Log: Zelieth Wants To Be Free
Who: Balinne, Fadra, P'draig, Sunniva, X'lar, R'lan - NPC by Sunniva, Zelieth, Sulizath, Jekzith, Eldanth (R'lan), Malsaeth
When: day 22, month 2, turn 18 of Interval 10.
Where: The Sandbar/Beach/Guest Weyr, Ista Weyr
What: Zelieth rises and is caught by R'lan's blue Eldanth.
The Sandbar, Ista Weyr(#447RJ)
A series of glows fashioned as torches line the path and ramp into the bar, making the black volcanic sands of the beach glitter as the star-spangled night spreads across the sky above. The Sandbar stands on stilts over the water's edge, a broad ramp leading up from the beach to the slate-roofed building sitting well above the highest tide line. The walls of the structure are nothing but timber frames, open to the cooling sea breezes but equipped with hinged panels of woven grass that can be lowered during inclement weather. Within, supporting pillars are draped in cast-off nets and shells and myriad tables provide seating with spectacular panoramic views of the ocean, beach, and the bustling activity of the docks to the west. The tables and chairs are made of wood, which has been dyed as dark as possible.
A finely polished, sparkling slab of obsidian serves as the bar's surface and a series of carved shelves, also made of the sleek volcanic stone, are behind the bar. A chalkboard hangs to the right of it which usually has the day's specials written on it, though it's often used to record bets instead. A games area and kitchen are to the back of the Sandbar.
The dry spring season relieves Ista Island of its humidity, replacing it with light, buoyant air. Tonight, a blanket of clouds dominates the black sky and a good, stiff breeze cools the Weyr.
It's early afternoon, Bali and Sunni are at a table near the beach entrance, Sunniva looking more like a prisoner than a willing table mate.
Her glass is more stared at, than drunken from. Balinne's looking at the strong, brown liquid with such fierceness, it's a wonder the glass hasn't shattered yet. At least the look is not directed on Sunniva. A clearing of her throat, and Balinne sits forwards even further, suddenly fidgety. And something about Sunniva's manner is now irritating rather than satisfying the Weyrlingmaster. "And when, exactly, would I not have Weyrlings?" she wants to know, rather tartly. "It's a full time job. If there's no clutch on the sands, or class in the barracks, I'll be revising lessons." And stuff. So there.
There is no answer, of course. Not because Sunniva cannot concoct one -- the brief working of her throat and furrowing of her brow might hint as much -- but more likely because of the Weyrlingmaster's mood. Her lower lip is surreptitiously sucked in to be worked over briefly by her teeth, green eyes settling as discretely as possible on the woman; not wanting to look her in the eyes or even more directly than necessary, with all the wariness one might accord a rabid canine. "Would you like me to leave, ma'am?" Somehow, her voice remains steady, a well-cultured (or else well-trained) neutral.
The sound of footsteps announces an arrival. P'draig pauses to knock sand out of his sandals before stepping into the bar and ambles, unaware, right up to the bar itself and hails Kip. "Hey - got those supplies in?" he queries of the 'keep who nods once. "Great, I'll give that dish a shot later then," the brownrider says with a smile and then places an order, perches on a stool and turns about casually to take in the room. His eyes graze along, come to a halt at Balinne and Sunniva and something about the body language between the pair furrows his brows though he doesn't move from his spot, arms stretched out to the sides along the front edge of the bartop.
The movements that bring Fadra into the Sandbar are made with a deliberateness that, by default, moves people from her path. A bluerider who doesn't do so quickly enough recieves a check to the shoulder and a surly glare, but nothing more when he retreats to his table and her path to the bar is clear. After only a brief stop - just long enough for a glass of roiling and slightly intimidating liquid that's taken with as much grace as she ever shows. She turns easily, propping elbows on the bar, and surveying the area as though it's her domain and not Kip's at all. At first, the only indication that she's noticed P'draig is a passing nod of greeting, but it's followed shortly by, "She looks like t'eat Sunniva, don't she?"
Jekzith> Warm. Comfortable. Asleep. Zelieth's curled in a self-dug wallow on the beach, green hide shining like a gemstone against the famous black sand. Her posture is so peaceful, her sleep so sound, that one might be tempted to think her harmless. Well. Except for that dangerous glow.
Fadra's remark pulls P'draig's gaze upward a little and he grins lopsidedly. "Yeah, can't help but sympathize. I think I'd almost rather deal with making sure Mic stays dressed since he can't remember anything when Aath's about to go up," he says candidaly, then leans backward as Kip brings his drink. The brownrider's hand curls around the glass, brings it around and he tips it Fadra's way. "Cheers." A mouthful down and he sits forward a little in his seat, head cocked in a 'listening' pose.
"Hmph." That would be Sunniva's answer, grumpy and imprecise. Balinne thumps her elbows on the table, drops her chin into her hands, and looks thoroughly and one-hundred percent discontent. She's not even pretending to play nice anymore. "I don't care," she finally tells her. But to follow the words, her chin is briefly lifted so that she can flick her fingers in a dismissive gesture to the candidate. All others are ignore. /Ignored/.
Jekzith> Malsaeth flies back from the feeding grounds having snagged at least two beasts in his characteristic brutal manner. After landing on the beach, he just waits and watches while a few drops of blood fall to the black sand from his masked maw. After all, Mal's not one to be all that flirty with the ladies, especially glowing ladies.
Jekzith> Casually coiled some distance away is a rangy dragon, his taut hide coloured in the washed out, sun-blasted blues of a desert's sky. Mottled wings rustle, slow-spinning eyes seeming to be fixed on the water, but there are those sly looks Zelieth's way. Knowing. And if Eldanth could smile, he would.
Jekzith> Jekzith winged down not that long ago to let P'draig off his back and has been playing footsie with the waves since, though he's tilting a look or two Zelieth's way every moment or so, checking on the /wow/ isn't that shiny quality of her hide. His own gaze remains happy blue-green, his attitude as always, light-hearted.
Jekzith> Sulizath is as predictable as his rider, sometimes; he's settled in the wallow he's built for himself, in the same spot he traditionally takes when Fadra goes into The Sandbar. The difference is clear: he's not snoring contently, and though his body lies half in the water and half out, his tail flicks out of the tide in irritation every so often. He's not tense; he's simply prepared, and by all outward appearances is unconcerned, as though he might get caught in a cross-fire.
