Living Caverns
The rough-hewn majesty of this cavern far outpaces any delight in the multitudes of curves that form its enclosure. The glabrous grey granite is shot through with translucent obsidian, lending subtly-veined sparkle to the walls and the foot-trodden smoothness of the floor that shows centuries-old placements of the scarred trestle tables; carven hollows give homes for the glow baskets and the coat-pegs that line the walls. No mosaics, no painting, no tiles: just a few well-done tapestries mark the pathway that lead to the kitchen to the north and the inner caverns to the west, and frame the nighthearth's stew and snacks, while a heavier strip of oiled canvas shields the unwary from the wind in the bowl.
Scattered about in various perches and niches are fifty-two firelizards.
You see OOC NOTICE (look sign), BlackWood Harp, Generic Sign-Up Sheet, Look at Me Postcard to Tatia, White Clay Egg Pot, and Gigi here.
Pia is here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl     Kitchens     Inner Caverns     Crafting Area

Lis swaggers in with her ego-inflated sense of importance, strutting like a runway model in from the bowl and knowing full well eyes are following her. A satisfying clatter echoes from one corner along with a deep, male swearing - poor man's dropped his tray, watching. The greenrider merely smirks wider.

Pia is curled up in a chair, attention on the scrolls cradled in her lab. At the clatter and accompanied swearing, she glances up, around, and mutters irritably to herself. Just when she gets comfortable... /Lis/ arrives.

Lis turns down several offers for chairs, laps, and far cruder things; she's got to have her morning klah, first. She pours it with some strange degree of suggestiveness. (If there was a way to make pouring klah sensuous, Lis /would/ be the one to know it.) Still... evil thoughts send her in Pia's direction to call out a throaty greeting: "Mmm. Morning, Pia."

Pia makes a dissapproving noise in the back of her throat. "Morning Lis," she returns, albeit unwillingly. "Up early this morning, aren't you?"

Unspoken accompaniment to Pia's words: Why aren't you wallowing in bed with some unfortunate weyr resident?

Lis slides into a chair, claiming the space around it with a languid crossing of legs that brings soft squeaks from the black leather she's in. "I never went to sleep," she informs Pia, an unholy grin coming to her face, "but he did. So I came down to get klah." It does explain why the laces on parts of her leathers are missing a few holes here and there, and hair appears vaguely disheveled.

He kicked her out early. Weyrmate returned.

"Fascinating," Pia replies dryly, clearly wishing she'd never asked. "I haven't seen you in a while." And doesn't she look pleased to see Lis now?

Lis peers down at her hand nonchalantly, stretching it out in front of her as if she were contemplating the state of her fingernails. Gotta keep 'em trimmed so she doesn't draw too much blood. "I haven't seen much of you either," the greenrider observes, suddenly turning a leer on the vinter. "But I'd sure like to."

Pia edges away from the suddenly leering greenrider, at least as far as she can edge in the close confines of her arm-chair. "Well, that's just too bad," she states icily. "Ovines would fly, first."

Lis directs her gaze to peer lazily outside, cocking her head for the hint of a piggish squeal. "Oh, if you insist..." comes the soft, regretful sigh. "Most people would give their right arm for the priveledge."

"I'm rather fond of both of my arms, Lis, and really have no intention of giving them away for any so called 'privilege." Pia replies, tone dry. "Besides, there's such a line, or so you'd have us all think, that how could you possibly squeeze in any more... appointments."

Pyrene wanders distractedly in from the Central Bowl.

And Pia's day gets just /that/ much better. "Morning, Pyrene," the Vintner notes sourly, glancing past Lis's leers to catch sight of the goldrider's entrance.

Lis can explain that one easily. Silly Pia. "Some of them come in pairs, or even bigger numbers. Why, just the past night, I had ten people up in my weyr." D'renn was among them, no doubt. Eyes slide away from the prudish vinter to light on Pyrene - oh, look. Her two favorite females. "Pyrene!" she sings out sweetly, waving the golrider over.

Pyrene is here, looking grumpy. She'll match Pia then. "Morning, Lis... Pia..." she mutters, sidling over with the sort of demeanour that suggests she's only socialising to air her own grievances.

"/Ten/ people?" Pia blinks, startled /way/ past disapproval. "And everyone... you mean.... /ew/!" Nipping that question off before Lis actually answers it, the journeywoman shudders. "You are really wierd, Lis."

Lis gives Pia a bright, beaming grin as she exclaims, "Why, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Pia!" Pyrene's melancholy doesn't go unnoticed, however, and she coos in a motherly way up at the goldrider. "What's wrong, Py-love? Need an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, a lap to sit in?" All hers, of course.

"At least she's having fun," Pyrene points out blandly. "Lis, do you think I should visit home?" She's not here to discuss Lis' many and varied problems. Pay attention to her own great and grievous woes. But don't offer a lap. And not just because she's got a bony rear end.

Pia manages to produce a weak little smile with a closer kinship to a scowl. "It wasn't a compliment," she returns icily. "And I do have fun. It just doesn't involve ten people."

A muttered comment comes from Pyrene's direction about how Pia wouldn't be able to find ten people willing to have fun with her.

Lis tries very hard to control her libido in the face of Pyrene's dilemma, steepling her hands in front of her in the most platonic way she knows how. "Do you miss home, Pyrene?" Big brown eyes blink upwards, though a corner of her lips quirks up at the muttered comment. She heard it

Pia's features set into a sulk, lips pressed tightly together. Oh yes, she heard it too. "You should go home," the Vintner replies stiffly. And stay there. "I'm sure your family is.. very proud of you." Tone indicates Pia's belief of the complete opposite.

