Aerial Acrobatics Log

Log Courtesy of Tilla!

Southern Weyr Beach
This wide strip of sparkling white sand is a popular hangout for the Weyr's dragons; at almost any time you can find them lounging in the sun. The clear blue waters of the ocean roll up onto the soft sands with a gentle hiss. Fairs of firelizards wheel and dive in the air, some popping in and out of nooks and crags on the cliff, others diving and playing in the waves. Occasionally you spot a firelizard dive into the water and emerge with a wriggling fish in his claws.
It is a winter afternoon.
Curled up in the sand are seven firelizards.
Gold Aevryscienth, blue Tosiekoth, green Amuirnith, Green Veriameth, blue Esryth, blue Nazkriuulth, gold Jeyth, bronze Nverath, green Izlasth, green Szarabhayanath, and bronze Aojadinth are here.
You see Ista Weyr Preparation Tent (iwpt), High Reaches Weyr Preparation Tent (hwpt), and Order of Events! here.
You notice Kangarru, Palia, Aislinn, and Dill asleep here.
Andru, Rhaeyn, Sarillia, S'lo, Lzi, D'baji, and Y'an are here.
Obvious exits:
Cove Stairs

Pippa drops from Jeyth with a slip over her shoulder and a quick drop to the ground.
Il'ad slides from Szarabhayanath's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Dex unbuckles from Nazkriuulth's riding straps, sliding down his dark form to once again have feet on Pern.

Kalaet blinks in from ::between::!

Overhead, Nymerith soars in from over the Weyr cliff.
Overhead, Nymerith glides down for a landing on the Weyr Beach.
Nymerith glides in for a landing.
Nymerith lowers her head, rumbling a friendly farewell as T'zyn slips off her neck and back to the ground.
Szarabhayanath shifts, looking antsy.

Dex is on the beach, of course, making certain… preperations. She's near Nazkriuulth, triple-checking his straps, and putting on not only her riding gear, but a few extra… extras, over the top of the leather. Occasionally, while tightening the buckles on her gloves and belt, she looks over her shoulder, eyeing the current state of the crowd. Busy, busy! In fact, someone almost steps on her toe, which makes her look at Said Person quite angrily, before returning to messing with her gear. Perhaps it's extremely hot in Southern's weather, but she's more concerned with her life than her comfort, right now. For… certain reasons. "Tilla… TILLA!" Where IS that greenrider!

Pippa plods across the sands, one hand holding a basket and the other holding a rather plump flask. And would you look at that? Carrying on behind her is some pimpled kid half her age dragging along a deck chair and what looks to be a bamboo and canvas umbrella as well. "This looks good." Once the decision has been made, the kid sets up first the chair, then the umbrella at an angle, and down Pippa sits to watch the proceedings. "I hear tell Igen is quite good at this," she announces, to none. "Bet the 'lubber a skin over it." And quite proud of that bet too by the tone of her voice.

Rhaeyn is relaxed, wearing her typical leathers, parked on one of Rys's paws with her full gear laying at her feet. As a matter of fact— she may be /too/ relaxed. Is that a light snore coming from the goldrider? Well, she's snoozing, for sure. Or maybe just, uh, resting her eyes. Aevryscienth, meanwhile, looks disinterested and cool, detatched from the going-ons about her.

Il'ad is just chillin' like a villain—right over there. Near his lifemate. He's not about to go huddle with the Reachians just yet, but seems content in filling his stomach before the Big Event. Maybe it's tactic. But whatever the case, whatever he's eating is finger lickin' good and extra goopy since he dribbles a little onto his hand and has to use his tongue to lap it up.

Lzi isn't nervous or anxious at all. After all, with her participation in the games unit at Ista, this is just another day to her. Just another day with her Weyr's pride at stake. But to make sure that she's really loose and ready to go, the greenrider is currently sippingn at a bottle of something or other, obviously alcoholic while she, too, lounges near her dragon. It's the cool thing to do, apparently.

In her typical fashion, the brunette Harper Journeyman has made her arrival courtesy Reachian bluerider Skye who is attending her needs at the bar. Sporting events are even more entertaining when one has quenched their thirst, after all. Sarillia stands with her beau and contemplatively sips whatever it is in a rather fancy goblet, smiling and laughing with him in rather hushed tones, or rather, since the noise of all the other goings on pretty much drowns it out.

S'lo peeks out of the Reachian tent before actually presenting his entire self, running a hand through his hair as a makeshift comb. Yep, he's been camping out here and nope, he doesn't seem to have all of his personal hygiene necessities. But that's alright. Helmets do wonders on a guy's hair.
Szarabhayanath snorts, tail-nudging Il'ad.

Tilla is halfway over to the Reachian tent to fetch S'lo when she hears Dex calling her name. "S'lo, are you read-" she starts to call out but then waves over to Dex, cupping her hands over her mouth, "Coming! Just fetching S'lopoke over here!" She laughs as she firmly affixes the toggles on her riding jacket to make sure everything is tightly secured upon her body. Amuirnith is doing some leg and wing stretches down the beach over /there/. Probably somewhere near Dex and Naz.

Sidaaeth jumps off the cliff from above, and floats down to the beach on outstretched wings.

Dex unfortunately does not have S'lo's "luxury" of camping out at Southern with her duties back at the Weyr, so she is Quite Quite clean, if a bit sweaty in the heat — so when she sees S'lo's current state, she wrinkles her nose and… says nothing, for now. "Oh there you are," she grumbles when Tilla finally appears. "'Bout time. I need some help tightening this buckle in the back." She does her best to poke and point in the direction of Said Buckle between her shoulderblades, holding what appears to be some sort of heavily woven woolen cover over her chest. "They announced who's going first, yet?" She mutters, before turning her head to look for her other teammates. There's Rhaeyn, sleep. And there's Il'ad, eating. Trying to ignore the greenriding one of the two, she turns her head and yells, "OY! Rhaeyn, getcher butt up!" at her Weyrwoman. Yes, she is /so/ respectful.

Rhaeyn doesn't move. Maybe she's trying to say that Dex's vocal capacity is… just not enough to rouse her to any length. Or maybe the bitch is just waiting to be treated like a princess. (Wait, wouldn't that be her best imitation of Szarabhayanath?)

Pippa doesn't really care where her dragon is, to be honest. Could be by the others. Could be halfway to Telgar. Or right behind her. Whatever. She's nice and comfy here on her chair, feet ducking into the sands to cover up painted toenails and a hand dropping into her lap with a casual exhale. "Where're my goggles?" she asks the boy, who is quick to whisk out a set of day-shades goggles and offer them to the young woman. She pops them on, yanking out her runner's tail so it isn't smushed, and leans back to watch the proceedings.

