No one likes a bully.
Who: Javeri and Chadamalith, P'draig and Jekzith, O'rik and Jarth, T'mic and Aath, Th'drin and Tryanvath (npc by K'del)
Where: Bowl, sky, guest weyr
When: Evening on day 23, month 9, turn 19
What: Aath's gotta rise. The boys have to follow. Chadamalith loses, but does his good deed for the day.
Night is just beginning to fall over the smallest of the Weyrs, and glows are starting to spring alight across the bowl, echoing the bravest of the stars above. In the bowl Aath revels in the darkness, in her collection of suitors, turning a wing here, arching her neck there, and always - always - with one eye to ensure that all attention is on her. Her rider paces a path along the northern edge of the bowl, a long-forgotten hide in his hand. Every so often he pauses to check the sky, or his green, but mostly he paces and turns, paces and turns a fractured, fragmented path.
The big blue that is Chadamalith perches on an unused weyr's ledge to observe Aath. No fawning suitor he although his attention is quite obviously right there on the green. Hello, gorgeous and all that without saying a thing. For her he doesn't even sit still but ruffles his wings and slaps his tail on the ground. While he may be all about watching her it's clear Javeri had no intentions of chasing anyone tonight on his behest. Hardly the first time she's come running up from the beach straightening her clothes and looking about to see which green it is this time. Letting out a sigh as she comes to a stop away from anyone she mutters, "Not so bad. Could be worse. Thank Faranth."
A dark Fortian blue is one amongst Aath's collection, his squat form crouched within night's shadows. He's mostly a quiet admirer, his thoughts touched with the primal scent of dark earth after a cold rain. But Jarth's partially scarred gaze never leaves the flaunting green, following every turn and arch. His rider has yet to make an appearance in this part of the bowl, although far off in the bar there are likely the sounds of a sliding-back chair and departing footsteps.
Th'drin is no stranger to this bowl - an Ista, born, bred and Impressed, now middle aged and, in these post-fall days, slowly turning to fat. His mahogany brown Tryanvath is one of Aath's fawning suitors, his wings caught back in a pose of adoration, and, all right, a bit of strutting posery: isn't he handsome? The rider himself exits the caverns, his glass of juice beaded with condensation; there's no surprise, on his expression, for the state of the bowl, just a resigned, if not outright amused, expression. He angles towards T'mic, draping his free hand from his pocket. "Soon?"
"Soon," Mic agrees wryly to Th'drin, giving the brownrider a smile and an ogle rather like the one Aath's giving Tryanvath. Pounding feet catch his ear, though, and he turns to shield his eyes from the non-existent sun. "Hey Veri - sorry 'bout that. Thought he didn't like her?" Aath likes all of them though, all her males, every one of them the handsomest blue, the handsomest brown, and even one handsomest bronze. Mic glances to the sky again, gives the hide in his hand a distracted, how'd that get there? look, and pushes one hand over his hair. "Should probably get to the weyr, huh? Gonna be soon."
"Huh? Oh, well, he didn't like who /I/ was with anyway," Javeri tells the greenrider with a laugh. "And anyway it's him. He's happy to chase even the ones who don't fascinate him all the time." She shrugs and glances up at the ledge where Chadamalith continues to watch. He's scooted closer to the edge with his talons digging in while he leans far out. There's a nod for the others drawn out, but she's willing to let her blue's silence becomes hers as well. When people move she'll follow, but there's no need for chit chat.
Jekzith wings down from above, dropping through the gathering dusk to land in the bowl nearby. It's a quick drop down by Paddy, the brownrider pulling off straps swiftly and coiling them up, then he steps away to let the motley brown hop over Aath-wards. "Hey," he says cheerily enough as he draws near though you know, he keeps ogling his weyrmate.
There's a tip of Th'drin's head for T'mic's answer, and a distinctly smug looking smile, entirely unconcerned by the ogle he receives. Instead of more words, however, he takes a sip from his glass and turns his attention towards Aath and her suitors, his own brown in particular. Tryanvath extends his lengthy neck to get just that little bit closer to the sunlit green, poised for action: when she's ready, so shall he be. "Probably." Th'drin again, his glass now distinctly less full. "If it's that soon."
