NorCon MUSH - User contributions [en]

Logs:Could Have Beens

2016-08-16T07:29:50Z

Alida: Created page with "{{Log |who=Alida |what=In an Alternate Universe, Alida...is rather different, though the same. |where=AU: Pern |involves=High Reaches Area |custom=Sometime in an alternate uni..."

{{Log
|who=Alida
|what=In an Alternate Universe, Alida...is rather different, though the same.
|where=AU: Pern
|involves=High Reaches Area
|custom=Sometime in an alternate universe past, present.
|day=25
|month=6
|turn=41
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.08.15
|quote=... his 'little musical genius' of a daughter... who still carried a strong set of fists and a sizeable knife or three hidden about her person.
|type=Vignette
|ooc=An AU vig of a somewhat different road for the Grumpy Blonde.
|icons-new=Icon alida guitar.jpg
|log=Though it'd been a rough labor, 5 Turn old Alida's mother had ridden it through, Melinda giving birth to a strangely-silent son. Arvan was utterly beside himself the labor, pacing about like a preoccupied madman, while his daughter was kept distracted as possible in Pars' creche of children. She was perceptive, though, and often turned away from lessons, play, to stare at the door that separated her from her parents...far away in some private Healer area.

Arvan was nothing but pleased that his beloved wife had never quickened again after her harrowing second time of childbirth, the tall and tough Guard still offering most of his brand of love to Melinda, while Alida and Velin received only the occasional bursts of such. He was tough, sometimes cruel, fun when in a good mood, and encouraged independence and strength in his offspring...the harshness of his personality at least partially tempered by Melinda for the sake of her much-beloved daughter. Velin, the 'least' of the group, learned to hold his own...though he remained often taciturn, sometimes angry, and rather distant as time passed.

Not often given to putting his boot down in regards to Melinda's wishes - Arvan was practically infatuated by his unlikely Harper wife - he finally did such when his daughter was caught not only fighting with a fellow young teen over who'd get to play the Hold's guitar first, but nearly breaking the boy's arm in the rowe. She had her father's basic temper, sadly, though her mother was whom she adored. No matter how Melinda snapped, begged, and finally wept, her unlikely musical prodigy of a daughter was sent off to the Harper Hall within the month, where she discovered the 'unpleasant' realities of learning cooperation, having to fend for herself, and never having the 'cover' of her well-respected parents - Journeywoman and now-First Lieutenant of the Guard at Pars. But it was more than worth it, after many months, when the world of music her mother couldn't stand to completely introduce her to (Melinda had kept her daughter subtly close, unwilling to part with her for any reason) opened up to her innate talent like a bloody rose. Bloody, because she was also still her father's daughter, and had learned more than the basics of fighting.

After a few serious threats from Journeymen and Masters to kick her out if she didn't keep her rather pugnacious ways well in hand, Alida bit her lips shut, and put more effort into at least being quiet, if not truly approachable by most. Oh, she had a couple of true-blue friends - loyal through thick and thin - but finally the girl-woman started learning that Harpers - even the most curmudgeonly of them - had to learn how to at least *fake* some charm and good will. As her distant father wrote her, it was a GOOD thing. She could get ahead more easily utilizing a 'mask...' and Melinda would be less fretful over those stupid fights she could do nothing about, now.

Turns passed like a bumpy road strewn with hints of blood in the lush greenery of her life, and Alida found that her great talent with the guitar earning her guarded laurels from enough. Velin fared worse, the now 10 Turn old boy refusing to take to his father's choice of avocation for him - Guard, of course - instead stubbornly attaching himself to the Journeyman Beastcrafter at Pars, and learning the ways of tending, raising, growing, riding runners. Only the intercession of Melinda - upset and even angry at the harsh treatment Arvan gave to her youngest child over this refusal - made it truly possible, though father and son rarely ever spoke or interacted much any after that. His only positive links with his former life was the support of his mother, and the occasional letters back and forth from his maturing sister. Somehow, she understood Velin's situation, feelings...even his deep resentment and anger. She had her own - though more in her past - to give her a few nightmares now and again.

Now well-practiced with a keen, edged tongue, a sharp wit, the ability to shut her mouth most times when being politic was required, Alida found herself walking the tables at the age of 20. Even great talent couldn't speed her past her own personality 'bumps,' and the guitar prodigy hadn't made her own path smooth. It rankled a bit (and she took enough shit from fellow Harpers on how she was held back because of her 'charming' personality), but the moons were the limit in the mind of the blonde now-woman. Melinda was fit to burst her seams in her quiet pride, and even Arvan was smiling brightly at his 'little musical genius' of a daughter... who still carried a strong set of fists and a sizeable knife or three hidden about her person... and knew how to use both very well.

Another five Turns of not much but practice, performance, continued learning, and a fervent *need* to play the guitar like nobody else ever had before her matured Alida more quickly than much else in her life ever could. She was a rare Journeyman: one who was not posted, but kept at the Hall to live the life of a professional performer (and sometime songwriter) who continued to grow in talent and expression with each Turn that passed...her presence requested more and more often first at Minor holds, then at Major ones. All of her life was falling into place (if not perfectly, then well-enough to please her)...

...and then came the chance to perform at High Reaches Weyr's upcoming Hatching festivities. Alida had barely tickled the strings of her seven-stringer before climbing the stairs of the Galleries with other Harpers and taking her seat - thinking of the performance to come (and the food and drink) with a rash grin before eggs started popping. She'd seen a couple of other Hatchings before, but she was in one of the best seating places with her Masters, this time, and everything was so up-close and immediate that the plaited-headed woman kept having to keep herself from leaning out over the railing to oggle even closer.

And then came what nobody - most especially Alida - never thought would've happened. A boxy-bodied, greyish blue dragonet stomped, snorted, forded his way along the steamy Sands right up under the very railing the Harper retinue sat at. After a few wing flaps and growly sounds from the hatchling, the Weyrleaders (all four of them. Weird!) finally had to introduce from afar each human face under the age of 25 in the Harper 'box' to the stubborn little blue dragon. And when faceted red eyes finally met clear, mirthfully-snapping clear greens...it was all over. And all just begun.

No more would Alida's songs grace the Hall, all the places the Harpers wanted her to be. For she was the new, proud 'puppet' and 'mother' of Ilicaeth, who forthrightly announced his intentions to the stunned blonde, and finally sat up on his hind legs to insist she get her butt *down* there on the Sands and help him find some food. Alida's mother and father didn't know whether to groan and faint in disappointment, or gasp in wonderment. They settled for some of both, while the Harpers all around the now-departing Alida simply thinned their lips, sighed, or shook their heads. Done was done.

And now, ten Turns after their unexpected 'meeting,' Alida finally was level enough in her experience of Weyrlife (and yet another long time in adjusting to it) - and still keen enough not only in musical talent, but in teaching, thanks to Ilicaeth's guidance and support...and his intercession with the more obnoxious weyrbrats) to accept the position of WeyrHarper...another something to make her parents and even her former Hall quite proud.

It was a good life, really, and would hopefully only get better from now on, even with the occasional interference of her family, the Hall, and the unexpected.
|Categories=AU Logs
}}

Logs:Awhile

2016-08-06T08:34:56Z

Alida:

{{Log
|who=Alida, Alida{{!}}Ilicaeth
|what=A tiger never changes its stripes...
|where=A bar on the Southern Continent
|involves=Southern Area
|day=19
|month=6
|turn=41
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.08.04
|quote="Fuckin'....'rider..."
|weather=Temperate, sunny.
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon alida surprise.png, Icon alida ilicaeth battlecry.jpg
|log=Her 'work' at Broad Leaves Hold done, 'Lydia' the Trader departed on foot - as always - making certain she wasn't being followed (a few times, she had been), picking her way along the path through the jungle in caution until she emerged into the grasslands, which faded out when she finally reached Ilicaeth, a good pair of hours away.

With thoughts of the hold and its leaders keen on her mind, the bluerider directed her lifemate up and not into Between - not in her preoccupied state - but into a long-distance mode of flight from on high, which allowed Alida time to parse not only the hold, but other things weighing on her active mind. Ilicaeth was quite happy to soar on the still-warm winter air of the South, letting the currents take his weight, make wingbeats only an occasional occurance. As the world far below passed by at a relatively easy pace, the blonde found herself reflecting on the outlet - the pure positive joy and pleasure - that her music brought her, and of the direction and perhaps strange fulfillment in helping others that dragonhealing brought her.

Her, the former Guard. Her, the warrior. Her, the bitter, angry, lonely being who had never truly belonged to any group...forging her own way. Likely none of this would be possible without the partnership of her blue dragon, without the unflagging backing he gave without hesitation, without his full acceptance of what and who she was. Ilicaeth didn't take any shit, though, and knew when to push, to question, to back off, and to even snap in anger or cuddle in love. They were well and truly matched, a well-oiled piece of smith's machinery with the occasional creaks and grindings that required tuning, now and then. They were grounded, realistic. They WORKED.

Hours later, such thoughts ran through the woman's mind as she kicked back in a small bar not terribly far from some cothold that grew hops and malt, the locally brewed beer not swill, for once, but touched with pleasant touches of honey and a higher concentration of malt. She made an inner note to remember this place, see if they'd want their product added to her 'chain' of places that offered delicious goods of varying qualities. This stuff was quite pleasant, but couldn't equal the quality that a Brewer or Vintner could put out... thus excellent for people who didn't have deep purses, but wanted something of better quality.

Anytime she was South on business, 'Lydia' made certain to take different (usually longer) routes to return to a hidden Ilicaeth, just as she did now, the blue lazing up on a small plateau, spread out so that he blended decently with the grey rock while presenting little profile, especially with the sun in one's eyes. The walk back to him along the sward of tall grasses was pleasant in a way she'd only recently begun to appreciate, Rukbat's warmth kind instead of baking or swampy-humid. Peaceful, just as the rhythm of her strides were, as the calls of wild avians were.

They were on her like lightning, Alida surprised from her appreciation of nature and her own thoughts by the determined faces of one man and two scrappy women bursting from the tall grasses, presenting long knives at her, along with a dark train of words. "Give up yer purse, and you'll not have ta regret the lack of a grave." The pair of women grinned wickedly at their 'mouthpiece,' the man sounding and looking more dangerous than they did. Looks could be deceptive.

Ten minutes' easy flight away, Ilicaeth's head jerked up from his doze, faceted eyes roiling yellow and orange, his muzzle lifting in one place to flash a snarl. Trouble...*surprising* trouble. Without a thought, he was hurling himself skyward, not bothering with too much altitude...wanting only speed. What he *really* wanted was to Between to Alida and insert his 'influence' (all 4 tons of it) into the situation...but the surprise and hesitation in his partner's mind - so foreign and disconcerting - threw the blue enough off-kilter mentally that he found himself suddenly doubting the brilliance of his tactic of pop in from higher above, swoop down, and bellow and flail about in the air. It was just too damned random, too dangerous while the thugs were so close to Alida. His decision took all of 5 seconds, which gained him about 50 feet of height, and much more forward distance. Despite being square and craggy, he was still a blue - still a fighter jet compared to his much bulkier brown, bronze, gold brethren - and broad wings snapped at the air as 'caeth kicked in the afterburners. At his current pace - 5 minutes away - too much could happen. Damn circumstance!

Alida couldn't help the pugnacious, wary look that spread over her features as she assessed the robbers. They looked like they'd been at this for a good while - experienced - like they were used to getting what they wanted. Used to killing when they didn't. Bad news. She didn't dare reach for her own open, nor hidden blades, not when the thieves were so close. Clear green eyes narrowed, darkened as the 'ex' Guard considered possibilities, weighed options, and communicated with her dragon.

<< Stall 'em as long as you can... >> came the baritone gravel and grit of Ilicaeth's mindvoice, the blue directing his rider away from her preferred form of instant action/retaliation. For once, his sage advice worked, Alida remaining still (though readied in subtle fashion), an expression of false partial-resignation moving over her features as the bandits smirked.

"Come now, trader," came the oily chortle of the somewhat older woman. "Is your life worth the marks in your purse? You can always earn more...and likely never encounter us again." The younger woman smirked, added in, "Only if she's smart enough to hand over the money and never show that pretty, dumb face here ever again." The man only nodded, waved his wherry skinner a little at the bluerider so it flashed in the sunlight. It was a fear-inducing tactic that didn't work on the Guard, though she let her stubborn features betray more false reaction with a faint startle.

<< Don't let 'em get to ya... >> Came the hard, cool answer of Ilicaeth's reaction to his rider's internal, growing anger at her situation, and especially the insult from the younger woman...who she suddenly itched to beat to a pulp. As soon as Alida recognized that she'd used the same tactics on others to provoke a reaction/fight, the blonde simmered down some. Still, she wanted to split the other's lip and hear her whine.

"How about I give you half of what I have, and half later?" 'Lydia' temporized. "You can find me easy, since I gotta come back here, anyway. I need money for travel and expenses..." It sounded almost convincing, except for the chill spark of defiance behind the bluerider's green eyes.

"How about you give us all of it, and we won't beat you senseless for insulting us?" added the tall, wiry man with the unpleasant smile. "We have mouths, families to feed." The lie sounded as saccharine to his own ears as it did to Alida's.

"She obviously don't wanna give up any of it, so why waste anymore time, and part 'er from her life and take it without a sharding argument?" sneered 'older woman,' her big knife making ugly little carving patterns in the air before her towards the dragonrider.

Both male and younger woman glanced significantly at their partner, a moue of sudden caution touching their faces. "Too many deaths brings nosey Guards. We got enough of those already." The man was at least somewhat prudent, though the older woman continued trying to scare Alida. "Not for a couple Turns. One dead body, left in the right circumstances, wouldn't attract much attention at all ta' us." This one was the one to beware...the one with not much anxiety at all about killing. And she was apparently somewhat smart, as well. So very dangerous, this situation, these people.

It was the distraction of the quick argument between the man and the older woman - snapping some at one another about killing - that became Alida's opportunity for escape. It was a risky move, but staying here much longer was ever worse, and so a pretend swoon towards the younger woman brought uncertain reaction from all involved...except Alida. This was old hat to her...though she'd not used the tactic in many Turns. It was too 'weak' for her tastes...but time and circumstance dictated nothing else.

She slid just past the grasping arms of the younger female bandit, rolled to the ground, came up like an uncoiling spring...and ran. Alida: the person who prided herself on confrontation, weaponry, ability in many a fight...was fleeing for her money and her life. Into the tall grasses nearby she sprinted, while the three thieves angrily cussed and followed at their top speeds. Two were taller than her, and it sounded like at least one was faster, but the bluie dared not look behind her. Unwilling to let them box her in or overwhelm her, Alida zigged and zagged at random, confusing her would-be captors with a mixture of the occasional sneak tactic mixed with sudden bursts of speed. It helped that avians and small creatures erupted from grassy cover, startling all of them.

Knives now in both hands - one smaller for faster and more precise blows, the other a pig-gutter favored by the Guards - the bluerider knew she couldn't keep ahead of them, beyond them for long. She was a long-distance runner with some small ability for a few bursts of speed to factor in, and the latter were nearly used up. Ilicaeth was only another minute and a half away, but there just wasn't enough time, even via dragon wings..and Ilicaeth growled his displeasure, his concern. They both knew what might have to be done, and it bothered them both for varying reasons....but reality was a harsh mistress.

Disguised by a flurry of ground dwelling avians exploding from cover ahead of her, Alida skidded to a stop, hit the ground, and waited with gasping breaths she tried to control the loudness of. The man was the one who nearly ran her over in his haste to follow what he thought was her passing track, and instead found a flurry of tangling, tripping legs sending him to his face in the grass with a loud "Oof!" as he tried to roll away. A wordless throb of thought from Ilicaeth determined Alida's next moves, though they were by their very nature more dangerous than her usual tactics. A small tussel had her quickly punching the man in the groin a pair of times, even as he cuffed her a sound one upside her head...enough to make her wits spin for a few moments. Instantly, he was down and ineffectual, whimpering softly, curled up into a tight ball on the ground. A well-placed punch to the back of his neck, in just the perfect spot, left him unconscious.

Already, the two female bandits were moving towards their position, hearing the scuffle, one returning from a farther position, the other circling in quickly from the right. Again there was the waiting of the bluerider - as much behind the unconscious body of the man as was possible - and her explosive launch outward as the younger woman semi-cautiously entered the beaten-down grass. Alida went for her legs, knocking them out from under her, though - for her surprise move - 'Lydia' received a shallow slice of the other's knife across her lightly-clad ribs...the feeling of being wounded surprising enough after so many Turns without such making her gasp. Sensing she had scored better than she had, the bandit rolled about on the ground, looking to kick out and hopefully knock down the rising 'trader' once again to her level...only to be met by another kick from the bluerider...connecting with the other woman's jaw. Goodnight. It was a purely lucky move, but Alida took whatever positives she was given with decent grace. After all, she now wore a long, bloody slice on her torso to 'compensate.'

Unable, unwilling to press one hand to her wound to staunch the blood seeping from it, the double-knife wielding 'rider found herself running away again from the site of two take-downs...only to plow nearly headfirst into the older woman, her features a mask of anger and greed. After many flashes of knives and desperate evasions, both women now wore their wounds in a flurry of nicks, shallow and short slices, and also the stab the thief took to one of her thighs, dangerously near the femoral artery. Blood was everywhere, making the ground slick, the grasses sheened with it... and it was their combined spill of their lives that caused Alida to slip sideways, fall to the ground. She saw it written clear in the other's narrowed brown eyes, in the flash of her raised skinning knife as 'Lydia' tried to parry from her awkward position: this was likely death coming.

Not 20 feet above both distracted combatants, a bellowing roar thundered through the air, scaring up all the wildlife about them, and startling both women as well...allowing Alida to partially capture the downward stroke of the fist with the blade in it aimed at her heart. It was almost good enough...but the downward pressure and momentum made the bluie's grabbing hand slip...

Slamming to the ground in a four-legged, very ungraceful, and tooth-clattering 'landing,' Ilicaeth shrieked like a banshee as he swung his neck and head down and over the scene below him like a greyish-blue scythe. Or sledgehammer.

The end of his muzzle connected partially with the bandit's upper body, the dull snap of her spine echoing in the suddenly still grassland, her blow merely gouging down the shoulder of her quarry, instead of piercing Alida's heart. Still, it hurt, made the bluerider call out in both surprise (for her lifemate's rescue) and her own increased pain. But she was *alive*, and that was all that mattered. Her and Ilicaeth.

Snarling momentarily at the bandit - still alive upon her back, but paralyzed - the blue dragon stepped over her, gently nuzzled his bloody rider. Up Alida finally hauled herself with the last dregs of her adrenaline, his ichor-dotted muzzle lifting up carefully, as well.

<< You're...! >>

<< Fine. Just a scratch. >> Ilicaeth rumbled firmly. A scratch from a knife that was as a mosquito to him, though it stung like a papercut. With more concern and less dry humor, << *You're gonna need a Healer, and I ain't takin' you Between with yer head in a jumble. >> Snort.

<< Faranth damn it... >> was all Alida got out before the pain in her shoulder made her wince heavily. She allowed her blue to make the call to Ierne Weyr - the closest one to their current position - and within two minutes, a pair of dragons, brown and blue, emerged above not far away, coming to the 'Reachians' aid. Before their arrival, Alida staggered the couple of paces over to the very slowly dying bandit, the look of fear and hatred in her eyes all for the bluerider.

"Fuckin'....'rider..." was gurgle-gasped, a bit of blood frothing from the downed woman's nose and mouth.

"You chose the wrong person ta fuck with." Bloodied as she was, Alida still couldn't stop herself from saying it with hard pride.Next noted with quiet, falsely casual intensity, "You know yer dyin'." She could still be as cold as a 'Reaches winter, when called for, no pity in the bluie's voice. "Gonna be a long time in it...maybe ten, fifteen minutes."

"Bitch!" Oh, the hatred and fear in the bandit's tone! The fear dominated, though. She was dying, and at the mercy of an enemy she'd nearly killed. Nearby Ilicaeth bared a few teeth at the pest that had tried to murder his lifemate, and then rumbled softly to Alida.

A moment's pause to look waveringly at her lifemate presaged the blonde's stare down at the woman whom her dragon had bested in his extremity of need. A thought or two passed across the 'rider's mind, finally had her murmuring not unkindly, "I c'n give it to ya." Beat. "Mercy."

"Yer...not a Trader... *cough* not just ... a rider..." the dying thief coughed out, her lips bloodying even more with the effort. A feeble spit of that blood at Alida only gobbed it onto the bushwhacker's chest, a low groan let out. After some long moments staring at the inside of her eyelids, the woman finally looked up again at the bluie, spat out bleakly, "Yeah. To the Red Star with both uv' you." Bloody teeth showed in her rictus grin.

Unvoiced, Ilicaeth's thoughts swept away any anger Alida might've experienced from the insult: the bandit was as good as dead, was having everything she ever had or would ever have taken away from her...no small 'experience.' Alida could afford to be merciful.

Yes...she could, when Ilicaeth put it that way. Ultimately, all Alida offered the bandit was a stiff nod as she wobblingly knelt down, hefted her smaller blade in left hand. With a swift and certain, surgically precise jab with her keen knife between ribs, the ex-Guard punctured the already expiring woman's heart. A shocked gasp from the downed woman was followed by the final exhalation of her breath, her face gone peaceful in the end, eyes closing.

As they waited for the Ierneans to arrive - as Alida wiped her blade off on the grass and stowed it waveringy back into its sheathe, the muzzy-headed blonde clung to her blue's muzzle - to his mind - for support and focus...and mused. Tigers...wildcats couldn't change their stripes. Whatever she was now, though...it was tempered by the lessons of a decade, and the intercession of her lifemate.

They were ALIVE.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs:Awhile

2016-08-06T08:15:44Z

Alida:

{{Log
|who=Alida, Alida{{!}}Ilicaeth
|what=A tiger never changes its stripes...
|where=A bar on the Southern Continent
|involves=Southern Area
|day=19
|month=6
|turn=41
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.08.04
|quote="Fuckin'....'rider..."
|weather=Temperate, sunny.
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon alida surprise.png, Icon alida ilicaeth battlecry.jpg
|log=Her 'work' at Broad Leaves Hold done, 'Lydia' the Trader departed on foot - as always - making certain she wasn't being followed (a few times, she had been), picking her way along the path through the jungle in caution until she emerged into the grasslands, which faded out when she finally reached Ilicaeth, a good pair of hours away.

With thoughts of the hold and its leaders keen on her mind, the bluerider directed her lifemate up and not into Between - not in her preoccupied state - but into a long-distance mode of flight from on high, which allowed Alida time to parse not only the hold, but other things weighing on her active mind. Ilicaeth was quite happy to soar on the still-warm winter air of the South, letting the currents take his weight, make wingbeats only an occasional occurance. As the world far below passed by at a relatively easy pace, the blonde found herself reflecting on the outlet - the pure positive joy and pleasure - that her music brought her, and of the direction and perhaps strange fulfillment in helping others that dragonhealing brought her.

Her, the former Guard. Her, the warrior. Her, the bitter, angry, lonely being who had never truly belonged to any group...forging her own way. Likely none of this would be possible without the partnership of her blue dragon, without the unflagging backing he gave without hesitation, without his full acceptance of what and who she was. Ilicaeth didn't take any shit, though, and knew when to push, to question, to back off, and to even snap in anger or cuddle in love. They were well and truly matched, a well-oiled piece of smith's machinery with the occasional creaks and grindings that required tuning, now and then. They were grounded, realistic. They WORKED.

Hours later, such thoughts ran through the woman's mind as she kicked back in a small bar not terribly far from some cothold that grew hops and malt, the locally brewed beer not swill, for once, but touched with pleasant touches of honey and a higher concentration of malt. She made an inner note to remember this place, see if they'd want their product added to her 'chain' of places that offered delicious goods of varying qualities. This stuff was quite pleasant, but couldn't equal the quality that a Brewer or Vintner could put out... thus excellent for people who didn't have deep purses, but wanted something of better quality.

Anytime she was South on business, 'Lydia' made certain to take different (usually longer) routes to return to a hidden Ilicaeth, just as she did now, the blue lazing up on a small plateau, spread out so that he blended decently with the grey rock while presenting little profile, especially with the sun in one's eyes. The walk back to him along the sward of tall grasses was pleasant in a way she'd only recently begun to appreciate, Rukbat's warmth kind instead of baking or swampy-humid. Peaceful, just as the rhythm of her strides were, as the calls of wild avians were.

They were on her like lightning, Alida surprised from her appreciation of nature and her own thoughts by the determined faces of one man and two scrappy women bursting from the tall grasses, presenting long knives at her, along with a dark train of words. "Give up yer purse, and you'll not have ta regret the lack of a grave." The pair of women grinned wickedly at their 'mouthpiece,' the man sounding and looking more dangerous than they did. Looks could be deceptive.

Ten minutes' easy flight away, Ilicaeth's head jerked up from his doze, faceted eyes roiling yellow and orange, his muzzle lifting in one place to flash a snarl. Trouble...*surprising* trouble. Without a thought, he was hurling himself skyward, not bothering with too much altitude...wanting only speed. What he *really* wanted was to Between to Alida and insert his 'influence' (all 4 tons of it) into the situation...but the surprise and hesitation in his partner's mind - so foreign and disconcerting - threw the blue enough off-kilter mentally that he found himself suddenly doubting the brilliance of his tactic of pop in from higher above, swoop down, and bellow and flail about in the air. It was just too damned random, too dangerous while the thugs were so close to Alida. His decision took all of 5 seconds, which gained him about 50 feet of height, and much more forward distance. Despite being square and craggy, he was still a blue - still a fighter jet compared to his much bulkier brown, bronze, gold brethren - and broad wings snapped at the air as 'caeth kicked in the afterburners. At his current pace - 5 minutes away - too much could happen. Damn circumstance!

Alida couldn't help the pugnacious, wary look that spread over her features as she assessed the robbers. They looked like they'd been at this for a good while - experienced - like they were used to getting what they wanted. Used to killing when they didn't. Bad news. She didn't dare reach for her own open, nor hidden blades, not when the thieves were so close. Clear green eyes narrowed, darkened as the 'ex' Guard considered possibilities, weighed options, and communicated with her dragon.

<< Stall 'em as long as you can... >> came the baritone gravel and grit of Ilicaeth's mindvoice, the blue directing his rider away from her preferred form of instant action/retaliation. For once, his sage advice worked, Alida remaining still (though readied in subtle fashion), an expression of false partial-resignation moving over her features as the bandits smirked.

"Come now, trader," came the oily chortle of the somewhat older woman. "Is your life worth the marks in your purse? You can always earn more...and likely never encounter us again." The younger woman smirked, added in, "Only if she's smart enough to hand over the money and never show that pretty, dumb face here ever again." The man only nodded, waved his wherry skinner a little at the bluerider so it flashed in the sunlight. It was a fear-inducing tactic that didn't work on the Guard, though she let her stubborn features betray more false reaction with a faint startle.

<< Don't let 'em get to ya... >> Came the hard, cool answer of Ilicaeth's reaction to his rider's internal, growing anger at her situation, and especially the insult from the younger woman...who she suddenly itched to beat to a pulp. As soon as Alida recognized that she'd used the same tactics on others to provoke a reaction/fight, the blonde simmered down some. Still, she wanted to split the other's lip and hear her whine.

"How about I give you half of what I have, and half later?" 'Lydia' temporized. "You can find me easy, since I gotta come back here, anyway. I need money for travel and expenses..." It sounded almost convincing, except for the chill spark of defiance behind the bluerider's green eyes.

"How about you give us all of it, and we won't beat you senseless for insulting us?" added the tall, wiry man with the unpleasant smile. "We have mouths, families to feed." The lie sounded as saccharine to his own ears as it did to Alida's.

"She obviously don't wanna give up any of it, so why waste anymore time, and part 'er from her life and take it without a sharding argument?" sneered 'older woman,' her big knife making ugly little carving patterns in the air before her towards the dragonrider.

Both male and younger woman glanced significantly at their partner, a moue of sudden caution touching their faces. "Too many deaths brings nosey Guards. We got enough of those already." The man was at least somewhat prudent, though the older woman continued trying to scare Alida. "Not for a couple Turns. One dead body, left in the right circumstances, wouldn't attract much attention at all ta' us." This one was the one to beware...the one with not much anxiety at all about killing. And she was apparently somewhat smart, as well. So very dangerous, this situation, these people.

It was the distraction of the quick argument between the man and the older woman - snapping some at one another about killing - that became Alida's opportunity for escape. It was a risky move, but staying here much longer was ever worse, and so a pretend swoon towards the younger woman brought uncertain reaction from all involved...except Alida. This was old hat to her...though she'd not used the tactic in many Turns. It was too 'weak' for her tastes...but time and circumstance dictated nothing else.

She slid just past the grasping arms of the younger female bandit, rolled to the ground, came up like an uncoiling spring...and ran. Alida: the person who prided herself on confrontation, weaponry, ability in many a fight...was fleeing for her money and her life. Into the tall grasses nearby she sprinted, while the three thieves angrily cussed and followed at their top speeds. Two were taller than her, and it sounded like at least one was faster, but the bluie dared not look behind her. Unwilling to let them box her in or overwhelm her, Alida zigged and zagged at random, confusing her would-be captors with a mixture of the occasional sneak tactic mixed with sudden bursts of speed. It helped that avians and small creatures erupted from grassy cover, startling all of them.

Knives now in both hands - one smaller for faster and more precise blows, the other a pig-gutter favored by the Guards - the bluerider knew she couldn't keep ahead of them, beyond them for long. She was a long-distance runner with some small ability for a few bursts of speed to factor in, and the latter were nearly used up. Ilicaeth was only another minute and a half away, but there just wasn't enough time, even via dragon wings..and Ilicaeth growled his displeasure, his concern. They both knew what might have to be done, and it bothered them both for varying reasons....but reality was a harsh mistress.

Disguised by a flurry of ground dwelling avians exploding from cover ahead of her, Alida skidded to a stop, hit the ground, and waited with gasping breaths she tried to control the loudness of. The man was the one who nearly ran her over in his haste to follow what he thought was her passing track, and instead found a flurry of tangling, tripping legs sending him to his face in the grass with a loud "Oof!" as he tried to roll away. A wordless throb of thought from Ilicaeth determined Alida's next moves, though they were by their very nature more dangerous than her usual tactics. A small tussel had her quickly punching the man in the groin a pair of times, even as he cuffed her a sound one upside her head...enough to make her wits spin for a few moments. Instantly, he was down and ineffectual, whimpering softly, curled up into a tight ball on the ground. A well-placed punch to the back of his neck, in just the perfect spot, left him unconscious.

Already, the two female bandits were moving towards their position, hearing the scuffle, one returning from a farther position, the other circling in quickly from the right. Again there was the waiting of the bluerider - as much behind the unconscious body of the man as was possible - and her explosive launch outward as the younger woman semi-cautiously entered the beaten-down grass. Alida went for her legs, knocking them out from under her, though - for her surprise move - 'Lydia' received a shallow slice of the other's knife across her lightly-clad ribs...the feeling of being wounded surprising enough after so many Turns without such making her gasp. Sensing she had scored better than she had, the bandit rolled about on the ground, looking to kick out and hopefully knock down the rising 'trader' once again to her level...only to be met by another kick from the bluerider...connecting with the other woman's jaw. Goodnight. It was a purely lucky move, but Alida took whatever positives she was given with decent grace. After all, she now wore a long, bloody slice on her torso to 'compensate.'

