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Lysseth's Twelfth Flight
Date: February 19, 1999
Places: Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern, Southern Bowl, Feeding Grounds,
Upper Skyspace, and Guest Weyr
Game: PernMUSH
Copyright Info: The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey
l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
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Kassi's Note: What do you get when you combine Moxy Fruvous, Monty
Python, Star Trek, chicken, Looney Toons, Tarzan, the Beverly
Hillbillies, Gilligan's Island, Red Dwarf, They Might Be Giants,
Dilbert, South Park, the Muppets, and Dr. Seuss? What else but one of
Lysseth's flights? This one was particularly wild, and many thanks go
to all the participants who helped to make it so. You were all
fantastic enough to almost make me wish dragons were into menage a
cinq. ;)
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The Log:
Aurian walks in from the bowl.
Like the lamb to the slaughter the unsuspectin brownrider enters, Aurian
stretches muttering, "Terribly boring turnday."
"Mayhaps you'll moon the meek mundane, live L'cher's life in love's fast
lane, map out the mists of Mart's mad brain--your friends will say you've
gone insane," Kassi is singing tonight, as she works on the all-important
task of carving painfully mutated 'animals' out of wood. As Auri's voice
interrupts her serenade, she fixes the brownrider with the Evil Eye. "Care
t'be trading places with me instead, O blissfully-lucky-and-yet-nay-
knowing-it non-proddy one?"
Aurian blinks as she picks up an overripe redfruit, "Beg pardon Kassima?"
The fruit gooing in her hand.
"I asked, after you interrupted my delightful new song before I could
even get to the verse with nudity in it, whether you'd like t'trade
places," Kassi growls, gesturing towards the Bowl with her knife. "And
have that glowing *thing* for a lifemate instead of a solid, sane brown.
For Faranth's sake, can't you ever eat aught besides those bloody
redfruit?"
"I um think I'll um keep Kvasith and um well I um like redfruit," Aurian
looks about frantically for a means of escape.
Escape? No escape. Resistance is futile. You will be Kassimilated. The
greenrider narrows her eyes, and gouges out one of those of the poor,
hapless carving in her hands. "Haven't you ever tried *real* food? Like
meat. That's real food."
M'rgan walks in from the bowl.
Pierron raises an appraising eyebrow at the Wingleader of Skyfire.
M'rgan is brushing at his nose as he wanders in from the bowl, a sheaf of
hides gripped in his other hands. "Someone really needs to clean that
records room," he complains to the air as his blue eyes scan the room.
Aurian whimpers, "I've um had um real food," She places down the overripe
redfruit and takes up a better selection.
Kassima is perched in her usual seat at the head of Thunderbolt's table, a
respectably sized knife in one hand and a half-carved... something... in
the other. Small, misshapen things that might be animals and might just be
unfortunate are scattered across the area in front of her. "Mayhaps you
should do it, rather than complaining about it?" she retorts to the
newest-arrived malerider, with an oh-so-helpful glare. "So have some real
food *now*, Auri, and stop nauseating us all with that... what *is* it? I
don't know if'n it can be called redfruit anymore. Redgoo, mayhaps."
M'rgan arches an eyebrow at Kassima for a second but immediately shrugs it
off. It must be that time of the month. Kena gets like that too sometimes
around then. The joys of living with women. He gives Aurian and Kassima a
cheery wave with his hides-holding hand as he tromps over to the serving
table and contemplates the selection.
Aurian takes up a much more solid redfruit, "This um acceptable um
ma'am."
Kassima decides to ally momentarily with Aurian against this much more
annoying nemesis. "You hold him down, and I'll gouge out his eyes," she
hisses, waving her knife towards that evil creature known as a man. Worse:
that evil creature known as a Mart. "But call me ma'am again, and mayhaps
'twill decide yours would make better earrings!"
Aurian moves so there are several tables between her and Kassima,
"Faranth. Faranth Faranth."
Aurian mutters, "It was not my turnday wish for this to happen."
M'rgan doesn't hear the hissing as he's much too absorbed in deciding what
his stomach really wants to drink. His hand hovers in mid-air as it makes
several passes over the various pitchers. "Klah. Klah. Citron. Klah. More
klah. Hmmmmm. I think I'll have...klah." His hand darts down to pluck the
third klah pitcher from the table.
After pouring a mugful for himself, M'rgan languidly turns around and
gives the nearby cavern a casual look. His looking grows less casual as he
watches Aurian move away from Kassima and his eyebrows arch in a 'that's
odd' gesture.
Kassima gives Aurian a rather disappointed look. "Oh, *c'mon*," she
wheedle-whines. "Most people would consider a gouging t'be perfectly good
Turnday entertainment! I certes would! Think they'd be willing t'gouge out
thirty eyes in honor of the occasion? Drink the M'kla's klah and you die,"
she thinks to call sweetly--okay, so not so sweetly--to Skyfire's
Wingleader.
Now M'rgan does hear that warning and he gives the klah a suspicious
sniff. After a second or two of careful contemplation he pronounces it
okay with a smile. "Thanks for the warning, Kass, but it's fine."
Kassima eyes the brownrider over the rim of her own mug of Death-Inna-Cup.
It's the sort of look one gives to someone who's being *incredibly*
obtuse. "I meant," she clearly enunciates in a voice that just drips
'duh,' "that if'n you touch *my* pot of klah, I'll tear your spleen out
through your nose and then jump on it until you either die or it's been
turned to mulch. Whichever comes first. Clear?" You can never be sure
what'll get through to these malerider types, after all.
Aurian calls to distract Kassima and keep the greenriders attention on
M'rgan, "He is drinkin' the klah from your pot."
M'rgan takes that threat with surprising calm, a slight widening of his
eyes the only sign that he's at all ruffled by it. "Let me guess. It's
Lysseth that Ularrith's been staring at all day. Hey! Brownriders stick
together, Aurian. Don't they teach you that here??"
"Not when she's this way.. Faranth no bucky," Aurian ducks down behind the
serving table and starts tow work on her redfruit."
Kassima's eyes widen in indignance. She's perfectly willing to buy this
story; after all, it means she gets to be evil to a brownrider. Rising to
her feet, she stalks with measured paces towards Mart, then stops perhaps
three feet away. She folds her arms, and *glares*. Note the emphasis. "Is
this *true*?" she asks, pointing an accusing finger towards the klah mug.
"Are you drinking *my* klah? And aye, the bloody beast's proddy, without
giving me any fardling *warning*. She's nay done that a'fore." Slight
concern there? No. More like extreme annoyance.
It's hard for a brownrider to maintain an air of tranquil equanimity in
the face of a well-armed proddy greenrider that is only standing three
feet away from him but somehow M'rgan manages. Though the corner of his
right eye does develop the oddest twitch. Wordlessly he extends the mug
towards Kassima, adding as an afterthought, "You can sniff it yourself. No
way could I drink M'kla's klah. It's for greenriders only."
Kassima is clearly untrusting of this. Rather than sniff, she produces one
of the multitude of knives hidden about her person and dips *that* into
the klah. When the metal doesn't begin to melt away, she pronounces, "Nay
M'kla's. All right, brownrider, I'll let you live. *This* time. But just
you watch yourself." Turning, she pleads, "Auri, are you *certain* you
wouldn't want to see death as a Turnday entertainment?"
There is a yell from under a table, "You can kill him but I am na'
watching."
