Logs:And the Winner Is...
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| RL Date: 1 June, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, G'laer, Lythronath, Rh'mis, Rosvelth, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Teisyth and Rosvelth had a really good thing going with three flights in a row; then Lythronath had to come along and ruin everything! Rhey cries about it. Yep. |
| Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 12, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Blizzard |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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| Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr This broad ledge is dappled with bright light in the morning and commands a lovely view of the eastern end of the bowl, including the lake and the trees that dot the shoreline. Reached by a flight of stone steps that climb up from the bowl floor, the ledge is relatively low, an easy jump down to the ground; possibly its selection was a safety precaution, so anyone stumbling out the wrong way after a flight would be unlikely to break his or her neck. Within the weyr itself is a comfortably-sized dragon wallow, rarely used but swept clean nonetheless. The cavern broadens as it stretches back away from the entrance to reveal a neatly made double-sized bed pushed up against the back wall, a press at its foot with an extra blanket folded on top of it and two chairs standing guard to either side of the hearth. A rectangular table lurks against the side wall, kept stocked with a pitcher of water and a basket of seasonal fruits. The weyr is well-lit and kept immaculately clean, the refreshing scents of citron-infused sweetsand mingling with the tang of herbs.
Rosvelth's pretty smug for a brown who hasn't (yet) caught his green, well-pleased as he dives into the throng amidst the feeding grounds to take down a beast and show his stuff for Teisyth (like that even matters, of course). No small part of that smugness must be for his (superior) ability to keep his rider entirely into the dark right until this very moment: it means they're here, and not halfway across the continent. It means Rhey is here, storming his way into the guest weyr with cheeks aflame and a scowl dug deep into his expression. And A'rist, of course, isn't. He never is, at first, even since Lythronath's started winning. The truth of it is, must be, that the bronze finds waiting out the greens tiresome. He's been aware of Teisyth, sure, seeking her out, shouting pre-emptive thought-lust at her when he can catch a glance, but now? Now, they're nowhere to be found. Well, not yet. G'laer might have been unprepared in the past, but now he's well prepared judging from the way he's sitting on the edge of the bed using a knife to pick at the underside of his nails. Surely this bodes well for a gentle pairing, right? And if his eyes linger on Rhey longer than the other would-be suitors... well, it's probably not love. For Teisyth it is, though. Love of the tasty blood. Love of the way Rosvelth and the few others who've joined in are enjoying themselves. Love of the sky and the snow and the wind as she shoots into it with a lusty, « YEEHAW! » « To the moons and back, » suggests Rosvelth, abandoning his kill in order to throw himself after Teisyth; he likes it like this, likes the thrill of it, the drama. « Higher and higher! » It's enthusiasm his rider, clearly, cannot share: Rhey takes one look at G'laer, and at that knife, and then stalks for a place along the wall as far from the greenrider as he can manage. He's not armed; not unless you count his fists, which ball up, tight, at his sides. There's still no Lythronath, not visible in the skies as the green and her chasers start carving out their trajectory, at least. But what there is, all at once, is A'rist, deposited on the ground by some unseen force, jaw and brow set in decided control as he marches, almost calmly, toward that ground weyr, without even the help of tracks that have been obscured by the snow. Yeah, that sounds good. Teisyth likes the moons. Now, just to find them in all this white. It's like the best game of hide and seek ever! She's off, winging through the white, trying to work the currents and ending up, more often than not doing her fancy backwards flying than anything so simple and straightforward as-- well, forward flying. Regular flying. She's no regular green, so why should she fly that way? G'laer, too, is rather irregular as greenriders go, possibly even as riders go. He lets his eyes float from face to face, his lips are curled in a lazy smile then he's letting the knife find its sheath on his belt. The point he wanted to make has been made. Then he's on his feet and walking, not toward Rhey, of course. Just walking, around the bed, examining the empty press at the end of the bed, opening it, looking at the hinges, and so on. He's got time to kill. Just one amidst the pack, Rosvelth hurtles