you should be frightened [g'tor]

[Avu]

Are you frightened?
I'm not frightened.
You should be frightened.
Why?

The bronzepair had left the chaotic Weyr. They weren't far away, merely a distance down the coast. Corinth was sunning himself, head lazily draped over a rock and wings dropped to the ground. One eye was twice lidded, the third lid halfway down, but the other eye was fully open, and the rapid whirling of the multi-faceted orb showed his interest in his Rider, focused intently upon the bronzerider, who was sitting cross-legged, facing Corinth, at the very lip of the cliff. Said cliff dropped perhaps ten feet, and there was no beach: It ended directly into the ocean, the waves licking against the rock, higher than usual due to the recent stormy weather. Dressed casually in a light tunic and loose pants, barefoot, hair messy as usual, T'rid seemed to be as perfectly at ease as Corinth was, head lolling against one shoulder, one eye closed against the sun, the other meeting the bronze dragon's gaze squarely. Corinth yawned, his tailtip twitching slightly against his haunches.

Why? T'rid insisted.

He never received an answer that fully satisfied him until after. After the bronze's tail whipped around, the tip catching him in the chest and sending him tumbling backwards off of the cliff with a startled and very undignified yelp, one hand automatically catching the lip of the cliff, the other latching onto Corinth's tail. The bronze chuffed in light amusement, lifting his tail and T'rid with it, and depositing the young man back on the cliff. Because, Weyrleadermine, we are /alone/, and there is /nothing/ stopping me from dropping you into the ocean. T'rid spluttered indignantly as he was plopped unceremoniously onto the ground, shooting a glare at the obviously amused bronze, who crooned, blinking innocently at T'ridHis. They stared at each other for a moment, and then, in a simultaneous change of topic --

You're quite certain --
Stupid won't eat Dinner? Not with Conspiracy and Mir.
And they will listen to you?
Yes.
Do you know, Dinner would make a very good guard if she was trained...
A /guardchicken/?!

And that was when he struck, just as the bronzerider had wrinkled his nose in distaste at the thought: His tail whiplashed around and T'rid, who had stood up and turned to face the ocean, was caught unprepared as his knees were struck from behind. His screech was cut off abruptly a second later as he hit the water ten feet below, and Corinth, rumbling in affectionate amusement, left his rock to pad over to the cliff, peering down at T'ridHis, who had resurfaced, shooting a venemous glare upwards. "If you wanted to swim you could have asked!" he snapped, and received a plaintive, You would've said /no/. Which was true enough. The bronze dragon leapt into the air, gliding forward a bit before he angled himself into a headlong dive. The wave that came up was gentle by the time it reached T'rid, but he let himself be washed gently to the cliff face, to which he hooked one arm, glaring at Corinth as the bronze dragon crooned at him a distance away, and began swimming steadily back.

As soon as Corinth extended his muzzle to T'rid, the bronzerider whacked him as hard as he could on the nose, earning himself a reproving look as Corinth huffed. Uncalled for, Weyrleadermine! T'rid huffed right back at him, pushing himself off the cliff to grab Corinth's neck and flop onto the bronze, kicking him lightly in reproof. "Con's more mature than you are, you big overgrown hatchling...!" I resent that! Which, naturally, called for retaliation. The dragon rolled over, dumping T'rid back into the water and rumbling in amusement at the bronzerider's yelp before he was dunked.

Like I said. You should be frightened.

[Rowana]

When G'tor heard the shouting, he had urged Ruskeath to fly faster, supposing that someone had fallen off the cliffs and might need help. What he found instead was his Weyrleader, flailing in the water, with a very amused looking Corinth watching him. G'tor couldn't help but laugh out loud. Not that T'rid was in hearing distance yet. Ruskeath circled closer, dipping his wing in salute to the bronze.

G'tor cupped his hands to his mouth to call out to T'rid. "Hey there! Need any help?" The bright twinkle in his eye betrayed that he was fairly sure the man didn't want any help and would probably prefer not to have an audience.

