Who

Willimina, S'ayde, Igraine, Agertha, Zisiene, Oz'keyn, Rh'maz, M'tej, Tallel, V'ard, Temyrth, Xalatonth, kestrath, Kataskiath, Hirikoth, Abraxath

What

The Wild Wild West Rodeo Kicks off with a bang, and seriously guys, it was mav city in here!

Sexual Innuendo, drinking, hints of violence

When

-- On Pern --
It is 4:53 PM where you are.
It is afternoon of the twenty-second day of the third month of the eighth turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen:
It is the twenty-second day of Spring and 68 degrees. It is bright and sunny. The only evidence of the overnight storm is in the lingering mud puddles.
In Southern:
It is the twenty-second day of Autumn and 101 degrees. It is partly cloudy and everything is wet still from the recent rains.
In Southern Mountains:
It is the twenty-second day of Autumn and 24 degrees. It's really damn cold out.


Where

The Telgar Steppe

OOC Date 24 Jun 2016 06:00

 

willimina_default.jpg igraine_default.jpg s-ayde_default.jpg tallel_default.jpg agertha_default.jpg zisiene_default.jpg oz-keyn_default.jpg v-ard_default.jpg rh-maz_default.jpg m-tej_default.jpg

« Fun, » he purrs, « is its purpose, the greatest purpose of all! »


igensoutherntelgarsteppe.jpg

The Telgar Steppe

The savannah home of desert runners and hardy herder-folk, Telgar's steppe-lands along the northern bend of the Western Road are dry and wind-swept. No trees grow here, save around the scant rivers and lakes that dot and thread the terrain. Summers here are quite hot, and the winters are deep, with many a morning finding the low shrubs and grasses gilded in thick, silvery frost. The flatness here might drive a mountain-dweller insane, were it not for the rolling hills that break the monotony of the view every now and again. Navigation must be done relying on sun, stars, sense, and scant landmark alone, for there are no mountains or valleys to take a bearing by for leagues.

It is the twenty-second day of Spring and 68 degrees. It is bright and sunny. The only evidence of the overnight storm is in the lingering mud puddles.


Timor: moon2.jpg
Belior: moon5.jpg



Here's the gather map! http://harpers-tale.wikidot.com/wild-west-rodeo"

It has taken quite some time for the Zingari to set this one up! Such a large gather! This rodeo is a hub of activity, with people coming from all around to trade, compete and have fun! All day long there has been bronc busting, bull riding, and a fair amount of runner races and dance contests! Crowds ebb and flow and there is a constant roar of active noise. The air is full of the ripe smells of food, animal dung and people. It's been a good day. Currently, Willimina walks around, looking much different in her shorts, shirt and stetson look, as compared to the usual set of revealing dresses. She mingles with the crowds, speaking with some, but mostly making sure everything runs as smoothly as possible. Hopefully there won't be another injury in the arena, one of her own men had taken a nasty spill off a bronc. But so far, it is the only injury.

S'ayde and Kataskiath land some distance from the gather, not wanting to disrupt and disturb all the livestock in the area today. Kataskiath flies off to find a much quieter place to nap and S'ayde heads for the gather. Already his heart skips a beat seeing his people's banners. It's been over a turn and a half since the Zingari were in Igen Weyr Proper, and he misses them deeply. He greets both his sister and brother first, but they are on duty and cannot talk long. And so, at this point, S'ayde heads for his favorite place….the bar.

Igraine steps out of the healer's tent, taking a deep breath of 'Oh My Faranth, It's about damn time' air. Her shift is over and she is free to roam the gather on her own. She's worked the last three gathers, so it is nice to be able to take some time for herself. She adjusts the western hat upon her hair and goes walking, her eyes taking in the sights and sounds and smells. She stops near the bake sale and samples some Zingari Baker's cupcakes, they're delicious and so she buys a whole dozen, sure to stash them in her yurt before continuing on through the gather. When she returns, she heads for the market stalls.

Right behind Kataskiath comes Kestrath touching down. Soon as Agertha's feet are on the ground, Kestrath's moving off to find some place further away from the crowds. Agertha's path takes her towards the track set up for the races. She's always had a soft spot for runners, and that's not changed.
I don't understand that.


Zisiene wanders around the gather. There's so much to see, and the girl's hoping to get a better look at some of those knives she spotted earlier during the set up. So why is it that she finds herself pushed towards the bar? A grumble is given as she pushes at the back of someone taller than herself, "Watch the feet!" short can have its disadvantages too, and Isie neither knows or cares who she just grumped at.

Willimina doesn't seem to be too far from where Zisiene is getting pushed around, because within moments the spyling is in her sights. Well, at least she doesn't seem to be on looting duties tonight, profit has been so good from all these gathers that Willa has put an indefinite moritorium on pickpocketing duties. She idles up to the young girl, hands in her short pockets, boots kicking up dirt. "Zisiene! I'm surprised you didn't enter the bake sale…" She says upon approaching, chocolate eyes dancing merrily. "Or that you're not at one of the merch booths drooling over sharps."

