Characters:

Projects:

Other Stuff:

Like what you see?  Don't like it?  Just enjoy writing emails?  Regardless, send me a message at

icefire_147@yahoo.com

I'll probably write back, if it's not spam or random flames.

Back to Logs:

Harper's Tale 2 - Saturday, June 29, 2002, 8:02 PM

--------------------------------------------------

Alain walks in from the Flower Gardens.

Alain is in his tree. Where else would he be? One leg dangles off the branch, the branch itself only about chest-high on most people. His back is propped against the trunk of the tree and a few hides are clutched in the young man's hands, eyes studying the words on them closely, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Every now and then he raises one hand to brush his hair back out of his face, but it just flops forward again, getting in his eyes.

Wyn pads in quietly, having left a certain large blue bodyguard, who wasn't at all thrilled to find out why Wyn wanted to visit Ista, safely in another part of the meadow. The petite bluerider slips over the grass with her usual quiet pace, before drawing up beside Alain and murmuring a quiet "Hello, stranger," to him.

"Hello stranger?" Alain repeats a little gruffly, eyes not leaving his page yet, "My name's not stranger, it's--Wyn!" Having, of course, looked up, he leans down to throw his arms around her and--falls off the branch and smack on top of her. There's a moment of silence, and then a little chuckle starts until Alain is full-out laughing...on a Wyn.

And down goes Wyn with an "Ooof! Surprised?" and a laughing tone superceeding the normal blandness. A concerned bellow echoes over the trees until a mental reassurance is given, and Wyn's gaze refocuses as she reaches a hand up to trace Alain's jaw in a friendly way. "You... look good. And nice knot you're sporting there. Promoted to senior, hmm?"

Alain glances down at his knot, bumping his chin against Wyn's hand to do so and nods a little, grin widening a little. "I thought you were never going to come back, and that brother of yours is no replacement." What? Alain thinking about something besides his notes and his research? Quick, someone write it down! *cough* "What about you though--you've done more than I'll ever achieve in my lifetime." He glances toward the clearing, dropping his voice and asking, "Is he here? Can I meet him? I mean--eventually. You don't have to take me right now..." he trails off and offers an embarrassed little chuckle, "...especially since I'm laying on you and all--sorry!" He offers another of those little half-grins and moves to get up off her.

Wyn laughs again, and lets Alain stop squashing her, as she does have a rock jabbing her in the back, come to think of it. Although one slim hand does reach out to make a grab for the front of Alain's shirt, and hopefully settle him beside her. "Of course I'd come back, Alain," she assures with a quiet tone, smiling over at him. "You know me... loyalty is my sole virtue. But between weyrlinghood and Vorkoroth discovering that he can chase greens, then Graduation and being tapped for Mudslide Wing... one finds oneself wishing for more hours in a day. But how have you been? Really, and not just on the academic front. I... missed you," she admits.

Alain blinks in a bit of surprise at the hand snagging his shirt and pulling him off balance--but at least he's kind enough to flop beside her instead of on her this time. "Well, to be honest I was pretty sure some nice guy in tight leather pants on a green dragon would come and sweep you off your...um...straps. Or something like that." he adds, grinning and shrugging. So he's not a poet. He props his head up on his hand, peering down at Wyn, a soft little grin gracing his lips, his other hand reaching forward to toy with her badge a little. "Loyalty is a good thing to be possessed of." he murmurs, his eyes adopting the wistful, far-away look for a moment, which is usually a bad sign. But he snaps himself out of it, giving her a brief once-over before grinning broadly again, "You look good in leather."

Wyn gives a wry little laugh. "Me, Alain? Someone's weyrmate... not in this decade, I think. All the decent men are either taken or gay." she comments dryly, choosing not to make any comments about her successful hunting as of late. Although... looking at Alain, Wyn's player feels compelled to note that 'gay' doesn't appear to mean 'completely unavailable', if one's Wyn. Wyn in question follows his gaze, before twitching her lips in another smile. "Why thank you... I know you were after me to wear it, for some time. Although I'm still holding off on red leathers, my dear Alain." she teases.