That looks like fun, Ruskeath commented wistfully. What? Swimming? We do that all the time. Not swimming exactly, the brown went on vaguely. G'tor eyed him suspiciously. You knocked me in the river last week, you great trickster! he accused, with hidden amusement. Don't pretend you never get the chance! True Ruskeath allowed slowly. But you need so little encouragement. And you enjoy it too much. G'tor rolled his eyes and turned back to see if his Weyrleader really did want assistance.

[Avu]

Resurfacing, T'rid blew water out of his mouth, running his tongue along his lips and grimacing at the salty taste as he caught onto Corinth's foreleg again, one hand keeping himself anchored on the big mass of dragonfat he called His, the other pushing his wet hair out of his eyes and then attending to the scrubbing of water off of his face. "Yuck," he commented, rolling his tongue experimentally and making another face. The bronzerider was not fond of salt -- on his food, or just in the water. And unfortunately, wiping his face on his sleeve would only result in more salt. (Was there way to destroy salt, bychance?) Corinth's attention was elsewhere, or undoubtedly he'd have been very amused -- and speaking of which, why was it elsewhere? T'rid would have expected the bronze to be highly amused by his Rider's annoyance. It would be typical of him. Corinth, however, was peering upwards, and presently he gave a low croon of greeting, his eyes sliding from tense, wary tones to welcoming blue-greens. It could never be said that Corinth was anything less than courteous when it came to greeting other dragons.

Giving a slight, jerky kick of his legs, T'rid leaned back against Corinth's foreleg, peering upwards, too. Ruskeath and His, Corinth reported explanatorily, as the sun had framed the brown and his Rider and they were nothing more than a dark silhouette to T'rid. However, the shout that came down from said brownpair clearly marked them as G'tor and Ruskeath: T'rid remembered the Rider from Wing Drills. He wasn't stupid, and often he had a very selective memory, but he had nothing against G'tor and therefore actually bothered to remember him. (That -- and Corinth refused to let him forget any members of his wing, or the mention of K'lir and Calistoth would undoubtedly receive a blank look.) T'rid curled one hand over his eyes in a vague attempt to see, and to keep his dripping hair from depositing stinging saltwater in his eyes. It didn't work on either, and after a while, he grimaced and simply borrowed Corinth's eyes to see.

"Depends," he called back, turning vaguely with one eye squeezed shut in the direction of Ruskeath, "Are you willing to knock Corinth into the water for me, once he gets out of it? -- I've tried it, and it doesn't work." T'rid was actually in a rather good mood -- he hadn't been, but coming to the secluded spot had raised his mood considerably. No fretting Riders, no panicking Drudges -- just peace. (Corinth had interrupted that, of course.) Ruskeath's could not knock me into the water, Corinth protested lazily, rolling over onto his back and flaring out his wings, glittering metallic membranes resting against the water's surface, to float. T'rid promptly grabbed his foreleg and crawled onto the bronze's belly, where he sat down directly between Corinth's forelegs, cross-legged, to dry. "Ruskeath could," he pointed out. Ruskeath couldn't, the bronze contradicted. I'm bigger than he is and I can fly.

And then, speaking directly to Ruskeath, Corinth went on, Fair skies, Ruskeath -- it's quite nice that it's not raining for once; Mine hates the rain. How are you and Yours, if I may ask? So polite, considering the very same bronze had, no less than two minutes earlier, purposely knocked his own mindmate, his soulmate and his lifeline, into the water. Off of a cliff. Perhaps you'd like to join us for a swim? that very bronze went on, rumbling slightly as T'rid glanced up, and then around himself vaguely, twitching slightly as he plucked with great discontent at the now water-soaked tunic. He so wanted to take it off, but...he had nowhere to put it, and he didn't trust Corinth not to drop it into the water just so he'd have to walk back to his weyr bare-chested -- and very likely without his pants, too, if Corinth had any say about it. T'rid didn't plan on giving him any say, though, a fact which nettled Corinth slightly.

Served him right.

[Rowana]

G'tor laughed at the image of T'rid trying to push Corinth off the cliff. It was like a kitten trying to take on a herdbeast. "Sorry, Weyrleader," he called between chuckles. "I don't think I'd have anymore luck." He had to admit he'd never spent much time with T'rid outside of official duties like drills. He hadn't even know the other man like swimming. Though maybe it was too soon to make that conclusion. Corinth seemed to be having far more fun than his rider.

