Challenge Accepted! (Toith Rises)

Summer - Month 6 of Turn 2717
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Corrals
Enclosed by a wooden fence on one side and the steep walls of the weyr on the other is a couple acres of grass that holds the Weyr's herdbeasts and wherry flock. While this dragon feeding area is smaller than most of the Weyrs on Pern, there is still enough room for a large dragon to swoop down and grab his dinner with relative ease.


It's summer in Half Moon Bay. Mid-morning. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. The weyrlings are happily doing their weyrling-things in the training field. All is so very /right/ in the world. Except that Toith looks just a touch more /glowy/ than normal. A touch more /sleepy/ than normal, curled up and basking in the sun. Really, all the signs are pointing at THIS being "the day". And so, perhaps out of practice or perhaps out of intuition, R'sner has removed himself from the weyrling's lessons (leaving them in Pieta's capable hands because *HAHAHA* Valeska is going to be occupied in a moment, once Mecahisth gets an eyeful of Toith there… But anyways.) Yes. Sun. Birds. Toith. DOOM.

R'az has come here because someone is finally interested in the Sling. He has come to do a demonstration and sell a model of it when Dolth tells him that he'll be at the corrals to see himself about a green. R'az quickly finishes up the sale and heads down himself to the corrals to meet up with his dragon. He gives a nod of greeting to those that are all ready there as he crosses his arms and closes his eyes ready to give himself over to his dragon.

J'son, once Jackson, usually more often 'Jack' to friends back at Ista Weyr is here at Half Moon with his burly buddy blue Ilicaeth visiting a cousin for some chat, drink, and maybe fun. He's busy with all three for some hours before that 'feeling' of Ilicaeth's intent hits him in the head like an 18 pound sledge. « She's gorgeous. » That glowy green Toith over there…glowing and basking in the sun. « She's mine. » Just like that, yeah? "Damn it!" brown haired and blue-eyed J'son barks out suddenly, his cook cousin blinking in surprise and soon recognizing what's up. He's seen enough of it here at the Weyr, after all. "Lucky you, buddy!" Snert. "If you're the loser you've always been" smirk "I'll have a few more bottles set up for you when he lands and you slink outta' that flight weyr." Jack? Grumbles and mutters and tries to dissuade Ilicaeth… but it's no use. Cussing, the man nods distractedly to his cousin, and jogs off towards the corrals…which his blue lifemate is already on the way to.

Sun means - well, sun. And pretty days. And weyrlings outside, which is why N'kon is here and not at home, with his trusty camera, perched somewhere out of the way with his lens trained on the mostly-grown dragonets. With his rider occupied - and, as happens all too often, sans apprentice-girlfriend-notweyrmate - Tsarziath finds himself at loose ends. Someday, Niko may well learn to keep his dragon occupied while NOT at Xanadu - but as that lesson has yet to be learned, the blue's managed to find himself a nice sunny spot to drowse and observe, his pithy running commentary about Half Moon's occpants causing the occasional perch-wobble as his rider fights not to laugh and startle his subjects.

And why is Ila'den here? NO. REALLY. There is a gold in Igen Weyr, and eggs on those sands, and his STUPID BRONZE MONSTER is still here in Half Moon Bay deciding to chase greens. That's why Ila'den is probably pulling a R'hyn and clinging to a tree somewhere, hoping against all hope that this is just a hiccup in a visit home and not a permanent… thing. And Teimyrth shifts, a ripple of muscles and shadowed hide that's owner to an awkward gait and not at all pretty - especially not amid so many better-looking males. No, this unfortunately unfortunate bronze moves, silent, mind shut off from all others, lowered to the ground once he finds a suitable place to lower himself and wait.

Yup, Valeska wouldn't miss this for the world. She even wore her stretchy pants because now is when the food vendors really make their marks! Whenever there's a proddy green, they set up nearby because hey, people get hungry. Even if she doesn't go up until a whole sevenday later. Naturally, she has some grilled fish looking thing on a stick and she's nibbling away while in the East Bowl, Mecahisth is at the Corrals taking a look at Toith. A long one. There may or may not be drool on his face. The world will never know. Valeska isn't paying attention to his mind, she's just trying to figure out which spices are used based on taste alone. Is that… Ila'den in a tree?

