Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes

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fidelli
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Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes Dec 9, 2010 8:12:03 GMT -5

Post by fidelli on Dec 9, 2010 8:12:03 GMT -5

[[OhOhSee]Alright ladies and gents, so this post actually comes before Kalith's flight, so post accordingly.

Grays usually fly once every three to four turns - this was A'mor's reasoning for not really seeing it before. Everyone else told him - everyone who talked to him, at least, and he (rather politely for him) had explained that, "No, she flew only a turn and a half ago, it's really not her time yet." He knew that she wasn't going to fly, and as more and more people mentioned how proddy she seemed, the more irritated he got, until finally he was growling at those who tried to tell him, "Shut the shards up!" Mostly, it was because he was in the infirmary most of the time - it was his house, his place. The Masterdragon Healer loved the place - although it sucked that he had heal humans as well, he still didn't mind it.

Faranth forbid he actually tell anyone that.

At the moment though, even if the proddy Gray in the corner wasn't being more violate and grumpy than usual, he still would have been in a furious mood. It had begun when Kyril had begun to guard the lake, spending more and more time with the Ironrider K'ber. Noyth still had Rip - she just glided down whenever she wanted his companionship and curled with him there. But he was in the infirmary, and she - while they, really - stood guard over a lake that nobody was going to swim in anyway. It made him furious - for reasons why he didn't care to quite go over.

You are being stupid.

The Gray's voice came from nowhere, rocketed out of the dim Infirmary - in the winter months the light disappeared so fast, he usually forgot to uncover the dimglows until it was far too late. "What?" He was going over patient records, carefully written out - they needed to be checked and gone over. It was the soon to graduate Weyrlings - he went over their dragons every once in a while, making sure that they were being cared for properly and that they Weyrlings themselves weren't neglecting themselves. It was a thankless job, but it had to be done.

You will be eaten one of these days, you stupid Mine.

He squinted into the dark, then, growling, finally rose and began to uncover the glows, shedding a warm light into the cold infirm. "I haven't done anything you irritating Gray." He came closer to her, and she uncoiled herself from where she had been wrapped under her too large wings, thrusting her head out to blink irritated at her Rider. You know perfectly well why you are in one of your moods, and frankly, it's irritating. You must grow up, and I refuse to point out everything for you all the time. I become irritated with your stupidity. The Rider just glowered at his Gray and tapped her on the nose as he drifted past her, flipping dark blond hair from his eyes. "Well, I become irritated with your know-it-all-ness. So shut up." The Gray only snapped at him - playfully enough - as he walked by and tucked her nose back under her wings. You would do so much better in my stomach.

Shaking his head at the Gray, the Healer went back to what he was doing, leaving her to tuck her head back under her wing and collapse back into sleep, ignoring the stupidity of Her's. Well, if he wasn't going to get it, she certainly was not going to explain it to him. A'mor spent the rest of the night awake, letting people walk in and out of the infirmary and helping them the best as he could - which wasn't a shabby thing, although its seemed like it from the statement made. All in all, it was not a quiet enough deal that he was glad to hand over the Infirmary to B'nyur and Ovyth, and shuffle up to his room. Collapsing on the bed, he was content to fall asleep just a candlemark before the sun rose, content in his own small world - even if this did mean slowly getting used to the ones that you loved would never actually love you back.

You see, first love is a beautiful thing. The first person you love will always be special in your mind, will always have pieces of your heart that although you wish they would give back, they will selfishly hoard. And you can't help but to give them the pieces, wish them luck with them as they take them and throw them in a dusty corner to be replaced with the next someone they will love... Or even if they never loved you back, the next new thing. But you will always know that the hole in your heart can't be filled, because you've given the piece away. And then, after that piece is broken and gone, after you think that you've learned your lesson, there comes along a person that you think... Hey. Maybe, this won't be so bad? It's been a long enough amount of time for you that it's alright - you can try again. You can try to reach out and make a connection with another person. You even say, here - here is a smaller piece of my heart. You can have it - just keep it safer.

And the person swears, that they will. They love you - you are beautiful. You are amazing. You are someone that they couldn't live without. So you relax, you loosen your hold on the piece of the heart, slowly give it away - more careful this time, more wary... But not wary enough. As soon as you carefully wrap it up and hand it to the person, they decide that they don't want it either. They carelessly drop it back at your feet, and that hole is suddenly twice as large. It was why he stopped giving out the pieces, you see. He had all he ever needed in the stone marble Gray that was curled up on her couch.

Except, as he was starting to fall asleep and trying not not to think about Kyril and F'del, suddenly Noyth rose with a terrifying scream that rocked the Weyr, making the tall blond rocket upwards, scrambling for the knife at his bedside. "Noyth?!" The Gray ignored him, screaming again to the sky. For such a small little creature - the smallest dragon on Pern - she rocked the air, and suddenly she was off. "NOYTH?!" The man stumbled to the ledge of his dragon, only to find that it was snowing, it was only seven in the morning, and that his Gray was Flying. Again.

Noyth woke up furious. She knew why - she wasn't stupid. But she was furious anyway, she didn't care that there was no reason. She was going to kill someone, very soon here. She did not care that Her's was depressed over stupid things, that it was cold outside, that the sun had just risen, that others were sleeping. It was HER time. It was HER skies, HER Weyr, and Faranth help any who tried to argue with her on this day! Even as she rose, bounding to the end of the ledge, she stretched out and felt so much better for it. Her forepaws, her neck, back, hindquarters, and then her wings, the huge over-grown marble membrane wings unfurled ever so slowly but snapped out just as fast that when she bounded into the air the cold thermals caught her and let her glide to the feeding pens. The herdbeasts were just waking, but her shadow overhead caused mass hysteria - she didn't care.

She let herself land in the middle of them, careful not to crush one, and reared back on her hindlegs to make her call out to the males. Rise, you silly fools! Think that you can chase ME? Think that you can own ME?! I dare you to try! Come, you silly creatures - dance in the snow with me! For it was snowing - big wet flakes were growing heavier as they drifted down from the sky, starting to gather in clumps. She didn't care - her hide was glowing, she was surrounded by fear, her eyes were whirling purple fast, and she was ready to kill SOMETHING. She started with the herdbeasts at her feed, striking out, killing one, two, three with blows before turning to the fourth and grabbing it in her jaws. She broke it's back almost instantly, but let it live, the blood trickling down her neck and in her mouth as she shook it back and forth until it's neck broke.

"BLOOD IT!" The cry from Her's infuriated her - she dropped the herdbeast to turn back to the direction of Her's and hiss in fury. How DARE he?! How DARE he order her around on one of HER days?! She didn't ask for much, didn't demand too much from him! She would do as she wanted! But A'mor wouldn't let her take control - he held the stallion as she bucked and tried to throw him off, furious. Her claws went out, taking another life, dragging it to her and mantling her wings over it, hissing. MINE! But A'mor fought back, growling just as fiercely, "BLOOD NOYTH!" The Gray fought his control, but he wouldn't let her - he threw his anger at her, threw the pain and the fury that this would mean letting someone into his life at her, until she fell under the weight on her back and conceded, killing the next beast and hungrily taking it's blood.

And then the next she did without a fight, wondering why she ever fought this at all, sucking the warm liquid down hungrily. She was a small creature, she knew - she did not need many herdbeasts to sustain her, did not need the life force that the Queen's did. Two was good enough for her - she threw the carcasses aside, and, bathed in red and marble gray, screamed to the sky again before shooting up, powerful legs throwing her in the sky and off through the storm. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Last Edit: Sept 30, 2012 21:24:25 GMT -5 by Cathaline

purnip
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Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes Dec 9, 2010 12:06:11 GMT -5

Post by purnip on Dec 9, 2010 12:06:11 GMT -5

Ono, Mono, Pia. Ono, Mono, Pia. If Sjanseth so much as heard the sound of any one of those names, he would hiss. Lately it was all his rider would go on about. Ever since the discovery of those pillies, every waking moment has been all about them. The White was shamelessly jealous of those silly insects. He didn't mind when his rider would obsess over the inanimate, such as the rocks, the weather, and the climate. He didn't even mind it too much when a living thing fascinated him once in a while--it often fascinated him too. But it had been several months. It was a tireless subject. It didn't help that Pia still hissed at him whenever he came near, and it nearly drove the dragon to mauling the haughty gray pillie in one of his fouler moods. That was his state as of late; easily irritated and snappy. Whenever his rider lent him any attention he would suddenly perk up, but if he knew B'wie was going to so much as utter an ono, mono, and pia, he was going to growl.

