Watch your manners (Jada, Farlint)

It really was a nice night. Mid Autumn was a wonderful time of the turn, and the night was not too hot, and not too cold. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, actually, and to Jada it felt like she could possibly see forever. At Harper Hall she never would have been able to enjoy a moment of peace like this, just outside of the Weyr and resting her back against a tree to stare up at the stars. At the Hall her absence would have been noticed by now, even if it were just her brother, and the chance that her solitude would be respected? Slim to none, and that was being optimistic. The sound of her Craft, however, would be a welcomed backdrop to the alien noises that she was hearing now.

Still, the peaceful night gave her mind leave to wander as it would, over so many recent events. So far she hadn't been able to find the lunkhead who had Stolen her. She rather wanted to know why. The only rhyme or reason that she had seen so far was that they were all young, hale and mostly male. And then with the announcement about the Northern women being nothing more than broodmares...

No. Tonight was for relaxing.

Farlint had decided to take advantage of the lovely opportunity that a lovely night presented. Shards, he hadn't been able to convince himself to have a good night in.... a while. Most of the men here were into each other, and the women were angling (or furiously avoiding) babies, and tensions were just... incredibly high. Still, he'd settled in quite nicely here; Katila was a beautiful location and there were plenty of fun things for him to do. Admittedly he missed his many beautiful ladies (both on four legs and on two) but they did have some gorgeous ones here in Katila as well, running wild.

He missed Meara. He'd thought about marrying her, but the more time he spent away from her the more he wondered if he had actually wanted to be her partner? Or if it was because it was expected of him. After all, he had tumbled into her bed on a regular basis since his assignment to Keroon. Her sister had been married to someone important, he couldn't remember who, Sometimes he wondered what could have happened. But such thoughts were easily dismissed- it wasn't in Far's nature to dwell on things that couldn't be changed. It has been almost three turns, after all.

In his hand, Far held a mostly-empty container, the same that had been in his pack the afternoon that I'Shan had come and Stolen him away. His last Turn Day gift from his father, a Master Vintner of Benden. Good, Quality wine. Not that cheap swill that they had here. Swill! Yet now it was almost gone, a genuine shame. The good stuff was just so very expensive in Katila. Far had few enough marks, for all the work he got roped into. He could have sold what he had left for a few extra marks, but-

His foot hooked on something, and Farlint felt his body fall.

Her reverie was interrupted as she heard the sounds of footsteps. Her back was to a tree, and she couldn't imagine she would be in anyone's way. And everyone around here who might be walking was a Rider or a Candidate, anyway. Still, from courtesy she pulled her legs in a little closer to her body, to keep them out of the potential walking path of whoever else was out here. She heard a crash from somewhere to her left, and then a distinctly masculine curse. The next thing she knew, liquid splashed over her head and body, and there was a thunk as a hard object followed the path of the liquid. “Ow!” she yelped, just before a body crashed into her lap.

She reeked of alcohol, and Jada tugged her arm out from under the male body on top of her own, sniffing at her hand. Yep, booze. Her tongue darted out, touching gingerly to the liquid. Good booze, which was a shame. “Are you alright?” So, she was alone with a possible drunk at night. Great.

His face landed in something soft. Well, that was very reassuring. Face-planting was always much less comfortable when it was onto something hard. He'd done it both ways, so he knew from experience. Farlint put his hands down and was pleasantly surprised to find his hands land on soft, warm thighs. Oh, well. Awesome. He squeezed the firm flesh boldly, testing. Yep! They were soft and girly, just the kind he liked to squeeze. Gauging from experience? His eyes were probably somewhere around her navel.

There was something damp dripping onto his arm. His hands were empty, and he'd heard her cry of pain- so... Chances were good...

“No! I'm not alright!” He slurred it cheerfully, squeezing her legs again. He tilted his head, lifting his eyes to see? Curves. Awesome. “I spilled my Benden,” he said sadly. (Farlint was, indeed, quite sad.) “And that was the last of it.” Now just a few precious dribbles on the ground.

She was going to punch him if he kept squeezing her thighs. Just once more might send her over the edge. For a person who was not inherently violent, Jada sure was feeling it tonight! “I know you spilled your- Wait, Benden? You went stumbling through the woods at night, drunk, with your good wine? Do you have any idea what you could have sold that for?!” Whoever her mysterious companion was, he had to be a total idiot.

“About 20 marks.” he admitted cheerfully. “But I only had a little left.” He would have preferred to be drunk than have good marks, and now he would be having neither. But at least the woman hadn't made any moves to get him off (of her) yet, so he remained in position, lazily. (She was soft!) It wasn't that he particularly wanted to lay here, but he had just lost the last of his non-swill liquor. After all, that was all Katila brewed so far. Swill. Hmmm, maybe he should be pretending to be a little sadder.

Farlint might respect women, but that didn't make him any less of a pervert.

He squeezed soft thighs again, snuggling into soft with a happy noise.

Twenty marks? He could have- Katila wine got one just as drunk as any other booze, and twenty marks would get you a good bit of it. Almost all you could drink, in fact, before you vomited. Yep. Whoever this guy was, he was-

A total idiot!

