Little Fish

Day 22 of Month 8 of Turn 2714
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Rec Cavern
This large cavern is painted a pleasant shade of pale blue-green, with purple highlights along borders. The weyr's badge is featured in a twin tapestries hanging on either side of the entry. Directly inside the doors and to the right is an area with bookshelves and a long computer desk for the public computer. Several chairs line the desk so that people waiting for the computer may pursue other studies. To the left of the entrance is a sitting area with a chess set built into a table.
Along the wall to the left is a bar, set up against the storage closet. Tall metal chairs with bright purple and blue-green cushions line the bar; beside the bar is a pair of gambling machines. Prior to recent renovations, the bar was set up on the other side of the room in front of a huge mirror inset into the wall. Now that mirror is behind a slightly elevated stage featuring a piano recently built by the Harper Hall and transported to the islands. Several music stands and musician's chairs are stacked against the wall, for use when Harpers or weyrfolk desire to perform.
Along the wall opposite the entrance are dart boards, each with a set of couches and chairs nearby for relaxation between turns. And all throughout the room are sitting areas with similarly constructed couches and chairs, all featuring blue-green or purple fabric. Short, darkly stained wooden tables are centered inside each sitting area, for games, food, drinks, and whatever else weyrfolk need. Near the center of the room is a large, long table useable both for crafty pursuits or table tennis, and interspersed throughout the room are card tables with wooden, cushioned chairs.

Once again, the day has drawn long into night, the caverns mostly emptied of their occupants as the hour reaches towards - but does not quite achieve - unholiness, and one must wonder: do Ila'den and R'hyn even exist by the light of day? Are they vampires? Or are they dancer? So many questions, but none that will be answered by the likes of R'hyn; the bronzerider has claimed one of the room's couches in a long-legged sprawl, shoulders wedged between the furniture arm and backing, toes of one foot tapping against the far arm in a slow, steady rhythm. His other knee has been drawn up towards his chest, pen alternating between flying across the pages of a journal and stagnance that matches that peculiar dragon-fueled look in his eyes as he stares off into space. One slow breath. Two. And then he breaks from whatever thought was plaguing him, letting his gaze drift towards the only other figure presently occupying the room. Distance trades, then, for quiet warmth, a crooked curl of a smile at one corner of his mouth almost sad if it weren't also pleased, wistful perhaps the better word as he finally folds his journal and sets it aside to just watch.

Sleep is a fickle thing, something that a young lanky dolphineer can't quite get her clutches on to judge from the over large t-shirt which reads 'Surfers do it better' and shorts she wears. Of course, if sleep can't be found chaos is always a little better. Bending over the back of the couch to snatch up said journal with deft fingers, Of course, her plan halts as she actually registers what she is listening to, bent over the back of the couch and watching the Man at the piano. "Hm, Asshole or Artist. Just - can't quite figure that one out." Tani murmurs almost in R'hyn's ear, though the closeness isn't quite intentional. She just wanted to pilfer the book.

Or maybe there's a rhyme and a reason to why Ila'den is here with R'hyn, a reason (or two) that has nothing to do with time, or species, or space; a reason (or two) that lends logic to why Ila'den does not cease the press of fingers to ivory keys when it's no longer just himself and R'hyn in the rec cavern - not that it ever was. Tanit's appearance would normally have called for a halt to the way Ila'den's too-big body leans over the keys, body moving in a pianist's music-lost back and forth, eyes closed with an expression that seems to lend more emotion to an already emotive performance. His head moves in time to the beat, subtle, keeping pace with his body, with his hands, as if he's not simply playing, but feeling what he plays; as if the music begins in the piano and moves through him, or moves through him to the piano. It's hard to know which. But there she - they - are, the reasons 'why' that transcend decades of reservation and an almost aggressive unwillingness to share anything that might lead to questions of a distasteful past: Ibysglei and Heribly, strapped to Ila'den's chest in a wrap with tiny faces peeking out from where they've been bundled in that harness. They watched with a dazed kind of incognizance; that perennial fight against sleep that drives children to be unbearably fussy in their desperation to keep eyes open and the inconsolable disquiet that comes when they are finally ready to sleep but no longer able. "Sailing, soaring over the moon - gathering star dust. Be still, be safe, be sure…" And yes, R'hyn is curled up writing words in his journal, and Ila'den is singing in time to the music he plays - a lullaby that's not nearly long enough and, upon its end (and the stirring of little girls), leads the way into another song. This one without words, as Ila'den shifts long enough to focus that grey eye on Tanit and R'hyn. Apparently he heard you, Tani, because there's a tugging at the corner of Ila'den's lips - wry, almost, something self-deprecating in the gesture as if he's presently too tired to keep up his usual acerbic humor. "Just an asshole," he answers Tanit, "wouldn't want people to get the wrong impression." Ila's attention shifts to R'hyn, studying his weyrmate with a muted, weighted look before Ila'den looks away and focuses on what he's playing.

