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Messages - Z'jan

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Bathing Houses / Re: Disarm [Open]
« on: 22 Aug 2013 at 10:38 PM »
Ghalath came down with a harsh backwing; her shorter wings always made landing... inelegant. But it didn't bother Z'jan in the least. Before her wings had even stopped beating he was on the ground. Still damp from the lake, Ghalath's forcefull landing now had him dusted like the top of a pastry cake. He shielded his eyes from the worst of it, as Ghalath settled into her terrestrial orientation. When it was all over, any sign that either of them had been bathing was hidden under a layer of silt.

"Why'd you land here, in the bare spot? There's a grassy bit just over there." Despite his nearly two turns as a weyrling, Z'jan had never adapted to speaking with Ghalath inside his head. Instead he walked around the weyr like a crazy person, seemingly babbling to himself. Ghalath looked down at him, though it wasn't particularly far down since she wasn't particularly tall. I was aiming for the grassy bit.

While her failure was admitted, there was no lack of imperiousness in her voice. Z'jan just chuckled. Why? Because it was funny. Ghalath didn't find it funny. But she wasn't mad. And he wasn't mad ether. Why would he be? So all was good. "Well, you're a mess now, but hey, it's your hollow." you're worse

Was he? Z'jan looked down. His clothes, as per the usual, hadn't been particularly clean when he began the day. The lake had helped, somewhat. Though it had also left him somewhat... lakey. But now, with the icing of a backwinged-dirt shower, he didn't really have a card to play against Ghalath's hand. "Yeah, well, the bed sheets need washing anyway." Ghalath snorted a sigh. you did laundry yesterday

Z'jan had already headed in the direction of his hut when he stopped dead. Had he? He looked at Ghalath, lifting an eye. "No... I didn't? I never do laundry." Ghalath merely scratched her face against a foreleg. Said nothing. Z'jan frowned."Shit... why did I do that?" rubbed grit from his eye "Fuuck. Fine."

And that was the end of the discussion: Z'jan headed for the bathing house. Ghalath remained seated in the dirt, watched him for about twenty paces. take clothes
I'm wearing clothes.
Ghalath snorted, but Z'jan was out of earshot, and his mind was elsewhere, already submerged in the hot water of the bath.

always with the water... she spoke more to herself than her oblivious bonded. Ghalath grunted from a sitting to a standing position, and with a painful launch, took off towards her hollow. He'd sort himself out. One of these days.


The Bathing House was quiet. It was pretty late, after all. Late for a bath at least. Z'jan frowned as he was pelted by the humid air. Though his frown wasn't because of the humidity, but from the apparent lack of activity inside the bathing house. This place was dead. Was there anyone here?

He casually pushed opened the first few doors he came to: empty. Empty. Empty. Empty

When he was beginning to think all of pern must be snuggled up in bed, he swung open the next door to confront a young man scrubbing his hair senseless. A wave of contentment swept through Z'jan. Cool, he wasn't alone. Alone sucked.

"Oh, awesome," Z'jan blurted with a smile and no reservations, "glad someone's here." Before prying the sweaty, damp, dirty shirt off his back and dropping it in a pile near his feet. Didn't even bother with the benches. Benches, please. The pants came next, but halfway out of those, a thought occurred to Z'jan:

"Hey, man, have we met?"

The Lake Edge / Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 22 Aug 2013 at 11:16 PM »
Ghalath’s dive lifted Z’jan up, his seat rising up off her neck. He felt the loss of contact, the blast of air from below. Her dark wings tucked so tightly into her sides that Z’jan was reminded of a terran tortoise; as if her wings were actually part of a shell, instead of vital limbs that kept her airborne. The thought brought a silly smile to his face…

He pulled his feet underneath him, his bare toes pressing into Ghalath’s leathery green hide. He still held onto the riding strap with his hands; it was the only thing keeping him physically tethered to his bonded. Down, down, down… Z’jan’s stomach was in the back of his throat… and he loved every second of it. The water from the lake loomed closer… closer.

Ghalath didn’t have to speak. Z’jan knew it was time. With a forceful push, he extended his legs and released the straps, launching himself upwards from Ghalath’s back. Ghalath, for her part, extended one wing and banked hard to the right. Z’jan was left mid-air, arms circling as though treading water in the sky, and with the reflective surface of the lake only 30 feet below him. 2... 1…

Z’jan tucked his arms to his sides and pressed his legs together. 0… his pointed toes collided with the water, sending Z’jan slicing into the depths like a knife. Feet, legs, crotch, chest, head—the icy water consumed him. Silence.

The wild, loud, windy world above disappeared. Water pressed against Z’jan on all sides, forceful and insisting, arresting his descent. He ceased to sink. Bubbles and pockets of air that had pierced into the water with him now hung suspended, stuck between rising and falling. The sweet spot.

And then, like the bubbles, Z’jan felt himself begin to slowly rise. The air in his lungs pulled him upward. He blinked. It was dark, wobbling, murky… he could use make out the reflections of the sun hitting the water. With a strong frog kick, Z’jan pushed against the deep, dense water. Higher, higher… the light ripples grew broader and brighter. His lungs began to ache from the lack of oxygen, but he loved the ache. Just like he loved the slap of the water against his feet stuck it, just as he loved the numbness that settled over his limbs in the cold depth. He’d stay down here forever, if he could…

Well, maybe. The fall had been pretty damn fun. Maybe he’d prefer to be flying forever…

Either way, it was time to come up. His lungs felt scorched; his gag reflex constricted, trying to force him to breathe, even if it meant breathing water. Z’jan kicked again. The surface loomed.
He broke through with a splash, water streaming from his hair and into his eyes. He didn’t mind it. He wipes his hair back with one hand, then began breast-stroking to shore. Ghalath was hovering by the lake’s edge, her talons punching holes in the soft sand.

sooner would have been better.

