Log: Aath's Flight
Who: P'draig, S'reit, Yaria, Caitlyn, T'mic, Aath, Erdeth, Jekzith, Kintryth, Malicith
When: 21:00 on day 6, month 6, Turn 14, of the 10th Interval
Where: SandBar/Beach/Guest Weyr, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy's down having a drink at the SandBar when Aath gets her groove on. S'reit is unimpressed by the Fortian Weyrlingmaster.
Ista Weyr -- The Sandbar(#4182RJM)
This dockside tavern stretches over the water, accessible from beach, docks or harbour itself. The light sound of slapping waves can be heard beneath the floorboards, and there are no walls, allowing tropical breezes to waft through and indulging patrons in panoramic ocean views. The carved wooden bar takes up the north end of the room, covered with a wood and reed roof that protects it from impromptu showers. The rest of the booths rest along the outside of the floor, all situated to be oceanside and set with brightly coloured cushions. The thatched wood roof continues along those booths leaving the center of the area open-air, though a metal canopy rests along the outside of one wall, ready to be drawn atop for rain or Threadfall. Further to the north and south the beach continues on for kilometers, black sand tinged a ruddy red with the blazing light of a fading sunset. Waves wash upon the beach with a steady roar, sending spray flying into the air at the furthest end of the beach to the south where a collection of rocks litter the shoreline.
Over by the bar, one Fortian sits in a loose straddle of his bar stool, an empty ale mug at hand. He's got a bit of an absent look to him, as if he's either in contact with his dragon or just lost in thought. The barkeep comes back with a full mug, setting it down in front of the brownrider and P'draig's eyes focus suddenly, settling on the full vessel. "Thanks!" he says brightly and flips some coin onto the surface of the bar.
Jekzith> Quite a ways up the coastline a thin ribbon of blue lies in a curled, tangled-seeming pile, for all the world indifferent to Istan dragons and their Istan ways. Malicith's eyes are narrowed, focused on the waves rolling in onto the shore. The gathering sunset casts his hide in shades of violet and wine, azure wingsails occasionally lofted by a breeze.
Jekzith> Jekzith is out in the water, jumping waves, enjoying a fine Istan evening, the late sunset gleams on the water, highlighting the waves and burnishing the maple hue of his wings, bringing out in sharp relief the motley shades that make out his hide.
Jekzith> Erdeth is lazily watching Aath. no cunning plan for him, but a glimmer of suspicion in his eyes, as he turns his head and directs a snort towards the Sandbar. Yaria appears in a moment, absently wiping the foam of ale from her mouth. "What," she asks aloud. "Blowed if I know, Erd." She's not quite three sheets to the wind, though it's a good thing the dock isn't rocking as she starts towards the beach. "Ask Eileyth - oh, it is /not/ a dumb idea! Just 'member we've got dawn sweeps, and V'lien'll skin us if we miss it."
The cold-bred bluerider does not care to be here. He has made it abundantly clear, sneering at the drink he's been served, glaring at the sunset as though its daring to be so lovely is against all that's right on Pern. Still S'reit's -here,- and he suffers being -here- only twitchingly, turning in his chair every time footsteps mark a customer coming or going from the bar. Each time one of those people isn't the one he's evidently waiting on, he snarls softly and mutters uncharitably to himself about lazy island folk.
Fort Weyr> C'nroy sets out a tray of mugs of hot chocolate (and one herbal tea for Jenna :) )
Dragon> Jekzith, Malicith, Erdeth, and Kintryth sense that Aath says sharply (so much for being asleep), << You are IN my LIGHT. >> No cuddles and coos from her tonight - tonight her best friends have sharp sharp edges. Don't get too close and be cut, boys.
P'draig's eyes slide S'reit's way and stay there for a moment, a slight frown evidence doubtless, of his confusion over why the fellow looks familiar. Still the bluerider's unpleasant manner doesn't invite conversation so for now, the Fortian keeps to himself. He lifts the fresh mug of ale to his lips and sips letting out a contented sigh for the stuff's flavor.
Dragon> Flight sense that Jekzith has just hopped another wave, but Aath's demanding mental 'shout' distracts to say the least and he misses. << Your light? >> Puzzled. Very puzzled. << There is plenty of sunshine for everyone. >>
Jekzith> The ribbon of blue, at some length, raises his head and turns a glance toward the loudspoken green basking down shore. His regard weighs upon her a long moment, unblinking, and something is in that space doubtless conveyed unto her alone. Then he slinks to his feet, long limbs unfolding from beneath his slender body, and reaches out one foreleg. He gestures to her with a grasping of claws almost obscene, then stretches his wings in fashion most unsubtle.
Dragon> Jekzith, Malicith, Kintryth, and Aath sense that Erdeth quickly squashes a tendril of amusement at Aath's irritation. In answer, he sends an image of the setting sun playing peekaboo in the clouds. Bad sun. No biscuit. This followed by a whimsical image of himself fanning the clouds away with outsized wings.
Jekzith> Yaria mutters to herself and starts up the path to the Weyr. At least she had the good sense to bring the ale along for the ride.
Jekzith> Kintryth calls no-one's attention to himself, even though his form is apparent as it contrasts with the black sands. He is most certainly not in Aath's waning sunlight, but for now he simply humors her ire, continuing to flex those claws into the earth
Jekzith> Yaria walks up the long winding path to the top of the plateau.
"Ashes," spits the Igenite intruder, getting to his feet in a hasty move that sends his chair skittering a few noisy inches behind him. "Tasteless, pithy, precious scrap!" He slams down his half-finished drink on the table, causing a glance up from the bartender. But in a moment it's clear S'reit's fury is not with the drink. He's starting for the beach the shortest route possible - through the tables, past the bar, between the beams that hold up the wall-less roof, never mind the formality of the door. "Not a speck of manners taught, all lazing around drinking," the hiss on this word might feel a little pointed as the man passes by that Fortian with the good-sized knot, "like there's all the time in the world." Stomp stomp stomp.
Jekzith> Jekzith lingers out in the water, still puzzled by Aath's complaint then a clue dawns and he swims in for shore, eyes slow-whirling, still blue, with only the faintest hint of lavendar to them. He's coming, he's coming.
P'draig quirks a look over at S'reit. "No there isn't so you have to take advantage of the time you've got eh?" He squints at the bluerider some more. "Aren't you from the Reaches?" Incongruous to what's going out on the beach, the Fortian doesn't seem about to budge.
Dragon> Jekzith, Malicith, Erdeth, and Kintryth sense that Aath slaps glittering rebuttals at Jekzith and Kintryth. << You ARE. And do not make me WET. >> Malicith gets an outraged squeal, no more coherent than, << OH! >> Only Erdeth, unfamiliar Erdeth, earns any sort of softness from the green, and that's merely a haughty, << /Thank/ you. >> Dear others: /See/ how you treat a lady? Hearts and flowers, Aath.
The bluerider whirls in place, boots squeaking against each other at heel and toe. "No," he informs the Fortian, too fast, too defensively. "Aren't you from the pits?" He's coming back now, a you-want-a-piece-of-me swagger in the bend of his knees and loft of his shoulders. But his eyes are narrowing as he comes; maybe the familiarity is remotely reciprocated. With suspicion, mostly. "Why," he hisses, still stalking.
