Who

A'lira, Z'bor

What

A'lira comes south for herbs and Kyprioth catches a green. Happens a few days before Serval in the Shade.

Flight Content

When

-- On Pern --
It is 3:58 PM where you are.
It is afternoon of the twenty-eighth day of the first month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen:
It is the eighty-eighth day of Winter and 32 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.
In Southern:
It is the eighty-eighth day of Summer and 115 degrees. It is a beautiful, sunny day marred by the overwhelming humidity.
In Southern Mountains:
It is the eighty-eighth day of Summer and 32 degrees. It's really damn cold out.


Where

Beach, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 29 Sep 2017 06:00

 

a-lira_default.jpg z-bor_default.jpg kyprioth_default.jpg ozriath_default.jpg

"Z'bor. Well met. I never know when she's gonna go —-"


beach.jpg

Beach

An eerie mirror, the glass-quiet Sea of Azov: the clear waters stretch along the dark-pebbled shores, and along this narrow beach. Here the faintest lap of waves belies the calm beyond; here the rocks have been ground down into finest, softest sand - those observant would mark upon the similarity between it and the sands of the hatching grounds. The soft sand soaks up summer sunlight as a sponge; painfully hot during the warmer months, it is only truly pleasant at wintertime. Rocks rise to east and west, lichen-limned and green against the abyssal darkness of stone.

It is the eighty-eighth day of Summer and 115 degrees. It is a beautiful, sunny day marred by the overwhelming humidity.


Timor: moon6.jpg
Belior: moon7.jpg


It's late afternoon in Southern and it's a beautiful, but humid day. Z'bor's off duty, and childless for the day, so what better way to spend it than surfing? Ozriath lays on the beach, a slight gleam to her patchwork green hide. She's been showing signs of proddiness for a bit now, but Z'bor never knows just when Ozriath is going to rise, she's sneaky like that. Except on Z'bor's turnday, she always rises on his turnday, or very near it. So, he's learned to just go with the flow, when it happens, it happens. Z'bor takes the next largest swell, whooping as he feels it roll beneath his feet. Ozriath prunes, the riotous rainbow bubbles of her mind spreading and chattering to all who will listen. «A lovely day at the beach! Who shall come play or swim with me??»

Nothing like courier duty to Southern to pick up more medicines for the Infirmary; also, nothing like a bit of time to relax in the sun, on the beach to allow Kyprioth to enjoy the waves of the ocean. And so he cavorts playfully, with A'lira in resigned and amused attendance, just watching the dark brown go — but there's trouble ahead: he's taken notice of Ozriath, and eels closer beneath the water to chirp at her a time or two. «I like to play.» He volunteers, almost shyly.

Ozriath lifts her small head to turn whirling blue eyes on Kyprioth. «Do you now?» Her mindscape reaches into his, one yellow brick at a time, each building a tentative road of connection. Down this road comes a flood of rainbow patterned bubbles, rupturing not with her usual childish laughter, but with the sultry laugh of a woman half besotted. Z'bor eyes his dragon. Hmm. He takes a look around as he's brought back to shore, one hand coming up to smooth wet hair from his face, he squints, trying to locate others on the beach.

Kyprioth takes on the guise of a dog, small and hairy and scrappy; he sniffs along that path, occasionally leaping at bubbles in an attempt to catch them in his mouth. Yes, yes he does want to play! There is much frisking and jumping about in this fantastic landscape so offered. «Yes!» He confirms, tongue lolling free. A'lira would tell him it's undignified, but it would be of no use, so instead, he looks about for the rider of the green who has his dragon's complete attention and spies Z'bor. He'll offer a somewhat sheepish wave, and wanders further out where he's easier to spot.

Z'bor buries his board in the sand, it wouldn't do for him to be out in the water when Oz takes to the skies, for he's pretty sure it's going to happen at this point. He knows the timbre of that sultry laugh. Ozriath rises from the sand, shaking it from her hide and moving to met Kyprioth. She glows a bit brighter with each step, she isn't brilliant just yet, but she's getting there. «What shall we play? Hide and seek? Chase? Tag?»