Fair waters Ruskeath returned Corinth's greeting in time. We are well, and you? Yours seems a little annoyed. It was hard for the brown to tell with other humans except his own. He didn't generally take as much interest in them anyway unless they were friends with G'tor. He took an interest in T'rid out of courtesy to a superior. He had to admit the water did look inviting. Thank you! I believe I shall.

"How are..." G'tor was starting to ask, when Ruskeath dove at the water. "Yeeeaaah!" G'tor shouted in surprise, just before they plunged beneath the waves cutting him off completely. Ruskeath came up and shook his head free of water. He had a very smug expression on his face. G'tor spluttered and glared at him. "You sneak!" Ruskeath just rumbled happily at him in reply and G'tor rolled his eyes. His dragon had got him after all.

[Avu]

No? Bother. The big bronze deserved to be shoved off a cliff. See how he liked it. Unfortunately, though small for a bronze, Corinth still dwarfed most of the dragons and even the most energetic of weyrlings -- the only dragon T'rid thought likely to actually attempt to shove him off a cliff -- probably couldn't so much as budge him if he didn't want to move. The queens, naturally, were larger than he, but too dignified: T'rid didn't think either Millieth nor Hepaticath would be willing to shove Corinth off a cliff. As thus, the only swims Corinth took were wholly voluntary -- which could not be said for T'rid's swims. The bronzerider didn't mind swimming in itself -- it was a good workout -- but he hated getting out afterwards and being sopping wet, hated the sand that stuck to his clothing and the bottoms of his feet, and hated the wetness of it. Ironically enough, he didn't mind the water when he was in it -- just when he was getting out. Still perched resolutely on top of Corinth's stomach, the bronzerider sighed, dropping his gaze to eye Corinth. "You know I don't like being wet," he commented reproachfully.

And was toppled back into the water again.

Corinth crooned in amusement as the bronzerider resurfaced -- for what had to be the fifth time in as many seconds -- and spluttered. "Corinth, you've got to stop!" The dragon hadn't bothered rolling over -- he'd just brought his tail up to flick along his belly, brushing T'rid off as he might have an annoying dust particle. That was just how much love and affection a dragon gave his Rider, yes. The dragon didn't respond to His in favor of addressing Ruskeath, though, his eyes whirling in rapid shades of amusement. It's good that you and Yours are well, the bronze responded courteously, I am fine as well -- though, yes, Mine is rather annoyed. The shades of brilliant blue and green showed that it in no way bothered Corinth, though. He continued, I wanted to swim, but Mine doesn't like swimming with me -- I make waves that are too big, he says, and I like to dunk him. So I knocked him off the cliff.

The bronze's wing automatically curled as a vague protective measure around His to protect the floating man from the wave of water that erupted from Ruskeath's dive, rumbling mildly at the brownrider's yell before entry as T'rid peeped around the metallic gleaming wing and promptly jerked the membrane forward as the wave struck Corinth's wing. The bronze gave it a slight shake, sending droplets falling away, and then arched his sinuous neck around to eye T'ridHis. And you think I make big waves? he teased gently, nudging the bronzerider as he dropped his wing. T'rid promptly flicked Corinth on the tip of his muzzle, and the bronze responded by licking him, his tongue flicking out to touch the bronzerider's cheek.

"That's disgusting, Cor," T'rid stated, wrinkling his nose and rubbing his cheek with one hand as he sighed, kicking back to Corinth and pulling himself onto the bronze dragon to flop onto his stomach and then glance over at G'tor again. "They're demons, aren't they? -- did Corinth suggest that? I hope he hasn't been a bad influence on Ruskeath." Influence yourself, Corinth retorted, clearly in a playful mood as he dropped his head back, lidding his eyes as the top of his head disappeared under the water. He addressed Ruskeath, clearly at his ease with the brown: Yours makes funny noises too, yes? Did you hear Mine screech?

"Immature, irrepressible little Weyrling!"