Fort Weyr - Northeast Bowl
The northern end of the bowl can be an intimidating area, being that Fort is the largest weyr. The far north wall contains the gigantic opening to the hatching caverns, and to the west of that can be seen the sprawling ledges and carved stair cases that mark the way to the administration complex and the training grounds were candidates and weyrlings can often be found. The west cliff wall towers up, dotted here and there by darker openings that mark individual weyrs before it tapers to a point at Tooth Crag.

It's midafternoon at the end of summer at Fort, which makes it a perfect time for dragons lounging in bowls to get some good sunning naps in. Kouzevelth, who for the past day has been emitting a glow enough to send the other goldriders packing, sleeps. Or simply suns. Whichever it is, it doesn't actually last too long — to the consternation of her rider, who had been lounging against her dragon's foot reading a book. Suddenly, Kouzevelth's head snaps up; the vicious tail lashes once, twice, three times, and Inri is jumping out of the way in case a foreleg swipe is coming next. "I know you wouldn't hit me on purpose," she tells her irritably, "but what are you doing?" Answer: nothing, verbal. Just glowing. And letting out a loud bugle to gather all's attention — the storm queen rises at last.

Even the end of summer at Ista brings with it a certain amount of heat, and despite turns of experiencing it, S'u is still more than happy to escape from it whenever possible. Sent on an errand by a certain Junior, the Istan bronze rider seems to be taking his time - letting the sun set and the heat fade before returning home. Of course, with Kouzevelth emitting that rather interesting glow, it seems that Tzettenvonth is in no hurry to return either, the burnished bronze perched upon an unoccupied ledge, stretched out rather lazily, one faceted eye settled on the gold, just keeping a watch on her for the time being, though his tail twitches once at her bugle - Play it cool, man, play it cool.

M'ta has been hanging around Fort a bit lately, mostly at his dragon's behest. It's said bronze that descends near the gold, his eyes beginning to whirl. Copper and rust war for dominance on his hide, broken up by the darker form of an oak tree along his chest that seems to blow in an unseen breeze and his features are more gracile than most bronzes, lighter and more delicate. He answers the gold's bugle with his own bright challenge that branches three tones into something almost like music. The form of his rider comes running after, his long ginger-red hair flowing behind him as well as the tails of his long black flight coat as he makes good speed towards gold and rider. His features, like his dragon's, are more delicate, giving him a decidedly androgynous appearance and making gender difficult to discern if not for the bronze Eastern wingrider's knot on his shoulder. His voice is heard before he's too close, shouting after the bronze, "Sharding dragon! You don't have to /between/ three dragonlengths!" He puffs out a breath as he comes to a stop, taking a moment to catch his breath after, though he does at least raise a hand in a greeting salute to the goldrider before pulling a small skin of water out of one pocket and guzzling several gulps, "Sorry for the rude arrival, ma'am. Eastern's duties to Fort and her queens."

Up on his ledge, Dremkoth has been keeping tabs on his glowing clutchmate. He's young, inexperienced, but in the words of Sebasitian, 'there's just something about her!' So he's there, intently watching but keeping his distance so as not to crowd her. Or well, it might have something to do with the fact that D'ani has been sitting on his muzzle while the eager young bronze tail-flips his annoyance at being held to his ledge. "You aren't chasing her. Period. Ezra would never forgive if you- if I-" Not going there, not even in his mind. "Stay-" he's saying for the umpteeenth time when Kouzevelth calls and Dremkoth yanks his muzzle out from under D'ani's bottom, nips his rider's jeans at the belt and drops off his ledge with the Weyrsecond flailing and yelling fit to wake the dead. He deposits the young man right in from of Inri and then croons a 'helloooo dollllll' to the queen. His rider? Forgotten. You were saying D'ani?

S'ic makes his ways slwoly slowly along the bowl speaking softly to his bronze as he goes. The young harper turned rider laughs as something his lifemate said. At the bugle Xtzaltuth head snaps about and around towards the near by gold. letting out a soft crooning sound in the golds dirrection, his tail flicking slighltyh behind him. "Oh no…." S'ic mumbles to his lifemate as he looks about quickly.

Velokraeth has a knack for being in the right place at the right time (though his rider disagrees) and today, well, fate shines on him again, doesn't it? The pale bronze had been enjoying some of the last of summer's sun and warmth on the comfort of his own ledge and though usually one to drowse he is restless this day and thus alert and watchful. And ahh, does his patience pay off! Kouzevelth's call is answered by a rich and mellow, rolling bass that is his. Stretching luxuriously, Velokraeth bides his time for now, keeping most of his attention on the glowing queen but more interestingly is taking stock of those who come to court her favor. As for Th'ero? The Weyrleader is no where to be seen yet, but give it time.

Zhaoth shouldn't really be here, but the Xanadu Wingleader decided to take a detour to Fort, for one reason or another. Now that the brown is here, it becomes clear that he's competition when the storm queen gathers her suitors attention. Zhaoth is in fact being larger than some of Fort's bronzes at least so that he's standing head to head, toe to toe, wing to wing with them. Don't count this fellow out. The ruddy brown with his craggy shape slips into the gathering crowd, beckoned by the queen, something within triggered at last, instantly swooning over Kouzevelth's glow. He's not one to swoon at though, compared to the other delicate shapes, he's all edge and thorn, rough and torn, looking rather disformed. It gives him a grizzled intimidating look and somehow, it fits that his rider looks the same way, except, his rider is more muscular than craggy. Lan is in fact, scruffy. Where the clean shaven look was attempted, a shadow of stubble lies across his chin and face, while he looks rather calm at the scene forming up around him. As a brownrider, he knows the chances are slim, as Zhaoth's rider, he knows it's even worse! The brown in his nine turns of flight, has only ever managed to hook onto two greens in all his runs, so the Wingleader doesn't look too concerned at his lifemate's fancy. Let the bronzeriders sweat it out, he'll just grin and make conversation, "Ahoy, Xanadu's duties."

"And to you all," Inri answers in turn: Eastern, Ista (if unspoken), Xanadu. Despite the kindness of her general words, she seems a bit wary of the people now all surrounding her, giving each an assessing, narrow-eyed glance in turn. Should she have worn a sundress, on a day like this? Probably not; showing too much skin. People will keep looking at her. Something she normally likes and something that right now she doesn't — D'ani's arrival, which normally would have heralded a torrent of giggles, now only gets a brief laugh and a, "Hello."

As for Kouzevelth? She is satisfied. She is pleased. She has her layout now: the game's afoot. Her playthings await her, and warbling back at Velokraeth — if not, indeed, all the others — she takes off into the air, tail lashing even more wildly than before, whipcord in the air. Mind it, gents, it's bizarrely long. Her mental winds snap across the minds of all her suitors, accompanied by a single thunderclap, as she finds her chosen beast (or two, or three) and bloods it messily.

