Who

Akitith, Eisheth, Iolarth, Rhakanth, Jivayath, Jovianth, Rhiscorath

What

When proddy dragons are about, poetic dragons come out.

When

Sometime during the evening on the twenty-eighth day of the first month of the fifth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr

OOC Date 12 Jun 2015 04:00

 

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All Around

Akitith wonders where all the boys are at.

Eisheth thinks « Staying well away if they're smart. »

Jivayath oh snaps MIGHTILY.

Akitith pushes a gust of harsh forest wind from her mind in Eisheth's direction. « Hmph. »

Iolarth rumbles eagerly. « Or not. If they're intrigued by beauty despite intelligence.»

Jivayath thinks « JERRY JERRY JERRY »

Eisheth, unfazed, merely yawns.

Jivayath hoots and hollars like a studio audience.

Akitith is indignant. « Are you implying something, Iolarth? »

Akitith does hope you were talking about Eisheth, and not her.

Jivayath thinks « Eisheth… is NOT THE FATHER! »

Iolarth 's mountain breezes are nothing but sweet and warmly soothing. « Only that we might set aside whatever logic we think we possess in pursuit of all that is lovely. It would be far better than keeping distant from one so lovely, I'd say. »

Jivayath likes the cut of Iolarth's gib.

Akitith calms noticeably with Iolarth's words, the harsh wind diminishing into a gentle breeze. « You certainly have a way with words. » And she seems pleased.

Iolarth thinks « Somewhere out in the moonlight, Iolarth is smugly preening. Mentally, those breezes warming to a springlike caress laced with the delicate, nearly imperceptible scent of mountain blooms. « I try. Particularly for one so delightfully winsome. » »

Akitith, on the other hand, is simply glowing, pleasure radiating off her in waves. « And do you tell that to all the ladies? »

Eisheth thinks « He does, Akitith. Do not be fooled. »

Jivayath thinks awhile, then interjects, « Did anyone else unpack that to 'I don't care how smart you are if you're pretty'? »

Iolarth gusts an icy cloudburst, clipped and cold, in Eisheth's general direction. « Whereas the old one would tell nothing of the sort to any of the ladies, I'd suppose, » comes in flat reply. But warmth remains for the young green, ever sweetening, full of promise. « I tell it to whom I will. They are words that play to only a fraction of your worth, my dear Akitith. »

The silence of the library is nearly resounding, but the soft shuffle and titter of amusement ruffles through even the dustmotes shining in the dying light that limps through the windows of Rhiscorath's mind. Perhaps she might not put it in such terms but… Oh hey, let's check the dictionary on that… (Rhiscorath)

Eisheth stretches the dark, dank heat of his mind out over the draconic link, suffocating in its sardonic amusement. «What would you know of it, whippersnapper? »

Iolarth thinks « Why, only that you've not demonstrated any propensity to the contrary, » Iolarth answers, pines whistling in the wake of the cool breeze sent to break that dank warmth. « But how you would refrain from doing so in such an enthralling presence as Akitith's is beyond me. »

Rhakanth yawns and stretches, bellowing to the skies, hawthorn hedges shivering as his muscles stretch in yawn's trembling. He smacks, teeth clacking, golden thread bounding across the tops of the Labyrinth's winding walls — totally cheating — their way across the walls and hedges towards the forest, light falling, falling, falling. Lanterns come alive in the hedges, spilling pools of light amidst the gravel paths. Bounding, bouncing, winding towards the misty forest as night begins to fall in earnest. Night… a time for twining limbs and thoughts shared without the need of words, touch.

Jivayath is still Arsenio hooting.

Akitith seems smug in the comfort of her forest, laced with amusement by the words being exchanged between the males, especially that which pertains to boosting her ego. A piney breeze would interlace with the mountain breeze, perhaps to be distracted by a golden thread as it enters her domain.