Who knows how long they might've gone on like that, R'hyn's head resting on the edges of pillows, gaze soft as he watches his weyrmate play, sing, emote his way through their daughters' lullaby; forever, probably, if not for Tanit's timely intervention. R'hyn laughs through his surprise, volume quiet but eyes lit up with amusement as he takes in the sleepless dolphineer's form. He allows the snatching of his journal (it's filled with ramblings concerning candidate emancipation in vague legalese, more power to her if she can follow the trains of thought intermixed between human and dragon), instead letting his wide smile dim down to something much like Ila'den's - wry, sardonic, tinged with honest amusement and gentle reproof both when he says, "Why not both?" And maybe said reproof is for Ila'den - R'hyn's gaze certainly moves to meet the bronzerider's, corners of his mouth pressed back hard enough that honest-to-Faranth dimples attempt a hostile takeover of his cheeks before finally he speaks again. "I'll let you in on a little secret," because tonight is apparently the kind of night for sharing things that might ordinarily be kept close to the vest, "I couldn't stand him when I first met him, either. He was charming, sure, but also rude, presumptive. Pushy. Some might even say he was a bit of a dick." There's something fond that's creeping up in his tone, though, lips slowly curling until they go faintly crooked, canines showing on one side. "That's the funny thing about Ila'den, though. He'll let you think whatever you want to think because you're your own person entitled to your own damn opinion; you're not going to change him, so why should he change you?" Blue-greys shift to observe the man in question as he speaks words intended for him as much as they are to let Tanit in, not loud, but not keeping quiet, either. "But he'll also be the first person there when there's trouble, and the last person to leave when finally it's done. He never raises his voice, and in a world that revolves around showing deference to your superiors and kissing someone's ass to curry favors, you somehow always know where you stand with him, even when it isn't good." A tilt of his head. "He's an artist and and asshole, but mostly he's just a human." And judging from the subtle reverence underlaying the amusement in his tone? One of the better ones. He doesn't add more, however, perhaps because that's it, or perhaps because the last thing Ila'den ever wants is people to look at him too keenly, to start asking why and yet here R'hyn is going in for the sabotage, and so he drops the edge of softness out of his tone to better consider Tanit again, taking in the little aspects of her couch-slung appearance before asking, "Why are you awake?"

Like light to a vytol, the music draws Tanit in, her lean over the couch becomes an awkward crawl/roll over that ends with Tanit settling cushions cross-legged next to R'hyn with very little regard for personal space. The are pages perused but ultimately, the book is passed back with the sort of disappointment one might expect of a twelve-year-old boy who just stole his sister's diary only to discover he'd grabbed calculus homework by mistake. Ila'den's comment, however, is treated with a soft laugh, "No you aren't. Not completely, an Asshole would have left the mother or their mate to deal with the fuss." Oh yes, she may have just noticed the sleeping babes, but she did notice. And as R'hyn goes on to speak, Tani's focus shifts, listening intently to what the bronzerider has to say on his weyrmate with an almost smug grin. "It seems to be a very common condition." Being human. Of her own insomnia, there is a little sigh and a shrug. Does Pern have dragonlag? "Probably spending too much time in Ista messing with my internal clock." Not that she is complaining about it, "And you know… spending hours removing a lime grove from my tiny room. Really I wish I could get away with stringing up a hammock on the beach, where I can listen to the waves."

