You amble eastwards to the bright and cheerful living caverns.
Avila snorts. "I'm not getting this... 'There once was a rider from Fort / Who saw a greenrider to court / She making a rhyme / He said 'For a good time,.... " Avila just sighs. "Hey! Anyone! What rhymes with 'Fort?' Quick! It's /really/ important!"
"Port. Or wort, even," remarks Ilesyn, padding her way into the cavern with an otherwise sombre expression. She serves herself a mug of cider, her everpresent drink, then retires to a table not far from Avila's -- now that she's joined in on that conversation.
M'ial nods, joining Kaela at the table, taking a sip of his glass of juice, "Good... Thank you for making those sweets, I'm just crazy about 'em." Smile, not responding to Avila.
Kaela blinks slowly, trying to figure out why anyone would need a rhyme, before looking back and laughing, "I'm glad someone eats them." She dimples, "I prefer making them to eating them."
Avila wrinkles her nose. "No. They don't work. I've got to start again." A hide is tossed on the ground in frustration, and she points to Ilesyn. "You help. There once was a girl from Fort Weyr / Who stood on the sands on a dare/ A dragon came out / She said with a shout/...." She points to Ilesyn again. "Your turn. What's the last line?" The others just get a scowl. "Hey! You all... this brain poker woman is the only one that's helping me. We're gonna get some really weird rhymes if you don't put in your two marks!"
Ilesyn's eyes roll with glum disgust, though she answers Avila readily enough, after a moment's hesitation, "Don't be an idiot, you lout. I don't know." Brain poker woman? That draws a smile resembling perverse satisfaction, though she turns her gaze away, sipping in silence.
Nallath> L'in pauses to grin toward the dragons, shaking his head slowly, eyes misting for a few moments before he heads off toward the Cavern.
Nallath> L'in walks off eastwards to the bright and cheerful living caverns.
L'in ambles in from the center bowl.
M'ial nods, "Yeah, gotta keep my figure, after all." he grins at Kaela, sipping again. Then he leans closer to the woman to whisper, "Avila needs Ilesyn's services. She's going mental." before sitting back up.
Kaela leans back over to M'ial, shaking her head a little, "I doubt it." She smiles a bit, then sits back upright, "I'm not very good at that sort of thing, ma'am." This is obviously addressed to Avila.
L'in enters the cavern, heading directly for the serving tables. "Hmm. Same thing again?" he mutters, just before grabbing a meatroll between his fingers. "Not very good at what?" he asks, smiling at the group briefly before chomping on the meatroll.
Avila starts to write it down. "Don't be an idiot, you... NO!" She turns to Ilesyn with a rather startled look. "You don't know how these rhymes work? The structure? You have to rhyme the first two lines, the second two lines, and then the fifth line rhymes with the first two. You know. AA BB A. Basic. So, a last line could be...'Your hide clashes bad with my hair!' That works!" She studiously scratches out the last line. "Here's another one. "A little green fish in the lake / Decided he needed a break / In the water all day / I'll get washed away / If I ....." Avila pauses again, then points randomly in the room. "You!" She cries, although it's impossible to say who 'you' is. "What's the last line?"
Nallath> Elaesyth looks coyly over her shoulder at the gathering dragons, batting all three sets of eyelids, her tail tracing little designs in the dust.
"Oh," says Ilesyn, calmly. "Sorry Avila, I've never bothered with such things before. They must be really fascinating to you. Do you like to try and chategorise people, and sum them up in just four lines." Turning away again, she rolls her eyes, wrapping both hands about her mug, which is cradled closer to her chest.
M'ial leans back over to Kaela, nodding, "Yeah, you're right. She already is." A wink is offered, sitting back up as he just eyes Avila, sipping the juice.
Nallath> Nallath's tail goes twitch, as he elongates his body -- stretching out against the bowl floor in a pose of utter fascination. Probably for Elaesyth, though it might well be that rock over there.
L'in adds, "..wiggle too much like a snake?", with a wider grin and wink toward Avila. "What's the game? What's the prize?" Ilesyn gets a nose wrinkle and a light shake of his head before pausing to listen to M'ial. "She is, what?"
Avila beams, pointing to L'in. "He /gets/ it! He /gets/ it
Kaela looks up toward L'in, "Finding rhymes. I don't have the right mindset for it, I don't think." She shakes her head a little at M'ial, "That's mean."
Nallath> Honeaths already stretched out on the ground, nose pointing toward the coy green as a pointer would stake out his prey. The only thing that gives away that he's alive are his talons that flex provocatively - or so he hopes.
M'ial shrugs at Kaela, not responding to her, eyes shifting to L'in. "Nothing. Not worth repeating."
Avilabeams, pointing to L'in. "He /gets/ it! He /gets/ it!" She beams, clapping her hands. "It's a game, yes. And, well... the prize?" She muses for a long moment, then a slow smile starts to grow across her face. "Oh, Elaesyth says she has ideas. She's not telling me, but she says it's a really, really nice prize. And so far, L'in, you're winning! Okay! 'A certain young lad from Keroon, Always wore everything in Maroon. His mother wore green, His father was seen, In ..." Avila looks around hopefully. "Anyone?"
Nallath> From Baedanth's neck, T'nar jumps down from Baedanth's neck, the absence of riding straps quite noticable on the brown's desert hide. Quietly, the rider suanters away from his beast, and Bae hisses softly at Honeath, though he doesn't move a talon - for now. A roiling gaze falls upon the green as he simply waits for now.
M'ial adds helpfully, "In a booth?"
