Logs:Lythronath Smash!

Lythronath Smash!
"At least my dragon's mine!"
RL Date: 16 November, 2013
Who: A'rist, Ghena, Rh'mis
Involves: High Reaches Weyr
Type: Log
What: Lythronath makes a mess. Rhey doesn't react too well.
Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr
When: Day 11, Month 4, Turn 33 (Interval 10)






Nighttime brings darkness and quiet, even with increasingly adventurous and independent baby dragons. But this night is different. This night is darker, and this night is quieter. Too dark. Shreds of something are covering most of the glows nearby. Too quiet. All the dragons usually in the vicinity have gone away for some reason. Well, unless you happen to catch the glint of blue-turning-yellow eyes, eyes that are anticipating from behind their cover of an upturned cot, that is notably not in the couch anymore. What is in the couch, if one were to squint and look close, are feathers. Everywhere. As their dragons become less sleep-focused and more willing to explore, and as the weather improves, it's become Rh'mis' habit to leave the barracks as often as possible - and where he goes, Rosvelth is sure to follow. They're on their way back in, now, the (less) little brown stumbling upon his own limbs in exhaustion, his (not yet) rider barely making a sound as he skulks through the shadows. It's difficult to enter the barracks completely unnoticed, but they'd probably do rather better if-- "What. The. Fuck." Knioth is not far behind the brown and his rider, the scratch of his claws less than stealthy, settling his wings against him as Ghena jogs to keep up. She's starting to get into shape thanks to the blue's insistence on extra running and exercise, so at least this time she's not panting. She hears Rh'mis before she sees exactly what it is he's exclaming about. "Did one of the wherries get in?" Who had the energy these days to play that kind of prank anyway? Really, who would've thought so thin a pillow could possibly have so many feathers in it? Who indeed. Lythronath can barely contain himself. He's wiggling his hips around now, his tail thrashing in the air, his wings lifting up and down in excitement. Wiggling, wiggling, and then there's a might leap, half a trip, that turns the cot flat down, legs up in the air. He's on it, and rearing up on his hind legs, and giving a mighty roar. « RAWR! » A'rist's sprinting entrance, with a towel around his shoulders, and unbuckled belt on his pants, and frosted wet hair, is probably less spectacular than all that. « Where did the treasures come from? » His rider may murder him for it, but this is clearly the most important question, for Rosvelth: how did he not know that there were treasures in the pillow? The brown is less keen on the tripping, but he's down with the roaring, though his is only audible and has Rh'mis throwing his hands over his ears. "No. Stop. Stop." At least he's not blocking the doorway for those coming in behind him, though he's otherwise just standing there, bewildered. Ghena's jaw drops, flinching at the roar. Oh Farnath do not let that be my cot. Knioth, however, who seems to expect this kind of uncouth behavior of his brother and simply replies to his larger and possibly less intellegent brother with the clink of armor « Blood! » slinking over to inspect a pile of feathers, a few loose ones stick to the oil still fresh on his tail, though he has not quite noticed the effect yet. A'rist just gets a look, as though this is all his fault. "Uh I am not helping clean this up, just so you guys know." Lythronath roars again, an answer, and manages a couple stomps (something in that cot cracks in a very final way) before falling back onto all fours. His wings are still spread, and when he flaps them, oh do those feather-treasures ever dance. A'rist skids to a stop, still holding his pants up, and with one part of that towel falling off his shoulder. The bronze is midway through another flap to keep the winds going when he looks over to Knioth. His wings droop, just a little bit. « Blues. » Exasperated. "Lyn!" Mortified. « Wherry! » when Lythronath sees the way those feathers are clinging to the littlest of the gathered dragons. Flap-stomp. Rh'mis' cot! His... well, okay, he probably doesn't actually care about the cot that much: his eyes are on the rest of his belongings (not that there are many of them). Now, he turns; now, he focuses his attention upon A'rist and not on the dragons. "Get him out of my things," he says, cold and unhappy. "Get him out of there. What kind of-- do I get to keep nothing?" It doesn't look like he intends to clean anything up, either, though his gaze does - for a moment - linger upon Ghena. Rosvelth