RR Flame Angel (Lil/open)

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

3074.01.26 | Midday | Sky above RMW

The sun’s rays beat down, bouncing off of any reflective surface so that it seemed to be more a source of light than an object reflecting light. The few clouds in the sky were streams of wispy white, set against a backdrop of vibrant blue. There was a light breeze, just enough to keep one from broiling in the heat, and the thermals were excellent. In short, it was a great day for flying. At least, that was how Ancalanath considered it.

The RR Flame was sporting through the air, muscles rippling, wings beating, stilling, tucked in for a dive, snapped out and swept down, propelling him once more into the air. His bugle of success mixing with his rider’s exhilarated whoop, the sounds cutting through the air. Catching a thermal, he spread his wings and allowed the warm air to push him up as he circled though the column of warm air by tilting his body and slightly altering the positions of his tail and head.

Ready? Ancalanath asked his rider, glancing back quickly with one rapidly whirling, blue-green eye.

T’kar smiled, which he knew was all the answer that Ancalanath would need. Well, that and his mounting excitement. This was why everyone wanted to be a dragonrider!

Ancalanath abruptly twisted out of his rising right hand spiral, falling out to the left before straightening into another ground-scorching dive. This dive, Ancalanath ended with a corkscrew backflip, overshooting the heads of the few people in the Bowl by so little that they could have reached out and touched his wings. He kept the flip going until he was at a 50 degree angle to the ground and then shot forwards, overshooting the Weyrheights and then starting to “fall” towards them, back-winging and tucking his hindquarters underneath himself so that his body was practically vertical. Which slowed his descent, for the tucked hindquarters essentially made his whole body into a third wing.

We are the masters of the sky! he cried, bugling.

Here, no one can defeat us.

Ancalanath allowed himself to come in until he was just above the Weyrheights, looking like nothing so much as a creature of living fire, then he smoothly brought his forequarters to down and forward and, with a tremendous downbeat, shot into open air once more. He bugled again, triumphant flyer.

T’kar shot his right hand into the air, whooping and reveling in the feeling of sheer power, the feeling of suspension, or divorce from reality and complete knowledge of all reality, that his adrenalin was giving him.

Ancalanath, answering his rider’s silent request, went into a barrel roll, wings tucked tight against him for three complete rotations before he snapped them out, leveling and catching a thermal towards the base of the heavens.

Finally, after swooping around some more, Ancalanath landed, touching down first with his back feet, then allowing his front to settle to the ground, so that for a moment he echoed his wings-spread rearing posture from above the Heights.

T'kar slid down to the ground, grinning. The expression didn't even falter as he saw somebody approaching, though silently...

Ancalanath, that isn't one of the people you nearly hit by any chance, is it? he asked.

Ancalanath didn't respond. He wasn't certain, and didn't see why it should matter in the first place. After all, he hadn't hit them.

[sweetlilangel]

Such noisy things. Don't they have work to be doing? Kronikoth complained, slitting his eyelids to peer out into 'Bowl. You'd think they'd just been hatched..

Mi'an ignored his dragon's complaints, opting to stretch his muscles before the afternoon's wing drills. Doing so in the bright, warm sunlight was an added benefit and he wasn't about let his brute ruin that for him.

Of course... This was before the dragon Kronikoth was complaining about nearly took his head off. That could be a slight exaggeration, but he had been entirely to close for comfort or safety.

I told you. Foolish Hatchlings.

Mi'an sighed and smoothly moved from his stretch to a more relaxed position. They are just having a bit of fun between drills. He told the beast, though he was already slowly approaching the pair that had just landed.

Their fun could have cost you your life. Kronikoth's statement was snapped and the way he shifted on his ledge was a clear indication he intended to do something about the Flame.

Hatchling, Do you have no respect for the ones you wake with your noisy antics? No regard for the ones your foolish stunts could behead? Kronikoth addressed Acalanath with a voice dripping his anger and disdain.

Mi'an suppressed a groan and quickly closed the gap between him and the other pair. "Don't listen to the mal-content beast. He's not happy unless he's made an enemy of someone," he said hastily, trying desperately to keep Kronikoth from scaring yet another potential ally away from them. "He is right on one thing, though. You came dangerously close to the ground of the 'Bowl. Had there been any other dragons or someone particularly tall in your path, you could very well have hurt or even killed them."

Honesty. Always the best policy, but may be his undoing this day.

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

The shorter man — it took T’kar a couple seconds to place him as the Wingleader of the Spiral Seekers Wing — had a point, T’kar had to admit that that last corkscrew back-flip ended dive had come a little too close to the ground, but, it wasn’t like they were Weyrlings, and the fact was that they hadn’t hurt or killed anyone. On the other hand, a fight between Wingleaders was hardly a good way to start out the afternoon. Time to defuse the situation before it became a situation.

“You have a point there, Mi’an,” T’kar replied, swallowing his initial impulse to make a snide remark about there not having been anyone particularly tall in the path of their trick. “We’ll have to make sure not to use that move under less-than ideal conditions.” He paused a beat, than added: “My apologies for coming so close to your head. I gather that Kronikoth’s a little peeved about that.” The last sentence was a cross between a question and a statement, but it leaned a little towards the statement end of the accounting.

Meanwhile, Ancalanath was counting to ten, for about the fourth time. He knew that T’kar was right, a fight between Wingleaders was not a good way to start an afternoon, but… His sides tensed, pushing the air he’d inhaled out once more, in a low, rumbling growl.

T’kar didn’t need to look over at Ancalanath, he knew that the RR Flame would have eyes redder than Star’s Crimson hide. Control yourself! T’kar snapped to the dragon. Just because Kronikoth has no control does not give you the right to behave likewise!

Ancalanath hissed, but held his peace… for another ten seconds. The correct term of address is Wingleader, he responded. As it is after midday, I was not aware that there were any lazy enough to still be asleep. He would have added more, but he knew the look in his rider’s eye and fell silent, though his eyes were still whirling red.