[G] [C] 739.02.02 | Mission Orientated

N'mor had put it off for as long as he could forseeability get away with it. His little sister had not been particularly impressed when he had shown up at Telgar and accidentally let slip that he had had her bag of clothing for over a month already. She's huffed and tutted but none the less demanded he upend the bag on her bed so she could sort through the wonderful new additions to her wardrobe. While the clothing R'dare's mother made wasn't quite on par with the clothing Amorandii was currently wearing, Amorandii viewed it as if it were a great gift, and she gushed her gratitude which N'mor promised he would pass on to the woman when he next saw her. He hadn't yet thanked her for the clothing he'd received – and was currently wearing – and figured it was another reason he should be in Telgar. Even if he didn't want to be.

Following him back out to his dragon, Amorandii danced forward to pat the bronze beast, who put up with her affections with a flat look at N'mor, who hid a smile behind his hand. His dragon wasn't the most grateful of creatures, but he did enjoy Amorandii's love and affections, even if he put up a solid appearance to putting up with her. “Who is that for?” The little girl asked suspiciously, pointing at a smaller bag that was attached to Rhezalth's side. N'mor rolled his eyes, and stepped forward, pushing his little sister and her grabby  hands away. “Not for you. Shoo. I have to get up to the Weyr.” Pouting at him, Amorandii flounced back inside while N'mor mounted up and had Rhezalth leap into the hair, the pair turning towards the Weyr proper and quickly entering its sky space, bellowing a greeting to the Watch dragon.

Let Dad know we'll drop by shortly, N'mor instructed, even as he guided Rhezalth towards the common grounds so they could land and he could ask for directions on where he needed to go. Looking for an escape route? Rhezalth teased, and N'mor rolled his eyes, but didn't disagree. Nothing wrong with an exit strategy! he smirked, sliding off the bronze dragon who snorted and tossed his head before ambling off to curl up in the shade. He would have liked to go swimming in the lake, but it looked like it was occupied and he wasn't in the mood to socialise. I'll take you to the beach back home later today, okay? Very well, but his pleasure was hard to miss.

Smiling and shaking his head slightly, N'mor entered the Weyr lower caverns and sought out someone who looked like they knew what was going on around the place. He would have preferred to avoid the gossip mongers, but he didn't really have a whole lot of options; it was her or asking one of his friends. At least the gossip monger wouldn't ask questions, she'd just make all the wrong assumptions. Smiling charmingly, N'mor asked about the woman's day, laughing cheerfully at her teasing responses, before asking where he could find his friends, going out of his way to throw in a few stray classmates before adding in the query about Z'rin. He nodded seriously as she listed off where their various weyrs were located, and thanked her politely, giving her a light kiss to the cheek for her time. He smirked smugly to Rhezalth when the old lady blushed and tittered before wandering off. Hopefully she'd be so obsessed about the charming young bronzerider who kissed her she wouldn't babble about how he was asking after old classmates.

Making his way through the corridors, N'mor ran into a few people he knew and exchanged casual greetings, but otherwise wasn't delayed overly much as he finally found his way to Z'rin's door. Frowning slightly, N'mor stepped forward and put the small bag of clothing at his feet before knocking solidly on the wood three times. Then he picked the bag back up, and waited. Since he'd sent Z'rin on his way some six months ago, N'mor hadn't realised the clothing was left in his weyr right away. When he had seen it, he'd sighed dramatically before putting it aside to wash. It hadn't been much issue to add it to his pile at the end of the week and get it done, but it had since been sitting in one corner of his room, neatly folded and a glaring reminder of the errand he had to run, but had constantly been putting off.

In a way, he decided as he waited, it was kind of more embarrassing to be standing there six months later than it would have been if he'd brought them back a few days later. Whatever, he was a busy guy (not really) and had a lot to do (hardly true) and barely visited Telgar that much (what a lie). Go to sleep you impossible lump! He may have been blushing.