Alain rolls his eyes, "For your information, Wyn, I'm not partial to red." A little half-smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he peers straight into her eyes for an exaggerated moment, then murmurs, "I think I'd like to see you in all black...or white. Something very thin, and white." His fingers shift from her badge to delicately trace along the curve of her cheek, and he seems to hold his breath. His eyes flicker from her eyes to her lips, his tongue flickering out to moisten his own lips, and then his gaze returns to her eyes and he offers her that gentle smile, again. "Too bad for you I'm gay, huh?" he murmurs, then breaks into a broad, triumphant grin. (Triumphant over what? Only Alain really knows.)

"All black, I can arrange," Wyn allows judiciously, expression deadpan. "Mmm, I really must kidnap you and show you my weyr some time, you know," she decides in a dry drawl, still very much Wyn, despite being a tad more willing to loosen up around friends. She preens playfully at Alain's inspection of her, before offering a wink. "No... it's very good for me that you're gay. After all, if I can't pursue you, then I have all the more reason to continue to tease you horribly, no?"

Hasn't Wyn ever heard the expression, 'never tease a gay--er--celibate man?' Apparently not. In any case, the little stab prompts Alain to push himself up abruptly and swing one knee over Wyn's waist, grabbing her hands firmly, albeit carefully (wouldn't want to be eaten by something big and blue) and frowns down at her with a frightfully serious expression. "You're not allowed to tease me, Wyn." he states in a low tone, eyes level with her's. "If you do stuff like that, I may be forced..." dun dun duuuun, "...to tickle you."

Wyn's probably heard it. But just as probably, she's chosen to disregard it. With a playfully defiant toss of her head, she stares back up at Alain with a trace of manic glee sparkling in her eyes. "Tickle me? Oh... a fate worse than death. Anything but tickling." she deadpans. Because, you see that'll involve removing his hands from hers. Which would let her counterattack in kind. And Wyn, like any member of the dragonriding set, has been working out.

Lucky thing Alain runs in the morning, then. Ahem. But he doesn't tickle her. One would have to be very brash, not to mention uncharacteristicly over-certain of himself to actually tickle a dragonrider. Alain, though he may be a bit brash, is not over-certain of himself. In fact, contrary to the vast majority of the male population of any planet, he knows exactly where he stands on several issues and in several situations. This is one of them. He lowers his head just a little, expression adopting a predatory appearance, and he murmurs in a voice something very like a purr, "I don't think tickling is my best option here."

"Oh...?" murmurs Wyn, her tone slipping into it's usual alto register. Which is, in fact, a purr, just by sheer genetics. "And what, my dear Alain..." she drawls, smiling oddly up at him. "Would that be?" Vorkoroth doesn't seem unduly disturbed by whatever Wyn's up to, it seems, because there are no more threatening rumbles from outside the gardens. Either that, or he's found some Holder to charm into scratching his eyeridges.

Alain shakes his head a little, "As if you of all people would have to ask that." He glances up, a bemused expression on his face, and adds, "You know, this is that spot." He nods toward the tree. "Maybe that's why I like it so much." and with that he ducks his head to touch his lips, not to her lips, but to her forehead. He raises his head a little and offers her a wink.

Wyn offers a little laugh, and raises a hand to run it through his hair. "I don't have to ask, my dear Alain," she notes. "It just amuses me to do so." In Wyn's own odd little way. "And it's indeed that spot... And it was certainly a... memorable... occasion," she allows with a twinkle in grey eyes. "Really, you ought to come see my weyr." A subject change? Or not? It's Wynnish, whatever it is.

Alain grins a little at that, "Well, you know, I don't have any classes for the rest of the day...and considering that it is just a blink between..." He offers her a cheeky little grin, then shrugs, "I don't want to invade your space or anything." But as soon as that's out he starts chuckling, and then full-out laughing. "F--Faranth! I d-don't wanna invade--" he shakes his head, laughing a little helplessly and slowly releasing her wrists, not quite moving off her yet.

Wyn blinks a bit, and then as the double entendre hits her, she too collapses into laughter, wrapping her arms loosely around Alain's neck for some form of support. "Oh... Oh by the Egg... Somehow I rather doubt that, my dear," she gasps, before rolling out from under him, and standing to offer a hand. "Well then, come on. My wingmates certainly have no scruples about invading. Ah, invading my weyr that is." she coughs.

