Stories of Rayosia and Fizath

Fizath's Maiden Flight

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 04:53:07 GMT

Who: J'bal and brown Kwaith, N'tan and brown Nidhgoth, G'dal and brown Fanneth, Eleni NPCing T'ruvin and blue Pfaith, and Rayosia with green Fizath.

Summary: Fizath finally rises for her maiden flight, flying /with/ her suitors rather than agaisnt them. In the end she chooses one to mate with.

Quote From Rayosia: ... N/A. She doesn't say a word during the whole ordeal.

Feeding Pens
The feeding pens of Fort Weyr contain various herds of well-tended herdbeasts and clipped wherries, many eyeing you with definite caution. Against the rim of the bowl, sturdy shelters provide refuge from the weather; separate pens nearby provide space for breeding or, more rarely, ill animals to be cared for away from the main herd. A heavy fence surrounds the whole conglomeration, wandering a little way into the Weyr lake to provide water for the animals. Often, a proddy dragon terrorizes the beasts, feeding before taking 'flight' to taunt her chasers.
The weyrling barracks lie to the northeast, and the center bowl to the east.
It is a fall sunrise. The wind seems cold enough to burn on this overcast day, as it shoves you in your tracks. Water pelts down in large stinging shafts, and it brings the Harpers' ballads of the bite of Thread to mind. Debris skitters at your feet in wild circles, and anything not bound to the earth threatens to spread wings and fly like some old wher given wings for a day.

Fizath doesn't seem too interested in the herdbeast she had brought down. In fact, the green is trouncing around it, looking vaguely at the carcass but more importantly toward the pens on the outskirts of the feeding grounds. Her tail flicks to the side in a sultry fashion as her head curls; her eyes gleaming in the early morning despite the grey mist drizzling from above. It isn't just her eyes though that show the gleam, her entire body has a sheen over it with a strong pheromone to attract the males. In show, she swats at the carcass laid before her feet, struting over it with pride as she does a couple loops more in anticipation for the dance up above, shaking beads of rain off of her wings by fanning them and flipping them out.

Fanneth is easily attracted. A bugle of greeting from the old brown as he wings his way down into the feeding pens. "Fan, y' large brown mass o' dragonhide, what're ya doin?" G'dal calls after the dragon. Then, he spots the green, and his attitude changes. "Aw, y' sly one. G'wan, then." He says, reaching up to pick a crumb of food from his beard and pop it into his mouth.

Rayosia has come this way from the gardens, plucking white flower petals to leave a trail behind her - absently aware of her destruction of the flowers she had so carefully tended to in the last month or two prior to this day. Spinning what remains of a flower to the ground only opens up her fingers to begin on another of the bundle in her hand, eyes flipping passed her damp hair to peak over her shoulder. Another flower is dislodged from the rest and dashed to her side, feet stepping over them as she regards the feeding ground with a curious wonderment. Her eyes met with her lifemate's - a private moment shared as the young woman moves to a fence post, quite aware of the gathering dragons.

Kwaith had just dropped J'bal near the Living Caverns, sensing what was about to take place and quickly moving himself to perch near the feeding pens. He doesn't seem to notice the rain, wings mantling at his sides and causing waterfalls over their back edges. J'bal himself offers only a good natured chuckle at the dragon's eagerness and eyes the caverns and a warm cup of klah wistfully before moving to watch the unfolding events.

Nidhgoth is late, and stiff in his movements, which are slow as he ambles into the pens, giving a single burst of effort to get over the fence. The brown is careful to reserve energy, so that blast of exertion kills two birds with a one shot, bringing down a wherry who was hiding on the other side of the barrier. Head torn clean, the carcass is sucked like a teat, blood sending vital vigor to pale extremities.

Sweet, affable T'ruvin sits on top of the rail, watching his bright blue Pfaith manage to trap a wherry at the far side on his third try. "Right, make this quick, I'm getting drenched out here," he calls into the pens, ignoring green and the other dragons gathering and taking them as a given. Mornings, and everyone's got to get their fill. Except it doesn't look like Fizath's out for a meal. Boy next door Tru has yet to pick up on these little things, though.

Fizath flicks her wing tip teasingly at Fanneth, as if to encourage the older male to come closer as she steps over the rent flesh of the animal she had taken down. It's a welcome to the old gent if nothing else. Cranning her head to the side, she greets Kwaith in the same fashion though showing him a gleam of her neck and the slithering graceful wave like sway of her body. Her head abruptly lifts as she delivers a dragonic growl to the clouds above, the last of it sent Nidhgoth's way as he joins the frey just in time. Drink up beast. She coyly moves toward the last of the browns to join, stopping a dragon length short of Nidhgoth with an amused whuff of air cast his way. No sooner does she see Pfaith catch a wherry as well than she spring toward the crackle of thunder that rumbles through the Weyr.

>> Fizath bespoke all >> Come and fly. Show me if you can. Show me what you can do. See if you can keep up to the dance. <<

Fanneth takes off, the familiar sense of the thrill of the chase coursing through his veins with the ichor. The old brown bellows again, beating his wings just enough to carry him up to level with the young green.

Kwaith pushes off with a slight drag of his wings. He already thought this would happen and his eagerness is clear in the long line of his neck. Long lean muscles and movements push Kwaith further into the sky, broad sails of wings gaining altitude and highlighted by brief bursts of cloud kept lightening.

Rayosia snaps her eyes up as she watches her green shock the rain falling with her bolt into the sky. She watches as much as she can until the pelting of the rain cannot even be stopped by the sheltering of a hand. She shudders a little as she leans her back against the fence post, peering toward those who have gathered around her and to watch their dragons chase. Flowers continue to be plucked, wet petals now sticking to her finger tips.

The flush of life floods the serpent brown's hide, warming wing and limb just in time for the green to launch. Corpse crushed under foot, Nidhgoth pays it no mind as he too takes to the skies, awkward wingbeats getting the job done, if lacking all sense of grace. The scar on his neck is tight, tugging in such a way he has yet to get used to, and that itch! That has niggled all the way to bone's marrow, vibrating the brown with a palatable urgency. He will prove his worth!

No sooner is the wherry between his talons and muzzle posed to deliver the deathblow does Fizath rise, abandoning this mortal coil for a higher plane. Pfaith too deems it time to seek ascendency, granting mercy to the poor beast trapped between his forepaws and the railing. And while it may come as a surprise to T'ruvin, who gives a little yelp and falls off the fence, Pfaith endeavors after the green with all the assurance of a true devotee. Flights are simple: he chases.

>> [flight] Fanneth's voice is alive with loud sounds, picking up bellows and cries and noise of all kinds in a sampler-type offering. The sound is so loud, it is white. Fanneth takes it, and shapes it into flower shapes. A noise boquet. <<

J'bal makes his way slowly in, circling Rayosia at a curious distance and glancing upward from time to time to catch a flash of color between the mists.

G'dal stands against the fence, just watching the greenling for a moment, chortling at Fanneth. "Aw, old man..." He begins, and then just chortles again, grinning widely at the other men around. This looks like an interesting flight.

>> [flight] Kwaith is all warm cocoas spiced with nutmeg spark as he responds in brief but assured tones <<

Tru, indeed, does fall, caught off-guard and suddenly no longer steady in balance. The yelp, he'll be ashamed to admit later, is decidedly girlish. Thus when he regains his feet, the gangly young man attempts a show of bravado, squarely crossing his arms over his thin chest, which he sticks out to gain substance to his decidedly lean stature. He even tries an ill-fitting swagger on for size as he ambles off in search of Fizath's rider (in the wrong direction). There is a woman about: he will find her.

Fizath speeds her way up only far enough until she can make sure as she glances back the others are behind her. Certainly doesn't look like she's running or trying to break free of them as many females do - instead, by the way she hovers there for an instant as the males seem to lag behind. Only, with a flick of a tail she doubles back on them, her wings cutting through the rain as it grows heavier, making a roll around Fanneth, diving toward Kwaith only to pull up and veer around Pfaith, tail teasing Nidhgoth. She's taunting them by her actions, testing them, veering back several times to test them and confuse them until a bolt of lightning has her encouraging them to fly with her up toward the rumbling clouds.

>> [flight] Pfaith, echoes the dreamy cumulus clouds that have long-fled Fort, replaced by rain and thunder: creamy white, substantial only in appearance and elusive to the grasping hand. Seeing, though, is believing, and it's the dream of the thing that he has in mind. <<

Fanneth sees the taunt rather clearly, and it makes his blood boil, the rhythms of his songs and heart and wings increase. He will speed up, trying to get in front of the other suitors. This one makes him crazy. Just a little.

Rayo seems amused by one fellow who happens closer to her, the likely fellow J'bal but unlikely will she call to him since she doesn't know him by name. It is to G'dal, a fellow who shares duty with her in the same wing earns her fast attention, "G'dal..." this a welcoming murmur, which soon putters away as she looks skyward again, trying to follow the flow of the flight.

>> [flight] Nidhgoth may be physically out of sorts, but mentally he is all he ever was, which carries the sickly sweat scent of liquefied carcasses, left to rot in the summer sun, steamy stench wafting off in pungent waves. The grey ooze spreads out across the link between him and the green, inching forth for a fetid touch that will leave the putrid lingering aftertaste of sour decay. <<

Kwaith does his best to match some of her dips and turns, a task not as easy as it used to be for him clearly as one wing opens a fraction later than he intended and he quickly tries to recover, forcing air out of his way. It's a surprising turn for him, so long enamoured of the more energetic movements of the smaller dragons.

"Aw, Greenie." G'dal can't remember her name right now. It's Fizath, right? He is still able to communicate a little, but not enough to remember something like her name. "Yer as purty as ..." He does notice the white flowers. "Them flowers yer shreddin."

Pfaith can dive and roll with the best of them if it's what's required, and he bears no illusions; the path to achieving one's aspiration is seldom straight. Of course, it helps to be blue. So he copies Fizath, trying to drive ever closer, and attempting to learn her habits all the while.

>> [flight] Fizath reaches back to the many males behind her, a subtle breeze with a rustling coin-sash, caressing and listening to them all before her own voice of hand beaten drums sound erotically in their heads, << Come. Fly higher. We go into the storm. >> <<

Nidhgoth, especially in his present state, doesn't enjoy being toyed with, and bugles with a defiant edge as her tail touches. Teeth gnash, adding a lusty fervor that rockets him, albeit ungainly, after Fizath. His own tail twists in aggravation, rustling up the seed within that might have otherwise lay dormant due to recent lethargy.
J'bal raises his eyebrows at the akwardness of G'dal's greeting but just leans against the fence nearby, dipping his head in greeting and offering a polite smile that only briefly disappears during Kwaith's akward movement.

T'ruvin figures out quick and whirls right round to march up to where the others have gathered. He's not stupid, per se, just a little slow on the uptake. Luckily for him, Pfaith fares a little better. Sodden hair makes the bluerider look even more boyish, plastered as it is to his fair skin, and to that boyishness is added a touch of the child, for he pouts when he fails to be one of those singled out for attentions.

>> [flight] Fanneth gets more excited. Drumbeats. << We will follow you anywhere, lady. >> His mindvoice sears, taking those drumbeats and turning them into a martial rhythm that chases. Oh. Storm! Thunder too. Why not? <<

>> [flight] Kwaith is sparring with actual words, he's more about the scent of bittersweet chocolate and it's tang that to him echos the storms bitter smell <> <<

Fizath ducks under an early attempt by a bronze, sending his last energy faultering to the ground as she chatters at him, infurated at the attempt to choose for her. She will determine this - not them. And so she drives herself higher, baiting them into the lightning and thunder as the wind picks up in gusts. It's these gusts that may prove the down fall for many, as the young green easily catches the air pocks to lift her higher, her eyes almost always looking back at her suitors.
It is to Nidhgoth especially that she gives another swagger of her tail too, his teeth unable to hit the mark as she trounces around, flying wing by wing with Pfaith until she makes a move that cuts her closer to Kwaith, rumbling to him sing-song like as she makes her shadow cross him. With the wind, the rain, and all the elements of the morning storm around her, she makes a dance about her suitors - always just fast enough to evade any attempts.

>> [flight] Pfaith's nature is offended by the whiff of Nidhgoth that passes by his senses. The contrast between himself and that brown is striking: Pfaith, delicate and dreamy, purports an ethereal nature rather than something more worldly. << Up, >> he agrees, content to be concise. <<

Rayosia looks at G'dal, blinking at him several times before she discovers that the flowers in her hands are indeed being shredded. She all but gasps at the destruction, dropping the bunch of flowers at her feet. With a heavy breath, she scans the riders there with her, cheeks flushing instantly as her eyes linger far too long on J'bal for what would be considered decent.

