Winter - Month 2 of Turn 2717
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Living Cavern
Here is the center of Weyr life, the living caverns. These two main rooms were man-shaped from smaller caves, and are joined by a carved arch with depictions of dragons in flight and dolphins leaping in swirling waves. One room has many round stone and wooden tables and a stone fire-pit instead of a hearth. Over the round-walled, gas fired pit is a large conical hood made of polished bronze, with reliefs of dragons with their riders flying over ships guided by dolphins. This hood and chimney keeps the room smoke-free. Through the archway is an enormous hall, with long tables and benches, some carved from the rock floor, many crafted of wood. This room is a combination dining and meeting hall, and can seat over 300 comfortably. Above both rooms, angled shafts lined with polished metal bring in sunlight during the day. Electric lights also burn, day and night.

At some point in the night, or perhaps the very early morning, a message would have come to Nassir. It comes via human courier rather than firelizard, because along with the note is a small stack of clothing. R'sner /had/ said that he would make sure the tailor had clean clothes for the next day, and while it may not necessarily be his personal style or taste, they are at least close enough in size to fit Nassir properly. They are also, distinctly, of a rather thick and 'warm' variety. It is Winter, and they did have a thunder storm, but even Half Moon Bay isn't really cold enough to warrant the hat, scarf, gloves, insulated pants and fur-lined jacket that was brought. The note itself? A simple request to meet him early the next morning, and to dress 'as warmly as possible'. There is an assumption that he will say yes but, because this is R'sner, and he is not so bold as to make demands or suppositions, it contains a hastily added post-script about letting him know if he'd rather not be up at dawn, and that there is no expectation, and clearly this is a request and not a demand. But under the assumption that Nassir is amenable to the meeting, he will find R'sner in the living caverns at the prescribed time, dressed in flight leathers and looking somewhat awkward and apprehensive and totally second guessing himself.

Nassir is late. Of course, the reason for being late is entirely R'sner's fault. There is nothing quite like recieving clothing to get the tailor excited. Such being the case, he'd taken a bit of time to examine the garments before finally heading out to get cleaned up and dressed. When he steps into the living cavern, the gloves are tucked in his belt, the fur-lined jacket still open and his attention on weaving his hair into an intricate braid. Pausing in the entryway, he steps out of the way people entering, a warm smile tracing over his lips as fastens a tie in his hair to secure the braid. "R'sner!" The call is offered with a raised hand and a flashing smile, quick steps carrying him across the cavern toward the adorably apprehensive Weyrlingmaster. "So," he asks as he spreads his arms and turns in a slow circle. "How do I look? Resplendent? Glorious? Fabulously furry?" Toith might not like being told she's pretty, but Nassir? Nassir loves it.

There is definitely some scowling happening, not because Nassir is late, but because R'sner has decided to make assumptions about what that being 'late' means. But the worry is unfounded at the appearance of the tailor. The look of relief is short lived but present all the same, though by the time Nassir has made his way over and is providing him a three-sixty look at the winter-attire, he's back to himself. A slow appraisal is given, cobalt-blue eyes drifting from head to boots and back again. "Warm," he decides, though there's a bit of a twitch to the side of his mouth that wants to be a half-smile, that suggests he might be teasing him. "Are you hungry? I will have Klah and sweetrolls, but if you want something heartier, it will have to be eaten before we go."

A delighted laugh spills past Nassir's lips at the response, dark eyes crinkling at the corners in reaction to what he considers very high praise. "You are being very mysterious," he notes with a wink. "I like it. I could eat," he admits, as he steps closer. Pausing just a breath away, he rests one hand lightly on R'sner's arm, his fingers squeezing lightly. "Grab a table and I'll grab the food." And, as quick as the words are uttered, he's slipping away, weaving through the crowd of breakfast eaters to pour two cups of klah and fill a plate with sweetrolls and some fruit.