Dragon> Jekzith, Erdeth, Kintryth, and Aath sense that Malicith reflects quietly upon the lady's remarks. << Could they even, >> he asks in time, rhetorically, a softspoken aside meant to inspire no replies. Snickers, if you wish, but no replies.
Jekzith> The slender outweyr blue leans back onto his haunches, spreading his wings wider yet so the sails catch what breeze there may be and ripple in its dancing embrace. He raises his head to the sky, nostrils open wide to welcome the island air, to taste it, to estimate its ways and wiles. He pays no mind, none evinced in his shape in any case, to what may transpire among the other males and their green, self-elected source of light.
Jekzith> Erdeth doesn't puff up. Instead he simply, laconically rises and shakes the sand off himself, careful to avoid spraying any in Aath's direction. He stretches his wings slowly, carefully, testing out their width, even as he keeps his attention where it should be: on Aath.
P'draig is unfazed by S'reit's manner and he nods a few times. "You are from the Reaches. I'm pretty sure I remember you. I grew up there." P'draig offers with a shrug. "P'draig, brown Jekzith's, Emilly, green Sionath's, is my mother." Ale to lips again though his leg is jumping a little as he tries to maintain calm, though if it's because of the bluerider or Jekzith is uncertain.
Jekzith> Kintryth spreads his own camoflauge wings wide, ready to rise after Aath when she deems ready to ascend. Her rantings are seemingly ignored, the experienced blue unwilling to move an inch or be swayed by the green's irateness. 'I'm no offense,' his small body - posture seem to say to her, to others.
Jekzith> Jekzith pads up from the water, politely hanging back enough as he shakes water off himself, little droplets of the stuff flying away like diamonds. << You don't need any light to ... shine brightly. >> There. He's come up with a decent compliment. Phew. More water shaken from long wings and the Fortian brown sits 'at attention' waiting for Aath to decide when she's lifting off.
"Emilly." S'reit speaks her name, but mouths the name of her dragon thereafter - and that gains better recognition of some stripe. An ugly stripe, by the narrowing of his keen clarion eyes and the angry curl of a smile quirked in the corner of his mouth. "Yeah," he affirms; his stalking halts a few feet from the brownrider. He lays a hand on a nearby chair-back and leans a little, looking down at his knuckles with a furied intensity for a moment before looking back up. "You have babies to tend," he notes, next, the words something like an indictment.
"Twelve weyrlings and one three month old infant," P'draig confirms. "This is my night off. Two assistants with the former, nanny with the latter." Easygoing still as he explains this and takes another drink. "Bad day?" he inquires next, leg starting to bounce even faster.
Jekzith> Aath was -sleeping-, she was /sleeping/, on the -beach- where everyone could -see her-. And now? Now there's shadow! Shade! Utter depthless blackness! With a shriek she uncurls from her pretense, posing for one brief breathless heartbeat on the black Istan sands. And then she's up, away, reaching for the last of the sunset in the sky above.
Jekzith> And Kintryth is following right after the glittering, diamondine Aath, clacking his teeth together in challenge at the other gathered males as his reaching wings buffet black sand up into the air at his fast ascent.
Jekzith> Erdeth had wings out and vaned, and as such, wasn't caught too off-guard when Aath makes her break for the sunset. His too delicate feet don't give him too much of a push off, however, and he hunts for a thermal to send him further aloft with minimal effort. This close to the ocean, they're easy to find, and he rides the elevator high, higher, highest; ripping one of those clouds so offending Aath to shreds as he does.
Unfairly, inappropriately noble brows arch in slender curves high over those mean eyes; the bluerider's forehead resolves into a series of haughty wrinkles. "And an infant," he affirms, sneer ready in the corner of his thin lips, tucked away for another moment. A beat. "No." S'reit's nose wrinkles too, much like the forehead, but with even greater distaste. "Not - " And then his head snaps back and he looks up into the rafters and thatch of the bar's roof. "Ashes," he spits again. "Are you -coming?-" Although the Igenite's not on his way anywhere yet, his boots apparently fixed to the floor.
Jekzith> Jekzith is still sitting there, tail half-curled, like a guard-canine on watch. He croons softly, appreciation of the simple kind floating in his mind and then, oh there she goes and she really does look really really pretty catching those last rays of the sun, even if there's dappling shade to contend with. He almost forgets to take off actually, enthralled by watching her sharp angle upward, then he remembers. You're supposed to /chase/ her you dolt. Springing lightly into the air, maple wings cup the wind, sending him sailing afterward, his sending one of wordless delight at fun of the chase.
P'draig tilts his mug back. "Hm. Well. Good luck then." Pause. "No. Not unless, and until, I absolutely have to." Calm still, a little sheen of sweat has nevertheless broken out on the brownrider's forehead and his eyes swing out to the beach, breath suddenly short.
Jekzith> Malicith sinks as the others rise, but it was he who already was held high with his haunches set. Lowering his weight into those muscles merely coils the spring that fuels his leap, and upon its great unwinding the ribbon of blue is skybound, slithering up into the imminent ultramarine of night.
"This," seethes S'reit, turning and tilting down his head for another narrow look at the brownrider, "is a -bar.-" One hand comes up in a whiplash gesture from his side, palm raised, fingers crooked, a broad gesture meant to illustrate his words for the casual listener or the very dim student. "Have a little respect for the fine art of -getting trashed,-" he suggests, then turns again and starts for the door - it's farther inland than the empty 'wall,' and makes for more dramatic exits.
"Not getting trashed," notes P'draig to S'reit's back, eyeing the bluerider with a hint of amusement. He watches the him go, then squints out over the water and murmurs something barely audible: "Jekzith ... why're you always getting me in trouble at /Ista/?"
Jekzith> Aath rockets upward like a falling star returning home. She gives her admirers no second glance, leaving them to follow along or not, as the mood should take them. She wings almost straight up, arrowing over the water rather than the Weyr, giving the males an excellent mark to chase, dark green against still-pale sky.
Jekzith> Ooooh, they're going over the water. Fun. Jekzith rather than beating tracks to catch up, strategize or otherwise tightly pursue Aath, dives down close to the surface of the waves, skimming along and tapping his tail downward to lift happy foam into the air. Life is good. He soars upwards then, a sharp angle really as he locates shimmering Aath in his peripheral vision and shares the feeling of wind slipping along wings, his view of her, caught in a prism of dying sunlight. There she is, there they all are, dancing through the sky. Joy.
Jekzith> Kintryth takes more of a direct interest in Aath's flight than in some of the former greenflights he's attended, the wily blue angling in with wings, tooth, and claws across the main flight of males in the fore, seeking to cut like a knife through them to disperse and confuse. The maneuver seems to work with some of them, sending another blue, a large brown, and an unfortunate bronze veering off and away at Kint's brutal tactic.
Jekzith> Erdeth's willowy form knifes through the air, following under and at Aath's 'nine-o-clock'. As such, he has a glorious eyeful of her haunches and tail. The large brown Kintryth vanquished causes him to dip a shoulder joint and dodge around, loosing some forward momentum, even as that thermal shoots him up into the sunset. Craning his neck, he casts around for Aath, now more at 'eleven', but at least two dragonlengths back from the main pack.