Jarth isn't so sure he could ever be the handsomest, but that doesn't stop the violet gleam from quickening in his eyes, because Aath is surely the loveliest green. With the other males edging closer to her, the old blue breaks his waiting crouch to stalk more out into the open. His wings flare up, flashing the lighter pigmentation along his sides. Finally, his rider is in view, O'rik moving with a rolling step that's not quite a jog and heading for the gathering little knot of riders in the bowl.
T'mic says, "Yeah," but it doesn't really seem connected to anyone's words in particular. His eyes flick-flick-flick from one dragon to the next, judging, assessing, and once that circuit's complete, to their riders. Only... there's a newcomer to the party, and it quirks the greenrider's mouth up in a grin he doesn't bother to hide. "--C'mon," he announces abruptly, just as Aath squeals and slaps at Jekzith, rolls off her hip and makes for the sky.
Arms fold over her chest as Javeri looks at the other riders gathered. She gives them a once over that doesn't differ between those she knows and those she does not. They're all just people right now. It's the same kind of look Chadamalith gives the other males gathered around his current love interest. Wings extend and flex as he waits. Jekzith's arrival is just a blip on his radar and not one worth doing more than glance at despite their friendship. He's waiting for just that moment when Aath goes up and then he waits more. Until all the other dragons have gone up and only then does he go up. Always last to see the others go.
Tryanvath is one of the first in the sky, his readiness paying off at least in as much as it can at this early stage. He seeks upwards with intensity, wide wings spread out to catch the thermals, pumping hard. His upwards strain jolts his rider; Th'drin lets out a long breath, and then settles again, in as much as one can be settled: his eyes have gone narrower, focused now, intent, upon T'mic alone. Other chasers? where?
Jekzith isn't so close to Aath that that slap lands at all and if anything he only looks amused by the behavior. Up she goes and the brown waits a moment then hops up after. He's far too familiar with how she usually flies and while there's no cocky confidence to him, he is /almost/ lazy in his approach as he goes winging after the green. P'draig just grins back at Mic, nods and falls into loose step to head across the bowl.
O'rik is just slightly out of breath once he arrives, and a little misty about the edges despite the evening's breeze. His whiskey gaze darts about as he licks his lips, lingering first on Javeri, then with mildly startled recognition upon Paddy, before passing over portly Th'drin to find Mic's grin. There's a moment's assessment before his chin dips. "Yeah," he murmurs acceptance to the greenrider's order as Jarth shoves himself rapidly up into the sky with an intent little bark of sound.
Aath makes no interim stop in the feeding grounds, but darts straight for the wide opening in the Weyr walls and the sky beyond. She has no eyes now for who might be following, but angles sharply upward like a mirror image of the plateau's walls. Mic starts off at a walk, but it quickly becomes a jog as he follows her, eyes only for the green who rapidly disappears into the darkness. He'd bypass the entrance to the guest weyr entirely, save that the bronzerider manages to catch his arm and swing him within. The man releases T'mic once they're safely inside and steps back, crosses his arms and glares at the other riders as if daring them to make something of it.
Once the others are in the air and Chadamalith has launched himself he gains his altitude. Now is the time for him to watch and observe his competitors. All the while he manages to keep his eye on the prize even if it means he has to do some tricky maneuvering to keep an eye on /everyone/. There's Aath though and if he occasionally loses sight of one of the others he never loses sight of her. As for Javeri she's taken up a post near the entrance to the weyr. From there she keeps her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes on the sky even if she can't make out any of the dragons overhead.
Jekzith in stark contrast to Chadamalith pays almost no attention to the competition beyond making sure his airspace is relatively free at all times. He keeps a weather eye on Aath, but otherwise, he's projecting sheer glee and enjoyment of the fast-moving flight. Up. He goes up. Almost straight after Aath and makes sure to keep a clear path. That's the substance of his maneuvering: staying clear of any obstacles and well hey, if it's /fun/ to do the odd roll and turn, he's an agile fellow and does so. For the fun of it. P'draig fetches up against the wall a little ways down from Javeri, drops his head back and closes his eyes, not really bothering to stay grounded in the here and now.