Ilesyn winks at L'in, though not with resounding joy; there's a sharp hardness beneath her expression, and she seems more inclined to dwell in the depths of her cider than join in with the merriment. "In a loon. Or a moon? I don't know. I don't get it. What's the point, Avila?"
Nallath> Elaesyth isn't lying down. What, and waste this chance to impress? She languidly stretches out one wing, and then another, then begins to buff her lovely talons on the bowl floor. Ah, yes. The beast is beautiful. Or so she thinks.
T'nar strides in his head held high, appearing rather proud and slightly disdainful - deep blue eyes glittering softly. "Good day, everyone," he murmurs, grabbing a mug of fruit juice and pouring a small glass for himself.
Kaela looks ready to retort to that, when her name can be heard from the kitchens. She gets to her feet quickly, still holding her mug, and runs out, "I need to get back to work" drifting along in her wake.
Nallath> Xinth turns his body to face Elaesyth's direction, keeping some distance between them, completely ignoring the other dragons.
You sense that Elaesyth senses Nallath's mind nudges against yours in sweet admiration, the rich wine of his thought-tendrils draping about you as if posing the most beautiful thing ever. << Oh, how lovely you do look, Elaesyth. If you just stretch that wing out again -- oh, utter perfection. >>
L'in nodded to Kaela, understanding now. "Right, ok. Hmm. Elaesyth has ideas? Faranth help us!" he teases as he raises a palm to his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. .. in pants that had ripped too soon?" A wave is sent to T'nar, along with a smile.
Nallath> Teanth joins the group with a quiet flicker of wings, shadowed blue against the darkness. His blonde rider rolls her eyes, dismounts, and is muttering something about 'behaving' as she heads for warmer areas.
Nallath> Pennalyn walks off eastwards to the bright and cheerful living caverns.
Pennalyn ambles in from the center bowl.
T'nar saunters over to the table where L'in is and gives him a half-grin. "Baedanth told me about Elaesyth's 'ideas' just a few minutes ago. What else is going on?"
The caverns are too busy for Ilesyn to notice everyone - or even a majority of people - so T'nar, and then Pennalyn, escape her notice. To be truthful, her cider seems more interesting than anything at all. "Why don't you just gag me with a spoon," she mutters.
Nallath> Honeath perks up, raising his chiseled head to peer toward Bae menacingly, as his long tail whips to the right then left. Once is enough, right? Bae gets the point. Back to Elaesyth, sending a croon to her for the beatific display of wings and talons.
Avila puzzles at L'in for a moment. "There's a right time to rip pants?" She only ponders on that for a moment, though, before nodding approval. "If there's a good time to rip pants, then that's a good last line. I guess I'll take it." But she doesn't seem so sure this time. She rises from the corner to the center of the room, smiling a toothy grin. "Don't you just love rhyming? The cadence... the rhythm. Anyone have any poems to tell me?" She's batting her eyes to match all three sets of eyelids on her glowy green outside.
M'ial just sighs heavily to himself, silent, sipping the juice.
Pennalyn bounces in, her usual cheer not frozen at all by the winter weather. "Evening! How's the klah? And why are we gagging people with spoons, Ilesyn? Sounds kind of messy and unnecessary." Seeing the klah, she winds towards it, pausing only for a curious look at Avila. "At Fort, the males are holding court, one blue four brown, maybe more coming down. Is taht the kind of rhyming you mean?" Boy, people are acting odd tonight. She'd better get some klah while she can.
L'in grins widely toward T'nar, reaching over to attempt a playful swat at him. "Rhyming. Oh, and poems, I guess?" he adds quickly to match Avila's question. "M'ial and Ilesyn think she must be.." That drops off as he pauses to listen to Penna.
Nallath> Elaesyth rolls her shoulders seductively, limbering up, it seems. She casts a sloe-eyed gaze over the males, as if sizing up her bevy of beaus. She's done this before, and instead of being nervous, or certain of escape, she's merely looking forward to a merry chase. Mae West of the dragon world today.
"I don't know," responds Ilesyn, lifting her head so that she can greet Pennalyn with a nod, and maybe a quarter of a smile. "It just seemed kind of-- reasonable. If you gag me with a spoon, maybe I'll stop having the urge to respond to Avila with poetry." She folds her arms upon the tabletop, returning her attention to Avila. "The lady with the green, is splitting my spleen. I've had enough, but he says tough."
T'nar deftly avoids the swat, and smirks slightly back at L'in as he gulps down the cool juice. Noticing Mati, he waves slightly. Then it's a covert look for Avila.
M'ial just quirks a brow at Pennalyn, nodding at Ilesyn, "indeed..." he agrees, returning T'nar's wave, and after that covert look, blue eyes narrow.
Nallath> Nallath drapes his wings /just so/, his neck lowered so that he can rest his wedge-shaped head upon the junction of his folded forelimbs. Elaesyth's efforts do not go unadmired; he emits a soft croon, as if beside himself with pleasure at the presence, and beauty, of the green. Oh, swoon.
"A little poetry never hurt anyone," Pennalyn assures Ilesyn with an airy wave of her klah mug. Watch out for falling boiling-hot klah. "Since you're not being graded on it or anything. You're lurking quite well tonight, Mati." That _was_ a compliment, really.
Avila's mouth drops open. "Oh, Elaesyth... " She turns to the crowd in the caverns with a rather shocked look. "She just told me what the prize will be. And... well, she likes poetry, but I think that's not going to be the only criteria." Avila gulps, almost as green as her dragon. "I kinda think you all know what's going on, don't you..." The crowd is surveyed with another careful look, now that it's not just poetry that they're here for.
