Rocio, D'wane, F'kan, Va'os | Niamyth, Rocketh, Quaverilth, Tsiroth


Niamyth does what she does again!

It's a flight~


It is evening of the tenth day of the fourth month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.


The Tipsy Kitten, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 20 Jun 2018 04:00


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« HEY Y'ALL! Rocio's at the Kitten! »


The Tipsy Kitten

Here there be drunkards: a marble bar and the gorgeous array of colored bottles behind it would be enough to draw them in, but more yet lures those to enjoy the recreation the Kitten has to offer. Windows allow light to naturally illuminate the first floor of the tavern in the daytime, while green-tinted glows shine after nightfall. A door behind the bar leads to the tiny kitchen, while a stairway leads above to the rooms available for rent. Among the hubbub and the ruckus, a calamity of tables scatter through the open space, plenty enough for dragonpoker tournaments on restday eve.

A sprinkle of fireflies dance along a breeze that sways a field of wheatgrass underneath a moonlit sky. And that oh-so-familiar tinkling of ice against mason jar glass is as refreshing as a cool drink of water on a hot summer day. « HEY Y'ALL! Rocio's at the Kitten! » Of course, this announcement is made across the entire dragon populace at Southern — directed at the cute boys. Mostly.

There's a helluva storm raging outside! And that is so typical of Niamyth's timing. Meanwhile, inside the Tipsy Kitten is Southern's Weyrlingmaster decked out in a seriously pink get up. Rocio is seated at the bar in a very form fitting (bright) pink dress and matching sky high heels that have teenie tiny gemstones lining their sides. See how they sparkle whenever she moves? With one leg crossed over the other, it's not difficult to see that the greenrider cleans up nice and, yes, her shoulder length blonde hair is let down this evening. Knowing that Nia's time is close it wasn't difficult to pick a location where no weyrling is allowed to venture: a bar. Since none of them are allowed to drink booze yet, Ro's here! Hiding, perhaps. Or waiting for someone to buy her a drink now that she's finished with the rum that was in her glass. This dress, though. It's tight… and kinda itchy.

Damned storms! Always with the worst of timing! Va'os isn't complaining too loudly about being "trapped" in the Kitten; so it's a wonder if it's not half intentional that the Weyrleader ended up here. Tsiroth doesn't mind the rain and is likely ?green watching? storm watching. Yeah, that's it! Shaking some of the excess water from his jacket, he'll give a bit of a long suffering sigh before shucking it off and draping it somewhere out of the way to dry. Slicking back his hair, he'll start towards the bar and then pause mid-step when he spies Rocio there. A very pink, form fitting dress, clad Rocio. "Digging the get up, Rocio!" Now that Va'os' brain has quit skipping a few tracks, he'll even give an approving finger-gun gesture to her. Nice! And then he's back on his original path: time to get a drink!

Moping around his weyr that night, no wildling for company, F'kan's long face was irritating Quaverilth. The brown had been spying a certain twinkling green all day and as soon as her call came, he firmly told his lifemate that he was needed in the Kitten. Mopey frown turns to quirked half-smile as he feels the begining of his brown's ardor building. It doesn't take long for Quav to land at the Weyr Entrance to drop off his rider who in turn saunters into the Kitten even with the storm raging, cocky tilt to his head as he runs a hand through soaked sandy blonde hair. It's not hard to miss the Weyrlingmaster in her tight pink dress and sparkly shoes and the brawny brownrider is drawn towards her, passing her seat with a tip of his head and a respectful, "Evening Ma'am," although there's a definite roguish glint in his eye. Following the path of the Weyrleader, he goes towards the bar to seek his own refreshments before the party really starts.

D'wane did not drown in the practical monsoon outside. One of the perks of being roughly the size of a small mountain. Now normally, the weyrsecond could make his way towards the bar with his eyes closed, but his eyes are not closed and he's not making his way anywhere. About three steps past the swinging door, his eyes get caught by the shiniest (and pinkest!) thin in the room. "Uhhh-oh." He may have seen that dress before. MEanwhile, Rocketh isn't about to be put off by a bit of a rainstorm. It'll just add more excitement to the story about to unfold! And who is better at telling stories than Rocketh? They're practically written on his hide. He'll be more than willing to share one or two with a certain petite and glowing green, while tossing some barbs here and there at the other males around. « Tsiroth, are you sure you should have ate that third herdbeast this morning? »

