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Josy - Monday, October 30, 2000, 6:33 PM
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The following is a roleplay-log from SouCon MUSH (soucon.godlike.com 4201). The world of Pern is copyright to Anne McCaffrey.
Tubby> Brielth shoots upward, directly after winging down into the pen, sleek muscles taut beneath his hide. He's energetic, he's ready, he's, he's, hrm. Where is She? Arching his back, he glides in a large circle directly above the enclosure, as if looking for someone. After sounding a loud bugle, he tips his wings, heading for the dusty pen below. Lower he swoops, skimming the frantic herd, eyeing a small herdbeast to his left. In no time, his great talons find their mark, fwumping the carcass to the ground. The impact snaps the creature's neck in an angle conducive to the bronze's maw finding it's mark. Brielth drinks, deeply.
T'ie moves over from the Council Rooms.
Jacketh flits to the Lakeside Meadow.
Tubby> Jacketh flies in over the fence and into the feeding grounds.
Tubby> Graneth soars over the feeding ground, his bronze wings held almost steady as he glides, causing stampedes among the animals. He finally makes his selection, separating a smallish herdbeast from the others and descending upon it, snapping its neck as he lands and lowering his head to feed.
Tubby> Zylath lands shortly after Brielth, giving the young upstart of a bronze a haughty look. How dare such a young punk think about invading his feeding grounds? A defiant trumpet bursts from the bronze's muzzle as he lands smack on the back of an errant wherry, crushing the hapless thing beneath his talons. One negligent swipe opens up the bird's throat, and Zylath promptly fastens his muzzle on the gaping wound.
Jalynia strides over from the Western Courtyard.
Tubby> Jacketh saunters onto the landing field, not a care in the world, if his appearances were anything to go by.
L'mir strides over from the Southwestern Weyrs.
Joslyn's pacing back and forth by the westernmost path, cursing and watching the sky dubiously. Why? Because she can! So there! She's actually stomping her feet about as hard as she can without seriously injuring herself. Arms folded over her chest, bootlaces dragged through mud and thorns left and right, she certainly looks out of sorts. Grrrrrr. In good time, there goes a dark gold arrow winging up and then descending on the feeding grounds, leaving the goldrider to slap her hand to her forehead and groan. Grrrr. (In case you missed it the first time.)
In the northern sky, Jeuneth soars over from the Western Weyrs.
In the northern sky, Jeuneth flies toward the sky further south..
Aithne walks over from the Council Rooms.
Kellah walks over from the Council Rooms.
Aithne is running through the landing field, "On our way" She yells as she darts through
Araneth ambles across from the Northern Weyrs.
Aithne climbs up Araneth's foreleg using her straps to make her way up to her neckridges.
Araneth soars to the sky over Southern Weyr.
L'mir is shaking his head slowly, sighing deeply just as the arrow whizzes upward. "What in the Sharding Hides A-popping is /that/ all about!" Does he mean the arrow or Aithne? It's very hard to tell.
G'ran saunters in, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking very much the portrait of arrogant older bronzerider. From the self-confident sneer on his lips to the slight quirk of one brown eyebrow, it's all there. "Get a clue, boy," he sneers at L'mir.
In the northern sky, Araneth disappears into Between.
D'ner approaches Joslyn from the right, though he stops about the distance from her that he thinks is safe. The young bronzerider has a confident sneer on his face as his eyes turn momentarily from the goldrider to his dragon in the feeding grounds.
Jeuneth> Move it or lose it. Jeuneth's here and this is HER turf and she's in a really, really bad mood (even worse than normal!). Eyes alight with a thousand glints of haunted fire, wings billowed out around her like a wind-swept shroud, she dashes her way through the screaming herds with a blood-curdling, ichor-pounding scream. This is just not going to be pretty - as evidenced by her initial catch. Speared straight through a bulging belly by one red-glimmering talon, a bubbling screech issues from the tormented beast who very promptly has its head bitten off and then spat away as jaws lock over pulsing veins.
Wincing visibly, Joslyn plants herself on the ground near a convenient shrub with absolutely no intentions of moving except to throw a stone - well out of range - at Aithne's and Araneth's departure. The 'blood only' mantra beating behind ground teeth, the little goldrider is a small embodiment of a very large, very angry gold's palpable rage. And isn't she just hating every minute of it.