Pyrene winces. "No, not particularly. I suppose I'm kind of curious to see how everybody's doing--I've not been home for over ten turns--but I got a letter from my parents. They want me to bring Sephne." Pia gets a glare, and she adds with a finely childish sense of injustice, "They didn't want to come and see /Cadge/..." Not that Pyrene invited them, but she'll cling to that flimsy excuse. "And Lis... don't do that thing with your hands. It just makes me feel as if that's the only barrier between me and your dragon-crazed hormones."

Lis looks genuinely stung. "Py/rene/. I've never forced my attentions on someone who didn't want it." Sure, she's offered, and persisted, but no means no, in her book. Huffing, she gets up from her chair in search of more klah and the calming creampuffs.

"Yes, but Cadge isn't their grand-daughter," points out Pia mildly. "And Sephne is. Go home. Show off the brat. Then come back and you'll have a million stories about how silly your parents are to entertain us all with."

Pyrene waves impatiently after Lis. "Oh come on, all I said is the whole hand thing makes you /look/ like you're desperately restraining yourself. It's offputting." Pyrene may not be proddy, but she's never needed that excuse to be snippy. Or to bridle at Pia. "My parents are..." she pauses, principle warring against principle, before settling for: "It's not your place to pass judgment on them."

"Then go home," Pia returns lazily. "If they're as perfect and wonderful as you just implied, then why are you so unwilling to return to their loving arms?"

Pyrene sniffs lightly. "I didn't say they were perfect. I just said that it's not for you to pick at their flaws. I just... I think we get on better through letters. They have a bad effect on me."

"But you'd deny them the sight of their dearest grandchild?" Pia inquires sweetly.

"They have plenty of grandchildren to look at. And I don't want to have to explain to them who Sephne's father. They've never asked... which probably means they think it's B'art." The thought is enough to send Pyrene's face into her hands.

Pia can't resist. "And /was/ it B'art?" The Vintner poses casually. "I haven't seen him around much -- have you been hiding him in your weyr, dear?"

Pyrene shudders, her hands spasming straight and splayed-fingered. "/No/! It was /F'ish/. Her name's Sephne, not Bartne. I've no idea where B'art is, back at Benden I should imagine." It's no accident that Pyrene's not attended a Benden Hatching since Cadgwith's clutch.

Pia tisk-tisks quietly. "Poor B'art. All that unrequieted love." Smothering giggles by sheer will alone, the Journeywoman shrugs. "You know, sometimes you can't be absolutely sure..."

Lis comes out of her sulk as she sees Pyrene with her face in her hands. She's a sucker for sobbing, desperate people. It worked on her with D'renn, anyhow. "Aw, Py..." she murmurs, descening upon the rider like a fairy godmother with a part-time job as a bondage model.

Pyrene puts a protective hand over her lower belly--one might thing it was a bit late now. "Oh, I can be sure. I slept with B'art just the once--the night of the flight, which was when I was heavily dosed up with green stuff. It was only after Cadgwith /clutched/ that I stopped taking it and that was when I slept with F'ish. The dates are all wrong for it to be B'art's." But even so, the thought leaves her weak. Good thing her leather-bound fairy godmother is there to lean on then.

"You never know," chimes Pia gaily. If Sephne turns out fat and rude and balding, Pyrene'll be in trouble.

My mama told me that you can be annnnnyyything you want to be.

Lis summons a chair to her side by some means - probably a foot hooking around one leg of it - before sliding into it carefully, perching on the near side towards Pyrene and offering her plate of creampuffs. No higher honor could she bestow. "Pyrene... they don't /know/ B'art, do they? You don't /have/ to let them know that F'ish was the father."

"Do I want them to think that B'art was?" Pyrene points out, before brightening. "They don't even know about B'art--beyond the fact that somebody must have caught Cadgwith. I could just let them thing that f'ish was the bronzerider whose dragon caught Cadge!"

"What does it matter to them who caught Cadge? /Do/ they know B'art?" Pia asks, reaching one hand for her mug. "F'ish, B'art, they're just names to your parents, right?"

Lis applauds in glee as the devious mind of Pyrene comes up with a solution. "Oh! Wonderful!" She stops just short of squeaking, however, as a thought comes to mind: "But what if they /do/ meet F'ish. And Arielth?" You've got to cover all your bases, when you're making up a lie. "You could always say F'ish was the gallant gentleman who rescued you from crude and cruel B'art," the greenrider babbles in brainstorming, half-acting out the parts as she dramatizes the men.

"And you slept with him as a reward," remarks Pia dryly.

Pyrene explains patiently. "They /know/ that I must have slept with a bronzerider. They do /not/ know that I slept with anybody else." Nearly 25 turns, 10 turns of those supporting herself and earning her own keep, a Jr weyrwoman, and she still hides stuff from the parents she hasn't seen in a decade. "Oh, I can't tell them that I slept with a man I had no serious relationship with! Besides, they won't meet F'ish. They never come to the Weyr."

Lis frowns thoughtfully, drawing her legs up under herself as she curls up sideways in the chair felinely. "Well, I /suppose/ that could work." She's looking a little miffed her suggestion went over like a lead balloon. Sulk.

"Just better hope that they don't change their mind, one day, and show up unexpectedly -- and what if, in that case, F'ish got wind that the grandparents of his child were here, and what if he rode down to meet them on the very blue Arielth?" Pia's full of what-if's today.

Pyrene gives Lis shoulder a pat. "Maybe you can use your story yourself. Or as an excuse to sleep with somebody," she suggests, before giving a glare to Pia. "F'ish isn't going to here about /any/ of this. The last thing I need is for him to get it into his head that he should meet my parents."