"Have it your way," the bluerider says with another broad gesture of that clawed hand, the roll of his eyes hidden by the turn of his back from the Fortian weyrlingmaster. Then S'reit's gone, striding up the beach toward the rising mount of the Weyr.
Jekzith> The Igenite blue indulges a time in the deep of the dark rising from the east, then keels around west toward the light. Now he chases in earnest, wicked intentions streaming from his mind just as his tail streams like a sinuous string playing on the breeze in his wake. His broad wings make short work of the wind and the rosy light of sunset casts him from below and before into high relief, highlighting and shadowing every ribcage curve, every knobby backbone, every ridge and joint. << Run, >> he suggests, hardly a literalist in his mean delight.
Large Guest Weyr
This large weyr is big enough to hold a bronze, and is of the number of 'empty' weyrs that serve as places for wing-injured dragons to rest out of the elements. A wide cot is off to one side, and the dragon-couch fills most of the high-ceilinged Weyr. Several low tables and benches line the southwestern wall. The warm hazy light of sunset can be seen filling the air outside.
Jekzith> Aath could be alone for all the attention she pays to the scrum behind her. Onward, upward she stretches, seeking out that last, elusive ray of light, the loving caress of the sun that will make her glow.
T'mic pulls up on the far end of the room, a hand reaching out to slap the bed before he whirls. "One," he says, eyes lighting on Yaria, and Caitlyn gets, "Two." And yet... something is not right here. His gaze drifts over the rest of the weyr before coming back to Cait, puzzled. "The... there are others, right?"
There are others. One of them comes up now, breathing a mite hard, eyes narrow and glinting with cruel, icy fury. He pauses just past the entryway, maybe an obstacle to he who'll come next, and leans a hand down onto his thigh. So posed he catches his breath - only so he can waste it in a hiss. "Istans," he lets out like a voodoo curse, no duties and respectmongering here.
Caitlyn blinks dumbly at Mic, then smiles reassuringly at him, her dark head bobbing up and down in quick nods. "Yes, there are!" she calls out breathily, "Though Kint chased some of them off before they could make it in." A rough, opulent snicker from the woman, and she now openly eyes the greenrider with some need. The hiss of the foreign man's voice entering grabs Cait's attention, her brows drawing down as she loses her smile - eyeing him as obvious competition.
Have a care, latecomers - someone's left cow-pie tracked footprints across the weyr - if, of course, they've any attention for the ground. The tracks end at Yaria, and a glance (or a sniff) would reveal that she's the one that stepped in it. The chunky Igenite is oblivious, however, her entire focus on Erdeth in the skies. Her eyes are turned towards T'mic, though she sees only Aath there, murmuring something about 'sparkles' and 'tail'.
Jekzith> Kintryth must swoop back around to get luscious Aath back in sight - the small blue doing so with a quick drop of one spar and a pivot upon a wingtip. There she is, and little does the glorious green know she isn't simply being pursued...she is being *hunted* - by HIM. He follows now from above and a little behind - planning, strategizing, ready.
Last to arrive, several minutes after S'reit, P'draig doesn't part with whatever company he was keeping, until it's clear Jekzith's fully committed to this flight and even then, he lingers in the doorway a few moments longer, eyeing the interior of the Weyr, perhaps remembering the last time he stood in here and wound up staying. His gaze jumps to T'mic and his lateness allows him to avoid any cow-pieing. Finally he actually comes all the way inside and fetches up against the nearest patch of wall to the entrance: he doesn't expect to be staying this time.
Jekzith> Erdeth loses his helpful thermal, and now has to put wide wings to use. Pushing hard he draws up to the tail end of the pack, drafting a brown. Then his inherant laziness sets in - though he would call it 'strength conservation'. Instead he lets the larger dragon break the air for him as the pack angles up after Aath. As the fading sun begins to flicker on her hide, catching the sparkles, he abruptly pushes ahead and cuts up in front of that helpful brown, forcing him down and out of the flight. Ooooh. Sparkles.
Jekzith> Jekzith lets out another happy warble and angles a little upward again. She glows, yes she does, oh how she glows. His eyes whirl faster, deeper shades of purple finally sinking into the wide-set orbs. A direct contrast to at least two of the dragons in the air, the Fortian brown is all about the thrill of the chase, how much fun it is to actually be out there, how much /more/ fun it'll be to actually slide his tail -- yeah, sparkly. Strategy? Nope. Ain't got none. He slides out of the way of that other dropping brown and catches a little lift of air upward, coming up to about Erdeth's level.
Jekzith> Sparkles. Strategy. Joy. Malicith will have none of these. He has plans, certainly, but they are not those made of clever moves and cunning maneuvers. He has plans for that sparkly, joyous delight arching ever higher over the sunset waves. And they are not, if the gleam of his teeth and the violently spinning violet black of his eyes are any indication, -nice- plans. His oversized wings plough the air, the force of the movement sending great sinewy ripples through his whole body so he travels like a sine wave toward the pale of the western sky.
"Others?" Mic says again as if expecting Cait to produce them out of her pockets like sweets. And look, here they are! The bluerider gets a sweet beam completely unlike his usual toothy grin. "She likes him, you know. He's not Sulizath, but she likes him anyway." Clearly that's meant to be reassuring even as his attention drifts to S'reit and P'draig, each of the men getting a once-over.
Competition he may be, but the crop-topped man with the mean blue eyes looks on Caitlyn first. His nose is wrinkled, but it was wrinkled when he got here - so if S'reit's aware of the earthy reek that Yaria brought in, it's hard to say that's his problem. He advances on the bluerider, shoulders set wide, steps stalking. "Yeah," he tells her, as if she asked a question.
Caitlyn glowers at S'reit a little longer, then turning her head over her shoulder to give and almost simperingly sweet smile back at T'mic. "She does? Oh, that's so *nice*, Mic. He enjoys her diamonds, too!" And then S'reit is actually talking to her, and Cait's attention is again riveted on the Igenite man, her body suddenly tensed in anticipation of some action. "What of it?" she growls back to him challengingly, tauntingly.
P'draig wrinkles his nose just a little at the stink coming off of Yaria and the mess she left tracked through the weyr, but there's plenty of fresher air coming in from the entryway, blissfully close, so it's not too bad where he is. His arms fold over each other and he casts T'mic a wry, apologetic smile before his head drifts back against the rock wall and his eyes close. Letting go. When his eyes open again, he's with Jekzith a silly grin crossing his face. Is anyone else talking?
Yaria is oblivious to any tension in the weyr. Or any cow-pie on her feet. In fact, she's pretty much checked out. Lights're on, but nobody's home. Instead she's got this tiny, almost shy, little grin on her face, watching T'mic. One of those 'I can't wait to unwrap /this/ present' grins, and she shuffles forward hopefully from her position next to the dragon couch.
Jekzith> Even Aath can't outrace the sun. As she strives for heaven the traitorous beams slip away, unable to compete. The sparkles on her wings slowly appear in the sky behind her, silently paying tribute. And in the space between one wingbeat and the next she stops, frozen, brilliantly caught between earth and sky, light and darkness. There she hangs before tumbling, falling, wings making no attempt to find purchase. You want her? Catch her before she's gone.
