Sense and Sensibility [C'vir]

Hunger was something that neither rider or dragon would complain about having to take time out of their day to get under control. Caxith was a bit of a glutton, and had been more than a little spoiled in weyrlinghood. T'rielle, on the other hand, had been on the other end of the spectrum in the past and simply had no interest in ever experiencing the discomfort of an empty stomach as long as he could help it. Today, T'rielle had actually made it to breakfast instead of having to live off of klah for an entire morning. Caxith was not so lucky, and being the easily-bored type, she decided that she wanted to go hunting.

But why do I need to go? It was very nearly a whine, and T'rielle, barechested and displaying a rather impressive case of bedhead, flopped facedown on his half-made bed with a groan. He heard a rumble from outside, and then there was a dragon face filling his doorway. He grimaced at her, knowing exactly what Caxith intended to say before she informed him that he'd be coming with her, whether he was on her back or not. It was a genuine threat--something he had learned the hard way, in fact--and it didn't take long for the greenrider to drag himself dramatically to his feet and finish dressing, quickly giving up on his hair and pulling it into a messy ponytail at the nape of his neck. The green dragon was waiting outside the hut, affecting an exceptionally patient air as soon as T'rielle made his way towards the door (though he didn't miss the marks her restless tail-twitching had left in the dust).

He grinned, but wisely decided not to say anything about it. Instead, he paused to scratch an itch along her spine, before setting about putting his riding straps on. "I need to oil you," he murmured, mostly to himself. Caxith was quick to comfort him, sensing the first twinges of guilt beginning to tug at his heartstrings.

Not the end of the world if it doesn't get done today. I'm still hungry.

"Alright, alright, let's go get you fed. You'd think I wasn't feeding you, either."

You're babbling again.

"I am not, you ungrateful wherry." And with that, he scrambled atop the green dragon's back, slapping her neck once he was securely settled and strapped in (he'd tried, many times, to convince the dragon that he didn't need them, that he was perfectly capable of hanging on just fine by himself, but either Caxith had an inflated sense of her own acrobatics or a more realistic knowledge of her rider's). Caxith crouched, gathering herself as her wings rose, then with a mighty downstroke and a quiet grunt she leapt into the air, and as soon as she was above the level of even the tallest of huts, blinked between.

Caxith enjoyed the hunting itself almost as much as she enjoyed the eating, and despite all of his bitching and moaning, T'rielle never grew tired of the experience. The gore, honestly, he could have done without, and the first couple times had ended in a less than pleasant manner. It was quickly discovered that Caxith was not a fan of puke, and it wasn't exactly a walk in the park for her rider, either.

Emerging from between, T'rielle looked down and had to laugh. Caxith's placement was quite perfect, having appeared a hundred feet above a flock of fat herdbeasts. The green rumbled in agreement as she hovered briefly, taking the moment to single out her prey before deftly folding her wings and dropping like a rock.

C'vir was a committed early riser. His body had always demanded that he rise with the sun, a biological directive he rarely minded obliging. He liked the empty early morning hours and found no pleasure in languishing in bed. Fewer people seemed to exist at dawn, and fewer worries. He was at his best before lunchtime, when the world had yet to start moving with quite the same lively fervor that it possessed in the afternoon. Morning meant freshness and clarity and loose shoulders, all of which were doomed to become gradually more compromised as the day wore on; he was willing to trade a candlemark or two of sleep for a small stretch of time spent relatively free of tension.

By the time Besulth began to stir, C'vir had already dressed, eaten breakfast, and returned from the Dining Hall. The brown regularly outslept his rider, a habit about which he was occasionally playfully chided. In addition to valuing rest more than C'vir did, the dragon knew that his rider needed the time he got to himself each morning. Once that time was over, the man belonged to Besulth, and Besulth had needs.

What did you bring me from breakfast? the brown purred.

What do I ever bring you from breakfast? C'vir refused to indulge the dragon's human-food habit, save on extremely special occassions, but that didn't stop the brown from bothering him about it ceaselessly. If you're hungry, there's plenty of fresh herdbeast to be had. An assenting rumble answered him, prompting the rider to grab his straps and step into the mid-morning sunlight. With a practiced series of motions, he readied the dragon for flight and quickly climbed into place. Besulth wasted no time when food was in question. C'vir felt the brown's muscles gather beneath him and then they were aloft, gaining an appropriate amount of altitude before they slipped between.

