Log: Proddy Kai, Chielyth Rises
Who: B'kaiv, Ch'son, P'draig, NPCs: Amarys and Tavalith (by G'dri), Shiala and Antanth (by Edela)
When: day 22, month 6, turn 23 of the 10th interval
Where: Bowl, Fort Weyr
What: Kai starts to get up in Paddy's grill about Hattie. Because Kai's proddy, Paddy doesn't really take it very seriously.
Southern Bowl, Fort Weyr(#675RJLs$)
This end of the bowl is grassy and serene with the pretty blue of the lake nearby as a draw for residents, riders and dragons alike. Since the earthslide collapsed in the spring of turn 23, a dramatic view of the mountain slopes that circle the Weyr has opened up beyond the lake.
The feeding grounds are fenced off to on the northeastern end of the lake, just a short walk from the weyrling barracks, the Weyrleader's complex, the hatching complex, living cavern, and infirmary.
Currently, areas of the bowl wall where the mud slid away are blocked off by barricades and scaffoldings where construction is taking place. The gardens are open once more, though a lot of work remains to bring them back to their former glory.
A hot, muggy afternoon for Fort is--for once--rainless, though if the weather continues like this the residents will probably be begging for a storm to clear the humidity. Chielyth rests in the eastern side of the bowl, away from both lake and weyrling barracks, though she is by no means sleeping. Instead she's watching the traffic, tail flipping and eyes touched with more than a little red. Her rider sits in the curve of her belly, whittling a stick.
Likewise watching Chielyth is a foreign brown, though Jekzith's scrutiny is intermittent because he's sitting by the lake investigating /yet again/ all of the changes that have been made to it. The brown keeps nudging his nose at the surface of the water, sliding one forepaw through it and then stopping, angling his head to observe the pretty little green. Now and then a friendly bubble slides her way carrying thoughts of flying and dipping wingtips through water. Her rider crosses the bowl, looking a little warm, cheeks flushed, hairline damp. P'draig's jacket is slung over his shoulder, one hand holding it lightly in place, shirtfront bedecked with the sure signs of someone who just spent a little while taking care of a baby. He looks toward Chielyth's restless tailtip, notes the eye color and gives her a careful space cushion as he heads Jekzith's way.
Chielyth /wants/ to take him up on the swimming, but /someone/ says no (violet, larkspur). She wants to go /flying/ too, but Kai is repressing that idea even more firmly, and the urge isn't yet strong enough to send her up willy-nilly. So she just watches Jekzith instead, watches the weyrlings, watches everyone else at Fort flying away and having fun while /she/ sits in the bowl and -frets-. Kai doesn't seem to be particularly enjoying his afternoon off, if the force with which he slices at the wood is any indication. If he's carving anything, it can't be more than a toothpick. Catching sight of the other rider he tracks him for a few feet, eyes narrowed, before clambering to his feet with a belligerent, "Hey."
P'draig is still heading toward Jekzith by the time Kai 'greets' him and he turns, a faint note of surprise on his face, though that's banished swiftly enough in favor of a polite nod and a casual: "Good day." Jekzith flips a little bit of water up over his nose and then snorts at it, before ducking his head into the lake proper and blows air out through his nostrils to make proper bubbles that froth and foam to the surface. Hey, if Chielyth's rider won't let her have any fun, he can at least make a stab at entertainment.
B'kaiv is perfectly willing to stalk after P'draig, Chielyth slinking along sulkily behind. "He yours?" he demands, leveling a finger at the bubble-creator in the lake. "'Cause if he'd lay off her," jerking a thumb back at Chielyth, "she might be able t' settle. She don't need no help getting antsy, not t'day." As if on cue the green flops down with a put-upon sigh and promptly starts nibbling at a flank. Itchy, itchy, itchy.
"Yes, that's Jekzith," P'draig supplies with a nod and then squints over at Chielyth. "Ahh, the flower-maker," he murmurs, focus a little abstracted before he re-focuses on Kai. "I don't think he's aiming for antsy, but I'll let him know that his efforts to entertain her aren't helping any," the brownrider adds in easygoing fashion. Even as Paddy says this though, the brown is sliding the idea of cool water at least, toward Chielyth to help allay itchiness. Or at least, that's the intent.
"Sharding b-," Kai starts under his breath, only to stop and turn a suspicious glower on the visitors. "You're that one as is bothering Hattie," he decides with a nod toward the north. "Th' Istan. /Shells/." Disgusted, he turns back to Chielyth, absently scratching at an arm. She, on the other hand, stops nibbling to eye Jekzith and whine, plaintive. "I already oiled you - can you just close your eyes or somethin'? Just for a little bit."
There's a soothing rumble from Jekzith to Chielyth and the tenor of his sending changes, the colors in his mind toning down to the sort that often helped to calm errant weyrling dragons. << It'll pass. I could tell you a story? Though P'draid is saying that yours thinks I should stop talking to you. I'm sorry if I'm bothering more than helping. >> Paddy however, extends his free hand toward Kai, ignoring most of the unpleasant in his behavior. "P'draig. Hattie's a good friend," he states simply. "I'm very glad she's doing well and Gethin seems to be growing strong and healthy." Conversationally: "We fly at Ista now, but Jekzith was actually shelled here. He misses the lake." A nod in that direction. "He's still a little confused about what happened to it."
<< I'm /itchy/! >> Chielyth flings back like an over-tired toddler, accompanied by another flurry of violets. << I don't want a story. Khameth tells stories! But he's /busy/! >> Stupid Khameth. Stupid stories! Stupid itch! Her rider narrows his eyes at the hand like the brownrider's offering him snot, and folds his arms instead. "K- B'kaiv. Chielyth. She's my clutchsister, so you just watch yourself." Hattie, presumably, and not his dragon. "He's sharding lucky he's got a lake at all. It were trying t' drain down th' mountain for a while."