Jarth follows doggedly on Aath's tail, lusty musk pervading the touch of his thoughts. He has a snarl pulled back on his lips, a wild grin that's tossed menacingly at the other males in the moments he's not fixated upon the green before him. O'rik is much less nimble than his dragon above, though his own gaze becomes more calculatingly narrow as they reach the weyr. That daring bronzerider is shot a contemptuous gaze, a snarl curling on the bluerider's lip as he brushes past to stalk in and pick out his own place in the weyr. Circling around until he's nearly back to the entrance, he leans a shoulder up on the wall not far from T'mic where he can keep a steady watch on the other man.
Th'drin looks as though he'd /like/ to make something of that bronzerider, his mouth opening part way, his free hand sliding towards an amply padded hip. But it falters again, a moment later, and he withdraws to lean up against a free wall, and resume the T'mic-staring. Mm, greenrider. Above, his brown angles his flight as close to Aath's as he can, though his greater size and bulk make this difficult. His low croon is warm, though, and hopeful, almost achingly so.
Aath strikes up, up, up, nearly straight up into the cooling night air, the lights of the Weyr falling away behind her while the stars get no closer. How long can she keep this up? The bronze brushes past one of the smaller blues, roughly knocking him out of contention, and stretches to gain on Tryanvath. Below T'mic is nearly entirely subsumed in his dragon, head tossed back as his eyes stare blankly at the sky. The bronzerider continues to hover just out of easy kissing range, glowering at the others, and clearly assured of his eventual claim. "Got you," he rumbles to Mic, though he stares daggers at Javeri.
Chadamalith watches the others including the blue knocked out by the bronze. If his attention is on any of the other males for any extended period it's on that bronze. But the prize is not him so he circles around the pack gaining altitude and staying out of the thick of things. Javeri stares on up at the sky uncaring about the rest of the people in the weyr. After all if she wins she'll be able to find T'mic and if she loses they don't matter. Daggers being sent her way? Ineffectual since they are not even noticed. She's up in the sky and much happier there.
Up. Up. Up. That's where Jekzith is going too, sliding into an air current to get some more lift, keeping a look out for the moment when Aath's wings freeze and she drops. Maple wingsails stretch wide, beat down strongly as he dodges a recently knocked dragon. A little dip and then lift again, because it's always straight up and then back down with Aath. Isn't it? He maintains position on the fringes of the pack, where he's got a nearly open way to dart in to catch her.
It'd be hard to say, really, if O'rik is really looking /at/ T'mic or /through/ him to the tangle of blue and bronze far above. A belligerent cast is in the blue and rider's gaze, lips drawn a bit back from both tooth and fang. "Ain't got noth'n yet," growls in two throats. Like Chadamalith, Jarth is also keeping an eye on that bronze as he scrambles his along the edges after Aath, stealing into someone's slipstream here and catching an updraft there.
Th'drin breathes: in, and then out, in, and then out, his eyes half lidding as he rests his head back against cool stone. That bronzerider? Forgotten, now, under the weight of flight-emotions. So, too, everyone else in the weyr: they could be dancing in circles, and he probably wouldn't notice. Up, continues his brown, up and on, dodging other dragons in his pursuit of the glowing green.
With his rider taking visual aim so far below, is it any real surprise that the bronze is cutting over for Chadamalith? Using his size to his advantage, he bulls through the air at the back of the pack, one eye on the large blue and the other on his eventual prize. Aath continues for the stars, though her wingbeats are coming a fraction slower now, her breathing no longer as easy. Below Mic blinks, blinks again, scrabbles at the front of his vest and its lone button, and steps away from the bronzerider to spin a slow circle in the middle of all those staring eyes.
