Logs:Isyath's Fourth Flight
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| RL Date: 25 January, 2014 |
| Who: Adiulth, Ali, E'ten, Elise, Etrevth, Isyath, K'zin, N'rov, Rasavyth, Vhaeryth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Isyath rises in her fourth mating flight. Foreigner Rasavyth beats out the locals and gets to make minions. |
| Where: Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 11, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions |
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| Northern Bowl, Fort Weyr This section of the bowl is just as devoid of plantlife as the central portion, the sandy soil having been packed more solidly due to the sheer amount of foot traffic passing through. While there are weyrs located to both the east and west, there are very few toward the north. Toward the northwest would be the ledges for the junior goldriders, while a second flight of stairs leads up to the Weyrleaders' complex. A little to the northeast is the entrance to the hatching cavern, while an entrance to the living cavern is located directly to the east. At the opposite and distant southeastern end of the bowl would be the lake and feeding grounds, with the weyrling barracks and infirmary to the southwest and southeast, respectively.
That constant sense of heat that comes from Isyath has been ever-present for the past few days, growing stronger despite the fact that she slumbers right now. It's distracting more than anything, right now. (To Fort dragons from Isyath) "No," R'oan says, firmly, to Etrevth, where the brown's green-blue eyes mark and linger on the queen on her ledge, watching her with a predatory appreciation in the slow whirls of his gaze. Straps have been shed for a long overdue oiling of the sleek dragon, the brownrider's loose-hanging shirt folded above his elbows to work on the expanse of hide. He, at least, is ignoring the gold and her rider, focusing on his task to get it done all the more quickly. "I don't want to be trapped on those sands for a hatching." To Fort dragons, Etrevth burns under that sense of heat, interest displayed in the way the slow beat of drums match in a pattern of anticipation. At a Weyr along enough and you'll pick up some... experience with some things. Some things are simple, when's best for a bath; when's dinner; and when's a queen going to go up. That last one isn't so simple. Elise has been hearing enough of the talk to know, too, that helps. So she's been avoiding the bowl. But Shevena never stops, and isn't so sensitive to the Ruatha girl's discomfort. So off she went on whatever errand today held in store, and now she comes back, walking across the grounds with a small basket that once probably had stuff in it but now is empty. She's singing a song under her breath, totally oblivious. Until she passes Ali's ledge, seeing her there and pausing to wave. And then pausing longer, her eyes narrowing due to a rising of vague suspicion. It is distracting. Vhaeryth himself might need an oiling. Another oiling. Settled not on Tooth Crag but on a queen's ledge (a junior queen's ledge, but not Isyath's the way he'd been prone to do when not airborne in the days after he caught her last), he keeps a not-so-lazy eye on his starry gold. (To Fort dragons from Vhaeryth) What with Vhaeryth occupying a junior ledge (the one Hematite arguably won), N'rov's in the vicinity; there's no hesitation in how, now, he hops off the one ledge and wanders over towards Isyath's, bypassing the girl with the basket with a distracted nod... the better to reach up and poke towards the goldrider's foot with a literal stick, though at least he doesn't do it hard. "You know, if you're hot, you can put on a bikini." That wave draws Ali's attention- more for the fact that she recognizes the girl than anything. "Elise- good. Would you have something cold brought? Juice, or something with ice? It's so hot," this in between fans. "And I can't-" she trails off, goes silent, her gaze tracking R'oan with silent, studied interest and a purse of lips. It's like she's forgotten for a moment Elise is even there, or that they were having a conversation. N'rov's- greeting?- draws her attention finally with a frown, retracting her feet. "And so could you, Norov. Right now." It's hard to tell whether she's teasing or genuinely, deadly serious, but her expression and the pointing of her fan might suggest the latter. "But I'm not asking for ice," N'rov points out, tapping the foot-abandoned stone a couple times before retracting the stick. Except then he goes and turns to Elise. Ruefully, completely as though it had been Ali's actual request and he's terribly sorry for troubling her, "Glass for me too, please. Make it the same." R'oan flicks his oiling rag against Etrevth's flank in a silent reaction for whatever the dragon's internal answer must be, countering dryly and insultingly of his own dragon: "You're too