Cadgwith's first leadership flight

May 21st 2003
Logged by Pyrene

All bets are off! Up at High Reaches Cadge is showing some true gold glow through that brackish, briny hide, and the bronzes and browns are noticing! The winner of this flight is pre-determined, but all are welcome to come and chase in High Reaches leadership flight! Page Pyrene if you want to chase or NPC a chaser!
- entered by Pyrene on 2003-05-21 13:49 MOO Time.

Living Caverns

Pyrene is staring vacantly at the fire while her hands play with a glass of untouched redfruit juice. Legs aren't curled up underneath her for a change, instead stretched out towards the flames, heels lightly drumming against the hearthrug.

Llewellyn drags himself into the cavern, muttering under his breath about bratt children and mucked-up stalls. Pyrene is given an absent nod as he sprawls in a chair.

Pyrene's head shifts, spying movement in her peripheral vision. Somebody nodded at her? Ah. "Hello…." Pause. She recognises him, really she does… "Llew," she finishes finally, a note of relief for getting that much of her brain into gear. "And how are you?" she adds absently, before her gaze is drawn back to the dancing flames.

Sii'kyn strides purposely in from the Central Bowl.

<All> Cadgwith senses that she stretches languidly, with the sudden keen awareness of one who has just woken from a nice, deep slumber. Faint hunger can be sensed in the edge of her mind, but it is not for food alone.

"Breathing." A nice word, that. Llew smiles thinly, then shrugs. "Yourself?" He shifts, restless. Where are those drinks, anyroad? If he has to move, they aren't worth getting.

Pyrene mms at Llew. "I'm about to lose some money…. Shouldn't gamble. Terrible thing…" she tells him. Her shoulders twitch suddenly and she peers towards the cavern entrance. "That's going to get people's attention," she mutters, apropos of nothing, it would seem. Her eyes track Ike as he appears in the cavern; the flames have abruptly lost their interest.

"It's too shelling early to be awake," comes the dark rumble of annoyance; a dark-clad Sii'kyn comes stumbling in from outside, eyes bleary and hands scrubbing at his face. "Way, /way/ too early," he grumbles to himself, nearly whacking right into a poor drudge - who wisely moves off and grabs him a cup of klah before he sincerely hurts someone. "I hate you," comes the simple declaration, before he slouches into a random chair, scarily close to Pyrene - who he hasn't noticed. Yet.

"Huh," Llew blinks at Pyrene, head canted to one side. Sii'kyn is given a sidelong gaze, then switches back to Pyrene. Odd things afoot, here.

Jafia arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

<All> Cadgwith senses that Tiareth lets the weight of her age and the distance from the Weyr dull the sudden flash of crimson territorial ire that laces her touch. She slides into Istan sunshine and lets her Rider take her south - away, away, away.

C'ley strolls into the living caverns and snaps his fingers at a drudge. "Klah, and quickly!" the middleaged bronzerider demands.

Pyrene watches the door with mild interest as people enter. "Oh, look. An influx," she points out to Llew. Llew is safe. So is Jafia for that matter, and the girl gets a vague smile, before Pyrene turns her attention to Ike. "So… Feeling secure at all, Ike?"

Llewellyn snorts. "Indeed, Weyrwoman. In very deed. Shall they be fed to the llamas?" He really wants to ignore the sudden influx, but one can't.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith rustles her wings as she settles comfortably in a sunny spot, not seeming intent on moving right away even if her eyes are rolling faintly red with hunger. It's early, though, and the queen opens her maw in a huge yawn, without consideration for how silly it really does make her look.

Jafia offers up a polite nod for the woman, but th gal remains, of course, quiet.

Y'og strides into the living caverns, head held high and radiating an air of 'worship me' even at this early time of day. Within a moment of arrival he slides up to the nearest drudge and within a moment or two has her running off giggling on whatever mission he has given her and he turns to survey the rest of his potential victims.

Sii'kyn starts at his name, twisting his head to stare at Pyrene. "Se..cure?" The word's foreign upon his lips, and a puzzled brow furrows. Yes - Sii'kyn's in the dark. For now, at least; Ram hasn't flashed him the mental picture of the shiny, glowy Cadge. Three.. two.. one.. Ike bolts upright in his chair, twisting to stare incredulously. "Y - great," he finally mutters, settling to survey the living caverns with a slight twitch to his shoulders.

Cadgwith> Nagrath landed and dumped C'ley (who's by now almost to his first cup of klah). The bronze stretches sleepily. It's early morning. He's awake - just about. And getting more so with every passing moment and twitch-of-Cadgwith.

Cadgwith> Sidramuntalath shifts from his own sunning spot, wings arching back to catch the first glints of sun. Head stretched out, the brown affixes a stoic pose of typical non-descriptive notion. The dark figure lifts his red-touched wings for all of five seconds, before folding them back. Awake? Not yet. Not really.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith isn't glowing /that/ brightly - but enough, surely, to tell she's almost ready to rumble. And the smug, yet challenging, expression on her face suggests that she is very aware of the effect she has on the males in the bowl. Sea-belched limbs stretch again, seductively this time, and suddenly she lets out a piercing bellow and heads straight for the pens - and the beasts, already stampeding in terror.

