Logs:Evyth's Maiden Flight
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| RL Date: 16 April, 2016 |
| Who: D'vro, Lys, I'gand, Jocelyn, N'klas, T'gar, T'mic, Asaroth, Colsoth, Evyth, Jorrth, Khajith, Khavoth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Evyth rises in her maiden flight and is caught by Jorrth. |
| Where: Snowasis and Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 7, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air. |
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| It's a beautiful summer day in High Reaches Weyr. Still some hours til sunset, the brilliant light Rukbat sheds combined with the breeze that tempers the heat, some might call it perfect. Lys might, given her soft, warm smile, usually so reserved for those intimately acquainted with her, the look now offered to everyone and anyone passing by the couch she's draped herself across, her sundress a flowy, feminine thing of cream, embroidered with tiny flowers of warm yellow and pale powder blue, tiny licks of green vines trailing from them. In one hand she holds a glass of wine, though it seems hardly touched and mostly forgotten. Those close to Evyth might feel the way she sleeps so well in the bowl, those keeping an eye on her might notice that her hide has begun to show the telltale signs of glow. Nik certainly hasn't kept an eye on her, the teenaged bluerider only just now back from Alpine's drills and with the clean sweat to show for it; even coltishly not-quite-galloping his way to the bar doesn't mean he doesn't have to wind up standing in line, though, and so the greenrider-- in her dress with the spots on-- gets a, "Lys!" Like he hasn't seen her for sevens, whether he has or hasn't. What little glances Jocelyn has had of Lys in public over the past few days have resulted in watchful looks, lips often pressed into a thin, fine line. Tonight, there's little difference; the goldrider isn't the most frequent Snowasis patron, but she's at a table alone this evening, silently observing Lys as one looking out for another should from where she nurses a beading glass of water. Is that a frown that pulls at her mouth each time the greenrider's intimate smile gets aimed at a new person? After a time, there's an impatient shift in her seat, one hand drumming on the tabletop. "Yah," says T'mic with a nod as the girl he's with - some unknown, from who-knows-where, pretty though, with freckles and strawberry-blonde hair - moves through that door he's held open, "This is it." Of course, that girl (okay, young woman, whatever) would brace herself on one of his shoulders and ask her next question whispered into his ear. "Uh. Anywhere." And she says something about 'cozy' and he says something about 'actually Jorrth's waiting' and it starts to go downhill from there. Not a frequent visitor of High Reaches, let alone the Snowasis, by any definition of the word, D'vro still seems to be at ease when he arrives with a younger man and a woman around his own age in his company. The other two settle at a table while the Fortian wingleader goes to the bar to fetch a few light drinks. His gaze picks out a handful of people on his journey, notably Jocelyn given her rank, but the friendly greenrider earns a brief consideration as well. "Nik," gets that smile from Lys, certainly. There's a laziness in the way she moves, to straighten just a little, to make more room on the couch. "Are you troublesome for your wingleaders?" She asks it with expressively risen brows, as if the question might be a severe judgment, though her lips stay in that soft smile, too much contrary for the question to carry all that much weight when the sums of tone and expression are balanced. She must be oblivious to Jocelyn or she might've sought her out; arguably, she hasn't seemed especially 'with it' today, though she's been more or less a substantially nicer version of herself in the past few days. Her eyes don't travel farther than what's immediately in her attention, which in this case is N'klas. Lucky Nik! To nearby dragons, Evyth has always been a sweet dragon. Her slumbers hold a sweet, glowing edge that speaks of the alluring possibilities that romance brings. As she begins to rouse, those feelings are only stronger and directed (though less than consciously) to the males of the Weyr. She's waking from a dream and stepping into another. Surely somewhere here there must be someone who wishes to accompany her? She shifts in the bowl, starting to blink lids and stretch limbs and wings, the glow on her paisley-touched hide becoming more and more pronounced until it is a deep and flushed thing signaling the time is very near indeed that they should engage in a dance above. To local dragons, Jorrth's sun-warmed musty scent is mixed with the dusty dry of fresh-disturbed dirt, that worn spot near the lake worn a little lower from his most recent wallow. Recent as in, the blue's still on his side, one wing stretched out flat on the ground, one held straight up in the air, mimicking the mental alert brought on by Evyth's touch, here returned. Lucky Nik hasn't an eye for Jocelyn either, nor T'mic and the girl even, though D'vro gets a sidelong look as the bluerider hesitates: there's someone behind him now, there's a place in line to lose. Not a long line, but still! A moment's indecision leads to his wandering the few steps