==== October 14, 2013
====Q'fex, Br'er, Kalea, Sytin, Cerise, Yulena, Arianne, Th'seus, Kultir, Tilla, Jesha, Nika, El'ai, V'dean, Maosa, Jedi, Jesha, Ja'kai, L'ri and Bailey; Kraakenaeth, Sevareth, Caelth, Ekerth, Sekhaenkath, Inlayraith, Vossuth, Amuirnith, Ryadranth, Atmanth, Llioramasith, Cignalusath, Ilayth, and Khalyssrielth
==== Early morning paintball. Pernese style.

Who Q'fex, Br'er, Kalea, Sytin, Cerise, Yulena,Arianne, Th'seus, Kultir, Tilla,Jesha, Nika, El'ai,V'dean, Maosa, Jedi,Jesha, Ja'kai, L'ri and Bailey; Kraakenaeth, Sevareth, Caelth, Ekerth, Sekhaenkath, Inlayraith, Vossuth, Amuirnith, Ryadranth, Atmanth, Llioramasith, Cignalusath, Ilayth, and Khalyssrielth
What Early morning paintball. Pernese style.
When It is Summer and 95 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day. There are 0 turns, 11 months and 24 days until the 12th pass.
Where Sky over Upper Bowl, Southern Weyr

IslaFisherTillaPB.jpgAmu_Icon.jpg


bowl.png

Upper Bowl
The graceful sweep of spacious bowl lies scoured clean by an easterly breeze. Detritus is whisked neat to the eastern steppe of the bowl that lies several feet lower than the western plateau. White walls contrast the rough granite of the rivercliffs: the giant maw of the Hatching Cavern lies in the thickest part of the western wall, sheltering the training grounds and weyrling barracks lying nor'west. Directly north lies the leadership courtyard, heavily humid and subtly scented by intrigue.
It is Summer and 95 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.


It is far too early to be doing this: ICly, it may be just after dawn, but Q'fex and his minions have convened to throw dyed thread at Southern's riders! @go Southern, Upper to join in on the pre-fall hijinx; we'll be formally taking off around 8:30CST!
— entered by Q'fex on 2013-10-14 18:12 MOO Time. (32 seconds)

Rukbat has yet to burn off completely the mist and fog of a Southern morning: it's hazy and grey, a little damply humid, and a surprising chill holds in the air considering the season. Southern has turned out in force for this, dragons shined and ready, wingleaders calling out final checks in the surreal morning mist. Q'fex and Kraakenaeth are already above, with the thrower-dragons and the candidate thrower-helpers — they are already aloft, and ready to wreck brilliantly-hued havoc upon the staunch defenders of humanity that Pern has to offer. BRING ON THE DYE.

There's a Maosa up there, distinguished by the wild hair snarling itself in the chilly breeze. Someone even braided it for her, earlier: it didn't last. Chances that she'll escape to landing without green splattering the dark jungle: low. Perched intently on her ride, the wild girl's eyes are gleaming with anticipation, her green-smeared ropes at ready. Target practice with messy stuff? MAN WHY DON'T THEY DO THIS EVERY DAY.

It's a good thing that there's a chill in the air. Because Th'seus has put on an older version of his usual riding leathers, a heavier set that likely came from his time at Benden. Lynx's wingleader has taken the time to check his riders before giving the order to take up and into the air, where they fall into formation in their usual place amongst the wings. The stoic Vossuth shows some distinct signs of impatience as he awaits the moment where they actually get to "fight" this painted menace.

El'ai is here! But more so, Sekhaenkath is here, standing a silent sentinel in contrast to the boy that bounces on eager feet next to him. As the Candidates swarm in, the boy bronzerider might be sneaking peeks at Maosa. Wild-haired and all. Look at those hearts for eyes. Really. He's here. His player has… very little creativity.

Kultir is mounted behind Kalea with his basket of red mock-Thread clutched in one hand, the other at her belt to keep him steady till things get settled in his stomach. He can't help the thrill he feels to be in this position once more but … it's a task he's been set and manages to keep himself under control though it is a bit awkward since he still feels a body behind him with a similar basket. Eyes gleam as he watches, waiting for the wing to launch, who will be his target?

Someone's been doing their exercises! Jesha's very much here, and very much on point today: Gray hair curls sassily beneath her helmet and goggles, leathers freshly oiled, the "If You Can Read This The Bitch Fell Off" newly repainted on the back of her jacket. Her walking stick has it's own holster on her straps, and her maniacal grin reflects the child she never quite grew up from. "So who's ready t'get their punk ass handed t'them! BY ME!"

Tricked out in a spare set of leathers- and discovering rapidly how much leather sucks in a humid environment- Cerise is strapped in behind Maosa with a matching bucket. Hers? Bright flowery yellow. They're really cornering the market on the nature angle here. Already smeared to the elbows with mucky dye, she tilts to the side to look down with slightly less relish that her fellow candidate. "…I'd forgotten how bloody windy it gets up here." Grumble grumble- which hides mild expectation of the riders to come. The fun begins soooooon.

Nika walks in from the Lower Bowl.
Atmanth drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.

Jesha clambers up Sevareth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.

Kalea is suited up in a borrowed set of old leathers. As her usual set won't fit over her bulging belly. Ryadranth waits patiently beside her lifemate for her load of Candidates. The pair near shivering with delight at this exercise. "Who's with us?" She asks Kultir over her shoulder as she twists around to double check the bags of dyed ropes.

Tugging on straps, and going through the mental checklist, Arianne foes the last check for Serval - even going so far as to offer Br'er a fistbump - before she climbs up aboard Caelth and waits for Nika's signal. She's in the crappiest leathers ever (expecting to be a riot of color perhaps) and is raring to go. As is Caelth. RAWR!

Yulena is aloft on some high-up, the ruddy vengeance of 'being helpful' bringing a light to her face. Not that you can see, from down there, you silly grounded people. Hands are in the basket of dyed strings, squishing each hopefully, watching for targets, er, targets - all's fair in love and war, and throwing staining fluids. MUAHAHAHA.
Perched on a whipcord blue, Sytin stares down at the incoming dragon throng, his dark hair being teased by the early morning breeze as they hover high above the bowl. He's wearing a light jacket for a change, something that was clearly advised last minute as it just hangs open in the breeze, likely doing little good. He's got his hand on the sack of dyed ropes secured near him, the edge of the bag a bright purple that is sure to leave a mark. He's hovering somewhere between gleeful and awake and sleepy and needing klah, if the expression on his face — well, the yawn — says anything. But seriously, what twelve-turn-old is going to turn down the chance to play with dye and NOT get confined to the Weyr?

Sytin clambers up Ryadranth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Cerise clambers up Kraakenaeth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Kalea clambers up Ryadranth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Kultir clambers up Ryadranth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Maosa clambers up Kraakenaeth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Yulena clambers up Kraakenaeth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.

Llioramasith drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.
Jedi slides from Llioramasith's neck and lands gently on the ground.