Tzettenvonth lingers on the ledge, turning his head to carefully eye each of the other males in turn - Fort, Eastern, Xanadu.. the bronze remaining stretched out, though he creeps ever closer to the edge, claws slipping over the edge, and then his forelegs - until he's dropping downwards towards the feeding grounds with a bugle, Istan bronze set into motion by the mental storm. It isn't long before Tzettenvonth is setting a storm of his own into motion, the iridescent green hues of his head knobs flashing as he ducks his head to the first beast, quickly draining the drink of choice.

S'u, meanwhile, remained absent. At least, until it was too late for the bronze rider to argue with his life mate, for it is only as Tzettenvonth begins blooding that S'u is appearing - the young man looking flushed as he awkwardly pushes his curls out of his face, eyes slipping over those gathered, attempting to identify exactly whom has been challenged. "Shards.." He murmurs, before ducking his head awkwardly at Inri, making no move to push himself closer to the gathering crowd.

The wiry bony creature that is Zhaoth, who looks like he lacks a pot of oil on his hide, shows off his rich vibrant earth tones with a sudden splay of his wings and an inhale that expands his chest and draws up his neck with spine straightening. Peacocking, his stance widens, his rib cages flexes as he bloats the stomach, pumping himself up for the show, holding his shoulders sharply and his tail drawn up behind him with a lepoards curl and flick. Sure he's a brown, but those who didn't know him could mark him for an oddly coloured bronze all the same, he has the size and the build. Why not chase a queen! Only the sky is the limit and the luck of the draw. Muscles draw tense as Kouzevelth takes off, his head on a swivel as he watches her, studious, observing, waiting. If it's a false start he'd waste all his energy in the first few moments. Ahh, but then, the blood enters his nostrils, flaring them wide, the scent, the desire, flooding purple and red into his gaze. With surprisingly graceful movements, the brown of Xanadu springs aloft, using those massive wings of his to glide safely over the heads of other dragons and toward the fleeing herd of beasts. One of those he needs. Without care which one, he pile drives a beast into the ground, crushing it and devouring it in a matter of a hop skip jump.

Ers'lan scrubs the back of his head, "Best of luck ta ya, ye big scallywag!" This, to his lifemate, whom his tone is affectionate, though teasing. His attention swings toward the other folks, eyes lingering on the men, squinting a bit here and there, sizing them up - in a way that a person sizes up competition as well as potential… afterthoughts. His eyebrows make suggestive little waggles. Cough. His blue gaze does find Inri in all the mix, but he is unfortunate in that he doesn't know her.

M'ta bobs quick nods between sips of water from his rapid dash, then turns suddenly as Rielth's leaf-patterned wings downsweep rapidly, answering her bugle. His mind as it touches Kouzevelth's back is all spiced wine, autumn wind, spice pie along with the melodic strumming of a guitar, but no words. Not yet, at least. Rukbat's light glints off the metallic edges of his tones as he covers that short distance. He gives the queen her space as he, too, dives onto a beast and latches onto its throat, gulping down the warm, salty blood within, oblivious, now, to anything but the gold and his competition while his rider is left to guzzle a couple more gulps of water and tuck the skin back away before motioning that Inri can precede him towards the pens, "Ma'am." He glances at the other males, then heads that way after the weyrwoman.

D'ani flails for balance just the once - turning it into a flourished sort-of-bow. Heh. "Inri. Nice weather we're having isn't it?" Like they do that all the time and that was just the way he gets from ledge to bowl. Casual. Smooth (only not really, he's breathless). Hoo boy. While she's turned to speak to the others he yanks his jeans down from the wedgie Dremkoth has given him, shoots the flirting bronze a glare and runs a hand to smooth his hair.

The dark bronze Dremkoth is ignoooooring his rider, seeking to cozy up to Kouzevelth while not quite touching her. He's not one to roughly shoulder his way past the other bronzes, but slink and shrug while squeezing in between the ones he needs to so he can remain near her. He explodes into a puff of dust after her, sweeping into the sky to drop upon his intended victim, latching teeth on and draining the blood neatly, nary a drop spilled while legs are cocked at the ready to spring and his violet eyes are locked on her.

Velokraeth is still stretching those wings of his, about the only thing ON him that is nice to look at. The rest of him? Not so much. Oversized head, mismatched and odd-shaped eyes, stunted limbs and boxy rump, he is no stunning example of draconic kind but he makes up for it with his wit and cunning. Which he uses now to study those who are gathering, studying them closely all while he coils himself, prepared to leap from his ledge the moment the time comes. Then it does, abrupt and sudden which leaves Velokraeth to grunt and snort in a mixture of surprise and utter amusement. Oh, so THIS is how she plays, is it? Kouzevelth is off and so does the pale bronze follow with a powerful kick of his hind legs. He'll mind that tail and give her a respectful distance, mingling for a moment among the crush and rush of bronze and brown suitors as they dash on to the feeding grounds. No time to waste and no time to be neat about it, Velokraeth snags the nearest beast to blindly panic into his path and bloods, tail coiling and lashing behind him.

With the mass exodus of the dragons comes the hurried form of Th'ero rushing from the centre bowl, only to slow on his approach with his head craned up towards the skies as Velokraeth pursues along with all the others. Swearing out loud, the Weyrleader lingers long enough for another to catch up, though his eyes are locking onto all the gathered riders: some familiar, many not. Edging closer, he stops again just on the fringe of the group, standing tensely and looking as though he's about to face the most torturous of tortures right now.

Niumdreoth follows the others towards the feeding grounds, long tail swaying and he soon hops over the fence with simple ease. Heardbeasts are running in all directions trying to escape all the other dragons that are leaping down upon them. The brown is lucky and is able to snag hold of a large beast and drag it downwards with a quick snap of his head. Fangs dig in and he is draining it quickly. His swirling gaze settles on that lovely glowing hide though and he is watching her ever so closely. Abigail is finally making her way onto the scene, her pale gaze following after her dragon whom gets a glaring, and out and out glaring. He didn't learn anything from the last one, and now it's too late for her to attempt to pull him back for sure. A faint sigh escapes her and she moves along heading a bit closer to the group. Once there she pauses, arms folding in front of her and she lets her gaze slowly flick over the ones that are present. She catches sight of Ers'lan and there is a bit of amusement seen. "Hello Lan." Is offered in a friendly greeting tone a bit amused to see him here. She does offer a nod to Inri as well, and a slight finger waggle of a wave.

Kimmila is…here? Varmiroth is chasing. No. Just kidding. She's here for moral support. Or something. Actually it looks like /she/ doesn't even know why she's here, though she sticks closely to Th'ero's side, eyes sweeping the assembled riders including Inri with a toughtful expression.

Moyrel is, well, here. No, she doesn't have a draconic stake here, she's just spectating. She takes a seat on the ground and watches the events unfold.

