Arianne, Cha'el, Dione, D'rak, D'ren, Hannah, G'deon, K'ane, R'nyr, Ty'ai, Yules; Caelth, Sikorth, Ronith, Aikuonath, Dhiammarath, Nylanth, Dhioth, Osynarth, Taodath


Southern's Leadership flight ends with an unexpected and cruel ending.


It is dusk of the twenty-second day of the first month of the second turn of the 12th pass.


Living Caverns, Southern Weyr; High above Southern Weyr

OOC Date


arianne_default.jpg, cha-el_default.jpg, dione_default.jpg, d-rak_default.jpg, d-ren_default.jpg, hannah_default.jpg, g-deon_default.jpg, g-ane_default.jpg, r-nyr_default.jpg, ty-ai_default.jpg, yules_default.jpg


Living Caverns

Grand and spacious, the cavern curves high aloft in naturally-vaulted ceiling that soothes any sense of claustrophoba. Rich woods line the cavern floor, varnished and stained a rich mahogany, while round tables scatter about candlelit and intimate. The largest table lies southerly next the sideboard, long trestles that seem oriented to providing for the weyr's youngest. The rich blue of Azov can be seen from a distance in good weather, when the heavy stone doors covering the entrance are allowed to stand open.

Timor: moon6.jpg
Belior: moon5.jpg

-- On Pern --
It is 9:29 AM where you are.
It is dusk of the twenty-second day of the first month of the second turn of the 12th pass.
In Southern:
It is the eighty-second day of Summer and 105 degrees. It is sunny and bright. The skies are clear.

The weyr has been on edge for nearly two sevens, Dhiammarath taking her agonizingly sweet time to come to full glow. The waiting — oh the waiting. Speaking of waiting, there's a line for the buffet, and K'ane is standing there with a plate in his hand, waiting. Always waiting.

D'ren was here not too long ago, and he's back again. Why? Well…lots of reasons, including some he's invented. With Linden still sick in bed, the bronzerider really doesn't have much reason to be here, but…here he is. "K'ane," he says, stepping up behind the oldtimer with a wry grin, and getting a plate.

K'ane tosses a look over his shoulder, and actually does a double-take: "D'ren?" His gruff voice has a hint of surprise to it, followed by a quick grin. "Here t'see your boy?" The line shuffles forwards a half-step.

D'ren returns that grin, and he nods. "Yes, but he's still sick in bed. Personally I think he just doesn't want to go back to that ice hold." He chuckles. "How've you been?"
"Ha. S'cold down there," K'ane states, captain-obvious, bland. "Th' wildlings seem to love it, though. But they are a… strange breed." He shakes his head. "Oh, I've been good. Been interestin' adapting to Southern. You? Y'still at — Ista, isn't it?"

D'ren tilts his head. "Wildlings?" he asks in mild interest, shuffling forward another half step in the dinner buffet line. "Ista, yeah," he says with a nod. "Been doing fine." There's a brief hesitation. "Thanks for Searching my boy."

"Wildlings. Uh, from what I can tell, when old Southern died out from th' Comet, the holders left behind kinda… went native. They're an odd bunch." K'ane scratches his eyebrow. "Huh? Oh. That's all Dhioth, but you're certainly welcome." He hitches a half-grin to the fellow bronzerider.

At least one unsuspecting victim, erm, visitor, is unaware of the waiting and saunters into the living caverns with a sheaf of hide in hand and brows crinkled in concentration. "Where the shards am I supposed to find one of those?" Mutters Igen's Weyrsecond into his beard, steering on auto-pilot to where drinks have been set out, the food ignored all the time spent in the Southern Weyr having mapped certain locals to instinctive path. And then a familiar voice and Cha'el's head jerks up. "K'ane."

D'ren shrugs, "Yeah, I know. Still. He certainly seems to be loving it down here." His eyes travel thoughtfully around the cavern, and he smiles. "Huh. Interesting. Makes sense though, that they might do that." Shuffle forward another step in the buffet line. He turns at the approach of another, dipping his head in a respectful and silent greeting, since he's not the one being addressed.

Ty'ai walks in from the Lower Bowl.

Hannah's entrance is probably more felt than heard; something different exists about the goldrider today. Gone is the woman that struggles against Dhiammarath's proddy time, and in its wake is a woman refreshed. The strain of the past days has melted away, leaving her expression clear with a sensual bounce to her step. She's dressed fairly casually, honestly, for a proddy goldrider: modest sundress of emerald green to match her eyes, that exposes only the soft curves of shoulder and a length of thigh that's not indecent. She's shoe-less which leaves her standing at her natural height, which is not so impressive at all. The crisscross back of her dress is hidden by the waterfall of pale hair, and while she might be dogged by males, she doesn't let this deter her. What does she do? She cuts her ass in line, directly in front of someone or another and plucks a creamy delight right off the table. "Faranth. Ardstelle. I could kiss you."

Yules walks in from the Lower Bowl.

"Cha'el," K'ane replies, his expression not-quite a grin, not-quite not. Maybe more of a smirk than not. "How's Igen these days?" The Weyrlingmaster lifts his brows in a fair, unvoiced question: and why exactly is Cha'el here? To D'ren, "I'm glad. He seems like a smart, good kid." Another shuffle, and he POINTEDLY IGNORES Hannah. God, Hannah. Shouldn't you be closeted up with a certain tree-tall weyrmate?

< Southern Weyr > Dhiammarath senses that: Dhiammarath yet slumbers, her lanterns dimmed and shining not upon the denizens of Southern Weyr. Instead of lemongrass and jade, the dreaming gold inflicts pure, unmitigated heat upon her weyr, a sweltering phenomenon that girds loins and flows from toes to fingertips, inciting a full awareness of self and form and the simple pleasure of textures gliding against skin or hide.

< Southern Weyr > Dhiammarath senses that: DO NOT WANT. (Dhioth)

When Hannah cuts in, Cha'el blinks and then his mouth begins to form around a smile and theeeeen, eyes of ocean blue narrow. Something. Something's off. Or more accurately, completely on. Attention cuts from the goldrider to the two bronzerider's nearby and then skips over those loitering nearby. Mental check-in with Sikorth amounts to nothing, zip, nada. Back to K'ane his attention goes but not before resting briefly on D'ren in a manner that might suggest the Igen brownrider is sizing him up. "Sandy." Cha'el gives in reply and fits the bigger bronzer with faintly amused look. "And lacking in literary content." Perhaps he's there to return that book he'd purloined the last time he'd visited.

< Southern Weyr > Dhiammarath senses that: Ice cold crashes against this liquid heat, a rising danger to the killing edge before it's gone, completely. Desmeth, you're in charge. This pair? OUTTA HERE. One last parting thought, « I eat you all if you fuck with my eggs. » (Khalyssrielth)

Maaaaaybe this is why D'ren showed up today, as emerald green eyes track Hannah's path. She looks…more relaxed, and for that the bronzerider smiles. Then looks back at K'ane, smile widening with paternal pride. "Thanks, he is." He smiles back to Cha'el and nods his head.

Arianne walks in from the Lower Bowl.