leans down to nose at some of the feathers, clearly sharing none of his rider's dismay. « I like wherry. But you're not wherries, and these don't taste like wherries. » Poor little Knioth really is starting to look like a wherry, and as the feathers fly they continue to stick to his oiled hide in a most unfortunate manner, and by the minute less of the silver-blue hide can be seen. Ghena eyes the cot, then poor Rh'mis, then A'rist. "Seriously A'rist this is - I mean where is he going to get another cot?" It isn't like they are in great supply these days in the Weyr. She purposefully avoids saying the brown rider's name, possibly because she doesn't remember it and partly because Knioth is too distracted to cover for her on that fact. An alarmed Knioth tries the image of a blue trotting with a bronze hanging from it's mouth again. You know, incase Lythronath thinks he really is a wherry. A'rist grinds his teeth a little, and holds up a hand to Rh'mis, but looks past him and toward Lythronath. The bronze is halfway to looking back at his rider when it's the rider who's distracted, turning to Ghena. "It's not like I sent him," carries the indignation that can only come from late nights, not enough sleep, and teen hormones. Lythronath audibly groans - well, more of a rumbly growl really - for Knioth's attempts. « Then. » He steps sideways off that cot, snapping a leg neatly, and scrapes his talons against the floor. And a letter that was thrown that way. « Now. » Exasperated-explanatory. If A'rist's reaction is unsatisfactory (and it clearly is), there's no time for Rhey to remark up on it - it's as he glances back at the mess that's been made of his couch that he catches sight of that scrap of paper or hide that's lurking at Lythronath's talons. His whole body is abruptly stiff, anger turning to something more like incandescent rage; his face is white. « Whoa boy, you are in trouble, » Rosvelth decides, and he's only a little bit delighted by it. « Better stay out of the way, Knioth. My Rhey is going to beat Lythronath to a bloody pulp. » This treasure is better still. It's epic. Ghena folds her arms and looks disaprovingly between A'rist and the dragons, finally taking notice of Knioth's state which invariably means more work for her. "He's your responsiblity, and you are supposed to keep him under control." Knioth looks at the brown, with indignation. « I can handle him my - » "Knioth get your tail over here, now." Ghena interupts, and the little blue sulkily moves back to her side. "He was sleeping, and I only left him for a sec-" « Fight! » Lythronath has stomped himself around to face Rh'mis, lowering his head, and swivelling it side to side, as he lays his wings flat against his back, ready. Bring it. "Lythronath!" And all at once, Ghena is no longer so important to A'rist. Grabbing at Rh'mis' shirt, now that's important. « Quiet boy. » It's worth noting that, by now? Lythronath is taller at the shoulder than Rhey is. (So, for that matter, is Rosvelth, though the brown is still too busy with the feathers to mind so much). Rhey resists having his shirt grabbed, but not enough that he can actually pull away: he squirms, instead, and then, dangerously, in a voice that is clearly directed towards both dragon and rider: "Get him away from my things. Away. Do you hear me? I'm not fucking around. I could put my hand through his wingsails and then he'd never fly, and don't think for a moment that I wouldn't do it." Someone has actually been paying attention in dragonhealing classes, then. Ghena eyes the pair. "Hey easy, guys." Though it's the bronze who gets eyed by both blue and bluerider, Knioth's tail twitching. "Rh'mis I'll help you get your things sorted." Aparently her dragon had finally supplied her with the boy's name. Not that Ghena's particularly nice, she just doesn't want any share of the punishment that might follow this little outburst. Needless to say, Ghena's words fall on deaf ears. This time, it's not an defensive grab. This time, A'rist lunges, both hands forward and latching onto the brownrider's shirt. A'rist's face is red. "You even touch my dragon and I'll..." do something so bad he can't even think of it. In lieu, he opts to try and give the other boy a shake. Lythronath stomps and scrapes delightedly, and roars, whether it be encouragement to his rider, or invitation for Rosvelth to join in all this deliciousness. Oh no, violence. Knioth must be rubbing off on her because she attempts, with as much strength as she has, to get between the two. Not an easy feat. "Hey, enough both of you!" Knioth between the bronze and the humans, wings fully extended, which is probably not the best idea