[PRP] Drift...er, Draft Compatible [Zezollath/Alquemieth]

[ShinosBee]

There were a lot of very strange and slightly uncomfortable things happening in the lives of the Weyr's up-and-coming weyrlings of late. Some were strange and uncomfortable in good ways, and others in... well, strange and uncomfortable ways. They'd learned so very much in what felt like very little time at all, and were growing longer, taller, stronger... They'd learned to fly, and that was a joy that Zezollath hadn't known was missing from her life until she'd had it again, but with the ability to fly about with her dear F'enn had come... separation. They'd all become a bit too large (though she herself individually was still very, very small, the smallest of all the weyrling greens even) to stay together in the barracks any more, and over a week or two they had been assigned their own weyrs around the bowl's rim. It had been very exciting at the time—to know that they'd earned the right to live more independently—but had swiftly become somewhat lonely. Of course with F'enn she would never really feel lonely, it was just a slightly different situation than she was used to. They still had their lessons together, and worked together, prepared to do battle together... but it wasn't the same, and it was quite something to stare that fact in the face and accept that it never would be the same again.

Still, life was too busy to ponder such sad thoughts for long, and it wouldn't do anything but burden others to speak of them. She tucked her small sorrows away, and strove all the harder to enjoy what time they did have together.

With the lot of them still in training, that meant even spending more time devoted to drilling than she, already determined to pull her weight and more besides, to match up to even the largest green, or perhaps even a blue's strength, had first planned for. Thankfully some among her clutch (and she did consider Rhianth's clutch as well to be 'her clutch', they were all close enough to be siblings, after all) were like-minded when it came to how to spend their time, and usually they made quite the faire, all swirling around the bowl together in this formation or that one.

Today in the bowl, she and several others from the group, of almost every color, white to bronze, were practicing drafting. Recently they had begun to learn about the tactic, and it was one that Zezollath had paid extra mind to from the start. She knew she was only a small green, and could never hope to last a full fall... but she wanted to be able to last as long as she could, to do the most that she could do, if only so that no one would ever be able to do anything but praise her dear F'enn again. Drafting—letting one of her larger siblings (eventually her larger wingmates), brown or bronze, carve through the air, and slipping herself into the area just behind them to take advantage of the currents in their wake to glide along without spending any energy—would be a very important tool in her kit to master.

Thankfully several of her larger counterparts had either been bid or had volunteered to practice with some of the smaller weyrlings, and she'd spent the last hour, perhaps, ducking from draft to draft, practicing where to aim and how far behind to hang to catch the most wind and also not impede the larger dragons' movements. Once she found the right spot she would dart ahead again, zipping around the bowl with the almost break-neck speed that was her color's specialty, pretending to sear and scorch thread before she slid back into another dragon's wake to rest again.

In truth, even with the drafting, she was drawing near to the limits of her stamina, and she felt a faint tremble in her wings as she slid into place, perfectly behind and to one side of one of the bronzes—Alquemieth, she registered with a glance. She very likely wouldn't grow much more at all... but she still had a lot to do to strengthen herself, especially to carry F'enn's weight, which she wasn't even doing today. The wind her brother carved at least was steady, not choppy at all like some of her siblings still threw, and she let herself give a small sigh of relief as she felt the shiver leave her wings as they curved around one side of the bowl's edge. ad always been just as studious as she had, always working just as hard, at every practice she'd been to... no wonder he was already the best at this skill, she supposed.

When she felt she'd rested enough for another 'attack', she reached out to gently, politely tap at the bronze's mind. No words, just a quiet alert that she was about to move, to prevent any potential collisions, and a humble sense of thanks for allowing her to linger in his wake. She'd done the same each time she'd partnered with one of her siblings thus in practice, and she spared the action little thought as she slipped forward, flicking away and forward to his left, crooning as she shot ahead to once more mime flaming the Enemy from the sky.

medigel

 

[medigel]

Some might have preferred that time slowed down, but not Alquemieth. He willed it forward one day more and another, more than ready to meet the old enemy, to divorce himself from the chaos that was his class and be recognized for the worthwhile bronze among bronzes that he was. However Ar’din has complained, he had done decently in his studies, and it felt that they had found a second wind once they were able to fly together. As if the tangible feeling of dragonriding had given him the evidence that it all truly was worth it in the end. Still, Alquemieth had to field HisAr’din’s silent brooding over paperwork while he took to the skies with his clutchmates for drills.