Kassima yells back, "Chicken! Buck-buck-buck-buck-buckaw!" She kindly
flaps her arms in her best poultry impersonation to go along with the fowl
noises. Now that's entertainment.
M'rgan grimaces as the knife is dipped into the klah and he gives the klah
several worried sniffs when he pulls it back to him. After taking the
tiniest of sips of the klah, and grimacing all the while, he abandons the
mug on the table. He has no idea where that knife has been or who it has
been in after all. He slides back a step from Kassima as she starts up her
chicken impersonation, the sole of his boot never leaving the floor.
Aurian yells, "I knew she was sharding nuts, and its not just Proddy
sillyness."
Kassima whirls about to inform Mart, her knife pointed accusingly at him,
"And you're chicken, too! Chicken! Chiiiiiicken! Bawk! Hey!" Slamming her
knife back home at her belt, she spins this time towards the sound of
Aurian's voice. "Come out here and say that, you yellow brownrider! I'll
bite your legs off!"
Telgar Weyr> Kassima clearly needs to listen to 'Ghost Chickens In the
Sky' less often.
Despite how close he came to death, M'rgan's face actually splits into a
beaming smile as he hears Aurian's latest yell. Now that should get the
focus off of him. His other foot slides back to join the first one. And
bravely, brave Sir Mart turned tail and ran away...
Aurian yells again, "I'm a former healer I'll taste icky."
Maylia enters from the Bowl.
Pierron twirls his moustache at the Weyrlingmaster.
Aurian isn't to be seen as she's hiding under a table.
"Then I'll tear your liver out of your ear! I'll cut off your foot and
stick it where the sun doesn't shine! I'll sicc L'cher on you!" shouts
Kassima, as she stalks amongst the tables in search of the Holy Auri. It
is here! She has seen it! "M'rgan, find me that brownrider!" she decides
to order when her own search is mostly fruitless. Eyes are not at their
keenest after a sleepless night, after all.
Dragon> Kvasith bespoke Telgar dragons with << Have you ever noticed how
lovely Lysseth is by the moonlight... >>
There is a squeak at the mention of L'cher.
Dragon> Telgar dragons sense that Lysseth's only reply is a low snarl.
There is no Lysseth; only Zuhlth.
M'rgan is wisely backing away from the scene before him. Aurian betrayed
him so he's perfectly willing to leave his fellow brownrider to Kassima's
evil machinations.
Maylia heads into the living cavern, intent on a late dinner, and looks
more than a little tempted to turn and head out again. "Kassi, what in the
name of Faranth's tailfork are you doing?" She asks, clearly stunned,
though probably not overlys uprised at her mentor's behaviour.
There is a yell of pure panic, "May she's gonna eat me!"
Kassima tells Maylia quite seriously, "I'm going t'root out that
redfruit-eating chicken and clean out a latrine with her head. Help me
find her!"
Dragon> Ularrith bespoke Telgar dragons with << She would look even
lovelier if she was curled up against my hide. In the moonlight too, of
course. >>
Dragon> All dragons sense that Lysseth takes the OOC mic for a moment.
<< If any gentledragons are interested, blooding for my latest flight
should commence at Telgar in... oh, five minutes or so. Interested parties
should also join the +flight channel. :) >>
Maylia blinks slowly, taking advantage of the time it takes for her to do
this, to think up an answer. "Kassi," she says, gently, with the manners
of a mindhealer, "That's not a chicken under there." No. Really?
Aurian whimpers, "May help!"
Kassima snarls back, "I'm nay going to *eat* you, I'm going t'tie you to
Mart and put you both in a sack and drop you both in the Lake, then see
who manages t'fight free a'fore drowning. Now get out here!" After an
offer like that, how could one refuse?
Aurian thinks on that, "D' you know how heavy he is, I'll never get a
chance to escape, he'll drag me down like a stone.. no thanks!"
"I'll drag *you* down like a stone?!?" is what M'rgan chimes in with as
he steps into the fray. "What's this with blaming everything on me
again?"
Kassima hops up on a table, the better to peek underneath it in search of
her prey. "That's the whole *idea*, though I'm actually hoping you'd both
drown and put me out of m'fragging misery. Which reminds me--Mart, get the
tying-rope!" And she sounds as though she actually expects him to do it,
too.
For a second M'rgan looks very tempted and he does take a step towards the
bowl. Until he realizes that he doesn't know what the fardles she's
talking about. "The tying-rope? What the shards is a tying-rope?"
Aurian yells, "And what would you tell our weyrmates!?"
"I'd fix them up together or something," Kassi yells back. "And a tying
rope is what you tie obstinate brownriders together with! *There* you
are!" That screech of triumph is given as she espies Aurian, and she
quickly tries to dive in under the table after the brownrider. 'Tries' is
the operative, here. It'd be more accurate to say that she falls off the
table in a rather undignified fashion, winding up on her rump on the
floor. "Shardit! That always works in the ballads!"
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth snugs a Tierth/Muinyth in re-welcome,
and gets out her clipboard. << All righty, then. Who am I going to get to
torment tonight? >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth deepens her voice and puts on a
southern-US drawl. << Count me in! >> That'd be Muinyth.
M'rgan hmms as he considers this. His gaze wanders haphazardly around the
room before it drifts down to his trousers. He gives his pants a little
hiking as he contemplates his navel. "I don't have a rope. But you could
borrow my belt."
Dragon> Flight sense that Ularrith is here. :)
Dragon> Flight sense that Kvasith is here.
Aurian acks and scoots back away with a pure panicked expression from the
evil Kassima.
Kassima glares up at the brownrider from her indignified sprawl on the
floor. Sadly, a glare loses most of its effect from such a position. "Take
off your pants in here and I'll remove your reason for *wearing* them."
Aurian blinks, "My Pants?"
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth dragon-grins and wingsnugs the brown
trio. << Okay, then. Blooding starts at your leisure, gents; I'll join you
shortly, and after that, I think we're all familiar with my regular rules
and regs (such as they are). Yes? :) >>
Dragon> Kvasith bespoke Flight with << ayeaye >>
Telgar Weyr> Erdrick thinks Kassi ment M'rgan's pants. :)
"My reason for wearing them?" M'rgan asks innocently as he practically
bats his eyelashes at Kassima. It's not nice to poke the proddy fun
greenie but he can't resist doing it anyway. He tugs at his pants, lifting
the cuffs a few inches. "Don't you like my ankles?"
Lysseth> Above, Ularrith leaps from Ularrith's Ledge and flies into the
air.
Telgar Weyr> Jessalyn says, "I don't think any of us need to know about
that. :)"
Telgar Weyr> Aurian says, "Geee you think..."
Maylia attempts to cover up a laugh as her mentor winds up on the floor.
"You're going to what?" She asks, again, shaking her head. "Aurian, how do
you get yourself into these messes?" she asks, making no move whatsoever
to intervene. Her attempts at camouflaging a laugh as anything else fail
miserable, as M'rgan pushes further.
"Same goes for you with your pants," the greenrider doesn't hesitate to
agree. "I'd have t'cut your rear end off somehow or something, but I'd
find a way. Trust in that!" Something about her homicidal teeth-baring
that's supposed to pass as a grin probably doesn't inspire much trust. A
sharp kick is sent towards the indicated ankles, though not apt to hit
from this distance. "Back! Back, foul brownriding creature of the
slimepits! Back! Chicken! Bawk, bawk, bawk!"
