Who Ila'den, Thys
What A simple summons for apologies turns into a drunken bawd-fest.
When Winter, Turn 2711 - at the time of Kayeth's rising
Where Istan Island Beach Resort

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Istan Island Beach Resort
It's a beach resort, on an Istan island! Black sands, blue seas, clear skies, and cabanas serving alcohol and other delicious things.


Warning for mature content and strong language!

Kayeth's rising is imminent, meaning it's vacation time for Fort's junior goldriders. Thys has selected a sunny getaway that's as far from Fort's wintery cold as can be - a well-known resort island off the coast of Ista, where the sand is black, the sun is hot, and the drinks are served quick and strong. Teimyrth will receive an invitation from Rhenesath, inviting him and his rider to join them - a feathery touch with the heat of a forge behind it. « Mine says there is hot sand and cold drinks waiting if you care to join. » And, should the bronzerider choose to accept, he'll arrive to find Thys in the middle of a book, sipping a cocktail on the sand between the water and the bar cabana, stretched out on a beach towel to soak up some of Rukbat's rays on this glorious day. Because why not?

SWEET THYS, INVITING CHAOS TO YOUR VACATION GETAWAY. Teimyrth's voice is considerably less gentle, a whipping blizzard that's as icy as the dragon's scathing voice when he replies, « Mine says we will come. » It takes maybe a moment too long for Ila'den to hold true to his word, but he /does/ show /eventually/, trudging across the black sands of the Istan getaway in leathers that tuck away into boots, all while rolling up the long sleeves of his tunic to rest along the crease of his elbow. It's the only respite from the heat the wild-looking man allows himself. He hasn't come equipped with a towel - or manners, as it turns out, because he simply sits on /Thys'/ towel without even asking if she'll mind first. Calloused fingers hood his eyes as he takes in the cabana, just before too-keen grey eyes shift onto the smaller woman and brows lift in tandem with his hand dropping. "I've never been here," comes that accented burr that's almost more a growl than a voice. A long pause, and then a roll of shoulders with a much quieter, "Hello, Thys." At least the last is said with a smile, despite how wolfish the smile might be.

If Thys was bothered by the longer than expected wait, she doesn't let it show. In fact, she doesn't even look up from her book. Not even as she scoots over to make space for the bronzerider to sit beside her. When he speaks, she gently tucks a bookmark between pages to mark her spot, sets the book aside, and finally turns to face him with a slightly sheepish smile. "Hello, Ila'den. Welcome to my island hideaway." She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand, inviting him to take in the sights - the aqua blue sea, the other beach-goers scattered around, and, of course, the bar - at which point she waves to get someone's attention so they can place drink orders. "Kayeth's about to rise." Ergo, the Fort escape. "And I feel I owe you an apology, so I thought I'd invite you here for a drink to say sorry for my behaviour in Shenanigan's the other night." Thys raises her glass to sip down what's left of her cocktail, right as the waiter arrives to take their order. "Whatever you want. I'm buying. You're welcome to stay in my cabana here, if you want something a little stronger… no strings attached, of course."

When Thys motions for him to take in the sights, Ila'den's attention strays only long enough to be polite; it's not the /beach/ he's interested in, after all, it's Thys. Thys, and her unexpected invitation to join her for drinks. The bronzerider listens with rapt attention when she speaks, wolfish smile transforming into something much more roguish before husky laughter escapes him, low and briefly lived. "Aye, so I've heard," he concedes, rolling his /r/ as if to emphasize the already punctual amusement in his tone. Ila leans forward and drops one calloused hand above Thys' knee when she speaks the last, giving her lower thigh a gentle squeeze in complete contradiction to his words. "And what behavior would that be, little bird?" If his actions don't say it, the sideways smile /does/: he knows what she means, and then all pretenses of polite and/or civil company goes to the wayside when he removes his hand in favor of pulling her side-long into another hug with three-day-old whiskers tangling in her hair again. "You would pay for my drinks? I am flattered, little love, but what kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you pay?" NOT A VERY GOOD ONE. Which is why he holds her captive (or maybe he just doesn't want to let go yet) in UNNECESARILY MUSCLED ARMS when the aforementioned person Thys flagged down finally joins them. "I'll take the strongest you've got - and switch the tab from her to me while you're at it." His tone is less friendly and more command, as if time spent being Half Moon's Weyrsecond and Weyrleader left him in the habit of getting his damned way.