Flung statement is sort of absorbed and filtered down by the brown. << That really sucks, >> is his sympathetic answer. << I'm sorry I'm not Khameth, but well, I like making friends, >> he offers helpfully, though he does retreat a little, a subtle distinction that gives Chielyth a little bit of space even as he shoves his head deeper under the water which makes the bubbles appear less on the surface. The refusal of his hand doesn't seem to faze P'draig and he tucks his hand into his pocket instead, adjusts his jacket atop his shoulder. "B'kaiv, well met," is the brownrider's still-polite reply. "I intend to make sure she stays okay. We've got one thing in common, Hattie and I: we both work too much," he comments mildly which might be some form of response to 'watch yourself'. "Mm, it looked that way when we came to help dig, like there might not wind up being a lake. It's good to see it's not going to do that. Used to spend a lot of time skipping stones out here when he couldn't sleep when we were weyrlings."
The green just mutters incoherently and sends a few more bluebells at him, made too fretful by an insistent itch to properly respond. "I'm watching her," the greenrider claims with a jerk of his chin that suggests 'I'm watching -you-' could just as easily have been repeated. "Chielyth's proddy," he adds from nowhere, narrowing his eyes, "and she's probably going up t'day so if you don't want t' get caught in that, you better get going."
"It's good that Hattie has more than one friend to help her out," P'draig answers, still in 'not fazed' mode. "Jekzith noticed," the brownrider agrees about Chielyth's condition. "He picks up on that kind of thing pretty easily. And he likes bluebells." A propos of nothing. This time, rose petals are drifted Chielyth's way in answer to pretty blue flowers. This time though, P'draig seeks to meet Kai's gaze, though his expression remains neutral. "Would you like me to make sure he doesn't chase her?" Because apparently, he's also not bothered by the prospect of his brown chasing or catching.
Chielyth's itch is back, or still there, or /something/: she curls around to nibble at her flank again, ignoring Jekzith's attempts at pacification. Kai unfolds his arms to scratch his own arm, jaw jutting and eyes narrowing at the Istan. "They ain't /flowers/," he claims, despite all mental evidence to the contrary. "She does sharding /flowers/ when she ain't /happy/." So they're... flowers that aren't flowers. "She ain't trying t' be -nice- t' him. And I don't /want/ no sharding Istans catching her, but it ain't like he's gonna have no chance any road, so you can sharding well do what you want!"
"Good to know," P'draig answers placidly. About flowers that aren't flowers. Poor Chielyth. Jekzith? Still underwater. Blowing bubbles. In spite of Miss Flowers over yonder. The brownrider slants a look over at Jekzith briefly, then back at Kai. "Understood," he says simply, gives a nod and then steps away past the cranky greenrider toward his brown, who notably, doesn't actually have any straps on, which might speak to the idea that Paddy wasn't actually aiming to leave just yet.
Coming down the old steps that lead from the solarium, idly twirling a pencil across his knuckles as he goes, looking distracted (not unusual), M'try has no intentions whatsoever of going anywhere near B'kaiv-- which is just kind of a general rule for living as far as he's concerned. Just cutting across the edge of the bowl on his way to the caverns, minding his own business, nothing to see here, folks.
Lurking at what should be a safe distance from the grumpy but highly interesting Chielyth, is one unremarkable looking blue. Average to the point of boring, is Antanth, nothing much to look at. Forefeet flex absently, dragging talons across the ground, but otherwise he doesn't move. just waiting for something interesting to happen.
Approaching from somewhere over yonder, a pair of Malachite riders fresh off duty are stripping down from riding jackets and gloves. Spotting Chielyth, one stalls, mutters something to her companion, and peels off; it leaves Shiala, a not-unattractive early-30s-something to consider the green and her rider. Shading her eyes against the sun, she shadows a look upward while a slender-winged and soot-marked blue curves a corkscrew turn overhead. With an amenable shrug, the bluerider redirects, arrowing toward middle of the bowl.
The small Istan bronze that is Taineth lands with a green flanking his left and waits patiently as Ch'son dismounts. The Istan Weyrleader is mostly focused on the female dismounting her lifemate but the bronze's attention wanders idly in this territory that isn't his, greeting the familiar Jekzith and eyeing the less familiar little itchy green. Once the pretty girl greenrider is off and the dragons seem settled, Ch'son seems more than ready to just be on his way to wherever the pair might be headed.
B'kaiv takes a step after P'draig, one hand curling into a fist. "What's that supposed t' mean?" he demands, while behind him Chielyth rolls onto her belly, itch forgotten. She arches her neck at the gathering dragons, flicks her wings and spares a moment to check beneath each in turn. Kai opens his mouth to demand more when he's hit by an invisible bucket of water: at least, he stops and shakes his head, and blinks to try and refocus, blinks again. "Ah, /shells/. You run outta time." The greenrider lifts a hand to his face and turns slowly, eyes drifting across body, body, body, until he orients to the flight cave's entrance.
M'try's, "I don't think this is a good idea," is very much eclipsed by Mohraith's brassy, << I DO! >> Feeling his oats as he is, super-stud brown somehow thinks his 33 feet is liable to keep pace with Chielyth's 20, radiating buoyant confidence to all the other dragons in range, Fortian, Istan, who cares. Fiddling until he can put the pencil into the satchel, fumbling the action, his rider dallies that much longer, happy to be at the rear of the crew liable to be following B'kaiv into said flight cave. A cigarette and a blindfold would complete the dead-man-walking look assumed in his leadfooted pace.
There's nothing really to indicate that the woman with the ginger bob walking across the bowl is in fact a dragonrider. For starters, Amarys is wearing a dress; very much off-duty. Mid-to-late thirties, tall and kind of rangy, the Carnelian rider appears to be talking to herself, mouth moving and hands gesticulating. That easily-overlooked blue lifts his head a bit higher, flicking his tail up and then smacking it back down on the ground again, feet still flexing.
Looking back over his shoulder, P'draig looks like he was about to answer when Chielyth gathers herself. He stops in his tracks, because of course, Jekzith who hasn't seemed overly into it up until now, just sociable, has pulled his head out of the water and dripping still, re-orients on Chielyth like she's some sort of green homing beacon and starts to trot in her direction. One of Paddy's shoulders hitches upward and his arm uncurls, jacket twitched around to fold over both of his arms. A thread of tension finally slides its way down P'draig's spine but he keeps his expression neutral as he turns toward the cave where he went through his own first flight turns ago. Ch'son comes into view then and the brownrider briefly tosses off a salute to his Weyrleader.
