[Log] X'lar <3 High Reaches
Who: Mariun, Tiriana, X'lar
When: Day 31, Month 11, Turn 16
Where: Feeding Grounds, Telgar Weyr
What: Tiriana meets X'lar.
Feeding Grounds, Telgar Weyr
The feeding grounds are wide, and covered with huge gashes, the clawmarks of feeding dragons. The fence that surrounds this area is very sturdy, to prevent stampedes during a dragon's feeding. Toward one end the fence ends, and the shore of the Weyr lake is visible.
The evening is obscured by dark clouds. A sleety mixture of rain and snow falls in heavy sheets. There seems to be a light breeze and the fall air is cold. The ground is icy beneath your feet.
Contents:
X'lar
Malsaeth
Obvious exits:
Bowl Pasture
Malsaeth
Gleaming shades of crimson-tinged bronze have imbued this sculpted dragon with the heat and intensity of a bonfire. Headknobs and pronounced neckridges are touched with soot, hazy darkness mingling with the rich shade of red-chased bronze that burns brightest across his back. Inconstant as tongues of flame, his soft hide glistens when the light catches it and the searing tones that grace broad shoulders and deep ribcage are as varied as they are vivid. From muscled chest to taut belly and along the clean lines of well-toned haunches, the fire softens, bathing him in warm metallic hues of copper and rust. Down powerful legs the brighter colors dim to smoldering embers, ending in cruelly curved claws the dark matte of charred wood - fuel to feed the devouring inferno. Sparks swirl and glimmer over wide, arching wings; pale shimmers trace each spar and cast his translucent wingsails into brilliance. His angular face is made more distinct by streaks of ash along his cheekbones and the bridge of his snout while beneath sweeping eyeridges keenly angled eyes hint at the sly workings within.
Malsaeth is 1 Turns, 10 months, and 0 days old and 36.60 meters long. He is 15.52 meters tall at the shoulder and has a wingspan of 58.56 meters.
X'lar
Short curly hair the same shade as brown clay has been carefully cut to emphasize a streamlined, youthful appearing face smattered by freckles. Anyone familiar with hair might notice that the hair has a grown-out look, as if the curly mop were rehabilitating from a previously nasty haircut. With no hair in the way, X'lar's brilliant bluish-gray eyes are easily seen, showing some keen intelligence behind them. One might gather he will always look young for his age (17 Turns, 2 months, and 0 days). However, despite his boyish appearance, Xie's carriage and 5'9 frame bespeaks one of inner confidence and quiet understanding of the world around him.
X'lar wears a pair of black pants and a light cream coloured shirt that drapes his newly streamlined, muscled figure. A light tan belt cinches his pants up at his waist. On his feet he wears a pair of worn boots that, like the rest of his clothes, appear to fit him just right. Upon Xie's right shoulder lies a knot of a bronzerider from Ista Weyr.
Iovniath
Like a highborn lady ornamented from head to toe, this dragon is graced with a hide of delicately wrought gold. Vines of rich ochre shimmer over her, lending a softened look of pampered opulence to an otherwise slim figure. The angles of her face are just a touch too long and sharp about the cheek and muzzle, but it accentuates the roundness of her eyes and highly arched eyeridges that both contrive an aura of innocence and betray flashes of innate pride. Pearl adorns the tips of pointed headknobs, and neckridges trailing down her spine like an even string of sharply angled beads. Silvery shades mark each precisely placed talon and scatter up her wingspars like so many rough-cut diamonds. Between those spars, her expansive wings take on the appearance of tight gilded lace, and a hint of filigree across slender shoulders and haunches dances with rose and pale green in certain lights, a garden illusion glittering amid the gold.
Iovniath is now 0 Turns, 11 months, and 16 days old and roughly 22.23 meters long, with a wingspan of 36.90 meters.
"Faranth, will you hurry /up/!" Tiriana even kicks a boot at the fence in emphasis, glaring at the opulent gold currently feeding there. Iovniath, in turn, seems to eat even more slowly, with dainty bites and claws carefully slicing open her herdbeast and even picking over it to find choice bits in the half-finished carcass. Tiriana huffs another breath, folding her arms across her chest as she leans back against the fence around the corrals. "If you hurry up we could still go flying," she mutters, as much to herself as to Iovniath, who gives no indication of having been listening to her.
There's a brief flicker of crimson-chased bronze and soon Malsaeth's landing in the feeding ground. It's almost as if the bronze doesn't even see the young queen. Instead, Iovniath is ignored. The older dragon snags a bleating beast, cutting its legs with a blur of movement, making the sound of the tortured animal that much louder. X'lar, on the other hand, seems to have dismounted long before the bronze's flight into the feeding ground. The Istan bronzerider makes his way toward the corral and winces. "Faranth, Malsaeth, just eat already. I told you before we left to-" X'lar begins and is soon halted at the sight of the weyrling. "Ista's duties," Xie tells her before returning his attention to the bronze who seems to relish every bleat, every bone snapped, every bit of gristle chewed.
"See, /that's/ how you do it," Tiriana continues shouting out loud at Iovniath, with an irritated gesture at Malsaeth. Iovniath, however, pauses to watch him even if he ignores her; she looks just a little disgusted, disdainful, of the Istan's inelegant methods. In fact, she edges that much further away from him, tugging her beast with her--out of range of any flying blood or body parts Malsaeth's stirring up. "Telgar's," is Tiriana's contribution to actual human conversation, as she after another moment glances X'lar's way with a sniff. "What do you want?"