Cadgwith> You go to the Pens.
Cadgwith> Pens
Cadgwith> Freshened breezes from the lake to the south mingle with the stronger scents of herdbeast, wherry, dust and dung, that fill this elliptical enclosure, a faint odor wafting over now and then from the tannery on the far eastern side of the pens. A sturdy fence winds out towards the central bowl, captures an outlet of clear blue lake, and grows into a stout wind-shelter replete with hay and feeding troughs as it meets the bowl wall. Not too far above, a claw-marked series of feeding ledges lie, decorated by a few discarded and bleached-out bones. A few clusters of green sprout, downtrodden, in the hard ground, tracked over by the stampeding of the herds.
Cadgwith> It is a spring before dawn.

Pyrene mms at Ike, her own eyes wide and drinking in the contents of the living cavern idly. A sensible drudge takes her still undrunk redfruit juice off her before she can spill it, since the rider isn't really paying attention to small details right now. Well, except for the twitch of Ike's shoulders, the stubble of C'ley's lip, the curve of Y'og's stomach. And Llew and Jafia…. are also there.

C'ley manages to drink most of his klah before he's jolted properly awake by the way Nagrath isn't so early-morning-dozy all of a sudden. "Why, Weyrwoman Pyrene!" The bronzerider strolls over towards the goldrider, one eyebrow lifted. "I see that Cadgwith is…. hungry."

Llewellyn suddenly perks up. "Uh. Things are about to get interesting." He states the obvious so well, doesn't he?

Y'og's eyes scan the room, and land eventually on Pyrene. Like a rather fat snake he slithers over in her direction purring out a long, "Well hello." as he nears her.

Sii'kyn twitches to himself. "Klah?" he reminds the drudge who comes to tsk loudly at him. It's presented with a flourish, and Ike drinks deep of the scalding liquid, hissing at he burns his tongue and choking back the rest. He's - awake, now. Yes. Definitely awake. "Oh, good /Faranth/," he groans. "Someone needs to hit me, drag me off, and hide me in the catacombs for a few candlemarks." He shifts, eyeballing Pyrene. "But not you." Leaning back, he watches the antics of Y'og and C'ley with something of a vague worry about him.

Pyrene stands so abruptly that one hopes C'ley has quick reactions or he might spill his klah over them both. "Not 'Weyrwoman' yet," she corrects, although she's not sure exactly where along the way she earns that title. But she's got other things to worry about. Like Cadge's eating habits. "Drink," she urges the room at large, starting to pace a little. If the riders want to flirt, they'll have to trail her in a slow-motion, less dramatic preview of the main feature.

T'val comes stalking, steaming, and sputtering into the cavern, all a-glare for the one whose fault this is - the druge that happens to be in his line of sight. With a growl, he slides around the poor confused man and fetches up in a crowd of people. "What is all this mess about, anyway? Dragged me outta my sleep.

C'ley does spill his klah, but only over himself. "Now look!" he complains, though not very seriously. He steps after Pyrene, willing to follow wheresoever she leads, commenting to her in a friendly tone, "You're a junior weyrwoman, aren't you? So, I'm just being polite… 'Course Nagrath always /has/ fancied himself as the Weyrleader's dragon." One step, two step - if Pyrene's not careful, C'ley will be tickling her under there. Or somewhere.

Jafia perks up fairly quickly, feeling the tension in the room grow tiny bit by tiny bit. Fingers reach out to catch the arm of a drudge to put her order for klah to him. This's gonna get interesting.

Y'og looks slightly taken aback as his normal greeting fails to have it's usual effect so he sliters round to the other side of Pyrene and tries again, another long "Hellooooo." this time accompnaied by a rather lopsided grin and a wink. All men in the room are more or less ignored, such, unfortunately, is his way especially if there's a flight to be won.

Sii'kyn snorts to himself - something under his breath, about if Nagrath fancies himself that, he - something. It's not pretty. Not pretty at all. Ike hides behind his klah mug, occaisonally darting a tracking look after Pyrene. "Weyrwoman in a few moments, though," he drawls, mostly to himself - but, nope, he stays out of the goldrider's way.

Cadgwith> Sidramuntalath twists - a slow, fluid motion that pops a few bones back into place, tendons sliding, ligaments stretching. The slow, languid twist of a stretch is all darkened wings and high-arching neck; and then, he wanders after Cadge with something of a lackluster intention; he's not quite yet ready to charge full-ahead. So.. sanguine. Must be new tactics; must be.

Cadgwith> Nagrath is now wide awake and twice as hungry: hungry for blood, hungry for Cadgwith. Eyes a-rolling red, he launches into the air… and lands neatly on a buck. Hah. Breakfast is served.

