Xanadu Weyr - Shore of Lake Caspian
The cliffs that run along the shore come and go, various weyrs nestled along the tops of them or dug into the walls, but eventually they recede enough to expose a beach. The white sand echoes the rise and fall of the cliffs with a multitude of sandy dunes, endlessly creating tiny valleys that are constantly demolished and rebuilt by the frequent arrival or departure of dragons. The dunes smooth out as the gentle slope approaches the edge of the deep blue water. The sand darkens, and a shell here and there stands out for children to collect.
The beach narrows to the southwest, leaving a path barely wide enough for dragons in single file before cutting in to a smaller, more sheltered cove. The sands are the same white, the waters the same blue, but they're calmer and more tranquil, more protected from the winds that ruffle Lake Caspian and the currents that tug beneath the surface.
Rough, wide stairs lead up to the meadow above and the road that runs along the top of the cliffs, passing through the fields and heading for the river mouth that can be just barely seen from here. The largest of the staircases up the cliff is located near the docks that jut out onto the peaceful blue waters.
If weyrlings had thought junior weyrlinghood was rough on their riding, well they were right, but a different way. Now that dragon sizes have at least stabled out enough to not require new straps every seven or so and they're drilling with the wings daily, the wear and tear has accumulated. This afternoon, Rhodelia sits on the beach with Inasyth's straps in her lap carefully inspecting every inch of hide. There are a few spots that need restitching and judging by a small pile of discarded leather maybe even on that needed replacement. Insayth has situated herself for sunning not too far away but not close enough to risk tossing a shadow onto the process. The young gold yawns which she turns into a dramatic sigh as her head creeps towards her rider. « I'm BORED. Are you done yet? Can you be done yet? »
« AHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! » Cue the music. Did Inasyth say she was bored? CONSIDER YOURSELF CURED, CURVACEOUS COMPLAINANT. GLORIOTH IS HERE TO SAVE THE DAY. Well, his day. Fairly, he doesn't really care about Inasyth's day, but his is going splendidly. Unfortunately for poor F'yr, Glorioth loves the physical rigors of their time in Galaxy and where it should leave the bronze exhausted if life were fair, it's not and it seems to have given the bronze a whole new level of boundless energy and enthusiasm. (SorryNotSorryGalaxyAndSeniorWeyrlings.) He lands in the shallows of the surf so that his majestic pose can be made all the more heroic by the kick up of spray around him. Don't mind the swearing bronzerider on his back demanding he get onto the beach where he can take off the straps that will need seeing to now that they're wet; Glorioth doesn't appear to be paying him any heed, so why should you? The swearing becomes lower, more vehement but none of this is what motivates the bronze to mantle his wings into his favorite position that shows his very good looking exterior to best effect and trot his way out of the surf with a bounce in his step. It is, in fact, Inasyth and her rider that has drawn his attention. « WHAT HO, INDOLENT INASYTH, I HAVE COME TO SLAY THE SHIFTY-EYED FIENDS OF THE WATERY REALM. » Because Glorioth doesn't just swim for no reason. If provoked, he might even attempt to SLAY THE SEA. Today might not be that day, though. F'yr is scrambling down and making the quickest of quick work of dropping the straps off his dumb-as-rocks lifemate before Glorioth loses interest in Inasyth and goes about his plan, straps and all. It's only after they've dropped onto the sand collecting a coating of the stuff onto the wet bits that F'yr, panting, leans hands on his knees to breathe a moment before raising one hand in greeting to the goldrider.
WHAT'S THIS? A DISTRACTION YOU SAY? AND HER FAVORITEST EXHUBERANTLY GLORIOUS TYPE? Inasyth is intrigued as soon as she hears the music, head whipping this way and that as she searches for incoming brother. Much sand is shuffled and flung in her scramble to heft herself to the feet and then bound straight into the water next to the bronze, popping mental bottles of champagne as this relief from boredom miraculously appears. « OH! ARE WE SEARCHING FOR THE FIVE FINGERED FISHIES AGAIN? OR THE PINCHY ONES THAT GOT YOUR NOSE THAT ONE TIME? » The one time far too long ago for Ina to remember but Rhody might helpfully be providing an image that is shared along the dragon mental-grapevine. « Ohhhhh! I know. We can go hunt in the deeps. FOR THE MIGHT PACKFISH! I hear they're tasty. Tasty foes are the best foes!!! » Which the last trails off into song basically just repeating Tasty Foes over and over again to an off key and frequently changing tune. As the dragons seem to be safely for the moment heading away, Rhodelia continues on with her maintenance work, raising a hand in return to F'yr while eyeing those now salt-and-sand encrusted straps. "I got some leather oil and rags if you need it." A whole enclosed bucket of it right next to her which she pats for demonstration and invitation.
