In which Naijath takes to the sky, and chasers follow!
Naijath's flight, 2-20-07
Nolee via NPC N'gas, Arceth (NPC), M'treg, Lazulith (NPCs), Noemie, Naijath, Cynara, Marsath, Caitlyn, Kintryth
Noemie
Noemie has fully become an Istan as she has fully become a rider; tanned skin and a display of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks talk of much time spent in the sun. She is, in some respects, a study in contrasts; her girlish facial features (a heart-shaped face, a petite nose, soft blue eyes) and blonde hair are a contrast to her rather petite, boyish form and numerous scrapes, bruises and spots of dirt that speak of her always being on the go.
Mere moments in her presence, and a good deal of her personality comes to light, revealed in the glint in her eyes, her wide smile, and her carefree tone of voice. Here is a girl who lives life to the fullest, takes advantage of every day and regrets relatively little. In her voice, too, is still the mark of one who has had advanced vocal training, all of her words spoken with careful, practiced enunciation and chosen carefully.
Her wardrobe is chosen carefully to deal with the Istan heat, vacillating between light sundresses and loose-cut slacks and the breeziest possible blouses, all of which are fashioned from thin, brightly colored cottons. She wears little jewelry, which makes what she wears all the more special: the ring she received when graduating from weyrlinghood, and a pendant given to her on the same occasion. On her shoulder she sports a knot of orange and black, as well as a brand-new knot proclaiming her to be a part of the Dawnsflame wing, both with a thread of green running through to symbolize the rest of her being, the dragon Naijath.
A quick visual estimate would place Noemie at 19 Turns, 8 months, and 17 days.
Ista LC> Noemie sits alone at a long table, a tall pile of food on a plate in front of her... but she's barely eating any of it. Instead, she nibbles cautiously at a meatroll, puts it down. Takes a dainty sip of juice, puts down her glass, takes anoter dainty sip of meatroll. She gives a long sigh, her eyes looking peircingly at nothing in particular, her mind off in the distance.
Ista LC> Balinne is already there - has been here, in fact! - and is just refilling her mug with cold juice. "Cheer up," she says as she comes around Noemie, grinning. "You look so forlorn, what's got you so messed up in the head?"
Ista LC> Caitlyn wanders into the caverns, a slightly bemused expression on her face. Upon seeing Noemie and Bali, however, the woman lets her features fall into a flat blankness, ambling over to the other women. Perhaps, or not, one might notice the lack of any rank cord at her left shoulder.
Ista LC> Noemie looks at Bali, giving another sigh. "Naijath's all glowy," she says. "Or hadn't you noticed?" She looks down frustratedly at her food. "I really only just did, myself. And by now, I should have noticed earlier, and have more control over myself. I haven't been-- you know, rude, inappropriate, at all?" She seems genuinely worried. "So, for now, I'm going to sit here, quietly, and try to control myself as best I can."
Ista LC> Noemie gives a little wave towards Caitlyn, and a smile that's a bit flirtier than one would normally give a friend. So much for control-- someting she doesn't have, apparently.
Ista LC> Balinne ahh's in sympathy. "Well, that I can understand." She thunks herself beside the other greenrider, and gives Caitlyn a short nod of her head - rank cords, missing or not, aren't commented upon. "At least your dragon is going glowy at all! Zelieth's starting to act like a sharding blue, 'cept she's still got that female temper." She sips at her juice, and gives Noemie another sympathetic look. "Maybe it'll be today?"
Ista Bowl> Naijath trills softly towards Kintryth, moving her head slowly as to show off her softly glowing hide. Isn't she a beauty? She asks, without actually sending him thoughts as to such-- yet. Her other clutchsib is eyed carefully, but mostly ignored for the moment.
Ista Bowl> Zelieth ignores her right back. She'd rather take a nap, thank you.
Noemie laughs! Zelieth, you crack me up every time.
Ista LC> Caitlyn finally reaches the table both women are at, her features still flat as a board - lowering herself down into a chair across from Noe and Bali. Not even a nod for either woman, Cait simply stares ahead of her, into the air. eyes distant.
Ista Bowl> Kintryth gives a small trill to Naijath, daring to snke his neck over and try and rub his chin along her spine. Yes, he seems to proclaim, she is *indeed* glowy and pretty - enough for Kint to even suck up to her.
Ista Bowl> Zelieth peers up at that, and her eyes whirl a bit brighter. She huffs indignantly, and turns herself around so that she's facing the wall. Her message is clear enough - I don't see you!