Oh, the bronze. The one Chadamalith's been watching almost as much as the lovely Aath. There's no warning at all for the dragon and his rider is certainly capable of confusing Javeri's sudden bark of laughter and, "Gotcha," as something else. Why is that? Because the big blue up in the air doesn't try to avoid the oncoming bronze. Instead he veers right for him with a quick, fond farewell sent to Aath in a trill. Then he's just trying to tangle the bronze up and yank him down. He hates a bully and his paws and tail do all they can to muck things up even though it will cost him the flight.
And now, T'mic /is/ dancing in circles. Sort of. And this much, Th'drin does notice, his eyes growing just slightly wider, his breath catching in his throat, a half-swallowed gasp. Above, Tryanvath has not failed to notice Aath's breathing, the slowing of her wingbeats. He redoubles /his/ efforts, reaching harder and faster, angling himself to get closer, though still some distance beneath. Chadamalith and the bronze barely get a look in, though he has to dodge to keep from getting tangled in their mess: Aath, Aath, Aath.
A big clear space opens up as that bronze and Chadamalith tangle and Jekzith lets out a trumpet of surprise. Still, it's clear air to slide into even if his tail is aiming a whack for the bronze dragon's nose. Uncharacteristic, but hey, that's his pal Chadamalith there! P'draig's eyes fly open and he blinks in surprise. "Jek ... what the --" as his hand smacks the wall in unconscious mimcry of his brown's tail smack.
With the bronze on a path to intercept the other blue, Jarth turns all his attention to the green before him. The alteration in the pace of Aath's wing strokes is at least noted, even if her breathing is a more difficult thing to gage. He takes it as a sign to break into a clear spot of sky, his own wide sails stretching for the moment into a stiff and fast glide while his scarred gaze hold steady. Watching for an opening. Below, his rider's eyes track her rider, more out of habit than in true sight.
Aath's stars grow never closer, never clearer, and with a last stuttering pair of wingbeats the green just... stops. Stops striving, stops seeking, folds her wings and falls, tumbles, plummets straight into her mass of suitors. The bronze, had he not chosen poorly, might have been just in place to catch her, but as he's been taken out by a blue (a /blue!), it's up to the others to snatch their prize from the jaws of gravity. Mic's gasping as well, spinning, spinning, not yet so dizzy to fall.
Tryanvath is not going to be the one, not this time. It's not that he drops out, or gets knocked out, it's simply that his angling has put him in /completely/ the wrong position as Aath falls, and though he lunges forward in a desperate attempt to reach her, he's just too far away. Whoops. His rider seems to know it: Th'drin lets out a groan of frustration, snapping back a comment that almost escapes, and squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe. Maybe. But... probably not.
That blue doesn't bother crowing about his victory because, well, he won. The bully has been taken down and so Chadamalith can accept his loss. Once the bronze is out of the picture he breaks off and heads for the beach. Javeri is not like her blue and before she leaves she turns to the bronzerider and sticks out her tongue. "Ha! Bastard. Go abuse the cattle." With a sound that's a cross between a laugh and a snarl she heads out.
Jarth may have expected her to stop climbing, but he did not expect her to just stop. His wings snap back into a startled beat, his head swiveling to try and estimate the trajectory of her fall. And then he's tipping forward and helping gravity on its way as he spins into the thick of things. A hiss following him down and claws reaching forward to either bat him clear of the other males or to snag star-searching Aath. O'rik's eyes have fallen closed, unable to follow the spinning, his chin dropped and a crease of concentration upon his brow.
Nothing but air for Jekzith as both bronze and Chadamalith drop out. He dips to one side as Aath falls, twists around a bulkier brown thanks to the agility of his own build and shimmies towards the so-familiar green, aiming to reach her before Jarth does, without the nip of claws or any other expression of possession, just a bubbled up thought akin to 'Hey babe, right here.' P'draig's still blinking, though his focus wanders in and out, chest rising and falling rapidly as the endgame spools out.
The bronze's rider snarls right back at Javeri and jogs after her, though he breaks off to head wherever the bluerider is not. Aath twists as she tumbles, catching sight of Tryanvath as she drops past him; it's the darkly camoflauged Jarth who manages to pluck her out of Jekzith's grasp, bare feet before the motley-hued brown's tail could twine with hers. Mic staggers to a stop, his eyes only vaguely registering the presence of the others, one hand reaching for P'draig while the other tugs still at his vest.
