little she truly cares about this randomly and suddenly attained goal. She stands there, watching over him watching over his notes with a slight, unconscious smile on her face. She remains for another minute or so only, enough time to elicit another couple of burps from Asha, and then meanders back to the rocking chair, taking up her previous seat again to coax Asha back to sleep, leaving Reyce to ponder his equations to the sound of her occasional, subdued humming. It's an easy task tonight, and before long she picks herself up again carefully, swings Asha gently down into her crib. She lingers only a moment to stare down at the tiny sleeping face then paces back along the very same path to his side. Pressing her knee onto the cushion of the couch just to his side, she leans over him, fingers pulling softly through his curls a few times before clamping down to pull him up to face her. A beat is spent scanning his features, smiling down at him, then she drops a quick press of a kiss to his lips. "I'm going to get changed," she lets him know, freeing him to become as absorbed as he wants in the various notes he has spread about. And, as promised, off she goes into bedroom.

To the soundtrack of rocking and humming is soon added the scrabbles of a worn old stylus, as Reyce pushes together the papers that have both caught his interest and starts marking up both of them. Though it has all of his attention, and there are a few moments when he writes things down quickly, in general it's not going at the rate of his usual homework, which would be long pauses followed a barrage of symbols at lightning speed. Her toe must have landed on one of Putnam's extra exercises, then, and this explains why he's somewhat loathe to give up the challenge when she heads off to to prepare for bed. He does take a break when she comes back to him, though, breathing out a sigh when her fingers lace through his hair and letting his head be tilted back easily when she pulls. Watching quietly, his eyes fix on hers as she scans his features, and barely bother to close normatively when she gives him that kiss. "Okay," comes the habitually soft-voiced reply, and while he makes no move to follow her just yet, his gaze tracks her to the bedroom before he bends back over his math.

Sweaters and underwear have been the norm lately, not only her big brown one but any number of better fitting specimens, a symptom of their languishing post-birth sex life. But when Issa appears again, many minutes later, at the edge of the small curtain, she wears the shiny, silky fabric of the lingerie he bought her once upon a Benden wedding instead of matte wool. Her hair has been untied and tumbles down in loose waves and curls, doing more to conceal her breasts than the slip does. Leaning her bare shoulder against the stone, her arms crossed over her stomach, she smiles slyly in Reyce's direction, waiting until he makes eye contact to comment, "It fits again." Her voice is just loud enough to carry to him, and Asha, accustomed by now to their murmurings, stirs not an inch.

Reyce has made himself more comfortable in the intervening minutes, probably not expecting her to rejoin him at all. Otherwise he might have thought twice before stretching out on his stomach, his legs bent up to lean on the edge of the couch. When he hears the rustle of the inner curtain being opened, and footsteps coming to the doorway, he lifts his head in acknowledgement but it takes him a second or two more before he actually turns to find out why those footsteps are coming no closer. And then it takes him a second or two more to process, the sight of her in that lingerie again blanking his mind for a few beats. "It does," is the best he can come up with, swallowing hard and meeting her eye - after the first glance triggered her comment, his gaze moved decidedly lower - and briefly lifting his eyebrows. He lost subtlety about his own unfulfilled sex drive weeks ago, though he's begun to look apologetic (as he never did before) whenever he sneaks off to the bathroom, and his awkward, uncollected response is evidence that despite those trips he's so sorry for, his sex life has been languishing as well.

Issa's head rolls down to the stone, leaning there along with her shoulder as he gets a good look. When he finds her face again, a grin is still building up to full strength, spreading slowly while she rolls her eyes briefly up to the ceiling. When her gaze drops back, she finds his assembled notes pointedly for a second before sweeping back up to look him in the eye. Without saying a word, her hand lifts on level with her chin and, playfully, a single finger is crooked with an obvious message. Come here, stupid.

Yes ma'am! Non-verbal cues are the easiest for Reyce to handle, and a single crook is all the finger needs to summon him away from his notes. Those are simply swept together with his hand as he's rising, as likely to be an accidental hit as anything, really, for all the attention he spares it. Swinging around the couch, he comes up to Issa and sets a hand on her hip, brushing the silky fabric against her skin incidentally while his grip slides up to try her waist. His eyes are on the other hand, brushing the hair back from her chest and leaving only the thin negligee between his eyes and her body. Then his eyelids get in the way as he leans forward, pressing on her for a kiss.

It's hard to say which happens first, Reyce touching her clothing or Issa touching his; she curls her fingers onto his collar and drags conveniently at the same time he leans down, pushing onto her toes to eagerly meet his kiss. Before their lips have separated even, she begins leaning them back into the bedroom, letting out a muffled chuckle when they finally stumble into actual steps and she has to clutch herself closer to avoid losing her balance. Her hands at his collar inch down to the first button and pop it open before moving on to the next. Through a mix of his guidance and hers, their legs bump into the bed and as soon as they do she gives a quick twirl on her toes, putting him in position to be pushed into a sit on the edge. Tinier kisses exchange with more devoted attempts at his disrobing for a moment before she takes a step back and, more slowly, begins dragging her own scanty clothing up. Not unusual for their experiences with lingerie, it didn't last long.

When they separate from that kiss, Reyce is already breathing high, and his quiet snorts even that out only briefly while she's pushing him back into the bedroom. One arm reaches past her to make a clumsy fumble at the curtain, tugging it closed in a symbolic gesture to shield the coming activity eyes from baby minds that wouldn't know or care anyway - and perhaps he recognizes that, because his weak attempt is hardly enough to budge the curtain, yet he lets it hang still open. As soon as Issa's lifting off her lingerie, his hands are there to claim the space that's been forbidden to him recently, and he begins unashamedly with what remains of her belly fat, exploring the added curves for just a fraction of a second before his mouth follows up the open space and he presses a soft, sucking kiss over her belly button to create a weird, disorienting, even ticklish sensation.

That belly fat is down to a mere pooch now, what with her extra attention to exercise and return to drills with the weyrlings, most of the extra curve carried at her hips, her ass. Her stomach squirms beneath his kiss, a little laugh drawn out because of it, but her hand plants itself along the back of his head, pressing him in. Meanwhile, her other hand finishes the job she started, peeling the lingerie the rest of the way off over her head, disregarding the bit of awkwardness the lack of attention causes. Once that's on the floor, her second hand joins the first, allowing him a few moments more to rediscover her with his lips before she attacks his clothing again, trying to stay out of his way while she throws back his shirt, leans to tear the hem of his undershirt up and over. Then there's those pants, and there's little to be done but to shove him back so that her more deft fingers can attend to the ties.

When he's pressed in, Reyce rumbles, his voice reverberating over her skin. The discomfiting kiss soon gives way to his tongue, sliding sideways over the rise of her ribs. Before he can get any further, he jerks back to let her get off his shirt, pinching his shoulder blades together and pushing his arms out while she slides off the button-up, then punching his hands up to help her with the undershirt. A grunt puffs out of him when she pushes, but he falls back with the effort and with a short wriggling of his legs that at first suggests he's trying to get up, but soon turns out to be a rushed attempt to kick off his socks. Once that's done, he plants his elbows behind himself, ready to lift up his waist when she gets those troublesome pants unlaced.

Issa fumbles minorly, ending up tightening the laces before she works it out and tugs them neatly open. After one quick jerk to loosen them up, she peels pants and underwear off in one sweep when he lifts and leaves them at his ankles for him to deal with as he did the socks. She works her way up more slowly, her turn to explore a bit with kisses, strokes of her fingers, as she works her way up onto the bed, straddling him. At first, she's leaning over him where he lays, but with every drawn out kiss she pulls him back to sitting, keeping him at bay still though she wraps him in with her arms, their torsos flattened close. Nuzzling away from his mouth, she ducks to his ear, scattering gentle nips to the skin below with her words. "Might need. To take it. Slow."

The pants are dealt with without a thought, kicked off and forgotten as Reyce transfers his attention to his hands. While she explores his torso, he tries out her legs, his fingers sweeping up and between her thighs. He still hasn't gotten where he's obviously aiming when she pulls him up, but one hand manages to latch onto her outer thigh, just below the curve of her ass, and stay there despite the distraction of kissing. The other hand, weaker in its resolution, has long since dug itself through her hair, cupping the back of her head. It stays there when her kisses wander, and he turns up his chin to help her get to his ear. "'h will," he promises, ducking his chin back to intercept her next kiss clumsily. It leaves them facing each other again, though, and this time he's the one guiding as his kisses push her back, his arm lifting from her leg to encircle her shoulders and start rolling her down to the bed.

Issa goes pliant in his arms, skin touching his wherever possible as he turns her down to the bed. She breaks their kiss again, though, and doesn't bother to pull away as she whispers with a silent bit of laughter, "And quiet," lips tickling against his with the added reminder he hardly needs. She teases with one more feint before she just lets him pin her again, lips and tongue rising firmly to his while her hands force him down flat on top of her.

And for a while they stay like that, and the little shifts Reyce makes to move them up the bed are hardly noticeable till they're both fully situated on it, and not even their toes hang over the edge. The interim is spent in more kissing, the press of bodies and the touch of hands; Reyce's does slip between her legs eventually, and the contact is punctuated with a fruitless shove from his hips. Then they're on the bed, and his hand peels away from beneath him, giving her leg a push outwards and leaving the other one to figure the hint out on its own. His breath pushes out through his open mouth while he lowers himself, head tipped down and eyes fixed dumbly on her neck, his ears attuned to any sign of protest from her. He's ready to pause, wait while she adjusts, whenever he hears a noise, but when his chest finally meets hers again there's a beat of empty silence while /he/ readjusts. Then he moves again, never building up past a rhythmic rock as he heeds her request to be gentle. There's variety in it, his body shifting on top of her to move the sensation, speed turned up and down on a dial, and by the end his breath has grown steady and deep, his body at ease with his pacing as he rolls into a long finish.

Issa waits, staring at his face but with her own measure of distraction, expression poised to change in the span of a swift breath. In that hanging moment, though, before he starts, a sketched smile stretches slowly over her lips and she tilts her face sideways to press it and, a second later, a hasty, breathy kiss against his cheek. Her hands relax into easier caresses, rubbing indefinite circles up his back and eventually into his hair where she grips firmly and forces him into a kiss. A low groan sounds into his mouth, but it's the only sound she makes until she comes, teeth pinching into the skin of his neck as she arches the rest of her body up against his weight. Her heaving cries are muffled by more than his skin, her finish gentler than usual; she seems unbothered, falling limp and relaxed beneath him, eyes drooping closed. One hand holds him firmly in place, draped over her, while the other runs lazily up and down the length of him, finally coming to rest against the side of his neck inches from that bite mark moments later.

There have been times, when she's bitten him, that Reyce has bitten back to give as good as he gets, but this time is not one of them. The cord of his neck flexes under her teeth as he pulls his chin down, cleching his teeth on nothing more than his own teeth, and waits for the bite to subside. Once he does, he follows it up with a swallow, his muscles relaxing as his face eases down next to hers, the stubble on his cheek rasping her skin as he slides his nose down to the pillow. He lies completely still, but his skin is more responsive, so wherever her hands pass she raises goose bumps that eventually build into a bothered little shiver by the time she reaches that bite mark. There's a faint, wet pop as his mouth opens, followed by a few soft sounds as his tongue licks around the perimeter, but the pause that comes after, and seems to be waiting for a word, goes unfulfilled. Instead he puffs a breath of silent bemusement, licks his lips, and closes his mouth. He remembers his hands, though, and his weight shifts slightly to one side as that elbow takes it, the other arm freed up to find Issa's side and trace the line of her body beneath him with a touch light enough to raise the same goose bumps she got out of him.

Issa’s wrapping arms tighten, turning her along with the shift of his weight, keeping the line of her shoulders aligned with his and their bellies flush. This also opens up more of her back to his touch; it’s from there he’ll cause the goosebumps and shivers rather than just the slight ticklish tensing to be found along her sides. She buries her face against his neck, lips sliding in soft, loose kisses over and around the same area her teeth nipped at earlier. A laugh begins to build as she nuzzles, starting with only a few puffed breaths and changing to a rumble of a chuckle as she lifts her face and presses her nose into his cheek. Her low-lidded eyes flash open and find his in few simple flicks before she sheds any light on her thoughts. “You never asked me if I was taking my tea,” she tells him, bits of disappointment and admonishment there, but both teasing and light.

Speaking only draws attention to her mouth, and Reyce foregoes the shivering touches for a moment to pursue a few lazy kisses on said mouth, shutting it up after it teases him. "Figure," he says, pausing after the word for a last little kiss, "you've got better reason than me to make sure." His kisses satisfied, he's interrupted by a sigh that comes upon him suddenly, his chest swelling against hers till he gets it all out in one long exhalation as his nose leans against her cheek. "That you're not pregnant again," he finishes his sentence at last, his lips brushing her skin with the 'p' sound and prompting one more kiss out of him, reflexively. Then his hand slowly resumes its caress.

Issa's laugh picks up again, still thick and low but no less amused for it, puffed against his ear. "My smart holder boy," she croons through one of those chuckles, sliding her hand up into his hair and massaging her fingers deeper in. Her laughing fades the same way it came, dying with a few rushed breaths. A moment is left to their caressing, her own smaller ones along his neck and shoulders joining his tingling touch. Then she rolls her shoulders back down to the bed and flattens in a full-bodied stretch, hands dropping away and falling back over the pillows. His legs get wrapped up in hers when she relaxes again with a soft grunt. She slips his cheek into her palm and her thumb moves over to give his lower lip a soft flick while she smiles lazily, fondly up at him. "I'm sorry it took so long," she murmurs.

Reyce gives a grunt when she stretches, his hand pressed beneath her body since he doesn't bother withdrawing it quickly enough to escape. That comes a moment later, the sheet beneath them slightly displaced as he drags it back out from her shoulder blades. Both his elbows settle on either side of her, giving him something to prop himself on as he lifts part of his weight from her, leaving their stomachs pressed but freeing her chest. His neck stays bent down, however, allowing his cheek to rest in her hand. "Knew it would," he informs her, opening his eyes to stare down at her. He turns his cheek further into her palm, so his breath puffs right over her wrist. "Didn't surprise me. You were okay?" Because he can, and without even breaking eye contact, he places a kiss on the heel of her palm.

The slow, dreamy spread of Issa's smile is answer enough even before she mutters, "Yeah." Her hand remains on his face, her thumb exploring its way around the small area of stubble and skin while she speaks. "It was a little different," she prefaces, eyes drawing up to his from where she had been watching the action of his lips. "But not bad," she adds, a bit of a grin breaking over her understatement. Her hand falls away, sliding down his jawline and then bumping down to her chest where it lies still like the rest of her.

Reyce is monitoring every inch of her response, his general languor offset by the narrow beam of focus in his eyes. Her smile reassures him; her understatement does not, but before he can do more than raise his eyebrows, that grin breaks and he realizes he's been teased. He snorts quietly. "Good." It's hard to say whether that's simply acknowledgement of her evaluation or a correction of it; his tone is firm enough for either. "Been thinking about it," he goes on in a murmur, letting his eyes trail away from her face. He finds the hand on her chest, considers it a moment, then puts his weight on just one elbow and uses the opposite hand to clear it off. A fingertip begins to trace little patterns across her skin, too deliberate to be random and moving in a structured order, left to right. In the darkness of the bedroom, one corner of his mouth quirks up and he squints amusement down upon her chest.

Issa's smile quiets to a smug little curve at his murmured comment and when he breaks eye contact she no longer feels the need to keep hers open, letting her lids drift slowly down. Her hand goes easily in the direction he brushes it, but comes back soon enough. Once she recognizes that his touches are actually invisible scrawlings across her skin, she peeks her eyes open again, finding first that moving finger and then his face. "You're not allowed to use me to do your homework," she tells him, without much actual protest in her voice. It's more faint amusement, actually, her smile still firmly in place. That hand sweeps back up to intercept his as she says it, curling that finger into her palm at first; her fingers interlace with his only as she's drawing it away, pulling it up to the pillow above her head and leaving him with only one elbow to lean on.

Low laughter rumbles in Reyce's chest, his finger continuing to sweep tiny symbols over her breasts and avoiding her hand's efforts to intercept it for a few beats more. Then he tries to redirect her hand to his lips, but yields that, too, when she pulls it over her head; in fact he goes with the effort, stretching both their arms further out and leaving that side of her body pinned out for him like a rare bug on display. "Said you wanted to learn it," he reminds her, making full use of the pose he's afforded himself with her to sweep his eyes, and not his finger this time, appreciatively over her chest. There was not much time for admiration when he was falling all over himself to have sex with her.

Admiring is an allowed activity, it seems, for she settles down under his gaze with a content little hum. "I'm not going to learn it,” she notes, using a finger from her other hand to trail over the skin he used to write those difficult figures, "if it's backwards for me." And true enough, the finger sweeps from her right breast and over to the left before falling to the bed again. Meanwhile she traces his watching face with her eyes, following where his gaze falls, the twitches of his expression.

Then, while she's watching, she'll see both of his eyes squint up and a smile that touches both corners of his mouth, an exceedingly rare phenomenon. It doesn't last terribly long, as he becomes aware of her watching him when he blinks his eyes back open, and his amusement quiets as he meets the gaze. "You're beautiful," he lets her know in just a beat, in case there was any doubt about what kind of opinion he would form. Verbal compliments have never been his specialty, however; he sounds genuine, but there's a bubble of discomfort that he has to say such a thing. So he escapes to the medium he's better at, falling silent and letting her watch him all she likes when his eyes return to their examinations. She'll see them sweep her scar, expression soft and quiet; then curl up off the tail of that to skim her breasts, his endless fascination with them apparent in his detailed study of every curve and color. Finally he pulls back a little, grunting as he pushes himself up on that one elbow, bringing more of her body in one easy view and letting his gaze rest watchfully over the rise and fall of her ribcage as she breathes.

Issa simply basks under the attention and the compliment both, accepting the latter silently with the hand she brings up to his bracing arm, giving it a hearty squeeze before quieting to more of those tiny, thumbed caresses. She lets him get his fill of looking, waiting until he finds her face again before she speaks. "I love you, holder boy," comes out casually, a throw away grounded by her intent gaze. Her hand slides up his arm to his shoulders, soon to be followed by the other one that she recaptures from his grip, both wrapped around behind his neck to bring him back down to her.

It takes Reyce a while to return his gaze to her face, as the steady draw of her breath has an almost soporific effect on him, his manner calming and his eyelids slanting low, content. When they're just past halfway closed, then he returns his lazy look to Issa, and closes his eyes the rest of the way when she speaks to him. It's short of a smile, but again there's a hint of pleasure turning up his mouth, dispelled in an instant when he opens his eyes again to say, "Love you, too," in as casual a tone. "Older woman," he adds in a murmur as she pulls him down, the rest of that pleasure he hinted at earlier allowed out in a voiceless breath of laughter before he captures her mouth with a kiss that forestalls protest.

Issa protests, and playfully so, on the other side of that kiss, lowering her teeth to his lip in a quick and hardly painful little nip. She rocks him onto his side as they separate, as if in rebuff, but she's soon to follow, grabbing another kiss from him to dispel an impression of actual displeasure. Then she tucks herself against his chest, drawing a leg up to drape across his hips and weight him down even as she asks pointedly, "You don't have to get back to your homework, do you?" Her eyes have already sunk sleepily shut, almost out of sight there nuzzled against him.

Reyce expected retaliation, and when she nips he snorts a heavy breath into her face, but he goes where she rocks him. His arm gives up on propping him and closes in around her shoulder, so if she hadn't rolled into him of her own accord, he likely would have pulled her after. "Remember you telling me should do my homework early from now on," he muses, but is quick to follow up the memory with a reassuring rub of his arm. Tucking his chin down tightly, he manages to find a bit of forehead still exposed despite her comfy nuzzle, and he plants a kiss on it. "I'll remember the answer tomorrow," he assures her now, more quietly. "Go to sleep." Another kiss, and then he untucks his chin and settles it back on the pillow, its stubbled bottom still brushed by the curls on the top of her head. His eyes sink closed as, with a tiny sigh, he settles in for sleep.

Apology

Wed, 01 Aug 2007 05:40:16 GMT

This is the conversation that G'bit and Issa have out on the ledge in this scene.

Unconsciously, they mirror each other’s posture as they stride out across the stone of the ledge, hunching into their coats, pocketed hands grounding them. Their paces synch in the silence, striking muffled sounds off the stone in time. Oshisyth has joined his blue to their right, and the two of them twine together with little regard to the tense silence stretched between their riders.

“C’los says you and the baby are doing good,” finally stumbles out into the quiet.

“He would know.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Issa.” He stops in his tracks, eyes following her as she slowly reorients, pivoting to face him. “I’m trying to fucking apologize here.”

“Then just fucking apologize.”

His jaw clenches at her cold tone and he looks over her shoulder at the wide expanse of the bowl. Drawn back to her face, he says firmly, “I’m sorry.” Silence swells uncomfortably, so he continues, faltering on with, “I never meant…”

“For it to turn out like this?” she finishes for him. Her blue eyes bore holes into him with their glare still, but at least her voice has softened around the edges. “Yeah, well, neither did I. You kind of forced my hand.”

His answer is an even, mute look, accepting guilt by default.

She heaves in a breath and it pours from her mouth in a slowly puffed fog. “You always have to antagonize him,” she mutters. “You can never just leave things be.”

“I’ve known you for… six turns now, Issa. You can’t just expect me to ignore him. Not like he makes it easy to do that anyway.”

“I’m not saying it’s not partially his fault, too,” Issa says, firm even as she’s ceding that bit of blame. “It is. It’s just…”

He merely accepts it with a short shrug and more silence. “So. Are you two weyrmates now then?” he starts again, the casual tone flattened by the tension between them.

“No.” Her answer is simple, blunt, her eyes jumping to watch the curtain as if she could see the father and daughter behind it.

He nods, slowly. “How’s it with another set of ears in the weyr now?” he asks, perking a faint smile, desperately grasping for once-normal chatter.

Issa merely shakes her head, a slow motion that grows stronger as she says, “I’m not going to do this, G’bit. You can’t be a part of it,” her chin jerks toward the curtain, eyes leaving his for only a second. “It won’t work like that.”

Any trace of that friendly smile drops from his lips, replaced with an understanding grimness, eyes squinted down against more than the cool breeze as he watches the mundane scene being played out across the bowl behind her for a moment.

“You’re my friend,” she asserts, staring at him straight while he avoids her gaze, “but Reyce and I, we… And with Asha now…” She expels a quick breath. “I’m just not going to risk ruining anything.” A few breaths fall quietly. “We’re happy.” She waits on a response from him, but he insists on staring around her, through her, so she eventually resigns herself to watching her booted feet.

“I wish it was me,” he says quietly, suddenly switching to look at her.

Issa makes an effort to keep her deep breath slow, silent, while her eyes flick over the flat stone between their feet. “I know.” A beat later, she tilts her face up to him again, a toss of her head sending rebellious curls over her shoulder before her eyes will meet his steadily. She musters as much kindness as she can. “But it’s not.”

G’bit’s lips tighten thinly, but he nods once, sharply, before turning to scan the ground just as she did seconds earlier. The subject slides away into stiff silence, only to be shattered a few moments later by his soft comment. “She really is beautiful, you know.”

Issa blinks back to him, hesitates a second before she slowly replies, “Yeah.” Another glance at the dark, heavy curtain. “She’s going to be a real heartbreaker one day.”

He barks a breathy laugh and turns his face into the wind, blinking the cold away hastily. He’s smiling still, resigned and a touch wry, when he looks back at her again.

“I should really get inside,” she tells him carefully, her intention voiced long after her body has begun to lean in the direction of the weyr. “Thank you again. For the gift.”

His lips quirk upward, humorless. “It was nothing. I’m… sorry. Again.” He tries to look her in the eye, but his efforts always drop away within seconds. “Don’t…” And his wavering gaze finally manages to stick. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?” His hand struggles out of his pocket and drifts out into the distance between them, a silent offering for contact, of any kind, before they part.

A brief moment hangs, both motionless, before Issa steps slowly forward to tuck herself into a hug. She makes it a full one, her hands sweeping out into the cold and circling around him in a swift, but snug squeeze.

He drags his other hand out to press both firmly against her back, but he doesn’t dare to lower his head, not to look at her, not to drop his chin into her hair. He just waits for her to pull back and releases her tamely. He gives her one last slip of a smile then turns, meandering toward his dragon.

“Bye,” she directs at his back, the tension of her expression never reaching her voice.

He simply throws her a wave with the back of his hand and keeps on walking.

She doesn’t wait to watch him leave. Ignoring a pang of guilt, she gives Oshisyth permission to continue her cuddling on Savateth’s ledge while she’s heading back across the stone, dragging her jacket tighter even though she knows she’ll have to shed it in a few steps anyway.

The bluerider returns

Wed, 01 Aug 2007 05:37:41 GMT

After the months of sullen silence following his fight with Reyce, G'bit makes another appearance to bring his congratulations for the new baby and apologize. Reyce doesn't take it very well. (Reyce, G'bit, Asha, Issa)
IC Date: Day 24, Month 2, Turn 4
OOC Date: 7-30-07 to 7-31-07
For a vignette of G'bit's apology, go here.

Tonight has been made rough by a fussy baby. After a mess of cooing and shushing, handing her back and forth, burping and rocking, Issa decides to try a second diaper change. A soft blanket gifted by one of Issa's friends has been spread out across the floor in front of the hearth as a cushion for Asha while her mother dodges flailing feet to drag away a minorly dirtied diaper. That one disposed of, she replaces it with a fresh cloth, and as she's pinning it into place Asha's cries sputter into a quieter whine that eventually winds down further when she's hoisted to her mother's shoulder and bounced gently. Issa waits until Asha's given her a good, long moment of silence, her little head sunk softly to her shoulder and her eyes dropped shut, to stop her crooning. Out comes a sigh, weary with frustration and relief at the same time. "Is she sleeping?" she asks soundlessly when she catches Reyce's eye, still bouncing gently up and down as she turns her shoulder toward him so he can check on the girl.

Over the weeks, Reyce has learned when he can be helpful, and when he should just back off and stay out of Issa's way. Right now, the latter option seems the best to him, so he's been sitting on the couch while Issa paces, soothes, and eventually diaper changes the crying baby. He hasn't just been resting in the spot, though, and it would be impossible to relax and ignore Asha anyway, so his eyes have been following the pair alertly around the room. "Think so," he answers in a murmur, still watching the little girl as she's turned toward him. "Looks like it." His gaze trails up to the back of Issa's head, waiting on her.

Issa turns slowly back around, muttering a soft, "Finally," with her eyes closed before she looks back at him. A smile drifts up, but she breaks it to exhale as if she's just caught her breath. Ever so carefully, while she steps over to the couch, Asha is dropped from her shoulder to her arms. Issa sinks down next to him on the couch without the slightest jostle and then wordlessly extends the baby out, waiting for him to take her before she slouches back against the cushions, watching him and the baby. She gets hardly a minute's rest, though, before a frown flickers across her face and she exhales a whispered, "Shit." Distracted, her gaze flits around the room before she remembers herself, glances at him and utters a quick, "Sorry," to atone for her cursing. She uses one hand to push herself straighter, but the only explanation she gives for her rising tension just now is a drawn and distracted, "Um..." Her eyes have already returned to their erratic glances at nothing in particular.

Reyce takes the baby from her gently, having learned how to pull off this responsibility as well. Asha stirs gently, but as long as someone winds up cradling her, she's happy enough to go back to sleep peacably. She's not aware of the sharp gaze her father is giving her mother, nor would she understand the word that provoked it; the apology takes a bit to work on Reyce, but eventually he subsides with a faint snort. "What," he wants to know next. He can't not have noticed her flickering glances, but he's ignoring them to focus on Asha.

It seems for a moment as if Issa has outright ignored his request for information, for she just keeps frowning faintly, looking about the room without seeing a bit of it; after a too-long delay she regards him again with a cautious expression. He's going to be angry and she knows it. Finally, she just puffs out, "G'bit's coming down." He gets a beat to let that sink in before she adds firmly, "Not for long. He just has a gift to drop off." Her gaze sinks to Asha and in a sudden fit of foresight she says, "And don't worry, he won't hold her," before shoving herself with a tiny groan off of the couch again.

He doesn't need a beat to process. "No." Reyce firms his jaw stubbornly and looks at her, subconsciously and needlessly adjusting Asha, who once again stirs with the movement. "Just got her to sleep and don't need him in on things." He heaves himself off the couch as carefully as he can, belatedly aware of Asha's perturbability and taking cautions not to unduly disturb her. His path crosses with Issa's, as he cuts across the other side of the trunk to carry the kid back to her crib, hoping to settle her there before any more of his irritation carries over.

Issa pauses when he cuts her off, her progress put on hold for a moment as she watches him ferry the baby over to her crib. "He's coming," she all but hisses at him; she's decided, this isn't a debate. But still she explains to Reyce why there isn't going to be a problem. "He'll slip in, take a look at her, hand over whatever it is he's got," though in her explanation, she seems to be growing even more frustrated with the thought of talking to the bluerider, "and leave. If he wakes her up, you can just punch him again, how does that sound?" she asks him, one eyebrow arching along with the rise in her muttered tone that denotes her sarcasm.

Reyce returns Asha to her crib silently, stubbornly refusing to speak until she's tucked away inside and he's sure her sleep hasn't been disturbed. It doesn't take him very long to do, however, and he's drawing away as Issa finishes her sarcastic suggestion. "I would," he informs her, keeping his voice carefully empty, but allowing a flash of the dislike he's feeling into his eyes. He lifts the bar back up on Asha's crib, setting it in place and turning towards Issa. It's not her he faces, though, but the entrance, that wary glare of his fixed on the curtain. He's making no effort to hide his hostility.

Issa brushes off Reyce's answer with a breath huffed through her nose, then crosses her arms tightly to wait, similarly turning to face the curtain. Oshisyth is their first indication that the bluerider's come, for mere seconds later, before wingbeats even stir the curtains, she's scampering brightly out to the ledge, her customary two tone greeting coming back to them through the curtain. The fabric hasn't yet fallen to rest from the green's enthusiastic departure before G'bit makes his arrival. Issa slips out into the space of empty stone when his hand pulls into sight and is waiting there, patiently and evenly staring, when he steps into the weyr. A hesitant smile springs to G'bit's face when he sees her and a beat later, he flicks a glance at Reyce, acknowledging him with a meager shrug and a submitting palm held out. He's not here for trouble. He can't help notice the crib, but his attention flies back to Issa, that hand tucked into his pocket as he mutters, "Hi to you, too." "Just do what you came here for, G'bit," she tells him calmly in return, no patience for his delay. He clears his throat, glancing awkwardly at Reyce again, and strides forward toward Issa, one hand holding that unspecified present behind his back.

Reyce is not making things any easier for G'bit, ignoring the submissive gestures as he concentrates his stare on the bluerider's face, his eyes tracking along with him in every movement though his body remains rooted there before the crib. The only time he moves is when G'bit steps forward, and that's just a swivel to keep the other man well in his line of sight. He's Issa's friend, so Issa can be friendly to him - or at least, can tolerate him. Her Bendenite has chosen guard duty.

G'bit does his best to ignore the aggression that's being flung at him by the Bendenite in front of the crib, focusing on Issa as he reveals this present of his without any fanfare. Right now, it looks like just a stack of folded white fabric. "It's not much," he tells her while the transfer's being made. Issa uncrosses her arms and accepts them with a steady hand. "I just thought, ya know, every new parent could use more diapers." Issa nods slowly, considering the practical offering for a moment before she offers, "Thanks," gracious enough considering. Without the present to hold, his hands sink awkwardly into his pockets again. "Yeah," he utters to fill the silence, while watching Issa step back to drop the cloth diapers over the back of the armchair. He flicks a look at the crib, peering at the sleeping baby behind the bars. And of course, with that proximity, his gaze can't avoid bumping into Reyce's; his dark eyes meet his steadily for a long few seconds, expression neutral, before he finds Issa again. His voice is lowered even further when he asks, "Can I see her?"

One of the reasons his gaze can't avoid bumping into Reyce is that the new father shifted himself over as soon as G'bit started looking Asha's way. The view's not entirely blocked, which - since it implies an incomplete calculation of the angle involved in his looking at her - gives some hint of Reyce's distraction with being menacing and hostile. His eyes, lighter than G'bit's, are not well-lit in the firelight just now, and have sunk into that murky brown unlightened by the clearer specks of green. They meet the other man's unflinchingly. "What'd you come for?" The question he addressed to Issa gets chopped off by this intrusion out of nowhere. Reyce's manner has not in the least bit changed, making those words seem even more detached and random since they could only have come from that unwelcoming, eerily lifelike statue.

