Logs:AU - Lythronath's G'rr and Teisyth's O'ris
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| RL Date: 13 December, 2013 |
| Who: Lythronath, G'rr, O'ris, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: In an alternate universe, Gallagher Impresses bronze Lythronath and becomes the fearsome G'rr. Aoristen Impresses green Teisyth and becomes the not-really-fearsome O'ris. |
| Where: Alternate Universe High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, month 2, turn 33 to month 5 of weyrlinghood (month 6-7, turn 33) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Ghena/Mentions, L'sha/Mentions, Rh'mis/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Violence. Adult stuff. If your heart squishes, don't read this. How it happened: so G-player was babbling one day about how G'laer and Lythronath are kindred spirits and it prompted the idea to do an AU. Fortunately for G-player, A-player was up for doing this for fun. So G-player played G and T, and A-player played A and L. |
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| Hatching From the sands, It's even as the candidates begin to arrive on the sands that the quartet of black eggs lead the charge, shells breaking away to reveal one bronze, one brown, one blue and one green, all sharp-edged and superior. It's the blue that leads the way after that, rather more nimble than his siblings - but all of them find partners in short order amid the milling white-robed candidates. From the sands, Gallagher probably could have avoided Lansha's shoulder-chuck if he didn't have Ghena hanging on his arm. Only, as he turns his eyes to look toward the younger man, the weight evaporates and Ghena's light feet are taking her to meet one of dragonets spilling from the first bunch. Gal can't help himself: his jaw drops. "Just like that.." Just like that, and there's nothing but the bronze hot on the blue's tail, moving fast, digging into the sand, leaping straight at the man with the empty arm, eyes orange. It's a dangerous moment when Gallagher is caught surprised by his sister's Impression. It mightn't be, except for the charging bronze. If the beast seeks to gore him, there's a solid chance that the guardsman won't escape unharmed. The surprise makes him slow, but he does move, gracelessly tossing himself to the side, intending to roll onto the sands and then be up and away. Too slow! Red stripe talon swiped leg! « Blood! » Comet-blazed wings spread wide, teeth and eyes, all inches from the fallen man's face. « Lythronath! » roared. « G'rr, » growled. Hahahaha! Some people like pain with their pleasurable moments, and isn't Impression supposed to be one of the best? In any case, the deep wound that's bringing the healers running for Galla-- no, for G'rr is taking things a bit far. There's no tearful joy, just a hot curse as he hits the sands, "Fuck!" Then rolling and hands slamming down onto the wound, trying to hold edges of flesh together. "What the fuck was that for?" There's no hahahas from this quarter. « Up, » barely there under the hunger coming off the little bronze. G'rr gets kicked in the other leg, this time with no blood spilt. Hungry. One of those healers is starting to look awful appetising. The bronze kicks hot sand around, including onto his rider, quite possibly. HUNGRY. Oh, the healers are just going to love this. Sand in the gaping wound. Yay! In pain though he is, G'rr's mind is strong and he's pissed off, so that helps him stay stubborn. He glares up at the bronze, "You want to eat? Then help me get the fuck up." And without hesitation, he reaches for the bronze, ignoring the blood as it makes its splashy exit from his leg. Pain. There it is, mixed with the hunger, all almost unbearable. A healer comes very near losing a hand when she reaches to try and assist the freshly-minted bronzerider. Lythronath proves strong for a fresh-hatched... but then, hunger is a great motivator. They'll leave a trail of gore behind them even before he gets to eating. From the sands, Flakes of shell begin to peel away from the Sugar and Spice and All Things Nice Egg, as shudderings from within set it to rocking, back and forth. All at once, it seems to backfire, collapsing within itself with an audible bang that sends shards flying, raining down upon the blocky green hatchling so recently within. Oops. Back-fire. Awhawhaw. That there's funny. The Gregarious Git-R-Done Green don't care who you are; that was funny. So her first moments in the world of oxygen and chaos are spent with her body shaking with wuffling laughter. Once she's gotten that out of her system, well, it's time to take a good look 'round! Why, there's so many new things to see! Only, she doesn't have anyone to tell. That will have to be remedied. She redirects to the white-robed figures, plodding along at a good steady pace, tongue lolling out between bucked teeth. Inspections begin. Are you her new best friend? You? You? You? Maybe they're just not reacting with the right level of enthusiasm as the green comes quite socially close in her inspections. Personal space? What's that? But at least she's not looking to gore anyone. Aoristen barely saw L'sha's