Fort Weyr - Living Caverns
This cavern, having been created by bubbles in the volcanic flow of this extinct volcano, has a breathtaking ceiling — a vast dome that arches high above the heads of the weyrfolk that scurry around beneath it. A hollow echo can be heard from loud enough noises, and the chatterings of various firelizards are consequently multiplied into a chaotic babble. All in all, the living cavern is a loud place.
Tables are scattered around the room, apparently in no particular order. Over to one side near the kitchens, two medium sized serving tables are constantly spread with snacks, klah, and other goodies. The tables look worn, yet perfectly fitted to the atmosphere of the caverns. In the 'corners' of the cavern, smaller two and four place tables are set up for more private talks or just a less chaotic atmosphere in which to eat.

It is a cold Fortian evening, the sun still casting enough light to filter through the thick clouds so that the weyr is not in total darkness. The weather is cold, winds making being outdoors a challenge. Inside, though, things are nice and cozy and warm. Seated at the leadership table, Nyalle is entertaining a bronzerider - from High Reaches, given the knot on his shoulder - and Nyalle looks flushed, giggling and sipping her wine. She's dressed very properly, in a rather complicated looking gown with many laces and ties up the back corset, her skirts multiple and poofy. Outside, Kayeth sleeps on her ledge, her glow almost a miniature sun all of Fort's own.

Nobody's entertaining Borodin, and he's pretty okay with that. He's not at the leadership table, either. Nope. He's sitting at one of the ordinary tables, with a bowl of ordinary stew. And eating. In ordinary fashion!

The High Reachian is none other than Mr'az, rider of bronze Zhirazoth and he seems all too comfortable sitting by Nyalle's side at the leadership table despite being so far from home. His grin is broad and laid back, his mood light and he's picking half interested at a sparse plate of sliced fruit, cheese and bread. Lowering his head, he murmurs something to Nyalle and from the way his grin curves, he's no doubt making some light joke or teasing remark.

From outside, the Weyrleader walks in then and pauses a moment to sweep his eyes over the caverns, noting who may or may not be seated among the tables. Normally Th'ero has already come and gone from the caverns by this candlemark, but tonight… tonight he felt the need to wander and wander forwards he does. A curious look is given to Borodin as he passes, a brisk nod to follow. "Evening," he greets and he lingers for a moment as if to continue on in conversation. Only his dark gaze settles on Nyalle and her 'guest' right then and Th'ero adds, "Excuse me a moment," before doing just that. Approaching the table, he inclines his head respectfully to Nyalle, a gesture extended to Mr'az though there is notable interest (and suspicion perhaps) in the foreign rider. "Evening, weyrwoman. To you as well, Wingleader. Fort's duties to High Reaches an her queens." So formal!

Nyalle laughs, light and easy at Mr'az's joke, though it's short lived and she quickly clamps down on her enthusiasm with a blush rising to her cheeks. As if she's done something horribly wrong. Resting a hand on Mr'az's arm, it tightens slightly when Th'ero approaches. And Borodin, with the rest of the folks here this evening, is not picked out of the crowd. "Sir," Nyalle says with a salute, though it's more relaxed than her usual ones. "May I introduce you to Wingleader Mr'az, rider to bronze Zhirazoth, who is Kayeth's mate?" Or was. Still is. For a little bit longer. Outside, Kayeth rises and stretches, neck arching and wings spreading before she tucks them back along her sides and simply studies the weyr spread out before her from her perch on her ledge. Surveying. Studying.

Borodin figures out he's being looked at somewhere around the time he also gets nodded to, and looks up to Th'ero to bob his head back to the Weyrleader. "Evening," he says. Is there more conversation coming? It looks that way, and so he waits it, but… nope! "Sure." Another bob of his head, and he looks back to his stew. He doesn't look to the leadership table. Why should he? He's got stew. Mm, stew. It's only a little watery.