With the botched raid on the Reika caravan still a recent concern, Parhelion Wing has provided a team for additional security. A mottled blue and a rust-colored brown. The blue's ridden by a woman in her early thirties, a sleek olive beauty with a dramatic scar on her face and throat. Her partner, a black-haired Telgari son, seems grateful for relief: his eyes have drawn so longingly to the excitement and horsemanship. He shields his eyes against the sun as the two Parhelion dragons wheel in for a landing, a mighty bronze and a battlescarred little green the color of milky jade. Oz'keyn sits up in the straps a moment, casting a look over the gather grounds. Hirikoth reverberates with a low shuddering growl. It is for the best that the rider has landed her a distance from the temptation of the animals.

Kataskiath is not lucky enough to find shadows and nooks to hide in here on the plains, and so she settles with a small group of blues and greens off to the west of the gather. The dragons gather here to socialize and to keep their scents from terrorizing the livestock. S'ayde, her rider, seems slightly on edge as he walks through the crowds, his dragon's distaste for being out in the open leaking on to him just a bit, but he blocks her out as best he can, because he is here to enjoy the party! And if security detail is also on the spymaster's plate, well then, so be it. He waves at the Parhelion riders on guard duty and heads through the gates. Where is the damn bar?!?

Igraine takes it upon herself to check on the riders charged with watching over the gather, as the merchants booths seem to be teeming with activity, she'll never get a good look with all those people swarming! And so, she heads to the bar and picks up a large tray of freshly filled drinks. She heads out the gates and to the waiting riders on duty. Her first stop is Oz'keyn. She shades her eyes from the blaring of Rukbat's rays and calls up. "AHOY! NEED A DRINK UP THERE?"

Zisiene smooths the glare into a bright smile for Willimina, "My baking isn't as good as Ravene's," she answers, as for the sharps, "I'll get there," eventually. She'll be adding a new blade to her growing collection before the gather's done.

V'ard shifts in his straps, surveying the gather for a moment from his vantage point on top his bronze. Once he is sure things are going well enough along, he gives a sharp nod to his greenriding partner, and slips from Abraxath's side. "Should take a closer look. Make a round?" It is after all, their job as security detail. The older dragon, for his part, makes no movements EAT any animals or even chase them. Igraine is given a bow of the head, as he removes his Igen riding mask. "Ma'am. Nice crowd."

Willimina sighs and shakes her head. In her opinion, Zisiene's baking skills are on par with her foster mother's. "I think you give yourself too little credit my dear." As for the sharps, well, the comment draws a light laugh from the Zingari leader. "I'm sure you will." Willimina looks around and sighs, unfortunately, she cannot stay idle for long. Her next stop is the livestock auction, to make sure things run smoothly there. "Don't forget to keep your eyes peeled Zisi, there was the raid on the Reika and there are still rustlers in these parts, let me know if you spot anything funny, and make sure the other spylings know to watch too, eh?" And with that, Willa is moving again.

Ah! There's the bar! S'ayde beelines it to the bar area in the food 'court' and orders a drink, turning, he feels much better as this area is sparsly populated for the time being. The bar will be much busier later in the evening. His drink arrives and he scans the crowds, eyes peeled for trouble..or the next pretty lady that walks by.

Zisiene nods at Willimina, "Will do," she says. There's times when she loves being short, and other times she despises her lack of height. Isie does find her way to the bar where she finds a place to sit for just a bit. She'll just have a drink before starting back out towards the merchant area.
"Thank you, not yet," Oz'keyn calls down to the lovely miss. He pats Hirikoth's neck before climbing down from her straps. He removes his goggles and helm, stowing them in the strap pack. "Lead on," he tells V'ard. "I'm going to send Hirikoth further out for a look. She's got energy."

Igraine nods to V'ard and puts on her prettiest smile. "It is, isn't it?" Pride wells up in the Zingari Healer, and it shines in her features. "Up for a drink?" She asks, lifting the tray in indication. "Fresh squeezed juice, it's cold and refreshing." Said in tones one would use to get someone to buy something, though these drinks cost nothing. A nod is given to Oz'keyn. "Of course, do let me know when you would like one." Another flirtatious smile is given before she turns back to V'ard.

Despite his partner's refusal, V'ard accepts the offered beverage, as not to offend their hosts. "Thank you, ma'am." Is said with a mustached smile. "I've heard wonder things about your parties and your refreshments." Another nod to the woman, even as his gaze sweeps the crowd. "Anything we should be aware of?" With a finished look to Oz'keyn. "Would you care to lead us around your venue?"

To the immense delight of the gather children, a blue dragon has discovered a wonderful new toy. The threadscored cobalt dragon pushes a spare wagon back and forth with a bump from his snout. The wheels dig new ruts in the muddy steppe grass. Xalatonth pushes the wagon just far enough away that he can pounce it, batting at it with a swipe of his paw.

