Big Red Threatening Button

Monaco Bay Weyr - Mossy Lined Cenote
Sunlight shines through the opening at the top of this cenote, creating a spotlight-like effect on the forty-five-foot-deep pool of water below, which in turn casts a gorgeous turquoise hue upon the surrounding limestone walls. Draped in hanging vines and snips of ivy, this place offers a special secluded spot, to beat the heat as well as a surreal swimming experience for locals and tourists alike. Snorkeling is particularly entertaining here, as swimmers can get up close and personal with fish and turtles, plus stunning stalactites and stalagmites. Flats of rock around the edges of the pool, coated in thick moss, offer surprisingly comfortable places of rest or to enjoy a meal. A stairway carved out of the stone itself leads to a long winding tunnel that empties out into the jungle serves as exit and entrance, that is, unless diving in from the top doesn't sound appealing.


It's summer. It's hot. It's stupid hot. Why do people even live here? S'van and J'en have got the right idea though, they've taken refuge with a few other privvy individuals in one of the cenotes scattered around the island. The bronzerider pair has chosen one of the mossy outcroppings along the side, laid out a blanket upon it, and appear to be in the middle of eating their lunch straight out of the picnic basket they brought it down in. Both are wearing swim suits and have wet hair, but only J'en is persistently dressed in a tank top, specifically to keep the scars that peek out from beneath it along his back covered as much as possible.

"Yes, but I don't think this is the way," comes a familiar-enough Fortian rasp from around the bend of the tunnel-path, and sure enough there's Xhaevyr who is stepping into the light from the darkness, blinking his grey-green eyes from the sudden change in lighting. The young man wears low-slung khaki shorts and a loose short-sleeved shirt that's only laced halfway shut, revealing an expanse of collarbone that's blushed red from persistent sunlight. Behind him argues an older, querulous voice that resolves into a man with a Smith master's knot and skin even paler than Xhaevyr's. "Oh, but does it even matter you stubborn little prat — oh!" the baritone abruptly ceases when the older man gazes across the beautiful sight with a visible sense of marvel.

S'van might just be enjoying all that stupid-hot weather. At least today. Although, he's also got a deep appreciation and somewhat unhealthy (at least J'en might think it unhealthy) fascination with places that are stupid-cold, too. Today, it's the former rather than the latter, and the weyrsecond looks pretty content about it. He's got a sandwich in one hand, a weyrmate in the other (at least his arm is definitely draped over those tattooed shoulders) and he's fixing to take a bite out of the first one (and maybe the second, later) when the general serenity of the place is broken by argument and then dawning marvel. A twist of his head, an arch of his eyebrow, and he just smirks in somewhat smug satisfaction at the pair of smiths who seem to have stumbled upon the place. What, exactly, he has to be smug about? Who the heck knows.

Stupid-cold places? Probably Jae's least favorite thing on the planet, which is why S'van's had a hell of a time convincing him to take a vacation to Fort of High Reaches. However, the raven-haired half of the equation hated being too hot as well, so they had an A/C unit built into their house. Given the weyrsecond's pension for extremes in weather, its a safe bet that coming down to the cenote in order to beat the heat, was probably not his idea. Not that it seemed as if either bronzerider was hating on the experience, arms slung over shoulders, that lean of tattooed flesh into well-tanned skin while munching down on cold slabs of roast wherry. Golden eyes lift and dart towards the new male voices, recognizing at least one of them, but offering both a bob of his head in greeting. Then, it's like J'n could detect the smug, his shoulders stiffening in micro-increments before sliding his gaze towards his weyrmate, before it narrows to dangerous slits. The juices and grease that had escaped from the cold cut he'd just finished are suckled off the tips of his fingers, one brow arching upwards ever so slowly. Whatchu all smug about, says that look.

If anyone knows about being senselessly smug, it would be Xhaevyr — but he doesn't seem to notice, focused instead upon his old Master. The man steps out fully into the light, still drinking in the sights. So it takes a minute for the candidate to glance around and notice everyone's favorite #sven sunning themselves and flagrantly… svenning… in public? Whatever. It doesn't have to make sense, it's a Xhae pose. "No, I don't really think it's a good idea to approach the water, sir, pardon my — watch your step," Xhaevyr's pulled back to the older Smith who is starting toward the water with PURPOSE. His pathway will pull him directly past the weyrsecond and his tattooed weyrmate.