« … » WAIT FOR IT. « … You've lost me. » BUT NO MATTER. Who knows anything about five fingered fishes or pinchy ones that might or might not have gotten his nose on an occasion he no longer remembers. Any imagery that suggests it was so is clearly suspect. WHO KNOWS WHERE IT EVEN CAME FROM? Glorioth can't be sure. « I KNOW NOT WHAT WE SHALL FIND, » did she catch the 'we'? « BUT WE MUST SEEK OUR FOES, FOR HONOR! » Dramatic pause in the music annnnnnd, « ONWAAaaaaAAAAaaaaaAAAAAaaaAAAArd! » BYEEEEE. Off the bronze charges, flinging sand over F'yr who manages (only just) to make sure his back is to it. He snags the straps up, looping them over and over and over and over and over and over until they're bundled in his arms along with the satchels attached to them and he's heading for Rhodelia to drop the whole lot and start stripping out of his riding gear. It may be autumn and it may be chilly, but this beach is not the place for all that leather. He's stuck with the pants, but at least he can take off helmet, goggles, gloves and jacket and set them down before plopping down beside the goldrider looking more than just slightly exhausted himself. "Thanks," might only be one word but it's genuinely grateful for the loan of the maintenance items he sorely needs now. It takes him a moment to resettle the straps and get started, but once he has, he's casting a glance in the goldrider's direction. "How's the Cock of a Thousand Names?" LEST ANYONE THING F'YR IS GETTING FRESH WITH RHODELIA, he means Inasyth's male chicken.
It's not an adventure without a treasure map and as Glorioth has already said he's lost, Inasyth helpfully busts out her mental crayons to create a map with rough sketches of spiderclaws and star fishes illuminating the margins. The path she sets weaves back and forth but one thing is clear, she'll bugle her on agreement and her own call of « Onward!!! » and off they splash. That pun might be pretty fowl but it only gets a paltry (poultry?) cluck from Rhodelia that might be laughter. "I'm trying to decide if he'll be better with forty cloves or soup. Thoughts?" She's open for some possible suggestions although whether it's just for threats or actual culinary adventures is anybody's guess.
Maps are for dragons that need maps, Inasyth. Glorioth needs no such nonsense, just a direction and a goal. See? Watch him go. And go. And go. And go. F'yr is probably just relieved to have a little peace and quiet in a rare moment of not having immediate responsibility for his lifemate while he's awake. Even if that moment includes cleaning up yet one more of Glorioth's messes: this is his life now. It's fine. That he garners even a one-cluck rating makes F'yr's smile briefly appear, sliding his blue eyes to her and back to the straps before he has mock gasp. "Why, Rhodelia," note the tone of shock, "you wouldn't deprive Inasyth of her companion, would you? I'm sure he's got the most melodious doodle-doo that she's ever heard." He cocks a brow, is his guess close? It's probably not the best opening, but takes it anyway after a brief press of his lips, "I could… come hear it some night?" Theoretically, although not in actuality, with a rooster crowing at dawn… does she follow the drift that's brought a blush to his cheeks? Smooth is one thing F'yr is not.
The map may be hastily discarded, but Inasyth will merrily follow on regardless, her hips and tail swishing behind as she swims in an impersonation of Pern's largest tunnelseasnake. Rhodelia raises an eyebrow at the first question before she glances pointedly in the direction of the departing dragons. "I'm sure she'll find another one." Glori might be worth at least one scrawny rooster. Probably. Depending on the day. The last has her blink as she peers back at the blushing man. "I wouldn't call it glorious more of…. AiiiiiiHIIIIIIIIIAiiiiiHIIIIIIIAiiiiiiHIIIIII!!!!!" She cups her hands around her mouth as she gives the high pitched call that echoes of the cliff wall that sounds like a dying thing. If she ever needs an ace up her sleeve to get out of an unwanted council meeting quickly, dropping that chicken-screech without warning is probably a surefire way to give at least one person a heart attack. "But you were a farmer, F'yr. Surely you know roosters crow at dawn. Or well… supposedly close to dawn." Her and the rooster may have differing definitions on that.