X'lar walks into the Sandbar with a fluid stride. After murmuring something under his breath, he looks about to find Bali. "Evenin' darlin'," X'lar calls out to the greenrider, saluting the Weyrlingmaster. Surprisingly, there is no tell-tale bulge in his jacket pockets indicating meatrolls nor does he seem to be eating any at the moment. He instead finds himself a part of the obsidian bar to lean against, casual.
The flicking of fingers supercedes the 'don't care', at least in the lexicon of body language that Sunniva has built extensively over the turns. She ducks her head again, eases her chair back, and the pants-clad candidate moves to rise with a murmured "Do take care." Habit or appeasement; perhaps a bit of both. While a look is briefly sent to the bar, it's not long enough -- or perhaps not directed in the right place -- for her to register any familiar faces there. Her lower lip is soon sucked in to chew on and she turns to leave without another word.
"Mmmnn," is Fadra's eloquent response, and she lifts her own glace only marginally to P'draig's toast. Her drinking is almost unhealthily quick, as though the potential for a flight anytime in the near future requires her to be at least half-gorked at all time. A few quick swallows and she's turned to pass Kip her glass - with a pleased expression that he's already got a second ready.
R'lan, for his part, is one of those fellows that's forever in the background -- nondescript if one doesn't look too keenly at him to pick up the faintly unsettling way his eyes can land on a person and seem to pick them apart. He is, at the moment, seated far from the others, no longer nursing his drink and is just ... watching as surreptitiously as can be managed.
Jekzith> Except for the steady rise, fall, rise, fall of Zelieth's chest, the green is much like a rock. Unaware of glances, unaware of the attention her hide is causing, she slumbers on. Soon, however, that slumber is disturbed by little twitches. Her tail. Her paw. Her wing. But it is not enough that she wakes yet.
There's a second swallow from that glass from P'draig and he squints past Fadra out to the beach. "Hm," is his equally verbose reply, one finger tapping along the side of his glass. In comes X'lar and his address to Balinne hikes his brows upward as does Sunni's sudden exit. "Well then, ought to be an interesting afternoon.
Jekzith> Jekzith perks up as he catches that first little twitch of tail and he bats one last time at the froth in the sea, turns about and ambles up the sand a little bit, sits down on his haunches and ... waits expectantly. His wings flick open a little, re-settle, briefly casting mapled reflections as the sun slants through them. His front paws curl a little into the sand, digging shallow trenches that he doesn't seem to notice.
Jekzith> Malsaeth just sits there, silent, watchful. But not of Zelieth herself. In fact, the crimson bronze almost appears to be looking in the opposite direction. Not that he doesn't notice her. There's a casual look back toward the glowing green as her little twitches. Interested, but not so determined to watch for every twitch. Not that he'd show otherwise.
He ought to be thankful. The look Balinne pins on X'lar at his greeting is fit to kill. But her glass is too far away, and it would be far too much effort for her to unfold her hands and throw it. And soon enough, he's out of her range. At Sunniva's exit, the greenrider just shrugs, pretending to be uninterested in the goings-on around her. "Ah, shards!" she exclaims, with several, much more colorful words, hissed under her breath. Abruptly she stands, turns a hatred-filled look on the crowd at the bar, and marches towards the door. She's far to experienced not to have put it together herself, and she looks to get a headstart.
Jekzith> Eldanth is a patient one, he is. Nary a twitch of muscle nor shiver of hide betrays him, even if they might betray Zelieth's slowly lifting slumber. Only the slow spin of his gaze is any indication that he's alive, let alone watching, oh-so-closely watching, that jewel of a green settled just over there. The other males? They do not even /exist/ as far as his even regard is concerned.
Jekzith> Sulizath, unlike Jekzith, seems content enough to acknowledge Zelieth's unwarranted twitch with only a huffing sigh and a sort of luxuriating movement that draws him onto the sand completely, water sluicing from his tail and haunches. He stretches his wings casually, patiently.
X'lar doesn't look like to have any care in the world. He looks lazy, eyes hooded, as he enjoys the ambience. Or maybe it's just being part of what is to come. No one else is really seen from his perspective. He considers the bowl of local nuts on the bar nearby and grabs a handful. Behind the bar, Kip doesn't appear to know what to think of the gluttonous bronzer's antics. For the time being, he just watches, much like his lifemate.
"Y'don't say," drawls Fadra slowly, and she looks at least marginally amused by their exchange, however brief. She's in no rush to get outside, either; with Balinne's fiery outburst, the brownrider swallows down more of her newly recieved drink. Maybe she'll make this one last, if her somewhat tentative sips are any indication.
R'lan remains where he is for now, every bit as nonchalant as his blue. Just there, watching, and then -- grudgingly -- becoming aware of the other riders. His drink is finished, paid for, and then his hands lace on the counter though his interest remains on those others. Slow, deep breaths. Patient; biding his time.
P'draig doesn't rush off either, grinning over at Fadra. "What're you sinking there?" he asks next, nursing his own drink and eyeing the level of liquor in it. He might be pondering one for the road. "I had planned to cook, but-- well, we'll see," he says with a little laugh.
Jekzith> First she is asleep. Then she is awake. That fast, Zelieth's eyes have opened, her wings extend, and she's pushing herself upwards from her sandy bed. A luxurious stretch is given, a sensual purr as she unwinds her tail, unfolds her wings, and rolls her head. Those boys are ignored - they're really nothing more than scenery - and Zelieth spends a lazy moment with her head pointed towards the ocean. And just as fast, with little warning, she gathers herself and springs into the air, trumpeting a flirtatious challenge towards those watching eyes.
"Well, I planned to fish," X'lar drawls. "But we can't always get what we want, P'draig." He runs a hand through his hair and follows after the greenrider. As he watches her, that smile of his slowly grows wider. "That's right, shake that-" Xie begins to say, before being interrupted by another rider, already drunk. "Shells," Xie mutters to himself as he leaves the bar.
Jekzith> Jekzith watches that sensual stretch with eyes slowly tinging to pale lavender. Oh boy. It doesn't seem to faze him that she pays no attention to them though his thoughts whirl with happy anticipation and a storm of bubbles in electric rainbow hues. And bam. There she goes and he's right after her, wings snapping open, haunches pushing off against the sand. A little rain of black grains falls away behind him as the rangy brown hits the skies, streaming after her with an audible echo of joy. Time to fly.
