Who A'ster, Thys
What A 'date' was promised.. This is that promise made good.
When Spring 2711
Where Shenanigan's Lounge, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - Shenanigan's Lounge
The natural walls of this cavern haven been completely covered and replaced by straight and sometimes curving walls of brickwork. There's method to the madness of covering stone with stone. It's as simple as the electric buzz in the room. New grade electric lights dot the fancy brick worked walls, with wires cleverly hidden behind, allowing more focus to be centered on the rest of the room rather than the numerous strings of wire needed to operate the lighting. Each bulb roosts in a bronzed metal flowering fixture, giving the room a rich atmosphere. Still, the walls are not the only place which has stone on stone appeal. The floor has been run smooth, the surface now slate rock, creating an imperial cast.
Beyond the actual foundations of the lounge, the luxury continues. High backed wooden chairs with padded white seats have been stationed all around the room. Between the individual chairs are benches fashioned out of the same rich wood with pillows made to flatter the cushions. There are low lying coffee tables or end tables near the individual chairs, while there's larger dinning room sized tables with chairs to match scattered as well, giving much variety to those who find themselves in the room. Decorative hangings and framed artwork has been neatly hung around the room, but to offset the meticulous method of the room, there's some pieces that give a sporty feeling to the room - such as a fishing rod or a snow shoe.
Of course, the final appeal of the room comes in the form of it's purpose; athletic competition. There are several games of darts lining the walls, various decks of dragon poker cards available, a large velvet lined pool table centered to one side of the lounge, a mat area surrounded by ropes, and an area that keeps track of all the runner races around the world via radio signal, giving constant updates on the status of the runners. Lastly, there's a bar here, small and built with brick as well. There's usually a bartender on duty willing to mix drinks during the evening hours.


Log contains some sensual references and mature content - consider yourself warned. ;)

Clearly, someone's thrown out the rulebook when it comes to order of operation for Thys and A'ster. Kissing before hugs were allowed; A'ster in his altogether under the goldrider's critical eye but someone else's tender mercies. Now: a game and a half of pool underway, their second pitcher of ale split between them. A'ster is out of uniform, still steady on his feet but oh: he's hit the point of being over-abundantly warm. Out of uniform since before the trip to the Weavers, his jacket hangs discarded over the back of a stool, his shirt-sleeves are unbuttoned and rolled up to expose his forearms, and the collar is three buttons down; he has suspenders, but some time during the last set of lining up and making shots they've come off his shoulders and hang in long loops on either side of him. His hair was nice this morning, once recovered from the rain It isn't, anymore: Thys has had the opportunity to watch it slowly deconstruct to artfully - unintentionally - disarrayed, an effect in constant flux as he rakes his hand through it. "Aaaaaand you're up, goldrider," is loose and warm and amused, and he plants the base of his cue on the floor so he can prop his lean against it, and cross his legs at the ankle to watch. "Gimme your best shot."

With enough ale in her to warm her frigid business-self away, Thys is starting to enjoy herself. She's dressed casually in a tank top and loose, comfortable trousers that are bloused into her boots. Her jacket is laid over the top of A'ster's on a stool, against which she's been leaning, waiting for her turn at the table. "That was a dreadful break," she teases A'ster as she walks past him, cue in hand, ready to position it against the white ball. Which, as luck would have it, is close enough to the brownrider that she gives him a bump with her hip once she's leaned over, to get him to move to the side a little. A stroke of her cue later, and she's potted one ball… and then another. Perhaps the tank top was chosen on purpose, as it's just loose enough to afford a little peek at what's beneath whenever she leans to take her shot. Thys manages to knock down three balls in total, before she misses her shot and it's her drinking buddy's turn. She walks behind him on her way back to the stool leaning post and her drink, brushing a hand purposely along his lower back. Your turn.

You know what A'ster does not do, because he is a good, sweet, respectful young man whose mother WOULD find out somehow and call him to task for it? A'ster does NOT put his hands on the goldrider's ass when she bumps him out of the way to make her shot. He is not so good a cookie boy that he doesn't stare at it, though. "I was much better at this last game," he informs her, because there was less ale inside him that time; right now, there's enough in him that the shudder that runs through him follows the path of Thys's hand, and raises goosebumps on his arms hard enough that all the hair on them goes exceptionally fuzzy-fluffed. "Nhh," he challenges, articulate to the last, and moves to study the table. Then study from a different angle. Then - oh, good, take a shot. Make a shot! … skip the cue off the felt with the next one. "… ah, well."

