Difference between revisions of "Logs:Isyath's Third Flight"

The weight of the heat surrounding her thoughts is almost oppressive, humidity reflecting her physical environment. She's only half-awake yet through the drifting light of her stars there's the occasional, reflected jangling note of chains, off-beat and a little discordant. (To Cadejoth from Isyath)

To Isyath, Cadejoth must be conscious of her half-awake state, because though his instinctual response would be, surely, to rattle his own chains, he reigns that in-- and contents himself, instead, with weaving his chains through her stars further and further, like decorations strung from a tree. They do still jangle: every so often, a metallic clank and tinkle, warm and growing warmer still.

To Cadejoth, Isyath twitches a little, to every jangle, though it doesn't rouse her entirely. The heat- the stillness- of the air presses around her, making the idea of moving difficult. She's quite content to remain here, in her Weyr - with no other queens nearby to challenge her ownership of Fort today.

Her Weyr. That's a lovely thought, isn't it? Cadejoth dwells on it for a moment, amidst the occasional rattle-and-clank. Perhaps he might come and visit her, in her Weyr, today. Perhaps, later, she'll feel up to flying. (It's all accompanied by the sudden sensation of flight: wind beneath wings, air hurtling past headknobs; perfection, all of it). (To Isyath from Cadejoth)

It /is/ a lovely thought, one that requires some moments of languid contemplation- at least until he distracts her with thoughts of flying. She rouses further, interested- alert all of a sudden. She'd love that /very/ much- it is her Weyr today, after all, and he is /more/ than welcome in her skies. (To Cadejoth from Isyath)

Well. In that case! Again, there's the sensation of flying, but this time it's more purposeful, a wordless 'we're on our way' that probably isn't completely accurate... presumably he needs to give his rider time to catch up, first. Still! (To Isyath from Cadejoth)

Southern Bowl, Fort Weyr

This end of the bowl is grassy and serene with the pretty blue of the lake nearby as a draw for residents, riders and dragons alike. Since the earthslide collapsed in the spring of turn 23, a dramatic view of the mountain slopes that circle the Weyr has opened up beyond the lake, where a faint misty haze often shimmers above the small waterfall.

The feeding grounds are fenced off to on the northeastern end of the lake, just a short walk from the weyrling barracks, the Weyrleader's complex, the hatching complex, living cavern, and infirmary.

Standing at the base of the waterfall, Ali has her arms outstretched to catch some of the mist that rises off the water at the base. The day /has/ been humid, but as much of the heat that's in the air is thanks to Isyath's-hard-to-ignore mood. The queen's moving, somewhat- stretching languidly on her distant ledge, though the dark-haired woman's paying her no mind right now.

The watchdragon acknowledges Cadejoth and his rider as they arrive, the bronze rather impatient in his answering call; indeed, he's impatient altogether, diving for the ground rather than circling sedately, his straps jangling around him as he comes to a far-less-than-graceful landing. "Whoa," mutters K'del, straightening against the impact, all the better to lift his head and glance around the bowl. "Okay, okay, give me a moment." He dismounts, unstrapping the bronze with quick, efficient movements.

He's seen her there before, has N'rov, and he's been steering clear. Even so, he finds his footsteps taking him more or less towards the lake, though he walks slowly at the base of the cliff right at the moment, his hands thrust into his shorts' pockets and a waistcoat flapping unbuttoned above his sleeveless shirt. His steps are tight, even tense, as though he's on a short leash. He's not going to miss that jangly bronze's landing, and when he spots it, his incipient grimace shades into a smirk.

N'rov isn't the only one that notices Cadejoth's arrival- he, moreso than Isyath's stirring- earns Ali's attention, the goldrider avidly watching him land. Speaking of impatience, Cadejoth's not the only one waiting for K'del's attention- the Fortian junior's steps carry her quickly over towards the 'Reachian wingsecond, a sense of joyful freedom in her stride that is quite unusual for the woman. Not to mention the fact that, the moment he's done with Cadejoth's straps, she gives K'del a welcoming hug.

That reaction of Ali's disappears the smirk, post-haste. N'rov stops. Beyond him, a cluster of /Fortian/ riders walk 'idly' towards the lake, one of them scratching under his arm, another catching his eye and getting a curt nod in reply. It's followed by the lift of his chin: yeah, over there.

