The Dragonriders of Pern® is a trademark, Registered U.S. Patent & Trademark Office, of Anne McCaffrey. This is a recorded session, generated by Harper's Tale MOO on Wednesday, November 22nd 2000 for the benefit of members unable to attend. Logged by Pyrene.

Cadgwith Finally Rises

She may have taken her time, but she /is/ going to fly! HRW's gold Cadgwith is going up up and up some more until she's caught by whichever bronze or brown is worthy of her. Resultant clutch will be NPC but feel free to chase via PC or NPC dragon! Pre-flight RP starting now. Page Pyrene for details if you want to chase! (And on an unrelated note, it's Bryden's birthday. Spam her too)
-- entered by Pyrene on 2000-11-22 15:51 MOO Time.

Cadgwith
Intrepid she is, this leviathan queen, with no siren's grace to refine the monstrous length of her serpentine form. Rising like a kraken from the depths of her inky, night-black claws to the coral-strewn twilight of wings' erratic spars, a distant song of gold froths the tangled sargassum of that ill-fitting hide, and ebbs undaunted up untidy curves of neck and head. The salt-encrusted canvas of her capsizing 'sails, windthrown and weathered to palest sea-glass, brines a flotsam of shadows across the expanse of her imposing withers, and brindles the fragmented abalone that pearls her full flanks and awkward, silver-shiny tail.
Slippery lengths of leather are lashed to the mast of her neck and hang from ridges' clefts to straggle around her forelimbs. Tossed as flotsam on the waves of hide, they lie where they have been hurled, fixed, however erratic their design, by the shell-silver buckles. Spare straps fly free, lifelines for would-be passengers or cargo, yet they can but provide a hope of riding out her storm, not defying it.
Cadgwith is 2 Turns, 9 months, and 24 days old.
She is 81 feet (24m) long, with a wingspan of 135 feet (41m).

Pyrene
Slight and spindly, from skimpy legs to sharp chin, her frame is nevertheless held as stubbornly tall as possible, falling only just shy of average height. Lank tendrils of dark brown hair plague a pointed-nosed, thin-lipped face as they escape the limp plait that struggles to keep them under control, only serving to emphasise the peakiness of her complexion. Yet if there were any doubts about her vitality, the grey eyes that snap out from beneath dark brows eliminate them as effectively as twin thunderstorms.
No artificial dye, but rich, ruddy brown claims her frame, earthing its slightness. The close-fitting warmth serves for both flying and the High Reaches climate in general, while the sleek smoothness of the leather gives the illusion of curve to bony hips and length to short legs. And yet the padded thickness of the jacket sits oddly on her narrow shoulders: no matter how carefully fitted it may in fact be, it resembles nothing so much as a new winter coat made for a child 'to grow into'. Kynance hides on one shoulder, half camouflaged in Pyrene's hair.
Black, blue and sea-washed gold tangle their way over the badge worn by all members of Esprit wing.
Pyrene is 22 Turns, 6 months, and 22 days old.

Living Caverns
Hannah is here.

Tyara arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Hannah is curled up on a bench, a mug of warm cider grasped in her hands. Hearing people entering, she lifts her head and eyes Tyara and Pyrene shyly for a moment before her lips curve into a smile. Fingers wriggle slightly as the assistant murmurs softly, "Hello.." before head dips again behind the curtain of her hair.

Pyrene slips quietly in, ambling across to the redfruit juice dispensing area and lingering there for a long moment, before she finally chooses... redfruit juice (surprisingly enough), pours it with due care and meanders vaguely across to a seat. And not a word spoken, nor even a look of acknowledgment at the others in the room.

"Hello, Hannah." See, Tyara can be nice - especially to brats she doesn't technically have to supervise. "And Pyrene." The greeting to her former boss is a bit cooler - must be the hormones in the air, neh? Or maybe the fact that the goldrider is ignoring /her/ - hmpf.

Kinecha walks in from the Central Bowl.

Pyrene's head drifts to one side at the sound of her name. "Mmm-mmm..." she responds, her tone starting off as a question but ending as a statement, if not a particularly profound one. Her eyes at least are now gazing myopically at Tyara and Hannah, and quite possibly the entering Kinecha. What more do they want?

Shy attention turns to Tyara, "I trust you are well this morning?" Hannah asks, her hands still clasping her mug quite tightly. Nibbling on her lip, shy gaze skitters to Kinecha before landing on Pyrene; only to move back to Tyara like a trapped bird. Lifting her pale hands, she sips her cider slowly, eyes looking over the rim; half shy, half curious.

"Very well, things considered...." it sounds as if tyara was abot to start on one of her 'oh the brats are a pain and I've so much work to do', but green eyes linger at Pyrene, light brows shooting up into her forehead. Iiinteresting... Kinecha gets a nods, but nanny-attention stays on the 'rider. "So, Pyrene.... how are you? And Cadgwith?" It's an innocent question, of course. How'd she know about any state of... proddiness?

Hannah has disconnected.
Hannah falls asleep.

Is Pyrene supposed to know about any state of proddiness? "Oh, we're fine... Cadge has gone to sleep... enjoying the sun, you know. It being summer and all. So much warmer than winter..." Having rambled for a bit, she suddenly trails off, eyes blinking as if she had something to say but forgot--perchance to return the courtesy and ask Tyara how /she/ was. At any rate, she closes her mouth again and merely smiles at the fire.

Kinecha heads in the direction she always does when coming into the Cavern. To get a glass of juice. She nods greetings to the people here, recognizing them all, but unable to put names to the faces. After getting her redfruit juice - and a couple of sweetrolls - she takes a seat at a table.

