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Tags: d'cant madri t'jano th'deus b'real more? r'ish g'dal thera
Published : 9 months ago (Wed, 15 Oct 2008 00:11:57 PDT)
Searched: cant
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I've come face to face with the enemy, the enemy.
come to me, come to me
the enemy come to me, come to me
So predicting you're the reason why I lie
simple decision took me too much time to fly
Oh, checkmate!
Checkmate!
Checkmate!
<===========@============>
>> (Fort Weyr) Elsveth has simmered, steamed and finally boiled over. Unannounced, even to her own rider she launches from wherever she had been lurking, leaving in her wake wave after wave of uncontrolled desire and lust. There is no mistaking the urge she shares nor the desire for pure, energy sustaining blood. /There/ in the pens is where her radiating form can be found. <<
>> (Fort Weyr) Nidhgoth was busy inspecting the newest addition of rocks to the outer rim of his ledge when the succulent call rocks through his long lithe body. A quiver spans from head to tail, eliciting a challenging bugle before the brown launches toward the pens. <<
Weyrlingmaster's Office
This office has taken on a new dimension, looking larger than it really is as a result of its busy interior having been freshly painted and cleaned. Charts are hung neatly on the walls, their subjects ranging from Threadfall to flying formations; all have been restored or cleaned by a practiced hand. A large, detailed model of an adult brown dragon hangs squarely in the center, though out of the way as well as a few wings of newly crafted models in all sizes and colors. The models hang well above the heads of even the tallest weyrling. The sturdy, well-crafted desk claims the far corner for itself, brand new hides are stacked neatly in small piles, all carefully recopied, the edges cut square. Fresh cut flowers adorn the desk and brighten the room immeasurably. A wide bed of fresh cut rushes occupies the back wall, covered with a woven blanket.
Madri is here, pacing a trench into the back end of the office if it were physically possible. Fingers flip errant strands of hair out of her face as she knows the inevitable has begun. Every now and again she'll pause, not quite a stumble, yet not much in the way of a full stop either. People enter and are otherwise ignored, her mind is elsewhere... seeking to maintain that control in the age-old struggle of rider over blooding dragon.
>> (Fort Weyr) Fanneth was staying with a weyrling blue with wingstrain. He heard the call, as did the weyrling. However, the weyrling dragon stayed. Fanneth, though, heard the drums, the loud beat only heard in /his/ mind yet. He tests a little, drummity drum, and takes to the air, only to land in the feeding pens. <<
Fluid violence given form describes the roiling arrival of Th'deus; energy slides through him, lubricating balance and movement as already a raging temper is barely held in check. Th'deus' jaw is clenched so tightly that the muscles in the side of his face and temple throb and bulge. One eye sweeps the other forms, checks and marks the others here, until his regard stalls on Madri. Th'deus continues clear through, around the desk, to find himself a patch of wall at the back end of her trench. There, arms crossed, his form visible a-tremble, Th'deus'll try to remain. Try.
When N'tan enters he's but a shadow of movement just inside the door, sidestepping left out of other's way, but not embarking further upon the room. A good head above most, the tall man is content to watch the greenrider from afar, hands clasped before him like a good choir boy.
>> (Fort Weyr) Maialeth has been keeping an eye out for Elsveth. Taking an interest in the green for a while now, though that's rather uncommon for him. He was actually just about to feed. Having stomped and tromped on a nice looking herdbeast just before Elsveths call. His head shoots up, limp beast, legs still kicking in protest, though barely, hangs from his mouth as he backs up away from the approaching green. Whirling eyes fixing on the green. Then with a mighty movement of his head, he flings that limp beast towards her, hunkering down and lowering his head. Yessss.. Bloood. << It is for you. >> He sends across as he continues to back up.. If he doesn't remember to step over it.. he's going to knock the fence down. <<
R'ish was one of the first to enter. She's the one that unlocked the door. It wasn't that hard to find Madri once she thought of it. She's by the wall herself, that wolfish smile on her face as she watches the woman Pace. Her eyes barely leave the pacing woman, and when they do it's only a brief glance around to note the others in the room. Th'deus's entrance is noted.
G'dal is supposed to be here, maybe. He's an assistant weyrlingmaster and has come in to report a case of wingstrain in one of the weyrlings that was flying in some tricky form, trying to impress his favorite green. "Ay, Madri...." He'll break the silence. It's typecasting, but he'll do it. "M'toreth and Vasssth strained thar wings again. Told 'em I was gonna suggest groundin'..." It's about then that the wave of lust hits, and the drumbeats sound. "Shells 'n' shards old man..." He glances around for the first time, seeing the other men, and R'ish. "Damn."
Nidhgoth> Xanth arrives, at length, and gentles himself down with great beating of wings. There, for a few seconds, he'll crouch. Motionless, aware, he waits until one of the other dragons panics a beast toward him. Snap of hawkish muzzle, clasp of teeth upon the beast's neck and Xanth cowls over it. Presumably he bloods.
>> (Fort Weyr) Hadamarth glides down from the Star Stones - a place of of quiet contemplation and thought. The winds don't buffet rather they cushion the brown and he lands with a meditative *plop*. We dined yesterday, and blooding is well... difficult when one is choosey. Swinging his head around he focuses on the green and the movement is almost a polite bow. <<
And last but not least, also waiting with the same interest and diabolical vigor of the worst of the others, arrives B'real. The hefty bluerider has brought back-up, as well, in the form of three of his friends, greenriders, whose dragons are wholly disinterested in this little drama. B'real makes a point of catching Th'deus' eye with a wink before his smile turns to a leer, at Madri.