T'nar passes up his chance to snigger at Mati, and then his glance whips towards Avila - the ex-hunter nodding in a slight daze. Not a word, yet.
Nallath> Xinth does not offer croons or noises of admiration to Elaesyth, not following the cue of other dragons. Eyes whirl, intent on watching the green dragon.
Nallath> Honeath snorts at Nallath's attempts. He'd roll his eyes if he could. Rather, he bobs his head slowly, angling just enough to acquire the best view of the grand green hide before them. Low rumbles are emitted, as Xinth is obviously ignored.
Nallath> Teanth is content to wait, relaxed in a patient coil of lapis and sapphire, eyes equally blue and only faintly starred with ruby. Ebony talons knead lightly at the snow and gravel, biding his time. He's here. He'll be here. Wherever she is.
M'ial snorts at Avila, "And the lady with the green cues in." he announces, glancing at Pennalyn. "Oh, /thank/ you so much."
Ilesyn responds to Avila only with a grunt, cave-woman demeanour on. The rest of her cider is swigged down without pause -- resulting in a rather burnt tongue, which in turn results in a gag. She mutters to herself, "... I might get... kind of... of... if... other." The private gripe is concluded as she turns her chair, so as to face Avila - not hesitantly, not even nervously. Quite calm
You sense "Ilesyn responds to Avila only with a grunt, cave-woman demeanour on. The rest of her cider is swigged down without pause -- resulting in a rather burnt tongue, which in turn results in a gag. "At least I might get some kind of sex out of this, even if I'm forbidden any other." The private gripe is concluded as she turns her chair, so as to face Avila - not hesitantly, not even nervously. Quite calm"
Pennalyn half-bows to M'ial, grinning--and then looks at Avila, blinking once before nodding. "Yeah, I guess." Klah mug is set aside, and unaccustomed sobriety settles over her. Time for a different game.
Nallath> Elaesyth bunches up her hindquarters and swings her tail in a smooth little rolling arch as she launches up into the sky, her head turned to watch those glorious boys as they leap up after her. It's so much fun to be green and glowy and lead the pack, no?
L'in moves away from the table, stepping directly in front of T'nar to block his view of the greenrider. "How about a whistling tune, Avila? Something to warm your heart and enliven your spirits?" He grins, beginning to whistle a lilting waltz tune.
Nallath> Elaesyth wings upwards to the the lower bowl sky.
Nallath> Nallath's body tenses, the shades and delineations of brown marking his muscular haunches rippling as he pushes from the ground, reaching higher with a drag and pull from his outspread wings. Up, up and away.
M'ial shakes his head at Pennalyn, standing up from the chair, kicking it back under the table, turning to face Avila with dark eyes.
T'nar grins ferally at L'in, and gives him a smart little bow, sidling around the man to keep Avila under his scrutiny.
M'ial notices what L'in is doing, and tries to join in with the follow brownrider's efforts to block T'nar's view of Avila, stepping in front of the weyrling.
Avila smiles a little nervously at the whistling, trying to join in, but her mouth just isn't doing it, with all the other thoughts in her head. "Umm, nice, L'in. How about singing, 'The Innkeeper's Daughter? Nice Bitran tune, no" M'ial and T'nar get nervous looks, and then Ilesyn's steady stare is met before she breaks it off with a start. "She's beginning to blood," she whispers, then turns to wave. "Ummm... seems I have a date." And she's out the door.
Avila walks off westwards to the center bowl.
T'nar doesn't waste times with antics or words, and simply eludes the other men, following Avila silently - almost stalking.
M'ial turns on his heels, leaving the Weyrling behind, following.
M'ial walks off westwards to the center bowl.
Ilesyn kicks her chair out of the way, grasping her mug - empty though it might be - to follow the group of chasers, broken fingernails tapping against the ceramic as she goes.
You amble westwards to the center bowl.
Pennalyn is one with the crowd, somehow managing to walk without taking her eyes off the greenrider. "A _lot_ of dates," she corrects Avila absently.
Nallath> Elaesyth circles lazily above the feeding pens, enjoying the panic of the animals below. She swoops down, just above a panicked herdbeast, and then rises again, angling over another that bleats in terror. Finally, she chooses one, a young cow, and as her talons dig into her neck, she bends her head to snap the neck, ending the animal's agony. The body is igonred - no, she goes right for the jugular and the warm, energy-giving blood, drinking deeply.
Nallath> Above the feeding grounds, a hunger stirs. Nallath's is two-fold, of course; the former is easily filled, and to this end he dives, reaching into the pack of beasts with an unaccustomed savage fervour. The vorpal blade of his talons goes snicker-snack, as the burnished brown snares and catches, biting deep into the neck of his prey, blood splurting from within as it does in his grasp. Prey in hand, he goes gallumphing back, draining the creature as he readies for flight once more, swalloing the sticky, congealing mess with a feral glee matched only in his fiery bellow of sweet seduction towards the winsome green. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch - the brown whose intentions focus, whose resolve is made.
"You stay away from her," mutters Ilesyn, ostensibly towards the other chasers - though she's not exactly pitching her voice to carry. "I have a mug." The brownrider peers at her own mug, rather confusedly, as if she's not entirely sure why she said that, and then shuts her mouth. Safer.
Avila walks off onwards to the southwest bowl.
You amble onwards to the southwest bowl.
You amble southwards to the large guest weyr.
