Logs:Flirty Fighty Flight
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| RL Date: 7 January, 2016 |
| Who: C'ris, K'zin, Ka'ge, Quinlys, Telavi, Mivength, Olveraeth, Rasavyth, Solith, Zymadiath |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Solith's flight is eventful for everyone. |
| Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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>---< Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#466RJs) >-------------------------------<
This broad ledge is dappled with bright light in the morning and commands
a lovely view of the eastern end of the bowl, including the lake and the
trees that dot the shoreline. Reached by a flight of stone steps that
climb up from the bowl floor, the ledge is relatively low, an easy jump
down to the ground; possibly its selection was a safety precaution, so
anyone stumbling out the wrong way after a flight would be unlikely to
break his or her neck. Within the weyr itself is a comfortably-sized
dragon wallow, rarely used but swept clean nonetheless.
The cavern broadens as it stretches back away from the entrance to reveal
a neatly made double-sized bed pushed up against the back wall, a press at
its foot with an extra blanket folded on top of it and two chairs standing
guard to either side of the hearth. A rectangular table lurks against the
side wall, kept stocked with a pitcher of water and a basket of seasonal
fruits. The weyr is well-lit and kept immaculately clean, the refreshing
scents of citron-infused sweetsand mingling with the tang of herbs.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
C'ris M 29 5'9 trim, brown hair, brown eyes 1m
K'zin M 26 6'1" muscled, brown hair, brown eyes 4s
Quinlys F 33 5'4" soft, dark red hair, blue eyes 1m
Telavi F 27 5'7" trim, dk. blonde hair, blue-green eyes 0s It's been a lovely, lovely day, at least for Telavi; this isn't one of the rare cycles where Solith has her twitchy and seeing shadows at every turn, but rather floating amidst her senses and her green's. Not that it hasn't had its episodes, such as a smile of surpassing sweetness bestowed on a hapless auntie who was trying to sew, or staring into the air as though she saw something that no one else could, or taking a full hour to revel in a fruity thickened-cream treat. Or, what with having to wait in a very slow lunch line, slipping her hands beneath poor K'zin's shirt and riding it up, so other friends could see 'the nicest abs in the 'Reaches. Or Pern!' All this before the next sensory whim floated along; now, in after-dinner twilight, she sits within the firelit guest weyr and brushes out her hair. Solith's been considering the pens for the last two hours, but there's no sign of a decision yet. Telavi taps her toe, suddenly impatient. It's rare for Olveraeth to miss one of Solith's flights, so there's no surprise, really, in his presence in the bowl, wings furled tight about his dark hide in perpetual readiness. Nor is it a surprise that Quinlys is prompt in arriving in the guest weyr, even before the flight's beginning. "Tela. I hadn't realised how in the mood I was for one of these. She has excellent timing," is cheerful, more cheerful than has been Quinlys' general mood most recently; the bluerider flops, lounging atop the press in a way that speaks to how very confident (rightly so, based on past experience) she is. Mivength doesn't chase often; he rarely notices greens that glow. But today, his pervasive thoughts seem to be an edge on those he knows who would be interested in Solith, rather than the green herself. At the edge of Rasavyth's mind, at the edge of Olveraeth's. He is going to outbid them. He is going to win their girl. That is why he is watching Solith with such interest, ready for any upped ante. C'ris hasn't noticed, yet. A foreign bronze sits on the rim of 'Reaches, dark with the darkness that twilight brings, and even without. He'd arrived a few hours before, his announcement outwardly silent but regarded by the watchdragon all the same. His rider is somewhere within the lower caverns. Somewhere, that s, that's certainly no where close to the flight weyr. But Zymadiath is interested in the green at the pens in that reserved sort of way of a slight head tilted to lay one faceted eye in her direction, and little more for now. Shadows, his shadows, eb at the horizon of the others. It's a presence that steadily, invasively, grows. Stars. Stars that are ready to dance in the breeze; stars that gleam and shine and know. Ready when you are, Solith. (To nearby dragons from Olveraeth) There's an immediate wry amusement at those stars, at