More nighttime confessions

12:52 AM
Logfile from Flandynn.

Xanadu Weyr - Seaside Sentinel Weyr(#5977RJ)
Nestled high on a promontory where the Caspian Lake meets the Sea of Azov is a large weather-beaten structure, a crushed shell path leading to the windswept place. Built long ago, from the design the obvious purpose is to help guide ships to Xanadu's port. The bottom third of the walls to this enormous building have been fashioned from large fitted stones, the rest is wooden beams - huge logs that have been hewn square, faded to a soft grey by the elements, save where crisp, white-framed and shuttered windows are placed. Behind the structure, attached to its base is a round tower, the entirety formed of stone cut to fit the curvature, round windows spiral up until they end at a glassed-in enclosure compete with an automatic, electric light that beams forth come sunset.

Just inside the human-sized entrance, inset into the glossy, golden oak floor of the foyer is a pattern of light and dark - the inlaid wood imported from all over Pern. The contrasting natural tones create a compass rose that points to true north. The entire space is open and airy, the same rustic, rough time-silvered wood from outside forms the walls in here as well. Nothing is finished save for the floor, which continues throughout until it halts at the stone dragon portion, and the vaulted ceiling, both of the same fine-grained, silky wood, both highly reflective, cast a warm, honeyed light back into room. Arching gracefully overhead from one side of the vast space to the other, beautifully-finished curved beams span the entire room, ends on either side bracketed to the walls with brass fixtures that have the patina of age to them. The rich, reddish finish is polished to match the floor's sheen - they're obviously salvaged ribs of some great ship, restored, and used here to buttress the structure.
The living space is simple in dcor, furnished with comfortable leather sofa and two matching chairs, smooth mahogany hide softly gleams in the firelight of the nearby fireplace, creatively made from a mosaic of natural, rounded blue and green stones and topped by a twisted driftwood mantel. On one side of the hearth is a large glass netted float, on the other an ancient wooden chest. The kitchen is small, space used economically; cupboards of reclaimed pine have ship cleats for handles, hammered copper sink and ship's lanterns affixed to the walls - all likely taken from some ship's galley. Large bay windows flood the room with light, skillfully-sewn curtains of heavy sailcloth serve as drapes that can be pulled at night for privacy.
Obvious exits:
Tower Coastal Road (CR)

Eyes are often viewed as the windows of the soul; in this case, Landers' eyes show that he is a young man who has had to grow up quickly. The dawn pale-blue grey stare he has, can be intense, but always bearing some unseen burden, corrupted not by hatred, instead by grief. However, durability has etched into the glassy windows of his soul; an enduring flame of hope, no matter how dim.
He is otherwise a tall olive-skinned young man, who seems stout and capable of being a powerhouse, since his build is sturdy and muscular. His skin bears the evidence of his turmoil upon the sea, for there are several nicks and lashes dotting his arms, neck, and chest. Kept close to his head, he wears his tawny-brown hair short, which means that pieces don't sit straight, instead curl and bob in loose voluminous waves. It still grows fuller on top, where light brown bangs coil over his forehead. Often times he'll be seen wearing a bandana tied over his forehead in a thin folded band or styled to cover his whole skull. Tufted brows bearing a wide contour help define the aforementioned eyes, which preside over a slight crooked nose and fair mouth that's given to quick expression. Scruffy whiskers dominate his wide powerful jaw line, forming a beard from side burn to side burn. The whiskers are even found to give him a soft moustache over his upper lip; a typical sight on any seafaring man. Overall, his face, while strong with defined mid-height cheekbones and a thick jaw, has a subtle roundness to it which softens his features considerably.
A drape of ivory cloth flows over the young man's form. It is a long sleeved furled cuffed sailor blouse, cut to billow at the arms - both at elbow and wrist - while the neck line drops to a loose slope, allowing chest to show from underneath. He also wears a brass ring, likely from a far-viewer, round his neck on a simple leather chord, easily viewed between muscular pectorals. Thrown on top is a dark chocolate leather tunic-vest, split down the middle like a tabard and clasped together at the waist with a slender belt. Beefy arms look like they're no stranger to climbing riggings or swabbing the decks, which bears the scars of shallow cuts, showing further scars lining the back of his right hand, and one on his left. His fingers are long and have a firm grip when curled.
Form fitting leather breeches begin low on the young man's waist. Styled as greaves, an additional darker leather panel has been sewn atop the lad's thighs; the panels have scores in the leather that would mimic the definition of muscle underneath. They're are held up by a thick stomacher, its buckle bearing a double hasp. Ankles lead to booted feet, each adorned with numerous buckles. An additional belt rests low on the young man's hips, weighted down by the tools of his trade which hang from hooks on the right side.

