Who

Cailluneth, Cervilaevarth, Iolarth, Jovianth, Karkath, Pearenth

What

Unfortunately for the folks in Corks and Works' wine tasting, Cailluneth picks right then to rise and cause carnage in the skies.

When

It is the evening of the thirtieth day of the seventh month of the first Turn of the 12th Pass.

Where

Igen Weyr Pens and Skies

OOC Date

 

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Pens

Here thar be pens, in a variety of shapes and sizes fit for all manner of beastie. The largest pens are those housing plump herdbeast for human or draconic consumption. A few of the smaller pens are unoccupied, though there are remnants of their former occupants still evident on ground and fence. The actual pens themselves are made of wood, stick, nail and twine. It's a slap-shod sort of place, kept together by dreams and good luck to hold fast against the winds. In each pen there are troughs for feed and water, and they appear again by the stableside.


Cailluneth comes awake, her roiling mind coming to prominence like the rising of a blood moon in the Igen night. Blood red boils as she bays a challenge to the Weyr from her ledge, her vocalisation echoed in the mocking invitation she sends out through her mind. There's a hunt to be had and blood to be spilt, but can they keep up with her? She thinks not.

Cailluneth makes the leap from her high ledge, plummeting down to the pens in one graceful, predatory movement. There's no time wasting in grabbing a buck, a bulky specimen that she drags, kicking and bellowing, to the side of the pens, butt to the fences to avoid anyone sneaking up behind her. Her eyes whirl red as she starts draining the life from the still-moving creature, growling and snarling at any who try to get close.

Jovianth had been at the pens with the intention of hunting, but when Cailluneth arrives, his attention immediately diverts to her. A buck is chosen quickly, and blood is lapped from him as he watches the lovely green steadily. « Your beauty rivals that of both of the moons combined, » the blue croons, his mental chorus warming up to really let loose.

Pearenth was nearby when the green called out her challenge. It isn't long before he's made his way to the pens and quickly nabs a good-sized specimen, making neat work of draining its blood. He croons toward the green, eyes swirling and ignoring any of his competitors. Though young he may be, he attempts to relay sweet words to the green even as he is quick to go after another beast.

What was that? Karkath, young and stupid Karkath. Dear sweet, idiotic Karkath goes to investigate only to find a blooding Cailluneth. Karkath watches Jovianth for a moment before he too chooses a 'beast to blood. The absolute silence and stillness that is Karkath's mind wraps briefly around the green before retreating. No words are given, just the silence and stillness.

Cervilaevarth was really, really just trying to enjoy the wine tonight. But as he'd already stated Cailluneth's relative attractiveness, and Shea was right by her rider, well — he will make an exception tonight and hopefully get to enjoy more than one kind of finery. « So well-spoken, Jovianth … » he hums, though it's observatory, not competitive. That's his bro. So is Iolarth; they're both on his Team, how is he supposed to compete with them? Answer: teasingly. As for what he's got to say to Cailluneth herself, it's not verbal, just the sounds of music; a beautiful horn section.

Iolarth wasn't necessarily looking out for Cailluneth…but she was certainly a little hard to miss. Eyes whirling bright red-orange, the sky-hued blue growls in approval for the grace of her hunting, casting a glowering gaze over the competition before felling his own prey. « Lead on, lovely hunter, » is purred across the green's mind in a brisk breeze, dawning sunlight dancing warmly over the horizon to play across the gilt wings of the raptor circling high above within his mind.

Cailluneth has little use for words, and the bloody-mouthed howl she sends up to the moons in reply to Jovianth's attempts at verbal seduction is as wordy as she'll get in reply. Her wings tense, her lips drawn back to show her teeth as she drops to drain the last of the blood from her herdbeast, and there's a snarl rising in her chest that warns not to get close - though one unlucky blue doesn't heed the warnings and is swiped at, with every intention of having her claws rake through his hide. Then her kill is tossed aside, and the green launches herself up, the call to hunt a husky cry emanating from her blood-speckled throat.

Karkath raises his head to blink at Cailluneth, then he's watching the green at a safish distance.

What with the green not seeming to take well to verbal seduction, Pearenth attempts to wrap her mind in his warm mindvoice, no words, just the accompaniment of his mind. His second beast is blooded and tossed aside, just as neat as the first. He responds to the husky call in kind before shooting up from the ground. There's little sympathy from him for the poor swiped-at blue. All of his attention is on that beautiful glowing green and making her his. His wings are strong and they beat quick and sure after the fleeing green with attempts to capture her both mind and body.

No words? Iolarth is quick to understand that this won't be Cailluneth's MO and falls silent, save for the startled warble that escapes him as the glowing green lashes out and forces him to dodge. That he's clipped only brings a growl as the green takes to the air, and Iolarth launches after her, bellowing a challenge to the other chasers as he wings swiftly upward and onward with impressive speed.

No verbal responses? Jovianth can roll with that! He's a very musical blue, really, so it's all /fine// by him. At her howl, the blue's disembodied chorus begins a wordless chant, almost a challenging battle hymn. When Cailluneth leaps into the air, he's quick to follow, crooning his intentions at her even as he gains altitude. He's all over the hunt.

