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.
The constant drizzle of rain is almost enough to get /between/ lessons put off another day, but, shards, that might be another turn at this rate, so M'nol takes a deep breath and nods to Faraeth. Both brown and rider are resplendent in matching leathers of black and silver. Unlike P'rel's, though, they're not provocative, he simply prefers black in his leathers. Faraeth's silken mind reaches out to those weyrlings who haven't yet had the opportunity to brave the cold of /between/, « Come along, it is time to decide if you're ready for your greatest of steps. »
Decked out in his OWN brand new, totally undesc'ed leathers is Qe'pol. They are fitted quite well, nothing too sexy or sleek. There does appear to be a bit of… bedazzling done to the leathers, at any rate. Perhaps, in time, the ass portion of his pants will spell out 'Juicy'. Time will tell. The color, however, is an almost vibrantly, nauseating neon GREEN. Very… unlike the man. But there you have it. A gift from his parents. Green represents his Hold. HOLDERS REPRESENT. The getting-way-too-damned-big-and-needs-to-stop-growing-wtf bronze Nisuanekhdjieth stands beside the weyrling-lad, looking as dour as ever, though the raindrops upon his hide seems to add to his snarky-ass personality. If that's even possible. Staring straight up in the air, mouth wide open, watching the rain fall into his very eyes is Pol. Every so often the lad will hack up a lung, dispersing the water that has been allowed to be inhaled into the precious organs. "Nrrrr, wha'?" Faranth, help us all. "Wha'cha want, Nisu?" Finally, he tears his eyes away from the sky to look at the bronze. Cue a dragon and rider discussion. All that eye focusing crap. The words of the other dragon are relayed to the weyrling and Pol narrows his eyes, even as he moves to Nisu's side to mount up. "Can we just say I ain't and call it good? Between is for those who… y'know… WANT to go there. I don't."
Py's leathers cover him, from head to toe, especially with helmet and goggles in place. The bronzerider pulls on his gloves as he approaches Malphath, already in the process of checking his new straps to insure that everything is kosher. Once they are examined and found to be satisfactory he casts a look over at Qe'pol, simply staring as the older boy stands there in the rain with his mouth gapped open. P'rel can only stare at this really, especially for the sputtering moments of rain water being ejected from the holder's lungs. There is a series of blinking and he ends up just shaking his head, giving Malphath's muscled shoulder a pat. The male rumbles deeply, lowering his head to peer over at Nisuanekhdjieth, red eyes whirling with pinks and magentas. « We are ready. » is sent back to Faraeth in flickering flames cast onto water in a deep cavern.
I'srie… is staring. At Qe'pol. He and Tscyleth stand not far from P'rel and Malphath, the bluepair decked out in their own leathers.. black, form-fitting and /sleek/, edged in palest silver-greys. I'srie's jacket is buttoned to his throat, hiding the charm he always wears around his neck, the garment custom-tailored and snug, crafted in a military-type cut. Pants and boots are likewise dark, the laces of the latter grey to match the hems of his attire. His hair is tucked beneath the flight helmet, goggles alteary in place. There is a.. twitch to his expression, however, for the sight of his best bud in.. green. "..Shit, man," and Iessrien just shakes his head slowly.
M'nol watches the three fall in, then looks right at Qe'pol, "Sure. You can walk back into the barracks, flop back onto your cot and contemplate that until you learn to go /between/ you'll still be living there turns from now." He smiles winningly, no problem, really. For the moment treating the recalcitrant bronzeling as dismissed, he turns to the other two, "So. Usual spiel goes here. /Between/ is the single most dangerous lesson you will ever face. If you fail to properly visualize, you will be lost and you will die. So if you're not ready for that, turn back now and we can do more exercises and reapproach this when you are certain." His voice is unusually grave and flat. "We lost a gold at Ista and I'm not much enthused to be doing that again."
Qe'pol shoulders are shrugged at his blue-riding buddy. "Sister picked it out." He pulls at the lapel of his own riding jacket. "And then she like… made 'em put all these… things…" BEDAZZLED. "on it. Oh, oh, oh, oh! LOOK!" The bronzerider excitedly turns around, trying to awkwardly gesture to his back. Sure enough, the back of his jacket, in shiny little metal-looking bits stabbed into the leather it says 'Pol'. "She put my /name/ on it!" Or at least a portion of his name. "Ain't that /sweet/?" Horrifying is also another word for it. M'nol says his peace and Pol just SCOWLS. « Shut your mouth, Qe'pol. Only through betweening shall we have access to the other Weyrs of Pern. » "LAAAAAAAME." But he listens, at least, leaning all up on his dragon. "Got it. Visualize. Can do. If I visualize boobs, will Nisu take me to boobs?" That's what it sounds like to him.