Nallath> Teanth s nothing if not subtle. The bovine never knows what hit it. A whip of tail, a gleam of starlight on black talons and midnight blue foreleg, and it's dead, dark blood seeping out for draconic pleasure. Drinking in delicate laps, the blue's eyes never leave Elaesyth, glittering hints of garnet now. He'll follow her lead. Until it's his turn to lead, anyway.
Nallath> Jocoth's arrival is fashionably late, though he's arrived in enough time to note the gathering of dragons blooding, and the glowing green. Though it might take a moment for instinct to kick in, he manages eventually, and snags himself a plump herdbeast with lightning reflexes. Talons flash, then he dips his muzzle to drink, while still watching Elaesyth.
Nallath> Xinth spirals above the Grounds, easily attacking two herdbeasts at once, but he overshoots and rips one's head clean off. Whoops. He spits the head out, dives his maw into the belly, only to come up with an entrail stuck up his nose, causing the brown dragon to sneeze violently, achoo-achoo, and *pop* out the entrails go, flying to hit a bronze in the eye. Double whoops. Heh. If browns could blush, Xinth would be blushing bright red right now, and so he quickly devours and drinks up the two herdbeasts, trying to hide behind the body but he can't. He's impossibly too big to be hidden behind the carcasses.
Avila backs to the far wall of the weyr, eyeing the crowd. "All these folk are here to see.. who will win Elaesyth and me..." Her voice is nervous, but she manages a bit of a smile. Hey. Even surrounded by lust-crazed chasers, there's something about knowing you're wanted, no? Umm... maybe. "Stay over there. I'll just be over here."
T'nar nods, muttering something under his breath, eyes flickering towards the other men in the room, for some reason.
"I have a mug," Ilesyn threatens, again, then shuts her eyes promptly and leans against a conveient wall. A mug? She has a mug. Run and hide. Dark eyes are drawn open once more, as her breathing deepens, and her gaze - unwavering - meets Avila.
Pennalyn lets her hood fall back, idly fluffing her wavy curls. Her smile is quite friendly, if she just wouldn't _stare_ so..."Lady fair, why stand over there? It's your green that's being mean, you can come here, come near..." Hey, she's under pressure, give her credit for trying.
M'ial grins at Avila, "Oh, yeah. You're the /ultimate/ prize." Then he glanes at Ilesyn, blinking, looking around to find a pair of pink frilly panties, picking them up with only two fingertips, swinging them in Ilesyn's direction, "Beware. I have pink frilly undies."
N'veen has a rather vapid expression on his face as he follows everyone down to the guest weyr--it's a wonder he's not drooling, given the slack-jawed look. Finally, once he's actually inside, it's only then that he catches sight of Avila, and his eyes go wide as dinner plates.
Baedanth slams coppery talons into two herdbeast, blood spattering around the grounds, and he swoops overhead, and then releases the dead things - dropping down quickly and lightly to the earth to blood his kills in utter silence. Elaesyth is watches as he does so yet once again - this time the brown choosing a large wherry male - sucking the blood from it's broken neck and throat with silent greed. And then he waits once again. Efficient, just like his rider.
Avila rubs her shoulder blades against the far wall, biting her lower lip, silent, as her eyes travel over the group. "I know why you're all here, you know," she murmers. "Actually, it's not a bad way to get to know someone." She's trying hard to talk herself into this. "None of you will care that I've got this rather odd little birthmark on my left thigh, or that I sometimes drool when I sleep. Nope, you're not concerned with that one bit. Or that my da is a porcine farmer from Bitran. Or that my grandmother... oh, you might mind that, afterall."
Ilesyn's gaze is drawn from Avila, to reside upon M'ial with critically confused spacing. "Um. Yes?" Unafeared, the brownrider turns away again -- there's only Avila, to satisfy eye's desire, and only a mug to play with between her fingers, fingernails tapping away. Head tilts, eyes widen: she breathes. "No one ever cares, Avila. Take what you can get."
The flight sense Baedanth projects << Hisses softly at the other males. >>
Pennalyn sounds almost ingenuous. "I want to see the birthmark. I bet it's cute." Or several other adjectives not suitable for mixed company.
Honeath banks above the pen, taking his time in choosing a fat, older herdbeast to attack with precision speed and flight. Down he spirals, not fancy or tight, but it works. SNAP! There goes the beast, spine broken, as the brown sinks teeth deeply into flesh to drink.
M'ial turns to dangle the frilly pink thingies at L'in, "Is this yours, L'in? Or maybe it's the Weyrling's?" he asks, glancing at T'nar, "Make a real nice headgear for ya." he says, tossing it up into the air only to land on a nearby rider's head... the same bronzer whose dragon had gotten hit by Xinth's entrail. "Oops? Well, it looks real good on you..." he comments, scooting away from the others, though every so often he eyes Avila.
Nallath> Elaesyth creels, her voice full and throaty with the blood from the sacrificed herdbeast. Muzzle stained, she dips her head and so that her tongue laps slowly, one last time, and then, hidequarters shimmering, she leaps into the air, reaching, reaching to Rubkat. The chase has begun, boys! First one to the stars wins the shimmering prize!
T'nar smirks at M'ial, though his eyes never truly leave Avila. "Save the pinks undies for yourself, Mati. Or maybe for C'daer..."
L'in holds up a hand dismissively toward M'ial, wiggling it as he chuckles. "Making a good impression, are you, M'ial?" he asks, smiling toward the rider who 'won' the undies.