G'bit lets out a slow, labored breath as he crosses his arms, head shaking. A beat later his eyes lift to meet that shadowed stare. "To... talk to Issa, see her daughter," the word falls awkwardly in the middle of the rest of his stonily calm delivery, "bring..." He untucks a hand to gesture at the unseen diapers-- what more proof do you want?-- and he catches Issa watching him from where she stopped by that chair. "Can you call off your watchdog, please?" he asks in a murmur, the hand making a supplication to her then, a twisted shadow of a smile touching his lips. She gives him a dry glare for that, and it's an annoyed snort and a soft, "Shut up," that breaks the pause that follows his question. "Reyce," she entreats, her voice cushioning his name even if the rest that follows flows out with an undercurrent of irritation, "just... let him take a look at her. It's not going to hurt anything."

The watchdog lifts one corner of his lip in a contemptuous sneer when he's so named, but doesn't stir from the spot. "He can look." Reyce will stay here watching him. Asha is blessedly ignorant of all the tension circulating round her: she sleeps quietly, one fisted hand lifted to her mouth which hangs open a tiny bit while her heavy head lolls comfortably into the other shoulder. If G'bit does take up the allowance to approach her, Reyce will melt a step away from him, 'allowing' him to look only because Issa has asked it of him, and keeping well within reaching distance. Given Asha's proximity and the delicacy with which Reyce always treats her health, the punch he threatened is unlikely, but he will grab and twist back any wrists that get too close.

There's no venturing wrists, hands or fingers when G'bit slides into the spot Reyce melts away from; his hands go firmly into his pockets again, actually, fists that might otherwise give the wrong impression hidden away from Reyce's line of vision. Which he also avoids now, dark eyes trained on the sleeping baby, noting the dark hair, pudgy limbs and tiny digits with little glances. He sinks, with one fluid movement, into a crouch, eyes shifting to the side to graze Reyce's presence; it allows him a closer angle, even if it's from between those bars. He rises again in a matter of seconds and, nodding faintly, looks up to meet Issa's eyes, which has been watching him nearly as closely as Reyce's. "She's beautiful," is the obligatory, murmured compliment he chooses, but the sound of it suggests there's more than obligation in it. "I..." he begins and a hand escapes his pocket, and drifts to the very corner of the crib's top bar, flattening there silently, unconsciously. Then it jerks up, a thumb gesturing at the curtain behind him. "Can I talk to you?" he appeals to Issa in a near whisper, a clearly irritated look shifted briefly across to Reyce once more.

The fascination is never lost on him, but Reyce has seen his daughter enough that he's willing to forego the experience just now to keep a close eye on G'bit. Every time the bluerider glances his way, there are murky hazel eyes awaiting him, and even when he's not looking directly, a tense shadow leans over his peripheral vision. The Bendenite seems to have no trouble - at least, no more than the usual trouble - allowing G'bit to crouch beside the crib: better that, with bars between them, than he attempt to lean over Asha's open form. Indeed, he's not troubled to move until G'bit places a hand on the bar, and that's just a jerk forward before the other man winds up moving off on his own initiative. Because Reyce is still stewing about this breach of space, it takes him a minute moment to process the new question that's been asked of Issa. He pulls himself up for this, and looks at her, but he offers no protest and his face is a blank slate that doesn't give his opinion one way or the other.

Issa flicks a glance at Reyce, not begging for permission in the least, but just to assess his reaction to the request, before turning her steady gaze on G'bit. She waits until the bluerider shifts uncomfortably in the face of her indecision before she snaps a muttered, "Fine." Her boots are conveniently placed at her feet already, and she slips them on without bothering to search for socks. She brushes coolly by to retrieve her jacket from where it's draped over the back of the couch and G'bit follows her with both his eyes and his step, finally taking him away from the hovering Reyce and his offspring. Neither of them look Reyce's way again before they slip out onto the ledge and into the cold. A good quarter hour passes before there's any stirring from the other side of that curtain; wingbeats, two sets of them, one following the other, can be heard before the wind off their sails buffets the curtain. Seconds later, Issa edges her way past its edge, proving she wasn't with her leaving dragon. Her manner is more serious but far less touchy, when she walks in, her shoulders sagging as she drops her jacket to one arm and her eyes following the floor in front of her feet. But as soon as her shoes have been kicked off and her jacket replaced on the couch, she finds Reyce, watching him with an ounce of wariness as she gauges his overall reaction to that little visit before she speaks.

(For a vignette of G'bit's apology, go here)

When they left, Reyce was still hanging around Asha, allowing their privacy to start the moment Issa grabbed her jacket, when he turned his back on their departure and found aimless things to do around the crib. By the time Issa returns, he's taken up a seat on what used to be 'his' end of the couch before familiarity overran it and he began coaxing Issa to sit next to him when they relaxed there of an evening. The sound of dragon wings alerted him, and he's already watching the curtain when Issa walks back through it. His shoulders ease slightly yet he draws in every detail of her changed manner and changed posture as his gaze traces her about the room. When her eyes meet his, he draws back with a tiny snort, a dispelling shake of his head given as his chin lowers from the stubborn poise it's held throughout G'bit's little visit. But the first move is left to her.

The heels of Issa's hands dig into the top of the couch while she leans for a second and summons up a small spread of a smile for him. It turns out to be quite brief. She sucks in a deep, slow breath, holds it for a bit, then lets it all rush out again. "That's done," she says, and her voice, much like her body, has been robbed of all its tension and irritation. She watches her fingers bump over the landscape of the couch cushions, trailing over unraveling, threadbare spots and one that's been repaired with a patch as she reaches 'her' end; then that hand just drops back to her side. She's remains on that side just long enough to slip off the new boots she's just begun to wear in. Once that's done, she crawls, not only onto the couch but into his arms, neutral expression held even as she's nestling her head against his shoulder. Instead of stretching out into an embrace, her arms stay bent up against her chest, squished between them. Her feet are drawn up, perched on the edge of the couch just beside his leg, and her knees are dropped to the side over his lap, a curled position she's only recently been able to achieve.

Reyce's arms open for her to crawl in, then close gradually around her as she tucks in. One arm encompasses her shoulders, the other finding its way down her back, trapping her in that ball now she's able to achieve it. "Be okay?" he wonders softly, turning his mouth down so he's speaking into the top of her head. His hand brushes a nearby foot, retracing its course a few times for a gentle caress that melts into a massage, his thumb clamping over the ball of her foot and pressing circles around it. Though he's clearly making an effort to be calm about the whole thing, and has certainly cooled off since G'bit left the room, his unease remains and he periodically readjusts his hold on her, making no significant changes but never seeming quite content.

"Mmm," Issa mumbles against his shirt, a vague affirmative before she actually answers with, "fine." One of her hands splays flat against his chest and smoothes down in a singular caress, appreciation for the rubbing of her feet, perhaps, then she moves it across, loosely wrapping her arm around in front of him. Like him, she still needs a moment to calm herself, but she spends it still as stone. "At least you didn't have to hit him," she breaks her momentary silence, following it up with a quick breath of dry laughter.

Reyce grunts, nudging his nose down into her hair. "Too close to Asha," he replies, his words stirring the curls between him and her ear. If she couldn't wring a laugh out of him, though, she has managed to make another dent in the tension, and he gives her one more adjustment - her shoulder tucked in closer, his cheek readjusted on the top of her head - and tightens his arms securely. There's another kind of tension, growing, though, as he's still holding back, silent.

And maybe Issa senses it, because she clears her throat when his silence continues on past that comment and her fingers squirm against his opposite side, trying to get a better hold. "Nothing happened." If that's what you're thinking, lies unspoken in the tone of her voice. "Out on the ledge," she clarifies needlessly. "He just wanted to apologize."

Reyce tenses again, echoing her curled-up ball as his back bends away and he angles his face down to look at her. He can't see anything unless she looks back up at him, but she'll only have an instant to look back at him before he pulls her back into place. "Should," he answers, cutting the word off tightly. He pulls a low sound out of his chest, rolling it around in his throat for a beat while the aggression dissipates again. "What'd he say for?" he prompts, his voice made gruff by that brief interlude.

Issa's voice is lighter to compensate; it's almost airy as she tells him, "He didn't." She didn't look at him during his brief break from her and she doesn't now, continuing to look across his chest aimlessly. "I assumed it was for screwing things up in general and acting like a..." Oh, but all those words are forbidden with the baby in the room. She snaps her mouth and gives her head a little shake to dismiss whatever it was that G'bit is.

Those words are indeed forbidden, and when Issa's answer starts heading that way Reyce gives her a quick squeeze that proves to be unnecessary, since she remembered on her own. He releases her with an apologetic rub, taking up the massage he's been neglecting on her foot and giving it a few more rounds with his thumb before he lets it go. His hand snugs under her thigh instead, holding her legs in place. "What'd you say?" He tries not to ask the question, holding it off for a long, awkward beat, but it blips out of him anyway, and once it has he shifts into the defensive. A quick sniff clears the air and fills his chest a little more while he expects her answer.

Issa hums a faint appreciation for the new placement of his hand, but while he adjusts, she stays put in her heavy lean against him. "I..." she begins and then on the rush of a wryly amused breath, "A whole lot of nothing, actually. I listened. Nodded. It was very awkward," she reveals. The arm she has slung across him tightens into a squeeze of its own, in hopes of banishing more of the same from their comfortable corner of the couch.

Reyce is silent a bit longer, digesting her words while she squeezes him. "Okay," he replies finally, but there's still a mulling undertone. He squeezes back, pulling his chin down and pressing his mouth into her hair again. It's held so close that she can probably feel the way his lips stretch in a tight, straight line; this time, though, he doesn't make the question lurking behind them wait. "What about Oshisyth?" His nose snuffles about as he shifts, pushing the pieces of hair he accidentally inhaled back out of his mouth with quiet pops, and the revealing contact from his lips is broken.

Issa gives him a shrug for that question, but quickly proves she knows more than that. "She'll be spending the night with Savateth on his ledge. Probably discussing how silly riders can get with their little problems." Amusement picks up in her voice and this time she lets him see her smile; it's just a tipped up corner of a smile, angled up at him along with her scanning gaze when she leans back against the arm that braces her shoulders.

When she shrugs, Reyce has to loosen his grip, and he hasn't tightened it back up yet when she leans back to smile at him, so there's plenty of room for the both of them to look at each other. It actually catches him by surprise that she does it, and for a moment she'll glimpse his heavy squint while he processes what she's told him. In a flash he's blinked out of it, his expression one of ordinary surprise before he catches that smile of hers and tugs his own lip back in a wry twist. "Okay," he says, his underlying worries apparently eased this time, and tilts his arms further out so she'll have to bend backwards or grab onto him to keep from falling with them.

Issa chooses the latter, both arms swinging up around his shoulders and tightening to bring her face close to his, that slanted smile quieted a bit. It's her turn to hesitate over a question, though her pause is much shorter than the one he took a little bit ago. "Are you going to be mad at me for letting him come?" she asks, her head dropping into a slight tilt as her eyes search out his unspoken response with flicking eyes.

"No," Reyce assures her without needing a pause, wrapping her up in his arms again now she's chosen to hang again. "But not going to happen again." For this, a note of stiffness reenters his voice, but he hasn't pulled her tight enough that she can't see his face or note that his eyes are directed over her head, at some invisible menace that no doubt represents G'bit in his mind. "He doesn't drop by when he feels like it, and can wait he's got something to say." He narrows his eyes at the invisible menace, his arm rubbing up Issa's shoulder.

Issa's lips curl up into a small smile again for his reassurance, and she listens to him speak with her head remaining in that tilt while she studies his face. "Yeah," she agrees quietly, letting out a deeper breath, "I think he knows that now." And that tilt rights itself, placing her face right up against his as she closes him into a tighter hug. "You know," she murmurs, her voice sinking into a teasing seriousness, then breaks to lay a soft kiss on his cheek, "I'm beginning to get the impression that you don't like him very much." When she pulls back a few inches further, there's a steadier smile there, the eyes that skip over his features squinted slightly with her quiet amusement.

"You're slow," Reyce informs her plainly, the quickness of his own reply standing as evidence that he, of course, is not. Slow or not, he chases her retreating face, head angled so he can pull off a kiss of his own from her jaw, just taunting the corner of her mouth. "Hope you didn't make the kid that way." He puffs soundless laughter, the warmth of his breath touched with the salt-scent of his dinner; they had oysters somehow, and even after they poisoned him last time he ate them in droves.

Issa lets out a single jolt of laughter when he calls her slow, her smile twisting slightly under his kiss as she stubbornly keeps it from spreading wider. Her chuckle continues on, rich and low in her throat when he suggests she's passed that same handicap on to Asha. "If anything made her slow," she tells him, voice feigning seriousness no matter what her expression is telling him, "it's you and your inbred Benden Blood." Her hands pull up to his neck, her thumbs, probably unconsciously, falling over the pulse points where that Benden Blood beats. Then she pulls herself up, planting the tiniest of teasing kisses square on his lips.

Reyce can't deny that he's inbred, so he just mumbles a disagreeable 'Mm' that gets pressed down by her kiss. He catches her lower lip and deals a swift, pinching bite before letting her go, with the mild reproach that, "You forgot Greystones." A smile starts to curl at her, but he catches it back and shakes it off with a twitch of his head, leaving him with a lopsided squint on the side his lip was beginning to curl on. Instead, he tries pulling her back to him.

Issa slides back from the bite with a soft, "Mnph," but she has a wider grin because of it. One hand is spared to rub a quick thumb over the affected area. Weariness makes her unwilling to resist his pull, and she leans heavily back into him, curling her face down to where his shoulder and neck meet and letting her arms fall lazily down to his waist. "Holder's Blood is Holder's Blood," she prods him further. All inbred, it would seem. But after a final little chuckle, she grows silent again. With a slightly uncomfortable squirm and a big sigh, she settles in for some quality cuddle time now that they don't have any wailing babies or irritating blueriders to bother them.

Another of Miniyal's gifts

Mon, 30 Jul 2007 02:46:31 GMT

Miniyal finally finds the time to give her presents to Asha and her parents. After much awkwardness, the gifts are given. Then they indulge in just a bit more awkwardness before Reyce and Issa are left alone to discuss. (Miniyal, Reyce, Asha, Issa)
IC Date: Day 20, Month 2, Turn 4
OOC Date: 7-28-07 to 7-29-07

The Weyrlingmaster's assistant and her Bendenite are nothing if not predictable, and they have become even more so now that they have Asha trailing along. The baby decided to draw attention to herself at dinner, suddenly bursting into screams while her parents and those around her were trying to eat dinner; shortly after, Reyce and Issa had to retreat, with the former putting away their mostly-finished dinner plates while the latter moved into more quiet corridors to mollify the babe. Since they didn't come back, they could only have returned to Issa's weyr, and that is indeed where the two are sitting now: Reyce sunk into the comfortable armchair while Issa took Asha with her to the rocking chair beside him. A fire crackles in the hearth, completing the scene of sickening domesticity.

It is Issa who gets the first warning. Well, technically it is Oshisyth who gets the first warning as Peloth makes her polite invasion into the green's mind to inquire if they might come up. She leaks excitement through cool tones and informs the green to inform her rider that they are bringing a gift. And to be polite they await permission in the bowl before invading. After all, it's not as Miniyal imagines anyone up there will be particularly thrilled to see her. Bearing gifts or no.

Issa sits cross-legged in that rocking chair, Asha cradled over her ankles as they both sway faintly back and forth on the runners. They're cooing softly at each other in between the snippets of conversation sent Reyce's way and a garishly colored ragdoll, one of Issa's that existed long before Asha came, is dangled from above. It's done a good job of cheering the fussy girl, for she waves away happily at the floppy thing. But while the baby goes on gurgling at the toy, Issa straightens a bit, cocks a brow at the bright fire across from her. "Seems our newest goldrider has decided we're worthy of a visit," she comments out of the blue, turning her still-distracted gaze on Reyce. "And a gift," she adds, surprised brow joining the first as she refocuses on his face. In that same moment, Oshisyth is straightening and pulling down off of her couch, slipping out to a corner of the ledge as she sends permission and welcome to the gold waiting on her word. Issa continues to look at Reyce dryly, about as thrilled as she's expected to be.

Reyce has his eyes closed and his arms stretched out along those of the couch, making himself as comfortable as possible in what's already a pretty comfortable chair. He's not relaxed enough to be asleep, however, and whenever Issa speaks to him he answers promptly in a murmur; thus when she tells him there's a visitor coming, he says with little pause, "She can't hold Asha." Very few people are allowed to hold Asha, though, as far as he's concerned. His eyes peel open and he glances over at Issa, keeping the ledge entrance in his peripheral view.

After permission is given there are a few minutes more of peace before out on the ledge there is the sound of their visitor arriving. Peloth curls up once her rider has departed, but remains where she is. Likely told to stay close in case a quick getaway is required of her. Since her arrival has already been announced Miniyal doesn't wait out on the ledge in the cold winter wind. She doesn't pause until she's just inside the weyr and then she lingers right there. "Umm." One hand tugs off a glove on the other and once both have been tucked into the pockets of her coat she tries to speak again. "Hi. Umm. I'm sorry to bother you at dinnertime. It's just, I wanted to bring by, you know. I mean, gifts." Feet shuffle as her nervous gaze travels from where Reyce sits along to where Issa sits with the reason for the gift thing in the first place. "I'm sorry it's late. I mean, I had to wait for it to be done and finish it and, umm. Yea."

"If she asks, I'm not going to be rude," Issa replies, shoving the toy to one corner of the chair while she goes about gathering Asha up into her arms, putting her feet on the ground. She manages to stand and get a few light bounces in to keep the baby happy before the newest weyrwoman makes her appearance. A pleasant smile greets her. "Hello, Miniyal," she says, friendly and polite as she's been since Miniyal was assigned as her assistant-of-sorts, "it's no bother." She pauses, letting Miniyal babble on as long as she will while she shifts Asha carefully to her shoulder, shoots Reyce a glance. "Oh, don't worry," she replies warmly, smile sticking soundly, "I'm sure it's worth the wait. Your gifts are always so thoughtful. Come in. Sit." A hand waves a few inches from the baby's back to indicate the couch then drops back into place.

Reyce growls at Issa's noncompliant reply, his eyes flicking to Asha and probably wondering what other unworthy sorts have been entrusted with his daughter for the sake of not being rude. That hostility is only marginally worn down by the time Miniyal arrives, so he doesn't trouble himself as Issa has to get up and greet her: just turns his head in her direction and watches from the armchair. Eventually, when there's a break in the speech long enough for him to offer it, he grunts a greeting at her and takes the strain off his neck by looking forward again, his face faintly tilted to the side so he'll be able to see Miniyal when she reaches the couch.

Her gifts are always thoughtful. Of course, sometimes the thoughts aren't the sort other people want to have. It's not Miniyal's fault that is the case. Once more her gaze slides to Reyce but it slides back to Issa more quickly. The lesser of two disturbing evils it would seem. Reaching the couch takes a bit of time as she has to decide if she is going to or not. Finally, if only to not be rude she does move farther into the weyr as she slips a hand into her pocket again. "I won't take up much of your time. I promise." As if this promise might get her a warmer reception. "Congratulations by the way. I'm sorry this wasn't done sooner." Chewing on her lower lip she pauses by the couch without sitting down.

Issa crosses to the side of Reyce's chair nearest the couch and leans her hip down onto it, half-sitting while she watches Miniyal stand there. "Thank you," she accepts graciously for the both of them. "And, really," she passes a smiling glance down to Reyce while patting Asha gently on the back, "we've had so much to keep us busy. It's probably better you waited." A small chuckle escapes as she turns back to the weyrling. "Did you want something? To drink? We have tea, wine." That last offering is made with a slight tip of her head, her hand flicking dismissively out toward the vacant couch again, permissively; no telling, honest.

When Miniyal actually arrives near the couch, Reyce actually bothers to turn towards her, though now Issa's in the way. He hooks his arm around her waist distractedly as he pushes himself back in the chair, pressing his back into it and straightening his posture so there's a clear line of sight between him and Miniyal, around Issa's side. He glances up at the greenrider when she smiles down at him, watching after her gaze for a half-beat before he removes his arm from her, gives a nod for Miniyal's congratulations. "Doesn't matter," is his far simpler reply to the apology, but he shuts up to let Issa take a longer swing at it. So he's just watching the young goldrider, which must be excellent encouragement if she's nervous, his gaze neutral but unwavering.

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you, ma'am." Miniyal finds a polite smile and tries it on ever so briefly. "Please, really. I am fine. I'll just- right. The gifts." Yes. Better to hand them over before sitting down. From her pocket she pulls out three small bags. One in green, one in pink, and one in black. "I hope you like them. I mean, I wasn't sure what to get or anything." You know, since neither of you like me, is only sort of hinted at in her awkward tone. "But it would have been rude and impolite not to get something and-oh!" Biting down on her lower lip she ignores the rush of color to her cheeks as she clears her throat. "Not that I mean I am only- I mean, it's not just because it's polite. I really did want to do something." It's a cautious creep she makes towards the trio to hold out the little bags. The black one to Reyce and the other two to Issa. The offering is made in silence, surely she's said enough by now anyway. Surely Reyce can be blamed for the faulty conversation she offers. It's impolite to stare, not that she would point it out. Since she is trying to be polite and all.

"Of course," Issa allows for Miniyal's swift backtracking, nodding her understanding, "I wouldn't assume anything like that." Never. She draws her smile even wider as she accepts the more prettily colored offerings with a free hand, uttering a soft, "Thank you," as she does so. That free hand, clutching the bags gently by the tops, is quickly drawn back to Asha, though, bracing the baby as she moves her down to a cradling position. Asha doesn't take to the switch very well, though, and begins to sputter a protest, face crinkling into a bit of a frown. "Here," she says to Reyce, handing off the other two bags to him as she stands to jounce Asha back into good spirits. "Open them."

Surely Reyce can be blamed, but one doubts the accusation would do much to trouble him. He lifts a brow slightly when she trips over herself with the mention of obligation behind her decision to give them a present, but at least, if he's staring, his gaze is level and not judgmental in any discernible way. One might guess there's another "Doesn't matter" behind that lifted brow, but he doesn't bother voicing it this time and it might be hard for the nervous to guess at. At least Miniyal's given a break when she approaches with the presents, even though it's Asha - not the gifts - Reyce has his eye on, and he's a bit late moving his hands up to receive the little black bag. And then to have the other bags pushed onto him. "Okay," he says, dragging his gaze away from the protesting Asha and starting with her present, then Issa's, then his own. They'll all gather in his lap as they're revealed, or be handed off to Issa if she wants them and can get the baby calm enough to put up with it.

A nervous glance is given towards Asha. She might try to cry or something and that would be no fun. Miniyal, at least, makes no move towards the baby. Any of Reyce's concerns about the weyrling wanting to hold her seem completely out of place. Once the bags are taken there is a swift retreat towards the couch. She perches at the end closest to where the others are and waits for bags to be opened. Fingers lacing tightly together as she keeps her hands folded in her lap she tries not to watch with much overt nervousness for the way the gifts are received.

The gifts are the same but for a single difference in each of them. Hanging from a ribbon, the colors matched to the bags, is a silver locket. It's not very fancy with a simple oval design and a single snowflake etched onto the front. The clasp to open the locket is easy to find and use although there's nothing inside of it. Embroidered on the ribbons in white is the same snowflake as on the locket although it is repeated down one side on each of them.

"Anyway. It's not great, I know. But I thought, you know. I mean. And, you can do whatever you want with them. I mean, miniature portraits or locks of hair or, you know, toss them into a drawer and forget about them."

Issa peers over into Reyce's lap while her arms jiggle Asha back to quiet gurgling again, a fainter smile on her face as her eyes run over the lockets as they're revealed. "They /are/ great, Miniyal," Issa assures the nervous woman with an ounce of firmness in her tone, tilting her face to spare her a glance before she does reach a hand down to take one of the gifts from Reyce. The pink one dangles from between her fingers as she lifts it to examine the locket, and Asha's eyes follow the shiny thing on it's slow arc upward, letting out a small coo. "Very pretty," she comments further, smile drawn wide as she runs a thumb over the snowflakes embroidered along the ribbon. "Thank you," she utters yet again for the goldrider, as the locket is lowered back to join the others, handed off to Reyce to let him handle it. "I'm flattered you spent your free time making them."

Reyce handles the presents with a matter-of-fact air that's not the most encouraging thing for a gift-giver, but at least Issa and Asha are there to coo approvingly at them. And at least the lockets are a simple oval shape, which - once he has them all out - he turns around on his thumb, then wedges open with some difficulty using the short edge of a squarish fingernail. After he's had some more opportunity to prod at his own black-ribboned locket, he balls it up into his palm and shoves into a pocket. "Thanks," he responds, finally, to the woman who went to the trouble to give him such a thing, and who up to this point has been spared the pressure of his steady gaze again. A short nod, somewhat stiff, adds to the thanks, although it's rather a bit awkward and obligatory, for Reyce is worse at receiving gifts than Miniyal is at giving them. He busies himself taking the other lockets back from Issa and bundling them together.

"I'm glad. I mean, I wasn't sure. And I tried to- Anyway." Miniyal cuts herself off again and sits in silence for a minute before she rises to her feet. "I enjoyed the work. I mean, it passes the time. I mean, embroidery. Right. Anyway. I should be going. I don't want to intrude any more." Into her pocket slips a hand to pull her gloves out although she doesn't put them on yet. "Congratulations again. She's very pretty. Have a nice evening."

Issa's thank you quota has been depleted, so she merely nods at the goldrider as she offers more congratulations. A few steps are taken to mirror Miniyal's own, accompanying her at least part way to the curtain that marks her exit. "Wait a second, so..." she begins, pausing on the stone and bouncing Asha softly on her arm to prevent any sudden fusses the baby may be cooking up. "How are things going with B'rok at the helm? Honestly," she adds, a brief curl at one edge of her smile acknowledging that it's really a formality, asking Miniyal outright for the truth behind all the rumors.

This time, Reyce does trouble himself to get up and keep up the veneer of hospitality, stepping to Issa's side to present a solid parental front. His arm nudges against hers, a rapid glance sliding down from her face to the baby in case Issa's tired of holding her. Whether or not she takes him up on the offer, he shifts an extra step forward to create the beginnings of a conversational circle that could trap Miniyal if she's not careful. Reyce himself isn't doing it consciously, for his eyes are on the baby whom he can just see better if he's out a bit in front.

Miniyal's steps pause when she is halted by a question. There is no change in her expression when asked to make her answer honest. Issa knows, after all, there was no need to ask it that way. She tries not to notice Reyce moving closer, but it's impossible. So, she just takes another step backwards and tugs on one glove. "He can't do hidework to save his life. But so far there has not been any serious complaints from anyone. At least that I have heard. But I suppose I wouldn't hear considering what is said." Her nose wrinkles up briefly before she continues. "Things are going well, ma'am. There were worse choices to replace D'ven. I'm sure you know how thrilled I am to be yet another person's project so I won't burden any of you with comments on that. And I really should be going." Another backwards step is taken. She'll flee somehow.

Issa smiles knowingly as those choice rumors are touched upon, though they are as amusing to her as they are distasteful to Miniyal. "Oh," she starts cheerfully, sparing Reyce a glance that subtly assures him she and Asha are both fine for the moment, "I'm just waiting to see how you handle being no one's. But that's all very good to know." She gives Asha a quick jostle and the baby gurgles softly in response. "We appreciate you coming by. Go and enjoy your free time. I imagine Peloth will be craving a bath sometime in the next few minutes." If the conversation she and Oshisyth have been having, idly appreciating the warm waters in all this cold, has had any effect. She stays put, but Miniyal is free to make her escape, facing no more resistance from the greenrider.

Since Reyce doesn't have to take his daughter off Issa's hands, he retreats back a half-step and lets both of them alone. He tunes back into the riders' conversation about when Miniyal's talking about being a project. So predictably, it's time for her to be trained with a stare again while he considers the words. She won't find fleeing very hard, though, since as soon as she steps back, Reyce puffs a soft breath through his nostrils and drops his chin to his chest, cutting off the stare to let her start that retreat though he's obliged to tilt his gaze back up and add, "See you," when Issa cheerfully waves her off to tend her dragon.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find a spectacular way to fuck up on my own, ma'am. Good evening." The good evening seems to be aimed at the couple in general although no effort is made to look at Reyce. Miniyal turns to go, leaving the bath comment be since it's likely the truth anyway. Well, she lets it be until she's nearly gone and then she lets out a little sigh. Shaking her head she looks over her shoulder at the new mother. "No wonder she picked you." Peloth surely willing to share her conversation to help explain why she /must/ have a bath now. Her gaze drifts down to Asha and there's a faint smile. "I hope she grows up to be just like the both of you." It's such a pleasant little curse offered in a politely cheerful sort of way. And then the weyrling sees herself out and a few moments later her and the bath craving gold are gone from the ledge.

Issa's eyebrow twitches higher for those parting comments, but her smile doesn't budge an inch, amused of all things by Miniyal's curse. "So much for not presuming motives," she mutters, mostly to herself, and on the heels of it Oshisyth peeks in past the curtain, seeming sheepish and a bit confused at how her pleasant visit ended. Issa motions Reyce over with a quick tilt of her head and hands the faintly wriggling Asha over to him, the transfer completed by the time her green has pulled herself all the way into the weyr, crouching behind her rider who then turns to offer reassuring little caresses. "I never can help it, though," she says, casting her now-louder voice over her shoulder toward Reyce. "Needling her a bit." Mischief shines in the little grin she turns back with and, caresses done, Oshisyth pivots to head back to her couch.

Reyce's reaction to the swear is completely opposite, his muscles building up with tension and his eyes flashing with sudden hostility. Miniyal's already leaving, else it's possible he might chase her out, and by the time she turns around to deliver her parting shot, Reyce has shifted slightly to the side so his shoulder's blocking Asha from view, and an unmoving glare is ready to absorb Miniyal's cheery curse. As soon as she's gone, he lets some of his anger out in a growly rumble, poorly timed to coincide with Oshisyth's puzzled re-entrance to the weyr. He doesn't notice, though, having caught Issa's gesture and already turned to take Asha off her hands, curling the wriggling thing closer than she might like before he catches himself and makes up for it with a few soft jounces before she can object. "She can't hold Asha," he restates, going back to the point he couldn't finish before Miniyal walked in. Holding Asha himself has necessitated that some of his tension ease, so it's a much calmer, though still plainly angered, look he turns to Issa.

Issa meanders back a step or two, rolling her eyes a bit at his irritated manner before she concedes with a placating, "Fine." She gives him a second to soak up her compliance and then, placing her hand along his hip for balance, leans her head against his bicep, gaze turned down to watch the overprotected Asha. Her hand lifts and touches down gently along her soft cheek. "I didn't know you held such a grudge over her," she says idly, her voice quite a bit lighter for the little girl she's looking at.

Placation works its wonders on Reyce, who relaxes yet more in the face of such easy obedience. He watches Issa for another beat more, the huffs through his nostrils and turns his eyes back to Asha, whose empty baby gaze provides the last push for him to calm down. "She's careless," he explains, pressing his thumb into the tiny cheek. Asha gawps her mouth open obediently, but is too busy staring back at her father's face to try very hard to catch his finger right now. "And she put her thoughts out on the kid. Don't like her." Since Asha's not really going for it, he takes his finger back and shifts his gaze a bit more to the side, looking back to Issa on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Issa agrees, a drawn out syllable that lifts into a deep breath. "Can't say I'm overly fond either. She tries. Sometimes. But." And there it ends, her shoulder lifting in a shrug into his. Her head moves, tilting to put the point of her chin against him while she looks up, eyes skimming his face before catching him in a steadier stare. "She won't hold her," she assures him again, the hand on his hip squeezing down briefly. "I'm hardly ever going to see her outside of the training cavern anyway," she tells him, "and even then not for much longer. I've given up on trying past that by now." She dips her face briefly into the fabric of his shirt, a quick nuzzle before she pushes away, heads back to the pair of chairs and the ragdoll that was put on hold by their surprise visitor. "You still have the lockets?" she asks out of curiosity while she wanders back over.

Reyce just keeps his eyes fixed on her while she scans him, and when she reasserts her promise, gives a nod. Both his hands are busy with Asha, and there's no way for him to return the squeeze, but he puffs a tiny breath as his eyes finally move away that hints at a return of the affection. "In my pocket," he informs her as he follows her back to the chairs, watching his step in case the familiar stone floor should suddenly sprout new ridges to trip him up. While Issa's reclaiming her ragdoll, though, he's moving towards the rocking chair that was recently her seat; realizing she's right there, too, he stops short and looks at her.