There is a Br'er here, in unusually ugly leathers — he keeps absently toying with them, like he's afraid the fashion police are going to come and haul him off for crimes — in the Serval wing. Inlayraith is here as well, of course, her eyes whirling with… distress. But she's only slightly trying to hide behind Caelth, and she isn't gray with fright. Someone must have given her a pep talk. Her rider returns Arianne's fist bump with due solemnity, cracking a grin at the last moment, before moving to mount up.

Staunch. Ekerth can do staunch. The dull-hued blue is assembled with his wing, notable amongst all the bronze and brown hide for all that they're missing the Weyrleader's bronze from their ranks today. He waits with calm readiness, wings slightly flared in preparation for L'ri's signal. His rider… maybe V'dean doesn't have an old pair of leathers? His gear gleams in well-oiled Fortian brown. A thumb lifts to be sure his hair is tucked away in the edge of his helmet as he cants a look upwards to those already aloft.

Nika is likedwise in an a set of old leathers, no need to muck up her nice ones. Not that she anticpates any real mucking up. A thumbs up thrown to the chromatic V shape behind her. Serval rules! And then the diminutive wingleader clamors up her dragon's hide. Looking fierce? Well she's trying her best. Game face.

Nika clambers up Atmanth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Th'seus clambers up Vossuth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
V'dean clambers up Ekerth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
El'ai scrambles up to settle himself uncomfortably 'twixt ill-luck shadows that enfold sharp neckridges.
Br'er clambers up Inlayraith's neck and settles in between two neckridges.

Arianne clambers up Caelth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Ja'kai clambers up Ilayth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Ilayth flies up, up, up, into the skies.

Jedi clambers up Llioramasith's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Llioramasith flies up, up, up, into the skies.
L'ri clambers up Cignalusath's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Cignalusath flies up, up, up, into the skies.
Atmanth flies up, up, up, into the skies.
Sevareth flies up, up, up, into the skies.
Princess glides to the Courtyard.
Inlayraith flies up, up, up, into the skies.
Vossuth flies up, up, up, into the skies.
Caelth flies up, up, up, into the skies.
Ekerth flies up, up, up, into the skies.
Sekhaenkath hops and tumbles playfully through the air up, up, up, into the skies.
Q'fex clambers up Kraakenaeth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.

From Ryadranth's neck, Kalea looks over her shoulder at her charges. "Kultir reach back and make sure the boy behind you is clipped in properly please?" She doesn't need anyone falling off midflight. Ryadranth is no slouch in the skies after all.

Kraakenaeth flies up, up, up, into the skies.
Ryadranth flies up, up, up, into the skies.

The greenriding pair of Tilla and Amuirnith arrived a few minutes early…early enough for the ginger-haired rider to accidently spill some of a hot mug of klah on her pants knee. Some expletives, then a laugh and a shrug, at least its her old, fairly worn leathers for this activity. Tills rubs at her bleary eyes from around her goggles, as the two get in line for takeoff. A hasty tucking of a messy hairdo back into her riding helmet and they're off.

You fly up, up, up, into the skies.

Sky Over Upper Bowl
//The thermals are brutal here.

From Caelth's neck, Arianne is sporting her best poker face. Nothing but confidence here! It's that, or risk influencing Caelth. And since he's rather busy rumbling with firestone in his second stomach and itching to flame the shit out of everything… it just seems a bad idea to give in.

Up, up, up; the darkly colored bronze with the flame-colored feet and the young boy-rider take to the skies. Firestone dusts, crushes, and flares, the blue-colored rope is flamed without prejudice. While El'ai may be green with youth, his bronze with the cat-like grace is not; beauty and grace in the skies.

From Ryadranth's neck, Kultir heats Kalea's words drift back to him as he readys his own handful of red-dyed rope and chuckles. "Don't remind me." he says, not looking forward to a back full of vomit if Enden blows chunks. "I told him not to eat so much …"
Vossuth leads the rise of Lynx with the rest of the wings. And now they're in position, waiting for the chaos that's about to erupt. Th'seus is probably counting himself as lucky that he doesn't have any nauseated candidates riding on his dragon too. Rank has its perks, thats for sure.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Cerise is so on top of this. She may not know the proper terms, but she's wise enough to realize that a test rope is going to be needed- or, in the interest of not warning those below, a finger-flick of dye out into open air. Carefully though, so as not to pimp their ride; she just wants to see what the wind's doing. Straining sideways in her strap to watch the globs of yellow spin through the sky, she calls to Maosa, "S'kinda gusty! For aiming, aye?"

From Ryadranth's neck, Now that their victims are aloft, Sytin's features split in childish glee as he opens the rope sack and grabs a handful of the sodden, magenta threads. Clearly this youth is ready to rise to the challenge. Or maybe he just wants to make a mess. It's really hard to say. Amber eyes squint as the blue dragon undulates beneath him, the rider gesturing in a clear BOMBS AWAY to the boy. The Candidate doesn't need to be told twice and tosses the violet ropes away, aiming for a brassy hide.

From Llioramasith's neck, Jedi looks as composed as normal when she's in the middle of srs business, and is keeping a sharp eye on things with her wing. Llioramasith is as ready as ever to take on the world - or in this case, fake Thread, or die trying. Or well, get tye-dyed trying. She murmurs something to her lifemate, and casts a quick glance at Th'seus once they're in place.

From Inlayraith's neck, Br'er has EVERY confidence in his dragon. Every. Totally. Inlayraith twitches at that first blue rope, and twitch-twitch-twitches some more as more follow it, but she holds position with Serval, as well she might. She can do this. THEY can do this. Totally.

A net-like web of dyed ropes fan out around Inlayraith.

Tilla smirks as she observes the candidates in the rope throwing position. "Been a while, hasn't it, love," she murmurs aloud to her green who rumbles cheerily at her in reply as if to say 'Who cares! We're so ready for this!' The greenrider laughs and pats a neckridge a she takes on a determined look, waving over to Jedi before the movement towards Inlayraith catches her eye. "Ooh!"
Leaning precariously over lifemates' sides, riders let fall painted ropes that wiggle damply with each gust of wind.

From Sevareth's neck, With a final shake and a shower of sandy particulates, Jesha finishes feeding Sevareth the last of his firestone, brushing her gloves on her pants leg as the ONCE AGAIN LARGEST BROWN (ho ho ho) masticates. A few gestures for Th'seus's benefit have the brownrider's gloves slicing the air, then: "THAT ONE OR ANOTHER FORMATION, SIR… ahfukkit…" And they're off, slicing through the air cleanly with only a slight slowing from age. One well-controlled blast sears a clump to ash, which Sevareth and Jesha burst through dramatically in a cloud of embers and smoke.

Poor little Inlayraith gives a little teakettle sound at the sight of painty doom. It doesn't take an expert to translate it: oh COME ON :( Flame dodge flame twitch - ooo, nailed. Right on the ass. That's going to (literally) give a mark.

From betwixt Sekhaenkath's wickedly sharp, dark neckridges, El'ai is not so … manly as to not let out a little 'huff' and 'squeal' when some ropes head his way. DON'T TOUCH ME!!

A ball of rope plummets directly towards Sekhaenkath.

From Ryadranth's neck, Kultir grins as he sees a good target and tosses a gloppy handful of red-dyed rope at a brown hide. He leans against his straps to watch which direction the handful goes and feels a gooey slap on his neck as Enden has decided to toss his ropes INTO the wind. "Enden! Other side!" he turns and yells at the green faced kid, a smear of orange streaking his cheek and neck as well as the shoulder of his jacket.