Where: Bowl, sky, guest weyr
When: Evening on day 23, month 9, turn 19
What: Aath's gotta rise. The boys have to follow. Chadamalith loses, but does his good deed for the day.
Night is just beginning to fall over the smallest of the Weyrs, and glows are starting to spring alight across the bowl, echoing the bravest of the stars above. In the bowl Aath revels in the darkness, in her collection of suitors, turning a wing here, arching her neck there, and always - always - with one eye to ensure that all attention is on her. Her rider paces a path along the northern edge of the bowl, a long-forgotten hide in his hand. Every so often he pauses to check the sky, or his green, but mostly he paces and turns, paces and turns a fractured, fragmented path.
The big blue that is Chadamalith perches on an unused weyr's ledge to observe Aath. No fawning suitor he although his attention is quite obviously right there on the green. Hello, gorgeous and all that without saying a thing. For her he doesn't even sit still but ruffles his wings and slaps his tail on the ground. While he may be all about watching her it's clear Javeri had no intentions of chasing anyone tonight on his behest. Hardly the first time she's come running up from the beach straightening her clothes and looking about to see which green it is this time. Letting out a sigh as she comes to a stop away from anyone she mutters, "Not so bad. Could be worse. Thank Faranth."
A dark Fortian blue is one amongst Aath's collection, his squat form crouched within night's shadows. He's mostly a quiet admirer, his thoughts touched with the primal scent of dark earth after a cold rain. But Jarth's partially scarred gaze never leaves the flaunting green, following every turn and arch. His rider has yet to make an appearance in this part of the bowl, although far off in the bar there are likely the sounds of a sliding-back chair and departing footsteps.
Th'drin is no stranger to this bowl - an Ista, born, bred and Impressed, now middle aged and, in these post-fall days, slowly turning to fat. His mahogany brown Tryanvath is one of Aath's fawning suitors, his wings caught back in a pose of adoration, and, all right, a bit of strutting posery: isn't he handsome? The rider himself exits the caverns, his glass of juice beaded with condensation; there's no surprise, on his expression, for the state of the bowl, just a resigned, if not outright amused, expression. He angles towards T'mic, draping his free hand from his pocket. "Soon?"
"Soon," Mic agrees wryly to Th'drin, giving the brownrider a smile and an ogle rather like the one Aath's giving Tryanvath. Pounding feet catch his ear, though, and he turns to shield his eyes from the non-existent sun. "Hey Veri - sorry 'bout that. Thought he didn't like her?" Aath likes all of them though, all her males, every one of them the handsomest blue, the handsomest brown, and even one handsomest bronze. Mic glances to the sky again, gives the hide in his hand a distracted, how'd that get there? look, and pushes one hand over his hair. "Should probably get to the weyr, huh? Gonna be soon."
"Huh? Oh, well, he didn't like who /I/ was with anyway," Javeri tells the greenrider with a laugh. "And anyway it's him. He's happy to chase even the ones who don't fascinate him all the time." She shrugs and glances up at the ledge where Chadamalith continues to watch. He's scooted closer to the edge with his talons digging in while he leans far out. There's a nod for the others drawn out, but she's willing to let her blue's silence becomes hers as well. When people move she'll follow, but there's no need for chit chat.
Jekzith wings down from above, dropping through the gathering dusk to land in the bowl nearby. It's a quick drop down by Paddy, the brownrider pulling off straps swiftly and coiling them up, then he steps away to let the motley brown hop over Aath-wards. "Hey," he says cheerily enough as he draws near though you know, he keeps ogling his weyrmate.
There's a tip of Th'drin's head for T'mic's answer, and a distinctly smug looking smile, entirely unconcerned by the ogle he receives. Instead of more words, however, he takes a sip from his glass and turns his attention towards Aath and her suitors, his own brown in particular. Tryanvath extends his lengthy neck to get just that little bit closer to the sunlit green, poised for action: when she's ready, so shall he be. "Probably." Th'drin again, his glass now distinctly less full. "If it's that soon."