Unable, unwilling to press one hand to her wound to staunch the blood seeping from it, the double-knife wielding 'rider found herself running away again from the site of two take-downs...only to plow nearly headfirst into the older woman, her features a mask of anger and greed. After many flashes of knives and desperate evasions, both women now wore their wounds in a flurry of nicks, shallow and short slices, and also the stab the thief took to one of her thighs, dangerously near the femoral artery. Blood was everywhere, making the ground slick, the grasses sheened with it... and it was their combined spill of their lives that caused Alida to slip sideways, fall to the ground. She saw it written clear in the other's narrowed brown eyes, in the flash of her raised skinning knife as 'Lydia' tried to parry from her awkward position: this was likely death coming.

Not 20 feet above both distracted combatants, a bellowing roar thundered through the air, scaring up all the wildlife about them, and startling both women as well...allowing Alida to partially capture the downward stroke of the fist with the blade in it aimed at her heart. It was almost good enough...but the downward pressure and momentum made the bluie's grabbing hand slip...

Slamming to the ground in a four-legged, very ungraceful, and tooth-clattering 'landing,' Ilicaeth shrieked like a banshee as he swung his neck and head down and over the scene below him like a greyish-blue scythe. Or sledgehammer.

The end of his muzzle connected partially with the bandit's upper body, the dull snap of her spine echoing in the suddenly still grassland, her blow merely gouging down the shoulder of her quarry, instead of piercing Alida's heart. Still, it hurt, made the bluerider call out in both surprise (for her lifemate's rescue) and her own increased pain. But she was *alive*, and that was all that mattered. Her and Ilicaeth.

Snarling momentarily at the bandit - still alive upon her back, but paralyzed - the blue dragon stepped over her, gently nuzzled his bloody rider. Up Alida finally hauled herself with the last dregs of her adrenaline, his ichor-dotted muzzle lifting up carefully, as well.

<< You're...! >>

<< Fine. Just a scratch. >> Ilicaeth rumbled firmly. A scratch from a knife that was as a mosquito to him, though it stung like a papercut. With more concern and less dry humor, << *You're gonna need a Healer, and I ain't takin' you Between with yer head in a jumble. >> Snort.

<< Faranth damn it... >> was all Alida got out before the pain in her shoulder made her wince heavily. She allowed her blue to make the call to Ierne Weyr - the closest one to their current position - and within two minutes, a pair of dragons, brown and blue, emerged above not far away, coming to the 'Reachians' aid. Before their arrival, Alida staggered the couple of paces over to the very slowly dying bandit, the look of fear and hatred in her eyes all for the bluerider.

"Fuckin'....'rider..." was gurgle-gasped, a bit of blood frothing from the downed woman's nose and mouth.

"You chose the wrong person ta fuck with." Bloodied as she was, Alida still couldn't stop herself from saying it with hard pride. Beat. "You know yer dyin'." She could still be as cold as a 'Reaches winter, when called for, no pity in the bluie's voice. "Gonna be a long time in it...maybe ten, fifteen minutes."

"Bitch!" Oh, the hatred and fear in the bandit's tone! The fear dominated, though. She was dying, and at the mercy of an enemy she'd nearly killed. Nearby Ilicaeth bared a few teeth at the pest that had tried to murder his lifemate, and then rumbled softly to Alida.

A moment's pause to look waveringly at her lifemate presaged the blonde's stare down at the woman whom her dragon had bested in his extremity of need. A thought or two passed across the 'rider's mind, finally had her murmuring not unkindly, "I c'n give it to ya." Beat. "Mercy."

"Yer...not a Trader...not just ... a rider..." the dying thief coughed out, her lips bloodying even more with the effort. A feeble spit of that blood at Alida, sent it only onto the woman's chest, finally had her nodding after her gesture of defiance. "Better 'n waitin'." Waiting to see others likely condemn her, question her as she died.

All Alida offered was a stiff nod as she wobblingly knelt down, hefted her smaller blade in left hand, and make a surgically precise jab with the keen knife between ribs, and just barely into the thief's heart. A shocked gasp from the downed woman was followed by the final exhalation of her breath, her face gone peaceful, in the end, eyes closing.

As they waited for the Ierneans to arrive, the muzzy-headed Alida clung to her blue's muzzle - to his mind - for balance and support...and mused. Tigers...wildcats couldn't change their stripes. Whatever she was now, though...it was tempered by the lessons of a decade, and the intercession of her lifemate.

They were ALIVE.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs:Awhile

2016-08-05T04:16:45Z

Alida:

{{Log
|who=Alida, Alida{{!}}Ilicaeth
|what=A tiger never changes its stripes...
|where=A bar on the Southern Continent
|involves=Southern Area
|day=19
|month=6
|turn=41
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.08.04
|quote="Fuckin'....'rider..."
|weather=Temperate, sunny.
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon alida surprise.png, Icon alida ilicaeth battlecry.jpg
|log=Her 'work' at Broad Leaves Hold done, 'Lydia' the Trader departed on foot - as always - making certain she wasn't being followed (a few times, she had been), picking her way along the path through the jungle in caution until she emerged into the grasslands, which faded out when she finally reached Ilicaeth, a good pair of hours away.

With thoughts of the hold and its leaders keen on her mind, the bluerider directed her lifemate up and not into Between - not in her preoccupied state - but into a long-distance mode of flight from on high, which allowed Alida time to parse not only the hold, but other things weighing on her active mind. Ilicaeth was quite happy to soar on the still-warm winter air of the South, letting the currents take his weight, make wingbeats only an occasional occurance. As the world far below passed by at a relatively easy pace, the blonde found herself reflecting on the outlet - the pure positive joy and pleasure - that her music brought her, and of the direction and perhaps strange fulfillment in helping others that dragonhealing brought her.

Her, the former Guard. Her, the warrior. Her, the bitter, angry, lonely being who had never truly belonged to any group...forging her own way. Likely none of this would be possible without the partnership of her blue dragon, without the unflagging backing he gave without hesitation, without his acceptance of what and who she was. Ilicaeth didn't take any shit, though, and knew when to push, to question, to back off, and to even snap in anger or cuddle in love. They were well and truly matched, a well-oiled piece of smith's machinery with the occasional creaks and grindings that required tuning on occasion. They were grounded, realistic.

Hours later, such thoughts ran through the woman's mind as she kicked back in a small bar not terribly far from some cothold that grew hops and malt, the locally brewed beer not swill, for once, but touched with pleasant touches of honey and a higher concentration of malt. She made an inner note to remember this place, see if they'd want their product added to her 'chain' of places that offered delicious goods of varying qualities. This stuff was quite pleasant, but couldn't equal the quality that a Brewer or Vintner could put out... perfect for people who didn't have deep purses.

Anytime she was South on business, 'Lydia' made certain to take different (usually longer) routes to return to a hidden Ilicaeth, just as she did now, the blue lazing up on a small plateau, spread out so that he blended decently with the grey rock while presenting little profile, especially with the sun in one's eyes. The walk back to him along the sward of tall grasses was pleasant in a way she'd only recently begun to appreciate, Rukbat's warmth kind instead of baking or swampy-humid. Peaceful, just as the rhythm of her strides were, as the calls of wild avians were.

They were on her like lightning, Alida surprised from her appreciation of nature and her own thoughts by the determined faces of one man and two scrappy women bursting from the tall grasses, presenting long knives at her, along with a dark train of words. "Give up yer purse, and you'll not have ta regret the lack of a grave." The pair of women grinned wickedly at their 'mouthpiece,' the man sounding and looking more dangerous than they did. Looks could be deceptive.

Ten minutes' easy flight away, Ilicaeth's head jerked up from his doze, faceted eyes roiling yellow and orange, his muzzle lifting in one place to flash a snarl. Trouble...*surprising* trouble. Without a thought, he was hurling himself skyward, not bothering with too much altitude...wanting only speed. Despite being square and bulky, he was still a blue - still a fighter jet compared to his brown, bronze, gold brethren - and broad wings snapped at the air as 'caeth kicked in the afterburners. At his current pace - 5 minutes away - too much could happen

Alida couldn't help the pugnacious, wary look that spread over her features as she assessed the robbers. They looked like they'd been at this for a good while - experienced - like they were used to getting what they wanted. Used to killing when they didn't. Bad news. She didn't dare reach for her own open, nor hidden blades, not when the thieves were so close. Clear green eyes narrowed, darkened as the 'ex' Guard considered possibilities, weighed options, and communicated with her dragon.

<< Delay as long as you can... >> came the baritone gravel and grit of Ilicaeth's mindvoice, the blue directing his rider away from her preferred form of instant action/retaliation. For once, his sage advice worked, Alida remaining still (though readied in subtle fashion), an expression of false partial-resignation moving over her features as the bandits smirked.

"Come now, trader," came the oily chortle of the somewhat older woman. "Is your life worth the marks in your purse? You can always earn more...and likely never encounter us again." The younger woman smirked, added in, "Only if she's smart enough to hand over the money and never show that pretty, dumb face here ever again." The man only nodded, waved his wherry skinner a little at the bluerider so it flashed in the sunlight. It was a fear-inducing tactic that didn't work on the Guard, though she let her stubborn features betray more false reaction with a faint startle.

<< Don't let 'em get to ya... >> Came the hard, cool answer of Ilicaeth's reaction to his rider's internal, growing anger at her situation, and especially the insult from the younger woman...who she suddenly itched to beat to a pulp. As soon as Alida recognized that she'd used the same tactics on others to provoke a reaction/fight, the blonde simmered down some. Still, she wanted to split the other's lip and hear her whine.

"How about I give you half of what I have, and half later? You can find me easy, since I gotta come back here, anyway. I need money for travel and expenses..." It sounded almost convincing, except for the chill spark of defiance behind the bluerider's green eyes.

"How about you give us all of it, and we won't beat you senseless for insulting us?" added the tall, wiry man with the unpleasant smile. "We have mouths, families to feed." The lie sounded as saccharine to his own ears as it did to Alida's.

"She obviously don't wanna give up any of it, so why waste anymore time, and part 'er from her life and take it without a sharding argument?" sneered 'older woman,' her big knife making ugly little carving patterns in the air before her towards the dragonrider.

Both male and younger woman glanced significantly at their partner, a moue of sudden caution touching their faces. "Too many deaths brings nosey Guards. We got enough of those already." The man was at least somewhat prudent, though the older woman continued trying to scare Alida. "Not for a couple Turns. One dead body, left in the right circumstances, wouldn't attract much attention at all ta' us." This one was the one to beware...the one with not much anxiety at all about killing. And she was apparently somewhat smart, as well. So very dangerous, this situation, these people.

It was the distraction of the quick argument between the man and the older woman - snapping some at one another about killing - that became Alida's opportunity for escape. It was a risky move, but staying here much longer was ever worse, and so a pretend swoon towards the younger woman brought uncertain reaction from all involved...except Alida. This was old hat to her...though she'd not used the tactic in many Turns. It was too 'weak' for her tastes...but time and circumstance dictated nothing else.

She slid just past the grasping arms of the younger female bandit, rolled to the ground, came up like an uncoiling spring...and ran. Alida: the person who prided herself on confrontation, weaponry, ability in many a fight...was fleeing for her money and her life. Into the tall grasses nearby she sprinted, while the three thieves angrily cussed and followed at their top speeds. Two were taller than her, and it sounded like at least one was faster, but the bluie dared not look behind her. Unwilling to let them box her in or overwhelm her, Alida zigged and zagged at random, confusing her would-be captors with a mixture of the occasional sneak tactic mixed with sudden bursts of speed. It helped that avians and small creatures erupted from grassy cover, startling all of them.

Knives now in both hands - one smaller for faster and more precise blows, the other a pig-gutter favored by the Guards - the bluerider knew she couldn't keep ahead of them, beyond them for long. She was a long-distance runner with some small ability for a few bursts of speed to factor in, and the latter were nearly used up. Ilicaeth was only another minute and a half away, but there just wasn't enough time, even via dragon wings..and Ilicaeth growled his displeasure, his concern. They both knew what might have to be done, and it bothered them both for varying reasons....but reality was a harsh mistress.

Disguised by a flurry of ground dwelling avians exploding from cover ahead of her, Alida skidded to a stop, hit the ground, and waited with gasping breaths she tried to control the loudness of. The man was the one who nearly ran her over in his haste to follow what he thought was her passing track, and instead found a flurry of tangling, tripping legs sending him to his face in the grass with a loud "Oof!" as he tried to roll away. A wordless throb of thought from Ilicaeth determined Alida's next moves, though they were by their very nature more dangerous than her usual tactics. A small tussel had her quickly punching the man in the groin a pair of times, even as he cuffed her a sound one upside her head...enough to make her wits spin for a few moments. Instantly, he was down and ineffectual, whimpering softly, curled up into a tight ball on the ground. A well-placed punch to the back of his neck, in just the perfect spot, left him unconscious.

Already, the two female bandits were moving towards their position, hearing the scuffle, one returning from a farther position, the other circling in quickly from the right. Again there was the waiting of the bluerider - as much behind the unconscious body of the man as was possible - and her explosive launch outward as the younger woman semi-cautiously entered the beaten-down grass. Alida went for her legs, knocking them out from under her, though - for her surprise move - 'Lydia' received a shallow slice of the other's knife across her lightly-clad ribs...the feeling of being wounded surprising enough after so many Turns without such making her gasp. Sensing she had scored better than she had, the bandit rolled about on the ground, looking to kick out and hopefully knock down the rising 'trader' once again to her level...only to be met by another kick from the bluerider...connecting with the other woman's jaw. Goodnight. It was a purely lucky move, but Alida took whatever positives she was given with decent grace. After all, she now wore a long, bloody slice on her torso to 'compensate.'

Unable, unwilling to press one hand to her wound to staunch the blood seeping from it, the double-knife wielding 'rider found herself running away again from the site of two take-downs...only to plow nearly headfirst into the older woman, her features a mask of anger and greed. After many flashes of knives and desperate evasions, both women now wore their wounds in a flurry of nicks, shallow and short slices, and also the stab the thief took to one of her thighs, dangerously near the femoral artery. Blood was everywhere, making the ground slick, the grasses sheened with it... and it was their combined spill of their lives that caused Alida to slip sideways, fall to the ground. She saw it written clear in the other's narrowed brown eyes, in the flash of her raised skinning knife as 'Lydia' tried to parry from her awkward position: this was likely death coming.

Not 20 feet above both distracted combatants, a bellowing roar thundered through the air, scaring up all the wildlife about them, and startling both women as well...allowing Alida to partially capture the downward stroke of the fist with the blade in it aimed at her heart. It was almost good enough...but the downward pressure and momentum made the bluie's grabbing hand slip...

Slamming to the ground in a four-legged, very ungraceful, and tooth-clattering 'landing,' Ilicaeth shrieked like a banshee as he swung his neck and head down and over the scene below him like a greyish-blue scythe. Or sledgehammer.

The end of his muzzle connected partially with the bandit's upper body, the dull snap of her spine echoing in the suddenly still grassland, her blow merely gouging down the shoulder of her quarry, instead of piercing Alida's heart. Still, it hurt, made the bluerider call out in both surprise (for her lifemate's rescue) and her own increased pain. But she was *alive*, and that was all that mattered. Her and Ilicaeth.

Snarling momentarily at the bandit - still alive upon her back, but paralyzed - the blue dragon stepped over her, gently nuzzled his bloody rider. Up Alida finally hauled herself with the last dregs of her adrenaline, his ichor-dotted muzzle lifting up carefully, as well.

<< You're...! >>

<< Fine. Just a scratch. >> Ilicaeth rumbled firmly. A scratch from a knife that was as a mosquito to him, though it stung like a papercut. With more concern and less dry humor, << *You're gonna need a Healer, and I ain't takin' you Between with yer head in a jumble. >> Snort.

<< Faranth damn it... >> was all Alida got out before the pain in her shoulder made her wince heavily. She allowed her blue to make the call to Ierne Weyr - the closest one to their current position - and within two minutes, a pair of dragons, brown and blue, emerged above not far away, coming to the 'Reachians' aid. Before their arrival, Alida staggered the couple of paces over to the very slowly dying bandit, the look of fear and hatred in her eyes all for the bluerider.

"Fuckin'....'rider..." was gurgle-gasped, a bit of blood frothing from the downed woman's nose and mouth.

"You chose the wrong person ta fuck with." Bloodied as she was, Alida still couldn't stop herself from saying it with hard pride. Beat. "You know yer dyin'." She could still be as cold as a 'Reaches winter, when called for, no pity in the bluie's voice. "Gonna be a long time in it...maybe ten, fifteen minutes."

"Bitch!" Oh, the hatred and fear in the bandit's tone! The fear dominated, though. She was dying, and at the mercy of an enemy she'd nearly killed. Nearby Ilicaeth bared a few teeth at the pest that had tried to murder his lifemate, and then rumbled softly to Alida.

A moment's pause to look waveringly at her lifemate presaged the blonde's stare down at the woman whom her dragon had bested in his extremity of need. A thought or two passed across the 'rider's mind, finally had her murmuring not unkindly, "I c'n give it to ya." Beat. "Mercy."

"Yer...not a Trader...not just ... a rider..." the dying thief coughed out, her lips bloodying even more with the effort. A feeble spit of that blood at Alida, sent it only onto the woman's chest, finally had her nodding after her gesture of defiance. "Better 'n waitin'." Waiting to see others likely condemn her, question her as she died.

All Alida offered was a stiff nod as she wobblingly knelt down, hefted her smaller blade in left hand, and make a surgically precise jab with the keen knife between ribs, and just barely into the thief's heart. A shocked gasp from the downed woman was followed by the final exhalation of her breath, her face gone peaceful, in the end, eyes closing.

As they waited for the Ierneans to arrive, the muzzy-headed Alida clung to her blue's muzzle - to his mind - for balance and support...and mused. Tigers...wildcats couldn't change their stripes. Whatever she was now, though...it was tempered by the lessons of a decade, and the intercession of her lifemate.

They were ALIVE.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs:Awhile

2016-08-05T04:13:51Z

Alida: Created page with "{{Log |who=Alida, Alida{{!}}Ilicaeth |what=A tiger never changes its stripes... |where=A bar on the Southern Continent |involves=Southern Area |day=19 |month=6 |turn=41 |IP=In..."

{{Log
|who=Alida, Alida{{!}}Ilicaeth
|what=A tiger never changes its stripes...
|where=A bar on the Southern Continent
|involves=Southern Area
|day=19
|month=6
|turn=41
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.08.04
|quote="Fuckin'....'rider..."
|weather=Temperate, sunny.
|type=Vignette
|log=Her 'work' at Broad Leaves Hold done, 'Lydia' the Trader departed on foot - as always - making certain she wasn't being followed (a few times, she had been), picking her way along the path through the jungle in caution until she emerged into the grasslands, which faded out when she finally reached Ilicaeth, a good pair of hours away.

With thoughts of the hold and its leaders keen on her mind, the bluerider directed her lifemate up and not into Between - not in her preoccupied state - but into a long-distance mode of flight from on high, which allowed Alida time to parse not only the hold, but other things weighing on her active mind. Ilicaeth was quite happy to soar on the still-warm winter air of the South, letting the currents take his weight, make wingbeats only an occasional occurance. As the world far below passed by at a relatively easy pace, the blonde found herself reflecting on the outlet - the pure positive joy and pleasure - that her music brought her, and of the direction and perhaps strange fulfillment in helping others that dragonhealing brought her.

Her, the former Guard. Her, the warrior. Her, the bitter, angry, lonely being who had never truly belonged to any group...forging her own way. Likely none of this would be possible without the partnership of her blue dragon, without the unflagging backing he gave without hesitation, without his acceptance of what and who she was. Ilicaeth didn't take any shit, though, and knew when to push, to question, to back off, and to even snap in anger or cuddle in love. They were well and truly matched, a well-oiled piece of smith's machinery with the occasional creaks and grindings that required tuning on occasion. They were grounded, realistic.

Hours later, such thoughts ran through the woman's mind as she kicked back in a small bar not terribly far from some cothold that grew hops and malt, the locally brewed beer not swill, for once, but touched with pleasant touches of honey and a higher concentration of malt. She made an inner note to remember this place, see if they'd want their product added to her 'chain' of places that offered delicious goods of varying qualities. This stuff was quite pleasant, but couldn't equal the quality that a Brewer or Vintner could put out... perfect for people who didn't have deep purses.

Anytime she was South on business, 'Lydia' made certain to take different (usually longer) routes to return to a hidden Ilicaeth, just as she did now, the blue lazing up on a small plateau, spread out so that he blended decently with the grey rock while presenting little profile, especially with the sun in one's eyes. The walk back to him along the sward of tall grasses was pleasant in a way she'd only recently begun to appreciate, Rukbat's warmth kind instead of baking or swampy-humid. Peaceful, just as the rhythm of her strides were, as the calls of wild avians were.

They were on her like lightning, Alida surprised from her appreciation of nature and her own thoughts by the determined faces of one man and two scrappy women bursting from the tall grasses, presenting long knives at her, along with a dark train of words. "Give up yer purse, and you'll not have ta regret the lack of a grave." The pair of women grinned wickedly at their 'mouthpiece,' the man sounding and looking more dangerous than they did. Looks could be deceptive.

Ten minutes' easy flight away, Ilicaeth's head jerked up from his doze, faceted eyes roiling yellow and orange, his muzzle lifting in one place to flash a snarl. Trouble...*surprising* trouble. Without a thought, he was hurling himself skyward, not bothering with too much altitude...wanting only speed. Despite being square and bulky, he was still a blue - still a fighter jet compared to his brown, bronze, gold brethren - and broad wings snapped at the air as 'caeth kicked in the afterburners. At his current pace - 5 minutes away - too much could happen

Alida couldn't help the pugnacious, wary look that spread over her features as she assessed the robbers. They looked like they'd been at this for a good while - experienced - like they were used to getting what they wanted. Used to killing when they didn't. Bad news. She didn't dare reach for her own open, nor hidden blades, not when the thieves were so close. Clear green eyes narrowed, darkened as the 'ex' Guard considered possibilities, weighed options, and communicated with her dragon.

<< Delay as long as you can... >> came the baritone gravel and grit of Ilicaeth's mindvoice, the blue directing his rider away from her preferred form of instant action/retaliation. For once, his sage advice worked, Alida remaining still (though readied in subtle fashion), an expression of false partial-resignation moving over her features as the bandits smirked.

"Come now, trader," came the oily chortle of the somewhat older woman. "Is your life worth the marks in your purse? You can always earn more...and likely never encounter us again." The younger woman smirked, added in, "Only if she's smart enough to hand over the money and never show that pretty, dumb face here ever again." The man only nodded, waved his wherry skinner a little at the bluerider so it flashed in the sunlight. It was a fear-inducing tactic that didn't work on the Guard, though she let her stubborn features betray more false reaction with a faint startle.

<< Don't let 'em get to ya... >> Came the hard, cool answer of Ilicaeth's reaction to his rider's internal, growing anger at her situation, and especially the insult from the younger woman...who she suddenly itched to beat to a pulp. As soon as Alida recognized that she'd used the same tactics on others to provoke a reaction/fight, the blonde simmered down some. Still, she wanted to split the other's lip and hear her whine.

"How about I give you half of what I have, and half later? You can find me easy, since I gotta come back here, anyway. I need money for travel and expenses..." It sounded almost convincing, except for the chill spark of defiance behind the bluerider's green eyes.

"How about you give us all of it, and we won't beat you senseless for insulting us?" added the tall, wiry man with the unpleasant smile. "We have mouths, families to feed." The lie sounded as saccharine to his own ears as it did to Alida's.

"She obviously don't wanna give up any of it, so why waste anymore time, and part 'er from her life and take it without a sharding argument?" sneered 'older woman,' her big knife making ugly little carving patterns in the air before her towards the dragonrider.

Both male and younger woman glanced significantly at their partner, a moue of sudden caution touching their faces. "Too many deaths brings nosey Guards. We got enough of those already." The man was at least somewhat prudent, though the older woman continued trying to scare Alida. "Not for a couple Turns. One dead body, left in the right circumstances, wouldn't attract much attention at all ta' us." This one was the one to beware...the one with not much anxiety at all about killing. And she was apparently somewhat smart, as well. So very dangerous, this situation, these people.

It was the distraction of the quick argument between the man and the older woman - snapping some at one another about killing - that became Alida's opportunity for escape. It was a risky move, but staying here much longer was ever worse, and so a pretend swoon towards the younger woman brought uncertain reaction from all involved...except Alida. This was old hat to her...though she'd not used the tactic in many Turns. It was too 'weak' for her tastes...but time and circumstance dictated nothing else.

She slid just past the grasping arms of the younger female bandit, rolled to the ground, came up like an uncoiling spring...and ran. Alida: the person who prided herself on confrontation, weaponry, ability in many a fight...was fleeing for her money and her life. Into the tall grasses nearby she sprinted, while the three thieves angrily cussed and followed at their top speeds. Two were taller than her, and it sounded like at least one was faster, but the bluie dared not look behind her. Unwilling to let them box her in or overwhelm her, Alida zigged and zagged at random, confusing her would-be captors with a mixture of the occasional sneak tactic mixed with sudden bursts of speed. It helped that avians and small creatures erupted from grassy cover, startling all of them.

Knives now in both hands - one smaller for faster and more precise blows, the other a pig-gutter favored by the Guards - the bluerider knew she couldn't keep ahead of them, beyond them for long. She was a long-distance runner with some small ability for a few bursts of speed to factor in, and the latter were nearly used up. Ilicaeth was only another minute and a half away, but there just wasn't enough time, even via dragon wings..and Ilicaeth growled his displeasure, his concern. They both knew what might have to be done, and it bothered them both for varying reasons....but reality was a harsh mistress.

Disguised by a flurry of ground dwelling avians exploding from cover ahead of her, Alida skidded to a stop, hit the ground, and waited with gasping breaths she tried to control the loudness of. The man was the one who nearly ran her over in his haste to follow what he thought was her passing track, and instead found a flurry of tangling, tripping legs sending him to his face in the grass with a loud "Oof!" as he tried to roll away. A wordless throb of thought from Ilicaeth determined Alida's next moves, though they were by their very nature more dangerous than her usual tactics. A small tussel had her quickly punching the man in the groin a pair of times, even as he cuffed her a sound one upside her head...enough to make her wits spin for a few moments. Instantly, he was down and ineffectual, whimpering softly, curled up into a tight ball on the ground. A well-placed punch to the back of his neck, in just the perfect spot, left him unconscious.

Already, the two female bandits were moving towards their position, hearing the scuffle, one returning from a farther position, the other circling in quickly from the right. Again there was the waiting of the bluerider - as much behind the unconscious body of the man as was possible - and her explosive launch outward as the younger woman semi-cautiously entered the beaten-down grass. Alida went for her legs, knocking them out from under her, though - for her surprise move - 'Lydia' received a shallow slice of the other's knife across her lightly-clad ribs...the feeling of being wounded surprising enough after so many Turns without such making her gasp. Sensing she had scored better than she had, the bandit rolled about on the ground, looking to kick out and hopefully knock down the rising 'trader' once again to her level...only to be met by another kick from the bluerider...connecting with the other woman's jaw. Goodnight. It was a purely lucky move, but Alida took whatever positives she was given with decent grace. After all, she now wore a long, bloody slice on her torso to 'compensate.'

Unable, unwilling to press one hand to her wound to staunch the blood seeping from it, the double-knife wielding 'rider found herself running away again from the site of two take-downs...only to plow nearly headfirst into the older woman, her features a mask of anger and greed. After many flashes of knives and desperate evasions, both women now wore their wounds in a flurry of nicks, shallow and short slices, and also the stab the thief took to one of her thighs, dangerously near the femoral artery. Blood was everywhere, making the ground slick, the grasses sheened with it... and it was their combined spill of their lives that caused Alida to slip sideways, fall to the ground. She saw it written clear in the other's narrowed brown eyes, in the flash of her raised skinning knife as 'Lydia' tried to parry from her awkward position: this was likely death coming.

Not 20 feet above both distracted combatants, a bellowing roar thundered through the air, scaring up all the wildlife about them, and startling both women as well...allowing Alida to partially capture the downward stroke of the fist with the blade in it aimed at her heart. It was almost good enough...but the downward pressure and momentum made the bluie's grabbing hand slip...

Slamming to the ground in a four-legged, very ungraceful, and tooth-clattering 'landing,' Ilicaeth shrieked like a banshee as he swung his neck and head down and over the scene below him like a greyish-blue scythe. Or sledgehammer.

The end of his muzzle connected partially with the bandit's upper body, the dull snap of her spine echoing in the suddenly still grassland, her blow merely gouging down the shoulder of her quarry, instead of piercing Alida's heart. Still, it hurt, made the bluerider call out in both surprise (for her lifemate's rescue) and her own increased pain. But she was *alive*, and that was all that mattered. Her and Ilicaeth.

Snarling momentarily at the bandit - still alive upon her back, but paralyzed - the blue dragon stepped over her, gently nuzzled his bloody rider. Up Alida finally hauled herself with the last dregs of her adrenaline, his ichor-dotted muzzle lifting up carefully, as well.

<< You're...! >>

<< Fine. Just a scratch. >> Ilicaeth rumbled firmly. A scratch from a knife that was as a mosquito to him, though it stung like a papercut. With more concern and less dry humor, << *You're gonna need a Healer, and I ain't takin' you Between with yer head in a jumble. >> Snort.

<< Faranth damn it... >> was all Alida got out before the pain in her shoulder made her wince heavily. She allowed her blue to make the call to Ierne Weyr - the closest one to their current position - and within two minutes, a pair of dragons, brown and blue, emerged above not far away, coming to the 'Reachians' aid. Before their arrival, Alida staggered the couple of paces over to the very slowly dying bandit, the look of fear and hatred in her eyes all for the bluerider.

"Fuckin'....'rider..." was gurgle-gasped, a bit of blood frothing from the downed woman's nose and mouth.

"You chose the wrong person ta fuck with." Bloodied as she was, Alida still couldn't stop herself from saying it with hard pride. Beat. "You know yer dyin'." She could still be as cold as a 'Reaches winter, when called for, no pity in the bluie's voice. "Gonna be a long time in it...maybe ten, fifteen minutes."

"Bitch!" Oh, the hatred and fear in the bandit's tone! The fear dominated, though. She was dying, and at the mercy of an enemy she'd nearly killed. Nearby Ilicaeth bared a few teeth at the pest that had tried to murder his lifemate, and then rumbled softly to Alida.

A moment's pause to look waveringly at her lifemate presaged the blonde's stare down at the woman whom her dragon had bested in his extremity of need. A thought or two passed across the 'rider's mind, finally had her murmuring not unkindly, "I c'n give it to ya." Beat. "Mercy."

"Yer...not a Trader...not just ... a rider..." the dying thief coughed out, her lips bloodying even more with the effort. A feeble spit of that blood at Alida, sent it only onto the woman's chest, finally had her nodding after her gesture of defiance. "Better 'n waitin'." Waiting to see others likely condemn her, question her as she died.

All Alida offered was a stiff nod as she wobblingly knelt down, hefted her smaller blade in left hand, and make a surgically precise jab with the keen knife between ribs, and just barely into the thief's heart. A shocked gasp from the downed woman was followed by the final exhalation of her breath, her face gone peaceful, in the end, eyes closing.

As they waited for the Ierneans to arrive, the muzzy-headed Alida clung to her blue's muzzle - to his mind - for balance and support...and mused. Tigers...wildcats couldn't change their stripes. Whatever she was now, though...it was tempered by the lessons of a decade, and the intercession of her lifemate.