Into this luxurious subliminal heat, Yules strolls. There's already a mug of klah in hand, but she rushes to top it up and the cup is almost at her lips before Yules's shoulders straighten at some silent note-making, turning just a bit to eye some familiar faces, some unfamiliar faces and, well, Hannah. She's making her way over, a little tensely but there's a less-than-disagreeable look on her face as she greets them all in order: "Weyrwoman. Weyrsecond. Wingrider." Who has she missed? "Weyrlingmaster."

D'rak walks in from the Lower Bowl.

Hannah is no more concerned for the males around her than for the table in front of her. She is much more concerned with licking the cream off her fingers after having shoved that pastry into her mouth, moaning. What? The goldrider finally turns and spears the male riders with an intense look, her green eyes large, wide and feral. "Boys." Low rumble of heated purr, but the boys can wait. She's reaching for another pastry — and yes, she is HOLDING UP YOUR LINE — when Yules arrives. "Come, come, taste this." And she's shoving a creamy pastry at Yules. C'mon. You know you wanna bite it.

Ty'ai is fresh from the baths, his hair hanging in wet curls, drowsy eyes heavy-lidded. He stares at Hannah for a long time at that moan, and his eyes unfocus a minute. He nods briefly and moves to loosely stand around the edges of gathering around the goldrider in question. Dinner? Whats that again?

D'rak is there, chair rocked back with shoulders leaned up against the wall, Lynx's wingleader watching proceedings with sly eyes, murky green deepening as he takes in the competition. And he's open about it. A smirk touching stubble framed lips at commentary relayed by Ronith.

< Southern Weyr > Dhiammarath senses that: Fae-lights bob and dance against a velveteen night, the jungle hinting at the feline within as when all the world were furry. In this faery world, anticipation dances. Once supped from the golden cup, one will try to sup again; the predator's bones within will await with feline patience. (Sekhaenkath)

"Come t' pilfer our archives, then?" K'ane to Cha'el. His eyes darken at something as he starts to actually eyeball the amount of foreigners and their happenstance of being here; he steps a bit apart from D'ren and sends a single, hard stare at Hannah. His eyes turn to Yules: "Keep her safe." The last word is stressed heavily. Then the last person in front of him is moving on and K'ane buries himself in getting food. There's always still time to eat, right?

"Caelth, you are one dumb fuck if you think that you can pull this off." Arianne, muttering under her breath, makes her way into the living caverns at a fraction of her usual pace. She skips the line, and pulls a seat out for herself to plunk down in it. Is she really actually arguing with her lifemate? Yes, yes she is. And her swearing is.. unusual. But there it is.

D'ren's emerald green eyes scan the area as more folks approach, and he finally is able to sneak his arm around someone to grab a few bites of food. He darts a look at K'ane. What? He's here to visit Linden. Then he's moving off to sit down.

Dione walks in from the Lower Bowl.

Cha'el opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again and then swallows. Nope. Not staring at Hannah and that cream pastry. Definitely not. In fact, he's starting to back away. Do not want!! Only to bump into someone else that refuses to give ground. D'ren gets a shifty-eyed look. Dude, you can have it. Pastry, cream, goldrider. ALL yours!! Then K'ane opens his mouth and suddenly the twist of the Igenite's lips is wolfish. "Needing your picture book back, K'ane?" The arrival of female brownriders draws a quirk of brows and a deepening of of that predatory expression.

Ty'ai shifts restlessly, one food to another. His eyes draw towards D'rak, and after a moment's hesitation he goes to sit with his fellow Lynx. A curt nod for his greeting. And then he's staring at Arianne. "They let the girls chase here?" He questions to D'rak. "For.. this?"

Boys. Fuh. Yules' eyes are locked on Hannah as she's having a thick, creamy pastry shoved into her face. And yes, Yules who is over-caffeinated and under-stressed, wants to bite it. And maybe scare some of the boys. She hardly hears K'ane but nods at him anyways. Grrr, argh. Arianne's entirely distracting, though and Yules takes the moment to look over and wave at the other brownrider. And glare at the other other brownrider, the one with his own creamy pastry stick. She remembers the last time Cha'el was here.

Arianne looks up slowly from the drink that someone thughtfully put in front of her. "They don't -let- us do anthing. We just do it." she offers, with a predatory smile, and then a wiggle of fingers at Yules.

Boys, shmoys. Hannah has a narrow eye for all the foreigners as well, but is good at ignoring K'ane. She has not forgotten the masque. Yules's distraction holds her attention until she hears Arianne, and something about the woman draws the goldrider like a fly to honey. "Arianne…" The brownrider's name, whispered with a shiver. Hey, Hannah is totally shopping here. Eyecandy? Yes? Maybe she shops the women because Th'seus won't mind females? Who knows, but. With sudden energy and a strange strength, Hannah attempts to grab Yules' hand and take her over to Arianne. "You taste it." And this time, the pastry is shoved at Arianne — even if Yules didn't manage to get dragged along.

D'rak snorts and lifts a lazy hand. "Looks to be they let the woman do what the fuck they like here." He for one not perturbed by the female competition though he does slide Ty'ai a sideways look. "You might want ta step outta this one, wingrider." In a tone that suggests order over suggestion.

D'ren meets Cha'el's look and the bronzerider just shrugs, and starts to eat, though his eyes often look up to follow Hannah's movements, thoughtful.

Arianne plucks the pastry from the outstretched fingers and gives Hannah a very lingering visual once-over. "I'll taste anything you want." she murmurs, a smile curving her lips upward before she takes the first delicate bite and then licks the… cream, off her lips slowly. "Yules, you need to try it."

Ty'ai snorts at D'rak. "Your authority hardly stretches far enough to tell me who not to chase, brownrider." He stands up with a derogatory dismissal of a look for his wingleader before walking towards the nearest klah-pot. He very noticeably doesn't look at the women and their dickbaiting as he goes over there.

Of all the days to draw caverns-duty, Dione had to get this one, with the glowing and the windowshopping and the… you know. sub-rosa sharking. Scooooting around the periphery of the place, she gathers mugs and plates as she goes, piling them deep in a basin. Scurry, scurry, with furtive looks given just in case any of the riders decide to bust out and start dancing naked on the tables. Or, wait. Not yet? Perhaps in a bit.

Cha'el steps to the left and then to the right, shoulder-checks a skinny bronzerider and finds a gap toward the exit muttering under his breath as he does so. "Late as it is. Not fucking interested you randy moron! Going home before you get your tail twisted into a whole world of trouble."

Hey, Yules has been Charged with a Duty. An onus, if you will, so she's quite willing to go along with wherever Hannah's gonna drag her, even if she has to take an extra step to catch up with the shorter woman. Arianne gets an eyebrow, "That… good, huh?" Yeah, boys aren't even gonna GET to flirt with Hannah at this rate. Unless they offer a distraction like the one Ty'ai just made, so Yules's head swings in his direction to watch him with interest, note making, before she returns to her guard.

D'rak narrows a dangerous look right between Ty'ai's shoulder blades and when he stands, so does the Lynx wingleader and heads after him. Shoulder-to-shoulder, he mutters something to the other brownrider.