Issa closes the ragdoll into her hand, petting back the green and orange yarn hair with a fond hand while she nods Reyce down to the chair itself. "Here," she says, shoving the doll into the crook of his arm near the Asha's feet, for him to resume the job of entertaining that was interrupted by the gift-giving session. But before he can sit, her hand snakes into his pocket-- the wrong one first, it turns out-- until she comes up with all three lockets and bags. With them, she returns to perch on the nearest arm of the more stable chair, turning the silver baubles over in her hand and flicking one open with her thumbnail. "You want me to put a lock of my hair in it?" she asks him teasingly, one of her bare feet sneaking over to the edge of the rocking chair's seat, nudging his leg with her toes. "So you can wear it close to your heart always?" And the handful of lockets gets pressed to her chest in a faux pose of romantic longing.

Reyce expected that doll to be moved away, not shoved off on him, and when Issa does just that he blinks and clutches Asha tighter, startled but instinctually ensuring that he won't loose his grip. She doesn't appreciate his security measures much, though, squirming in his arms and waving her own about as they could do anything more than occasionally flop accidental punches against her father's chest. He grunts, not so much for the hitting as the squirming, and claims the seat that Issa waived to him. To all appearances, he's concentrates on settling Asha from that point, with an ear open but no clear attention given to Issa's tease about the locket, but if the latter's paying close attention she might just notice him shifting his grip on their little girl. When the greenrider starts pouring on the melodrama, the lockets held to her heart, his hand suddenly snakes free and gives her foot a playful sting of a slap, its fingers fixing quickly around her ankle before she can move away and his eyes turning up to her a squinted, amused glance.

Apparently all notice of that shifting arm gets lost in Issa's playful manner, for she starts when his hand slaps down, letting out a tiny squeal that tapers off into quiet laughter. Her foot presses down harder for a second, sending him and Asha into an even stronger rocking motion, carrying her foot along with him. "We should put something in them, though," she tells him, dropping from her teasing tones into more serious ones. "At least mine and Asha's," she adds, separating out his black one into a separate hand. "You can do whatever you want with yours," she says, giving another quick push with her foot.

As soon as Issa starts pushing down the chair, she gets her foot back, as Reyce doesn't trust his readjusted hold enough when the chair is dipping at that speed. Asha, for her part, is perfectly delighted with it, her limbs waving all the faster while she burbles out her glee. The poor doll lies forgotten, still, in the crook of Reyce's elbow, to be nudged aside when his other hand settles back in and secures itself around Asha. "You have - an idea?" he asks, his words swinging with surprise when the push from her foot sets him to rocking unexpectedly again. He pulls a grimace over the distortion it caused in his sentence, but Asha's still squealing with glee, and that covered most of the pause anyhow.

“Not really, no,” Issa answers, laughter subdued under the words. Her playful bent takes a rest now, though, letting the rocking of the chair slow on its own while her foot lies still, maintaining that contact with his leg. She watches the happily cooing Asha with an unconsciously wide smile while her hands fiddle with the lockets, fingering the ribbons, opening and closing this locket and that one. When her eyes drop to the tripled present in her hands, it’s the pink one that’s fallen under her fingers. “Just something. At least something for Asha, for her to remember us by in case one of us leaves.” There’s no sappiness or particular solemnity to speak of there in the look she lifts to Reyce, simply practical concern. And it’s not just Benden that bubbles up as an implication; as a fighting rider, even one who flies Thread so rarely, her own death can’t be a neglected possibility.

Reyce starts to lift his chin at that simple concern of Issa's, but his gaze doesn't make it all the way away from Asha before her burbles draw him back. As the chair slows down, absent Issa's foot pushing it, he feels more comfortable changing his grip again, and a single finger finds its way to her chin, giving it a little flick that excites more gleeful cooing from her. But under the baby's loud delight, his soft voice sounds with a simplicity to match her own: "Yeah." Leaving Asha to continue being obliviously pleased, he looks up at Issa and twists his lip at her wryly.

Issa snaps the pink-ribboned locket closed again and returns to fiddling with the others, his black one tied with a bow so it leaves a handy loop. "Maybe we could do, like she said, tiny portraits," she suggests with a tiny shrug. "My mother's not the best at that sort of thing, but she'd be happy to do it. If we can't think of anything else." Her fingers slip through the loop she's created and holds it with the locket dangling, her foot peeling away to land on the floor. She stands a second later and hovers over him, returning her daughter's smile with an brief, open grin of her own. It's his hand she snags, though, and she slips his locket around his wrist. Her soft chuckle suggests she knows he's going to have a difficult time removing it with Asha in his arms.

Reyce watches her tie that girly bow into his - up till now - arguably masculine black-ribboned locket, and gives a snort. His eyes flick down to watch the retreat of her foot as his own feet push off the floor to restore a regular rocking motion, less delightful but more calming for Asha, though it doesn't affet her immediately and she's still happy enough to gape her mouth back at Issa when her mother leans over her with that big grin. Reyce, watching this and not expecting his hand to be assaulted, is taken by surprise when that's exactly what happens, and the locket goes on without him recovering presence of mind in time to protest. By the time it's already fixed over his wrist, all he can do is turn up to her a squinted, accusing gaze as he tries to get it hooked on the arm of the chair and use that to lever it off. "Make it special for her, somehow," he responds, since the topic of the lockets seems to be as inescapable as the one actually hung over his wrist. If he has any ideas about how to make it special, though, they're derailed by the fact that he decides to turn his attention back to the locket, focusing on his thus far fruitless efforts to get it off while still cradling Asha with his other arm.

Issa's eyes flick away from Asha, down to the unwanted locket around Reyce's wrist, then she turns her smile up to him, entirely unhelpful to his plight. While he's distracted with taking it off, she curls her free hand around the back of his neck, holding him steady while she presses a firm kiss to his cheek, puffing out warm, silent laughter. "I'm going to put these away," she murmurs to him as she pulls back, jiggling her hand full of the three bags and other two lockets, "did you want to hold onto yours?" Her hand moves to his forehead, pushing back through his curls as she smiles a bit of mischief down at him.

Once she's had her kiss, Issa may /try/ to escape, but Reyce's locket-burdened hand swings up to catch her cheek and trap her close to his face. "No," he answers, fetching the locket up on his thumb and pressing the cold metal oval into her cheek. His eyes flick sideways so he can watch her for a moment before he releases the locket, and her cheek with it, holding his wrist over her hand so she can take it back.

Issa's fingers curl down over his hair tightly and she gives his head a playful push before sliding her hand away to pick at the bow. It pulls easily free and his locket joins the others. "Play with her," she directs him, nudging the forgotten ragdoll with a knuckle. "I'll just put these somewhere." And then she's off on her momentary task, placing the lockets away with her other jewelry before she returns to Reyce's side for a night of quietly entertaining Asha.

A faltering father

Thu, 26 Jul 2007 04:56:23 GMT

After this vignette of Reyce's, he comes back to bed. Issa finds out what happened. (Reyce, Asherei, Issa)
IC Date: Day 5, Month 2, Turn 4
OOC Date: 7-24-07 to 7-25-07

It's been over an hour since Reyce left to look after Asha. Oshisyth could provide the details, but she doesn't have to since the outbursts of wailing were plenty audible inside the bedroom. Now, however, there's been silence for a while, and it's possible Issa even fell asleep again before Reyce pads in with the baby held in his arms. If Issa didn't fall asleep, her daughter did, and the little creature nestles against her father's bare chest. Bare, although he left with his shirt on: Oshisyth would be able to tell her rider that Asha had an accident, and that Reyce had not rewrapped the diaper correctly when he checked it the first time she woke. He's got it right this time, snug and tight on the little bottom, and both he and his project smell strongly of witch hazel. The bed tilts as he climbs on top of it, moving slowly lest he disturb Asha, and tilts more as he leans forward to place her on her pillow. She stirs at the relocation, her limbs little shadows that twitch in the darkness, but Reyce keeps his hand on her and the warmth settles her right back to sleep. His shadow remains upright, even once that hand is withdrawn and its warmth replaced by a tug of the covers, kneeling on his side of the bed.

Just as Asha lies still on her pillow, Issa stirs on hers, a deep breath drawing her out of sleep and her eyes blinking slowly open, finding first the outline of Asha and then the one Reyce cuts against the backdrop of deeper darkness. "You finally got her to sleep," she whispers that obvious comment while brushing a sticky curl away from her brows, a sleepy, subconscious smile lifting to her lips. Her hand fumbles away from the beneath pillows, but thankfully gains a measure of control before reaching Asha, just laying a gentle, sweeping touch against the top of her head. Then she reaches out for Reyce, her own head plopped back down while her grasping fingers urge him to do the same.

Muscles tense when Issa's hand lands on him, the first reaction to her waking he's had. The faintly illuminated whites of his eyes seem to shift as his gaze flicks to her, silent. There's a beat or two before he obeys, his knees cracking and the bed shifting again while he unfolds from his kneel, leaning down till his arm, then his elbow, then his cheek meets the bed. He's forgotten to adjust for the pillows - namely, he doesn't have one and hers is just edging onto his side of the bed - and came down too far away from Issa, but after another beat to absorb that (or debate whether she'd notice) he tugs himself far forward enough to settle his face on the edge of the pillow and closes his eyes with a short breath.

Issa must detect something odd in his slow descent into bed, because his hesitation to join her on her pillow causes her eyes to open again and find his face in a sleep-dulled stare that gropes through the darkness in silence for a moment after he's settled. "What's the matter?" she slurs together into a whispered question, giving a muffled clearing of her throat before adding, "Now you don't look sleepy." Her hand dropped away from him as soon as he began to sink down next to her and she slides it slowly around the outside edge of Asha's pillow, as close as it dares to go now that there's a risk of waking the sleeping wailer again.

Reyce can deal with displeasure, and tonight he does so stubbornly. There's not even a quick gleam of light to suggest that he looked at Issa, but his eyes remain firmly closed and his feet don't so much as twitch when hers reverse direction, though he must have felt them coming to twine with his. No surprise, then, that her apology gains no answer but silence, and eventual shifting of his body so he's lying on his back, looking up rather than facing her.

Issa lapses into silence again, but she doesn't bother to feign sleep like Reyce does; her eyes remain open and on him. The rustling of the sheets is magnified in all the quiet and tells of her slightest movement. The shift of her head against the pillow she shares with him. The tighter curling of her legs into herself. The hesitation of her hand on its way to grabbing his chin, her fingers curling against the stubble beneath while her thumb presses in just below his lips. Gently, she guides him down to face her. "I can take her next time," she whispers, a firm offer. Enough of this bet business if it's only going to upset him.

Reyce twitches his chin up, but the gesture is empty, and he doesn't even move so far as to take himself out of her hands. "I'm fine," he mumbles, yielding to the pull of her fingers in turning his head to the side. Going her one better, he nudges his cheek down and pushes into the pillow, though his body's still aimed up. "You're not doing it," he says, his rejection as firm as her offer. "I got her."

Issa keeps a faint pressure on his chin, as if that were the only thing keeping him rooted to the pillow. His answer sparks a vague tension in her, and even if he can't detect the slight squint that tugs her brows or the thinner line her lips have drawn, it's evident in her delayed, clipped whisper. "Okay." Another few seconds pass before she adds, "I love you," the breathy tone of it telling that she thinks he needs to be reminded. Her thumb traces down the very edge of his bottom lip, but sweeps only halfway before she pulls her hand back altogether and, quietly, carefully, tucks it in between her belly and Asha's pillow.

And that would be the end of it, and seems to be for a good minute afterwards. Then Reyce's hand edges forward, starting with just an inching movement that becomes a swift grab before he can second guess himself. He can't find her hand, and his flops around looking for it, then goes to her shoulder and slides down from there. Once her hand's been captured, he pulls it towards himself: first the back of it gets pressed into his forehead, then he flips it so her palm touches him, and this gets pulled down to his lips to receive a short, hard kiss on the fingertips. That done, Reyce just keeps holding her hand by his lips, his grip loosening not in the slightest, though he doesn't say anything.

Issa's eyes, closed during that minute in a rather vain attempt at sleep, flick open again at the sound of his questing hand, searching out his face. Her own hand lifts to cross paths with his fingers seconds after the touch sliding down from her shoulder helps her figure out what it is he wants. She lets him reposition her how he will, and, when he flips her palm to his skin, she moves her thumb in reassuring little sweeps like the one before. She's quiet, too, save for one little word that she breathes out into the silence that follows his hard kiss. "Reyce," she whispers, and in it is a much quieter echo of the same question. What's the matter?

Reyce senses the word coming, and when she speaks it he's breathing out heavily and masking the sound. He shifts, finally, but though he keeps her hand he's turning away, rolling on his back again and facing up. His eyes open for the first time, just a flash of white before he closes them again. "I think I hurt her," he confesses, the words choked and awkward and washed down with an uncomfortable swallow. He drags in a sudden, sinus-clearing sniff, habit reasserting itself in the silence.

"What?" There's a note of alarm in her whisper, but much more a sense of disbelief. Issa raises her head inches from the pillow to gain an angle over Asha, to check and make sure that the baby she saw serenely sleeping is still just so. She is. The urgency disappears from her voice and actions both then. She twists her fingers gently in his to grab her own hold, tight with reassurance to mend any apprehension caused by her momentary scare. "What do you mean?" she asks with a more controlled whisper.

As soon as Issa moves to check on Asha, Reyce relinquishes her hand, but he doesn't try to reclaim his own so it's still there when she tightens her hold over it. "Think I hurt her," he says again, his voice tightening with stress and frustration. His knees drag up under the covers, lifting them and letting a breath of cool air wash into the bed. "Made her smell something. Your perfume." As the story starts to kick its way out of him, his free hand drags up over his hand, the elbow clenching down around her face. "It was too strong, I think I hurt her. She cried." The fingers she's holding close down into what would be a fist were her hand not in the way.

Issa sighs softly as Reyce's story reveals itself, thumbing caresses over the side of his ever-tensing hand and down onto his wrist. As careful as her other movements have been, she inches herself up and digs her free elbow into the pillow for support. "Hey, she's fine," she breathes as she leans down, first her chin nudging down onto that arm and then her nose. "Reyce, look at her, she's fine." Her face retreats a few inches, to allow him to do just that. "She cries when her diaper's uncomfortable," she tells him, keeping her voice to the lowest of whispers still, "I don't think you hurt her." With her face this close, it's possible to make out a tentative sort of smile on her lips and the concern that makes her eyes wider and whiter in the dimness.

Reyce doesn't take advantage of that extra space, leaving Asha's health to Issa's assessment. His mouth twists up in a jagged line when he's repeatedly assured she's fine, and to erase it he hangs his jaw open and sucks in a deep breath. "Didn't like it," he replies eventually, nailing down his voice to keep any more tension from slipping in. Now there's a hard note to it, but it's steady. "She looked at me and didn't like it. I didn't. It's different with the nose," asserts the onee who would know least about it, dragging his protective arm off of his face and stiffening it by his side.

When that arm pulls back, Issa leans down again, smile fading fast as her nose pressed against the side of his. Meanwhile her hand releases his, leaving him to close a fist if he still wishes; it lifts to his neck instead, cupping along the side as it slides up to his jaw. "It's okay," she insists, tilting a brushed kiss onto his cheek before lifting to get a better look at him, eyes flicking across his face through the darkness and eventually seeking his. "Really," she adds for good measure. "You didn't mean to upset her," comes a hesitant moment later, the words themselves breathed more softly than the rest. Maybe she's guessed what he did mean to do.

The fist closes as soon as it has the opportunity, and that arm, too, gets punched out straight beside him. Her comforts and kisses are breaking in slightly, though, and that fist soon loosens enough that his fingers are moving again, if only to crack his knuckles softly. His teeth pop open for a breath to 'hrshh' in between them. Then his eyes open, giving her the gaze she seeks and locking back on hers in steady silence. "I didn't." It is a bristlingly yielded concession: what you say makes sense, and I will allow it. But it is not welcome, the still-firm set of his jaw suggests.

Issa's lips press together, stick straight again in the face of his firmness. Her thumb sweeps subconsciously along with the grain of his stubble on the other side of that tensed jaw as she tells him softly, and more hesitantly now, "That's what matters." She looks down on him for a moment more before she places her nose next to his again; slowly it slips down, moving her hot breath down on his cheek. Her hand gives a gentle squeeze, pressing his face against hers briefly before both points of contact begin to retreat, fingers sliding lightly over his throat while her face lifts back toward her side of the pillow. "You're a good father," she asserts through a mumbled breath as her nose gives one final nudge against his cheekbone and falls away.

The last knuckle-pop is the softest of all, but it brings a small wince out of Reyce. Perhaps it's last for that reason; he certainly looses his hands afterward, the fist-stiffness allowed to ease out of him. His head moves obediently with her pressures, stubbled cheek pressing hers when she pulls it in and bumping away when she nudges it with her nose. He reclaims it once she's gone, rolling it back towards Issa and watching her resettle on her side of the pillow, the gleaming whites of his eyes securely aimed at her. "Thank you," he whispers over the distance. A half-beat; he adds, "Need you." It's not a request or a reminder, so much as a 'you too' on her parenting sentiment. The proof is in his tone, voiceless because of the whispering, but warmed by affection and gratitude.

Issa settles back down, flattening her cheek to the pillow and letting her hand fall between them, her elbow tucked safely out of the way of Asha's pillow. Her smile peeks through the darkness again at his compliment of sorts and a deep breath relaxes the rest of her body back into the bed. "We'll make a good team," she comments more lightly, but just as low, eyes beginning to droop but still blinking across at him. Her fingers flick out then, a movement that could easily be as much an idle twitch as a lazy beckon.

Maybe Reyce takes it as the latter, for his weight shifts and he rolls on his side. Though he's facing her now, his eyes have slipped closed, taking her cue to settle for sleep. "Good family," he corrects, forgetting to keep up his whisper and allowing the words to raise into a murmur. His head stays on his side of the pillow, but a hand reaches up into the middle space and sets down there, the fingers splayed outwards.

A softened breath of laughter sneaks out of Issa and the little motions meant to settle her head into a comfortable dip in the pillow change slowly into a slight nod. "Family," she agrees, though the word is hardly breathed, just detectable across that short distance of pillow. Her eyes skip over his face as she gives another short stretch of her smile and then jump down for a final check on the quietly slumbering Asha before sinking closed. Her hand tilts over, her knuckles bumping gently down against the side of his hand. The contact stays in place as the two parents drift off to join their baby in another few hours of sleep.

Baby talk

Wed, 25 Jul 2007 06:07:02 GMT

Ginella bumps into Issa while Asha is being fussy and a conversation sparks because of it. (Ginella, Asherei, Issa)
IC Date: Day 12, Month 2, Turn 4
OOC Date: 7-24-07

Some might recognize the hallway that Issa comes from as the one that a certain harper journeywoman lives down, a new mother and her daughter who have just finished a visit to grandma. Carrying a blanketed bundle, she joins the meager flow of people heading to an early dinner in the living cavern, paying far more attention to the tiny face in her arms than the ones that pass around her slow paced steps. Eventually she steps out of the main walkways altogether, taking up residence in one of those few waiting areas set aside in the hub that feeds into the living cavern. She doesn't bother with the chair and sidetable combination set up, for Asha begins to fuss quietly; instead she stakes out an area of a few paces only to jostle back and forth, soothing the fussy baby in her arms. Choruses of "Shh, shh," pass her lips, directed down at her crying daughter, and then Asha gets lifted carefully, draped over Issa's shoulder while she continues to comfort her with little pats and croons.

Ginella is one of those early-to-dinner folks, heading up from the hall a certain Headmaster lives down, a notebook tucked securely under an arm. She doesn't seem in much of a hurry, moving slowly, not catching up with the greenrider until the latter has stopped her forward progress altogether. The goldrider stops briefly to exchange pleasantries with a passing student, then glances to her right at mother and child, and after a brief hesitation, steps towards them. "She's beautiful," she offers, adding a smile by way of greeting, "Even while fussing. She must be just about brand new, tiny as she is?"

Issa draws her eyes from their focused stare at the floor, greeting the Caucus goldrider with an expression of pleased surprise, a mother flattered for her daughter who wouldn't know what a compliment even was. Or care; her thin wailing continues, balled up fists and red, squinted face available for a glimpse as Issa rocks slightly into a turn. "Thank you," she returns, her graciousness cracking with a tremble of a frown that drops between her brows for a particularly insistent cry from Asha. "About three weeks now," Issa continues past that momentary wince. And Ginella might be able to see it, the hint of a pooch hidden beneath the layer of her coat that betrays her recent pregnancy. "And getting louder every day," the greenrider adds with a roll of her eyes, and drops the baby gently back into the cradle of her arms.

"Just three weeks?" Ginella echoes, side-stepping to get another look at the baby's face, still smiling, "No wonder she's so teeny, then." She steps back as the girl wails again, and grins a bit at the eye-rolling remark. "As they do," she agrees, "And just think, someday she'll be able to follow you about while screaming, too!" She chuckles lightly, glancing from child to mother as Issa shifts her hold, "What's her name? I haven't done a very good job keeping up with the news lately, unfortunately."

Issa answers the thought of this sort of crying following her wherever she goes with a mixed sound, half groan, half chuckle. But the bit of mirth is abandoned quickly when she gets a chance to showcase her daughter more. With a soft little jiggle, the baby is angled closer to Ginella. "Asherei," the greenrider provides, her smile directed down at the unhappy little girl, "though we've taken to calling her Asha." For her greeting, Asha merely quiets to a trembling whine; Issa takes it as a good sign and relaxes some of the worry in her face, pausing a moment to tuck the blanket in tighter around the baby's shoulders. "Not really news," she continues, giving a faint shrug. At least not to anyone not her or her holder boy. "Especially since a Caucus goldrider has other concerns." The greenrider gives a short nod to the notebook Ginella carries and spares a quick glance down the hallway she emerged from, before devoting her attention to the more quietly fussing baby again.

Ginella smiles crookedly in rseponse to Issa's half-grown, and shifts to get a better look at the baby as she's angled. "That's a very pretty name," she tells Issa with a smile, watching as the girl quiets, and slowly reaching a finger to lightly brush a tiny fist, slowly enough that the greenrider can pull back in time if she prefers. "Better news than most going around these days," Ginella replies, before the reference to other concerns catches her off-guard, and she glances down, and then spots the notebook and Issa's line of sight and laughs, shaking her head, "Well, 'cute' is not a word I would use to describe the Headmaster," she says with a hint of a grin. "How is Reyce adjusting, so far? It must be a big change for you both."

Though the goldrider's questing finger is allowed to touch the tiny fingers that clench into an unhappy fist, it's tracked all the way down and watched carefully until it retreats again. Ginella's comment about the Headmaster is met with a smoother smile, but also with a very small, curious quirk of her brows. She moves on, however. "Oh, Reyce is just fine. Handling it as well as any other new father, I suppose." And that's as much as she offers about him, adding further, "It's not so bad, really. At least this one will stay smaller than me for a few turns yet." As opposed to the dragon baby she tended so many turns ago, and quickly became more than a handful. She looks back down at Asha, who has quieted further to a series of discontented peeps, eyes opening from their teary squints slowly as she begins to look around again. For good measure, the greenrider issues a soft, "Shh, shh."

Ginella just strokes the clenched fist once, then withdraws as Asha continues to look generally discontented, a small smile as she hand goes back into her pocket. "Had a while to get used to the idea," Ginella agrees, and then smiles, "True, never have to worry about her crushing your feet," she agrees. She watches the baby for another moment, then blinks and looks up and around a little, "I'm sorry, you were on your way to eat, weren't you? I should let you go while she's quiet, so you get a chance to eat at least a little." She steps back, then smiles, "Congratulations, by the way. You should stop by for tea sometime, or something."

"Oh, yes, but I'm just... waiting on her father now," Issa answers, the pause spent shooting a glance in the direction of the Caucus offices instead of the residences, her smile bending up stronger, almost with amusement, at the use of Reyce's new title. "But thank you," she offers for the congratulations the goldrider offers, drawing her gaze back to the conversation as it winds up. "I'd really enjoy that. Maybe someday I can slip away from her for a bit." One hand slips from underneath to make a few more minor adjustments, though they end up being more caress than tuck, then raises to offer a wave for Ginella as she retreats.

Ginella glances down the hall, and nods, "Oh, of course. Well, I've got to pop back up home before I eat, so I'd better go also. Enjoy your meal." She smiles again, and then it brightens from friendly to pleased as Issa accepts the invitation, and she nods quickly, "Of course, if you ever get a moment free, let me know. We can set something up." A little wave for the pair of them, and she turns and heads up the hall.

First night home

Tue, 24 Jul 2007 03:53:29 GMT

Now with a baby in tow, Issa and Reyce begin to move their things back into Issa's weyr. They don't get very far before discovering several gifts that have been left for them. They give up unpacking and just curl up into bed with Asha. (Reyce, Asherei, Issa)
IC Date: Day 5, Month 2, Turn 4
OOC Date: 7-21-07 to 7-23-07

The first load of their belongings has been secured to Oshisyth's straps, essentials and a bit extra they packed up after dinner, enough to last them the night and morning before they go down for another. Oshisyth sets herself down with an unusual amount of care, even for the bulkiness of the crates lined along her sides. Issa, whose depleted energy seems to have buoyed up again with the activity moving's brought, slips nimbly down the straps, careful of two week-old Asha, who's secured in a sort of leather harness that they were assured would be safe in flight. And it stood it's first test admirably; Asha peeks out from the snug wrapping, making burbling noises that sound far from distressed. "We can unload inside," Issa raises her voice over the wind to Reyce, one hand curled around to protect her daughter's face from the cold. And as soon as Reyce has his feet on the ground, she sends Oshisyth off ahead of them with a light slap. The green halts halfway through the curtain, however, causing her rider following to pause before simply pushing past the curtain that's already being stretched aside by the dragon's width.

The cause for that stop becomes readily apparent; arranged in the middle of the open area set aside for Oshsiyth is a collection of furniture and gifts for the new parents and their baby. A crib is the most prominent; though it's on the small side as these things go, it's fitted with wooden wheels with tiny stopping mechanisms and has been stained a dark, rich brown to compliment the new curtains of the weyr. Flags of brightly colored fabric along its rail turn out to be baby clothes, of varying sizes. Less noticeable, a family of colored wooden blocks, a rattle, and a tiny pillow lay within the protective bars. Behind the crib lies a rocking chair of the same dark stain, easily large enough for a man of Reyce's stature. It's this that gets the green's attention, a talon lifted to gently nudge the chair into motion. Issa circles around in silence, her one hand idly patting the burbling Asha through the harness.

Though initially wary of the idea of moving back up so quickly, Reyce seems to have eased off his worries slightly since seeing the energy it produces in Issa. Even scaled down, however, his need to check up on his women frequently is still powerful, and no sooner have they landed than the burbling Asha gets a check-up from her father. Reyce slides down Oshisyth's side quickly to say close to Issa, laden with the baby girl as she is, and he touches the tiny cheek, gently avoiding Asha's attempts to grab or mouth his fingers. So caught up is he in this task that he doesn't even notice Oshisyth's pause, or the gifts that have distracted Issa until the latter starts patting at the girl. Withdrawing to let Issa at the baby, he looks up at the room and blinks. "Huh." Sparing a final glance for his daughter, he slinks away from her and begins prowling through the furniture collection. Oshisyth has the chair, so he goes for the crib, running his hand along the bars before squatting down to poke at those wheels, pushing it around first without the locks on, and then trying it again when they're on.

Reyce exerts a predictable caution with the wheeled crib, seeing just how reliable those locks are and how easy it is to skid the wheels across the stone when they're on. Whatever his findings on that are, after a minute of testing it, he unlocks the wheels and tries moving it around that way, his eyes trained on the crib to watch every tiny shock as it moves across the stone. He doesn't seem to be listening to the letter Issa reads off, but he must have been, for he glances up when she stops reading in time to catch her grin, and he leaves the crib alone while she leans on it. "It's good," he answers, abandoning his project to step up to Issa's side. His hand cups her hip as he approaches, though it soon slides off so he can flip along that assortment of baby clothes he hadn't bothered noticing before. "Good of them," is specified belatedly, as he drops a pretty pink thing and tucks his hands into his pockets. His chin hangs down on his chest, now only his eyes trailing over the assembled gifts. He draws a tiny, sinus-clearing sniff while he considers them.

Issa nods in agreement, swinging one hand out to slip in between his side and his tucked-in arm, drawing herself closer though she remains facing the crib to continue giving Asha some room to breathe. "I wonder how long it took Dad to make all this," she mutters as her eyes survey it all. The toys inside catch her eye again, and she's drawn away from him again to reach for the tiny rattle, examining the vine-looking design carved into it from all sides once she has it in her hands. Smile slowly grown wider, she looks back up at him, telling him, "It's like my old one," though there's more nostalgia in the stating of this fact than any surprise or amazement. The rattle gets her attention for the span of another beat and then she decides, "Let's put her in it," and begins to slide the clothes together into a rough pile as she continues, "while we take everything down from the straps." Oshisyth, quietly pouting where she's been told to go, gets a glance and a second that sticks for a moment of silent communication.

Reyce glances at her quickly when she uses the word Dad, but his eyes turn down quickly before her survey of the crib puts him too much in peripheral view. Instead, he just tips his face to the side, huffing silently to rustle her hair and - his own survey complete - staring fixedly at the upper bar of the crib while he waits for her to finish. Or, as it happens, to talk to him about the rattle. "Like that it has vines on it," he says, taking it from her hand so she can concentrate on piling the clothes. "Benden in it." He turns the thing around, running his palm over the carvings, then swoops up the rest of the toys inside the thing and moves them on top of the rocking chair, out of the way for Asha. He'll take the clothes from Issa once she has them bundled, but Oshisyth will have to wait till Asha's settled before he moves to help relieve her of her burden.

Issa pauses in her gathering to look at him when he speaks, her grin tilting up further and eyes scanning his face briefly when he sees in those vines a bit of Benden. "Alright," she states when the clothes have been handed off to him, voice becoming bouncier but not babyish as she turns her face down to look at Asha. The girl is lifted from the cradling bit of the harness carefully and just as slowly lowered down onto the padding at the bottom of the crib. She's quiet as she's put down, eyes skipping about curiously while her balled hands meander through the air without purpose. Issa stares down at her, smiling simply, while she removes the harness from her shoulders, unbuckling and draping it over her arm as she would with Oshisyth's larger straps. "You think your brother would ever really send us that wooden ship?" she asks, a more amused tone touching voice and lips both as she looks back at Reyce. It was a joke when she suggested it to Coren, and remains so mostly, though the thought of actually receiving it entertains her to no end.

Reyce locks his fingers over the top bar of the cradle and shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet, rising slightly tippy-toe so he can watch Asha settle in without leaning his head into Issa's way. His eyes jerk up when the latter addresses him, though, and he drops back to his feet. "Push it off the ledge, he does," he declares softly, unwrapping his fingers from the bars and stretching his palms to ready them for grabbing things off Oshisyth. "No room for it, anyway." Which is mostly true; they'd be able to fit it, but they'd have to move all the other furniture against a wall or in a corner. Reyce strides across the thankfully ship-free floorspace towards Oshisyth, and gives her a nod and some space to move off the couch so he can reach that baggage.

"That'd be a waste of a perfectly good toy ship," Issa comments cheerfully when he voices that destructive inclination. But she looks back at Asha again and all those stories about broken bones and tears caused by that ship seem to flicker across her face with a single, fleeting wrinkle of worry between her brows; she drops the subject. She trails after Reyce, slipping up behind him as he begins to unload Oshisyth's burden without any overt effort to help him lift those crates down. After waiting a moment, though, she does go for one of the lighter boxes he's set down on the floor, testing his willingness to let her take it by simply hovering over it for a moment.

That willingness proves to be exactly none. Still. When Reyce catches sight of her hovering near that box, he sets down the one he's carrying and goes to intercept her. Wordlessly, he hefts the crate Issa's hovering next to and moves it a few steps away, shoving the lid off with a deft push from his palm once he's got it out of the way. He rifles through the contents quickly, making /sure/ that they're all lightweight things, then glances levelly up at Issa and moves aside when they prove to be. Then he goes back to Oshisyth, to divest her of the last remaining boxes and - if Issa doesn't stop him first - pull the straps off.

Issa submits to his actions with quite a bit less fuss than usual, casting a small smile at the ground as her questing hovering turns into simple standing, simple watching, her arms crossed just above the slight pooch that still remains of her belly. The crate he removed from her is let go into his control—she doesn’t even attempt to take it after he’s approved it’s lightweight nature—and she meanders back again as the rest of the yet unloaded crates and the straps are tended to. She steps back to lean over the top of the crib and begins nudging it slowly back and forth over the stone, watching Asha's reaction to the movement as she does so. After Oshisyth has climbed up and flopped onto her couch, when he’s returned to her, he'll find that a tuneless sort of humming accompanies the motion. Asha is taking well to the experiment, blinking curiously up at her mother hanging above her, hands and feet waving about aimlessly.

