The World of Pern(tm) copyright (c) 1967 by Anne McCaffrey.
The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
An online session, recorded by permission of the author for the benefit of
members unable to attend.
============================================================================

September 9, 2000.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: 14:10 on day 31, month 12, Turn 32, of the Tenth
Pass. It is a winter afternoon.
Cast:  K'nan, E'vrin, Kichevio, Maylia, Schmitt, M'teh, K'tyn.

After proddy amusements, Maylia's green Tierth rises at Telgar Weyr.
============================================================================
[In the LC:]

K'nan strolls along into the living cavern from the bowl, giving his head an absent 
toss to clear a few errant hairs from his gaze -- humming along well in-tune under 
his breath.

E'vrin tracks K'nan's path some paces behind. He's not humming. In fact, he's 
looking pretty drowsy and weary.

Kichevio is oiling a very happy bronze fire-lizard, whose croons are audible over 
the background bustle from the kitchens and storerooms. She looks up briefly, 
blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes. "Hey K'nan, hey Ev. How goes it?" Noting 
E'vrin's weary expression, she adds, "Maybe you should go back to bed..."

Maylia walks in from the bowl.

Pierron twirls his moustache at the Weyrlingmaster.

"Hey there, beautiful," K'nan greets, his impromptu musical expression ending to 
make room for actual words in his mouth - a friendly wink aimed Kichevio's way, as 
he slides gracelessly into a seat, "Jays, E'vrin, y'look like y'just' flew Fall two 
days straight.."

"I'm hoping for a nap later," E'vrin answers wistfully. "Dawn sweeps, that's all, 
and after the hubbub of the Winter Games ... well, you know." He slouches for the 
hearth and a seat there.

Maylia doesn't walk in, she doesn't run in - she _sneaks_ into the living caverns. 
There's snow in her hair and dusting the shoulders of her riding jacket, and from 
the rosiness of her cheeks she's been outside a while. In her mittens are two well 
packed snowballs.

Kichevio wrinkles her nose in sympathy. "Dawn _anything_ is bad--in fact, anything 
'morning' related isn't much better." K'nan gets a wink back, and Maylia gets a nod. 
"Heyla, May...what have you got in your hands?"

CAUGHT! May's got to learn to sneak better, or choose less frequented places to 
sneak in. Straightening, she snatches her hands behind her back, and puts on her 
best innocent look, and she's good at it. No wonder her weyrlings can't get away 
with that sort of thing. "Nuh-thing," the greenrider singsongs.

E'vrin pauses in settling onto his chosen seat, and wide eyes poke at Maylia warily. 
"Uh-huh."

K'nan's head bobs a few times in sympathy towards E'vrin, and then at the call over 
to May - and the dangerous sing-song of her voice - he looks up to her warily. One 
greenrider knows when to be careful around another. They have radar.

Kichevio begins to sloooowly edge over in K'nan and E'vrin's direction. Insanity in 
greenriders must be avoided. "Right, May." She shoots the two men a pleading look. 
Help?

E'vrin grimaces back: as if /they/ aren't in trouble here, too? But he makes room 
for her at the hearth if she wants it, and braces himself with a pleasant smile 
fixed on his face. Even tries conversation: "So, how are you, Weyrlingmaster? How's 
Tierth?"

Maylia eyes the entrance to the living caverns, but the hope that glimmers in her 
eyes drains away. Sure, she had to pick now to do this, when noone's comming in. But 
no need for frustration, as Kichevio edges towards the two men, making an easy 
target - *three* must be easier to hit than on. With a little giggle, a snowball 
gets lobbed in their direction, turning slushy already in the heat of the caverns. 
How's that for an answer, Ev?

Sharath> Tierth senses that Sharath supposes in a flicker of resigned flame, << I 
take it, from E'vrin's dismay and the sight of that /snow,/ that you are glowing 
brighter than the fireworks were the other night. >>

Kichevio reacts just a _hair_ too late. The slushball connects squarely with her 
head, sending cold water down her spine and frosting black hair with tiny white 
patches. The fire-lizard vanishes, and Kich lets out an outraged squeal. "May! For 
Faranth's sake!"

E'vrin, splashed by proximity, brushes hastily at the snowmelt, but doesn't comment. 
Life in a Weyr. He makes to brush Kichevio off, too.

The other greenrider - the one that isn't proddy - ducks as the ball of slush goes 
slinging across the living cavern, just avoiding it before it smacks into Kichevio. 
"Uh oh."

Maylia can't suppress a laugh, she's not repentant at all. There's still another 
ball of slush in her hand, which gets launched off in the other direction, towards a 
cluster of blue and brownriders playing dragonpoker. This leaves the Weyrlingmaster 
ammunitionless, and backed against the wall.