Hannah revels in the glory of life, of being alive, and seems more intent on smiling at Arianne and getting Yules to enjoy the pastry than in dancing on the tables naked. Or rather, really, anything to do with boys. In fact, she would almost seem oblivious to them but for the track of eyes that lay into each one of them: Ty'ai, Cha'el, D'ren, D'rak, K'ane (yes you). When a member of her court seems intent to leave (escape), the goldrider's eyes narrow, and she calls out to Igen's Weyrsecond. "Not got it in ya, huh? Last time was a fluke, brownrider." The junior doesn't actually seem to have a hate on for browns, considering how she's cozying up to Yules and Arianne, her FAVORITES.

< Southern Weyr > Dhiammarath senses that: Dhiammarath stirs. It isn't full-wakening, this, but an extension of her dreaming into a lucid state: a whorling of brazen heat, the earthiness of lava. That which pulses from her dreamscape is heart-quickening, the speed of a chase well-given, well-fled. Soon. It will be soon.

It's then that: "GODDAMIT HANNAH, TAKE YOUR FUCKING TEASING SOMEWHERE WHERE TH' DAMN KIDS CAN'T SEE IT." That's K'ane, stalking through the crowds, suddenly volatile. There are other people? He's supposed to be politic after his promotion? What? No. "Out. You. Now. YOU. Yes you. I mean you." He's pointing and staring directly at Hannah, nostrils flared with sudden attitude.

"Don't go away! There's plenty of fun to go around Cha'el." Has anyone seen how hot Cha'el is? Puhlease. He's here now, he ain't getting away. Man, woman - Arianne just don't care at the moment. But, well, it's Hannah who has the majority of her attention. "Oh, it's delightful Yules." she promises, with a sigh escaping her lips. "Sit down, both of you. Standing doesn't work so well for me right now, and I'd love the company." A glare at K'ane. "No. She's staying -here-."

D'ren jumps at K'ane's sudden yelling, the bronzerider pushing abruptly to his feet. Though he's not sure what to do with himself once he's standing, so he just stands there. And…looks briefly around for his son. No Linden? Good. Back to watching this unfold, his eyes unfocusing for a long moment.

Cha'el lends a smirk to both brownriders and then jerks his head up at Hannah's taunting call and layers a deep grin the tiny goldrider's way. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling." There's a subtle shift of congenial features when K'ane suddenly barrels through and takes control, a darkening of eyes, a tensing of frame a curl of lip that's not as friendly as before.

Idly waiting close to the drinks buffet, Dione observes the situation from behind the safety of the basin. Truly, testosterone is something that can be spread on toast right now, and served up with a slice of estrogen. It's thick enough that her eyes are slightly wide, holder mores squirming and creaking under the strain they're being put to. With only the thin protection of a Candidate's knot, however, she's soon pulled away and beckoned in close, scooooting around the knot of women to get to a pair of demanding, determined riders on the other side, already well into their cups, flame-bright hair luckily less of a beacon under the kercief tied over it.

The shift in Hannah is instant: gone is the happy, free woman and in her place is a hint of the senior to become. A dark shift, still touched with her inner goodness. "Bronzerider." Her voice does not raise, but it carries in cold clarity. "You are on dangerous ground." All four feet ten inches stalk up to K'ane with liquid grace, the emerald green of her eyes darkening with ill-intent, pupils dilating to consume, the feral predator within unleashed. "Back. Down." It's enough, almost, to awaken the lifemate still sleeping. Not yet. Not yet. She shoots a look at D'ren, tips a smile before returning to the girl's table and leans over to very deliberately tweak K'ane. (The others too). And she'll go in to lay one right on Arianne if the other brownrider doesn't jump out of the way. Good luck, Yules, following out your duty!

G'deon quietly strides in from the Lower Bowl.

"Oh, fuck you. Great way t' herald in your reign, Hannah," K'ane cracks, his voice dark and not amused: "With a full loss of control in th' fuckin' livin' caverns. Yeah, you ain't like Lendai at ALL." With that last barb he turns and leaves, pushing through the crowds with the brusque abruptness that only a big man can have.

Ty'ai stills at the klah-pot, staring at this whole.. ordeal.. going down. He watches K'ane leave with a bit of eyebrow vexing but doesn't comment. Arianne and Hannah's.. activities.. steal his attention, but he doesn't move from his spot by the hearth. No, he's staying out of this until it's time to go all in.

Caelth the troublemaker always has the upper hand during these situations, and he is going to take full advantage of any opportunity presented. It might not help him mitigate the gimpy wing, but it will help him piss people off and THAT is totally what he wants. Which, coupled with the fact that hey… Hannah is hot, must be why Arianne curls her hand around the back of the goldrider's neck and is happy to give everyone a show. No wimpy kisses going on here; it's full on, alright.

Like any redblooded male, Cha'el does a double take at Hannah's little display and goes perfectly still. Daaaayum. Ever deeper etches the predatory look of the Igen brownrider while out in the bowl, the large mottled brown stirs with a rustle of wings. "You heard the lady." He sends over to K'ane, assessing the bigger bronzer. He can so take him if he has to. Probably not but stupid is as testosterone does. "C'mon, darling," that low purr sent the tiny goldrider's way while she's liplocked with Arianne, "Some fresh air, aye?" Uh huh.

D'ren will just stand here, thanks, watching things unfold. Especially that kiss. With a cough, he sits, but only so he can adjust things in private.

D'rak is apparently of a similar mind as his wingrider and wordlessly holds out an empty mug to Ty'ai - Hit me with it. The klah in the pot, not the pot itself.

Step, step, owwww! Dione, trying to navigate around the cluster of women, missteps enough to bump into the solidity that is K'ane. "Sorry, sir," she mumbles, still too big-eyed over that display to do anything but stare, shocked to the quick. Muttering an apology, she steps around, twist-turning to spare him the basin's edge, and scoots on towards those riders. Luckily, once there, she's nimble enough to twist and move out of their hamfisted grasps, escaping with dignity intact towards a quieter corner.

Official Cameo Time: from the inner caverns to the bowl leisurely walks a bronzerider sporting salt-and-pepper hair, a freshly uncasted arm, and a PB&J. Hooded eyes, dark, take in the clusterfuck that is this flight, and with a low laugh Q'fex shakes his head and ducks out into the gloaming.

Ty'ai might could hit D'rak with the whole klahpot but he doesn't. Instead he wordlessly fills the other brownrider's cup. This is better than a soap opera.

Hannah is SLOW to pull away from Arianne, a dreamy expression on her face. Which only lasts so long as it takes for K'ane's words to penetrate her mind and bring a flash of hurt to green eyes that only the brownrider so intimately involved with can see. She tracks the love of her life across the living caverns, eyes hungry and speared on, you guessed it, the PB&J. She swallows. Wait, don't go! It's entirely possible she might have chased that hooker down and wrenched it from Q'fex's hands were it not for the reminder of the audience — her court. It is twilight, the evening meal laid out for all to pick from as the brown-and-bronzeriders gather around and Hannah so 'fresh' from her display with Arianne. Cha'el is given a hard, hard look. "Thought you were leaving," that cold, midnight voice has not lost its strength before dismissing the mouthy male.