the gleam. « Go chase yourself, starry-boy. No one will miss you, » Mivength snarks, his claws visibly curling into the stone beneath him. (To nearby dragons from Mivength) It's been turns since Rasavyth didn't have an interest in flying and in particular he has an interest in flying Solith, who he's never caught, not even once in the seven and a half turns since her maiden flight. She gave him a puzzle then and has never afforded him the chance to solve it. So he comes, he watches attentively as the day goes on. He's as patient as his rider in this now familiar wait. K'zin, who so patiently bore the embarrassing display of (yes, pretty damn fine) abs in the lunch line. He was quiet, against the wall, waiting. Only then Quinlys has to appear and come near the greenrider his muscles tense. He doesn't move, though the drawls a slow, "Weyrlingmaster," and a lift of a brow, "Going to lay hands all over my girlfriend again?" At least, for now, the idea seems to amuse him, so that's good. "Doesn't she?" Telavi quips back, if after the lost beat it took to realize Quinlys was speaking to her; her eyes are blue tonight, bluer than the long-- but easy to open! fewer rips for the seamstress!-- gown she wears, but she's pale. Solith's pale in the twilight, hindquarters low but otherwise raised on that low pens-watching ledge, but that's just her... except for the part where, as the evening darkens underneath its layer of clouds, she stays that way. She has no hoard, no wager... but it is time to deal. Her wings draw up, and up, and she flies. For the pens, yes, to kill and blood... but first for those shadows, literal and mental, in and then out. Telavi licks her lips, out and then in. Her gaze finds K'zin and that drawl of his now. Stars are nice. Pretty even. But not nearly so shimmery as Rasavyth's mental ooze of charm. Olveraeth is adorable, isn't he adorable, Solith? Sweet that he thinks he stands a chance. Mivength is droll, that's what he is. Talking big. Solith, did you know that a dragon's-- doesn't oft match the size of his voice? Rasavyth knows these things though he's never had cause to measure. He whispers these secrets, these entertainments to the ever elusive breeze, the presence he might wish to tempt closer to hear his whispers and words. « Solith, » it's soft, it's a purr; he makes her name sound delightful. (To nearby dragons from Rasavyth) It's not that Olveraeth retreats; it's that he's busy, and posturing is not his style. Let the others waste their time on it... (To nearby dragons from Olveraeth) "Your girlfriend enjoys it just as much as I do," ripostes Quinlys, drawing one knee up onto the press and leaning on it, intent and intense in the way she focuses-- already-- on Telavi and not in K'zin, even though she's speaking to him. If she's still pissed at him, she's not showing it, though her smile is as smug and superior as ever it can be. A contented sigh marks Olveraeth's launch into the air and subsequent kill; he's no time to worship at the altar of anyone, but the blood he spills is libation of its own kind, perhaps, ready to propel him to victory (whatever Mivength implies; whatever anyone implies, in truth). The stars know; she is ready, she is. The first puzzle, though: for what? « Ras... » isn't so much an abbreviation as the very first part of his name. The snark is but background, and the whispers already know the rest. (To nearby dragons from Solith) Mivength joins her, for the first time his thoughts ripping away from his competition and focusing on Solith. He joins her when he throws himself into the pens with her, to share a meal of blood with her as he offers the careless thought of, « You are special. » He won't explain how or delve into that, not as C'ris finally notices his intention and a struggle starts between the two. It is likely why the bluerider arrives at the flight weyr out of breath, surprise making his gaze wide as he sweeps a look over the interior of that weyr just to confirm that is Telavi there and--. The bronze lurking above lowers himself on the rim's edge, hooking talons over it with intent and readiness only once Solith takes to the sky. Zymadiath's dusk-laden, heavy wings strike open with perhaps over-done dramatization and he drops from his elevated perch. Focused on her, the raspy, gravelly hushed mindvoice curls from his darkness, « Light in the dark. » A familiar word, a familiar name, maybe not quite meaning the literal. It's born from curiosity pursued, and granted as his teeth shred his own kill mostly hidden by the drape of wing in his hawk-like, bat-like hunker. Still his rider remains