Who

Rocio, T'ral, L'xan, Th'sher (NPC Zisiene), NPCs by Rh'maz

What

Niamyth takes to the sky in her first flight at Igen.

Flight content~

When

It is sunset of the sixteenth day of the sixth month of the ninth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Public Baths, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 19 Nov 2016 05:00

 

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What the-uhoh.


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Public Baths

Stout walls have been erected around several naturally formed pools, serving to provide a semblance of privacy and protection from the harsh wind and sand. Above the pools, well cleaned walkways criss-cross beneath tiled arches and descend with a stairway or two leading down to each pool to provide one means of slip-free access through the area. Surrounding the pools there are benches, receptacles to put used clothing and towels in, and areas to get sweetsand and towels from - if you didn't bring your own.


Igen is boiling this afternoon and yet dragonriders are still held to their tasks. One greenriding huntress has spent most of the day out on sweeps along the Keroon border when her lifemate decided it was time for a break. To rest, to hydrate. To preen and groom. It's why Rocio is padding into the baths at this time with her bag of accoutrements and a towel slung around her small frame. There's a sheen to her skin from the sweat and grime of the day — which will soon be wiped clean when she gets into the water.

Being a rest day, at least for this bluerider, Th'sher's already in the baths soaking out a particularly stubborn knot in his back. On a bench behind where the youngman lounges is a basket that holds his clean clothes and a towel. On the top of his head is a white towel that's big enough to cover his manbits. Rocio's entrance has Th'sher opening one eye to look at her. Fellow 'Royo, and not his cousin. He's in the clear.

It's a strategy meeting that finds Igen's Weyrsecond in the baths. Riders and bazaarfolk sitting, soaking, turning over ideas in the steamy swelter. The meeting, informal, breaks up, individuals scattering to masseurs, or brandy and cigars at a parlor not far. T'ral remains in the swirling water, hitching up to push to the opposite side of the pool to toss more water on the hot stones. They hiss and roil, spilling steam and scent into the air. He takes a deep breath and pushes back to his perch, noting the positions of figures visible through the steam here and there. A man on a bench. A woman wending her way in. He sinks low and exhales, rippling the water before his nose.

Who knows why there is a random Istan rider in the baths today. But there is one, and L'xan gives every appearance that this is a some-what normal occurance. At least for him. Stretched out in the cooler end of the baths - both hands interlaced to support his head. He lounges. To the various bazaar folk and fellow riders that glance his way he just quirks a friendly brow, or re-folds his legs in the water. The wonderful thing about public baths is that they are wonderfully public.

Niamyth is out in the central bowl resting in a tiny bit of shade provided from the overhang of a jutting rock. Being small has its advantages, especially during heatwaves when no other dragon can fit comfortably where she has draped herself. It's here that she preens an outstretched wing, and it's here that she holds imaginary court for all to see. Her viridian hide glitters even in the shadow of the ledge while scents of woodsy patchouli linger along the edges of her 'scape.

Githanth's own 'scape is swept with winds, and rustling sand. Dry as the desert, the blue slinks towards the lake only to pause and watch Niamyth. It isn't the first time the blue's admired the glittering hide of his wingmate, it is the first time he's done so openly.

There aren't but a handful of dragons that strike Esanth's fancy. Much to T'ral's chagrin, Niamyth is one of them. The stocky stardust blue streeeetches from where he was sprawled not far away admiring Niamyth at her preening. Sturdy wings stretch wide shading the ground below with light filtered cobalt upon the sand. Silvery motes on his hide, like constellations, gleam beside the sheen of 'scars, 'Falls fought and won through by equal measures grit and wit. He rumbles, a deep thrumming in his chest, echoed within as a shivering sense of power gathering itself.

Nokteryth pretends to doze on the vast path-ridden expanse of the Central Bowl, but the idly whirling orange-tainted blue that glimmers from beneath night-dark lids betray his interest in the shadow-clad green. The interest of the blues is noted with a sardonic snort that kicks up a cloud of dust. ACH-OOO! He totally meant to do that! Scrambling to his feet, the bigger bronzer beast strikes his own impressive pose. Yeah, look upon this glory!