Desk duty… already. Not even a sevenweek into Galaxy and he's got a sling around his arm. By the rumors, it was due in part because of his enthusiasm to prove himself a hero, or so they say. Others blame the greenrider he went with and whisper that he took the fall for both of them to save her unborn child. Others say it was all stupid and that the rescue was botched. In either case, the outcome is still the same. He's in a sling, not a cast thankfully, just a sling, since his shoulder was dislocated during the incident the other night. Without mobility of it, he's been granted some time to rest, even if he refuses to do as much. A harper strolls out of his weyr likely moments before Fl'ynn arrives, shouldering books and lecture pads. Inside the weyr itself, Lan is on the sofa of his abode, what looks and smells near to be a ship built into the stone. Papers are strewn on the wooden table in front of him, lessons and planners, text books and study guides. All the better to educate the sea-farring man. On top of the wooden sea-salt smell of the weyr, there's an aroma of hot klah and stew mingling in. Zhaoth is present inside, but sleeping away near a lit hearth.

WTF is it with his friends and paperwork? Fl'ynn gives a bit of a double-take to the Harper, for sure offering up a greeting, but still giving the crafter an odd glance. But up that seashell path he comes an easy gait despite what he holds curled in an arm. As he approaches, the building grows, as does his smile, further deepening his dimples. His chin lifts, looking up the tower, only to shake his head slowly from side to side in wonderment. "Ers'lan?" he calls, approaching the door. "Hey, are you… battle scars already." The potted plant in his arm waves it's fronds in greeting too.

The voice calling for him is met with a deep chested 'Ahoy thar' … a typical greeting from the man, maybe more so now that his personal weyr is pretty much the salvaged remains of a ship, built up around the rock. He flings his good arm over the back-edge of the couch, as his chin tilts down upon the bluerider's appearance, looking from underneath those bushy brows of his. There's a familiar smirk resting on his lips as the door is open for Fl'ynn, likely because the Harper just came out and Lan hadn't gotten up off his duff to lock it. Instead, he just shakes his head with wry amusement at the potted plant that Fl'ynn carries, nodding in a side glance to his injury, "Aye. Took a fall already. Be narh too long before I be going back at it… beats learnin how ta talk within me accent…" An annoying subject matter that his wingleader has insisted he take control of. "How be yerself? Smooching up anymore goldriders?"

Fl'ynn just sort of brandishes that plant before him. "It is a weyr warming, gift. Sorry, Briana got the booze. It is a grape vine. Well, if you plant it in the right spot, and I'll be showing you where, it'll grow up, span out and give you the most delicious grapes you ever set lips to. Get enough and then you can make your own booze." He smiles as he leans down to set the pot to the floor, wandering up closer to the ex-sailor. "Yet another wound to add to all of your others? Or no scar this time?" His shoulders rise and fall after Lan's last words, "Thea runs too fast for me to catch her."

Ers'lan points to the sealed barrel set to the side of the weyr, "Dun need no more booze. Donakan be giving me a barrel I be hiding since candidacy… finest rum." He does nod at the mention of it being a weyr warming gift, abruptly looking concerned, "Did narh get ya anything. Be that a … weyr tradition I be narh knowing bout?" He licks his bottom lip over once as his eyes scan his weyr, hrmming softly, "Reckon I be havin no idea whar ya want in return." A hint would help the brownrider. As for the description of the grape plant, again he nods, considering the bluerider for a time, as Lan absently brushes his hand through his longer curled pieces of hair. He snorts a bit, "Nah. No scar. Just be wenchin me arm bout the wrong way. Muscles jus be a bit tender and sore fer a while." There's room enough on the couch and with the glance to the empty spot, the invitation to sit is all but implied in another exchange of looks. For the last, he chuckles, "Aye. She be dartin all bout the Weyr with all that be happenin."