impression, and he was standing right next to it. Another candidate presses in nearer him, and this time, the attempt to get some distance from the rest isn't such a failure as it was earlier on. Aoristen, see, doesn't mind standing on the bloody mess left from the first bronze's impression. He mops the sweat creeping down his face, and tries to focus in the heat. She's coming down the line, which means the green inevitably gets to Aoristen. It's not the boy who first draws her attention, though, it's the blood. She dips her head down just in front of the candidate and sluuuurp. Followed by a mental burst into his mind, « AUGH! Ptewy! Ptewy! Ptewy! » As she tries to spit the sand out of her mouth. Even if it does taste like blood. It's possible that the copper tang of Teisyth's mind with its odd nutty aftertaste only invaded Aoristen's thoughts because he was there. Even his name isn't reassuring, because sure, she knows it, but it just sounds like she's being exceptionally lazy in her alto drawl, « O'ris, I cain't get the stuff out of my mouth, » she turns her head, maw now gaping to show him the sand-coated tongue. « Be my buddy an' help me out? » Beat. « Perdy please? » Aoristen - O'ris - is just staring. First, at the green licking sand. Then, at the open maw. And then, a while later, still at the open maw. Eventually the boy moves, to hold out his hand, spit on the palm, and then try to clean off that tongue of hers using only that. "Maybe," a bit tight-voiced from the distraction of working, "you shouldn't have licked it." Scrub scrub scrub. « But, O'ris, » Her alto rises to a squeak on his name in her protestation, « It smelled good, an' I'm hungry, » So hungry Teisyth has to share the feeling overwhelmingly with him, her new lifemate. (That's forever, O'ris!) At the edges of the hunger, though, there's concern that he's already annoyed with her. « I'm sorry I done caused a mess, but yer really just the best fer helpin' me, an' maybe, if'n it ain't too much trouble, you could get me some food? » Food would be so nice, the wistfulness comes as powerfully as the hunger itself. O'ris absently wipes his palm on his robe when he's done (with whatever success, or lack thereof, he'd managed in the end). "It's... it's okay." Some of the shock is wearing off, enough for the boy to give a crooked little smile to his new lifemate. "Of course I'll get you some food. You're my dragon, aren't you?"
Does she ever sleep? It might seem not. Not with « Just one more drink of water? » and « But I won't be able to sleep without another story, O'ris, » and « Will you sleep with me just for a little while? » and « OH! Itchy! » Because she never notices it coming on, just once the itch is full-blown. And one can't forget the inevitable, « Uh oh. » Which precedes a harried run out to do her business or, the worse, « Um. » Which means she didn't make it. The lack of sleep doesn't seem to impact Teisyth's energy during the day, either. And she wants to explore everything. And wants O'ris right there to do it with her. Faranth help him if he gets more than five feet away from her, because the feelings are just so overwhelmingly strong. They hit with the force of a twister and sometimes make things equally chaotic, in and outside of their heads. There's times when it's too easy to get caught up in it all, and O'ris is there, laughing and exploring and getting into trouble and laughing more. And then some little thing will happen, like just now, when there's a crash from the oil vats. The biggest part of the shattered jar, that gets kicked, violently, and goes skittering across the barracks, with a non-verbal, rageful yell. A few ragged breaths, and O'ris punches his hand and looks wearily over at Teisyth. "Damn it." And then, guiltily. "I know you itch. I gotta clean this, though, hon, or someone's going to get cut on it..." By now, O'ris probably knows what comes next. In the face of his anger, Teisyth is so sorry. She's not always sure what she did, but she's convinced that he hates her, and it's awful and of course these are feelings that she shares as forcefully as her usual exuberance. She didn't mean to knock that vat over. It's just that she thought something was underneath it, and Rosvelth told her treasure can sometimes be buried, so she was just trying to find out if there was treasure under there. She was going to give it to O'ris as a surprise, only now everything's ruined, and she's just so sorry. She hunkers down, doing her best to ignore the very terrible itch, her whole body projecting apology as much as her mind. And O'ris... O'ris feels awful. But he forces himself to pay attention first to the shards all along the floor, working through them and ignoring the big, gaping, guilty hole in his heart until the barracks are cleared. It's after that, after the dust pan (that the weyrlingmasters have given him, all his very own, fresh from the lower stores) is empty, that he goes over to Teisyth. His fingers are already oily, and he uses them immediately to scritch under the green's chin. You know I love you, I love you, I love you, repeated in his mind and reflecting off his heart. He's sorry, too.