Shiala's blue Antanth draws up against the bowl wall, settling on a stone outcropping nearby and rustling his wings against his body. His rider, nonchalant, threads a leather tie between her fingers and as she bears in the general direction of the flight weyr, she collects straight dark hair and pulls it back into a loose pony tail. Jacket's draped over her shoulder, gloves jammed into one pocket, and if Shiala's lucky her easy, long-legged strides will intersect rather neatly with B'kaiv's.
Taineth keeps his attention focused on Chielyth but there's very little other indication that he's overly interested in the green. At least right up until he spreads his wings and goes to help himself to a Fortian herdbeast. Ch'son pauses mid-stride with a tense nod for P'draig and then a glance at his companion. "Uh, wait for me?" he says to her with a lop-sided grin that she clearly doesn't think is very charming. She turns away and so does Chaes to follow along with the others headed toward the flight cave.
Chielyth gives a shake, rather like Kai, and leaps smoothly into the air, angling for the feeding pens. She makes short work of one aged wherry, greedily blooding as she pretends not to watch her suitors. What she thinks of them - brown, brown, bronze, blue, blue - she doesn't say, only crouches and is aloft with scarcely any warning. It's not for the skies she makes, but for the wide gash left in Fort's bowl, her path taking her screamingly close to the walls before she breaks into freedom. Her rider doesn't even look back at the others but makes for the privacy of the flight cave, only barely aware of his surroundings and with hands fidgeting across hair and face.
It's Taineth, not Chielyth, that finally spurs Tavalith into doing more than sitting there and twitching. Plain mid-blue wings stretching wide, he launches himself up only to arrow down immediately into the pens, his 'choice' simply being the first creature that gets within range of his talons, his jaws clamping down on its throat to drain its lifeblood. With his attention riveted upon the lady of the hour, once she's clear he's after her with a hiss and a lash of his tail. Amarys has stopped talking by the time she swings into range of the little group trooping towards the flight cave, a confident lift to her head and a cocky sway in her hips as she eyes up the 'competition.'
That M'try would rather be anywhere else on the planet right now really has no bearing on Mohraith's involvement in this Flight. The brownrider skulks his way in along with the rest, keeping as close to the door as possible without actually being in the entrance; the dragon has a good time throttling a couple of herdbeasts, making a lot of messes on the ground where he romps, then-- surprised by the suddenness-- bounds up after Chielyth, broadcasting on a wide band everything from that surprise to a flash of worry when he nearly clips the wall of the bowl in the green's wake, whoops!
Antanth, clinging to the bowl's cliff wall with splayed talons, launches in a spray of dust and pebbles when Chielyth makes her kill. Two sharp wingbeats, and the blue glides over the corrals; he plummets into a wherry, dispatching the animal with industrious neatness and then he, too, catapults skyward. A tuck-winged roll carries him through the bowl wall's rift, and the small blue trills noisily. Below, Shiala spares her blue only the briefest of glances, languid back over her shoulder while her lips quirk into an indulgent smile. There's a curt nod for Amarys and M'try; then, a look lingering on Istan knots.
B'kaiv pages: |When the green takes off, Taineth abandons his blooded herdbeast and launches skywards with a powerful leap. He doesn't follow her directly but angles higher to take a place he prefers above the rest as much as he can manage. Ch'son is uncharacteristically subdued and quiet as he follows and eventually takes to holding up a bit of wall toward the entrance. Maybe he's realizes whose green it is that his lifemate has taken an interest in. (all done!)
Jekzith's suddenly all there with Chielyth's leap into the pens and maple-hued brown wings snap open to loft him in the same direction. His own kill is made quickly, without fuss, blood practically inhaled and the carcass abandoned as the green hurtles for the bowl's open wound. He might be one of the longest dragons in this flight, but the motley-hued brown boasts startlingly fluid mobility for all that as he slides through still-familiar air-currents after Chielyth, wingtips waggling boldly as he slips between arms of stone and out into the open, part of the fray. As for Paddy, he walks toward the cave at a steady pace, neither hurried nor dragging and once inside, steps a bit further in to claim another patch of wall.
Flight Cave, Fort Weyr(#2051RJs$)
This small, ground-level cavern has one use and one use only: it's for flights. The headwoman's staff keeps the place neat and tidy, but otherwise, the space is very clearly set up for its sole purpose. The bedframe is a double, sturdy, but has seen better days, with plenty of nicks and scratches in the wood. The linens are plain, undyed, cheap fiber, easy to wash, easy to replace.
Several chairs, all of the repaired, second-hand variety stand against the walls and a table holds a pitcher of water and a selection of chipped mugs as well as a seasonal fruit and a couple of bowls of nuts. The glows in here are usually a bit dim, older ones that have been changed out of more trafficked areas of the Weyr but not completely depleted yet. A small hearth also provides heat in the colder months, with logs and coal both kept supplied for use at any time.
B'kaiv heads for the far side of the cave, swearing under his breath at everyone and no one. A hand tugs restlessly at his collar but doesn't--or can't--undo buttons; his other trails aimlessly toward the wall without actually being close enough to reach either it or any of the chairs. Meanwhile Chielyth darts down the mountainside, suicidally close to some of those trees. Only when the ground abruptly drops beneath her does she abandon it for the skies, twisting and turning as only a green can. She seems determined to show off every trick in her repertoire, and at twice normal speed.
Mohraith is no green and, though he's certainly not the biggest brown on the books, he's not about to try doing what Chielyth's doing. He flattens his wings along his side, dives as low as he dares-- more than a few 'lengths above the green's hardline-- and veers back up again with snapped open 'sails, rumbling that now he's got to climb all the way back up, puff and puff. Inside, it's enough for M'try to stare at his boots. Not at Kai, not at Istans, just at his boots.