Ers'lan steps confidently toward the pack of riders, eyes still scoping them out for lust and desire have started that ticking time bomb. Someone is going to end up with him, that or he'll have to find a big keg of beer to simmer down from this show. And when it comes to gold flights, there is no turning back, so just grin and enjoy it. Something like that, right? Oh hey, there's the Weyrleader. Lan boldly steps over toward the man, "Weyrleader," a nod of his head, as he's had some past dealings with the man and shows his given respect to the bronzer, not that his eyes don't linger a little longer than normal on those curly locks. AHH…. and Th'ero is saved by one of his Wingsecond's, as Abigail reverts Lan's attention away from that long hair toward her. The amusement is shared, because he does take the few steps to reach an arm out and plop it across her shoulder, "Allo Abigail. Reckon I was looking fer ya before my scallywag of a lout be getting excited. Reckon that gold thar be warming the cockles of Zhaoth's heart, aye." The brownrider has a thick seafarring accent, but has no hint of booze on him today. The accent comes out in times such as these.

Oh. Look. Help has arrived. Inri reacts to Kimmila's presence by trying to move toward her side, regardless of the proximity of Th'ero; they'll both keep her safe from the others, right? She knows they only have eyes for each other, and Kimm has done nothing but protect her before. "I don't like it," she whispers, though whether it's to Kimm or D'ani, it's not clear. "I mean. Not the weather. I like the weather. I don't like — this." Her eyes are darting, she looks paranoid; nothing like she has been proddy, which has mostly just been giggly and somewhat impulsive. All that nervous energy, coming from the building stormfront, has been sucked out of her and left her edgy. "There are so many." People, presumably. Strangers. Finally, she remembers one of them spoke to her, and glances back over to M'ta with — "I'd rather not. Watch."

Which is exactly how Kouzevelth wants it, of course! The foreign dragons do not bother her; each gets her attention mentally for a split second, taking stock. You'll do, and you, and you, and all of you. One, two, three beasts blooded: three is an excellent number, and just right for her (today). Her sudden takeoff from the pens threatens to bean any dragons too close to her in various body parts with her massive wings, lightning crackling and bouncing from dragon-mind to dragon-mind. Come and play. Which one of you is worthy of the prize? It's got to be someone fast, because she is pulling no punches; Kouzevelth is up, up up in record time, moving as sharp and swift as her lightning might.

Kimmila reaches over to put a firm hand against Inri's lower back, standing strongly by her side. "You'll do fine," she whispers. "Just stay with her. Don't worry about the rest of them." Glancing at Ers'lan, the bluerider frowns sharply at the brownrider's attention to Th'ero's hair. RAWR. Possessive of the HAIR.

S'u begins to pick his way around the outside edge, remaining on the outskirts, the bronze rider's eyes glued to Inri as he begins to pace, even as the gold rider steps closer to those she feels will best protect her. The Istan pauses, tilting his head to determine the source of Kimmila's frown, before he's shaking his head and continuing on, giving one bronze rider a rough shoulder bump as he goes by - testing.

Tzettenvonth is doing a bit of testing himself, snarling at a bronze who sneaks 'too close' to his desired beast, the Istan bronze keeping up with the gold - one beast, two beast, red meat, dead meat. And then, Kouzevelth is disappearing, the storm-cloud taking to the skies, a bolt of lightning stretching from the ground to the heavens, and after a moment of hesitation, Tzettenvonth is managing to get skywards, having no fear as he chases the clouds - willing to enter the center of the storm. With each each downward stroke of his wings, he's climbing ever upwards, swiftly climbing - the wing man attempting to take the lead, cutting between the gold and another challenger.

Rielth lifts his bloody maw from the drained ovine corpse, his tongue snaking out to flick at some of the blood that lingers there before he snarls at his nearest opponent. It's not so much that he feels threatened as that he wants his space. No one is edging this performer out for the limelight. Not if he can help it. He bloods only two, though, pausing to meet her mind with his, sending subtle feelings of adoration and respect along with the spicy aromas and pleasant music. And when she launches, he's a wingbeat after, crooning as he goes, though his mind broadcasts a familiar tune: Bum bum bum buuuuuuum! Despite his size, his lighter form gives him speed. Oh, yes, he'll come and play. And when Tzettenvonth darts past him, he snaps his teeth at the other bronze's tail. NO CUTTING!

M'ta doesn't care nearly so much, he may enjoy the thrill of the chase, but he recognizes that, in the end, he doesn't need to punch his opponents. He inclines his head when Inri says she'd rather not watch and settles in a safe distance from her, waiting for the touch of flight to settle in and take his mind away. For now, the swishy-haired one is merely determined. And, apparently, oblivious to the fact that his hair isn't being oggled, there is no time for sadness, now is the time for the chase!

D'ani …can't stop Dremkoth. It was futile to even try. And now that he's nearer to Inri it's getting harder to want to… not have him chase. He barely notices the other riders, only a flick of dark brown eyes round them, at first more wary, borne of feeling protective of Inri, pausing on the Xanadu rider with a faint frown of displeasure - only because he looks rough - and then lingering on Th'ero with a growing edge of… whoa… possessiveness? Where'd that come from? He rubs his face with one hand soundly cursing Dremkoth under his breath while his eyes drift unwillingly but irresistibly to Inri. Will. Not. Stare. He sighs, drops his hand and… stares. Briefly. "Inri? Have I ever told you that you're lovely?" Yeep! Okay, yes he's long thought so but. How did those words escape his mouth?

Dremkoth is ready, having taken his second beast and sucked it dry all while watching Kouzevelth for an early departure. Her takeoff is followed by a split-second launch of his own. Please stow all small bags, make sure your trays are in their upright and locked position and buckle your seat belts folks, this flight is about to take off! He roars after her - but y'know, it's Dremkoth and so the lightweight is zooming rather than flapping heavily and menacingly. And of course he's sending images of the diamond stars across the backdrop of a gorgeous evening and promising to share with her every one of them when he catches her. See? He's worthy! He owns the stars she flies under.

Abigail yes she is the savior.. or something along those lines. Her pale gaze curiously stays on Lan for a few moments. "Ye did.. What be ye looking for me about?" This questioned curiously. The arm across her shoulders she doesn't seem to mind, any other day and it might be a different story. Her gaze flicks between Kimmila, Th'ero and then back to Ers'lan and she grins a moment. "Should I move ye out of striking range?" This questioned to Lan with a soft amused tone and shake of her head. Niumdreoth is blooding another beast when that lovely golden hide is working on taking off. His head lifts, form tensing as blood drips down his maw. A deep rumble escaping him and he leaps into the sky, wings spreading open wide and carrying him upwards, is not so much quick just yet but his movements are swift and strong. The lighting crackles across his mind from Kouzevelth cause his own brightly lit snow forest of a mind to be bathed in colors of yellow and orange.