Y'an is standing in the middle of the crowd, looking quite lost. He's not too far off from the Reachian tent, with a drink in hand, which he sips nervously. Clearly without anything to do, he's just standing there dumbly, staring wide-eyed at everyone who passes directly in front of him until he's called to order. Aojadinth, for his part, has struck a statuesque pose and refuses to move until the competition starts, neck arched proudly in self-assuredness.

Il'ad finishes with his food before wiping his hands clean on the back of his trousers. Riding gear is then donned immediately before he pads his way slowly towards his teammates. "I feel outnumbered here," being the only one cool enough from Inferno to join in the acrobatics. The rest are probably in alcohol-deprived comas. "Y'AN! OVER HERE!" Just in case his clutchmate is as lost as he looks.

Szarabhayanath stands there and looks pretty. Ignore all the ugliness, she really is pretty. Really! Although, the waiting is clearly killing her. She flutters her wings and shifts her feet.

"Ha. Funny," S'lo muses, sticking his tongue out at his Wingsecond for her words. "I was brushing my teeth, sorry," he explains by way of excuse as he zippers up his own jacket, plopping his helmet onto his head. "Everybody ready?" Because S'lo is. He's even doing a little pep jump in preparation. Stretching, y'know.

As the crowds assemble for the aerial acrobatics show, the excitement in the air seems to be catching. A team of six judges has assembled and to their right, Tilla stands on a box for more height, calling out. "May I have your attention, please? Welcome to the Inter Weyr Games Aerial Acrobatics show! Teams from each competing weyr have created their own aerial display designed to woo the judges and show off the abilities of the dragons and riders of that Weyr. Judges will grade on showmanship, accuracy, agility, and synchronisation. Use of fire and firestone is permitted, so you may want to watch your heads." A pause, "Joking, joking! I will now introduce the judges, Ista's judging team consists of H'ler and brown Kobaroth from Igen Weyr, Sopi and green Eupreth from High Reaches Weyr and Catra and blue Makyath from Telgar Weyr. High Reaches judging team consists of M'gan and bronze Chlamuth from Benden Weyr, Yigi and blue Sartoth from Telgar Weyr and J'no and green Leiolath from Fort Weyr. Everyone give them a round of applause!" A pause while people probably are applauding. H'ler makes his way to the front of the judging table and proclaims, "Since High Reaches Weyr won the last event, we will allow Ista to perform first. Riders and dragons at your ready!" Kobaroth, Eupreth and Makyath all bugle in unison while H'ler booms out, "GO!"

"Almost," Dex utters to S'lo with her nose still scrunched. "Just makin' sure I don't… ya know…" She mutters something about fire underneath her breath. Luckily, Il'ad calls Y'an over before she lets the bronzerider slip by, not realizing he's heading past her until she hears his name called from the greenrider's spot. "Well, I think we're all here…" She looks around, frowning; she know she saw those two brownriders from Mudslide on their team milling around somewhere, but she lost sight of them since she started messing with Naz's straps. As Tilla gets up to start rambling off the rules, she gives a fair measure of attention, but walks backwards towards Rhaeyn's position, and… stands next to the snoozing goldrider. Whistle. /Kick/. "YO. Fattie. Wakeup. Ista's starting. We're next." The day Dex treats Rhaeyn like a princess is the day Rhaeyn gets Dex to wear a pink dress, high heels, and lipstick…

Rhaeyn eventually stretches out, arms above her head, and slides off her dragon's paw to gather up her gear. Slinging the straps of her helmet over a forearm, she seems to add— extra gear to her regular gear. There's a yawn. There's another one. "C'mon, babe," she states with a fond pat to Rys' nearby cheek. "Ready to win?" Dex? Who the hell is Dex? She doesn't appear to realize the bluerider is there, or even exists. Maybe she's turning into the next Palia. Eventually, however, the goldpair amble towards the High Reaches contingent, seemingly careless about whoever's in front of them. In the face of Aevryscienth's ice-gold bulk, most people get out of the way with no small amount of alacrity.

Nverath and D'baji had, just recently, flown to the 'launch pad' area designated for the performing teams of the event, and not long after were joined by T'ab and bronze Tyroth, Coora and brown Sidaaeth, Norb't and brown Tinydoth, Cuba and blue Aeneath, Plat'o and blue Aristolth, T'ach and blue Argeiphonteth, T'zyn and green Nymerith, Lzi and green Izlasth, and F'lix and green Sunatucheoth. The team is in a tight diamond formation by the time the applause are sounded for the judges, all eyes on D'baji, leading the wing. When the Weyrleader pumps his fist, they're off the ground as one, climbing hard and allowing the formation to stretch out a bit to the sides - only for an about face once they've reached a good altitude, and an immediate dive toward the stands for a low pass, headed up by Nverath, with Nymerith and Izlasth on the outermost edges, with Tyroth keeping things tight from the back of the formation.

Tilla is standing next to Dex and Rhaeyn at this point, snickering at their antics, and has been observing the Istan team line up and take to the skies. "Ahha, are they trying to scare us with that low stands dive?" she says, laughing a bit as she watches Amuirnith stand at attention as her pal Tyroth flies by. "Did you guys practice the you know what?" She waggles her eyebrows. "I'm hoping it goes better than the last time we tried it.."

Y'an's head darts around from left to right until he spots the familiar voice calling his name. Given a motive, he raises his hand to wave at Il'ad in greeting, as he joins the rest of his teammates to don his riding gear and whatnot. "Ready!" he calls, turning to search for the person he's supposed to report to, winding up next to Il'ad instead.

"I think we've got it all down—the whole thing." S'lo has confidence. He also has a wave for Y'an as he joins the group. Good thing we started practicing when we did, huh?" That's offered exclusively to his wingmates, but there's a grin turned on the others as well as he murmurs "We got a leak about the games way in advance," to them. Finally, eyes turn back to observe the Istans. Hm. Hmm.

"What's up, bruddah?" Il'ad greets Y'an, holding out his hand for an exclusive secret handshake—although if one were a guard, they'd know it too. "Ready for this?" Didn't he just say he was? For the time being, Il'ad removes his helmet, hugging it to his chest. It's getting hot.

"We'll be fine, we'll be fine, don't worry about it, Tilla," Dex mutters as she does a little 'ssshhh' motion with her hand. She's actually trying to pay attention, ya know! As Rhaeyn is like… ignoring her… She'll just ignore her back! Or something. "Well, they've got good conformation," she says a bit lower, biting her lip as she watches them fly by. She's not nervous. Really. Not at all… "Well, not that your idea of drills hasn't kept us overly prepared for this for quite some time," she murmurs at S'lo, rolling her eyes.

