Logs:Taeliyth's Maiden Flight of Whimsy
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 2 January, 2016 |
| Who: A'sran, Dahlia, Ka'ge, Leczuth, Taeliyth, Vhaeryth, Zymadiath |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Taeliyth rises in her maiden flight and is caught by A'sran's Leczuth. |
| Where: Dahlia and Taeliyth's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 9, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Sunshiney beautiful! |
| Mentions: Blume/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, Y'tob/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: If you're a bronze or brownrider and couldn't make the flight, feel free to say you chased! |
       |
>---< Dahlia and Taeliyth's Weyr, Fort Weyr(#1064RJs$) >---------------------<
In a time long past, this spacious and well appointed weyr belonged to the
legendary Moreta. Though the time of legend is past, it still serves its
purpose. The first room is a lopsided cavern that would be longer than it
was wide were it not for the bulge that provides space for the be-pillowed
dragon wallow. On the long side of this area is set a trio of finely
furnished comfortable chairs, two fine chaise lounges and a short round
table that must be meant for entertaining company. Hung on the wall
opposite the dragon couch is a fine tapestry, though it doesn't fill the
length of the space, depicting dragonriders meeting Thread over a Hold.
Farther back there's a square table with accompanying chairs for taking
meals beside a small hearth. The walls here are plain stone with glows
hung at even intervals.
A rich tapestry covers the person-sized entrance to the tip-tilted oblong
sleeping room at the rear of the weyr. The room houses a bed broad enough
to be comfortable for two with sinfully soft pink sheets and a grey
blanket covering. The decorations and small hearth here are homey with a
tropical bent. The furniture doesn't quite fit the theme, being more
elegant and finely upholstered than what would be found in a Southern
bungalow. The oddest part of this private space is that one side of the
sleeping chamber has looks like a construction zone, with piles of
reclaimed wood, tools and other odds and ends.
At the far end of the sleeping room another curtained arch leads to a
small bathing room with a hot spring and the necessary shelves, hooks and
cabinets to contain items for personal care.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
A'sran M 27 6'1 athletic, red-blonde hair, blue eyes 2m
Dahlia F 19 5'9" sturdy, dk. brown hair, hazel eyes 0s
Ka'ge M 17 6' toned, black hair, blue-green eyes 1m There's been not a hint of glow to Taeliyth's wheaten hide in the days leading up to Dahlia's 19th turnday. No out of place behavior. Not even a whisper of lust to any of the bronzes and browns who might find appeal in chasing tail. Just before lunch, however, Taeliyth exits her weyr to stretch from a truly glorious nap, golden limbs ablaze with imminent rising. It's her mood that sweeps first across the minds of the Weyr. She feels so good, and the rest of them can benefit from it. What's better than a bite to eat after a good sleep? Nothing. Her wings spread and she glides across the bowl to the feeding grounds even as Dahlia is drawn out of the Council Chambers and hurriedly taken to her weyr by the headwoman and an extra set of hands to deal with unsightly things like dirty laundry before the suitors arrive, and arrive they will when Taeliyth's mind curves a sultry smile, « Fly with me, » is a general invitation to bronze and brown alike, even as she seeks out one mind in particular. To Vhaeryth, Taeliyth's mind casts seeking the familiar, the wanted, the-- Vhaeryth. « Vhaeryth, » is shy in a way she never is. Vulnerable in a way she knows better than to be. « Vhaeryth, fly with me. » There's a yearning there. Ardor. It doesn't matter that this bronze is the worst of choices. She wants him and today her passions go unbridled. He wants to, doesn't he? She hopes, sweetly, that he does. The darkling bronze, not always readily apparent at the Weyr, today soars high in the bowl as a dramatic darkness against the otherwise brilliant light of the day. His endless circle, an endless watch. Taeliyth's mood, though a surprise, clearly does not go missed as shadow's shadow grows larger on the bowl's floor, Zymadiath turning sharply to drop upon a ledge, his ledge, that still maintains a dramatic elevation. Darkened wings stray from his sides, hovering and gently flared like a cape around him. To the mind, his nightmarish figments creep on the verge of presence. Not really there in full, but unmistakably watching. Those eyes- the eyeless sockets of shadows- vye from the depth of the night to watch, to wait. But so far away is he and his mind. His physical perch is claimed and kept, talons hooking over the edge; will he really not commit to the chase? Many a valiant male might try to ignore the siren song of Fort's youngest queen, blind to the sweetness of such a lure. Hoary-striped bronze Leczuth is not one of those, no. It is Taeliyth's invitation that brings the dragon from his wallow, to watch with those over-large eyes of his, as she stretches and glides for their