Vignette: In which things do not go to plan
Date: Morning, day 28, month 9, turn 26 of Interval 10
Summary: Iskiveth rises. Szadath and Taikrin are ready for her. At least... they /think/ they're ready. But things do not go to plan, and it turns out gold flights are no longer Taikrin's most favorite thing.
Note: To be continued...
When the appointed morning came, neither Taikrin nor Szadath were surprised. Ever since their revelation a few days previous, they'd taken it upon themselves to prepare. To focus. To hone themselves to as a fine an edge as possible, in order to squeeze out every last bit of strength. The brown took to haunting Iskiveth's ledge, making a point of just being /around/. He was quick with a story or a joke or a boast, and quicker still to flatter the gold's prowess. For Szadath, it was the height of subtlety and machinations -- but, above all, it was /fun/.
For Taikrin, there was no need to dog Teris -- though she did keep a sharp eye out for the newly-interested bronzeriders who would inevitably come sniffing around. But she made a point to stay in the Weyr, to stay sober, to remain on best behavior; the very /model/ of a mature dragonrider. Still, as the hours drew closer, there was a slowly tighten quiver somewhere deep in her stomach. She told herself it was excitement. Anticipation. Besides, this was no big deal. They'd done it before, after all, and quite successfully. It was going to be a walk in the park, just one more way for Taikrin and Szadath to demonstrate their exceptional capabilities.
She didn't entirely remember how she'd gotten to Teris' weyr that morning. They'd gotten up early; Szadath had known with a virile male's instinct that /now/ was the time to be awake. It'd been early morning stretches and a light warmup, but by the time /soon/ became /now/, they'd both been lounging around in anticipation for a good hour. The were first, or nearly so, to take up their self-appointed guardian positions -- one in the feeding grounds, jaws soaked with blood and dripping menace, and the other setting herself up as near to Teris as the goldrider would allow in order to ooze ill-will towards the eager chasers.
We've got this... we're ready. We're the best. She belongs to /us/.
Slipping into Szadath was as easy as slipping into her favorite riding jacket-- easier, even, because he was not just around her but a part of her. And then he /was/ her, and she was him, and there was an anticipatory tremble running through their limbs as their heartrate spiked. Never-eloquent thoughts turned feral, all niceties burned away to focus on their single, golden goal withh primal ferocity: mine.
Every muscle in their body sang. Every thought synchronized with razor-focus. When Iskiveth pushed off, they were only a fraction of a second behind. A brief flicker of smug satisfaction briefly surfaced, when a well-timed mid-air twist sent a less-serious competitor barreling out of the way, but there was no time to revel in their triumphs: the bright dawn sun made their target hard to see, and its heat was already beating heavily enough on their shoulders to make Taikrin sweat.
They-- wait. She? Taikrin was spun free of the meld for a moment, reeling in confusion as she swiped a hand across the sweat boiling down her forehead. When did it get so hot in here?
<< FOCUS! >> The demand from Szadath, the urgent need spilling across their bond, jerked the brownrider back into the link. There was no room in this moment for the individual, for small concerns like the sweat stinging her eyes or the way her heart was pounding against her ribcage.
Together, they evaluated: Iskiveth was far ahead, leading the pack of males; they were towards the front, but thepack was still quite tight. They needed room, and they needed to make this fast. They weren't stupid: though Szadathmight mass as much as a small bronze, he lacked the length and wingspan. He was a sprinter, built for huge bursts ofpower; long, drawn-out mating flights were his weakness. Without more than a second's worth of thought, their path was decided.