Lysseth> Muinyth backwings for a landing.
Lysseth> Above, With a bellow to shake the Weyr and to inform everyone of
the appearance of his august presence, Ularrith the arrogant brown bursts
from his ledge.
Lysseth> Above, Ularrith flies towards the north end of the bowl.
Telgar-Bowl> Above, Ularrith flies downward towards the feeding grounds.
Aurian blinks, and whimpers, "But I like my rear and sooo does.." she cuts
herself off as something seems to happen.
Lysseth> Lysseth stirs from her uneasy sleep at that bugling, snarling up
at the sky. What, does he expect her to throw rose petals or something?
Think again!
Lysseth> Kvasith bugles and rises upwards.
Shasta comes in from the bowl.
Lysseth> Kvasith takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to
carry him aloft.
Lysseth> Above, Kvasith flies towards the north end of the bowl.
Telgar-Bowl> Above, Kvasith flies downward towards the feeding grounds.
Telgar-Bowl> In the Feeding Grounds, Kvasith snarls as he lands, a small
wherry quickly being snatched from the air. His brilliant teeth tear into
the flesh, as he begins to lap up the wine dark blood.
M'rgan dances back from Kassima nonetheless though his bright jig is
interrupted by his lifemate's sudden plunge into the sky and the heated
connection between rider and dragon causes him to stumble and gasp.
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth does note that since we're a cozy crowd
tonight, I might be indulging in a wee bit more silliness than normal,
unless anyone has objections? :)
Lysseth> Muinyth rumbles, casting his whirling eyes on the awakening
Lysseth, clearly admiring. Umber-touched wings spread wide, he leaps aloft
again, with one last longing look under his wing towards the green.
Parting is such sweet sorry, but distance makes the heart grow fonder. And
blood, well. It's needed.
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth's got no objection :)
Dragon> Kvasith bespoke Flight with << Just for you baby >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth solemnly promises that *Lysseth* will be
making no chicken sounds, however.
Kassima recognizes those gasps of horror and manages to get to her feet
somehow, hopping up and down--yes, literally--with rage. "Lysseth! Why
d'you pull this *every* time I'm about t'get t'kill somebody?"
Telgar-Bowl> In the Feeding Grounds, Ularrith wastes not one iota of time
separating a bovine from the rest of the herd. The cow's calf bleats for
its mother but the brown dragon doesn't care a thing for the animal's
pleas and he carries the cow over to a low ledge where he is quickly
consumed with consumming every drop of the spicy, hot blood of the beast.
Shasta groans, spinning on her heel just as the Southern wingsecond is
within the cavern. "Muinyth!" she hollers. "I said /don't/ chase, not do!
Don't, Do! Don't you see the difference?" Her speech lowers from a yell to
a grumble as she goes on, glaring green ice towards the bowl. "Happens
every sharding time."
Lysseth> Muinyth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to
carry it aloft.
Lysseth> Above, Muinyth flies towards the north end of the bowl.
Telgar-Bowl> Above, Muinyth flies downward towards the feeding grounds.
Lysseth> Lysseth rumbles smugly towards the rider within. Because she
*can*, of course. Spreading silvered wings wide, wide, she tenses in her
previously langorous coil, and then--springs. Aloft, aloft; the skies are
hers!
Lysseth> You spring into the air and catch the thermals rising from the
bowl floor to carry you aloft.
An older greenrider leers at Shasta, "Y' should b' glad yuir sister's
dragon na' th' one risin'"
Once he's able go come back to himself, M'rgan gives Kassima a self-
satisfied, almost smirkish look. Now who's in control? "I guess your fun
is over now, Kassi."
"That'd probably result in incestuous three-eyed children with porcine
tails somehow, and there'd be nay anyone for them to let me castrate!"
Kassima yells in an indignant fury. *That* seems to be the final straw;
the greenrider takes a moment to flip Pierron the finger, then races
outside, the better to kick some green dragon butt.
The older greenrider's mate wheezingly laughs. "Though that'd be an
interresting sight to see," the old blue rider speaks. "Not so sure I'd
leave the guest Weyr, if her brown caught."
You walk down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Lysseth> You fly towards the north end of the bowl.
Lysseth> You fly downwards towards the feeding grounds.
Telgar-LC> Aurian stands up as the feeding begins, she pushes her hair out
of her eyes as she grabs a skin of wine.
Telgar-LC> Maylia drops into a seat, and shakes her head. "Shasta, we'll
talk, later." She says, ignoring the older pair pointedly. "Just do,
please check before you turn up here?" Plainly, she's not so keen on the
idea they find so amusing.
Aurian comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern.
Telgar-LC> Shasta gives Kassi a look torn between lust and fear, as the
woman heads out. "Oh, shells and shards." she mutters, giving in to the
first.
Shasta comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern.
Lysseth> Lysseth has no intent of letting her green dragon butt be kicked,
however. Not when there's work to be done--so much blood to suck, so
little time. And where to begin? Moonlight catches on curving claws, which
snicker-snack an impatient rhythm as the green soars loftily over the
grounds, searching for the perfect victim. But Kassi won't *let* her blood
the male dragons, so this poor bovine buck will have to do. *SQUISH.*
Sadly, he didn't take Lysseth's landing on his back very well, but at
least there's enough left of him for the green to sink her teeth into and
drink. Herdbeast blood: it's mmm, mmm good.
Lysseth> With a sweep of his leg, Ularrith pushes the dessicated bovine
corpse off of the ledge, where is drops to the ground with a sickening
squelchy squish. He hops off the ledge, barely missing the calf who has
come over to nuzzle at its mother's body, and proceeds to stalk a plump
ovine that is just right for the plucking. Satisfaction.
Telgar Weyr> Meli says, "Aw, Mart, makes me think of Bambi. :("
Telgar Weyr> M'rgan is in one of those moods tonight. ;)
Lysseth> Kvasith raises upwards agin, an ovine is brought into his clasp.
The talons sink in, they tear into the white woooly beast letting the
blood splatter onto his muzzle. He sinks his teeth greedily into the dying
fuzzy.
Kassima bounces on the balls of her feet, the wind playing with the hem of
her tabard and the lengths of her equally black hair. She'd make an
imposing sight, if she weren't shifting her weight from side to side as
though she had a bad case of S'jeet's Pih Syndrome. "Blood, blood, bloody
blood blood blood," she yells to her dragon, though whether in
encouragement or command is hard to say.
Telgar-LC> M'rgan stares all around him for several seconds with a nearly
absent gaze. Slowly, as if drawn, he heads out to the bowl.
M'rgan comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern.
Aurian watches Kvasith eat almost with a hunger of her own, she opens the
skin of red she brought with her and pours some into her mouth. The benden
dribbling a little down her chin.
Above, From the Telgar Star Stones, Kl'loh's brick-brown Yoxath rears on
hind legs and bugles a greeting to brown Parth and his rider, E'ryn of
Ista Weyr.
Parth backwings for a landing.
Lysseth> Muinyth wheels overhead, as the herds below turn into a roiling
sea of clipped-horned heads, churned into a frothing mass of terror. Sun-
touched earthen wings fold, and the southern brown dives. Like a boulder
cartoon boulder plummeting from the sky, the bovine he lands on wouldn't
even have the time to hold up a sign that reads 'Yikes!' before the beast
is flattened, legs splayed out. With a macabre nature, this sandstone
boulder-dragon does something never done to a poor little coyote - he
latches his teeth to the squished bovine's throat, and proceeds to blood
it. And this blood's not Acme, so it might just do the trick.
