Who: R'ger, Imogen When: immediately following this Where: R'ger's weyr Summary: Scolding. Laughable sexy attempts. Drunkenness. Maybe some real sexyness, later?
Shielth's landing on the ledge was smooth, as smooth as it always was, but R'ger's dismount was lacking. Maybe it was his current upset. Maybe it was the candidate that he practically hauled down after him, swinging her back into his arms easily. "You two will be the death of one another," he pronounced, using the same voice that he might have used to observe the ridiculous behavior of an errant wingrider. It wasn't necessarily unkind, it was just... how could such intelligent women be such sharding fools, sometimes?
Drunk in the lake. Shells.
The wingleader's weyr, when he swept her into it, was large. It was neat. Everything was in its place. Except, of course, for a large amount of things that were just sort of... occupying space in his living area. Blankets, heaps of cloth and weaving supplies and all manner of gifts, clothes, and so on. He didn't give Imogen any time to notice those, however, but took her right on through to his bathing chamber. "You're cold, Imogen. You need to warm up, and then get into some dry clothes."