Who

Kyara, Liareth, Tija, Izahyth, T'ral, Esanth, E'bert, Karkath, A'lory, Eisheth

What

Kyara tries to escape into the Cellars for some coolness and quietude when Liareth decides to go up. Hurling of redfruit ensues!

Abundant alliteration and assonance

When

It is sunset of the seventh day of the sixth month of the fourth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Cellars, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 27 Mar 2015 06:00

 

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Most who know Kyara know she's a good aim with a throwing knife. It's a good thing she has a redfruit instead.


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Cellars

Order at last, here in the cellar: foodstuffs in their proper places, floors cleaned and shelves organized: all the pots, pans, and flatware are properly hung on the walls and stored on their shelves, gleaming with careful cleaning. To one side of the cavern, there is a large outcropping of smoothed rock, permanently stained red: the place where all meat goes to be portioned for cooking. The air is cool and crisp and almost free of humidity and moisture, an astringent tang of salt and herbs hanging heavy in the air.


Liareth has been a bit longer than usual about taking on that telltale golden glow that pulls her off weyrling duties for a few days. It's summer now, meaning seeking respite from the heat is no easy matter (no matter how overcast it is), nor is it really possible with mental steam curling about under one's skin. Even so, there are a few places both solitary and cool to be found in the Weyr, traversed by no more than the kitchen staff that's currently serving dinner. Kyara is wandering the blissful (but ineffectual) coolness of the cellars, biding her time…and helping herself to the odd tidbit here and there. Right now, it's a redfruit, which she's currently perched with on a tall, sturdy pile of flour sacks to rid of its rind. Surely, no one in their right mind would think to look for her here. Where dragons urge one to tread, on the other hand…

It doesn't take too much to figure out where Kyara has gone. She is, after all, a lantern, leading the moths to their eventual and forgone conclusion. The fact that it's cool here? Totally beside the point. Or maybe the heat is the reason why Tija has forgotten to actually get completely dressed today. A bra, yes, and a skirt that is long, flowy, and with more slits then totally necessary, but that's about it. Her long black hair covers up more than what she is dressed in. Sliding a hand against the cool stone of shelves she makes her way inward, casting a glance full of ironic humor towards the green rider. "Kyara~~" is slightly singsong.
One would think, given his father's well-known and clearly articulated antipathy towards Igen's Headwoman, that the cellars of her domain would be a study in chaos. They, however, are not. And T'ral, in Igen on a dragonhealer exchange — a dragonhealer TRAINEE exchange — is doing the scutwork of auditing Igen's store of the herbs they need to be indexed and cross-checked with surplus Southern goods and trades brokered by folk above his paygrade. It is this titilating duty that brings him clad in borrowed linen scrubs, carrying a basket and a clipboard as he moves along the shelves, counting, marking, humming quietly and happily to himself grateful to be out of Igen's scorching blaze. He breaks out into the larger center aisle, rounding a corner and draws up sharply at the sight of, "Kyara?" T'ral's grin for his old friend is wide. He eases into a comfortably upright slouch and cocks his head, "How are you? Still weyrlingsta-" Whoa. The bluerider blinks at the woman, twirling her way towards them, he looks away abruptly and intently at Kyara, wincing. Friend of yours?

The coolness of the cellars is exactly what E'bert is looking for. The meal that's being prepared, and served isn't something that the youngman is too concerned with. Kyara's presence doesn't register on E'bert so much as the mental rumbling of Karkath alerts him to not being alone, "Kyara," E'bert says once the presence does register, "I'm sorry," and he's ready to bolt if needed. Sorry, E'bert's more concerned about the cool on the burn than he is about anything else.

Tija's appearance doesn't faze Kyara too much, a returned (and rather relaxed, given the circumstances) sing-song of the brownrider's name returned with only a sidelong glance as the AWLM attempts to keep her focus on the task at hand. Friend of hers, indeed! T'ral's entrance is greeted with a grin that would be quite enthusiastic were it not for the fact that other influences are transforming it into an expression of a rather different nature. The greerider rocks back in her seat, uttering a low laugh before bright amber eyes land on the visiting bluerider. "Have you ever asked him how he knows?" she asks, presuming T'ral can guess exactly who she means as her eyes slide past him to E'bert. Slipping off the pile of sacks, she tosses a piece of redfruit peel at the younger brownrider with an air of impatience. "Why are you sorry? Liareth is worth the 'inconvenience' is she not?" Answer this one carefully, boyo.