The rider forcefully blinked away the cold as they appeared just outside of the hunting ranges, arriving in time to watch a dark green body plummet toward the earth. Besulth rumbled appreciatively. I'm landing while they hunt. We can watch.

C'vir glared at the back of the brown's head as they descended, unwilling to make what was supposed to be a simple feeding into a social call. You're here to eat, not to make small talk, the man muttered irritably. Not only was it unwelcome company, it was unwelcome company in the form of a green.

I happen to like greens, Besulth asserted, trying as always to dispel his rider's ill-humor.

You happen to like everything with wings, and most things without.

I'm a bit more selective than that, the brown scoffed. Firelizards have wings and I abhor them.  

Well, the brownrider thought as they landed, relieved by the reminder that there was /something/ with which his dragon wouldn't flirt, at least that's a start.

Besulth comes, Caxith said as she dove, prompting T'rielle to sit up abruptly (and not terribly wisely). Wha--shit. Quickly, he leaned back down, nearly hugging the green neck before him. He heard and felt a brief rumble of laughter from the green dragon just before she dropped into the herd, claws closing securely about her chosen victim. Idiot, she whispered to him, pulling out of that breath-stealing dive with the heardbeast clutched securely in her claws. She ducked her head and closed her jaws around the weakly struggling beast's neck, and with a twist, snapped the creature's neck. Picking a spot a respectful distance from where Besulth had landed, she dropped the herdbeast and leaped back into the air.

She ran the herd for what was perhaps a little longer than strictly necessary before picking her next victim, diving upon the creature with a twist as it veered in an attempt to get away. It let out a mournful lowing sound before Caxith ended its life in much the same way she had done the last. Let Besulth take a turn, love, he suggested, and, grumbling, Caxith settled fully onto all four legs and paused long enough for her rider to disengage himself from his riding straps and slide down her shoulder. She fell on the first of her two collected carcasses with vigor, T'rielle watching with a look that was a solid mixture of fondness and disgust.

Aren't you going to say hello? He asked, amused and well aware of his dragon's less-than-subtle protectiveness over her kills. T'rielle knew that the brown wasn't going to steal her food, and on most levels so did she. But that didn't mean she had intended to be welcoming. She wasn't a lady or anything. But she was fond of this particular classmate, and was willing to share "her" hunting range. Just this once. T'rielle sighed.

Besulth, she purred after a moment, still crouched low over her kills, bloody head turned in the big brown's direction. T'rielle, oblivious to C'vir's abhorrence towards greens (or just not caring, which might have been the more likely choice), raised a hand in cheerful greeting, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had no such qualms about company on a hunting trip, but then it wasn't his food they were here for.

When the pair had securely landed, C'vir dismounted nimbly, opting to lean against Besulth's foreleg as he watched the hunters -- T'rielle and Caxith, fellow Renewed Hope graduates -- at work. It was T'rielle's optimism that the brownider most remembered about his classmate -- a trait of relative rarity among Katilans, and one that he occasionally envied. The green, he recalled, had always enjoyed the hunt, and watching Caxith have her way with the herdbeasts, he forgot the handicap of her gender long enough to admire her zeal.

Is that all it takes, then? A taste for blood and suddenly the color of their hides stops mattering to you? The rider sighed, perfectly aware that, as far as Besulth was concerned, a dragon was a dragon. Some were better than others, but those distinctions were made based on factors completely removed from genetics. It's not color I begrudge, it's gender, he murmured, tone suggesting that the statement was one he made often. Look at her, the brown commanded. Does she look like she needs your protection?

C'vir paused, gaze turning obediently skyward. Caxith's gleeful ferocity was admittedly impressive; her skill in collecting a meal certainly wasn't diminished by her sex. "Hunting herdbeasts and fighting thread are two entirely different matters. A herdbeast isn't likely to get her killed." Speaking aloud to the dragon made him particularly emphatic.
The brown snorted softly in reply, following the green's descent with her second successful kill. You're hopeless sometimes. Thread isn't likely to get her killed either, given that no one's even certain it will return.
I am, he answered without hesitation, still contemplating Caxith, bent intently over her pair of carcasses with savage joy. No, she didn't look particularly delicate now, but that changed very little. When thread returned, she'd be in danger all the same.