Not that Tyara's expecting courtesy from /Pyrene/, but still, it'd've been nice with such a question.... the nanny's mouth sets into a straight line, a little dismayed snort coming from her direction. "Well, thank you for that interesting comment," is stated wryly, brows settling for a frown now.

Pyrene nods contentedly at Tyara. "You're welcome..." One hand raises to wave vaguely in Kinecha's direction. "Nice day, isn't it?" A very nice day. A very very nice day. A very very... And her thoughts no doubt continue in that vein.

Kinecha raises an eyebrow to Pyrene "yes, I s'pose it is," she says. A sip is taken of the juice and a bite of a sweetroll.

Kennard walks in from the Central Bowl.

Tyara raises an eyebrow, her chin tilting upwards haughtily. "Well, then - I think I have work to do!" And with that, the head nanny removes her insulted face from the living caverns. And as she leaves, who else but E'rp arrives, his youngish face slightly flustered. "Hii, everyone! Shards, Wyath's acting all weird today!" With a quick look at his former nanny to see if she'll scold him for swearing, the lad settles into a chair.

Kennard walks into the caverns, his cheeks flushed with red and sweat nearly dripping off his boyish forehead. He takes the time to glance about a bit. A look of quiet curioiusity in his eyes and playing over the rest of his face as he regards the people here, the riders in particular.

Jesha wrangles like the sexy little brownrider she is in from the Central Bowl.

Pyrene barely notices Tya's departure, too busy staring into space. E'rp's swearing is similarly unregistered although both he and Kennard and all the other enterers get a wave. After a while she even wakes up enough to respond: "He is? Cadge is sleeping... I think..." That was most likely for E'rp's benefit.

Kitaro arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

WhumpaWhumpaWhumpa! *Thump*! In stomps the Jesha, looking for all the world like someone stole her cookiejar and left a bunch of greens in it's stead. "Py, cheer me up. G'rwin dumped me. I need a hug. *sniff*"

J'mi saunters casually into the caverns, his usual swagger heightened by the presence of the lovely Pyrene. Or something like that. "So the gargantuan gold is going up?" he asks, with a leer, and a wink to all the females present. He's not /that/ old. "I'll give ya a hug, darling," he offers, to Jesha. So helpful.

Caylea arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Lanky and pale, A'syn shifts inconspicuously into the caverns, hooded eyes glinting with a typical grey-tinged dullness. Gloved hands are shoved in his pockets as his absent saunter brings him nearer to the group of riders, mouth held in a quivering smile. Or not. He can just sidle askant the group, in this chair rider here. Twitch. Flights. Hate. Flights.

Kalette arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

"Piss off. I'm a manhating shrew right now," states Jesha, levelling a flat stare at J'mi. "And so far as I can tell, you're a man. Now, if you'll excuse me... P/yyyyy/." Leaving the lusty manrider in her wake, she skulks over to the weyrwoman and rests her head on Py's bony little shoulder. "I need cookies, stat." Yes, please love her. Look at her -- so pathetic.

P'lus swagers in from the bowl, a queer little smile on his face. "Hello hello hello." His tone is almost jeering, strange rider.

E'rp sends Pyrene a pouty look, though he quicvkly manages to turn it into a fitting grimace. She's his old /nanny/ and former co-brat - he doesn't want to leer at her! Still, those hormones tell him otherwise, and thus, chair's scooted over to be a little closer to the goldrider. "Hii Jesha." Beam, beam - can't blame the kid for trying, can you?

Pyrene blinks around at the sudden congregation. How nice... "Cookies... they're on the table as always, Jesha-love--oh! What are you doing here?" Memory? What memory. She stretches slightly and her head turns around, to gaze at each and every rider in perplexity. "Is there a party?"

Caylea strides oh so innocently into the living caverns with a not so innocent gleam to her beady little eyes. Why? Well, that'll remain to the candidate's knowledge alone. Glancing around the room, she blinks as she spots Jesha. "Jesha?" She questions, but stops in her stride as she glances around at the rest of the riders. "Um..some kind of convention I'm missing here?" The healer frowns, remaining paused to eye all wearily.

Kennard watches silently, eyes glancing from one new person to the next as each arrives. He backs away from the gathering, as if trying to hide from the growing crowd, seemingly content to merely watch from a distance. He simply cannot follow all the going ons right now and so makes his way around the perimeter of the majority of the crowd towards the food table.

Jesha flashes a slightly watery smile at Caylea. "I'm here for Pyrene. And the cookies. Not necessarily in that order, though. Kinda needed something to occupy my mind for awhile." A slight frown creases her forehead before she finally notices something. "Hey, Py, you're actin' awful oddly today. You want a cookie, too?"

B'art saunters into the caverns, both hands resting on the remarkably ample pudge of his belly. Like dragon, like rider, apparently. "Who's the lucky lady?" He drawls, raspy, high-pitched tenor at odds with his generous figure. "Simpsonth /told/ me she was in here." Caylea is eyed -- no /leered/ -- and the rider advances. "Is it /you/?" No attention, however, is paid to Pyrene.

Pouting just a little at Jesha, J'mi turns his attentions to the other females. "Pyrene, darling, any preferences for the flight?" he asks, eyebrow raised. That he should be a preference goes unspoken. Of course. But he's got time to leer, D'renn-style, at Kalette and Caylea. This is Oren in twenty Turns. Be afraid.

<All> Cadgwith senses that she is sugary, cajoling, and calls out to the weyr in petulant tones. Hints of hunger--in stomache and gut--drift from around her deeper mind and offer heady urges. She is waxing into a higher ebb, pulled restless and yet driftless into too-alert consciousness.