The towel is tossed onto a nearby bench and Rocio doesn't waste time jumping into a pool. Well, it's not really a jump because the water doesn't slosh too much. In fact, she barely makes any noise at all the way she slips beneath the water to wet her hair and rinse her body off. She rises while running both hands over her head to smooth back her blonde hair, only to open her eyes and catch sight of a few riders sprinkled about the haze of the baths. Rocio blinks and slowly lowers her arms when a familiar surge of energy tingles her skin. "Oh." She catches sight of Th'sher and T'ral through the steam, noting the arrival of L'xan as she bats around blindly for some soapsand. "Oh for cryin' out loud." She didn't bring her own over to the pool's edge. "Anybody got any extra?" Soap, that is.

Th'sher has some, but he's reluctant to move. That knot. It's just about gone, "Here," he says anyway as he moves to hand Rocio the container that holds his soapsand. The folded towel on his head slips, and he snatches it back out of the water. Well, now he's just going to have to deal with wet hair again. Isn't that just lovely?

"Hmmmnnh?" T'ral's eyes slew across the water's surface to note Rocio pawing around for 'sand. He reels back through the words, piecing meaning from the syllables. He grunts quietly, speech formation faculties are only slowly coming back on line, before lifting up and twisting to the basket on the tiled ledge behind him, tipping it up and spilling a little blue firelizard from its curled nap. It squawks and lands next to the edge of the pool grumbling sleepily. There. Soapsand. He turns back to find another handing Rocio soapsand and finds his lip lifting in a snarl. What the-uhoh.

L'xan shakes his head slowly, before bringing an hand up to his mouth to discreetly cover a coughing fit, although the weird water-y echos of the chamber make it sound more like chuckling. Rather galantly, his freed hands search the pools edge beside him. Tearing his gaze away from the damsel in distress long enough to confirm he has in fact hit sweetsand, he approaches. Languidly he pushes off from his wall and reaches the traditionally acceptable distance away from a bathing female and produces the jar with a florish, and a not-at-all creepy flick of his tongue over his lips. "For you?"

Niamyth gives herself a final preen and veeerry slowly lopes from her shaded oasis with a croon to the males admiring her glowing hide. « Hey, y'all! » Her voice is refreshing in this heat, much like ice tinkling against a mason jar glass of lemonade. « Don't you boys look haaandsome. » It takes her a moment to sashay by Githanth as she wants to make sure she is seen. The sweet scent of lemongrass wafts along with her mindscape now, and she flicks her glittery tail at Esanth to get his attention while kicking up her heels near Nokteryth for a running start. « Y'all want what ya can't have! » And just like that, the dainty green leaps skyward and bugles her challenge!

Githanth wastes little time launching himself into the air after Niamyth. The dry rustle of sand building with the increase of winds that filter through his mindscape. The blue doesn't waste time reacting to the other males present, he's got better things to do. Or is that chase?

Esanth runs his head out on his neck to duck under Niamyth's flicked tail and clatter his teeth in preening display. Teeth showing become bared as the blue's lips skin back. He bellows an eerie cry and lopes, head low, before lifting and launching with strong beats. Stars beyond the thruming hull glitter and gleam, twinkling a response to the tinkling of Niamyth's challenge. They flare and grow brighter as the blue gives chase, constellations twisting and shifting, gathering, as he stretches forward, yearning, exulting in the flight and with a — CRACK — he goes between, skipping forward and up, abruptly here… two… three… then CRACK there up and off to Niamyth's right. He trims a wing and stoops down, striking towards Niamyth. He's not waiting.