"Al--" begins K'del, as he drops the bundle of leather and metal onto the ground. But then she's hugging him, and yes, he's surprised for a moment, but not so surprised he can't hug her back. He's a gentleman about it, though, drawing himself back after a few moments so that he can meet her gaze and say, cheerfully, "Hi, Ali. Seemed like we were wanted here. You're-- doing okay?" Over her shoulder, he can probably see that group of Fortian riders; his chin lifts.

Those Fortian riders: either Ali's unaware of them or deliberately ignoring them for now- both are just as likely. K'del might be a gentleman, but the goldrider's hands linger against his forearms after he draws back. "I'm /glad/ you're here," she says, vehemently, gaze distractedly flickering past him, to Isyath- who has finished stretching on her ledge. "Soon," she murmurs.

A flash of heat rides across the Weyr; if there were any other queens it would be an indication for them to leave, now. But there are no challengers to Isyath's claim of the skies today, and she launches upwards, languid path taking her towards the feeding grounds. (To Fort dragons and Cadejoth from Isyath)

Had the whole Weyr noticed there was a High Reachian cuckoo in the Fortian gold flight nest? Maybe they have now: there's Cadejoth, launching himself after the queen, a rattle and shake of mental chains marking out his place in this foreign Weyr. (To local dragons from Cadejoth)

The older bronze doesn't go unchallenged, in threes and fours that include Vhaeryth amid their number. And is that a Southerner, winging up from the bowl beyond the Fountain? /Vhaeryth's/ not languid but, for once, that bronze is biding his time. It's a slow pass, Isyath in his sights, though it'll soon be a wherry in his claws and jaws. (To local dragons from Vhaeryth)

There's no missing notice of the riders passing by or the murmuring of other riders not taking part in the seemingly soon presence in the golden Isyath. Tagging along after the initial group, E'ten is making his way towards the grouping that at least includes some of those involved. But it's still not close enough for him to do more than maybe a lifting of both brows. Not really surprised, just a touch curious.

More heat surges across the Weyr, as Isyath lands- right in the middle of the feeding grounds- her satiation of bloodlust, not to mention her growling struggle for /more/- audible and very difficult to ignore. (To local dragons from Isyath)

N'rov waits up for E'ten, and when he's near mutters, "Yeah, him again. Next thing you know, we'll have Maldoranth tottering around, Nazz...th clawing up half the place, it'll be like old times. Actually," and now he's eyeing departing Cadejoth with new speculation, like maybe Nazguwynth could after all be useful in some way.

Indeed. There's something in the area that doesn't match. It may be in the form of Cadejoth. With Adiulth's dropping off his own ledge, there's no mistaking the path he makes. One only needs to take note of Isyath's attentive glide. (To local dragons from Adiulth)

"Said I would be," answers K'del, his nod - and his expression - serious, meeting Ali's gaze squarely. There's a faint twitch in his expression when, behind him, Cadejoth throws himself into the air once more, that pale, skinny form highlighted against the sky for the time it takes him to reach the feeding grounds. At least the bronzerider is paying no attention to the Fortian riders, now: just Ali. "Try not to break my promises. Here we go, I guess."

Isyath is swift in her dispatching of animals- a second and third is quickly taken and disposed of, all the while Ali's grip on K'del's arm tightening as her expression focuses distantly. For now, she's far too distracted to notice the press of riders approaching- all her attention on her golden lifemate as she discards her latest meal and surges skywards, earning a sharp exhale of breath of Ali. Those that are late to the party might miss out on blooding, but Isyath's not waiting- surging skywards through the humid air of Fort.

All late to the party, Nyna has /clearly/ come from the cool waters of the lake, though clothing remains fairly dry but clinging in just the right ways. Ryoth? Ditched his rider long ago to continue stalkerish habits and chase down after Isyath. Late, yes, but late is the effective grand entrance. Panting, with fingers run through her hair, Nyna may be late, but she's here! Ryoth missed the blooding -- all the better to keep his handsome self from losing his charm -- but to the skies he goes!

It's unmistakable, and impossible to ignore even if the feeding grounds /aren't/ being watched- Isyath's heat washes over the Weyr as she surges skywards, leading the dragons up, up and away into the humid Fortian skies. (To local dragons from Isyath)

To local dragons, Cadejoth is mere wingbeats behind Isyath as she surges skywards-- so close that it's not impossible he could have reached out and caught her then and there, if only he'd tried a little harder (but what would the point in that be? The fun? No fun at all). He doesn't care what the other males think: he's happy to share, to them and to everyone, his pure and unadulterated joy.