Mr'az will rest his hand over Nyalle's, his grip just firm enough to be reassuring but not entirely clinging. He seems a touch frustrated when the young gold rider's good mood is clamped down upon, but at the introduction and approach of the Weyrleader, the bronzerider straightens a bit and nods curtly, saluting with his free hand. "Well met, Sir. High Reaches duties to Fort and their queens." Cue a sidelong look to Nyalle and a barely visible smile before he continues on, "I've had the fortune of seeing much of Fort Weyr, thanks to weyrwoman Nyalle's tour. A good Weyr. Much history and pride." he compliments.

Compliments that only bring a reserved smile to Th'ero's features and the Weyrleader inclines his head again to Mr'az, though his eyes still linger in an overly curious way, especially as he glances to Nyalle as well. "Well met. I'm glad you've enjoyed your visit here to Fort." Now go away. "Would you mind if I joined you?" he asks, already reaching for the back of one of the chairs. If he does get the chance to sit, perhaps he will signal for some of that very stew Borodin is enjoying (or not?). A little watery isn't too bad, right? Not that the Weyrleader is overly hungry. It wasn't food that brought him here. Outside on various ledges, the bronzes and a few browns begin to gather and among them are Zhirazoth and Velokraeth, with the first and richly hued bronze already beginning to tense and posture on his ledge while the pale and ugly Velokraeth keeps a silent and observant vigil.

Outside, Kayeth rises, uncurling herself from her sleeping posture. She is awake now though, her mind sharp and eager, her body glowing with autumn's flame. Lifting her muzzle she roars a challenge to the weyr, her call echoing against the stone and claiming it as /hers/ as she kicks off the ledge, wings snapping open, and heads for the feeding pens without a second glance. Thus far, no males are favored out of the group as she lands on a beast and bends her muzzle to feed…

Nyalle laughs, about to respond to something when her mind is erased, replaced by the sudden desires and lusts of her queen. She pushes herself to her feet, hand wildly grabbing at Mr'az's shoulder and gripping fiercely, painfully. "Kayeth!" she squeaks, though surely she had to know this was coming. Maybe the wine caused her to forget. With a gasp, Nyalle pales slightly and then steadies herself, her head down as she abandons her body in the caverns to focus and FORCE her queen to blood, and to ONLY blood.

Outside in the snow, the mud and muck of the pens, Kayeth snarls, snapping her teeth as she fights with her rider. But in the end, polite and proper Nyalle wrestles control back from her queen, and Kayeth tears open the throat to blood.

There are definitely worse things the stew could be. This one at least contains both meat and vegetables! Not only that, there's salt and herbs used in the making. So yeah. It could definitely be worse, and it proves the cooks are (at least today) listening about conservation of resources. Also, it's food, and Borodin - now that there's no looming Weyrleader-conversation - eats his steadily untiiil… "Shardit," goes Borodin at the stir in the caverns, and pushes to his feet, leaving the rest of that stew uneaten as he stomps his way down deeper into the Weyr, muttering more curses as he goes.

Or maybe Mr'az was trying to make her forget for a moment? Either way, both bronzerider's know when Kayeth's stirs well before the call echoes outside and the High Reachian is quick to follow and stand with Nyalle, not at all shy in holding her close to him while she clings at his arm. His eyes lower, fixing Th'ero with a determined look before he's turning his head to whisper urgently to the young goldrider. "Stay with her, Nyalle! Just as you did before."

Th'ero steps back, shocked by the swiftness of the impending flight and by how swift Velokraeth is to respond to Kayeth. The Weyrleader has to set his jaw against the sudden influx of intoxicating thoughts and emotions through the link he has with his bronze and part of him is glad to not have had the chance to settle. Mr'az's look is met with a challenging one of his own though he scowls with how brazenly the Reacian rider sticks to Nyalle. "We need to go." he states crisply. The time has come! Outside, Velokraeth spreads his wings and launches his bulky, lumpy form from his ledge to soar and dive into the feeding grounds in Kayeth's fiery wake. His answer to her call is nothing more than a throaty warbled-croon and then he's descending on his first kill and blooding it, tail lashing and wings fanned out as he angles himself for the best view of Kayeth. Zhirazoth's call rivals that of most of the other challengers, brassy and echoing in its own way as he too descends on the feeding grounds. Blooding, he makes sure to let his competition know from the start that he intends to win this! Tail lashes out, lips curl in warning snarls and growls and teeth flash as he sizes up the bronzes and browns, seeing who stands or who backs down. Weak and strong.