And Ila'den plays, perhaps listening to a conversation that isn't directed towards him (though it certainly involves him), perhaps not. Ila'den doesn't react. He doesn't respond to Tanit, he doesn't respond to R'hyn, he simply moves in the way that music bids he move: fingers moving without hesitation across keys in a melody so much more complex than the simplicity of the lullaby before, expression punctuated by the emotion bled into the song. Ibsy and Herib the Cherub doze, and when the song is finished, Ila'den shifts himself carefully so as not to disturb either daughter as grey eyes fix on R'hyn again - and then Tanit. Back to R'hyn. There's a brief moment that passes without expression, that's broken by the corners of Ila'den's lips finally pulling and then stretching too wide into a grimace that lingers as he breathes, "Aye, well. I suppose that depends on who you talk to, husband. I'm sure Iris has a very different idea of who I am and what I've done inside of her head." His attention shifts momentarily to Tanit. "And whether or not I left my 'mate to deal with the fuss." It's odd for Ila'den to open up about anything, but perhaps tonight is just one of those nights that welcomes loose tongues and begs for secrets in sultry tones that are hard to ignore, and even harder to deny. Regardless, the bronzerider is moving to his feet with careful, practiced movements, the little ones stirring (though not enough to wake) as he gives his legs a moment to adjust to the fact that he is now standing before he goes limping towards R'hyn and Tani. Carefully, carefully Ila'den is pulling Ibsy free, handing her off to R'hyn before handing Heribly over as well. THEY WILL DEAL WITH GETTING THEM BACK IN THAT HARNESS LATER. But for now? Maybe Ila'den's grey eye trekking over the insides of the rec caverns before he's dropping to press a kiss against R'hyn's head is an indication that he needs a drink. There's another glance spared for Tanit, and then Ila's ON HIS WAY TO THE BAR. "Anyway, who says you can't string up a hammock on the beach?" A beat. "Fuck them and do it anyway." Yep, Ila'den's digging out a glass and some whiskey, pouring maybe too much. "What are they going to do, little bird? Throw you in the brig?" And yes, that's huff of laughter is sardonic as he knocks his drink back and fills up another. "They aren't going to touch you."

If Heryn minds his personal space being invaded, it doesn't show - instead he slides long legs out of the way to make room for Tanit and then puts them right back, dropping soft, close-clothed limbs right onto the dolphineer's lap with a crook of brows as though daring her to deny him after scootching on in in the first place. The return of his journal is met with a crooked, knowing grin and a wink, but for now, defense of his weyrmate's person given, he's more than content to let vocal silence stretch. Instead he thumps his head sideways onto the couch cushion again, watching Ila'den play with as much mesmerization as the bronzer shows the instrument, gaze riveted as though trying to memorize every aspect of the moment - and maybe he is. It's over too soon, after all, a small eternity of poignant notes and song-spun expressions in reality only the passing of a few minutes. Then the music ends, and the spell breaks, and R'hyn doesn't dignify grimaced words with an immediate answer, instead focusing on Tanit with a very pointed, "Isn't it just?" As for Iris: "Aye, well, I forgive her her decidedly unwelcome opinions, then. To err is to be human, after all," said damningly, for all that the word intimate clemency, a small frown notching the space between his brows without his realization as R'hyn takes first one daughter, then the other with equal care, worming lower on the couch the better to settle them both on either side of his chest with a brush of thumbs over tiny elbows. Blue-grey eyes fall shut for that forehead kiss, brittle tension leaving the bronzerider on a sigh, irritated notch gone again by the time Ila moves on. "The pitfalls of instantaneous travel - all that borrowed time has to get shifted somewhere," R'hyn says on a quiet huff of a laugh, eyeing Tanit with curiosity. "Ista, though. What takes you there?" Because somehow he's missed out on all talk of Cenrie! His expression goes a special sort of shifty for talk of lime trees though, itty smirks playing around both corners of his mouth while Ila comes to her defense. Mustn't laugh. It'll jar the babies! Mustn't laugh. Nod. Nodnod. "That. Also fuck whatever asshole filled your room with limes. They got us too. Office. Riddled with 'em. Hammocks, too." Just - not the kind she's talking about. "It was a travesty."

The comment as much as the unusual amount of sharing are both duly noted, "Is Iris the one you - punched in the nose?" Tanit whispers to R'hyn gesturing vaguely. "I doubt it would merit the brig, but I don't quite trust everyone in this place not to do something - awkward." Like pencil in lime green mustaches or worse. "Maybe if I find a nice stretch well enough away from the main beach." She bites her lower lip before the words 'not a bird' can even be uttered. She does study the two girls however with muted interest. "You will laugh." She says pointedly of Ista, not seeming to mind much the legs now plopped on her person, though it does make it difficult to get a drink. "Would you mind grabbing me a drink please Ila?" Since his weyrmate with two sleeping babes has her pinned. "I'm sure he gets fucked plenty." Tanit notes her mouth quirking at the corner, "Clearly we have a new terror plaguing Half Moon." Watching R'hyn settle with the girls.