E'ryn twists his body, sliding along the side of Parth's neck and to his
foreleg. He then hops down easily.
Lysseth> Lysseth would groan, if she weren't preoccupied. Really. You'd
think her rider didn't know that she's already *learned* the joys of
blooding, of savoring the hot, coppery tang of the life-juice as it slides
down her gullet to stoke those convenient inner fires. The bovines are
rather like batteries, in their own way. A contemptuous tail-lash downs a
wherry-hen, knocking its head right off and sending it sailing across the
grounds. Follow the bouncing head!
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth notes, I have /no/ clue where that pose
came from, I've not watched the Road Runner in years...
Parth lumbers north.
Lysseth> Parth springs into the air for a quick flight over the fence from
the central bowl. He settles, terrifying the animals within.
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth welcomes Parth and E'ryn to the fun and
games, too. :) We're blooding right now--rules are the usual: two sky-
spaces up, one pose to every Lyss pose, no rider pose limit, no length
limit, please pardon my silliness, channel OOC, Guest Weyr IC, and most
importantly, have fun. (Whew!)
Lysseth> Parth serves into a swooping spiral that takes him lower and
lower over the pen. Claws range out, arcing as he dips down to capture a
herdbeast. Foreclaws rake across the beast, drawing crimson ribbons over
its hide, then he lands upon it, jaws gnashing at its neck, tearing open
its throat as he feasts on its blood.
Lysseth> Kvasith tosses aside his ovine, he snarls towards the new arrival
and snakes his way about the pen. His talons raking across the earth as he
stalks his next bit of tasty meat. A buck is grabbed and pinned quickly,
the brown is almost leisurely about this. His teeth shred across the body
of bovine, his tounge lapping up the salty tang that is flowing from the
herdbeast.
Lysseth> Ularrith trades a bit of teeth gnashing, chest puffing, and
bellowing with a somewhat smaller blue. Me, Ularrithzan. She, LyssethJane.
You, Cheetahth. Their posturing only ends when some very foolish, one-
braincelled ovines plunge into their midst and the two males forget their
differences long enough to enjoy this little snack. Back to Celebrity
Deathmatch after these important messages.
"Blood, blood, blood blood, bloody blood, bloood," sings out the Kassi,
still preoccupied with bouncing and weight-shifting and generally looking
like an idiot.
Aurian just drinks slowly from her wineskin, its almost as if she's
nursing from it, well except for the tremendous amount flowing down her
chin and onto her shirt.
E'ryn lets his gaze drift toward the oh so familiar Kassima with the
faintest of bemused smiles. He shucks open his hide jacket and offers no
reason for why he's there -- no explanation for what brings him to Telgar.
He remains silent, stance steady as his gaze switches back to the pens
where Parth is reaving his fill.
Lysseth> Muinyth's whirling eyes look up, set in a now blood splattered
granite head. Bounce. Bounce. They track the wherry's head as it rolls,
then trace back. Wherry. Ah! yes! The Southern brown gives an approving
rumble, as his eyes light upon the shimmering grey-green of a tail! Let
the Northern ones pose and puff up their chests - he knows what's
important. Almost absently, fixated on that tail, he lunges for a second
bovine, dragging the squealing beast back by the haunches, blood seeping
out around obsidian black talons.
M'rgan kicks at a slight bulge in the floor of the bowl, cuffing the dirt
like a bored child.
Lysseth> Lysseth slugs back another wherry's worth of blood during the
commercial break, the red droplets splattering against an otherwise
flawless, well-oiled, and let's not forget *glowing* green hide. Her
hind-talons clench against the churned-up grass of the pasture, raking
great gouges that are quickly filled with the trickling gore from the
abandoned corpse. The scene of the green's victory against nature is left
behind with similar lack of thought--there's blood in them thar beasts,
and Lysseth has every intent of making it *hers*. Not, however, without
first roaring her rage and contempt at the males that share the grounds
with her. Really! Can't a lady ever dine in peace around here?
Shasta does what Shasta does best during flights. She stands, shoulders
thrown back, chin tilted up in the air at an angle that's more defiant
than snobbish.
"Shaddup," Kassi begins to mutter. At least it makes a good change from
'blood, blood, blood.' "Shaddup, shaddup, shaddup, shaddup...." Then
again, this could get tiring quickly, too.
Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << One more set of blooding poses, and
then we'll be off--sound okay? :) >>
Lysseth> Kvasith finishes his herdbeast pressing his chin into the
internal organs of the animal, his eyes whirl with lustful hues. His gaze
now locked onto that fabulously fantastic glowing hide, his body
tightening as he waits everready for her to take flight.
Dragon> Flight sense that Juliath has to bop off, have fun everyone! I
wanna risk snorting Dr. Pepper out my nose when I read the log later. ;)
Lysseth> Parth is not one for leaving anyone at peace. He roars back his
answer to the lady, a gentleman picking up the handkerchief dropped in
challenge, in invitation. His violet gaze immolates her with the heat of
his desire, the lust driving him to seek another beast for his prey. The
carcass of the first is forgotten, left behind and stomped over in his
avid quest for another. Ivoried swords are bared and slash out, not to be
paried by the unarmed creature as he chomps down on its head, tearing it
off in his fury to be filled with the pulsing life that flows within.
Scarlett splatters his rich, dark earthy brown hide like rusted flecks.
The beast is quickly drained, lending him its energy to throb through his
body like ichor through his veins.
Lysseth> Muinyth lifts his head from his kill to listen, as Lysseths roar
mingles with the terrified bawling of ... oh. He's not killed it yet.
Music to his ears, nonetheless, and the contempt in the glowing green's
voice rolls off his back like rain over well oiled hide. The bovine's
vocal accompanyment is cut short abruptly after a crescendo, and Muinyth
indulges in a little intermission snack.
Lysseth> Let me tell you a story about a dragon Reaches bred. Poor brown
lad hardly ever kept his head. Then one day he saw himself a green and the
white-flecked Ularrith thought that she was pretty keen. Tails, you know.
And curvy necks. Ularrith leisurely sucks on the ovine's neck as he stares
at Lysseth with lusty determination. Like a teenager sucking on a
milkshake as he stares across the restaurant at the Prom Queen. Oh you
will be mine. Yes, you will be mine.
Dragon> Parth bespoke Flight with << That Ularrith, was truely
horrifying ;) >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Kvasith is just scared in general by the
reachian brown
Dragon> Flight sense that Parth laughed his tail off. No more tail. Now
how will I ever fly?
Dragon> Flight sense that Ularrith would have an easier time with flights
if I could ever remember the tv show jingles. ;) Hey, it's my 46th flight.
Gotta have fun. ;) ;)
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth ROLLLS!
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth giggles maniacally. Ularrith, that was
*evil*. I love it! ;)
Dragon> Flight sense that Parth doesn't want to count how many flights
he's done on all the games in all the years he has played, but I don't
think I can count 46 flights with just one dragon ;)
Lysseth> Lysseth is nothing if not thorough about this, her final
blooding. So thorough in fact that she starts making those annoying slurp
noises that little kids do when they're trying to get the absolute last
drop of drink from a glass. Still, the result may be worth it; the
luminescence of her hide increases exponentially, offset well by the deep,
dark amethyst to which her eyes are changing. Slowly but surely, she
withdraws her talons from the guts of the disemboweled kill... and pauses.