Nyalle nods, swallowing thickly. "We need to go," she agrees with Th'ero, darting a look at him. Licking her lips, she looks back at Mr'az and nods. "This way," she says, though she's a little unsteady on her feet as she heads out, leading the two bronzeriders (and the others that begin to arrive) to the guest weyr.

Outside, Kayeth snarls as the males begin to approach, testing them, teasing them, and letting none approach her. Not yet. No, they have to earn it, they have to prove themselves worthy of her. Pouncing, she takes another beast down and drinks greedily before a third, and then a fourth are toppled and slaughtered, her color pulsing with its own light, a vibrant, wild creature of flames. Her mind is vast and daunting, the sun and the moons in their peak, shining a gold and silver light down on her eerie landscape. The seas have stilled, there is not a breath of wind. Waiting.

Fort Weyr - Guest Weyr and Flight Room
The guest weyr at Fort has been given as many conveniences as possible. A large, comfortable-looking bed rests against the back wall, the linens changed on a regular basis to keep them fresh. For temporary storage of personal belongings a sturdy footlocker can be found at its foot, and a table and a quartet of chairs provide a place for visitors to entertain guests if they so wish. The floor has been covered with a large rug and the walls are draped in tapestries depicting various scenes from Pern's grand history, all to help ward off the chill of the stone in the winter months. There's even a small ice chest with an attached cupboard for storage of cool drinks and energizing snacks for the weyr's occupants.

Th'ero will hang back as Nyalle leads the way out, noting her unsteadiness despite Mr'az's contented close hovering. He scowls again at the Reachian bronzerider, mouth drawn in a tense and grim line as he struggles against Velokraeth's influence. Yet he finds his eyes drifting more and more to the young goldrider as they make their way across the bowls and pick up the ragtag assembly of other bronzeriders all vying for a chance. They're all given cold looks, but Th'ero's gaze to Nyalle is warmer and he's taking note of her dress. Such a complicated thing!

Velokraeth knows better than to approach Kayeth even though it is his utmost desire. Her vibrant, wild and flame like nature has completely snared and enraptured him and the pale bronze literally hums with tension as he watches her hungrily but also warily and cautiously. He will have to play his games well with this one and as she greedily bloods, he only encourages her with his thoughts of warmth and home, spice and smoke and the ever present rippling of honey sweet wine with the tastes of summer and autumn in harmonic balance. He praises her for the amount of kills, complimenting her prowess without overstepping bounds and when he is not distracted by the competition. Namely Zhirazoth, as the young bronze sticks close to the pale and stunted one and likely taking some of his frustration out when his advances to Kayeth are rebuked. But he already IS the best for her! They should all know this and just get out of his way.

Nyalle enters the guest weyr and with a quick look around, she positions herself towards the back wall, hauling Mr'az with her. No doubt as to who /she/ wants to win her flight. What's best for Fort be damned, she wants Mr'az to be her mate and her Weyrleader.

Kayeth hisses to the others, teeth snapping as she lashes out to keep them back, but then draws away to pull them in. Dancing already, coy and flirting. « Now, » she says, an instant before her massive wings snap open and she surges off the ground with an audible noise. Parting ways with the earth she rises into the grey, chilled skies, pushing herself up as if her main desire is to put as much distance as possible between herself and the ground.