Although he's seen Issa do it many a time, he's been allowed to take over the job of handling Oshisyth's staps zero of those times, and Reyce is more clumsy than he'd probably like in getting them folded up the right way. Once he's managed to get them together in a passable imitation of the way she likes to fold them, he hefts them over to the straps and starts hanging them up on the wall. It's a lengthy process when he's the one stuck doing it, so he's still working on it when the sound tuneless humming starts up by the crib. He pauses a moment, one hand bracing up the last roll of straps on his shoulder, then shoves them into place and picks his way back towards Issa, his footfalls softened carefully so his approach is quiet, though his shadow leans into the crib and offers a warning of its own. He touches Issa's shoulder as he arrives next to her, pausing there a moment before he goes ahead and slides that arm around her waist. Other than that, he doesn't interrupt her soothing song.

Song would be a stretch, but the humming is definitely soothing and constant as a purr coming from Issa's throat, not stopping even when Reyce steps up next to her. The wheeled rocking stops, though, giving them both a more stable place to lean while they hover over their baby. Reyce's presence is registered with a tilt of her head, a nudge of her hip against his, but she doesn't lift her forearms from the top bar of the crib. "I was thinking," Issa breaks from humming to murmur after a moment, without looking away, "that we could put the rocking chair by the other chair there." One hand lifts a finger, pointing at Reyce to indicate the high-backed chair behind him and to his left, then it flops back down over her arm. "And when she gets older put the crib where the cupboard is now, beside the fire. Find somewhere else for it." She's quiet a moment, absorbing his response in silence, then angles her face up to look at him. "I bet when we were first together, you never thought for a second we'd ever be planning what to do when our daughter got older," she ventures in that same quiet voice, placing her chin onto her crossed arms and letting her eyes cut that sharp angle up to him.

Thinking she's pointing at him, rather than through him, Reyce at first glances down at his chest when she tries to indicate the chair. He catches on in a few moments, correcting his gaze over his shoulder, and distracts her from the error with a small sniff. Before he gets a chance to answer, though, she's changed the subject, and his gaze rolls back to her with a rapid blink. "No," he admits. His hand slides aimlessly up and down her side once. After a beat of silence, he wagers back, "You didn't either." One corner of his lip quirked up strangely, he shifts his attention to the daughter in question, then back to her mother. "Thinking about it now," he admits, the subject of the chairs allowed to fall by the wayside.

A soft snort confirms that, no, Issa didn't either, and she picks herself up from the crib to lean into him instead. "I know," she tells him. Just her hands are left to curl around the wooden bar, and she pulls it gently toward them, causing it to bump lightly up against their legs. "Forget about the boxes for now," she decides without giving their gathered things even a glance. They won't need them anytime soon, anyway, for what she plans. "Let's roll her into the bedroom and lay down to sleep." The word, for all the energy Issa has shown throughout the evening, rolls out in a tone filled with longing, her weariness betrayed. Her head knocks into his shoulder, landing a quick nuzzle before she steps around to begin moving the crib on its slow way to the alcove. "Do you think she'll want to ride?" she wonders quietly, back to the subject of Asha's future, peering down at the girl's face from above once again, though from the opposite side.

As soon as he detects that weary tone, Reyce shoots a sharp look at Issa, studying her face for signs of undue exhaustion. Apparently, she still has an allowable amount, for he admits the suggestion with a clipped nod and small grunt. He steps away, but one hand remains on the top bar of the crib, offering just a bit of impetus and guidance to Issa's efforts (as well as letting him experience for himself what shocks movement across the weyr stirs up) while he paces alongside. Her question by now has gone unanswered for a little while, but finally Reyce glances back and asks, "You want her to?" His tone is interested, but neutral, and his expression is no help. A shrug rolls off his shoulders before she's had time to start answering him, and he turns his attention back to monitoring the crib while keeping an ear tuned back to Issa's response.

Issa considers the question that answers her own while she peers into the fairly smooth-rolling crib. "I don't think I care," she decides a moment later, a tiny bit of surprise in her inflection as if she half-expected a preference herself. "I would if she wanted to," she adds thoughtfully, giving Asha one last look before attending to the crib she's pushing along. Though it could probably fit as is, Issa turns it so the short end of the crib meets the door first, just pushing it past the curtain and letting it slide off to the side the further they push. It's angled in next to Issa's side of the bed, fitting into the gap and even leaving a section at the foot of the bed free for her to climb up. Once it's set, Issa returns to Reyce's side for a moment of leaning, arms wrapped around his waist fully now, before they prepare for bed.

Reyce is left behind when the crib pushes through the curtain: there's plenty of room for him to go in alongside it, still, but then they'd all be cramped into the tiny walkspace the bedroom allows, and he judges it easier just to wait outside till Issa and the baby have completely vanished within and he hears the wheels settle. He's standing there in the corner when Issa returns to him, hands in his pockets while he waits, but as soon as her arms go around him he frees his up to do the same. "Should put her on my side," he muses, glancing over Issa's shoulder at the crib. "Get to her easier." For all that the poker game where he wagered (and lost) the duty of caring for Asha at night was mirthful, and for all that he hasn't claimed any of his other winnings yet, that loss he insists upon carrying out. Issa's allowed to sit up if it turns out the kid's hungry, but subsequent burpings and all other difficulties best filed under the category of 'miscellaneous' come within Reyce's purview from the moment Issa's head hits the pillow of a night.

Issa's chin plunks into his chest as she looks up at him, and the vibration of her voice can be felt as she murmurs an easily assenting, "Okay." She doesn't move to put that plan into action just yet, though she does lift her head to cast a glance at the crib in question. "I was thinking," she begins as she turns back, her embrace loosened so she can lean back into the circle of his arms and see his face more clearly, "that we could maybe... have her sleep with us tonight." It's not an unusual request, really-- Asha slept in her cot when she was in the infirmary, even if they did use a basket-turned-bassinet while in the ground weyr. Half her mouth curls up into a smile as she waits for his reaction.

"Then put it on your side," Reyce rejoins smoothly. "Leave me room when I get up." The idea of bringing Asha into the bed doesn't bother him: with his hang-ups it will mean a night spent sleeping in underwear, but with his night-time caretaker duty that's become the norm for him anyway. "Don't roll on her," he advises further, beginning to pull Issa back in despite her interest in watching his face. It would be difficult to do both and he'd rather try to tuck her head under his chin. "You flip around in bed. And remember that it's next to you, you get up and you have to pee." There's a tone he uses when he feels she needs to be reminded of her limitations in this post-pregnancy era, a sort of defensive voice that suggests he knows he's both boring and annoying her and has decided to do it anyway (and for her own good, damnit) - this is not it. This is a murmuring reflection, and as the advice he gives becomes increasingly obvious it seems more likely that he's having a bit of fun with her and her usual attitude that his careful watchdogging is unnecessary as well as overzealous.

Issa's head drops to a tilt as she resists against the pull of his hands, her eyes squinting dryly up at him as he continues though at the same time her smile is dragging slowly wider. "And I'll make sure not to kick her when I'm trying to kick you," she adds last with a bit of sass, though it's followed up by a soft laugh and a playful pinch along his back through the fabric of his shirt. She gives in, then, and flattens herself against him, leaning heavily for another long moment of silence before she separates to undress. Underwear for her too has become the usual, but for a different reason than nighttime watches or holder hang-ups. It's more a consideration for Reyce, really, as there are still restrictions on sex, the healers' and her own, to complicate things. She strips down to bra and panties before pulling down the covers of the bed and lifting Asha into the very middle.

Reyce gives a little 'mm' of agreement, as though that were a wise suggestion indeed, and necessary. The pinch he easily ignores, responding only by stepping up the pressure from his hands to pull her in. That he succeeds, even if it's by her willing capitulation, only adds to his dry amusement, though the comfortable silence that stretches afterwards dims it as he just holds her. But his arms unwrap obediently and even willingly when she starts to draw away, because he of all people does not want to keep her up when she's already indicated that she's tired, and he retreats to his side of the room to do his own partial undressing with his back turned to the room. One of the ways he helps himself is to not watch Issa stripping. Once he's down to boxer shorts and thin gray undershirt, he turns around to watch Asha being settled in the middle of the bed. "Put her on a pillow, or anything?" he asks, although that question would have come better earlier, /before/ he stood there watching Issa set her down as she is.

Issa climbs slowly up onto the bed by that small space left clear by the crib, and stands on her knees at the edge, paused to look at the slightly burbling Asha while Reyce's suggestion sinks in. "Oh. Maybe," she concedes, dropping to all fours then and crawling her careful way over to Asha. Sitting on her heels, she bends over to scoop up the baby again, nodding at him to come and do his part by inching a pillow down into that chosen spot. "See?" she mutters, her words for him though she's peering down at Asha again already, "I told you we could figure this stuff out, between the two of us." And, since Asha doesn't seem very drowsy at all at the moment, Issa takes to rocking gently from side to side.

Reyce takes his own pillow, plumping it up as quietly as he can - which isn't to say very quietly, for pillows have a tendency to be loud and ruffly when you thump them. Since Issa's preoccupied with rocking the child anyhow, he goes ahead and takes the extra minute to settle it down carefully and create a groove for Asha, smoothing out the fabric so it won't trouble her soft skin. "Okay," he murmurs finally, shifting his weight onto the bed so the addition of it afterwards won't jounce the baby's pillow. Like Issa, he kneels, planting his hands on his knees to stay steady while he looks up at her to see how she's coming along with her rocking.

Issa rocks just a couple times more, then one of her side-to-side motions transitions smoothly into a lean over the prepared pillow, Asha lowered lowered softly into the impromptu nest that's been created for her. "There," Issa murmurs as she lifts her hands free. Then, instead of backing away, she simply slides herself down next to her daughter, who's still wide-eyed as she blinks glances at the movement around her. While Issa settles, she drags her own pillow to bridge the normal gap between their sides, leaving a corner free for him when she slides down into a curl around Asha's spot. The covers she leaves to him to drag up. "I don't know how my mother did this alone," she comments quietly while her eyes are glued to Asha's tiny movements. Eventually she lifts her hand, putting it on a collision course with one of the wavering fists, and the tiny hand closes around a finger of the larger instinctively.

But Reyce pushes the pillow back to her, muttering "Sleep without one sometimes," and leaving it at that. Being without a pillow gives him more space to stretch out above Asha, and look down at her without getting in her mother's way. Speaking of, Issa's comment about her own mother has him quiet for a bit, even the sound of his breath receding faintly, till he blows it all away with one soft exhalation. "Don't know," he murmurs, though it seems his attention is wandering from the subject. His soft voice has a distant note hiding in it. "Just so you don't have to," he adds shortly, returning to the present as he lifts one of his own fingers over little Asherei. The other tiny hand seizes this finger, leaving the girl with nothing to wave around but her feet, yet immediately she stops doing this and just gapes her mouth soundlessly while she peers up at her parents.

Issa grins down at the gaping Asha, her own mouth dropping open as if she were a mirror for the girl. With a soft laugh she presses her nose down against the side of the baby’s head, landing a kiss on the smooth skin of her cheek, then slips her hand free to, again, nudge her pillow into the middle. Before Reyce can shove it back, she pins it in place by plopping her head down and is guiding him to join her by a hand flattened against his stubble-covered jaw. “I’m glad to be home,” she tells him seconds before pulling him into a much longer kiss than the one she gave Asha, thanks enough for him assenting to the move. When their lips break, the guiding touch does not; she puts his forehead against hers and holds him there for a moment to urge him to stay, curled over the top of their daughter with her. As her hand is sliding down to entertain Asha’s grasping hand again, she, as predicted, kicks over into his space, foot bumping against his ankle while she shoots him a teasing smile before she’ll twine her leg more tenderly in with his.

Reyce huffs at the pillow, and if she weren't so quick to pin it in place for him he certainly would push it back again, since his hand is already moving towards it. Momentum carries him into pushing it up a bit, but he halts himself quickly, and with another, softer snort. His eyes stay open when her hand touches his cheek, watching her face, but once she has him drawn in for the kiss he closes them again, and claims the pillow she pushed over him. His hand slipped free of Asha's some while ago, and she's beginning to burble about it when Issa mollifies her by giving her a hand. He just sets his hand over her belly, dwarfing her entire body with his palm. "Glad you are," Reyce says, though his words are cut off by a grunt when her foot unexpectedly bumps him. In the dim light of the bedroom, he narrows his eyes faintly against Issa before bumping her back, holding his leg still afterwards so she can twine hers around it. "Feet are cold," he tells her, trapping the one that's twisted over his leg between that and the top of his other foot.

"That's what I have you for," Issa returns in a near-whisper, her smile stretching wider where her lips brush his cheek as the other foot slides its way between his bottom leg and the sheets. The movement stirs at the bottom edge of Asha's pillow and she lets out a few gurgles for the change, causing Issa to lift her head an inch from the pillow to cast a checking glance down at her. "I don't think she's sleepy," Issa ventures quite safely, pausing to watch her finger be moved it a tiny circle by the erratic movement of Asha's own hand. "You should try singing to her," she prompts, in that same whispery murmur as her head returns to the pillow and her eyes return to meet his. Her pinky slips over to nudge playfully at one of the fingers he has draped over Asha, "Maybe that'd do the trick."

The cheek she's resting on jerks inward just after her smile becomes settled on it, dislodging it for an instant and bringing with it a few low, soundless breaths of laughter from Reyce. It brushes warmly underneath her neck. His moment of teasing extracted from her, he opts not to complain about her feet again despite the other cold one now pressing underneath his bottom leg, and just shifts silently to get more comfortable with this arrangement. While she lifts her head to look at Asha, he only tucks his chin and glances steeply down, catching sight of those wavering limbs but probably not of her expression, from this angle. "No," he shuts down her suggestion. "You can if you stay in bed." His rule about Issa not getting up at night for anything baby-related is as literal as it is strict.

"Mmm," Issa hums mildly before deciding teasingly, "No, I think she needs a deep, masculine voice." The hand that's been curled under her moves up to stroke a knuckle down the line of his throat, more a tease to join her words than a coax for that deeper voice. She chuckles lightly then lifts up to peer down at Asha again. "Doesn't look like your father does lullabies, little girl," she offers as an apology to tease the father in question. She frees her finger from the confines of Asha's tinier ones, moving to stroke the back of her finger gently over the baby's thin hair. Both of Asha's hands wave down onto the edge of Reyce's hand once she notices the absence. Issa nuzzles her face back down next to him on the pillow, and her eyes sink sleepily closed. "Maybe she'll just go to sleep if we do," she mutters softly.

Issa's coaxing fingers drag a swallow out of Reyce, his adam's apple bobbing shortly with the motion of her hand, but not a sound. His thumb reaches up towards Asha's hands when they start bumping along the edge of his single one, catching one of the tiny things inside groove of thumb and pointer till its owner starts to struggle free and emits a bleep of protest. Reyce lets her go quickly, abandoning the game with her, though his retreat is still chased by a few dissatisfied gurglings. That could be as much a 'good riddance' as a 'hey, come back here,' since he took away the whole hand that was covering her baby belly. Either way, she's not getting it back. "Yeah," he murmurs, his eyes opening when he says it. With Issa's closed, he has total freedom to run a slow scan over her features. "She doesn't, I'll look after her," he promises, his scan satisfied and his own eyes sinking closed. The hand he reclaimed from Asha brushes Issa now, tracing the same features he just studied, then flattens out beneath the pillow, near his chin.

Uncle Neener

Mon, 23 Jul 2007 05:23:52 GMT

Neiran stops by to check up on the new parents and comes away an uncle of sorts. (Neiran, Reyce, Asherei, Issa)
IC Date: Day 20, Month 1, Turn 4
OOC Date: 7-22-07

In Issa's curtained off area of the infirmary, set apart by Oshisyth's rarely missing presence, holds two sleepers. But it's sort of backwards during these quiet, late hours long after many of the workers have packed up to leave; while usually Reyce can be seen keeping watch over the new mother and baby, Issa's the one alert now, cradling the girl who's been dubbed Asha, for short, and looking down at her sleeping face. The Bendenite is stretched out on a smaller, surely less comfortable cot that's been set up next along the opposite side of the makeshift room, facing the curtain and deeply breathing, finally succumbed to the sleeplessness he'd sustained for so long. On a stool at Issa's elbow lies a cup of tea, poured long ago, if the lack of steam is any indication, and still over half full.

How the fourth Turn of the Pass is so different and yet so similar to the Turn that came before. Look - the healers there change shifts, the ill yet lay in their beds, and Neiran arrives to look over his patient reports as he prepares for another shift the student should probably be using to sleep instead of to work. But no one, least of all Issa, surely, can say that this Turn is chalking up to be exactly the same. After looking over his charts and securing himself a mug of tea, the Journeyman recalls a difference that lies just beyond yonder curtain, with a pang of recollection that has him blinking few times, as though the reality's just sunk in. It de-rails his internalized pre-shift briefing to recall that a pair of his associates have just produced a living, breathing thing, and that he was there to witness it a few days ago. He finds himself walking towards the curtain with his mug in hands, although strictly speaking his shift has not begun yet, and post-delivery care is not truly within his purview. Despite these things, after stepping around the guardian green, there comes a soft fluttering of the curtain that serves in lieu of a knock, and the Journeyman's soft voice. "Pardon me..?"

Oshisyth's warm breath swirls about his ankles as he steps up to that entrance, her large head resting just outside the curtain, but she makes no sound, doesn't stir at the Journeyman's arrival. Issa looks up from her near-sitting position among the host of pillows there to keep her comfortable, the smile already on her face widening just a bit more when she sees him. "Neiran." Her low, murmured voice is barely above a whisper, and just makes it to where he stands. "Come in," she beckons with a slight waving motion of a hand spared from Asha's side for just a moment. She raises a single finger to her lips and taps gently before pointing it at the sleeping Reyce. Then it gets tucked back against the blanketed side of her baby girl. "I told him I'd wake him when I did," she admits to the healer as he nears, "but I think he needs it."

Neiran's eyelids fall halfway across his eyes when he looks towards Reyce's sleeping form, then takes in the bundled babe and Issa's gesture to silence. His acknowledgment and acquiescence comes in the form of one of his barely perceptible nods, and he steps within the curtain's enclosure. "You look well," he whispers, lips moving hardly a fraction for those words. One hand's skeletal fingers curl more securely around his mug, and he uses the other to silently lift the stool and bring it closer, to a position he prefers. He sits there and makes of his thighs a table, booted feet set on the rung of the stool to keep that table elevated and level; he lowers his mug and rests it there, loosely encircled with both hands. Dark eyes lift, and flicker over the woman's face, down to the child. "You named her Asherei." No explanation for the particular source of his information. "May I ask the source of the name?"

As soon as the name's mentioned, Issa nods faintly and returns her eyes to the squinty face of her sleeping daughter. "It's not after Ashwin, if that's what you've heard," Issa answers, the teasing note still evident though her voice is a near-whisper. She looks back up. "The Weyrwoman and I don't share that much." But then the real explanation surfaces, her shoulders trembling up with the beginnings of a shrug, but stopping too short; she makes do with a tilt of her head instead. "We didn't really like any of the combinations of our names. And we wanted something a bit more different, anyway. Then the big green one out there," she shoots a fond glance at the curtain behind which Oshisyth lounges, "wanted to be a part of it, too, and we came up with Asherei." The name rolls off her tongue in a loving whisper, lingered over while she gives the babe another motherly look. "Do you want to hold her?" she asks a beat later with a beaming, excited expression, already lifting the girl from her chest in anticipation of Neiran's acceptance. Why /wouldn't/ you want to hold such a beautiful baby, after all?

Neiran's lips part, invariably to contest the notion that he might have presumed the women to 'share' that much. But Issa continues talking, and some internal sense wisely stifles any attempt to clarification. He takes the opportunity to sip his tea while Issa explains the name, and nods once with satisfaction once she's revealed it. "Draconic input on the family unit," he murmurs out of the blue, regarding the surface of his tea as he utters the words to himself. It sounds like the promising title of a new treatise, simply realized aloud. And then the physician is having a baby lifted at him, the mother grinning expectantly all the while. Neiran balks at first, blinking rapidly to show his unease. But there's really no excuse he can come up with, so he sets aside his mug, smoothes his cassock, and reaches out to take the child with text-book perfect grasp, supporting her back and cradling her head with the most delicate of touches. It occurs to him to utter, "um, thank you," once his arms have become a cradle and he sits back down again, ever so carefully. He stares at Issa, and then down at the infant, eyebrows raised and eyes somewhat rounded. Now what does he do with this thing? "Hello."

Little Asha doesn't do much. Her mouth moves and her face scrunches up just for a second while she stretches a tiny, balled fist up to her forehead; but her eyes remain closed, unresponsive to the quiet greeting she's been given. Issa watches on with that same beaming smile, eyes sticking mostly with her daughter, though she looks occasionally up at the healer that holds her. "Do you plan to have kids?" she murmurs to Neiran on one of those brief glances at his face. Her hands have collapsed down to her lap without the baby to keep them busy, but she reaches up a moment later, attempting to fix her hair into a tighter bun than the one it's held in now.

Chalk it up to the instincts of a father. Reyce has been sleeping quietly on his side of the alcove for some time now, but right after Issa hands his daughter off to someone, he begins to stir. First his arm slips over the edge of the cot, his hand falling to the floor and knuckles knocking softly on the stone. He wakes enough to roll away from the edge, and seems ready to go back to sleep when some half-conscious realization strikes him and he snorts awake the rest of the way. His hair is mussed, his eyes bleary, but he fixes quickly on the strange, non-Issa shape hovering by the bed, wary and forbidding in seconds before his vision clarifies that strange shape to be Neiran. Not up to the task of speaking yet, he pushes himself up on one arm with a nonsensical mumble of greeting, dragging fingers through his mussed hair although failing to put it in good order.

Neiran's puzzled, awkward expression mellows to something milder when the infant stretches, and reminds him its just flesh and blood, comprehensible, not some mystical thing beyond explanation. Issa's question brings a return of that slightly furrowed brow, however. "Ah-" He begins to answer just as Reyce snorts into alertness, startling the healer mildly, evoking a blink. He stares at the tousled Bendenite until it's apparent he's been recognized and is not unwelcome, returning the man's grumbled greeting with a silent nod of his head. The Journeyman returns his gaze to Issa, offers her a small shake of his head. "No, I do not plan to. It would- ...no." That's the simple answer, and he stops himself short of launching into an intricate explanation of the hows and whys, because he has a sleeping baby in his arms. "Would...you like to take her back?"

The first stirrings from Reyce gain a watchful glance from Issa, but she dismisses it as the normal tossing sleep he's been suffering from recently. She just goes back to wrapping her hair up at the back of her head, drawn back only when he startles awake. She watches him wake for a moment, offering a smile that's only the tiniest bit sheepish, before turning to attentively listen to Neiran's reply. "Not even if you get married?" she inquires further, curiosity unsated. When he offers Asha back to her, she contemplates before glancing over to Reyce and murmuring her answer, "Let her father take her for a bit, when he's woken up a bit more." He can't get too mad at her for breaking her promise to wake him with the baby in his arms, after all.

Reyce's eyes flick to Issa after he's satisfied with Neiran's identity, but if he blames her for not keeping that promise he's not bringing the argument into public domain: there's no hint of reproach in that gaze, even though it's cleared. He's not ready to take the kid yet, though, so Neiran will have to hold onto Asha a bit longer while her father pulls himself out of bed and stumbles towards the other two, giving his hair a more systematic brush-through that settles most of the curls. He takes up a new seat on Issa's cot this time, watching the healer with a clear gaze as he waits to figure out what's going on this conversation, and gives the new mother's nearby arm a gentle back-brush with his knuckles.

"In the unlikely event of a marriage, I would...be expected to produce at least one offspring, yes," he agrees, but the way in which he says it suggests both items - marriage and children - would be only a symptom of something dry and political, no doubt, and not so much a choice as the observance of a series of milestones expected of him by society. Pity the wife. Neiran's doing well at keeping his voice at a whisper, not one of those who unconsciously slips back into a normal talking tone - that would only be a fraction louder, in any case. "Family life is not something to which I see myself suited, and it presents itself as an obstacle to my aims rather than an asset, so unfortunately I have little to say in favor of it." The Journeyman presses his lips together on the heels of that statement, recognizing it to be starchier than even he likes. "Nonetheless, I see you are...pleased by these developments, and I am pleased for you." He looks down at the infant one last time, but when Reyce seems settled next to Issa, he rises to pass it to the father, where she rightly belongs.

The tug at the corner of Issa's smile as she listens to Neiran's reasonings about marriage and children shows that she really expected nothing else from him. But when he's done, she nods with nothing but acceptance of his answer. "Thank you," she offers, and though her voice has risen slightly, now that Reyce is awake, it remains soft and low, to accomodate the still-napping baby. "Do you like kids?" is the next ever-curious question that comes as he's handing Asha off, her blue eyes watching the transfer closely though she seems little inclined to interfere or correct either of them in their handling of her daughter. Now without even hair to fuss with, she digs her hands into the sheet that lies loosely at her waist, twisting up its edge in between fidgety fingers.

Reyce takes the kid back when she's passed to him, his caution for his daughter overriding his aversion to touching others to the point that he bumps Neiran's arms several times in his determination to copy the healer's secure hold on Asha exactly. Once he has her, he shifts further back onto Issa's cot, less comfortable for him but more secure of a seat. He adds a reflexive grunt of agreement to Issa's thanks, though it's likely he didn't even hear what she was thanking Neiran for, busy with the little girl as he was. He'll be useful in conversation in a moment, surely, but not while he's getting Asha settled.

The healer wrangles the baby into Reyce's possession as delicately as he can, even with those arm-bumps. There's probably a certain way healers are trained to do this, and a line appears between his brows due to some consternation when Reyce's arms don't follow the prescribed motions. But he can't be expected to know, and Neiran voices no irritation even though he has to endure being touched to finish the move. Afterwards, Neiran smoothes his cassock and returns to his stool, and reclaims his tea, making his thighs a tabletop again. His pinkie skirts the lip of his mug, where his lips haven't touched it. The question causes a purse of his lips, but it's more contemplative than it is displeased. "I do not like them nor dislike them. I don't believe I understand them, so I do not have a particular rapport with them." A pause, either for dramatic effect, or as something occurs to him belatedly. "I did not understand children when I was one." At that moment, he looks at Reyce (the other socialite here), seeking eye contact to ask nonverbally: How about you?

Issa's mouth forms the outling of an unarticulated 'ah' as she nods this time, showing her understanding of Neiran's clarification of his neither liking nor disliking. "I didn't know," she admits, still speaking to the healer though her eyes have a tendency to flick tiny glances the way of Reyce and Asha, "if you wanted to keep up with her as she grows up or not." The twisting motion of her fingers pauses and the unentwined hand lifts a bit to move in an indifferent sort of wave. No pressure or obligation. "Seeing as you were there when she was born," she adds, continuing the casual nature with a half-shrug.

Reyce can spare attention from his daughter long enough to catch that nonverbal question from Neiran, and just like that he moves it direct into the verbal realm. "No," he answers, as though the question had explicitly been posed. "Don't like kids." The one in his arms gets hefted gently, an apology for her father's callousness that she wouldn't understand even if she had been awake (or capable of language yet) when he spoke the offensive words. "And didn't, either, when I was one. Have to figure something out," he supposes, easing the kid back to his chest. He's trying, but he's clearly not getting any more comfortable with the child-holding aspect of this just yet; at least there's no danger of him dropping her, since he's sitting so far back on the cot and has her wrapped up in every way. Then, because he has less consideration for the healer's delicate feelings in this matter, he adds pressure onto Issa's carefully detached interest. "Would be good, you did. Keep up." And before Neiran can start thinking that his classmate's trying to induce him to start liking children, Reyce glances down at the own he spawned. "Can't think it'd be bad for her, you're smart." So there's a compliment in there, albeit one offered as a sidelong complement to an overriding interest in his daughter's welfare.

Another one of those moments - those moments of realization that the stagnant has evolved, things have changed and friends have grown up a little more - drifts through Neiran now. His hands still their idle caressing of his teacup, and to hide a small tic in his lips, he lifts his mug and has a sip. He swallows, lowers it, and faces the parents with a level gaze. "Thank you." For Reyce's compliment, and Issa's invitation. He remains silent another moment, considering and picking his words, structuring them together for maximum effect. "It would please me to...'keep up' with her. It has been a unique experience for me to aid in the delivery of a child created by two individuals who are more than newly learned names on a chart. I have never watched a child grow up...it would be an experience which I would consider an honor and privilege to watch her grow. I am certain she will build on the talents and abilities of her capable parents."

Issa's smile slides slowly wider as Neiran runs through his lengthy acceptance of their offer, though somewhere in it all she darts a knowing glance at Reyce and amusement touches her lips for all the formality. After nodding a swift thanks for the compliment tacked on to the end, she suggests cheerfully, "You could be an uncle of sorts." He may have noticed a few of Asha's other relatives of sorts around, or heard a louder voice than Issa's or Reyce's claiming to be an 'auntie.' "Uncle Neiran," she tries out, then appends with a title she's called him by nearly as much as his name, "or Uncle Journeyman, if you prefer." There's a teasing bit of the decorum he himself is so comfortable with in the second option, good-natured mirth squinting at the sides of her eyes.

Trained with a level gaze, Reyce lets Asha alone so he can meet the healer's serious regard and return a small nod for his compliment. As if aware that a new face has just been added to her life, and she ought pay /some/ attention, the little girl stirs and stretches in her nap, clenched hands reaching up towards nothing before she gives it all up as disinteresting and returns her fists to her chin, where she can nestle them comfortably as she quiets again. Reyce lowers his already-soft voice further for fear that his talking is what bothered motion out of her. "What you want," is his short contribution, catching Issa's mirthful squint in a sidelong glance of his own and puffing out a quiet, easy breath between his nostrils.

Neiran stares for a short period of time, then clears his throat softly. "I suspect my title will be incomprehensible child-gurgles for some Turns to come, and ultimately her preference will overrule any suggestion I might make. So I shall leave it to her ultimate decision." A pause, and a look that slides between Issa and Reyce, unspoken words held in his gaze: And I'll trust the parents not to come up with some ridiculous suggestion to sell to her. "Ultimately," he goes on, dropping a mote of his previous seriousness as he exhales and leans back comfortably on the stool, "it will be an experience which I am certain I will learn from, and I thank you in advance for that." He watches the little thing stretch and settle, and then seems to recall that not too long ago that thing was popping out of the woman on the cot there, because his eyes suddenly fix on her. "I've been rude enough to overlook your health." And now, he seems to realize with a stiffening of his spine, he's on the clock. "How are you recovering, Issa?" Maybe if he asks her questions, he'll be spared any more about his feelings on reproduction.

Issa watches her daughter as she stirs and, as if the girl's stretching was contagious, rises into a stretch of her own seconds later, interlocked hands thrown high above her head as she straightens far less stiffly than the journeyman beside her. She can only stretch up so far, though, before an unpleasant twinge catches her and she falls back to her normal posture again. "My health's being watched so closely now, it's no oversight, believe me," she assures Neiran, though it's Reyce who has her eye, a teasing sort of dryness in her gaze for all his watchfulness. But then she turns to the healer again, and the effect is gone. "I'm well. Still very," and she stresses again, "very sore, but I'm walking now. Shouldn't be much longer before I can leave the bed for someone who needs it more."

Indeed, Issa's stretch has already drawn the careful attention of her attendant Bendenite, who turns his head to the side and watches that little twinge catch her with a flicker of a frown. So really, he walks right into that tease, and when Issa pins it on him there's nothing he can do but meet her eye and heave a tiny snort. His eyes flick to the healer afterwards, scanning his features for any reaction to that interrupted stretch, but his own expression has been kept under strict control and there's no indication from him that he thinks anything of it. "She can leave when?" he asks of Neiran, giving his chin a gentle tug towards the ever impatient patient on the cot beside him. "Mean what's your standard, not the date."

When Issa extends that dryly teasing look towards Reyce, Neiran glances at him, and seems to understand, in some abstract way. If only there were some smirk or twinkle of the eye to acknowledge the humor of it. But he only nods, predictably. Issa's interrupted stretch causes no flash of concern or so much as a tweak of a brow for Reyce to latch on to; he's neutral-faced, unaffected by the manifestations of the kind of soreness he can't even imagine - nor wishes to. "The standard post-delivery stay is anywhere from two to ten days, depending on the particularities of the birth and the woman in question. I saw no memoranda on the chart which would suggest Issa will need to remain longer than tomorrow at most. There are, of course...other, ah, restrictions, but at the very least she will be able to return to her own bed very shortly." Even if she won't be able to have any fun in it. That's a subtext he really didn't mean to touch on - quick change of topic. "I have been enjoying the mind exercises you gave me for my Turnday. Thank you." He draws a long sip of that tea, downing it to have it drunk now that it's become lukewarm.