Ista LC> Noemie nods. "From my past experience with her, and now that I'm actually paying attention, she should rise... extremely soon." This warrants another long sigh. "And Ril's been called off somewhere. Tal likely won't be able to chase at all." At Caitlyn sits, she's torn between flirting outrageously with the rider of the dragon /her/ dragon is flirting with, or inquiring as to what's wrong as her friend. The latter wins out, only with much self discipline. "Cait, what's on your mind? I guess I'm not the only one with a long night ahead."
Ista Bowl> Kintryth could care less about a huffy Zelieth, right now. He continues his affections to Naijath, if allowed.
Ista Bowl> Naijath takes in the attention, never turning down being adored. She, too, lets her neck wrap around towards her clutchsib, running her head softly against his hide, allowing him to worship her however he wishes.
Ista LC> Balinne also turns her eyes to Caitlyn, smiling warmly. "Come to join us?" She's relaxed, sipping at her juice one moment, and then sitting up and looking worried the next. "Noemie, I think Naijath is going to rise /very/ soon. I
Ista LC> I'm sorry, but I need to go tend to Zelieth. She's getting fussy... Gah, she's not a /gold/ for shards sake!" Downing the last of her juice, Balinne leaves the mug and heads for the door, cursing her green's unnatural nature.
Arceth> Zelieth is huffy. Oh /so/ huffy! She even manages another indignant snort. Apparently just turning around isn't enough.
Ista LC> Caitlyn looks up and over at Noemie, then Balinne - her eyes flat, face flat...and then the woman drops her face into her both hands, her short frame beginning to shudder as muffled gasps are heard. She doesn't even watch Bali leave to tend to the jealous Zelieth.
Ista Bowl> "Stupid wherry of a green!" curses Balinne. She swings herself up, and with a sour look towards Kintryth, points a finger and declares, "I'm blaming you for this, evil blue!" And then they are gone.
Ista Bowl> Kintryth lightly rumbles at the glowering Balinne, the sound amused, full of self-satisfaction. The blue then returns to giving Naijath all the attention she craves, his forked tongue now running lightly along her neck.
Noemie looks honestly concerned, all thoughts of flirting with her friend gone-- at least for the moemnt. 'Caitlyn, what's /wrong/?" She continues nibbling daintily at the meatroll she's eating... at this rate, the pile of food in front of her is never going to be eaten.
Arceth> Arceth is a new arrival to this fray, though the lazy manner in which he wings downward suggests he's no stranger to this weyr. He lands clear of the small group of dragons, giving especially Zelieth a bit more room than necessary. Women. Hey, wait, there's one. Hmm. His eyes whirl slowly, thoughtfully, and he rumbles low in his throat. Yummy.
Arceth
Arctic Frost Blue Arceth is just so: tinged from neckridge to talons, this average-sized blue is made of sharp, clean lines and is a frigid, turgid frothy blue. A narrow head tapers to a jutting set of crooked lower teeth, his muzzle set in a perpetual expression of attitude. Wide-set forelimbs and inwardly-turned toes provide an awkwardness of movement on the ground that he overcomes in the air, primarily with the advantage of lithe, muscular wings with their white powder-dusted sails, and a narrow, whiplike rudder of a tail. A mild threadscore scar lines his chest, though it was probably far more shallow than he'd like everyone to think it was. He appears about twenty turns in age.
Arceth> Naijath: She is tempting, this sparkling, darling green of the Istan sands. Her thin build and sheer summer-grass hues contribute to the pale and lofty delicacy that defines her beauty. It is hard to imagine such a lithe, narrow neck burdened by straps and rider, hard to imagine such a slender and finely arched back supporting the work of beating wings. And what wings! Sails, a glassy cloak of transparent chartreuse, pour like wine from willow-thin spars of cloudy lime. Her paws are long-toed and agile, her legs so slim it seems the bones must be curved, bowing to even the slight weight of her sparing musculature. Slender snout and long, pearled headknobs grant her face an uncommon allure, and like her dam she is all wide, wide eyes against the wonders and woes of the world. Raked-back 'ridges that drape daring curves down her neck take more after her sire, as do prominent, glossy teeth.
Caitlyn just continues to gasp inside her hands, her frame shuddering softly, rocking forward slightly. Poor Noemie - trying to deal with not only a proddy green, but a...something friend.
N'gas enters lazily, his steps almost as much a drawl as the slow song that he sings, or rather, mumbles, to himself. A short stop at the food tables; naw, he'll skip that and move right on to the drink. He smacks his lips, parched, and leans on the beverage table, lanky legs not doing well to support his short frame, and he just surveys the cavern, fascinated.
