[M'try] A hunting trip to the Southern Continent.
RL Date: 4/3/11
IC Date: 5/21/25
While the Feeding Grounds have been deemed safe enough, the little green has not been seen feeding from them for nearly a turn now. Unbeknownst to Nissa as the pair wheeled out of the bowl, the green sends a cheerful invitation Mohraith's way in a bright rush of water laughing over rock, <> The coordinates are shared surreptitiously along with the equivalant of a dragon snicker that echoes faintly as the pair slip *Between* only to emerge and settle on a rocky ridge far to the south. It's perhaps overcaution that brings Nissa and Liath so far from home to hunt. And here rather than the Nerat Deep to fish as they have been? Likely a comment made by T'rev that Liath has picked from Nissa's mind while listening in and thus demands red meat for once.
Mohraith just eats whatever comes his way, generally. As long as it's fresh and had legs-- or fins-- at one point in its life, he'll chow down happily. So the brown hasn't suffered too greatly, since M'try's just a willing to be aimless out in the sun while Mohraith hunts as to hang around the Weyr and be aimless. There's some back-and-forth between brown and rider after Liath's invitation, seeing as M'try wasn't specifically invited, but the two ultimately appear not a few later, a blast of cold air and loud boom from the dragon; << HI, DOLLFACE! >>
Below on that ridge Nissa has slipped off Liath and is apparently perplexed as to the green's delay in taking off after that meal on four legs she'd demanded. Though the peek over her half-furled wings gives her rider a heads up that she's expecting something and thus she swivels her head in time to note the brownpair's arrival. She sends a half-glare at her dragon even as she's lifting a hand to wave in welcome, although Liath is unrepentant, sending a << Yay, you came! >> to Mohraith and a gleeful chirrup to her rider. Liath scoots over to give them landing room. And Vanissa? Busies herself with unbuckling a packet from the riding harness. She'll talk when the rush of air stirred by wings permits.
<< Of COURSE I came, >> is Mohraith's comical answer, put while he darts down after Liath, banking wide and gracelessly to bring himself down into the open space next to the green. The questioning pause from the brown is indicative of no more than his curiosity as to the hold-up, why aren't they able to go right into their mission? Thankfully, he's willing to wait long enough for M'try to hop down, with no packet to unstrap, before he's springing right back up to scout for potential hunting, leaving the brownrider standing there with his hand shielding his eyes from the grit raised by the rustle of brown wings. "The concept of 'not invited' is lost on him," is his honest excuse.
Liath's mental shrug and headtilt towards her rider answers - it's /her/ fault! Her lift off is but a second behind the brown's with quick wingbeats that take her forward to skim the terrain rather than up. Her momentum takes her curving over the uneven ground with a snakelike grace that has her out of sight from that ridge within seconds leaving naught but the ever-present rattle of grass in wind. Nissa is left in Liath's wake to deal with awkward, a silent 'thanks a lot' sent after the green before she turns. "At least he let you dress first?" Oh she could apologize and fret that he's had to leave the dark confines of wherever he spends his days, but all she does is give the brownrider a slow smile and drawl an honest, "Nice to see ya, too, M'try."
"That likely owes more to the fact that I was already dressed than any evidence of Mohraith's gracious patience." Considering he couldn't even wait for the green to get aloft before he was off like a graceless arrow, the brown can't really argue the point, only twist a wide arc to follow after Liath, his shadow racing over the ground, chasing away the small creatures that don't constitute fit meals for dragons; they're after bigger game, the kind of big game that make a dragon's tummy rumble hopefully. "I thought she was subsisting entirely on fish?" M'try says, as if that's somehow an answer to Nissa's 'nice to see ya,' as if his remark and hers were even remotely related to one another. Perhaps explained by-- "I'm surprised that there was an invitation to be had at all, even if it was from Liath and not her rider." Amused, lightly.