What is he smug about? Does there need to be a reason? He just is! Or at least, he's smirking, and it's definitely one of the smart-ass smug variety smirks that raises hackles and narrows eyes (at least, if you're J'en it does). But S'van is currently oblivious to accusatory glares from his weyrmate, gaze still on the pair that have recently entered the space, mouth occupied with chewing (and smirking), as he just observes all casual-like from his spot on the blanket. That purposeful path at least has him jerking back a bit, reaching out to snag the edge of the blanket lest it be trod-upon, and a less-than-amused (but still somehow SORT OF amused) look for the flagrant disregard to all the lounging and enjoying of serenity that they were trying to enjoy here. "Doesn't bite," he offers, for the water, thankfully having swallowed that bite of sandwich so it's only words that fly out of his mouth and NOT food. "Some people even swim in it." Like the two bronzeriders on the blanket. They totally swam in it.

Not accusatory. Suspicious. Not that S'van is noticing much of anything aside from potentially blanket encroaching smiths, even as J'en is scooting back and away to make room for the sudden foot traffic only after grabbing the food laden basket of goodness. "Dun recommend if ya can't swim," he helpfully tacks on for the smiths' benefit all in his toneless Istan-accent thick tenor, rearranging things so that he was now resting up against the wall of the cavern with his back, drawing his knees up towards his chest.

It IS suspicious when S'van is that smug, it is true. Xhaevyr is here, in this brightly lit piece of paradise tucked away from general notice, following along an older, stoutly-built man with the ornate shoulder-trappings of a Smithcraft master. The man is ENTIRELY heedless of the two dragonmen having a picnic next to the path he picks heading toward the turquoise waters. Xhae's forehead vexing seems to indicate that a facepalm or a migraine is coming on; either way he's stuck here looking pained, moving after the older man. "Eh? You say something, sonny?" the older Smith says when J'en says what he does, turning and squinting down at the two men. Maybe it's the Istan accent that draws his attention when he TOTALLY didn't hear S'van's comment earlier. Xhae pulls up and silently stands a few steps away, an eyebrow lifted for both the bronzeriders.

What looks suspiciously like an attempt to be away from the madding crowd is being spoiled for the two Riders. A crowd has formed on this not a widely travelled path. There are so few chances for a candidate to be alone that Cinnitha had thought they she, too, could profit from how out of the way of other candidates, other Riders, inopportune conversations and just the hubbub of living in a barracks. It seemed like a little piece of paradise compared to the rest of the beach. She is not dressed for company, either, being in one of her scantiest bikinis fortutiously covered by an ample sarong and of course, her ubiquitous woven sun hat with the wide brim that her firelizards like to lounge under. Merida sits up and chirps, she adores S'van; Bug is interested in anything his 'older sister' is. She stops behind the group considering an escape.

Totally suspicious. Then again, it could just be that S'van finds it very entertaining to watch people's reaction to the beauty of this particular cenote. And that Smithmaster? He's had the best reaction by far. Even if some of that humor has vanished in the face of nearly-destroyed picnics. A snort accompanies the question, sardonic amusement coming for the (perhaps unintentional) brush-off. But while J'en gets to occupy himself with answering the Master's questions, Sev's gaze just sliiiiiides on over to Xhaevyr. Arm looped once more around his weyrmate's shoulders, the weyrsecond studies the candidate with an arched brow and an expression of expectation. "Yeees?" comes in response for that rather similar, one-eyebrow-arched regard directed his way. "We were totally here first." Therefore, it's theirs. Because they are five-turns-old at heart, no doubt. "If he falls in," adds Sev motioning with his sandwich toward the smithcraft master, "You get to go in after him." Grin. And then there is a Cinnitha! Who thought she could escape from crowds and conversations! Nope. No such luck. And of course, before she can retreat, she's caught S'van's eye and his attention, a grin flashed the direction of the bikini-and-sarong clad candidate as he lifts his sandwich-hand (as the other is occupied around his weyrmate's shoulders and possibly tracing along familiar tattooed lines) in the semblance of a wave. "Hey. Welcome to the party."

Sonny? J'en blinks and looks upwards towards the old(er) gentleman there, eyes darting between him and Xhaevyr and back again before they slide off towards what passes for ground around here. Namely, the sizable shelf he and S'van were situated upon, "Dun drown," he says louder than before but no less flat. For anyone other than the weyrsecond, it might be strange to hear his voice raised higher than a muted conversational level, almost always soft and murmured. Well, unless he was dropping f-bombs while pinning down wriggling firelizards. The return of his weyrmate's arm around his shoulders does help to relieve some of the tension that had steadily built up there, a distinct lack of hesitation before he leans into the younger rider. People, in general, another one of his less than favorite things. The arrival of Cinnitha, wearing her scant-bikini, earns a double take. Golden eyes scan the reluctant solitary female suddenly among all those them with a slight widening before he's tearing them off her entirely and immediately find his own toes. Those there, those are safe.