as papers get sent flying but he has to do something to make up for the size discrepency. « Little help Rosvelth? » Not that the blue would normally ask, but this isn't a normal situation. At least not yet. "Stay away from my things," bellows Rhey, which is probably the loudest he's been in the seven odd weeks of weyrlinghood. He swings around, ignoring Lythronath in lieu of facing down his rider. Sure, A'rist is taller than he is (and then there's Ghena, now in the way), but there's nonetheless something dangerous about the scrappy little brownrider. "You'll what?" he wonders, low-toned and on the edge of something undefined. "You'll what? Keep him away from me, or, I swear, I will keep you both grounded for the rest of your lives. Why should I care?" He's clearly blatantly ignoring his own dragon right now-- his dragon, who has taken up Lythronath's clarion call with great enthusiasm. « Help? » Pft! « Battle on! » « Loud! » Lythronath crows, triumphant. And then he roars again, happily, with his brother, balancing again on his hind legs to see past Knioth. "You don't have any things!" A'rist throws back, making an epic sidestep in an attempt to reach Rh'mis again. "Now you don't even have a cot to try and hide your brown under, dragonrider." Take that! The bronze weyrling even manages to look proud of himself for that one, in all the grabby hands he's making for Rh'mis' shirt. Ghena is somehow amazed that a weyrlingmaster or other athoritative figure has not heard the dragon noises. Still doing her best to stay between the two boys. "If you both don't fucking cool it, I will have Knioth call one of the weyrlingmaster's and then we can all deal with whatever the consequences." Hey it worked with her younger sisters. Her lifemate keeping his wings spread. A'rist's sidestep is in good time: Rhey makes a similar one at a similar time, which puts him in a position to aim a fist at the other weyrling's jaw. "I don't need to hide him!" Him, not Rosvelth. "He's not an absolute disgrace like your beast." Sadly, Ghena is somewhat prescient in her remarks, because that's the exact moment when one of Quinlys' assistants sticks his head in through the door, and discovers the chaos within. Perhaps one of the others, scared off from returning to the barracks, called him. "Weyrlings!" It doesn't seem to be enough to stop Rhey. Oh, it totally hits home. But Lythronath feels that hit, too, and suddenly this is not quite as fun. « MINE. » Just in time with, "At least my dragon's mine!" Just as A'rist re-takes the step he'd staggered back, aiming all that gained momentum into a tackle while his dragon swings that massive head to at Knioth, who is now in his way. It's the assistant's shout that makes him stop, and it's a lucky thing that A'rist can make Lythronath stop too. Red faced, red eyed, and both are frozen where they landed. Ghena for her part gives up, and takes mental note next time to let them kill each other. Though she does get a scolding from Knioth on that line of thought. Knioth folds his wings, wuffing, completely covered in feathers. Ghena is pointing at the boys - as though this will some how keep her from punishment. As short and scrawny as Rhey is, it takes basically nothing (even when he's in a defensive stance) to send him sprawling-- and A'rist's momentum-driven tackle does just that. He hits the ground with a thump and a yell, and this raises Rosvelth's ire (in contrast to the more gleeful rising ichor his rider's punch drew); he bellows, heedless of the weyrlingmaster as he throws his bulk at Lythronath, stopping just short when J'vain's Quarizath lays down the mental law. One-armed J'vain is generally a pushover, but now? Now, he glowers at them. "Ghena. What happened. Quickly, before I haul you all in front of the Weyrlingmaster." A'rist is still frozen, too frozen to think that maybe he should get off of Rhey. He's more or less got the other weyrling pinned, if incidentally, but is looking at Lythronath. Lythronath, who's waiting, shoulder-to-shoulder, with Rosvelth, probably forgetting he's leaning. Shit. Ghena does a mental backpedal, she hadn't really intended on getting an assistant involved, but the noise apparently attracted attention. "Little bit of friendly rough housing that got out of control." No one likes a narc. Knioth's eyes whirr at her dangerously, « Why dost thou tell a false hood for those two vagabonds? » She just eyes him. If she eyes him hard enough maybe the weyrling guy (whose name she also can't remember) will buy it. They're all pretty lucky that it's J'vain on duty tonight, and not one of the other assistants (or Quinlys herself), because he seems to take Ghena's words at face value... not that it stops him from eyeing the two weyrlings on the ground. "Get off each other," he instructs. "You're High Reaches dragonriders; you don't fight." He waves his stump at them. "You can be partners in all weyrling activities for the next two months. Ghena, help them up. And clean up those damn feathers." Rhey, still trapped beneath A'rist, lets out a ragged breath. Rosvelth nudges Lythronath. Maybe things are fun again. Maybe. A'rist stares at that waving stump a bit, and then manages to urge himself to action, and disentangle himself from Rh'mis, pre-emptively waving off any help from Ghena. He's red-faced enough as is. 