Arianne is smug, obviously. Or maybe it's her dragon that's smug and it's just showing through her own expression. That she sees a flash of hurt across the beloved goldrider's face just outright makes her angry. "Want me to shank him for you?" she whispers, the words close to Hannah's ear before the PB&J is spotted. Welp, she's no longer the best distraction. SIGH. The other riders gathered are given a glittered gaze of warning. Don't be messing with the goldrider! Only for Yules does her expression remain neutral. Cause hey, that's her sister-in-arms.

< Southern Weyr > Dhiammarath senses that: Dhiammarath blossoms suddenly, abruptly, quickly: it only takes the last dying of the light, that strange transition from day to night and the falling of the witching hour to rouse her from her slumber. And rouse she does, her lanterns so intense as to seem miniature stars up in the heavens, supernovae of intensity, scorching heat, blistering desire. Lust fills her veins with languid fire and spreads to the weyr: she is ready. She wakes, and she wants.

Yup, Yules is steadfast. Strong. Except for where she's swaying, eyes crossed in silent battle with Desmeth. It seems like she's winning, from the slighty victorious sigh, ignoring how Arianne's playing tonsil-lacrosse with Hannah. Sorry, Yules is on coffee break for a moment, but she's coming back to herself when everything seems to change. There's still strain on her face as she nods to Arianne.

Cha'el, rather than being put down by that look and those hard words, merely throws back his head and laughs. Yes, LAUGHS!! Oh Hannah if you only knew what he's had his hands full with lately. "Mmm. Thought you had more sense unless you're into public displays of…" Blank goes his expression for a second and then back with that low thrum of amusement, the ladies now gathered each eyed individually before sending a backward glance to the males hovering closely nearby. Hands are lifted and held in the air, in a gesture not quite that of surrender. "Its your show, weyrwoman. But just how much are you prepared to show?" Dare? Taunt?

G'deon has taken a little time to clue in, as the displays of affec… well, lust go on around Hannah and Arianne. He's too busy going through the drink choices at a sidebar. At some point, however, his very-long-time lifemate picks up and moves from just outside the living cavern, and that grabs Gid's attention. He looks toward the exit to spy a stomping K'ane, then peers toward the crowd. Court? Cluster. Which is when the gears click into place. "Oh dear," he rumbles pensively, the wine in his hand forgotten enough to come perilously close to tipping over the edge. It is saved by an instinct to set down the glass, but only just.

At a familiar face, K'ane diverges from stomping to the exit and comes home to roost next to G'deon, ruffled-feathers and all. Well, perhaps not roost — but momentarily perch. He's still staring at the exit with longing. "It's gonn' get crazy in here, sir." No matter he ranks the older bronzerider, K'ane has manners, and forever will consider himself a junior Inferno to G'deon's experience. "There're too many outsiders." His blue eyes darken as a sea in storm.

Dhiammarath>From the Courtyard comes the gracious form of Pern's largest gold, liquid-graceful and charged with an unsubtle coil of desire. She makes it aground until the courtyard fades for the well-worn splendor of the upper bowl; her hide is glowing so profoundly as to shade carmine in the werelight, a ruddy hue as blood spilt in darkness. She looks towards the pens, and to the skies, and the calculation — even in such blind, carnal lust — can be seen behind those lavender-whirling eyes.

Dhiammarath>Nylanth knows calculation well, though as ever, the late hour brings out far more highwayman than tactician. Age is irrelevant when the call comes, and moves to answer, dark hide glittering dully in that same werelight. The very tip of his tail lashes briefly, and wings unfurl for a moment before snapping back into position. He can wait.

< Local > Dhiammarath senses that: There is nothing subtle about Sikorth recently fed on a wild fatted calf stolen from the wildlands. THWUMP! The big Igen brown drops in along Dhiammarath's perimeter, faceted eyes fastened to the enticing glow of hide « My lady. » Greeting and possession rolled into one. (Sikorth)

Dhiammarath>Perhaps surprisingly does Dhioth drop from the skies, a darkness-warred form that fits perfectly with the context of the moment: he has forever balanced on the tightrope between intrinsic darkness and the glory of the light, after all. His whirling eyes stare at Dhiammarath with unwavering certainty, wings half-mantled in readiness.

A soft look for Arianne's offer, before Hannah closes her eyes. Everyone is ignored for that singular moment of wake up that stirs her blood, and fills her small body with a hot rush of life that none of those around her can every compete with. When she does open them, finally, her eyes alight on G'deon. Something welcoming crosses her features, a soft call of, "G'deon!" before she's turning to survey the males. Finally. Cha'el's words, so closely after K'ane's, have their way with the tender meats of the woman's soul but she brushes that all aside. "I am prepared for everything. It is time." To them all: "What are you willing to show?" Does she lean into Yules now? Poor Yules. C'mon, next Br'er-Stripper-Pole-Candidate?

< Local > Dhiammarath senses that: Ronith is the silent shadow that moves in the night. One moment empty space, the next filled with the sleek brown's beaten leather form. No movement comes from this warrior of stealth save for the back and forth flick of sinuous tail. (Ronith)

< Local > Dhiammarath senses that: Light comes in a fascinating array of quantities and textures and… values. It is a cold light that shines upon Sikorth, an unflattering green-tinged light that shines brightly upon all that is… chromatic. « I may be a lady, » comes the soft tones of lovely pitch, « But I am not yours. I am none of yours. » A feral sweep of jade and honeyed candlewax: « Yet. » A promise or a taunt? (Dhiammarath)

Dhiammarath>Aikuonath moves with a rocking grace in from the Lower Bowl.

G'deon glances at K'ane briefly, his expression still pensive, though there is a sober undercurrent. "No doubt," he rumbles quietly in reply as his hand rests near his wineglass. Perhaps his lifemate is up to this, but by the look on Gid's face, he's not as sure about himself. At the mention of outsiders, he gives K'ane another look, though this one is far more shrewd. "Where Southern is concerned, sir, we've all been outsiders recently." Age makes that word even more relative, does it not? "Some more recently than others." His blue eyes twinkle as he reclaims his wine, hand far more steady now as he takes a sip and glances toward Hannah and her entourage. "That said, there is enough upheaval lately without… that sort of addition. However, it is Hannah's prerogative now, not ours."

Ty'ai moves closer, now, anticipating coloring his dark-skinned features. He doesn't get involved. Yet. Soon, though.. soon.

D'ren gets to his feet again, ready and watching.

Dhiammarath>Taodath is here with the full grace of his zen soul, well-collected and ready. Watchful is his gaze upon the queen, but he is a silent watcher, waiting for the spring to release and the chase to be on. No use working one's self up when soon enough *all* energy will be needed, all focus upon the only thing that matters.. Dhiammarath.

Dhiammarath>Aikuonath wings up from the beach, those grains clinging to his sunkissed golden bronze hide. Like his rider, the bronze was biding his time, giving the queen her space. Now, though, he approaches, though stays on the outskirts as he watches, assessing.

Dhiammarath senses that Hannah cannot deny the hurt that K'ane's words batter onto her soul, but she holds fast. Holds to a truth that she knows deep within the firmament of her soul. « Do not give them quarter, love. » The midnight, sepulcher voice is echoed here, the tang of night and hint of graveyards a tangible thing as darkness comes. A shift, a change. The youthful grace of a young woman is eclipsed by a woman coming into her own, into power. « Show them what it means to dance to the glory of the queen. »

D'rak is still leaned with ass against the edge of the serving table, mug to mouth as if none of what's going on has any effect on the former Fortian. Unless once looks close enough to see the white-knuckled grip he has on the ear of the mug. He's biding his time with Ronith, waiting for that moment when the others make their move and show their hands.

