Bit o' Wine

To G'deon's Homepage
Back to the Logs Page

Logfile from G'deon
26th, 27th of January, 2001

Nylanth's World Headquarters
The woodsy scent of unfinished lumber permeates this liberally immense weyr. The source can be found near the back of the weyr where a rather large number of wooden planks been stacked against the wall. A large mattress, sans bed frame at the moment, has been laid down near the pile of lumber, a couple light blankets and a darkly crimson quilt neatly settled on top and tucked underneath with a few pillows strewn liberally at the head of the makeshift "bed".
The very first object inside the weyr is a large stone couch, kept practically spotless with a noticeable hollow in the middle left by hundreds of Turns of dragons. Precisely in the middle of the weyr is a large wooden table, newly constructed and lacking a coat of finish yet. Though hardly a master's work, the table is well-built with simple scrollwork etched into the side and a small name scrawled into one table leg. Four sturdy chairs, built to match the table, are pushed in under the table.
The last notable item in the room is the fireplace opposite the dragon couch, really no more than a deep depression in the wall at the moment. The area in front of the fireplace is kept quite clean and an old green sofa has been set in front of it. Next to the fireplace is a matching metal box of sorts, filled with fuel for the fire, including a small packet of slightly fragrant herbs.
It is a spring midmorning.
Bronze Nylanth is here.
You see an old rucksack here.
Obvious exits:
Ledge

You think to Nylanth, >> I need to go down to the living cavern, Nylanth. <<

Nylanth
The torrent of darkness that blacks this dragon's claret hide rides his lean, broad-shouldered frame as a cascade of shadows. However dark that jeweled hide twinkles -- oh how it fits with never a wrinkle, that darkly gleaming skin -- his dashing, darkling glory is offset by those moonlit galleon's sails. Doe-skin brown may soften his hindquarters, but it is bronze that crinkles bright at his ale-laced throat, clatters down the gallop of neckridges steeling his spine and dashes madly along the rapier length of his tail. His eyes -- bright, like the moon at midnight -- eyes like the stroke of midnight, gleam with a robber's gaze.
A well-oiled pair of riding straps are fastened to Nylanth's neck. They are dyed half in midnight blue, and the other half has been bleached to a creamy white, offset by gleaming silver buckles that twinkle in the light. They allow places for footholds, as well as ample areas for passengers to attach there own riding gear.
Nylanth seems to be listening.

You go to the Nylanth's Ledge.

Nylanth's Ledge
This spacious ledge could be called spotless if it weren't for the random items with which Nylanth has deemed fit to decorate. At the moment there is a rather chewed up leather boot to one side, on accident more than likely, someone's missing knickers, pink no less, plus a wooden crate filled with just about any little thing that may have caught the bronze's eye. On the side of the crate scrawled in Cromcoal are the words "Nylanth's Lost & Found".
There is barely enough room for two bronze dragons to lounge on the smooth surface. Smooth except for a few distinctive talon marks that is. The ledge curves around the wall of the rock face in a lazy crescent shape, and off to the eastern side a glimpse of the weyr's entrance can be seen.
The sometimes cluttered ledge however isn't nearly enough to surpass the extraordinary view of the central bowl with the lake peaking out around the corner, sunlight sometimes glinting off the surface, or the snow capped peaks to the north and west, not to mention those spectacular sunsets.
It is a spring midmorning.
On the perch is Bay.
Obvious exits:
Weyr Fly

Above the Bowl
The ocean's tranquil thermals settle within the center section of the bowl's airspace, unusually smooth and buoyant -- though oft to switch as the seasons shift. Lingering beneath spires' constant presence, the perpetual activity of the weyr can be observed from every direction: from the testing rustle of dragonet wings, to the playful games sent aloft.
It is a spring midmorning.
Obvious exits:
Northern Sky Weyrling Air Above the Pens Above the Lake Ledges

Wings tired? Or you just want to feel solid earth beneath your paws...

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 spring midmorning.
Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are thirteen firelizards.
Green Yshanth, bronze Rixesith, green Miravith, and gold Cadgwith are here.
You see a wagonmaster, Cattysaur, Box, and Dustina here.
You notice Ryern asleep here.
Obvious exits:
Pens Northern Bowl Caverns Ground Weyrs Lakeside Guards HQ

You think to Nylanth, >> Thank you <<

You slide gently down Nylanth's neck and land with a soft thud.

Nylanth thinks to you, << My pleasure >>

You think to Nylanth, >> Feel free to hang out here or back at the weyr << A hint of amusement is in his tone >> Just don't follow me in <<

G'deon pats Nylanth lovingly on the snout, then turns towards the caverns.

G'deon quietly strides to the Caverns.

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 thirty-four firelizards.
You see Old Auntie sit-by-the-fire, OOC NOTICE (look sign), Boots, Hobbes, Generic Sign-Up Sheet, and Kageri here.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Kitchens Inner Caverns Crafting Area

Nylanth thinks to you, << Ah well, I better stop myself then. I'll play outside for now, I guess. >>

Cayl silently, suavely, glides in from the Central Bowl.

Ayana arrives from deeper in the Weyr.

Ilare moves with quiet, thoughtful grace in from the Central Bowl.

Kinecha moves purposefully in from the Central Bowl.

Cayl strides into the living caverns, looking much like her 'old self', which is anything but amiable. Silently she moves across the room, snags a bowl and walks over to the hearth. Spooning out some broth, the weyrling is careful not to slop anything as she heads back towards a corner table and plunks down.

Ilare rolls her eyes as she steps into the caverns, muttering at her dragon under her breath. Surprisingly, the caverns aren't too full, but there are enough folks about that she has to weave in and out of people to get to a table. And food. Thus, only Cayl is spied as she makes her journey - G'deon has yet to be noticed. Which, depending on how you view thing at this point in time is either a good or bad thing. Stopping a drudge, she orders some soup, before grabbing a juice mug and winding her way towards Cayl's table. "Boo." The blue 'ling looks like she needs cheering. "Something up, Cayl?"

Ayana slips into the Living Caverns, moving with her head down and her lips set in a troubled line... as usual. She stops, looking up as she surveys the crowd. Her eyes light up as she catches sight of Cayl and she actually /smiles/! She heads over towards her shyly.

"Yeah, yeah, it's coming, it's coming," Kinecha says as she steps into the cavern. Two complaining firelizards, one on each of her shoulders, are crying out for food. She quickly makes her way to the counter, to get some meat for them and manages to rescue a glass of redfruit juice for herself, before taking a seat at a nearby table.

Cayl glances up as Ilare nears her table, but if anything frowns a bit more, flushing. Yep, something's definitely bothering her. "Nothing's wrong. Why would you say that? Everything's fine." Yep, now she's gibbering. However, lifesaver she turns out to be this time, Ayana is spotted and quickly waved to. The blueling motions to a seat across from her, smiling. Though it's that forced, 'Nothing's Wrong' smile.

G'deon, sitting at a table not to far away from the other two weyrlings, watches the people come and go, a rather vacant expression on his face from time to time. He frowns slightly as Cayl grumps her way in, but is momentarily distracted by the returning drudge with a small bowl of stew. His favorite lately. As Ilare follows however he blinks once or twice, the faintest hint of a blush touching his cheeks before he turns his attention to the stew in front of him.

Ilare raises both eyebrows as she takes a seat, hmming at Cayl's answer. "If you say so, Cayl." No challenge in her voice, mind. And if Cayl doesn't want to talk, she won't pry. She grins at the childling who comes to join them, before accepting the soup handed to her by a drudge. And only then notices a familiar bronzeling waaaay over there. Gee, is her face turning slightly pink? Nah, must be the heat from the soup is all. A faint smile is sent in G'deon's direction - the first in.. what, three or so sevendays? - before she calmly, and almost unblushingly focuses on Cayl. "How's Mzadith this morning?"

Ayana's smile widens as Cayl waves her over. Immediately she reaches the bluerider, giving her a small hug which served not only as a greeting but also hopefully as a comforting tactic to cheer her up. She then sits down in the seat next to Cayl.

Cayl
Those eyes, piercing, livid, alive with -flavor-! Slowly shifting from dark gray towards a rich gray-blue over the turns, they stare out over the world masterfully. A mask of confidence, an appeal of excitement, their glossy film gives a taste of the ever shifting soul of the girl without. Classically narrowed at the edges, they front a well-formed, feminine face of high cheekbones and thin lips. Pouty eyebrows crown these windows to the heart, thick but not overwhelming. No freckles, nor wrinkles, mar this youthful face at the peek of its glamour, though all is not perfect. Her nose is perhaps a little unshapely, bluntly tipped and noticeably out of proportion with her smallish face. Mocha cream skin stretches tight over her lithe form, pulled taunt by her growing turns. Around 5'7, the blooming teenager has outgrown her childish chub. Her hips have formed, not hour-glassing, though definitely apparent, and her chest has noticeably taken shape. While not a fashion model, nor buxom beauty, her hands carry a soft touch, skilled and well practiced. In a very recent, unself-proclaimed adjustment to features, her hair has been cut short: Very short, in a boyish, uneven bob that curls in every-which-direction. Most notable is the highly fluorescent rose-bud gleam that shines off of its once dark brown/ebon hues.
Apple green, as fresh as spring plucked, drips over every curve of new leather, every inch of unused yet shapely stitch. Juicy, almost savory to the touch beneath and at the edges of the jacket, velvety purple adds warm padding and a tender feel. Several pockets of a more jungle emerald hold items just above the base hem. Brown freckles pools about the shoulders and across the neckline of the woolly shirt beneath the flavorful jacket. Almost plain compared to the rest of the outfit, its saving grace remains the rich twist of flowered vine which decorates the front and back sparsely. Part of the ensemble, gloves of the deepest, soul-luring black leather cover her hands. Dark, dark sanguine marks the cloth of her pants, at rival only with the rich locks of hair resting against her shoulders. Windbreaking, heat locking leather seems to be the theme of this outfit. Resting comfortably upon Cayl's shoulder, tail tightly curled around the neck is Kryll. Perched on Cayl's shoulder is Genre. Perched on Cayl's shoulder is Aztek.
Two twists of thick cord twine around each other, echoing hues of alternating sapphire and sable which stay true to High Reaches coloring. Pinned carefully around her right shoulder, the double-corded, single looped, otherwise plain knot is precisely made. A short tail trails down the front side, deep deep blue in color. A single, long thread of pure cobalt embeds itself deeply around the cords, the true-color of lifemate: Cayl is a Sr. Weyrling to Blue Mzadith at High Reaches.
She is awake and looks alert.
Cayl is 19 Turns, 7 months, and 17 days old.

Ayana
Large brown eyes, framed by dark lashes, peer shyly about. High cheekbones and small features elongate the shape of the slim tan face. Long brown hair is held back in a low runnertail, dark wavy locks cascading down the slender back. Because of her short and slim stature, she often goes unnoticed. Soft pink lips are occasionally set in a timid smile. More often than not, she shies away from crowds and strangers and is only slightly more at ease with family and close friends. Seemingly oblivious to the world around her, she seems to be lost in her own world. She never speaks; instead she stays silently unaware of the surroundings.
Slender torso is covered with a long-sleeved shirt, which is a light grey. Over the shirt is an open vest. The shirt is tucked into a pair of blue breeches which are secured to the small waist with a simple belt of wherhide. Her small, slender feet are adorned in warm boots.
Ayana wears the knot of a High Reaches Weyrfolk.
She is awake and looks alert.
Ayana is 9 Turns, 3 months, and 12 days old.

Ilare
A bright smile filled with warmth shines out from creamy skin, golden tan faded thanks to snow and cold. Oval face is framed by red-gold curls, recently trimmed short so that the tips of her mane stroke her cheeks and chin gently. Now, only her fringe occasionally obscures amber eyes light enough to be golden, bangs twisting slightly like spirals. Faded freckles are scattered across her nose and cheekbones, the final hints of childhood pudginess fading to the faintest hint. Not willowy - she'll never be that - but strongly built and sturdy, Ilare is as agile on her feet as a dragon midair. Having reached 5'6, she gives the impression of being taller through sheer presence and an insatiable friendliness she extends outwards. Alert and cheerful, her eyes seem to sparkle more since her Impression of Chanticoth, glowing almost bright gold when they're together.
A warm spring blue colours the silken cloth of Ilare's shirt, practical fabric held in place at the neckline by matching bright buttons. Long sleeves taper to small wrists, ending in delicately decorated cuffs. Hemline tucks neatly into trousers made of sturdy strong wher-hide, hued to a deeper, equally rich and warm shade of blue. Matching jacket, the same shade of blue as the trous, is layered for much needed warmth even in the spring, it's cut molding it comfortably to her form. Matching belt, with firm metal rings for the attachment of riding straps, is fastened 'round her waist. Knee high boots, also shaded bright blue, fit her comfortably, colour melting into the rest of the ensemble. A single blue band, flat and tied tightly, keeps her hair from flicking in her eyes while at work or in the air.
Double twisted cords, blackest midnight and royalty's blue, have been braided with a bright brandy-butter brown ribbon and fashioned into a single loop. A small tail, from which dangles two tassels, indicates this young brownrider's rank as Wingleader of the Sr. Weyrling Kamikaze Wing.
She is awake and looks alert.
Ilare is 18 Turns, 11 months, and 17 days old.

Kinecha
Reaching a height of almost 6 feet, this woman is taller than most. Her features are somewhat like those of a man, with hardened arm and leg muscles. Her blond hair, which is almost a stark white, has been cropped short and close to the scalp. Long brows arc over wide grayish green eyes with dark lashes. Her face and chin are angular and her nose is long and narrow with only a little bend at the middle, where it once was broken. On her right cheek is a 5-centimetre scar which runs just below her cheekbone. Her hands, with strong, long fingers, are callused and scarred. All in all, this woman is very masculine.
Kinecha wears a thick-clothed dark blue shirt over a thinner sleeveless gray shirt. When outside she wears a heavy leather jacket, old and soft from many Turns of use. Covering her legs are black trousers, well-worn and in need of patching in several places. Her leather boots reaching halfway up her calves, are lined with soft fur. Necha's Pack hangs heavily from Kinecha's shoulder. Perched on Kinecha's shoulder is Erzulie. Perched on Kinecha's shoulder is Simbi.
On her shoulder is a single loop, double corded knot in black and blue assigning her as a High Reaches Guard recruit.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 2 minutes.
Kinecha is 20 Turns, 9 months, and 4 days old.