Jeuneth> Jacketh glides almost lazily, taking this opportunity to eye the competition and, of course, the main attraction of this night. He remains silent as he lands lightly onto the backof a herdbeast, dispatching it with one swipe of his talons. Then he settles into feed.
L'mir isn't sneering, in fact he offers the most fleeting smile toward Josy, basically ignoring the other two riders. "Evening, Josy, nice arrow you... had there, hmm? Sure hope it didn't hit anyone." His tone would imply that /anyone/ meant Brielth.
Jeuneth> Zylath isn't about to be intimidated by hissing roars or irate golds. Au contraire. Gold dragons are a good thing, especially when they're about to go for a nice little flight. Wherry drained, the bronze chucks it aside without a thought for whom or what he might hit, snagging a bovine with the backsweep of the same motion. Strong jaws latch into the still-screaming beast's throat, draining it of its life as it slowly ceases struggling.
Jeuneth> Brielth shifts the herdbeast's bony mass to his right foreleg, dragging it out of his way as the his pale pinkish-bronze toned muzzle rocks back and forth, inspecting the frenzied meals before him. A sharp snap of his wings lift him upward, through the thickening cloud of dirt and dust, only to reappear not far away, descending in a vertical spiral to pluck an unsuspecting beast from beside its mate. His maw opens, clamping about the squealing captive, but not for long. *Crack* It's neck is broken, but that large maw clamps more firmly to suck the lifeblood he will soon need to rise with Jeuneth.
Jeuneth> Graneth gives Jeuneth a long, low rumble, nearly his whole chest vibrating with the sound. He hesitates, then, unable to decide between feasting on another creature, or just watching the gold. As he waits, it seems that watching is his default decisions and he continues to do so.
T'ie eyes L'mir warily as he begins to pace, excess energy demanding some sort of release. His words come in a soft murmer, only the movement of his lips betraying the fact of his speech at all.
G'ran regards L'mir for a long moment, his own sneer not abating in the least. A roll of hazel eyes greet the youngster's words. As if sweet-talking will get him anywhere. G'ran, for his part, doesn't say a word, just folding his arms over his chest and looking very much the bronzerider. Worship him.
Niare walks toward the Northern Weyrs.
Jeuneth> Oh, like any of these pitiful creatures are QUALIFIED to give chase to Jeuneth - Jeuneth who emanates a sickening, slurping, suckling sound as she vampirically drains the fat buck of its last drops of sticky blood. As if to illustrate her displeasure of her would-be suitors, she hauls back and launches the drained carcass across the grounds, watching with fierce pleasure as it careens unchecked in the damp evening air. Ah, but she's not through yet! One in each shadowed forelimb, she seizes a duo of wherries, smashes their heads together gleefully, and settles back on night-cloaked haunches to drain them next, hunched over her kill with a protective fury.
D'ner crosses his ams across his chest and gives G'ran a haughty stare. Letting himself be distracted from Joslyn for only a few moments. Then his head swings back and his eyes fasten upon Joslyn again.
Sparing a glance up for those who have oh-so-conveniently materialized here, Joslyn declares tempestuously, "I hate all of you! Go away! Find F'loran! Tell Jeuneth to stop this! I want my mommmmmmy!" Maturity incarnate, she settles to blubbering in a half-detached manner, clinging to what simply cannot be sanity as Jeuneth's ferocity stakes its claim.
Jeuneth> Zylath is -more- than qualified to give chase to Jeuneth. He's bronze. It's an instant qualification. He's also a very handsome bronze, but that's just his own oh-so-humble opinion. One last loud slurp drains the bovine of the very last of its pathetic lifeblood, carcass getting pitched out of the way to smack with a sickeningly wet crunch against the fence that separates the feeding grounds from the meadow. A third beast is brought down, and the draining process continues.
J'mis strides over from the Northern Weyrs.
J'mis doesn't so much walk, as roll - if he'd been at sea for a few days, or turns, you could understand the rolling gait, but, as it is, he's just poor ole, simple, but always here, and very potent (take that as you want), J'mis.
Jeuneth> Jacketh doesn't to worry about -what- she may think, think or not think, its all the same to him. What does worry him is how he shall evade those others to be the one that proves his worth. A challenging bugle is given to the others, be it known that Jacketh is here and he shall prevail.