Lythronath only sees the canine in the bowl, only smells it, only hears it. It whines on its back with its belly showing. Hahahaha! Its boy cries. « Cry! » Lythronath taunts. Lythronath scrapes in the snow and roars when the boy tries to get close. Lythronath smells canine pee and roars again. CRY. The healers had wanted G'rr to stay off his leg for at least the first seven. With Lythronath as a lifemate, that simply wasn't possible. Not even with assists from the golds. The man had been too far away. The crutches made him too slow. And already he'd discovered that no amount of mental swearing or threats could control the bronze, so that recourse was already given up on. For all that the crutches make things more challenging, G'rr only had to learn to use them before he was getting around at a reasonable pace. But too slow to prevent anything. "Hey!" His shout is sharp, meant to make the bronze aware of his approach. This time, it isn't a sidelong thing. This time G'rr means to challenge, so it's head on that he comes, staring down the bronze unflinchingly. The trouble really is that G'rr doesn't really care about the crying boy. Or the canine. What he cares about is the trouble that Lythronath is causing him, causing them when it comes to everyone else outside the bizarrely appropriate pairing. How do you convince a dragon what it's doing is wrong and unacceptable when it's only that way because of what others think? He's yet to sort that out. Lythronath tilts his head slowly, the hobbling approach of G'rr not threat enough to startle the bronze beast. Or make him shift his stance or move at all. « Mine, » he warns the man off. When that boy starts trying for the canine again, that's when that head snaps around, that's when teeth are shown. Lythronath bobs his head a few times, click-growls out warnings. Ignores G'rr, and even the canine, a little, because that boy's lip is wibbling. Hahaha! "No." G'rr doesn't put up with that shit. It's probably a constant struggle when they're actively interacting. "Mine." Hobble though he has to, he's hobbling right up to the bronze, bearing his own teeth, even growling low in his throat. G'rr is never as afraid of his lifemate as he probably should be. Even if he does have to recall the memory of the wound the bronze gave him and just how much it hurt to remind the bronze just why he doesn't eat G'rr and be done with it. And that bronze is still not entirely sold on the idea that doing just that wouldn't be worth it in the long run. He eyes up the man before him, focus off the boy (who's protesting in a teary voice that, no, the canine is his) for a moment. There's no warning, then. Just a sudden forward lunge and a pointed muzzle square in the middle of G'rr's chest. Tip. "Shut up." G'rr directs to the boy, sharply, tearful or not. G'rr's not trying to make friends right now. Let the boy's mother chew him out later. Or Quinlys. Or whoever. That's all the attention he gives the sniveling boy, because he has to watch Lythronath. Watching doesn't help though. No warning means no chance to brace or do anything before it happens. But that doesn't prevent guard training from kicking in. He uses what he has at hand as he topples, a crutch swinging up to crack the dragon just before whatever pain of contact between wood and bronze joins with the sharp pain of landing hard on his back, the wind stolen from him. Maybe beating one's dragon isn't usually a sign of affection or a functional relationship, but G'rr enforces the rules set: don't kill things you're not supposed to is high on the list. Lythronath doesn't kill things he's not supposed to. That's why, when the crutch hits him, he just roars, and swipes at G'rr's shoulder with a front claw, just superficially. That's why G'rr is still breathing when Lythronath steps over him, to where that canine was lying. To where that furry animal has now decided that it's time to fight, and comes at the approaching dragon snarling. Somewhere in all that, the boy has started wailing again. Pain. G'rr lets Lythronath feel it, searing through his shoulder. Superficial or not, that fucking hurts. It means that it's G'rr's turn to roar right back at the dragon, and he's rolling onto his side in order to get up since getting straight up is impossible with his still healing leg. The leg that the healers aren't sure will ever be good as new again. The fact that the canine is stupid enough to get up and try to challenge the dragon is good enough to seal his fate as far as the man is concerned. « Do it fast. » He instructs firmly, giving the bronze his blessing for the kill. Victory. G'rr gets to feel all that too, both when Lythronath gets around him, and then, moments later, too. Lythronath is fast.