"You're both," Mic starts in a coo, only to stop in a single caught breath, eyes widening farther than they ought. "...Baby?" His flings his arms open wide as if he'll somehow catch his falling star, terrestrially locked though he might be.
The Igenite bluerider spares a sidelong glance for T'mic, only - it seems - because Caitlyn and he are speaking in apparently conversational tones. "Aw," says S'reit. What of it? Here's what. "Are they sweethearts, then?" A feral grin sneers across his narrow lips, his voice dripping with honey. Then he snaps his attention back to Caitlyn, the faux pleasure gone in a heartbeat. "Get back, beautiful," he snarls, and steps forward to walk right past her - in front of her, as pertains to T'mic's location - toward a particular bit of wall he'd like to lean on.
Jekzith> He finally lets those teasing Aath-sparkles, those diamond-brilliant flashes sway him into action. Kintryth does more than simply appreciate the jeweled green's sudden tumble from the high heavens. He arrows downward part-way towards her to close more distance in a hurry...and then simply retracts his own wings, to plummet after her bewitching form. Uncaring of what other males might be in his way, or that his velocity is dangerously rapid, the camoflauge Istan blue dares all to catch up with the starry-night cloaked Aath, ready to seize the opportunity. To seize her.
Jekzith> Erdeth was still arrowing up, up, up, fully entranced by Aath's glitter and sparkle. As the stars begin to come alive around her, those sparkles he followed are now multiplied. Not expecting her abrupt descent, he's still arching up. Wide wings stroke the air, even his forelimbs getting into the action, pushing out and down, out and down, as he ferociously climbs. If they meet it would be more happenstance than intent, for her brilliance is cloaked in the glamor of the stars, with him still pushing hard to come up under her.
Caitlyn appears ready to bash that look right *through* S'reit's face - her own features set into a righteously ticked-off snarl - her fists tightly closed and raising to do such. Mic is *her* territory, so says Kintryth! "Back OFF, turd..." the wingleader growls when he diverts around her, giving him a rough shouldering aside as she too steps closer to T'mic - who appears to be the center of attention, now.
Jekzith> Up into the gathering darkness, Jekzith seeks the warm glow that is Aath now. She's become the sun in the twilight sky, a beacon amongst the twinkle of appearing stars. And then she's falling, falling, falling, shooting star, tumbling down. The Fortian brown tilts a wingtip, dropping a little, his distraction of all things, paying off as he slides under rising Erdeth, looking to be the one she falls against, to break it before she hits the hard embrace of the waves.
Jekzith> << Perfect. >> Malicith's pleasure is cruelly intense, warmed only by his mean-spirited approval for the green's sudden descent toward the ocean below. He flattens his sails and soars an even course at high speed, the wind searing past him, thin hide rippling over knobby ridges. Flashes of steel-gray claws and creamy teeth are ready to ward off in the harshest way possible any who might dare too near, but his wings' wide span is a net meant to ensnare the falling star, his tail a curved whip ready to strike. Through the dying light he knifes toward a point where, if she falls otherwise interrupted, his path and the green's will meet.
Yaria doesn't seem to realize that Aath is diving, for she's still moving towards T'mic, eyes muzzy, hazed with Erdeth's drive. She patters closer, little movements of her head to one side, and then the other, as if trying to see him through the bodies gathered round him.
P'draig is plastered against the wall, palms flat, eyes wide, sightless. Just as checked out as Yaria is. Out of breath, skin beaded with sweat. Just as mindless to what transpires around him in the weyr, his face turns not towards the verbal battle but to the little slice of twilit sky he can see from his position near the entrance. "... stars."
Jekzith> Aath tumbles like a rock, a faceted, twenty-carat diamond dropping out of the sky. Past Kintryth she slips, gone like a tortured midnight. Malicith grasps a hair's breadth too late, his tail slipping from hers and sending her out of the grasp of the Fortian brown. She then bounces off Erdenth, her deliberately helpless fall thwarted by the unexpected presence of the Igen blue. Startled into action she grasps for anything to stop her descent, wings and talons scrabbling and cutting him even as their combined wings slow her fall. Their fall.
Jekzith> Crooning softly in disappointment as Aath tumbles into another's waiting wings, Jekzith adjusts his flight path slightly so he doesn't get in the way. The gathering dark swallows him as he flies far out over the water, away for a time, before winging back to the Weyr.
Jekzith> From a distance, Kintryth shrieks his anger at missing the starlight diamond Aath, the sound trailing after him as he plummets below, beyond her. Finally his spars snap wingsails out fully, saving him from a nasty fall into the ocean now dangerously close below - the ocean that calls out to him to drown his ardent desires in.
Hand curling into tight fist as matters perch on a knife's edge, it's relief that slumps P'draig's shoulders as Aath is claimed by another and he pushes away from the wall swiftly, out of the guest weyr ahead of everyone else. Last to arrive, first to leave.
Jekzith> From a distance, THUD. Ow! Hey, waitaminute! There she is! Or, Here she is! Erdeth's wing snap wide to hold and support the unexpected diamonds, now come home in the earth. He'll feel the sting of those claw marks later. For now, all his mind, heart and soul belong to Aath.
Jekzith> From a distance, The ribbon-thin blue hisses in anger as Aath slips past him, but in a moment more Malicith is snaking off toward night, toward the Weyr, where there was - << business, >> his only excuse. His fury dies, its inspiration not long from being forgotten.
S'reit never gets as far as that wall he'd hoped to lean on. There's chaos in the sky, all points converging, and yet he has consciousness enough to whirl around in a lockstep and hiss at Caitlyn, who shouldered him so rudely. "Back up, baby," he tells her, now advancing on her again, a fist ready on one side and a grabby hand reaching toward her waist on the other - her choice?
Yaria pushes forward, maneuvering through the crowd to catch T'mic up in study arms, to give him something to cling to. And now she gets to unwrap that present!
Caitlyn retains just enough self-control to NOT clock S'reit and his grabby hands reaching out for her as she growls and turns away from the caught T'mic/Aath. The want of punching him slows in her features, her hot eyes, but Cait simply splays out two hands, sticks arms out before her, and gives the cold-looking man a sharp, hard shove backwards. "GET out of my sharding way, you moron!" she snarls at him, then stomps out.
Of course, having gone toward the far wall, S'reit is not really in Caitlyn's way. If only. He takes two hard steps back from her shove, then stalks out after her, a thin mean laugh low in his throat.
[Out in the Bowl]
Caitlyn storms out of the guest weyr like a demon, her eyes snapping ire, her features hardened. P'draig gets only a grunt as she strides by, her sandals pounding the sand with intent as she stalks off towards the beach.
As intent as he was upon the Istan bluerider inside, S'reit's focus seems broken by the emergence into starlight and darkness. It was not, after all, quite night when they went in. He pauses just down the steps to catch breath again, to drink in the air, while from the west comes winging down a ribbon of blue into the bowl. Once he's landed Malicith slinks, belly close to the ground, with wary watchfulness toward his rider.
P'draig wanders a little aimlessly, trying to catch his breath, hands to head then he blinks a few times and turns away towards the beach as well. "C'mon Jek ... c'mon," he mutters. "At least tell him I'm down here so they can come get us." Eventually, the Fortian retreats into the darkness, hopefully not to fall off the edge of the plateau in his dazed state.
