Temptations, Teasing, and Trouble

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.

If anybody is looking for Pritkin (which, let's be honest: what are the chances?), they will find him tucked away in a more secluded area of the living caverns with a small helping of food serving as a side to the enormous book he's currently devouring - with his eyes, of course. The teenager's fingering lines in pages that have been worn by years of repeated use and dog-eared indentations. Whatever it is that he's looking at has the teenager eventually scowling, sighing, and looking away to sip at some Klah instead. Green eyes sweep the living caverns then, taking in the constant coming and going of weyrfolk as he drums fingers on the table top and occasionally takes a peek back down at the book. Maybe if he waits long enough, /the text will start to make sense/.

"Oh. My. Goodness." That declaration is made as Rezia crosses into the living cavern, hands thrown up in the air with obvious frustration at… something. Her bracelets clatter and jingle against one another, adding to her protest, and then her hands drop in a dramatic sweep. She makes for the smattering of food and drink - though it's apparent that the kitchens still aren't fully functional given the assortment at hand. Her nose wrinkles and there's a sigh, with the brownrider's shoulders soon sagging with defeat. "Oh well," she mutters. Her eyes gloss and she puffs out a breath. "Yes, Pral, I guess that does mean we'll have to go to Ierne Weyrhold. And not at all because you think there's a green over there that might need 'protection'." Can the dragon even hear her? Either he can - or she's… well. Daft. Probably both.

Pritkin's eyes are on their way back to the text taunting him from within the pages of his book when Rezia provides a much needed distraction from… well, /whatever/ it is that he is doing. The blonde blinks owlishly slow at the clattering and jingling brownrider, swallowing down remnants of food he had in his mouth to keep him from choking as Rezia deflates and speaks to her dragon, and looks possibly-maybe crazy (if Pritkin was unaware of Pern's realities, of course). There's a momentary lapse in reaction time for the guard-in-training as he looks from his food, to Rezia, and back again. Pritkin clears his throat, and then slowly holds his plate out to the possibly-not-sane woman in question. "Did you… want some of this?" he inquires doubtfully; Pritkin has the distinct impression that Rezia is in need of some food more than he is - and hey, he's being a /gentleman/, right?

"Honestly. Are they plating the whole kitchen in gold?" Rezia's complaints aren't sour, though; she might whine and fuss, but it's clear there's no weight behind them. Well. Not these words. She gets a cup of some kind of fruit juice and might well have turned to go but for that fine gentleman just over there. "Oh!" Her mood brightens immediately and she's all smiles, the kind of smiles that make dimples manifest. "Oh, are you sure?" Concern, then, is there - but fleeting. Mercurial creature! "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose." And, yet, there she goes with her hip-swinging stride to where poor, poor Pritkin is. "What do you have?" and immediately on the heels of that: "What are you reading?"

Correction: the kind of smiles that make dimples manifest and /confuse teenage boys considerably/. Pritkin stares after Rezia for a moment with a look of clear bemusement; it's the type of look somebody might fix on another after they've become the victim of spontaneous amnesia. Truly, one might think that the teenager has temporarily forgotten just where he is, and what was offered, as Rezia's questions go unanswered in favor of green eyes dipping to take in swaying hips — "I…" Pritkin swallows, hard. "Yes. I'm sure." The last is spoken softly as the teenager forces his eyes to much-less-hormone-confusing-women onto /very/, /very/ non-hormone-confusing books - which is why Pritkin seems to flush when she asks him what he's reading. "Uh…" he answers intelligently, taking a moment to clear his throat before closing the book rather abruptly. Perhaps it's to snap himself out of it. "Nothing important." He's still holding out that plate of food, despite the fact that he suddenly, very desperately, /does not want company/.

The trouble with Rezia is that, much like a feline, the less someone wants to deal with her, the more she wants to deal with them. Pritkin is no exception. Her smile widens impossibly and she'll just claim her perch at the edge of his table, neat as you please. She doesn't take the plate - that would make this entirely too easy, wouldn't it? Instead, she picks some morsel off of it and nibbles, while craning this way and that as if she might be able to suss out the title of the book that way. "Nothing important?" Her smile takes on an impish twist and she leans in, entirely too close - so close that he might smell something tropical and sweet on her person. "Then you shouldn't have a problem telling me, mm? I mean. If it's really not important." Uh oh. Another tidbit is snitched and munched on, but her attention is now wholly, utterly and completely fixed on the poor lad.