Alain quirks a brow up at Wyn, but reaches up and accepts her hand, hopping to his feet and gathering the scrolls. He rolls them rather meticulously, and then presses a finger to his lips to indicate something important, then turns and stuffs them into a hole in the trunk. "Don't tell." he murmurs, moving a branch a little to shade the spot. "Those are where I keep track of all my bets." he adds in a whisper, before shooting her a wink and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Lead on, lady."

Wyn turns to offer an enigmatic smile. "Your secret is safe with me," she breathes, before attatching herself to his arm and striding away. "Now, don't be startled if Vorkoroth decides to speak to you about anything... the dear fellow is a tad overprotective at times." she cautions, before blithely leading them away.

You go to the Flower Gardens.
You go to the Gardens Entrance.
You go to the Gather Meadow.

Alain is led in by Wyn.

With the courtly offer of a foreleg, you alight upon Vorkoroth's neck. Good to go.

Alain offers the blue a measured bow, "G'afternoon, Vorkoroth." he offers the dragon, along with a little grin to Wyn. You can never be too polite to dragons, you know. He then steps forward and does his best to mount the blue--actually suceeding, albeit a little awkwardly.

With the courtly offer of a foreleg, Alain alights upon Vorkoroth's neck. Good to go.

Vorkoroth rumblepurrs pleasantly. A bow. Good little friend of his Wyn's. You may live.

You take off.

Vorkoroth vanishes ::between:: with the focused grace of a mirror dance.

:::BETWEEN!:::

Vorkoroth reverts to three-space from the wormhole of ::between::.

Alain says, "Auntie Em! Auntie Em!" Ahem. "I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! Eeheheheheheheee!""

You abandon the view from high above the bowl and circle lower, passing the Spires and Star Stones on the way down.

You soar in for a landing on Vorkoroth's ledge.

Slithering down the straps-ladder, Wyn slides from Vorkoroth's neck and gently touches earth.

Slithering down the straps-ladder, Alain slides from Vorkoroth's neck and gently touches earth.

Wyn pauses a moment as she dismounts, to raise one gloved hand in a sweeping gesture, a touch of mocking pomp clinging to her. "Welcome, Alain, to my humble abode." Vorkoroth, meanwhile, simply offers a fondly-tolerant snort. Wyn's being a good girl, and being social. His work here is finished. Although a sharply hooded eye is kept on the Healer.

Alain takes a nice long look around, then turns back to blink at Wyn, "What? Oh! I thought you said 'bumble ahode.'" He turns back to survey the view of the bowl. "Very nice place, though--especially the view." and after another moment's peering, he turns back to eye Wyn a little longer than really necessary before asking, "What else is there to see around here?" Ahem.

"Why, the inner sanctum, of course..." drawls Wyn, before vanishing down the short entry tunnel with a little laugh that floats out to twine around Alain and the summer afternoon air.

You head to the heart of the Vor Imperium.

Alain walks in from the Vorkoroth's Staging Area.

Wyn is standing in the middle of the weyr, somewhat dwarfed by the cathedral curve of the walls, but the furnishings doing their job and muffling echoes admirably as she gives a little smile. "Well...?" she inquires. "What do you think? This is decorated to a compromise in my taste and Vor's. Behind that curtain there, however," she notes, with a little touch of enigma in her smile. "Well, that is entirely my domain."

Alain peers around, his face a mask of some awed expression, and then finally lets his gaze fall from his surroundings to his companion. "Very nice." he allows, with an impressed note. "Are they all this big? I've never actually been in a weyr before...I mean, not a dragon's personal weyr--I've been in a Weyr like with a bunch of dragons, but going in someone's personal weyr when I'm not invited would be intruding, so of course I've never done that--" aaand, Alain is babbling.

"Alain," notes Wyn, crossing over to him and tilting her chin to smile serenely up at him. "You're babbling. This is still Miralwyn, you're talking to. I simply traded in two syllables for a large blue presence in my mind. Come, have a seat, and relax. Don't make me give you a back rub," she warns with a fey grin. "But to actually answer your question, no. This is a weyr meant for a bronze dragon, but Vor and I managed to call it for ourselves before anyone else could."