While R'sner still goes rather still at Nassir's proximity, it is much less defensive and much more accepting; consenting to the contact and closeness. His gaze follows him as he heads off, and a moment later Res is heading for the nearest table with available seats. His fingers work the fastenings of his jacket, allowing it to hang open now that it is clear they will be spending a bit more time in the warmth of the living caverns. A rake of fingers through his hair and a ruefull look towards the bowl that culminates in a brief discussion with the dragon patiently waiting on the other side of the wall. But he's comfortable enough when Nassir joins him, in little rush to be on their way.

Nassir takes his time coming back, if only because it affords him the opportunity to observe the Weyrlingmaster without making him uncomfortable. Course, more then a few people slant side-eyed glances at the young man making dreamy eye at R'sner. It is the purely accidental shoulder bump of someone stepping past him that inspires a warm laugh to spilling past the tailor's lips, a sip of his own klah taken before he steps over and slips into a seat next to R'sner. "I liked listening to the storm," he notes as he sets the plate of sweetrolls between them. "The rumble of thunder was oddly soothing." He's still a little startled at having slept so well— he'd fully expected to be up all night. In the wake of the words, he tears off a chunk of roll and pops it in his mouth, sucking the sweetness off his fingers before reaching for the mug of klah.

The laugh gets a glance, and R'sner straightens up just a smidge as Nassir takes the seat beside him. "Oh?" inquired politely for the mention of the storm. It is the Klah that Res will claim first; fingers curled around the ceramic of the mug as though to warm him. He's not cold, but perhaps the thought of where they are going has him preemptively seeking warmth. "I enjoy it as well. From the weyr," and there's a jut of his chin toward the bowl, as though to indicate his own personal weyr, rather than the Weyr at large, "it can be very loud." Less insulation than the lower caverns, though something about the way he says it may suggest that Res prefers it that way. Loud enough to drown out thoughts. "How did it compare, to an Igen sandstorm?" he inquires, mildly curious.

"You'll have show me that next time," Nassir purrs with a playful wink. Of course, as much as he is teasing, he's also serious. "I imagine it has to be utterly primal to experience," he adds as he takes another swallow of klah. It is the last, however, that has him taking on a thoughtful look, the mug of klah tapped lightly against his lower lip. "I prefer it," he decides. "It is considerably harder to observe the majesty of nature in a sandstorm. Even with a veil for you face the sand is harsh and unforgiving. From a distance, they are beautiful to behold, however. I rather like the lightning," he adds as he takes another sip of his drink. "It was the thunder that lulled me to sleep, though. I suspect with the addition of the rain it would be torture trying to drag yourself out of bed." That combination definately strikes him as cuddle up in a warm bed moment.

Playful and teasing though it may be, it still gives R'sner pause and is the cause of the frown that briefly touches his expression. Less disapproval, and more… withdrawal. It is has him avoiding the initial comment and considering the second instead; that of the primal nature of the thunder storm from such a vantage point. "It is…" but while there is a funny little expression, a gleam in those blue eyes of his, that might suggest the sort of words that might have come to mind (evocative, stimulating, erotic), Res decides that leaving it at 'primal' is perhaps the safer option. And so there is a sip of Klah and a twitch of an eyebrow, rather than a verbal conclusion to that sentence. He considers the comparison to the sandstorm with a glance to Nassir. "I have only heard of them," he admits, uncurling one hand from his mug to pick up a sweetroll. "It is not safe to fly into any sort of storm, and I had very little cause to visit Igen," until recently. For the torture of dragging oneself from bed with the rumble of thunder and the lashing of rain to lull them into cozy complacency, there is an expression that may serve as confirmation enough, and is supplemented with, "It is an even less enjoyable prospect when it means you have to go out /into/ that rain." Flying in rain. Not fun. "But do not worry," he assures him. "Where we are going, it will not be raining."