Despite her cheeks already being rosy from the sun, they turn a shade darker when Ila'den's hand settles above her knee. Thys's dark eyes turn down to look at it, and her attempts to keep her expression straight result in a slight frown upon her brow. She gives up when he pulls her into his side, laughing and pawing in a half-arsed attempt to pull away. "You're a terrible flirt," she chuckles, but Ila will likely feel her relaxing against him. Not too much, mind - just enough to be comfortable, without fighting him off. A leaning post is good, after all! "The strongest they've got, hrm? Then I'll take a Cromese Curse," is said to the waiter. "In fact, make it a double. On ice, since it's hot and I'm more of a cold climate sort of girl." Which is said for Ila'den's benefit. "I take it you'll be wanting to crash on my sofa later? No drinking and betweening, not on my watch." Thys tilts her head so she's able to look up at him, brown eyes squinted against the light.

And Ila'den /does/ pull away amid his own laughter, but only /just/. He's still pressed against her, and when she tells him what a TERRIBLE FLIRT he is, the bronzerider feigns a gasp of indignation and then drops his head to press his cheek flush against hers. "You'll have to forgive me. It's been /turns/ since I was last inclined to woo another person. I'll try harder." NOT THAT HE IS /ACTUALLY/ TRYING TO WOO THYS, but he can provide flirtatious banter to help lighten the mood; after all, he's already /touching/ her. It might seem extremely casual for the man, but it's not. More often than not, he stares at people and side-steps them when they try to get close - Thys is an exception. While Thys orders, Ila'den's brows rise and then he calls after the retreating waiter with, "I'll have what she's having!" because it sounds /good/ - and he can't let the woman outdrink him because, again, WHAT KIND OF MAN WOULD HE BE? (Hint: NOT A GOOD ONE.) There's a roll of grey eyes sideways, fixing once more on Thys as he finally, /finally/ vacates her space to his own. He's already sweating. That's what he keeps for staying fully clothed on the beach. "/Just/ your couch? I'm obviously not doing a very good job," he murmurs, but it's all teasing amusement, as he gives her a gentle, companionable shoulder bump and jerks his chin towards her book. "What are you reading?"

"And it's been turns since I was last wooed," Thys replies with a snort of amusement, before adding, "or was inclined to be wooed… almost the same thing." She fixes him with a big grin, readjusting her position so she can sit cross-legged and face him, bringing the book around between them when he mentions it. "Oh, it's nothing interesting." The cover suggests otherwise, as it bears an image of a man and a woman in a rather intimate, if fully-clothed, position. "It's by this bluerider author in Ierne. Someone gave it to me as a turnday gift." Thys shrugs, holding it up for Ila to look at more closely, if he's inclined to do so. "It's not really my thing…" And yet she's blushing just talking about it.

And Ila'den /does/ pull away amid his own laughter, but only /just/. He's still pressed against her, and when she tells him what a TERRIBLE FLIRT he is, the bronzerider feigns a gasp of indignation and then drops his head to press his cheek flush against hers. "You'll have to forgive me. It's been /turns/ since I was last inclined to woo another person. I'll try harder." NOT THAT HE IS /ACTUALLY/ TRYING TO WOO THYS, but he can provide flirtatious banter to help lighten the mood; after all, he's already /touching/ her. It might seem extremely casual for the man, but it's not. More often than not, he stares at people and side-steps them when they try to get close - Thys is an exception. While Thys orders, Ila'den's brows rise and then he calls after the retreating waiter with, "I'll have what she's having!" because it sounds /good/ - and he can't let the woman outdrink him because, again, WHAT KIND OF MAN WOULD HE BE? (Hint: NOT A GOOD ONE.) There's a roll of grey eyes sideways, fixing once more on Thys as he finally, /finally/ vacates her space to his own. He's already sweating. That's what he keeps for staying fully clothed on the beach. "/Just/ your couch? I'm obviously not doing a very good job," he murmurs, but it's all teasing amusement, as he gives her a gentle, companionable shoulder bump and jerks his chin towards her book. "What are you reading?"