Szadath surged forward, purposefully putting their more solid mass in the wing-space of a long, slender bronze. The other male fell away in the brown's wake as they barreled forward towards his target. Their speed was prodigious, and though their muscles trembled with effort and their heart felt as though it would burst their chest, they endured. She was nearly in their grasp now, they only had to keep it up a moment longer and they would catch her, all unawares, reclaim their prize--
Out of the corner of their eye, a flurry of light-dark-shiny activity barely registered with Szadath-- certainly not when there was pointy, darkling gold right there just out of grasp. But Taikrin registered alright, saw the bronze they'd fouled knock into something lighter colored but just as shiny, saw the lighter dragon turn on the darker, and then there was roaring and anger and talons flashing and gaping jaws and /teeth/ oh Faranth the teeth-- and she could /feel/ it like they were closing in around her chest, and the talons were just inches from her back and she couldn't /breathe/ and couldn't /see/ and couldn't get /away/ and oh Faranth Szadath get away make it stop Szadath please stop stop STOP STOP STOP STOP!
------------------
When Taikrin came back to herself, she was outside, just below Iskiveth's ledge. Her throat was raw -- had that yelling been her? -- and her mouth was full of bile though she couldn't entirely recall when she'd thrown up. Szadath was above her, over her, around her, sheltering her from all sides and /he/ was trembling as if he'd just run a marathon -- which, of course, he basically had -- but it was in time with the tremors running through her body. The raw panic that had filled her mind was subsiding, slowly, leaving in its place old sour fear and resentment. She stood up on trembling legs, leaning heavily against Szadath's side to pull herself fully upright.
<< What happened? >> There was more to the mental touch: anguish and confusion and concern all swirled up in acrid smoke and deafening echoes.
"I-- I don't know. He was--" Her brain seized up on her before she could even begin to ponder what the /shells/ had just happened to her, shying away from even a hint of recollection. "I don't-- I don't--"
And then she was on his back, strapless but clinging, and Szadath was launching himself into the air, and they were going somewhere between, the only place she could think of where things became easy and simple and where she was never afraid of something strange and intangible; somewhere that there was only the demand of the physical, the here-and-now, where he knew they could find the release they both needed from this. The sensation coiled in Taikrin's chest like a leaded rope was strange, and something that needed to be exorcised, STAT.
It was still only mid-day when they appeared in the skies over Greenfields.
Summary: Iskiveth rises. Szadath and Taikrin are ready for her. At least... they /think/ they're ready. But things do not go to plan, and it turns out gold flights are no longer Taikrin's most favorite thing.
Note: To be continued...
When the appointed morning came, neither Taikrin nor Szadath were surprised. Ever since their revelation a few days previous, they'd taken it upon themselves to prepare. To focus. To hone themselves to as a fine an edge as possible, in order to squeeze out every last bit of strength. The brown took to haunting Iskiveth's ledge, making a point of just being /around/. He was quick with a story or a joke or a boast, and quicker still to flatter the gold's prowess. For Szadath, it was the height of subtlety and machinations -- but, above all, it was /fun/.
For Taikrin, there was no need to dog Teris -- though she did keep a sharp eye out for the newly-interested bronzeriders who would inevitably come sniffing around. But she made a point to stay in the Weyr, to stay sober, to remain on best behavior; the very /model/ of a mature dragonrider. Still, as the hours drew closer, there was a slowly tighten quiver somewhere deep in her stomach. She told herself it was excitement. Anticipation. Besides, this was no big deal. They'd done it before, after all, and quite successfully. It was going to be a walk in the park, just one more way for Taikrin and Szadath to demonstrate their exceptional capabilities.
She didn't entirely remember how she'd gotten to Teris' weyr that morning. They'd gotten up early; Szadath had known with a virile male's instinct that /now/ was the time to be awake. It'd been early morning stretches and a light warmup, but by the time /soon/ became /now/, they'd both been lounging around in anticipation for a good hour. The were first, or nearly so, to take up their self-appointed guardian positions -- one in the feeding grounds, jaws soaked with blood and dripping menace, and the other setting herself up as near to Teris as the goldrider would allow in order to ooze ill-will towards the eager chasers.
We've got this... we're ready. We're the best. She belongs to /us/.
