Life is a Battlefield [Open]

[Dragon]

V'geta was, in many ways, a creature of habit. He went about his day very much in order, very much doing the same thing day after day. Wake up. Train. Eat. Train. Eat again. Train some more. Eat. Train. Sleep. Honestly, there wasn't much that he did other than training and fueling his body and getting a decent night's sleep. He was obsessed with becoming better, becoming more, becoming finally, finally enough.

Saiyath was, quite reluctantly, flying laps around the Weyr. At the same time, V'geta was on the training grounds, running to warm up. After he finished his (rather extensive) run, he'd move on to other exercises.

At the moment, though, V'geta was running, his feet pounding against the ground as he tried to warm up for the rest of his workout. He had to improve, and he had to get better. One day he'd be - finally - enough.

[Windra]

TW: Fish guts!

One lap. Two. Three. Whatever. Devon lost count. Not that he was counting to begin with just ... that was a lot of pounding the ground for no real good reason other than trying to wear himself out? What in the Red Star was this guy's end game?

His body still smelled strongly of seawater and fish. Maynarth was a wonderful lad, carrying that basket in his mouth like a true champ - which he was, since it was thanks to his tail that they managed to nab so many before the sun started climbing too high in the sky. The bulk of their catch got donated to the kitchen staff. Devon took two of the larger pescines for himself. Well, for Maynarth.

They could have gone to the hunting fields or literally anywhere else to do their dirty work but at least here, Maynarth would get breakfast and a show.

Up on a nice boulder within spitting distance of V'geta's 'track', Devon placed the fish on full display and went to hacking away. His salivating white bond stared on.

"Alla that runnin's not gonna chase your ugly away," he stated in a mocking tone - loud enough to be heard. A little bit of fish blood splurted onto his cheek. Devon wiped it away without missing a beat.

[Dragon]

The words drew V'geta's gaze briefly; he was done with his warm-up anyway, so he stopped, dropping to start some situps. "I'm not one with the ridiculous haircut and receding hairline," he growled in annoyance.

V'geta didn't even give insulting a more well-established member of Semaca a second thought; by his knots, the dragon he'd been interacting with was his. No one who rode white could possibly be of consequence.