Nassir watches every subtle twitch of muscle in R'sner's face. He has, over the course of his visits, come to understand that there is a great deal being said that goes unuttered. It is the gleam in cobalt blue eyes that momentarily steals his breath and inspires dark lashes to sweeping down against dusky cheeks. Looking back up in time to catch the twitch of brow, a smile traces over his lips, the sound of warm laughter humming in the back of his throat. "I think I prefer the notion of staying warm and cozy in bed," he admits as he sets the near empty mug down and tears off another chunk of roll. "You have no intention of telling me where we are going, do you," he notes as he sucks the sweet off his fingers, again.

"Nope," says the weyrlingmaster, uncharacteristically pleased with himself for the mystery of it all. R'sner isn't necessarily giddy, but there is a certain thrill of anticipation for the surprise; because he knows it will be well received. Or, at least, he is banking on that being the case. "But if you do not finish your breakfast, we will run out of time and I will have to take you back to Igen instead." It's an empty threat; Res is taking him where he wants to go, even if it results in the tailor playing hooky from his job for a day. It is the sense of urgency; the knowledge that his free time is short with the Hatching so close at hand, that has him uncharacteristically impetuous and defiant towards firmly established expectations of punctuality and attendance. "So stop teasing me, and finish your breakfast." In the wake of his words, he's setting aside his own half-finished pastry, brushing his fingers clean on a napkin and downing the rest of his Klah in a few hasty swallows.

For a moment, Nassir assumes a shocked expression, only the delighted twinkle in his eyes making it clear that that is nothing more and then an act. Almost as soon as the words are out, the portion of the sweetroll is pushed entirely into his mouth, his cheeks momentarily poofing out in a nearly comical fashion. Somehow, someway, he manages to chew and swallow without choking, washing the last little bits down with the last sip of klah in his mug. "Alright," he states as he snags a napkin and wipes his mouth. "Done!" Pushing to his feet, he tugs the gloves out of his belt with one hand and pulls them one before fastening up the fur-lined jacket. "Shall we," is added as he holds one hand out to R'sner with a broad smile.

"Good," R'sner asserts, pushing up from his chair and leaving the dishes for the kitchen crew (or an unfortunate candidate) to clean up. He leaves his own jacket open for the moment, having time enough to button it up before they arrive at their destination. There is little hesitation in the acceptance of that hand, and almost as soon as his bare fingers make contact with Nassir's gloved ones, he is heading for the weyrbowl. In the wake of the storm, the winter air is uncharacteristically crisp and cool, devoid of humidity and pleasantly fresh. Toith is waiting, somewhat impatiently as she has been strictly warned away from rolling in the bountiful mud around her. Res pauses at her side, releasing Nassir's hand so that he can turn and assess the tailor briefly. A scarf is procured from one of the bags attached to the green's straps, and deftly wound around the Igenite's neck and tucked into the jacket. "Up," he instructs, motioning to Toith's straps. "I will sit behind you," he explains.

Nassir tosses a smile up to R'sner when his hand is retained, the quickness of his step as they make thier way out to the bowl making it clear that he is growing progessively more excited. Upon spying Toith, the tailor's smile grows broader, his free hand raising in an enthusiastic wave. "Good Morning, Toith," he calls as they get closer. The greeting is followed by one gloved hand smoothing over the dragon's side, his chin dipping in an easy nod as the instructions are given. "Alright." It is the scarf being wrapped around his neck and tucked into his jacket that stirs a smile to tracing over his lips, dark eyes shining as he glances up at R'sner's face. Really? All things considered, it has been a very long time since Nassir has had an unexpected bout of shyness. It's evenly coupled with the hint of a blush staining his cheeks. Fortunately, he's had a good deal of practice getting on and off a dragon of late and manages to climb the straps and settle comfortably astride Toith's back. "He's being very mysterious," he asides to Toith. "And having a great deal of fun doing it."