A ball of rope plummets directly towards Ilayth.

Atmanth does everything with style, and that includes his lofty rise at the head of Serval. His rider, her normally runs around like a rabid rodent is surprising calm in the current climate. The adrenaline, not so much lowering her energy level, as focusing it. If her unorthodox drilling will pay off is about to be seen, and if not well they'll all be fake dead, so…« Watch Inlayraith's back! » Bloody hell.

Ilayth skips ::between::!
Ilayth blinks in from ::between::!

From betwixt Sekhaenkath's wickedly sharp, dark neckridges, Luckily, Sekhaenkath is not a pansy coward like his rider is; the wicked form of the bronze's dragon-glass cut form skips between. Just in time to come out ahead and flame the be-jesus out of that ball of rope. Meanwhile: "AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE…!"

Sekhaenkath skips ::between::!

Ryadranth spirals nimbly within her wing of attackers to which she's been assigned this day. Just happy to feel the thermals beneath her wings and the trill of the attack echoing to her from Kalea. A handful of red dyed ropes is tossed widely out to the side. Then Kalea reaches in for another handful to let fly off the other direction. Soon she has a rhythm going of grab and toss with the dyed ropes.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Cerise hauls a handful of cheerful yellow "death" from her basket. A thick clump scooped up, she surveys the formations below- it's all visual gibberish to her, really- and after pinpointing a blue hide, sets it free to fall. And fall. And fall…

Caelth twitches in the air, smoke all but billowing out of his ears until he can let loose that first swatch of flame and announce. « KILL it! KILL IT WITH FIRE! » He's the subtle sort, eh? He mentally nudges the green two dragons back from Inlayraith to get ready to flame that clump after hearing Atmanth's direction.

Sekhaenkath emerges, born of sunlight-on-shadows, in an explosion of fire and night to finally coalesce with a mreowing roar from the depths of ::between:: to pounce and chase invisible prey!

From Kraakenaeth's neck, For the first few drops, Yulena is just… letting string fall as she imagines Thread would - without thought or intended menace, but that doesn't seem to be terribly interesting, so she starts trying to pattern her throws - two at a time, or one right after the other. Fingers a mass of slimy purple that get wiped down Yulena's front, she watches a dragon dive to kill her 'threat'.

A rolling knot of rope hurls past Amuirnith.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, "Yeah, but who gives a shit," Maosa chirps at Cerise, grinning toothily. "Thread away." She tosses a cluster of vivid bad-luck verdant into the wind, giggling like a maniac. This is the BEST THING EVER ooo sorry Sekhaenkath she didn't mean to target you with that incoming octopus of green.

Th'seus would call back to Jesha, but now that they're all airborn it seems moot. « The first one. » Vossuth echoes across the wing with that sharp, clipped tone of his. With the last of the firestone needed fed to the Nowtimer bronze, they're prepared to begin flaming paint-thread. And with it falling around them, the wing can be falling into the HOPEFULLY smooth and well practiced moves they've been practicing. Right? …Right?

A group of ropes gang up on Vossuth and try to overwhelm him.

From Vossuth's neck, Th'seus is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.

Leaning precariously over lifemates' sides, riders let fall painted ropes that wiggle damply with each gust of wind.
A snakelike rope slithers past Caelth, wriggling towards the ground below.
From Ekerth's neck, High in the flight with Ocelot, V'dean twists a spotting gaze upward as Ekerth keeps place amongst their wingmates. Between the lightwoven balaclava and his goggles, there's not really anything in the way of expression to be seen. The blue's eyes, at least, spin with a slow sort of determination. The smaller dragon's wings beat more quickly to keep pace, shifting to cover a spot as their neighbor dives after a clump. It leaves the rider's attention diverting from overhead as more "Thread" falls.

A twirling rope cartwheels past Ekerth.

From Llioramasith's neck, Totally right! THEY GOT THIS, they've been practicing for ages! Jedi spots the incoming 'thread', but it's Lli who speaks up. « Above you! » Although the warning may come a bit too late. Here, enemy threads, have flame from this oldtime brown while his lifemate tries to keep an eye for any more incoming.

« I'm fine! » reassures Inlayraith with a hasty soft-voiced embarrassment, please don't make a fuss over her, the dragon who would have just undergone gory liposuction if that had been real Thread and not mere paint. A fluttering streamer of rope comes into range: she flames it with a demure embarrassment.

From betwixt Sekhaenkath's wickedly sharp, dark neckridges, El'ai is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
APPARENTLY NOT. A cluster of ropes from seemingly different directions hits Th'sues squarely across the back, while the rest topple over hitting Vossuth and tumbling in front of him. The bronze flames what he can get and emits an utterly awful high pitched screech at their failure. « Do better than us. » Or else.

Ilayth receives a large dye score on the neck!

Caelth is obviously enraged that a thread might manage to slither past -him-. And his malevolent maw opens up to gout the largest ball of flame -ever- at it. But, he is held back from the overkill by Arianne. Instead, he snarls and lets go only 'too much' fire, instead of the amount he wanted to. « More fire, Inlayraith! Revel in it! » Riiiiight.

And that rolling knot pile barely miss- actually, nicks the tip of Amuirnith's left wingsail. "SHARDIT!" Tilla growls out in frustration as the two veer off, but not before the green puffs out a belated burst of flame with a FWOOOSH! Seems like it ignites just the tip of the ball of rope at least, eliciting half a draconic smirk in its general direction. With an aggressive blossom of hundreds of flowers in the mindscape, Amuirnith creels to herself « NEXT TIME »
Ilayth skips ::between::!

From Ryadranth's neck, More red-dyed Threads are tossed out from Kultir's basket, orange-dyed following as Enden finally gets his act together. Seeing the two clumps separate on the wind, he grins and wonders just how that green below them will flame all the little strands without getting at least a bit of dye on them.

Harpy flies in from the Upper Bowl.

Ilayth blinks in from ::between::!

From Ryadranth's neck, Sytin is busy trying to judge the direction of the wind and ends up leaning over the other side the blue Meth twitches to one side, half banking as Cr'stal leans over, watching the dragons below with a mirthful expression. The Candidate peers down as well, throwing what looks like the Flying Spaghetti Monster toward a dull brown hide beneath him. Hey, purple and brown go GREAT together! It's totally legit! He watches the clump fall, waiting to see if it will strike.
From betwixt Sekhaenkath's wickedly sharp, dark neckridges, "THE WORLD IS ENDING THE WORLD IS ENDING THE WORLD…!" El'ai squeals. Squeals. Meanwhile, Sekhaenkath skips between to ensure that all the "thread" is burned away into the cold heart of between. When he re-emerges, firestone will be crushed and flames will fly with rage at the eternal enemy's suffering.

Sekhaenkath skips ::between::!

Sekhaenkath emerges, born of sunlight-on-shadows, in an explosion of fire and night to finally coalesce with a mreowing roar from the depths of ::between:: to pounce and chase invisible prey!