E'ten doesn't even quirk a reaction as he spots Adiulth landing in the feeding grounds. Not 'late' but he's only with a couple of the herdbeasts. Long enough to drink and throw, as the case may be. Only this time, he's not targeting anyone in particular before launching up after Isyath. If the no nonsense appearance is striking E'ten any differently he pauses to murmur to N'rov, "You don't think his odds are that good, do you?" As to uses of other bronzes, he snorts. "Try to keep my work as minimal as possible afterwards?"

Rising with lashing tale and steady wings, Ryoth saves the usual vitriol -- thank Faranth -- for the brainspace to be able to chase after the queen. Anesthetized, numbing sensations drift away from the brown, self-medicating as you will. Though tingling is accompanied by electric jolts of /want/ that might be aimed at popping the joy bubbles the INTERLOPER is giving off. (To local dragons from Ryoth)

K'del reaches out a hand to place it atop Ali's, the one that's holding on to his arm, squeezing once. "Shall we go inside?" he wonders, quietly, every part of his attention focused on the goldrider-- and on his own dragon, and his dragon's golden prize. His stance has turned proprietary; he's got her, no one else needs concern themselves.

Skyward. Vhaeryth's /up/ for that, flinging himself into the sky with a massive leap and stretch and /lift/ of glassy wings, growling at one of the older dragons who's /just/ /too/ /slow/. He shears off the main track, hunting for the height and space Isyath's been known to roam, while N'rov abruptly swallows. Swears. Stares: Ali, still not /close/, not until quick footsteps swing him in her direction. He only has time to say to E'ten first, "What do /you/ think? Look at her." He has, and by comparison, his wingmate's latter comment only earns a growled mutter. K'del gets a cool and narrow look, some of the riders he passes along the way a bump of fists. Another step, and he'd speak... but another glance at Ali's face and, even with her hand on the other man's arm, his hand on hers, he doesn't. This time. His eyes are for her. Pick a weyr, anywhere.

/Could/ Cadejoth have caught her? Vhaeryth doesn't beg to differ, he just /does/, the breadth of his wings expanding in the growith heat. Joy, perhaps. Challenge, definitely. (To local dragons from Vhaeryth)

The urging of the High Reaches bronzerider is enough to get Ali moving, stirring her from her skyward-gaze at the swiftly disappearing dragons. "Yes-" it's distant agreement; she's struggling to focus. Her leaning-preference into K'del is blindly obvious, and causing no small amount of muttering from those gathered; one of Flint's bronzerider's jostles in to try and separate them as they make for the ground weyr. Isyath's preferences, meanwhile, are well known- her love of the skies, of height, of her yearning to reach the too-distant stars obvious- she surges upwards, straight as an arrow, fighting the weight of a humid sky, bursting through the clouds to the free air beyond, ignorant of her suitors. Her joy radiates outwards- an endless flight awaits her.

To local dragons, Adiulth is not about to let the sheer speed of the take off bother him. The presence of Cadejoth ahead of him is a minor annoyance. Between him and Isyath, but he can rely on the speed that he has to bear in addition to the difference in size. The direct approach worked once, but he needs to see how she veers - this time. It doesn't change the the heat that rolls over his hide nor the fact he's not about to think anyone else can catch Isyath. Like that foreign bronze.

The others are all eyed as competition, influenced from Ryoth no doubt, though Nyna's in no shape to curb his tongue right now. The brown's main disadvantage here is lack of experience (and size, of course) to his male counterparts, though he gives it the good ol' college try: using less-than-savory tactics if necessary! An attempted nip here, crash there... it's all good, right? Nyna is a little unsure of what to do. Her one experience with flights was Ebeny and Laurienth which was a different kettle of fish altogether. But gamely, she's darting after the bronze riders and the goldrider. "Ali..." Plea? Request? Hard to tell.

Ryoth shares not a little bit of the local annoyance for the /interloper/. Zings, pops; electricity surges. Pins and needles tingling flesh buffeted by wind as the newly-graduated brown chases for all he's worth. (To local dragons from Ryoth)

He so could have. Granted, he's a little further back from her now, but part of that is strategy: Cadejoth is letting her have her joy, letting her seek her stars. Her joy inflames his-- his chains are alive with heat and sparks of electric current that are likely fueled by the competition as much as the reward at the end of it. His joy is impossible to deflate: this chase, this flight, it's as much a prize, for him, as Isyath would (will!) be. (To local dragons from Cadejoth)

"Fair enough." That much to N'rov. E'ten might concede that actions are worth a thousand words, but that doesn't matter. Not when he's following after Ali with a determined step. He won't even think of intervening. That, he'll leave to Adiulth.