Lis scowls darkly at Pia, snapping ominously. "Shut /up/, Pia. You're so sharding depressing." It's PFS - pre-flight syndrome. "I don't /need/ an excuse to sleep with anyone. Unlike some people who refuse to admit they've even got anything between their legs." Well, it ain't her, it ain't Pyene...

Pia allows a sudden, angelic smile cross her lips. "No, of course not." So, she's as transparent as glass... who cares? "Just covering all the angles," the Vintner protests mildly. "It could happen." And /will/, once Pia gets into motion.

Pyrene looks the teensiest bit self-satisfied as Lis gangs up on Pia with her. "Pia, if F'ish /does/ find out, you'll be the sorrier for it," she states coolly.

"What? I didn't do anything!" Pia protests, hands going to her hips. "Besides, there are other people in the caverns that could tell him, besides me."

"You never do anything, or anyone, for that matter," Lis observes drily, studying the creampuff she picked up from the plate that Pyrene didn't eat. "Really, there's no point in ruining Pyrene's life because you're... unsatisfied." Dig, dig.

Pyrene sends a glance around. "Nobody else close enough to hear," she says primly. "Or who are petty enough to do it." Her own hands fold, arms crossed sternly across her breasts. Her face tries to remain expressionless, but there's a smirk threatening after Lis' comments.

"Whatever," Pia replies airily, rising from her armchair. "I'm perfectly satisfied with my life, and at least I have the self-respect to back it up instead of being a lazy little female with uncontrollable hormones who's the laughing stock of the weyr. Honestly, Lis, if I were your parents I'd have drowned you at birth." With a haughty little toss of her head, she struts out of the caverns.

Pia opts for broad stairs that lead up to the Crafting rooms above the inner caverns.

"If you were my parents, I'd drown myself!" Lis calls after Pia, attempting to look suitably macho and unhurt, despite the pout lingering around the sides of her lips. "And I'm not lazy, either," comes the soft mumble around the creampuff she nibbles on, dejectedly.

Pyrene just chokes at Pia's comments and promptly falls over herself trying to comfort Lis. "Oh, ignore her Lis-dear, you know what Pia's like. Bitter and twisted little wench desperately trying to live off her grandfather's name," she soothes the greenrider, nodding a greeting to Berin.

Lis sniffles faintly, eyes faintly teary as she looks up at Pyrene. At least this side of proddiness is an improvement over the evil, smirking, lustful bits, no? "'Least her family likes her. All I have is Alymath, and she hates me." A little melodramatic maybe, but D'renn's unconcious, so he doesn't count, and the kids have been safely dropped off at the babysitter's for the past few days.

Pyrene can do melodrama as well. Or at least she's dealt with proddy-Lis often enough to know it works. "Lis, look around you," she urges. "All these people, all these faces... who love /you/." And with a good many of them, '/have/ loved you' would be a more appropriate expression. "Now look around again, and tell me how many of them love Pia. And if her family like her so much, why isn't she living with them? Tell me that!"

Lis brightens up as if she's been blessed by the Prozac fairy. "Aw, Pyrene. You're right. They /do/ love me." On some level or another. "Give me a hug," she offers, arms opening up towards the weyrwoman. She promises not to feel Py up.

Rhoswen arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Pyrene will give Lis a hug in that case, thanking the powers that be for mood-swings. "Of /course/ we love you, Lis." She assures the greenie, straightening up after patting her back. "Rhoswen loves you too, don't you Rhoswen?" she inquires of the resident.

Rhoswen wanders in, hair the epidemy of a bed-head. She's still dressed in soft, white sleepclothes, though her eyes are wide enough to be awake.. maybe. Just don't make any sudden motions. A polite nod to Lis and Pyrene is given as she passes the hearth and grabs a mug, a plate of fruit and a meatroll. She arranges her breakfast on the table and plops down. Now, what to do..
"Of course I love Lis. Love you, Lis. Do you feel unloved?"

Astrea arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Lis sits upright in her chair, legs unfolded so she can cross them and kick the upper one slowly. Cheered up, however, is back to her usual mischief. "Not anymore," she states to Rhoswen, smirking broadly as she leers at the young rider type walking by. He notices, however, and tries to walk a little taller and suck in his gut. Hah. Astrea gets a little wave as she's spotted at the end of the young rider's path.

Astrea runs her hands through her tumbling mass of curls, making her way resolutely to the couch that seems to have become her second home lately. Luckily, the boys are still sleeping. But for how long? May as well make the most of her morning. Leaving the littles curled up on the couch, the young woman makes a beeline for the hearth. But not before passign a cheery wave to those gathered. "Hey Pyr, Lis, Rhos. Nice day?" Not a lot of conversation.. her brain's all thought-out right now.

Pyrene shakes her head and resumes her seat. "Morning anyway, Rhoswen..." she starts to greet Astrea, realises she doesn't know her name and settles for merely nodding brightly at her. "Lis stop ogling and socialise," she bosses the greenrider. All's right with the world once more. "It /is/ a nice day. I might take a flight later."

Rhoswen picks up her plate and hustles over to Astrea's couch, settling herself by the bubs with a grin. /Her/ charges, right? Alcandar stirs slightly, and is gently lifted into the girl's lap and coddled over. "There there..." she croons between mouthfuls of fruit. "A flight, Pyrene? You're so lucky.. I should see if my runner has arrived yet." Yes. Can't forget to chase that up.

Lis scowls playfully over at Pyrene, retorting, "I /am/ socializing! Just with my eyes." The children make her vaguely nervous, but apparently they're safe on the couch. "A flight..." The greenrider makes a sigh of the word, going disurbingly unfocused. "Sounds like an awfully good idea..." Alymath subsumes her for a moment, brown eyes staring off into space.