When: 21:00 on day 6, month 6, Turn 14, of the 10th Interval
Where: SandBar/Beach/Guest Weyr, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy's down having a drink at the SandBar when Aath gets her groove on. S'reit is unimpressed by the Fortian Weyrlingmaster.
Ista Weyr -- The Sandbar(#4182RJM)
This dockside tavern stretches over the water, accessible from beach, docks or harbour itself. The light sound of slapping waves can be heard beneath the floorboards, and there are no walls, allowing tropical breezes to waft through and indulging patrons in panoramic ocean views. The carved wooden bar takes up the north end of the room, covered with a wood and reed roof that protects it from impromptu showers. The rest of the booths rest along the outside of the floor, all situated to be oceanside and set with brightly coloured cushions. The thatched wood roof continues along those booths leaving the center of the area open-air, though a metal canopy rests along the outside of one wall, ready to be drawn atop for rain or Threadfall. Further to the north and south the beach continues on for kilometers, black sand tinged a ruddy red with the blazing light of a fading sunset. Waves wash upon the beach with a steady roar, sending spray flying into the air at the furthest end of the beach to the south where a collection of rocks litter the shoreline.
Over by the bar, one Fortian sits in a loose straddle of his bar stool, an empty ale mug at hand. He's got a bit of an absent look to him, as if he's either in contact with his dragon or just lost in thought. The barkeep comes back with a full mug, setting it down in front of the brownrider and P'draig's eyes focus suddenly, settling on the full vessel. "Thanks!" he says brightly and flips some coin onto the surface of the bar.
Jekzith> Quite a ways up the coastline a thin ribbon of blue lies in a curled, tangled-seeming pile, for all the world indifferent to Istan dragons and their Istan ways. Malicith's eyes are narrowed, focused on the waves rolling in onto the shore. The gathering sunset casts his hide in shades of violet and wine, azure wingsails occasionally lofted by a breeze.
Jekzith> Jekzith is out in the water, jumping waves, enjoying a fine Istan evening, the late sunset gleams on the water, highlighting the waves and burnishing the maple hue of his wings, bringing out in sharp relief the motley shades that make out his hide.
Jekzith> Erdeth is lazily watching Aath. no cunning plan for him, but a glimmer of suspicion in his eyes, as he turns his head and directs a snort towards the Sandbar. Yaria appears in a moment, absently wiping the foam of ale from her mouth. "What," she asks aloud. "Blowed if I know, Erd." She's not quite three sheets to the wind, though it's a good thing the dock isn't rocking as she starts towards the beach. "Ask Eileyth - oh, it is /not/ a dumb idea! Just 'member we've got dawn sweeps, and V'lien'll skin us if we miss it."
The cold-bred bluerider does not care to be here. He has made it abundantly clear, sneering at the drink he's been served, glaring at the sunset as though its daring to be so lovely is against all that's right on Pern. Still S'reit's -here,- and he suffers being -here- only twitchingly, turning in his chair every time footsteps mark a customer coming or going from the bar. Each time one of those people isn't the one he's evidently waiting on, he snarls softly and mutters uncharitably to himself about lazy island folk.
Fort Weyr> C'nroy sets out a tray of mugs of hot chocolate (and one herbal tea for Jenna :) )
Dragon> Jekzith, Malicith, Erdeth, and Kintryth sense that Aath says sharply (so much for being asleep), << You are IN my LIGHT. >> No cuddles and coos from her tonight - tonight her best friends have sharp sharp edges. Don't get too close and be cut, boys.
P'draig's eyes slide S'reit's way and stay there for a moment, a slight frown evidence doubtless, of his confusion over why the fellow looks familiar. Still the bluerider's unpleasant manner doesn't invite conversation so for now, the Fortian keeps to himself. He lifts the fresh mug of ale to his lips and sips letting out a contented sigh for the stuff's flavor.
Dragon> Flight sense that Jekzith has just hopped another wave, but Aath's demanding mental 'shout' distracts to say the least and he misses. << Your light? >> Puzzled. Very puzzled. << There is plenty of sunshine for everyone. >>
Jekzith> The ribbon of blue, at some length, raises his head and turns a glance toward the loudspoken green basking down shore. His regard weighs upon her a long moment, unblinking, and something is in that space doubtless conveyed unto her alone. Then he slinks to his feet, long limbs unfolding from beneath his slender body, and reaches out one foreleg. He gestures to her with a grasping of claws almost obscene, then stretches his wings in fashion most unsubtle.
Dragon> Jekzith, Malicith, Kintryth, and Aath sense that Erdeth quickly squashes a tendril of amusement at Aath's irritation. In answer, he sends an image of the setting sun playing peekaboo in the clouds. Bad sun. No biscuit. This followed by a whimsical image of himself fanning the clouds away with outsized wings.
Jekzith> Yaria mutters to herself and starts up the path to the Weyr. At least she had the good sense to bring the ale along for the ride.
Jekzith> Kintryth calls no-one's attention to himself, even though his form is apparent as it contrasts with the black sands. He is most certainly not in Aath's waning sunlight, but for now he simply humors her ire, continuing to flex those claws into the earth
Jekzith> Yaria walks up the long winding path to the top of the plateau.
"Ashes," spits the Igenite intruder, getting to his feet in a hasty move that sends his chair skittering a few noisy inches behind him. "Tasteless, pithy, precious scrap!" He slams down his half-finished drink on the table, causing a glance up from the bartender. But in a moment it's clear S'reit's fury is not with the drink. He's starting for the beach the shortest route possible - through the tables, past the bar, between the beams that hold up the wall-less roof, never mind the formality of the door. "Not a speck of manners taught, all lazing around drinking," the hiss on this word might feel a little pointed as the man passes by that Fortian with the good-sized knot, "like there's all the time in the world." Stomp stomp stomp.
Jekzith> Jekzith lingers out in the water, still puzzled by Aath's complaint then a clue dawns and he swims in for shore, eyes slow-whirling, still blue, with only the faintest hint of lavendar to them. He's coming, he's coming.
P'draig quirks a look over at S'reit. "No there isn't so you have to take advantage of the time you've got eh?" He squints at the bluerider some more. "Aren't you from the Reaches?" Incongruous to what's going out on the beach, the Fortian doesn't seem about to budge.
Dragon> Jekzith, Malicith, Erdeth, and Kintryth sense that Aath slaps glittering rebuttals at Jekzith and Kintryth. << You ARE. And do not make me WET. >> Malicith gets an outraged squeal, no more coherent than, << OH! >> Only Erdeth, unfamiliar Erdeth, earns any sort of softness from the green, and that's merely a haughty, << /Thank/ you. >> Dear others: /See/ how you treat a lady? Hearts and flowers, Aath.
The bluerider whirls in place, boots squeaking against each other at heel and toe. "No," he informs the Fortian, too fast, too defensively. "Aren't you from the pits?" He's coming back now, a you-want-a-piece-of-me swagger in the bend of his knees and loft of his shoulders. But his eyes are narrowing as he comes; maybe the familiarity is remotely reciprocated. With suspicion, mostly. "Why," he hisses, still stalking.