Namely because the intestines are wound up around her claws like some sort
of cat's cradle straight from the mind of Stephen King. A few impatient
jerks and snaps release her from *that* bondage, and she's soon to seek
another freedom--that of the skies and stars, where none can outmatch her,
none can stare at her, and *none* can sing old TV theme songs to her.
Follow the leader, boys!
Lysseth> You spring into the air and catch the thermals rising from the
bowl floor to carry you aloft -- much to the relief of the wherries.
"About bloody effin' frickin' frackin' fraggin' fewmettin' shardin'
blasted *time*," Kassi shouts up at the glowing streak of green that is
her lifemate, and spins on her heel to make a mad dash for the sanctity of
the Guest Weyr.
You push aside the curtain and enter the weyr.
Lysseth> You soar upwards and into the open sky above the Weyr.
Lysseth> Kvasith flies up from the southern half of the bowl.
Aurian comes into the weyr from the bowl.
Lysseth> Muinyth flies up from the southern half of the bowl.
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth eyes the dragonpoker table thoughtfully.
<< I hope there's no one playing in there right now, or they're going to
get a surprise. ;) >>
Lysseth> Ularrith flies up from the southern half of the bowl.
M'rgan comes into the weyr from the bowl.
Lysseth> Parth flies up from the southern half of the bowl.
Lysseth> Parth gleams with the suffusing energy of blood, a lucent dark
brown-amber crystal in the sky streaked with veins of jet and citrine and
jade. His wings flex back, spanning the sky like a shadow over the sun he
rears up as he climbs, tail lashing behind him as he roars his defianance
to males and to illuminated green. As he climbs, he chases, mastering the
wind, suborning the breezes to his whim. Translucent wings billow,
capturing air, flooding with it as he thrusts it away and scoops up more
with the sound of many heartbeats.
E'ryn comes into the weyr from the bowl.
Aurian drops into a chair at the dragon poker table, she starts to shuffle
and un shuffle the deck in front of her. She looks near manic.
Lysseth> Lysseth blazes up into the sky with nary an effort, stars,
clouds, and moons alike seeming to stream past as their placid courses
attempt--and fail--to match the green's breathtaking speed. Frost-chilled
air caresses neck and wingsails and tail, coaxing from the dragon a bugle
of sheer, fierce crystalline defiance--while the wind is at her beck, how
could any stop her? Besides, they're all chicken anyway. Buck-buck-buckaw!
Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << Okay, so I lied about Lyss and the
chicken noises. ;) >>
E'ryn follows along after the others, behind Kassima with an air of
electric urgency and anticipationg clingin to him like sweat. His brow
furrows ever so slightly, showing the concentration on expression.
M'rgan slogs and trudges and slugs his way into the guest weyr, his every
step the same length as a baby's. Maybe if he's lucky by the time he gets
in here the whole sordid mess will be over with. His eyes catch sight of
Kassima. Hmm. Maybe being in here isn't such a bad thing after all. That's
quite a nice little chickie right there. Less than smoothly he leans an
elbow on the wall and crosses his right foot over his left jauntily. "Hey
there, sweet stuff" his expression seems to say as he gives the greenrider
a pouting but come hither sort of look.
Lysseth> Kvasith stretches through the night sky, speckled with the after
effects of his recent meal. Wings catch and hang on the wind, he swoops
forwards with speeds quick for a brown. The youngster moves with all the
hormonal intent of a teenager. Pleasepleasepleaseplease/
Kassima had been heading towards the dragonpoker table herself,
instinctively recognizing the gambling contrivance as some source of
obscure reassurance. Lucky in cards, lucky in flights? Pity that's not how
it works. Teeth are bared at Aurian in a canine-ish growl as the
brownrider beats her to the punch, and she skitters back to her usual
solace of cold stone wall. Hello, wall. We must stop meeting like this.
Lysseth> Muinyth rises steadily, abandonning his kill without a second
thought. Macabre pictographs upon his sandstone form dry swiftly in the
cold spring air, remnants of a near-forgotten ritual of fertility and
strength. His gaze fixes on that glowing green speck far above him -
Now... sit right back and you'll hear a tail, a tail of a young brown's
lust. A tailtailtailtailtailtail... get the idea?
Shasta comes into the weyr from the bowl.
Aurian continues to shuffle the deck, the fluttering shfffffting noise
continueing. Perhaps she remembers a night when Kassima was definitely not
the lucky one in cards, she watches the room. There is a shudder as she
watches that look that M'rgan gives the greenrider, the um lovely
greenrider, the um very lovely and attractive greendrider. Oh Faranth.
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth gave up trying to fit words to the
tune... and just settled for tail.
Lysseth> Ularrith's wings beat out a staccato pattern as he rises after
the Prom Queen. The staccato pattern segues into a more triumphant, full
orchestra, battle march as he finds himself in the front of the pack, his
wings beating deeply and fully but more slowly. When a bronze comes up
behind his rear, so close that the brown dragon can feel the other's hot
breath on his important bits, his wingbeats turn more frantic, the pattern
much more like that of a certan llama-related song during a certain
movie's opening credits. This brown is not about to be sacked.
Dragon> Parth bespoke Flight with << Is there some kind of tune? Well.
I'm no good with that kind of thing. Sheesh. I didn't even realize :) >>
Lysseth> Let's just hope this isn't a three-hour tour. Still, Lysseth *is*
quick; perhaps the Weyr's fastest, and she's experienced enough to be
canny in the arts of evasion. While *they're* busy eyeing her tail, she
can... uh... well... she'll think of something! And she does. A coy lash
of that tail later, she's pumping those widespread wings of hers as
vigorously as though they were her Air Jordans and she about to compete in
the NBA Playoffs. Wind shrieks a complaint as dragonflesh slices through
it, headed up, up, up! When every green is glowing bright, frigid,
fractious, and forthright, proddy and presenting a plight, trim the trad--
go troglodyte!
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth laughs. There's no set theme, no. :) I
think Tierth meant her Gilligan's Island moment. ;)
Dragon> Flight sense that Parth oohs :)
Lysseth> Kvasith pushes himself higher and higher. The gee forces pulling
the flesh from his bones, oops wrong window. Still the brown rises upwards
with a single minded intent, his amber tinged self shimmering with his
efforts.
Kassima is lovely and attractive? Well, she's sulking. Maybe that counts.
Lower lip juts out just *so* in a pout, and her sweater-clad arms fold
over her chest. The others in the room are treated to a look of extreme
suspicion and distaste, lucky them. What're *they* doing here?
Lysseth> Muinyth doesn't slide into the jostling pack of would be suitors,
he doesn't belong there, nonono. With confidence borne of obsession, he
stays clear of the shredding talons of other males, remaining on the
outskirts of the race. His eyes fixate on that lashing tail, while his
wings and heart beat out a rhythm. She is his obsession. His Obsession. He
will find a way, and he will have her - like a butterfly, a wild
butterfly, he will collect her, and /capture/ her!
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth can't stay away from tunes tonight, but
at least I got off the TV jingles...
Dragon> Kvasith bespoke Flight with << You are going to stick a pin
through her!!! >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth notes, by the by, that she's having a
lot of fun already. Y'all are all terrific. :) Kvasith, I'm just not
touching that....
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth DIES!, Auri!