Astrea returns to the couch, watching Rhoswen hawkishly. "You.. you just be careful, y'hear?" Nothing like an over-protective Astrea. Skeery. A small glance is sneaked at the rider-types. "I don't believe we've met.." she says boldly, extending a hand. "I'm Astrea, 'Reaches rez, mother of Alcandar and Zeryx. You're 'Riders, right?"

Pyrene twitches a grin, a little unnerved by the presence of children herself. "Astrea," she repeats. "Good to meet you. Yes we're riders, I'm Pyrene of Cadgwith, and this is Lis," she pauses and lowers her voice for the next bit: "whose green, Alymath, is proddy." Be wanred.

Rhoswen furrows her brow somewhat. Proddy riders scare her, indeed. Alcandar is held somewhat more.. firmly. "You.. feeling okay, Lis?" No, of course she's not feeling okay, dimglow. Bah. So Rhoswen will shut up now, and continue stuffing her face with fruit.

"Hello!" Lis chirps merrily to Astrea, having rejoined the real world enough to catch herself being introduced. Eyes sparkle with manic glee, and again fingers are steepled, but this time in nervous behavior. Fidget, fidget. "Just fine, thanks," she tells Rhoswen, purring faintly along with the toothy grin.

Astrea raises a brow somewhat, edging nervously next to Rhoswen. "Uh.. well.. met..?" she proposes, hurridely taking a gulp of klah. Scary, scary stuff. Much worse than little. At that moment, Zeryx promptly awakens and /screams/ blue murder. "Oh, shards.. hush" Astrea commands, heaving the child into her lap. He closes his mouth and seems to laugh. Evil thing.

Pyrene makes sure Lis is between her and the kids. Lis has a more maternal air about her, perhaps that will act as a buffer. At any rate, she's not going to get any closer to evil children than she can help. She knows the consequences. "Are they yours?" she asks Astrea, a trifle timidly.

"Oh yes. Very much mine" Astrea purrs, patting Zeryx's back fondly as she makes a start on her breakfast. "Coming close to.. two sevendays now, it must be. Is that right, Rhoswen?" Faranth knows Astrea can't remember how old they are. Somewhere around that, anyway. "Alcandar and Zeryx" the.. semi-proud, semi-frazzeled mother states, pointing first to the smaller child in Rhoswen's lap, then to her firstborn, stretched across her knee. "A blessing. Really". Beam.

Lis isn't much help as a buffer. She ducks, hunching her shoulders up around her ears in a rather ironic mimicry of R'han - a bronzerider she simply can't stand. "'M glad mine don't do that anymore," she grumbles, busy removing the innards of a creampuff by making it ooze out the hole it was put in.

Rhoswen slides her eyes around the room, quietly stuffing fruit in her mouth as she bounces the restless Alcandar. "I'm sure they're three sevendays, Astrea. It can't have only been two.." Faranth, please let it not have only been two. "You have children, Lis?" THis comes as a mild surprise. Though she knows of Sephne, Lis as a mother just doesn't seem to... mesh.

"Two, actually," Lis replies quickly, not in much of a mood to sing the praises of her children. "A little boy, and a little girl." Nevermind that they're by different fathers. "I foster Pyrene's sister, too." MiniPy. The creampuff is savagely devoured, fingers brought to her lips to lick off the last crumbs.

Pyrene sighs, but if they're exchanging information... "One. It was meant to none but I had an accident," she shares. "You just look so young Astrea, how old are you... 18? You've got your whole life ahead of you. You don't want to tie yourself down with a pregnancy."

Astrea shrugs mildly, obviously not upset. "Why? What am I going to do?" Astra's eyes dim slightly as she's mugged on memory lane. "It wasn't.. planned.. In fact, it wasn't my decision." And the young girl leaves it at that, stuffing her mouth full of food to avoid further talking. She doesn't want to remember, nor will she be forced to. HIgh Reaches is her escape, and she can be anonymous here. And that's how she will stay.

Rhoswen has disconnected.
Rhoswen falls asleep.

Pyrene takes it as that then. "Ahh, well.. if it was an accident nobody can help that. And you'll be able to foster them in another few months." If she noticed any constraint on the girl's face, that's her version of sympathy anyway. "Lis has been a mother for about five turns now," she notes. As far as she's concerned, Lis-the-mother is an integral part of the conundrum that /is/ Lis.

Astrea nods, falling silent now at the uncovering of her secret. "So.." she stalls, searching for a new subject. "Lovely weather, no?" Bingo.

Pyrene stretches, happy to talk about the weather if it /is/ lovely. "Isn't it? Cadge's been sunning herself all morning. Maybe that'll be enough to turn /her/ proddy again--Chayath's clutching didn't. Might work on Alymath too. Although I'm not sure I feel up to an Alymath-flight today." Not that it's any of her business, but it does tend to be a conversation-stopper.

It's no mystery in how she /got/ them - the real enigma lies in why Lis kept the kids around, and there's many a theory. "Mine were both accidents, if that's any consolation," the greenrider offers, shoulders bobbing in a helpless shrug. Pyrene gets a vague glare for even suggesting Alymath would be going up. "We have no intention of rising. We like being proddy just fine." That's 'We' with a capital W, mind you.

Astrea chuckles, uncoiling slightly. Her sons are finally sleeping, tucked away in a mass of warm blankets. Accidents, yes, but she's rather fond of the little beasts. "You /want/ your Queen to turn proddy, Pyrene?" Astrea chuckles, crossing her ankles and leaning forward somewhat. "What on Pern would possess you to be put in Lis here's state?"

Pyrene grins idly. "More like I want it to be over and done with. She's always so slow to turn proddy." This is something of an exaggeration considering Cadgwith has clutched once. Of course, that's part of the problem. Most golds her age have had two clutches. "Lis, she's going to have to go sometime you know. And sunny days have been proven to speed up the process."

