Fort Weyr - Steeped in Tradition Weyr

As a goldrider's weyr, this ledge might be considered predictable, but it is the history that makes it something special, for this is the weyr in which Moreta lived. A wide wallow is plenty large enough for a queen to rest, and have a view of the weyr spread out before her watchful gaze. The interior is lavish and large, walls and floors perfectly smooth and glossy with age and use. There is almost no furniture, oddly enough. Perhaps this weyr has been disused for so long that the pieces have slowly been taken away by others with more need for it. But that just means Inri will get to furnish it as she sees fit.
The only piece of furniture that is left was left for a good reason. It is massive and heavy, and would surely take a monumental effort to move it. The tall, dark wood cabinet stands easily eight feet tall, and seven feet wide. Hand carved images of the Fortian mountains and woods make it a priceless and ageless piece, well cared for and meticulously oiled, even when the weyr was empty. It no doubt holds many secrets, but those will have to be gently pried from its many cabinets and drawers, secret compartments and whispered history among the drudges. Beside it is a large hearth with a wooden mantle, worn smooth by time and all the hands that have rested there and touched it. Hanging above the hearth is a sketch of Fort Weyr, seen from the skies. The parchment is old and curled at the edges, but the heavy wooden frame and precious pane of glass have kept it safe all these turns. There is a signature and date in the corner, but they're too faded to read properly.
In the back there are three different rooms. One is a large bedroom with an adjoining bathroom, complete with its own bath and closet. The walls are also smoothed and rounded, so good luck getting anything to fit flush against the wall. The bathroom is spacious, with a rather large stone tub, perfect for soaking in after a long day of meetings. Another is a smaller second bedroom with an attached closet and a little hearth, and the third is clearly meant to be an office, if the shelves carved into the wall are any indication.

Consciousness returns slowly, as from a drugged stupor with a mind sluggish and not entirely his own. With awareness comes the sensation of having attained something glorious, of tasting the skies, the thin, but pure icy air burning his lungs. Of freedom like none he’s known before, but now a heavy loss washes over him. The skies - in that way - are lost to him somehow. Memory is befuddled, confused, consisting of shards of disconnected scenes, of wresting something keenly sought from the grip of others, of pain and of pleasure. Of replete satisfaction and deep affection. Of being curled around… another? The emotions and remembrance have a draconic flavor and so D’ani casts his mind cautiously for his bronze, finding him asleep. And definitely not alone. He’s waking more fully, easing his own contact from the grip of Dremkoth’s slowly to avoid disturbing him and as he does the physical sensation of dragonhide against his skin is replaced by… wrinkled and twisted sheets, warm smooth skin. What the…? Has Dremkoth… chased another one of the oft-rising greens and manage to wangle a win? He freezes, his stomach clenching. Who is he holding in his arms? Whose neck is his face nuzzled into? Faranth, please not- He opens his eyes and lifts his head to peer down in the dim light. Inri! His own memories return in a rush as he watches her sleeping face. They’re also fragmented, still bound up with Dremkoth’s. Kouzevelth was glowing, yes. And Dremkoth was intensely interested. His own feeling mixed, he’d tried to prevent him, failed. He’d been consumed with wanting to protect her from those others, to punch their faces for even looking at her. His desire to whisk her away out of their sight. Their tangled bodies- Of them- Present emotions he should not be having because he’s her friend, or he was, flush his skin with warmth. It’s not so much passion, though there is that because he’s felt… something for her since Candidacy, but it’s tenderness and the wish to shelter her that prompts him to give in to the impulse to brush his lips to her brow and stifle the urge to flee before she wakes. He doesn’t slip out, no. He’ll stay to face the music.

Inri would be glad to the one not unwanted, though if she knew there were someone D’ani specifically wanted to avoid, she would certainly be trying to find out who it was. It is therefore probably better that Inri has no idea, at least for now; despite post-flight haze, she would still be nosy. Were she awake, which she pointedly isn’t at the moment — at least not at first. She is a tranquil sea of emotion, now, comfortably sleepy and using D’ani’s shoulder as a pillow. Outside, Kouzevelth’s storms have softened into a gentle rain she shares with Dremkoth; they are his alone, though the sound of rain touching the ground might be leaking enough to be what wakes Inri. It’s that, or it’s him moving, but either way, eyelids flutter briefly before she wakes up, attempts to register where she is, and says something that’s completely Inri: “I am so glad you’re not Th’ero.” Not because she doesn’t like Th’ero, but because that would be complicated and Velokraeth is Zel’s father (forget how he’s also Zuvaleyuth’s) — and while she knows D’ani is with Dei, she seems to not even be remotely concerned for how the Weyrwoman will react. She can’t imagine that she’d be upset, really: far too pragmatic.