The wing splits once some height has been regained following the low spectator pass, the two bronzes - the front and back points of the diamond- flying straight ahead, while other groups peel off as three separate mini-wings: Sidaeeth, Argeiphonteth and Izlasth in one, Tinydoth, Aeneath and Nymerith in another, and Aristolth and Sunatucheoth as the third. The three wings begin to flame, skipping between as units here and there, a simulated Thread fighting. Coming back around to the centre stage, Tyroth is in the lead, flying awkwardly as he feigns a wounded right wing. As T'ab is unbuckling his straps, Nverath swoops beneath Tyroth in a disciplined flight. D'baji's arm is there to haul the younger bronzerider up behind him between Nverath's 'ridges. The rider transfer: an oldie, but a goodie. With the transfer successful, the bronzes break off again, while the scattered units between all at once, coming back in a broad formation far out over the ocean.

"Quit your worrying, worry-wort," Rhaeyn smirks over at Tilla. "We'll blow their socks off." She gives an idle roll of her shoulders, and keeps her gaze inclined upwards onto the Istan wing, critically assessing the performance occuring overhead. A pensive expression crosses her face at one point, as she watches the bronzeriders and their deft transfer. "We should have gone with the surfing theme," she absently states. "Some of this looks— familiar." Some of it. Certain elements shared, and all.

"Nuthin' much, just trying to deal with this sharding heat," Y'an grins, going through a complicated routine with his fingers. Then he returns a wave to S'lo. "I sure am ready," he repeats, since no one heard him the first time. "We're going to kick ass," is added as he watches the mid-air rider exchange between Tyroth and Nverath.

Sarillia is still standing near the drinks booth but instead of talking, is watching the Istan team at the moment. Skye is moderately impressed, "A simulated thread fighting maneuver, looks similar to the ones they made us do as weyrlings," he remarks but then waggles his eyebrows over to the Harper, "But oh, I can't wait to see our team. Should be a sight, especially with the weyrwoman flying too."

Shared or not, it just gives the Reachians an excuse to make it look better. For the time being, S'lo kind of dances in place, much like the peepee dance, but really it's out of anticipation. "I'm so ready for this. And after we win, we should take advantage of that booze fountain in the tent." Y'an's given a bright grin and a nod. "We're totally gonna." Jinx.

"S'LO," is the bark from Rhaeyn. "Don't /say/ that," exasperated. "Freaking moron," she mutters over at Tilla. "Could you control your man, please?" Demandingly, of course.

Tilla gives a grin over to Rhaeyn, S'lo and Dex. "Well, fair enough. I guess we really did drill hard for this…and even if we lose, that booze fountain in /our/ tent will be a welcome treat from all this heat," she says, fanning her neck. And then, a laugh over at S'lo and she pinches his behind, "Now that kind of talk will probably give us bad luck, so enough of that, you hear?" She winks.

Dex scowls. "Well, we can't go changing our routine now. Besides, a surfing theme, from us? Seems a bit off, from a mountain Weyr…" She gives Rhaeyn a wink, before returning to watch Ista's performance; she gives her head a eh-eh shake as they play out an injury. She smirks soundly, when she hears gasps of approval from some holder-folk nearby. "No, I think we're good. So long as we don't get docked points for trying to look like kill too many wherries with one stone." She, also, glares at S'lo. But then, again, she looks to the sky. "Oh c'mon, pay attention guys. No worryin' til after we're done." When they know exactly how they did

Pippa remains in her seat, lounging back to enjoy the aerial acrobatics. She's still here, just hanging out and watching things progress. As the Istan wing heads out to sea though, the goggles are removed so she can squint after them. Fingers waggle in the meantime, a clear indication that her pimpled 'cabana boy' get her one of the fruit from the basket.

"You can blow my socks off anytime," Il'ad remarks to Rhaeyn without any expression whatsoever, save for a sideways glance. "Surfing theme's overdone. I've seen it in the past. And I wouldn't put it past them—" he thumbs towards the Istans, "to toss something like that into theirs."

S'lo looks sheepish. He'll just shut up now and stare at his boot. Hey look, a
scuff mark! He squats down to tend to it as if he had a boot shining kit, which he clearly doesn't.

The mini-wings loop around, executing tight spirals in mirror image of each other as they loop back. They merge fluidly back together into a tight formation once more, and then split off into two; bronzes and browns flying high as the smaller greens and blues skim down low to the water. The higher flank begins to weave, bronzes and browns flying between each other, almost dangerously close as they fly back and forth, though their well-practiced formation never breaks its rhythm. Below, the blues and greens mirror their larger teammates — but close to the water, their talons skimming the ocean's surface to shoot up a patterned spray as they weave. At the end of their patterning, with the rest of the wing circling behind the spectators to re-group, a pair of greens and a pair of blues circle back over the water — Nymerith and Aeneath looping back in from the left, Izlasth and Aristolth coming from the right.

Rhaeyn absentmindedly flips Il'ad off, focused on the antics occuring out there.
Meanwhile, Rys starts stretching, somewhere in the backdrop.

Y'an winces as Rhaeyn wails on S'lo, feeling guilty for making the initial comment. Fanning himself idly with one hand, he runs his tongue over his lips, wishing for that booze fountain /now/. Thinking twice about asking, he compromises with unzipping his jacket and shifting anxiously in his position. "Why is she always so grumpy?" he whispers, nudging Il'ad in the side as he's careful to control the volume of his voice. He'd rather avoid the goldrider's hostility if possible.

Tilla snickers at the Il'ad comment to Rhaeyn and eyes S'lo hunching down to give his boot some time. So she pokes at his foot with her foot. "Psst. We're all up /here/" she says, looking skywards once more. "The water spray is a pretty move, I think." she murmurs to anyone who will listen. An eyebrow raise at Y'an's comments, is he cruisin for a bruisin also?

Dex hmmms. She's too entirely focused on Ista's display that the antics behind her are, most incredibly, unseen. Thus, no rebuke from Dex, just a subtle and occasional quiet murmur as she internally diagnosis each move and tries to decide whether or not their routine has something better, or if they're screwed. Her fingers are on our lips, drumming. "Was pretty," she murmurs quietly to TIlla, while still staring at the dragons above.

"'cause she wants me," Il'ad asides to Y'an with a smug look as arms come to cross against his chest. Finally, he devotes all attention to the Istans above.

S'lo looks up as Tilla nudges him, and offers her a shrug. "Gotta tie my boot." But first he needs to untie it. You know, to make it tighter. Or something.