small to catch her. You'd end up tired before she was even halfway done, you numbskull." Etrevth snorts, a pointed answer even where not paired with his silent answer. Whatever Etrevth says, however, does finally lift his rider's grey-green gaze to that popular ledge, oiled fingers lifting to shade his eyes briefly as they narrow across the distance, catching on Ali's even as she watches him. And slowly, his lips curve into a sure smirk. R'oan's comments, she might hear them, would not or do not help. And that N'rov suddenly seems so interested is a red flag too. But Ali has made a request. Command. Something. She first looks from N'rov to the weyrwoman, one eyebrow lifting on the bronzerider's addition, then, with the basket hanging at her side by one hand, she takes a deep breath and heads for the cavern where the food is. It means she gets a respite from any potential weirdness, but not for very long, and soon she's back with a pitcher that makes hollow-y ice noises and two glasses; the former of which she carries expertly without any sloshy spillage. She returns to the ledge, almost shoves one glass at N'rov, his, and pours one for Ali, offering it up while N'rov hopefully accepts the pitcher too. He, apparently, can do his own. Whatever Ali sees in that smirk of R'oan's has her quickly averting her gaze, though it's hard to tell if that flush of color has to do with her state, or the look. "N'rov," she begins, and it's difficult to tell if that's warning or request, her expression scrunched up as it is. "You should be bringing me ice. Vhaeryth'd love to go and fly north of Telgar and back for some, surely?" the words are said sweetly, but without any expectation that he will, like she knows him too well. "Thank you, Elise," she says, gratefully, reaching for the offered glass, though rather than drinking it she presses it against her forehead for a moment. "Are you- you probably should find somewhere- quiet, to work this afternoon," she tells the Blooded girl, pointedly. N'rov not only accepts the glassware, he gives Elise not just a nod this time but a magnificent bow that somehow manages not to spill. Of course, part of that may be credited to his not having poured his own glassful yet, which he then proceeds to do, right before walking up a few of the steps to help himself to one as a seat: not quite on Ali's level, a little further down. While Vhaeryth idly glances around the Bowl and past various other dragons, Etrevyth included with a yawn, his rider asks of Elise, "Are you going to have some of your own?" Surely their current location is... quiet. Though then he's back on his feet at his weyrwoman's comment, assuring Ali as he continues up the stairs towards her ledge, "I would be delighted to bring you some ice." Thrilled! Just watching Ali be hot is starting to make Elise wonder if she's also warm. She swallows reflexively, her hand going up to her forehead. Is it damp? No. No, this is weird. N'rov receives an intensely unhappy look for his question, then she says, "No." Quite simply. "I should... I should go," she adds, as if the weyrwoman has somehow programmed her with this belief, with only a few words. But she can't stop looking at the goldrider there on the ledge, a kind of concern creeping in. "You're..." Whatever she would have said, she doesn't, that's all, she just doesn't. And with one last look around, and with a very wary edge to her now, she makes her esca-- exit. She makes her exit. Without looking at any of the other riders who might be showing up. Or at anything at all. "Ok, that's it. Get your lazy ass out of here," R'oan commands to Etrevth, only turning back to his dragon after Ali has already turned away from his gaze, for all that it lingers a moment after. The oiled rag is thrown over his shirt, little regard shown for the cream-colored thing that has been worn soft and almost see-through by decades of use. The older brown dragon launches himself into the air, but he seems to be conserving his strength. Rather than circle the skies above the bowl, he flies instead to claim a ledge closer to Isyath, breaking probably a handful of etiquette lessons since it is an unoccupied junior ledge. Hey, if Vhaeryth gets one. R'oan's gaze, however, trails appreciatively after Elise as she hurries away. Ali frowns after Elise, as if perhaps that's not quite what she meant. Or maybe it's just the speed with which the girl departs that has the goldrider unsettled. Well, since N'rov's being so accomodating: "It can only be retrieved from one specific location, high above a valley shaded by two trees, when the sun hits the peak of them, it will highlight the indicated spot to dig," she begins, though the humor and words both trail off as she watches Etrevth's repositioning with a sharp inhale of breath and a pressing of fingers against the glass, gaze seeking R'oan shortly thereafter. Vhaeryth flashes white fangs at the older brown, amused, and