Logs:Iskiveth's Maiden Flight
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| RL Date: 8 September, 2010 |
| Who: Taikrin, Teris |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iskiveth rises in her maiden flight; Szadath catches. |
| Where: Teris' Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 9, Turn 23 (Interval 10) |
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| Teris' Weyr, High Reaches Weyr This hollowed out bubble cavern is large enough to fit at least three large dragons, the immensity dwarfing what little furniture is visible. A small portion of the room contains a personal bath, enclosed by a carefully carved out strip of rock wall. Faint tendrils of stream waft from the corner, permeating the immediate area with a merging of warmth and cooler temperatures. In the outermost room, a large stone table is centered in the entranceway, five chairs of wicked wood surrounding it. Nearby is an opening in the wall that is an old elevator-pulley system to the kitchens, the trap door rusted from disuse. In the further corner form the ledge entrance, nearer the baths, is a collection of stands and ceiling hooks, suggesting that this area was once used to hold - perhaps - a collection of plants, though for now it is empty. Just next to this is a large glassed-in bookshelf built into the well, empty for now, as well as two large, cozy-looking armchairs. Behind a curtain made of brightly coloured glass beads is a smaller, blue-wash walled room, one that is mostly filled by a large bed, currently bare except for the mattress. At the foot of the bed is a large, ornately carved chest that matches the sweet redwood wardrobe that stands along the far wall. A short tunnel from this room leads into another that is a little larger, and contains an ornate desk and set of shelves - a cozy, private study. It's only been the last day or so at all that someone might look back at Iskiveth and say, 'Oh!' Both the gold and her rider have been a bit more moody but, considering the both of them, it's difficult to say that that's particularly unusual. The rain that's been falling all day has done a good job at keeping the pair of them indoors today, at least, Iskiveth curled up cozily on her couch with her wind chimes tinkling away outside and Teris busy doing, you guessed it, paperwork. Unfortunately as dusk turns to darkness, the sleeping beast does not stay sleeping and Iskiveth has taken flight toward the feeding grounds with a blood-chilling cry before Teris even has a chance to run toward the ledge. One of the first to show up is J'varil, which is not surprising since his Laravoth has been keeping tabs on Iskiveth since she first showed any sign of proddiness. The older rider - a Hailstormer, long time friend of B'mel (if it can really be said that he /has/ friends) - has an arrogant turn to his step as he enters the weyr without so much as a by-your-leave, eyes glinting as he seeks Teris out, moving closer and closer. Bronze Laravoth is equally quick, descending upon the grounds not long after the queen, killing his beast with ruthless efficiency. Blame errands for the whole thing. Uh. Well, at least blame errands for one thing. If it weren't for a message, if it weren't for a weaver, if it weren't for L'nen's sharding willingness to play courier for a friend, if--yes. If it weren't. But it is, and that's how and why a dark profile is silhouetted against the last of the sun, Southern Weyr knot and Firedance wing badge just visible if one looks in the right direction. Pardon that other dark blur - that's the richly oak brown Lyvanth circling low, his own rumbling murmur quite the opposite of the gold's cry. So he's here, and so his rider's half-stumbling toward Teris's weyr. Got a problem? Szadath has been unusually quiet for the last few days -- and Taikrin unusually sober the last several nights. It's not as if they were waiting, precisely, but the hulking brown certainly doesn't seem taken by surprise when Iskiveth wings into the feeding grounds. He's perhaps a shade slower than Laravoth, though no less focused in his pursuit of a herdbeast of his own. With single-minded intensity his gaze zeros in on Iskiveth, the swiftly-drained beast at his feet a mere afterthought. And Taikrin? She's, well, nowhere to be found. Yet. D'relin is a bit more tentative in his entrance. He's a bit out of breath from taking the stairs at a run, but the twenty-something bronzerider is hesitant as he gets to the actual entrance of the weyr, grabbing at the stone to steady himself. His dragon, Erogath, is showing no such hesitance. His beast is down in one strike, and quickly drained of blood. Iskiveth is on the feeding grounds with her claws tearing apart some poor, fortunately dead beast as the other start arriving. There isn't really that much blooding going on, especially not once she's somewhat distracted with protecting her kill, wings mantling as she hisses a warning to the one that gets nearest. When she finally does lower her head toward the carcass, she drinks. And then