Toith? Gorgeous? Ilicaeth best be glad she didn't hear those words, or he might be sans a headknob (or his whole head). As luck might have it, she's snoozing away and oblivious to the arrival of adoring fans (that would get some serious snarling, otherwise) just waiting for her to wake up and /go/. And Res? Res is doing his best to look like he's not about to fight off a migraine, edging himself toward the stone of the bowl wall and the guest weyr that will undoubtedly become his temporary hiding spot, just as soon as his beast of a lifemate wakes up and gets this show on the road. "About damn time," is all he has to say on the matter, flat out ignoring any and everyone around him as he leans a shoulder against stone, and turns his gaze to Toith. A stirring. A ripple of motion not unlike Teimyrth's own, and she awakens. A snarl for those she can see, but soon enough Toith is launching herself away from her sunning spot and over to the corrals; snagging her first beast in short order. A sharp bite, a shrill scream; a quick death and she bloods at the insistence of her rider. And it is a messy affair, as though she can't help but to lose half that energy source out of one side of her mouth; blood rolling down chin and pooling in the grass.

Dolth watches as Toith launches herself up from her spot to catch a beast and start to blood it. He takes his cue as he gracefully leaps over the fence, he totally could have walked over it, and with a dancers glide thanks to his shorter than normal tail snags up a beast of his own. He starts to lap up the blood as his eyes whirl and are locked on Toith's messy form. R'az takes a deep breath as he stands as still as a statue with his arms crossed and head held up as he lets his dragon's emotions flow through him.

Ilicaeth needs FUEL. He's not got the stamina of a bronze…but they ain't got his speed and maneuverability, which count for a lot in a green flight. The middle sized Istan blue swoops low over the stampeding, four legged herdbeasts and wing-clipped wherries in the corral…and selects his intended, cutting it out of the milling beasts with wicked movements and red whirling eyes. Soon enough, the big old male herdbeast is impaled on two sets of rear talons, dying quickly and mercifully, dropped just outside the corral's fence where he promptly starts sucking red life's blood from its neck. And Jack? He's passing…someone in a *tree*? Really? And a woman with a stick of food. Groused almost playfully to Valeska now that Ilicaeth's taking over his mind is a baritone, "Damn, that looks good." The food? Valeska herself? It's all mixed up with the feeling of delicious, nutritious blood that flows down Ilicaeth's gullet. Still, the big man jogs onward. And for Toith's waking and screaming kill? Oblivious to the green's ways Ilicaeth gives a gutteral snarl of his own, encouraging her. Oh heck YEAH! Suck suck suck… but what a waste of vital fluid Toith's allowing. Oh well. The lack will make her a little easier to catch!

The transition is growing smoother with every green chased. One moment, Tsarziath is drowsing in the sun, his gaze following Teimyrth's halting gait and no doubt offering some remark to his rider - the next, the whirl of his faceted eyes grows, blue-green bleeding towards yellow as the silvershot ruff that dances across his shoulders and down his back glitters in the sunlight. Rising to his feet, he steps with deliberate grace in the direction of the corrals - of Toith - paying no more mind to the flocking suitors than he does to the bite-mes and vtols that dance in the summer heat. Before N'kon is more than aware of a -shift-, the blue flows over the fence of the corrals, a wolf amongst lambs as he hamstrings a beast and clamps his jaws around its throat, muscles taut as it struggles against the blooding. Feral gaze watches the green as he drinks long and deep, hunger of a different sort glittering in his whirling yellow eyes.

And Teimyrth is there behind Tsarziath, lacking poignant grace but somehow no less feral. The bronze takes the fence in one leap, crashes to the ground with beast beneath paws as whirling eyes fix on Toith and the bronze's teeth clamp quick on a vulnerable throat to cut off any death throes. Those wings rustle against his back, restless with agitation, paws shifting as a growl comes low and guttural - long, tapering into quietness, perhaps a warning for the male suitors or the blooding green that something wicked this way comes. Ila'den? Still clinging to that tree somewhere, probably trying to look impossibly badass while he does it and failing miserably. DON'T JUDGE HIM, VALESKA. THERE'S PROBABLY ABOUT TO BE ENOUGH SALT TO SEASON ALL THE THINGS, OKAY. And hopefully draw a circle of protection around the weyr. You know. To keep Wilson out.