scrapes his claws along stone with the cheerful possessiveness of someone who's earned this one. Or, at least, had his people do it for him. "She didn't want any," says his rider of Elise, mournfully, only to break into an indulgent laugh at Ali's description as he goes to saunter up towards and then behind her. Maybe it's just as well that Elise didn't want any of the drink, for then he tucks the pitcher into the crook of his hand-holding arm and reaches in with his free hand, the better to try and deliver a piece of that ice. Lightly against her temple, down into the front of her dress, in her lap, in her hair, even on the ground if it comes to that... he's not all that picky yet. As if expecting it, R'oan's attention returns unerringly to Ali after Elise has departed the bowl, a shoulder raising in a blameless, hopeless shrug. He draws closer to the goldrider's weyr, though he stops at the steps leading up to it to peer up at the bronzerider and the goldrider occuping it. "He's convinced it will be any second now--." He cuts off his words at N'rov's actions, a brow drawing in a half-amused crook upwards. "She's sleeping," the goldrider says, reproachfully, to R'oan, like Etrevth might be wasting his energy in some fashion. Of course, the heat that comes off the queen's thoughts - even in sleep - might suggest otherwise. Not to mention that Ali's gaze lingers on R'oan, at least until she feels the touch of ice first against her temple, with a start, then after a darted gaze at N'rov, smiles. After a sharp exhale, however, she says, seriously, "I think you need to dump me in the lake or something. Not sure if that will help or make it worse, though." But she's considering it. The bronzerider returns that smile, fleetingly and not without sympathy, before he steps back. Not that he doesn't say, "There's more ice where that came from." In case she wants some. However, there's about to be one fewer piece, because he flicks that one towards approaching R'oan, an easy arch designed to be easy to catch. Or get hit by, he's not picky there either. "As you wish," R'oan replies, though the slow smirk that lingers on his lips isn't exactly the most obsequious. He does, however, turn to step away. Probably to fetch water, probably not. He tips a nod to E'ten as he passes the bronzerider by, even as Etrveth rumbles again, twitching his tail on his stolen ledge. Nodding in return to N'rov with a pair of fingers lightly tapping his own forehead in salute, E'ten takes note of R'oan's departure from the stairs with yet another nod before turning a smile towards Ali. "So he does. Are you finding new errand boys," he asks, taking note of both Etrveth and Vhaeryth absently as he leans against the lower half of the stairs with one shoulder. Ali might just be watching R'oan retreat with a hint of triumph. Might. But that glass - of which she still hasn't tasted the contents - is less cool now than before, and when pressed against her cheeks doesn't really provide the relief she's seeking. "In-training," she answers E'ten's comment of R'oan with a smile. "It'll take some time. I'm," she exhales slowly, "Glad you're here. Both of you," her gaze goes from E'ten to N'rov. Cadejoth, and his rider are noteably absent, and there's an anxiousness in her demeanor. N'rov doesn't glance up as Vhaeryth abandons Hematite's junior ledge in favor of an effortless, leisurely course towards the feeding pens; he doesn't even glance up when the bronze's shadow passes over. "Of course we are," the bronze's rider says briefly. "We said we would." Him and Vhaeryth, him and E'ten, he'd know of one at least. "Anything else you need?" It could be a leading question. It almost is. But there's not much time left. No, Cadejoth isn't here. But let it not be said that 'Reaches bronzes aren't represented. After Elaruth's flight, one might have wished Rasavyth to know better, and indeed it seemed like he came and went after dropping off his rider and passenger, but wherever he went must not have been far because now the glittering bronze on the bottom of his wingsails can be seen as he angles to land by the feeding pens, riderless, strapless, eyes whirling merrily with increasingly particular shades of purple. Even with his rider disappeared into the Weyr caverns, Etrevth still launches himself from the stolen ledge to follow the bronze to the feeding pens. The smaller brown doesn't make much of a crowd, even with the other bronze joining them. He marks out a corner of the pen for himself, searching for the perfect kill. There's a heat in the air, an opressiveness that is less physical than mental: though she sleeps, Isyath's presence hangs across the Weyr like a blanket, difficult to ignore; impossible to be unaware of. (To Rasavyth from Isyath) They might be ready, but Isyath decides the when of it. The stars brighten, by measures, and with it, the heat rises so that it's less an irritation and more an