G'ran doesn't even dignify D'ner with a stare. He's -male-. Such things are beneath one as studly and bronzerly as G'ran is. A simple quirk of one chestnut eyebrow is his only indication that he knows he's being stared at...and who wouldn't stare? He's well worth staring at. Joslyn's blubbering provokes a small smirk. "F'loran? That dimwit? Now why would we do a thing like that?"
T'ie pauses in his pacing to stare at J'mis. "Its a wonder he could even find his way out from the bottle." He mutters beneath his breath. The same wary look is given to the other riders as if he doesn't -even- dare to look at Joslyn yet.
Jeuneth> Graneth fans his wings and bugles with bravado, sinking his talons deeper into the drained carcass beneath his feet. Several times he flaps, sending dust swirling through the air and causing another minor stampede.
Jeuneth> Brielth's whirling, expectant eyes follow each movement of the Glistening Golden Garganth who bears the name Jeuneth. He'd not her to spring into the Southern skies with him not there to parallel her every movement! How then does that third herdbeast find itself captured under dark talons that continue their tearing motions, leaving a pit where its belly had been? Even now, his eyes never leave the Gold, as they duck down to slowly suck, redness tinging the darker patches on his long neck.
J'mis grins at T'ie, "Oh, young man, I certainly found myself up from one bottle, yes indeedy, the fourth was a little bit of a problem, but I'm here. Can't let Josy do without me, she's panting for me, can't you see?"
In the northern sky, Vagranth soars over from the Western Weyrs.
In the northern sky, Vagranth soars to the sky further south.
"That's my /brother/ you're talking about!" L'mir strikes back verbally, moving closer to the group. "If there's any calling to be done, it'll be by me!" So why's he not doing any calling of his own? The look he gives to Josy might be an indicator.
Jeuneth> Vagranth flies over from the sky above.
D'ner's eyes glint as he watches Joslyn, and his hands are quickly stuffed into his pockets - perhaps the better to control them.
Jeuneth> Second and third neatly dispatched, Jeuneth moves along to swipe up yet another addled, disastrously terrified, stampeding beast. Hissing out her forked tongue, she torments the creature - tugging as hard as she can as if to literally tear the beast in half - before she clamps her jaws around life-giving arteries. In an hypnotic swirl of black-based wingsails, she settles far from the gawking males, issuing a rumbled warning as yet another comes to partake of HER herds. Glowing as if from within - some caged illumination that ignites the golden glints with a scalding fire - she screeches defiance but contents herself with blood alone, the sticky, syrupy vitae dribbling along her jawhinge and trailing along her neck.
T'ie does stop to consider that. "Where is that brownrider?" He asks, eying L'mir for a moment. "First K'tor disappears without warning and now F'loran. Its enough to make one wonder."
G'ran smirks in L'mir's direction. "Is that a threat, Weyrsecond?" he oozes out, very nearly offensive in his overwhelming arrogance. The title is given a slur that almost makes it an insult. "I wonder exactly -how- you got that knot, anyways. Conspiring to chase our dear K'tor off, perhaps?" Yeowch! The insults, as well as the dragons, are flying tonight.
See, it's a good thing that Joslyn - who really will sit there by her shrubbery kicking at the dirt ineffectually forever if given the chance - is WAY to out of it to register the remarks about F'loran. Though something about them pester her to furrow her brows a little and scowl just that much darker. At least the whimpering has stopped... for a second or two...
Jeuneth> Vagranth arrives in the feeding grounds with a backwing of comet filled wings, and a haze of debris - we have debris (that's not debris!) Without further adue he quickly swipes with a razor sharp talon, slicing cleanly a neck that was once unsullied by a dragon touch, but now reaps a fountain of blood as the carotid arteries are completely severed. He lowers his maw, tending to the wound in his own special way, draining the lifeforce from the beast with nary a second thought.
Jeuneth> Perhaps Jeuneth needs lessons in sharing, Jacketh being the perfect one to provide then necessary tutlage. If so, he will need his strength and his wits about him and annother herdbeast is dispatched.
J'mis wiggles eyebrows at all these young whipper snappers, "You have no idea what happened to that silly Weyrleader, do you? Rumors, all rumors, and none true. The truth of the matter is that I replaced him in Telinda's affections, and she finally subcummed to my charming personality. Just like Joslyn will. Nice ass by the way dear, been working out some on it have we?" he calls over to the weyrwoman.
