Flight Lost (PG-13)
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Xanadu Weyr - Meadow
A large, slightly rolling meadow is set high enough above the riverbank on both sides to avoid suffering from flooding, healthy ground cover and grass spreading out from either side of the dividing river. Scattered amongst the meadow are a variety of weyrs, each with a narrow path leading up to it from a main, winding road. Some are set under a few trees, while others sit by themselves.

Runner stables with the paddock beyond are to the south beyond the meadow weyrs, a smithy and a woodcraft shop are settled closer in towards the path to the clearing, while trees border the western edge of the meadow, and a faint outline of a stone wall and low rolling hills can be seen to the north. Wagons laden with felled trees from the forests to the southwest or ore from the mountains to the southeast are hauled by burden beast up the road through the meadow, over the bridge spanning the river to be processed in the appropriate workshops.


It's early afternoon when Marel… comes stumbling her way through the meadow and towards her cottage, stripping off her leather jacket and even her shoes and socks as she goes, quite as if she's had one too many to drink. There's no sign of Isyriath; no concerned caramel-brown padding along beside her, close as can be, so perhaps it's safe to assume that she isn't drunk. Her path continues to weave, her gaze unfocused and jacket and shoes held by the lazy curl of fingers, the former dragging through the longer grass and wildflowers, the brownrider's features flushed and her hair slightly mussed, but she's definitely heading for her immaculately tidy home.

The thought of Marel being drunk would never actually cross his mind. M'kal himself is crossing through the meadow as well, a riding jacket slung over his shoulder and riding goggles pushed up to the top of his head indicate he's just returning from wing duties somewhere and is seeking his weyr to change into something a lot cooler than his riding gear. Perhaps shorts and a short sleeved tunic. Or even a sleeveless one for it going to be a hot day today it would seem. Xeosoth pads happily behind him and from the slightly distant look in M'kal's eyes, he's probably reliving /everything/ that happened to them while on watch rider duty for an area hold. It's only out of habit that the gaze of the blue rider veers towards a particular cottage to peer briefly that way. It's because of his that he spies Marel…stumbling. A look of concern crosses his features, enough so that he alters his steps to now head towards her. "Marel?" he'll call out towards her.

Step, step, step… Marel loses her grip on one of her shoes when she spins about, glancing around to seek out the source of the call of her name, then one of her steps finds a patch of uneven ground and down she tumbles into the grass with not a cry of pain or protest, but a breathy drawl of low laughter, her jacket, socks and other shoe relinquished to the care of the meadow. She rolls onto her back, lying right where she's fallen, her skirt all askew and her shirt already stained with stripes of green from the force of her fall, but she makes no attempt to get up, an absent, lopsided grin on her face.

Still too far to stop her tumble but more than close enough to see it, M'kal is stunned to say the least when it's not a cry of pain but a low drawl of…laughter? "Marel?" he rushes over, falling to his knees at the side of his girlfriend. She /seems/ okay if you ignored the goofy grin on her expression and the stains. "Are you okay?" will be his next question which presumably is expected after you watch someone tumble to the ground. Curious himself, Xeosoth looms over the pair on the ground and lowers his muzzle to send a whoosh of warm air over them.

Marel's focus returns with absolute precision, her grin turning sharp and predatory the very moment M'kal enters her line of vision. She reanimates remarkably quickly for one who has thus far seemed so dizzy and preoccupied, reaching with fingers that curl like claws to snag a grip on his shirt, meaning to haul him down to her. "Oh, you have such perfect timing…" she murmurs with ill-suppressed need, all she has going into her intent to steal one heck of a kiss and then some, her attention entirely occupied by him. It's debatable whether she notices Xeosoth at all; certainly she doesn't greet him or even look at him, too intent on his rider.

"Oh my…" is about all that the poor blue rider ( Ha! Poor indeed), has time to get out before his shirt is grabbed and he's tugged ( willingly!) down for a very enthusiastic kiss. Shifting a bit so his arms support his weight he eventual breaks the kiss, breathlessly, to look down at Marel, eyes sparkling brightly in amusement and…growing desire. Unsure of what to even say he simply gazes down at Marel, drinking in every aspect of her. Xeosoth chuffs again before moving away, his stray thoughts tinged with amusement as he reaches out to his brown brother, Isyriath. « Your rider is well? » He'll ask.

M'kal hesitates and Marel… doesn't, in a way that's very much out of character for her. She doesn't have time to talk or for explanations, too determined to get herself another kiss, her lips first finding the line of his jaw in her quest, too addled by whatever's affected her to consider their surroundings or that things could shortly get very embarrassing for the both of them if she doesn't claw back some sense and realise that they're out in the open. When he finds the wherewithal to respond to Xeosoth, Isyriath's mind is a tangle of delicate vines and spinner webs, cast in a shadow unusual for him. « …We did not catch her, » he confesses, relaying their - not his - failure, for he and his do not undertake such endeavours solely on his instinct. Not grumpy, there's still a distance to his touch that conveys he's not in the mood to talk, though he has illuminated the cause of his Marel's present state.