Niamyth is hunkered down underneath a partial eave that hangs over her ledge, an attractive feature that she had to have when she and Rocio were able to pick from a selection of weyrs after graduation. Her sparkle is lovely, even in the rain, and even though she isn't holding court out in the open where the boys can gather all around her, she is very much present in their consciousness. « I'd invite y'all up, but there ain't much room to spare… » Excuses! And teasing! Firefly wings brush along Tsiroth's, Quaverilth's, and Rocketh's mindscapes just for a little emphasis to her words. When a sudden arrival of dragonriders make themselves known in the Kitten, Rocio pivots to see Va'os, F'kan, and D'wane respectively. "Hey y'all. Kinda crazy out there! Come sit down and have a drink with me?" She squints over at F'kan. "You look familiar and I never forget a cute face. But, I can't seem to remember your name…"

« Are you saying I'm fat, Rocketh? That's rude. » Tsiroth's quick to toss the banter back to the other bronze, not caring how much of the conversation bleeds over. By now, most are picking up on the mellow tune the bronze has 'playing' in the background of the cosmos of his mind. Something pleasant for now, more guitar than drums and when Niamyth's fireflies brush by, there is a breezy chord to follow. « Besides, you eat more than I do, every time! » he jabs at the bronze. Va'os just rolls his eyes slightly, muttering something under his breath as he picks up on the change in mood over the link with his bronze. "… great, this won't be awkward…" That may explain his changing his order to something stronger… a lot stronger. A whole bottle of it! Which he intends to share, given he has a few shot glasses to go with it, for any who wish to partake. "Typical of this time of Turn! You've escaped the storms, by the looks of it?" Idle chatter is safe! So very safe. Va'os is trying to be good here, as he saunters over to take a seat. Is he sideyeing D'wane and F'kan? Probably… okay, very likely.

After putting in an order for a simple pint of ale, F'kan turns to the greenrider's voice, his elbows propped up on the bar behind him. When she addresses him, he drops his head almost bashfully and even manages a light blush over the bridge of his nose, "F'kan, Ma'am, brown Quaverilth's." Once he gets his drink, he'll swagger over to a barstool and take a seat. Quaverilth on the other hand is hanging back, still shy and unproven, (That's right, this brown's still got his V-card folks!) is lurking about the Bowl. As soon as he feels the teasing brush of Niamyth's mindvoice though, his own mental mists seem to part to reveal a mirro flat lake bathed in spring sunshine. The low buzz of insects skimming the surface of the water mixes with the wet smell of earth and greenery. It may be autumn in Southern, but in Quav's mindlake it is a time for renewal, and new growth. He lets the others banter, his focus is on her alone.

« Mayyyybe… but then I wasn't the one to eat four herdbeasts. » Rocketh is just going to keep multiplying. If Niamyth doesn't get this show on the road, the rumor might end up being the other bronze ate the entire herd in a sitting! But the warm summer waves are playfully lapping up at the shores of the minds around him. The tide comes in a bit further when the lady lets out her little bit of a flirt. « Awwww… where there's a will, there's a way! » He's up for the challenge. Since D'wane has been singled out (or trippled out), he does seem to regain the power of locomotion and heads towards the bar. Screw shot glasses. D'wane's getting himself a bottle or something. He didn't even ask, just reached over for whatever was closest that the bartender had left un-tended. After taking a swig, he'll have a word of advice muttered to the younger rider. "When you're trying not to make eye contact, make sure to look over her shoulder. If you look down, might thing you're staring at her boobs."

A thunderstorm means there's a thick cloud layer and it'll do a veryyy good job at concealing Niamyth's glow from the boys. They'll have to rely on other senses since sight will be marred by the fog and sheets of rain — she can lead them right to her! The alluring scent of rosewood wafts into their 'scapes and beckons them closer right as the viridian green leaps from her ledge and into the sky. « Think y'all can find me? » Her voice isn't urgent, more like a purr as she soars across the bowl until a wind current veers her higher above the Weyr. Rocio can feel that the chase has begun and shudders when a tingly feeling surges through her body. Suddenly that bottle Va'os offers is starting to look pretty darn good. "Awwww. Thanks, Va'os!" The entire bottle is snagged and she refills her glass, which is then slid over to the Weyrleader so she can keep the bottle. See how that works? Ha! "F'kan, right! I knew that. Anyone ever told you you have nice hair? I'm digging the slicked back look tonight." And speaking of hair, or lack thereof, she spots D'wane over there and smiiiles dreamily at him. "Are you talking about my boobs?"