X'lar grins briefly as he hears Tiriana's initial remark. "Oh trust me," X'lar begins. ".. you don't want her eating like that beast, if there's one thing he does without abandon, it's eat. Or rather, feast, as he likes to call it." Malsaeth's teeth rip into the now thankfully dead beast, sending one hoofed limb skirting close toward the younger dragon. He rumbles back toward her in amusement before returning to his feeding. "My dragon decided he wanted to eat some place else, I'm supposing," he replies, his eyes still on the bronze figure of his lifemate. "I'm X'lar, rider of that hedonist bronze over there."
Dragon> There's a distinct sound of rain falling, or perhaps the air just seems that much thicker to warrant it. Clouds loom in the distance of Malsaeth's mind, warning perhaps more rain. << If you feel like eating another hoof, there's one beside you. >> How generous of him. His dark sense of humour is laced in every word spoken. (Malsaeth to Iovniath)
"It takes her hours," says Tiriana. And just in case he missed it the first time, "/Hours/." She glowers at the gold, who careful-as-you-please slices her claws across the other flank of her herdbeast to pull free that section of meat for her to nibble on. She even wipes her claws off afterward. Tiriana just sighs. "Tiriana. And Iovniath," she grumbles out a sulky introduction. "Think I'd leave her, she wanted to go somewhere /else/ and do this."
Dragon> In Iovniath's mind, those clouds aren't rain; they're snow. The raindrops themselves freeze on contact with the ground, forming a layer of ice across her words. << Thank you; that's quite generous, >> she tells the bronze, polite without taking him up on the offer. << Perhaps later, when I have finished this. >> (Iovniath to Malsaeth)
"Ah," X'lar remarks, grinning wide. "The infamous Tiriana." The bronzerider seems satisfied with his bronze's activities as such that he turns around, leaning his back against the wood of the corral. "Iovniath though," Xie tells her, his easy grin still in place. "Beautiful name." He pauses, his hand digging into his pants' front pocket and coming up with a meatroll which he then begins eating carefully. There's another glance toward the gold weyrling and soon he's talking again: "Saw you Impress, actually. And Mal has his own preferences. Like cooler weather. Loves it. Usually it's High Reaches, but today it was Telgar, for some reason." He looks over his shoulder at Mal again, checking on him as his talons rake the beast, eating the bloody mess with great aplomb.
Dragon> That rain falls without much end in sight, the clouds darkening that much more. Malsaeth's voice, or rather, his growl, ceases. If only while he eats. Soon though, in between bites, his attention returns to the younger dragon. << Of course. >> Lightning flickers, illuminating his indifference to whether she will or will not eat his offered bit of hoof. (Malsaeth to Iovniath)
"Infamous?" Few words could cheer Tiriana up quite as quickly, and her mouth forms a quick smirk as she turns to actually look at X'lar. Her smugness only increases at the compliments. Preeningly, she notes, "Of course it is. --She says thanks." Iovniath, of course, is the polite one. Tiriana is the one that stares in her own disgust as X'lar pulls a meatroll out of his pockets--she might approve of Malsaeth, but apparently not his rider. Wrinkling her nose still, she adds, "High Reaches," with a snort. "Who'd want to go /there/? Even if it is cold. Telgar's colder."
X'lar continues eating his meatroll, his eyes glancing toward Tiriana with amusement. "Infamous, yes," X'lar remarks. "From the stories I've been told, consider me surprised that the first words out of your mouth were not 'I'm a Weyrleader's daughter'." The Timor wingrider takes a moment, dusting off the last piece of his meatroll before finishing it off. If the weyrling's disgust of his own eating habits phase him, it doesn't show. Perhaps he's just used to those particular looks. "Telgar's colder true, but High Reaches... I love High Reaches." Malsaeth continues to eat, taking pleasure with every bite, painting his ash-streaked bronze maw that much redder with the blood of his feast.
"Maybe you should go steal /their/ herdbeasts instead, then," Tiriana snaps, rather miffed with X'lar's latter words. "And leave ours alone. And my daddy is too a Weyrleader--" not that he exactly disputed that "--but /I'm/ a weyrwoman and I shouldn't have to tell you that. Hmph." And she crosses her arms back, chin in the air as she turns back to watch Iovniath a little longer. While Malsaeth tears through his meal, she's /still/ picking over that same animal. Tiriana, though, can't sulk for long; she's too curious. "Who told you all that?" she asks after a moment, with a sniff.
"I'd say you're a weyrling," X'lar tells her, grinning back. "Shells, the stories don't lie though, do they?" The rider grins wider and remarks: "I mean, they might embellish, just like Malsaeth telling one of his stories, but when it comes down to it, there's always some truth at the centre of it all." If anything, Tiriana's miffed-ness and the crossing of arms just makes the Istan seem all the more happy. "Ah," he remarks of her last question. "That's the question though isn't it?" The bronzerider's brows twitch upward, his grin widening. "What would you do with that information?" X'lar asks her. "Because you have to realize that, on one hand, it might be bad to have talked about you like you're some indignant snob, on the OTHER, you were -STILL- being talked about, right?" He asks her, chuckling lowly at this. "I think I'd prefer being talked about rather than not, to be honest. Even though I swear some of the gossip that is tied to me is some of the strangest things I've ever heard." In the length it takes Istan man to talk and talk, Malsaeth seems to have finished his own beast. A glance is given to another in the feeding grounds, but he instead jumps up and lands on the other side of the feeding ground, shuffling about to be close to X'lar.
