Logs:Egg Groping
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| RL Date: 17 April, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, H'vier, Keysi, Laine, Tomic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A handful of candidates touch some eggs and start an impromptu Q&A. |
| Where: Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Paz/Mentions |
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| H'vier hasn't been his usual chipper self-- wait, no. He's never very chipper. But he's seemed even less so since Azaylia's unfortunate death, especially in regards to Irianke. So his, "Eggs?" as he passed a handful of candidates from where he was sitting on the far side of the galleries to start heading toward the Sands is probably not incredibly clear. The invitation has been given, though, and maybe the way he gestures to be followed helps even more. Woo, unenthusiastic impromptu egg touchings. Tomic doesn't know H'vier any more than to recognise him as the rider of the siring bronze. There's no way he can read the man's behaviour. But he can read a gesture, and so he's up from his seat alongside Laine, jogging down the few rows to reach the bronzerider with far less grace than a smaller, more agile young man might have been able to demonstrate. "Are they okay, sir?" Not panicked, but he's alert. For a Tomic. Laine, plunked on a bench with legs swinging and feet just skimming the floor, isn't one of the quick ones to catch onto H'vier's offer. But when crop-haired little Paz hops up and brushes herself off with a squeak of excitement, Laine's grey-eyed gaze follows that dispassionate bronzerider. Once Paz scampers after him, the tanner--thumbs hooked in the pockets of her shorts--is among those trailing in his wake down to the Sands, with a glance for Tomic, eyebrows raised. Keysi is amidst leaving the gallaries when the bronzerider speaks. She watches him for a long moment as if the time is necessary to decipher his invitation, or perhaps more likely it's the concept that pauses her steps. The expression she displays is the same indifference as always, though her critical eyes watch those who collect and move. The healer waits until the other candidates and, in particular, Laine passes by before she places herself in stride with the others wordlessly. Sire and dam have given the eggs enough space for the candidates to be able to move amongst them without being overly intimidated or whatever it is that some candidates have issues with when there are huge dragons looming nearby. "The eggs are fine. And they'll stay that way if you aren't an idiot." H'vier probably doesn't realize this might be a thing. "Just be careful. No fucking around. It'll piss everyone off. Have at it, kids." The bronzerider doesn't settle anywhere and instead begins walking slowly around the perimeter of the eggs. "Oh," says Tomic. And then, "Oh," once the rest of the bronzeriders words have had time to sink in. The 'o' is made with his lips once more as he looks to Laine, as his recent companion. The other candidates are, for the time being, spared. The big guy doesn't get moving right away, though. He has to take it all in; the closeness of those dragons, and the heat of the sands, and the idea that he - his fingers twitch - gets to touch the babies-in-shells. Give him a moment. Paz, bless her heart, clasps her hands to her chest and chirps something about not being able to pick one since they're all so pretty, so her path is an irregular fluttering from egg to egg. Laine hesitates: in part, not willing to subject herself to Paz's twittering, and in part, those huge looming dragons. But when Tomic lurches to a halt, Laine steps around him with a companionable touch to his arm and a smile, falling closer to Keysi with a quiet, "Hey." Keysi's intense stare drifts upwards to the gold and bronze of the sands, before releasing her focus to bend her head as she takes that first step onto the sweltering sands. The respectful bow turns into an assessment of the makeup of the sand that shifts beneath her booted feet; the flecks of old shells from however many hatchings before this. Fortunately her deviated train of thought re-rails itself and she moves past Tomic, almost close enough to brush the tall young man's arm, but not quite. "Are you going to be alright?" Even tone speaks quietly, but she doesn't give him all that long to respond, returning Laine's greeting with what might be the crooked edge of a grin betraying her stone-face. Her momentum would only slow, though, before the water wins out egg, her pale, scar-riddled hand falling gently on its surface. H'vier is supervising as much - okay, maybe not as much - as the dragons are, as is his duty while there are candidates on the sands. "If you aren't going to make use of the opportunity to touch them, feel free to see yourselves out," is said with a pointed look toward where they just came from. No patiences with this one, seriously. Tomic says, "Uhuh," to Keysi without much looking at her. The others on the sand will have had time to start towards wherever it is they're going before he finds the one he wants. The patchwork one. The big one. Even getting near it puts a stupid grin on his face. Honey, Pull the Car Over! Tomic