Logs:Elaruth and Bijedth's Clutch Hatches
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| RL Date: 20 October, 2012 |
| Who: A'lorin, Ali, Azaylia, Brieli, E'gin, E'ten, Hattie, K'del, Magdesse, N'muir, N'rov, Orialu, R'dan, Selene, Serah, Zhia |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Elaruth and Bijedth's latest clutch hatches. A number of High Reachians attend. |
| Where: Hatching Grounds, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 1, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| From the sands, A low undercurrent of /something/ beneath the howling wind and furious icy-snow is, at first, easy to dismiss as far off thunder. The sound first issues from Elaruth, who, curled closely around her clutch and reluctant to surrender her eggs, rises and unfurls her wings to loom over her stirring offspring. The hum she emits is her undoing, of course, for it cannot keep secrets and carries instead, from dragon to dragon until the very walls of the Weyr seem to vibrate with the noise, alerting all to the impending Hatching of the Weyrleader pair's latest clutch. From the sands, By the time that the eggs have begun to rock in earnest, Elaruth has retreated from her clutch to stand some way off, half-crouched to watch as closely as she can. Beside the little queen stands Hattie in a dress a whirl of fiery shades to counter the chill and cold outside. She watches keenly for any sign of Candidates making their way onto the Sands, any hustle and bustle in the Galleries unnoticed as she murmurs something to her lifemate. Close by, Bijedth sits eyeing the filling Galleries with distrust, bronze and gold making a rather intimidating pair, N'muir leaning against his dragon and looking, for once, far more tempered. Ali's made an effort, for the hatching- she's dressed in a dark red dress, the material far too light for winter, but perfect for the warmth of the galleries, her brown shawl to cover bare arms on the trip across the bowl hanging loosely from her shoulders. She's standing near the bottom railing of the galleries, greeting their local Holders and other arriving VIPs with a smile that is perhaps a little plastered on- glancing back over her shoulder towards the sands now and then as if to check the status of the eggs. Amidst the foreign arrivals, K'del's just one of many spectators, though he makes his entrance to the galleries alongside Telgar's youngest junior; they're talking quietly, but with easy, friendly smiles. "No, no," he says, voice low and clear, just barely loud enough to carry. "Won't keep you, Prin. Just wanted to say hello. You'll pass my greetings on to your weyrleaders?" Despite his words, they continue on together through the tiers, splitting up only when the young woman spots a few friends, and meanders away. For Ali, as he passes, he's got a bright smile, too, though he doesn't pause to chat. Azaylia's thoughts are on the winter chill, ill prepared for the warmth of the gallaries in her dark blue, fur trimmed affair. Discomfort will be easy enough to ignore as she keeps up tradition- practically dragging Brieli by the hand to find a decent seat. So much like their time on the Sands together. She's polite, as always, though distracted in her quest, free hand pushing the loose curls out of her face as she manages to find a good and proper spot. Is seating assigned? Or is it simple luck that they end up near enough to wave to K'del. Lucky, depends on who you ask. Up towards the back, there's N'rov, who (after a quick splash-and-change) has been there for some time with his boots slung onto the tier below: saving seats. Not for Y'ral, though, since the bluerider's already there. Evidently the wingmates have made up. From the sands, When you're used to looking like you just rolled out of bed, it's somewhat more embarassing to look like you rolled out and /are/ a bed. This, sadly, is the fate of Rildan, but even in such a ridiculous garment as the candidates robe can look he manages to find something about it that he can use to his advantage. Ever the showman he walks out on to the sands and gives a twirl, bowing deeply to the clutchparents and then the galleries, and even going so far as to blow a kiss up to someone sitting there. Yet for all his bravado, for all he appears to want to be the centre of attention, his right hand begins tapping against his leg as he takes his place on the sands - a clear, if unwanted sign of nerves. From the sands, Others rock around it, but The Everything the Light Touches Egg shivers, there in the heat of sands and the heat of attention. Within it, something struggles, but it does not yield. From the sands, Serah appears, strategically placed diagonal to a clump of chattering robe-wearers, to have an itch. One not satisfied by the hand rubbing self-consciously at her, barren but for the fall of white cloth, rib. Unveiled in the arena, she sucks in a deep breath, puffing