Fanneth continues his push. He tires slightly, but not as much as he would have before his training. The little one is quick. He just continues stolidly on, into the stormiest area, strong wingbeats allowing him to avoid being thrown around too much by the wind.
>> J'bal is the rider of brown Kwaith at Fort Weyr, Stormrider wing. <<
Fizath> Kwaith can do up, further pushing the strength in wings thin bones to flair their skin and catch and each touch of a breeze. Her rumble is returned but short enough to keep his breath for more flight. His strength is beginning to show and it's a hint of what has kept he and his rider as Wingleader so far.

"Aw, Greenie." G'dal repeats. "Y' can get s'more of those later." Right now, though, he's got other things on his mind.

"There's not point being bashful my dear, you can't help what is going on." A simple smile and nod follow those words from J'bal. He tries hard to refrain from looking the girl over and turns instead back to the sky for that strange double perspective.

Internal instincts crave sedation of the burning hunger: hunger to catch, hunger to win, hunger to prove that Nidhgoth is alive! This is what drives the brown toward the finish line, but no matter how hard he fights against himself, wings falter, limbs weaken, and the keening sound of intense frustration wails through the winds to be devoured by the torrent about them. When Fizath comes close, he'll reach, but it is that action that is the final straw to weight him down, and with a cry sure to be heard across the Weyr, the serpent falls from the skies, remorse keen in his weak heart as he sees the fading form of the green high above.

Pfaith flies! He is the picture of well-intentioned earnestness, neck drawn out before him and tail sailing behind. When Fizath draws near, he rolls in her direction - but then, she isn't there, and the blue finds himself laboring to make up for his attempted aerobatics, loosing his first vocal cry: one of frustrated desperation.

T'ruvin stares a little too hard himself, wide-set eyes open with evident fascination for Rayosia, for the doubled sensation of the flight his dragon undertakes, even for the shredded petals dropping from the greenrider's flowers. Simply put, he's not all here, complete distraction added to his usual guilelessness.

Fizath doesn't look as if she'll tire any time soon - but there is a hint in the way she gets closer to each male that she's weighing them, that /she's/ deciding, that she'll join one of them soon. And as she studies each in turn, flying for seconds near them until a gust happens to drive her away, she continues to dance. For the ones dropping out, for Nidhgoth, she rumbles a private encouragement of better health until with only a fast twist she escapes another male attempting a catch. The game was getting too much now. She bolts high for the final time, descending in a wide circle, a sultry sway of her limbs shaking off the rain as she judges the skill, judges who will be able to fly her safely to the ground. A last challenging boom is made from the green as she veers toward the main group...

Fanneth's wings continue to beat, though he watches her every move. He is solid, steady, straight, and drumming, a force to be reckoned with. The wind and the rain are next to nothing right now, at least in his mind. As the young green circles, he stretches his neck, dropping one wing just a little to try to match her circle. It may be enough. She zips away, however, and Fan is forced to change angles almost immediately. He makes an attempt, using all the skill he learned recently to fight their enemy, putting it into practice in another way.

Through sleet, through snow - Pfaith promises much in the eleventh hour as he seeks to claim Fizath as his own. This morning, as the rain drums down against fragile sails and the winds buffet dragons in their unruly race across the skies, there is a ring of truth to his pledge.

Kwaith has saved breath for a spectacular bellow now, a clear challenge and invitation to the green as he pushes up just a touch higher to clear himself of the crowded skies and allow a dip of his wings to earn him more speed in his try to ensnare the young green with long spread tail and neck. The shed water from his hide with hopefully also help in distracting his competition.

Fizath senses Fanneth to her side, a noise made for him in sympathy as she flings herself farther from him when she makes the cut inward to the group. Rejection today does not mean rejection tomorrow dear friend. Leaving Fanneth behind, she undercuts a blue dragon, warbling to him the same sing song encouragement to fear not, for better days do come after the rain goes. The other males all get the same treatment as she moves around their attempts, flying for one dragon she has singled out. She dips low enough to push her body into his claws, so that Kwaith can carry her as /she/ ends the dance with a twisting spin into the browns grasp. Together they shed water on a new day.

Rayosia considers the wingleader once again, his simple smile earning from her a grateful expression, shifting on foot to spot over the shoulder of G'dal, another young fellow - T'ruvin. She trails her hand across G'dal as she senses the end of the flight, turning a smile on him until she departs from his side. For T'ruvin this means the young woman ignores him, but for J'bal, this means she's coming right at him.

Fanneth bellows his frustration. Rejection today is still rejection today. He spirals in and heads home.

G'dal watches the woman head for the other old rider. "Aw, Fan, maybe next time." He calls, trundling to where he'll meet up with the brown and likely drink himself into a stupor.

Well, shucks. T'ruvin looks like a soggy puppy-dog with that mournful defeat in his eyes. But while Pfaith drifts down, exhausted, T'ruvin rallies, pairing off with another of the riders present. They move off to drown their sorrows, one way or another.

J'bal is already ready to encircle the younger woman in a soft embrace and begin leading her away as the expanse of Kwaith's wings, holds the two in the air for a slower controlled decent. One hand on Rayosia's shoulder J'bal offers her direction to where they're going. He tries to spare a few nods for the other riders left waiting but his careful wrought control can only take so much distraction.

Rayosia moves to the man, the heat of the passion her dragon shares up in the sky transcending her to another world completely as she goes where she's gently guided too.

... The Rp following the last pose is rated R and thusly not going to be posted ...

Life of a Dragonrider

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 01:56:27 GMT

Who: N'ic and Rayosia

Summary: N'ic finds Rayosia with her flowers but soon succumbs to the whims of his dragon who chases after a proddy green. Rayosia is caught in the middle of emotions as it isn't her green whose proddy.

Quote From Rayosia: "You have to make sure Waroth doesn't do anything senseless."

Garden
With imported soil giving fertility to enhance Fort Weyr's diet the garden doubles as a small, quaint Eden. Priority of space is given to conventional rows of annual vegetables and herbs that must be carefully maintained during the brief summers. There's a central path where two may walk abreast, large enough for compost and harvesting carts. The small nearby lake provides a rudimentary form of irrigation with much manual labor. Several constructed posts support the wild growth of climbing varieties of peas and beans. This arrangement supports a small canopy of matted summer vines to present a sufficient screen for those who seek a carefully placed bench made of expired woody vines. The garden is no great expanse - a poor location and northern latitude limit plant composition - but it's a local piece of self-sufficiency and practical composure.

The garden isn't necessarily devoted entirely to vegetables and herbs - despite the wishes of the powers that may be. In fact, in one corner, shaded by the canopy of summer vines, flowers have been beded. Perhaps by the shade they cannot be seen, or perhaps they have been mistaken for a white flowering herb or vegetable - but there they grow; a small patch of sanctuary invested with various budding white blossoms. It is to them that Rayosia eludes herself this day, well accomplished in the day's chores to find a meaningful moment to indulge her own intersets on these wonders of the world. One would have to walk down the path and know where the foreign patch of flowers may be to see the leather booted toes of Ray's sticking out from just behind a raspberry bush. Dressed in a summer gown of flowing white with a top jacket that cuts off after her bossoms, the girl almost blends in with the pleasantries of the garden; if one can over see passed the practicality of the garden itself. She rests up against the fence that quarantines the area off, fingers playing with a fallen leaf from one of the vines above as she cants her head back with a dreamy gaze lifted skyward.

Amusement shows on N'ic's face as he happens upon Rayosia's boots and steps closer to find the rest of her. "Waroth said you could be found 'round here." There's some sort of laugh playing in his look though as he gazes down at her. He's dressed, as is typical, in his riding leathers and black and orange worn flight jacket. Despite the hellacious relationship he has with his father now, the jacket is a cherished gift from better days. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his flight jacket, and his hair is smoothed back and shoved downward in a comical case of helmet-head. The blond must have just gotten off drills and come to find her. He offers both hands down to his friend, in case she would like to stand, "Come for a walk with me?" He invites quietly with a touch of a smile ghosting across his lips, adding a teasing title of: "Oh, Lady Holder of the summer blossoms."

Some people were relaxed by the sound of flowing water, of waves crashing against cliff sides, of rain pouring down. Others found themselves sedated to the lull of vast open spaces, or a type of animal they could watch run or interact with it's own kind; still others spent time high in the sky on the backs of their dragons to find that sense of tranquility mankind's spirit longs for. But for Rayo, it was as simple as being near flowers - particularly white, due to the metaphorical and emblematic characteristics they stood for. The smell also played a part - white flowers held a sweeter scent to them than other species had. Irregardless of why, to be around them numbed the stresses of the day, relaxed her muscles, and let her mind wander far from the routine of a Weyr. It was only the man stepping over her boots that roped in her thoughts to the present hour. She smiles faintly at first, his words only sinking in before she can respond easily enough, "I suppose Fizath had something to do with him knowing." The green after all, loved to know precisely where she was and when she was due to leave. Twirling the leaf in her fingers into a cylinder, blue eyes lift to consider the helment-head blond. Putting her desires aside again, she lets the leaf fall from her fingers in exchange for his own, sliding her hands into his to help herself up at his request. "Yeah, well.. I wouldn't go saying that too loud if I were you. Someone might think you were mocking a Lady Holder," she chides as she dusts off the back of her dress, regarding him curiously, adding nothing more for the moment.

N'ic snorts in response to her quiet chastisement, "That would be silly of them, since I'm mocking -you-." He points out, flashing her his 'pretty' smile, the one that he only ever flashes when he thinks its likely someone might slap him. Its inviting the gesture, even, challenging her. His head tilts ever so slightly, jaw pulling forward, offering his cheek for a reprimand. Whether she does or not, his next move is to take her hand and pull her arm so it loops around his, pressing her fingers lightly against his arm before letting his other hand fall away, and he begins to plod slowly along one of the paths of the garden. "Was your day alright?" He queries, brow creasing in thought as his green gaze finds the wood-chips of the path under their feet, watching as his boots and her boots come down rhythmically against it. Abruptly his head jerks up and he comes to an abrupt halt, back arching slightly and looking as though he had just swallowed something unpleasant. Maybe a stray VTOL made its way into his mouth? "Blast it, do you -have- to?" He demands of the air. He doesn't often speak aloud to his lifemate around most people, but he does so shamelessly in front or Rayosia, likely because of the close bond these two dragon pairs share with one another. "Bloody Peliqueth has to pick right sharding now." He grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest, heedless of the way it traps her arm in his, a glower settling in on his expression. "I'm not going, 'Roth. No, I don't bloody care to woo her rider. You go woo the damned green. I hope you lose." Hardly the supportive partner, as apparently the brown has begun to blood in the not far away feeding grounds.

Rayosia lifts her brows at his challenge, not having the heart to do anything of the sort to him - mocking smile or no. Instead, when she's standing, she smiles back at him - her own devious sneer that promises 'payback' .. and with her, he knows to expect it when it's least expected. "You have such a way with words, you know?" She rolls her eyes with a shake of her hair, turning her gaze to her opposite side and stealing a glance back at the patch of flowers she abandons. Oh well. Maybe if she's lucky, no one will think them weeds before the next morrow. About that time they've started to cross the ground along the wood-chipped path, finding herself looking away from him for the most part - viewing the plants as they pass by them. Her response to him is quiet, "It was fine. Fizath flew well in drills." She already knows what occuring not far from them - her green informing her neatly of the other's impending flight. That, is another sore point for this greenrider. Fizath hasn't risen yet - and she's nearing three Turns. Yet, the jolt brings her rudely out of her thoughts as she nearly stumbles over her own feet at his abrupt stop. She turns a look on him, a frown as if to scold him or some form of disapproval in his choice to stop since he's got her arm well tucked underneath his. Her gaze flicks up to the sky as if she could see them, straying away from N'ic as she tries to pull her arm free, "N'ic..." a sympathetic disappointed tone ringing true, "Go. You have to make sure Waroth doesn't do anything senseless."