Issa spares just a moment to gloat, as the healer's outlined plan coincides with her own ideas about what she should be able to do, a sweet smile directed at Reyce for a moment before it turns more genuine and she faces Neiran again. Her hand lifts a few inches to wave away restrictions that she's not concerned about at all. At least she'll be out of bed. "I'm glad," she returns, transitioning with ease to the new subject he selects, especially since the last turned out so well for her. "It was his idea," she specifies, though, chin lifting to indicate Reyce as her smile sweeps up again with more sincerity than the first. Only fair, since she got credit for the one that came before it.

Reyce accepts the healer's judgment with a nod, missing Issa's gloating because instead he looks down at the child - she, after all, gets to leave when her mother does, and that will be new for her. At least he's not so engrossed at to miss the conversation going on around him, so the healer's thanks for the gift he received earns a grunt and the credit Issa gives him for it brings his attention up. "Seemed good," he brushes off that credit with a shrug: quite a simple idea really. He blinks at Neiran afterwards, though, his eyes squinting with sudden thought. "Remembered - you sent a message. Was going to answer when I gave that to you but didn't happen that way," and he gives Asha a small shift, most likely an unconscious one. It finally occurs to him to specify what the message was. "Thought you'd offended me at Turn's End but you hadn't. Didn't mean it to come late." His hands are occupied, preventing his usual upturned palm gesture of apology, but he finds a few fingers free on Asha's underside to lift briefly without dropping the babe. He closes them back down quickly after, lest his judgment prove unwise in this, and darts a quick glance at Issa, who's been left out of this turn of conversation, before swinging back to Neiran.

"I will ensure that you are given a satchel of muscle relaxant teas to go with you when you return to your weyr." That's Neiran's way of wishing Issa well and congratulating her on her imminent departure from the infirmary. He takes another sip of tea, rendering the mug empty, and rises upon swallowing. Reyce's sudden recollection catches him off-guard, and he forestalls whatever he intended to do when he rose in order to listen, his brows sliding upwards by a small degree. "Oh." He does not say that he forgot. He wouldn't forget such a thing if he took the trouble to write an apology note. "I see...I am glad that I had misunderstood your swift departure. I had gathered from our continued interactions that you were not slighted to such a degree that it would alter our interactions, but I had wondered if my jest had been misplaced. Now I see that it was nothing. Thank you for reassuring me." If he's embarrassed about the misinterpretation, he has the grace at least not to look it. He looks between the members of the new family then, and before a new angle of conversation can appear, he gestures vaguely towards the curtain. "I apologize, but I must begin my duties now." He seems mildly displeased to have to end his socialization, but only for a moment. "I am required to remove a stone from a man's kidneys in a short period of time."

Issa looks mildly surprised as the conversation turns to a subject she didn't know even existed, but curiosity wins out over that fleeting sentiment and she listens closely as the situation resolves itself. She pins Reyce with a look that suggests he'll be telling her the details of the situation they refer to before long. But when Neiran announces he's off to tend to a more dire case, Issa smiles pleasantly and offers a, "Thanks, Neiran," for any number of unnamed things. Then she adds, "We'll see you around." Her hand reaches out, but her reach as it is, she has to be content to flick a wave and pat down to the edge of the bed rather than to his shoulder.

When Issa pins him with that look in return, Reyce only shrugs as he's turning back to absorb Neiran's response. For the lengthy thanks he receives on his choppy, ill-organized offering, the Bendenite offers another one of his nods: manly understanding, we have discussed this thus it is now resolved. The first word out of him comes later, when the healer alerts them to the demands on his schedule and the holder answers, "Okay." Since Issa's diplomatic enough to remember the thanks, he gives a nod of another variety, this one confirming that the sentiment is shared if left unspoken on his part. "See you," at least, he does go ahead and echo verbally.

The Journeyman healer sees that look - the look that suggests Issa will demand an explanation - but does not balk at it. Either it's a small thing, or he trusts in his friend's discretion. Likely both. Like water off a mallard's back, the issue seems to be resolved between Neiran and Reyce officially when the healer returns the other man's nod. "I shall see you both shortly. I'll have that tea sent to you so you may take it when you leave. Congratulations once again, and thank you. If you have any further concerns, do not hesitate to bring them to my attention." Not just the infirmary, but his own attention; doctor Neiran is officially on-call. Those sentiments offered, he bows and ducks out of the curtained area, taking his mug with him. In a few hours, as foretold, only a few cots over there'll be the unnerving rustling and bustling and groaning of an unfortunate weyr-man having a kidney stone surgically removed.

Asherei

Sat, 21 Jul 2007 07:29:04 GMT

The girl needs a name. (Reyce, Issa)
IC Date: Day 18, Month 1, Turn 4
OOC Date: 7-18-07 to 7-20-07

Hours after the birth of that little girl, her mother sleeps. The baby’s had a warm bath by now and got bundled into a clean blanket before being tucked down next to Issa on the cot. The new mother has curled up amidst her small pile of pillows for her nap, one arm wrapped around her daughter while she presses her nose gently against her baby’s little cheek. Dinner has since fallen by the wayside, but someone must have taken it on themselves to remember for the new parents, for an infirmary assistant maneuvers his way around the attentive Oshisyth and into the little alcove with a tray of food enough for two. Reyce’s reputation seems to have circulated around the infirmary, for the boy glances somewhat warily at him as he steps forward to slide the tray to the top of a stool. Silently, he nods at the Bendenite, then retreats. The baby stirs with a tiny sound, a hybrid between a hiccup and a cough, then fusses a bit more loudly, her eyes blinking open as she wriggles weakly in her blanket covering, but not loudly enough yet to wake Issa.

Reyce has taken up a sentry position on his little stool, and hasn't moved from it - for his own dinner or anyone else's - since Issa and the baby settled in. His eyes flip warily to the assistant as soon as he enters, watching him carefully and with a clear warning in his eyes: make any noise, I'll hurt you. Lucky for him he's already perfected the art of tiptoeing around sleeping patients, so Reyce doesn't have to hurt him. Instead he returns that nod, though his attention is swiftly grabbed away - and his threat exposed as an empty one - when the baby stirs anyway, and he turns to her without another thought for the retreating assistant. Eyes on Issa, he carefully inches closer and brings his face near the little girl's, one finger slowly extended to her chin. A heavy breath puffs out of him when he finally looks down to her, not daring to take her from Issa's arms but trying to keep her occupied and silent despite her wriggling.

The baby's mouth gapes after that finger that appears at her chin, then a hand slips free from the blanket to grope wildly upward, tiny fingers colliding with the large one above her and wrapping tightly around its width. This does distract her and for a moment her confused, squinted eyes blink up at him. Then her face wrinkles again, a brief presage of the burbling cry she lets out. Issa wakes slowly, her face turning towards Reyce as she senses his presence above the pair. The crying registers a few seconds later, and her eyes blink away her sleepiness quickly then, her draped hand sliding up under Reyce's without unseating it, to touch fingertips down softly on the opposite cheek. "Shh," she whispers down at her, and she tries to shift up onto her elbow, but stops short halfway with a muffled grunt. "You think she's hungry?" she murmurs in a sleep-rasped voice, leaning forward to press shushing lips against the side of their baby's head. None of it quiets the insistent little wail.

When that hand starts whapping around his own, Reyce freezes, keeping that finger absolutely still so it's easier for her to catch it. His eyes meet her confused ones quietly, although that wrinkle that warns of a coming cry gets him to snuff at her, giving his finger a nudge within her grasp: come on, pay attention to this. She cries anyway, and his eyes dart to Issa. He watches her tend to the baby, moving his arm up slightly so it's easier for her hand to get through for those nudges and nuzzles. "Don't know," he admits, looking down at the squalling girl. "She might be." He starts to pull his finger back, the little hand having loosened its hold in the distraction of crying, but the tiny fist immediately tightens again and the wailing grows louder. Reyce pulls his lips into his mouth and shoots Issa an apologetic look for having stirred the kid up already.

Issa glances away from the crying baby next to her as she listens to Reyce's answer, and her lips bend up in a second's reassuring smile before she turns down to puzzle out the crying again. When a few more delicately placed fingertip caresses don't do the trick, she loosens the girl's blanket and then goes about loosening her own tunic, untucking it from under her bulk and dragging it upwards. Modesty is apparently no issue, for her stretch-marked belly and breasts are bared without any hesitation or glance for the opening leading to the larger infirmary. She scoots the girl in closer, focuses down on her while those tiny hands waver onto her breast and the crying mouth finally latches down. Issa smiles slowly, unconsciously, as she makes a few minor adjustments of the babe's position, murmuring, "There. There we go." After a moment more of watching, her head plops wearily back to the pillows and amidst the tiny suckling noises the girl makes, she tells Reyce, "We're probably going to need to call her something soon," with a faint note of humor.

Now that he has his finger back, Reyce curls it into the center of his palm, making his own soft fist around the affected area. While Issa doesn't have any concern for outside glances, he still has a sense for it, and the baring of her breasts makes him look sharply at the entrance, ready to glare off any passing assistants. There is no one, however, but Oshisyth. "Yeah," he murmurs back to Issa. He's silent for a moment, watching the girl suckle, then he breathes out a sigh and reaches for the stool on which their dinner's balanced. Keeping his voice soft for the baby's sake, he lists their contents briefly, since the stool's too tall for Issa to see it from the bed. That done, he plants his hands on his knees and, without touching the food, looks at Issa's face.

Issa watches Reyce drag over the food tray, an eyebrow lifted for its yet-unnoticed presence, while the girl is securely cradled into place with her arm. While he lists her choices, her eyes wander and she considers each one, and in the end they all get a tiny lip twist of indifference. "You go ahead," she tells him, free shoulder lifting in a soft half-shrug, then promising, "I'll eat when I'm a bit more awake." And when she doesn't have a baby hanging from her. Tilting her chin down again, her eyes fall to the contented girl. "We could call her Assbite, if you want," Issa teases dryly, not even bothering to look up to catch his reaction to it. "Assi for short." Nevermind that it's only her name backwards.

Reyce lifts an eyebrow back at her - she's not going to eat - and is probably on the verge of insisting when she promises to do so later. His eyes linger on her, though his face is already turning towards the tray, just to let her know that he will be remembering that promise. "Doesn't look like it," he tells Issa simply, turning his attention wholly to the food now. He starts with a piece of bread, slapping a huge gob of butter on his knife and spreading it out with a few efficient swipes. "You call her that in front of her," he continues in a few moments, returning a faint, but distinctively reproachful, frown to the greenrider as he folds the first bite of his bread into his mouth.

Issa's eyes dart up to Reyce, a smile pushing back and showing the teasing bent of her last comment more obviously. "Oh, she's not paying attention to anything else," she says, gaze turning down with a softer adoration to the girl again, "look at her." As if Reyce really could, with the babe's face turned in to her breast, her hand and that blanket blocking most of the rest. But almost as if in apology, on of her fingers strokes gently back along the back of her tiny head.

Indeed Reyce can't, so after looking at the back of the girl's head for a second he looks back at Issa. Her, he can look at. The soft adoration on her face eases him, the reproach vanishing behind another bite of bread that leaves his expression calm. "Shouldn't anyway," he tells her, but the words are too gentle to carry any weight. The bread's finished in another giant bite, leaving his hand free; he swipes it on the sides of his pants to be sure there's no butter or crumbs on it and rests his fingers very gently on the edge of the bed, close enough to establish some kind of connection without disturbing the moment between mother and child.

Issa doesn't answer that, simply continuing to watch their baby while she's suckling away quietly, her smile faded away to neutral. Her eyes catch the movement of his fingers slipping over to the bed and she follows the line of his arm up to his face. "What do you suggest we call her, then?" she asks, all teasing pushed aside to ask sincerely now. The little girl loses her hold on the nipple and emits a whining complaint, which Issa must duck her gaze to attend to, but after she peeks back up, interested in his answer.

Reyce pulls a breath in heavily through his nose, letting it flare his cheeks as well while he looks down on the crying, greedy thing that is his daughter. "I don't know," he admits, puffing all that air out at once as he looks back to Issa. His hand overturns on the edge of the bed, lifting toward her: her opinion is requested.

Issa glances up to see that hand, it's meaning gleaned in a quick second then turns back down to look at their subject, that greedy little thing. Her face takes on a pondering set, eyes thinned with thought and mouth hanging open just slightly. "Mmm. I like your name," she muses aloud. "Reyce," she mouths, stretching the first sound out softly before cutting it off with a crisp sibilant. "I want her to have it somewhere." She gives a little shake of her head while pausing, then voices, "Reysa's too obvious, too close. Same thing with Rissa," she adds, snorting softly while wrinkling her nose. Next she mutteringly fires out sounds, mashed versions of their names that aren't quite full versions of names themselves, just fuel for thought. "Riss, Liss, Ril, Rel, Rey, Sey... what about Risseya?" Reyce gets a lifted brow then, her own thought for the name summed up with a quirk at the corner of her mouth and a simultaneous lift of her shoulder.

Reyce just sits there, watching her while she considers the options. A stool is not the most comfortable seat and he repositions himself quietly, dropping his knees to either side and lifting his feet up on the lowest bar beneath him, forming a sort of frog-like squat. Funny-looking, sure, but apparently more comfortable for him. "Risseya," he repeats, looking at the little girl. He puffs his cheeks again, to pause his speech and the thought with it. "Could call her Riss," he continues when he speaks again, a musing note that he cuts off with a headshake. "Same thing again, it's close. She doesn't look like one," he adds, lifting his fingers towards the tiny girl.

"Yeah," Issa agrees, staring down at the girl in question. Her feeding has become slower, the sounds she makes filling with intermittent burbles along with the more intent sucking. With a gently poking finger, Issa adjusts her hold on the breast, meanwhile venturing thoughtfully, "We could use the first part of my name, I suppose. Leysa," she gives as an example, but then shakes her head lightly. She explains a beat later. "I like 'rey,'" she explains, rolling the syllable over her tongue and lifting a little smile to him as she realizes it's partly a compliment for him. "Lireyna," she tries, but then wrinkles her nose with a faint snort again. The baby at her breast gets her attention again, as she's stopped eating altogether; Issa tries once more to prompt suckling before giving it up, swiping the baby's wet mouth with her thumb. "I think I have to burp her now," she mutters, mostly to herself as she directs a puzzled bit of a frown down at their daughter. Then she's beginning to push herself up with her arms, inch by slow, sore inch, to a more burping-appropriate, sitting position.

As hard as he worked to find that comfortable frog-seat, it's surely no surprise by now that Reyce gives it up to pull his chair forward, leaning in towards Issa as she pulls herself up. Now that the huge weight of the belly is off her, he doesn't make himself as intrusive with the hands pushing at her directly, but he does hover nearby and he still tugs her pillows around to cushion her lower back as she sits up. Once that's done, he leans back slowly - hands still outstretched in the manner of someone who has just delicately balanced a bunch of items, and fears to disturb them by breathing wrong. "Sarei," he suggests, once he's leaned back all the way. There's a beat between him speaking the name and him lowering his arms to a more normal. "Sareya."

Issa breathes out long and slow as she settles back onto those arranged pillows once again, but on hearing the name Reyce suggests her face drifts away from the forced relaxation to a shallower dislike, nose squinched up again and her head shaking. "Sounds like 'sorry,'" she explains, that simple fact enough to make it unsuitable to her. "I like it at the end, though," and while one hand goes to the little girl at her side, keeping her put despite the fact that her wriggling is minimal now that she's fed, the other catches him by the wrist and draws him down. "Sit," she directs him, but gives no more than that initial tug to guide him. Without her only slightly deflated belly in the way, there's plenty of room beside her legs. "Sa-rei," she tries again, emphasizing the second syllable. "Larei? Asrei?" They're each tried out across her tongue, but neither of them seem to get anything more than a passing consideration. Gingerly, then, she begins to gather up their daughter, making sure her hands are placed before lifting her, bundle and all, to her shoulder. Her tunic fell some with the movement, and quickly she gives it another tug down before returning her hand to the more important task.

Reyce doesn't seem displeased that his suggested name was rejected, and gives another look at the scrunched up face that's supposed to inspire a name. He watches the girl for a moment, then gives up the effort to Issa's musings and responds to that tug she gave his wrist, getting obediently back up from his chair and moving to her side. One hand drapes idly along the bed, but the other lifts to Issa's leg and rests their quietly while she figures out how to burp her newborn daughter. "Esrei," he suggests instead, but he doesn't seem to like that much himself, pulling his lips into his mouth. He tries looking again, angling his body so he can see a glimpse of his nameless daughter's face. Unfortunately, it is still red and scrunched and newborn, and doesn't inspire him any more now than it did before. "Arei," he murmurs to himself, taking the offending 'S' off the previous suggestion. "Arei, Irei, Erei," he mulls quietly to himself, but neither of them solidifies an idea in his mind. With a shrug and a slightly crinkled forehead, he looks back to Issa. As evidenced by his dog, pretty names are not his forte.

Issa listens to the names he mumbles off without clinging to a one of them, eyes on his face while her hands are maneuvering around a task much observed but never tried. Her pats to the baby's back are featherlight at first, just the flats of her fingers tapped down. "Mmm," she muses, though after the hum comes no new suggestions. That might partially be the distraction of her listening, ear slightly cocked for the baby draped against her shoulder, for the tiny sounds she'll make. "Sa. Essa," she mumbles under her breath, but shakes her head minutely, at a loss and looking like it when her eyes drift back to Reyce. But the expression doesn't last long, nor does the eye contact, a slightly amused smile quickly taking over as she redirects her attention beyond him, to the green in the entryway. "Oshisyth sullenly reminds us that she's here, too," Issa informs him with the slightly official tone sometimes used for such translations. Laughing breathily, she continues her burping pats. "Osrei?" she tries, but can hardly get through the long 'o' sound before snorting her dislike of the combination. Oshisyth behind him huffs as well.

Reyce drops his gaze to the baby, watching those little pats with a studying eye as Issa feels her way through the process. He doesn't make eye contact at all, therefore, when she winds up distracted by Oshisyth, though he does look at the green shortly afterwards. "Oshrei," he tries in return, softening the long 'o' that put both dragon and rider off and restoring the green's 'sh'. It's plain he doesn't like the result much, though, for his eyes squint up with displeasure as he slushes his way through the jumbled consonants.

Issa returns another suggestion, removing the troublesome 'o' altogether and alleviating the jumbled consonants that trip him up. "Shirei?" is how it comes out. She thinks it over while she pauses to steal a sideways glimpse of the newborn's scrunched face, a combined burp check and name check. "Shirei," she repeats musingly. "I like it. Not much of my name in it," she mentions, through from the way her non-burping shoudler lifts it's only a minor drawback, "but I like it." The tapping of her hand against the baby's back gradually grows stronger, and here and there she tosses in a slow rub for a change of pace. The girl's head flops to the side and Issa presses her cheek aside to meet it in a subtle contact, a slow blink dropping and a bit of a smile lifting as she does so. Her eyes flick over to Oshisyth, then, the look as adoring as the ones she's been giving the unnamed daughter since she arrived earlier in the day. A conversation passes between them, lightning quick and silent as usual, then Issa speaks, "Sherei," the transition between the syllables softer, more flowing. With lifted brows, she turns her eyes on Reyce.

"Shirei," Reyce repeats, his breath softening over the name. He leans in to look at the tiny face, his own cheek brushing close to Issa's as he peers down, agreeing with sentiment - that she likes it - with a delayed, but definite puff. He leans back as Issa mixes up her burping efforts, planting both his hands on his knees again. His head tilts down and he seems prrepared to wait out the rest of the burping process when Oshisyth insists on a revision, to which his immediate reaction is a sniff. "Should have more of your name in it," he asserts, now that the name is in the air again. He lifts his gaze to Issa, meeting those raised brows, with a small twist of his lips. "Asherei," he suggests. "Could have the letters." If not the sound, excepting the switch of that final A to the beginning.

"Asherei." The name is just breathed as Issa tests out the shape of it in her mouth, her gaze tucked sideways toward the baby again. The burping is deemed done and, with one hand carefully bracing the little girl's head, she lowers her to her lap, resting her in the slight dip between her thighs. Seeming content and now sleepy, letting out a small yawn, the baby lies mostly still as the blanket is resettled around her. "We could spell it with an 'i' instead of a 'y,'" Issa continues with the idea of using the letters of her name, putting the beginning at the end since they've put the end at the beginning. "Asherei," is repeated again, murmured voice matched with the squinty face that she stares down at now. A smile bends up along with it and she slips Reyce a glance. "I like it," she murmurs, eyes lit with subdued excitement. Then it's back to the baby again, a knuckle trailed lightly down her red, rounded cheek. "It's different. Pretty."

This time, Reyce looks at the dragon first, his eyes skimming across her inscrutible draconic face for any hints of a response. Finding none he can interpret, he turns back to Issa, shifting further down the bed so he's sitting by her knees, and it's easier for him to see the baby. "It's too big for her," he decides, reaching his own finger out to touch the tiny mouth. He tests her features carefully, drawing his fingertip along the tiny lines slowly, lest he aggravate her. He ends by brushing his fingers over the thin mop of hair on her head. "It's good, though. Call her something till she grows into it. Asha," he tries, withdrawing his fingers and looking at them. The tips brush together gently. "Ashei. Shey." His eyes move from fingers to baby, from baby to mother as he awaits her input.

Issa's eyes switch back and forth between watching the movement of his fingers and the set of his expression, mouth pursing down a bit when he declares the name she likes to be too long. The expression is swept away, though, when it's shortenings he suggests rather than a change; a smile is ready to replace it, brimming with serene pleasure, her teeth peeking back into view as she repeats, "Asha." And it's not hard to see why-- the nickname resembles her own, even if the full name does not. Oshisyth speaks her approval only in her lack of protest, remaining crouched quietly, her chin resting on the floor mere feet from the foot of the bed.

"Then Asha," Reyce allows, giving the babe a final glance as her identity is set. When he looks back at Issa, he takes the time to quirk the corner of a smile for her, and extend that feature-tracing finger to her face. He echoes the same movement, starting with the smile on her lips and ending with a light brush over the top of her much thicker hair. "It's good," he murmurs, picking his fingers free when they get stuck in her mussed curls. "I like it. Like her," he adds, tilting his cheek towards the nestling baby but sparing only a brief glance away from Issa. When his hazel eyes return to meet her blue ones, another smile tries its luck, getting so far as to quirk both corners of his mouth.

The quirk of a smile he gives her doubles her own, and she grins at him as he ends those tracing strokes, her recognition of the repetition of them revealed only in her slow and slightly amused exhalation before he speaks. "Me too," she confides as if it were a secret. Though she spares much more of a glance for newly-named Asherei, her hands are all his now, sliding away from the bundling blanket to snag his shirt instead, drawing him slowly closer. "I keep trying to imagine what she's going to look like," she tells him in that same low tone, voicing a common goal with those searching touches of his. "And sound like. How she's going to play." Her hands circle around to flatten on his lower back, keeping him in a wide embrace as she ducks her head back to look at him. "But I can't, really."

Reyce waits for her gaze to return to him, then as soon as it does, he kisses her. The first one is a stolen peck, but he returns to make a better showing for himself, lingering over her mouth with his eyes closed. "Can't imagine," he replies, once it's out of his system and his face rests close to her own, "she'll be calling me her father. Where she's going to be, what I'm going to do with her, turns ahead. Be different," he decides, with a long heavy breath pushed out, as his eyes finally reopen and he rolls them down to catch a glimpse of Asha.

Issa's eyes droop closed along with his during that lingering kiss, fingers pressing responsively into the muscles of his back, but they open much sooner than his. She takes advantage of that moment to look over every detail of his face while he speaks. Her gaze follows his when it reappears, looking down at the now dozing Asha, who has a fist curled up next to her tiny chin, but she's ready with a nosing nuzzle when he returns to her, pressing against his stubbled cheek. "What /do/ you want her to call you?" she asks quietly, lifting her nose away so she can meet his eye again. "Pa?" she teases, using the twangy drawl that those from the backwater mountain cotholds tend to have.

Reyce snorts, drawing back so he can give her his reproachful look. "Not that," he answers drily. Now that he's reclaimed his personal space, he decides it's necessary to stretch, the small of his back arching against the circle of her hands while he pulls his body back. Having spent the past few hours cramped on that tiny stool, his bones have plenty of protests of their own in the form of little pops and cracks as he ducks his spine back, then twists from side to side. It seems to relieve him, and he settles back - settles, that is, into his usual good posture - with a relieved sigh, even though his buy-time maneuver has run out on him. "Not Father," he decides. "Would think she's talking about mine." Suddenly he pauses, his upper lip beaking out, and he sends Issa a funny little look. If she's very adept, she may recognize the mixture of wonder and befuddlement in his face, as if the thought of Asha talking keeps striking home a little harder. He pops out of it with another breath. "Dad, think it would have to be. Little girl, anyway - always call their father Daddy." And that's such so strange he has to squint his eyes against it while he speaks it.

Issa simply smiles at him when he settles back down to decide, the same expression greeting his odd face as well as his decision. "Daddy and Mommy," she assigns to herself with a laughing breath. For all her smiling, it's an odd thought for her to comprehend, too, and her eyes flit around the room as she mulls it over for a moment. Eventually they land on that forgotten tray and her circling hands release him as she says, "Bring the food over." Her touch trails down his legs, his knees receiving a parting squeeze as she adds, "I doubt you'll let me get back to sleep if I don't eat something." Little Asha is left where she is for the moment, Issa's hand hesitating nearby as if loathe to disrupt the baby's sleep in the slightest.

Reyce wouldn't let her get back to sleep with that promise unfulfilled, and he confirms this with an arch brow as she sets him free. He shifts off the bed, moving slowly since he, too, fears disrupting Asha's sleep, and moves to the stool which their now cooled lunch rests upon. Leaning down, he clasps a hand around one leg of it and inches it closer, wincing and pausing for the two or three rattles he gets as the wheels jag over the stone. Seeing the quandary she faces, with Asha on her lap and no room for the tray, Reyce gestures at the tray while reclaiming his old spot on the other stool. "Get what you want for you," he offers, swiping himself another piece of bread to butter up and munch on while she decides.

Issa winces a bit as she straightens to get a good look at the food that was listed off for her earlier, but the expression fades quickly and seems unconnected to the meal at hand. "Um, just..." she ponders, lightly enough despite the twinge, "make me a sandwich from the roast slices. And a couple of those in the meantime," she adds, pointing to a small bowl of crisp cucumber slices at the near edge of the tray before cupping her hand to receive them. At least the infirmary workers had the foresight to include plenty of finger foods. "I'm going to try walking around in the morning," she tells him while he's busy carrying out her wishes, sharing her plan without prompting. "The sooner I get back to riding, the sooner we can move back up."

When she requests a sandwich, Reyce pauses mid-chew - he's been munching down the bread, after all - but in addition to its foresight regarding finger foods, the infirmary also thought to include plenty of slices, which he notices after shoving aside a small block of cheese that was hiding the rest of the bread from him. Now that he's sure they're well supplied, he picks up a couple of the requested cucumbers and puts them into her palm. "Walk's okay," he answers, turning back to the bread already. "Don't want you pushing it too hard. You tire yourself it'll take longer." Since she didn't direct him not to add things to her sandwich, he starts putting things on top of the roast: cheese, lettuce, thin tomato slices, and as an experiment, those cucumbers she's eating. He considers the pile a moment before slapping yet another slice of meat on top, hiding it under a final piece of bread and holding the finished product out to her.

Issa munches and stares down idly at Asha while Reyce is throwing caution to the wind with that sandwich creation, humming an bored-sounding, "Mmm." It's the same advice she's been hearing for nine months on the nose, now. "I'm tired of waiting," she says while waiting to slip that last half-moon slice of cucumber into her mouth, "I'm not going to do any more than is necessary now," she finishes with a satisfying crunch as she finally sinks her teeth into it. It's a small concession, though, for all her firmness; the necessary waiting will be done, after all. "Anyway," she continues with less resolve, turning her gaze up to him and the sandwich awaiting her, "the sooner we get her settled, the better." With the sandwich squished in between both hands, she leans slightly sideways on the pillows to eat it, unconcerned for fallen crumbs as long as they're not falling over the baby's clean blanket. The tiny bite she takes at first is followed by a bigger, greedier one at the next turn, the only appreciation seen for the experimental spirit he put into it.

She is surely not done with hearing that advice, however tiresome it has become, for Reyce gives her a wary look when she takes her frustration with waiting out loudly on the cucumber. He eases off what seems to be a waiting response when she at least concedes that she won't do more than necessary, and he goes about making his own sandwich. He must be in an experimental mood today, or perhaps he feels an impulse to use up all the many options the healers found necessary to provide, for his own meal is comprised of fish - meant for the plate, not for his sandwich - more lettuce, more cucumber, mayonnaise that didn't appear for Issa, and a slapped over top of chopped nuts. Anything that happens to be in front of him, really. "Yeah," he agrees, sucking a mis-applied bit of mayo from the side of his knuckle. "But she's going to get settled there first," apparently the ground weyr, "and don't want to rile her up too early with another move." The first bite of sandwich goes in, and if it's an odd combination, he doesn't seem to notice or care.

Issa's eyes skip over to him from a watch on the contents of her sandwich, pausing in making sure they don't spill out to consider him over her chewing. "You don't think she'd be more riled if she got used to the place and then we took her out of it?" she asks him, keeping her voice simply curious though the faint squint in her eyes betrays her minor annoyance that he insists on delaying the return to her weyr. As if she could provide some sort of answer herself, Asha is given a glance while she sinks her teeth into another corner of the sandwich.

Reyce hadn't considered the problem from that viewpoint, and once again he's paused midchew. This time he watches Asha, sleeping beatifically on Issa's legs, for a while until he finishes his chew. "Don't know," he admits, looking back to Issa in time to catch the subtle squinting of her eyes. He squints back, withdrawing slightly. "Don't know if she notices," he continues, rumbling a bit of caught food at the back of his throat. It shakes free, and with it goes the hint of gruffness that appeared in his voice just there. "So maybe doesn't matter." He tilts the sandwich around, chasing the mayo that threatens to slip free in a few places; quickly, he decides which of those places is the most likely to drip free on him and mechanically bites it off.

Issa nods her agreement while dealing with a bite, but when she speaks, it's clear that it does matter. To her. She exhales deeply over the last few chews then admits more softly, "I just miss it, that’s all. The couch, the fire, our own bed. All of it. I want to get back, set everything up how it's going to be, get comfortable again." She steals a glimpse of him, gauging how he's receiving it so far before it's back down to the sandwich; it's far less likely to fall apart now, but she fusses over it anyway, altering her hold and squeezing it down firmly. "It's already been over a month. I don't want it to be another." A single finger pokes a cucumber back into the fold and then she slips that section into her mouth.

Reyce is blank-faced as he receives this information, his eyes fixed on her patiently while his mouth chews away on that sandwich he created for himself. "Okay," he answers. His hand stretches across the space between them, brushing her shoulder with the backs of his knuckles. "Get it done." The sandwich has to wait for a moment while he talks to her, although he's uncomfortably aware of the food stuck in his gums and during the pause his tongue makes a quick swipe, pushing out his cheek. "Just don't want you hurt," he finishes, once his gums are clear. Recalling his hand, he grabs the sandwich again and bites down on it.

As the sandwich grows smaller in her grip, Issa’s bites do likewise; she nibbles at the edge while she listens to him. “I’m not going to push it that far,” she assures him, lifting her eyes to him once again. They stick this time and while she chews her lips turn up into a slip of a smile. “I managed to last for turns without you here to keep me in check,” she says, infusing a touch of humor along with that smile. Then she pushes the entire rest of her sandwich into her mouth, a mouthful to be sure but not an unmanageable one; she’s still able to push her smile around it at any rate.

"You got lucky," Reyce tells her, then pushes the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth while she's still nibbling away at hers. He glances at it, then pulls a glass towards himself and fills it with some cool water provided in a metal pitcher. His eyes fix on her while he holds the glass out, clearly expecting that she'll need a drink after that sandwich.

Issa fulfills his expectation, hand sweeping up slowly to meet the glass as soon as it's offered. "And what makes you think you're going to make me any luckier?" she retorts playfully, blue eyes fixed on him when she lifts the glass for a sip, obscuring her smile. That sip and one more is all she takes before pushing the glass back at him, gesturing with a nod for it to be placed on the tray again, presumably for later use. Her hands wipe lightly along the sheets before returning to Asha's sides, picking her up gently and placing her flat on the bed again, just to her side as she was before. She begins to inch down then, twinges of a pained frown appearing as she slowly scoots toward a lying position again.

