A Hands On Lesson

Xanadu Weyr - Weyrling Grounds

Cradled in a cup shaped bite out of the mountain, this wide, grassy flat has become home for Xanadu's weyrling dragons. It's set surprisingly high above the level of the beach, visible from the eastern side of the grounds where a long path snakes its way down the hill to the sand dunes below. All other sides to the grounds are bordered by the hard granite cliffs, two entrances clearly visible. One is merely human sized and leads deep into the mountain, to the Caverns. The other is broad and high, the entrance to the Weyrling Barracks.

It has been more than twenty four hours since the Weyrlings received their lecture on the ins and outs of mating flights, more than twenty four hours since V'dim stalked off in a hurry. And now, the summer sun is beginning to sink over the water, and Isobeth is glowing more brightly than ever, despite the fading light. V'dim, however, is no where to be seen as the Weyrlingmaster's green preens and stretches.

M'nol wanders along the beach, the previous day's lecture weighing heavy on his mind when, inexplicably, Faraeth gives a soft croon. The boy looks up, then nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Isobeth, muttering to himself and glancing around for the Weyrling master.

Aoriya is on an errand somewhere, and Omasuth has been meandering slowly from the beach, to the weyrling beach, to the grounds, where he spots Isobeth. Omasuth croons eagerly, sauntering towards the green and pouring on the charm.

Tyr isn't looking very happy. Not so happy at all. "Shouldn't /be/ here," he mutters a little to himself, stalking after Raphaith as the brown simply traipses all over, wherever he might please. "You can't just go /wandering/, Raph. We don't even /live/ here." And for all he knows, the young dragon could end them up in a hole in the ground. Heading in off the beach, however, Raphaith does seem to find what he's looking for, peeling out a soft, melodic croon at the sight of a rather..radiant green. Tyr looks…even further from pleased, slapping a hand over his face. "Oh /perfect/."

It's probably not surprising to anybody, to see a Weyrling practicing. Today, Cidheoth pushes himself just slightly, wings working as he and his rider whirl in what could be a clumsy aerial dance. It doesn't take too much time for the blue to get distracted, though, and bounce right back down to the grounds, where Tali slides down quickly. "What /is/ it, Cid? C'mon. We're not gonna get any better if you just stop in the middle of working…" The girl mutters darkly, but her dragon isn't really paying attention. "Cid! Are you about done? We've got to…" Oh, hey, there are people. Who she doesn't know. The Weyrling blinks, then snaps to attention, clasping hands loosely behind her back and trying her best not to hide behind her dragon. That would be silly. "Um."

K'oss and Meahakumeleth were in the area on craft duty, having come to familiarize himself (or themselves) with the stables at Xanadu. Meahakumeleth is just as interested in runners as K'oss is, and in the same way. Won't ever find this young brown dragon eating a runner, no sir. However, while K'oss was off in the stables, Meahakumeleth saw something BIG AND SHINY. « …I want that. » he informs his rider. « Can I have her? PLEASE, K'oss? That's just the kind of beauty my collection needs! »

Isobeth continues to preen, pretty green hide glowing as she stretches, trilling to the various males as they begin to gather, turning her head to croon at the young dragons, familiar and not. Magnolia-blossomed wings stretch, pale sails stretching, testing the air, and catching the last rays of the sun before the lean green's gathering her body up beneath her, before she's pushing off with a certain air of grace, the southern belle taking to the skies. Its only once she is airborne, quickly shooting upwards that V'dim makes an appearance, meandering out from his own quarters near the barracks, scowling, as always, particularly at the group gathered there.

M'nol glances over, jumping again as Faraeth, with a strong bugle of desire for Isobeth, pushes off into the sky, his dusty wings taking his rocky bulk higher and higher into the sky. M'nol glances over at V'dim and gulps, knowing full-well that he hasn't dealt with one of the suggested issues.