S'ayde looks over as Zisiene approches the bar and grins. "Well, hello little spyling." He greets with a smile. Zisiene is one of his favorite students, she learns quickly and man…could she fit into some compact places. "Come to have a drink? I won't tell Ggharrahd and Jarvis if you don't." A wink is given alonside a chuckle before S'ayde takes a drink of his whiskey and looks outwards. "How was pickpocketing duty?" S'ayde asks, referencing their last meeting, at which, S'ayde had been a surly, sore loser.

It does not take long for Kataskiath to become irritated with the other greens and blues. She disconnects from the knot of dragons and ambles over to where Xalatonth plays with his new 'toy'. She lays down, forefeet crossed, wedge shaped head following the blue's every move. The fires of her mind reach out to brush against his, full of a quiet, hissing laughter, and steam. «What is it you hope to achieve with this drill?» She asks, mind voice hissing and snapping like the merry crackle of a fire in the hearth. «What purpose does it serve?» A spy's mind is a militant one, and to Kataskiath, everything is a drill, or a chance to learn, play is not something the shadow loving green can wrap her mind around, despite her rider's love of…'play'.

Oz'keyn returns the alluring young woman's words with a tight but not unfriendly smile. He seems preoccupied with duty and with his dragon; the green slinks away across the steppe, pausing once to look back, to claw the ground, before she launches back into the air. The sight of so many animals might be too much for her right away. The sheen of muscular horseflesh, the scent of rage and fear from the bulls, the bleating of smaller stock in the pens. Her energy is better diverted to hunt for predators that might seek to spoil the gathering.

Igraine smiles brightly. "I would be delighted to show you around!" A chance to do business, or educate people about the Zingari is something Igraine will jump right on, she loves people, and is good with them. Perhaps that is why her second career is so succesful, because she reads people well. The smiling flirtatious Igraine of this moment is a cover, not that most know this. "Follow me, I'll just get rid of this tray, and we'll be on our way!" SHe winks and turns on her heel, hips swaying as she moves away. Looking over her shoulder, she answers V'ard's previous question. "Nothing to report thus far, saving that you men should drop by the wagons when you are off duty." Igraine winks. "The Zingari are known for more than just our parties and drinks." A selacious giggle follows.

After a few races Agertha turns towards the merchant area, which does eventually bring her to the bar. S'ayde is given a nod as she orders a drink, then finds a place to sit.

Xalatonth batbats the spare wagon this way and that, the wooden planks creaking. The axle squeaks. His long lean neck bends and he cants his head just so, his eyes looking toward Kataskiath. Very slightly he parts his muzzle to lip at the rear left wheel. Then he snaps up the back half of the wagon in his mouth and begins to pad around the curious green. « Fun, » he purrs, « is its purpose, the greatest purpose of all! »

Willimina finishes half of her rounds before she heads towards the arena. Bullriders line the fences, cheering and goading for their favorite riders and bulls. The energy in the air is intoxicating and Willa finds herself stepping up on the fence as well. Soon enough, she's cheering and jeering with the best of them, drunk on the raw violence of the sport.

Activity is prominent everywhere! Bulls roar and clash with riders in the arena, betters lose and gain money on runner races, merchants hawk their wares and mother's watch their children play. Some children ride in the mutton busting pen, earning small prizes and making their parent's proud, bakers try desperately to outsell eachother, and just outside all the commotion, people line dance to music for prizes. There's a very hyper energy to the air and as the alcahol flows, so too, do the marks and fun. Nothing like an afternoon at the rodeo!

S'ayde gives a salute to Agertha as she enters the bar and finishes off his own drink. "Evening Aggie…" He never could use her title, though he'd ike to think they were good enough friends he'd never have to. "Enjoying the gather so far?" Zisiene is left to sneak her drink if hat is what she is doing. S'ayde winks at the spyling as he walks past and seats himself next to Agertha.

If V'ard is swayed one way or the other to visit the wagons he makes no show of it. If the comment was heard at all, it is noted only by the a chuckle in response to the giggle, and a shake of his exasperated head. In any event, it is a sweep of his arm that motions that they should be about work and a curl of a single side of his mouth in a smile. "Well. We'll have to discuss that later." The side meets the first and the smile is complete. "But truly. Not a theft or a fight to report?" His head falls back just slightly to Oz'keyn. "Our job might be duller than we thought."

Fire crackles and pops in the black void of Kataskiath's mindscape, dimming a bit with confusion. «Fun?» Is questioned as Kataskiath cocks her head to the side, eyes whirling blue and purple in a slow, circular motion. «What is…fun?» Kataskiath has always been focused on shadows, secrets and duty, and when her clutchmates had initiated play when they were young, Kataskiath had hissed and hid, mind focused on duty, and her slightly unstable life mate. Well, unstable back then, now he's ok. She cranes her head out to sniff at the wagon, and to watch the blue parade it around.