Reyce keeps the glass out for a few moments longer, eyeing her, but eventually he decides to yield to her wish in this instance and he brings the glass back so he can take a drink. "Don't have any luck," he admits first. Once he's had a chance to glug down some water, and stamp the glass down on the tray - a habitual action for which he quickly repents, wincing as he casts a guilty look towards Asha - he continues in a sidelong murmur to Issa. "Just look after you." He lets his gaze rest on the babe a moment more, then drags it up to look at Issa again. He spies her panged frown, but there's nothing he can do about those post-natal pangs, so he just touches her forehead gently and draws apologetically away.

Asha turns in her blanket, tiny frown pulling at her sleeping face, but she seems otherwise unperturbed by the slam of the water glass. "Ah," Issa comments for his clarification, and then she's busy rearranging herself, smile soon dissolved in the soreness that absorbs her for a moment. One last grunt rushes out of her as her head falls flat against one of her pillows again and she looks up at him. "Reyce, I'm sorry... but I don't think I'm ever going to have sex again." Half a smile quirks up, proving that it's said at least half in jest.

Reyce freezes, his hand still hovering in the space between them, when she apologize to him. His eyes flick back and forth across her features in the second he has before she deflates his reflexive panic with the beginnings of a smile. He puffs out heavily, catching the air in his cheeks and buying himself a moment while he glances down at his hand. "You have a mouth," he reminds her, bringing his hand back to her face. Despite the raunchy nature of the conversation, he offers gentle, easy strokes that follow the lines of her cheek and brush out from the bridge of her nose along her eyebrows. "Go to sleep," he suggests, lowering his warm, dry fingers to brush over her eyelids one at a time.

A low chuckle rumbles slowly up from her throat for his answer to her little problem, her smile growing even more lopsided with amusement as she squints a fake reproach at him. His slow strokes turn that half smile to a full one, though, and she quiets with a sigh, eyelids lowering slowly long before he drags his fingers over them. She mumbles an assent, letting him completely take care of her for the moment at least, and doesn't open her eyes again, nuzzling her cheek into the pillow next to Asha, sighing softly as she waits to slip into sleep again.

Another baby? (Part two)

Tue, 17 Jul 2007 07:23:15 GMT

Part one...

Missima's brow lifts for Reyce's response, but her smile, like Issa's often does, only grows stronger for the adversity. She waits a beat more there standing before her hand gives his shoulder another pat before retreating. The rest of her retreats to the stool that Neiran abandoned moments before as she addresses Issa with a tease for Reyce, "I'd forgotten how territorial they can get with this sort of thing." Issa just snorts softly as she drains her tea and wordlessly hands the empty mug off to Reyce, letting it hover over his leg until he gets the message. There's a peek taken into the duffel dropped off near her, and a nod of thanks given to the low man on the totem pole that dropped it off. But then it's back to the predicted womanly talk, spanning everything from contraction intensity to exactly what Issa was doing when her water broke.

The hours that pass are filled with other such mundane concerns: gathering pillows from unused beds, small talk to make the waiting less anxious, teaching Reyce his way around a Go board. Reclining, pacing and reading in turns. It's all punctuated by uncomfortable breaks, of course, including those cervix checks and slow trips to the chamber pot, as well as the constant contractions that run under everything like a building tide slowly eroding stone into sand. Missima stays for a while, then goes to settle things with her classes for the day, issuing promises to return with a late lunch for them all and make it back before things really get going.

Which now, late-afternoon after a bite to eat and a bit more reading, seems to be getting nearer. At last check she was around seven centimeters and progressing quickly. Contractions have been coming closer and closer together, a matter of a few measly minutes between them now, and they steal Issa's breath when they come over her. She lets out a grunted breath and a few more panting ones before she asks, "Could I maybe get more of that tea?" Slowly, she relaxes back onto the pillows that are piled behind her, and her hands slip from the top of her belly to the sides. Missima has set up camp on that stool, balancing a strip of hidework on her knee, switching between peering down at it through a set of rickety old spectacles, occasionally making a useful mark on it, and paying attention to her daughter.

Neiran has been a shadow presence flitting in and out of the alcove as necessity seems to dictate and time allows. But now that he's been informed of the time between the contractions, he's left off his restless tackling of homework, chatting silently with Reyce, and tending to other patients in order to be with Issa. Reyce gets the occasional dolorous look, like a puppy who's chewed up master's favorite hunting boots and has yet to be reprimanded for it. No doubt he's still feeling a little awkward about those cervix checks, despite how he tried to be professional and prim about the whole matter. With Missima hogging his stool, he obtained another one for himself a little earlier, and now rises from it to make himself useful and fetch another bit of tea for the woman. "Here," he says, when he returns with the steaming mug and offers it to the woman. "You are progressing fine, thus far. It might be time for the baby to arrive shortly. I would remind you that we have anaglesics on offer, and that you should make a visit to the privy if you have not done so recently." He has the good grace to keep the word 'colon' out of his suggestion, this time.

Reyce did yield up his spot, in the end, but only so that Issa could stretch out. Like Neiran, he acquired a separate stool for himself and has stationed himself up by Issa's head, a similarly stolen end table left next to him for the Go board. He's managed not to be looking every time Neiran had to do those cervical checks, and those dolorous looks are usually spent on his back while he turns to fuss with Issa's pillows or whatever else occurs to him. The same is true here: the increasing contractions have distracted her from playing Go for quite a while, and now seems as good a time as any to move that table out of the way. Reyce catches Neiran's eye only after the check has been completed, and the pronouncement of an imminent birth made, to give the healer a small, stiff, quiet nod as he drops himself back next to Issa. His hand touches her shoulder. "You need to?" he asks softly, no more bold about his direct references to the privy now than he was when Missima first entered the area.

Issa accepts the offered tea mug into both of her hands, drawing it right up to her chin, barely restraining herself from downing the entire steaming contents right then and there. But she reserves herself to merely breathing in the steam for now. For Reyce she gives a single, gentle shake of her head and briefly lifts her hand to touch over his on her shoulder, before it returns to her mug. "Analgesics," she seizes that word, returning her attention to the healer. "How many can you give me?" she asks, breathing out silent laughter and letting show the slip of a smile that has crept to her lips. But Missima has another question for him, one that she seems to think takes precedence over her daughter's joking one for she gives Neiran little time to answer it before piping up. "No complications at all?" She wants to make sure, pinning her dark gaze on the journeyman after she's taken the spectacles down and out of the way.

"A few," Neiran replies. "Enough to minimize the intensity of the sensations, I am told." He turns to fetch said analgesics, but finds himself at the receiving end of a mother's stare. He meets it unwaveringly, though he does look back at Issa to include her in the answer. "I do not anticipate any complications. The baby appears to be positioned correctly, and the birth canal is sufficiently broad to allow natural crowning, I believe. There has been no signs of distress from the child as of yet, so I am inclined to believe that everything is proceeding well." He nods to mother and mother-to-be, spares a look of manly reassurance for Reyce, and goes to his little cart to grind up some small tablets in a mortar and pestle in quick motions. While tending to that, he sends a lackey to make ready with all the hot water and towels they'll be needing shortly, as well as a midwife on standby. He's better at the cutting, not the catching, remember; better safe than sorry. He returns with the dose in a small linen cone outstretched in one hand. "Allow me to give you half the dosage now, and the other half if you deem it necessary later. I would prefer not to give you the total allowed dose of this until we see how long your labor may last." When the mug's outheld, he'll tip the cone and tap a bit of the grainy-looking powder in to dissolve. "Do you have any anticipation towards the infant's gender?" He asks, addressing the room at large while he measures the powder with his eyes.

Reyce huffs out quietly when Issa reassures him on the matter of the bathroom, and reaches under himself to pull the stool closer as he scoots in. His knees press up tight against the mattress. Since Issa's busy dealing with her belly and her mug, Reyce takes care of little, antsy comforts, giving her pillows a few pats while she's leaned forward to take that powdered dose from the healer and smoothing her shirt down when she leans back again. "Just alive will do it," he answers the healer tightly, a bit of strain cracking through his voice. He realizes the sharpness the moment he says it, and pauses with a visible flare of nostrils while inaudibly he draws in breath. "Don't really," he tries again, more neutral this time, with a composed expression as he shrugs up at Neiran. After he's done so, his chin tips slightly sideways towards the mug that Issa's got now - admittedly a very subtle and easily missed cue - and with eyes fixed gives the healer a grateful nod - another easily missed cue, since expressing emotion has never been a strong suit of his and the nod is quite a small one.

Missima's gaze loses some of its intensity as the answer she's provided with turns out to be of the favorable variety, and then she looks away altogether, assessing Issa as if to formulate her own opinion on the matter. Issa is busy watching Neiran as he moves toward those painkilling drugs, ready with her mug as soon as he indicates its needed. If she squints a little with disappointment at only getting half as much, she merely utters a reluctant and somewhat grumbly, "Okay," and goes along with it. The cup's swirled just gently enough as she brings it to her lips, and she pauses only long enough for a quick peek in before taking a sip that turns out to be a bit too hot still, a hasty breath following it in an attempt to cool her tongue. After shooting Reyce a rather curious glance for his reaction, Missima answers, "My daughter thinks it's a boy," her tone much lighter than Reyce's and threaded with an evident amusement. "But I think she's wrong." Those spectacles are finally folded and slipped into a handy skirt pocket as she gives her daughter a smiling glance. That look seems to spark a different sort of reaction than what's expected, though, and Issa groans heavily with the onset of another contraction. She shoves her mug toward Reyce while struggling to sit up again, her uncomfortable little noises understatements of the pain that makes her squeeze her eyes shut.

The healer seems to find Reyce's reaction expected, or at least normal - all he does is nod in acknowledgment of that thanks he thinks he detects. The anxiety of a father-to-be is comprehensible enough, if alien to the Journeyman. "I was prepared to suggest a daughter, myself, but in past experience I have been entirely incorrect. More importantly, Issa, I would ask you if you would like to deliver on the bed, or in the delivery chair. Statistically, delivery proceeds faster in the chair, but some women have reported that they find laying down more comfortable on their backs. It is ultimately your decision. We can have the chair brought provided you change your mind, either way, as well." Outside, there's the slight din of activity as hot water is prepared in large quantities, clean towels and blankets massed at the ready as news of an impending birth sweeps the infirmary. The womenfolk, of course, are prone to their bits of happy gossip about the event, but the Journeyman Issa's stuck with seems calm and unaffected, folding his hands after he's made the proper offer.

Reyce's understated gratitude is undercut by Missima's amusement, as the Bendenite hunches silently in his corner to let the more socially adept handle the requisite talking part of this affair. He leans toward Issa, drawn by her most recent groan, and takes the mug from her promptly, transferring it from one hand to the other and then down to the floor. Some afterthought leads him to give it a further shove that slides it under the bed and out of the way should anyone else walk close to him, but it's a wholly distracted gesture as he's already got his hands on Issa's back and arm to help her struggle up. For the suggestion of a chair, Neiran gets a quick look from him, but it's Issa's answer to handle so he devotes himself back to her rapidly. Now he's dragging the pillows around behind her, to add cushioning while she sits up in the bed.

"He's smart this one," Missima comments from her stool, as soon as 'daughter' leaves Neiran's lips. She keeps her eyes, though, on what her own daughter is going through at the moment, the crease of worry between her brows undercutting the upbeat inflection she uses. "Chair," Issa manages to push out through a grunt, waiting another handful of seconds to add, more calmly as the pain subsides, "What will be comfortable is getting this thing out of me." Which means chair it is. Oshisyth, in the spot she hasn't once abandoned in all these hours, turns her head to peer at the action going on just outside their little area, and ends up following a nosy young woman, an assistant swinging by to see if she can manage to sneak a peek and ending up hurrying away as she notices the unblinking, draconic stare. Exhaling a deep breath, Issa looks back to Reyce, then at his hands while a bit of a frown drops down over her eyes. "Where's the tea?" she demands quietly, holding out her hand expectantly as she looks back up at him. If there's one thing you don't do, it's mess with a pregnant woman's analgesics.

The Journeyman nods, and retreats a moment to relay orders down that chain of command for the chair to be brought. It won't be long until the scuffling and curtain-rustling heralds its arrival, and its being nudged into a corner of the alcove by a trio of able-bodied young assistants that disperse as soon as they've left the thing, to leave the mother her privacy. They might have lingered if it weren't for Neiran's prim-lipped stare that's all too easily interpreted as a spiteful glare. "Reyce, if you take one arm, I can take the other and we can get Issa into the chair. I'd like to, ah, check once more-" there's the dolorous puppy look "-but I believe it may be time to push. At this stage, Issa, is there anything you might like to know or be informed of? I hope you've been briefed, but I will be happy to explain any last-minute concerns you may have..."

It's always the details that get you. Details like, forgetting to check whether the cup was actually empty when you kicked it under the bed. Reyce looks from Issa's open hand to her expectant face, then mumbles something that might be "Hang on" and drops off his stool. The able-bodied assistants will have plenty to amuse them in the time Neiran allows them to be in the room, for the Bendenite is to be found on hands and knees, his butt sticking up in the air while he fishes around for the cup. Lucky for him, although it went pretty far on its journey, the only spillage it incurred were a few stray drops that bounced over the rim; he brushes them off silently and hands the cup to Issa quickly enough that she'll be drinking it by the time Neiran explains the next steps in the procedure. This mention of a 'check' catches him off guard, with no handily timed excuse to be looking else, and so Reyce blinks away quickly before gathering together with a softly cleared throat and looking back to catch the tail end of the healer's puppy eyes. "Okay," is all he answers, gruffly. He turns to wait on Issa, although if she gives him her cup again it will be shoved into Missima's hands for safekeeping.

Oh, now? Missima's brows raise in surprise as she shoves to her feet, hidework abandoned on the seat of the stool blindly as she does so. Issa pauses with wide eyes over the edge of the mug she's drinking from for a second before holding up a finger. Let's everyone hold off for a second while she downs the rest of that drink. That done, she does hand off the mug, truly empty now, to Reyce, and when Missima gets it she just plops it down right next to her strip of hidework. Issa flips her feet off the edge of the bed quickly, but the rest doesn't come so easily; small grunts sound as she inches her way to the edge of the bed, then she offers her arms up for the boys to take and slowly raises to a standing position. "Don't want to know anything," Issa firmly answers Neiran's question, somewhat delayed, while she's standing, "just want to be done." She huffs a breath and lets them guide her over to the birthing chair.

Neiran may be a scrawny guy, but at least he's well practiced in the art of guiding invalids around. He lets Reyce do most of the actual holding strengthwork, while he serves as a guide and assists in arranging the woman on the chair. It's around the time that Neiran washes and disinfects his hands - a sure precursor to another 'check' - that Reyce should probably look away. "Fully dilated," he announces, with the dignified air of a provost announcing his newest treatise's title. "Issa, you can push now, with the contractions." His eyes swing to Reyce. "This is often when the male partner offers his hand to allow it to be squeezed." Is that a touch of humor, a bit of schadenfreude at the mathematician's expense? He busies himself bringing steaming water, hot towels - a small one of which he wrings out and offers to Reyce. "For her forehead."

This time Reyce has plenty of things with which to occupy himself; however, they are all things on Issa's body, so he's a bit too close for comfort to that cervical check. He offers gentle pushes to help her get situated in the chair, making it easier to move that bulk around with his assistance, and gives little tweaks and checks to her clothing wherever it looks wrinkled (hence uncomfortable) to him. He does it all somewhat awkward, given that whatever shoulder is closest to Neiran and his current check is lifted slightly to impede the peripheral view of it. When full dilation is announced, he straightens and pushes gently back on Issa's hair, a stroke that's interrupted when he realizes he's interested and stops to look at Neiran with a hand still on the greenrider's forehead. He's beyond being able to process the healer's mood, be it schadenfreude or aught else, so he just absorbs the information with a blink and finishes his brush of Issa's hair. His hand follows up with a gentle knock to her shoulder, the palm turning upwards: he's there if she wants him. Though not right away: Neiran offers him a warmed up towel, and he takes it with a grunt of "Thanks."

Issa closes her eyes and breathes steady while Neiran conducts what turns out to be the last cervix check; when they open again and Neiran hands down that conclusion, her focus thins, the gaze that's directed at a spot on the floor near Oshisyth's talons continuing unbroken even when Reyce's hand brushes up to her hairline. Missima trails in after Issa is settled, snagging the stool Reyce left, lower than the one she was sitting on just recently, and sets it down behind the birthing chair. Once Reyce's hands are busy with other things, the soon-to-be grandmother runs soothing fingers over Issa's curls, over her shoulders. The soothing continues, Oshisyth carefully dropping her large wedge of a head closer while emitting a low, barely detectable humming. A contraction comes and for Issa the rest of the world fades away in the face of the pushing that results in a drawn, guttural grunt, forces her to lean forward off the back of the chair. Except for Reyce's hand; that she clings to, fumbling for it at first and then closing it into the vice of her fingers, which doesn't loosen until the contraction passes. The relaxation that follows is brief, and not at all enjoyed as she stares vacantly over the healer's shoulder. With the next contraction, the next push, the baby is crowning and she lets out a cry much louder and longer than the first, her other hand clawing at the chair's wooden arm while the other crushes Reyce's fingers.

If Reyce thought the checks were embarrassing for them both, he'll be dismayed that Neiran has to essentially park himself between Issa's legs to play catcher. He braces a warm, sanitized towel in his hands, the first thing that the child will touch when it emerges into the world. "Very good," he murmurs, sounding faintly surprised for all the professional dignity he's trying to maintain. "I believe I can see the top of its head. You're doing very well, Issa, I don't believe this will take very long now. Push again with the next contraction. Don't forget to breathe." Some of the healer's hair has flown free from its tail, sticking moistly to his cheek, but it goes unheeded for now.

Reyce might be dismayed when he finds that out - later. Right now he's far too busy having his hand crushed, and though he inititally tries to offer a comforting return squeeze, for once Issa's grip proves far stronger than his and he has to give it up. Missima gets saddled with yet another item as Reyce pushes the warm cloth into her hands, leaving it to her to handle the grandmotherly soothing while he brings his other hand down to wrap Issa's, still exerting no pressure in comparison to her own. Both from the white look of Issa's knuckles and the vehemence of her cries, it's clear even to an observer who can't feel it that his fingers are getting pulverized, but Reyce has stiffened his expression into a determined set in which the pain is not allowed to register. A low growl gathers at the back of his throat, though, muffled by Issa's cries but always echoing them, building up and easing off at the same rate if not the same volume.

If Issa is hearing anything that's being said, she shows no sign until that mild reminder to breathe, which brings a sudden, shuddery gasp out of her, followed by deeper, steadier breaths that still result in the occasional huff as she holds one for too long. Around her, her mother leans forward to whisper breathy encouragements that fall on deaf ears and pats the sweat away from forehead and neck gently while she does so. Issa's cries have a second accompaniment to join Reyce's grunts, as Oshisyth's hum grows to a quiet, squeaky whine every time Issa has to push. The next push brings no change, nor does the next, and the the groan Issa sounds as she's released from another contraction carries a heavy note of desperation. Finally, the baby's head slips free, then the shoulders with another roaring cry from Issa, then out it comes wet and limp as a ragdoll into the towel Neiran holds at the ready.

"Very good," Neiran murmurs again. His mouth opens to utter something else, but then the baby's emerging and he has to focus on catching it properly. He bundles the thing up protectively in the towel, narrow eyes round as though he's amazed he managed to catch it without dropping it. Or maybe just surprised that he's holding the offspring of two friends - but is it healthy? He takes a cloth and wipes at its face, checking that the mucus plugs in its nose are going to slip out to allow it to breathe, counting fingers and toes and all that, before announcing tentatively, "it is a female." A few blinks later and the seemingly stunned Journeyman comes to his senses, and reaches forward with the child to offer it to the mother's arms. "Congratulations. It's a girl. Reyce, you can cut in a moment." Once he's sure Issa can hold the babe to her chest, he ducks out to wash his hands and prepare the ties. Reyce will find a pair of surgical scissors being urgently foisted on him, handle-first, within a moment.

That growl builds up to decidedly audible intensity while Issa's giving those last shoves to get the head out, then dies off suddenly when she lets up and a glance down yields him the sight of his child slipping into Neiran's arms. Eyes wide, jaws minorly agape, Reyce watches her while Neiran performs those minor all-important checks, no less stunned than the Journeyman that it was caught. His hand drops out of Issa's when she takes the baby, and before he can gather wit enough to do something else with it Neiran's shoving scissors in his fingers. That snaps him back to more effectively than whatever mental efforts he's been making, if any, and he grabs the things decisively, gets up, and cuts the cord. The scissors clatter to the stool he was sitting on as he presses forward to Issa, leaving Neiran to handle all remaining nitty-gritties while he leans over the newborn to stare at her. His brow has furrowed into tiny little lines of concentration and his eyes keep flicking back and forth across her red, wrinkled face.

Pure relief pours out in one last cry as Issa collapses back against the back of the chair, against her mother who's attempting to wipe Issa's forhead, congratulate her and kiss the back of her head all at the same time. Her grip on Reyce's hand suddenly loosens, as limp as it was crushing just a moment ago. Blinking out of her trance-like stare, her eyes, tear-streaked from all that exertion, follow the healer with a bit of a worried squint, and her dry lips murmur out an urgent, "Is it okay?" The answer of the baby's sex must sound like an affirmative, for she lets out an audible sigh upon hearing it, fingers twitching into a very faint squeeze over Reyce's. "What did I tell you?" is Missima's comment, but it lacks the normal teasing edge, all matronly gushing. Only when Neiran is making his way over with the new baby girl does Issa break out of that collapsed posture, both arms held out wearily to accept the bundle, curling it gently down to her chest and holding it so close she has to tuck her chin down sharply to see the girl's face amidst all that towel. All the while Reyce is cutting the cord and Missima is pressing short little kisses onto the side of her head, she never looks up. But when Reyce hovers closer, she lifts her eyes to watch him watch their baby and eventually spares a hand, only for a moment, to direct his chin into a weary kiss. When the healer approaches to tie the cord, she diverts her attention from the baby again, long enough to offer a softly hoarse, but genuine, "Thank you, Neiran. Really, thank you." The little girl in Issa's arms lets out a sudden cry, as if she's just realized how to make use of her lungs, and continues with another, causing Missima to laugh quietly as she peers over her daughter's shoulder.

"You are, of course, welcome," Neiran replies softly. He allows himself one moment of staring, registering grandmother, mother, daughter, and friend-made-father with his unwavering stare, before he picks up those discarded surgical scissors and retreats to silence and duty. The main part of the effort may be over for Issa, and with the child now crying he can rest assured that it's healthy as predicted. But there's still the afterbirth for him to deal with, little nitpicky details of cleaning and checking to be sure the mother has come through the birth without any yet-unforseen complications. Don't mind him skulking and poking about silently and unobtrusively as possible. Having heard the baby's cry, the head of a nurse suddenly pops into the curtain. "Is it a boy or a girl?" She demands. The impudence of this assistant makes Neiran's brows furrow, but even as he shoos her out of the private area with waves of his redwort-stained hands, he says, "female. Go."

Surely the healer doesn't think he can get away unscathed. Reyce grabs his arm, giving it a squeeze that's thankfully only a small fraction as strong as Issa's squeezes of just moments ago. While he's doing it, he draws up from the child to look at the healer (and friend) who delivered her, and his gaze flicks across Neiran's visage too, a few times. After half a beat, he releases Neiran with a pat that sends him on his way to healer duties. He is a tide of obsession, fascination with his daughter ebbing and flowing as other things call his attention. Like that impudent assistant, who gets a sharp look and spared a sharp word when Neiran bets the Bendenite to the task of shooing her off, although Reyce still watches her out balefully. Since he's watching her out the entrance, his eye falls on Oshisyth, and he stares at the green for several seconds before he turns as he should have done long ago to look at Issa herself, not just the baby girl. It becomes his new obsession, for the nonce, as he settles back down on his stool (and if Neiran hasn't removed the scissors yet, he'll remember only after he's sat on them and poked himself in the thigh).

Oshisyth has dropped to a full, hallway-blocking crouch, to hell with what the other healers have to say about it, and has her excitedly whirling green eyes riveted on the scene in that little curtained off area. The afterbirth that Neiran concerns himself with comes without Issa even noticing, and so the healer is left to do with the placenta what he will, while she continues to recuperate from the hour's excitement and fawn over her baby. Missima meanwhile, takes one last long look at the little girl then stands, nudging aside the stool she was using with her foot and going to the cot, turning down the sheets in response to some anticipated need. After a long moment, Issa returns Reyce's stare and gives him a smile, a dreamy, completely unreserved specimen rarely seen outside of their weyr. "Hold her," she murmurs to him, as much demand as offer or request.

The squeeze seems to surprise Neiran initially - he'd already slipped back into his professional funk, lists of things to do and how to do them cluttering his head - but the sentiment doesn't go misplaced or unreturned. He nods once while the Bendenite is flicking his gaze across his face, an acknowledgment and congratulations all in one. When he's released, he returns to his duties as though nothing has happened. It's not long before the afterbirth is tidied away and Issa is given back cleanliness, personal space, and the dignity that goes with the return of the two. Missima's already preemptively taken from him the task of turning down the sheets, so after staring at her a moment, he disappears into the outside world, taking his wheely cart with him. The time and date of birth will be noted and drawn up, the particulars like name left to be filled in later. He washes his hands, and returns with tea - a new pot, since the other one has, by now, over-steeped. The curtained-off alcove is no longer within his purview, it seems, for before re-entering he peeks in as though he needs permission to do so. "Pardon me," he murmurs, voice more subdued than it has been during the whole day, "but I've brought more tea, for everyone, and would like to ask if you feel you need the other half of that analgesic, Issa."

Reyce lifts his chin towards Issa when she looks back at him, and after a beat her dreamy smile affects him, too: nothing dreamy about his expression, but there's a weak little smile shivering at the corner of his mouth. He rid himself of it with a heavy puff through his nostrils, bobbing his nose at Issa silently while his eyes start to close. But wait, he's supposed to hold the thing? That brings his eyes back open, and he stares at the mother before he considers the child. At last he takes it from her, moving so carefully that he's rather stiff, and the child doesn't like it: a burble turns into another wail, and another after that. "Stop," Reyce tells her in his soft voice, but she doesn't, and he doesn't seem to notice anyway. He heaves his own sigh as he settles back on the stool with her, still awkward and stiff in the way he holds her, but he got the general idea from watching Issa and the girl seems safe enough.

Issa watches the bundled baby the whole way as she's handed off and goes off with her new father, her unguarded expression revealing a wealth of happy emotions that Neiran will catch as he reenters with the offer of further analgesic. Her blue eyes jump to him and he becomes the recipient of that broad smile for half a beat before she responds with an emphatic, "Yes. Please." Both hands bracing on the arms of that chair, she begins to shove herself upward, but she's caught with Missima's hand on her shoulder before she can move more than a few inches. "Journeyman," the journeyman of a different color addresses Neiran, smiling faintly, "do you mind? Before you pour?" Her pinning hand slides around to her daughter's arm, while the other gestures at Issa's left, the post the healer should take, presumably. While she's being walked slowly back to the waiting bed, Issa turns toward Neiran, telling him, "We brought something for you." And from the interested surprise that Missima shows, she's not included in the 'we.' "Bit of a late birthday gift," she explains through a labored little grunt as she's lowered down. Her arm stretches out, as if she meant to bend down and get the thing, but her body won't cooperate so she resigns to pointing at the duffel that carried her books and things. "There. At the bottom, I think." Most of her own books have been stacked, already thumbed through, beside the bag, so it won't be hard for him to rummage past a deck of cards and Issa's shoes to find a gathering of hides. It's only rudimently bound, but on the pages, written carefully and with the odd illustration here and there, are mind teasers, mostly of the mathematic variety, ready for him to dig into.

Neiran's eyebrows lift in reflexive inquiry. Does he mind what, before he pours? Ah, yes, of course. He slips into place at Issa's other arm, and helps as his sleight frame can in steering the recovering mother to the cot. He's most helpful in the part that involves getting her legs settled and the covers arranged around her, notably - that comes from practicing on comatose post-op patients, you see. His brows lift again in surprise to hear there's a Turnday gift waiting for him at the base of Issa's duffel bag, and it shows how eager he is for any such gift when he fetches Issa her tea and that analgesic powder and sees it safely in her hands before he even looks at the bag once again. "You did not have to," he murmurs, bending down to gingerly rifle through the woman's belongings. He lifts out the stack of hides, puzzling over it for a moment before he straightens from his crouch over the bag, and lifts the booklet in question at Issa and Reyce, as if to ask - is this it? "Thank you...this was unexpected." He thanks them for the gift before even knowing what it is; only then does he look down and flip through a few pages to ascertain the exact type of gift. Seeing that the book is full of brain exercises, his brows lift in what one could interpret as pleasant surprise. They lower again, and his expression softens. "Thank you," he murmurs, looking between Issa and Reyce, and once, awkwardly, at the new grandmother.

Reyce has two ladies to mind, and he lifts his attention from the one in his arms to watch with close attention as Issa is helped back to the bed. The baby's cries have quieted as she's grown accustomed to his less adept hold, and he's careful not to stir her again as he rises slowly, lips pressed closed (as though he of all people would need to clamp down on his desire to speak) while Issa points out the gift and Neiran fetches it. Missima's chair is closer to the bed than his own stool, since he moved it, so he steals that from her without a word and settles back down with the baby. His eyes turn to Neiran once he has, his lips unpopped so he can speak again. "Yeah," he answers the thanks in his ever-simplistic manner. "Should be hard," he adds, giving a light chin-tug to indicate the little booklet. With Reyce, as the healer has no doubt learned over their conversations, the hard math problems are the best.

Back onto those propped pillows Issa goes, groaning slightly at the change in position, though this time it's a good sort of groan. She curls her hands eagerly around the warm mug Neiran brings to her then calmly watches him go about fetching his present. Just a slight nod from her tells him that it is, indeed, his present he holds, but she doesn't answer until after that second thank you, and then it's with a parrot of his own words, lightly teasing but sincere all the same. "You are, of course, welcome." The corner of her mouth lifts into a stronger smile, then sinks again as she ducks her head to attend to the painkiller laced tea.

Another baby? (Part one)

Tue, 17 Jul 2007 07:21:13 GMT

The long-awaited day arrives, and Reyce and Issa end up with a baby in the end, thanks to Neiran. (Neiran, Reyce, Issa)
IC Date: Day 18, Month 1, Turn 4
OOC Date: 7-13-07 to 7-16-07

Issa has captured the second mug full of klah that Reyce has poured for himself from the breakfast brought to them by a friendly face from the kitchen, and she holds it away from him so that her and her enormous belly serve as a buffer between him and it. "No more," she repeats insistently while enforcing her directive, the beginnings of a frown brewing on her forehead. "You're already losing enough sleep without drinking all of this. Tossing, turning, kicking me. No more." They stand near the pitcher, which still rests atop the grating of the bedside brazier, keeping the klah within nice and hot while that mug is surely cooling by the second over there in her grip. She remains rooted there in that challenging position, staring him down, grounded by more than just her baby-heavy weight.

Reyce's hand remains outstretched for the klah she took from him, and a growl burbles up in his throat as the fact that it's been stolen from him sinks in. His eyes take the scenic route to her face, tracing every inch of air between the tips of his open fingers and the hard blue of her gaze. When he gets there, he pulls himself a step forward as he straightens, bringing back his arm to hang stiff by his side. "It's /morning/ klah," he reminds her sharply, tugging his chin down to make it all the more obvious that it is, in point of fact, him who is technically staring /her/ down. "Won't change anything at night, but keeps me awake for class." His teeth snick together after that last statement, revisiting the frustration that incident caused him. He was at least as much offended by the failure of ambient noise to wake him as by the actual fact of his sleeping through rhetoric.

Issa returns that downward stare with an upward one of her own, just as intense and frowning, without ceding and inch with that klah mug she holds. "You spend a day tired and that'll just mean you'll sleep all the better tonight," she returns firmly, but quietly. "You drink this now," and the mug is lifted, brought just into view before it drops gently back again, as if just by seeing it he could retake the thing, "I /know/ you'll just be having another later, and another after that." She turns then, toward the mug and the weyr's entrance, her blue skirt twirling angrily around her ankles. "So no more," she calls over her shoulder as she heads to dump the klah out on the ledge. Oshisyth on her couch seems a bit more agitated from their argument than usual, sitting up tall near the edge as she ruffles her wings faintly, eyes a vivid teal.