Jarth isn't so sure he could ever be the handsomest, but that doesn't stop the violet gleam from quickening in his eyes, because Aath is surely the loveliest green. With the other males edging closer to her, the old blue breaks his waiting crouch to stalk more out into the open. His wings flare up, flashing the lighter pigmentation along his sides. Finally, his rider is in view, O'rik moving with a rolling step that's not quite a jog and heading for the gathering little knot of riders in the bowl.
T'mic says, "Yeah," but it doesn't really seem connected to anyone's words in particular. His eyes flick-flick-flick from one dragon to the next, judging, assessing, and once that circuit's complete, to their riders. Only... there's a newcomer to the party, and it quirks the greenrider's mouth up in a grin he doesn't bother to hide. "--C'mon," he announces abruptly, just as Aath squeals and slaps at Jekzith, rolls off her hip and makes for the sky.
Arms fold over her chest as Javeri looks at the other riders gathered. She gives them a once over that doesn't differ between those she knows and those she does not. They're all just people right now. It's the same kind of look Chadamalith gives the other males gathered around his current love interest. Wings extend and flex as he waits. Jekzith's arrival is just a blip on his radar and not one worth doing more than glance at despite their friendship. He's waiting for just that moment when Aath goes up and then he waits more. Until all the other dragons have gone up and only then does he go up. Always last to see the others go.
Tryanvath is one of the first in the sky, his readiness paying off at least in as much as it can at this early stage. He seeks upwards with intensity, wide wings spread out to catch the thermals, pumping hard. His upwards strain jolts his rider; Th'drin lets out a long breath, and then settles again, in as much as one can be settled: his eyes have gone narrower, focused now, intent, upon T'mic alone. Other chasers? where?
Jekzith isn't so close to Aath that that slap lands at all and if anything he only looks amused by the behavior. Up she goes and the brown waits a moment then hops up after. He's far too familiar with how she usually flies and while there's no cocky confidence to him, he is /almost/ lazy in his approach as he goes winging after the green. P'draig just grins back at Mic, nods and falls into loose step to head across the bowl.
O'rik is just slightly out of breath once he arrives, and a little misty about the edges despite the evening's breeze. His whiskey gaze darts about as he licks his lips, lingering first on Javeri, then with mildly startled recognition upon Paddy, before passing over portly Th'drin to find Mic's grin. There's a moment's assessment before his chin dips. "Yeah," he murmurs acceptance to the greenrider's order as Jarth shoves himself rapidly up into the sky with an intent little bark of sound.
Aath makes no interim stop in the feeding grounds, but darts straight for the wide opening in the Weyr walls and the sky beyond. She has no eyes now for who might be following, but angles sharply upward like a mirror image of the plateau's walls. Mic starts off at a walk, but it quickly becomes a jog as he follows her, eyes only for the green who rapidly disappears into the darkness. He'd bypass the entrance to the guest weyr entirely, save that the bronzerider manages to catch his arm and swing him within. The man releases T'mic once they're safely inside and steps back, crosses his arms and glares at the other riders as if daring them to make something of it.
Once the others are in the air and Chadamalith has launched himself he gains his altitude. Now is the time for him to watch and observe his competitors. All the while he manages to keep his eye on the prize even if it means he has to do some tricky maneuvering to keep an eye on /everyone/. There's Aath though and if he occasionally loses sight of one of the others he never loses sight of her. As for Javeri she's taken up a post near the entrance to the weyr. From there she keeps her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes on the sky even if she can't make out any of the dragons overhead.
Jekzith in stark contrast to Chadamalith pays almost no attention to the competition beyond making sure his airspace is relatively free at all times. He keeps a weather eye on Aath, but otherwise, he's projecting sheer glee and enjoyment of the fast-moving flight. Up. He goes up. Almost straight after Aath and makes sure to keep a clear path. That's the substance of his maneuvering: staying clear of any obstacles and well hey, if it's /fun/ to do the odd roll and turn, he's an agile fellow and does so. For the fun of it. P'draig fetches up against the wall a little ways down from Javeri, drops his head back and closes his eyes, not really bothering to stay grounded in the here and now.