She never hits him. No matter how many times he tries to get her to, he has yet to egg her far enough to produce that sort of result, but he doesn't give up trying. N'ic's a determined sort like that. Pushing people's boundaries when he feels he knows them well enough to give them some firm shoves against their usual limitations. Its like the mental form of an extreme sport. He likes to try to find peoples' buttons, and play them like a Harper plucks a gitar: skillfully and shamelessly. There's the barest nod in response to her words about drills; Fizath always flies well, so its not any kind of a surprise to him. His look turns stubborn as his green eyes turn on her - only half-seeing as he mentally joins his lifemate at least, if not choosing to go physically nearer to the green's rider. He keeps Rayo's arm trapped tightly in his. "No. I can make sure he doesn't do anything senseless from here. If he pulls something out of his draconic butt and wins the day, I'll go find that bloody girl. Let -him- pursue her." This is hissed darkly, and he twists abruptly to face the other greenrider, his free arm shifting to curl around her shoulders and pull her closer in an odd embrace, "I don't -want- her." Waroth and N'ic often disagree. Tonight is no different for the pair. He doesn't want what his dragon evidently does, but fueled by the shared feelings of yearning lust, he's spurned to bold action as he draws her near. His green eyes flash with heated anger as the battle of wills ensues - Waroth wanting to rise to chase as the green zips into the skies above the Weyr, and N'ic fighting it. But the fight only seems to fuel Waroth's desire. To succeed where others want him to fail and he jumps into the air, which causes N'ic to react and pull Rayo only possessively closer, pulling her slender form against his chiseled body.

No. She doesn't. She only hits him in a playful manner, something like a mouse flicking a tail against a lion's nose - quite pointless and weak, but merely in fun. In fact, he's never seen her strike out at anyone. Sure she gets frustrated and gets into that childish frantic tear-bit, but that's far from causing harm to anyone else. Her buttons aren't where other's are and in fact, they are quite easy to push - for example, she'll scream at her feet or the surf board if she can't surf. But it's a different sort of button from what he's trying to push now. It seemed right then that he was trying to make her give him an excuse so that he can go /pursue/ the other greenrider without guilt. Her shoulders stiffened at his dark reply, his hissing voice, his determination not to let his dragon win him over. Then rapidly her feet have to dance a little underneath of her as she's twisted to face him, her heart pounding quite loud in her ears. She never really felt fearful in his presence before, however, she's never been around him during a flight. She's pretty much unaffected by it, frowning as plants the palm of her hands against his chest, "N'ic..." a nervous pitch in her voice hidden by a flash of teeth and parting lucious red lips, "Come on now, you big meat head, let me go." Fizath cannot reach Waroth to settle N'ic - it's too late for that, the dragons are chasing. Rayosia grows a little tense when she's yanked so close to him, feeling his power surrounding her slighter frame, "N'ic..." Not like this! Not like this. She didn't want to be with him like this. She attempted to strain against his arm, but he held her firmly.
frowning as she plants the palm*

Flight does funny things to a man. Its surreal. A haze of desire sweeping through usually logical mind. Its both freeing and frightening. Like a dream that doesn't vanish upon waking, it has a way of loosening a man's tongue. And without this hazing effect the following words might never be uttered from the brownrider to the lovely lady he has clutched in his arm, the other reaching out to wrap around her as well: "But I want you." Its a simple enough response for a concept that explodes like lightning striking and starting a wild burn. He curls, his hard frame conforming to a curled position that allows him to bury his face in her hair, drinking in the sweet sent of her and equally offering his natural masculine musk that's mixed with the scent of wind having been on sweeps all afternoon until just before he arrived. His embrace is tight, demanding, but he keeps headier idea at bay for the time being, contenting himself to holding the object of his desires as his dragon darts through the sky in pursuit of his immediate goal. N'ic grips her tighter for a moment as he loses himself in a spiraling dive Waroth effects above. "Get out of the damned skies," He growls softly, and a defiant bugle echoes high above as the brown continues to zero in on the glowing green.

It's unfortunate that Rayosia cannot experience any such parallel feelings as the surreal haze consuming the mind of the brown-rider. She's not able to dance with the desire which the man obviously contains inside of him. Instead, she looks at him with eyes of an outsider to a world she cannot possibly fathom. N'ic's the only man she's ever been known to be seen around - and they're just friends. She's got no history in this sort of act before Fizath found her. Many people didn't want her to volunteer if for that fact alone - but she went, heedless of their words because there wasn't anyone to guide her other than herself and the man who currently has his arms tightly around her. If it was to be this way, then at least it was him and not some other dirty man. His words have her turn her chin down, her eyes dropping away - was it truth or was it merely the flight making him talk? Her fingers claw against his chest, gathering fabric between them as she feels her own anger growing - a small lump of it in the pit of her stomach. If he hadn't been breathing right next to her ear as he drank in the smell of daisies, she might have let the anger grow. It fades now, as surely as it ever does. Her eyes half close when she catches the scent of /him/ ... "N'ic..." she calls softly into his ear, "not this way. I want you too, but not.." she trails off as she hears the bugle from above.

Waroth is fighting hard in the skies above, avoiding a disdainful claw tail slap from the green as he gets too close for comfort and a swipe by a blue attempting to steal his place in the lead. And in this haze of near-misses, and fancy moves, N'ic only holds her. Something in her pleading voice or perhaps even her words must have penetrated through the reeling feelings of flight, because all he does is hold her, close. He pants softly as his breathing becomes shallower and his heart certainly races, its beats pulsing against her. Perhaps it isn't even her words, but perhaps his desires are in accord with hers that -this- is not how he wants her. Then he jerks against her as high above Waroth's talons latch into green hide to pull the green into a capture and fall with her, "SHARD IT, YOU BEAST!" N'ic roars at the sky as his head pulls back, and in this moment of victory roiling through his bond to his lifemate and lust becoming satisfied, he leans his head down, claiming Rayosia's kiss in a deep kiss, his tongue invading and searching her moist mouth but all to quick its gone again as he pulls away and his boots are hitting wood chips as he breaks into a sprint, "I'll be back to finish that-- someday!" He vows over a shoulder as he runs for the guest weyr to find the rider he's to unwillingly lie with this evening. Damned dragons. Always foiling others plots.

Rayosia had shut her eyes closed, her hands still gripping at his chest though no longer putting any pressure to stop him. It was nothing like how she had pictured it - the one sided lust was frightening. No, weyrilng training did not mention that! Or how strong it would be or if she were to get caught in the middle of any man or woman who had a chasing dragon. She shys from him when he jerks against her, holding back a yelp at one of his hands clamping down around her arm to keep her there as up above Waroth wins the other green's flight. Such is the life of dragonriders. The man's private roar for the dragons success has her shuddering, immediately startled when the passion racing through him becomes more intimately passed to her. Of course, having no prior history in this sort of thing encourages not much of a graceful response from her. Instead, her eyes are wide and her lips barely moving at the deep kiss. In a flash though, it ends, her hands left to follow his swift departure. Stunned, with mouth hanging open and eyes agape, she pivots in her spot to follow the man's path as he sprints out of the garden, intending to bed some other woman. Her eyes become immediately drawn, a turmoil of emotions plague her. A hand catches her stomach as she takes a moment to breath, feeling sick as much as anything else. Long after he's gone racing around the corner, a noise comes from her, much in comparison to a sob. Fizath has appeared with a graceful set of wings, landing soundlessly outside of the garden perimeter with an encouraging warble. Wiping her eyes, Rayosia rushes toward the only creature in a miles reach that could possibly console her.... At the end of it all, Fizath takes to the air long enough to get Rayo to her shelter, to her weyr, out of public eye.

Meeting The Barlords

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 03:24:38 GMT

Who: W'ren, Taini, Thera, Th'deus, and Rayosia

Summary: Rayosia is utterly confused as to what is going on. She doesn't know these folks as others do. Apparently there's something about a baby and an uncle sleeping with his nephew's weyrmate.

Quote From Rayosia: "Well. You don't look fine. Look like you've seen a dragon come back from *between*..."

Main Living Cavern (#551J)
Grey stone arches a vast vault overhead, details of the ceiling all but disappearing in the shadows cast by warm, human-height glowsconces and the night hearth's flames; tapestries texture the smooth walls, looking down upon the raised dais, the expanse of tables, the flagstones left cleared for impromptu dancing.
A single broad archway, its carved pattern worn soft with time and passersby's touch, leads west into the bowl; two more, narrower but just as tall, give access to the bustle of living caverns in the south. Predominant looms the builders' masterpiece: the imposing staircase that twines up along the northern wall, leading to the weyr's huge kitchens.

W'ren waits for Thera's response as well, doesn't take another bite until it comes, pulled like firestone from the mountain from her lips at long last. He turns his head toward Taini, then, and raises a brow. "She's laden?" Wow. A shake of his head betrays the disbelief that this could be true. The last time he saw his aunt, she was fussing at a toddler dragon. "They say the sun gets hot on those sands. I suppose you'll be sitting there a pretty amount of time. I hear the Weyrwoman of Igen puts a tent right onto the sands." He tilts his head, smiling out of one side of his food-fitted mouth. "You're finally going to experience the /other/ half of being Barlord. Trinc and I could give you a hiint or two." He winks. The conversation decidedly turned away from where he's been, he takes a breath to eye the newly entered: Rayosia.

Thera agreed to truce, she didn't say she had to like it so will sit and sip her juice, eyebrows mimicing W'ren's words in a rather mobile dance. She too will glance at Rayosia and nod a greeting, having met the young woman once before. Pulling out the holdbred manners she waves in the general direction, "Hello Rayosia, this is Taini, rider to gold Birgith and W'ren, rider to bronze Gnaedath." She will glance at the other two and then think with mental prompting from the lounging brown outside, "Rayosia rides green Fizath"

The greenrider carries herself with an easy gait, not something exactly graceful but not anything that indicates she'd give a herdbeast the run for its money either. It's more of an exhausted scuff of feet, setting her entrance as nothing spectacular or noticeable - just much of the norm for riders whom finished their drills for the day. As such, some sustenance is next on the agenda. Unlike some other private weyrs that have dumbwaiters fashioned into long shafts, her's lacks the perk, and so, the elusive weyrbrat turned greenrider finds a dish which she fills neatly with small portions of healthy snacks. Ok. And a little sweet treat on the side. Doubtless in the time she's got her mind on food does she hear anyone's comments about her current fashion: A white flowy dress that ends at her knees, with a short leather vest over her shoulders and the same leather clapped around her lower calves in the shape of raised heel boots. More or less, as she turns with her food, this is when she pays attention to voices and the mingling crowd in the caverns. She only catches her name by chance over the sporadic dotting of people against tables. Blue eyes flickers thusly toward the faces all glancing her way - her face showing a slightly stunned but mostly blank expression, caught mid-pace by strange eyes gawking in her direction. Propriety has the young woman quickly shuffling over toward their table in time to catch the names of the gold and bronze riders. It's to Taini that her eyes stray the longest, "N'ic was telling me about you. It's great to actually put a face to the name. Pleasure." Now she scoots to the nearest open seat.

Taini's voice is the definition of droll as she replies to W'ren. "Aye." She borrows the accent from the Weyrleader, with a grin. "She's laden. And soon to be clutching, too. "What other side of being a Barlord, W'ren?" She asks, frowning. Rayosia gets a mild smile. "Well met, Rayosia." She says, nodding. "Ah, yes. I have conversed with him Come join us, if you like, although we're catching up, so we're rambling a bit." She remembers, after a moment. She turns to Thera and watches her expression for a moment, but finding nothing to comment on, she shrugs. "Fort's heat isn't like Igen, thank the golden Faranth." She chuckles. "But I do understand what some women say about summer babies. So hot...." She grins. "Anyway. I'm not sure Birgith'd allow a tent on the sands. Not able to see the area to defend it properly." Tai's queen is a warrior.

If W'ren had a mustache, he'd be smiling out from underneath it at Thera and her mimicking. W'ren sees all, remember? Still, the raised cup to his lips covertly placed at the juncture of amusement and need to wash down the last bite preserves the anonymity of his surveilance of her actions. Such is the flavor of this relationship, this banter more akin to sibling rivalry than that between a man and the woman his father beds, and W'ren, for one, enjoys immensely the volley of interaction, in case Thera hadn't noticed it. He swallows the liquid in his mouth, rises at the introduction, remembering his own manners just as the greenrider sits and bows from the head only. "Greenrider. My duties to you and your Fizath." Formalities over, he slips down to hsi straddling of the bench once more, leathers creaking in his slow lowering and reaches for another piece of bread, tilting his head sidewards. "So," he says, glancing over at Taini. "Who's is the sire of this clutch?" That Barlord brow rises.

Thera will wrinkle her nose ever so slightly at the name of N'ic but keeps her face placidly pleasant, glancing at Rayosia and Taini curiously and nodding despite her introductions of the woman. With another sip of her juice, she glances back at W'ren, "Speaking of babies. Did you find Tanika?" She'll glance at Taini quickly then back again, "She's in the nursery last I saw. Very cute. Takes after her grandfather which is a wholly lucky thing in my opinion." Flashing him teeth she'll grin rather meanly before a small grudging smile is actually offered. He can faint on the spot. To Rayosia she just inquires politely, "How have you been?"