B'wie didn't start sensing this tension at any point at all. He thought Sjanseth's moodiness had to do with the weather, since the White often complained of the cold in the past. He couldn't help but remain ever so interested in this new species. The fact that they hadn't been discovered until now did perplex him. Pia was growing quite rapidly, and she still didn't move too quickly in the water. How could they have slipped away for so many turns and gone unseen? They also seemed to bond like dragons, whers, and flitters do, but they didn't seem to share any other ties. He had been spending the last few months looking into this. He performed a few harmless experiments, went on a couple of expeditions to locations he believed would be home to more pillies, and examined every habit and behavior of his own three--exceedingly different from one another. He wished he could find the person who inherited the amber pillie. He wondered how this hive mentality worked. They were all loyal to this queen, even his moody Pia.

It was snowing outside, so the Whiterider was indoors with his pillies, letting them swim about in a large tin pan he purchased from some travelers in the east. B'wie was working on examining shed shells from his trio through a magnifying glass he constructed. Whether or not they already existed, he wanted to make one himself. He eventually figured out the mechanics of it not too long ago to study crystals and he did enjoy the occasional invention. Sjanseth kept himself stubbornly far against the wall of his ledge, grumpily glaring into the drifting snow as if it would somehow ease his irritations. He didn't bother to speak to his rider, who hadn't slept in twenty candlemarks by now. How the man functioned these days was a mystery to most, including his own dragon. Sjanseth would coax him to sleep later, when he felt like it.

What was a terrifying scream to most came as a beckoning to Sjanseth. The White rose his nose into the air and listened carefully to its fading sound. The snow absorbed any possible echo, but the call was just shrill enough to be distinguished. It was a mating call, loud and clear. Sjanseth immediately recognized it as Noyth's. He knew the Gray--who didn't? Her rider was a healer and just about everyone in this Weyr has visited the Infirmary. B'wie was absolutely no exception. In fact, he became a little bit of a running gag there. He would often show up with some impossible injury that spurned the imaginations of those in charge of fixing him up. How could he have possibly gotten a gash there? What could have broken that bone? What has that crazy Whiterider gotten into this time? It was a wonder the man still had all his limbs, though he was missing a piece of his left ring finger. It might have actually been Noyth's rider that patched that one up.

Sjanseth didn't care for other dragons. Especially those he didn't know. To this day, he had never Chased. It just never appealed to him. He didn't like to chase strangers and acquaintances never spurned him well enough. Because of his nature he had yet to make friends among his own kin. Other dragons often thought him to be too disagreeable or unpredictable. With a mood just as fickle as the sea, this White would put off even the saltiest of dragons. But that didn't stop him from admiring beauty once in a while. One could say that with all those visits to the Infirmary that he had developed a bit of a crush on Noyth. Granted, she never said more than two words to him at once, but like the usual crush, even a 'hello' sounded like a flirt. Yet in a normal circumstance, it wasn't enough to inspire Sjanseth to chase.

But this was no normal circumstance. He was frustrated with his rider, feeling particularly rebellious on this dreary winter's day. A Chase was good to get the blood pumping. It would help him shed the cold and the irritation to get caught up in that forbidden lust. He wondered what it was like, but never enough to explore it. Today he decided that enough was enough. After many long turns, Sjanseth was taking this maiden quest. He would chase for the first time, and his first desire would be Noyth. He was perfectly fine with that. She was stunning after all, even if she didn't think as much of him as he might have thought of her. It was his job to bask in her rays, not hers to his. That was how dragons flew.

Without warning to his rider, the White dove off his ledge and answered the Gray's call with his own bugle. It was a shrill yet throaty sound, one that never graced Dalibor with its sound in the past. Those that might have heard it, even Noyth herself, may not have recognized it. Sjanseth was hardly ever so vocal. I will have my first dance with you, dear Noyth, for none other are worth it.[/color]

B'wie's hand started to quake so strongly that he let the flake of shell drop through his fingers. Something disturbed him, but he had no idea what it could be. In the pan, Pia was starting to hiss and Ono was starting to emit a pitiful cry. The Whiterider got out of his seat and immediately looked to where his dragon had been not moments ago. Sjanseth was gone. Then his dragon's cry--one he had foolishly dismissed as some other male's--echoed in his mind. He heard those sweet nothings Sjanseth delivered to the Gray, and as sure as it was snowing outside, B'wie started to understand. His dragon was...was chasing. He never chased! He wasn't supposed to! He never cared enough to! The man bit his lip and stood there, frozen in place. He forgot what it was that had to be done now. He never used to pay attention to this kind of drill. Sjanseth was never supposed to chase. He was a White--they didn't have the interest in mating that others did. So why? Why Seth? Seth, what are you doing?! Come back here! This instant!

The White grumbled, trying to find his queen of the snowdrifts. I'm chasing. You should get to Noyth's rider's weyr now, as soon as you can.

"A-A'mor? A'mor, you mean? But...but I...the..." Frantically glancing from his work table to the tub of pillies, B'wie couldn't budge an inch. He didn't want to think about what this all meant. He had to make his way to his healer's weyr for some matter other than healing {unless one counted sexual healing}. B'wie suddenly found his feet and began to pace about his own weyr, but his steps were slowly bringing him closer to his door. Sjanseth was right. He had to get to A'mor's room this instant! But...he didn't want to. He really didn't want to. Why did Sjanseth want to? What's gotten into him?

Sjanseth knew his rider would protest, but for a moment he just didn't care for B'wie at all. He forced his rider's consciousness into submission with a strength that caught B'wie unawares. A White's will was extremely imposing when it ought to be. Fly with me. Take a break from your studies and embrace the true beauty of life.

The command was very inviting. It was quite persuasive. B'wie let himself be drawn into Sjanseth's mind and before he'd know it he was already on the move to A'mor's weyr. A break would be nice. He was quite tired, but there was something he had to do before he could meet that need. A little visit to A'mor's weyr and then a pop back to work when whatever was done was done. Whatever it was. Sjanseth wasn't allowing him to think too much about it. Like a sleepwalker entranced, B'wie made his way down the corridor and slipped into the healer's room, but instead of focusing on A'mor or making apparent his business in the room, he just stared off into nothing as he appeared to be taking in the view. He was smiling at everything like a drugged child, so it wasn't clear if he was smiling at A'mor specifically when he looked the Grayrider's way. Anyone who was clueless as to this matter would think the man to be drugged or drunk.

Outside, Sjanseth finally spotted Noyth through the sheets of falling snow. She nearly blended into it with the same ease as his own pale hide. They must have been perfect for one another. He followed closely, fearless because of his agility if the need arose to use it. He didn't mind getting snapped at if he deserved it. No other color could conduct such beauty. Black, white, and gray--the colorless colors of the dragon kingdom...he admired them more than the brightest pinks, yellows, and greens.[/size]

Last Edit: Dec 12, 2010 23:11:24 GMT -5 by purnip

derek
Guest

Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes Dec 12, 2010 5:05:08 GMT -5

Post by derek on Dec 12, 2010 5:05:08 GMT -5

It was early, but J'kan was awake. Hath had been restless lately, and so had his rider. Things with F'del were back to being oddly formal, which set J'kan on edge. Why couldn't the Purple rider just understand the simplicity of the situation? J'kan wanted his drama. He wanted the touch of F'del's hand, and his kisses in the sandy loam of the outdoors. What he wanted was F'del's love, but the other man was loathe to give it up. All because of that damn A'mor and his sharding Gray, Noyth.

Pacing now, J'kan walked a circular pattern through his personal weyr, Hath watching his every move. The dragon was just as anxious as his rider. J'kan expected he was going to try to fly Copper Kalith, as the Queen was rising soon. That would explain why he was so on-edge. Hath had never won a Flight before, but the Brown certainly seemed to enjoy the adrenaline he got from the thrill of the chase. Either way, J'kan wished Kalith would hurry up and rise so Hath could go back to his normal, meandering, nonchalant self.

Peering outside, the rider noticed it was snowing, and hard. "Looks like we'll be staying inside today, eh, Hath?" The dragon grunted, staring out at the expanse of white as if waiting for something. J'kan rolled his eyes. "Kalith's got awhile to go, Hath. Chill."

It was barely seconds after this statement that a dragon's scream rent the cool winter air. J'kan ran to the window, glancing out. He couldn't see anything in the storm that was going on, but something dragon-shaped flew past, and he narrowed his eyes to tell who it was. It was far too small to be Kalith, who still needed more time, and it definitely wasn't a Copper. He would have been able to see that color through the snow. He couldn't think of any other dragon rising. Narrowing down the choices by size and color, J'kan finally came up with one:

Noyth.