That means that Cinnitha ends up behind Xhaevyr, who turns casually to assess the newcomer: his single-eyebrow expression just seems to extend to her at this point, though he dips his chin and murmurs, "Cinni," in that fine tenor of his before returning to assess the scene. "My lad," says the stocky older man accompanying the younger Smith — addressing J'en: "I was swimming like a fish when you were still a babe on the teat." The blue-eyed master takes a few spry steps down the nearest rocky ledge, determined to touch the surface of the water itself. Xhaevyr shakes his head and shoots S'van a momentarily dark-eyed glance: "Thanks," he mutters sotto-voice, frowning briefly at J'en as he passes the other. "You left while I was making your sandwich," he says in the same tone of you kicked my puppy and then he's past the pair, moving after the older man. "Master Venkis, please, be careful!"

If it were anyone but S'van and his weyrmate she would have turned tail with the appropriate excuse and left them all to enjoy the exquisite beauty of the cenote and its supposed isolation from the rest of their busy weyr. Cinnitha lifts a hand in greeting to them with a careful nod to both the Riders and gives a laconic, "Hello, Xhaev," to the other candidate. Waving vaguely to a nearby ledge she walks carefully by S'van's and J'en's carefully laid out blankets. Merida chirps a cheerful greeting to the Weyrsecond as they edge by. "Really sorry to intrude, I thought…" she makes a vague gesture and doesn't finish the snetence.

S'van totally saw that (or, maybe 'sensed' is a better word) and is definitely going to be turning a /look/ on his toe-staring weyrmate. At least it holds amusement and is more of a smirky-smug variety. Because he knows where those eyes briefly strayed, and he's definitely going to be teasing J'en about it. Later. For now, there's a Cinnitha scooting by, and the tucking in of impossibly long legs to assist with that process, a murmured, "No problem at all, free space," that is in clear defiance to his unspoken 'MINE' that was issued for the intrusion of smith masters and journeyman-candidates into the very same space. Said Master Smith's response to J'en gets an under-the-breathe, "Doesn't mean he won't sink like a stone now," that is definitely meant for his weyrmate's ear and no one else's. As for that sammich-abandonment? That just gets a grin, the sort that might get him smacked if J'en weren't staring so intently at his toes.

Hey now, J'en was in a committed and monogamous relationship, not dead. Before S'van, he'd slept with more women than he could count, but these says breasts were a novelty that sometimes he biologically couldn't ignore completely. As soon as he'd caught himself looking though, he'd stopped himself, and even leaned a bit deeper into the man who's side was pressed against his own. Apparently, he does feel a measure of guilt for even letting that girly flesh register, because he scrunches up just a bit tighter beneath his weyrmate's smirky-observation of him and this sees to the almost full return of stiffness along his shoulders. My…lad? Just how many new nicknames was J'en going to acquire in the span of three minutes? "Whatever…" he mumbles beneath his breath, brows drawn, and doing his best not to conjure up the imagery Venkis there so beautifully described in less than five words. Ugh. Wriggling his own toes, J'en nods once to what S'van murmurs softly to him, "That's what I'm sayin'," he agrees in a conspiring volume, but would probably be the first one in to rescue the guy if he splooshed in and started to drown, which may be why he's peeking past the thick fringe of his lashes and keeping an eye on him. Spry or no. As for Xhaevyr's reminder of sandwhich abandonment? "Leketh was chasin'. Trust meh when I tell ya that ain't somethin' ya want 'round non-rider folks…" is spoken softly, yet still manages to carry.

It's a'ight, Xhaevyr's walked into walls from a well-presented pair of tits before. Notice that's a plural statement. Thankfully nobody from the Smithcraft is around to comment on his early adolescent days. Oh, wait… "Oh," Xhaevyr comments at J'en's explanation. "Well. That's perfectly acceptable, then," he remarks, with a return of that smirk — can Pern handle two smirkers in this scene?! — before obligingly following Venkis closer to the water. The Smithcraft master is now in the process of tugging off his sandles, one at a time. At least he doesn't seem likely to fall over whilst performing that. Then Venkis says, "It's a pity we're clogging up your view with no-good Smiths, fine gents, but this is as much of vacation as the Hall is like to give me." And Xhae's staring up at the sky as if he's wondering what exactly he's done to deserve this.

