Dangerous Confessions

Half Moon Bay Weyr - West Bowl

The western end of the great bowl of the Weyr. You can see the steep walls of the crater to the south and south, with small openings and ledges in the cliffside. These are the individual weyrs of dragons and their riders. To the west you can see the great natural arch, and the lagoon, to the east, the center of the bowl. To the south you see a large natural cave opening that has been made into a tunnel. It is the main entrance to the Weyr from the road to Half Moon Bay Hold.

That, Sevran decides, is a very ominous sign. The sky is dark. There’s a threat of rain in the air. And yet, he is outside. Why? Because he is Sevran. Because he has things to do outside. Because he is not scared of rain, or thunder, or any pesky weather that might make itself known. And because he was told if he didn’t get his ass out of the kitchen, they were gonna skin him. So he left, and now he’s in the Weyrbowl, looking only a little lost, and a lot useless, even if he’s walking ‘with purpose’ to keep from being called on it by someone. But really, there are only so many laps you can make before someone wises up that the same Candidate has been in the bowl for an hour. Walking this way and that. With clearly no chores being done. Whatever.

A few fat raindrops strike the ground here and there around J’en with enough time between that he can make a rough estimate that it was only going to be a minute or two before he was going to get absolutely drenched. Turning up the collar of his jacket and not paying a lick of attention to where he was going, he actually physically collides with Sevran and all of his mindless wanderings, managing to bounce off him. So a few steps back he pops, head coming up with a glaring snarl in place, leveling them both onto the candidate. “The fuck, Sevran?!” he growls, rubbing at the red spot now blossoming there on the bridge of his nose where it had smacked into the butcher’s shoulder. “Pay attention to where yer fuckin’ goin’!”

There are so many things that could be said. Smart-ass things. Snarky things. Really, really stupid things. But Sevran says none of them. Maybe because he’s smart. More likely, it’s because he can’t settle on one, and too long of a pause stretches between the collision, Jae’s complaint, and whatever comeback Sev would have. Which means, by now, it’s just a waste of time to say anything cause it’ll look stupid. It’ll sound stupid. It’s only witty if you spit it out in the first few seconds. Past that? Dumb. So instead, he just shrugs and offers a half-hearted, “Sorry?” which does sound a little guilty, if just because he’s apparently getting off injury-free for once. The rain? He’ll just tip his head back, squint at the sky like he knows something about cloud formations (he doesn’t) and decide, “Maybe it’s time to go inside.” Ya think?

J’en was far too busy rubbing at his offended nose to take note of the fact that Sevran was standing there and gaping at him like an idiot. Dropping his hand away from his face, he gives the candidate a look, one that requires his shoulder to droop and tip his head off to the side. As well as, narrow his eyes. He appears as if he were about to open his mouth to say something or another, probably in response to that apology (or facsimile thereof), but the candidate is looking up. The bronzerider probably would have fallen suit if not for the torrential downpour that happens a second later after it's suggested they move inside. “Fuckin’ Faranth’s fun flap.” he hisses, grabbing Sevran roughly by the arm and dragging him off to the side where a shallow outcropping provides shelter. Too late for either of them of course. They’re drenched in a matter of seconds. Still, Jae puts in the effort, tossing the now four inches taller than he butcher into the alcove before joining him himself “Fuck.” Off comes the jacket, but his tanktop was glued to his skin. People can be seen rushing back and forth for a couple a seconds and then there is no one and nothing but the sound of the rain pounding in a thunderous drone.

Yup. Saw that coming. Literally. He was looking straight up. And it’s just his luck, really. Though there are definitely worse things than being dragged into an alcove with a dead-sexy bronzerider. Especially one who then starts stripping off his jacket. Even if it’s just his jacket, and nothing else. Still. Sevran’s going to take advantage of whatever view he gets. No jacket of his own, though he does pinch at his shirt to pull it away from his skin; this is ineffectual at best. Rather annoying and uncomfortable at worst. It leads to a grimace as he leans back against the stone of the alcove. A hand lifts, working in vain to try and get dripping hair out of his face, though it still runs in rivlets down the back of his neck, making him wince and wiggle at the tickle of cold drops on warm skin. “Lovely.” It’s definitely sarcastic. And then, cause it’s Sev. “Hey,” for the bronzerider. Cheerful, this time. Fuck the weather. At least he has an excuse to keep skipping out on chores.

Oh, give it time, because next to be peeled off is that tanktop. “Ugh, for fuck’s sake…” he groans, wringing the fabric between his two hands and just staring grumpily at the amount of water the piece of clothing had absorbed.. Golden eyes are flicked upwards towards the darkness of stormclouds, ignoring Sevran at first but the cheerfulness earns him a half-lidded look. One that said his sunshine and kitten rainbows were not appreciated. “…’ey.” Then the eyeballing begins, flicking out his tanktop a few times, before he drapes it over his arm along with his jacket. “Dun ya ‘ave kitchen duty today?” Deadpan, serious, definitely watching for some sort of reaction. One way or the other.