"Were ya." Not phrased as a question as tawny brows lift slightly and she smirks, "Small blessings?" Liath is all about the search to find right now, making a game of it rather than anticipating the catch as she avoids onrushing bushes with a flick of her tail to turn at the last moment. There's bound to be a surprised something that's not fish - yay! - eventually. Stepping closer, if only to settle on an outcropping of rock on the ridge they're on - he happens to be standing beside it - Nissa patpats an invitation to sit beside her if he wishes. Her nose wrinkles briefly, "She is- was. Well, mostly." Then she's giving him an unreadable look for that comment allows a few beats to pass before she answers, not so amused when she says with a slight lift of her chin, "As well ya should be. M'try. A gal can only get turned down so many times before she stops askin'."
It might be true, it might not be; the glib way in which it's said makes it impossible to tell, really. "I was down to my last pair of clean socks and underwear, so I had to have laundry done, and I've found they look at me oddly if I don't come to drop-off and collect fully clothed." Like it's just the damnedest thing. M'try adds after a fruitless shading of his eyes, a blind peer into the endless blue, no glint of dragon-hide to be seen by now, "It wasn't meant as a criticism, Nissa. Truly, I wouldn't invite me, either, except that I haven't got a choice." Sitting, a quick sweep of his foot to scrape a few pebbles out before he lands on them, he adds apropos of nothing, "What's in the bag?"
With a sidelong look as he says that, Nissa manages not to laugh, a brief flicker of lips the only thing that betrays her amusement as she says dryly, "Imagine that." There's no point in her trying to look for where Liath went; she can see the blur of grass and leaves whizzing by through Liath's eyes. Instead she turns fully to M'try, hazel eyes somber for a second before she veils that with her lashes and with deliberate lightness demurs, "Ya put yourself down too much. If I'd thought you'd come, Id've asked ya." She is quick to help flick a pebble he's missed with her fingertips just before he settles, pulling her hand back to be out of his way. "Oh, just a bottle of water and a sandwich. A feast to share. Want half?"
"Perhaps it's just an incredibly clever bait to fish for compliments," M'try on-the-contraries, laughing with dry humor while he pulls his feet up, knees bent, arms folded so his hands clasp loosely across the gap between them. His, "Thank you," is a quick, absent acknowledgement of being saved from a pebbly doom, and he's right into shaking his head hurriedly to answer her offer, saying, "And take half of such scant bounty? I think not. Besides which, I've had my share of fish sandwiches in recent weeks, I'm sworn off of them for good now." The last is added with another chuckle, though fringed with distaste; "There really is only so much tartar sauce a man can take in his life."
"Which not-so-clever but honest waystation gals fall for and thus oblige, yeah I get it." Nissa sniffs, appearing miffed but for the dance of her eyes that is hopefully hidden by the head toss of hair as she turns her head away to watch that pebble she's snagged arc prairie-wards as it's tossed. Of her sandwich, "Not that I blame ya, but it's jelly. You sure 'bout that?" Like she's tempting him with a rare delicacy or something. Instead of opening the bag, it's pushed to one side while she takes in the scenery idly. After a few beats of silence, she asks lightly, "So what would you be doing if Mohraith hadn't kidnapped ya?" Yeah, no. This isn't awkward at all, is it?
M'try still shakes his head, no-thank-you, and fails to clarify on the reason why, though it probably doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's got a mean hankering for some barbecue, and a jelly sammich just don't cut the mustard. During those few beats of silence, green eyes glaze to take stock of what Mohraith's accomplished, the brown more enjoying the chasing and hunting than he would any catching and eating, really. It's more about fun than feasting. "Ahh, you think I was joking about the laundry, do you? If you saw the pile of it on my bed at the moment, you'd know full well what I would be doing, have been doing, will continue to be doing for days on end, no doubt." As one who treads often the Path of the Awkward, he's comfortable crashing over the stumbling blocks at least, making light of the mundane. "The goal is to find my pillow before the day-after-tomorrow. I dare to dream."
