[Log] Pwned
Who: E'sere, G'thon, Lexine, Sinopa, V'raj
When: Unknown
Where: Feeding Grounds, Upper Caverns, Sinopa and Citalth's Weyr at High Reaches Weyr
What: E'sere's Morelenth catches Sinopa's Citalth.
Morelenth> Feeding Grounds
Morelenth>A white-washed fence cuts an arc across the bowl here, penning in the various beasts that serve as food for the Weyr's dragons. The area itself is large enough for several herds of animals and is the only place in the bowl where greenery might be found; a few small, twisted trees and shrubs are scattered along the rock wall to provide minimal shade. The fence is broken in two places, once near the northern wall where a wide gate can be found, and once again at the lake where it ends and the water takes up the task of keeping the herds penned in. The tunnel to the beast pens is situated near that single gate.
It's a clear winter day and though the sun is clear and bright in a pale blue sky, it's still cold enough that breath will fog in the air. When the wind kicks up, it's icy and mean, nipping at any exposed skin.
Morelenth> Contents:
Morelenth> Hirth
Morelenth> Citalth
Morelenth> Collemth
Morelenth> Beast Pens (BP) Bowl (B)
Morelenth> Ahrenth hops the fence and enters from the southern bowl.
Morelenth> Ahrenth has arrived.
Morelenth> Having taken a nice, long period of deep rest on her ledge, where she was quite safe from curious, prying eyes, Citalth has decided that it's about that time to venture out into the public eye. Swooping down from sky into the feeding pen, Citalth wastes little time in snatching up her first prey item and biting into it before she lands on the ground. The movements that settle her onto the ground are slow in contrast to the speed and eagerness with which she drinks from the herdbeast she has caught. Periodically the small gold's frame shakes, an indication of the powerful primitive urges coursing through her veins.
Upper Caverns
This is one of the busiest hubs in the Weyr, apart from the living cavern. Here is where the day to day business of life is overseen by High Reaches' support staff. To the north are doorways that lead to the staff offices and the formal council chamber. The east is given over to the craft hall which serves as a sort of embassy and work center for those Weyr's apprentices, journeymen and masters in every craft. Beyond that is the records room entrance. Opposite those doors, to the west, is the larger doorway that leads to stores. South takes one back towards the living cavern.
As a high traffic area, there is little decoration to be seen. Small plates beside each door mark the room's purpose and some effort has been made to soften the coldness of the stone by scattering rugs over the floor, but for the most part this is a thoroughfare rather than a true destination.
Contents:
Sinopa
V'raj
Caucus Office (CO) Living Cavern (LC) Craft Hall (CH)
Stores (S) Council Chamber (CC) Staff Office (SO)
Records Room (RR) V'raj exits the craft hall - and certainly not because he 'belongs' there; he never had any formal Craft training, supposedly being of Holder stock. However, he must have found /something/ to do there, and he frowns thoughtfully at a scrap of hide in hand as he walks slowly.
While sailors and other residents are busy carrying cartons of fish into the storage rooms, Sinopa is in quite the hurry to get out of that storage area. With a rustle of skirts and the flutter of scarves the junior weyrwoman finds herself suddenly in the upper caverns. A slight blush crosses her cheeks and she unfurls a lavender fan and waves it at herself while she composes herself and orients herself. The council chambers are eyed, and with a furtive glance around she heads off in that direction.
Lexine arrives in the caverns from the Weyr's stores.
Lexine has arrived.
Morelenth> Just moments ago, Ahrenth was a fair motionless figure upon his own ledge, half within the weyr and half without: within, to stay somewhat in the lee of the wind... and without, because he has been listening, and watching. Now it is time to move. He remains a respectful distance from Citalth and does not come in following the same trajectory, but it is nonetheless quite clear that he is following her -- "hunting," one might even surmise. It is just as well that he did not take the same vector, for now he is able to use the herds' panick to his advantage. The stampede away from the preying Citalth brings many a beast toward the bronze. With a loud snarl he abruptly drops down, the ground trembling beneath his vast weight as he lands, wings cupped to brake momentum. His tail lashes, crashing against a herdbeast too slow to dodge or hurdle, three of its legs immediately snapping. The screams of pain and terror are quickly silenced as Ahrenth whirls, sharp teeth clamping down over head and neck, blood spraying momentarily before the male dragon begins sucking.