After spending the morning assisting around the Weyr with chores and heavy lifting of supplies, Z’rin felt like the afternoon was the perfect time for a nap. Varralath, however, had a different idea. After Z’rin had his midday meal, his dragon informed him he was also hungry and wanted company while out hunting. After some friendly bickering that ended up with the dragon winning and Z’rin wondering why he ever bothered, they headed out for a bit of hunting.

Well, Varralath hunted; Z’rin enjoyed a nap up in a tree.

Ever since his family and others on the expedition left him behind in the South, Z’rin found comfort in having short naps in trees. He realized after the fact that felines could still climb and other dangers had wings, but grabbing a quick nap here and there while trying to survive in an unknown land with very little training to do just that, was nice and he felt secure. Now, whenever he went out for a trip with Varralath, he usually ended up in a tree, even if just to observe the world around him—which he tried to do for a bit that afternoon, watching his dragon swoop down on his chosen meal.

Now, they were home, both tuckered out from their outing and at least one of them a bit chilled from it as well. He was an Ista kid and living in Katila hadn’t helped him adapt any to the colder months. Thankfully Telgar wasn’t as bad as Fort, though the Weyrs were always warmer than the Holds. You are full of contradictions and complaints today, Varralath observed mildly as he repositioned himself in his corner of their home. “And whose fault is that?” Z’rin shot back with just as little attitude as his dragon had. Both were almost going through the motions of playful banter now that they were home with full bellies and exhaustion kicking in.

Z’rin had removed his riding leathers, kicked off his boots, and wiggled his toes as he debated the socks. No, they could stay on. His poor feet always seemed to be the first to get cold and he didn’t have nearly enough rugs around his home yet to satisfy the urge to safely go barefoot. He padded his way to his bedroom, removing his shirt on the way, intent on curling up under the warm furs for a bit if nothing else. The shirt had just made it into the bin and a blanket replaced it in his hands when three solid knocks sounded. Z’rin frowned, not at all expecting company, and briefly considered pretending he wasn’t home. Given that he hadn’t been home for very long was likely what drew his visitor if they saw him return.

The blanket was set back on the bed and Z’rin went to the door, not minding that he was without a shirt. He was certain that everyone had seen him in less thanks to flights in random locations and simply swimming at the lake by Katila. With the assumption it was one of his friends that were likely involved in either of those situations, or even just a messenger, Z’rin opened the door with a smile and then hesitated in his casual greeting he was about to give.

N’mor? Now that was someone he wouldn’t have placed a bet on. It had been what; four months? No, closer to six, if his quick counting was accurate, and he had long given up on the bronzerider taking him up on the offer to come by for a visit. Then again, maybe it wasn’t a social call but he was being summoned for some reason. Z’rin did his best to hide his sudden paranoia of being in trouble and focused on the off chance that N’mor really did want to spend time with him.

“Hey! What brings you by, N’mor? Did you want to come in?” His smile brightened as he focused on the good in the situation and held the door open further as invitation. He was always happy to see a friend or someone that interested him.

If N’mor had been blushing before the door opened, he certainly was when Z’rin opened it and stood before him in nothing more than low-slung pants and a pair of socks. N’mor’s eyes widened comically, gaze unconsciously lingering across the bluerider’s chest before he caught himself and lifted his gaze to meet Z’rin’s eyes, hoping the bluerider was too distracted to notice N’mor had been ogling him. The young man frowned slightly, considering the questions that had been flung at him. “Sure,” he answered at last, studying the smiling face before slipping past Z’rin and into the Weyr.

He looked around curiously, taking in the sparse but neat living quarters. His own weyr was more luxuriously decorated, but to be fair, N’mor had a lot of good fortune on his side; he was a bronzerider, he was the son of B’jin, he was the nephew of Andeleen and he was hardly dirt poor. To put it simply, N’mor enjoyed the connections he had to get the best and the nicest, and he was not ashamed of it. Seeing Z’rin’s home, though, made him realise not everyone was so inclined. N’mor wondered idly if Z’rin was saving his allocated marks for something, or if perhaps he spent them of friends or family instead of himself. Probably the latter, N’mor decided.