There is no doubt that Igraine is a bewitching Zingari beauty, with raven-colored hair and a fey, alabaster loveliness. Yet it seems the Parhelion greenrider may not fully appreciate her charms. His smile has become something of a gentle smirk, and he seems confident to let the bronzerider handle such a promising invitation. Oz'keyn remarks, "Dull is good— but give the drink some time to set in. There's always some young fool who wants to take on the world.. "

Agertha laughs at the salute, "I am," is agreed, her seat not that far from S'ayde. Of course she doesn't correct her friend on the title, or lack thereof. They're friends, and she's about to drop a bomb, "I think," a quick look around to see if anyone's listening that she doesn't want to hear what she has to say, "I'm pregnant," and with all she's done between 'Fall, drills, and the lot it'd be an easy thing for her to lose a pregnancy. Blink as she sips at her drink, non-alcoholic just in case.

No pinching of drinks for Zisiene, the young woman has in fact managed to charm the acting barkeep enough for a single freebie. Or maybe she's promised to show him her secrets to flipping blades the way she does? In either event, the drink is sipped as she sits and watches a tall dark haired man walk through the merchant area. He'd been following her when she was last at the Weyr.

The cobalt blue leans in as if to let Kataskiath inspect the wagon in his mouth. Only to snatch it away! With a great purring thrum, he half-hop-skips sideways with an arched back, wings splayed slightly, like a weyrling that wants to play. Nevermind the ground shakes from his jumping. Children watch from a fence, all giggles. « Fun is the song your heart sings, when all is good in the world. »

There might be just a hint of a pout from Igraine when her charms fail to land their mark, but she shrugs it off like it's nothing and begins her sweep around the perimeter with the riders, walking them past vendors, betting stalls, food merchants and more. "Not a single one as of yet, I'll have to agree with him," A thumb is jerked towards Oz'keyn, "on that one. Dull is good." That and there were at least four spy adepts in the crowd tonight, and the Zingari spymster himself. The gather was well secured betwixt spies and riders. "Though, sometimes a little excitement is good too." and she isn't talking about a romp in the wagons either. Igraine loves a good fight, even if her own tactics are a bit sneakier and underhanded. "You fellas plan on enjoying the gather once your relief comes in? We'll be at this a few days."

"It is the nature of youth." V'ard can only agree with Oz'keyn. But his attention is taken back by the lady who is their escore. And a smile grows beneath his 'stache before nods. "Yes'm." It is his turn to wink." Must say. I have been known to ride a bull or two." Among other things.

Kataskiath comes to her feet, following after Xalatonth with an exasperated huff when he pulls the wagon away. «Hey!» Fire snaps and crackles as it rises and roars. «When is anything ever right in the world?» She asks, shasing after the big playful blue. She really wants to inspect that wagon, to see if 'fun' can be deduced from it's job as Xalatonth's chew toy. «And prancing about with that thing in your mouth is the result of this…heart song?»

S'ayde looks at his wingmate when she lets out the news, eyebrows hiking, an amused smile on his face. "Oh? Is this a good or a bad thing?" S'ayde finishes by looking concerned fro his friend. "Who's the lucky/unlucky guy?" Another drink is taken. He hadn't even been aware his friend was seeig anyone. "You ok?"

Oz'keyn 's eyes move over the faces and hands of the people in the crowd, the merchants of the stalls. Dancers. Happy drunks. A vendor's table of tooled leather seems to hold his interest for a moment, and then the stall of a kite-seller. The merchant is a turbanned old gentleman of Igen, his eyes twinkling and merry, like that of a beloved grandfather or silly old uncle. To Igraine's question, he thinks on it a moment or two. "I'd like to bring my girls," he says, his voice warm, then. "The eldest loves all things to do with runners. The youngest loves chaos. Yourself, you make a try for any of the events?"

Agertha gives a shrug, "Probably the rider of the last brown to catch Kestrath," because she's not seeing anyone just now, "No, I'm not," she's not really interested in 'settling' down just now, "As for a good or bad thing? I'm not sure? I thought back during the T-Turney that there was a possibility," but either she was wrong, or she fixed the issue. Now? She just doesn't know, and S'ayde's probably the only person she trusts enough to talk about this with. *wrong character*

Igraine gives Oz'keyn her attention as he speaks. Mention of children has her smiling warmly, though maybe her flirtatious manner dims a bit. His question brings back her genuine smile. "I have not, but I love watching. My talents lie…elsewhere." A more secretive smile is given, it matches the mischief and chaotic twinkling of her eyes. Igraine loves chaos too.

Xalatonth evades the shadowy green, hop-jumping, nimble even on the ground. « Bad things happen. They happen every day. But life is stronger. It burns stronger. Play with me. » Then he crouches down, shoulderblades out, long tail lashing. He pulls his wings over his head as if shielding his prize. Then he releases the wagon from his mouth, and gives it one good nudge. It creaks toward Kataskiath, bumping once when its wheel dips into a hole. He watches her intently, tailtip twitching, to see what she will do.

Zisiene skips along the fence line of the bullriding. She's finished her drink, and is now looking for… What? That rider from Telgar that she spotted in the bar? Who she does spot leaning over the rail of the fencing. Tall, thin, with a shock of very black hair that stands in stark contrast to his alabaster complexion. She'll just watch the man for now, it wouldn't look good to accuse a rider of stalking her after all would it?