"I'm so sorry for you, Pyrene," Lis replies in a very unsympathetic voice, refusing to admit to any rising of her dragon. "We're not rising /today/. We'll rise when we're good and sharding /ready/," the greenrider explains, speaking for the Aly-Lis organism that evolves during proddiness.

Astrea winces. "Alrighty then..." A second glance is cast at the twins, and she rises slowly. "I should put these two to bed" she states, somewhat sullenly, her voice lost in a whirl of thoughts. "It was lovely meeting you." A shadowy smile, and the twins are scooped into her arms as she hurries back to the dorms.

Astrea goes home.

"Are you sure Alymath's not ready?" Pyrene asks sweetly. "She doesn't seem to give you much warning as I recall."

Lis gives Pyrene a deadly stare that implies she's doing everything in her power to keep her most feral and murderous parts under control. "We're /not/ going up. End of story." And thus she gets up, huffing in exhasperation, to stalk and pace.

Alymath> Shango flutters mightily to the Guards HQ.
Alymath> Deckarth flutters mightily in from the Guards Headquarters.

Pyrene sits idly in her chair, Cadgwith murmuring in her head. "Of course you're not going up, Lis. Aly is just going to sit and glow and get more and more sexually frustrated while you sleep your way around the weyr." It's a good thing Lis loves her so much, isn't it?

It's a good thing, or Py would be missing a few vital parts. "She's /not/ frustrated. She's just a sulky, ill-tempered stupid wherry," Lis explains, steps thudding with emphasis on every adjective.

Pyrene snorts. "Well, wouldn't it be nicer if she /wasn't/ a sulky, ill-tempered stupid wherry?" she asks, patiently. "I know that I for one will be happy when you're not proddy anymore! Have a cream-puff." And she waves one hand to a table where the Lis-pacifiers are out en-masse.

Alymath> Central Bowl
Alymath> Seven spindles brush the clouds -- quite literally -- overhead, a jagged, spired cotillion grey-stoned majesty. The bowl from here is expansively large, extending a full half mile in both directions, and although sometimes a bit of a stretch, most of the hubs of activity can be easily observed. Hard-packed ground shows the common pathways, all of them meandering about the craggy bunch of boulders that form a centerpiece: carven, hand-worn and foothold-full, it gives a bit of centerpoint to the otherwise vast emptiness of the area.
Alymath> To the north lie the hatching grounds and leadership weyrs, while the lows of herdbeasts mark the feeding pens to the northeast. A flurry of ever-present activity marks the living caverns to the west, and another time-traveled path the ground weyrs just adjacent to the southwest. Southeast, a glint of blue shows the lake, glittering and cold.
Alymath>   It is a summer midmorning.
Alymath> Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are thirteen firelizards.
Alymath> Green Zoryanth, blue Lainnoth, green Kelitath, brown Revnath, green Miravith, brown Sevareth, blue Decuth, brown Druseth, brown Chanticoth, Brown Dsalth, and blue Catiminith are here.
Alymath> You see a wagonmaster and George Dubya bush here.
Alymath> Lylia is here.
Alymath> Obvious exits:
Alymath> Pens     Northern Bowl     Caverns     Ground Weyrs     Lakeside     Guards HQ

Alymath> Alymath is drowsing in the bowl, yes she is... lazing on a summer afternoon. And suddenly she awakes; not just from her slumber, but from her state of slow sensuality and becomes /alive/ with energy; green, glowing, proddy energy! Head snaps up, and a husky hiss goes out to the males gathered in the bowl.

Lis eyes Pyrene's offering warily, turning her nose up at it with a snooty humph. "Just because you ride a gold and I ride a green doesn't mean you have to spoil all my /fun/. Jealous." The 's' slips into a sibillant hiss, echoing Alymath's out in the bowl. Teeth are bared in a grimace, and she seethes. Not /now/!

Alymath> Catiminith coils tail 'round feet, landing with a sharp snap of broad wings and digging claws into the dirt meditively. Hello, beautiful!

Pyrene sighs as Cadge confirms her suspicions. "Well, I couldn't spoil your fun now even if I wanted to," she says soothingly. "Enjoy the flight, Lis. May it be B'art-free." There's no greater well-wishing she could give.

Alymath> Dsalth's bulk rises and falls, his immense form in deep sleep while other activities continue around him. Getting too old, perhaps, to sense a glowing green around. However, as old as he can get, he still has it with him... Before lids snap open, the brown is emitting a caressing croon and finally rising to his haunches and whirling optics gazing towards the sound of a glow... a glowing green. Gentle as he had awakened, he simply flicks his tail a few times before coiling it around his patient self.

Alymath> Deckarth blink in from ::between:: high above the Bowl, circles in for a perfect landing, blowing up dust as he sets down. "Allright, Deck, now would you mind telling me what we're doing here," Ri'k says to the brown as he drop to the ground, then sees the glowing green. "You've /got/ to be kiddin' me...."

Alymath> Druseth isn't quite awake. Lounging in the darkness, he seems more inclined to remain slumbering in the shadows, his wiry, sinewous form gleaming with fresh oil. Yep, he's a studmuffin, the Chippendale Dragon. Raaaawr. It's only when the hiss pierces his sleepy senses that he cracks open a lid, revealing a seren, whirling stare. Ooh. Hellooooooo.

Lis spouts something obscene in her departure, stalking out into the bowl looking like she's ready kill. This, however, doesn't stop the slow trickle of bronze, blue, and brownriders that dare venture off after the rising green's rider.

Bundle up 'gainst snow or sun! The bowl is open to seasons' wrath.