L'mir's lips pucker then purse together tightly. "He's in my Wing, and you watch your mouth, hmm?" His words bite into the intended's ear, then both brows arch upward quickly. "This has /nothing/ to do with Telinda, and F'loran's *busy*. I had much to do with two jobs, so I put him to work /just/ before coming over here!" Oops. Is that a guilty look?
"Nice timing." T'ie notes to L'mir before raising an eyebrow and peering towards J'mis. "I can believe that, charm just ooozes from your mere presence."
Jeuneth> Perhaps fortunately, considering Graneth's only blooded once, a big ovine blindly rushes right into him and he automatically reaches out and kills it. Manouvering to keep Jeuneth in his sight, he lowers his head to blood a second time.
J'mis beams at T'ie, "Oh, you can sense it too? Wonderful, though I'll admit, I don't do your sort, I'm a ladies man. Sorry to disappoint you."
D'ner contemplates, "Charm? I think I'd be more inclined to say 'slime' than 'charm'" His chin lifts and his lips curve into a sly smile.
G'ran doesn't change that smirk one tiny little itty bit, no he doesn't. "Oh, like you expect me to -listen- to you?" he retorts, simply enough. "I, personally, would bet that you've been carrying on some secret affair with Telinda, and you two have been conspiring to get rid of K'tor for some time now. We all know about your ways with women." J'mis gets a lifted eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt that, my good man."
"Its a wonder you can tell the difference." T'ie replies blandly.
Pent up tears of frustration launch full force and Joslyn repeats, "I want my moooommmmy!" Way to go, J'mis. Now she's blubbering like it's going out of style, sniffing and rubbing dirty fingers against her eyes and the whole nine yards. Pity she's not conscious enough to be paying attention; loads of gossip fodder tonight.
Jeuneth> Brielth's heart is beginning to pound with the driving sensations deep inside him as the lifegiving blood of his victims courses throughout his body. He pauses, shuddering, then lurches forward directly into a pack of beasts to snatch one. No fancy moves, just raw force is used as the tinged maw opens yet again to crunch into flesh. Lifting his head to peer at the Gold, the beast's legs dangle limply, its own blood trickling to the ground in one long stream. Brielth watches, biding his time.
J'mis opens his arms, beams at Joslyn, and says, "Come to Daddy!" He ignores, for the time being, the others.
Jeuneth> Zylath drains his third, and fourth, beasts, with a lazy grace that puts most other beasts to shame...at least, that's what he thinks. Carcasses are flicked off into the vacant space with no cares for whom or what they might hit. That done, the bronze hunkers down, watching Jeuneth with whirling, violet-tinged eyes. Any minute now....
Jeuneth> Jeuneth needs no lessons. On the contrary, she's about to show these pathetic excuses for males exactly what a Flight is like! No need for flattering glances or bided time, and absolutely no use for weakling dragons, she casts away the last of her kill in a careless gesture that lets the thing thump heavily even as she finds herself airborne. A great sweep of liquid fire - a change of air pressure - the telltale rush of damp Southern breezes, and the demon Jeuneth is aloft without the bother of a backward glance. No idle flirtation, no coy twists or turns. This one is going fast and far, a Cimmerian speck in the darkening sky, the spirit of a wraith calling for a swift chase. Best of luck, boys.
Jeuneth> You soar to the open sky above.
Jeuneth> Brielth soars over from the feeding grounds below.
Jeuneth> Jacketh flies over from the feeding grounds below.
Jeuneth> Graneth soars over from the feeding grounds below.
Jeuneth> Vagranth flies over from the feeding grounds below.
Jeuneth> Jesten flits over from the feeding grounds below.
Jeuneth> Graneth shoots into the sky like an bolt from a crossbow, only remembering to drop the half-drained carcass a length up. The limp thing tumbles down and lands with a pretty sickening crunch back in the feeding grounds. He follows the straight course, bronze wings beating hard.
Joslyn bawls. Positively totally and completely cries like a baby and clings to her shrubbery as if for dear life. Quite a scene - dirty, dishevelled, blubbering Southern goldrider sitting in the dirt hugging a broad-leafed bush.