K'del's height give him an advantage over most people who might like to separate him from the goldrider-- and, c'mon, it's not like he's being anything less than a gentleman, even now, as he pushes gamely past all obstacles to escort Ali on. It says something, that he knows so well where the flight cave is. Above, tendrils of cloud give Cadejoth's wings a halo for a moment or two, as he bursts free of them in his pursuit. This... this is fun.

The Weyr may shrink beneath them, like so much dark crumpled paper instead of stone, but Vhaeryth had tossed it free of his attention long ago. Moments ago. Long ago. It happens that fast, that seductive speed, though surely any dizziness is from Isyath rather than altitude alone. He knows this place, these winds. He also... /there/, cuts off a different bronze, a swerve that's hard and fast and sends that other one right out of it, threatening to tumble others in his wake. /There's/ joy but a dark joy, not only in flight itself but in the challenge of it, sharp and bright and increasingly honed by every wingbeat's strop of a stroke. (To local dragons from Vhaeryth)

There's an abrupt, savage satisfaction for a moment from the queen; pleased that /that one/ has been deemed unworthy- even if it was at the hands of another of her suitors. It's almost- almost- as strong as her uninhibited joy at the freedom of the skies. Still, no fancy moves, no dives, no teasing taunting of her chases: Isyath carves up and up, long past the point where any thermals might help those behind her: it's pure determination that drives them on, now. (To local dragons from Isyath)

Inside the Weyr, as everyone moves in, there's more jostling- broken, unaccountably, by a delighted laugh from Ali as the first rider departs the flight cave, as if it's some sort of victory on her part. Her hold on K'del's arm- and the Reachian's push past those trying to jostle them- sees them safely into the cave, the goldrider exhaling a heady sigh, focus somewhere distant.

N'rov had shouldered his way in, but he's not happy about it, expression flat dark and eyes sharply bright. It's not the setting, for once, it's the low mutter from man to man as he runs into those he knows, the sudden step that speaks of what else he'd like to say. It's the swing of his glance at Cadejoth's rider, not resigned but somehow fatalistic as Isyath reaches greater and greater heights. There's a chair, but he doesn't sit at it, only clenches his hand around its back the way another man might around a woman's shoulder. His head has bowed. It's only Ali's laugh that makes him suddenly, viscerally, /grin/.

Nyna stands off to the side -- present, there, and possibly trying to use the crowd to her advantage. Hey, the more the merrier right? Some of the bronzriders are appreciated. Hands-on appreciated as the girl tries to wiggle her way closer to Ali.

Ryoth's aerial acrobatics serve him well as does his smaller size, insofar as it's easier to push a smaller mass upwards to the clouds. However, stamina does /not/ compare to those around, and when he veers off into the path of another, an entanglement occurs. With a bellow and sarcastic, « You /idiot/! » yelled out to whomever tangled in his way, the brown's focus is lost. Advantage diminishes and back of the bus does Ryoth go. No way he'll win at this point, /but/ he's not going to give /up/ either. (To local dragons from Ryoth)

Higher and higher they go. It's freeing to be this high in the skies, but at the same time the field is getting smaller. Either by conflict or not having enough stamina to continue. Rather than yell at the other dragons, Adulth's focused on enjoying the path being trailblazed. Very much so as he continues to fly. Onwards, ever higher. (To local dragons from Adiulth)

K'del's expression is far too serious to imply that he is enjoying all of this, though as Ali laughs, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth for a second or two. He stays where he is: she can push him away if she wants to, now, or pull her hand off his arm, but as long as she's content to have him there, he'll stay-- the lady has her preference, gentlemen. Do you really want to disappoint the lady?

Up and up and up. The air is sharp and thin and yet Vhaeryth downs it gladly in great lungfuls to fuel his flight. Perhaps he should only look to the queen, but one considering eye's bent to those who struggle along with him, to see just what good a lunge could do. Isyath did so like that other's fall, after all, and if he can prevent it from being his own /down/fall... He attempts it, a jolting reach that would steal the other's precious wind. Only /then/ he finds just how much harder it is, without those thermals, and he needs every inch. The other might slow like Ryoth does, but Vhaeryth attends to him as little as he had the mountains beneath them, only focused on recovering some of that stretching rhythm that taps into the growing sense of /soon/. Now he looks to Isyath again, except now he's not only watching but watching out. She might turn. She might plunge. And, if will alone's enough, he'll /be/ there. (To local dragons from Vhaeryth)

At some point, while Ryoth tries, Nyna does so as well, but blends into the crowd. Perhaps sneaking off with someone as Ryoth's frustration gets him out of the flight earlier than even he expected. So she exits! Stage, left!