Oh ask him, he won’t hesitate to say the ones he doesn’t want to end up with are any males who ride green! He’s just… not pragmatic enough to be comfortable with that, only partially due to his holder upbringing. He is, however, pragmatic enough to not worry about Dtirae’s reaction to this development. Besides he’s worrying more about two other people. One he presently holding in his arms, the other is his best friend, who has made clear his feelings for the young woman. So he’s dating the senior Weyrwoman and he’s in bed with his best friend’s girl. Really, you can’t make this stuff up! Despite his initial concern, Inri’s waking words elicit a chuckle. He’s got no idea why she’s glad he’s not Th’ero, so he asks her with a smirk, “Kimmila is that intimidating, is she?” Really he ought to ease his arms from around her now. But he doesn’t.

No complaints from Inri. She's comfortable, and actually a pretty physically affectionate person; there's nothing that seems like a problem to her. She has at least managed to detach her emotions from Kouzevelth's, and the differing sensations as well: she knows where she is now. "Not — I don't think Kimmila'd be upset with me," she admits, laughing a little, "but the whole thing would be dreadfully awkward, wouldn't it? Also, that's a little much in the inbreeding department, I think. Siblings is normal." Please do not remind her about how her own dragon is inbred. "I can have breakfast sent, if you like." Tricky weyrwoman and her intercom. "Though I'd have to get up first. Hmph." Do not want.

D'ani's reluctance to release Inri has nothing by this point to do with Dremkoth. Her chatter about Velokraeth prompts a stare and then an odd look. He's nowhere near worried about inbreeding of dragons. In fact, the thought hasn't even entered his mind. He shakes his head, not really in the mood to discuss the crossbreeding of dragons. "I have no clue," he says a touch shortly. And then groans, snaking one arm from around her to rake fingers though his hair in frustration. "I'm sorry, Inri. I just." He stops with a sigh, and if she doesn't avoid it, traces her cheek with the backs of his fingers while leveling a concerned look down at her. His voice is gentle, "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you?" Breakfast? Apparently also not entering his mind, for he negates the idea with a brief headshake. He's far more concerned with if she's alright.

Confusion crosses the goldrider's face, and she asks with a slightly quirked eyebrow, "Sorry? For — what, why?" Any frustration confounds her, as does most concern; it was a very late flight and she's long since been prepared for it, nor is she a stranger to sexual encounters. Perhaps she's a bit naive, but anything to be concerned about goes directly above her head. "Of course you didn't, don't be silly. I don't know what you're so worried about." She'd kiss him on the cheek if she weren't concerned it would be awkward for him. "It's all about them, see. So long as Zel's happy, I'm happy. And so on. We're both lovely, really."

"For snapping at you," D'ani says immediately. Because he did back there. He's certainly not apologizing for winning her bed in a flight is he? Yes, yes he is. Her past encounters aren't something he'd spent much time thinking about. She's worried kissing his cheek would be awkward for him while he's brushing her cheek with his fingers, go figure. "It's just-" How to explain? "Inri, I-" Nope, can't do it. "I'm glad." Then he stammers, "That- that you're alright, I mean." Awkward much D'ani? She really does seem fine, her casual easy manner as Inri-like as it always has been. He stifles the urge to sigh, pulls his other arm in a gentle withdrawal. "I… should go. Find Ezra. See if he's okay." Somehow having… done this and then just leaving doesn't sit right with him, but he's going to. He leaves another kiss to her brow and then shifts, arranging the sheets over her more securely in his wake before sits up and swings his feet over the side of the bed. Now where'd his clothing wind up?

"You're fine," Inri says — at least in regards to snapping at her. She didn't register it much; she is still filled with the everything-zen emotional morphine of Kouzevelth's peaceful stillness. "And normally, I'd press. Not finishing a sentence around me is toxic. But that's — a fair reason for leaving. Even if you might stay for breakfast instead," she adds, with a soft smile. She had already issued the invitation, and is not going to ask again for him to stay, but she's not kicking him out. "Don't think that I want you to leave, and don't leave if you're upset with me, okay?"