Kichevio is trying to resist the urge to shake her hair dry--that would just give Ev 
a shower _and_ a mouthful of hair. Twitching, she grabs a blanket from a nearby 
chair and begins to scrub at her sweater violently, trying to generate some heat. 
"So help me, I'll...I'll sew all your clothes together, and dye your wherhides puce! 
And braid your riding straps!" Heck hath no fury like a Seamstress snowballed.

E'vrin chokes on a sound that sounds terribly like a /laugh./ Ahem. Ahem. He slices 
another wary look after Maylia, then tells Kichevio, "She'll make you pay for it 
after Tierth's caught and she's back to her usual self, though."

K'nan shakes his head slowly, an amused quirk of his lips as he leans slowly back in 
his chair.. hands folding together over his chest, as he considers the unrepentant 
weyrlingmaster with a grin.

Kichevio shoots a cat-eyed glare at the giggling Weyrlingmaster. "I don't _care_. 
She got me _wet_!"

Maylia doesn't look the least bit worried at the threats, nope. "I'll assign 
weyrlings to assist you in your work." She offers Kichevio - while they'd surely 
enjoy assisting in carrying out the threats, their assistance in the rest of the 
sewing would be catastrophic.

One of the poker players, an older gentleman rider with a cocky glint to his gaze, 
leans back in his chair to examine this new entertainment -- and doesn't bother at 
all to hide his rising interest in her game, and her self.

"Cut your losses," E'vrin advises and flees. K'nan looks like sanctuary, doesn't he? 
Let's hide over there.

Kichevio doesn't quit glaring at Maylia, even as she follows Ev to the relative 
safety of near-K'nan. She takes the blanket with her as well--that slushball hasn't 
finished melting yet.

K'nan draws riders to his radius of sanctuary like moths to a flame. A chuckle, ever 
so softly, as he looks to them both.. "What?"

E'vrin answers stoutly, "We're hiding. By you. You'll protect us, right, K'nan? You 
seem to know how to predict her movements."

Maylia would flounce across the living caverns towards the cluster by the hearth, 
but as she's not dressed for it, she just looks silly. "I just _love_ days like 
this, don't you?"

"Days when proddy greenriders throw snowballs at unsuspecting people in the LC?" 
Kichevio asks dryly. "Oh yes. I just _love_ those days. Right up there with the days 
when my parents come a visit and the days that I catch fire-head."

In a moment of amused tolerance, K'nan bobs his head easily to that, "Aye, I'll 
protect you.." He pats his knee with one hand, and winks playfully at Kichevio, 
"Settle here, an' I'll keep her away." Maybe it's -not- so safe over here.

E'vrin eyes K'nan's invitation, yes, sir, but not possessively. Quite. Kich is her 
own woman, let's not forget. Still: "Is there room in your lap for me, too?" he asks 
innocently.

Schmitt walks in from the bowl.

Kichevio glances from greenrider to bronzerider, her annoyance suddenly vanishing. 
Maybe today won't be so bad, after all. "Maybe I could alternate laps..." she 
suggests sweetly. Schmitt's entrance is not noticed--this is far more interesting.

Maylia drops into a seat nearby, flashing Kich a brilliant smile, which mutates 
quickly to a pout. "What, no offers of laps to me?" She asks, leaning back to lounge 
in her chair. Her cheeks are still rosy from the cold air outside (Yes, after this 
latest display, it can be assumed that it was her lobbing snowballs off the star 
stones thismorning). "What, you don't enjoy a good snowball fight? Where's your 
sense of fun?" The greenrider then asks Kichevio.

K'nan suggests, then, with a spreading grin of mischief.. "Y'could sit down next 
t'me, Ev, an' she could sprawl out over both've ours? We can share." A glance, then, 
to Maylia and a wink of one eye, "Ask that again in a couple days." When she's not 
dangerous.

E'vrin grins back to the other man and slides on in by him. "There you go, Kich. Two 
laps for the price of one." But he's still watching Maylia, oh, yes, and now he can 
watch Schmitt, too. More fun coming to the party?

Kichevio promptly scoots over into K'an's lap--he _did_ offer first, after all--
still keeping a weather eye on Maylia. "Snow is cold, and gets down your back, and 
into your boots, and then it melts--" She shivers. "Can't stand the stuff." As 
E'vrin moves in, she studies the situation, then wriggles over a little so that 
she's...evenly distributed...between the two men. "How thoughtful of you both."

Schmitt hasn't quite realized what's going on yet; Kazeth isn't the most cooperative 
dragon on Pern. She reaches her hands out towards the fire, pulling off her gloves 
and simply eyes the Telgarians with interest.