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Oh man, there's dye splashes everywhere! If Cerise took a moment to think about this, she'd probably find it a depressing, if not frightening. Instead, Maosa's chirping and grinning summon a hoot of amusement from the ex-performer, and she tosses two handfuls of rope out next. Look out below!

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Maosa is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits her.
From Kraakenaeth's neck, Yulena awws at the poor figure below that just got splattered - "Didja see that?" she calls back to Cerise and Maosa. Vossuth is leaving the fight, and Yulena's fierce expression is caught between the vicious delight of winning and the horrified realization that this will be them in time. More purple gets lumped out the side of Yulena's bucket. Come get some? The dinner bell's a-ringin'? Other dark-humour commentary?

Whoops. Blow-back. Winds up here are a bitch.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Maosa must approve of Caelth's methods: she sends a tumult of green his way, leaning eagerly over to see if there's a huge fireball in response. Or impact! Either is fine, and — "MMPH!" Whooooooops. Smacked right in the kisser with one of Cerise's ropes: yellow on her face, yellow on her clothes, yellow in her hair, yellow EVERYWHERE. "GAH."

From Cignalusath's neck, L'ri is totally on top of this, alright? Here, Ocelot, have a few gestures as there's more incoming. L'ri and Cignalusath, for their parts, are flaming away. Nowtime bronze and rider are determined not to fall quite so quickly as some of the others. L'ri's focused on directing Cig toward any incoming, and giving whatever orders he may have to to keep the wing running right now. « Behind you. » Cignalusath's fiery mind warns the others.

Cignalusath receives a huge dye score on the mainsail!

From Sevareth's neck, A sharp nod from Jesha and she's falling into place, fanning out behind her wingmates and scanning the skies, ever vigilant, in a way that suggests that her playmagination has her fully in the thick of the real thing. Jedi's talent, becoming clear as Lloramasith's flame blooms in the sky, gets a celebratory fist-pump-turned-wince at Th'seus's plight. Sevareth's sending: « Y'all should be on more dif'rent levels for this, ma… » This is cut off, though, as winds change and he folds his wings to his back. Jesha presses herself against her lifemate's neck and the two drop into a swoop that meets a clump of yellow-tinted 'thread' with another blast of heat.

A ball of rope plummets directly towards Inlayraith.

A twirling rope cartwheels past Sevareth.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Cerise yells, "Sorry about that! Fuckin' currents, am I right?" She'll, uh, throw some over this side, next time, taking aim at a crisp formation of chromatics.
Bouncing about on the winds like a tumbleweed, a clot of ropes careens past Atmanth.

A snakelike rope slithers past Harpy, wriggling towards the ground below.

A cartwheel of rope? V'dean may have been distracted by turning to refernce for their shifted position, but the blue catches sight of the tumbling yellow strand out the edge of one faceted eye. He dips a wing and swivels his head, his rider ducking away from the overkill flame that plumes out to engulf the bit of dyed vine. It leaves him crouching lower between drab blue ridges, gaze canting upward once more as Ekerth follows along with Ocelot's moving pattern.

From Ekerth's neck, V'dean is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
From Sevareth's neck, Turning on a dime, the twirling mass gets hit with the same breath that takes out the yellow clump, and Sevareth and Jesha look MUCH smug.

From Atmanth's neck, « We watch each other! » Atmanth it is not a fuss, it is a command, even as the giant blue flames a clump of rope headed in their direction, only to miss another one that flies by. « Right! » It is a call for Caelth, sorry about that friend.

Bouncing about on the winds like a tumbleweed, a clot of ropes careens past Amuirnith.
Bouncing about on the winds like a tumbleweed, a clot of ropes careens past Inlayraith.

From Cignalusath's neck, L'ri swears as his dragon takes a hit, and the two land, officially 'dead'. « Don't fail like we did. » The bronze says with a bellow of annoyance. L'ri, for his part, looks much chagrined.
Just in time to hear their acting ringleader's message (before their acting wingleader became the psychedelic disco ball),
Sekhaenkath skips between to the point where threads fall to lay waste to bits of colored rope. Ashes fall. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!

From Ryadranth's neck, Kalea watches a strand from the clump she'd just tossed fly back on her and wrap wetly around her neck. "Aww nice!" She rips the wet strand off her and wonders how her passengers dealt with the rest of that clump. Since it had blown behind her too. Nothing to be done for it now though so she simply gets back into her rhythm and grabs another handful to launch over Rya's side. Aiming for a lovely bronze hide below.

From Ryadranth's neck, Endin tosses a double handful of the mock-Thread into the air just as a gust blows it back toward him … not to mention Kultir. Both boys get orange dye splattering them as the ropes slap back into their faces. Red-dyed hands reach up to scrape the rope off his face and fling it hard away, glittering eyes focusing on the younger boy, promising retribution.

Second time's the charm, in what sounds like a gigantic belch of triumph, Amuirnith catches an updraft, turns herself toward the right and NAILS that pesky thread. KADOOOOOOSH!

From Inlayraith's neck, Screw you, rope. Inlayraith's got this, this time. Remembering belatedly that she is a green, and fast, and also CAN TELEPORT, she's flicked Between before the first cluster strikes, and comes out just in time to endure a startling almost-strike from the second rope. Man. Screw that. Even she can make that rope DIE IN A FIRE.
Vossuth drops lead, not leaving the fight fight but dropping back to the end of one line of dragons. Had Th'seus been scored this way in an actual threadfall, he'd be back at the weyr. « Lloramasith. Switch. » As the bronze allows for Jedi and hers take the spot they would certainly occupy if this were real. And so for now, the bronze and his rider finish at the rest of this mock fall as part of the pack.

From Inlayraith's neck, Br'er is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.

A twirling rope cartwheels past Sevareth.

A ball of rope plummets directly towards Caelth.

Bouncing about on the winds like a tumbleweed, a clot of ropes careens past Llioramasith.

Cignalusath takes his place at the back of the formation, looking pretty with the yellow on his hide.

A group of ropes gang up on Cignalusath and try to overwhelm him.

A ball of rope plummets directly towards Llioramasith.

From Ryadranth's neck, Disappointed at his lack of scoring, Sytin starts chucking out purple threads at random. Luck of the draw now, right? He tries not to sop the dripping dye all over his clothing as he does so, nor the vivid blue hide of Meth beneath him. He offers Kultir a brief and rather colorful wave as he spies them nearby, smirking at Enden before it's back to chucking out one handful after another. Purple rain!

A twirling rope cartwheels past Ekerth.
A ball of rope plummets directly towards Vossuth.
A ball of rope plummets directly towards Ilayth.

Another cartwheeler? Sevareth finishes his new mouthful in time to overwhelm it.

From Inlayraith's neck, … And then Inlayraith's rider gets a rope square in the chest. "Aw, fuckit." Br'er and Inlayraith, play-dead :(

Clumps of multicolored rope, some thin and long twisting together, fall toward the riders in formation.

Sevareth receives a midsized dye score on the foresail!

Inlayraith receives a huge dye score on the foresail!