Cadgwith> Sothoth is awake, though doing a good impression of being otherwise, it's only really his tail that gives him away by slipping and sliding from side to side rhythmically behind him as he waits. His wait isn't long and as Cadgwith heads to the pens he follows, though not in a hurry, not in a rush, just edging his way to the food and then surging over a beast that dares to near him. The kill is quick and he drops his head, flaring his wings to shield him as he drink.

"Blood," Pyrene answers T'val absently, her eyes flicking briefly over him, before her gaze roves Y'og, trying to follow the lopsides of the grin. And then she's striding to the tables again, fists clenching as she scans the offerings, unable to remember now what she was looking for. "What do we want?" Answers to be other than the obvious.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith exploits her status to the fullest as she hovers above the frightened beasts, her wings languidly beating as she seeks out the fattest of the lot. Claws are attached to the neck, which is broken deftly before she even lands on the ground. And then begins the inner battle, as the dragon craves flesh and the rider probably resists…

Cadgwith> Tactics. Who cares about tactics when one can simply be menacing? Like a monolithic bit of Stonehenge itself, Shivnath settles in the pens, wings still aloft and growling softly beneath his breath. Now, where are those tasty bits of flesh to rend?

"You want a drink, darling," C'ley prompts Pyrene, sidling right up to her and probably getting way way too close in for anyone's liking. Close enough so that poor Pyrene can smell his soap or lack thereof. "Can I get one for you?"

Cadgwith> Sidramuntalath seemingly stops being the slumbering beast of the darkness. Nope, he's done that routine for as long as he could stand it; now, he turns into the shadow-prowler which he's always been: the dark hunter of - blood. Boneshiveringly dark form is gracefully in the air, with a lunge of wings and a powerful push of haunch - and then, he's brought down his beast, claws raking past the throat, muzzle dropping to greedily suckle at the redhot lifeblood, wings quivering with the heady, mindaltering taste of fresh blood.

Y'og's grin gets wider as Pyrene looks at him and then fades as she moves off. Pursing his lips he sits down on the end of a table and beings to drum his fingers on it. "Well then." he comments to noone in particular, eyes still on Pyrene but his aura slightly tarnished.

T'val shows his teeth in what could be a smile - if only his teeth weren't so stained by klah or whatever he calls a good drink. Skeletal hands are placed on skinny hips and he eyes Pyrene narrowly - silently. She's mocking him, she surely is. Blood. Whoever drinks blood hese days?

Sii'kyn continues to sit placidly, hovering behind his klah mug, and trying to ignore everyone else - well, okay, trying to ignore Py. He's white-knuckling his klah mug, though, now; his eyes have that glazed-over look, fully immersed with what Ram is doing - what /is/ Ram doing? Oh. Blooding. That must be it; must be. He utters a choked-off word, and then dives to take another gulp of his klah. Scalding, scalding. Anything to try to swipe the heady overlap from his lifemate. Anything.

Pyrene idly puts one hand back to flip her plait over her shoulder - nothing like a flying rope of hair to keep people at bay from one's face. "Drink!" she snaps again, before abruptly softening and focusing on C'ley. "Yes… you'd better grab some… a skin… skins…" She falters out of her sentence, unsure what she meant and slips away from the tables again, still flicking wide-eyed glances about the riders, but progressing in the general direction of the bowl.

Cadgwith> Sothoth's drinking, though shielded with his wings, is definitely not without noise. Each suck, each swallow, is audible especially as the beast begins to run dry. His mussied head raises, trickles of blood stianing his hide a deep terracotta as he eyes Cadgwith and then abandons the now dry beast at his feet, stalking another to slake his thirst on.

Cadgwith> Nagrath kills, and kills again. Two down, dry and dead. Nagrath, on the other hand, is vibrantly alive - life in the old (older) dragon yet.

Leolin walks in from the Central Bowl.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith hisses in defiance, raising her muzzle towards the dawn sky as she calls out her reluctance. But eventually she obeys, fangs sinking into the still animal on the ground, her tail twitching in anticipation of what she knows is to come. Another buck is grabbed, and then another, and then, without any dallying, she's airborne.

C'ley snaps his fingers at the nearest drudge. "Wine. NOW!" There, that told them - and it got them running too. "Thanks," the bronzerider mutters gruffly, settling a proprietary hand on Pyrene's shoulder. "So… how about it, dear?"

Cadgwith> So you go up, up, and up some more, spiralling past ledges and Star Stones and up past the very Spindles themselves.
Cadgwith> Above High Reaches
Cadgwith> Quite, quite high, nothing braves these heights but stone and dragon and cloud; the Star Stones jut dutifully above the Weyr proper, flayed by the mountain winds that are consistant at this altitude whilst the rest spreads below, protected by its crown of jagged stone spires'-teeth.
Cadgwith> It is a spring before dawn.

Y'og's gaze doesn't move from 'his' Pyrene, though his hands do move, the tapping ceases and instead he begins to pick, pick, pick at his clothes which is suddenly covered in imaginary dirt and hair.

