Day 23 of Month 7 of Turn 2716
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Tiki Lounge
As one walks onto the wood panelled flooring of the patio, they are greeted with the scent of burning oil, the likely source the various torches burning along the perimeter of the flooring. The flooring is littered with tables shaded with umbrellas, matching chairs tucked beneath when not in use.
The inside of the Tiki Lounge seems far bigger inside than outside, even when full of relaxing weyrfolk and travelers. Towards the front, in the western corner, is a small stage, generally occupied by harpers. Several tables with chairs decorate the floor and a small area is open for dancing. The bar is rather long and well stocked, glasses of different shapes and sizes hanging suspended from a rack above the bar. Behind the bar is another open window that gives one a view of the forest behind the tavern. Turning around, one is greeted by a lovely view of the lagoon. A decent breeze helps to cool the room. Up above, rafters provide a perch for fire lizards and local avians. The thatch roof, made of straw, rarely lets in any rain.

Why is Ila'den here? BECAUSE HE CAN BE. What is he doing? DRINKING. Or having a drink; it doesn't matter. There is boozy goodness before him, and he's got his nose buried in a book that's probably something exceedingly boring - OR NOT, because it's titled, 'I Rode His Abs To Rukbat,' and the picture looks suspiciously like R'hyn. Only it's impossible to be R'hyn, because everybody knows that the weyrleader would certainly never stoop to allowing his spectacular definition to be plastered to something getting mass distributed — would he? SHUT UP. Ila'den's laughing at whatever he's reading, and drinking more booze while that grey eye devours text.

Why is Tanit here? Because there is the pernese equivalent of tequila here, and the last round of bets she has left to collect on Xanadu's last hatching. Except there is a book, and - gasp that familiar husky laughter that can only be one Ilaryn, sans the R'hyn. Tanit creeps up behind to lean over the man's shoulder, peering at the pages. "With a title like that, are we going to wind up with a shrine like Th'ero has?" Blink blink blink - STARE. Her lips twitch upward, "You know, publications like that really don't help him shake the title of Mr. Abs."

Maybe Ila'den senses her there before she even speaks, because there's no surprise in the way that Ila'den looks up from his book to tilt his chin up and look at Tanit from over his shoulder. "I have a suspicion that those shrine-makers are behind these…" a pause, a glance back to the book before he holds it up and gives it a little shake, "publications." But does Ila'den have any proof? None. So instead he issues more husky laughter on an exhale, dog-earing a page before closing the book to set it on the table before him. "I think his abs don't really help him shake the title of Mr. Abs - or your existence, which seems to be the main culprit behind such illicit titles." A beat, a half smile that harbors amusement, and he continues with a soft growl of, "Why are you here, little fish?"

"Do they use the word turgid?" Tanit tones softly managing to keep her face mostly straight. "I feel like such minds would stoop to words like that." The nearby empty chair is melted into, the dolphineer grinning crookedly, "Why I would think for the same reasons anyone else finds themselves in this place. Collecting bets and drinking. I don't have your eye for quality literature that is for certain." The grin widens, "And why are you here? Has R'hyn finally gone off the deep end?"

There's mischief in Ila'den's expression, something altogether wicked in the curve of lips, the set of his jaw, the way his eye crinkles just a bit in an attempt to keep from laughing outright. "Even better," he drawls. "They use 'turgid', and 'throbbing', and 'mountainous'." The former renegade watches the dolphincrafter move, gaze attentive as it follows her to her chair, hips and shoulders shifting backward and settling into a posture altogether more relaxed. Ila drops his attention to the aforementioned book, hesitates only a moment, and then pushes it towards Tanit. "You're welcome to borrow it, little fish, but only if you actually read it. We can start a book club, you and I. Recite our favorite lines - R'hyn would love that." More husky laughter, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the cover of such SALACIOUS PRINT before he draws his arm back across the table and makes a soft noise of concession in his throat. "Something like that. I believe it was something along the lines of, 'Kilarden, if you read one more line about abs or turgid, rigid, throbbing pillars, I am going to make a law outlawing you.'" A beat. "So here I am, figuring out what line to use next." Terrible. "Did you find anything to bet on?"