Z’jan snuffed water out of his nose and continued the last few stroked into shore. He walked up the shore like a man, but, smiling profusely, casually dropped to his knees  like a canine and crawled the last few steps to Ghalath. Upon reaching her, he slumped and lay belly up in the sand. Despite their strong bond, it always took him a moment to understand what Ghalath meant. “Sure. What was that, 30 feet? Yeah, next time I'll jump sooner." Ghalath rumbled her smile. Her eyes swirled a contented blue-green. But suddenly, an purple tinge of worry: but not too soon...

Z’jan laughed, reaching blindly behind him to fondly pat a green foot. He spanked the sand a few times before finding his target. “Ok. Not too soon.” The sun was high. The water droplets on his chest began to dry, the moisture from his pants dribbling away. Z’jan dug his bare toes in the sand.

So life was good. 

Bathing Houses / Re: Disarm [Open]
« on: 22 Aug 2013 at 11:59 PM »
Z'jan took in S'cer's tense posture, upright appearance and... didn't think anything of it. Did it mean something? He didn't know. Didn't care, really, in a 'if it's important surely I'd know' sort of way. And he didn't know. So it must not be. This is the point where Ghalath would be frowning at him.

He listened to S'cer's credentials while pulling his other leg out of his pants. Not much left after that. And it all fell in a heap on the floor by his dirty shirt. Underneath the clothes, however, he wasn't nearly as dirty as his exterior implied. Though where the dust had made contact with his wet skin, he now had something of a faux-farmer's tan. About as close to farmcraft as he'd ever get.

"Cool, man." Z'jan slid into the water, mouthing 'Yow, Owo, ow," several times but otherwise remaining silent.  Since Ghalath wasn't there to prod him into appropriate conversation etiquette, he had to remember on his own. There was a long pause.

"Oh, I'm Z'jan. Green Ghalath."

He dunked himself at that point, rising shortly thereafter and knuckling the hair out of his face. "Definitely--" reaching for the soap sand.  He smeared some into his hair and around his neck, beginning there and working his way down... unabashedly.

"So you're a snatch and grab too, huh? Fun times." Z'jan snorted, but it was more of a 'roll your eyes' snort than a 'I have real beef with this' snort. If snorts came in varieties, that is. 

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The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 23 Aug 2013 at 12:51 AM »
Z'jan had been debating whether or not to go for another dive off Ghalath's back, or dive into the deep and see how long he could hold his breath. As he debated with himself, the difficult decision began to lull him to sleep. His hand still rested on Ghalath's foot, who sat in the sand next to him, more like a watchful canine than a regal dragon.

Z'jan was drifting off, creeping along the border of sleep, when Ghalath grumbled: company

Z'jan blinked back to consciousness. He hadn't been sleeping, he's just been... who was that? He eyed the brown dragon as it dove into the lake. Nishkath she said simply, and Z'jan knew prying her for details wouldn't be the most effective. He peeked backwards at his green. She'd tucked her feet in closer, and dipped her snout unmistakably to her chest. Stumping.

I'm not
"Yea you are. You're all tight and squashed and not moving."

Ghalath didn't respond. She eyed Nishkath with reservations, but not fear. As though just waiting for him to do something that would offend or disgust her... She's wasn't the most approachable green out there at the best of times, and she tended to prefer the company of herself. And Z'jan, that is.  On the other hand, the idea of someone else in the vicinity woke Z'jan up instantly. What else could be better? Sitting around by yourself... lame. you're not by yourself

"Don't get all broody teenager on me," he said -- right as O'wain came into view. Had the brownrider heard him? Did it matter? Regardless, he finished the rest in his head: You and I are the same. We can't be a apart. So don't give me this "isn't my company enough?" crap. But Z'jan was smiling as he spoke, and his answer, oddly, seemed to pacify Ghalath. She relaxed a bit from her gargoyle stance.

Z'jan smiled at O'wain, listening, as he slapped the sand off his hands. Company and a meal? Right after a day freefalling into the lake? Could this day get better? When was the last time he'd eaten? This morning? Had he skipped? He'd skipped, hadn't he.

"Hey! O'wain. I'm Z'jan... Ghalath's boy toy." Ghalath looked sadly down at Z'jan. She'd never liked his humor. Z'jan ignored her and continued: "And I'd love to, you have no idea. I'm starving. And beach roasted wherry sounds pretty damn good right now, I'm not gunna lie."

go play with Nishkath or something
Ghalath didn't even glance at the big brown, she just shut her lids halfway.
I don't play

Z'jan sighed his 'whatever Ghalath' sigh. Got to his feet, brushing the sand off his ass. "I'm not particularly domestic, or I'd offer to get a fire going. Could give it a shot though?" but his confident shrug-smile didn't inspire a whole lot of... well, confidence.   

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 23 Aug 2013 at 01:53 PM »
Z'jan motioned dramatically with eyes towards O'wain and has half bow. "See, nice people. Nice dragon. Stop being needy." I'm not needy. I'm me... Z'jan softened. He'd been making fun of her at her expense, which wasn't an unusual occurence, but it was different when other people around. In private, Ghalath gave as good as she took, and often got the better of Z'jan. But in public she tended to let Z'jan have the last word, and just keep her feelings, and her mouth, shut. She was uncomfortable with social banter, at best.

How could he have impressed a dragon so different from himself? Z'jan reached up and gave her eyeridge a firm scratch, rubbing bits of sand away from the delicate corners. Z'jan wasn't the best at social etiquette, sure, but he'd never ever had a problem being social. Ghalath, on the other hand, understood social etiquette in a way Z'jan had never grasped. But employing it? She'd sooner hunt tunnelsnakes for breakfast than seek out another dragon for a conversation.

"Sounds like a plan. And swim was great. It's so damn hot here, I don't understand why they didn't just build Katila right on the lake shore." You can do whatever you like. Nishkath is a big boy. He doesn't need anything from you. But he'd probably like you better if you didn't just sit there staring at him.

