When: Day 9, Month 3, Turn 443
Where: Bowl, Flight Cave
What: Chiyath goes up for a second time, Adria embarrasses herself, X'drian and M'vari barely avoid a fight, I'neph is conflicted and Sh'van is stoic. Just another flight at Fort Weyr.
Though it's a little chilly, it's still a clear, lovely night. The full moon lights the bowl brightly, and a few people take advantage for an evening stroll. Adria would seem to be among them - but she's leaning against the bowl wall rather than walking, looking at a dozing Chiyath speculatively.
M'vari's another taking advantage of the change in weather. He looks to have been working not so very long ago - bit of sweat still on his brow and shirt, some dirt here and there that looks a lot like the rocks on the inside of the weyrling barracks. Go figure. He shies just this side of whistling while he walks his way over toward the living cavern, swinging wide as he notices the greenrider leaning off over there by herself. "Nice night for it," he greets amiably.
Adria doesn't notice M'vari's approach, and in fact, takes a moment or two before she looks up to respond. "Sorry?" she says, expression first bemused, then apologetic. With flash of a distracted smile, her amber gaze shifts back to her green as she asks, "Nice night for - ?"
M'vari answers easily, "Standing around doing nothing. Taking a walk. Pick one." Maybe he managed not to notice her distraction upon approach, but - face to face with it - he gives Adria a more studious once over. "Something wrong?" At that, he follows the greenrider's look toward Chiyath, quirking a brow.
"Should have been out for the sunset," Adria notes quietly. "And nothing wrong, no. Don't think so." Chiyath, for her part, is just dozing. And perhaps, looking suspiciously shiny. Her falls silent for a time, then; "Thought I've been in just a poor mood lately, but - not so sure of that at the moment." Glancing M'vari's way, she finally notices the dirt. Arching a brow, "What, no weyrlings to put to work?"
M'vari, settled to studying Chiyath, grows steadily more sober in expression - not sober like the opposite of drunk, but sober like pensive. "I see," he says eventually. He and Adria are sort of somewhere over by the living cavern presumably, the brownrider looking like he was en route and the greenrider like she's just hanging out. "Ah, no. None at the moment. Perhaps I'd be better off finding some of them at the moment, though," he muses.
It is late evening in the early spring. There's not a cloud in sight on this spring day. Timor is a waxing gibbous moon, and Belior shines as a perfectly full moon. The temperature is about 40F, 4C.
Adria is settled into her lean, hands flat on the stone at her sides. She's looking up at M'vari, brow arched as she notes, "Didn't think you were actually -helping- open that cavern." Her tone is somewhat vague and quiet as she watches the brownrider's expression, then turns back Chiyath's way, shrugging. "Up to you, but I thought that you didn't -need- warning."
Dioscuth is antsy. The young bronze, settled at one end of the bowl with his rider nowhere in sight, keeps shifting his weight and rustling his wings. Eventually, I'neph puts in an appearance, stepping forth from the living cavern and stopping just as suddenly again at the two riders propped up outside the entrance. He offers a snappy salute and a lazier, "Evening."
With a bland smile, M'vari says, "I'm flattered at your opinion of my work ethic. Alas, the man you seem to think I am and the man I actually am - well, we probably wouldn't get along." Being saluted arrests his attention off of pretty, glowy Chiyath. "Evening, son. Has he been doing that long?" inquires the Weyrlingmaster in his most Weyrlingmaster'd tone, nodding across the bowl toward Dioscuth - conveniently skipping Adria's question.
Chiyath is simply napping - or maybe she's pretending - but either way, she's nice and bright and -green-. Perhaps that's the reason why both riders watch her, and why Adria is uncharacteristically blunt to M'vari. "Change my mind, then," she says forthrightly, before glancing I'neph's way with an unreadable expression. "Evening."
"Huh?" I'neph says brilliantly. He follows M'vari's glance to Dioscuth, brows knitting briefly, before he shrugs the bronze's behavior off. The dragon, conscious of others' looks, makes a concentrated effort at nonchalance. "Oh. No, I don't think so? I don't know. Haven't been paying attention," he admits. Another look at the bronze, then on across the bowl, taking in Chiyath's condition but not, apparently, giving it too much thought.
Ianoth was headed to his weyr. But then, spying Chiyath, he hunkers down, studying her appreciatively. Whatever his rider wanted, and it's apparent that X'drian wanted something for he's standing at the opening to his weyr, hands on hips, the bronze is deliberately ignoring him.
