Difference between revisions of "Logs:Yyth's Maiden Flight"

To Cadejoth, Yyth stretches out slowly, uncurling inch by slow inch until she can wind sineously into his mind. « Cadejoth? »

To Yyth, Cadejoth responds without words at first, a spark of delight - she /noticed/ me! - sent out as she winds her way through, a willing eagerness encouraging her presence with reverent anticipation. « Yes, Yyth? »

To Cadejoth, Yyth sighs with real feeling. « I'm so bored, » she whines, curling up with him, happily mingling her darkness with his light, sparks of delight like stars in the night. Of course she noticed him. How couldn't she? Just as he couldn't help but notice her.

To Yyth, Cadejoth projects, « I can help with that! » Enthusiasm burns within his mind, encouraging her with racing thoughts and further sparks between coiling chains. « You can talk to me. You can always talk to me. We can talk about you, if you like. »

To Cadejoth, Yyth purrs with satisfaction, /hums/ with it. Suddenly, a CRACK! sounds in the darkness. His sparks are pooled together and shot straight up into the sky where they explode apart in a shower of color. « You are so helpful, Cadejoth, » she praises, engulfing him in this sudden, artificial daylight.

That crack sends a shiver through Cadejoth, and his howling cry joins the sound as the sky explodes with colour. « Of course I am! » he enthuses, embracing the artificial daylight with intensity and delight. « And you are just beautiful. » (Cadejoth to Yyth)

To Cadejoth, Yyth watches this shiver with growing delight, raising a battle scream with his howl. « Of course I am! » she echoes him, preening mentally. She shifts the dynamic between them, embracing the closeness between them all the more. Ahh, Cadejoth, /her/ Cadejoth. The sparks crackle and tingle again.

To Yyth, Cadejoth knows she is beautiful, and won't repeat it again, but there it is, peeking through his thoughts, the soft, low sigh of a prospective suitor, lovesick and dreamy, despite the closeness already shared. /Yyth/. He twines his chains about her, drawing her in with an honest delight and purpose, the metallic slink enhanced by a quiet echo.

To Cadejoth, Yyth struggles to behave, but lingering there behind it all is the knowledge, the feeling, that she is just waiting to incorperate him, to subsume him and take over completely. But very little could break this pleasure between them. So it's with even more irritation than usually that she comments. « Mine has gotten himself lost. Again. »

To Yyth, Cadejoth is so lost within this sensation of Being Together that it takes him a moment to effectively parse what she's saying; the chains do not unwind, the rapid-fire heartbeat does not slow, but he asks, « What do you mean? »

To Cadejoth, Yyth wouldn't have let him if he tried, chains embedding themselves into flesh, corroding slowly in the toxic gases lurking deep in her blackness. She has him now, did he think she'd ever so willingly let him go? « He's been... distracted. »

To Yyth, Cadejoth projects, « Distracted. » He repeats the word, not so much as a result of being unsure about it, but perhaps, more likely, just to taste it, try it out, consider it. No, he's going nowhere: she has him, chained him in as much as he has her - more! - and so it goes. « He shouldn't be distracted. He should be focusing on you. »

To Cadejoth, Yyth shivers into his skin, slipping like ink through the passages of his mind, through the places that make him /him/. « Oh, he has been, » she purrs with delight. Her laughter is bell like and mocking when she says, « That is why he doesn't know where he is now. » As easily as she has Cadejoth, she holds P'ax as tightly, keeping his mind more on her than even the tasks in front of him.

To Yyth, Cadejoth's mind is open to her: there are no other thoughts here. True, there's the subtle, tiny chain that binds him irrevocably to K'del, and this is kept separate, holding tight and safe, but everything else? Hers, hers, hers. « That's his problem: he shouldn't be trying to do /anything/ else. Not now. »

To Cadejoth, Yyth rakes through it all with sharp talons, separating out the pieces that interest her to examine more closely. « Very true, » she agrees eagerly. « He should always pay so much attention to me. » She sighs. « But then he would forget to eat, and die, and he'd be less useful. »

There's not so much to see, right now: just Yyth and Yyth and more Yyth, and that restless, eager enthusiasm, the yearning for life and action and /everything/. And K'del. « I suppose so. That would be bad. But. Still. » (Cadejoth to Yyth)

« At least you are loyal, » she praises him, rewarding him with more glittering sparks of color. « He is not nearly as fun as you anyways. » (Yyth to Cadejoth)

The colour enthuses Cadejoth, who lets free another delighted howl, his mental self all but prancing about: ooh, shiny. « Bet he can be. Somtimes. When he wants to be. K'del can be. But you're loads of fun, too. » (Cadejoth to Yyth)

To Cadejoth, Yyth indulges his enthusiasm, popping off bright shots of green and red into the darkness reclaiming the edges of their shared vision. « He can be. When he does what I want, » she conceeds.

To Yyth, Cadejoth chases those sparks, like a dog chasing a ball, sheer delight pouring from him - ooh, ahh. « I thought so, » he enthuses, in response to her. « But he's allowed to do things he wants, too. Sometimes. Though I bet he's not always right. »

To Cadejoth, Yyth continues shooting up sparks, each one with a tiny scream of life before it fades away. « I should keep him on a tighter leash. He only gets in trouble when he does the things he wants. »

To Yyth, Cadejoth projects, « But... » /This/ he's less keen on. « He still should get to do things that make him happy, too. I tell K'del when I don't like him doing things, but I won't refuse to let him. »

To Cadejoth, Yyth brushes his concern away with mild impatience. « I make him happy. That's good enough. » She resumes snuggling into him, hoping to distract him and his free thinking ways.