R'sner rather enjoys that touch of color across Nassir's cheeks, though he won't say as much. It's endearing, and adorable, and reason enough for him to step back and issue instructions that sends the Igen tailor climbing aboard Toith. As annoyed as she might be with having to wait, and remain /clean/, there is still a chuff of greeting from the dragon; head craned around so that she can watch the progress of the pair of humans. "Yes, I am," agrees R'sner as he follows Nassir up and settles in behind him. He makes short work of strapping them in before he's deftly fastening his jacket closed and murmuring further instructions in the form of, "Pull your hood over your head," and "Hang on," which comes just before Toith rocks her weight back and launches them into the air. She is swift but fluid in that ascent, and it is not long at all before they are well above the rim of the bowl. She drifts for a moment, allowing Res to finish wrapping his own scarf and pull on his own gloves before, the weyrlingmasters arms tightening around Nassir in brief warning, they vanish Between. The bite of cold and the blackness of that void gives way to the almost equally frigid air of the sky well above the seven-spindled crater beneath them, the sun just touching the top peaks as it rises on a winter morning. "Welcome to High Reaches," calls R'sner, voice loud enough to be heard over the wind and sounding ridiculously pleased with himself.

High Reaches Weyr - Southern Bowl
The size of the High Reaches bowl can be overwhelming, especially to those just seeing it for the first time. To the north are the Seven Spindles — high, crownlike points formed by the extinct volcano and erosion — a good reference point for weyrlings that are learning to go between. The Weyr's lake, a large body that extends all the way to the opposite wall, dominates this part of the bowl. Occasionally, a large shadow interrupts the path of Rukbat's or the moons' light as dragons pass by overhead.

Nassir exhales a quiet laugh in response to R'sner's words, dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulls his hood up and does his level best to snuggle back against the Weyrlingmaster's chest. There is something about the sensation of Toith springing into the air that leaves him both breathless and exhilirated, his arms wrapping around R'sner's in a secure grip. It is the squeeze of warning that has him holding his breath. There is something about the sensation of bursting from that void that inspires a laugh to spilling past his lips. The sound, however, fades to a gasp as he stares down at the seven spindled crater below. Stunned, Nassir immediately feels the sting of tears, one hand snapping up to press over his mouth in a clear expression of surprise. It is R'sner's voice over the wind that has him half twisting against the Weyrlingmaster's chest, dark eyes shining with moisture as he does his level best to look up at the man's face. No one. /No one/, has ever done anything like this for him in all his life and the impact leaves him speechless.

Even Toith is feeling a bit smug, and her bugle of greeting to the watchdragon is perhaps a bit louder and longer than necessary. And Res? He is fairly certain as to the effect his surprise has had, though he does not necessarily understand the depth or significance of it. The twist of his body has R'sner leaning back just a touch, craning his head to catch his gaze despite the rather awkward and unnatural angle of it all. But a glance is established, and while he's looking rather pleased, there's a bit of surprise at the evidence of tears. But it is a smile that he offers in return; fleeting but warm. Toith angles herself into a shallow descent, allowing opportunity to survey the Weyr from the sky before she backwings and lands near the ancient Star Stones. It is definitely cold, R'sner's breath easily visible in the clear air, though Toith is warm enough beneath them to make it not nearly as unpleasant as it might have been otherwise. "Surprised?" he asks, unnecessarily, easily heard now that they are no longer moving.

There is no doubt from the look on Nassir's face that he would kiss R'sner if he could just reach him. Since he cannot, it is a fair bet that he intends to the first chance he gets. Toith's circling descent, however, captures his attention, his gaze wide-eyed and delighted as he does his level best to take everything in. The moment that Toith is safely on the ground, Nassir's gloved hands fumble with the straps, a quiet cussing sounding until he is suddenly free and twisting around to wrap his arms around R'sner's shoulders. "Constantly," he whispers before leaning in to press a kiss against warm lips. Drawing in a slow breath through his nostrils, he lets that contact linger, doing his damnedest to breath every ounce of surging emotion and wonder into the Weyrlingmaster's mouth. When he finally pulls back, he is breathless, gloved fingers lacing at the nape of R'sner's neck. Surprised? Delighted? Completely and utterly smitten? He's all of those and there is not even the ghost of an attempt to hide it. "Thank you," he whispers in hoarse tones. "Thank you, both."

