Stolen Things

Winter - Month 12 of Turn 2715
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Sundered Solitude Weyr Ledge

Language Warning

Why the fuck did Toith take Leketh's straps? Because they were there that's why. And that is the only reason she gives R'sner for the theft. Because they were there. « Right there. Beggin' me. So's I took 'em, » with all manner of smug delight over the acquisition of an item that decidedly DOES NOT BELONG TO HER. But after many, many turns together, R'sner has given up attempting to reason with his dragon when she was glowing. It was far easier to snag the stolen item, and return it to the rightful owner… while Toith was asleep. At least Leketh's straps are distinct enough that R'sner can identify who to return them too (sometimes, not so lucky with other items taken without warning. Like beach towels, lawn furniture, small animals… they just… show up on the ledge and he gets to deal with it). And so it is that in the middle of the day, while Toith is stretched out and snoozing in the sun, that R'sner arrives via helpful blue dragon; a coil of distinctive red-and-black straps around his shoulders. A dubious look is given the resident dragon, should he be on the ledge, and then cobalt blue eyes scan the area for somewhere to leave the returned items; maybe a rack or something… but no luck. Gonna have to suck it up and actually knock on the fucking door. Cue long-suffering sigh of resignation.

Oh, Leketh was there alright, where else would he be? All stretched out and sunning his pale bronze hide on his ledge, a ledge that was all his since the move from the other weyr. Aedeluth, whom he had to share with until recently, had his own on the crest above and only stopped on his when he needed to pick up and drop off. Fine by him really, because he was massive and impressive and oh so lazy. He lifts his head when the blue arrives and drops off someone, someone carrying something very familiar. Whirling blue facets hone in and then his head swivels towards the door, the door that was opening with a WHOOSH, after a series of wet sounding foot slaps to bare stone sometimes muffled by carpet. "Whadda ya mean they're….back…" The question dies on his lips as he stands there, dripping and fighting to make a knot on his hip with a towel as golden eyes find a complete stranger standing before him apparently poised to knock but never having been given an opportunity. Just a towel and barely at that, droplets of water still plopping away from his freshly showered hair, racing down otherwise quite a lot of skin. Tattoos, lip piercing, that uniquely hued gaze that was rapidly narrowing as it dropped to an armful of straps that did not belong to this stranger. Bad attitude, check. Couldn't be anyone other than Archipelago Wingleader J'en, not that anyone could be mistaken for the twenty-one turn old. He stuck out like a proverbial sore thumb amongst his peers, if one could manage to convince him to mingle. Notoriously antisocial, the only company he kept was a very select few and the most prominent amongst them a young bronzerider named S'van whom he'd weyrmated, the rumors say he seduced him while he was still a candidate. Bad redfruit? Probably. A low growl and golden eyes lift, tracking up the slightly shorter greenrider, that what the knot said there, as it also said Weyrlingmaster. He mutters something under his breath, gaze darting to the man's face. Instant dislike? Looks like it.

Poised to knock. Fist made, hand raised, wrist flexed in such a manner to suggest that he was, literally, about to put knuckles to wood and announce himself. Only instead of heavy door, there's now a whole lotta manflesh standing in front of him. Very… naked manflesh. Just… muscles. And water. And HOT. And R'sner is certainly not going to be rapping his knuckles against muscly, tattooed pectorals, nope. So his hand is removed quickly enough; yanked away before it has a chance to even consider colliding with flesh. It is doubtful that this is the first time he's laid eyes upon the Archipelago Wingleader, though certainly the first time he's been in such proximity. And… in such a state of undress. It is a natural thing for movement to catch the eye, and there was a whole lot of movement happening with the flinging open of doors, the tying off of towels, the racing of waterdroplets over all of that… muscle and skin… just.. SO much fucking skin. Is R'sner staring? He might me staring, though he has the grace not to look thoroughly embarrassed, and he certainly doesn't turn any pretty colors (nope, no blushing here; not that kinda greenrider). A heartbeat later and his eyes go up, meeting those uniquely colored golden orbs with a gaze that doesn't waver. It is not particularly brave or challenging, it is simply steady and passive. R'sner has no reason to cower and no reason to square off, and other than the brief moment of gawking because he was caught off guard, his expression remains rather composed. A step back, and he's put at least an arm's length between himself and the half-naked (and very, very young. So young. WAY TOO FUCKING YOUNG) … (and weyrmated) Wingleader. "Toith stole your straps." Yup. Totally. "I'm bringing them back." Is there an 'I'm sorry,' in there? No. No there isn't.