Everything good has to come to an end - though there will be a piano in their weyr soon enough (LOOKING INTO THE FUTURE AND SHIT, SUCH PROPHETIC HAPPENINGS) and R'hyn can enjoy poignant notes and song-spun expressions for however long he likes - probably longer than that, even. For now, he gets to enjoy Ila'den's humor as it curls the corners of mouth in something that's deviant even while being self-deprecating. "I thought you might, given her unwelcome opinions are probably why I get to call you weyrmate. I'm certainly glad she walked away, even if I wasn't at the time." And Iris wasn't wrong to leave him; it was dark times, and the goldrider did what she thought was best for their children. Despite heartache and rage, Ila'den simply can't hate the goldrider for that. It doesn't mean he's coming to her defense either; simply just another one of those things that Ila'den acknowledges in the mirror and hates about himself. He leans against the bar as he partakes of his alcohol, grey eye on weyrmate and weyrmate-trapped dolphineer as they speak in cryptic words that Ila'den understands some of (and they leave him grinning into his next drink). But Tanit's request is acknowledged amicably enough: Ila'den pours her a glass of whiskey and makes his way back to the quartet taking up all of the space on the couch, shifting into a crouch as he extends the requested drink to Tani (he didn't ask what she wanted, but he's of the opinion that she can get it her damn self if she doesn't like it), and then he's shifting to sit on the ground there, leaning he weight into the couch as he finds a spot to place his elbow - probably in a small space that means he's making contact with R'hyn and Tanit's legs both. "I disagree. I think he probably doesn't get fucked nearly enough," Ila'den drawls on dry humor, accent slipping in to lilt words with a rasp of husky tones and not-from-here burr. "But it was a shame about our office - kind of. The speedos were surprisingly comfortable." He brought his own drink over, and he sips on it while he stares at Tanit because he's onto you (and yes, that's mirth in his expression) before he's reaching out one hand to smooth gently over the backs of babes, watching them rest on R'hyn. A beat, and then, "So is it a boy then, little fish?" MAYBE HE KNEW TANIT STOPPED HERSELF FROM SAYING IT; there's certainly amusement in the delivery of the new nickname.

R'hyn's eyes slide, sly, in Tanit's direction for her whispered words, lips quirking up at one corner as much an affirmative as anything, but he adds a wry, "It is." Yes. That ex-weyrmate that he punched in the face for perhaps this exact reason, but there's no return of brittle irritation - he chuckles instead for Ila'den's assessment of the situation, eyes rolling ceilingwards with no less affection even as he offers a sighed, "Yes. I suppose her foolhardiness did work in our favor." He's ready to shift topics, though, eyes lighting up at the idea that someone might do something to Tanit were she to sleep in the open. "Probably. Might be worth it, though. Set up a few of those little trip-up snares to send any would-be wrong-doers running and otherwise enjoy the peace and quiet." Beat. "Maybe come fall, though. The insects'd eat you alive right now." So see! She has time to plan. There comes a soft choking noise for the idea that the lime-perp gets and also does not get fucked enough, but given he can neither confirm nor deny in order to continue the unspoken war between them, he can only bite his lip, take a deep breath, and manage, "Poor bastard." Throat clear. "And by that I mean, yes. Plague. Terrible. He should be punished." Such tongue. Such cheek. Such tongue-in-cheek. He moves on with a hum of agreement for the speedos being comfy, brows raising on a low affirmative noise. "Wore his the whole day. Kadesh claims we made her blind, but I think that was a previous condition." Grandma sass! And then Ila's asking if it's a boy she's seeing, and R'hyn can't help but fix her with a droll look, smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Or a girl. Or a neither. We don't judge." We just sit here and look smug while we hold cute babies and wiggle our legs to seat them up against Ila'den's arms. Nothing to see here.

While whiskey wasn't precisely what the dolphineer had in mind, she accepts it without complaint. Small sips are taken from the glass as she listens wrapping both hands around the drink. Tanit will very gently shift her legs enough to give Ila a comfortable space, grabbing one of the cushions and using it presumably to help the gray eyed bronzer get more comfortable. R'hyn's confirmation earns an almost approving grin from Tani. The comment of how often R'hyn gets fucked only earns a smirk, but wearing the speedos? she chokes on the whiskey, some how managing not to spill the liquid all over poor R'hyn's legs. R'hyn's additions, however, make it impossible to keep the peal of laughter from bubbling out, sorry babies. "I'm sure someone somewhere well quite make sure that he is adequately overfucked then." She fights the laugh back down, hoping she hasn't caused too much kerfuffle to the sleepy infants. The nickname earns Ila'den a far warmer smile, satisfied with the change - however small. "Not - exactly a boy." Cough. It's the whiskey she tried to breathe, honest, not that she is actually shy about the 10 turn age difference. NOT THAT ANYONE IN THIS ROOM CAN JUDGE. Cough. "J'en's older brother." She has a thing for older men - shut up. "You'd never know it though if you stood the two of them next to each other."

