Logs:Aeaeth's Maiden Flight
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| RL Date: 14 August, 2015 |
| Who: Alida, Everett, Jo, Kaitlin, M'ron, V'ros, Yesia, Aeaeth, Ilicaeth, Tacuseth, Zmeyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Aeaeth rises in her maiden flight; some dragons chase her around. |
| Where: Snowasis / Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 8, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Sunny and bright, midday. |
| OOC Notes: Thanks everyone! Please feel free to edit, and if anyone has poses I missed in the Snowasis I'd be obliged if you added them! |
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| With the afternoon crawling into early evening, the Snowasis is in something of a lull, at least as far as it ever lulls. There is a smattering of people - two riders playing darts, a few people at the counter, and a handful of tables filled - but there is still the white-noise lull of sound punctuated by larger bursts of sound, but for the most part it's...mellow. Even with a greenrider perched on one of the tables with her feet resting in one of the chairs and a moody expression on her face. She's got something fruity going on beside her, the straw bobbing, but mostly it looks like an untouched prop. It's a little rarer to find Alida here at 'lull time,' the bluerider busy nearly nearly all the time, these days. Today, however, she's self-enforcing (okay, maybe with Ilicaeth's prodding) an hour or two of down time before heading off again to tend to personal business. And so the blonde can be found sequestered deeper within the Snowasis, her back to a wall as she sits, drinks, and converses with another woman who looks like Weyr staff...and occasionally peers at the various folk who enter and exit. Oh yeah, *and* proddy Yesia the haughty, over there. The grapevine (and Alida's blue) have well-circulated the 'rumor' that Aeaeth is very proddy, and the blonde finds this (and other 'reasons') enough to keep flicking her eyes towards the weyrling to silently observe her...much to the humor of her current tablemate, who's polishing off a fruity-cool mixed drink of some sort while murmuring something to Alida. This particular perch marks the longest time sitting that Yesia has engaged since she entered. Her restlessness increases by the minute: jittery finger tapping, the jig of a knee, the twirling of her hair. Picking up the drink. Putting it down again. Shifting like she's uncomfortable. Then the sitting spell breaks and she stands up to move to the chair and sit in it like a normal human being. A minute later she stands again. Shells. She picks up her drink with a resigned sigh and starts her rounds, looking fretful as she chews the end of the straw and stars deeper into room, muttering something until she says, snippish to nobody, "Then go eat! You're making me miserable!" And here she uses the straw for it's purpose, sucking down the drink until half is gone, scowling at the first people to fall into her sights. Alida and her tablemate, as it were. There's mostly drinking and talking going on at their table, Alida and the caverns woman exchanging something beneath arched hands over the tabletop, then chuckling at one another over something. Until Yesia the Proddy materializes and scowls at them. At that, the middle-aged kitchen staff merely peers up at the redhead, smirks softly back to Alida, and then excuses herself to go take up her duties so that dinner can be served on time. Meanwhile, the blonde bluerider merely nods to the departing woman, then affixing her flat green eyes on sour Yesia like a buzzard might eye some dying animal. Waiting...watching. Cool and calculating. Enough people have been unnerved by not only the woman's calculating gaze, but of rumors of her personality, and the supposed things she's done...or is purportedly capable of doing. Yesia's moody glare follows the caverns woman as she departs, unrelenting but somewhat undermined by the fact that halfway through it she pulls the straw back in her mouth and pulls another quarter of her drink down. There is something decidedly unintimidating about drinking out of a straw, no matter how terrifying you are. Standing a distance from Alida's far-back table, Yesia apparently never got the memo about how intimidating or scary she is, and her chin lifts with challenge. "Ugh, everyone stares," she says eventually, though any other time she might find it flattering. At the back