"No. Oh, no, no, no. HATH!" Screaming the last word, he turned just in time to see his dragon launch himself from the weyr and into the storm. "Oh, no. Oh, no. Shards!" This meant a whole Weyr's worth of troubles. If Hath won... he would be sharing flight-lust with none other than F'del's past love, A'mor. "NO! Hath!" This was all wrong! Noyth shouldn't be rising yet! It was too soon! She flew only a turn and a half ago! What was going on?!

Hath bugled loudly, his eyes whirling. He could hear His yelling, but paid no attention to the human. He had a plan! Winging down to see who else was chasing, he saw only White Sjanseth. Roaring as loudly as he could, the Brown let a thermal catch him, and he soared up above both Noyth and the White who was his competition.

While both other dragons were smaller and quicker, Hath brought stamina to the plate. That, and despite being a larger dragon, he was lithe and supple, quicker than most other dragons his size. Pumping his over-large wings, he let the thermal carry him until he was even with Sjanseth, and could see Noyth ahead through the snow.

Noyth! He called. My Queen of the Blizzard! I come for you, beauty of the skies!

4horseshowgirl4
Guest

Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes Dec 12, 2010 16:28:02 GMT -5

Post by 4horseshowgirl4 on Dec 12, 2010 16:28:02 GMT -5

Despite working closely in association with them on a daily basis, B'nyur and Oveth had as little idea that Noyth was going to fly as poor A'mor did. Otherwise, Oveth would probably have been up on his weyrledge, waiting for her to take off, rather than down in the infirmary soothing a scared young dragon while B'nyur taped up her 'rider's badly sprained ankle. The girl had slipped and fallen shortly after dinner, but hadn't come in until after it had swelled to twice its normal size. It was just another day-- night, rather, as B'nyur had agreed to cover the night shift that day-- in the infirmary, though the new snowfall had brought in several slip-related injuries and several bad colds that day. It was nothing new to any of the Healers.

There were few dragonesses Oveth liked better than Noyth, and few that he knew better. They and their 'riders had been partners in this infirmary for... hmm... well, it was certainly far longer than Oveth's memory stretched. And he did like her, even if he was a little bit scared of her. Make that quite a bit scared of her. He disregarded the fact that he was far bigger than her; she had a temper that could rival any Red's and a tongue that was probably the sharpest in the Weyr. She had the dubious honor of being one of the few dragons whose name Oveth remembered every time. He respected her, admired her, maybe had a little crush on her in his simple, cheerful way (much like the one he had long had on Kalith).

Then, a horrible scream rent through the Weyr. B'nyur and Oveth both jumped visibly. "What the...?" B'nyur said, shooting the young 'rider an apologetic look before walking hurried to the source of the sound. Before he got to the Weyrbowl entrance of the infirmary, however, Oveth filled him in. It is Noyth. She flies!

[/color] Oveth said, in awe. "Leave it to her to Fly again so soon, and to pick such a bad day to do it..." B'nyur said with mock disapproval, though he was openly amused by the whole thing. Indeed, he could now make her small Gray form flying towards the herdbeasts, dark though it still was outside. He walked back to his patient, a dusting of snow on his head evidence of the blizzard raging outside.

As he approached the table, a massive blue form shouldered him aside in its eagerness to get outside. B'nyur jumped for a second time, startled by Oveth's behavior. "You're Chasing in this weather?!" B'nyur yelled at Oveth's retreating tail. Getting cold is nothing for Noyth![/color] Oveth replied jubilantly. B'nyur shook his head and rolled his eyes, fighting to keep down the rising feeling of lust for a few more minutes. "I am sorry, dear, but one of the Healers' dragon is Rising, and Oveth is going to Chase. I must go, but another Healer should be down here in a few minutes. My apologies," B'nyur said to the Weyrling with the sprained ankle, knowing he only had a few minutes to sort this out before the lust became impossible to ignore.

"Shanza!" B'nyur called for his firelizard, who was curled up in a warm ball near the fire that had been keeping the infirmary at a tolerable temperature. B'nyur tore a piece of parchment from his to-do list and hastily scrawled a note: Noyth Rising, Oveth Chasing. There's a patient here, can finish taping her ankle and cover for us until this is over? Thanks, B'nyur. The Copper firelizard landed softly on B'nyur's shoulder and gave a little trill announcing her arrival. The Bluerider handed her the note and rubbed her head affectionately with two fingers. "Give this to Cleo, would you?" he asked, giving the firelizard coordinates of the other Healer's quarters. Hopefully she wouldn't be too upset at having to start her shift a good two hour candlemarks earlier than scheduled. Shanza gave another little croon before obediently vanishing between.

"Feel better!" B'nyur wished his patient, giving her a little salute before braving the blizzard. Lust was already clouding his vision, but B'nyur had been to A'mor's weyr enough that he had a solid idea of where it was. He arrived a few treacherous moments later. Old as he was, and as many dragons as Oveth had tried to Chase over the years, B'nyur had long stopped being embarrassed arriving in the weyrs of his friends and comrades for Flight. He gave A'mor a friendly smile, and vaguely wondered why he hadn't noticed how handsome A'mor was before this. There was other 'rider there, one that B'nyur recognized immediately as B'wie, the slightly-insane Whiterider who injured himself in more creative ways than the rest of the Weyr combined. The fellow looked quite out of it, but he was a Whiterider; it was likely that he wasn't used to the feeling of Flightlust. It did take some acclimating.

Outside, Oveth flew low over the stone ground of the Bowl and the lake until he reached the herdbeast pens. He did have enough sense to know to stay away from Noyth and give her plenty of space; he more than any knew of her short temper, though any dragon should be able to deduce that about her by the fury with which she was attacking the herdbeasts. Oveth did not take one for himself; he never did. Maybe it was because he didn't know to, and maybe it was because he was always too distracted by the primal sight of a lust-driven beauty, as he was now. He sat there, settled on his haunches, looking quite stupid with his mouth slightly agape. Noyth blending into the snow was a far more stunning sight than any brightly-colored dragoness gleaming in the sun.

When she screamed again, Oveth was startled into action and scrambled to his feet. He was in the sky a split-second after she was, big blue wings pumping powerfully to keep up with her. He was not quick or agile, not compared to her, and he had to fight his way through the snowstorm. He didn't care. He tried to croon to her, but the storm stole away his voice before it could reach her ears. He tried again, his tenor bugle, and he tried to convey his love and desire. He rose and rose, after her, always after her. He would follow her even if the snow hid her from him. He would follow her even if it piled on his wings and tried to send him plummeting to the ground. He would follow, always follow. He would give everything he had for her.[/right][/font]

matsi
Guest

Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes Dec 12, 2010 18:12:04 GMT -5

Post by matsi on Dec 12, 2010 18:12:04 GMT -5

The night had been long and sleepless for Lanith and His. He had stayed awake, trying to comfort His, as His wrote a saddening letter to his sister. His had spent days in that sorrow filled mood, more like almost a season. Ever since that last time he had Chased. He didn't understand why His was sorrow filled. Then again, He didn't really understand the thoughts of the humans. All he could pick out was that his was terribly alone. He had promised his time and time again that he would win them company. Any company. Of course, His only called him a crazy, lazy Blue dragon, and would turn back to his task at hand.

Lanith awoke with a start on his ledge. He wasn't sure why he had awoke at first. His radiant blue hide shimmered as he stretched and turned to a more comfortable position and placed his head on his massive paws once more.

There it was again. That sound that had echoed in his dreams. The sound that had thrown him into the world of the awake. He raised his blue head as he listened. He stood up slowly, as if he were still dreaming and spread his large cloak like wings. Rumbles began to shake in his chest as he raised his head towards the sky. Lavander began to explode into his eyes.

Rise, you silly fools! Think that you can chase ME? Think that you can own ME?! I dare you to try! Come, you silly creatures - dance in the snow with me!

Her voice echoed in his mind like harsh music. It made the lavander starburst, and begin to grow darker. The rumbles in his chest harshened.
Mine! AWAKE NOW! I fly! I will Win our company! Lanith snarled as he began to beat the air with his wings.

H'to fell out of the seat to his desk with a yelp. The voice that screamed into his mind was that of his blue, but the face was harsh in his dreams. At first, as he lay on the floor, he thought it was all a dream, then the sound of Lanith's wings reached him. He could feel the lust beginning in Lanith, and flowing to him.
''Shards! SHARD IT ALL! LANITH!'' H'to cursed loudly at the dragon as he stood and was able to catch a glimpse of the Blue as he took flight. He was so fed up with the flights! Lanith was nothing but a hopeless romance, or Male Dragonic Whore, that was too hopeful. By this point, H'to was beginning to think that Lanith just didn't have what the Dalibor girls wanted. His thoughts didn't hinder Lanith's movements though. He didn't even get any more words out of the Blue.
Who!? Who is it Lanith? H'to demanded.
Noyth

H'to sighed. He could feel the lust beginning to stretch its tendrils over his body. Quickly, he threw a new shirt onto his chest, and headed out of his weyr. He had to get there before the lust became too strong.