'Lynner,' gets mouthed to his bronze, who nudges Rosvelth as he moves off. « Loud, » is a content enough reminder, tossed back to the brown. And maybe Knioth too. Even if he is a blue. "Yessir," is submissive. And he goes to pick up a scrap of letter, and hold it out to Rh'mis. Peace offering, maybe. Even if he won't look at the brownrider straight on. Ghena hadn't really wanted to help A'rist up anyway since the whole thing was sorta his fault. Instead she offers a hand to Rh'mis, while Knioth uses his tail to start piling feathers together, still clearly perturbed with his lifemate. The other males get a wuff. "I don't suppose I can bribe you two into helping me clean up huh?" She asks with a crooked grin clearly expecting a no. Rh'mis may be willing to use Ghena's hand to get up, but there's no gratitude in his expression. He snatches the scrap of letter from A'rist's hand, and then turns his back on both of them. "Get the fuck away from my couch," he announces, ignoring the fact that his words somewhat counteract the blue weyrling's explanation of the situation to J'vain's face. "Both of you. Stay away from me. Just... go. Go." « Loud, » agrees Rosvelth, whether or not he's actually following Lythronath's train of thought. « Man. That was fun. We should do it again, huh? » Maybe there was some sort of resolution, but A'rist still has his blood up enough to shoot a frustrated glance, bordering on glare, at Rh'mis. "You're not going to get to just be alone. Maybe you should man up and figure that out." A glance to his dragon, or more, his dragon's butt, as the bronze heads for the Place of Meat. A'rist himself takes a few steps, and then gives Ghena a nod. "You want, you can go get the cot out of Lyn's couch for him." And the bronzerider is bending to start gathering some feathers, too. From the distant little bronze, just a syrupy promise of, « Again. » Ghena doesn't respond to Rh'mis, she's too used to G'laer's sulking for that. She nods back, heading for the cot, "I'm sure there are some not in use elsewhere, we can go look after getting this cleaned up." The Weyrlingmaster's assistant may still be around after all. Knioth eventually finishes his pile and heads off in the direction of the baths, muttering about bronzes and browns to himself. "I don't want the fucking cot," snaps Rh'mis, irritably, having ignored A'rist's earlier remark. Rosvelth is rubbing his head up against his rider, now, his whole body sliding back and forth as he attempts to wrap himself around the boy - though the boy seems eager to try and pull himself away. "I want... just... stay away from my couch. Stay away, do you hear me?" That, certainly, is for both of them. "I'll clean up the fucking feathers myself." « Again and again and again, » promises Rosvelth, faithfully. « But now leave mine to me. Shells, but he's grumpy sometimes! » It's affectionate. His rider, man. His rider! Such fun.

Comments

Comments on "Logs:Lythronath Smash!"

Leova (Varied (talk)) left a comment on Sun, 17 Nov 2013 16:24:40 GMT.

"I could put my hand through his wingsails and then he'd never fly, and don't think for a moment that I wouldn't do it." Someone has actually been paying attention in dragonhealing classes, then.

This is not what dragonhealing classes are for! *stern face*

XD

What gossip do you guys think would have spread, from whom? I loved this. All of this.

H'kon (H'kon (talk)) left a comment on Mon, 18 Nov 2013 22:08:08 GMT.

Oh, I'm certain all the weyrlingmasters will know eventually. And some of the weyrlings who were scared away by a rampaging Lythronath, but stayed close enough to see. And anyone who overheard them talking. You know. Depends who you talk or listen to...

Rhey (K'del (talk)) left a comment on Mon, 18 Nov 2013 22:33:45 GMT.

Rhey certainly never talked about it. But he's been sleeping on a mattress on the floor ever since, and feathers still keep showing up in odd places. I imagine it's gone well around the barracks by now!

Logs:Lythronath Smash!

Comments

Leave A Comment