The only thing Alque thought could be a flaw in his design was his stamina. For a bronze, he was wide-winged, slender, and fast—a better modeled blue that could actually stay in the fray. But that was the challenging part. He found himself getting winded faster than some of his classmates, though he would rather throw himself Between than admit it. The only way to work on it was to push his limits. Thus did he keep a steely focus, even going so far as to push Ar’din’s wandering mind way at one point. Both of them needed to concentrate, even though this wasn’t life or death. One day it would be.

Alquemieth nearly forgot he was working with others as a result. The mental tap brought him back briefly, and annoyed. Just one of his sisters moving forward, coasting off his draft to dart ahead at the pretender Thread. What a microcosm that was, he thought as he kept steady wingbeats. The chromatics flailing to keep up in the wake of their metallic betters. He supposed they had a different reason to want time to pass quickly: so that they too could join in the circus that was rising/chasing. What a waste.

Stop. Focus. He took a deep breath and felt prickling tightness growing in his chest on the left side of his ribs. Shards. Alquemieth knew better than to strain himself too much training, and he had been at it for a while, but it still felt too soon to get tired! How many laps had he done around the weyrbowl? More than the day before or less?

Diaphragm spasms, Ar’din observed. Take a rest, it should go away quick.

Alquemieth exhaled harshly and went for a few wingbeats more, but there was little use in ignoring his rider’s advice; he couldn’t take deep breaths without aching. < Very well, > he said, though he was clearly unhappy. He angled towards the ground and landed with a whumph, skirting past a few humans and slowing to a trotting end. He tested rolling his shoulder as he tried to stretch the knot.

Not how that works.

Alquemieth snorted, though at least Ar’din didn’t go for the pun.

ShinosBee

 

[ShinosBee]

Zezollath was halfway through her second 'attacking' loop of the bowl, just about to give in to her aching wings' demand and return to the slipstream of one of her larger siblings, when she caught a falling star out of the corner of her eye. Alquemieth, the one she'd been trailing just a moment before, dove down towards the bowl, landing in motion and slowing to a stop after a few steps. It wasn't unusual for one or two to drop out of the drills as they liked—they were outside of the work that the lot of them had been given, just extra practice, and not something they had to do so much as wanted to do... but Alquemieth stepping down before all the rest? That was strange. She was not particularly close to him, at least not compared to some of her cousins and siblings... but she knew he was a hard worker, and she had never seen him be anything but one of the last few at a drill.

Maybe something was wrong...

She'd honestly been about to drop out anyway, her tiny frame still just not up to the task of flying for so hard for so long—but no one really needed to know if she overworked herself, aside from F'enn, and she had pushed herself quite a bit today. She could be proud of the work she'd done, she decided. Every lap made her that much stronger, that much better so she could support F'enn and the Weyr. It would be okay, yes, she thought, to stop now, and maybe to check in with the much larger bronze just to be sure.

She tucked into a dive, sending out faint ripples of approval and thanks, and pride in their work to all those siblings that still remained in the air as she stooped low towards the bowl. One benefit of her slight figure of course was that, even when her wings were tired and twanging, it took almost no effort to back-wing and stop herself to land. In a tiny plume of kicked-up dust and sand, she hopped to a stop, one, two steps enough to ground herself. It felt just lovely to fold her wings after such a workout, to let them rest. She would undoubtedly be sore tomorrow, but she would work through it. One day she would have to, when they all were fighting thread every day. From on the ground she could see that Alquemieth seemed to have overdone it as well, as she'd suspected; he was rolling one shoulder, and looked quite unhappy if the colors of his eyes were anything to go by.

In a blink all her worries about her own aches were gone, and her feet were set to moving across the bowl. Brother? Alquemieth? You flew very well today, as always! It was very easy to draft behind you, I know it let me fly much longer than I could alone, but... She slowed her pace as she drew near, tender greens and pale yellows whirling in her eyes—affection for her sibling and pride in him, and worry too, though not outright fear or distress. ...Well, it's only that you always work so hard; you're usually the last of us to retire. Genuine concern swirled in her eyes as she stepped a bit closer, looking him over for any signs that something was drastically wrong.