Oz'keyn , walking beneath a waving pennant staked before a stall, seems to lose his focus a moment as they go. Hirikoth, somewhere, winging high above the fringes of the gather. Then he turns to afford the young Zingari maid a smile, his mouth pulled to one smirking edge. "Though I'm certain it's only good fun," he murmurs then to his lovely guide, "'s a waste of your time if you're flirting with me, my dear."

Igraine gives a knowing laugh and a toss of her dark hair. "'Tis my job to be flirtatous with everyone good Ser Rider, but I assure you, I was not. A gentle play on words, is all. I simply menat to imply that my talents do not mesh well with those required to compete here. I have, other uses to my leader than entertainer." A small smile is given as Igraine clasps her hands in front of her. "Is there anything else you'll be needing good Ser?" Igraine waves owards the food booths, and the bar, once more, just in case.

S'ayde hmms and takes another drink. "Sorry to hear that." S'ayde says of Agertha's feelings about it, as he doesn't know precisely what to say just now. Though the internal S'ayde is laughing quietly at the fact that the first time he's hearing those words from a woman, it's his wing leader, and in no way his kid. He always thought he'd be the one hearing them….and running. S'ayde isn't one to settle down either, but he feels bad for his friend, who seems to be struggling with the idea.

He's just minding his own business you see. F'lix enjoys a good party, and the tall rider who is almost obscenely thin is doing just that as he watches the bullriding competition. The girl he'd been trying to find is currently out of mind as he hoots at one of the men that's managed to keep to a bull's back for longer than a few seconds, "Nice, do you ride all things that well?" the question that is thrown at the rider isn't subtle, and F'lix is counting on his knot and his green lifemate to keep ire to a minimum. Something he banks on far more than he probably should.

Agertha gives a shrug to her friend, "Things work the way they should," at least that's what Agertha's mother's always been fond of saying, "I don't know that Kes would forgive me if I deliberately did anything to terminate a pregnancy," she finishes her drink, "She's rediculously fascinated with babies."

"Good to know," Oz'keyn replies. "I'd hate to be confronted by any of your jealous, heartsick admirers, of which I'm sure are a great many." He smiles at Igraine with the genuine relief of a man who, to his great puzzlement, finds himself sometimes the object of fascination with the ladies. "You've shown us great hospitality, thank you. I'll be about, and V'ard also. Find me if you need help."

Igraine gives Oz'keyn a proper Zingari bow and a secretive smile, she had a decent number of admirers, though most of them knew not to try and claim her as their own. "That I shall do sir. Please do enjoy the gather when you get the chance. Safe flying!" And with that, she's melding into the crowd, off to dance and drink and flirt, and possibly,to take a warm body to share her bed.

Kataskiath sits on her haunches when Xalatonth evades her again, and watches him, puzzled, as he prances away. But then he's rolling the wagon at her. She watches it trundle along until it stops just shy of her. She lowers her head to snif at the wagin a moment, perhaps paw at it. And then, unexpectedly, she gives the wagon a good shove with her nose, sending it careening back towards Xalatonth, it's axle and supports groaning from the abuse.

It is as this point that Rh'maz walks into the bar, sees Agertha, and pivots right back round to leave— smooth as anything. Then, against his judgment, for the wingsecond is a legendary killjoy, the Arroyo rider redoubles on his intentions and strides back into the bar. Right on over to his wingmates, might as well. He wears a stringed steppe instrument on an embroidered strap, and he is wonderfully, gleamingly drunk, one of those rare individuals who seems even more kept and composed when under the influence. He must have been even more of a royal pain in the arse before the threadscoring.

S'ayde looks to Agertha. "I suppose they do." Her next words have him chuckling a bit. "I'm sure that's a fun one, I myself, am very glad that Kataskiath has no facination with babies or the like, for I certainly do not." S'ayde will be the first to admit that he'd be shit as a father, and even worse so when you add in the title of Rider. "Well, congratulations any road, I'm sure it'll be a fun adventure for you." Pregnancy tlk is odd for S'ayde, he never really was one for that sort of conversation, though he's touched that Agertha chose to share it with him.

Agertha gives a shrug, "Sure," she says softly, then there's "Rh'maz," oh look, Agertha's being herself. Yay! Then there's a small glower towards where she knows her lifemate is resting as Kestrath shoots the question at her, « Babies? Where? » in her typical louder than needed tones that reverberates through the heads of her wingmates, "Kestrath can shut up," because really? Who needs babies to give one a headache when one's own lifemate does the job nicely?

Kataskiath swivels her head towards the gather, eyes whorling as the wagon mkes it's progress towards Xalatonth. «Babies? Please don't tell me I have to ferry children around again!» Kataskiath rumbles, she'd despised being a kiddy ride at the last couple of gathers.