"No shit," snorts Tiriana as X'lar explains to her. "I want to know because I... want to know. So I can do something about it if I don't like what they're saying. And I'm still a weyrwoman, and anyway, even if I weren't now I'm going to be, so." She glowers at the bronzerider, the more so for how amused he looks at her. "We already established they can't throw me out now if I start hitting people again."
"I have a friend who told me someone would hit me someday," X'lar remarks, grinning wide. "I didn't think it'd be a punch from a weyrling." He considers Tiriana's next comment before finally going on to say, "I heard your name pop up in High Reaches between a greenrider and a brownrider." The Istan bronzerider grins wide again, saying, "That should narrow it down for you, Tiriana." A moment's passing, a mere beat, and Xie adds, his voice very nearly cheeky in its execution: "Oh, and to warn you, I'm the kind of guy that likes someone who doesn't normally acquiesce. So the glowering and all the other huffiness? It ain't gonna work."
"A greenrider and a brownrider?" TIriana looks appropriately confused by that. "Don't know any of them. I know your Weyrleader, though. The Reaches Weyrwoman. S'about it--don't /want/ to know any of them. Although I suppose everybody there knows about /me/, after what I did there." Modest she is not, smirking and straightening up a little more. Beat. "I'm taken," she notes quickly, taking a step back from X'lar with a curl of her lip. "Not that it matters, you're--ew." she gestures a hand at him.
X'lar pauses a moment before clarifying, "Sorry, not a brownrider. He's a bronzerider." There's a brief scowl there, perhaps the only break in the Istan's general easy going nature. He blinks a couple times, asking Tiriana, "You know A'son?" He shakes his head before going on to say, "You got that one on me, I don't think I've had nearly as many conversations with him than Griere." As he hears the gold weyrling's last statement, the way that lip of hers curls, that easy grin of the Istan is back in full form. "Aw, I ain't all that bad, Tiriana," X'lar tells her, chuckling even. "You're not all that descriptive though, are you?" Another chuckle and he goes on, asking: "Ew? What exactly -does- that mean, hm?" A beat and X'lar's going on to say, "Because honestly? There's a lot worse people than me."
"A'son? I know A'son. I punched him once. He's not the bronzerider?" says Tiriana, still confused. She rubs her head, frowning now. "Don't know any greenriders, though." Eventually, though, she has to shake it off in favor of answering his latter claims. "Yeah, what's your point? 'Ew' is plenty descriptive, says everything I need it to say. Even if I was looking, I wouldn't go for /you/ so just... move along if that's what you're after."
"Well, A'son -is- my Weyrleader, so yeah, A'son," X'lar remarks. He blinks a couple times before saying, "Wait, you punched A'son? And no... he's not the bronzerider." There's a brief grin at her next comments about him being 'ew', shaking his head back at the weyrling as he tells her: "Oh, you're certainly not what I'm after. I know better than that. I certainly didn't as a weyrling, but you know how that goes. You get a voice in your head, you get responsbilities... It's all uphill from there." He rolls his eyes before glancing back to the weyrling again, asking her: "Where are you in weyrlinghood anyways? Flying yet?"
"It was a long time ago," says Tiriana with a wave of her hand, a smirk. "Back during that thing with Crom. I got sent on a diplomatic mission." Beat. "So what, now I'm not good enoguh for you? You better be gay, in that case." Nevermind she doesn't want him for herself at all. She sulks a bit, mouth pursing. Even her answer to the latter question is a bit sullen, though the excitement of flying can't be totally beat back. "Yeah. Not long, but yeah. Was /going/ to go do some when she finished, but." The glower's aimed at Iovniath now, who's just now finishing her meal and wiping off her claws meticulously. As an afterthought, "S'posed to go to Ista sometime, too. She made some kind of plan to go flying with /somebody/. --Riuth," she supplies the name from Iovniath.
"Oh, that," X'lar replies back dryly of the Crom incident, smirking. "Don't know much about that." But as soon as she makes her comment of him being gay, X'lar laughs aloud at the weyrling. "Shells, I'll admit there're one or two guys that do it for me, but honestly, I like women a lot more." A beat. "A LOT more." He gives Tiriana another look, eyeing her briefly with a grin. "Even though you might be my type, I don't think it'd work out between us anyways. You'd always be punching me and I'd just laugh." A soft chuckle at Riuth's name, saying, "That'd be Andy's bronze. Brothers in arms. Forever." Malsaeth offers a rumble in agreement to X'lar's words. "We graduated together, Andy and I," X'lar remarks. "Flying's a great feeling, especially when you're flying with your own dragon." There's a moment and Xie adds, "Flying in the dark though, that's the best."
Mariun opens the gate and enters from the central bowl, closing it behind her.
Mariun has arrived.