Jekzith> Ah. Yes. /That/ ... that is what he was waiting for. Eldanth is suddenly in motion, a dervish of pale blue and narrow pinions, of black sand and whipping tail. And up he goes, hissing a low challenge of his own into the air -- no need to blood for him, for the air is his element and the sight of Zelieth the only fuel he needs.
Jekzith> Malsaeth isn't one to say no to a challenge, especially this kind of one. He doesn't spend time thinking about it. As she springs into the air, he follows. An arrow of fire soaring toward the sky from the black sand of the beach. Every muscle pushes, every beat of the wings takes him higher, all the better to follow that glowing green.
Jekzith> Sulizath's reations are surprising; smaller and compact though he may be, the brown's wings are already steepled and stretching when Zelieth decides it's time for their jolly jaunt in the sky. In seconds he's up, powerful hindquarters flexing and one powerful downsweep taking him after her without so much as a second thought, every limb coordinating to take him higher and faster.
Fadra's mouth twists up into a half-smirk, and her answer is a shrug. "Honestly, I nay know. Kip's a creative sonnuva when he wants t'be, but tis nay so much delicious as 'tis...effective." And as if that's a cue, the barkeeper brings a third - one for the road, if great minds truly think alike. "Quick, too," she adds, before reaching back and taking it. Two for the road; conversation terminated. The brownrider rolls her shoulders from the bar and makes her way outside, if somewhat reluctantly.
"True. This recipe was from Tam though," P'draig notes of his own glass and he downs the last of it as Zelieth takes off. Thunk. Glass to bar. And there's his refill too and Paddy reaches for the fresh glass, grinning over at Fadra. "Mm. Time to go," he agrees and trails after Fadra, though his pace while not reluctant is still unhurried.
Jekzith> Zelieth ignores those males for a few moments longer, enjoying the sun against her hide and the freedom of the skies. A twist, Zelieth expressing her joy with a playful move usually reserved for younger, inexperienced dragons. But she can afford it, clever enough to keep a wary eye on her chasers even as she ducks and dodges the familiar Istan air currents.
Naturally, Balinne is already there. She's comfortable against the wall, and lucid enough to pin hateful glances on the chasers as they trickle in. But she's growing more and more distant as Zelieth climes, until her eyes glaze and she ignores the rest of the room.
Jekzith> Malsaeth isn't playful as much as enthralled. It's the chase he loves and he shows it. And it is clearly seen in very beat of the wings, every swooping arch up or down, each barrel roll side to side. His body moves, sliding through the pack toward the middle rather than the front of back. But Zelieth always remains his focus as he follows.
Jekzith> Jekzith soaks up that radiated joy and playfulness from Zelieth, answers it with his own bounce from one current to the next, like jumping stepping stones across a creek. The motley brown's wings spread wide, eager for air and wind to carry him out over the water in Zelieth's wake. He's no neophyte where flights are concerned, but he still has a carefree attitude even in the pursuit of such glowing glory as the green currently presents. Over and under, he dodges a fast blue, looking for clear air in which to keep pace with her.
Jekzith> Sleek wings cleave the wind with self-assured ease, the pale blue oh-so-casually traversing the play of wind and the tangle of other males as they jockey for position. Eldanth aims high, deliberately so, seeking the advantage and freedom that only air free from the claws and wings of the others can provide. And his eyes are for her, only for her, with claws flexing and ready to scathe any male that dares interfere with his flight path.
X'lar blinks a couple times as he enters the guest weyr, following the greenrider. Surprise on his face, light, as he asks rhetorically, "Did they change the tapestries in the past seven?" But then soon his eyes once again catch sight of the Weyrlingmaster and move to find a chair in the corner, quite a distance away. He scratches at the back of his left hand, as if there was an itch just beneath the skin. Sitting down, he reclines, stretching luxuriantly.
Jekzith> Sulizath's chasing, yes - but before even that he is /flying/, wings bearing him along and sizzling through the air as though he's nothing but a passenger, feeling pinion-tips bend and the tension between them necessary to hold him aloft. Every movement is alternately a caress and a tear through the Istan sky, taking him to the corner of the group of chasers to better gain sky behind her, to pace her speed and evaluate a better course than his competitors.
P'draig is among the last to make it into the weyr, still holding his glass from down below. He ducks inside, gives a polite nod and finds himself a bit of wall to lean up against. His eyes are starting to lose focus, but he's still present enough, even if not for long. Up goes that glass as he drinks long, lets his head drop to the stone and breathes in and out slowly.
Jekzith> As if she was alone in the sky, Zelieth plays on the wind. She dances; spinning in the currents and scattering the light as she creates shadows below. Her aim is clear, and every movement takes her higher, closer to the glowing spotlight of the sun. But soon enough, she must put her attention on those behind her. She turns on a wingtip, dodging a hasty attempt by an inexperienced blue who thought to take her unaware. It's a cheerful, laughter-like warble that follows in his wake, and Zelieth spares him no more thought as she twists and turns, spirals and zips, creating an obstacle course in the sky.
Fadra's company is her glass, and that's all she really needs. She finds herself an empty stretch of wall and posts there with her back flat against it, sliding into a seated position and placing both glasses in a position of safety between her feet. Her elbows hook over her knees, and one finger worries the rim of one. She's fighting it, her eyes alternately focusing and unfocusing, but her gaze never raising from liquor in concentration.
Jekzith> What he lacks in size and stamina he makes up for in cleverness and agility, two things that he shamelessly takes advantage of. Eldanth whips just past a slower brown that tries to encroach on /his/ space, then tilts on a wingtip to neatly bypass another blue that seems to manifest just in front of him. He is more than a leaf on the wind -- no, he /is/ the wind, as searing and heated as an arid wasteland that hungers, that thirsts for /her/. And so he goes, his movements as much a dance as the one she weaves, reflecting each twist and spiral like a mirage.
Jekzith> Malsaeth soars through the air at a steady pace. He's not one to leave the middle of the pack of suitors that quickly. But he does seem to have a way of finding the right pockets in the sky above the weyr to push himself closer. There are no checks to an unsuspecting blue, bronze or brown today. He instead just finds the right time to move and moves, sliding through, ever closer. For the time being, there are no tricks or manipulations from the crafty bronze. But then again, maybe that's just to put the others nearby off guard. Nonetheless, he enjoys the flight heartily and lets out a sound to show so.
