Who

Mayte, G'tan, R'xim, Th'bek

What

Rhiscorath thinks the Acrobatics part of the T-Tourney is a great time to rise. Mayte disagrees vehemently but it's not up to her.

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-fifth day of the eighth month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

North Bowl

OOC Date 16 Apr 2016 06:00

 

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Interrupting goldflight who?


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North Bowl

In the quieter spaces of the Northern Bowl, there is less activity; all is kept serene for young, forming draconic bonds. Beneath the sweep of skies' ever-changing colors, this round little panorama hosts the short distances between the Hatching Cavern and the weyrlings' ultimate destination: the barracks and training grounds. More packed dirt and tiny little hillocks than clean white sand, the floor is an uneven thing, a startling trap for the unwary and the clumsy. Further onward, the Ground Weyrs beckon, a haven for those who may seek medical attention.


OOC NOTE: The theme for this flight was "Movie One-Liners." The lines used by each player appear underlined.


The North Bowl is replete with dragons and their riders and spectators. Frankly, it looks a lot like a mess but for the northern point of the bowl where the competitors for the first trial of Acrobatics. The atmosphere is tense and joyful with people passing around bets and cold tea like it's a public service. In a way, it is, with Rukbat shining down so hard on Igen's sandy soils. The noise is nearly deafening but somehow the Race announcer is still heard through dragons and human ears alike: "Gentlemen and… ladies," because not everyone is still on board with the whole 'women riders' thing, "Take your places! First up is is C'irc and Soleith…" a notably flexible blue pair who take off and do very well indeed, twisting like a ribbon in the air. When they come down to earth, though, the mood changes, radiating from somewhere around the Leadership ledges. Mayte is in the crowd too, watching and ooing and ahhing and shivering briefly in the mid-day heat.

There may be a blue pair in the sky right now…but there seems to be a large group of bronzes and browns waiting in the wings once Soleith is done being a showoff pretty boy up there. G'tan is on the ground, making his way over to the announcer - a Thread-grounded Hogback rider with an Impressive bellow - and sidling up to say something in the man's ear. Is that Zinakoth waiting to take a turn? The craggy bronze is pretty good for his size when it comes to fancy maneuvers, but he's never been one to compete outside of flights. Or maybe he's just never had the opportunity? Whatever the reason, G'tan looks a little grouchy for it as he makes his way back toward his lifemate. A merchant pushing a cart of ices barrels across the Weyrsecond's path, prompting a scold of, "I'm walkin' here!" that earns and awkward, harried bow of apology. Yep, just a liiiiitle grumpy! G'tan scrubs a hand over his face and spies Mayte, whom he sidles up to. "Rhiscorath watchin' somewhere?" he asks, trying to cover for earlier snappishness with an easy smile.

Tavuqth and Th'bek are seventh in the line-up, the native-hatched brute shining like wet shale. Arroyo's wingleader rubs the lower joints of knuckles over the accumulation of compact ridges that arm the brown's forehead. Tavuqth is watching his competition carefully; agility is not his birthrite but a love of gravity and applied inertia make him a contender. "Stelllllaa!" Th'bek greets the weyrmate of one of his wingriders with an impact hug. "Come to watch us place?" Far enough from G'tan and Mayte, the brownrider preserves preemptive salutations another moment.

A long eye is cast at G'tan, Mayte's lips pulled into a moue of annoyance. "Nah, she's still sleeping. I don't know how she's gonna stay asleep in this cacophany though." One hand waves to the assembled and the Senior huffs, "Could shake W'rin from Between like this." Not that anyone wants that. Zombie riders? Thank goodness that's never been a thing. Th'bek gets a distracted smile for his outburst (way to demonstrate her point) but Mayte's shoulders tense even moreso after a minute as she turns to her ledge. "Oh shit," she moans as Rhiscorath wakes up. Rhiscorathus Interruptus!