They were ALIVE.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs:What's Under The Hood

2016-07-26T00:44:56Z

Alida:

{{Log
|who=Ellerey, Ellerey{{!}}Virisceth, T'zur, T'zur{{!}}Tziveth, Ghena, Ghena{{!}}Knioth, J'nason, J'nason{{!}}Hephaisth, C'ris, C'ris{{!}}Mivength, Tamsin, Tamsin{{!}}Tyth
|what=Virisceth rises in her maiden Flight
|where=HRW: Living Cavern, Guest weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=8
|month=5
|turn=41
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.07.22
|quote="...What are we going to do, go and jerk off in another room together?"
|weather=Scattered clouds; cool.
|mentions=Quinlys
|type=Log
|ooc=Thanks for the fun, everyone! :D
|icons-new=Icon c'ris.jpg, Icon ellerey ViriscethTakeover.JPG, Icon ellerey ViriscethImpressive.JPG, Icon ghena.jpg, Icon ghena knioth.jpg, Icon J'nason.png, Icon J'nason Hephaisth.jpg, Icon t'zur naked.jpg, Icon t'zur tziveth.jpg, Icon tamsin.jpg, Icon tamsin tyth.jpg
|log=Ellerey's not a big eater, but today, the tall, leggy greenrider can be found already sitting down at some random place (note: NOT at her Wing's table), and eating her fill of whatever the Kitchen has out this early evening. The roll in her hand is the first and favored piece of chow, slathered with butter and bitten into as if every nip will be her last. MmmmmM! On occasion, dark eyes move around to check out the growing crowd, but otherwise, nothing's unusual.

Lanky and with a tray overflowing, hazel eyes rest on the space near the greenrider, and Ghena drops her tray with a soft thunk, "Mind if I sit here?" Not that the brunette waits for a reply, tucking into her meal immediately.
Children have a different feeding schedule than adults; it is well into dinner time for Lyrisa who is seated on her father's lap at a mostly empty table. Mashed tubers, minced meat, some loose peas-- All of it has been mashed into C'ris' riding jacket by the littler redhead that he has to deal with on a daily basis. She babbles happily, mostly, rather than finishing her meal, rarely forming any words. Yet, the bluerider is paying close attention to everything she says, responding whenever there seems to be a lull in the words. His own early meal has grown cold, almost untouched as his hands are busy keeping his daughter in place and eating.

"Mph?" is all that can escape Ellerey's mouth at this point to Ghena's inquiry, the greenrider first peering at the bluie, then shrugging her shoulders, and nodding. Feel free. If Ghena expects conversation, however, she'll be disappointed, as Elle finishes her roll, and sets in on what looks like a kind of chicken pot pie, the smell of which is heavenly. Oh, and HOT. Not yet daring to take a bite of her forkful, Elle settles for blowing on the steamy stuff, and trying not to salivate. Muttered to nobody in particular: "Jays, I'm starving." Intense, dark brown eyes bored rove the filling cavern, and seem to chuckle silently at a glimpse of C'ris trying to get his child to eat instead of babble, then returning to her own food. Blooooow-blowww-blow...test. Just barely edible, though it stings her lips, Elle inhales the bite, chews very gingerly, takes a quick sip of juice to make it easier to eat.

Ghena smirks, "You act like you haven't eaten in days." Her own hazel gaze drifting over to father and child, unable to completely suppress a smirk. "Gotta wonder sometimes what goes through folks heads when they decide to spawn. I mean the kid's adorable, but - " lifting her mug of Klah.

"*Feels* like I haven't..." Ellerey mumbles around her food, the woman again shrugging. "Guess it's just one of those off days." As she carefully eats, Ghen's words of C'ris draw her attentino back to the male bluerider and his spawn, Elle smirking broadly and shaking her head. "I think I might want one when I'm older...maybe." Because cute and HERS, but also loud and dirty. "Isn't that the Weyrlingmaster's weyrmate?"

Ghena arches a brow, but shrugs. "I think so, mind, been ages since I was a weyrling." She squints at the parent and child. "Fuck that; my parents spawned more than I care to count. Still almost makes ya Jealous of Quinlys doesn't it?" The bluerider licking her lips as she bites into a crusty roll.

Entering the caverns in the midst of a conversation, T'zur's talking vividly to J'nason, gesturing at the older bronzerider as he walks: "So did I tell you about this girl from the other night? She was, uh, pretty, and mm, nice." Clearly, he needs to work on the whole storytelling aspect. "But then she got all ''weird'' after -- why do they always have to get ''weird''?" he exhales a sigh, folding arms across his chest. Given it's early enough that there's no line, he heads directly for the food tables, casting a glance around the sparsely occupied tables as he walks.

"Well, did you ''give'' her a reason to be weird?" Playboy J'nason could be, but he's not immune to the fact that men can suck just as much as guys. He keeps up with the bronzer up to the foodline. "Fish. I miss ''fish''."
@emit "I was in this last class..." Ellerey mutters informatively in return, the tall woman finally stopping eating for a moment to look at first kidlette, then C'ris. A sudden easy bit of a lascivious look eases over the greenie's face, altering into a nod and chortle. "He sure is a pretty boy. The kid should be a heartbreaker." Taking after both of her parents. Then it's time for more food...and another roving of brown eyes, which finally happen to catch J'nason and T'zur yakking with one another as they get into line. Grunted to Ghena in an aside between forkfuls of pot pie, "Those two aren't too bad, either. Not quite as nice, but..." Shrug, smirk. Her chin jerks out towards the pair of bronzeriders to give the female bluerider a frame of reference. "I think they're new, right?"

"I was in this last class..." Ellerey mutters informatively in return, the tall woman finally stopping eating for a moment to look at first kidlette, then C'ris. A sudden easy bit of a lascivious look eases over the greenie's face, altering into a nod and chortle. "He sure is a pretty boy. The kid should be a heartbreaker." Taking after both of her parents. Then it's time for more food...and another roving of brown eyes, which finally happen to catch J'nason and T'zur yakking with one another as they get into line. Grunted to Ghena in an aside between forkfuls of pot pie, "Those two aren't too bad, either. Not quite as nice, but..." Shrug, smirk. Her chin jerks out towards the pair of bronzeriders to give the female bluerider a frame of reference. "I think they're new, right?"

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Virisceth projects: Inside her couch, curled up and dozing deeply, Virisceth dreams of dark fire and steaming metal gears, which move from 1st gear into 2nd. Nobody can see the very subtle glow of her dark hide brighten a little more.

C'ris remains oblivious that he might be drawing attention through Lyrisa's antics, and is thus unable to tell Ellery or Ghena that Quinlys would likely ''protest'' at the use of the word ''weyrmate''. "No, Lyri, no," he tries to insist firmly as the baby wiggles insistently, trying to escape from his lap. But apparently the man has no backbone, because it's only another minute before he agrees, "Ok, fine. Just for a minute, ok? No crawling away." Gently, she is put onto the stone floor, where she sits happily. ''For now''.

Ghena laughs, "Shit, you are probably right. the weyr is doomed." Quinlys gets all the luck. Her attention is shifted to the two newcomers and she mms. "The blond looks yummy enough, but the other one is a touch on the scrawny side don't you think? I mean what kind of stamina can you expect outta a guy that looks like that."

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Mivength could care less what Virisceth dreams about. He is above this, all of this. It is a practiced disinterest from the blue dragon, all sharp edges and casual attitude.

"''No''," T'zur responds vehemently to his wingmate. "I mean, like, of ''course not''." The fact that he sounds overly defensive might negate the vehement of the denial. There's not that much of a line and therefore not much of a wait, given it's early, and he's quick to take advantage, selecting lots of meats and stacking it onto a plate once they reach the front. "Fish?" he says, surprised. "Thought you'd be ''sick'' of it. It's practically all you ate at Ista, right?"

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Tziveth's ever watchful, the feel of his presence little more than that slight shadow at the corner of the eye, or a momentary feeling of someone close by. While mentally silent, his physical presence up on the rim of the bowl is becoming more and more common, though he's not the only dragon taking advantage of the perch tonight.

An easy laugh peals from the usually slightly-reserved Ellerey's lips at Ghena's first words, her dark-curled head shaking a couple of times as they watch C'ris handle his progeny. As for the bronzers, a thoughtful eye turns to them, and soon Elle is shrugging again, replying to Ghena, "Scrawny doesn't necessarily mean weak or no stamina. My cousin is scrawny...lanky. But he's tough...and a runner for our traders." Former traders, that is. Spoken more frankly than usual: "The proof's in the pudding...or in this case, the bed." Smirk.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Knoith's brassy drums beat slowly in the background, the clink and shimmer of armor flickering sleepily at the edges.

J'nason eyes his friend's vehemence, THEY WILL TALK ABOUT THAT LATER T'zur. With a, cough, blow-by-blow. Tonight though, FISH. "Yes, fish. It's delicious. Do you realize we're being spoken about?" He jerks his head slightly towards the gossips over there. "Why don't we go crash their party?"

Dragon> There's so many greens even in a post-Pass Weyr that it's nearly impossible to hone in on where the scent of one particular one might be coming from. How like Virisceth, who enjoys hidden, dark places, like remaining hidden until... (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth projects << Ugh. All the talking. >>

Ghena blinks at Ellerey. "You fucked your cousin?" Because this is of course what she takes from that statement as she watches the men who are now being eyed like a meal. "I'd still prefer the blonde."

T'zur studiously avoids J'nason's telling look, although he undoubtedly knows its happening, because: "Planning to get together with some of the wing tonight and drink." The fact that it will neatly avoid any deep and meaningful talks with his fellow bro has nothing to do with it. "But they taste all... fishy," the former Bendenite adds, with a wrinkle of his nose, as he steps away and casts about for a spot to sit. It's J'nason's drawing of attention towards the table that gets a surprised rising of eyebrows. "Huh. How can you tell?" he queries in an undertone, as he directs their path as suggested towards the other pair of riders.

Gossip? Ellerey is so *not* a gossip! Truth. Except for now, when what's being paraded before her eyes is so suddenly more interesting than usual. So delicious...rather like the food on her plate, which is starting to be shoveled into the greenie's maw faster, more ravenously. Wait; huh? There's surprise, and sudden outrage at Ghena's inquiry, Elle jerking her gaze over to glare hotly at the bluerider. "I most certainly did *not*..." is hissed darkly. "Those who think like you give Weyrfolk an even worse reputation than they alreay have outside of it." Jerk. At this point, she doesn't care who Ghena prefers of the boys, Ellerey stabbing at her pot pie as if it somehow is going to attack her if she doesn't get to it, first. If she hears the two bronzeriders speak of coming over, Elle doesn't give any hint.

"That's because they are ''fish''," J'nason says this super carefully, and with all the feeling. Fish is suppose to taste like fish. "Add a touch of butter..." And he'll roll his eyes up and make a fish-is-heaven-food face. Reaching out for a roll J'nason takes a bite before dropping it onto the plate. "They keep looking over at your body."

Ghena blinks at Ellerey's outburst again. "Shells, what was I supposed to think when you lead with a statement about your cousin when we were talking about getting the most out of bedding someone?" She squints at the now stabbed potpie. "Touch-y"

Dragon> 1st gear, it's alright, 2nd gear, hang on tight, 3rd gear... Not quite out of sight, since Virisceth has so MANY gears, but the hissing and steaming and gelatinous oils that surround them are in sure motion, by now. Within her couch, the wicked woman with the night-dark green hide trembles, slowly surfaces towards consciousness, the creases that barely begin to show her eyes slitting to a warning red. (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)
Dragon> Swords against shields, the beat of marching boots against blood soaked ground. The sound of impending battle builds. (to High Reaches dragons from Knoith)

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth hrumps. Needs an oil change.

T'zur's roll of eyes towards the ceiling expresses his sentiment on the topic of ''fish'' fairly clearly. "Fine, fine. I know what to bribe you with next time I want to swap dawn shifts," he's muttering under his breath. "We ca-- what?" the bronzerider glances at J'nason as if to try and determine if his leg's being pulled, before he squints back at the pair. "C'mon," he says, with a nudge of his shoulder into the other Glacier rider's, "Let's go see."

"You were *supposed* to show some class, and an inkling of brains..." Ellerey responds testily to Ghena, the usually eqitable woman now developing a red stain - and not one of embarrassment - at her throat. One of her hands is knuckling up now and again, and to try and cover her odd anger, more food is now wolfed down. Screw good table manners. Her angry stare even gets turned onto the bronzeriders who seem to be approaching, but with *them*, it's also mixed with something less wicked (or maybe more?): eagerness. Come into my parlor... And, with no really obvious precursors, Virisceth is fully awake, and streaming out of her lair like a coil of night - and nightmares - itself. Dark and starry claws clenched tightly into the rock of her ledge scrape and screech, while sickly, oily wings spread wide to catch the last rays of Spring sunlight. And there it is: a stentorian bellow of challenge and desire, unleashed loudly enough to let the entire Weyr know just what she's up to. Fuck the feeding grounds, too; those are for lesser greens. For just a moment, Viri allows her large, yet sinuous form to pose seductively up on her ledge: look what you must earn, paltry, pretty males! Come into MY web. And up she goes, like firecracker/bottlerocket.

One moment, C'ris is sitting and trying to poke at his plate while keeping an eye on his daughter. Then the next-- "NO. No, no," and he's not talking to his daughter, even as he snatches her up into her arms. He is mumbling even as he hurries out of the living cavern and past the bronzeriders, "I swear to Faranth-- Think of Lyrisa--." The rest of his conversation falls into silence with his dragon, even as Lyrisa resumes babbling herself.

Dragon> For a moment, Mivength loses his dry, sarcastic mask. Interest peeks through his thoughts, something more romantic and vulnerable showing as he reaches out tendrils towards Virisceth as she goes up. But slowly, slowly, they are withdrawn. (To High Reaches dragons from Mivength)

J'nason needs exactly zero encouragement to turn his feet towards the pair that are ''totally'' checking him out. The flash of passion rocks through the bronzerider as the green abruptly awakens and Hephaisth, for all his prickly demeanor, is all there. "Want to reprise the last flight?" Lightly as he keeps moving in the direction they were going in.

Dragon> Preening vainly - so unlike her regular self - Virisceth the silent offers up nightmare oils and fluids, creaks and groans and screeching twists of warping metal to the males of her Weyr: << Are you good enough, my males? Come follow me into the darkness... >> And the offer of her wings and tail to twine with. (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)

"Cattiness doesn't become - " Ghena never gets to finish her sentence. Brassy and bold the silver blue launches into the sky after, echoing the challenge as wings beat against the spring air with fervor. "Aw fuck." Flushed suddenly with desire for the now pissed off greenrider. Sorry J'nason. Knoith is only the beat of drums and the clash of swords as he launches into the frey.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth is cranking himself up from the repose of the evening. << Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. >> Her engine can't be at optimal with all that grime. Get a cloth, girl.

The fact that T'zur's picking up small pieces from his plate he can shove down his throat suggests he's hungry enough not to wait for the polite 'sitting at the table' thing; he's eyeing Ellerey and Ghena with equal parts interest and wariness. He slows, head cocked, gaze distant for a moment, before he exhales sharply, eyes refocusing on Ellerey, now. "Hope the twins are up for it," is all he mutters, stalking with determination towards the greenrider.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Tziveth, on the rim of the bowl, has somewhat of an advantage. Lidded, whirling eyes take note of Virisceth's abrupt rise, and when he, too, launches into the sky, he's the advantage of air already under her wings. Even though he's on the smaller side for a bronze, he doesn't have near the quickness of a green, though, but darkness is ''his'' domain, not hers: and so he rises to the challenge without a second thought.

What. The. FUCK?!? That's the sudden look all over Ellerey's features in her huge eyes as her utensils are dropped with a clatter, and her chair shoved back as she jerks to a tall stand. "Viri... NO!" Out of habit, the greenrider is assuming her wild and sometime dangerous lifemate is meaning to attack somebody, something. And honestly, she is: the air itself, as pinions slash at it to raise her fast and furious up into the twilight sky. Staggering, the woman finally puts two and two together, and without a backwards glance at whoever might be watching her or following her, scrambles wildly towards that one special weyr Quinlys informed all of them about, so long ago. "Stay away from me!" is shrilled back at any who follow too close.

"What about your new... friend?" J'nason was totally about to sit down with his food before the greenrider changes direction and scrambles towards the doorway. "Damn, I was hungry." Alas, he'll just have to put his tray down on the nearest table and snatch up a roll from his plate as he follows her. "Why do they always yell that?" Says the person who's never ridden a female dragon.

Dragon> Sneaky Tziveth! She hates/likes that! Virisceth stomps on the acellerator to put more distance between the canny bronze and herself, while calling lustfully over her shoulder to Knioth. Silly blue. Does anyone else dare her alien darkness, those wicked claws and too-sharp teeth? A few more seem to - a pair of browns and another blue - which only further encourages Virisceth to coat all her further, non-verbal communications with oil and goo and lubricants. So slippery, so delicious, so dangerous, so difficult to catch! (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)

"Who?" T'zur asks, blankly. The food is... ''was'' important until moments ago, but Tziveth's need overrides his, and T'zur abandons his still full plate on the table. The smile that lights his face is genuine, determined and focused: despite Ellerey's warning, the bronzerider's hot on her heels, snorting with amusement at J'nason's words. "Fuck if I know. What are we going to do, go and jerk off in another room together?" T'zur's a mite bit put off, it seems. Tziveth, meanwhile, follows Virisceth into twilight and the darkness beyond, at home, near invisible with the darkness of his own hide. He isn't set on fighting others for the win, full of confidence as he surges after the green.

"Because the first flight is always like that, didn't you know?" Ghena supplies helpfully throwing a wink over her shoulder at the blonde bronzerider as she falls into step with him. At T'zur's comment she snerks, "That or If Knoth and your friend don't catch, I'd be happy to see to his - needs." Unapologetically ogling the blonde.

Dragon> Thoughts are thoughts, and while the green may be slick and untouchable -- for now -- Tziveth has patience, knowing the inevitability of what will come. ''His'' thoughts are full of shadows and flickering movements -- alien and uncomfortable itself, but familiar in that way that darkness, once touched and known and accepted, is long comforting. He surges past those other dragons without any acknowledgement. (To High Reaches dragons from Tziveth)

"I don't know, did you want to?" J'nason is MOSTLY JOKING. Unlike all the flight tight-wads this bronzerider is as loose as a crazy man's screw. "Not my typical twist, but it happens sometimes. You know, the friend you were telling me about. Unless by nice you ''actually'' meant nice." The last is added as an aside as J'nason stuffs the last of his roll into his mouth. That makes it harder to respond to Ghena, but he'll do his best in his next pose. Hephaisth takes some time to get all reved up. Really, he's not sure about the integrity of her engine. Maybe if she'd just let him get, ahem, into it he could take care of it for her.

Shivering heavily, arms wrapped around her torso, Ellerey runs as fast as she can to the guest weyr, where the tall woman immediatey sets up an encampment beside the bed. She doesn't tease or urge like her lifemate, however. Instead, there's glowers of mistrust and a little confusion at all the people present, the woman's teeth baring a couple of time as she glares at everything, everyone. Heavy boots thunk around as the greenrider paces off *her* area, trying to then ignore the other humans in here with her.

Of ''course'' the bluerider makes a pass at his friend. T'zur, perhaps used to it, makes a face. "Suppose I could take on the twins by myself--" he starts, ''sounding'' confident, at least, until J'nason reminds him. "Oh. Um." There's something awkward in his expression, fortunately saved from answering by the ready excuse of his gaze falling on Ellerey as they reach the guest weyr. He exhales a sharp breath, and with a sudden grin, dares to cross the line she's drawn. Not by over much -- just strolling casually into ''her'' area and leaning against the wall -- like he wants to see her reaction.

Dragon> Darkness meets darkness, though slighty different forms of them, and vicious Virisceth approves, trilling (more like growling roughly) at Tziveth. For Hephaisth, there's a screech that's not of anger, but of dares and evil promises - she'll drown him in her lubricants if he can take them - Knioth and the other males simply eyed by furiously-whirling red facets. Keep up, boys...or ELSE. (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)

"Quarter-mark bet that whoever wins winds up looking like a scratching post." Ghena marks when arriving and taking a moment to smooth the silver blue fabric of her tunic. Silver claws catch the light as the blue wings wide to battle his way closer.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth would like to note here that her oils are //probably// not very good if he's going to drown in them. Too full is as bad as too empty. He can take care of that too though. Don't worry.

Dragon> The green's growling approval is taken as tacit invitation by Tziveth, tendrils of his shadowy thoughts spiralling out and seeking to touch and encapture her -- her thoughts, her attention, her ''distraction'' -- long enough for him to be able to wing closer to the agile green and maybe, just maybe, capture her there, too. (To High Reaches dragons from Tziveth)

"DUDE. What ''happened''." Ugh, J'nason wants the 411 and this damn flight is getting in the way of him finding more about this. But now T'zur is over ''there'' and there's a blond ''here'' making a move. "Well," a bright smile for the woman, "One of us might just take you up on that. Never leave a lady in.... need."

Oh, you motherfucker. T'zur dares to cross Ellerey's 'hard' line? NOBODY fucking does that when she's finally put her foot down. And so, instead of launching a punch at the bronzerider, she moves to slam a brutal *stomp* of her workboot on his foot's arch, if possible. It'll hurt like a sunnuvabitch if it connects, that's for damned sure, maybe even require a stop in at the Healers, if it connects perfectly. Ghena's comment of scratching posts earns the smarmy bluerider a look that promises lots of angry pain, if Elle gets a chance to inflict it on her. Hey, wait! J'nason is one of HER potentials, and when Ghena puts a few moves on him, Ellerey's suddenly shoving her rangy form between them, and mantling like a hawk over meat at the 'prettier' bronzerider. MINE!

J'nason's curiosity will just have to wait a bit longer, since T'zur is definitely distracted now. The twitch of lips seems borne out of a confidence undoubtedly won in part from his bronze: it doesn't even waver when Ellerey stomps up to him. He reaches out a hand with the intent of pulling her off balance, though how well that works might be in debate when, moments later, he's swearing up a treat, half sliding down the wall to clutch at his foot.

"Ouch man." No need to start a fight here. Ellerey has this DOWN. /random aside from J'nason. (Sorry T'zur.)

"Better if you take me up on the offer." Ghena is content to flirt with the bronzerider while her blue is chasing the violent green, because fuck if she's going anywhere near Ellerey after that violent little outburst. "Damned blue would pick a violent one." laughing a bit boldly at poor T'zur's pain. "I think your friend, might need a healer more than a bedwarmer after this."

Dragon> Virisceth's sudden roar of anger echos Ellerey's possessiveness, the dark green snapping her teeth over her shoulder at Knioth as if wishing to imbed her choppers into the blue. She's speeding like the green demon-dragon she is through the sky, and burning up her energy without a care for the consequences. There's no wasteful aerobatics with this one, just rising higher and higher where the atmosphere thins out some, allows for greater speed. << Weaklings! >> Virisceth's rare contralto screeches like twisting metal. You DARE! (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth dares because Virisceth NEEDS his handy way with tools to make dragons like her just ''purr''. She wants to purr, right? RIGHT. She wants to pur.

Dragon> Dappled in deep forest browns, Tyth doesn't blend as well as some blues might with the dusk light but nor does he stand out either. He's a hunter who values stealth, who knows the right moment to show his hand and that moment has yet to come. For the time being, he simply gives chase, waiting for Virisceth to tire... to be come vulnerable... to fulfill her destiny as ''his'' prey. His thoughts are likewise kept close to his chest, but a brush of his mind reveals something feral and focused with only the slightest crunch of underbrush under foot and the burn of primal desire to mark him as a pursuer. (To High Reaches dragons from Tyth)

Dragon> Silver blue, bold as a knight-errant, Knoith is not dissuaded from the chase by the vicious snap of dark jaws, winging closer, careful to avoid the shadowy bronze in the process. (To High Reaches dragons from Knioth)
Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Tziveth's pride might -- just ''might'' be a little stung by that accusation. Weaklings, indeed. Certainly, the ''others'' are, but Tziveth is so much ''more'' than they. Through the darkening sky he slides ever-upward, ever-towards her, as confident as this were his home skies, for he belongs in the darkness.

Okay, so ''technically'' Tamsin is still chewing when she straggles (late) into the Weyr. It's perhaps a mark of her experience as a brownrider that she seems to have known that she had time to finish her dinner (or at least stuff a little bit more into her mouth) before there was a real chance she'd be needed here; maybe she's just got screwed up priorities. At least there's no food left on her face by the time she's brushed fingers across her mouth and comes to a halt not far from some of the others, taking in the greenrider and the riders who made a more punctual appearance for the wait that leads up to the moment of triumph or failure. "Did I miss anything?" is a question to-- J'nason. Maybe he looks like he knows. Maybe she just doesn't want to ask Ellerey directly, given the violence. Given that her brown eyes only flick toward the bronzerider briefly, it could easily be mistaken to be to, oh, any of the others.

Oh, they'll pay if they try to screw with HER! That's the look in Ellerey's eyes, now, as T'zur grasps as his foot, the woman now glaring holes in Ghena's head as she keeps herself between the bluerider and J'nason. But don't either of you DARE touch! But she's more and more 'with' her green lifemate, feeling the draining of energy, the rapid tiring of muscles and the slipping of frightful WILL into WANT. Knioth/Ghena...she can't stand them; bitch! Tyth is a newer curiosity as he surges forwards from the back of the small pack, his stealth and way of seeing things as 'prey' very understandable to one like her. The other two bronze boys...well, who *wouldn't* be tickled green by their bizarre attentions? The others have already been dismissed. Not worthy. Not dangerous enough. All of this goes through Elle's/Viri's brain as she aggressively analyzes 'them:' humans and dragons. Uh-oh.

There's a groan from T'zur, suddenly watering eyes regarding the other occupants blearily. Pushing against the wall to regain his balance, he starts a hop-shuffle towards the bed that favors his now-injured foot. With Ellerey distracted keeping Ghena and J'nason apart, surely she won't mind if he pilfers the bed for himself? There's not really so much of possession about the acquisition of the bed as there is relief, the former Bendenite sinking down and exhaling, eyes inevitably drawn towards Ellerey, as much wariness as want in the regards.

As Elle stakes her claim, Ghena sighs. "You can't hog us ''all'' unless you like that sort of thing." Ghena goading the woman on as Knoth flashes forward in a flash of silver, claws and tail reaching for his prize.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Tziveth seeks, not just in the physical, but to draw Virisceth closer in the mental space -- to allow the slide of thoughts, what she ''wants'' -- to be influenced by his thoughts. After all, darkness calls to darkness, and there's nothing afraid in the bronze's mind -- only shadowy, predatory thoughts, waiting for her arrival, waiting to welcome her home. If nothing else, perhaps the thoughts will draw her brief attention, making the presence of his dark, physical form less visible as gleaming ivory talons flex in anticipation, seeking to draw her nearer with the flick of thin, whipcord tail as he drops in close to her.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth makes his move, tools at the ready to put everything into it's proper place. His mind is focused on the one goal of making each of her gears turn right, and to put into h, er, place what needs to be done so everything warps properly. He'll dive down and try to edge Tziveth out. Just because their RIDERS are buds doesn't mean the soot-soaked bronze is buddy-buddy.

J'nason takes a step backward, hands coming up as if to try to placate the greenrider. "Shh, shh, that's probably not a good thing for your first time." But look, if she is going to INSIST there ARE two girls here... and three guys. Hum. Someone is going to have to watch. Isn't it nice he doesn't say anything outloud? Instead he'll cock an eyebrow at T'zur for taking up the bed. A LITTLE FORWARD HUH.

Tamsin's expression turns to one of deep amusement, eyes bouncing from greenrider to blue- and on to the others, though the look leveled on T'zur holds a flash of sympathy. Dark eyes return to Ellerey, thoughtful, and then the older woman rocks back a step before turning to to find somewhere with a little more personal space; she's probably just helpfully volunteering to be the odd man out.

Dragon> Much was held back, kept hidden, instinct driving Tyth as ''the'' moment comes. He springs into action in so much as pressure of wings against wind allows. Agile for his size, he dodges, twists and tries to slip into the right position for an extended limb to ensnare and entangle, to trip up the green, to capture her for his own. It's probably just an overactive imagination who might sense the potential for intense violence in that moment as much as intense passion. (To High Reaches dragons from Tyth)

What bed? This WHOLE PLACE is *hers*, but Ellerey can't oggle the whole damned weyr while keeping track of those before her. Spat out to Ghena is a hissed, "I'll do what the *fuck* I WANT." Bitch. A step forward to the bluerider to show how serious she is suddenly transitions into a sidestep as - far above - Virisceth seeks to avoid Knioth's reach for her. Another snap of those wicked, long, steely-looking teeth of the green's might make contact with whatever bit of the poor blue is closest in order to prove the point that she *doesn't* want any part of him, while starry-touched, black claws look to reach for that predator/prey brown Tyth. Surprise! Maybe Tamsin's a 'safe' bet for Ellerey? But then there's a bump and shuffle of two bronze bodies too close for flying safety...and the already spent (and suddenly falling) Virisceth finds the brown out of reach, deciding in her momentary surprise and bit of panic at her lack of wings to lash out her tail and neck for Tziveth, whom she *knows* is big enough, wicked enough, and of a like mind enough to keep her airborne...and in blackest bliss. << MIIIINE... >> is screeched/hissed/cooed.

Ghena hisses as Knoith takes a hit, but the Blue rights himself well enough. She sidesteps the greenrider as the green is caught, reaching to snag J'nason by the wrist and tug him away. "I think we better leave your friend to his rewards."

Is it Virisceth's thought that is echoed back at her, or Tziveth's, just as possessive: << ''Mine.'' >> Near-black tail and neck wraps around the greens, wings spreading wide to hold them aloft, to extend the time out here in the darkness where they both belong. Beneath, it's with a groan that T'zur pushes himself up, like he's preparing to leave, but his breath catches. He's up, suddenly, but this time with a different purpose, moving to grab at Ellerey and pull her away from the others, towards him. He'll regret that later, for his foot if nothing else, but for now he's all consumed by a need that outweighs such things.

OUCH, not so much for J'naseth, but Hephaisth had actually //really// wanted to see what was under the hood there. Gruff swearing from the scarred bronze as he peels away. THIS is why he doesn't bother with women. Damn their vibes that make him ignore his own good sense. J'nason does a little cheer for his friend - seriously, good going man, before turning to the blond. "Shall I?" All the roguish charm gets piled onto the words.

Tyth is vocal in his defeat. Anger and frustration knit in the roar that leaves him as he shifts from pounce to dip and glide, not showing signs of returning immediately to the ground, but getting away from the 'happy couple,' in the very least. Tamsin, likewise, doesn't linger, quickly retracing her steps out to the bowl. If she hurries, she can get dessert!

As Virisceth abandons herself into Tziveth's sustaining hold, growling and screeching a little still the whole time they're together, Ellerey finds her green's utter lust subsuming her own reactions, and she fairly hurls herself at (poor) T'zur, who, when he wakens, will indeed find his hide to be a wasteland of gouges, rakes, a few hard bites, and enough bruises. Tziveth gets only one playful nip that barely breaks the hide, and a little flex of claws to sweetly gouge his hide to mark the bronze as *Viri's*.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

It's late, ''later'', with most of the Weyr -- including a satisfied pair of dragons -- deep asleep. Something makes T'zur stir, though, briefly fighting through the layers of blankets and naked limbs (that one's not his!), before he groans. Just about everything hurts, and it means for the moment, he's more distracted by the bite on his upper arm than the naked girl he's sharing a bed with. He looks kind of... ''confused'', all told.

It's only T'zur's groan that finally awakens a satiated and tired Ellerey, the few Turns she's spent being Virisceth's human half having helped the woman to develop a certain extra awareness of dangerous or oddball situations. *This* one definitely counts as oddball, and the strangeness of waking up groggily with another person in (her?) bed is reason for the greenrider to blink thickly, then turn over to stare at her bedmate owlishly. There's no shrieking, shrinking, blushing, covering up, etcetera. She just continues to peer at T'zur, and try and remember the whys of this situation. Until she notices the dings and dents she put into his human hide. Wince. "Oh jays... I'm sorry."