“I brought your clothes back,” N’mor said, turning back around after he’d examined what he could see of the weyr, and holding up the bag he’d been carrying. It was small, but clearly big enough to hold all the clothing Z’rin had left in N’mor’s weyr. The young man blushed again, thankful that there was no one around to hear him admit to having a bluerider’s clothing flung across his weyr, especially without any additional story. It was a lot more innocent than what he knew most people would think… Oh Faranth. N’mor dropped the bag at his feet and lifted his hand so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. He was going to give himself a migraine.

"My clothes?" Z'rin paused a moment, confusion obvious, before he caught on to what N'mor was talking about. "Oh! I forgot about that. Sorry. I realized I left them behind when I got home but didn't think you'd want me coming back right away to get them, especially given it was still raining... and then I guess I figured you'd bring them back if you took me up on the offer to bug me. Which you did," Z'rin laughed lightly as he bit his lip to stop his babbling. It wasn't that he was nervous --well, maybe a little-- but he did seem to talk a lot more when he was put into a weird situation and explaining something to a bronzerider still seemed to count as one of those, it seemed.

Z'rin bent down to retrieve his bag of clothes thanks to being too slow to actually take them from the bronzerider. He didn't see the gesture as rude given that N'mor had one hand and if it was needed for something else, like rubbing at an itch on his face, then something had to be sacrificed. "Did you want the bag back? Give me a sec and I'll empty it out. Make yourself at home out here or tag along if you'd like."

Z'rin headed to his bedroom to empty out the bag. As he pulled out the shirt and pants, he realized they were folded and, without actually sniffing them to verify, seemed to be clean. "You washed them? Thank you," he was genuinely touched by the act. He couldn't say why, really, but he had been on his own for so long, despite being a part of a community, that it was odd to have someone do something like that for him. Not wanting to get misty-eyed over such things that might bring about childhood memories of his mother pampering him, Z'rin turned to his small dresser and tucked the items in their appropriate drawers.

He hesitated with the shirt drawer, noticing that he still wasn't wearing one. Not sure if N'mor was going to stay or not, he decided putting a shirt on was probably still polite; and a bit warmer. "Sorry, I was about to lie down for a nap and wasn't expecting anyone to stop by. But I'm up for entertaining if you want to stay a bit," he explained as one arm, then the other, and then his head found the appropriate holes and his shirt was slipped on.

Dropping his hand, still blushing, N’mor watched Z’rin come to stand before him and pick up the bag he had dropped. He felt bad for dropping it, as the bluerider picked it up without comment and offered to empty it. Blinking, N’mor opened his mouth to tell him not to bother – the bag had done the rounds by bringing clothes to him from his Aunt – but he was already off. Shrugging, N’mor glanced around, and then trailed after Z’rin, watching the way the tall man’s muscles rippled across his back when he moved. Damnit.

… Oh. N’mor’s eyes opened wide when he realised he’d just followed Z’rin into his bedroom, and he paused in the doorway, staring around with curiosity and another hot blush before his attention returned to Z’rin. He stared frankly at his back as he put away the clothing, and then slipped into a shirt. N’mor frowned as the tanned skin vanished from view. He almost felt like his face wasn’t quite on fire by the time Z’rin was actually dressed, and N’mor opted to lean casually against the doorway, wishing he had his other arm so he could cross them over his chest. Instead, he was stuck with one arm awkwardly picking at the hem of his shirt as he raised an eyebrow at Z’rin.