Oh, wouldn't that be one for the records — a blue chasing a gold! Not quite so, as Kimmila is there on Th'ero's (very odd and randomly sputtered) request before he hastily stalked out of the living caverns. The Weyrleader just stands there, fidgeting but stiff in his movements, eyeing the other bronze and brown riders with narrowed looks. Even Inri is given a wary and suspicious look when the goldrider approaches and — of all things — he becomes protective of the bluerider. Not that she is any threat. Should he worry about Ers'lan, of whom he's missed the brownrider's lingering look. As for that hair, Th'ero will run a (shaking) hand through it as he seems to snap back to a former shell of himself and less Velokraeth. What is there to say that won't just be… awkward? "Can't be helped. Ignore them, focus on Kouzevelth." he says in his usual clipped and firm tone. Yeah… so not the best for moral support right now. Or ever. D'ani's possessive behavior is met with a cold look from Th'ero, followed by a snort for the Weyrsecond's flattery, mouth pressing into a grim line.

Velokraeth tosses the first kill aside, then the second and then a third in all rapid succession and foregoing any nitpicking. Fate favors him again and his last kill had taken him far enough from Kouzevelth's massive (but oh so impressive!) wingspan and so there is no concern from him to duck or dart out of the way. With a rumble that builds up into a full throated roar, much like a hearty laugh if anything, the pale bronze springs aloft. Invitation to play is received and accepted and with powerful sweeps of his wings he begins to join the exodus again as she goes up, up, up into those skies and he follows, undaunted and mind already beginning to weave a complex game plan of his own.

Who wouldn't be possessive of that hair?! It is a good thing Abigail came by to distract him, otherwise someone's fingers might've been stroking idly through those thick dark locks. Yeah that's right Kimmila, keep a strong hold of that hair! You go girl! Ers'lan's eyes are for the other brownrider present, oddly enough, his attention isn't so focused on the weyrwoman, maybe that'll be some comfort that a complete stranger isn't leering at her? Instead, he means to leer at the competitors, freak 'em out and all that! To Abigail, the man chuckles, seeing the gaze from Kimmila, to which he responds with a puckered kiss, blowing it to her. Plenty to go around. Wink. But he acts all innocent, "Striking range? No no, I like the view." Because he can watch all the others and look at them with a swarmy grin. Then his hand slides back from Abigail, to allow her movement as the dragons start to do the same, "Fergot ta ask ya something, which I forget now…" Being all fuddled with flight brain. Still, he murmurs, "Reckon our lot be narh having such a good chance in this, being out numbered as they are." In a crowd a bronzes, the two browns surely have their work cut out for them, "Reckon if they tag team it and work together," oh the plots and the scandals that could arise if that were ever to work! For now, the man swings his head up to follow the chase into the sky, "Thar they go!" As if announcing it to the world.

Zhaoth is dripping with blood and gore by the time he's ready to go and by that time, much of the crowd has already ascended to the sky. No worries baby, this one is an endurance flyer, one that likes to come from the back of the pack! Wahhhhoooo! That excitement seems to radiate from his mental voice, nothing in actual words, but the giddiness is apparent, as if one let out to do something against the rules. His long tapered wings snap and furl with each surge of motion, sticking close behind Niumdreoth, slip streaming him a little on the way up.

She — that is to say, Abigail — would also be Inri's savior if she hadn't locked on to Kimmila first. That and the bit where the bluerider isn't chasing. "Thanks," she whispers, soft — Th'ero's hair doesn't get any more attention from her than it normally does, but she's probably noticed it. And M'ta's hair, for that matter. She notices hair. "You're sweet," she tells D'ani, though she looks out for all her friends at once and adds, "and Dei is more lovely than I am." Or should be, to him. Doesn't stop her from smiling. Actually, she's starting to relax a little — everyone gets a smile, and Ers'lan's accent a quirked little grin. Even Th'ero is getting smiled at! But stay with your crazy dragon, Inri, she's being — her.

Snow is like rain, so Niumdreoth's snow is a delight; Kouzevelth happily sails through it with loving amber-warmth. Fondness is given to Dremkoth's stars, important as they are to her beloved sky. Tzettenvonth keeps pace, and he is gifted with mental laughter: come, faster! Even if you do not win you should play again. Only one can win, and she isn't playing any favorites, keeping as clear as possible of all of them regardless of whether or not she knows them. Zhaoth, Rielth, and of course scheming Velokraeth who she got much of her talents from? She knows they're there. She just hasn't got a plan for them yet. Except that she's going to suddenly bank to the left and end up flying sideways with one wing significantly higher than the other; nobody gets motion sick, right?

Kimmila is…not looking at Inri. She's looking at Th'ero, because gold flights affect everyone. Reaching up with her free hand, she briefly runs fingers luxuriously through his curls. "Faranth I hope you lose." Well. That's encouraging. Catching Ers'lan's blown kiss, she…flips him off. And then blows a kiss right back. MUAH. And, again, she runs fingers through Th'ero's hair if he doesn't, like…push her away. You /watching/, Ers'lan? Huh?! Oh yeah, and she slips that arm around Inri's waist just a bit. "Stay with her," she whispers.

Abigail can't help herself, a soft chuckle escapes her as she catches sight of Th'ero smooth out his hair. Her gaze turning to Ers'lan once more. "She has a mean bite.." Who though.. Kimmila? Hey she is just warning Ers'lan here after all. "Question?" There is a pause from her as Niumdreoth takes to the sky and she lifts her head to watch while taking ina slight breath. her eyes close for a moment and she tilts her head to the side. "Niumdreoth.. Won over at Eastern, don't count him out yet." She sure doesn't. Though the idea that both brown's work with one another is an amusing ones. "..Perhaps.. Would at least give the other's a real run for their money." Setting lose a pair of browns to battle it out with the bronzes, sure why not? Niumdreoth lets out a deep roar as he sweeps in from the side, wings carrying him after Kouzevelth. His snowy forest still found, lights during a bit light green and with a faint bit of red throughout the sky. The brown glances back to Zhaoth, a slight rumble escaping him before he continues to pull the other up a ways and then he'll dive downwards to follow after Zhaoth. Good to save ones energy as much as they possibly can.

S'u's spiraling continues, each pacing step bringing in him slightly closer, until he is hovering a few long steps from the gold rider and her protector in blue, lifting a hand to his lips to think, shaking his head occasionally. Softly murmuring to himself, he shakes his head a little, dragging himself back, away from the blood-fueled lust that has claimed his better half. And then, just as quickly, he is drawn back into the chase.

Tzettenvonth just lashes his tail at the Eastern bronze as Rielth's snapping jaws miss it, teasing him, taunting him without ever daring a backwards glance. He attempts to keep himself firmly between -that- bronze and the gold, at least for now, letting the other males continue their own jockeying for position. However, as Kouzevelth is banking, it is only her mental call that drags him after him, Zet nearly faltering as he struggles to change direction. While she remains off-kilter, he levels out quickly, once again chasing the storm, hoping to catch up before the true show begins.