Madri hasn't really stopped in her pacing. Irritation, bloodlust, desire all mixed into a volatile package otherwise know as Fort's WeyrlingMaster. Arms are folded in front of her as if they serve as some sort of a ward, futile is it might be though there will come a point where those entering will receive a rather dark scowl. Th'deus, the only one to venture beyond her line gets a more lingering look, while it's truly Elsveth at this point that is running the show.
Nidhgoth> Elsveth is lethal in her movements. Once injured, now fully healed she's already seized her first prey and blooded it nearly to the point of completion. Unreckognizable by almost all standards, this usually amiable green is visciously silent in her kill and hunting methods. Even those males that join her will receive a snarl and a warning. It's blood she wants and what she wants she always gets.
Nidhgoth >> Nidhgoth sends a burst of loving gore Elvesth's way down the link, splashing extra sprinkles of maggot and murky corpse muck. That foretells his agile descent upon a beast from above, claw raking a clean line of flesh across the throat before bending maw to suckle. Like his lifemate he watches from afar, saving his reserves of energy to thrust into the catch, for catch they will.
Nidhgoth> The blue Byuth, a well-trimmed and mature beast, heralds his arrival with a warning bugle. Lone of his color, he settles to the fringes on the opposite side of the bronze, but synchronizes his landing with the quick hit of his tail on a beast, flinging the thing toward the fence that the oldest brown is also threatening. The creature's terrified low breaks, with his neck, before Byuth is upon it, and blooding.
Nidhgoth> Maialeth does indeed forget to step over that fence, and knocks through a nice portion of it. Though currently his bulk standing there should be enough to ward off any of those beasts that try to escape. The ones that do? Well.. they get snatched up quickly. The first one he stomps on, getting it nice and juicy before he lowers his head to pick it up and drain the beast. Lifting his head up high, blood draining down his throat and some manages to trickle down his jaw and along his neck. The next one that one gets stomped on as well, and as more come.. it's like he's stomping bugs. Stomp stomp. He builds himself up a nice little pile of them as he continues to blood. His eyes? They remain on the green once most of his stomping is done.
Nidhgoth> Fanneth breaks form, and decides to blood, either spending time with youngins makes him remember it, or he just feels the need after a long day of working with them. Either way, the old brown drops his buck, drains quickly and efficiently, although there seems to be a rhythm to it. Movement. Movement. Movement. He continues. His focus turns toward the green, bugling to her loudly in his normal manner.
T'jano looks for all the world as if he is escorting his date to the Gather. Nevermind that she's obscenely pregnant and he, covered with dust and grime from a day's labors with baby dragons and their nutty riders. But such is the image as T'jano opens the door further, helps Thera through, and then enters himself, leaving the thing ajar so that N'tan can retain his view of the pacing Weyrlingmaster. "Well then. I'm sure you're all wondering why I called you here today," T'jano murmurs in a stage whisper to Thera, his grin quick, as he reaches to procure Madri's chair, waits until Madri herself has stalked by, and he wheels it over to swing around, "Thera, my dear. Do sit. If Hadamarth wins, I can help you out of it, but no promises after that."
R'ish doesn't really move from her place. She's comfortable where she's at. She's close enough to Madri, she feels. Snagging a chair from the desk next to her... REally it is her chair, anyway. She just casts that wolfish smile on Madri as she watches her move. Settling in and getting comfortable for the time being. Th'deus? He gets a little smirk. B'real... B'real gets a scowl.
Nidhgoth> One beast, blooded. Enough for the taste, the warmth of sacrifice and death, slanted through the channel toward his bond. The serpent-bronze shifts particolored wings and angles them from a outwardly cowled, to partially-angled up. There, flesh turns to molten metal, waiting and watching.
Th'deus is behaving! He's just standing there. OK. He looks like he's behaving. Mentally, the other riders have been rent limb from limb and their quivering remains provide a gory backdrop for his blurry, one-eyed, slit-studied consideration of the rather hypnotically-moving Madri.
N'tan cocks an eye at the door as T'jano and Thera enters, and then without warning kicks it shut behind them as they move on into the room. A low mutter explains, "No more damn Barlords tonight." Sorry, W'ren, you'll have to wait outside. Again he takes up residence, but this time against the door. It'll take a damn good jar to get it open now.
G'dal steps all the way into the office, finding his own corner of the wall. T'jano's comment gets a little bit of a guffaw, though it's probably highly inappropriate at this moment. G'dal eyes the weyrleader and grumbles again. "Aw, Fan, this'n's Th'deus' woman." Not that it matters to the dragons. Strangely enough, he appears a little cleaner than normal, and his hair is back in a braid. His beard is combed out and there are only a few food crubs in it, instead of lots of them.
Nidhgoth> Hadamarth is clean up boy in the carnage, a half blooded beast left by one of the blues is swept up in dark talons to finish it off. A light cocktail before the dance begins, enough to quench a parched throat. His head cranes forward, tongue darting the curious taste of air, foam flecking from mouths and the smell of blood lingering. It's an aphrodisiac and the brown will drink it down. Who knows why, he suddenly decides he wants this one.
Thera giggles briefly at T'jano's comment and will let him help her into the chair. Resigned really. Honestly if Hadamarth wins this flight, the most Madri and her might hope for is a mutual foot rub. That'd be fair right? Eyes squeezing shut against a sudden wave of dragon - what the... and Thera is squeezing T'jano's hand tightly.