"I…" Fl'ynn's head turns to look at the barrel, and then look at it again. "You have a barrel." Count him impressed. "It is what you do. My ma drilled it into my head. You get new neighbors. Someone moves out to a place of their own, you give them a gift. You get a plant." It is a great plant. Amazing. If it lives. With the invitation, the teen is more than happy to flop. He is an expert draper, leaning back, sliding down into a slouch. "Not bad at all. I have to say, Lan, this place is… great." His eyes move upwards, looking to the ceiling. "I shardling well got lost coming… and leaving Briana's place. Next time I'm leaving breadcrumbs. And you can't miss this place at all, not from land or sea." He turns his head to look across to the brownrider. "How is your 'mate liking it?"

A charismatic smile holds onto his features, crows feet showing in the corner of his eyes as it reaches there, pride evident for the barrel that he stashed and re-secured once the graduation had been official. It could explain his sudden disappearance at the graduation party or it could very well have been other reasons that he quickly fled the ceremonies. Whatever the case is, he's looking rather smug all the same. "Well… reckon I did narh know it… whar ya want from me then uh?" he's not so good at this gift giving thing, no surprises, he'll just ask what Fl'ynn needs inbetween fiddling with some of the books amassed on the table, good arm resorting them. "Aye, tis finally a place ta call me own, me home…" he slumps back into the couch, eyes lifting to the arched beamwork above, "iffin I can narh sail, tis a good compensation fer it." A glance over to Fl'ynn as the younger takes a seat next to him, "Reckon I be yet ta see yer place…" a beat, "Briana huh?" An near impressive tilt on his features says he approves, reading between the lines. The last question has him shrug, "She be sayin it be great. Reckon she be liking us ta live together, but, I be needing me own space and whar a space this be! Hah."

"I want a drink from that barrel when you open it up," Fl'ynn notes with a slow grin. He, somehow, manages to get even more comfortable, slumping further. His eyes almost go half-lidded, a creature finding comfort on that couch. "They really give you nice places here. Shells, your place along is bigger than my home back in Keroon." His eyes briefly open wider at the displacement on the sofa, looking across to Lan. "I practically live right next to you. Kinda looks like a cottage. Place has a porch, a fardling /porch/. Can you believe that? I've got a porch. I'm all set up now to put a swing in and sit on that, sipping citronade and yelling at the kids to keep off the grass. Or probably get Kagenaith." It takes a moment, and then a blink. "Wait, what?… 'mate. I meant your lifemate. Your dragon. What mate am I missing here? Your rider girl… still?" This actually has him sitting up some.

Ers'lan gives a rumble of a promise, the noise backing up his words, "Aye, T'will give ya a shout when I be getting 'nuff bottles ta see it poured out right." No point cracking it when he's yet to collect enough glass to hold its contents. As for the state of the places that the weyrlings received, he chuckles, "Tis bigger than the crew deck on a ship," he pushes some of the books off the table so that he can prop his feet up on it, nodding at the location for the bluerider's weyr. "A porch…" he intones with a near quizzical pitch, as if not understanding the concept of a porch - call it deck and he might figure it out. The imagry that Fl'ynn outlines has Lan smirking some, eyes flicking over toward him soon enough, "Reckon ya want some klah or stew? Both be on the hearth near Zhaoth…" the dragon has enough space to move close enough to it, lounging as the flames flicker against his hide. A beat, at the very last has Lan blink a few times, then laugh, "Oh… aye. That 'mate…" he peers over his shoulder toward the brown, "he be lovin it jus as much. No more sharin. He be likin that." A beat, as he nods, "Aye. Laera. Her long term mate be leaving her in a harsh way, no word nor nothing. Jus be off… leavin her with the babe…" he wrinkles his nose at the subject of the wayward greenrider, "I be with her still. She be a lovin woman, pretty too. No reason ta leave her. Reckon I won't." Just, space is good. Time apart, good.

Fl'ynn lifts a hand up to press it to the palm of his head. Ah yes, the classic facepalm. "Laera. Why am I just now hearing this name?" His hand drops back down into his lap, and then the teen actually bursts out into laughter. His head shakes from side to side, amused at something or another. "You just got the place; you had better be enjoying it. I mean… shells, look at it." His hands lift from his lap, lifting up and spanning wide to gesture to it all. In the next breath the arms fall and his head lolls back onto the couch, dark hair flopping over his eyes, "Aye, a porch. It wraps around the outside of it. Nice place to sit outside and still be shaded." He seems almost to be talking to the ceiling. "Nah, I don't need anything. Even if it does smell good."