she finds another. Teris is looking a lot more wide-eyed and uncertain than is typically standard once she makes it to the opening of ledge to inner weyr but she must be rather focused on the pointy queen because Iskiveth, despite obvious, screechy protests, doesn't swallow anything but blood. L'nen is looking a little uncertain himself, and by a little, we mean a sharding lot. He all but stumbles over the threshhold, so that his entrance from the ledge is almost a stagger. Nobody saw that, nobody--oh, who cares? He's pale-faced and still wobbly as he backs toward the nearest available stretch of wall, plainly intent on leaning against /something/ in the room. He only half looks where he's going, and not at any feet he might tread on in his haste getting from point A to poing ohmyshellswhere'sthewallinthisplace? Lyvanth, on the other hand, has drained his first herdbeast with a skill and poise that his rider has never matched, and fells his second with a neat swipe of tallons. Get near Iskiveth's prey? Nah, he's no idiot, this tropical-raised brown. Getting no particular reaction from his friend's daughter, J'varil is nonetheless undaunted: he elects to make himself at home atop the stone table, stretched out along it as though he intends for Teris to join him then and there-- hot, you know? Totally hot. "Doesn't matter if she bloods, girly. No eggs. Overgrown green, this one." That last comment might be intended to the group at large: a reminder, perhaps. Laravoth takes the whole business more seriously, however, blooding with intensity. No kind rumbles or enticements, either; /that/ is hardly necessary. Two quick kills, and then he's done, tensed up and ready for the inevitable. A litany of curses preceeds Taikrin's arrival on the ledge, dripping wet and apparently fresh from the baths. Her shirt is already soaking through in awkward places, and her pants don't appear to actually be /her/ pants -- they're at least three sizes too big and are only staying on by sheer force of will. Once she's gained the ledge and closed the distance towards the weyr, though, she falls rather abruptly silent and just stares at Teris in a way that rather harkens back to the way Szadath is watching Iskiveth. Predatorily. The brown himself flares his wings, puffing himself up as large as he can manage as he swipes his second kill. There's a threatening rumble and shoulder-check for a fellow brown who happens to get too close, and then he's back to watching Iskiveth ever-so-carefully. "We don't know that for sure." D'relin snaps over towards J'varil. Even if D'relin doesn't sound like he totally believes it. After a few deep breaths, he in the door, aiming to snag himself a chair. He sags into it, backward, leaning up against the backrest. "After all, didn't really think she'd rise if she's that sterile." His bronze has no such qualms. He is sort of eyeing Iskiveth's treasure, though really, it's because he's watching her, and the destruction. After a moment, the bronze pounces on a second frightened beast, quickly ending its misery. Iskiveth doesn't go after another beast but she doesn't launch herself toward the sky once she's done with it. Instead she hisses threateningly as those gathering to play at suitors, warning off the more faint-hearted now so she doesn't have to waste her time with them. Teris snaps back to something more herself once J'varil speaks and she rounds toward those that she didn't really notice actually come in. Only a brief moment of surprise doesn't keep her from spitting back at the bronzerider, "Fuck you. I don't want you here. Get out!" The last is accompanied by Teris tossing the closest thing at hand toward her father's friend; a metal candlestick. To the others, it's probably pretty clear once Iskiveth flings herself skywards in the way that Teris sways and reaches out for something to grasp to keep her balanace. Iskiveth doesn't go after another beast but she doesn't launch herself toward the sky once she's done with it. Instead she hisses threateningly as those gathering to play at suitors, warning off the more faint-hearted now so she doesn't have to waste her time with them. Teris snaps back to something more herself once J'varil speaks and she rounds toward those that she didn't really notice actually come in. Only a brief moment of surprise doesn't keep her from spitting back at the bronzerider, "Fuck you. I don't want you here. Get out!" The last is accompanied by Teris tossing the closest thing at hand toward her father's friend; a metal candlestick. To the others, it's probably pretty clear once Iskiveth flings herself skywards in the way that Teris sways and reaches out for something to grasp to keep her balanace. L'nen isn't like his dragon in every respect - for one, it's L'nen who flinches under Teris's gaze, never mind it's not him getting a candlestick chucked at him. Lyvanth's wings rustle slightly, but he's nowhere near backing off and away. His own second beast is drained of blood and abandoned, and when Iskiveth launches skyward, the