To Yyth, Cadejoth's mind starts, as though he's about to argue - but he resists, and instead relaxes back into the snuggling. No arguments needed. « Happy is good, » he agrees.

« Are you happy? » Yyth prompts. She uncoils and recoils restlessly, something /tugging/ at her with increasing urgency. It is ignored for now, shut away tightly with other things she won't examine. « I am happy with you. » (Yyth to Cadejoth)

To Yyth, Cadejoth shares his happiness with sparks of colour, reflecting off the soft, metallic lines of his chains. It's a palpable, easy happiness. « Of course I am happy, » he tells her, earnestly, sliding past that tugging; if he's aware of it, he makes no comment.

To Cadejoth, Yyth accepts this happily, sinking down into a heavy-lidded reflection of this, of them, or her, him, each separate and then all together. She decides she likes it. « Good. »

And good it is, Cadejoth's mental implication seems to be. /Very good/. (Cadejoth to Yyth)

To Cadejoth, Yyth lets silence drift between them for a time, unconcerned and unconcerning, while the tug gets sharper and the sparks gradually become less green and more red until they run together into a river that pulses with each beat. « Soon. »

To Yyth, Cadejoth is not still, during that silence; his mind ebbs and flows, darting this way, seeking that way. He's aware of the changes in her, and her remark draws only a subtle understanding, an eagerness that pulses. « Yes, » he agrees.

Yyth is poses like the ultimate predator just inside the feeding grounds, her eyes wild already, watching the herdbeasts. She is absolutely still except for a twitching in the muscles of her flank, an eagerness to pounce that's only mutely contained. This is in direct contrast to her rider, who finally stumbles his way out of the cavern complex, blinking in the light and frowning in bewilderment at the sky.

Has Cadejoth been watching Yyth all day? Why, yes he has, his head leaning over the edge of his ledge, his tail all a-quiver with excitement. Not that he's visible from that height - that is, not until /now/, as in a sudden, sinuous movement, he takes to the air, gliding down towards the ground to land not far from the green, rumbling his greeting. There's no K'del in sight for the moment. Not yet.

There is a sudden movement from another of the upper weyrs as a ruddy brown sails downward toward the feeding pens. His rider emerges from the caverns, making a beeline for where the brown waits just outside the feeding pens. J'nel's face is intent, expression far-away, typical of a rider communicating with his dragon. The tall, taciturn man looks around, eyes falling on the green Yyth. He's a slender, tall man maybe in his late twenties.

Yyth swivels her head slowly to regard Cadejoth with one whirling, malevolent eye. Talons flex, ripping up turf beneath them. Her flank gives another twitching ripple. She lurches a step forward, hissing with intent at the herdbeasts and advancing like a demon on them.

Cadejoth is not cowed by Yyth's malevolent eye, nor by the arrival of /others/ with an interest in the green; his gaze shifts to consider them, though it isn't outright competition that fuels his movements. Even now that he's landed, he's in perpetual motion, the muscles of his thin, oddly coloured flanks rippling with every shift and swirl of his sinuous tail.

Brown Bridanth hunkers down and simply watches Yyth with whirling eyes. He doesn't move much, and seems almost nonchalant. But he's alert, and there's an excitement in the way the muscles in his forearms tauten and release.

P'ax looks around, snapping out of his confused fog into a new kind of confusion as more dragons begin to converge on the feeding grounds and still Yyth stalks onwards. Her snarling scream echoes around the bowl as she flings herself at the first victim. She spends more time ripping the poor beast to shreds rather than blooding it. P'ax turns a little green and begins swearing. Loudly.

In an instant, Cadejoth launches himself after Yyth, his hyperactivity at least allowing him the benefit of quick release. Hurtling down to the feeding grounds, he makes his kill without fanfare, and though his tail creeps towards Yyth (if not close enough to touch - and by a long way), his attention seems almost entirely focused upon the blooding process. There's still no sign of K'del though he must, surely, be well and truly aware of the state of play by now.

Trying out winter's winds above the Reaches as well as having ferried his small daughter over to stay with her grandmother for a couple of days, P'draig and Jekzith landed not that long ago a bit further along in the Bowl. There the former Reachian, former Fortian, now-Istan has been debriefing the little cluster of four senior weyrlings from Ista he has with him. It's M'ljen's bronze Riensoth who notices first and just as Paddy opens his mouth to say something, the young bronze goes leaping across the Bowl into the pens to join in the fray. P'draig blinks, turns to squint thattaway and then a moment later, has to step lively to pull of Jekzith's straps as the dragon starts sort of bouncing in place. Strap-free, the motley brown takes a headlong flying glide across the Bowl. Left behind, Paddy consoles Neraset who is chewing her lip and watching M'ljen, pale-faced.

D'on and Knoth could not present more of a contrast. The blue dragon slinks across the bowl, whirling eyes fixed on Yyth, intense and confident. His lanky rider jerks along at his side, twisting his hands together anxiously, though at middle-age he ought to be used to flights. "Well, she's. She's /loud/," he remarks to his dragon, and Knoth only rumbles. He approves. Leaving his rider behind with a few swift steps, the blue darts to the feeding grounds, prowling a few lengths away from Yyth. A panicked beast dashes by him and goes down, almost an afterthought to the wise old blue dragon.

Aware of the excitement building in people, Rimara follows a few people out into the bowl. She's not certain what's going on, and asks some random person in the crowd. "Mating flight?" she echoes, not really understanding what that means. Her eyes goes to the feeding pens, where a few dragons and more people seems to be standing. She watches a bronze leap into the pens and hears the green scream. So this is what was upsetting P'ax the other night. Rimara stands in the gathering crowd, watching.