Ers'lan gives Fl'ynn the most peculiar look, shock mixed with an 'are you kidding me' look, "She be the one who searched me…" he gives a hint as to who she is, if Fl'ynn hadn't ever crossed paths with her before. There is a hapless shrug, "Be it that I narh talk bout her during candidacy. I reckon I was mad at her, fer a time. Yet, t'was she who gave me a reason ta stay here. Else I reckon I be gone well befer you be here." He notes as if idly explaining how it all came to be. As for the place, he nods, "Course I be. Nothing better than ta be sitting here, enjoy the sound of the surf…" The rest merely gets a bit of acknowledgement, a chin bob here and there, a flick of eyes toward the bluerider, a general moment that he actively listens to the younger. "I be fetching some…" he pushes himself up out of the couch, heading for the hearth where the cook pot is bubbling.

"I know, but you never said a name," Fl'ynn notes, his head lifting up some with a bit of a grin. "Either that or I forgot it. Her and the other guy and it sounded awfully fun 'til you become a candidate and then comes that pesky celibacy thing. Not like you are going to get pregnant." Again the sofa shifts, and he is looking up to see Ers'lan heading off. He watches for just a moment to see where the man is off to, then back to lounging with eyes that close. His chest rises with a deep, drawn-in breath, the exhale a slow thing. "Now that'd be a cryin' shame, if you left before I showed up. Then I'd never have had a chance to kiss my first, bearded man. Tickles, mind you."

There's an abrupt clang of dishes and pots and of his head, as he cracks it coming up suddenly at Fl'ynn's last comment, grumbling to himself as he rubs the sore spot. He shoots a look over to Fl'ynn, palm still trying to massage the pain out of his skull, frowning a little as if the bluerider was to blame for him cracking his noggin. Eventually, he regathers his bowl, filling it with stew and his glass with klah. Returning to the couch side, he comments a little on other things spoken of, "Aye, never did. Reckon ya never be askin… or iffin ya did, I can narh remember…" a Turn is a Turn, lots of things happened between candidacy and now. A final rub to his head after settling the dishes down, "I be doubtin I be yer first…" he challenges with a hand scrubbing his five-o'clock shadow.

"Everything okay in there?~" the bluerider calls, his head coming up off of the couch at the glancing of pots. His eyes narrow some in curiosity, watching 'til the brownrider returns. "My fault for not asking for a name. And for that, you've my honest apologies. I mean it." His jaw hardens for a moment, obvious consternation at his own expense. It is a breath later and he is looking back to Lan. "No. You weren't," he cedes. "But it was worth the pot-clanging, I'll tell you." Oh, that grin that follows is purely puckish, and it goes right to the lightening in his typically dark eyes.

"Yer young…" Ers'lan bleats out after the admission, spooning up a glob of stew, heavy with meat and veggies, a hearty dish, blown on to cool it before he mows down. Only a bite or two later does he continue his train of thought, balancing his stew bowl on the top of a knee, fingers from his bad arm grabbing the lip of the bowl, while he eats with his good. "I can narh decide iffin yer first be a man or a woman…" a thoughtful look scaling down the form of the bluerider, smirking playfully at the puckish grin, sobering enough to murmur in a deeper voice, edged with ire, "I be hoping it be better than mine."

Fl'ynn brings his hands up, raking fingers back through his dark hair, leaving up at all kinds of points. It really didn't help matters any at all. He sighs, smile faint, "I swear, I just had this conversation with Briana the other night -and that part I remember." It is a wistful smile that remains. "But not kisses. Definitely a girl. She tasted like the redfruit we just stole. I /love/ redfruit," he drawls slowly, dimples deepening. Next comes the admission, "Damn straight I am. And I'm going to enjoy it before… well, before I yell at kids to get off of the grass. I want as many new experiences as I can get." Oh, the grin. Such a grin. But at Lan's last words, he quirks a glance back to the man, "And what is that supposed to mean?"