"Why'd you ''bite'' me," T'zur, still mystified, actually looks at Ellerey, now. The fact that she's naked and looking at him, ''and'' apologizes likely mollifies whatever else he might be thinking. With a sharp exhale, he shifts, dropping onto his back with a wince.

The way those dark eyes of hers peer mostly at each wound she inflicted on the poor bronzerider might speak of empathy, even regret. But the way the young woman murmurs out a slightly businesslike, "You'll need to go to the Healers to get those cleaned out," makes her sound perhaps strangely in control of the situation. Beat. "I can do it, if you'd rather not show them...but you'd need to find a supply of numbweed, gauze, and redwort yourself. I don't have access to them." But she has the ability to utilize them, apparently. Cautiously, two long fingers reach out, and seek to touch feather-light against whatever bit of the man's skin is closest and uninjured. Finally, somewhat guiltily is murmured, "It's Virisceth...her way." Sigh. "Who and what she is. She...took more of me in that flight and gave me more of herself." Which was claws and teeth.

Grimacing, T'zur says, "Either way, I'd have to go to the healers. But... I guess at least ''you've'' already seen me naked," he mutters, with a sidelong look and a slight twitch of lips. His weight shifts briefly, like he's going to move now, though he stills when she touches him. Silent for a beat or two, the former Bendenite visibly swallows, before he finally says, "I understand. Tziveth, sometimes he..." he trails off, and only reiterates, "I understand."

When T'zur stills, Ellerey very slowly seeks to move closer, trying to lightly touch one of her shoulders to his, if he'll allow. It's human contact, and hopefully it;s reassuring, maybe warmer than what happened between them before. "My grandmother is a Journeyman Healer. She taught many of us how to field dress things like this. It's...helpful, when you're on the road most of the time." Word of his nakedness earns the bronzer a slightly wry smirk, which fades at word of Tziveth. Looking a little haunted for a moment, the greenrider notes with a hint of what might actually be fear, "Yes. I remember that, now. She was very attracted to him because of...that. She's..." Swallow. "Dark." And so very much more.

The bronzerider doesn't seem to mind her stealing closer at all; the gesture draws T'zur's gaze as he listens to her talk. Something stirs in his expression when she talks of the open road, and he doesn't speak for a time. Finally, though, he says: "You're not on the open road any more." A series of emotions flicker across his expression at her latter words, but he finally just exhales, grimacing as he shifts, stretching an arm around her shoulders with the intent of pulling her closer. "That's what they don't tell you. They're not always exactly what you think they'd be."

When T'zur stills, Ellerey very slowly seeks to move closer, trying to lightly touch one of her shoulders to his, if he'll allow. It's human contact, and hopefully it;s reassuring, maybe warmer than what happened between them before. "My grandmother is a Journeyman Healer. She taught many of us how to field dress things like this. It's...helpful, when you're on the road most of the time." Word of his nakedness earns the bronzer a slightly wry smirk, which fades at word of Tziveth. Looking a little haunted for a moment, the greenrider notes with a hint of what might actually be fear, "Yes. I remember that, now. She was very attracted to him because of...that. She's..." Swallow. "Dark." And so very much more.

The bronzerider doesn't seem to mind her stealing closer at all; the gesture draws T'zur's gaze as he listens to her talk. Something stirs in his expression when she talks of the open road, and he doesn't speak for a time. Finally, though, he says: "You're not on the open road any more." A series of emotions flicker across his expression at her latter words, but he finally just exhales, grimacing as he shifts, stretching an arm around her shoulders with the intent of pulling her closer. "That's what they don't tell you. They're not always exactly what you think they'd be."

"No, I'm not..." is quietly acknowledged, Elle's expression again a mix of wry and a little sad for a moment. "Not for lack of trying. We're away from the Weyr as much as we can be...discovering Pern." Noting those shifts of T'zur's expression, the greenie makes a faintly inquiring arch of brows, then simply (and carefully) tucking parts of her long, slender frame in against his when he puts and arm around her shoulders. Murmured, though not accusingly, "I"m surprised you didn't do the same to me..." maul her..."...if he's much like *her*." A wealth of mixed emotions sits in that one emphasized word. Her not so little monster. A quick nod for those next words brings memories, and they conjure up a faint shudder that raises goosepimples on nude skin that shows at least a passing acquaintence with injuries. "I...suspected that ,from what some of the riders said in passing, but so many of them seem like they're all ga-ga or whatever over their partners..." Siiiigh. "I only Stood at the very last moment to honor a dragon's choice...his, and his rider." And *now* look what she got.

"Sounds nice," T'zur responds, with a genuine exhale. The fact that it's offset by a slight wince as she settles herself against him might ruin the intimacy of the gesture. "He's not... not like that. He's not... ''physical''," the bronzerider struggles to explain, but he ''tries'' all the same. There's a slight tension, like he's not all that comfortable in the conversation, and so when she talks of the latter, it makes him smile, wryly: "I took an easy job to run up to Benden Weyr after I'd recovered from an injured knee. I think I was there all of, mm, an hour before I was dumped onto the sands and then... ''Tziveth'' happened. Never rightly got the chance to even think about what I was doing. Do you..." he hesitates, pauses, and rephrases the aborted question into a statement, "I don't regret it."

"It *is*. Not even a dragon can take the wanderer out of a Trader..." Ellerey murmurs with restrained relish, her features softening for a moment. "Viri enjoys my pleasure in that...though she doesn't really understand many other...more gentle pleasures." Lip-twist. "I can't blame her for being herself." It's said like a mantra, as if the brunette has told this to herself a thousand times over the few Turns she's been Impressed. For a moment, the greenrider almost seems on the brink of blurting something out to T'zur, but his final words pull her lips tight, draw out a nod, instead. Frankly, she inquires, "What was it like the moment of Impression with him?"

"You were a trader, too?" T'zur is surprised, enough so that his head lifts so that he can better see her expression for a moment. "What family?" While she speaks of Virisceth, and those aborted words, he stays silent, still watching her, however. When she asks about his Impression, he goes still, breathing silently and considering. His voice, when he speaks, is soft: "It was... he felt so... ''incomprehensible''," his lips twist, like it's a word it's taken him a while to come up with. "It was like my brain couldn't cope with everything, but he was the stalwart for my shaky legs, the fierce confident to my unspoken fears. I felt complete, but I didn't know what I'd been missing, before." He glances at Ellerey, as if seeking to determine whether her experience was anything like his, the unspoken question in that gaze.

'You, too?!' is the unspoken look of surprise and pleasure in Ellerey's eyes for T'zur's backwards admission, the young woman nodding a couple of times, grinning at him from her head's rest on his arm. After she mentions a minor (but up and coming) family that caravans between Boll, Tillek, and Fort and 'Reaches, there's the near-inevitable, "And your family?" It's so much more pleasant to talk of their pasts than the present, but there's things to be learned from even pain, and Elle stills to listen intently to her erstwhile lover, nodding in places, silent and perhaps brooding in others. The bronzerider's glance is experienced as heavy, prodding, evocative, but the woman slowly manages to eke out a contralto, "We were missing something that the other...filled." Why does she sound so resigned, even through the faint smile.

"The Beowins," T'zur replies in turn, grinning as much for pride of his former family as their shared pasts. It's the latter words that make him silent, not trying to fight the quiet that follows for some time. Finally: "I think I'll go get some supplies. Stop by the infirmary, get some food, since I missed dinner," his lips twist, wryly. "Bring it back here... if that's okay?"

She looks properly awed - and a little envious plus humored - by T'zur's admission of being a Beowin. "Bet you had your hands in lots of pots - or were working on them - before Benden got you." Grin. And then the reality of now intrudes again, but at least Elle focuses on T'zur's wounds much more, this time. After a nod of agreement (accompanied by a rather warm smile), the greenrider murmurs, "If they give you any fuss about redwort and numbweed...well, mention my name. I've proven my abilities to the Healers...limited as they are." Lips twitch into an almost smirk, and the woman tilts her head up to try and plant a light kiss on that arm of T'zur's. "I'd enjoy that...though you might not." Brow eyes twinkle with dark merriness.

"It was more my brother's thing -- everyone knows he'll take over from my ma some day -- I just liked being out ''there'', meeting people, you know?" T'zur's shoulder twitches briefly in an ill-formed shrug. With a grin, he starts to lever himself out of the bed, though not without a grimace or two. It's when he goes to stand that he lets out another groan, favoring his other leg as he limps about looking for his pants. "Starting to think I might not at that," he says, with a glance over his shoulder, kind of wryly. It might be even odds whether he'll come back once he's dressed.

"Oh..." is all the woman notes back, not giving T'zur any guff, nor teasing him about being a 'lesser' Beowin. "It's not for everyone, that's for sure." Being a Trader, or a leader? Another small look of empathy for the man's pain is soon followed by Ellerey re-wrapping herself in sheets and a light blanket...while surreptitiously looking at the bronzerider's frame, his rear especially. She's only human. Replied with a hint of dark humor, "I won't bite *this* time, I promise. And Virisceth's still wrapped up tight with Tziveth. She's so relaxed, I don't think she'll let him go for awhile." Blink. Wow; Viri's *relaxed*!

T'zur makes a noise by way of neutral response -- he probably hasn't noticed she's watching him, given he doesn't remark on it -- finds his pants and tugs them on, and moments later, finds his jacket. It'll do to keep out the cool spring air. Tugging on his boots, he runs a hand through his hair, and only then glances over his shoulder at her. "Well, then. Guess I've no choice," with a twitch of lips. It fades into another grimace as he shifts his weight, favoring his injured foot as he heads out the door.
|Categories=Flight Logs, Post-Flight Logs
}}

Logs:What's Under The Hood

2016-07-26T00:41:52Z

Alida: Created page with "{{Log |who=Ellerey, Ellerey{{!}}Virisceth, T'zur, T'zur{{!}}Tziveth, Ghena, Ghena{{!}}Knioth, J'nason, J'nason{{!}}Hephaisth, C'ris, C'ris{{!}}Mivength |what=Virisceth rises i..."

{{Log
|who=Ellerey, Ellerey{{!}}Virisceth, T'zur, T'zur{{!}}Tziveth, Ghena, Ghena{{!}}Knioth, J'nason, J'nason{{!}}Hephaisth, C'ris, C'ris{{!}}Mivength
|what=Virisceth rises in her maiden Flight
|where=HRW: Living Cavern, Guest weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=8
|month=5
|turn=41
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.07.22
|quote="...What are we going to do, go and jerk off in another room together?"
|weather=Scattered clouds; cool.
|mentions=Quinlys
|type=Log
|ooc=Thanks for the fun, everyone! :D
|icons-new=Icon c'ris.jpg, Icon ellerey ViriscethTakeover.JPG, Icon ellerey ViriscethImpressive.JPG, Icon ghena.jpg, Icon ghena knioth.jpg, Icon J'nason.png, Icon J'nason Hephaisth.jpg, Icon t'zur naked.jpg, Icon t'zur tziveth.jpg
|log=Ellerey's not a big eater, but today, the tall, leggy greenrider can be found already sitting down at some random place (note: NOT at her Wing's table), and eating her fill of whatever the Kitchen has out this early evening. The roll in her hand is the first and favored piece of chow, slathered with butter and bitten into as if every nip will be her last. MmmmmM! On occasion, dark eyes move around to check out the growing crowd, but otherwise, nothing's unusual.

Lanky and with a tray overflowing, hazel eyes rest on the space near the greenrider, and Ghena drops her tray with a soft thunk, "Mind if I sit here?" Not that the brunette waits for a reply, tucking into her meal immediately.
Children have a different feeding schedule than adults; it is well into dinner time for Lyrisa who is seated on her father's lap at a mostly empty table. Mashed tubers, minced meat, some loose peas-- All of it has been mashed into C'ris' riding jacket by the littler redhead that he has to deal with on a daily basis. She babbles happily, mostly, rather than finishing her meal, rarely forming any words. Yet, the bluerider is paying close attention to everything she says, responding whenever there seems to be a lull in the words. His own early meal has grown cold, almost untouched as his hands are busy keeping his daughter in place and eating.

"Mph?" is all that can escape Ellerey's mouth at this point to Ghena's inquiry, the greenrider first peering at the bluie, then shrugging her shoulders, and nodding. Feel free. If Ghena expects conversation, however, she'll be disappointed, as Elle finishes her roll, and sets in on what looks like a kind of chicken pot pie, the smell of which is heavenly. Oh, and HOT. Not yet daring to take a bite of her forkful, Elle settles for blowing on the steamy stuff, and trying not to salivate. Muttered to nobody in particular: "Jays, I'm starving." Intense, dark brown eyes bored rove the filling cavern, and seem to chuckle silently at a glimpse of C'ris trying to get his child to eat instead of babble, then returning to her own food. Blooooow-blowww-blow...test. Just barely edible, though it stings her lips, Elle inhales the bite, chews very gingerly, takes a quick sip of juice to make it easier to eat.

Ghena smirks, "You act like you haven't eaten in days." Her own hazel gaze drifting over to father and child, unable to completely suppress a smirk. "Gotta wonder sometimes what goes through folks heads when they decide to spawn. I mean the kid's adorable, but - " lifting her mug of Klah.

"*Feels* like I haven't..." Ellerey mumbles around her food, the woman again shrugging. "Guess it's just one of those off days." As she carefully eats, Ghen's words of C'ris draw her attentino back to the male bluerider and his spawn, Elle smirking broadly and shaking her head. "I think I might want one when I'm older...maybe." Because cute and HERS, but also loud and dirty. "Isn't that the Weyrlingmaster's weyrmate?"

Ghena arches a brow, but shrugs. "I think so, mind, been ages since I was a weyrling." She squints at the parent and child. "Fuck that; my parents spawned more than I care to count. Still almost makes ya Jealous of Quinlys doesn't it?" The bluerider licking her lips as she bites into a crusty roll.

Entering the caverns in the midst of a conversation, T'zur's talking vividly to J'nason, gesturing at the older bronzerider as he walks: "So did I tell you about this girl from the other night? She was, uh, pretty, and mm, nice." Clearly, he needs to work on the whole storytelling aspect. "But then she got all ''weird'' after -- why do they always have to get ''weird''?" he exhales a sigh, folding arms across his chest. Given it's early enough that there's no line, he heads directly for the food tables, casting a glance around the sparsely occupied tables as he walks.

"Well, did you ''give'' her a reason to be weird?" Playboy J'nason could be, but he's not immune to the fact that men can suck just as much as guys. He keeps up with the bronzer up to the foodline. "Fish. I miss ''fish''."
@emit "I was in this last class..." Ellerey mutters informatively in return, the tall woman finally stopping eating for a moment to look at first kidlette, then C'ris. A sudden easy bit of a lascivious look eases over the greenie's face, altering into a nod and chortle. "He sure is a pretty boy. The kid should be a heartbreaker." Taking after both of her parents. Then it's time for more food...and another roving of brown eyes, which finally happen to catch J'nason and T'zur yakking with one another as they get into line. Grunted to Ghena in an aside between forkfuls of pot pie, "Those two aren't too bad, either. Not quite as nice, but..." Shrug, smirk. Her chin jerks out towards the pair of bronzeriders to give the female bluerider a frame of reference. "I think they're new, right?"

"I was in this last class..." Ellerey mutters informatively in return, the tall woman finally stopping eating for a moment to look at first kidlette, then C'ris. A sudden easy bit of a lascivious look eases over the greenie's face, altering into a nod and chortle. "He sure is a pretty boy. The kid should be a heartbreaker." Taking after both of her parents. Then it's time for more food...and another roving of brown eyes, which finally happen to catch J'nason and T'zur yakking with one another as they get into line. Grunted to Ghena in an aside between forkfuls of pot pie, "Those two aren't too bad, either. Not quite as nice, but..." Shrug, smirk. Her chin jerks out towards the pair of bronzeriders to give the female bluerider a frame of reference. "I think they're new, right?"

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Virisceth projects: Inside her couch, curled up and dozing deeply, Virisceth dreams of dark fire and steaming metal gears, which move from 1st gear into 2nd. Nobody can see the very subtle glow of her dark hide brighten a little more.

C'ris remains oblivious that he might be drawing attention through Lyrisa's antics, and is thus unable to tell Ellery or Ghena that Quinlys would likely ''protest'' at the use of the word ''weyrmate''. "No, Lyri, no," he tries to insist firmly as the baby wiggles insistently, trying to escape from his lap. But apparently the man has no backbone, because it's only another minute before he agrees, "Ok, fine. Just for a minute, ok? No crawling away." Gently, she is put onto the stone floor, where she sits happily. ''For now''.

Ghena laughs, "Shit, you are probably right. the weyr is doomed." Quinlys gets all the luck. Her attention is shifted to the two newcomers and she mms. "The blond looks yummy enough, but the other one is a touch on the scrawny side don't you think? I mean what kind of stamina can you expect outta a guy that looks like that."

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Mivength could care less what Virisceth dreams about. He is above this, all of this. It is a practiced disinterest from the blue dragon, all sharp edges and casual attitude.

"''No''," T'zur responds vehemently to his wingmate. "I mean, like, of ''course not''." The fact that he sounds overly defensive might negate the vehement of the denial. There's not that much of a line and therefore not much of a wait, given it's early, and he's quick to take advantage, selecting lots of meats and stacking it onto a plate once they reach the front. "Fish?" he says, surprised. "Thought you'd be ''sick'' of it. It's practically all you ate at Ista, right?"

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Tziveth's ever watchful, the feel of his presence little more than that slight shadow at the corner of the eye, or a momentary feeling of someone close by. While mentally silent, his physical presence up on the rim of the bowl is becoming more and more common, though he's not the only dragon taking advantage of the perch tonight.

An easy laugh peals from the usually slightly-reserved Ellerey's lips at Ghena's first words, her dark-curled head shaking a couple of times as they watch C'ris handle his progeny. As for the bronzers, a thoughtful eye turns to them, and soon Elle is shrugging again, replying to Ghena, "Scrawny doesn't necessarily mean weak or no stamina. My cousin is scrawny...lanky. But he's tough...and a runner for our traders." Former traders, that is. Spoken more frankly than usual: "The proof's in the pudding...or in this case, the bed." Smirk.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Knoith's brassy drums beat slowly in the background, the clink and shimmer of armor flickering sleepily at the edges.

J'nason eyes his friend's vehemence, THEY WILL TALK ABOUT THAT LATER T'zur. With a, cough, blow-by-blow. Tonight though, FISH. "Yes, fish. It's delicious. Do you realize we're being spoken about?" He jerks his head slightly towards the gossips over there. "Why don't we go crash their party?"

Dragon> There's so many greens even in a post-Pass Weyr that it's nearly impossible to hone in on where the scent of one particular one might be coming from. How like Virisceth, who enjoys hidden, dark places, like remaining hidden until... (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth projects << Ugh. All the talking. >>

Ghena blinks at Ellerey. "You fucked your cousin?" Because this is of course what she takes from that statement as she watches the men who are now being eyed like a meal. "I'd still prefer the blonde."

T'zur studiously avoids J'nason's telling look, although he undoubtedly knows its happening, because: "Planning to get together with some of the wing tonight and drink." The fact that it will neatly avoid any deep and meaningful talks with his fellow bro has nothing to do with it. "But they taste all... fishy," the former Bendenite adds, with a wrinkle of his nose, as he steps away and casts about for a spot to sit. It's J'nason's drawing of attention towards the table that gets a surprised rising of eyebrows. "Huh. How can you tell?" he queries in an undertone, as he directs their path as suggested towards the other pair of riders.

Gossip? Ellerey is so *not* a gossip! Truth. Except for now, when what's being paraded before her eyes is so suddenly more interesting than usual. So delicious...rather like the food on her plate, which is starting to be shoveled into the greenie's maw faster, more ravenously. Wait; huh? There's surprise, and sudden outrage at Ghena's inquiry, Elle jerking her gaze over to glare hotly at the bluerider. "I most certainly did *not*..." is hissed darkly. "Those who think like you give Weyrfolk an even worse reputation than they alreay have outside of it." Jerk. At this point, she doesn't care who Ghena prefers of the boys, Ellerey stabbing at her pot pie as if it somehow is going to attack her if she doesn't get to it, first. If she hears the two bronzeriders speak of coming over, Elle doesn't give any hint.

"That's because they are ''fish''," J'nason says this super carefully, and with all the feeling. Fish is suppose to taste like fish. "Add a touch of butter..." And he'll roll his eyes up and make a fish-is-heaven-food face. Reaching out for a roll J'nason takes a bite before dropping it onto the plate. "They keep looking over at your body."

Ghena blinks at Ellerey's outburst again. "Shells, what was I supposed to think when you lead with a statement about your cousin when we were talking about getting the most out of bedding someone?" She squints at the now stabbed potpie. "Touch-y"

Dragon> 1st gear, it's alright, 2nd gear, hang on tight, 3rd gear... Not quite out of sight, since Virisceth has so MANY gears, but the hissing and steaming and gelatinous oils that surround them are in sure motion, by now. Within her couch, the wicked woman with the night-dark green hide trembles, slowly surfaces towards consciousness, the creases that barely begin to show her eyes slitting to a warning red. (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)
Dragon> Swords against shields, the beat of marching boots against blood soaked ground. The sound of impending battle builds. (to High Reaches dragons from Knoith)

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth hrumps. Needs an oil change.

T'zur's roll of eyes towards the ceiling expresses his sentiment on the topic of ''fish'' fairly clearly. "Fine, fine. I know what to bribe you with next time I want to swap dawn shifts," he's muttering under his breath. "We ca-- what?" the bronzerider glances at J'nason as if to try and determine if his leg's being pulled, before he squints back at the pair. "C'mon," he says, with a nudge of his shoulder into the other Glacier rider's, "Let's go see."

"You were *supposed* to show some class, and an inkling of brains..." Ellerey responds testily to Ghena, the usually eqitable woman now developing a red stain - and not one of embarrassment - at her throat. One of her hands is knuckling up now and again, and to try and cover her odd anger, more food is now wolfed down. Screw good table manners. Her angry stare even gets turned onto the bronzeriders who seem to be approaching, but with *them*, it's also mixed with something less wicked (or maybe more?): eagerness. Come into my parlor... And, with no really obvious precursors, Virisceth is fully awake, and streaming out of her lair like a coil of night - and nightmares - itself. Dark and starry claws clenched tightly into the rock of her ledge scrape and screech, while sickly, oily wings spread wide to catch the last rays of Spring sunlight. And there it is: a stentorian bellow of challenge and desire, unleashed loudly enough to let the entire Weyr know just what she's up to. Fuck the feeding grounds, too; those are for lesser greens. For just a moment, Viri allows her large, yet sinuous form to pose seductively up on her ledge: look what you must earn, paltry, pretty males! Come into MY web. And up she goes, like firecracker/bottlerocket.

One moment, C'ris is sitting and trying to poke at his plate while keeping an eye on his daughter. Then the next-- "NO. No, no," and he's not talking to his daughter, even as he snatches her up into her arms. He is mumbling even as he hurries out of the living cavern and past the bronzeriders, "I swear to Faranth-- Think of Lyrisa--." The rest of his conversation falls into silence with his dragon, even as Lyrisa resumes babbling herself.

Dragon> For a moment, Mivength loses his dry, sarcastic mask. Interest peeks through his thoughts, something more romantic and vulnerable showing as he reaches out tendrils towards Virisceth as she goes up. But slowly, slowly, they are withdrawn. (To High Reaches dragons from Mivength)

J'nason needs exactly zero encouragement to turn his feet towards the pair that are ''totally'' checking him out. The flash of passion rocks through the bronzerider as the green abruptly awakens and Hephaisth, for all his prickly demeanor, is all there. "Want to reprise the last flight?" Lightly as he keeps moving in the direction they were going in.

Dragon> Preening vainly - so unlike her regular self - Virisceth the silent offers up nightmare oils and fluids, creaks and groans and screeching twists of warping metal to the males of her Weyr: << Are you good enough, my males? Come follow me into the darkness... >> And the offer of her wings and tail to twine with. (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)

"Cattiness doesn't become - " Ghena never gets to finish her sentence. Brassy and bold the silver blue launches into the sky after, echoing the challenge as wings beat against the spring air with fervor. "Aw fuck." Flushed suddenly with desire for the now pissed off greenrider. Sorry J'nason. Knoith is only the beat of drums and the clash of swords as he launches into the frey.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth is cranking himself up from the repose of the evening. << Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. >> Her engine can't be at optimal with all that grime. Get a cloth, girl.

The fact that T'zur's picking up small pieces from his plate he can shove down his throat suggests he's hungry enough not to wait for the polite 'sitting at the table' thing; he's eyeing Ellerey and Ghena with equal parts interest and wariness. He slows, head cocked, gaze distant for a moment, before he exhales sharply, eyes refocusing on Ellerey, now. "Hope the twins are up for it," is all he mutters, stalking with determination towards the greenrider.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Tziveth, on the rim of the bowl, has somewhat of an advantage. Lidded, whirling eyes take note of Virisceth's abrupt rise, and when he, too, launches into the sky, he's the advantage of air already under her wings. Even though he's on the smaller side for a bronze, he doesn't have near the quickness of a green, though, but darkness is ''his'' domain, not hers: and so he rises to the challenge without a second thought.

What. The. FUCK?!? That's the sudden look all over Ellerey's features in her huge eyes as her utensils are dropped with a clatter, and her chair shoved back as she jerks to a tall stand. "Viri... NO!" Out of habit, the greenrider is assuming her wild and sometime dangerous lifemate is meaning to attack somebody, something. And honestly, she is: the air itself, as pinions slash at it to raise her fast and furious up into the twilight sky. Staggering, the woman finally puts two and two together, and without a backwards glance at whoever might be watching her or following her, scrambles wildly towards that one special weyr Quinlys informed all of them about, so long ago. "Stay away from me!" is shrilled back at any who follow too close.

"What about your new... friend?" J'nason was totally about to sit down with his food before the greenrider changes direction and scrambles towards the doorway. "Damn, I was hungry." Alas, he'll just have to put his tray down on the nearest table and snatch up a roll from his plate as he follows her. "Why do they always yell that?" Says the person who's never ridden a female dragon.

Dragon> Sneaky Tziveth! She hates/likes that! Virisceth stomps on the acellerator to put more distance between the canny bronze and herself, while calling lustfully over her shoulder to Knioth. Silly blue. Does anyone else dare her alien darkness, those wicked claws and too-sharp teeth? A few more seem to - a pair of browns and another blue - which only further encourages Virisceth to coat all her further, non-verbal communications with oil and goo and lubricants. So slippery, so delicious, so dangerous, so difficult to catch! (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)

"Who?" T'zur asks, blankly. The food is... ''was'' important until moments ago, but Tziveth's need overrides his, and T'zur abandons his still full plate on the table. The smile that lights his face is genuine, determined and focused: despite Ellerey's warning, the bronzerider's hot on her heels, snorting with amusement at J'nason's words. "Fuck if I know. What are we going to do, go and jerk off in another room together?" T'zur's a mite bit put off, it seems. Tziveth, meanwhile, follows Virisceth into twilight and the darkness beyond, at home, near invisible with the darkness of his own hide. He isn't set on fighting others for the win, full of confidence as he surges after the green.

"Because the first flight is always like that, didn't you know?" Ghena supplies helpfully throwing a wink over her shoulder at the blonde bronzerider as she falls into step with him. At T'zur's comment she snerks, "That or If Knoth and your friend don't catch, I'd be happy to see to his - needs." Unapologetically ogling the blonde.

Dragon> Thoughts are thoughts, and while the green may be slick and untouchable -- for now -- Tziveth has patience, knowing the inevitability of what will come. ''His'' thoughts are full of shadows and flickering movements -- alien and uncomfortable itself, but familiar in that way that darkness, once touched and known and accepted, is long comforting. He surges past those other dragons without any acknowledgement. (To High Reaches dragons from Tziveth)

"I don't know, did you want to?" J'nason is MOSTLY JOKING. Unlike all the flight tight-wads this bronzerider is as loose as a crazy man's screw. "Not my typical twist, but it happens sometimes. You know, the friend you were telling me about. Unless by nice you ''actually'' meant nice." The last is added as an aside as J'nason stuffs the last of his roll into his mouth. That makes it harder to respond to Ghena, but he'll do his best in his next pose. Hephaisth takes some time to get all reved up. Really, he's not sure about the integrity of her engine. Maybe if she'd just let him get, ahem, into it he could take care of it for her.

Shivering heavily, arms wrapped around her torso, Ellerey runs as fast as she can to the guest weyr, where the tall woman immediatey sets up an encampment beside the bed. She doesn't tease or urge like her lifemate, however. Instead, there's glowers of mistrust and a little confusion at all the people present, the woman's teeth baring a couple of time as she glares at everything, everyone. Heavy boots thunk around as the greenrider paces off *her* area, trying to then ignore the other humans in here with her.

Of ''course'' the bluerider makes a pass at his friend. T'zur, perhaps used to it, makes a face. "Suppose I could take on the twins by myself--" he starts, ''sounding'' confident, at least, until J'nason reminds him. "Oh. Um." There's something awkward in his expression, fortunately saved from answering by the ready excuse of his gaze falling on Ellerey as they reach the guest weyr. He exhales a sharp breath, and with a sudden grin, dares to cross the line she's drawn. Not by over much -- just strolling casually into ''her'' area and leaning against the wall -- like he wants to see her reaction.

Dragon> Darkness meets darkness, though slighty different forms of them, and vicious Virisceth approves, trilling (more like growling roughly) at Tziveth. For Hephaisth, there's a screech that's not of anger, but of dares and evil promises - she'll drown him in her lubricants if he can take them - Knioth and the other males simply eyed by furiously-whirling red facets. Keep up, boys...or ELSE. (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)

"Quarter-mark bet that whoever wins winds up looking like a scratching post." Ghena marks when arriving and taking a moment to smooth the silver blue fabric of her tunic. Silver claws catch the light as the blue wings wide to battle his way closer.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth would like to note here that her oils are //probably// not very good if he's going to drown in them. Too full is as bad as too empty. He can take care of that too though. Don't worry.

Dragon> The green's growling approval is taken as tacit invitation by Tziveth, tendrils of his shadowy thoughts spiralling out and seeking to touch and encapture her -- her thoughts, her attention, her ''distraction'' -- long enough for him to be able to wing closer to the agile green and maybe, just maybe, capture her there, too. (To High Reaches dragons from Tziveth)

"DUDE. What ''happened''." Ugh, J'nason wants the 411 and this damn flight is getting in the way of him finding more about this. But now T'zur is over ''there'' and there's a blond ''here'' making a move. "Well," a bright smile for the woman, "One of us might just take you up on that. Never leave a lady in.... need."

Oh, you motherfucker. T'zur dares to cross Ellerey's 'hard' line? NOBODY fucking does that when she's finally put her foot down. And so, instead of launching a punch at the bronzerider, she moves to slam a brutal *stomp* of her workboot on his foot's arch, if possible. It'll hurt like a sunnuvabitch if it connects, that's for damned sure, maybe even require a stop in at the Healers, if it connects perfectly. Ghena's comment of scratching posts earns the smarmy bluerider a look that promises lots of angry pain, if Elle gets a chance to inflict it on her. Hey, wait! J'nason is one of HER potentials, and when Ghena puts a few moves on him, Ellerey's suddenly shoving her rangy form between them, and mantling like a hawk over meat at the 'prettier' bronzerider. MINE!