Experienced enough to maintain her composure pretty well, confining herself to smirky glances at fellow chaser-lifemates and admiring ones at B'kaiv's broad shoulders, Amarys pulls out a chair for herself and settles into it. A chipped mug is claimed and filled with water, though apparently not for drinking. Dipping her fingers into the mug, she then swipes damp fingers across the back of her neck. An appreciative bugle from Tavalith is the draconic equivilent of a 'woo-hoo!' Admiring the daredevil flying of the green ahead, but his own as boring as his appearance, saving his agility for changes in direction and putting all his effort into speed.
Shiala pads directly to the small sidetable, scooping up a handful of mixed nuts and tossing a few into her mouth. On her way past Kai, the bluerider slants an ambiguous look his way: appraising, sympathetic, it's all the same to her as she flips her chosen seat around and drapes legs across it, crossing arms along the chair's back. Antanth follows as closely to the mountain's side as he dares, although not as impressively so as Chielyth, and his snap-winged pull from the dive is a beat too slow to gain any significant edge. The older blue works just that much harder for the foreshortened length of his wings; upward speed is regained soon enough, soon enough.
That woo-hoo of Tavalith's is echoed by the wide open mental glee that ripples outward from Jekzith as the flight starts to really get into gear. He's wily enough to use air currents as much as possible to make more speed, experienced enough to not /quite/ match what Chielyth does, but reckless and into it enough, to make use of the agility he does have to pull out an impressive trick or two. The tip of his tail, flicks at a treetop on the way by, leaving it swaying and shedding needles in his wake as he lifts upward after Chielyth, mind full of the rush of the wind and the sheer fun of flying so.
Taineth doesn't tend toward a variety of acrobatics and he's not going to start now. He stays relatively high still but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate the way that Chielyth moves. And he does, very much, but more with the general feeling of it and the dancing, sparkling lights of his presence than with words. Ch'son closed his eyes at some point, much better to focus on the breakneck speed of the bronze above than anyone here.
Chielyth leads her pack down and down and down the mountain, cutting west through canyons and north above a field of rubble. She's either fearless or goaded by instinct, for whenever the chance comes to fly /closer/ to something she does whether it be cliff face or tree or beckoning waterfall. Only the males does she avoid, and only as the mountains drop away does she seriously climb for the skies, jinking and darting as she does.
B'kaiv stops just an arm's length from the bed, and with one last shake of his head his muttering quiets, his eyes drift closed. Only his fingers twitch now, mirrors of Chielyth's wings as she cuts through the sky.
Mohraith kinda starts to wise up as things progress. Chielyth may be flying close-as-lovers to all that scenery, but he's got a mind to steer a little wider now that he's figured out the game. What he hasn't figured out is that, eventually, she's going to have to climb again, so any shot this brown has is going to amount to blind luck catching her in the crossfire: she's coming up, he's still trying to arrest downward momentum from all that diving. It'd be graceless at best. If M'try looks even remotely hopeful inside, with his head hung far forward so it's hard to see his expression anyway, it's probably more to the tune of 'oh please spare me' than 'yay! I so hope we win!'
Some of those moves of Chielyth's are matched, some not as Jekzith flies on, though he does in fact cotton to the fact that she's going to head upward again at some point. Most greens do. Mountains drop away behind them all and here where it's clear, his wingsails stretch wide to find /speed/ as he jinks after Chielyth in turn, making a guessing game of it. Going here? No? There? Yes! Every time she changes direction, he's aiming to cut off some more distance and there's a vocalized croon of invitation, let's slide /that/ way! All in good fun of course.
Dragon> To Chielyth, Jekzith slides the happy thought of fast flying shared across the mental ether, the colors in his mind all electric blues shot through with gold.
Antanth whistles his own appreciation, bright and loud, as he jostles shoulders with an encroaching brown. There's brief tousle -- a snap of teeth -- a vicious snarl -- then quickly the blue's attention fixes on Chielyth, making a renewed effort to slice upward, slender wings cutting through air, dodging wobbling treetops and skimming waterfall's mist. His bid for height mirrors Chielyth's own; if Antanth makes the catch, it'll be by dint of fortunate air currents and a last burst of the blue's foundering energies. Shiala edges in her seat, now eyeing up Kai with unrepentant eagerness as she clasps her arms tighter, hugging the chair's back close to her chest and scooting the toes of her boots along the floor.
Tavalith has been steady, keeping up but that's about it. The skims and quick darts watched closely, the turns echoed but the fancy tricks left untried. Studying, waiting, and more importantly, saving himself. Oh yes, it is a joy to fly, he'll agree with Jekzith on that. But isn't it wiser to save one's moves for the most advantageous moment? Tavalith certainly thinks so. Heading higher he suddenly does something other than a straight line, wings cupping to send him into a barrel-roll to take him out of a collision-course with Mohraith. Snapping wide again and a downbeat to regain what forward momentum was lost, he's angling to slide up in Chielyth's blindspot while others squabble. Amarys, just drips water down her throat, her gaze fixed on B'kaiv.
Taineth still isn't trying to match any of those moves in particular. The main idea is just to get close enough to make her his anyway. As the rest come skywards again, the small bronze aims himself more directly in the green's direction, wings flattening closer to his body when the opportunity for a dive presents itself. Ch'son keeps his eyes closed, possibly even tighter than they were a few moments ago. And now his arms are crossed over his chest with one hand up to hold his face in.
Chielyth tires, as all greens must, especially those that have been showing off as she has been. She's long past by the time Mohraith dives to where she was, spirals away from Taineth just as the bronze comes into range, and drops away from the other Istan's reach as well. Tavalith comes closest, unseen as he is until the last moment, but with one last twist of her wings, one final attempt to escape, Chielyth all but flings herself into Antanth's path.
While Tavalith drops away with a mental backwash of sulky disappointment for Antanth's luck, Amarys dumps what's left of her water over her own head, fingers of her free hand tousling through her short hair. "Damn the luck!" she mutters, unconscious echo of her blue as she pushes up out of her chair and makes for the exit.
Jekzith stays with the chase until the very last moment, until it's obvious that there won't be any shared fun today. All this time, P'draig's been pressed against the wall, at first casually, then with palms flat to stone. In the wake of things, he takes a deep breath and pushes away from that wall. For a moment his balance seems unsteady, like he's forgotten how to use his legs, then he's heading back out the way they came in and the bowl beyond, while Jekzith glides down toward the newly restored lake to cool off.