If Glorioth leaves Inasyth to her merrymaking, it's because he has a quest to pursue. Really, though, if she wants to make herself useful, she can help him plunder the sea floor for … well, whatever it is he'll eventually come back with to get his praises sung, probably. F'yr, the former farmer, takes Rhodelia's look toward the dragons in, lips twitching and then his expression goes from a little wry to completely deadpan as it does when he's in the depths of his greatest humor while Rhody goes through the whole impression. He waits, with an expression of patent patience until she's all the way finished and then cants his head in silent statement. She's done now, right? None of it stops him from having the blush redouble. "Well, whenever they want, really." Not just dawn. "But… I—" If he looks like he's a little in pain, it's probably fine, right? He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. "Shell," is a mutter not quite enough under his breath. His cheeks have gone an even more remarkable shade by the time he looks up at her but if he can't even say it, they probably can't do it, right? And doing it is just what this is about. "I meant I'd like to spend the night. With you." So, see, he can say it, but by the sounds of things, he's just lobbed the ball into Rhodelia's court to decide if they can do it.
Maybe it's a peril of living with Inasyth for so long, but Rhodelia seems to have absolutely no filter as she spots the redoubled blush. There's no mercy as the grin comes out. "Why, F'yr. You're almost as red as that weyrbrat that got called out for being too much of an flagrant looky-lou in the baths a couple sevens ago!" The one that had to be reminded that puberty was no excuse to gawk. Aunties were cackling for days. The light laugh stops as she catches the mutter and sobers slightly as she waits with bated breath to hear just what is so difficult (and embarrassing to say…. When F'yr finally does manage to get launch that feline out of the bag she blinks at first in response. "Did you mean tonight?"
If F'yr's eyes have to press closed while that color just goes on and on, and press his lips together to try to keep the amused, slightly bashful smile off of them, can he be blamed? After a moment his eyes open, and it's plain from the way that smile keeps trying to come that the bronzerider is basically laughing at himself. When he draws a breath and huffs out a near silent laugh, that foreshadowing is confirmed. He draws another breath and says quite nobly, "Any night that would be convenient," in a way that holds as much humor as hope. There's a touch of a pause, and he looks briefly down to the straps in his lap before he looks up at Rhodelia again. "I thought you might be… willing?" Maybe he means 'interested'? There must be more to it, but the bronzerider manages to arrest whatever train of thought his herdbeast brain is working down and wait.
Rhodelia might have a tinge of pink on creeping into cheeks and neck as well, but she'll focus her attention on the work in her hands and be glad she doesn't currently need to use the terrifyingly large leather awl at the moment that would require much more attention that she can spare. The goldrider passes over the same set of stitches at least three times in her distraction before answering. "You know my calendar keeping as well as anybody. Any day can be convenient." Because her calendar may be just as much a myth as her filing system. "And I… yes. But I thought maybe you'd want to… with V'ro?" There's a lot of words in those awkward gaps that her mouth might not be willing to fill in but her eyes are certainly trying to pick up the slack as they widen and brows waggle for a certain emphasis on the unsaid.
MY, BUT THE SEA IS INTERESTING TODAY. And actually, for once, it's really very boring, probably owing to the fact that Glorioth (aside from coming up for air) is completely submerged searching that sea floor. Surprisingly though, he doesn't blush for the observation of V'ro. Is it awkward? Yeah, yeah it is. That can't really be helped as his fingers go through his hair. The silence goes on probably tellingly long before he exhales audibly and shifts on the sand, dragging the straps in his lap with him, turning toward Rhodelia. "I like what we're doing." This is not a statement that he does not also like whatever he and V'ro are also doing. It is, however, earnest for what it is. "I don't… want to rush us to anything, but I do want to. Sleep with you. Have sex with you." Whatever. Now he's blushing, it's fine. "I'm… asking, instead of just letting things-" he lifts a hand to indicate 'go on,' "because-" watch that Adam's apple bob as he swallows, "because Glorioth is going after greens now. And… I don't want to hurt anyone because I don't know what I'm doing." Did anyone notice the dark marks on V'ro's throat and the body bruises if they happened to see him shirtless or cross paths in the bath? They weren't pretty. It's certainly common knowledge that the timing lines up perfectly with Glorioth's first win and Koth's first flight. Is it possible, even, that the reason there was injury had nothing to do with the fact that he was inexperienced?