It'll have to, because there's no stopping The Smirk (similar to The Smolder, and just as likely to get a frying pan upside the head, sadly). S'van's own amusement for the situation is just mounting, less worried about Master Smith's drowning if just because there are two trained Search and Rescue riders in attendance, even if one of them is somewhat out of practice. But while J'en maintain that covert observation of the man in question, S'van's attention turns first to Xhaevyr and then to his sandwich. "Yup," for perfectly acceptable excuses to abandon what was undoubtedly an amazing meal. "Dragons are dicks." Grin. "S'fine," decides Sev in answer of that view-clogging that is happening. He'll content himself with looking at other things (and definitely not any boobies, thankyouverymuch, because double standards are a thing and he'd probably get in super-big-trouble if he got caught looking at any). So he polishes off his sandwich, idly considers the opening in the cavern above them, and trails the fingers of his other hand up and down along the side of that very-tense tattooed arm. "You know," observes Sev, nibbling crumbs from his thumb. "You're welcome to swim also," he offers to Xhaevyr. "Probably more fun than standing around and looking miserable."

Fortunately for S'van, J'en wasn't looking at anyone but Venkis, and he was fresh out of frying pans. Wherever Cinnitha had gone, he wished her well, but she had officially been dropped off his radar. Xhaevyr's smirky-smirk did not have the same effect on him as his weyrmate's did, mostly because the Deluge wingrider had a fairly good idea that whatever the weyrsecond was thinking while he was smirking was considerably more indecent than whatever the smith journeyman had in mind. The silence of his gaze finds said candidate as his explanation is accepted, but is back on the sandal stripper a second later. You know, just in case. Something is said, because that pierced mouth moves in a way that suggests words, but it far too quiet to carry further than himself and his fellow bronzerider. "No worries," he says to the Master, unconcerned about his view right now. Toes were pretty awesome too, you guys. The brush of the weyrsecond's fingers along his arm does wonders for the tension seeped into his every muscle fiber, allowing it to leak out a little at a time, until the side of his head comes to rest on Sev's shoulder.

"What a splendid idea!" Venkis says — no — exclaims, turning with twinkling blue eyes to Xhaevyr. "Isn't that a smart thought? We can both go for a dip, and you can tell me all about your recent escapades as a candidate." The older man shakes his head and goes back to wading into the water, commenting to himself all about how interesting it is that little Xhaevy managed to get a dragon of all things to think he's interested. Xhaevyr, stoic-faced, barely keeps from shooting S'van the bird before following the master into the water. Life sucks and then you die, guys.

S'all good. Sev will undoubtedly get what's coming to him, have no fear. For now, there's a cheerful grin and a lopsided salute to the candidate as he's wheedled into unwelcome and unwanted dips in that beautiful pool. And while they are not exactly alone, once more the pair of bronzeriders find that peace and quiet they'd likely come here to find. "That was interesting," he decides, reaching over to dig around into the basket once again to find something more to much on. "Young lad," he continues, unable to help himself as he tosses the word and a cheeky grin towards J'en beside him. "Would you like something else?" he wonders, offering the basket over for examination and rummaging.

Oh, S'van would be getting what's coming to him. Later. Right now, J'en was watching Xhaevyr and Venkis wade out into the water, his head tilted minutely to the side and his near hidden expression perplexed as to why anyone wouldn't want to go for a swim in that water. It was wonderfully cool compared to the muggy air above them, which thankfully not an issue this far down underground on their mossy shelf. Upturning golden eyes towards his weyrmate, J'en continues to appear confused, but this time for the claim that all of what had just transgressed was of value somehow, "Was it?" he asks, his gaze lingering on the other man's face and tracing its angular attributes before dropping off towards the basket spelunking. It doesn't linger there long though, not when S'van decides to be extra cheeky and ultimately responsible for that frown drawing the corners of his lips down somewhat. "Dun make meh bite ya," he grumbles, leaning over the basket as its offered up for inspection. Spotting the half loaf of fresh baked bread, he reaches inside and comes away with a decent portion of it for himself, quick to wrap his lips around it and tear off a bite with his teeth.