Sii'kyn twitches, and then shoves his klah aside. Up in the air - er, onto his feet, eyes wild around the edges, he prowls after Pyrene. Felenoid stalking commenses - he didn't just lick his lips. /Reeeally/, he didn't! … Okay, he did. But still. Gaze narrowed, he… stalks. Great. Stalking Ike. Can't be a good sign.

Pyrene compliments C'ley by immediately cringing away from his hand, and suddenly she wheels around, giggling slightly hysterically at their faces as she savours her last moment of coherent thought for an hour or so. And that Cadge takes over and she makes a bolt outside, the sound of her running footsteps fading in the direction of the ground weyrs.

Ground Weyrs
Once a mere overhang in the bowl wall, this arched stone enclave was deepened in aeons past by who-knows-what to provide shelter for injured dragons and their mates. Craggy walls loom high to dwarf rider and dragon alike, sloping back from the weather-open entrance to a low opening into the infirmary itself. Stacked under rock-shaded cover are low supply chests of sturdy timber, flanked with long tables. Other openings are shaded by wherhide curtains, leading to smaller, private caverns for the dragonhealers' patients.

Sii'kyn comes into shelter from bowl's wide open spaces.
C'ley comes into shelter from bowl's wide open spaces.

As Pyrene runs, Y'og's grin returns. Jumping down from the table he calls, "You can only run so far pretty one." and runs after her, his follow up of, "Just run to me it's quicker." left hanging in the air between living caverns and bowl.

Cadgwith> Nosferatuth is here - was here - always and forever. Night dark and as mysterious, he rises after the rest, but more importantly he rises after /her/. With a swoop and a bellow, the dark old Igen bronze makes his intentions known. /Cadgwith/. He will be the nightstorm to her stormthrown seas.

It seems anouther beau has followed the pack in after Pyrene. He stands at about six feet. so he is okay in that status but he is skinny, extreamly. His long body seems graceful but clumsy all at the same time. His eyes are blue and green (one of each) and seem to be locked on Pyrene, except for when he turns his attention to the other males for a few moments. His hair, spiked and blonde. Not to much more to say about that.
Z'ker *claims that..sorry

Sii'kyn continues his stalking pace; grey eyes glint uncannily, as he settles aside from the pack of brown and bronzeriders that are jockeying for positions closest to Pyrene. Instead? Well, instead, he waits for the rush and takes up his normal post - settled firmly on a ledge, waving down a passing drudge and lightening the young woman of a wineskin. Mmm - Paradise. Sure, that fits his mood.. Right. The drinking commenses.

Pyrene stakes a claim on the weyr, pacing her way around the inner wall, one hand caressing the stone idly while the other one continues to fist. As she passes riders she stares briefly at them. "Wine," she mutters. "Somebody brought wine? Skin?" Keep moving, keep moving… if she keeps circulating, so will the air. Or something.

Cadgwith> Nagrath heads up. And up. And up again? He'll go as far as he needs to; oh yes he will. He will, he will go on, he will! (Determination is an important commodity for a chasing dragon.) His brassy wings stretch wide; his tarnished, greying muzzle points directly at Cadgwith. There's no doubt in his mind what this chase is about…

Cadgwith> Sothoth is late, his shielding wings having distracted him for just a second so that others rise before him. Grinding the offending beast that had ruined his timing into the ground he leaps upwards, wings sliding from his back and beating fiercly as the mud-slide brown begins his chase, seeking to ensnare Cadgwith, swallow her mind and soul in his choking embrace.

T'val ambulates automoton-like into the cavern. That sharding dragon - going to get him in real trouble some day. He glares at all equally.

Cadgwith> Sidramuntalath fluidly rises from below. Wisteria flowers soak in crimson pools of blood - the imagry is purely his eyes, glinting with guarded lust as he slices through the thick dawn air, flowing with the thermals until he spies an opportunity that he just can't resist. Falling easily into the slipstream of a large bronze, he jockeys a ride, wings half-bent when not preoccupied with the simple motions of beating. Beating - not nearly as fast as his heart, but it'll do. For now, he settles distinct into his spot; biding his time has worked before - and it will work again.

By the time Y'og reaches the guest weyrs he's very much out of breath and looking a little damp. "There you are." He grins, "Running away from me like that. Still I'm here now so you can stop worrying." He looks round the rest of those gathered in the room, his expression one of 'why are you here?'

C'ley follows Pyrene somewhat nonchalantly, considering this is a leadership flight. "Wine, Pyrene my dear? Here you go.." He smoothly hands her the skin he carried into the ground weyrs (here's one I got earlier!), and apologises: "Sorry there's no glass. But it won't hurt to slum it, will it now?"

Cadgwith> Shivnath heaves himself skyward, aiming ever-onward towards the gold beacon before him. Tongue lolls out, to one side, and nostrils trail smoke. Locomotive (emphasis on the loco) dragon on the loose! She shall cleave betwixt the less worthy and find himself the victor. It always happens that way, doesn't it? Well?