of the Snowasis, now alone at her table - well, if you don't count standing Yesia - Alida simply continues to stare at the greenie with flat features and those often-intimidating green eyes. Her own drink is over ice, with 4 distinct layers of varying shades of creme and brown, the lowball glass lifted to her mouth for a long, measured sip before she comments in deadpan fashion to the proddy one, "So go somewhere else." Beat. "Unless yer an attention whore when proddy." Is that an accusation? Very tough to know, since the elder woman's brusque alto is so bereft of emotion. Jo arrives with fanfare in the crowded space, making a beeline for the bar counter with M'ron and Kaitlin in tow. She hasn't noticed anyone yet - well, other than Everett, in which she's wiggling some fingers in the air to get his attention. Should he look towards, she sends him a quick bright smile and a gesture towards the brownriders flanking her side. "Somethin' strong, Everett," she calls, only now taking a liberal look around them. "All three of us. Have a feelin' it's gonna be a night." Everyone stares. Everett is a little bartender-circle inside the larger everyone-circle. Therefore, Everett stares. Well, no. Everett casts covert looks in Yesia's direction while filling other orders, until he can finally tear himself free to head down her direction. It takes longer than he might like; he keeps getting saddled with people wanting little things. A refill, a napkin. A whole round of drinks for a bunch of ill-mannered newcomers who don't say please. It must be said, though, that they get a smile: "Something strong, coming up." In the midst of all that, he only offers, as an afterthought, something in the way of peacekeeping: "Don't want any trouble around here, everybody's welcome if they aren't here to be trouble." Which is entirely at odds, of course, with the cheer with which he's pouring for Jo and her companions. Everyone stares, and Alida gets Yesia hot under the collar. The redhead turns red in the cheeks too with her annoyance, but spins away from Alida without further ado and an immature poke of the tongue at the bluerider. That'll teach her. She sucks down the rest of that drink - making it a record time imbibe - and puts the glass down with gusto, shoving it forward. "Everett," is popular tonight, and his name is whiny on Yesia's lips. "Everett, you owe me a drink." She's careful not to look at Jo and her entourage, or even back at Alida. Just Everett, with big eyes bridging on sad. "Don' promise if ya' can't deliver..." is noted just as flatly as always to Yesia's sticking out of tongue. Pfft. Good. She got the proddy one to leave her alone. That's all Alida really wanted, anyway...though - given Ilicaeth's thoughts about Aeaeth - she can't honestly help but smirk a little as she watches the greenrider's hips move while she strides away. Give her a moment, and she's quickly enough shaking her head to clear it, then frowning a little while her gaze goes distant for some moments. Just...No. No matter, being free of the 'pest' gives her more room to look around somemore, and it's now that the blonde catches sight of Jo and Co., the seated woman offering a large wave to her buddy out there. Everett gets a quick look-over during this process. "Did'ja forget where we come from?" This coming from M'ron to Everett on trouble, all brawn and muscle as he sidles up to the counter in wait for his drink. He has his arm over Kait's shoulders as Jo adds was about add to that banter until Yesia's voice cuts in for the bartender. The convict rider deliberately turns to regard Yesia fully, brows lifted before shooting a curious look towards Everett that's brief. Once the moment passes though, she catches Alida's eye and nods her greeting to her on her way over towards the weyrling. "Not flouncin' tonight?" is her greeting to Yesia, trying to see what she's drinking this time as Kait and M'ron look on. Oh sigh. The glowing green of the day has been sprawled out in the waters of the lake until now, sleeping restlessly, tail and wings flicking and her mouth curling up into snarls at nothing without prompting. Now she comes awake fully, her mind tendriling out contemplatively. All those colors, touching minds with curiosity and a hint of hunger, while someone plucks the strings of a harp as if tuning it. (To Ilicaeth and Tacuseth from Aeaeth) Tacuseth is on the south rim, seeming to watch the skies. Well, seeming is the word here since