The twist of Nassir's body, wrap of arms, the lean forward that brings the whisper against his mouth and the brush of lips; as soon as R'sner is aware of the intention behind it, he goes still and tense. But it is the kiss that seems to bring him back to life; and soon enough there are gloved hands catching the sides of the tailor's face, and Res is kissing him back just as much as he is being kissed. The tension found in the tautness of his frame is for an altogether different reason, and it is with some reluctance that he allows Nassir to pull back. There is a spark of light in the cobalt-blue of his eyes; a focused intensity to the gaze that sweeps over his face, that is more than simple pleasure at having been successful in the surprise. It is the 'thank you' that brings the second smile, subtle but pleased and authentic, softening his expression and bringing him back to the present. "You're welcome," is murmured in reply, throat cleared gentle as his gaze averts back to the view. It is a sentiment that is echoed with a deep rumble from Toith, the sound vibrating through chest and throat. "We can stay here, or we can go down… whatever you want."

"I-" Whatever Nassir was going to say is sucked back into his mouth and swallowed, dark eyes searching R'sner's face as he does his level best to process the return of that kiss. It is the shine in those shockingly blue eyes that has his hands smoothing over wiry shoulders, his fingers curling in the fabric of the heavy jacket the rider is wearing. "Here," he whispers in those same hushed tones. Right now, the thought of seeing anyone else in the world is utterly unwelcome. Warmed by both R'sner's presence and Toith's, and the clothing he had been provided, he slides in close enough to rest his temple against the Weyrlingmaster's chest. There are a thousand things he wants to say, but right now? Right now, he wants to remain right where he is and stare with a wondering gaze at the seven spindles surrounding them. Still, his hands retain that tight grip on R'sner's coat, an unconcious need to make sure the man doesn't suddenly vanish on him.

R'sner shifts only enough to accommodate the slide and press of Nassir's body against him. The hands at his face fall away, arms wrapped around him in a comfortable hold as the tailor leans his temple against his chest. There are no words from him, if just because Res does not trust himself to speak. He is concentrating much more on calming the rapid beating of his heart and taking deep, measured breaths. It seems that R'sner has no intention of going anywhere or doing anything besides sitting here and enjoying the view and the company, enjoying the solitude of the location and the almost ethereal beauty of the sun rising over the snow-laden Weyr spread out below them. The grasp on his coat is certainly noticed, but there's no attempt to get him to relinquish his hold, or acknowledge it at all; if anything, the weyrlingmaster seems content to give Nassir whatever time he needs.

Silent, Nassir inhales deeply, letting the scent of his companion wind itself into the breathtaking vista surrounding them. For the first time it takes him a bit to pull himself together, a sigh finally spilling past his lips as he relinquishes his death grip on R'sner's jacket in favor of looping his arms around the Weyrlingmaster's waist. "It's more beautiful then I imagined it would be," he notes in hushed tones. In the wake of the words, he glances up, long strands of dark curls spilling out of the hood as he draws his nose along the length of R'sner's jaw. Falling silent a beat, one arm slides back up, gloved fingers gently brushing over R'sner's cheek in an attempt to draw his gaze back to his face. Again, he finds himself lacking words as he searches cobalt eyes.

Silence is almost never uncomfortable for R'sner, and the quiet that surrounds them now is no exception. It is easy; allowing him to simply be in the moment without too much effort. But the soft murmur is not unwelcome and, while the he remains as he is with his gaze toward the weyrbowl, there's an acknowledgement of the words in a soft "Mm," that is more vibration than annunciation. A sharper inhale and sudden swallow for the nose along his jaw; a brief tightness in his shoulders and the grip of his arms at the touch. But the brush of fingers to his cheek nets the desired result, pulling his focus away from the view and toward Nassir as he tips his head in that direction. A brief furrow of dark eyebrows, and the hint of a frown that is more mild confusion than anything else, though he won't shy away from meeting his gaze when it's searched. A heartbeat. Two. And then a softly spoken "What?" inquired when he senses that a question, or statement, is imminent.