Rayosia more or less just sits down near the others for sake of being polite - she looks wistfully toward a section of the caverns devoid of people. What's done is done - moving now would only be considered an insult. Her own leathers creak as she hooks a leg over knee, crossing them with a flick of her hand to push the hem of her dress over said knee. For most of the conversation at the table, Rayosia is caught nibbling on her selected variety of vegetables and fruit, at the moment popping a cube of cheese into her mouth. Thera's inquiry was barely heard over the rabble of words of people she really doesn't know too well, other than the infamous gossip. Pausing in her want to eat, to answer, "I've been fine thanks." Short, sweet, vague. The smile etched on her face for Thera's sake is a tad self-conscious, her gaze flicking toward W'ren at the very last, nodding to him in particular if a little late for his formalities.

"Thought I already said, Wae." Taini says, just a little grumpy that he wasn't listening. "Ikaroth. L'ton's bronze." She shrugs, drinking the last of her juice, and standing to get more, and probably some food with it. W'ren's eating, though making Thera less hungry, makes Tai more so. She puts some food on a plate, and moves back over quickly, choosing without much apparent thought. Her juice gets a refil, and she reseats herself, trying to keep her eating from Thera's view, but not doing well at that. "So, have you guys gotten to do more than just the one thing betweening yet?" She asks Thera. Rayosia is given a small smile, not wanting to press, but also wanting to make her feel welcome.

That Barlord brow, risen and fallen, rises again at the mere imperceptible wrinkle of nose Thera makes. He didn't spend so much time with the woman as a candidate and then as her AWLM and not know her gestures for the meaning that underlays them. "I delivered Tanika." The diebomb that may drop in the imparting of this hovers above W'ren's head for sure as he waits for the response. "I've been back forthwhen." Stuffing his mouth with the last tuber on his plate, the man grins over at Rayosia. "It's good to meet you. I've not been around much lately. Do I recognize you from somewhere?" As if he knows so much more than he's conveying, he opens his mouth again to point a finger at the kitchen, "You know, Imo and I have a garden we planted that might have some nice spice to go with tha..." Wait a minute. He stops chewing, peers over at Taini, then at Thera, a glance at Rayosia, then back to Thera. Swallowing very pointedly, he raises the napkin to his mouth, wipes it clean and swallows before asking pointedly. And quietly. "What is Tanika doing in the nursery?"

Thera nods rather cheerfully at Taini, "Oh yes, I'nigo's cleared most of us for out of the weyr. Hadamarth visualizes perfectly, though we just have to tell someone where we're going. Th'deus," and she'll glance quickly at W'ren with an arched brow, "wants me to run an errand or something for him. I'm just waiting for Teej, I sort of wanted to... well we had discussed...," and she'll roll her eyes up and blush a little, "going someplace together." The sentence is finished rather lamely and she attempts to recover, "though L'ton was pushing for a beach party or some grand pub party with Ale and he wanted to be invited." Shrugging her shoulders, "I think that's some right of passage or something." For a moment she'll muse, "I should add that to my list of questions for the Weyrleader." Both W'ren and Rayosia get a look then and she'll ask, "Was it for you guys?" Her mouth pops open for a moment at W'ren's questions, "You haven't seen her?" She swallows then, "looks like her grandpa," is repeated and then she just wide eyes at Taini rather desperately.

Poor Rayosia. She's not inclined to follow the gestures and underlying meanings as they are, pretty much lost to what's going on other than picking up partial subjects of conversation. It confuses her more than anything else, as the lowering frown of concentration suggests as she plucks another piece of food into her mouth. She surely doesn't know how to act around these people - discomforted with the whole stranger situation thing. It doesn't even occur to her that to make them less of a stranger she should spring some questions on them. Nope. Instead she puckers her mouth a little at the edges when a grin is turned on her. Her answer to W'ren, "Quite possible. I do ride here." This is when she chews a little on a finger-root, crunching her way through awkwardness until she adds, "You were the senior weyrling wingleader, for my group." She quiets then when he goes on about a garden and then assumedly a child that's in the nursery.

Taini purses her lips tightly, the information he requested being ignored again, but this time it's about his baby, so she relents. "Usually, the babe will follow her mother, Wae." That is, W'ren's lover is here at Fort for some reason. More is not hers to tell, well, it is, but as she's already been told not to gossip about her brother, she shrugs. "We had some good conversation. About history, and such." Letting him know that /she/ knows who she is now. "I'm not sure where she's staying, but she's around here somewhere." Hence, Tanika in the nursery. Rayosia gets a nod. "And you folks trained your litltes backwhen as well, right?" She wonders aloud, perhaps helping him put a memory to the face.

W'ren hasn't begun to chew again, waiting first for Thera to get around to his question, and then, after thoroughly avoiding it for so long a response, the cursory inquisitive retort leaves bitter herb in his mouth, for Taini to add anything she might. Only then he realizes that Rayosia speaks to him. He raises the cup to his mouth, focusing on her face, trying to understand exactly what it is she is saying. The cup pauses and rises toward Rayosia, "That's right! You and Fizath are the pair who prefer to fire in short puffs instead of sustained fire, do I have you right? You impressed right before I did, and you keep those beautiful white flowers, right? Taini? You remember her too, don't you?" The eyes fall on Taini once more, head tilting, wondering why in Faranth the woman hasn't given him more information...and then comes the answer. In a sudden pit of stomach stoppage, he lowers his chin toward Taini, searching her eyes, not believing what he's just heard: The babe will follow her mother, Wae. The words hit him worse than anything Thera could have lunged at him, not so much what she says, but the /way/ she says it... and what she /doesn't/ say. The blood drains from his face, napkin crunching in his fist.
anything for them.

Rayosia mainly pays attention for W'ren's response, the other two having long since lost her in the mixture conversation. It's when W'ren has a response for her that she lifts her eyes up from her plate, her lips pursing at the mention of Fizath's short bursts - eyes holding a sort of annoyance at him bringing up that. It's a sore spot for both rider and dragon - apparently by her expression which grows a sombre and thoughtful at the same time. Yet. She nods, adding, "That would be me," she has to munch on something to keep herself from saying anything disrespectful. An eye turn toward W'ren in the instances following has her pop in before he gets all weird, "Do you have any white flowers in your garden? You did say it was a spice garden however.." Idle thought, interrupted by the focus of W'ren's attention on the matter of a babe. Hrm. She shuffles a bit side ways at his fist crunching aroud a napkin, eyeing Thera and Taini in turn, as if to hope they have answers for his .. what is it, anger?

The girl who can't lie because it gets written all over her face has been practising, alot! Thera will smile politely at Rayosia, the greenrider suddenly getting all her focus. "The ridgeline has lots of white flowers. All over the place, very pretty now in the height of summer and since all the foilage has sprung back up. Now that thread is falling I guess no one has been maintaining the burn zone all that well. You should go there. It's a nice climb but there are a few spots where dragon's can land easily." Yes, she is babbling. "Oh! and down by the Ravine too, I think I saw some as well. Just follow the stream past the Dragon's Inn up aways and you'll find some hugging the sandy banks there, and you might want to try the river too, oh and Imogen's garden. Though I'd check with her before you pick cause she gets a little possessive about her garden even though it's not really hers, but she thinks it is." A tiny glance out of the corner of her eye will flick to W'ren.

There is evidence of a mental wrestling match on her face as Taini sits there, watching W'ren's expression change. She hesitates to continue, but Thera's babbling seals it. She sighs, reaches across to offer a hand on his shoulder, if she can, and inhales, ready to speak. "W'ren." She says, intensely. "Look at me." She waits for a moment. "She came to find you. She hadn't seen you in a long time, and she got worried." She stops, and shakes her head. "I knew about her, just because she kept reminding me of Tahira somehow." Veronika had been the one Taini last saw her twin with several Turns before. Another sharp inhale. "She ran into Thadd..." She says, chewing on her lip. "They're both alive." And that's all she'll say on the subject. "Now, then. Finish your food, so that you can be going to see your babe." Oh, dear, now she sounds /more/ like her elder brothers.

Not anger. Fear. And as for the embarrassment W'ren's comment makes, he notices the obvious discomfort afforded Rayosia. "Yes, actually. White flowers." Face still pale, and not knowing what in Faranth to say yet to Taini and Thera, he turns his attention back to Ray, words leaving in short stunted sentences. "Um..." His eyes lower to the table, then back up to Ray, "Mint. Eidelweis. Garlic." Not as up on the spices as Imo, and completely distracted, the accuracy of his list pales like his expression and the whites of Thera's eyes when she peers over at him from the corner of her eye and expressly /doesn't/ say what the Lady Holdless is doing at Fort Wery. Ruminations on this revelation churn in his head like the food of his recently filled stomach turned sour by omission and remission. He slowly turns his eyes to the hand on his shoulder, follows the arm to elbow, to shoulder to neck and mouth that says the words he really doesn't understand yet. Only the lips move for him. Not the words. His eyes rise to meet Taini's intense gaze. His eyes narrow at the mention of Thadd. But no movement betrays him. No words. Nothing.

Rayo considers everything, taking mental notes on the locations she hasn't explored yet -- who would've thought to check their own backyard? "Thank you. I'll look there for species of white flowers I haven't collected yet." She ends her words with a tilt of her head, considering the frightened W'ren with a worried eye, "Are you alright?" She can't resist but ask - the man is nearly peeing in his pants for Faranth sake. Unfortunately the rest of the words from the other two ladies pass as jibberish, still out of the loop and not really sure what has gotten under the man's skin to cause such a reaction.

Thera gives up on Rayosia, deciding that it's not even worth the effort of trying to be nice or polite to her anymore since there is no way in this pass civility will ever come to her from that rider. Other people are shy and awkward too. She turns and looks at W'ren and sighs, "Beautiful baby W'ren," really she's said that before, but it bears repeating.

Taini just watches W'ren, not sure how to take the reaction. However, as she's recently witnessed Aadi in a similar state, Taini stands up, heads arond the table towards the man, and attempts to give him a hug. She doesn't know what else to do. "I'm sorry." She says, frowning. "I don't know much about flowers." Kind of a lame comment, but her attention and focus is elsewhere. "W'ren..." She says, softly. "W'ren." Taini might be taking this too seriously, but she's seen enough that an overreaction is better than none at all.

W'ren realizes once again that Rayo's answered his commentary on white flower placement in the garden, but this time with a pointed inquiry as to his health. He turns his gaze toward her, not doing anything to remove Taini's hand on his shoulder and opens his mouth, pausing for about five seconds before the response in kind falls out as an apology. "Thank you. I'm fine." It's a lie. Still, he recognizes the attempt and responds in kind. "I didn't mean anything by the other." His eyes slip to Thera, then back to Ray, "The uh... the short bursts are actually more efficient in the standard Vee lower stacked position. Especially at the tips where you and Fizath fly." More jibberish? Perhaps Ray will find value in this information once offered. His gaze finds Thera again. "Yes, just like her mother." Finally, the wheels begin to churn again. "I guess," he says, turning his gaze back on Taini, "I need to speak to Thadd, then. It's good to know they're both still alive." His brow furrows when Taini hugs him and... Faranth in blue skies with thread... apologizes. Shards and shells. What exactly has Saskia, this woman of his, done that needs apologizing for?

The four riders are at a table, three of them with plates of food. Thera is fasting today. W'ren is distraught, finding out that Saskia and the baby are here, and Rayosia is trying to find out where to find white flowers around the weyr.

Rayosia is a complete outsider to the lives of these people she's sitting with, so the blank stare on her face can only be attibuted to the fact that she doesn't know them outside of 'work' persay and cannot make the connection of facial expressions to underlying meanings behind words. She can only take what they say at face value. To Taini, she nods slowly, "Oh. Um. That's fine. It is just a silly hobby of mine any how. Not dreadfully important." An eye stays on W'ren though she speaks to Thera, "The funny thing with all you just mentioned there, is that I haven't thought to check around Fort. I guess I just found myself wanting a reason to explore, you know?" She smiles, "I'll check the ravine tonight if I have the chance." Then back to W'ren as he speaks, "Well. You don't look fine. Look like you've seen a dragon come back from *between*..." The young rider tilts her head to the side, ready to comprehend some of what they're saying. His later apology has her confused again, set back in her chair, "There's always a place for us. I agree." Yes. She just lets it stay like that, for now, blinking a few times at her plate where another cheese cube happily occupies her.