Cadgwith> Cladiwth has soared with wide open wings up to the lovely Cadgwith, his bronze muzzle still covered with blood and gore from his last meal. So he's not a clean eater, sue him. Wings beat steady with the beat of his lustful heart, that at the moment isn't beating fast with the thrill of the chase of the beauty. T

D'rac strides in, really he does, though with the nightblack cloak he tends to wear over his leathers, swooping might be more accurate. Still, age slows his prowl and roughens the usual sisallian walk he is infamous for. He finds a corner and hides in it. There. Ignore everyone. Good D'rac.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith pumps her wings with the vigor of one just freed from her cage - and in a sense, she has been freed; soaring in the air, catching a thermal, she glides through the sky freely, wildly, uninhibited and unaware of the ones after her. She is one with nature; one with Pyrene, and no male can take possession of them!

Sii'kyn kicks back. Leaning against the smooth wall, swigging back at his wineskin, he keeps his territorial gaze settled firmly upon Pyrene. C'ley is considered, too, his gaze turning hostile in a heartbeat. A swig of his wineskin, and his temper's soothed once more, however; soothed for a few beats of dragonwings, at the very least.

Cadgwith> Sothoth's chase is unrelenting, slowly he gains height his track taking him up, up and away, flowing from thermal to thermal and claiming each as his own as he tries to get above the fleeing Cadgwith.

Pyrene falters as she reaches the doorway, her stonebound hand falling against air. She turns, waving it urgently, but fortunately C'ley's skin is there for an anchor. C'ley's wineskin, that is, and it's seized gratefully. "Slumming it," she murmurs vaguely, raising it to her lips. "Oh, /you/ should be so lucky…" And she wanders off with his wine, passing it carelessly to Y'og who sounds as if he could do with a drink, before striking out on a path that takes her past Ike and D'rac who are not trying to invade her personal space. Perverse, she. Her hands toy with her plait now, and is that a sway to her hip?

Cadgwith> Sidramuntalath dances the dance - the beat never changes, the steady thrum of dragonbeats music to him. Fluid music, stacco music, and everything in between; the scents and the smell and the sheer conciousness of Cadge's presence - so far away, and yet so close. Biding his time - biding his time. Tactics take over, the weapons officer rising to the occaison and deftly plotting a course through the thick of things. And so, plot and course he does, a gliding dark mercenary of the skies, after his rightful place. Cadge can be one with nature; he'll be one with his feelings - and together, they'll have all the bases covered. Talking about bases…

Cadgwith> Nosferatuth seeks only clear sky right now, arcing and swooping with uncanny accuracy as he dodges the pack and strives to find room for his everwide wings. Faster, higher, further, faster. The trenchcoat wingsails flap against the wind and bend the thermals to his liking. He follows, he does, for he can do nothing else.

Z'ker has managed to get himself a skin of wine from a dudge that passes by. His back presses slightly against the wall before he slides down into a seat, eyes still mostly on Pyrene. He makes not a sound but that of the wine in the skin moving as he takes a swig of it. A slight smile rests on his lips a bit lopsidedly. What's he planning?

Cadgwith> Shivnath bares fang and claw as he nearly plummets from an unintentional buffet from another brown. A low hiss is emitted, smoke trailing thicker, then disappearing altogether. He must become one with that gold - must cage her again before she gets away entirely.

D'rac takes a half-step backwards into the shadows, the narrow slits of his eyes dark and unfathomable as he watches the goldrider toy with them as she toys with her braid. He snarls, softly, and turns away away away.

T'val sighs, slumping to the floor of the cavern, eyeing the group with eyes still narrowed - squinting every so often as though trying to see throu intense fog. And perhaps he is; one never knows with this one.

Y'og latches onto the wine skin quite happily. He takes a long drink which eventually results in a bout of coughing from forgetting to breathe. Slipping down to the floor he stretches out his legs and calls over towards Pyrene. "Come and have a drink lovely, rest your head in my lap and relax I wont let them win you."

Sii'kyn leans his head back, watching Pyrene's progress with hungry eyes, lips curving upwards in the vague telling of a smile. Deliberately, he turns his gaze away from the goldrider, gazing at the ceiling with consideration. Hmm. He's pondering his bets; after all, he does have the obvious Bitran blood. He's bet a small fortune on this flight, no doubt.

Cadgwith> Cladiwth follows the pack after the free tameless soul of Cadgwith. He's caught many free spirits before, does she think he won't let her free again? Only for a bit of time he wants her. Okay, so he's no prince charming. His bronze wings flap a bit harder in a attempt to keep up with the soaring angels and the demons behind her.

C'ley is determined to stay as close to Pyrene as possible, whether she likes it or no. "Oh Pyrene, sweetheart…" he murmurs to her, drifting in and out of her line of movement and vision with the determination of desperation.

Z'ker has made no bet on the fair lady and has no intends to do so. What sort of a man bets on how many women or what woman he can sleep with? Probably alot. The wine skin he has is set aside as he gets on all fours, crawling slightly closer to Pyrene, purring softly like a cat, in which he looks much like in this pose.