Dragon> Kvasith bespoke Flight with << but that's what happens to
butterflies.. they stick big needles through them. I could have said he
intends to pin her to the wall >>
Lysseth> Far from becoming frothy and fretful as fascinating and fair
female flies further from him, Ularrith flicks his feather-free wing at
her as he follows his own farflung flight. The snow-flecked brown dragon
rolls onto his side, streaking away from both Lysseth and the rest of the
pack of the males, forging another path to Her Promness.
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth laughs! and thought that was Her
Promethness for a sec there, Ularrith. Very scary thought.
Lysseth> Parth lets his wings flare out, like unfurled sails after being
loosened from battening. They ripple then beat with the force of the air
that he uses to carry him after. His tail the rudder that steers his sail
through the sky. He dips, then swerves, body shaped by the currents he
surfs through. That green, glowing brightness is the star that guides his
way and he pursues, navigated by an excellent sailor. Parth is well known
for his daring-do antics and he wings high one moment before banking
sharply to skirt some imaginary foe.
Shasta pulls out a chair from the dragonpoker table, the wooden legs
creaking along the stone floor. Expression set as hard as the granite her
lifemates' head seems to be sculpted of, she drops into the seat, and
fixes her gaze on Kassima.
M'rgan waggles his eyebrows whenever he thinks that Kassima is looking his
way. That's sure to get her. In a poll of 100 women for Telgarpolitan, 80
of them said waggling eyebrows was a total turn on. Of course 80 of them
also said that dragons sucking the life out of poor, defenseless animals
was a turn on too. So this attempt of his probably means nothing.
E'ryn glances Shasta's way, giving her a blank stare of unfamiliarity.
Then his eyes shift back to the one who rides the green, Kassima. His
indigo gaze is darkened into midnight, unreadable and mysterious. He
watches her, as if seeking some knowledge there to share with Parth to be
applied to the chase.
Aurian flicks a card before Shasta oddly enough it appears that the
Telgarian brown rider is dealing cards between the pair.
Lysseth> Lysseth is not a perfume. If one were truly being romantic,
though, one could say that her breath perfumes the sky as it clouds like
stardust in the air, that the scent of her oiled and exertion-warmed hide
is the tantalizing lure of an olfactory siren. But if one were being
honest, one would admit that she has dead wherry-breath and that blood is
only tempting if you're hungry for something other than the purpose of
this exercise. She is not one to tilt at windmills, this green; she
continues her dizzying climb into the heights, pointed towards the heavens
like a glowing arrow of lust from the bow of Cupid himself. Or perhaps
Eros. If Eros has a bow. Why contemplate this, however, when one's mind
should be on *escape*? Just when she's reached the crest of her fantastic
flight, she furls wings tightly to her sides to plummet--unchecked--from
Heaven to Earth, a falling angel... or risen devil. In Lysseth's case,
let's face it, it's really hard to say.
Dragon> Flight sense that Parth laughs. << That was hillarious >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth grins. << Thankee. Y'all are inspiring
me! :) >>
Kassima doesn't look inclined to be greatly helpful. Her arms have
unfolded themselves, the better to grip against the back of a chair she's
chosen to hide behind, knuckles white with the force of her hold. "Don't
splat, don't splat, don't splat," she chants like a monk's mantra,
desperation erasing the prior pout. Splattering across the Bowl floor
would be *such* an undignified way to die. Right up there with mooning
unfed cannibals.
Lysseth> Tiny bubbles in the wine..damn the muzak in his head, Kvasith
gets all Don Ho for a moment there. He pulls the wings tightly against him
in pursuit of the luscious Lysseth. His slender body pushed to the limit
as he chases.
Lysseth> Parth is a dragon just like Lysseth, albeit male and brown and
chasing rather than being chased -- so it just goes to reason that he has
similiar likes and habits -- his breath is none to keen, smelling a lot
like the dead carcass of the last herdbeast he ate, and his hide is
splattered with blood, wedding garments amongst dragon-kind. He's the
suitor in hopes of capturing a bride. Perhaps its not really the lure of
her glowing hide, but the scent she exudes that drives him on, surely it
must be something that causes him to show his skill in the air, the
artfull dip of a wing, the blazing flare of the other, the delicate flick
of the tail and the minute shifts of muscle which ripple beneath rich hide
the color of fresh dirt.
Lysseth> The succulent Lysseth must be an angel because with the thoughts
that are running through Ularrith's head right now he can only be a devil.
Or a demon. A demon and an angel. His pace quickens as he rises up towards
her and his sudden zig-zagged movement makes him appear, just for a
second, to be in three places at once. But the other two apparitions
disappear a heartbeat later, leaving only him. One demon to join with one
angel. Fun. Fun. Fun. Even though there's no sun, sun, sun.
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth groans as she now has the Red Dwarf
theme song stuck in her head. << I want to lie, shipwrecked and comatose,
drinking fresh mango juice.... >>
Lysseth> Muinyth drifts on, head extended, his eyes would droop closed if
not for that tail he persues. Lead on by, and floating on that heavenly
dead wherry perfume, he desires nothing other than to fold Lysseth in his
arms, bat his eyelids (darn, no lashes) and murmur sweet nothings in her
ears. My darling! Mwah Mwah Mwah! Unfortunately, though, this southern
lad's not Peppe le Pueue. As the lovely lady plummets from the heavens
above, a gift from the angels, the brown rushes forwards, straining his
wings to the utmost.
E'ryn doesn't pay much attention to what looks like a game of cards. His
arms cross over his chest, over his belly in a symbol of vast paitence.
Glassy gaze swallows Kassima as the corner of his lips, twitches.
Shasta doesn't pay her cards much attention - she simply scoops them up,
puts two down, and gestures to Aurian. Habit, more than anything else.
Something to do to occupy one's hands, even if the only thing she sees is
Kassima.
Lysseth> Lysseth may be a devil, she may be an angel, she may be a siren,
she may be a frightened black cat with a white stripe painted down her
back--but whatever she is, she's clever and she's quick. No rocky earth
embrace shall snag *her*, no--wings snap out with a great retort like a
crossbow shot, saving her from certain death and sending her skimming
*just* over the crown of the Bowl wall on her flight back up. Let's see
how many of those chasers we can get to act as crash-test dummies against
that same wall, hmmm? Another mocking bugle--more ragged, this time; she's
using up her energy like a spendthrift with tricks like these--sails back
from her lungs, carried by fickle wind. Attention, male dragons! Her body
is not available! Even if she *is* looking nice. She's looking nice, her
shadow's looking nice... what a team! But you're too slow, Chasers
Marengo--too slow for *this* dragon, or so she hopes as she hurls herself
back across the heavens. When you're following an angel, does it mean you
have to throw your body off a building?
M'rgan runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back, as he continues to
give Kassima the eye. That special look he read about in the records room
on a scroll labelled Get A Better Lovelife Through Hypnosis. And if that
doesn't work he also read another...100 Chat-up Lines Guaranteed To Work.
As he sucks in a breath he adjusts the collar of his shirt, nearly ready
to try one out on her.
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth sings, << When you're following an
angel, does it mean you have to throw your body off a building? Somewhere
they're meeting on a pinhead, calling you an angel, calling you the nicest
things. Sorry; mild TMBG attack there. Anyone have any preferences in when
the catch attempts should be? :) >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth also whaps Mart/Rimmer, just on general
principle.