Ghalath shifted, punching her claws in and out of the sand. She turned her swirling eyes on O'wain, then Nishkath. Then back to Z'jan. doesn't need anything from me yet...

Z'jan quirked an eyebrow. He had no idea what that meant. So he let it drop. Instead he turned to O'wain. The idea of stripping naked surprised him (not many people use it as a social icebreaker) but did not upset or discomfort him. Z'jan was naked a lot. Well, not a lot... but frequently. More than everyone else it seemed. He chuckled at O'wain's suggestion.

"Yeah, but I'll probably jump back in after we eat, rinse off. Easier than a napkin." He grinned "But after that, no promises! Though I you're missing an important part of this 'naked all the time' idea..." he threw a smirk at O'wain. He was already shirtless, but pulling up slightly at the leg of his pants revealed a dominant tan line halfway up his thigh. In a matter of centimeters, the tan skin morphed into exceedingly pale flesh "Heatburns, man! Gotta watch what you leave hanging out." He lifted his eyebrows suggestively. "Not that I speak from experience, or anything..."

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 23 Aug 2013 at 05:23 PM »
Ghalath listened to O'wain, her head tilting slightly. People didn't usually talk to her. Mostly because she avoided them. She sized O'wain up. He was a male, a brownrider male, which was better than a female anything. And he didn't bother Z'jan. And his dragon wasn't pestering her. She relaxed slightly, and the release of tension at her wingjoints was visible.
She gave a constenting, if reserved, snort. Z'jan smiled, and gave her a parting pat before heading off with O'wain.

And while the joke about wood went right over her head, it wasn't lost on Z'jan who grinned, laughing. "Summon! Man, there were definitely days as a kid when I wished I could summon it. Nothing worse than being in the moment, but not being... you know, ready to go." He laughed again, more to himself, but clearly comfortable in O'wain's company. Hell, he was comfortable in anyone's company.

"That makes sense. I guess I wouldn't exactly want my hut floating away..." then he grinned, gravity of the possible catastrophe lost on him "though, hey, that could be kinda fun! Raft around downtown Katila on a plank, steal a candidate's robe for a sail." He restrained himself from going further in the imaginary scenario. After all, the topic had.. shifted. "A tan cock?" he couldn't help but laugh "I guess it's possible if you're out traipsing around with a boner. But isn't that more bluerider territory?" He smirked. "Actually I more meant my ass. I laid out once face down as a candidate on restday. Fell asleep for hours. Sitting through lessons the following morning..." he whistled "...not my finest hour."

He nodded at O'wain's fire-cook-swim-eat-swim plan.... missing the innuendo this time. Suited him just fine! And while he didn't actively oggle O'wain's body, he definitely made a note of his physique. Z'jan liked fit people. After all, he was fit. All that running and jumping and swimming... and while it was mostly fun for him, he knew that for others, staying fit was much more work than play. He respected individuals willing to exert the effort, and usually found them more attractive to boot. The body was an amazing thing, and you can't use it to its fullest unless it's in it's best shape! So went Z'jan's thoughts, at least.

He diverted his attention back to the task at hand. "Yeah, sure. I'll go other there, see what I can find, and meet you back here in a couple minutes?" It was as close to decisive planning as Z'jan ever got. Not exactly weyrleader material, this one.

Bathing Houses / Re: Disarm [Open]
« on: 23 Aug 2013 at 05:47 PM »
Z'jan was nearly to the point of scrubbing his intimates, when S'cer turned cold. Z'jan halted, raising his gaze in utter bewilderment. What just happened? Z'jan fixed his eyes on S'cer, trying to figure out what'd just triggered that reaction. Ghalath would know he thought to himself. But his green was too far away to provide him any useful coaching or commentary. Z'jan would just have to figure it out on his own. Not exactly his strong suit.

He'd stopped washing himself at this point, and had straightened, still staring unapologetically at S'cer. The other man was scrubbing his flesh to the bone. Z'jan cringed, his face an open book. "Take it easy, man." While the statement was technically ambiguous, it was obviously directed at the jr. weyrling's washing technique. "If I scrubbed Ghalath that hard she'd be as pale as Pistoth. And she'd probably bite me."

But while S'cer's verbal snarl had surprised him, it hadn't really offended him. Why would it? "I'm not sure I'm Katilan, or Telgarian or whatever. Aren't we all our own thing, when it comes down to it?" he began sudsing again, though more slowly. His own anger only rose incrementally when S'cer accused him of rolling over and taking it. "That's pretty bold. I mean, you don't know a damn thing about me." But his tone was matter-of-fact.

Then, as though the whole thing had been a big joke, Z'jan sidled over the nudged S'cer's shoulder conspiratorially with his elbow. "Besides, we're goddamn greenies, man. Rolling over and taking? It's kinda our MO." He smirked, with a 'what can you do?' raise of the brows. Like the fish with the five second memory, Z'jan went back to washing himself as though tension hadn't passed between him at all.

Had it?

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 23 Aug 2013 at 08:01 PM »
Z'jan laughed, a slight tinge of pink to his cheeks. The ones on his face. "I suppose it was something of a tanned ass" he concluded, having not made the connection before. "As for tan lines, well..." he tried to give a suggestive grin, but it was no use. He was a terrible liar. Instead his expression broke into a much more earnest, if not a bit sheepish, smile "Honestly? I'm like a striped feline." He laughed. "Except my ass," he concluded, with a decisive point at O'wain as he struck out in the opposite direction to gather firewood. And fruit. If he could find any. Were there poisonous kinds? He didn't know. Certainly wasn't going to stop him picking any even if he did find them.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) he found plenty of branches but nothing edible. At least nothing he recognized as edible. Having left his shirt back with Ghalath, or, somewhere (he wasn't quite sure) he was left to contend with a growing armful of branches and no clever way to carry them. Except, well, in his arms.