Nymerith and Aristolth hang back as Izlasth and Aeneath come in from their respective sides, diving back down towards the surface of the water. Both riders make a daring move by unbuckling themselves from their straps in perfect synchronization, to basically dangle from the sides of their dragons. Each unclip a bucket which then gets dumped onto the surface of the water, the dragons crossing each other to make an X with the fluid. Once the buckets are empty, the riders clip them back on before buckling themselves back in, quickly beating their wings to gain altitude, as Nymerith and Aristolth come in now, both emitting a ball of flame that lights the oil that was dumped in the water on fire, the flame across the surface of the water to make a big flaming X. As they light the oil, the rest of the wing comes flying forward from behind the stands in an X formation, every dragon giving a sharp bugle as the pairs of greens and blues join their wingmates.

Rhaeyn jabs Dex in the side with an elbow. "Dex. Would you go relieve Il'ad's sexual tension, already? I can feel it radiating all the way over here." She doesn't look over at the bluerider as she says the words (somewhat loudly), focusing on the event out over the sea— but one looking would notice the amused twist of the woman's lips, and the slight look askance she tosses Tilla, as if to be saying, 'you watchin' this?'.

Tilla grins, "Well, tie it fast, I think we need to get to the takeoff site soon. What maneuver is this of theirs, third, fourth?" She's not quite sure. Rhae's comments to Dex make the greenrider choke and sputter a little. "We..ah…" She snickers. "We don't need Dex attacking Il' least until after we've finished our performance, anyway." The flaming X on the water makes her pause and point, "Ooh."

Dex growls, crossing her arms even further against her chest as she glares at Rhaeyn. "I already /tried/," she mutters, as half-assed attempt at a joke. "It's your turn." But she doesn't look to the goldrider long, because her eyes are still trying to make sure she doesn't miss a beat of the current team's movements. "Ya know, if we lose this," she offhandedly mutters at the rest of the team. "The whole Weyr's gonna try and compete in tonight's drinking contest just to drawn away sorrows, not actually to win." She snerks at Tilla. "Yeah, I'll wait til we're done." She flashes a glare at the male greenrider, before looking skyward again.

"Are you sure that's it?" Y'an remarks with skepticism in still hushed tones. "Fourth maneuver." The sight of a giant, flaming X makes him whine. It's too hot for fire.

Il'ad has nothing but a smirk on his face as he continues to watch the aerial display, pretending otherwise that he doesn't hear the two women bickering back and forth as obvious as it is that he does. "If my wingleader wasn't a" bad word that starts with a d and sounds like koosh "I'd be able to hit that up. That's too bad." No alcohol for Il'ad.

Rhaeyn smirks to herself, silent. The weyrwoman eventually turns, and begins the methodical process of gearing up Aevryscienth. "Come on," she calls to the group at large, "We need to go." She jerks her head. To— away!

The flying 'X' formation breaks off into three groups as the flames on the water piddle out even as they're being disrupted by the waves: Nverath takes point in a small 'V' formation, followed by Izlasth and Aristolth, on the left side of the 'stage'; Tyroth, Sunatucheoth and Argeiphonteth make a symmetrical 'V' on the right side; and Sidaaeth leads a diamond formation, with Nymerith and Aeneath in the middle, and Tinydoth at the end. All the formations are still flying away from the audience, of course - up until the three formations fly a large loop, every dragon barrel-rolling out so that the same groups have reversed direction. On the re-entry, the diamond and two 'V's begin weaving in and out, as if braiding themselves, while descending. The final few weaves are uncomfortably close to the ground, and it's only with hard backwinging that snaps the air that the formations are able to set down safely - the diamond in front, with each V behind and to either side. At the end of the grande finale, the Istan wing emits a final bugling salute to the audience and judges.

S'lo finally stands up, abruptly at that, which just causes his head to spin a little. Natural reaction. "Should we get ready, then?" is asked as his helmet's adjusted on his head, straps pulled tight. At Rhaeyn's word, the bluerider nods and turns to trot over to his own lifemate and then… away!

Dex nods when Rhaeyn speaks. "Yeah, y'all need to… Shoo." Because now that the Istan team has finished, it'd be nice for the team to be in place before.. ya know.. the judges were done with their Thang. Dex, however, is already geared up and ready to go, minus one thing… She reaches down and grabs a large metal equipment from the ground, and straps it to her back. However, as the crowd begins to clap, woot, and holler, she does her fine sportsmanship bit (if she hates it), and claps, smiling uneasily. Or nervous. Or… something.

Nemykai comes down the stairs from the cliff above.

Il'ad offers a golf-clap to the Istans before straightening out his gear and plopping his helmet securely onto his head. And then? He turns back towards Szarabhayanath, mounting her and sending her… that way. All the way over there. Out of sight, out of mind.

Il'ad clambers up Szarabhayanath's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
S'lo clambers up Tosiekoth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Rhaeyn scales the ruddy-armatured hide of Aevryscienth, settling among the argent-washed 'ridges with a boost from proffered silvern paw.
Dex is offered a shadowed leg up onto Nazkriuulth's cobalt neck, and carefully buckles into the straps fastened on his skeletal form.

Amuirnith offers a foreleg and Tilla clambers up upon it, settling in between two neckridges.

Sarillia jumps halfway into the air with all that bugling. "Oi," She says ruefully rubbing one ear. "You'd think I'd be used to that by now. Its just that when they're not quite all in key.." She laughs, shrugging, she has an ear for tonality, but that's a good thing, given her profession. Skye chuckles, "I'll have Walkerth hum you a cheery tune when we get back to the weyr to soothe your ears, how's that sound?" He winks. "Ah, ah, our team is getting ready, let's move closer, Rilli!" he exclaims.

Pippa bounces up from her seat, waving high her 'commemorative' bandana supporting Ista's colors as she cheers on the acrobatic contingent from Ista. Naturally, her auctions cause her seat to upend and the umbrella at her back to flop back into the sands. While the 'cabana boy' tidies things back up in her wake, a hand draws into a fist and pumps towards the Istans. "HURRAY! GO ISTA!" Notice the gravelly pitch? Someone has been yelling quite a bit during these games.

Y'an ooh's at the finale open-mouthed for a lingering moment or two. Then he's off to secure his riding gear and strap down his helmet before finding his lifemate, wherever he may be. Thus, he slips away and out of sight.

Y'an clambers up Aojadinth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.

Atop Nazkriuulth's skeletal form, Dex has mounted up, and is ready to go… However sickly that feeling in her stomach is. As she watches the rest of her teammates depart, she and Nazkriuulth head towards where Ista had started off, waiting for the judges to be ready to call them to start.