VALESKA IS DOING ALL OF THE JUDGING. ALL OF IT. ONLY ILA'DEN WOULD BE HOLDING WOOD AT A TIME LIKE THIS. WILSON IS JUDGING YOU, TOO. Valeska grumbles and quickly finishes off the fish, spitting out tiny bones as she stalks her way across the bowl towards the Corrals. Mecahisth is already drenched in blood, finishing up his second beast while those whirling red eyes continue to taunt Toith. The blue isn't a sweet talker, no, not in the least bit romantic. The thrill of the chase? Of talons and blood within the heights, the violence? He lives for it!

I'am and Toskavath are here on an errand for his wing. The short young man out in one of the bowls talking with a local S&R rescue member about one thing or another. Toskavath for his part has been watching the gathering of dragons with at best a cool interest. A glance more to the milling beasts in the corral drawing his interest. Hot blooded with the fear of the converging dragons upon them. Finally he rises from where he was resting and stalks over to the corrals. Another pause as he looks over the targets before them, thinking out his plan of attack before he strikes with deadly accuracy on a male herdbeast towards the centre of the field. I'am for his part looks up from his conversation with a look of surprise, "/NOW/ You decide you want to join in a flight?" He calls over with a note of bemused exasperation in his voice.

She can't help it, truly. All that leaking blood? Not her fault; she was just born this way! But regardless, there is a snarl from Toith as she swallows the last in /this/ beast, and goes for another. A lash of her tail through the grass, and she briefly lifts her head to snap her jaws at Dolth for his grace; to glare at Ilicaeth, as though conscious of his judgement; blood rolling down her chin. A hiss and a flare of wings for the feral wickedness inherent in both Tsarziath and Tiemyrth. The deadly accuracy of the just-arrived Toskavath gets a sling of her head and a spray of blood; a jealous curl of her talons in the beast that is /hers hers hers/ and no one elses! And then a Mecahisth and his bloodied form? Bring her a heart, and she MIGHT give you hers. But it better still be beating. Another prize for her collection, though she'll want nothing of it after she's caught. And perhaps it's a good thing Ila is in that tree, and R'sner can pretend like his green didn't totally steal a lime green piano… Regardless. He is ignoring those that gather, both winged and human alike, until a particularly familiar brown is joining the group, and he's suddenly wiping his head around as though to find familiar faces. But whatever he might have seen, done, /said/ is choked off as Toith decides she's DONE with this. « BUG OFF! » which is really more of a challenge, a flash of blue and white through her mind to taunt those that thing they have the skill, the strength, the agility to contest her in the air. And then she's up, off the ground with lightning-like reflexes, taking a markedly twisty path through the sky and raining blood down on those that follow. « HAHA! G'LUCK! » Suckers.

Dolth ignores the snap at him as he finishes draining the beast of all it can offer. He slowly lowers it to the ground and off to the side to be collected and cut up later. Just as he's looking around for a second Toith decides to take off with an explosive challenge. He pushes off the ground with his powerful legs and his bronze wings stretch outward as he flaps down. He's off, to a bit of a slow start as he lumbers up into the air, but he is pointed straight as an arrow towards Toith. The wing beats become smoother and stronger as he find a warm draft to aid his progress towards the emerald that has shot up into the sky.

He's finally reached the corral area, and Jack/J'son is breathing a little heavily…not only from his efforts, though. His eyes are glued to Toith's exploits out there beyond the humans, since he knows Ilicaeth can take care of himself quite well. And the Istan blue? Is finished with his first beast, and lunging out ferally to snag a squawking wherry that ran too close in its stupidity. One bite silences it for good, its ichor greedily sucked down while the green 'lady' of this upcoming flight nabs her own second beast. If any of the other males get too close, Ilicaeth glares at them, curling his upper lip from his feast. And when Toith declares aloud her contempt for all her would-be chasers before ascending, Ilicaeth bugels back a raucous, « On yer ass! » just as he too hurls his blocky, sand-scoured self right after her inviting tail, his predator-deceiving 'eye'-marked wings slicing the air with brutal efficiency. « Bring it! » Chuckle!