"Cookies are nice," Pyrene says brightly. That's a yes. B'art's lucky lady drawl is un-noticed--Pyrene very rarely falls into that category. J'mi's comment on the flight merely gets: "As soon as possible... but she'll go proddy in her own good time. Thesy said so. Thesy's always right eventually. She Searched me twice you know. It was /so/ nice of you to come visit, Jesha. Did you bring Sev?" Or did she ride here on a lizard?

Caylea's eyes narrow upon Jesha. "Cookies? Oh, well, Ista's cookies are better though. They have the green stuff and all... Her for Pyrene? Why?" Blink. Blink. Being affronted by the 'Simpsonth' guy, the candidate takes a step back. Wait, why were people leering at her? "I'm innocent! I didn't have anything to do with the snakes!" Guilty consense? How did they find out! And... whimper.

A'syn doesn't break silence, but a subdued smile is angled bluntly toward the goldrider. Wiry body extends slightly, too anxious to stay cooped up in a chair for longer than the span of time it takes to get a good -look- at Pyrene. Dewy eyes blink, brow sloped. He's trying to be good, and not gawk or leer, but that's asking quite a bit. Shouts of innocence, in a weyr? Ah. A Candidate. Go figure.

High Reaches cookies are the best. (And this is totally unbiased.)

Jesha nodnodnods, watery smiles turning to bright smiles. "Yah! He's out in the bowl. He just called Cadg pretty -- isn't that sweet?" Before continuing this train -o- thought, however, she whirls on Caylea. "No /way/, Cay. 'Reaches cookies are far better. You should try some of Nuff's once. They're /great/."

"Pyreeene, d'you s'pose Cadge is proddy right now?" comes the question from E'rp, reluctantly-innocent eyes widening considerably. "W-wyath thinks she looks like it..." How that brown would know one can only guess, but he's probably been peeking at the ladies while they were glowing.

Kalette drifts into the room with only the slightest reluctance, taking a seat at a table with her eyes wide. Blinking a few times, the worn-out nanny slumps in her chair and eyes J'mi with a touch of fear. "Snakes?" she suddenly blurts, staring at Caylea as she jumps up. "What?" All the talk of cookies gets her stomach rumbling, so she leaves the 'safety' of her chair in search of something to eat, while keeping her eyes on the group assembled here.

Sitting quietly Kinecha just observes as the cavern fills up with lusty riders. She'll have no part in it, and tries to make herself invisible, sipping her juice and eating her sweetrolls.

B'art, having reached Caylea's side, looms over the unfortunate Candie, jaws gaping in a bad-toothed smile. "Heeey there, babee. You need to tell your gold that Simpsonth is her man." Still clueless -- all the better for Pyrene, now doubt.

Pyrene glances to the bowl suddenly frowning. "Now why is she so hungry?" She closes her eyes for a moment, trying to filter through the bustle all around her and then blinks at E'rp. "Proddy /now/? Oh, but I'd...." Trail off. Pause. Consider and Reflect. And suddenly that fuzzy little cloud that she's been in all day is lifted and her eyes go very wide. "Oh, /thank/ Faranth. Oh, /Faranth/!" And all these people....

Caylea would so love to join Kinecha in the invisible departement. What? they didn't know about the snakes? Gooooood. "Oh, nothing." She mutters Kalette-wards. Towards Jesha she shakes her head. "Istan cookies have 'zang'. Reaches has..sweetening. But no 'zang'." Oh yes, cookies must have that spicy 'zang' to them, mustin' they? And suddenly...she's -loomed- upon! Gulp

P'lus frowns at B'art. Like dragon, like rider. "It isn't so much that, it's whoever catches the gold, not who wants to catch her, entirely anyway."

J'mi chortles at Pyrene and nods at E'rp. Little fella, that. "I'd say she's a-glowin' right now, dearie. And I've seen a fair share of queens in my days." Not that his days are over or anything, oh no. And then her expression gets a smirk. "Not the first time I've heard that." Innuendo? Nah.

Caylea would so love to join Kinecha in the invisible departement. What? they didn't know about the snakes? Gooooood. "Oh, nothing." She mutters Kalette-wards. Towards Jesha she shakes her head. "Istan cookies have 'zang'. Reaches has..sweetening. But no 'zang'." Oh yes, cookies must have that spicy 'zang' to them, mustin' they? And suddenly...she's -loomed- upon! Gulp. Poor candi stares up at the man, taking a few steps away from him. Playing hard to get? No, not a chance. However, she quickly turns and runs towards Kinecha's table. "I ain't got no gold!" She calls behind her, glad to be far far away.

Jesha jumps back with a startled oath, brat-eyes going wide. Oh, /THIS/ is going to be fun. "Um... um..." Intelligent, isn't she? "Umn... I suppose that now is a bad time to compliment you on how you look today?" she asks weakly, stepping back a good 20 paces to fall backwards into a convenient chair.

Kennard snatches a few cookies off the table and scarfs one down voraciously, crumbs falling down his cheek and onto his shirt. He then saunters away from the table and plops himself down in a chair by the hearth to enjoy his procured treat.

"Hi Cay," Kinecha says with a raised eyebrow "seems you're attracting some attention today."

[I suddenly realise that Cadge was turned off. Sigh. The first dragon poses were missed]

Cadgwith> Cadgwith isn't interested in being ogled now--something more ancient and primordial lurks in her needs at this time. Something wild and glorious and dare she say monstrous? She rumbles deep and dark, and leaps with riptide-quickness into the air, to the killing grounds of the pens. In mental realms a tide-running wind wails wildly from her new-awake mind, flung spray and blown spume twisting it into a call that will not be denied.