Reyce twitches forward when she lifts the mug in front of him, a snarl curling the corner of his lip, but before he can execute in half-formed plans of reclaiming it she's ducked it out of the way again and he has to settle back. She takes the mug away with her, but he doesn't even attempt to chase after this one: instead, he goes to the nearby shelf, grabs a regular cup off its rows, and dumps more klah into that one. He doesn't drink it: this is a petty gesture, done wholly for the sake of reminding her that she can pour as many mugs out as she likes, and he can still get klah while she's fussing over it. The tea cup gets stamped back down on the shelf, drawing attention to itself noisily, but the Bendenite who did it goes tromping off to the bed. He put clothes on for the sake of the friendly face from the kitchens, but now it's time to go take a bath - and if it's a little early, so what, breakfast is over.

The dump is a quick process, fueled by her irritation, and Issa returns in time to see that new, full mug in his hand. It causes her to pause at the wall by the entrance, the hand not curled in around the mug falling heavily to her hip as she glares at him. "Recye," she addresses him firmly, just before he slams it onto the shelf, and then she clamps her lips into a thin line. A moment later she speaks to his back. "I'm sss--" is as far as she gets, the sibilant dragged into a pained hiss. The cup drops, hanging limply from her hand at her side, while the other hand moves from her hip to the wall, bracing her in a quick lean for the duration of a labored breath. Oshisyth's tail lashes up and down with a thump as she stares at her rider.

It's like she didn't address him at all, for Reyce continues on his trajectory to the bed without missing a step or even turning a glance towards her. He's got the first boot stomped on, unlaced, when a hiss interrupts her words, and he looks up with the same 's' framed on his lips - but for him it's the product of prompting, not pain. Oshisyth gets a flickered glance for that thumping tail, but his focus has already moved forward, and he takes a few awkward, unbalanced steps in his single boot before he gives it up and shakes the thing off. "It's fine," he murmurs as he gets close to Issa, reaching out to rest one hand on the side of her belly and the other on her shoulder. "Won't drink any." He rubs her arm, if she's let him have it, trying to calm down the upset that's struck her.

A breath shudders out of Issa as he nears, but she lets him put his hands wherever he wants. "You better," she answers him, words strained and broken by short, huffed pauses. "Fucking. Not." Her head bows and a few more seconds pass before, with an exhaled and muffled grunt, she breathes easier. She waits a moment before lifting her head again, giving him just a glance before straightening further. The mug gets shoved against his stomach, perhaps a little less forcefully than it might have been a minute ago, and he better take it because she's stepping away from the wall, around him, and toward the bed again, her hand taking up the spot along her belly that he was touching. Down she collapses, onto the edge of the bed, and then back, until she's lying with her legs dangling to the floor.

The viciousness of that reply gets flared nostrils from Reyce, but the breath he indrew with them is released softly and very carefully. He takes the mug, though, and replaces it on the shelves while she waddles back to the bed. He joins her there moments after, sitting sideways on the edge of the bed with her. After watching her face for a moment, he drops his gaze down to his own knees. "Have to ask," he says, reaching his near hand to brush her belly. "You okay?" The agitated Oshisyth gets another check - obviously, to some extent, Issa is not okay - but Reyce just pulls his lips inside his mouth and awaits an answer.

Despite the fact that Oshisyth is worriedly focused on her rider and twitchy besides, Issa answers, "I'm fine," and her tone is more relaxed, annoyance brushed aside for the moment. Her eyes sink closed for a brief moment then find him again. "I just have to rest a bit. That's what they told me the last time this happened." That 'last time,' a seven ago, they thought it was the real thing, hurried away from dinner only to be told by the healer on duty that it was a false alarm, to come back when her water broke. Her hand do more than brush her belly, palm flattened and running up and down the other side slowly.

Stand aside, I will move mountains for you! Reyce spots that trickle before Issa does, and suddenly the supportive presence that endured her clenching arm squeeze without complaint has abandoned her. He's bounding towards the couch, grabbing her jacket and - hell, why not - her white blanket where they lie. Not bothering to fit her through the arms, he wraps the jacket over her shoulders while she's still watching that puddle, and then he wraps the blanket over it, flipping it around her shoulders like a giant scarf that can be tugged down to cover much of her round belly. With that done, he pulls her under his own arm, squeezing her into him as he guides her away from the puddle so she can spill water over the rest of the weyr, too. "We're going," he informs her, directing her steps towards the door.

Oshisyth seems to agree with Reyce, pouring herself off of the stone couch and coming to a halt before the curtain to watch and wait, tail twitching, for the pair of them to catch up. Which it seems they will soon do, Issa going along in a stunned sort of slowness; but she resists, pushing back on the arm he has draped over her shoulders. "Shoes, Reyce," comes the mutter that explains away why she's dragging him to a halt. "I need... I need shoes." Unless he insists on walking her through the snowdrifts of the bowl. "I need..." she mutters again, but this time she just casts about for something she does need, sure that there's something they're missing.

There's a moment when Reyce seriously considers just picking her up and hauling her across the bowl - it's clear from the way he tilts his head and sizes her up, one of his arms moving a bit lower in preparation. But he doesn't chance it, instead giving her shoulders a solid push down - you stay - as he goes back to find some shoes. Ordinary, heavy workboots won't do, and slippers aren't good for snowy weather, so he has to cast around in the wardrobe a bit before he finds suitable shoes, meant for summer but serviceable enough for the moment. He returns to her and crouches by her legs, lifting her feet into the shoes and pushing them on firmly before he laces them for her. "You need something else I'll send for it," he informs her as he squat-waddles around to her other foot, being careful of the pool around her.

Issa doesn't think of anything to fill that vague need by the time Reyce returns with the shoes, so when he comes up with an alternate plan, she just agrees with a soft, "Okay." Her feet lift submissive to his touch, but she doesn't even make an attempt to peer past her belly to see how he proceeds, moving only to clasp his shoulder lightly to keep her balance when her weight shifts to lift that second foot. And while he's busy with the laces, she rearranges her jacket, absently pushing her arms through, and the blanket, shrugging it into a makeshift shawl as she's being swept toward the ramp leading to the bowl again. "Have to find my mother, tell her," she instructs him, since he seems to have her own actions well under control by now, peering up while he directs their steps.

Under control or not, Reyce insists on guiding her still. "Send somebody," he promises again, not lifting his eyes from their path. He wouldn't want to direct her over unusually bumpy stone floors or through any piled up snowdrifts, for they've pushed outside now and are picking their way along the edge of the bowl to the infirmary. His arm keeps close about her, offering frequent rubs to make sure that none of the cold that manages to get through the combined forces of her jacket and blanket gets to stay there long. "Water broke," he tells an assistant leaving the infirmary as they enter, and the girl - though probably on her off hours after a long nightshift - doesn't miss a beat in whipping around to order a bed readied for Issa, making sure to offer incosequential but well-meaning words of assurance - come along, we'll get you settled - once that's done.

On that long walk across the bowl, Issa had time to get over the initial shock that numbed her actions and has composed herself to a passable calm in between those couple of contractions along the way that pull both him and her to a halt. Oshisyth takes to the sky immediately outside the weyr and trails along with them by flitting from ledge to ledge, peering down on them with rapidly whirling, dully green eyes. The green hangs at the wide, dragon-accomodating entrance to the infirmary as they walk in, hovering until they get situated into a half-curtained off area. Then she creeps in, sticking to the side lined with mostly empty dragon couches until she reaches their cubicle; she situates herself into a tight coil in the walkway in front, avoiding getting in the way wherever she can, though she inevitably blocks half of the entrance to their area. Issa, when they are ushered to that area, thanks the assistant briefly then goes about shedding the layers of preparation that were arranged before they left, unwrapping the blanket, shrugging off her jacket and letting both slip to the floor before she kicks off her shoes without bothering to undo the laces. And though the space has diminished, Issa continues her restless pacing, striding along the length of the bed that she doesn't bother to even sit on.

While Issa calms herself pacing around the room, Reyce has shanghaied a pair of assistants to run errands for them. One is told to get Missima, and even given instructions on where to look for her, from bedroom to classroom so there's no chance she'll escape. He commands the other to find Neiran, whom Issa shanghaied long ago, but this one gets away without the heavy instructions: no doubt the conscientious healer is on call often enough for the infirmary to know where he'll be if they need him. These orders are passed out near the entrance, well within the hearing range of Oshisyth, and once they're given Reyce looks over at the green. He stares at her a second, then lifts a hand to give her a sudden rub on the beak of her snout. "Ready to move if they need you to," he suggests, but /he's/ certainly not telling her to, as he ends the rub abruptly and returns to Issa. He stands still at one end of her pacing trajectory, silently watching her and waiting for a pause long enough to establish steady eye contact.

Oshisyth lets out a light rumble for Reyce's suggestion, the facets of her eyes briefly directed down at him. But she shifts as he turns away, an attempt to pull herself in tighter still, tail flicking out before it's re-wrapped around the rest of her bulk. Issa reaches the head of the bed and pivots, catching his waiting presence as soon as she's turned. "Hm?" she hums at him, just a single questioning sound as she walks straight up to him and stops a belly-length away. One hand almost subconsciously strokes along the side of that belly, occasionally pausing to lift fingers into a rippling set of taps.

Reyce's hands touch lightly on both sides of her belly, but soon they make a different decision and he reaches up to frame her cheeks between his fingers, pushing back slowly until his touch runs through her hair. "I love you," he reminds her, staring straight into her eyes. Oshisyth gets company by the entrance, for one of the infirmary workers approaches to check up on the expectant mother; luckily, he has some sense of discretion and stops at the door when he spies a tender moment going on. The dragon gets a quick smile as he leans his hands into his pockets. "And I'll be with you, do anything for you, you want it," Reyce is saying, tilting his chin down and blowing out softly through his nose. "I love you," he says again, having run out of other words to say. Morning disputes about klah consumption have, by this point, been utterly forgotten.

His touch relaxes away a bit of unseen tension in Issa's frame and her head tilts sideways into one of his hands as her eyes close. They remain lidded for the span of only a slowly released breath then turn up to meet his steadily. "I love you," she murmurs back up at him, mouth tugging up into a shallow smile for him. Her hand crosses the distance between her belly and his, gripping his side and giving it a strong squeeze. "Yes?" she says next, though the tone is wholly different from the private, gentle one she just used, lifting loud enough to cross around Reyce. A second later, she leans away from Reyce's hands to peer around his shoulder at the newly arrived worker, eyebrows raised in a polite, if not exactly cheerful, expression.

The infirmary worker who's been standing by at the entrance to the curtained-off alcove Issa's been shoehorned into turns to her with a light clearing of his throat. "Excuse me," he says, "didn't mean to interrupt. I'm just keeping an eye on things until your healer," the recently summoned Neiran, "gets here. I can stay outside," he offers further, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and shooting a sideways glance at Oshisyth where she's curled up tight, blocking the entrance by the smallest managable margin that still allows her to keep an eye on things inside. Reyce releases Issa and slips to her side, looking at the young assistant. "Stay outside," is his simple command, and the worker obediently retreats a step. It's a total conceit, his waiting outside: he still has to keep an eye on things, as he put it, and most likely an ear on things as well, so while he's a bit further away he still has a line to the inside in case anything comes up.

Issa's hand remains on Reyce's side when he steps to the side of her, and she offers the man who's keeping an eye on her a slip of a smile. A beat later, though, she's turning around and it looks as if she'll return to her pacing. But she comes to a stop in front of the pile composed of jacket, blanket and shoes, hiking up her skirt high enough to reach underneath and pull away her underwear. It slips to the floor near the rest and, with one hand reached back to Reyce's arm for balance, she shoves it all further under the cot with a few nudges from her foot. "That's better," she mutters, mostly to herself. But then her hand digs more firmly into Reyce's arm, fingernails reaching skin past his clothing, an annoyed sounding grunt sounding as she slumps forward over the force of a contraction. It lasts just under a minute, passing away with a rush of breath out of her. Her hand doesn't leave his arm, she simply uses it to brace her again as she inches her way down onto the cot beside her, the other hand outstretched to catch the cot and ease the rest of her weight down.

Lucky for Neiran, his voice carries to the couple while Issa's dealing with a new contraction, and Reyce is stuck hanging onto her arm while she deals with it. There is, though, space enough in the curtain opening that when the Bendenite glances up sharply, he catches a glimpse of the messy healer who's been hiding out in the infirmary. He blinks, but his interest only lasts a second as he turns back to watching Issa, offering short caresses that do nothing to ease the pain but give him something to do for her. Then he's kept busy helping her get onto the cot, arm held out for her to keep grabbing her the whole way and keeping a close eye on her movements so he can throw in a supporting hand if she needs him to.

Issa makes it to the cot without mishap and she lets another sigh rush out of her once she's sitting. She shows no indication that she's heard Neiran's voice or noticed his presence, for Reyce gets her full attention. His arm is released finally, but not before she gives his sleeve a soft tug. "Do something?" she asks him, though her tone is as much instructing as requesting. "It hurts, right here," she tells him next, hand circling around to her lower back where she inicates the spot with a sweep of her knuckles. "Would you just..."

With that verdict, some of the terse and bracing air around Neiran dissipates. If they have time before active labor hits, there's no need to be on the edge of the seat just yet. He turns from his colleague, but pauses, only now seeming to notice the faceted eye that's directed his way. Recognizing the green it belongs to, he nods once out of respect for the dragon, and then returns to the alcove's security. Seeing Reyce in the role of helpful massage partner doesn't seem to phase him, but then again, he has his knot on his shoulder and his game face on presently. "I've been informed of the situation. It seems as though we have time yet before things become serious." A look at Reyce. Better not expect to make any classes today. "Would either of you care for some tea?" A pause, as if consulting a mental manual on how to behave during a supervised labor. Ah, yes, there's the memo. "Issa, how are you feeling presently?" He stands there after his questions until, with a start, it occurs to him he ought to sit rather than loom like a spectre. He moves a stool from the corner of the alcove to a more prominent spot, and seats himself primly upon it.

When the healer returns, Reyce seems inclined to stop his massage and concentrate fully on Neiran. The relief he's wrung out of Issa through his efforts, however, is motivation enough to keep going at a slower pace. His mouth twitches wryly to the side when Neiran shoots him that look - it seems to have already hit him that this is how his day will be spent, but he gives the healer a tug of the chin that might be construed as an apology for taking the day away from him, too. "I'm fine," he uses to decline the tea, filling up that pause while Neiran consults the manual. His eyes flick to the greenrider when she's brought in specifically, and he gives a more thorough push with the heels of his palms to make up for neglect of the past minute or so.

Issa turns to greet Neiran and his game face with a pleasant enough little smile, though a bit of the sincerity of it leaks away as he mentions hos much time they have left with this thing. "Yes, please," she responds to the offer of tea, her words overlapping with Reyce's and perhaps a little too eager at the thought of having something to drink (or perhaps just something to busy her hands with). The next question gets a tamer answer. "Fine. It's just..." and she mentally gropes through her own mental book to find, "pressure, right now," a hand flattening along the underside of her pregnant belly. A beat passes, long enough for her to breath in deeply and expel it slowly. "I guess you wouldn't know exactly how long, yeah?" she ventures, as if despite the logical turnings of her mind she has to ask. Her smile smile thins, pulled back slightly.

Wise choice on the healer's part. Reyce's eyes widen at the suggestion that he could cut the umbilical cord in the first place, and he throws an uncertain gaze at Issa over her shoulder. His massage has decidedly stopped, but she has that special tea to comfort her in its absence. Making a stalling sound, slightly nasal, he takes his hands out from under her shirt and tugs it down, giving it a light rub to keep it in place and make sure it's covering her skin - if one wishes to be generous, it may be more of a warmth concern than a modest one, which will surely evaporate within moments. "Chance of me hurting it, if I do?" Reyce requests, looking back at the healer. Now free, his hand overturns in a helpless gesture: he didn't educate himself about these kinds of things beforehand.

Issa nods with understanding for what Neiran tells her. It's what she expected, after all. As his explanation turns to reading and idle pursuits, she drops a glance over her shoulder for Reyce, a suggestion that he'll be the one furnishing those distractions. "You might need that klah, after all," she comments quietly, snorting a faint breath. She turns her eyes away from him to take the tea Neiran offers with a muffled thanks, but it turns out only a brief distraction; when the healer asks about the umbilical cord she leans to her side so she can turn and look at him more fully, hot drink cradled but ignored. One corner of her smile creeps higher, along with her eyebrows, as she waits out first his reaction, then Neiran's answer silently.

Neiran's eyes lift, consulting that invisible lexicon in the sky. It seems to be hovering just to the right of Reyce's head, at the moment. "No," he finally replies with certainty, looking at the father-to-be. "I have not heard of a case where the father has harmed the child while cutting the cord." The look he gives Reyce says: You'd have to be a real dolt to be the first. A subtle transition of expression, mainly in the easing of the brow, conveys the rest: And you aren't, so there's nothing to worry about. His eyes slide down to touch upon Issa's face, lightly, but he can't seem to make sense of her expression, so it's back to the comprehensible male that he looks. "It is a simple matter of clamping the cord or tying it with suturing thread, which I will do - you merely cut, as you would a piece of ribbon. Or, more accurately, meat gristle. The cord is somewhat rubbery in texture." He looks at Issa again, and before she can be horrified by mental images of Reyce inexpertly scissoring away at a piece of her, he says, "you and the child will feel nothing."

Reyce is listening, no doubt, and absorbing those subtle cues of expression, but he has withdrawn his own responses slightly so that he's watching Neiran from slightly hooded eyes and with a mouth set into a resting line. Even the appetizing meat gristle and rubber comparisons don't budge him, nor does he look at Issa again. "Sure," he decides, about a half-beat off the end of Neiran's reassuring textbook commentary. His attention has returned to the here and now, and the withdrawn immutability of his gaze is blinked off as he narrows back down to the present.

Issa wrinkles her nose at the description Neiran provides of the umbilical cord, though from the nod she gives him it wasn't because of the pain. She knew that bit already. Then she pays some overdue attention to her tea, breathing in the scent of it first and then tending to the temperature with a long-blown breath. She glances up from the surface of the tea to find Reyce, asking, "Send someone to grab a few books? Cards?" while she pats his knee once, lightly. Her hand then retreats to circle her mug along with the other. She meets Oshisyth's eye for a moment, then, and while her gaze is dragging back to Neiran she asks him, "Is she okay where she is?" The tea mug lifts to indicate which 'she' Issa is referring to exactly.

"Yes, Oshisyth may remain where she is for the moment. I cannot guarantee another staff member will not request a move, but..." Neiran lets the word simply trail off, not bothering to conjure up a shrug to match it. He returns to the seat, sitting as primly as before, hands folding pale atop his black cassock once again. He turns his head towards the seam in the curtains, peering impassively to see if the other healer is still loitering there. If so, it's time to rope the unfortunate into playing canine for them. "Is there anything you might like from your weyr? Anything the infirmary may provide? It would be best to assemble all such things at this stage, in anticipation of a long labor." Better safe than sorry, as some say. A pause, as something seems to come to mind. "I have the Go set you gifted me with not far from here. If Reyce has not learnt, perhaps you would like to teach him?"

The other healer has moved on to other things, but that doesn't mean there aren't other unfortunates wandering about. Reyce does Neiran one better, not just peering at the curtain but getting up to go through it and rope one of said unfortunates. There's a pause in their conversation, a partial glance-back towards the other two conversing in the alcove, but Reyce continues instructuring the unfortunate in a low tone that only Oshisyth is close enough to hear. It's nothing interesting, anyway: he wants these things, they are in this place, the weyr is to be found here in the bowl, thanks. The unfortunate absorbs these instructions only so he can go on and pass them to someone else, lower than him on the command chain and thus susceptible to these arbitrary patient requests. Reyce returns to take up his spot next to Issa on the bed.

Issa nods and lifts a hand to flick at the eager Reyce already off to rope an unsuspecting assistant. "He'll have them get enough to keep me busy," she comments, hazarding a sip of her tea on the heels of it and coming away unscathed. When he mentions the Go board, a quick smile lights her face and she nods once again. "That would be perfect," she agrees, breaking for another small sip. "And a game or two with you, if you had the time to spare." A half-shrug serves as admission for not knowing if that would even be a possibility, with his other duties to go along with the ones she's just saddled him with. The smile seeps away, though, as with a quick intake of breath marks the beginning of another contraction. Her mug is held steady in one hand, but she uses the other to help her shift uncomfortably in her seat, fingers gripping the standard white sheets while she endures it in stiff silence.

Outside in the main infirmary, woman enters from the caverns and casts about for the handy bright green beacon that is Oshisyth, heading toward it like a drawn moth. A calm, strolling moth that takes her time in getting to the curtained area the trio are sitting in. Pausing to slide a casual hand along Oshisyth's cheek, lowered just for her, she bears a striking resemblance to the new mother who's relaxing at the end of a contraction, including the dark, loose curls (looking freshly bathed now) and slight smile. Missima's dark eyes land first on her daughter. "Well, you sure know how to start off a day, Skelissa," she teases dryly, coming in to stand a matter of feet from where Reyce sitting next to her on the bed, giving him a stronger smile and a nod for his greeting. "Hi, Mom," Issa responds, unaffected by the tease, then returns to her tea with new vigor after that contraction.

"I shall see what time allows for." That's all the Journeyman dares to offer. Better a pleasant surprise and a game of Go later than a disappointment. "Thank you, Reyce," he adds, nodding to the man. Saves him getting up from his stool and going to chase someone down himself. "I would suggest you make liberal use of the bedpan, or visit the privy. It may not feel as though it is necessary, but internal sensations are deceptive during this process, and an empty bladder and colon makes for an easier delivery." Sometimes, he sounds like he's reading from a page when he talks. Not because it's halting, far from it, but simply because it all flows so much like he's prepared it in advance. Any further colonic advice is forestalled, however, with the arrival of another. He rises from the stool, and turns to face the newcomer. He raises his brow and looks at Reyce a moment, the inquiry plastered on his face. Skelissa? He blinks, though, and eliminates anything other than deadpan neutrality from his facial features to look at the woman. "Good morning, and preemptive congratulations on your grandmotherhood." If there were a twinkle in his eye, it might be that old jibe - no woman wants to be called a granny - but he seems entirely sincere. The small upper-body bow of respect he offers her surely adds weight to that.

Reyce pulls the shadow of a smile, curling open one corner of his lip when Issa's mother names her thus and Neiran looks at him. There's a small head dip to go with it, a nod that needlessly confirms it, but he has to sober up for Missima, greeting her with a murmur of her name that earns him that smile. He turns to Issa next, reaching a hand across to give her side a gentle touch so he can offer quietly, "Walk you anywhere, you want it." His eyebrows lift - maybe he doesn't want to say 'to the bathroom' in front of Issa's mother, but it's certainly implied after Neiran's endlessly helpful and mildly awkward new bit of birthing wisdom. He has lingering attention for her response, but will look to Neiran next - with the two women in the room, perhaps it seems inevitable that they will soon start chattering each other up while he and the healer are left to make dull, time-killing conversation in the background.

Issa leans toward Reyce after his helpful offer, saying to him without any sign of embarrassment for the subect, "I know. I'm fine for now." Then it's back to her tea, downing it by the mouthful now. "Extremely preemptive," Missima returns cheerfully to the healer, turning an assessing glance on her daughter. "She's hardly even sweating yet. Missima," the woman introduces herself, without bothering to specify her relation to the greenrider or her status at the Weyr, assuming those to be known already. And before he can offer his own half of the exchange, she drags out, "You're the healer..." "Neiran," Issa provides for her, and the harper repeats, "Neiran, yes, of course." She extends her hand for a shake, and then, "Wonderful to meet you." When that hand swings back, it ends up landing with a thump on Reyce's shoulder. The slight grin she shoots down at him suggests she isn't ignorant of the probable effect this has on him, and she waits until his surprise is under control before asking, "Mind if I take over that post for a bit?"

Neiran offers the woman a gentle handshake, more of the kind of squeeze of fingertips one'd expect from a girl, to be honest. No calluses on his hand, either. "Well met," he murmurs, rather subdued in the face of the cheerful mother. He was doing well until relatives started popping out of the woodwork, and when Reyce gives him that glance the sentiment in his eyes conveys clearly that he's happy to let mother and daughter engage in those womanly discussions. While Missima assaults Reyce, Neiran busies himself with the things on top of the cart. Out of the corner of his eye, some utensil looked out of place, and his perfectionism won't let him leave it alone. He rearranges the objects with a minimum of noise, loitering conveniently at the edge of the sequestered alcove's borders, allowing those more involved in the pregnancy to have some modicum of privacy. Notably, he also peeks out every so often. You know, keeping a look out for anyone who might require emergency surgery wandering in.

Reyce keeps quiet throughout the healer's introduction, waiting for the women to move on so he can capitalize on that shared sentiment, but the peace he was expecting doesn't come. The sudden smack of a hand on his shoulder sends a jolt of tension through his body, his posture squaring up stiffly. His lips have grown tight along with the rest of him, and it takes him a beat to loosen them up enough to give a response, a simple, "Yeah." That could just be a poorly phrased response to her question - yeah, sure, you can take over this post - but he doesn't move, so it isn't likely. Luckily for any further tension that may arise as a result of this, the low-level go-fer who was sent to get Issa's stuff returns at this point with them in Reyce's duffel bag, and that slung over his shoulder like a Santa Claus in undyed linens. "You put that here," Reyce requests, giving his head a tug towards Issa and the head of the bed. He tracks the new person for a bit, probably noting that it's a different guy than the one he sent, but as the go-fer passes behind Neiran his attention sticks there. Leave the women to their thing, Missima can find another seat; he kicks off the thread of time-killing conversation by asking the healer, "You're missing what today?" in a low tone meant to slide beneath the female radar.

Part two...

Quiz

Sun, 15 Jul 2007 20:31:57 GMT

Personal DNA for Issa

Turn's End

Sat, 07 Jul 2007 07:50:06 GMT

Issa and Reyce get ready for the masked ball...

Turn's End celebrations are near at hand, near enough that preparation has become the business of the moment in the ground weyr. Though she's long since slipped that bronze-brown dress over her head, Issa has been fussing in front of the mirror for quite some time, hands up and mussing her curls into an attractive arrangement. Except that each attractive arrangement she tries doesn't satisfy her at all; she marks each updo with a soft huff of mild annoyance then pulls out all the pins to start over. The latest one she leaves, though, tucking in one last curl into the ones that already cascade down her back before she takes the mirror from the shelf it was balanced on and begins to survey the rest of her appearance. "I look like a tent," is the discontent conclusion she comes to as her slightly squinting eyes drift down to the way her skirt drapes off the bubble of her belly, even bigger than it was the last time she wore that dress.

Reyce has the easy side of things - not because he's not picky about his appearance, because at certain times he can be, but quite frankly because he isn't pregnant. This time he's not trying to match her brown dress, but has fished out the black suit he last wore to Tibby's masque. It looks good on him, which has its ups and downs, because its design emphasizes his fit frame and its being black cuts a neater figure still. Quite the contrast to Little Miss Tent over there. "Look like you're pregnant," he replies. Right now, his pragmatism can't be helping that much, either. Reyce was content with his appearance some time ago - his hair is combed, he finally shaved, and his cold has finally, /finally/ taken a turn for the better - and is now lounging on the bed while he waits for Issa to catch up.

Issa faces him instead of the mirror for only a moment, just a quick look that's less reproving and more assessing, eyes traveling down his lounging figure before returning to her own. "A pregnant tent," she replies, only faintly grumbling this time. Mirror tilted up again, she focuses on her cleavage and sets in to adjusting the neckline of her dress, compensating for her swollen belly by trying to make her breasts, already grown big, seem bigger still. With a barely stifled sigh, she resigns herself to whatever she looks like now, setting the mirror down finally and taking up her mask instead, the same one from before but painted over with a matching brown. She waddles over to the bed, plopping so heavily down next to him that it causes her hairdo to quiver. "At least I'll have a handsome holder boy on my arm to make me look better," she says, breaking from her pouting long enough to slip up a half-smile, eyes focused on the arm nearest her as she makes a grab for it.

There, at least, is a change he can approve of - at least while they're alone in their room, and Reyce doesn't have to worry about other men noticing her breasts. Right now it's only him, watching them sway with her waddling as a half-smirk takes over his mouth. He moves his legs aside when she reaches the bedside, though, and the effect disappears as he lifts his eyes to her face. She's allowed to grab his arm, but his other hand claims the mask from her, lifting it above him and turning a bit till he's seen it. He sets it down on his stomach. "Won't know it's you," he murmurs, letting his eyelids drift low over a glint of devilry as his fingers tap the mask.

His arm gets crossed over into what little lap space Issa has left, her hand feeling its way down to his and clasping it there over her leg; the other hand, now unburdened by the mask, travels around the bend of her belly to join the first, drawing lightly-touched lines down the back of his hand. She gives him a dry glance for his comment. "Yes, because no one will notice that, not only am I wearing the same dress I wore to the Caucus celebration," she tells him, focused once again on her invisible drawing, lines turned into swirls over his knuckles, "but I'm one of few pregnant tents there." After tracing back down to his wrist, both hands slip free from his, abandoning it so that they can fall to the mattress behind her and serve to prop her up as she leans back. "I don't think anyone with half a brain will be too stumped.”

Once he has his hand back, Reyce sets it behind him and uses it to push himself up to a sit. The mask gets snagged again as it tumbles into his lap, held out of the way till he's comfortably seated and has a hand on Issa's back. The thumb digs in around her neck, offering a small, slow massage while she's in that lean. "It matters?" he wonders, not bothering to raise his voice over the rustle of his fancy clothing. For the other hand is in his pocket, flipping out a pair of kerchiefs. After all this time stealing napkins from the living caverns, it turns out he does have his own handkerchief - Benden-made for one of its little lordings, thankfully not effeminate and aristocratic, but still fancily embroidered in the corner with his name's initial and a heraldic badge. What he's aiming for, however, is the larger and plainer black kerchief he picked up somewhere, and this one gets an extra flip to help shake it out.

Issa arches her neck, first to one side and then the other, under that mild massage, which does as much to soothe the annoyance for her state as it does the tense muscles. "Only because it takes most of the fun out of wearing a mask," she explains with a shade more resignation and a slightly stronger smile. On seeing him unfurl his own mask, she steals hers back from his lap, dragging it over by the lace ties (also changed to brown) and swinging it up to the top of her stomach, giving her bulge a pair of empty eyes and a nub of a nose. "And I don't often get to." Another glance is stolen of his black kerchief and the edges of her smile quirk. "Next time, though, I'm going to make you a real one," she mutters to him, one finger tapping on the solidness of her plaster number before falling to the bed to support her weight once more.

"'H have one," Reyce points out, lifting the black kerchief. His hand withdraws as she flops backwards, taking the other corner of the dangling kerchief and tying it - not around his face, as it turns out, but around his hair. He leaves her lying there while he goes to check it in the mirror she finally abandoned, though he has to bend low so he can see himself in the level that she keeps it at. It takes him a few tries to get the kerchief tied to his satisfaction, tightly fitted to press down his curls. Why he bothered combing them earlier when he was just going to tie them down, who knows. "You don't often get to it'll be a while before next time," he points out while he's doing this, his hands hovering over his head to make sure of the kerchief. At last they drop away, and he turns to find his actual mask - not really much of an improvement, being one of the cheapies handed out for those unmotivated to buy or decorate their own - near the jacket he left on a chair.

Issa readjusts to lean lower, using elbows instead of hands this time, while watching him tend to his appearance. "No, I mean a /real/ one," she stresses this time, taking in his simple mask with a glance and dismissing it soon after. "Nicer. Decorated. And if it really is a while, then I can go all out," she says as her lips bend up with impish thoughts, soon voiced. "Oh, we could paint it up, do tufts of wherry fluff here and there," her hand reaches up to illustrate using her own face, finger giving little flicks at the sides of her eyes where, presumably, said wherry fluff would be affixed. Then it collapses back to the bed, too vital to supporting her weight to neglect its duties for very long. "Some shiny beads, maybe, to match whatever dress I was wearing. You'd be very stylish."

Not long after she falls back to the bed, Reyce appears over her, leaning down. "Not your jewelry," he says, and though his tone is a warning, he just keeps leaning down until he finds her mouth to place a kiss on it. To anyone watching, it's an awkward maneuver - he has that belly to contend with, and leans in from an angle to get by - but the kiss itself is good, if short. His balance leaves him once he tries to lean back again, but instead of fighting with it, he just tilts his weight to the side and rolls down beside Issa. "Love you, though; I think you look good." Where that murmured thought comes from is as unclear as where it's going; Reyce is watching the ceiling while he speaks it, and only drops his face aside to look at her after he's made the simple declaration.