onwards. It's true that he can't see where he's going any better than any of the others, but he has confidence; he's got this one in the bag, honestly. All he needs to do is keep flying, and Teisyth will come to him. Really. Unfortunately for Rhey, Rosvelth's desires hover about the edges of his own thoughts, bleeding between them in this closest of moments: he can't help himself, lifting his gaze to glance after Tei-- G'laer. His fists, if anything, tighten. Into that moment walks A'rist, head held high, chin out, confident. He waits inside while snowflakes start to melt off of his hair, while he looks around and takes in all those present, most of all the man at the clothespress. A'rist is calm and cool. And Lythronath is there, all at once, « MINE, » declared out of that same whiteout nowhere from which he appears, the fires of comet-blazed wings already fowling one blue's flightpath. Of course, the kick of a talon probably doesn't help any either. Lythronath sees Teisyth. Lythronath drives straight for her. « MINE. » G'laer isn't looking at Rhey. No, he's leaning down to plumb the depths of the press which probably only has the bare necessity items for possible guests. He isn't, consequently, looking at A'rist, or noticing the woman about to grab his ass as he's bent forward. That's clearly going to go well. The fact that he straightens just before her hand is to make contact is probably thanks to the sudden presence of Lythronath as a swift shift of her wings draws Teisyth up sending that bronze whizzing past her with a surprised, « What in tarnation! » Can't he see she's looking for the moons here? He is not a moon. And onward and upward she goes, at long last bursting through the snowy clouds and into the clear night. « HEY. » That is totally not fair, at least by Rosvelth's view of things, and he's not going to take it laying down. Not... that he's laying down, of course, oh no. As Teisyth heads upwards, he throws himself in that direction, too, aiming so soar closer and closer still. He's the only person who catches Teisyth, don't the rest of these males know it? A'rist earns a scowl from Rhey that is at least partially dragon-encouraged (but only partially): he sinks back against the wall, closing his eyes against all of it - and all of them. This fucking sucks. Moons are boring, mating is awesome. Lythronath roars when his first attempt is missed; it doesn't seem to take energy away from the correction and renewed pursuit. And if that woman's brown there gets a tail-slap for trying to go the same way as he does? All the better. Above the clouds, he's no moon, and all fire. A'rist's confidence is not in the least shaken by his dragon's miss. He answers his wingmate's scowl with an even look, and is watching G'laer in time to see the bum-grab fail. It's a slow circuit he starts next, better to walk past his competitors, the tension between him and his dragon keeping those steps slow, almost easy. The thing about looking for moons in a clear night is that they're too easy to find. And so is she. Teisyth's wings tuck abruptly and she might as well leave a plume of mist behind her as she drops back into the cloud cover. It's more fun to play hide and seek when it's a challenge. But now she's not looking for moons. Is she looking for anything or finally remembering that it's she who's being sought? Just because the woman missed her first attempt, doesn't mean that she doesn't take a step forward to make a second. Which has G'laer straightening even more and twisting to grab the offending wrist and push the woman away. The touch, as might be expected, receives a hiss from at least one other chaser. And G'laer simply wags a finger at her. No one's won yet. Hands off. The touch might have drawn attention to the fact that the knife is gone from its sheath once more and nowhere to be seen. It takes Rosvelth a few seconds longer than he'd probably like to dive after Teisyth when she drops so; still, dive he does: hurry, hurry, hurry! Not that he's lacking on confidence, even so. Really, it's just a matter of time. Rhey's eyes stay closed; he's not looking. He is not looking. He is... okay, they flicker open again, glancing around warily. Lythronath knows this snow like the back of a Teisyth. That one. Right there. The bronze has dropped, another blue barely clearing out of the way of his dive, talons forward, teeth bared, roar pushing snow out of his way. There she is. « MINE. » And A'rist? A'rist stops, mid-step, to stare with lifted brow at that blue's rider, near Rh'mis, not in front of him, quite. G'laer? He'll have to fend for himself just now. Woah, woah, hey, woah, woah. Teisyth is flying here, Lythronath. It's like he doesn't know the rules of the sky! Ladies have the right of way, and at least right now she sort of counts. She's rolling out of his way. It's starting to border on rude the way he keeps calling like that. At least Rosvelth has manners, she remembers now. Forget the rest, now