Hot, hot summer: escape into the bowels of the Weyr is indicated, and so A'lory slouches his way into the relative coolness of the Cellars — only to find the place occupied. A rather popular place to be, the Cellars. And so, with a lethargic shrug, A'lory posts himself up against a somewhat be-slimed wall, eyeing the group of youngins with a jaundiced eye. "Soo, kids, we having a party in the cellar? Who bought the booze, hmm? If nobody brought it, I'd be sorely disappointed in your capacity to plan ahead." The Grunkle's disapproval is palpable in the air, all mournful eyes under unkempt, graying curls.

Liareth is one gloriously determined stretch away from springing into the pens, the lithe and gold-limned green in her usual fine and flirtatious form but apparently not in the mood for taking her time about things today. Violet-whirling eyes carefully survey both prey and any nearby suitors from her ledge perch above the pens…and then with uncanny quickness, she's off and promptly pouncing upon one of the larger beasts that bumble by. Blooding, after her usual fashion. Her challenge is silent yet sultry - thick mist curling through the minds of all who care to listen, tickling and teasing alongside the subtle shimmer of hidden dancer's bells.

She's causing embarrassment for someone? Tija drifts among the rows, sometimes in sight, sometimes not, touching just about everything that her hand can flutter to. Like there, the nice bluerider that is suddenly in the way of her forward movement. Starting at the base of his back Tija brushes a singer finger up till she can squeeze his arm, as if testing the muscle within. "My my, sweetest heart, you do bring some nice ones." Murmered under her breath, as she winks at T'ral and is going to breeze past him. Look! A brownrider! And a Bronzerider!

Karkath is by the pens because he's hungry and it's just late enough that he can see the prey in the pens. But wait, is that sensous form Liareth? So there's a dance to attend? He's game, and the brown quickly pounces on a wherry which is blooded with an efficient economy of movement. It's really all about the lighting, you understand.

Esanth sees to sending his 'mate safely to seminars and seeks lovely Liareth swiftly snapping spars to sides soon after summer skyfall in Igen. His favorite green, gloriously gilded, in all of Pern. Admonitions from T'ral not to disturb her at work notwithstanding, he's flown fast and far to find her feeding. The slidling, sensual slip of steam on the vast Void sends fractal frost spinnering across portal-glass, a thrilling chill, quickening ichor. The stocky blue paws the grass and stone as he lands, wings flared, talons tearing troughs in the earth and tumbling stones. Liareth is radiant and his greeting inside and out are brilliant, a tri-tonal tallyho eerily dark and bright together while stars wheel around the green-gold pole star, magesty upon magesty, the blaze of the void and the valiant mote that is Esanth among them and focused on, « Why, Miss Liareth, ma'am. It's been too long. »

As lethargic as his lifemate, Eisheth is suddenly there, lounging about in the feeding pens — observing the younglings at their frenetic activity with an amused, paternal eye. So much chaos, and all for — oh. The edges of challenge are caught, answered with an unimpressed yawn; the young ones always make such a fuss over the simplest of things. And the dark bronze launches himself across the Pens with a single downward stroke of his wings, landing on a squealing wherry buck with the weight of Turns' long experience beind him. Teeth fasten in, bleeding it dry with a haughty nonchalance. Why waste energy he'll need later?

« You're looking positively rotund today Liareth. These scrawny asses don't stand a chance. » Izahyth's iron intelligence ignites a fire upon his mind's forge, illuminating the chase which the green seeks to instigate. His wings wind themselves up as he pounces on the proudest buck that brings itself to his attention. Blood blossoms brightly and he'll trust himself headlong into the air. Slow. Because fat.

T'ral's mouth rounds into a wary 'oh.' "Oh boy." He blinks and goes for his jacket pocket, but… crap. He's not in his own clothes. Crap. He tears off the bottom of his tally sheet and whistles, writing out something very quickly. A blue flit, curled homily in a bundle of lavender peeks up at T'ral and hops to his shoulder, warbling. He swallows and tucks the note into the band on the little guy's foot. "You know where to go." He murmurs and gives the tiny blue a nudge before scoops him from his shoulder and sends him aloft. He puts the clipboard down and eases aside for Tija's passage, blinking at her drifting hands. He dips his head, eyes averted and looks up at Kyara, sensing in her, through Esanth, Liareth's aproaching spring into the skies. His pulse quickens, skin tightening with the thrill of Esanth's focus. "Afternoon." He sends a tight nod and a smile for E'bert — whom he recognizes from the 'yard and … the bronzerider is familiar too. From… a looong time ago. Turns. Southern. He squints at the man, trying to place him, a thrum of wariness not his own rising in his chest.