Something shutters across K'ane's face at G'deon's response. The big man turns to leave but only makes it to the door, staring out at the sea of bodies clustered around the tiny prize in emerald and desire.

Poor Yules indeed. She eyes the room (easy enough over Hannah's head, ahem), glowering slightly. Grr. A sip of klah is supposed to be calming but the woman brownrider just looks more jumpy and cranky than relaxed. Maybe there's too much sugar in the pastries, or maybe it's how Hannah's leaning on her.

Cha'el doesn't answer to what he may or may not be willing to show, in fact, he really does look to be leaving this time and stuffing the hide in his pocket, stalks out of the living caverns. Desperately he reaches for Sikorth but finds himself SHUT OUT! Perhaps he can shove himself into a hidey hole somewhere until it's all over. Or cupboard. There must be one big enough somewhere he'll fit into.

There's a perfectly useful hearth flue that's going un-occupied…
One Pernese Santa comin' up!
Maybe a stew-pot in the kitchens…

Dhiammarath>Dhiammarath has chosen her time well, this strange in-between of daytime and nightfall. Soon enough the moon will emerge victorious in this battle, a triumph of moonstone and soft silver — the truth of it does not lie unknown upon the mantle of Dhiammarath's grace in gilded glory. There is no need for blood, in this flight of flights, no need for any petty herdbeast's sacrifice. The ichor that runs strident through her veins is enough - has always been enough. With one massive launch of immense wings and thunderous haunch she rises into the air, sudden and abrupt and awesome in her ferocity.

Dhiammarath>You fly up, up, up, into the skies.
Dhiammarath> Sky Over the Upper Bowl
Dhiammarath>You fly in from the Upper Bowl.

Hannah's own demeanor shifts, leeching much of the heat and lust from her eyes. If dusk to night were the shift that awakened the gold, then dusk to night is the shift that awakens Hannah. There can be no denying what this flight is for: leadership of the weyr. The triumphant, dark look shot towards the fleeing Igenite curves the lips and shows the hint of teeth. One bites the dust. She wraps her arms back around the brownrider she's using as a stuffy, "You won't catch." To whom? To all? Her eyes shutter close. Yules gets some interesting sensations. Yay! "She flies. You little guys will have to try oh, so, very hard." D'ren, G'deon; both are given looks for their old-time dragons.

Dhiammarath>Aikuonath is a bit surprised when the pale queen does not blood. Having never encountered a queen to just skip that step before, he is glad he fed earlier in the day and thus has the energy for what he is figuring will be a long flight. The small bronze soars upwards, finding a thermal, biding his time.

D'ren inhales deeply, his eyes closed for a brief moment as the euphoria of flight overtakes him. When eyes open they find Hannah's and he smiles, though it's more gentle than lusty. "And we shall," he replies softly, though if she can hear his reply or not…is doubtful.

< Local > Dhiammarath senses that: Sikorth gathers and shoots straight up into the sky like an arrow released from a bow, purposefully overshooting the golden mark and then wide sails snap open, the Igen brown a hovering shape of menace when teeth bare glinting white in moonlight. (Sikorth)

K'ane perhaps has an ACCUSATORY look for Yules. This is all your fault, Lady in Red. Other than that, he's just out here, sighing at his own inability to keep his lifemate shuttered away from the mayhem.

< Local > Dhiammarath senses that: Ronith disappears as silently as he'd arrived just a puff of dust to mark where once he had been. Once the light of the moon is blotted out a sudden rush of wings marking the sneaky ninja's position seconds after he's already left it. (Ronith)

Arianne is going to just plain -hurt- later; for real. Shooting pain up the injured leg from sitting in one spot too long anyone? But she keeps a smile on her face, for Hannah, even knowing Caelth has got pretty much a snowball's chance in hell of coming close to winning this one. She shifts in her chair, maybe trying to pick someone to take her frustrations out on.

Ooooh - Yules' eyes half-close at Hannah's… sensations, ignoring K'ane's look. You try telling the biggest gold to not go up. Dare ya. A cruel reminder has those eyes open again to scowl in general, trying to slowly move away from the goldrider. I'll just… be over… this way, in the direction of, strangely, a few other brownriders. Male, this time.

D'rak finally stirs, a long draught of klah for the man that never touches it and he pushes away from the table, long-legged stride prowling and tracking the tiny goldrider's path. At the edge of the throng he lurks like his dragon does in the skies above, stubbled features gathered about tight concentration. So much rides on this one flight.

Dhiammarath>Taodath stalks the position of Ronith, his eyes upon the prize of Dhiammarath glittering in the gloaming. He is similarly surprised at the lack of blooding but it makes no difference, strong wings beating upwards, ever upwards.

A late-comer to the party, R'nyr is far from late as it seems he's arrived at the most inopportune time. Hey, he'll give the fleeing Igenite a shove if he can, if only to get INTO the living caverns. D'rak is spotted, brows draw up and the bronzerider is sauntering towards the brownrider. There's an agreement in place here, though the light in his eyes is more for Hannah (and High Reaches' prize) than anything else. Too hungry is the look in R'nyr's eyes when turned upon the goldrider. Nothing good bodes well for it.

Dhiammarath>Osynarth sweeps in from the chill of between, still carrying the feel and taste of High Reaches clinging to his skin. The gold's path through the sky is marked as the bronze angles that way, posthaste. Something dark, dangerous and very, very predatory seeps through his very pores; the great beast of fire will get his prize.

Cha'el didn't find a cupboard. Neither did he find that hearth with the open flue. In fact, he's somehow gotten himself completely turned around and barges BACK into the living caverns. "FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!" Someone's not happy! Ocean blue eyes are a stormed tossed sea that turns with a heat edged GLARE onto Hannah. "This is all your fault!" A finger stabs at the petite woman like a petulant child just told he has detention.

Dhiammarath>Dhioth rises with alacrity, wings sweeping wide: but t'is not the gold he chases, not this night. Dhiammarath is not the prize of this evening for him, that in truth being the bite of ::between::-brought cold, Dhioth angling with sudden ferocity to tangle with Osynarth's predatory mien: old High Reaches versus new High Reaches, and ichor spills from the heavens at the clash of bright beasts.

The huddle around the goldrider gets thicker, Ty'ai pushes his way through with no problem throwing elbows or baring teeth to get his way. He eyes Yules as she comes close, but doesn't comment on her presence here in this free-for-all, jaw clenching with Cha'el's accusation.. and proximity to the chased.

The moment R'nyr steps into the room, D'rak's features twist about an executioner's grin. The party just got interesting. With one eye on Hannah and the other on the recently arrived bronzerider, the brownrider circles the throng moving to work his way in behind R'nyr the uppity Igenite ignored. Arsehole that he seems to be.