“I was hardly going to have your clothes going mouldy and making my weyr smell,” he smirked, the expression crooked as one side lifted higher than the other. He was just glad Z’rin hadn’t left his underwear behind; besides how awkward that would have been (N’mor’s blush reappeared at the thought) it would have been mortifying to been caught washing them! To say nothing of giving them back, clearly handled. N’mor lifted his hand to sweep his fingers back through his shaggy hair. It was in need of a trim, but he had not bothered to find the time to do so.

“Ah… sure?” It was definitely said as a question, N’mor frowning as he considered Z’rin. Why was the bluerider interested in him staying? N’mor knew why he was tempted to stay; Z’rin practically oozed sex appeal and the young bronzerider found himself drawn to him like a moth to a damned flame. He knew he’d probably end up getting burned (probably from his perpetual blush; did Z’rin have any idea what he looked like when his face wasn’t some shade of red?) especially since the man was a damned bluerider. Faranth. What was he doing? He should leave. He should really leave.

Despite that, N’mor found himself frozen in the doorway, still leaning against the frame, watching Z’rin with quiet seriousness.

Z'rin laughed at the explanation for washing his clothes and couldn't argue that logic. He imagined he'd do the same, even for someone he didn't particularly like, if it meant he'd avoid the stench of dirty clothes or whatever else might come from it. Imagine if food were in a pocket and bugs and critters started to find their way in? Z'rin shook his head at his line of thinking and turned back to N'mor, pausing as he did so.

He looked good leaning against his bedroom's door frame with a slight frown in place. He had no idea what brought the expression about, other than N'mor was often just a serious man and likely had thoughts swarming through his head. Or his dragon may have been speaking to him. Either way, it didn't really bother Z'rin.

What bothered Z'rin, no, that wasn't accurate either as it really didn't bother him, but N'mor was currently playing a really good roadblock for getting out of the room. The bedroom. He frowned slightly as he wondered if that was the intention or not. Likely not considering he was currently hosting a bronzerider that currently had no sexual reputation that the gossipers had gotten a hold of to share with everyone else.

"So, uhh..." wow, he had no idea what he was doing. He hardly ever had anyone over and when he did, they were either due to a Flight or someone like C'dhin who brought food and didn't stop talking. Those situations took care of themselves but now, he didn't know what to do and almost felt like the reverse situation from when he was invited to N'mor's for fresh clothes.

"Wine?" He finally asked with a smile, doing his best to find his usual balance again. What was it about N'mor that set him slightly off kilter? That was about to change because Z'rin decided that the younger man was interesting and about to be categorized as a friend so he knew better how to act around him.

Deciding there was just enough room in the doorframe to scoot through, Z'rin did just that but as he passed by N'mor, he put his arm around the other man's waist to drag him along with him. "I splurged on Benden wine not too long ago as a treat and wine is better shared, right?" He guided his new friend to his couch where he finally removed his hand and went to go fetch the bottle and some pretty standard wine glasses. After popping open the bottle, he returned and made himself comfortable on one of the couch and proceeded to pour them each a glass, setting the bottle on the floor between them for easy reach.

N’mor’s eyebrows arched slightly when he realised Z’rin was frowning at him, and then stumbling for something to say. His smirk returned, tilting up one side of his lips as pale eyes sparkled with amusement. He was glad he wasn’t the only one feeling awkward, and it was kind of reassuring, too, though he didn’t know what the bluerider had to feel awkward about. If only he knew!

“Sure,” N’mor shrugged, his smirk mellowing into a small but genuine smile as he stood up straight – just in time for Z’rin to wrap an arm around his waist and escort him to the living room. N’mor was intensely aware of the warmth of Z’rin’s body beside his, the feel of it, and the smell, though to be honest, N’mor was hardly breathing as he stumbled along with huge eyes staring up at Z’rin.