Mariun
Dark brown hair, crazy-curly and almost to the point of black, has been caught back on either side of the face, and twisted into two interlaced braids starting from temple and ending at about mid-back. The fact that the braids themselves are almost fuzzy with escaped wisps helps to identify the hair as curly, as well as the escaped wisps that frame the oval face still somewhat round with the unfinished look of childhood. Dark brown eyes set slightly tilted and surrounded by thick lashes, giving the young girl an almost startled, wide-eye look. Offsetting that to some degree is almost pale skin - too exposed to wind and sun to be truly pale, and a pair of dark-hued lips squared by her jaw and set off by an oft-seen wide smile, showcasing at least one chipped tooth.
Warmth and comfort are bywords to live by. At this point in time, that means this gangly young girl of perhaps 15 turns is garbed in a thick-woven tunic of unbleached linen, a vest of dyed homespun wool fastened with wood pegs to keep it closed over it. Trous of leather are also worn, a sight too large and kept up on non-existant hips with a worn leather belt, knotted so that the tail hangs down in front, and the legs pegged into a pair of very scuffed boots, well-suited for constant activity.
Over one shoulder is the braided loop of a green weyrling of Telgar Weyr.
Jalanith springs into the air for a quick flight over the fence from the central bowl. She settles, terrifying the animals within.
Jalanith has arrived.
Jalanith
Sharp and sassy seedpod green clothes this dragonet in brash, bright mid-tones, a distinct contrast to her curvy shape. A snubbed muzzle traces a smooth convex curve back to her forehead where wide-set eyes gleam with curiosity beneath tapering brow-ridges. Flecked with nibs of olive, her headknobs draw perkily upward to gentle points of perpetual astonishment. Subtly muscled haunches and shoulders are boyishly broad, lending her plump body balance and a solid stance. Thick ankles are proof of further solidity before splaying out into wide-spread feet tipped with narrow talons of incongruously pale ivory. Wide wings curve over her back lending her a faintly globular shape when folded; sweep out in crisp swathes of deepest jungle green when open, only to curl back towards a jaunty flagwave of a tail.
Jalanith is now 0 Turns, 11 months, and 17 days old and roughly 11.97 meters long, with a wingspan of 19.87 meters.
"Bet I can punch longer'n you can laugh," says Tiriana, confident of that. But still, she sniffs, "Sounds like Rev, anyway. Bastards, both of you." And she scowls, moving back to perch up on the fence's top rail. Iovniath, after cleaning herself up, saunters over closer to the pair, coming to sit by Tiriana, X'lar, and Malsaeth. Tiriana, meanwhile, rolls her eyes. "Andy, right, whatever. And you think I don't know all that? Know plenty about flying already, even if we haven't been doing it that long. Yet."
Mariun makes her way out to the feeding ground with Jalanith - the both on the ground, despite recent strides that may have recently occured, with the air of two friends passing the time to dinner in conversation. Once at the grounds, however, Jalanith's moves off to do do in a beast, while Riun is left to her own devices. Which in this case, means moving off towards her fellow weyrling, and the visitor.
"Hey, we're both weyrbred, Tiriana," Xie tells the gold weyrling. "I knew full well what flying was like before flying with Malsaeth." He pauses a moment before finally adding, "But flying with your own dragon, that's pretty much as indescribable to a person that hasn't done that as Impression." He nods once before glancing toward Iovniath, smiling warmly at the young queen before returning his gaze to Tiriana. "Who's Rev?" X'lar asks, curiousity striking him. And, at the same time, he notices Jalanith and Mariun's arrival, nodding to newly arrived weyrling once. "Ista's duties," X'lar tells her. A hand drops into his other front pocket to take out another meatroll, eating it happily as he awaits the responses from both weyrlings.
"R'uen--none of your business," Tiriana changes her mind quickly, scowling to emphasize her latter remark to X'lar. But she glances sideways at Iovniath at his words. Lips still pursed, she shakes her head after a moment, and at his greeting glances back around to find Mariun. "Oh, hey," she greets the other weyrling. "What're you doing out here?" As though that wasn't obvious.
Decisions, decisions - duties, or greetings. Riun bounces over, still a couple of turns younger than at least X'lar (and for health-purposes, Tana too), "Heyla, Tiriana - feedin' time, of course. 'lo there, sir.." she tosses on at the end of that, with a salute of sorts, before finding a place to perch. "Io just finish up?"
X'lar grins back at Tiriana, telling her: "I don't know 'im." With Mariun now around, his attention splits to both weyrlings. He glances once to Tiriana, telling her: "It doesn't matter to me anyways. I'm just naturally curious." He glances to Mariun, giving the younger girl a brief grin as he finishes half his meatroll. "X'lar," he tells Mariun. "X'lar works fine." Malsaeth glances toward Jalanith's eating before rumbling amusement. X'lar rolls his eyes and thumps the nearby leg of the bronze. "When she's older, beast," he mutters.
"Yeah, well. Good," mutters Tiriana in response to X'lar. Her nose wrinkles, but she shrugs it off still, sliding off the railing. "Yeah. She's done, finally. Got to go oil her now, before dinner. Since she killed all our flying time." Iovniath earns a glower then, but the gold is unphased as she rises gracefully from her seat and turns toward the barracks. Tiriana hops the fence and moves to follow after her. In parting, she tells Mariun, "See in the barracks," and X'lar, "Maybe when I go to Ista. To see what's his face. Riuth." The effect of the taunt's a little ruined when she can't even remember the guy's name, but she does saunter after her gold pretty well all the same.