Nallath> Xinth brings his head up, but yet /more/ entrails follow him up into the air, the brown having draped his head with the organs without him knowing it. He emits a surprised bugle, blinking as he tries to shake them up, but nope. He has entrails as dragon earrings now, very pretty, no? Uh.. Handsome, that is. Very macho. They give him a sort of a feminine look. Imagine a dragon dressing in drag. Xinth offers a hopeful croon to Elaesyth, oddly sounding like the theme from Sesame Street mixed with Barney, leaping up after the green into the air, spreading his wings to chase the peanut butter... er... Elaesyth.
Nallath> Nallath catapults high - for the skies, for that is his place - as swift as sveltely-muscled haunches and a surge of outspread wings permit him, against the crowded, thickened winds. Efficiency, yet artistry, sharpens his route, as he angles between blue and brown to satisfy his course and his aim - like a star, one among the multitudes, lighting the fugitive running, as he, forever the chaser, reaches higher. Ill met by moonlight, perhaps; he is light-winged, fancy free, but aimed, not aimless.
Nallath> Teanth lances up, cutting through the pack of larger (slower) browns and bronzes with insouciant ease. His pace seems almost languid, taking advantage of the occasional gust of chill wind and the bits of air left behind by other chasers to boost him along and upwards with little effort. Roaring is too common--he simply croons, a deep vibration that carries in the night. To Elaesyth, his shooting star.
The flight sense Baedanth wastes no time with vocalizations, but flings his compact, desert-brown body towards the heavens - huge, red eyes whirling madly as his muscled form sweeps up, up - pursuing the lovely green with poetry in his heart, fire in his veins.
Nallath> Jocoth is a neat, meticulous feeder, even in the harried rush of blooding, careful to make quick kills and clean up what he can reach of the bloody remainders on his shining hide. Among the last to leave the feeding grounds--slow though he might be, he's still got the advantage of powerful muscles, which propel him into the air after Elaesyth. To infinity, and beyond! These are the lengths to which he'd go for this lovely, shimmering jewel.
M'ial blinks at T'nar, "C'daer wears pink undies?" he asks, shrugging at L'in, "Um. A very good impression, I'd hope?" But the bronzer's too busy staring at Avila, drooling, a drop hanging from the chin. M'ial wrinkles his nose. "Eww."
You sense that Elaesyth senses Nallath is subtle - a sweet caress of richest wine, of warmest blood, warm and soft, lingering just beyond you. << Oh, Elaesyth, >> he breathes, raptuous. << My eyes have drawn your shape, and you-- you are the window to my heart, where the sun delights to peep. >>
N'veen, thankfully, is *not* the bronzerider who's won M'ial's pink and frilly prize--not that he'd notice, since his attention's rather focused on Avila. "Don't speak too soon, now," he murmurs, softly enough that his voice doesn't carry much farther than his own lips.
Avila pretty much ignores the undies. "I don't like frills," she murmers. "Those aren't mine." She eyes the poor bronzer, dismissing him before settling on another. "No nonsense. Straight to the point," she counters. "Someone that knows why they're here." She runs her fingers down her hair, flipping it behind her shoulder with a narrow gaze to them all. "Elaesyth might be calling for the boys, but me? It's the men. Or the occasional woman, in this situation. Only."
Nallath> Honeath lowers his backside til its almost touching the ground, haunch muscles rippling with anticipation. Coiled like a tight spring, he lets go, catapulting him upward into the Fortian air! Not to be left behind, he leaves too, controlling his energies for the chase!
Pennalyn rises up on her toes, a near-predatory smile on her face. Pink undies and other nonessentials are disregarded. "You all," she comments sweetly, "talk too much. She doesn't want to _talk_."
Ilesyn has-- yes, yes, the mug. Enough said about it. Her head lolls to the side, breathing deepening-- though she manages to tear herself out of her reverie long enough to stare, curious, at the pants of male chasers; "I always wondered how much they-- respond, throughout the chase," she admits, mostly to herself, though she's interrupted by Avila's voice.
T'nar sways slightly on his booted feet, breathing rather more loudly than ususal. "Yeah, I was just thinking of his red underwear sitting in the sun for too long..." What's this normally lucid man blathering about?
M'ial blinks at Ilesyn, hands quickly covering the front of his pants, "Quit that." Instead he turns his bum to face Ilesyn, only then does his eyes turn back to Avila. "Is that a booger?"
Osasune comes trotting into the guest weyrs, face flushed and eyes unfocused. She keeps near the wall, leaning against it and ducking her head.
Nallath> Elaesyth is nearly girlish with glee, cutting back and forth in a zigzaggy line, tail whipping and wings straining up, up. Rubkat glitters from her hide, and she's feeling lovely, desirable, beautiful. All those boys want her, and whoo! That's a kick for any girl. She warbles, a dragonsong as she winds her way to heaven, the trail of eager lads behind her.
T'nar looks like he might vomit for a second when Mati mentions a booger.
L'in rolls his eyes to M'ial, continuing a light whistling sound intersperced with a few words in singsong voice. He inches toward Avila slowly, nonchalantly. "Gotta go.. with the flow.. gotta sing.. as we wing.."
Nallath> Cloud-swept, sky-caught, Nallath dodges flurries of wings, maneouvering between sharp-stroked wings to force his passage across the star-seeped heavens, zigging and zagging in echoance of /her/ motion. It is not here he wishes to be - there, where Elaesyth's wings beat, where beauty lies; and faster, and faster still, he traverses those thermals, seeking at the moment when he might break from the restraints of chase, and seek greater joy upon the freedom of falling stars.