Mr'az is hauled willingly to join Nyalle and his steps are almost swaggered and his posture as smug as the look on his face. Yes, that's right! Who's got preference here? He'll eye each and every other rider who slips inside the modest ground weyr, disapproving of each suitor and longest do his eyes linger on Th'ero.

Th'ero does not approach Nyalle when she positions herself with Mr'az across the weyr and against the back wall but neither will he hide among the pack. He'll stand close by and to the side, hands curling and uncurling at his side as he keeps a focused gaze on Nyalle and a sharper look for Mr'az. That damned Reachian! His mouth curves in distaste, one's likely echoed by Velokraeth out on the feeding grounds.

Velokraeth and Zhirazoth both keep back from Kayeth's snapping teeth, but if she wishes to dance and flirt they will be there by her side with the youngest being the most daring and the ugly one making up for his more subtle approach with honed wit. The signal is given and as the rest of the pack surges up, Zhirazoth takes the opportunity to snap at Velokraeth, causing the bronze to snarl and rear up, his jump fouled by the young bronze's tricks. Rumbling triumphantly, Zhirazoth kicks off the ground and soars up after the others, leaving a frustrated and angered Velokraeth to pick up the trailing edge.

Nyalle gasps, her body rocking when Kayeth surges upwards. The goldrider's eyes flutter closed as she breathes slow and steady, a sound rising in her throat. Her hands clutch at Mr'az's tunic, gripping and loosening only to grasp again as she leans against him and against the wall, pulse fluttering in her throat as her lips part and she stays with her queen.

Kayeth echoes her rider's sound, though hers is loud and brash and taunting, a sound she sends into the darkening skies as she soars up through the clouds. Breaking through above them she finds herself in a world of twilight, the sun just setting and hazy with color, stars emerging above. With another triumphant and satisfied roar, the young queen banks and heads towards the sea.

Likewise Mr'az's eyes close and his body shifts, drawn to Nyalle both by Zhirazoth's desire to capture Kayeth and by the goldriders grip on his tunic. He holds her and as the flight progresses he becomes more and more of his bronze than himself. When Zhirazoth fouls Velokraeth, the bronzerider is daring enough to look up from under his brows to gloat to Th'ero with a curved smirk. The challenge is set! Th'ero's scowl darkens towards Mr'az, his lips twitching back from his teeth as he almost snarls at the Reachian before clamping down on that emotion that is more Velokraeth than anything. Straightening, he regards his opponent with a cold and studious stare, though his eyes still drift to Nyalle and his desire for her. Not for her, but for what she will secure for him should Velokraeth snare Kayeth.

Zhirazoth knows that call well and he voices one in return, rich and thundering and just as bold and brash to compliment Kayeth. Up and up he goes, bursting into the twilight and veering sharply into position as the fiery gold begins to bank towards the sea. Cocky, he leads the pack for now but lingers back to allow her her freedom. Fly far! He can keep pace no matter how far she goes! Meanwhile, Velokraeth labours his way up into the heart of the pack, still seething at being caught off guard by the usurping young bronze from High Reaches. Yet rather than let it hinder him, he uses it to fuel his strength. Now he desires Kayeth all the more, if not to just have the satisfaction of denying Zhirazoth from his most cherished desire. They both want the same gold, but it will take more than just dirty little tactics to shake Velokraeth off and after shouldering his way past two more competitors, the pale and ugly bronze is gaining.

Nyalle is still but a pawn, a prize to be won, something to be conquered so a man can lead the weyr. Hyper aware of her surroundings, she is in tune with every breath, every sound, every thudding of her heart in her ears is accentuated. The shift of the fabric of her dress which she clings to despite the layers she wears and the heat it's generating in this confined space so filled with male bodies. All wanting /her/. She presses herself more tightly against the wall, slipping in behind Mr'az. Her friend, her mate. Her protector.

Kayeth peeks over her shoulder as she flies, rising up higher and then dropping down again, toying with the mountain peaks. She calls back to Zhirazoth, a teasing, alluring call. She is certainly drawn towards the bronze, and her choice seems to be clear. But she is Fortian now, and the pull of the weyr is strong as well, and her focus shifts briefly to Velokraeth. That ugly, ugly bronze. With a snort she turns and pushes forward again, pushing onward to try and shake the lesser chasers.