Lanith, before he could even see the grey, let out a roar, then a hum.
I am here to dance with you! Let me show you real moves, His crooned and warbled to the grey. Silently, as he took note of his competitors, he bared his fangs in annoyance. A white, Small. Silly white. A brown. Browns did not shimmer with beauty! And another blue. That blue was not the elegant color of the deepest hot springs like himself! Of course he was the most handsome! She would be foolish to not choose him!
Lanith's eyes almost strained to keep his sights on her. She blended with the falling flurries. She was the goddess of the snow! It made him croon and twist and turn in the falling shards of ice. He danced as he flew, eager to impress her. He had to impress this beautiful ice queen! Stopping his twists, he beat the chilled air harder and shoved himself past the White with a small snarl. His eyes were deep royal purple now. He would be her prince!

H'to had just made it. Lust was beginning to make his limbs shake like a leaf in the wind. A'mor's figure reached his eyes. H'to knew him, yes, but not well. He had only seen him. As the lust took hold of him, he found himself WANTING to know him more. H'to wanted to know every detail about the man.

Last Edit: Dec 12, 2010 18:14:41 GMT -5 by purnip

kyrillion
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Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes Dec 12, 2010 21:56:01 GMT -5

Post by kyrillion on Dec 12, 2010 21:56:01 GMT -5

Kyrillion woke early, summoned out of bed by her sweetly melancholy blue.
It is time to get up now, MineOwn. You wanted to fly with me this morning,[/color] he gently reminded her, giving her an affectionate but firm mental nudge to help bring her fully awake. She scrunched up her eyes and burrowed under the covers in protest, but smiled still at the words that resonated, deep baritone, within her mind; not precisely sad, but certainly bittersweet. He was mellower than usual – had been for the better part of a sevenday, now, though he refused to tell her why. She suspected it had something to do with a certain gray and her less-than-warm treatment of him as late, but she could tell he was doing his best not to dwell on it, and so she didn’t press him for details. If he had done something inadvertently to upset Noyth, she was confident that he would sort it out soon enough; he was enormously better about that sort of thing than she was, apparently. At present, though, the only thing weighing heavily on her sleep-addled mind was that she’d promised Ripariath that they would go flying, but it was so warm under her furs and so frigid outside. A quick peek from under her covers was enough to confirm that, and she stifled a yawn while appraising what little she could see of their ledge.

It’s still dark outside, Rip. She protested at last, but it was half-hearted at best, and she was already summoning up the will-power to drag herself out of bed. His easy, quiet chuckle followed her when she at last managed to stagger up and to her feet, moving quickly towards the deeper, warmer recesses of their weyr.
You said you wished to be up before sunrise, KyrillionMine. This is your doing.[/color] He teased good-naturedly, but she only huffed at him in response. Moving from his couch, he settled down at the opening to their ledge, content to watch the Weyr come slowly to life while he waited for his rider.
I’ll just be a minute, Rip, she assured him sleepily, I just need a quick bath and I’ll be ready to go.

The time didn’t make any difference, to him. Not when he was really waiting for something else. Though he hadn’t breathed a word to anyone, not even his rider, he had long suspected the reason behind Noyth’s sudden change in behavior. Well, not change, precisely; she would never be the type to desire to spend every waking hour with him, or even the majority of her day in his company, but he was okay with that. He was content to let her do as she wished, though he always looked forward to her frequent visits. Any time that he was able to spend with her was cherished, but lately that time had dwindled away to almost nothing. He was fairly confident he knew why, and that in itself was the reason for his melancholy mood.

Though he had not known her well the first time he had Chased, Noyth had become precious to him in the turn-and-a-half since she’d chosen him. He had been pleased to let her take up most of his world – and a grand world it was, with her sharp mind and quick wit and infinite complexities. She was irreplaceable, and for as long a time as she would have him he would be happy to be hers. But all of that was about to be in jeopardy; he knew that as surely as he knew that he would give her everything he had when the time came. It was the interim, this waiting game, that was dampening his spirits. He knew what needed to be done and he wanted to act, but it was not yet the right time.

And yet even as he reflected upon this, to his amazement his view of the bowl became fuzzy, obstructed. Thick, fluffy white clouds were gathering and congealing, becoming thick as whipped cream and impenetrable as fog. It was the smoky, not-quite-white of snow clouds, the sort that grabbed at the little available sunlight and threw it back upon the earth, generating a soft glow and chasing away the bone-chilling cold of a winter morning. And sure enough, there were soon snowflakes tumbling down from the sky, fluffy and dense; they would have the Weyr blanketed in no time. Fortuitously but happily, he was reminded of Noyth’s last Flight - and suddenly, in a moment of perfect déjà vu, he was nearly certain of what was about to happen. This could not be a coincidence.

Rising to his feet, he stepped determinately out onto the ledge, eyes bright and churning as he examined what little he could see of the bowl for any sign of movement. Every snowflake that touched his cornflower hide sent a jolt of cold and anticipation dancing down his spine, thrilling him and demanding his attention, and he was only dimly aware of Kyril moving around in the weyr behind him, searching out her winter riding gear.
Geez, Rip. I know how much you like the snow, but you’re going to have to give me a minute to…
I do not believe that will be necessary, Mine.[/color]
His words were nearly drowned out by a sudden, piercing scream, full of righteous anger and shrill with bloodlust – it was a sound that they both remembered well. Back in the weyr, Kyril’s mouth dropped open in shock, her face a picture of incredulity, but for once Ripariath was not paying her any mind. This was what he had been waiting for.

He watched her descend upon the herdbeasts, her cries cracking like a whip off the stone walls of the bowl, but he did not move, not yet. Instead, he watched as the other suitors began to gather, a stony and disapproving statue as first a white declared his intentions, followed by a brown and two other blues. He did not divert his attention to any one of them even long enough to identify who they were, what other riders Kyril would find in A’mor’s weyr. They were his competition, but they were unimportant. Only Noyth was important. She would choose whomever she wanted – it was up to him to prove his worth. Not to the other males, but to her. Only her.

Spreading his wings, he leapt lightly from the ledge and sailed down towards her, breaking the spell that had initially held him in place. Last time, he had taken off from his ledge, had not initially approached – but things were different, now, and he did not want the memories blurring together, confusing things. Though it wasn’t rational, he needed to see things from a new angle this time around. He couldn’t afford for anything – his memories, his worries – to break his concentration. Touching down lightly, he made sure he was many yards away from the herdbeast pen, knowing better than to so much as approach her personal space at a time like this, nevermind invade it. And while she tore at her victims, blood spatter decorating her shining hide as her other suitors called out to her, he remained perfectly still and silent, a tightly wound coil, eyes whirling and such a deep shade of purple they were nearly black.

And as he waited, he felt something inside him come alive, dark and powerful, hot as the fires that lived in Kyrillion’s forge. It left an acrid taste in his mouth; it was jealousy, burning and consuming. Directed at every other male who dared think themselves worthy of Noyth’s perfection. As soon as he recognized it for what it was, he did his best to quench it, but he had little experience with that particular emotion, and it was proving difficult to manage. He knew well that Noyth would not be pleased if she were aware of this jealousy, this sudden possessiveness – on a good day she might be amused, might find it quaint, but more likely was that she would be angry at him for it. Angry that he had ever felt that she was his almost as much as he was hers. But even more than that, he himself did not like feeling anything so negative, so strongly. It was… uncomfortable, and he was sure it would prove counter-productive if he failed to rein it in. And so, though it took a considerable amount of will-power, he managed at last to push the envy to the back of his mind, where with any luck it would do little more than fuel his already fierce determination.

Rise, you silly fools! Think that you can chase ME? Think that you can own ME?! I dare you to try! Come, you silly creatures - dance in the snow with me![/color]
At last, she was ready. They were all ready, half a dozen pairs of eyes fixed upon her with rapt attention, expressing a myriad of emotions. More to himself than to her, for words had never been necessary between them, he finally spoke, his voice quiet next to her screams and the declarations of the other suitors.
I would dance with you again, if you would have me[/color]
And then, as she launched herself into the air and the others rose behind her, he threw back his head and let out a tremendous roar - not a croon meant to win her affection, or a bugle to gain her attention, but an answer to her challenge, a resolute and almost angry declaration. He would fly as far and as fast as it took, and whether she chose him or not in the end, he intended to be with her every step of the way. Rocking back on his haunches, he spread his wings and flung himself into the air after the group, eyes locked on the lithe silver shape that was quickly being swallowed up in the snow and the clouds.