The challenge from the green is answered by a throaty snarl from Tsarziath, his usual urbane - if outdated - wit suppressed by the wolf that has risen from within. Discarding the drained herdbeast - and with it his lordly demeanor, the blue takes to the air on Toith's tail, abandoning his dancer's grace for a decidedly lupine lope that has him skybound in two wingbeats and a quick pump of his hindlegs. Moonstone talons rend the air as he climbs quickly, claws splaying spasmodically as he single-mindedly follows the green through her twists and turns, already too caught up in the chase - the hunt - to try anything terribly clever. In time with the first downbeat of moonlight-chased wings, there's a crash and a yelp in the distance, from the direction of the weyrling grounds.

ILA'S MAKING IT RAIN WITH HIS TEARS, Y'ALL. Mecahisth quickly rears back on his own muscular haunches, wings flung wide. He launches into the air, a bellowing challenge sent to the heights as he takes wing and gains altitude. Valeska is just going to stand there with her hands into fists just grumble in the general direction of everywhere about this being R'sner's fault and then for it being Nassir's fault because guilty by association or something. For now, she's just going to stare high above, wishing she had one more fish on a stick.

Valeska, we need to be honest with ourselves: when is Ila'den not holding wood. AMIRITE? I'M RIGHT. And fired. It's okay, I'll SEE MYSELF OUT. Just like all these men dragons are seeing themselves in on this Toith chase business. EXCUSE, PARDON, HE WAS HERE… LIKE FOURTH, OKAY. FIND YOUR OWN GREEN. All meta-joking aside, the bronze shifts as Toith leaps, forepaws tucking in, massive sails snapping out, one enormous leap and downward sweep of those star-speckled wings carrying giving him height to join in the chase. He doesn't rise to the mental bate with words or snarls; he's a quiet predator, confident in his ability, unwavering in his determination, whirling eyes fixed as he maneuvers away from trailing blood so as not to lose momentum in his climb.

I'am moves to the edge of the Corral and watches his dragon. "Yep, Blood it don't eat it if you are going to do finally this, you might as well do it right." At least the rider doesn't seem too stressed by things. There isn't a look yet for the rider for the green. Even Toskavath's thoughts is more on the kills in the Yard then the green its all for just now. That Challenge though and the splatter of blood from the green gets his attention and he finishes draining his beast before launching himself up to the air. I'am watches the large muscly blue take off with a nod of appreciation for his dragon. "Good luck…" He calls out in a murmur and only then looks around at the others as if sizing up the competition. As for him he doesn't even top 5 1/2 feet, still there is a bit of swagger to him that may be put on.

Straight as an arrow… but Toith flies in circles! A potentially dizzying array of acrobatics that seeks not to show off, but to evade, to avoid, to /taunt/ those that think they have what it takes to snatch her from the sky. No sensual grace in this one; no teasing tones to entice and attract; just pure power displayed in the body of a glowing green intent upon proving she's got /more/ than enough to keep herself from being caught. And for now, she does. Evading blues and browns and bronzes; wrestling with nothing but the wind. She does not dance, so much as barrel. And sometimes, she literally barrels, tucking her wings and sending her tiny balled-up form plummeting through the group on her tail and cackling in glee for the thrill of watching them scatter. « PROVE IT! » A growl in her words; no flirt, just pure challenge, and issued to all who still chase her. Foreign and local, friend or foe, young or experienced; right now there are nothing but a rival for her airspace. But even she cannot cheat Mother Nature forever, and FIERCE she might be, but she is also /tiny/, and there is only so much stamina left for aerial stunts before something's gonna give.

Dolth cuts through those circles while admiring the array of acrobatics that Toith is taunting them with. He continues to fly straight towards her, having to reorient himself a couple of times to keep her right in his sights. He doesn't scatter with the rest if she hits him he's ready to catch her. He dives down with her and tucks his wings in tightly. His body starts to ungulate like a dolphin gliding through the water to give him just that extra burst of speed. Brother Nature is driving him on to catch that tiny green.

Oh shells, YEAH! *This* green gal's got fierce flight and a fierce heart…and those call to Ilicaeth as much as her sexy siren's glow! The Istan blue executes a few maneuvers of his own just to show he can do what she can, but he does fewer, because he's onld enough now to know that excessive showing off can tire him out too fast. And so, after some hot moves of his own, he resumes his somewhat more conservative approach, though his speed certainly isn't slow! When Toith barrels through the males, he's quick and flexible enough to simply roll up and around her, dart back towards the quickly tiring little green, and roar his lust and appreciation of her fierce aerobatics. C'mon, babe! Let's show 'em all what we can do together! It might be unvoiced by Ilicaeth, but the fire and urgency is *there*! Down on the ground, Jack sways with the intensity of his lifemate's emotions and lust, holds a fencepost to steady himself…and slips a leer at any and all of the womenfolk about from under his arm…his lifemate's need clear in those intense blue eyes.