Lexine steps out of the storeroom where a number of sailors are loading in barrels of salted fish. "Sinopa," she calls ahead, brow arched in a distinctly disapproving manner. "Sinopa, I believe I requested something of you."
Morelenth> Hirth has lain in wait, sprawled in repose along the far fenceline of the foremost pen with the lengths of his wingsails draped along his sides like layers of gauze curtain in a princely bedchamber. Relaxed but alert, his eyes swirl an attentive, slow hue of violet, the pump well-primed for the young queen's arrival. Her triumph over her prey is celebrated with a low, somber rumble from the Weyrleader's beast, and after a time merely watching her in her feeding, he finally lifts himself to his feet. Glossy hide sheens with slick liquidity, reflecting the shape and hue of the sky in long lines as he stretches, low-slung in front and high in the haunches. Finally prepared, with room in his belly and inspiration in Citalth's glory, Hirth lunges, ensnaring a young calf that strayed too close to the seemingly sated, unmoving bronze that inhabited his hide mere moments ago.
Morelenth> Morelenth, long lounging at the edge of the bowl despite the chill of the day, rises languidly and stretches like he hasn't a care in all the world. However, his whirling eyes latch onto Citalth intently as he slinks toward the feeding pens at last. Reluctantly, he eyes the herdbeasts therein, watching their stampede for a long moment before finally pouncing, sinking claws into the unfortunate creature. Then his muzzle lowers to the still-thrashing herdbeast's neck, stilling its frantic movements and draining the blood he finds there.
The records room has been E'sere's location; the bronzerider is just exiting, pausing to offer a worker within a last few words before he steps out into the flow of traffic. And stops, entirely, eyes narrowing before he scans the cavern. When his hazel eyes find Sinopa first and then Lexine, he slips around the side of the cavern, loitering inconspicuously.
V'raj pauses at the entrance to the crafters' hall, then steps out, lowering the hide in hand as his nostrils flare. It's cold in the Reaches, but that won't completely lay the smell -- some might say stench -- of the recent fish delivery. His lip curls just a bit, and he shakes his head, but there's no one at hand to comment to. There is, however, another distraction, namely in the form of Lexine and Sinopa. His eyes narrow slightly as he focuses upon the latter a bit more than the former, despite the lower rank.
After the hasty escape that Sinopa made from the store rooms where Lexine was, the junior had attempted a far more composed and slower retreat towards the area of the council chambers. If only she had made a run for it, though, then she wouldn't be caught. Two more quick steps are taken away from the storage rooms and Lexine before she whirls on a heel to face Lexine, face half-obscured with her fan. "It'll have to wait until later," she says, a hint of stress in her voice, "I'm really very busy."
Morelenth> Although the blood flow from the herdbeast appears to be stilled in the frenzy of feeding exhibited by the rutting gold, still she clings to its body. With shaking muscles Citalth slinks along the ground with all the grace of a feral reptile, clutching her prize tightly in her jaws. While still low to the ground, her head darts this way and that as wild eyes get a quick view of the world. A scent is caught, and with it she hunkers back, rids herself of the drained herdbeast, and then launches herself in an extended pounce towards some herdbeasts, snatching up one of the frightened creatures before she comes to a rest. With a low feral snarl she flicks her tail and begins to drain this creature of its coppery warm blood. As she feeds there, her brightened maple gold frame continues to quiver and shake with the tension building up inside of her.
"As is the rest of the Weyr, Sinopa," Lexine says dryly, tipping her head in slight acknowledgement of both bronzeriders before she looks to the junior again. "And, if you'll pardon my bluntness, the only thing that has ever kept you busy has been the presence of a trader wagon bearing luxury goods, or a gather full of the same. Now. You will explain, or you will be supervising the bagging and piling of firestone for the next two sevendays, and it will be a participatory supervision."
Still silent, E'sere offers no words and only a slight nod to his mother, allowing Sinopa the trial of explaining to her. His smile, however, is a knowing one, as eyes flick between the two women.