So Cervilaevarth's not speaking during flights is, for once, working to his favor. Imagine that; it's never happened before. Cailluneth takes to the skies as he's halfway through his blood, so he has some catching up to do — dropping the herdbeast straight out of his mouth he launches up aggressively, the horn chorus getting louder and more emphatic. Mind your tails and mind your mental ears, gentlemen!

Karkath launches into the air after the older dragons. A touch slow he chases after the rest, dodging where needed silent as always. There isn't much elegance to the young brown, only a wake of stillness and silence as he wings his way across the sky. Glowing green in sight, but how long will he last?

Pearenth's lucky that Cailluneth's focus is on rising high and flying far, far away from the pathetic creatures following her, otherwise his pushiness would earn him a clawed strike. As it is the green directs a snarl at him, mentally making him unmistakable as the recipient, as her wings beat faster to take her higher. She's not the fastest of greens, though she does have power behind each strong downstroke, carrying her higher and further out over the Weyr's rim, and into the dusty night beyond, with the moons as their goal as she leads the pack higher, higher…

Pearenth only winces slightly mentally at Cailluneth's snarl. He finds the smaller green's viciousness to be a bit endearing. He continues right along after her, his strong, large wings beating and taking him further and higher than many of the others. He dodges any others that might be near him, focusing all his attention on the green. With the altitude, he does not call out, instead, uses his mindvoice to relay his emotions to her.

Jovianth flies higher and closer, always straining and trying to get closer even as his chorus chants louder. He'll get fancy, to impress her, if only because it is his style as much as the disembodied chorus. Fancy flying style!

Cervilaevarth's horns are quite possibly trying to keep time with Jovianth's chorus. That, or the blues spend enough time in company that the music kind of sounds like it goes even when it really, really doesn't. But his mindvoice is, as always, the beautiful orchestra, the gorgeous surroundings, the opulent haven that Cailluneth would absolutely love to join, right? No? The yard is beautiful. Just look at those fairy lights, at the fresh water! He's definitely not in the lead but he's keeping pace, enormous wings and general size advantage now working in his favor.

Undaunted by the aerobatics of his competitors, or by the steadily oozing slash across his leg, Iolarth powers forward, warm breezes teasing around Cailluneth's mind as he twists and darts, following her in that steady ascent. Fancy flying? That's something he's got down nicely, too. The trick is to get her to know he's better at it!

Fancy flying? Pft! Jovianth gets close enough for Cailluneth to show exactly what she thinks of his fanciness; the green lashes out, claws and teeth, losing some of her speed in her efforts to slow the blue down. It might be a sign for the others, too - show-offs will get nowhere with a green that requires catching through craftiness… or perhaps through sheer luck? Again Pearenth's mind presses in too close to hers, and Cailluneth repels his emotions, and he, too, is swiped at with her teeth, though the attempts to viciously fend off her followers does slow her down considerably, setting her in their midst. Claws are bared, growls are made, and the green uses her personal aresenal to try and fight off those that would catch her.

And it's those very same claws that gouge Karkath's hide. Deep enough that the brown drops from the chase, one last touch of his aboslute stillness then he's gone from the chase leaving who knows what kind of a mess in the mind of his rider.

Jovianth bellows in pain, and falls behind abruptly when Cailluneth lashes out at him, ichor streaming freely enough. For a long moment it seems as though he intends to continue the chase - but after a bit longer, he turns back to the weyr, the flight abandoned…this time.

Pearenth does back off with his mindvoice, if only just a little. He still pursues though, not using any fancy tricks of the like. The brown is steady, crafty. He waits for the right moment to maneuver around the green. There's one point where he gets too close to those claws and a wing gets nicked. A shallow scratch which makes him cry out a bit. But he keeps on, relying on his endurance and getting in close to that lovely green.

Cervilaevarth doesn't take being scratched up kindly. Then again, he doesn't take it too badly, either; it's kind of understandable, especially consdering the sheer SIZE of those wings of his. He's peeling off sideways at first, the thin edge of one of his wings slashed pretty hard — but he rallies, letting out a quiet hiss as he does an about-face in the air and tries one last time for a catch. While he doesn't quite have Pearenth's endurance, he can make the last calculated effort! Even if he's going to get ichor on the lady if he succeeds.

Iolarth can be crafty…but he's also distractible, and when Jovianth gets injured, the sky-washed blue is indeed distracted enough to warble angrily over that. That's his friend, you know! Nevertheless, he continues on, putting on a burst of speed to edge out the others to catch Cailluneth. To get back at her, to win a flight for a change since arriving here - any reason will do for him at the moment!

There's no desire for weakness in her suitors; Cailluneth will choose only from those who can keep up, who can endure her threats and snarls and hurts - and who can out-craft her to get past those flailing claws. Or almost past them. Cervilaevarth's calculations bring him close enough for Cailluneth to manage to rake claws against his wings once more, though it comes at a price for her, too; in turning back around for her escape, she becomes entangled in the blue's clutch, ensnared as his prize - his reward for his strength. Cailluneth bays at the moons as she twines her neck with Cervilaevarth's. His. And they might need the extra strength of her wings, given the beating she's put his through!

No complaints from Cervilaevarth, even if a green is kind of carrying him — after all, he did always think she was pretty. And it really is great when a plan comes together, even though tonight's plan turned out to follow exactly none of his originally calculated steps. The new ones worked out: his orchestra joins in her howls, and he's perfectly content to sail wrapped up together for a little while before coming in for a comfortable and cuddly landing.

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