--
Very tall and rather thin, Schmitt rises above many people and always looks a little 
too long for her clothes. In her long oval face, her eyes are gray and infinitely 
curious. Her nose is long and straight, and her mouth seems small comparatively. 
Long skinny arms, hands and fingers add an appearance almost of comedy, though her 
expression is usually serious. Light brown hair, cut to just below her ears, swirls 
about her face; probably her best feature. Schmitt wears that old tie-dyed shirt 
from way back during Candidacy, over sturdy blue trous. Hidden among the color on 
her shoulder is the knot of a blueriding Sirocco wingrider at Igen. Her flight 
jacket and other such dragonriding necessities are usually found somewhere around 
her person, and a gleam of gold sparks from her left hand. She is 26 Turns, 3 
months, and 22 days old. (+detail available)
--

"Snow," Maylia says, her eyes bright, "Is wonderful. Afternoon, there!" She greets 
to the visiting rider. "Wouldn't you agree? You can throw it, mold it, roll in it - 
it's only miserable if you are." Turning snippish, are we?

Schmitt responds, amicably enough, "Oh, sure, it's lovely. Cold though, after 
getting used to Igen."

K'nan seems quite pleased to have his own snow-coldness warmed by the presence of a 
Kichevio in his lap, one hand sliding up to rub over a shoulder as he makes 
himself.. comfortable with his half of her. "I'm nothing if not thoughtfull.. mm?" 
Distracted, he glances towards the bowl, and murmurs.. "Uh oh."

Trying to find his own way to get comfortable with his half of Kichevio, E'vrin 
sharpens a glance at K'nan and then outside. "What?"

Schmitt blinks and glances towards the bowl as well, then her eyes flicker for a 
moment. "Well, he -says- he's behaving himself," she murmurs doubtfully.

Kichevio is obviously enjoying the attention. She quirks an eyebrow. "I hope I'm not 
the cause of that uh-oh." Knowing Kich, of course, she may well be.

Maylia sends an attempt at a glare towards Kichevio, the light-headed attitude 
dissolving slowly. Her fingers drum on the side of the chair she sits on, but a 
smile creeps across her face. "Snow's much more fun than sand, though. Sand just 
sits there. And it's cold, but that's part of the exhileration of it, you just have 
to keep active and it doesn't bother you." Sure, she says this now, jsut wait till 
tomorrow when she's back to normal.

"..I think Tierth's gettin' a little more snippy," K'nan murmurs, in tones that only 
Kichevio and E'vrin can likely hear, "Jus' growled at Veyath for playin' with 
Kazeth."

E'vrin clicks his tongue. "Oh. Sharath's staying away from all that; I didn't 
know." He peeks out from behind Kichevio to gauge Tierth's rider. "No blooding yet, 
though," and he might be referring to the dragons, not Maylia. Might.

"Oh, a flight," Kich murmurs, now enlightened. And then her eyebrows go up, and a 
truly wicked smile spreads across her face. "A _flight_..."

Eyes widening, "Blooding?" Schmitt's louder than she means to be, and she backs away 
from the other, "Oh no. No no no. That lout." She descends into a quiet, but 
obviously vigorous, argument with Kazeth, as evidenced by her stance.

M'teh walks in from the bowl.

K'nan catches that look on Kichevio's face, and just chuckles.. ever so softly.. 
shaking his head a little.

Kichevio senses "E'vrin nudges your hip with an insistent thumb and whispers, "Easy 
for /you/ to enjoy it. You don't have a lusting dragon slavering in your mind, and 
you're not going to be stuck with /her/ in a few moments, until it's over.""

M'teh saunters into the Living Cavern, looking mildly perplexed. "Er, hello," he 
says vacantly.

You sense Kichevio whispers back, "But think who you might end up with 
afterward...should poor Sharath not catch..." And wriggles a little closer into your 
lap.

Was May making an attempt at fighting the snippishness which grows within her? Not 
for long. "Tramp." Gets hissed, aimed judging by where her green eyes glance, at 
Kichevio. After all, she's sitting on the laps of *two* men.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Tierth flies over the feeding grounds from above 
the bowl.

Kichevio smiles at M'teh as he enters, with a rather sympathetic expression. Poor 
confused young bluerider is about to get even _more_ confused.

E'vrin looks suddenly surprised, then a little silly smile grabs his mouth, and he 
pats Kichevio's knee. "Fair enough," he murmurs and watches Maylia avidly now, with 
a bronze's rising desire in his eyes.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Sharath snarls near-soundlessly and crouches 
lower over his first kill. First -- already! Works fast, does this one, and he 
shines like beaten gold in the afternoon sun, from arched neck to cloaked wings to 
the restless whip of his tail.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Daruth flies over the feeding grounds from above 
the bowl.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Kazeth drifts to a landing almost lazily, waiting 
until Tierth's arrival sends a flock of wherries past to reach out and snag one. He 
just holds it there for a long moment, quite obviously enjoying the struggles and 
flapping of the little thing, as he watches not Tierth, but the other males.

Kichevio seems unfazed by May's accusation. "Not at all. I just got to them first, 
while _you_ were extolling the virtues of snow."

Schmitt, anger evident in every bit of her tense body, turns her back on them all 
and stands stiffly.