M'ta's mind is with Rielth's now, shadowing his movements of the bronze above, though there's enough of the man left to snarl at D'ani's flirting with Inri. The chase is afoot and that's somewhat cheating, isn't it? He moves closer, then away, avoiding all the spoken interaction or perhaps unaware of it. Above, Rielth follows the sharp turn, crooning another melodic flirtation at the gold as his lighter form allows him to shadow her on the inside of the curve and gain sky, the change in lighting bringing out the irregular pattern of red, orange, and yellow between his headknobs and along his neck as he sails smoothly through the turn. If the Istan bronze is going to try to stay between him and his prize, his claws just might have to come into use, glittering wickedly as he takes advantage of his tilt to lash out at him before he starts to level out, his wings beating to gain sky, aiming to catch the gold as quickly as possible. He knows he doesn't always have the stamina to keep up with the more powerful bronzes, but his speed? That he can put to use.

Kim flipped the bird huh?! Ers'lan's chin ascends as he suddenly belts out a laugh, which is a good thing, because if flights effected him differently he might just have the gull to do something terrible. He still might, gold flights rattle lose all the wild cards. Ya just never know. Good naturedly, he winks at the blow kiss that is sent his way, watching how the bluerider takes advantage of the Weyrleader's hair. Oh yes, she's taking advantage of the hair! And of course he's watching. He also watches Kimmila's arm slip around Inri's waist, to which, draws his blue eyes back toward yes. Oh right, hello! That's what they're all supposed to be after. Yet, there is some real work to be done before he can have a piece of that golden scrumpet. It's this whole, work together thing. The communication it takes to make it happen in the sky causes the man to lose focus of those around him, eyes attuned upwards. Then finally, a chuckle, "Ah-hah. Reckon we got ourselves a flight!" An encouraging impish grin to Abigail as the browns start working together!

Zhaoth being near the back of the back has more time to react to the banking left, which would seem sudden to those too close to her, but to him, it's an easy arch to bank with. He shares a growl with Niumdreoth, an uncanny noise from him, as if protesting and relenting at the same time. There it is, he takes the charge into the banking corner with the other brown slip streaming behind him now. The vibrant sand russets are a beacon for Niumdreoth to follow and with a bit of good luck up ahead, while Tzettenvonth and Rielth are snapping at one another, the two browns seem to zip right on by! See ya! With a flash and a twist and good mental vibrations, these two browns are tag teaming their way forward through the pack! Their smarts and teamwork might just give them the advantage!


It would be entertaining to see a Xanaduian brownrider decked by Th'ero for pawing his hair (or would that be Kimmila throwing the punches?) if D'ani could but be aware of it. Or even the cold look given to him by his Weyrleader. But oblivious, thy name is D'ani, who edges closer, protectively to Inri, growling, "I don't like it either," but more because of those OTHERS. His fists are clenched and his eyes half-lidded slide up and down Inri despite his best intentions. Who's Dei? His brow wrinkles, for the moment the name confuses him - thanks Dremkoth. He flanks Inri eyeing all of the other men - his own weyrleader included and Abigail too for that matter with a barely-controlled glare - though he almost laughs derision at M'ta's snarl. Kimmila he doesn't seem to mind, maybe because she's petting Th'ero.

In the skies, Dremkoth wheels and follows Kouzevelth, familiar enough with her flight patterns after all of the months in weyrlinghood together. He ignores the rest of the pack - except to avoid them - that could hurt. He's not plotting or planning with anybody. He's a solo pilot, baby! And not above a sneaky move or two either. Just because his rider is all about honor doesn't mean he has to be. So a dip of one shoulder slinks him between a brown, a lash of a tail-whap to the face to slow his rival isn't something he's shy about.

Smiles make Th'ero all the more wary and Inri is no exception — at first. At first she is only stared at and then he is smiling back but not his usual small and reserved smile. It's broad, wry and smugly self-assured and more Velokraeth than the bronzerider's true nature and who knows how far it would have gone, as Kimmila is running her fingers through his hair distracts him. Blinking to clear his head, as if drunk, he looks down at her quizzically only to then fidget and shoot sharp looks to the other riders. Did they hear that? Tilting his head, he mutters in a low growled voice to Kimmila. "… not helping!" Yet he doesn't push her away. Oh no, he's slipping an arm around her, oblivious to her exchange with Ers'lan, too caught up with noticing Kimmila's arm slipping about Inri's waist. Helllooo? D'ani's edging closer and his growled comment have Th'ero looking up again and glaring, but keeping his tongue held in check. For now.

Velokraeth loves to scheme and puzzle out schemes, anything that puts his mind to work where his physical setbacks would otherwise hurt his chances. Flights are his forte though, despite the demands on strength and stamina — he's learned to covet both and use them sparingly. So he will linger back in the pack on purpose, falling beneath Kouzevelth's radar (or so he assumes) while she never leaves his. Ever watchful on the competition, he takes careful notes, mindful not to get too close though he's not against a few dirty tricks if he can pull it off without risking his own hide from retaliation on the other's part. Pick off the weak and off he goes again, skipping any fancy flying and soaring right by Tzettenvonth and Rielth as those two begin to bicker and snap. Ha! So it begins! Onward Velokraeth goes, shifting his position again as he dives under another bronze, swings around a brown, throwing a few mockingly taunting and oh-so sarcastic remarks back at them. Forget physical fights, how about some mind games? Only to the competitors. To Kouzevelth he only sends honeyed words or implied ones with a hidden sharpness like a candy coated razor blade and all the while he creeps and creeps closer.

Abigail is quiet for those few moments while Niumdreoth takes the back seat and Zhaoth is in the front. She is allowed to be a bit worried right? Sure, flights can get all crazy after all and her brown has scars from his last one. A soft chuckle escapes her at the look from Lan and she grins while nodding. "Aye that we do. Just need to get 'em to stick in until the end for sure." She doesn't even pay attention to the glares and snarls from others, as she stays put near Ers'lan. Plans are in motion. One of them should be able to get close to the finish line if they keep this up! Niumdreoth does indeed follow after that sandy russet form of the other brown, and he even lets out a bugling call to the bronzes that are left in there air dust?.. See ya later slow pokes! Is about what he is saying. His form shift and slips one way and then another before there is a swat of something sharp across his face one eye half closing, a deep snarling growl escapes his bloodied maw and his head turns to send a snap of his jaws towards Dremkoth. Though instead of slow down he speeds up just enough to come along side his bronze clutchmate, jaws snapping out once more to push him towards the side is possible. Another bronze sweeps down over him and his swirling gaze is on Velokraeth at those words.

So exciting! So delightful! That is the thrill of the chase, after all, isn't it! Kouzevelth warbles loudly as she shoots unpredictably downward, then around in a circle, and then back up, higher even than before, forcing browns and bronzes to follow an almost impossible to follow pattern. Niumdreoth and Zhaoth delight her, and she is sure to send her thunderclouds clapping their way, bouncing lightning between one and the other. That's the sort of machination she wants to see; like her flying, but more fun. Unfortunately, Velokraeth's mind games seem to please her more than anything, and that leaves her making what might be a perilous mistake; as her mental rain pours down and mental wind kicks up, so does a true wind, and that whipcord tail? Is lashing straight for poor Velokraeth at full speed. Is it an error, or does she just want to see what he does? Good question: Inri doesn't seem to have a clue. Inri looks horrified, hand to her mouth.