Southern brown is if not the quickest to follow, then at least not the last into the air. L'nen, though? He doesn't know this woman, this gold, shells, this /weyr/. He's just going to blend into that wall over there and dodge flying furniture, thanks. That scuffing sound is the noise a boot makes when its toe is being ground against a weyr's floor. Beg pardon, anybody's nerves. J'varil's eyes roll at D'relin's snapped remark, which goes unanswered - probably because Teris' candlestick is heading for him, and, despite his efforts, does end up connecting with his jaw. There may be teeth loose as a result, and even if not, there's definitely blood, which drips down his chin, and turns his teeth red when he grins a gleeful smile in response to the goldrider. "/You/ don't get a choice, girly. And /I/ don't intend to walk out of here for quite some time yet. You're all mine." Ready, ready, ready: Laravoth is /so/ ready to shoot after Iskiveth as she takes flight, pounding wingbeats carrying him free from the constraints of the ground. Never one to shrink back from Iskiveth's temper, Szadath instead roars back, wings flung wide in defiance. He crouches down, muscles shifting and bunching in preparation, ignoring now the brown to his side who's jostling yet closer. Once Iskiveth is up, Szadath flings himself after her with heroic effort, tail and rear limbs lashing wildly for a moment as he uses every ounce of strength in his thick figure to keep up. And that brown, who was getting too close to comfort? He only made it a wingbeat off the ground before somehow (oops!) one of Szadath's flailing limbs caught a wingtip and knocked his flight all awry. "Maybe you won't be walkin'-- walkin' out of here at all, asshole." There's Taikrin and her newly-recovered powers of speech. She strides after Teris as if she owned the place, hovering just behind the weyrwoman's shoulder to smirk at J'varil. D'relin smirks over to J'varil as that candlestick connects. It's enough to distract him from the awkwardness, at least for a moment. He leans his chin onto the chair, letting out a low woosh of breath as Erogath takes to the air. The bronze had been ignoring any looks of impending death the gold might have shot his way. Nope. They weren't enough to stop his staring. Taking to the air? That'll do it, though, as he leaps up solidly in the group of dragons as he starts through the air. Once she's comfortable in her balance, there's definitely something like smug satisfaction playing in Teris' expression at the sight of blood. J'varil's blood, in any case. If she can't make him leave, then that will sate her somewhat until she can. "You will not be touching me tonight," she tells him as if she knows that /very/ confidently. "And I'll have more than a candlestick for you if you try." The others are spared a quick glance over and there's even a brief glare at L'nen with his scuffing before Teris glances back at Taikrin and finally closes her eyes. Iskiveth is lost in the simple, desperate need to get some distance on the males that take after her, no extravagant acrobatics or anything right now, just basic strength and endurance. "Just you wait," says J'varil, apparently terribly pleased with himself, as though Teris' reactions only make this whole thing all the more satisfying. "You won't be able to walk for a week." Charming dude. But then... what do you expect? Taikrin gets ignored; D'relin, too. Indeed, J'varil doesn't seem to have much time for anyone except Teris - and even she only gets the smirking kind. Laravoth, though-- oh, he has plenty of time for Iskiveth. Time to power after her, at least, to surge through the thermals he's flown since before her rider was even born. Which isn't to say he's catching up to her, but-- it shouldn't take long. He's good at this. Lyvanth can handle a test of basic strength and endurance. Brute force isn't exactly his thing, but calling him a slouch would be nothing short of silly. There's nothing showy about the dark wooden brown's flying, save a momentary swerve! around the same brown Szadath keeps bumping shoulders-wings-tails with, but as soon as that's over, it's back to relative steadiness. He likes straightforward, this one. It suits him. L'nen's all but quailing under Teris's glare, and the toe-scuffing of a moment before ceases with a last squeak of leather on stone. "Uh, sorry. I--uh." He's got time and sense enough to throw J'varil a scandalized, if dazed, look for his trouble. Didn't your mother teach you better than to say things like that? Watch him call down J'varil's wrath, now. Despite his relative youth, Szadath has chased after enough greens to have some sort of feel for how this all works. His size is against him, but is made up for by raw enthusiasm and single-minded determination as he powers ever upwards with a sprinter's haste. Despite his sides heaving like a bellows already, he wastes a breath in roaring a challenge up after Iskiveth and at any of the other males who would dare to impinge upon his airspace. Taikrin isn't altogether