LA-LA-LA-LA-LA Ila'den totally doesn't hear exchanges about his once-weyrmate or R'hyn's fist connecting with her face; he does, however, hear R'hyn's assessment and see that eyeroll. "Well, it worked in mine, anyway. I don't think you got so lucky," comes from around one of those wolfish smiles. Ila'den's decidedly not quiet when it comes back around to who's getting fucked and maybe overfucked and there's a lot of choking going on around him. PLAGUE INDEED. But for all Tanit's enthusiasm in her laughter, Ila'den's answer is a quiet smile even as one of the babies - Ibsy, Heribly - stirs with a soft sound of protest and then settles back into slumber again. Babies are pretty incredible sleepers, especially when there are big warm hands on their backs soothing them with gentle pats. "Well, good for whoever is or is not fucking him. At least somebody is getting fucked in this weyr," and one hand goes up, as the bronzerider amends, "Other than J'en and S'van, I mean." Dry humor, sarcasm at its finest, a roll of that grey eye towards his weyrmate as Grandma is dragged into the conversation and Ila'den leans in closer to R'hyn with a devilish smile. "I enjoyed her expression when we reminded her she was quite well after she fucked you the first time." THE FIRST TIME? "And me. And how she left when we threatened her with a repeat performance." With some scathing remark, probably, about retreating before they started to breed and Kadesh lost her head in some kind of hedonistic ritual of sex and blood and death. Ila'den's taking a sip of his drink, deviance shifting to Tanit as the little dolphineer speaks about boyfriends and OLDER MEN who are SIBLINGS TO JAE and okay, maybe it's Ila'den's turn to choke a little on his drink. Give him a moment, he's definitely not laughing. "Dangerous game you're playing at, little fish. I've got it on good authority that older men are trouble in relationships."

R'hyn; shameless. He meant to elicit a reaction from Tanit in regards to the wearing of speedos, smirk on the feral side of sharp when it earns chokes and bright laughter. He buries it somewhat in a nuzzling of his nose against Ibsyglei's hair, lips pressing gently to her forehead even as he shifts his attention to Ila'den instead. "I'm luckier than you give either of us credit for." So there! As for the topic of adequate fucking going on in this weyr, "Yes. Good for that guy. Faranth knows its none of us." Right. No. Definitely not. Especially not with that boyfriend (er, man… MANfriend?) reveal going on over there. Speaking of J'en and S'van… "His older brother." Oh it's fucking Christmas in R'hyn's brain right now, and he's trying very hard to likewise repress six and a quarter feet of sheer amusement. "I'm not even going to ask how he feels about that." Mostly because it's rude and Jae's opinion has //nary a damn thing to do with Tanit's happiness. "So long as he makes you happy," luckily gets uttered before Ila gets to be horrible, the bronzerider's choice of words earning a small shiver and a pull of toes against couch cushions. They might have ended with 'little fish,' but Heryn shoots Ila a look anyways, replying with a smirked, "The worst trouble. It's terrible. I don't recommend it." Yes he does. He might even say so, except there comes a hiccup of baby distress from his chest, one that repeats, takes a turn for the confused as Heribly pushes up onto forearms, disoriented and not at all pleased that there is light and voices and stimulation and— "But that is perhaps a conversation for another time," said increasingly loudly as legs are finally pulled from Tanit's lap, apology in his gaze as he shifts to hand Ila'den a squirming Ibsyglei. "I think it's time to get home. I feel a meltdown coming on. Good luck with your hammock and your man-date, little fish," he says, taking up the moniker even as he leans to bonk head and shoulders against hers in a gentle collision that would've been a sideways hug if not for armfull of now-screaming infant. "I'll keep you apprised of any lime-related developments." Wink. And then he's rocking to his feet, journal abandoned as he pads, barefoot, out of the room.

FUSSY BABIES. That's definitely a reason to say goodbye, if his weyrmate's retreat is not. Either way, Ila'den is taking Ibsy when she's handed to him, bundling her back against his chest in the wrap as brows raise at Tanit and he dips his head towards her. "Give him hell, little fish." And he's following R'hyn too.

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