G'deon
G'deon appears at first glance to be quite calm and collected, though a mischievous gleam seems to tint his blue eyes from time to time. He has grown into a rather well-built frame and stands at less than an inch under six feet. Many Turns of hard work have helped his shoulders fill out considerably, along with his arms and hands. His legs however are still the wiry limbs of his youth, which hell never lose. Newly cut hair tops this young mans head, the short hairs glistening hazily, a sandy blond frame for a lightly tanned face, accented by his calm blue eyes, clear and blue as the summer sky over High Reaches.
Grey is his shirt, like the morning fog rolling down from the mountains. Tawny, the trousers, like an old oak tree, paladin of the forest. Black are the boots, black, the belt, the deepest hour of midnight. Bronze, the buckles, silver, the knife, together an icy chorus. But be wary of that which is still concealed by more than just mere clothing. The human soul is more complex than what you picked out this morning.
He is awake and looks alert.
G'deon is 20 Turns, 8 months, and 8 days old.

Cayl blushes slightly at the hug, eyes flickering around the caverns, before finally returning it and smiling as Ayana sets down beside her. Looking across at Ilare, there comes that touch uncomfortable look in her eyes. "He's fine. And pouty. And it's killing me trying to keep him away from Imbriath's weyr." She's lost many hours of sleep over /that/ particular dragon-child. A brow arches towards Ilare. "Have you met Ayana yet?" She motions towards the girl.

As G'deon notices the smile on Ilare's face he sighs, but with relief for some reason. This is certainly a good sign. He finally begins on that stew, nodding from time to time at the people walking by.

Ilare gives a shake of her head, and smile is directed at Ayana. "No, we've yet to meet." She replies, although she gives a sympathetic nod - keeping Mzadith /away/ is a good idea right now. Hyzen and Imbri are.. not happy with a certain blue dragon. Anyway.. "Her name's Ayana? How do you do.."

Kinecha doesn't seem to have time to drink her juice, as her two lizards takes up all her attention, and the use of both her hands. "You know, 'Zulie, you ought to be able to eat yourself," she mumbles to the green, while cutting the meat into smaller pieces for the blue.

Ayana is staring down at the table, her small fingers idly tracing invisible patterns into the wood. She appears not to have heard Ilare's greeting, although her eyes occasionally flicker up and around the room, seeming to question inquisitively.

G'deon stops a passing drudge and stands, having a quick word with him. The drudge shrugs and walks towards the kitchens, but that seems to be enough for the bronzerider. He quickly finishes up his stew and the mug in front of him, then walks over towards the kitchens after the drudge.

It's at this time Cayl wishes she actually knew something that /Via/ knew. Yes, a scary thought that that sweet-tooth-ache actually /knew/ something. Cayl's brow arches inquisitively. "Wouldn't happen to know... what do the harpers call it... hand-language? Or something?" How waving hands around in the air made any sense is beyond Cayl. The bluerider gives a nod. "She can't hear a word you're saying. Probably best to wave or something.." Cayl continues with her flushed look before shrugging. "Anyways, she's been staying at the Weyr for a little while. Surprised you haven't heard already. She's my sister, on my father's side."

Ilare blinks as the child doesn't seem to respond - but the reaction is explained by Cayl and earns a nod. And a head shake. "No.. No, I'm afraid I don't know the hand signals. Um.. I think it's called Sign-Language, or something." She, too, is mystified by how hands fiddling could mean words or such, but.. Waving a hand at Ayana, she grins brightly. Maybe /that/ will translate at least? G'deon's movement is noticed, but eyes don't follow. At least, not while Cayl is looking at her. What is he up to?

Ayana's eyes catch movement and she glances up again. Seeing Ilare's wave she grins and waves back. Tilting her head she begins to sign in hopes that someone can understand. Pausing she shrugs and pulls a piece of hide and a writing utensil from her rucksack on the floor. She scribbles for a moment... <Hi! I'm Ayana.>

G'deon returns from the kitchens with a wide tray in his hands. He sweeps around the outside of the cavern, stopping first next to Kinecha. "Care for a sweetroll?" he asks her with a wink. "Your firelizards don't need to be the only ones getting treats."

Kinecha looks up as G'deon offers sweetrolls, "thanks, G'deon," she says and takes a sweetroll from the tray, trying to hide it from Erzulie. "I guess I am a little hungry." She gives him smile, and takes a bite of the 'roll, before the green snags it from her.

Ilare grins back at Ayana, nodding. Pointing at herself, she mouths her name. "Ilare." Before reaching for the writing pen-utensil thingy, glancing at the younger one for permission to use it to write. "Your sister, huh? No, I hadn't heard. But then, I haven't really been in the mood to listen to many rumours lately.. Well, not many, except.. Did you hear about Areiah?" Gleam. It seems for once that it will not by Hyzen sharing the weyr's internal news and gossip.

Cayl leans a little in towards Ilare, lips pursed tightly and expression far more grim then the situation called for. "Is... I mean, do ya think Hyz's still mad at me?" Even /if/ it was Mzadith's fault. She's just getting it for her information. She doesn't care what Hyzen thinks... not at all.. Leaning back, she shrugs her shoulders before carefully taking the hide and jotting down something for Ayana. =She's a friend of mine. Rides brown Chanticoth. Hey, how you been? I haven't had a chance to see you in a while.= /Lots/ of things had been going on lately. Ilare is given an arched brow. "No? What about her?"

G'deon laughs softly and winks at Kinecha in return. "Enjoy it," he says quietly, then begins weaving his way around the small clusters of people again. Slowly, though, he makes some progress towards the table back in the corner where the other two Weyrlings and another young person have been talking.

Ayana grins nodding to Ilare. <Well met.> she scribbles, showing her enthusiasm to meet others. It isn't often she gets to interact with people who can communicate with her. She turns to Cayl writing <I've been good. I love High Reaches! And the dragons. How've you been?> She smiles, setting down the pen so others can use it.

Ilare blinks at the question, before giving a slight smile. "Nah, I think Hyzen isn't. But Imbri's miffed like anything.." Taking the writing utensil now, she scribbles quickly. <Well met! I'm Ilare! It's great to meet you!>

Ilare continues, not noticing G'deon's progress across the room. Really. "Well, Chan was listening to the drudges this morning while I was in the caverns getting extra things for my weyr, and he said they said she'd been to see a healer.. And she," being Areiah, of course, "Is preggers." But that clearly isn't the part that warrants the gossip. Sitting up, she takes a sip of her juice.

Cayl just watches as Ayana stands up and dismisses herself quickly. The weyrling shakes her head, as even her sister has caught the habit which Cayl has dubbed: WeyrPlague. That which requires people to sporadically run off. G'ds isn't noticed just yet, form blocked from view by a few people that stubbornly persist in talking off to the side of Cayl. Woman gives a small sigh, shaking her head. "Can't believe he did that.. Though he still says he wasn't going to hurt her." Cayl gives a small shrug before her expression looks, if anything, dejected. "And I heard Hyzen was having some kinda get-together too..." Feeling unwelcome was /definitely/ not a good thing.

Ayana goes home.

Ilare gives a faint snort of amusement. "Nah, not a party. Hyzen dragged a friend from Ista to see her weyr, because Imbri wanted her to. And some of the others dropped by. Just to chat. I was there, but Chan decided he wanted me to eat. Says I'm not eating enough." Snort. Like he'd know. That silly brown o' hers would stuff himself silly if she didn't keep an eye on him. "I'd not worry. I doubt you or I are missing anything important." Well, Ila better not be.

Cayl gives a small shrug of her shoulder towards the rest before smiling coolly at Ilare. "Well, he's right. Even Mad agrees that you're... and I unfortunately quote: "Chanticoth's rider's shadow's dwindling unhealthily, Cayl."" The weyrling glances towards the door before giving another shrug. "Well, let them have their gathering thingy.. Me and Mad'll probably go off to the meadows again. S'quiet there. Don't have to worry about weyrlingmasters popping out of the stonework, or blue dragons trying to... er... torment... greens." The weyrling gives a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Still... suppose it was an amusing sight. And things wouldn't have gotten out of hand if Imbriath had just /let/ him have a lick." She snickers and crosses her arms across her chest. "Still, suppose that was a bit to much for Lady Troublemaker.

You think to Nylanth, >> Chanticoth's rider doesn't seem angry anymore << A long pause follows, then a curious inquiry: >> But... she doesn't look so good. Could you possibly ask Chanti if his rider is okay? Healthy I mean? <<

G'deon peeks over the shoulders of the last small group of people between him and the weyrlings. He ducks around them and places the rather ample tray on their table. The aroma of freshly baked sweetrolls, cookies, and even a small batch of creampuffs meets them. "Compliments of... the kitchen," G'deon says softly.

Ilare makes a sympathetic sound, eyes dancing in remembrance at the sight. "I was there, Cayl. And I wasn't exactly... Um.. Helpful either. Chan did all the work." She frowns at the health comment, although the frown doesn't stay long, twitching upwards at the corner at even Mzadith's concern. "I'm /fine/. Really." It's true, it's true. See? Spoon is dipped and soup is sipped, before a piece of bread is reached for.. and hand freezes as a familiar shadow, and an equally familiar voice catches her attention. Eyes move from blue 'ling to bronze 'ling, and the smile becomes shy again. "...... Hi..."

Cayl rolls her eyes. "I know. I could hear you laughing from halfway across the bowl, even above Imbriath's squeals." However, sarcasm is lost in a stitch of laughter... which freezes completely as G'deon deposits the sweets on the table. She blinks a few times before shrugging her shoulders and reaching out for one. "Thanks G'ds.." She says, before stuffing one. Obviously her own anger or vengeance hadn't lasted long enough to interrupt this little treat. Though it's not Cayl G'deon has to impress. Glance is sent over to Ilare. "See, everyone must be concerned. Or trying to fatten you up for the frying pot, either one." She smirks ruthlessly.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

The bronze 'ling smiles softly at Ilare and nods to her. "Hello Ilare... Cayl. You two don't mind if I take a seat, do you?" G'deon asks, almost hesitantly, his mellow baritone pitched so that it won't carry very far. "The cook was in a good mood, and you guys just looked like you needed some cheering up, that's all."

Desyana
Her mahogany hair falls in soft curls to just past her shoulders and her sapphire blue eyes are rimmed with deep lashes of the same dark shade. Her complexion is soft and has a peachy tone to it. High carved cheekbones and a warm, lush mouth above a small pointed chin finish off an oval face. She stands about 5 ft., 5 inches; a little taller then most women. Her figure is well-rounded in a classic female shape, which she is pleased to note, drapes clothing well.
She wears a soft burnoose robe in a polished bronze color, falling to her mid-thigh. It is made of a tightly woven wool and is extremely warm. She is also wearing cream leggings of the same fabric and hide boot to her knees in a dark brown shade. A belt and pouch of the same shade finishes the outfit.
A plain blue and black knot, denoting High Reaches Weyr, is on her shoulder.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 14 minutes.
Desyana is 24 Turns, 8 months, and 13 days old.

Ilare is silenced a moment, eyes drifting to the tray, nodding absently at G'deon's question. "Um.. sure.." Cayl, though, is given a look at the fattening up comment, and eyes snap with colour. "I doubt it, I said I'm fine." She /is/ fine. Why can't anyone believe her? Sighing, hand retreats from the bread and eyes remain on her soup as she proceeds to eat.. err.. drink... umm.. sip her soup. And not look at G'deon. Or she'll start blushing again. Really.

Desyana slips into the cavern, looking for a quiet spot and a pot of klah... Just some place she can sit and think.. or not think, as the case maybe. She grabs her klah, and spies the riders clustered about a table. Waving, she moves in an opposite direction. She really just doesn't want to interrupt anyone.

Is it the more you protest that the more people push things on you? A glance is sent up to G'deon before Cayl nods. "Sure. Me and Mad were fixing to go take a flight, but you're more then welcome to set here." She glances towards Ilare, eyes searching. "/Right/ Ilare?"

Ilare blinks at the question, raising her eyes from the soup. "Um.." Objections? Her? "No, no, he's quite welcome to sit here." She won't stop him, at any rate. But wait.. did Cayl.. she's not /leaving/ her here, is she?

G'deon's smile falters for a brief moment at Ilare's response, but quick as can be it's back in place as he glances at Cayl. He's learned quite a few things the past few sevendays. "Thank you," he replies quickly, nodding to Cayl. "Clear skies," he adds as an afterthought. That's the expression, right? He slowly takes a seat on the other side of Cayl, opposite Ilare.

Ilare is trying some rapid eating here, although she has the distinct feeling her dragon will NOT let her leave with only soup having been had for lunch. Regardless of his lifemate's feelings on this. Well, it was inevitable that they'd have to talk and.. stuff, right? Setting her spoon down in her near-empty bowl, she straightens her shoulders and raises her eyes to meet G'deon's. And blushes again. Okay, not what she wanted to happen, but there you go. "Clear skies indeed, Cayl. And watch your straps." Wink.

Desyana listens and watches the sparring of the two riders. Curious that.. is it good or bad? does she sense maybe an undercurrent of emotion they aren't even aware of?

Yeppers. Cay'll be leaving Ilare behind. Has a lot to think about. The weyrling, as if taking the 'clear skies' as some sort of warning, or signal, stands up, pushing aside her plate. "Welcome... I guess." She arches a brow, only amused at what seems to be an awkward situation. Snagging another sweetroll, she points to Ilare. "Enjoy the vie...I mean sweets." She smirks towards Ilare's words before heading out.