Rezia's smile widens, Pritkin's blush deepens, and just when the guard-in-training thought it couldn't get any worse, the damnable woman is invading his personal space and — /Faranth/ — he likes it. She smells /so/. /damn/. /good/. To his credit, Pritkin does not lean away from the impish woman making his life (oho!) hard; as a matter of fact, Pritkin could easily put the book between them and give himself space, but he doesn't do that either. Instead, green eyes readily meet Rezia's with a sudden stubbornness bordering on arrogance, full of the kind of determination that says he won't let the minx nibbling on his food, sitting on his table, and /making his hormones sing/ get the better of him. "Nothing important," he repeats, this time with much more conviction. Since she's already eating from the plate, Pritkin sets it back on the table and, as if to prove a point, grabs a morsel for himself to pop into his mouth. The teenager does, however, cave first, dropping his eyes to the book in question as he slides it just slightly away from scrutiny. "It's healing text. I figured, being a guard, it might reason that having some knowledge in basic healing would come in handy at some point." A pause, and then Pritkin is chancing a glance at Rezia again. While he is not /opposed/ to conversation, he's certainly at a loss of how to start polite side-talk when a certain brownrider's proximity is making him feel… crazy.

"Oooh, I like you." This is why meeting Rezia's eyes tends to backfire. Her voice turns into a purr and she has a bad habit of getting entirely too close for comfort. He can dig his heels in all he wants; she's a total pro at pushing. Hard. So, when he does crack? She bursts into bright, bubbly laughter and leans back to clap her hands together just once. Her bracelets ring with a most melodic sound and yet another morsel is pilfered. This time, she takes her sweet time in eating it. Such sweet, sweet time. "Mm-hmm." Her mouth pulls just a little to one side playfully. "I was gonna say, 'nothing important' would be either the best name for a book - or the absolute worst." A glance at the aforementioned book spares him from the burden of her gaze, but then it's back and more intense than ever. "So. Healing. What's your favorite part of that book so far, mm? Does it have a lot of boring stuff? Does it have pictures?" The questions are rapidfire, sure, but she seems to actually be listening for an answer. Actually, the fact that she's at all listening might be startling or strange. Or not. But, if he's not careful, she'll eat a goodly bit of whatever's on his plate.

/Like/. Pritkin's brows furrow when Rezia utters that manner of praise so readily, as if he's never had anybody tell him that they like him before and meant it — not that he's invested in believing the brownrider's out for more than displacing his comfort to begin with. Her laughter makes Pritkin flinch for some reason (probably because he liked /that/ a little too much too), and green eyes are jumping back to her face in just enough time to watch her do that thing with her mouth that suddenly makes him wish he were born a vegetable in a vegetable pa — "Stop." Pritkin's hand, of its own accord, closes the minor distance between them to wrap around Rezia's wrist. Despite the callouses making his hands rough (from too many weapons and too much training), his hold is gentle, albeit firm. The word itself is ground out with a hot and hard kind of gruffness; it's the kind of tone that is not lacking in confidence, but is misplaced in a teenager and would be better suited for a much more impressive, experienced man. "Please," he amends, softer, and then his hand is relinquishing its hold as green eyes flicker back to the book and then close. He takes a breath, lets it out on a sigh, and then clears his throat once again. And yes, that blush is /still/ there. What he /does not say/ is that his favorite part is /not getting his hormones in a tizzy/. What he does say is: "The detail — though I'm not sure educational text can have a… favorite part, it's all a bit boring, and no pictures." Brows furrow as he says it, as if uncertain how to handle her interest and reciprocate without any knowledge of /her/. As for the food, well… he /did/ offer it to her, and when Rezia readily picks at it, he pushes the plate closer to her. /Gentleman/, remember?