N'gas
N'gas is a forlorn-looking man: rumpled, aged leathers bespeak hours spent in drunken slumber in out of the way holds where he's been assigned turn after turn, and the coating of dust that clings to his clothing and tinges his hair with gray does nothing to improve his bedraggled appearance. Brown eyes and hair make him even more nondescript, and only the scars of barfights, broken glass, and firestone across his knuckles hint at his troubled life. Barely cresting 5'6", he's also slim and wiry, with a lazy ease of movement that makes even his manner betray his Southern origin despite turns wearing the orange and black knot of Ista.
Arceth> Naijath croons softly first at the attentions from Kintryth, then at the arriving Arceth and Marsath. She cranes her neck upward to look at them with soflty whirling eyes, as if to say that although she's got one blue attending her, they're all welcome to try and vie for her attentions. Her hide glows brightly, the light green seeming even paler due to her current state.
For a moment, Noemie's attention is all on Caitlyn. "What can I do? Is there anything?" She whispers softly. But just then, N'gas enters the the living cavern. Usually the type she wouldn't give a second glance, this time he gets a careful inspection as Noemie looks over his male form appreciatively.
Cynara, making her way into the living cavern, murmuring, "Marsath. At least tell me *which* green." A slight sigh comes from the bluerider, she heads over to the beverage table and claims herself some juice. Which she drains.
Arceth> Marsath settles, glancing towards the living cavern entrance, and then focusing all of his attention on the green. Croon? His wings don't even fully fold as he regards her.
Caitlyn cannot hold it in any longer. Her body rocks back into her chair's back, slightly arched, and her hands fall from her tear-streaked face - exposing the lines of laughter her features are settled into. It's only *now* that Cait lets loose the gles of laughter she's been holding back.
Arceth> Arceth shudders his wings, showing off the fine patterning of a mountain's snowy dapple across their breadth, then folds them deliberately and slowly to his side, a silent challenge to that licking tongue of he closest to that sparkling emerald of Ista. That dragonet can't satisfy you!
Noemie is startled, completely. She simply /can't/ take these confusing emotions in her current state! "Okay, Caitlyn, /explain,/" she nearly demands. She notes Cynara as she enters, giving her a smile she's apt to not notice, then glances back to N'gas, a look of lustful hunger on her face that matches her dragon's out in the bowl. Then she looks back towards Cait, trying to ignore the feelings placed in her by her glowing dragon.
N'gas aims to make eye contact with Noemie as he's appraised, looking the suntanned girl up and down while he unfastens his flight jacket, shifting his weight to make better advantage of the missing top few ties on his rumpled shirt. He takes up the first of what may be several drinks, downs a mouthful of the brew, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. "Gettin' hot in here," he drawls, oblivious to the laughing woman and the others.
Arceth> Naijath continues to accept Kintryth's attentions gladly, but her eyes are no longer on him. They go for a long moment to Arceth, watching as he stretches his wings, her eyes whirling, looking straight into his. Then a glance towards Marsath, equally careful and assessing.
Caitlyn is not currently feeling her own dragon's growing lust, so caught up in her own emotions is she. Finally tapering off the laughter, the bluerider squints eyes at Noemie, gasping out, "THought Gus removed my knot! I'm *such* a bad, ignorant rider..." More giggles. Her teary eyes make out N'gas' rumpled form, then Cynara's, and the woman gets ahold of herself - simply reaching into a pocket, and slapping down a rank cord on the tabletop. "That scurvy bastich *pulled one over* on me!" More giggles.
Noemie makes eye contact with N'gas as he looks her over, then does one better, giving him a wry smile, the type that she's only capable of when her dragon's this close to rising. At Caitlyn's words, though, she pulls her attention away from him, and looks to the rank cord on the table. "/Wingleader/?" she says incredulously. "You outrank me even more now? Shards!" But her look is of joy and amusement. "Congratulations, Cait! You know I've always been proud to fly with you and Kint." Apparently, promotions trump proddyness, at least for the moment.
Arceth> Arceth begins the posturing; he's an old hand at this glowy-female-thing, and he stands, his inward-slanting forelimbs giving him an appearance of a pugilist challenging his foes before the real contest even begins. Rawr!
M'treg enters the living caverns, pulled by a strange compulsion. Pouring himself a mug of klah he ambles over to the small knot of riders. "What's this I hear about a promotion, Cait?" he asks
Caitlyn nods to Noemie, just grinning now, reaching over in her excess of emotion to try and hug Noemie. "Gus is so *mean*! I thought he was gonna...well, demote me. Hey, 'Treg!" she calls out to the arriving rider. "Well, to put it short and sweet, I guess i'm in charge of the crazies in Dawnsflame, now." Her grin is ten miles wide...and one might perhaps notice the redolent wine breath she has.