Ilare makes a mockface at the blue 'ling, rolling her eyes, before pushing her own plate to one side and.. um.. what happens now? Talking? just sitting here? What? Because her face will start burning if she keeps staring at the bronzer opposite. "

G'deon blinks at Cayl's comment, an obviously blank look on his face. He nods to Cayl as she gets ready to go, then peers at Ilare, a questioning look on his face.

Ilare waves away the question. Nothing, nothing, private joke. Reaching for one of the sweets, she studies it, before looking up again. "Um..." Could things be.. less awkward? "How're you?" Well, it's a start right? And it's not like she's really spoken to him in a while.

Desyana chuckles at the two of them and absentmindedly drinks her klah, and eats some of the cookies she had fetched for herself.

G'deon smiles softly and reaches for a cookie... which he immediately begins breaking into pieces, a small mound forming on the table. He reaches over for a mug of klah that isn't there, then sits back again and glances at Ilare in a rather guarded but open look. "Pretty good... alright really. Been busy." Who hasn't. "How've you been?"

Cayl shoos Aztek, who spreads his wings, shadowing the world with their golden, harsh gleam, and lifts quickly upwards.

Cayl exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

Ilare nibbles the cookie she's snagged, eyes still flicking between the table, the food and the bronzer. "I.. I've been better." A slight shrug, lips pulling into a broad smile. "Busy, tired, but.. Yeah, I'm okay." Taking a bite of her cookie, licking the crumbs away, she looks up again. "I.. got your note." Can you tell a certain brown lump is mentally giving her encouragement here? "And.." She stops, not sure how to continue. Words are mumbled, but not directed at G'deon; certainly, her muffled 'Shut Up' isn't directed at him!

G'deon frowns suddenly, a clear look of concern flashing across his face. "Aye, these last few sevendays haven't been easy," he replies quietly, eyes scanning the room briefly. At the mention of a note he quickly looks at her again, this time a touch of pink shading his own cheeks, if briefly. "Yeah... I..." He sighs softly, a glance thrown towards the entrance out to the bowl. "I didn't want to force you into anything, I just wanted to let you know. And... I've been meaning to tell you something else." He sighs, perhaps gathering the last bit of courage needed as he looks at her again, square in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Ilare. For everything."

"No.. no, they haven't.." A nod of agreement is given his words, eyes resting on his features, not glancing to see if anyone else is present. "Force me? Wha..." Ilare stops, seeing he clearly hasn't finished speaking, and turns equally pink at his next words. Words that are met with a slow smile. "G'deon.. I know. I know. I'm sorry, too. I wasn't.. very.. Nice to you, after the event.." Something of an understatement there, and her cheeks turn a rosy shade, even as she tries not to look away.

The corner of G'deon's mouth quirks up as he laughs softly and shakes his head, his eyes never leaving the brownrider's face. "Listen, I understand why you were... well, the way you were. I certainly don't blame you for that. If you had just brushed the whole thing off, /then/ I would have worried." He reaches out a hand, tentatively, but lets it fall to the table. He meant to do that, right? "If you're willing though, I'd like to kind of start on a new page. We can't change anything that's happened, but we /can/ change what happens from here on out."

Ilare bites her lips thoughtfully, and eyes duck away shyly at the words, expression clearly thoughtful. And more than a little.. Pleased? Happy? Something like that. Her own hand slowly reaches forward, and tentatively rests upon G'deon's, smile and a nod given at his words. "I.. I'd like that. I've missed having you as a friend." And lets not even think about the 'surprise' he left her outside her weyr. Nuh uh. "So, uh.. yeah.." Blushing again, she somehow manages to prevent herself from pulling her hand away, letting it rest atop his. "I'd like that, G'deon."

Nylanth senses Chanticoth just gape-grins in response, highly amused. << She's fine. She's thinking about the note again. And the present. She said it was exquisite. >> And if Ilare heard him tell you that, he'd get a right smack, so he would. So, shhhh! to him.

G'deon smiles at Ilare, one of the first non-forced, calm, relieved and even joyful smile he's had in a long, long time. Very unlike the usually happy-go-lucky ex-Smith. "That's /very/ good news," he tells the wingleader, his own hand twisting somewhat to hold hers lightly. "I'd so hoped... that we could get over this somehow." The faintest hint of a frown crosses his face, but that smile won't be forced down anymore. "Nylanth and I were thinking that, perhaps this all happened for a reason. Kind of an awakening of sorts. Dragons aren't perfect, and certainly not their riders. We all seem to forget that sometimes, riders, crafters and holders."

Ilare can't help but grin right back, although she could swear her face was burning. Eyes rest on their hands as he speaks, and it takes her a moment to look up again, slight smile saying all she really has to on that. As he shifts subjects, she nods, the red fading, even as the smile remains. "Maybe. Faranth knows we're hardly perfect - we weren't before we got lovable lumps for lifemates, and even after... Although Chan seems to disagree with me on that point." Her other hand pushes a lock from her eyes, and she gives a slight shrug. "I guess.. Something similar would have happened eventually, it's just a shame that the eventually part decided that the Ista Gather was /The/ time, I guess.." Eyes lift again, and she squeezes G'deon's hand lightly. "But, that's in the past. We don't have to think about it right now.."

G'deon nods once, his eyes almost dancing with either joy or amusement. Maybe both. "If you think about it though, it all could have been much worse." He makes a small defensive gesture with his free hand and laughs softly. "I mean, more than just the hold. Luckily /that/ part of it just looked worse than it did. I mean, what if it had been a full rider and their dragon? What if it had been an /Istan/ dragon? It's true that this won't be forgotten for a long time, if ever, and it shouldn't!" The young man's voice grows a bit louder as he continues, a couple heads turning towards the pair of weyrlings. "What good will all this have been if people forget it? Granted, we'll have to face people every day who will... doubt us," at which the rider's face manages to darken slightly at what is to him the worst part in this. "But we're strong. Just look at our wing! We'll persevere, stronger than ever," he finally concludes, a confidant smile back on his face.

Ilare watches G'deon's face as he speaks, clearly ignoring any looks being sent their way, nodding at his comments. "I know.. And I doubt we'll be ever allowed to forget, Gids. You did hear that /awful/ harper at Ista when we were there, right?" Wince. She actually doesn't want to tread over this territory again. It didn't make her very comfortable the first time, but still.. A chuckle is given at his final comments, and he eyes gleam slightly. "Aye. We've bonded very closely as a wing - if only because it's shown us we can't take being what we are and what we've got for granted, y'know?" Eyes drift now, and she rests them on his hands, clearly thinking.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth turns his thoughts once more towards Nylanth, eyes whirling as much as the colours that splash across his words. << What is your rider saying to mine? She is thinking deeply, and the thoughts that come to the fore are not happy. >> to him.

You think to Nylanth, >> We've been discussing how to go on from here... <<

G'deon smiles tenderly as he searches her face for a moment. "Aye, my point exactly," he replies softly. He pauses for a moment before continuing, his voice slightly contemplative. "Perhaps that's for the best though," he says, head tilting to the side. "We won't be able to change the minds of anyone with our words, but we can through our actions. And I think that will happen no matter what."

Nylanth senses Chanticoth is disbelieving. << If that is so, why is she thinking of the things that have depressed her for the past while? >> Curving his neck he looks towards the caverns. << No more. Make your rider stop! >> Just a wee bit protective, neh? to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Nylanth senses Chanticoth believes it means they must accept what was, is and will be. Or so Ilare tells him. to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, << I bespoke Chanticoth with: Nylanth ponders this for a long moment, dark swirls of silvery grey surrounding the deep baritone of his mindvoice. << This is not easy for my rider as well, but he says it needs to happen >> to him. >>

Ilare's gaze flicks back to his face a moment, before her smile filters across her face and a vague nod is given in response. "Aye. We can only do our best, and hope that that is what will be seen and remembered." She pauses, and frowns as she bespeaks her dragon, and eyes flicker back to G'deon's face again. "Ah.. I.." She stops, and looks down, sighing a little. "I've not been very comfortable discussing this over and over. Chan.. He's been more worried than necessary for me lately - I guess that's what happens when you think too much with a dragon listening in.." Shifting in her seat, she looks across the room, silent. Not sure what to say next.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth's mind takes on shadows as he breaks away from the conversation, mindspeaking his lifemate in more warmer colours. Deep rich tones then waft towards the bronze, even as brown sighs. << That may be. But my rider is not yours. And she has been thinking about this too hard for too long...>> Silence. Then, amusement stirs. << Perhaps your rider can make her eat? She has not slept or eaten much since this began. >> to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> The quiet darkness of the bronze's mindvoice permeates gradually before a faint, shining light begins to glimmer in the background. << Yes, I think they've both remained on this topic too long. >> to him. >>

Nylanth senses Chanticoth slowly swirls the rich reds into a tapestry of amusement. << Perhaps we can move them onto.. different things?>> Gleam. << Such as why yours left such a gift for mine? >> Oh, /bad/ Chanticoth. No fisshies for you. to him.

G'deon laughs softly as he also glances towards the bowl and nods. "Aye, though I must admit, it's been a comfort having Nylanth's mind so close to mine. We've grown very close through all this." His eyes travel back to Ilare's face for a moment, his head tilting again in that old habit of his. "Listen, I'm sure this is still hard for you. Perhaps the caverns here wasn't the best place for me to approach you. I just... needed to know." A touch of desperation edges his voice for a moment before he laughs softly, a wry look on his face. "I was kind of forced to deal with this a while ago... or go crazy," he adds, winking at her.

"Tattler.." Muttered, quiet words, muted so those around cannot even hear a hint of her words. They're not directed at the person seated opposite either. Ilare frowns briefly, before giving G'deon a slightly embarrassed look. "What's my dragon telling yours? I don't think I like the sound of this voice in my head. It's too..." Coddling? Nannying? Motherish? "Chanti." Yup, that sums it all up, don't you think? Blinking at his words, she squeezes her fingers against his hand again, looking away. "I.. know what you mean.. And it's okay - really, it is." A long pause, and eyes glance about the caverns. And the many little whirling eyes staring at them. "Can we move this talk.. elsewhere?" She uncomfortable suddenly.

G'deon laughs softly and shrugs. "I wish I knew. Nylanth certainly has a mind of his own." And all of Pern knows it now. He glances around and grins. "Yes, this certainly isn't the right place for this conversation. I'm sorry about that." He stands slowly, eyes sweeping the living cavern. "Hey, tell you what. How about we grab some food first. I don't know about you, but this is the first time I've had a real appetite in ages." And for all you listening at home, he /does/ mean the food.

Ilare gives a slight shrug. "Heh, it's okay. At least we're speaking, eh?" And that's more than a pleasing improvement, to her at least. She makes a face at the mention of food, but doesn't object. "I'm not that hungry, but sure. If you want something, I'll wait..." She reaches for another cookie, eyeing her glass of juice. Still half full, at least.

G'deon nods and wanders off towards the tables nearest the kitchen, random selections of food wrapped and tucked away carefully into one of those useful pockets he has before he returns to the other weyrling, an amused look on his face. "Shall we?" he asks, gesturing towards the Central Bowl.

Ilare rises from her seat, nodding as she moves away from the table. "Lets." Giving all and any a nod, she moves away and towards the exit, chuckling suddenly at the voice in her head, before glancing over her shoulder to be sure G'deon's following.

Ilare exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

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 spring afternoon.
Clinging to footholds in the boulder-mound are thirteen firelizards.
Green Yshanth, bronze Rixesith, green Miravith, gold Cadgwith, bronze Nylanth, and brown Chanticoth are here.
You see a wagonmaster, Cattysaur, Box, and Dustina here.
You notice Ryern asleep here.
Gold_Guest and Ilare are here.
Obvious exits:
Pens Northern Bowl Caverns Ground Weyrs Lakeside Guards HQ

G'deon exchanges the protection of stone for the bowl outside.

Chanticoth
Oh what sweet, sweet treacle flavours his slimly elongated curves, lightening the glimmering patina of burnt pinewood; oh what bright, bright ridges carol along his snow and mistletoe back, kissing the gingerbread surface below. But it is the patterned decadence of brandy-butter that defines this rogue: toasted to perfection from the ruddy nubs that cap his head to the festive curve of that spoon-shaped tail candycane-striped with russet, his sweetly blunted snout is fairy-dusted with holly-crimson, which also reddens freckled cheeks. His chestnut hide roasts in the open air of winter's breath wings, along which a darker brown tracery gaily hunts for perfection. Smouldering embers of evening's end warm his underbelly, stretching dusky shadows except where disturbed by the rare sunburst of flames, breathing life into the whole of his enchanting body.
Richest green, the shade of deep summer foliage and wintertime evergreen has been dyed carefully into the leather, giving the impression of mottled shadows and multiple overlapping leaves. Lined with suede and wollybeast skin to prevent chaffing, these well oiled leather straps are doubled over to allow for growth. Positioned between the forth and fifth ridges, they have been sewn with dedicated care, made to last and not fall prey to wear and tear. Polished shiny buckles glint, kept bright with care.
Chanticoth is 1 Turn, 1 month, and 27 days old.
He is 58 feet (17m) long, with a wingspan of 96 feet (29m).
Chanticoth seems to be listening.

Nylanth croons softly as Ilare and G'deon enter from the caverns. G'deon just grins and waves at the patiently waiting bronze before glancing back at Ilare. "So, where to?"

Ilare grins as she finds her dragon waiting near the entrance - playfully swatting the nose that extends towards her, she turns at the question. A shrug escapes her, although her smile is a tad more amused by something tickling her mind.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth gapegrins again. << Our weyr or yours? >> to him.

Ilare turns on her dragon, eyes wide. "Chan!" Blush. He /wasn't/ supposed to say that. The brown looks far more amused at her discomfort, eyes swirling in blue and green, before peering at the bronze pair. Well?