Lysseth> Kvasith erks at the change in direction, ohboyohboyohboy.. pull
up pull up Pulllllll upppppppp! Kvasith gets his rear back in gear and on
the right track, his pursuit is now a little further back but he keeps
after the Thunderbolt dragon.
Lysseth> Lysseth can be anything she wants to be but as the bowl wall
looms in front of him Ularrith decides, nay firmly commits to in
perpetuity, that he is not Tom nor is he Jerry. He's also not Sylvester or
Daffy or Elmer Fudd. What he is is a dragon with wings meant for soaring
and not for splatting. Like Speedy Gonzales sensing that that mouse hole
is just painted on the building, the brown dragon sharply swerves away,
skimming along the inside of the bowl as he rises ever so slightly towards
the rim. Ptooiiinggggggg.
Kassima eyes the cards a moment herself, desperately, as though she could
read her fate in them. Alas, she's never had much talent for divination.
Taking a deep breath, she grips that poor chair-back hard enough that it
seems apt to splinter in her hands. Witness thus the Greenrider Grip of
Death, and ye shall know fear. Either that, or Deep Hurting. Take your
pick.
Dragon> Flight sense that Ularrith doesn't know Spanish so I couldn't
spell what Speedy usually says. ;)
Lysseth> Parth dares the same trick Lysseth used, not one to be beaten or
defeated in aeriel games of chance. Bravely he swoops upwards, one claw
even catching on a rock to thrust him off of the bowl's wall when he just
barely grazes past. But the cost is dear, wings skim the air, slicing like
a hot knife through butter. He pumps his wings frantically as soon as he's
over the rim, seeking to get further from it with the heavy battle of
wings against wind -- and the wings win, carrying dragon up and up like a
hot-air balloon. But he's not full of hot air, the things that drive him
are need, desire, the hunger for the silken smoothness of dragon hide warm
against his. These silibant thoughts seem to echo thier feelings,
turbulent emotions for those that could sense them. Her tail is a hypnotic
enticement which crystaline eyes follow faithfully.
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth thinks it's 'Andele! Andele!
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-hah!' But isn't sure. ;)
Lysseth> Muinyth rumbles with frustration as the glowing green avoids the
rocky embrace of his earthen brown wings, then with concern as she veers
away from a more permanent embrace of the cliffs. His own sandstone carved
form careens past the wall, caverndark legs tucked up close against his
belly, nearly raking new lines in the wall of the bowl, he rockets
upwards. Eyes wild as a coyotes would be, strapped to a speeding missile
that reads Acme, he'd be holding up a hand-painted 'yikes' sign if he
could read or write.
E'ryn is the opposite of Kassima, radiating serenity. Muscles bunch in
reflex upon occasion, shoulders twitching as if they would aid his dragon
in flight. Lips part as he sucks in a breath in the close confines of the
room.
Dragon> Ularrith bespoke Flight with << This flight is /hilarious/!! :) >>
Aurian deals two more cards to Shasta, her own hand she removes three and
adds three. What she doesn't know is she dealt away a Conclave at that
point. Good thing they aren't playing for marks since Kassima is such a
distraction.
Dragon> Parth bespoke Flight with << Whenever you're ready to -end- the
flight Lysseth, deign to be caught :) >>
Lysseth> Lysseth climbs her way back up into the skies with no attempt at
stealth. Like Dogbert working up to his seat of world domination, she goes
right for her goal--height, freedom!--without pause for considering the
welfare of those others who'd probably be happier if she'd just stay down
where they are. Hah! Kiss her feet, knaves, and begone, demons of
stupidity! She's out and she's flappin' free! Beep, beep! Her wingbeats
clap a summons against the air--but it isn't Winston and Piglet she
summons, nor is it any Sir Galahad the Chaste she hopes to aid; the taunt
is to those pursuers who remain, daring them to follow her beyond the
limits of mortality. Heeeeeey, kiiiiiids! She's up here! Neener, neener,
neener! Pthbbbbt! Bawk, bawk, bawk! Of course, actually *making* all those
sounds would tax reserves that already tire--witness the slowing of
wingbeats, the dimming of hide--so she just keeps them in her own spiteful
brain.
Shasta spares a glance at her cards, snorting disgust at her hand for only
the briefest second. Or, perhaps its a sort of disgust at what's happening
in the sky, with that other body that's screaming for attention, for air,
and for rest for those gawdawfully tired wings!
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth giggles. Okay... pose attempts after my
next. Sound good? :)
Dragon> Flight sense that Kvasith nods.
"You tell 'em, Lysseth," Kassi mumbles to no one in particular, most of
the fury and hatred gone from her eyes to be replaced with a reckless
glee. She and her lifemate could be Loki's daughters; little wonder that
they're enjoying all this trickery and taunting. And both have probably
forgotten, willfully or honestly, that there will come a time to pay the
piper.
Lysseth> Parth charges after, rising into the sky like a sun in
ascendancy. Wings soothe the air and he's caressed in return, the breeze
washing over aching, tired muscles. The dragon breathes heavily, wearying
from the flight but still with much stamina left. He flys straight and up,
head lifted as if seeking a benediction from the heavens, wings outflung
as if in supplication -- the only one above him in the heavens is
Lysseth -- is she ready to recieve him at her gates?
Dragon> Flight sense that Parth is glad. I'm running out of ideas ;)
Lysseth> Kvasith whirls closer and closer, he bugles a charge worthy of
the confederate armies. His little brown tuckus presses onwards towards
victory oh and Lysseth.
Lysseth> Ularrith drifts first to the right and then to the left as he
indecisively tries to settle on the right course to take him smoothly
sliding up to the Prom Queen so that he can offer her his...ring. He
boogies through the sky as if dancing to a song. I'm going after Lysseth,
going to have myself a time. His...err...earthy brown color seems to go
perfectly with his music and so he finds the going easier than he expected
though his every breath comes out hot. Almost as if it was on fire. Almost
like he was shooting fire out of his...mouth. This is one dragon that
definitely isn't going to get upset and go home.
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth nearly snorts Dew out her nose.
<< Cartman gets an anal probe?!? >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Parth gahs.
Dragon> Flight sense that Ularrith looks completely innocent. Now did I
ever come out and actually say that? ;)
Dragon> All dragons sense that Caliath shoots a wing up and ooos oooos
ooos like a nerd from a 70s sitcom "Ms. Kassima, I wanna see the log!"
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth does remind, BTW, that if you *don't*
want to win, now's about the time to page. :)
Lysseth> Muinyth strains his wings even more, as Lysseth strives yet
higher. Remaining on the outskirts of the chasing pack of males, he veers
away from Ularrith sharply. Dude! You wih respect mah authoritay!
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth's laughing waaayyyy too hard to pose
Muinyth...
Lysseth> Lysseth would flee forever if she could, were her heart truly
made of steel and her blood of fire. Or battery acid, or something. Sadly,
she's not a solar-fueled car: she's a dragon, a mortal dragon, a tiring
dragon, who can only keep to the height of the angels for so long. Her
faint remaining glow illuminates her like a looming UFO in the sky, though
with luck, there will be no Visitors in this episode. Will there, however,
be a chicken-lover? Because you're all still chickens, you know. Bawk!
Bawk! Baw--oh, forget it. No time for bawking now, only for flight, and
fleeing, and the clawing against the tightening grip of the hand of fate.
Death before dishonor! Give her liberty or give her death, and in either
case, give her a cheeseburger with double fries!
Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << Y'all are just *priceless* tonight,
I must say. If Meli doesn't spew her Dr. Pepper as she said she wanted,
I'll eat a bug. >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Ularrith waves his front paw in the air. << Can
I pick the bug? >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth ahh-ooooos. Tho, the exhaust pipe might
be a bit crunchy...
Kassima fidgets behind her protective chair, eyes gone very wide and very
dark. She bites her lip. Those others frighten her now, much as though
they were Visitors themselves (but no, she has no memories of being
abducted, nor did Scott Bayo give her pinkeye). Still, she draws herself
up with all the pride of her greenriding profession to meet each set of
eyes with defiance. She's no house of cards, to topple easily--pardon the
phrasing--at the first touch of wind.
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth eyes Ularrith. << I dunno. You might
pick one that had a driver and passengers in it, and then there'd be a
legal mess to take care of. >>
Lysseth> Parth overreaches Lysseth, soaring up, and over in the sky. He
halts himself, rearing back as his neck cranes to survey below. And there
she is, ever so close, nearly within his clutches. He levels out, wings
brandished like a weapon as he steadies his exhausted flight before
stooping from his lofty height to dive toward the green who still carries
the seed of burning luminescence. He is like that hook-beaked blue wonder
that forever chases after chickens -- if Lysseth were a chicken and he a
rooster, he'd crow -- instead he bugles in preemptive triumph -- perhaps
too soon does he make the call, but then he goes silent, lending the last
dregs of his energy to silence, determination and deadly skill as he drops
closer, his attempt to catch only to be detered by another dragon's
triumph over his in the battle of Flight.
E'ryn shifts his stance just barely, a breath sucked in sharply then eased
out chin tilting in slight query.
Lysseth> Muinyth strains ever upwards, seeking the answers, for he knows
that the Truth Is Out There! And scientific logic be dammed, the only sane
reaction to an insane world is insanity. To prove this, he flings himself,
talons extended, into the fray, the most insane action he can come up with
in his flight-maddened state. For somewhere just ahead is that luminous
green tail that he's obsessed about for all of eternity.
Lysseth> What goes up, must come down. Every dragon knows this and
Ularrith looks eagerly up at Lysseth, knowing as she tires that she'll
have to come down to him. Won't she? Pleeeeeeease. As his whirling eyes
lock on her body, he notices something that they didn't mention in dragon
school. Though what goes up is smooth and soft and very cute, what comes
down has sharp pointy things on the end nearest him. Oh, Ularrith, Oh,
Ularrith, she might give you a scar. Oh, Ularrith, Oh, Ularrith, it'll
make you handsomer by far. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, the brown
dragon concludes as he continues after her, extending his neck. The early
avian catches the insect. A 32nd piece for your thoughts. Would you jump
off a bridge if all of your friends did? If it meant getting his tail
around that green piece of meat, Ularrith would.
Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << Green piece of meat?!?!? ;) >>
Shasta maintains her stoney poker face, cards splayed out infront of her,
though her eyes don't grace them with her attention. All her stakes are on
the table, now. And the stakes are, indeed, high.
Dragon> Caliath bespoke all dragons with << What? No one is doing green
eggs and ham? awwwwww >>
Dragon> Parth bespoke Flight with << I dunno about you, but if some guy
called me a piece of meat and I was a woman... ;) >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth refuses to say *anything* about 'I would
not, could not, in a tree,' much less 'I would not, could not with a fox'
or the various other verses.
Dragon> Parth bespoke Flight with << On another note. Can someone drag the
Wintogreen Lifesavers away? They're terribly addictive. >>
M'rgan hungrily watches Kassima straighten, finding the shifting of her
body very, very mesmerizing. He would, he could, in a box. He would, he
could near a fox. He could do it anywhere. As long as Kassima was right
there.
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth howls!!!
Telgar Weyr> M'rgan thinks there's something in the water here. ;)
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth shudders with horror at Wintogreen
Lifesavers, and considers. << I'd hate to wind up ending this just before
Auri gets back, but there's no telling how long she'll be gone. ROTFL,
Mart!! >>
Telgar Weyr> Jared blinks. Water?
Telgar Weyr> Gwinaver says, "It was imported from Benden?"
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth's laughing so hard it /hurts/!!!!!
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth asks whimsically, eyeing the dragonpoker
table, << Could you, would you? Are you able? Could you, would you, on a
table? >> (Sorry. It had to be said. ;)
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth iiieeewwws, and ain't playing poker in
here anymore... ;)
Dragon> Flight sense that Ularrith laughs!!
Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << In other news, I'm going to go
ahead and write up the catch pose. Looks like Auri's 'Net might have her
out for a long time. Thank you again, y'all--you've made this one of my
best flights ever, if not *the* best. :) >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth giggles, and hugs! Thanks so much for
letting Muinyth chase - it was a /hoot/! Awsome flight, and y'all are
NUTS! ;)
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth rephrases that: << It might well have
been the best; I'm not saying it wasn't, instead that it could've been.
That read oddly. :) >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Parth was -- so amused that he hurt his stomach
laughing, and lost his tail twice ;)
Dragon> Ularrith bespoke Flight with << This is definitely the wildest
flight I've since since an early one with T'quinn at HRW that involved
dragons catching buses and starships named Enterprise. Hee hee hee. >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Parth looks scared.
Dragon> Flight sense that Tierth's with you, Parth. Yeeeek.
Lysseth> Lysseth is not a plane, is not a train, is not a house, is not a
mouse. She's not a fox--well, okay, so she's a fox; rrowr--she's not a
tree, she's not a box; please let her be! But somehow, it doesn't look as
though the chasing males are apt to fulfill *that* last request. With an
echoing cry of dismay, she attempts to fling herself in a final snap of
wings... towards... the sky... like a desperate actor... trying to get...
the last toupee... on sale... but fails dismally, caught in Ularrith's
clutches for all that she's *not* a piece of meat. Oh, dear. I suppose
it's too late to ask Scotty to beam her up, isn't it?
Lysseth> Parth is defeated, doomed and in despair. He spirals off, a dark,
black spiral in the air that sinks to earth and he echoes a soft howl into
the wind of iritation as he lands in the bowl.
Lysseth> Parth flies downward towards the southern end of the bowl.
Dragon> Parth bespoke Flight with << Now I can make my dinner :) >>
Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth apologizes for the Shatner
impersonation, and wingsnugs you all! << Thanks so much, you guys,
especially for putting up with my ridiculousness tonight. Especially the
chicken references. :) >>
Lysseth> Ularrith rumbles sweetly to Lysseth as he twines his tail around
hers. It looks like he got to pin his Prom Queen after all. Sometimes the
nerd does get ahead.
E'ryn leaves the weyr and heads out into the bowl.
M'rgan hollers, "Geronimo!"
Lysseth> Muinyth howls his indignation, as his wings fold around naught
but the form of... ieewww, a blue. With a squak, the Southern brown
scrambles away as fast as possible, and drops groundwards, a rock
returning to its Hard Place.
Lysseth> Muinyth flies downward towards the southern end of the bowl.
There's a creak of wood as the tortured chair finally snaps, leaving Kassi
to give Mart an *exceedingly* odd look. Oh, well. In for a sheep... but
let's not answer that earlier question about the table, okay?
Shasta slams her hand of cards down on the table, with all the vehemenance
of a sore looser at cards. Scowling, the Southern Wingsecond pushes away,
and stalks out of the weyr.
Shasta leaves the weyr and heads out into the bowl.