aggravation, rolling across the Weyr like a visible wave. (To nearby dragons from Isyath) Perhaps to another dragon, this would be a problem. For Rasavyth, however, well, oppressiveness is hot. The natural near-invisible more felt-than-seen ooze of his mind could act as a balm, could try to bring coolness to the heat, but... why? It would go against his nature to do less than take those things from her unconscious touch and mirror them with only the shimmer of his oozy charm to set them apart. Power is attractive. He wouldn't want to ignore her even if it were an option. Masochist. (To Isyath from Rasavyth) E'ten doesn't seem to mind that K'del isn't here. It certainly doesn't cause him any means of apprehension to see any foreign dragons here. This flight is different by various degrees. Adiulth, on the other hand, has already begun his decent towards the feeding pens. Not in a lazy circle but a direct path from point 'A' to point 'B'. To find a hapless herdbeast should be simple enough. The rider though nods in agreement, "It's probably not likely to be anywhere else." It's an idle remark even though he can't help but to take note of the odd rider present. That would be K'zin, of course. It would be impossible for even an easily distracted Ali not to be aware of the movement of the bronzes; Vhaeryth, in particular, and then Etrevth after him, makes her stiffen visibly. Her gaze goes to Isyath, but the queen twitches, as if moments from waking - moments before that sense of rolling heat spreads out as she comes fully awake. Sucking in a sharp breath, the dark-haired woman holds it as the queen launches aloft, and with a lazy grace, circles towards the feeding grounds and down. In one quick movement, she singles out the largest animal for herself, as due her, and begins feeding. For now, the males are ignored, so long as they don't encroach on her kill. Etrevth abandons his tactic of searching for just the right beast, striking at the next one that he flies over and pinning it below his talons, blooding from it deeply. R'oan, at least, has yet to reappear. Maybe that will make Ali feel better. The odd rider has a lazy smile and his approaching stride is bordering on downright indolent as he uses a single finger to hook his riding jacket over his shoulder. He didn't appear until Rasavyth's muzzle was buried in his first kill, draining out the beast's lifeblood to fuel his anticipated flight. But now that he's here, K'zin's brown gaze flicks from the direction of the feeding pens to the riders assembled, "Not late to the party, am I?" His baritone delivers the words smoothly, but with a tone of voice that might give some men all the excuse they need to deck him from the get-go. Over at the feeding pens, Vhaeryth's strong claws already encircle a wherry's ribs; at some invisible signal, though, his faster-whirling gaze crosses the distance between himself and the then-sleeping queen. His hackles rise, his neckridges and the obsidian spikes of his wings... and then she does wake, and he lowers his head, but only to let fangs sink into flesh and drain that beast while it's still alive. He doesn't encroach on her kill, not this kill. He does, when he abandons the now-trampled corpse, arrow claws-out towards the largest beast that remains. His rider has nodded to himself, the pitcher cradled in the crook of his arm; he doesn't question Ali again, for all that he moves to nearly close the distance between them, cool grey gaze passing over the weyrwoman's shoulder towards the latest arrival without bothering to reply. Given the sweat that's beading on Ali's forehead, maybe she'd be thrilled to see R'oan about now - if he came back with the requested water, anyway. As it is, her attention is fixed on Isyath, fingers clenched into the material of her dress, wrinkling it unknowingly as she breathes sharply. Her eyes are wide, not so much fear as focus. The noise that comes from Isyath is somewhere between a low thrum and a roar, frustration as she's denied the chance to eat, and denied, too, her next choice: when she wings up into a short hop to select her next beast, she might well buffet Vhaeryth with wind for the nearest. That was clearly going to be her kill, and he should've known it. Perhaps that's why Ali greets that High Reaches rider with a baring of her teeth that has nothing to do with a smile. The second beast that Etrevth downs goes down messily, squealing and squirming as he tears into flesh with wicked sharp teeth and talons. His violence is excessive, the heat from the goldrider driving his own natural instincts. And once he's drained it, he lifts his bloody muzzle to watch Isyath, waiting for any move of the gold's as a signal. Before the last moment of landing in the feeding pens, Adiulth had grasped the fleeing beast by one paw already lifting the creature off of its limbs to his muzzle before slurping in a steady sound. Not greedy but there's not