has to stop and put his big fat fingertips all over this one's shell. But just as his hand is mere centimetres away, he looks up to whoever's nearby, and whispers, "There's baby dragons in these!" Okay, now touching. Once Paz has flitted away, to coo over that large marbled amber egg--from a distance, with a look of naked reverence up at Niahvth--Laine's drifting path takes her on much the same aimless journey as the other girl's: passing in close orbit around the eggs without ever pausing fully at any. H'vier's interjection, however, prompts the tanner to crouch at the nearest (Vallum Hadriani Egg) and flatten a hand against it. She's immobile like that for a long moment, breath taken in and held, before Tomic's whispered comment has her expel all that air in a husky chuckle. "I hope so," she whispers back. Keysi follows the stark lines of color on the water egg, lost in the effort and paying H'vier's last comment no notable attention. Her touch is that of her healer training; gentle as if the 'patient' presented is delicate, overtly breakable. Tomic's relevation receives more of a brief glance as she moves on, as if spending too much time with a single one may affect something. The visage of a hand reaching upwards upon the next egg has her hand following its fingers along the warmed shell. "Do they know?" Very nonspecific question, assumably inquiring if the unhatched dragons know that they're here. Tomic doesn't seem nearly so concerned with staying too long. He started at fingertips; now he's going to full hand, and then, he lets his palm drift down the shell. And then brings it back, flexing and flicking those fingers. "They're warm," isn't said to much of anyone. "I don't know if babies know they're babies, at first," goes offered back to Keysi, in a sort of stage whisper that's trying to be respectful, and also heard. A final look for that patchwork shell, and then he's pulling himself away, wiping some sweat on his forehead, and moving toward the rough-looking one. If Carve Away the Mountain won't come to Tomic... While the candidates touch the eggs, both H'vier and Reisoth are watching them. H'vier, having a more expressive face, doesn't seem terribly impressed, and Reisoth is just difficult to read at the best of times. "Not right now," he answers Keysi's question. "They don't speak to other dragons until they hatch. If they were conscious, I don't see any reason why they wouldn't. But tradition suggests touching them will help them find their lifemates more easily." He doesn't sound as though he puts much weight behind that. Running her flattened palms in parellel down the curve of the shell until they rest nearly in the hot sands, Laine lingers longer at the mottled, brown-and-green egg before she pulls away and straightens. Her roving footfalls carry her next to the little Restless Volcano Egg, where she seeks out those swirling, smokey greys with her fingertips. She looks up, over at Keysi first, then H'vier, thick brows pulling together over curious eyes. "Do they," they, and Laine indicates with her chin Reisoth and Niahvth, gaze pausing on each before dropping back to the egg, "Remember?" "Do they say anything, prior to Impression?" The intense girl steps back from the futility egg, delayed in retrieving her hand as her fingers linger. A large egg is within her path next now that she's found herself more within the middle of the room; the serenity midst egg, with swirls of color that earn a little longer of a visit. Palm is placed flat on its warmed surface and is held there, as if waiting to feel movement beneath. Keysi is held there without any sort of rush to listen to Laine's question as well. These questions, these are all questions about things Tomic doesn't know, has no insight into. He seems to forget his fingertips where he's put them, resting on the shell of that mountain egg, and is quiet, curious, and listening. H'vier pauses in his slow pacing around the eggs, arms crossing over his chest. "No. I can't speak for Niahvth but Reisoth has an exceptional memory for a dragon," H'vier is also totally biased, "And even he can't remember that far back." Not even close. "If you Impress, you could ask your dragon, since they'll be closer to it. But I wouldn't count on an answer." It's not as though it probably hasn't been tried at some point already. To Keysi, he says similarly, "Not usually, no. Perhaps to their sire or dam. But their instinct is to find someone to bond to, not to chat." Tracing one last curlicue with one finger, Laine allows her hands to fall away from the squat volcano egg. She listens, her eyes roaming the clutch while she marks each egg in turn (as well as Paz, who still hasn't moved very far from her sentinel position by that dulled gold Wisdom in Words Egg), her lower lip caught in her teeth. The rich blue Vibrant Reef Egg captures her attention next, and Laine again moves to stoop, though this time her hands pause just centimeters away from the pebbley shell. There's no more questions from the tanner. (For now.) "But wait," Tomic pipes up, not immediately after H'vier has spoken, but once he's had time to consider all these things. He starts moving away from that mountain egg, but mostly, it's so that he can get a