Nidhgoth> Elsveth has gone from second to third blooding already. Insatiable and angry she let's slip a single roar in challenge, backing off from the gathering of males: brown, bronze, blue. Her take-off will be sudden, abrupt and volatile as this green intends to not give any of her pursuers a single inch or break. Wings flair and draw her up and away, only a minor cloud of dust remains of her wake.
Nidhgoth> Byuth hisses to the fence-smashing brown, sidling over himself to get out of the larger dragon's immediate vicinity. A display, flaring ultra-marine blue wings, broad and strong, toward Elsveth, shifts to a challenge of the brown, vocal. The snarling roar no doubt affects the cascade of whirling herd-beasts; the river of moving stinking flesh moves away from those two. This... May have been intentional on Byuth's part.
Nidhgoth> Fanneth only bloods the one. Sated and stirred by the liquid life, Fanneth follows suit, takes to the skies after the lady, wingbeats rhythmical and practiced. His mindvoice blares with the drums of war, in response to her angry cry. Not intending to spur her on, but perhaps they do.
Nidhgoth> Nidhgoth flings himself into the air so quickly the beast is still caught in claws, thus carried partway into the sky before it's remembered and let drop back to earth where it rocks hard with the landing. That gives him a slow takeoff, which he quickly attempts to amend with a hotter thrust of speed, wings battering air with enthusiasm.
Nidhgoth> Xanth springs to life, ready. To follow. To watch. And, to begin the channeling of the flight to his bond. (Th'deus, @addcom gm=GoMad, anytime.) Wingtips sluice through air, the power and form of countless days and nights performing all the absurd duties of Weyrleaderhood in addition to doing his usual... Easy. Air curls into so many eddies in his wake, as hawkish muzzle prows in the same direction as Elsveth, though parallel and distant enough to not to risk damage.
Nidhgoth> Maialeth meets Elsveth's challenging roar with a loud bugle of his own. It takes him a second to realize that the green has taken off.. but once he does he sends out a warning growl and hiss at the other males before he too pushes with mighty force off the ground. Though not before his front claws snag a few of those smushed herdbeasts that he didn't get to blood. He carries them into the air with him. Strong Brown wings carrying him quickly to join the rest of the pack. Pump Pump.. He snorts as he gets closer and closer.. whoosh woosh go his wings. He bugles again, like a fog horn as he pushes his way into the pack.
Nidhgoth> Byuth, busy posturing to Maialeth, ends up echoing the brown's launch. Leaving the center of the pack to the heavier browns, Byuth flares sidelong, then arcs his path at an angle of, he hopes, eventual interception.
There is a gurgled moment of protest turned gasp as Madri closes her eyes and pitches forward to land one hand against the wall she's evidently come to stand in front of. Even after all these Turns, the launch from blooding to flight always manages to disorient her. Her jaw clenches noticably and she will slowly tip her head back as if she could watch the flight from within the confines of this small room.
"Ah, N'tan!" T'jano carols back to the brownrider, "It's a Barlord Party. Rather like a Garden Party, but without the Garden, the little outfits they put on the drudges, or," he wishy-washies his hand with a limp wrist at his own comment, "The affected lisps. /Bahr/lord. We Barlords have more entertaining ways to talk. Put some stones in your mouth, a bit of rum and try to sing oh," Another flingy gesture, "Moreta's Ride or something". Confided to Thera, "The more rum, at least the better you are able to abide the listening. Then again, if you're Toncho, you don't even need the rocks and you've got the sound down." Another moment's thought, "Unless you were hoping that by that you're shutting out the rest of the Damn Barlords, but really, I think," he counts, lightly jabbing a finger at each of those present, Th'deus, Madri, Thera, himself, "Most of us are already accounted for. Case in point of shutting barn door after runners are loose." To G'dal, at the old man's gesture to human proprieties, T'jano grins, "G'dal, you're looking fine today. Trying to impress someone, I see." Who else... "R'ish, haven't heard back from Marryn yet. Will certainly let you know when. B'rr brought more dirt today." This likley has some meaning to that particular brownrider. "And Th'deus--" No. No. T'jano thinks better of that, "B'real! What a surprise to see you and..." T'jano pretends to count under his breath, one-two-three, "Three greenrider buddies with you, today." Smiiiiiiiiile. At the hand-squeezing, T'jano reaches down to brush his fingers lightly over Thera's temple. "Rah rah, Hadamarth! Win a flight and bring on labor! You'll get famous in the annuls of Healering." Another moment, another quip: "/THAT/ would be dragon-healing, Thera." And when the Weyrlingmaster goes by, "Hi Madri." There really should not be any doubt in anyone's mind, why or how T'jano can drive some folks to violence.
Nidhgoth> Hadamarth may be slow to launch, but he separates his current earth bound form from the embrace of ground to hurtle heavenwards, climbing free and steady through the air. In the royal spectrum of weyr life, he is but a lowly prince (or duke) to the ether of air and wind, and Elsveth shall be the grand dame. He will be the loam beneath her feet and escort her in a courtly dance through the clouds before bringing her safely home... er eager? Yep.
Caught, suddenly, in his bronze's mental grip, Th'deus sways sidelong, back scraping audibly along the wall. A step forward is the human's instinctive reaction to Madri's jolt, but the bronze is not nearing the green; fierce will and invisible wall holds Th'deus back from touching, steadying, his lover. A snarl, inarticulate of word, twists sound into a feral call.