What. A'lory's just over here, lounging, watching the scene. Looking completely innocent in his rumpled clothing, his unbrushed hair framing his scruffy face. He's quite impassively waiting out the end of this little tragedy — er. Whatever. Arms crossed lightly over his scrawny chest, he shifts his gaze to Tija, wandering about and touching people randomly. Hm. Now that one is one to watch. She might do something truly amusing. To make himself more comfortable, he even hooks his bootheel into a convenient little niche in his leaning post, raising his eyebrows a little bit. "Hm. I am disappointed. No booze." Cue mournful face. "You children these days. So, so impulsive. You don't plan things out properly." Sadness. Fail.

E'bert blinks at T'ral, then Tija, and eventually the brownrider's eyes land on Kyara. Her demand still ringing in his ears, "Uhm," and he really can't place an answer for the greenrider's consideration, "She isn't?" Oh, what a lame save that is, let's sit back and watch the ire shall we?

Another hunk of redfruit rind goes flying at A'lory for his grouchiness. "Who has time to plan for these things?" Kyara demands, her words ending just in time to hear E'bert's answer. Oh, E'bert. Poor, poor E'bert. Most who know Kyara know she's a good aim with a throwing knife. It's a good thing she has a redfruit instead. Eyes flaring, she cocks a practiced arm back and snaps it forward, aiming a blur of juicy projectile straight for the middle of his chest. "Mind repeating that, boyo?" she grits out, closing toe to toe with the young brownrider and grasping him with both hands by the collar. Ire barely checked, she lifts a slender finger to his jaw and gives him a very sharp grin. "You could always pull your brown out, if you're sooooo sure." Releasing E'bert, she sways her way back in the opposite direction, passing between Tija and T'ral with a hand slipping along both their arms. "And yes, I do," she answers Tija at a near purr, her grin softened considerably from what she'd turned upon E'bert. "Oh, T'ral," she sighs. "It is good to see you. Though I'll have to tell you so again later." For obvious reasons. Suddenly, she pauses, swaying a bit on her feet, and chuckles softly. "Well, she's not wasting any time today, at least."

Of all those gathered, it is Esanth who holds Liareth's attention most steadily for a moment, even as she pounces upon another unfortunate victim to blood. Heated mist swirls out to enfold all in the pens with her, closing them all into a sphere of awareness containing only her and them. Rich, teasing laughter rolls through the flame-lit darkness, and the graceful green abruptly launches into the air. « And how badly do any of you want that which you compliment? Come then! » The dance has begun once again - high and fast to the summer clouds beyond the Rim and sharply banking south before straightening and jinking this way and that with every display of aerobatics at her disposal.

T'ral straightens, neck prickling with heat and the gusty gale of lust rolling off of his bonded blue. There's pride there in his look at Kyara, and fondness. "I never have asked him, no." He lifts a hand, palm up, easing aside as Kyara brushes past, "It is kismet." Drawing exchange duty on this day? And being here at this hour? Kismet or terrifyingly prescient machinations. He takes a deep breath of the cool, herb-scented air. Voice rough as he closes his eyes, assensing Esanth and smiling with the taught and teasing curl of Liareth's mind on Esanth's, "She is lovely." His breath 'bates with beating heart, buffeting him with yearning stretched skyward.

Badly, beloved. Badly. Serval swerves serve stocky cerulean suitors swimmingly as Esanth strikes skywards slashing spars and showing sharp talons to stay rutting rivals. Esanth eschews the boon of blood, preferring to faithfully focus faceted eyes on every graceful sweep a stir of Liareth's lithe and lissome form waiting for the moment when she gathers wing and haunch to spring aloft on sunkissed spars and sail, Rukbat's rays, rosy-tinged, romantic, with haze and crackling with energy.

"Overrated old one!" Tija calls out, her steps bringing her closer and closer to the Bronzerider, the bluerider having abruptly lost all of her interest. Passing fancy there. Maybe she'll go back and look again, but for right now she's going to duck that flying fruit (you're welcome Ebs!) and slip closer to the bronzerider. "I have not seen you out and about, what is it about our sweetest Kyara which brings you of the curls and churlish attitude down to wind about her?" Reaching out she twines a finger in the bronzerider's hair. Because that's how Tija chases. By accosting everyone but the rider of the proddy dragon.