And Inasyth for her part finds Glorioth's search fascinating and she'll cheer him on out there, mostly from the surface but occasionally submerging her head and continuing trying to bugle under the water but it's more of a muffled vibration than anything. Rhodelia's fingers keep tracing over that same spot of leather as she waits and listens and eventually nods. "I can't imagine you ever hurting anybody. Inexperienced or not." And if she did witness the bruising on their clutchmate and the suspicious timing of it, it's something that her brain is not willing to comprehend, at least not while she's still trying to ignore her own unknown in regards to the whole proddiness and flight situation. Finally, the straps are abandoned as she wasn't likely to get any more work done on them with this conversation occuring. Instead, her hands wrap around her knees to keep from nervous thumb twiddling. "This wouldn't be the quickest I've ever jumped into bed with someone…" Rhody was a bartender after all and not all of the propositions she received from patrons were unwelcome and ignored. "Even if we do, uhhh… it." Watch her turn as red as a senior apprentice and dance around mentioning the actual terms even if F'yr already has. "Every woman is different. One technique might not fit all." There may be trial and error required after all.
That Adam's apple travels again as F'yr swallows. There's a short silence, and then the man's voice comes, quietly, but just loudly enough to be heard across the small distance. "I hurt him." Sure, it was a flight, but that doesn't stop the man across from the goldrider from looking ashamed. "I tried to do it differently. Maybe I'll be better next time. Shards, I hope I am." That comes with a laugh that has nothing to do with humor and everything to do with a self-reproach that probably means he's been keeping himself awake at night with all the ways things could have gone differently. Maybe that's why he looks so tired. His hands come up, away from the straps in his lap and he rubs his face. It's a moment while he collects himself. "I probably should have just made Glorioth give me the time to learn before it all." Fuck. It's silent but it's there. He shakes his head a little, trying to bring himself back out of that hole that just spirals. He hooks his blue gaze on Rhodelia's face like the familiar lines of it is his lifeline back to the moment. "I'm pretty sure every person is different." He doesn't know much, but that much he seems to be aware of. There's a beat of a pause in which his lips press together in that way he has of making sure he's looking for the right words, his right words, to say what he means, if he can. "I want to learn you." Maybe he thinks they sound silly once they're out because a smile touches his lips, but he doesn't take it back. "I'll probably need your help." Not to mention her complicity.
That small distance is quickly bridge, even if the process isn't as smoothly as Rhodelia might have planned when her foot nearly gets caught in her pile of straps. She's able to hop herself free, the hand reaching out for F'yr's arm for extra stability totally doesn't count as help just like she totally doesn't remove it once both her feet are back on the ground. "You'll do better next time." She adds what she hope's is a comforting arm squeeze. Rhody own nerves are abundantly clear as she avoids eye contact in favor of the so interesting sand her booted toe is digging in. "I'm not an expert…" maybe not even on herself although she does have the most experience in that and the wider world of sex than F'yr does. "There are some ahhh… professionals…" much nicer than saying prostitutes, "if you really need training?" The last word she will make the effort to look up, blue eyes meeting blue before she clears her throat with a tiny cough. "Not that I don't want to… when it's just us… but training?" That's a lot of pressure, man, and Rhodys tend to flee under pressure.
When Rhody goes to stand, F'yr slips himself free of the pile of straps and gets up onto his feet too. His hand comes to touch hers on his arm and might just seek to pull it down from his arm into both of his while she's examining the sand with such stellar interest. "There are experts. Professionals," F'yr acknowledges without shame. "I thought about them. Back… well, a long, long time ago." He sighs slightly, shaking his head. He squeezes Rhody's hand, his lips pressing together while he does that mental sieving of words for the right ones. "We… don't have to. I like what we have. I like you." Those things can be said simply because they're true, even if he's studying their hands before he brings his blue eyes up to her face. "So… whatever you want." He shrugs a little helplessly. The unspoken implication being… if not her, probably someone else. While that's almost certainly true, it's not being used to make a convincing argument because pressuring a person into something, particular this something just isn't his style. What he does add after a moment is, "I don't think I need training just to make it through a flight while I'm still learning."
Words are hard sometimes and especially these words that Rhodelia struggles to form and so chews on her lip for a moment before she her shoulder into his. "I like what we have too. If I didn't, I wouldn't still be standing here." She'd probably have ran all the way to High Reaches as soon as this topic was broached if she hadn't. She takes a deep breath before saying the next. "But it could be more." More is new and more is scary but more could also be exciting and intriguing! "As long as you don't want any commitments, beyond what we both decide works now." Long term planning still isn't her forte and Rhody isn't wanting to start with this, but she does give a glance out in the direction the dragons have disappeared out towards. "You sure Glorioth isn't going to stick his head in my bedroom again?" Because rude interruptions might also be a problem.