When: Day 31, Month 11, Turn 16
Where: Feeding Grounds, Telgar Weyr
What: Tiriana meets X'lar.
Feeding Grounds, Telgar Weyr
The feeding grounds are wide, and covered with huge gashes, the clawmarks of feeding dragons. The fence that surrounds this area is very sturdy, to prevent stampedes during a dragon's feeding. Toward one end the fence ends, and the shore of the Weyr lake is visible.
The evening is obscured by dark clouds. A sleety mixture of rain and snow falls in heavy sheets. There seems to be a light breeze and the fall air is cold. The ground is icy beneath your feet.
Contents:
X'lar
Malsaeth
Obvious exits:
Bowl Pasture
Malsaeth
Gleaming shades of crimson-tinged bronze have imbued this sculpted dragon with the heat and intensity of a bonfire. Headknobs and pronounced neckridges are touched with soot, hazy darkness mingling with the rich shade of red-chased bronze that burns brightest across his back. Inconstant as tongues of flame, his soft hide glistens when the light catches it and the searing tones that grace broad shoulders and deep ribcage are as varied as they are vivid. From muscled chest to taut belly and along the clean lines of well-toned haunches, the fire softens, bathing him in warm metallic hues of copper and rust. Down powerful legs the brighter colors dim to smoldering embers, ending in cruelly curved claws the dark matte of charred wood - fuel to feed the devouring inferno. Sparks swirl and glimmer over wide, arching wings; pale shimmers trace each spar and cast his translucent wingsails into brilliance. His angular face is made more distinct by streaks of ash along his cheekbones and the bridge of his snout while beneath sweeping eyeridges keenly angled eyes hint at the sly workings within.
Malsaeth is 1 Turns, 10 months, and 0 days old and 36.60 meters long. He is 15.52 meters tall at the shoulder and has a wingspan of 58.56 meters.
X'lar
Short curly hair the same shade as brown clay has been carefully cut to emphasize a streamlined, youthful appearing face smattered by freckles. Anyone familiar with hair might notice that the hair has a grown-out look, as if the curly mop were rehabilitating from a previously nasty haircut. With no hair in the way, X'lar's brilliant bluish-gray eyes are easily seen, showing some keen intelligence behind them. One might gather he will always look young for his age (17 Turns, 2 months, and 0 days). However, despite his boyish appearance, Xie's carriage and 5'9 frame bespeaks one of inner confidence and quiet understanding of the world around him.
X'lar wears a pair of black pants and a light cream coloured shirt that drapes his newly streamlined, muscled figure. A light tan belt cinches his pants up at his waist. On his feet he wears a pair of worn boots that, like the rest of his clothes, appear to fit him just right. Upon Xie's right shoulder lies a knot of a bronzerider from Ista Weyr.
Iovniath
Like a highborn lady ornamented from head to toe, this dragon is graced with a hide of delicately wrought gold. Vines of rich ochre shimmer over her, lending a softened look of pampered opulence to an otherwise slim figure. The angles of her face are just a touch too long and sharp about the cheek and muzzle, but it accentuates the roundness of her eyes and highly arched eyeridges that both contrive an aura of innocence and betray flashes of innate pride. Pearl adorns the tips of pointed headknobs, and neckridges trailing down her spine like an even string of sharply angled beads. Silvery shades mark each precisely placed talon and scatter up her wingspars like so many rough-cut diamonds. Between those spars, her expansive wings take on the appearance of tight gilded lace, and a hint of filigree across slender shoulders and haunches dances with rose and pale green in certain lights, a garden illusion glittering amid the gold.
Iovniath is now 0 Turns, 11 months, and 16 days old and roughly 22.23 meters long, with a wingspan of 36.90 meters.
"Faranth, will you hurry /up/!" Tiriana even kicks a boot at the fence in emphasis, glaring at the opulent gold currently feeding there. Iovniath, in turn, seems to eat even more slowly, with dainty bites and claws carefully slicing open her herdbeast and even picking over it to find choice bits in the half-finished carcass. Tiriana huffs another breath, folding her arms across her chest as she leans back against the fence around the corrals. "If you hurry up we could still go flying," she mutters, as much to herself as to Iovniath, who gives no indication of having been listening to her.
There's a brief flicker of crimson-chased bronze and soon Malsaeth's landing in the feeding ground. It's almost as if the bronze doesn't even see the young queen. Instead, Iovniath is ignored. The older dragon snags a bleating beast, cutting its legs with a blur of movement, making the sound of the tortured animal that much louder. X'lar, on the other hand, seems to have dismounted long before the bronze's flight into the feeding ground. The Istan bronzerider makes his way toward the corral and winces. "Faranth, Malsaeth, just eat already. I told you before we left to-" X'lar begins and is soon halted at the sight of the weyrling. "Ista's duties," Xie tells her before returning his attention to the bronze who seems to relish every bleat, every bone snapped, every bit of gristle chewed.
"See, /that's/ how you do it," Tiriana continues shouting out loud at Iovniath, with an irritated gesture at Malsaeth. Iovniath, however, pauses to watch him even if he ignores her; she looks just a little disgusted, disdainful, of the Istan's inelegant methods. In fact, she edges that much further away from him, tugging her beast with her--out of range of any flying blood or body parts Malsaeth's stirring up. "Telgar's," is Tiriana's contribution to actual human conversation, as she after another moment glances X'lar's way with a sniff. "What do you want?"