Part of the weyrling group brought from Ista is blue Loth's K'mron. Even in the High Reaches's cold the pimply-faced, overweight boy still sweats profusely. Ever since he felt the stirrings of his blue he's been making off color comments to the others in his group. Doesn't matter the green or the rider, K'mron is ever happy for a flight since it's the only time he stands a chance of getting laid. Loth is enthusiastic about leaping into the fray and although he doesn't blood he does stare with longing at the green who does so. His reaction and his rider's is quite different than another blue and his rider from Ista. Javeri's swearing under her breath as Chadamalith stands stone still while his own straps come off. Even when they're gone he stays where he is. He's got no interest in the other males or even truly the female. But he watches the whole scene with interest from where he is at. Now is not the time to move. Javeri growls under her breath and glances at P'draig helplessly. "Shardit. He doesn't even like her." Looking at Neraset she tells the girl, not unkindly, "Just stay close so if he loses you're right there. Sheesh."

Bridanth joins the others in the feeding pens, selecting a beast and blooding it quickly. He's an old hand at these mating flights. He might not often win, but he's game for the try. His rider stands to one side, watching with a kind of glazed expression. That's what he gets for drowning his sorrows in a bottle; now he'll have to contend with his dragon's instincts as well as his own emotional turmoil.

Yyth can't be stopped, nor would she allow herself to be stopped, not by something as silly as P'ax's newly sick stomach. A second herdbeast goes down, but she only rips its head off before she gets bored with this game. The tug to take to the skies is finally too much to be ignored. Her head swivels, taking in everyone who has come, come here to admire /her/ and she hisses with satisfaction, flapping her wings a few times experimentally, teasingly. She lifts her throat, issuing a challenge that is as high and piercing as any other sound that comes from her throat. Only the bravest, the most eager could hope to catch her. None of them are worth her time. She leaves them behind in an instant, her clumsy takeoff only slowing her for an instant before she's angling for higher skies and cold drafts to carry her.

Far across the bowl, K'del finally emerges from the Snowasis, his unsteadiness - and the bottle in his hand - indication enough of what he's been up to that has kept him from arriving until such a late moment. Given the state of him, he's probably been drinking for some time already, and, as he finally approaches the collection of riders, he takes another swig from the bottle, wiping away the excess with the back of his hand. Blinking several times, he straightens his shoulders, then his expression: intensity reigns supreme. Meanwhile, as Yyth takes off, Cadejoth surges after her, not the fastest off the mark this time, but not the last, either. He lets out a triumphant, exuberant bellow of pure delight, hurtling in her wake.

"It'll be okay, and she's right," P'draig notes to Neraset as he coils up Jekzith's straps, nods towards the weyr typically used for these occasions. "It's just that way, Veri, M'ljen, K'mron," he says mildly and hangs back a little waiting on Chadamalith's rider. "Yeah, Jekzith either ... but ..." he trails off, takes a deep breath as his oddly colored brown digs in for blood and then hunkers down for a bit as Yyth shrieks so, then shaking his head too and fro, Jekzith bounces on up into the sky after her. Oh he's not worth her time, is he? Already jazzed by the idea of headlong flight, he throws himself right into it all, maple wings spread wide to catch an updraft and zoom after Yyth. It's all in the flying, right? Of course, his cheery attitude might just piss her off. A wingbeat or two behind Riensoth adopts a slower path upward, but his eyes are fixed on Yyth on tracking her ... hunting her maybe, through the sky. M'ljen just nods at Paddy and hunches his shoulders, shoots Neraset a helpless look and trudges.

D'on swallows heavily as the green takes to the skies, his blue right on her tail. He puts a hand on his head and thunks it a few times, trying to clear the daze, and when it does clear he's left blinking his wide eyes at Rimara. "Yes, I uhm. I think you should go somewhere else, while she. Probably." Giving up on the effort, he pushes away to find the green's rider. Knoth meanwhile is enjoying the front of the pack: experienced and quick, he got off fast and has no qualms about using it to full advantage. A weyrling dragon who doesn't know any better comes stealing up behind him, and gets whipped by Knoth's punishing tail.

Loth screeches his desire as K'mron stares at P'ax. Not a woman, but he's not so picky. A man like him can't /be/ picky. The blue launches himself after the green with more screeching and starts out in the middle of the group. Then there's Chadamalith who waits. He waits with nary a twitch until the others are in the air and then with a flurry of wings and talons he's launching himself up into the chase. His methods are not likely to endear him to the green because he flies back, watching, keeping pace, staying out of the herd. Not for him the screeching of others. Not for him the bursts of speed in the beginning. But he watches with eyes as intent as any others on her. And poor Javeri just nods to Paddy without really hearing him. Her head's tipped up and she watches even when she cannot see. Luckily she'll manage not to run into anything on her trek to the guest weyr because her eyes are on what she's seeing up there with him.

Bridanth has no interest in anything else. He blooded one beast, then another, and then he seems poised for action. No attention is paid to anything other than the beautiful green who is crying her passion to the world. He bugles his own serenade to her, honoring her loveliness with a crooning song. J'nel looks around the gathering with an almost panicked expression. He swallows, fixating on P'ax. Hands clench and unclench at his side; there's an almost visible shake to his body. Bridanth launches himself into the air, determined to win this beauty for himself. He's not the most graceful or speedy flier, but there's determination in his heart, and he intends to win Yyth with his passionate song.

You head up a set of shallow steps to the guest weyr.

Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

This broad ledge is dappled with bright light in the morning and commands a lovely view of the eastern end of the bowl, including the lake and the trees that dot the shoreline. Reached by a flight of stone steps that climb up from the bowl floor, the ledge is relatively low, an easy jump down to the ground; possibly its selection was a safety precaution, so anyone stumbling out the wrong way after a flight would be unlikely to break his or her neck. Within the weyr itself is a comfortably-sized dragon wallow, rarely used but swept clean nonetheless.

The cavern broadens as it stretches back away from the entrance to reveal a neatly made double-sized bed pushed up against the back wall, a press at its foot with an extra blanket folded on top of it and two chairs standing guard to either side of the hearth. A rectangular table lurks against the side wall, kept stocked with a pitcher of water and a basket of seasonal fruits. The weyr is well-lit and kept immaculately clean, the refreshing scents of citron-infused sweetsand mingling with the tang of herbs.

P'ax hunches his shoulders, bracing his body against some imaginary onslaught. He stuffs his fists into his pockets and heaves a weary sigh, heading for the Guest Weyr. He's too far gone to notice many of the people here, slowly absorbed and taken as Yyth climbs higher still, into the sky where the light still brushes the clouds. She sends back the sense of mocking for these others, these unworthy ones who would catch /her/, as if she could be catched. Will they fight for her, shed blood for her? Only the one who wants her the most could hope to catch her eye and possess her. She is not kind, not gentle, only a feral tease who takes to circling back now and again to be sure that all of her followers are with her even as her spiraling manuevers carry her ever upward, through the clouds and directly westward into the sun.

K'del gives P'ax a squinty-eyed glance as the greenrider begins to make for the guest weyr; he looks like he'd like to be anywhere but here, except for that determined set of his jaw. Fortified with another gulp from his bottle, which he holds close, he begins to shuffle after the greenrider, teetering slightly - then regathering his wits, and managing a more even gait. Cadejoth streamlines his body, but can't seem to control the eagerness that pulsates through his wingbeats, sending them uneven and scattered, but ultimately not uneffective. He lets out another roar - a howl, almost, desperate and aching, a dog to the moon. Does he want her? Oh /how much/ he wants her.

A little slower-paced than the others, P'draig comes up the steps into the guest weyr and pauses for a moment, then finds a spot of wall to lean against, though he's kind of keeping tabs on his weyrlings more than scoping out P'ax. Up in the sky, Riensoth is creeping along, using other dragons for cover and continuing to stalk Yyth through the skies. Jekzith is a lot more straightforward and seemingly almost distracted by the fact that oh-golly-gee-gosh there's some fast flying going on. Yyth's circling draws him upward out of the pack and he tries to make it a bit of a game: coming closer, but not too close. He dares he does, he dares. Even if there's no longing howls from the older brown.

Bridanth isn't a powerful dragon, but he's clever. And determined. He streaks skyward, an arrow flung to the heavens. He croons, the sound haunting and dulcet, a lure, not a demand. A plea for the lovely lady to look upon him, her devoted servant, with favor. These others, these crude others, cannot possibly love her the way /he/ can. Inside the guest weyr, J'nel's hands continue to clench and unclench, his expression intent as his eyes fall on P'ax. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. This isn't his preference, but this time is for Bridanth, not himself. He will not hold Bri back because of his own inhibitions. In the skies, Bridanth slips easily aside and around another brown, aiming himself for the beautiful Yyth. His song cries out to her, she has his heart, and he will be devoted to her beauty should she only give herself to him.

K'mron strides purposefully after poor P'ax. He's licking his lips and watching the greenrider from behind. He's got no time to spare for any of the other riders and when they make it into the guest weyr he's moving up to try to invade P'ax's space. He doesn't /say/ anything, but he's right there, sniffing at the greenrider like a dog. Loth screeches his ability back to Yyth. He barrels forward prepared to swipe at anything in his way without concern for who it might be. And Chadamalith does not move forward. He keeps up, paces the others, flies a little higher than anyone else he makes note of and watches. The big blue is always watching and waiting and he doesn't even reach out to Yyth to give her anything to work with. He is just here, waiting, ready to bring her home. Javeri's got her arms wrapped around herself as she lingers near the entrance. Her eyes are on the sky when they're not closed tightly. While the weyrling's lips move she doesn't say anything out loud. Whatever her words are they're for the blue up in the sky.

Knoth wasn't going to say anything, but some bronze starts roaring behind him and the blue puts real feeling into his answer snarl. This green is /mine/. To prove it, he puts on another burst of speed and pulls further ahead of the pack. The weyrlings aren't even closer to get tail-whipped now. But still Yyth is out of reach. His exertions bleed over to his rider, though, and D'on suddenly stumbles on the way up the stairs. "Agh!" he exclaims, arms flailing to regain balance to no avail. He goes down, rolling protectively to one side of the stairs so that no one has to step on him on their way up. A few seconds later, a mumble comes out of the huddled mass that is D'on: "I'm okay." Just in case anyone was wondering.

P'ax slumps into one of the chairs by the hearth, resting his arm across his eyes and seeming to zone out from the rest of it. His eyes do pass briefly over K'del before he sits down, and a spasm of guilt crumples his face before it's gone again. He can't, won't, think of that. Yyth is too high to be seen from the Bowl, leading her trail of bronze, brown, and blue like a demon draped in a lady's train. In the thinner, colder air, she is a goddess too terrible and lovely to contemplate. She lifts her head again, answering Cadejoth's longing howl and Knoth's snarl and Loth's screech with another scream of challenge. They know what they must to do have her. She won't settle for less. Jekzith's dartings earn hisses and warning snaps of her jaws. She's dying to take a chunk out of anyone who gets close enough to let her try. Chadamalith is dismissed easily. Her playmate, but never more. He doesn't want her, she doesn't want him, it is as simple as that. Bridanth is also ignored. She needs no servants today, only warriors with death on their breath and lust in their eyes.