He buried his face in her belly, making some dumb cooing noise. Her punch probably took him in the temple, though she couldn't be sure.

A fist connected with his temple, and Far grunted, biting his lip so that he wouldn't holler. He'd been kicked a lot worse by a sevenday-old Runner, but shards! Right in the temple? “OW.” he growled the words, and shoved up, digging his fingers into her thighs fiercely. Miss Shadowy-face, the little wherry, might not have even known where she hit him.

There could have been some kind of trauma to his brain! Admittedly, some of these people may have had the idea that he was damaged already, but he didn't need it to be the truth. There were little dragons hardening in their shells on the Sands, and he sharding well needed to be in his best shape if he didn't want to go begging for a ride from I'shan or O'wain. “What was that for?”

She winced at his cry of pain, and the ache that rocketed up her arm. “Stop groping me!” she snapped, and shoved at him with her hands, trying to get him off (her body.) “I don't know who you are, but you need to watch where you're touching!” How infuriating, that drunken lout! Jada wriggled, trying to draw her legs up, to get the leverage to push him off of her body. Maybe she would be able to just roll him off her legs and onto the ground, and then she could leave.

She reached for the wood behind her, gripping it with her hands, and tried to drag herself up. This was absolutely ridiculous. Her nice night? RUINED.

"You could ha tole me to stop groping." Far was petulant, and it was for a good reason! Such a violent, vicious woman. She was just like... okay, just like a lot of the women he'd fallen for. Maybe Far did have a screw loose. "I'm Farlint." he told her as she wriggled under him. Politely, as her legs drew up, he rolled into her, and blew out a puff of air. Like he was going to let her get away with punching him in the head! Unfortunately, that was when she started trying to try and stand.

He pushed off her with a grunt, shoving to his feet. The tree in front of him wobbled, and he reached out to try and steady it. It was only polite, after all. The nice tree had- he felt his eyes cross and groaned. "I just wanted to finish my wine in pieces."

She squawked as his lips pressed to her abdomen, air puffing against the blue cloth that covered her belly. Ah! "Tickles!" Jada cried, and climbed her way upwards. She quivered as his body thumped to the ground, debating lifting her leg to run. Then she connected the name.

Farlint? That was the man she had met in the dining hall! Great, now she couldn't just leave him here. She reached out to grab his arm as he crawled up the tree. "Can you keep your hands to yourself?" she inquired, even as she shifted to be able to handle more of his weight leaning on her. She rather wished now that she hadn't wandered so far away from the edges of the Weyr. It would take forever to make it back to the Candidate barracks, or the Healer's Hall. "Grope me again, and I will drop you."

Farlint was incredibly insulted that the woman thought he wasn't able to keep his hands to himself. He was a perfect- drunk. Grumbling, he pushed a chunk of mahogany hair out of his face, latching onto the woman's arm. "I'll be good." he said finally, and kept a hold of her. "So where are we going? Did you decide you wanted to go drinking with me?"

What would they drink? He didn't have anything, but she might! And then, a nice night of drinking, and maybe he'd be able to- no, probably not. If she reacted like that just from a little squeeze, she was probably not inclined to engage in some extraneous amusement. Which was a shame, since he hadn't been able to indulge in his prior sexual habits in three turns.

Three turns, huh? That booze had probably been a little dusty anyways. He'd been clinging to it for long enough. He'd been holding on to a lot for long enough.

Farlint draped his tall frame against the smaller woman with him and nuzzled into her hair.

She probably could have sighed at him, but in the end that would likely be a waste of breath. How could he say he would be good and then nuzzle into her like she was some kind of a comfort object? And he actually asked her if she wanted to go drinking with him? "And just what are we going to drink, Farlint?" The question was reasonable, if she did say-so herself. After all, the last of the Benden was probably spilled all over the ground. Speaking of which...

Jada reached out with her foot, feeling over the ground gingerly for the object which had struck her on the head. It probably hadn't gone far, and she wanted to try and pick it up. There was no reason why they should leave it lying in the dirt just because it was 'dark' outside. Picking something up didn't require much extra effort. And maybe her companion would appreciate it when he was sober again!

The Harper circled slowly, gingerly.

Well, she wasn't punching him away, and that was fabulous for Far! Of course, she was also swaying. It was rather like a leaf on the gentle Pernese wind, dancing in the- ooo. He burped, right next to her ear. "Sorry." he told her, unapologetic. "We can probably get some of the swill they make here for pretty cheap. It's enough to get drunk off of, anyway. Have you ever had any?" He'd drunk plenty Katilan everything over the last three turns to know- it was effective at what it was supposed to do. So long as part of what it was supposed to do did not involve tasting good.

For a beastcrafter, he sure did have a fancy palate, he noted to himself. It probably came from having a Master Vintner for a father- expensive taste in alcohol was developed fairly on. "And please call me Far. I hate my full name. My mother had delusions for me. My father thought it was a terrible name. Then she died, and almost no one by myself called me by my-" he paused, burping again. "My full name. Sorry."