There is suddenly a fiery sensation across Tzettenvonth's shoulders, and with a loud trumpet, the Istan bronze is swiveling, attempting to counter the slash from Rielth with one of his own. After a moment, though, it seems that the slash was more than just an annoyance, as the Istan is suddenly dropping downwards, hissing as he abandons the chase as it shoots back upwards once more - perhaps he will at least get a bit of tender care from 'his' lady fair, after his return to Ista.

There is a matching yelp escaping from S'u, the pain slipping backwards through their bond, the bronze rider blushing, before he's hurriedly slinking away, moving to meet the falling bronze - No longer looking seeking a respite from Ista's heat, and more than ready to return to it - And Ali.

A lash to the face huh? Zhaoth senses that his tag team partner just got the face whipping of his life! He's not happy about it either! There's brotherhood involved behind the sudden interruption of his own flight pattern to seek revenge, but also giving way to allow Nium to take charge. Don't mess with Brown or else you're going to go down! Oh the good vibrations have suddenly turned aggressive. While the air space behind Kouzevelth is tightening as the competitors battle it out with wit and physical strength, Zhaoth suddenly dips to the other side of Dremkoth, right there wing movement for wing movement of the other, matching him in size and strength. There are teeth now snapping at him, unkind, punishment deserved, maybe even his own long tail whipping and snapping as he attempts to shoulder into Dremkoth and claw pay back to the bronze's hide for Nium's face! The plan is to slow him down and make him pay… something like that! Maybe a big old ROAR at the end to finalize the statement before he veers to chase after Velokraeth and of course, the glowing gold!

M'ta's emerald green eyes bore right at D'ani. He can smell the challenge. If Rielth weren't more occupied with the much more immediate threat of the Istan bronze… but he is, so M'ta, echoing him, only approaches the gold's rider, drawing nearer as Rielth works to gain on her lifemate. He'll outperform them in other ways. He's quick and tricksy in his own ways. Above, Rielth is immune to Velokraeth's mindgames and utterly unconcerned about the browns. He knows he's the best, if she should settle for another, it's merely out of pity. No, he doesn't have an ego /at all/. He keeps up his flirtatious croon, the notes soaring higher without losing their melody as he tries to woo the gold with his voice. When she chooses to go into an impossible to follow series of moves, the dextrous bronze breaks just slightly, maintaining his height and angling to follow her from above. It can be fun to drop down upon them and he's not the sort to allow them to lead him a merry chase, just a fun one. His croon turns to a bugle of triumph as one opponent is removed from the chase and he takes advantage of the gap Tzettenvonth leaves to angle towards Kouzevelth more tightly, his mind reaching out to hers now, plying her with that crisp combination of scent, taste, and sound. Come away, oh dragon child, and dance with me in the lands of Faerie.

Velokraeth is there to please! Fancy flying is not his thing, but if his wit will win the lady, well… you better believe he'll lay it on thick. Kouzevelth's erratic patterns are met with intrigue and amusement and it wouldn't be beyond the pale bronze to taunt her to further antics while he just cruises by to watch and wait. Pushing her to tire herself and then he'll be there to snare her, barring any clever and sneaky underhanded snatching from the other suitors! Tzettenvonth's roar is heard and Velokraeth's concentration wavers, his large head turning down in a moment of smug satisfaction to watch the bronze falter and fall back. He will pay for that small moment though and when the winds shift, he swings his head back around to focus back on the glowing gold when her tail is just suddenly there. Warbling in alarm, Velokraeth attempts to twist with a sharp and straining turn of wings and body, forward momentum almost halting on a dime but his bulk is just not made for such graceful maneuvers and so the whipcord tail strikes its mark. His blunted muzzle takes most of it as it lashes across but the force and momentum of his body has it reaching up to brush close enough to sting his eye as his head is all but whipped aside. Now it's Velokraeth's turn to roar in pain, stung in more ways that one as he writhes midair, shaking his head madly and clawing at it (cause that'll help!) and only half aware that he is dropping away and back. Down and down, not up and up and temporarily half blinded he thinks he's in the clear and goes to swing himself back into position only… there is a brown in his way! Poor Niumdreoth, does he even stand a chance before the bronze comes crashing in?

Down below, Th'ero had slowly begun to slip more and more into Velokraeth's mind as the flight progressed, forgetting that he is standing in the bowl with one arm around Kimmila and Inri nearby and all of the exchanges. Which is probably a bad thing, given what happens. The bronzerider jerks almost as violently as Velokraeth when the bronze is struck, breath sucking in in a sharp and agonized hiss that is then exhaled in a strangled cry of pain. He staggers back, likely pulled from Kimmila's hold as he begins to swipe at his face, even though HE is perfectly fine.

Velokraeth is there to please! Fancy flying is not his thing, but if his wit will win the lady, well… you better believe he'll lay it on thick. Kouzevelth's erratic patterns are met with intrigue and amusement and it wouldn't be beyond the pale bronze to taunt her to further antics while he just cruises by to watch and wait. Pushing her to tire herself and then he'll be there to snare her, barring any clever and sneaky underhanded snatching from the other suitors! Tzettenvonth's roar is heard and Velokraeth's concentration wavers, his large head turning down in a moment of smug satisfaction to watch the bronze falter and fall back. He will pay for that small moment though and when the winds shift, he swings his head back around to focus back on the glowing gold when her tail is just suddenly there. Warbling in alarm, Velokraeth attempts to twist with a sharp and straining turn of wings and body, forward momentum almost halting on a dime but his bulk is just not made for such graceful maneuvers and so the whipcord tail strikes its mark. His blunted muzzle takes most of it as it lashes across but the force and momentum of his body has it reaching up to brush close enough to sting his eye as his head is all but whipped aside. Now it's Velokraeth's turn to roar in pain, stung in more ways that one as he writhes midair, shaking his head madly and clawing at it (cause that'll help!) and only half aware that he is dropping away and back. Down and down, not up and up and temporarily half blinded he thinks he's in the clear and goes to swing himself back into position only… there is a brown in his way! Poor Niumdreoth, does he even stand a chance before the bronze comes crashing in?

Down below, Th'ero had slowly begun to slip more and more into Velokraeth's mind as the flight progressed, forgetting that he is standing in the bowl with one arm around Kimmila and Inri nearby and all of the exchanges. Which is probably a bad thing, given what happens. The bronzerider jerks almost as violently as Velokraeth when the bronze is struck, breath sucking in in a sharp and agonized hiss that is then exhaled in a strangled cry of pain. He staggers back, likely pulled from Kimmila's hold as he begins to swipe at his face, even though HE is perfectly fine.

Kimmila cries out a moment after Velokraeth is hit, as Varmiroth feeds the bronze's situation through the link. "Th'ero!" she cries, reaching out for him but not letting her hand leave Inri's back either. "Is he okay?" Please no blind bronzes right now!