In reality there was probably nothing she could do even if something were wrong. He could summon aid as quickly as she could, of course, but... there was no harm in asking, just in case, right? Are you alright?

medigel

 

[medigel]

< How long will I need to wait? >

Alquemieth could practically hear Ar’din sighing through his nose. Until it stops, idiot.

Displeasure rippled through him, but there was nothing for it. < Remain diligent in your reading, then. > Perhaps he should cool down in the lake while he had the chance...He was considering that while taking inventory of the little creaks in his body when a fly buzzed into his headknobs.

It was no secret that Alquemieth cared little for most dragons beyond himself, and it had only grown worse with time. When he turned to see who was bothering him, he felt no shame in that it took him a moment to remember her name was Zezollath. She was lucky he did at all; only the constant exercises of weyrling practice had forced Alquemieth to put a name to so many faces in his class, taking up space in his brain that could have gone to something more useful. After all, when you saw one green, you’ve essentially seen them all.

This wasn’t even scratching what the bronze thought of their respective riders. That was an entire batch of tubers in and of itself.

Most of what Zezollath said passed over him like a breeze. He did not need praise to know his worth, least of all from a simpering green. That she was catching him in a moment of weakness was already bad enough, but the genuine concern in her voice turned the knob up towards disgust. < I am fine, > Alquemieth replied, his usual fiery tones like dying embers in his eyes. < Your concern is unnecessary. Go back to work. >

Assuming that was enough to get her to leave, he turned and waded into the water. Despite the advent of summer upon them, the water remained cool if too bright from the sun. Taking the weight off his limbs did feel nice, though he reminded himself that this was a temporary reprieve. No extra indulgence.

ShinosBee

 

[ShinosBee]

His voice, deep with displeasure, came glancing off her like flicking fingers to send some little pest a-scattering. He sounded unhappy, displeased—but then, Alquemieth had always been very serious, and very stern, and not all all the sort to mince words or spare softness. She knew that, and did not flinch from his abrupt dismissal as some greens of fainter heart or smaller care might do. It was simply, to her mind, how he was. And it was that way for good reason; of course, it must be. He could tend himself better than she ever could, needed nothing from her, and she was taking up time he could be spending returning to practice or seeking aid if it were needed, or in the presence of his rider (Ar’din, her hearts fondly—blindly—recalled, a bright haply spark to have recalled it correctly). There was no reason at all for him to give her the time of day...

But he had. He had taken the time to answer her question, and soothe her worries, even if he’d been blunt and dismissive about it. Even if he hadn’t meant to, really... he had.

In truth the little green would always rather carry the yoke of scorn than think there might have been someone in need whom she had ignored. That might have, maybe, needed her. Or even just needed to know someone cared about them enough to ask. The thought that her approach and heartfelt concern might have been what upset the bronze, might have even embarrassed him—it didn’t even occur to her. It was natural and right to worry after your friends and your family, and your allies and wingmates. Alquemieth was all of those in one, and he surely felt the same deep down, she assumed.

So when he shrugged her off, turned his back, let her slip back out of the sum of his world that he felt was worth his time to acknowledge, a subtraction so minute as to be unconscious? She beamed. As much as a dragon could, the tiny green shone with her gladness, and her peace of mind that her strong, dutiful, driven brother was well. She did not follow him as he made for the lake, content now that he’d been seen to to begin tending her own aches, stretching her wings and gently stretching as she mentally reached out to locate her F’enn. She did watch him go however, and called after him with a soft whistling note, I’m so glad, Alquemieth, honestly; thank you for easing my silly green hearts...

With a larger stretch and a flap, she reared back on her hind legs, and with a last little soft sing-song croon, launched upwards and overhead. She arced gently over the lake before curving upwards—she could manage a few more laps, she was sure! And thank you, also, for working with us all to get better, too!

medigel

 

[medigel]

Something so sweet made him sick. He should have ignored it and would have as a junior weyrling, but it nagged and bit at him like a feral flit. His previous disgust felt like it was growing the longer he thought about it. Alquemieth had always held suspicions about certain classmates, but now...

Hmph. She was mocking him. Why else come down to see the most capable bronze of the bunch, putting on the saccharine airs of a concerned sister, and then fly off within seconds? Typical. Her thanks punctuated her posturing, even.

Alquemieth glowered as he waded into the water until the bulk of his weight was off his legs and dove. The cool pressure against his hide as he arrowed down was welcoming, though he didn’t stay long and breached the surface after a handful of seconds. The stitchlike feeling in his chest was a nuisance. Everything suddenly was.