Rhiscorath, sleeping and looking rather obnoxiously radiant, shifts on her ledge as the blue lands after his display. That's one critic who's not cheering Soleith on. Instead, there's a moment where the gold is quiet… too quiet… And then just before the next green is ready to touch off, the Senior Queen awakens with a bang, eyes open and whirling red. That'll teach those obnoxious noise makers to not interrupt her sleep! Hissing at the display in front of her, Rhiscorath pushes herself off her sandy ledge and wings it to the pens where she lands a fat cow. No, seriously, the cow is fat, she's not just being insulting. Challenging her rider, Rhiscorath finally submits and bloods one… and then a second steer because it'll only be dinner for someone else later. For all the browns and bronzes, Rhiscorath hisses a challenge. You wanted acrobatics? Well follow this! and with another mighty push, Rhiscorath is wingbound and aloft!

Zombie riders? There's a terrifying thought. Especially if one is a walking dead mountain like W'rin. AHEM. G'tan grimaces a bit at the thought. Th'bek's holler turns the Weyrsecond's head, amusement quirking one sandy brow…and then Mayte's find a reason to curse about something. "Language," is his inexplicably knee-jerk reaction as he turns to look where she's looking. Then he gets it. This is why his lifemate wanted in the competition? "Yeah. Okay." Gotta love draconic quirks. But if all these browns and bronzes decided to throw in for the same thing, it's pretty much guaranteed that they won't be keeping a sportsmanlike turn order now.

Nope, Zinakoth is definitely not waiting his turn. The looming storm above twilit desert tranquility is building quickly now, the craggy bronze leaping away for an easy shot at the pens in light of that challenging hiss from the Senior queen. His kill is found straightaway and blooded in turn…and that's about all he has time for before Rhiscorath is off, and he's leaping after her. Up, up, and away! Though let it be noted that while she is beautiful, she is no balloon. Else it would be too easy.

Shalnth flares his wings at the first sign of the senior queen's movement and follows her when she makes her way toward the pens. There is little warning to R'xim who is somewhere in the crowd with an ice cold glass of sweet tea in hand. The bronze doesn't seem to care about the internal protesting his lifemate curses him with in the moment, he can hear R'xim's words loud and clear: Every decision you've made has only brought us from bad to worse. The snarl that's hissed in response to the accusation drives Shalnth to leap skyward after Rhiscorath despite his rider's best efforts to discourage him from the chase.

It doesn't take R'xim long to locate Mayte amongst the crowd, and it doesn't take him long to see who else is attempting to crowd around her. He stays back as far as he can until an overwhelming urge to get to her pushes him forward through the gathered group of bronze and brownriders. He shoves into a nearby brownrider and is promptly pushed back when the other rider whirls around to glare at him. Rix doesn't exactly give a shit if he crossed a line or not. "Does it look like I give a damn?" See? Now where the hell did Mayte go…

Straps remain cinched around Tavuqth as the saurid brown finds/makes the space to become airborn, thick talons leaving a quad of trenches in the packed silt earth. He bloods horrifically, a future rain will wash that slaughter away, and he follows Rhiscorath, the mother who shelled him, the gold he'll now chase and maim for.

Th'bek has turned away from Stella, leaving her question about the next Fall unanswered. Where is that thrice damned brown going. "Excuse me," Rev forces hair behind an ear and adopts a war path to the feeding pens to see whom this Faranth-fecked green is. "I'll be back."

G'tan is getting on Mayte's case for swearing? The Weyrwoman turns to give the man a look that promises a lot of pain in the near future, speakig of knee-jerk, "Are you fucking kidding me?" It's not quite a shriek, but the blues and greens scatter and the browns and bronzes follow the gold to blood and then into the air while their riders scatter. "Every damn time," she informs G'tan as if he hasn't been there for each flight, "Every damn time, it's in public, and I get to…" whatever Mayte gets to goes unexplained as a young brownrider gets tossed in her direction by R'xim earning the little man a growl. That wasn't Th'bek, was it? It sucks being this short in a big crowd. "Surely she can't be serious."