Besulth purposefully nudged the rider with his nose as he swung his head in Caxith's direction, crooning a response. Lovely as always, Caxith. I'd forgotten what a pleasure it is to watch you hunt! With that, the brown unfurled his massive wings, pausing only to ask his rider: Coming with?

C'vir shook his head as he stepped out of the dragon's way. He hunted with Besulth whenever he was in the mood for an adrenalin rush or the immediacy of visceral experience, but generally preferred to watch. The brown was beautiful in flight, moving with a grace that his rider always found miraculously contrary to his size. After six turns, the man still didn't think it should be possible that something so large could possess such poise -- he would never lose his appreciation for it.

Good, remarked the brown, springing into the sky. Stay and socialize. A few fluid beats of his wings and he was well into the air, wheeling to peer at the grounded men. Be a doll, he remarked lightly to T'rielle, and don't let my rider get too lonely while I'm away. Humans taken care of, the brown reoriented himself, making a few wide passes over the shaken herd. The day was pleasant, his rider would soon be occupied (whether he liked it or not), and the food below him was plentiful, if currently a bit agitated; the brown was perfectly satisfied with taking his time.

C'vir, stranded below, sighed and managed a lackluster wave in the greenrider's direction. "Afternoon," he called, without any great enthusiasm. No avoiding it now.

Sorry again! Still have no idea how I managed to go so long without seeing this! I'll be more prompt next time, lol.

Despite her defensiveness, Caxith was never above a little preening and ego-boosting, something that Besulth, at least, was spectacularly good at. Her eyes whirled happily for a moment, prompting T'rielle to grin and roll his eyes. An audience is never unwelcome. Especially a complimentary one.

As long as they don't expect to share, right? The green readjusted herself over her kills, coincidentally giving T'rielle a solid thwap to the back of the head with her tail. He gave an indignant squawk and rocked forward a few steps, giving the dragon a wounded look before freezing for a moment at Besulth's request. He glanced at Caxith, more out of habit than anything (a voice in your head, the first response would naturally be to look at one's own dragon, right?) before turning his attention to the brown dragon. Wouldn't dream of doing otherwise, he replied.

Turning towards C'vir at the brownrider's greeting, he grinned. You're going to scare him away with a look like that, dear. T'rielle grimaced, casting a look over his shoulder at the bloody-faced green. You can't even see my face, you ungrateful brat, he shot back. Once, he thought, there may have been some reaction gained from Caxith's enthusiastic feeding habits, but after a while, T'rielle had developed the suspicion that Caxith did it on purpose to get a rise out of whoever might have been watching. She didn't tone herself down, of course, when he stopped reacting, but it seemed to fit her personality, and frankly it wasn't doing anyone any harm. As long as he didn't actually watch her mangle her meals, he had no issues with it.

"And what a lovely afternoon it is," he said, beaming nonabashedly at the brownrider as he meandered his way towards him. He certainly wasn't dense enough to miss the way his bubbly personality tended to be a little off-putting to the general population, but he may have been dense enough not to care too much what other people thought of him. Dense, and perhaps a little foolish.

Dense, I'll give you. But foolish? Never. It was a constant debate between the two, though it tended to bounce back and forth on who was speaking which part. Caxith would call him an idiot all day long until he started doing it too, at which point she'd grudgingly take on the role of 'supportive parent' and tell him he really was an idiot if he believed this shit.

Turning his attention to the hunting brown for a moment, T'rielle took the time to mentally admire the dragon's style (very loudly in Caxith's direction, which she was very nice about ignoring). "He's looking well, as always," he said, belatedly turning back towards C'vir after he was done speaking.

No worries, love. :P

C'vir adroitly masked the a grimace that would've conveyed his trapped hopelessness in its entirety, rearranging his features into a tight-lipped smile just welcoming enough to save him from offending the greenrider. He somehow managed to routinely find himself in the company of the most  enthusiastic occupants of Katila -- a talent he now tried to appreciate. While the optimists of the world made perfectly pleasant company, company was rarely what the rider desired, and performing socially demanded effort on his part he'd rather not exert. If the turns had taught him one thing, it was that it required entirely too much energy to be upbeat. With any luck, a bit of his positivity will rub off on you, Besulth remarked from above. I wouldn't get your hopes up.

"Lovely, yes," the brownrider replied flatly, squinting first at the sun, then the circling brown, and finally T'rielle himself. He didn't bother trying to match the greenrider's megawatt smile. Any attempt on his part would have fallen flat,  and it was more comfortable to adopt his standard stony placidity instead.  His aloof manner was designed to be mildly offputting; it generally helped keep conversations like the one in which he was currently involuntarily engaged short.