N'tan peels the riding jacket off as the heat in the smallish room rises with as the usual number of bodies doubles. A hook is found and the leather hitched upon it before he goes back to guarding the entrance. If you wish to exit, he will usher the door open for you as well. When the big man's back is to the door T'jano unleashes the wall of jabbering and the brownrider just bahlinks in response.
R'ish likewise, R'ish lets out a Grunt as she lets her head fall back, eyes closing she grips the seat of her chair. She takes a breath as she slouches down in her chair a bit. getting herself ready for this. Finally when she lifts her head up and opens her eyes.. they have that glazed look.. that familiar look. She's now more Maialeth than she is R'ish. T'jano's words though at least speak to part of her. For she nods to the man, fixing unfocused eyes on him as she smiles. "goood." heh heh.. Though currently she finds Madri /much/ more interesting.
G'dal hears T'jano's prattle, and snorts at some of the comments/ When he mentions how clean he is, another laugh escapes. "Impress somebody? Naw. This was Gunilla's doin'. M' niece came fer a visit. She takes care 'o' me." Perhaps the only person on the planet these days. The rest of it is let slide. "Yer doin' better, youngin.' " Everyone in the room is a youngin to G'dal.
Nidhgoth> Elsveth lives for flight, though not usually of this nature. She'll cut through the air the way she was designed to do: Sleek, /fast/ and straight. Always straight, her flights have been anything but complicated or loaded with odd little manoevers. At this, she won't even bother to glance back, so enthralled is she, so completely enraptured with seeking the sky and stars beyond, allowing her wings to carry her higher still.
Nidhgoth> Straight flight makes it just that much easier for the rhythm-driven brown to follow. There is a time, and this is not it, so he keeps the beat moderate, steady, onward. His mindvoice is colored with pipes, flutes, surrounding the drums, making them more appealing, more annoying.
Nidhgoth> Nidhgoth whips through the air like a snake in a pond, cutting the surface with serpentine thrusts. Wingbeat after wingbeat he marks more of the sky as his fertile territory, chewing stars and spitting them out his tail end.
Madri wheels about and lands her back to the wall. Much better support this way. Only now will she bother with focusing on where she is and who is in her line of sight. Th'deus she knows is there and /close/, so she has some comfort. R'ish, Thera, G'dal, get lingering stares, while B'real and N'tan get the glare. "Not a sharding chance in hell," she'll hiss in their direction.
Nidhgoth> Flying green. Browns. And look, the blue. All purple-eyed, seen through purple eyes, Xanth soaks up Elsveth's broadcasting. Before, the green's lust, the near-violence, the passions promised. Now, the yearn and chase for freedoms. All this, Xanth swims through as he parallels Elsveth, remains clear of the other males. All this, the fiendish beast tangles himself in, revels in, and he flies companion to the green, to the males chasing her.
Nidhgoth> Maialeth follows fast.. His wings pumping as he tries to get higher and higher. Front arms shift under him, carefully. Moving herdbeasts around in his hands. Suddenly then.. sensing a windstream he shifts.. One wing catching it beautifully as he twists himself to cut up between two other males above him. As he barrel roles though he'll use that force and his own strength to fling one of those dripping herdbeasts right at Byuth's face. Hopefully to splat on his 'windshield'. Posture that blue! Righting himself slightly above those other males and he sets back to Chasing down Elsveth, shiny beautiful Elsveth. He sends out a loud trumpeting croon after the green as his powerful wings try and pull him closer and closer.
N'tan's answer is to simply grin an oil slick sneer that slides from ear to ear. Poised with hands on hip, the broad behemoth matches his stance to that of the expression, burning the space he resides with contempt. Madri will be his if only to send a hot poker straight to Th'deus' ego.
Sheve scrambles into a nook of rock and clings to a perch that is merely a granite spike. She thrums contentedly all the same.
Nidhgoth> Never, ever, in all his experience, in all his flights, has Byuth been attacked by a flying herdbeast. The thing, already pre-squashed, hits square on and the blue flings his wings out, putting on immediate brakes, though without breaking anything immediately. A muffled snarling roar of pure rage almost blasts the creature from its brief hitch across Byuth's muzzle; it flings out and spirals tip over down-side, back into the pack of browns. Byuth shifts his focus. Elsveth is nice, but he is going to /kill/ that brown.
Thera just might ... just might ... go into labor, if her concentration is anything to be gained by. One eyelid will crack open and squint in Madri's direction, including in that gaze Th'deus and G'dal. R'ish is no longer in the training manual and N'tan - well she'll be their to patch his dragon's hiney for a third time - once this is all done. Her expression indicates that she's probably voting for anything but brown. "Teej, I love you, now shush up!" There's definately the hint of a grin lingering there for his return of 'mood'.
"Oh you know. Nothing like being in a room simmering with hormones and the promise if imminent violence to wake a soul up to the immediacy of his, or her, surroundings. Mrrth, she's trying to keep the herd-beasts in from the fence that R'ish's brown just knocked down. And there's always the chance for even more excitement in here, so... Invited myself. Never been to another greenflight than my own anyway. Learning experience." T'jano nods, though he keeps his fingers on Thera, touching her lightly in the same mezmerizing patterns he's used on dragons, to distract them. Abruptly, as the dragons take off, T'jano breaks into quiet song in a tenor that is not unsuited, but would never make Harper: "Then there's our cook, and I might add, a truly filling dish. / She goes with wine, she goes with ale, she goes with fowl or fish. / When I'm hungry for a snack I slip right down below /And have myself a little bite of luscious Lucy Blow." Thera's hushing will bring an immediate silence, and anyone who wanted to know the next verse will just have to ask. Some other time.