When he emerged from the woods and back into the clearing, he looked like he'd brought half the jungle back with him. Some of the branches still had leaves, suggesting he'd pulled them straight off the trees. Also suggesting he had no idea of how to make a fire. From behind the massive armload, he fought for a line of sight, leaves swaying and whacking him in the face as he walked.

"Fucking--branches--got-ouch--goddamnthorns--ithink" before dropping the haul at O'wain's feet. Glancing down at his chest, his front was grazed with tiny scratches a few pinpricks. A few small blood droplets were welling up in beads from where the bigger thorns had speared him. He stared down at his chest for a moment, then looked up at O'wain with an expression of half amusement, half 'well that's pretty pathetic, huh.'

"Well, now we've got more wood. Couldn't find any fruit. Though I can probably manage the stones."

After all, he'd proven himself exceedingly not useful so far.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 23 Aug 2013 at 09:06 PM »
Z'jan wiped sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. "Who said anything about chopping? Broke those suckers off. Bare handed," he held his hands, the partially curled his fingers, like claws. He tried to fake an intimidating sneer, but it came out only halfway, and he just looked like a goon. He gave it up; he couldn't keep a straight face to save his life.

His response was met with O'wain's finger running down his chest. Z'jan's muscles flexed, rippling back, and his back arched away just slightly. Why? Well, because it fucking tickled. And yeah, there was also that instinctive part that wanted to guard his new injuries from further prodding. But with an arm quickly flung over his shoulder, Z'jan made no protest as he was whisked away towards the lake: in time to see Nishkath rocket up like a green on her maiden flight.

Z'jan shot O'wain a questioning look, and couldn't quite hide his grin. "He good?" On shore, still guarding his shirt, Ghalath eyed Nishkath with a look of awkward befuddlement. Z'jan touched his green's mind, but she had nothing to say. Her quizzical, slightly disgusted expression said it all: wussy brown scared of fishes? Z'jan simply shrugged in his mind. you're scared of people

I'm not scared of them. she said firmly I am perturbed by them.

perturbed? when do you say perturbed?

just because you speak in grunts...

Z'jan smiled. Ghalath was relaxing, he could tell by her willingness to trade insults. A weird sort of love, that. Ghalath, for her sake, shifted so that she no longer sat on her haunches but instead lay out onto her stomach. Definitely relaxing.

Z'jan turned to O'wain with a curious smile. "Is he always so... splashy?" he asked, as he bent down to pick up a rock that seemed big-ish and flat-ish...enough? He had no fucking idea. At least he looked like he was helping.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 23 Aug 2013 at 10:39 PM »
Z'jan chuckled at O'wain's explanation, speaking to the brown, though more for O'wain to hear. "It's ok buddy. We've all get the heebiejeebies about something. And I promise I'm not stealing your man" he allowed for a partial rise of his brows "well, not any more than your rider is stealing Ghalath's man."

Ghalath, for her part, wasn't particularly in tune with the conversation. She sucked herself in small and still again as Nishkath approached and settled. Eventually, she began to relax, but her attention was divided between Z'jan and making sure the giant brown blob didn't touch her. Though he was doing a marvelous and gentlemanly job, if Z'jan could say so himself. But he kept his mouth shut. Complimenting Nishkath's restraint and tempered behavior in front of Ghalath would only succeed in embarrassing the green.

"Naw, Ghalath's tough. She just likes to..." how the hell to explain it, "...keep an eye on everybody?" But that answer didn't appease Ghalath. it's not like I'm babysitting, he's older. And-- she gave a definitive, defiant, and slightly awkward snort --I am not eyeing him. To that, Z'jan had no comment.

He'd nearly forgotten he was holding a rock until O'wain commented on it. He glanced down at his hand as though the thing had betweened there. "Oh, right. Cool."  He allowed O'wain to do the rest of the collecting, however, then followed the brownrider back to the fire. Halfway back he realized he probably should have washed his chest off. Exactly as O'wain has predicted, the slight damp of sweat that he incurred after standing in the sun had made the wounds, however tiny they may be, start to smart. But how bad could it be? It's not like there were poisonous branches or anything... right? Right. So he kept his mouth shut, instead watching O'wain put the fire together, glaze the wherry with wild berries, and all in all set the imaginary table with white linen. This guy had his shit together. Meanwhile, Z'jan stood around scratching his sticky neck. Very helpful.

When O'wain finished, Z'jan jumped on the opportunity to head back to the water. "I think you were right about these," he said, tentatively poking the red markes on his chest and arms. "They could probably use a rinse. Besides, my pants are half dry this point and, well--" no delicate way to say it "--definitely starting to chafe. Go for a dive?" He nodded towards the lake. But his expression wasn't as simple as it usually was; there was a dare in it. After all, there's quite a large difference between a swim and a dive.

At least, the way Z'jan rolled there was. 

Bathing Houses / Re: Disarm [Open]
« on: 23 Aug 2013 at 11:08 PM »
Z'jan shrugged all of S'cer unsaid commentary. He could tell the fellow weyrling was holding back, but no idea to what extent, or if it was even relevant to Z'jan. Maybe he was thinking about someone else entirely. How was Z'jan to know?

"You know, I'm probably not right, to be honest," he said with a smile, rinsing soap from his torso. "I don't worry to much with right. Doing right, being right... who really cares? As long as I'm happy, and Ghalath's happy, well,--" he hesitated, finding himself in an awkward vocabunundrum "then everything's alright."He recovered quickly, however. And by recovered, he simply forgot he'd been awkwardly stuck a moment before. As was his style.

"And man, what're you apologizing for? Do whatever you want. Think whatever you want. You're probably right either way. And if you're not? Fuck it. Fuck em." he shrugged and grinned. He held S'cer's gaze willingly, but had no knowledge of its significance. Z'jan made eye contact all the time. Technically, it was the best way to look at people.