absent. The bronze only just now committed to the scene, it may be left to wonder if he may get here at all. "No doubt," K'zin is smirking at the redhead. He pushes off the wall and moves without worry or concern to take a position at Telavi's feet, settling in front of her, still mostly faced toward the room while he boldly lets his head come to rest on her knee, giving her an adoring look. "Can't imagine anyone not enjoying it," is for both ladies, of course, and sounds meant. Nevermind that one bold hand is seeking to slip under the hem of that so-easy-to-remove dress. Rasavyth is no slouch in blooding a kill. He's far from stupid: if she's going to enjoy the pens, so should and shall he, he has ever been her follower and student in the art of the kill. --Telavi's decolletage and Telavi's indrawn breath and her rising dress, the brush loosening in her hand. Solith's nostrils flare at the smell of Mivength, even if she doesn't exactly remember why; Solith glances up from her kill to that blue, that careless blue, and she couldn't care less. Blood colors her tongue, and her teeth. She drinks as Olveraeth drinks, as Telavi's gaze finds Ol-- Quinlys, she's still Quinlys, though not just Quinlys. Quinlys, even as her free hand reaches to find K'zin's hair, encouraging. Perhaps she should flinch from Zymadiath's shadows, from that rough raspiness, but Solith doesn't; she invokes them instead, with the increasingly luminous lift of her head, with the gossamer touch of her thoughts: wordless but light, indeed. Lightening light. It's barely a leap, little to no giveaway in the push and lift of her hind-muscles, but in that moment and in that dimness her wings blur. So quick. She draws darkness between them, dragonlengths of darkness, in all but a blink. It's no problem at all if Ka'ge doesn't show up. Honestly, it's no problem at all if everyone leaves now; Quinlys has this. Truly. Languid and lazy, she stretches herself out, far more focused on Telavi than any of the other chasers-- C'ris included, though surely she's aware of his presence, given Mivength. "Telavi's my favourite," is said directly to the greenrider, as this particular bluerider shakes herself out of her jacket, dropping it on the floor just in time for it to land as Olveraeth takes flight, stars mapping his path after the glowing green. C'ris flushes, perhaps in combination for Telavi's decolletage and K'zin's hand there going under her skirt and Quinlys' mere presence. He flushes and he pleads under his breath, but then Solith is in the air with Mivength waiting a beat, two before he finally pushes himself into the air to join her. And C'ris is left lost and helpless in the weyr below, not even thinking to step away from the entrance as he watches Telavi, Quinlys--. It might even be the latter that he watches more than the former, despite everything. Quick- maybe not that quick, night's wings launch Fortian bronze upwards after the focus of his attentions. Heavy wingspan hurtles him ever higher, chasing the one at the end of those multiplying dragonlengths. Zymadiath falls into some pace behind Olveraeth at the start, the eb and flow of his shadow-touched mind bearing figments that writhe in, figures that look outwards- vigilant, and wanting. "Do you know we've been together for over eight turns now, Quin?" K'zin says it with a tone of almost wonderment. He's looking at Telavi, smiling charmingly up at her, of course. The hand travels, since he's being encouraged, but not so far that it's not still just a tease. "More or less." That's added with something impish in his look. "Just a little longer than it's been since the first time you got to put your hands all over her." He glances briefly toward Quinlys, his look mischievous before he looks back to Telavi, "Tell me, love, how much do you love it when it's Olveraeth capturing Solith in the sky?" His tone makes it sound tawdry, interesting, as if they might tell him the juiciest details now that they're all here, like this. C'ris is welcome to wait at the door, but he won't hear the pryingly personal answers if he doesn't at least come closer. Certainly a few other riders who've shown up have edged a little closer to overhear (or maybe just stage themselves to do something about the bronzerider with hands on their prize; only time will tell). Rasavyth's mind brushes Solith's briefly with his admiration. She looks fiercely beautiful; it's a good look for her. It makes his want of her all the more. Won't she fly and give him a chance? Then the leap, she does, and he is quick to spread dull-and-bright bronze wings to launch after her into the darkness. He