Central Bowl
Seven spindles brush the clouds -- quite literally -- overhead, a jagged, spired cotillion grey-stoned majesty. The bowl from here is expansively large, extending a full half mile in both directions, and although sometimes a bit of a stretch, most of the hubs of activity can be easily observed. Hard-packed ground shows the common pathways, all of them meandering about the craggy bunch of boulders that form a centerpiece: carven, hand-worn and foothold-full, it gives a bit of centerpoint to the otherwise vast emptiness of the area.
To the north lie the hatching grounds and leadership weyrs, while the lows of herdbeasts mark the feeding pens to the northeast. A flurry of ever-present activity marks the living caverns to the west, and another time-traveled path the ground weyrs just adjacent to the southwest. Southeast, a glint of blue shows the lake, glittering and cold.
  It is a summer midmorning.
Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are thirteen firelizards.
Green Zoryanth, blue Lainnoth, green Kelitath, brown Revnath, green Miravith, brown Sevareth, green Alymath, blue Decuth, brown Druseth, brown Chanticoth, Brown Dsalth, and blue Catiminith are here.
You see a wagonmaster and George Dubya bush here.
Lylia is here.
Obvious exits:
Pens     Northern Bowl     Caverns     Ground Weyrs     Lakeside     Guards HQ
Jaibyrd> Lis exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

Alymath's hiss grown into a husky croon, which ends abruptly in a sort of weird, muffled coughing sound. She should really get something for her throat, soon. Green form stretches sensually, sineously, and then her head snaps out towards an approaching firelizard, fangs bared, neck erect. *hisss* Without warning, she then heads for the pens. Need a piece of meat. Now!!

Alymath> You go to the Pens.

Alymath> Pens
Alymath> Freshened breezes from the lake to the south linger with the stronger scents of herdbeast and wherry, dust and dung, that fill this ovoid enclosure. The sturdy fence sways out into the bowl, captures an outlet of clear blue lake, and, as it meets the bowl wall, grows into a stout wind-shelter replete with hay and feeding troughs; not too far above, a claw-marked series of feeding ledges lie, decorated by a few discarded and bleached-out bones.  A few clusters of green sprout, downtrodden, in the hard ground, tracked over by the stampeding of the herds.
Alymath>   It is a summer midmorning.
Alymath> To the south, you see Zenzorath and Wiranth.
Alymath> Squabbling over leftovers is Cocoa.
Alymath> You see Kukalaka, Herd of Herdbeasts, Kae, and Hanabi's House of Chamberpots here.
Alymath> Obvious exits:
Alymath> Stables     Barn     Training Grounds     Central Bowl     Beach

Alymath saunters with lanky grace, a hint of gold flashing in her steps, to the Pens.
Druseth glances about watchfully, slowly slinking to the Pens.
Dsalth paces with regimental gait to the Pens.
Catiminith ambles jauntily with a flash of dawn-like hues to the Pens.

Ri'k appears from ground weyr's overhung shadows.

Deckarth flutters mightily to the Pens.
Banzai glides to the Pens.

Lis strides out, hands on her hips as she shouts impotently after Alymath: "Stupid... augh!" No noun is good enough to describe the feckless green, and so she glares at the dragon-less riders about the bowl, growling faintly deep in her throat.

Alymath> Catiminith coils -- uncoils -- and slinks after Alymath, wings slicked tight and held close to his body. Orbs whirl, irridescent in veins of orange and red and hardened sunshine, before claw snakes out, blue slinking forward and felling a beast. Down the hatch..

Alymath> Dsalth lumbers caustiously into the Pens, following the lovely glowing form of Alymath, of course. This brown is always the cure for a green, especially when she is all glowy and he is drooling right behind her. P'rru has it wrong when he says this pair is too old... Stretching out his neck in Alymath's direction, the crisp sound resounding through the pens, and getting his lazy bulk to pouncing the nearest beast for himself.

Alymath> Deckarth moves expertly after the green, but is somewhat distracted by the sight of herdbeasts. Coming down fast on one, he tears it apart. Mmmm, good. Twisting about, the beautiful brown beast watches the green again. Mmmmmm, nice.

Alymath> A little wine, a little dine, a little something more... Druseth's up for it all. His neck twisting coyly, he lurks along to the pens, those large feet of his tromping all below them. With a quiet, low rumble, one of hte things a deep throat is useful for, he tenses his.. body... springing up into the air as he hovers lightly. Hrm. Must let the lady chose first, after all. Then he'll rip the hell out of a few beasties. *in the right spot this time!*

Alymath> Alymath makes an angry sound and practically pounces a herdbeast, the unfortunate animal being ripped from its pen and laid on the ground. Muzzle hovers over the reering beast before the glowing green beauty viciously tears off one of its legs, nearly deep-throating the hard flesh before she's reprimanded. Must. Not. Gorge. Instead she just sucks the juices out of it, red blood streaming down her neck as she's unable to swallow it all at once.

Lis turns on her heel without so much as a warning, stomping towards the ground weyrs where wine awaits, along with darkness and oblivion of one kind or another.

Open sky is exchanged for protecting stone.

Ground Weyrs
Once a mere overhang in the bowl wall, this arched stone enclave was deepened in aeons past by who-knows-what to provide shelter for injured dragons and their mates. Craggy walls loom high to dwarf rider and dragon alike, sloping back from the weather-open entrance to a low opening into the infirmary itself. Stacked under rock-shaded cover are low supply chests of sturdy timber, flanked with long tables. Other openings are shaded by wherhide curtains, leading to smaller, private caverns for the dragonhealers' patients.
  It is a summer midmorning.
Settled on rough-hewn ledge are Bow-Wow, Jolinar, and Bansi.
Blue Trydanth is here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl     Inner Ground Weyr     Infirmary

Alymath> 'round and 'round the pens they go, where beasties stop -- Catiminith knows, mantling wings and hoarding another herdbeast as lifeblood is sought ... found ... and drained. No throat-choker here -- he just slurps it up, tongue flickering.