Morelenth> Discarding the carcass, Ahrenth spares a moment to scrutinize Citalth. Dangerously swift-whirling eyes, edging toward the warmer -- redder -- shades of violet, focus upon her for some time, and his low rumble is appreciative. And brief. There will be plenty of time to watch Citalth... indeed, it will be all he (and others) will do. Now is the time to move, once more, and the stocky bronze's few wingbeats carry him the short distance to a cluster of herdbeasts straining at the fence of the grounds, the density making it easy to snag at least one. Another buck falls, impaled on talons. Ahrenth drags the 'beast close, slicing, and the intestines spill out, slick and steaming in the wintry air. Ahrenth buries his muzzle in the cavity, drinking once again.
The lavender fan in Sinopa's hands flutters a bit more rapidly, as if betraying the sense of urgency that has overcome the young woman. Despite looking flushed and hot, Sinopa shivers as though cold before she straightens herself and tries to steady her hands. "Citalth's rising," she explains to the older woman with a hint of contempt. "The fish can wait," she hisses before she once more turns and beats a hasty retreat towards the doors of the council area. Quickest path back to her weyr, it is.
Morelenth> Turns upon turns of practice provides Hirth with efficiency. The calf is drained swiftly, its body still twitching even as the last of its heartbeat's founts is collected by the bronzen maw fixed to its throat. The glossy-hided bronze drops his first prey and slinks toward another, lifting his wings at the last moment to send the calf's mother galloping in terror. Uncaring and perhaps even unaware of his talons' placement, he whirls about, laying gashes into the calf's unfortunate carcass with the quick placement of his paws. With those translucent sails already raised in salute to the sky, it takes nothing more than a quick leap to set him soaring at low elevation, cutting through the air only to sink down upon the back of a snorting bull. Shining claws bury themselves into the thrashing beast's hide, spilling angry trails of blood in stripes down his sides. As the bull sinks beneath Hirth's weight, the bronze bends his neck in a sinuous arch and sets his teeth to the creature's neck, first snapping it with a toss of his brazen head - then drinking anew.
Morelenth> Morelenth's claws knead the headbeast's flesh, rending it in the quest for more blood. Finally, though, he gives up on it and slides lightly past it, creeping toward a huddled mass of cowering herdbeasts, culling one ruthlessly. The others flee their doomed companion, leaving Morelenth the spoils. He settles across the downed beast with a proprietary air, gazing briefly over the other suitors and Citalth herself before recommencing blooding.
Morelenth> As the tension builds up within Citalth's muscles, the small gold takes to action. With a shift she leans back on her haunches and tosses aside her final prey animal. A moment of steadiness overcomes the gold before in a final frenzied motion she takes to the sky. There's a rush of motion as the gold overcomes inertia and gravity and becomes airborne. With a further rushing of sunflower hued wings the gold begins to pick up speed and altitude, aiming herself towards the famous spires of the Weyr. Left behind in her wake is neither a scream of challenge nor a verbal taunt to her suitors, but rather a mind imprint of fading, coppery blood that trails behind her tail.
"Faranth, girl," Lexine says exasperatedly. "Then you should have said something! Get!" she dismisses her, snagging the nearest resident. "Flight protocol in the Caucus. All goldriders are to mount and meet in the bowl immediately. Citalth rises. Inform the instructors some of their students may be drawn away for a moment, and others are likely to be experiencing the usual. Remind them to give the prepared speech." Shaking her head, she promptly begins to walk towards her weyr at the quickest pace she can manage with dignity.
"Weyrwoman," V'raj acknowledges, inclining his head to Lexine, even as he fights back a smile. Part of it slips by his control anyway, and it is a smirk that follows Sinopa down the passage as he turns his head to watch her. His single word apparently counts as greeting and farewell both, because he wastes little time in walking -- stalking, even -- after the younger goldrider.
Lazily--he's in no hurry--E'sere straightens and offers Lexine a wry smile before turning and following Sinopa, falling in line with V'raj.
Lexine moves towards the council chambers.
Lexine has left.