Caelth bugles triumph for Inlayraith; he's a meanass dragon. But -she killed it with fire-. That deserves a draconic bravo. Right before he swivels his head to try and char that bit that Atmanth directs him to. Does he even see the bundle headed his way? No, but his rider does - « Dyzzith - flame that above me. I'd have to leave formation. » His snarl is back. Cause someone got scored. Nuuuuuuu.

It is just not the bunny-dragon's day! Sekhaenkath swoops upwards and takes position where he should, preparing to flame. El'ai huddles behind his dragon's neck ridges, flicking gobs of dye off himself.
From Llioramasith's neck, « Understood. » Llioramasith replies as he takes Vossuth's place, flaming a clump that slips past them - and turning that same breath on the clumps right above them. Boom. Jedi is too busy trying to keep an eye out for incoming rope to notice her mother's pride, but would probably be happy if she'd notice it! « Kisheneth, to your left. Sevarath, your right. »

Blinking between and back leaves the damage from Sevareth's 'scoring' at a minimum, the barest ghost of color on his sail, but it has rocked his rider enough that the pair falls back to the end of the wing formation. Anyone close enough could possibly hear the string of invictives trailing behind Jesha, some colorful, some that she definitely doesn't know the meaning of, some completely made-up. The orders from Lloramasith break her out of her self-flagellation enough to curl right, and the brown's neck snakes upwards to meet the enemy head-on.

From Ekerth's neck, Well, looking up was obviously not the right move. Or just a too-late move, perhaps. Gooey paint spatters across V'dean's goggles as a triple twine of ropes thwack into his shoulder. His arm starts to jerk upward to clear it in quicker reflex than the one that sends the pair flickering between. There are still thick smears of damp paint over his jacket as they reappear in time to narrowly miss another cartwheel of rope. Ekerth's rumble emits a small lick of flame before they tap-out from the score, joining their interrum wingleader L'ri below in the land of the tie-died.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Arrayed below her, dragons are 'dying' as ropes hit them, splattering paint in embarrassing places. Maosa, throwing her arsenal with reckless abandon, is giggling like a maniac at every hit. She — she does know she's not supposed to be on Team Thread, right? Someone's taken the time to explain that she's not supposed to root for the flesh-eating monsters from OUTER SPACE, right?

Wiggling like hooked fish-bait, glistening-red ropes tumble towards hapless riders

From Ryadranth's neck, Kultir watches the airborne Threads to gauge how the wind in blowing now and tosses handfulls one after another at the big brown a short distance below them. Rya sideslips under them, sending him tilting a bit more over her side but the straps hold. From behind him, Enden retches and then spews his guts all over Kultir's back and Rya's side. An elbow instinctively jerks backward as the boy leans against the older boy's back after sending that … nastiness down where Kul has to SIT in it. "You're washing the dragon, ye git!" he yells and shudders at the feel of the vomit soaking into his trousers. EEWWWWWW!

From Vossuth's neck, Oh, not this time. Vossuth is ready for this new ball of rope that's coming down at him. The bronze opens his maw and directs a broad spray of flame towards the fake-thread. « Not this time. » He announces to no one in particular. For his part, Th'seus just seems glad to not have another ball of painted thread land on his body. From the back, they do some minimal coordinating but they try not to stop on Jedi's toes.
Vulkasinth flies in from the Sky Over Lower Bowl.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Yulena lets three more go in even succession: who knows how Thread actually thinks to fall? Does it even think? Whatever, Yulena's lettin' er' rip. Hey, look, Yulena flicks her fingers, coated in still-wet paint, trying to create the illusion of itty-bitty-baby Thread, isn't it totally horrifyingly Addams-Family cute? And then two balls of thread are let go at the same time. TAKE THAT!

From Atmanth's neck, Nika catches a glimpse of the departing Br'er with a mumbled 'fuck' under her breath. That'd be for real dead in a few months. It is a guilt that will rack her for the rest of the night, but for now there is nothing to do but continue, a certain fluidity that Atmanth finds in his dance against fake-thread. « Stay focused, Serval! »
From Kraakenaeth's neck, As more and more dragons start to drop out, Cerise starts to feel a little bad. So much so that she eventually just tips her entire basket over. Okay, so she doesn't feel so badly about things that she'll save them from being dyed but anyone could avoid a clump of yellow dyed rope that's that large, right? Please? Stop dying guys. :(

You win some, you lose some, and this time, Tilla gets a lovely RED TATTOO splatting on her right cheek as she's trying to maintain her position within the formation. Amuirnith's orbs glow yellow with agitation. The redhead takes some red paint and paints a :( onto Amu's neck, might as well 'share' while she's at it.

Bouncing about on the winds like a tumbleweed, a clot of ropes careens past Vossuth.

A twirling rope cartwheels past Kraakenaeth.

Kraakenaeth skips ::between::!
Kraakenaeth blinks in from ::between::!

From Inlayraith's neck, Br'er is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
From Inlayraith's neck, Br'er is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
From Kraakenaeth's neck, Q'fex \o/

THERE IS A DISTURBANCE IN THE FORCE: SCORING Q'FEX GETS BR'ER.

Br'er, secret tie-dyed hippie. :(

From Inlayraith's neck, Br'er is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
From Kraakenaeth's neck, Q'fex is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.

Kraakenaeth receives a midsized dye score on the mainsail!
After their first initial splattering of paint, Vossuth seems to have recovered. Or at the very least he's pissed off enough to not allow the same mistake to happen a second time. When another one of those acrobatic bunches of rope falls past him, he twists to sear it out of the flight. Yeah, take that.

Kraakenaeth skips ::between::!
Vossuth receives a tiny dye score on the tail!
Kraakenaeth blinks in from ::between::!

From Atmanth's neck, Nika is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits her.
From Atmanth's neck, Balls.

Blinking around another clump, Sevareth's attention seems to be back on point despite the dots of color around his wingsail. Pulling upwards, up up up up, he and Jesha execute a daring backwards loop, hanging upside down a moment and beginning his burst of fire even as they corkscrew back to upright, leaving naught but ashes in their wake. Ashes and SMUG.

Atmanth skips ::between::!
Atmanth blinks in from ::between::!

From Caelth's neck, Arianne is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits her.

From Ryadranth's neck, Meth careens sideways, tilting his icy wings and causing Sytin to lurch painfully toward the ground. The straps mercifully hold, but the Candidate gets a rather dramatic view of the ground beneath all that color. "Woah." Amber eyes widen, looking surprised and thrilled all at once, as only a youth can be at the prospect of suddenly taking flight. At least for about ten seconds. Then… splat. Jello Candidate. Clearly none of this reality has skimmed the surface of his awareness, as he is simply too busy releasing his Sidhe glee on the formation below, encouraged by Cr'stal's toothless grin.

Motherfu- Vossuth makes an angry noise when that rope hits him on the tail.

Caelth skips ::between::!
Caelth blinks in from ::between::!
The Candidates are doing their jobs well… despite the flaming, they're hitting their marks. This is your queue to cheer, Candidates!

From Llioramasith's neck, Jedi is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits her.
Llioramasith winks into ::between::!
Vulkasinth flies down, landing with a gentle thud.
Llioramasith flies in from the Upper Bowl.