Akujin comes into shelter from bowl's wide open spaces.
Ri'k comes into shelter from bowl's wide open spaces.

Alymath> Food. Now. Raaaawr. In the gleaming light of day, the sinister fangs seem to have an inner flame as they drip away. Drip, drip. The crimson-hued muzzle finds new shading as he lunges downwards, snarl ripping from his throat. Another one bites the dust. The *thud* of a 'beast body hitting the ground and its last strangled scream is followed by the light patter of little dragon feet, as Druseth proceeds to loom over it and suck the blood from the corpse. And the intestines make nice floss.

Lylia comes into shelter from bowl's wide open spaces.

Alymath> Dsalth carefully takes his time on his first kill, ripping the throat of the beast and drowning it the rich blood before attempting to tear at the flesh itself. With a quick thought, he simply heads on over to prodd another beast with crimson-covered muzzle and put the animal's life to an end in the same way as that last one. Thrice, and the beast is mulled and dried out quickly. As soon as that creature has been fed upon, the old brown sits on his haunches with wings extended in patience.

A wineskin finds its way into Lis' hand, and the sweet liquid is sucked right from the opening. Wineglasses are so inconvenient, and they're all going to be friends at some point, so the greenrider's not picky about whose spit she's swapping. A monosyllabic grunt accompanies a wave of her arm, indicating for them to all make themselves at home - as far from her as possible. She gets a trunk all to herself, sitting upon it in a lotus position as she lets Alymath carry her away.

Alymath> Deckarth has his eye on a particularly nice looking beast, and comes down on it with quite some fury, gulping down both flesh and blood. No reason to let good meat go to waste, was there? Young and proud, this big, brown dragon is, ohhh yeah. Turning his grand head around, he watches the others, blood dripping from his muzzle. Couldn't be long now, watching the glowing green again. Mrrrrorw.

Alymath> Alymath licks her muzzle, tongue softly teasing the edges of her fangs as she removes droplets of red juice from her glowing skin. Then she raises her head and bugles, huskily, before large wings unfold and *snap* open, and with one powerful surge takes her rigid form upwards. Come on, males. Who wants to be shown around her fruitcage? Be her honey bee? For the lucky dragon she'll open of her fruitcage - where the fruit is as sweet as can be.

Alymath> Up up up! Wings beat to lift you up out of the dusty pens.

Alymath> Above the Feeding Pens
Alymath> Wayward breezes carry the mixed scent of herdbeast and wherry from below, occasionally fusing with the salty odor of the ocean from afar. Spires overlook and shadow the pens below, often blanketing the scythed, claw-cut ledges used for feeding. Thermals, unusually steady for this area, keep that scent aloft and ever-present, growing stronger as they descend to the feeding grounds below.
Alymath>   It is a summer midmorning.
Alymath> Gliding around is Yueith.
Alymath> Brown Fallanth, bronze Rixesith, and bronze Orbyth are here.
Alymath> Obvious exits:
Alymath> Up     Pens     Weyrling Air     Above the Lake     Above the Bowl     Ledges

Alymath> Catiminith bursts up from the dust below..
Alymath> Dsalth bursts up from the dust below.
Alymath> Deckarth bursts up from the dust below.

Alymath> Catiminith follows, swift as wind and quite nearly so fickle in his shifting, sliiding positions, weaving in and out, up and down -- all to meet the pleasure of that glowing, glittery green. Neck dips, slightly, giving form to mass and pushing the blue forward, outward, /up/.

Alymath> Druseth bursts up from the dust below.

Alymath> Dsalth had to take his time to follow up in the flight, as he had to... clean is one claw off of some blood. This brown isn't old at all, and he is certain to be able to easily maneuver away from the younger dragons. He has had plenty of experience in his life, and many greens actually. This large brown knows how it all works, and where the right button to poke at is. Really, he does! Wings extend to their greatest reach as legs dig into the sky, urging forth to their prize.

Alymath> Banzai bursts up from the dust below.

Alymath> Deckarth lifts himself off the ground with great beats of his wings, following after the very nice, glowing green dragon. Up, up and away, don't let the target dissapear, before your eyes. This wonderful brown is young and fast.

Alymath> Druseth is ready for a long, hard flight. Blood trickles down his muzzle, etching a blurry spiderweb of scarlet as he rockets into the sky. He goes as fast as the speed of light, not always a good thing... His shadow-drenched form twists, writhing slightly as he takes up a strange pattern of jetting forward and twisting to the side. He's planning, plotting, using that blood-buzzed brain to its fullest. Which isn't much.

Alymath> Alymath dives into a wild spin, wild enough to hopefully make some of the younger an inexperienced males get off of her back. Still, you never know, she could just be taken by surprise....... a hoarse bugle is heard, her challenge as she soars the sky in an attempt to reach unexpected heights. Who will be her guide; who one who can take her higher, higher, /higher/, until she is ready to /explode/ to get down again?

Alymath> Catiminith hisses lightly, claws extending, flexing, and stretching out as lanky limbs push forward. Broad 'sails slice the air, snapping slightly and pulling back to duck blue to the left, over a confused Cadgwith-baby, and spurting back again in forward contemplation of that lovely green behind.

Alymath> Deckarth overshoots as the green dives, his mighty wings carrying him way past her, and he bulges dissapointly and turns midair to follow again, having lost speed and distance. How /could/ he have let this happen? Promising himself that he /will/ not let it happen again, as strong wings beat to gain speed and momentum once again.