When: day 22, month 6, turn 23 of the 10th interval
Where: Bowl, Fort Weyr
What: Kai starts to get up in Paddy's grill about Hattie. Because Kai's proddy, Paddy doesn't really take it very seriously.
Southern Bowl, Fort Weyr(#675RJLs$)
This end of the bowl is grassy and serene with the pretty blue of the lake nearby as a draw for residents, riders and dragons alike. Since the earthslide collapsed in the spring of turn 23, a dramatic view of the mountain slopes that circle the Weyr has opened up beyond the lake.
The feeding grounds are fenced off to on the northeastern end of the lake, just a short walk from the weyrling barracks, the Weyrleader's complex, the hatching complex, living cavern, and infirmary.
Currently, areas of the bowl wall where the mud slid away are blocked off by barricades and scaffoldings where construction is taking place. The gardens are open once more, though a lot of work remains to bring them back to their former glory.
A hot, muggy afternoon for Fort is--for once--rainless, though if the weather continues like this the residents will probably be begging for a storm to clear the humidity. Chielyth rests in the eastern side of the bowl, away from both lake and weyrling barracks, though she is by no means sleeping. Instead she's watching the traffic, tail flipping and eyes touched with more than a little red. Her rider sits in the curve of her belly, whittling a stick.
Likewise watching Chielyth is a foreign brown, though Jekzith's scrutiny is intermittent because he's sitting by the lake investigating /yet again/ all of the changes that have been made to it. The brown keeps nudging his nose at the surface of the water, sliding one forepaw through it and then stopping, angling his head to observe the pretty little green. Now and then a friendly bubble slides her way carrying thoughts of flying and dipping wingtips through water. Her rider crosses the bowl, looking a little warm, cheeks flushed, hairline damp. P'draig's jacket is slung over his shoulder, one hand holding it lightly in place, shirtfront bedecked with the sure signs of someone who just spent a little while taking care of a baby. He looks toward Chielyth's restless tailtip, notes the eye color and gives her a careful space cushion as he heads Jekzith's way.
Chielyth /wants/ to take him up on the swimming, but /someone/ says no (violet, larkspur). She wants to go /flying/ too, but Kai is repressing that idea even more firmly, and the urge isn't yet strong enough to send her up willy-nilly. So she just watches Jekzith instead, watches the weyrlings, watches everyone else at Fort flying away and having fun while /she/ sits in the bowl and -frets-. Kai doesn't seem to be particularly enjoying his afternoon off, if the force with which he slices at the wood is any indication. If he's carving anything, it can't be more than a toothpick. Catching sight of the other rider he tracks him for a few feet, eyes narrowed, before clambering to his feet with a belligerent, "Hey."
P'draig is still heading toward Jekzith by the time Kai 'greets' him and he turns, a faint note of surprise on his face, though that's banished swiftly enough in favor of a polite nod and a casual: "Good day." Jekzith flips a little bit of water up over his nose and then snorts at it, before ducking his head into the lake proper and blows air out through his nostrils to make proper bubbles that froth and foam to the surface. Hey, if Chielyth's rider won't let her have any fun, he can at least make a stab at entertainment.
B'kaiv is perfectly willing to stalk after P'draig, Chielyth slinking along sulkily behind. "He yours?" he demands, leveling a finger at the bubble-creator in the lake. "'Cause if he'd lay off her," jerking a thumb back at Chielyth, "she might be able t' settle. She don't need no help getting antsy, not t'day." As if on cue the green flops down with a put-upon sigh and promptly starts nibbling at a flank. Itchy, itchy, itchy.
"Yes, that's Jekzith," P'draig supplies with a nod and then squints over at Chielyth. "Ahh, the flower-maker," he murmurs, focus a little abstracted before he re-focuses on Kai. "I don't think he's aiming for antsy, but I'll let him know that his efforts to entertain her aren't helping any," the brownrider adds in easygoing fashion. Even as Paddy says this though, the brown is sliding the idea of cool water at least, toward Chielyth to help allay itchiness. Or at least, that's the intent.
"Sharding b-," Kai starts under his breath, only to stop and turn a suspicious glower on the visitors. "You're that one as is bothering Hattie," he decides with a nod toward the north. "Th' Istan. /Shells/." Disgusted, he turns back to Chielyth, absently scratching at an arm. She, on the other hand, stops nibbling to eye Jekzith and whine, plaintive. "I already oiled you - can you just close your eyes or somethin'? Just for a little bit."
There's a soothing rumble from Jekzith to Chielyth and the tenor of his sending changes, the colors in his mind toning down to the sort that often helped to calm errant weyrling dragons. << It'll pass. I could tell you a story? Though P'draid is saying that yours thinks I should stop talking to you. I'm sorry if I'm bothering more than helping. >> Paddy however, extends his free hand toward Kai, ignoring most of the unpleasant in his behavior. "P'draig. Hattie's a good friend," he states simply. "I'm very glad she's doing well and Gethin seems to be growing strong and healthy." Conversationally: "We fly at Ista now, but Jekzith was actually shelled here. He misses the lake." A nod in that direction. "He's still a little confused about what happened to it."
<< I'm /itchy/! >> Chielyth flings back like an over-tired toddler, accompanied by another flurry of violets. << I don't want a story. Khameth tells stories! But he's /busy/! >> Stupid Khameth. Stupid stories! Stupid itch! Her rider narrows his eyes at the hand like the brownrider's offering him snot, and folds his arms instead. "K- B'kaiv. Chielyth. She's my clutchsister, so you just watch yourself." Hattie, presumably, and not his dragon. "He's sharding lucky he's got a lake at all. It were trying t' drain down th' mountain for a while."
