Devil Down Below [Lan]

Another, Poseith turned his head back and F'ton fed him more firestone. The air was filled with the smell of ash and fire and stone as all around him the Dawn Wing flipped in and out from between, spewing flame in their wake. Thrashed pieces of blackened Thread, neutralized, fell toward the ground like snow--the life sucked out of it, had there been life to begin with. It fell on the Middle Flight and down to the Lower Flight below, silvery tendrils sliding past the black as if to go unnoticed. The stow-aways would be met with equal voracity by the Middle and Lower Wings, with dragonfire and flamethrowers alike. Apart from the fire and the faint pop of dragons moving into or out of between, however, there was a silence there. Most if not all communication was done via dragons, their telepathy reaching greater distances despite any wind or thinning of atmosphere that would muffle human voices.

The ironrider offered what his dragon needed and in turn Poseith crunched down and swallowed before giving a mighty burst of flame that sustained to blacken a large swath of Thread that had passively tried to breach their defenses. When the flame ended and the silvery noodles threatened to engulf them the two jumped between into the murky black.

There was a greater silence there and cold that was almost refreshing considering the summer's heat. Then, in a little over three heartbeats, the two returned again and flamed the sky above them. Gloved hands, stained from the firestone, reached into the sack that hung at the saddle and threw another few stones to the iron dragon with his maw extended. They were running low. They'd have to fly a bit lower until they could resupply. Poseith gave the call just before he sent another sustained flame that flowed and curled through the air like hair through water. A blue responded and the pair annihilated another tough clump of thread before they descended into the space between the Upper and Lower Flight.

The blue made his way and F'ton switched bags with the rider before coaxing Poseith up again. A few new fighters came to take the place of the tired ones, their muscles strong and hearts ready for battle. Kings like Poseith, though, flew through the whole of Flight. Even Queens, with their limited flaming capability, flew the duration without any problems. Even still, F'ton always felt it polite to ask, Hanging in there? The iron rumbled and then his throat moved as if to swallow before suddenly sending another jet of flames to lick at yet another clump of Thread. Some escaped him, however. He continued his pass along the formation before turning back in time, searching for where it fell. The blue and his rider, the ones that had brought them their firestone, was caught beneath a massive clump. Poseith bugled at him and flew in the direction of the star-crossed pair. They disappeared momentarily in a puff to between, returning to safety.

This meant that there would be no safety for a certain lady, however. Unath, his Queen and his most recent lover, was in danger. His momentum already pointed in their direction, he allowed it to carry him forward on an interception course for the villain that sought to hurt her. A couple brief puffs of dragonfire was given to neutralize the sneaky beasts as he passed dangerously close above her, just missing the upbeat of her wingtips. F'ton looked down to Q'sis below and held up a hand of civility--not quite a wave--and as Poseith curved his trajectory back upward he doubled his hold on the riding straps, his heart having almost skipped a beat. No time to think about that now, though. Another burst of heat lit up his ashen face as Poseith let loose his fury on another dense group of the outsiders.

The rest of Fall had gone rather by the book. When they were finished and excused from Wing duties F'ton and Poseith split up, F'ton to his bath and Poseith to the lake. Only after the two were satisfied with their cleanliness did they meet up again at the personal weyr they shared, F'ton sitting on his bed carving the day away and Poseith on his couch enjoying his time of idleness. Iron and ironrider, however, had their idle time disturbed by an incoming message. It was not an unwelcome disturbance, though... at least not on Poseith's part. The familiar presence of Unath, her mind all the more familiar with its oddities, made the king sit up a bit taller.

I like you, too, Unath. We will come soon. He rumbled a hum that alerted F'ton that something fishy was going on. The young man lay his carving aside, not bothering to sweep the leftover strands of wood from his bedsheets, and crossed the room to his door where he peeked out to look at Poseith. Unath's requests us, the iron explained, standing from his couch to make his way to the ledge where he stared out at the form of the tan climbing toward her place on the rim.

F'ton didn't quite know how to feel about this. He had been surprised by Q'sis' actions at the hatching, perhaps even a little disturbed. However, the time he had spent with the tanrider before had made him feel like they might be friends. Friends should give other friends a chance to explain themselves, shouldn't they? Perhaps Q'sis method of justifying his actions would shed some light on F'ton's failed attempts to do so. He just wouldn't be able to tell Fahra about this. He knew that his friend was not overly fond of the male subqueen rider, and so he had kept what interactions the two of them had a secret from his friend and sometimes lover. Fortunately she was probably far too amused with the idea of F'ton almost having flightsex with the man to question him any further about it.