much of a drop left to escape. Expedient? Perhaps. Trying to be neat? Probably. That's why the drained beast is tossed to one side and half leap, hop finds him another from the scattering that the dragons have created. E'ten, however, does nothing but regard K'zin with a quirked brow. Late? Really? Such a rhetorical question. Vhaeryth will take that buffeting and like it, crouched lower atop his prize with eyes single-lidded against the worst of the wind; that drinking comes that much more joyously, the beast's capillaries bursting and breaking with the hungry power of it. N'rov crouches with him, but it's to set down the now-drained glass instead of to pick anything up; Vhaeryth anticipates flight, and the man... something else. "Cheerful bunch," K'zin notes as his eyes sweep across the riders, smile widening to amused grin as he catches Ali's greeting to N'rov. "No one's died," Then the obligatory pause, and, "Yet." Rasavyth is taking this seriously... to a point. After all, what's life without a little humor. He takes in the confrontation between Vhaeryth and the glowing gold, before leaping to his next kill; size doesn't matter, right? "Off to a good start with the ladies, Pretty Boy." Which must mean N'rov since K'zin is looking straight at him. Another beast, one of the largest left, is dispatched with a viscousness that is somewhat unlike Isyath; hard to tell whether the violence fuels violence, or she just doesn't want to get shown up by anyone- or any dragon. Knowing Isyath, the latter's the most likely. A third beast is normally her due, except- today, something drives her to the skies sooner- a sharp snap of her teeth and a need to be away from those suitors around her. She launches skywards with powerful sweeps of her fire-touched wings, golden hide lit by the setting sun. It may be getting dark, but she's impossible to miss, arrowing up into the sky. On the ground, Ali sways a moment as her queen launches skywards, the clench of fingers tightening moreso at the dizzying experience. The snap of her teeth echoes Isyath's oddly, and her gaze fixes on K'zin. After all, he's Reachian and clearly it's partly his fault that Cadejoth is not here: "You touch any of mine and there will be blood drawn." Etrevth's every shivering muscle seems to be ready for his queen's movement, flinging himself into the air after her with the only advantage he has in a flight such as this: speed. The sleek, small brown is in the air even as Isyath is, despite her moving before him, and the male stretches out the length of his neck as if to touch her or take in her smell. That would be when N'rov, looking at the foreign bronzerider a beat too long, goes and flips him off. His mouth may have found a crooked smile, but it's one that deepens when his bronze vaults skyward after Isyath, when he himself lowers his voice if not his gaze to murmur to her rider, "That's the spirit." He stays there, backing Ali up until she chooses to depart, the pitcher still incongruous and cool but warming, warming. Adiulth has known, learned to never expect the normal. Always keeping one whirling purple eye towards Isyath, it's with a quick tensing of his hindquarters that he moves to launch himself into the skies. The beast dropped at the last moment before his wings lift to catch the currents, in pursuit of Isayth and those in the chase. But the one that matters is the one who casts such a beacon against the darkening skies. E'ten, doesn't bother with any other acknowledgement other than a smirk at N'rov's gesture as he opts to keep his back against the cool stone behind him without edging closer. "Ooh-hoo-hoo!" K'zin half-crows in answer to Ali's threat, his hands throwing up, fingers splayed in front of him, smile annoyingly persistent. "No need to fret, my dear, I'll keep my hands to myself until you're caught." Presumably, of course, by him. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy seeing you try." If there were other non-flight-lusted 'Reaches riders here who knew him, they could (if not would) defend that this isn't really so much K'zin as the multitasking muppet-master who's dull bronze cape has spread to catch the wind as he launches in heated pursuit of the gold. Each down stroke sends him onward, after her: the game has begun. The irritation doesn't dissipate when Isyath seeks the skies; in fact, it seems to increase if anything. She's in a mood, and she's no fondness for anyone that gets close to her right now - her only goal is to soar as high as she can, leaving all the others in her wake. The only way for her to win this flight is outfly all of them. With a sharp exhale of breath, like she biting back some further comment, Ali's cheeks color in response to K'zin's words. A bare glance over her shoulder at N'rov, and the goldrider wordlessly turns to stride up the ledge and into her weyr. It doesn't seem she's that worried about whether R'oan will find them or not.