From Caelth's neck, Arianne is the one swearing under her breath now as Nika takes … aw shit, now she's hit too. « MOTHERFUCKERS. I'M GOING TO USE YOU ALL AS TOOTHPICKS! » Caelth ineffectually shouts this towards the candidates who will not hear him. And then after what is a visible lambasting from Arianne snarls a « Sorry. » Though he doesn't say he didn't mean it.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Maosa is TOTALLY cheering. Or laughing like a maniac, anyway? Some of the other Candidates may be feeling a little weird about the 'dead' dragons, but she's still having a filthy, Thready ball. They should do this EVERY DAY can she do this EVERY DAY?

From Sevareth's neck, Jesha is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits her.
From Ryadranth's neck, Kultir grins as he sees a blue hide below him, the diminutive form vagely familiar and tosses the last of his red ropes toward the blue. A roar of victory sounds as he notes several dragons … and riders … sporting some red dye score-marks.

From Cignalusath's neck, L'ri is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
Sevareth aims his tail fork right over Br'er's head.
From Inlayraith's neck, Br'er is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
From Vossuth's neck, Th'seus is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
Vossuth receives a tiny dye score on the wingtip!

Sevareth skips ::between::!

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Cerise will refuse to do this every day because ugh, now that she's shot her Thread wad, she's discovering dye in her hair. Time to stop, it's not fun anymore!

Inlayraith receives a tiny dye score on the neck!

From Atmanth's neck, Atmanth tucks a wing to the right, dodging a clump coming in his direction, but it just a moment too late, when is the boys timing ever off? Today. And the two blink between, circling down to the bowl as they come back.

From Llioramasith's neck, Jedi actually…gets hit, and looks really rather surprised for a few long moments before she disappears between with Llioramasith. When they emerge, they give the order of « Vulkasinth, take charge. » as they head to the back of the line.

Sevareth blinks in from ::between::!

Atmanth receives a tiny dye score on the wingtip!

From Cignalusath's neck, L'ri is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
From Inlayraith's neck, Br'er is basically just a walking display from Home Depot by this point. What color would you like your parasitic doom? Because he's got samples OF ALL OF THEM.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Hey wait, how did … why is Kraakaneth getting splattered with paint? Yulena looks up in annoyance,

"Who the Shell is up there?" she demands - and then looks in dismay at Cerise so close - she'll help clean those curls. Rowr.
It's a Candidate Throwing FRENZY!! Sekhaenkath is having troubles — wait. Are those Candidates spraying each other?!

From Ryadranth's neck, Kultir is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
From Kraakenaeth's neck, Maosa is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits her.
From Kraakenaeth's neck, Cerise is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits her.
From Cignalusath's neck, "DAMNIT." That might have been L'ri - but it also could have been ANYONE ELSE. Nope, it was totally

L'ri - because that's him with paint in his hair, and on his leathers and ALL OVER.

From Ryadranth's neck, Sytin is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
From Kraakenaeth's neck, Yulena is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits her.

From Ryadranth's neck, Kultir is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.

From Ilayth's neck, Ja'kai is smug, flying high above the rest. What? Mischief-making, the WEYRLINGMASTER? … … … never.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, "DO IT AGAIN, DO IT AGAIN!" That's Maosa. Because of course it is.

From Ryadranth's neck, Kultir winces as he gets splattered from ABOVE. "Hey! I'm on your side!" he yells at the Candidate tossing ropes at him, laughing at the same time.

From Ilayth's neck, Ja'kai is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.

Ilayth receives a huge dye score on the haunches!

Clearly, we need to do way to instain mother who kill their babbies.

Ilayth skips ::between::!

Ilayth blinks in from ::between::!

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Maosa is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits her.

Khalyssrielth soars sleek in from the Upper Bowl.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, "WHOO HOO!" Sigh. Yeah. Maosa again.

Khalyssrielth receives a huge dye score on the foresail!
Khalyssrielth skips ::between::!

Khalyssrielth is a sudden shadow across the sky, emberlit honeysuckle charred from the frostfire of ::between::.

<Local> Amuirnith senses that Khalyssrielth thinks « I have to show you bitches how it's done, obviously. »

Amuirnith skips ::between::!
Amuirnith blinks in from ::between::!

From Kraakenaeth's neck, "Someone's gettin' their ass whupped." That was all brogue-ish, has to be a dye-speckled Cerise. And, not to be outdone, she shakes out her basket so dye remnants can go flying through the air. Seek out a new home, brave yellow!

From Ryadranth's neck, Kultir taps Kalea on the shoulder and points up at the dragon with the Candidate splattering them with ropes and urges her to go up that direction so he can return the favor. When Rya obliges, Kul snatches Enden's still half full basket and tosses handful after handful of orange rope gleefully at the blue and the riders. "Take that!"

Kraakenaeth hovers suddenly, covered as he is with FRIENDLY FIRE what the HELL GUYS :*( "OKAY! OKAY!" That's Q'fex, trying to get his motley food-fight crew back under control. This totally disolved into chaos. (JUST LIKE REAL THREAD!)
From Kraakenaeth's neck, Q'fex is splattered with dye as one of the ropes hits him.
From Kraakenaeth's neck, Q'fex saw you do that, HANNAH. D:

NUH-UH.

From Caelth's neck, Arianne is clearly, clearly unhappy as she and Caelth have to circle down once she's been glommed with paint. And one of their other brownriders in their wing is given the order to pull in to lead now. But when she does land, she is totally going to walk up to Br'er and put some multicolored handprints on his jacket. Cause now it's a hippie jacket and she HAS to. It's a compulsion.

From Ryadranth's neck, All that overzealous throwing of threads backfires suddenly on the Candidate as an updraft suddenly throws a mess of purple back at him. The clump of ropes soundly scores the boy, hair, jacket, and trous, and Sytin wrestles with it briefly before managing to cast it away, smeared with the bright magenta hue. That's not coming out anytime soon! "Eugh." He blinks and wipes at his eyes, just smearing it around worse. "Maaan…" More ropes are chunked, though the ranks are decidedly thinning.

<Local> Amuirnith senses that Kraakenaeth drenches all with saltwater and brine, and though dye infects so many of the riders arrayed out, his tone is … remarkably pleased. « Enough, » strident-clear and pirate-arrred, « We've done well, Southern. »

Hidden behind a large brown, Inlayraith flicks hastily out of the way. What was that, a rope thrown at Q'fex? NEVER.

<Local> Amuirnith senses that Khalyssrielth thinks « Like shards, you gnarly beast. You're all dripping. »

Sekhaenkath receives a small dye score on the neck!

<Local> Amuirnith senses that Inlayraith's voice is tentative and uncertain. « Do we all have to pretend to be dead? Because I'm hungry. »

<Local> Amuirnith senses that she bursts forth with some thorny vines amidst the paint, dripping and shiny, and a bit spicy. Annoyance? yes.

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Friendly fire, isn't, so says someoneon another freakin' planet with psychic white horses, but Yulena is here and now, and hastily tossing the rest of her cords like a strafing run. She's gonna hit someone! That she got paint across the face? War is never pretty.

<Local> Amuirnith senses that Llioramasith is no words, merely the sense of radiating irritation from the inky blackness of his mind - offset only by a distant lanturn in the night.