Higher. Faster. Okay-- stronger, sure, why not. It doesn't really matter: the sky's the limit, and Cadejoth is all about pushing those limits. Higher, Isyath. To the stars, and he'll follow the whole way. Wouldn't it be nice to have not-inbred babies, this time? (To local dragons from Cadejoth)

Far different from his first failed attempt at this dance, Maldoranth's approach has been circumspect and gradual. Rather than forcing his way into small rifts, he has waited for chances, sliding into spots vacated by others, ducking away when some fall back, surging ahead with others flag. And so, just now, he's in the race. There are no flailing talons, no panicked spars. The young bronze is just in it for the chase now. (To local dragons from Maldoranth)

Even Isyath cannot fly aloft forever, and while the blood has sustained her long and high, eventually even she must tire. The faltering of her wingbeats is a sign that no doubt will urge her suitors to surge forward, but too, it spurns the queen that much harder to attempt to /escape/. If only she could outfly them for /just/ a bit longer- she could reach the stars themselves. (Inbred? As if dragons care about such things at a time like this. Although...) (To local dragons from Isyath)

N'rad has been slowly making a press into the crowd, about as gradually as Maldoranth has made his own press above. Familiar and unfamiliar faces alike are regarded with wide, pale blue eyes as the blond tries desperately to get his bearings. His 'mate might have a better time of things this time around, but the rider? Not so much. In the end, he's still mostly on the fringe, just trying to hold on to reality.

Ali, apparently, isn't fond of those pushing in closer, and this, in turn makes her press in closer to K'del, like he can protect her from the others reaching out for her. The fact that he's a Reachian rider and probably the cause of displeasure within the room is too far beyond her contemplation now- Isyath's starting to tire, and she can feel it- muttering something under her breath that sounds like a plea.

"We've got you," that's K'del, wrapping his arm around Ali, now, possessive and protective. Above, Cadejoth is executing his last push-- throwing himself in her direction so that, if all goes to plan, he can be there when it really is time to fall. He, too, is largely oblivious to everyone else: this is about him and her, clearly. The rest of you... eh. Too bad.

Here. To him. Cadejoth's right here-- all you need to do is drop! (To Isyath from Cadejoth)

It's half as though N'rov can hear Ali's mutter, even through the rise and fall of others' increasingly labored breathing, amid other mutters and sighs and footsteps, going. Possibly even through... was that an outcry from beyond the weyr? Maybe someone otherwise unlucky's gotten just that lucky, just that publicly and just that soon. Not unlike Maldoranth in his own way, he makes his way closer step by step, but he's not above opening up space with a shoulder and the distinct attitude that he wants to get by /just that much/. It won't be long.

Frustration breaks through Maldoranth's thus far methodical approach, as inexperience trips him, almost literally. A bump from one bronze, then a flick from another has him losing ground in a hurry. Realizing there is simply no time to regain any hope, his wings snap, sending him down several dragonlengths before dark wings take him off toward the distance. (To local dragons from Maldoranth)

As if. But who thinks that? Dragon or rider? As for E'ten, he edges closer with a glance towards N'rad. He's here? A note for later as he steps into another small opening that's just wide enough. The sounds from outside the weyr are enough to register in some distant corner of his mind.

For the few minutes N'rad was in the mix, he was in it all the way... and maybe a little mixed up, too. His dragon's retreat, however, brings a small shred of relief as the young rider slumps slightly, mind slowly clearing. Knowing he has no place here, N'rad fades back to the edges the same way he appeared moments earlier.

Vhaeryth too may tire, but he'll deny it, deny even the burn in his veins because /now/ it matters that much more. It won't be long. This time, it's his sheer strength of will that presses his long-winged body onward. If it makes some doubt even if only for a moment, so much the better... but he doesn't take more notice of them, not when he's been /watching/ Isyath with as many senses as he can. Others fall. He persists. He's been watching and watching and... then there's a choice. Adiulth's flown her before. Cadejoth's on the loose. But with the height he's won... he /calculates/, and then abruptly lunges, the better to try and intercept Isyath before she reaches the foreign bronze or he reaches her. If they collide, they'll both see stars. (To local dragons from Vhaeryth)

Those that know Isyath's yearning for the skies probably have the advantage of suspecting she might never dive to tease her chasers- that the height is more important than that, this time. Today, the skies are out of her reach, and when she falters- and starts to fall- it is into Vhaeryth's embrace that she falls. (To local dragons from Isyath)

N'rad is able to fully disengage from the nearby goings-on now that Maldoranth is far removed from the chase. The young rider regards the others for one last moment, an odd expression on his face that most closely resembles disappointed confusion (granted, not an unfamiliar expression for him). Then, perhaps eager for something to dull the senses, he removes himself entirely and disappears to some other area of the Weyr.