K'del hangs back, near the weyr opening, with the obvious intention of being able to make a quick getaway, when the time comes. Though he turns his head towards the chill of the outdoors, his eyes keep sliding back towards P'ax, though they miss the moment when his glance passes in the bronzerider's direction. They part from the greenrider long enough to consider D'on, on the ground, but he says nothing; his gaze is glazed enough that it's as though he's only partially seeing anything - everything else is Cadejoth. And Yyth. Taking Yyth's scream as encouragement, Cadejoth speeds up, his wingbeats more desperate, more frenzied, and his enthusiasm redoubled. Such fun! And such a prize, too.

Fun. Yes. Flights are fun, even with Miss Noisy-McNoisy shrieking all the time and those nutters hollering back from within the pack. It doesn't matter much to Jekzith right now, he's too into the challenge that Yyth's thrown down. Warrior-with-death-on-breath may not be quite his mode, but he's definitely trying to give the green a run for her money. Can she do this? Can she do that? It's a dangerous game he's playing. Loth's getting all aggro and as he passes near Riensoth, the blue's clutchbrother has to dodge out of the way, letting out an ululating noise of irration. His tail reaches out to smack at Loth, meaning to swat at the blue and maybe use the momentum from it to propel him a little faster upward, since he's so durned big and hasn't gotten up to full speed yet.

Paddy, he actually pushes away from the wall to offer D'on a slightly unsteady hand up, even if his focus is starting to go.

Alas Loth is aware of the tail and he dodges it! He's not helping out anyone even a clutchsib. His rider's only chance at bedding someone lies with him and this lovely vicious green. He screeches again and makes another swipe when someone gets in his way. Who was that? Who cares? He pushes forward already feeling the strain in wings not quite full grown. But he pushes onward anyway! K'rom depends on him and so he must do this. K'mron knows this need as well and so he lurks close at hand. Ready to grab at P'ax should he get the chance. This is not slipping away from him. He wants this no matter who the person is in the chair. Chadamalith catches Yyth's desire for blood in his mind, but it doesn't pull him in. He's distant, watching, waiting. She may not want him, but that doesn't mean she won't have him. Let the others strain and reach and fight. He'll be there to pick up the pieces and let her make sense of the truth of it all when it's over. No wearing himself out in battle. Fight smarter, not harder. And Javeri just watches it all from the ground. Not the people in the weyr, but the sky. Her hand rests against the wall so she can lean against it and keep herself grounded enough to not be lost, but that thread of attachment to the earth is slim, slight, almost overwhelmed by the thread to the air overheard.

D'on picks himself up piece by piece, but he's still on hands and knees when P'draig approaches. He takes the hand up, and it's necessary but dangerous, because for a second it seems like the bluerider's about to go down again. This time, though, he manages, and there's just a tiny smile of victory for his improved balance the second time around. "Very, very nice of you," he says, apparently much more in possession of his senses than the others around him. Chalk it up to a sharp collision with the stairs bringing him back to his here and now. "Better go up I suppose." He bounds up the remaining few steps, which is no less dangerous but at least gets him out of there faster.

Some of them are /catching/ him. Knoth's next roar is an angry protest, not an answer to the green, as he swerves in front of a brown behind him. Gutsy move for a blue, but Knoth is playing for keeps.

Bridanth ignores most of the other dragons. He's older than many and thinks he's a lot more experienced. At least he knows a few of the tricks, and lets the younger dragons fight it out. Instead, he continues to croon his love song, but not continuously. He needs his breath for more important things, like speed. His wings thrust him upwards, following Yyth with dedication. He's not fancy, but he knows a few moves. One of which is to take three wing thrusts upwards, then do a kind of twisting barrel roll to by-pass Loth and encroach on Cadejoth. J'nel is sweating, now rubbing his palms on his sides. He needs a drink, but he doesn't dare leave the weyr. He slouches against a wall, his eyes roving around his rivals to finally land on P'ax. No, not his choice, but this is for Bridanth. He keeps telling himself that, over and over. And gives all his support to Bri, urging him onwards and upwards.

Yyth grows increasingly annoyed, turning desperate loops to get away from her persuers. She twists, turns, dips and regains altitude in a series of rapid maneuvers. She's too big to be fast, too clumsy to be fancy, and barely full grown herself, too stubborn to recognize the growing ache in her wings. She pushes harder, pushing for another burst of speed to break some of the slowest of the pack away. There's a tendril of desparation now to the taunting she continues to issue. Will any of them be worth her when she reaches her limit and falls?

K'del is beginning to look really quite green. He glances down at his bottle, obviously intending to take another sip, though he's surely had more than enough by now; the smell seems to turn him off completely, however, and his head turns away, expression wretched. He takes several long deep breathes, shutting his eyes. Cadejoth can't match Yyth's twists, turns and dips, but he's still there, towards the middle of the pack, and steadily gaining forward. /He/ isn't tired yet, nor has his enthusiasm flagged: he lets free another howl, etched with longing.

To Yyth, Cadejoth is here. Has always been here. /Will/ always be here. Those sparks gleam and glow, those chains reach, grinding against each other as his heart beats, beats, beats, pumping the ichor through his veins, the ichor that fuels his fight and push to be the one there when she's ready for him. Here. Me. Now.

To Cadejoth, Yyth stretches back with longing, he as threaded through her as she through him. She urges him forward, faster, a desperate screech for him. Don't let these others beat you. Catch me, Cadejoth!