Why was she spinning? It was making him feel awful funny. "What are you doing?"

Oh, this was just disgusting. But Jada had dealt with worse. She couldn't exactly be fussy about who her clients were as a Harper. Especially not as a fairly inexperienced Journeywoman. The second belch near her ear sounded a little... wet. "I have enjoyed some of the Katilan alcohol. It isn't all that bad. I've had worse." And unfortunately, she had. While Jada could appreciate good wine, she had also learned that sometimes you couldn't always afford what you wanted. And sometimes expensive didn't just mean quality, but it meant inflated egos and unnecessary... everything.

She could start a conversation with him. He had few inhibitions right now, it seemed. "What kind of delusions did your mother have?" she asked instead, just as her foot connected with something that moved. The bottle! She tried to lower herself, to grip the bottle, but no luck. Up, down, up, down. Stretch! Shards, Far was heavy! For a man she remembered as being so slender, he must have a lot of muscle under there to weigh as much as he seemed to.

"I'm trying," she huffed, trying one last time to bend, "to pick up your bottle." This wasn't working. "Stay." Jada ordered, and released the man. There. Now. She bent, and felt her hand wrap around the bottle.

This woman needed to stop being so wobbly. She kept spinning, and ducking, and frankly, Farlint couldn't take it. "That's because you have obviously never gotten drunk on the good stuff." he informed his savior. Women were nice. Soft, warm and strong. But this one-

"Stay?" he repeated dumbly, and then the girl vanished, as if she had gone Between but without a dragon! "Ah!" he said. Now that was im- oh, no. He wobbled, and without the support of the smaller body, he reached out for a tree, as he had been all night while he drank. "I miss Meara," he told the tree. "She could cook, and she would get drunk with me, and she was great in bed."

He slid down the tree and felt his butt land on something firm and soft. Well, that wasn't the first time, but this... felt more like the back of a Runner than a tree root.

"Meara?" Who was that? Jada didn't know of any women in the Weyr by the name of Meara, though it was possible that there was one. The Harper hadn't been in as much of a position to meet everyone just yet, but she was working on it! She'd been brought here at the very end of spring, and it had been halfway to mid-summer before she had reconciled herself enough to leave Candidate Isle; it was mid-autumn now. "Who is Mea- oof!" she had just gripped the empty container when a butt landed right against her own, knocking her into the leaves.

She fell forward, sprawling against the ground. Something landed- he was sitting on her arm! Her eyes widened in pain and the woman bit her lip in an attempt not to cry out in pain. "How about we- okay, ow! Get off me, Far, and we'll go talk about Meara in the barracks. We can pick up something to drink on the way." What a bribe! Jada managed to wriggle her hand free with some effort and gripped the Benden container with the other. As she rose to her feet, she could feel leaves falling. Great- she probably looked a fine mess now!

Glaring down at the man, who looked like a pitiful shadow in the dark, she sighed. It just wasn't in her to leave him here like this, even if it were to be to her advantage. "Come on, Far. Lets go get drunk."

The woman gave a cry of pain, and Far jumped guiltily, lifting himself enough for her wriggling hand to inch out from under his body. "Who are you again?" he asked, already having forgotten if the woman had introduced herself. She was being suspiciously nice to him. He watched the form rise from the ground, and his head fell back, landing against the wood.

Wait, she was willing to drink with him? That brightened his night. He could have gone to harass one of the guys, but who wanted to drink with a bunch of men when they could get drunk with someone new and exciting instead?

(Sorry, friends were old hat. This was fresh meat.)

"Jada." she snapped, and then tried to soften her tone. But shards, this man... "We met before." he didn't act that drunk. He slurred, he stumbled, but he seemed capable of being rational. Then again, Jada considered herself an optimist, and she didn't want to think about what would happen if he passed out and she had to drag him all the way back to the Candidate barracks. Then again, someone else could come along and help. But chances of that were slim at this hour, she supposed.

Alright. "Up with you." Her tone was decisive, and more than a little bossy. Now he'd hit his head, and she might have to take him to the Healers. When a drunk got head trauma, what were the chances of something bad happening to them? he could have amnesia, or a concussion, or some other tragic head wound, or mental incapacitation.

She pitied whatever Hatchling might choose this one, head wound or not.

Step by step, she dragged him towards the Candidate barracks. Her hand wrapped around the back of his pants at the waistline, in an attempt to control his stumbling. Healer Hall? Or bed? Healer hall? Or bed?

Bed it was, she decided. The Healers were just too far.

Farlint nodded sagely, as though he'd known the answer all along. "Jada. I knew it was a pretty name. See?" He gripped her hand as she offered it to him, let her pull him to his feet. His head ached from the bash against the wood, but not as much as it would from the last of his wine. The man let his tall body drape back over her smaller one, appreciating her sturdy frame. Or maybe it was willpower- not many women would be able to drag him along. But here she was, just like a little Runner, doggedly aimed for her goal.

He was still appreciating her when she knocked him onto the bed he pointed her to.

He'd forgotten about her by morning. His headache was a much more impressive worry.