"Uh-huh, sure you were better last game," Thys snorts, whipping her cue around to whack A'ster's butt with it. Not too hard, of course. She laughs at him as she hops down off the stool that's holding their coats, and she saunters over to him with a fresh glass of ale. "I hope I'm not distracting you?" Because that could be Thys' end-game here… distract the boy so she can win. Once she's handed him his ale, the goldrider sashays around the table to the white ball, chalking up her cue as she goes. As she leans over to take a shot she looks up at him, blowing upwards to get her fringe out of her eyes. "A'ster? If I sink two balls in the next two shots, then you have to take off your shirt. Deal?" Thys remains poised, ready to strike the white as soon as she gets an answer.

A'ster is a good boy; but he has a pulse, he has (unfairly pretty blue) eyes. He is definitely distracted looking down - over? into? her shirt when Thys makes her challenge. Which is why he says, "Yes," immediately, then looks up and says, "Wait, wh- oh, no. Okay. I mean yes, sure - are we turning this into strip pool, now?" That's a thing, right?

Thys shakes her head. "Nu-uh. Strip pool would suggest I lose layers too, and as a goldrider of Fort, that's just not appropriate." She's still leaning down, giving the brownrider a shrug and hopefully using womanly assets to win him around to playing her game. "Besides… I'm going to win. Again." Since she hasn't taken the shot yet, she straightens up and walks over to pick up her ale, from which she drinks a hearty glug. Once it's set back down, she joins A'ster, standing almost close enough to touch, but not quite. "So. What do you say?"

"Mm," is what he says, while closing the distance between them just enough to be able to reach out and run his finger down her arm from shoulder to wrist. It's the line of the seam of the jacket she isn't wearing, and his expression is - considering. "To preserve the dignity and standing of your rank - if I score on you, we keep a tally, and you owe them to me - after we leave the bar. Someplace private. Deal?" If he had a tie, he'd loosen it right now; instead, he runs a finger under his collar, and thumbs an already undone button. "Make your shots, goldrider."

Thys has to think about it for a moment. "Deal - but I choose the time and place I pay up." She licks her lips, runs a hand through her shaggy crop of hair, and then reaches out to tweak open another button on the brownrider's already partway unbuttoned shirt. "Making it easier for you," she chuckles, trailing her hand across his stomach as she goes to take her shot. Lean, shoot, sink - the first ball's down the pocket with one swift, steady strike. Thys holds up one finger to A'ster, moving to the white ball without a word spoken… though she does look expectantly down at the rest of the buttoned section of his shirt. "Get ready to lose," she says cockily, drawing her cue back to take the second - and hopefully winning - shot. The cue hits the white with a clack, sending it careening towards the targeted ball. They connected with a crack, and the ball spins towards the pocket…

It's not quite the same effect as watching A'ster coming precisely undone in his uniform, but it's not bad: he keeps his eyes on the ball until it tumbles in at the last moment. Then, hands already on his buttons, he maintains eye contact with /Thys/ as they come undone, one after the other. As he unrolls his sleeves, untucks his shirt tails - and rolls his shoulders so the shirt just drops off. He's still polite, though: he keeps the edge of one sleeve caught in his fingers, so he can drag the discarded, slightly-damp shirt back up and deposit it on the stool with their jackets. Then he scuffs a hand through his hair (the flex while he does - purely unintentional), and grins over at her. "Last one went in. Still your shot."

And from the other side of the pool table, Thys has the perfect view to the revealing of A'ster's chest. She watches with a steady expression that's relatively neutral, save for the ale-fuelled glint in her eye. When he's free of all fabric she cants her head, looking appreciatively at the brownrider's physiue, and fixing him with a grin. "Not bad," she comments cheekily, getting herself set up for the next shot. It misses… possibly intentionally. With a shrug, she rejoins A'ster, pointedly keeping her eyes on his face, on her ale glass, on the jug that might need a refill soon… anywhere but that bear flesh. "I think it's your turn, brownrider."

Typo it may be, it's also a bit accurate - A'ster's on the bear-y side of bare-chested. … okay, maybe not that furry. No, keep going - Chris Evans when he's not being waxed within an inch of his by Marvel, not Robin Williams… ever. "I think you're right, goldrider." He doesn't go for the obvious flexing ploy, but he steps up directly behind her, puts a hand on each of her hips, leans in to whisper, "You're blocking my shot," low and directly by her ear - as he uses his grip on her and the muscles he wasn't showing off to pick her up just enough to move her six inches to one side. Then sidles around her, running a hand from her far hip, across her back - and to his pool cue. He sinks the shot (jerk), but misses the second. "That's one," he reminds her, then gestures for her to take the table.
(The next shot; the rest of his clothes.)