C'vir avoided eye contact by settling his gaze on Caxith, who was happily tearing into her collection of carcasses. Though she wasn't a dainty eater, the rider didn't find her feeding difficult to watch. The green knew what she wanted and went at it with single-minded, ferocious vigor, a quality he appreciated in any creature but would have much preferred to see in a male. Gore didn't suit a lady, a consideration which clearly had little effect on Caxith, bloodied as she was from the ardent enjoyment of her meal.

T'rielle's comment brought his focus back to his own dragon, who had finally selected a suitable mark. C'vir waited to reply, watching the brown drop nimbly from the sky, broad wings snapping open over the panicked herdbeasts as claws closed around his intended target. He turned to the greenrider as Besulth carried off his prey, the barest glimmer of a genuine grin showing through. It was damn near impossible for him to conceal his fondness for the brown. "Thanks," he responded with sincerity, adding an eye roll before he continued. "He'd be happy to hear that, insufferable beast that he is."

He nodded lightly in Caxith's direction, indicating the feeding green. "And she's certainly enjoying herself. How have things been for the two of you?"

It was certainly a spectacle, watching a dragon hunt. T'rielle had never really gotten the chance to watch one beside his own, and he was enjoying seeing the brown's own unique style--and not just because it was fodder to tease Caxith with later. Besides, C'vir wasn't terrrible company, despite his standoffishness. T'rielle liked him, and certainly wasn't above prodding him into conversation; especially when no one else was around. He would have carried a one-sided conversation with Caxith (and often did, at that), but she claimed that it threw off her rhythm. The greenrider often wondered what rhythm was to be had from tearing apart a dead animal, but she never bothered to explain, claiming that he 'just wouldn't understand'.

He didn't miss the flash of fondness from C'vir at the mention of his dragon, and grinned a bit himself. The fact that C'vir wasn't technically so happy about his presence went unnoticed, for the most part. It was his comment, after all, even if it was kind of a given for the vast majority of dragonriders to be gratified by comments about their dragon.

"Oh, decidedly ordinary, I suppose. Nothing glaringly wonderful or painfully awful." He said, glancing briefly to the feeding green at C'vir's mention of her. "I should add that that is all despite her best efforts. She doesn't like being bored." Neither did he, for that matter, but clearly the pair had very different ideas of 'boring'. Stuff still happened, but it didn't happen specifically to him, and that was just fine. You do realize that that's incredibly unbelieveable, right? Everybody knows you're a troublemaker. T'rielle spared her an affronted look that she gracefully ignored. It was accurate, though, and if anyone but Caxith had pointed it out T'rielle would have had no issue with accepting the statement as truth.

It was part of their dynamic. She was laid-back enough that T'rielle could be as annoying as he wanted and she would only shrug it off and call him an idiot--which he, in turn would pretend not to hear, or brush off as the female equivalent of affection. They both did their best to stay out of the middle of things. Caxith because she didn't care, and T'rielle because he knew enough to know that he wasn't exactly an influential individual in the hierarchy of the Weyr. It was better this way, in his opinion; he had a small amount of additional freedom and a damn impressive dragon despite her small stature (and he was not above getting defensive if anyone but he said anything negative about her).

"She has no manners," He quipped, watching as Caxith finished with the first half of her meal, and moved forward to tear into the belly of the next. She placed one foot on the remains of the other herdbeast, heedless of the gore now coating the limb. It wasn't a proper feeding unless she got a little messy. "I don't suppose things have been any more exciting for you?"

C'vir bobbed his head politely as T'rielle addressed his question, reporting a rather mundane past few turns. The time that had passed since their graduation was equally unremarkable for the brownrider: boring by his own choosing. He'd spent enough flightlust-fuelled nights with the weyr's more wanton women to acquire a minor reputation as a womanizer -- a reputation he was keen to cultivate and preserve, but couldn't be farther from the truth. The somewhat falsified dalliances bolstered the image of himself he'd labored to create, and for a host of reasons, he refused to so much as entertain the notion of entering into a genuine romantic relationship.  He'd formed only the most select of alliances, none of which he would term friendships. He had stayed out of trouble, rarely publicly voicing an opinion about any of the more inflamatory actions by or against the weyrleadership. He'd gone about his duties competently but without fuss, successfully kept most everyone at a tolerable distance, and privately cultivated plans about how to eventually advance himself. He had been lucky enough to avoid excitement (unpleasant or otherwise) and unanticipated loss; his carefully even-keeled way of living warded off personal disasters along with the possibility of any sort of lasting fulfillment. His caution, prudent and preferred as it was, came with its own set of difficulties, difficulties the brownrider was only now beginning to take note of.