J'nason's curiosity will just have to wait a bit longer, since T'zur is definitely distracted now. The twitch of lips seems borne out of a confidence undoubtedly won in part from his bronze: it doesn't even waver when Ellerey stomps up to him. He reaches out a hand with the intent of pulling her off balance, though how well that works might be in debate when, moments later, he's swearing up a treat, half sliding down the wall to clutch at his foot.

"Ouch man." No need to start a fight here. Ellerey has this DOWN. /random aside from J'nason. (Sorry T'zur.)

"Better if you take me up on the offer." Ghena is content to flirt with the bronzerider while her blue is chasing the violent green, because fuck if she's going anywhere near Ellerey after that violent little outburst. "Damned blue would pick a violent one." laughing a bit boldly at poor T'zur's pain. "I think your friend, might need a healer more than a bedwarmer after this."

Dragon> Virisceth's sudden roar of anger echos Ellerey's possessiveness, the dark green snapping her teeth over her shoulder at Knioth as if wishing to imbed her choppers into the blue. She's speeding like the green demon-dragon she is through the sky, and burning up her energy without a care for the consequences. There's no wasteful aerobatics with this one, just rising higher and higher where the atmosphere thins out some, allows for greater speed. << Weaklings! >> Virisceth's rare contralto screeches like twisting metal. You DARE! (To High Reaches dragons from Virisceth)

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth dares because Virisceth NEEDS his handy way with tools to make dragons like her just ''purr''. She wants to purr, right? RIGHT. She wants to pur.

Dragon> Dappled in deep forest browns, Tyth doesn't blend as well as some blues might with the dusk light but nor does he stand out either. He's a hunter who values stealth, who knows the right moment to show his hand and that moment has yet to come. For the time being, he simply gives chase, waiting for Virisceth to tire... to be come vulnerable... to fulfill her destiny as ''his'' prey. His thoughts are likewise kept close to his chest, but a brush of his mind reveals something feral and focused with only the slightest crunch of underbrush under foot and the burn of primal desire to mark him as a pursuer. (To High Reaches dragons from Tyth)

Dragon> Silver blue, bold as a knight-errant, Knoith is not dissuaded from the chase by the vicious snap of dark jaws, winging closer, careful to avoid the shadowy bronze in the process. (To High Reaches dragons from Knioth)
Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Tziveth's pride might -- just ''might'' be a little stung by that accusation. Weaklings, indeed. Certainly, the ''others'' are, but Tziveth is so much ''more'' than they. Through the darkening sky he slides ever-upward, ever-towards her, as confident as this were his home skies, for he belongs in the darkness.

Okay, so ''technically'' Tamsin is still chewing when she straggles (late) into the Weyr. It's perhaps a mark of her experience as a brownrider that she seems to have known that she had time to finish her dinner (or at least stuff a little bit more into her mouth) before there was a real chance she'd be needed here; maybe she's just got screwed up priorities. At least there's no food left on her face by the time she's brushed fingers across her mouth and comes to a halt not far from some of the others, taking in the greenrider and the riders who made a more punctual appearance for the wait that leads up to the moment of triumph or failure. "Did I miss anything?" is a question to-- J'nason. Maybe he looks like he knows. Maybe she just doesn't want to ask Ellerey directly, given the violence. Given that her brown eyes only flick toward the bronzerider briefly, it could easily be mistaken to be to, oh, any of the others.

Oh, they'll pay if they try to screw with HER! That's the look in Ellerey's eyes, now, as T'zur grasps as his foot, the woman now glaring holes in Ghena's head as she keeps herself between the bluerider and J'nason. But don't either of you DARE touch! But she's more and more 'with' her green lifemate, feeling the draining of energy, the rapid tiring of muscles and the slipping of frightful WILL into WANT. Knioth/Ghena...she can't stand them; bitch! Tyth is a newer curiosity as he surges forwards from the back of the small pack, his stealth and way of seeing things as 'prey' very understandable to one like her. The other two bronze boys...well, who *wouldn't* be tickled green by their bizarre attentions? The others have already been dismissed. Not worthy. Not dangerous enough. All of this goes through Elle's/Viri's brain as she aggressively analyzes 'them:' humans and dragons. Uh-oh.

There's a groan from T'zur, suddenly watering eyes regarding the other occupants blearily. Pushing against the wall to regain his balance, he starts a hop-shuffle towards the bed that favors his now-injured foot. With Ellerey distracted keeping Ghena and J'nason apart, surely she won't mind if he pilfers the bed for himself? There's not really so much of possession about the acquisition of the bed as there is relief, the former Bendenite sinking down and exhaling, eyes inevitably drawn towards Ellerey, as much wariness as want in the regards.

As Elle stakes her claim, Ghena sighs. "You can't hog us ''all'' unless you like that sort of thing." Ghena goading the woman on as Knoth flashes forward in a flash of silver, claws and tail reaching for his prize.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Tziveth seeks, not just in the physical, but to draw Virisceth closer in the mental space -- to allow the slide of thoughts, what she ''wants'' -- to be influenced by his thoughts. After all, darkness calls to darkness, and there's nothing afraid in the bronze's mind -- only shadowy, predatory thoughts, waiting for her arrival, waiting to welcome her home. If nothing else, perhaps the thoughts will draw her brief attention, making the presence of his dark, physical form less visible as gleaming ivory talons flex in anticipation, seeking to draw her nearer with the flick of thin, whipcord tail as he drops in close to her.

Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Hephaisth makes his move, tools at the ready to put everything into it's proper place. His mind is focused on the one goal of making each of her gears turn right, and to put into h, er, place what needs to be done so everything warps properly. He'll dive down and try to edge Tziveth out. Just because their RIDERS are buds doesn't mean the soot-soaked bronze is buddy-buddy.

J'nason takes a step backward, hands coming up as if to try to placate the greenrider. "Shh, shh, that's probably not a good thing for your first time." But look, if she is going to INSIST there ARE two girls here... and three guys. Hum. Someone is going to have to watch. Isn't it nice he doesn't say anything outloud? Instead he'll cock an eyebrow at T'zur for taking up the bed. A LITTLE FORWARD HUH.

Tamsin's expression turns to one of deep amusement, eyes bouncing from greenrider to blue- and on to the others, though the look leveled on T'zur holds a flash of sympathy. Dark eyes return to Ellerey, thoughtful, and then the older woman rocks back a step before turning to to find somewhere with a little more personal space; she's probably just helpfully volunteering to be the odd man out.

Dragon> Much was held back, kept hidden, instinct driving Tyth as ''the'' moment comes. He springs into action in so much as pressure of wings against wind allows. Agile for his size, he dodges, twists and tries to slip into the right position for an extended limb to ensnare and entangle, to trip up the green, to capture her for his own. It's probably just an overactive imagination who might sense the potential for intense violence in that moment as much as intense passion. (To High Reaches dragons from Tyth)

What bed? This WHOLE PLACE is *hers*, but Ellerey can't oggle the whole damned weyr while keeping track of those before her. Spat out to Ghena is a hissed, "I'll do what the *fuck* I WANT." Bitch. A step forward to the bluerider to show how serious she is suddenly transitions into a sidestep as - far above - Virisceth seeks to avoid Knioth's reach for her. Another snap of those wicked, long, steely-looking teeth of the green's might make contact with whatever bit of the poor blue is closest in order to prove the point that she *doesn't* want any part of him, while starry-touched, black claws look to reach for that predator/prey brown Tyth. Surprise! Maybe Tamsin's a 'safe' bet for Ellerey? But then there's a bump and shuffle of two bronze bodies too close for flying safety...and the already spent (and suddenly falling) Virisceth finds the brown out of reach, deciding in her momentary surprise and bit of panic at her lack of wings to lash out her tail and neck for Tziveth, whom she *knows* is big enough, wicked enough, and of a like mind enough to keep her airborne...and in blackest bliss. << MIIIINE... >> is screeched/hissed/cooed.

Ghena hisses as Knoith takes a hit, but the Blue rights himself well enough. She sidesteps the greenrider as the green is caught, reaching to snag J'nason by the wrist and tug him away. "I think we better leave your friend to his rewards."

Is it Virisceth's thought that is echoed back at her, or Tziveth's, just as possessive: << ''Mine.'' >> Near-black tail and neck wraps around the greens, wings spreading wide to hold them aloft, to extend the time out here in the darkness where they both belong. Beneath, it's with a groan that T'zur pushes himself up, like he's preparing to leave, but his breath catches. He's up, suddenly, but this time with a different purpose, moving to grab at Ellerey and pull her away from the others, towards him. He'll regret that later, for his foot if nothing else, but for now he's all consumed by a need that outweighs such things.

OUCH, not so much for J'naseth, but Hephaisth had actually //really// wanted to see what was under the hood there. Gruff swearing from the scarred bronze as he peels away. THIS is why he doesn't bother with women. Damn their vibes that make him ignore his own good sense. J'nason does a little cheer for his friend - seriously, good going man, before turning to the blond. "Shall I?" All the roguish charm gets piled onto the words.

Tyth is vocal in his defeat. Anger and frustration knit in the roar that leaves him as he shifts from pounce to dip and glide, not showing signs of returning immediately to the ground, but getting away from the 'happy couple,' in the very least. Tamsin, likewise, doesn't linger, quickly retracing her steps out to the bowl. If she hurries, she can get dessert!

As Virisceth abandons herself into Tziveth's sustaining hold, growling and screeching a little still the whole time they're together, Ellerey finds her green's utter lust subsuming her own reactions, and she fairly hurls herself at (poor) T'zur, who, when he wakens, will indeed find his hide to be a wasteland of gouges, rakes, a few hard bites, and enough bruises. Tziveth gets only one playful nip that barely breaks the hide, and a little flex of claws to sweetly gouge his hide to mark the bronze as *Viri's*.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

It's late, ''later'', with most of the Weyr -- including a satisfied pair of dragons -- deep asleep. Something makes T'zur stir, though, briefly fighting through the layers of blankets and naked limbs (that one's not his!), before he groans. Just about everything hurts, and it means for the moment, he's more distracted by the bite on his upper arm than the naked girl he's sharing a bed with. He looks kind of... ''confused'', all told.

It's only T'zur's groan that finally awakens a satiated and tired Ellerey, the few Turns she's spent being Virisceth's human half having helped the woman to develop a certain extra awareness of dangerous or oddball situations. *This* one definitely counts as oddball, and the strangeness of waking up groggily with another person in (her?) bed is reason for the greenrider to blink thickly, then turn over to stare at her bedmate owlishly. There's no shrieking, shrinking, blushing, covering up, etcetera. She just continues to peer at T'zur, and try and remember the whys of this situation. Until she notices the dings and dents she put into his human hide. Wince. "Oh jays... I'm sorry."

"Why'd you ''bite'' me," T'zur, still mystified, actually looks at Ellerey, now. The fact that she's naked and looking at him, ''and'' apologizes likely mollifies whatever else he might be thinking. With a sharp exhale, he shifts, dropping onto his back with a wince.

The way those dark eyes of hers peer mostly at each wound she inflicted on the poor bronzerider might speak of empathy, even regret. But the way the young woman murmurs out a slightly businesslike, "You'll need to go to the Healers to get those cleaned out," makes her sound perhaps strangely in control of the situation. Beat. "I can do it, if you'd rather not show them...but you'd need to find a supply of numbweed, gauze, and redwort yourself. I don't have access to them." But she has the ability to utilize them, apparently. Cautiously, two long fingers reach out, and seek to touch feather-light against whatever bit of the man's skin is closest and uninjured. Finally, somewhat guiltily is murmured, "It's Virisceth...her way." Sigh. "Who and what she is. She...took more of me in that flight and gave me more of herself." Which was claws and teeth.

Grimacing, T'zur says, "Either way, I'd have to go to the healers. But... I guess at least ''you've'' already seen me naked," he mutters, with a sidelong look and a slight twitch of lips. His weight shifts briefly, like he's going to move now, though he stills when she touches him. Silent for a beat or two, the former Bendenite visibly swallows, before he finally says, "I understand. Tziveth, sometimes he..." he trails off, and only reiterates, "I understand."

When T'zur stills, Ellerey very slowly seeks to move closer, trying to lightly touch one of her shoulders to his, if he'll allow. It's human contact, and hopefully it;s reassuring, maybe warmer than what happened between them before. "My grandmother is a Journeyman Healer. She taught many of us how to field dress things like this. It's...helpful, when you're on the road most of the time." Word of his nakedness earns the bronzer a slightly wry smirk, which fades at word of Tziveth. Looking a little haunted for a moment, the greenrider notes with a hint of what might actually be fear, "Yes. I remember that, now. She was very attracted to him because of...that. She's..." Swallow. "Dark." And so very much more.

The bronzerider doesn't seem to mind her stealing closer at all; the gesture draws T'zur's gaze as he listens to her talk. Something stirs in his expression when she talks of the open road, and he doesn't speak for a time. Finally, though, he says: "You're not on the open road any more." A series of emotions flicker across his expression at her latter words, but he finally just exhales, grimacing as he shifts, stretching an arm around her shoulders with the intent of pulling her closer. "That's what they don't tell you. They're not always exactly what you think they'd be."

When T'zur stills, Ellerey very slowly seeks to move closer, trying to lightly touch one of her shoulders to his, if he'll allow. It's human contact, and hopefully it;s reassuring, maybe warmer than what happened between them before. "My grandmother is a Journeyman Healer. She taught many of us how to field dress things like this. It's...helpful, when you're on the road most of the time." Word of his nakedness earns the bronzer a slightly wry smirk, which fades at word of Tziveth. Looking a little haunted for a moment, the greenrider notes with a hint of what might actually be fear, "Yes. I remember that, now. She was very attracted to him because of...that. She's..." Swallow. "Dark." And so very much more.

The bronzerider doesn't seem to mind her stealing closer at all; the gesture draws T'zur's gaze as he listens to her talk. Something stirs in his expression when she talks of the open road, and he doesn't speak for a time. Finally, though, he says: "You're not on the open road any more." A series of emotions flicker across his expression at her latter words, but he finally just exhales, grimacing as he shifts, stretching an arm around her shoulders with the intent of pulling her closer. "That's what they don't tell you. They're not always exactly what you think they'd be."

"No, I'm not..." is quietly acknowledged, Elle's expression again a mix of wry and a little sad for a moment. "Not for lack of trying. We're away from the Weyr as much as we can be...discovering Pern." Noting those shifts of T'zur's expression, the greenie makes a faintly inquiring arch of brows, then simply (and carefully) tucking parts of her long, slender frame in against his when he puts and arm around her shoulders. Murmured, though not accusingly, "I"m surprised you didn't do the same to me..." maul her..."...if he's much like *her*." A wealth of mixed emotions sits in that one emphasized word. Her not so little monster. A quick nod for those next words brings memories, and they conjure up a faint shudder that raises goosepimples on nude skin that shows at least a passing acquaintence with injuries. "I...suspected that ,from what some of the riders said in passing, but so many of them seem like they're all ga-ga or whatever over their partners..." Siiiigh. "I only Stood at the very last moment to honor a dragon's choice...his, and his rider." And *now* look what she got.

"Sounds nice," T'zur responds, with a genuine exhale. The fact that it's offset by a slight wince as she settles herself against him might ruin the intimacy of the gesture. "He's not... not like that. He's not... ''physical''," the bronzerider struggles to explain, but he ''tries'' all the same. There's a slight tension, like he's not all that comfortable in the conversation, and so when she talks of the latter, it makes him smile, wryly: "I took an easy job to run up to Benden Weyr after I'd recovered from an injured knee. I think I was there all of, mm, an hour before I was dumped onto the sands and then... ''Tziveth'' happened. Never rightly got the chance to even think about what I was doing. Do you..." he hesitates, pauses, and rephrases the aborted question into a statement, "I don't regret it."

"It *is*. Not even a dragon can take the wanderer out of a Trader..." Ellerey murmurs with restrained relish, her features softening for a moment. "Viri enjoys my pleasure in that...though she doesn't really understand many other...more gentle pleasures." Lip-twist. "I can't blame her for being herself." It's said like a mantra, as if the brunette has told this to herself a thousand times over the few Turns she's been Impressed. For a moment, the greenrider almost seems on the brink of blurting something out to T'zur, but his final words pull her lips tight, draw out a nod, instead. Frankly, she inquires, "What was it like the moment of Impression with him?"

"You were a trader, too?" T'zur is surprised, enough so that his head lifts so that he can better see her expression for a moment. "What family?" While she speaks of Virisceth, and those aborted words, he stays silent, still watching her, however. When she asks about his Impression, he goes still, breathing silently and considering. His voice, when he speaks, is soft: "It was... he felt so... ''incomprehensible''," his lips twist, like it's a word it's taken him a while to come up with. "It was like my brain couldn't cope with everything, but he was the stalwart for my shaky legs, the fierce confident to my unspoken fears. I felt complete, but I didn't know what I'd been missing, before." He glances at Ellerey, as if seeking to determine whether her experience was anything like his, the unspoken question in that gaze.

'You, too?!' is the unspoken look of surprise and pleasure in Ellerey's eyes for T'zur's backwards admission, the young woman nodding a couple of times, grinning at him from her head's rest on his arm. After she mentions a minor (but up and coming) family that caravans between Boll, Tillek, and Fort and 'Reaches, there's the near-inevitable, "And your family?" It's so much more pleasant to talk of their pasts than the present, but there's things to be learned from even pain, and Elle stills to listen intently to her erstwhile lover, nodding in places, silent and perhaps brooding in others. The bronzerider's glance is experienced as heavy, prodding, evocative, but the woman slowly manages to eke out a contralto, "We were missing something that the other...filled." Why does she sound so resigned, even through the faint smile.

"The Beowins," T'zur replies in turn, grinning as much for pride of his former family as their shared pasts. It's the latter words that make him silent, not trying to fight the quiet that follows for some time. Finally: "I think I'll go get some supplies. Stop by the infirmary, get some food, since I missed dinner," his lips twist, wryly. "Bring it back here... if that's okay?"

She looks properly awed - and a little envious plus humored - by T'zur's admission of being a Beowin. "Bet you had your hands in lots of pots - or were working on them - before Benden got you." Grin. And then the reality of now intrudes again, but at least Elle focuses on T'zur's wounds much more, this time. After a nod of agreement (accompanied by a rather warm smile), the greenrider murmurs, "If they give you any fuss about redwort and numbweed...well, mention my name. I've proven my abilities to the Healers...limited as they are." Lips twitch into an almost smirk, and the woman tilts her head up to try and plant a light kiss on that arm of T'zur's. "I'd enjoy that...though you might not." Brow eyes twinkle with dark merriness.

"It was more my brother's thing -- everyone knows he'll take over from my ma some day -- I just liked being out ''there'', meeting people, you know?" T'zur's shoulder twitches briefly in an ill-formed shrug. With a grin, he starts to lever himself out of the bed, though not without a grimace or two. It's when he goes to stand that he lets out another groan, favoring his other leg as he limps about looking for his pants. "Starting to think I might not at that," he says, with a glance over his shoulder, kind of wryly. It might be even odds whether he'll come back once he's dressed.

"Oh..." is all the woman notes back, not giving T'zur any guff, nor teasing him about being a 'lesser' Beowin. "It's not for everyone, that's for sure." Being a Trader, or a leader? Another small look of empathy for the man's pain is soon followed by Ellerey re-wrapping herself in sheets and a light blanket...while surreptitiously looking at the bronzerider's frame, his rear especially. She's only human. Replied with a hint of dark humor, "I won't bite *this* time, I promise. And Virisceth's still wrapped up tight with Tziveth. She's so relaxed, I don't think she'll let him go for awhile." Blink. Wow; Viri's *relaxed*!

T'zur makes a noise by way of neutral response -- he probably hasn't noticed she's watching him, given he doesn't remark on it -- finds his pants and tugs them on, and moments later, finds his jacket. It'll do to keep out the cool spring air. Tugging on his boots, he runs a hand through his hair, and only then glances over his shoulder at her. "Well, then. Guess I've no choice," with a twitch of lips. It fades into another grimace as he shifts his weight, favoring his injured foot as he heads out the door.
|Categories=Flight Logs, Post-Flight Logs
}}

Logs talk:A Challenging Month

2016-07-20T07:05:42Z

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==Alida (00:05, 20 July 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

Sadz. :(

Logs talk:What Bronzeriders Do

2016-07-16T06:08:19Z

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==Alida (23:08, 15 July 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

O.M.G. Tziveth is a SHADOW?!?! Oh SHIT. We are ALL EFFING DOOMED.

Logs talk:Twinzoned

2016-07-16T02:17:00Z

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==Alida (19:17, 15 July 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

HawHawHaw!

Logs talk:The Bandage Approach

2016-07-13T00:59:38Z

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==Silva (09:44, 12 July 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

My heart likes none of this.
==Edyis (10:43, 12 July 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

*grumbles* I do not like being right about people.

Poor Jocelyn.
==Alida (17:59, 12 July 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

Though she's slowly workinng through her own massive trust issues..Alida would totally understand Joce's reaction.

Logs:Should've/Would've

2016-07-03T09:35:58Z

Alida:

{{Log
|who=Alida, Alida{{!}}Ilicaeth
|what=More discoveries are made...but in the Hall...and in a certain blue's head.
|where=Private teaching room, Harper Hall; Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr, Harper Hall
|day=6
|month=3
|turn=41
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.07.03
|quote=The blue dragon smirked to himself.
|weather=Snowing
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon alida guitar.jpg, Icon alida ilicaeth postflight.jpg
|log=She'd been handed off to yet another Journeyman 4 months ago, when Alida had fulfilled, learned all that her previous teacher could offer. Each 'rung' of the performance ladder she climbed was all the more reason for the bluerider to devote even more of her precious free time to studying the art of the gitar...trying to master what she could, though Ilicaeth must always remain her primary focus.

Sometimes, the fact of their Impression irked the ex-Guard, and not only when the pair had had a small rowe or needed a little time 'apart.' While Ilicaeth celebrated, enjoyed his human's continually-growing talent - her passion in playing and sometimes even in the learning of reading music - there were occasional times that he couldn't help but feel a pang or two of jealousy. He kept them strictly to himself, unwilling to curtail the blossoming of the woman he'd chosen over all others - the woman he so utterly and fiercely devoted himself to - but he could not deny the echos of love that brimmed over from Alida's mind into his when she was playing. To be certain, her 'love' of being a Guard was just as passionate, but he could perfectly understand *that*, given that the blue was just as much a Guard at heart(s) as his human.

But this gut-level intensity of love for music - for something Ilicaeth couldn't really understand, but only enjoy secondhand - it made the gritty blue feel conflicted, uncertain at times, again most especially when Alida managed to discover something new and wonderful with the Harpers who taught her, or when she played perfectly, or with such passion that it visibly moved her instructors.

Today was such a day - an evening, really, as a light snow drifted over the Hall, Hold, and Weyr nearby - and Ilicaeth found himself grumbling internally, on a tightly-closed mental channel, while his human grinned like a fiend as she struggled to master the intricate gitar duet with her teacher. He refused to let his jealousy ruin one whit of Alida's non-violent pleasure (something he'd 'worked' on for Turns), but - feeling a surge of internal mental heat he finally couldn't deny - the blue hurled himself away from the cliffs above the Hall, and towards Fort Weyr. Where a very glowy green dozed in curled-up complacency on her ledge. For an hour Ilicaeth waited like a gargoyle sentry - silent and snow-covered and still as stone - on an unoccupied ledge, his geothermal heat simmering slowly higher.

And, just as Alida reached near the end of the most intricate passage - fraught with multiple and complex fingering patterns of strings and board itself - that green woke up, stretched, and bellowed her challenge to any male willing to answer. Bellowing back for all he was worth, Ilicaeth suddenly let loose his bottled-up emotions, turned them all into incendiary lust and a few darker wishes, hot on the green's tail as she eschewed blooding in favor of instant ascent.

Back at the Harper Hall, Alida found her fingers grabbing convulsively at the strings as the song fumbled into disharmony, her eyes far away, throat swallowing convulsively as her heart suddenly beat to the rhythm of an even greater lust. "Fuuuuuck..." the bluerider growled out low and intensely, her teacher at first looking very concerned, then confused...and finally embarrassed and knowing. "We'll get it another time, I'm sure, bluerider. But..." Ahem...

"Sunnuvabitch..." Beat. "Yeah. Thanks. See ya next seven..." was all Alida managed to grunt out before she simply ran for the door. Never before had she ever left her 'axe' behind, but the teaching Harper knew how to treat a gitar well, and minded it for the blonde as her brain took her concentration and her body elsewhere. It was a damned good thing that Hall and Weyr were close together, and that Alida was in good enough shape to jog quickly up to the rampart to tersely request a quick ride from one of the greens (and her visiting rider) there to the Weyr itself.

By the time the greenpair had made their way through the thickening snow to the Weyr, Ilicaeth had clawed, snapped, tail-lashed, and forced his way through the gamut of other males to latch a hold onto the risen green, and make certain they were firmly joined...though not for long. Faster catches tended to equal lower flights. Angered by the interruption of her lesson, confused, and suddenly overwhelmed by Ilicaeth's incendiary lust like she'd not been in nearly a Turn, the bluerider gurgled out her mindless need, managed to groan to her transport counterpart, "Hurry, 'r it'll be too late!" The greenrider knew the other green had just been caught, and the wild look on Alida's features let her know just who had done the catching...and he instantly comprehended.

It was a sight for enough eyes - if they were outside in the thick snow of Fort Weyr that early evening - to see a Fortian greenrider trying not to take advantage of his passenger - her hands and mouth all over him - as he propelled them towards the flight weyr, where a likewise randy greenrider was already pawing the nearest stand-in. The quick fight was nothing more than a snarl from Alida at seeing her 'prize' being stolen, a launch at the clueless woman, and a swift punch to the gut that sent the brownrider doubling up and instantly forgetting about the young man missing half his clothing. *His* growl quickly enough became muffled by the 'Reachian bluerider crawling all over him, and ridding both of them of their excess garments while the others swiftly departed...the punched brownie helped out by a head-shaking bronzerider.

Back on her ledge, post-flight and lazy - lounging with his green lady of the moment - Ilicaeth barely remembered the reason he'd come here in the first place. But when he did...the blue dragon smirked to himself.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs:Should've/Would've

2016-07-03T09:32:14Z

Alida: Created page with "{{Log |who=Alida, Alida{{!}}Ilicaeth |what=More discoveries are made...but in the Hall...and in a certain blue's head. |where=Private teaching room, Harper Hall; Fort Weyr |in..."

{{Log
|who=Alida, Alida{{!}}Ilicaeth
|what=More discoveries are made...but in the Hall...and in a certain blue's head.
|where=Private teaching room, Harper Hall; Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr, Harper Hall
|day=6
|month=3
|turn=41
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.07.03
|quote=The blue dragon smirked to himself.
|weather=Snowing
|type=Vignette
|log=She'd been handed off to yet another Journeyman 4 months ago, when Alida had fulfilled, learned all that her previous teacher could offer. Each 'rung' of the performance ladder she climbed was all the more reason for the bluerider to devote even more of her precious free time to studying the art of the gitar...trying to master what she could, though Ilicaeth must always remain her primary focus.

Sometimes, the fact of their Impression irked the ex-Guard, and not only when the pair had had a small rowe or needed a little time 'apart.' While Ilicaeth celebrated, enjoyed his human's continually-growing talent - her passion in playing and sometimes even in the learning of reading music - there were occasional times that he couldn't help but feel a pang or two of jealousy. He kept them strictly to himself, unwilling to curtail the blossoming of the woman he'd chosen over all others - the woman he so utterly and fiercely devoted himself to - but he could not deny the echos of love that brimmed over from Alida's mind into his when she was playing. To be certain, her 'love' of being a Guard was just as passionate, but he could perfectly understand *that*, given that the blue was just as much a Guard at heart(s) as his human.

But this gut-level intensity of love for music - for something Ilicaeth couldn't really understand, but only enjoy secondhand - it made the gritty blue feel conflicted, uncertain at times, again most especially when Alida managed to discover something new and wonderful with the Harpers who taught her, or when she played perfectly, or with such passion that it visibly moved her instructors.

Today was such a day - an evening, really, as a light snow drifted over the Hall, Hold, and Weyr nearby - and Ilicaeth found himself grumbling internally, on a tightly-closed mental channel, while his human grinned like a fiend as she struggled to master the intricate gitar duet with her teacher. He refused to let his jealousy ruin one whit of Alida's non-violent pleasure (something he'd 'worked' on for Turns), but - feeling a surge of internal mental heat he finally couldn't deny - the blue hurled himself away from the cliffs above the Hall, and towards Fort Weyr. Where a very glowy green dozed in curled-up complacency on her ledge. For an hour Ilicaeth waited like a gargoyle sentry - silent and snow-covered and still as stone - on an unoccupied ledge, his geothermal heat simmering slowly higher.

And, just as Alida reached near the end of the most intricate passage - fraught with multiple and complex fingering patterns of strings and board itself - that green woke up, stretched, and bellowed her challenge to any male willing to answer. Bellowing back for all he was worth, Ilicaeth suddenly let loose his bottled-up emotions, turned them all into incendiary lust and a few darker wishes, hot on the green's tail as she eschewed blooding in favor of instant ascent.

Back at the Harper Hall, Alida found her fingers grabbing convulsively at the strings as the song fumbled into disharmony, her eyes far away, throat swallowing convulsively as her heart suddenly beat to the rhythm of an even greater lust. "Fuuuuuck..." the bluerider growled out low and intensely, her teacher at first looking very concerned, then confused...and finally embarrassed and knowing. "We'll get it another time, I'm sure, bluerider. But..." Ahem...

"Sunnuvabitch..." Beat. "Yeah. Thanks. See ya next seven..." was all Alida managed to grunt out before she simply ran for the door. Never before had she ever left her 'axe' behind, but the teaching Harper knew how to treat a gitar well, and minded it for the blonde as her brain took her concentration and her body elsewhere. It was a damned good thing that Hall and Weyr were close together, and that Alida was in good enough shape to jog quickly up to the rampart to tersely request a quick ride from one of the greens (and her visiting rider) there to the Weyr itself.

By the time the greenpair had made their way through the thickening snow to the Weyr, Ilicaeth had clawed, snapped, tail-lashed, and forced his way through the gamut of other males to latch a hold onto the risen green, and make certain they were firmly joined...though not for long. Faster catches tended to equal lower flights. Angered by the interruption of her lesson, confused, and suddenly overwhelmed by Ilicaeth's incendiary lust like she'd not been in nearly a Turn, the bluerider gurgled out her mindless need, managed to groan to her transport counterpart, "Hurry, 'r it'll be too late!" The greenrider knew the other green had just been caught, and the wild look on Alida's features let her know just who had done the catching...and he instantly comprehended.

It was a sight for enough eyes - if they were outside in the thick snow of Fort Weyr that early evening - to see a Fortian greenrider trying not to take advantage of his passenger - her hands and mouth all over him - as he propelled them towards the flight weyr, where a likewise randy greenrider was already pawing the nearest stand-in. The quick fight was nothing more than a snarl from Alida at seeing her 'prize' being stolen, a launch at the clueless woman, and a swift punch to the gut that sent the brownrider doubling up and instantly forgetting about the young man missing half his clothing. *His* growl quickly enough became muffled by the 'Reachian bluerider crawling all over him, and ridding both of them of their excess garments while the others swiftly departed...the punched brownie helped out by a head-shaking bronzerider.