A smile is a welcoming sight on Lan's face, especially the sort of one that touches his features now for the admission that has him chuffing a laugh, due to the fact that Briana beat him to the punch on getting the details. Either way, that smile is happiness for a friend, though it does happen to paired with an envious gaze as Lan stares down into the bowl of stew. "Aye, ya should. Jus dun be hurtin Bri iffin ya go after her skirts," he warns with a brotherly threat backing his tone. Fl'ynn should know enough that Lan and Bri, outside of the bluerider, were often seen in one another's company, but never acted intimate beyond the strong friendship, as siblings would have. The last has him roll his good shoulder, take in a sharp breath and let out a low whisper, "Reckon tis time, tis a way ta be healed, as the mind healers be sayin…" damn mind healers, he had one on him since the nightmares in the weyrlinghood were reported, if only discreetly. There's a moment he hesitates between what he had started to say and what he needed to say to his friends, pushing back up off the couch with the bowl of stew plopped on the table, already sauntering into the kitchen to fetch a bottle of whiskey he'd already opened. The tell-tale sound of liquid being poured follows shortly after, then the 'hiss of his breath as he exhales and the clank of the shot glass as he sets it back on the counter. Finally, without looking to the bluerider, pouring another drink, he states in a deadpan tone, "Tis why I reckon I hate pirates so much 'mate."

Both hands come up as he faces Lan, a pure 'innocent' gesture. See, he's got nothing! "Hey, I haven't touched her skirts. I've wanted to… often, but I haven't." He chuckles faintly, gaze sliding to the side, only to watch as Lan changes some. His dark brows knit together, confusion showing, along with youth and all of his sixteen turns, near seventeen. Dark eyes follow the ex-sailor as he moves off, considering 'til thought finally processes. You can literally see the comprehension dawn, from the straightened posture to the widening of his eyes. It is an uncomfortable moment, awkward in the silence. "Well, shit." His eyes drop, drift away, then come back up to Lan. The teen moves to stand, coming closer to the brownrider, a hand motioning to the shot glass. "I need one too."

Ers'lan splashes down another shot after admitting it to another guy. It wasn't one of those things people -did- … but, in this case broke the rules. Brows lower into a sullen frown, that turns into a spiteful scowl, directed not at Fl'ynn but at the recollection, things behind his dawn blue eyes none but his lifemate would know of. Ers'lan casts a look over toward Fl'ynn as he approaches, pouring absently as he tries to school his features to not look so hard and callous, handing over the shot glass once its full yet again with the strong smelling liquor. "Tis in the past, but, Briana ain't…" a finger lifted in warning yet again, hedged with a forced flash of a smile, hidden in its facade by yet another wash of whiskey, this time straight up from the bottle. Shaking his head as he takes a mighty big swill, he bumps his hip up against the counter, "Reckon ya dun have ta worry bout me cuffin ya, iffin ya mistreat Bri. She be doin it well on her own." He is diverting the conversation, quite obvious, but there it is.

Fl'ynn takes that shot glass and tosses the contents right on down. The second the glass hits the counter again, the teen coughs at least once. He isn't quite so used to this sort of stuff. Eyes squeeze shut, wrinkling in the corners as his face screws up in reaction. His exhale is a long one, leaving him to blink those eyes back open, looking to Ers'lan. "Thanks." His eyes don't remain for long, finding it a little hard to look across at him. So, instead, he sighs, rueful, "Well, my plans are now shot." A finger flicks out, ringing against the glass to send it skidding some. As the other man speaks his lips thin the slightest. "I'm not looking for a… relationship." Weird word falling from his lips.

"No…?" Ers'lan questions at the tail end, switching back to pour Fl'ynn another shot, while the former-sailor returns couch-side. "Reckon that thar be the fun part," he stoops back down into the couch with a loud breathy exhale, his good hand scratching and rolling fingers through curly topsides of his hair. "Tis good ta have friends," he mutters as pulls the bowl of stew back into his lap, letting the awkwardness hopefully dissolve away as he offers, "Reckon I be doin much the same. Laera and I be in a … well… reckon we be both caring fer one another, but she be knowin that I do be needin ta play."