Ordinarily Sinopa might be quite pleased with herself for being the center of attention and causing a disruption in the Caucus, but at the moment she's far more concerned with other things. In her progress towards her escape destination, she catches the eye of V'raj and raises a brow at the rider. A faint head motion might indicate that she's gesturing him along, or it could just be that her head was bobbing about at the moment. Hands reach the door of the council chamber and she pulls open the doors open with a flourish. Sure, there could be some random event going on in there, but they'll understand with Lexine's warning.
Sinopa moves towards the council chambers.
Sinopa has left.
You move toward the council chambers.
Morelenth> Another herdbeast is singled out to further slake Ahrenth's bloodlust, but the dragon never gets a chance to strike a killing blow. Citalth rises, and the bronze's short neck cranes as he looks upward. Then he swings to look at the other bronzes present, unfurling his wings with a loud rustling, and hissing a warning. It is only a short hiss, however, for he saves his breath. Lean and lithe he is not, but he is powerful, and thickly packed muscles bunch tightly, delineated beneath his coppery hide, before he explodes forth in a flurry of motion, wings laboring to lift his great weight into the winter sky, blood immediately drying upon his muzzle as he takes to the air.
With the doors open, Sinopa spins slightly to catch sight of V'raj and E'sere before she smirks and bolts through the area. Now that there's no senior in the way to accost her for shirking duties, her progress is much quicker.
Morelenth> Hirth's head arises from the throat of the bull, his reartalons slipping in their bloody purchase to either side of the collapsed animal's haunches. So posed straddled above his prey, the elder bronze lifts his head high to point flaring nostrils in the direction of that mental wake left by the soaring gold. A purring rumble shudders in his glossy chest, and though he waits for the sky to be clear of the wings of younger, more hurried dragons, a skyward leap soon sends him soaring. Long wings outstretched to their fullest, spars bowed to gentle curves by the weight of the wind in his sails, Hirth flies, flecks of blood flaking off of his uptucked talons.
With infinite patience, E'sere trails Sinopa, not needing her guidance to find his way along. Instead, he feigns an air of indifference as he ambles in her wake, as though this were just any other day.
V'raj cocks his head slightly as he regards Sinopa, although 'regards' may be too tame a word. His eyes cannot change color or whirl like Ahrenth's, but emotion can be read in them at this very moment, at least: desire. Fingers give a little twitch, and then he removes his jacket, draping it over one arm with movements far to methodical to be truly casual.
Sinopa strides down the long tunnel that eventually ends in the Weyrleaders' Office.
Sinopa has left.
Morelenth> Morelenth spreads his narrow wings as one eye glimpses Citalth's preparations, and he crouches low himself. Then, springing aloft, he bats his wings powerfully and labors upward in the cold air. Lift is hard to find, and his initial progress is slow, until he manages to harness a light gust of air and gain some altitude. He climbes higher and steadies his wingbeats, slow and even to make the most of both blood and breeze.
You begin the long walk that will eventually deposit you in the Weyrleaders' Office.
V'raj arrives through the long tunnel that begins in the Council Chamber.
V'raj has arrived.
G'thon sits at the table in the office, a cup which ought to, but most certainly does not, contain tea cupped in his palms. Legs crossed at the knee, shoulders relaxed against the seatback of the chair, he looks entirely composed - save for the fact that his eyes have an uncharacteristic gloss to them and his focus is entirely absent. "Ah," he remarks to no one whatsoever - or, at least, no one present. "There she goes. High, higher. Keep her in your sights from above. She's young. Spry." And the Weyrleader arises from his chair, rolling his shoulders in a luxuriant stretch before lifting the cup for a nip. Though seemingly unaware of people, his steps turn him around toward the tunnel that leads off to the east, some internal compass guiding his feet.
Sinopa slows in her progress towards her weyr so that when she enters the weyrleader complex she isn't so much running as just briskly walking. With glossy eyes and a smile that might be smug if her eyes weren't so distant, the junior parades in, freezing at the sight of the weyrleader. In the room her movements change and she pads across the room, carefully heading towards the tunnel that leads to her private quarters.