Vanissa shrugs, giving that bag a little kick that pushes the bag further away. Regarding his laundry, "I did," Nissa admits quietly while still eyeing the bag like it's at fault for the contents therein. "But apparently ya need help with your housekeeping so you can sleep when the urge strikes ya. Or at the very least get out for air once in awhile." Leaning to bump her shoulder against his, she asks lightly, "Why didn't ya scream for help?" Oh, Liath's totally enjoying herself, sweeping up to loop around Mohraith and dive back to skim the ground where the long grasses tickle her belly. When they do come upon a herd, for her it is unexpected and the impact is accidental but the end result is dinner, smushed but edible.
M'try leans his head back, looking up at the sky for inspiration while he begins with an honest, "I don't know." The shoulder-bump has him looking over briefly, finding an excuse just implausible enough that he hopes Vanissa won't actually believe it; "My masculine pride wouldn't let me?" 'M'try' and 'masculine' really don't belong in the same sentence, let alone with 'pride' hanging out in the vicinity. "Besides, I would be denying myself a sense of accomplishment if I enlisted outside help. Imagine, coming so close to the top of the mountain only to have someone give you a boost for the last half-yard." Out yonder, the smooshing is hardly a deterrent, more like a whole brand new idea that Mohraith never thought of, now coming upon a beast with a great, squishy WHOMP so his kill is all smashy like Liath's, she's a genius at coming up with new games!
"I would like to think," Nissa says leaning so her forehead touches his and they're nose to nose, a severe look given him under lowered brows that winds up being more kittenish than tigerlike, "that ya sleep in my bed because I'm in it, rather than the fact ya can't use your own!" Well, her bubble is burst, thanks M'try. She could talk herself into believing he's taking his sweet time with all that laundry to deliberately maintain his refugee status? As for Liath, hamburger beats the fishy diet that has grown mundane and she snarfs it down with the enthusiasm of one so deprived, chattering with Mohraith her plans to do this again SOON. When she finally arrives back on that ridge, she's one tired, messy but very happy dragon.
Empty hands pretend to weigh and measure in the periphery, heavy on the left, light on the right, a scale in pantomime. "It's hard to say, really. Beautiful woman--" Weighing down his right hand now. "--or my own unfolded socks." Tipping the scales on the left. "Really, how's a man to choose?" Giving up the pretend scales, M'try brings both hands up, thumbs to Vanissa's cheeks, the heels of his palms at her jaw, and kisses her briefly but no less affectionately. "To tell the truth, I sleep in your bed because you let me," plain and simple. He's still of the opinion that he's getting the better end of this bargain, and that one day Nissa will realize as much. "I think a real bath is in order after that bloodbath," now that Mohraith has landed, equally slashed with red and just as tickled about it. "Shall I leave the socks for another day and come up to your ledge after this graceless beast is clean?"
Vanissa fails at clever, alas. She adds a little bite while returning his kiss, growling as their lips part, "I let you because I love you." It's not all that hard to read that opinion of his, but she hasn't the wits to refute it or convince him otherwise it seems. Someday he'll break her heart by his stubborn self-denigration. With feigned longsuffering tempered by a saucy wink, "Far beit from me to abandon ya to sleep on a mountaintop of socks. I suppose I can endure your company for -one- more night."
"I am, as ever, indebted to your charity." For irony's sake, M'try pretends to check for blood with his thumb to his bitten lip, finds none, of course, and hauls himself to his feet afterward, offering to do the same for Vanissa. With a last squeeze of her fingers, he turns to Mohraith and finds a way up the straps that minimizes the chance he'll come in contact with the still fresh blood, saying once up there, "I'll see you back at Fort, Nissa." Another sweep of wings stirs up the dust and the grit and the brown is off, announcing that he and LIATH HAD GOOD HUNTING to anyone willing to listen once they return to the Weyr.