Arceth> Lazulith comes in for a landing, his attention focused on the brightly glowing green. He raises his head, looking disdainfully at the other blues, then spreads his broad wings in a display of strength.
Arceth> Naijath is an equal-oprottunity temptress. She looks at each dragon in turn, her hide glowing even more brightly, her eyes spinning madly with dragon lust and desire. She pauses as her eyes reach each of her suitors, looking them over, making sure they see her, too, for what she is: a dazzling, magnificent prize that they can only dream of attaining.
N'gas just about lounges all over the drink table, though the serving man behind the table makes a disgusted noise, pushing the rumpled rider on the shoulder to dislodge him. "Spoilin' m' fun," he lowly complains, taking his first cup, and a second, and takes an unsteady step forward. He chuckles, rights himself, and starts again toward that blonde siren over yonder. "Have a drink?" he offers Noemie. "P'rmotion," he laughs. "How c'n you think at a time like this?"
Cynara shakes her head, finally. She considers more juice, then just sets down her mug and glances around. "Congratulations, Cait," is what comes out of the petite rider's mouth for now.
Arceth> Kintryth senses something in his thickening brain, and gives a rough snort of disdain to the other males gathered about Niajath. One final lick of her glowing hide, and the smaller blue skip-hops off - letting the others waste their time. *He* is going to do something much more...indirect, to make Naijath his. Off to the corrals he flings himself - ahead of all the others.
Noemie hugs Caitlyn, a bit tighter than she normally would. She'd normally continue to gush over her firend's happiness, but just then N'gas reaches her. She looks up at him and seems, surprisingly, charmed by his words. "Why thank you, rider," She says sweetly, taking the cup offered to her and sipping from it. As Cynara speaks, her attention is caught and she flashes her a wide smile.
Arceth> Kintryth's sudden abandonment of her at first causes her to creel loudly, then causes her a realization. She launches herself up and to the corrals, just slightly behind her clutchmate, suddenly lusting for the blood that will allow her to outfly all the males vying to catch her.
"By Faranth, am I lucky to be in Belior, with the 'sane' people," M'treg quips, then looks over to Noemie, who seems to be exhuding her own special glow. "Nice to see you, Noemie," he says smoothly. "Quite a bit of excitement here lately." Understatement of the sevenday.
"Thanks, Cy," Cait murmurs over to the other blueriding Istan, then staring a little at N'gas. "Huh? What do you..." ANd once again today, her face looks a little surprised, a touch vapid for long moments as Kintryth's sudden excitation finally rolls through her own mind. And, strangely for her, Noemie's form is suddenly gripped more tightly in the hug - golden-brown eyes glaring at N'gas. Mine.
Noemie smiles at M'treg sweetly, but before she can say anything to him, she calls out loudly, "NAIJATH! Shards!!" She rises suddenlyf rom where she's been sitting, spilling the drink that N'gas has given her all over her sundress. As Caitlyn holds her close, she wraps one arm around the rider's waist, looking for support as well as the close contact.
Arceth> Lazulith launches upward, propelled by powerful hindlegs, to join his fellow blues in the beastpen. Blood, blood, blood is the insistant beat of his mind.
Caitlyn struggles up from the table with Noemie - caught up in Kintryth's heat, Noemie's form so closer to hers. Mine. She gives both of those to the greenrider.
"Noemie," repeats the dusty and likely still hungover N'gas, toasting her health and taking a pull on the beverage he'd retained. "Lovely name. You've beautiful eyes, like a crystalline pool," he drawls, giving Caitlyn an interested wink in return. Aw, but then the lady's startled. "Easy, there. 'S nothin' but natcheral. Jes let yerself go with it."
Cynara blinks. "Marsath...oh, go ahead, have fun." Her eyes flick to Noemie. Rest on her. And then she's moving closer to the rider, almost as if not entirely of her own volition.
Arceth> Kintryth bugles loudly as the herd beneath him stampedes, the blue quickly finding a beast - darting down with fearful efficiency - slamming razor talons through the side of it. The impaled herdbeast bleat once, then slumps in Kint's grip as the blue jerks back upward - flapping fiercely to regain altitude. Up to a nearby ledge he settles, blooding with a will.
A moment ago, Noemie would have been bathing in all of the attention she's recieving, but now her tiny form seems to almost collapse, relying on Caitlyn to steady her, her face schooled in complete concentration. "/Blood," she says out loud. "Blood, only." The lustfulness of her dragon overwhelms her, is almost too much for her to handle.