the moment Aeaeth rouses, he suddenly makes a drop from the rim. It's as if he was lying in wait for one glowy green, keeping away from her but nearby at the same time as he lands to blood some kills. One can believe that browns Hiyudath and Jormunth are following suit. (To Ilicaeth and Aeaeth from Tacuseth) Face as innocent as the summer days are long in the north. "I'd never dream of considering a dear cousin, however distant, to be trouble," Everett manages to say to M'ron with an entirely straight face. He makes a sort of what-can-you-do gesture at Jo as he takes this excuse to head over and devote his attention, however momentarily, to the greenrider. "I do owe you a drink." See, how honorable a fellow he is. "Are you here to collect? I thought you'd be back a little sooner, but I won't hold it against you." Ilicaeth's lounging on his own ledge, soaking in the sun this fine summer day...and giving more than the occasional look down to formerly-snoozing Aeaeth. She does look rather fine...but he's not really decided on whether he wants to 'pursue' anything with her or not. She does look (and smell) fine, though. On a private channel to his blue bro is noted, « Whatcha think uv' 'er? » Grin. (To Tacuseth and Aeaeth from Ilicaeth) Yesia has critical regard for Everett's interactions with Jo et al, but that could just be because they're not with her, and she is the attention whore Alida accused her of being. Jo gets a nasty little hand gesture for all her efforts to needle the weyrling, and it morphs into a fist on which she can rest her chin with a winning smile and bat of the lashes for the bartender. "I'm sorry," she starts to flirt. "I just got busy, you know. I could spend the whole evening with you, but now it seems you're busy." Which is a shame, and she sighs it out. "Can I have another sweet thing? Please?" At least one person here has manners. Now that Jo and Co. have been acknowledged, Alida stretches some, polishes off the last of her layered, iced drink, and then sets about standing up from her seat. It's time to leave; she and Ilicaeth have some important business to attend to in the South, after all. There's a dark little smirk for flirty Yesia and taunting Jo out there beyond her, but she'll have to pass by while exiting...so the blonde nearly-saunters 'sort-of' over to the tight-knit group, and notes to her fellow bluerider and the brownriders on the fly as she slowly passes by, "Watch out, people. Gonna be soon." Cue an eyeroll at Yesia, a faint smirk even for Everett, and the blonde wiggles her fingers. *She's* getting the hell out of Dodge. Something must be going on outside, for Jo's usually brash mood is suddenly less so. She angles a sharp look to Alida - as if she could communicate through eyes alone to her wingmate - as M'ron says to Everett, "No better words spoken, my man. You'll have the drinks handy for when we come back, right?" If Everett is out of the loop of what's happening, the convict brownrider isn't filling him in. Not even the petite blonde, Kaitlin, by his side is saying anything other than a, "Of course he will." As for Jo, she's not taking Yesia's dismissal of her so easily since she's suddenly by her side and needles her more - this time, deliberately. "Aw com'on, lil' Red," she drawls the words into a purr, leaning her hip against the counter. "No bitchy comments this time? Ran outta nasty things to say, or do ya need some help, baby? - Oh hey, Alida! Why doncha stay with us, hm?" It's suggestive, the convict rider angling as if to try and keep Alida from leaving. To Ilicaeth and Tacuseth, Aeaeth is dismissive at best - if Ilicaeth is not interested, she will add with saccharine sweetness for Tacuseth only. « I think I am hungry. Would you get me a herdbeast? » And if he will, then she will stand and spread her wings experimentally, awfully bright, awfully interested in some far-off point on the horizon. Awfully cacophonous all of a sudden. Tacuseth is definitely in the zone, and there's no lingering shadows this time. This time, the trumpets are blaring before the gladiator takes the stage! « Ain' nothin' keepin' me from her, » is his answer to his buddy's question, already working through his kill. Still, when Aeaeth has her attentions on him, that gladiator walks out to crowd fanfare. « Got one for ya already, sweets, » he purrs, much like his rider. « Ya'll NEVER go without, with me. » (To Ilicaeth and Aeaeth from Tacuseth) "Of course I will." Everett