Jekzith> Dip and dive, rise and soar, that dance has Jekzith entranced as he takes in every one of those height-gaining movements. Sunlight gleams on hide, burnishing colors making them richer on her, on every chaser in the pack. The lean brown zigs a little to one side as she turns so, doding that early attempt and he bounces up from below, crossing her trail to go a little higher, take in the obstacle course she's tracing through the air. He's a little too big to match every motion himself, but Jekzith has his own version of this dance and his mind is reaching out for her, taking her measure to see if maybe he can guess where she's going. His thoughts are full still, of the joy of this chase, just how much fun it is to match wings with her, see how far they can push it all.
Jekzith> Sulizath realized his quest the moment they left from the beach, but to tunnel-vision is a weakness, and the same falls now. Experienced movements, small though they may be, force him into a barrel-roll that narrowly avoids the bewildered, overshooting blue whose shoulder recieves a bump that ensures that Sulizath gains that much more momentum. The action settles him on the tail-draft of a blue and bronze, and he settles there long enough to evaluate a space, angle his wings perpendicular to the ground below, and squeeze his awkward shape between the pair with a triumphant, taunting bugle that acts as much as a challenge to them as to Zelieth, whose movements he's not matching exactly but nevertheless are evaluated in his own advances.
Jekzith> Where she's going is obvious: to the top of the sky! The brightest star! The sun! And Zelieth's mind is for that alone, the simple pleasures of flying in the air, of the pure and absolute freedom that comes from the warmth of the sun on her body and the feel of wind under her wings. Exhilaration, and again Zelieth forgets about those behind her, greedily attempting to steal her freedom and claim her for themselves. But they are closing in, and she can see and sense them, feel her wings tire and her speed diminish as theirs seems to increase. But she will continue her vain attempt to reach the heavens.
Against the wall, P'draig's finished off that drink and stuck the empty glass in his pocket. One hand lifts to the back of his neck and he swallows hard as Jekzith gets ... very into it up above.
Jekzith> Malsaeth continues his path amongst the ranks of the middle before he spots Zelieth's flight to the higher area. Above him. With a shift in thinking and a little bit of awkward maneuvering, the blazing masquerade bronze flies out of the pack and soars higher, higher. He exhausts whatever reserves he had stored all to try. Soon, when he has flown that exhilarating way up, Malsaeth makes his attempt. Wings out, tail out, ready.
Jekzith> He is not a gentle beast, not by any means -- for the wind that he is remains coarse, as likely to score and scratch and scour as he is to twist away and avoid, skirting the fringes. Eldanth is now naught more than a gust of wind, thirsting for her and willing to destroy any that get in his way to consume her -- and when she falters, he makes his move, pressing to the fore. Only she will be spared, his scathing nature tempered only for the sake of polishing her, refining her like the jewel she is. But only if he can catch the glittering gem that is Zelieth ... only then can he make good his wordless promise to her and he can finally be refreshed.
X'lar has been scratching at his hand still, every odd time. Eyes watching. Though, as soon as that bronze of his tries to make his move, X'lar's hands both grip the arms of the chair he reclines in, going from absolutely lazy to absolutely tense.
Jekzith> Sulizath pulls another stop, his wings fannning wide and acting as an umbrella. His wings snap loudly, and the action sweeps him into a near stop that allows him to turn as much on wingtip as he can, what with awkward shape. He directs the action expertly, and soon he's slightly above and just to the inside of the pack, so easily visualizing the opening. He takes it, his single chance, darting for Zelieth from one side, wings fanned and spread, neck and tail asking like the perfect gentleman but prepared to take it if the opportunity presents.
Jekzith> Up to the top of the sky indeed. Jekzith feels that exhilaration, shares it. It's what it's all about after all, cutting loose and just /going/. Bright bubbles free-float through his thoughts rising higher and higher to find that sun themselves. It's never about stealing freedom away, it's about giving it, sharing it, finding that patch of high sky together. Wings beat, tail sweeps and Jekzith puts on an added burst of speed to see if maybe, just maybe he can be the one to reach her, not to pluck her from the sky but carry her on through it with him until gravity has its way with them both.
Fadra has somehow managed to finish those drinks and stand - not that she seems to have done much moving at all since they arrived. Now, though, she's got a grip on one glass white-knuckled, like to break it if she applies any more pressure, whether or not she means to. Her jaw twitches with the clench of teeth, her brows furrowed down.
Jekzith> She falters, and it's enough. The pack is around her and Zelieth has no where to go, no escape from the claws, wings, tails, and necks that reach for her. She snarls only once, scolding their rudeness at interrupting her flight, her seeking. She is not seeking back, only avoiding - a duck, a dodge, a twist to avoid the less refined attempts of those around her. She inclines her head, seeks that shared freedom that's offered, reaches... but before she's there, she's caught, entangled in the rough and savage wind that is Eldanth. There is one fleeting attempt to claw her way free, but Zelieth knows when she is caught. And she is most definitely caught.
"/Now/ I'm going to drink," is all X'lar can mutter, rubbing at his hands as he leaves the chair and guest weyr behind. "Somethin' stiff," X'lar amends. And with that, the bronzerider leaves. His stride is nowhere near as fluid as it once was, looking shaky and ragged.
Jekzith> Sulizath's shot is over - he realizes too late that he's still high, and before he can correct Eldanth has won; and so it is easy to let his wings relax, heavy from exertion, and use the momentum he's built to angle down and away, refusing to acknowledge his loss with even so much as a dismayed grunt.
Jekzith> Jekzith feels that reach his way, makes another move to slip through the tightening net of other males. It's too tight though and he bumps wings with a pudgy darker brown, shaking the smooth angle of his flight. And there, she's caught and though disappointment surges through him there's a last thought left behind of open sky and flying free and the idea of ... another time. He breaks away then dropping towards the ocean, fast-fast.
Jekzith> Malsaeth isn't one to display any kind of dismay at the results. He instead begins his descent back down, looking, for the most part, very much willing to move on, move forward.
Slumping against the wall suddenly P'draig shakes his head a couple of times, opens his eyes and blinks hazily around the weyr, then pushes upright a little drunkenly though he's had nowhere near enough to drink to actually /be/ drunk and staggers outside into the bright light of the afternoon.