Arceth> At last, Arceth follows. His stunted legs make his liftoff slower, and he saves the energy he'll later yearn for as he slowly picks his place in the corrals. Near the sparkling darling, but not too near. For the moment, he waits, stilling his blooding urge and saving his energy until just the right catch, a fat beast in its prime, lows and strays too close. Then, swift, efficient attack.
Arceth> Marsath follows, slender wings and form holding him above the corrals for a moment. And then, neatly, he makes his selection from the edge of the herd, lifting, dropping...pinning to lower his muzzle and blood.
Arceth> Naijath is right behind Kintryth, spotting a heardbeast that will do and swoops down on it, killing it daintily, as she does everything. She screams, fighting against the urgings of her rider to simply blood and not devour it whole, the way she would like to. But she obeys, sucking the life from the animal, using it to fuel her own desire.
N'gas steps out of the way, content to follow rather than impede the progress of the greenrider. Such things have a natural progression, they do, and he'll just sit back and bide his time. Meanwhile, another draught of the fortifying liquid. Pity the girl wasted hers.
Arceth> Lazulith studies the frantic herd for a moment, then makes his choice -- a choice beast, its neck broken by the force of his jaws. He latches his jaws about the now-headless neck and drinks deep for the ordeal ahead of him.
Noemie nods slightly at Caitlyn's words. "Shards," she repeats. "I should be better at this by now." She steadies on her feet somewhat, trying to remember what to do next. "Guest weyr?" She suggests, one arm still on her friend.
Caitlyn nods once, her eyes narrowed - squeezing Noemie's arm once. "Perfect place..." she mumbles - then glancing around at the other riders assembled. "Just keep in control, Noe. Good work..."
A look of utter disdain and disgust crosses M'treg's face as he watches N'gas' drunken attempts at flirting. He advances to the center of attention and offers another arm. "Would you care for a little extra help?" he asks with a thoroughly winning smile.
Arceth> Naijath tosses the empty carcass aside, and hunts the herd for her next kill. Her body is charged, energized by the blood of the first animal, and her need for blood has been sated-- somewhat. She eyes a smaller beast, perfect for her needs at the moment, swooping down once more, bringing it off to a place where she can blood contentedly but still be watched by the others, should they like a look at her pretty form.
Arceth> Marsath drains blood from his beast, lifting his stained muzzle to regard the green intently, eyes shading purple from his lust. Another? Yes. Another, he leaps again, bringing down the second beast with a swipe of the claw without even, really, getting off the ground.
Noemie nods slowly at the charming rider, allowing him to take her other arm. Thus, between M'treg and Caitlyn, she leads the way from the cavern to the guest weyr, her face still in deep concentration, controlling the needs of her dragon, making sure she continues to blood, and not feast, on the beast she's just killed.
Arceth> Deliberateness of movement, spareness of effort: those describe Arceth's approach to the blooding. A crimson whirl of his eyes conveys his lust, his appreciation for the glassy-winged creature so focused, so consumed. Down goes another beast, is throat slit almost casually as the narrow-muzzled arctic blue sups, and prepares.
Arceth> Kintryth decides that one will not do, this time. Down from his lofty perch the blue glides - his body blending in with the sky above. The aerial assassin swoops low, eyes whirling a crazy scarlet, seizing a wherry's neck - giving harsh jerk upwards. The resounding 'CRACK' of broken vertebrae resounds all over the Bowl, the thing going limp in Kint's grasp. Bck up to his perch the blue swoops, to land and blood once again.
Guest Weyr
Noemie makes her way into the guest weyr, still supported on either side, and nearly collapses onto a bench, heedless of her now rumpled appearance, or the wine all over the front of her dress. Not a moment later, Naijath launches herself into the air, and she gives a loud gasp.
N'gas levels a bored look toward M'treg and his disdain, and finishes his first (or somethingth) drink, ordering a second to take with him to the guest weyr; the path is familiar, and lo, though he treads it unsteadily, he arrives at last, casually taking up a lounge on the wide dragon couch. Thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, he murmurs vaguely to Caitlyn, "Your friend should relax more. We're all just friends here."
Arceth> Naijath tosses aside the second herdbeast without a second thought, giving a loud call to the male dragons in her presence as she launches into the air, magnificently, a glowing emerald in the Istan sky. Come and follow, she calls lustfully, and just see if you can catch me.
Cynara simply moves to a waiting position. Her eyes are on Noemie, but there is simply a taut waiting in her, anticipation in every muscle of the small woman's form. She closes her eyes as the green launches upwards, her own lifemate following in short order.
Caitlyn steadies Noemie as all enter the guest weyr, eyeing M'treg cautiously, then giving a small shudder when Kintryth readies himself. At the greenrider's gasp, Cait grabs on a little tighter to her arm, muttering, "You're fine, Noe. Hold her tight."