Not that they didn't want G'rr going from barracks to infirmary, but it was just easier with young dragons to bring the usual services to him. Granted, they had to bring more than the usual supplies for the task of checking his leg and shoulder and various other spots the bronze had tagged his rider. Thread be damned, G'rr's going to be the most impressive kid on the block when it comes to scars. The healer approaches down the hall and the dragonhealer with him. G'rr sits shirtless and in a pair of shorts despite the winter chill, waiting for them to arrive to inspect the wounds. At least nothing smells rotten, so he'll probably get to keep the leg. Unless Lythronath is inclined to take it. So far, this doesn't seem to be the case. The bronze waits in G'rr's vicinity, but nearer the hallway, his chest heaving, but silent. He hears the approach of the strangers. He smells the wounds on G'rr. He waits. Wound up. Stalking. Ready « Behave. » He might have said 'please,' but 'please' doesn't mean anything to Lythronath, so why bother? G'rr waits, too. It's the same healer. The one from the last time. That, at least, is good. Good because the healer knows to stop at the end of the couch, to wait to be invited by G'rr into his space, their space. And he knows not to make sudden movements around the bronze. The dragonhealer is regrettably less experienced with Lythronath's peculiarities, even if he's received some warning from the for-humans healer. The former asks, too loud, "How's he doing today?" Lythronath is clicking his talons and bobbing his head. That's how he's doing. « Fast, » he promises G'rr. Can his rider feel the saliva buliding up? The anticipation? Hear the pounding of blood and the pounding of ichor, G'rr. Lythronath can make it simple. Make it fast. G'rr has made an effort to be in tune with Lythronath, so these things he can and does feel. "Make it fast." He says to both healers. "And you," To the dragonhealer, "If you can avoid touching him, or getting to close, do." He doesn't need to explain the consequences as the human healer starts peeling away the bandages. The dragonhealer, while taken aback by G'rr's authoritative and not terribly respectful attitude, at least does as he's instructed once he gets a look at the wounds. Heheheheh. Lythronath could make it fast. Now, the tapping of talons is delighted at the prospect. The bronze watches that dragonhealer, and whlie the exact images of what he's thinking don't come through, the occasional taste, or the squeaked-out words of, « Blood, » or « Guts, » do. He could, but he won't. This much is firmly in G'rr's mind. When he expressly wants or doesn't want something, it's the rock waiting to mentally bonk Lythronath if he gets too far lost in his fantasies. It's at the ready, but as long as Lythronath's thoughts remain prospect and not application the rock simply stays ready to fall, a surely painful reminder should it be needed. The bronze is asked by his rider, silently, to expand his wings when the healer wants him to, to wiggle his claws, and so on. No one makes the mistake of trying to check the bronze's tail, and specifically the delicate parts concealed there. G'rr feels pain though, as he's checked. The wounds are painful. But then, this is his life now. A life of pain. It's not really what he had in mind when he Impressed, but in the grand scheme... well, it's not so bad. Not so very different from times in his life with the guard. Except there are more stitches and less bruises. Lythronath stretches his wings, not for inspection, but because they are big. He lifts his front legs and snaps his teeth on the air. Scraping the ground is what spreads his claws, and they don't hold still long enough to get poked or prodded. And when the healers are done, with as little warning as ever, the dragon swings his head and shoulders to knock the new one against the wall, one eye on G'rr the whole time. « Hahahah. » The healer can't help himself in a surprised squeak as he's pinned. G'rr is watching; really, it's seldom now that G'rr is not watching. Not watching is when Lythronath probably gets into the most trouble. But for now he's staring down the bronze. He lets the bronze have his fun, but after a pair of long moments. After all, the dragonhealer's tuttering and babble as he assessed the bronze was annoying. « Enough. » Before things can get out of hand. There's a subtle shift in the way he's sitting. For all that the bronze is perpetually getting bigger, his rider is prepared to physically do something about it if Lythronath doesn't seem fit to comply within a reasonable amount of time. G'rr does, however, let the fact that he's in pain, and the many instances where this pain has been caused by Lythronath, seep through their link, to remind the bronze that while he may not really need the check-ups, G'rr does, and moving would be both painful and inconvenient. For Lythronath, it's a simple calculation from there. With the dragonhealer still pinned, and that one eye on G'rr mixing orange in with blue, « He won't hurt. » Demonstration is in order as the dragon leans a little more of his bulk along his neck, and that dragonhealer starts making squeaky, compressed sounds. See? There is no acquiescing, no 'oh, well, that's okay then,' no consideration of the bronze's logic. It doesn't matter. G'rr has said 'Enough,' so that's all there is to it. He never backs down once he's said it, never leaves room that the next time it might not be listened to. The mental rock teeters, « I said enough. » That's the only warning Lythronath will get. G'rr shifts forward, interrupting his healer's work at redressing one of the freshest wounds on his thigh. Blood starts to ooze between stitches. Lythronath snorts as he moves his head from the dragonhealer, and laughs, hahahaha, when the man stumbles forward. Puny man. « Blood, » when he catches scent of G'rr's wound. Flecks of red and yellow answer the pain in the link, but they've become commonplace. He listens to that pain for a moment. Listens... and shoulder-checks the dragonhealer to his knees before fully relenting, and watching the work done on his rider. There's more pain when the shouldercheck happens as G'rr grabs the healer's shoulder to stand, on one leg, the one that's oozing blood, his look for the bronze hard and unforgiving. He stills once he's on his feet, watching, feeling Lythronath in turn. Once convinced (or as convinced as the ever-on-guard man becomes) of the bronze's relenting, he sinks back down with an involuntary wince and gestures for the healer to get on with it; not bothering to explain. Who would understand anyway? At least the healer makes it fast.