would follow her anywhere. Of course she is, is Telavi; she's also slipping into wantonness with it, her eyes on Quinlys', not lost nor helpless with that impulsive, reactive shift on that suddenly hard wood seat, but here. So very here. It's just that here has expanded, is Solith slipping through the clouds towards true stars. None of them would train a weyrling to take liberties as K'zin dares to do, even still teasing as he is, tactile as Rasavyth's own brushing touch, but he's hers and she his... it's just that she's also Solith's. No weyrlings are here. Not this time. Even if they were, it might not matter were they to see. Solith has trained them to hunt, as she had Rasavyth, but the males who chase her need no training now. She hasn't played any tricks with the clouds, has continued that same arc upward through them, hasn't let them touch her any longer than she must. It's the stars for her, though also-- perhaps, just perhaps, with that glance over her shoulder-- the darkness, the dalliances between them. "She knows," is Telavi's answer, suddenly impish, as if some anticipatory secret. She. Quinlys? Solith? Olveraeth's stars reach back, offering a map and a path to Zymadiath... one that leads in the complete opposite direction. Go that way, Zymadiath! That way! Don't follow! Still, much more of his attention is on Solith, and on rising and falling in her wake, one beat of his wings after another. He's good at this, practiced. How many times has he caught her now? "I do know," Quinlys agrees, breezy and languid and eating Telavi up with her eyes. "I know it doesn't take a flight--" and for the delivery of that, she turns back over her shoulder to say it to the bronzerider's face-- and in the process, her gaze falls towards C'ris, too, a smug, winning smile there for him, too. Mivength is stubborn in his chasing, even if he is not the most romantic dragon to grace the face of Pern. He has no stars. He has no caresses or even the appeal of darkness. He only has snark and constantly churning thoughts, ideas, feelings. Even those are all wrapped up, for the moment, in Solith. If C'ris has thoughts, they don't seem to be surfacing into anything of added value. He is awkward, unwilling to come further into the weyr. (He will continue to miss all that personal talk.) And as his gaze meets Quinlys' with her smug smile, he stares only for a moment before he tears away to stare at stone. And possibly count herdbeasts. That allure of darkness, the depths of the unknown- How deep might it go? There's a wolfishness about it, the confident and the predatory that comes with Zymadiath's silent draw. Is the night not enchanting? Uncharted, strange? Surely it's not so intimidating even as the phantom dance of the figments reach. But when stars fall upon his night, there's only brief distraction. A hissing, outwardly, and maybe a clip of teeth, as the agile- for a bronze- dragon sways behind Olveraeth, undaunted. No, when K'zin takes liberties, it's almost never with Telavi. He knows better. But he's no teacher now, no role-model, just another dissatisfied wingrider and what kind of incentive is that for him to behave during a flight? None. Still, he's been known to take liberties with other chasers and perhaps that's why-- or that they're now airborne-- his hand withdraws and he twists on his knees to rise, pausing on his way up to seek Telavi's lips for the press of a chaste kiss. "Later," he promises with the last vestiges of pure K'zin. Now, Rasavyth even as he chases in the sky above seems to want to make trouble below, for K'zin looks to Quinlys with a growing look of mischief and he moves toward her now. "So, Quin, what do you know?" It's an impish challenge. "So you've been with her outside of flights? Well isn't that interesting." Briefly, so briefly, K'zin's expression twitches to something hurt, but then the Rasavin/K'vyth mask is back in place and he's regarding the bluerider with interest. That's too much talking. 