"Not tonight, Adria," answers M'vari with a glaze of his eyes, looking often between Chiyath and Dioscuth now. After a second of this, he pinches the bridge of his nose fiercely and leans toward the living cavern more intently, mumbling something about whiskey. Except for the quick aside to I'neph: "I have a feeling you're about to beat J'tei to one particular punch. I'll be right back."
X'drian comes calling across the bowl, "Shardit, Ianoth, I haven't even had a chance to get this crap off me yet." The Weyrleader is dressed in his finery, apparently either just coming or just going from somewhere. And he doesn't look to be in the best of moods.
Adria's turned her attention to Dioscuth as well, with a detached sort interest - Huh, look at that. And then, there's Ianoth. Bronzes all over the place. With a sigh, she glances between I'neph and M'vari. Quietly to the brownrider, as he pinches his nose, She mutters to M'vari, "... he didn't... if... didn't want him..." The Weyrleader's arrival, for the moment, goes unnoticed. Chiyath? Just shining away in the moonlight.
I'neph has all the pieces; it just takes that little push from M'vari to fit them in together. I'neph blinks, opens his mouth, and then shuts it again as he glances again to Chiyath and his own Dioscuth, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Really, sir." He tries hard to keep the majority of the glee out of his voice at the thought of J'tei's missing out. He also fails.
M'vari waves off a reply to Adria, preoccupied with the whole whiskey mission. He's gone to the kitchen long enough to retrieve this illustrious liquid, leaving everyone else to cope with the impending Flight without his personal imput, thanks.
Lanmith wings down, joining the clot of males with a curious look toward Chiyath. Sh'van unstraps and slides off his bronze, apparently unaware of all the impending, heading instead toward the Weyrleader. "Sir! I have a question or two to ask yo..." He stops, pulling up at the sight of the finery, and studies X'drian. "--Now isn't good, is it."
Adria fails to be amused by the joy in I'neph's tone, whatever the reason - she just gives him a look, before X'drian's call causes her to glance in that direction. Too much going on, and Chiyath's beginning to langoriously stretch out of her 'sleep'. She seems unsurprised that M'vari both doesn't answer -and- takes off, beginning to move away from the bowl wall, a bright red spot in the dark.
X'drian waves a hand at Sh'van. "No, no, now's fine. We were just coming back from the Hall. And then this lump," he waves a hand at Ianoth, who is busy watching Chiyath. Xad follows his bronze's gaze, and then says bluntly, "Again? Already?"
Now, I'neph looks about as impatient and antsy as Dioscuth, the bronze edging closer to Chiyath when she begins to move. I'neph just continues smirking, adding in a rather cheerful voice to X'drian, "Yes, sir--like clockwork, they are."
[DTU] To Chiyath, Lanmith informs the green rather bluntly, << Dioscuth will not catch you. >> Unspoken but obvious is the identity of the bronze who will, thankyouverymuch.
"It's been long enough," Adria says, though her tone is so vague that it might not carry. I'neph's smirk warrants him another -look- before she takes a few steps Chiyath's way. The green, knowing she's being watched, takes her time about stretching limbs and wings in such a way to maintain that attention - as if they'd look elsewhere.
Sh'van follows X'drian's gaze to Chiyath and looks, for a moment, pained. Then resigned. Meanwhile Lanmith has heaved himself out of his usual lazy heap to more properly ogle the green. "If you want to go," this presumably to X'drian, for his voice is pitched low, "Now is the time."
M'vari + Whiskey = Better that M'vari - Whiskey. He's not drinking yet, just walking out of the caverns with the bottle turned so he can peer at the label. All set for the night, he sticks near the tunnel still, surveying the competition, as it were. "First thing in the morning, I'neph, remind me to tell you about keeping your dragon under wraps when it's appropriate." With a shake of his head, he adds, "That's a lot of bronze."
Reith was like over there somewhere this whole time. STFU and accept it.
X'drian eyes Sh'van wryly. "Like I could drag him away from this." Indeed, Ianoth is glued to Chiyath. At least, his gaze is, absolutely welded to the green. As M'vari approaches this happy group, he comments, "Better odds for you then. Ianoth's got no experience catching greens." And from the dark look he gives his mate, it's his preference it stay that way. He's resolutely looking anywhere but Adria.
"Yes, sir," I'neph agrees, nodding toward M'vari easily enough. No protests tonight, that's for sure. Dioscuth, like the others, is staring at Chiyath, expectant.