"And it's been turns since I was last wooed," Thys replies with a snort of amusement, before adding, "or was inclined to be wooed… almost the same thing." She fixes him with a big grin, readjusting her position so she can sit cross-legged and face him, bringing the book around between them when he mentions it. "Oh, it's nothing interesting." The cover suggests otherwise, as it bears an image of a man and a woman in a rather intimate, if fully-clothed, position. "It's by this bluerider author in Ierne. Someone gave it to me as a turnday gift." Thys shrugs, holding it up for Ila to look at more closely, if he's inclined to do so. "It's not really my thing…" And yet she's blushing just talking about it.

Faranth help him, but Ila'den takes the book with the SUGGESTIVE YET SOMEHOW NOT AS SUGGESTIVE AS IT COULD BE COVER and flips through the first couple of pages. One brow rises up as grey eyes scan the contents, he flips to somewhere around the middle of the book, and then pauses. One, two, three beats and then Ila'den's making a decidedly undignified noise that's somewhere between a snort and a /laugh/. "/Faranth/, what you women read," he breathes, glancing from the book, to Thys, and back down again. He clears his throat. "'And then she lifted her skirts to show him her… ruffles and laces.'" (SEE WHAT I DID THERE) Pause. Ila'den licks his lips, and then slowly, /slowly/ drags his eyes away from the text /back/ to the goldrider beside him. He shakes the book just /so/, amusement in his every movement as he breathes out, "Are you sure you only want to invite me to your couch tonight, little bird?" But he hands back the DECIDEDLY OFFENSIVE text, distracted by the delivery of boozy goodness and his own request of, "And water, please." Faranth, but it's hot. He ineffectually tries to push up the sleeves of his tunic higher, but they won't slide past his biceps and - "I'm starting to regret accepting your invitation to a beach." /REALLY/. He takes a sip of his drink then, looking as if he just might be debating the pros and cons of shedding a few articles of clothing.

"… while the girl in the meadow was rubbing her…" Thys pauses, brows raised, giving it just a couple of heartbeats before adding, "… eyes." She winks, accepting her drink from the bartender and raising it to chink off of Ila'den's. "This isn't my typical reading material, y'know. I prefer… manuals. Boring as that sounds." The shrug of her shoulders is unapologetic, as is her smile as she eyes the newly-exposed bronzerider flesh, lips pursed in appreciation of his honed arms. "Rhenesath told you where you were coming, no? I would have thought you'd have packed something more suitable." Brown eyes flicker over his outfit, before she shrugs again. "Or you could just strip down to your undies." She then looks down at her own modest outfit - a vest and knee-length shorts - and her grin widens. "Tell you what. I will if you will. Deal?"

Yep, Ila'den just /stares/, stifling more of that laughter before raising a hand, waving it as if to dismiss the notion that her desire for reading manuals is /boring/. "I read paperwork all day and Iris -" An immediate pause, where the smile falters, and the mirth in Ila'den's eyes translates to something more muted and dark - like anger. "She loved them," he breathes, and then rolls his shoulders back, as if to rid himself of unpleasant memories while Thys leads them right on to decidedly more civil conversation. Ila'den allows for a slow exhale and a half-growl of, "I don't really do beaches," pausing only long enough when she suggests a strip down - /and then/ offers to strip with him. Ila'den's silent a long moment, simply /staring/ before he laughs. It's low, husky, /almost/ intimate before he shakes his head. "If I take off my leathers, you're going to see a great deal more than 'undies'." BECAUSE THE MAN DOESN'T WEAR ANY. "But I will trade you a shirt for a shirt." Hence Ila'den peeling off his own tunic, struggling to free his arms from it when it catches on muscle again. /Really/, the reason why Ila'den tends to stay clothed is immediately evident: his entire body is littered with scars. They vary in length and severity, some ugly and raised while others have faded to off-colored patches of skin in a variety of sizes. It's his /back/ that's really horrifying, looking as if the man has been flayed and his body didn't quite know how to knit itself back together again. It's what happens when you spend turns as a renegade, stealing, and getting caught, and not having enough food to pay your way out of the oncoming punishment. Still, despite the /very/ evident shift in his posture that projects self-conscious discomfort better than any words in any language might, he turns mischievous grey hues onto Thys. Eyebrows raise expectantly, and then he's breathing out a husky, "Pay up, goldrider."