Slipping into Szadath was as easy as slipping into her favorite riding jacket-- easier, even, because he was not just around her but a part of her. And then he /was/ her, and she was him, and there was an anticipatory tremble running through their limbs as their heartrate spiked. Never-eloquent thoughts turned feral, all niceties burned away to focus on their single, golden goal withh primal ferocity: mine.
Every muscle in their body sang. Every thought synchronized with razor-focus. When Iskiveth pushed off, they were only a fraction of a second behind. A brief flicker of smug satisfaction briefly surfaced, when a well-timed mid-air twist sent a less-serious competitor barreling out of the way, but there was no time to revel in their triumphs: the bright dawn sun made their target hard to see, and its heat was already beating heavily enough on their shoulders to make Taikrin sweat.
They-- wait. She? Taikrin was spun free of the meld for a moment, reeling in confusion as she swiped a hand across the sweat boiling down her forehead. When did it get so hot in here?
<< FOCUS! >> The demand from Szadath, the urgent need spilling across their bond, jerked the brownrider back into the link. There was no room in this moment for the individual, for small concerns like the sweat stinging her eyes or the way her heart was pounding against her ribcage.
Together, they evaluated: Iskiveth was far ahead, leading the pack of males; they were towards the front, but thepack was still quite tight. They needed room, and they needed to make this fast. They weren't stupid: though Szadathmight mass as much as a small bronze, he lacked the length and wingspan. He was a sprinter, built for huge bursts ofpower; long, drawn-out mating flights were his weakness. Without more than a second's worth of thought, their path was decided.
Szadath surged forward, purposefully putting their more solid mass in the wing-space of a long, slender bronze. The other male fell away in the brown's wake as they barreled forward towards his target. Their speed was prodigious, and though their muscles trembled with effort and their heart felt as though it would burst their chest, they endured. She was nearly in their grasp now, they only had to keep it up a moment longer and they would catch her, all unawares, reclaim their prize--
Out of the corner of their eye, a flurry of light-dark-shiny activity barely registered with Szadath-- certainly not when there was pointy, darkling gold right there just out of grasp. But Taikrin registered alright, saw the bronze they'd fouled knock into something lighter colored but just as shiny, saw the lighter dragon turn on the darker, and then there was roaring and anger and talons flashing and gaping jaws and /teeth/ oh Faranth the teeth-- and she could /feel/ it like they were closing in around her chest, and the talons were just inches from her back and she couldn't /breathe/ and couldn't /see/ and couldn't get /away/ and oh Faranth Szadath get away make it stop Szadath please stop stop STOP STOP STOP STOP!
------------------
When Taikrin came back to herself, she was outside, just below Iskiveth's ledge. Her throat was raw -- had that yelling been her? -- and her mouth was full of bile though she couldn't entirely recall when she'd thrown up. Szadath was above her, over her, around her, sheltering her from all sides and /he/ was trembling as if he'd just run a marathon -- which, of course, he basically had -- but it was in time with the tremors running through her body. The raw panic that had filled her mind was subsiding, slowly, leaving in its place old sour fear and resentment. She stood up on trembling legs, leaning heavily against Szadath's side to pull herself fully upright.
<< What happened? >> There was more to the mental touch: anguish and confusion and concern all swirled up in acrid smoke and deafening echoes.
"I-- I don't know. He was--" Her brain seized up on her before she could even begin to ponder what the /shells/ had just happened to her, shying away from even a hint of recollection. "I don't-- I don't--"
And then she was on his back, strapless but clinging, and Szadath was launching himself into the air, and they were going somewhere between, the only place she could think of where things became easy and simple and where she was never afraid of something strange and intangible; somewhere that there was only the demand of the physical, the here-and-now, where he knew they could find the release they both needed from this. The sensation coiled in Taikrin's chest like a leaded rope was strange, and something that needed to be exorcised, STAT.
It was still only mid-day when they appeared in the skies over Greenfields.