X'lar grins briefly as he hears Tiriana's initial remark. "Oh trust me," X'lar begins. ".. you don't want her eating like that beast, if there's one thing he does without abandon, it's eat. Or rather, feast, as he likes to call it." Malsaeth's teeth rip into the now thankfully dead beast, sending one hoofed limb skirting close toward the younger dragon. He rumbles back toward her in amusement before returning to his feeding. "My dragon decided he wanted to eat some place else, I'm supposing," he replies, his eyes still on the bronze figure of his lifemate. "I'm X'lar, rider of that hedonist bronze over there."
Dragon> There's a distinct sound of rain falling, or perhaps the air just seems that much thicker to warrant it. Clouds loom in the distance of Malsaeth's mind, warning perhaps more rain. << If you feel like eating another hoof, there's one beside you. >> How generous of him. His dark sense of humour is laced in every word spoken. (Malsaeth to Iovniath)
"It takes her hours," says Tiriana. And just in case he missed it the first time, "/Hours/." She glowers at the gold, who careful-as-you-please slices her claws across the other flank of her herdbeast to pull free that section of meat for her to nibble on. She even wipes her claws off afterward. Tiriana just sighs. "Tiriana. And Iovniath," she grumbles out a sulky introduction. "Think I'd leave her, she wanted to go somewhere /else/ and do this."
Dragon> In Iovniath's mind, those clouds aren't rain; they're snow. The raindrops themselves freeze on contact with the ground, forming a layer of ice across her words. << Thank you; that's quite generous, >> she tells the bronze, polite without taking him up on the offer. << Perhaps later, when I have finished this. >> (Iovniath to Malsaeth)
"Ah," X'lar remarks, grinning wide. "The infamous Tiriana." The bronzerider seems satisfied with his bronze's activities as such that he turns around, leaning his back against the wood of the corral. "Iovniath though," Xie tells her, his easy grin still in place. "Beautiful name." He pauses, his hand digging into his pants' front pocket and coming up with a meatroll which he then begins eating carefully. There's another glance toward the gold weyrling and soon he's talking again: "Saw you Impress, actually. And Mal has his own preferences. Like cooler weather. Loves it. Usually it's High Reaches, but today it was Telgar, for some reason." He looks over his shoulder at Mal again, checking on him as his talons rake the beast, eating the bloody mess with great aplomb.
Dragon> That rain falls without much end in sight, the clouds darkening that much more. Malsaeth's voice, or rather, his growl, ceases. If only while he eats. Soon though, in between bites, his attention returns to the younger dragon. << Of course. >> Lightning flickers, illuminating his indifference to whether she will or will not eat his offered bit of hoof. (Malsaeth to Iovniath)
"Infamous?" Few words could cheer Tiriana up quite as quickly, and her mouth forms a quick smirk as she turns to actually look at X'lar. Her smugness only increases at the compliments. Preeningly, she notes, "Of course it is. --She says thanks." Iovniath, of course, is the polite one. Tiriana is the one that stares in her own disgust as X'lar pulls a meatroll out of his pockets--she might approve of Malsaeth, but apparently not his rider. Wrinkling her nose still, she adds, "High Reaches," with a snort. "Who'd want to go /there/? Even if it is cold. Telgar's colder."
X'lar continues eating his meatroll, his eyes glancing toward Tiriana with amusement. "Infamous, yes," X'lar remarks. "From the stories I've been told, consider me surprised that the first words out of your mouth were not 'I'm a Weyrleader's daughter'." The Timor wingrider takes a moment, dusting off the last piece of his meatroll before finishing it off. If the weyrling's disgust of his own eating habits phase him, it doesn't show. Perhaps he's just used to those particular looks. "Telgar's colder true, but High Reaches... I love High Reaches." Malsaeth continues to eat, taking pleasure with every bite, painting his ash-streaked bronze maw that much redder with the blood of his feast.
"Maybe you should go steal /their/ herdbeasts instead, then," Tiriana snaps, rather miffed with X'lar's latter words. "And leave ours alone. And my daddy is too a Weyrleader--" not that he exactly disputed that "--but /I'm/ a weyrwoman and I shouldn't have to tell you that. Hmph." And she crosses her arms back, chin in the air as she turns back to watch Iovniath a little longer. While Malsaeth tears through his meal, she's /still/ picking over that same animal. Tiriana, though, can't sulk for long; she's too curious. "Who told you all that?" she asks after a moment, with a sniff.
"I'd say you're a weyrling," X'lar tells her, grinning back. "Shells, the stories don't lie though, do they?" The rider grins wider and remarks: "I mean, they might embellish, just like Malsaeth telling one of his stories, but when it comes down to it, there's always some truth at the centre of it all." If anything, Tiriana's miffed-ness and the crossing of arms just makes the Istan seem all the more happy. "Ah," he remarks of her last question. "That's the question though isn't it?" The bronzerider's brows twitch upward, his grin widening. "What would you do with that information?" X'lar asks her. "Because you have to realize that, on one hand, it might be bad to have talked about you like you're some indignant snob, on the OTHER, you were -STILL- being talked about, right?" He asks her, chuckling lowly at this. "I think I'd prefer being talked about rather than not, to be honest. Even though I swear some of the gossip that is tied to me is some of the strangest things I've ever heard." In the length it takes Istan man to talk and talk, Malsaeth seems to have finished his own beast. A glance is given to another in the feeding grounds, but he instead jumps up and lands on the other side of the feeding ground, shuffling about to be close to X'lar.