There's a strangled noise from Ali, somewhere between denial and frustration- coupled with a sudden /need/. She's probably not even that aware who she's clinging to at this point, but he's warm and there and- well, she's totally going to take advantage of K'del, pressing her lips against his.

K'del -- is no longer going to be a gentleman. Maybe he can't. He's got to be conscious of Cadejoth's sudden loss, but Ali is warm and she's kissing him and-- can you blame him for kissing back? Really? Or for suddenly wrapping his arms around her, hands taking advantage of proximity to touch. He's luckier than Cadejoth, who overshoots his mark and ends up hurtling back towards the ground quite alone.

Never has K'del looked quite so much like a busty, brassy, overreaching baker who inconveniently happens to make delectable muffins, and at this rate, it won't just be Reesa who gets a mess on her clothes. "The /fuck/?" This time, it's even more offended and, unhampered by a goldrider in his arms (/yet/), N'rov knows what to do. It's a matter of reaching for K'del's shoulder with one hand, the better to yank him back and send a fist crashing towards his face. Yes, he's taking what flight-wild care he can to not hit Ali. And yes, if he didn't, Hematite would never, ever, /ever/ let him live it down.

It's not him. It's enough for E'ten to accept that realization as Adiulth returns to the ground, to be met but first there's another immediate problem. Ali and K'del. That's just not the exact right pairing to his eyes, coming out of the fog in the moment that his friend and wingrider reaches out to land a punch against K'del's face. Before there can be anything to follow, he's reaching out for the Reaches' bronzerider. Rather, his arm to get him out of the weyr or place enough distance so that he can come back to his senses. "We need to get out of here," he states, not even posing it as a question.

Ali's just starting to enjoy this particular outcome when N'rov yanks K'del away. Wait, what? She just got denied, and that's /not/ acceptable. There's a strangled noise from the goldrider, and then she's /flinging/ herself at N'rov to push him back, /away/ with an understated growl of frustration.

There's a dull cracking sound commensurate with K'del's nose breaking (thanks for that, N'rov!), but given all the flight hormones - and the sudden adrenaline rush - it's not enough to snap him back to reality. Nor is E'ten's attempt at manhandling; the High Reachian bronzerider reacts wildly to that, attempting to bodily shove the Fortian bronzerider out of his way.

Hey, look, goldrider! N'rov doesn't even have to work for it! ...except that it turns out he really does, the force of his follow-through unbalanced by the angle of her shove and sending him staggering to the side and deeper into the weyr. Still, there's no way he's not hauling Ali with him if he has anything to say about it, and if luck is with them, they'll crashland on the bed. Or the wall. Or the table, even, is suddenly looking good. Possibly all three.

E'ten loses some of his balance in thanks to that shove. While it might be understandable on a clear head, neither of them have that. Or rather, full perspective. But with every action, there's a reaction and the Fortian lifts a hand aimed in a tight fist for the man's midsection. "You /lost/ get that through your thick head!" Gentle handling of the situation is neither here nor there as he tries again to haul the extra party out before at least /he/ sees far more of his wingrider than he wants to see. And thankfully, he doesn't have to tell N'rov to take care of Ali.

Okay, well- it's not to say that Ali's easily distracted, but Isyath being caught means there's certain /urges/ to be fulfilled, and frankly at this stage N'rov tugging at her is kind of hard to ignore. They just might make it to the table, and maybe even before the others leave the weyr- if they're lucky (or not).

E'ten's punch leaves K'del winded, dropping to his knees. It takes the fight out of him, at least, but it doesn't exactly help him leave in a timely fashion: he gets an eyeful. Or an earful, maybe, before he crawls out, blood dripping down his nose and into his mouth, breathing laboured. This? Is all Ali's fault.

(But he'll blame N'rov.)

Wait, what? No, no. This is clearly /Isyath's/ fault. Stupid dragons.

Isyath rocks. --Vhaeryth

Cadejoth, call me maybe? --Isyath.

*dreamy sigh* One day, bb. One day. --Cadejoth