-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lysseth's Eighteenth Flight Date: October 15, 2002 Places: Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern, Central Bowl, Southern Bowl, Feeding Grounds, 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. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kassi's Note: I was concerned at first that this flight might have to be off-camera, with a turnout of fewer than three, but instead I ended up with four; and I'm ever so glad, because honestly this one was just a blast. :) Though the log begins with Kassi in the LC, most of the pre-flight RP takes place in the Bowls and Kassi only really gets into it once Lysseth starts kicking up a fuss. My thanks go not only to Monty Python (yes, I used Holy Grail refs again, and this flight uses them the most heavily of any flight for several rounds), Jessica Andrews, Dylan Thomas, and various others for pose inspiration, but also as always to the wonderful males who attended and made the flight so damned fabulous. :) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Log: Dragon> All dragons sense that Lysseth taps the OOC mic for a moment to test. << G'deve, all--I hope to be having a flight at Telgar tonight, blooding to start in fifteen minutes or so; interested males are invited to come on over if they wish. :) Thanks! >> Dragon> All dragons sense that Lorieth hides from that. TGW-Bowl>> Irenyath shows Alonyth her newfound talent and moves over to a fresh patch of snow. Half squatting, her tail again flicks back and forth in the deep snow, sending it flying in a mini-blizzard around her. When the snow clears, a perfect semi-circle, almost down to bare stone, appears. She eagerly snakes her head around to see the results of her endeavors as Cheni stifles a giggle. "Like Rider, like dragon in what way, Shawnah?" She notices I'sai's landing and snaps off a salute as well, perhaps not as precise as Shawnah's but she is improving. TGW-Bowl>> "I'sai," Yashira greets, glancing at Taralyth. Shawnah's muttered comment's too quiet for her to hear... but she picks up Cheni's. "Decarath and I are not alike, thank you." Dragon> Voldrath bespoke Flight with << hmmmm.... >> Dragon> Aquileth bespoke Flight with << If I wasn't recovering from thread, I'd certainly be in. Or perhaps, if you need chasers, maybe I could sneak in anyway. . . >> TGW-Bowl>> I'sai hadn't been looking in Cheni's direction - that was Taralyth, scanning the bowl as a whole, forepaws tucked primly in - but he does tip a nod her way, and ask of Yashira, "Not even a little? ...And have they just been exercising, then?" TGW-Bowl>> "No. Not at all. Just out looking at snow for the first time," Yashira informs I'sai, glancing over at Decarath again, then back to Taralyth. "He's on edge, isn't he?" Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth grins and appreciates that. :) I may need chasers--I'm not sure yet who all can make it--though I don't think Ista would thank me if y'all tore open an injury, somehow. ;) Dragon> Flight sense that Voldrath doesn't see any reason to pass up a flight Dragon> Flight sense that Decarath will be there. TGW-Bowl>> Cheni blinks as Taralyth acknowledges the salute and whispers to Shawnah. "Are we supposed to salute dragons as well? This is so confusing." She practically wails. "I am going to salute anything the walks, just to be safe." Chuckling, she rolls her eyes. "Very cute, Irenyath, I am -not- going to start saluting you." TGW-Bowl>> "They're both.." Shawnah starts in lowered voice, and just shakes her head, gaze rolling back to peek at Yashira, "Nevermind." she finishes with a chuckle, and then another glance is sent back at Yashira's question to I'sai. Alyonth, meanwhile, gives Shawnah a curious look, and then warbles gleefully as she's sprayed down with snow. Wuffling at the edge of the hole made by Irenyath before pushing snow in, as if intent on burying her sister. TGW-Bowl>> "Snow's one thing, snow and ice, trampled snow that's next thing to slush another," I'sai admits, messing with his collar a little more. "Just as how he is with mud, at least till he's well and fully saturated - and something in the wind. Clear skies, else I'd guess snow. ...They look cheerful enough, at least," this last more to the dragonets' human counterparts. TGW-Bowl>> Yashira arches an eyebrow at Shawnah, expression stern. She shakes her head, looking back at Decarath. "He's being edgey again. I hope it's not another sharding green." TGW-Bowl>> Cheni notices Irenyath beginning to tire after her demonstration and walks over, carefully keeping out of Alyonth's way and walks beside the apologetic green, helping her back into the barracks. "She needs to finish her nap." She calls back as an explanation. TGW-Bowl>> Yashira inclines her head to Cheni. "Good call." TGW-Bowl>> Irenyath enters through the big entrance into the Weyrling Barracks. TGW-Bowl>> Cheni walks through the entrance into the Weyrling Barracks. Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth consults her watch and hmms. Okay, I think we'll give this a shot. :) Anyone who wants to come on over is welcome; let's say blooding starts for the males in around five minutes? And then Lyss will join in the melee a bit later. :) TGW-Bowl>> Saulith backwings for a landing. Lysseth> Above, From the Telgar Star Stones, L'klal's burnished bronze Pteynth rears on hind legs and bugles a greeting to brown Voldrath and his rider, F'min of HighReaches Weyr. TGW-Bowl>> I'sai asks after her, "Alyonth doing all right still, Shawnah?" Lysseth> Above, From the Telgar Star Stones, L'klal's burnished bronze Pteynth rears on hind legs and bugles a greeting to brown Sruth and his rider, Sria of HighReaches Weyr. Dragon> Flight sense that Aquileth sighs. What a time for a serious injury. Have fun, guys. Lysseth> Voldrath backwings for a landing. Lysseth> Sruth backwings for a landing. TGW-Bowl>> Saulith lands with a little fillip of wings, creating a flurry about her. Ooh and ah. The white tigers will appear shortly. Kichevio waves cheerfully as she dismounts, landing softly in the snow. "No greenriders to teach the greenriders? This is an egregious oversight." TGW-Bowl>> Kichevio slides down easily from Saulith's neck. Lysseth> F'min clambers down Voldrath's side to the ground, the dragon's sparkling eyes watching closely. Lysseth> Sria hops down Sruth's side to the ground, as the dragon warbles a greeting. TGW-Bowl>> Yashira whuffles once, blowing her hair out of her eyes. "That's it. He's gonna go, I can tell. He's staring at the