Morelenth> Citalth knows that there are suitors behind her. Not only can she smell the scent of bronze dragon, but there's the sensation of male minds eager to mate around her. Or maybe it's just her imagination that provides fuel to push her onwards. Reaching an altitude just about even with the uppermost rim of the weyr. At this point she increases the angle of her ascent and roughly turns opposite the spires before a flurry of motion grips her once more and she'S wildly accelerating upwards and away. Easily the boundaries of the weyr are cleared and she soars out into the frigid air streams of the High Reaches area.
E'sere's facade is beginning to crack, mouth twitching as he struggles to contain his emotions; even he isn't a good enough actor to pretend during a flight. Steps falter, then speed up, as he closes much of the distance between himself and Sinopa, following quickly down the tunnel to her weyr.
Sinopa heads down the short tunnel that leads to the eastern Junior Weyrwoman's weyr.
Sinopa has left.
Morelenth> The winds claw far more strongly once the encasing stone of the Weyr itself is passed, and Ahrenth leans into and powers through them, opting for brute strength over finesse. With no warm thermals to rise it is likely to be a short flight anyway despite the great altitude, and thus he determines to simply charge upwards, taking chances where others might try a path of least resistance. The frigid air cuts some of his body heat, but does little to truly calm his lust. Citalth is fixed in both mind and gaze.
You head down the short tunnel that leads to the eastern Junior Weyrwoman's weyr.
East Weyr
This weyr has a tidy, friendly air about it. This is due in no small part to the walls having been washed in a pale but warm yellow, bright contrast for the softer blues and whites of the rugs and bedding. It lacks the sitting area of the larger weyrs that flank it but still boasts a desk with accompanying scroll-heavy shelves and a large, comfortable bed. The entrance doorway is flanked by a pair of wardrobes meant for the storage of clothing and riding gear.
Opposite the doorway is an archway that leads out onto the ledge reserved for the dragon half of the occupant pair. It's large enough for a gold and a similarly sized friend, with room left over for a padded couch. Beyond the ledge is the open air of the northern bowl.
Contents:
Sinopa
Northern Sky (NS) Out
V'raj enters through the tunnel that leads from the office.
V'raj has arrived.
G'thon enters through the tunnel that leads from the office.
G'thon has arrived.
V'raj manages to growl a greeting to the Weyrleader; it cannot, however, be called civil. For a moment his gaze sweeps over the other bronzerider, and finally E'sere is treated to his intense scrutiny as well, but then he ignores them to resume stalking after Sinopa, all of this an echo of what Ahrenth himself did earlier.
It's awfully hard to strut into your own weyr leading a procession of men if they're advancing on you in an effort to herd you on into you own weyr. Sinopa picks up the pace and darts off to her weyr, if only to keep E'sere from stepping on her heels. The junior weyrwoman skids to a stop and then turns, nearly stumbling, to peer at those that have followed her here, or just come of their own accord to wait. Just as her draconic counterpart shook with tension and nerves before, so too does Sinopa begin to shake. Hurridly she snaps open her fan once more and begins to erratically fan herself. It's merely a distraction, though, something for idle, nervous hands.
Morelenth> Obedient to the silent will of his rider far below, Hirth's wings curve into the wind, each sail stretched between 'spars capturing and warming its own turbulent cup of sky. On those self-crafted thermals the bronze arises, each wingbeat driving him higher. Unable to deny the queen's lure, his upward dive does soon straighten and he arrows after her, bringing up the rear of the chasers with determined, stately grace.
Morelenth> Still finding little lift in the cold air, Morelenth struggles onward, his narrow wings hindering his progress further. However, when Citalth begins her wild ascent, he angles his wings sharply and improves his position, slipping through the air with minimal effort. Momentum helps, and when he levels out, above the Weyr, he utilizes that to conserve what energy remains after his earlier tribulations. His flight is a careful one, making the most of every gust and breeze he can find to inch forward further.
Morelenth> Citalth flies right into the midst of those icy winds of her home weyr, likely the same ones on which she was conceived in a similarly lusty flight. With an inefficient lashing of her tail, which she could justify as a tolerable expense since she is quite ahead of the pack at this point, the small gold does a 180 change of direction. As wings pump to compensate for the sudden loss of speed, the angle of ascent decreases slowly. Her trajectory flattens out before a renewed burst of energy comes over the slowing gold and enables her to accelerate in a sprint away from the pack.