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Nylanth senses Chanticoth returns the chuckle, eyes whirling. << And wine like that should not be sipped but from glasses as fine as those yours gave mine... >> to him.

G'deon quickly begins checking Nylanth's riding straps before tightening them slightly while glancing over at Ilare. "Well, some place quiet would be much appreciated right now. One place is as good as the other." His smile is most definitely amused right now.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> A long pause follows as he discusses this with his rider. << Shall we meet at your weyr then? >> to him. >>

Ilare is not at all amused by this. She's fuming. Although she has her back to G'deon, so it's not likely he can tell. Chanticoth nudges her lightly, rumbling as she checks the straps for the short trip. "True.." Is tossed casually over one shoulder, even though she doesn't turn completely.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth is highly amused. You'd think the dragons had planned this or something. << Our weyr it is then. >> He agrees on behalf of himself and his rider, ignoring any disagreeing thoughts. to him.

G'deon laughs softly as the two dragons decide for them and he starts the short climb to Nylanth's neck. "I guess that's no longer up to us anyway. I'll meet you there?"

You ascend with practiced steps up to Nylanth's bronzen neck and settle yourself between two neckridges.

Ilare growls faintly at her dragon, who's attention is dragged away by.. a running girl? She'd better watch or she'll drip over a dragon's tail and that's not fun. "See you shortly?" Turning, hands on hips, she frowns, not amused.

Swinging his wings out of the way, Chanticoth offers a foreleg to aid Ilare, who swiftly clambers up and settles between Chanticoth's neckridges.

You take off.

Above the Bowl
The ocean's tranquil thermals settle within the center section of the bowl's airspace, unusually smooth and buoyant -- though oft to switch as the seasons shift. Lingering beneath spires' constant presence, the perpetual activity of the weyr can be observed from every direction: from the testing rustle of dragonet wings, to the playful games sent aloft.
It is a spring afternoon.
Obvious exits:
Northern Sky Weyrling Air Above the Pens Above the Lake Ledges

Chanticoth takes off from Central Bowl

Chanticoth soars in for a landing on Chanticoth's ledge.

You soar in for a landing on Nylanth's ledge.

Nylanth's Ledge
This spacious ledge could be called spotless if it weren't for the random items with which Nylanth has deemed fit to decorate. At the moment there is a rather chewed up leather boot to one side, on accident more than likely, someone's missing knickers, pink no less, plus a wooden crate filled with just about any little thing that may have caught the bronze's eye. On the side of the crate scrawled in Cromcoal are the words "Nylanth's Lost & Found".
There is barely enough room for two bronze dragons to lounge on the smooth surface. Smooth except for a few distinctive talon marks that is. The ledge curves around the wall of the rock face in a lazy crescent shape, and off to the eastern side a glimpse of the weyr's entrance can be seen.
The sometimes cluttered ledge however isn't nearly enough to surpass the extraordinary view of the central bowl with the lake peaking out around the corner, sunlight sometimes glinting off the surface, or the snow capped peaks to the north and west, not to mention those spectacular sunsets.
It is a spring afternoon.
On the perch is Bay.
Obvious exits:
Weyr Fly

You slide gently down Nylanth's neck and land with a soft thud.

You go to the weyr.

Nylanth's World Headquarters
The woodsy scent of unfinished lumber permeates this liberally immense weyr. The source can be found near the back of the weyr where a rather large number of wooden planks been stacked against the wall. A large mattress, sans bed frame at the moment, has been laid down near the pile of lumber, a couple light blankets and a darkly crimson quilt neatly settled on top and tucked underneath with a few pillows strewn liberally at the head of the makeshift "bed".
The very first object inside the weyr is a large stone couch, kept practically spotless with a noticeable hollow in the middle left by hundreds of Turns of dragons. Precisely in the middle of the weyr is a large wooden table, newly constructed and lacking a coat of finish yet. Though hardly a master's work, the table is well-built with simple scrollwork etched into the side and a small name scrawled into one table leg. Four sturdy chairs, built to match the table, are pushed in under the table.
The last notable item in the room is the fireplace opposite the dragon couch, really no more than a deep depression in the wall at the moment. The area in front of the fireplace is kept quite clean and an old green sofa has been set in front of it. Next to the fireplace is a matching metal box of sorts, filled with fuel for the fire, including a small packet of slightly fragrant herbs.
It is a spring afternoon.
To the west, you see Nylanth.
You see an old rucksack here.
Obvious exits:
Ledge

You go to Nylanth's Ledge.

You ascend with practiced steps up to Nylanth's bronzen neck and settle yourself between two neckridges.

You soar in for a landing on Chanticoth's ledge.

Chanticoth's Ledge
This newly cleaned and swept ledge is more than twice the size of its draconic occupant, and would, in fact, allow two dragons to comfortably lie in the sun. The surface of the stone has been worn smooth due to the turns of dragons who have come, gone, and snoozed here, and, in places, there are even one or two noticeable claw marks and shimps. To the back of the ledge, there is a large entrance to the inside of the weyr, hidden from all except those who look carefully. Looking outwards, it is possibly to see the central bowl, and even, if it is a particularly good day, and not the typical 'Reaches snow day, the whole Weyr can be seen, from the weyrlings to the hunting pens.
It is a spring afternoon.
Brown Chanticoth is here.
Ilare is here.
Obvious exits:
Weyr Fly

You slide gently down Nylanth's neck and land with a soft thud.

Ilare pokes her lifemate as she makes the straps more comfortable, amusement touching her lips in a more friendly smile. Turning at the sound of a dragon landing, she chuckles faintly. "These two can stay out here." No more deciding, boys! Let the riders do the talking here!

G'deon carefully let's himself down from Nylanth's shoulders with a bit of a help from the bronze's foreleg. The weyrling brandishes a bottle held carefully in his hands and winks at Ilare before asking, "Remember this? Nylanth said I was supposed to bring it." He holds the bottle out to the appointed hostess.

<Local> Nylanth senses that he humphs lightly, eyes whirling in dancing greens and deep, dark blues. <>

Ilare
A bright smile filled with warmth shines out from creamy skin, golden tan faded thanks to snow and cold. Oval face is framed by red-gold curls, recently trimmed short so that the tips of her mane stroke her cheeks and chin gently. Now, only her fringe occasionally obscures amber eyes light enough to be golden, bangs twisting slightly like spirals. Faded freckles are scattered across her nose and cheekbones, the final hints of childhood pudginess fading to the faintest hint. Not willowy - she'll never be that - but strongly built and sturdy, Ilare is as agile on her feet as a dragon midair. Having reached 5'6, she gives the impression of being taller through sheer presence and an insatiable friendliness she extends outwards. Alert and cheerful, her eyes seem to sparkle more since her Impression of Chanticoth, glowing almost bright gold when they're together.
A warm spring blue colours the silken cloth of Ilare's shirt, practical fabric held in place at the neckline by matching bright buttons. Long sleeves taper to small wrists, ending in delicately decorated cuffs. Hemline tucks neatly into trousers made of sturdy strong wher-hide, hued to a deeper, equally rich and warm shade of blue. Matching jacket, the same shade of blue as the trous, is layered for much needed warmth even in the spring, it's cut molding it comfortably to her form. Matching belt, with firm metal rings for the attachment of riding straps, is fastened 'round her waist. Knee high boots, also shaded bright blue, fit her comfortably, colour melting into the rest of the ensemble. A single blue band, flat and tied tightly, keeps her hair from flicking in her eyes while at work or in the air.
Double twisted cords, blackest midnight and royalty's blue, have been braided with a bright brandy-butter brown ribbon and fashioned into a single loop. A small tail, from which dangles two tassels, indicates this young brownrider's rank as Wingleader of the Sr. Weyrling Kamikaze Wing.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 2 minutes.
Ilare is 18 Turns, 11 months, and 18 days old.

Ilare blinks, and her face reddens again at the sight of the bottle. "Aye, I remember." A pause, then a the colour fades as a smile takes up residence. "C'mon, indoors with that.."

<Local> Nylanth senses that Chanticoth stretches out on his ledge, still very much amused. << Do not worry, Nylanth. Ilare is just being Ilare. >> Clearly, that means something to /him/ at least.

Ilare vanishes into the shadows of the weyr's entrance.

G'deon quickly loosens Nylanth's riding straps, then gives him a thump on the shoulder, followed by a loving smile. "Be good, alright," he says lightly, then follows the wingleader inside.

You move along the ledge, ducking into the entranceway to Ilare and Chanticoth's weyr.

Ilare's Imaginative Idyll
The short sheltered passageway, near hidden to one side of the ledge, leads into a large oval weyr. A dragon couch is set almost immediately into the right wall, one of the first things you see upon entry. Spacious, even with the couch taking up around a third of the area, this cavern has an inviting air to it. Built deep into the side of the far right wall is a huge hearth that almost never goes unlit, filling the weyr with constant warmth and flicking gold-orange shadows across tapestry-covered walls. The mantle above is perch to many a firelizard and various random klah mugs. Spread across the floor is a rag rug fashioned from bright strips of fabric, sewn together into a bright cheerful pattern that is attractive to the eye. Set in the middle of the weyr, a round table serves as both desk and dinery for its human occupant and any guests she might have, with a small glowbasket sitting merrily at it's center. A large, slightly patchy looking couch is draped with a large blanket across its back and set at an angle close to the hearth. Off to one side, a second passage way leads to a middle-sized alcove hollow. Curtained off from the main 'public' area, it contains a large bed, piled high with soft, wherry-down pillows and bedfurs covering the rush-sack. A large clothes-press is set to one side of the bed, with a chest set beside it containing all the gear a rider needs - from riding leathers to her dragon's straps. Betwixt alcove and couch, a small archway indicates another small passageway that leads to a well heated private bathing pool area. All in all, it is a very cosy living space, perfect for it's occupants.
It is a spring afternoon.
To the west, you see Chanticoth and Nylanth.
Scattered across the hearth fire mantelpiece is Kairo.
You see Pair of Wineglasses here.
Ilare is here.
Obvious exits:
Couch Ledge

You emerge from the dark passageway into the flame flickered colours of the weyr.

Ilare is standing by the table, partially perched there, a crate-like object behind her. One that should be familiar to G'deon at least: he DID leave it there. Smile is slightly shy as she pushes off, and turns, picking up the glasses. "You shouldn't have done this.. they must have cost you many a pretty mark.." her voice is quiet, but it's clear that she doesn't completely object. That small smile one her face gives that fact away.

G'deon glances around, an appreciative look on his face. "My, you've really done a good job with this place. Every time I'm here, which granted, hasn't been in a while, there's something new." He smiles awkwardly at the mention of the glasses, an almost bashful look in his eyes. "And that bottle didn't?" he asks, laughing softly.

Ilare has to admit, sometimes there's an advantage to being the shorter one. She gives a pleased, flattered smile at his words as she steps towards him, offering one of the glasses as she answers. "Well, wine is wine.. My da gave me that when I Turned 18, but I'd no use for it. It's only lately I've had a taste for wine." And who's fault is that, hmm? "Besides, these must have cost enough marks to buy at least a half dozen runnerbeasts!" Why would he get her such a gift?

G'deon takes the glass with a short bow from the hips, his eyes twinkling as he studies the texture for a moment. "Oh, hardly. Besides, that's not really the point," he adds, laughing softly as he leans up against the table. "My question is, do you like them?"

Ilare blinks at the question, hand still carefully cradling her glass. "Do I like them?" she echoes, amber eyes raising from the crafted gift to meet his eyes again. "Do I /like/ them?" Her voice seems amazed at the question. "Gids, their.. their beautiful.. When I found them this morning..." A moment of silence, and then a very shy smile touches her lips. "Why give such a gift to me? I don't exactly deserve them..."

"But you do," G'deon replies quickly, his voice soft. "In the past month you've shown us... shown me, that your deserve this knot," he adds, a hand rising to gesture at the mentioned cords. "And besides that... I wanted to." He glances down at the glass in his hand for a moment as his other hand falls back to the table slowly. A soft smile brushes his lips as he glances up again, blue eyes searching the amber ones before him. "I wanted to tell you I was sorry, and that I didn't hold anything against you, and that... well, I missed you."

Jaw doesn't quite drop open and hang at the words spoken, although her face seems to take on a pink shade that now refuses to fade away. The knot, to her at least, has been more of a burden than anything. But.. "You mean that?" Voice seems very small, and the amber doesn't waver from the blue. "I.." She moves a few steps closer, eyes not wavering. "I'm sorry. I.. hurt you, very.. badly.." She doesn't have to say when surely? He knows. "And I'm very sorry that it's only now I can apologize for my words.. I.." Biting her lip, she looks down, placing the glass with care on the table. A moment of quiet, then amber meets sky blue once more. "I.. I've missed you too, G'deon."

"Aye, Ilare, all of it," G'deon replies quietly, his warm smile forgiving everything even if his words could not. "You did what you thought you should, or what you had to do at the time, that's all." He gently sets his own glass on the table then lifts his arms slightly, a rather tender look in his eyes.

Ilare blinks, unbelieving that he's forgiving her so quickly, yet delighted that he is. She gives him a very warm smile, one not unlike the one he currently wears before breaking eye contact to search for the bottle opener. "Shall we?" She gestures to the Benden, even as Kairo snorts from his coiled position over the hearth and vanishes. Ick. People. Phooey. Strange she'd have a 'lizard like him, but... Fining the elusive tool, she giggles slightly. "You open or shall I?"

G'deon laughs suddenly, a cheerful sound coming from one who hadn't been able to laugh for a while. "Please, you'd better take care of it," he says, eyes shining as he moves his hands out of the way. "With my luck I'll break the thing, and then where would we be?" Never mind the three bottles of white still left in his own weyr. "You take care of the bottle, I'm going to eat a bite first. Bad things happen on empty stomachs."