Abigail grumbles at the smack that hits into her dragon, on and then there is a shouldering and an elbowing? She sends a slight glance towards D'ani, most likely the only time she's actually glared at anyone during this whole thing. Oh if she was in the right might she would be saying a few choice words right about now. Niumdreoth snarls out and dives downwards slightly to avoid any more hits from the bronze. Brat! That is about what he is thinking. He is not giving up though. With another burst of speed he is back up and a little behind Velokraeth as a result. Perhaps he can sweep around the pale bronze and then figure out his next move on his dear clutch brother. Rumbles of thanks are at least sent towards his brown comrade. Have to keep friends close after all! Then there is a large form heading towards him, right towards him and rather quickly. He shifts one way and catches sight of another dragon there and then looks to the other side but there just is not time to escape. By the time he is about to move there is a certain bronze slamming into him and causing the brown the bellow out in pain. Velokraeth hits into his shoulder and then into his wing which causes it to buckle in a sense and the brown is going down. No telling where that hit-by flying bronze is during this. Abbey lets out a cry at the hit, she feels enough of that pain that she aches and is caught off guard by it as well, then there is the fear as the brown is heading downwards rather quickly there. "Niumdreoth!"

"Ohmygosh," Inri yelps, withdrawing the hand she'd just started to extend to reach for D'ani's. Moment: killed. She's both leaning back against Kimm and trying to force Kouzevelth to at least be a little careful (the dragon is hearing none of it). "Th'ero — Abbey — I'm so sorry I don't — I shouldn't have let —" She only barely isn't crying, at this point.
It disconcerts her lifemate, as well. Goodness, why the panic? It was all good fun, Inri, because flights are battles that must be won, and all of her suitors, save one, are opponents that must be defeated. Could she have let Kouzevelth do anything? Certainly not. Kouzevelth does as she likes, and Inri can't pull her back — not through sheer force of will, not today, not now. What she can do is pull her back emotionally; her rider's sudden panic forces her to slow, pulled in two directions, concerned for once. It doesn't stop the mental touches of lighning; the deafening thunderclaps; the distant drumbeats. No, those are stronger now than ever before. She may be getting a little tired, and her Inri is upset. So, really, now, all of you: impress her. Challenge her. Meet the eye of the storm and be safe.

M'ta draws nearer to Inri with each second, a slow but steady advance, then moves away from the howling Weyrleader, shock on his face, as above Rielth bugles his own surprise at the sudden collision here at the endgame, forcing him to dodge to the side to avoid the fallout no matter how it goes, but as soon as he's safe, his focus goes entirely back to the gold, the glittering prize. His leafy wings spread to their full glory his tail lashing as he extends his claws, trying to dive down onto the gold's unsuspecting back and shoulders with the overwhelming sense of spiced wine, pie, and crisp autumn wind carrying the smells of harvest. Calm meets storm.

Zhaoth's revenge is an a dish of empty air, best served cold too, as they say. No results for his effort, just a bunch of teeth chattering in the wind and left with only one thing in mind. Kouzevelth! That's right. The golden scrumpet! He takes the advantage of Velokraeth's defeat, as the bronze does appear to be dipping lower and unable to focus on the chase, to climb up and after Kouzevelth, going vertical for a moment as he arches his back and front shoulders to follow after the gold, turning him upside down for a split second before he pulls his wings in and rolls back over, now again on the course with Kouzevelth. The ruddy brown strains his wiry neck to search for his partner in crime, to give him a boost, to box Kouzevelth in! No such luck, Niumdreoth is gone from this race and… somewhere down below, even as Zhaoth has to go back to solo one flying, he seems distracted by his rider's response.

Ers'lan was standing near Abigail the whole time, his own mind lost to the rollar coaster of a flight going on above their heads, the battles that are playing out in the field of dragon lust. There's nothing that would shake him from his dragon's resolve, except… the cry of pain. That jolts him as much as it were to happen to himself. It must be from the Turns of serving on the search and rescue wing, but the pain from Abigail instinctively makes him comfort her with embracing arms, "Hold on ta him," he encourages, supporting her so that she doesn't collapse to the ground - to which he's seen happen before. It takes a lot to switch the dragon lust off, but he does, enough to growl, "ZHAOTH… Get him!"

The brown changes tactics. This is no longer a flight, this is a rescue. Zhaoth would've never stood a chance and he ducks down before he can tangle in any of those who are eager to catch. Shocked out of his mental chasing, by the will of his rider, by the will of everything Lan has, the brown dives down quickly, folding his wings to his sides, to come up underneath Niumdreoth, doing a little mid-air rescue, as Zhaoth pushes his back up up underneath Niumdreoth's injured side, helping to support the other brown so it's not straight fall!

At the cry of pain from Th'ero, D'ani's head jerks up and back, a ripple of alarm crossing his face then gone. He cares but he's just too into Dremkoth's grip to keep focused on what's happened. Inri's cries draw a muttered oath, teeth clenched as he moving a half-step closer to her, both wanting to tear into the others and draw her into his arms and lay her head on his shoulder. And… other things he's trying and failing to fight.

Yeah, well eat my exhaust Zhoath because you're behind me! Dremkoth avoids both shouldering and snapping with a maneuver that brings him up and over the would-be snapping snapping brown quarterback style, leaving him to shoulder thin air. Apparently size is not the only thing that matters. Quick reflexes and craftiness serve to do much. Those claws of Zhoath's miss his hide and with Velokraeth dropping out he's close now enough to that whipping tail to make a grab for it. Like… he'd reel her in or climb it hand over hand to get in a better position. He's jostled though, suddenly by one of the others and misses, letting out a roar of his own in both pain and frustration. Enough of this! He winks *Between* appears again right where he calculates Kouzevelth's path will take her, reaching with talons and tail. Safe? In the eye of the storm? That's the most dangerous place to be. Danger is adventure - bring it on goldie!

Th'ero reels as he recovers enough of his own mind frame to throw up enough shields to bar the worst of Velokraeth's pain through their shared link. No longer swiping at imaginary wounds, he clutches at Kimmila instead and grips hard. Breath is ragged, his eyes bright with conflicted emotion, features twisted just as much as he looks from the bluerider to a near-to crying Inri. "Fine! He's fine, just—" Hurt. Velokraeth collides with Niumdreoth then, almost flipping as he slams into the poor brown's shoulder and onto his wing. Fouled, tangled, the pale bronze can only warble in distress as he's thrown into a spin, talons and tail scrabbling and lashing wildly as he tries to get his wings under him again. One does, the other is slower in responding but Velokraeth isn't about to go down like Niumdreoth and with a hiss of pain he makes that cursed wing WORK. Stubbornness (or stupidity) pays off and his spin is halted, though his flying is wobbly at best and he's tilted, still favoring one eye and having to compensate. But he's out for sure and his mind seethes with the sudden acrid scent of smoke and spice and the sharp, bitter tannin taste of red wine. Concern for Niumdreoth will come later, focused as he is now to try and land and not wind up face planting for his efforts.