It's not as though she hasn't flown before. But today Teisyth has a secret goal. That means O'ris knows all about it. See, the other day, she accidentally ended up taking a few wingstrokes with her body curled and her wings tilted and it made her go backwards. She has every confidence that if O'ris will just let her, she could do it again! And for longer! And maybe even better than she can fly going forward! It's important to her. After all, how many dragons can brag about their backwards flying skills? It's something to make her feel special; not that she doesn't in general, but one more thing is always nice. « Pleeeeeeeease? Perdy perdy pleeeeeeeease? » It started when she had the idea and hasn't stopped. Maybe it only took once or twice, but she is/was prepared to go all day asking if she had to. There are times when Teisyth is infectious, rather than irritating, and it would seem this is one of those times. It probably helps that for now, O'ris isn't behind in his studies, and with the silver thread selection process come and gone, some of the pressure is off. Also, his dragon can fly backwards. It's certainly not rest, as the weyrling still has those big ugly bags under his eyes... "Okay, okay, okay," is laughing once he's decided they're far enough out into the bowl. "Just... make sure it's clear below before you try Teia, that's all." Because when they're out and alone, he likes talking out loud to her, mostly, where words can fly into the air instead of rattle in his head. So O'ris checks their surroundings, and takes a few steps back. "And don't hurt yourself." « YIPPEE! » ZOOM! She's bounding across the bowl, and maybe it's just imagination that makes her half-remembered, « Yer the best! » by way of thanks sound more distant. Bound bound leap! And she's up. Flying doesn't seem to be so much of an issue for her. She's not graceful, of course, she's not built to be, but she's effective getting up and getting flying. She circles up, up, up, not so high as to worry O'ris, but perhaps a little higher than he might strictly like. The far away shouts of her enjoyment communicated in mental whoops and bugle-honks into the wind make clear just how awesome she thinks flying is. This is the kind of awesome that a fifteen-turn-old weyrling can totally get behind. O'ris had crossed his arms over his chest when his green had first been gaining altitude; they loosen after a while, until he's hooked his thumbs in his belt just behind either hip, and is grinning up at the green, walking slow circles, chin in the air as he watches her progress. He even laughs here and there. Flying is awesome. Once Teisyth's got a good rhythm going, she can try it. It was a few days ago, so it's at the edge of her memory of exactly how it was done. Carefully she tilts her wings and there's a plummet down, too much torque! She adjusts. This all takes time, as she tries out different sections of what she is to do. Then it's time to put it all together. By now, she's closer to the ground, just in case, and where the more unpredictable currents of the open air aren't likely to bother her. It goes really well! ... For a few beats, and then, « Uh oh. » It happens so fast it's hard to tell what exactly went wrong before the dragon is tumbling the fifteen feet to the ground to land with a painful thud and creel that sounds oddly like squeaking metal. Graceless and ineffective. "You're insane!" is a compliment when Teisyth gets lower, O'ris ducking a little, even if he's well out of her way, several dragonlengths down the bowl. But at 'Uh oh' the laughing, and enjoyment, and awesome, it's all gone. O'ris is running before she's hit the ground, at her side as fast as is humanly possible, his face red. "Damn it, Teisyth!" Panic sure can get to anger pretty quickly in an over-tired weyrling. Even one who's got his hands checking along her limbs quickly, efficiently, even. "I told you to be careful'!" Does it hurt when he presses this knee? The best lifemates are, or so Teisyth feels. But that's before 'uh oh', before pain. Is there enough room for Teisyth to be in pain and be so sorry? Turns out there is, although she is overwhelmed by both. She can't find words for apology because she's busy crying in O'ris' head. It' hurts! She can't tell exactly where. At least not at first. She stays very still though, once she's on the ground. It looks like she impacted along her side, though the knee has scrapes enough that it made contact. The fact that one of her wings landed underneath her... it doesn't bode well. Did she get it tucked in time? Only time will tell... and probably dragonhealers. O'ris isn't the only one privy to her cries, because already there's an assistant's dragon circling and coming to a landing. "Calm down!" might have been more