"In the same sentence?" Tanit can't keep the laughter in check, but where Ila's is deep and husky, hers is a mellower lighter sound. The book picked up between finely scarred palms and both illustrations and the first few pages are perused. "You would think with the way that last decree worked out he'd give up outlawing anything unless it was truly a serious matter. How about this one." Tapping a finger against a particularly terrible passage, "The pained frenzy of his bulbous salutation extenuating his excitement as it smacked it's way into every muscle of the body except for the otherwise central zone." The dolphineer wheezes. As for bets she handwaves, "Mostly blues and greens and browns. A nice tidy profit, to put to increasingly nefarious purposes." Cue an eyebrow wiggle.

"And every other sentence." And Ila'den listens before his lips quirk again, fast humor despite the severity of his weyrmate's ire at the Glitter Predicament. "I am actually rather curious to know how somebody would inflict me upon my weyrmate if he outlawed me. Somehow the thought of being delivered in a package feels like a terrible idea." But he's leaning forward to see and hear the chosen passage, laughing as he reaches out to tap higher on the same paragraph. "Do you think he'll be into it if I start it off by asking if he'd like to engage in a dangerous and clamorous rollercoaster coil of sexually violent rotation?" Too many teeth in that smile, wolfish, mischievous, accompanied by a shift backwards as he settles again. "Do these nefarious purposes involve my weyrmate and his sanity, Tanit?"

Tanit giggles, "Only if someone forgot to poke air holes in the box, although if the box is doused in glitter, you might wind up more than outlawed." As for nefarious purposes, the book is set aside and the dolphineer reaches for a pack of cards from a nearby table. "Well, I have been meaning to talk to him about stopping people from using the lagoon to dispose of the sparkly problem. We have no idea what kind of effect that much glitter will have on the bay area." Shuffling the cards and dealing them out. "Granted, I wound up coated in the stuff myself thanks to one of L'ton's spawn, so I can understand R'hyn's dislike of the substance."

There's only more husky laughter for Tanit about holes and boxes, a shake of his head as he breathes out, "Aye, well, perhaps the lack of air holes would be the kinder mercy in that case." That grey eye goes to the cards when Tanit retrieves them, hyperfocused on her hands as she works, as she doles out the hands and he readily accepts his seven cards. His brow does raise, attention jumping back to the dolphincrafter's face when she mentions L'ton's spawn and being coated in glitter thanks to him." A beat, and the bronzerider drawls an almost accusatory, "I see, little fish." But he doesn't say anything more than that. He just looks down to his cards, fanning them out and shuffling them around to presumably match up colors. "Ladies first, Tanit, and what are we betting this time?"

"Har, har, har, It wasn't like that. They had the glitter barrels sitting out and I tried to push him into one. I failed miserably and became collaterally glittered." Evil has its price. That price is being fab-u-lous. Tanit's lips curve upward at the edges, a mischevious sparkle in her eyes that may or may not have everything to do with glitter. "I win, I get to glitter paint your abs and send R'hyn a glittermate."

Ila'den actually hesitates, discomfort with Tanit's proposition evident in sudden tension — through his shoulders, through his arms, in his back. Muscles go taut beneath the constraints of his riding jacket, the material protesting a shift of person away from Tanit, and that grey eye falls to the cards in his hands. "You're going to have to get me a lot more fucking drunk if you expect me to sit still while you touch me, little fish." It's soft, barbed with an edge of something darker, something rough, and disorderly, and renegade clawing for release, silenced by Ila'den picking up his drink to take a swig and then setting it back down a little too roughly on the table. "But fuck, why the fuck not. You lost last time — deal. And if I win, you have to stop trying to find inventive ways to get me out of my fucking clothes, little fish." There goes his card. Oops.