Disheveled, just a bit dirty, and sporting a bruise along one cheekbone, N'kon stalks into the area, one hand curved protectively over the still-intact camera around his neck and enough irritation bubbling through his blood to stave off the feral call of Tsarziath's chase - for now, at any rate. YES. HE FELL. YOUR TURN NEXT, ILA'DEN. The blue, however, is not in the least bit repentant about startling his rider off of his perch - and, probably, disrupting whatever lesson the voyeured weyrlings were in the midst of. Nope, Tsari's too busy sighting down his nose, loping through the air, the thrill of the hunt singing through his lethally slim frame. And as Toith barrels past him, he wings over and swipes at her, the ripped-cloth sound of his snarl echoing through the air at his miss. With another twist and a turn or two, he slides beneath the belly of a competing bronze, using the larger dragon's drag to give him a bit of boost before he breaks free and lunges once more in Toith's direction, all but slavering in his feral desires.

This is definately Toskavath's 'type'. Not those flirty gals wanting to lure and wrap there tails around his. A feirce predator with skills that he desires. Those tactical maneuvers, evasion patterns, everything about this flight speaks to him. He does not burn himself out in the chase but hangs back to watch her display as he forms a plan in his own mind of how he might catch his prey. He works to evade any attacks from his fellow hunters with skill born of much practice even if he has not the years that most do. I'am's gaze settles upon the distant form of R'sner, but does not make any approach just yet. His hands clench at his sides and perhaps even a sneer forms on his lip as he glances towards the hunters on the ground he can see. Aren't we just such a cute feral kitten?

SIGH. For now, Ila'den remains in his tree, protected from those volatile, dragon-induced sensations that bid him to climb down, to stalk among men and women alike and cage one of them - all of them - if he can't at least be the winner. But Ila'den fights, his will enough to rival his bronze who is aware of his handicap in the pursuit of smaller dragonkin; so Teimyrth relies less on agility, and more on timing, reaching out with talons when Toith dives past, snapping in wings to shift at the last minute to avoid a collision with browns, and blues, and bronze brothers when he comes up empty. There's another growl from the temperamental bronze, muted by the wind, but still the only vocalization - mentally, physically - that announces he's still in this game. But it's a game of calculation, of not so much keeping up as timing when to make the right move. He will leave the flashy aerobatics to more air-graceful dragons with smaller, more mobile bodies.

ILA'DEN SPARKLES would not stop Mecahisth's mind reaching out in an attempt to loom over Toith, sending a towering wall of fog in her direction. Never quite catch her, but will always provide constant reminder of the shadow giving chase. « So boring, have you no true tricks up your sleeve? » Teasing, the blue bellows towards the green as she sails past. He's quick to roll around in the air and with the force behind his oversized wings, he propels himself forward after her. Gaining speed but mindful, careful not to exhaust himself too early in the game. It can't be fun, it can't be easy. He'll just stay close, his talons flecked with steel blue and veins of black as they're extended for any male foolish enough to venture too close. Predator can turn prey in the blink of an eye, the wail of pain would be just as sweet.

« I'll trick yer sleeve! » which might just be the worse comeback ever, but hey. There it is. From Toith, to Mecahisth, with love. Only sans the love. And then there is a twist; a tangle. A flash of wings and talons as she goes for him with clear intent to rend him with talons and teeth… if just to cut to the left before contact can be made. « Haha! » for it is all fun and games! The arrow-straight Dolth, always nipping at her heels, gets snarl and a flash of her fangs as she falls in a second roll. The acrobatic exploits of Ilicaeth see a repeat of Toith's own; an attempt to prove that she's got just as much brawn as him. Tsarziath in his hunt; a bristling of her ire at being the prey. Toskavath and his training; the strategy employed that might not impress Toith as much as his ability to brawl. « Fight me! » And she means it, too! Only she's clever enough by now to know that true contact would put an end to this flight. The calculations of Teimyrth are of little concern, when he is there and she is here and she has no intention of changing that. And she's pleased. Proud. Cocky and bold as she dares to lash out with a snap of her jaws or a swipe of her paws or another clever twist of her body meant to see her through the pack. But oh! Cruel, cruel fate! /Now/ she falters. NOW she bobbles in her dive, in her attempt at bravado, that has wings clipped and flight coming up short, and sending her well and truly within the reach of those she dares to defy.