benefit. « Taeliyth, » is a cold, dark caress; his mind voice scratchy and wind-worn, smelling strongly of a damp wood. He awaits her recognition before he, too, drops from his ledge like a stone, catching himself at nearly the last minute to swoop out over the feeding grounds. Caught in the crossfires of lusty dragon feels, it is a strained looking A'sran who mounts the steps onto the ledge that will lead him into the junior weyrwoman's weyr. He cuts a nice figure in a burgundy doublet and well-tailored pants, but his appearance is suspiciously reminiscent of one who had one foot out the door.. and now, doesn't. His face is one of mixed concentration and apprehension, and where the other riders are concerned he spares the occasional nod. However, unlike the other suitors quickly filling the goldrider's abode, he chooses to settle his long-legged frame in one of her chaise lounges; might as well be comfortable in all this business. « Leczuth, » Taeliyth recognizes the bronze, something of a new tingling to her touch. « Don't think I don't see you there, Zymadiath, » is a challenge to the darkness. Resist her, try, she dares him, dares all of them. It will be their loss not to fly with her. She has wild abandon even as she tears into the throat of a plump herdbeast, sucking down blood. Dahlia's a pale figure leaning against the stone frame of the doorway into her more private abode. One hand curls into the tapestry, expression intensely focused, perhaps not even seeing the men and women who take up stations within Taeliyth's space and her greeting area. Her dress is simple and functional, a presentable blue blouse and khaki trousers. The buttons on her blouse have, at least, been undone to the third, a little low, but all the better for not losing buttons later. Synchronicity, perhaps, that Vhaeryth's experienced his own drowsy warmth: not sleeping, but autumnal sun and his rider's oiling, sun and stone and Weyr. But as swiftly as she takes to the pens, Zaisavyth's already circling upward and away... and she's sought Vhaeryth first. N'rov knows. In the next breath, just above stone, Vhaeryth's gone. The younger queen's intimate approach finds him while he's still in nothingness; his reply is a complex, complicated, « Taeliyth. » He might be drawn to her, to her yearning, even now; but he hadn't even breathed her in. She may feel it, then, when Monaco's skies open up above him, that other place, that is not home; she may feel, too, the solar aura of Zaisavyth's unthreatened self. She whom he's claimed, has called him once more. There's not just the continent to span but the ocean between. He is gone. (To Taeliyth from Vhaeryth) Zymadiath is motionless, aside from the slighest tilt of his head that angles one of those faceted eyes towards the young glowing gold as she bloods her first. « Taelityh. » The rough mindvoice comes from the night in return of that acknowledgement, gravelly, unpleasant and yet somehow gentle. There's an exhale from the bronze, something that's obscured by a longer low-key rumbling. Still, there's a stronger reserve there that meets her challenge, an utter calm that only matches the heaviness of the dark that embodies him. Below him in the bowl, Ka'ge emerges from the living caverns, his fortunately mostly-covered face more confused and perhaps frustrated than focused. Hands shoved into dark flight jacket pockets, he quickly stalks his way towards the junior weyrwoman's weyr- oh so much farther, and most certainly one of the last to arrive. Stepping up onto her ledge, blue-green eyes shadowed by the lip of his hood only briefly flicker over those present, hesitating on Dahlia before he finds his back to a wall even if a bit too tense to lean on it. Other bronzes and browns start to appear over the pens, a fact which causes Leczuth to act and pin down the closest herdbeast that he can find. He knocks it down with the weight of his stocky body and sinks his teeth into its side, only draining the blood that he must; throughout the first kill, and quickly the second, his eyes never vacillate from the glowing gold. A'sran's features tense and then relax back in the weyr, and in that shift his expression changes. He observes the pale young woman protecting the entryway into her refuge in a thorough manner; a way happens to be tinged with want instead of his usual polite inquiry. Two fledgling brownriders start pushing each other and arguing in terse voices. All that noise breaks up the monotony of shuffling feet and murmurs from bewitched riders, but some start to look annoyed. Hurt. The feeling is so sudden and so intense that it might momentarily blind (it certainly does Taeliyth). He hurts her. His actions hurt her. She wants, wants him, in more than just this moment, in more than just this way, and his goneness is a complete rejection. If dragons could weep... But they can't. She's alone in this, alone in a way she hates, alone in a way she pretends to relish. He doesn't want her? Doesn't want to be here with her? Doesn't-- Fine. FINE. Go be with your queen, Vhaeryth. She'll find someone better. Someone stronger. Someone kinder. Someone who doesn't hurt her. Someone who isn't him. She is gone. Gone. (To Vhaeryth from Taeliyth) She's