feeding grounds... I'sai? Hrmn, no. Ah. Saulith. Kichevio - think there's gonna be a flight soon, Decarath's on edge. You wanna watch 'em play in the snow?" Lysseth> F'min slips down easily and nods to Sria. "Should we see if they have anythin' worth drinkin' here?" he asks with a grin. Lysseth> Lysseth has chosen a place in the snow to stake out as her own: No Trespassing. Do not taunt the Proddy Fun Green. At the arrival of foreign dragons, she gives a sharp, irritable hiss, but keeps it to that; she's coiled in on herself, with only the occasional rustling of wings and gleam of blood-red eyes to bely that she's awake at all. TGW-Bowl>> Alyonth wuffles, looking forlorn after her clutch sib as she and her lifemate leave. She hops into the hole left behind, nosing around at the snowy 'walls'. "Hmm? Oh.. she's doing fine." she answers I'sai, and then quirks up a brow. "Sharding green?" she wonders, and peers carefully at the newly landed green. She doesn't seem to be glowing, so she sends out a salute to the rider. "Heya, Kichevio!" she calls. TGW-Bowl>> Taralyth darts in his wings against any snow attendant to Saulith's landing; I'sai nods, shortly. "I'm going to buckle his straps up just that much more securely - " and while suiting action to words says, "Greenriding assistants, they're in the barracks, or _sleeping_, or out where it's _warm_... watching 'em play, that's good. The dragonets, that is. One went in already, tired, Kich." Lysseth> Sria seems to be continuing some other thread of conversation, calling over to F'min, "Right, stop in for a bit - detour, or what have you." She grins, "Sure thing. Juice, though, for me." That's with a wink - before Lysseth gains her attention, prompting a quick glance toward Sruth. Lysseth> F'min starts to raise his eyebrow at Sria, "jui-," then his sharp eyes follow Sria's glance, to Lysseth, then towards Sruth and Voldrath, the latter who is sitting stil as rock with his eyes fastened on the green. TGW-Bowl>> Decarath crouches low, then leaps into the air, spreading his wings. Yashira looks up, and in dry tones, announces, "There 'e goes." TGW-Bowl>> Decarath springs into the air for a quick flight over the fence and into the feeding grounds, where he settles again. TGW-Bowl>> Kichevio makes a sympathetic face at Yashira and I'sai. "Sure Yash, no worries. I'll supervise. Since Saulith's getting cabin fever, I'd be outside anyway. Thanks for not calling me ma'am, Shawnah." She grins at the girl, then at her dragon. "So this is Alyonth. She was just an attractive green blur from the ledges." Saulith huffs a breath down on the dragonet, sending another flurry cascading down. "Luck, Yash--and Is, too. Just don't get Kassi pregnant again?" Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth grins at Decarath and Yashira. Poor, poor Yashira. ;) Annnnnd they're off--blooding starts right about now, gents; it's FG from the Central Bowl or CB Airspace, CB and then FG from the Southern Bowl. I'll join you just a bit later, after I get the necessary glowering and screeching at my rider out of the way. ;) Lysseth> "Well, we both know alcohol isn't the best of ideas." Says Sria, before another, distracted glance toward Sruth, who's crouched carefully, if not entirely comfortably - intense is his disposition. "I'm starting to think we didn't come at the best of times, either." TGW-Bowl>> I'sai drops to the snow, cautious with the slick footing - "'O'er the fence, heading for the beasts, that's Decarath, he's a young one, he's got strength, he's got - '" and quits spectating only as Taralyth rumbles at him, leaps likewise, short and sharp. TGW-Bowl>> Yashira starts to snicker. "Teach you to poke fun." Her eyes widen slightly, and she looks sharply to Kichevio. "It's /Lysseth/?" TGW-Bowl>> Taralyth springs into the air for a quick flight over the fence and into the feeding grounds, where he settles again. TGW-Bowl>> Now Kichevio looks truly sympathetic. "It's Lysseth. You didn't know?" She can offer help, of a sort. "Want to borrow my knife?" Lysseth> F'min lets out a quick bark of uncomfortable, ironic laughter as his lifemate takes off and heads over the fence to the feeding pens. "Doesn' that figure," he claims, moving off a ways to watch. TGW-Bowl>> I'sai says, rather darkly, "I'll try not to, Kich. Saulith's not due anytime soon, is she? ...And does Yash get to keep that knife?" Odytte walks here from the Inner Cavern. TGW-Bowl>> "Got my own, thanks," Yashira says, looking a little uncomfortable as she looks toward the feeding pens. "Don't /use/ it in flights, though. Jays." Lysseth> Lysseth begins to uncoil a bit, perhaps prompted by all those glances to curve her talons deep into the ice-rimed ground... but her stretching's interrupted by some silent comment, and she directs a baleful glare and an outright *roar* in the direction of the Living Caverns. A flurry of increasingly audible human shrieks and curses can be heard just after. Lysseth> Voldrath lumbers north. Lysseth> -Starting- to think? Sure. Sri's head swivels Sruth-wards, as the brown switches position, and it's a futile, "Sruth--" that's cut off by his movement. A glance to F'min, and then she starts to say something, but whatever it is is utterly drowned out by the green. "Oh, Faranth. Has to be a loud one. Sruth's not going to shut up." And with that, she decides to -follow- her dragon. Out of the way. Lysseth> Sruth lumbers north. TGW-Bowl>> Voldrath springs into the air for a quick flight over the fence and into the feeding grounds, where he settles again. Lysseth> Sria walks north. Kassima had been sitting at her usual table sharpening knives--but abruptly she stands up and begins screaming epithets at the top of her lungs, storming straight Bowl-wards. Given how this follows directly on the heels of a dragon roar, Lysseth probably has something to do with it. TGW-Bowl>> Sruth springs into the air for a quick flight over the fence and into the feeding grounds, where he settles again. You walk down the short tunnel and out into the bowl. [Editor's Note: This is as good a place as any to show off Kassi's proddy desc, so here goes; ten points to anyone who can ever page me identifying its inspiration. ;) ] Kassima: Kassima is not, generally, the sort of woman given to wearing lace... but for the moment she's making an exception. A snug, curve-hugging black bodysuit covers her from throat to toe, leaving little enough to the imagination despite showing nearly no skin at all; a thin covering of blood-red sisal peeks out from beneath the lace and prevents the outfit from