might barely have any idea what could possibly be going on, here, but on the up side, he's all full of smiles and obliging. But more of them for Yesia, of course, because Yesia is the one actually making eyes at him, and he's exactly the age for that sort of thing to be an overriding priority. "A sweet thing for a sweet thing," he proclaims, because it's the obvious thing to say, isn't it? "I can forgive busy, but you'll have to come back sometime when I'm not due to work the whole night. Maybe I could see you sometime when I'm not actually due to work at all, wouldn't that be novel?" This is the best possible time for this, right? To local dragons, Aeaeth projects « There's a band playing in Aeaeth's head: the trumpets are not hers, are touched with shadow, but there are other instruments melting together in not-quite-music at all. It's headache inducing and teeth rattling, and her desire is there too, wrapped in color and candied sweets. « You got me one, » Aeaeth trills at Tacuseth for his compliance, and says, « You are the best at finding me things. I'll come for it. » » "Thank -- No. No." That was quick. It could be for Jo's sudden crowding into the greenrider's hip, needling at her, or it could be for the fact that outside, her dragon is moving in just such a way that suggests she's going to wriggle out of her skin. Whatever it is, poor Everett doesn't get an answer, and Jo gets a shove and a tart, "You were wrong." Not about her dragon glowing, no - about something else entirely, as Yesia makes headway for the door looking miserable and murmuring, "Go to the pens, Aeaeth, don't --" He's watching as he waits there with wings fully unfurled, Ilicaeth leaning more and more towards 'Aeaeth' instead of 'work' as seconds pass. Tacuseth's words earn his blue bro a baritone rumble of humor, a stout mental headbutt, and a good-natured bugle of competition. (To local dragons from Ilicaeth) >---< Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#466RJs) >-------------------------------< Jo heads up a set of shallow steps from the bowl. To local dragons, Reisoth watches the bowl from his ledge above the Weyr, observant presence focused on Aeaeth and the other males that have taken a preliminary interest in her. He's quiet, as is fairly typical of him whether he's interested in a glowing female or not. Alida heads up a set of shallow steps from the bowl. Out on the lakeshore, there is a stillness in the green, a regard for where she knows some of the males are blooding their kills, and her hunger is not gnawing as she once thought it was. So when she spreads her wings with the promise, « I'm coming to fetch it, Tacuseth, » of whatever he's just slain for her, it may be a surprise when she doesn't angle evenly for the feeding pens but up, like a sudden green shot. Her mind is loud enough; she doesn't bugle her challenge or tell them she's leaving. And this is all just before Yesia stamps into the guest weyr, distant-eyed and shaking her head. No no no. Tacuseth has that dead beast waiting for Aeaeth, but the moment she shoots for the skies, so does he. « Then I'm comin' to fetch YOU, » is his call, his blue shadows wisping away by the winds as he and two browns familiar to him heed her call. As for Jo, she's several paces behind Yesia after having taken off after her from the bar. "Wrong 'bout what, Yesia?" she calls, the words unbidden through open frustration. Both M'ron and Kaitlin trail in behind her, seemingly more at ease than those two as their dragons launch after Tacuseth. That's the odd straw that breaks the camel's back...or, in this case, sets off Ilicaeth in full: Aeaeth's not blooding at all. As she launches from the Bowl, *he* gathers himself and hurls his rocky form skyward, more-than hot on the young green's heels...in fact, only half a dragonlength behind her. He's not seeking to catch this soon though; they're much too dangerously near the ground to make of it anything but disaster and lots of pain, so the craggy blue simply watches her smaller for speed up and pull ahead. Mmm...pretty! He remains silent for now, though. And Alida? *She's* still cussing - but mostly under her breath - at her turncoat partner as she stalks into the guest weyr, and takes up a spot holding up one of the walls. Grumble. Where is Zmeyth? The reptilian-patterned brown has been skulking in the feeding pens this entire time, relegating himself to a low-key appreciation of the green rather than an all-out