Alain blinks blankly at Wyn, especially at the mention of a backrub, and then laughs a little sheepishly, raising a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. "I'm not...well, intimidated or anything...it's just all new. I've never seen one." he continues to babble mildly, though he does manage to follow her toward the seating arangement. "It's just so, well, big and all. I've really never seen anything like it, especially not made out of, well, a mountain. I mean, the holds are one thing, but this is...well, it's really, um...big." Gee, can't think of another adjective huh?

Wyn laughs again, a silvery sound amidst the blacks and blues and greys of the weyr, and waves Alain to one of the chairs, moving behind it and remaining standing whether he sits or not, her hands resting lightly on its' back. "Big is certainly a word for it. But... one gets used to it, and revels in it after spending 18 months in the Weyrling Barracks. My dear Alain, if you ever thought the apprentice dorms were bad, try that for a time. Ugh... I could tell you some rather amusing stories, but then my clutchmates would kill me..." she winks.

Alain shuffles over to drop lightly into the chair, looking utterly befuddled, a little lost, and very small. His hands fold carefully in his lap and he fidgets with his thumbs a bit, head tilting this way and that to continue taking in the weyr, until, at long last, he finally murmurs, "It's just so big." Luckily the comment about the clutchmates goes unheeded--or he'd likely demand a couple of stories. As it is, he just sits, staring about.

Wyn's own hands lift to drop lightly onto Alain's shoulders, fingers working a light massage. The beginning of the threatened back rub? "I believe we've established that fact, yes," she agrees in a murmur around his ear, her solemn tone shot through with little glimmers of humour. "But it's... home. And really, you should see my inner weyr. It's quite cozy, and not at all off-balancing, I think. Although Sii'kyn and V'der both insist that I have too many pillows scattered about," she does recount, sounding a trifle disappointed in her clutchmates."

Alain tilts his head all the way back until it's resting on the chairback and he can peer up at Wyn, upside-down. "Yeah? I'd like to see it. It's not big?" he asks, his tone sounding softer and more lost by the moment--even with the backrub. And then he's all red and hastily hopping up out of the chair and standing with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and shuffling his feet a little against the stone of the floor.

Wyn laughs again, and simply nods her head in the direction of the silvershot blue curtains, drawing them aside with one hand, and disappearing behind them with a gently beckoning "Come... Not big at all." of assurance.

Alain "comes," as Wyn orders him to...-ahem- into the other room, of course. He proceeds to peer about for a moment, his expression of awe shifting to one of admiration in her good decorating sense. "It's...nice." he murmurs, peering about. "Not too many pillows at all--just, very...nice." well, at least he has a new word. But his hands remain in his pockets and he proceeds to shuffle self-consciously from one foot to the other, not quite making eye contact with Wyn, but continuing to peer around the room in silence, taking in every detail.

Wyn's quite good at giving orders, isn't she? But on a more family-friendly note, Wyn settles herself on her bed, in lieu of one of the chairs, tickling the tail of a dozing ball of ginger fluff that awakens to reveal itself as a skinny feline, who treats the interlopers in her domain to a green-eyed glower, before vanishing to seek sleep elsewhere. Wyn, however, looks almost inordinately pleased, apparently not used to having her sense of anything complimented. "You really think so?" she inquires, almost a touch hopefully. Inner Weyr, Inner Wyn... Apparently they're linked.

Alain watches the feline disappear with some little amount of bemusement, and gapes a bit at Wyn, "You have a feline? When did you get one?" Judging by his tone he sooner expected the sky to fall in. "Uh, yeah...really nice." he assures her, taking a little step forward as if to join her in sitting, but then stops, glances uncertainly at one of the chairs, and then just stands there, looking as though he feels very out of place.

"Oh, Jack?" inquires Wyn, watching the feline disappear with a fond look. "I found her down in the weyr catacombs. She'd gotten trapped and was starving, and I just couldn't leave here there, you know." she assures. Fortunately, she's not going to make Alain hold the beastie. She then pats a piece of the bed beside her. "Do have a seat, Alain," she offers. "Really, you've been so... quiet since I brought you here, I have to wonder if something's wrong, almost."