When: day 22, month 2, turn 18 of Interval 10.
Where: The Sandbar/Beach/Guest Weyr, Ista Weyr
What: Zelieth rises and is caught by R'lan's blue Eldanth.
The Sandbar, Ista Weyr(#447RJ)
A series of glows fashioned as torches line the path and ramp into the bar, making the black volcanic sands of the beach glitter as the star-spangled night spreads across the sky above. The Sandbar stands on stilts over the water's edge, a broad ramp leading up from the beach to the slate-roofed building sitting well above the highest tide line. The walls of the structure are nothing but timber frames, open to the cooling sea breezes but equipped with hinged panels of woven grass that can be lowered during inclement weather. Within, supporting pillars are draped in cast-off nets and shells and myriad tables provide seating with spectacular panoramic views of the ocean, beach, and the bustling activity of the docks to the west. The tables and chairs are made of wood, which has been dyed as dark as possible.
A finely polished, sparkling slab of obsidian serves as the bar's surface and a series of carved shelves, also made of the sleek volcanic stone, are behind the bar. A chalkboard hangs to the right of it which usually has the day's specials written on it, though it's often used to record bets instead. A games area and kitchen are to the back of the Sandbar.
The dry spring season relieves Ista Island of its humidity, replacing it with light, buoyant air. Tonight, a blanket of clouds dominates the black sky and a good, stiff breeze cools the Weyr.
It's early afternoon, Bali and Sunni are at a table near the beach entrance, Sunniva looking more like a prisoner than a willing table mate.
Her glass is more stared at, than drunken from. Balinne's looking at the strong, brown liquid with such fierceness, it's a wonder the glass hasn't shattered yet. At least the look is not directed on Sunniva. A clearing of her throat, and Balinne sits forwards even further, suddenly fidgety. And something about Sunniva's manner is now irritating rather than satisfying the Weyrlingmaster. "And when, exactly, would I not have Weyrlings?" she wants to know, rather tartly. "It's a full time job. If there's no clutch on the sands, or class in the barracks, I'll be revising lessons." And stuff. So there.
There is no answer, of course. Not because Sunniva cannot concoct one -- the brief working of her throat and furrowing of her brow might hint as much -- but more likely because of the Weyrlingmaster's mood. Her lower lip is surreptitiously sucked in to be worked over briefly by her teeth, green eyes settling as discretely as possible on the woman; not wanting to look her in the eyes or even more directly than necessary, with all the wariness one might accord a rabid canine. "Would you like me to leave, ma'am?" Somehow, her voice remains steady, a well-cultured (or else well-trained) neutral.
The sound of footsteps announces an arrival. P'draig pauses to knock sand out of his sandals before stepping into the bar and ambles, unaware, right up to the bar itself and hails Kip. "Hey - got those supplies in?" he queries of the 'keep who nods once. "Great, I'll give that dish a shot later then," the brownrider says with a smile and then places an order, perches on a stool and turns about casually to take in the room. His eyes graze along, come to a halt at Balinne and Sunniva and something about the body language between the pair furrows his brows though he doesn't move from his spot, arms stretched out to the sides along the front edge of the bartop.
The movements that bring Fadra into the Sandbar are made with a deliberateness that, by default, moves people from her path. A bluerider who doesn't do so quickly enough recieves a check to the shoulder and a surly glare, but nothing more when he retreats to his table and her path to the bar is clear. After only a brief stop - just long enough for a glass of roiling and slightly intimidating liquid that's taken with as much grace as she ever shows. She turns easily, propping elbows on the bar, and surveying the area as though it's her domain and not Kip's at all. At first, the only indication that she's noticed P'draig is a passing nod of greeting, but it's followed shortly by, "She looks like t'eat Sunniva, don't she?"
Jekzith> Warm. Comfortable. Asleep. Zelieth's curled in a self-dug wallow on the beach, green hide shining like a gemstone against the famous black sand. Her posture is so peaceful, her sleep so sound, that one might be tempted to think her harmless. Well. Except for that dangerous glow.
Fadra's remark pulls P'draig's gaze upward a little and he grins lopsidedly. "Yeah, can't help but sympathize. I think I'd almost rather deal with making sure Mic stays dressed since he can't remember anything when Aath's about to go up," he says candidaly, then leans backward as Kip brings his drink. The brownrider's hand curls around the glass, brings it around and he tips it Fadra's way. "Cheers." A mouthful down and he sits forward a little in his seat, head cocked in a 'listening' pose.
"Hmph." That would be Sunniva's answer, grumpy and imprecise. Balinne thumps her elbows on the table, drops her chin into her hands, and looks thoroughly and one-hundred percent discontent. She's not even pretending to play nice anymore. "I don't care," she finally tells her. But to follow the words, her chin is briefly lifted so that she can flick her fingers in a dismissive gesture to the candidate. All others are ignore. /Ignored/.
Jekzith> Malsaeth flies back from the feeding grounds having snagged at least two beasts in his characteristic brutal manner. After landing on the beach, he just waits and watches while a few drops of blood fall to the black sand from his masked maw. After all, Mal's not one to be all that flirty with the ladies, especially glowing ladies.
Jekzith> Casually coiled some distance away is a rangy dragon, his taut hide coloured in the washed out, sun-blasted blues of a desert's sky. Mottled wings rustle, slow-spinning eyes seeming to be fixed on the water, but there are those sly looks Zelieth's way. Knowing. And if Eldanth could smile, he would.
Jekzith> Jekzith winged down not that long ago to let P'draig off his back and has been playing footsie with the waves since, though he's tilting a look or two Zelieth's way every moment or so, checking on the /wow/ isn't that shiny quality of her hide. His own gaze remains happy blue-green, his attitude as always, light-hearted.
Jekzith> Sulizath is as predictable as his rider, sometimes; he's settled in the wallow he's built for himself, in the same spot he traditionally takes when Fadra goes into The Sandbar. The difference is clear: he's not snoring contently, and though his body lies half in the water and half out, his tail flicks out of the tide in irritation every so often. He's not tense; he's simply prepared, and by all outward appearances is unconcerned, as though he might get caught in a cross-fire.