show, and when Aeaeth launches herself into the sky, he leaves the half-drained carcass of his second kill on the ground in favor of pursuing with untamed zeal. His smoke obfuscates where there are no words, not in the heat of this moment, or at least, not from the brown. "Fuck's sake," precedes V'ros' stumbling-ascent into the guest weyr. He has the appearance of one flustered, even as he shoves his hands forcibly into his pockets and finds a spot somewhere along the wall; he keeps his eyes down and his shoulders hunched, clearly on the side of those not enthused to be here, however much his dragon seems to be enjoying the hunt. It will have to suffice now that Jo was wrong about something, by one weyrling greenrider's estimation, because Yesia isn't answering now. She's gone, up and up as Aeaeth's wingbeats take her increasingly higher. Her lack of a meal makes no difference in her speed, or how nimbly she darts through the lowest of cloud cover. Her movements are deft but uncalculated as she skims the top off a particularly large puff of cloud, changing her direction entirely from one compass point to another, and her ribbons of color tickle through smoke and sound, brightening their minds, encouraging. It's not until then, when she's obscured herself from them however briefly, that she cuts a look over her shoulder to bugle her delight and take note of their positions. Even Ilicaeth's closeness is no matter; he will slow down. Yesia takes her tally inside, too. Her gaze drops to rove faces - most unfamiliar, and at least one earning a snarl with what's left of her - as she backs closest to the wall that is unclaimed as of yet, a smile curving her lips. "Can't catch us," she dares. Tacuseth doesn't use the brunt of his speed as he watches Aeaeth's movements. It's the wind currents that he uses to his advantage, his shadows ever reaching for Aeaeth's mind. Any cuts of flight she makes, he paces, his sleek wings angling just a little one way or the next - pacing, not forcing. Not yet. With Yesia not answering her and her friends beckoning, Jo turns from her and sets to pacing near the back. Her dark gaze finds V'ros - familiar - and then Alida, the weyrling's words drawing a hissed - and softly spoken - "Soon." Maybe it's Tacuseth's mind this comes from, but she's not in a state to question. Alida holds herself as aloof from the gathered group of humans about her as she can, the still-muttering bluie closing her eyes so she can shut out the outer cacophany...but not to concentrate on the inner one. Instead, she's doing her best to keep herself as far as she can from Ilicaeth's growing passion without divorcing herself completely from him. The blonde internally focuses on their )now delayed) mission and everything associated with it while her lifemate joyously tosses duty and business to the four winds in order to pursue that sassy green hoiden. He too - like Tacuseth - is pacing her, not expending extra effort with keeping to every dip or dart Aeaeth takes, those eye-marked, over-large wings of his cutting at the air as he works to maintain a discreet 'pouncing' distance. Zmeyth keeps the lithe green in his sights as he chases, surging up through the clouds at a decent speed; he is, by no stretch of the imagination, the faster dragon out there, certainly not faster than any of the quicker blues. On the ground, and against the wall, V'ros tries not to stare at any of the other riders present, though his can't help how his eyes drag to Yesia every now and again, his expression strained despite his determination to seem aloof. Aeaeth is emboldened by their pacing, though there is no way she can be taking it for lack of interest, not with them so close. She arches backwards with surprising grace, folds her wings, and dives down to skim back past them brazenly in yet another change of direction, her tail flicking at the slower browns in a tantalising lure. The stars are this way now, she's changed her mind, still terribly fickle and as interested in seeing if the boys foul themselves in their direction changes as she is in getting away and staying ahead. "No," Yesia says, shaking her head and those bouncy curls, and skimming close to Alida, reaching to drag her fingertips along the front of the older woman's shirt, then Kaitlin's, V'ros. And a meaningful look at Jo, but no touch. Tacuseth can't be fooled. Pacing aside, there's no grace in the masculine way he follows suit in Aeaeth's change of direction - his