more or less clear path betweehin himself and the bronzerider. Not that he takes it, but he talks along it. "Wouldn't talking help them bond?" The bronzerider eyes Paz for some moments before his attention turns on the large candidate. "Dragons don't often speak to people other than their rider. Sometimes to people very close to their rider, depending on the dragon." H'vier's gaze wanders to Reisoth briefly. "I don't know why that's the case. Life would be simpler if they would talk to anyone. But I imagine it's why they don't before they're bonded." The tanner's crop of spiky hair resurfaces from behind the eddies of the reef egg when Laine hears Tomic's question. She absorbs H'vier's answer while sweeping Reisoth's length, looks about to ask a question, then closes her mouth. Reconsiders, then: "But they talk to each other?" That scrutinizing gaze (tinged with trepidation) skips over to Niahvth. Paz, meanwhile, shuffles her feet under the bronzerider's look, but staunchly doesn't move away. She even takes a step forward (so brave!), but still remains well out of hand's reach from the gold egg, with a quick look stolen up at the clutch's mother. "Oh," says Tomic, not for the first time. "You guys meant while they were in the eggs." The flush on his face, however, has been there for a while now, and probably isn't due to that confusion. He starts moving again, this time moving... well, toward Laine. He stops, though, watching her, his head tilting a little. And then, glancing back to H'vier so as to (hopefully) not miss his answer. "Aye, they speak to each other." Reisoth even rumbles a low but quite audible sound, perhaps a reminder that he can also hear and he's sitting right there. H'vier considers Tomic again, but says nothing more to the large young man. "What do they sound like?" Hey, H'vier, you totally wanted to do a Q&A with the candidates, right? Laine leans closer to the smallish reef egg, almost as though to press her ear against the shell, but again--not quite touching. The candidate frowns in contemplation. Is she talking about the dragonets-in-eggs, or the dragons themselves? It's hard to tell. "Even in the eggs?" Tomic asks one Laine has moved on, asks without shame or self-consciousness, even. Now here, he even has an answer. He takes a step in the general direction of that gold egg, looking to each of the dragons, and making a point of clasping his hands behind his back. For now. He leans in a little. He looks. It's absently that he thinks to say, "Quinlys said her blue has stars. When he talks." "Dragons?" H'vier probably means to clarify Laine's question. But that's just what he'll go with. "They all sound different. I've not heard many but Reisoth, but he assures me this is the case." Mention of the still quite in ovo hatchlings makes the bronzerider frown at Tomic before shaking his head. "They're quiet. You might be able to hear them move. I was quite sure I heard a heartbeat when I was a candidate." Which was basically a gabillion years ago now. It's likely unclear when Faryn's internal debate about whether to join her friends was concluded, but her stunted progression from the upper rows of the galleries lower and lower has marked that laborious process. Eventually, she's looking at the sands from just beyond the railing, frowning thoughtfully, before tacking herself onto the other candidates invitation and slipping onto the sands, her bearing equal parts caution and respect. She's not quick, though; she hovers behind them thoughtfully, not quite near the eggs, apparently listening to the conversation and considering the unhatched dragons at closer range. "What does Reisoth have?" the herder questions, announcing herself, but still not quite in range to touch anything. Laine has a funny, unsatisfied sort of expression and a tight-lipped hmm for H'vier's response, but she doesn't press. Luckily, Faryn does, and the tanner swivels with a grateful nod. When her attention returns to "her" teal-and-cerulean reef egg, it's to tentatively cup one hand on the shell and push her ear into it. She can't hear the ocean, alas, but she repeats: "... stars?" "I guess so." Tomic shrugs, and dares to put just one finger toward that gold shell, turning his eyes to the gold on the sands the whole time. "That's what she said." He's quick to move off, after that attempt, en route to the Perfect Lines egg. This one, he touches with much more certainty, much more bravery, even. Even as his head's turning, recognising Faryn's voice, and grinning at her across the eggs. H'vier looks at the latecomer, dark eyes moving down and then back up before settling on her face. "No," must be an answer about the stars in as much as Reisoth is concerned. "He's..." It will take H'vier a moment to put it into words. "Cold. Like winter. Like an infirmary." He's less concerned about whether that makes any sense to anyone else. Faryn's thoughtful, and her progress is still stop-go towards the eggs. She takes a few cautious steps then halts like a spotlighted rabbit, as if she half expects one of them to pop out and maul her to death. Better to talk, then, "Not drafty, just...not comfortable?" is her addition, trying for clarification. Eventually, she makes it to the Key egg and hitches