If G'thon's presence there in the offices set Sinopa at all at ill ease, that discomfort does not register with the Weyrleader. If anything, his reaction to her parade can only make matters worse - he steps into stride alongside the others, making room only for she whose weyr they invade. Among other bronzeriders, he makes no room for elbows or feet - he's as inattentive to them as his beast is to their mounts, high above in the sky. The man who is entirely in himself when a green rises, sharing out tips from the mouth of a flask with the other maleriders should his Hirth choose to chase, is entirely absent from this scene - this is an empty, driven ghost of the Weyrleader, eyes glassy and blank. "Sing to her," he urges his better half. "Whisper in her ears." Not that dragons have ears.
Ignoring the other men's looks--he can feign that much, at least--E'sere slinks after Sinopa, much like his dragon in his movements. Grace is ruined, however, as he checks himself and stumbles past G'thon, giving the Weyrleader an uncharacterically uncharitable look as he slides up against a wall for balance.
Morelenth> Ahrenth's wings flare outward, billowing and cupping as he brakes all forward momentum. He begins to drop, and violently twists around, wings once again straining -- and even vulnerable in those few moments, battered by the wind and lanced through with bitterly cold pain that is only dimly felt. Annoyed with the gold, his sharp teeth bare, and he allows a snarl, anger lending further impetus as he throws himself back into the chase. A slight swoop down, another climb upwards, and he powers after Citalth once more, not above lashing out with a talon or feinting a blow with his tail as he gets near other males. If it allows even a moment to gain on his golden quarry and outdo the others, it is more than worth it.
V'raj manages to squeeze by, recovering balance after a near-spill sheerly by instinct rather than any actual cognitive thought given to it. But then he whirls, baring less-than-impressively-sharp teeth at G'thon, and rudely shoves a shoulder against the other bronzerider. Surely he'd never do such a thing outside of a tense situation like this. Yes, clearly V'raj is not himself. But then, he is V'raj-Ahrenth, at this point.
Surely there is something amusing about the weyrleader blocking the entrance to Sinopa's weyr, but all amusement is lost on the goldrider at this point in time as most of her being is a few thousand feet up in the air with her lovely golden Citalth, the belle of the weyr at the moment. The tendril of consciousness that's left in Sinopa turns glassy eyes towards the few suitors that actually made it through the door. While Citalth flees, Sinopa simply stands there and stares back as her own unique and subtle form of challenge.
Morelenth> One fluid motion turns Morelenth--a wide turn, yet still tighter than many dragons of his length could manage. He banks sharply sideways, wings snapping in the wind as he strains to cut the turn, a little faster, a little harder. Then, he's through it, snapping back on course and angling upward again. Still up, still patient as he flies a steady pursuit.
Morelenth> For some reason, Hirth sweeps suddenly sideways, tipping his left wing toward the Weyr below and lifting the right to capture wind. It sends him around in a half-wheel, but the reaction is not timed like an echo of the gold's about-face maneuver. It's a flinch, a full-body fake away from an unseen foe, and when the bronze straightens course he huffs an undignified snort at the fact that there's no threat there, that the brush was imagined. It costs him time, but after a moment he rudders himself higher with a thrash of his glossy tail, then lays on the steam in accelerating pursuit of the gold speeding up ahead.
Morelenth> Unfortunately for Citalth, golds are not given to the acrobatic grace of greens. They do not get to dance upon the air currents during practices, and the agility and intricacy of green flights is entirely lost upon them, as is the ability to lead pursuants around in tight, tricky circles. Citalth is entirely given to going for speed and distance, with a few poorly executed tricks tossed in. But ultimately, energy is consumed by the gold's exertion and air resistance begins to take its toll and become noticeable. The maple gold form begins to slow in the air, as her muscles begin to receive the impression that she's swimming not in air, but through a pool of thick syrup. Slightly the gold falters before the natural tendency to trade altitude for speed is given in to and, in a reversal of her earlier tactics to angle upwards, she begins a very conservative descent away from the weyr as she attempts to evade the tantilizing and lusty thoughts of the pursuing males for a few more minutes yet. The fact is, they're all gaining and the inevitability of the flight's end is approaching. But surely Citalth can last just a few more minutes to set a new personal record?