hurt. She'll find, or be found. And he'll still be gone, with his mate. (To Taeliyth from Vhaeryth) Taeliyth bloods with fervor, not unaware as she does of the browns and bronzes that are here, with her. Lustful eyes whirl swiftly as she looks at each in turn, she spares Zymadiath only the slightest of slights - stupid for not blooding is all her mind says. She's going to fly far and long. She's going to give her passion to the best, the strongest, the brightest. Which one of them will it be? It may be the observant one-- Leczuth? or another-- who catches the subtle twitch of muscle, the tension as the lithe gold, so much smaller in frame if not size than her golden sisters, leaps suddenly skyward, long wings unfurling to take her in a swift climb. Only as Taeliyth shifts into the air does Dahlia push off that wall, her breath coming in a gasp and her face breaking into a smile. The feeling of wind under wings is intense and intensely pleasureful. It's a beautiful day. It's with a little stumble that Dahlia heads for the small table by the chairs and the chaise where bottles of booze have been laid out. She'll make it there without tripping, and whatever bottle she closes her hand on first will be the one she drinks from, and deeply. And that's it for Zymadiath's restraint. Until the very last moment that he could wait, the young bronze remained a poised shadow, a statue of a dragon though his intentions became less and less masked by that dedicated mysteriousness. He drops from his ledge, a hearty height to fall, before immense wings snap outwards to catch him and land him with almost too-much momentum into the feeding grounds. It's one that's picked off- one that had skirted to the edges of the fence in buldged white-eyed fear of the predators massing on them. It's as if he has only moments to tear into its neck, red thickly spattering the otherwise too-dark mask of his face, and blood his own before Taeliyth takes off. It means he doesn't get much, but he doesn't seem to think much of it, when his wings come close to striking the ground as he takes the sky in swift pursuit. The darkness of his mind sweeps behind her, figments shifting, swaying, not nearly as content to sit on the horizon he frequents. Ka'ge's look to Dee returns when Zymadiath finally joins the rest of the males, though this time as a stare. An intense stare that follows her progress to the table, notes her smile, but he, too, seems resistant to moving. Blood smears the bronze's hooked snout and jaw -- hopefully Taeliyth likes a gorey mess for show -- when he lifts his head from his last kill to watch Taeliyth take flight from the feeding grounds. He does not deliberate before he launches himself in her wake, heedless of what any of her other suitors are doing as his broad wings carry him upward, after the gold. A'sran's mouth twitches and his eyes cut to the brownriders, who stop and gawk when Dahlia stumbles to the table nearby. "Let me.." he murmurs, reaching for a glass, but it's a moot proposition, since she takes her alcohol directly from the bottle. Blue eyes hold laughter and astonishment when they lift to the goldrider's face; appreciation too. "Thirsty? I can give you something else to drink, darlin'!" someone crows from way over thhheereee, and they promptly get elbowed in the ribs. "Owwwch, shit!" Taeliyth's advantage is ever in her dimensions. Tiny as she is, she's more graceful than most golds, and smaller than some of the largest bronzes in this race. The browns might have an edge on some of those bulkier bronzes, but she doesn't intend to make it an easy time for anyone. This beautiful blue sky is all theirs and she will fly far and high and demand excellence from those that dare come in her wake. The zigzagging path she starts on for only enough beats as it takes the chasers to realize and start to anticipate her path sees her cutting a sharp left and shooting off skyward, leaving too many going entirely the wrong way and encouraging (oops) two mid-air collisions which takes four dragons to the ground, though thankfully all under their own power. The first of the losers leave Dahlia's weyr as her hazel gaze meets A'sran's over the bottle and holds it for a moment, intense and amused herself. She lets the hand holding the bottle fall to her side, though the bottle is still caught fast. She looks for the mouthy one, "Oh yes?" She dares, "And do you think, darling, that these other dashing," she gestures to A'sran because he's there and so pretty in his fancy clothes, "-gentlemen are going to just let you waltz over here and try?" Then she smiles, wickedly, beautifully, "I dare you," a pause as she moves to step up onto that small table, and lets her eyes sweep across the suitors, catching on Ka'ge and lingering. "Any man who can take my bottle-- I'll take to bed, loser or no." Like she has a say. Ha. Zymadiath's surprising agility hardly matches his size, just slightly smaller than the gold herself. Wings that once dwarfed him as a weyrling make his ease in the sky undeniable. He gets lost among the pursuers, until two collide and drop altitude. From behind and beneath them both, the shadow of a bronze sweeps upwards, almost clipping the pair as he evades