'Kiss me,' Telavi starts to demand, not at all impartially-- she's just multiply partial-- but she's only into the very first syllable when she gets K'zin's, however chaste, however fleetingly. Solith? She's all for all wrapped up in her, and even her wrapped up in-- someone, surely, soon. Not yet, but soon. Soonish. Sometime. It's fun, flying, and if it triggers the hunt to seem fleeing, so much the better. She veers towards Timor, letting the moonlight at least catch her, never mind Telavi's not just foot-tap but the beginnings of a stomp from that seeming-delicate slipper. Telavi might want attention, but Solith has it, a turnabout of the tables. A different turnabout: agile and swift, head over heels and down right into the hiss and the depths of the game. "Didn't you know?" is so very, very smug, Quinlys' amusement and pleasure patently obvious as she leans and lounges and generally shows off quite as if it were her flight and not Telavi's-- though at least she casts another glance towards the greenrider. "We've had some good times together. Will again, too." Olveraeth does not seem especially put out that his tactic has not succeeded with Zymadiath; such is the chase, such is life. He's more annoyed by Solith's abrupt drop, which forces him to duck after her, nearly scraping past a stray brown in the process. He's no beacon, though; no one needs follow, honest. "K'zin, stop," is what C'ris begins, finally drawing forward with a frown for those questions, a gentle reprimand in his words for the bronzerider even as he reaches to curve his hand over the man's shoulder. It is meant to be a reassuring gesture, perhaps, even as he flushes for Quinlys' answer. That he pretends not to hear, even as he adds, "Just-- This will be over soon. There's no reason to--." Mivength bets it all at each turn, throwing his energy into the flight without holding back any reserves. He doesn't seem phased when he does so only to find Solith peeling away, only grumbling a little (rather than his usual a lot) before he adjusts again. That he specifically focuses on getting ahead of Olveraeth, to get in that blue's way, might be the one point of agreement he shares with his rider. Zymadiath backwings as Solith and closer chasers turn so sharply. The phantoms of mind churn, caught up like smog realing in the winds. Just as shadows shift in compliance of light, so too does the bronze angle downwards. Heavy wings, broad wings, are tucked to allow him brief free fall to make up the lost ground of the turn. This time it's a different blue he nears, bearing his weight downwards over, towards, against if he may loom so close to the grumbling Mivength. "No, beautiful," K'zin tells Quinlys, enjoying the show, "I only knew I would be jealous if you had. I never knew." All that bluster and anger? All of that? That was all on gut 'what if'. "I did suggest once that she could have you on the side, if she wanted. Seemed like fair's fair." There's almost a challenging lift of the brow as if to silently point out that Quinlys isn't Tela's special someone on the side. Only, with C'ris' attempt at intervention, K'zin glances toward the other bluerider with a smirk. "Stop? Who wants to stop? It's just getting good." He'll even reach out a hand toward Quinlys, fingers aiming to ghost a little caress across along her upper arm... while looking at C'ris. Telavi who? Rasavyth might remember Solith, but the way he begins to lag behind the rest almost certainly means he's getting distracted by his own games below. Telavi has glowing eyes. Flaming eyes. Eyes of fire. If Olveraeth is annoyed, so is she, and she strokes her hair hard with that brush now held quite firmly in her hand; she even goes so far as to cross her knees. If that dress had locks, they would be clicking shut, much to her grief later. As it is, all at once she has to undo that dramatic gesture if she's to accomplish an even more dramatic one: flouncing out of her chair and away from them. Towards anyone else? It doesn't matter. Solith's less veering away than ducking under, not towards Rasavyth-the-distracted but beyond the would-be Olveraeth-Mivength-Zymadiath shove-triangle. Quinlys is no one's bit on the side, and so she's undaunted by K'zin's bluster-- even if as he caresses her arm, the opposite hand jumps out to grab, squeezing his fingers as if she might like to break them. "It's fine, C'ris," she tells the other bluerider. "I can take care of myself. And Telavi." That... may have been a less useful thing to say. Above, Olveraeth attempts to throw himself in Mivength's way, surprised and unhappy, but he probably only succeeds in propelling the other blue forward; his own wings tangle, letting him fall slightly back. "No." "Don't be a fucking asshole," is what comes blustering out of C'ris in anger for once as K'zin reaches for his girlfriend, a single hand curling up to form a single fist that hangs at his side. He doesn't use it, but neither does it go away even at Quinlys' assurance. Trapped similarly between a bronze and a blue as his rider below, Mivength's only choice is to propel himself forward rather than attempting to continue to battle this out, as much as he'd like to. And thanks to Olveraeth's attempt, he's able to do so with a renewed focus on