venturing into realms indecent. Slim bands of sable leather make their first appearance around the high collar and continue to appear periodically down her torso, bisected by a single vertical strip straight down the center. Two more such bands have been used to attach lengths of rather tattered ebony sisal just above each elbow. Multiple strips of the same cloth are fixed likewise just above each knee, hiding her calves and dark boots almost entirely from view, and her hands--covered entirely by lace gloves that seem to be one with the suit--bear large and rather chunky silver rings on each finger. It probably won't surprise anyone that Kassi's normally well-groomed hair tumbles down below her knees in a mass of blue-black disarray, given her current state of mind; it's as wild as the look in her green eyes, which seem even darker than usual against her unnatural pallor. Nor does it help matters that she's chosen to paint the lids with swaths of soot--combine that with the shadows that a lack of sleep has put under them, and you get a visual effect somewhat like dual shiners. Her skin is drawn taut over the fine-boned features of her face, hinting at the stress she's under, and her right hand is never far away from the hilt of the knife belted to her hip. Given these givens it's likely not hard to guess what color dragon she rides. TGW-Bowl>> Shawnah laughs. "Just returning the favor, Kich." she tells the greenrider with a wink, then "Kassima? Ooh.. good luck, Yashira, I'sai." she gives them both almost sympathetic galnces. Alyonth, meanwhile, peeks over the edge of her hole a snow cascades down, warbling a curious note up to the older green, and then another toward the male dragons as the leave. TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Decarath has begun to kill; he's slashing at a herdbeast even as the other dragons arrive. A haughty look is tossed as the others invade 'his' feeding grounds, but he's distracted by his kill soon enough and dips his head to drink. TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Voldrath arrows in on a buck pawing through the snow for a scrap of hay, and bowls it to the ground before the beast is aware of any danger. His fangs sink voraciously into the throat, sucking deeply. TGW-Bowl>> Kichevio moves neatly into the shelter provided by Saulith, away from those far-too-intent browns. "The knife must be given back. Saulith's not due until I start wearing glittery clothing, you know that, Is." Saulith lets the males lumber past, dipping her muzzle down to nudge Alyonth with an amused rumble. TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Taralyth lands as sharply as he'd left, not quite across the feeding grounds from Decarath; he snarls at a passing beast, enough to make it squeal and scramble into the pens' center, then promptly snaps up the shaggy wherry _behind_ it. Odytte comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern. Odytte walks north. "--You *bloody*, *shell-blasted*, *wherry-screwing* daughter of a decomposing herdbeast carcass and the scrapings off a watchwher's gangrenous right talon, how *dare* you interrupt me--" Words, now, are audible as Kassi strides rather purposefully from the Cavern, obviously in a rage and waving a long silver knife about with considerable vehemence. "You *always* do this and I'm *tired* of it, and I'm going t'strip the hide off your half-gnawed *bones* and use it t'make a *hat*. An *ugly* hat. A *hating*-hat. Then I will take the hat off and I will *dance* on it! D'you hear me?" Oh, yes, Lysseth hears. She bridles at the threat, wings extending suddenly with a sharp snap; her teeth are bared, long and sharp, towards that annoying vtol of a rider, before she springs up, up, up; let the woman threaten, she has better things to do than listen-- TGW-Bowl>> "It's not as if I exactly have _eyes_ - like that, anyway - " I'sai stops, swallows even as his dragon does. "Thanks. Shawnah," and mutters something about being lucky to remember her name, pulling his collar that much higher till it's all but about his ears, focused on pens rather than passersby just now. Lysseth takes flight, using the thermals rising from the bowl to carry her aloft. TGW-Bowl>> Sria follows Sruth, who's following the drive the other male dragons are following. "Duties," comes Sria's distracted, general greeting, somewhat interrupted by a backwards glance. "From 'Reaches." Right. All's well and ordinary. Above, Lysseth flies towards the north end of the bowl. Lysseth> You fly downwards towards the feeding grounds. TGW-Bowl>> "Duties," Yashira calls back in strained tones. Lysseth> Lysseth wastes little enough time in getting here, her wingbeats swift and purposeful and with no notice given at all to those small ones passed over. There's something waiting here that she wants... and it's none of the males; she avoids all of *those*. No. It's the running, pounding, half-stampeding herd of beasts that calls to her, and she descends on one as bright-winged Death, her talons a scythe to slash a throat and carve a belly and set the hot blood running free. Lysseth> Decarath raises his head, swinging it toward Lysseth, muzzle dripping blood and stringy bits of meat. TGW-Bowl>> "Duties," I'sai mirrors a breath behind, stepping back from all that clear space and that much closer to the bowl's wall and - "Wait." He stares a moment at Sria, and then can't help but laugh, sudden and bright. TGW-Bowl>> Alyonth snorts back at Saulith, warbling another curious note and then glancing back where the males went. Scrabling out of her whole, she flops herself down next to the older green, watching the males out in the feeding gounds with innocent fasination. "Umm.." Shawnah starts, giving Kichevio a nervous glance, though the new arrivals all get salutes and "Duties!", just in case. I'sai walks here from the north. Lysseth> Sruth's landing in the pens is far from neat - he's been urged, and he's driven - he snares quickly amidst the landing, barely truly there before he's caught his first, and hardly even settled before he's blooding. It's Lysseth's entrance that spurs another kill, the same swift snagging with a foreclaw. TGW-Bowl>> Kichevio looks up as more males--and the green of the hour--arrive, moving another few steps closer to Saulith. "It's going to get rather loud and gory around here pretty soon. Shawnah, you want to get Alyonth out of that snow-pit she's in and over to the lake? Less confusing over there. You too, Headwoman Odytte." With one more wry look in the maleriders' direction, she and Saulith start moving towards the lake, Saulith giving the little green a chirp of encouragement. Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth tosses out the rules and regs. :) << Pretty standard stuff: one pose per Lyss-pose, if you please; I don't put any size-limit on poses, and there's no limit on how many rider-poses you can make. The Guest Weyr is off the Southern Bowl (and is currently the Work Room; I'll reset it to the Guest Weyr once I'm inside), and will be IC only. The channel is OOC, though you can make IC pros over it if you wish to. We'll go up two skyspaces from the Grounds once the blooding's ended. :) Any questions? >> TGW-Bowl>> Kichevio heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr. TGW-Bowl>> Saulith lumbers in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr. Dragon> Decarath bespoke Flight with << S'all good! >> TGW-Bowl>> Yashira scowls, turning about and loping after I'sai. Yashira walks here from the north. TGW-Bowl>> Odytte heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr. Yashira lopes after I'sai, scowling. TGW-Bowl>> Shawnah heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr. TGW-Bowl>> Alyonth heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr. Dragon> Sruth bespoke Flight with << All dandy and clear. >> Kassima is standing beside the dent in the snow her dragon's recently vacated, a long-bladed knife clenched in one gloved hand. She looks pleased. Really. She does. Snarling and muttering dire things about what she'll carve into the hides of dragons who don't stick to blood are how she expresses delight. Lysseth> Taralyth watches her, watches -her-, brilliant eyes spiralling from characteristic blue into the beginnings of bloodied violet; under the wind of her wings, he snakes out to rake long fangs down another beast's neck and, as it dies, drinks. Dragon> Flight sense that Voldrath grins salaciously, << nope, no questions. >> TGW-Bowl>> That -laugh- catches Sria's attention, and she rolls her eyes skywards over a smile. "Doesn't -that- just figure." There's that, and then progression south. Sria walks here from the north. Lysseth> Voldrath wastes no time in flying after another prey. A quick swipe of a tail bowls over another stampeding beast, and whirls rapidly to fasten his jaws on yet another sacrifice to fuel his passion. I'sai keeps his distance from the Fury, shoving gloved hands deep into jacket's pockets - physical distance, at least, light voice lofting, "What, did she surprise you in the middle of _dinner_?" Lysseth> Lysseth would not have to take only blood; she is dominant, tonight, dominant lifemate and dominant of all these dragons here--or so *she* would proudly and disdainfully claim; yet... you see her now the veteran of a thousand psychic wars, and though she still has weapons, and though she still can see, she's learned what true victory is and accedes to rider's will with only a token scream of protest. The blood pours down her throat, rich copper, red and warm, and with every beat of a dying heart that floods it down her throat the luminescence that cloaks her increases. Alas, that Kassi has no three-lashed whip to scourge his skin off with: "Nay," she snaps instead, eyes heated. "In the middle of *sharpening my knives*. When I might *need* them." The others get a brief, distrustful, disdainful look before she's drawn unwillingly back to the feeding grounds, in mind if not body. Lysseth> Decarath leaves his first carcass; he takes wing again, briefly, before picking a bovine out of the herd and slicing it neatly with his claws. Landing, settling over it, the process of eating is... not so neat. "We're not going to get into this argument again, are we?" Yashira snarls. Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth is thinking take-off after Lyss's next blooding pose; does that sound good to folk, or would y'all rather have more gore before we start? ;) Lysseth> Taralyth spits away plumes in a burst of feathery gore, a few still clinging to the blood that slicks his muzzle; he drinks again, more deeply, enough to drain, wings fanning that much wider in the echoes of her scream, reflecting back her light. Dragon> Taralyth bespoke Flight with << Good, good. >> I'sai murmurs after the native brownrider, tone pitched more intimately but still enough to carry green-ward - distracting? - "Kassi does like throwing knives, too, Sria. Be warned..." Dragon> Decarath bespoke Flight with << Sounds good t'me. >> Dragon> Voldrath bespoke Flight with << is ready to go... >> Lysseth> Sruth does not settle for long, just to pause, just to drink. Even then he's restless, dark form crouched to all degrees of intensity - from that stare, there, violet gaze to glowing hide, to his tail that's never still, and moving mercilessly. It's that tumult of a tail that directs him his next prey - equally, not uniquely, disposed of. Dragon> Sruth bespoke Flight with << Agreed, sounds good. >> Telgar Weyr> K'nan says, "Rar." Telgar Weyr> Kichevio eeeeeeeeks! ;) Telgar Weyr> Odytte hides behind the couch. :D Telgar Weyr> I'sai greets from knife-dodging, or something. ;) Lysseth> Voldrath flings aside another dried out herd beast, and fastens his eyes once more on the savage glowing green as she bloods her kill, rapidly whirling eyes sizing her up as he crouches with wings raised, ready to take off. Telgar Weyr> K'nan isn't -that- scary. Telgar Weyr> K'nan hasn't threatened anyone with a knife for, gosh, 20 turns or more! Telgar Weyr> Saeliena blinks. Telgar Weyr> Shawnah snikers and waves to K'nan. :) Sria inhales, crossing her arms in front of her. "I'll keep that in mind," murmurs she to I'sai, still distracted. Lysseth> Lysseth abandons the corpse once it has no further use to her. That first deep draught of life-departing was heady, yet insufficient--here is another, a male herdbeast heavy with bulk, and she is only too pleased to cut such a one with eager teeth; it screams, it bellows, it dies, bereft of mortal cares and mortal soil now. She shows no respect for the slain, drained prey, hooking its spine with a negligent claw to ri-i-i-i-i-p it free--and cast it aside, a moment's distraction, no more. She has finished here, and after a moment spent in surveying her rightful dominion, she leaps; the skies, too, are her kingdom, and she yearns to show her mastery now. Let them challenge that rule if they dare! 