Alymath> Dancing, diving, turning his death-blessed body into a human pretzel... Druseth's flight upwards takes on a strangely contortionist appearance as he makes abrupt shifts in direction, parts of his body not quite getting the message quickly enough. The wild spin's enough to give him momentary pause, but only for a moment. After that, he's once more anticipating, calculating, like a jungle cat ready to devour every single part of its prey. Who can resist the soft glow of a sweet, chaste green like Aly? Especially one with such fashion... The green's got some lovely straps, that would look even lovelier on the floor of Dru's weyr...

Alymath> Dsalth takes his time, actually, with everything there is to do. Watching the wild young green, he simply circles up a few time as if lazily watching from afar. Patience could always lead to your goal, you know. And nice and slow is the way to take it, if you would like to keep it well and going. Just as this old brown, whose pages are worn down and crisp, has had learned enough throughout the many turns that would be able to outmaneuver the younger ones. Before long, the brown takes a dive and ends up having to follow the green's hectic twists and finally pausing once again in the sky to regard the other males. He is watching, and when the time comes...

Ri'k slinks into the sheltered cave, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darker environment. "Nice place this," he mumbles, crossing his arms, as he comes further into the ground weyr. "Never been here before, though." But sure it was nice here. Probably the company made the place much nicer.

Alymath> Alymath isn't going to take off her straps for just /anyone/! At least she'll require something tasty to eat in the morning... shooting trough the sky like an eager pursuer trying to reach a goal, the glowing green gathers her wings and glides downwards, half-turning so the males get a glimpse of her sexy dragon-butt. The only problem is... she doesn't /have/ a goal. She /is/ the goal. Realizing that, she suddenly turns around and, with a bugle, heads straight for her suitors. Catch me if you can - unless I grab you first! Bwaha!

Alymath> Oooo, rock with me baybee, rock with the Catiminith who shoots so earnestly towards His Goal, tail lashing against the rest of his far-from-rigid form and slapping the air. Who needs to take off the straps? /This/ blue can get around them, just as he cuts past another struggling brown, lighter, agile form snapping with his whip-like movements. He just wants to try a bite ... just a little piece of pie ...

Alymath> Deckarth follows as well as can be expected from a young and inexperienced dragon, using his strenth and determination to chase the green in her motions. /His/ goal was to catch the green, and rather before any of the other males in the sky with him. Dipping a wingtip, he manages to get into a turn, matching the green's turn to some extent, though maybe not perfectly. Just don't tell Deck that.

Alymath> Dsalth drops down to level, drooling over the sight of just the glowing Alymath and her form turning... And facing all of these males? Startled, a simple bugle erupts from the old brown before he realizes what might be done. He doesn't dare push wings to their full potential, or he just might loose all his energy for what is to come after. Don't think of him as a wrinkled up form and wrinkled... all over. He isn't P'rru, yet. This brown can still live life to the fullest, and has reached the peak of the mountain a few times before. Why not again?

Alymath> Druseth has something very tasty indeed. He drags home carcasses for a midmorning snack, y'know. The blood-sucker's dances winds into a tango as he stares at that sexy, flaunting butt. Yow. Hello. If he told her that she had a nice body, would she hold it against him? Growls hidden within the depths of his throat, he swings hips wings back, tendons practically creaking as he lunges downwards swiftly, rather than be run over by that hunk o' sexy female. Ready... ready... He's almost ready...

Alymath> Alymath is still heading straight towards the cluster of remaining males, ready to plummet through the tightness of their circle and see who'll be adept enough to take her in and keep her there. Here she comes, oiled and ready for action! You can't hurry love - but you can sure as heck hurry to /get/ some lovin'!

Alymath> Druseth would sure look good on her. With the wind sweeping around him, his body straining as he adjusts for each variance, ready to pull out and up, his glassy-eyed stare of molten crimson and orange blazes with its own energy. She's heading this way, a truck o' lovin' ready to run them down. A delicious morsel, ready to be treated with all the fun things that occur when you don't require breath. Underneath the majority of crowd, he suddenly swings upwards, alight on wingtip and ready for a little action as he soars forward, a leaf lightly blown. The time is now, and get ready, 'cause Dru's coming!

Alymath> Dsalth is staring directly at Alymath, a rushing glowing neon light that indicates where the fun is at. Where ever there is something glowing, there could always be some excitement. And if it is a glowbasket... Well, just say that there won't be much of a basket anymore. Forelegs strike out, talons snapping open and shut as they attempt to grab ahold of what would hopefully be the colliding form of Alymath. Wings are beating, though the energy is still conserved deep within himself and is to be unleashed only when it is time. Open and close, claws are waiting.

Alymath> Catiminith spins slightly, heaving to the left around one baller -- and gutting to the right back into position, coming up behind and looping upward in a dizzy whirl of color and motion. Talons stretch, once again, as the blue creeps inevitably closer. Don't you want a taste of him? Hot and strong and hard and long -- don't you want a taste?

Alymath> Deckarth dives for the green, watching her carefully, his eyes whirling as his wings fold to spin into a headlong chase of the glowing female. Claws ready, he's ready to grap if at all possible, though he's starting to feel a bit heavy. Maybe he shouldn't have swallowed that meat after all?

Alymath> Alymath is getting hungry. Verrry hungryyyy. She'd like a taste of /something/ hot alright, so with an ecstatic bugle, she spins around so her wing joints are in front of Catiminth's talons. Take me, big guy! She's hot, she's green, she's better than... better than..... better than even warm apple pie!

Alymath> Wham, baybee! Catiminith eats that pie right up. SexaySexay Alymath.

What happens next? Well, no one really remembers, but it must have been pretty sordid. ;)