Dragon> Jekzith, Erdeth, Kintryth, and Aath sense that Malicith reflects quietly upon the lady's remarks. << Could they even, >> he asks in time, rhetorically, a softspoken aside meant to inspire no replies. Snickers, if you wish, but no replies.
Jekzith> The slender outweyr blue leans back onto his haunches, spreading his wings wider yet so the sails catch what breeze there may be and ripple in its dancing embrace. He raises his head to the sky, nostrils open wide to welcome the island air, to taste it, to estimate its ways and wiles. He pays no mind, none evinced in his shape in any case, to what may transpire among the other males and their green, self-elected source of light.
Jekzith> Erdeth doesn't puff up. Instead he simply, laconically rises and shakes the sand off himself, careful to avoid spraying any in Aath's direction. He stretches his wings slowly, carefully, testing out their width, even as he keeps his attention where it should be: on Aath.
P'draig is unfazed by S'reit's manner and he nods a few times. "You are from the Reaches. I'm pretty sure I remember you. I grew up there." P'draig offers with a shrug. "P'draig, brown Jekzith's, Emilly, green Sionath's, is my mother." Ale to lips again though his leg is jumping a little as he tries to maintain calm, though if it's because of the bluerider or Jekzith is uncertain.
Jekzith> Kintryth spreads his own camoflauge wings wide, ready to rise after Aath when she deems ready to ascend. Her rantings are seemingly ignored, the experienced blue unwilling to move an inch or be swayed by the green's irateness. 'I'm no offense,' his small body - posture seem to say to her, to others.
Jekzith> Jekzith pads up from the water, politely hanging back enough as he shakes water off himself, little droplets of the stuff flying away like diamonds. << You don't need any light to ... shine brightly. >> There. He's come up with a decent compliment. Phew. More water shaken from long wings and the Fortian brown sits 'at attention' waiting for Aath to decide when she's lifting off.
"Emilly." S'reit speaks her name, but mouths the name of her dragon thereafter - and that gains better recognition of some stripe. An ugly stripe, by the narrowing of his keen clarion eyes and the angry curl of a smile quirked in the corner of his mouth. "Yeah," he affirms; his stalking halts a few feet from the brownrider. He lays a hand on a nearby chair-back and leans a little, looking down at his knuckles with a furied intensity for a moment before looking back up. "You have babies to tend," he notes, next, the words something like an indictment.
"Twelve weyrlings and one three month old infant," P'draig confirms. "This is my night off. Two assistants with the former, nanny with the latter." Easygoing still as he explains this and takes another drink. "Bad day?" he inquires next, leg starting to bounce even faster.
Jekzith> Aath was -sleeping-, she was /sleeping/, on the -beach- where everyone could -see her-. And now? Now there's shadow! Shade! Utter depthless blackness! With a shriek she uncurls from her pretense, posing for one brief breathless heartbeat on the black Istan sands. And then she's up, away, reaching for the last of the sunset in the sky above.
Jekzith> And Kintryth is following right after the glittering, diamondine Aath, clacking his teeth together in challenge at the other gathered males as his reaching wings buffet black sand up into the air at his fast ascent.
Jekzith> Erdeth had wings out and vaned, and as such, wasn't caught too off-guard when Aath makes her break for the sunset. His too delicate feet don't give him too much of a push off, however, and he hunts for a thermal to send him further aloft with minimal effort. This close to the ocean, they're easy to find, and he rides the elevator high, higher, highest; ripping one of those clouds so offending Aath to shreds as he does.
Unfairly, inappropriately noble brows arch in slender curves high over those mean eyes; the bluerider's forehead resolves into a series of haughty wrinkles. "And an infant," he affirms, sneer ready in the corner of his thin lips, tucked away for another moment. A beat. "No." S'reit's nose wrinkles too, much like the forehead, but with even greater distaste. "Not - " And then his head snaps back and he looks up into the rafters and thatch of the bar's roof. "Ashes," he spits again. "Are you -coming?-" Although the Igenite's not on his way anywhere yet, his boots apparently fixed to the floor.
Jekzith> Jekzith is still sitting there, tail half-curled, like a guard-canine on watch. He croons softly, appreciation of the simple kind floating in his mind and then, oh there she goes and she really does look really really pretty catching those last rays of the sun, even if there's dappling shade to contend with. He almost forgets to take off actually, enthralled by watching her sharp angle upward, then he remembers. You're supposed to /chase/ her you dolt. Springing lightly into the air, maple wings cup the wind, sending him sailing afterward, his sending one of wordless delight at fun of the chase.
P'draig tilts his mug back. "Hm. Well. Good luck then." Pause. "No. Not unless, and until, I absolutely have to." Calm still, a little sheen of sweat has nevertheless broken out on the brownrider's forehead and his eyes swing out to the beach, breath suddenly short.
Jekzith> Malicith sinks as the others rise, but it was he who already was held high with his haunches set. Lowering his weight into those muscles merely coils the spring that fuels his leap, and upon its great unwinding the ribbon of blue is skybound, slithering up into the imminent ultramarine of night.
"This," seethes S'reit, turning and tilting down his head for another narrow look at the brownrider, "is a -bar.-" One hand comes up in a whiplash gesture from his side, palm raised, fingers crooked, a broad gesture meant to illustrate his words for the casual listener or the very dim student. "Have a little respect for the fine art of -getting trashed,-" he suggests, then turns again and starts for the door - it's farther inland than the empty 'wall,' and makes for more dramatic exits.
"Not getting trashed," notes P'draig to S'reit's back, eyeing the bluerider with a hint of amusement. He watches the him go, then squints out over the water and murmurs something barely audible: "Jekzith ... why're you always getting me in trouble at /Ista/?"
Jekzith> Aath rockets upward like a falling star returning home. She gives her admirers no second glance, leaving them to follow along or not, as the mood should take them. She wings almost straight up, arrowing over the water rather than the Weyr, giving the males an excellent mark to chase, dark green against still-pale sky.
Jekzith> Ooooh, they're going over the water. Fun. Jekzith rather than beating tracks to catch up, strategize or otherwise tightly pursue Aath, dives down close to the surface of the waves, skimming along and tapping his tail downward to lift happy foam into the air. Life is good. He soars upwards then, a sharp angle really as he locates shimmering Aath in his peripheral vision and shares the feeling of wind slipping along wings, his view of her, caught in a prism of dying sunlight. There she is, there they all are, dancing through the sky. Joy.
Jekzith> Kintryth takes more of a direct interest in Aath's flight than in some of the former greenflights he's attended, the wily blue angling in with wings, tooth, and claws across the main flight of males in the fore, seeking to cut like a knife through them to disperse and confuse. The maneuver seems to work with some of them, sending another blue, a large brown, and an unfortunate bronze veering off and away at Kint's brutal tactic.
Jekzith> Erdeth's willowy form knifes through the air, following under and at Aath's 'nine-o-clock'. As such, he has a glorious eyeful of her haunches and tail. The large brown Kintryth vanquished causes him to dip a shoulder joint and dodge around, loosing some forward momentum, even as that thermal shoots him up into the sunset. Craning his neck, he casts around for Aath, now more at 'eleven', but at least two dragonlengths back from the main pack.