Alain blinks in surprise, hurrying to do what he's told and shaking his head once he's perched beside her. "No, nothing wrong." he hastily assures her. "It's great that things are going so well for you," he adds with a bit of a smile, "And it really is a nice weyr and all...I'm not just saying that." He shoots her a quick little sideways glance and then stares down at his hands. After one of those little awkward poses, he asks, "So...have...you been talking to your brother or anything lately?"

Wyn has been nodding slightly, a little smile on her lips as she ponders how to poke at whatever's eating Alain when all of a sudden he... says it? A grey-eyed blink. "Rallen?" she hazards. "I... do have rather a lot of brothers, you know, Alain. But if it's Morallen you mean, then... we do exchange letters now and again." A pause, and she cocks her head. "Why do you ask?"

Alain stares down at his hands, as if trying to make them melt under his gaze or some other ridiculous thing, and finally murmurs, "We...uh...well...we...wesortaslepttogether." Okay, so he more blurts than murmurs, but his face turns a nice shade of pink and he shoots Wyn a little sideways glance before ducking his head to hide his face.

Wyn, to her credit, doesn't do much more than blink. Repeatedly. For about a minute. "Well..." she manages at last, sounding slightly stuffed. "I've heard of siblings sharing similar tastes in partners.... but generally, they're siblings of the same gender." More blinking, before a wicked little smile touches her lips. "So... who was better?" she inquires, looking innocent all of a sudden. Sibling rivalry?

Alain chokes, and would gladly fall off the bed onto his face on the floor--but manages not to. When he looks up he's grinning too widely and oh so innocently, "We didn't really!" Chibi moment! "But maybe you could talk to him about it!" he turns abruptly, grasping Wyn's shoulders and peering at her. "He's horribly stuffy about it and I can't seem to get through--but maybe you could do something. You know--if I can't touch you at least I can touch your brother!"

Wyn does a little more blinking on top of the previous amounts. Her eyelids are getting some serious excercise. Still, it keeps her composed as she answers, and not cackling with laughter like her player is right now. "Ah, Alain..." she notes. "I rather hate to break it to you, but... Rallen's straight, so far as I know. And in any case, he's only stuffed around you because he heard from my father, who heard from my mother, who heard from my sister, who heard from me about you and I, and he's not sure whether he should break your nose like he did the weyrleader's son when I was 15, or realize that I'm a mature woman who makes my own choices," she explains, before offering a frankly R-rated little smile. "Besides... who said you can't touch me?"

Alain coughs a little, turning pink in earnest this time, and chuckles, "I know he's straight Wyn...your family's just disgustingly attractive and--" he breaks off with that last little bit...and that smile. "Really?" he murmurs, raising one eyebrow. "I really wouldn't want to overstep my bounds, you know...where you're concerned." Of course, he has no qualms about over-stepping his bounds where other people are concerned...but most of them don't have forty-foot lifemates who could step on him, or castrate him with the flick of a talon. Ahem. He leans toward her a bit, all of that shyness and insecurity having magically vanished. "And of course I wouldn't want to make you nervous." he adds in an undertone.

Just how did Wyn's riding jacket get from being worn to being on the floor in a little heap without any apparent intervening steps? It's a mystery. But one that leaves her in her undertunic of sleeveless, high-collared grey as she almost lazily places a hand behind Alain's head to draw him even closer. "Nervous? My dear Alain, do I look nervous?" she purrs. "And don't worry about Vorkoroth. We compromise. He has his flights, and I... have mine." And there goes that smile again, halted mercifully as she offers her lips to Alain in a kiss.

Vorkoroth bespoke Alain with << You sense that Vorkoroth directs a misty tendril of spun starlight in your direction, a feathery, tentative little presence despite its coolly focused message. <<Treat my Wyn like the lady she is, and all will go well with you.>> Translation: I've been told to back off, but I still want to feel important and overprotective. >> 

Alain was never one who could refuse a lady's polite demands, and he allows himself to be drawn forward, one hand supporting himself as he leans, the other moving to Wyn's waist, and from there sliding down to gently grasp at her hip. His lips, brought to hers, move gently for a beat, before he presses forward a little more, catching her lower lip with his mouth and nibbling softly. His eyes half-close as he leans in, and then abruptly he's on the other side of the bed. Not touching can't get mad! Not touching can't get mad! And he shoots a positively frightened look toward the curtains to the room. "Ho--holy Faranth!" he positively gapes, hands behind his back. Really--not touching!