IC Date: 5/21/25
While the Feeding Grounds have been deemed safe enough, the little green has not been seen feeding from them for nearly a turn now. Unbeknownst to Nissa as the pair wheeled out of the bowl, the green sends a cheerful invitation Mohraith's way in a bright rush of water laughing over rock, <> The coordinates are shared surreptitiously along with the equivalant of a dragon snicker that echoes faintly as the pair slip *Between* only to emerge and settle on a rocky ridge far to the south. It's perhaps overcaution that brings Nissa and Liath so far from home to hunt. And here rather than the Nerat Deep to fish as they have been? Likely a comment made by T'rev that Liath has picked from Nissa's mind while listening in and thus demands red meat for once.
Mohraith just eats whatever comes his way, generally. As long as it's fresh and had legs-- or fins-- at one point in its life, he'll chow down happily. So the brown hasn't suffered too greatly, since M'try's just a willing to be aimless out in the sun while Mohraith hunts as to hang around the Weyr and be aimless. There's some back-and-forth between brown and rider after Liath's invitation, seeing as M'try wasn't specifically invited, but the two ultimately appear not a few later, a blast of cold air and loud boom from the dragon; << HI, DOLLFACE! >>
Below on that ridge Nissa has slipped off Liath and is apparently perplexed as to the green's delay in taking off after that meal on four legs she'd demanded. Though the peek over her half-furled wings gives her rider a heads up that she's expecting something and thus she swivels her head in time to note the brownpair's arrival. She sends a half-glare at her dragon even as she's lifting a hand to wave in welcome, although Liath is unrepentant, sending a << Yay, you came! >> to Mohraith and a gleeful chirrup to her rider. Liath scoots over to give them landing room. And Vanissa? Busies herself with unbuckling a packet from the riding harness. She'll talk when the rush of air stirred by wings permits.
<< Of COURSE I came, >> is Mohraith's comical answer, put while he darts down after Liath, banking wide and gracelessly to bring himself down into the open space next to the green. The questioning pause from the brown is indicative of no more than his curiosity as to the hold-up, why aren't they able to go right into their mission? Thankfully, he's willing to wait long enough for M'try to hop down, with no packet to unstrap, before he's springing right back up to scout for potential hunting, leaving the brownrider standing there with his hand shielding his eyes from the grit raised by the rustle of brown wings. "The concept of 'not invited' is lost on him," is his honest excuse.
Liath's mental shrug and headtilt towards her rider answers - it's /her/ fault! Her lift off is but a second behind the brown's with quick wingbeats that take her forward to skim the terrain rather than up. Her momentum takes her curving over the uneven ground with a snakelike grace that has her out of sight from that ridge within seconds leaving naught but the ever-present rattle of grass in wind. Nissa is left in Liath's wake to deal with awkward, a silent 'thanks a lot' sent after the green before she turns. "At least he let you dress first?" Oh she could apologize and fret that he's had to leave the dark confines of wherever he spends his days, but all she does is give the brownrider a slow smile and drawl an honest, "Nice to see ya, too, M'try."
"That likely owes more to the fact that I was already dressed than any evidence of Mohraith's gracious patience." Considering he couldn't even wait for the green to get aloft before he was off like a graceless arrow, the brown can't really argue the point, only twist a wide arc to follow after Liath, his shadow racing over the ground, chasing away the small creatures that don't constitute fit meals for dragons; they're after bigger game, the kind of big game that make a dragon's tummy rumble hopefully. "I thought she was subsisting entirely on fish?" M'try says, as if that's somehow an answer to Nissa's 'nice to see ya,' as if his remark and hers were even remotely related to one another. Perhaps explained by-- "I'm surprised that there was an invitation to be had at all, even if it was from Liath and not her rider." Amused, lightly.