Most of the surfaces in this part of the cavern are smooth, including that of the wallow, rock worn down to a polished sheen. Shelves line the opposite wall, along with hooks affixed to hold straps and various riding gear. Beyond the narrow entrance to the weyrwoman's private quarters, the tip-tilted oblong cavern is spacious and well-appointed, walls washed with a pale wheat colour. Green-grey couches have been arranged to create a meeting area, the table and chairs beyond sat opposite the sideboard, with only a few steps between couches and table. Against one wall sits a large bed made up with plain sheets, several furs folded neatly lined-up with the pillows. The wide hearth lies opposite, a low, light pink couch set before it. Along the far wall, a bright blue curtain hides the bathing chamber and its oval-shaped pool.
N'rov makes room for Ali, but no one else; he follows her closely, as closely as Vhaeryth surely attempts to do, and though the bronze does watch out for her taking a sudden detour... right now, high is where it's at. Once in her weyr, the bronzerider sets the pitcher on one of the shelves of the outer weyr with as much care as he can withstand and not let it slow him, navigating the place with the ease of one who's been here before. But then, it is a weyr. A weyr with a woman, a woman N'rov keeps his eyes on. Rasavyth is blithely unconcerned about Isyath's mood. Not that he isn't attentive to its existence, but unbothered. The line between loathing and lust is so narrow, the bronze doesn't mind starting out on the wrong side of it as he dares as is not oft his style, to claim his place in the middle of the pack of pursuers. It rather means he doesn't have so much time to concern himself with Isyath's mood because there are too many sets of wings, too many talons, mouths, and tails to keep an eye on. But at least his new focus means K'zin is silent as he strolls along behind the others. True to his word, his unoccupied hand is now tucked into the pocket of his custom-fitted riding pants, though he does pause on the way in to avail himself of the use of one of the hooks for his jacket, taking his time with it as though he were in no rush to get closer to the goldrider. No one can blame him for not wanting to get closer to the other men just now. Inside the weyr, the hearth doesn't burn- as a result the room is cool. Perfect for Ali, but perhaps chilly otherwise. The room is a familiar comfort, and not where she normally goes for flights- it makes her pause somewhere in the midst of the room, and turn to regard all those inside. There's a slight narrowing of gaze for R'oan, not for his presence, so much as perhaps for his lateness, and accusing finger speared in his direction. High above, Isyath has enough height now that she fairly brimms with confidence: none can catch her, and the flight will be endless, if she has her way. So many familiar dragons: Vhaeryth, there, and Adiulth, and Etrevth. But still, there's a sense that the queen is not yet satisfied, not yet ready to give up until the right one arrives. Until then, she might have fun: she levels off, tucks wings, and dives through the midst of the pack, perhaps too fast for anything but an incautious attempt at a grab, her intention clearly to scatter those that follow. They can feel the heat of her, as she passes by, the weight of her presence like the pull of a physical star, inevitable and unavoidable. But, too, they can feel her dismissiveness as her attention flickers over each of them and away almost immediately. (To nearby dragons from Isyath) E'ten makes his way up the stairs, mindful of the distance that seems reasonable but there's that little 'tether' you see. The one that has him following, rolling up his sleeves for all that it is and was chilly outside. It doesn't matter though. Adiulth is taking the less straight path after Isyath, flying higher and not put off by the mood. Tapping the added power of the thermals that are there for the reaching, the bronze has the misfortune of being along the edge of that main cluster of dragons. Avoiding those who do, he lowers his own altitude just to avoid a brown who got too close. "Darling, if you're going to punish me, you're going to have to be physical to make an impact," drawls R'oan to that pointed finger, a challenge in the curve of his lips as his gaze finally finds and slides over Ali, intent and focused in a juxtaposition to the way he casually leans again the wall of her personal weyr. Etrevth's experience comes in handy, here, with two decades of anticipating the moves of both golds and greens in a flight. He does not attempt to catch that diving gold, but he does fold himself in to dive after her nimbly. Vhaeryth's been watching for it, for her; unwilling to be scattered, he's not above choosing incaution, a twist sending him daringly to try and intercept Isyath's fun before she's had nearly all the fun she could have. If there's impact, he'll take it. It's N'rov who curses and ducks. "Are you sure you don't want me touching any of them, my dear?" K'zin offers sweetly to Ali after R'oan's remark, meandering among the other hopefuls rather than finding a temporary