"Have it your way," the bluerider says with another broad gesture of that clawed hand, the roll of his eyes hidden by the turn of his back from the Fortian weyrlingmaster. Then S'reit's gone, striding up the beach toward the rising mount of the Weyr.
Jekzith> The Igenite blue indulges a time in the deep of the dark rising from the east, then keels around west toward the light. Now he chases in earnest, wicked intentions streaming from his mind just as his tail streams like a sinuous string playing on the breeze in his wake. His broad wings make short work of the wind and the rosy light of sunset casts him from below and before into high relief, highlighting and shadowing every ribcage curve, every knobby backbone, every ridge and joint. << Run, >> he suggests, hardly a literalist in his mean delight.
Large Guest Weyr
This large weyr is big enough to hold a bronze, and is of the number of 'empty' weyrs that serve as places for wing-injured dragons to rest out of the elements. A wide cot is off to one side, and the dragon-couch fills most of the high-ceilinged Weyr. Several low tables and benches line the southwestern wall. The warm hazy light of sunset can be seen filling the air outside.
Jekzith> Aath could be alone for all the attention she pays to the scrum behind her. Onward, upward she stretches, seeking out that last, elusive ray of light, the loving caress of the sun that will make her glow.
T'mic pulls up on the far end of the room, a hand reaching out to slap the bed before he whirls. "One," he says, eyes lighting on Yaria, and Caitlyn gets, "Two." And yet... something is not right here. His gaze drifts over the rest of the weyr before coming back to Cait, puzzled. "The... there are others, right?"
There are others. One of them comes up now, breathing a mite hard, eyes narrow and glinting with cruel, icy fury. He pauses just past the entryway, maybe an obstacle to he who'll come next, and leans a hand down onto his thigh. So posed he catches his breath - only so he can waste it in a hiss. "Istans," he lets out like a voodoo curse, no duties and respectmongering here.
Caitlyn blinks dumbly at Mic, then smiles reassuringly at him, her dark head bobbing up and down in quick nods. "Yes, there are!" she calls out breathily, "Though Kint chased some of them off before they could make it in." A rough, opulent snicker from the woman, and she now openly eyes the greenrider with some need. The hiss of the foreign man's voice entering grabs Cait's attention, her brows drawing down as she loses her smile - eyeing him as obvious competition.
Have a care, latecomers - someone's left cow-pie tracked footprints across the weyr - if, of course, they've any attention for the ground. The tracks end at Yaria, and a glance (or a sniff) would reveal that she's the one that stepped in it. The chunky Igenite is oblivious, however, her entire focus on Erdeth in the skies. Her eyes are turned towards T'mic, though she sees only Aath there, murmuring something about 'sparkles' and 'tail'.
Jekzith> Kintryth must swoop back around to get luscious Aath back in sight - the small blue doing so with a quick drop of one spar and a pivot upon a wingtip. There she is, and little does the glorious green know she isn't simply being pursued...she is being *hunted* - by HIM. He follows now from above and a little behind - planning, strategizing, ready.
Last to arrive, several minutes after S'reit, P'draig doesn't part with whatever company he was keeping, until it's clear Jekzith's fully committed to this flight and even then, he lingers in the doorway a few moments longer, eyeing the interior of the Weyr, perhaps remembering the last time he stood in here and wound up staying. His gaze jumps to T'mic and his lateness allows him to avoid any cow-pieing. Finally he actually comes all the way inside and fetches up against the nearest patch of wall to the entrance: he doesn't expect to be staying this time.
Jekzith> Erdeth loses his helpful thermal, and now has to put wide wings to use. Pushing hard he draws up to the tail end of the pack, drafting a brown. Then his inherant laziness sets in - though he would call it 'strength conservation'. Instead he lets the larger dragon break the air for him as the pack angles up after Aath. As the fading sun begins to flicker on her hide, catching the sparkles, he abruptly pushes ahead and cuts up in front of that helpful brown, forcing him down and out of the flight. Ooooh. Sparkles.
Jekzith> Jekzith lets out another happy warble and angles a little upward again. She glows, yes she does, oh how she glows. His eyes whirl faster, deeper shades of purple finally sinking into the wide-set orbs. A direct contrast to at least two of the dragons in the air, the Fortian brown is all about the thrill of the chase, how much fun it is to actually be out there, how much /more/ fun it'll be to actually slide his tail -- yeah, sparkly. Strategy? Nope. Ain't got none. He slides out of the way of that other dropping brown and catches a little lift of air upward, coming up to about Erdeth's level.
Jekzith> Sparkles. Strategy. Joy. Malicith will have none of these. He has plans, certainly, but they are not those made of clever moves and cunning maneuvers. He has plans for that sparkly, joyous delight arching ever higher over the sunset waves. And they are not, if the gleam of his teeth and the violently spinning violet black of his eyes are any indication, -nice- plans. His oversized wings plough the air, the force of the movement sending great sinewy ripples through his whole body so he travels like a sine wave toward the pale of the western sky.
"Others?" Mic says again as if expecting Cait to produce them out of her pockets like sweets. And look, here they are! The bluerider gets a sweet beam completely unlike his usual toothy grin. "She likes him, you know. He's not Sulizath, but she likes him anyway." Clearly that's meant to be reassuring even as his attention drifts to S'reit and P'draig, each of the men getting a once-over.
Competition he may be, but the crop-topped man with the mean blue eyes looks on Caitlyn first. His nose is wrinkled, but it was wrinkled when he got here - so if S'reit's aware of the earthy reek that Yaria brought in, it's hard to say that's his problem. He advances on the bluerider, shoulders set wide, steps stalking. "Yeah," he tells her, as if she asked a question.
Caitlyn glowers at S'reit a little longer, then turning her head over her shoulder to give and almost simperingly sweet smile back at T'mic. "She does? Oh, that's so *nice*, Mic. He enjoys her diamonds, too!" And then S'reit is actually talking to her, and Cait's attention is again riveted on the Igenite man, her body suddenly tensed in anticipation of some action. "What of it?" she growls back to him challengingly, tauntingly.
P'draig wrinkles his nose just a little at the stink coming off of Yaria and the mess she left tracked through the weyr, but there's plenty of fresher air coming in from the entryway, blissfully close, so it's not too bad where he is. His arms fold over each other and he casts T'mic a wry, apologetic smile before his head drifts back against the rock wall and his eyes close. Letting go. When his eyes open again, he's with Jekzith a silly grin crossing his face. Is anyone else talking?
Yaria is oblivious to any tension in the weyr. Or any cow-pie on her feet. In fact, she's pretty much checked out. Lights're on, but nobody's home. Instead she's got this tiny, almost shy, little grin on her face, watching T'mic. One of those 'I can't wait to unwrap /this/ present' grins, and she shuffles forward hopefully from her position next to the dragon couch.
Jekzith> Even Aath can't outrace the sun. As she strives for heaven the traitorous beams slip away, unable to compete. The sparkles on her wings slowly appear in the sky behind her, silently paying tribute. And in the space between one wingbeat and the next she stops, frozen, brilliantly caught between earth and sky, light and darkness. There she hangs before tumbling, falling, wings making no attempt to find purchase. You want her? Catch her before she's gone.