she's looking for him in the whiteout. « Rosvelth, where are you? » That's when G'laer groans, a resigned sound and he turns to find Rhey with his eyes. "Take your belt off." Granted, he managed that last time, but there's no harm in being sure, is there? « Here, » says Rosvelth, through the cloud and snow. But where is here? He's struggling, now: struggling to find her, and make absoultely sure that Lythronath - the interloper! - doesn't get near. He's not as bulky as all of that... but he can try. Rhey glowers at G'laer. And at A'rist, too. One hand drops towards his belt buckle, but doesn't begin to undo it. "Fuck you," he says. « Where! » is bellowed to Rosvelth, to Teisyth, to that second remaining dragon that hasn't been Lythronath'd off yet. « Snow! » Next. The bronze spins, corkscrew, but he knows where his mark is. And this time, it's not Teisyth. This time, he's aiming a shoulder for that one right there. That Rosvelth. A'rist has turned his stare onto Rh'mis. And he's smiling. Just a little. At the corner. Teisyth can't find him, woe! The next call is more desperate, less certain, « Rosvelth! » It's not good. Maybe she thinks if G'laer is physically closer to Rhey, she'll be able to find her brown more readily. Maybe that's why G'laer advances half way to where Rhey and A'rist stand. "That's generally her idea. But I swear by the First Egg if you come at me with that sharding belt on, again, I'll make sure you can't again for at least a turn." No matter how upset that would make his dragon. If it would. Rosvelth is too busy trying to find Teisyth to mind Lythronath; that's why the bronze gets him with that shoulder, and certainly no other reason. He never would, otherwise. But - he does. It happens. And Rosvelth is thrown off his path and out into the white-out snow: lost. It's enough that Rhey lashes out, throwing his body weight forward in a way not dissimilar to Lythronath. G'laer will get the worst of it, though with fists flying, they could go anywhere. A'rist is distracted by G'laer the same time Lythronath sees that flash of rusty green. It'll take a few beats; moving his wings out of the way for the shoulder-slam has lost him some altitude. But Lythronath has time. And power. And Teisyth in his sights yet again. A'rist, he's just got enough time to turn a shoulder and raise a fist and try get into enough of a braced stance that he'll not lose his footing, with the other two coming in fast. Who knows what happened to that fourth rider. "No, damnit-" is all G'laer has a chance to get out before Rhey is on him and he rocks back. Maybe the greenrider was going to protest that the threat was for execution later, not now. One of Rhey's fists draws first blood from G'laer's lip. In the first flight, he took Rhey's punch. In the second, his belt. Now? Now he's trying to wrangle Rhey around to get him into a headlock however he can make it happen. In the meantime, Teisyth is searching. She's getting so tired but Rosvelth must be here somewhere, right? The hero always comes for the-- um, fair maiden in the end of the story? Headlocks -- yes, they happen. Rhey's small, but he's distracted, and he's not quite fast enough to get out of the way. Of course, one of his knees lifts, instinctively, and aimed towards G'laer's balls; it's all timed with Rosvelth's frantic rumbled cry of defeat as he finds himself coming out the other side of the cloud cover. All is lost. « TEISYTH! » All is really, really lost. Can't G'laer have just one nice flight experience? Teisyth screams while G'laer starts to groan and makes it a snarl instead. The greenrider starts to buckle, but that arm around Rhey's neck? It tightens. All is lost. That includes Teisyth! She's not sure where she is, where he is, and she might even be flying upside down. Nothing makes sense! Where is G'laer? Then abruptly she knows where G'laer is. She knows where she is. She is, quite unexpectedly, with Lynner. G'laer is, or soon will be, with A'rist. It's probably the green who tells her rider he's holding onto the wrong one, so G'laer lets go. In time to avoid injury between his hold and A'rist's pull? Maybe. Yanked back, and feeling the less-physical wave of loss invoked by Lythronath's catch, Rhey topples. On the plus side: he's out of there. Rosvelth may be disappointed, but Rhey? Rhey is yanking free, crawling on hands and knees, if he has to, in order to get out of there. Immediately. When the brownrider topples, A'rist leaves him. He's not interested in him. His interest is now, fiercely, G'laer. A'rist is unbuckling his belt. Lythronath is catching Teisyth's fall with blazed wings, angling for as long a flight as he can make it now. Feelings: still boring. Mating: still awesome. They both get to share the, « Hahaha! » of victory. |
Comments
Ghena on 04:05, 27 July 2014 said...
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH -cough- Yeah. This was awesome to read.
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