"No shit," snorts Tiriana as X'lar explains to her. "I want to know because I... want to know. So I can do something about it if I don't like what they're saying. And I'm still a weyrwoman, and anyway, even if I weren't now I'm going to be, so." She glowers at the bronzerider, the more so for how amused he looks at her. "We already established they can't throw me out now if I start hitting people again."
"I have a friend who told me someone would hit me someday," X'lar remarks, grinning wide. "I didn't think it'd be a punch from a weyrling." He considers Tiriana's next comment before finally going on to say, "I heard your name pop up in High Reaches between a greenrider and a brownrider." The Istan bronzerider grins wide again, saying, "That should narrow it down for you, Tiriana." A moment's passing, a mere beat, and Xie adds, his voice very nearly cheeky in its execution: "Oh, and to warn you, I'm the kind of guy that likes someone who doesn't normally acquiesce. So the glowering and all the other huffiness? It ain't gonna work."
"A greenrider and a brownrider?" TIriana looks appropriately confused by that. "Don't know any of them. I know your Weyrleader, though. The Reaches Weyrwoman. S'about it--don't /want/ to know any of them. Although I suppose everybody there knows about /me/, after what I did there." Modest she is not, smirking and straightening up a little more. Beat. "I'm taken," she notes quickly, taking a step back from X'lar with a curl of her lip. "Not that it matters, you're--ew." she gestures a hand at him.
X'lar pauses a moment before clarifying, "Sorry, not a brownrider. He's a bronzerider." There's a brief scowl there, perhaps the only break in the Istan's general easy going nature. He blinks a couple times, asking Tiriana, "You know A'son?" He shakes his head before going on to say, "You got that one on me, I don't think I've had nearly as many conversations with him than Griere." As he hears the gold weyrling's last statement, the way that lip of hers curls, that easy grin of the Istan is back in full form. "Aw, I ain't all that bad, Tiriana," X'lar tells her, chuckling even. "You're not all that descriptive though, are you?" Another chuckle and he goes on, asking: "Ew? What exactly -does- that mean, hm?" A beat and X'lar's going on to say, "Because honestly? There's a lot worse people than me."
"A'son? I know A'son. I punched him once. He's not the bronzerider?" says Tiriana, still confused. She rubs her head, frowning now. "Don't know any greenriders, though." Eventually, though, she has to shake it off in favor of answering his latter claims. "Yeah, what's your point? 'Ew' is plenty descriptive, says everything I need it to say. Even if I was looking, I wouldn't go for /you/ so just... move along if that's what you're after."
"Well, A'son -is- my Weyrleader, so yeah, A'son," X'lar remarks. He blinks a couple times before saying, "Wait, you punched A'son? And no... he's not the bronzerider." There's a brief grin at her next comments about him being 'ew', shaking his head back at the weyrling as he tells her: "Oh, you're certainly not what I'm after. I know better than that. I certainly didn't as a weyrling, but you know how that goes. You get a voice in your head, you get responsbilities... It's all uphill from there." He rolls his eyes before glancing back to the weyrling again, asking her: "Where are you in weyrlinghood anyways? Flying yet?"
"It was a long time ago," says Tiriana with a wave of her hand, a smirk. "Back during that thing with Crom. I got sent on a diplomatic mission." Beat. "So what, now I'm not good enoguh for you? You better be gay, in that case." Nevermind she doesn't want him for herself at all. She sulks a bit, mouth pursing. Even her answer to the latter question is a bit sullen, though the excitement of flying can't be totally beat back. "Yeah. Not long, but yeah. Was /going/ to go do some when she finished, but." The glower's aimed at Iovniath now, who's just now finishing her meal and wiping off her claws meticulously. As an afterthought, "S'posed to go to Ista sometime, too. She made some kind of plan to go flying with /somebody/. --Riuth," she supplies the name from Iovniath.
"Oh, that," X'lar replies back dryly of the Crom incident, smirking. "Don't know much about that." But as soon as she makes her comment of him being gay, X'lar laughs aloud at the weyrling. "Shells, I'll admit there're one or two guys that do it for me, but honestly, I like women a lot more." A beat. "A LOT more." He gives Tiriana another look, eyeing her briefly with a grin. "Even though you might be my type, I don't think it'd work out between us anyways. You'd always be punching me and I'd just laugh." A soft chuckle at Riuth's name, saying, "That'd be Andy's bronze. Brothers in arms. Forever." Malsaeth offers a rumble in agreement to X'lar's words. "We graduated together, Andy and I," X'lar remarks. "Flying's a great feeling, especially when you're flying with your own dragon." There's a moment and Xie adds, "Flying in the dark though, that's the best."
Mariun opens the gate and enters from the central bowl, closing it behind her.
Mariun has arrived.