Oh. Oh, no. See, that bit she was reaching for when her wrist is caught? That bit is now banished to the land of never-going-to-pass-her-lips. Rezia is easily caught and easily held; easily released. She doesn't struggle against his grip; rather, she'll just wait until he releases her wrist and, then, that hand will lower with a faintly discordant jingling. "Mm-hm." It's totally judgy, that sound. Though what way that judgement goes? That's the mystery. But she'll still be leaned in a bit too close. Not too-too close, but she's already there, all up in his personal space, by sitting on that table, so it doesn't take much. Still. She waits for him to take that breath and compose himself; she waits, too, for that answer - because she did ask a question. "Some of them can," is offered, her tone still stupidly bright and cheerful. "They can have some good bits, even without pictures. Even the boring ones." A beat. "Especially the boring ones because sometimes the writer gets so bored, they slip a little something extra in there." She really can't help winking after that. Or she could, but she's too lazy to not fall victim to her own whims. In either case, she eases right off the table, landing with another jingle of bracelets and anklets, probably. "But- you know what isn't boring?" No, there's no time for an answer there, because she tacks on breathlessly, "You are. C'mon. I want to show you to something." Nor did she misspeak just there. And if he's not moving fast enough, she will reach out with both hands to try to pluck at his sleeve and encourage him to come along.

When Rezia speaks, Pritkin opens his eyes and /listens/. He looks incredulous at first, as though he's not entirely sure that this conversation is really happening, and then… a smile. It's boyish and fleeting, but there none-the-less, punctuated by a brief huff of air that passes his lips and could be a laugh, but could be something else /entirely/. "I've never encountered the right kind of boring, then," he admits, amusement first and foremost despite the husky edge of his tones. Rezia's wink (which he likes a lot too) puts him right back on edge, however, back straightening as eyes meet and hold hers again; it's not /threatening/, but it's certainly making a point that he's not some meek, coddled, hold-bred boy that goes running in the face of women with entirely too much sexual appeal. Pritkin's gaze never wavers, never leaves, as she scoots from the table with a sound that might have been his hormones sounding off, but is /actually/ her jewelry, and then she's asking him that question. Pritkin doesn't even try to answer, but those green eyes do go a shade darker when she gives him /her/ response. Despite the evident interest, he doesn't move when she tells him to come; Pritkin's body goes alarmingly stiff, right up until she's plucking at his sleeve and he's very, very gently pulling away. "Is this a trick?" he inquires, tone soft, almost self-depreciating, but he /does/ gather his book, and he /does/ follow Rezia — albeit at a much slower pace.

"Remind me one of these days to get you this one history book… it's kind of amazing, you know?" But that's all that Rezia will say on that. She'll meet his eyes. She'll hold them right back. There's a spine of steel in her, but it's wrapped in the sweetest silk that ever was - all of which is, for those moments, plainly visible. All her cards are on the table - and they're all crazy. Or aces. Mostly crazy. She won't pull him along or anything like that; once he's moving and clearly following her, the brownrider will happily lead the way with an easy stride that suggests just how easy she might be. She cants a look over her shoulder at that, though, and she replies with a laugh, "Sweetie, please. I'm a hundred different things - but a liar, I'm not. Seriously. You really, really are interesting. But I just- well, come on!" And out she goes!

Pritkin doesn't know, but rest assured that one day he will take Rezia up on that offer and possibly even have an amicable, non-hormone-driven discussion with her about just how /amazing/ it was. Someday. Today, however, is for accessing if Rezia is the right kind of crazy and, evidently, deciding that she /is/. Her aces may be few and far between, but Pritkin is drawn to her hand regardless — why else would he be following her (cautiously) when he could very well stay? When she sways, Pritkin's eyes follow, cutting away only when the brownrider's looking over her shoulder at him, and laughing, and calling him names that give rise to sudden goosebumps even though there's /absolutely no reason for them to/. But he follows, and he's on her tail when she's out out of the living caverns with a respectable amount of space between them — possibly because his hands have plans for Rezia if she gets too close that he disagrees with on a deeply personal level. "What is it?" he inquires, skepticism in his voice. Trust her he /clearly/ does not.