Hannah is HURT when Yules moves away. Arianne can't go anywhere, but the party has started and so she stands in a bubble of solitude in the midst of a crowd of dragon riders who want a piece of her. Adrift on a sea of change. "No, brownrider," she purrs when Cha'el has the audacity to stab a finger in her face, "I didn't call you here. You brought yourself here." A pause, and then a hissing, "You are unworthy." For her, for the rank, for everything? She doesn't elaborate. K'ane's presence is smirked at — guess he didn't ground Dhioth after all, though it's R'nyr's arrival that offers a flare of worry in her eyes. That one's not good. D'ren, D'rak are given looks, eyes passing over them as if assessing their prowess, though it's Ty'ai that captures the briefest of attentions. Eyes narrow. "Fight for it."

D'ren stays on the outskirts, just like his dragon does. No need to get punched in the face for stepping in too soon. No, he knows that if his bronze wins this flight, there will be a clear path to Hannah. Or he'll make one /then/. Now, he just stands behind his chosen table, eyes half closed, lost to the flight. When Hannah looks his way, D'ren smiles.

A hoarse and startled cry from the big bronzer lingering by the doorway; K'ane jerks as if struck, drawing himself up to flared-nostril GLARE at Hannah. That look has a million facets to it, a million-and-one: but above all, above all, is a very strange satisfaction to it: I told you so.

"I didn't come for you." Cha'el growls back and then snorts an empty laugh for being deemed unworthy, the pound of blood through his veins stripping away social filters. "I'm not one of your…" a glance over Ty'ai and then R'nyr skips to D'ren, Arianne and Yules, "courtesans that you can order around. They're welcome to it." The Igenite states and tipping Hannah a two-fingered salute and a most charming smile, steps backward, possibly into one of those he's just dissed, shoulders bunched and hands curled into a fist, prepared to fight his way out if necessary.

R'nyr is all about moving to meet D'rak until K'ane's lifemate does what he does. "How dare you?!" This sudden outburst is lobbed at K'ane as the bronzerider barrels through the chasers — whups, was that an elbow to the chest, uppity Cha'el? — to throw a punch at the man's face. Then it's on.

Dhiammarath>Osynarth HOWLS in rage when the much bigger bronze crashes into him, though his own talons and teeth are nothing to laugh at, drawing ichor from the light-and-dark bronze with as much ease as was drawn from him. They tangle, and they fall.

With a second glass of wine quickly downed, G'deon gives Hannah and the others a wary look, then edges along the crowd toward the exit, passing the jerky K'ane on his way to the fresh evening air.c

Dhiammarath>Nylanth has risen to the challenge, but something has drawn him to the back of the pack, and it's not just the lack of nutrition. The dark bronze angles his head away from the dwindling, glowing hide of Dhiammarath to look back toward the Weyr, and as quickly as he's in the chase, he's out again, spiralling back down toward Southern.

< Local > Dhiammarath senses that: Sikorth, is a commander of battle, a strategist unafraid to get his talons dirty. But why bother when Dhioth will cut one away from the field for him. A bellow of approval rends the night when the sharp tang of ichor saturates the air. One step closer to the prize. (Sikorth)

Dhiammarath>Dhiammarath flashes, scintillates in the way of a precious stone catching all available light to reflect brilliance — eye-blinding brilliance. She weaves through the air with surprising agility, up through the clouds, wrecking mayhem wherever she wanders. It is not enough, here, though the thin air suits her breathtaking ascent: further, farther, up, up, up! Who will chase her past the clouds themselves? Who will try their wings against the treachery of Southern's most volatile thermals?

Dhiammarath>You spiral up, higher over the bowl.
Dhiammarath>Sky High Over the Bowl
Dhiammarath>You fly in from the Sky Over Upper Bowl.

Dhiammarath>Aikuonath continues to linger in the back of the pack, swerving to avoid the tangle of High Reaches bronzes. He was hatched in oldtime High Reaches, and yet he's avoiding /that/ little catfight with a 'lalala I can't heaaaar you' attitude. He has other things on his mind, like the pale queen and her brilliance. He pushes forward, upward, onward higher after her. He cut his wings on mountain air, this is nothing to him.

Cha'el grunts when R'nyr's elbow finds its mark. Running on adrenalin and lust, the reaction is instant and the uppity Igenite sends a fist slamming right at the Southern bronzerider's head. "Dickwad!!" Hey all that tension has to go SOMEWHERE!!

And the fights are on. Which is strangely relieving, according to Yules' expression. She watches G'deon leave, and steps aside as someone rushes past her to tackle someone who's just insulted his mother or his sister or someone. Cha'el earns a long look, and Yules only mutters, "But you're still here. And your dragon's still chasing." And then she STARES at him: "Dickwad? Who even says that anymore??" What are we, teenag… oh. with dragons flying, they might as well be.

When the dragon is in pain, so is the rider; And when they both are, it's definitely a … chore, to be a good girl. Arianne grits her teeth as her dragon rises further up in the sky to treacherous thermals that wrench at his wing. And maybe, maybe she looks a bit pale. But there's a fight now. And she struggles to stand up and place herself in front of the tiny goldrider to help guard her. Nobody better accuse her dragon of being protective right now, though. He'll not just deny it, but take a chunk out of someone for it too.

It is with manic laughter that brings K'ane joyously crashing against R'nyr as a lover who has found his counterpart: but his kisses are with knuckles that split asunder, the thrills he brings with him ones of pain and shattering rather than pleasure and satisfaction. In other words: he's bringing R'nyr to the ground and is about to beat the BRAKES off the bitch. "Y' forget that some are willing t' sacrifice for th' greater good, and not just their own damn personal agenda," he hisses at the leaner bronzerider in the midst of this tangle of aggressive flesh and male ego.

Arianne pauses to fan herself as the two men grapple with each other. "Fuck, that is -hot-." she mutters.

D'ren looks downright startled when the brawl breaks out, and the bronzerider moves further away from the fray. He's a lover, not a fighter…and this is a mating flight, not WWE Smackdown.

"Then leave, Igen." Hannah hisses, and she turns to grip the edge of a table, lost to Dhiammarath's flight momentarily, taking great gasps of air through her lungs. She bites her bottom lip, but there's savage glee lurking within her eyes when they fight for her Lady. K'ane's tangling with R'nyr and then Cha'el's aimed hit at the bronzerider leaves her free to escape further back towards the inner caverns. She will not expose herself to the whole of the living caverns. Maybe all of them aren't watching her specifically when there's all that male testosterone in the air. Okay, she does have to throw to Arianne an agreement, "Yes. Yes, it is."

< Local > Dhiammarath senses that: As on the ground below, Sikorth slashes at a bronze that gets too close, rakes his talons at another brown and snaps teeth at the neck of another. The battle is one. Blood on the ground or in the air, he doesn't care, so long as he gets what he came there for, Dhiammarth, the glittering jewel of the night. « Dance, my queen. Twist and turn. Higher and higher the more I yearn. » He's a poet!? Higher and higher the mottled brown reaches, a lash of tail swiping a bronze across the maw with the might of a cracked whip. (Sikorth)

R'nyr will throw punches to any and every male he can get his hands on if they're close enough. Sorry, Cha'el, you don't just get freebies. "Everyone goes after their own personal agenda," is grunted to K'ane, as he further tangles with the other bronzerider. Flight of hard knocks, here.