At S'cer's appraisal, Z'jan peered down at himself. He was waist deep in water, but he seemed clean enough. At first he thought S'cer was referring to the small scratches that marked his chest and arms. "Oh, yeah, fucking thorn trees--" he'd already started to answer, when instead S'cer shifted, pointed. Oh. His back. Z'jan twisted, gazing quizzically at place that was obviously not gazeable. At S'cer's offer, Z'jan was more than willing.

"Knock yourself out!" He turned his back to S'cer with full trust and absolute comfort in his skin. "When Ghalath was growing insanely fast, her hide cracking like dried wherry, I swear my arms were so tired I dreamt of someone taking me out and washing and oiling me for a change!" He concluded with a laugh... and utter obliviousness to how suggestive he'd just sounded.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 23 Aug 2013 at 11:48 PM »
Z'jan couldn't help but grin: "If I had a mark for everytime I heard ' I won't start the race until your pants are off'..." he laughed, but left the rest of the sentence unfinished. Namely because it was honestly the first time he'd ever heard it.

And while Z'jan hadn't reeaally been suggesting they take their pants off... well, O'wain was already naked now. So, that happened. And Z'jan couldn't exactly leave the other guy hanging. Not that O'wain was hanging... persay...

Z'jan made no verbal comment on O'wain's personal 'summoned wood,' though as he struggled out of his own pants (which insisted on sticking to his legs in all their damp splendor) he did reconsider their friendship so far. Was O'wain coming onto him? We're they actually have a romantic lakeside dinner that would inevitably lead to a vivacious roll in the hay? Or...sand, rather. Z'jan was unsure. A confused look crossed his face, which coupled strangely with his attempts to get out of his pants. In the end, he came only to one conclusion:

Either way, did it matter? Neh... not really. Whatever.

And with that established, now faking his difficulty undressing, Z'jan suddenly took off towards the lake. A ruse! But while he was excellent at mischief, he was often terrible at tricks. Who knew how much of a headstart that had bought him, if any. Maybe the brownrider had seen it coming the whole time, and was silently shaking his head.

Either way... did it matter? Nooope



Ghalath lifted her head abruptly as a naked blur came streaking from the woods towards the lakeside. The blur's dark head of hair and lithe yet muscular 5'10 physique was all too familiar to her...

She looked awkwardly at Nishkath, then back to Z'jan, giving him her best rendition of a draconic frown.

I can't take you anywhere

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The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 24 Aug 2013 at 04:03 PM »
Z'jan's head broke the surface of the water, his actions mirroring O'wain's almost perfectly without him knowing it. He flipped the wet hair from his eyes and looked around until he caught sight of the other man bobbing not too far away.

He was about to ask who'd won, when O'wain declared his own confusion. Z'jan laughed, leaning into a breastroke and swimming the distance between them. "Dun -- know!" he shouted between strokes. "Ghalath, who won!"

From the beach, Ghalath shook her head side to side like a runner. Z'jan felt her refusal in his mind. Nope, she wasn't going to pick sides. He gave a laugh-sigh, closing the last few feet between O'wain and himself so he no longer had to shout.

"Ghalath's not saying. You could ask Nishkath?" He suggested, "But frankly..." he gave a shrug. Who cares? "Besides--"

"--I did cheat."

Though he didn't sound particularly apologetic about it. In fact, his expression was markedly devious. "And you fell for it, brownrider. Us greens and our tricks... hm?" He flopped backwards, kicking a wave of lakewater into O'wain's face... before quickly ducking under the surface in an attempt to outswim the consequences.

Not the most mature action, but Z'jan had never bothered himself much with maturity. ..

Communal Kitchens / Re: The Perfect Pie [Open]
« on: 24 Aug 2013 at 04:43 PM »
Z'jan was flying through the muggy kitchens in his usual whirlwind, snapping up bits of unguarded pastries and goodies as he went. He wasn't much of a sitter downer, especially when the dining hall was practically empty. Z'jan didn't enjoy eating alone. Or, really, being alone for that matter. So he figured he might as well just get while the getting was good and go for a 'smash and grab' lunch in kitchens. Things always tasted best when they were right out of the oven anyway.  Or stolen. Adrenaline was the best sauce.

So along he went: yup, yum, yes-please, oh and that, hm... that too. Shit, go, I think he saw me...

--when a sudden and very distinct odor caught his nose. Not a pleasant odor. Not a 'Can't wait to eat that!' odor. No, this was the particular and unmistakable odor of... burn.

So of course, he investigated. Turning the corner, he arrived in time to see the following, in quick succession: a young woman flailing about, a smokey black lump come flying out of the oven, and a bucket of water get dumped over everything. It was quite impressive, actually.

He stopped short, finishing the cookie he was chewing.

"Wher's wings... really? Well... yikes, probably better that you burned it." Z'jan grinned, tossing his last purloined pastry into his mouth. He sidled up the the cooking fiasco. He didn't recognize the girl, but it never occurred to Z'jan to actually introduce himself to people.

He flicked the pie with his finger, then tilted, looking at it from a different angle. After a moment more of speculation, he gave a good natured laugh: "Thread will fear you, at least!"

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 24 Aug 2013 at 05:25 PM »
Z'jan was a water rat, and a natural born swimmer. His body was perfectly suited for aquatic movement (as much as any human body could be) and he had marvellous lung capacity from all his years practicing... not the mention all his daily cardio-play. Running, jumping, freefalling... though freefalling was actually a passive activity. Technically. You just kinda... fell.

And sure, he was also tricky. But despite all of the above, there was one thing he definitely wasn't.


While the brownrider's disadvantages to his own in the water were slight, it nevertheless meant Z'jan could (likely, but not irrefutably) outswim O'wain all day. But those same disadvantages also ensured something else: that Z'jan couldn't, under any circumstances, out wrestle the bulkier, more experienced rider. No matter how hard he wriggled.