Dolth continues to try to cut through all the acrobatics as he flies straight and true towards Toith. He draws deep on the extra stamina as he pours on the speed to try to get close enough to reach out and snag her. His claws outstretched and his tail snaking out to grab her to try to pull her close to him so he can foil her wings. The time for fighting is over, now it's time for some lovin'…maybe.

Ilicaeth knows Toith's a predator, and he *loves* that! Just like him! but *he's* typically mellow outside of flights. But *now*, the Istan blue's all business — a warrior intent on 'besting' his quarry in the most wonderful way possible. With the green's desperate bobble after a snap at him comes the gritty blue's growl of desire and challenge to not only the other males, but Toith as well. « Provin' it! » His stocky, but still blue-sized form is suddenly hurtling down beside hers — wings partially tucked in — then flaring out almost as suddenly to stop his plummet just above the green so he can seek to try and lash out that long tail and coil it around hers, while dusty talons partially unsheathe and look to foul her own nasty scratchers with them. Neck? Yep, it's trying to twine with her own in the midst of this battle of bunches of males to one fierce female!

That Challenge! That gets Toskavath's blood boiling even more and he decides to take it up. « Let us fight and we will see who win! » The blue calls out in a snarl in his mind. As another blue gets near him he takes out his heat on him and tucks his wings for a moment and barrels side-on into him before snapping his wings open and dragging them against the air. « The challenge was for Me! » He says to the other blue in reproach and he wings to catch up to the green. Darting through the bigger browns and bronzes and barreling into the smaller blues. He is a beast in the air when the gauntlet has been laid. As he nears her his claws tense in the air beneath him before reaching out to her with claw and tail.

Ah, but will she, nil she, prey she is, and Tsarziath is a werewolf on the hunt, stalking Toith with savage, slavering intensity and a rather brutish lupine grace. And, like any wolf, it is that opening - that mistake - that misstep that he seeks, he sees, he pounces upon with fangs and claws and tangling wings, his wet, ripping snarl cutting through the beat of the chasers' wings and the whistle of the wind. Tail and neck outstretched, he falls at a diagonal - to entangle, to enshroud in midnight-and-moonlight wings, to enclose in lustful embrace - with luck, Toith. Without luck, nothing. With bad luck, Teimyrth - or worse, Mecahisth, and Niko won't be the only one sporting a souvenir of today's flight. Let's hope his luck is, at the very least, absent.

Pride cometh before the fall - sometimes literally. Now Ila'den is FALLING (N'KON, SIR WHO CURSES) FROM HIS TREE, as Teimyrth dives for Toith, claws splayed wide, at once both intent in this chase and savage to suitors unlucky enough to get in his way. Maybe this means some rough and tumble with those equally territorial males driven by flight and lust, but it doesn't matter. The bronze aims to catch the faltering green, perhaps too far to be of consequence, perhaps timed just right to catch her if some missed attempts slow her more and bring her towards him. But definitely a possibility that he's going to tumble with Tsarziath and/or Mecahisth if he's outmaneuvered. BUT THEY GONNA LIKE IT EITHER WAY.

When Valeska gets her hands on R'sner, what ever day that is, she's going to make sure she messes up his stupid shirt with the stupid sleeves and the stupid buttons. AND THE STUPID BUTTONS. SCREW THOSE BUTTONS. She won't even sew them on, either. And you know what else she's going to plan on while she's standing there hissing at the other riders like that cat that knows what's up at the vets office? She's going to move stuff on his desk, inches to the left or right, so he'll have to figure out which piece was his landmark to measure everything off of. She'll even adjust the height of his chair, too. So he's eye level with his desk! An ancient thunder, vibrating and deep resonates into the air as the dark blue begins to rhythmically pump his wings harder, maintaining his speed. The closer he is to his prey and that taunting come back, the further his own talons and fangs catch the light of Rukbat's rays. Toith was sloppy! Sloppy and too confident, too brazen for her own good and whom does she have to blame for her stumble? No other than herself. « Foolish girl! How can you play the game when you can't make it to the end? » He calls, laughing maniacally as oversized wings open wide, blocking out the light as he swoops in with neck and tail ready like Ila'den's mom with some gangsta rap. Hard. Hey Tzarziath? Ain't nothin' but a gangsta party~