wing clipping one of the browns as he passes. He angles one wing over, his tail lashing in his wake. He bypasses Hiyudath, the latter snapping his teeth just inches from his lashing tail as he increases speed towards the green. He doesn't look to be tiring, no, his call one of challenge. Inside, Jo's gaze is a heady one on Yesia as she watches her play with Alida, V'ros. Kaitlin. The blonde sends a welcoming smile her way while the mere look Jo gets has the black leathered woman's breath quickening. It's anger and desire - strong and primitive - that occupies her sharp gaze, the look she sends Kait borderline murderous. M'ron merely snorts at the exchange going on, forcing his broad arms to fold across his chest as he murmurs to Jo, "Chill, woman." It's almost a growl. It's Ilicaeth's near-loop-de-loop that puts him on a par with Aeaeth again, his larger frame requiring more room to execute the maneuver than the green, his path chosen to try and keep him clear of other pursuants. He's fallen victim to collisions a few times before, and wants to avoid them, this time, especially since Alida's being a sourpuss. A call if finally voiced to the sultry siren ahead of them all: a bright croon of enamored amorousness. C'mon, babe! Inside the weyr, Alida's gasping softly at her not-often acrobatic lifemate's sudden pulling of his stunt, clouded green eyes blinking open to try and reassure herself that *she* has solid ground beneath *her* feet...and finding Yesia moving close for that moment. Without volition, one hand darts out like an adder to try and nab one of the weyrling's wrists for a claiming, but Yesia's already moved on, leaving the guard looking hungrily after her...and then inwardly cursing her own lack of control. When Aeaeth dives, Zmeyth falters long enough to redirect and then continues his perusal of the green, rushing after her in the thick of the other dragons. He's not letting up now, not when the prize is so close, not when she could be his. But V'ros doesn't look as thrilled, wearing that still-strained expression until the M'ron speaks up to Jo, and then he's scoffing out loud. An in-his-right-mind V'ros would definitely keep that to himself, but the drive of competition and secondary longing throws all of his usual caution to the wind. C'mon babe nothing. Aeaeth's next sound is positively dismayed when only one dragon falls out, the brown who was clipped not damaged but too slowed to make up his distance lost. She catches an updraft and rides it as far as it will take her, not far with Rukbat retreating for the day and the warmth of the day dissipating by the second. It is a minute or two of simply rising without work, but then she resurges with an urgency, each stroke broad and powerful. She has to get higher. Higher the air gets thin, higher they can't follow her anymore. Higher there are stars. One of them is too close though - or is that a cloud? - and she starts in surprise, rolling away and jerking back for a final direction changing roll that leaves her wingbeats flagging and Yesia breathing raggedly. She was laughing at Alida, her hands drawn close to her chest after that attempted grab, but now she backs away like something imminent is coming. They can make it to the stars, certainly. "Not him," she hisses suddenly, and blinks back into herself. And in the sky, suddenly, Aeaeth falters like something has tugged her. There's a somewhat dangerous look on Alida's features for that laughter, but her expression turns quickly enough to that of darker pleasure as Ilicaeth - his own resources flagging rapidly - hits the afterburners he has left to try and close that last half-handful of dragonlengths between himself and Aeaeth in a sudden rush from above. Stars? He'll take her beyond the stars: To Infinity and Beyond! (Please don't kill me, Disney.) The sky indeed seems to fall, as Tacuseth matches Aeaeth pace for pace. Using those wind currents when she starts to falter, that's when he uses his power. Up, up, he shoots forward with strong blue wings, gaining ground and not looking back at those he passes. He's made it his mission to try and get there first - to try and reach her first - and once she is close enough, he angles in with his blue neck to try and gamble a catch. Inside, M'ron's admonition seems to be heeded since Jo's glare loses some of its heat as she jerks her head from looking that way. They both hear V'ros's scoff though, the convict riders steeling him with a look