« Already getting the best compiment a buxom babe like you can give sugar sweet! » Izahyth's mind flashes forwardly as he flings himself skyward, keeping low along line of lithe suitors. « Seeing that bouncing bottom brush the sky is the best desert one could ask for! » If dragons could slap, Liareth would probably be slapping Izahyth about now.

Is that a green dancing queen launching in to the skies above? Certainly looks that way, and Karkath is launching after to give chase. His wings snapping downward once, twice, and he's gone after the glowing green form that beckons. Silent as always, the brown merely swerves to avoid Esanth. He's big, but in spite of it there is some measure of grace to the midnight brown.

E'bert hisses as the bit of fruit bounces off his chest, then hisses again as Kyara grabs his shirt front. Oh for the bad timing on E'bert's part, alas calling Karkath off the chase is a moot issue as his mind sinks in to the merge of dragon fueled lust. Poor kid. Eyes remain on Kyara's form even as he senses his brown launching in to the air. Tija's dodge of the fruit is completely missed by E'bert. Yes, he has the slow.

He's still there, that lethargic Eisheth: a haunting, lurking presence amid the more brilliant of creatures, launched upward on brine-coated wings. But does he really want to chase after the wild, wild green? Oh, but naturally he does, trading lazy nonchalance for flights of fancy — while speed is not his forte, pure Machiavellian trickery is. He's here. No, wait, over there — at some point, the old man will have to make up his mind about getting at that girl flying so far ahead.

Well — so much for gifting a peeved Kyara with his wisdom. the redfruit is ducked with a mischeivous grin. "Hey, now, child, I was just trying to ease the tension — " What the hell, who's petting him at the most inappropriate of times. Tija is eyed consideringly for a long moment, and then he smirks down at her. "Same thing that brought you here, I'll wager, little tiger." Deftly, he dodges that hand in his hair, seeing as it's rather disconcerting to be petted by a girl young enough to be his actual child. And then he drifts away, retreating subtly and hoping Tija gets lost in the maze of the cellars before she gets the notion to go petting his hair again. It's precious stuff, that hair.

"'Kismet,'" Kyara echoes, turning dance-like to hold T'ral's gaze for a moment - insofar as she can hold it anymore. She's more Liareth than herself at this point, the thrall of flight speeding hot and fast through her blood as if quickened by the season. "That's one I haven't heard yet," she notes, grinning at the bluerider again and lifting a hand to set along his jaw. It's short-lived contact, however, as a sudden gust of wind buffets her lifemate, disconcerting her in turn. She wavers, waiting for the vertigo to clear…only to find herself further under than before. Her gaze flits between all four riders before her almost frantically, and she sighs and laughs again, letting herself be overtaken. She'd decided not to fight so hard anymore during Liareth's last flight. So far, it's been a decision for the better. "All too slow, too distracted," she drawls, nearly sing-song again as she languidly weaves her way among them all. "It'll be a wonder if any of you manage it."

"E'bbeeerrrttt…." It's the brownrider's turn for Tija's attention, as the bronzerider slips away. A half skip brings her right to his side as she reaches out to wrap her arms around his neck, chin settling on his shoulder. Her dancing eyes are following Kyara's movements though, even as she reserves her touches for just about everyone else.

One clear, high bugle of challenge is sent back in answer to her chasers as Liareth speeds onward, blood-fueled and brazen. One of her faster flight, this one is going quite nicely, and very much in her favor as far as coming to the point of choice…but there are always unexpected twists in the air, as there is during Threadfall. Her speed is trimmed abruptly as a sudden burst of wind buffets her - and all those behind her. With these clouds, who knows what storms loom for later? For the moment, they have a headwind. Fantastic. Trilling her frustrating, Liareth dives, instinctively rallying to regain lost speed and risking a look back. How close…? Too close!

Karkath folds brown sails slightly to roll in to the wind. This gives the brown an unexpected burst of speed as he speeds after the green Liareth. Silent as the night, silent as ::between::. This is Karkath after all. Not one to give voice often, and then to irritate, provoke, or otherwise confound his rider. Shall he catch? He's going to make a good attempt at any rate.

Oh, but that headwind is a lovely boon for the ones willing to take unfair advantage of its buffeting. Which Eisheth does, riding its unexpected twists and turns with deft twitches of sails and spars. Does Liareth see the lurking shadow that looms right over her? One would hope not, not until it's too late, at least: his claws are outstretched; he's closing in on the evasive, evocative green.