"Were ya." Not phrased as a question as tawny brows lift slightly and she smirks, "Small blessings?" Liath is all about the search to find right now, making a game of it rather than anticipating the catch as she avoids onrushing bushes with a flick of her tail to turn at the last moment. There's bound to be a surprised something that's not fish - yay! - eventually. Stepping closer, if only to settle on an outcropping of rock on the ridge they're on - he happens to be standing beside it - Nissa patpats an invitation to sit beside her if he wishes. Her nose wrinkles briefly, "She is- was. Well, mostly." Then she's giving him an unreadable look for that comment allows a few beats to pass before she answers, not so amused when she says with a slight lift of her chin, "As well ya should be. M'try. A gal can only get turned down so many times before she stops askin'."
It might be true, it might not be; the glib way in which it's said makes it impossible to tell, really. "I was down to my last pair of clean socks and underwear, so I had to have laundry done, and I've found they look at me oddly if I don't come to drop-off and collect fully clothed." Like it's just the damnedest thing. M'try adds after a fruitless shading of his eyes, a blind peer into the endless blue, no glint of dragon-hide to be seen by now, "It wasn't meant as a criticism, Nissa. Truly, I wouldn't invite me, either, except that I haven't got a choice." Sitting, a quick sweep of his foot to scrape a few pebbles out before he lands on them, he adds apropos of nothing, "What's in the bag?"
With a sidelong look as he says that, Nissa manages not to laugh, a brief flicker of lips the only thing that betrays her amusement as she says dryly, "Imagine that." There's no point in her trying to look for where Liath went; she can see the blur of grass and leaves whizzing by through Liath's eyes. Instead she turns fully to M'try, hazel eyes somber for a second before she veils that with her lashes and with deliberate lightness demurs, "Ya put yourself down too much. If I'd thought you'd come, Id've asked ya." She is quick to help flick a pebble he's missed with her fingertips just before he settles, pulling her hand back to be out of his way. "Oh, just a bottle of water and a sandwich. A feast to share. Want half?"
"Perhaps it's just an incredibly clever bait to fish for compliments," M'try on-the-contraries, laughing with dry humor while he pulls his feet up, knees bent, arms folded so his hands clasp loosely across the gap between them. His, "Thank you," is a quick, absent acknowledgement of being saved from a pebbly doom, and he's right into shaking his head hurriedly to answer her offer, saying, "And take half of such scant bounty? I think not. Besides which, I've had my share of fish sandwiches in recent weeks, I'm sworn off of them for good now." The last is added with another chuckle, though fringed with distaste; "There really is only so much tartar sauce a man can take in his life."
"Which not-so-clever but honest waystation gals fall for and thus oblige, yeah I get it." Nissa sniffs, appearing miffed but for the dance of her eyes that is hopefully hidden by the head toss of hair as she turns her head away to watch that pebble she's snagged arc prairie-wards as it's tossed. Of her sandwich, "Not that I blame ya, but it's jelly. You sure 'bout that?" Like she's tempting him with a rare delicacy or something. Instead of opening the bag, it's pushed to one side while she takes in the scenery idly. After a few beats of silence, she asks lightly, "So what would you be doing if Mohraith hadn't kidnapped ya?" Yeah, no. This isn't awkward at all, is it?
M'try still shakes his head, no-thank-you, and fails to clarify on the reason why, though it probably doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's got a mean hankering for some barbecue, and a jelly sammich just don't cut the mustard. During those few beats of silence, green eyes glaze to take stock of what Mohraith's accomplished, the brown more enjoying the chasing and hunting than he would any catching and eating, really. It's more about fun than feasting. "Ahh, you think I was joking about the laundry, do you? If you saw the pile of it on my bed at the moment, you'd know full well what I would be doing, have been doing, will continue to be doing for days on end, no doubt." As one who treads often the Path of the Awkward, he's comfortable crashing over the stumbling blocks at least, making light of the mundane. "The goal is to find my pillow before the day-after-tomorrow. I dare to dream."
