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Date Posted: 18:37:04 08/31/06 Thu
Author: F'nlaur - Bakarith
Subject: Stalkers?
In reply to: Mylanith & Talla 's message, "I, ah, may have run on a little long." on 23:07:54 08/29/06 Tue

Wherever Mylanith had been, Bakarith had been.

Along with all the other bronzes in the Weyr the past sevenday, with the exception of precious few. They flitted and milled in the shadows of the Queen's wings, bickering wordlessly and sizing one another up. Luckily no fistfights between their agitated riders had broken out.. none had been reported, in any case.

Bakarith picks a ledge down below the gold, settling into a sprawl on the sun-heated rock. Even in this early morning the stone was rapidly growing warm, something the bronze had commented on to his rider, despite certain.. distractions.

It's so nice and hot up here.

F'nlaur didn't need that tidbit of information to be actually "spoken" - he can feel the languorous comfort of his dragon seeping through their bond, and making him feel a little lazy himself. The rider heaves a soft sigh, knowing the only reason that his bronze would initiate a conversation. Yes, Bak, I know. She's lovely. Once admitting this, the bare-chested rider returns to oiling his bronze's harness. His tan skin glows with a fine sheen of sweat and his copper locks spill untamed about his toned shoulders.

You're being sarcastic. Stop being sarcastic!

I'm not. She really is. Honest. And I'll admit, that Talla's a looker, too. But I think you've run out of synonyms for "golden" and "splendid" and "sex-

Okay, I get it. I will resist. But look at her, Finnie!

F'nlaur huffs again and combs his sun-paled locks (which still retain most of their lustrous copper redness) out of his face, head tilting up to gaze upon his bronze's queen. And he is quite promptly taken aback, blinking and frowning from his spot on the green of the bowl. By the First Egg. Bakarith.. look at her.

The bronze churrs smugly and rolls into a crouch, tail whipping from side to side and eyes, both starting to whorl with lusty magenta, still fixated on Mylanith. As the queen draws closer and closer to rising, Bakarith grows more and more agitated.. just one of the bronze (and bold brown) shadows lingering around the queen.

As she ascends, suddenly and flawlessly, Bakarith lets out a high-pitched scream, wings snapping out, talons (and the mental shrieking of his rider) keeping him in place for now. The bronze's eyes are dominated by magenta and purple and violent scarlet, flashing and flickering and dancing as he waits.. waits.. and yearns.

F'nlaur has no such requisite. Like a hunting canine he jerks from his standstill, picking up a dead sprint towards Talla at the edge of the bowl. He's lost none of the speed at his command, from way back in his runner days. Indeed, it's one of the simple pleasures in his life - almost therapeutic. So he's kept himself honed. In a matter of seconds he is at her side, clutching at the wall with a sculpted hand and trying not to draw any closer.

One part of him is beginning his choice to wear such tight wherhide breeches, too.

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Replies:

  • This was...sudden -- F'rell | Jariath, 21:03:22 09/02/06 Sat
  • (Eek) -- OOC, 23:33:29 09/02/06 Sat
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