"One I can handle." Thys holds up her finger, just to show she can count. One digit, one item of clothing… at a later time and place. Of her choosing. Which could be… well, whenever. We'll have to wait and see, won't we? "Did you know," she coos as she walks up to A'ster, getting in close enough for her breath to be warm on his bare (cos I can spell, dammit! XD) skin, "that I've been playing pool and winning since I was 9 turns old?" She strokes her index finger down his breastbone, ending it with a little push. Maybe enough to unsteady him? But probably not. "Three balls going down this time. That one, that one, and that one," each ball is pointed out, and she sashays - that's when you know the booze is really taking hold - away to where the white is. Ball one is struck and sunk; ball two, however, is a mess from the start as the white is clearly not where Thys wanted it to be. Which means she fluffs the shot, sending the white ball bouncing off the table and rolling into the crowd. "Well. Shit."

A'ster watches the sashay once he's remembered how to, you know, not swallow his tongue. And breathe. When the second shot goes wild, so does his laugh; it's delighted, rather than mean, and he braces his weigh on his hands against the edge of the pool table until it subsides. (Unfairly, at least it does good things to his forearms; the easier to be objectified by goldriders by.) "Yeah," he drawls out as he pushes away from the table and walks over to accept the cue back from the patron returning it from the crowd, "but I don't think you've been drinking and playing pool since you were nine." He drags a finger across her back, right above the waistline of her pants, under the hem of her shirt. Then plonks the cue down on the felt where it's literally two inches away from a ball right next to a pocket, and kiss-taps it in with his cue. "Two."

Thys doesn't look disheartened by her spectacular failure. She looks frustrated. Her brows are knitted into a frown, and when she sees how easily she's laid it out for A'ster she huffs out a heavy breath. Her ale gets downed, her cue stick is set aside, and she gives a little toss of her head to sweep her bangs from her eyes as she saunters up to him, stroking her hand across his lower back as she presses against his side. "I can tell you're a guard," she coos, bringing her hand around so she can run it over his chest, down to his abdomen. And where he touched the waist of her trousers before, she now returns the favour by hooking a scarred finger into one of his belt loops - all the better to tug him towards her! The goldrider looks up at him with a butter-wouldn't-melt look, and bats her eyelashes at him. "Do you want to do shots on… I mean with me?"

A'ster doesn't even try for another shot: there's luck, and there's pressing it. Instead, he abandons his cue and lets himself get hooked; get reeled. He slants that half-lidded look back down at Thys, then hooks his arms over her shoulders and leans in. "Sure," he answers, warm by her ear, "but not here. Not if we're bringing shots into it." He doesn't lick her ear, or kiss her head, but he rubs his cheek against hers as he draws out of the lean, and looks down at her again. "Deal?"

"Deal." Thys hooks another finger into one of the brownrider's belt loops, turning the pair of them around so she's leaning up against the pool table. Before she pulls him any closer she lets go, lifting herself up so she's perched on the edge of the table. "We've got ale to drink first," she purrs, pointing over to where their almost-empty jug sits beside their glasse. "Be a doll, Ali, and fetch me a glass, would you? I'm terribly thirsty." And when he goes off to get it? Oops - Thys slips off the table accidentally-on-purpose… and knocks the most primely-positioned ball right into the pocket it was hanging over.

A'ster is such a weird, tactile dude with permission - whether from the other party, or his own brain. Which is why, for a brief moment before he goes off to fetch the ale as instructed, he leans forward and rests his chin on the top of her head. On his return, he points at the table - now missing a ball - and declares: "That's dirty pool, but I'm giving it to you, because you're cute when you think you're being sneaky. If that won you my pants, they'll come off with shots - not here." He hands her a glass, half full - then downs his half of the last of their pitcher. Which was also in a glass. Which is why his hands kept to their own business this pose: too busy with glasses to put them on Thys.

Thys got caught? "It was an accident!" She's a terrible liar when she's drunk and not even trying. So she pouts instead, then laughs over how facile a reaction that is. "Fine. You caught me. You owe me pants, a shirt - since you'll be putting it back on to go into the bowl, I'm assuming, and… definitely boots. Socks…" The goldrider bites her lip, eyebrow raised as she looks pleasingly over A'ster's figure. "That should be nearly everything. And that's…" She holds up fingers to count, then gives up. "Fuck it." Her ale glass is raised and she chugs half of what's left, then grabs her pool cue, lines it up with the white ball… and starts sinking what's left on the table, one by one. When she's finished she blows on her nails and dusts them off on her tank top, looking smugly at the brownrider. "I win." She cheated. And she's about ready to go, too, as she lifts up her glass to polish off what's left in it. The empty's slammed down onto the table top as a sign that she's done, then she picks up her jacket, winks at A'ster as she motions for him to follow, and begins weaving her way through the Shenanigan's crowd towards the exit into the lower caverns.