Ilare grins broadly, enjoying the sound of laughter as it echoes about the weyr. "As you wish. Please, make yourself comfortable.." She gestures with the corkscrew towards the couch near the hearth, before she picks up the bottle, hefting it in one hand just to check the label again. A small smile touches her lips, as if thinking of something, and her eyes gleam - she's knows something but she's not about to tell him. Taking care, she concentrates as she opens the bottle, managing not to spill any one clothing or rug. Quite a feat for one who, as mentioned before, has never really been that interested in wine. "How much do you want in your glass?"

G'deon removes the items he'd grabbed in the living cavern earlier and sets them on the table. Two small sandwiches, a small lump of cheese and a few cookies are deposited. He grins at Ilare and nods, taking one of the sandwiches, wherry by the faint smell of it, then walks over to the couch, sitting on the edge. "Oh, just go ahead and fill it up," he says in a spirited voice. His eyes glance from the young woman to the hearth. After a long moment, he glances back, his eyes clear and calm, though there is a curiously thoughtful expression on his face.

Ilare nods, amused in spite of herself as she fills the glasses, hers not as full as his simply because she's not that used to the drink yet. With care, she carries the drinks over, admiring the liquid through the crafted bowl of the glass, expression briefly thoughtful, before she hands over one to the bronzer. "Let me know what you think of the taste," she murmurs faintly before seating herself comfortably on the couch, not too close, but certainly not too far away from her guest.

G'deon takes the glass with a warm smile, holding the glass in both hands, the sandwich from a moment ago already missing somehow. He turns the glass slowly, fingers tracing the small etchings. He glances over at Ilare as he sits back, his arm slowly draped across the back of the couch. He raises the glass to his lips and takes an experimental taste, his eyes widening slightly. "I'd heard this was a good vintage, but..." Another "experimental" sip is taken, though a bit deeper than the first.

Ilare giggles as she watches, legs curling up beneath her while she watches her friend try the wine. "As I said, m'da got it especially for me, handed it over about a seven day or so before I got Searched for here.." A glance towards the exit of the weyr and the long shadows of lounging dragons causes a very thoughtful smile to cast light upon her face. Raising her glass to see the flicker fire light through the wine, she pauses, before taking a light sip. And withholds a gasp of her own. "Very nice!"

G'deon laughs softly, turning a bit on the couch to study her for a moment. "Yes it is," he replies as he glances back at the glass cradled carefully in one hand. As he idly swirls the deep red liquid in the glass, a reflective look passes across his features, which seem to have aged slightly since he first met his lifemate. He glances up at Ilare again and smiles with an ease he didn't know before. "I must admit, Ilare, a sevenday or so ago, I never thought we'd be able to sit like this, together, a glass of wine, the fireplace..." He laughs again and shrugs, the glass lifted to his lips. "I'm afraid I'm not quite sure what to do with it all."

"A sevenday ago... You and I weren't speaking.." a cool reminder, softened by an apologetic smile. Leaning back against the couch she stares into the fire a very long moment, listening to G'deon speak, sipping carefully of the glass cradled with care between her fingers. "Do what with what?" Any eyebrow tilts upwards in curiosity, and it is soon obvious that she too has grown, although more in spirit than form. "The wine? The talking? Me?" Her voice is faintly teasing, even as her gaze drifts upon the glass and not G'deon, evading the skyblue orbs that stare at her so intently..

A slow sip is taken from his glass, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. G'deon glances away, the flickering fire given a pondering gaze. "Well, /anything/ I suppose," he replies with a rather delighted laugh before he tears his eyes away from the fire, gaze flitting back towards Ilare, then to the glass again. He turns the glass again in his hands, mouth pursed curiously as he tries to think of something appropriate. "The truth is," he finally continues, a careful glance given to the young woman's face again, "the hardest punishment of all was not being able to talk with you anymore."

Ilare blinks, head turning to focus on G'deon at those words, eyes soft with wonder. "The hardest...?" The smile widens, delight touching her eyes with a glow that the fire can't quite cast. "Really? Because.. I know I was the one who said.. not to talk to me," and now gaze turns away, eyes downcast as her voice, which quivers faintly, before she takes a sip of wine. "But.. I missed that, too. The talking. With you."

G'deon's smile turns a shade softer if possible as his hand reaches slowly across the back of the couch, touching her shoulder for a brief, tender moment. "Well, that's in the past now. All of it. I know how hard it is to forgive and forget, but we can try." He's not trying to be so intense, really. The Smiths drill that into a person though. He glances away again as he takes a deep breath, his eyes flashing towards the ledge with an amused glance. "At least the dragons won't have to worry about that now. We have too much to learn in the next month or so."

Ilare takes a slight breath at the touch, and her own hand moves over his almost automatically, lightly resting atop his. A soft smile reaches her eyes, shy beyond words suddenly, and she nods. "Aye, at least they're happier now. That we're talking. The wing will probably be thrilled to hear we're talking again." Of course, that all depends on what tall tale Cayl decided to spin. "And.. I'm glad too."

"Well, I'm delighted," G'deon replies, eyes dancing as he takes another drink from the wineglass. "I must admit, this has had a few good side effects. Our wing is more mature, more thoughtful, more... cooperative than ever before." The smile on his face widens for a brief moment before he shrugs, whatever it was he wanted to say forgotten... for the moment. "Speaking of which, it's getting on in the afternoon. Wasn't there a class? We'll have to make an appearance sooner or later."

Ilare blinks, then winces. "That's right! Firestone class! We'd better get going, or I doubt Lyri will be very happy that we're late." Almost reluctant to break the moment, she sighs and pushes herself off the couch. "C'mon, we'll have to run, or we're so dead.."

G'deon laughs and stands along with Ilare as he finishes off his wine, carefully setting the glass on the table as he strides to the ledge.

Ilare vanishes into the shadowy passageway, heading out onto the ledge.

Nylanth> Swinging his wings out of the way, Chanticoth offers a foreleg to aid Ilare, who swiftly clambers up and settles between Chanticoth's neckridges.

You leave the warmth of the weyr, vanishing into the shadowy passageway.

You return down the passageway, stepping out onto the sun-filled ledge.

You ascend with practiced steps up to Nylanth's bronzen neck and settle yourself between two neckridges.

Chanticoth takes off.

Above the Bowl
The ocean's tranquil thermals settle within the center section of the bowl's airspace, unusually smooth and buoyant -- though oft to switch as the seasons shift. Lingering beneath spires' constant presence, the perpetual activity of the weyr can be observed from every direction: from the testing rustle of dragonet wings, to the playful games sent aloft.
It is a spring afternoon.
Brown Chanticoth is here.
Obvious exits:
Northern Sky Weyrling Air Above the Pens Above the Lake Ledges

Chanticoth risks it and heads towards the Weyrling Grounds.

Watch for flying Weyrlings! The training grounds are busy, dangerous airspace.

Above the Training Grounds
Weyrling pairs have trampled the ground below into the hard-packed training grounds: ash pits near the pens, targets on the walls, the occasional loose Weyrling out of control here in the gentle thermals. The Weyr curves north towards large ledges and the Hatching Grounds beyond, and south towards pens and lake. What ledges are occupied here are high above the noise and smell of the Weyrs' youngest riders.
It is a spring afternoon.
Gliding around is Tremayne.
Blue Trydanth and brown Chanticoth are here.
Obvious exits:
Up Training Grounds Central Bowl Northern Sky Ledges

Chanticoth drops towards the ground.

The earth really /is/ flat after all. At least the ground you drop towards.

Training Grounds
The marks of thousands of claws give testament to the shuffling of the young dragons that have torn up what little grass once grew in this corner of the bowl. Tucked in between the feeding pens to the south and the curve of the Weyrleader's complex, the training grounds are home to daily exercises and classes, all taking place well out of the way of the hectic bustle of the rest of the bowl. Cut deep into the cliff face, the large, covered openings leading into the extensive weyrling barracks rise high over the heads of any who come near, although the height of the caldera's spindles far above cast their own reaching shadows across the hard packed earth.
It is a spring afternoon.
Soaring high overhead are Shugogetten and Kyrenna.
Blue Lainnoth, green Niamhyth, green Miravith, blue Catiminith, and brown Chanticoth are here.
Lyri and Sora are here.
Obvious exits:
Weyrling Barracks Northern Bowl Corrals Fly

Ilare swings a leg over Chanticoth's neck and slides down his shoulder, landing gently on the ground.

You slide gently down Nylanth's neck and land with a soft thud.

Lyri
A slight girl, barely reaching 5'8, with short, ebony tresses that have been allowed to grow out to just above her ears which, oddly enough, are a rather lovely shade of purple. Her jade green eyes are her most noticeable feature, looking out from under long, thick, lashes. High arching eyebrows stand out against skin tanned to a yellow brown that has been stained a deep plum while soft, ruby lips curve gently. A small, upturned nose compliments her angular chin (making the soft lavender of that area stand out nicely), which is often tilted defiantly and gives her a rather impish look. Farther down, her frame, while rather frail in appearance, does carry the curves that show her to be female, though little else about her presence would indicate it, in fact, her newly acquired coloration would make her look more like some demented weaver's creation. Her arms are a bit long with tapering fingers and rather short nails and her legs seem to be a bit much for her to control.
Bright hues of deep forest green fold and crease their way down the wherhide riding jacket, ending at mid-thigh. Soft undercolorings of light brown and tan play just beneath the jungle of colors, culminating in a rich mixture over the snug fitting hood. Soft fur lines the jacket, peeking out at the cuffs and hemlines, a much needed protection from the cold of ::between::. A wide belt circles her waist, shifting in color from emerald to jungle in smooth fluid motion; small metal loops dot the belt, ready for straps or gear. 'Emerald riding pants fit her loosely, while her gloves fit tighter, but still allow the free range of movement. Rich emerald boots round out the ensemble, lacing up the sides to her knees. Perched on Lyri's shoulder is Cyclone.
Twined cords of blue and black twisted with a strand of green identify her as a wingrider and AWLM of High Reaches Weyr.
She is awake and looks alert.
Lyri is 20 Turns, 9 months, and 17 days old.

Sora
A mirage of sable and forestry, maiden's form curves with little more than life's spring, from daintily-clad feet to an amusement-wrought countenance as shines in serene affability. The possibility of mischief tweaks roseate lips, running along her otherwise simplistic lines, and lurks in eyes -- vivid, leafy green optics -- framed by elegant 'lashes. Cascading languidly just past shoulders' court-held mark, dusky raven tressing becomes the ebon mark of maturity, though singular strands shimmer in gentle acknowledgement of vanities fulfilled. A suave sort of nonchalance finally graces body's rhythm and neatly-placed strides, coming to the mid point perfection that her cohorts have come to expect. Unforeseen, however, is the sparkle within those verdant orbs, the vivacious quirk to her rose-brushed smile, and the imperceptible upward tilt of nose and chin.
Cranberry! Berry-bright pink swirls luscious shadows o'er bluelet's slender form, clinging sleekly to faint curves and the firm, wind-thrown lengths of muscle strengthening Sora's otherwise modest physique. Lifemate's touch brings the glittering gold piping arching over shoulders, separate from knot, summer warmth in the cranberry hue enveloping snug riding jacket. Beneath, parka opens to a close-fitting vest in deepest wine, tightened lacing a perfect honey'd gold: belt is all plummy opulence, flecked softly with a platinum glitter echoed in faint streaks 'round trim waist. Leather stretches sanguine touched with hints of blackened magenta, tightly moulding down legs to complete taut pants: knee-high, feather-rimmed boots in blackberry and lacy crimson skiff to envelope completely, dust-free from the float of wherry pluckings to the tap of boots' toes. Fuzzy and soft thanks to rich fur, strawberry tones line collar and cuff, jacket bottom and inner folds, while faux silver glitters faintly from those shaggy bands, completing the almost painfully bright -- and utterly High Reachian -- ensemble.
Simple knot, simple loop: sable twines a thoughtful twist 'round berry-clad shoulder, dancing neatly 'twixt cobalt and made darker by the handsome sleek of azurine purple ribbon that does clear to mark this weyrling -- these weyrlings, Sora and Catiminith -- as High Reaches' newest Seniors.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for 4 minutes.
Sora is 21 Turns, 10 months, and 21 days old.

Ilare slides down her dragon's neck, eyes bright as those of her dragon. And no, it has nothing to do with the wine. Nuh uh. Nope. Chanticoth looks vaguely smug, even as he pads after her, following his lifemate towards those already there. "Not late, are we?"

G'deon quickly dismounts, taking a moment to loosen Nylanth's riding straps before he turns around, a cheerful smile on his face. No, he's not delirious. "We're not late, are we?" he calls out, quickly walking over to Lyri and Sora.

Lyri takes a moment to send a glare to each of the 'lings and then shakes her head. "Alright, against my better judgement.. I've been instructed to give you all a lesson in chewing firestone." Growl. "I want you all to line your lifemates up along the other end of the training grounds and then go over and grab a bag each. It's firestone, and it's heavy." Grin. "And no complaints. You'll be lugging and tossing more than that before I'm done with you.." 'If you live' remains unsaid.. though the messages is clear from her expression.

"Hello Lyri-ma'am, G'deon, Ilare!" Sora beams, sliding down Catiminith and hopping neatly to the side. "How are--ooo! How fantastic! You hear that, Cat? Flaming!" Glow. Weyrling hovers slightly, gently ushering the blue into a line with the rest of the 'linglets. "Stay here, Cat. I'll be right back." Bluelet skitters over to the pile, tugging on a back and frowning at it. "It /is/ heav--I mean, uhm." Complaint is tossed for a bland, fake-ish smile, and bag lugged back to the blue. Oy.

Nylanth follows G'deon's quick instructions and begins to waddle over to the mentioned end of the bowl. His lifemate just grins, and even goes so far as to wink at Lyri before following the other weyrlings over to the firestone sacks. He lifts one rather easily to his shoulder, then turns, suddenly not sure where to go from there. Following Sora however he tramps over to the waiting dragons, a soft smile still in place.