Thys can't help but look when those scars are revealed, though she's quite good at hiding whatever she may feel about them. Goldriders give good pokerface - it's all part of the job. When it's her turn, she curls her fingers into the hem of her vest, pulls it up to expose her midriff, then pauses. "Don't enjoy this too much." She winks at Ila, giving her vest a teasing little wiggle before tugging it up and over her head. She's not bare-chested like he is, though; Thys' modesty is spared by her bra. If that disappoints the bronzerider, then too bad! Taking a decent sip from her Cromese Curse, Thys settles her book and shirt to one side, and leans forward to rest an elbow on one of her knees, so she can cup her chin in her hand. "Will you tell me your story, Ila'den? Or will it take a lot more whisky for us to get there?" If that's the case, then her taking another hearty drink from hers should signal that she's ready to drink whatever he can. "Oh, and by the way? They do sell beach clothes here. There's a store just on the other side of the cabana over there."

It's a damn good thing she's good at internalizing too, because Ila'den can be a downright prick when it suits him; suffice to say, dickishness levels are unreasonably high when he's put in a position that isn't at all comfortable for him - his choice or no. Grey eyes remain on Thys with rapt attention as she pulls her shirt over her head and reveals her bra underneath, low laughter rumbling through him as he reaches out to catch at one shoulder strap with a calloused finger and /snap/ it. "Cheater," he teases - but it's just that: a tease. He drops his hand to his knee, bringing his drink back to his lips with the other, and then furrows his brows as the woman leans in and asks /that question/. One, two, three, and Ila'den finally pulls his mouth away from the lip of his glass to respond with a low, somehow sultry, "No," pausing before he elaborates with, "There's not enough alcohol on Pern that will get my tongue loose enough." And it's true. He was weyrmated for /decades/ (or maybe /a/ decade) without sharing much of his past with Iris; hell, even V'ric doesn't know everything, and /that/ man spent the last year of Ila'den's renegade life /with/ him. SO MANY SECRETS, SO LITTLE TIME. "I'll listen if you want to tell me yours, though." To which he returns her earlier toast with /another/ one, bringing his drink back up and pausing a whisper away from the mouth of the glass so that can grace her with a wolfish smile and retort with, "Now where is the fun in that?" NO THANK YOU. About the beach clothes. He would never use them /anyway/.

That pokerface comes in handy again as Thys responds to Ila'den's answer with what could be described as an understanding nod. She gets it - or at least she pretends to. The goldrider watches him with brown eyes squinted against the sun, swilling her whisky and ice around in her glass so that the cubes chink quietly against each other and the vessel itself. "My story? Pft." Her hand is waved dismissively, and she shakes her head. "You'll be sorely disappointed. It's not at all exciting. Minecraft family from Crom - hence the Curse," hello, whisky… goodbye, whisky - Thys necks the remainder and already raises her hand to call over the bartender once more - "raised by my aunt, joined the Smiths, got Searched, found Rhenesath." She pauses, drawing in a tight breath, which she exhales slowly. "Fell in love. Sort of weyrmated. He… left." Thys shrugs, uncomfortable talking about the topic, but pushing through it anyway. "I screwed up. Rhenesath is my number one, Fort is my number two, and my Craft comes third… I didn't - don't - have time for someone in my life. Especially not how he wanted us to be." When the bartender comes over at that moment, the goldrider seems relieved that she has a distraction. She also orders a whole bottle of Cromese Curse, plus a bucket of ice. "And that was all 7 or so turns ago. Maybe longer, I can't remember exactly. Anyway, that's my story. Now you owe me something in return… your choice what it is."