A little bobble becomes a big mess of dodging wings and tails and necks and claws and teeth and « ARGH! I HATE YOU ALL! » HATE HATE HATE! It rolls off the green like she rolls through the air, doing her damnedest to avoid the reach and the plummet of her foes. A twist of her body away from Dolth, a frantic backwing away from Ilicaeth, a dart up and away from the grasp of Toskavath and a final roll to the side that sends her out of Tsarziath's grasp (RIP Teimyrth!) but right into Mecahisth's. « GET OFF GET OFF! I AIN'T NO GIRL! » But anatomy, dear Toith, says otherwise. And R'sner? Well. Poor R'sner. Someday, he might have an office again. He might have a desk again. And when he does? Undoubtedly Valeska will get her revenge in the shoving of furniture three inches to the left, or the right, or maybe just shoving it all out the door.

While Mecahisth has Toith with some fava beans and a nice chianti, Valeska stalks to the weyr where R'sner thinks he can hide and since kitten thinks of murder all day long, the Weyrlings will have to take instructions from Pieta for a day or two.

Mutha-F***! Ilicaeth bellows his anger as having *just* missed Toith by >< much! Mechahisth is given a quick flareing of talons to their max length and a quick swipe in his direction. Do they connect? Who knows in this tangle of draconic bodies?! The Istan blue is plummeting down and out from the mayhem, flaring his wings again, and letting his tired form drift down towards the weyr's waters, where he can soak off his loss. And Jack? He's running back towards his cousin's place at top speed to start getting good and drunk.

Talons click on nothing as Tsarziath's luck turns sour, the blue coming up short in the chase. His annoyed snarl is cut short as he smashes face first into Teimyrth's chest, silver-and-navy wings folding awkwardly around the bronze's much larger torso, his tail kinking and neck nearly twisting before he manages to get himself somewhat settled. If, by somewhat settled, it means that he's not quite so muzzle-squashed against Ila'den's bronze lifemate. « Urgh! » As the flight lust recede's from the blue's muzzy brain, he manages to regain some semblence of speech. If that's what you call his unintelligible stutters. Down below, N'kon barely catches himself from falling over, blinking rapidly as he's caught up in the blue's confusion. As one, rider and blue turn their heads - rider to the side, towards the grounded Ila'den, dragon up, towards Teimyrth. « Huh? »

Dolth is too late in his catch attempt as the green turns away from him and into someone else. The bronze arcs his dive as his wings open again and he heads back to where R'az is walking, the East Bowl. Time for some rest and relaxation for the pair.

Well, at least Teimyrth caught something — and it's smol, and pliant, and where there might be a brush of icy fury to complement a loss in a flight, the bronze's mind clashes with the blue in a rare-trickle of often disposed humor - a whipping of wind, not so much words as impressions, the hint of laughter, a growl that escapes as, for just a moment, he holds on. But don't worry, WE AREN'T BREAKING TOO MUCH CANON, OKAY. Perhaps just because he's a jerk anyway, Teimyrth treats it like he might treat a fall with a green - hanging on despite crashed boops and smarting snoots until the last possible moment, when he breaks away with sails still open to keep from a much more harrowing collision with the ground. And Ila'den? The bronzerider's attention snaps towards the bluerider right around the same time that N'kon's comes to him, and there's only a moment of hesitation - a ripple of muscle going tense beneath leathers, a pull of lips at the corner as that sole grey eye rakes and - it doesn't matter. Ila'den's crossing the grounds with a stalk, damn near as feral as dragons were, intent to burn with one very, very unlucky visitor from Xanadu Weyr. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! Or life. It's fine.

It's already been established with his daughter - N'kon is very good at not running when he should. Case in point. Tsarziath, however, is fleeing Teimyrth as fast as he can, tail metaphorically between his legs as he flips around and finds somewhere to hide. Or whatever. At least until his rider comes around to take him home. Might be a while.


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