Somewhere in the distant edge of 'his' mind, Th'deus sees a whirling herdbeast attack a blue dragon. There's justice in this, he can feel his human self deciding. Only, more herdbeasts would be better. Th'deus again sways, an arm's lifting to try to reach for Madri, and as Xanth veers away from the dragon-pack, distant and grounded Th'deus is caught off-balance, swings back. Another hiss of frustration; Th'deus doesn't understand. Yet.
"Vile cheating /bastard/ of a ---" B'real growls. He jerks forward, catches up anything, something, mobile -- a mug finds his fist -- and he turns to hurl the thing at R'ish.
Nidhgoth> Elsveth will press onward, trying in vain to pull herself away. Keep Madri and her to themselves, but something is amise. Her /strength/ is the first to betray her and this green will bugle in sheer frustrated protest. Wing beats falter and those stars begin to slip away...
"Aw, Naw...." G'dal begins, seeing the flying herdbeast as well, through brown-shared eyes, swirling purple, though hints of the warning red peer through. "Ain't seen /that/ in a while..." He /has/ seen it. Been turns, though. B'real's words cut through his dark humor, and he forcibly draws himelf back from the skies as he turns to glare at the man near him. "Naw, ain't th' time nor th' place." However, like death and tithes, violence at mating flights cannot be avoided, and his protestations are only half-hearted.
A cloud of firelizards follows as fast as they can, one dropping off here and there as they tire. Amongst them these is a tiny green who relays the flying herdbeast to her bond in a confusing flash of pictures. This leaves a lofty man in the weyrlingmaster's office blinking in surprise, narrow shifty eyes widening further when the first punch of the night is thrown so damn early. A satisfied grin cracks N'tan's thin lips, arms rising to cross on the wide chest.
Nidhgoth> Hadamarth stretches his wings to their fullest extant, spanned wide as he gains speed from the back of the pack. Nuances of air currents are owned and he is pushing himself onwards, climbing higher, further and trying to go faster so that muscles are quivering. The lights of heaven are ignored coming out of Nidhgoth's rear end - a short blast of flame Byuth and you could light it up and really put on a show (not to mention an appearance on You Tube!), plus they warm up a cold night. Gastrointestinal problems being somewhat his lifmate's specialty, Hadamarth bugals for the snakey brown << Try mint >> Farts really are not all bad - and if you fart in your greenhouse you feed your plants, which might explain Imogen's attraction to the scaley brown's lifemate... or vica versa.
Nidhgoth> Maialeth is beaming brightly through that dracionic link that binds them all. Bright like one of those stars and smug as he pushes onward after Elsveth again. Another shift of front legs gives him more ammo. PRessing himself further he flies.. pumping those wings. He pays no mind to the angry blue, infact there might be a hint of a laugh to go along with that beaming. Above other browns and bronzes.. He spares a moment to look down. Another one of those leaky herdbeasts is flung aiming for the head of either Hadamarth or... Nidhgoth. He's got two more left. Who wants em!
"Catch. Now. /Now/." The words are breathed, sotto voice, as Th'deus tries again to force his own body through the mind-barrier that is Xanth. Watching Xanth, who relays another image of another flying herdbeast and then the faltering, frustrated glowing green. Th'deus snarls again, breaks through to swirl a few steps closer to Madri, before he's jolted off-balance once more. He veers toward the T'jano/Thera pair, seemingly blindly.
Sheve trills and strains, listening, watching.
Nidhgoth> Fanneth might be an excellent target, Al. He's flying in a straight line, steadily, viewing the whole pack of crazy young dragons with disdain. Slow and steady wins the race. Well, at least at this point. When the lady falters, /then,/ you speed up the rhythm and stretch your neck toward the prize. The music increases in volume, colors and shapes stolen from everywhere he's been since his short memory recalls. There's something in there for everyone. He bellows at Byuth, though.
Nidhgoth> Elsveth won't give in, not yet anyways. There is still a little zap left in her flight, /but/ she'll fold wings and try one of those agile moves that really only a green can pull off. Under normal circumstances this would be an easy move for her, under stress, duress and convoluted passions... she just might falter once again.
The thing about that flight daze.. well It doesn't exactly make you totally aware of your surroundings, or things flying at you unexpectedly. As it is.. R'ish just barely moves her head in time to avoid getting beaned directly by that mug, though it's bounce off the wall her chair is against sends it /right/ into the side of her head. There's a growl from the brownrider as she stands up. It's a loud pained growl as she grabs a glow desk lamp from the desk she's next to and hurls it back at B'real. There really are no words.. Just rage. Snarling softly she takes a few steps towards the man.
A boy on the verge of manhood is caught in a corner, nearly sobbing in fear, because he is /not/ weyrborne, and does not understand. He keeps trying to meld into the walls, but cannot.
Nidhgoth> Jogging left, jogging right, it's like an old fashioned game of Yars Revenge and Nidhgoth is at the controls. When the herdbeast comes winging toward him, the brown has a Trogdor moment, wishing he had chew firestone along with sucking blood. A good feast would have fallen already cooked from the skies had he. Instead he evades, leaving space for anyone behind him to get a nasty surprise. The green is spotted, claws and wing reaching as stars blur behind her.