He grabbed his jacket and put on his shoes, then joined his dragon on the ledge. Fitting himself neatly between the dragon's two shoulder blades he held on as Poseith lifted them both into the warmth of the late afternoon air. It was a short trip for them across the Bowl and to the heights where Unath and hers were lounging. The iron landed as close as was polite, then moved closer to complete the circle with Unath around where their two riders would be talking. His eyes swirled a cheerful green at the tan and he greeted her with a regal hum. Hello, Unath.

Descending from his place atop his dragon (fortunately without incident), F'ton was surprised to see Q'sis with furs laid out and what could very well be wine bottles in attendance. He looked at the mug the man offered with some confusion as he sat down at the opposite edge of the furs. Once he was seated, he reached out and took the drink with a polite smile. "Thanks." He peered over the rim of the cup, inspecting the color and the smell of the liquid that was contained inside. The question posed to him, however, made him look up from the gift he had been offered, his cheeks reddening.

"Uhh... yes." He took a small sip of the concoction he had been handed to judge its taste. "I didn't make it to... your weyr... you might have noticed," F'ton offered the explanation, his voice small as he spoke so that the words barely carried over the mug. He hadn't the gumption to tell Q'sis that he had "bed his woman" a few times before they had even met, nor that she wasn't actually his woman. They were friends--best friends. F'ton was sure Fahra could never see him as a lover, despite the number of times they had made love since their graduation from weyrlinghood. It seemed most of the times Poseith chased she seemed to know and come looking for him, Samael and Armania aside. The knowledge he had slept with Samael might have made him feel a bit more awkward if he knew he was keeping the company of her bed partner at this very moment.

The liquor that Q’sis had given him was sticky and thick and took F’ton aback. He had had wine before, surely, but spirits? He had avoided them purposefully. It would be rude to refuse now, though. He forced a smile, managing not to make a face at the discovery, and took another sip. He noticed Q’sis’ dainty form of sipping, but did not adopt it. F’ton may now be considered some form of royalty, riding a king Iron, but he could not forget his roots--nor did he want to. He was no lord. He was no Weyrleader. He was simply a man trying to make his way through the world. The joke the tanrider offered received a brief, nervous laugh. The ironrider was not actually sure if it was really meant as a joke.

The next question caught him totally by surprise, and yet not by surprise as all. He frowned into his cup and took another long drink. Somehow this time the burning bitterness of the liquid tasted a bit fairer. He didn’t answer. He was sure he didn’t need to. Q’sis had a way of seeing right through him. Still, his cheeks tinged a bit with red and pink as he thought about what Q’sis was saying. His encounters with Fahra had been... of a certain nature. He didn’t think it would be polite to divulge the details, even to his own mind. As such, he quickly tried to push it from his thoughts.

Poseith watched Unath inquisitively, never quite sure how the Tan would react to his presence. From the first time he met her he knew she was different than other dragons. There had been something there that he couldn’t quite describe, although now he knew that it was Q’sis’ own thoughts permeating through the draconic link. He hadn’t minded, though. It did not occur to him that Unath had been forced into being this way. All he knew was that Q’sis and Unath were incredibly close.

Perhaps it was his expectation of the unexpected that kept him from pulling away when Unath’s great head met his own and subsequently nibbled on it. Hello, he responded, holding incredibly still in the tan’s jaws. His tongue snaked out and examined one of her teeth. Before he could do so, however, she was gone--or, rather, she was resting her head on his “shoulder”. The iron hummed softly and set his own head on top of her neck, his nose picking up the musky spice of her hide. You are very big, he told her, something about the way she compared the size of her mouth to his reminding him of the comment from their first meeting.

”If your woman is being difficult, you should get a different one.” F’ton looked up from his cup, eyes open a bit wider than they were before. A different one? A girl that wasn’t Fahra or some lady from a Flight that he’d never see again? The further questioning from the larger man was ignored briefly as F’ton tried to wrap his head around the idea. He didn’t want another woman. He wanted Fahra. Then again, he had wanted the girl back at Crescent who had ripped his heart out. Maybe there was a point in this. Maybe he should move on.

”I wouldn’t know where to begin,” he admitted, taking another swallow of the spirits. Already his brain was starting to feel a bit warm, betraying him to himself as somewhat of a lightweight. He didn’t mind, really. F’ton did not believe the act of holding liquor to be a sign of machismo... even if he had wanted to be thought of as manly. ”It’s been... quite a while... since I’ve pursued a...” He let the last part of his sentence die, not quite knowing whether to place “woman” or “girl” at the end of it. In some ways F’ton still felt very much like a boy still. It was time to grow up.

”I’ve... had... none more than Poseith has flown.” He answered the final question truthfully, seeing no reason to lie. It was punctuated with another sip from his cup. It was getting empty, he noticed as he tilted it up higher than normal to get the last few drops.