Sh'van turns to allow M'vari into their little group of jaded men, adding, "Better yet if a blue or two were around." His eyes consider and dismiss Dioscuth with barely time for a blink, give Ianoth two blink's worth of time, and linger on Reith. "It'll be interesting to see how she flies this time." Apparently he's not going to try and drag Lanmith away -- that particular argument has already been made.
Adria stops a few feet from Chiyath, looking up at her seriously. Her eyes narrow, then close for a moment. The green shifts her attention ever so briefly from her suitors to Adria. Then her wings spread again and she's off for the feeding grounds. With a slow exhalation of breath, the greenrider looks between the riders and their expressions - especially the sour-looking trio of older men. "Flattering," she notes dryly.
M'vari raises a warning finger when X'drian addresses him, saying simply, "So as not to make this worse than it has to be, I'm pretending you're not here. Don't mess with that." While everyone else stares at Chiyath, Reith enjoys the luxury of wandering on off toward the feeding grounds, too, just a nice little hop over the fence in the green's wake. "Better yet," his rider echoes after Sh'van, tilting the neck of the bottle toward the Weyrsecond.
X'drian isn't sour. X'drian isn't looking at Adria or her green is all. He's letting Ianoth drink his fill at that particular well. Ianoth follows in Chiyath's wake, quickly catching a beast. then he toys with it slowly stabbing it as X'drian looks daggers at M'vari. Upper lip curling in a sneer, he removes his eyes from the brownrider, and his gaze ends up on Adria. His gaze flickers and with difficulty manages to stay on her face.
Chiyath is all graceful efficiency, swooping down across the herds, plucking a beast from them, and silencing it's cries - all in mere beats of her wings. When she lands, she's already blooding, as daintily as one can. Fairly glowing in the night air, the green's jadestone wings rustle restlessly, moving almost like dancer's fans. It doesn't take very long for her to finish - her wings flick wide as her head lifts to survey her audience with bright eyes.
Lanmith's taken to the feeding grounds with no fanfare, no trumpeting, no noisy kill and bleat of death. There's a single thump as his prey goes down, his wings mantling over the kill. Elsewhere Sh'van sends his gaze skyward in a, 'don't make me separate you two' plea that remains unspoken. Like the others, like them all, he turns toward Adria as if pulled. And if he doesn't look thrilled and ecstatic, neither is he leering. He looks, in fact, much as he always does, if a bit more distracted.
Dioscuth makes up for inexperience in copious amounts of enthusiasm as he hops the fence and swipes down a herdbeast himself. He makes a mess of the blooding--probably at least as much is on him and the ground as in his mouth, but he seems to be enjoying himself nevertheless, and he keeps shooting glances over at Chiyath, to see if she's noticing him. He rumbles happily when she does look around, earning a roll of his eyes from I'neph and a muttered, "Stop showing out." The weyrling, so gleeful earlier, is starting to look a little nervous and a touch greener for the blooding.
Adria is left in Chiyath's wake, her expression betraying a certain nervousness as she watches the green go. She chews on her lower lip briefly, then turns back to the group in time to catch X'drian's gaze. Immediately flushing, she looks away, beginning to head for the caverns. With one hand on the bowl wall to steady herself, she tells them with a slight tremor in her tone, "Going up fast this time..."
Reith's damn happy just to kill stuff and drink some blood. It's like a really screwed up chance for a dragon to cut loose and be vicious with no repercussions, killing herdbeasts he has no intentions of eating. After four of these, only two of which he actually bloods. "Yes, and - as such - we all should get moving. Gentlemen?" suggests M'vari. He's done this too many times to do anything stupid like APPROACH Adria. He gestures her to proceed him, explaining, "Somewhere less - exposed."
Blooding done, Ianoth's waiting now, the ravaged carcass at his feet, tribute to Chiyath. As the green evaluates her potential mates, he arrogantly lifts his head, flairing wings. Hey honey, it's all /right/ here. X'drian grinds his teeth as Adria moves away from him, following willingly enough - more than willingly, now that Ianoth's gone in flightlust. Perhaps intentionally, he moves behind Adria at just the right angle to cut M'vari off.
Chiyath springs into the sky.
Adria is just trying to ignore anything but getting to the flight cave - sniping or cutting off included. "Oh -" she says - and the dragons are away.