As the Istan team completes its routine, and the crowd roars with applause, the first set of judges is scribbling their remarks on the judging sheets and talking amongst themselves. Meanwhile,the second set of judges comes forth to the front of the tables. The High Reaches judging team consists of M'gan and bronze Chlamuth from Benden Weyr, Yigi and blue Sartoth from Telgar Weyr and J'no and green Leiolath from Fort Weyr. Yigi makes her way to the front of the judging table and proclaims, "And now for the High Reaches team. Riders and dragons at your ready!" Chlamuth, Sartoth and Leiolath all bugle in unison while Yigi peals out with a resounding yet somewhat squeaky, "GO!"

The beach is silent, now, hovering in quiet expectation — but one, lone rider flies into the sky. The blackened wings of Nazkriuulth soar over the waters of the sea, before up… up… he begins to hurtle higher and higher, fading as a small blue dot in the sky. But the dot seperates. A roar echoes across the air, as something falls from him. Woman-sized. It tumbles towards the water, un-bound, un-secure, and as she seems to tumble like a ragdoll, the blue backwings after her. But halfway through the drop, the blue still roaring madly, flames begin to shoot from the lower figure. A flamethrower, surely — and just as her fire-shooting body seems like it's going to crash into the water, the blue shooting after her simply disappears. … And reappears. Just in time to catch her; the flames fade just in time, and Dex falls into Naz's clutch. From there, as the pair veers upwards and begins speeding along the lake's surface back towards the crowded beach, the dragon begins to spin… And from them, come flames. One set from his mouth, the other from his neck, each in opposing directions, and beginning to spin as he goes into a barrel-roll towards the onlookers. But just as the flaming jubilee is about to hit the crowd, mere dragonlengths away from setting them all ablaze…. VOOOOM. Nine dragons — assorted colors forming a V with a pale gold taking the lead — skim with daring speed over the crowd so intensely focused on the bluerider's performance: bellies nearly touching heads, and sending a gust of wind that tossles hair and sends fabrics flying. And from them comes a shower of white, snowpetals billowing like snowy sheets from each flier: a Reachian snowstorm… minus the snow. And as they cross out over the water, Nazkriuulth rejoins them, and all but the browns at the rear veer into the sky, still in a V pointing upwards to the heavens.

D'baji slides from Nverath's neck, according the bronze a hearty few thunks to his foreleg. And the wingmates will get the same: slaps on the shoulder, pats on the back, whatever generally chummy indicators are required. Helmet is whipped off, sweat is wiped from his forehead, and… it's off to the spectator area just in time to get white bits on him. Which he brushes off with a bit of a frown.

T'zyn unclips himself and slips down from Nymerith's neck, reaching up to rub the green's eyeridges. He smiles to his teammates and then heads off to watch the High Reaches show, blinking upwards as the white showers down. He doesn't bother to brush it out of his mop of hair; just grins, squinting out over the water as the team gets going.

Sarillia elbows Skye and they both start humming a short scale, up and down, for some reason. The reason being they are about to sing a song to support their team. Sarillia clears her throat and she and Skye begin in harmony, "Sev-en spindles may they always be pointed….." A deep breath and the song truly begins. "O High Reaches, O High Reaches/How snowy are your mountains! O High Reaches, O High Reaches/How snowy are your mountains."

With a tired, yet excited, sigh, Lzi unbuckles herself from Izlasth, sliding to the ground with a grin on her face. A few of her wingmates get hi-5's before she becomes serious, turning her attention to what High Reaches is doing.

With a small band of apprentices hot on his heels, Healer Nemykai heads down to the beach to join the spectators. If the Healers are here, who's manning the infirmary?! The aerial display show draws the Senior Journeyman over just in time for a sweep of dragons to fly seemingly inches away from his head. He ducks, staring wildly after the formation. "By the First Egg! Not something you see everyday…"

"Didn't get too oily, I'm hopin'?" That would be D'baji sidling up alongside Lzi, and even giving a bit of a shoulder-check to the woman's own shoulder. "Hate t'see you get lit on fire if they get too close with that flamethrower." See? He was watching.

While the group begins to hurtle into the sky, the two browns hanging behind slowly begin to rise. An extra rider from one of the pair is, as a stretchy rope is tossed between the two dragons, strung between them. The moment the main group up above reaches a particular height — with the pale gold Aevryscienth hovering in the center of a slowly turning vertical circle composed of the rest — the browns begin to speed upwards. The intense vertical speed pulls the rope-holding woman between them taut back on the string, before: it stops. Both browns, before reaching the flying Reachians, suddenly halt midair… But Rhaeyn, their extra companion, does not. Physics dictates she must keep going up… and that she does, letting go of the stretched rope to soar far above the stopped browns, landing — with a little help of Aevryscienth's attention and aiming — upon the gold's back. Though Rhaeyn is not the only one moving. Circling, the rest of the dragons still are, and rejoined by the browns as the circle grows larger, then smaller, then larger again. It's size continues growing and shrinking, as between them, "firestone sacks" with visual shimmer, streamers, attached to their sides, are hurled between each other. Above, they appear as a whirling twirling kaleidoscope in the sky, ducking and spinning and throwing — and from them, the two bronzes, Aojadinth and Ckiezeluth, begin to do loops faster and faster, smaller and smaller, around the central force of Aevryscienth. The rest continue their movements, chromatics churning in a quickening display around those within that shine; and as the two bronzes pull in close to the gold, their mouths erupt in a roar, and Aevryscienth's wings start on fire. Well, actually, not really — it's really the bronzes behind her, making her glow… But they're difficult to see, cloaked behind her much larger hovering body.

Lzi snorts, rolling her eyes at D'baji as she's jostled with that shoulder-check. But then she does check her hands, to be sure. "No, I think I'm safe. But don't be getting any ideas," she says to him, raising an eyebrow as she peeks up at him for a second, and then her attention is back on the sky.

T'zyn watches the 'reachians with wide eyes, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "— Did they just light themselves on fire?" he asks, incredulous, as he looks at Aevryscienth. "Oh, no, wait." He seems a touch disappointed that the gold is not, actually, aflame, but still watches the performance with interest, his gaze mostly on the bronzes and the gold. Shiiiiny.

Sarillia starts clapping, one, two three four, before starting the second verse, "Green fields in bloom in summertime/But winter is the most fun time/O High Reaches, Oh High Reaches/How snowy are your mountains!" Skye coughs a little, so he has to quench his thirst once more before chiming back in. Oh noes, his tankard is empty. Better grab the nearest other one, wherever he can find it. The force is with his grabbing hand as he curls his fingers around a nearby mug of something.

"Lots of fire play on this one," D'baji muses, whether in response to T'zyn, or as an off-handed comment, it's hard to say. "Lots of individualist stuff. Ours went more toward a group dynamic, y'notice? Y'see that a lot. Like the Igen wing? They usually play with the wind, flyin' fast, an' doin' tricks that /need/ wind t'be pulled off." Random observations.