Back on her ledge, post-flight and lazy - lounging with his green lady of the moment - Ilicaeth barely remembered the reason he'd come here in the first place. But when he did...the blue dragon smirked to himself.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs talk:Give It Back

2016-07-03T08:30:09Z

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==Alida (01:30, 3 July 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

I don't know who's more insane: Drex or Silva. ;)

Logs talk:Fucking Harpers

2016-06-27T07:53:21Z

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==Silva (14:27, 25 June 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

ahahaha! <3 <3
==Alida (00:53, 27 June 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

I can hear Alida now: "She insists on being stupid. If it affects her work, report her to her Wingleader, if the spiral continues or worsens. If it just bugs YOU, tell her to shape up or ship the f*ck out. Or you can SHOW her blatantly what her stupidity will lead her to. There's worse things than death." ;)

Logs:As Time Goes On...

2016-05-17T08:25:31Z

Alida: Created page with "{{Log |who=Alida, Alida {{!}}Ilicaeth, Jandra |what=Alida meets with a 'friend' from a long time ago. |where=High Reaches Weyr; Pars Hold; Igen inner desert |involves=High Rea..."

{{Log
|who=Alida, Alida {{!}}Ilicaeth, Jandra
|what=Alida meets with a 'friend' from a long time ago.
|where=High Reaches Weyr; Pars Hold; Igen inner desert
|involves=High Reaches Area
|day=5
|month=11
|turn=40
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.05.16
|quote="...I think it's only fair...right that we get to do this once ..like we were supposed to..."
|weather=Light snow sprinkles.
|mentions=Devaki, Raum
|type=Vignette
|log=The message came to Alida while she was tending a bronze's sore jaw...the beast having accidentally driven a small chunk of herdbeast bone into sensitive gum line while he was eating in a hurry.

The chubby brown firelizard chirpled in recognition and relief that he'd found his objective, but he wasn't brazen enough to fly anywhere near a grumpy bronze dragon until his wound was treated, the pain numbed, and his rider reassured and given proper medical instructions.

It was as the blonde woman strode off to clean up the spittle, ichor, and smelly dragon breath from her upper body that mister pudgy little brown swooped down and landed on the table beside the laving bowl, his dark-smudged wings fanning a little to gain Alida's further, fixed attention. "What; you hurt?" her alto near- automatically inquired, though clear green eyes looked doubtful from within a small face full of soapsand. Getting into dragon mouths was stinky work.

A buzzing trill from the brown soon found him extending, arching his long neck towards Alida, where she finally saw the small tube attached by thick strings. Both 'lizard and the message tube were filthy with slush and mud, and the tiny beast showed no remorse over it. *Snort*. "Give it up, then, since it's apparently mine..." the bluie smirked at the messenger, who offered his neck trustingly...and got not only an opening of the tube and removal of the rolled up hide within for his troubles...but a quick splash of soapy water upon his haunches. Gotcha!

Instead of being irked or frightened, the wee brown instead fanned his dirty wings into the darkening water of the basin, proceeding to splash more gunk over both of them before he chittered, and popped off Between with blue eyes.

"Little shitbag..." Alida muttered with mixed irritation and amusement, setting aside the message until she could clean up a bit more...and read the note without smudging the ink out.

What the woman read was more than enough reason to waken a lightly-dozing Ilicaeth from near the hatching grounds entrance, and wind his stony thoughts cautiously about his rider's wary mind. After some non-verbal time for gut communication, the burly blue finally noted in his usual fashion, << Been a long time. Even an old, busted olive branch's still an olive branch. >> And the two girls - now women - had been pretty damned thick.

The 'old' Alida would've allowed the anger, hurt, embarrassment, and terrible pride still swirling within keep her from taking up what that message offered... But it was no secret to either of them. - now in their early thirties - that they were running out of time. And perhaps both were finally isolated enough, wistful enough, to make a gesture across the near-decade they'd said nothing.

A day later, about 3 miles outside the hold of her upbringing, Alida directed Ilicaeth to land nearby a rocky outcropping, when both knew that Jandra and her rolly-polly brown flit were waiting, hidden from the chilling weather.

Acting as watch and buffer against the icy breeze, Ilicaeth turned his blue regard away from the two women after offering a faint rumble of greeting to the Parsian guard...the one with the dark brown hair and brown eyes. A tiny churr from the 'lizard presaged a small and formal bow from Jandra to the dragon, her gaze finally moving to a riding gear-clad Alida.

The silence of Turns was almost deafening, and might've defeated the purpose of the meeting if the brown flit hadn't have gurgled in something that sounded like humor at the blonde woman. "Seems he approves uv' you..." Jandra's burred voice noted casually, her shrug sending the brown off her shoulder to perch out by Ilicaeth.

"Seems like he'd approve uv' near-anybody..." Alida clipped off in her old fashion, and immediately regretted it when Jandra's olive-skinned features tightened. "Meant he's a kind one." One boot heel dug some at cold-packed earth at the next, forced admission: "Little like 'is mistress." Shrug,

A choice had been made by both women, and - despite the time, the pain, the loss and anger between them - somehow, they both wanted it to work out, for once. Both women bore many scars - most of them on the inside - and to lay even a few sinews bare cost them much...but at least the bleaker of the two had a second presence not far away inside her head that gingerly coaxed her on.

A tiny fire was made within the sparse cover of the outcropping's lip, it's light concealed by Ilicaeth's broad form as the darkness slowly rose to cover them all. And, as time passed, voices were found...and were raised in not only old hurt and new pains, but also laden with odd joys found in present times...and laughter in decades that had slipped away. Rebel and near-outcast had become not only a dragonrider, but was also a dragonhealer..and a some-time Harper wannabe. And the inflexible, severe, by-the-book private had finally learned something of mercy, of a bit of flexibility...and had climbed the ladder of Pars' guard...now working towards becoming its first female sergeant.

"You...it really *did* help, having Lord Devaki and his Captain weed out most of those turds." It was Jandra's way of telling her former comrade 'thank you...' though Devaki had insisted Alida's anger over the Pars Guard had had little to do with his scouring of the organization.

"*Good*..." the blonde woman noted with cool heat - the first in voice, then second in her green eyes - eyes that still burned with not only the injustices of Turns ago...but of the private horrors she'd suffered. Still sometimes relived.

"*I* wear them, too, White Wher..." Jandra muttered darkly, keenly to something she thought she might've seen in her companion's eyes...and slowly undid her heavy outer jacket, tugged out her sweater and heavy shirt to bare her back and remind the blonde of just how they'd acquired the very first of their lashing scars.

For a moment, the bluerider's jaw set, and all the old rage she'd thought mostly controlled or dispelled ignited within, leaving her sincerely wishing that she could crush the windpipes of her own foster father and Jandra's father after the men had heard of the pre-teen girls' aborted tryst in a closet.

Outside Ilicaeth creeled softly, his eyes an orange-flecked yellow that looked right into the soul of his rider, and silently suggested a potentially different response to their pain.

Trembling fingers touched by the cold ghosted lightly over the scars, Alida awaiting any reaction, from violent rejection to instant violence...and instead found Jandra slowly slumping over a little, shuddering. "I never liked other women. Just you, Alida." The guard sounded like she was keeping herself from crying by only a millimeter, her voice throaty, uneven. "Never got the chance..." Siiiigh, shiver. "Got a boyfriend, now... after ten Turns of not trusting any uv 'em." Snert.

"I...I understand. I won't..." As she withdrew her fingers, Alida found Jandra turning around, and tugging the 'rider closer to her, and not only for warmth. "I...I think it's only fair...right that we get to do this once ..like we were supposed to," the Guard murmured. As if daring Alida to say 'no' after Jandra had stuck out her neck. Brown eyes shone with want, mistrust, hope, and a myriad of other things that Alida recognized instantly...in herself as well.

There was only a slow, but firm nod from the bluerider in answer, but Ilicaeth made the first move...ambling in closer so that he could extend a wing, curl himself as much about the two women as possible to offer his greater body warmth to their bared skins. And if things became too cold to continue in the wintry North, the blue dragon was more than happy to take his passengers to Igen, where the heat of a certain cave - and the stored blankets within - offered almost as much solace as the slowly re-kindling friendship many though dead Turns ago.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs talk:AU: Consonance

2016-04-28T22:12:07Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:AU: Consonance]]
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==Jocelyn (04:04, 28 April 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

This was fun to read! Thanks for sharing. :D
==Alida (15:12, 28 April 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

Of course! Thanks for giving me a spark under my bum. ^^

Logs talk:AU: Dissonance

2016-04-28T22:10:42Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:AU: Dissonance]]
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==Alida (23:51, 27 April 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

I enjoyed seeing this AU Jocelyn/dragon! Just imagine: Joce could've been out there on the Sands and Impressed that almost black-green dragon...instead of being her mere clutchmate. ;) But... that's ANOTHER AU story. Hmmm...
==Jocelyn (04:06, 28 April 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

Jocelyn and Virisceth - man. That would have been rough. XD
==Alida (15:10, 28 April 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

Wonder if it would've driven her a little nutters. Poor Ellerey is a teensie bit off-kilter in ways, after Viri chose her. ;)

Logs:AU: Consonance

2016-04-28T22:03:57Z

Alida:

{{Log
|who=Ellerey
|what=There's something to be said about great minds thinking alike.
|where=AU: HR Weyr; Ruatha
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=8
|month=12
|turn=28
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.04.27
|quote=<< It might be *us* to go... >>
|weather=Warm.
|mentions=Farideh, Irianke, K'del, Z'kiel
|type=Vignette
|ooc=A quick vig in response to Jocelyn's AU, which made me smile. Short and sweet. My fingers were itching to write a bit.
|icons-new=Icon ellerey Burden.JPG
|log=She would be home soon enough... after the feasting was done, of course. Even a homesick trader could hardly pass up a Weyr hatching feast, with its spirits and special foodstuffs...and maybe even a quick tryst with one of those randy, fetching rider-types.

Ellerey knew it in her bones that she'd not find any sort of lifemate out on those golden Sands, and so she was a bit less nervous than most of the other candidates, the tall woman adroitly ducking and sidestepping more and more baby dragons that wobbled or careened their ways towards their proper humans. She did - again, just like most of the others about her - give a small hitch of breath when the orangey-golden little queen erupted from her shell, but there wasz little time to do more after that than concentrate on avoidance of injury and a few quiet congratulations to any lucky Impresees nearby. Once, though, she managed to allow her brown eyes to lift and quickly scan the Galleries above...and rather luckily manage to locate Z'kiel's long, studious face. He was watching her...and a couple of others Ahtzudaeth had chosen as 'missing something.' Crazy bronze.

It was within those last handful of seconds of her inattention that Ellerey met her match...almost twice over. As the orangey-gold moved around, taking her sweet time to get the full measure of what was offered to her, the final egg in the clutch popped open, releasing a dark, almost midnight toned green, who moved with furtive motions that Elle missed in her preoccupation.

It was the visceral little green that bowled her over, left gouge and rake marks on Ellerey's flesh as she made for whoever was standing to the trader's flank, but it was the gold who quickly enough followed, halting just before a curled-up Elle and gently nuzzle the young woman.

<< I'm here, Elle. She *didn't* have to run you down.. >> The queen's firm, no-nonsense, irritated mental voice struck the woman like water in the face, making her slowly uncurl, sit up, and stare at the dragonet. Instantly, she was at home in a way that the trader in her had never experienced. Everything just...clicked. Surprise-surprise.

Even now, a couple of Turns later, Ellerey still found it almost creepy how utterly intertwined she and Ilvaraeth had become. Oh, they were individuals, to be sure, but almost all of the two beings bore at least tiny traces of the other. Time had only further bonded them, mind and soul...and sometimes in body, in a way, when the woman sat astride her dragon and they flew as nearly one.

At least they had one another - both dragon and woman practical and down-to-earth - though both *could* show a fiery temper, if so inclined. It wasn't so with the other weyrwomen, though. No matter how much she tried (and how much Ilvaraeth worked to coach both of them), the human half of this equation just never would really fit in. An outsider, a boundless Trader, and a very 'individual' personality, Ellerey sometimes found herself unable to hold back a bit of vitriol or frank assessment with Irianke and Farideh. At least she could operate decently most times with K'del, which was a scant boon. Most times nowadays, Ellerey was seen escaping the Weyr that birthed her lifemate, the pair winking Between to some other place nearly as soon as their duties were finished. The urge, the NEED to move about never left the woman, and Ilvaraeth rarely denied her human. They were too close for the queen NOT to feel how keen that need was.

<< They're talking about us again, I'd bet... >> the orangey-gold's clipped mind voice 'smirked' thinly as she winged them up as quickly as her large body would allow, the late summer thermals kissing her hide, making her large 'sails almost billow.

<< They can talk all they want... >> Elle replied tartly, quickly directing her lifemate Between... with both appearing in the slightly clouded skies near Ruatha a few heartbeats later. Her family would be somewhere near there on their long trip back towards their wintering grounds at Southern Boll.

<< It might be *us* to go... >> Ilvaraeth replied phlegmatically, though she couldn't quite disguise the upwelling of anxious sorrow that came with her pronouncement. Three queens in an Interval Weyr were not only rare, they were a potential problem. And they were the youngest, too.

Instantly, Ellerey reached out with mind and hands to soothe her lifemate as the gold stroked the air smoothly, bringing them closer and closer to the train of wagons that made up the woman's human family. She could hear her grandmother, mother, father ever now: 'It won't do to leave the Weyr so much.... Think of what the other weyrwomen might say...' Of course, they'd be delighted to see her, anyway, and would leave off the 'work talk' after the first few hours. And Ilvaraeth even let the trader children oil and bathe her, if she felt like it, which only endeared the two even more to the Traders.

Still, Ilvaraeth was very happy to return back home to the cool rock and cool reception of her own Weyr, after the day (or sometimes pair of days) was done. She, like her rider, couldn't be anyone, anything other than what she was: she always needed to return HOME.

<< They may never make *either* of us leave... >> Ellerey sighed to her lifemate, offering solace again, though her own irritation still bled through. Just like the Traders never really made them leave.

If home was where the hearts(s) were, then the only place dragon and rider could fully call theirs was within themselves.
}}

Logs:AU: Consonance

2016-04-28T08:05:35Z

Alida: Created page with "{{Log |who=Ellerey |what=There's something to be said about great minds thinking alike. |where=AU: HR Weyr; Ruatha |involves=High Reaches Weyr |day=8 |month=12 |turn=28 |IP=In..."

{{Log
|who=Ellerey
|what=There's something to be said about great minds thinking alike.
|where=AU: HR Weyr; Ruatha
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=8
|month=12
|turn=28
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.04.27
|quote=<< It might be *us* to go... >>
|weather=Warm.
|mentions=Farideh, Irianke, K'del, Z'kiel
|type=Vignette
|ooc=A quick vig in response to Jocelyn's AU, which made me smile. Short and sweet. My fingers were itching to write a bit.
|icons-new=Icon ellerey Burden.JPG
|log=She would be home soon enough... after the feasting was done, of course. Even a homesick trader could hardly pass up a Weyr hatching feast, with its spirits and special foodstuffs...and maybe even a quick tryst with one of those randy, fetching rider-types.

Ellerey knew it in her bones that she'd not find any sort of lifemate out on those golden Sands, and so she was a bit less nervous than most of the other candidates, the tall woman adroitly ducking and sidestepping more and more baby dragons that wobbled or careened their ways towards their proper humans. She did - again, just like most of the others about her - give a small hitch of breath when the orangey-golden little queen erupted from her shell, but there wasz little time to do more after that than concentrate on avoidance of injury and a few quiet congratulations to any lucky Impresees nearby. Once, though, she managed to allow her brown eyes to lift and quickly scan the Galleries above...and rather luckily manage to locate Z'kiel's long, studious face. He was watching her...and a couple of others Ahtzudaeth had chosen as 'missing something.' Crazy bronze.

It was within those last handful of seconds of her inattention that Ellerey met her match...almost twice over. As the orangey-gold moved around, taking her sweet time to get the full measure of what was offered to her, the final egg in the clutch popped open, releasing a dark, almost midnight toned green, who moved with furtive motions that Elle missed in her preoccupation.

It was the visceral little green that bowled her over, left gouge and rake marks on Ellerey's flesh as she made for whoever was standing to the trader's flank, but it was the gold who quickly enough followed, halting just before a curled-up Elle and gently nuzzle the young woman.

<< I'm here, Elle. She *didn't* have to run you down.. >> The queen's firm, no-nonsense, irritated mental voice struck the woman like water in the face, making her slowly uncurl, sit up, and stare at the dragonet. Instantly, she was at home in a way that the trader in her had never experienced. Everything just...clicked. Surprise-surprise.

Even now, a couple of Turns later, Ellerey still found it almost creepy how utterly intertwined she and Ilvaraeth had become. Oh, they were individuals, to be sure, but almost all of the two beings bore at least tiny traces of the other. Time had only further bonded them, mind and soul...and sometimes in body, in a way, when the woman sat astride her dragon and they flew as nearly one.

At least they had one another - both dragon and woman practical and down-to-earth - though both *could* show a fiery temper, if so inclined. It wasn't so with the other weyrwomen, though. No matter how much she tried (and how much Ilvaraeth worked to coach both of them), the human half of this equation just never would really fit in. An outsider, a boundless Trader, and a very 'individual' personality, Ellerey sometimes found herself unable to hold back a bit of vitriol or frank assessment with Irianke and Farideh. At least she could operate decently most times with K'del, which was a scant boon. Most times nowadays, Ellerey was seen escaping the Weyr that birthed her lifemate, the pair winking Between to some other place nearly as soon as their duties were finished. The urge, the NEED to move about never left the woman, and Ilvaraeth rarely denied her human. They were too close for the queen NOT to feel how keen that need was.

<< They're talking about us again, I'd bet... >> the orangey-gold's clipped mind voice 'smirked' thinly as she winged them up as quickly as her large body would allow, the late summer thermals kissing her hide, making her large 'sails almost billow.

<< They can talk all they want... >> Elle replied tartly, quickly directing her lifemate Between... with both appearing in the slightly clouded skies near Ruatha a few heartbeats later. Her family would be somewhere near there on their long trip back towards their wintering grounds at Southern Boll.

<< It might be *us* to go... >> Ilvaraeth replied phlegmatically, though she could quite disguise the upwelling of sorrow that came with her pronouncement. Three queens in an Interval Weyr were not only rare, they were a potential problem. They were the youngest, too.

Instantly, Ellerey reached out with mind and hands to soothe her lifemate as the gold stroked the air smoothly, bringing them closer and closer to the train of wagons that made up the woman's human family. She could hear her grandmother, mother, father ever now: 'It won't do to leave the Weyr so much.... Think of what the other weyrwomen might say...' Of course, they'd be delighted to see her, anyway, and would leave off the 'work talk' after the first few hours. And Ilvaraeth even let the trader children oil and bathe her, if she felt like it, which only endeared the two even more to the Traders.

Still, Ilvaraeth was very happy to return back home to the cool rock and cool reception of her own Weyr, after the day (or sometimes pair of days) was done. She, like her rider, couldn't be anyone, anything other than what she was: she always needed to return HOME.

<< They may never make *either* of us leave... >> Ellerey sighed to her lifemate, offering solace again, though her own irritation still bled through. Just like the Traders never really made them leave.

If home was where the hearts(s) were, then the only place dragon and rider could fully call theirs was within themselves.
}}

Logs talk:AU: Dissonance

2016-04-28T06:51:15Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

Logs talk:Constants

2016-04-11T00:01:39Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Constants]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Alida (17:01, 10 April 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

A pleasant looksie into both people when their hair is a bit down. :)

Logs:Setbacks; Progressions

2016-03-29T07:51:14Z

Alida: There's always something to be learned.

{{Log
|who=Alida, Leova, C'thoun
|what=Dathath sprains a wrist; Leova and Alida take things in hand.
|where=HRW: Dragon infirmary
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=9
|month=5
|turn=40
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.03.23
|quote="Ready to...diagnose?"
|weather=A light rain makes things muddy all day.
|type=Log
|st=Leova (thanks!)
|icons-new=Icon alida compassionate.jpg, Icon leova hunting testing teasing.jpg, Icon alida ilicaeth professional.jpg,
|log=It's her turn to play 'dragon nurse,' and - as always - Alida is a little ahead of time on the schedule, a sound and affectionate slap given to Ilicaeth's neck before the craggy blue leaves his rider behind in favor of a perch somewhere above the dragonhealing complex. As the braided and bunned blonde enters the complex, she sheds her outer wear, leaving it on a peg, and finally stepping smartly along until she reaches the 'front desk' to check in.

Poor Dathath's been here, ''back'' here, for a couple hours now. He gives a dingy-eyed look at Ilicaeth's rider as she comes in, less yellow now than it had been, and even his headknobs have a bit of droop to them. C'thoun is slumped in a chair next to him, his head in his hands. ''Leova'' lifts amber eyes, yellow in a non-draconic way. "Afternoon," is only half a grunt. "Ready to," here comes the technical term, "diagnose?"

Oh boy...Dathath. Alida looks both concerned and yet slightly humored (after her clear green gaze shows her nothing *horrible* is wrong with the old brown) at the sight of the dragon, the blonde looking over quickly to Leova, then murmuring, "Back atcha'..." just before she nods with only a fractional hint of uncertainty, then cants her head a little towards the brownpair in unvoiced question: them?

"Aye." Leova gives her that one-cornered smile. "Wash up and," she gestures. All Alida's. C'thoun, meanwhile, hasn't moved. He ''has'' muttered, is still, fits and quiet spurts. Dathath's favoring his leg, but not his ''hind''leg, one foreleg braced on the other so his wrapped-up forepaw is off the ground.

"Yep..." is all Alida murmurs with a faint, likewise one-sided smirk-smile to Leova, the same darker humor flashing in green eyes as they meet ambers for a moment...the blonde then turning towards her work of washing up, first. A bare minute later, she's toweling hands and arms off, straightening up. She's nearly-always been confident in her approach and treatments, and today is no different from the norm, the woman pacing over towards the brownpair, and murmuring what might seem a non-polite, "Heya, Fart... Droopy. How 'bout we do another check-over now, see where things stand?" Though her features are schooled to neutrality, the bluerider's tone is touched with hints of a certain easy comraderie, deft fingers seeking to grip the old man's forearm lightly before they transfer themselves to whatever patch of Dathath's hide is nearest. NOT his wrapped-up forepaw. Not yet.

The brownrider doesn't look up right away, but apparently they have forged the sort of relationship where he doesn't take offense. His mouth wavers, almost a smile, when she touches his arm. "Hey, Chalker. ''Been'' checked. Stupid accident." Which is where Leova, shadowing Alida from a couple paces' distance, interjects: "S'what you get, turning yourself into a training tool. Patience." Man and dragon sigh simultaneously. "Fine." Dathath's hide feels normal enough, though he could use an oiling in the next day or two. Not hot. Not clammy.

There's an acknowledging grunt of returned (and accepted) greeting from Alida at her 'nickname,' the woman first nodding at C'thoun, then glancing only partially back over her shoulder to offer Leova a faint smirk. Back to the man is murmured, "They tell me the same thing: patience. See what patience gets me?" An airy little wave of hand at the man and his brown - her voice drab in its spare humor - presages that hand settling upon the dragon's hide, and soon the guard's clinical inquiry, "Okay... Tell me how yer" (the plural, since riders' and dragons' mind overlap) "feeling, right now. Any pain..." (she manages to say this with a straight face) "...swelling? Discomfort?" That searching hand (and green eyes) slide upward from C'thoun to fixate first on Dathath's pinwheeling yellow eyes, then slip again to his hide as the bluie moves to gauge the springiness of said hide as her hand slides closer, closer towards the bandaged paw.

He doesn't chuckle exactly, but his grunt approaches that quality. That, and melancholy. "It was the stupidest thing," C'thoun says. "Feeling stupid, that's what I am, what do you think?" Dathath watches the movement, eyes more brownish-yellowish than truly yellow, and sighs unhappily but permits the approach. Or touch, if Alida should go that far. The bandage ''is'' something of a giveaway, and that pad of ice draped across it. "Hurts him to move, shells. Thought we were ''done'' needing the queens." For calming.

By now, all Alida does is flick her eyes temporarily over to C'thoun when he speaks between points as she gauges Dathath's condition and mood, the blonde shrugging a little at the man's unhappiness. She knows how *she'd* feel, so there's no want to acknowledge such. For now, all the bluie does is drift the lightest ghost-touch over those bandages - more assessing the injury with her other senses - and making note of the ice pad within wrappings. A very gentle patting of the wrist above the 'owie' ensues (if the brown allows), and Alida looks up again directly into Dathath's eyes as she states with calm firmness, "I'm going to check this out, now. I'll be careful." Promise. Even if the brown doesn't remember the perhaps odd tenderness (and stubborn intractibility) of her care, his rider hopefully does. If she gets to the proper point, the bandage is gently spread, the pack slowly lifted, and the condition of the hide beneath judged first. Even though dragon hide is thick, it too can be subject to frostnip.

There's a low whine of discomfort at the movement but no signs of frostbite, so probably the icepack's been changed: time on, time off. The brown's hide ''is'' scraped beneath the protective cloth, slick and shiny with an unguent that smells of numbweed and a few other things, shiny also with swelling. No ichor. Dathath watches her closely, nigh as closely as Leova does, the latter observing with arms crossed against interference. C'thoun's muttering again, something about listening to her, she ''is'' being careful, it's going to be all right.

<< Yer gonna be fine... >> Ilicaeth firmly, helpfully supports his rider's careful examination, the blue's parched, gritty baritone a puff of mica-laden dust just under the brown's 'front door.' Hello there. "Lookin' good, so far..." Alida's easy alto reassures both dragon and man, her pale head unconsciously bobbing once as she finds what she'd thought to beneath that bandage. "How'd..." No; wait. That would be folly with these two, in their current mood...especially with what Alida's already heard from C'thoun and Leova. Instead, she shifts tack to, "When did this happen, exactly? Landing or take-off, 'r...?" As she inquires, those deft hands pluck away more bandage, and very lightly press fingers at the nearest joint within that paw where wrist meets paw. Is it *here*?

Dathath supposes he is, but he's all groans and complaints that his rider's attitude can't help exactly. It might approach being contagious, if Ilicaeth's minded to listen that long. "Landing," C'thoun mumbles. "It had to be landing. We thought we had it so good, we knew it was healing an' still had to be careful, we," yes. That hurts. Dathath projects to ''everyone'' how it is not good, despite the numbweed and the queen-calming and the lightness of the touch. Even Leova's looking like her stomach's turned, a hiss of a ''zap'' Vrianth's follow-up protectiveness. The brown groans.

"Yep..." is all Alida allows to C'thoun's mumble, while inwardly adjusting her assessment of the injury. Compression by all of the brown's weight and perhaps twist by motion during the landing, given his favoring of the formerly broken rear leg. Ilicaeth's listening to keep the brown's mind on him and off the prodding of his fresh injury, the blue silently indulging the non-stop complaining...until that pain hits him through even their light link. Ouch. As soon as the blue echos such (and Vrianth's 'zappy' warning) to his rider, Alida's instantly withdrawing her touch, her mouth twisting a little in a faint wince. It's nothing compared to some of the hurts she's bourne up under before, but she's no dragon...and definitely not Dathath. And so, her plan of very gentle and cautious flexion of that paw goes right out the door, the blonde instead very gingerly checking the numbweed and herb slathering, then cautiously re-settling ice pack before re-wrapping the paw. She'll not spare any words during the time she's busy being extra cautious about not paining the brown, her green eyes intent on the injury the whole time, as well. Once done, there's a brief sigh, and then 'lida rises slowly, pursing her lips and looking between brown and Leova. "Strain...sprain..." is noted conservatively, with only a vague hint of questioning. "Can't assess it further, right now." Due to the pain and 'tenderness' of the subject.

"I could have told you that," C'thoun complains. Leova ''laughs'', quiet, low. "Good on you for holding back," she tells the brownrider, as though he'd done it on purpose. "We'll change out the ice after a bit, give him a breather. Now," the rewrapping must pass muster, for she moves into quizzing Alida: strains. Sprains. The difference. What they do for each. What the prognosis is. Paws versus legs, forelimbs versus hind. C'thoun, who's heard this before, is starting to look dejected again with a mutter about how they'd been so close, so ''close''.

Alida, who seems about to inject a tart rejoinder to C'thoun's 'wailings,' merely rolls her eyes a little as she keeps those greens studiously upon Leova as the other woman checks the blonde's work. It's sound. With the quizzing come sure answers from the ex-guard, her tone low and even, factual, a mix of textbook *and* a growing body of actual experience. Added with a little leftover empathy is the bluie's sighed-out, "Wrist joint's always a little more vulnerable. Any joint, really, but that one bears more balance an' weight on one critical point." At least 'palm' and digits can spread out the load, though the latter are more slender. And, while the man grumbles about his and his brown's circumstances, Alida's... Well, she's keeping as composed of a face as she can, and moving to wipe her hands off on a nearby towel, then returning to the brown. Perhaps uncharacteristically, one slightly-numbed hand's fingers reach out, stroke the old and surly Dathath upon one of his shoulders, the woman murmuring something nearly impossible to overhear before she turns away towards C'thoun. "I know y' heard it all before...but he'll be fine. *IF* ya don't push it anymore." Imagine *her* telling someone else to be patient. Still, Alida seems genuinely concerned for her charge(es), though such is heavily veiled behind her usual impassive demeanor. A small shrug sees her turning to face her 'boss' again. She's done, right?

C'thoun mutters. If. ''If''. But he's clearly reassured by Alida's approach to things, and if he'll need reminders here and there through the remainder of her shift, he'll also make a trip to the kitchen later on to bring back something good by way of thanks. "We'd better. Ain't a whole lot more to go wrong." If the dragonhealer, make that the dragonhealers''s'' know better, Leova at least doesn't say. Instead, she accompanies the other woman to the sink for more cleaning. Low-voiced, so the brownrider won't hear, "What do you make of where he's at? C'thoun, not Dathath." Then, speculative, "Would ''you'' recommend a move to Sleet?" Long-term. More than now.

Well, at least the hard-headed old guff *is* listening. Maybe this sprain has shocked him enough to quit chancing his lifemate's mobility with his own wants. During the rest of her shift, Alida always takes a bit of extra time to not only re-check the icing, but to actually chat with the brownpair whenever possible for just a moment or two. And for Leova? There's a quick flare of deeply-etched caution with green eyes, and then a moment or two of pause before she murmurs a soft, "Not yet." Beat. "Let this little fuck-up simmer in 'is mind. Let *him* make the choice...if 'e will. Better a willing transfer than an order...'specially to a proud pair like *them*." A quick glance to the settling pair presages the blonde's slightly terse, "But 'is Wingleader, 'second oughta' keep an eye on 'em both...just in case. If 'e starts pushin' Dathath too much again... then the dragonhealers take it up with 'is 'leader."

"We'll do that, aye," the older dragonhealer reassures, comfortable in her square stance. Quiet in her voice. Aware of Alida's reactions, not just her observations. "Something to consider, too." She lays it out there calmly, that other consideration, ''teaching''. "We wouldn't take it at face value, necessarily, if he'd been all 'my dragon's fault,' 'he just got a wild hair,' that sort of thing. Wouldn't take this that way, either, that it's all C'thoun's. Or most, even. ''Sounds'' like what he's doing is more taking responsibility, for the pair of 'em, rather than 'he started it' or a real true 'I pushed him'... much as he might think it in the moment after what went wrong. They're a team, hm?" They're a team, too, says the smile of one dragonhealer for the other. "Hard to say what was any old accident and what was real risk. Vrianth looked into it," as Vrianth does, "but if we hadn't neither of us wanted to look, we'd have booted it higher than it needed to go. You get me?"