Poor Nyalle, reduced to nothing more than a pawn! Even her ever faithful friend and protector is becoming more Zhirazoth by the moment and so Mr'az's behaviours are both his and those of his bronze. With her behind him now, he stands tall and proud and then settles into a guarded position, features twisting into a hardened look. Any other man who dares approached is gestured away or even roughly shoved or nudged. Th'ero does not join in the mild roughhousing and testing of strength. Oh no. No, he prowls along the edges now and while all are too busy in focusing on Mr'az, he is going to silently slip around the other way to glimpse Nyalle hidden away from across the other side of the bed. Nowhere near close but he can see her and that is enough for now. He can be patient and so can his bronze.

Up and down goes the dance and some from the pack fall back and drop out, unable to keep up to such a toying and feisty partner. The first victims to fall, unable to rise to the challenge that Kayeth sets for her suitors. Zhirazoth is still going strong and he will answer her alluring and teasing call. Keep trying, she cannot best him! He IS the best and he will match her wingstroke to wingstroke! Perhaps a wiser bronze would conserve his strength but young Zhirazoth is high on his own self confidence and brashness, assured that Kayeth is his by right. Onwards they push and Velokraeth continues to follow in the shadow of Zhirazoth, hanging back and further down but always keeping Kayeth in his sights. He does not answer the calls, keeping silent save for his thoughts which brush with hers and continue to sweetly compliment her and encourage her to greater feats of strength and endurace and all the while trying to conserve his.

Nyalle stays there, pressed against the wall, lost to her queen. She is grateful, some part of her, for Mr'az's protection so she does not have anyone grabbing or groping her, and she can focus on Kayeth. On keeping her here, in the present, no matter what happens. Linked tightly with her beloved, glorious gold as they both revel in the thrill of the flight.

Kayeth flies onward, high and far, ensuring that only the best will snare her. Near Fort Hold now, the fiery queen sees a challenge in those peaks and she drops, angling towards the mountains and brushing dangerously close to their snow-capped flanks. A taunt for those who follow, showing off her /own/ sills so that they might rise to her challenge in this lusty game of follow the leader. Though after her first pass she levels out and soars onwards, reigned in by a sharp retort from her rider. Too dangerous, too risky, so she doesn't do it a second time.

Mr'az cannot protect her forever and soon she may find herself unknowingly edged towards the corner as he wedges himself between her and the others. Yet he is rapidly coming lost in Zhirazoth's thoughts, his eyes closed and chin lifted up as he allows himself to be carried out on those currents, encouraging and pushing his bronze forwards rather than holding tight to the reins. Th'ero keeps to prowling along his side of the weyr, his head lowered and his body poised and ready. Dark eyes dart from Mr'az to Nyalle, warily watching the bronzerider and looking on to the goldrider with a determined and set stare. Hide all she wants, it won't matter in the end, will it? Yet unlike the other riders and those pressing in closer as the flight draws out, Th'ero is holding on to some small shred of himself. For now, he will cling to it so that it can serve him later if fate decides to favour him this evening.