A world away, feeling paradoxically closer to her dragon than ever and at the same time fundamentally disconnected, Kyril was hurrying to A’mor’s weyr. Her eyes were half on the maze of corridors that she needed to navigate to get there and half on the sky, with her dragon. Her hair was still soaking wet and in total disarray – she’d only just gotten out of the bath when she realized what was going on, and her only concern at the time had been throwing some clothes on and getting to A’mor before things got too intense. But now that she was nearing her destination and had had some time to think, she found that there were in fact a lot of concerning things on her mind, and a nervous tension had settled heavily in her stomach. Foremost in her thoughts was that she and A’mor had never found closure from last time, and now Rip was chasing again several turns too soon, and despite everything that had happened she wanted fervently for him to win. She knew the depths of her dragon’s feelings for Noyth, and for better or for worse she was with him in this all away.

As for A’mor, well... she’d been meaning to talk to him for months now, but she hadn’t been able to work up the time or, if she were being honest with herself, the courage. He wasn’t the only one who’d been hurting; Kyril couldn’t fathom why he had gone from cuddly warm one day to frosty and formal the next, but she had assumed that for one reason or another she had been rejected, and it had stung like a slap in the face. She knew he had been with his former weyrmate for a long time, and thought that perhaps that had something to do with it, but it wasn’t enough. For a long time now she’d wanted to confront him about it, ask him for an honest explanation, regardless of what the answer was because it would be better to know than not. Maybe he’d decided she wasn’t good enough, or maybe she’d misread him totally and there’d never been… those sorts of feelings there, to begin with, and that was fine. If that were the case, she would eventually get over it. Perhaps it was that she’d done something wrong and hadn’t realized it – she hadn’t been involved with anyone else since she’d been brought to Dalibor, so she was prepared to allow that perhaps she was a bit out of practice; and that was fine, too. Maybe it was something she could fix. But all these months she’d been trying to think of what to say to him, wondering how to start the conversation, gathering up the nerve to face him, and she’d had no idea that she was running out of time.

She was so wrapped up in these thoughts, in Ripariath and Noyth and the dragons in the sky, that she didn’t realize she’d arrived at his weyr until he was standing right in front of her, and she came to an abrupt, jarring stop. Her mind was mostly with Ripariath, now, but she retained enough of herself for now that when her eyes fell on him and her hazy brain registered that this really was him, it was a total epiphany moment.

She’d been feeling confused, wondering what had gone wrong and why. She’d been feeling insecure, wondering if she was the reason things had gone wrong. She’d been feeling angry, furious that she’d been letting his rejection make her feel insecure. But somehow none of that mattered, not anymore, because as she stood before him, closer to him than she’d been in months, her expression a mix of concentration and confusion and lust, she felt a sudden desire to win that had nothing to do with the dragons. She looked around her and saw H’to, B’wie, J’kan and B’nyur and felt a stab of jealousy that was all her. In that moment she didn’t care what had gone wrong the first time – maybe it had taken her a little while to realize, but she liked that stupid grayrider. She hadn’t really expected to, she’d been mortified all those months ago when she’d first realized Ripariath was about to Chase for the first time. But now, all she wanted was to spend more time with him, get to know him. She wanted the closeness and intimacy with him that Ripariath had had with Noyth while their riders were too busy letting their pride and their insecurities get in the way. She wanted a do-over, a second chance, and this was it. She wanted to win this thing, shard it, and it she wanted to do it for her.

Surprised by the sudden onslaught of emotion and ferocity, she didn’t say anything – merely blinked up at him for a moment more, and then hastily stepped back into line with the rest of the chasers. Surrendering herself completely to Ripariath, at last, she delighted in the feel of the snow and the wind beneath his wingsails. She relished the sensation of Flight, the view of the world through her dragon’s eyes. She took her desire and fierce determination and offered it up to him to use, because though it frustrated her to no end, there was nothing else for her to do – so she took the frustration and added that to the mix, too, because why not? Fuel on the fire - and between her and Rip there was enough there to keep the fire going for as long as it had to. And that really was all she could do, because though it was Noyth who would decide the battle, her Ripariath was the one fighting it, and she would have to trust the outcome to him. [/size]

Kila
Sr. Weyrleader

kilact[M:217]

Let's move to a cloud so we're never under the weather

Posts: 1,574

Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes Dec 13, 2010 3:15:42 GMT -5

Post by Kila on Dec 13, 2010 3:15:42 GMT -5

Y’nis and Yusriyath sat huddled together inside of their miserable weyr. There were plenty of open weyrs available since Dalibor was still establishing itself, but it seems that there had been no particularly nice ones to spare when the Renegades had been directed towards where they were allowed to go. At least they weren’t being held captive and kept like herdbeasts in the Lower Caverns anymore- that had nearly killed them. Neither Y’nis nor Yu did very well with confinement, they needed freedom and space to spread their wings and fly. Dalibor had been merciful to accept them, but they did not understand the Renegade pair, and didn’t offer much room for them be free as they pleased. Pern frowned upon Dragons and Riders that did not belong to a Weyr.

But even as much as they loathed the cold weather, even the wet snow and winter cold could not dampen the spirits of the eternally sunshiney Purple pair. This sucks, Yu, Y’nis chirped. It sucks a lot, he agreed, thumping his tail on the ground emphatically. I think it sucks more.
I think it sucks the most!
No, I do!
No, I do! Silly YaMine!
The argument ended by Yusriyath rolling over and nearly crushing Y’nis, who flailed and protested merrily. At least their play kept them warm. I wish we were on our island. Me too.

But there were things far more interesting in store for the odd pair then romping around in their room. Noyth’s piercing scream drew them both to the threshold of their ledge. What was that? Y’nis asked, scanning the sky. Yusriyath, however, picked out the owner of the call in no time. Noyth, he sang lowly, watching as she fell upon her prey and her suitors began to appear in the sky. Yu’s eyes began to match his hide as the purple of dragonlust filled them, swirling in effortlessly until the color was uniform. Fiiiiine, Y’nis sighed, overexaggeratedly. He knew what was coming. Yusriyath, like he, had ties to no one. The overexcited Purple loved to participate in flights- relished the thrill of it. He had never won a flight before, which didn’t seem to bother him much, because he got so distracted. He lacked the focus that the other males had in flight. It was also worth noting that the Dalibor females did not particularly like him. It was no secret that he was a Renegade dragon, and his hide was so obnoxiously bright that there was no disguising him for someone else. All the same, Yusriyath rumbled happily to his bonded and took off gaily into the storm. Y’nis, left to his own devices, began to pick his way over to A’mor.

It was clear immediately that Noyth was angry and defiant. Even the victor may suffer at her claws. Regardless of this, Yusriyath joined her other suitors and winged his way through the storm. Though she glowed like Queen of ice, it was hard to follow her in the onslaught. Yusriyath, however, stood out brilliantly against the drab sky. There was a Blue or two who he saw occasionally between sheets of snow, but the others were dull and boring- not nearly as fabulous as him! And it was just his hide that set him apart. Yusriyath sensed that he was the only one that followed her with real glee. All of the suitors shared a common lust, but the Dalibor dragons were always so…. Serious. He stood as their opposite in every way. Drawing closer, Yu spun and trilled in the frigid air currents. There would be no in between: she would love him or hate him.

fidelli
Guest

Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes Dec 29, 2010 0:40:26 GMT -5

Post by fidelli on Dec 29, 2010 0:40:26 GMT -5

[OhOhCee]Alright, tell me if there is anything ya'll want me to change! The winner was REALLY REALLY hard to decide, and after I narrowed down the choices with what Noyth wanted, I actually went with a coin tossed by ANOTHER person - best out of seven for the winner. I love you all so much, this was such a fun post to write. <33]

Why was this so much like before? Every time that Noyth had flown she had been different each time, in regards to her attitude - except this was oddly a repeat of the last time. Early, two years early, actually. And it was oddly the same thing that had happened before - the snow storm, the fury. Why? Why are you so pissed, beautiful? The rider of the slim Grey asked her quietly, wrapped in her mind as they were flying. But she wouldn't answer - didn't answer, snarling quietly and stretching out her wings even more to catch the wind under the broad strokes. He looked himself, fighting back the lust to try and understand - she hated the cold, for one, but it was many things. She disliked the cold, so the cold went with her Flight. She hated anything telling her to do anything, especially her own body, and it told her that she needed to Rise - that irritated her more and more. It irritated her that she had to pick between all of the stupid males, because she didn't know who was better - it would take time to figure out which was the best, and she didn't have time. She was a Grey - she understood that it would be a short Flight. She could not fly as far as the Coppers. She could not fly as long as the Golds. But she could Rise in her own way, huge wings sweeping and creating little eddies of swirling snowflakes. It would be bloody - A'mor could see it now. Noyth was angry... But she was driven to rage because of fear and saddness, of anger. She was only taking it out on the men that had alighted up after her...