She could press if she wanted to; D'ani'd probably tell her. He turns to look at her over his bare shoulder, a slow smile, the one she's used to seeing from him, accompanying his drawl, "I finished them, Inri." And then he winks. Because he did indeed finish them, changed in the middle, but finished nonetheless. He bends down, fishing his pants from the floor. "I appreciate the invite," he says sincerely while stuffing first one leg, then the other in them. He means it, really. With his back to her he stands, pulls them up and buckles them. It's not that he's shy, he's just trying to be decent. If she wants to watch, she'll get a splendid view of his lean backside. He turns, looks around, then fishes his shirt off the floor. It's rumpled, but with a shrug, he pulls it on. "I'm not upset with you Inri," he assures her with a chuckle.

There is nothing shy about Inri; much as she only thinks of D’ani as a friend (though whether that would’ve been different if Dei hadn’t gotten there first is a mystery; the ambiguous feelings during candidacy had always been mutual) she is definitely still looking, going to the point of stretching out a bit to get a better view. Grinning, even. Don’t be shy, it’s just her. A shame to her holdbred background. “Good. I don’t want anything to be — awkward. You really didn’t do anything to hurt me; I’m glad it was you. That was all very — weird but I think I enjoyed it. I hope you’re okay? Everything was okay with you?” She’s also pulling on a shirt, not bothering with upper undergarments for now; it’s a lazy day for Inri. “And Dremkoth — oh, Faranth, she beat up a bunch of dragons, didn’t she.”

D’ani’s ingrained-politeness and subtle deference for her has probably not worked in his favor here, so they’ll never know, will they. And he has long had Ezra to consider where Inri is concerned. He’s outright worried about how the teen is going to take this, hence his haste to go check on him. He turns around to see her grin, his smile in return crooked and a touch embarrassed. Nevertheless, he drawls, “Enjoyed the view, did you?” His eyes look elsewhere while she’s buttoning her blouse, fingers fumbling with the ones on his own shirt. Holdbred to the core, is D’ani. Inri’s forthright chatter follows and he tries not to gape at her. He clears his throat, at a loss as to how to respond to it. He’s glad it was him too because the thought of those others… taking her… Even now it makes his fingers curl into a fist just thinking about it. Is he okay? “I’ll be alright,” he manages. “I’m glad we’re still friends.” He’s not really awkward, but he is tongue-tied. There's a difference, right? “Dremkoth?” a short laugh follows and he says honestly, “He’s fine, smugly pleased with himself and besotted with Kouzevelth.” He shakes his head, unaware of how the other dragons fared because his focus was totally honed in on her/Kouzevelth. “It was a rough flight,” he says after reaching out to Dremkoth, “he’s got some bruises. He says next time the others better give him some space.” A helpless laugh follows that. “How’s Kouzevelth?”

“Don’t know why we wouldn’t still be friends,” Inri points out, sitting up again. “Similarly there’s no reason not to enjoy the view. If I’ve got to be living in a weyr I might as well take advantage of what’s socially expected of Weyr people.” Like being completely shameless. She used to hide those tendencies more before moving to Fort, though they were always there — and part of why she left Breakwater in the first place. “She is absolutely delighted with herself. With him, with me, with having a clutch and with causing injury to just about every chaser. Typical. I’ll let you go if you’ve got going to do — I’m likely going to take the day off but I’ll be in and out of the office anyway. Maybe we can all,” like Dei, and Ezra, and maybe Abbey and Rayathess, “have lunch.”

D’ani lets out a long breath, probably of relief as he nods at Inri, his more easy smile following her comments about the Weyr. At the mention of a clutch resulting, he’s reminded that Dremkoth is going to be a papa to some eggs soon! The thought leaves him looking both stunned and wary; the conflicting expressions flitting across his face must be comical. “He’s going to be insufferably besotted with them. And the Candidates. You watch.” His boots, one halfway across the room, the other under the bed are found as he’s speaking. Cramming first one foot, then the other into them, he heads for the entrance preparatory to heading out, turns back at the door and says seriously, “Be careful with her. Don’t let her fly too hard or too much. Dremkoth can hunt for her. If you need anything - anything at all you call us, yeah? Make her take it easy!” Who’s the one going to be insufferable? He is, that’s who, treating Kouzevelth like she’s made out of glass. Faranth help the mother if he ever finds he’s got a child on the way! “Lunch,” says he with whatever his real opinion of that awkward meal would be swallowed. “Sure, Let’s do lunch.” He leaves with a wry chuckle. Sit at the table with his girlfriend, his best friend, his best friend’s girl, after sleeping with said girl and no awkward? Only in a Weyr!