One Night Stand



Date: July 24, 2010
Location: Keroon Hold
Synopsis: Igen riders come to enjoy Keroon's hospitality, but they enjoy it a little too much. Welcome to being a dragonrider, E'ro.
Rating: NC-17 for some sexual references and language.
Logger: E'ro

Keroon was hosting a celebration in honor of recent nuptials – Lord Keroon's neice and a son from Fort. It was supposed to be a subdued affair, between family and the Hold’s people, but once word got out, there was no stopping the masses that showed up from all over Pern. There were harpers dressed in blue, vintners issuing forth their best brews, Ruathians looking for a good time, and Bitrans looking for a good fight. Wherever you looked, something was happening, and that meant there were bound to be mistakes along the way.

The fourth night into the revelry saw a contingent of Igen dragonriders descending upon the Hold, dressed in their best leathers and sporting feral grins. Some were miffed by the intrusion, others overjoyed, since there was a clutch on Igen sands and the presence of riders could mean their ticket out of this hellhole. Both were disappointed in the results at the end of the night. There were no search riders amongst them and none that had any inclination of hurrying back to Igen with precious cargo. They had come for the party, and party they did. Not one wine vendor had missed their presence, nor one proud papa not irritated by their flirtatious glances and cat calls.

“My merry men, let us not dally any longer in these climes, but flee to the highest peaks and find our fancy,” roared one barrel-chested, scruffy rider. It caused his wingmates to burst into raucous laughter. “Aye, let’s find some wenches to bed before the night gets too cold,” called another as he performed a fake shiver. One of the older men, swaggering slightly, said, “I know just the place.”

Searing light pierced the darkness, causing a throbbing pain to begin in E’ro’s head. He lifted his head up, trying to shield his eyes from whatever menace had descended upon him. “Shit, what’s that?” There were groans and moans, grunts and belches, that were issued back in response. So he braved to peek one red-veined eye open, to see what he was up against. Sunlight was spilling into the ragtag tent from a gap in the flap opening, which was easily readjusted by the bronzerider with one long arm and a few long fingers. “Damn,” he croaked, rolling onto his belly and casting a glance around the dark interior. Wherever he was, it smelled of sex, booze, and rancid meat, amongst other things. And he couldn’t tell just who was where, even who was /here/.

“Stupid whores!” The sound, shrill and loud, came from without, which started E’ro some his droopy-eyed assessment. In a matter of seconds, the flap was thrown open and light flooded into the cramped space. He had no choice but to cover his eyes, grimacing against the pain that that action had caused. “What the hell, woman,” he ground back, at the gray-haired shrew who was glaring him down. “Oh, excuse me laddie, did I wake ye from yer beauty slumber?” She spat, the spittle covering both the dragonrider and the ground around him. That’s when he saw red, but he was startled as someone piped up from his back, her tiny voice almost a mewl. “Sorry, mum.” It seemed to incense the elderly witch more, as she threw herself bodily into the tent and jerked the girl by the arm. “You work for me,” she hissed through crooked teeth, “and you lost me a hefty amount of marks with your stupid actions last night. The lot of ya!” Only then did he realize there were far more of them in the cramped tent than he originally thought, which prompted a groan and a sigh. “What, do ye got yerself a headache after drinkin at my table and sleepin with me girl without payin so much as a half mark?” She spat again, further angered by his lack of words. “Get out! All of ye! Before I light the whole tent on fire!” And then she was gone in a flurry of skirts and body odor.

“Sorry,” the girl next to him mumbled again, this time to him, as she started gathering her things. All around them, other girls of varying ages and sizes started doing the same, mumbling as they grabbed their clothes and headed out of the tent. That left E’ro and the other men of his wing, some naked, some clothed, but all equally confused and hungover. “Damn,” E’ro whispered as he sat up, rubbing his head, “what /did/ we do last night, J’vay?” He received a bleary look. “Not sure, boy, just know whatever we did, we left an impression.” Some laughed, others grumbled, but the overall agreement was that they had better clean themselves up before heading back to Igen. Their Weyrwoman, or Weyrleader, wouldn’t appreciate them as they were now.

“Saw a stream down a ways, I think,” one rider suggested. They could wake themselves up and clean off in cold mountain water – it sounded great, at any rate. “J’vay,” E’ro mumbled as he got to his feet and found his head almost too heavy to carry on his shoulders. “Yeah?” A pause ensued, wherein the young bronzerider lifted his head, perusing the brownrider’s face, “Let’s don’t tell anyone about this?” He got a chuckle for his efforts, his mentor giving him a clap on the back as he steered him towards the tent flap. “We never do, son.”

This was after E'ro was tapped into a wing. It was his first night indulging in such activities, and a bit of a shocker whenever he realized what all he'd done. See: I Kept It.

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