As the flames dissappate, the circle begins to slow, the merry-go-round of flying dragons and streamer-sack tossing riders ceasing into a halt. They hover, there, just long enough for blues and browns (among them S'lo and Dex) to produce massive hoops they'd cumbersomely carried along. First, the blues begin to pull out, circling as they, with smaller versions of the Bronze's immense flames, alight their hoops on fire. How they manage to hold without getting burned is, at that height, impossible to tell, but the real display is not their bravery, but the sudden greens diving from their positions. Three, they are, in number — Szarabhayanath, Alajaith, Amuirnith — though nearly impossible to tell with how quickly they begin to move. Darting in and out of the hoops, which the blues constantly vary with height and distance, the three begin loop-dee-loops, twirls, rolls, dives, and spins that would make most men sick just to think about enduring. And to make matters worse, the browns with their hoops move in and alight as well, causing a trickier course for the greens to meet… But they are not alone, anymore, either. The bronzes begin the course as well… But the bronzes are too big for the hoops, aren't they? They, too, begin to quickly dive in and out of the hoops, but it is merely an illusion — there is no way a bronze could fit. Though, as the bronzes and greens continue their aerial display, it soon becomes obvious what they are doing — both Aojadinth and Ckiezeluth are ::betweening:: just as they are about to enter the hoop, popping out on the other side just far enough to make their larger parts through. In and out, the dragons dart, with Rhaeyn and Aevryscienth still circling about them, using a flamethrower here and there to increase the difficulty of the draconic acrobats. Sheer danger, is what they display: diving, darting, avoiding the merciless flames trying to impede the dragons from the beauty of their flight.

Nemykai goes slack-jawed and stares up at the death-defying stunts being performed by the top-notch draconic flyers and their daredevil riders. There's a collective sigh of disbelief and wonderment as more fire is added to the show, oo's and ahh's complimenting applause for each safely executed manouver. Nemykai winces. "Are their riders up there too?" he asks with astonishment. "How are they staying mounted? Must be some seriously strong straps!"

T'zyn leans back, legs stretching out in front of him as he looks up at the sky. "Lots of fire," he says approvingly in echo of D'baji. He seems a little entranced by the flames. "I wonder if anyone'll get burned. Lots of people got burned in the obstacle course. It had flaming hoops, too." He winces a bit in memory. "They're flying pretty great, though, so I hope not."

"Riders stand tall, under Seven Spindles/Bonfires glow, set skies a-kindle/We're always warm when wild winds blow/And ground is white with feathery snow" Sarillia continues with a little chagrin that Skye seems to be doing more drinking than singing at this point. He chimes in a little late, simply uttering, "Snow!" as he waves his mug about.

D'baji shrugs those big shoulders of his, eyes still squinted upwards as he watches the HRW display. "Gonna hafta watch the healer tent, I guess? 'Course, y'got singed up a bit in Threadfall, an' it didn't do any sorta damage. I mean, not permanent. An' there sure are some good salves worked up." A pause, and then the Istan Weyrleader allows a low musing of, "'Course, could be some of those kids never saw Threadfall, 'least not after impression."

Pippa has been in her beach chair this whole time, quietly admiring High Reaches' aerial display. Soothing her scratchy throat with some excellent drink in a vibrant tropical hue, the young woman twists around at the mention of the flaming hoops, grins rather vaguely, and then turns her attention to the display again.

As the fires on the hoops begin to die out — or the hoops themselves begin to disinegrate — they are dropped within the waters below as they move on to their following routine. The massive, vertical circle is re-acquired, with some flourish; the smaller dragons somersault and dip, and the larger wink ::between:: around and about like twinkling lights. From there, a green — Amuirnith — erupts from the circle. Like a massive, Pernese game of Duck Duck Goose, she flies about the circle… And Tosiekoth suddenly gives chase. Around and around, they duck and chase; ::betweening::, twirling, spinning, a much more flourished game of cat and mouse than the typical mating flight display. As they go, various males teasingly jump out of the circle, as if attempt to catch Amuirnith as well, but it remains simply a game between a green and blue, darting around the flying dragons in a pinnacle duet. As before, as the dragons pass, flames shoot from the circle at them both, causing them to increase their speed and intensity… And finally, with a well-timed ::between:: in front of Amuirnith, the shiny blue catches the green, and intertwines… From there, they begin to loop in and out of the circle, colorful streamers flowing behind them, nearly lighting a'fire as they pass through the group, with all dragons flaming, towards the center, at once. Dangerous love, dangerous flight; the life of a dragonrider, on stage.

T'zyn watches the next part of the routine with am uncomfortable gaze, flinching at the simulated flight. His nose wrinkles, and he looks down at his hands, a faint tension in his posture. "Huh." His fingers drum restlessly against his knee. "Well, the fire's pretty, anyway."

"Good job m'son's not here," D'baji notes for his own part. "Last thing he needs is somethin' t'get his hormones even /more/ revved up." But the Weyrleader goes ahead and watches a rather familiar aerial scene - albeit quite dressed up - without any signs of embarrassment on his own part. And again, there's the murmur of, "Lotsa fire."

"O High Reaches, O High Reaches/How snowy are your mountains!" Finally Skye is on the beat and he and Sarillia finish the verse simultaneously. And then the pair give their vocal cords a rest and return to the drinks booth, still keeping their sights set upon their home weyr's display high above the ocean's cerulean, shimmering depths.

As the 'mating flight' dies away and the streamer-flowing pair rejoin the rest of the group, it begins to turn from circle to V, after a pirouette-like dance of dragons circling dragons, tossing off to the next partner, and the next, before Aevryscienth again takes point, and they shoot up, higher into the sky. Silvery, straining strings begin to drop from above them. Fake, as it may be, it is Thread: slung from the browns who'd sneakily ::betweened:: above, to let loose the dramatic foe. Together, flame unleashes to scour the substance from the sky, dragon's interweaving and coiling around each other as flames shoot from mouths (and flamethrowers, in one case) showering ash upon the water below. And as each finish their task, they wink ::between::. One by one, they appear just above the shoreline, forming a staggered step-like formation. Clank, clank, wood meets wood, as a structure is put together piece by piece between each dragon, riders working together to form a large, mountain-line shape between them. With a final hook, the structure is released, and alit with the flames of each of the ten dragons: and, with the flaming form of the Seven Spindles of High Reaches Weyr weightedly soaring into the water below, the dragons dive at the crowd, once again, causing another gust of wind as they barely pass over people's heads. But, with a toss of black and blue powders, enveloping their flying forms, just above the crowd's body, all the dragons wink ::between::, gone, completely, from their sights. Alas, they've disappeared in a makeshift puff of smoke, leaving behind only the burning, somehow floating Weyr outline on the water before them.