X'lar walks into the Sandbar with a fluid stride. After murmuring something under his breath, he looks about to find Bali. "Evenin' darlin'," X'lar calls out to the greenrider, saluting the Weyrlingmaster. Surprisingly, there is no tell-tale bulge in his jacket pockets indicating meatrolls nor does he seem to be eating any at the moment. He instead finds himself a part of the obsidian bar to lean against, casual.
The flicking of fingers supercedes the 'don't care', at least in the lexicon of body language that Sunniva has built extensively over the turns. She ducks her head again, eases her chair back, and the pants-clad candidate moves to rise with a murmured "Do take care." Habit or appeasement; perhaps a bit of both. While a look is briefly sent to the bar, it's not long enough -- or perhaps not directed in the right place -- for her to register any familiar faces there. Her lower lip is soon sucked in to chew on and she turns to leave without another word.
"Mmmnn," is Fadra's eloquent response, and she lifts her own glace only marginally to P'draig's toast. Her drinking is almost unhealthily quick, as though the potential for a flight anytime in the near future requires her to be at least half-gorked at all time. A few quick swallows and she's turned to pass Kip her glass - with a pleased expression that he's already got a second ready.
R'lan, for his part, is one of those fellows that's forever in the background -- nondescript if one doesn't look too keenly at him to pick up the faintly unsettling way his eyes can land on a person and seem to pick them apart. He is, at the moment, seated far from the others, no longer nursing his drink and is just ... watching as surreptitiously as can be managed.
Jekzith> Except for the steady rise, fall, rise, fall of Zelieth's chest, the green is much like a rock. Unaware of glances, unaware of the attention her hide is causing, she slumbers on. Soon, however, that slumber is disturbed by little twitches. Her tail. Her paw. Her wing. But it is not enough that she wakes yet.
There's a second swallow from that glass from P'draig and he squints past Fadra out to the beach. "Hm," is his equally verbose reply, one finger tapping along the side of his glass. In comes X'lar and his address to Balinne hikes his brows upward as does Sunni's sudden exit. "Well then, ought to be an interesting afternoon.
Jekzith> Jekzith perks up as he catches that first little twitch of tail and he bats one last time at the froth in the sea, turns about and ambles up the sand a little bit, sits down on his haunches and ... waits expectantly. His wings flick open a little, re-settle, briefly casting mapled reflections as the sun slants through them. His front paws curl a little into the sand, digging shallow trenches that he doesn't seem to notice.
Jekzith> Malsaeth just sits there, silent, watchful. But not of Zelieth herself. In fact, the crimson bronze almost appears to be looking in the opposite direction. Not that he doesn't notice her. There's a casual look back toward the glowing green as her little twitches. Interested, but not so determined to watch for every twitch. Not that he'd show otherwise.
He ought to be thankful. The look Balinne pins on X'lar at his greeting is fit to kill. But her glass is too far away, and it would be far too much effort for her to unfold her hands and throw it. And soon enough, he's out of her range. At Sunniva's exit, the greenrider just shrugs, pretending to be uninterested in the goings-on around her. "Ah, shards!" she exclaims, with several, much more colorful words, hissed under her breath. Abruptly she stands, turns a hatred-filled look on the crowd at the bar, and marches towards the door. She's far to experienced not to have put it together herself, and she looks to get a headstart.
Jekzith> Eldanth is a patient one, he is. Nary a twitch of muscle nor shiver of hide betrays him, even if they might betray Zelieth's slowly lifting slumber. Only the slow spin of his gaze is any indication that he's alive, let alone watching, oh-so-closely watching, that jewel of a green settled just over there. The other males? They do not even /exist/ as far as his even regard is concerned.
Jekzith> Sulizath, unlike Jekzith, seems content enough to acknowledge Zelieth's unwarranted twitch with only a huffing sigh and a sort of luxuriating movement that draws him onto the sand completely, water sluicing from his tail and haunches. He stretches his wings casually, patiently.
X'lar doesn't look like to have any care in the world. He looks lazy, eyes hooded, as he enjoys the ambience. Or maybe it's just being part of what is to come. No one else is really seen from his perspective. He considers the bowl of local nuts on the bar nearby and grabs a handful. Behind the bar, Kip doesn't appear to know what to think of the gluttonous bronzer's antics. For the time being, he just watches, much like his lifemate.
"Y'don't say," drawls Fadra slowly, and she looks at least marginally amused by their exchange, however brief. She's in no rush to get outside, either; with Balinne's fiery outburst, the brownrider swallows down more of her newly recieved drink. Maybe she'll make this one last, if her somewhat tentative sips are any indication.
R'lan remains where he is for now, every bit as nonchalant as his blue. Just there, watching, and then -- grudgingly -- becoming aware of the other riders. His drink is finished, paid for, and then his hands lace on the counter though his interest remains on those others. Slow, deep breaths. Patient; biding his time.
P'draig doesn't rush off either, grinning over at Fadra. "What're you sinking there?" he asks next, nursing his own drink and eyeing the level of liquor in it. He might be pondering one for the road. "I had planned to cook, but-- well, we'll see," he says with a little laugh.
Jekzith> First she is asleep. Then she is awake. That fast, Zelieth's eyes have opened, her wings extend, and she's pushing herself upwards from her sandy bed. A luxurious stretch is given, a sensual purr as she unwinds her tail, unfolds her wings, and rolls her head. Those boys are ignored - they're really nothing more than scenery - and Zelieth spends a lazy moment with her head pointed towards the ocean. And just as fast, with little warning, she gathers herself and springs into the air, trumpeting a flirtatious challenge towards those watching eyes.
"Well, I planned to fish," X'lar drawls. "But we can't always get what we want, P'draig." He runs a hand through his hair and follows after the greenrider. As he watches her, that smile of his slowly grows wider. "That's right, shake that-" Xie begins to say, before being interrupted by another rider, already drunk. "Shells," Xie mutters to himself as he leaves the bar.
Jekzith> Jekzith watches that sensual stretch with eyes slowly tinging to pale lavender. Oh boy. It doesn't seem to faze him that she pays no attention to them though his thoughts whirl with happy anticipation and a storm of bubbles in electric rainbow hues. And bam. There she goes and he's right after her, wings snapping open, haunches pushing off against the sand. A little rain of black grains falls away behind him as the rangy brown hits the skies, streaming after her with an audible echo of joy. Time to fly.