Cadgwith> Pens
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.
It is a summer midmorning. The sun rises, and it grows warmer, the previous day's storm just a memory as the heat returns. A light breeze rises from the east.
Squabbling over leftovers are Simpsonth, Wyath, Math, and Tyan.
Blue Hendrixth and brown Sevareth are here.
You see Kukalaka and Herd of Herdbeasts here.

Cadgwith> Hendrixth tried, give him credit. And if he can't ogle, he'll eat. Food is good. So a long talon is lazily stretched out, to snag a herdbeast. Dinnertime! And preparation is simple. Snap neck, slit throat, and drink. Self-serve buffet is always the best kind.

Kalette, too, joins Kinecha in blissful un-proddiness. Satisfied with her cookies and juice, she simply shakes her head at Caylea in disbelief. "I don't think anything could be better than these cookies," she states quite firmly, brushing crumbs from her lips as she speaks. "Attention isn't the word," she mutters under her breath, grinning at Kinecha. Just when she wanted a break from her work, she finds /this/. Her cookie supply rapidly depleting, she stands again and ventures through the crowd to the cookies again.

Cadgwith> Wyath willingly lets the flood of emotions drag him off towards the pens, talons already stretching towards a juicy-looking herdbeast. Heeeeere, little vessel, here, here.... mwahaha. Fangs are bared, and the macho superhero turns into a predatorial creature of lust, savagely letting hot blood ooze onto the ground, his hide and into his own intestines.

A'syn concentrates on Pyrene, though a few sincerely perplexed glances can't help but be narrowed toward the other riders. His lower lip is nibbled at distractedly, olive-grey eyes drab with fogginess. Mind's gone already, it would appear.

Cadgwith> Simpsonth lunges for a hapless, doughnut-plump herdbeast, his pudge in no way hampering his ability to gorge on a blood-meal. Slash goes his stumpy talons and down slides his muzzle, burying itself into the oozing critter.

Caylea shakes her head as her eyes trail back to B'art. She nods to Kinecha. "Unfortunately... What's going on?" Slow caravanbred here! She looks over to Kalette, shaking her head in disbelief. "Haven't tried Ista's cookies have ye?" But no, the disbelief isn't for the cookie-craze. It's for the crowd of ...unpleasant... thoughts surrounding her, causing her skin to crawl with each 'leer' directed her way.

Cadgwith> Ahh, Cadge -- just as graceful as Sevareth himself. Muzzle dips to snag a wavering beastie only to miss and take a rather large chunk out of the fence. Splinters are spit irritably and a slightly sheepish cast enters the swirl of his multifaceted eyes. Take two: Sevareth dives. Catches an ancient wherry in his mouth. *Shluuurrrp* *spit*

Pyrene looks like she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, staring blankly around at everybody and then wincing. "Oh, shells... she's already at the pens! Blooding... she has to blood doesn't she? Of course she has to blood. Oh shardit." She stands up and turns in vague circles, trying to figure out both what to do and to do it.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith has taken a second beast by now--she flings herself onto fresher meat in rapid-fire foaming at the mind, dark paws bluntly darkening the days of one more fresh beast, monstrous jaws consuming. She shall give in good time--patience!--but first she takes without either cruelty or mercy.

"But Pyrene always looks good," E'rp says smoothly - as smooth as you can be when you're practically drooling, anyway. "Didn't you know?" He knew, certainly. Mwawr. Don't they usually go somewhere else, now...?

B'art, finally seeing the light, abandons Caylea and slides oooo-soo-casually towards Pyrene. "Well, hello there, pretty lady." He'd leer, but his crooked teeth seem to be getting in the way.

Cadgwith> Math attacks one of the beasts in a spot which was choosen carefully. Teeth rip into flesh and begin to devour it in slow, exact proportions.

Cadgwith> Gullveigth makes no abrupt spring, but rather a collected rise of his spine, in cooridinance with limbs and tail. A small herdbeast is slaughtered 'neath a scourge of scythe-fashioned talons, a wash of crimson accenting the exact curve of his arrow'd snout.

"I think Pyrene's dragon is about to fly," Kinecha mumbles, while watching the events in the cavern and poor confused looking Pyrene being surrounded by male riders.

"You leave her alone, you... you /boys!/" Gee, where have we heard this before? "She's scared and needs a cookie, not *nookie*." Jesha nods decisively and begins pushing both bronze and brownriders away with strength borne of way-too-much estrogen. "Go! You go now! Back! Back!"

Caylea frowns as she hears Kinecha and shakes her head slowly. "I heard once that when a gold flies, it effects the entire Weyr. Non-riders wouldn't be effected now, would they?"

And of course, J'mi is right there to help. "Ground weyrs are the best place to take a party," he informs the clueless-looking goldrider. "Out the exit and just a little ways away." How helpful. And of course, he snags wine and sprinkles... something... into it and gulps, sighing contentedly.

Pyrene is safely supported by brownriding oestrogen. Hurrah. That cookie was a good idea too, and she slips over to the table to snag one. Ooh... Movement. that's a good thing. And with a quick glance at the others to make sure they'll follow (as if there was another option) and she's off and out.

"No," Kalette admits, looking at Caylea with a smirk on her face. "But I don't see why I'd need to with cookies like these. I love them." And that's no lie... she hastily proceeds to devour at least six of them on her way to the table once again. She slides into her chair and looks at Caylea nervously. "Of course not," she nearly shouts, tapping her foot rapidly on the floor as she shoves more food into her mouth.

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

Living Caverns> Kinecha shrugs, genuienely puzzled "I don't know, really. But I certainly wasn't effected when Lis' flew a while back."

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.