effective had O'ris not yelled it at his dragon. He carries on with his inspection, moving from limbs to ribs - or, what he can reach of them. "Faranth, Tei..." And one hand is off the green to rub over his face, over eyes that are bleary from fatigue and emotion. The other hand rests just lightly, now. Oh, he knows where it hurts. "Just hang on," still has an edge to it. "They're coming to get you." Yelling is an interesting choice of calming tactic. Shockingly, it doesn't work on Teisyth whose distress simply grows. But she's not moving from where she landed. Help is on the way; he doesn't need to tell her for her to know it. Someone more effective than O'ris has stepped in to try to keep her distress from turning to full-blown panic. In the meantime, they wait. There's something about getting pushed out of the way - even figuratively - that gets under O'ris' skin. Something about others being better with his dragon than he is. And he's so tired and still so angry. He pets a little at Teisyth's side, and starts onto that sharp-edged, I love you, and scrubs at his face again, this time getting a bit of wet away from his eyes with a hand shaking from tensed muscles.
Leaving the Weyr together is a rite of passage in month five. This isn't the first time they've been out and about, but it is the first time to be out and about overnight. They flew for hours, taking breaks, but giving the weyrling wings a good stretch before making camp in Tillek. With summer in swing, the weather was more or less pleasant, if a little muggy on this particular evening. Teisyth has had a marvelous day. Despite earlier mishaps, her unusual flight abilities made for fun flying as she played with different currents. If O'ris' stomach is sensitive... well. Oops. Now she's exploring the field in which they made camp. It's obviously a wild place, untended by man, with tall grasses and tunnelsnakes to pounce on, even if that prey is on the meager side, it's still fun. With dinner finished, G'rr returns the cooking pot cleaned in the nearby stream before setting out into the grasses. Maybe he's going for a stroll, albeit one affected by his limp, or maybe he's looking for a particular bronze to make sure no sibling or sibling's lifemate is getting eaten tonight. The wind breezing through the grasses and helping to keep the humidity from being too oppressive has a calming effect on his mind, not that his mind ever is truly relaxed, not since Impression. Maybe some have noticed how a few grey hairs have peppered themselves in with his short-shorn brown locks since then. Maybe it's too few to notice yet, but in time... Lythronath is his life forever. So. Give it time. O'ris didn't look great after the flight, but he at least seems to have recovered. He even ate a little, even was joking around with some of the other weyrlings over supper. It's been a good trip, and this is definitely an 'up' day for him, probably in no small part because Teisyth is in such good spirits. It's a warm cup of tea and the warm mood that has the greenrider leaving the fire and other weyrlings, searching out his dragon. Just follow the sounds of pouncing. The view of another person out is reason enough for the boy to call out, "Hey," rather than take anyone by surprise. Least of all if anyone is peeing or anything. Lythronath is not the greatest travel companion for others. Moving in formation isn't always easy, least of all when the wrong dragon gets into his space. But if the journey was rough, the end result is happy. Lythronath is nicely drained, and now is trying to stomp on tunnelsnakes. A very good end. And even when he doesn't get them, the thought of them squishing is totally worthwhile. It also helps that none of the 'wrong' people or dragons (most of the clutch) are around. Yet. G'rr started out intimidating. Now, with the smattering of scars, some of which show on his neck and pretty up his face, and the way that he moves so silently and swiftly predatory, like his dragon, he's probably downright scary. He turns abruptly at the greeting, smoothly pivoting to angle himself so he can see who's calling. He started with greetings by name months ago, but now he simply grunts acknowledgement of O'ris. It's easy to forget one's humanity with dragon like Lythronath. It's really Teisyth bounding into his path that prompts speech, and his ire. "Control your fucking dragon." She did sort of bound pretty close to him. Not that she meant anything by it. This is Lythronath's lifemate after all, and she likes Lythronath. Maybe the ire comes from the fact that he's got squishing on the brain, and while Lythronath's is purposeful, Teisyth presents the possibility of accidental. Even if she can see better than he in this dusky light. Man, and it was such a good