And for as /vague/ as her story is, Ila'den listens. The man seems to appoint upon Thys the same kind of rapt attention given by the devout, listening to every word as if he might find within them some hidden meaning to give his life purpose. It's intense, it's /probably/ bordering on uncomfortable, and then he finally looks away when the bartender returns and Ila'den retrieves his water. "He was a fool," Ila'den finally imparts, dismissing the man who walked away from her as much as he dismisses her admittance that she just /doesn't/ have time for romance - or the perks that come with it - by downing the remains of his alcohol and nursing his water instead. And then? Rough laughter, punctuated by a caustic (but still amused), "We never made that deal, little bird." He rolls the contents of his own glass now, silent as he contemplates whether or not he /really/ wants to be a gentleman regardless and share some of his story with her. He does. Thys wins, for all the victory that it affords her. "I was positive that I wasn't cut out for relationships either when Iris left me. But now I've changed my mind. To new beginnings." And he taps Thys' whiskey glass with his water glass and takes another sip, smiling when he pulls away because he /knows/ that he's been vague and he's certainly /not/ going to elaborate, thank you very much. "So now what do you do with your time? Read manuals and books about ruffles and laces? Seems lonely."

Thys peers at Ila'den over the rim of her freshly-poured glass of whisky. Let him drink water if he wants - she's on holiday. And she's making damned sure to take advantage of it. It takes her a few thoughtful moments before she answers him, though, and when she does it's with carefully chosen words. "Well. It's not that lonely." She sips from her glass, swills the liquid around in her mouth, then swallows it. "I mean, there's Th'ero and Nyalle, and of course Inri - we all spend time together. And then there's all of the liaising with the Crafts, and the folks in the lower caverns, and - oh, and my canine, Heart, and then there's the goats, and of course Rhenesath…" Maybe the combination of alcohol and heat is starting to get to her, given the rambling list she reels off. And given the way that Thys is now pouting sullenly at the sand just off to the side of the towel they're sharing. "There's… guys. I go home with guys. And flights. And even guys who are really women but who everyone thinks are guys. Or guy. Just one of them." She raises her glass, smirking. "Does that sound lonely to you? And speaking of sounding like things… that ruffles and laces thing you've said a few times. That's from a song."

For every name that Thys lists off, Ila'den's brows seem to only go higher and higher until - "A woman that everybody believes is a man?" Interesting. /Far/ too interesting. Ila'den rolls his shoulders then, laughing before he shakes his head. "Definitely doesn't sound lonely to me. I'd argue that you're seeing a lot more action than I am." AND SHE IS. Poor Ila'den, pining after a weyrling WHOM HE CANNAE TOUCH. STUPID RULES. "And I refuse to believe that Th'ero is good company. I don't even think that man remembers how to /smile/. You lot at Fort have ruined him, and I intend to remind him about being…" Being what? Ila'den's been pretty ruined by events himself. It's probably why that train of thought derails rather abruptly, being drown without any subtly in his water - which is /definitely/ not strong enough. He didn't order more booze though, and so he steals Thy's bottle without even having the manners to /ask/, taking a swig before handing it back. There's disbelief in grey eyes when they settle back on the woman, leaning back with a look that's almost a /challenge/ as he starts the first verse: "There was an old farmer who lived on a rock. He sat in the meadow just shaking his…" OH. HE KNOWS THE SONG.

"Yes! That's it! That's the song!" Thys would clap - only she's got a drink her in hand… which is quickly chugged. Ila'den's got the right idea - who needs glasses when there's a perfectly servicable bottle at hand? "… fist at some boys who were down by the crick, their feet in the water, their hands on their…" Think you know the rest, Ila'den? She leans in, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and with a grin as huge as a cheshire cat's.

Thys' excitement has Ila'den laughing, moving his fingers in time with her song to an invisible beat until it's his turn. He meets her eyes and… /CHALLENGE ACCEPTED/. Without missing so much as a beat, he croons, "Marbles and playthings, and at half past four, there came a young lady. She looked like a…" Now it's back to Thys, Ila'den's brows rising expectantly as he waits for the goldrider to prove /she/ knows the rest.