"Down Bronzerider, down." She soothes half in play, but with an undercurrent of something else in those sea-green eyes as she studies the man. "I honestly just planned on throwing a bucket of glitter at you and calling done." She bites at her lower lip, falling quiet as the game progresses, whatever other thoughts she might have kept to herself. She does open her mouth a few times but closing it before anything makes its way out.

Ila'den's silent for a beat (two, three), and finally that grey eye lifts from cards to find Tanit over his increasing splay. "I'm not mad, Tanit." Maybe he's reading something else in the undercurrents of her tones, maybe it's the way she's suddenly silent and not speaking words, but Ila'den offers it up softly - or, well, as soft as a man with a perpetual growl in his rasping voice can manage. "I didn't grow up in a weyr; my life before wasn't always pretty." A beat, and he's putting down another card. "Which I am not saying to make you feel guilt. I'm telling you so that you understand my… adversity to touch is nothing personal." HE HATES EVERYBODY TOUCHING HIM EQUALLY. With the exception, of course, being R'hyn. "So what color is the glitter going to be?" Asked on droll tones - perhaps an attempt to stave the awkward?

"I don't - feel guilty I mean." She admits after another stretch of silence filled with the rise and pitfalls of uno. "I probably should have been more sensitive to it, but everyone's got their scars, their story. I can understand a person's reasons for wanting to keep that private." Tanit flips another card out as the game continues. "But I also believe it's how you choose to let that experience shape you that makes the difference."

For a time Ila'den says nothing, quiet amid the shuffle of cards, watching Tanit play her hand, studying his own before drawing more or setting down another. "You didn't know." Another card played, Ila'den looking up to find Tanit from over his hand. "And I agree with you. Some people use their wounds to excuse behaviors and repeat patterns, clinging to words like, 'You don't understand,' and, 'I'm sorry, it's just x, y, z happened and sometimes I…' and wielding them like weapons. Because everybody is empathetic to a degree; nobody wants to be the bad guy - and they know that. So they play on the sympathies of others, and manipulate them while doing nothing or very little to better themselves and rise above. Some of us are simply survivors that don't want people to question their pasts." A beat, and his attention drops back to his cards. "And sometimes surviving means you learn coping mechanisms that come off as calloused - a detachment from others, an adversity to touch, an unwillingness to be close. It's still not great behavior, Tanit, but it's the best I am willing to do. And I own that."

"I kind of did though." Tanit will admit, as the cards shuffle again. "Or at least I suspected. You've seen half the reason I normally wear a full dive suit under everything. People don't do long sleeves in this kind of weather as a fashion statement." Her mouth slants upward at the left corner as she peeks over her cards an exasperated huff given for the 'uno'. "So it is not great behavior on both sides, but I think at least - the fact that you are willing to explain it, and from the way you and R'hyn are all over each other, willing to work on it, speaks volumes to the kind of person you are. Beneath the obligatory bronze asshat facade." She grins, "Besides does any one really get excited about having glitter painted on their abdomen?"

"No," Ila'den agrees softly, "they do not." Tanit's huff is greeted with a smile and a raise of his brows, he watches her play her card, and listens to her words. "I was weyrmated before R'hyn, little fish. I don't know that letting the people you are intimate with touch you is necessarily 'working' on it. But I certainly do not wield it against other people; it is a me problem." And there, he's laying down his last card, spreading his fingers with a kind of victory, 'LOOK AT MY KINGDOM,' sweep of hands as he offers up, "I win," around a smile. But Ila'den is pushing back his chair, grabbing his drink to down the rest of it as that grey eye sweeps and lands back on Tanit. Down that glass goes, Ila'den stands, and there's a jerk of his head to the side. "Come on the, little fish. That glitter is certainly not going to apply itself - and definitely not here."

Half Moon Bay Weyr - THE LUV NEST
Do you hear that sound? THE LAUGHTER AND JOY OF CHILDREN RUNNING fUll throttle with messy things in their hands, and then the SCREAMING? You have entered a den of eternal childhood, lights and nose and things to attract the attention of the ungodly number of children living in this weyr sit strewn everywhere along with a LIME green piano well loved and used from the look of the keys. The rough stone walls covered in crayon and paint where someone managed to sit quietly for a few minutes while the parents were distracted. THE LUV Nest has become a wild playground for the scores of little hands and feet constantly running amok. Welcome to Chuck- ok Pern does not have Chucky Cheese's believe it or not this is actually the weyr of the weyrleader, weyrwoman and their weyrmate. Someone should talk to them about the lime green paint.

