Run (I'm a natural disaster)

[Avu]

He’d been in a…strange mood, the conglomeration of the mess that was his life sliding together into a sort of sour itch at the back of his mind, in the joints of his fingers, a need to move and do and be. It was the kind of vague, placeless irritation that no amount of sparring could get rid of, the restless ache of inactivity mutating by the day. He just…sort of wanted to kill something, and he also wanted to hurt, like the hurting would mean something more than the not-quite limbo that living in the Weyr was; it was just too steady an existence. Nothing ever happened at the Weyr. He was bored, and Kyrahth, with the faintest gleam of a pre-Flight glow, was as restless and snappy as A’emi was.

His cheerful little façade was sort of cracking at the edges.

A’emi was pretty convinced that if another human being decided to talk to him or even breathe near him, they’d end up with a knife in their gut for their troubles.

Fortunately, there were felines that nobody would mourn.

Humans are far too mercurial, Kyrahth commented, the green winding through the trees behind him. A’emi counted himself extremely lucky the dragon was so small in this respect; felines traveled in packs and Kyrahth leveled the playing field, and if she’d been too fat to fit in the trees, they’d have had a problem. Killing enemies is honorable; killing felines is good; killing irritating, useless people who blab too much and cannot shut their mouths is, for whatever reason, not. Can’t people just make up their minds?

“That would probably result in half of Pern’s population being decimated,” A’emi replied absently, tilting his head as he looped around a thick tree trunk, lifting a branch for Kyrahth to duck under, “Watch your wings, sweetheart, this has thorns on it.”

Kyrahth grumbled softly in her throat, her claws raking at the dirt as she ducked obediently, flattening her wings against her spine. So what? Half of Pern’s population doesn’t do anything /anyway/.

“Convincing, Kyr,” A’emi replied dryly. “This is because you’re actually aware of how people live outside of the Weyr, am I right?” He wasn’t bothering with keeping quiet. The point was, essentially, to attract attention; keeping quiet was if he wanted to pick off felines without them noticing, and he just didn’t. It said a lot about his mood that Kyrahth wasn’t even complaining with this particular brand of suicidal idiot—but then, she’d always bowed to his moods, even when they weren’t this strong, even when she wasn’t this close to Rising.

No response. He hadn’t expected one.

“Shh,” he murmured, after a pause, and tilted his head, reaching back to brush his fingers over Kyrahth’s throat lightly, half warning and half affection. “Hear something?”

[Sheari]

Despite the merging of the Weyrs and the supplies that came with it, Weith had retained his somewhat not-quite-underweight build. His muscles had built up some, but not overly much and he had, in all, remained slim and lean. The bronze found he was glad to loose the bulk he'd once had. Much like someone fitting back into clothes, he found he could fit into smaller spaces. R'men had ceased to find such a massive dragon so slim amusing and had accepted it as an indication of his good health. His hide gleamed and the dragon claimed he felt stronger. Matching Weith's physical norm was his penchant for feline hunting. He had almost stopped feeding on herdbeasts, claiming he preferred to hunt his food and the flavour of the cats.

I wonder...[/i] Weith mused. R'men walked beside the bronze, more than content to observe how the beast went about his hunting. Weith moved as silently as he could, seeming to listen for the tell-tale growling that came from a feline defending its territory. It was how he did things; encroach upon them, make them come to you. At first nothing happened, but then the bronze shot his maw to the side quickly and latched onto something. R'men could hear teeth land on something solid and looked to the canopy when the upper branches of the tree shook. It moved,[/i] the bronze explained when his rider looked at him. A twig with trembling leaves stuck out of the corner of the dragon's jaws.

"I hear someone nearby," R'men said, moving from Weith. Unaware of his new accessory, the bronze followed. He took a little more of an easier trail, opting for larger spaces between the trees but remained near His. Wings held tightly to his back, Weith ducked and dodged through trees. He didn't stop until shortly after R'men did. The man seemed to be observing something, however anyone else out in the woods would notice a large bronze. "Hello," R'men greeted before stepping from the woods. HE knew that some riders had a tendency to striek first and speak later...he liked to avoid maiming if it was possible. Greetings, Kyrahth,[/i] Weith directed to the green politely.

[Avu]

His eyes narrowed on the sight of Weith, a half-aborted sneer twisting the corner of his mouth upward; behind him, Kyrahth bristled silently, her breath warm over the nape of A’emi’s neck as she curled half-around him, tilting her head up at the bronze who had somehow fancied himself small enough to wander around the forest and still have an advantage if a pack of felines came along. The green’s wings twitched at the ends when he bespoke her, and she answered in the shape of a response to A’emi instead of Weith, including the bronze, her tone softly venomous, I hear an oversized fool bumbling around, too far from home sweet home to tuck his tail and run back to safety when he gets stuck. Poor /baby/.