That caution is back in the younger woman's eyes again, but veiled, much like her reactions are enough times, to Leova's teaching words, though the blonde nods once to the first 'words of business' from the greenrider. After a moment to further digest, there's a quiet answer of "I'll remember that." Statement of fact, as if Alida's already taken it to heart and is currently mulling through this true partnership between human and dragon from a slightly different perspective, for once. Outside, Ilicaeth huffs lightly, his scouring sands lightly scuffing the fringes of his rider's mind. See, he told her so. At least she's *finally* admitting it...now that another *human* said such. Snort.
|Categories=Dragonhealing Logs
}}

Logs talk:Still Wingless

2016-03-20T10:02:00Z

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==Alida (03:02, 20 March 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

Of course Alida would have your back, Tela! They're clutchmates! Well, until Ilicaeth got SUPER-serious about maneuvering to catch Solith for the first time. He's got a little burr in his saddle about that. ;)

Logs talk:All Sorts of Opportunity

2016-03-20T08:53:54Z

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==Alida (01:53, 20 March 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

Ilicaeth can sit like a stone for hours. Except for that tail tip(s). ;)

Logs talk:Dynastic

2016-03-20T06:22:01Z

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==Alida (23:22, 19 March 2016 (PDT)) said... ==

I enjoy seeing K'del this way. ^^

Logs talk:Taiga's Newest

2016-03-02T21:47:11Z

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==Alida (13:47, 2 March 2016 (PST)) said... ==

Watch out, world! ;)

Logs talk:Via's Leaving

2016-03-01T08:19:05Z

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==Alida (00:19, 1 March 2016 (PST)) said... ==

Always enjoy seeing inside Leova...even if she's also always a partial mystery. ^^

Br'and

2016-02-27T08:29:42Z

Alida:

{{Profile
|picture=BreirandeMain.jpg
|mother=Briealla (Jman Miner)
|father=R'oan (deceased)
|siblings=Half-brother and a half-sister (related through mother); 1 half-sister (related through father); lkely others he doesn't know of.
|children=none
|body={{wysk}}

{{Family}}
{{FamilyEnd}}

== RP Logs ==

{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}

{{Icons}}
}}
{{Character-Categories}}

Br'and

2016-02-27T08:28:07Z

Alida:

{{Profile
|picture=BreirandeMain.jpg
|mother=Briealla (Jman Miner)
|father=R'oan (deceased)
|siblings=2 half-brother and a half-sister (related through mother); 1 half-sister (related through father); lkely others he doesn't know of.
|children=none
|body={{wysk}}

{{Family}}
{{FamilyEnd}}

== RP Logs ==

{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}

{{Icons}}
}}
{{Character-Categories}}

Br'and

2016-02-27T08:27:00Z

Alida:

{{Profile
|picture=BreirandeMain.jpg
|mother=Briealla (Jman Miner)
|father=R'oan (deceased)
|siblings=2 half-brothers (related through mother); 1 half-sister (related through father); lkely others he doesn't know of.
|children=none
|body={{wysk}}

{{Family}}
{{FamilyEnd}}

== RP Logs ==

{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}

{{Icons}}
}}
{{Character-Categories}}

Br'and

2016-02-27T08:26:00Z

Alida:

{{Profile
|picture=BreirandeMain.jpg
|mother=Briealla (Jman Miner)
|father=R'oan (deceased)
|siblings=2 half-brothers (related throgh mother); 1 aalf-sster (relaed through father); lkely others he doesn't know of.
|children=none
|body={{wysk}}

{{Family}}
{{FamilyEnd}}

== RP Logs ==

{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}

{{Icons}}
}}
{{Character-Categories}}

Logs:Called on Icing

2016-02-27T05:27:56Z

Alida:

{{Log
|who=Alida, Alida{{!}}Ilicaeth, C'thoun, Dathath
|what=Alida and Ilicaeth provide their form of TLC to a disabled dragon (and sort of his rider, too).
|where=HRW: K'del and Cadejoth's OLD weyr ledge
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=14
|month=2
|turn=40
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.02.26
|quote=<< It's time again, Dathath... >>
|weather=Cloudy, cool.
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon alida compassionate.jpg, icon alida ilicaeth house.png
|log=Those dragonhealers who know at least a couple of the finer nuts and bolts of Alida's personality and behaviors might find it rather odd that the woman requested to tend to Dathath, rather than keep to the relative ease of the main cavern with its larger 'choice' of dragons and firelizards that needed tending. Until, of course, the slyer of said dragonhealers opined that the bluie was just attempting to interact with as few *humans* as possible during the course of her duties. And perhaps enough of those other dragonhealers might have been vaguely surprised when the 'apprentice' was okayed to take on the duty (along with a few others, of course. Everybody needs a break, needs to sleep and work, as well.).

Alida wasn't telling anyone about her motives (or lack of them) for asking for the duty, including C'thoun and his disabled brown, of course. But all that really mattered was her competent presence while exercising her newest skill, and Ilicaeth's hearty backup...the burly blue pleased to help out both his rider and another pair in his home.

<< It's time again, Dathath... >> Ilicaeth reached with his usual jocular and dark humor to inform the elderly brown of his incipient icing as Alida gathered up what was needed, soon mounted her lifemate's neck.

The dull pain in the mind voice that replied, mixed with the brown's irritation at enough things (especially being stuck on this ledge), and his boredom encouraged Ilicaeth's bolstering mental reply of, << You ever seen anything like *this* before? >> Only partially revealed to the brown in diffuse and sparing images were strange bands of various colors, mixed with the sounds of the sea in the background, along with the scent of a big, southern wild cat. A bit of wily scheming combined with his natural aptitude at chatter soon 'netted' the airborne, finally landing Ilicaeth Dathath's near-full attention...and kept the brown at least partially diverted much of the time when Alida set about icing that broken leg to keep down the swelling, checked the limb for signs of healing or infection, eyed the metal brace to assure herself of its proper placing and strength. And if she managed to actually listen to some of C'thoun's concerns and an old story or two in the process, well...that was only part of being a (dragon)healer. Her sharing of an old story of her own - though much abbreviated - continued to help the man pass the time as pleasantly as possible, as well. Ilicaeth even went as far as to help the old brown balance and shift around when needed, but never in an intrusive or condescending fashion: he knew *he'd* not want anybody's aggravating hovering over himself, if *he* was injured.

While their humans moved about, interacted - while Alida did her work with deft and perhaps strangely gentle hands that rarely provoked much pain from the brown - the blue finally let the reasons behind his first images shared with Dathath slip from his maw to the stone of the ledge between the two of them: a human-sized double-handful of rocks...coated with saliva, of course. It *did* make the water-polished agates, natural glasses, quartzes and even a small bead of raw gold from a riverbed gleam even more in the daylight. And how Alida found each one of them - and the circumstances of such - were tales all on their own, though he only remembered via his rider's personal memories. The blue took inventory that each of the rocks and pebbles was actually *there* (to avoid accidentally swallowing one or more, and thus avoiding his rider's ire) as he tongue-lolled them out, but the meat of the activity was soon found in nosing them carefully to make them shine even more, show their various colors and patterns more distinctly to both sets of dragon eyes. And those interesting (if sometimes *slightly* elaborated-upon) stories surrounding them.

It took a couple of hours (maybe more than truly needed, but nobody was counting the minutes, really) to perform every facet of their twinned 'tasks' of 'healing body and sustaining minds, but - when she finally gathered up her tools (and those now-dried and smelly rocks and pebbles) and took their leave of the brownpair - Alida found herself actually enjoying nearly every moment of it.

<< Except fer when they started nattering on about that green and 'er rider, after awhile, >> Ilicaeth 'helpfully' tossed in with a full-on scour of rasping snark, his furnace-like sands scouring out internal laughter.

<< No shit... >> Alida replied within, her mouth curling into a smirk while goggled eyes rolled amply as Ilicaeth took them on a lazy descent towards the entrance to the healing complex.

No matter how alluded-to or lost in time, bits of sex stories happening between humans over the age of 65 still managed to make Alida cringe.
|Categories=Dragonhealing Logs
}}

Logs:Called on Icing

2016-02-26T08:47:28Z

Alida: Created page with "{{Log |who=Alida, Ilicaeth, C'thoun, Dathath |what=Alida and Ilicaeth provide their form of TLC to a disabled dragon (and sort of his rider, too). |where=HRW: K'del and Cadejo..."

{{Log
|who=Alida, Ilicaeth, C'thoun, Dathath
|what=Alida and Ilicaeth provide their form of TLC to a disabled dragon (and sort of his rider, too).
|where=HRW: K'del and Cadejoth's OLD weyr ledge
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=14
|month=2
|turn=40
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.02.26
|quote=<< It's time again, Dathath... >>
|weather=Cloudy, cool.
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon alida compassionate.jpg, icon alida ilicaeth house.png
|log=Those dragonhealers who know at least a couple of the finer nuts and bolts of Alida's personality and behaviors might find it rather odd that the woman requested to tend to Dathath, rather than keep to the relative ease of the main cavern with its larger 'choice' of dragons and firelizards that needed tending. Until, of course, the slyer of said dragonhealers opined that the bluie was just attempting to interact with as few *humans* as possible during the course of her duties. And perhaps enough of those other dragonhealers might have been vaguely surprised when the 'apprentice' was okayed to take on the duty (along with a few others, of course. Everybody needs a break, needs to sleep and work, as well.).

Alida wasn't telling anyone about her motives (or lack of them) for asking for the duty, including C'thoun and his disabled brown, of course. But all that really mattered was her competent presence while exercising her newest skill, and Ilicaeth's hearty backup...the burly blue pleased to help out both his rider and another pair in his home.

<< It's time again, Dathath... >> Ilicaeth reached with his usual jocular and dark humor to inform the elderly brown of his incipient icing as Alida gathered up what was needed, soon mounted her lifemate's neck.

The dull pain in the mind voice that replied, mixed with the brown's irritation at enough things (especially being stuck on this ledge), and his boredom encouraged Ilicaeth's bolstering mental reply of, << You ever seen anything like *this* before? >> Only partially revealed to the brown in diffuse and sparing images were strange bands of various colors, mixed with the sounds of the sea in the background, along with the scent of a big, southern wild cat. A bit of wily scheming combined with his natural aptitude at chatter soon 'netted' the airborne, finally landing Ilicaeth Dathath's near-full attention...and kept the brown at least partially diverted much of the time when Alida set about icing that broken leg to keep down the swelling, checked the limb for signs of healing or infection, eyed the metal brace to assure herself of its proper placing and strength. And if she managed to actually listen to some of C'thoun's concerns and an old story or two in the process, well...that was only part of being a (dragon)healer. Her sharing of an old story of her own - though much abbreviated - continued to help the man pass the time as pleasantly as possible, as well. Ilicaeth even went as far as to help the old brown balance and shift around when needed, but never in an intrusive or condescending fashion: he knew *he'd* not want anybody's aggravating hovering over himself, if *he* was injured.

While their humans moved about, interacted - while Alida did her work with deft and perhaps strangely gentle hands that rarely provoked much pain from the brown - the blue finally let the reasons behind his first images shared with Dathath slip from his maw to the stone of the ledge between the two of them: a human-sized double-handful of rocks...coated with saliva, of course. It *did* make the water-polished agates, natural glasses, quartzes and even a small bead of raw gold from a riverbed gleam even more in the daylight. And how Alida found each one of them - and the circumstances of such - were tales all on their own, though he only remembered via his rider's personal memories. The blue took inventory that each of the rocks and pebbles was actually *there* (to avoid accidentally swallowing one or more, and thus avoiding his rider's ire) as he tongue-lolled them out, but the meat of the activity was soon found in nosing them carefully to make them shine even more, show their various colors and patterns more distinctly to both sets of dragon eyes. And those interesting (if sometimes *slightly* elaborated-upon) stories surrounding them.

It took a couple of hours (maybe more than truly needed, but nobody was counting the minutes, really) to perform every facet of their twinned 'tasks' of 'healing body and sustaining minds, but - when she finally gathered up her tools (and those now-dried and smelly rocks and pebbles) and took their leave of the brownpair - Alida found herself actually enjoying nearly every moment of it.

<< Except fer when they started nattering on about that green and 'er rider, after awhile, >> Ilicaeth 'helpfully' tossed in with a full-on scour of rasping snark, his furnace-like sands scouring out internal laughter.

<< No shit... >> Alida replied within, her mouth curling into a smirk while goggled eyes rolled amply as Ilicaeth took them on a lazy descent towards the entrance to the healing complex.

No matter how alluded-to or lost in time, bits of sex stories happening between humans over the age of 65 still managed to make Alida cringe.
|Categories=Dragonhealing Logs
}}

Logs talk:The Cruelest

2016-02-25T02:25:39Z

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==Alida (18:25, 24 February 2016 (PST)) said... ==

I always enjoy seeing these two interact. ^^

Logs talk:Fast

2016-02-19T01:26:03Z

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==Alida (17:26, 18 February 2016 (PST)) said... ==

DeLIGHTful! <3

Logs talk:Not the Right Idea

2016-02-14T08:34:55Z

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==Silva (23:14, 13 February 2016 (PST)) said... ==

<3 <3 <3 Quint and Jocelyn so hard core.
==Alida (00:34, 14 February 2016 (PST)) said... ==

Quint was incredibly nice to that skeezy skeeve who tried to pick up Silva. Alida would have said something much more...'direct' to him...or she would've told specific other riders in the Snowasis that skeezy dude was attempting to prey on a vulnerable weyrling rider. ;D

Logs:Divan Divides

2016-02-12T09:09:15Z

Alida:

{{Log
|who=Drex, Ellerey, Ellerey{{!}}Virisceth
|what=During Turnover celebrations, Drex seeks privacy and drink, while Ellerey seeks 5 minutes of peace. Both get neither.
|where=HRW: Nighthearth
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=28
|month=13
|turn=29
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.02.11
|quote="That's my chair..."
|weather=Blizzard
|mentions=Farideh
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon drex oh no you didn't.gif, Icon ellerey ViriscethTakeover.JPG, Icon ellerey ViriscethProwling.JPG
|log=It's Turnover evening, and while the weather outside might be a bit foreboding, in the living caverns, the weyrfolk of High Reaches are celebrating the end of the Turn with gusto. It's likely as much the noise -- shouting, singing, dancing -- as the heat and press of far too many bodies that drives Drex out of the room after making the minimum appearance for his girl's sake. The nighthearth is practically deserted by comparison, the noise of the harper's music muffled, here, but still audible. The erstwhile sailor has claimed the prime couch in front of the hearth, stretched out full length, feet up on the arms of the couch. His far-too-nice outfit is already skewed, twisted out of obvious discomfort. There's a bottle of rum resting loosely on his chest, one arm thrown over his eyes. That might or might not be a snore -- it's difficult to tell over the ambient noise.

Ellerey, too, is a little burned out from all the celebration taking place, the former Bollian/migrant looking pleased to have escaped all the noise...and yet another offer to dance. Long legs move her smoothly along the coridoor towards the nighthearth and its relative peace, the brunette's skin flushed with exercise and some drink, one hand darting into a pants pocket to nab an overused, tatty kerchief so she can blot at the light perspiration upon forehead. Oh, ick; forget it. Too used. The nice sweater she wears is one of those 'Reachian cable knit affairs meant for the brutal part of the winters up here - dyed a very pale green - and it too sees a little action in place of the kerchief, a heavy sleeve swiped at her brow as she slows down...and notices some person on the couch beyond. Her motions are more quiet, careful so as to not wake up whoever that is...with the bottle of booze on his chest. Smirking a little at Drex, the woman moves towards one of the stuffed chairs not far away from him, looking to plop her butt down and enjoy a rest.

Something, some noise -- or maybe the stirring of air as she moves near -- jerks the sailor awake, one hand grasping for his belt, and missing whatever he expected to find there. The bottle of rum -- thankfully stoppered -- slides off his chest and to the ground with a solid ''thunk''. Drex scowls, immediately, and all that before he's even noticed Ellerey -- his gaze goes to her, belatedly, and with some remnant of that scowl still in place. "What're you doing?" the tone is pitched accusingly enough to suggest that she's clearly transgressing in some, as yet unspecified, way.

As she moves to settle her butt in said chair, Drex is snorting himself awake, and the young man's actions and words have Ellerey looking at him with mixed humor and assessment, her brown eyes noting that scowl, ears his accusation. In an almost drawl, her throaty alto notes dryly, "Apparently I'm looking at someone accusing me of doing wrong." Brows arch slightly. Is she incorrect?

"That's my chair," Drex says matter-of-factly, indicating with a tip of his chin the chair she's seating herself in. Nevermind he's got all of the couch. With a stifled yawn, he pushes himself to a seated position, casts around for his bottle, and finally locates it on the floor.

Glancing down at *the* chair, Ellerey looks back up again to Drex, and responds evenly, "I didn't see a name attached to it. Why bother, when you have the couch, anyway?" Her small amusement remains, shown in the vague upturn of one side of her mouth, but the knotless woman appears pretty much neutral about this whole encounter.

"Didn't see you look none, either," Drex comes back immediately. He doesn't seem aware of the woman's amusement, his obliviousness as much due to the fact that he's not looking at her as anything. He gives a half shrug -- his shoulder lifts but the gestures only half completed, "Saving it for someone." Someone ''else'' is the implication, as he unscrews the bottle and takes a generous hit of the liquid.

"You were stone asleep, so how would *you* know what I did?" Ellerey ripostes with less quiet humor, this time, her eyes narrowing just a tetch, the quirk of her mouth evening out to a natural line. Not upset yet, no, but neither is she as relaxed as when she entered. No matter, *she* is occupying the chair, now, and that Drex seems to want to claim yet another piece of furniture doesn't seem to matter to the weyrling, who only shrugs at his second set of words, and turns her attention to the fire.

"Weren't asleep," Drex counters, defensively, scowling returning. He glances at her, snorts, and says: "Don't say I didn't warn ya," with one of his half-shrugs, taking another generous gulp from his bottle.

There's a small roll of brown eyes for Drex's shot back at her, Elle shaking her dark head a couple of times, and trying to pointedly ignore the young man. Oh, hey; there's a half chunk of bread on a tray on the mantle, and with the peckishness of someone who ate dinner hours ago, the woman stands again, steps up to her quarry, and tears off a small hunk of the still softer stuff.

And while she stands, Drex does too -- but not out of any polite courtesy, no. He drags the chair she was recently occupying closer, before dropping back onto the couch -- except this time he's using the chair as a footrest.

As she's tearing the chunk of bread, she hears the motions behind her, and as Ellerey turns to witness Drex snatching her chair, she can't help but stare at him accusingly, with what looks like a schoolmarm's growing lack of patience with a school-aged child. Noted flatly, "You must have been the most obnoxious one in your class." Stepping away from the hearth, the greenrider moves closer to the sailor, inquiring facetiously of him, "Do you feel the need to appropriate anything near you?"

The sailor adjusts his posture until he's comfortable -- or seemingly so, at any rate. "Class?" Drex echoes, with a blankness that suggests he's no idea what she's implying. When Ellerey approaches him, there's a sly grin on his features: "Aye, what's it to you? Weren't yours, neither."

Elle is nothing but casual, nay, perhaps even sloppy of motion as she offers a grin to Drex and his obnoxious daftness, the woman slowly rounding the couch he's splayed upon, and managing to get a few of crumbs of her bread bouncing down onto him while doing such. Are there other comfy chairs around? Her gaze searches for such. During such, there's a cool delivery of, "You must've had a bad time of it, as a little. Probably few or no possessions, maybe the same with a place to grow up."

Of course there are ''other'' comfy chairs around. Perfectly good ones. Drex only wants ''this specific one'' that Ellerey already sat in, clearly. There's a scowl as she deliberately drops crumbs all over him, muttering, "Yer a sore loser, eh?" It's her latter phrase though, that gives him this curiously bemused sort of expression, clearly telegraphing, ''the fuck?'' through his expression even if the only noise he makes is another snort.

Well, she tried. Sharp needles of the mind are lost on those with mental hides like an armadillo. "Not really," is noted blandly, the woman smiling just a tetch at Drex's scowl, Elle moving over to appropriate one of those other chairs, her chunk of bread held firmly between teeth, by now. Aaaand...over towards him she drags the piece of furniture - wood squeaking a little over rocky floor - until the chair is placed only three feet away from the couch, facing it. It's at around a 25 degree angle to the other chair which houses Drex's feet. And, now taking up a seat in her second chair, Ellerey gets comfy, tucks into her bread...and stares in veiled amusement at the sailor. Staaaaare.

Drex doesn't seem much bothered by her rearranging of the furniture. After all, he defended what he claimed as 'his', and, victory achieved, he celebrates with another generous gulp from the bottle of rum, looking pleased. He doesn't seem too bothered by the woman's staring -- given who he is, and where he is -- he's probably used to it by now.

Interesting. She's finding out little bits about this obnoxious boy-man by the moment, and when Elle's tactics fail to draw a rise of any sort from Drex, she settles back into her chair, and contempates him somemore. After a few moments of eating bread, chewing, thinking, a slow smile begins to creep over the woman's features, first touching only one corner of mouth, then continuing to suffuse the rest of her face. It even manages to touch the fringes of her brown eyes, which never divert themselves from the sailor for any bit of time longer than it takes to blink. By the time she's done with her mouthful, her smirk is broad, lips trying not to twitch into what might be laughter.

"Aint gonna fuck ya, no matter how much you oggle me," Drex finally says. "I gotta girl."

Dragon> Skreeeee- screech. Twisting metal and rough inquiry touch her chosen. Elle is irked/curious/disgusted. Is Virisceth needed to help? Darkness oozes the potential for some nastiness. (To Ellerey from Virisceth)

You're also as full of yourself as you are ignorant and crude..." Ellerey notes with a small bounce to her voice, her grin now turning into a smirk. A faint bifurcation of her gaze soon has the young woman focusing on Drex again, noting with some humor, "I have a good solution for your problems. His name is T'rel, and he enjoys bending callow youths over a barrel for a good rodgering. Gets them quite relaxed and happy again."

Drex gives a nod, like he's heard ''that'' before. "Still aint gonna fuck ya," he adds, and then scowling, "Or let you watch. You weyrfolk are rife with all that kinky shit, aye?" He shakes his head, swallowing another mouthful of rum.

Dragon> Rarely are people in the Weyr quite *this* full of their own crudeness and dubious station... And it's even irritating to someone who's used to dealing with lots of different people. She'll be alright...if this TOOL will simply snap, apologize, or ignore her...like she tried to ignore him. Grrrr. (Ellerey to Virisceth)

Dragon> Well, she waited, listened, watched through Elle's senses, and - much like she was when a younger weyrling - Virisceth decides that *now* is the right time to strike/test...though this time, through her chosen's own mind and mouth. (Virisceth to Ellerey)

Hmm. No taking of the bait again. She though that one would work, as if often does on the holder and crafter boys. There's a faint look of curious, though smirky concession to this apparent fact in the woman's expression, her curly head shaking once, her bread nipped at once again. His own riposte doesn't even register on the greenrider's radar, Ellerey percolating over a few things in her mind - her twinned mind(s) - before she sighs gustily, notes, "With that obnoxious attitude of yours, I'm surprised your girl bothers to keep you around." Headshake. Small sad face. "Unless she has someone else on the side, of course." Blink, smile. "That would explain it: a smarter, kinder person, instead of a rude excuse for a human being, to make her happier when she can get away from you." Is there a strange little 'twist' to Ellerey's voice? Something that makes it hint at metal and darkness?

"Yeah, me too," Drex agrees, about his girl. "Suppose I must be somethin' in the sack, eh?" He's grinning now, even if it's his own words. "Guess you'll never know." Her latter words earn a sharp look, not so much suspicious as confused. He takes another swig from his bottle, tugging a hand over hair before he fixes his gaze on Ellerey and says, "I know people like you. Makes you feel better, aye, trying to tear apart some shitbag you'll never see again? Figure, you oughta just go get drink, or fuck someone or something." A beat, "Not me, obviously."

Dragon> Oh. Sweet. FARANTH! *No!* << VIRISCETH! >> Not for long months has Ellerey used the horrified and outraged heat of her mind to immediately castigate her green lifemate for doing what is so horrible to Elle: taking over her human. And to deliver pain, too...even if it was only to protect her. (Ellerey to Virisceth)

And, while Drex is nattering on about his prowess in bed, then peering at Ellerey in cofusion before he starts talking again, Elle is...stock still and looking far off into the distance. Drex has to have seen that 'look' before enough times: someone is communing with their dragon. And from the bloodless pallor that's crept upon the woman's features, the way that the rest of her bread tumbles from hand to lap to floor unnoticed, it's a total whopper of a communique. Her mouth is slightly open in a slightly aghast moue, and her throat works some. Give her a long handful of seconds, and she's finally going to start returning her consciousness to the room...wide eyes that contain both old fear and bright concern - and leashed anger - trained upon Drex.

Dragon> WHAT?!? She was trying to help, and this seemed the best fusion of both opinion and wish to react. Unlike when she was a baby, Virisceth now does not always need Ellerey's highest opinion of her, the green sullenly withdrawing after the mental lambasting from her human, cocooning herself in viscous darkness, refusing to deal with Elle, for now. Deal with it. (Virisceth to Ellerey)

There's no indication that Drex comprehends the meaning of that ''look''; he's rolling his eyes. "Yeah, real mature. Stopped playing the ''pretend they don't exist'' game when I was like this high," he holds his hand up briefly, before twisting back into a more comfortable place, where he can't see Ellerey's expression.

What-huh? Ellerey only manages to make out Drex's '...I was like this high' as she surfaces from the spat with her dragon. She still looks partially shocked, but is quickly regaining some ground, ashen skin now only pale, her mouth snapping shut, eyes locking down the fear and anger inside of her. Swallowing a few times to regain control of her voice, try to even it out, the tall woman murmurs in strained, low tones, "Please pardon me for whatever I... *we* just said last." Frown. "I...she..." Headshake. "That was only partially me." Now, she's mostly just embarrassed. Shiver. "I don't have to like you, nor you me." Flat, that. "But I don't condone my dragon inserting her own...opinion of you into mine."

There's another of those ''the fuck''? looks from Drex, even going so far as to swing his feet off his chair in order to do so. "Yer one weird chick," he concludes. It's only when she mentions a dragon that he makes a noise at the back of his throat. "Should've figured," he says, with a roll of eyes.

Moment by moment, Ellerey's becoming more 'human' instead of part of a dual mind, her concentration returning to the room, to Drex. When the sailor continues to cop his attitude, the tall woman finds herself leaning forward in her second chair, her brown eyes now openly irked. "What is *with* you? And who the Shell are you in the first place?!" Her voice is low, but intense.

Rolling to his feet, Drex tucks his bottle under an arm, oblivious to whatever struggle the weyrling's undergoing. "Aint no-one," he mutters, turning to slouch off -- not towards the living cavern, but the other direction.

Up she surges from the chair, not brooking any interference, Ellerey moving quickly after Drex. "You think avoiding this is going to help?" is noted to the slouching sailor from his tail. She's still keeping her voice low, but intense. "You were - *are* - purposely obnoxious and rude, acted like you owned the whole place, and you now want to tuck tail and forget about it?"

The sailor isn't exactly moving speedily, with his slouching walk, and he's easy enough to catch up to. Less easy is his reaction to her following him: "Just wanna drink somewhere quiet and not get pestered by no randy rider. Aint too much to ask, is it?" he's scowling at her, like that might help make her back off, continuing to move all the time.

Wait.. he's saying something that's *not* rude? Ellerey's blinking in surprise at Drex's words, still following him along, though he wants to be left alone. Frown. "I'm *not* randy." Stark statement, that. "Contrary to your belief, enough riders aren't balls of raging hormones all the time...or even half the time." Wait-wait, she's getting off track defending herself...and others. A deep breath to try and control her temper presages a tight, "You *know* you moved to a more-or-less public place to quietly drink, right?"

The noise Drex makes suggests he doesn't agree with her self-assessment, but doesn't care enough to voice it aloud, either. "Weren't no one there, before," he points out. Before ''her'' presumably. He's slouching his way towards the inner caverns, and then towards some of the tunnels, pausing at an intersection, glancing towards her. "Do you bother yer friends this much, or only people you hate?"

Like Ellerey cares about his agreement or not. "It's still public, so you should really expect that other people can and likely *will* show up at some time, sooner or later." Scowl. "If you want a private, quiet place to drink yourself into a stupor, try one of the small closets off the storage caverns, or have a rider ferry you up to one of the unused weyrs." Twit. "I only 'bother' those who have it coming." Stare. She's still tagging along with him. After a few moments for thought, "If you dislike riders and the Weyr so much, why are you here?" Beat. "If only for your girl... Well, you're making yourself *and* likely other people unhappy, with your crappy attitude."

"Where do you think I'm trying to go now?" Hint, hint. Drex is folding arms -- complete with that bottle -- across his chest. "Aint asking you to be my bestie. The fuck you care if you don't like me? Just turn around and walk the other way." His chin indicates the opposite direction of where he was trying to head.

"Who'd've thought: you actually have a quarter of a brain in that thick skull..." Ellerey mutters sourly back to Drex, glaring at him. His next words finally draw her up to her full height, make the woman step purposely in front of the sailor to try and stop him. "Because *you* are likely too fucking stupid to heed some decent advice, so I'll likely encounter your sorry ass again sometime in the future, no matter if I want to, or not. If you won't help yourself, then *I'm* going to try and save *myself* some potential, future problems...like running across you on a very bad day and maybe having to have the Healers wrap my knuckles after I punch you in that nasty mouth." So fuck you very much. Having had it up to >here< with the man, Ellerey finally sidesteps, and seeks to march back to the hearth again, disdaining even looking back at Drex.

"Yer one crazy chick," Drex reiterates, and it's with relief that he sees her turn away. He slinks down one of the tunnels, off to who-knows-where with his bottle, retreating from the merriment of a Weyr in celebration.
|Categories=Party Logs
}}

Logs:Divan Divides

2016-02-12T09:08:38Z

Alida: Some people just get under your skin, no matter what.

{{Log
|who=Drex, Ellerey. Ellerey{{!}}Virisceth
|what=During Turnover celebrations, Drex seeks privacy and drink, while Ellerey seeks 5 minutes of peace. Both get neither.
|where=HRW: Nighthearth
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=28
|month=13
|turn=29
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2016.02.11
|quote="That's my chair..."
|weather=Blizzard
|mentions=Farideh
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon drex oh no you didn't.gif, Icon ellerey ViriscethTakeover.JPG, Icon ellerey ViriscethProwling.JPG
|log=It's Turnover evening, and while the weather outside might be a bit foreboding, in the living caverns, the weyrfolk of High Reaches are celebrating the end of the Turn with gusto. It's likely as much the noise -- shouting, singing, dancing -- as the heat and press of far too many bodies that drives Drex out of the room after making the minimum appearance for his girl's sake. The nighthearth is practically deserted by comparison, the noise of the harper's music muffled, here, but still audible. The erstwhile sailor has claimed the prime couch in front of the hearth, stretched out full length, feet up on the arms of the couch. His far-too-nice outfit is already skewed, twisted out of obvious discomfort. There's a bottle of rum resting loosely on his chest, one arm thrown over his eyes. That might or might not be a snore -- it's difficult to tell over the ambient noise.

Ellerey, too, is a little burned out from all the celebration taking place, the former Bollian/migrant looking pleased to have escaped all the noise...and yet another offer to dance. Long legs move her smoothly along the coridoor towards the nighthearth and its relative peace, the brunette's skin flushed with exercise and some drink, one hand darting into a pants pocket to nab an overused, tatty kerchief so she can blot at the light perspiration upon forehead. Oh, ick; forget it. Too used. The nice sweater she wears is one of those 'Reachian cable knit affairs meant for the brutal part of the winters up here - dyed a very pale green - and it too sees a little action in place of the kerchief, a heavy sleeve swiped at her brow as she slows down...and notices some person on the couch beyond. Her motions are more quiet, careful so as to not wake up whoever that is...with the bottle of booze on his chest. Smirking a little at Drex, the woman moves towards one of the stuffed chairs not far away from him, looking to plop her butt down and enjoy a rest.