Thera will smile at Rayosia and just nod, now more absorbed in her drink and trying to avoid looking at either Taini or W'ren. Uncomfortable situation all around, "Do you grow or simply collect?" is asked politely. Though she will shift just a tiny bit towards W'ren and based solely on their truce place a hand on his elbow.

"And if he can't understand those terms, L'ther, then I am guessing you'll be needing to talk to your wingsecond and come to some decisions. I can't be getting in the middle of wing business. As wing-leader, you're the last word in that wing, with this sort of thing. And if I were to muddle about with B'real, it would be looking like retribution and I'll not have /that/ spoken about me." To whit, the Weyrleader will endure an awful lot said about him, will even own up to some of it, but he has finished with his nemisis B'real on a professional level. "I'm sorry I can't be more help. Now then, I haven't been able to get lunch, L'thar. Talk with your 'second." Quieter words then, with the baritone gravely, "And then if you want to come talk to me, do, but I'll respect your decision. I... Understand how difficult that particular rider can be." And his strides carry Th'deus away from the bronzer who had accompanied him through the door, while he takes a wary look about for what is likely to be the next distraction heading his way. It is thus, that he'll spot the entertainment of the moment, and he'll stare, consideringly, at W'ren. A touch of relief, a touch of tension. /She/ will be leaving, then. "W'ren! Welcome back. You were not supposed to be timing it, and Xanth could not get aholf of Gnaedath, when you needed to be here. You're well?" A nod is then extended to Rayosia, Thera, Taini.

Taini looks up at her brother's voice, and releases W'ren, just out of instinct, tensing up. She frowns, looking up at Thadd. "Hey, Thadd." She says, standing up, unsure what to do when the situation becomes even /more/ uncomfortable. She sighs. "See, both alive." At this cryptic remark, Taini returns to her seat, picks up the fork, and pushes the food around her plate. She doesn't know what else to say, so she'll drain a little more from her juice cup. "Understand that." She'll respond idly to Rayosia. "Bee's hobby is formations, so I've kind of been strapped into that." She smiles a little, and then shrugs, realizing that it's lame words to fill an extremely uncomfortable silence.

Timing it or not timing it irrelevant to W'ren's present predicament, Th'add certainly has great timing. He smiles at Ray, then, trying not to notice how tense Taini gets when she rises from hugging him. "Formations, " he offers by way of explanation. "Don't worry about what anyone says. Just fly. Only you can do what you do." Silence all the way around falling, it seems in Rayosia's ballpark here, she being the only one left to talk to since W'ren has been so bereft of composure and comprehensible speech, the room hangs thickly upon Thadd's entrance. Timely or not, W'ren rises and salutes out of habit. "I'm sorry, Weyrleader. It was the only way to fix certain moral and service imperatives." Talk about cryptic. And oh so very Barlord his vocabulary. But perhaps Th'add gets it. "I," he pauses, peering over at Taini and Thera, "I think I need to speak to you." Though he's not sure if he needs to speak as rider or nephew.

Rayosia is the odd girl out, sort to speak, warily regarding the situation. She doesn't like awkwardness. Never has, never will. She tries her best to be suitable by continuing the conversation with Thera, "I try to grow them when I can, but for the most part I collect for the warmer seasons. I've tried to reseed a couple times, but my private Weyr doesn't get much sun." She cants her head to the side, "but they are lovely to have around. Makes the place smell great." To Taini, she nods, "I know how that is. Fizath adores dancing. She makes me do it all the time, when she can." Sad, but true. Another look to W'ren, but what could she do for a man she had only gotten to know back-when during weyrling training? It was strictly professional back then and it still is. She's just a greenrider after all. She has nothing to offer the man. So she just frowns at him, "You should deal with it." Whatever 'it' is.. cause she doesn't know his personal life. Not one ion. Oh well. When he stands, she almost forgets too, but seeing the Weyrleader stumbles up and tries to mock W'ren's swift salute - promptly sitting back down afterward with a sheepish downcast of eyes.

Thera has now drained her juice glass and despite the fact that it is a fast day reaches over to W'ren's plate and plucks off a piece of meat and pops it into her mouth. She's not quite sure if this was the type of distraction T'jano meant, but is willing to give it the Harper try. Chewing, she eyes Th'deus and starts a salute then thinks better on it. W'ren gets a wince before she latches back onto Rayosia's question, "Our weyr is sort of dark too, but it's high up and the ledge gets some great sun. Very windy though. I should try and grow something. Maybe from of that ridgeline outside of the bowl." It is Thera's favorite place to spend time. Alright now her gaze is back on W'ren and Th'deus.

Rayosia is traded the barest of salutes back and Thera and Taini are largely sidelined after one long and penetrating glance, for W'ren gets the largest share of the massive man's one-eyed study. He reaches up and rubs his chin lightly. "Aye, then. You'll likely be wanting to talk to me." Taini may recognize that soft-spoken few words as a portent of danger in this particular brother, though he nods with slight consideration. "I've wished and I suspect you'll be wishing that I could have gotten ahold of you, W'ren. But there's time for that, later. You've just returned?" Questions are vague, but strategic. How long as the young man been back? What has he had time to do? To learn? Another glance goes to Thera and Taini, again, with no particular greeting. This time Rayosia will get a nod, "Greenrider." But once more, Th'deus' eye turns to W'ren.

Taini decides to let the men talk for the most part, keeping her focus on them, but continuing the polite, but completely obviously cover-up conversation with the other two women. "Our weyr is fairly bright, but that's partially because I've hung little mirrors all over the ledge. Birgith loves the light, so she likes watching the rainbow patters all around." She smiles, fondness for her 'mate poking through the stress of the other conversation for a moment. Then, she recognizes that tone, that one that does not bode well. Her lips purse in silence, and she continues her constant gaze toward her brother and W'ren.

Stolen meat is nothing compared to the information that's been stolen from his awareness. Still, W'ren eyes Thera when she takes it, and softens his gaze, perhaps mercy on his part for Thera's discomfort before turning his eyes on Rayosia 'odd girl out' greenrider. This woman could not possibly know what is going on, and he just doens't have the time or inclination to teach her the ins and outs of Barlord politics and familial knots of relationships. Even Barlords have trouble with that. Furrowing his brow, he turns his gaze on her again and says more pointedly, "Greenrider. I would fly thread with you any day in my wing, were I appointed that position. We can talk about the tactics later if you like." Duplicity flies out the window with that statement finally. Perhaps. He turns his attention back to Th'add, barely glancing at Taini before speaking. "I've been sleeping, Weyrleader. In my weyr, off and on for about a sevenday. I reported in to B'real. Didn't he inform you?" Glancing at Taini again when the tone comes, he decidedly turns, then, faced away from the others. "We can talk of that at your leisure, Weyrleader. But I need to speak to my uncle." One brow rises. "Taini tells me my daughter followed her mother here and that the two of you are still alive?" The implications for this man floor him.

The greenrider bobs her head again at Th'deus' formal return of greeting, knowing not to say another word less she want to get in the middle of testosterone. Instead, her gaze makes a path from her hands toward Taini's face, eyebrows lifting only a touch - as if not to distract too much from the building conflict behind her. Even if the words are said with formality, she can sense how the atmosphere has grown extremely tense. "You'll have to show me how you've made the light work with mirrors. I'd like to get more into my weyr. Though. I am lucky that my private quarters have windows." She can't help herself, her concerned blue gaze has flashed back over to watch Th'deus and W'ren. W'ren's abrupt return of a response have her shoulders straightening, her chin lifting a bit, "If it suits you to do so, then we may." Very professional. See. Polite too. Tilt of head, offer of a smile. Then abruptly, "Excuse me. I have a feeling I shouldn't listen to this." She waves off any words to stall her and keep her stationed at the table - because she's bent on leaving. To the other two women, she murmurs, "I would like to speak of gardening with you two, another night." Yes. Something like that. Shuffling herself around the big boys, she politely bobs her head several times as she slinks on out of there with her plate in hand and a 'relieved' look on her face when she finally does scamper away.

Thera doesn't look relieved at all, Rayosia her one distraction from the tension has just boottled off. A hand is lifted quietly but that greenrider can move fast, "Gardeni...," and that's about the extent of her farewell. Sliding her gaze to Taini she tries to work out a strategy and for the most part comes up blank though she flicks her gaze from Taini to Th'deus and then drops it and flicks it back to W'ren. Silent communication meaning you take the big one and I'll take the little one and we'll sit on them. Deal?

There is a slight grin, a flash of white teeth, at W'ren's request to shift relationships from professional to familial. And the petition is granted; Th'deus reaches to pull a chair over, and as automatic gesture, he'll test the strength of the chair before he settles his frame into it. Almost in direct contrast to his gesture of seeming to relax, Th'deus remains taut of muscle, the dichotomy of tension and fluidity flowing through him with the feral energy that marks his high emotion. "Aye, W'ren, both alive. Bruised. And nay, B'real hates me possibly worse than Bitra and Telgar. If there's a chance he might be getting me in trouble, he'll do it." That's spoken softly. "And Ver-- Your Saskia, she's here. I was..." He picks his words out with great care, "Not aware, until her arrival... That she has bound herself to this family, through you." He pauses through the exhalation of the rest of his air, Th'deus somber gaze studying W'ren while he considers what exactly he might say. Finally, "Your daughter, we've all enjoyed having her here. I cannot say the same for Saskia. I did not ... Attempt to kill her, because of her connection with you, but ... I did not spare her my other attentions, when she asked for them." He nods, "Xanth tried to contact Gnaedath repeatedly, for me. I do not want that woman here, around me."

--- Exited due to RL Bed Time.

Flat Cakes!

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 02:55:03 GMT

Who: N'ic and Rayosia

Summary: Morning comes, confusing both as they find eachother snuggled up. Awkwardness is avoided by the promise of flat-cakes!

Quote From Rayo:"I just hope I didn't drool all over you..."

Light crawls sluggishly through the squat tunnel towards the weyr proper where Waroth is settled in his clashing colored pillow-covered dragon couch. When he is sleeping is one of the few times when he is truly at rest. And for now, he slumbers as deeply as his lifemate. The early morning is cool, and calm at Fort. The heat of late-spring gives way in these early hours to let the cool of the mountain climate take precedence, so the blankets on the bed are well appreciated in the chill. Evidently, early drills is not something N'ic and Waroth are slated to this morning for both still sleep as the hours of dawn sweeps pass. As light begins to illuminate the inside of the weyr, N'ic rolls carelessly onto one side, his arm flopping across Rayosia's mid-section. Confusion registers slightly at the feel of a warm body under his arm, for the presence of another surprisingly found in his bed. His brow creases gently, but its not enough to wake him, instead the dream he's swept up in incorporates the body into it and he curls a little closer, a heavy breath escaping him as his head shifts on the pillow, blonde bangs falling across his eyes, and arm tightening slightly, as though to pull her to him. He's one of those guys that its nice to watch - the way his handsome face turns serene and at peace in his sleep.

Fizath did not like coming home to an empty weyr, especially after such a hard day with firestone and her struggles with that small flame of hers. Seeking out the most appropriate place to be, Fizath settled some time during the night right up against Waroth; done with only the utter grace of steps and the carefulness to not make a noise. At the current hour, she's still there, with her snout resting over a forelimb and her muzzle pointed toward the daylight - it seems she doesn't stir as well as sweeps begin. If one were to check the rosters, Rayo has a morning off. It's a good thing too, Rayosia was dead to the world and not about to move until she absolutely had too.%R%RDead too the world never made Rayosia a heavier sleeper though. She came out of whatever dreams she was having as the arm flops against her belly, making her twitch at the least. It wasn't something she was used too - another person in bed with her. Often she had sat up when N'ic fell asleep, listening to him sleep and watching from afar, but she had never been in his bed at the same time as him. It was a wonder that her eyes didn't immediately pop open. Instead, as her mind started waking, she didn't want to open her gaze -- afraid to ruin what she pictured in her head. Only the squeeze of his hand and the tugging caused her to fully come awake, eyes fluttering open to peer blurry like at him. It... Him? Closing her eyes, tired thoughts drifted through her mind until she decided that she might as well take advantage of the situation. His body warmth was enough to send her wriggling close to him to snuggle right into his chest, eyes drifting closed as she snuck up close.