A'ster doesn't actually put his shirt back on: he throws his jacket on over bare shoulders, shoves his shirt in one of its pockets… and jogs after her to catch up. "You," he says as he catches up, catches one of her hands in his and tangles their fingers together as he matches his stride to hers. "Are a. That thing, where you fake being bad at a thing and then wipe the table with them." He sways, intentionally, to bump his hip into her, and declares frankly, "I dig it."

Thys gasps dramatically. "Are you calling me a liar, sir? I take offence!" In return for his hip-bump, she hops ahead of him, standing in a fighting stance with fists raised. A quick jab is aimed at his shoulder - pulled, of course, so that it's just a tap when it lands. "Th'ero taught me to fight, y'know." Not entirely relevant to anything, but she says it anyway before turning around to lead the way, reaching out behind her with an empty, grasping hand, asking for his.

A'ster matches drama for drama: the tap at his shoulder is clutched at, and he staggers a step back - then bolts back after her, laughing. "Good," he declares as he puts his hand in hers, then lifts both and - carefully, gently - bites one of her knuckles, and grins at her around it. "Good," he repeats once his mouth is empty again, "everyone should be able to at least defend themselves. You have very attractive ears, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Nope, they haven't," told her that her ears are attractive. More sober Thys would have blushed furiously at such a comment, but Thys in the currnt state of mind scoffs as if A'ster's said something silly. "You have very… interesting nostrils. I get a good view of them." She spins around fast enough that they're going to bump into one another, and she looks up… straight up the brownrider's nose, thanks to the height difference. Thankfully though she isn't going to touch them. Instead, she asks: "Are you any good at piggy-back rides?"

"They're nowhere near as hairy as my dad's," is A'ster's view on this news, though once Thys is close enough to be looking up his nose, he - folds her up into the hug he was denied in the morning. So when he says, "Ugh," with feeling, with verve, she can feel it as well as hear. "Yes," he says as he pulls away with a groan, and looks down at her with all kinds of aggrieved solemnity. "But here's my conditions: no shirts," and he's already squirming out of his jacket again, "and legs around waist, arms over shoulders or around neck. Not legs over shoulders."

Thys can agree with those terms once she's squirmed, laughing, out of his hug. She's just not a fan of them. But never mind that now, as she comes around behind A'ster and hops right up onto his back with a rider's nimbleness, legs around his waist, arms draped over his neck so she can lean forward enough to blow gently on his ear. "You're going to freeze outside without your shirt, Ali." Another soft breath is exhaled softly across the top of his ear, before she lifts a hand to ruffle fingers through his hair. "I've got a bottle of Cromese Curse in my weyr. And shot glasses." 'Want to go?' is the unspoken question, though she does squeeze him gently with her thighs, sort of like how a runner is encouraged to move forward.

"If you steer with my hair instead of with your thighs, I'll - make it worth it," A'ster starts with once she's securely in place, but then she squeezes - and he changes his tune to, "Nnh. Or both. Both is - really going to work for both of us." He reaches down, hooks his arms under her legs to help balance her weight, and starts to move in the encouraged direction. "Cold is better than you slipping around because of the jacket." But he does goosebump up nicely after not terribly long.

And steering is easy, though Thys does it more with her thighs than anything else, as she ends up just teasing her fingers through his blonde hair and playing with. They go across the bowl, to the northern end of the Weyr, where the staircase up to the leadership weyrs is. "Whoa pony," Thys says when they're at the bottom of the stairs, wriggling to free her legs from his grasp so she can hop down. It's a pretty long flight of steps, and she obviously doesn't want to tire him out before they get to her level. So she steps around in front of him, holding out her hand to lead him up, up, and up again, to where Rhenesath is snoozing on her ledge. Thys turns around to face the bare-chested brownrider, resting a hand on his abdomen to trace the muscles there. "So… are you coming in?"

A'ster follows. Of course he follows. When they stop, he looks down at her hand on his abdomen, then reaches out to mirror the gesture - but working his hand under her shirt's hem to do it. "I don't know," he says, honest. "Are you inviting me inside? Because I don't think the rest of the Weyr really wants to see me take my pants off, but if that's what you're here for…" It should be noted: he's grinning through the entire thing.

"Never underestimate what the Weyr may want," Thys laughs right back at him, slipping her hand down to hook fingers inside his waistband. She pulls him towards her as she steps backwards towards the door into her weyr, leading him right inside. "Told you we should go for drinks." No prizes for guessing where this night's going.

Finally: A'ster follows Thys, but he does it while leaning in to catch her by the shoulders, to hold her up just long enough to kiss her. "I told you we didn't need the drinks," he counters back, laughing. He kisses her cheek; her jaw; her nec- no, that one's just burying his face against it, his other hand in her hair. The Weyr will have to live with a compromise: his other hand stays at work, and he drops trou and steps out of them just as the pair of them pass through the door. Who knows; from here it might turn into a game of Twister.


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