“And just what brings you here?” A’emi inquired, watching R’men carefully, because the bronzerider was just unlucky enough to catch him in this kind of dangerous mood and to be a bronzerider simultaneously, neither of which was ever a good thing even separately with A’emi. He dropped his hand from Kyrahth’s hide, brushing his thumb over the curve of her collarbone in the process, and slid his fingers around the hilt of his belt knife, tilting his head to one side in mock innocent curiosity. “Why’s your bronze think he’s capable of fooling the trees into thinking he’s small enough to fit?” His gaze flicked to Weith in a condescending once-over and he added, “Does he not know manners, either? You’re supposed to wipe your mouth after you eat. Herbivore.”

A’emi, Kyrahth interjected privately, the green’s tail twitching as she slid past him, unconcerned and uninterested in Weith or R’men any longer, Let’s go. If the fatty’s been around very long they’re sure to come; he’s far too fat not to notice. Almost matter-of-fact; she slunk around a sapling, threw a dismissive glance back at Weith, Go run home, sweetie, we’re not rescuing you if you can’t take care of yourself.

Didn’t think much of bronzes, Kyrahth—but then, A’emi didn’t either, and made even less of an effort to hide it. The greenrider half-turned and then paused to glance at R’men speculatively, and then said, “We’re feline-hunting. Scared of blood, bronzie?”

A taunt—but also an invitation, maybe, if R’men was so inclined; it was a sort of perverse interest because A’emi didn’t really have any vested interest in seeing anybody at the Weyr hurt, not really—not hurt the way a couple of felines could land people, but whatever. High and mighty bronzers with oversized herbivore dragons could likely use a chewing once in a while regardless of whether or not they deserved it. And anyway, some very loud bait could be useful, he figured.

[Sheari]

I have had my affections turned down many a time, lovely one. Your harsh words are not the first I've ever heard,[/i] Weith responded in a gentlemanly manner. R'men thought it noble of him to not lash out as he once had. The man remembered quite clearly how the now massive beast beside him had once given in to such petty angers. True, R'men could feel an underlying current of frustration, but the bronze had gotten quite used to the general dislike he experienced from his peers. The dragonrider assumed much of that had been cultivated by the late Jingth, and had simply been allowed to bleed into the others, as queens often had the power to do.

"Weith likes to hunt, says he prefers the flavour," R'men admitted. He wouldn't indulge upon this aggressive greenrider that when Burimyu had been illegal it had been a resort that the pair had been reduced to. With such a harsh lack of supplies, what would someone expect? To A'emi's other comment, R'men replied "It's his toothpick," with a smile, hoping to possibly relieve the tension that had led this man to grab at his belt knife. Just noticing the tiny branch, Weith maneuvered it to the front of his mouth and chewed it as a human might on such an item more acquainted to their size, before shifting it back to the side of his mouth. It fit quite comfortably between two of his back molars that were used for firestone. In fact, he quite enjoyed where it sat in his teeth.

I don't think I'd be able to run too well in these trees, at least not nearly as well as you might.[/i] If he found a half decent clearing he'd be able to burst through the canopy and wing back to the weyr, but he just wasn't in the mood. "As I said before, so are we! Well, at least Weith is. It makes him happy and I don't hunt for sport. He eats his kills and when he's done, we go back." Pretty straight forward. At the moment, R'men could feel that this entire encounter was not going anywhere good. For all he cared, this man could go on his...not-so-merry way...and everyone could leave everyone be. Yes, he decided that would be very nice. "We can leave you and go to a different area if you like. Neither Weith or I are in disagreement with this idea." And shot the bronze a Thank Farnath Asshat isn't here!

HEARD THAT I DID ASSHAT!! WHERE IS YOU?! I COME SHOW BOSS!! Farnath have mercy on fools unused to having to worry about raising the fury of a hatchling Salamandyr. R'men almost thought the tiny spark of flame in his mind cute...if he didn't have to deal with it all the time.

[Avu]

Weith’s words earned him a decidedly unlovely snort from Kyrahth. The green made no response, but her mental eyeroll was of fairly epic proportions, so bluntly condescending that A’emi had to suppress an amused quirk of his lips. Instead, he tilted his head to one side, watching in faint bemusement as Weith navigated the twig between his teeth and kept it there, looking like a particularly fat, shiny backwoods farmer. It might’ve been entertaining if he hadn’t been in such a foul mood, honestly. He said, softly, “Of course,” his voice sliding into comfortable, deadpan neutrality. The offer to leave, however, he disregarded with a breezy nonchalance, commenting instead to Weith, “She doesn’t get nicer, by the way, you can probably give up.”

He should /definitely/ give up, Kyrahth corrected, privately, her gaze flashing once back to Weith, her muzzle curling in an expression of sneering disgust. Hush, she added abruptly, and A’emi went not only silent but still, muscles loosening as he scanned the trees alertly, weight shifting forward instinctively. Kyrahth had, automatically, extended her order to include Weith, but not R’men; not even a feline lurking around would inspire her to bespeak a human not A’emi. The green’s pace slid into a sinuous slither against the ground, wings carefully tucked against her back, and she deflated a second later, pressing herself flat against the ground in the classical Sphinx position.