“Y-yes,” N’mor stammered, trying to make sense of the question Z’rin had put forth, and he took a deep breath – getting nothing but a lungful of Z’rin – and suddenly he was free and standing by a couch and feeling completely bewildered and confused and dear Faranth what was wrong with him? Blushing crimson, N’mor dropped like a sack of rocks into the seat behind him, and took the glass that was set before him. It took far too much effort not to just empty it in one swallow; N’mor was far too respectful of wine to do something so uncouth but good Faranth he was shaking. He set the glass down carefully and stared at his lap.

“It’s a good batch,” he said softly, indicating the wine with a flick of his hand, before settling it back on his thigh. He still wasn’t looking up, mostly because his face was crimson and his skin was still tingly where Z’rin had touched him and damn it all. Why hadn’t he left yet? Was he really such a sucker for punishment?

Apparently.

“It is,” Z’rin agreed as he took another sip of the wine. They were seated and had a delicious alcoholic beverage in hand, but the conversation had yet to start flowing. He really was too used to C’dhin’s visits. The greenrider could talk about anything and everything and almost seemed to hate silence with the way he kept bringing up new topics but Z’rin didn’t even know if talking about the weather was safe, appropriate, or boring. He also wished he had a firelizard that could be used as a distraction. Did N’mor even like them? He shot a glance at his companion and frowned at what he saw. N’mor looked uncomfortable with the way he sat so still and stared at the ground. Oh, Faranth, what if his floor was dirty and N’mor couldn’t take his eyes off of a stain?

Z’rin was ready to down his drink and go crawl under his blanket and die. He wasn’t an overly messy person but perhaps he’d start dedicating an hour a day to sweeping and tidying up just in case someone came over. What if the Weyrleader suddenly popped in? Yep, he was becoming a neat freak from that moment on. Well, he decided after a larger gulp of wine, maybe after his company left as it seemed rude to suddenly start dusting in front of him.

“Oh!” Z’rin suddenly remembered the exciting gossip that came out of Ista weeks ago but he never sent word to N’mor since he wasn’t sure the man wanted to hear from him again, but since he was now in his living room, now seemed like a good time. “Congratulations on winning Nadioth’s Flight. I heard it was rather intense. I hope Rhezalth wasn’t one of the ones she mauled.” That was always something that worried Z’rin when they entered Flights. Greens didn’t seem to be quite as vicious but ending up with scratches that could be potential scars weren’t all that uncommon either.

“Let me know when they’re about to hatch and I’ll make sure to be there and cheer the little ones on and share a few celebratory drinks with you afterward as well.” He held up his glass in a mini salute before taking another sip.

N’mor was naturally inclined towards silence; he didn’t need a constant flow of words to fill the air for him to be comfortable. Indeed, there were times he and T’ryn simply sat together for hours without either of them saying anything at all. Despite that, N’mor could tell by his own uncomfortableness and the weird energy radiating off Z’rin that he was not someone prone to silence. Internally, N’mor flailed around for a topic to bring up, but was ultimately saved when Z’rin suddenly spoke out, causing N’mor to jump slightly and lift his head, wide eyes considering Z’rin curiously. At least he was not blushing anymore!

The young bronzerider’s expression flattened somewhat at the topic that was chosen, though a wry smile lingered on his lips. “Thanks,” he said dryly. “I don’t remember much,” thank Faranth, he shrugged, lips twisted slightly as he recalled the scene that had gone down when both he and Vaeyla had returned to their senses. He was just glad the woman was mated, so she wasn’t like some folks that he’d heard insisted on a post-flight tumble. His nose scrunched up at the thought before he realised he had company and he smoothed his features.

“Rhea is fine,” he smiled, giving himself a little shake. “Smug as all get out,” he laughed, “but fine.” He studied Z’rin for a few moments, expression quietly serious. “I’d like that,” he finally admitted, clearly surprising himself with those words, as his shoulders stiffened and he cursed internally as his face heated up again. Damn it all.