Cadgwith> Sidramuntalath rises unexpectedly; thermals. Gotta love 'em. The rhythm's steadying, and he steals another ride of slipstream, making his way up the pack, dodging the few raked claws that head in his direction. He only once snaps at a too-close threat; he's altogether too focused on the golden mer-monster ahead to really give a care about the violent tendancies of others. No, he's got better tendancies, as of now - tendancies which aren't exactly G-rated. But, then again - when has Ram /ever/ been G-rated?

Pyrene reaches the wall and turns around, laughing suddenly and arching her back as she stares up at the ceiling. "You don't understand, can't understand!" she crows, hugging herself swiftly before shrugging her shoulders free of her jacket and dropping her arms so that the garment can drop to the floor. That's made somebody's job a lot easier, and her eyes drift downwards again, considering just who that somebody might be. There's perhaps a moue that Ike and D'rac still won't look at her, but Y'og and C'ley can be cheerfully ignored. As Cadge rises, she falls, studying Z'ker and T'val with interest. Is the view better down here?

Cadgwith> Nagrath wants to be one with Cadgwith though! His raucous call is as brassy as his flanks - no siren-song, certainly. Fighting his way through the air, Nagrath is all out for the ultimate prize - beating that upstart young brown of a Weyrleader's dragon into second place.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith doesn't want to dance with Sidramuntalath, Sothoth can never make it above her, Shivnath certainly will not cage her, Cladiwth won't get to restrain /this/ free soul and Nagrath can forget all about any prize he might want. This leviathan queen will, in short, not let herself be caught, and she has total faith in her strong wings taking her far, far away from this place. Another termal is caught, another stomach-turning spin is executed, and she goes up, up, up.

T'val looks up at Pyrene, brow lifting. View's exellent from his point of view, since he can see Pyrene's legs from here. Join him and he can see a lot more. Vague hope stirs, near rheumy eyes sparkling dangerously.

"Pyrene, Pyrene!" C'ley half-pleads with the goldrider, /still/ following her around as if it'll do any good. "Where did the wine go?" he asks after a moment, glaring daggers at all the other riders. "I need a drink. Nagrath needs a drink."

Cadgwith> Sothoth may not be the fastest to ever take to the skies, but his determination is just as vehement as that of the gold he craves. On and on he moves, up and up and up. Never changing, never turning, an utterly determined wall of muddy dragon that will not be turned aside.

Cadgwith> No. She will never escape. Never! Shivnath spirals with her, wings nearly aflame with the strain of keeping up with the younger dragons. A roar of discontent rumbles from is belly, and tail lashes, rudderlike, as he shoots ever upwards. He will follow er to the ends of the earth if need be, just to be sure he returns her to her place by his side.

Cadgwith> Sidramuntalath /now/ rises - er, somewhat expectedly, this time. Thermals. Gotta love 'em. The rhythm's steadying, and he steals another ride of slipstream, making his way up the pack, dodging the few raked claws that head in his direction. He only once snaps at a too-close threat; he's altogether too focused on the golden mer-monster ahead to really give a care about the violent tendancies of others. Though the tendancies of his typist really needs to be addressed. Clearly. Now, however, he'll simply resist the tempting urge to reach out and bite Nagrath's tail and simply slide back into his slipstream. Sure, let someone /else/ do all the work, Ram. He'll get his dance - sometime.

Z'ker smiles a bit more as Pyrene comes down to his level. "Ticklish?" An eyebrow lifts as he crawls a bit closer to Pyrene, each arm moving longer then the last so that his strides,if you call them that, are long and agile.

Sii'kyn shakes his head slowly, capping his wine and settling it down before carding fingers through his hair in agitation. "No, no," he hisses under his breath. "Not that way.." Never let it be said that Ike's not, uh, helpful. He's just - pointing out flaws in Ram's logic? Yes. That, and keeping a near-hidden eye on Pyrene.

Y'og drinks more and soon his frustrated charms turn to all out whining. "Whyyy wont you sit with me? You know you want toooo."

Cadgwith> Nagrath can go up - and down, too, if that's what it takes. With an almighty lurch and push, the bronze surges after Cadgwith, rolling a bit to the left then banking to the right in order to catch the best of the thermals - the ones coming straight from the stables, in fact. Hot blood in those beasts down there; hotter blood in these beasts up here.

Cadgwith> Cladiwth lets out a low rumble of a laugh as she goes up more. The lady is fast and agile, he'll give her that but it won't stop him. His wings pull a bit tighter to his body as he spins himself and goes up after rest. Another loud rumble leaves his chest as a calling to the lady before him, if a fight is what she wants, a fight is what she'll get.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith abruptly folds her wings against her back, taking a dizzying spin towards the bowl far, far below. She drops in between brown and bronze, completely unaware of who is who, but keenly awake of first a brown, then a bronze, then another brown having to dtop to the ground, exhausted. She cries out only then; a challenging, primal sound which comes from the very core of her spirit. Catch me if you can!