A’emi said, very quietly in order to clue in R’men before he did something completely dumb, “Hear something, lovely?”

Oh yes. answered the green, tilting her head and blinking at the undergrowth. Something’s here, and it doesn’t /smell/ like an herbivore. She slanted a brief glance at Weith, blatantly judgmental, before she decided it just didn’t matter at all; it was none of her problem in the least if he got hurt. And as for his Rider…well, he’d live, probably. And if he didn’t, that was just too bad but again: Not their problem. A’emi could take care of himself, she knew, but these…unknown, untested. Young.

There was a flash of tawny, striped fur, beyond Weith, and it was A’emi who dipped his head towards it, commenting lightly to R’men or Weith, whichever of them had the balls to do something about it, “Coming up on your back, bronzie.” (He trusted that not even a bronzer would be arrogant or stupid enough to leave the Weyr unarmed, especially when his dragon was hunting felines, but whatever—he could be wrong.)

[Sheari]

The dismissal that R'men had hoped to get form this decidedly disagreeable man did not come. The bronzerider deflated a bit. Really? He did not want to deal with another one of those 'I hate you for the colour of your dragon' types. Neither he nor Weith had any control over what fate had done with his hide. The man resisted the urge to huff and shot daggers at the dragon next to him. This was his fault.

I never did /anything/,[/i] Weith protested. In fact, I find her quite charming...if bitter, harsh, and cruel.[/i] Perhaps it was rude to have silent conversations when following someone but R'men hadn't been afforded any friendliness, while not open hostility either, so he decided he would not reciprocate. There is NOTHING charming about /that/. He indicated Kyrahth in a subtle fashion. Nothing but harshness, bitterness, and cruelty there...in either of them. No, R'men did not hate A'emi or his green, he just would rather not be around them, at all, despite the fact that they'd just met.

When the greenpair stopped, so did R'men and Weith. There is something here,[/i] relayed Weith. After A'emi's direction, R'men turned his head slightly to see behind him. Weith twitched his tail to attract the attention of the feline to the end. In swift motion, Weith whirled around in the close trees as only he could. He trained on the cat, maw wide, to kill it with all the efficiency of massive jaws. To crush the spine, to break vital bones, to snuff the life out before it had a chance to realize that it would end.

[Avu]

The thing was, felines just weren’t stupid, A’emi thought, absently threading his fingers around the hilt of his knife and half-drawing it, the steel blade cool against his hip where his shirt rode up. Maybe over-bold, especially here where nobody had outwitted them for years, but not stupid; Weith was bigger than them, Kyrahth was bigger. He and R’men weren’t, but they were two and not weak or sick and felines wouldn’t just go for them when there was so much easy prey hanging around. But, he watched through half-lidded eyes as Weith threw himself at the feline, but—if one of them was attacked, then—then they were forcing their hand, making them play the game, maybe a game they didn’t even want to play at all.

Whatever.

He didn’t know if Weith understood that, or R’men, but it didn’t matter. He was getting what he wanted. A’emi’s entire body went loose and fluid, his breath slipping out of him in an almost content sigh, unconscious preparation for action. Watch it, Kyr. It’d been a while, after all. Entitled to worry about Kyrahth, wasn’t he? Wetting his lips, A’emi blinked as the first shriek grated, harshly metallic, through the forests—echoed distantly by other cries. “Very brave of you,” he commented dryly to R’men, only half-paying attention to the bronzerider. He wasn’t important anymore; he and his bronze had served their purpose quite adequately.

More coming.

Yes. He cut his gaze towards Weith briefly—the feline that had been slinking through the trees, evidently curious about the intrusion of its land, had dodged the initial, potentially fatal attack, leaping back and winding around a tree in order to shield itself from Weith’s bulk. It was a young enough feline to still be sleek and fast, looked old enough and experienced enough to be shrewd; it snarled and lashed out at Weith with hooked claws, a feint followed up by a snap at the bronze’s jugular and a sideways, skidding leap, the sort of sporadic instinctive battle unique to the large creatures.

Another flash of tawny—honing in on Weith, the immediate threat—followed by another. A’emi slid his blade free entirely, glancing at Kyrahth, and stepped towards the nearest with mock casualty, a carefully balanced stride. “Go on, bronzie,” he called, addressing R’men, “Aren’t you going to rescue your dragon? Three smart felines, maybe more, I give him maybe five minutes.” He knelt, loathe to use his knife immediately (it was, after all, the game and the adrenaline rush he was after—straight killing was infinitely uninteresting), picked up a smooth, dusty rock.

Go on, Kyrahth murmured, a distant presence in his mind and at his back. Let’s /go/. It isn’t fair if the fatty gets all the fun.

The sharp snap of his wrist had the rock connecting solidly with one of the cats’ shoulders, earned him a sharp yellow-eyed stare and a snarl, the feline’s pace shifting into a slinking predatory glide, focused on both humans. They were, after all, so very small and didn’t even really have visible claws or teeth to defend themselves with. Why bother considering them separate threats?