Fl'ynn is offered another shot, and despite the fact that the other probably caused him to grow some hair on his chest, he will take another, thank you very much. Learning from the first time, it is knocked back all the faster -to the same squinching of his face afterwards. "Oh… not sure that gets any better the second time." He blinks, only to see Ers'lan has returned to the couch. Gonna confuse the boy if this keeps up. "No." He looks back up, his grin almost shy, more boyish. "And I don't want you punching in my face because of… well, yeah… She's the kind of girl you stick around with forever. You know, those kinds that you moon over and it'll break your heart if they are sad. One of /those/ girls." He looks almost helpless, chin dropping to his chest, fallen. "I can't do anything with those girls. You'd have me up against the wall, pounding me, and not the fun sort of way."

Confusion? Nah, Lan has never been an idle fella, he's always on the move. There shouldn't be any confusion. He's had enough to drink now, the awkwardness has passed. He's back to relaxing back against the couch, head slopping to the side, half leaning on the cushion and half on his own shoulder. The whiskey leaves a nice burn in ones stomach and soon enough a bit of a buzz in one's mind. Ers'lan smirks at the explanation, "Ya…. Briana tis that way. Ya better be all in or not tat all…" he shoots a look behind him, as if wondering where the bluerider was, as if not realizing he left him behind standing in the kitchen with the drinks. Oh he's not being a host, is he. Ers'lan mutters, "Would ya bring that bottle over here yah? Reckon we be needing ta have more of it, n' I be narh wantin ta get up again… aye?" He waits, then laughs a bit, "Yah know… I would narh be doin that, the bad sort of poundin. Yer a good lad yah."

Fl'ynn is dutiful and brings it, wandering back with the slightest of smiles perched on his lips. He sets down the whisky onto the table where all of that paperwork is, then flops right back into position on the couch. So good at flopping. Then, he admits, "She kissed me, and worried about it afterwards. I told her she thought too much. If she is worrying about kissing me, shells… I don't know. Shard it."

"Aye… why would she be worried bout it? She be narh with that Kaldrozen guy anymore…" he offers a geniue smile to Fl'ynn, with a little look coasting down the bluerider, absently turning back to the bottle of whisky once it's delivered to the table. It's quickly snatched and drained a swig or two more, before placed back with a solid thunk on the wooden table. "Tis strange. She would narh be worryin bout it unless she be with someone else… unless she be 'fraid of the consequences… aye?" He chuckles just a little bit, thawking Fl'ynn on the shoulder in a buddy-buddy sort of way, "Dun worry bout it. Let her worry bout it. Jus go in fer the kiss. Duuunn over think it yerself. Ya get too caught up in thar heads and ya be no longer playin bout, ya too be worried and concerned." He gives a look over twoard the grape plant then back to Fl'ynn, "So whar happened, after ya kissed her an all?"

"She kissed /me/," Fl'ynn amends, "At least, I think she did. I was well into that wine then." Speaking of alcohol, he'll reach out to try some more of that whisky, with the same results of the time before: more wincing and a cough. "I think I hung on a little bit longer, and then I was waking up the next morning on the couch, and it took me half the sharding morning to wandering my way out of her forest place to find the meadow." Directionally challenged, this is our Fl'ynn. "Kagenaith was next to useless 'cause he had no clue where I was either." His loverly 'mate. The teen slants a glance back to Lan. "You want to know what I was going to do when I came over here." Beat. "Shells, I think your whisky is making more more serious and sober than anything else I've ever drank."

"She kissed you…" he gestures with an expressive finger pointed at Fl'ynn, a dubious countering of his gaze held to the bluerider, "Shit… reckon she be inta ya then… iffin she be kissin you… Go fer it…" A goldie in the pocket was never a bad thing. He watches Fl'ynn take a swing of the whisky, chuckling at the wincing and the cough, "Dun over do it iffin ya can narh handle it… Tis a strong drink. Ya work ya tolerance up fer it." He rubs his fingers through his short spikes of hair and the longer curly lengths on the top of his crown. "Reckon ya be needing some nagivation lessons then…" he chides, with a friendly bump of shoulder to shoulder, gruntiing as he slouches back down into the couch. "Aye, reckon be good ta know why ya really came fer… ta know whar ya wantin ta do." A snort for the last, shrugging haplessly, "Then ya best be fer the rum and avoid the whiskey."