Omasuth leaps up after Isobeth, having much more "experience" than the other dragons there. The brown wastes no time looking for his rider. Aoriya is busy enough visiting her family. Omasuth powers his way into the sky after Isobeth, fighting to get as much altitude as he can. He croons tenderly when he levels off, fire colored hide making him a stand out in the crowd of males. «Women cannot be HAD.» He admonishes Meahakumeleth. «Well, they can be had, but they are not belongings to be /had./» He scolds. «But then a young brat could not understand that.» He adds, crooning melodically to Isobeth. «Darling, my beauty, come fly with a brown who is more experienced in these matters of the heart.»

Up goes the female, and Raphaith's entire frame bunches. Tyr does at least make one last effort to stop the brown, but it's all for naught, really. There's no stopping the young dragon now, and there's but a flash of a pale cream underbelly as he flings himself into the air. Wings patterned in milk-swirled klah open wide, aiding his departure from the ground in an effortless downsweep. The rush of air has Tyr turning his head away slightly, and then giving an abrupt glare at just /who/ he finds nearby. "K'oss! What're /you/ doing here?" There's a faint glower to be had, but his eyes shift around, almost nervously.

Meahakumeleth doesn't even wait for a response from K'oss and merely leaps after the shining green, although by this point his poor rider knows what's up. Since there's no way he'd be able to concentrate in the stables he hurries out of them, just in time to be yelled at by Tyr. Being around runners during a mating flight would /probably/ be a bad idea, and the other brownrider's words draw a look of annoyance from the beastcrafter. "Doing my /job/, what are /you/ doing here?" he rolls his eyes, the squints upwards at his dragon. « I suppose it takes an old brat to contradict himself then. » Meahakumeleth retorts, then proceeds to ignore the other brown, pumping his wings energetically.

Cidheoth is surrounded — surrounded by so many browns! Something seems to click in the back of the blue's mind, and as he launches himself into the air a beat after the others have. The blue doesn't waste time, though: ignoring all the others, he wings nearly straight vertical, also ignoring his Weyrling's blank look and then mental howl of unintelligable words. All of them some form of 'Oh NO you don't', and most of them filled with curses, of course, if the girl's livid face has anything to say. "Sir." She snaps a salute to V'dim, then goes back to trying to wrangle her dragon back down, scowling fiercely at the sky.

« Now, now, boys, there's no need to fight on account of little old me.. » Isobeth croons, offering soothing wisps of magnolia and lilac as her mind gently touches theirs, like a gloved carass of their cheeks each in turn. She spares no backwards glance for the males in pursuit, merely twisting and dancing in the darkening sky, setting forth a rigorous, yet graceful path for them to follow. A twist here, and turn there - her shimmering silk ballgown catching the growing shadows, a croon encouraging them. Its Ontali's 'sir' that cause V'dim to whirl on the girl, snarling a little bit. "Weyrling." He growls, before the others are glared at, even as they fuss at each other. "What are you doing on -my- grounds? You aren't -my- weyrlings.." So, maybe he's a little tense.

Faraeth croons gently, calling to Isobeth, « Your beautiful hide gleams oh so temptingly. » M'nol turns a terrified look to V'dim, then to the 'not V'dim's weyrlings', then back to V'dim. Quietly he stutters out, "Weyrlingmaster…."

Aoriya comes running over from the direction of the smith workship, "Oma, brat, give, me, warning, next, time." She pants as Omasuth's mental voice ripples in fervent flames. «Beautiful green lady, allow me to sweep you off your feet! I beg thee!» Omasuth flutters smittenly after Isobeth, streaking through the sky like a shooting star. He twists, and turns, and rolls dramatically, effortlessly, higher and higher into the sky.

For all his size, Raphaith rises as if he hardly weighs anything at all. He's silent, however, against the taunts being thrown by a few other males. His body tilts in the air, following a current as the world shifts with him as an axis. Earth becomes heaven, and heaven the earth for a brief moment as he whips into a spiral, wings taking him after Isobeth in a steady, working stride. There's a faint, thrumming rumble though that drifts out and onto the air, a simple melodic stream in draconic baritone. Tyr, looking frustrated, just growls at K'oss. "I have /business/." So there. And that's all he needs to know. The voice of the weyrlingmaster does get his attention, however, and he focuses there. Perhaps a bit too intently, even. "Followed Raphaith here."