Solith before him, though not without leaving behind the feeling of smirky self-satisfaction to the others. Zymadiath veers sideways to avoid Olveraeth, leaving a wider gap between himself and the blues. Solith remains still the utter focus of the shadows despite his subtle vie for power in the darkening sky, the not-so-gentle manipulations of bearing his weight around where darkness and agility may fail him. But below and beyond, the darkling Fortian is churned again when the light, the breeze, again changes on its whim- her whim. He nearly clips wings with a brown, both dragons faltering in the air as they fight to rebalance themselves. For only a moment, he's out of breath. Just slightly, just enough to denote to anyone paying attention specifically to him- though who has time for that?- but it's gone as the young bronzerider steps along the perimeter of the room. And he only makes it a few steps before he's 'accidentally' directly behind Telavi as she makes her way away from the others. Ka'ge's smirk is prominent, crooked on his face that's a little flushed in color, his hands just low enough to catch her waist, to embrace her if she stays. "Such words." He comments, mockingly disapproving, on the conversation he's just now made himself a part of. Challenge accepted! On both accounts. Fucking asshole? Yes, that's him. And to the redhead? "Oh, can you?" K'zin doesn't believe Quinlys one bit. Tiny little Quinlys with her soft build. She's a fearsome thing, to be sure, in front of her weyrling or even when managing her assistants. But here? Here, Quinlys isn't the boss of him - she's made that quite clear, and it is with obscene ease that K'zin, so quickly, leans down and in with his turns of practice in too many fights to count to draw up, over his shoulder like he might carry her off into the night. The move is fast, but it leaves his side exposed to attack, but maybe he doesn't think C'ris has the balls. Rasavyth hasn't given up, but still distracted, he lags farther and farther behind. Who can blame him with this kind of delightful distraction below? (Solith. Definitely Solith.) So smirky. So disapproving. Dragon and man, not paired and yet part and parcel; as it is-- has Zymadiath caught Solith already? Because Telavi's twisting in the not-a-brownrider's hold, reaching 'round his neck to draw Ka'ge down into a kiss, nigh as fervent and thorough as though the matter's done. Except it's not. Solith's slipped past all the would-be pushing and grabbing-- and their riders'-- a willow-the-wisp past falterers and above laggards and-- and-- with such focus, with such inadvertent help, Mivength just might be able to bridge their distance. If he hurries. If he tries. It won't be easy. He might... though he'll have to do it all on his own. It's not that Quinlys has forgotten Telavi, only that posturing is half the fun of a flight-- especially now, with Olveraeth still battling to get back into position, a battle he seems increasingly likely to lose. That's especially true now, because K'zin has swept up his rider, and Quinlys? She squeals, battering her fists against the poor man as she attempts to break free. C'ris? Maybe she does need some help after all... "Let me-- fucking-- bastard." For once, there's nothing for C'ris to worry over, hesitate over. K'zin has grabbed Quinlys, and the woman has squealed, which seems enough between Mivength's soaring confidence and the rush of blood-- Yes, the bluerider is throwing his fist into the bronzerider's side, against ribs which likely isn't the best place to choose. But he isn't trained well enough for this and the flight has made everything cloudy. And above, Mivength is all in, throwing both himself and his rider completely into the fray finally (as opposed to his seeming solitary reluctance of before). He would shed blood, his own or another, for Solith; he would destroy anything in his path. He will try. Ka'ge is by all means malleable, tormented by the delay in his arrival, and thusly more than fancying such an immediate reward. Equally as heated, as passionate, he gives into Telavi's kiss, eliminating whatever distance remains by leaning into her. He's bold, but somehow gentle, and most certainly unperturbed by the dramatically escalating fight breaking out over there. Because there does not matter over here. Except maybe what's happening in the sky. Zymadiath straightens from his deviated path, his loss of time small but clearly just enough. Just enough to lose such distance. He would still vault upwards, farther, faster, in that last stretch that Mivength had already thrown himself so fully into. A rib hit