Kestrath's eyes whorl with blues and greens as she turns to look towards her clutch sister, « Mine says she might be pregnant. Babie! » Oh, but the variagated green sounds entirely to thrilled with the prospect even while her rider is anything but.

Oz'keyn breaks in merrily and wonderfully with, "Wingsecond, m'lord, I know you hate this, I'll spare you having to guess, but I'm very drink right now." He flags the burly barkeep and holds up three fingers of his right hand, pointing smartly then at the Arroyos gathered at the bar.

Rh'maz breaks in merrily and wonderfully with, "Wingsecond, m'lord, I know you hate this, I'll spare you having to guess, but I'm very drink right now." He flags the burly barkeep and holds up three fingers of his right hand, pointing smartly then at the Arroyos gathered at the bar.
I don't understand that.

Agertha snorts at Rh'maz, "Just remember we have early drills," she can't help herself where Rh'maz is concerned. She has to dig at him never underestimate the sarcasm of a woman that can't imbibe, or the cruel humor.

Xalatonth seems delighted when the wagon comes bumping back toward him. He pounces it with a playful little roar, and falls over on his side. He has the wagon in his paws, chewing at it, pretending to 'kill' it. His thoughts reach out with intense curiosity at the news that passes now between the dragons of the wing.

The Rodeo has been in full swing for some time now. A Zingari spy haad played hostess to two riders, the leader of the Zingari walked among the peoples and her spymaster now sits in the bar with wingmates. Bulls try and throw their riders, runners race for their lives in the tracks, merchants hawk their wares and the smells of people. animals and food permeate the air. It's a giant cacophony of noise and fun. Welcome welcome! Just try to watch where you step or you might get an unpleasant surprise.
Two dragons from Parhelion wing keep watch over the gathering. Milk-jade Hirikoth lofts about the outer edges, scarred, scored, and intense small green. Somewhere below, her rider moves among the crowds.

"We -always- have early drills," Rh'maz replies to Agertha, "I know you. I know that look. They just got a half-hour earlier, didn't they. Well, joke is on you, sir wingsecond. There's no turning back now. They were having a whiskey tasting. Here, you'll know what I mean in a moment here." When the barkeep returns, it looks as though the bluerider has brought a small glass for each of the three Arroyo riders.

Wait. How did the mos whiskey loving Zingari of them all NOT know that there was a whiskey tasting tonight? S'ayde hikes his brows and slides up tp Rh'maz, the spymaster slinging his arm over his wingmate's shoulder like they are the best of bros. "Whiskey tasting????" He questions, a wide smile upon his face. To hell with early drills, S'ayde has a little known hangover cure of his own, he'll be fine. Whether Kataskiath with remain happy with him however….

Speaking of Kataskiath, the shadow loving emerald green swivels her head back to eye Xalatonth and hsi wagon chewing. «You will get splinters in your mouth.» She says matter of factly, the fire of her mindscape snapping like two fingers. Her tone is nothing short of mothering, despite the green's distaste for children.

After Zsaviranth's flight was lost by Temyrth (and a few other dragons, but Temyrth took this very personally), rumor has it that M'tej showed up at the Pit, later that night, slapped a 400 turn old bottle of Benden Red down and said it would be the prize for the first man who could take him out. It was a memorable night at the Pit, with the Oldtimer brownrider finally showcasing a style of fighting that originated in the alleyways of Bitra and Keroon of old, and diligently practiced through the turns. His style, his stamina, his fitness and his considerable experience served M'tej well, but the bottle of Benden was claimed, and M'tej likely had to hear a lot about his brand of stupid from Cayl as she stitched him up, and now, a few days later, M'tej wears the considerable bruising and stiffness from that particular innane adventure. However, the rodeo hearkens back to other insane activities a younger M'tej used to engage in, and it's as good an excuse to avoid Diem as any; Temyrth blinks in from *between* and roars his name to the Watchdragons, before circling down to join both familiar and new dragons. M'tej slides off, the hurts still shown in the hitching of his movements, and rather colorful bruises that manage to defy even the man's swarthy skin. But he, in those trademark Oldtimer boots, heads toward the revelry, stopping only to garner a drink from a vendor, on the way.

"Whiskey tasting," Rh'maz affirms. "Tasted mostly like hell. I'm surprised it's caught on. I know in Ruatha they will tell you all about the peat, and the smoke, and the barrels, and so on. It's all terrible. Makes my fucking nose run. That's why I always go and taste all of it, you know, just to make sure I still hate it. You've got to keep an open mind." He smiles with great cheer and pushes one of the three glasse toward S'ayde.
Xalatonth merely taunts Kataskiath with whirling blue eyes, pleased with himself, and with life in general. The cobalt blue lays on his side in the grass, playing with a spare wagon like a toy. He shoulders up when Temyrth emerges from between, and his purring thrum returns. Perhaps the wolfish brown will come down to play with them.