Chanticoth blinks. Firestone? "Yup, that's what she said, Chan.." is the murmured reply, eyes blinking and some how managing not to look too excited. Well, Chan heard Lyri, didn't he? "Down to the other end with you. And stay there till I get my fire stone sack." Stern, but vaguely exited note touches her voice, before she nods to Lyri and fetches one of the bags. And makes a slight face. Heavy? Well, it's not as bad as she remembers from helping during fall at Ista. But she wasn't the rider then. Ilare straightens, and follows after the others, chuckling suddenly at a draconic comment.

Lyri motions Niamhyth over to the line, though the green does give what could be a grumble of discontent. "Hush, you can show the younger ones how it's done... and keep your hide from getting scorched." There, that should work. Grabbing a bag of firestone for herself, the rider wanders back to her own lifemate and pulls out a small chunk of stone to place into Niamhyth's waiting mouth. "The pieces should be no bigger than your fist, handful size." She informs. "And make sure that your lifemates don't bite their tongues in the process." Moohahaaa. "Now, wait for my signal, make sure you remind your dragons to think of their second stomach when they swallow.. or they won't get anything but a heavy gut." And purging.. did she mention purging?

Catiminith didn't leech /all/ Sora's brains out, and hence, she does happen to know about purging, consequences explained to the blue in a sudden, low whisper before she sorts through the sack and holds up a piece. Emerald optics saucer-blink, flicking up at her closely-watching lifemate. "This look good, Cat?" Flutter. "Remember: second stomach. Stomach number twooo."

G'deon sets down the sack near Nylanth. "Alright, you heard that, right?" he says to the dragon, giving him a quick nose rub before he opens the bag and looks for a suitable stone. He holds it in front of the bronze for a moment, eyes unfocusing as he relays the precautions, though he can't help but laugh softly. "Aye, I know it smells bad. We'll just have to get over that part." He carefully sets the piece in Nylanth's open mouth, and the bronze begins chewing slowly, his eyes a slow whirling blend of blue and cautious yellow.

Fist size, handful, second stomach, /think/. Sure, this should be alright. Chanticoth rumbles faintly, and Ilare pats his shoulder before she rummages in the sack. Soon, she removes several of the specified sized chunks of rock, and motions for her dragon to open his jaws. "Now, Chan, chew. And think about your second stomach - yup, you've two,.. No, that one's not for food, it's for this." She raises a handful of firestone. "Okay? Now, chew. And think of your second stomach." The brown whuffles before accepting the pieces, chewing with care, and thinking about - "Yes, your second stomach. think. Second. Stomach."

<Local> Nylanth senses that Niamhyth sends out a burst of authoritative gold. <<Chew slowly, bite down hard, and be careful to not bite your tongue.>> Images of dragon blood and scared lifemates are shared. <<Do this when she gives you the signal.>>

<Local> Nylanth senses that Chanticoth hmms thoughtfully, a steady rhythm beating time in his mind as he chews. The colours spin and dip and spiral within the beat, and he turns these colours of thought towards Niamhyth. << Chew, bite down, not on tongue? >> Not that he'd do that - that'd hurt. << And all the while think about a second stomach. >> At least, that's what his rider is reminding him to think. But chewing rock isn't exactly easy.

Lyri gives a nod to the 'lings. "Alright, I think that's enough caution.. it'd take someone deserving of eternal ash pit duty to mess this up." Get the hint? "Go ahead." And, with that, she begins handing the bits over to Niamhyth, letting her actions do the instructing.

G'deon continues to feed Nylanth various sizes of firestone, all the size of his fist at the most, though it's a rather large fist... "Is this alright, Ny?" he asks quietly, his eyes focusing once more. "Let me know when you've had enough, alright?"

Nylanth thinks to you, << Oh, that's plenty alright, now just let me swallow to get this over with already! >>

Ilare grimaces faintly, but nods at Lyri's command, hefting more pieces for her lifemate to chew. Chanticoth gives her a slight Look and she giggles, making him open his jaws anyway. "Don't worry about the smell, Chan. It'll pass. You'll get use to it." Really, he will. The brown seems less believing, earning a prod and a mock-glare. "Open." Jaws part, and pieces are placed in with care. "Try that.. Let me know if you've enough or need more, alright?" **Snort** Chanticoth resumes chewing, obeying the given instructions.

G'deon laughs softly at a comment from Nylanth. "It can't be that bad... what does it taste like?" he asks the bronze curiously, seeing as he's not quite curious enough to try for himself.

Nylanth would be plenty happier if G'deon chewed the stone than him, but he's probably not as talented. So he continues to chew the stenchfull, snorting displeasure at each bite.

Nylanth thinks to you, << Want a piece? Then many you'll feel great pity on me. >>

Lyri finishes feeding the last bit of 'stone to Niamhyth and then moves aside, pointing to a line of straw 'targets', which are really no more than piles put in place for this exercise. "Now, after a moment they will feel a build up of pressure, they'll want to let it out but make them control it. Make them wait for the mental signal from Niamhyth, if they can. If not, don't worry. They'll get the hang of it soon enough." Hopefully without any charred AWLMs.

Chanticoth chews. And chews. And chews some more. This stone tastes like.. Rocks. Only worse. Does Nylanth agree? Eyes whirl thoughtfully as he chews, all the while picture stomach no.2. Ilare nods towards Lyri, standing to one side and back by her dragon's shoulder, even as he chews. Nothing yet..

A most definitely amused grin creases Gid's face as he ducks around to Nylanth's side, just in case. "How's it coming, Nylanth?" he asks, eyes darting to the other two weyrling pairs. "No punctured tongues yet?" he adds, an oddly cheerful tone to his voice before he returns his attention back to his lifemate.

Niamhyth
Bright splashes of mint crown this darling's delicate headknobs, entwining and descending, to adorn her fey neckridges in gay ribbons of colour. Dressed in a hide of green, her flowing gown of forest hues is awash in satiny splendor, while ethereal shades of pearlized mist etch fine lines over her foresails to create a web of glistening dew culminating in the fairy hooks of her silvered talons. Her spindly legs are at a contrast to seemingly oversized wings and their dish-rag sails, but nobility shapes the rest of her: a dream descends about her limbs, whirling through frothy sea-green foam and aquamarine to dissolve into the perfect fit of her vitreous paws.
A well oiled pair of sturdy straps dyed in a rich mossy yellow surround this green's neck, the light color catching stray shafts of light to reflect them in dazzling hues. White triangles sewn in a staggered pattern alternate along the length, the same color making up the lashes that hold her lifemate firmly in place while small metal clasps glimmer along the end of each. Small circles of peridot have been sewn at the tip of each trigon and dot the entirety of the set.
Niamhyth is 3 Turns, 7 months, and 5 days old.
She is 43 feet (13m) long, with a wingspan of 71 feet (22m).
Niamhyth seems to be listening.

Catiminith
Deep, azure-tinged indigo flows in viscous waves down the sleek gloss of smooth hide, navy and violet intermingling in a thick coat of oily color. A sheen of slick vivacity resonates through this base, a fitting canvas for the overlaying shades of color, smeared and streaked in curious layers of visual intensity. Each whirling, faceted eye is encompassed by streaks of delicate silver, framing the polychromatic orbs in an endearingly absent manner. A fleeting glimpse of peridot is smudged just below the right headknob, as if paint were accidentally wiped there and promptly forgotten; the knobs themselves are highlighted with wispy periwinkle that suggests the fading of age and its accompanying wisdom. Such smudges bespatter the rest of his lanky form, from the wisps of shimmering orchid along his sinuous neck to the blush of dawn-like hues partly concealed behind the bend of his elbow. Wings, especially, are an explosion of mismatched brilliance -- sprinklings of smooth apricot, spicy cinnamon, and springtime viridian trace elegant lines across sails and spars alike. The barest speckling of ivory and ebony flick down the length of his dark tail, barely discernable amongst the riot of even viscous hues. Random blotches and smears on the dark purplish background give a haphazard mien to his strung-out frame, disorganization offset by good intentions.
Lickable, lovely, glaringly, bright: 'tween ridge and spike, 'round neck and curve, layer upon layer of slick, sleek tangerine richness paints the lengths of leather into a phantasm of harshly dyed brilliance, belayed by the closer inspection of soft, soft mould to Catiminith's indigo hide. What is bright, though, would be harsh, instead rendered almost child-like in the lacy whorls of freshened lime singing with gay haphazardness though creamy orange hues. Dotting neatly up sides, and manifesting in the form of buckle and clips, chromatic is exchanged for pewter's more burnished metallic luster, throat's clips leaving way for growth and depth to the young blue. Lickable, lovely, glaringly, bright: isn't it darling?
Catiminith is 1 Turn and 2 months old.
He is 48 feet (14m) long, with a wingspan of 80 feet (24m).
Catiminith seems to be listening.

Nylanth just has to wonder the displeasure he'd get if he swallowed and it went down to the wrong stomach. Better not to find out. It's very complicated to think second stomach and don't bite your tongue at the same time, but he does manage.

Catiminith chews and chews and chews again, swallowing and accepting another smallish stone. Sora shakes her head at the bronzeling, patting her blue's cheek and watching with a critical eye. "Not yet, Gid. Second stomach, Cat. Just keep thinking that. Feel anything, yet?"

Nylanth thinks to you, << It's going well, I suppose, besides the distastefulness of this firestone. >>

Ilare gives a laugh at G'deon's question, although Chanticoth huffs in slight annoyance. As if he'd bite his--ooo.. The chewing pauses, and Ilare blinks in surprise. "Chan..?" The brown slows the chewing, but his eyes whirl faster. "He says he can feel something, and it's not very comfortable." Her brown raises his head a little higher, chewing still, but much slower.

<Local> Nylanth senses that Niamhyth gives a mental 'nudge', a wispy tendril of pine scented green reaching out to each. <<Now. Turn and look toward the targets, and let the flame go.>>

G'deon nods to the last comment of Nylanth's before he glances at Ilare and Chanticoth. He gives his own lifemate a careful look and pats his shoulder encouragingly. "That's good, Nylanth, slow and steady now..."

Nylanth can sense the change in his own body...somewhat like a lot of gas maybe? Sensing something, he cocks his head to the side, facing the targets and lets out a tremendous belch, releasing a fairly good-sized flame along with it..

Lyri just chuckles as Niamhyth opens her delicate jaws and allows a long, steady stream of flame to burst forth, catching the target and turning it to ash in short order. A glance is given the others, so far as she can see them, and she waits.. if a bit nervously.

Ilare points, slightly alarmed as Chanticoth peers down at her. "Over /there/, Chan!" The dragon blinks and looks towards the 'targets' just in time to hear Niamhyth's command... And Releasing a dragon-sized belch that would make any full grown proud. Not to mention a rather large tongue of flame spinning forth too.

G'deon just stares blankly at Nylanth, a bit too stunned to say anything. Another moment though and he bursts out laughing. "/Shards/ Nylanth, that was hilarious!" He shuts his eyes and bites his lower lip, willing himself to keep from laughing again and urging his dragon to control that... belching a little more.

Rumble. Rumble. Sora's eyes widen. "Cat! Look /up/!" Weyrling pushes off Catiminith's muzzle, backpedaling quickly as -- whoosh! -- a sizable tongue of flame flickers upward and target-ward. "Faugh, Cat. That stinks." Weyrling wrinkles her nose, but offers free praise on the next breath. "Wonderful, lovelet! That was just...whoosh!" Beam. "Lyri-ma'am, didn't Cati do well?"

Nylanth thinks to you, << Thank you, thank you...you can hold your applause... >>

Lyri simply nods, giving a slight grin, which is high praise coming from this rider. "Very well, for your first times." Of course, this admission comes grudgingly. "Now, you may all practice this as much as you like, providing there is an older rider with you. One of the assistants or a full rider." This is not a request.

You think to Nylanth, >> That really was priceless, mate <<

G'deon nods quickly to Lyri. "Will do, ma'am," he replies, followed by another amused chuckle. "How are ye feeling, Ny?"

Ilare is just beaming. That was a huge flame! Well done, Chan! The brown's eyes spin happily at the praise, from both rider and instructor. As nasty as the rock tastes, being able to breath flame is.. well, not fun, but very different to the rush a dragon gets when flying.

You think to Nylanth, >> Just think, Nylanth, now you can play your part to char Thread from the skies. <<

Lyri points to a rather smelly and avoided area of the training grounds. "Now that they've gotten the flame out, they'll need to get rid of the ash. The stomach will contract on its own if they wait too long but they can get it out voluntarily.. take them over and let them bring it up into the pits... those on punishment will be cleaning it up later." Moohahaaaa.. and you all thought mucking was bad.

Nose wrinkles, but a nod is given. "yes, ma'am." Better to regurgitate the nasty ash now than have an ill dragon later, neh? Chanticoth huffs, the strong scent of firestone spinning the dust about. "C'mon, Chan."

G'deon nods again to Lyri before turning back to his lifemate. "Lead the way, Nylanth. I'm sure you can't wait to get that stuff out of your system." He pats the bronzen shoulder with a look of admiration, sulfurous stench or no. As the pair turn towards the pits, the 'ling turns back to the other two pairs. "Fantastic, all of you."

Sora beams at Lyri. Strongly. "Hear that Cat? You did well. Is there any left?" The lean blue rumbles slightly, lets out a little fire-burp, then settles with contently whirling eyes...until Sora again informs him about ash. Whimper? No, another rumble as he dragon-frowns at his stomach, Sora-hands pushing at his haunch like tiny reminders. "Go, Cat! You don't want to have to watch me clean up your gut stuff..."

Nylanth is feeling like a million marks? No, not really...he just feels almighty powerful and is ready to fight thread come the time! He quickly turns his head towards his lifemate and actually gives the look for more thread as if they're cookies...Or not, guess he'll just have to get rid of the ash first. Leading G'deon, he disposes of the ash at its proper place.