So focused on the brown behind him, Knoth completely failed to notice a fellow blue gaining on the other side. Deciding that it's not to late to ram the contender off-course, he jams sideways into Loth. He was wrong, though: his haunch collides with the other dragon's shoulder, and momentum jerks him around and he finds himself twisted in front of his rival. It was the green he wanted in his clutches, but it's Loth he finds himself tangled up with. He looks away from Yyth for the first time so he can roar in Loth's face, as if it were his fault they collided.

Bridanth's song rises and falls with every note. It's filled with the promise of shared passion and longing, of aching misery when his love doesn't look at him, doesn't acknowledge him. He's steady, remaining in the midst of the pack, slightly ahead of some, slightly behind others. He conserves his energy, sending Yyth vague images of he and her together, twined around one another, loving each other under the stars. Sharing passion, sharing all the romance and tenderness and love they possess. There is no thought for anything or anyone else. All his rivals are pitiful and pathetic compared to him, and she---she is all that is beautiful epitomized. If she will but look his way, she will see this and know they are meant for one another. J'nel is openly gasping for breath, now, so caught up is he with Bridanth's chase. His eyes are glazed, his posture almost predatory. There is more than a little of his dragon in his head now.

Loth screeches again because she will be his. He pushes hard on juvenile wings that carry the weight of his desires as well as his riders. The green will be his. That's all that matters and forget the rest. Forget the ones that don't matter. He's so intent on the prize carried on by the need between him and K'mron that he doesn't even see Knoth. But he sure feels him when the older blue comes crashing into him. He did not want the blue any more than the blue wanted him, but here they are. His screech is loud and he swipes his talons at the older blue like he can still get away and can still catch her. Alas for him it's all over. The plight of those blues is seen by the other juvenile blue from Ista. Chadamalith sees it all from his spot out of the back. And for the first time he bothers to reach out to the green. To Yyth he simple shows the truth of it all. They may be fiercer, stronger, faster, larger, but he's here too and he knows what she needs. Because he sees the truth and knows it from snout to tail. Now he looks for his move. For the spot that will carry him past the others and give him the chance to catch her. When it's time he'll go. When it's time he'll know.

Briefly, Jekzith looks down, maybe recognizing a kindred spirit in the boundless energy department, he sends a short warbling salute Cadejoth's way before returning his attention to Yyth. Yeah, he can still keep up, he hasn't burnt it all of yet, he's saved some lift for her and he's still quasi-matching her moves. He may be long, but's lean and flexible and he takes advantage of that to the furthest extent possible, turning and twisting, using what he knows about the Weyr's winds though some of the memories are hazy at best, due to his rider's lack of focus. He's been avoiding getting tangled in the pack, up towards the top of things where he can use clear air and keep tabs on /her/ while enjoying every moment of the rush. Still near to Loth and Knoth, Riensoth gets jostled in all the wrangling and lets out a piercing shriek of his own as the two get wound up in each other, he has to zig far to the right to avoid a problem himself, which leaves him out in the open, exposed. Paddy nods once in answer to D'on. "Sure," he says a little vaguely and heads back to his corner of wall, passing by Javeri, fingers flex, reach then retreat without touching her. Rock. Rock is good and P'draig slumps against it closes his eyes and lets go.

There's a low, keening sound of amusement when the two blues entangle and fall away. Unworthy blues! And Yyth knows it when it goes. She knows when she hits the last fragment of her strength. When her wings spasm and lock and want no more of the sky. Her chasers know it too, she tells them with her desperate scream. Suddenly she's falling right through the heart of the pack, talons outstretched, ripping flesh, taking numbers as she goes. Even in defeat, she is not defeated. She snarls a threat. Who will catch her, brave the proximity of teeth and claws and her fury? Her she is, but only for the bravest and most cunning, the one who wants it, her, enough to risk it.

Despite the sudden alteration in the flight's course, as Yyth's wings lock and she begins to fall, Cadejoth returns Jekzith's warble with one of his own, howl-etched but so enthusiastic. He dives after the green, sweeping out of the way of several other dragons on his way, seeking to foil her wings with his own. He appears to have no care about the presence of talons and teeth: he wants her. He's coming. K'del's eyes flick open, and he gasps. His bottle gets tilted to his mouth again, and he swallows the burning whiskey, gagging at it, but still desperate: if he wins, he's going to need it. If he loses, he's still going to need it.

To Yyth, Cadejoth projects, « I'm coming! » His cry is aching, echoing, timed with his lunge towards the falling green. « Here. Find me. I'm yours! »

Loth's talons hit and leave rows of fine scratches on Knoth's neck, but retribution is near. But Knoth is full-grown, and it hurts a lot worse when he - finally untangled - springs free of the weyrling blue, using him as a launch pad the same way his clutch sib tried to earlier. Only Knoth succeeds, and when his foot pushes off, the claws dig in, leaving deeper gouges than the one on his neck. While that felt good, though, he's still impossibly out of the running to catch that tantalizing green. Giving her and her chasers one last, grudging look, he spins away and leaves Loth to look after himself. Back in the guest weyr, D'on's eyes look wider than ever, and he skims the room nervously to see who's getting upset on behalf of their injured dragon. So he knows who to cower away from, of course.

Having largely kept up with Yyth the whole time and being a little higher up in the pack, Jekzith has to be quick if he wants to actually close with Yyth. There's her fury to contend with though and it does make him hesitate for a fraction of a second, right before he commits. Wings stretch wide and he goes all streamlined, aiming to cut off the angle of the green's fall. There might be a little pain in it for him, but the motley brown steels himself against it: he can worry about keeping hold and folding her up in his embrace when he actually /has/ her. And it's still been a marvelous chase, it has, only now she's falling and it's time to lend support in spite of the risks, because lovely greens should never fall too far. Riensoth's in something of a bad position to reach for Yyth, far out on the pack's edges. In a sudden burst of determination though, he starts throwing his bulk around to slam others out of the way so he can be the one to reach her. See? See what he does /for her/?