Thys doesn't disappoint… "Who—" Oh no, she's just teasing as she blends the would-be rhyme into the actual verse: "Pretty, young preacher. She sat on the grass, she pulled up her dress, and she showed them her ruffles, and laces and white fluffy duck, she said she was learning a new way to…" Her hand goes out, inviting Ila'den to continue while she gets herself a swig from that bottle of whisky.

And you had better believe that Ila'den keeps pace, immediately jumping in with, "/Bring/ up her children so they would not spit, while the boys in the barnyard were shoveling refuse and litter from yesterday's hunt, while the girl in the meadow was rubbing her…" TAKE IT AWAY, THYS. At least that's what the look Ila'den gives her says, as he commandeers the bottle in her absence.

"Eyes at the fellow, down by the dock. He looked like a man with a sizable…. home in the country, with a big fence out front, if he asked her politely, she'd show him her…" Thys doesn't miss a beat, singing out the words is the bawdy sort of tone that you would expect to find in an inn full of Miners. Whisky + Rukbat + Ila'den = Comfortable Thys.

"Little pet dog who was subject to fits, and maybe she'd let him grab hold of her… small tender hands with a movement so quick. And then she'd bend over and suck on his…" Thys is not the only one seemingly at ease, as Ila'den keeps hold of the bottle and takes another swig. The goldrider can /surely/ finish this.

Oh yes she can! And with gusto, Thys leads the way home - "Candy! So tasty made of butterscotch, and then he'd spread whip cream all over her cookies that she had left out on her shelf. If you think this is dirty…" She pauses, giving Ila'den a look for him to join her in those last few words: "You can go fuck yourself!" And it's done! Thys laughs, holding up a hand to high-five the bronzerider while she reaches for the whisky bottle in his hands. "Oh Faranth, I've not sung that in turns…" The bottle is raised to her lips and she swigs, before handing it back to Ila so she can lie down, half on and half off the sand. Given how bright the light is she closes her eyes, only opening them to raise her hand over as a visor whenever he speaks to her. "So how do you know that song?"

/Of course/ Ila'den is going to join in. "You can go fuck yourself!" Indeed it is done, and amid Ila'den's laughter, he hands the bottle back to Thys, taking it back when offered without bringing it to his lips. "Aye, it has been turns for me as well, little bird." Grey eyes watch the goldrider as she lays herself down, looking away when he brings the bottle back to his lips for another swig and then sets it down on the towel between them. "I have spent a lot of time around men, Thys. How do /you/ know the song?" Because that /is/ the more interesting questions, isn't it? Though… given her miner descendance… he probably already knows.

Thys turns her head towards Ila'den, squinting at him through one eye. She's relaxed, hands resting on her belly, legs bent with knees in the air. "How do I know it? We used to sing it growing up." Bingo, Ila! A contented sigh leaves her lips, and she reaches out to flick gently at his leathrs-clad knee. "Here's a question for you. Why do you call me 'little bird'? I've never had anyone call me that before."

At Thys' question, Ila'den cants his head to the side to better see her, making a noise in his throat before retrieving his tunic and pulling it on over his head. "I call everybody little bird." A pause, as if he's really /never/ thought about it before, and then, "Does it bother you?" But he isn't really /waiting/ for an answer. He's getting to his feet in a silence long enough for her to deny or confirm her feelings for the pet name before he's giving her a distracted smile - regardless of the answer. "I am afraid that I need to cut our little vacation short, though I know you don't like the idea of me drinking and betweening - was that how you put it?" Another roguish smile, as he moves past her and nudges her foot with his on the way out. "I'll go pay the tab. Thank you for the song and the drinks, Thys." And the mini vacay. BUT OFF HE GOES NOW. To where? WHO KNOWS?

There might be protest in Thys for Ila'den getting up and leaving, but other than propping herself up on her elbows to watch him go there's nothing the goldrider does to stop him. "Just don't get lost in the dark!" Of between, presumedly. Who knows? If he looks back, he'll see her blowing him a kiss, before Thys lays on the towel and falls asleep under the afternoon sunshine.


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