Those dreaded and well known mountains! To any Fortian born, they know the risks and often those peeks are left untouched and held with a cautious respect. Yet if Kayeth chooses to challenge the worth of her suitors by dropping towards their dangerous and jagged teeth then the pack goes will her. Well… most of it. More drop out by then, leaving a sparse few for the final test. Zhirazoth of course is leading and he goes down after her with recklessness fed by his ego and cockiness and swept up in the display of her skills. Kayeth has set the bar and Zhirazoth will not be outmatched! His skills for the size that he is are formidable, but what he has forgotten is to keep an eye on the opponent he spurned at the beginning. Velokraeth has no love of the mountain peeks, but he knows enough of the thermals and tricky, shifting winds to be able to surge ahead as they drop and rise again. Only now he is angling himself purposely wide on his upward swing, allowing a updraft to speed him along. Too late does Zhirazoth realize what Velokraeth intends and with a snarled roar of anger and surprise, the young bronze twists. For a moment, the two are sent spinning in their own winding dance as they roll and weave to avoid a collision but Velokraeth emerges the victor to soar off ahead while Zhirazoth is forced downwards… and into an unstable mass of air he hadn't anticipated. It snarls his wings, catching one hard enough to send the tired muscles into a cramp of protest and with a cry of pain the Reachian bronze drops. Down and down he goes, clipping a few of the peaks with scrabbling talons in an effort to gain purchase and leap back up but it's no use. With one last futile sweep of his wings he lands heavily into a large snow pack nestled among the mountains and his voice echoes up over the winds full of bitterness and disappointment, as well as the knowledge that he has lost.

Nyalle gasps and cries out, her eyes flying open when she sees the bronzes tangle through Kayeth's eyes. "NO!" she cries when it's made heart-stoppingly clear that Zhirazoth has /lost/ the flight. "No, no!" she whimpers, clinging to Mr'az's tunic fiercely, not wanting him to leave her even though she knows he must.

Kayeth roars her displeasure when she senses and then sees what has happened with two of her remaining suitors. Watching her mate, her chosen one be fouled and sent tumbling down towards those mountain peaks has her enraged, her roar fierce and snarling as she twists, turns, and surges back towards the bronzes. Back towards the pack in a reckless dive, as if she is angling down to meet Zhirazoth on that snowy peak. But dragons can not twine on the ground, and instinct tears her away from that dive, upwards once more with a heart-wrenching call as she must leave him behind. She is flagging though. Tiring, as she looks to the chasers who remain and it is the absence of her chosen mate plus the pull of the weyr's desires that has her edging closer to one ugly, pale bronze, offering him the win if he has enough strength to take it. Second choice.

Mr'az makes a strangled, choked noise as his body goes taught and rigid, his eyes seeking out Th'ero and ablaze with furious anger. Anger that is soon replaced by a crushing blow of disappointment and pain when he hears Nyalle call out and whimper, clinging to him. "I'm sorry, Nyalle. We're so sorry to have failed you!" he barely manages to whisper, his throat tight and closed and his voice gruff and thick. He clings to her, but he has to draw back. It pains him on so many levels to do so, but he cannot stay here now. Zhirazoth will need him, once the bronze has finished pitching his fit of frustration up on that snow pack and his wing limber again for flight. Mr'az must join the other riders quietly slipping out, their purpose there no longer needed with their lifemates out of the chance to claim the fiery gold. "Be strong," Is his parting words to her and then he is briskly slipping away before he does something stupid. He'll cross paths with Th'ero before managing his escape and for a tense moment the two bronzerider's stand off before going their separate ways, but it's clear from the Reachian bronze that he will never forgive the Fortian bronzerider. With the way clear, Th'ero's focus drifts solely to Nyalle and though some part of him is dimly aware that it wasn't him she wanted, he caught too far and deep into the flight lust now. Far away and above, Velokraeth is closing in… and the closer the bronze, the closer Th'ero's steps. One, then another…

Velokraeth is not surprised by Kayeth's rage and sudden turn on them, well aware of what he has done. He will veer away from her reckless dive but twist again to keep close while the other remaining bronzes scatter with mixed cries of alarm and frustration. Upwards they go again and so does Velokraeth rise after her, only to sense the end when Kayeth begins to flag and the influence of the Weyr brings her to him. Second choice. It stings his pride but so unnoticed for now as his other instincts and desires flare hot and strong and it gives him the energy and strength he needs for that final upwards and forwards surge that has him snaring Kayeth hard in his grip. Twinning his neck and tail with hers, Velokraeth roars triumphantly and then tapers his voice to low, rumbled croons meant only for the fiery gold he has caught. Second though he may be, he will not let her regret that choice!