It's not like it's a long trip from the Tiki Lounge to Ila'den, and R'hyn's, and Citayla's weyr: it's moving out through the lagoon, finding Teimyrth, working up the courage to actually touch (and then, of course, mount) the bronze, buckling up, and taking a trip upupup to their ledge. But here they are, Ila'den stepping around cats that come to greet with leg-rubs and then SCATTER as he grabs one of the chairs in their kitchen and pulls it into a space EASY FOR CLEAN UP. "I just want to go on the record by saying this is probably a terrible idea." And he sits. And he strips. That jacket comes off, tossed haphazardly to rest on the top of the table, and there's only a moment's hesitation before it's joined by his shirt. There. Ila'den is still in his leathers from the waist down however, stretching out his legs as he tries to relax but somehow manages to miss the mark in spectacular fashion, rubbing calloused hands over scars and tell-tale wrist-bound rope burns as if he might simply make them disappear. "You still didn't tell me what color it was going to be." HE'S NOT TENSE. YOU'RE TENSE. …Though he does look remarkably like a feral animal trying to decide whether he wants to bite that extended hand or simply run away from it.

There may have been one pit stop to a shady glitter bedecked trader along the way. Tanit however is far from uneasy, the glitter bucket and bottles of something that looks suspiciously goopy like aloe. "Terrible ideas are always the most fun." Tanit was focused on the preparations at hand, so when she turns around and shows the glitter, bucket is in fact lime green, she stares for just a moment ears red before clearing her throat and averting her gaze just a little. Give her a second, shirtless males have an effect ok? Once it's reigned in she's all business. Calm and collected save for the pink at the very tips of her ears. "You really don't have to do this you know, you technically won the bet." Not that she's complaining as glitter and gel are mixed together until she has a decent amount of glitter goop warming between her hands. Attempting to decide the best approach. She moves closer, finally talking as she does. "Jellyfish." Reaching tentatively to start at an upper shoulder area, because she frankly does not have the balls yet to go for the abs. "My scars, there's a bay with a diving cliff that no one is allowed to use during certain times of the year because of the breeding season. My cousin and I were fighting and she got angry and pushed me. It probably wouldn't have been as bad if I'd worn a full dive suit but they had to fish me out of the water and I nearly died." If he lets her she moves her hands slow as not to startle him and start spreading the mixture.

Exhausted-looking is probably not actually a common state to see the Weyrwoman in, these days — certainly not in a pair of sleep-pants that are clearly not her own, and a shirt equally stolen. Citayla is generally a considerably more-composed person, but well, you know. Tiny fresh baby sleeping probably in the next room and all. Wearing the patented New Mom Eye Bags and hair even wilder than usual, the goldrider slouches into the kitchen. Pauses. To blink, a little owlishly, at Tanit and Ila. "Illegal." That's her greeting, and apparently all she's got to say on the subject, something like a smile tugging up one corner of her mouth. Rolling a shoulder in dismissal, the Weyrwoman turns back to her original goal: the cupboards, and the searching through thereof. Boxes of tea, no. Pasta, also no. Some sort of preserve, considered…but ultimately ignored, in favor of a jar of straight-up something-like-peanut-butter. DON'T ASK QUESTIONS. With effort, Cita hauls herself up onto the nearest counter to Ila, watching the glitter with a kind of exhausted, blank look. She only looks up to frown at Tanit, eyebrows creasing. Words? No, no, she doesn't have a whole lot of those yet. Well. Except: "Revenge?" That conveys a whole line of thought, right? Sure it does.