As he discovered with a broad hand came into contact with his calf, then slid down as he tried to pull away and secured tightly around Z'jan's ankle.


Z'jan, submerged, spun onto his back and bent at the waist, forcing his head up for air. He took a deep breath, barely able to keep the "oh shit" grin/cringe off his face. He'd need a lungfull. Who knows when, with his leveraged grip on his ankle and the water only waist deep, that brownrider would let him back up again!

Sorry but you are not allowed to view spoiler contents.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 24 Aug 2013 at 06:25 PM »
Z'jan was pulled upwards, definitively caught. He exhaled the breath he thought he'd so desperately need, and inhaled a more regularly sized one. Water streamed into his eyes, but he didn't try to brush the strands away. They weren't actually in his eyes, being just too short to impede his vision. Now firmly, and irrefutably caught, Z'jan's first instinct was to view this as part of the game. He'd lost. Damn. But hey! How about another--

--but things were moving a little differently, in reality. And while Z'jan might not be the fastest runner out of the gate, he wasn't wherry brained enough not to see where the water-wrestle was really headed...

So the kiss came both as a surprise and--not a surprise. Z'jan was pliant, though didn't respond with gusto at first. Not because he held any ill will or discomfort regarding the situation, but rather because (unlike some people) 'summoning wood' wasn't exactly an instantaneous endeavor. When O'wain broke off the kiss, Z'jan held the brownrider's gaze.

"Ok, fact: I'm caught." He held his hands flat against O'wain chest, flexing the fingers away to show his lack of resistance. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, "and I think--"

He didn't get to finish.

I smell... burn? Ghalath stated definitively from her not-eyeing, not-touching position next to Nishkath on the shore.

At first the words made no sense to Z'jan. The confusion was evident on his face. Then, just as evident, came a realization: "Uh... hey O'wain? So, did you say not to put the green wood on the fire?" Z'jan gave a tentative smile "Because I think... maybe... dinner's done."

With O'wain's taller shoulder blocking his view, he could only imagine what looking towards the shore would reveal. He leaned in, under the pretense of trying peer over it. But... well. Maybe it was worth it to burn the food, just so he wouldn't have to move. So neither of them would have to move?

But with that thought came a violent growl of his stomach. While a certain part of his anatomy might be slow in responding, a different, though equally essential part would not be taking NO for an answer. At least, when it came to eating.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 24 Aug 2013 at 07:31 PM »
Mixed emotions worked inside Z'jan as O'wain released him. First, was the unfortunate loss of contact. Z'jan liked being with people. And near people. And touching people. Even if it wasn't in a sexual capacity (though, yeah, it mostly was.) Secondly, it meant they were going to eat. Which was definitely a good thing.

And that's about as intellectual and contemplative as he got...

Z'jan followed O'wain, trudging through the waist high water. Only once the level fell below his waist did he remember: oh yeah, he was naked. And not only that, but if for any reason he should need to get dressed in a rush, well, he was shit out of luck. His shirt was off near Ghalath, while his pants were... dunno, somewhere in the woods? No, wait. They were by the fire. At least that was a landmark.

Z'jan had fallen back, and by the time he reached the fire O'wain had, apparently, already sorted everything out. After all, there was no one on Pern better at not-helping than Z'jan. He was just keeping up his reputation. And while not fully cooked, the smell of baking wherry definitely set his stomach rumbling again.

"False alarm. Blame Ghalath." something was burning. "Though seeing as your meat is my first meal today, I was really hoping I couldn't have to choke down charcoal." He smiled, oblivious to any alternative meaning of his words.

By this point O'wain was upright again, having brushed the sand off himself. Now he was just standing there. And Z'jan was just standing there. Just two naked guys, dripping wet, standing there. It should have been awkward.

And it was. But only a little bit. And, likely, only for Z'jan.

He looked between the fire and the water. It was definitely too hot to stay near the fire. And while he loved the water... "And what game is that?" he asked coyly, backing up slowly towards the woods, instead of the water. "You wouldn't mean the one where you caught me... then let me go?"

To the woods. Because 'wood' was exactly what Z'jan needed to think about now... in a manner of speaking...

at least until dinner was ready.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 24 Aug 2013 at 08:14 PM »
Nope, Z'jan hadn't given a thought to thorns. Or the fact he was barefoot and there were thorns. Or that his man parts were swinging in the breeze, and therefore were also susceptible to thorns. No, none of that occurred to him. (despite having been attacked by thorns not a candlemark earlier.)

No, the only thing he was thinking about was escaping O'wain's clutches. He'd managed to evade O'wain's first reach, but it had been a very close call. The bloody brownrider had jumped the gun. Fucker, he grinned to himself. Then again, Z'jan had cheated earlier. So they were both fuckers.

Z'jan streaked (literally) through the woods, O'wain at his heels. What had inspired him to head into the woods, and not the water, after all? At first, he wasn't sure himself. Then he heard Ghalath's far off rumble. That's why. While his sexual exploits hardly bothered her, he'd never been able to get over the 'being watched' feeling that it gave him. While he loved an audience during parties, or company when out adventuring, having someone else inside your head when you were fucking?.... eh, weird. To say the least. 

As the woods got denser, Z'jan began to realize he'd been pretty stupid to take this route. His chest and arms were already flecked with thorn-pricks, and while his feet were tough from constant barefoot adventures, they were still starting to get tender from the constant barrage of tree needles and breaking twigs beneath them.

Oh, and O'wain was gaining on him.

He took a sharp right, heading for a thick clump of foliage... thinking to loose O'wain in the brush. The 'brush,' however, turned out to be a hedgerow of thick, thorny bushes. Z'jan skidded to a stop. Trapped! He wheeled around, throwing up his hands.