Chiyath> Chiyath takes little time in widening the gap between her pursuers and herself - her wings beat swiftly, lifting herself higher into the cloudless night sky - a small form - really small, incomparison - set against the stars. Her body twists when she's well above the bowl, and she turns to dive at an angle that would be near suicidal for any dragon save a green. Her tail curves with the turn, then flicks in challenge as she begins to drop.
Chiyath> Ianoth makes no effort to follow Chiyath's course. Instead he settles for simply rising into the night sky, his dark hide glimmering in Timor's glow. Let her challenge the others, he will wait for her to tire, unable to match her acrobatics. He does, however shadow Dioscuth closely, obviously trying to intimidate the younger, smaller bronze.
Chiyath> Lanmith launches into the air, his bulk making him one of the last dragons after Chiyath. He concentrates, for now, on gaining ground, though her sudden dive has him pulling up contemplatively. With but a moment's hesitation he angles over, trying to meet her coming down as he heads up.
Chiyath> Reith was so happy killing stuff that he nearly forgot WHY he was killing stuff. Using the fenceline for leverage, breaking a section of the upper railing, he skips up after the green. Smaller than the competition, he's still no match for Chiyath and one almost wrenching turn drives home the point. Not as clever as Lanmith, not as patient as Ianoth, he continues to shadow her as best as a brown can, ever a sizeable step behind her.
Chiyath> Dioscuth crouches and then springs aloft, wings beating several times in quick succession as he seeks altitude after Chiyath. Unfortunately, as soon as the green dives he's quick to abandon that effort to drop down after her, unable to resist. He can't match the angle, though, and quickly gives up, crooning in disappointment as he seeks to catch back up, throwing himself whole-heartedly into the chase. He's so wrapped up in the green that he doesn't even really notice Ianoth hovering right over his shoulder just yet.
Adria does manage to lead everyone to the flight cave, though she's looking a bit pale by the time they all get there. She zeroes in on a chair, and heads directly to sag into it wearily. Her amber gaze flicks up to the others riders there, one hand flexing around a chair rail. Truth be told, she looks about as ill as I'neph did.
M'vari thinks about how hard he'd have to swing to break his bottle over X'drian's head. Fortunately, none of you are privvy to that. To the unpsychic eye, he just hefts it by the neck, testing the weight with one hand as he falls a few steps to the rear. For a guy who drinks a lot and has a piss-poor temper (and a big f'ed up crush on the greenrider in question), he's remarkably collected under the circumstances.
Sh'van rakes a hand back through his hair as he enters the weyr, merely the last of several if the tousled brush is any indication. He has no words for either his prey or competition; instead his attention has turned once more -- still -- inward, leaving his feet to carry him by instinct and peripheral guidance.
There's a certain little-boy-lost quality in I'neph's expression as he sets about trailing the older men and Adria. He glances back over his shoulder once as the dragons take flight, then follows mutely along to the weyr, where he stops and hovers, shifting as uncomfortably as Dioscuth did earlier. Maybe this flight stuff isn't all it's cracked up to be.
X'drian ignores M'vari. Nyah. He leans against the table, just out of arm's reach of Adria. A glance is spared to the other riders, before he focuses back on her. A rumbled, "Look like you need water, Adria," and he's glancing around for a pitcher or glass or something. Anything to avoid fixing hungry eyes on the greenrider.
M'vari helps X'drian in a roundabout way. Crouching in the doorframe, he lays the bottle down on its side and rolls it across the floor toward Adria. As bottles do, however, this one gets distracted on the way, spinning out about halfway across the room, rolling uselessly in a lopsided circle. "That's farther than I expected it to go," he admits, risking an apologetic look across the room to Adria - and then looks somewhere else in a hurry.
Weirdly, Adria seems -more- nervous and worried than the first time Chiyath rose. While X'drian's avoiding looking at her, the greenrider avoids looking at M'vari - instead catching I'neph's expression and managing to offer a somewhat sympathetic smile, if a brief one. To the Weyrleader's offer, "I'm - I'll be fine."
Chiyath> The night couldn't be clearer for watching a flight, and Chiyath seems determined to put on a show to match. Her dive is sharp, but short - her wings snap out and her drop shallows flat. However short, the dive gives the green a burst of speed and she shoots across and out of the bowl's airspace entirely. Still above Ianoth and Lanmith, shadowed by Dioscuth, she puts her foot on the gas, so to speak. Any crooning or anything is roundly ignored - she's -flying- over here.
Chiyath> Dioscuth and Reith. Dammit.