P'rel pulls his gloves closer on, though there is a distinct pause when Pol turns around and shows the back of the riding jacket. Golden eyes widen, and he glances to I'srie before returning to that stare of his fellow bronzerider. "Okay I don't feel nearly as ridiculous anymore." he mutters under his breath, as he approaches I'srie in order to fistbump the bluerider. His chin comes up however, as he redirects his attention to M'nol long enough to take in what the brownrider says seriously, expression blank as he nods once. "Yes, sir." he says crisply, before once more he's looking back to Qe'pol, even as he claps a hand to I'srie's shoulder and leans in to murmur softly. "After this, we are taking that dude to the nearest leather crafter."
Oh. Iess totally looks horrified. Especially when Pol turns around, the incredulity warring with the urge to crack up. There is some definite twitching to his expression, but the bluerider nevertheleess manages to keep a straight..ish face. He opens his mouth, closes it, and just very slowly shakes his head again. "..Right," is muttered under his breath eventually, turning to return-fistbump P'rel when the bronzerider heads over, and jerking his head in a nod of angreement, a softly snortd, "No shit." About taking Pol to see a leathercrafter. Shudder. There's a nod for M'nol, more serious expression on the bluerider's face, as he checks over the buckles of Tscyleth's straps one more time.
M'nol hides a giggle in a cough as Qe'pol shows off his bling-covered leathers, "All, ah, due respect to your, ah, sister, but I think before you graduate you might want leathers that are a bit more… formal." He smiles gently, "For when you're representing the Weyr." One brow arches, "If you visualize boobs, you'll simply stay /between/, but if you don't mind airless cold that's okay." Grin, see, he's a helpful weyrlingmaster sort. He looks between the three again, then "So, we're ready, then? Alright, have your dragons get their images from Farry and we'll go… sunny Ista is nice this time of year. Especially compared to all this sharding rain." He turns and easily swings himself up into the straps, waiting for the others to follow suit.
Checking straps and stuff is LAME. Qe'pol doesn't have time for that. He put the damned things on, surly that makes them good to go. Waiting is also lame, so the lad wastes no time, after having showed off his brand new riding jacket, climbing up the side of his dragon and dropping his butt into the straps. Buckles are snapped together and all that noise. Rider and dragon are prepared. Heck, Pol even has a brand new pair of goggles (that emphasis his hotness) that are placed over his eyes. "Let's get this crap over with. All I gotta say is, though, this better just increase the range of dragonflights I get to be in. Gonna nail be some goldrider-tail." A hand pumps up, a 'WHOOOO!' coming out of the bronzerider's mouth. Nisuanekhdjieth, bless his dragon-soul, simply eyerolls as best a dragon can and gets to his feet. Wings are flared out, ready to take off. "Right. No thinking of boobs, then. Between sounds cold and lame. TO ISTA! WHERE THE HOT WOMEN AWAIT!" More of that 'whooooing'.
P'rel groans softly at Qe'pol, releasing a heavy sigh shortly there after. After the fist bump and soft exchange of words between himself and I'srie, the bronzerider looks to his lifemate to signal that it was time to get the image from Faraeth, before he gets a forelimb up to slide into the beast's straps and buckles himself in. Malphath gets the visual, despite all the whooing and talk of goldflights and boobies going on. He glances over at I'srie though, exchanging with him a truly concerned look for some reason before his lifemate does his preflight wing check, extending the things out, up and then folding them again. It was one of those strange little quirks that had shown up as of late. Not that P'rel at all seems to notice or care, moistening his lips and turning slightly to look down the length of his lifemate's body to Nisu and his rider. "Just pay attention okay, man? You get lost in there, and I won't forgive you."
I'srie swings up to his lifemate's shoulders, an easy sort of grace in the way the weyrling moves, practiced over these past few months, to match his lifemate's unfailing elegance. Moonlight-touched wings slowly unfurl, the blue turning his attention to Faraeth to receive the image while Iess buckles himself in and shares a /look/ with P'rel. Echoing the other boy, there's a head-jerk to Pol, "You get lost between, and I'm coming after you. With a fist." And he MEANS it. Narrow, serious-faced glare and all. Goggles adjusted, he tugs his gloves snug and curls fingers around Tscy's straps. He's ready. "So long as it isn't raining," is all he remarks about Ista.