Cidheoth's cobalt hide gleams in the darkening sky, a flash of slick sapphire in dusky twilight. The little blue is not big, and he's sure not as toned as most of the other dragons present, but height? Height might give him an advantage. Almost instinctively, the falconlike dragon seeks the high ground, finally catching a thermal to spiral up nimbly, all while ignoring his rider. "Get DOWN here, you sharding, damn, stupid…." Apparently unable to continue mental contact with the blue, Tali stares helplessly at the sky, eyes widening a little. To her credit, she only levels V'dim an even, slightly wary look, keeping a respectful distance from — well, everybody. "M'nol —" This is weary, strangled, maybe a little protective of the younger boy. "Shells. Going to kill the dragons. Going to skin them. Why d'they have to go and…" Grumble grumble grumble.

Meahakumeleth isn't the best in the air, so no fancy flying for him. No, he'll just follow the green, trying to fly his best. « Flattery is cheap. » the red-streaked brown states, and hisses at another pursuer that invaded his personal space. Swiping at him, he curves his wings to fly towards Isobeth at a slant, away from the others. « And are you dumb? She's already off her feet! » clearly non-literal statements are beyond him.

"If you had listened to a word I said, weyrling, you'd know *why*." V'dim snarls, with every word, his eyes are become more and more glossy, his attention more and more strained, and by the time Aoriya's on the scene, further invading *his* territory, he's far too wrapped up with his green lady to protest. As the boys hiss, Isobeth turns back to croon at them, trying to quiet them once more. « Boys! » She admonishes, before she's slipping into a large loop, dropping a wing sail to bank tightly and head in another direction all together. However, her strength is waning, and pale wings are becoming slower with each wingstroke, her pace quickly decaying as the ball is drawing quickly to a close.

Faraeth simply can't turn as tightly as the green, but he does his best, beating his larger wings hard to pull through his own loop more quickly. He croons to Isobeth again, « Beauty and Agility… So much so. » With two more giant flaps he pulls up just behind her, reaching with neck, wing, and tail to grab the glowing, glorious green. M'nol might've said something, or stuttered in terror, but he too was now lost in his dragon, nearing V'dim with apparent desire he would certainly regret later.

Omasuth whirls on a wingtip, banking tightly before he drops into a kamikaze dive after Isobeth. Anybody in his way had better get out of it, for the brown is ready to claw, scratch and ram any opposing competitors out of the way. As the shooting star falls to earth, Omasuth reaches for Isobeth, crooning tenderly and melodically for her.

Raphaith is steady is Isobeth changes direction. A tilt of graced wings and his entire frame veers easily, dropping his altitude away from the general gaggle of followers. Forward and down, forward and down, caramel and chocolate grow darker with the waning light. Distance judged, wings slam in a downward motion, forcing himself upward yet again. Straight up, in fact, to attempt to cut into the dance from below, pale underbelly a stark contrast to the impending night. Tyr just wavers a bit where he stands, breath starting to catch, although his gaze remains firmly on V'dim. Irritable or not, that weyrlingmaster is a definite focal point for the earthly half of the brown duo.

Meahakumeleth swerves around in an almost drunken manner, but hey, he does get around eventually. Tucking his wings in, he dives for the green as well, trying to shove aside any male within range. To greens he might be a perfect gentleman towards, but rivals, never. « Come to me and I shall treat you like the lady you so obviously are, madame. » if he were a person at Isobeth's ball, he'd be bowing to kiss her hand right this moment.

Cidheoth is not at all learned in the art of flights. So there's no way that one can call the wingover that her pulls off graceful — it is, in fact, clumsy. Quite clumsy. But then he's diving with a purpose, streamlined and ready to fight off any who get in his way, as well, forelegs stretched before him and fisted — still remarkably like a terran falcon. Tali looks caught between fleeing for the hills and…something…her eyes locked on the sky and not a little bit terrified. She doesn't look at anything but her dragon, arms crossed, expression stony.