Who gives a crap about storm clouds? Not Sev. Unless it’s to thank them for unleashing a downpour at the most opportune moment. But no. Those grey eyes of his are only for the bronzerider, even if he’s trying not to leer. He’s really, really trying. And there are definitely glances being cast towards the bowl, though how much he sees (through rain, or through his own inattention) is left unknown. But then there are tank tops being removed, and it’s really just all he can do to not stare opening. Damn bronzeriders. More dripping. More wiggling, because this stupid water is just too much. Fine. Fine. Off comes the shirt, though he doesn’t bother to wring it out. It just gets dropped to the floor. He’ll get it later. Maybe. If he remembers. If he cares. He’ll probably at least grab the white-knot off the shoulder if he’s gonna litter like that, though. Half-lidded looks are ignored, but the question is not. There’s no guilty reaction, though, unrepentant as he says “They kicked me out.” A shrug of his shoulders, before he goes back to leaning on the stone. Casual. Relaxed. Perfectly at ease in a thunderstorm as he would be anywhere else. Bare skin pressed against rough rock, as if it was the most comfortable thing to do. “And they didn’t tell me where else to go, so I just figured I’d take a break.” For the rest of the day. “You keeping tabs on me?” he wonders, one eyebrow lifted in curiosity.

Golden eyes are rolled towards the stormy sky, as he’s definitely noticed how frequently the candidate’s grey ones were sent his direction, turning and leaning against the back wall of the outcropping. He was intent on leaving as much space between himself and Sevran as possible, arms characteristically crossed over his chest, shirt and jacket draped over his arm. Pointedly, he finds somewhere else to look while the candidate strips, though that might be the fault of the fruit vendor who trips off the divot left from their collision not that long ago. She falls flat on her face, gets up, and keeps on trucking. Sevran’s explanation as to why he wasn’t doing his chore brings the bronzerider back to him right quick though. “They fuckin’ what?” he asks, “What did ya do? Set it on fire?” This is followed by a groan and J’en pinches the bridge of his nose, reading well between those lines. He knew exactly what the butcher had meant by a break. He meant, for the rest of the day. Was he keeping tabs, though? “Yeah, what of it?” Up goes the chin, down goes the…hum. Two dragons humming now, and then three. Soon the ground practically thrummed with it. Jae’s eyes widen, his lifemate among them, all stiff and maybe disoriented for a second. Then, he’s pushing himself off the wall and jerking his head towards out the way they’d come from. “Yer eggs are callin’ ya, better get to the barracks.” The chin goes down, the lashes too, and he mutters probably too softly to be heard. “Good luck, or whatever.”

There’s a nudge with the toe of his boot towards his shirt, pushing it out of the way. Probably to be forgotten. Or maybe claimed later, if just because he has so few to spare. Did he set the kitchen on fire? Snort. “No, of course not.” But exactly what got him expelled forcefully from mandatory chores? There are no words, and no explanation for it. Just a little lift to the corner of his mouth and an amused look in his grey eyes. Eyes that have noticed he’s being avoided. Frown. Tripping people are ignored, even if falling face-first in the mud would be noteworthy. Almost everything is ignored. Sevran is either in his head with this own thoughts, or casting his attention towards the dragonrider sharing the alcove with him. “Hm,” for keeping tabs. But no answering reply, smart-ass or otherwise. And thankfully no smart-ass grin, either, though maybe another little look of amusement. It’s filed away into memory, to be pondered later or to be pushed down and repressed. One of the two. The amusement vanishes quick enough when the dragons start to hum. He knows that hum. Grew up with that hum. Feels it like a rush of cold water through his veins. Like fire and ice across his skin. He comes crashing down from the emotional high, unable to ignore it as more dragons join in. Now? Really? As if he thought the day wouldn’t come. They could have stayed eggs forever; Sevran would have been fine with it. But now there was no denying the inevitable. A flash of grey eyes to gold, but he hesitates before going where he knows he should. Hesitates, and makes a snap decision that could probably be considered stupid. Reckless. Foolish. But hey. This was destiny calling him, right? Might as well go out with a bang. Instead of the barracks, it’s Jae he’s going towards. His well-wishes have barely been uttered when Sev grabs him by the face, kisses him soundly and fiercely on the mouth, and murmurs, “I love you,” as he lets him go. And then he is gone, moving through the onslaught of rain and thundering storm at a quick and purposeful jog. No regrets.

Okay, his face getting grabbed was likely on the list of things Jae was expecting to happen following his craptastic farewell before Sevran took to the sands. The kiss? Totally saw that coming too. The bronzerider growls low, a sound of warning, even as he returns all of that ferociousness with more than enough passion of his own. After all, this could very well be the last time that he gets to do this. What does take him completely by surprise? THAT murmur. Blink. Blink. Aptly timed, he can do little more than just stand there, alone in that solitary alcove as the candidate makes his quick escape. J’en snaps out of it in time to whip his head the way he’d run off, his snarling and admittedly delayed displeased response all venomous curses dipped in his ire, but it's drowned out by the rain. He lingers to rant and rave at no one in particular only as long as is necessary to pick up ground tossed clothing, before making for Leketh. He’d have to clean up a bit before he too made his way to the hatching, so he could glare death daggers down on one candidate in particular. If he didn’t Impress, he’d kill him. If he did, he’d make him wish he had. This in mind, the bronze pair take to the sky, flying up over the bowl.

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