Challenge accepted. B'real's features split into a grin spiced with vicious intent as he'll hurl himself forward toward R'ish. Fists, grappling, whatever it is that the bluerider can try to land on the brown. This time, he does not speak, but the broken roar will fill the office. B'real's looking for blood.
Nidhgoth> Recovery will be slow, but Byuth is fueled by his rider's sick motivations (same as N'tan). The blue twists over, best suited to follow the green's writhing manuver, and lagging behind enough that he can see it well enough. Thanks, Maialeth.
Madri is only alert enough to the room's going's on to move herself /out/ of harms' way. At least for the moment. The greenrider shoves off from the wall, towards her desk once again, seeking to brace herself there. The moment is close, she knows as much and can only manage to shake her head before she's lost in the decent.
G'dal sighs, trying to decide whether to join the inevitable brawl, or avoid it. He is pulled back into the link between himself and his bond, though, and while G'dal is prone to be a peacemaker at times, Fanneth is /not/. Especially when the drums are booming. Then, he can be as scrappy as any of them. Though Fanneth remains far enough from the pack to avoid the confrontation, G'dal is right in the thick of it. Fanneth's motivation takes over, and Gun growls loudly. Angrily. Poor little weyrling'll really be scared. His voice can make the rocks shake. He paired well.
Nidhgoth> Maialeth trumpets again. Still beaming that smugness through that link. Two herdbeasts two arms. One in each he moves to follow Elsveth again, though his size and the fact he hasn't tucked his wings in quite so well to follow down leaves him above most of the others. The music box. Fanneth gets one of those herdbeasts flung at his head, before there's a grunt and Byuth.. Byuth gets another. He's below.. and given Al's slowness in the turn.. nicely within distance. Then.. free of his herdbeast ammo.. The brown tucks himself in and drops like a stone to follow after that green. Wings unfurling to catch himself before he goes too far and.. he's back on track.. Elsveth in his sights.
R'ish's proclivity toward fights is no surprise to N'tan, having tasted her fiery wrath before. As a matter of fact, Madri was the first of the two to taste his flesh with fist and that memory not only brings a leer to his lips, but a shiver to his spin. It'll be good to take her down, especially if he can do it in front of Th'deus. The door is abandoned as the brownrider pushes off, heading to the opposite side of the desk from the weyrlingmaster.
R'ish doesn't move any closer to B'real. She'll let his rage carry him forward. She smiles a wicked little smile as he comes out swinging. Leading with his fist. Her first move, while slightly risky will be to step slightly sidways just barely out of the way. Reaching a hand up to try and grab hold of that swinging arm at the wrist and at the elbow. The hand on the wrist pulling down as the hand on the elbow pushes up, /if she manages to get his arm that is. Should that happen/ She'll try to push herself back into him from the side. Her wrist hand trying to pull his wrist towards her, while her elbow hand tries to push forward. Trying to make him stumble. It's all one fluid motion. If she doesn't manage to get his arm.. she'll take a blow to the shoulder.. spinning herself around back to face the man... inviting him to come at her again.
D'cant rushes into the room, a latecomer, yes, and completely harried. His red hair is stray, blue eyes wild, skin taught about a mouth that is fixed in a rictus --somehwat a smile, mostly not. His dragon is in the sky, on the edges, not even close to winning, but there.
Nidhgoth> Elsveth continues to manoever herself in amongst the crowd of males, all vying for her. A herdbeast is tossed and misfortune has an odd way of happening at the most inopportune moments. At least for certain glowing greens. She'll swerve hard to miss a mid-air collision with that beast, but in so doing, lands her right square in postion to be claimed. She'll try, she really will, but it's only a matter of opportunity and moments...
Nidhgoth> Flaring his wings, Xanth slides deliberately further from the swarm of dragons that twist after the rising green. He remains, ever, watching. Through his eyes, Th'deus will see the catch, while Xanth himself remains clear, tests his own agility against the shifting currents of the wind, and utterly plays havoc with his rider's own sense of balance.
B'real is not all there; his dragon just did an imitation of a whirly-gig up there, so it is that R'ish can get ahold of him, and he does end up being off-balanced, one foot hedging and his bulky form pitching forward into one of those handy stone walls. The cool and sharpness of the jolt of pain only stays the man so long. In order to perform her trick, R'ish abandoned her chair. It is this, that B'real gets ahold of, to turn around swinging at the infuriating brownrider.
Nidhgoth> Fanneth is hit from an angle by a flying herdbeast. The angle is such that it glances off the ancient brown. However, instead of hanging back to /get/ Maialeth, he merely turns up the volume. There are times when Fanneth is lucid enough to realize all the implications of his personality, and this is one of them. He'll blast the brown's mind, and get the prize. The music speeds up, and he's unaware that by blasting the brown, he'll blast the green as well. Fortunes of war, and all that. He pushes forward, /straight/ toward the green, pouring all the strength he can get to reach her. He /might/ be able to, if he can just....
Nidhgoth> Nidhgoth finds his head, forming an arrow's point to burn through the air toward the target of his present affections. Tomorrow more greens will glow, but tonight there is only one, and she's attached to something his lifemate wants to taste, so once again, they are of accord mind and body. This fetches more speed from the depths of reserves, which is spent in a last ditch dash to the finish line. Tail, claw, teeth, and flesh are poised with purposeful intent.