Nallath> Teanth croons more eagerly now, curvetting his neck sinuously to show off and to make certain Elaesyth can hear his little harmony. Oh my lady's like a green green shoot, that's newly sprung in spring. And my lady is the fairest dragon that ever took to wing. A straight line being the shortest distance between two points, he simply aims for Elaesyth and goes. Fellow males get sideslipped, nudged, and for one overeager young bronze, forcibly shoved by one midnight-blue shoulder. This is a dangerous game. We disavow all knowledge if you fail. Onward!
N'veen eyes M'ial with an expression that can only be called a rather large amount of distaste. He makes a face and edges away, trying to find a spot where he's by himself, and the noise from that conversation is at least lessened. "Makes me ashamed to be male sometimes," he grumbles, but that's all he says--he's back to shutting up again.
Nallath> Caledoth wings toward the feeding grounds, crooning out to the green. No time to blood, no time to kill - the herdbeast he had this morning will have to sate him in the hunt. Wings of deepest blue beat as he bolts into the sky after Elaesyth, firing sparks of light blue patterning as he pursues, trying to match the green's scattered flight.
Nallath> Xinth stays just behind the leaders of the pack, zig-zagging easily behind the peanut butt... green since crack-flying is what he does best, conserving his strength as he catches a thermal, warbling after her, those entrail-earrings dangling in the air as he chases the pretty, pretty, pretty pean... green.
Nallath> Jocoth seems content, for now, to remain at the tail end of the pack--though much as his lifemate is avoiding M'ial, he'll avoid Xinth. He's got no desire to end up wearing those 'earrings,' after all. Instead, all his attention is focused upon Elaesyth, and though his flight's nowhere near as acrobatic as hers, he still does his best to keep up. He lets out a quiet croon, but conserves the rest of his energy for the chase.
Pennalyn just sways slightly on her toes, humming tunelessly under her breath. Brown eyes are still wide and fixed on the greenrider, but she's enjoying the flying part at least as much as the prospect of the prize.
The flight sense Baedanth spares not a moment for calling back to the glowing green frolicking amongst the stars. No, this manly brown is all business - and maddening fire, as he loops an spirals after the more agile Elaesyth - such a beautiful, glowing prize - fit to be amongst the heavens! He cleverly jockeys for position amongst other males, and lift a wingtip slightly to soar past a larger, slower blue dragon. Bae keeps close, but not too close, to the leaders, his canny instincts reminding him to watch out for other males, as well as emerald jewel Elaesyth.
Avila smiles a little towards N'veen. "Oh, you could probably fix that shame thing right up ... if your dragon's quick enough." She hums a little with L'in, moving to the music, her hips moving back and forth slowly with the humming. "She's the prize... in the skies..." her voice is low, nearly tuneless.
Nallath> Honeath's hide glistens, perhaps from anticipation, as the brown's tail propels him ever forward. Her zigzags are nothing he can match, but instead, he darts off to the right of her and the pack, sending a bugle of warning to Jocoth when he passes by. There he stays, ever stalwart, ever ready to claim her as his.
M'ial soon slips from his odd mood, eyes remaining locked as he stands there, completely ignoring N'veen, joining in the humming with Avila and L'in.
Ilesyn makes no response to M'ial; she turns her head, concentrates upon more important pointers -- though at least she's the beginnings of an answer to her query of curiosity. Avila: oh, how eyes widen, and stare.
L'in rolls his hips too, mimicing Avila somewhat, as he carries the tune farther. "Claiming's near... Never fear.. Don't be late... Or you'll have to wait.."
N'veen's attention's focused on Avila, and her response prompts a wry smile. His eyes remain mostly focused, though there's enough of his dragon in him to carry him off into the skies. "Doubtful. Jocoth's not built for going fast, he was built to last and last." And there, he stops, as if unable to believe the words that just came out of his mouth.
Pennalyn's eyes focus for just a minute, and she giggles at N'veen. "Her first," she decides, tilting her head towards Avila. "Then you."
T'nar breathes more raggedly, partially ignoring mostly everything else, now - except the starry prize of beautiful Elaesyth/Avila in front of him. "As am I," he quickly comments to N'veen. Who really said that - the man or the beast?
Osasune looks up with glazed eyes, shaking her head. "And I thought my poetry was bad... Guh." She straightens up, palms pressed to the wall, chin tilting upwards, and gaze settling on Avila without really seeing her.
"The flight's the thing," murmurs Ilesyn, "to set the stage -- to take to the wing." Bad poetry all around; Osa's comment draws a mirthless smile, others given wary glances, for they are all competitors, and she intends to win.
Nallath> Elaesyth gets higher and higher, and more and more daring. She's cutting back and forth even tighter, thrilling in those clean snaps she can make with the slightest tweaking of each wingtip. What a fabulous flying machine! She even tucks a wing and executes a quick barrel roll, her dragonic shouts of glee drifting back to the boys. She's having too much fun. She's now watching. And a clever dragon, one that waits and conserves his strength and doesn't match her aerobatics turn for turn just might be sneaking up on her.
T'nar mutters some snatch of rhyme he remembers... "All things can tempt me from this craft of Verse... One time it was a woman's face, or worse..."
Nallath> Nallath shall follow - follow, and follow, perhaps to flirt with the clouds, as their filaments gather about wingtips rippling in their exertion -- but it is only distraction, as he joins her ghostly, gleaming race. An arrow aimed -- and the bow is taut, the course is true; Nallath reaches, and pulls, and through the starswept, cloud-bathed ocean of the sky, he deigns to chase his claim. Too large by far to match each move, now, his stoic chase is just so -- stoic, as is said, focused and aimed -- and he gains ground, closer; never close enough.