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. Lysseth> Voldrath rises up from the feeding grounds. Telgar Weyr> K'nan peers off his ledge, glances at +flights. Eep. Lysseth> Taralyth rises up from the feeding grounds. Lysseth> Decarath rises up from the feeding grounds. Lysseth> Sruth rises up from the feeding grounds. Lysseth> You soar upwards and into the open sky above the Weyr. Lysseth> Taralyth flies up from the southern half of the bowl. Lysseth> Voldrath flies up from the southern half of the bowl. "Go screw a rancid tunnelsnake," Kassima invites Yashira, oh-so-warmly; then, "As if'n *warning* would save one I don't want saved, shard you--shard *all* of you!" This, she seems to feel, is a good note to part on, wheeling and darting for yon Guest Weyr with her scads of scarves trailing behind. You push aside the curtain and enter the workroom. Lysseth> Sruth flies up from the southern half of the bowl. Yashira comes into the guest weyr from the bowl. I'sai comes into the guest weyr from the bowl. F'min comes into the guest weyr from the bowl. Sria comes into the guest weyr from the bowl. Yashira tromps after Kassima, muttering, "I could say that if Decarath catches I /will be/, if I were gonna show you the same respect you just showed me. I don't know why I bother." Telgar Weyr> Kichevio says, "That's why we're lurking by the lake. Out of range of weaponry. ;)" F'min is more pulled along than actually accepting the oh so kind invitation as he leans against the door, seeming ready to bolt. Telgar Weyr> Saeliena laughs! Telgar Weyr> Cheni is hiding in the barracks. Less likely to make annoying poses that way <smirk> Lysseth> Decarath flies up from the southern half of the bowl. Well, *that* earns Yash a shrill--and echoing, in here--shriek of outrage; Kassi doesn't even make it to her usual wall before she turns around to glare in a rage that goes entirely beyond words at the brownrider. "We'd rather be *dead*," she spits, but her heart's only half in it. The flight's drawing her up, even as she backpedals to claim her accustomed place. And glare some more. I'sai shoulders his way in, saying sharply to the door-guarder, "Make room. Go _on_." "Don't tempt me," Yashira mutters, moving over to a wall and sinking down into her customary watchful crouch. F'min returns the shoulder with something of a shove, helping I'sai's impetus into the room, as he stubbornly retains his place by the door. He's not budging, not getting any closer to the combatants, or showing any real wish to be here, even as he's drawn into his dragon's flight. Lysseth> Once airborne, Lysseth pays no heed to what droplets of blood might linger on her muzzle, nor to those males just behind, nor to the distraction of a screeching banshee of a rider; what matter those things, when the winds are here to pay her homage with their chilled caress? Not that even they could douse the fire that lights her blood now, or keep her from ascending, ascending, ascending as if to outpace them here in these first moments. None shall catch! She'll bite their legs off to prevent it if she has to! Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << And there we have the obligatory Holy Grail reference. 0:) >> Dragon> Sielth bespoke Flight with << Its just a flesh wound! >> Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << What're you going to do, bleed on me? >> Dragon> Flight sense that Voldrath laughs... Dragon> Saulith bespoke Flight with << I'll gnaw your ankles off! >> Lysseth> Taralyth had lost the last of his blood-borrowed plumage along the way - a stray rider may find a spine-snapped plume stuck to his ledge the next day - in that violent, lunging leap for the skies; now he ascends with her, if at an initially increasing distance given her size-lent, passion-demanded speed. Even so, 'e's not quite dead yet, if ever - Lysseth> Voldrath gnashes his big teeth as he darts into the sky, a blur aimed at the tempting green streak in the sky. Lysseth> We're dragons of the male gender, we are not loving and tender! When we rise to chase, we're simply ace, and our riders go on a bender! Decarath swerves in front of a bronze, cutting the big brute off neatly as he seeks the green. Lysseth> Sruth powers upward - this one, this pursuit is rendering him separate from quiet, though he's not so much vocal, either: it's a dark rumble, grating enough to be called a growl, that rips from his throat - to match both intensity and darkness that cloaks his form in flight. He'll follow, still, though behind, far enough so his legs are out of the way - the rest of him, too. I'sai stumbles a step - but there's a grin white and wild on his face as he heads past and _inside_ where it's warmer, darker, stonier. Where the knives are. Telgar Weyr> Odytte must head out. "Have fun with the flight, guys. Night!" :) Telgar Weyr> I'sai says, "See ya, Odytte!" Sria, perhaps for that warning, or perhaps for that continued state of distraction, stays closer to the door than the center. She finds a wall to stand in front of - if not yet lean against - on the other side of the doorway from F'min, and she watches. Lysseth> Lysseth is not afraid of the catch, oh, brave Sir Lysseth; though that's less because there's nothing to fear than that she, in that arrogance lent by the heights of passion and of sky. At the moment, it would not be beyond her belief that she *could*--for all that prior attempts have failed--scrape stars from the sky and send them showering down after her, trailing behind just as that hint of glow does against the blackness of heaven. Let the stars fall; she shall not. She'll instead swerve sharp, here; put on a burst of fresh speed just after; choosing a new angle, to the left and threatening sharp descent. Dragon> Flight sense that Voldrath laughs... the High Reaches Riders are playing body guard at the doors. Yashira is quiet, remaining glassy-eyed yet seeming alert nonetheless. The hunt is on. Lysseth> Decarath is overtaken by a bronze; he's outdistancing a few blues, thought, but they outmanuver him and follow the swerve faster than he. And he, in turns, outmanuvers the bronze that just passed him. His wings beat quickly, quickly as a European swallow holding a coconut! Kassima just hisses at Yashira with the same violence her lifemate had earlier shown. Arguably, one could say this is complying with the 'don't tempt me' command since there's little enough tempting about bared teeth and unseeing eyes. Not to mention that still-bared knife, which at this stage is pointed vaguely towards the door--and those 'Reachians playing gargoyle--even without that being her conscious design. She's not *here* enough to have conscious design, though she does turn a lesser hiss against the bronzerider as warning against coming *too* close. Lysseth> Voldrath rises steadily into the night sky, shadow whisp of smoke barely seen against the stars. He studies the turn, and the sudden burst, attempting to guage her airspeed velocity and glide in an intercept pattern. Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << A European swallow cannot carry a ten-pound coconut! It's a question of weight ratios! >> Dragon> Voldrath bespoke Flight with << :demands his brain cell back from Decarath. >> Dragon> Flight sense that Decarath snickers. Lysseth> Taralyth angles in his turn to crop corners if not wings, and if she should descend, so much better to even the laggard's odds - still, less distrusting her than trusting to future aerobatics, his wingbeats still claim continuing height... at least till that other, out-maneuvered bronze threatens his airspace, and he jostles him back, growling. Lysseth> Sruth moves up among the pack, restating himself, only to fall apart from it again - to follow that trail of glows, of stars - but it's Lysseth he pursues. Without that turn, as he cuts it shallow, and he drops a shoulder - to test? To see? To pursue, still, he's likely too confident, descent or not. I'sai watches the watchers, green-eyed all, and - why not - stalks in another pace, not one to let even his hisses be lesser. Lysseth> Lysseth descends, descends; deep into that darkness going, the wind beginning to shriek in protest as wings and friction slice it apart. Betrayed wind! Flirted with earlier, now she would wound it for her purpose... and a moment later seek its favor again: slender wings with their dusting of charcoal-silver glimmering just beneath the green changing their angle again. Rise, rise, rise! All rise! For that was no true dive, and not even the Bowl's rim is close enough to threaten when she abandons the downward course for shadowed moons. Perhaps she, too, would capture something that glows, glows as enticingly as any grail-shaped beacon. The males may follow yet, but her yearning remains for what's ahead and not what's behind... at least for now. Sria draws in a breath, and looks away, though only to divert her gaze upwards a tad, from that gargoyle-directed blade to the greenrider, and to her surroundings - perhaps not -what- surrounds, but to -who- competes. F'min steels himself in his position at the door, rigidly holding himself still, eyes downcast, breathing slightly labored. He refuses to look up in any direction. Kassima's breath is drawn sharply when Lysseth makes her rise, but that rise grants her a moment to herself--brief, but long enough for her to ball her left hand into a fist and raise it in threat. She might not be ready to slice-and-dice, but those chunky rings glitter their own menace; one should be careful how far one takes one's hiss envy. As for *looks*, those are met, simply, with a hostile glare that does not linger. Lysseth> Voldrath brakes his downward plunge with widespread wings, swooping out across the night sky, still following, but biding his time at this point, his flicking tail calculating, waiting for her next move. Lysseth> Sruth, now, he too holds his concerns in what's ahead. He has an object, a desire, a need in this chase. Is it a star, or a prize? To be caught, or won? It doesn't matter, not now, Sruth feints and falls, and is left lower as she rises again, fighting for that angle to ascend upon. He captures it, soon enough, but has yet to win it over, has yet to make it work for -him-. Dragon> Decarath bespoke Flight with << Awwk! Can I get reposes off some kind soul? >> Lysseth> Taralyth doesn't spare breath for any trumpet of triumph for his guess, for true triumph's not near, much less _here_ - even so, his fangs flash momentarily white against the wind, gulping in air as he continues that sharp ascent, swifter now with the beginnings of real momentum. Looking up, it's as if she's caught one moon already, silhouetted against it as she is; but he's no Galahad to rely on feeble purity, and freely strikes along the route she's already discarded to the night. Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << Sure, Decarath; what'd you see last? >> Dragon> Decarath bespoke Flight with << The one where Lysseth's like a grail-shaped beacon. >> Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << Gotcha. I'll page. :) >> Dragon> Flight sense that Saulith tries to picture the contortions by which a dragon would be grail-shaped...;) Lysseth> Decarath continues to try; he will not give up. Perhaps he should - perhaps it's too perilous! But no! He can take the peril! Eyes whirling purple, he will seek her. He will have her! I'sai's stance is the more sharp-shouldered for it, muddied nigh to the knee though he is; his own hands are hidden thrice over, gloved and pocketed and curled into stone-still fists. He laughs again, more softly this time, near-wonderingly as pale eyes increasingly lose focus to the heights. Yashira remains still and silent and watchful, balanced where she is. Sria touches fingertips to the wall behind her, for all that she doesn't seem to need steadying, and that touch of splayed fingers wouldn't do much if she did. Yet, it works - or at least, doesn't seem to affect her much either way. Lysseth> Lysseth would certainly call herself a star--a superstar, yes, that's what you are! You know it!--or, for that matter, a prize, though only where no other can hear; for she, of course, would not and could not ever admit to the possibility of being won. Of being possessed. She is freedom incarnate, here in this night; she is a warmth that defies the cold of skies and stars, a brightness to challenge that moon she chases, Timor taunting her by curving ever just out of reach. And now... wingbeats do not yet falter, but the supernal speed that carried her at first is not what it once was. *Now* she must pay a moment's notice to those in pursuit, and she trumpets her defiance to them in echo and acid: run away! Run away! She is for none of you; you cannot handle her peril! Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "Just a little bit of peril?" Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "It's not healthy!" Telgar Weyr> Shawnah just laughs. Are all your flights Monty-Python themed, Kassi? :D Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "Not themed as such, but it became a running gag around flight... six, I think, that there must be at least one Holy Grail ref in each one. ;)" Telgar Weyr> Shawnah snickers! Kassima lets her glare slip, the warning given. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back 'til its crown thumps lightly, softly, against the wall behind her. It's not *support*--she doesn't need that, or at least would deny it--it's only convenience, something to lean against while she partners the stars with her partner for life. Lysseth> Decarath veers into the path of a bronze, wingbeats surging for a moment as he strains to overtake the beast so he can outmanuver it. He can - he must - for that bronze is as a bovine thrown from the heights of a hold's walls - graceless in the air. Pitcher la vache, indeed. Decarath succeeds in his manuver. Ha! Your mother was a wherry, and your father smelt of numbweed! Telgar Weyr> Yashira was in the mood to run with it. Dragon> Flight sense that Voldrath has to pick himself uip off the floor before he can pose... Telgar Weyr> Kassima nodnodnods. Sometimes it gets run with, sometimes it's just the one ref. Depends on the tone/mood. :) Telgar Weyr> Shawnah's suddenly /got/ to go watch that again. Bah! :) Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth muses, << Perhaps if we built a large wooden badger.... >> Dragon> Flight sense that Saulith can't wait to read this log. :) Dragon> Flight sense that Dasmareth giggles :) Dragon> Flight sense that Sielth grins. Its fun. Lysseth> Voldrath dodges the stumbling bronze foiled by Decarath's maneuver and surges forward. This brown will not be repressed in his pursuit of that perfect shrubbery prize that tantalizes him in the moonlight. He pushes forward doggedly, undeterred. Dragon> Flight sense that Voldrath is stretching... I want to use the newt... Lysseth> Sruth chases after that warmth - that's the point here, isn't it - that star, that exclusive prize, whatever she might be or choose to be. Her trumpet, for all its danger, does what it should not - it encourages, it -lies- because Sruth only strengthens his rhythm in response, with his own vocalization taking the form of a snarl - toward those others, those too near. Lysseth> Taralyth's risked that peril - if not _this_ night's peril - and survived; still, those bright-sparked wings vane a moment in the echoes' slipstream, and then another, before arcing 'round the other bronze as does Voldrath on the opposite side - and flaunting a tail's flick once he's well and gone, matching snarl for snarl. Lysseth> Lysseth is many things, for all that King of the Britons is not among them; she'll be saint and she'll be sinner, she'll be loser, she'll be winner, at once steady and unstable, always young and always able... yet. Yet. She has not reached that moon; she has not clawed the stars, and her energy now wanes in truth so that the first struggles to keep not only pace but height begin. She *shan't* fall and falter before her time for anyone--least of all for them, for her denial of the need as sharp as any of theirs is the one thing that remains fully strong--only let the blood-fire fuel her wings, let it carry her away! For perhaps Galahad is indeed the most fitting parallel; she would flee these scores of bronze and brunettes, and avoid all they threaten. Or promise. Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << Shall we say catch poses after Lysseth's next? (And now would probably be a good time to page Kassi if you *don't* want to win, too. :) >> Lysseth> What... is your quest? To catch Lysseth! What... is your favourite colour? Green! Green at the moment, in any case. Decarath spreads his wings wide. There are fellow hunters he cannot match for speed, manuverability, or endurance. Is there another way? He sways from left to right, wings beating, testing... Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "I'm a picker, I'm a grinner, I'm a lover, and I'm a sinner. I play my music in the sun. I'm a joker, I'm a smoker, I'm a midnight toker..." Telgar Weyr> Shawnah gaaahs... Dragon> Flight sense that Voldrath may as well taks his computer down to the floor with him... seems he's going to be staying there... Telgar Weyr> Kassima grins! Sadly, my ref was to something different, and a country music song at that. So I'm not expecting anyone else to recognize it. ;) Telgar Weyr> Lanryi listens in and belts it out for Kassima, "I am Rosemary's Granddaughter!" Telgar Weyr> Kassima says, "The spitting image of my father! And when the day is done, my mama's still my biggest fan! Ten points to Lanryi. ;)" Lysseth> Sruth is ever in pursuit, he seeks that most virtuous knight - or seeks what /she/ seeks, despite that she avoids promise now. He rises, not to meet but to find her height, to keep it in sight, to keep his chase just below it and still behind, still upward and skyward, forward and onward. Telgar Weyr> Ursa SIGHS. I missed Lysseth's flight! Dragon> Flight sense that Voldrath urghs.. BRB Telgar Weyr> Kassima snugs the Bear. And hands her a coconut, too. ;) Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "I totally blew it, then. I was doing Steve Miller, not Rosemary's Granddaughter. :)" Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "Though, you know. We *could* call Lysseth the space cowboy. But probably not the gangster of love. :)" Lysseth> Taralyth'd see the day done, raise her those seven wonders - but rides less on threat or promise than _possibility_, his pace evening out as they gain height under the starlight and the air chills that much further about them, cautious only given those brown wings that sway ahead. Too close. Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "And almost certainly not Maurice." Telgar Weyr> Shawnah says, "In any case, you succeeded in getting a song in my head. A'lex is usualy the one with that talent. :) Hi May too!" Telgar Weyr> Kassima grins. The song's 'Who I Am' by Jessica Andrews; the bridge is the neat bit. I'm a saint and I'm a sinner, I'm a loser, I'm a winner, I am steady and unstable, I am young, but I am able. :) Lysseth, gangster of love. No, I have to agree, I don't think it'd quite work, even if I can picture her in a pinstripe suit and machine gun. ;) Lysseth> Voldrath chases that spark ahead of him, a sinner or a saint, she could be his hell or his dream, if he could only catch her, that tease just beyond his reach that he can't have any other way. Lysseth> Though still and *always* more nimble than any old man from Scene Twenty-Seven, even Lysseth can only deny her lack of agility and height up to a point, and when she's forced to level her flight--to, in truth, fall a short distance in time--she cries her rage and defiance against, into the night. Let gravity align itself with these! Let it drag at her, keep her from the moon