Living Cavern> This hunk of B'art-flab will take more than a female to get him moving. Well.. unless she asks in the right way. Out he trundles, after Pyrene.

Cadgwith> Wyath is both cruel and unmerciful, and the poor beasts feel his wrath as he deftly plucks another one off the ground - though not without trailing entrails after him like a child would its favorite string-puppet. Whoops - bad talons. E'rp needs to cut them soon, probably. Tongue lashes - hiss! - and opens the throat of the animal, blood gurgling in its veins still. Yum-yum.

Living Cavern> A'syn looks troubled. Blood always did make him terribly, terrifically nauseous. Jesha gets a rather unamused blink, the rangy-legged bronzer taking the hint and trailing the group at a safe distance.

Living Cavern> Jesha exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

Living Cavern> P'lus rasies an eyebrow at Py and gets up, following the suddenly delectable gold rider.

Cadgwith> Hendrixth is still on his first, thanks, and no room for seconds. As he finishes up, licking his lips to catch the last droplets, he then sits back, waiting for the gold to go up, as he seems to almost twitch. Nerves? Age? Or something more subtle?

Cadgwith> Cadgwith kills another, drains it of blood in that same steady motion that's haunted her motions through the whole doing. Killing, dying, eating, breathing...it's all the same. But now...now. Now she tenses, springs on haunches; the ground is a hideous and wicked country, sloping to hateful sunsets and the end of time. She shuns it! She shuns it! And abandons for the billowing clouds above, sated and yet not so.

"Wait! *pant* Py! You *gasp* forgot your cookie!" The sweet is thrust towards the angsting goldrider in an almost menacing fashion and waved around in a spray of crumbs and sugar. "Eat this! Now! Before the boys come and take it away!" Ok, we never said Jesha was stable. Never even insinuated it. Or thought of it. *crunch* Cookie is dropped. "Oh, /shoot./ Um... five second rule! Quick, pick it up!"

Pyrene paces the length of the room nervously--good thing it's of decent pacing length. "Ok... we're in here, she's in the pens, she /is/ blooding," a faint grimace clouds her features as she ensures that last, "And I have a cookie." So far, so good. And then quite suddenly, she's not in the ground weyrs anymore. On a metaphysical level at least. On a cookie-eating level, she's still very much present.

Living Cavern> "They sure dissapeared in a hurry, didn't they?" Necha says. She takes a sip of the juice, to wash down the sweetroll she'd just finished.

Cadgwith> Once airborn, Cadgwith is all glorious jubilance, delighting in the very strength of her wings as if a dragonet again. A bellow, kraken-low, is her first slute to this new medium of awkward flight, and she loses herself intracking an unwieldy, slow-looping thermal upward.

B'art advances -- or at least tries to. "Hey, baby, what's your name? I figure I should at least know who ya are before..." And he leers, glance saying more than anyone would ever care to know.

Cadgwith> Math jumps up into the air, going from point a, bellow, to point b, with the others and the gold. Wonderful looking gold, isn't she?

With a constant expression of worry, A'syn angles himself toward a corner, mouth wilting. Is he cowering? Perhaps. He hasn't done this very much, and if he's recalling correctly, he was quite drunk last time.

Cadgwith> Wyath isn't late to follow - well, maybe a little since he wanted to drain the blood completely - but we can't have no dangerous grounds - and thus; they're /off/! Chase of the Flying Gilted One, part one. Make-up - lights - cameras roll... oh, no. This isn't a set-up. As if borne by wind, the brown manages to get a good start, thrashing himself off towards the clouds - and the queen.

Cadgwith> Sevareth sproings skywards, dropping a poor, befuddled corpse from a few dragonlengths up to spiral down to the pens and nearly hit a poor herder. Oops again. But that matters not -- he is /fuh-lyin!/. His cape is donned in the form of spread wings and he straightens himself arrowlike. Destination: Lovin'!

Living Cavern> Caylea shakes her head, fingers nervously skidding over the top of the table before she gives a shrug. "A cookie is a cookie is a cookie." Obviously she hasn't been Reaches-corrupted yet :). The candidate arches a brow, looking across to Kalette as she shouts. "Take it easy..was just asking! Anyways, that's what I heard." The 'rumors' that lit down amongst the ranks of non-weyrbred.... She gives an absent nod to Necha. "Yes.. I suppose they did. Which is good. -No- one needs to ..." She stops there, her features blushing noticably as she clears her throat. "I need meat." She states, standing up and hurrying over to the snack counter.

E'rp looks as if he'd like to eat more than just Pyrene's /cookie/ - but, let's not go there yet. Young face is strained into a semi-pained expression, lad having chosen to sink into a chair instead of pacing. Who knows - it might be a waste of precious energy for later.

Cadgwith> Fordinnerth pumps furiously, trying to make up for lost time, lost opportunities...and that obnoxious tendancy of his rider to sleep late. But Fordinnerth is anything but lacadasical in his flight, puzzled bronze still trying to gain altitude.

Cadgwith> Simpsonth is all lunging pudge, bronze-gilt wingsails failing completely to lend any semblance of grace to his falumping flight. Determination, however, is evident in every muscle fiber -- those that can be seen, at least, beneath the fat.

Cadgwith> Gullveigth leaves a shower of vermillion in his wake, angular contours seething with the heat and suddeness of passion, and a swift desire to acheive. Oil-bright eyes simmer with touches of raw sienna and amethyst, dull wings working with a lack of air-brought rhythm.