<Local> Amuirnith senses that Atmanth is also wordless, the mental strum of his guitar a slow sad lamentation, ain't nuthin' good about what just happened. He's got the threadfall blues.

As with all things, an ending comes. As the wings spiral down, the official Threadfall is over. Candidates and riders alike did well, and while some frivolity was had today, the underlying threat of what's coming can not be ignored. Someday, this will be for real, but for now, everyone can join the mini-party to be held, tye-dye style with colorful drinks and refreshments; put on by Hannah, Bailey and Lendai. The end.

<Local> Amuirnith senses that Cignalusath has turned to embers sparking and swirling in the ashy landscape of his mind.

There is a general, permeating feeling of annoyance from him as well. Though it's not directed at anyone or anything specific.
A cheer rises from the gathered people and dragons, and Jesha's quick to remove her helmet, goggles and gloves, groping at her skin for paint and finding none, her ancient leathers having done their job. Her smile is large, but her eyes a bit distant. Even so, she gives her wingleader a wave, her daughter a blown kiss before the two spiral downwards towards the bowl.

Tilla and her dragon don't have to be told twice- the red paint ran into the corner of her eye and it /stings/. And Amuirnith didn't agree to get temporarily body painted, either. They go down for the landing, and to PEEEE. Because all that klah did a number on Tilla' bladder. ENJOY THE TMI!

From Ryadranth's neck, The normally stolid Kultir seems to be in his element, whether it's the flying or the pelting people with dyed rope or maybe just the permission to be less than nice … whatever it is, he's grinning like a maniac and there's a gleam of delight burning in his eyes. The expression remains as Rya glides in for a landing.

From Llioramasith's neck, Although Jedi waves in reply to her mother, there is no helmet removal for this brownrider, and no grin. Merely a glance cast at Vossuth and Th'seus.

From Atmanth's neck, Nika doesn't dismount until the other's have landed, dead or not she's going to wait for her wing. Once feet are planted firmly on the ground, her shoulders slump forward and her little face is twisted in a frown. Niks needs a hug.

Landed and done, El'ai's legs are shaky though Sekhaenkath is clearly feeling victorious. Even if he's gotten dyed!

From Kraakenaeth's neck, Oh, are they done? Maosa looks a little disappointed. Settling her green hands down on poor
Kraaken's hide, dye smearing, her banshee grin gradually shifts into a stoic stare. By the time they're on the ground, she's a silent presence, her usual public self — except for the part where she's filthy with paint, anyway.

From Ryadranth's neck, Sytin almost seems disappointed as the practice ends and Meth slides in toward the ground, the blue twitching slightly and seeming just a leetle over excited. Cr'stal grins back — absence of teeth remarkable and unnerving — but the Candidate is too pumped by the chance to play with paint to be phased by it as they sink lower, spiraling in a fight circuit of G force doom. Wheeee!

Sevareth flies down, landing with a gentle thud.
Kraakenaeth flies down, landing with a gentle thud.
Cignalusath flies down, landing with a gentle thud.

Q'fex slides from Kraakenaeth's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Inlayraith drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.
L'ri slides from Cignalusath's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Jesha slides from Sevareth's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Ryadranth drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.
Atmanth drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.
Br'er slides from Inlayraith's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Yulena slides from Kraakenaeth's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Llioramasith drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.
K'ane goes home.
Jedi slides from Llioramasith's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Nika slides from Atmanth's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Jesha clambers up Sevareth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Caelth drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.
Vossuth drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.
Sevareth flies up, up, up, into the skies.
Sevareth drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.
Arianne slides from Caelth's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Th'seus slides from Vossuth's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Kultir slides from Ryadranth's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Sekhaenkath drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.

Sytin slides from Ryadranth's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Vossuth will land heavily on the ground when the wing touches down. And there's only the briefest touch of his mind across the rest of the Lynx dragons. It's mutually felt disappointment as well as some vague attempt of his own sort of consolation. Don't get too excited. Th'seus will his helmet off, answer a few questions and then get as far away from this drill as he can at least for a few hours.

Cerise slides from Kraakenaeth's neck and lands gently on the ground.

Vossuth walks to the Hatching Sands.

Arianne is absolutely going to be the one to rush over to Nika to offer what comfort she can. Now that she's done trying to make more of a mess of Br'er, obviously. "Hey, we lasted a lot longer then other people did. We weren't the best. But we weren't the worst!!" Not that it's the best endorsement ever. But hey, it's something.

Nika doesn't have to wait long for that hug, if she'll take the manly version. Br'er, dismounted from Inlayraith, scowling, and filthy with dye, heads right on over. SIDE HUG TIME. And Arianne, for all she gets a glower for the HANDSINESS, gets one too. "Mmph," though, is all he has to say.

Jedi invades Th'seus's space just long enough to mutter something to him, and once all of the Lynx dragons are down on the ground, she walks off. Hugs and whatnot will have to wait — she needs a bath, her dragon needs a bath. And then after that, she'll be looking over formations until she gets too tired to focus on them anymore.

Kultir unclips himself and Enden, snagging the kid as he tried to run off and dragging him back to push him against Rya's side.
"You wash her first." he growls in the boy's face. "You puked on her!" Releasing the kid, he turns to assist Kalea down, releasing her properly once she's got her feet under her. Then, his grin is back, the light in his eyes brightening as he watches the rest of the Candidates dismount. "Faranth that was fun." he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

You overhear Jedi mutter, "… … … go … over … again if I'm needed." to Th'seus.

Clambering down, Jesha skitters over to Sevareth's side, the brown tipping his wing obligingly for her to fuss at. "Shit shit shit I'm sorry. It's my fault. I'm sorry," she repeats, picking at the bright paint that stands out against his wingsail. "Guess it stands to reason, though, all things considered." Sighing, her head tips forward, resting against a wingspar, her face hidden from view.

You overhear Th'seus mutter, "… have … … … … … … … meet up … … …" to Jedi.

Yulena's making touch with ground is not that of a victor, but more one of thoughtful, deliberate 'omgwhatthehellamIgettinginto'. Her knees shake briefly from the re-establishment of gravity, and she takes a few steps away to consider tossing her breakfast up on her shoes. There'll be more klah later anyhow. And then, the clinging paint start to itch.

You overhear Jedi mutter, "… bring … for more than one if … want some …" to Th'seus.

Maosa slides from Kraakenaeth's neck and lands gently on the ground.

No sooner is she able to dismount than Cerise is on the ground and flailing out of her riding jacket to get the dye caught in the collar as far from her skin and hair as possible. Purple, red, blue…she's picking apart her curls and looking at them from close range, dismayed and oblivious of any draconic distress or rider rrrrr nearby.

You overhear Th'seus mutter, "Thanks. I think … … … to be a … … Let … … … …" to Jedi.

Arianne hip-nudges Nika. And smiles innocently at Br'er. What? Pretty pretty handprints! "Drinks. Drinks are needed, I think. I promise I'll even stand up on a chair again if it will make you feel better, Nika."

You overhear Jedi mutter, "… need … wash … … off of Lli … … so it'll be … … …" to Th'seus.

Speculation rises, with all the muttering, that Jedi and Th'seus will be having post mock-thread coidus.
There's nothing like a good post-mock-Thread lay.