“That’s good. Varralath has a faint scar near a hind leg. Given the position, I’m convinced it’s from a fellow competitor but he said at the time he was fine and it doesn’t seem to bother him now. I still give it extra oiling though,” he had been so worried when he came home after that Flight and saw it. Varralath remained his cool and collected self and had to say it over and over but finally Z’rin believed him that his dragon was fine and it barely even hurt. Varralath never ratted out who the culprit was but Z’rin had his suspicions and tried to take note of who his dragon chased and if he ever delayed long enough to see who else might join in.

Z’rin lit up with a brilliant smile as N’mor didn’t seem to mind the idea of him coming to the Hatching. “It’s a date then. Save me a good seat and I’ll be there.” B’jin was right. His son was a good guy and it did take a bit of patience but he felt like N’mor was already starting to relax around him and share a bit more. Their first meeting was quick and seemed a strain on the bronzerider but this was starting to find its pace and Z’rin felt like N’mor was comfortable with him, despite him being a bluerider.

Z’rin reached down for the bottle to top up his glass. He hadn’t finished it just yet but he wanted to settle into a more comfortable position and didn’t want to move that much after. Task complete, Z’rin shifted until his long legs were drawn up and somewhat tucked under him, being mindful not to take up too much space and bother N’mor in the process. He cradled the glass of wine, swirling the liquid around as he weighed the question in his mind. Eh, he decided, the worst N’mor could do was decline and it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he did.

“If you want to stay a bit late, we can finish off the bottle together, and I’ll run down and get us some dinner soon to go with it.”

N’mor listed with a slight frown as Z’rin shared about his dragon’s battle wounds from giving chase. He’d always known Flights could get messy on the dragon side of things; his father was a greenrider, after all, and he’d often helped B’jin by putting numbweed on Larrikith’s injuries since the greenrider wasn’t able to. His mother was also a bluerider, and he’d seen the damages that the small dragon had come home with, usually when he lost a Flight. I am bronze. I am better than either of them. The dragon put in, and N’mor had to hide his smile behind the edge of his glass, taking another sip and finishing the liquid. He was almost tempted to refill the glass, but when Z’rin called the Hatching a date, N’mor felt his stomach squirm and instead he put the glass down gently.

“Okay,” he answered lowly, leaning back a little into the seat and watching as Z’rin refilled his own glass. He was glad the bluerider didn’t top his own up – he didn’t think the other man missed the opportunity on purpose, though, and his suspicion was confirmed when he offered to keep N’mor’s company until after dinner. The young bronzerider gave a crooked smile, though he looked just slightly wild around the eye at being locked away with the bluerider for so long. “Unfortunately,” he began, only half sounding pleased with a reason to flee, “I have dinner plans with Dad.” And R’nd. His lips twitched mischievously at the fun time dinner would be. He would quietly sit there and eat his food and answer his father’s questions while occasionally looking in R’nd’s direction and just staring at him. He fucking loved the way the bluerider squirmed.

Something told him Z’rin wouldn’t react in the same way if he stared at him like that, and that made N’mor uncomfortable. Breathing out a soft sigh, N’mor stood up and brushed his hand against his pants, straightening his clothing and once he was all proper, turned to look at Z’rin with a tilted head. A slight frown pulled his brows together. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you at the Hatching.” The hint of a question on the end there indicated N’mor wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t see Z’rin before then, but wasn’t comfortable initiating such contact. His frown deepened for a moment, the bronzerider not quite sure what to do next; he’d hug T’ryn, but he was both his best friend and a bronzerider and he didn’t think that was a good indication of what to do. Offering his hand to shake seemed cringe worthy. So instead he gave a sort of vague wave and strode towards the ledge where Rhezalth could be heard landing on the edge.

Get me out of here, he groaned, throwing himself on his dragon, who laughed softly and dropped off the ledge, taking him to the weyr shared by B’jin and R’nd, where N’mor spent far too much time frowning into space, roughly in the direction of R’nd – so he didn’t even get to enjoy tormenting his stepfather.