S'ayde grins wolfishly. "Aye, I know what ya mean. But I happen to love whiskey, well, Zingari whiskey anyhow." It's no secret that S'ayde is constantly praising his people's whiskey, they are slightly known for it. "You know, we have a rum that's particularly nice as well." S'ayde grins impishly, here Rh'maz, have more liquor! S'ayde downs the rest of his own drink and discards the cup so that he can receive the one from Rh'maz. "Thanks friend!" He grins widely. "Cheers!"

Kataskiath snorts, though her inner fires crackle with slight amusement at the blue's antics. Her whorling eyes glance upward at the arrival of Temyrth and she bugles a greeting to the familiar brown. She settles back down on the ground, crossing her forelegs and folding her wings to her sides. She soaks up the now fading light of the day, silent, but present.

The brown dragon, with a number of healing cuts from a viciously-fought flight, does shadow in toward Xalatonth, with absolute curiosity about what the dragon is doing to that.. Is that a wagon? Kataskiath is greeted with a brush of artic air and a flurry of snow against a largely featureless grey backdrop. Xalatonth's shoulder, Temyrth brushes a muzzle against, lightly, and the blue will hear the rolling rumble of the Oldtime brown: « What arrre you doing to the… Carrrt?»


Xalatonth lashes his tail slowly, with restrained excitement. « I killed it, » he purrs. « Do you want to play? Kataskiath can roll the cart away. You can catch it. » His eyes whirl merrily, and he leans to rub his cheek against Temyrth in greeting. The blue has to know of Temyrth's subdued pain from the loss of his clutch-sister's flight.

There's bullriding going on? Well damn! M'tej already damaged himself considerably… But bullriding! That's the direction the brownrider heads, so he ends up loitering against the fence there, watching the proceedings with the merry regard of someone who has been there, done that.


Rh'maz toasts S'ayde with his own glass. His grimace from the drink is especially expressive. Something about the ridgy scar tissue that really pulls his mouth on that side. "Oh, that's terrible. Still terrible." A slight cough, and he massages a fist into his chest. "S'ayde. You're a Zingari. Let's say that. If someone." He sighs, and then smiles brightly, but very tightly. "Let's say a man was in the market to buy a wagon. How much would that set him back."

Willimina is along the fence of the arena, watching the bullfighting, if her husband should happen to come through, otherwise she is here, just in the background.

The night-clad brown dragon eyes his blue friend for a long moment, before turning to study the green dragon. Normally quite enamored with the idea of playing, Temyrth doesn't seem to get the jist of this. He eyes the mangled cart, and then looks back at Xalatonth «I hunt animals that I eat. Do you… Eat this?» Frigid-crisp, the words, even as Temyrth crouches down, to the blue's side, and curls his tail around. His narrow muzzle eyes Kataskiath, perhaps also including her in the query.

M'tej is also loitering around along the fence, bruises and stitches and all, watching the bullriding with an intensity that suggests he's a longtime fan of the sport. He appears to be nursing a drink. He is not noticing cart-eating dragons.

S'ayde drinks heavily from his glass without a qualm, Rh'maz's question causes him pause, however. "Well, it would greatly depend on who you purchased the wagon from and how new it was." S'ayde gives a knowing smile. "The one the blue out there is chewing up," Oh yes, Kat has been emitting, "It might set a man back a a good chunk." And man did he not wanna be around when Willimina finds out one of her wagons has become dragon chow.

If dragons could shrug, it is what Kataskiath would be doing right now, so she substitudes with a faded image of S'ayde making the gesture. Her inner fires crackle with question and curiosity, a warm opposite to Temyrth's chill. However, Kataskiath is not beyond compassion, she sends someof her own personal heat towards the brown, her own attempt at comfort and sympathy.

"A good chunk, you don't say." Rh'maz twirls the empty glass in his fingertips. "I barely have a good chunk. A marginal chunk at best. As far as chunks go.. well, not the chunkiest. At least I have steady employment and Diem is obligated to feed me." He flashes a grin. "S'ayde. A good night to you. I should square up before I become any more intoxicated." He swings the stringed instrument over his shoulder as he rises.

S'ayde nods. "Aye Rh'maz, have a good night mate. See the healer's tent for a bag of tea for the morning, you'll need it." S'ayde chuckles and sips at his own drink, watching the bar and staying right where he is.

Xalatonth has his head cocked, his expression distant. Then a renewed wave of mischief sweeps across his features. He snaps up the wagon in his jaws, holding it between premolars. With a deeply purring thrum, he imparts his goodbyes to his green and brown friends, a wing half-spread to brush across and touch them.

Kataskiath watches Xalatonth go with a rumble of goodbye before, «WAIT! YOU CAN'T TAKE THAT!!!!» Obviously she doesn't know RH'maz is purchasing the thing, but then he's gone and she can't do anything about it. SO. SHe turns towards Temyrth. «He's odd.»

« Odd. » INSTANT agreement, from the brown. But there's still a fondness there; Temyrth very much enjoys the blue's company. "Why did he attack the carrrt? » It didn't appear to be a particularly vicious version of a wagon, to Temyrth, but the dragon is admittedly not an expert in wheeled conveyances.