Nokteryth watches Niamyths performance appreciatively, the orange whirl of lust growing brighter in his kohl-rimmed eyes. His appreciation doesn't include further interactions with the dust of Igen however, so when the flirty green kicks dust in his face he backs up quickly, like a skittish horse. And she's gone. With a triumphant roar and creaking spars he launches skywards in persuit. « Oh. I like you. » He can't help but send an amused rust-laden cockney rumble of thought. But then one of those pesky blue buggars is there. With his girl (for now). With a snarl he pushes himself further to keep up with those smaller, more agile streaks of blue and green.

From the shores of the lake, a pair of Parhelion dragons splash up to join the chase. The one is an older brown, hardened and experienced, with the ridgy slash of threadscores all upon his flank. The other is younger, a blue, sleek and serpentine Owaroqoth. His rider stands open-mouthed, left splashed over, her leathers completely drenched. Madhuri sputters, and her wingmate laughs. "Well lass," he says, "We'd better get back.. "

"Thanks, Th'sher." Rocio collects the container of soapsand from her wingmate and then wades to the faaarr side of the pool. Or, well. As far as she can get since the pool that she's standing in isn't that big. T'ral's frame is noted over there and the huntress makes quick work of lathering her hands with the sweet smelling sand. "Mmm." The fragrance is invigorating as her senses begin to meld with Niamyth's in the heat of Igen's sky. Rocio breeaathes in slowly and begins to lather her neck and clavicle with the bubbly soap. She's not really aware of how close she is to L'xan and his jar until he actually speaks. "Oh!" Yeah, she flinches away and sloshes the water. It's not personal~

"You're welcome," Th'sher says softly even as he himself is backing away from Rocio. Not really to give her privacy, but rather to not crowd her. Though he doesn't back too far. Only a step or two then he stops and stands in place. White towel still neatly folded atop his head.

T'ral shivers, tearing eyes away from the sight of Rocio sudsing herself. He crunches his eyes shut and levers up out of the water, pressing up by main strength and walking with eyes focused on the enclosure where his belongings are tucked. An attendant approaches with arms spread and a towel to swaddle his nakedness. The weyrsecond waves the man away and ducks beyond the curtain. "Alarph!" Chirp! The drowsy blue firelizard perks up and hop-flies to rest on the curtain rod. Another chirp sees the little flit disappearing into the enclosure and then winging away out and up through a vent in the roof. T'ral emerges and murmurs quietly to the attendant as he goes. The man's eyes widen marginally and he nods before turning to start wrestling large screens into place to cordon the area off. He slips back into the pool, a hand bracing his descent, splash moderated by the way he collects under heated water. Teeth bare again, the bluerider ceding himself, willing, to the rush of Esanth's senses and sensations.

L'xan cocks his head to one side quickly, accompanied by a lift of his brows. He does try to say "My apologies." He was raised with manners after all, instead it comes out a little more like "Hu-nnghun" Still, he is not exactly backing off just yet, just lingering in that perfectly picked spot. For the first time the bronze-rider acknowledges the other riders with a hiss through a dragon-influenced mockery of a smile. Pretty. Folded towels and privacy screens are ignored as superfluous, in this instant the blue-riders are rivals and he lets them know with another hiss. Hiss.

On his ledge above the bazaar, a silvery blue opens his eye. Only the first membranes slide. Sleepy, lazy. Then he blinks to full awareness. His muzzle lifts from his forepaws. A flight? And such a glittery wild green. His head tracks a knot of three in pursuit, and he snorts to himself. Amateurs. Even late to the chase, he'll show them a challenge. Just as his rider walks out on the ledge with a drink in her hand, the blue heaves off into flight.

Niamyth is hummingbird fast in the sky especially when she knows that she's being chased. Her shimmering viridian hide is like a beacon within the bright sunlight of the desert sky, and she goes up, up, UP when Githanth is noted a short distance away. And there's Esanth! How'd that handsome (stocky) guy get up here so fast? She doesn't dwell. Instead, she dips down and then cuts left when Nokteryth is seen in shadowy form overhead. A sprinkle of fireflies lightly brush along the edges of each mindscape to tease the boys and entice them closer. « You can't out last me! » Though she may fly fast and furious in the moment, it's only a matter of minutes until her endurance begins to fade and her flight slows.