Cadgwith> Hendrixth springs up, wings snapping open to flap sooner than do the younger ones. Age has its penalties. But with it comes experience, as he flits from thermal to thermal, seeking the best one to serve his purpose and catch the queen. Me-/ow/. Cute lil' thing. Or not so little. But still.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith crests a higher apex than expected with that thermal, and flies fast, furious, /far/. Life's a destination, sure, but she's the dragon of social Darwinism. Let them do their clawing, their shrieking, let the winds howl in sympathy! She twists westward with soft and sweet mentality hinted at beneath the crash of crimson'd call.

"Ugh. I guess this is just how the cookie crumbles?" Badum-bum. She can save you from the men, but can she save herself from her own horrid puns? Jesha practically paces ruts in the floor, circling Pyrene like a wherry above a clutch of eggs. Duh-nuh. Duh-nuh. Jesha shark.

A'syn might pace, if he could manage being vertical for any length of time. As he can't, he remains fallen in his corner, hollow eyes gazing forward at the dimmed scene, arms circling his knees snugly.

Living Cavern> "You know, I think I'm gonna go see what's happening outside," Kinecha says, to no one in particular.

Cadgwith> Well, there's no choice but to follow, and Sevareth does just that, dogging the gold's flight-path for all he's worth. Zig! Zag! Tumble! Recover! Airborne acrobatics that are his trademark nearly cause him to slam into the side of a fellow brown. Third oops. Time to fly straight. But far be it for Sevareth to stop showing off -- a trait brought on by his overzealous rider, no doubt. So cimmerian sails go wider. Yes, I am a BUFF and SEXY brown. You cannot resist meeeee!

Living Cavern> Kinecha exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

Living Cavern> Kennard walks in from the Central Bowl.

Pyrene's eyes are wide and a defiant smile is on her face. Seems flights suit her in an odd way. A soft chuckle is thrown at the others in the room, as she stands in the middle of the cavern and watches them: whether circling sharks or corner-hiders or L'ate arrivals. And to know her name, you'll have to catch. Or alternatively ask somebody.

Living Cavern> Caylea gives a quiet nod as she snatches up a few slices of meat.

Cadgwith> Wyath is the, um, draconic equivalent of Moore. Every 18-24 months, dragon-speed and power double, and it /has/ been this long since his egg cracked - at least. So, naturally, he's fast, in flying pursuit, following his radiating lighthouse like a ship lost at the sea of clouds. She's female, he's male, she's glowing and he's, well, like, /there/. Hello! Wake up and /smell/ the hormones...

Cadgwith> Pant, heave. Pant, heave. Wings struggle to gain Simpsonth the thermal, and --Aye Carumba!-- he's there, soaring upwards in complete disregard for the tongue that lolls out the side of his narrow muzzle. Sea-Cow, here he comes!

Cadgwith> Hendrixth would purr, but dragon throats don't do that. So instead he lets out a growl that twists upwards in a shrieking solo, distorted by the wind. Chasing, meanwhile, is done on the straightest course possible. His voice may still be able to squeal, but his body isn't that young anymore.

L'ate seems to've chosen an appropriate honorific, the bronzerider skittering onto the scene at the last minute. Absent-minded bronzerider echos his mount's expression, though to a lesser degree, stopping to catch his breath a moment...then blanching at Pyrene's chuckle. "Whoah...maaaybe...maybe staying back home for lunch would've been a good idea..." Trust him to think of food at a time like this.

Cadgwith> Gullveigth chokes a tinny bugle for the sake of breath, the camber of earthen bronze head ducking and swaying as he reaches the summit of one gust, frame making a bleak and helpless upsurge to the next. No weaving, zooming, or pretty patterns. Small he may be, but bronze he still remains. Too big for an ostentious display, and too small for acrobatics.

E'rp's fingers just sorty /clenches/ at the table, his eye very very wide. Eeep. They're /flying/ - and his poor, randy lil' head is all spinning and he's seeing nothing but clouds.... "P-pyrene?" Not that he seems to have a question for her, but he just kinda wants to know she's /there/.

Unlike her dragon, Jesha tires quickly, curling into a brat-puddle on the floor. And on some cookie. But she doesn't /really/ notice, save for the few larger chunks she kicks towards the man-riders. Take that. "Grrr." Yeah, she's threatening. She's weird.

B'art slides his tongue along his lips, no doubt an attempt at seduction that fails dismally. He's got bad teeth. And he's fat. And his hair does a wierd little spikey thing... "Where's the wine?" No puddling or huddling for this critter -- he's got a 'rep' to maintain.

Cadgwith> Fordinnerth may have been intended for an omelet, but unfortunately 'twas not meant to be. Though, a seafood selection might prove interesting, and with that in mind the bronze is spurred on to greater heights.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith knows she already has them, but she is still wheedling in her ducking, drifting, moon-pulled aimless tide, twisting 'sails and neck in an enticing set of motions as she flies on. If the wind has breath, then she must be seeking a fiery sneeze, for she changes thermals often...Promises, sweet promises, and the faintest hint of sunken treasure is breathed in the gold-gleam of her flight.

A'syn studies the tardy rider for a moment, moist eyes brought back to the center-focus that has become Pyrene. Or Cadgwith. He's beginning to have trouble deciding which name goes where. Ah. Confusion.

Pyrene is here. "No..." she breathes towards E'rp wickedly. "Wine?" That word almost refocuses her on the here and now. "Who has wine?"

Cadgwith> Wyath is very well able to /smell/ those subtle hints, and those hidden treasures aid in the process of beating his wings; like sails they blow in the wind, exploiting it, using it to carry him towards the gold - oh yes, the gold, the treasure, the priceless artefact they all want to win. And /he/ will win it, of course, because he's so macho. Yeah.