"Mm, but I kinda like it when you bite me." Lies. He loves it when J'en bites him. Of course, he likes biting J'en even MORE, which is what inspires S'van to lean over and do just that; a press of teeth to shoulder as he playfully bites, and playfully growls, and tosses mischievous grey eyes at his weyrmate because he knows the sort of trouble he's conjuring for himself with smart-ass commends and the blatant use of teeth. But alas, he's got some shred of self-preservation left to him, and releases that hold soon after, casting a look toward the pool and the (probably not drowning) smiths enjoying it. "And it was. Never saw someone light up so bright for the finding of a waterhole." Which is definitely painting the cenote in the most simple of lights ever, but hey. "Plus, did you see his face? He loves it." Xhaevyr. Definitely did not love it. "I'm just making friends all over the place." Yup. Totally.

Between firelizard washing and paddling about in the waters by herself, Cinnitha leaves the water with her arms wrapped around herself and the exhausted look of someone who let their body temperature get too low. Her slender form drips as she grabs for her sarong to try to warm her self up. Shifting from foot to foot she shivers in the heat, both Merida and Bug pop from whereever they had gone after their baths and crouch in her curling wet hair. She gives a sheepish wave to the two Riders and closes the distance between them. "Could I trouble you for something to drink." she asks with easy diffidence.

The weyrsecond's comment cues up a scowl and J'en sitting up straight enough to send that shoulder-draped arm skimming down his back to come and rest around his waist instead. This might end up being more comfortable for them both in the long run; circulation and gravity being what it is. Thankfully, the demonstration of the weyrsecond's greater preference, happens after the J'en has thoroughly chewed and swallows his mouthful of bread. The results are all very sequential really, starting with a true rigid straightening of Jae's spine as S'van leans in and puts teeth to his skin, his eyes widening considerably as pressure is applied, quickly proceeded by a full body shiver worsened to a shudder by that growl, a bright blossom of color streaking across his cheeks and bridge of his nose, before finally whipped a look his weyrmate's way that somehow manages not to wither the nearby flora. Oh, he dead. RIP, S'van. J'en was going to murder him, right here and now, and poor thirsty Cinnitha was going to have to watch the carnage. "Basket." he seethes though clenched teeth, pointing in a jabbing motion towards the very thing where it resided close by without looking away from S'van. Sure enough, there were bottles of water in there already with wedges of citrus fruit floating within them. Although about half second later, Jae's hand was closed around the brunet man's throat, muttering something or another in a hushed and hastened tone against his ear. One can probably imagine that it was anything but nice, given the situation, except its followed up by a sharp nip to that very lobe as well as a rumbling sound from somewhere deep in Jae's chest. This done, he all but shoves S'van away, snorting dismissively.

See, here's the thing about Sev. He does thinks without really thinking through the consequences. Kinda throws a middle finger to those consequences, in fact. Only… consequences have a way of coming even if you say 'to hell' with them. And while he's definitely looking all smug and satisfied, deviant gleam going strong in those grey eyes, and smart-ass smirk pulling at his mouth until he's fairly grinning like the cat that caught the canary… retribution comes not in the dangerous glare of golden eyes, not in the wrap of fingers around his neck, but the dark and dangerous whispers issued against his ear, for him and him alone. He's not afraid. This is a point that needs to be made. Because there is not a hint of worry for the dangerous grasp at his neck or the threat of death coming from his weyrmate's eyes. But the whisper has him straightening, has tension finding his shoulders and wiping that smile nearly completely off his face. Oh, it's not gone. Because this is Sev, and he will always have a bit of that amusement lingering at the edges of his mouth; glittering in the gleam of grey eyes that slide the way of J'en with very little consideration for Cinnitha even if she's rummaging in that picnic basket to pull out bottles of water and sate her thirst. His attention is entirely upon the bronzerider nipping at his ear and then shoving him away. A rough clearing of his throat and, after a moment of deep and dangerous contemplation (because oh, he's thinking about it J'en. He's definitely thinking about it,) he rips his gaze away from his weyrmate and fastens it on the candidate come to claim a drink. "Sure," comes in rougher than normal tones, prompting a second clearing of his throat before Sev is bobbing his head needlessly toward the basket that she MIGHT have already dug around in. "Help yourself. Are you alright?" because while he's almost entirely distracted by whatever thoughts are dancing in his head, there's enough attention paid to the candidate for him to discern that exhaustion. "Do you need to sit?" and a second later, it becomes a command in the gentle but no less firm, "Sit down. Rest."