My, but won't N'ic be surprised when he finally awakens! For a deep sleeper he is-- in the classic way that many men are. The smiths could be performing experiments with explosives nearby and he'd snooze right on. His muscled form is pliable, however, and as Rayosia snuggles against him, he conforms to her shape, another shadow fleeting across his face of mild puzzlement from his mind which struggles to wake, but which the comfort of a warm body pressed alongside his is enough to bury thoughts of waking in a small pleasant smile that curls onto his lips as his arm shifts to embrace her lightly, one of his lightly haired legs bending and sliding across her thigh in a possessive move. He did, for her benefit, keep his plain black boxers on for sleep, but the lack of clothes does not keep his body from radiating like a furnace. Its long moments that pass spent in this position, his head nestling between her head and shoulder. Waroth is the first of the pair to eventually rouse, finding Fizath having arrived alongside him in the night and his tail slithers from where it had wrapped around himself to wrap instead around her, his neck extending slowly to curl closer to his favorite green - the only one that sees past his atrocious looks to see the fire that burns within him. Slowly green eyes flicker open, the confusion that begged earlier taking firm hold on his face as N'ic rouses. He grunts softly in the back of his throat, seeing first the feminine curves of her chin to neck and neck to shoulder, up close and personal. He lingers a moment as he feels her form there half-beneath his and that particularly embarrassing state of 'morning wood' that is probably obvious to his dear friend before he rolls first onto his back, warmth of his body withdrawing from hers as he stares up at the ceiling, clearing his throat after a moment. "Morning, Rayo." What else is there to say? It's a starting point.

Softly angled, her face has been nuzzled right up against his chest; her hands have been tucked between her own body and his, curled up in soft fists that press against his stomach muscles. She couldn't possibly seem any more feminine than she was right then, especially since the way her hair flutters over her face to just give a certain strange beauty to her that a friend would never have noticed before. It's peaceful - just as his expression was content and pleased by the companionship of his dream, her's was much the same, yet softer, giving a glimpse of the loving carring woman inside of her teenage frame. It was no wonder a dragon like Fizath had so quickly impressed to her. They suited eachother well. And eventually, even as she drifts in and out of fitful seconds of dreams, her body starts to awaken at the restless repositioning of her friend. Particularly when he rolls onto his back does she stir, groaning out with protest as her warmth rolls away, "Five more minutes .." Her eyes aren't even open yet as she tries to snuggle back up toward N'ic - clearly to him, still half-asleep and not at all aware of whose bed she's in. The words that greet her as she's already nuzzling into his arm snatch her from whatever dreams she had been fighting to stay with, blue eyes fluttering open once more. He can feel her grow a little tense at being so close to him and immediately see the red flush of cheeks... She tries to slither back...

It was this strange foreign beauty that keeps N'ic confused long after he's rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as she instinctively snuggles back towards him, one arm curling automatically around her shoulders as she scooches across his arm in an effort to get closer. He's lost in his own thoughts for a long few moments, and then his head rolls to the side to regard her, his gaze that unusually intense look that unsettles many and only occurs when he's deep in thought. There is slight resistance as the young woman tries to move back, and then the muscles relax, letting her escape from his grasp if that's what she wants to do. "You fell asleep." He explains quietly after a long pause in which he just stares at her. "I didn't want to wake you." This is added in additional explanation before he slowly sits up in the bed, frowning slightly, directing a vaguely dissatisfied and perplexed look at the wall. This is not the same amused and laughing N'ic of the evening before, but a more usual version of himself, contemplative and on the edge of a bad mood. "I--" Pause. "I probably should have just woken you." He delivers slowly.

Rayo. She always has a way to downplay her reactions, make light of it, and dismiss it. Anything serious she can positively do away with. Awkwardness she hates and right then as she pulled back thinking he would be freaked out by her clamouring to snuggle up to him to find different makes it all the more difficult to address. Though, Ray being Ray, says in sleepy jest, "I just hope I didn't drool all over you. You know how most of my pillows looked every morning in the barracks---" it's true, when she slept by herself, she drooled, to the point that big old wet spots would awake her from her dreams; pillows showing proof of her oddity. She reaches a hand forward as he sits up, lips pursing as she gives him a mock inspection, "Nope. Not all gooey! You're good." She finally sits up with him, rubbing her eyes with one hand while the other flicks him, "Yeah you should have. We probably missed breakfast." She tsks, "And I was dreaming about those flat-cakes they were supposed to make today. The only morning I get off and I miss breakfast!" She looks all dramatic, poking him in the ribs, "you /so/ owe me. What if I had a drill? Letting me sleep in like that--" yet she flops back down against the pillow, pulling the blankets up over her head. See. She knows how to make it perfectly normal to sleep in your best friends bed.

Her antics never fail to cheer N'ic to at least some degree. She seems to have the same effect on the rider as her lifemate has on the dragon of this brown pair. His arms wrap loosely around his knees as they loll against his crooked elbows. He turns his head to raise a severe brow towards her mocking inspection, but as ever his attempts at intimidation find absolutely no success with her -- too used to his tactics to fall prey to them. "If you'd had drill, I trust your lifemate would have woken you appropriately. I guess we've finally found that time we were talking of last night since we both have the morning off." He remains sitting where he is for a few moments and then he shifts when she buries herself under the blankets, ending up straddling her hips briefly, hands tickling at blanketed sides - which makes the movement that much less effective. "So. You wanted flat-cakes? Anything on them? Juice?" An idea is forming in his mind as he slides off the bed and moves to the desk, grabbing up a hide and writing stick, scrawling something down carefully, awaiting her response, leaning both hands to the edge of the desk, the shapely muscles of his backside on full display for her save for the black boxer shorts. "Well?" He prompts for a response.

She has gotten to know what works and what doesn't. He doesn't like to feel pressure or put in a situation where people assume he must act a certain way - she knew that and so she prevented it from happening time after time, such as right then when she teased instead of going all shy like her fluttering gut wanted her to be. Maybe it was just the flutter of hunger. "She might have--" is her brief response, "though she's still exhausted from drilling. My Wingleader thinks that the more time she spends chewing the longer her flame will be..." A sore spot for the young greenrider, "so I wouldn't blame her for sitting there like a lump all day. I wouldn't want to chew rocks all day trying to get an impressive flame like the other dragons when it just isn't physically possible!" A sympathetic look at her green, "Poor girl." Fizath snorts out a wheeze of air, flicking her tail just briefly at Waroth as she goes back to snoozing. This is when she's under the covers and is mauled by the tickling fingers of her friend, emitting an awful gigglish squeal for effect. She swats at him - swatting only air this time - when he abandons the attack in favour of doing homework? Fortunately, she can use the moment to peak from underneath her blanket to take a boo at his backside, even what's covered by his boxer shorts. It's upon realizing that she's doing it that she catches herself with a rush of colour to her cheeks, throwing the blanket back over herself as she murmurs, "Syrup and butter. Juice too. Fruit if there's any cut up?" Demanding much?

The sound of stylus scratches on the hide and with the blanket thrown over her head, all she'll be able to hear is the sound of bare feet padding across the stone floor, a small tap and an extended 'shh'-ing sound. Then feet on floor once more, nearing the bed and with a yawn, he comments, "Oh, what a lovely empty bed," As though she might be some ten turn old to be amused by this antic before he flings himself onto the bed - though careful to ensure his weight doesn't come down on her too hard in any place, stretching his larger form out atop her with the blanket between them. He lays on his back along her, grinning up at the ceiling in a self-satisfied sort of way. "I mean, really, if you're just going to keep sleeping in my bed, I might as well get something out of the deal." Like using her as his pillow. He wiggles a bit on top of her, making himself comfy, his arms rising to loop hands under his head, holding his head up slightly to keep at least that bit of his weight off of her.

The figure under the blanket doesn't move much at all, despite the rise and fall coming from a steady breath. She does however, happen to peek out from underneath the covers when she hears his foot falls dangerously close to her side of the bed. Abruptly at his words, she squeaks, trying to wriggle away before he does what she thinks he's going too. Fortunately for him, he does get to use her like a back rest as he pins her effectively, finding a fist trying to bop him on the shoulder and legs trying to worm free from under him. She grunts a little as she struggles to push him off - which isn't going to happen any time soon, considering her strength is nothing compared to his weight. "Get off! Your butt is digging into my leg!" Where really, her knee would be crooked in a fashion to be not so comfortable to rest on. She laughs under her cursing breath as she tries poking his ribs and covering his face with a hand she manages to sneak loose, "Don't make me give you a wet willy!!"

Really? N'ic in layman's terms is a meat shield. He's muscled everywhere so fists swinging at him unless they belong to some big burly bloke don't affect him much. And girls'? Well, even less, courtesy of Avarra's many times of beating him ineffectively with her own fists. In fact, this time, it really only encourages him, to fake a yawn and stretch back over her. At her complaint, he lifts his butt long enough for her to re-position her legs before dropping his hips again. "Nope. Not gonna happen." He responds in a tone that is as close to playful as he usually gets. Then he balks mockingly, "I let you sleep in my bed, steal my body heat to keep you warm last night, and this is the thanks I get? Threats of a wet willy??" This is delivered demandingly, but a long 'shhhhh' and a tap interrupts his feigned hurt, "Breakfast." He announces as he rolls off the girl, moving over to a wall where a little door has slid open. Apparently being this high in the Weyr someone felt it would only be fair to give the oddly shaped living space a perk - that being a shaft that reaches down into the kitchens far below. He withdraws a tray that's piled high with all of their orders - which includes the flat-cakes, toppings, the fruit, the pitcher of juice, and some bacon. He moves to the table with the two chairs with the tray. "So, are we even for me ruining your perfectly good morning off?" He queries, a faint smile laying across his lips as green eyes sparkle as he gazes at her.

--------- Fade To Black Due To RL.

You Have A Girl? I Want To See /That/!

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 02:30:08 GMT

Who: N'ic and Rayosia

Summary: We're trying out our characters in the scene. Developing quirks and interaction between the two. The conversation ranges from invading a Weyr unannounced, to girls, to drooling, to surfing.

Quote From Rayo: "Teach her something she doesn't know. Add a kiss maybe, and then you'll have a girl. Which means I'll have to knock, but the point is, until that time, I won't have too."

Waroth's Weyr
Stone has been hewn smooth to create a not all together spacious dragon's ledge overlooking the busy bowl below. One of the highest in the Weyr, this weyr suffers low ceilings, so the tunnel has been hewn extra wide to make up for its height. A tight squeeze for a brown the size of Waroth and a gold, its still plenty enough room for a brown and smaller green to occupy comfortably. Once within, the cavern bubbles open - as though part of a natural cavern within the rock that was then made habitable by dragon and human. The couch is wide and filled with soft pillows in varying hues - no great amount of attention spared to the clashing colors. On the opposite side of the weyr is where the rider resides. The bed is large, set back into a nook, leaving two sides against rock. The sheets are off-white, and spread over with a large comfy sleeping fur, lined with a softer material. Pillows are often in disarray on the bed. There's a small table with a pair of chairs set around it and one reed-cushioned couch for two set against the far wall. A clothing press occupies the end of the bed and a free-standing set of cabinets are against the wall behind the table. Sparse, but with dirty clothes strewn here or there and hides often scattered on the table, its not much to look at, but it suffices.

Late spring brings Fort Weyr heat -- but fortunately, as opposed to Ista, this heat is dry. It radiates through the smooth stones of the mountain Weyr, but the inner caverns are still cool. It was an excellent day everywhere for activities such as rock-climbing and surfing - two things that N'ic professes to love. Waroth is just arrived back on his ledge, wooden surf-board strapped to the riding straps and climbing gear affixed to the other side. The blond's hair is damp as he swings down out of his straps and sets about pulling the gear and straps off of his imposing-looking lifemate. The brown's tail slaps the ledge irritably, for though apparently N'ic is in an alright mood, something has gotten under Waroth's figuratively not-so-thick hide. Silent conversation carries on, N'ic grunting occasionally as he hangs the straps up on their posts drilled into the rocky wall of the ledge.

Blithe and passive, a voice spoken no louder than the irritable snap of tail against the ledge finds its way over toward Nic from the relative darkened area of the weyr proper; "You should've taken me along. Waroth wouldn't have a bug up his tail. You know how Fizath tends to him." A delicate hand plays over the back of a couch as Rayosia pads lightly into view, running her fingertips across hem-line on the top of the couch. Her eyes play through the loose curls of her hair, considering the state that the brown pair has arrived in. "Of course," she carries on further, "you'd have to explain to my wingleader why I was climbing rock instead of making Fizath eat it." A pause as she glides around to the front of the couch, "Surely not something that would encourage a good mood." These movements cause her white skirt to swish around her legs when dropping onto the arm of the couch, puckering around her thighs as she crosses her legs, bouncing a leather clad booted foot as she stares across at him. "At least say you caught a wave today?"