"Vorkoroth, you twit!!" is Wyn's yell, cool of course, but tinged with a bit of frustration. "He bespoke you, didn't he? Faranth, I swear it's like having Morallen here again, but fifty-six feet long, and with mental powers..." she grumbles, before sighing, shaking her head, and crossing the bed to corner Alain. "Ignore him," she advises. "He won't do anything to cross me. And besides..." she notes with a return to the previous mood. "He can't fit into here... So you're perfectly safe so long as I keep you in my bed, no...?"

Alain remains gasping, cornered against the foot of the bed, for a good long moment, and finally manages a little shake of his head. "I...I've never..." of course, he doesn't mean he's never been with anyone before, that much is a given. So one can only assume he's never been bespoken by a dragon, before, and is a bit more than surprised by it. In fact, he looks all but incapacitated, crystaline blue eyes blinking in a sort of shocked semi-pattern. "He...it...it..." it looks like he's stuck, or the record is broken or something to that effect.

Vorkoroth senses Sidramuntalath always smells of rotten eggs. Sulphur, when angered, remember? Yes. But unpleasant odors are repressed and jolted back with a near-electric warping of old, rusted-silver metal. << Crackdust. What's with you? >> Ash flitters across cooled stone, though lava rumbles a low undercurrent, ready to erupt in anger or defense.

Wyn sighs, and measures her length against Alain, settling beside his flank and letting one fingertip trace along the outline of his ear as she murmurs a wryly amused "Damned startling, the first time, isn't it? Poor dear... I really think you could use that back rub now... all tense. And here I thought to relax you..." The words might be a tad unlinked, but the tone and voice are purring warmth, the tracing fingers dancing down his neck to once again begin a massage.

Vorkoroth thinks to you, << I bespoke Sidramuntalath with: Vorkoroth is still not at all amused, but lets the scents fade, replacing them instead with a flat blackness, not even spinning. Just completely black. <<Wyn.>> he mutters. <<I don't understand her. Brings a male back with her from Ista. Not even a rider. Told me quite rudely to butt out, after all I did was just give the male a little friendly advice.>> Really, it's not his fault the Healer nearly jumped away from Wyn and across to the other side of the weyr. Honest. Snicker. >>

Alain nods, a little jerky motion, at the "damned startling" bit, but his breath manages to ease just a little bit as her fingers shift to his neck and begin massaging. His posture, however, remains stiff and his eyes finally blink back into focus, he head turning in that same jerky motion to peer sideways at Wyn. "He...does..." deep breath, try again, "Does he do that a lot?" With those words gasped out Alain gulps a little, eyes looking like he'd rather jump headlong into a watchwher's den than be bespoken by a dragon, again.

Wyn shifts her position to settle behind him, sitting in a stance something like a modified seiza, with a knee to either side of his hips as she begins work on his shoulders. "Take your shirt off," she murmurs, concentrating on her work with deft fingers before shaking her head unseen. "Mmm, no. He generally prefers to have other dragons bespeak their riders. And I've informed him that you're to be left alone. He's off whining to his clutchbrother now, and will leave us quite alone."

Alain nods, that jerky little motion, again, but doesn't take his shirt off. Either he just missed that part or he finds that the shirt is...well...a shield of sorts--against hungry blue dragons. Of course, if he were just faking the shock the shirt would have been off before she ever met him at the end of the bed. Maybe he needs a good stiff--er...maybe not. In any case, his body somehow refuses to relax.

Wyn rolls her eyes as Alain refuses to uncoil, even at the touch of hands that she knows are pretty *cough* skilled and makes plans to do something really evil. Like see that she has sweeps the next three times a green rises. "Lie down, at least, then," she tries. "Face down, so I can get at your back..." Regardless of the answer, her hands are already reaching down to slip under the hem of his shirt, the motions of fingers and palms more caressing than probing now.