The young candidate stands transfixed by the man's complex reaction to her question. Stepping back having lost what confidence she could muster to ask the question in the first, her eyes shift from J'en to S'van and back again, widening by degrees as she watches their reactions to some unseen thing. Couples. One never knows what really goes on behind closed doors,her expression seems to say; yet, at the same time, she holds them both in deeper affection than they know simply for the love and warmth that passes between them. Even when they may be having a disagreement, her next step back seems to say. She is about to hold the bottle of water that she found rummaging in their basket, point to it and excuse herself when the weyrsecond orders her (his tone seems different than she has heard before) to sit down. Candidates obey. She does.

That's RIGHT! There was something about the way J'en plunks back against the limestone wall behind him again that states loud and clear despite his lack of verbage that he's utterly satisfied with S'van's reaction to throat grabbing and gutteral whispers, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankle as he tears off another mouthful of bread and gets to chewing. Blatantly ignoring the grey eyes locked to him, the older bronzerider limits himself to affixing his gaze towards Cinnitha from the clavicle upwards and chewing, looping his free arm around himself and drumming his fingertips against his own hip. Tension, thy name is J'en, and it was as if the word had been created to describe the tightened quality of his whole body. Facing the woman candidate, but probably not seeing her, as his eyes seem to looking past her to the rock wall far on the otherside of her. This is confirmed in how those golden hues dart a centimeter or two to make contact with her silvery version before darting immediately towards S'van at the very start of that commanding tone and secures it there for the interim. As soon as those three simple words are delivered, the wingrider sharply inhales past the part in his lips, then his chin lifts a few degrees while his lashes lower simultaneously. Well then, seems S'van has everyone's attention.

S'van's just gonna be over here, pretending he's not about to spontaneously combust or something. It's easier when his attention is diverted to candidates and waterbottles and commands that may or may not be issued (totally issued, that was his Weyrsecond Voice right there). When Cinnitha sits, there's a satisfied look to the younger of the bronzeriders. Leaning stiffly forward, he snags the basket and pulls out a water of his own, hastily drinking it. Because he's thirsty or something. It's only once half that water is consumed that he seems to be able to form any more thoughts, let alone questions or observations. The first of which is, "Did you enjoy your swim?" toward the candidate. That he's got J'en's undivided attention now too? Not lost on him. His weyrmate gets a flash of his eyes and that cheeky smile of his (even if it's ever-so-slightly strained around the edges) and the offering of his half-drunk water. "Thirsty?" Of course, he follows it with a rather firm, "Drink." Because he's a DICK like that.

Reassuring herself of the sarong being good and tight over her upper body, Cinnitha sits with her knees under her sitting upright. Her hair still drips and a small shiver ripples through her, an after effect of staying too long in the water. Both firelizards seem very happy about being in the vicinity of the Riders who she is valiantly trying not to watch but at the same time give the appearance of listening civilly to what ever pearls of wisdom would drop from Rider to Candidate. She has been an apprentice healer enough years to have mastered this. Ah. She lights on the business of actually doing what she came over to do: drinking water. "Immensely, sir," comes the ready answer. "I stayed in too long, got cold though the water here is warmer than the river water at Benden." After a deep breath she lets silence fall between them despite all the questions the candidate's barracks has been boiling with about the possibility of the hatching not being too far off.

Suffice to say, S'van's official Weyrsecond Voice (TM), totally does it for J'en. That is, if one took into the account his body language and expression he was giving the other bronzerider, as if they were already sullying their reputations right before Cinnitha's eyes. His golden version, raked over every inch of Sev's body (pointedly lingering on key areas) once the man was speaking normally again. Recovery times vary, wholly dependent on a multitude of factors, boiling down to the loss of his attention when S'van goes to the basket for a drink. J'en busies himself with memorizing Cinnitha's firelizards, each in turn, not especially interested in the small talk that appears to be developing. Not when he could be focusing on getting himself back under control, breathing measurably in and out, and thinking about the sorts of things that had nothing to do with ripping his lover's clothes off with his teeth. This had been the plan anyway, but what's unexpected is that S'van chooses then to be a total dickhole. He had only just turned back towards his weyrmate, lifted his left hand with the intent to take the offering of water, when he weyrsecond goes and throws down that firm command to drink it. J'en freezes at this point, an unwanted shudder slamming into his spinal column, and instead of the bottle, he grabs Sev's wrist with a bruising grasp. "I swear to fuckin'…." he starts to snarl murderously, but stops himself long enough to turn his head a degree towards the wide-eyed candidate, "…'cuse us." is said softer but no less abrupt, and with that he physically drags the weyrsecond to his feet and up the stairs, out of sight.


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