D'rac looked, however briefly, but he is old and wise and knows well the ways of women with dragons-ichor in their veins. And so he waits, and hides, and watches the unseen winds bind the dragon to her Rider as Nos is bound to him. No, perhaps not the same thing, for D'rac tastes his dragon only when he wishes too. Hands make shuckshuckshuck noises as he quietly polishes his palms against his thighs.

"Drink up, fly up, rise up, get it up," Pyrene chants, not quite matching Cadge in the realm of siren-song but at least her heart's in it. She squats gracelessly (although perhaps she's now in for the view that C'ley wants her to have) and eyes T'val and Z'ker appraisingly as she murmurs her chant, before flicking her gaze to D'rac and Ike - and then to Y'og and C'ley just for good measure. Ready or not?

Cadgwith> Finally, the foolish gold sees sense! With a wild warble, Shivnath looms: claws, wings, neck outstretretched, he goes so far as to croon at her. Come, my beauty, my setting sun - let us go away together.

Cadgwith> Up, up and then suddenly there. Sothoth cries out first in shock and then in disgust as he keeps on climbing as she drops lower. He blew his chance, overshot his mark and his frustration echoes from every part of the weyr as he dives, a last ditch attempt, his last final surge.

Cadgwith> Cladwith lets out a savage roar as he pulls his wings in tight and dives down after Cadgwith, when he starts to get closer his neck outstreatches with his talons that are as well dipped in blood like his muzzle.

T'val gets a sneaking, superior smirk, rather like some creature that just knows the kill is made, the prey down. She is his.

Sii'kyn doesn't have any shame. That left about a turn ago. But now? He bursts out into laughter. Not hysterical, simply - laughter, low and rustic and rolling rich tones. Dark head shakes, and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back and flicking gaze open, focusing in on Pyrene with something of a cryptic smirk. - He's ready, no doubt.

Cadgwith> Nosferatuth plays bat to her bug, swooping this way and that in a vain attempt to engage the powerful queen. He not only looks, he /stares/, as if the sightline between his dark form and her brilliant hide is an achor to the Flight. Faster, further, higher, farther. Again and again he swoops towards her, inching his way closer with every wild pass.

C'ley /still/ hasn't got any wine back… but never mind. He creeps up to Pyrene and pats her head gently. "There there, sweetheart… almost over. You're almost mine." And so's that knot on Sii'kyn's shoulder than C'ley is ogling (more so than he's ogling Pyrene).

Y'og lets out a long hiss of breath, one word stretched out over it as he moves toward Pyrene, a simple "Yesssssss."

Z'ker sits on his lower legs and watches Pyrene with a steady gaze, "Up, down indeed." A bit of a smirking grin crosses his lips as he waits now in silence once more.

Cadgwith> Sidramuntalath keeps his gaze firmly past the buttercreme browns and brawny bronzes, slipping slightly back in the pack before vying closer to that silver tail. The siren's song catches in his mind, the challenge striking to his core. Fresher than some of his companions, thanks to his antics and tactics about the slipstream of larger dragons, the vampiric brown plays his final card. With the firm hellshriek of a warrior in pursuit, he leaves the romantic dream of dancing in the dust and simply goes for it - a spiraling curve right towards Cadge, wings half-tucking back as makes his final run.

Cadgwith senses Nosferatuth reaches out with his darkling spirit in an attempt to ensnare you with his mind. » Cadgwith. « Buffy. » Come to meeee…. « Come to Spike. Spike without the chip in his head. Spike without a soul. His thoughts spin like the eyes of that hypnotizing snake. » Cadgwith. Come. «

Cadgwith> Nagrath snaps folded his wings, streaks after Cadgwith - his outstretched, yearning muzzle so close to her tail as she slips from his reach… He simply can't sink fast enough towards her, though he tries, he tries.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith bugles again, this time in surprise over a surrender she never saw coming. Unable to resist any longer, she allows her pace to slow down, falling back into the freedom of release that is Sidramuntalath. Twining her neck tightly around his, she begins the last drop - and this will take them deeper than ever imagined.

Pyrene bursts up from her crouch suddenly, somehow slipping through the groping, grasping riders that have clustered around her and reaching Ike, her hands extended to catch his and her eyes dilated to the point that she should not focus, but something has registered. "You get to keep this then," she murmurs low, perhaps referring to his knot and perhaps more.

C'ley jumps back from Pyrene as if scalded. "Oh /shells/!" is his only comment on the situation. And out of the ground weyr the bronzerider skedaddles, in search of something that ultimately can't be as satisfying as a Weyrleader's knot.

Y'og's "yes" swiftly turns into an immensely whiney "Noooooo." complete with one hand banging off the ground beside him in a rather childish tantrum. "That's not how it's supposed to happen." Wine, or pershaps that should be whine, skin in hand he stumbles to his feet and out of the guest weyr, pouting the entire way.

D'rac smiles a resigned sort of snarly smile and slips from shadows to bowl. Good. Fine. Be that way. He never wanted to be a cold-toed 'Reaches Weyrman anyways. He always wanted to be… a firelizard!