A'mor suddenly understood the Grey's fear, the young woman's pain, and with that they smashed together. Suddenly their was no Noyth, no A'mor. They were A'moyth, Nomor, one creature of burning blood and rushing wind. He didn't understand why it was only two turns that had pushed her, but neither did she. He began to understand the lonely Grey's reasoning for her aloofness - partly because that was who she was, but partly because she didn't know who to choose, partly because she just DIDN'T WANT TO FLY. She hated sharing Her's. Gray's were neat like that - they were very orientated around Their's, and Her's was hurting. Too long had he been alone, too long had he had no one to care, and these boys were making another thing for Her's to worry about! But it would happen, so it would happen, and she would find a way around it. She always did - it was HER job to care for Her's, and she would do so. They would Fly together, and fix it. Whatever it was.

It was his heart. But that didn't matter in a Flight, for A'mor. The emotions were too much, the roiling tumbling feelings that hit him like a ton of bricks meant that for a few blessed moments he didn't think. He didn't have too - he just gave Noyth the control, and he sat in the back seat. He ignored the hungry stares of those who were entering the Weyr, leaning against the edge of the stone and staring out into the snowflakes, following His with sightless eyes.

Noyth was still on the ground when the males began to collect around, though she didn't notice them gathering. Some primal parts of her saw them, and judged and assessed them, cold and collective, while the other parts of herself warred with each other. It was Sjanseth first - Noyth had never heard him before, and didn't place who he was for a few moments. His was the silly human that Her's always gripped about - it was odd, this creature who managed to do the silliest things and harm himself in the worst ways. Noyth was shocked, and slightly amused - White's hardly ever Flew, and that he would Fly with her was amusing... And maybe even an honor. However, he would have to prove that he was worthy of HER.

The next to wander over was Oveth. The big Blue was a sweet creature, and try as he might, there was no way that Noyth could find any animosity for the Blue. She had worked with him for a long time, and thought him a lovely creature - even the wicked tongued Noyth never had anything foul to say against the Blue. She was a little surprised to find him in one of her Flight's - the last time she had risen he had not been there, but she dismissed this folly right away. It didn't matter anymore - he was Flying now, and although she did enjoy his company more than most dragons, she still treated them all fairly. He was just another competitor.

And then, who part of Noyth had been waiting for all along, descended next to the herdbeast pen. The cornflower Blue was bright in the swirling snow - but Noyth would recognize it anywhere. To give him credit, when she had begun to draw away from him more and more, the winner of her last Flight had let her have her space... But she was also irked at him. He had been happy with them, and while she had been happy as, well, Their's had not been. Noyth had drawn away a little because Her's was mad at Ripariath's - but Noyth knew the why behind the anger. A feeling of betrayal, of not being good enough. He was a Grayrider - he was no Ironrider, no one who could protect her from anything, who had the time to do things with her that would take candlemarks up. He had a job, a life - and Kyril hadn't seemed to like that. But this was about Noyth, as she let the boys merge around her, the bright sun in the swirling clouds. She focused on the Blue a little closer, watching him, probing him with the part of her mind that cared. What was... Was this? Jealousy suddenly flared slightly, which irked her. He was right - she was NO ONE's. She was Hers's, and no one else! She would allow other's into her life only when SHE wished it, when it was good for Her's and her! But she would not spend too much time on him - she had the skies calling her name.

So up and up and up and up she sprung, only faltering slightly at the very quiet words that suddenly were murmured in her mind. I would dance with you again, if you would have me. She couldn't think about that - that was for the end, the pretty things that the males threw at her were useless! With a snarl, she flung herself in the air and used huge wings to push herself away from them, letting others slip into the chase. The noises around her were carefully filed away, each remembered, each fueling her on. Riparth's challenge was a call that she didn't expect - the rest were sweet calls, but this... This was interesting. It didn't matter though - the Chase had just begun.

Sjanseth was closest behind her, but she didn't bother to snap at him. It would take too much energy, and she knew that she could fly circles around the White. But she also admired his fearlessness, the fact that he would try his hand with her. She liked the colors that subtly made up his hide as well - it really was not bright and flashy, though it was doubtful that actually cared about looks. He was a strong dragon to deal with one such as His. I will have my first dance with you, dear Noyth, for none other are worth it. The first of the flowery words to be adorned on her, she made note of it... But he was not hardly worth an answer - she was happier to fly among the snowflakes and dance with the winter wind.

The next behind her was a large Brown, and Noyth quickly placed it. Hath, bugling, rose behind her and the White, and caught up with the White quickly enough. Suddenly they were even, and his words were next. Noyth! My Queen of the Blizzard! I come for you, beauty of the skies! More flowery words that meant nothing to her - she just flew on, zig zagging through the skies and tiring herself and her competitors out as she ignored them and just flew. It was nice, to fight the cold, to stretch out wings and go, go, go.

She could sense Oveth right behind the other two, and caught just the whisps of his song. It was beautiful, a tune to dance too, and she tightened into a spiral and flew ever onwards. She did play with them though, halting in midair for a moment and doubling back to spin right through them, bowling them over, claws out as she went right through Hath and Sjanseth. It was possible that she scraped lightly them as she went through, spinning around to see who else was chasing her. As she passed Oveth, however, light on her wings, she sheathed her claws and gave him a simple soprano call back. No words were needed - she was still Flying, the blood singing in her veins - but her meaning was clear. Thank you, Oveth. Beautiful.

The next call she heard she barely recognized - but she placed it in a few moments. She had heard the roar mixed with the calls of everyone else, but as she shot past him she saw it was Lanith. The Blue she didn't know too well, but she heard him loud and clear. I am here to dance with you! Let me show you real moves. His song was pretty, but his arrogance annoyed her, and she shoved past him without a word. He would do good to stay quiet, but as they all spun around to chase her back the other way, Lanith shoved past Sjaneth and came too close. He had never Chased in the Gray's Flight's, and were she any other creature she would not have said anything. However, this was Noyth, and his arrogance, his true belief that he was the best... It irked her. She silently turned on him then, landing on his back and digging claws into his back, using teeth to snap down. Then as fast as she was on him she was shoving him aside, pushing off on his back to start back up the skies, ichor dripping from her claws. Suddenly there was one less suitor.

And there was one more for the one that she had banished, one who had stayed quiet, but she could feel from the stream of emotions coming from him. Yusriyath - a renegade Purple. Noyth didn't care about renegades. If you wanted freedom, you wanted freedom. Just as long you hadn't been the one to kidnap the young Weyrleader's son, and she didn't really give any or all crap. But, Yusriyath had a fault that was not his grievance at all. In fact, it was Ms. Noyth's. She liked the happiness, could enjoy the joy that he flew with. However, Noyth had spent several turns with a dragon similar to Yusriyath, and had let him Catch her several times. Indeed, had he Flown in her Flights and not been dragged away by His, Altith may have had won - but times did change. Noyth was angry at Altith for what he had let His do to Her's - even if she didn't remember very well what it actually was at this point. She just held the grudge...

And the brightly colored Purple with his joy, would have been perfect, had Noyth not been with Altith before. Now, his happiness just infuriated her. This was a Flight, a ball dance, not the square dancing special! With a growl Noyth had slipped up beside him, and using a front paw with claws out, swatted at his neck and upper back a few times. Go. At least he had gotten a word - and then she had twisted and led her four remaining suitors on a merry chase.

But, soon enough, Noyth began to grow tired of dancing with the wind and the silent snowflakes. She checked back more and more on the dragons following her, and turned her Flight upwards. With a slight growl, she turned to the hardest part of the Flights - making a choice. Sjanseth, Hath, Riparith, and Oveth. Suddenly, she was furious again. How DARE they make her choose? They had to EARN it! Her wings stretching out, she turned almost vertical and shot up and up, dropping down at times and fouling up wings, weaving around the males that had been mentally torturing her for the past candlemark. As she led them up, she began to mull them over, one at a time.

Sjanseth had flown well, proving himself to be just as good as Flyer as her... And he was a White. He was polite, smooth, and she had nothing wrong with him. Hath... A'mor - still part of her - was flinching away from this choice, and Noyth saw why clearly. How dare you?! You hurt us! With a snarl Noyth had turned on Hath next, tackling him in the air to scratch at his underbelly with her powerful hindquarters, using her front claws to scratch at his shoulders and discard him as fast as she had tackled him. Oveth was there as well, and Noyth could never complain at the slow but steady Blue. She now had two Blue's and a White, and she ignored them for a moment to extend up and up and up, up to where the air grew so cold, far enough they were above the clouds that were causing snow. She was tiring now - even A'mor could do nothing for her now except urge her to choose. She would make this choice herself - no help from him anyway.