Jekzith> Ah. Yes. /That/ ... that is what he was waiting for. Eldanth is suddenly in motion, a dervish of pale blue and narrow pinions, of black sand and whipping tail. And up he goes, hissing a low challenge of his own into the air -- no need to blood for him, for the air is his element and the sight of Zelieth the only fuel he needs.
Jekzith> Malsaeth isn't one to say no to a challenge, especially this kind of one. He doesn't spend time thinking about it. As she springs into the air, he follows. An arrow of fire soaring toward the sky from the black sand of the beach. Every muscle pushes, every beat of the wings takes him higher, all the better to follow that glowing green.
Jekzith> Sulizath's reations are surprising; smaller and compact though he may be, the brown's wings are already steepled and stretching when Zelieth decides it's time for their jolly jaunt in the sky. In seconds he's up, powerful hindquarters flexing and one powerful downsweep taking him after her without so much as a second thought, every limb coordinating to take him higher and faster.
Fadra's mouth twists up into a half-smirk, and her answer is a shrug. "Honestly, I nay know. Kip's a creative sonnuva when he wants t'be, but tis nay so much delicious as 'tis...effective." And as if that's a cue, the barkeeper brings a third - one for the road, if great minds truly think alike. "Quick, too," she adds, before reaching back and taking it. Two for the road; conversation terminated. The brownrider rolls her shoulders from the bar and makes her way outside, if somewhat reluctantly.
"True. This recipe was from Tam though," P'draig notes of his own glass and he downs the last of it as Zelieth takes off. Thunk. Glass to bar. And there's his refill too and Paddy reaches for the fresh glass, grinning over at Fadra. "Mm. Time to go," he agrees and trails after Fadra, though his pace while not reluctant is still unhurried.
Jekzith> Zelieth ignores those males for a few moments longer, enjoying the sun against her hide and the freedom of the skies. A twist, Zelieth expressing her joy with a playful move usually reserved for younger, inexperienced dragons. But she can afford it, clever enough to keep a wary eye on her chasers even as she ducks and dodges the familiar Istan air currents.
Naturally, Balinne is already there. She's comfortable against the wall, and lucid enough to pin hateful glances on the chasers as they trickle in. But she's growing more and more distant as Zelieth climes, until her eyes glaze and she ignores the rest of the room.
Jekzith> Malsaeth isn't playful as much as enthralled. It's the chase he loves and he shows it. And it is clearly seen in very beat of the wings, every swooping arch up or down, each barrel roll side to side. His body moves, sliding through the pack toward the middle rather than the front of back. But Zelieth always remains his focus as he follows.
Jekzith> Jekzith soaks up that radiated joy and playfulness from Zelieth, answers it with his own bounce from one current to the next, like jumping stepping stones across a creek. The motley brown's wings spread wide, eager for air and wind to carry him out over the water in Zelieth's wake. He's no neophyte where flights are concerned, but he still has a carefree attitude even in the pursuit of such glowing glory as the green currently presents. Over and under, he dodges a fast blue, looking for clear air in which to keep pace with her.
Jekzith> Sleek wings cleave the wind with self-assured ease, the pale blue oh-so-casually traversing the play of wind and the tangle of other males as they jockey for position. Eldanth aims high, deliberately so, seeking the advantage and freedom that only air free from the claws and wings of the others can provide. And his eyes are for her, only for her, with claws flexing and ready to scathe any male that dares interfere with his flight path.
X'lar blinks a couple times as he enters the guest weyr, following the greenrider. Surprise on his face, light, as he asks rhetorically, "Did they change the tapestries in the past seven?" But then soon his eyes once again catch sight of the Weyrlingmaster and move to find a chair in the corner, quite a distance away. He scratches at the back of his left hand, as if there was an itch just beneath the skin. Sitting down, he reclines, stretching luxuriantly.
Jekzith> Sulizath's chasing, yes - but before even that he is /flying/, wings bearing him along and sizzling through the air as though he's nothing but a passenger, feeling pinion-tips bend and the tension between them necessary to hold him aloft. Every movement is alternately a caress and a tear through the Istan sky, taking him to the corner of the group of chasers to better gain sky behind her, to pace her speed and evaluate a better course than his competitors.
P'draig is among the last to make it into the weyr, still holding his glass from down below. He ducks inside, gives a polite nod and finds himself a bit of wall to lean up against. His eyes are starting to lose focus, but he's still present enough, even if not for long. Up goes that glass as he drinks long, lets his head drop to the stone and breathes in and out slowly.
Jekzith> As if she was alone in the sky, Zelieth plays on the wind. She dances; spinning in the currents and scattering the light as she creates shadows below. Her aim is clear, and every movement takes her higher, closer to the glowing spotlight of the sun. But soon enough, she must put her attention on those behind her. She turns on a wingtip, dodging a hasty attempt by an inexperienced blue who thought to take her unaware. It's a cheerful, laughter-like warble that follows in his wake, and Zelieth spares him no more thought as she twists and turns, spirals and zips, creating an obstacle course in the sky.
Fadra's company is her glass, and that's all she really needs. She finds herself an empty stretch of wall and posts there with her back flat against it, sliding into a seated position and placing both glasses in a position of safety between her feet. Her elbows hook over her knees, and one finger worries the rim of one. She's fighting it, her eyes alternately focusing and unfocusing, but her gaze never raising from liquor in concentration.
Jekzith> What he lacks in size and stamina he makes up for in cleverness and agility, two things that he shamelessly takes advantage of. Eldanth whips just past a slower brown that tries to encroach on /his/ space, then tilts on a wingtip to neatly bypass another blue that seems to manifest just in front of him. He is more than a leaf on the wind -- no, he /is/ the wind, as searing and heated as an arid wasteland that hungers, that thirsts for /her/. And so he goes, his movements as much a dance as the one she weaves, reflecting each twist and spiral like a mirage.
Jekzith> Malsaeth soars through the air at a steady pace. He's not one to leave the middle of the pack of suitors that quickly. But he does seem to have a way of finding the right pockets in the sky above the weyr to push himself closer. There are no checks to an unsuspecting blue, bronze or brown today. He instead just finds the right time to move and moves, sliding through, ever closer. For the time being, there are no tricks or manipulations from the crafty bronze. But then again, maybe that's just to put the others nearby off guard. Nonetheless, he enjoys the flight heartily and lets out a sound to show so.