Cadgwith> A slightly plaintive bugle winnows its way from Sevareth's stumpy-like neck as he, too, changes thermals... only he manages a half-switch and his cute dragonbutt gets blown upwards and his head left behind. Yipe! Ahh, yes. She plays hard-to-geet, do she? Darrrleeeeng! Sevareth is here for yo-ooo. He shakily rights himself and redoubles his flight efforts after that elusive kitten of a gold.

"I have wine!" E'rp blurts out, jumping to his feet in order to pursue a skin of wine. That works. If Wyath doesnt catch, he can always get Pyrene really drunk and then jump her. Yah. That works.

Cadgwith> Hendrixth would probably have sneezed at least once by now if he'd noticed all the little bugs that've flown up his nostrils. But Cadgwith is too distracting. That, and his rider's giving him a pleasant buzz from all that wine and... stuff.

Cadgwith> Simpsonth's wings buckle, nearly folding under the weight of his massive bulk. Fortunately, that buckling sends him hurtling towards the gold, elephant-thick limbs outstretched. She's a suculent little pastry, and durn it if Simsonth woudn't like to dip her in his coffee.

Another Jesha-snarl and she springs to her feet, stomping t'wards poor E'rp and snatching his wineskin away. "Oh NO you don't. I'm the designated dragonrider here and I don't want to have to pick everyone up off the floor." Thus said, she upends the skin into her own mouth. *gulp* "However," and she wipes her chin with the back of her sleeve, "I'm a responsible drunk."

Cadgwith> Gullveigth, aggrivated and overwrought, allows thermals to force a writhing, havoc-feral movement out of a slender, sapling-pliable body. A wheezing cacophany of bellowing grunts and disturbingly strangled howls is finally let loose, all his care for diaphragm support gone to hell. He's simply flying to catch, now.

"He-ey! My wi... Pyrene! She took my wine!" E'rp's voice turns into a squeal as he grabs onto his end of the 'skin, staring sullenly at Jeshe. "Go 'way - yuo already got to drool on her!" And his brown is better than hers - nyah.

"Wine?" B'art rasps hopefully, thick fingers reaching towards the 'skin. Or was he really just trying to grope Jesha?

Pyrene falters unsteadily towards the others, one arm trying to follow the wineskin. "Let me have some..." she half-asks, half-snarls at Jesha. Ungrateful little wretch she is, but hey. Even /Auri/ was allowed to be drunk at a flight. "And no drool..." she adds, her eyes turning back to the skies for a moment--or the stone ceiling to be more precise.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith did not walk on knives to reach this conclusion, will not give herself unto those dragons that so eagerly await. Nay! She holds back, flies the beginnins of a slowing--never slow!--, lazy loop, and prepares to drag the fittest male down to the depths with her. Beguiling, bewitching, she fans her wings and lashes her tail, beckoning...beckoning. Perhaps her wind slacks off a bit, perhaps it's just the eye of the one great hurricane that is Cadgwith, but she projects the seeming of placid blue-green into the fray, less furious than undeniably there.

A'syn waits, pending movement for the wineskin as bickering ensues. No. The corner's nice.

As always, Jesha will do precisely what Pyrene wills of her. Old brat-habits die hard. "Ok, but be careful. If you get too drunk, your dragon might get drunk, and that would *suck*..." Skin is passed over, spattering little red dots all over the floor and Jesh sticks her tongue out oh-so-sexily at E'rp. "You stop that. You were whiny even when we were little, you big baby. If you want the wine so bad, take it... from Pyrene. Nyah nyah nyah!"

Pyrene has the wine! Who needs men? Or women. Clutching it to her victoriously, she alternates swigs and triumphant glares all round. Nanny-knows-best. Nanny wants to get royally drunk. "My wine. Nobody else is allowed," she decrees, although from the way her hips are starting to list provocatively to one side, it's not going to be long before /somebody/ is allowed one heck of a lot more than wine.

Cadgwith> Those bowstring-tight muscles-d'Sevareth snap and he's off, fired like an arrow across the mid-day sky. His tail is the fletching, and the slightest twitches guide him towards his brilliant target -- Cadgwith. Let's just hope he makes a bullseye and scores. Ohh yeah. It's also /especially/ helpful when your target doesn't run from you. Wings curl to his sides, and tatters of mist swirl up and over his sleek form. Aerodynamics are sexy, are they not?

Cadgwith> Wyath is fit! Wyath is fit for fight - even though it was an unfair match to begin with, since he is superior to them all, brown and bronze alike. Like an underwater current, he's sucked towards the maelstrom of golden promises, pennant tail whiplashing in the thermals she create. Beckoned he is by the hurricane, and this lil' brown piece of male, macho dragon is gonna dock /right/ into her harbor, and together they shall delve /deep/ inside, exploring for those treasures..... o/~ Love is in the air... o/~ Mrowrl!

Cadgwith> Hendrixth is not a placid blue-green, oh no. Violet-crimson whirls violently in his eyes, the purple haze misting his vision with a lovely tint. And, chasing after Cadgwith, he arcs up on one last thermal, wings nearly embracing the sky, before he plummets down in a last tactic to try and kiss this guy.... er, girl. His turn to catch again, maybe... or maybe he'll just go back and get high with J'mi. It's all good.

E'rp squeaks - yes, squeaks - as his wine is taken from him. Whine! Oh, but look, there's a Pyrene... perhaps she can give him other juices instead? Hee hee.... heeeere, Py-py.

Cadgwith> Gullveigth, nearly cataleptic from the force of strain-flung 'sails, arches himself into naught but a whim-driven projectile, barrel heaving and twisted with the effort taken to remain in tedious, mind-numbing foreward motion. Bowled snot is flung way to miss the hind of another male, the mirror-fragments of wholly maroon eyes glazing piquantly.