"You're both," Mic starts in a coo, only to stop in a single caught breath, eyes widening farther than they ought. "...Baby?" His flings his arms open wide as if he'll somehow catch his falling star, terrestrially locked though he might be.
The Igenite bluerider spares a sidelong glance for T'mic, only - it seems - because Caitlyn and he are speaking in apparently conversational tones. "Aw," says S'reit. What of it? Here's what. "Are they sweethearts, then?" A feral grin sneers across his narrow lips, his voice dripping with honey. Then he snaps his attention back to Caitlyn, the faux pleasure gone in a heartbeat. "Get back, beautiful," he snarls, and steps forward to walk right past her - in front of her, as pertains to T'mic's location - toward a particular bit of wall he'd like to lean on.
Jekzith> He finally lets those teasing Aath-sparkles, those diamond-brilliant flashes sway him into action. Kintryth does more than simply appreciate the jeweled green's sudden tumble from the high heavens. He arrows downward part-way towards her to close more distance in a hurry...and then simply retracts his own wings, to plummet after her bewitching form. Uncaring of what other males might be in his way, or that his velocity is dangerously rapid, the camoflauge Istan blue dares all to catch up with the starry-night cloaked Aath, ready to seize the opportunity. To seize her.
Jekzith> Erdeth was still arrowing up, up, up, fully entranced by Aath's glitter and sparkle. As the stars begin to come alive around her, those sparkles he followed are now multiplied. Not expecting her abrupt descent, he's still arching up. Wide wings stroke the air, even his forelimbs getting into the action, pushing out and down, out and down, as he ferociously climbs. If they meet it would be more happenstance than intent, for her brilliance is cloaked in the glamor of the stars, with him still pushing hard to come up under her.
Caitlyn appears ready to bash that look right *through* S'reit's face - her own features set into a righteously ticked-off snarl - her fists tightly closed and raising to do such. Mic is *her* territory, so says Kintryth! "Back OFF, turd..." the wingleader growls when he diverts around her, giving him a rough shouldering aside as she too steps closer to T'mic - who appears to be the center of attention, now.
Jekzith> Up into the gathering darkness, Jekzith seeks the warm glow that is Aath now. She's become the sun in the twilight sky, a beacon amongst the twinkle of appearing stars. And then she's falling, falling, falling, shooting star, tumbling down. The Fortian brown tilts a wingtip, dropping a little, his distraction of all things, paying off as he slides under rising Erdeth, looking to be the one she falls against, to break it before she hits the hard embrace of the waves.
Jekzith> << Perfect. >> Malicith's pleasure is cruelly intense, warmed only by his mean-spirited approval for the green's sudden descent toward the ocean below. He flattens his sails and soars an even course at high speed, the wind searing past him, thin hide rippling over knobby ridges. Flashes of steel-gray claws and creamy teeth are ready to ward off in the harshest way possible any who might dare too near, but his wings' wide span is a net meant to ensnare the falling star, his tail a curved whip ready to strike. Through the dying light he knifes toward a point where, if she falls otherwise interrupted, his path and the green's will meet.
Yaria doesn't seem to realize that Aath is diving, for she's still moving towards T'mic, eyes muzzy, hazed with Erdeth's drive. She patters closer, little movements of her head to one side, and then the other, as if trying to see him through the bodies gathered round him.
P'draig is plastered against the wall, palms flat, eyes wide, sightless. Just as checked out as Yaria is. Out of breath, skin beaded with sweat. Just as mindless to what transpires around him in the weyr, his face turns not towards the verbal battle but to the little slice of twilit sky he can see from his position near the entrance. "... stars."
Jekzith> Aath tumbles like a rock, a faceted, twenty-carat diamond dropping out of the sky. Past Kintryth she slips, gone like a tortured midnight. Malicith grasps a hair's breadth too late, his tail slipping from hers and sending her out of the grasp of the Fortian brown. She then bounces off Erdenth, her deliberately helpless fall thwarted by the unexpected presence of the Igen blue. Startled into action she grasps for anything to stop her descent, wings and talons scrabbling and cutting him even as their combined wings slow her fall. Their fall.
Jekzith> Crooning softly in disappointment as Aath tumbles into another's waiting wings, Jekzith adjusts his flight path slightly so he doesn't get in the way. The gathering dark swallows him as he flies far out over the water, away for a time, before winging back to the Weyr.
Jekzith> From a distance, Kintryth shrieks his anger at missing the starlight diamond Aath, the sound trailing after him as he plummets below, beyond her. Finally his spars snap wingsails out fully, saving him from a nasty fall into the ocean now dangerously close below - the ocean that calls out to him to drown his ardent desires in.
Hand curling into tight fist as matters perch on a knife's edge, it's relief that slumps P'draig's shoulders as Aath is claimed by another and he pushes away from the wall swiftly, out of the guest weyr ahead of everyone else. Last to arrive, first to leave.
Jekzith> From a distance, THUD. Ow! Hey, waitaminute! There she is! Or, Here she is! Erdeth's wing snap wide to hold and support the unexpected diamonds, now come home in the earth. He'll feel the sting of those claw marks later. For now, all his mind, heart and soul belong to Aath.
Jekzith> From a distance, The ribbon-thin blue hisses in anger as Aath slips past him, but in a moment more Malicith is snaking off toward night, toward the Weyr, where there was - << business, >> his only excuse. His fury dies, its inspiration not long from being forgotten.
S'reit never gets as far as that wall he'd hoped to lean on. There's chaos in the sky, all points converging, and yet he has consciousness enough to whirl around in a lockstep and hiss at Caitlyn, who shouldered him so rudely. "Back up, baby," he tells her, now advancing on her again, a fist ready on one side and a grabby hand reaching toward her waist on the other - her choice?
Yaria pushes forward, maneuvering through the crowd to catch T'mic up in study arms, to give him something to cling to. And now she gets to unwrap that present!
Caitlyn retains just enough self-control to NOT clock S'reit and his grabby hands reaching out for her as she growls and turns away from the caught T'mic/Aath. The want of punching him slows in her features, her hot eyes, but Cait simply splays out two hands, sticks arms out before her, and gives the cold-looking man a sharp, hard shove backwards. "GET out of my sharding way, you moron!" she snarls at him, then stomps out.
Of course, having gone toward the far wall, S'reit is not really in Caitlyn's way. If only. He takes two hard steps back from her shove, then stalks out after her, a thin mean laugh low in his throat.
[Out in the Bowl]
Caitlyn storms out of the guest weyr like a demon, her eyes snapping ire, her features hardened. P'draig gets only a grunt as she strides by, her sandals pounding the sand with intent as she stalks off towards the beach.
As intent as he was upon the Istan bluerider inside, S'reit's focus seems broken by the emergence into starlight and darkness. It was not, after all, quite night when they went in. He pauses just down the steps to catch breath again, to drink in the air, while from the west comes winging down a ribbon of blue into the bowl. Once he's landed Malicith slinks, belly close to the ground, with wary watchfulness toward his rider.
P'draig wanders a little aimlessly, trying to catch his breath, hands to head then he blinks a few times and turns away towards the beach as well. "C'mon Jek ... c'mon," he mutters. "At least tell him I'm down here so they can come get us." Eventually, the Fortian retreats into the darkness, hopefully not to fall off the edge of the plateau in his dazed state.