And the Reachian team lands in a flurry of color and fluttering wingsails, to reassemble in a straight line down the beach, saluting their judges.

As the Reachian team finishes their routine, the judges finalize making their marks upon the paper. The six of them meet and confer with each other for about ten minutes before reaching their conclusion. H'ler from the Istan judging team and Yigi from the High Reaches judging team both come forth to make the announcement. H'ler goes first. "Both teams had very outstanding displays of aerial acrobatic excellence, in the opinion of all judges, and it was a difficult decision. However, High Reaches Weyr has more overall points and so they win this event. Congratulations, team! Will one representative from the Reachian team come and claim their trophy?"

Obviously not the result the Istan team was hoping for, but D'baji claps nonetheless - he's a good sport after all - even as he sets to moving away from the spectator area, and toward the food. Flying's hard work, and there's eating to be done.

"Trophy, WOO! We win a trophy!" S'lo exclaims, tossing his teammates a big grin and a fist pump. From there, he bounces on the back of his lifemate, all but falling off in his excitement.

From Szarabhayanath's neck, "So who's going to go up?" Il'ad asks as he slips his helmet off, rubbing the sweat fro his forehead. "Hey look, my face is black. That's sexy," he muses, flicking dust from his fingers after his gloves are removed.

You slide gently down Amuirnith's neck and land with a soft thud.
S'lo slides from Tosiekoth's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Il'ad slides from Szarabhayanath's neck and lands gently on the ground.
Rhaeyn dismounts the war-chariot of Aevryscienth's fortressing neckridges, slip-sliding down to land firmly on the ground below.

T'zyn applauds politely enough for the winning team, but, though the teenager hasn't been a sore loser in any of the other events he's entered and not won, he doesn't stick around to congratulate any of them. Still looking rather uncomfortable ever since the simulated mating flight, he gets up and heads straight for his lifemate, mounting and disappearing once the 'reachians win is announced.

Tilla dismounts breathlessly. "S'lo, why don't you claim the trophy, you're the one who got all our butts into gear practicing this stuff so much." Well, its the truth. Amuirnith sprawls in the sands comfortably, her energies spent for the day but happy. Tilla notes T'zyn leaving with a frown, she'll have to catch him later.

Nemykai joins in the considerable applause to High Reaches' team, grinning widely. There's a moment's hesitation as he scans the rider's expressions for any possible injuries incurred. But with the show over, a wave is given to his apprentices and they troop back towards the infirmary tent.

"Me?" S'lo asks, giving Tilla a look as if she just suggested he go climb the tallest mountain in the world. Yeah, someone might have to—okay, there's a shove by one of the brownriders. Nearly tripping over his feet, the wingleader gains momentum towards the judges, inhaling sharply upon reaching them. "I don't need to do a speech, do I?"

"So. There's a party in my weyr later and you're invited." And that's probably the cheesiest line towards Rhaeyn, all knowing what her reaction will be. Regardless, it's fun and Il'ad finds amusement in rejection, apparently.

Rhaeyn has dismounted, a smirk on her face and a swag to her movements. Grimy leathers are stripped out of, leaving her in a rather familiar bikini — yup, right there on the beach. Rhae's gaze flickers over to Il'ad, with a desultory once-over. "Il'ad, darling, you're such a masochist. I really should hit you for that." Her eyes roll, in pitch-smudged face, and she begins looping all of her 'extra' gear into a different pile than her regular gear. Rys waits impatiently to be unstrapped, looking towards the ocean with no small amount of yearning. /She's/ the /really/ singed and blackened one, here.

H'ler chuckles as he hands S'lo the trophy. "Speech? How about a simple, 'Let's eat?' The other judges and I are /starving." The other judges all laugh, they apparently put him up to that comment.

"So is that a yes?" Not that an actual question was presented to the Weyrwoman. Il'ad watches after her for a moment before shrugging and giving his lifemate a nod. "Totally," he says while unbuckling her straps to free her for a soaking in the seawater. And then a very belated thought has him turning back to say "Hit it all you want!"

Tilla follows Rhaeyn's example, peeling off her riding gear and standing there in her lovely little bikini. "/RHAEYN/" she says, rather officiously, "Race you to the water?" Still a competitive one with a sparkle in her eye, she is. And then a belated response to S'lo, "Just take the trophy so we can then go play in the water, then eat. In that order!" She laughs.

"Oh," says S'lo as he holds the trophy, giving it a once over. And then, in true celebration, he holds it up above his head, bellowing "REACHES! WOOO!" as loudly as he can muster. There might be a voice crack in there, but that's alright. And finally, he trots back to the gang. "Where we gonna put this? Caverns? Though someone could steal it there," is said as his own riding gear is stripped, leaving him in his skivvies. Swimming skivvies.

When her home team wins, Sarillia jumps up with a screech. "Ah, High Reaches, I am proud to call you my home." She says, bowing to the performance team and then returning to her enjoyment of something roasted and meaty on a kebab stick. Skye raises his kebab stick to the heavens, "May your men always be brawny and your women strong willed…" an afterthought, "And currrvy!" This is said with a leer to the point that Sarillia steps on his toe, rather forcefully.

"Asshole," Rhaeyn replies to Il'ad, though her tone is companionable. "No, go on ahead," she gestures to Tilla with a slight smile. "I need to get all my gear stowed, first." She nods off towards the High Reaches tent. "Go on ahead," she repeats, making a shooing motion. Rys, now, doesn't need to be told twice: she's bee-lining for the water as soon as her straps are off. The brunette hefts all of her leather gear, and heads off towards the tent she gestured at a moment earlier.

Szarabhayanath bounds out to the ocean as soon as she is free, frolicking until she's in so deep only her eyes are visible.

Dex unbuckles from Nazkriuulth's riding straps, sliding down his dark form to once again have feet on Pern.

Il'ad laughs, shaking his head as he gets everything put away for the time being — at least Szara's stuff. His own sweaty gear and clothing is shed next, right down to his undershorts. Once everything's folded neatly into a pile, he too bounds towards the water to cool down. "Oh crap — hey, watch out for debris and the oil, baby!"

Szarabhayanath is careful of oil and debris, enjoying the swim and feel of the ocean. It's good. It's awesome. And she's slightly a little brighter than she normally would be.

Tilla grins towards Rhaeyn, "Allright…" she says reluctantly, because she wanted to race her, apparently. A long appraising glance is given towards his S'loness, because hey, he just stripped. And then, she squints out over towards Szara, instantly feeling that something is up. Striding over to Il'ad, she gives him a knowing glance, "Ah, is it about that time again?"