Thoughts switching back to the present, C'vir's gaze slipped sideways to Caxith, drawn back to the green by T'rielle's  remarks regarding the dragon. "Besulth is never bored; he's got me to torment. I have a hard time being grateful that irritating me on a daily basis keeps from getting too restless. But he's all charm in public," the rider jibed lightly, ruefully rolling his eyes. Caxith, he had decided, was perhaps the opposite of a lady, not that he begrudged her it. She was a refreshing change from the idea of greens he'd established, utterly different from the archetype he actively avoided: dragons conspicuously female in appearance and comportment. Caxith was a creature driven by her desires, however messy they may be, and all the more admirable for it. Her lack of control, however, concerned him; greens had a reputation for being flighty for a reason. Here we go again, the brown muttered in his mind, mildly exasperated. "No actually," C'vir continued, spared from both his own ruminations and Besulth's chiding by T'rielle's question. "Things have been very standard. Nothing to complain about." Nothing to brag about, either, but the brownrider chose not to note that fact. His way of life kept him insulated from the good and the bad.

He lifted a hand to shade his eyes and tipped his head back to get a better look at Besulth, who was finally descending with his first kill. The brown was a conservative hunter, killing only what he knew he could eat. If he needed more after devouring his initial catch, he'd return to the sky for a second round. The dragon eventually landed, occupying a sizable swath of ground a comfortable distance from the two men. I'd rather be eating bubbly pies. he commented pointedly to C'vir, gnawing without much gusto on the carcass at his feet. Not gonna happen.
The brownrider turned to T'rielle, but nodded in the direction of the feeding brown. "Besulth is a bit obsessed with people food. He likes to try to make me feel as if I've failed as a rider because I won't give it to him. Herdbeasts are beneath his discerning palate, but he doesn't turn them down."
I'd rather not starve, thank you.
"If I did feed him from the kitchens, I'd be the one he'd complain to when he lost his figure."
I would never! I'm very active, the brown indignantly insisted, making himself audible to both riders.  He lifted his head from the carcass to aim a whirling orange eye at his rider, a silent but not entirely serious reproach.
"I'm always astounded by them," C'vir remarked, a shy smile loosening the stiffness inherent in his habitually aloof expression.  "Dragons, I mean, and their endless variety. How well-matched to us they somehow end up being. As a whole, I tend to find them more agreeable company than their human counterparts." He was silent only a moment before amending: "Not that human company is all bad, but it's certainly more potentially hazardous." Despite its detached delivery, the statement was a subdued and strangely sincere admission to come from him, the true depth of which he hoped was unreadable to his companion. 

Sorry this took me so damned long. I've been slow lately.

If Caxith wasn't known for her flights, it was at T'rielle's begging request. At first it had been in concern over her; he could handle whatever happened, he said, but what about her? She wasn't the largest of greens, and that, naturally, meant that she couldn't take care of herself. Not, of course, taking into account that she hadn't been too terribly far from taking his arm off at her hatching. When particularly proddy, she'd entertain the thought of what would have happened if she'd been of a slightly more sadistic mind and actually done it. At first, it had taken T'rielle back, but when it continued to fall into conversation whenever she was close to rising he finally made the connection and formulated a response; she'd only have hurt herself, after all, because who else was there, for her?

Even she couldn't deny the logic in that statement.

Brooding sentimentality aside, though, he was slightly mortified with the desecration of her food. She wasn't usually this violent, and he could only guess that it was because she had an audience. Amusing, in part, but more worrying at the immediate moment. He didn't need to deal with rumors that she was a rabid beast because some poor soul happened upon her while she was feeding and made her feel like she needed to show off. She had enough going for her without that, even if she didn't think so. Any more randomly initiated stunts than she already had in her array would put him into cardiac arrest.