I'neph breaks off his under-his-breath mutterings about nobody offering /him/ water--at a time like this, he still finds a way to feel put-out--to stare at Adria in return for her smile. Belatedly, he flashes one of his own, a rather goofy attempt at a grin that fades quickly, leaving the young bronzerider looking about as sheepish as M'vari.
Sh'van swings wide, leaving the door to cut Adria off from any ill-considered lunges for the wardrobe. "Remember what I told you," he tells the air over her head vaguely, his awareness dipping in and out of focus. He gives the others, men and Adria alike, very little of his attention, save for that single sentence.
Chiyath> Reith's not built for this crazy flying, babe. Having been fool enough to chase Chiyath down, he's now fool enough to try and brake as fast as she did. His wingsails snap full of wind as he falls below her altitude. With a grunt, he pulls up in a sharp angle to try and catch up to the green both in terms of height and distance. Very not smooth, but damned if he isn't pulling out all the stops.
X'drian rolls his eyes. He pushes off the desk, prowls forward and scoops up the bottle. M'vari's offering. A distraced look down at it, and then he moves back to his perch against the desk, half lounging, half slouching back against it. There is a sense of leashed impatience about him as he puts the bottle down on the desk. The 'clunk' is loud in the tension-filled weyr.
Chiyath> Lanmith couldn't really have expected the catch to be made so easily, but a guy has to try. He offers an admiring rumble for Chiyath's metaphorical fire-lighting, then knuckles down to try and gain some ground. As Sh'van below, he spares his rivals only the briefest of glances, using it instead to judge his position in relation to theirs, and to give himself the smoothest flight path.
M'vari wipes his palms on his knees and straightens up, chasing the bottle across the room. The exchange of smiles between Adria and I'neph is met with a shifty-eyed peer at the youngest bronzerider that makes him miss his window for retrieving his whiskey - now X'drian's got it. With a snort, he retreats back to his corner to glower. For now.
Chiyath> Ianoth pulls up hard, catching one of the thermals coming over the mountaintops out of the bowl. His aim is to get above Chiyath. Flying? Hell yes, he's flying. And no fancy tricks. Just brute strength and force to get him as high as he can while remaining as close as he can to the fleeing Chiyath, back on her left, trying to get into her blind spot as she climbs and concentrates on the others.
Adria furrows her brow at Sh'van's words, trying to remember. When she looks the Weyrsecond's way, she manages to clue in, even as hazy as she's looking. Her gaze then flicks from man to man, and she laughs with an edgy tone, dropping her head into her hands. The clunk of the bottle makes her jump, and she just says - to her future embarrassment - "The only person I've slept with is Geneve." That'll help with the tension!
Chiyath> Forget patience, forget holding back, forget saving something for the finish. Dioscuth, with the recklessness of the young and super-competitive, is giving the chase his all, even at this still-early stage. When Chiyath speeds up, he vainly tries to keep the pace, winging his way after her doggedly.
To hell with this. M'vari goes for the bottle.
X'drian is apparently unnerved by that statement as well, for he shoves the bottle at M'vari in a rare effort at solidarity. Obviously he needs it more. Jaw clenching and unclenching, he keeps finding his eyes drifting back to Adria, the way she's cradling her head in her hands, the fall of her hair - right. There go the eyes again, to look around the cave. The bed - oh, nope, that's not safe ground either.
Chiyath> Chiyath is a pale figure against the night sky, her bright hide shimmering under Belior's full moon. Her wings begin to beat swiftly to propel her high again, making a wide graceful arc back towards the Weyr. Ianoth's trick seems to work - she's unaware of him right now, her attention on Reith and Lanmith, but more Dioscuth, who's going all-out speed-wise. Though she's quick, her wingbeats cost visible effort and energy - the green is straining to rise fast enough to keep the shadowy forms behind her, but she's too small to sustain this kind of effort -now-.
Sh'van takes several hasty steps forward before remembering himself, his expression flicking between the desire to comfort and lust. Damn Lanmith anyway. Damn Chiyath. "You don't have to..." he begins, then stops, his hands flexing and knotting. Off he goes vague again, off into his own little world where there are no others.
Fish-like, I'neph opens his mouth to answer Adria, but no sound comes out just then. Pausing to lick his lips and clear his throat, he manages this time, a simple, somewhat strangled, "That's nice."
Adria really really doesn't need to look up right now. Even with her mind fogged by Chiyath's determined attempts to get -away-, she seems aware that this is one of her less diplomatic moments. But, in a sense, it had to be said. As the green starts to slow above, she blinks, looking up in the direction of the bowl wide-eyed. "-Already?- No, keep -going-..."