Nyalle's cling of Mr'az shifts for a moment from holding him /to/ her, to holding him /back/ from potentially lunging at the Weyrleader. She is tense, eyes wide as she watches her friend, her mate…leave. Though she knows he has to. There are many emotions that will need to be dealt with later as her eyes snap to Th'ero, narrow in her own fury for what his bronze has done. "You," she hisses, the word clicked off with a snap of her teeth as she /snarls/ at him. When he moves close, she takes a step away, glowering at him.

Kayeth fights it for a moment, until her instincts wash over her and she twines back, responding eagerly in her second mating flight, letting him carry them both high above the Fortian peaks, in the cold, cold winter air.

So many emotions! Th'ero has his own that he will have to war with later but for now his focus has turned to one thing, one person and that is Nyalle. That last shred of himself begins to waver and her hissed and snarled words at him are only met with a similar reaction from him. "We did what we had to do!" he snaps back and will only follow her as she steps back, lunging forwards the snake his arm around her and haul her to him. No further words come, his mind too far into Velokraeth's now and his eyes are bright and wild, lustful and needy. Yet it isn't him, it's the shell of himself. He is but a vessel for his bronze's instincts and urges and poor Nyalle will get no answers from him as his hands begin to pluck and pull at her gown. One that rapidly begins to frustrate him when he is hindered by all the ties and fabric. He will be rough in that respect but when he touches her, be it a brush of his hand to her skin or hair, it is slightly gentled.

Nyalle is grabbed and pulled, and by contrast to his shell, Nyalle is hyper aware during her flights. Every sense is tingling, on overdrive, every touch, sound, smell, all the colors are brighter. Including those of her gown, which he seems to be having such trouble with. And she laughs, the sound reactive, a release of tension - though more is building. She has layers for him to get through, top and bottom, and it's anyone's guess if she did that on purpose when she dressed this morning.

Time passes as flight instincts kick into gear…

Shifting beneath him, Nyalle lets him move her wherever he wishes, pliable in his arms. Rolling onto her side with him, she watches his face as her passions begin to subside - or rather the heightened sense of awareness that is her flight experience. At least with Th'ero. "Weyrleader," she says, naming him such, officially, now that the deed is done. And she is still, watching him, waiting to see what will happen next. Is he a man who desires another round? Or is he finished with her?

Th'ero's eyes remain closed where his head rests against the pillows and his breath gradually calms. His hair frames most of his head and face, curls dampened and clinging to his skin. It's her use of his official rank that draws him out of his sluggish and drowsy thoughts as Velokraeth's intoxicating influence on his mind begins to sober. Weyrleader. He's Weyrleader again! Velokraeth succeeded — barely, but he caught Kayeth in the end. Which means… "Nyalle?" he whispers gruffly, swallowing thickly as he scrabbles to gather his thoughts. Aware that he has an arm draped over her and his legs twined with hers and still so intimately close, he begins to withdraw and firstly by pulling back his arm. When his eyes open, they're almost apologetic but mostly bewildered, along with a bit of apprehension. He remembers nothing of their little romp, just ragged pieces. He's no idea that she is unsatisfied or that she was so hyper aware for her flight. Yet even as he's making it obvious that their continued contact is making him uncomfortable, he does not exactly recoil and as any proper rider should, he asks in a quiet tone. "Are you alright?"

Nyalle shifts slightly when he moves, pushing her own hair out of her face. Her dress is torn, still half on around her shoulders. "I am well," she answers, proper. Stiff. "Do you desire more?" she asks quietly, her voice soft. Rehearsed, almost, as she lets her eyes roam briefly over the body of her new mate, and then back up to his eyes. "Or are you satisfied?"