Ilare grins, even as her dragon saunters past to get rid of the contents of his second stomach in a controlled manner, before wandering over to bronze and blue 'lings. "They did so well! Think the others will be as successful?" How can they not be, eh?

"Aye, I think so," G'deon replies to Ilare with a smile. "They've overcome so much by now, a little firestone seems like a small thing." He winces and waves slowly in front of his face. "Whew! Okay, maybe not so small."

Ilare giggles, the scent of fresh firestone not even causing her to bat an eyelid. She did grow up in her father's weyr, after all.. "It does stink a little, huh? I've a feeling a change in clothing may be in order.. and a bath for my lifemate too!" Chanticoth gives a faint bugle - at least the lake is melted!

G'deon nods slowly, his eyes carefully watching his lifemate. "That's a good idea I think," he replies, glancing down at his own clothes already wafting a soft hint of sulfur. "Just imagine what we'll smell like after a Fall," he adds in a rather excited voice.

Ilare stares, before she covers her mouth to suppress the giggles. "G'deon, I think the firestone's smell is going to your brain." Or at least reacting with the wine. Not her fault, of course. It was Nylanth's idea to bring the wine..

Nylanth senses Chanticoth gives a chuckle, having relieved his system of the ash. << That was.. different, do you not agree? >> to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <>

A confused look crosses G'deon's face for a moment as he glances at Ilare, though that old smile can't be kept away for long anymore. "Aye, maybe you're right," he replies, laughing softly. "It's just... we're really on our way, y'know? We'll be riders before we know it." Although he's smiling, it's obvious from his tone that this is a rather serious matter.

Ilare chuckles, and elbows Nylanth's rider in the ribs gently. "What, you had your doubts?" A warm grin and a head shake are given then. "We're entering the final leg of the race, now. Although, I can't say I'm looking forward to leading us into threadfall.." Nervous much? Chanticoth croons reassuringly, and she rubs his nose. "Aye, aye, Chan, I'm being silly.. Still.."

G'deon winces in mock-pain at Ilare's jab, though his eyes are dancing merrily enough to dissuade any doubts. He sticks his hands in the pockets on either side of his trousers and laughs. "What, with /us/ behind you?" he asks, head nodding towards Sora, Catiminith and Nylanth." A faintly surprised look crosses his face as he pulls a hand out of one of the pockets, a rather crumpled mass of blue and black cords in his hands. He glances up at Ilare thoughtfully and smiles. "Maybe it's a good thing you'll have an ex-Smith to one side," he adds after a moment. "We have a way of remembering details, so don't forget to ask."

Ilare gives an amused snort at the wince, eyes dancing, before surprise flitters across her features at the threads he has found. Quiet a moment, her smile breaks out again at his words, pleased he hasn't given up on the position any more. "Thank you.. And believe you me, I'll take you up on that offer." A wink, followed by a pat for her dragon, as the brownling moves towards his neck. "Back to the weyr for a change, methinks..."

Nylanth senses Chanticoth ponders the request handed him, but passes it on with amusement. << My rider invites yours to finish their talk and the wine they were sharing before the class began. If that's not a problem? >> to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, << Chanticoth's rider invites you to finish your talk with the wine you two were sharing before the class... >>

Swinging his wings out of the way, Chanticoth offers a foreleg to aid Ilare, who swiftly clambers up and settles between Chanticoth's neckridges.

You think to Nylanth, >> Aye << comes the reply after a moment, then an amused question >> Before or after I change? And you really do need a bath, mate. <<

G'deon nods quickly and waves the pair off. "Aye, begone wit' you two. You smell like... we do!" He grins and once again tightens Nylanth's straps for the trip home, his eyes unfocusing as the dragon relays a message. He glances back at Ilare before climbing to Nylanth's neck, a pleased smile on his face as he nods to her.

Nylanth thinks to you, << Yes, I know I smell, but you smell much worst than I. Suppose you should change first. My bath can wait until later. >>

You ascend with practiced steps up to Nylanth's bronzen neck and settle yourself between two neckridges.

From betwixt Chanticoth's brandy-butter ridges, Ilare beams right back, before waving to Sora, and signaling a smug Chanticoth aloft.

Chanticoth coils and then bursts upwards into flight.

Nylanth thinks to you, << Ready to go up to our weyr? >>

G'deon just grins, also waving to Sora and Catiminith. "Excellent flaming!" he calls out before giving Nylanth the command to fly.

You think to Nylanth, >> Yes, that would be a good idea. <<

New wings or old, they work because suddenly you are airborne.

Above the Training Grounds
Weyrling pairs have trampled the ground below into the hard-packed training grounds: ash pits near the pens, targets on the walls, the occasional loose Weyrling out of control here in the gentle thermals. The Weyr curves north towards large ledges and the Hatching Grounds beyond, and south towards pens and lake. What ledges are occupied here are high above the noise and smell of the Weyrs' youngest riders.
It is a spring sunset.
Gliding around is Tremayne.
Blue Trydanth is here.
Obvious exits:
Up Training Grounds Central Bowl Northern Sky Ledges

You think to Nylanth, >> Let Chanticoth know we'll be over after I change... and wash my face... and hair. <<

Above the Bowl
The ocean's tranquil thermals settle within the center section of the bowl's airspace, unusually smooth and buoyant -- though oft to switch as the seasons shift. Lingering beneath spires' constant presence, the perpetual activity of the weyr can be observed from every direction: from the testing rustle of dragonet wings, to the playful games sent aloft.
It is a spring sunset.
Obvious exits:
Northern Sky Weyrling Air Above the Pens Above the Lake Ledges

You soar in for a landing on Nylanth's ledge.

Nylanth's Ledge
This spacious ledge could be called spotless if it weren't for the random items with which Nylanth has deemed fit to decorate. At the moment there is a rather chewed up leather boot to one side, on accident more than likely, someone's missing knickers, pink no less, plus a wooden crate filled with just about any little thing that may have caught the bronze's eye. On the side of the crate scrawled in Cromcoal are the words "Nylanth's Lost & Found".
There is barely enough room for two bronze dragons to lounge on the smooth surface. Smooth except for a few distinctive talon marks that is. The ledge curves around the wall of the rock face in a lazy crescent shape, and off to the eastern side a glimpse of the weyr's entrance can be seen.
The sometimes cluttered ledge however isn't nearly enough to surpass the extraordinary view of the central bowl with the lake peaking out around the corner, sunlight sometimes glinting off the surface, or the snow capped peaks to the north and west, not to mention those spectacular sunsets.
It is a spring sunset.
On the perch is Bay.
Obvious exits:
Weyr Fly

You slide gently down Nylanth's neck and land with a soft thud.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

G'deon pats Nylanth on the neck lightly, his other hand reaching up to scratch the bronze behind one of his headknobs. "I'll be right out."

You go to Nylanth's World Headquarters.

Nylanth's World Headquarters
The woodsy scent of unfinished lumber permeates this liberally immense weyr. The source can be found near the back of the weyr where a rather large number of wooden planks been stacked against the wall. A large mattress, sans bed frame at the moment, has been laid down near the pile of lumber, a couple light blankets and a darkly crimson quilt neatly settled on top and tucked underneath with a few pillows strewn liberally at the head of the makeshift "bed".
The very first object inside the weyr is a large stone couch, kept practically spotless with a noticeable hollow in the middle left by hundreds of Turns of dragons. Precisely in the middle of the weyr is a large wooden table, newly constructed and lacking a coat of finish yet. Though hardly a master's work, the table is well-built with simple scrollwork etched into the side and a small name scrawled into one table leg. Four sturdy chairs, built to match the table, are pushed in under the table.
The last notable item in the room is the fireplace opposite the dragon couch, really no more than a deep depression in the wall at the moment. The area in front of the fireplace is kept quite clean and an old green sofa has been set in front of it. Next to the fireplace is a matching metal box of sorts, filled with fuel for the fire, including a small packet of slightly fragrant herbs.
It is a spring sunset.
To the west, you see Nylanth.
You see an old rucksack here.
Obvious exits:
Ledge

You go to the ledge.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth grins in amusement. << Ilare said to warn her when you come. she too is getting changed. >> Laughter tickles his voice. to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Nylanth senses Chanticoth finds this all highly amusing. to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, << We must remember to warn the pair when we arrive. She too is changing, and it probably would be a bit embarrassing if you walked in on her, no? >>

G'deon emerges a few minutes later, clothes changed rather quickly by the looks of him, and hair wet, though it's hard to tell with it short again. He straightens the shirt for a moment and ties the cuffs at his wrists. "How do I look?" he asks Nylanth as he glances up at the waiting bronze.

You think to Nylanth, >> Ah... yes, that is a good idea. <<

Nylanth takes a nice, thorough look over his rider before snorting with approval >> Like you're dressed to impress? <<

You ascend with practiced steps up to Nylanth's bronzen neck and settle yourself between two neckridges.

G'deon just grins. "It'll have to do."

You think to Nylanth, >> You can let Chanticoth know we're coming over << His voice is light, cheerful even if a bit bewildered. >> I have no idea what I'm doing <<

Nylanth thinks to you, <>

Nylanth senses Chanticoth rumbles with laughter at some other comment, before answering. << She is.. almost ready. Come on over. >> to him.

You soar in for a landing on Chanticoth's ledge.

Chanticoth's Ledge
This newly cleaned and swept ledge is more than twice the size of its draconic occupant, and would, in fact, allow two dragons to comfortably lie in the sun. The surface of the stone has been worn smooth due to the turns of dragons who have come, gone, and snoozed here, and, in places, there are even one or two noticeable claw marks and shimps. To the back of the ledge, there is a large entrance to the inside of the weyr, hidden from all except those who look carefully. Looking outwards, it is possibly to see the central bowl, and even, if it is a particularly good day, and not the typical 'Reaches snow day, the whole Weyr can be seen, from the weyrlings to the hunting pens.
It is a spring sunset.
To the east, you see one person.
Brown Chanticoth is here.
Obvious exits:
Weyr Fly

You slide gently down Nylanth's neck and land with a soft thud.

Chanticoth eyes the pair in amusement, even as he enjoys the sunset. G'deon's attire is whuffled at in approval, before he looks across the bowl again.

G'deon waves to Chanticoth as soon as he dismounts, then scratches Nylanth's shoulder idly. "Just, um... let me know when the coast is clear, 'kay?" he says, to either dragon really, then begins fidgeting slightly with something on his shoulder.

G'deon carefully and precisely attaches his knot to his shoulder.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Chanticoth gives a draconic chuckle, and turns to look towards the weyr. A nod then. All's clear.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth chuckles. << We'll have to wait and see, won't we? >> to him.

You move along the ledge, ducking into the entranceway to Ilare and Chanticoth's weyr.

Ilare's Imaginative Idyll
The short sheltered passageway, near hidden to one side of the ledge, leads into a large oval weyr. A dragon couch is set almost immediately into the right wall, one of the first things you see upon entry. Spacious, even with the couch taking up around a third of the area, this cavern has an inviting air to it. Built deep into the side of the far right wall is a huge hearth that almost never goes unlit, filling the weyr with constant warmth and flicking gold-orange shadows across tapestry-covered walls. The mantle above is perch to many a firelizard and various random klah mugs. Spread across the floor is a rag rug fashioned from bright strips of fabric, sewn together into a bright cheerful pattern that is attractive to the eye. Set in the middle of the weyr, a round table serves as both desk and dinery for its human occupant and any guests she might have, with a small glowbasket sitting merrily at it's center. A large, slightly patchy looking couch is draped with a large blanket across its back and set at an angle close to the hearth. Off to one side, a second passage way leads to a middle-sized alcove hollow. Curtained off from the main 'public' area, it contains a large bed, piled high with soft, wherry-down pillows and bedfurs covering the rush-sack. A large clothes-press is set to one side of the bed, with a chest set beside it containing all the gear a rider needs - from riding leathers to her dragon's straps. Betwixt alcove and couch, a small archway indicates another small passageway that leads to a well heated private bathing pool area. All in all, it is a very cosy living space, perfect for it's occupants.
It is a spring sunset.
To the west, you see Chanticoth and Nylanth.
Scattered across the hearth fire mantelpiece is Kairo.
You see Pair of Wineglasses here.
Ilare is here.
Obvious exits:
Couch Ledge

You emerge from the dark passageway into the flame flickered colours of the weyr.

G'deon peeks inside before walking in, glancing at Ilare hesitantly. "I'm not too early, am I?"

Ilare
A bright smile filled with warmth shines out from creamy skin, golden tan faded thanks to snow and cold. Oval face is framed by red-gold curls, recently trimmed short so that the tips of her mane stroke her cheeks and chin gently. Now, only her fringe occasionally obscures amber eyes light enough to be golden, bangs twisting slightly like spirals. Faded freckles are scattered across her nose and cheekbones, the final hints of childhood pudginess fading to the faintest hint. Not willowy - she'll never be that - but strongly built and sturdy, Ilare is as agile on her feet as a dragon midair. Having reached 5'6, she gives the impression of being taller through sheer presence and an insatiable friendliness she extends outwards. Alert and cheerful, her eyes seem to sparkle more since her Impression of Chanticoth, glowing almost bright gold when they're together.
Dark midnight blue colours long sleeved blouse and dark trousers, the dark colours blending as one. Gold edges the darkness, like suns light dawning, an easy contrast that is attractive to the eye. Matching headband, edged in gold has been used to keep hair in place, while soft shoes are worn on her feet. Comfortable, relaxing clothes.
Double twisted cords, blackest midnight and royalty's blue, have been braided with a bright brandy-butter brown ribbon and fashioned into a single loop. A small tail, from which dangles two tassels, indicates this young brownrider's rank as Wingleader of the Sr. Weyrling Kamikaze Wing.
She is awake, but has been staring off into space for a minute.
Ilare is 18 Turns, 11 months, and 18 days old.