Githanth senses the perfect moment, and he banks towards the smaller, faster green. That sandstorm within his mindscape having reached peak with the dry winds of his mindscape blowing in full force. He'll just make that lunge towards Niamyth to attempt to catch her. He's not one for words, dry, and silent as the desert winds that whip through his 'scape.

Stars in the Void gather, coalescing around the silver hull of thrumming valiant mote, one who stands against all else, gathering brightness around him and falling into Niamyth, silver star flecks streaking forward, blazing and falling away as he turns and twists, clips and climbs, giving enthusiastic chase to the fireflies that tickle and tease. He makes a last minute gambit, ducking up with a backwing and the folding and dropping around his rivals to slip, star fallen arrow to earth, to Niamyth, bellowing his joy in the flight, the chase and if his gambit plays out, the catch!

Nokteryth follows where his blood dictates, when it says go high, he goes high. And when it says 'drop like a stone' he pulls his wings close and lets gravity take over. The creature of buried bronze and star-dark night is completely in his element as he hurtles towards those teasing glimmers of the firefly green. At the absolutely positively last moment he snaps his pinions open, the leather flap of his sails before they cup the heated desert air almost sounds like muted applause. Of course when one follows ones blood there is always more than enough room for error, he is close but so are the blues. Fall and faith mean nothing if Niamyth is onto his not so cheap tricks.

Arroyo Wing may be known for the speed and agility of its lighter colors, but bronze Kukonth is one of its strongest and surest fliers. Despite the flips and dives of more acrobatic challengers, he flies true, his whirling eye fixed on the green he's come to admire. His lifemate tries to marshal his emotions as best he can, a heroic-looking young man of just nineteen. A deep flush has spread up his neck, a thin sheen of perspiration glowing on his olive skin. B'taar has nursed an awkward crush on the new Arroyo rider, but he had never quite figured out what to say. He has thrown a bag of firestone to her once or twice, though— that is all he could manage.

The overwhelming build up as Niamyth's energy peaks has Rocio gripping the edge of the pool with a white knuckled hand in an attempt to steady herself. The huntress stumbles forward anyway, hitching a breath when she can feel her lifemate free falling from the sweltering sky. Down, down Niamyth goes while a strong embrace tightens around her delicate frame and twines around her neck. To the victor go the spoils, and it's Esanth that will enjoy the thrill of the catch. Fireflies enter the Void and twinkle amongst the glittery star 'scape, flooding Rocio's senses when she looks across the pool at T'ral.

Th'sher's eyes close as the disappointment from Githanth washes over him. The towel is lifted from the top of his head as he makes his way out of the pool. Lifted, and dropped in front of himself as he makes his way to his basket. That he picks up and takes behind one of the curtains. When next he's seen, Th'sher's fully dressed, and making his way out of the baths.

'Well, buggar me!' is literally the expression on Nokteryth's face as he continues to plummet past the mating pair. MATING! The disappointed bronze flexes his spars and catches a thermal to spiral away, his frustrated bugle propably of no particular moment as he heads for the lake. In the bath, the cocky bronze-rider seems to deflate slightly, that pot of sweetsand he's been clutching idiotically this entire time is dropped, and he follows his fellow looser out of the water. His re-dressing takes slightly longer than Th'sher's, but in a short moment he too is fully dressed an leaving. He clears his throat once, as if to speak before thinking better of it and following the blue-rider out.

Limbs twine and catch, wings spreading to slow the Pern-ward tumble. Esanth's teeth find purchase in the sharp curve of Niamyth's jaw, stretching her against him. Similarly, the bluerider under thrall advances, reaching for Rocio, pulling her close and rolling her away from the others, body shielding her even as he presses close, closer. Just in time the attendant wrestles the last of the screens into place. Privacy, such as it is. There will be difficult conversations later, but for now, the riders exult in their bonds and bodies, blended.

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