Alain sort of seems to jerk awake a little at the touch of her hands on his skin, and tries to turn to look over his shoulder at her. "Hm? What? Sorry...I...I guess I'm kinda useless..." he mutters, blinking about the room as though expecting a big blue snout to come in and eat him whole right then and there. But somewhere in his befuddled brain, the orders to take off his shirt and lie down register, and he peels off his tunic and drops it absently on the floor. "Lie down?" he murmurs, as though to be sure of her orders, turning again to peer over his shoulder at her.

"We'll work on that." decrees Wyn on the topic of uselessness, her tone a firmly bemused murmur, even as she reaches over to her night table and dips her hand into a pot of faintly scented oil, straddling his back and gliding her hands down the length of it, counting vertebrae and then leaning forward to drop a kiss on the nape of his neck. "Mmm, yes, lie down." she confirms.

Alain actually leans back into her hands, then nods a little (a little less roughly) and shifts around to lie on his stomach on the bed. But he's careful to turn his head toward the door--after all, if he's going to get brutally bitten in half, he at least wants to know it's coming. "You, um," Alain starts, pausing long enough to take a deep breath before finishing, "eat dinner yet?"

Wyn gives a nod, and a triumphant little 'mmm' as Alain finally relaxes a little. Her ministrations cease not, though, even as she blinks. Again. But this time only once. "Dinner? I ate before I left, personally, but if you're hungry, I keep a bowl of fruit and a few things on one of the shelves by the hearth, out there." Typical Wyn, to be chatting calmly about food, even as her hands stray a little off course and outline Alain's hips before returning to a proper massage technique.

Alain shakes his head a little, eyes still on the entrance, "No...I'm not hungry." he offers lightly. The explanation for his asking her that? There is none. He takes a deep breath, slowly letting it out, and forcing himself to relax (at least he's finally lucid enough to do that--at last). "So...you...like it up here then?" he asks in a slow drawl. In fact, everything seems to be working slow on him now, but at least it is working, rather than his being frozen in some form of permanent shock.

Hey, slow isn't a bad thing at all, in plenty of situations. And for a few of the situations on our girl Wyn's mind, slow and drawn out will suit her just fine... Ahem. Her hands move to massaging the muscles of his arms, leaning forward again to do so, and putting herself back in murmuring range again. "Mmhmm..." she agrees. "The winters are a shade too cold, but one can always skip down to Ista, now. Or find... creative ways to keep warm?"

"Hm?" is Alain's reply--not so much that he didn't hear her, as that he just doesn't quite catch the refference. "Yeah, too cold." he murmurs, then ubruptly, "Is he out there? In the outer weyr, I mean?" Ah, the truth comes out...the real part of Alain's trepidation. Not that we didn't know. Not that it might not come up again. "I'm sorry--you said something about belated days of the storm?" yeah, so Alain was -really- listening.

"No, Vorkoroth is out on the ledge," reassures Wyn, letting her eyes unfocus and catch Vor's side of any dragon communiques going on. An amused smile. "Apparently busy flirting with a Telgarian green, and having completely forgotten what he was fussing about." Hands now having worked from top to bottom of Alain's spine, as exposed by the loss of his shirt, they begin now to dip beneath the band of his trou's. A laugh. "I said," she repeats, purring amusement. "Creative ways to keep warm..."

Alain seems much relieved by the statement of Vorkoroth's whereabouts, and his back actually visibly relaxes, the muscles (and there are muscles there) untensing, his hands going lax beside him on the bed. "Ooh...you mean like fires? I saw a hearth out there--I haven't actually used a fire since before I left my parents', you know? That was...oh...six turns ago? Something like that." Alain the Blunt.

Wyn shakes her head, and then leans forward again to thump it lightly against Alain's shoulder, before she laughs. "Something like that. Hearths are a necessity here for six months of the turn, and a conveniance for another four. But actually," she pauses to drawl. "I was referring to sex." Blunt? Wyn can do that too.

Alain ooohs lowly, and then shifts to his side and peers up at Wyn, apparently slowly regaining his sense of humor, as he asks, "Who told you about sex?" A little grin shapes his lips and he winks before flopping back onto his stomach. "You know, I should come up here for this after all my poisons classes. The Journeyman is strange and I'm always worried he's going to jump on me and pour something down my throat--from the way he looks at me..."