M'treg is careful in his support of Noemie, working somewhat reluctantly with Caitlyn in doing so. "A pretty lady like you needs all the support you can get right now," then turns his eyes to glare at his rival.
Arceth> Kintryth releases his drained wherry none-too soon, as Naijath tosses her lovely form up to kiss the sky. No sound emerges from the raindrop blue except his breathing, and the harsh skitter of claws on stone as he bunches up his tough form, and hurls himself after the pretty lady.
Noemie's eyes are glassy as she whispers to Caitlyn, one hand squeezing her arm tightly. "Thank you," she says. But her eyes look lustfully at M'treg on her other side, then wander about the room at her dragon's-- no, HER-- chasers. She twists her head alluringly, wanting all eyes on /her/. It's a move that doesn't fit at all with her appearance, but her mind is too far away to notice-- it's somewhere above the Istan bowl, with Naijath.
Arceth> Arceth is still one of the slowest to take to the air, his limbs not as powerful as his icy wingbeats once they sluice though the hazy Istan sunset and toward that alluring jewel reflecting off of his faceted eyes and into the skies above.
Cynara frowns. "Not too soon. Don't move too soon," she murmurs, a string of words to remind her blue of flight tactics, her eyes open again to rest on Noemie, but whether she sees the rider or her green? That is a question.
Arceth> Lazulith springs into the air, propeled by his powerful hindlegs, then lets his broad blue wings take over from there, winging ever higher in pursuit of his prize -- /his/ prize.
"Mmm..." is Caitlyn's semi-dazed answer back to Noemie - the bluerider's eyes distant - just as in tandem with her beast as Noemie is with Naijath. Cait's form can be seen to lean forward just a little, stretching up as she unconsciously mimics Kintryth's lean, striving form. "Easy...conserve early..." is mumbled to her dragon.
N'gas makes good progress on his second drink, years of repetition enabling the weathered man to consume while his eyes are half-glazed and his heart beats in time with his lifemate's. He shudders as Arceth takes flight, releases a pent-up sigh, then slowly refocuses on Noemie. "She's lovely, darlin,'" he breathes, a compliment to the luststruck rider of Naijath.
M'treg slips into the same sort of flight-induced haze as the others. "That's it boy, that's it. Use the winds and she's yours." His eyes glaze over, the same colour now as his dragon.
Arceth> And Marsath, lean, leaps skywards...his straight line speed carrying himself upward quickly. Light flickers off of teal wings, and all of his attention, every bit of it, on nothing but the prize. Familiar currents are sought and captured, and bridled and ridden upwards.
Noemie still has one hand on Caitlyn, steading herself, but she's not present in the room-- she's flying with her dragon, wind under her wings, propelling her higher and faster, alluringly twisting in the air to beckon to her suitors. She completely misses N'gas's compliment, but looks at him for a long moment, seeing dragon more than rider.
Arceth> Naijath turns her head to look behind her for only the slightest of a second, not wanting to let it stifle her speed or altitude, but wanting to assure herself that the male dragons were following her-- and they were. Another loud call beckons them on, but she is all speed, rising faster and higher. Her tactics are not to conserve for a long flight, but to make it the fastest, highest, most glorious flight possible-- not that they could catch her, anyway.
Caitlyn shivers at the cool air which slices over Kintryth's (her) hide, her head turning slightly so as to better assess the positions of the others in the pack. And then golden-brown eyes are back on Noemie/Naijath once again.
Arceth> Kintryth tries to heed the echo of his rider's thoughts, not immeditely sprinting forward to keep in perfect tandem with the perfectly minted green of Naijath. Instead, he rises up and above the main Flight - losing a little ground - but more able to follow the progress with a hunter's keen eyes. Although there's no others here to draft upon, the blue also has slightly more bouyant air to aid in his aerobatics.
N'gas unconsciously rises from the couch, stepping closer to Noemie now that the action seems to have begun and the game of chase and capture begun in earnest. His alcohol abandoned, it tips and froths onto a woven rug, foam cresting and being swallowed by the weave. Wetting his lips, the rumpled rider groans, finding some joy in this sharing of intense sensation with his draconic bond. "Make her ours," he encourages.
M'treg has let his arm drop and turned slightly to look at Noemie and her green head-on. The wind rushes beneath his wings -- wings? -- and he can feel the chill sea winds lofting him ever higher -- higher? He gazes at the greenrider witn a mix of awe and utter lust -- and sees a beautiful glowing green.