over to say conversationally, "You know me," a doubly-inherited dimple showing for a moment. "It was pretty great. Sky's amazing," and though he'd just left it, Khajith's stretching right now. A bit of time's passed, and that freckle-girl's giggly sweetness is dissipating, while T'mic's started rubbing at the browned back of his neck, and shrugging. Finally, it's a group of wingmates on their way out that provide the necessary catalyst for the awkward moment to break up. The freckle-girl's off to a table. T'mic is heaving a heavy sigh, interrupted only by some external influence that's got him straightening up, and grabbing the door before it can swing fully shut. Jocelyn's attention gets temporarily diverted as she catches sight of D'vro and his little entourage, pale gaze briefly dedicating an appraising look in their direction. Her lips purse faintly, but she doesn't rise to engage the foreign wingleader, the alertness in her expression going in-and-out long enough for some silent communication before her eyes snap back over to Lys, jaw setting. There's a stiff, uncomfortable set to her shoulders, one that lasts beyond the moments where she drains her water glass, leaving it on the table before starting to head in the direction of the exit. Conveniently, her route takes her - in a roundabout sort of way! - past the couch where Evyth's rider sits, and she slows there for a moment, enough to give her former classmate a meaningful, knowing look. Her mouth opens, but promptly closes again; whatever she was about to say, she's apparently decided against it, and opts instead to resume her course for the door, barely acknowledging the brownrider who says a polite hello to her on his way in - or T'mic, for that matter. I'gand, for his part, isn't in a particular hurry to get to the bar, but that is his destination - at least until he catches sight of Lys, until Khavoth gives a shake of his wings and responds to Evyth's shift in awareness with a curl of earthy smoke, a flash of anticipation. Lys' blue-green gaze strays to D'vro when Nik's does, and D'vro is thusly also a recipient of that warm, soft smile that Lys is sporting so freely today. "I do know you-" she starts to Nik, though her eyes linger on the foreign rider, only to have both gaze and words interrupted by a lift of her brows and an, "Oh." It's with grace that Lys rises from the couch, her hands smoothing down the cream colored sundress. "Evyth is rising," she tells Nik and the foreign rider as one, as if she were telling them there was going to be beef roast for supper. "You'll come?" is nearly a direct invitation, save that it seems to be extended to-- well, all of them. She doesn't linger, in any case, but rather glides her way toward the bowl to head for the guest weyr designated for flights. She pauses only a moment when she sees Jocelyn, casting one of her too intimate smiles her way before she's gone. To local dragons, Evyth's tickled by the attention her meandering mental inquiry has garnered her. It, too, is a sweet thing, the way she seems to flush but own that sensuousness that radiates from her mind. There's a moment of indecision as her eyes glance toward the feeding pens, but with a flare of amusement, that notion is dismissed and her sails unfurl, glowing and gorgeous, lingering out only a moment before muscles bunch and the rotund green is launching herself as a beacon of beauty into the sunshine and blue of the perfect sky on her perfect day for her maiden flight. Come hither~ With drinks in hand, D'vro turns back to join his small group at their chosen table. He pauses in stride to look at Lys curiously, but he only smiles politely to the young woman before he's continue on toward his table. Because he's clearly not paying close enough attention to his bronze's interest in random foreign greens. He'll catch on soon enough, no doubt. Khajith hasn't been quick to take up the chase, sporadic bouts here and there over the past couple of months, a few and then none for a while when there isn't quite the right treasure in the offing; it hasn't been so infrequently, though, that N'klas doesn't make out Lys' meaning even after as his mouth is already saying, "Sure." Why the shell not? has him ambling after her on Jocelyn's path, pausing to aim knuckles at T'mic's chest for the still-taller man's holding the door. Besides, Khajith's already up and going. Khajith's not letting a minor detail such as 'already been on drills'-- or 'haven't had the nap,' or even 'haven't had a snack'-- stop him now. Is she really perfection? The lean dragon's following her path as though drawn on a map, aiming to see up close. T'gar really wasn't planning on extracurricular activities this day, and it shows in the irritated stiffness in his strong frame as he pushes into the guest weyr. He doesn't seem to be making all that much eye contact with anyone or anything save for the entrance. And Lys. His eyes seem to drag right over towards Lys as Asaroth is already angling from afar towards Evyth like a bee to honey. His silence is a heavy thing - he's a dragon of few words, after all - but there is no mistake in the way he stalks after the green that he aims to enter the chase. T'mic... holds the door. For everyone. N'klas gets a grin, but by the time people are done leaving the Snowasis - or going into it, because T'mic won't just shut the