K'nan just watches the looks on the other faces of the 'riders.. and he shakes his 
head ruefully, remaining quiet and just enjoying the few more moments Kich is still 
half in his lap.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Tierth wheels above the feeding grounds, her 
shimmering green form hovering for a moment before her wings fold, and she dives 
towards the hoof-trampled ground. Her forelegs extend, and a careening bovine is 
snared in her talons, still bawling as she takes it down. This doesn't last for 
long, though, as her silver-touched wings fold about in a concealing curtain, and 
the creature's cries cease.

E'vrin starts wiggling out from under Kichevio. K'nan can take her, handle her 
(shield her?). He ... he has somewhere else to go. Once he's up, he's like Schmitt 
-- stiff -- but not angry as she is: merely intent. He's prowling forward, nostrils 
flared to the scent of distant blood, and watching Maylia continually now.

Maylia regards Kichevio with an even stare, and a slow smile makes an appearance. 
Not so much a smile, but an expression of feral enjoyment, her eyes a little 
distant.

Sharath> Tierth senses that Sharath's mind moves slow, moves hot. His internal 
flames are rising, climbing their protective walls to find a way /out/; and they 
will, they will, and they'll /touch/ her, touch the green, and ... and...

Kichevio lets E'vrin go, a little reluctantly, rearranging herself into K'nan's lap. 
She watches the riders curiously, absorbing the panorama with interest.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Returning his gaze to the wherry, Kazeth reaches 
down to crunch it, breaking its neck. For a moment it looks as though he's going on 
to eat it, but he instead carries it to an inconspicuous position near the fence, 
and bloods.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Sharath wallows in a moment's hard stare back at 
Kazeth, that foreigner, that ... blue. Then he springs away from his prey's carcass 
and drags down a bawling calf for taking a drink of fresh, hot, young blood, which 
swirls up into his eyes and colors them madder, colors them just as hot.

Dragon> Sharath senses that Tierth's thoughts are a quick and utter rejection. 
She'll fly, she will, beyond the reach of any flames, to where wings of clouds 
couldn't catch her. She'll be free, soaring high, for an eternity, dancing with the 
rays of the sun.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Daruth isn't being lazy about it all, rather 
somewhat frantic and trying to catch up. Reaching the Feeding Grounds, he flies low 
and grabs a passing wherry, ripping it apart and lapping up the blood. Eyes whirl 
fast, and deep purple, as he watches Tierth peripherally.

K'nan, as he's left with a lap-warming Kichevio all for himself, curls his arms 
around her waist and drops his chin to rest upon her shoulder - watching with the 
dry amusement of one who's seen this literally hundreds of times..

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Tierth's wings sweep back, the silver droplets 
that mark them dancing in violently glaring light. Those males? They're forgotten 
about, as is the drained herdbeast between her forelegs. No - she's more things to 
think about. With a snarl, the green lunges for another kill.

"Come on." E'vrin breathes it as he circles Mayl--Tierth's rider. He's keeping his 
distance, but the words can bridge that gap, brush against her as he dares not do. 
"Come on. Not here, we can't be here for this. Outside..."

Schmitt is apparently busy resigning herself to the situation; after a few minutes, 
her shoulders droop slightly and she turns, arms still crossed and face still 
closed, to glare at Maylia.

TGW-Bowl>> Prometh springs into the air for a quick flight over the fence and into 
the feeding grounds, where he settles again.

Sharath> Tierth senses that Sharath scuttles low beneath that high, free dance. And 
later, green lady? Even a sun-dancer must fall, and the sun has its own flames, 
roaring distantly to match his own more intimate, sweet heat.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Falth flies over the feeding grounds from above 
the bowl.

M'teh is beginning to get very interested in a chair, ignoring those around him. 
Tapping the chair, trying to hear the chair, lifting the chair up half an inch to 
see under it.

Maylia sends Kich a little look of triumph. At least she half-won. The circling 
bronzerider's watched intently, before she gives a shudder. Too close. Far too close 
- without agreeing with him vocally, Maylia stalks out of the living caverns.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Kazeth, perhaps retaining his energy, perhaps 
just in one of his moods, moves only the slightest bit as he discards his spent 
wherry and snags a fat caprine, killing it immediately and efficiently, eyes slowly 
whirling into full violet lust.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Prometh sweeps in with a bugled challenge, 
scattering a huddled mass of terrified beasts with a playful sweep of outstretched 
talons. Continuing to circle above the herds, sending the animals into screaming 
retreat, the ruddy bronze finally makes his choice and descends on the back of a 
fear-frozen buck, the sound of the beast's back snapping soon drowned in the 
crunching sounds of feeding.

Maylia walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

[Everyone starts to follow. . . .]