And he knew when she'd go. Chadamalith who couldn't, wouldn't, allow himself to fall headlong into the chase like the others still knows when she goes. He's been watching her, learning her, readying himself for the final dive. Wings tuck in and he dives down dodging the others doing just that same thing. But he knows them too from watching and despite not knowing the weather he's learned enough of it to make good on his chase. Down he goes with no concern for teeth and claws. She's too pretty for him to worry about something so paltry as that. She thought he wasn't a concern and he aims to prove her wrong. K'mron is stumbling and his little piggy eyes light up with malice when he feels the pain of Loth. He looks around, looking for the one responsible, and he does notice D'on and his stumble outside leaves him ready to thank the other bluerider when he steps out with scathing words and maybe a sucker punch. Javeri's eyes finally look inside and she notices the other riders and most importantly P'ax. Despite feeling the rush of wind when Chadamalith dives that tries to draw her back outwards she watches the greenrider and waits.

Bridanth is pleased and triumphant to see the blue entanglement. She will be his, this beauty. He's sure of it. His powerful wings thrust him upwards, steadily now. As long as he has breath in his body, he will be there when she needs him. When her strength fails, and she falls, he will catch her and protect her. He will guide her safely downwards, his wings holding both of them aloft---and then he screams. A searing pain shudders through his left wing as he gives one last effort. The strained muscle throbs and Bridanth suddenly finds himself losing altitude, falling back. Seeing one after another dragon passing him. The pain of the wing is nothing compared to the pain in his heart. His love slips away, his sadness at the loss of this green beauty filling him to the brim. He catches himself on an updraft that steadies him, allows him to drift lower until he is settled, finally, on the ground. Inside the weyr, J'nel suddenly screams, grabbing his left shoulder. His eyes are wild, filled with tears as he drops into a chair, groaning. Within moments, he's up again, running from the weyr to the bowl, intent upon finding his lifemate and taking care of him.

Inside the weyr, P'ax cries out. In denial, in triumph? It's almost impossible to say. It's echoed eerily by Yyth, but her scream is full of only triumph, of pleasure. How could it be anyone else, this unlikely one who had her long before. It was /always/ him. Jekzith is too late, Chadamalith too soon, caught in the flurry of injured, falling, colliding dragons. Riensoth's battering ram technique sends dragons everywhere, and there in the heart of it, the one who always fought for her, who wanted her the most. Jekzith was close, Chadamalith closer. Cadejoth takes the prize, finding himself with a crashing, snapping, snarling Yyth to contend with. Lucky him.

When he misses Chadamalith takes it in stride. He spreads his wings to stop the fall and aims to land as close as he can to the weyr that houses Javeri right now. He knows. And she's right there when it's over already leaving the winner to his spot. The end is here and she just wants to get away. "Somewhere /sharding/ warm," she swears as she stumbles out to go /home/ already.

It's been a while since Jekzith got into a collision with anyone, but Riensoth's last desperate ploy sends another blue hurtling in his direction and it's messy, messy, messy up there for a bit, until the brown can win free and drop tiredly down to the Bowl. Whoa. Phew. Riensoth lets out another howl of defeat as Cadejoth winds around Yyth and gives a Reachian brown a nasty shove of his shoulder before he goes tumbling unceremoniously downward. M'ljen staggers outside into Neraset's waiting arms and if the pair disappear somewhere discreet, well hey, that's how it goes. P'draig snaps back into the here and now down in the weyr and lets out a very long breath, makes sure all of the weyrlings have gotten out and follows after, eyes fixed on a point midway down Javeri's back as she rushes to meet Chadamalith. And it's out he goes.

D'on gulps as K'mron passes by him, his gaze whizzing over the room now in search of protection. Well, there's a nice burly fellow... hunching his shoulders, D'on attempts to disappear behind the stronger man, shadowing him out of the weyr on his way back. Nothing to see here.

The bottle in K'del's hand slides through his fingers as Cadejoth makes contact with Yyth, and they begin to fall together, slowed to a glide as his wings outstretch and hold them up. It crashes to the floor, breaking, a small puddle of dark liquid pooling upon the floor, as K'del stumbles forward, eyes wide, gasping, his whole body suddenly shaking. Cadejoth's rumble is triumphant, a cry of YythYythYyth.

P'ax grips the chair arms too hard, pushes to hastily against them. The chair clatters to the floor when he stands. "I'm sorry," he whispers, voice too rough, too quiet, if K'del even hears him. His hands are already reaching out for the other young man, eyes dark, face blank.

But right now, K'del is not K'del: he is Cadejoth, far more than he is himself, and the power of that bond is enough to drive him forward, push his face into P'ax's, hungry and desperate. He smells like whiskey, and faintly of bile. In what follows, there are no reservations, no hesitations.

Yyth is not gentle, and neither is P'ax. Dark desires, dark delights. It would be fair to say that more than one piece of clothing was ripped in the process of coming off. P'ax's kisses are more teeth than mouth, frenzied and sharp, and they leave marks behind when all is said and done. It's some later, darker hour when he wakes up, body already tensed and wary for the fallout.

At that later, darker hour, K'del is still fast asleep - a drunken sleep, punctuated by snores that are unlike him, his body curled up, one leg twined about the greenrider's, his arms splayed this way and that. Though his face is buried in a pillow, his back is bare, the covers tangled elsewhere, bruise marks already visible upon his fair skin.