Kyprioth considers — so many games, so little time; he's beginning to get the idea, now. As Ozriath comes closer, hide shining bright, his tailtip begins a steady, clockwork tick back and forth in the water. «I much prefer chase.» He's hopeful, this young dog, that he might yet win at it. A'lira raises his eyes skyward, and offers Z'bor one of those 'what can we do?' looks. "A'lira." He offers his name with a hint of sardonic amusement. Might as well give the man that much info. "Of Igen Weyr."

«Oh I do love a game of chase!» And with that phrase, Ozriath bursts into full glow. She crouches like a feline ready to pounce, tail twitch-a-twitch-a-twitching before she leaps into the air and aims for the pens, her patchwork hide causing a green disco across the sands. Z'bor holds out his hand and shakes A'lira's, a crooked grin sliding across his face. "Z'bor. Well met. I never know when she's gonna go —-" And about the time he gets here, she's in the air.

Kyprioth is thrilled to find a like minded playmate out here at Southern, and bounces closer, chirping. «Oh, good!» He looks a bit like an oversized puppy and cares not even a little bit. "They like to surprise us — " And thar she blows, first to the Pens and then airborne, Kyprioth following like a slung arrow; he doesn't even take the time to blood a kill. For the hunt and the chase are on, and his blood is up, intoxicated by the sultry Ozriath.

Ozriath lands in the pens and is practically dainty about making her kill, and she sups on very little flesh before taking to the skies again in a show of graceful athletics. She is a green after all! Z’bor shades his eyes with his hand and watches Ozriath go, a few males rising to join Kyprioth in the chase, a buggered old bronze, a wiry little blue and a craggy brown. None of them look like much competition for the young, energetic Kyprioth however.

Overhead, Kyprioth waits Ozriath’s pleasure; this one time, blood is not a wanted thing — perhaps there is some exertion from his bondmate to refrain. When she does rise to flight, trailed by her suitors, he joins the crowd, carefully and deftly cutting some unwary blue from his flight path through a simple sideslip and is on to try and chase that wily little green who is so inventive at chase.

Ozriath leads a merry game of chase too, over the Weyr and out over the jungle canopy and back again, spiraling and looping through the air in girlish delight. But soon enough the time to pick a winner is at hand, or paw depending, and the grand chase down Ozriath's yellow brick road begins to wind to an end. Ozriath's rainbow bubbles rush those who chase, popping in sultry delight, old romantic music playing on a phonograph in the background. «Who will have the prize at the end of the rainbow hmm?» The patchwork green jets back towards the beach, a green comet in the air. Only the best shall have her!

Z’bor watches as Ozriath streaks overhead, the eldest of her suitors already peeling off in defeat. There's not many who can catch Southern's tiniest green, she's a bullet in the air and as wily and flexible as a Zingari Contortionist. It's coming to the point where Z'bor is more Ozriath than himself, but he does now the last of his sanity pleads with her to get on with it.

Kyprioth will have it, maybe, if he can just make that last dash between those other two — he makes it just under a blue’s wing and goes streaking across the beach after Ozriath, heedless of possible obstacles, intent on catching up to her at all costs. Oh, he's fast for a brown, but can he catch this itsy bitsy green?

On the ground, A’lira sways in time with his dragon, urging him on, wanting this chase over as soon as may be — they're not on home turf, here, whose weyrmate might they be impinging on? — so that the things may be collected and he be on his way back home.

Ozriath never has been one for the blues, except for Esanth, always Esanth, she’s a brown sort of girl, what with Obhaeroth being her favorite of these. However, Obhaeroth is not here to chase, not today, and after outmaneuvering them all, it is into Kyprioth’s claws Ozriath flies. The Patchwork green twines tails with the dog like brown and down on the ground Z’bor wheels towards A’lira, eyes glazed. Well, at least the beach is a romantic type settic right? And Z’bor isn’t the type to get awkward about such things. With the last of what could be said is rational though, Z’bor hauls them both off somewhere a bit more private.

There's a crowing sort of sound as the dragons twine, Kyprioth ecstatic at this, his first, catch. He wraps the green firmly, taking ownership as much as one may at a time like this, of his mate. A’lira will allow himself to be pulled away, all heat and hunger and dragon-roused passion.

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