"That seems to be the norm lately, as far as I've heard. Despite all of the chaos around the Weyr." He observed lightly. "Apparently I hang around all the lucky ones." Grinning, he turned back as Besulth landed, cocking his head with a chuckle at C'vir's explanation. "At least that's something relatively mundane. That one over there is convinced she's a fish. Or a salamander. Nearly gives me a heart attack when she dives into the lake and doesn't come up for two minutes." Which was precisely why she did it, and they both knew it. Some day, T'rielle would grow up and realize that, no, giving her the attention she was seeking from such stunts would not, in fact, make her stop.

"They certainly tend to be better conversation than most people, I'll give them that." He grinned. "What, you don't like adventure? Unpredictability? That's the best part of the day!"

You're one of a kind in that respect, love. She was slowing down. Almost imperceptibly, but the decrease in pace wasn't lost on the greenrider. I have plenty of cohorts, thanks. You're just bitter because you're too big to fit most places that stuff happens!

Of course, that must be it.

I already said this, but no worries! And I should have saved my 800 word post for you. Jesus. I do love it though. And them. xD

Besulth continued to pick over his herdbeast, tossing unwanted scraps to the side; the brown was a discerning eater when trying to prove a point. As he ate, he entertained himself by stealing surreptitious glances at the green feasting across the field. His tail twitched from side to side, interested. I wonder if she shows her mates the same enthusiasm. Perhaps I'll chase next time she rises, find out.
Forced to attach T'rielle to the unpleasant reality of green flights, C'vir cringed. You wouldn't do anything to put your perfect hide at risk.
I could persuade her to be gentle.
Doubtful, the rider responded, mindvoice lowered in distraction. He knew T'rielle as well-adjusted and upbeat, but suspected all male greenriders of harboring some defective quality: a pre-existing fault that inspired the Impression, or a defect that developed out of the shared bond. Perhaps Caxith's savagery reflected some aspect of T'rielle that the man preferred to keep hidden; Katila was full of greenriders with a quiet penchant for violence. If his nature at all mirrored his green's...
He doesn't have it in him, the brown interjected, never hesitant to pass judgment on a person's character. Even if he did, what he does in private is his own. You don't share his bed.

Caxith's quirks saved him from deeper contemplation. The brownrider, trying to imagine circumstances in which Besulth could be compared to a fish and coming up short, snorted. "Besulth refuses to get near water. Bathing him is an ordeal. I'm not sure he can swim anymore. If he was under water for two minutes, it'd be because he drowned."
I'm built for air, not water, the brown clarified for the benefit of both men. But I like to watch. I'm sure Caxith looks lovely, slicked down and glistening.
"Disregard that," C'vir muttered, directing his thoughts away from the mental images the brown was entertaining. Besulth returned to the nibble at his herdbeast, satisfaction at having rattled his rider giving way to silence.

"No," he remarked to T'rielle, lips tipped downward. "I avoid the unpredictable. Getting out of bed in the morning is adventure enough."
An old man before his time, the brown lamented publicly, never one to let an opportunity pass by. He needs someone to shake him up a bit.

What I need is to keep you muzzled.

I'm slooooow, again. Apologies. We can start wrapping this up whenever you'd like or keep at it for a bit -- I'm easy to please.

Once finished with the dessication of her meal, Caxith settled on her haunches and began to clean her forelimbs. I always look lovely. She said archly, turning one brightly amused eye towards Besulth. C'vir's comment went ignored in turn and she rumbled lowly,  though it's a much better view from under the water. Her tone was heavy with mirth, a velvety undertone to her words as she continued her cleaning despite knowing full well that a trip to the lake would be insisted upon in favor of having her “gory face” get all over T’rielle’s hut.

“Well,” T’rielle said with a chuckle, “someone’s got their work cut out for them.” He couldn't help but agree with Besulth on that front, though the greenrider certainly wasn't the one to make such a judgement as he'd always be happy to have additional partners in crime whenever he could. He hadn't seen a whole lot of the brownrider since they'd graduated from Weyrlinghood, but he remembered him well. C'vir had always been the one to say no. He never genuinely held it against the brownrider, but he couldn’t quite help the occasional teasing remark, and Besulth had a tendency to egg the green pair on as it was. It was never really genuine, because T’rielle never had any shortage of partners in crime.