R'hyn almost makes it downstairs in order to prevent this from ever happening. His voice carries from the loft above, low and absent in quality, the kind of tone one uses when talking on the phone though, lacking such a device, it is far more likely he is talking to his dragon. Aloud you ask? Yes, aloud. Shut up. They're all in various stages of new-baby-tired, some of them mussed, some of them talking to themselves, some of them taking their shirts off; sue them, alright! "I don't care what he wants, I'm pretty sure we have enough on our hands right now. I fell asleep and someone got close enough to put shit in my bear—" A tiny voice interrupts, requesting ups and dah-dees and, "No baby, no, I hear him too but it's sleep time. Come on, baby, back to bed with you." SAVED BY THE BELLE. The looming threat of… well… looming threats departs with fading squeals of displeasure but worry not, HE WILL BE BACK TO STOP THIS EVENTUALLY.

That grey eye falls on the contents of buckets, and there's as much humor as exasperation at the color when Ila'den's attention jumps back up to Tanit's face. He's opening his mouth to say something, except that Tanit's staring, then looking away, and her ears are red and Ila'den is doing the only thing he can think to manage in this situation - he laughs. Not at her; it's probably a hint of his own discomfort, an attempt to deflect from the fact that he isn't exactly sure how to handle the reaction and so he doesn't. He does shift, as if he might make the ruin of his back less visible, but when Tanit's reaching out with her hands the bronzerider obediently lifts his arm to make it easier for the application. Don't mind the fact that he tenses and has to look away for just a moment when her hands start their application. LUCKY FOR THEM BOTH, Citayla appears just then, and Ila'den is taking in the appearance of his weyrmate with careful attention to her state, offering back, "That hair is illegal," around easy, husky laughter before his attention is riveted back to Tanit. And he listens, quiet and engaged as if Cita rifling through cupboards is definitely not transpiring in the background; as if muscles are not standing out, going taut at the dolphincrafter's touch. And what does he say to that admittance? A beat, two, and softly, "Little fish." Something dangerous in his tone? Probably. "You don't have to share unpleasant things. I'm fine." A beat. "But I'm happy you survived." And his attention is back on Cita, reaching out to press a hand to her knee if she's close enough for him to manage, dropping away with a squeeze and a gentle patpat "Do you want me to sleep with you tonight?" YAY FOR PARENTHOOD. A pause, as R'hyn is heard and Ila'den's attention flickers up before — nope. "He's going to ban you from the weyr, Tanit." A flicker of amusement in his smile. "Better work quick."

Laughter, that is more relaxing than anything else. The familiar husky sound taking most of the tension out of the dolphineer. She probably still should have had Tequila prior to this. Cita's distraction, earns a half smile and brows knitting in concern. For the assurance, Tanit smiles either taking no heed of the dangerous note, or else perhaps smiling because of it. "Look, for reasons that are utterly beyond me, you are stepping far beyond your comfort zone even when you didn't win the bet. I figure I can tell you a few truths that I typically don't admit." The process speeds, and apparently, she has found the courage to actually work the gel over his abdomen as promised. Cita's question has her brows drawing together as she goes to grab the rest of the bucket and, quickly finishes applying it to the surface. The result One glittery bronzerider. "The glitter or my cousin?" The bucket gets ditched hidden somewhere not incriminating. "I told her the truth about someone and she didn't want to believe me, wanted to say I was just jealous, usual teenage girl stuff." The dolphineer hand waves. "I'm happy I did too. And an upside is I have a wicked resistance to stings now."