N'ic's made it along the oddly squat tunnel with rope and bag of climbing gear on one shoulder and surf board tucked under his opposite arm before the greenrider appears. He stops short as Rayosia's familiar voice reaches him - green gaze tracing across her slender digits and up her arm towards her face, a blond brow quirking at her, lips in a neutral line though the edge of it betrays mild amusement hidden beneath, something that only she would really pick up on. "Look, its not my fault you had drills when I have off. Tell your Wingleader to be more considerate of your busy social schedule." He recommends, his baritone delivering all of this in a tone of dry humor that clears his own shoulders of the weight of any blame for the apparent oversight. "Besides, you know him," A nod is tossed over his shoulder to the ledge where Waroth has settled to glare balefully down towards the bowl, "He's always like that. Don't really know why today." Shrug. Apparently, the rider doesn't much care. They both have their moods, and that's pretty much that. "Didn't anyone ever tell you its impolite to invade other people's weyrs without asking first? I might've had a girl in here, you know." N'ic? With a girl? Ha. In the full time Rayosia's known him, girls are few and far between. A little flirtation here and there, but the man generally seems to be more focused on his dragon, himself, and his duties than on bedding women. Proper etiquette can be something of a downer when dealing with the fairer sex and almost always will politeness win out with foreign women. "You can come next time. Ista's great this time of year for climbing, cliff-diving, and surfing." The walking advertisement for Ista. Makes one wonder why he chose to ride at Fort instead of returning to the place where his mother rides gold.

Rayosia picks at her skirt, avoiding his gaze in attempts to dislodge her own disappointment at the oversight - it was how he was, after all, and she was used to it by now, or at least she told herself she was. "You're so funny sometimes, you know?" she cants her head at his dry humor, a smile showing through despite the hard words that are vocalized, "and it's not my fault that I don't make friends easily. I do try." She says with an exasperated gesture of her arm swinging out, a hapless 'girl' gesture she often finds herself mocking. With a chided snort, she lets herself fall to the cushions of the couch, hair splaying out in bouncing waves as she flops there. Using an arm as a pillow behind her head with her legs now dangling off the end of the couch arm, she gives him a teasing scowl, "Oh? Since when can't I invade? You never minded the umpteenth times before..." she trails off until she finds herself blinking, "Unless you really do have a girl?! That I want to see." She rolls onto her elbow, legs still propped up if now bent on the couch arm.

N'ic's strides are long and easy as he moves to some pegs along the wall, hanging the coiled rope, the climbing gear, and settling his surf board into its proper place before moving to the cabinets, pulling out a pitcher and a pair of mugs. "Juice, Rayo?" The brownrider offers, giving himself time to dissemble from the question in what might be a leading way towards there truly being some kind of girl in his life. He pours from the pitcher easily without really waiting for her response of yes or no, grasping up the two mugs and moving to the couch, holding one out as he drops down onto its reeded cushions, one leg pulled underneath him. He gazes down at her with the intense look that his dragon often wears, her head not far from his crooked knee. "I was just saying that I -could- have a girl. Too many damned goldriders around here to actually meet any 'safe' girls." When one grows up with a goldrider mother and sister, goldriders are simply not safe, and generally thought of as probably more psychotic than not. "There was that one stick of a girl that ended up wearing my lunch for putting her dirty riding straps on my lunch table." He considers for a moment then dismisses. Hardly what one might call a romantic meeting seeing as he pitched his plate at her at the end of it. "But that's not the point. The point is I could. Or I might be naked." Not that this much matters to the Weyrbred, but its the principle of the thing. Though truly, he has not minded the umpteenth million times before. "You know I don't make friends easily either. So far all I've done is gotten in fights and had goldriders disown me from their responsibility." There's a smirking amusement for this accomplishment. "I promised one of them to teach her how to surf though. She told me she'd drive me crazy, I told her that was normal." A hand reaches down idly and probably subconsciously to flick a strand of the greenrider's hair out of face, an intimate move though one indicative of their close association.

What catches her attention is the general avoidance of the answer to her question. It was probable that he did find someone - after all, he does have a brown dragon, and the weyr was full of proddy greens and golds, and women alike. She closes her eyes for a while, listening to the sounds that he makes, herself merely sprawled out freely on the couch with her calves swaying. She pops an eye open when he sits down beside her, peering upside down like at him, "You know my opinion on that matter--" she had put her foot down one day, saying he should get over his mother and his sister being goldriders because not every goldrider was like that (but his response was she had no proof since she didn't know a goldrider which wasn't lik his description: psychotic). She reaches back lazily to put her palm on the base of a mug of juice, "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before. We only spent nearly two turns sharing the same weyrling quarters." Ok, well, maybe not all the way naked, but pretty close - still, she's Weyrbred too. She smoothly slides herself up enough to change the position of the mug in her hand, grasping the handle as she stretches to lie down on her stomach now, with knees jammed in the couch gap between arm and cushion. "You're on the right track," she notes, remembering the lessons he gave her, which she failed miserably at, "teach her something she doesn't know. Add a kiss maybe, and then you'll have a girl. Which means I'll have to knock, but the point is, until that time, I won't have too." Flash of a sultry smile, with a mischevious wink added as she turns the brim of her mug toward her lips.

N'ic's green eyes blink a few times at her response, something vaguely confusing and distracting in the smile she flashes at him, but he's all too caught up in the humor and he begins to laugh. Whatever she's just said is -so- funny that he doubles over, the mug set aside quickly to keep from knocking it over as his torso shakes with mirth. Its several long moments before the brownrider is able to regain control of himself. As he rolls his bulk up his spine to straighten, there's the glinting of tears in his eyes. Whatever it was was certainly something truly funny. He brings a hand up and unbashfully drags fingers across his eyes, ridding himself of the few tears gathered around his sparkling green eyes and he -grins- down at Rayosia. "Rayo. The particular goldrider in question happens to be--" Wait for it. "All of fourteen turns old. She's one of the weyrlings. Fourteen is -far- too young for me to be kissing. Five turn difference is simply too much. One has to place limits somewhere." He reaches down to pick up his juice once more. "I think I'd stand a better shot with the pregnant assistant headwoman over at Ista whose aid I've inadvertently come to on two occasions." He shrugs his shoulders slightly, "I don't really -need- a girl. Besides, I suspect I'd prefer a woman to a girl. And I'll let you know when you start to have to so you can at least avoid the awkward position of waltzing in on something private." But then again, a girl would certainly have to be special for N'ic to bring into his home. He's a very private sort in general, and it just so happened to be Rayosia's luck combined with Fizath and Waroth's bond that landed her in a position to be arriving unannounced. He grunts slightly, "And I still think you'd do well by a few more surfing lessons. Or at least come out -with- me on my board." He's never stopped trying to get her out in the waves with him, not one to ever give up on a student - no matter how abysmal.

At first Rayo thinks she has the upper hand - until he starts to laugh. Something by far unusual for him, at least to so freely be amused by something. Stick in the mud. So she can't help but become suspicious, squinting one eye with her mouth turning up toward said eye, her characteristic 'what are you up too' look. She even begins to check herself over as if she should have some purple monster crawling out of her shirt or some silly thing. Finding nothing out of place or on her face, she's left to gawk at him, facial features stiff and brows accusing of not sharing the information of what's so head spinning knee slapping funny. That /grin/ from him sets her in a more defensive posture, half expecting him to make fun of her - since other boys happen to do it quite often, because you know, she's not the most graceful thing to have ever walked the earth. The most graceful thing is Fizath. But that's besides the point and off topic. She frowns at that grin, until he explains the particular gold rider in question they are speaking of. She slaps her hand over her mouth as she comphrends the sitaution, her brows jutting up, as she puts the mug aside to wave him off, "Forget what I said then. You should stay clear of her--" she suggests as she kicks her feet in the air a little, waggling her finger, "You might have boundaries, but for a girl that age, she'll fall head over heels before she even knows it and you'll be stuck with a goldrider glued to your back." Better than a greenrider? She doesn't even realize the comparison she just made, "that or you’ll break her heart." Wriggle of pointed finger, which she swats a little at him, "I don't really need to know about your sex life or see it. So if you want me to knock or ask Fizath to ask Waroth for me, then I can. I just didn't realize you were getting so ... stuck up." She cants her head to the side further, the tease barely seen but knowing her, it's all said with a light hearted jest. "And you know what happens with my attempts at surfing. I spent more time falling off that board than staying on it. And how many times did Fizath have to bring it back for me when it got swept away?" She sighs reaching back for her mug, "I just don't think I can do /that/ hobby of yours."

All the laughing has put N'ic in one of his rare great moods. So he sets his juice aside and then steals hers out of her hands and sets it aside as well. "Now, Rayo," He begins slowly, a badly feigned seriousness in his tone as he reaches to take her hands, thumbs brushing over her fingers lightly, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but-- you deserve this." And then quick as a whip he's dropped her hands and his are going to her sides to wiggle across them in a tickling technique that's been used a time or two before it great success by him. After a few moments of his efforts (so long as he gleans appropriate results!), he withdraws his hands, grinning down at her. He's never been one to truly make fun of her, and he isn't now. "I was mostly kidding about the whole-- inquiry thing." He shrugs his shoulders, "I just-- someday I'm going to have to start acting like an adult, you know." Not that that day is today. But its the principle of the thing. "I mean, I guess someday you will too, and generally people who aren't lovers don't go waltzing into other people's weyrs without an invitation, you know?" He may not wholly understand the custom since really beyond the things he's mentioned as possibilities, he doesn't necessarily see a good reason for it. "And none of that matters. Besides, you know Fizath didn't mind. Gave her something useful to do and all. I think if you practice a bit more..." He shrugs. "I do miss those times when you'd come out -with me-." The few times when he would take her on his board with him, him seated on one end, her laying on the front, just paddling around and watching the sun set over the Southern beach back-when. "Seems like even though things were wilder back-when, they were simpler. There are more people here, more responsibilities." His expression sours slightly, "I'm not sure I like it, really."

Really. She never sees it coming. He's the most unpredictable person she's ever known - perhaps that's why she sticks around; never a dull moment. One day he could be hurling things in a spitting ball of rage, the next time, evidently, tickling her with a wide set grin on his face. She immediately screeches at the finger tips, trying to wiggle away - doing not much more but thrashing around helplessly on the couch like a fish out of water. Some where in the tickling she can hear herself crying out for 'mercy' ... but not much to her success as tears build up in her eyes and it's her face that goes red now! She's deathly ticklish; she would die of laughter if someone tickled her all day. At the end of it, she flops against him, panting for air, punching him in the leg for it - which really, feels more like a pat on the leg than a punch. Heaving a sigh, she makes a noise that sounds like a fart, "Pbbts. We'll worry about getting old tomorrow. Until then, I like showing up without notice. It keeps /you/ guessing." She slouches against him, more of an friendly lazy way to sit than anything else - as best friends would do. "Forget it," she snaps with a magical wave of her hand, "as long as you're at Fort, I get to waltz into your weyr whenever I want. There's no ifs ands or butts about it-" at the same time she says buts, she goes to poke a finger near his, settling for a thigh instead. Playing with her vest settled over the flimsy blouse underneath, she props her feet up on the arm of the couch while using his shoulder as a back support, glancing back at him, "We'll have to do that again, when we both have time--" sad, that part of responsibility seems to be already etched into the young riders. He can feel her nodding by the shift of weight against his shoulder, "We could always get back there, if we didn't like it here. We know /when/ we left there. So we could always go back to minutes after we left when."

N'ic chuckles low as she uses him as a chair, and one and reaches to settle lightly on her shoulder, squeezing slightly, "Its too dangerous, Rayo. But-- then again, we could time it just a little... give ourselves a few hours of solitude before drills and so on." His expression is thoughtful as he toys with the idea then his shoulder shrugs under her head just slightly. His fingertips run idly down along her arm in a soft caress. As their friendship continues and deepens, his gestures have often become bordering on something indicative of a more intimate relationship, but have never strayed so far as to be something definite. No attempts to kiss, no copped feels, just simple little gestures like this little trailing touch that even he does not realize might be toeing the lines of friendship. "So many folks take themselves too seriously around here." He comments, though is voice seems slightly far away as he contemplates their situation. "I don't feel like I know my wingmates. Or-- anyone else really. The fourteen turn old goldrider is the only one whose shown any interest other than you in spending any kind of time with me." His green gaze flicks down to the top of her head and his voice is serious as he questions, "Do I smell bad or something?" Nevermind his mood swings, hot-headeness and politeness down to the point of being rude. "Sometimes I think we should've just gone to Ista. But if we went to Ista I'd be Nicarran, the son of Weyrwoman Katarra and former Weyrleader I'van all over again. And I had have to see my father every day." There's a note of extreme distaste for this possibility. The relationship between N'ic and his father has been bad since Rayo and he met and only worse since his return with a brown (not bronze) dragon and his choice to live at Fort rather than at Ista. "Maybe somewhere new entirely would be better." Again he seems distant as he examines the idea for pros and cons.