here, which is probably the only reason fists aren't already flying. But she does retain enough of herself to saunter over to the table, leaning against it and casually cracking her knuckles. Her teeth flash in a nasty sort of smirk, and she looks for a moment as though she might say something, but then-- she catches sight of Teris again out of the corner of her eye and can only stare, mutely, once more. D'relin pushes up on the back of his chair to turn an angry gaze on J'varil. "How dare you talk to a woman like that? You'll do that to her only after my fist has knocked out all your teeth!" So much for being mild mannered. Erogath is caught up behind several other dragons. While he's flying fast and strong, he can't seem to dart around them and get out of the pack. Poor little Iskiveth doesn't really have all that much advantage over her chasers, which might be part of what so strongly feeds her need to outdo them. Her mind is ablaze, the bright, hot flames spreading out to those around her like a wild fire. Once she can feel the faster of them closing in toward her, she snaps her jaws, angles her wings and twists and rolls away with a screech that's entirely more delighted now than it had been in the feeding grounds. Teris is trying very hard to just keep her eyes closed now, as tight as she can - ignoring J'varil, and she's backed up against the wall so she doesn't have to worry about keeping her balance once her lifemate starts with the stuff that might tempt to make her ill. Her head shakes ever so slightly but her breath comes somewhat more shallow. J'varil /does not/ put his hand down his pants, but it's a close run thing, the way he keeps shifting his position, all eyes on Teris, mouth just slightly open, breathing a little heavier with every minute that passes. D'relin gets an answer without so much as a glance; "Reckon I'll talk to her anyway I please," he tells the other rider, calmly. Above, Laravoth makes a break for Iskiveth as she begins those antics, not precisely attempting to catch her here-and-now, but getting closer-- as much as he can. What's L'nen doing? He's giving Teris--and D'relin--and Teris, the sort of look that miiiight just linger, just for a second. Or two. If anyone's noticing such things at this point, his expression's caught somewhere between awe and approval, and it's not entirely certain which is directed at which rider. Maybe each is earning their share of both emotions. Lyvanth's trailing a little, speeding his wingbeats a little, showing more increased exersion than desperation - that comes later. Those tree-dark wings tilt ever so slightly, attempting a minute course change just as his rider far below breaks from his rapt gazing to shoot a wavery glare at J'varil. "You won't," the Southern man manages, but that's all. Aww, chivalry. Height gained is not to be frivilously wasted-- at least not when it costs Szadath so much effort to keep up with the bigger dragons. He flicks to the side as Iskiveth rolls through, taking the opportunity to casually lay into a bronze who darted in a bit too close in the chaos, then continues /up/ with all haste. His opponent manages to twist away at the last second, but still loses several wingbeats worth of advantage to his overly-aggressive competitor. "Up, up-- go-- over there--" Taikrin has taken to muttering under her breath, narrating Szadath's actions in there air. There's a sharp, "Ha!" at the strike towards the bronze, and then back to that frenetic muttering. If one is paying close attention, one might notice that she's slooooowly shifting down the long side of the table towards J'varil. Erogath finally manages to get out of that cluster of dragons, as the brown in front of him chooses to take a roll down. Erogath darts through that opening, but he's not into any flashy moves otherwise. He'll just keep on towards where he /thinks/ the gold is going to go. D'relin just sneers over to J'varil. "I'd like to see you try that when you have no teeth. Because that might well be coming soon." It's probably fortunate that Teris doesn't have anything else within arm's reach to throw at J'varil because she almost certainly would. She's not going to move from the supportive spot she's found against the wall to find something, though. She's too focused on her lifemate in the sky to do a whole lot, fists closed tightly in her defensively crossed arms and the rest of her tense. Who wants to bet she's begging Iskiveth to let anyone /but/ Laravoth catch her? Not that Iskiveth would probably listen. At this point, it's pretty clear that she's starting to tire somewhat, echoing some of her rider's defensiveness in the hissed, growling warnings she gives as she pushes to spiral higher and away into the dark sky, never diving. J'varil, certainly, is not paying Taikrin any mind, so it's entirely likely he's missed her slow shift towards him. He probably /is/ aware of Teris' desperate attempt at begging; it would certainly help explain the smirk on his face, at any rate. But the bronzerider, his breath catching, shuts