Eating whatever Pern has for peanut butter straight out of the jar, with HER FINGERS? Yeah, that's Cita. Such moojesty. Swinging bare feet languidly, the goldrider globs off another bite and hums under her breath, glancing in the direction of Ryn-and-a-baby with fondness. Does she get up to help? Shells, no. Ryn's got it, and she's got her jar of theoretically-edible food, and an Ila to poke with a toe, just to distract, or possibly annoy. Like she actually could, without trying real hard. Mumblemumble something along the lines of 'you're illegal' or possibly 'mmbleeeral', because she's muttering around her snack, and she dismisses her weyrmate with a flouncy kind of hair-toss. She's beautiful, she's wonderful, you don't have to be jealous Ila. "You know you'll wake up covered in cats." And kids, but you know, like either of those things is actually a problem. Apparently at least somewhat fortified by her protein-y snack, the goldrider turns back to Tanit, a slightly less wan grin creeping up now. "It's been nice knowing you, though." She hums under her breath, feet swinging, like she just absolutely couldn't stop the Weyrleader from banishing the glitter-er to the 'reaches. A beat, and, a little less amusedly, the healer-rider glances sideways, gnawing down another massive bite. "Your cousin," She clarifies, or possibly doesn't, still talking with her mouth full. Gross. "Usually it doesn't end like that. Though…" A contemplative kind of squint. Shrug. "Must be useful, 'least."

Eventually a door clicks shut upstairs, and downwards R'hyn descends with a vengeance to make up for earlier distractions, balls of feet pounding against stairs lacking in their usual attempt at some measure of finesse. He's a big dude, alright. It takes a lot not to sound like it, too. He's excited, though, bless his big stupid heart, encouraged along with a certain deafened blindness in his haste to greet newly-emerged and recently-returned weyrmates. He's… well. The. Important bits are covered, we'll put it that way, but that leaves a whole lot of the rest of him up to no imagination at all, six and a quarter feet of tattoos and not-quite-Ila-level-egregious amounts of muscle interrupted by a singular swatch of low-slung, knotted fluffy fabric. "Cita, we're out of towels. I'll take them to the laundry room later if you'll just… pull them… out." Padding feet draw to a halt, steps slowing with an increasing sense of defeat that registers in a slump of shoulders and a defeated sort of sigh. "Well, this is awkward." IS IT THOUGH. IS IT. It is. Or at least it is for R'hyn. The last towel is never the best one, after all, and though there are no holes or threadbare patches, it is hot pink embellished with some terrible design that disappears over one hip in a garish splay of red. Tanit isn't the only one flaming around the ears (and his cheeks, and his chest, because of course Heryn is a blusher), throat cleared with a low, "Sorry, I was trying to get the glitter out of my…" And then he sees it. Blue-grey eyes focus past the akwardness of being severely underdressed in front of company, hone in on the image of Ila'den, shirtless, covered in a suspiciously familiar sheen. "Ila'den. Is that lime green glitter?" Of course it is. He's not that stupid. But he is, somehow, inexplicably, mad. Is it possible to look imposing in a hot pink towel? Let's find out. Indignance that borders on righteousness fills the bronzerider's form, filling the corners of him usually left to slouch, straightening his spine and cocking his jaw at an angle that implies many words are being left unsaid. Suspicious eyes switch from Citayla to Tanit and back, accusation in his gaze even as he breaks statuesque posture to move, to settle at Ila'den's back with one hand rested on his shoulder, fingers curled flat against his own palm. "Which." Cita. Tani. Cita again. The question-that-isn't-one seems less for Ila'den and more for the girls. A blink, and then his gaze roves, looking for that hastily-concealed evidence. "And how. How is it fucking everywhere I want to be." Ah. That. Seems much more plaintive. Much more R'hyn-whiny as eyelashes press to cheeks and he grumbles a low but easily-audible, "You look ridiculous," to Ila'den, loose fist lifting to thump back against his shoulder.