Isobeth dips and dodges the first round of attempts, avoiding clumsy dancing partners of all shades and colors of brown, sliding out of reach of those seeking talons, those stretching necks. However, despite the green lady's grace, she's not free from the clumsiness of all, for as she falters amongst the darkening blue sky, she's enveloped by a differt type of blue - the blue of the diving Cidheoth. With a croon, the belle of the ball has found her partner for this last dance, and magnolia wings stay spread as they twirl amongst the dance floor of the sky. V'dim, certainly, looks no happier, however, the repercussions of exactly *which* dragon caught his green will only sink in later, and for now his eyes only meet Ontali's before he's turning heading with purpose to the privacy of his own rooms, just enough of his own mind left to do so.

Omasuth snaps his wings open instinctively, a loud CRACK sounds as they snap open with the precision of a military man in a physical manuver and slow the brown's descent to the ground. He turns, flying back towards Aoriya. "Whatever Oma, just find L'ton and see if he doesn't mind coming to visit the girls." Aoriya says as she turns on a heal and strides off, back towards her father's smithy.

Faraeth bellows his frustration, turning from the sight of his friend and brother claiming the green and making a large manouver, taking his time returning to the grounds. M'nol's eyes begin to regain their focus and he gives Tali a scared look, then slumps, lost for the moment in his own thoughts.

Raphaith gives a grunted noise of frustration as the blue manages that catch, and then wheels promptly away. He goes to land, however, and Tyr simply..stands there, fingers clenching a little at his sides.

Cidheoth's bugle is triumphant as he captures the green, then swiftly tosses his wings open fully, never mind that they'll be one sorry, sore pair of wings in the morning. Get what he deserves, aye? His triumph is mirrored only in the vaguest of senses by Tali, who is led off without really noticing at this point. But oh, will Cidheoth be in for it as soon as she regains her senses!

Meahakumeleth is quiet when he proves defeated by the smallest of them, although he seems to almost shrug it off and averts his flight path to the side, landing near K'oss. The white-haired rider strokes his side in commiseration, although he looks a tad bit relieved.

Tyr continues to look rather tense. There's a faint twitch even as he moves towards his dragon, who has landed near his clutch-sibling, crooning faintly at Meahakumeleth. Raphaith's head tilts though, when Tyr goes right past him, and shoves K'oss, grabbing at the front of his shirt a bit. "Why'd /you/ have to be here, huh? Could've gone a whole /day/ without seeing your stupid face." Aw, it's just like old times all over again! Of course, Tyr accosting K'oss with a kiss probably never happened before. But alas, it's exactly what he does. Surprise? Thankfully, he's quick to move away again.

Finally, and far too late by M'nol's estimation, Faraeth returns to the beach, seeking solace from his rider. Though all M'nol can surround his the brown's wedge-shaped head, the embrace is none-the-less tight, bringing the two closer together.

Suddenly K'oss has flashbacks to that time he got drunk, flirted with Tarish, and ended up decked out on the floor. Except this time, it'll be K'oss doing the punching, although he did hesitate -just- long enough to show that he didn't completely HATE it.

Sometimes, doing weird and crazy things are very good for venting frustration. And it seems to have worked a bit for Tyr. At least until some fist comes flying at him. The brownrider stumbles a little. "OW! What the—" And really, there's a lot more to be said that just isn't appropriate for young dragon ears. Or weyrlings. …And he promptly just flings himself right back at K'oss. Fight? Yes, well, it's business as usual for the Fortian riders.

Faraeth gives a strained bugle when the other riders begin to fight and he and M'nol make a quick exit for the barracks… at least he could deal with some… stuff… there… and Faraeth had never had a good head for fights.

See, there's a really good reason why K'oss doesn't normally go picking fights with, well…. anyone. He's scrawny and a wimp, and would fight a wet noodle… and /lose/. So when Tyr leaps at him, let's just say K'oss can squeak -beautifully-, and trip over his own feet and fall over backwards.

Yay for heap of brownrider. If they weren't so obviously fighting, it might look like something /completely/ different. Tyr just sits up though, glaring down at K'oss a little bit. "Hmph. Jerk." And he just gets up, leaving K'oss there as he goes back to Raphaith.

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