Nassir returns the question with a smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners as leans up just never to brush a feather light kiss over R'sner's lips. "Just that," he whispers before tucking his head under the Weyrlingmaster's chin. For a moments he is still and quiet, utterly content as he watches the sun dancing on snow. "This," he murmurs in hushed tones. "Is what I meant. This perfect quiet like the world is there just for us, waiting." For what, he doesn't know. It's a place he never truly expected to see and it's a moment he is not eager to allow pass.

It is a kiss that R'sner will receive willingly, but does not reciprocate. Not out of disinterest, but because of the tenderness that it suggests. It is simply not within his capabilities to be so gentle; not without inviting a world of overthinking and a spiral of thoughts that can lead nowhere good. Even so, there is a brief tightening of his jaw and an aversion of his gaze; a second swallow that is the biting back of bitter emotions rather than from the rush of adrenaline. But his arms do not lessen their grip, and he accepts tucking of Nassir's head beneath his chin. His breathing is deep and steady; exhales visible in the cold air, and it is only a moment or two later that the tension fades and he settles into 'comfortable' once again. "The first time Toith and I flew together, I felt freer than I ever had in my life," he recounts. "It was the first time I remember feeling like I was well and truly alone…" or at least, absent other humans. There is no such thing as 'alone' when one is a dragonrider. "…Like I could finally hear myself /think/. It was the most exhilarating thing to happen, up to that point in my life."

Nassir is listening to every word, his dark eyed gaze focused on watching the play of sunlight on snow as R'sner speaks. The words stir a smile to whispering over his lips, his hand drifting down to rest lightly on the rider's shoulder. "I cannot even begin to imagine," he admits in content whisper. "But this? For me, this feels much the same." Letting the words trail off, his smile softens, gloved fingers gently kneading at the lean muscle beneath the leather jacket. It's a new sensation for him, that comfortable silence. Usually, he is busy desperately trying to fill his world with color and light and sound.

"I am glad I could give you this," comes low and almost regretfully; as if to apologize for the things he can't give. R'sner lets the quiet envelope them once again, relaxed against the lean of Nassir against him and the kneading of fingers at his shoulder; eyes for the rim of the Weyrbowl opposite them and the coming and going of other dragons. This is his /world/; silence and solitude and separation. Not because he believes himself above it, but because exile and isolation had become preferable to connection and inclusion. But it is not so isolated now; and while there is something significant about that, Res is going to ignore the weightier things and just… enjoy it. "We can stay as long as you like," he decides, turning his face slightly to nuzzle in against Nassir.

A sound very close to a purr hums in Nassir's throat at the nuzzling of his hair. It's quiet though, the sort of sound that speaks of contentment. It is in the wake of Res' last that brushes his cheek over the rider's chest, a quietly warm laugh breathed into the chill air. "And they were never seen again," he whispers. Watching the dragons and thier riders moving in the distance, Nassir's expression softens, something about the sight only serving to make it still more breathtaking. "It's so quiet," the whispered in hushed tones. "Like the whole world is waiting breathlessly for something to happen." Soon enough, he knows, something will happen. Half Moon Bay will explode with a clutch of new dragons and, for a time, at least, the world will be chaos and motion.

A spontaneous bit of laughter comes for the whisper; more felt than heard. "We do have to eat," reminds R'sner. "And sleep. And Toith would prefer," he continues, speaking for the green now, "that she not spend the rest of her days acting as a couch." But there is no impatience from the dragon, if just because she's content to sit herself at the highest point of the Weyr and survey her kingdom. But for his words, R'sner is in no hurry to do anything else; eyes closed as he breathes in deeply the scent of the Igen tailor. "Mm," he agrees, glancing back over the weyrbowl. And perhaps it is the very same thought, of eggs and dragons and chaos, that has him briefly frowning. "We can always come /back/," he notes.