That being perhaps all he needed to know, Xeosoth will tactfully withdraw from keeping Isyriath's attention, his parting thoughts a soothing wave of water to splash against the tangle of vines and spinner webs to aid in washing them away. M'kal meanwhile is quickly getting caught up in Marel's mood though he's not as dragon addled in the mind as she so he'll break the kiss yet again, one hand moving to rest on the curve of her cheek. "Marel…" he murmurs softly as if afraid too many spoken words will affect her somehow. "…your weyr." says he quietly.

There's something fond and affectionate in the phantom brush of petals in a gentle wave that answers Xeosoth's offered help, Isyriath all too willing to acknowledge his own faults in this moment and appreciate his brother's efforts. Marel gives a frustrated, low growl when she's denied a second time, her hand curling all the more in his shirt like she could keep M'kal as close as possible and win him over if she just holds on for long enough. "No…" answers the murmur of her name, her protest needy and not in the least bit logical. The fact that she and her brown don't chase often at all is all too evident in just how badly it affects her. "Why… You…" But then she does look away, her head lolling to one side to take in the view of her weyr.

M'kal murmurs Marel's name, leaning in to pepper her throat with kisses moving along up to her lips where he'll cut off any more words. He keeps the kisses light and teasing with a taste of promise of more to come…slowly. He stays close, not moving away as her grip tightens into his shirt. Understanding her need and the feelings that are no doubt crashing through her he simply lets her decide the next steps to take.

Somewhere, in the back of Marel's mind, the understanding that she isn't going to get what she wants as soon as she wants must slowly begin to make its presence known. The longer that M'kal teases her and her weyr stays in view, the more she must link one with the other, for she eventually shoves at him none too gently and fumbles for one of his hands to haul her after her as she scrambles to her feet and towards her cottage. Maybe she'll remember her shoes and jacket and so on later; for the moment she just seems pleased that her door key is in her pocket and not in her jacket. Her hands shake as she fumbles with getting the door unlocked, but the very second she has the door shut and that wall between them and the outside world, she all but literally throws herself at M'kal again.

Xanadu Weyr - Secret Garden Refuge
How has this gem stood empty so long? Constructed of hand-chiseled whitestone, this cottage is unique in that it appears to have been here from before the time Xanadu was founded, it's stones bearing a resemblance to the ruins in the old forest. Large windows, flanked by raw wooden shutters faded to a silvery-grey, have thick-leaded diamond panes that allow the meadow's light inside. Pink climbing roses scale the front wall, the porcelain blossoms scenting the air with their delicate fragrance and providing shade over the three shallow stone steps leading to a portico in which an arch-topped door is set.

The space within the cottage - sitting room, kitchenette, sleeping and bathing room - is simple: stone floors are covered in vast rugs in pale, pastel shades and the walls have been painted white. Some spaces have built-in storage: cupboards in the sitting room; counters and a cooling/heating unit for food in the kitchenette. The sitting room has a double-wide, deeply-inset window that make the sunny room perfect for housing potted plants, Isyriath's portion opening off of one side. Comfortable couches in pale pink line two of the walls, standing opposite each other, a long, low table set between them in the centre of the room. On the wall, above one of the couches, hangs a painting of meadow, in which both the cottage and Marel herself feature, the picture signed with a capital M. To the rear of the cottage, the bedroom has French doors that open onto a private retreat formed by a three-walled, flag-stoned courtyard of the same material that makes up the cottage walls. In the centre lies a flower garden, neat rows of tulips and rose bushes planted in fresh soil, a non-functional stone fountain serving as decoration alone, for now.

Wrapping his arms around Marel the moment she's close he draws and keeps her close, nuzzling at her neck. As unexpected as this may be he's certainly not one to turn down the opportunity. However he's in a better mind than Marel and he's determined to take this slow enough for her to realize what she's doing and make this a conscious choice of her own and not because of the post flight feelings. Slowly he draws her back towards the couch with intention to sit down and pull her to his lap. His riding jacket has been dropped in the meadow, perhaps close to where her own jacket and boots lay. His goggles, however, remain atop his head.

Later, perhaps Marel will appreciate that he is in a better state of mind that she is, given that he's so far managed to prevent her from making fools of them both right out in the meadow, but for the moment she's almost ungrateful for his slowing them down, her frustration clear in how she goes to get rid of those goggles and fling them across the room. Maybe she'll owe him a new set of those. She might not be running on logic, but she has enough sense to know what she wants, one word uttered as she lets herself be pulled into his lap, straddling him as she winds both hands into the fabric of his shirt. "Please."