Cadgwith> Over? Indeed….. Nagrath relinquishes any claim he may have pretended to, and spirals slowly down to his ledge in disgust.

D'rac leaves healers' enclave for the central bowl.

T'val joins D'rac in the snarly smile of not-congrats to Sii'kyn and slithers out - hopefully back to the dungeon he hauled his c arcass out of.

Sii'kyn is the ying to Pyrene's yang, apparently, right now - he rises with a slow, fluid motion which defies all of the powerful emotion his lifemate's radiating; quietly, he snags her hands easily and simply smirks at the comment. "Guess so," he replies - and that's probably the last articulate thing he'll manage for a good chunk of time.

Cadgwith> Sothoth drops and keeps on dropping, past the teined gold and bronze, down and down heading for the coldest water he can find.

Z'ker shurgs it off and grabs his wine. Guess things are suppose to be as thet are. A long trink is taken from the wine as he strides gracefully out.

Cadgwith> Cladiwth hisses slightly as Z'ker pulls him back and Cadge is caught. O well, he has other free spirits to catch…if you catch his drift.

Cadgwith> Sidramuntalath is silenced by the sudden - Cadgwith is just /there/, suddenly, and he's tangled with her in an ultimately delightful pose. Oh, yes. He's - well, he's gloating. Not surprising. Gloating will have to wait, though - for a while, oh yes.

Fortunately, these weyrs always have a bed handy, and the one here is made full use for the next few minutes. Eventually, however, things grow - stiller. Physically anyway. Mentally, the realisations are beginning to whir.

Pyrene stretches languidly, absently pulling the cover over her from a mixture of cold and too-late modesty. Her eyes are drawn unerringly to her bed partner though, and she studies Ike with a cautiously fixated stare. She has seen him before (quite a bit of him, now) but you wouldn't know it by her expression.

Realizations? Oh yes. They're - impacting. Sii'kyn buries his head in the pillow, having no doubt his cheeks are flaming a vivid color of red about now. Y'know that shame that left a long time ago? Well, it's back. He glances up, and returns Pyrene's cautious stare before carefully snagging a corner of the cover and pulling it over himself as well. His lips twitch, and his mouth opens to say something - but it closes again, wordlessly.

Pyrene bites her lip, and manages a small grin. "You're the one with experience here," she tells the man nearly a decade her junior. A shiver runs through her, and she sends a half-frightened stare to the door that stands between them and the weyr, before giving Ike a near-pleading look. "So what now?"

Sii'kyn offers a tentative smile - one full of rue, before he scrubs his face with his hands. "Good question. I - " A fog crosses over his eyes before he then brightens oh-so-slightly. " - need to congratulate you before anything, I suppose," he picks up, picking at invisible pieces of lint on the blanket. "Or would that be offer you condolences?" That's his tactics - get her mind on something other than the fact of, uh, sticky nakedness. Yeah.

"Shaela isn't going to be happy." Pyrene rallies masterfully by looking on the bright side. "And, well, it's not as if I've not been doing the work anyway, these past few months. Now I'll just get to delegate it properly…. except to Nuff." Her brow creases with a startling concept. "Do we outrank /Nuff/?"

Sii'kyn snickers to himself. "She isn't," he agrees. "Except to - " There's a concept. "You do, for sure," he replies thoughtfully, at that. "I'm not sure. I've never, ah, tried to actually pull rank on her." Because, knowing him, there would be a tragic accident involving purple knitting needles and the loss of vital organs… Ahem.

Pyrene personally doubts she'd escape the purple knitting needles should she try it, although the injury may be different. Sticky nudity or not, she suddenly sits up, her knees pressing against him for the comfort of continued contact. "Well, there we go. I always knew it was a possibility." She studies him for a moment longer. "Thanks, Ike." Her hand reaches for her blouse, and she begins to dress in the awkward fashion of somebody not quite willing to stand up from the covers.

Sii'kyn regains his shamelessness, however, and reaches out to pat Pyrene's blanket-covered knee before turning slightly, legs dropping over the edge of the bed. "No problem, Pyrene. I have a feeling that the weyr's not gonna know what hit it." Yeah. Let's just hope she doesn't get it in her mind to banish all the blues to Ista… Sliding from the covers, he hunts for his trous. "I know they're - " Finding them precisely at that moment, he shakes his head wryly and pulls them on.

Pyrene finishes dressing, regaining confidence now she's clothed and sticking her tongue out at Ike. "Just so long as you keep track of what's hitting you… and what I'm forgetting to hit." Boots back on, she pats her clothes swiftly, checking everything's fully buttoned and laced. Her long since cast-aside jacket is scooped back up, and she extends her free hand to Ike, nodding towards the door and the foreseeable future. "Shall we?"

Sii'kyn chuckles wryly. "Okay. I'll - keep track, sure." After the shoes and shirt go on, he accepts Pyrene's hand with a grin. "We shall," he states with a mock-haughty sniff, before breaking down into more of those rumbly chuckles. Yes - out the door and into the foreseeable future; good idea. Very good idea, indeed.

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