TGW-LC>> M'teh is done with the chair. In fact, so definitely, absolutely done with 
the chair he walks outside without a word.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Sharath's head lifts sharply from his drinking, 
leaving blood to drip from his jaws like the fingers of a shredded scarlet glove. 
With the drops touching the ground, describing his gaze's swinging arc, he twists 
his neck to scan the other suitors, from the blues to the new, ruddy bronze's 
challenge. His wings mantle in response, and he snarls for true, back at Prometh. 
Not yours, not here, not now!

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Falth sails in claws first, landing on an already 
panicked herdbeast and killing it instantly. Crouching over the carcass, he hisses 
and then bloods messily, violet colouring his eyes.

[Now in the guest weyr:]

Schmitt lingers as long as possible in the entry way, coming inside only when bumped 
from behind by a flight-drugged bronzerider.

M'teh shoots up into the air, young and enthusiastic, then dives down to nab a 
second wherry, spearing it entirely through so as to cut it almost in half. The 
blood pours out, and he drinks it up eagerly. Kicking that carcass away, he looks 
darkly and viciously at the other males, ready to pounce on -them- if the feeling 
strikes him.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Daruth shoots up into the air, young and 
enthusiastic, then dives down to nab a second wherry, spearing it entirely through 
so as to cut it almost in half. The blood pours out, and he drinks it up eagerly. 
Kicking that carcass away, he looks darkly and viciously at the other males, ready 
to pounce on -them- if the feeling strikes him.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Tierth laps the last of the blood from her kill, 
hissing softly. Holding those wings upwards to the sinking sun, she lifts her head, 
only now taking in the males that surround her. For a moment, the peace of the bowl 
is shattered, as she raises her voice in a snarling roar, challenging them.

E'vrin only just makes it inside before the wall reaches out and grabs him. C'mere. 
He does. Fastening his shoulders to the stone, he lets it hold him, brace him, for 
staring after the progress of Tierth's rider. There she goes, there she goes 
again....

Maylia heads all the way to the far wall, finally shucking her snow dampened 
mittens. No ammunition's left (and she'd had would've melted in the living caverns), 
so she simply leans back, her expression wavering between challenge and 
posessiveness.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Falth roars at Daruth as he pounces too near, 
lashing his huge tail and then springing forward to slash another hapless herdbeast 
with wicked claws. Raising his gory muzzle from the kill, he responds in kind to the 
glowing green, his basso call echoing off the bowl walls.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Prometh eyes Sharath assessingly, the other 
dragon's pose hardly intimidating. His jaw drops, eyes narrow, and a low hiss 
emanates from his golden-bronzed throat. Tierth's roar diverts his attention from 
Sharath, and he turns to regard her with a purple-stained gaze that promises 
everything.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Kazeth, blooding forgotten, breathes out into a 
fascinated hiss and moves just a step closer to the challenge of the green. But with 
a shake of his sleek head he reaches to maul a herdbeast, this animal finally 
getting the wrath of his flight-arousal, hide ribboning under his talons.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Sharath slinks low. No intimidating pose, no, and 
not from such a /small/ bronze, too! But his ground-hugging serves a purpose, and 
his mantled wings do as well: he's crouched and ready to spring for the air, waiting 
only for the trigger of green to release him.

K'tyn blinks, his eyes clearing as contact with Prometh eases for a moment. The 
older rider turns and takes stock of himself, his position, and stops. "Maylia," he 
breathes, her word a teasing whisper as he laughs at himself, this ritual.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Promises mean nothing to Tierth, unless they're 
promises that she'll fly forever free high above Pern. A glance is tossed skywards, 
telegraphing her intent. Again, those silver drizzles dance in the retreating 
sunlight, as her wings spread wide, tremours of anticipation heightening the effect. 
Finally, with a powerfull downwards sweep, she hurls herself into the air - blood 
lending her speed such as she never shows in daily flight.

Schmitt snarls low under her breath and stalks to a corner, slouching to a sit to 
unwillingly fasten her gaze to the greenrider. Maylia, was it? Softly she whispers 
the name to herself, considering.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Tierth takes flight, using the thermals rising 
from the bowl to carry her aloft -- much to the relief of the wherries.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Tierth rises up from the feeding grounds.

E'vrin shivers, just once. And--

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Sharath takes flight, using the thermals rising 
from the bowl to carry him aloft -- much to the relief of the wherries.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sharath rises up from the feeding grounds.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Prometh takes flight, using the thermals rising 
from the bowl to carry him aloft -- much to the relief of the wherries.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Prometh rises up from the feeding grounds.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Kazeth takes flight, using the thermals rising 
from the bowl to carry him aloft -- much to the relief of the wherries.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kazeth rises up from the feeding grounds.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Tierth soars upwards into the open sky above the weyr.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sharath soars upwards into the open sky above the weyr.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kazeth soars upwards into the open sky above the weyr.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kazeth snaps his wings wide in the first dizzying joy of blood-fed 
flight, letting out a keen of joy for the chase.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Prometh soars upwards into the open sky above the weyr.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Falth swings his huge head around to snap at an 
impertinent blue too near his flank and then his attention is torn back by the 
greens exultant leap to the sky. With a roar, he follows, powerful wings sending him 
aloft with a hurricane of wingbeats.
TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Falth takes flight, using the thermals rising 
from the bowl to carry him aloft -- much to the relief of the wherries.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falth rises up from the feeding grounds.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falth soars upwards into the open sky above the weyr.