It might say something that F'yr doesn't furtively look around the beach, or make any other move that implies what they have is a secret thing, before he dips his head to briefly, chastely, touch his lips to hers, unless she'd really rather give him the cheek. He'd take it. PDA is a whole other can of complicated worm words that they haven't even begun to side-eye. It's never mattered before this moment, after all. "I will make sure Glorioth doesn't stick his head in your bedroom, while we're… busy. I'll come the next night he crashes early enough." That's probably best. There is something to be said for dragons with erratic sleep schedules after all? There's a pause in which he brushes his fingers across hers, drawing their hands up between them. "I don't want any commitments beyond that." He assures, before his expression turns troubled. "Do you think…" he begins quietly, seriously, "… the chicken will leave us alone?" He manages his deadpan so well, with such commitment. ARE YOU SURE THIS IS THE MAN YOU WANT TO SLEEP WITH, RHODY? THERE'S STILL TIME TO BACK OUT.
Despite it being afternoon the beach is far from crowded. Maybe it's the chilly autumn weather or maybe anyone with brains decided to clear out when they saw Glorioth and Inasyth joining forces. The world may never know, but Rhodelia accepts the kiss on the lips and will save PDA discussions for another day. "I think Ina can find a few more sea monsters that need checking out?" Nothing like battling through the ocean gloriously to tire a dragon or two out. F'yr may have one of her hands but the other is still free to playfully sway at his shoulder with that question. "If he isn't, we'll be having stew the next day." Coming from the former vintner who claimed she nearly accidentally poisoned her masters twice. If rooster stew does appear, question its origins!
And who could blame them, really. But let's not lose sight of the fact that Rhody's about to file that discussion under — well, everyone understands Rhody's filing system by now, right? At least F'yr isn't looking to make any other kind of displays that would push the issue. The edges of his lips twitch with amusement that flickers and then lights in a smile that spreads (SLAPPABLY) before he schools his features to seriousness and leans his head a little closer to the goldrider's so he can drop his voice and inquire, "Are you telling me… Ina's trying to get you laid?" He can't have missed her complaint of Glorioth's face in the door that time, and yet, confronting it head on like this… well, he does claim he's an ass. Now there's just more proof. It gets worse because before anyone has a chance to slap him or shove him away he adds, of the stew, with a faux thoughtful expression, "Maybe if we're feeling peckish by then." (Stepping into the ring, ladies and gentlemen, to compete for title of: WORST, this F'yrsome contender.)
Rhodelia just barely manages to stifle the laugh that answers the question. "Yeah… did you expect anything else?" Look at how massive Inasyth's wings are, she was clearly born to be a wingman! "Honestly…. I'm surprised she hasn't decided to take things into her own talons." Considering this was a gold who was poking her two month old baby face at Leirith's clutch frequently it might actually be a wonder that Ina hasn't shown any signs of proddiness so far. F'yr's face is also remarkably spared any slapping despite the puns although Rhody's bony elbow will nudge towards his belly. "If you make a joke about cock being on the menu you'll have to go find one of those professionals or someone else to practice with." She leans up on tip toes to get near his ear just to make sure the whispered threat is heard loud and clear. Once said though, she'll settle her feet back on the ground while sharing a forced smile that should be familiar from their assistant days.
Maybe F'yr didn't expect something else, but he had to say it, so he could grin about it. (Is she really sure she doesn't want to slap him?) "I'm sure she'll get there in time." They all do, despite some ardent wishes otherwise in F'yr's case. That much is both serious and offering her early commiserations for an event as yet impending. He obligingly leans his head down (maybe because of that elbow to his abs, which really didn't give, but he'll pretend) to help her speak in his ear. It gives him the opportunity to drop his jaw in mock affront, leaning down farther in turn once she's on her feet to say into the intimate space he's not quite close enough to kiss her from. "Rhody," he's hurt! The deadpan comes. (BRACE YOURSELF.) "I would never crow about my own virtues." (How about now?)
Rhodelia is rarely sure of anything. Maybe she's just reserving her slaps for LATER. She shivers just a bit as F'yr gives the reminder that eventually it'll be her own dragon turning proddy although she doesn't say another word. Leaning down in such close range is also putting himself in biting range of all those teeth, but Rhody just flashes another forced smile as she pulls back slightly with a faux gasp. "Now, F'yr. It sounds like you might be counting your chickens before they hatch!" Apparently puns are a game they can both play. Birds of a feather fuck flock together?