Well, poor J'mis is a bit stuck here, blubbering weyrwoman aren't a good match for this debonair personality of his. "Ni?" he tries, uncomprendingly.
L'mir's face shows definite anger now, sending G'ran a terrible stare. All he can sputter out right now is garbled talk, something about Telinda and himself. His eyes shoot up into the sky, as he mutters 'Shards.. so fast..' then his gaze floats down to Josy. A few steps take him close, but out of smacking range. "You all right, Josy?" he asks with a low, even tone. Sure, he's faking that right now.
Jeuneth> Jacketh leaps into the air, powerful hanches providing the spring as massive wings bear down to provide the lift as ungangly movements transform into graceful flight. For a moment, the chase is forgotten in the glory that is flying. But then, the fading light glitters before him and he answers a call.
Jeuneth> Zylath is in the air a splitsecond behind Jeuneth, but unlike some young upstart bronzes whose names won't be mentioned in this particular setting, the canny old creature keeps his distance. Maintaining a lower altitude than the Golden Terror, he bides his time, and reserves his energy. For now.
Well, that's a dumb question, L'mir. Does Joslyn LOOK all right? Is it normal for her to be sitting in the dirt crying while her queen's in the sky? All of this is conveyed in one flash of a glance at the bronzerider which is summed up quite simply: Duh. She's a bit beyond words right now - what with Jeuneth's intentions and her own... er... inhibitions - so don't feel bad if you get ignored.
G'ran returns L'mir's stare with a sneer of his own. Nothing intimidates this man, apparently. "You give me one good reason not to believe it," he says, simply, before his sneer widens into a leering grin. "Ah, now it begins," he says, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.
T'ie does what he does best when confronted with a weeping woman, he walks the other way. Not to far, mind you.
Jeuneth> Brielth stretches out his great wings, pressing forward into a path that takes him directly below the Golden Torrent. Ripples control his muscles, sending his bulk forward. A brown cuts into his path, only to receive a bellowing call, threatening to force him from this sky that Brielth calls home. Undaunted, he passes that dull mass, intent on holding his stance at least for now.
D'ner looks around expectantly, ignoring the tears. "We ought to go somewhere...more private," he suggests.
Jeuneth> Vagranth spreads wings wide and far, revelling in the joy of flight that has captured this bronze and sent him far into the sky. Like a comet flashing through the evening sky, dazzling the heavens above, so he fires through the thermals, clearing them until he captures the one he needs. Wing twitch, a minute adjustment of wingsails, a calibration of precision and detail, all intent on the golden sun that rises in front of him. To him she is the rising star, the power that could send him higher, or lower, should the sun just caress his wings the once - to melt, or not to melt, if he just bides his time for the caress of the moment.
J'mis just shakes his head, "Kids, kids, she's ripe for the picking if you just wait a moment" he says, "Like an apple ready to fall from the tree, and that's the true." He grins down at Joslyn, "Up you get, Joslyn," he barks in his weyrlingmaster-type-scary-but-not-as-much-as-N'all voice. "Or I'll carry you and have some fun way!"
Jeuneth> Fleeting, fleeing. A livid speck of cinder-blackened gold flickering against evening's canopy, glittering against the gray sunset, Jeuneth barrells into the oncoming twilight, relishing the cloak of coming darkness, immersing herself in the wan dimness. Unaware of pursuants, revelling in her own glory, she sparks with arrow-swiftness and her own surety on a course well away from the confines of that dreadful Weyr and it's dreadful male population. The coal-dusted darkness of her wingsail's cape beats almost rhythmically against the yielding breezes, pushing beyond them with reckless abandon. Higher, she strives to put the distance between herself and her suitors: The Queen ignoring the wants and wills of her subjects.
"I'll box you in the nose! I've done it before!" And Joslyn balls up her fists, intent on doing just that to the fool who dares invade her little fort. This, of course, being the most coherent thing she's said in a while now. It's hard to think at a time like this, after all!
Jeuneth> Zylath wings his lazy way along, underneath and slightly to the right of the main pack, occasionally gracing the younger beasts with a condescendingly amused glance as they jockey desperately to be in the front of the pack. Don't they know that the front is the worst place to be at this particular point? Well, if they don't, then Zylath won't be the one to tell them. Why give away trade secrets? Onward the canny creature sweeps, eyes firmly on the prize.