"SURRENDER, I surrender! Just don't run me into the thorns!" he laugh-shouted in O'wain's direction. He couldn't see the brownrider yet, and the turn he'd taken had been pretty sharp. Z'jan swallowed. The idea of O'wain barreling into him and knocking them both, butt naked, into the spines... well, it was something he'd really like to avoid. He could only hope the older rider's reflexes were as quick as his own.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 24 Aug 2013 at 10:58 PM »
Z'jan's expression was a mix of mirth and letdown. After all, he'd surrendered. He's lost. Losing sucked! But it had been his own fault, so he could only blame himself. But blaming himself sucked too. He'd much rather blame someone else. But that someone else, with his come hither summons and gesturing hand, was currently in charge of the only exit out of his thorny cage. And it's never smart to goad the gatekeeper.

"Ah man," he was smiling, but there was also some awkwardness, even bordering on shyness, lurking in his gaze. Nothing that stood out profoundly. But just a hint. For Z'jan, any new bedmate (forest-floor-mate?) made his adrenaline pump a little more than normal. The unknown of a new partner: what to expect, what to do... it brought out Z'jan's less dominant side. Which was paradoxical to how adrenaline normally made him behave.

And he loved it. Around Ghalath, the antisocial green, he had to be the bold social ambassador. Around others, he was wild Z'jan, or boisterous Z'jan, or frequently 'jumping off shit' Z'jan. But alone, in the woods, with an older brownrider that he hardly knew?... he could be anybody he wanted. Perhaps that's why he slept around so much. One night stands had become his sexual currency.

And he was totally ok with that.

With a slow, less confidant than normal step, he moved towards O'wain. His eyes didn't show fear, but a sort of anxious excitement. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, though even now his breathing was slowing, returning to normal.

Another step. A little smile, which he quickly tried to wipe away with his hand. But it lingered there. Just at the corners. Another step.

At this point, there was only one step left.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 24 Aug 2013 at 11:49 PM »
Things got simpler from here.

Z'jan let himself be pulled in, and the contact with human skin was comforting. No, more the comforting. It was the best thing. The pressure of body against body, whether it was simply leaning back to back while dozing in the shade, or going for a tumble in bed, was one of Z'jan's favorite feelings. He couldn't hide it. Once his skin touched O'wain's, it pressed closer without further encouragement.

There was nothing else on Z'jan's mind except this moment. He forgot all about the wherry meat, his scattered clothing, their strange location... even his stomach has stopped growling. And while he couldn't (and didn't want to) forget entirely about Ghalath, she was dozing in the sun near Nishkath and had no more interest in his current affairs than if he'd been counting grains of sand by the lakeshore.

The sweat from running had sent pin-pricks of pain across his little wounds. But it didn't bother him; in fact, it made the moment seem more immediate: more visceral. As he was kissed, Z'jan moved his hand up O'wain's chest, coming to rest near the brownrider's throat. His thumb pressed soft circles around the man's adam's apple, before tracking upwards, tracing the line of his jaw.

He pressed his cheek to O'wain's, momentarily pulling his lips away. Gentle was good, he thought. Still, he didn't need this man getting the wrong idea...

There was a smirk on Z'jan's face, but is was half veiled with growing lust... and since he was pressed against O'wain, there was no way the brownrider could see it anyway. "It's good to hear," he spoke, his voice taking on a definitively husky overtone. This tip of his nose just touched O'wain's ear, "but you should know, I don't break easy, either."

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 25 Aug 2013 at 11:56 PM »
<< ...Fade In>>

... had he... fallen asleep ...on the beach?

Z'jan furrowed his brows in sleep, as his mind tried to drag him back to consciousness. He shifted slightly and forced his eyes open to slits. He expected to get pelted by the harsh glare of light reflecting off of water. Instead, everything was dappled, and much dimmer than it should have been. His eyes opened fully. Trees, everywhere. Hm.

It was almost like he


remembered everthing.

Blinking, he tried to mentally locate all his body parts. After such 'contortions,' it was always good to figure out where everything was before trying to move abruptly. It was never fun to roll over on the wrong part, or put a knee where it shouldn't be going... especially for the person on the receiving end. Though the urge to arch his back and stretch out 5'10 of cramped muscle was almost irresistible.

Z'jan was on his stomach, that much was certain. He could see leaves, dirt, grass, bits of stick and rock traveling outward from his eyeline until what felt like infinity. Tree trunks. A leaf, half eaten by grubs, fell to the forest floor about ten meters off.

A rebel yawn nearly popped Z'jan's jaw. What time was it? The light was too dim. He hesitantly shifted his arms, legs, just a bit, in an effort to determine the line where he ended and O'wain began.

It was a very blurry line.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 26 Aug 2013 at 01:13 AM »
...two legs, under his own. One arm in his posssession, the other...

He flexed the fingers slightly, the pads stretching out across O'wain's chest. He took a deep, but quiet breath. He couldn't deny: he felt good. Everything. Just laying here. As far as he could tell, O'wain was asleep. Z'jan preferred it that way.

It gave him to consider how he was going to disappear.

But an undeniable sigh, and a ripple-effect of movement down O'wain's neck, shoulders, chest, and to Z'jan's fingers, corrected him. It seemed the brownrider was actually very much awake. That, or he'd just exhibited the most violent yawn in Pern's history. No use playing dead wherry. Z'jan tried to touch Ghalath's mind, but the green seemed to be asleep. That was unusual for her. She didn't like to sleep alone, much less in the company of a dragon she hardly knew. Good for her, he thought, she needs to get over it.

But, oh-no, he'd guess wrong twice: Ghalath wasn't asleep either. At least, not asleep enough to ignore the chance to make a jab at Z'jan.

my issues? Mr. thanks-for-the-fuck-gotta-run?

This is totally different

and each time it's the same

Z'jan frowned, his fingers tightening unconsciously against O'wain's chest. What did Ghalath know about anything? He didn't need to run. He didn't always run... even if maybe he did. What did it matter? It was just sex. It didn't have to be a thing. He was allowed to just leave. It's not like it bothered him.