M'kal runs a hand along her back as he's straddled, his hand seeking to lift up the shirt she wears so he can touch the bared skin beneath. "Marel…" he breathes her name. "Soon. Slowly." he tries to sooth the frustration with a passionate kiss that promises much more. "Let your mind calm…" he'll say quietly, possibly treading on thin ice here! He promised, he knows this. He wants her mind less foggy though so he'll keep it slow and fast all at once to perhaps get her mind to a more even keel. The goggles remain where they are flung. Damaged? They'll find that out later.

Seeking hands draw a gasp and are enough to distract Marel from any more insistences for the time being, her fingers uncurling from his shirt to deal with the buttons of hers so that she can shed it and shrug it away to let it fall to the floor as she returns his kiss with a slower burn of passion that's beginning to lose the edge of aggression that she has thus far shown M'kal. "Please," she murmurs again, her hands lifting to his shoulders. "…M'kal, you…" Whether she can't find the words or is losing the will to protest isn't exactly clear, but she while she doesn't make to disrobe him whether he likes it or not, she doesn't entirely leave off either, looking down at him through half-lidded eyes.

M'kal's hands seek to caress and stroke her back in long smooth strokes before moving to the front briefly. His own shirt will follow to the floor to land atop hers. "I promised." he guesses her words, silencing her once more with a long kiss. "It'll be kept." as he senses that at least some of the edge of aggression is being lost he shifts them both on the couch so that she's laying on her back and he over her. His movements are still slow but there's a definite purpose to them as he works on reliving them both of the remainder of their clothing. "…love you. Always." he whispers.

It says much for her shifting mood the return of some self-control that Marel doesn't struggle to keep the upper hand, but surrenders almost entirely and lets herself be drawn down to the couch and divested of the rest of her clothing, not tearing at his to be rid of them, nor making demands of kisses, though she watches him with a more than evident hungry edge to her icy-green eyes. "Always…" she echoes softly, fingers tracing the contours of his collarbone before her palm finds its way to just shy of his heart. Patience then, and then not, her mouth seeking his to encourage him to ease the flames still coursing through her veins. The aggression has faded, yet the need has not, the press of her nails sometimes to be had, perhaps a mark or two left in her wake that she might later be ashamed to see.

With the aggression fading, M'kal simply can not resist being drawn into the need..the urgency she feels. No longer does he move slowly waiting for her wits to regain fully. This'll be the most they are regained for now and he seems to sense that within her. With little to no warming he'll stand and scoop her up in his arms, lest she protest. He'll then move them both into the bedroom, atop the bed, where slowness has no place and desire and passion finally control everything he does. No pain of nails against his skin will be felt, yet, as his hands trail over her body with his mouth to follow. No more words are needed though certainly sounds of pleasure will be heard. Hopefully Mur'dah doesn't try to come calling anytime soon for M'kal will spend a lot of time dousing the flames of desire.

Nobody had better think that now is a good time for a visit, since Marel is all M'kal's in the time that passes once he moves them to the bed, her cries drifting quietly through the cottage when she doesn't manage to smother them against his neck or shoulder. It's really not very romantic that she falls asleep not so many minutes after they're both thoroughly spent, instinct drawing her close to him, to tuck herself in against him and settle there snug and warm before adrenaline gives out on her and, flames doused and both mind and body content, she surrenders to the pull of something far more gentle. She doesn't sleep for long, her mind drawn back to consciousness sooner rather than later, palms seeking the warmth of the one beside her before she's even opened her eyes.

M'kal's own desires quenched, M'kal's arm lays over Marel in a comforting, holding way to keep her close to him. He'll not fall asleep, a sure sign that /his/ mind was dragon addled. Instead he lay there and watch her sleep, perhaps having this chance to see Marel's inner beauty with no worries or anything on her features. Just the peace that one finds in slumber.

Green eyes open and Marel slowly focuses on M'kal, tipping her head back to look up at him as one hand lifts, seeking to brush gently through his hair. "…I'm sorry I…" she starts to murmur, then finds herself unable to put what she means into words that she deems appropriate and enough to convey what she means. She surrenders to her failure by dipping her head back down again, tucking her face into the crook of his neck as she tightens one arm around him. "I didn't mean to be…" is spoken against skin, her expression hidden.

M'kal lays a finger across Marel's lips before she shifts and hides her face. He'll try to draw her out to look into her eyes again. "No sorries." he says sternly before pressing his lips to her forehead for a kiss. Or the top of her head if her face is still hidden within the crook of his neck. Curiosity flickers in his gaze but he'll not ask yet. Instead he lays with her, arms around her, a pillar of support.

Marel doesn't argue or try to excuse or apologise for her behaviour any further, nothing but calm acceptance in her gaze when it meets his, the warmth of his arms around her almost lulling her back to sleep again with its promise of safety. She settles down with her head on his chest, her legs seeking to tangle back with his. "…He thought she was beautiful and I wanted him to have her," she murmurs. "We almost had her. We were so close. …And then a bronze caught her."

M'kal offers words of encouragement, soothing words of 'next time' and such things like that. "He's a good size. He'll catch soon and he'll be amazed." He stays settled in bed with limbs entangled around her.


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