Fl'ynn actually chuckles, smile flashing, dimples deepening. "Maybe I should…" He trails off though, shaking his head from side to side before flopping it back again. "I used to pour ale at this dive near to Igen. Did it for a couple of weeks. That was some rotgut nastiness… but this stuff here tastes like it could clean corrosion off metal. Ain't too bad though," he admits with a chuckle. He is sure to wince through another drink. "I came here to give you a plant, and see your place. That plant… it'll make amazing grapes. Just you wait. Some care and attention and you will have your start on a rival to Benden's wines." It is a breath later and that impish smile returns to his lips, head tilting to the side, cheek laying aside of the couch while he watches Lan, "Came here if you wanted to be friends, with benefits." Oh, the grin.

Ers'lan side glances toward the bluerider as that dimple-filled smile flashes, tweaking his own lips in response. Eyes drift back toward the table in front of him as Fl'ynn starts to speak about pouring ale, nodding in agreement to the quality assessment of Igen's stock. For a time, the man considers the liquid sloshing in the bottle, taking on an appearance that his thoughts were long beyond the physical nature of the bottle itself. Hands rub together as he comes back to the present, settling forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, hands dropped between knees, scruffy face rolling aft toward the bluerider at the mention of the plant yet again. His attention holds as that impish smile of Fl'ynn's appears, and as if knowing there was something behind it, Lan's brow arches high. The last has Ers'lan chuckle some, his own smile curved in a wickedly delicious grin, "With benefits yah say?"

Fl'ynn's head sort of half rolls / half shrugs to the side, a rather loose gesture that leaves him grinning all the more. "Aye, with benefits." His dark eyes come back up, not quite shy, but not all that sure either; it goes well with how his fingers pick at the fabric on the sofa. "At least figured I'd ask, and then… shells, we start to talk about your girl, and then you are saying stuff about Briana, so fuck if I know anymore."

Ers'lan gives a boastful laugh after listening to Fl'ynn's unsure response, laughing perhaps at the naive way the other was talking about it. There's an easy grin that falls onto Lan's mouth afterward, his form slouching back into the grove of the couch, flinging his arm once more back behind him. "Listen 'ere 'mate," he cocks his head as if he's going to tell a secret or impart some wise knowledge upon Fl'ynn, "Laera, she be knowin how I am. Tis always committed ta one and the others ah be playin with. She the one fer now, understand that. T'will narh leave her. However, be it that she narh limit me ta jus her….Iffin ya will say it, I be havin energy fer ten, love fer one." He winks as another chuckle rumbles through him, saying with a push of his hand against the curly cue bangs sticking to his forehead, tone relaxed, "I be open ta it."

Fl'ynn seems almost to deflate into the couch at the man's words. "If only all girls were like that…" He remains that way for a moment, only to startle right back up again, dark hair falling clear of his eyes, "Energy for ten, love for one. I like that. Do you mind if I use that some day?" He stretches as he comes up a bit more, lips quirked upwards a tad, "Shells and shards, and here I thought I was broaching a subject where I was for sure I was going to get flamed down." Beat. "Wouldn't be the first time." His eyes abruptly light up in amusement.

Ers'lan does give a rueful laugh at Fl'ynn, "Course ya can. Jus dun go stealin all me lines, I need some ta set the bait…" he winks, legs kept at a comfortable span apart as he too leans back into the couch. The stew, it's cold by now and somewhere on the table. The klah is still on the hearth, the whisky still in reach. "Aye, narh all girls be like her. She be knowing who I am and whar I be bout before she did reckon she wanted 'ta stay with me." A cast of a glance over to the bluerider, accusing, "Oy… I be narh a girl yanno. Be none of that. Be a yes or a no. That's it. Ya had ta reckon I be more … fancy footed aye?" He quirks his lip to the side, lifting a hand upward toward his neck, where that same brass ring still hangs, if only underneath his tunic now. "Jonas be me first real good time with a man…reckon I be bout yer age…" He trails off as if remembering a time from some other life, shaking his head. Then a beat, "How many times be thar?"