Th'ero flinches slightly at how proper and stiff, how rehearsed her words are. Yet he can only blink and then look up at her in surprise at her questions. Desire more? But… he's confused and his frown shows that much. Surely she remembers? "I… do not desire more, no." But thanks? This is awkward. He's satisfied but it's beginning to dawn that perhaps she is not. Not satisfied, not pleased at all that he is in the bed with her and not Mr'az and so he withdraws further. She'll be able to see much, if not all, of his body when her eyes roam. He's been caught so off balance by her behaviour that he's forgetting such things as modesty. As he begins to sit up, he'll see the ruin of her dress and grimaces. "I am sorry about your dress. I can pay for the repairs if it was one you were fond of." he murmurs as he runs his hand through his hair. Speaking of clothes, where are his?

Nyalle sits up when he pulls away, her hands resting on her thighs. She makes no effort to cover herself either. "I believe this one is ruined," she says, looking at the torn fabric. She wouldn't want to repair it anyway. Not this dress. No, it will be thrown away. "Shall I send for some food? Wine, perhaps?" she offers, though she flinches ever so slightly at that offer, and she then turns to get out of the bed, shrugging off the remains of the dress. Totally nude, she moves to gather up his clothing, folding them neatly and laying them on the bed beside him if he wishes to dress.

Th'ero nods his head slowly to her reply and there is a lingering apology in his eyes for the ruined dress. Yet there is relief that it was the dress that took the brunt of things and not her. He'll keep his eyes turned down or lowered politely when she shrugs out of the dress and begins to move about the weyr totally nude. Any other rider would be no doubt treating her far better than he is, but he remains on the edge of the bed and his posture is tense and clearly uncomfortable. He doesn't want to be here and yet she is making it next to impossible for him to leave without being a total insensitive ass. There is a murmured thanks when she gathers up his clothing and he will dress himself. A hint, perhaps, that is stronger than words. "Nyalle…" he begins, faltering. How can he put it this way, when truly she is just being polite? Proper. It's not her fault, but Th'ero is not going to lead her along and play along that he is okay to sit there and eat and sip wine when he desires so much to be elsewhere and in the arms of another. "As pleasant as that sounds," Uh oh. "I can't linger here. I… wish I could be that rider for you, and I do not mean to cause any insult." But he has to go. "I will, however, see you in the morning? Perhaps we can talk then over breakfast." On neutral grounds. Not here, not so soon after the flight.

Nyalle sits down on the edge of the bed once more, watching him dress. "Ah," she says with a small nod. "Certainly, s - Th'ero," she says. They're equals now. In rank at least. "If that is what you wish. Tomorrow morning then, breakfast." Then she hesitates, glancing down at herself. "If you could send someone with clothes for me? Kayeth is sleeping…" And Nyalle will not wake her. Even though she is desperate to see Mr'az and make sure Zhirazoth is okay after Velokraeth's stunt.

It is what he wishes, though he hates to be so blunt and dry with her. Th'ero pushes to his feet to stand and then lingers awkwardly for a moment before exhaling heavily. Why must he fail so miserably at his words? Approaching her, he will gently rest his hand against her shoulder, still keeping his eyes adverted politely. It's a comforting gesture but also extremely platonic, if one ignores the fact that Nyalle is naked. "Tomorrow. I will see you then, Nyalle." Then his hand slips away and he is stepping back, only to pause and blush, embarrassed and apologetic all over again. "Of course. I will see to it immediately." he tells her and then awkwardly half bows before taking his leave but not before he tries again to speak, mouth working soundlessly. In the end, he only shakes his head and utters a frustrated sound before stepping back outside into the frigid winter air. Th'ero is true to his word though and she has but a few minutes to wait before there is a knock at the door as her clothes arrive, brought to her by a female drudge (no doubt done on purpose).

Nyalle sits on the edge of the bed while she waits, and she greets the drudge wrapped in a blanket. Dressing, she is swift to pull herself together and then she is leaving the guest weyrs, heading for the dragon infirmary in the hopes that she will find Mr'az and Zhirazoth there. And if not there, she will ask a rider to seek the Reaches bronze.