"You don't owe me anything, Tanit, least of all your secrets." And as if to emphasize that point, Ila'den offers up no explanation for why he is obliging Tani's whims, he just… sits still and endures. Kind of. The minute her hands are on his stomach, there's a growl deep in his throat, a rumbling of sound that's half a threat and half instinct that he forces down by looking back to Cita. Or, more specifically her foot, that is now also betraying R'hyn because he's just stolen some of that glitter-muck from off of his own body, and smeared it over the top of her foot. "I always wake up covered in cats, Citayla, because between you, and Heryn, and Teimyrth, we have one-fucking-thousand of them." They practically ARE the furniture. At least that is what his expression says. Tanit's done by the time Ila's looking back in her direction, watching her hide buckets of contraband with a raised brow and husky laughter for Citayla's addition. DISTRACTION: SUCCESS. And here. comes. Ryn. Ila'den's eye lifts at the sound of his weyrmate's descent, tracking his progress down the stairs with humor at his state of undress - a pull of the lips to the side, contradicting something so much more feral in the way he tracks R'hyn's movements and delineates bare flesh. It's an illicit promise, a salacious appreciation of muscle, and tattoos, and the tease of ghastly towels that don't register for ridiculousness simply because it's on R'hyn and have you met R'hyn? He's probably the most illegal thing in the room. Still, that ever-present want diminishes when Ila catches onto the mood he finds is shoulders, in posture, in the set of Heryn's jaw as he keeps coming. Impossibly, Ila'den's body coils tighter, making the relaxation at the weyrleader's touch that much more evident when it comes. A beat, and Ila'den's drawling out a husky, meant-to-diffuse, "Me, actually. I thought you'd enjoy having a reason to bathe with me." RUN TANIT. SAVE YOURSELF.

Tanit says, "She was just angry and not thinking. People make bad choices in the heat of the moment." Tanit answers Cita, but then there's naked well- almost-naked and that steady creeping blush that Tanit has fought to keep down? She manages to go beet red, a feat given her well-tanned complexion. Like applying illicit substances to the weyrleader's weyrhusband. She manages to glance at Cita, "You - brain - thinking - how - immune?" She gestures over to the general vicinity of the two men. There was a question in there maybe? You could probably press a match stick to Tanit and watch it ignite because she's muttering "Mr. Ab-" Cough "Weyrleader." And Then Ila is actually proving his trustworthiness by playing distraction. Hopefully the Weyr is on the ground level because if not someone's probably going to wind up in the infirmary because she's departing with a wave to Cita and she's not paying much attention to her feet. "I'll just go to my room now." She manages in farewell."

Growls and discomfort aren't surprising to the Weyrwoman, prodding with a toe and smiling lazily. She's not even worried, taking the be-glittering of her foot in stride. It could be worse, right? "It's a nice shade." She compliments the future banished-ee, then snorts, rolling her eyes with more energy than anything else she's done so far. "It's not my fault Tei keeps bringing them home." The goldrider lies, or possibly only slightly-lies, one. It's hard to tell, with that sniffy-haughty look she's got going, absently dragging the foot down the side of Ila's pants. Glitter! For you, Ila. "Sure," Cita's agreement to going to fetch the clothes is probably a little mischievous, because she ain't stopping this train, no, no, no. She sees it coming from a mile away, barreling into the station, and well. She's either so used to Ila and Ryn being inappropriate that she doesn't see a problem, or the potential for hilarity is too high. "Is it?" Mild, warm with amusement, the goldrider hums a vague noise that's neither agreement nor disagreement. Absently gnawing down another massive bite of PB, Citayla watches Ryn's face with a kind of peaceful contentment only gifted to the super-tired. There it is! Feet kick with absent-minded delight, prodding gently along a leg and the soft part behind a knee, and she's laughing, a brief, barking giggle of sound offered on a fond look for their weyrmate. "I told them it was illegal." She shrugs, taking in that righteous indignation for another moment before pointing between the offending glitter-ers. "Not me." Throw them under the bus? You bet your ass. She is, at least, vaguely sympathetic for poor Tanit, tutting like a mother avian under her breath. A distantly traumatized kind of scoff is her best contribution to the poor thing's chagrin, gesturing with a chin at the pair of them. "I've seen them both naked, a lot. This is nothing. The human body is a beautiful thing, Tanit!" That's probably an asshole kind of move, but she should get some amusement out of it, right? "Please be careful, love! The stairs are slippery sometimes! Ily…" Is she calling her dragon to help Tanit down the stairs? To just kind of watch, and report and hilarious falls? Probably the former, right?