Mariun
Dark brown hair, crazy-curly and almost to the point of black, has been caught back on either side of the face, and twisted into two interlaced braids starting from temple and ending at about mid-back. The fact that the braids themselves are almost fuzzy with escaped wisps helps to identify the hair as curly, as well as the escaped wisps that frame the oval face still somewhat round with the unfinished look of childhood. Dark brown eyes set slightly tilted and surrounded by thick lashes, giving the young girl an almost startled, wide-eye look. Offsetting that to some degree is almost pale skin - too exposed to wind and sun to be truly pale, and a pair of dark-hued lips squared by her jaw and set off by an oft-seen wide smile, showcasing at least one chipped tooth.
Warmth and comfort are bywords to live by. At this point in time, that means this gangly young girl of perhaps 15 turns is garbed in a thick-woven tunic of unbleached linen, a vest of dyed homespun wool fastened with wood pegs to keep it closed over it. Trous of leather are also worn, a sight too large and kept up on non-existant hips with a worn leather belt, knotted so that the tail hangs down in front, and the legs pegged into a pair of very scuffed boots, well-suited for constant activity.
Over one shoulder is the braided loop of a green weyrling of Telgar Weyr.
Jalanith springs into the air for a quick flight over the fence from the central bowl. She settles, terrifying the animals within.
Jalanith has arrived.
Jalanith
Sharp and sassy seedpod green clothes this dragonet in brash, bright mid-tones, a distinct contrast to her curvy shape. A snubbed muzzle traces a smooth convex curve back to her forehead where wide-set eyes gleam with curiosity beneath tapering brow-ridges. Flecked with nibs of olive, her headknobs draw perkily upward to gentle points of perpetual astonishment. Subtly muscled haunches and shoulders are boyishly broad, lending her plump body balance and a solid stance. Thick ankles are proof of further solidity before splaying out into wide-spread feet tipped with narrow talons of incongruously pale ivory. Wide wings curve over her back lending her a faintly globular shape when folded; sweep out in crisp swathes of deepest jungle green when open, only to curl back towards a jaunty flagwave of a tail.
Jalanith is now 0 Turns, 11 months, and 17 days old and roughly 11.97 meters long, with a wingspan of 19.87 meters.
"Bet I can punch longer'n you can laugh," says Tiriana, confident of that. But still, she sniffs, "Sounds like Rev, anyway. Bastards, both of you." And she scowls, moving back to perch up on the fence's top rail. Iovniath, after cleaning herself up, saunters over closer to the pair, coming to sit by Tiriana, X'lar, and Malsaeth. Tiriana, meanwhile, rolls her eyes. "Andy, right, whatever. And you think I don't know all that? Know plenty about flying already, even if we haven't been doing it that long. Yet."
Mariun makes her way out to the feeding ground with Jalanith - the both on the ground, despite recent strides that may have recently occured, with the air of two friends passing the time to dinner in conversation. Once at the grounds, however, Jalanith's moves off to do do in a beast, while Riun is left to her own devices. Which in this case, means moving off towards her fellow weyrling, and the visitor.
"Hey, we're both weyrbred, Tiriana," Xie tells the gold weyrling. "I knew full well what flying was like before flying with Malsaeth." He pauses a moment before finally adding, "But flying with your own dragon, that's pretty much as indescribable to a person that hasn't done that as Impression." He nods once before glancing toward Iovniath, smiling warmly at the young queen before returning his gaze to Tiriana. "Who's Rev?" X'lar asks, curiousity striking him. And, at the same time, he notices Jalanith and Mariun's arrival, nodding to newly arrived weyrling once. "Ista's duties," X'lar tells her. A hand drops into his other front pocket to take out another meatroll, eating it happily as he awaits the responses from both weyrlings.
"R'uen--none of your business," Tiriana changes her mind quickly, scowling to emphasize her latter remark to X'lar. But she glances sideways at Iovniath at his words. Lips still pursed, she shakes her head after a moment, and at his greeting glances back around to find Mariun. "Oh, hey," she greets the other weyrling. "What're you doing out here?" As though that wasn't obvious.
Decisions, decisions - duties, or greetings. Riun bounces over, still a couple of turns younger than at least X'lar (and for health-purposes, Tana too), "Heyla, Tiriana - feedin' time, of course. 'lo there, sir.." she tosses on at the end of that, with a salute of sorts, before finding a place to perch. "Io just finish up?"
X'lar grins back at Tiriana, telling her: "I don't know 'im." With Mariun now around, his attention splits to both weyrlings. He glances once to Tiriana, telling her: "It doesn't matter to me anyways. I'm just naturally curious." He glances to Mariun, giving the younger girl a brief grin as he finishes half his meatroll. "X'lar," he tells Mariun. "X'lar works fine." Malsaeth glances toward Jalanith's eating before rumbling amusement. X'lar rolls his eyes and thumps the nearby leg of the bronze. "When she's older, beast," he mutters.
"Yeah, well. Good," mutters Tiriana in response to X'lar. Her nose wrinkles, but she shrugs it off still, sliding off the railing. "Yeah. She's done, finally. Got to go oil her now, before dinner. Since she killed all our flying time." Iovniath earns a glower then, but the gold is unphased as she rises gracefully from her seat and turns toward the barracks. Tiriana hops the fence and moves to follow after her. In parting, she tells Mariun, "See in the barracks," and X'lar, "Maybe when I go to Ista. To see what's his face. Riuth." The effect of the taunt's a little ruined when she can't even remember the guy's name, but she does saunter after her gold pretty well all the same.