Noemie, for the moment, /is/ her dragon, is her flight, is her lust. She looks from face to face at those around her, her whole being seeming to glow with it the way her dragon. "Not so fast, love," she whispers softly, trying to control her dragon's wild intentions, "save some speed for later, or they'll catch you too easily." But part of her does not believe these words-- who could catch HER, Naijath? Certainly no dragon is worthy!
Arceth> Lazulith's powerful wingbeats carry him ever higher, urged by his rider's unconscious thoughts. Mine, mine, mine his wingbeats seem to say as he uses outright power and his broad wingsails to keep up with is prize.
Arceth> Arceth cranes his slim neck about to keep track of the lady of the evening as the sun fades, but her brightness is a beacon and he zeroes in on the target, jetting from current to current, finding his favorites among the airy gusts of the tricky Istan skies. He rumbles, an answer to her siren's call, and hops the tailwind of another of her chasers to better gain an advantage and to save his strength.
Arceth> Marsath suits those tactics. He is speed in the air, he is all energy and desire and determination to make that glowing beauty his, he makes only the most minimal of course corrections. Going straight for his goal.
Dragon> Naijath senses that Arceth cajoles in silvery ribbons of arctic ice, melting against the heat of her glistening hide. << We could be one, share this flight together, reach new heights, >> he urges.
Cynara is still back seat flying her blue, murmuring instructions to him under her breath while she watches Noemie. "You can get her...no, no. Go *left* a little." Is she always like this?
Caitlyn gives a soft, odd little croon, her form wavering just a little as she holds Noemie's arm firmly. Her neck cranes out and down, to bring her rivals into clearer sight - the woman's lips pursed softly, echoing the sensuality of Kintryth.
Arceth> Naijath shrieks once again, this time in annoyance at the voice in her mind-- how dare you tell me what to do? She continues on, darting further upward and faster forward, slowing only when she realizes that she's left her males farther behind than she'd like-- letting them catch up, then darting forward again, showing only the very beginnings of losing the edge of her speed.
Arceth senses that Naijath takes only a moment to consider this. << We could indeed. But first you must prove that you are worthy, >> she replies steadily, the colors of her mindsend flashing, dazzling reds and silvers.
Arceth> Kintryth strains to keep his flight even, tries not to hit the boosters and race hot after Naijth's screaming, incendiary trail. Luckily, the wanton green checks her forward speed when the males fall too far behind - Kint allowing one roar of desire to spill from his giant lungs - then quieting once again s he slowly narrows the distance between them.
Arceth> Lazulith growls under his breath as strong, steady wingbeats keep him within striking distance of the lovely green. Power and persistance are key here -- no need to burn himself out too soon, particularly as he has the greater endurance.
Arceth> Marsath goes *left* as asked, catches the wind and climbs higher, managing to get level with the green as she slows. He vocalizes for the first time, a bugle at the other males, but it's brief. Saving his breath for the effort within.
N'gas is back in the room, for the moment, brown eyes hazed with a two day hangover and a fresh top off sparkling with some fresh mirth. "Encouragment, boy? That's the spirit." He tugs at the strings keeping his shirt closed, anticipatorily. "Mmm, mmm."
M'treg's focus shifts abruptly to his dragon, watching as the glowing green prize slows, then pulls away aggrivatingly. "That's it -- keep it up, keep it up, wear her down -- you're bigger and stronger than she is," he mutters to his dragon, but as words audible to all.
Noemie would have ordinarily been furious at a comment like M'tregs, but she doesn't even hear it. Her face shows panic as she feels her own body/her dragon's body begin to lose stamina, feel the first gasps of having to slow. "Keep on, Naijath," She says under her breath, "You are the best, the fastest, none of them are good enough to catch you."
Arceth> Arceth wastes a moment of his gained progress to bugle a reply to Naijath, or else a complaint that she's leaving them to stew in her stardust. Now, now that she's evincing signs of fading, this is when to strike. He sprints for it, a burst of weaving speed that takes him past some of the other males, weaving within and around blue and brown tails and crying out his triumph.
Arceth> Naijath, dispite her best efforts, is now straining to keep up her previous speeds. She turns to strategry, searching for the best draught of air to keep her going, farther ahead from all the male dragons, far enough for them to not catch her. Suddenly, Arceth comes from behind, and a draconic scream comes from the green. She uses some of her reserved energy to dart suddenly out of the way, unwilling to be caught.
Caitlyn again shivers, at what only she and Kintryth know, her eyes glaring hellfire and damnation at both M'treg and N'gas - lips curling into a nasty little grin. "Mine..."
Dragon> << I am worthy! >> Proclaims dust-covered hides and a ripple of arctic fire, burning hot against the dusk. << Just come a little closer, glorious one, and we will share this sunset, united. >> (Arceth)
Noemie screams suddenly at the same time as her dragon, unaware of having made any noise.