Jarth follows doggedly on Aath's tail, lusty musk pervading the touch of his thoughts. He has a snarl pulled back on his lips, a wild grin that's tossed menacingly at the other males in the moments he's not fixated upon the green before him. O'rik is much less nimble than his dragon above, though his own gaze becomes more calculatingly narrow as they reach the weyr. That daring bronzerider is shot a contemptuous gaze, a snarl curling on the bluerider's lip as he brushes past to stalk in and pick out his own place in the weyr. Circling around until he's nearly back to the entrance, he leans a shoulder up on the wall not far from T'mic where he can keep a steady watch on the other man.
Th'drin looks as though he'd /like/ to make something of that bronzerider, his mouth opening part way, his free hand sliding towards an amply padded hip. But it falters again, a moment later, and he withdraws to lean up against a free wall, and resume the T'mic-staring. Mm, greenrider. Above, his brown angles his flight as close to Aath's as he can, though his greater size and bulk make this difficult. His low croon is warm, though, and hopeful, almost achingly so.
Aath strikes up, up, up, nearly straight up into the cooling night air, the lights of the Weyr falling away behind her while the stars get no closer. How long can she keep this up? The bronze brushes past one of the smaller blues, roughly knocking him out of contention, and stretches to gain on Tryanvath. Below T'mic is nearly entirely subsumed in his dragon, head tossed back as his eyes stare blankly at the sky. The bronzerider continues to hover just out of easy kissing range, glowering at the others, and clearly assured of his eventual claim. "Got you," he rumbles to Mic, though he stares daggers at Javeri.
Chadamalith watches the others including the blue knocked out by the bronze. If his attention is on any of the other males for any extended period it's on that bronze. But the prize is not him so he circles around the pack gaining altitude and staying out of the thick of things. Javeri stares on up at the sky uncaring about the rest of the people in the weyr. After all if she wins she'll be able to find T'mic and if she loses they don't matter. Daggers being sent her way? Ineffectual since they are not even noticed. She's up in the sky and much happier there.
Up. Up. Up. That's where Jekzith is going too, sliding into an air current to get some more lift, keeping a look out for the moment when Aath's wings freeze and she drops. Maple wingsails stretch wide, beat down strongly as he dodges a recently knocked dragon. A little dip and then lift again, because it's always straight up and then back down with Aath. Isn't it? He maintains position on the fringes of the pack, where he's got a nearly open way to dart in to catch her.
It'd be hard to say, really, if O'rik is really looking /at/ T'mic or /through/ him to the tangle of blue and bronze far above. A belligerent cast is in the blue and rider's gaze, lips drawn a bit back from both tooth and fang. "Ain't got noth'n yet," growls in two throats. Like Chadamalith, Jarth is also keeping an eye on that bronze as he scrambles his along the edges after Aath, stealing into someone's slipstream here and catching an updraft there.
Th'drin breathes: in, and then out, in, and then out, his eyes half lidding as he rests his head back against cool stone. That bronzerider? Forgotten, now, under the weight of flight-emotions. So, too, everyone else in the weyr: they could be dancing in circles, and he probably wouldn't notice. Up, continues his brown, up and on, dodging other dragons in his pursuit of the glowing green.
With his rider taking visual aim so far below, is it any real surprise that the bronze is cutting over for Chadamalith? Using his size to his advantage, he bulls through the air at the back of the pack, one eye on the large blue and the other on his eventual prize. Aath continues for the stars, though her wingbeats are coming a fraction slower now, her breathing no longer as easy. Below Mic blinks, blinks again, scrabbles at the front of his vest and its lone button, and steps away from the bronzerider to spin a slow circle in the middle of all those staring eyes.
Oh, the bronze. The one Chadamalith's been watching almost as much as the lovely Aath. There's no warning at all for the dragon and his rider is certainly capable of confusing Javeri's sudden bark of laughter and, "Gotcha," as something else. Why is that? Because the big blue up in the air doesn't try to avoid the oncoming bronze. Instead he veers right for him with a quick, fond farewell sent to Aath in a trill. Then he's just trying to tangle the bronze up and yank him down. He hates a bully and his paws and tail do all they can to muck things up even though it will cost him the flight.