Rhiscorath is FREE, free of gravity and your silly expectations! She will ride eternal, shiny and chrome! Catcalling under one wing as she flees those silly bronzes and browns who dare think they could follow her! « Fools! » she crows, whirling into a barrel roll that reduces some of her speed… but the dive she takes after coming out of it picks her speed up right away. This straight chase continues for a moment until the Queen decides otherwise and loops back to charge straight at the following cloud, pulling up at right the last minute to avoid each and every chaser out there. « And don't call me Shirley! »

If that's what G'tan's doing, he must really be distracted. "Yeah, we never seem to get a break, do we?" the Weyrsecond grumbles in the wake of Mayte's words before he's waving his arms and shoving people aside. "Clear off! Y'know what's goin' on; get outta here and go home or somethin'!" he bellows. "Competition's cancelled!" Probably not for good. But for now? No one's going to be paying attention anyway.

Zinakoth practically yowls as Rhiscorath pulls a breathtaking change of direction RIGHT in front of him. Now he's got to compensate, but he doesn't mind. He doesn't even mind being called a fool. « So beautiful, » is rumbled across in the growl of thunder, the dangerous beauty of a sky cracked by violet-white lightning accenting the doubled layer to his words. It may take him a breath to recover, but he's quickly back on track, powering ahead with the rest of the pack in as hot a pursuit as ever.

Shalnth is temporarily blinded when he soars after Rhiscorath at an angle that doesn't agree with Rukbat's light. He hisses and veers a sharp left to try and regain his sight long enough to locate where she's leading the other males. It's this primal determination that sends him back toward the senior queen in movement that rivals the acrobatic blue that was performing earlier — Shalnth should get an award for agility in this event! Hopefully it'll be in the form of one golden, glowing queen.

R'xim lets out a very loud, irritated groan when he spots Mayte off in the distance. That poor brownrider he previously shoved is crowding him again and an elbow is conveniently jabbed into the man's jaw — Rix really doesn't care who he damages when Shalnth is in hot pursuit of a queen, especially the senior. NOT that he's allowed to chase this freakin' gold, damnit! It's probably what pisses the Weyrsecond off enough to grab hold of the brownrider's shirt collar when he thinks he hears a mumbled threat. That poor bastard. Is this a courting or a donnybrook? Folks are about to find out~

Visuals of a yellow hide, not green, are pulled from his life-mate's visions and the brownrider stops dead at this recognition. « You can't handle the truth. » Th'bek forces himself to look at the competition he has for Weyrleader and it's a promising cast: G'tan, Er'sol, R'xim, T'chan, R'keon, grizzled A'zuo… "Ma'am, I don't want to be here but it aint personal." He'd dodged the flight that Tlazotezath came ahead with, and frankness, well, is owed.

The energy pent up for the acrobatics competition is expelled as Tavuqth roils through desert currents, dense skull leading the charged on his way to Rhiscorath. Wing tips rasp against the hide of another brown, lesser, who pulls off to the side and higher, temporarily losing his mettle. Something Th'bek had recently spoken freely echoes in his bond's mind: You've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' He sinks and presses forward, legs forming the vice-like shape to secure his catches.

Reaching out to swipe at a drudge who got too close while trying to flee, Mayte snarls again G'tan-wards. Turning, she flashes a look of disgruntled recognition at R'xim far away and points at him. "STAY!" she yells at him. Bad doggie. Her eyes turn upward to try to spot Rhiscorath's glowing hide before looking down at Th'bek in dazed astonishment: "NOW is when you tell me this?" She too has to analyze the competition and sneers at the lot of them and calls mockingly, "Is that a ten gallon hat, A'zuo, or are you just enjoying the show?" The grizzled man's grin back isn't very pacifying but Mayte's hands are balled up in case, knuckles turning white as Rhiscorath makes one final turn…

As always, Rhiscorath's flight ego will be the end of her. She dallies and teases, flaunting her tail back and forth. She dips one wing to make a round turn, almost leisurely in contrast to a few moments ago, tail streaming behind her like it should say "Surrender, Dorothy" along it… but it's a trick as Rhis starts scooping air between her wings and pulls away again from tired males. It's a gambit so the queen can once again turn and barrelroll through the crowd following… And then she runs into a form, wings tucked tightly against her so she cannot move away, and shrieks her dismay!