Dhiammarath>Taodath keeps ducking a look under his wing at the chaotic fall of Os and Dhioth, the pack narrowing and narrowing with Nylanth's fall-back and a thousand others. But he surges onwards, angry lust finally penetrating his zenward lean, and he strikes out towards Ronith as he passes, raking talons dangerously close, grappling for a hit but buffeted by wings and wind that may allow him to pas harmlessly on. Despite it all, his eyes are only for Dhiammarath.

Yules can afford to feel a bit above all this rough-housing, mainly because she's not partaking: "Boys, boys, this is not a fight club." She wouldn't be talking about it if it were. "Can't we all just get along?" Probably not. And then someone jostles her and klah covers her chest, leaving Yules, and her chest, steaming.

D'ren sees Hannah duck towards the inner caverns and he's quick to move after her, while keeping a respectful distance. "Good idea," he whispers towards her as he follows.

"Not everyone, fucker!!" Cha'el growls and curses heavily when a knee catches him in the thigh. Apparently he and K'ane are of a similar accord when it comes to agendas. There was more to be said but now it appears to have turned into a free-for-all and a brownrider cracks a chair over his back sending the Igenite sprawling face first. "I'm gonna stick your fucking legs behind your head and you can kiss your ass goodbye." Roars the Igen Weyrsecond rounding about to tackle whom he thinks it was that had done it. Sorry Hannah, you're still hot, babe!

"Not so fast, you little wombat." Is that supposed to be a term of endearment? Regardless, Ty'ai is suddenly there, blocking off Hannah's retreat into the inner caverns - or trying to at least.. "Not when all the fun is in here." His eyes are dark and his voice is a purr.

Dhiammarath>Dhiammarath does dance to the winds of discord, the fell light gleaming upon the jeweled glory of her hide. It is now that she finally taunts her suitors, gives thought to the ones who have made it this far. What of you, Aikuonath, will you engage yourself finally to this flight to win? Or you, Sikorth, spitting poetry when one could be working harder to win by force that which you would take by sweet, meaningless words? Or you, Taodath, will you set aside your calm and your rage to claim the prize? Ronith, will you rise from the loss of your ally to vie for the leadership of Southern - and the love of Dhiammarath? Now is the time to for all to prove their mettle, for the Queen herself will soon choose that one which will get her grace.

And where is D'rak in all of this? And Ronith? D'rak is hot on D'ren's heels, bloodlust up but leaving the others to waster their energy and focus on brawling he turning his attention to the tiny goldrider trying to escape.

< Local > Dhiammarath senses that: In the air, Ronith catches a deep gouge across his side and turns snarling at Taodoth, snapping dangerously close at his hindquarters as they pass by. The loss of blood is a liquid ripple falling through the night sky in a thin waterfall that glistens and gleams in the moonlight. Little by little, the sleek brown starts to lose the edge he'd had and starts to fall lower and lower. (Ronith)

Dhiammarath>Aikuonath sees his chance and pushes forward, past the smaller nowtime dragons, having saved his strength for /this/ moment. He has always been engaged to win, from the moment he chose to give the queen her space and let the others tire themselves out in pointless jostling and bloodletting. Now, he surges forward with powerful wingstrokes, rising up like the sun to her falling star, to attempt to snare her.

Sorry guys, K'ane's a little busy now doing his The Rock impression against R'nyr's FACE. It may be a flight but it is a leadership flight with all the required politics: this is a time for blood just as much as it is a time for lust. It's just a surprise nobody's pulled a knife, what with this fray being right smack dab in the middle of the freakin' Living Caverns.

"Hey, hey! If you're gonna put someone's legs behind their heads… at least make it someone pretty." Arianne calls out. Cause dayumn. "C'mon pretty boy. You going to waste yourself on the two grappling bronzeriders. Bet they'll be gettin' each other off soon." Leer. She is going to be one big ball of regret tomorrow. And… what? Wait, people are chasing after Hannah? And they haven't won yet? With a snarl of outrage, she launches herself right at D'ren and D'rak. BONZAI!

Dhiammarath>Caelth has been quiet so far; but now? Now he decides to try and take a chunk of tail off of whomever he doesn't want to have win the flight. Sorry bitches, you've pissed him off.

Her way barred, D'ren and D'rak's pull from the mass of brawling riders in the front of the living caverns has Hannah stumbling back a step before her cool is collected. "Move, brownrider. You all bore me now." D'ren is given a half-smile, the tone she uses a subtle purr, "It is. One to get away from the idiots in the back." Front. Whatever. Dhiammarath's final swing through the sky causes the tiny goldrider to shut down, eyes going blank as she momentarily loses herself into the thrill of the moment. That slack jawed expression is what Ty'ai sees just before she snaps out of herself and yells at Arianne, "Noooo!" She doesn't want to see the woman's pretty face hurt! That shock is enough to galvanize her back, away from Ty'ai and the males and the female and dart for the kitchens. She leads them on just as merry of a chase.

"You… bastard… you… will… pay!" R'nyr is giving as good as he gets, throwing the whole of his High Reaches training into pummeling K'ane. Hannah? Hannah who? He's already forgotten since his prize was stolen from him!

< Local > Dhiammarath senses that: Sikorth is a poet with a general's battle lust. A dragon that fights to the very end and he is NOWHERE near his end. With a roar he stretches his limits pushing, shoving and snarling through the pack to shoot high into the air. Passed Ronith. Pased Aikuonath. Passed Taodath. Even passed Dhiammarth. Higher and higher until it might seem the brown is addled and heading for the glowering red star. At the pinnacle of his ascent, wings tuck and Sikorth plummets downward, a silent arrow through the night wings snapping wide to bring him to a tendon straining halt at the very last moment, powerful hindlegs extending, talons reaching. All focus on one thing and one thing only - The glittering beauty that is Dhiammarath!! (Sikorth)

In the middle of the fray, with all eyes turned to the brawling mayhem, it would be easy to ignore the sudden dropping of one man towards the back, notable only for his proximity to the tiny goldrider. It takes a minute, just a moment, before the keening begins, an unholy thing of raised draconic voices in sorrowful harmony: one of Southern has been lost to the depth of ::between::.

< Southern Weyr > Dhiammarath senses that: Time is ageless, isn't it? A second can hang as a lifetime. Caelth's teeth on Taodath's tail is the only thing that holds the brown motionless in space, in time, in life. As soon as the other releases his grip, so does Taodath release his grip on this lonely existence, this grey shell of loss and anguish. He blinks ::between::, and does not return. (Taodath)

Dhiammarath>Aikuonath's powerful drive comes too late, leaving the glittering gold the prize for one of the last competitors left in this bloody mess of mayhem. Caelth seems to take a dragon out altogether, when Taodath is lost forever. It is with the mourning dirge of Southern's dragons to note his passing that Sikorth tangles downward into Dhiammarath, heedless and heady, and Dhiammarath falters against the powerful brown's wings. A moment of dismay, of confusion, and then despite the wail of loss that rises unwitting from her own throat, the gold is content to be snapped across the skies of Southern by Sikorth, the leadership of the weyr settled for once and for all.

"Who — what." K'ane's stumbling away from R'nyr, an arm stiff-limbed outwards to keep the other bronzerider at bay. His eyes are wild and confused. "Who? What?" The keening rises around him and he stares around, for all in the world looking lost, so terribly confused.