day. "What, you mean like you do?" The greenrider has got more than a little protective of his dragon - his dragon, the one he makes cry, the one he yells at, but still, his dragon - and G'rr's ire is catching. O'ris takes a few jogging steps to brush past the bronzerider, and give a careful look over Teisyth. Lythronath has got nearer to the green, and so, when O'ris gets nearer to him, he starts to bob his head and click-growl warning. All the squishing is belong to Lythronath. Teia, watch out for this one, communicated silently. And clearly more about G'rr than his bronze, who simply gets as much space as O'ris can allow, while keeping himself between G'rr and his green. Near Lythronath or not, G'rr doesn't care. Mine. This fight is his. Lythronath can watch or find his own, with tunnelsnakes. Even with his limp, the advance is swift. "You want to try it, hot stuff? I'd like to see you come out better. At least my dragon pays attention to his surroundings." Has O'ris noticed the warning click-growl, realized his own peril? Teisyth, as ever, is the peacemaker. She's aware, of course, that G'rr is getting O'ris' caprine, and that her rider is a liiittle too close to Lythronath for the bronze's comfort, so she's putting her nose down to try to herd O'ris away from the both of them. « He don't mean anything by it, » to the bronze, soothingly, « He's just bein' all protective an' stuff. » Which she doesn't seem to think she needs, but it's sweet of him to do for her anyway. O'ris can at least pick up on Teisyth's intentions, enough that, even though he puts a hand on her snout, he does take a few steps away from that menace of a bronze dragon. "What, that what you called attempted murder? The state he's left you in, I could probably take you on and win right now, in the dark." Dusk. Whatever. Even after he's moved, that hand stays on his green. Lythronath sees retreat for what it is, standing a little bit taller, and pressing his advantage with one firm step forward, toward Teisyth. Toward O'ris. G'rr's? Hahahahah. « Run. » "You want to see what I call attempted murder?" There's a dangerous calm to the way G'rr says it. He doesn't even bother to physically glare at his dragon. Mine. It's repeated with force. And with pain. There was no second warning for that. Teisyth's smaller than Lythronath, but her herding attempts cease when she hears the step forward, senses whatever subtle understanding she alone seems to get from the bronze and turns to face him, making herself big. Well, as big as she can get. « No. You leave him be, or I'll eat yer man. » She makes munching sounds, complete with the cracking of bone and tearing of flesh. That's her lifemate and she's not letting a big bronze bully (no matter how much she likes him) touch one hair on his head. Well, okay, maybe if he snorts and his breath blows it, but that's it. At the edge of her mind there's wistfulness. Can't they just go back to the fun of stomping and pouncing on tunnelsnakes? "I dare you." O'ris is fired up now, and the boy puffs his chest and balls his hands into fists - both of them, the one hand long gone from Teisyth - in face of the bigger, grown man in front of him. "See how much worse of a bronzerider you can be." If G'rr can build up a sort of tolerance to pain, surely Lythronath can, too. « In the way, » is the closest thing to a courtesy the dragon has before he steps forward and shoves, shoulder and neck, the ramming headbutt he's got so very good at. Some part of G'rr is trying, valiantly, to give a damn what happens next. But that's difficult. After four and a half months of vigilance and painful control over an unruly dragon, the man just has no fucks left to give. He doesn't bother with insults. Maybe it's because he's Lythronath's lifemate that he meets challenge with challenge now, never backing down. Teisyth is busy getting headbutted, and ow, that hurts! She feels helpless, suck here, literally in the middle, but her primary concern is the dragon not the man. Maybe she didn't internalize it enough when O'ris told her to watch out for the man. The man skirts the green and the first punch is thrown, guard up, well-trained stance. It's not going to help anything with Lythronath that G'rr hasn't ruled out snapping O'ris' neck. Or that when G'rr fights in earnest, he fights to kill, not simply permanently debilitate or something equally kind and forgiving. G'rr is a better fighter than O'ris, has proved that much in hand-to-hand, let alone by simple rules of physics. The boy gets up his hands in time to halfway-block the blow, but he's stumbling backwards, and landing hard. Which means he's down, and left only to kicking at the bronzerider's injured leg. Which means Lythronath sees his opportunity, and has all the motivation he