Well, Tanit has one thing going for her: R'hyn's mad enough that he doesn't make matters worse by executing a slinky, hip-dipping walk in response to that scandalous look, doesn't meet Ila'den eye for eye with an expression that screams approval for carnal intent; no, instead he glares and sighs and huffs and puffs and mutters something about fucking glitter embargos under his breath before flicking Citayla a dirty glance. "Could have warned a guy, you know. You're quite possibly the rudest people I know." Yes, he does include you in that, Tanit, and despite lingering ire there comes a sharp twitch at the corner of his mouth, as though trying to hide amusement for the sudden flush of red swiftly outpacing his own embarrassment. No, Heryn, that is not an invitation to make things worse. No Heryn. I SAID N— "So that just leaves you then, Little Fish. Only you that would talk my weyrmate out of his shirt and do something like this." The hand at Ila'den's shoulder unfolds, sliding a path down his chest that would be sinful and covetous under any other circumstances. It leaves a dark, damning streak in glittering green before he lifts his hand out of it, places it on the side of Ila's face, and smears it from temple to chin. "Shh. The adults are talking," he murmurs to the adultiest adult in the room, a terrible little smile jerking at the edges of his mouth as he pointedly ignores attempts to deflect the blame onto himself. It doesn't last. Tanit utters two letters that have blue-grey eyes skimming her, narrowing over a slow, playfully-unkind smile. Fingers catch at the knot of his towel, jerking it loose, pulling ends up and over Ila's shoulders, leaning against the chairback to preserve some modesty despite the pronounced jut of hipbones as he growls an amused, "Good. And stay out." A beat in which her retreat is marked and then, because Cita's putting up a verneer of politeness so he guesses he will too, "Don't break anything! None of us are in a state to carry you to the infirmary anymore!" Terrible. Truly. Only then does he sigh at his palm littered with glitter, aggrieved, eyes rolling as he palms it off on the hot pink towel. Eyeblinding combo, that. "Eugh. I just got this shit off me. Ridiculous. Now what's this about cats? Do we get to have this fight again? I distinctly remember being promised a hairless if it came up again." WAS HE THO? WAS HE?

There's so much that could be addressed, so much that could be said, or done - and Ila'den does some of those things. He catches Cita's happy-kicking, back-of-the-knee invading foot to close between both of his palms, easing the gesture with a slow push of thumb from heel to arch and upwards towards toes. He repeats the motion as she devours Pern's Peanut Butter equivalent, and Tanit turns into… well… Pern's equivalent of jelly. There's amusement, more of that husky, short-lived laughter as she asks Cita the secrets of immunity and then runs away. The truth of it is that there are probably three dragons paying close attention to her descent, leaving Ila'den to catch glitter-smearing hands by the wrists as he lets Cita's foot go. HE HAS A TOWEL CAPE NOW, which… manages to look somewhat more ridiculous on him, but doesn't remain for long. The bronzerider pulls it from his shoulders, and then hugs R'hyn under the guise of tying his towel back around his waist. NOW YOU GLITTER'D. "Pity, that," comes a mutinously humored rasp of words. "Cita, our weyrleader is filthy. This can't stand." DOES HE EXPECT HER TO AGREE? It doesn't matter if she does, because Ila'den's already undoing that top button on his leathers and making an aggrieved face shower-wards. "Ah well, I'll be back." AND YES HE DID JUST PICK UP R'HYN OVER HIS SHOULDER. BECAUSE IT'S BEEN A WHILE, OKAY. "Borrowing this!" comes from over his shoulder as he PATPATs R'hyn on his TOWELED ASS and just HEFTS HIM AWAY FOR CLEANSING. PROBABLY. MAYBE. JUST DON'T THINK ABOUT IT TOO HARD OKAY.

« Don't worry, Tanit! I'll keep you from falling. Mine's own are busy, you see, with things, and she is very hungry and would like to convey that she just squeezed — oh, no, Cita? Fine. Watch the stairs, they're treacherous, here, don't ask me how I know. » Ily? Not worried about privacy, or that her unholy shrieks of gleeful nebulae might make the situation worse. Cita? Well, she just eats her peanut butter. There's not a lot else she can do, right? Totally.

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