Bang! Bang! Bang! On the door baby!

Kultir is a kaleidescope of colors; red, orange, green, purple, blue … head to toe. Not to mention the bile-yellow stain soaking into the back of his jacket and light colored canvas trousers. He shudders as that last starts to squish and get cold. Ewww, nasty!

You overhear Th'seus mutter, "Yeah, same … I'll … … … … … in … …" to Jedi.

Bow chicka bow wow!

As the polar blue hide of Meth flashes and backwings to a landing, Sytin take stock of his dyed clothing with a small groan as
Cr'stal unclips the straps from him. "G'on wit ye." He shoos the Candidate off the older dragon's hide with a fond smirk. The boy doesn't need to be told twice and dutifully scrambles down the offered foreleg and to the ground, grinning like a maniac as he looks around for his peers, a rather bright shade of purple coating him like war paint.

Jedi nods sharply, and walks off at a quick pace.

Poor Cerise. Maosa reaching out, intent on clapping her on the shoulder with her dye-soaked hand, can hardly be a comfort. The candidate doesn't stick around to chat, though. Someone mentioned food, right? Now that she's had fun with murder, she's only interested in the food. A girl of simple needs, really.

Before Th'seus fully breaks away from the muttered conversation with Jedi, he stops to watch Kultir shoving the vomit ridden boy towards the dragon. "How about the kid takes a bath, the rider bathes the dragons and you don't give orders?" Would be the Wingleader's bellowed orders to the candiday from where he stands. And then he leaves.

Harpy drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.

"I want a bath, first," says Br'er, making faces. He is literally dripping: it's terrible. Worse yet: HIS HAIR IS OUT OF ORDER. But some priorities must still be acknowledged, so he adds, "But hold my drinks, please."

L'ri's expresion is unreadable while he examines the paint staining his lifemate's hide. "We'll do better next time." He promises the bronze, all but ignoring the paint on himself. Because it's there, he can feel it, but he's ignoring it right now. The paint will leave if he ignores it, right? RIGHT?

From betwixt Sekhaenkath's wickedly sharp, dark neckridges, El'ai makes googley eyes at Maosa.

Kultir sighs softly at the reprimand and straitens to face the bronzerider. "He puked on her!" he says rather forcefully before remembering himself. "Sir." A flush colors his cheeks in embarrassment.

Q'fex punches El'ai … on the arm. Once he dismounts.

Suffiently Serval group hugged Nika pulls up a smile for her wingriders. "Yes, yes. Drinks! I'll meet you guys there in a minute."

Only the normally very social wingleader will be absent for the rest of the night, there is mourning to be done, guilt to be handled and then planning to get restarted on.
"Not your problem. Not your job to fix." If Kultir would like Th'seus to turn around and come back, he certainly can.

Maosa walks right past El'ai, oblivious. There is FOOD. Sorry, guy: the only hearts she's interested in right now are herdbeast, rare :(

Khalyssrielth drops in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.

Bailey drifts after Maosa, a few lengths off. Wait. Rare hearts for sinking your teeth into — where?

Sytin finally spies Kultir and makes his way over, looking like a tropical creature. Or at least an exotic one. The elder's arm is grabbed and he offers a bright smile. "C'mon, we'll help her wash Rya later, eh?" he offers, giving a tug. "Food now?"

Kultir's ears burn as he sighs and nods. "Yessir." is his reply as he turns to head to the baths himself. He shrugs at Sytin's off and mutters, "Can't. Confined to the Weyr proper till Hatching." He follows his friend and realizes his stomach is doing flipflops.

Arianne reaches over to give Nika's shoulder a squeeze, and just nods. She's going to get changed and try to clean herself up too. And clean up Caelth. AND calm him down. His eyes are already a nastily swirling red and he's twitching like a crack fiend going through withdrawl. Time to give him a little ledge time in the corner.

Yulena has decided to retain breakfast, thank you, moving back towards Kraakeneth and telling him, "Thank you for the adventurous ride. Watch out, the paint can get itchy." Captain Obvious, nickname Yulena, to the rescue. There may be klah to be got, so she looks to see if there's anything, or one, to clean. Except Caelth. That (brown) dude craycray.

"Fine, we'll eat then I'll bathe her. Wouldn't be the first time." Ironically Sytin is being the voice os reason here as he drags Kultir away toward the promised land. Or maybe he's just following his stomach. Either way, it's off to seek mana and milk for this starving Candidate. The hunger demands that it be so!

"L'RI!" The voice BELTS OUT. That's Q'fex, striding paint-splattered and … paint-splattered. He's looking for his stand-in.
In the chaos, it should go unnoticed when Cerise slips off, intent on repairing the damage done her hair. Sneak sneak.

Kultir shakes his head as his friend tugs him along. Now that the dye is drying, it's itching and he'd really rather have a bath first, but that monster in his belly is growling that it's empty and needs filling. "Alright. Alright! I'm coming, no need to drag my arm off." he says, picking up his pace and laughing once more.

"SIR!" Okay, time for sulking is over — L'ri's on his way over to his Weyrleader. Although hopefully he didn't mess up too badly. And isn't about to get in trouble over it or something. Never let it be said that W'rin's spawn is anything but professional. No, really — his dad would probably kill him.

No one? No one? Alright, to the klah it is. Yulena quietly makes her way to grab a towel, acquiring cleanliness on her way to klah. And out.

The fun over and drinks arranged, Br'er and Inlayraith amble off, leaving a dye-speckled trail in their wake. Hopefully Q'fex didn't want his bath anytime soon, it's being claimed. Br'er needs to scrub away his SHAME.

"You lead a weyr into CERTAIN DEATH, bronzerider." Q'fex scrubs at his pockets, and finally rummages up with a knot. He tosses it at teenager. "Maybe you should stick to the kiddos for a while." Only then does that scowl break and the weyrleader claps L'ri on the shoulder as he passes. "Congratulations, assistant weyrlingmaster." Wait what.

As Kultir falls into step properly Sytin drops his death grip on his companions arm with a broad grin, long legs eating the ground up as he practically trots toward the celebration station. Well, maybe it's more of a consolation station, given that performance. But there's food, and that's all that matters to this twelve-turn-old's snarling stomach. Om nom nom.

L'ri feels like he's been scolded, and then— there's a new knot in his hands, and he looks bemused as to what on Pern just happened. "Uh. Stick t'the kiddos? Yessir. Thank you sir." Change of rank because of this? Well, that could be an upside or a downside. He'll find out soon enough!
Downside. Definitely downside. Have you SEEN your charges, L'ri?

L'ri is doomed.
DOOMED.
DOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMEEEEEEED.

Hurf. Okay Jesha's done sulking. With a twist of her wrist, she frees her walking stick from its holster and, smile in place, makes her way to SNAX. DELICIOUS SNAX. All crammed in her maw, so it's a bit muffled when she offers L'ri a 'congratulations'. It's more 'cmgrffgllshm'.

L'ri gives Jesha a bemused smile. "Thank you?" Off to report for DUTY.
Jedi clambers up Llioramasith's neck and settles in between two neckridges.

Add a New Comment