Biting range doesn't seem to intimidate the bronzerider, but then this is still the man who is youngest of twelve children with a plethora of cousins; it's safe to be he's been in many a worse scratch. He does, however straighten at her gasp, giving her a wide-eyed look, "No, no, no," he protests, tone going soft. "I'm just trying to make sure it's going to be all it's cracked up to be. For you." F'yr is some kind of something for being able to make another chicken pun while earnestly meaning those words to the goldrider. He reclaims her hand if he's lost it to lightly stroke the back and say, with extreme sincerity, "I know talk is cheep."
Rhodelia tut tuts back to F'yr's protests. "Oh no. I'm the one that's supposed to be taking you under my wing." Clearly Rhody is just as guilty about egging this on, but the grin on her face is real now. "You're right. Talk is cheep. Hopefully you won't be too wherry. I'm expecting a beak performance now." Look, he was the one crowing about his own virtue (or not). As she finishes with her own stream of puns, she'll waggle her eyebrows in a challenge. Can he top it or will it be a fowl-y victory for her?
It's a-fowl-y short-sighted of Rhodelia to lay it on the line like that, with a competitor of such hen-durance in her sights. A blonde brow twitches up as he looks down at her, with nary a peep of protest from her plucky partner in this eggs-emplary wordplay. He wouldn't be so cock-y as to claim a victory so soon. "We can start by dancing chick to chick," he decides, "then get laid and sleep in, unless your alarm cluck invades again." He rocks back on his heels and tucks his hands into his pockets, saying sweetly, "I'll keep my pecker in my pants until then." He waits, eggspectantly, to see if there's more hentalk to be had.
It really was a poultry performance on Rhodelia's part to think she could claim victory before the literal cock crows. She'll take her defeat gracefully though as she flops back onto her pile of straps, clutching at her sides. There's a little silent shaking as she tries not to laugh out loud, but as a hand has to reach up to wipe the tear of LAUGHTER away from her cheek she fully concedes. "Alright, you win." He really was the last man left standing after all and so she holds her hands up in surrender, still laughing all the while.
F'yr dips his head very slightly, gracefully accepting the crow(n)ing achievement as one more feather in his figurative cap. "Farmer, you know." He says, chest puffing as if it were something to be proud of, his hands going to his hips in a drummed up pose of superiority. Then he slants her a look, mischief in his eyes. "You get a lot of time to think during chores." He's not sitting back down though, instead he's starting to collect his straps. "I think I'm going to haul these back up to the mud room at home. I'll be able to collect less sand there." Nevermind that he hasn't really been inviting anyone around to wherever his homestead is. "Watch for me at your window?" He requests with a smile and lift of his brows. "Next time he's really asleep at the right time." Who knows when that will be, but hey, she doesn't keep a calendar anyway, right?
Look, it's probably for the best that Rhodelia doesn't know where anybody lives. Do you know the sort of surprise parties Inasyth would plan with such information? Rhody dips her head in acknowledgement of his farmer's expertise lending to such egg-semplary punning. "Maybe now that they've quit growing and we're going to have some free time again we can actually make up a spare set of straps or two." That sounds a lot more like work than a free time activity but it would make things a lot more convenient whenever a dragon decides to take an unexpected plunge and then straps need to dry out. "I have a door and a ladder too you know." The lofted window might be hard to get to without a dragon's help. And no chaperone to require crawling through windows as dramatic as it is. "Just don't keep a girl waiting too long, alright?" She really wasn't kidding about Inasyth possibly taking matters into her own talons which might be abducting random strangers as potential partners for at least a night. But for now, she's still got a whole lot of straps left to inspect right here and she'll turn her attention back to them after giving a wave of F'yrwell.
Did Rhody need the visual image of F'yr twirling the end of one of those straps all suavely as he turns back toward her, still walking backwards. "Oh, if there's one thing I do know my way around, it's the anatomy of a barn." How's that for sexy farmer talk, Rhody? He lets his eyebrows rise and fall in an oh-so-alluringsilly wiggle. It would be more fair if he looked less F'yr-like making a fool of himself, but that's probably part of his charm. Still, it's no less ridiculous than any of his lookalikes in Rhody's romance books have been known to do or say, if one asks F'yr. MAYBE HE'S QUOTING. Either way, he cracks a real smile at her that might reassure her that he's not about to waste any chance that comes his way with an offer like that. This might all have been a smooth retreat if he didn't trip on the sand and thump down onto his rear, casting up sand on himself and his straps. At least he can laugh about it before he hauls himself back up, straps and all and turns to watch where he's going this time.