"Classic mistake!" Va'os nods his head sage-like to D'wane's muttered advice to F'kan and begins to pour a round of shots ? only to stare, bewildered, as Rocio goes for the whole bottle and snatches it away. "Uh… y'might want to… okay, you're gonna go right for it." At least he gets a glass back? Don't mind the slight pout. That was expensive! And totally a fire (spice) whiskey. Enjoy? "You're welcome." he mutters, while claiming his glass and then leaning over a bit to stage whisper to F'kan, while Rocio's giving D'wane the dreamy look. "… also be careful on what you compliment… or just say in general." No pressure! None. Lure set and Tsiroth ready to take the bait, he'll flare his wings and spring aloft from his vantage point. « Keep talking your sweet talk and there won't be anywhere I can't find you! » he boasts, while the cosmos swirl in his mindscape and explode in a myriad of whirling stars and celestial bodies; all while the music changes tune, livelier paced now and thrumming with an electric feel. Rocket's last barb is met with a silence that's as effective as any rude single fingered gesture.

There is something building subtly under the surface of the lake in Quaverilth's mind, it's not much yet, a faint smell of ozone mixed with the fresh soil and white musk that wafts to mingle with her rosewood. A rumble deep in his throat as she calls her sultry challenge, a hint of boyish laughter drifting like a light breeze, causing a ripple to marr the glassy finish of his lake. Coiling his lean brown body like a spring, the brown is away in pursuit, nebula etched wingsails grandiosely pulling him further into the thick cloud cover, « Hide and seek is my favorite, and for the prize to be one so pretty as you, well that makes it even better. » Hey, what do you want? Even though his visage is wizened and his patterning give him a certain gnarled ruggedness, his voice is all youth, timid and yet trying to be bold, take a chance. Back in the Kitten, F'kan was distracted taking a sip of his ale when D'wane leaned over with his advice, so of course the first thing the brownrider did was swing his eyeline over to the objects in question. He lingers there maybe a moment too long as his cheeks redden again and he quickly looks down into his own drink. then the Weyrleader chimes up with his own, and F'kan seems to shrink in on himself, chugging down on his pint as if it will make them all go away. Surely this is just a bad dream. At least it's not the one where he ends up naked during Harper Lessons.

Experience should probably tell D'wane that the words about to come out of his mouth are the WRONG ONES, but he's going to blindly wander into this proddy rider trap. Learn from this mistake, F'kan! Learn from it! "Huh? What boobs?" And look at him making a very conscious effort to look over Rocio's shoulder and not at whatever cleavage the tight pink number might provide. If he's drinking, he can't be talking, so he start another mighty swig of his purloined bottle and makes a face of disgust. "Is this schnapps?" And another swig just to be sure. "Peach." He's got some peach schnapps! Rocketh might not be the first to the chase, but he's not going to be too far behind those forerunners. The sun sets quickly on his mental beach as the chase begins and the stars come out to twinkle a particular path. « I know the way! » Cue the sound of drums as the canoes take towards the ocean.

As the boys draw near, Niamyth can sense them before she sees them. The dainty green soars through the rumbling clouds and lures Tsiroth closer with that scent of rosewood, all while glowbugs tickle and tease Quaverilth and Rocketh toward her. « Still can't see me, can ya? Bet you can tell I'm close, though… » And she is close by, twisting and diving to throw them off… but, not too far off. Rocio does, in fact, take a swig from the bottle and then hand it back to Va'os — she's a girl, she's allowed to change her mind! Oh, and nevermind that pink lip gloss that's now left on the bottle. She wrinkles her nose, closes her eyes tight, and then opens them with an exhaled breath once the whiskey is swallowed. "Shells, that'll perk a body up!" Straightening a bit in her chair, she arches her back slightly and looks down at her chest when she sees F'kan wanting to die over there. Then D'wane has to make that comment, "I HAVE BOOBS, D'WANE!" They're there in all of that pink dress glory. "See? SEE?" Ro leeeaaans over toward the Weyrsecond and then turns toward F'kan, "They're right here! And D'wane can keep his dumb ol' peach schnapps!"

« Won't shake me that easy! I like it when you girls play coy. » Tsiroth would grin the broadest, most charming grin if he could but enough of it is implied at least. Laughter ripples in the form of another musical change, as the real challenge begins now that the competition is coming into the mix. Guitar and drums, all at a steady, rhythmic beat to really set the stage! He may not be able to pin-point Niamyth too well, but he's not overly concerned! His method is direct when it comes to chasing; leave the fancy flying for when it counts! Va'os will just subtly wipe off that lip gloss, all while keeping his gaze fixated on Rocio (and at eye level, folks!) and grinning. "That's the whole point!" Remembering he has his glass of the very whiskey, he'll tip his glass up in a mock toast and then knock back half the contents with a grimace for the burn-kick to follow. Which he nearly chokes on in an effort to stifle the burst of laughter for Rocio's outburst directed to D'wane (poor F'kan). Or maybe he's laughing that he got peach schnapps too? Who knows, but he's too busy trying to remember to breathe to comment~