Thera dives... well waddle trods... towards the corner and the snivelling rider. She was in a chair next to the desk and suddenly she's trying to protect herself and anyone around her to get out of the fray and avoid any stray swings or detrius flying by. The problem is the creature does not allow her to move swiftly at all.
"Woo, incoming! Thera - hera we go, you stay here and this is gonna hurt." So sayth T'jano as he, and two of the other greenriders present, all move in unison to intercept with braced shoulders the massive muscled frame of the tall Weyrleader. Three against one, but those three are all /here/; the attempt is made to divert Th'deus' momentum to something safer for Thera like, say, a wall. The third greenrider pauses to remain free of the imminent tangle. Strawboss.
Th'deus hits the wall and, for a moment, is stunned. Likely, there's a mental blow here, as well as physical.
G'dal is somewhere near that roiling mess of fists, kicks and other body parts. So, fueled by the blood on his bond's muzzle and still hot in his mouth, he swings, not really caring who or what he hits. It's a good strong punch, too. Those Turns in the past did wonders for his physique.
D'cant is a bluerider, his lifemate not even close to catching, though he is still driven. He bounds into another body and bounces back, stunned.
Nidhgoth> Maialeth Roars loudly through that mind link.. Trying to drown out the sound. Damned music box. Instead he turns his focus fully on the green. Seeing her swerve to miss that herdbeast His wings pump and he streaks through the air as best he can. Tail lashing out to let him deviate slightly from that straight path, He banks ever so slightly.. Those bloody front arms reaching out, teeth flashing.. He's worked hard for this, he wishes to take what is rightfully his. Fueled on by not only his own lust and need to catch this green. But by the anger and Rage coming through his link with his rider. << MINE >> It comes across loud and booming, joined by a Roar of his own as he tries to make it so.
The top of the desk finds the pads of N'tan's boots as he squats atop, hovering above Mad Madri as if to pounce. If not her, then whoever gets in the way should they lose. It's a blood brawl and the burly boy wants a taste - either kitty or flesh, whichever will do in a good pinch. The hawkish eyes are wild tonight.
Nidhgoth> Hadamarth 's forward speed is checked only a little bit by Elsveth's fancy dancy maneuver, angling around and drafting past another dragon and then jumping out of his wake, he drags brown wings back to sling himself downward to his lust's desire. Single-minded ferocity, while politely delivered, is left streaming in his wake as midnight chocolate sails touch the sky in a dance across the horizon and then the strained wing beats are eased, held to ensnare while tail curls to entwine if it is able, all because he stops and falls into the embrace of gravity interjecting itself against that greenie's quick movements.
Madri's knees will fold underneath her more out of bitterness than the actions playing out far, far above. Eyes fixate on the one man who she despises, /loathes/ and desperately wants to see knocked senseless. If he's on her desk, she'll backpeddle away a desperate attempt to regain her feet being the motive. Where's a good solid pan when you need one? Unfortunatly tough, it's Nidhgoth who's gained from Elsveth's misfortune. Not favoured, not by a long shot, but /there/. At the right time, at the right moment and it is with his darkness she will twine.
R'ish throws an arm up and turns slightly away. No time to duck the swing of the chair. Taking the blow to her back with a grunt, she pitches forward a few steps. Arm swinging back to try and loop around one of the legs of the chair. Should she get it she'll hold it steady and shift again. Pain doesn't mean much at this moment. Not with her dragon chasing, and the rage she feels now. She'll shift and try to get both hands on that chair, and with a rageful roar Thrust herself into ramming it back into B'real, and hopefully ramming B'real into whatever might be behind him. Desk, chair, wall.. unfortunate bystander. Should she not find purchase on the chair she'll reclaim her arm, dropping back a bit, and reach out for the chair again, to try and yank it from his grasp.
B'real has the misfortune to be winged by G'dal's punch, while R'ish again seeks to use his own weight against him. A hard huff comes out of the man as once more he comes into full body contact with the unyielding wall. A moment's pause, while he's likely counting stars, but to his credit, the bluerider does not give up his chair. Instead, he tries a variation of the manuever that just worked pretty well. And since N'tan's sitting there as well, the swing goes wide, to see what brownriders the Chair might collect.
The sound ripped from the bronzerider's throat is that of keen betrayal. Knife-edge, baritone breaks clear for a moment before the sound turns into a roar and he frees himself from the alliance with his dragon. Xanth flies free, clear, and Th'deus twists with grace his own once more, to launch toward Madri. This, this, once the winner has become clear, is what those three greenriders that B'real brought, came for. They, as one, invest themselves between Elsveth's rider and the rampaging Weyrleader. Th'deus is not so easily put off this time. Rabid jealousy provisions the potent swings that Th'deus aims, to clear his path. One word, her name: "Madri!"
G'dal is still swinging, maybe hitting B'real again, maybe not. However, as the Wesyrleader wades through, he is one of the first to go. Between bronze fist and blue chair, G'dal is down for the count. Good thing. As he goes down the man's last roar shakes the walls, and likely ruptures an eardrum or two of those closest to him.
Nidhgoth's howl is born of graves and ghosts as her body collides with his. Wings curl to catch, claws take purchase of the prize, tail twining for the win. A specter blur falls the great length toward the ground as the mating begins. N'tan is posed on the brink of the desk when the chair wings about to slam him on the ass, lighting fire to his descent. Perched upon his lips is a warhoop, pleasure already his when pain takes precedence, sending him falling headlong into Madri against the wall, strangling the verbal celebration into a lusty yowl.