Suddenly, she decided. Three became two - she flew between the males again and gently shouldered Oveth away. Twirling between Sjanseth and Riparth and urging them upwards, leading them, using her tail to taunt them. Up, up, up... Until she coudn't go any farther. She was done, and she knew. A paw reached out then, fast as lightening, batting at the face of Riparth with all the intent on drawing ichor, while her back foot kicked away Sjanseth violently. Then her claws were tangled with Riparth, her tail twining with the Blue again, wings thrown out and suddenly sweet as a kitten. He would know why she hit him, even as she let him Catch her. She was Her's, and Her's alone. She liked that he would challenge her, and not just shower her with fancy words, but his jealousy irked her.

Of course, she would never tell anyone this, but she also kind of liked it.

A'mor had given up feeling anymore. He didn't even watch the suitors wander in until there were six dragons Flying behind Noyth. Some part of his concious mind wondered why on Pern anyone would want to Chase the bitter tongued silver sharder, but it was buried. Instead, he looked out on the men that were assembled before him, judging them just as His Noyth judged the males chasing her. H'to he dismissed - he didn't know him. B'nyur received a small smile back, and a nod, Flightlust making him want to see if the man really was as talented with his hands as A'mor had always wondered secretly. B'wie was also there, and A'mor was amused - the poor Whiterider had never before felt Flightlust. It was WONDERFUL, but the poor creature had never really known it, had he? Y’nis he didn't know either... But he could get to know him. Oh, yes he could. Beautiful, wasn't he? J'kan, even though the man was fucking his ex, still got the look up and down. Pretty, amusing, oh, so much here. Licking his lips, the man moved around the room, unable to keep still, teasing the men that were gathered there.

To H'to, he wandered up, looking him up and down, leaning in to study the man's lips as though he was an animal at a show before dancing away, slipping over to B'nyur to run his hands through the hair of the man and bite his lip, a glazed look in his eye and a reckless grin on his face. This was not the serious and more irritated A'mor that most knew - this was a flightdrunk A'mor that was just interested in touching EVERYONE there. B'wie was next, and ohhhhhh, as A'mor circled him, he wanted to just... Eat him. Leaning in, he kissed him on the cheek - wanting more, needing more, no, no, no, not yet. So he danced away to spin to bother someone else, when suddenly he came face to face with a young woman who's hair was wet, face was clouded with lust and confusion, and was shockingly the prettiest thing he had ever seen her.

Faraneth, was that the lust talking? Shards, what? Why? Suddenly he was quieter, confused, drawing back to head to the ledge, staring out at the sky and urge his dragon on, confused. Why? What was that? Why were all of these emotions... It didn't matter. It didn't matter. He just kept repeating it to himself, over and over again, throwing himself into his dragon until Noyth made her choice. And when she finally did, he was too drunk on Flightlust to try and figure out why it felt so right spin around, ignoring everyone else in the room to slid a hand around her hip, plunge another in her hair and find her lips like a drowning man looking for air. "Out." Was his hoarse croak to everyone else, pointing at the door, but he didn't check to see if the order was followed. He was busier touching, making sure that the young woman under his hands was human, was alive, was still here, mouth not leaving hers for the world. It would be hell in the morning, but they both needed this now. They needed it more than they knew.

purnip
Guest

Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes Dec 29, 2010 1:41:17 GMT -5

Post by purnip on Dec 29, 2010 1:41:17 GMT -5

So many suitors! Yet Sjanseth was not discouraged in the slightest, however dour he was behaving lately. He was thrilled and enchanted by the chase, with his heart set on the beauty that danced before him. Though this was the most fun he has had in many turns, he took it as seriously as murder. This was his maiden chase--two decades gone by and nothing else has inspired him to break the silence. Part of it had to do with his bond to B'wie, who was no different from a White himself. He had no desire to get drawn into admiration, lust, and love. All the man cared about was the world around him, and how it functioned day to day as if the products didn't matter enough. He was an intellectual, albeit socially stunted and romantically retarded. Sjanseth couldn't have chosen a better partner, but sometimes he had to be a dragon too. Sometimes B'wie needed to be human.

Then there was Noyth. Though they hadn't spoken volumes to one another, he admired her long before the flight. Though his infatuation could be compared to puppy love, the fact that the White expressed any at all was astounding on its own. There was just something about her, other than beauty, that fascinated him. Even though she was often short with him, being courteous as a minimum requirement, Sjanseth knew she was simply being guarded. She had every reason to be. He knew there had to be a reason she didn't open up right away, and he respected that. He didn't know what it was; he didn't think it was polite to ask, especially when B'wie was getting patched up for doing something especially foolish. The White settled for a secret admirer's position, all sighs with the have-nots and might-have-beens.

Until the day he lost his temper with his rider's silly obsessions and decided that enough was enough. He was going to chase the one he loved and he was going to catch her.

Yet he did not respond with any verbal aggression to Lanith when the Blue slipped past him, hissing rudely at him. Shameless flirt! Sjanseth didn't have to participate in many chases to know that the Blue chased anything that flew. Noyth didn't deserve to get caught by a dragon like him! Yet Noyth was clever, just as the White expected. She made quick work of the Blue before he could continue to plague the flight with his arrogance. A chuckling sound seemed to come from the base of his throat as he somehow managed to keep up with the Gray. It was hardly an issue for a speedy fellow such as himself, but mastering the unruly gales of a snow storm along with the sudden expenditures of energy quickly exhausted him. He certainly had far less stamina than the other suitors in this flight, but he tried to make up with it with his tenacity, which he had more than enough of.

Unlike his dragon, B'wie was oblivious of the competition. His gaze finally settled on A'mor, and there it remained. He had such...happy thoughts simply staring at the man. True, he was the very same chap who patched him up on occasion, and B'wie made sure he left behind a hefty tip despite the universal health care at the weyr. No one deserved to put up with the strange and impossible injuries the Whiterider often brought to the table. But there he was, and for some reason he just seemed to radiate like a wonderful idea. Unwittingly, the Whiterider began to draw nearer to the man, but he paused and lowered his head while shutting his eyes tightly. This wasn't right. What was he doing here? He couldn't remember at all. Then he slowly gazed up at A'mor again and stopped caring. It didn't matter what he was doing, whatever it was. All that mattered was him. Why? Because...because he was...he was something new. Maybe human like everyone else, but no one else made him feel this good to look at. Something about him was completely enthralling! But what? B'wie wanted to know. He needed to know why.

Noyth was dropping suitors out of the runnings one after the other, and Sjanseth was honored to be left standing through it all. He was beginning to tire, pumping his wings to keep up with the smaller, faster female, but he did not even consider giving up. His spirits were elevated as he felt victory draw near. All the huffing and puffing for his love was well worth the pain and soreness he would surely be experiencing tomorrow. Every time she looked him over his heart soared and he forgot about any earthly limitations.

While B'wie was being circled, he matched eyes with A'mor as if accepting the invitation to tango. The Whiterider couldn't dance--not for the life of him. He had two-left feet and no one alive would deny it. But this dance didn't involve any steps. It involved the electricity firing between two partners as they shared one another, cooperated, and conquered. The kiss planted on his cheek burned the very spot on his skin where it fell, but it tingled as if he were on to something, as if he were about to discover the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. He too needed more, but before he could reach out and discover it...before he could remove the veil...

Up, up, and up. If Riparth's hide didn't stand out so much in the snow, Sjanseth would have believed he was already victorious. Just the two of them and he was already picturing his children, what they might look like, and what might become of them. A legacy his color was hardly allowed. A passion his color rarely possessed. She took a swipe at the Blue in the blink of an eye, flew over him and...

Away they went.

Sjanseth was still dumbfounded, confused when he was kicked in the nose so hard he bled. His speed reduced immediately after as he nearly hung in the air, will shattering like glass. Then he just let himself fall. He was too tired to pick himself up anymore and he had nothing to fly for. He was still catching up on what had just happened, trying to conceive it all. Falling and falling without realizing just how close the ground was quickly starting to get.

A sudden pang of that very confusion and stillness of heart hit the dragon's rider as well, but without the flightlust or Sjanseth's ever commanding mind wrestling logic into submission, B'wie was just sane enough to know that his dragon was in great danger. He left. He had no problem with it at all. He tore out of the room the moment the White began to fall, eyes wide like a doe that had just been shot. "Seth! SETH!" he cried, collapsing by the door, reaching out for his dragon as if he could control his very wingbeats if he tried hard enough. "Please, I'm begging you! I can't....not without you...!" He shut his eyes tightly, focusing with all his might, trying to make it clear. You have me! All of me! And I will NEVER reject you! You're...you're the only thing that keeps me alive.