Th'ero staggers again, weaving and tilting so heavily that Kimmila will be hard pressed to hold him and shocked from the flight by the collision, he can only stare around in a wildly disorientated and conflicted manner. Thankfully Ers'lan and Zaoth come to Niumdreoth's aid, as the Weyrleader is unable to find much of his voice, save to curse as he tries to piece his addled thoughts back together again into some form of coherency.

Kimmila presses her hand against Inri's back. "/Focus/," the bluerider snaps, jerking her head towards the sky. "Stay with her!" Then she gasps at Th'ero's hold, squirming a bit. "Ow…" From her own ledge, the pale old queen Wiyaneth roars and flares her wings, ready to haul herself into the sky should anyone need some catching - and not in /that/ sense either. But for the moment she waits. Her roar might draw the eye to that section of the bowl, where someone darts out from the shadows and into another shallow alcove. Seems Ezra couldn't stay away.

Niumdreoth lets out another bellow as he turns trying to get his hurt wing to open, it just isn't working how it should. He'll most likely wind up with a few talon marks at that first moment when he is falling away from the pale bronze. There is fear, plenty of it, for falling out from the air this height is not a good thing, it tends to end in problems, messes and well you get the jest. Abigail is falling, or was falling and then she is caught, which is better than hitting the ground at the moment. The voice is heard though she isn't able to answer Ers'lan as her whole attention is on Niumdreoth. A slight whimper escapes her, fingers gripping at Lan's arms without her even knowing. Just when it seems like this is going to be more than just a gold flight Zhaoth is indeed there and giving Niumdreoth the help he needs. With the other dragon's aid he is able to finally get his wing to open back up enough so he can at least glide downwards with the added help from the other brown.

And from the Weyrleader's ledge, a streak of pale blue zooms out. Though…Varmiroth going to catch Velokraeth? Uh. Is that wise?

Some might call it cheating, what Dremkoth just did there, but Kouzevelth? Calls it smart. Clever. Witty. Also right in front of her. Way to completely block her trajectory, Dremkoth; but with most of the competition dropping like flies and you being the familiar of the remaining pairs — plus the fact that he just did that, which is beyond all things witty and wise and efficient, he had her attention anyway. Her approval and her satisfaction, beyond all else, an almost untenable goal for most. So hopefully Dremkoth doesn't mind the fact that Kouzevelth flies straight into him, crashing with all her force and lightning strike and thunderclap and wild winds, resulting in a tangle of tails and necks. The eye of the storm is the safe point between two dangerous ones, silly.

Right, about that hand-holding? The hand Inri was reaching for D'ani before? She's reaching it out again, now — and trying to tangle her fingers in his, and the rest of her into his arms as well. Maybe they should leave, hm?

Zhaoth is completely out of the lust of flight as soon as he's focusing on taking the weight of the other dragon upon him and having to work his wings to slow them both down, back winging until both of them are stable with eachother to glide down safely towards the ground. The Weyrleader's bronze may need assistance, but Zhaoth is only one dragon, so it's good that there's a blue streak added to the mix. Zhaoth's mind radiates comforting encouragement to Niumdreoth, until they both touch down and no one ends up in a heaping mess! Ers'lan for his part reassures as he's had to do thousands of times in the past, "Everythin will be alright, Zhao has 'em." Regardless, he still holds the other brownrider, until there's definitely some security that both browns made it to the ground alive.

And Ezra? Ezra goes to drink. Like a MAN. Locked in his room. Yeah.

Rielth isn't the kind to howl his defeat as some are prone to, instead, his tail gives a small flick, the only obvious sign of his disappointment as he turns away, making his way slowly back towards the Weyr. If a green should happen to rise pretty soon, well, he wouldn't object. Either way, he's stranding his poor rider for a short while, at least. The swishy ginger slips to one knee as his mind is suddenly again his own, panting out a few breaths and pointedly looking away from the winner and the Weyrwoman. His jaw tightents as he rises, then he gives his head a little shake and forces himself through a couple of breathing exercises until he relaxes, trying to ignore his hormones as he turns and makes his way elsewhere(tm).

Dremkoth will point out that if the eye isn't where Kouzevelth is, then the storm is where it's at baby! He's braced for the catch, expecting it, the huge bronze ego that he is. Had he missed he'd probably overshoot all the way to Benden. As it is the force of Kouzevelth sends them cartwheeling across the skies, the bronze twining his tail and neck tightly about hers to ensure his win, wings flaring out to slow their descent while he croons his smug pleasure and tells her all about the stars and how she outshines them.

Completely caught up in Dremkoth's surge of desire and elation, D'ani's fingers twine with Inri's readily, pulling her to him almost roughly but with enough, just enough control left that it isn't hurtful. He sweeps an arm behind her knees, lifting her from the ground and carries her elsewhere. Somewhere those others can't leer at her anymore. A soft growl is breathed into her hair. Mine! Her weyr is close enough, accessible from the ground and though he's never been there, that's where he heads, blindly seeking to get her where they can be alone. Forgive him, Inri. He's pressing his lips to her neck and face murmuring incoherent pledges and how precious she is as he walks. A room? Yeah, that would be nice.

No worries! Varmiroth isn't about to be flattened by Velokraeth… the blue is just there as his guide and mental support to help aid the pale bronze to land on his ledge. Rather than crash into it. Having been out of the flight long before, the bronze sags in relief the moment his talons scrape against stone and lands roughly. Safe though and that is all that matters in the end. Th'ero stumbles back, his grip still fiercely tight on Kimmila until it slips and then is renewed again. "Need to go." he hisses, sharp look given to D'ani and Inri now and a far more concerned look given over his shoulder towards the northern bowl. "Now!" Tugging her, the Weyrleader will stumble away, still trying to shake off the mental onslaught of emotions but foremost he is wanting to get to Velokraeth.

Kimmila relaxes when the flight ends without a death (because that's a plus, right?) and she casts D'ani and Inri a swift glance. Even a little grin. Then she's bolting after Th'ero, hand firm on his arm. "He's fine," she whispers reassuringly.

Niumdreoth wasn't thinking about anything but not falling so he doesn't have to worry about anything left over from the flight. Warbles escape him a few times though once he is rather sure he isn't about to kiss the ground he is able to get his mind around things and work on that gliding part. He is in a good amount of pain through, icor clearly seen running across certain places from talon hits though his main problem is his wing. Soon enough he is on the ground, a hiss of pain escaping the large brown while his eyes swirl and soon close tight. Abigail is quiet and still, heartfelt clearly racing as she's still in Ers'lan's grasp. Once she knows for sure that Niumdreoth is safe on the ground she recalls that whole breathing thing, her pale gaze drifting over the area, catching sight of the winner but not caring in the least. She soon looks up to Lan watching him a moment. "Thank ye.." He and his dragon saved the most important thing in her life so she is going to make sure and thank him for it. She watches him for a moment, and then she is slowly trying to pull away, her hand lingers on his arm though. "I need to get to Niumdreoth." Though it seems she would like Lan to go along with her. Well his dragon is already there so he would be going that way already. .