Once the solid connect with the wall is felt through the chair and through her arms, R'ish takes advantage of that moments pause to dance out of the way. When the chair doesn't come with her.. she allows him to keep it for the moment. She winces at G'dal's roar but she is safely out of the way of that swinging chair, and so it is when B'real's side is to her she takes her opening and rushes forward, intent to slam him against the wall again. Trying to throw her force and weight into the man to slam him against the wall, as her fist comes down to try and give him a nice solid kidney punch. Of course she could always just end up ramming herself into the wall, should he move too much.
"Oooops. Wrong rider. Bad Xanth." T'jano mutters. "Thera -- Watch! Get out?" A suggestion, purely, in a tone rather like 'You'd look better in the blue dress, really, with that particular shade of bruise on your cheek, rather than the red one, which is in truth garish'. "Time to get hurt. Hey now, Th'deus! Game doesn't work that way!" His heart might go out to his brother, but T'jano truly doesn't /get it/. He does, however, see the necessity of assisting those others is removing his wayward brother. T'jano leaps, wades into the fray, and launches himself to Th'deus' back. Chokehold. Remember? We played this game (when Toncho wasn't looking)... Back when. And T'jano usually won.
Thera is over 9 months pregnant, there is no blooming way she's going to be swinging at anyone - except that vase of flowers so nicely sitting on the desk gets tossed into the middle of the room and then she's scrambling to get under the desk, where she'll stay. This is all rather unfair, she's wanted to hit someone for months and now she can only content herself with pushing her feet out and tripping up a few unsupecting combatants, combined with flight lust loss she's not at her best and echos the howling of dragons only in the confines of the small office.
"Th'deus..." It's a feeble attempt to grasp onto a fading hope. Madri will lock eyes with the Weyrleader for another moment before it's N'tan that takes over her vision. She snarls again, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits, "/Not/ you." It's pointless, she knows this even as she starts to cave in to her dragon's emotions.... desires and the fall from above. The idle thought of striking out with something, anything /hard/ and solid will be the last thing she considers before she falls.
Nidhgoth> Fanneth chalks up another loss, though with his rider out of commission, he is still angry. Watching Nidgoth twine with Elsveth near him only fuels his rage. He strikes out at anything near. Any sort of dragonflesh, falling herdbeast, or anything else. Beware. Fanneth is angry.
Nidhgoth> Maialeth pulls up sharply, letting out a BOOMING Grunt and growl as he wings off.. still broadcasting that sweaty oily sock anger at having missed. Off he goes.. somewhere where he can pout in private. He was never here.
Half choking, one-eyed vision greying as blood to the brain is cut off by the force against his carotid artery. Th'deus sees, swimming in his vision, N'tan and Madri. There's these greenriders, whose presence is only mildly confusing. And then he's fighting for conciousness, the swinging of his punches losing effectiveness. Backed out, backed. Th'deus does not leave willingly, and what images his brain processess are those in dim shades of grey.
The bluerider puts up a heck of a fight, R'ish. Against the wall again, and back at them. With G'dal and N'tan otherwise engaged in breeding females or holding down the floor, the big man wields for yet another time, his disentigrating chair at his foe with another unholy yell to go with it. Evidently, he likes pain.
Madri is caught between a wall and a hard place. N'tan hurts, but that is buried for the passion that burns. The passion for revenge, and there really is no better way to screw your enemy than to screw their beloved mate, or mother, whichever the moment allows. Fingers become claws, tearing at fabric, lust and fury provoking the growl that rises from the brownrider's core. All protests are head off at the pass the hot mouth presses wet. The last thing heard before the contact is a, "Mine," mingled in the growl.
D'cant abruptly bolts!
"Thera?" T'jano, having assisted in hauling Th'deus outside and looking much the worse for wear, arrives back in. "Excuse me. Pardon me. Don't mind me." Another pause as he peers around dim corners, "Thera?"
R'ish is in close. She can deal with pain too. And she does. She takes another blow to the back or side from that chair. Throwing her slightly off balance she grabs for B'real's shirt. Indending to either pull him with her.. or use her enemy to steady herself. It's either him or the wall.. either one will do. Again an arm goes out once she's got herself steady again, trying to catch that chair. Her other hand reaching out for one of those riding belts hung on the wall of the office, pulling it off it's peg she whips the buckle end out towards B'real's face. "WHAT.. IS YOUR SHARDING PROBLEM?" She grunts out.
"Underneath here Teej," comes a weary and somewhat strained voice from Thera. A hand will dart out and up and she'll wave it about just in case he can't see . She'll take assistance getting up and getting out. The lust of the green and brown and the anger of the other brown being entirely ignored in the selfish need to get her ownself out of here so she can deal with that.
"I'm not the SHARDING ASS throwing herdbeasts!" B'real responds in like volume, using a remaining leg to try to let the belt and buckle coil around it.
"Oh. Pardon me, excuse me. Don't mind me. Carry on." T'jano dodges and nudges and slips over to where he might be able to retrieve Thera, help her to her feet and out of there. "You alright? Visit to the infirmary? Swim in the lake? Wild ride over the Star Stones with just one set of straps on?" T'jano asks. Out, out, and away!
"Neither AM I!" For it was not R'ish who threw the herdbeast, t'was her dragon. Who.. in a flight, she has /no/ control over. Does anyone really? With the belt coiled around the leg of the chair she gives it a yank to try and pull the chair out of the man's hands again, or pull him down.
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