As he senses her nearer, Quaverilth's hidden power starts to manifest itself. Ancient and hidden in the cold depths of his lake shrouded in swirling mist that seem to manifest out of nothing. It's a sharp crackle of energy, a spark of ultraviolet and that heady scent of ozone that overshadows all the rest. As Niamyth's glowbugs tickle the edge of his mind, the mist reacts not to draw away, but to gently tease and play with, almost innocently. He may not have the power of his bronze competitors, but his body moves with serpentine grace, star-studded, galaxy painted wing sails pushing him onwards into the driving storm and the veridian beauty. « Has anyone ever told you you're simply adorable? Cause you are. » F'kan is faring worse that his brown, because for some reason, his blue eyes keep getting drawn to the weyrlingmaster's bosom, and this time he's not really inclined to look away as she points them out so effectively. "If you don't mind me saying ma'am, they are quite lovely." Did you think F'kan was really going to heed good advice? It's just not his way.

"Oh, those boobs!" D'wane will at least give a glance down at said boobs and their pink glory even as the back of his neck is starting to turn a bit red. "They're very nice boobs." He gives a nod and glances towards Va'os as if the other bronzerider might be able to help him out of this hole his digging. Or maybe it's he's wanting a share of the whisky, lip gloss bedamned. He'll raise his own bottle in agreement when F'kan's words are about the same as his own. He wasn't the only one to mention the boobies! Tonight's just another night of epic journey. The wind fills Rocketh's sails both mental and physcial as he follows the current urging him towards the elusive green. Sure, he doesn't have the fanciest flying. The metamorphic bronze is much too broad for swift turns, but each deep wingstroke will bring him closer and he's not one to give up. « Who needs to see to catch? I can feel you! »

Niamyth's wings slice through the thick, foggy night air as a rumble of thunder crackles the energy around the dragons in flight. Rosewood lightens from its previous heady floral rush as the green's energy begins to deplete — not long after she took flight, as predicted. « Did y'all feel that thunder? Did it tingle? » Her own giggling dissipates into the backs of their consciousness as those fireflies twinkle and flicker brightly. Rocio felt that tingly surge from Niamyth and then shudders, her skin physically reacting to the energy — which happens to be right about the time F'kan compliments her chest. "Ya hear that, D'wane? They're LOVELY. F'kan knows good boobs when he sees them!" Maybe now Va'os is wishing he'd looked. "In fact, they're only a part of what I got!" Slapping her palms onto the bar counter, the greenrider hoists herself up so that she's able to shimmy herself onto the flat surface. There's a wiggle as she pulls her (bright) pink dress down a bit before whistling to get the attention of everyone in the Kitten. "Hey! Y'all like my shoes?" Now standing on top of the bar, Rocio balances on one sky high heel while lifting the other to model, toes pointed downward. See the pink sparkle!

As if echoing the storm raging around them, Quaverilth's own electric purple bolts flare in time with the rumble of thunder. Streaking up from the lake's surface to the dark clouds gathering over it, lighting them in eerie heliotrope tones, glowing briefly. « It's it just energy, like in all things, and sometimes that energy must be spent… » The browns words ring both young and old at once as he zeros in on where he believes the dainty green to be. Heart pounds in time with the beat of his wings as he homes in on the twinkle of her fireflies and like an arrow, he cuts through the cloud cover, talons out stretched in hopes of claiming her finally. F'kan's own blood is heating, aided by the crackling energy flowing along the link with his brown. When the greenrider does her best Pernese Coyote ugly audition, the brownrider's eyes are riveted on her, taking in all that she's offering, sparkly shoes included, eyes sweeping up and down as he gets to his feet, just enough reason left to but his glass asisde as he stares up at her with a rakish gaze and a lopsided grin.

Tsiroth doesn't balk at the sound of thunder and sight of lightening. If anything, it only spurs the bronze onwards as his mind explodes in a myriad of neon and oversaturated color. Nebulas form and fade, swirling along the light-trail of stars as the bronze picks up speed. « You bet. And just you wait! » For what, exactly? Who knows, but now his mind is a-blaze with loud music, tempo rising and rising to a fevered pitch to entice both Niamyth and even push the competition to recklesness; it's music fit for any adventure and challenge, of high stakes and risks! All of which he's willing to face in this storm, if it means snaring the green as his own for the night. With the last of his strength, he'll surge ahead, veering sharp in hopes of catching her or even plucking her out of the grip of another; it puts him in the path for collision with any other competitor but he's willing to gamble! Back at the Kitten, Va'os has cleared his throat and sobered in laughter enough to breathe normally. He wasn't looking before but if F'kan and everyone else are gonna steal a peek? Yeah, he's gonna look! Sorry D'wane. Then Rocio's up on the bar and he's clutching his glass protectively (and also draining the last of it). This time? He's unabashed in the way he stares at the now modelled shoe… and maybe a lot of the leg that goes with it. "Sparkly." he states distractedly, but he'll blame that on Tsiroth. Is there a no touchy-touchy rule? Because Va'os is about to break that… as fingers reach for the sparkling stones.