"Several willing teachers in the past..." drawls Wyn in roguish reply, moveing downwards to work at Alain's leg muscles, through the fabric of his trousers for the moment, until she gets frustrated enough to order the pants removed as well. "Poisons, hmm...? Theorn?" she hazards. "Odd wherry, that one is."

Alain chuckles softly at her first reply, and seems a bit surprised for the order, though he slowly turns to sit up and begins unfastening his trousers. "Do I get a piece of a sweetstick to suck on while you're massaging?" he asks in a deliberately teasing tone. "No...not Theorn--different guy. He's...well...dunno how to put it..." he trails off, then glances about the weyr conspiratorially before leaning toward Wyn, hands falling idle at the buttons of his trousers, and whispering loudly, "I think he's gay."

Wyn offers another of her little smiles in response to the tease. "If you're getting bored, my dear Alain," she notes. "You could always return the favour while I finish your legs..." She then tilts her head to one side, curious at the subterfuge from Alain, and then... wait for it... Blinks. And laughs quietly. "Somehow," she notes. "I find it odd that you should sound so uncomfortable mentioning a suspicion such as that. Unless, of course, he's hitting on you or something." And abuse of power being one of Wyn's pet peeves, she returns to massage with a great deal of added energy.

Alain chuckles and shakes his head, "I'm kidding. I think he thinks I'm gay...and it scares him to death. All these crazy holdbred crafters." he murmurs, as if they should all be left out for thread. He slips away from her hands, standing up to kick off his shoes and then pull off his trousers before sitting on the bed again--not yet lying down. "I don't think it's that wierd..." and he turns to peer at Wyn, asking the inevitable, "...do you?"

Wyn shrugs off her own leathers-trousers, and settles back on the bed as well, her long tunic now released to fall to about mid-thigh. "Do I look wierded out to you?" she inquires lightly, resting her chin on his shoulder. "But to give you a non-Mindhealerish answer, no, I don't find it wierd at all. Weyrbred, you know."

Alain turns to peer at Wyn and grins a little, and drops a light kiss on her nose. "Yes you look--ooh...you said wierded, not wierd." he chuckles and ducks the inevitable swat at that. "But thank you. I would have thought it was wierd, you know, if it wasn't--" he breaks off, does his best to shrug dismissively, then turns and slips an arm around Wyn's waist, unable to keep from glancing toward the curtains. "Now...about those techniques for staying warm..." he murmurs, pulling her closer with the flexing of that one arm. Yay for muscles!

Wyn settles for a mostly-friendly punch on the shoulder, in lieu of a swat, before dismissing any further quests for information about Hall goings-on in favour of letting herself be pulled close, completing the movement to roll over on top of Alain and drop another kiss on his lips, deepening it quickly before breaking off to allow in a heavy whisper "Shall I demonstrate...?"

Alain chuckles--or starts to, rather, and then is rolled on and then--oooh--and then kissed. His arms move to encircle her waist, holding her close for the duration of the kiss, which he returns somewhat--er--enthusiastically. He nods in response to her query, but shifts his position, rolling so that he's on top and ducking his head to press his lips in a warm line from her ear to her collarbone. "Oh, please...I haven't been used in a demonstration since my first physicals class." he murmurs, grinning cheekily against her skin.

Wyn arches her neck at the tingling trail of kisses, withdrawing a moment to work free of her tunic and toss it on the floor with the rest of their clothing before returning and drawing her chest up against his as she nibbles playfully along his jawline, pausing to worry an earlobe gently between her teeth and murmur "I was there, dear... and I believe you mentioned in that class that there were some things you'd have demonstrated to me, if I didn't shut up...?" An even-less-for-kids smile than earlier. "Care to demonstrate them now...?"

Alain draws his hands slowly, delicately up her sides, before slipping them around to cradle under her shoulders and lay another trail of kisses down her breastbone. "Mmm...just as long as you promise to write up a heck of a note explaining why I've been gone all this time." he murmurs, that little grin surfacing on his lips again as he makes his down her torso to offer a feather-light kiss to her belly button, before moving back to cover her lips with his own.