Ilare turns at the sound of feet down the passageway, and a shy smile is given in greeting. It appears both are capable at the quick change game. "No, not at all," she giggles, pushing a damp lock from her eyes. "You look.. very handsome. Planning on going somewhere special?" Her grin is teasing.

G'deon gestures around the weyr before offering his best impression of a bow which is getting better the longer he's had Nylanth. "Just here, m'dear," he replies, winking at her once before taking a couple slow strides towards her. "I must say, you look stunning when you smile," he comments, no longer teasing.

Ilare blushes, knowing the compliment when she hears one. "Thank you," is murmured gently, even as she steps slightly towards him, making no effort to avoid. Gold eye gleam slightly, and she suppresses the giggle that bubbles forth.

Nylanth thinks to you, << *chortles* How are things going? I think you two should come out here and enjoy the sunset! >>

You think to Nylanth, >> Why Nylanth! You're a romantic afterall! <<

G'deon's eyes seem to almost sparkle in the mellow light of the weyr as he glances at Ilare once more. "Nylanth tells me there's a wonderful sunset tonight. Perhaps we could... test that wine once more," he says, "and go enjoy the view?" a soft smile following the suggestion.

Nylanth thinks to you, << Nah, I just think you two would be cute out here. It would give Chanticoth and I something to occupy our minds after all! >>

You think to Nylanth, >> Quite true... I've asked her. We'll find out. <<

Ilare's smile widens, but no voice responds. A simple nod is given instead. Glancing to the table, where both glasses have been set, she pads over and tops up the glasses, carrying both over. "Should... I leave the bottle? Or bring with?"

G'deon reaches around his smiling wingleader and takes the bottle with a wink. "Just in case we're thirsty," he informs her, then heads towards the ledge.

Ilare chuckles at that, following close behind.

Ilare vanishes into the shadowy passageway, heading out onto the ledge.

You leave the warmth of the weyr, vanishing into the shadowy passageway.

G'deon carefully sets the bottle down as he and Ilare step out onto the ledge.

Nylanth thinks to you, << Whee! I knew you two would come out! I'll keep quiet, promise! >>

You think to Nylanth, >> Not too quiet now... I might need help here. I've never done anything like this before... <<

Chanticoth peers about, eyes whirling in appreciation of his rider's clothes. But then, she's got style. And it's his job to see to it that she dresses well. Ilare smiles, extending her hand towards her dragon, while the other holds the glass with care. Glancing behind her she smiles shyly at G'deon, before looking across the bowl, at the Weyr. And Sunset.

Nylanth thinks to you, << I'll help you out as much as I can... >>

Nylanth thinks to you, << Or you could just get hopelessly drunk and not have to worry 'bout anything since it pretty much does everything for you? >>

You think to Nylanth, >> Does it?... <<

Nylanth thinks to you, << Well, so I've heard. You can't really control yourself, so what happens, happens! >>

G'deon follows closely behind Ilare, and reaches a hand out to rub his dragon's muzzle as his gaze sweeps out towards the bowl and the sunset. "You're right, Ny, this really shouldn't be missed." And doesn't sharing always make it better? He glances at Ilare for a moment, a soft smile on his lips before he takes a sip of the wine.

You think to Nylanth, >> But, perhaps that isn't such a good idea << He seems to be fretting over this quite seriously. >> We're only just now getting back to being friends... and she's my wingleader... and I'd hate myself if I hurt her somehow. <<

Nylanth thinks to you, << I'm just teasing with you. Be good to her, she's sweet. >>

You think to Nylanth, >> Yes... I thought so <<

Ilare chuckles at that, Chanticoth's 'flopped' form across the ledge as elegant in repose as a lounging feline. Taking a 'seat' on a forelimb, mindful of the ledge, Ilare takes a sip of the wine, careful not to have /too/ much in one go. A faint rumble of amusement escapes the brown, earning his muzzle a rub. And a silent refusal to let him try wine. "It is very beautiful," she agrees, as her eyes take in the view. And then she starts to laugh. "Smug, aren't you, Chan? Thank goodness you found this of all ledges, huh?"

Nylanth senses Chanticoth snorts at his clutchmate, pondering the riders on the ledge in between bouts of amusement and delight. << This should be interesting.. >> to him.

"Aye, this is an excellent view," G'deon agrees, walking over to stand next to the reclining brownrider. "Our own will still be a bit obscured until summer sets in." He's not babbling really, though he does take another sip of that red wine, which he then holds up to view through the light from the setting sun. "That will certainly make the nights a little easier to endure," he adds with a light chuckle. "We're lucky High Reaches isn't as cold in winter as Telgar."

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Ilare gives a nod as G'deon talks, sipping her own wine thoughtfully, although it seems she can't quite resist teasing him. "Well, in summer, the night's get shorter. Long days of sunshine for the boys to enjoy." A faint rumble emerges from the dragon, and Ilare nods, rising from her perch on his leg. Of course, she hasn't actually taken notice of that tail of his...

Nylanth senses Chanticoth gapegrins and winks. << Let us put some cards into play, hmm? >> to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

"Well, that certainly has it's appeal," G'deon replies, laughing softly. "Summer was always my favorite time of the year, but that may have had something to do with being a messenger at the time." He moves over to make room as Ilare stands again.

Well, she's not likely to see the tail if her dragon's moving it just as she is. Besides, Ilare's not concentrating on what her dragon's planning. Because he'd never try anything like that. Would he? Or perhaps he would, as the tail's tip flicks just so, pushing, not tripping, her forwards. And it seems to one brown dragon, G'deon din't move far away enough. Which, of course, was the plan.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

G'deon deftly moves one hand out to catch Ilare, a surprised look on his face as he tries at the same time not to loose his wine or the glass. "Are you alright?" he asks quickly, giving her a hand up to steady herself.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth would bow, but that would require moving. to him.

Ilare blinks, caught offguard by her dragon's actions. Managing not to squeak in surprise, she nods as G'deon helps her get her balance back. And notes that her glass (which hadn't been that full anyway) had not spilt a drop. Hmm.. Eyes flicker accusingly towards her suddenly angelic looking brown, before she nods. "Yes, I'm.. I'm okay. A little surprised, but okay.." Blinking, she blushes slightly. How clumsy must she have looked there?

Nylanth senses Chanticoth grins. << Your turn. >> to him.

G'deon smiles down at the slightly shorter woman, keeping his arm around her, just in case that tail strikes again of course. "That's certainly good news," he replies softly, lifting his own glass to his lips and draining the last of the rosy liquid slowly, his eyes sweeping the view before them. "You've got to admit," he continues a moment later, amusement touching his voice slightly. "Our dear lifemates are prone to surprise us at times."

Nylanth does a little 'stretch' routine, first stretching out his front limbs, then the back and then his neck--oops! What was that that he just nudged? Was that G'deon's back? Well, it's in the way of this dragon's comfort. *nudge* *nudge*

Ilare blinks, shifting slightly, although her smile widens at his words. "Aye, they certainly d--" Her words are cut off as Nylanth decides to add his two marks and shove them closer. This time it is she who offers the stability, although she can't help but smile as she realizes the plan the dragons have in mind. And the blush that diffuses her cheeks says it all. "Think they're trying to tell us some thing?"

Nylanth senses Chanticoth grins. << Nicely done. You've had practice in the past, I see? >> to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Nylanth senses Chanticoth chuckles. Uh huh. << And who, might I ask, have you been watching? >> to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Nylanth senses Chanticoth gives a slight nod. << We're good, aren't we? >> A wink, showered with sparkly amusement. to him.

G'deon stumbles into Ilare slightly and laughs, not exactly upset at the thought of being a bit closer. "Either that or we have two of the clumsiest dragons on Pern," he replies, glancing at Nylanth, then Chanticoth, then back down at Ilare. "Can't say I mind," he adds a little more softly, the warm smile on his face reflecting the warmth in his clear blue eyes, the color of the night sky as the sun dips below the horizon.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Ilare blushes again, eyes looking away as her grin grows. After a long moment, she looks up again, warm smile and gold eyes matching the last blaze of sun as it vanishes beyond the horizon. "I can't say I mind either," she replies, the twinkle there obvious. But not teasing. Anything but teasing. In fact, it is quite serious..

Nylanth senses Chanticoth chuckles very faintly. << So, how long do YOU think we can keep this from our wingmates and clutchsibs? >> Be interesting to see just how long, huh? to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Nylanth senses Chanticoth can keep anything a secret, if it is wished by his lifemate. << It would be amusing for them to wait till graduation to tell, would it not? >> to him.

A soft spring breeze winds its way across the bowl, bringing with it a touch of mountain chill and the promise of summer on its way. G'deon hugs Ilare to him for a moment as the breeze goes on to some other ledge. "It's getting rather late," he comments, a touch of... hesitation in his voice? "Chores start early in the morning, as always," he adds quickly, "classes after that..." Okay, now he's babbling, and his glass has run dry.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Nylanth thinks to you, << Tired or just chicken? >>

You think to Nylanth, >> I must admit, this is an interesting way to make up after she's been mad at me for so long... <<

Nylanth thinks to you, << Yes...fairly interesting indeed. >>

Ilare blushes deeper as G'deon hugs her close, the cold practically unfelt as the breeze dashes past. Blinking, she can hear him speaking, and the cheer in her eyes seems to fade a little. Then, slowly, she nods. "Aye.. I guess. It /is/ late, isn't it?" Although she's not at all willing to step out of his arms just this moment. After a moment, she smiles again, and tilts her head to one side. "See you in the morning? More firestone practice, I believe?" No, that isn't a trace of disappointment you can hear. You're imagining things.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth's eyes whirl and he gives a snort of.. well, it is no longer amusement, is it? << No.. Nothing may happen tonight. But beyond, perhaps? >> Besides, they still haven't said goodbye yet., to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

G'deon glances down at his glass and nods, replying somewhat distractedly, "Aye, and formation flying again. A couple of the younger riders in the wing are having trouble with it." He smiles down at her and shrugs, then gestures towards her weyr. "It's... it's been a long day." Not to mention eventful. "I shouldn't keep you from your sleep."

Very eventful. And Ilare still isn't moving. Nope. That's what he'll have to do. "I'd noticed. Although they're getting better. Ness and Lochth have improved drastically." What a change in topic in the space of a few heartbeats. A soft smile touches her lips, and she sighs slightly. "I guess you'd better.. go, huh?"

G'deon smiles softly, his eyes finally rising again to meet hers. "Aye, if that's what you want," he replies, only the faintest hint of mischief in that look.

Ilare stares at him for a long moment, before her eyes unfocus a brief second, and a slight smile touches her lips. "Well, no, not quite.." Before she can allow G'deon a chance to take in the words, she catches him by the front of his shirt, and pulls his head down to meet hers. No chance of escaping this.. Without further ado, Ilare presses her lips to G'deon's.

Nylanth thinks to you, << Woo hoo! Bet you didn't expect that now, did you? >>

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

And it doesn't look like G'deon wants to escape either, his arms slowly embracing Ilare as their lips meet. After the moment passes he lifts his head slightly, his eyes staring straight into Ilare's own. "Shall I go?" he asks softly.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth is.. well, now, he hadn't QUITE expected that.. But this is.. << Well, methinks she caught someone off guard.. >> to him.

You think to Nylanth, >> Quite... but I didn't mind <<

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

Ilare stares right back, eyes not quite focused, but for a different reason. Well, can you blame her? "I.. not tonight.." This is fast, even for her. "But.. when we've not so many classes planned in the morning, perhaps..?" A small trace of hope carries in her voice, eyes not leaving his.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth starts to chuckle. << He's surprised? Ilare can't believe she just did that... *pause* She's blaming the wine. Not for the kiss, mind, she enjoyed that, >> a bright grin that clearly says his mindmate isn't listening, thus him saying this won't earn him an earful later, << But for the fact she.. well. >> *chuckle* to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

G'deon nods quickly and steps back slightly. "Aye..." He smiles softly and begins to steer her back towards her weyr. "I'll see you in the morning then," he adds, certainly no trace of disappointment, though there might be a bit of relief. This is fast for him as well.

Nylanth senses Chanticoth shakes his head. << Not tonight... >> to him.

Nylanth thinks to you, <> to him. >>

You think to Nylanth, >> That was close << Though in the private realm of the bronze pair's minds there /is/ a touch of disappointment. >> This has certainly gone well, though. <<

Ilare nods, biting her lip slightly as he walks her to the entrance of her weyr. But the smile does return, and she manages not to look too embarrassed. "I.. I'm.." Sorry? Except she isn't. "... Good night, G'deon."

"Good night, Ilare," the bronzerider replies, handing back the wineglass. "Till tomorrow."

Ilare accepts back the glass, although her eyes drift to the bottle. "Don't forget the wine.." She murmurs softly, eyes refusing to meet his.

G'deon laughs, stooping to pick up the bottle. "Why, it's not even empty yet," he comments, handing that back as well. "We'll have to finish that off soon. It doesn't stay good forever, even Benden."

G'deon backs away a step, waving to his wingleader, an amused smile on his lips. "Off to bed with you then. Can't have a drowsy 'leader in the morning." Who knows who they'd blame for that one.

Ilare gives a nod, her dragon finally rising from the ledge. "Well, I don't know, G'deon, who would they blame?" innocent eyes blink at him, but the smile remains. "See you in the morning..

You ascend with practiced steps up to Nylanth's bronzen neck and settle yourself between two neckridges.

G'deon winks, then gives Nylanth the command to fly before he stays too long.

Chanticoth snickers, as only a dragon can, before passing his lifemate and wrapping his tail about her. Now. Bed. Sleep. "Night.."

Chanticoth vanishes into the shadows of the weyr's entrance.

Chanticoth leads Ilare out.

You think to Nylanth, >> Alright, lets go home... I need to sleep. <<

You soar in for a landing on Nylanth's ledge.

You go to the weyr.

Nylanth thinks to you, << A nice start... >>

You think to Nylanth, >> Aye... and a lot to think about, 'mate. Good night. <<

To G'deon's Homepage
Back to the Logs Page