Belior Rising {Adaityth's Flight}

[neeuqtar]

S'vil was waiting in his weyr. He had, in fact, been waiting all day. Calmly, he whittled on yet another stick, turning the piece of wood into a pile of curled bits in a basket. It was a relatively pointless exercise, but hey, he needed something to do. And right now, that something was carving pieces of wood into little curls of wood. Sitting with absolutely nothing to do would be... boring. At least whittling was a good way to pass the time while he waited for Adaityth.

The dragon slept soundly, her ribcage slowly rising and falling. She'd been sleeping since yesterday morning, and everyone knew a dragon slept just before she Rose. But she'd been sleeping a sharding long time. S'vil sighed and finished carving his stick into little splinters and was about to start another. He reached his hand towards the next stick, but froze as a wave of something seared through him. More than emotion, almost as powerful as Impression, it was as if a whole new part of Adaityth had awoken in that instant.

The dragon's eyes snapped open, a vivid red-orange gleaming in the shadows of the Weyr. She blinked, her nictitating membranes clearing her eyes of sleep with the slow presence of a predator. The normally-friendly dragon rolled to her feet in a graceful feline motion, padding out onto the ledge. The green dragon stretched her wings slowly, lazily, reveling in the feel of hide slipping across tendon and bone, stretching between wingspars. She could feel the dead air inside of the Weyr, and hated it with a cold curl of disdain.

Behind her, S'vil panted, almost unable to deal with this commanding, predatory creature that Adaityth had turned into. He was used to soothing, building up -- not at standing against a tidal force of self-assuredness and power. It left him reeling and overcame what made him S'vil with the unrelenting force of a tsunami. In mere moments, Adaityth had full claim on his mind, as she bugled, a clear belling noise that turned into a shriek of defiance as she launched herself into the dead air.

Turning on one wingtip, the dragon plummeted towards the 'Bowl's floor, pulling up at the last moment to skim across the uneven ground. The green swiped at a herdbeast, leaving trails of red across its back before slowing enough to grab one with a snap of her jaws. She shadowed the kill with her wings, tearing it open and lapping at the blood delicately as it pooled. With a snarl, she plunged her jaws into the body of the animal, snatching the heart with sharp teeth and eating it. She growled, a sound low and dangerous, and looked around her with a crimson muzzle.

Without warning, she leapt into the air once more, winging her way in slow spirals towards the higher exits, before diving suddenly towards the lowest one, folding her wings and running through in a few swift bounds, before flinging herself into the twilight sky outside of the Weyr. She might not be the sun, a golden queen Rising into the sky, but she was the moon, and the night was hers!

In the Weyr, S'vil tried desperately to shake off the power of the Flight, failing utterly. He moved through the halls of the weyr access swiftly, not quite running, heading ever towards the Flight rooms, though the males who would come would be led on quite a path before they attained their goal. Oh yes! Adaityth was in the air, and the Chase was on--!

[Avu]

Soooo, Minething…

“That,” Ce’thian remarked, tilting his head from where he’d arranged long legs over the arm of his chair to read, “Sounds remarkably like your ‘I’m trying to get something from you subtly and fail at it a lot’ voice, Sparath.” A noncommittal rumble from the ‘ledge. Ce’thian settled the scrolls down across his knees, still squinting at the grainy wording—getting out of this chair was going to be a problem; Ce’thian was good at getting into intricate folded positions but not quite so good at getting back out of them. Hopefully Sparath wouldn’t need him anywhere in a terrible hurry. “I’m listening, provided you don’t need me to spare more than half a functioning brain cell.”

Well you don’t neeeed to, Minething, but it’s probably to your benefit if you do. Be diplomatic, I might get offended you aren’t listening, you know. Anyway, up and at ’em Minething, there’s a pretty little greenling that warrants attention. You’d think it was past bedtime wouldn’t you? Amusement in the bronze’s purr. He flopped over the edge of his weyrledge, paws dangling into space. Parallel to Adaityth. He didn’t mean to show very much attention right from the start. But we’re feeling risqué tonight aren’t we pretty…

“I bet you say that to all the pretty girls,” Ce’thian commented, cheerfully cheeky. “Who’s it anyway?” It had been a long time since he’d stopped Sparath from Chasing. It was essentially an exercise in futility, he’d found, and anyway, Flight was Flight was Flight—meant very little. And he’d had Sparath for seventeen years now; the bronze didn’t really overwhelm him the way he had as a weyrling fresh in the air, not until he actually Caught.

Oh, you know, Sparath answered vaguely, One of the new ones. Oh, there we go. Have fun getting un-pretzeled, Minething. The bronze slipped quietly off his ‘ledge in Adaityth’s wake, following one of the tunnels down to the ‘bowl and peeling away from her direct path as soon as he reached the openness there; instead Sparath coiled near the top of the bowl, fanning out his wings to watch her blood. Was that really necessary…it was just a greenflight. A baby one, at that. Well, if she wanted. The bronze tucked his wings as she made her abrupt exit into the night, curling through a higher exit to avoid the necessity of landing.