Nallath> Jocoth sticks to the basics--wings up, wings down, wings up, wings down--and shoots upward after Elaesyth. Every so often, he tries to match one of those turns, but wisely, he opts out of the barrel roll, and instead simply follows as he may. Closer and closer he reaches, but always, always she is too far ahead.
Nallath> Caledoth folds his wings, tucking them in as he rolls in the sky, spinning as he goes - arrows spin as they slice through the air toward their target, and why shouldn't he? Straightening out, he tucks his limbs close and veers around another blue, hissing at the barely registered opponent. Neither of them really quite sees the other - their eyes are on the green, and they vie neck in neck, snapping and swooping in front of each other in a dizzying dance.
Avila raises a brow to N'veen. "That could absolutely work to your advantage," she murmers, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Speed isn't everything, to be sure." The snatches of poetry catch her attention all around the room, and she smiles at the reference to the woman's face, reaching up to touch her own. "I'm inspiring," she whispers, a pleased little smile on her face.
Nallath> Teanth angles across a few lingering rays of sunlight, gleaming luminous indigo as he paces the daring young green flying with such ease. He could be an acrobat if he wanted (yes he could!), he just doesn't want to right now. That's it. His flight is still straight, small wriggles and curves his only concessions to the presence of these...others. The only important one is She, with emerald-flaming breast and ah, bright wings!
Nallath> Honeath croons loudly at the execution of the roll that Elaesyth performs, as a suitor would applaud his ballerina at the waning moments of her performance. Never does he change his speed at this point, but those eyes are glued to the Gleaming Hide. Oh, but if he were to bask in that greenness, blending earth with green-growth! Then he would truly know bliss!
Nallath> Xinth starts to surge through the leaders of the pack, matching Elaesyth turn for turn, even the barrel roll, becoming reckless in his attempt to get closer to the green, staying behind her. But what's this? The brown's earrings finally slip off him, flying back only to catch that very same bronze dragon and put him out of commission for this round. Oopsy-whoopsy.
The flight sense Baedanth flies the steady, rhythmic flight, desert and sage sweeping the skies as he follows Elasyth's moves - except for the ones he knows are meant to tire or make him founder midair. His is the endurance and patience borne of long seige - of Turns of planning and calculating. For a youngling, he is more the sage adult in his mind - his large wings cupping the winds to speed his straining body closer and closer to the tourmaline beauty before him.
N'veen's gaze flickers briefly to Pennalyn, his smile widening just a touch, but then looks back Avila's way. Everyone else is summarily ignored, whether they speak to him or not. "Slow and steady wins the race," he murmurs, mostly to himself, then adds, even quieter still, so that it barely carries, "Takes you to a higher place."
T'nar keeps on muttering that weird poetry snippet, stepping a bit closer towards Avila/Elaesyth: Did not the poet Sing it with such airs, That one believed he had a sword upstairs..."
L'in is still humming, though the words have fallen from his lips. Fingertips tap at his thighs, drumming added to the symphony he plays for Avila, while a fingersnap adds emphasis in occasional moments.
Ilesyn's cup swings across her fingers, a nervous movement -- something to keep her occupied, as she waits, impatiently, nervously. Avila fills her gaze, fills her-- everything.
Pennalyn glances at T'nar, eyes flickering down from his face for a moment before teasing "The sword's _upstairs_?" Let's hope no one noticed that.
T'nar doesn't bother with blushing, and only grins at Penna before rolling hie deep blue, long-lashed eyes back to Avila. Breathing is... difficult, for some reason.
Timid bluerider / leans against the guest weyr wall / while chewing her lip. Osasune's expression is radiant as she revels in the flight with her lifemate, flush in her cheeks not fading.
Avila is playing it closer and closer now... and the mistake had to come. She's just being too daring in her dance of the skies. A cut just too far to the right, and she's angled herself back into the pack, a squeal of surprise as she's suddenly surrounded by the eager males. A little too soon, the teaser has the game turned back to her, the prize now to be claimed. A creel echos, nearly plaintive, as she realizes her slip, realizes it's up to whoever is clever enough to take advantage of this situation.
Nallath> Nallath has no choice in his actions, no freedom to disobey nature's course, untrimmed; he does not /dare/, he merely trusts, casing his moves upon that which he can assume. She shall descend, fighting her capture, he shall ascend -- perhaps others she shall valiantly surpass, but his wings fill with starlight, his touch full of utter devotion, and his is no pipe-dream offering. Reach, Elaesyth: just reach, and he shall carry you home. We can - shall! - be heroes.
Nallath> Elaesythis playing it closer and closer now... and the mistake had to come. She's just being too daring in her dance of the skies. A cut just too far to the right, and she's angled herself back into the pack, a squeal of surprise as she's suddenly surrounded by the eager males. A little too soon, the teaser has the game turned back to her, the prize now to be claimed. A creel echos, nearly plaintive, as she realizes her slip, realizes it's up to whoever is clever enough to take advantage of this situation.
Nallath> Teanth spreads his wings wide as the Grand Prize of Everything suddenly comes into range, slowing his headlong flight and shifting from eager pursuit to gentle comfort, shelter for weary jade wings. The moons are mirrorballs, with lightflickers from across the Bowl--who'll catch this star, this Elaesyth, as she falls? Him, of course, and his croon is soothing, welcoming, blue-fired warmth in the wintry night.
Nallath> Caledoth bellows in surprise as the green prize disappears; he's overshot her - there's a brown behind him, he can't stop - so he veers upward, over, downward again, seeking to flip in the air and end right side up and above her to catch her, back arching sinuously.