P'ax breaths a sigh of relief when he realizes K'del isn't going to immediately leap up and punch him in the face. He reaches out one careful finger to trace one of those bruises. He covers his face and groans unhappily.

Under the twin sensations of a finger upon his bare skin, and the sound of the groan, K'del stirs slightly, breathing a little sigh into his pillow, his back shifting as he repositions. The fact that this shifts his body closer to P'ax again is only further assistance to the waking up process - he suddenly stills again, and his breathing changes. Silence.

P'ax stiffens again, his own breathing cutting off. He doesn't dare move, his hands still splayed over his face. His stillness is so that the tremble that runs through his body is all the more pronounced when it comes.

K'del can obviously feel the tremble. His eyes open, blinking into the pillow, his head lifting just enough that he can take in a breath; then, it hesitates, waiting. Even the way his shoulders rest is awkward. He squeezes his eyes shut again, then swallows audibly. It's only a moment or two later, though it might feel like much longer, before he jerks upwards, rolling over to position his head over the edge of the bed so that he can vomit onto the floor. Good idea, that whiskey, really.

P'ax waits a few moments and then he begins to laugh. Too high, almost hysterical. He presses his fist to his mouth, but it can't quite stiffle the sound. "The Weyr staff is going to hate us," he finally manages to gasp out. "Milani.. oh, poor Milani."

It takes K'del a few goes to get it all out, wretching and hacking, his hair clinging damply to his forehead. When he's finally finished, he turns around, pale faced, to glower at P'ax. "Glad you think it's funny," he mumbles, not laughing. "Shells."

"I don't," P'ax continues to gasp, still shuddering with laughter. "I just laugh, sometimes, when I'm afraid." He rolls over, inching gingerly away from him. "You're going to kill me, but at least I'll die /looking/ happy." Not that he looks happy. Terrified, ill, those are good words.

K'del uses the back of his hand to wipe vomit from his mouth, grimacing at the taste still lingering on his tongue. "Why would I kill you?" he wants to know. He doesn't sound /pleased/ - he doesn't look it, either - but he doesn't look murderous, either. "It was a flight. It was unpleasant. Now it's over." His gaze shifts, sliding over the rumpled bedclothes, their abandoned, torn clothes on the floor. He grimaces.

P'ax sits up gingerly, avoiding a patch of sticky substance nobody should examine too closely. "Should look in a mirror before you rule it out," he says, sounding faintly guilty.

K'del's hand automatically lifts from his mouth to his cheeks, then back towards his lips, feeling what he might have missed the first time, given his current state of wellness. His expression goes pained - but that must hurt, because it clears again. "How bad does it look?" he wants to know, voice even enough. "Only intend to kill you if I'm scarred forever. Or Cadejoth."

P'ax scratches the back of his head, looking away. "You'll heal?" he offers, his voice full of dark hope. "Can't say much for the table..." It was in the way, after all, not his fault. His eyebrows knit and he reaches out to touch a purple crescent against K'del's shoulder. "I'm not actually sure how..." he parses words together, befuddled. "If you were on top of me..." Giving up, he lets the thought trail off.

A low nod is K'del's only response to the state of his face; his head turns to consider the wreckage. "They'll bill us for that, you know," he remarks, voice cool. He stiffens, under P'ax's touch, though he doesn't move away, staring determinedly towards the wall, particularly as the greenrider speaks. "Don't. Don't want to think about it. Doesn't matter; it's done." Now, he pulls away, crawling down the bed so as to avoid the mess he's made on the floor, and still get to his clothes.

P'ax nods mutely at first and finally says. "They'll bill me. I'll take care of it." He swings his legs off over his side of the bed but doesn't stand up just yet. He braces his hands on either side of him, curling his fingers over the lip of the mattress. "I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"Not just your fault," says K'del, as he picks his trousers out of the mess of clothes on the floor. They, at least, are in one piece; the same can't be said about his shirt. He doesn't answer the mumble for some time, too busy clothing himself, but once he's kneeling, pants and jacket on, and pulling on his shoes, he returns, mumbling towards the floor, "Stop it. Let's just forget the whole thing." He's still wobbling; he may have thrown up, but he's definitely not sober, yet.

"Mostly is. My green." The look P'ax shoots at K'del's back is so anguished it should be clear that he thinks the price of the table is a small step towards some imaginary debt owed to the bronzerider. "Sure," he agrees reluctantly. "Just forget it..." Sighing, he waits for K'del to finish dressing before he even attempts coming over to find his own clothes. "Can I help you up to your ledge?"

It's probably a good thing K'del can't see that look. His boots get put on, one by one, and then he stands, turning around so that he can face P'ax again. "Can't exactly say Cadejoth wasn't involved, either," he insists, voice kept low, and intense. "No, I'm fine. Can make my own way home." How he intends to do this, given Cadejoth is most definitely asleep, well, that remains to be seen.

P'ax takes the blanket with him when he stands, dragging it off the bed to wrap around his waist, as if modesty could matter now or help. "Doesn't matter." The words are clipped short, rough around the ends. "Alright then. I'll see you in drills." He begins gathering up his close, assessing the damage to each piece in turn with a downwards turn to his mouth.

"Right," agrees K'del. "In drills." He hesitates, as if there ought to be something else to say, but there isn't. In the end, he just nods once, and then turns away to go, leaving behind the remains of his shirt, not to mention his vomit, and that broken bottle. What a good night. While he disappears into the night, Cadejoth will remain with Yyth as long as she's there, utterly besotted.