True. There was someone on this planet that still loved him, and he was a fool to suspect any different. Shards to Noyth. Shards to all dragons and their humans alike. No one and nothing held a candle to his B'wie. Tired as he was, muscles aching and burning, he still snapped his wings open with formidable strength and glided safely towards the ground. Once he landed, he did not bother to look up and see if the Gray was still overhead. He didn't care. He'd never let himself care for another dragon like he just had ever again. How he had been teased...toyed with, left to hope, left to dream, and then kicked into the ice like a kid being played by a bully. No one would ever have access to that again--no one but B'wie. Because in the end, that man would always love him in return, in his own weird way but in some way nonetheless.

It's all your fault, you know, Sjanseth droned sarcastically, huffing before sneezing and shivering in the cold. If you would have paid more attention to me, I wouldn't have taken off.

B'wie was crying out in the hall, and not a single damn was given if anyone happened to see. He was smiling though, through his tears, finding the White's sense of humor at such a near-grave experience to be somewhat calming. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll come out there this instant; don't try trudging in the snow or you'll catch your death. I'll bring blankets. He was on the move already, dipping into the next few rooms to steal as many as his shoulders could carry from other people's weyrs. Hell, if his were closer he would have picked on his own, but this was some kind of emergency.

kyrillion
Guest

Throw Your Hands Up In The Air Sometimes Dec 29, 2010 23:57:54 GMT -5

Post by kyrillion on Dec 29, 2010 23:57:54 GMT -5

The group rose as one into the clouds, through the snow – a single entity of gray, purple, blue, and brown. Ripariath had eyes for only one thing, only Noyth, but Kyril was so deeply intertwined with him now that she was able to appreciate the colors, admire the storm and the wings of the dragons as they charged every higher, leaving the Weyr far behind them. It was truly beautiful; the snowflakes like soft, effervescent comets racing towards the earth, the colors of the chasers all the more vivid against the smoky backdrop of the storm. Even Noyth stood out; bright and shinning as she was, she might have fit perfectly in with the clouds if not for the crimson stains decorating her hide, ghastly splashes of warmth that moved in a macabre dance through the tumultuous wind. Eerie to Kyril, but incomparably beautiful to Rip – there was nothing, no one he would rather follow, and just being able to fly with her like this was a joy all its own, for both dragon and rider. It was bitterly cold, but that did not at all diminish the wonder and joy the pair were feeling, soaring above mountains and oceans and pushing the boundaries of the sky. There were few things Kyril loved more than flying with her dragon, but this was something different entirely, an experience all its own that she'd felt only once before (during Noyth's last Flight, of course), and she cherished it for as long as it would last. She was one with him, now – her wings were the ones beating back the snow flurries, wing sails pulled taught as the wind screamed past. Her body was lithe, sinuous – aerodynamic and light as a feather, buoyed by the storm. The sensation was that of being perfectly, everlastingly free – untamable, irrepressible. She was untouchable, just as Noyth was, if only for a little while. It was nearly enough to cause her to forget the undercurrent of lust, the pull of the competition, strong as a riptide. But she could never really forget it, not when Ripariath was consumed by it, focused with single-minded intensity on their task. Not when she was standing in A’mor’s weyr, again.

At last, the group broke free of the clouds, and up ahead Ripariath could see Sjanseth and Lanith in the lead – though one of them, at least, would not remain there for long. Noyth ceased her momentum abruptly, checking her speed with a flourish of her wings, and came charging back down at the group. He remembered this from the first time he had chased, knew that the best tactic was to get well and truly clear of her and so, turning tightly, he threw out his own wings to pull himself askance of the pack. She rocketed past him, claws unsheathed and gleaming, and the last notes of Oveth’s beautiful song drifted by (Kyril had been enjoying it immensely, even if Ripariath had scarcely heard) as the other blue received a mute thank you for his efforts. The last of Ripariath’s jealousy melted away in an instant, replaced by a surge of true, pure affection for the gray. The action was so very like her; he loved it, loved her, and in the wake of that flood of feeling his envy suddenly seemed infinitesimally small and trivial. And when she whipped around, so fast she was reduced to a red-on-silver blur, to fall upon Lanith and dismiss him from her company – well, that was very like her, too. Tucking his wings in, he fell back in to line and resumed the chase, venturing closer now, but only just; he did not attempt to overtake the others just yet. It would be some time still before his queen (more beautiful than any copper, more radiant than any gold) would choose her winner.

She dropped a purple from the race next, more concisely this time, and Ripariath barreled smoothly to the side to avoid Yusriyath as the larger dragon fell back. She was already dancing away, her movements almost playful as she led the remaining suitors in and among the clouds, and he relished the sensation as he dipped and spun in her wake, muscles taught and white-hot next to the crisp cold of the air around them. There was no snow, now, but it was colder; so much so that the clouds looked more like precarious amalgamations of ice and crystal than the fluffy, harmless things that consistently sailed over the Weyr. They shattered like glass as his wings and tail cut through them, before crumbling and drifting away like ash – there one minute, gone the next. Joyous and fleeting as laughter. They went on like this for some time, playing amongst the clouds, but it couldn’t last; soon enough, Noyth was vaulting higher into the sky, banking into an almost vertical ascent, and he eagerly followed.

At last, one of four chasers left, he gave a tremendous pump of his wings and sped forward, evening out with the blue, brown, and white that were his competition. She would have to choose, soon, and the knowledge rekindled her anger; he could feel the backlash, hot and righteous, as she executed another mid-air turn and came railing back at them. Hath was the next to fall, her words ringing out clearly as she set upon him, unnaturally loud next to the silence that reigned so far from the ground. The only other noise came from the whisper of the wind, the rush of blood in his ears, and what she spoke to the brown demanded his attention for the briefest of moments. How dare you?! You hurt us! Hurt them? Hurt them how? A surge of protectiveness rose within him at that – not possessive in nature, but instead something that smarted at the mere notion that the gray had ever been hurt. He was forced to dismiss it, though, as she continued on - now was not the time, and he couldn’t afford to lose focus, especially now that things were winding down. Oveth was turned aside then as well, though very gently, and Ripariath was glad. Oveth was one of the first dragons outside his own clutch that he had ever met. It had only been a day or two after his Hatching – he scarcely remembered it, himself, but he and Kyril had spent some time helping the dragonhealer out with his herb garden. He’d always liked Oveth – he was sweet and friendly, and though Ripariath had very few distinct memories of the older blue now, he had always been fond of him. So he was turned away, but at least she did it gently.

Down to two, now, and Ripariath’s thoughts were suddenly consumed by Noyth – even more so than before, though he hadn’t thought it possible. They were vertical again, all three of them, and she was teasing them upwards, twining herself sinuously around them and coaxing them both further, higher. Everything shut down, like she’d flicked a switch - his vision tunneled, and in an instant he was completely at her mercy. Only she existed, and she was so beautiful; nearly on auto-pilot, his thoughts hazy and eyes dark with lust, he propelled himself after her until the air became thin and it was a struggle to breathe. And then suddenly she was reaching out towards him, lightning-quick, smacking him with outstretched claws. His eyes closed reflexively as she sliced three long, deep lines along the top of his left eyeridge and down between his eyes, nearly to his muzzle. An explosion of pain chased away the fog, had him crashing cruelly back into reality - but just as it registered that he, too, was being sent away, he felt her draw nearer, and when he attempted to move he found his wings fouled with hers and their limbs tangled.

He understood why she’d hit him (they’d never needed words), but it was the very last thing on his mind as their tails twined together and he pulled her close, joy and triumph exploding in his chest. She’d chosen him again. He was hers again. Pulling their wings in, he let them fall, holding her tightly and wrapping himself around her – protective, loving, victorious, maybe just a touch possessive. Let her rail at him for it now; he was hers, and in that moment nothing else mattered.

Kyril came to her senses with a gasp - awareness of her own reality, her own body, exploding into her consciousness. Staggering backwards, her momentum was checked by a hand on her hip, and a moment later she felt a second tangle in her hair. A’mor. Reaching up, she grasped at his shoulders, pulling him close even as his lips found hers. Everything was pushed aside, none of it mattered anymore except the wonderful, delirious happiness that was coursing through her. They’d done it. She’d won. Her senses were consumed by the man in front of her, all rational thought long pushed aside in favor of what was happening here and now. So she reached up a hand of her own, tangled it in his hair, and surrendered.

Last Edit: Dec 30, 2010 0:08:24 GMT -5 by purnip