Vanissa shrugs, giving that bag a little kick that pushes the bag further away. Regarding his laundry, "I did," Nissa admits quietly while still eyeing the bag like it's at fault for the contents therein. "But apparently ya need help with your housekeeping so you can sleep when the urge strikes ya. Or at the very least get out for air once in awhile." Leaning to bump her shoulder against his, she asks lightly, "Why didn't ya scream for help?" Oh, Liath's totally enjoying herself, sweeping up to loop around Mohraith and dive back to skim the ground where the long grasses tickle her belly. When they do come upon a herd, for her it is unexpected and the impact is accidental but the end result is dinner, smushed but edible.
M'try leans his head back, looking up at the sky for inspiration while he begins with an honest, "I don't know." The shoulder-bump has him looking over briefly, finding an excuse just implausible enough that he hopes Vanissa won't actually believe it; "My masculine pride wouldn't let me?" 'M'try' and 'masculine' really don't belong in the same sentence, let alone with 'pride' hanging out in the vicinity. "Besides, I would be denying myself a sense of accomplishment if I enlisted outside help. Imagine, coming so close to the top of the mountain only to have someone give you a boost for the last half-yard." Out yonder, the smooshing is hardly a deterrent, more like a whole brand new idea that Mohraith never thought of, now coming upon a beast with a great, squishy WHOMP so his kill is all smashy like Liath's, she's a genius at coming up with new games!
"I would like to think," Nissa says leaning so her forehead touches his and they're nose to nose, a severe look given him under lowered brows that winds up being more kittenish than tigerlike, "that ya sleep in my bed because I'm in it, rather than the fact ya can't use your own!" Well, her bubble is burst, thanks M'try. She could talk herself into believing he's taking his sweet time with all that laundry to deliberately maintain his refugee status? As for Liath, hamburger beats the fishy diet that has grown mundane and she snarfs it down with the enthusiasm of one so deprived, chattering with Mohraith her plans to do this again SOON. When she finally arrives back on that ridge, she's one tired, messy but very happy dragon.
Empty hands pretend to weigh and measure in the periphery, heavy on the left, light on the right, a scale in pantomime. "It's hard to say, really. Beautiful woman--" Weighing down his right hand now. "--or my own unfolded socks." Tipping the scales on the left. "Really, how's a man to choose?" Giving up the pretend scales, M'try brings both hands up, thumbs to Vanissa's cheeks, the heels of his palms at her jaw, and kisses her briefly but no less affectionately. "To tell the truth, I sleep in your bed because you let me," plain and simple. He's still of the opinion that he's getting the better end of this bargain, and that one day Nissa will realize as much. "I think a real bath is in order after that bloodbath," now that Mohraith has landed, equally slashed with red and just as tickled about it. "Shall I leave the socks for another day and come up to your ledge after this graceless beast is clean?"
Vanissa fails at clever, alas. She adds a little bite while returning his kiss, growling as their lips part, "I let you because I love you." It's not all that hard to read that opinion of his, but she hasn't the wits to refute it or convince him otherwise it seems. Someday he'll break her heart by his stubborn self-denigration. With feigned longsuffering tempered by a saucy wink, "Far beit from me to abandon ya to sleep on a mountaintop of socks. I suppose I can endure your company for -one- more night."
"I am, as ever, indebted to your charity." For irony's sake, M'try pretends to check for blood with his thumb to his bitten lip, finds none, of course, and hauls himself to his feet afterward, offering to do the same for Vanissa. With a last squeeze of her fingers, he turns to Mohraith and finds a way up the straps that minimizes the chance he'll come in contact with the still fresh blood, saying once up there, "I'll see you back at Fort, Nissa." Another sweep of wings stirs up the dust and the grit and the brown is off, announcing that he and LIATH HAD GOOD HUNTING to anyone willing to listen once they return to the Weyr.