Tallel has been here all along, really. But this is his home, and he's been in high demand, not to mention taking Salkhin through some warm-up runs for the races tomorrow against some of the younger Kheeriin boys. So it is that he saunters out to the arena in search of his wife, tawny eyes bright with fading adrenaline and high spirits, dark hair still a bit spiked with dampness from the cleaning he's just had. Once he sees Willimina, he switches to a softer tread and approaches her from behind, suddenly shooting his arms out to wrap around her. "Enjoying yourself, saikhan?"

Willimina is at first startled, but Tallel's voice brings waves of comfort and Willimina laughs with joy, turning off the fence to embrace her husband. "Immensely." She pecks a kiss against his lips and turns back towards the fence. "I can't seem to tear myself away from this, it's more fun than watching the races!" Unless Tallel is racing, of course. It's a nice change in pace for the Zingari leader and Dancer. She's not performing this go 'round and the break has been nice. "The kids enjoyed themselves earlier. Lillia tried the mutton busting, and Taimin laughed." Willa shakes her head. When they left Igen, Taimin was but a wee three months old, now, on the brink of their return, he is already a turn and a half old. How time flies.

Tallel returns that quick kiss in kind, keeping his arms around Willimina as she turns and resting his chin on her shoulder as he looks beyond at the bull riding. He laughs at the mention of Lillia and the mutton busting, trailing off into a mildly disappointed growl. "I wish I hadn't missed that. How did she do?"

Dragons really should be able to shrug gosh darnit, becaause Kataskiath jsut really needs to, ok??? «I have not the slightessst clue. He was already at it when I arrived.» Kataskiath settles more, laying her head upon her feet, eyes half closing. She has to admit though, she'd been intrigued by the blue.

Willimina grins. "She did well, and was a good sport when she didn't. She rode three or four times." Willimina pats lovingly at her husband's arm. "She'll be at it again tomorrow, she loved it and wants to do it again. You want to take her?"

"Ahhhhh, but tomorrow I am racing most of the day, saikhan," Tallel reminds Willimina. "I am more than willing to on the last day, of course. Unless I find a good stretch of time when I am not to be on Salkhin tomorrow."

M'tej glances back, as Temyrth taps into his memories about the blue Fortian transfer, and his study lingers on Kataskiath for a moment, before Temyrth supplies the green's name back to his lifemate. M'tej flicks his attention around for the Igen greenrider who belongs to the dragon, even as Temyrth sorts through his human's versions of reality, to try to translate it to dragon: « His rrrriderrrr's mate died with Thrrread. » Temyrth had not noticed Rh'maz' wicked scoring, and assumes that other dragons may not as well. « Xalatonth's rider nearrrrly died.» This is offered up as a possible explanation, in quiet whirls of frostbitten sensation.

Willimina nods. "Alright dear, well, she's all yours on the last day then, We'll be sure to be cheering you at the races as well." Willa turns. "Did you want to do something else my love?" Willa's been at the arena for quite some time now, she could use a walk.

S'ayde is here, at the bar, drinking away and having a merry old time. He'll be ready to move on sooner or later, but here is where the whiskey is. «S'ayde, you drink too much.» It's a gather, I can have fun. «Just remember you have drillsss in the morning, you musst be at your best.» Yeah. Kataskiath listens to what Temyrth has to say, and the fires of her mind dim, in sympathy for Xalatonth and his rider. «That is truly awful.» For what is more awful than the loss of a dragon and rider? Not much.

Tallel wouldn't mind walking himself, considering how much time he's spent in the saddle today…and will be spending tomorrow. "There are a few different things I wouldn't mind doing," he replies, purposefully pitching his voice lower and tightening his arms briefly around her with a roguish grin. "But if you've something in mind, I'll follow along very willingly." And so he releases all except his wife's hand to let her lead the way.

Echoes of the conversation are relayed to Temyrth, and unbidden, the memories of the recent Weyrlings-turned-Rider losses - one pair, one dragon - manifest in the brownrider, in the brown through that 20+ turns shared link. Even as Temyrth's eyes intersperse grey into the blues, M'tej shoves off from the fence and begins to pad toward the thicker throng of people, where perhaps he might better lose himself, or at least some of the memories. The brown touches the edges of the green's mind with mute invitation, but he will, in almost one easy motion, lever himself up and launch into the sky. Motion sometimes cures thought.

Willimina rather likes the idea that her husband is in the mood for other things and turns to give him a selacious smile. Turning to lead them out, Willimina sets course for their yurt, sending a 'lizard to the nannies telling them to delay coming home. Seems like the young leader is done with this particular rodeo for today.

Kataskiath is always one to enjoy a flight for flight's sake. She takes Temyrth's silent invittion and wings into the sky after him, after all, S'ayde won't be leaving tonight. She bugels her delight to the skies and is soon a small dot on the horizon with her flight partner. Rukbat's rays begin to fade and the crowds party on. It will go well into the night, well past when all the activities close. Quite a few will wake up with sore heads tomorrow.

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