Post by glamourie on Jul 2, 2010 8:29:40 GMT -5
A Behruth. Checkoth’s eyes whirled pleasant shades amidst the hints of violet and he turned to compliment the joining of his loop-de-loops; he flew wider to give Behruth more wing room while literally twirling through the air the whole time. He liked flying with his clutchbrother, he did. And maybe his twirls were half to impress his brother too. (It could be said that if there was any one dragon that came close to the affection that Checkoth felt for his rider, it would be Behruth; certainly the larger of the two browns adored his sibling to the point of irritation for any other dragon.) Motives be damned, Checkoth made quite the show of looping around, though his head swiveled down as Behruth flew into the leaves and he darted upward to avoid any of the debris hitting him by accident. It was interesting that his clutchbrother was knocking leaves around twigs. Very interesting indeed. That one action made him acknowledge the other chasers for the first time since he’d joined the flight and a hint of irritation flooded his gaze.
He didn’t like bronzes. He’d met some nice ones (he really liked Salenth and he liked Ciceroth fairly well as well), but most bronzes reminded him of Aberath. Despite his bronze brother being gone for a long time, he remembered that he’d hurt His, and that burnt him on many of them. That and the fact that most bronzes thought they were better than others. This one was a classic example. His behavior, though graceful, did scream look at me. They always did that. Checkoth really had no use for dragons that had to go out of their way to get attention. Flights were about the females. They deserved the center of attention. He didn’t give any indication of his thoughts outwardly, though... because Chakraith deserved his focus, and he was going to give her it.
Checkoth’s irritation bled over onto his rider and R’wign (having finally finished making the club sandwiches he’d been preparing; he also set them aside for the drudges because he wasn’t going to eat them now, shard it) finally found his way out of the kitchens and back up toward the flight rooms. He was taking his time, though – because he was R’wign and he never hurried anywhere for anyone, thanks very much.
Eyes whirling, Checkoth watched her speed up into the air and then, mid loop, turned to almost ascend perfectly vertically. He was pretty good at keeping balanced despite odd positioning (two tails helped with that), and he followed her at an angle. He used a thermal to propel himself forward after her, not quite as close as the others, but not lagging behind too badly either. He eyed the bronze irritably and felt a hint of devious mischief from his mindmate... much to his pleasure. Checkoth wasn’t the type to do anything in flights to draw attention to himself, but he was linked to someone who had no problem making a point. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t feel very inclined to discourage R’wign’s antics just that once.
R’wign’s hand slid along the entryway of the flightrooms as he stalked, feline-like, in. His movements were quiet and calculated, but it wasn’t Chakraith’s mindmate that had his attention. He slid along the walls, more quiet than someone of his size and height out to have been, and he found his way over behind Cr’oph before leaning forward to stand right at his back. Leaning forward, he whispered against his ear (well-aware of how intimate the gesture was – he was just grateful his weyrmate was, uhhh, distracted and not likely to beat him over the head for it right then), “Hello, bronzie, do you want to play?” Checkoth didn’t want to do anything to Mavenath, but R’wign had no problems antagonizing his rider, and he was willing to bet that a weyrling didn’t have the control it would take to keep his own moods from bleeding over onto his dragon. Evil, who, R’wign? Well, okay, yes. Always.
He didn’t like bronzes. He’d met some nice ones (he really liked Salenth and he liked Ciceroth fairly well as well), but most bronzes reminded him of Aberath. Despite his bronze brother being gone for a long time, he remembered that he’d hurt His, and that burnt him on many of them. That and the fact that most bronzes thought they were better than others. This one was a classic example. His behavior, though graceful, did scream look at me. They always did that. Checkoth really had no use for dragons that had to go out of their way to get attention. Flights were about the females. They deserved the center of attention. He didn’t give any indication of his thoughts outwardly, though... because Chakraith deserved his focus, and he was going to give her it.
Checkoth’s irritation bled over onto his rider and R’wign (having finally finished making the club sandwiches he’d been preparing; he also set them aside for the drudges because he wasn’t going to eat them now, shard it) finally found his way out of the kitchens and back up toward the flight rooms. He was taking his time, though – because he was R’wign and he never hurried anywhere for anyone, thanks very much.
Eyes whirling, Checkoth watched her speed up into the air and then, mid loop, turned to almost ascend perfectly vertically. He was pretty good at keeping balanced despite odd positioning (two tails helped with that), and he followed her at an angle. He used a thermal to propel himself forward after her, not quite as close as the others, but not lagging behind too badly either. He eyed the bronze irritably and felt a hint of devious mischief from his mindmate... much to his pleasure. Checkoth wasn’t the type to do anything in flights to draw attention to himself, but he was linked to someone who had no problem making a point. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t feel very inclined to discourage R’wign’s antics just that once.
R’wign’s hand slid along the entryway of the flightrooms as he stalked, feline-like, in. His movements were quiet and calculated, but it wasn’t Chakraith’s mindmate that had his attention. He slid along the walls, more quiet than someone of his size and height out to have been, and he found his way over behind Cr’oph before leaning forward to stand right at his back. Leaning forward, he whispered against his ear (well-aware of how intimate the gesture was – he was just grateful his weyrmate was, uhhh, distracted and not likely to beat him over the head for it right then), “Hello, bronzie, do you want to play?” Checkoth didn’t want to do anything to Mavenath, but R’wign had no problems antagonizing his rider, and he was willing to bet that a weyrling didn’t have the control it would take to keep his own moods from bleeding over onto his dragon. Evil, who, R’wign? Well, okay, yes. Always.