She's never spoken up about the small gestures skipping the borderline of friendship into unspoken regions, mainly due to the fact that she knew if she had, he'd watch every little thing he did with her; awkwardness was something she never wanted with N'ic. Not to mention, she never found anything but comfort from his slight absent-minded gestures, something in the way of them that she had missed out on as a child. Thus, moments like these, where she could simply be herself in the company of another have become as treasured as her moment of impression. "We can time it. Fizath is sure she can do it," her blithe tone softly adds to the conversation, "but I insisted we'd only do it if we needed to." Her yawn is silent. He cannot see it. She tries to listen. Tonight though, his voice is putting her to sleep - along with the way he's suddenly become her make shift pillow. "Sometimes you smell bad..." she adds in with a quiet giggle (which she rarely does, self-conscious of the sound). Should he take notice further on after his last comment, he will hear the steady breathing of a girl fallen asleep on his shoulder.

Amusement causes sparkles in N'ic's eyes for a moment as he listens to her speak, but he remains silent, the many thoughts pulling pull his attention. So its many moments before he realizes that she's fallen asleep on his shoulder, as softly questioned, "Rayo?" that gets no response confirming her slumbering state. He sits there on the couch with her trustingly asleep on his shoulder, one hand rising to stroke gently across her hair, but eventually there are things to do, and so he shifts - careful not to disturb her over much. His muscles are not all for show, he proves as he carefully and easily scoops her slender form up in his arms, moving over to his large bed, and settling her in it carefully, removing her shoes and tucking the sheet up over her before he heads over to his desk to do some work before crawling eventually into the other side of the large bed and passing out himself.

Introducing Fizath!

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 21:58:06 GMT

Name: Fizath

Name Inspiration: Created by Rayosia.

Egg Name: Flower of the Desert Egg

Egg Description: Petals of a bright magenta curl up the sides of this ovoid. They are slender and vibrant lengths, born of a livid green base, and smattered with strikes of off-white. These streaks give the egg a prickly look that gives way to the utter sensual grace of the wrapping petals. At its apex, a bright star of yellow glows with an outlined shadow, as though to entice the observer's eye to enter its exotically mysterious depths.

Egg Inspiration: A blooming cactus flower, similar to those pictured here:

http://batchisthenewshit.files.wordpress.com/2007/05/5-21-07cactus2.jpg

Hatching Message: Flower of the Desert Egg shivers. It’s a subtle move to draw attention to the entrance of a new hatchling to the world. Cracks crawl down from the apex of the egg almost tracing the edges of petals giving the impression of the magenta lengths curling away to reveal the life within. Veiled Verdant Vixen Green Hatchling stands poised and posed with wings pulled around her, unfurling their emerald lengths as she takes her first confident steps free of her shell. This is the moment she has been waiting for and even just shelled, there is no foot put wrong in the first performance of her life.

Hatchling Name: Veiled Verdant Vixen Green Hatchling

Description: Rich emerald coats this dervish’s sleek form. Shadowed bangles of evergreen snake serpentinely around talons and forelimbs to meet a sensuous shading of the green’s patterned torso. Sprinkled across her chest and back, skipping belly but returning on hind-quarters is an arrangement of beaded droplets of muted gold- and black-tinged green. Wings are wide and graceful, holding a very flexible quality and flowy look to them, as though someone had draped silky emerald fabric across a graceful wing-frame. Her long tail further contributes to a look of elegance, spiraled in dark wisps of deep jade. Her neck has no spirals, but is rather draped at even intervals with a line of coppery green. Discs of the same hue are pressed to her hide seeming to dangle from the line. Exotic of face, a chain of gold-green traipses from headknobs to mid-muzzle where a sheet of malachite drops to make nostrils and line of maw all but invisible, as though covered by a veil. To counter-balance the uniformity of most of her maw, a trail of diamond-shaped splashes of tropical sea green pattern a partial crown between her headknobs. Bejeweled eyes are ringed with a dark viridian green only adding to the sense of alluring mystery that her over-all look implies.

Description Inspiration: Your dragon was inspired by the concept, the look, the everything of a belly dancer. There are a -lot- of green belly dancing costumes out there, and I selected one of those costumes to base Fizath’s description on. Primarily:
http://www.whirling-dervish.co.uk/media/photos/fullsize/michelle_green1_031007.jpg

Secondarily:
http://www.whirling-dervish.co.uk/media/photos/fullsize/michelle_green2_031007.jpg
And:
http://www.whirling-dervish.co.uk/media/photos/fullsize/michelle_green3_031007.jpg

Public Impression Message: Veiled Verdant Vixen Green Hatchling’s moves have ever been filled with both confidence and grace since she left her shell. Where some have struggled, she has excelled. Without sound, her head snaps towards <insert WAROTH’S hatchling name here> and there’s some kind of silent rebuke passed for his muss and fuss war with his eggshell, the look silencing his raucous creelings. A blue is tossed a similar look, though this one seems to say, ‘what’s the matter? I’ve got it down, why don’t you?’ Then there is distraction. Her head cants as her veiled muzzle turns towards one of the blonde-haired, white-robed candidates, a croon of excitement elicited from her as she shimmies her way towards the girl, a whirling dervish across the sands though she slows at her approach, tail left to extend towards the Fortian girl, a light sensuous brushing along her chosen’s leg, slowly enough that she would see it coming, a gentle greeting as minds meld.

Private Impression message: Where for some, darkness is sudden, for you - darkness takes you by one hand and then the other, and enfolds you in its gentle embrace. It brings you to the realization of how alone you are - but then there is a shhhhhhhhhhh of rapidly shaken thin coins. The scent of the exotic desert flowers entices you, the scent wrapping like the curling smoke of incense around your thoughts. A shiver runs down your spine as her mindtouch makes itself known in a subtle caress. Light as a breeze skipping across the desert, making merry with white grains of sand swept up in her swaying and twirls. Her voice pulses with a rhythm conveyed in a oft-varied drum-beat, << Rayosia, life is a dance, and I choose you for my partner. Together we will enchant the world. I am Fizath. >> The words are as welcome to your mind as a cool drink of water after days stranded in an arid desert, and just as sure as you were that she was there for a moment, the Veiled Verdant Vixen Green Hatchling’s mind fades away as though it was only a mirage - but then there is a quiet shhhhhhhhhhhhhh of those many quietly clattering coins, and you know that Fizath is there and so it will always be.

Temperament: From the start there were some things you could not miss about Fizath. Grace, confidence, and a mysterious subtle allure being amongst the first. A trend that began on the day of hatching for not putting a foot wrong or tripping on her long tail continues to hold true today. Less ably noticed by the outside world is her supreme calm, her utter internal control, and her insecurities. To many, Fizath would seem intelligent, and while she is certainly not a stupid dragon, she simply has the wisdom to know when to speak and when to be silent lest she prove herself a fool. She plans things - her life, her daily routine, she has an order to which she lives. Now this may change with simple input from you, but she likes to know the next step of the dance before it happens, which leads to a great deal of self-control on her part which developed over the turns.

As a weyrling dragon, she was often less chatty than the other dragons - preferring to listen and learn. She was protective of you, but at the same time, encouraging you that with enough practice, the two of you would find the right rhythm to live by. Fizath proved to be an excellent partner to you, making you proud in her ability to fly with ease and her ever-graceful lift-offs and landings. Her flexible wings allowed her to excel in everything having to do with flight, and in these times you learned her inner strength, confidence, and calm. There were, however, times when things were not so easy. Fizath was born with a small defect to her lungs which made firestone lessons a challenge (though due to lack of medical advancement on Pern, the condition is only guessed at, and not known with certainty to exist). Unable to sustain flame as others learned to do with ease, Fizath’s efforts stuck her with only being able to produce short bursts of flame, rather than a sustained stream. This short-coming that she constantly attempts to improve with no favorable result creates her greatest source of doubt. It is an insecurity that she shares with you alone. In an attempt to make up for it, however, her efforts could not be more plain.

As an adult, her confidence has settled, so where there were nagging doubts, together you and she have learned the steps of the dance and know the next move. Often, she chooses to be off on her own, though she enjoys time spent with you and you alone. Other times she is more social, enjoying the intricate dance of the social butterfly. While not a gossip, she doesn’t always mind exchanging words about the happenings of the Weyr. One of the dragons that is one of her more frequent conversation partners is N’ic’s brown Waroth. She finds him to be an interesting sort of fellow. Interested by his subtle nuances and like confidence though often un-understanding of his rantings and mood swings, she likes his intensity in all of it. She is one of the few who can talk him out of a mood he’s firmly set himself into. He is one of the few that has held her attention because she loves to set his thoughts swinging from his often intense angers to intense lust from her subtle teasings and temptings. He’s not the only one, however, there are other males who have similarly caught her interest enough for her to tease outside of flights - though they are few and far between: she’s picky that way.

When flights do roll around, hers are long (for a green) and intense. Being on the larger side of most greens, though proportional, she does have more energy during a flight than most of her color. In her opinion, she needs that precious time. She is not one seeking freedom or seeking to flee from her pursuers, but one to make them try hard and to have enough time to make her own choice. When the mood hits, she prefers to taunt them then to revile them. She knows ultimately the choice will be her own - she will choose whom to twine with and take him for her own for that night rather than accidentally becoming tangled in some blue’s wings. Her tauntings are subtle though, a flick of the tail here, a glance over her back there - even the occasional bumped caress to drive her suitors wild with desire. Every move, every look has purpose - its all part of the dance that she will share with them as she takes to the skies. She challenges them with her movements to show her what they have to woo her with - and she prefers those who impress (whether verbally or in action) her than to those who simply happen to be good at flying.

Though flying is one of her favorite activities, she has other interests. She makes her flight into dances, and one of her favorite activities will be to watch you and a partner dance - to the point that she will urge you onto the dance floor simply so she can feel the dance through you. She also has an interest in fashion. Not only for you - though she will usually have some kind of input to offer if you are ever at a loss, but also in her own. As such, she will request of you that you procure colored leather to make her straps from and perhaps decorate them with small shiny objects or things that will make noise in the breeze. On very rare occasion, which has happened more often with Waroth than any other dragon, she will feel the need to soothe the beast or offer advice in the form of a story which will involve all of her mental faculties - smell, touch, taste, images, and sound.

Above all else, Fizath is a temptress. Subtle, wily, confident, and mysterious. In all things, though, she keeps in mind above all that you are her partner, her lifemate. If you forget the steps of the dance, she will remind you and expects that you provide the same safety net for her.

Temperament Inspiration: The art of belly dancing is a centuries old tradition. Its earliest known form was performed as early as the fourteenth century B.C.E. It is a dance characterized by smooth, flowing, complex, and sensual movements of the torso, alternated with shaking and shimmy type moves. It is often thought of as a seductive dance due to the fact that it is designed with the female form in mind, focusing on subtle abdominal, hip, and chest movements. Traditional dress for this style of dancing is typically an alluring look of mystery. When you were describing to me what you wanted in the personality of your insta-green, belly dancing struck me as the perfect inspiration to provide you with both the subtle, calm, intelligent, and confidence you expressed a wish for, along with being a temptress but not over-the-top, overly flirtatious or downright promiscuous. I hope the inspiration suits what you had envisioned for Fizath. More information on belly dancing can be found here:

http://www.wellesley.edu/Activities/homepage/wbds/page_folders/history_page/history.html

Mindvoice: As with everything, Fizath’s mindtouch arrives subtly. It may come with first the sound of a shimmied coin-sash, or with a tendril of the scent of exotic desert blooms, or even with a simple tickle of the breeze across another’s mind. Vibrant colors are favored to the muted, though often on a backdrop of an ocean of white sand. Whatever the occasion, her touch comes with a dance - often not obvious unless the recipient is attentive, a move here or there that indicates a continuation of her display. Drums are usually her favored sound - the kind beaten with hands rather than sticks, to give a rhyme and reason to her speech pattern when she does choose to use words. Sometimes her mood is for images or colors only, while other times words are woven to create a dance all on their own. In times of frustration or anger, the breeziness to her tone becomes a gale with everything in sharp angles and communicated in exact language, the sand kicking up into a sandstorm in times of true anger, hurt, or concern.

Dragon Credits: This dragon was created by N'ic.