Jeuneth> The coming darkness is forgotten, all that exists is the golden star set against rising darkness. Cinder-blackened though she may be, the essence that calls to him shines brillantly forth. The dark shapes of Jacketh's wings cut through the evening air, silent in voice as he conserves every bit of strength.
Jeuneth> Brielth knows where he's going and knows what he wants. Her. He didn't speckle his hide with that blood-red covering for his own amusement, and he's not about to share this with anyone else, least of all the suitors who surge about him. Zylath is easy to spot over there, both dragons choosing the same vantage point. Snarls are the gift he offers that competitor, then the choice prize of seeing the whip of a reddish tail that forces him through the air, driving him toward Jeuneth.
Jeuneth> Vagranth might only be a suitor, and not a very powerful lord in this court, but he is a squire for her affections, and he intends to make sure he tries as hard as he is able. Like a dance, he moves through the other males, dodging the other dancers in this waltz of life, bronze hide flickering with the coming darkness that causes his hide to shimmer like glows. He offers Jeuneth his favor - his attempt to chase - and settles back for the rest of the dance card.
J'mis shrugs, "Well, if you want sex out here, I'm prepared to drop my trousers, but I thought you might like to know the problem of waking up nekkid in a field full of dragons and nosey riders!"
T'ie keeps his distance from the goldrider, especially her fists. He eyes J'mis for a moment, then turns away from him dismissively.
L'mir's eyes widen at the choice of words J'mis uses, looking quickly to the goldrider to see her reaction. A few steps bring him closer to her, yet still out of range. He's not saying much, but his mind sure is racing and it's not with his dragon high above.
Jeuneth> A trumpet - a ringing cry of scintillating freedom - announces the pleasure of Jeuneth as she pushes herself faster and farther, courting not the males but the winds. Oblivion as her guide, she has no concerns save the inherent desire to devour the spiralling breezes that lend swiftness to her escape. The demon unleashed, hers is a haphazard climb meant to weary the lesser males early and fast whilst flirting with the thinning air of altitude. Steady, unrelenting, gruelling. And only now will she dare to take stock of her pursuers, flirting a glance beneath the cloaking wingsails that pummel the skies - the furtive glance of a child peeking beneath her covers.
G'ran simply snorts at L'mir's reaction. "I think most of us -real- men would be quite willing to drop trousers right here, J'mis," he says, the implication clearly that L'mir is no kind of a real man. "And you never answered my question, -Weyrsecond-." The title is sneered out.
Joslyn's response is typical of her current demeanor: She throws a stone at J'mis's head. Her aim is probably suffering for her state of mind, but it's the thought that counts.
Jeuneth> Zylath bides his time, watching the Golden Terror of the Southern Skies from his lower position. A quick flick to one side sends him out of range of a floundering brown, a smug warble escaping his still-crimsoned muzzle. And another one bites the dust. He puts a little more effort into his wingstrokes, gaining a bit in speed and altitude. Just a bit. No need to exhaust himself prematurely.
"Now is -neither- the time nor the place for this." T'ie challenges both G'ran and L'mir with his glare. Just focus on your lifemate, like you -should- be doing."
And that stone knocks J'mis right between the eyes - wow, look, he grew a third eye. "Ow!" he complains, rubbing at the area with his fingers.
Jeuneth> Vagranth wavers in the air, something withdrawing his attention from the race at hand, and that's enough to put him out of the race. Darnit! He bugles his displeasure, tilts a wing tip and heads towards the ocean.
Jeuneth> Vagranth flies toward the sky further north.
Joslyn looks smug. Well, and detached and dirty and miserable and immobile.
In the northern sky, Vagranth soars to the ocean of the Weyr Cove below.
Jeuneth> In the northern sky, Vagranth soars to the ocean of the Weyr Cove below.
Jeuneth> Jacketh dances along the eddies of the wind, capturing an occassion updraft that alleviates his growing fatigue, all others are forgotten for the moment, no sense in diverting precious energy to empty challenges.
Still rubbing his forehead, J'mis grins, "I'll be waiting for you when these lads have tried to satisfy you. See you later, darlin'."