G'thon is utterly unaware of E'sere's stumble, of his scowl. Rather than reacting to the man, the Weyrleader reacts to the dragon, muttering swift instruction: "Someone coming up on your right. Good, good - up, higher, keep her in your sights." The absurdist one-sided conversation comes in fits and starts, finding words only when the man seems to feel inspired to give advice. When Hirth's allowed to fly his own course, G'thon stands silent, his feet finding pause on the stone floor - until V'raj's whirl and shove breaks the older man for a moment out of his beast's mind and leaves him staring, clear-eyed and confused, at the younger bronzerider. "I'm sorry?" He does not realize, does not seem aware - but luck causes his feet to move again, and the Weyrleader finds a place out of the entranceway to store himself in safety, so he can go glassy-eyed again.
Morelenth> Ahrenth's outermost eyelids half-close in concentration, the inner set already shutting out the worst of the cold wind's effects. He sees Citalth begin to fail -- arguably could even sense or hear the thoughts should his sight be blocked due to some large obstacle, like another bronze, before him. To be sure, his own strength is flagging, but the queen's loss is his gain, or at least inspiration to press onward. There, there is his chance. Gathering the energy he has left, he tucks his fore and hind legs in as close as possible, wings rowing powerfully as he gulps down great drafts of air. His expelled breaths are violent gouts of steam, crystallizing in the air immediately, but these are visible just for a fraction of a second before the winds and his own headlong flight whips them away. Those winds, perhaps even more than the other pursuing males, are his greatest adversary. He could minimize the effort it takes by staying in the wake of another bronze, but that option is unacceptable. No, he must stay true to his initial tactic: brute strength. With absolutely no finesse, he powers forward until he is roughly above Citalth. Then he simply enters a stooping dive at a more acute angle than the queen took, letting gravity work with his own momentum to draw him at higher speeds. It is final maneuver, if it can even be called such, and if he fails, he will overshoot remarkably. But such is the nature of going all-out.
Morelenth> Hirth obeys again, but briefly. Higher he soars, but then the connection between rider and dragon is detached and, flying free and unanchored, the bronze lets out a brilliant, skyward roar. In this moment he knows his freedom, his one chance to do this his way and his way alone - and with talons already seizing upon the empty air in anticipation, he takes it. Whipping his head around to spy out and fix upon the descending queen, the glossy surface of his hide takes on an even higher sheen as the speed of icy winds polish him to a mirror finish. Wings tucked against his sides make the elder bronze swifter still, and toward Citalth's autumn-honey back he dives. Paws stretch out to grasp her, to wrench her about in his embrace and turn her toward him, to claim her - should he be so lucky to win on desire, not tactics, in this moment of his liberty.
Morelenth> Morelenth, finally, deems it time to call up the last reserves, the dregs of his energy, to close on Citalth. Wings are powerful but slow, taking advantage of her own slacking pace as he pursues. No excess motion now, only movement calculated to gain him that little bit more of distance that will make twining with her possible. He remains higher aloft for the moment, moving to overtake her. Then, from above and to the left, he angles sharply downward and across, slipping sideways to cut off those diving from directly above in his own attempt to capture Citalth.
V'raj has no words for Sinopa, nor even G'thon. While the Weyrleader's own spoken word does elicit a harsh sound from V'raj, it is unintelligible, merely a snappish thing. Abruptly he hunches his shoulders and steps away, giving the other 'rider some space. It is not courtesy that drives him to do that, but the fact that he takes several steps toward the goldrider, now, wishing to close in on her even as Ahrenth presses toward Citalth.
If there is but one original thought left in Sinopa's mind at this tense moment, it's that G'thon is an ugly old coot. Gaze still oddly glassy and distant, the young goldrider takes slow and tentative steps away from G'thon and towards the younger bronzeriders present, yet even this progress is hesitant and drawn out. Approaching a bronzerider whose dragon is in the midst of a flight is like approaching a rapid beast or explosives set to detonate.