home for himself. He's exploring her space, making himself at home, really. If he were more himself and less his dragon, K'zin would be mortified. But just as Rasavyth's control snuck up on his rider and swept him up in this whole delightful thing, so too is the bronze creeping up through the ranks of the pursuers, his presence subtle. K'zin might be obvious among the suitors, but Ras need not be, not yet. Not as mental manipulations silently draw two browns into conflict, clearing part of his path ahead as wings surge him forward, onward. Once she's safely past the majority of the pack, Isyath's wings snap outwards, the speed of her dive giving her enough momentum to keep moving, albeit at a lower altitude. Vhaeryth might well receive a slight, glancing whip of her tail for his daring and clearly ill-founded attempt intercept as the gold begins to climb again, steadily upwards into the last of the burning sunshine. "He's not one of mine," Ali says, after a beat, without a look at K'zin, but definitely a look at R'oan. True, he's Fortian, but there's hers, and then hers. The pacing of some of the riders has her backing up- into N'rov, but he's a known element, even if the sharp look she gives him is more Isyath-than-her; haughty and dismissive both. R'oan's gaze only veers towards a darker, narrowed thing at Ali's response, lingering only a moment before he glances to K'zin. "If you touch me, I hope you're willing to lose a few fingers, boy," he warns the younger man. In the air, though, Etrevth is starting to show signs of fatigue before the others do, though he puts the last bit of his strength into trying to chase after that queen. Call it fortune's sting; Vhaeryth's slowed by the miss but hardly daunted, even relishing the queen's facility at flight. Too distant to attempt again now, there's always later and for now... for now he has laggards to attempt to pass all over again. There's even Etrevth, coming up. His rider, though: dismissed or no, N'rov's got Ali right there and he's already reaching to capture her hip with one hand, his other arm moving cross-body with the intent to draw her in close. His laugh is low, dark, as familiar as it is intimate. "My fingers are only in danger if you're as thick-skulled as you look, old man," K'zin's smile is pleasant, for all that there's a shift in his stance that subtly highlights his Smith-forged muscles. He may not have the height that some 'Reaches bronzers do, but he's nearly of a height with the older man and his build... well, they look well matched from that standpoint too. If they weren't so busy chasing a moody gold, it'd likely make for a good throw down. But it's not R'oan that keeps K'zin's interest, but rather N'rov. "Now, now, N'rov, you know that's not good for your health," the 'Reaches man advises as Rasavyth's slender form sweeps past the climbing Vhaeryth, too close for comfort; but even the bronze is keeping his paws to himself as he goes. Still, that's one more that Vhaeryth will have to contend with if he wants another shot at Isyath. Advantage. Well, it keeps Adiulth from finding himself into a midair collision but it doesn't get him any closer to Isyath. Maybe that'll change, turning quickly and using his size as an advantage to do so before falling into pursuit with a briefly made rumble of annoyance. Glancing towards the conversations, E'ten isn't beyond noticing the 'where' of N'rov but there's not a smirk. But he is watching intently. That dull noise is the impact of Ali's elbow somewhere into N'rov's midsection. It's probably not a personal thing; her thoughts are too twined with Isyath's to be so: Isyath's not ready to be captured yet, and so neither is she. Of course, a moment later, a sharp breath escapes her and something apologetic fleetingly crosses her gaze, but she doesn't take it back. High above, Isyath leads them on a longer chase, onwards and upwards, renewed delight spilling outwards at every suitor that drops out. She doesn't intend to be caught easily, that much is clear; there's no further antics once she's made her position known. The ground is a far distant dream when she starts to flag, one falter at first, then slowing noticeably, but still aiming for the now-visible stars, stretching for the distant dream that's never quite reached. "Or you overestimate the number of fucks I give," answers R'oan dryly, his gaze marking K'zin's with a challenge made more clear by Etrevth's emotions taking over his. Etrevth's flagging, failing. He can't last much longer, not having the stamina of the larger dragons, so he does the only thing left to him: putting the last bit of energy he has to fly faster, to reach out to wrap that queen in the tangle of his talons and tail and stop her flight. Vhaeryth does want another shot at Isyath, and he leans into flight, putting stress on those dark copper-chased wings; if the High Reaches visitor steams ahead, well, he's not the dragon the Fortian bronze wants to intercept, and he spends equally little time on slashing and bashing. When it comes to bashing, though, his rider might well have been distracted by the sound of his name; just as N'rov's glancing over, there's a solid grunt as