T'ral winces at the thud of redfruit against E'bert's chest withdrawing to wistfully watch the winding warp and woof of those caught in Liareth's loom. It never happened for them, T'ral and Kyara, that their dragons flew when either of them wouldn't bear pangs in the aftermath. It is then, a small blessing, that in this moment he shares headily in Esanth's exuberance, for somewhere at Southern, Alarph alights and delivers a missive to his all-but-mistress. Eyes snap open, alight with Esanth's joy, his thrill in the dance and the — T'ral gasps, drawing upright quickly as the quick wind they dragons face registers. He is aware of the others, yes, A'lory's aloof alignment, E'berts bumbling befuddlment, Tija's teasing tawdriness, he is aware, yes, but he is focused, on Kyara's killer curves.

E'bert yelps with the sudden contact of pressure on healing sunburn, "Tija," is hissed at the other brownrider as he tries to shrug away. The burn of skin is nothing compared to the burn of the dragon's mind in his own. Shall he dance away? No, he'll stand when he can't break the contact of Tija. He doesn't mind really, not now that the initial sting has faded.
You paged Tija with: Kyara pages, "Do you have another pose for Izahyth, or did I miss it in the scroll somewhere?"

Izahyth never really stirs himsef to singular effort till here at the very end. Busting breezes with buffeting wings the brown busts upwards, bound to bind and blend with the beautiful babe bounding through the sky. « Babe! » The brown brusts out, blowing a billowing benidiction to her blubber bobbing in the beautiful blue breezes.

Fast flown and fleeting, far flung for all that it was swift, Esanth stays in the thick of things, insinuating himself beside Izahyth, easily evading Eisheth, curving quick past Karkath, wings flare, fighting furiously to fit his flight to the green's, lovely Liareth's image a blaze of glory that will linger lasting long after lusts lie sated, whomever the green-gold goddess chooses.

"Nono!" Kyara's sinuous passage through the little group of riders stops abruptly, fingers flying to her temples and eyes squeezing shut as some part of her mind tries to direct her dragon for a moment. "Remember…not like that…" There's something about Liareth's maneuvering that's irking her, something more effective that could be done… But there's nothing for it. Her cognizance slips again as Liareth does what she will, rising yet again into the headwind and inadvertently lifting into the reaching clutches of the nearest, lowest pursuer. So, too, do her eyes lift, her hands falling to her sides as dragonlust-brightened amber rises to meet the face of the winning rider.

"Oh sweets." Tija pushes herself away from E'bert. "Aloe." Hopefully that's a Pern Thing. She'll finally drift towards the final person in this room, skirts swirling though she doesn't get close enough to touch Kyara. That will come. When the player stops being a TEASE.

It is kind of the clouds to obscure Rukbat's brightness, but cruel of them to bring irregular winds into Liareth's path. Thus does she find herself slowed and swerved by still more headwind, the traitorous gale swirling around and upward into jade-hewn wingsails. Poor, determined Esanth is slipped past, a bobble corrected with a mighty downstroke to push her beyond Eisheth and Karkath's reach…and straight into Izahyth's clutches. A victory for another clutchbrother! And dissatisfied with the circumstances though Liareth may be, that, at least, gives the brown some worthiness. Whether or not she'll give him the draconic version of a slap later remains to be seen. For now, she surrenders, captured and content to entwine.

Izahyth has the worst sense of humor. It's almost as suprisig to him as it is to… everyone else, that fat Izahyth ends up with buxom Liareth between his claws. « Take THAT you skinny Southern sucker! » The words are tossed back at the blue that tried to butt in as the pair plunge downwards, Izahyth's weight only making it go faster.

And her attention seems well placed, because as Izahyth wraps himself around Liareth Tija steps the last of the distance between herself and Kyara, reaching out one elegant hand to the greenrider. Smile settled calmly she'll lead the woman away to somewhere a little more private, though most likely not at all far from where they stand here.

Karkath circles up in to the sky above. He's determined to fly for a while, but the firm command from rider far below brings him back to earth. In the cellars E'bert quietly slips away in search of another cool spot to rest his still stinging burn. His pride? Oh well that's a different matter, and he'll seek comfort somewhere. Maybe.

So that went well — his ploy didn't work. Eisheth manages to casually fly away, off to cool his ichor out over the Desert. Meanwhile, A'lory's managed to get lost in the cellars — who knows where he'll end up.

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