J'en did not pay attention to people unless he absolutely had to and not for longer than he had to, usually, to growl or glare at them. Mostly, there was a whole lot of ignoring and avoiding. Eyes dart to the hand that drops, minute tension seeping into his tattooed shoulders, before pulling that knot there very tight. Emphasis. The young Wingleader might just be accustomed to being stared or gawked at, giving it about as much attention as he would a vytol, in that it was annoying but not worth much more than a swat if it got too close. That R'sner backs off and puts space between them, removes minute traces of the tightness from his frame. All dragonriders had his sort of musculature and those that were weyrbred or riders for a long time, tended to show a heck of a lot of skin around especially when they were in such a tropical location such as this one. Nothing out of the ordinary, surely. Swiping the hair out of his face with a swipe of his hand through the darkness of hair, he jerks his chin to the alcove further down the length of stone from the entry, tacked over with a tarp made of oiled hide. In there, all sorts of necessities for tending to dragons, removing the need to track quite so much sand through what looked like immaculately tidy weyr if those cobalt blues can manage to look past all of J'en, to the space beyond him. "So put 'em back and get the fuck off mah ledge…" Leketh snorts, drawing his attention that direction. "Fine, yer ledge, whatever." With that he turns away, revealing all the scars that liter his back, crisscrossing and marring flesh as well as each other. Back of his neck though, teeth had to be entirely responsible for that one. Too fucking young, and so not a people person, slamming the door shut again by kicking at it with a foot.

Typical dragonrider physique. Tropical environment where clothing is apparently optional. Weyrbred background. Sure. All of that is true. But that did not exempt one from appreciating all of that musculature. On display. And dripping water. And briefly close enough to actually see individual droplets racing each other down all of that aforementioned skin. At least until there's space, and eyes are averted to more appropriate places. Like faces. Even if that face is decidedly unfriendly, and now barking orders at him. "Uh…" and that is a very 'yeah, no' tone to that ineloquent exhaled sound. But really, it's the 'fuck off mah ledge' that flips the switch from 'returning your property because it's the responsible thing to do' respectful demeanor to 'fuck you and the dragon you rode in on'. Tense jaw, narrowed eyes in a distinctly 'are you perhaps a foreign species I need to examine under a microscope' manner. A flick of his gaze for the alcove, and back in time to get a door slammed in his face. A rather deep frown for that, though not particularly surprised. Either that, or he's rather good at not showing it. Another sigh, a hand to his forehead where fingers pinch and rub. If there's a remark to be made, it remains in his head and, while there is a smart turning on his heels and a few steps taken, there is definitely NO putting those straps in the alcove. Nope. They get dumped against the side of the wall, all in a heap, and instantly forgotten. At least Leketh gets a gruff, "Sorry," for Toith stealing his things and R'sner abandoning them in a mess, muttered as he passes on by to that waiting blue dragon.

Not that the weyrlingmaster would do more than look, which Jae was not inclined to draw attention to, unless it progressed past looking. Then, they would have a very serious problem. However, that does not happen, and so things do not excel past general rude and unfriendliness. The poor man might not be aware just how mellow of a reaction this was for the wingleader, who had spent most of dawn ranting and raving at his weyrmate over the location of those straps and had been too pissed off to catch a ride with him to work. Mostly because he hadn't wanted to put his wingriders through the kind of hell his direction would have brought them being as worked up as he'd been. So there was snarling and cussing, from his bed, begrudgingly forcing himself to accept that new straps might be in order when he decided on a shower. Then, well, the rest was pretty clear. Click. Yep, J'en locked the door after that slam, so even when R'sner is so ruffled by his demeanor and decides to just dump some very expensive custom crafted straps to the bare ledge, it doesn't look like he'll be coming out again anytime soon. Which he does not, not until he is dressed and the greenrider has departed. That's when he'll reappear and pick up them up, inspecting them for damage from all the tossing around and stolen away by dragons. None found, he strides across that ledge, and puts them away himself unhappy that they were taken in the first place but having already dismissed the unwelcomed visitor. Unlikely to even mention him other than to say that someone returned them. Leketh though, he's a very polite dragon, rumbling back at the weyrlingmaster, which might have been given in gratitude but its difficult to say for sure. Seemed like it though, even if he makes no move to stop the greenrider or even stretch his neck out to snuffle at him. No, he reserves that for his straps, nosing and poking at them a bit but not about to put them back either even if he knew how. His rider had made his bed, and now he had to sleep in it. Though putting straps away properly and mentally noting to do something about security was hardly much of a punishment, that, might just come later.

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