He caught a thermal to rise in a wide corkscrew, rumbling to Adaityth, Where’s the fire, sunshine? You called, we came[/i]—a ‘we’ that he had not paid attention at all to yet; he was first anyway—you conquer, isn’t that how it goes. Sparath dipped one wing to break the corkscrew, dipping lower to roll loosely underneath the green, let her lead.

Faintly disgruntled by the timing, Ce’thian frowned at the scrolls and then carefully set them on the floor next to the chair, untangling his legs and finally brushing a hand down his torso to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt created by his awkward curled-up position. “Well, there could be worse ways to end the night,” he commented out loud to the empty weyr and the displaced air where Sparath had been. Ce’thian brushed up the scrolls into neatness, and then stepped out of his weyr—started up to the Flight rooms with a hopeful glance around for any possible female greenriders who looked like they were heading in the same direction.

Which, nope. Boo.[/font]

[Sheari]

There was something about night Flights that thrilled Weith. The cool air always seemed to fuel him, rushing over his hide and beneath his wings. He watched from his 'ledge as Adaityth moved from her weyr and out to the weyr proper. She was one of the new weyrlings, and she was enticing. Weith almost lazily rolled from his 'ledge, a gentle hum coming from his throat. As caught himself he curled downward through the air.

Hello, young lovely,[/i] Weith crooned, landing nearby the green as she blooded her kill. I am Weith, at your service![/i] Of course, the bronze was always at the service of any Rising female, but at the moment he was Adaityth's if she chose. Such as it was, Weith pursued quickly as she rose into the air of the mountain. As large as he was he was slower and never was able maneuver well through the mountain itself. He had gotten much better since his first arrival so many desperate years ago. He still posed no challenge to the green until she left the weyr.

WEITH![/i] The bronze was torn for a single moment. His usual style of chase was to hang back but still be just close enough to stand a chance. His current rival was another bronze, one he couldn't remember seeing overmuch. From R'men's mind he pulled a memory that had Sparath in it but from what he could gather, the bronze hadn't done much at all. He was up to trying something new, so the copper bronze elected to wait and see, and adjust accordingly.

WEITH![/i] What...?[/i] Clearly R'men wanted something, but the bronze was really not in much of a mood to care. FEMALE riders![/i] Weith rumbled in his chest; so that's what R'men was upset about.

Oh, but she is most definitely female, and lovely as well,[/i] because that always settled the argument, clearly.

[Ruby]

Another one.

T'ri lifted his head, glancing over at the near-grown dragon on the ledge. He was on his back on his bed, legs propped with one ankle crossed over a knee, a guitar sitting on his chest. Arhenaiyth was slumped as usual, just one blinky eye moving as he tracked something going on in the Bowl. He was average for a Blue, but he still looked huge to T'ri - it seemed like only yesterday that the young dragon had hatched and claimed Torino for his own. Still, the pair was nearing graduation now, even if T'ri was fairly certain Sel'n wouldn't give him a pass. Maybe he could get the Weyrlingmaster drunk and talk him in to letting the graduate... not that T'ri really wanted to be a full rider. That sounded harder to shirk. Regardless: Arhenaiyth wasn't a baby anymore, and he'd been chasing practically every green tail that passed his nose since then, especially sisters. That hadn't gone so well with Khiraeth - Qaena wasn't even looking at T'ri, not that that bothered him much - but from the Blue's not-totally-bored tone, T'ri gathered that it was another sister. "Which one?" he asked, picking out a melancholy chord on the guitar draped across his midsection.

When Arhenaiyth didn't answer, T'ri turned over, only to see a turquoise tail sliding off into the darkness. It was late for a flight, but Arhenaiyth always saw better at night than during the day, so he'd be fine. With an inarticulate "Mmph" as the first tendrils of flightlust trickled across the bond, he set aside the instrument, pulled on a tailored jacket over his deep v-neck shirt, and strolled off towards the flightrooms at his usual pace. Who is it? he asked again, somewhat more desperate than curious, this time. Had to know which 'sister' he was about to see. What he wouldn't give for it to be Tserieth... but no, she hadn't been especially shiny. Henny took his time about the answer, though, waiting until T'ri spotted a growing trickle of unfamiliar riders heading for the flightrooms to enlighten him. Adaityth. "Oh, fabulous."

As T'ri made his way into the flightrooms, trying (and failing) to look unimpressed, Arhenaiyth was doing a similar thing in the air... except he wasn't failing. While Adaityth fiddled around in the Weyrbowl, killing some herdbeast like the queen she wasn't, Arhenaiyth clung to the wall like an overgrown firelizard, for all intents and purposes ignoring what was going on below. He'd wait for her to head out, for she had to leave eventually - there wasn't room for a flight within the bowl. And she did... ducking low to take an entrance near the ground. Arhenaiyth snorted and took whichever one was closest, keeping his altitude. Tracking Adaityth and, as usual, crowding her as soon as possible, Arhenaiyth tossed his head at his sister, snapping his jaws in a way that would have been playful if every line of his body didn't scream annoyance. Well, get on with it then. Of course, while his body was screaming annoyance, the words directed at Adaityth were distinctly warmer than anyone would expect, a verbal caress even if it was a dry one. When he looped the other chasers in, though, his mindvoice was as bored as ever. Let's make this quick, shall we?[/i]