Nassir smiles at those words, his chin tilting up to allow him to nuzzle into R'sner's throat. "I'm going to be looking forward to that intensely," he admits. In the wake of the words, he reaches down and smooths a gloved hand over Toith's back, his affection for the dragon coming hand in hand with his affection for her rider. "Maybe," he murmurs. "When we come back we can spend a few days? A mini vacation once everything calms down. I'm sure Toith would be up for a snow ball fight or two?" Just seems like something she might enjoy. Course, the thought of thunking R'sner in the head with a wad of snow stirs a laugh to rising, Nassir's eyes twinkling as he glances up at the Weyrlingmaster's face. "This is the most perfect gift."

A mini vacation. The suggestion does not get an immediate response, and for a while it might seem as though R'sner won't answer at all. It is his habit, when faced with questions or suggestions that he is not yet comfortable considering. But eventually there is an acquiescence in the form of a quiet, "Sure," that is all Nassir is likely to get from him. Snowball fights? Definitely up Toith's ally, and there is a rumbling sound of agreement from the green. "She'll bury you in snow," predicts R'sner. "But I will dig you out, afterwards," he decides, voice just playful enough to be teasing, "And ensure you do not freeze to death." The laugh gets a glance, and a questioning lift of one dark eyebrow. "Remember that I grew up in Fort," he warns, voice pitched dangerously low and almost wicked. "Don't start something you wouldn't be able to finish, Nassir."

Nassir exhales a delighted laugh at the response both from dragon and rider. "Then I will make certain that I have ample warm clothing for the trip. I wouldn't want to deprive Toith of the pleasure of burying me in the snow." At that almost wicked sounding tone, Nassir's smile broadens his brows rising and falling in a playful twitch. "What if I enjoy the thought of your finishing it? Wet and cold only provides ample opportunity for getting warm and dry, later." Of course, the image that immediately springs to mind has him lightly clearing his throat and a flush of color to rising in his cheeks. "You'd never let me freeze."

"Oh really?"and there is a hint of a growl in his voice, playfully and certainly suggestive of the very things that might be the cause for the flush of color across Nassir's cheeks. It comes with a drop of R'sner's gaze and sudden focus directed toward the Igen in his arms; the gleam in his eyes and the curl at the corner of his mouth almost dangerous in the things they imply. But it is amusement that comes with the clearing of his throat and the blush, and more seriously he assures him that, "No. I won't let you freeze. But I will not let you pummel me with snow and get away with it, either."

Nassir's breath catches at the playful growl, a shiver of delight twitching his shoulders to the point that he squirms in a bit closer against Res' chest. "You realize that only makes me want to shove snow down your collar, yes?" The words are purred, dark lashes sweeping down to a half lidded gaze. Still, he's blushing, the heat of color in his cheeks surprising him to the point that he ducks his head enough to bring his hair forward in an attempt to conceal it. Shifting his weight, gloved hands drift upward, tracing the closures on the leather jacket before he loops his arms around R'sner's shoulders. "I rather like that look in your eyes," he admits.

It is a look that remains even after Nassir has called attention to it; intent and focused solely on Igen tailor. The ducking of his head and the attempt to conceal the heat and color of his cheeks; the drift of his hands along the closures of his jacket. But R'sner will not speak on it, and though tension has found him once again at the loop of arms around his shoulders, it is not defensive in nature. Rather, it is anticipatory; charged and electric in nature. And it is the reason his grasp is tightening around him, to draw him closer even as he leans in with the clear intention of claiming his mouth in a kiss that would be anything but chaste… until there is a rather disgruntled sounding snort from Toith and a sudden choking sound from R'sner in response to whatever it is she just said to him. A glower is directed her way, in clear disapproval of the two-cents she decided to offer just then. A rougher exhale, and Res is letting his grip relax, pulling ever so slightly away and glancing across the weyrbowl instead.