M'nol grins as his students check their straps… mostly. "Qe'pol, are you sure those are secure?" He turns to I'srie and nods, "I had Bloodstone check already." He takes his own moment to check his own straps before sending the command to take flight. Once all four of them are airbound, Faraeth's wings creaking to maintain the hover of his rocky bulk, the brown and rider take a moment to settle on the image of ista, then share it with the Weyrlings along with the command to be certain and send it back before going /between/.
"Yeeeah, yeah. I will, I will." Qe'pol waves a hand over towards his fellow bronzerider. "Though really, if'n I'm dead, I reckon ya really can't /do/ anything to me, other than be mad at me. An' I'd be all forms of dead! So s'not like I'd know." Though Qe'pol doesn't have a death wish, so he'll listen. Either way, a jaunty wave is shipped towards P'rel, along with an accompanying wink, though if it's seen with those googles on, who knows. "Pffft. You couldn't catch me if you /tried/!" Even though blues are faster than bronzes. But WHATEVER. Details. "Aye-aye, sir! totally is." For shizzle. Nisuanekhdjieth does his part, gleaning the image off of the assistant weyrlingmaster's dragon and sharing it with Qe'pol. The bronzeriding weyrling concentrates HARD on the image, trying hard not to put boobs in his mind. "We got it!" He shouts, eyes almost popping out of his sockets, trying to concentrate THAT HARD. "Getting a headache, too!" Cause that' relevant.
P'rel frowns a bit at Qe'pol, shaking his head as the other bronzerider rationalizes things in only the way he can, before he sighs heavily and gives Malphath the word and the bronze launches himself up into the air. After of course, absently returning the wave to Pol and jerking his chin upwards in regard to I'srie. Several great wing beats later, he takes his place in formation. The leather of his gloves creek as he takes a firmer hold of the straps, eyes going distant behind his goggles as he and Malphath share back and forth the image of Ista until that is all and everything on their minds. When M'nol and Faraeth wink out of existence and into between, the blond takes a deep breath, holds it, and gives his lifemate the signal to go. A second later, they too, disappear /between/.
Tscyleth gathers himself, muscles rippling in subtle shifts beneath his dark hide. Effortlessly, the blue leaps skyward, wings unfuled fully, the stark moonlight hue bright and silvered in contrast to his inky darkness, rising knife-swift through the air, wings slicing easily as he joines the other weyrlings in formation. A sidelong glance is given to Qe'pol and Nisu, Iess' pondwater blues focusing sharply on his friend for a second before turning to jerk his head in a nod to P'rel. There's a slight breath taken, the bluerider straightening as his lifmate images, gaze going distant, ensuring he has it. At almost the same moment Malphath disappears between, so does Tscyleth, vanishing without fanfare.
Ista Weyr - Southern Bowl
Compared to that of other weyrs, Ista's bowl is small, and incomplete - northwards, one wall was blown clear away several millennia ago, leaving the view clear towards the plateau, the jungles, and the ocean beyond that. Somewhat elliptical, the breadth of the bowl seems to run Northwest to Southeast, the bustling epicentre of the weyr being here, towards the southwest. Several large entrances have been dug into the great bowl walls here - north east are the hatching grounds, south the Living Caverns, these being the two largest caverns in the weyr.
To the east, a small entrance leads in to the ground weyrs - the ledges of these line the bowl wall above, often filled with dragons of gold or bronze; westwards is another ledge, but with a staircase built into the wall, allowing access to the Sable Sands. The infirmary is located towards the southwest.
M'nol signals the group to land once he's made sure they all came back out again with his own sharp whoop of success. As soon as the big brown has settled himself down, M'nol unbuckles and slides off, waiting for the weyrlings to land before giving them the next speech.
Nisuanekhdjieth listens (for once) making it easily from between and landing as is directed. Qe'pol is vibrating with excitement, his hands up in the air and waving like they jus' dun care! Yeah! Between man, between. Yeah! "Guys! Guys! We did it, we did it, we di-BLEEEEEEEEEEEH!" All that once was in Qe'pol's stomach gets EXPELLED out, down and over the side of his dragon. The bronze? THE BRONZE IS NOT AMUSED. Because hey, he had human vomit on him, and that's just freaking nasty. The bronzerider looks horrified at his reaction, hands now over his mouth and a horrified look on his face. "Oh… oh Faranth." A hand now goes to his stomach. Still pretty horrified. Using the OTHER side of his dragon, the clean side, Pol gets down. "Guys," His voice is weak now. "Between blows." Yep.