his eyes for a moment, no doubt embracing his dragon, in his dragon's (not really desperate) upwards push towards the tiring Iskiveth. Not that he's going to lunge for her, though: she'll fall, and he'll be there. That's the way these things work, right? Lyvanth isn't spiraling; he's no great shakes at fancy turns and maneuverings, not with his size. Leave that to his infinitely smaller and more agile wingleader back home. Or Iskiveth, whichever. He does concede enough to vein those dark wings of his and veer, cutting across the path of a local bronze - hey, maybe it's Laravoth! Maybe it isn't. He's jostling for position, angling upward, not so much wit flare as with his particular brand of steady readiness. She might fall, but that doesn't mean he can't attempt to meet her halfway if-when-if she does. L'nen hasn't noticed Taikrin's shift down the table either, and maybe that's for the better. His eyes are glazed, attention on the other wall-leaner in the room almost entirely. Almost. In an effort he's probably going to be feeling for the next few sevendays, Szadath bulls forwards and up, jaws gaping as he sucks in as much air as he can manage. His rear claws lash out again, though there's not anyone within range -- more of a warning than anything else -- as he surges at Iskiveth. His build is a sprinter's, and the sudden rush of speed is impressive as he claws through the remaining lengths that separate himself and Iskiveth. "The best... we're the best... be the best--" Taikrin's muttering has become more insistent, a verbal repitition of the half-formed thoughts Szadath is broadcasting. And in the height of Szadath's effort, Taikrin stumbles against a chair leg -- surely by accident! -- and it's really all happenstance that there's a wildly flying fist heading in J'varil's direction. Erogath won't go for flashy moves, but the bronze is doing his best to lunge for the gold. He even manages to avoid those sharp claws that Szadath is lashing out with. D'relin may or may not have noticed what Taikrin is aiming at J'varil. By the smirk sliding across his otherwise distracted face, it's a good bet that he's only pretending not to. She needs to get away, she's not /ready/ to be caught yet, she doesn't know who she wants yet! Iskiveth could fly herself into exhaustion, no doubt, but she probably wouldn't be able to get to that point without being overtaken anyway. When it's incredibly more clear that she won't be leaving the males in her wake, her focus changes just slightly from getting away to figuring out who's around her. Once picks out the one she's been so familiar with the last turn and a half, the decision is made and Iskiveth tilts her wings, slipping sideways just slightly before falling back and straight into Szadath's strong, awesome arms. Teris gasps once the decision is made and Iskiveth is set but she refuses to either open her eyes or move. Not yet. It's something of a double blow, then, for J'varil: Taikrin's fist, Iskiveth's perfidy, the whole a glorious, unsatisfying mess. There's more blood, now, blood that slides down the bronzerider's face and onto the floor (he'll let it, not bothering to wipe it down: Teris can deal with that later). He doesn't linger, though, much like his dragon: both retreat as calmly as is possible, though the rider pauses halfway to the exit to note, "Next time, darling. I'll have you, one way or another, one of these days." Poor Teris. He's never going to miss a flight of hers, /ever/, now. D'relin isn't one to hang around at this point. The bronzerider looks over to the visiting brownrider for a moment before commenting, "I know where we can get some good booze." He doesn't wait for an answer though, just turns to head out. Erogath spirals down to the ground, tired and ready to collapse on the bowl floor. L'nen is... oh, shards. Well, at least his face isn't a mess? See: J'varil. He lurches away from that wall at last, and his lifemate does much the same, only in Lyvanth's case there's an extremely clumsy barrel roll involved, not to mention a weary glide to the ground. "Shards, ah, I don't--" He's weaving for the door now - L'nen, not Lyvanth - and if he manages to step on J'varil's foot as he exits? Well. Folk shouldn't talk dirty in the middle of a flight. Never mind the one flickered glance at D'relin and away again. He's going home, now. ... Uh. Blink. "Some--oh. Uh, alright. That'd be--I could use it. I could really." He's looking dazed as he changes direction and follows the local bronzerider out. Drink drank drunk, then home. Forget the message still in need of delivery. WIN. So win. So what if his wing muscles are trembling and he'll be lucky if he can fly at all come morning? He's got an Iskiveth to contend with, and that is _awesome_. And Taikrin? She goes from where she sprawled on the floor to hovering insistently over Teris in a matter of a few heartbeats. It's okay-- Taikrin knows exactly what to do, and nobody ever accused her of being shy about it. |
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