Jekzith> Dip and dive, rise and soar, that dance has Jekzith entranced as he takes in every one of those height-gaining movements. Sunlight gleams on hide, burnishing colors making them richer on her, on every chaser in the pack. The lean brown zigs a little to one side as she turns so, doding that early attempt and he bounces up from below, crossing her trail to go a little higher, take in the obstacle course she's tracing through the air. He's a little too big to match every motion himself, but Jekzith has his own version of this dance and his mind is reaching out for her, taking her measure to see if maybe he can guess where she's going. His thoughts are full still, of the joy of this chase, just how much fun it is to match wings with her, see how far they can push it all.
Jekzith> Sulizath realized his quest the moment they left from the beach, but to tunnel-vision is a weakness, and the same falls now. Experienced movements, small though they may be, force him into a barrel-roll that narrowly avoids the bewildered, overshooting blue whose shoulder recieves a bump that ensures that Sulizath gains that much more momentum. The action settles him on the tail-draft of a blue and bronze, and he settles there long enough to evaluate a space, angle his wings perpendicular to the ground below, and squeeze his awkward shape between the pair with a triumphant, taunting bugle that acts as much as a challenge to them as to Zelieth, whose movements he's not matching exactly but nevertheless are evaluated in his own advances.
Jekzith> Where she's going is obvious: to the top of the sky! The brightest star! The sun! And Zelieth's mind is for that alone, the simple pleasures of flying in the air, of the pure and absolute freedom that comes from the warmth of the sun on her body and the feel of wind under her wings. Exhilaration, and again Zelieth forgets about those behind her, greedily attempting to steal her freedom and claim her for themselves. But they are closing in, and she can see and sense them, feel her wings tire and her speed diminish as theirs seems to increase. But she will continue her vain attempt to reach the heavens.
Against the wall, P'draig's finished off that drink and stuck the empty glass in his pocket. One hand lifts to the back of his neck and he swallows hard as Jekzith gets ... very into it up above.
Jekzith> Malsaeth continues his path amongst the ranks of the middle before he spots Zelieth's flight to the higher area. Above him. With a shift in thinking and a little bit of awkward maneuvering, the blazing masquerade bronze flies out of the pack and soars higher, higher. He exhausts whatever reserves he had stored all to try. Soon, when he has flown that exhilarating way up, Malsaeth makes his attempt. Wings out, tail out, ready.
Jekzith> He is not a gentle beast, not by any means -- for the wind that he is remains coarse, as likely to score and scratch and scour as he is to twist away and avoid, skirting the fringes. Eldanth is now naught more than a gust of wind, thirsting for her and willing to destroy any that get in his way to consume her -- and when she falters, he makes his move, pressing to the fore. Only she will be spared, his scathing nature tempered only for the sake of polishing her, refining her like the jewel she is. But only if he can catch the glittering gem that is Zelieth ... only then can he make good his wordless promise to her and he can finally be refreshed.
X'lar has been scratching at his hand still, every odd time. Eyes watching. Though, as soon as that bronze of his tries to make his move, X'lar's hands both grip the arms of the chair he reclines in, going from absolutely lazy to absolutely tense.
Jekzith> Sulizath pulls another stop, his wings fannning wide and acting as an umbrella. His wings snap loudly, and the action sweeps him into a near stop that allows him to turn as much on wingtip as he can, what with awkward shape. He directs the action expertly, and soon he's slightly above and just to the inside of the pack, so easily visualizing the opening. He takes it, his single chance, darting for Zelieth from one side, wings fanned and spread, neck and tail asking like the perfect gentleman but prepared to take it if the opportunity presents.
Jekzith> Up to the top of the sky indeed. Jekzith feels that exhilaration, shares it. It's what it's all about after all, cutting loose and just /going/. Bright bubbles free-float through his thoughts rising higher and higher to find that sun themselves. It's never about stealing freedom away, it's about giving it, sharing it, finding that patch of high sky together. Wings beat, tail sweeps and Jekzith puts on an added burst of speed to see if maybe, just maybe he can be the one to reach her, not to pluck her from the sky but carry her on through it with him until gravity has its way with them both.
Fadra has somehow managed to finish those drinks and stand - not that she seems to have done much moving at all since they arrived. Now, though, she's got a grip on one glass white-knuckled, like to break it if she applies any more pressure, whether or not she means to. Her jaw twitches with the clench of teeth, her brows furrowed down.
Jekzith> She falters, and it's enough. The pack is around her and Zelieth has no where to go, no escape from the claws, wings, tails, and necks that reach for her. She snarls only once, scolding their rudeness at interrupting her flight, her seeking. She is not seeking back, only avoiding - a duck, a dodge, a twist to avoid the less refined attempts of those around her. She inclines her head, seeks that shared freedom that's offered, reaches... but before she's there, she's caught, entangled in the rough and savage wind that is Eldanth. There is one fleeting attempt to claw her way free, but Zelieth knows when she is caught. And she is most definitely caught.
"/Now/ I'm going to drink," is all X'lar can mutter, rubbing at his hands as he leaves the chair and guest weyr behind. "Somethin' stiff," X'lar amends. And with that, the bronzerider leaves. His stride is nowhere near as fluid as it once was, looking shaky and ragged.
Jekzith> Sulizath's shot is over - he realizes too late that he's still high, and before he can correct Eldanth has won; and so it is easy to let his wings relax, heavy from exertion, and use the momentum he's built to angle down and away, refusing to acknowledge his loss with even so much as a dismayed grunt.
Jekzith> Jekzith feels that reach his way, makes another move to slip through the tightening net of other males. It's too tight though and he bumps wings with a pudgy darker brown, shaking the smooth angle of his flight. And there, she's caught and though disappointment surges through him there's a last thought left behind of open sky and flying free and the idea of ... another time. He breaks away then dropping towards the ocean, fast-fast.
Jekzith> Malsaeth isn't one to display any kind of dismay at the results. He instead begins his descent back down, looking, for the most part, very much willing to move on, move forward.
Slumping against the wall suddenly P'draig shakes his head a couple of times, opens his eyes and blinks hazily around the weyr, then pushes upright a little drunkenly though he's had nowhere near enough to drink to actually /be/ drunk and staggers outside into the bright light of the afternoon.