Maylia's gone - there is only Tierth, in the air and in the weyr, for the 
greenrider. The cold of the stone against her back is forgotten, the riders around 
her - from the distant expression on her features, only the clear blue sky fills her 
sight.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Daruth recoils from Falth, then hisses nastily at 
him and bares his teeth. The blue's eyes spin faster still, and tinged with red. 
Behind him, a flick of the tail knocks down a herdbeast, then Daruth whirls round 
and tears its flank, delving in with his blood-stained maw to suck up the essential 
fluid. Suddenly, Tierth is off - and Daruth's going too!

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Prometh leaps after Tierth, easily catching a rising thermal and 
powering his way above the main pack of males to take up a position above and behind 
Tierth, her gloriously green self a teasing beacon that tempts him to do his utmost. 
With a casual sense of draconic disdain, the ruddy Benden Bronze twists his tail in 
insult at Falth and Kazeth. Let them make of that what they will.

TGW-Bowl>> In the Feeding Grounds, Daruth takes flight, using the thermals rising 
from the bowl to carry him aloft -- much to the relief of the wherries.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Daruth rises up from the feeding grounds.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Daruth soars upwards into the open sky above the weyr.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Tierth lifts into the skies, her glowing green form arrowing 
upwards effortlessly. She knows the quickrising, unstable thermals well, and her 
wings catch them expertly, her abilities enhanced by flight's desires and blood's 
energy. The sun might be westering, but she turns herself eastwards, her voice 
carolling in expression of freedom.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falth bugles in challenge at the arrogant bronze ahead of him in 
the pack. He is nearly Prometh's equal in size, massive for a brown, and his flying 
strength is renowned among Benden Weyr's wings. With a stretching forward of his 
long neck to further sleek his profile, strong downbeats carry him past the blues 
and smaller browns, hot on Prometh's tail.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sharath goes quiet now, for a bit of silent running through the 
airy seas between him and Tierth. He slides through the slipstream of Prometh's 
insult, leaps laterally around a lagging brown, chooses his position and maintains 
it with great, billowing wing-sweeps that push and push him ever higher, to the 
east, along her carol's path.

K'tyn shrugs and takes a seat on the bed, since it's the only sizable piece of 
furniture in here. From a pocket, he pulls a packet of cards and idly plays with 
them as he keeps a hooded stare directed at Maylia. "Poker, Anyone?" he asks 
nonchalantly.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Daruth, late, shoots up to attempt to catch Tierth up. He might be 
a little younger than some of the others, but he's got enthusiasm and that's what 
counts - right? Swooping over Telgar Weyr, Tierth is fixed in his gaze, all the 
other males just something to hiss viciously at.

"Only if you play to lose, sir," E'vrin's voice replies, whetted by a dragon's 
growl. He hasn't stopped shivering. Cold. Must be the cold, not raging fires within, 
burning their slow way out through his weak human skin.

Poker? M'teh would like to investigate the floor, actually. Conducting this as 
intently as he examined the chair, the young bluerider drops to the ground and 
carefully scans every square inch of it within about a foot around him.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Tierth may be familiar with these thermals--but Prometh is as 
well. In a slow, measured arc, he turns with her, above her, to keep her slender 
lithe form before him. Mist glitters like diamondhoar frost on his wings, his ruddy 
muzzle, limning him in white fire.

Maylia remains where she is, simply staring at the pack of males... er, maleriders, 
in the weyr. Joining them would mean, well, joining them - and she's FREE! yes, she 
is. Okay, she's surrounded physically by rock walls, but she's still out there and 
free.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kazeth's wide blue wings downsweep once, twice, and today he's 
content to be just in front of the middle of the pack - for now. His tail lashes 
once, twice, back at Prometh, in a terse summation and dismissal. His gaze skims 
over Tierth, not settling on her, but keeping careful track of her position.

K'tyn chuckles quietly. "I play to play, not to win or lose. Too much disappointment 
in one and the other? Well. I have everything I want." He turns over a card, 
laughing to himself at the figure of the Lady Holder displayed.

Schmitt ignores them all except Maylia. Inevitably, as it always happens, the 
greenrider is becoming more and more attractive as the dragonpair that is Schmitt 
and Kazeth creeps towards being all dragon.

E'vrin's gaze swallows the card in a gulp of dilated pupils, but then they pinpoint, 
and his eyes swing to Tierth. "Distracting us," he dismisses K'tyn from the edge of 
his control. "Don't. We're -- flying." And his shoulders move, pinion-restless, 
against the wall.