"Hm?" Il'ad asks of Tilla's boobs. Well hey, they're right there in front of him. But finally his attention drifts up to the woman's face, brows raising. "About that time wha—oh. Uh." Il'ad pleads the fifth. "Isn't she pretty?" he responds instead, giving the greenrider a knowing look. Maybe she can read his face. "GORGEOUS even. I gave her the longest oiling earlier."

Dex is feeling utterly victorious. /Utterly/. Though 'Reaches winning is still a longshot, at this point, she's pretty much confident that it wouldn't matter, because they at least won /this/ event. And, of course, she won the mounted race yesterday — it's turning into a rather good sevenday for her, nonetheless. "Rhaeyn!" she sneaks up beside the goldrider, and wraps her arm around her neck, in a very… unhuggish hug. "I'm so proud of us, I think I might just cry." Sniffle. Really. … Not. "Please tell me you're drinkin' tonight. With Inferno out of the running…" Or so, they're /supposed/ to be. Highly unlikely, at this point. By the shore, Nazkriuulth watches Szarabhayanath in the water, quietly. He simply sits, a silent victor.

"Do you think I should drink tonight? I'd probably be a liability," S'lo suggests, wrinkling his nose as he wades into the water. "I'm not that good at no —- well, wait. I can hold it pretty well. What're the rules again?"
"My eyes are up.." But Il'ad has moved his gaze to where they should be.

"Although I know those can be quite mesmerizing, to some, it seems?" Tilla smirks and laughs. "Yes, yes she is pretty. How long has she been proddy, because if you think she's going to go up anytime soon, no offense, but I think my man and I will, you know, fly somewhere…else." Tilla adds, "Like, maybe over /there/" Where there is not specified.

Rhaeyn is hugged in an unhuggish fashion. Freaking awesome. The goldrider shifts, slightly, to sling an arm 'round Dex's hips in a very unhuggish hug back. "Please don't tell me that you think that Inferno really isn't going to drink tonight." Rhaeyn sends a Very Dubious Look sideways. "I'll be surprised if G'deon doesn't order them to. Iasri can suck my toes." She states this with the calm composure that marks the typical reaction from the woman, with only a twist of a grimace.
Coora has connected.

"Hey, if I'm given a new order, I'll totally drink," Il'ad says, butting into the conversation between gold and bluerider. "But the last order I received from my new wingsecond was no alcohol consumption allowed else dire consequences will follow. WHAT? What? Whatwhatwhat?" Okay, It's Szara time again, it seems. He gives her a look as hands come to rest on his hips. And to Tilla, he's given a hopeless and helpless look.

Tilla calls over, "I still can't believe Ias made that order. If you need more competitors for the drinking..I guess I could try?" She can hold her alcohol..sometimes. Towards Il'ad, she grins, "I'm just saying, if she just went proddy there's probably a little time before she goes up, right? I can't remember if I asked you about how long it typically takes from proddy to flight with her.."

Dex grins wickedly at Rhaeyn's response. "Oh heck no. I was just laying on the suggestion to probe how much you care about her dictating the wing's dryness. I am, in fact, quite certain my mother is going to be competing tonight." Their 'unhuggish hug' is broken so she can give herself a looong stretch, obviously still sore from the footrace not long past. "I was actually expecting her to be here for the acrobatics, but.. she's pry at home 'practicing'." Mutter. Figures.

"Your new wingsecond, huh, Il'ad? Oh, Shaaazi, right… Well, what was the last thing you actually obeyed outta her mouth?" She quirks a brow, before turning to look after Il'ad's green, curious… And… Very unhopeful. Oh Faranth, not /again/.

"Damn, I'm glad I don't have to worry about either of you when it comes to flights," Rhaeyn states, seemingly out of the blue, to Il'ad and Dex. She then shakes her head. "Spread the word, Il'ad. Any Inferno who wants to compete in the context can do so, and call in /my/ name if Iasri attempts to be a bitch." She seems to think about what she's just said. "That was redundant, wasn't it."

Il'ad's face turns skywards where he mutters something silently to himself before steps pull him deeper into the water where his lifemate's situated. All but her otherwise, is ignored. "She's not proddy!" Il'ad calls back finally to the ladies. Even if it's hardly believable. "She's just—" Something that Il'ad hasn't come up with yet.

Pippa finally rouses from her seat upon the beach, having given up on whatever she is giving up on. Voice float over towards her at the sounds of talking, everything from drinking to not drinking to being dry (horror of horrors). Every comment though gets a wry grin as the young woman leaves her seat and umbrella behind to sashay her hips right on towards the tent areas, and some of the helpers nearby. Words are passed back and forth, and preparations are made.

Dex gives her Weyrwoman a rather blank stare. /Right/. Because it was Dex that was coming onto Rhaeyn, not visa versa, a few months back. "So, I'm curious," she asks with a gritty drawl, still regarding Rhaeyn. "If Iasri wins your next flight, does that make her Weyrleader? Or does G'deon keep it on the standing that, even if a female somehow ended up as Weyrleader, it should /never/ be Iasri?" Again her smile grows to wicked proportions, her eyebrows furrowing in. Good thing their clutchmate isn't actually here to hear that. "She's just… /what/, Il'ad? Feeling /precocious?/" She glares. At least, this time, it's highly unlikely Nazkriuulth will chase… Unless he's feeling insanely bitter.
"Oh Tilla.. I honestly can't say I've ever seen you drunk," she mutters, offhand, watching Pippa begin setting up. She's excited! … That she'll be staying SOBER.

"Iasri will never be weyrleader," Rhaeyn replies, feathers unruffled by the suggestion. She begins to move her bikini-clad self towards the tent Pippa's terroriz— uh, overseeing preparations at. "But M'tej, now. His Temyrth will be about the right age to be chasing when Rys goes up, next, eh? Will be interesting to see." The white of her teeth stands out against her skin, at that wicked little smile, and then Rhaeyn's /really/ walking away.

"Sure." Tilla's not convinced. Her eyes widen at Dex's statements to Rhaeyn, nope, she is /staying out/ of that discussion. Instead she wades into the water next to S'lo. "Well, if we need competitors, maybe you should drink..or I could try to drink..something.." She sits down in the water, in a rather non oily patch, treading water for a while. Towards Dex, she calls out, "Well you're not missing much, mostly some puking and staggering around.."

"She's fine, she's fine." With that, Il'ad turns to step out of the water, satisfied that he's at least rinsed himself clean enough. "She's not feeling precocious, but I am. You're invited to the party too," Il'ad says, clucking his tongue against his cheek at Dex before he brushes past her in search of something to drink. "Keep my dad if you know what's good for you." Just an idle comment from the peanut gallery.

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