Nallath> Xinth quickly drops back with Elaesyth just as she cuts to the right, right on her wingtips, trying to drop down onto her, wings, talons, limbs, tails, wings, neck, and head reaching out to try and entwine himself with the green dragon. See, Elaesyth's peanut butter (JIF, of course. Only the best) and Xinth's the grape jelly! Or strawberry jam, maybe? Let's make a tasty draggy sandwich!
Nallath> Jocoth might not be *clever*, exactly, but he's certainly one to take initiative and take advantage when he's able. Another one of those quiet croons escapes, this one meant only for Elaesyth, though the others might be able to hear. Might he be the one to catch this falling star, to put it in his pocket for as long as she might allow, never to let her fade away? With another thrust of powerful gossamer wings, he moves forward, still below her, and reaches upward with all his might. One last croon--this time of invitation, then he's silent.
Nallath> Honeath bellows as if to warn her, worry filtering into his draconic voice, when the Green cuts too far right. Dipping his wing, he angles a turn, heading right for the underside of that shimmering glowing body! Nose once more giving him a strong direction, he heads toward the softness that will surely land on him, a cushion for her fall.
N'veen's breathing seems to almost stop, and though he's still leaning against a wall, his body tenses as he waits, in silence, for the outcome. Unlike his lifemate, he's quiet this time, eyes wide and unblinking.
The flight sense Baedanth allows himself one short bugel as Elaesyth makes that one mistake, surging to the fore, avoiding the other males while his parched body strains towards the heavenly form of the jadeite green, strong tail curving around to the fore, copper-hued talons delicately reaching for green shoulders, neck stretched to it's limit, seeking to try and entwine the sky-jewel's.
Breathe. Ilesyn? Breathe. Please. She does so - reluctant, somewhat heavy, flailing breathes. Experience, yes - but not in this; it shows in her eyes, in her gaze. Breathe.
Osasune stretches, form aquiver with the strain - she feels her lifemate's bold manuver, her back arching in sympathy for him.
Avila nearly slumps against the wall. She knows it's over. Or maybe it's about to begin? She closes her eyes, joined with her dragon, tense, expectant. "Elaesyth... it's okay." A slow, long breath escapes her lips, as she fights to calm herself, even as she relays calm to her dragon.
Pennalyn smiles, just smiles, and leans her stretched-taut body in Avila's direction, arms half-opening in an unconscious mimic. "Here--"
T'nar strains as his dragon does, barely a handspan away from Avila - though still not daring to touch her. His eyes are dark, and wild.
M'ial takes a step forward closer to Avila, but that's all he takes.
You sense that Elaesyth senses Nallath offers comfort - a hint of joy, a touch of greater bliss. He makes no attempt to overpower; his is soft, cadescent, but rippling quiet. << You are my sunshine, you are like Ilesyn's wine. No more could I forget you, than I could forget Ilesyn, too. >>
L'in stops the gyrations and hums, lowering down to both knees as he returns to inching toward Avila with an arm outstretched. His fingers are clicking slowly, perhaps thinking that's enticing to her.
Nallath> Elaesyth creels again, softly, as her she feels herself being drawn closer...protected by the wings of Nallath, her cry floating to the heavens as she falls from the skies in his embrace.
Nallath> Caledoth doesn't make it - not fast enough, didn't turn quickly, should've done something else. He tips a wing in Elaesyth and Nallath's direction, quite the gentleman, and veers away to leave them to it.
Nallath> Honeath sends out a creel of disappointment, immediately turning and dipping to return back to the weyr. Swiftly he flies, though tired and spent from the effort.
Nallath> Jocoth rapidly peels away from the others and heads down to the bowl's floor in a quick, tight spiral.
Nallath> Nallath catches and carries, reaching and holding: twined, and entwined, together they fall. His. Hers.
Pennalyn realzes so suddenly it's as if several strings have been cut. She looks, uncomprehending, from Avila to Ilesyn, then grits her teeth and walks out.
Pennalyn walks off northwards to the southwestern bowl floor.
Osasune exhales in a sorrowful sigh, stepping away from the wall to dart toward the exit.
Avila's eyes widen, and she lets out a gasp of air. "Elaesyth... " Her voice s a bit plaintive, but she steps forward, perhaps not of her own will. "The dragons chose. You've gotta know that... "
Osasune walks off northwards to the southwestern bowl floor.
The flight sense Baedanth roars his surprise and frustration, swerving at the last instant to avoid plowing into Elaesyth and Nallath, and then spirals down from the sky, lower and lower, to try and quench his fires in the cold of the winter Lake below.
L'in drops his hand to his side, grunting as he passes Ilesyn to head out the doorway.
N'veen breathes in rather sharply, his gaze dropping to the floor, and hurries out as fast as he's able.
M'ial quicky leaves the place.
N'veen walks off northwards to the southwestern bowl floor.
M'ial walks off northwards to the southwestern bowl floor.
L'in walks off northwards to the southwestern bowl floor.
Nallath> Teanth lets out one razor-edged snarl of disappointment, then circles down.
Ilesyn's mug breaks, in her surprised jump, and shatters tothe floor. One blink, and then she forces herself forward - blind to anything but Avila. "The dragons choose," she agrees, voice husky. "Chose."
Nallath> From the Southwest Bowl, Caledoth backwings, Osa running off to meet him. "It's okay, it's okay," she tells the blue, stretching her arms out and slinging them loosely around his muzzle as he swings his head down to her level with a miserable croon.
T'nar clenches his jaw as Baedanth cries out above, and promptly turns and strides forth from the weyr.
T'nar walks off northwards to the southwestern bowl floor.
Posted by Louise at January 29, 2003 05:09 PM