-Insert Soggy Rider Here- [Open]

[Yakura]

A soft, steady rain dripped down from the skies, thick clouds hung low and heavy. A large mass of bronze lay stretched across the shoreline, long neck twisted to tuck under an extended wing, tail undulating languidly in the wet sand, leaving a complex, weaving trail. The rain pattered softly against his wings, the thick drops falling with echoing plops across the leathery wingsail. The bronze stirred slightly, pulling his head back out from under his wing with sudden curiosity. Although the day was peaceful, and he and His thoroughly enjoyed the soft rainfall, there was something missing.

Mine, Romeath began pleasantly, lifting his wing up higher, color arching through his eyes in a brief flash of something more, I believe you are missing a boot. Romeath straightened, lifting his wing up further to reveal an extremely short man, Q'in, who was reclining in an ever-widening puddle of rainwater. The bronzerider snorted slightly, blinking blearily up at Romeath. The bronze leaned closer, staring pointedly at Q'in's naked foot. Your boot, Mine, he stated with apparent humor.

Q'in scrambled to his feet in an instant, staring down bewilderedly as his foot, giving his toes a test wiggle to make sure it was true. It was quite true, sadly. He had once again managed to misplace his boot, and what was more, he was completely soaked. Although Romeath's outstretched wing had kept the rain off him, Q'in had chosen a very inopportune spot on the sand where it dipped, resulting in a wide, cold pool of water. He was completely sopping, his breaches dripping. The only thing not wet, it appeared, was his head. After staring sadly down at himself, his gaze snapped up to look at Romeath. "Why'd you do that, Romeath?"

The bronze pretended to look mildly offended, twirling one of his claws placidly through the sand, sketching out a vague shape. I do not know what you mean, Mine, he said, voice as serious as he could make, even as as the corners of his mouth twitched up in the draconic version of a smile. Q'in attempted to babble something, flapping his arms about in a most unmanly manner, a steady stream of rain dripping of Romeath's perfectly positioned head to fall onto the bronzerider's head. I was merely sitting here, doing just as you asked, he added in slightly offended tones.

Q'in's mouth gaped soundlessly for a moment before he turned abruptly on his heel. The action was cut short by him slipping and planting his buttocks quite firmly in the sand, much to Romeath's amusement. Spluttering, Q'in attempted to get to his feet and salvage his thoroughly trampled pride. He finally managed to find a garbled mouthful of words, staring at his bronze in a betrayed manner. "But-but...I'm all wet!" Romeath chuckled down at the pathetic figure, Q'in looking quite childish with his blue eyes wide, completely soaked at this point.

[Katy]

Iolanthe had only been at the Weyr for a sevenday, and already she was filled with unspent energy, awash with restlessness. The chores that accompanied her candidacy hardly provided her with enough opportunity to expel it all. At the Hold, she would have dealt with the deluge of anticipation and tension by challenging the most readily available lad to a swordfight. There was nothing that absorbed her concentration like squaring off to spar. It was this that she thought about while making her way down to the Lake. She shut her eyes, leisurely sliding one foot in front of the other as she closed out the rest of the world. With the heavy breeze splaying her hair against her scalp, and the heady fragrance of impending rain on the wind, she could easily take herself back to her last match. She could feel the thrumming acceleration of her heart, her lungs expanding as she took deep pulls of oxygen; in memory, she savored the uncanny warmth of the hilt curled in her hand, the weight of the steel that felt—after so many years—like an extension of herself. She recalled the ringing jolt of the first impact, stretching her right let out to toe for better footing, and finding…. MUD?! Her eyelids snapped open as she was jarred abruptly from her reverie, boots squishing into nearly ankle-deep mire.
Hm. I was expecting gravel.
She sighed quietly as she extracted her foot, giving it a clumsy shake in an attempt to loosen some of the sludge. The edge of the lake, apparently, had been closer than she thought. She shrugged to herself, a tiny smile twitching at the corner of her mouth as she shed her shoes.
“Might as well go for a swim. I’ll dry out,” she muttered softly, trying to appease the cautioning voice that would rather she not dive into the Weyrlake fully clothed.

Any hesitation was forgotten the moment she was fully submerged. She knifed through the water, swimming under her lungs ached in protest and her muscles tightened against the strain. She surfaced long enough to grab a quick grasp before diving back below the waves, chin ducked, body stretched towards the depths. She moved slowly in the direction of the bottom, enjoying the sensation of being enveloped in what felt like liquid silk. When the pressure became too much, she started kicking steadily upwards, breaking back into the muted sunlight. She drew lazy patterns across the lake as she swam, feeling all stiffness leave her body as she focused on the singularity of the exercise. Finally exerted, she made her way to the rock in the center of the water, sprawled on her back, and set about catching her breath. Somehow, the coupling of the sun’s warmth, her weariness, and the sound of the settling lake lulled her to sleep.

She awoke with rivulets of water sliding down her sharp features. She blinked blearily, staring up at the laden sky for only a few moments before the rain really began. Groaning, she rubbed her eyes, ran a hand over her damp locks.
Wet again, before I even had the chance to dry off!
She slid into the water without a splash, sucking in her breath as she submerged herself into the (surprising chilly) liquid.
Swimming in a storm… Definitely not a great measure for my personal safety, she chided herself mentally.
Through the constant mist of rain, and the fog of sleep that had yet to dissipate from Iolanthe’s eyes, her entire surroundings—including bronze Romeath’s considerable bulk-- had taken on a gray pall. It wasn’t until she had waded onto shore, mock-glowering at the sky and wringing out various articles of clothing, that she fully realized she was standing less than half a dragonlength from Q’in and his bonded. She shook her head good-naturedly before extending her hand in a distant salute.
“At least I’m not only one who looks like they got caught out in the rain.”
She turned to walk towards them, introducing herself as she approached.
“I’m Iolanthe,” she said, tugging her candidate’s knot affectionately as she added, “a candidate.”