as the female of the pair backs into the wall. Are there other dragons there? Zmeyth doesn't pay anyone else any mind, as he hones in on Aeaeth, pulling his wings in for a bust of speed. He's going after the green as does everyone else, intent of catching and twining in the way that dragons do (aka omg gross dragon sex). V'ros' neck gets all mottled and splotchy red when the convict riders stare him down, and forces his gaze to the greenrider they're all so interested in now; he's not breathing hard, but he's definitely got a not-so-innocent gleam in his eyes when he takes her in (all of her, gross). If anyone were strictly observing, it would be abundantly clear that the dragonpair leading this merry chase has ceased being harmonious in their goals, now that breaching the atmosphere is no longer an option. Aeaeth will not be caught; she will pick, or so she would think, but a final missed beat has her roaring her frustration and losing speed rapidly, until she is part of the tangle. Jormunth gets her teeth in objection as she twists away, and she'll leverage herself off Ilicaeth's despite his promise of stars; they won't make it that far, she knows. Yesia moves with a certain determination towards first M'ron - then no, in the sky, Aeaeth twists away again by pulling her wings close, so she won't be fouled - and then towards V'ros as a last resort, her gaze bright with lust, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She'll even get her hands on him, yank him down to kiss him (grossest) to try and force Aeaeth's hand, but the green searches frantically, calling with a pathetic bugle: Tacuseth. Tacuseth, who she'll fly headlong into him and twine their tails, because this is her choice, not Yesia's. Not this time. Tacuseth is as aggressive as his rider, matching Aeaeth move for move until finally, he links his neck with hers. He can't help the blast of a crowded gladiatorium on victory as the familiar browns with him shriek and make for the bowl. As for inside, both and Kaitlin and M'ron take no time in making for the entrance, the blonde's hands already digging into the man's shirt on their way out. Jo doesn't seem to pay their - or any other's - exit any mind. Her own mind linked to Tacuseth, the woman surges forward and pulls Yesia towards her. There is no carefulness nor backtalk this time from her as she claims her mouth possessively as her own. Alida's staggering away from the wall, caught between (Ilicaeth's) wanting of Aeaeth/Yesia and her own want to not even *be* here...her athletic form hesitating between greenrider and the exit. And then - with mixed frustration (draconic in origin) and relief (all Alida's) - poor Ilicaeth's left to miss out on grabbing the glowy lady while his BFF makes the catch. Growl! Aaaaaand...she's *out* of there, sports fans, the blonde bluie hurrying her ass out of the weyr without a backward look, and towards her surly and likewise horney dragon...who's soon landing in the Bowl to pick up his rider and transport them South. Where Alida needed to be in the first place, mind you. South, for a quick shack-up with a certain wher-handler of her acquaintance at Broad Leaves Hold before she can get back to business. And Ilicaeth? *He* gets the comforts of a long loll in warm and sun-lit oceanic waters farther up the coast, along with a fair of wild firelizards who are called out to scrub his stinging hide. Disappointment is instantaneous, and Zmeyth does't stick around to see the affair that happens once green and blue have twined together. He leaves with a quick snap of his dark, almost black tail, and doesn't look back. His rider, however, is both alarmed and distraught, a war of desire and alarm waging across his face as he's pulled in for an intense kiss by Yesia that ends.. too soon. Disengaging as soon as he can wrap his hands around her shoulders and push slightly, he growls something unintelligible, shoots Jo, who takes his face at Yesia's lips, a glare, and stalks out. Yesia would cling to V'ros if she could, her hands wrapping into the collar of his shirt insistently, like it might change who Aeaeth pairs with high above. It doesn't. Aeaeth's content croon is counterpoint to Yesia's frustrated growl, but the red-head drives herself into the taller woman ferociously, teeth and nails clawing at leather in a quest for flesh -- to score it, most likely, but that will come later. If it comes at all. |
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