door on newcomers, either - he's got to run to catch up with the other bluerider. Jorrth is up on his feet, shaking a dust cloud about him, not with his usual shudder through broad head and shoulders, but by the force of his leap and beating of his wings against the air. « Evyth! » finally gets to hear her name in his baritone, slow-moving even in this moment. And he's committed. Come hither? Thither? Khavoth's sage-smudged mind warms, an appreciative flame kindling into being as he watches Evyth ascend. So appreciative is he that it takes him a moment to follow suit - but follow he does, surging keenly upward with purpling eyes. I'gand's head twitches into a little shake that looks like a 'no' before it turns into a nod, even if he ends up following Lys's path with less enthusiasm than his dragon pursues hers. There's a spot near the entrance to the guest weyr that seems to suit him fine, so it's there that he ultimately leans, casting a long look at the greenrider before his eyes close, breaths deepening. "Rat," gets his warm, soft smile from Lys as he enters, just as she settles herself on the edge of the bed. It's really a look more suited to afterglow than these moments that hold so much possibility and promise but also tension for that: no decision has yet been made. If anyone coming in -- like T'mic -- hasn't gotten their very own sunny smile from the greenrider, they'll get one when they come into the weyr that, given the way her hands set behind her and she leans back on them, seems to have become her (however temporary) domain. The sky is Evyth's, that much can be sure. It's not so much that there's possessiveness so much as a sense that the whole world is hers for the taking-- theirs, whoever ends up being the one to join her in the end. For now, there's delight for all of them, as gentle as the breeze that helps loft her wings higher and higher toward the sun. There's a brief glance back, but then a toss of names, to each of them either their name or an inquiry of. After all, what kind of lady would she be if she didn't know the names of each and every of her suitors and the touch of their minds before she makes any sort of choice between them. The Southern turned Fortian bronze is doing his absolute best to not pay much attention to the glowing green until she's in the air. If his rider doesn't realize he's interested, he won't try to stop him from chasing until it's too late. And Colsoth wants to chase. He waits until she's taking over the sky before dropping himself from the heights to join her other suitors. His name comes with a quiet, humble confidence. He's not here to conquer her, but he'll enjoy the chase and make sure she enjoys her body twined with his if she chooses him. D'vro is probably just leaving the Snowasis now. Give him a minute. « Khajith, » is that dragon's-- that ornery dragon's-- slyly cheerful agreement to the name his clutchmate gives him; « Evyth, » is drawn out, light on the middle vowel, light and lofting as her flight. His is distinctly more physical, for all that, with less mass than many, he angles to take advantage of the winds and of the distances between other dragons as they widen and narrow; if he can cut one out now, then that will save for later. His rider, though... Nik's wound up leaning against another rider... until his realization that no, that's not the wall means he's spurred a few steps closer, eyeing Lys and what that pose of hers does for her. To his neighbor, all of a sudden and not so under his breath, "She is hot." "Lys," T'gar at least acknowledges that call to his nickname before he finally takes quiet stock of those around him. Asaroth may be a bit behind the other chasers after Evyth, but his gaze remains on the green as he continues his hunt. He's amused, for the most part, at all the other dragons he has to compete against and his arrogance is clear. T'gar notices N'klas and tries to catch his other clutchmate's attention, in the meantime. He doesn't call out though, having chosen somewhere to the side near Lys, against the wall. T'mic. T'mic was the leaning post and gets to be the neighbour instead. T'mic doesn't seem particularly bothered by any of this. "Well yeah," answers the younger bluerider's observation. The broader one's gaze is easy, if not particularly subtle. He even grins at her. Unbothered. Enjoying himself. But also strong and ready and aware. It's probably Jorrth's influence; Jorrth, who's taking into account all the other chasers gathering in the pursuit, Jorrth, whose two-plus turns of observation before he'd ever chosen to participate, has wired countless patterns and strategies beyond his memory and into his brain. Jorrth, who's musty-dusty presence is kept ready for Evyth to feel even while he begins to weave here, slide there. Delicate touches for the awfully large blue. "Nik," means Lys caught that not so under his breath comment, but she's grinning in spite of the scandalized tone for the younger man's observation, the tone and expression once more incongruous. It's on that teenager, however, that she focuses her eyes while she shifts so she can free a hand from supporting her torso long enough to reach up and flick down one strap of her sundress, a single brow briefly lifting and falling in some kind of playful challenge. It might be a distraction tactic, since the grin is turned on T'mic, too, for