Something, some noise -- or maybe the stirring of air as she moves near -- jerks the sailor awake, one hand grasping for his belt, and missing whatever he expected to find there. The bottle of rum -- thankfully stoppered -- slides off his chest and to the ground with a solid ''thunk''. Drex scowls, immediately, and all that before he's even noticed Ellerey -- his gaze goes to her, belatedly, and with some remnant of that scowl still in place. "What're you doing?" the tone is pitched accusingly enough to suggest that she's clearly transgressing in some, as yet unspecified, way.

As she moves to settle her butt in said chair, Drex is snorting himself awake, and the young man's actions and words have Ellerey looking at him with mixed humor and assessment, her brown eyes noting that scowl, ears his accusation. In an almost drawl, her throaty alto notes dryly, "Apparently I'm looking at someone accusing me of doing wrong." Brows arch slightly. Is she incorrect?

"That's my chair," Drex says matter-of-factly, indicating with a tip of his chin the chair she's seating herself in. Nevermind he's got all of the couch. With a stifled yawn, he pushes himself to a seated position, casts around for his bottle, and finally locates it on the floor.

Glancing down at *the* chair, Ellerey looks back up again to Drex, and responds evenly, "I didn't see a name attached to it. Why bother, when you have the couch, anyway?" Her small amusement remains, shown in the vague upturn of one side of her mouth, but the knotless woman appears pretty much neutral about this whole encounter.

"Didn't see you look none, either," Drex comes back immediately. He doesn't seem aware of the woman's amusement, his obliviousness as much due to the fact that he's not looking at her as anything. He gives a half shrug -- his shoulder lifts but the gestures only half completed, "Saving it for someone." Someone ''else'' is the implication, as he unscrews the bottle and takes a generous hit of the liquid.

"You were stone asleep, so how would *you* know what I did?" Ellerey ripostes with less quiet humor, this time, her eyes narrowing just a tetch, the quirk of her mouth evening out to a natural line. Not upset yet, no, but neither is she as relaxed as when she entered. No matter, *she* is occupying the chair, now, and that Drex seems to want to claim yet another piece of furniture doesn't seem to matter to the weyrling, who only shrugs at his second set of words, and turns her attention to the fire.

"Weren't asleep," Drex counters, defensively, scowling returning. He glances at her, snorts, and says: "Don't say I didn't warn ya," with one of his half-shrugs, taking another generous gulp from his bottle.

There's a small roll of brown eyes for Drex's shot back at her, Elle shaking her dark head a couple of times, and trying to pointedly ignore the young man. Oh, hey; there's a half chunk of bread on a tray on the mantle, and with the peckishness of someone who ate dinner hours ago, the woman stands again, steps up to her quarry, and tears off a small hunk of the still softer stuff.

And while she stands, Drex does too -- but not out of any polite courtesy, no. He drags the chair she was recently occupying closer, before dropping back onto the couch -- except this time he's using the chair as a footrest.

As she's tearing the chunk of bread, she hears the motions behind her, and as Ellerey turns to witness Drex snatching her chair, she can't help but stare at him accusingly, with what looks like a schoolmarm's growing lack of patience with a school-aged child. Noted flatly, "You must have been the most obnoxious one in your class." Stepping away from the hearth, the greenrider moves closer to the sailor, inquiring facetiously of him, "Do you feel the need to appropriate anything near you?"

The sailor adjusts his posture until he's comfortable -- or seemingly so, at any rate. "Class?" Drex echoes, with a blankness that suggests he's no idea what she's implying. When Ellerey approaches him, there's a sly grin on his features: "Aye, what's it to you? Weren't yours, neither."

Elle is nothing but casual, nay, perhaps even sloppy of motion as she offers a grin to Drex and his obnoxious daftness, the woman slowly rounding the couch he's splayed upon, and managing to get a few of crumbs of her bread bouncing down onto him while doing such. Are there other comfy chairs around? Her gaze searches for such. During such, there's a cool delivery of, "You must've had a bad time of it, as a little. Probably few or no possessions, maybe the same with a place to grow up."

Of course there are ''other'' comfy chairs around. Perfectly good ones. Drex only wants ''this specific one'' that Ellerey already sat in, clearly. There's a scowl as she deliberately drops crumbs all over him, muttering, "Yer a sore loser, eh?" It's her latter phrase though, that gives him this curiously bemused sort of expression, clearly telegraphing, ''the fuck?'' through his expression even if the only noise he makes is another snort.

Well, she tried. Sharp needles of the mind are lost on those with mental hides like an armadillo. "Not really," is noted blandly, the woman smiling just a tetch at Drex's scowl, Elle moving over to appropriate one of those other chairs, her chunk of bread held firmly between teeth, by now. Aaaand...over towards him she drags the piece of furniture - wood squeaking a little over rocky floor - until the chair is placed only three feet away from the couch, facing it. It's at around a 25 degree angle to the other chair which houses Drex's feet. And, now taking up a seat in her second chair, Ellerey gets comfy, tucks into her bread...and stares in veiled amusement at the sailor. Staaaaare.

Drex doesn't seem much bothered by her rearranging of the furniture. After all, he defended what he claimed as 'his', and, victory achieved, he celebrates with another generous gulp from the bottle of rum, looking pleased. He doesn't seem too bothered by the woman's staring -- given who he is, and where he is -- he's probably used to it by now.

Interesting. She's finding out little bits about this obnoxious boy-man by the moment, and when Elle's tactics fail to draw a rise of any sort from Drex, she settles back into her chair, and contempates him somemore. After a few moments of eating bread, chewing, thinking, a slow smile begins to creep over the woman's features, first touching only one corner of mouth, then continuing to suffuse the rest of her face. It even manages to touch the fringes of her brown eyes, which never divert themselves from the sailor for any bit of time longer than it takes to blink. By the time she's done with her mouthful, her smirk is broad, lips trying not to twitch into what might be laughter.

"Aint gonna fuck ya, no matter how much you oggle me," Drex finally says. "I gotta girl."

Dragon> Skreeeee- screech. Twisting metal and rough inquiry touch her chosen. Elle is irked/curious/disgusted. Is Virisceth needed to help? Darkness oozes the potential for some nastiness. (To Ellerey from Virisceth)

You're also as full of yourself as you are ignorant and crude..." Ellerey notes with a small bounce to her voice, her grin now turning into a smirk. A faint bifurcation of her gaze soon has the young woman focusing on Drex again, noting with some humor, "I have a good solution for your problems. His name is T'rel, and he enjoys bending callow youths over a barrel for a good rodgering. Gets them quite relaxed and happy again."

Drex gives a nod, like he's heard ''that'' before. "Still aint gonna fuck ya," he adds, and then scowling, "Or let you watch. You weyrfolk are rife with all that kinky shit, aye?" He shakes his head, swallowing another mouthful of rum.

Dragon> Rarely are people in the Weyr quite *this* full of their own crudeness and dubious station... And it's even irritating to someone who's used to dealing with lots of different people. She'll be alright...if this TOOL will simply snap, apologize, or ignore her...like she tried to ignore him. Grrrr. (Ellerey to Virisceth)

Dragon> Well, she waited, listened, watched through Elle's senses, and - much like she was when a younger weyrling - Virisceth decides that *now* is the right time to strike/test...though this time, through her chosen's own mind and mouth. (Virisceth to Ellerey)

Hmm. No taking of the bait again. She though that one would work, as if often does on the holder and crafter boys. There's a faint look of curious, though smirky concession to this apparent fact in the woman's expression, her curly head shaking once, her bread nipped at once again. His own riposte doesn't even register on the greenrider's radar, Ellerey percolating over a few things in her mind - her twinned mind(s) - before she sighs gustily, notes, "With that obnoxious attitude of yours, I'm surprised your girl bothers to keep you around." Headshake. Small sad face. "Unless she has someone else on the side, of course." Blink, smile. "That would explain it: a smarter, kinder person, instead of a rude excuse for a human being, to make her happier when she can get away from you." Is there a strange little 'twist' to Ellerey's voice? Something that makes it hint at metal and darkness?

"Yeah, me too," Drex agrees, about his girl. "Suppose I must be somethin' in the sack, eh?" He's grinning now, even if it's his own words. "Guess you'll never know." Her latter words earn a sharp look, not so much suspicious as confused. He takes another swig from his bottle, tugging a hand over hair before he fixes his gaze on Ellerey and says, "I know people like you. Makes you feel better, aye, trying to tear apart some shitbag you'll never see again? Figure, you oughta just go get drink, or fuck someone or something." A beat, "Not me, obviously."

Dragon> Oh. Sweet. FARANTH! *No!* << VIRISCETH! >> Not for long months has Ellerey used the horrified and outraged heat of her mind to immediately castigate her green lifemate for doing what is so horrible to Elle: taking over her human. And to deliver pain, too...even if it was only to protect her. (Ellerey to Virisceth)

And, while Drex is nattering on about his prowess in bed, then peering at Ellerey in cofusion before he starts talking again, Elle is...stock still and looking far off into the distance. Drex has to have seen that 'look' before enough times: someone is communing with their dragon. And from the bloodless pallor that's crept upon the woman's features, the way that the rest of her bread tumbles from hand to lap to floor unnoticed, it's a total whopper of a communique. Her mouth is slightly open in a slightly aghast moue, and her throat works some. Give her a long handful of seconds, and she's finally going to start returning her consciousness to the room...wide eyes that contain both old fear and bright concern - and leashed anger - trained upon Drex.

Dragon> WHAT?!? She was trying to help, and this seemed the best fusion of both opinion and wish to react. Unlike when she was a baby, Virisceth now does not always need Ellerey's highest opinion of her, the green sullenly withdrawing after the mental lambasting from her human, cocooning herself in viscous darkness, refusing to deal with Elle, for now. Deal with it. (Virisceth to Ellerey)

There's no indication that Drex comprehends the meaning of that ''look''; he's rolling his eyes. "Yeah, real mature. Stopped playing the ''pretend they don't exist'' game when I was like this high," he holds his hand up briefly, before twisting back into a more comfortable place, where he can't see Ellerey's expression.

What-huh? Ellerey only manages to make out Drex's '...I was like this high' as she surfaces from the spat with her dragon. She still looks partially shocked, but is quickly regaining some ground, ashen skin now only pale, her mouth snapping shut, eyes locking down the fear and anger inside of her. Swallowing a few times to regain control of her voice, try to even it out, the tall woman murmurs in strained, low tones, "Please pardon me for whatever I... *we* just said last." Frown. "I...she..." Headshake. "That was only partially me." Now, she's mostly just embarrassed. Shiver. "I don't have to like you, nor you me." Flat, that. "But I don't condone my dragon inserting her own...opinion of you into mine."

There's another of those ''the fuck''? looks from Drex, even going so far as to swing his feet off his chair in order to do so. "Yer one weird chick," he concludes. It's only when she mentions a dragon that he makes a noise at the back of his throat. "Should've figured," he says, with a roll of eyes.

Moment by moment, Ellerey's becoming more 'human' instead of part of a dual mind, her concentration returning to the room, to Drex. When the sailor continues to cop his attitude, the tall woman finds herself leaning forward in her second chair, her brown eyes now openly irked. "What is *with* you? And who the Shell are you in the first place?!" Her voice is low, but intense.

Rolling to his feet, Drex tucks his bottle under an arm, oblivious to whatever struggle the weyrling's undergoing. "Aint no-one," he mutters, turning to slouch off -- not towards the living cavern, but the other direction.

Up she surges from the chair, not brooking any interference, Ellerey moving quickly after Drex. "You think avoiding this is going to help?" is noted to the slouching sailor from his tail. She's still keeping her voice low, but intense. "You were - *are* - purposely obnoxious and rude, acted like you owned the whole place, and you now want to tuck tail and forget about it?"

The sailor isn't exactly moving speedily, with his slouching walk, and he's easy enough to catch up to. Less easy is his reaction to her following him: "Just wanna drink somewhere quiet and not get pestered by no randy rider. Aint too much to ask, is it?" he's scowling at her, like that might help make her back off, continuing to move all the time.

Wait.. he's saying something that's *not* rude? Ellerey's blinking in surprise at Drex's words, still following him along, though he wants to be left alone. Frown. "I'm *not* randy." Stark statement, that. "Contrary to your belief, enough riders aren't balls of raging hormones all the time...or even half the time." Wait-wait, she's getting off track defending herself...and others. A deep breath to try and control her temper presages a tight, "You *know* you moved to a more-or-less public place to quietly drink, right?"

The noise Drex makes suggests he doesn't agree with her self-assessment, but doesn't care enough to voice it aloud, either. "Weren't no one there, before," he points out. Before ''her'' presumably. He's slouching his way towards the inner caverns, and then towards some of the tunnels, pausing at an intersection, glancing towards her. "Do you bother yer friends this much, or only people you hate?"

Like Ellerey cares about his agreement or not. "It's still public, so you should really expect that other people can and likely *will* show up at some time, sooner or later." Scowl. "If you want a private, quiet place to drink yourself into a stupor, try one of the small closets off the storage caverns, or have a rider ferry you up to one of the unused weyrs." Twit. "I only 'bother' those who have it coming." Stare. She's still tagging along with him. After a few moments for thought, "If you dislike riders and the Weyr so much, why are you here?" Beat. "If only for your girl... Well, you're making yourself *and* likely other people unhappy, with your crappy attitude."

"Where do you think I'm trying to go now?" Hint, hint. Drex is folding arms -- complete with that bottle -- across his chest. "Aint asking you to be my bestie. The fuck you care if you don't like me? Just turn around and walk the other way." His chin indicates the opposite direction of where he was trying to head.

"Who'd've thought: you actually have a quarter of a brain in that thick skull..." Ellerey mutters sourly back to Drex, glaring at him. His next words finally draw her up to her full height, make the woman step purposely in front of the sailor to try and stop him. "Because *you* are likely too fucking stupid to heed some decent advice, so I'll likely encounter your sorry ass again sometime in the future, no matter if I want to, or not. If you won't help yourself, then *I'm* going to try and save *myself* some potential, future problems...like running across you on a very bad day and maybe having to have the Healers wrap my knuckles after I punch you in that nasty mouth." So fuck you very much. Having had it up to >here< with the man, Ellerey finally sidesteps, and seeks to march back to the hearth again, disdaining even looking back at Drex.

"Yer one crazy chick," Drex reiterates, and it's with relief that he sees her turn away. He slinks down one of the tunnels, off to who-knows-where with his bottle, retreating from the merriment of a Weyr in celebration.
|Categories=Party Logs
}}

Alida

2016-02-12T02:04:29Z

Alida:

{{Profile
|picture=Alida.jpeg
|mother=Melinda
|father=Arvan
|siblings=None
|children=None
|friends=Jo, Edyis
|body=== Description ==

Aloof yet aware, disinterested yet keenly observant, this rather stoic young woman seems to radiate an aura of self-confidence, poised intent, and capability, her quiet gaze silently speaking of years of experience one of her relative age should not likely possess.

The straight and thick, yet fine white gold silk of her hair is gathered by a simple, deep green leather tie at nape into a tri-part braid which terminates at lower back. Slender brows of white-gold arch gently over deep-hued eyes, and smaller ears with tiny lobes - set flush against her head - taper gently up to the vaguest hints of peaks, while slightly sensual lips of palest rose are oft twitched into a mocking bit of a smirk, or thinned in some sort of vague displeasure. Skin is very fair, perfect companion to bewitching eyes and moon worshipping tresses.

The tests and travails of a rather difficult life tell in the cool frostfire behind her gaze, the subtle little lines at brow and corners of mouth which deepen at the pull of more negative emotions. There is strength and deep determination within this one - a challenge offered, or dark intent promised - when she looks upon others, her chin at times lifting just so, eyes flashing with hints of what lies within. The column of her fair throat is slender-seeming and arching, the pulse of her life thudding deeply within.

A long-sleeved, cream-colored, button-up shirt of cotton envelops Alida's torso, clinging modestly to curves and lines. Its neck is partially-opened and fanned out into a 'v', the arms crisply rolled up to three-quarters length, the fabric tucked perfectly into her pants. Her arms are whipcord firm, the play of strong muscles just evident until flexed - then bunching and flowing with rippling grace and power - trailing into small wrists and smallish hands with long, graceful fingers tipped with short, clean nails.

At her waist is buckled a belt of brown weyrhide, from which depends a handful of various sheathed knives and daggers, as well as some various-sized beltpouches at the front and back. Riding just a bit low, perfectly-tailored, medium-brown leather riding pants - gently worked in, but quite new - gently hug modestly curved hips and a round rear, tapering down to disappear within the heavier cover of her footware. Darker brown, laced boots of fine-grained, new leather perfectly mould to shapely, strong legs, reaching to upper calf - their smaller size denoting feet that are likewise such.

Upon her left shoulder drapes the knot of a High Reaches blue rider, the patch upon the opposite shoulder of her riding jacket indicating Glacier Wing.

{{wysk}}

== History ==
She's told very few people of her past, except for Jo, K'zin, and Edyis...and then only varying amounts of it. Summed up, Alida's grew up in a hold until she was 20, and her life was a tougher one (both by choice and by outside happenstance). She's (still) a guard...but she's disillusioned, mistrustful and (still) angry, full of jaded bitterness beyond her Turns from witnessing (and sometimes taking part in) lots of strife and ugliness. Apparently, both her parents are dead.

As the Turns have gone by since Impression, Alida has...mellowed, if you can call it that. A little. Mostly with her friends, really. She's not as weirded out by certain aspects of Weyr life as she used to be, and she's slowly learning that a certain amount of 'compromise' in some situations can go a long way. But not *too* much. For all of the above, Ilicaeth is eternally relieved.

== Relationships ==
From her own lips, Alida has only a friend or two back at Pars hold. That's fine with her. As for others:

Azaylia :Damn the circumstance that took you from me...from us all! You were the aunt I never had, a friend in so many circumstances..a gentle yet firm voice that never failed to reach me when all others aside from Ilicaeth couldn't. He loved Hraedhyth, too - and therefor you - in his dragon way, and we echoed each other in them. You will NEVER, EVER be replaced, nor will Hraedhyth.

Devaki : I know you're ambitious, calculating, smooth. I sense you could be ruthless - even cruel - given the 'proper' circumstances...as well as loyal to a select few. It does matter to me that you took the time, effort to try and set at least a few things straight back at Pars, but I don't fool myself into thinking that was only for my benefit.

Edyis: Business partner...and friend. You confuse me at times with some of your behavior, but...whatever. Total understanding of each other isn't important; *Loyalty* is. Can a non-guard even understand what loyalty means to *me*? Remember what I taught you, whether on purpose or by accident...ALL of it. Glad you ironed things out enough to function with Seaweed Brain. << I made sure they did, Alida. >>

Jaecar : Thank you, Farsights, for showing me how to trust a little again, in some ways...and for enough other firsts. Why is it that only after your loss I find myself admitting how much you meant to me? Rest in peace, Master of the Tops; I'll never look at the sea in the same way ever again.

Jo : You get the darker (and maybe some lighter) parts of me, my friend. You're feisty, fun...and a double-edged sword just can possibly cut 'friend' as well as foe, if they don't pay attention. I know what you were, and at least some of what you are. Who am I to judge, in this? As long as you don't cross certain unspoken lines around me, we're tight. I miss being Wingmates, but I understand the want (need) for more. You'll still always be Glacier, to me. Note: Ilicaeth really enjoys Tacuseth's company. This is a plus, in my book.

K'zin : I can almost stand to hear your name now, Turns after your 'betrayal,' without wanting to beat the crap out of you. Still don't trust you (and Ilicaeth still advises not to trust your dragon). Give me another decade, and maybe I'll be able to actually look at you without wanting to punch you...and maybe 25 where I'll be civil... Nah.

== RP Logs ==

{{NewLogs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} }}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}

{{Icons}}

== Miscellaneous ==

QUOTES: "Do not go gentle into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light." - Dylan Thomas; "There are moments which mark your life. Moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two parts: before this, and after this. Sometimes you can feel such a moment coming. That's the test, or so I tell myself. I tell myself that at times like that, strong people keep moving forward anyway, no matter what they're going to find." - John Hobbes; Alida is kind-of like an onion... Not only layers, but often foul on first, second, and third inspection... but so very needed and prized when simmered, mellowed out a little.

PLAY LIST:
'Behind the Mask' - Anarchy Club: http://tinyurl.com/orbehhj
'Hold On' - Kansas: http://tinyurl.com/nb2l5fk
'Bad Company' - Bad Company: http://tinyurl.com/q25npgx
'Queen of the Reich' - Queensryche: http://tinyurl.com/q7jedzx
'Cowboys from Hell' - Pantera: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7EQlfprV9E
'Live To Rise' - Soundgarden: http://tinyurl.com/z8gmk8p

PERSONALITY:
Keirsy Personality Type: ISTJ (The Duty Fulfiller) http://www.personalitypage.com/ISTJ.html

http://www.16personalities.com/istp-strengths-and-weaknesses

ISTP's Strengths are: Creative and Practical; Spontaneous and Rational; Know How to Prioritize; Great in a Crisis; Relaxed; Optimistic and Energetic.

ISTP's Weaknesses are: Stubborn; Insensitive; Private and Reserved; Easily Bored; Dislike Commitment; Risky Behavior.

ENNEAGRAM TYPES:
Dominant Type:
The Leader: http://www.9types.com/descr/?type=8

Secondary Types:
The Observer: http://www.9types.com/descr/?type=5 AND The Reformer: http://www.9types.com/descr/?type=1
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I am a: Neutral Half-Elf Ranger

http://www.wizards.com/dnd/class/images/banners/Ranger.jpg

http://www.wizards.com/dnd/article2.asp?x=dnd/dx20001222x

http://www.16personalities.com/istp-personality
}}
{{Character-Categories
|Categories=High Reaches, Pars Hold, Riders, Blueriders
}}
[[Category:Characters]]
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]
[[Category:Pars_Hold]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]
[[Category:Riders]]
[[Category:Blueriders]]

Logs talk:Self-Made Jerks

2016-02-05T22:29:43Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Self-Made Jerks]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Farideh (06:57, 5 February 2016 (PST)) said... ==

This is why we can't have nice things! I'm disowning both of you.
==Edyis (11:17, 5 February 2016 (PST)) said... ==

Pops popcorn and watches. MORE PLEASE!
==Alida (14:29, 5 February 2016 (PST)) said... ==

Hahahahaha! :D

Alida

2016-02-05T08:22:38Z

Alida:

{{Profile
|picture=Alida.jpeg
|mother=Melinda
|father=Arvan
|siblings=None
|children=None
|friends=Jo, Edyis, working towards Z'kiel
|body=== Description ==

Aloof yet aware, disinterested yet keenly observant, this rather stoic young woman seems to radiate an aura of self-confidence, poised intent, and capability, her quiet gaze silently speaking of years of experience one of her relative age should not likely possess.

The straight and thick, yet fine white gold silk of her hair is gathered by a simple, deep green leather tie at nape into a tri-part braid which terminates at lower back. Slender brows of white-gold arch gently over deep-hued eyes, and smaller ears with tiny lobes - set flush against her head - taper gently up to the vaguest hints of peaks, while slightly sensual lips of palest rose are oft twitched into a mocking bit of a smirk, or thinned in some sort of vague displeasure. Skin is very fair, perfect companion to bewitching eyes and moon worshipping tresses.

The tests and travails of a rather difficult life tell in the cool frostfire behind her gaze, the subtle little lines at brow and corners of mouth which deepen at the pull of more negative emotions. There is strength and deep determination within this one - a challenge offered, or dark intent promised - when she looks upon others, her chin at times lifting just so, eyes flashing with hints of what lies within. The column of her fair throat is slender-seeming and arching, the pulse of her life thudding deeply within.

A long-sleeved, cream-colored, button-up shirt of cotton envelops Alida's torso, clinging modestly to curves and lines. Its neck is partially-opened and fanned out into a 'v', the arms crisply rolled up to three-quarters length, the fabric tucked perfectly into her pants. Her arms are whipcord firm, the play of strong muscles just evident until flexed - then bunching and flowing with rippling grace and power - trailing into small wrists and smallish hands with long, graceful fingers tipped with short, clean nails.

At her waist is buckled a belt of brown weyrhide, from which depends a handful of various sheathed knives and daggers, as well as some various-sized beltpouches at the front and back. Riding just a bit low, perfectly-tailored, medium-brown leather riding pants - gently worked in, but quite new - gently hug modestly curved hips and a round rear, tapering down to disappear within the heavier cover of her footware. Darker brown, laced boots of fine-grained, new leather perfectly mould to shapely, strong legs, reaching to upper calf - their smaller size denoting feet that are likewise such.

Upon her left shoulder drapes the knot of a High Reaches blue rider, the patch upon the opposite shoulder of her riding jacket indicating Glacier Wing.

{{wysk}}

== History ==
She's told very few people of her past, except for Jo, K'zin, and Edyis...and then only varying amounts of it. Summed up, Alida's grew up in a hold until she was 20, and her life was a tougher one (both by choice and by outside happenstance). She's (still) a guard...but she's disillusioned, mistrustful and (still) angry, full of jaded bitterness beyond her Turns from witnessing (and sometimes taking part in) lots of strife and ugliness. Apparently, both her parents are dead.

As the Turns have gone by since Impression, Alida has...mellowed, if you can call it that. A little. Mostly with her friends, really. She's not as weirded out by certain aspects of Weyr life as she used to be, and she's slowly learning that a certain amount of 'compromise' in some situations can go a long way. But not *too* much. For all of the above, Ilicaeth is eternally relieved.

== Relationships ==
From her own lips, Alida has only a friend or two back at Pars hold. That's fine with her. As for others:

Azaylia :Damn the circumstance that took you from me...from us all! You were the aunt I never had, a friend in so many circumstances..a gentle yet firm voice that never failed to reach me when all others aside from Ilicaeth couldn't. He loved Hraedhyth, too - and therefor you - in his dragon way, and we echoed each other in them. You will NEVER, EVER be replaced, nor will Hraedhyth.

Devaki : I know you're ambitious, calculating, smooth. I sense you could be ruthless - even cruel - given the 'proper' circumstances...as well as loyal to a select few. It does matter to me that you took the time, effort to try and set at least a few things straight back at Pars, but I don't fool myself into thinking that was only for my benefit.

Edyis: Business partner...and friend. You confuse me at times with some of your behavior, but...whatever. Total understanding of each other isn't important; *Loyalty* is. Can a non-guard even understand what loyalty means to *me*? Remember what I taught you, whether on purpose or by accident...ALL of it. Glad you ironed things out enough to function with Seaweed Brain. << I made sure they did, Alida. >>

Jaecar : Thank you, Farsights, for showing me how to trust a little again, in some ways...and for enough other firsts. Why is it that only after your loss I find myself admitting how much you meant to me? Rest in peace, Master of the Tops; I'll never look at the sea in the same way ever again.

Jo : You get the darker (and maybe some lighter) parts of me, my friend. You're feisty, fun...and a double-edged sword just can possibly cut 'friend' as well as foe, if they don't pay attention. I know what you were, and at least some of what you are. Who am I to judge, in this? As long as you don't cross certain unspoken lines around me, we're tight. I miss being Wingmates, but I understand the want (need) for more. You'll still always be Glacier, to me. Note: Ilicaeth really enjoys Tacuseth's company. This is a plus, in my book.

K'zin : I can almost stand to hear your name now, Turns after your 'betrayal,' without wanting to beat the crap out of you. Still don't trust you (and Ilicaeth still advises not to trust your dragon). Give me another decade, and maybe I'll be able to actually look at you without wanting to punch you...and maybe 25 where I'll be civil... Nah.

== RP Logs ==

{{NewLogs | name = {{BASEPAGENAME}} }}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}

{{Icons}}

== Miscellaneous ==

QUOTES: "Do not go gentle into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light." - Dylan Thomas; "There are moments which mark your life. Moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two parts: before this, and after this. Sometimes you can feel such a moment coming. That's the test, or so I tell myself. I tell myself that at times like that, strong people keep moving forward anyway, no matter what they're going to find." - John Hobbes; Alida is kind-of like an onion... Not only layers, but often foul on first, second, and third inspection... but so very needed and prized when simmered, mellowed out a little.

PLAY LIST:
'Behind the Mask' - Anarchy Club: http://tinyurl.com/orbehhj
'Hold On' - Kansas: http://tinyurl.com/nb2l5fk
'Bad Company' - Bad Company: http://tinyurl.com/q25npgx
'Queen of the Reich' - Queensryche: http://tinyurl.com/q7jedzx
'Cowboys from Hell' - Pantera: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7EQlfprV9E

PERSONALITY:
Keirsy Personality Type: ISTJ (The Duty Fulfiller) http://www.personalitypage.com/ISTJ.html

http://www.16personalities.com/istp-strengths-and-weaknesses

ISTP's Strengths are: Creative and Practical; Spontaneous and Rational; Know How to Prioritize; Great in a Crisis; Relaxed; Optimistic and Energetic.

ISTP's Weaknesses are: Stubborn; Insensitive; Private and Reserved; Easily Bored; Dislike Commitment; Risky Behavior.

ENNEAGRAM TYPES:
Dominant Type:
The Leader: http://www.9types.com/descr/?type=8

Secondary Types:
The Observer: http://www.9types.com/descr/?type=5 AND The Reformer: http://www.9types.com/descr/?type=1
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I am a: Neutral Half-Elf Ranger

http://www.wizards.com/dnd/class/images/banners/Ranger.jpg

http://www.wizards.com/dnd/article2.asp?x=dnd/dx20001222x

http://www.16personalities.com/istp-personality
}}
{{Character-Categories
|Categories=High Reaches, Pars Hold, Riders, Blueriders
}}
[[Category:Characters]]
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]
[[Category:Pars_Hold]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]
[[Category:Riders]]
[[Category:Blueriders]]

Logs talk:Little Monster

2016-02-01T09:42:39Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Little Monster]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Alida (01:42, 1 February 2016 (PST)) said... ==

So, C'ris wants his kid to be like... Alida, too! Fierce, independent, loyal, fearless, (secretly) smart... Right? ;)

Logs talk:Pretend it didn't happen

2016-02-01T08:35:58Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Pretend it didn't happen]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Alida (00:35, 1 February 2016 (PST)) said... ==

Got to admit I sighed a bit in relief after reading this. ^^
==Alida (00:35, 1 February 2016 (PST)) said... ==

Got to admit I sighed a bit in relief after reading this. ^^

Logs talk:Pretend it didn't happen

2016-02-01T08:35:38Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

Logs talk:A Hairy Situation

2016-01-15T07:31:30Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:A Hairy Situation]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Alida (23:31, 14 January 2016 (PST)) said... ==

You're OLD, N'rov. Oooolllld. ^^

Logs talk:R'oan's Home

2016-01-10T07:37:04Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:R'oan's Home]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Alida (23:37, 9 January 2016 (PST)) said... ==

*sniffles* <3

Logs talk:Vacation

2016-01-04T09:46:20Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Vacation]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Alida (01:46, 4 January 2016 (PST)) said... ==

I like seeing these two interact...especially off-the-cuff.

Logs talk:Dangerous Lies

2016-01-04T00:22:34Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Dangerous Lies]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Alida (16:22, 3 January 2016 (PST)) said... ==

Uh ohhhhh....

Logs talk:Shared Sentiments

2016-01-03T10:37:30Z

Alida: Comment provided by Alida - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Shared Sentiments]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Alida (02:37, 3 January 2016 (PST)) said... ==

I really enjoy seeing these two interact. :)