Only a muffled chuckle answers that warning tone, stifled completely when she catches on that his lean is carrying him towards a kiss. She meets it, but the real warmth comes after his next comment; her weight shifts away from him slightly, but just so she can hook her arm in with his, fingers curling around his sleeve to give a squeeze as she lets out a calm sigh. "Thank you," she breathes out with it, turning a slow-growing smile to meet his gaze, quietly watching his face for a moment. "Love you." Then, using that hooked arm for leverage, she rocks herself further onto her side, so she can face him with more ease. Her opposite hand makes an appearance, first tracing an adoring line down the edge of his black kerchief then moving down onto his chest. "You ready to go, holder boy?" she asks, then, pushing him up off the bed with a nudge, then petitioning him for a hand up so she can check herself in the mirror one last time before they head out to the celebration that by now they are fashionably late for.

And then they go...
I wonder if your analysis is correct, or if shades are deceiving

And then Reyce spends a night sick...
Know what I'm doing

On the same page

Tue, 03 Jul 2007 02:41:28 GMT

Issa's frustrations bubble to the surface when she tries to make tea and it results in a conversation with a sick Reyce about the baby that's on its way. (Reyce, Issa)
IC Date: Day 16, Month 13, Turn 3
OOC Date: 6-26-07

It's official: Reyce and Issa are all moved in together. And in a ground weyr, no less. There's no fireplace, but to compensate (and combat the cold) Reyce somehow managed to get two braziers in addition to the one the room came with, and now he insists on going around to light each and every one of them - nevermind the fact that, somewhere in the midst of moving Issa's things and setting up the room, he caught her cold, and has spent the few days since laboring under a stuffy nose and interrupted sleep. After he's lit the brazier by the bed, he travels to the two bracketing an empty wall - where the hearth /would/ be if they hadn't changed rooms - and lights those, honking back a heavy load of snot but waiting till both tiny flames are crackling before he pulls out one of the many napkins stuffed in his pants pockets.

And Issa would be that lump on the bed, her belly poking up like a conspicuous landmark while she lies flat on her back to take a moment of rest from their trek across the snowy bowl. The bed is of the four-poster type, even complete with a privacy curtain of midnight blue that can be drawn along the sides, and just tall enough for her, her feet dangling mere inches off the floor from where she is. For the most part she ignores Reyce's efforts to light the braziers, but when his heavy sniffing reaches her ears she rolls her head up to catch sight of him. From there she heaves herself to her elbows, peering at him more curiously as he moves on, while he stuffs his nose in that napkin to blow it. On the heels of one of his snorting sounds, she shifts further, announcing, "I'm going to make you something to drink." She shoves herself gradually off the edge of the bed, socked feet slapping down dully in between her discarded shoes. The ground weyr is sparsely furnished and seems quite empty indeed at the moment since Oshisyth is out on some other dragon's ledge, but there's a set of provided shelves set up along the same wall that the head of the bed lines up with; it's toward these and her things arranged on them that she goes, her steps heavy and waddling.

Reyce blinks at her over the napkin, but the intriguing sight of her pushing laboriously off the bed doesn't stall him for long. The cloth napkin goes back in a pocket - the left is for used napkins, the right is for new ones, and since they just went to dinner he's had time to restock his right pocket and empty his left- and he strides across the room, overtaking her easily and even leaving her behind on his way to the shelf. "Make myself a drink," he explains as he goes by. He's not big enough to block the shelves entirely, but Issa's big enough that he can just station himself in the middle and leave insufficient room for her on either side. "Said you were tired." Which sums up the litany of pregnant complaints quite concisely. Having just arranged those shelves, he has no trouble finding something he would like, as his hand closes around the neck of an old beer.

Issa sighs the kind of sigh he must have heard many times these past few months when his drive to keep her rested and relaxed conflict with what she wants to do. It's soft, slow, and threaded with lurking frustration. But there's a smile on her face as she moves to his right and tilts her head to the side to peer past him at the shelves, arms crossing above the bend of her stomach. But when she sees him snag that beer, she ignores his comment about her being tired and chimes in with a quietly amused, "No, no, no." One hand untucks itself and its fingers fall over his wrist as she guides his hand and the bottle it holds back to that same spot on the shelf. "Not that kind of drink. You need some tea," she tells him, her other hand falling to her hip as she peers up at him. "You're not getting any better."

Reyce was on the verge of snapping that bottle open on the edge of the shelf, but the touch of her hand freezes him - he may provoke one of those sighs again, but he tries to rein in quick movements around the pregnant woman - and drags his eyes to her face. His arm offers no resistance to the suggestion of her touch, and while his fingers would probably offer no resistance if she pried them off the beer bottle (and if she could reach), he's not doing any of it on his own. "Don't like tea." If her hand is still on his arm, he'll wait, but otherwise he'll jerk the bottle down again to restart the process. "Doesn't do anything. Happens every turn and I get better anyway." His gaze had moved to the shelf, but now it flicks back to her.

It's just a light touch from her fingertips that will keep his hand and the bottle it stubbornly clings to in place as she responds with a simple, "I know," to his stated aversion, her tone suggesting that his preference is not really a factor here. "Beer isn't going to help any either," Issa counters after hearing his other reasons. "At least tea will keep you warm and help you sleep better, if it doesn't help with your nose." Only then does her hand lift from its faint enforcement, fingers sliding down his arm and continuing down onto his side with a convincing caress that subtly guides him to turn toward her as it moves. "Come on," she coaxes with a slow lift of her smile, face turned up to him, "let me take care of you for a little bit and then we can go back to you keeping me in bed."

Reyce lifts a stare to his beer, but as her wheedling tone goes on, he pries his fingers away from the neck of the bottle. His eyes drop down to her face again, taking in her smile, though he ignores the caress of her fingers. "Won't have the beer," he concedes, moving his fingers away finally. His hand starts to go in his pocket, but there are napkins there, and he jerks it back out. Around Issa's waist is a much more pleasant option, so that's where he goes next as he turns to her. Since he can't draw her close, he just slings his arms around her, leaning back comfortably in the hold. "Still want you in bed," he admits - he at least doesn't try to hide his motives in all this caretaking business.

Pleased with his compliance, Issa smiles more strongly and lays her arms along the top of his, settling in for a moment as she responds with a teasing drop of dryness, "Don't you always?" With a light chuckle she gives him a bump with her belly, which only repeats again as she tries, rather awkwardly, to back him up toward the bed. It'll be fairly ineffective if he's not going to cooperate. "Now sit down. You started the fire, let me make some tea. For both of us," she specifies, hands squeezing tighter around his arm. "And maybe," she stresses, with a slight tilt to her smile, "maybe then I'll jump back in bed with you."

It's a measure of how far gone he is that that thought didn't even occur to Reyce, who only blinks at her comment - not confused, to judge by the look on his face, so much as surprised that he didn't see the sexual side of that till she pointed out to him. Perhaps it's enough to distract him from his stubbornness, because Issa's belly bump proves effective in getting him to thump a step back, towards the bed. His hands have to slide back from around her body, and when he realizes that all he's holding is tummy, not waist or ass, he moves them away slowly. It's all done without taking his eyes (no longer surprised, but dropped into neutral) off her face. "Rather have hot water." His nostrils pinch together, expression tightening - but after a moment he gives it up and hauls a most unattractive, snot-laden sniff. His expression sours because of it. "Get yourself sick again, still need rest, too," he tacks on in a mutter.

Issa's eyes squint with mirth as he reacts to the sound of his own sniff and she gives him one final shove backward. She's only guided him as far as the edge of the bed, but the sitting down he'll have to on his own. "All I'm doing is lying around in the afternoons, bundled up in bed," she reminds him, as she meanders back toward the shelves to retrieve water and her kettle, "I'm getting plenty of rest I assure you." All the requisite supplies, including a tiny satchel of herbs, make their way into her hands and she waddles with them over to the nearby brazier. On goes the kettle, clanking faintly in among her words. "You still have classes for a while more," then comes the hiss of water pouring down into the metal thing, "marching off across the cold bowl." She looks up from the arrangements, shifting her weight onto one hip while she waits. "So I'm going to take care of you," she finishes, slight stress on the pronouns.

Fine. Reyce sits. He still seems displeased with the arrangement, but at least he's starting to keep it to himself: he stares at her, clearing listening, but he doesn't respond to anything she says. Hard to do, anyway, when another gob of mucus comes upon you; he reaches into his pocket and whips out a napkin, horking this one straight into his makeshift handkerchief. Then, having little else to do while she watches water boil, he takes his time making a compact and careful bundle out of that napkin and shoves it into his left pocket. Finally he takes his boots off, glancing up at her quickly when he does - there's a smell, inevitably, but it's probably not even strong enough to carry to where Issa stands - and shoving them away to the end of the bed. Slowly, he gives in to his body and moves with sick-addled stiffness down to the bed, stretching out and tipping his head back over the pillow with a heavy, heavy sigh.

Issa watches him silently while the kettle runs through it's slowly bubbling routine, ready with a smile for any little glance, her head dropped just slightly to the side and her fingers fiddling with the drawstring of her skirt. The first dull sound from the kettle's shout pushes her into action again, though, and she returns to find mugs. It all proceeds one at a time since there's not really any flat surface to hold the mugs, and it's his cup that comes first. She walks with it carefully over to the bed. "Sit up a bit," she directs him, leaning onto the edge of the bed and then over him, her hair dangling down. "Here," she says once he's obeyed that simple order, carefully handing over his mug. Which is full of only hot water. She tilts up a smile at him, rubs a caress along his upper arm then pushes herself up to fetch her own, probably more tea-filled mug.

Reyce cracks his eyes open when he hears that kettle going off, but as he can't see much of the brazier from this angle, he doesn't bother looking in its direction. Not until he hears footsteps does he stir, grunting as he wriggles himself up on his elbows and finds Issa's ready smile. When she directs him to sit up, his cheeks puff, but he winds up blowing air through his nose (a bad choice - there's a thick, wet sound that makes him growl). The frustration seems mostly aimed at the snot, not at the woman, and he uses the wall as a backrest as he obeys this new injunction and takes the cup of - water. It's the first thing he checks. "Thanks," he says, following the line of her caressing arm up to find her face. The cup sits untouched on his belly while he waits for her, watching her waddling retreat to get her tea.

It's a simple matter of repeating the process she went through with his, except for the minor addition of the satchel of tea. But somewhere in the middle it goes wrong. Just as Issa glances up to urge him, "Drink," her toe stubs up against the base of the brazier and startles it into a harsh grating sound as it rocks away from the impact. The kettle begins to skid off the side and she leans hastily up to catch it; for the most part she settles her fingers on the protected handle of the thing, but her pinky drifts down onto the hot metal. The kettle is saved from a tumble but the burn tugs a pained, "Fuck," out of her and she almost immediately sticks it into her mouth. "I'm okay, I'm okay," she mumbles past that mouthful of pinky, holding up her mug-laden hand to tell him to stay in the bed. "Fuck," she whispers again, taking the finger out of her mouth and glaring at the reddened skin. "Why am I so fucking clumsy?" That hand is shaken lightly and then back it goes to the offending kettle, unhurt, persevering fingers curling around the handle so she can finally get that cup of tea.

She's okay, but Reyce hurt himself. It's too late to tell him to stay in bed, anyway, for at the harsh sound of the brazier moving he shot upright and leapt forward, spilling a good amount of that hot water on his arms with some splashed onto his pants. Lucky for him that he got out of bed, in fact; if he hadn't, he'd have been perfectly positioned to spill on his lap, and neither of them would get to move past that for a while. As it is he merely closes his eyes, drawing breath through his teeth as he deals with what will probably becoming a light scald mark in the next few hours. The hand unencumbered with a cup snakes across to the offended arm, giving a few flicks to send the water away - pointless, now it's had time to cool in the air and on his skin. "Because you're fucking pregnant," he answers too quickly, anger (or pain) giving him the momentum to get past a word that usually stalls him. He strides past the shelves on the wall, setting his cup down on the lowest clear space, and goes straight up to Issa. He holds his hand out for the cup expectantly. "Should lie down. I'll join you." He looks at her, his lips twitching close together but otherwise, his expression unmoving.

Issa pauses her effort to pour at his quick response, giving him a squinty-eyed look that follows him all the way over. She glances at that hand he holds out then returns her attention to his face, teetering on the line between defiance and submission. A beat later, though, her eyes drop to the side and she stuffs the empty mug into his hand, dropping the tea satchel in after. The brazier is given a wider berth this time as she waddles, parting with a sigh and heading to 'her' side of the bed, where she plops down much as he was before, stretched out similarly but with an arm draped over her eyes. Without a word she waits there for him to join her, as promised.

Reyce stares her down while she ponders defiance, his hand unwavering as it waits for the cup. The indecorous push it receives when his demand is granted doesn't seem to bother him, and he keeps an eye on her while she waddles around the brazier. As soon as he's sure she's out of its range, he picks up where she left off, picking up the rescued kettle. He pours less than he ought, though, keeping the water level well away from the rim; the tea, once he drops it in, won't need time to steep. Both cup and kettle come with him as he returns to the shelves, taking a moment refilling his own cup with plain water before both of those are left to steep and cool, respectively, and he brings the kettle back to the brazier. Issa is his next step, while the cups wait, and there's no word of warning or of request as he slips one hand under her lower back, the other under her shoulders. "Get up." The grim determination has left his tone, but his normal voice is lacking a note of ... anything. It's soft, but it's empty. His hands get ready to brace her in his command, moving her up and shifting her back so she'll use the wall just as he did, copying his position sitting up just as she copied his position lying down.

The touch of his hands starts the slow slide of her arm away from her face and back down to her side where it belongs. Her weight leans heavily on his helpful hands and once she’s sitting up she grips his arm for leverage as she scoots back. Her shifting, as it usually does these days, prompts a series of muted grunts which culminate in a quick sigh once she’s settled and sitting. She glances at him with a faint smile of thanks and then reaches around behind her, stuffing pillows into place behind her. “I’m sick and tired of being so fucking useless,” she confides in a murmur while she finishes her rearranging. “Can’t even make a cup of tea anymore,” she adds while staring at her legs as she drags them up, knees bent and spaced wide to brace her in this new, drink-friendly position.

Reyce doesn't look at Issa's face while he's adjusting her, concentrating more carefully on her back and the pillows he's dragging up to comfort her there. Only once she's set in that drink-friendly position does he look up, his eyes flicking across her features through a few short beats of silence. "I'm not," he confides right back, moving his gaze up to fix upon her eyes. "Gives me something to do." One of his hands is still lingering on her belly after that positioning, and it slides across her stomach as he moves away. "Been taking care of everything yourself, but can't anymore; I've wanted to." He has to lift his voice so it'll reach back to her, but it's gentler than it was moments ago. His fingers curl around the handle of her tea and he brings it back to her, flapping a (clean) white napkin out of his right pocket and twitching it towards her belly (she has liberty enough to place it there herself) before he'll hand that cup over.

Issa's hand follows the trajectory of his, sliding up to her belly button at the same time he pulls away. Her head falls back as her gaze tracks his progress over to the stranded cups, pushing her curls flat until she gets it in her head to rearrange them all over one shoulder. "I know," she answers him quietly, staring almost cross-eyed while she focuses on the gathered ends. That focus is dropped as soon as he returns with that flipped napkin, and she takes first it, draping it carelessly over the top of her bulge, and then the mug. She cups her hands around the body of it and positions it under her nose, breathing in the steam coming off while she waits for him to retreive his own drink. "It's not that I don't need you," she tells him, eyes drawn from the tea to his face as he walks back to the bed, "you know that. I just... like to do things myself." The explanation must seem lacking to her ears, judging from the faint shrug that rounds it off and the way she turns back down to watch her tea, to blow lightly across its surface.

Reyce waits by the bedside for a few moments, making sure that she has her cup under control. He gives the napkin a little, smoothing flick before he goes, touching her belly once again before he goes back to the shelf. "Mean it, though," he says while he looks down into his own hot water cup. He stares for half a beat before he picks it up and returns to the bedside. After considering it for a moment, he decides it's easier to just sit down on the floor next to the bed, rather than crawl over her or even ask her to move aside. He tilts his face up so he can see her, though, his head tipped against the wall. "You're nine months. You -" he pauses, dropping his gaze away for a second so he can gather himself. "Know you want to do things yourself. Seen you, but I'm asking. That you let me." This time, when his gaze drops, it stays away, fixing on the wall opposite him as he lifts a shrug. "All I can do."

"Yeah," Issa mutters into the curve of her mug, cradled a bare inch from her lips still. She gave him a short look when he sat down, then returned quickly to blinking at the end of the bed through whorls of steam; it's there she stares for a moment more before angling her face down to him on the floor. Up comes a slow smile to her lips, shallow still as she says, "I do try to. Let you." A hand drops from her mug and swings down beside him, two fingers twitching a gesture for him to reach up to meet it, though he'll have to be careful of that singed pinky if he does so. "I just get bored sitting around with nothing to do but wait," she continues in another effort to explain. "I almost just wish it'd come now and end all the suspense." She looks back, down past her mug this time at her stomach, as if pondering the use of force to push the babe out into the open. But then the moment passes and she blows another cooling breath across her tea before dipping her head to test it with a sip.

Reyce doesn't look up, but he takes her hand as soon as it's offered, giving it a squeeze - the burned pinky must have slipped his mind. His own burn has begun to swell, forming a red paintsplash along his forearm, but if it's giving him any pain, he's ignoring it. Just like he's ignoring the gathering clog of snot in his nose that's making his voice a touch heavy and nasal. He's silent for a few beats, drinking his water, but suddenly he pops out with, "The fuck you mean almost." He grunts as he shifts in his hard stone seat, looking up at her once again as he moves their joined hands onto the bed, clutched at her side.

Issa breathes out a bit of laughter, dousing it in another, larger sip of tea before she looks back down at him. If their handhold is bothering her burn, she gives no sign of it, leaving them firmly in contact there on the bed. "Well," she begins, eyes hesitantly flicking to the floor while she composes an explanation of something she thought would be obvious. "Babies that're born too early have more problems," is what she goes with, meeting his eye once again. "I don't want to hurt it," she adds, lifting her mug from her stomach as if she were suddenly aware that just resting it there on top of her stomach were causing some amount of pain already. The motion just carries over into another sip, though.

Reyce narrows his eyes into a squint, watching her. He would be listening in silence, except his stuffed nose becomes a problem and he has to hork it back, which he does as quietly as he can. "Wasn't being literal, Issa," he answers. His hand has to part from hers so he can snag a napkin out of his pocket, but this time it isn't his nose he goes after: he brings it to his mouth and hacks out a mouthful, because as it turns out, snot migrates. "/Know/ that," he mutters as he pulls the napkin away, glancing at its contents (for whatever reason) before he folds it up tight and tucks it way. "Wasn't being literal." His hand doesn't return, but goes to support his cup as he drinks his hot water again.

Issa's eyes dart down to him while the mug still tilts up to her mouth. "Oh," she breathes out, hot and breathy coming off of her drink, the mug lowered gently over her stomach again. A softly snorted laugh, dryer than before, falls after it. "Sorry," she says next, tone simply apologetic without being heavy. Her fingers flatten back onto the quilt of the bed and she glances at them for a few seconds before lifting them away, tucking them under her opposite elbow as it lifts to let her draw another drink from her mug.

The simple apology goes a long way to stopping Reyce's mood before it begins, as the muttering signs of an oncoming brood drop off sharply. He drinks his water in silence, finishing it while she's still working away at her tea. The last mouthful he catches, pushing it from side to side with an audible swishing as it flows between his teeth. Which is as close as he gets to speaking during this interval, for even once the water's swallowed, he just sets his cup down and remains on the floor. His gaze sneaks slowly towards Issa, watching her face, but if caught he'll just pull a tiny, sinus-clearing sniff and drop it away.

Issa studies her tea while she drinks it in, sip after tiny sip, but Reyce is far from ignored; she sneaks him glances out of the corner of her eye, and though they grow fewer as the silence persists, they never really stop. She catches him with one as he looks up at her and blinks when he simply breaks the eye contact again with that sniff, turning her face away from nursing her mug to face him more fully. Her eyes don't leave quite so easily, focusing on his face and letting the quiet last for the moment more she takes to study it. "Are you mad?" comes directly, but quietly, her brows perched on the brink of a frown while she waits for him to meet her eye again.

If the silence grows a bit stiff as it stretches on, Reyce is fighting a winning battle to seem unaware of it. Instead, he's focused on his arm and the scald mark there, leaning forward so he can press the back of it to the cool stone and let that ease the pain. When Issa speaks, his gaze moves from down to forward, though it still doesn't find a way back to Issa's face. A breath, held in his nose since the first sound of her voice, follows it wetly. "Yeah," he acknowledges softly, putting a heft of air in with the vowels. Now, his gaze trails up to Issa. "That you thought I would think that." He pulls his arm away from the floor and leans into the bed, his cheek just barely reaching the top of the mattress. He hadn't shaved for a while before they moved, and between the hassle of moving and the irritation of getting sick, still hasn't shaved since; his stubble is thick and dark, and a bad rub on the bedsheet makes it bristle. His eyes track across her face slowly, and whatever anger he's admitted to, it doesn't show up in that searching look.

Issa presses her lips briefly tighter when he confirms her suspicion, but any hint of a frown is banished when his reason comes up. Her mouth falls open with a speaking attempt cut short and she tilts her head to stare down at the mattress not far from where he settles his head. A few seconds later, she just spits it out. "I didn't... mean it like that." Her eyes switch over to meet his searching look, dipping only when she adds a softly murmured, "'M sorry." She looks at him a moment more, then returns to watch the sloshing remains of her tea, both hands tapping down dully along the sides of the mug until it's completely encased between them.

Reyce takes the tea away. He pulls it out of her grasp gently, then sets it down on the floor next to his own cup. The napkin on her belly gets tugged off and tossed over the two, concealing them. "'S fine." He sets an arm on the floor, pushing himself up with a grunt. One of his legs has fallen asleep and he winds up hobbling a few steps, on his way towards the cold water basin. "Just don't know why you said. Mostly wondering." He pulls one of his rapidly dwindling supply of napkins out of his pocket - the right's almost empty now, the left almost full - and dips it into the water. He lets it hang there a moment or two, dripping down, before he squeezes the thing. Once it's just damp, he wraps it around his burned arm, giving a little shiver as the cool water settles on his skin.

The tea mug goes without a struggle and without even a reproving glance to chase it; seems she was done anyway. Her hands are left aimless without that filler, though, and fall to her belly knuckles down. It’s not long before they flip, fingers stretching wide from where her palms stroke slowly down the sides of her belly. “It’s just been… in my head, that’s all.” She watches her fingers converge on her belly button, but then they weave together over it unsupervised, as she looks up to him. She squints slightly when she finds what he’s doing, but continues anyway. “What we’d do if it came out and was sick. Or if it couldn’t breathe, or had problems with its heart.” The list must go on, but she stops there with an inward twitch of her lips. “I have too much time to think. Even when I’m sewing,” she explains, a bit wry. She’s undertaken the project of mending the hems and fixing the buttons on all of their clothes in an attempt to keep her mind busy while she rests, but apparently it hasn’t worked all that well. Her eyes gradually shift from his face to his napkin-covered arm, then back up again as she asks, “Did you burn yourself?”

Reyce wraps the napkin tightly, taking a moment to push his shirt sleeve further back - all the way up to his shoulder - so it won't get wet. Once he's patted the damp thing securely into place, he goes back for the tea mugs he left on the floor, glancing up at Issa when he comes close. His plain is interrupted by her words, as he gathers both handles into one hand and (a bit sneakily) tucks the basically unused napkin back into his right pocket. There's a small space on the bed, and he goes to sit on it, albeit not all that securely, with his legs braced out in front of him so he doesn't slip. His free hand goes searching after hers, the one he dropped earlier. He holds it and looks at her for a moment, but in the end decides to just answer her last question. "Yeah," he says, dropping his gaze to the wrapping. "Just water." He locks his fingers through hers as his eyes move back up to her face.

Issa's fingers peel away from her belly, lifting up to meet his questing hand while her leg leans toward the center of the bed to make more room for him. Her left hand, meanwhile, motions gently for him to inch his injured arm closer so she can navigate past the mugs, cup his wrist, and press her thumb in a featherlight touch along the edge of the wrapping where the redness peeks out. She studies it while she deals out those oh-so-faint pokes and strokes, but when they fall still and she releases his arm again, she looks immediately back up at him. "You said you'd come back to bed with me," she reminds him, tone simple and unpleading, while giving a slight tug to their joined hands.

"I will," Reyce confirms, tugging her hand back - but he's tugging away from her. He lifts the mug handles captured in his hand. "Put these down, come back." His fingers disentangle themselves and he places her hand back on her belly, pressing it down there before he draws away. He keeps a neat house, and all dirty dishes have to be gathered if not brought out at the end of the night. Still, he walks a little quickly tonight, putting the cups in their place so he can return. The napkin has plastered itself to his arm, but when he stretches out to climb over Issa, it starts to crack loose and reveal more of that redness she was poking at. He pushes it back into place once he's on the other side of her, already scooting in to grab her and using that same arm (wet, but he's not that considerate) to do it. His eyes flick over hers, searching. "Was thinking the other day," he says, his soft voice warming her ear. "People ask me what I want, the kid. Boy or girl." His lips turn wryly and he pauses, watching her.

Issa's smile quirks softly when he reaffirms that promise, remaining in the position he put her in with that little press for only a moment, watching him return to the shelves, before she makes a few minor readjustments. Socks are the first to go, and the most difficult as well since she has to stretch over her stomach to reach them. But they're off her feet shortly and as he comes back to the bed she's peeling off her outer sweater and dropping it to the floor, and while he settles twisting her hair into a loose braid that is left almost wholly unfinished when he grabs her. She slouches against him, her head butting against the base of his neck and both her bent legs and broad belly dropping sideways toward him. The backs of her fingers pull lightly over the wrap that covers his burn, not even strong enough to shift it. "Yeah?" she asks quietly, and with one movement, shifting her face too look up at him from that sharp angle, that impromptu braid falls free. "/Do/ you want one over the other?" comes a thoughtful moment later, in that same near-whispered, gentle tone.

Reyce's eyes turn down to watch her fingers as they trail over his makeshift bandage, only long enough to make sure that it's staying in place. "No," he answers, turning his gaze back up to her and marking it with a bump from his nose. The touch drops back after he's offered it. "Thought about it and couldn't think, what the difference was. To me. 'S a kid." He rolls back slightly, moving his other arm out from under him so he can get more comfortable. His hand winds up against her side, the fingers uncurling upon contact and touching her belly. "Only thing I want." His mouth moves again, this time his lips pulling in, and his eyes dart minutely back and forth, over hers.

Issa's eyes are riveted on his face for the entire time he's speaking, tilted up sharply, and her smile slowly grows stronger, though it stops short of tipping into grin territory. "Me too," she murmurs, almost under her breath as she tucks her face against his shoulder, nuzzling gently with her cheek as she resettles in response to his roll back. Her one hand leaves his injured arm to cross under it, arm lying flush against his much flatter stomach. "I keep thinking of good things about both. Can never decide." She pauses but it's a short one. "And it doesn't really matter anyway, we wouldn't be able to change anything now."

Released, the injured hand curls up to cup the back of her head, holding her secure against his shoulder. "No," he agrees. With her face tucked into him, his gaze is free to wander, and it trails up to the ceiling. His stomach lifts with a slow breath under her hand, but it's drawn and released in silence. "'S changed, I think." He speaks after that release of breath, and his words are thin and quick. "Want you to know. Still don't know what the fuck I'm doing and I'm over my head, think about the next few months even, but it's different. Hits me when I think about a boy or girl, and I don't care so long as it's a kid. Trying to say, I told you once I needed time to get used to it, now I've had enough. I'm used to it, and - 'h want it," he finishes in an awkward huff, his chest and stomach popping her up where she's in contact.

Issa is still, sitting in suspended silence as if the slightest sound would be an obstacle to what he has to tell her. So it's not until he's finished, until she's given him a moment more to continue if he chooses that she stirs. "Reyce," she breathes out at the same time she lifts her head against his hand, abandoning his shoulder so she can meet his eye again, her lips dropped open slightly though they retain their smiling curve. "I do too," she murmurs under her breath without seeming to pay much attention to what she's saying, "I want it too." Her arm squeezes tighter before she slides her hand up his chest, fumbling to the corner of his jaw to pull him down to kiss her and then to the back of his neck to keep him pressed close. "Our baby," she utters, barely a whisper as her kisses pull down his cheek, a sigh washing warmly down over them.

Reyce does not catch his breath again after that huff, and the moment Issa allots him to add on to his words is spent in a silence that grows tense as his lungs tighten up. When she speaks his name, it's met by a series of rapid inhalations, ill-matched to her sighing word but crudely effective in getting him to move. It doesn't break down the stress that built so quickly on him during her silence, and his heart is beating heavily when her hand passes over her chest, but it gets to join his scalded arm in the physical discomforts Reyce doesn't care about right now. The napkin slips off his arm when he moves it, releasing Issa's head to clutch her shoulders. "Ours," he agrees after that kiss, while her mouth is still pushing through his stubble. His chin tips up so she can move more easily, and a long breath seeps out of him as he calms that needless tension.

Issa's hand continues slowly down one side of his neck, stroking away the tension he's trying to battle, while the other is still covered with the occasional soft kiss as she works her way down to his shoulder again. Before she can get there though, she backtracks, nudging her nose against the side of his face. "I love you," she says, lips brushing lightly into his stubble and causing her to draw back and press her smile briefly tighter to drive away the tickle it gave her. Both hands spring to his face then and, instead of maintaining the stretch to reach him, she slides down into her pillows to encourage him to roll over her, wrapping an arm around his neck if he complies. The pause is slight, then she continues, quieter, "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

Reyce's hands seize tight on her body when she says she loves him, returning the sentiment wordlessly - and if he were about to return it audibly, the sudden closing of hands on his cheeks catches him, and his contentedly drooping eyelids spring back open to watch her smile. He follows her pull, but carefully, edging wide of her stomach lest he risk damage to it. Lying diagonal over her chest, then, he sweeps the hair back from her face, pulling it tight under his palms while his mouth dips to echo her kisses down the line of her cheek and her throat. His stubble roughs along her skin. "Don't know how you did so far, you waited. I'm sorry," he breathes, chasing it down with a light kiss. His cold's been good to him for a little while, perhaps cowed by the hot water, but here a cough gets stuck in his throat and turns his words raspy. "Be with you now, it's what I want. I love you." A small tremor - it would be undetectable were he not pressed on top of her - runs through his body, producing the rest of that trapped cough, over which he closes his mouth to produce a blown, tough sound. He cannot help but snort softly, his nose right by her ear and blowing hot air over it, and he presses his mouth sideways so she can feel the wry twist that's turned up at the corner of his mouth.

The sound of that cough brings Issa’s hand up again, stroking sympathetically over the back of his head and flattening down his curls. That petting slowly slides over his neck and then even lower, becoming less and less a caress until she finally reaches that right pocket and slips her hand in to pull out a napkin. Her nose nuzzles against his cheek while she does, eyes finding his to encourage him to lift his face above hers again, something she’ll urge more obviously with a nudge from her napkin-draped hand if he doesn’t get the hint. “I would have waited longer,” is all she says, murmured through slightly smiling lips as she focuses on his nose, touching its tip with just the very corner of the napkin. That playful dab done, she dips to draw a fold of the napkin into an actual swipe of his nose, though it’s not really all that effective.

Reyce is indeed slow to get the hint, and when she simply takes matters into her own hands (literally) and lifts his face, he just looks puzzled. He doesn't see the nose dab coming, certainly, and the look he gives her is one of total surprise. When she removes the napkin, he snorts faintly and shakes his head, dispelling the sensation, then grabs after the thing and takes it back from her so he can wipe his own nose. After he has, he rolls that napkin up inside the one from his arm - no point in keeping it there, really, as it's dried up and no longer holding to his skin very well - and just tosses them both off the bed. He starts to lean his head down beside her again, but mindful of the way she just pulled his head back up, he catches himself and tugs his face back in view, his eyes turned down to her face.

Issa tilts a gentle smile up as she watches him take care of his nose, then wraps an arm around his head when he's finished, keeping him just low enough that their noses might brush into each other. The opposite hand feels its way across his other features, a light tracing of fingertips and knuckles. "It's still hard to believe that I'm going to be a mother," she all but whispers, eyes flicking up to meet his then turning back to watch her fingers bump over his stubble and down onto the curves of his neck.

Their noses don't brush, only because Reyce is intentionally holding his back and leaning slightly against her pressure of her arm. His eyelids start to drift closed as her hand traces near, but he opens them again with a squinted blink when she speaks. "All of it," he says, lifting the back of his hand to lay against her cheek. "Hard to believe." His eyes don't move from hers, but they are making a narrow search, flicking back and forth minutely. They calm quickly, and his hand brushes further back on her cheek, falling past her ear. "Be there with you," he murmurs, almost reflectively.