needs. And the truth is, even when G'rr has claimed things, Lythronath and he are going to share everything, forever. This time, there's no warning. Lythronath goes through Teisyth, however he has to. He claims a piece of that fight. His. Theirs. The most terrifying part about fighting G'rr (or probably Lythronath for that matter) is that once it's started, it's not over until someone's unconscious or dead. He just keeps coming. Sure, it hurts when O'ris kicks his leg. Repeatedly. But pain is a long-time companion for G'rr, and the pain of getting kicked in a mostly healed injury is really nothing compared to the pain of a recently inflicted injury by dragonclaw, or worse, the first few days after. Teisyth, for all her sweetness, is not a pushover, so it takes Lythronath effort to go through her. The effort means ichor, means bulks slammed against one another, means roars and attracting attention. G'rr is too focused on his own fight as he lands a punch that puts O'ris out, as he rises to stumble back from the boy's unconscious body. He doesn't feel the angle of Lythronath's attack until it's too late. Turning doesn't help. It only makes it worse. It's not the beating from G'rr, it's the pain from his dragon that makes O'ris cry out, an angry, "Teisyth!" And then it's Lythronath, Lythronath coming irrepressible, Lythronath roaring and seeing only the boy who went after his rider, Lythronath barely noticing the flesh his claws sink into as he tries to get past G'rr and get his revenge. It's as much a shock to him, that fresh pain, new, hard to ignore, and he roars, again, and again, his fury unchannelled and lashing out all over. He hits Teisyth again. How he misses the unconscious O'ris is almost impossible to comprehend. And it's a long time before he gets settled enough that the greenrider can be seen to, let alone G'rr. Teisyth isn't paying attention when Lythronath hits her. Because O'ris is gone! Well, no, he's there, and breathing, but she can't feel him! For a dragon who never wanted her rider more than five feet from her, the fact that she can't feel him is cause to panic. She barely notices the pain of impact, she doesn't even feel the fracturing of bone or the way the ichor begins to seep where it should not go. She's ignoring Lythronath, ignoring G'rr, ignoring Solith when she tries to get her under control. It isn't until the weight of gold is felt that the panic is caged, if not fully controlled. Really, it's not until O'ris wakes that her panic is even at reasonable levels. In the meantime, healers for human and dragon alike have come because flying with him unconscious is unreasonable to Teisyth. She lets the healers come to him, tend him, but Faranth help them if they try to move him from her sight, or even really from that spot. Her visible wounds have been tended to, and the remaining pain she feels and isn't able to place is written off as O'ris. O'ris is, for much of the time, drifting in and out of a strange dream state, a pounding head underwritten by backwards flying and some sort of deep, unsettling pain that he can't place. By the time his own consciousness really starts to surface, he's so interlaced with Teisyth that the first few sentences twang nonsense in rhythms that aren't his own. But this time, he pulls out of the fog. And by the time they get him making any sense, the clearest message he has is, "Something's wrong." Something's wrong, and eventually, he works in, "Check her," too. And all too late. G'rr is tended to, and dosed with fellis almost immediately. Well, when anyone can get close enough to do so. The healers only have to look at his arm once to know he'll lose it, the wounds too severe, flesh and muscle torn too raggedly to be reconstructed. For now it's wrapped firm, they know they'll need one or probably both of the 'Reaches golds exerting their influence on the bronze when it comes time to take it from him. A time that comes and goes. If G'rr knew, he mightn't wish to wake. With waking comes unimaginable pain, and so much more. Lythronath's eyes are red when G'rr wakes, red and staring straight down at his rider. « One-arm. » He bobs his head, and the pain in the link bobs along with it, bouncing and snapping and burning and ripping. When the bronze roars, it vibrates. « One-arm G'rr. » But even through his rider's pain, the link that even Lythronath shares with the other dragons can come through. And when Lythronath throws his head back to utter the keen for Teisyth, the pain tears right through the eery note. |
Comments
Alida (Alida (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 18 Dec 2013 03:56:51 GMT.
< Maaaaan... O.O
Remind me why I'm glad they Impressed who they did in our NON-AU.
Excellent read!
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