A blast of cold air and from /between/ comes Malphath without any delay or worry. There is however, a loud gasp from the bronzerider, shuddering against the lingering atmosphere or lack there of to be found in that place where nothing exists. Malphath flaps his wings a few more times, as if to shake the cold off himself before circling down in a spiral until the bronze can back wing into an elegant landing. Rumbling, he turns his head to look up at his rider, who removes his goggles and does a quick visual check. Qe'pol, there even if tossing his cookies on poor Nisu. M'nol, there. And finally, I'srie. All tension melting off the bronzerider at once, before he unstraps himself and with some assistance from Malphath, climbs down to the ground in a fluid motion. First off is his helmet, and then his gloves. "Guess you won't be weyr hopping then, or the power of the muff too strong?" he quips, already unzipping his jacket against the Istan heat, and slipping out of it. Revealing the form-fitting black tank top he wears beneath. It accentuated his slenderness, almost too well.
Tsyleth emerges into the warmth of the Istan air, hanging motionless and dark against brilliant sky, before sweeping into a smooth dive and backwinging to land near Malphath and Nisu. Iess looks slightly pale, but otherwise unaffected, expression schooled by the time he lands into one of detatched calm. He was a dragonrider. They did this shit ALL THE TIME. Or they will, once they graduate. He seems set on being used to it from the outsed, despite the wetting of lips and swallowing back as his lifemate lands. Head canting, he does let out a breath as he sees that P'rel and Pol have made it, though the latter's.. sudden puking does have the bluerider suppressing a grimace and very carefully unbuckling so that he can slide from his own lifemate's shoulders. Tscyleth reumbles low, and both blue and rider turn to listen again to M'nol. Though not without a flick of a glance to the disrobing Py.
M'nol is quick to unfasten his own leathers and shuck helmet and goggles, "Welcome to Ista!" He grins, then pointedly glances away from P'rel to Qe'pol, "Pol. Please clean that up" the vomit is indicated, "Before enjoying your R&R. You all have four hours. Make sure your dragons eat. /Between/ is very draining at first. When it's time to go, Faraeth will summon you and we'll head back. Over the next several sevendays we'll drill more and more locations and eventually V'dim will clear you for /between/, but until then you're still confined to Xanadu without an escort. Is that clear?"
The epic green leathers are slowly peeled off, his juicy booty wiggling in the shorts underneath the pants he had on. "Aye," Qe'pol croaks out, making a sloppy salute to the assistant weyrlingmaster. Nisuanekhdjieth has been rumbling for some time now, not a happy sound of love an affection, but more so a sound of extreme horror and 'Iwillkillyousohelpme' if his rider doesn't DO something about this soon. "Py, Iess, I'll… err… see you by the beach?" Riding clothes are gathered in his arms as the bronzerider starts ambling in one direction. He gets pretty far, looks around, then the bronze pair walks back, "Ehehehe." Sheepishly, Pol waves his hand. "Wrong way." They go the RIGHT way (hopefully) this time. To bath the dragon, enjoy some Istan warmth, and maybe stare at some boobs.
As he's walking back from the wrong way though, he DOES stare straight at P'rel. "It's ALWAYS worth it!" Yeah. Forgot to get that in there.
Taking a moment to consider what M'nol has said, a sort of smirky look is given to I'srie before the blond stands at attention and snaps off a salute for M'nol. "Yes sir." Business out of the way, golden eyes slide over to Qe'pol, but quickly away when the other boy seemed to be peeling himself out of those horribly colored riding leathers. Yeah he didn't need to see that shit. "Yup, yup…" he says, waving the other bronzerider off dismissively with more than a little bit of a sympathetic glance spared to Nisuanekhdjieth. His heart apparently went out to the anorexic and sickly looking bronze. He turns back towards Malphath, heading over to deposit his helmet, that within it, and his jacket into one of the bags worked into the beast's straps.
I'srie jerks his head to Qe'pol, lips twitching into a slight smirk for the other weyrling, though he can't help shaking his head again, offering a, "Later, man," as he begins to remove his own leathers, jacket unbuttoned and folded, to reveal a similar undershirt to P'rel's, his with double-banding of palest grey and white lengthwise across the back and down the sides. Helmet and goggles are stowed along with his jacket, on Tscyleth's strap bag,s a salute given for M'nol before he reaches to trace, just lightly, the curve of the blue's jaw with twon fingers, barest touch with eyes distant. And then his pondwater gaze flicks to P'rel.
M'nol gives the boys a dismissive wave before moving to the Sands to catch up wiht his own friends and give them a little freedom.