Arceth> Lazulith notes Naijath's fading, which spurs him on all the harder. Broad cerulian wingsails pause for a moment, letting the swirling winds propel him, then takes three quick beats to catch up with the glowing green. It is only then that he bugles in triumphant defiance -- MINE!
Arceth> Kintryth begins a fast angle downward, panicing slightly when Arceth comes much, much too close to *his* woman. The smaller blue sees the target from his blazing, carmine gaze, scopes in on Naijath's twisting, pivoting form like a sniper. And this time, he simply... falls. Wings three-quarters retracted, Kint's camoflauged form near-plummets from the evening sky - winds calculated to blow him forward into the green's laboring body - his neck and tail extended, ready to seize.
Arceth> Marsath slips left again, to come up on the green's other side in silence. A stalking horse, hoping that she will avoid the flashier males and, with luck, fly right into him. A little bit of a spurt of speed to make sure he is level with her, getting himself into position.
Arceth> Arceth is set and wed to his deliberate path, intended to slingshot right at the smouldering temptress, foregoing the tender wooings of poetry and other such nonsense to entrap her in his arctic frost's embrace. And it is this he attempts to do--reaching, reaching, desperate--his whipcord tail arcing about to try to ensnare the sunflare of Naijath even as her dodge seems likely to take him out of the proper trajectory.
Arceth> Lazulith shrieks in dismay as the other blues close in on their target. He flips over on his back, belly-to-belly with the green, tail and neck coiled for the attack, wings and legs ready to foul hers into his lustful embrace.
N'gas waits, breath held, as the lunges are made: out of his hands, now. Though, as Arceth is dodged so artfully, his fingers fall from his shirtlaces, looking lost with nothing now to do. Maybe there is still a chance she'll be his?
Arceth> Naijath screams once again as the dragons seem to attack her from all sides, vying to be the one to twine tails with /her./ But she doesn't want any of it. As Kint plummets from above her, she dives out of the way, at the same time avoiding Arceth, narrowly missing his own reaching form, and slipping away from Lazulith neatly. But Marsath's tactic, in the end, is the one that succeeds, and as he shoots just a bit forward, she collides with him in her attempts to avoid her suitors completely. And in an instant, tails and necks are entertwined, and the little green courtesan has been captured.
Arceth> Marsath entwines neck and tail with her, wings spreading to support them both as he claims the delicate green, a soft croon coming from him as the two fall and fly together.
Noemie, once again, calls out at the same time as her dragon. But this time, she is caught-- and in one moment, her emotions shift from overwhelming lust to the need for one other rider in the room. Giving Caitlyn's arm a last squeeze, one of friendship this time, she rises and nearly stumbles towards Cynara and into her arms, as their dragons unite in the sky overhead.
Caitlyn wails loudly, her eyes coming back to the room - the woman panting heavily as her hands force Noemie away from her. Looking betrayed, exhilirated, forlorn, and strangely relieved, she cuts off her sorrowful echo of Kintryth's voice, and hurries from the weyr without a backwards glance.
Arceth> Arceth is going, going, going...and he overshoots, and misses her, and then she's gone, off into the embrace of that sneaky one over there. With a loud bugle of frustration and disappointment, he dives toward the ocean, sating his woes in a sulk on the sand.
Arceth> Lazulith shrieks his dismay and disgust loudly as he loop-de-loops to get to flying rightside up. Another raucous bellow, which can be heard Weyr-wide, and his frantic pace slows as he glides in to find a quiet place to brood.
Arceth> Kintryth screams in deprived fury - having once again lost another glowing beauty to some foul tactic! Snapping wings out once Naijath dove away, the blue gives an almost human-sounding moan, peeling off from the mating pair, spiralling down, down - controlled, this time - towards the sea.
Probably best that there are no second glances from losers, as Cynara gasps a little, then moves finally...only *now* does she approach the green's rider.
N'gas actually sputters. The man's clearly utterly surprised: this one was his! He looks hungrily at the two women who embrace, then clears his throat along with his vision, and turns hurriedly. "Shards," he curses, "Even spilled my ale. Can't catch a break." Hopeful, he looks toward any of the others in the weyr -- he's not picky, and tries to catch their eyes. If he fails, he'll skulk out alone, and spend the night climbing further into his cups.
M'treg is as frustrated as his dragon -- perhaps even moreso -- and he stalks out of the guest weyr and towards the lower caverns, looking for a pretty girl he could bed. If he's lucky the energy from the flight will have hit the others and he will have an easy time of it. It's either that or spend the night at the Sandbar....