The bronze dove several more times, as if the depths could cool and compress the flares within, before pausing to watch his clutchmates fly. If his commentary as he did made him seem like he was lording then as wingleader, so be it. Alquemieth knew most wouldn’t care for the critiquing, but it was just as much an exercise for him remembering wing formations as it was him correcting his clutchmates’ mistakes. And there were more than enough of those in his eyes.

The moment he could take a breath and not feel as though a knife was punishing him, the bronze warned his arrival and launched back into the air, leaving a trickle of water behind like a contrail. Invigorated, either by the bath or by being able to vent his anger, Alquemieth slipped into the formation like he had never left, once again focused.

ShinosBee

 

[ShinosBee]

Zezollath returned to her efforts in the sky, oblivious to the true disdain and disparaging thoughts her brother harbored for her and her behavior. She had been genuine in her affection and her care, and could not even begin to imagine he—or anyone—could possibly see it as a front, a ruse; a ploy for attention or praise (though in truth and unknown to even herself such wants were indeed part of her motivation). She spared him but a glance or two as he dove and swam about, and her attention soon returned in full to the effort of the drill. She slipped in and out of the drafts behind her larger family, flicked ahead to feign striking at her foes, all the while letting her happy hearts shine on the sleeve of her being, each sibling or cousin she passed receiving a soft trill or nudge of pride or thanks for their aiding her.

Heedless (though not thoughtless) she took what advice her grounded brother offered, adjusting her pace or the line of her flight’s angle to better catch and ride the churning air. Each lap she strove to do better than the last, and though once more her wings began to ache and shiver, she did not fail or flag in her efforts to prove herself. Prove herself to Alquemieth, to her family, to her future wing, to her Weyr and to all of Pern. She was only a very little green... but she would not be anyone’s burden if she could help it.

Without breaking her stride, she let loose a small peal of silvered, bell-like pride when the bronze once more rose to join them. This time when she drew close to ride his wind, she did not reach out to tap him, to distract him... but there was no mistaking the keen familial affection and pride in him radiating from where she flew.

Oh, she just knew it—together, they would all work together, and one day save all of Pern!

medigel

 

[medigel]

Begrudgingly, he could note that overall they had all come a long way from their first months as junior weyrlings the longer their training session went. Alquemieth wasn’t one that gave praise easily, but he wasn’t a liar, only a dragon that knew the slightest word could tip some of his fellow clutch mates into emotional fits he had no desire to participate in. If they were finally showing use as future wingmates, then that was all that mattered. Around a bronze like Alquemieth, saying nothing at all could be construed as positive.

Eventually the group began to disintegrate for various reasons—their riders needing them, or a wanting to feed, or just generally being tired or too bored to bother staying for an optional session. Alquemieth landed feeling a little better about his performance, though he tried to hide how hard he was panting. Against other bronze and brown cousins and brothers, he didn’t have the same bulk or stamina, and it was a thought that continued to niggle at him like an insect. He needed to be better. Perfect. A bronze that tired faster than his hide’s average wouldn’t be looked at for wingleader positions, let alone weyrleader...And he certainly didn’t trust any of his clutchmates to lead one day. Let them squander their time with literal flights of fancy, then. He needed to revisit his plan.

< Will you be finished soon, Mine? > Alquemieth asked as he tested a wing, sensing that a muscle or two wouldn’t be happy about those sharp turns he had tried. Halfway through asking, he noticed that Ar’din was talking to yet another woman and snorted as he was given a small rebuff. Arcadin was his most cherished, but he was also acting like an idiot about the simplest things, like mates and the future; and Alque knew it was an act, whatever front the young man put up. They seriously needed to talk about these issues again.

Oh, Faranth no. And with that dry amusement from his bonded, the bronze felt the equivalent of a door shutting in his face and rumbled again. Fine, then.

With the contempt of a master’s flick of the wrist, Alquemieth reached out to Zezollath, one of the few remaining weyrlings that hadn’t left for whatever reason. < You. Anything I should note for my report? > He didn’t mean to be vague, but he was caught in a new loop of irritation and concentration as he began compiling his own observations to give to the weyrlingmaster, so he didn’t much care to spend extra time explaining what he thought was obvious.

ShinosBee