Flung statement is sort of absorbed and filtered down by the brown. << That really sucks, >> is his sympathetic answer. << I'm sorry I'm not Khameth, but well, I like making friends, >> he offers helpfully, though he does retreat a little, a subtle distinction that gives Chielyth a little bit of space even as he shoves his head deeper under the water which makes the bubbles appear less on the surface. The refusal of his hand doesn't seem to faze P'draig and he tucks his hand into his pocket instead, adjusts his jacket atop his shoulder. "B'kaiv, well met," is the brownrider's still-polite reply. "I intend to make sure she stays okay. We've got one thing in common, Hattie and I: we both work too much," he comments mildly which might be some form of response to 'watch yourself'. "Mm, it looked that way when we came to help dig, like there might not wind up being a lake. It's good to see it's not going to do that. Used to spend a lot of time skipping stones out here when he couldn't sleep when we were weyrlings."
The green just mutters incoherently and sends a few more bluebells at him, made too fretful by an insistent itch to properly respond. "I'm watching her," the greenrider claims with a jerk of his chin that suggests 'I'm watching -you-' could just as easily have been repeated. "Chielyth's proddy," he adds from nowhere, narrowing his eyes, "and she's probably going up t'day so if you don't want t' get caught in that, you better get going."
"It's good that Hattie has more than one friend to help her out," P'draig answers, still in 'not fazed' mode. "Jekzith noticed," the brownrider agrees about Chielyth's condition. "He picks up on that kind of thing pretty easily. And he likes bluebells." A propos of nothing. This time, rose petals are drifted Chielyth's way in answer to pretty blue flowers. This time though, P'draig seeks to meet Kai's gaze, though his expression remains neutral. "Would you like me to make sure he doesn't chase her?" Because apparently, he's also not bothered by the prospect of his brown chasing or catching.
Chielyth's itch is back, or still there, or /something/: she curls around to nibble at her flank again, ignoring Jekzith's attempts at pacification. Kai unfolds his arms to scratch his own arm, jaw jutting and eyes narrowing at the Istan. "They ain't /flowers/," he claims, despite all mental evidence to the contrary. "She does sharding /flowers/ when she ain't /happy/." So they're... flowers that aren't flowers. "She ain't trying t' be -nice- t' him. And I don't /want/ no sharding Istans catching her, but it ain't like he's gonna have no chance any road, so you can sharding well do what you want!"
"Good to know," P'draig answers placidly. About flowers that aren't flowers. Poor Chielyth. Jekzith? Still underwater. Blowing bubbles. In spite of Miss Flowers over yonder. The brownrider slants a look over at Jekzith briefly, then back at Kai. "Understood," he says simply, gives a nod and then steps away past the cranky greenrider toward his brown, who notably, doesn't actually have any straps on, which might speak to the idea that Paddy wasn't actually aiming to leave just yet.
Coming down the old steps that lead from the solarium, idly twirling a pencil across his knuckles as he goes, looking distracted (not unusual), M'try has no intentions whatsoever of going anywhere near B'kaiv-- which is just kind of a general rule for living as far as he's concerned. Just cutting across the edge of the bowl on his way to the caverns, minding his own business, nothing to see here, folks.
Lurking at what should be a safe distance from the grumpy but highly interesting Chielyth, is one unremarkable looking blue. Average to the point of boring, is Antanth, nothing much to look at. Forefeet flex absently, dragging talons across the ground, but otherwise he doesn't move. just waiting for something interesting to happen.
Approaching from somewhere over yonder, a pair of Malachite riders fresh off duty are stripping down from riding jackets and gloves. Spotting Chielyth, one stalls, mutters something to her companion, and peels off; it leaves Shiala, a not-unattractive early-30s-something to consider the green and her rider. Shading her eyes against the sun, she shadows a look upward while a slender-winged and soot-marked blue curves a corkscrew turn overhead. With an amenable shrug, the bluerider redirects, arrowing toward middle of the bowl.
The small Istan bronze that is Taineth lands with a green flanking his left and waits patiently as Ch'son dismounts. The Istan Weyrleader is mostly focused on the female dismounting her lifemate but the bronze's attention wanders idly in this territory that isn't his, greeting the familiar Jekzith and eyeing the less familiar little itchy green. Once the pretty girl greenrider is off and the dragons seem settled, Ch'son seems more than ready to just be on his way to wherever the pair might be headed.
B'kaiv takes a step after P'draig, one hand curling into a fist. "What's that supposed t' mean?" he demands, while behind him Chielyth rolls onto her belly, itch forgotten. She arches her neck at the gathering dragons, flicks her wings and spares a moment to check beneath each in turn. Kai opens his mouth to demand more when he's hit by an invisible bucket of water: at least, he stops and shakes his head, and blinks to try and refocus, blinks again. "Ah, /shells/. You run outta time." The greenrider lifts a hand to his face and turns slowly, eyes drifting across body, body, body, until he orients to the flight cave's entrance.
M'try's, "I don't think this is a good idea," is very much eclipsed by Mohraith's brassy, << I DO! >> Feeling his oats as he is, super-stud brown somehow thinks his 33 feet is liable to keep pace with Chielyth's 20, radiating buoyant confidence to all the other dragons in range, Fortian, Istan, who cares. Fiddling until he can put the pencil into the satchel, fumbling the action, his rider dallies that much longer, happy to be at the rear of the crew liable to be following B'kaiv into said flight cave. A cigarette and a blindfold would complete the dead-man-walking look assumed in his leadfooted pace.
There's nothing really to indicate that the woman with the ginger bob walking across the bowl is in fact a dragonrider. For starters, Amarys is wearing a dress; very much off-duty. Mid-to-late thirties, tall and kind of rangy, the Carnelian rider appears to be talking to herself, mouth moving and hands gesticulating. That easily-overlooked blue lifts his head a bit higher, flicking his tail up and then smacking it back down on the ground again, feet still flexing.
Looking back over his shoulder, P'draig looks like he was about to answer when Chielyth gathers herself. He stops in his tracks, because of course, Jekzith who hasn't seemed overly into it up until now, just sociable, has pulled his head out of the water and dripping still, re-orients on Chielyth like she's some sort of green homing beacon and starts to trot in her direction. One of Paddy's shoulders hitches upward and his arm uncurls, jacket twitched around to fold over both of his arms. A thread of tension finally slides its way down P'draig's spine but he keeps his expression neutral as he turns toward the cave where he went through his own first flight turns ago. Ch'son comes into view then and the brownrider briefly tosses off a salute to his Weyrleader.