Arianne flails now, gasping for air when things go horribly, terribly wrong in the air. Her eyes go wide and she just drops like a stone onto the floor; regarldess of the outcome of her throwing herself at the two riders chasing after Hannah. Doesn't matter! She's nearly as grey as the stone, and literally tries to crawl or walk her way through the fray to escape to some place to collect herself and think about what Caelth may or may not have just done.

D'ren tries to step aside from Arianne's attack, even as hands reach to try and steady the injured brownrider. Then the keening, then the loss, and D'ren lets everything go and staggers back against the wall, face in his hands.

Cha'el senses Hannah's departure as surely as Sikorth stalks her queen in the skies. Ducking a punch from a bronzerider, he backhands another and searches for the petite woman. Irrational irritation rises up when all he catches is a glimpse of pale hair making a run for the kitchens. "Fuck!" The idiot that has just caught a hold of his jacket headbutted hard enough to find the Igenite stumble and then stop over him "Fuck!" When Arianne goes down. A grunt when he catches a fist to the shoulder. A sweep of foot puts the arsehole temporarily on the floor. Breaking into a run, Cha'el's off after Hannah and the two men she'd escaped from and then comes to a dead halt at the keening. "The FUCK!?" Urgently he glances about. Whose missing? Who was there to start with?

It was the cook with a cleaver in the kitchen!
Not Yules this time!
Ardstelle. Killing with real weapons instead of slow death from too much butter.
Ardstelle's secret beau: Colonel Mustard.

Hannah bows under the weight of the loss of Taodath, dry heaving when that ricochet of pain and death hits her in a backlash of darkness. She knocks a hip into a table, when in the next breath, Dhiammarath is caught. By the Igen interloper, no less. A last glance is given over her shoulder to the chaos of the living caverns when she seeks the relative calm of the kitchens. A streak as the now Senior Weyrwoman of Southern Weyr careens into the storerooms, with a parting yell, "NO ONE COMES DOWN HERE." Except, of course Cha'el. Who is probably hot on her heels once he gets over the death knell. But the kitchen staff know this, Ardstelle's deft hand at work.

What just happened? Yules is covered in klah, and stumbling towards the wall. She's even dropped her klah mug on the way, nearly shaking in surprise, shock, echoed sadness, blahblah. In fact, she's collapsing at the knee and sitting on something that's soft, warm, leaking… Wait, wut? Yules pulls her hands down from her face and rests them, clenching around her bench… Uh, benches don't leak, right? She bolts up right, staring down at one hand and groans. "Uh, guys?" How is she sounding so calm? "I have a problem here."

** Bailey just set the @swparty! Type @swparty to check it out! **
"The dragons of Southern lie cry to grief and pain at the unexpected passing of one of their own - those who ask will find it to be Taodath, Ty'ai's own. It takes a moment to notice, however, since Dhiammarath's flight ends with a catch from Sikorth, directly over the weyr: talk about mixed emotions, Southern."
-SWP- entered by Bailey on 2014-06-15 11:48 MOO Time.

D'ren manages to gather himself and looking around, sees Yules somehow through the fray. He staggers over to her because…he doesn't know why, looking down as he does. "What?" the Istan bronzerider asks as he approaches.

< Local > Dhiammarath senses that: Sikorth's bellow of triumph carries with it a shriek of pain for the sudden loss of one of his kind. An elongated keen ending on a low croon as he wraps about his queen and carries her away from the pain and sorrow to purposes far more soothing. (Sikorth)

The fight has all but left R'nyr, no need to hold him back. He curses, though, when he sees the knot of people clustered around Ty'ai, before striding out of the living caverns to wherever.

"Awwww, shit," Yules groans, not bothering to wipe the blood from her hand. D'ren's interjection has her looking over: "Found another one." is what she says vaguely, gesturing at the corpse of Ty'ai. "That was bloody inconvenient of him," she says quite seriously and huffs: "Someone get me a healer! And a couple of drudges!" To D'ren: "I wish they'd wait until a less bad time." That's right. Less bad.

One, two, three. Wait for it. Waaaaiiit for it! "Fuck me sideways!!" Yup. Cha'el just got the message body moving even before his brain had parsed the information. Gone like the wind. How DOES such a big guy move so fast? Who cares? Those few servers and aids that were still in the kitchens scatter like frightened rodents when the brawny brownrider barges into the kitchens with a growled, "Fuck off!!" Attention zeroed in on one tiny little goldrider. Sorry folks. This kitchen is closed for business. Heh.

Arianne is in the corner, away from the action, tooooooootally passed out from shock. Caelth? He may not have one the flight, but he's oddly triumphant. But toally surprised. Not even he thought he could do THAT much damage to a dragon.

D'ren blinks at Yules. "Inconvenient?" Well…yes? "Is he dead?" he asks, even as he's backing up to go get a Healer, darting off into the inner caverns. He wasn't even supposed to BE here today.

Not worried about R'nyr (or the blood dripping from his nose), K'ane pushes through to where the wingleader has made her morbid discovering, leaning to stare down at the corpse and the single, nondescript dagger rising from the back of meaty brownrider. K'ane crouches down and shoves his fingers against the man's neck, holding his breath and searching for a pulse. After a minute, he's shaking his head without looking up.

All that sexual energy Yules was denying has built up has her looking around a little strangely. Still, she's trying to focus: "Well, knives don't just appear out of people's backs naturally," Yules tells K'ane. In case he wasn't aware. D'ren's gone for healers and she nods a little at his retreating back. "Well. Now we get to find out whodunnit." And as an after thought, "Should we get a guard here?" That could totally be useful too.

D'ren returns shortly with a pair of Healers who begin to check over the dead man and do what Healers do. He looks at K'ane and pulls out a handkerchief, wordlessly handing it over, and then he looks at Yules…and offers her his spare.

D'rak, has mysteriously disappeared. One moment hot on Hannah's and the next, gone just seconds before that keen had gone up. Ronith too is marked in his absence. Some report seeing the brownpair hastily going to Between while others commented about seeing them heading back to their weyr.

K'ane draws Yules off. "Th' healers can handle this," the big bronzerider rumbles. "You need clean clothes." Because she just sat on some dead guy's bloody back. "And it'll be a minute before Bailey's back… we should check on th' egs." His voice is remarkably steady for all of this, and he gently steers her out, if she will acquiest.

Yules will indeed acqi… acqwee… move at K'ane's urging, still staring at her bloody palm. "You know," and this is entirely conversational, "Usually there's no blood by the time I find 'em…" Perhaps she'll go have hysterics outside with K'ane to help: "Yes, the eggs. Desmeth will be interested." And so she lets the bronzerider move her out into the wild beyond, away from Ty'ai's remnants and everyone else.

D'ren stands there with hand outstretched as both K'ane and Yules move off to other, more important things than taking what the Istan bronzerider is offering. So D'ren takes his leave as well, heading in the opposite direction.

K'ane shelters Yules under the bruised and battered bulk of his arm, swinging her towards the bowl beyond. People drift from the scene of the crime, though some stay. It's just another day at Southern, after all, just another episode of As The Weyr Turns. How exactly does it turn? Well.. the only way it can: violently.

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