Home sweet... what the...? -- The Rider Weyrs

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Date Posted: 19:11:55 06/27/05 Mon
Author: Liraz~Gaiath and flits
Subject: Home sweet... what the...?

Anyone who happened to look out from their weyr over the ocean view at this juncture would see a streamlined green object headed their way like a winged meteor. Before she hits the cliff face, Gaiath catches an updraft and soars toward the place she had called home before she was presumed lost, slowing to a halt and landing on the ledge as lightly as you please, all resemblance to a meteor forgotten. Not even bothering to demand that her harness be removed once her rider has , she lies down upon the familiar dragon couch, remembering with a chuckle how many times they'd had to resize it to accomodate her growing wingspan.
After dismounting, Liraz does a cursory inspection and finds that all the belongings that she had left behind are still intact (though her stash of salted fish needs to be thrown out and replenished after the little box has been given a thorough scrubbing) and that her flits have already found their favored spots, Ariella snoozing while perched precariously atop the sword-stand and Yafah curled up on top of the dresser where she had stuffed her everyday clothes without bothering to fold anything. Sleeves of tunics and ends of scarves hung out of the barely closed drawers... And speaking of clothes...
"Shells, what is that thing?!" Liraz recoils from the stark reality of the image her flits had sent before.
It appears to be a formal dress of some sort.
"Whose is it?!"
Gaiath chooses her words carefully this time. Liraz usually only spoke aloud to the dragon when she was really taken aback. Well, seeing as N'van isn't... here, I can tell you he had it made as a surprise for your birthday, mostly for a joke I think. I guess you never made it back to your weyrs that day. But this is yours. And I'd suggest you wear it to the feast. It matches me so well.
She wasn't lying. The gown, though plainly designed had been dyed masterfully, the strapless top a brilliant and pale peridot color, fading into darker and darker greens until it reaches the same dark aquamarine shade that graces the tip of Gaiath's tail.
It might match you, but nobodys going to have any idea who I am if I show up in a dress. I'm going to wear what I always wear.
Like shell you are, missy! We are going to make an entrance. And you are going to wash before you do anything else. The aforementioned tail is quickly extended and blocks Liraz's path to the crammed bureau. It then prods the rider, who is by now becoming quite flustered, toward the bath, where she rinses the sand and salt out of her hair and the stink off the rest of her. Giving her unruly black curls the once over with a comb and turning around, she meets up with her lifemate's tail again.
Put it up.
What?
You heard me.
An aggravated sigh escapes her as she stuffs her mass of hair into the only hair ornament she deigns to own, a large ring of silver, and turns it into a ponytail, pulling it away from her face. You know I can't do the beauty thing.
Put the gown on now.
Yes, O Gaiath of the Magnificent Wings.
A tone of devilish amusement from the dragon is unmistakable. Hmm, I like it. You can call me that from now on.
The young woman, now truly irritated, slips into the gown. It is looser than it was originally intended to be, but still passable.
And now you see just how thin you've become. You're ready enough. Let's get you a proper meal.
Liraz snorts and tries to muster a witty retort, but her inspiration has left her for the moment and she just sticks to expressing her annoyance nonverbally as Gaiath allows her to mount and takes off into the cooling evening.

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