a pantleg, all the better to squat down in front of it and rock gently back and forth, her elbows resting on her thighs, hands loose between her knees. Paz looks downright appalled that Tomic actually touched the egg she's been supervising so diligently, and whirls ('cause it's hard to stomp on the sands) to claim her own egg to touch. Hmph. There's a chuckle from Laine that might be at Paz's expense, but the tanner masks it as a cough as she stands and moves on: the craggy academic magic egg is her next stop. "Or, like, sterile?" Tomic likes these girls, he really does. But they're starting to throw around words that mean the same as other words, and that's a game he's not particularly good at. So he wanders on to the next egg, and listens, and smiles, and keeps quiet until it's time to go. To both Faryn and Laine, his answer is, "It depends on his mood." More or less yes in both cases. Poor Tomic. "He can be aloof compared to other dragons, from what I gather. Our bond isn't based so firmly on... affection as it is mutual respect." H'vier, not entirely comfortable talking about things that are close to feelings. "Mmm," is Faryn's quiet response, and she turns from the key egg to turn a bemused little quirk of the mouth to the supervising bronze. "Neat," she decides, before turning back to the key egg and finally reaching out, ever gently despite the eggs being hardened, to place her palm flush against the shingles and draw her hand different directions, feeling for the texture she can see but is certainly not there. "They're so..." she starts, hesitates looking for the right word and ends in a question instead, "Did you know which egg he was in, before he hatched? I mean, did you feel it, or sense it, or just feel a draw?" Laine, behind the brownish academic egg, leans out to cast another guarded look at Reisoth, gently steepling her fingers against the curvature of the shell. Disappearing again behind the egg, she nods, more or less to herself, once Faryn's posed her question. And though she's all ears, the tanner doesn't pose any more questions herself--just touching, listening, with covert little glances up at the clutchparents, until they're ushered off the sand. "No. Nothing like that," H'vier answers Faryn while he watches her hand against her chosen egg. "Do you think you feel something?" Think being the key word there. If she does, he must think it's just her imagination. Her shake of the head is without hesitation. "No," she says, definitively. "Not anymore than I feel a particular runner might race well while he's still in the womb." She sounds a bit disappointed, though. "It would be nice, if we did, though." A soft pat for the egg in front of her, but, since she feels nothing, it's a little easier for her to stand up and move beyond it to something else. She seems picky enough, though, weaving but not stopping right away. "It would be nice," H'vier will allow easily enough. Reisoth watches the candidates will they weave their ways around the eggs, but before long he's moving, taking his leave of the sands to tend to eating or drinking or whatever business dragons tend to have. H'vier seems unconcerned by the leave taking. "You know much about racing?" "I'm not bad at it," Faryn allows modestly, and yes, she is a girl, so she is drawn into orbit around the golden egg, though it seems she's not really willing to butt into the group to touch it. Just a closer look, it seems; something more modest and natural catches her eye: green and stone-grey, Faryn leans closer to the large egg. Then again, her hand goes out, fingers flexing against the shell as if testing integrity. "I used to race, a lot. Small enough. Nobody here does it, though." Curiously, peeking around the egg at H'vier, and maybe a bit hopeful, "You?" "You raced." It's not a question, just H'vier saying the part of that that's most interesting to him. "I've owned a runner or two, in my time." He's obviously never raced them himself. He's quite a large man. "I enjoy watching. Betting. I haven't been as often as I'd like these last few months. Turns, really, I suppose." Not entirely sure what she detects in his emphasis, Faryn's first reaction is offense. Her frown is challenging. "Yes," she replies in fair imitation, "and I am very good." It's her turn to look him up and down before ducking back behind the egg to press her ear against it, listening. If she hears anything, she doesn't say. She only withdraws, and says, "Did you? There are some good runners here. Very fast." Thoughtful, "I keep thinking I might go to Bitra or something to race, if I could find someone needs a jockey. Maybe Ista. Beach races." H'vier smiles, amused by her reaction. Because he apparently finds enjoyment out of annoying women? Whatever the case, "My runners were Istan. Mostly. Keroon blooded." But instead of commenting further on her racing, H'vier takes his cue from Niahvth and raises his voice to the candidates as a whole, "Time's up. Let's go. Move your asses." "Good stock," Faryn murmurs, drowned out by H'vier's yell to get the candidates gathered. She gives the big, green egg one more gentle pat and allows herself to join the group as they're ushered out. |
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