and overtakes them. His speed increases with Taeliyth then better in sight after the sharp turn. There is another larger bronze beside him, one that erupts a fit of growling and hissing between the two. And to Taeliyth herself- the night doesn't flirt, no, but there is an added allure to the danger of the darkness, the temptation of the unknown, the feeling of draw among desire. Ka'ge rolls his balance forwards until he's got some momentum to move to join Dahlia and A'sran around the booze table- a brownrider that conveniently doesn't make it quite that far when the young bronzerider takes a hold of his sleeve as the other hand draws back his own hood. The brownrider, spun to face him, meets the shift of his annoyed look to a eerie, crooked grin and a couple of hushed, harsh words. It'd doubtful that whatever was said included an 'excuse me' but either way, Ka'ge makes it to the table and the other does not. "I would be happy to take your bottle." Is insinuating of course all the things it could, with his typical if more wanting grin attached, a sidelong look at A'sran added amidst it. Leczuth was in the middle somewhere, and is distinctly jubilant -- which means his touch to Taeliyth's mind space is a cacophony of nocturnal sounds and a veritable nighttime symphony, hoot hoot -- when those four are thrown off course to allow him to race towards the suitors most definitely claiming the front of the pack. A'sran, the gentleman, glowers darkly at the mouthy bronzerider in the back, waggling his eyebrows and licking his lips in a more lewd manner. He might have spoken up for the goldrider, except she does so for herself.. and that makes him grimace, but probably for her position on the table and her promises rather than her self-defense tactic. Rising, he holds out his arms, like he might catch her if she is to fall. "I think the promises are best saved for later," he tries to reason, "and not.." Mouthy over there is sauntering over though, smirking at Dahlia with victory in his eyes as he clearly has lost his senses, and then Ka'ge, too. "Hey!" mouthy shouts, grabbing at Ka'ge's shirt. No sir! Taeliyth's joy heightens, her freedom soars. The chase goes higher, higher, and higher still. There's an electricity to her touch, a touch that leaves no chaser's mind untouched. It's encouragement, even as Dahlia encourages the suitors to fight for they want. Blood and ichor run hot and still no winner is found despite the reach of a brown that manages to skim past Leczuth, trying to snag Taeliyth's tail to tangle her up, nor the press of a pair of dragons below and beside Zymadiath trying to angle him out of the race. Dahlia's smile is satisfied as men approach, a single arching brow lifted at Ka'ge before mouthy's hands touch his shirt. Her attention slips to A'sran, as though she's leaving the other two to sort it among themselves, and she gives him a winsome smile, "And what sort of promises should I make later? There is nothing but now, A'sran." Oh, yes, she remembers him. She shifts her hips a little a subtle movement but a provocative one as she lifts the bottle to her lips again. It's probably the the brown that tries to touch Taeliyth's tail that adds more than lust to Zymadiath's facets. Closer, closer he gets, spiraling out of the way of the pair that try to close off his path. But that brown. Lips draw back in a nasty snarl, and ichor would run when the young bronze snags talons in the other's haunch to ensure he misses that grab. Agility is sacrificed in that moment where he briefly loses ground, almost entangled in the older brown before he can wrestle himself free from the hooks he'd ensnared. Ka'ge has a palm planted on the table, distracted in his focus on Dee, one brow arched and mouth slightly opened in a response that would have certainly been some inappropriate something when he gets his shirt grabbed. It's a too-fast movement that the young man grabs mouthy's shirt collar, curling it in his fingers so tightly as to make it chokingly tight. "Can I help you?" He says quietly, darkly in a breath of a chuckle, his attention briefly turned as he steps into the man and slightly away from the table, as abruptly aggressive as his dragon in the skies. Leczuth's disdain is swift for the brown that surpasses him in the chase for the queen, and he lashes out with screech and talons; his desire to injure the dragon is, however, exceeded by Zymadiath, who gets there first. It is unfortunate that his vexation cannot be released on the brown, but, it allows him to shoot up, to get out of the way, and forward, to throw himself after Taeliyth with renewed purpose. "You cannot give them what you are promising," the bronzerider insists, lowly, and proves with a singular glance towards the goldrider's hips, that he is not as level-headed as he pretends to be. A'sran swallows, hard, his fingers flexing before he grabs for her hand, with every intention of pulling her down. "Come, Dahlia. We would see you up close," he requests, voice lowering in a huskier manner, more a velvety caress than his usual, cultured tones. Then, his eyes slide to Ka'ge. "Get out of my fuckin' way. She's mine," mouthy commands, bullheaded in the face of Ka'ge's aggression. Zymadiath