It didn't bother him.

He unconsciously waited for Ghalath's rebuttal; it never came. This time, she really was asleep. She'd heard all this before... so Z'jan fumbled alone with his thoughts. He needed something to say to O'wain, something convincing. Something partially true would be best, since he was a terrible liar. Something that--

O'wain's hand tracing up the back of his leg made him catch his breath. His thoughts scattered like birds. He also became aware, for the first time, that another part of O'wain was also very much awake. This man was a freak of nature... and ten points to gryffindor nature.

Z'jan's ear was pressed close to O'wain's chest, so when the brownrider's spoke, he felt the words as much as heard them. The vibrations, inexplicably, sent giddy chills running down his spine. Post sex adrenaline.

"Our... dinner?" oh, right, the wherry... gawd I'm hungry... and, hey, where are my pants... actually, where are we...?

"Oh. That dinner." He ended lamely. He shifted against O'wain, trying to figure out the best way to get to his feet and get the fuck out of here without making a scene. Or the least amount of 'scene' a sex-haired greenrider jogging naked out of the woods at sundown could make.

Sorry but you are not allowed to view spoiler contents.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 26 Aug 2013 at 01:51 PM »
Z'jan listened to O'wain, his throat constricting slightly. Shit. It was becoming a thing. Still, it was odd. What little Z'jan knew of O'wain's reputation was that the brownrider had no inclination of settling down. Which was great news for Z'jan, as far as he was concerned. So what was this 'I'll cook you dinner and then we can enjoy desert' invitation all about? And more importantly, how would he get out of it?

"Sounds... good."

Well, nice one.

Though O'wain's suggested itinerary (naked, he might add) didn't illicit the same placid reaction. Was Z'jan against flying bareback? Meh, not really. He couldn't imagine Ghalath would like it much. Still, it's not like the green hadn't seen him naked before. In honesty, she'd probably seen him naked as much as clothed. She was his dragon, after all. Her knew her mottled hide as well as she knew his scarred body.

No, it wasn't the flying naked itself that bothered Z'jan. It was the continued naked company of O'wain. Sex was over. He didn't regret it, not one bit, but that didn't mean he wanted to linger on it. The past was past. And Z'jan hated the past. Only now mattered.

And now he really had to go--

O'wain started sitting up before Z'jan, leaving the younger greenrider in a slightly compromised position. Their laps were still crossed. And O'wain's hands were still on him... not unpleasantly... definitely not... but... butt

Get up. Don't wait longer. Don't make it weirder

Z'jan flexed his jaw, then pushed himself up onto his elbows. Slowly, so as not to suggest his strong desire to flee, he turned and pulled his legs off of O'wain's lap... making a conspicuous effort not to eye the fifth limb that lingered underneath. Z'jan's arms and legs, and hell, his whole body, was speckled with bits of forest detritus. And not excluding places best left unmentioned. He'd need a wash.

"Clothes might be better, yeah. You know--" he didn't know where he was going with that. Fuck. "Uh... I think Ghalath still has my shirt. My pants are... somewhere. By the fire, maybe." He tried to play it cool, but his eyes were busy darting around the small clearing. He kept his head tilted mostly away from O'wain, so it was possible that rider didn't notice. Though it was also very possible he did. With a final shift of his body, he was sitting next to O'wain, his left shoulder and hip touching O'wains right.

The thorn bushes created a wall behind them, and the only way out was small path between the trees: the way they'd come charging in. How was he going to do this?

"Hey, so... do you think... I mean, I need to wash off." annnnd "Could you, maybe... find my pants? Then, uh..' keep gooooing "I'll meet you... at the lake?"

Because suddenly, Z'jan had a plan. A tentative plan, maybe. A bad plan, likely.
But he had a plan.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 26 Aug 2013 at 08:45 PM »
Z'jan couldn't stop the flush from rising to his face, nor could he entirely smother the smile that tugged at the cornerns of his mouth. O'wain's glance, his traditionally cocky comment said in the most earnest, considerate manner... Z'jan ran his hand over the back of his neck bashfully, eyes darting to his toes, as though somehow that would help matters. Post sex emotions were strange waters for him. He navigated clumsily, hoping to neither lose his bearings nor run aground.

It didn't help that he was still groggy.

"Yeah, I had a great... it was good. Really good, I mean...yeah." Talking about it was weird. Weird for him at least. Was that a good answer? Should he say something else?

just don't say 'thank you,' whatever you do the green coached lazily you're not a total slut

Since when have I ever been a slut?'ve never been a total slut

Z'jan gave up. Ghalath, point made, rumbled from the lakeshore. Z'jan could hear her both in his mind, and faintly in the distance, somewhere to his right.

"Keep doing that," he commanded. And without any awareness that he'd just spoken aloud.

doing what... being right

Rumbling. I need to find the lake. All these trees look the same.

The Lake Edge / Re: Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 27 Aug 2013 at 01:22 AM »
Z'jan, seeing O'wain rise, felt a weight being lifted. He felt free to move now. Getting to his own feet, he tried not to think about how dirty he was. Though really, it was the dirt that was the issue. It was all the little things stuck to him: leaves, bark bits, tree needles, grit... etc.

He instinctively moved to brush himself off, but then realized how ridiculous it was. He was already naked. Surely that was the bigger 'being presentable' issue at the moment. In fact, a big enough leaf could actually come in handy.

"I did. And thanks--"

Ghalath grumbled severely.

Thanks for directions!

Glancing up at O'wain, Z'jan's disorientation was written clearly on his face. "--that would be great. How do you keep your bearings in here? I'm fine on mountains, or in holds, but woods..." he shook his head "...I feel like the trees change places when I'm not looking."

He took a step forward, feeling more like his old confidant self now that the topic concerned their spacial orientation... instead of their anatomical one.

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