[I'd meant to type "Tierth's rider," of course, but it's a fair typo to make.]

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Tierth flies, keeping her attention fixed far ahead, on the 
purpling skies of evening eastwards. Silver droplets amid the glowing grassy green 
now mingle with the light of the first daring stars which venture out of the night, 
shivering in the frigid winter air so high up. Each wingsweep sends them dancing, 
until finally some part of her becomes aware of those males behind her. With a 
mocking flick of her tail, she dives towards the rocky cliffs of the mountains 
below.

"It happens enough lad that you should be able to ignore it," K'tyn says quietly, 
quickly flipping the cards into a classic solitaire pattern. "Even if you don't want 
to. Tis good practice."

E'vrin sighs. "Only if I don't /want/ to ignore it. And ... I don't."

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Daruth is familiar with the thermals too - he's on home ground, 
his own Telgar Weyr. And maybe with his own Tierth as well, if he could just get a 
little closer... his wings snap back to give him a little extra aerodynamic speed.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falth gives a burst of speed to the chase, perhaps a match for the 
bronze but unfamiliar with the air currents of Telgar's bowl and inexperienced 
besides. Howling in dismay, he overshoots the thermal on the sharp turn and 
backwings wilding into a turn, trying to make up lost position.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Prometh dives a little after Tierth, snarling as he edges closer--
maybe too close!--to Falth as that brown nearly cuts him off with that sharp turn. 
Teeth bared in a fearsome display, Prometh resists the urge to take a bite out of 
that dragon's tail for his temerity in sliding between himself and Tierth.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Diving, Kazeth turns to a streak of blurred blue, highlighted 
almost purple by the setting sun. Perhaps he gains a little, perhaps he falls back a 
bit: it's nearly impossible to tell as the males around him have spread out 
slightly. Does it matter? Only those silver-green wings and getting to them first 
matters now.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sharath follows her into the evening, heading sharply down, but 
still on course for the rim of night. His head cuts like a prow through the 
currents, roiled here by a blue's eager push and calmed there by a brown's more 
patient sculling in the dive, and the rest of him follows behind like a pennon 
flagged bright to the wind, caught on the lance of his working, churning body.

[Netdeath.]

Sharath> Tierth senses that Sharath's thought reaches distant but clear, flaming 
ahead of his body: Will they crash and splash on the cliffs below, decorate the rock 
with the graffiti of their tale? (Laughter, laughter. No, no, they will not; she 
will be caught, she will be hot, and the chase and the race will not be for naught.)

Eyes darkening with anger, K'tyn looks up and around for Falth's rider. "Coward," he 
mutters, turning over a card with a snapping flip of his wrist. "Bleeding coward."

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falth pulls his wings in sharply and plummets, spotting the 
green's dive and angling to meet her at the nadir of her falling arc. He resists the 
temptation to snarl at Prometh on his way past, whirling eyes fixed on his glowing 
goal.

E'vrin laughs softly.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Tierth veers through a valley, and soon finds another thermal to 
aid her ascent, her wings sweeping in quick tempo to speed her upwards. The rock 
walls of the mountains were too restraining - when she seeks freedom of the pull of 
the ground. And those males are entirely too close to her! So she finds solace in 
the stars high above her, and the distant curve of Belior's crescent peeking over 
the horizon.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Daruth is beginning to show slight signs of tiring, but for the 
moment his muscles ripple all the more in an effort to keep up with the nimble green 
diving over the Telgar mountains and the contorted hourglass of the great bowl of 
his Weyr. His own weyr is down there somewhere, but who cares? Tierth is just a 
dragonlength in front, but he's not gaining fast enough. And then it's up, up to the 
stars, bearing upwards of the setting Rukbat at an almost vertical angle.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sharath tilts his whole lean bulk forward and slingshots through 
the bottom of his shallow dip (never dive too much, never that, because what goes 
down must come up, and here she comes--) to rise high in his trajectory. Still on 
the outside of the pack, but edging closer as Tierth pulls them along (cheap metal 
to her magnet? Not all of them are dross, oh, no--), he seeks to mate his path with 
hers between the sun and the stars.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kazeth just happens to disagree about them all being too close. 
The problem is that the rest of the males are too close, and he's not quite close 
enough. Going into the following upsweep of Tierth's path, his neck takes on a 
certain set determination and his wings push at the restraining air, his smaller 
size coming into play as he starts to pass larger, flagging browns and bronzes.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falth learns from his last near-spill and is more careful this 
time, watching the green's rise and sliding into the same thermal beneath her, wing 
membranes ballooning with uprushing air in his pursuit of the green just above.