Shiala's blue Antanth draws up against the bowl wall, settling on a stone outcropping nearby and rustling his wings against his body. His rider, nonchalant, threads a leather tie between her fingers and as she bears in the general direction of the flight weyr, she collects straight dark hair and pulls it back into a loose pony tail. Jacket's draped over her shoulder, gloves jammed into one pocket, and if Shiala's lucky her easy, long-legged strides will intersect rather neatly with B'kaiv's.
Taineth keeps his attention focused on Chielyth but there's very little other indication that he's overly interested in the green. At least right up until he spreads his wings and goes to help himself to a Fortian herdbeast. Ch'son pauses mid-stride with a tense nod for P'draig and then a glance at his companion. "Uh, wait for me?" he says to her with a lop-sided grin that she clearly doesn't think is very charming. She turns away and so does Chaes to follow along with the others headed toward the flight cave.
Chielyth gives a shake, rather like Kai, and leaps smoothly into the air, angling for the feeding pens. She makes short work of one aged wherry, greedily blooding as she pretends not to watch her suitors. What she thinks of them - brown, brown, bronze, blue, blue - she doesn't say, only crouches and is aloft with scarcely any warning. It's not for the skies she makes, but for the wide gash left in Fort's bowl, her path taking her screamingly close to the walls before she breaks into freedom. Her rider doesn't even look back at the others but makes for the privacy of the flight cave, only barely aware of his surroundings and with hands fidgeting across hair and face.
It's Taineth, not Chielyth, that finally spurs Tavalith into doing more than sitting there and twitching. Plain mid-blue wings stretching wide, he launches himself up only to arrow down immediately into the pens, his 'choice' simply being the first creature that gets within range of his talons, his jaws clamping down on its throat to drain its lifeblood. With his attention riveted upon the lady of the hour, once she's clear he's after her with a hiss and a lash of his tail. Amarys has stopped talking by the time she swings into range of the little group trooping towards the flight cave, a confident lift to her head and a cocky sway in her hips as she eyes up the 'competition.'
That M'try would rather be anywhere else on the planet right now really has no bearing on Mohraith's involvement in this Flight. The brownrider skulks his way in along with the rest, keeping as close to the door as possible without actually being in the entrance; the dragon has a good time throttling a couple of herdbeasts, making a lot of messes on the ground where he romps, then-- surprised by the suddenness-- bounds up after Chielyth, broadcasting on a wide band everything from that surprise to a flash of worry when he nearly clips the wall of the bowl in the green's wake, whoops!
Antanth, clinging to the bowl's cliff wall with splayed talons, launches in a spray of dust and pebbles when Chielyth makes her kill. Two sharp wingbeats, and the blue glides over the corrals; he plummets into a wherry, dispatching the animal with industrious neatness and then he, too, catapults skyward. A tuck-winged roll carries him through the bowl wall's rift, and the small blue trills noisily. Below, Shiala spares her blue only the briefest of glances, languid back over her shoulder while her lips quirk into an indulgent smile. There's a curt nod for Amarys and M'try; then, a look lingering on Istan knots.
B'kaiv pages: |When the green takes off, Taineth abandons his blooded herdbeast and launches skywards with a powerful leap. He doesn't follow her directly but angles higher to take a place he prefers above the rest as much as he can manage. Ch'son is uncharacteristically subdued and quiet as he follows and eventually takes to holding up a bit of wall toward the entrance. Maybe he's realizes whose green it is that his lifemate has taken an interest in. (all done!)
Jekzith's suddenly all there with Chielyth's leap into the pens and maple-hued brown wings snap open to loft him in the same direction. His own kill is made quickly, without fuss, blood practically inhaled and the carcass abandoned as the green hurtles for the bowl's open wound. He might be one of the longest dragons in this flight, but the motley-hued brown boasts startlingly fluid mobility for all that as he slides through still-familiar air-currents after Chielyth, wingtips waggling boldly as he slips between arms of stone and out into the open, part of the fray. As for Paddy, he walks toward the cave at a steady pace, neither hurried nor dragging and once inside, steps a bit further in to claim another patch of wall.
Flight Cave, Fort Weyr(#2051RJs$)
This small, ground-level cavern has one use and one use only: it's for flights. The headwoman's staff keeps the place neat and tidy, but otherwise, the space is very clearly set up for its sole purpose. The bedframe is a double, sturdy, but has seen better days, with plenty of nicks and scratches in the wood. The linens are plain, undyed, cheap fiber, easy to wash, easy to replace.
Several chairs, all of the repaired, second-hand variety stand against the walls and a table holds a pitcher of water and a selection of chipped mugs as well as a seasonal fruit and a couple of bowls of nuts. The glows in here are usually a bit dim, older ones that have been changed out of more trafficked areas of the Weyr but not completely depleted yet. A small hearth also provides heat in the colder months, with logs and coal both kept supplied for use at any time.
B'kaiv heads for the far side of the cave, swearing under his breath at everyone and no one. A hand tugs restlessly at his collar but doesn't--or can't--undo buttons; his other trails aimlessly toward the wall without actually being close enough to reach either it or any of the chairs. Meanwhile Chielyth darts down the mountainside, suicidally close to some of those trees. Only when the ground abruptly drops beneath her does she abandon it for the skies, twisting and turning as only a green can. She seems determined to show off every trick in her repertoire, and at twice normal speed.
Mohraith is no green and, though he's certainly not the biggest brown on the books, he's not about to try doing what Chielyth's doing. He flattens his wings along his side, dives as low as he dares-- more than a few 'lengths above the green's hardline-- and veers back up again with snapped open 'sails, rumbling that now he's got to climb all the way back up, puff and puff. Inside, it's enough for M'try to stare at his boots. Not at Kai, not at Istans, just at his boots.
Experienced enough to maintain her composure pretty well, confining herself to smirky glances at fellow chaser-lifemates and admiring ones at B'kaiv's broad shoulders, Amarys pulls out a chair for herself and settles into it. A chipped mug is claimed and filled with water, though apparently not for drinking. Dipping her fingers into the mug, she then swipes damp fingers across the back of her neck. An appreciative bugle from Tavalith is the draconic equivilent of a 'woo-hoo!' Admiring the daredevil flying of the green ahead, but his own as boring as his appearance, saving his agility for changes in direction and putting all his effort into speed.