Fl'ynn's eyes go to Lan's neck, curious. Naturally, his eyes move along to the scar there as well, quiet and considering. It last but a moment, then the teen is blinking away his thoughts. "Hmm?" Then comes the smirk, with his nose wrinkling and lips thinning. "Nothing 'fancy-footed' about having some fun. And I like to have fun." In a blink though, the teen is pushing up off of the sofa to stand, near to bumping a leg against the table with the movement. His eyes open up wide for a moment at the chance of something spilling or falling, but apparently all is well and deserving of a chuckle. "So many questions. Four. Our neighbor, a guy at the tavern, a guy… somewhere, and the guy who put in a good word for me to be a hand on the ship that sailed me here."

"Aye, reckon I do as well…" the man's sea-farring voice purrs a little more than it would, certainly a husky tone pushed through each word. Truth be told, if Fl'ynn were to look at him after the lad bounced up off the couch, Ers'lan would be taking a sudden and very keen interest in the bluerider, from leering stares to thoughtful glances that stray too long where it would not be considered polite. The last has him grin, wobbling around his slung arm some, grunting at the minute annoyance it brings. At last, once the four are pinpointed, Lan stretches out his legs some, cocking his head to the side, "Iffin ya like ta have fun, reckon ya best start showin me huh?"

Fl'ynn combs his fingers back through his hair, as roughshod as ever. Attention passes over the bottle, past that table, and right back over to where Lan reclines upon the couch. His head almost ducks for a moment, a boyshing and almost shy-seeming action as any, but in the next he is grinning, near to chuckling. "Crackdust…" A laugh and the teen comes about, approaching, stepping one leg over where Lan's are stretched out to straddle them while standing. "Thank Faranth you said yes, otherwise I'd have felt sharding silly 'cause I was fully planning on jumping on you from the other side of the sofa." He drops to his knees, both landing onto the sofa, on either side of Lan.

Lan's dawn blue eyes seem to carry a weight of a mentor upon their reflection, patient and amused at the same time. Lips curl at the corners and on a crooked line for the shy action of the other, saying nothing while he enjoys observing. It's the best part. Soon enough, the younger lad has himself straddled over the brownrider's legs, which earns a quiet approval in the way that Lan's eyes mark the position of those legs before he takes his time and looks from bottom to top and back down again. Silence lingers until Fl'ynn drops to his knees, when the man has a scathing yet playful remark for the bluerider, "Reckon ya be doin better than that. Tis easy ta sit like that on someone. Whar else ya got?" A beat as his good arm moves, large hand wasting no time to zero in on Fl'ynn's backside, getting in a good squeeze, "Bit soft, ain't it?" A wink, as he tilts his head up, eyes looking expectant for the bluerider to some how react, wearing an attractive yet shrewd smile.

Fl'ynn isn't sure whether to be insulted or break out into laughter. So it is a rather odd reflection of this quandary that appears upon his face. The stocky teen blinks, drops his weight onto Lan's lap like a deflated balloon, and then cracks up into laughter. "Shardit, only been riding a dragon for not even a turn. Give me a bit to get buns to match any other," he near to growls, the sound something exasperated, but a whole lot amused. One hand goes low and between them, not shy at all in reaching right for the source of the matter, while the other comes up to the man's neck and shoulder. He chuckles, leans in (poor arm), and makes to find Lan's lips.

While Fl'ynn concerns himself with reacting accordingly, Ers'lan continues to show a smug smile on his face, eyelids dropping somewhat during the wait. There is nothing to show evidence that Lan was worried, that he was willing to retract his statement or somehow turn it around if the bluerider took his comments the wrong way. Fortunately, when Fl'ynn drops his weight down (accompanied by Lan's soft oof) and starts to laugh, Lan's smile starts to show his teeth underneath as it stretches, reaching his eyes to crow feet the corners. Then the whole show starts to change pace, with that hand grab aiming low, causing the brownrider to initially shift upward, his butt off the couch for an instant as if to adjust himself with a muttered 'woah' for the effort. An instant later has him settling again, if only because the younger is leaning in, indeed finding those whisky tasting salty lips of Lan's, with the five-o'clock shadow tickling as the older instantly starts to respond back into the kiss.

The stocky teen isn't one to really bandy upon getting a favorable response. Seeking fingers for skin, curious lips wanting to taste, biting teeth gazing with the first hints of a more primal focus, and the rest of him rocking into Lan without a care or qualm. "I want to… play," Fl'ynn chuckles, youth in his words, the same with his intent.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License