agreeing with the younger bluerider. Evyth is taking things a hair more seriously than her playful rider, angling her frame to strike out over the lake while she gains yet more altitude. « Khajith, » Evyth has a roll of her eyes. Can she really take that clutchmate seriously? Even with him flying well enough? « Jorrth, » she identifies after a moment's pause, a moment's distraction that costs her distance between herself and the pack. The glance back to identify others who've offered names and those who haven't (no brownie points, guys) costs her a little more. It doesn't look to be the makings of a long flight, but then she's inexperienced so it shouldn't be terribly surprising. By this point in their lives, both Colsoth and D'vro are rather experienced chasers. The bronze feels the pull of the green, to be sure, but there's no desperation in the way that he follows her through the sky and maneuvers within the competition. When his rider finally arrives, D'vro finds a space for himself that will provide an easy exit, whether that has him standing somewhere between Lys and another chaser's line of sight or not, and crosses his arms over his chest, closing his eyes for the time being while he almost certainly focuses on internally screaming at his lifemate. "When did that even happen?" Nik rambles, for all that she was a weyrling with him and therefore-- never mind. "Seriously, Tom-- T'gar, hey," he'll do all the calling for the both of them. "Can you get-- that guy--" he waves out into the direction of one of the other riders whose dragon is near the front, and none too accurately at that, "--out of the way?" quite as though this were a helpful, mutually supportive thing and not at all a competition. Not that he's looking anywhere but Lys and her low-cut bodice for very long, especially with how that strap's going down and... now his eyes linger on the other one, all hopefully. Come on. Come on. Come on, Khajith! Far less-distracted Khajith is busy, seeking to take advantage of Evyth's distraction, if less with internal-or-otherwise screaming and more with swooping. It does mean there's a scrape of hide against hide in the wrong way as he steals the wind out of a brown's sails, but he eels on undaunted; if he hadn't had his usual energy to begin with, he'll make the most of what he's got. Asaroth doesn't give his name, but his reached-out scent towards Evyth might suffice for her. Might. It's clear that he's still trying to figure this whole 'chasing' think out, though by the way he's not using the wind currents to his advantage. Still, the young bronze doesn't seem to let that dampen his spirit and eagerness. His aim continues on trying to get passed a floundering brown while far below, T'gar's wandering gaze has now centered and focused only on Lys. With N'klas speaking, one corner of his mouth hitches up before saying back to him, "How should I do that? Punch him in the face?" The question is a valid one, and his fists are formed as if he's about to put question into action. When the greenrider's attention turns to him, T'mic raises a big mitt of a hand, and wiggles the fingers on it in a rippling wave to Lys. He even laughs a bit dumbly and says, "Hi," while doing it. The grin has time to turn crooked and goofier before he looks over to N'klas. "Huh?" Those fingers are still rippling in Lys's direction, but more slowly. The successes - for any time Evyth seems more catchable is a success - pass by with barely acknowledgement, except in how Jorrth moves to match, or counter, or adapt as required. Closer. Yes. Good. Khavoth's enthusiasm still burns bright, so bright, but there's a patience to the way he keeps pace with the other suitors, measuring the strokes of his wings in such a way that suggests he isn't using all of his energy just yet, waiting all but silently for the most opportune moment. Oh, there are soft rings of smoke blown in Evyth's direction from time to time, carrying whispers of heat and wanting - well, that's until that ill-timed swoop of Khajith's catches enough of the older brown to throw his straight course into a veer away from the pack. Normally good-natured, frustration temporarily gets the better of him, sending him flapping back toward that young upstart. Cause and effect are a principle of nature, and the latter is headed in the blue's way with limbs and tail that aim to bodily push rather than do any lasting damage. Lys does N'klas one better, pushing herself up off the bed to mingle among the riders instead of keep her distance, that single strap still down. Along her way through those suitors present, however, a female brownrider reaches out to help Nik's fantasy out, a single finger hooking the other side and giving Lys a crooked smile as she explains, "Evening you out, pet," to which the blonde only smirks. "Which one, which one," is a quiet sing-song. With D'vro's eyes closed, perhaps he won't notice that Lys has stopped in front of him, expression thoughtful as she looks over his face, until she adds one more, "Which one," while she examines his face from her new vantage. Evyth probably would like the luxury of meandering among her suitors. She'd probably like the advantage of getting to know them better. She knows Asaroth. Khajith too. That might put them both at greater disadvantage. She knows Jorrth, too, but in particular roles, none of