And, boom. Brown dragon. Right there. Big and mottled - kind of bovine-printed, really - and, well. He's there. And if Pritkin thought Rezia was nosy? Well, this guy, he's pretty much all nose right about now. Because as soon as Pritkin's outside, having made the mistake of leaving too much space between himself and the hip-swinging rider? He'll be presented with a patchwork nose and slowly whirling eyes. "See? I told you!" But those words aren't for Pritkin. They're for the big lug that's staring at Pritkin. She dances over to hug one of the brown's forelegs and settles in a comfortable lean against the brown. Some sort of conversation is had between rider and dragon, though, this time, it's not out there for all of Pern to hear. With a faint snort, the brown finally lifts his head and issues a smooth-sounding rumble of satisfaction. "I told you," she laughs and the ambiguity of who she's speaking to is quickly cleared up as her gaze fixes, once more, on Pritkin. "He likes you. And, you know? Those eggs on the sands? He's pretty sure they'll like you a lot, too. So, hey. Whaddaya say, handsome? Feel like giving it a go? Standing, I mean? Pralayth has a pretty good nose on him, if I don't say so myself." And, through it all, her tone has been amused - but not at his expense. She's just that kind of person, playful to a fault and entirely too happy to tease without ill intentions. And if she's calling him handsome? Bets are good that she means it.

Brown dragon indeed. To say that Pritkin is startled by the majestic beast suddenly before him would be silly, because he's been at the weyr long enough to be well acquainted with random dragon encounters; what Pritkin is /not used to is those interesting noses and those tell-all eyes being so close. Despite the way the guard-in-training halts in the face of Rezia's life mate, there's no fear or rejection, but pure, unabashed wonder with a healthy dose of curiosity. It's definitely a good way to /keep/ his eyes from swaying hips and tempting brownriders that make his blood pressure rise in a maybe-but-maybe-not=so-good way. "Hello," he says softly, unsure of himself, bemused by the one-sided conversation and evident dialogue he can't hear at all. Being told that a dragon likes him has Pritkin flushing all over again, but it's Rezia's next words that finally have him blinking away from her brown and fixating on her instead. Handsome? Him? With the tragic nose, and the tragic hair that taunts gravity as often as it can? "Pralayth," he says instead of an answer, eyes jumping back to the dragon with another ghost of those boyish smiles before his attention snaps back to Rezia again. "I…" is his intelligent answer, because she's vying for a lot more than he's willing to give with her flirtations and her offers, and something that makes his heart speed up just a bit too much. "Yes." He settles on, with conviction. And then, "Yes." This time with a smile, a smile that reaches his eyes, followed by a brief laugh. "It would be my honor." Who on Pern would say /no/?

Pralayth approves. Why, that hello will even earn Pritkin a sly, draconic smile; just a slight gape of his maw and a closing of the lids on one eye and one eye only in a wink that might be more disturbing than he intends. All the same, the brown settles on his haunches, maw still gaped. There isn't a trace of smugness on him - at least, none that can be seen, but he's certainly proud and that's… well. It is what it is. And Rezia? She's almost beside herself with excitement. She bounces in place, claps her hands, and laughs so brightly that it sounds almost like bells. Or maybe it's just her bracelets. Either way, there's no way she could be happier - but, no. That's not quite right, is it? She skip-dances right on over to the newly minted candidate and beams. "You're the best," Rezia chirps and, without preamble, leans in to plant a warm and reasonably chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth. And then she'll press in with a quick hug and a murmured, "I'm Rezia, by the bye. Now- if you'll follow me…" So. Inside. Outside. And now inside again, but, this time, off to somewhere a little more private - and, by private, she naturally means populated with other candidates milling about and settling in.

It might be disturbing to anybody else, but Pritkin is so caught up in being asked to stand and /speaking with dragons/ (okay, not really, but he /feels/ that way) that the smile and the wink are filtered through the part of his brain that deems this very moment to be /untouchable/. Green eyes are all for Rezia as the woman draws attention back to herself with that much-too-distracting laugh as she bounces, and claps, and leaves Pritkin's stomach doing very odd things that seem to mimic her every movement. It's why he's caught off-guard when he's suddenly got an armful (because his arms do come around her instinctively) of brownie, who is giving him even more compliments, and sealing the deal with a chaste-to-everybody-/but/-teenage-boys-with-hormones kiss. Rezia's hug is not returned, despite the hands firmly on her waist, and when she's murmuring her name, he finally releases her with all of that excitement buried beneath a flush and eyes that are dark with something much more than appreciation. "Pritkin," comes the soft growl, unthreatening, but definitely there. And she's coaxing him away again, but he follows without question this time, because it's only logical that she would lead him to his new, temporary 'home'.

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