And now, T'mic /is/ dancing in circles. Sort of. And this much, Th'drin does notice, his eyes growing just slightly wider, his breath catching in his throat, a half-swallowed gasp. Above, Tryanvath has not failed to notice Aath's breathing, the slowing of her wingbeats. He redoubles /his/ efforts, reaching harder and faster, angling himself to get closer, though still some distance beneath. Chadamalith and the bronze barely get a look in, though he has to dodge to keep from getting tangled in their mess: Aath, Aath, Aath.
A big clear space opens up as that bronze and Chadamalith tangle and Jekzith lets out a trumpet of surprise. Still, it's clear air to slide into even if his tail is aiming a whack for the bronze dragon's nose. Uncharacteristic, but hey, that's his pal Chadamalith there! P'draig's eyes fly open and he blinks in surprise. "Jek ... what the --" as his hand smacks the wall in unconscious mimcry of his brown's tail smack.
With the bronze on a path to intercept the other blue, Jarth turns all his attention to the green before him. The alteration in the pace of Aath's wing strokes is at least noted, even if her breathing is a more difficult thing to gage. He takes it as a sign to break into a clear spot of sky, his own wide sails stretching for the moment into a stiff and fast glide while his scarred gaze hold steady. Watching for an opening. Below, his rider's eyes track her rider, more out of habit than in true sight.
Aath's stars grow never closer, never clearer, and with a last stuttering pair of wingbeats the green just... stops. Stops striving, stops seeking, folds her wings and falls, tumbles, plummets straight into her mass of suitors. The bronze, had he not chosen poorly, might have been just in place to catch her, but as he's been taken out by a blue (a /blue!), it's up to the others to snatch their prize from the jaws of gravity. Mic's gasping as well, spinning, spinning, not yet so dizzy to fall.
Tryanvath is not going to be the one, not this time. It's not that he drops out, or gets knocked out, it's simply that his angling has put him in /completely/ the wrong position as Aath falls, and though he lunges forward in a desperate attempt to reach her, he's just too far away. Whoops. His rider seems to know it: Th'drin lets out a groan of frustration, snapping back a comment that almost escapes, and squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe. Maybe. But... probably not.
That blue doesn't bother crowing about his victory because, well, he won. The bully has been taken down and so Chadamalith can accept his loss. Once the bronze is out of the picture he breaks off and heads for the beach. Javeri is not like her blue and before she leaves she turns to the bronzerider and sticks out her tongue. "Ha! Bastard. Go abuse the cattle." With a sound that's a cross between a laugh and a snarl she heads out.
Jarth may have expected her to stop climbing, but he did not expect her to just stop. His wings snap back into a startled beat, his head swiveling to try and estimate the trajectory of her fall. And then he's tipping forward and helping gravity on its way as he spins into the thick of things. A hiss following him down and claws reaching forward to either bat him clear of the other males or to snag star-searching Aath. O'rik's eyes have fallen closed, unable to follow the spinning, his chin dropped and a crease of concentration upon his brow.
Nothing but air for Jekzith as both bronze and Chadamalith drop out. He dips to one side as Aath falls, twists around a bulkier brown thanks to the agility of his own build and shimmies towards the so-familiar green, aiming to reach her before Jarth does, without the nip of claws or any other expression of possession, just a bubbled up thought akin to 'Hey babe, right here.' P'draig's still blinking, though his focus wanders in and out, chest rising and falling rapidly as the endgame spools out.
The bronze's rider snarls right back at Javeri and jogs after her, though he breaks off to head wherever the bluerider is not. Aath twists as she tumbles, catching sight of Tryanvath as she drops past him; it's the darkly camoflauged Jarth who manages to pluck her out of Jekzith's grasp, bare feet before the motley-hued brown's tail could twine with hers. Mic staggers to a stop, his eyes only vaguely registering the presence of the others, one hand reaching for P'draig while the other tugs still at his vest.