which really apply here and Colsoth she knows not at all, but his focus draws some of her attention. If she kept her focus on the sky, Evyth might stand a better chance of drawing out the flight, of getting to know the dragons better before she's within range to be snared, only her attention on the individual drags her to just where she wanted to be anyway, if truth be told, in among them, within reach of some, though she's hardly seemed to choose or give up just yet. "Sure," says Nik for the punching-- all sorts of things must sound good at this particular time-- "Yeah," might be more for T'mic even if it's not so much helpful. "Yeah," is all for Lys, and the brownrider, and Lys. All of which means, not that he's been particularly helpful to Khajith anyway, he really is no help when Khavoth goes for the still very young, very inexperienced if otherwise canny blue. Khajith senses the brown's onrush in time... but only to not make it worse, and when the two Khs collide and he's shoved bodily to the side, that's very distracting indeed. "Uh oh," says T'mic, because he's ignoring everything else and watching Lys, and he's caught the fall of that second strap. He starts to move forward too, not so much toward the greenrider as into some space where he's got freer movement. It might work better if others hadn't've had the same idea. Still, he manages to get both arms up, and even to get his fingers prepared into hooks, ready to assist those straps (one way or another) if Lys gets within reach. Jorrth's broad focus, on Evyth and the other chasers, remains unchanged, as fresh and exact as it was when he'd left his dirty wallow. The patience of a weyrlingmaster's dragon is there, but different now, supporting not his trainees, but his own strict precision. It's still mostly a mental game; the brute strength of those shoulders remains in reserve only until Evyth is just... there. The voice in front of him opens D'vro's blue-green eyes to gaze down at the young woman. She's a stranger, though, so she can't know that the heat there is almost exclusively reserved for these moments, influenced by the lust of his dragon. Even so, he only watches her with no attempt to touch or otherwise interact, arms still crossed loosely over his chest while he waits for someone to claim the green and, in turn, her rider. As Evyth is taken into the group, Colsoth swerves in a reflexive attempt to put himself in her path, mind just as open to her as his increasingly eager limbs. T'gar watches Lys makes her rounds, his gaze openly traveling all over her body in silence. He doesn't make himself known - much like his young bronze that's on the hunt up in the air. All the same, he seems to take note of those that she does stop in front of, seeming to measure them up much like a dragon would. As for Asaroth, the dragon manages to get passed that brown - and a few blues - to find a place close enough to Evyth. She's there and he's reaching, trying to snag her from the side and pretty much around the same time that others have reached for her, too. I'gand's eyes, having been shut this whole while, finally, finally snap open once Khavoth hits and does a funny roll to try to free himself afterward, smoke blown hard from his mind to Khajith's with all the annoyance he can muster. The human half of the pair is halfway to taking three, long steps in Nik's direction before he halts the moment his brown realizes where Evyth's headed - and changes his momentum to try to 'encourage' the young blue further away from the group before tumbling down vaguely in the direction of the lake. Chances were never with him to make it there in time without some teleporting; perhaps with some luck, his efforts will ensure that one of the newest chasers won't succeed this day, either. His rider makes a disgusted sound in that aftermath, making a prompt and grumbling exit. Lys' blue-green gaze meets D'vro's and lingers. It isn't until Evyth finds herself jostled by several different attempts to ensnare her now that she's in the thick of things that Lys draws in a breath, sharply. Colsoth misses and some part of her must know that that bronze is tied to this man, in the way of crazy flight Things for she murmurs, "Next time," amused before turning toward others. "Better luck, Rat," she murmurs with a wink as Asaroth's attempt to snare the sweet green misses, too. Then she stops in front of T'mic, an amused quirk to her lips. She's in range, and with Jorrth's use of his shoulder strength, Evyth is caught, leaving Lys with only three words to say to the bluerider, "A little help?" with a single roll of her shoulders to indicate the straps. Everyone else? Get out. Smoke meets with an icy splash of saltwater, and the 'encouragement' doesn't take hold... until the sickening sense comes that Jorrth is and Evyth can't and there, Khajith's heading away towards the lake even as N'klas, grimacing, stumbles out. That won't be good for his straps. The cool calculation is done once Jorrth's limbs are tangled with Evyth's; then it's warm, sun and fur and the safety of togetherness as those wings spread. T'mic lifts those straps back onto Lys' shoulders first. Then they can come down again, and he can bring the greenrider up to his chest, and laugh out a, "Hi," again, and things can carry on as they should. |
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