Morelenth> A few minutes is likely more time than Citalth could have hoped for, with all reserves being called out and long lost sources of energy sought out by the bronzes with the prize so near in sight and the conclusion so imminent. Tactics matter little in a gold flight, as the gold isn't likely to lead her suitors on a dashing and harrowing escapade full of difficult acrobatics. As the rush of wings begins to fill the air around Citalth's small form of molten honey, and the enclosing minds become nearly suffocating, the gold is given to a moment of panic. At the first approach she lashes out and thrashes, instantly dropping down in altitude. Escaping the first wave, she practically descends onto the second wave. This prompts further attempts to disengage herself from those that seek a hasty entwinement. Just a little bit longer and a little bit further she can go, right? Thrashing and flailing in the air tumbles her out of the masses and into Morelenth, where she presumably becomes fully ensnared and entwined.
V'raj's breathing becomes labored, his eyes narrowed as he focuses upon Sinopa. Again his fingers twitch, and he takes a half-step forward, only to jerk back just as abruptly.
Morelenth> Ahrenth trumpets his frustration as he skims past Citalth at far too great a velocity to double back and do anything to claim victory, and his eyes blaze as he watches Morelenth claim the prize. But even as he looks back, there is another thing to consider -- another dragon, even. Bronzes are not meant to tangle with bronzes in a /gold/ mating flight. The collision is... spectacular.
Morelenth> Hirth's howl is one of dismay and agitation as, snapped to attention by the twin losses of G'thon's recollection of their mental connction and Morelenth's capture of the queen, he tucks up his talons at the last moment to avoid dragging tears through the winning captor's sails. So attuned is he to this failure and his rage that he fails to recognize the ultimate meeting point of his trajectory with Ahrenth's - and there's more howling, then, in frustrated anger and pain as limbs tangle and tails thrash. The Weyrleader's bronze's wings beat in desperation, straining to pull his entangled body away from the other dragon's.
Morelenth> Morelenth releases a smug croon, directed at his opponents more than his prize, even as he settles himself against Citalth. Wings flinch into a better position, to check his rightward momentum and allow him to twine neck and tail with her and begin the slow downward descent.
Morelenth> At this moment of emotional intensity and physical pleasure, it's understandable that Citalth is quite lost in these sensations. It's a good thing too, otherwise she would have noticed that Ahrenth and Hirth decided to catch each other as consolation prizes.
Morelenth> For Ahrenth and Hirth, the ground spins ever-closer, crazily, at high speed. With a snarl of true anger, eyes blazing red, bows in his hind legs, bracing against Hirth and /shoving/ away with a painful simultaneous wrenching of the wings to get clear. This even works... mostly. If exchanged bloody furrows and a sprained limb is the price, so be it. It's better than the ultimate result.
E'sere, with an unbecoming gloating air, steps forward, brushing past V'raj to get to Sinopa.
"I said up!" These are G'thon's last words to Hirth, spoken through the link that makes the man glossy and the dragon obedient - but they come too late. The Weyrleader's strategy, unlikely to give his beast even half a chance to catch the queen, would have at least kept the bronze free of more dangerous entanglements. But, interrupted, that strategy failed - and the eldest of the bronzeriders present drops the teacup, its weight forgotten in his shaking fingers, so he has hands free to sleek palms across his hairless head. Agony squinches his eyes shut tight as above, talons and flesh and wings collide and tear apart again in unpleasant manners, and with a single softspoken squeak the Weyrleader turns toward the exit, tripping on blind feet for escape.
Morelenth> Blood is paid to Ahrenth's sharp talons, and in return Hirth's freedom is bought. Like his cotangler, the Weyrleader's beast furiously strains his wings against the air to win enough height to avoid a careening crash, and bellowing his fury the old, stately beast tears off into the sky, trailing streaks of red.
V'raj's shout reverberates, as he shares in Ahrenth's pain, rage, and frustration. A glare sweeps across all present, and then he storms out. And /woe/ be to the first person he runs across. (Other than G'thon, that is. G'thon has plenty of woe already.)
G'thon heads down the short tunnel that leads to the office.
G'thon has left.
The only bad thing about having a bunch of men around is that it takes so long for them to all go away and quit ruining the mood with their woe and anguish. At the approach of E'sere, Sinopa takes a step backwards with a mischievious grin.
V'raj heads down the short tunnel that leads to the office.
V'raj has left.