she'd fancy her match; let it even ensure that it would take an African swallow to carry a coconut. She still will fight all these things to the very last breath in her body, and seek escape into the wind for all that it abandons her now. Dragon> Lysseth bespoke Flight with << Catch poses now! And I'd like to thank you all for coming--this has been fun, and the poses have been excellent all around. :) >> Lysseth> Decarath spies the green drop - sees she's waning, sees she will fall. And who better to catch her than he? He draws his wings in close to his darkling form, swooping down. We shall attack at once! Yes, my liege. And so he dives. Kassima's frame gives a single shudder, scarves all a-tremble, and eyes fly open to stare wildly. Not that she *sees* beyond what Lysseth sees--but she *knows* beyond, perhaps, what Lysseth knows, and her lot is less denial than franticism edging on despair. I'sai doesn't touch stone; not with his head, not with his hands, not with so much as the soles of his feet, leather-shielded as the latter are. Nor is there wood to knock on, though his gaze sharpens again on Lysseth's rider, as if memorizing - as if that would serve - Yashira tilts her chin up slowly, balanced on the balls of her feet, waiting. He will strike and catch or he will strike and miss. Such is the way, but this is the moment of truth, and this is what they have been working toward. Sria draws breath in and she seems not to let it out - holding it, perhaps - maybe not, maybe only a little, maybe without realization of such. Her fingertips lift from stone to be set against the surface again, one at a time, a silent, slow tap. Lysseth> Sruth does not answer her cry with voice, but with motion. He falls only to find, for as her height changes, he moves to meet it, to make it -his- level, and their level, and -the- level. Winds or no winds, he swoops into his curve to meet her side, wings spread and then trained, aims on that star, that prize, that warmth, that knight - knight of the night, even. Lysseth> Voldrath hisses in triumph as the green starts to fall towards him, and opens his wings in welcoming embrace, reaching forward eagerly with his neck to entwine with hers in sublime bliss. The hiss of triumph turns to a hiss of rage as Decarath's attack interposes, and he now has to struggle to reach the green. Lysseth> Taralyth swerves - Decarath's diving there, before him, and _he's_ not the one he'd run into - and answers both block and outraged cry with a tenor hiss of his own, unguessed mirror to Voldrath's; as the wind's fancy passes, he continues to argue with it, reaching, long wings as unwilling as hers to go gently into this benighted flight. Dragon> Flight sense that Taralyth grins Voldrath's way. Yeah, phrasing was -that- similar on the fly. Dragon> Flight sense that Voldrath grins Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth offers wingsnugs all around to her Knights of the Round Table. ;) << Y'all are killer! I'm going to start work on the catch-pose now; thank you all ever so much again. :) >> Dragon> Decarath bespoke Flight with << Yay for Lysseth! Yay for the chasers! >> Dragon> Sruth bespoke Flight with << Thank you for having us, Lysseth! :) >> Dragon> Taralyth bespoke Flight with << Hear, hear! >> Dragon> Flight sense that Voldrath raises his goblet as well... I have laughed more at this flight than any other... Dragon> Flight sense that Dasmareth snugs you all for much +watching enjoyment :) and waves her green pompoms too, can't forget that :) Lysseth> And you, her chasers, there on that wild height, curse, bless her now for her fierce cry, she prays: she'll not go gentle into that good night. Rage against the dying of the light. And rage Lysseth may, for all her days, but there comes a point past which rage is useless--past which even the most determined wings cannot rise. Past which the blood can not burn with the same fire. Past which a new blaze entirely must, as it kisses, consume, like fire and powder. And this is that moment: this, the moment that links fancy unto fancy, and brings her into Taralyth's wings... a grail captured, all quests ended. Dragon> Flight sense that Lysseth theres. :) Dylan Thomas is probably spinning in his grave right now. ;) Thank you and bless you all again! Wish I could've chosen everyone, but AM would've had such cows. ;) Lysseth> A trundlebug. She made him feel like a trundlebug. Decarath pulls away, gliding down toward the bowl, a tiny little skittering creature. A trundlebug. But he'll get better! Lysseth> Decarath flies downward towards the southern end of the bowl. F'min stands for one more frozen moment, then pushes himself away from the lintel and spins in the doorway, fleeing the room ane the tension for the cold air outside. Yashira rises from her crouch, stepping away from the wall, away from I'sai and Kassima, and toward the door. She passes between the Reachians and stalks out into the bowl. Yashira leaves the guest weyr and heads out into the bowl. Lysseth> Sruth swoops out, now - nevermind that. Dragon> Voldrath bespoke Flight with << The newt! Yay for Decarath >> Lysseth> Voldrath gives one last in Decarath's direction for fouling his catch, then glides to the bowl. Lysseth> Voldrath flies downward towards the southern end of the bowl. Sria just follows the stream out, from gargoyle to passerby, directly. Sria leaves the guest weyr and heads out into the bowl. F'min leaves the guest weyr and heads out into the bowl. Lysseth> Sruth flies downward towards the southern end of the bowl. And grave women, near death, who see with blinding sight... not that Kassi's anywhere near death; and now, now less blinded, eyes starting to find focus. Surprise first, as ever; a moment's frustration, then--not. A tiny smile curves at a corner of her mouth for all that there's no amusement in eyes so very green. "What," she simply must ask, "nay marks, this time?" Telgar Weyr> K'ran says, "Congrats, Is." Telgar Weyr> Cheni says, "Woohoo One cranky AWLM and one happy one" Lysseth> Taralyth wraps, enfolds, though her soot's not the sort to be polished free; twines neck and tail that wings may fly wide to sweep them both free, that moons' last light find what lingers, if not in green hide, in even more remarkable eyes. Telgar Weyr> I'sai says, "Thanks!" "You've already marked the spot," I'sai says when he can find words; it's hard going, reaching so lightly to wipe soot from one so-green eye, the last trace of grace before sinking into dragons' sudden urgency. And if there's no comfy chair, well, there's that couch.