This is nothing like being a breath away from being kissed only to hear a disgruntled dragon snort and the person you are with making that choking sound. When R'sner pulls away, Nassir's brows furrow, his neck craning to allow him to glance at Toith then back up to the Weyrlingmaster's face. "What's wrong? Why…." Trailing off, he sighs, one gloved hand raising to scrub over his face as he resettles into a comfortable lean against his companion's chest. Whatever issues R'sner is wrestling with, the Tailor fully intends to wait it out patiently. "Should we head back? Is she getting testy about the hatching being so soon?" Really, all things being equal? He has to admit he probably wouldn't be to pleased with people making out on his back, either.

Nothing kills the mood quite like a disgruntled dragon. But after brief consideration of the distance, R'sner's eyes return to Nassir. Calm. Steady. But lacking that intensity so previously held within them. "… not exactly," for getting testy about the /hatching/. "She… yes. We should head back," because no. Toith does /not/ appreciate people making out on her back, thanks. And she had some rather choice words about it that do not bear repeating. A gloved hand lifts; gentle fingers brushed against Nassir's cheek before R'sner is clearing his throat and dropping his hand back down. "I will bring you back," he promises. "Once the weyrlings have grown a bit," and can be trusted not to burn down the barracks in his absence, "we will return." It is the best he can offer at this time.

Nassir catches R'sner's hand in his own, his fingers giving a light squeeze. "That sounds perfect," he agrees. Shifting his weight, he glances over at Toith and adds. "I am very sorry, Toith. I assure you, no offense was intended." Drawing in a slow breath, he lets the hood fall back off his hair, welcoming the chill air on his face. At the moment, he needs that more then anything. Leaning up, he brushes a kiss over R'sner's cheek, the contact lingering only a breath longer then might be entirely appropriate. When it is finished, he exhales a sigh, twisting back around to secure himself in place against the Weyrlingmaster's chest. With a final sweep of his gaze over the bowl, he nods.

"Don't apologize," comes in rough annoyance, R'sner's irritation directed towards his dragon and not his companion. "She is being crude and inappropriate, and she knows it." A chuff from Toith, though no further commentary. The scowl on the weyrlingmaster's face softens some at the kiss, though the lingering of it might make him just a touch more irritable in regards to the draconic interruption. The wrap of his arms is steady and secure; firm in their hold of Nassir against him even if it is not entirely necessary. Ready though Nassir may be, there is no sudden launch into the air, or even drop from the height at which they are perched. Rather, there is a lean of R'sner forward and a murmur at his ear that asks, "Am I taking you to Half Moon Bay, or back to Igen?" because the destination is important, and he does not want to make assumptions.

Nassir exhales a breath, his head tilting back to afford R'sner an upside down look. "If it were my choice? I'd go back with you to Half Moon Bay." As the words are uttered, he affords a warmer smile, one arm drifting back to momentarily encircle the Weyrlingmaster's waist. "I am not missing your hatching, R'sner." It's important to him to be there to witness that moment. "And as selfish as it might be? I'd like to spend as much time with you as I can before duty calls you. But," he adds. "I will also understand if you are not comfortable with that."

R'sner hesitates before answering; the sort of hesitation that says he is drifting deep into thoughts that would soon have him frowning and withdrawn behind all of that carefully crafted emotional armor. But the words that come are resolved. "Half Moon, then," he decides. "Today, my time is yours." Surely the candidates will survive one day without R'sner shadowing them. As soon as the decision is made, Toith is falling from the ledge on which they were perched. For a moment, they hang in a free-fall before her wings snap smartly out to catch the air and send them upwards once again. A pregnant pause, the green hanging briefly in the air, and then they vanish into the void of Between.

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