« You're welcome! » Rocketh is just going to assume it was his electrifying personality that caused the thunder and thus the tingles. What else could it be? His own constellations rearrange slightly to follow the brightening glow of the flickering fireflies, while massive wings push further. What's fog when you got the current pulling you forward? Eventually things will all go South and Rocketh's banking on going down together as he lurches towards a nearby cloudbank. Hopefully it's a cloud bank with Niamyth in it and not like… Tsiroth or Quaverilth. That'd be awkward to explain. Alcohol or flight related hormones, there was no way D'wane's going to be looking away as that pointy shoe appears almost in front of his eyes and up his gaze goes from ankle to calf to thigh… and well, the bronzerider's grinning. "Looks like you're wanting a partner up there." He might be hoping Rock gets his way this time, even as he downs the rest of the peach schnapps. Can't have that getting in the way.

Niamyth isn't giving up yet! No, no, she's got plenty of energy left to out fly all of these boys and then some. As her wings struggle to maintain the speed at which she started, the dainty green is starting to tire though she will never admit it. You know she's close to the end when she doesn't say anything in a final attempt to conserve energy — then it happens! She's snagged by brown Quaverilth and quickly twines with him as they plummet through the thick clouds and down toward… wherever they are above the Weyr. The water, perhaps? Jungle? They'll soon find out! Rocio is in mid shoe modeling when she feels Niamyth start to slow. Her light colored eyes close and she griiins when she feels Niamyth being wrapped in another embrace, which means she's about to do the same… Va'os just barely misses making contact with her leg and she nods at D'wane's observation, "Yeah…" Breathy, that. And in a quick movement she's crouching, grabbing F'kan by his shirt with both hands, and hauling him over and behind the bar. She may be small, but she is strong when adrenaline says she is! They probably don't stay behind the bar for very long because, well, that'd be awkward. There is quite a bit of Ro's giggling heard, though, and maybe a few squeals for good measure and good gossip~

Is there still whiskey in that bottle? Cause D'wane's going to need it, seeing as all Rocketh managed to catch was a pile of cloud and that's not something that will let the bronze snuggle through a rainy autumn night! Defeated, the dragon sinks nearly like a rock as he's off to go sulk in a lake or stick his head under a waterfall or something. The weyrsecond tossed a handful of marks onto the bar to make up for the schnapps bottle and now the leftover bottle he's snagging as well, and then D'wane is out of there! Some of the drunks might be trying to get a good eyeful of wherever Rocio is dragging poor F'kan, but D'wane is not that guy!

Tsiroth's musical score comes to an abrupt record-skip halt as Niamyth is snared by Quaverilth! There's a growled-rumble of disappointment and the bronze is twisting away, strength flagging and running on empty. Surly mood will have him terse spoken; he's off and away to go nurse his wounded pride and disappointment (it'll be gone by nightfall). Va'os just stiffens for a moment from the sudden 360 jolt of the switch in emotions and he's lurching to his feet. Storm or no storm, it's time for an exit! He was going to enjoy that bottle, but it's snagged by D'wane. "Hey!" he protests and is tempted for a moment by Rocio dragging F'kan over the bar… but no. No, he'll be a dead man if he stays! Which allows for D'wane to escape with the rest of the whiskey. Va'os will just grab his jacket and duck out, sans alcohol but he has his private stash (thank you H'rik!) back in his weyr ? and maybe he'll summon a certain brownrider of his own, to boot.

It's almost with surprise that Quaverilth finds himself tangled with the viridian green, a soft rumble as he wraps her up tightly in leanly muscles limbs, his neck and tail twining tightly with her as if he won't risk letting go of her now. Finally a bellow of triumphant cuts through the storm as a flash of lightning illuminates their falling forms. With a wide eyes blink, F'kan is just as suprised as his brown as he feels himself be bodily dragged over the bar, a kind of goofy smile erupting onto his lips as he dispears onto the other side, completely lost in his connection with Quav and the passion they are sharing as one. Before things gets indecent, F'kan will emerge, Rocio thrown over one shoulder as he takes the steps to the rooms upstairs two at a time.

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