Chiyath> The trick to making a surge early on is to keep enough in reserve for a second later. Lanmith's been at this long enough to know both how and more importantly, why. The copper of his wingsails flashes in Belior's wide-open gaze when he makes his second attempt, the angle of his attack nearly vertical to come in from below the tiring green. All she need do is fold her wings and he'll be there, ready, waiting, and available.
Chiyath> Getting above her impossible at this point, Reith elects just to tail Chiyath from below and behind, not so much patient with his position as content with it: He's within reach. Half a length below her and a few to the rear, he weaves a few feet back and forth on either side of her haunches, looking for any opening - any clear shot when he could put that little extra oomph to meet her height, preferably without meeting her talons in his face at the same time, but that's the risk every male takes.
Chiyath> Ianoth has finally made it perhaps a dragonlength above her, and closed the gap while she tired and became distracted. It's surpising that a dragon so large can be so silent. Or so sneaky, positioning himself so that the moonlight won't throw his shadow onto the struggling green. Coming in from above her, on her left and in that blind spot, he just dips lower, stretching out neck, tail and limbs, hoping to snag her as she breaks up from those under her that would claim her. It's hard to be patient, it's hard to wait for the last dodge, the last movement, but wait he will, with his rider's patience bolstering his own.
X'drian's hands clench on the edge of the desk, a faint beading of perspiration on his brow. He unconsciously leans forward murmuring, "Wait for it. Wait..."
Chiyath> Young, still growing, inexperienced, and overstretched, Dioscuth is flagging, too, at least as quickly as Chiyath, probably more so. Gamely, though, he keeps trying, pushing himself stubbornly forward and taking a rather waspish snap at another dragon who is steadily gaining on his tiring self. He's not willing to admit defeat just yet, however, and while the others who've been smart enough to hold something back kick things into high gear, the youthful bronze gathers the dregs of his energy together as well for one last surge forward, a last-ditch effort to close the distance between himself and Chiyath once and for all.
M'vari wouldn't call it solidarity - but, then, he's not talking so much right now. Cap unscrewed, left to fall on the ground, he mumbles into the mouth of the bottle, "Keep going? Shells, woman, get it over with." Pern needs God at times like these, some higher authority to whom men can appeal when all else fails.
Another sign of tension from Sh'van: he rubs the back of his right hand against his upper lip. "Not close enough," he tells Adria's hair, already resigned to the surely inevitable result of a bronze chasing a green. "Just... remember." This last for her - or for him, or for any who would hear.
Chiyath> Chiyath is small, and -tired- really - she's had a busy flight if not a -long- one. Leave endurance to the golds. However, as much as Dioscuth has that one last youthful surge of energy, so does the green. She doesn't drop, but puts on a burst of speed to outstrip the weyrling bronze, Reith, Lanmith - and pretty much flies directly into Ianoth. Wow, that'll go over well. The green doesn't seem to care too much now that she's caught, allowing the bronze to envelop her.
Chiyath> Ianoth does envelop her, fiercely crowing his triumph. There'll be no living with him now! the crow turns quickly to a croon as he supports the tiring green in the air.
Chiyath> Dioscuth can't muster another wingbeat as he watches Chiyath fly straight into another. With a heart-broken croon, he stretches out his wings and glides downward to collapse on the bowl floor, utterly spent.
Chiyath> Well, shoot. Reith dips back off toward the feeding grounds to break some more fences or kill some more herdbeasts or just generally tear stuff up.
Chiyath> Lanmith may not be as resigned as his rider, but he takes the loss well. Far better than Dioscuth, anyway. He heads back for the ground, there to hunker near the entrance to the living caverns.
X'drian pushes away from the desk, taking the couple of steps to claim Adria. He, at least, shows a little more decorum than Ianoth, offering his hand out to her, eyes bright, face flushing.
M'vari drops the bottle and walks out, undoubtedly hoping that X'drian slips in the growing puddle of whiskey and breaks his head open and spills his tiny brains all over the floor.
Sh'van ducks out with a last wince -- lucky Adria, for that to be one of the last things she sees before X'drian's triumph.
I'neph can't decide whether to look relieved or disappointed as he turns to unceremoniously flee.
Small graces - Adria's too wide-eyed and caught up in all this to notice all the badness -already- brewing outside. She takes the offered hand, pulling herself up and out of the chair, trembling. With one last coherent thought, she says, "Damn." And that's about it for thinking.