Cadgwith> Fordinnerth wants that omelet. And so it's for the ocean's depths that he tries, for once a mere moment behind the gold he seeks. An almost anticipatory ~sizzle~ of sun-on-concrete hide surrounds the bronze as he dives, dives, diiives&cmon baby light my&well, weve already got the fire. How about bring the frying pan?

Cadgwith> Drawn by the oceanic lure of his favorite 'lil manatee, Simsonth flexes his flabby wings for one final push, sails floundering to send the pudge-ball skateboarding forward. Gravity's anchor ignored -- he's gonna pay for that later -- the bronze extends those dumpy limbs again. Come on, pretty momma. Light my fire.

A'syn gradually deflates, gravitating corner-ward yet.

Cadgwith> Cadgwith pauses in the air just one breathless moment, as if hung by the wind she carries with her, before flying headlong down an immutable course, enfolding her bulk about...Simpsonth. Come with me, little man. New worlds await thee... At least it wasn't Trydanth?

Cadgwith> Simpsonth just /drooooools/. And does just what Cadgwith wants. Pudgily.

You saw the movie, now read the roleplay: Hot Brat-on-Brat action! See Jesha and E'rp fall together in a tangle of bony limbs. Watch the cookie crumbs fly!

Pyrene suddenly wheels about and reaches wildly out for someone... not anyone, but B'art. The much prized wine is dropped to splatter on the floor as her arms suddenly wrap around the rider. "Pyrene..." she murmurs into his ear prior to biting it. He did ask.

And watch the... huhn, nevermind. Well, yes, watch the drool and other bodily fluids grease up her hair as E'rp is all over the ex-brat. /Mrowr/! Jeshalovin' beats Py-spanking /anytime/!

B'art -- who knew he'd win the whole time, anyways -- gathers the ear-nibbling weyrwoman close against his so-sexy paunch, flabby arms 'round her.

Ducking 'neath the heavy weyrhide curtain, you enter a smaller cavern.

Inner Ground Weyr
Widest at the wherhide-hung entrance, the neat cavern slopes back to barely man-height. There's room enough in here for an ailing bronze, a pair of cots tucked against the inner wall for any accompanying riders. Glows are tucked along niches in the wall, shaded to provide a semblance of peace and privacy.

The inevitable happens as is its wont. Of course, what goes up must come down, and that includes hormones....

Pyrene sighs lightly, her eyes still closed as her breath slows, although not for sleep. Gradually, full, untainted consciousness returns and she becomes aware of the fact that she is naked and lying very near somebody. Who also feels naked. This was only to be expected--it's more what she can't expect that she worries about and for now, her eyes remain closed against seeing just /who/ she's in bed with.

Naked /and/ pudgy -- a combination sure to woo even the most picky females. "Buuuuurp." Ah, nothing like morning belches to heighten the attraction. B'art stretches his arms, and smacking his lips in a rather satisfied fashion, beams a crooked-teeth smile down at Pyrene. "Mornin'.. um... what did you say your name was again?"

Pyrene winces. It's not E'rp, that's a good sign. Likewise, it /can't/ be D'renn. The burp however does not sound promising, nor does the softness of the flesh that still remains in contact with her own. Girding up her loins (though only figuratively, alas), she opens her eyes. "Oh shards..." This never happens in the harper ballads. "It's Pyrene," she adds, reluctantly. "And you are?"

"B'art," the bronzer replies, patting his ample belly with thick fingered hands. "So, Pyrene, that was some lovin' last night." No sense in beating around the bush. "How about a little breakfast?" Swamp-sludge green eyes crinkle into lecherous leer as the older man reaches for Py's hand. Or worse.

Pyrene deliberately slides /away/ from that... that.... nude flab. "Now, now... I don't want to disturb Cadge. She'll be tired, and she, er, needs to build up her strength." That's it, yeah. She pauses suddenly, wondering why she's even trying for diplomacy. "Besides which, /why/ would I want to do /that/ with /you/ when the dragons aren't involved?" Oh, /this/ feels much better.

Scorn is lost completely on B'art. "Because I'm one sexy hunk of man-flesh," the over-sexed bronzer replies smugly. "And besides, you were hardly complaining last night -- why not come over here for another helping, you naughty little bubbly pie."

"Call me bubbly Py again, and I'll kill you." Pyrene says flatly. "It's not original or clever and as for last night, I thought I was flying up around the star-stones!" All the while casting around for her clothes... Drat. They're on the floor on the other side of the room. Still under the blankets she ventures another look at him. "Shut your eyes. And your mouth too preferably. And let me have the blanket." Take no chances.

"Now why would I do that?" B'art inquires with another generous ogle of Pyrene's sheet-clad form. "You can just hop up and trot over there to get your clothing. It's not like I haven't already seen you..." He points out, and leans towards the gold-rider. Kiss me, baby.

Pyrene flings herself away from B'art so thoroughly, that she runs out of bed. In a flurry of blankets, she ends up on the floor... and of course, in a flurry of blankets that completely fail to do their job of keeping her decent. Hastily scrambling to her feet and futilely wrapping them back around her, she snatches her clothes to her chest and makes a run for it. Better to streak through the bowl than to hang around here.

[For the record, Cadgwith was played by my fabulous player dragon who also rolled the dice that picked Simpsonth to catch. Credits for the NPC chasers run thus: A'syn and Gullveigth - Rauve; B'art and Simpsonth - Pia; E'rp and Wyath - Tyara; J'mi and Hendrixth - Quara; L'ate and Fordinnerth - Siannen; P'lus and Math - Etain. And of course, credit to Jesha, our PC chaser. Everybody played beautifully, and it was a great (if spammy) first flight!]