Ali turns the statement about his health into short-term truth. Tenacious, he still doesn't let her go despite the grimace that's overtaken his features, not immediately, but in the next moments (perhaps it's that fleeting glance; perhaps it's something else entirely) it's with an odd sort of care that he stabilizes her on her feet. Now she can go wherever she wants; Isyath does too, after all, and they're flying, flying, Vhaeryth jubilant in his own right with the sheer thrill of even such an exhausting chase. In the end, it's not speed alone that he calls upon, but the astronomical angle with which he attempts to predict and intercept Isyath's path, working the odds to the only possibility that might surmount the rest of the pack; if it works, it'll be extravagant success for them both.... but he's cutting it awfully close. Too close. Rasavyth is not the biggest bronze here. Nor is he the fastest. But he just might be the smartest. If he is to catch Isyath, it won't be because he muscles the others aside, or because he zips past them as some of the more slender browns do to make their attempts, it will be because Rasavyth chooses his moment well. He waits. He watches, he positions himself, and at what seems the right moment to him, he's there, not just physically reaching for Isyath, but mentally, heat and power suffused with glittering ooze, all colored with desire, even if there is a subtle edge of amusement and an even more subtle edge of something just a little bit wrong about him. "Think my threats are empty?" K'zin's laughter is wrong, too. Cruel, callous. "Try me." The two words come as laughter is abruptly cut off in favor of deadly seriousness. He's stopped his wanderings now, feet not shifting any more. His hand snaps out. But it's not a gesture to R'oan. Not even one to N'rov who didn't heed his advice in time to spare him, but to the goldrider. The hand is extended in the way that a man might in expectation of her dropping whatever it is she's doing to come to him. It must be a hopeful gesture, even if the manner in which it is delivered is one more akin to hopelessness - hopelessness for Ali, for the gold. Surely, soon they will be caught. Will it be to him that she comes? Thud. That was heartening. Borrowing from E'ten's point of view, Adiulth has a renewed sense of purpose as he tries to reach the same heights as Isyath still ahead of him. Unlike some of those already dropping out, he's aiming to catch up with the golden queen ahead by the use of a nearby thermal ahead. But will it be enough? That, he doesn't know but there is the challenge and one willingly accepted. Still. It might shoot him high enough to make every effort of reaching out for the golden queen. And yet, he tries. Close is right: Isyath doesn't want to be caught, and she's not taking kindly to the gall of Vhaeryth's attempt. When he nears, she rolls away, a flash of her claws attempting to push the bronze away, catching him on his flank, but serving to free him of his attempted grab. She's free- at least for a beat or two, but they are pressing in all around her, and it's only a matter of time. In desperation, she reaches for alien, not familiar, and it's right into Rasavyth's beckoning reach that she flies. Ali's eyes are closed, fixed now in that distant, desperate last chase- she doesn't pull free of N'rov, but when her eyes open, it's to seek out that High Reachian rider, blindly stretching for him in the same way her dragon does, oblivious to all others in the weyr. There is no nuts to kick at losing in this weyr, alas, and so R'oan only peels himself from the wall with a dark glance that encompasses K'zin and Ali both before he leaves without another word. Etrevth sinks, no energy to remain in the air further, and plummets dangerously down to his own ledge. What kind of manners would the foreign guest be showing if he wasn't to welcome the gold that comes into his reach. At least they can't say that in this Rasavyth wasn't a gentleman as he entangles with Isyath. But in the weyr, blind reaching isn't as good as actually coming all the way to him, but K'zin will make concessions, shifting smoothly, R'oan forgotten, as he moves to meet Ali. Perhaps something of N'rov is surprised that she hadn't left earlier, even when he'd set her free to go where she wished; perhaps he'll not realize until later, or not at all. What's important this moment, though, isn't the girl but his injured bronze; he steps back and back again until he's turning, hurrying for the downspiraling dragon. For them, all the rest of the world will have to wait. Right. There he is- Ali doesn't recognize K'zin from the one meeting they've had, and at this point doesn't really care. In the same way that Isyath tangles with Rasavyth, need drives the goldrider and she's already pulling free of some of those annoying clothes by the time they make contact. There'll be time for introductions, later. |
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Edyis (Edyis (talk)) left a comment on Sun, 26 Jan 2014 12:16:35 GMT.
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... This does not bode well.
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