G'tan pauses in his attempt to keep clearing people off when one of Mayte's hands enters his field of vision, swiping at someone. And then she snarls at him? He knows well that the moment you think you know what's going on in a woman's head is the moment your goose is well and truly cooked, but that doesn't stop him from making faces about it. Also, he should know by now that there's no accounting for anything during a flight. When Mayte balls up her fists, he lifts his hands a bit - something almost reflexive now when it comes to her. He's been trained from their sparring matches apparently. But now…he's tensed. Waiting. Watching, but not through his own eyes…and taking no a predatory air around the edges as he does so.

Water rushes, dark and deadly and transforming, roaring beneath the hiss of inexorable rain and the titanic whip-cracks of thunder. Steadfast night blooms cling tightly to roughened sandstone in the brilliant flashes of lightning, beauty and promise standing defiant in the face of the storm. Zinakoth outwardly roars challenge to all surrounding him, surging forward with neck and talons outstretched…but inwardly, the storm unfurls in an attempt to encompass Rhiscorath, something new to be seen with the breaking of the storm promised in the billow of warmth through cold and rainy winds. « I will fulfill our destiny, » he rumbles, pressing forward, ever closer, closer…

Shalnth is doing a decent job of blocking his lifemate's internal threats for chasing after Rhiscorath without first consulting him — What we have here is a failure to communicate. They're a team and this wasn't part of today's plans! And this certainly wasn't the kind of competition the bronze thought he'd be participating in. Molten wings seer through the dry desert air when Shalnth surges forward to make a swipe for the glowing queen with claws outstretched and daaaangerously close to soft brown hide.

"Sorry, man." R'xim has his fists balled into T'chan's shirt when he yanks him near and then heaves him into the crowd of spectators around them. But… "We all go a little mad sometimes." Once his immediate competition is disposed of, Rix whirls around to find Mayte. She's here somewhere. Close. His pulse spikes and heated blood rushes through his being when he senses how close Shalnth is to Rhiscorath in the air. Together, they see what they're after as draconic lust meets human need.

"Now's as good'a time as any." Th'bek volleys, eyes on the sky where he last saw the swarm of dragons. That 'itch' that comes with a flight is under his skin and stroking his nerve endings. As the flight makes its apex and Rhiscorath is contained by another dragon, Th'bek's _Just Can't Wait to be King_ moment is hacked short. Tavuqth was not in the correct position, the great brown's jaws emptying a gutted roar. He descends and flies straight, the Weyr not his imminent destination.

And Th'bek, goes scarce, flagging down a greenrider who also got the limelight taken from his premier round in the Tourney. "Yo, A'drian!"

"Always in fucking public!" Mayte growls, whether it's at G'tan, A'zuo, R'xim, or anyone in particular. Are we still on that? She whirls to look out over the crowd one more time, eyes wide and mouth slack with the twinnin of thoughts with the enraged librarian queen above and there's a quiet gasp as she looks up to espy who Rhis has run into, who has caught the furious maiden, panting and groaning as she turns to that dragon's rider.

Rhiscorath just wasn't ready to be caught, and she squirms for a moment as the storm overtakes her, shrieking with the winds as rain splatters over an innocent book that couldn't make it to safety in time. Zinakoth will be hearing about this later, but for now the gold is truly caught, her protests quieted after one last scream and it's finally the Ista-born bronze's time both in the sun and in Rhisorath's amber possession.

Shalnth bellows when the overwhelming sense of loss motivates him to veer over the desert once Rhiscorath makes her selection. Bronzen wings slice through the heated desert air as he makes his way northward to burn off some of the intensity felt throughout his physical being. In the misty mindscape shared with his lifemate, a raging storm over angry waters begins to dissipate the further he gets from the Weyr. On the ground, however, R'xim pushes his way through the crowd to get away from onlookers and to perhaps find Rosie's in the process. He's going to need plenty of rum to get him through the next couple of candlemarks.

He'd forgotten what this was like. G'tan's gaze fixing on Mayte-Rhiscorath has a very sharp, other quality as he moves forward to tug her into his embrace, laugh low and husky in echo of the exultation of his lifemate. He doesn't know where he's taking them; it's just away for now. And Zinakoth? Look, he knows he got the books wet, but he'll make up for it later. Everything will be considered later. For now, he is most concerned with keeping Rhiscorath in safe descent as they fall, entwined, from the high-flung flight. At last.


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