Jeuneth> Brielth returns that golden trumpet with one of his own, the rhythmic pounding of leading and trailing edge in perfect harmony as he tunes his direction to suit the Queen. He'll score this night, he's sure of that, again sending a harmonic whip of that crimson tail to lunge forward. Should he write her name in the Southern Skies for her? Tinge it in a mixture of golds and crimson to tone the darkness with light? Again he forges to her, a baton poking holds in the night.
J'mis strides over to the Western Weyrs.
Jeuneth> A pleased sound emanates from Jeuneth as she notes the spiralled descent of one recently proud bronze, a small issuance that illustrates perfectly her pleasure at that turn of events. But it doesn't bode well for the dark queen. Indeed, she shows the growing strain of her exertions - her swift ascent, her careless disregard for pace, her reckless waste of her own reserves. Yes, there is the flicker of labor in the push of her wings, a measure of strain as she combats the air which was once her ally. Still, she struggles upward, determined not to surrender so soon, willing herself to the very lengths of waning power.
L'mir wanders closer to Josy, still staying outside of that arm's range. He leans down toward her, holding out his hand - not that she'd be close enough to snag it. "C'mon. /I'll/ help you up." That smile has an odd texture to it, definitely.
Jeuneth> Zylath catches that straining moment, that instant of faltering, and makes his move. The energy that he has been hoarding this entire time is promptly poured into powerful wingbeats, the air shuddering as he rockets through it. Abruptly emerging in the front of the pack, he reaches out neck, tail, and claws, intent on one thing and one thing only--catching this gold, and showing her -exactly- what makes him such a studly bronze indeed.
Joslyn's got lots more rocks, L'mir. And she's wielding one in each hand now, probably due to the rapidly dwindling strength of her own lifemate. It's a stimulus response: Jeuneth starts losing, Josy finds a weapon. Grr.
Jeuneth> With a knowledge earned from long experience, Jacketh races forward, only the whooosh of his wings against the wind betraying his movement. Forward and then upwards as every ounce of his being is poured into each beat of his wings, for the moment she is worth life itself. A fleeting thought at the best.
Kellah stays far back as she watches the flight.
T'ie moves closer to Joslyn, but staying behind L'mir. If anyone is to earn the goldrider's wrath, let it be him.
Jeuneth> Brielth seems to find new vitality, new drive from the way the Gold flies. He's ready for this, ready to come and be her support, hers to twirl and twine with him into the dusky night. That will be his focus, that will bring him to a spurt of inner strength that lurches the bronze to Jeuneth, crooning soothingly to her as he stretches out to touch her, hold her in his embrace... so near..
T'rrin walks toward the Lakeside Meadow.
Cyonth ambles toward the Lakeside Meadow.
G'ran isn't about to get in the way of Josy's rocks. Not right now. If someone's gonna get belted, let it be the punk.
Jeuneth> Fouled? By the very winds she had been utilizing for speed - for height? How can this be? How can it be possible for Jeuneth, the fiery queen sheethed in the very breath of darkness, to lose?! There is no pleasure in her surrender, no joy in turning to the strength of another to buoy her own decline. It's a snarl of pure fury that finds her wing to wing with Brielth, a scream torn from what was once her greatest freedom. A reluctant prize if a prize at all. And, if she falls, Brielth is in BIG trouble.
Jeuneth> Zylath howls, a sound of fury and utter indignation as the whelp steals his prize. That said, he wheels, and heads straight for the waters of the ocean, hoping to thoroughly drown his sorrows.
Jalynia strides over to the Western Courtyard.
L'mir bends down to wrap his arms around Josy, sable eyes glazed with the feelings deep within him. "C'mon, Josy," he grunts, hefting her up to standing, "Better come home with me. Can't really see Fol watching - things, now can we?" He leans down, ready to heft her onto his shoulder.
Consider it resignation or something. Sure, SOME of that passion has to get to Joslyn, but she was pretty happy sitting in the dirt crying. "He's gonna hate us!" So let's just not talk about F'loran, hm? It's much more pleasant that way. Anyhow, clinging because it's about the only thing she can do, the goldrider is actually pliant. Gasp!
L'mir does indeed heft Josy onto his shoulder, such a nice lump of, well, whatever. Off he goes, carrying her toward his weyr. "Right. We won't talk about /him/." then disappears along the path.
L'mir strides over to the Southwestern Weyrs.
In the northern sky, Enaeth flies over from the Ocean Weyrs.
You walk toward the Southwestern Weyrs.