Shiala pads directly to the small sidetable, scooping up a handful of mixed nuts and tossing a few into her mouth. On her way past Kai, the bluerider slants an ambiguous look his way: appraising, sympathetic, it's all the same to her as she flips her chosen seat around and drapes legs across it, crossing arms along the chair's back. Antanth follows as closely to the mountain's side as he dares, although not as impressively so as Chielyth, and his snap-winged pull from the dive is a beat too slow to gain any significant edge. The older blue works just that much harder for the foreshortened length of his wings; upward speed is regained soon enough, soon enough.
That woo-hoo of Tavalith's is echoed by the wide open mental glee that ripples outward from Jekzith as the flight starts to really get into gear. He's wily enough to use air currents as much as possible to make more speed, experienced enough to not /quite/ match what Chielyth does, but reckless and into it enough, to make use of the agility he does have to pull out an impressive trick or two. The tip of his tail, flicks at a treetop on the way by, leaving it swaying and shedding needles in his wake as he lifts upward after Chielyth, mind full of the rush of the wind and the sheer fun of flying so.
Taineth doesn't tend toward a variety of acrobatics and he's not going to start now. He stays relatively high still but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate the way that Chielyth moves. And he does, very much, but more with the general feeling of it and the dancing, sparkling lights of his presence than with words. Ch'son closed his eyes at some point, much better to focus on the breakneck speed of the bronze above than anyone here.
Chielyth leads her pack down and down and down the mountain, cutting west through canyons and north above a field of rubble. She's either fearless or goaded by instinct, for whenever the chance comes to fly /closer/ to something she does whether it be cliff face or tree or beckoning waterfall. Only the males does she avoid, and only as the mountains drop away does she seriously climb for the skies, jinking and darting as she does.
B'kaiv stops just an arm's length from the bed, and with one last shake of his head his muttering quiets, his eyes drift closed. Only his fingers twitch now, mirrors of Chielyth's wings as she cuts through the sky.
Mohraith kinda starts to wise up as things progress. Chielyth may be flying close-as-lovers to all that scenery, but he's got a mind to steer a little wider now that he's figured out the game. What he hasn't figured out is that, eventually, she's going to have to climb again, so any shot this brown has is going to amount to blind luck catching her in the crossfire: she's coming up, he's still trying to arrest downward momentum from all that diving. It'd be graceless at best. If M'try looks even remotely hopeful inside, with his head hung far forward so it's hard to see his expression anyway, it's probably more to the tune of 'oh please spare me' than 'yay! I so hope we win!'
Some of those moves of Chielyth's are matched, some not as Jekzith flies on, though he does in fact cotton to the fact that she's going to head upward again at some point. Most greens do. Mountains drop away behind them all and here where it's clear, his wingsails stretch wide to find /speed/ as he jinks after Chielyth in turn, making a guessing game of it. Going here? No? There? Yes! Every time she changes direction, he's aiming to cut off some more distance and there's a vocalized croon of invitation, let's slide /that/ way! All in good fun of course.
Dragon> To Chielyth, Jekzith slides the happy thought of fast flying shared across the mental ether, the colors in his mind all electric blues shot through with gold.
Antanth whistles his own appreciation, bright and loud, as he jostles shoulders with an encroaching brown. There's brief tousle -- a snap of teeth -- a vicious snarl -- then quickly the blue's attention fixes on Chielyth, making a renewed effort to slice upward, slender wings cutting through air, dodging wobbling treetops and skimming waterfall's mist. His bid for height mirrors Chielyth's own; if Antanth makes the catch, it'll be by dint of fortunate air currents and a last burst of the blue's foundering energies. Shiala edges in her seat, now eyeing up Kai with unrepentant eagerness as she clasps her arms tighter, hugging the chair's back close to her chest and scooting the toes of her boots along the floor.
Tavalith has been steady, keeping up but that's about it. The skims and quick darts watched closely, the turns echoed but the fancy tricks left untried. Studying, waiting, and more importantly, saving himself. Oh yes, it is a joy to fly, he'll agree with Jekzith on that. But isn't it wiser to save one's moves for the most advantageous moment? Tavalith certainly thinks so. Heading higher he suddenly does something other than a straight line, wings cupping to send him into a barrel-roll to take him out of a collision-course with Mohraith. Snapping wide again and a downbeat to regain what forward momentum was lost, he's angling to slide up in Chielyth's blindspot while others squabble. Amarys, just drips water down her throat, her gaze fixed on B'kaiv.
Taineth still isn't trying to match any of those moves in particular. The main idea is just to get close enough to make her his anyway. As the rest come skywards again, the small bronze aims himself more directly in the green's direction, wings flattening closer to his body when the opportunity for a dive presents itself. Ch'son keeps his eyes closed, possibly even tighter than they were a few moments ago. And now his arms are crossed over his chest with one hand up to hold his face in.
Chielyth tires, as all greens must, especially those that have been showing off as she has been. She's long past by the time Mohraith dives to where she was, spirals away from Taineth just as the bronze comes into range, and drops away from the other Istan's reach as well. Tavalith comes closest, unseen as he is until the last moment, but with one last twist of her wings, one final attempt to escape, Chielyth all but flings herself into Antanth's path.
While Tavalith drops away with a mental backwash of sulky disappointment for Antanth's luck, Amarys dumps what's left of her water over her own head, fingers of her free hand tousling through her short hair. "Damn the luck!" she mutters, unconscious echo of her blue as she pushes up out of her chair and makes for the exit.
Jekzith stays with the chase until the very last moment, until it's obvious that there won't be any shared fun today. All this time, P'draig's been pressed against the wall, at first casually, then with palms flat to stone. In the wake of things, he takes a deep breath and pushes away from that wall. For a moment his balance seems unsteady, like he's forgotten how to use his legs, then he's heading back out the way they came in and the bowl beyond, while Jekzith glides down toward the newly restored lake to cool off.