Water is not all that different from air, really. It’s a bit heavier, and you move slower, but some would consider that a good thing, don’t you think? The green purred, eyes whirling happily as she made her way towards the two riders and away from the remains of her meal. She didn’t impose on their space, which was really rather kind of her in T’rielle’s opinion, because she had a habit of getting ridiculously in the way most other times. Maybe I’ll change your mind someday. If anybody ever said she was roundabout in her scheming, T’rielle decided he was going to invite them over for supper some night, give them a glow, and plop them down next to Caxith and let them listen to her plotting all night. 

Caxith has her flirt on. And seriously, no worries at all! Caxith'll surely decide it's time to leave in another round or so. xD Foodwatching is boring, apparently.

Indeed,, the brown crooned in reply, delighted to have goaded Caxith into returning his flirtations. C'vir was rarely inclined to play, forcing Besulth to find his entertainment in other arenas. Amused by Caxith's willingness to coquet and his rider's constant discomfort, he tucked his wings around him and sat back to observe, meal close enough to finished to abandon.

"We've got our hands full with each other," he admitted, casting a sidelong glance at his dragon. "But I manage to keep him out of trouble."
Unfortunately, the brown groused to all present. C'vir shook his head.
"I'm convinced he wouldn't be such a pain in the ass if I didn't let him get to me."
Which would require you to be less uptight.

"Of his many talents," C'vir continued, tone tinged with good-natured sarcasm, "getting under my skin is by far his greatest." He turned to T'rielle, adding: "Is yours any easier to handle than mine?"
Besulth rumbled gleefully, adding a private remark to his rider. If you think she's not a hand-full, you're blind and stupid.

C'vir again considered Caxith, who, done with her mangled herdbeast, was grooming herself demurely. She was a different creature entirely from the one that had been savaging the corpses of her kills minutes before.  You're just fascinated with her, aren't you? You act like you've never seen a ladydragon with some spirit before.
I'm bewildered by her, he answered frankly, lifting a hand to brush back one of his curls.  Green dragons and their riders were a source of enough confusion for him as it was, without adding to it the knowledge that they weren't all the defenseless, ladylike creatures he envisioned.

Besulth, far more interested in Caxith's respectful approach than his rider's inability to wrap his head around the idea of greens, began his own slow amble toward the idle men. To Caxith's comment, the brown replied with a purr of his own. I'm sure there's plenty you could show me. He wasn't referring solely to swimming, the thought of which still troubled him.
He was well aware of his prowess in the air; he wasn't convinced his abilities at higher altitudes would translate to equivalent underwater abilities. Beyond that, he found the idea of not being able to breathe freely highly problematic.

C'vir, surprised Besulth hadn't immediately shut down any suggestion of underwater exploits, excused the slight smile that tugged at his lips. "I would pay to see someone try to teach him to swim. Extra marks if they were to somehow get him to enjoy it."

It hadn't taken long for Caxith to pick up on Besulth's teasing, even without the conversation going on between the two riders. She found a certain level of enjoyment in participating in said discomfort, even if it wasn't at her own rider's expense. Besides, there was nothing wrong with a little flirting on the side, especially with such a handsome brown. Caxith wasn't subtle--didn't see the point in it, really, when being blunt got you to your objective so much faster--and she wasn't foolish. While T'rielle tended to be slightly on the not-so-clever side, they had both learned early on to take cues from each other for the sake of their pride and what little reputation they may have had that was actually of the positive variety.

He certainly has his hands full, but I don't know if it's with you, she remarked privately to Besulth. Cocking her head she trilled lightly in amusement, prompting T'rielle to treat her to an inappropriate hand gesture, which only made her mirth grow. He hadn't heard her words, but picked up on the emotions easily enough, and that particular combination never boded well for his own pride. "Not in the least," he replied, almost happily.  He didn't see anything wrong with a little spice in a relationship, anyway, so why fret over it? It was the way the two of them worked the best, and neither of them felt any particular need to tip things on their head.

After a moment Caxith moved to join the brown, brushing up against him lightly as she settled back on her haunches. Of course there is. I'm very creative. She sent an image to T'rielle of a woman that they had encountered the other day batting her lashes at T'rielle in a very coquettish manner at the same time that C'vir spoke, and he laughed. “Don’t give her any ideas, she’ll take them and run.” His warning was less than useless as this point, because if C’vir’s comment hadn’t given her said ideas (partly because she hadn’t been paying a particularly devoted amount of attention to them), T’rielle’s certainly had. It took only a second for her to go rooting through his memories and pick out the brownrider’s statement in question. Well, now I have to figure out how to get you to do it. There’re marks on the line!