is a weak strike given the flexible nature of ribs, but K'zin flinches, Quinlys slipping a little in his grasp, which redoubles, of course, as she wails on him. At least he doesn't drop her, though, so there's that? "The fuck, C'ris, do you want me to drop her?" He demands, as if he were the reasonable one here. Only then, even with the distractions, does K'zin catch sight of Ka'ge kissing Telavi (because totally it wasn't Telavi kissing Ka'ge), and he's intending to go over there, past C'ris (through C'ris?), with Quinlys maybe a little forgotten in his grasp, calling, "Hey, asshole," the irony, "she's not yours yet!" Because if K'zin's going to be a fucking asshole, he might as well spread the love. K'zin may brush past C'ris, but not without the bluerider reacting. With Quinlys still being held, he reaches out to grab the bronzerider's shirt, though it only manages to tear in his hand. Left without a grip, he can only stride after K'zin, though his own gaze catches on Telavi and Ka'ge. And there goes that fist again, though now all of his just found anger is marked on the other bronzerider. Or maybe both. Fucking bronzeriders. Telavi responds in kind, shameless in welcoming all the attention the foreign rider gives her, the strength of him under her hands in delighted discovery-- discovery that deepens and deepens as Solith turns to liquid light in her bones. That's what they get for seeming to ignore her, only this is also more-- only, the last card's dealt and all in, for Solith, is exactly what it takes to win. Despite Zymadiath's speed, Olveraeth's struggles, tonight she's Mivength's to claim... and, twining, she'll take him right back. All of which means that, suddenly, it's Telavi with a befuddled look on her face, not because she's been hit in this would-be melee, but because she might as well have been: suddenly, Mivength's rider is right and she's pushing away because this is wrong. C'ris is Quinlys' hero, right up until the moment his blue catches and hers-- "Fucker," could be aimed at anyone, really, not just K'zin, or Ka'ge, or C'ris, but even possibly Olveraeth, Solith, or Telavi. Her legs kick, ineffectively, and more squeals follow, but she's plainly not going to get out of K'zin's grasp easily, and with wide eyes staring at C'ris, watching, maybe suddenly she's less desirous of it. Because... well. Are her hands trying to creep into his pants? They may well be. By all means, the young bronzerider would ignore the (appropriate) name-calling and warning, redoubling the efforts at Telavi's touch. Ka'ge's hands draw across her, ready- waiting to take her. But he must've been paying more attention to the ongoing battle beyond them than immediately apparent since the embrace is relinquished of one arm- but not both, as if ready to defend his prize. But he'd find that loosened embrace one that Telavi can too-easily wiggle out of as she pushes away. The pleased expression falters and fades, as Zymadiath too comes to an abrupt and angry realization of the final choice, "Ass." It's a roughly rumbled echo of Quinlys' earlier sentiment to be shared again, gloved hands balled into fists as he's taken into an involuntary step to the side- closer to K'zin/Quinlys, more than the winner himself. K'zin freezes as it registers to Rasavyth that Mivength has snagged tonight's prize. Suddenly, this is hilarious, and the bronzerider is laughing it up. "Enjoy your win, C'ris," is sneered, yep. "I'll enjoy your loss," and he swats Quinlys' ass with the hand that was on her thigh (okay, maybe he also gropes her rump a little too), and then he's moving with purposeful stride out into the bowl, the redhead still over his shoulder. It may just be the first time Mivength has managed to catch a green, given the surprise that finds itself in the blue's reaction and reflected in his rider below. But he is not about to waste this moment as he twines himself greedily around his prize, wrapping wings as if to hide Solith away from the world now and keep her to himself. Being caught so unaware, so unexpected, C'ris only has a moment to register K'zin specifically, but his anger is replaced by distance. Then there's not a part of him left to be concerned with what Quinlys might be doing, or with the bronzerider who was just kissing-- his world. Because Telavi is suddenly that and luckily Ka'ge has made a path so that he can close the distance to her, reaching to twine his fingers in the fabric of her blue gown and pull her closer with it, so that he can then fold her into his arms and claim her lips gently, reverently. |
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