E'vrin lets his head fall forward in a luxury of weary waiting, cantilevered from 
his shoulders' tightly squared brace. "What's the next card to play?" he whispers 
hoarsely and glances from Prometh's rider to Tierth's.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Prometh bugles brassily at Tierth's rise and fall, so like a the 
stars that turn and wheel above them in Telgar's darkening skies. Perseverance pays 
off, she is nearing him! Falth's dive and irritating presence as he somehow manages 
to stay just so between Prometh and the object of his desire rouse a great bellow of 
frustration. With a mighty downstroke, the older bronze muscles his way forward, 
crowding all who are about him in an effort to get to the gleaming green beacon that 
is Tierth.

K'tyn narrows his eyes, turning the card over even as E'vrin asks. "Well, would you 
look at that," he smirks. "My favorite card." It displays a bronze dragon in flight. 
"That answer your question?"

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Tierth glances back over her shoulder, gliding for a moment, 
allowing the icy cold wind to caress her form. What she sees, she doesn't like: The 
bronze, browns, and blues are far too close to her! Her course veers southwards from 
the glance, and she increases the tempo of her wingstrokes, dismissing the wind 
behind her, tossing it back to impede those males. But, her strength flags, 
desperation taking over, and the green slows.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falth roars indignantly at the pushy bronze, risking losing a 
little proximity with a dip of his wing, seeking to foul the current supporting his 
rival. The green is so very close now and slowing! Just a few more wingbeats! He 
strains ahead and banks to follw her arc, careless of the bronze's fate as he does.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Eyes flame into lustful hope as Kazeth eyes, calculates, 
determines his chances - three strong wingbeats more, a slight tilt to the right, 
and the wiry blue dives towards Tierth.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Prometh barrels forward from behind, using the sheer impetus of 
his bulk and mass to plough through his opponents as he tries to twine neck and tail 
about Tierth, heedless of all but her.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falth rolls on his flightpath and dips to slide beneath the green, 
parallel to her arc. Wings spread wide and neck and tail reach...almost..almost!

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sharath is a bit wobbly on his track, himself, but he doesn't 
slow, not now. Can't. /Won't./ Doesn't bank, doesn't bother with the arc or a 
diving, barrelling approach -- he cuts /across,/ straight across and to the heart of 
her with all his momentum thrusting him on: a sideways stroke, writ large in bronze 
and lusting hope, towards conjunction, towards consummation.

E'vrin's laughter dies aborning -- at that card, at this final stroke high above and 
beyond. His eyes devour not K'tyn, but Tierth's rider. Maylia. "Not yet ... not 
/yet./"

Schmitt's neck stiffens, shoulders tense - she lurches to her knees, lip caught in 
the corner of her mouth.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Daruth really can't keep going on much longer. But he's less than 
a dragonlength away, right behind her... wings snap closed as he tries a last-ditch 
effort at catching up with and ensnaring Tierth. Maybe, just maybe, it fate is on 
his side, he'll hit...

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Tierth strains her neck upwards, eyes fixed on those stars, on the 
promise of eternal freedom that they enjoy. As the males converge upon her, she 
balks, twisting in a final attempt at purchasing one last wingstroke. Those 
shimmering wings fill one last time, but not with wind - with Sharath's wings 
instead. Caught! Her freedom denied, the green gives one last struggle, before 
succumbing to those other desires.

K'tyn stares a moment at the card, then scoops them up to pocket them. The slow 
smirk on his face falls, and a mask of what could be stone settles over his 
features. Without a word, he strides from the room and to his dragon's side.

Schmitt scrambles to her feet and hurries out.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, With a roar that echoes in the air, Prometh peels away from the 
pair and dives for the bowl below.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kazeth snarls with rage as he dives past, folding his wings to 
drop quickly.

Schmitt leaves the guest weyr and heads out into the bowl.
K'tyn leaves the guest weyr and heads out into the bowl.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Kazeth disappears into Between.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Sharath denies her freedom with a swift move of capture, but 
offers the promise of another kind of escape: Down, down and out, they can fly, 
necks twined, wings matched, tails mated, and follow those stars together.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falth bellows as he arcs away from the entangled pair--denied! 
Enraged and unsatisfied, he banks into that thermal that earlier nearly sent him 
into a wall and sails up and out of the Weyr to rejoin his flummoxed and unfortunate 
rider.
TGW-Bowl>> Above, Falth flies out over Telgar and disappears over the rim of the 
bowl.

TGW-Bowl>> Above, Daruth comes crashing past Tierth on a collision course with the 
Weyr floor. So, so close, but no good.

Sharath> Tierth senses that Sharath's mind murmurs triumphantly, << And now I have 
you. >>

Maylia pushes away from the rock of the wall as the riders take their leaves, her 
eyes fixed on one. Tierth might've fought the inevitable, but her rider doesn't.

"Last card," E'vrin says to that stare, strangling the words with a laugh not 
entirely his own, and with all else forgotten, he moves for his capture, his taste 
of escape.

[Fade to black (after M'teh left).  Log ends.]