has Taeliyth's approval. Likely, he wouldn't if the brown were more injured; he is one of hers, after all, but fighting for what you want is an attitude that the gold is only too pleased to encourage. Leczuth's proximity isn't something she approves of. Not yet. She still glows, she still flies, she still has strength and it isn't yet time to select the best. She needs to see more of them, and so it is that she seeks to use the length of her wings to sweep her up and away (at least a little more away, out of reach, if only just). Dahlia was never very good at self-defense, at least the physical sort, nor does any miraculous reflex manifest now to save her from A'sran's hand and pull. She stumbles down off the table and into him, breath stolen briefly by the sudden proximity. A flush rises in her cheeks and then she's using the hand she caught on his chest to steady herself to serve in pushing her from him or him from her, taking her drink. Something has changed in her demeanor in that moment. "I'm going in there. When one of you wins," she glances toward Ka'ge and mouthy, "and only when one of you wins, the winner can come and claim my drink." It's a woman's prerogative to change the rules, and so she does, slipping through suitors and passed (not without several inappropriate gropes, of course), to vanish behind the tapestry while the chase continues above. Zymadiath's wings struggle to reroute himself, the shadowy pinions sweeping heavily to catch himself back up to the closer chasers. Persistent, though, he chases, finding himself just beyond Leczuth's tail, the young bronze's maw open in partial growl and partial pant. He would seek to pull the other out of the sky as well, if he can get any closer. "She can do whatever she wants." Ka'ge happens to follow of A'sran's comment, despite his fingers still being intwined in mouthy's shirt collar which he then releases with a harsh shove. He doesn't strike him, not yet. "Get lost." He mumbles instead, attempting to turn back only to find Dee swept up against A'sran. He looses most of his cocky expression at that, stepping towards him now, even as Dahlia speaks her new rules and leaves them all. "Couldn't keep your damn hands off. Had to chase her out." The chase continues, both bronze and browns dropping out at intervals when it gets to be too much for their stamina. Leczuth is not without knowledge that the younger bronze follows in close pursuit; it only emboldens him and quickens his pace. He only focuses on the prize, now, so very close and just out of reach.. but for how long? A'sran's breath comes out in a whoosh when Dahlia lands against him, his hands lifting to steady her before she manages to push herself away. "Shells," he mutters, a shudder passes through him as he watches the goldrider walk away and into the room beyond the tapestry. His gaze flicks to Ka'ge at the sound of his voice aimed at himself. "Shut up," he snaps at the younger bronzerider, and shortly after regains his composure, staring unhappily at the tapestry with his hands balled into fists at his sides. As it turns out, a long time. Taeliyth's flight will be worryingly long for a Weyr that doesn't need a strong clutch. She outlasts so many that by the end, it is only an elite few still there when she tires of the flight and the freedom, tires of taking this trip alone and seeks the solace of warm flesh. It's practically a conscious choice to turn back into the pack of chasers, angling toward-- it's hard to say. One in particular anyway. Dahlia, for her part, waits behind that curtain, on her bed with her bottle... and only her bottle. The sky, lighter and lighter of the young queen's pursuers, makes the bold young bronze bolder. That is, until Y'tob's Vedoath appears beside Zymadiath from just below the closest of the pursuing groups. Both bronzes, neck and neck behind Leczuth and another brown that had been able to keep up with the greater stamina of those that remain in this long, long flight, escalate quickly and fall behind. Their sudden and violently bitter collision lasts only for an instant. But when Taeliyth turns back to choose, Zymadiath is too far back to be the one. Ka'ge sways slightly, ignoring A'sran's reply, catching himself on the table as he stares at the tapestry as it hangs too-still. He stares as if he can see beyond it. Until Zymadiath's realization of failure strikes him, and then there's nothing cocky left in that face of his. There's a growl that leaves the human side, some choice words that go unfiltered, and the mouthy rider- again in the wrong spot, gets shoved out of his way as he gets out of Dee's weyr. Leczuth is one of the lucky few still left, and when Taeliyth turns back, leaving herself open for the catch, it is he who ensnares the gold; it is he who, while entangled with the queen, will carry them both through the sky and eventually, back down to the earth. A'sran's fingers release from their tight hold at the same time he releases a pent up breath he did not appear to be holding, originally. Lust emblazons his features, and it is towards the tapestry that he stalks, with one purpose in mind: to reach the brunette on the other side, and the bottle be damned! |
Leave A Comment