Jivayath wooh wooh wooh

Eisheth thinks « «Better to be discerning with one's compliments, boy. Make them earn it.» Because evil. «They never remember afterwards, as it is.» »

Jovianth thinks « Jovianth's been oddly quiet through this all, and when he does finally chime in, his fog is swirling, and the disembodied voices are singing a love ballad he probably heard from the Harpers. Or maybe Liareth. Someone. « Akitith, you are as beautiful as Igen after a spring rain. » »

Jivayath ponders long again, her thought process producing curls of sweet smoke. « Igen doesn't really GET spring rains? »

Jovianth has…no retort to that. He withdraws to rethink his tactics.

Akitith thinks it was good effort on Jovianth's part anyway.

Iolarth thinks « Clear and shrill, a bird of prey's cry pierces the high air, challenging as gilt wings glint in the amber light of sunrise - a brazen flare of powerful wings in counter to new voices. « And we do? » comes the mellifluous baritone rising from the very trees. « By being, by shining as enticingly as sunlight on the sea, she has earned it, old one. » Then, a rising call of puzzled query for Jivayath's counter to his blue comrade. « If not, what are the storms that come before the summer heat, my queen? I remember mud… I think. »

Jivayath just sort of shrugs out a languid mental dismissal. « Nonetheless, is that mud… beautiful? » she drawls idly, amusement sharp in the vaults of her mind. « It's alright, though. We're fond of our Jovianth just the way he is, and if the greens don't mind, well, who am I to correct him? »
In these public places are these people:

Rhakanth bounds in and among the trees shrouded in mist, golden light spilling between the trunks as he goes, lanterns set where Akitith meets his touch, cheery bright in the darkening mystery. The forest stretches far and, as he has done in his own stony labyrinth, the golden cord winds up a tall, proud trunk, breaking the canopy under a blanket of stars, broken only by the silhouette of broad, feathered wings, « Brother, what do you see? » From a perch atop one of the innumerable trees, there is no enlightenment, only further mystery, enticement, an irresistible draw to the curious Rhakanth.

Iolarth 's breezes calm a touch at Jivayath's reply, rippling over the top of low clouds pierced by the very tips of tall pines. « It is. In its way. But Akitith is not mud, of course. » Did he realize something a little too late there? Well, hopefully not too late to be irredeemable. Rhakanth's treetop inquiry is met with wary amusement, sunrise washing across starlight in curious counterpoint. His forest, Akitith's, twilight and daybreak - all lace together in a beautifully impossible weave. « I see only beauty, » is intoned in answer, spring breezes resurging to renew a caress across the mind of the green in question. « Mystery and radiance…and I cannot look away. »

Jivayath sighs, the idea of a tail-flick of amusement coming across in the briefest glimpse of how she imagines herself. « So you're going up when, Akitith? »

To all those who enter, the mist that permeates the wide tree trunks will beckon them, enticingly, drawing them ever deeper into its depths. All are welcome but who shall stay? That is more unclear. The mist reveals nothing. Akitith's mind hums softly. « A lady never reveals her secrets~ You must know that, my queen. » (Akitith)

WHO IS LOGGING THIS? (Rhakanth)

Jivayath notes they can probably emit my arsenio wooting because at that point we were just being dumb dorks who I love.

The one who started it is obviously logging. Duh~ (Akitith)

Iolarth thinks « All the more reason to leave it in XD »

Jivayath woohwoohwooh

Jovianth whoot whoots.

Studio walls tremble, the catwalks supporting arrays of gelled lights shaking as steel and insulation turn to stone graven with the images of Emmy's and myriad awards, hieroglyphic in their depiction. Look under your seats, everyone… (Rhakanth)

Iolarth just watches this madness in rapt fascination.

Oh right… So what's under the seat? (Akitith)

Jivayath thinks « BEEEEEES! »

Rhakanth coughs and reminds his queen gently that though they are commemorated in loving detail, carved in bas relief: a plague of swarming, swirling, sweeping insect creatures issuing in a stream from a mad-eyed and gleeful woman figure, BEES did not survive on Pern. What is under the seats is and will remain a mystery, the enticements a gift for each to discover as feet tread the gravel paths between baffling walls until gravel gives way to earth, and earth to grass, grass to underbrush and the winding ways of the mist shrouded woods.

Jivayath thinks « VTOOOOOOOOOOLS »

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