out her chest and raising her chin for a face that pretends not see the gathered Galleries, but eyes that jump the seats, pinpointing. All so concise, she seems to hold Orialu's hand in a perfunctory manner, lacking any of the encouragement of the grip and just seeming to be doing it because it's there. Eyes land, measuring, on Rildan then, with a jerk of alertness, to the stir of eggs. From the sands, The humming was a startle. To no few number of candidates. Those holdbred, primarily. Selene's first emotion is fear and as she realizes what is happening, it turns into an extreme case of the nerves. Her hands shake as she changes into her robe and she's still shaking when she gets out onto the sands, bowing along with the rest. There's a glance to the galleries and she seems to relax somewhat once she spots her family. They made it. This bolsters her confidence -- though only a little -- and she shuffles with the others to find her place arrayed on the sands proper. From the sands, The Most Beautiful Bloom Egg shivers and shakes in place at a pace greater than many of its fellows, its pastel pink side facing the majority of onlookers. The egg falls briefly motionless before a rocking shudder causes it to fall from its upright position. The uncontrolled fall and the fervency of its subsequent quaking cause a network of superficial fractures to appear across its surface. From the sands, With the bustling storms, the shelter of the hatching caverns is infinitely more appealing than that of the thunder and howling wind. Especially if you're dressed in a not-so-warm white robe that does nothing to flatter Ralorin's figure. The candidate follows in after the others, looking just a little half-awake as he joins the others about the eggs. "Shards," He curses under his breath, wrapping his arms about his chest as he shuffles to earn himself a place. From the sands, Orialu may not be a novice to this experience, but now that the time has arrived and everything is all that much more /real/ nerves begin to fray and teeth to worry at the corners of her lips as she steps out upon the Sands amongst the rest of the Candidates. Hair scraped back into a hasty-looking 'tail and shapeless sack of a robe just managing to cover her knees, though reassured -- be that the intent or not -- by the clasp of Serah's hand. Nostrils flare as deep, steadying breaths are taken, and a "Bow," muttered out the side of her mouth before the traditional genuflection is given by her toward dam and sire. From the sands, Silence. The Everything the Light Touches Egg does not yield, will never yield. But it does splinter, its hairline cracks breaking and then new-made pieces scraping against each other as they fall into something like a muffled keen, a wiry green dragonet releasing herself into the world in a purposeful flurry of tapered wings and copper-tipped claws. She breathes in deeply, reflex letting the hot air dry her lungs, and sweeps a cool brownish-red gaze over what chaos lies before her before moving towards the candidates: not those nearest to her, but those /furthest/. From the sands, >---< The Ties That (More Than) Bind Green >---------------------------------< She's a curiously unnatural green, as yet more stilted than fluid of motion, with large glowing eyes whose colors seem a trifle muddied for all that their whirl is difficult to subdue. All six limbs are longer than they need to be, as are, for that matter, her copper-tipped claws; there's also an odd birthmark along the left side of her neck where it meets her shoulder, as though the otherwise flat, textureless mid-green of her hide had somehow been scraped to something paler. Elsewhere, emphasizing the wiriness of her frame, that solid hue is not subtracted but overwritten: with fine, never-crossing lines of coppery and silvery green. Silvery bars align with the leading edges of her neckridges and make them seem sharper than they are, while tiny, mostly-silver dots interpose between the dramatic coppery scrollwork of her narrow, tapered, still unmastered wings. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< Being dragged by High Reaches' other young junior weyrwoman is not exactly fun times, though it might have the appearance of some fast carnival ride - hang on and be pulled and jostled, or let go and be lost. Brieli has enough in the way of haughty demeanor and dark glares both to keep the crowd from too much bumping, but it's still Azaylia who's pulling - not too intimidating, other than height and stature. Rubbing her shoulder, the tall girl in white mutters something about her arm and its socket, looking around the galleries before attention shifts to the action on the Sands. "There's --" She stops, stops her pointing - just covers it with a little wave over to K'del. Polite. From the sands, From the Flower Gleam and Glow Egg tumbles a scrawny green with wings two sizes too big for her body, her small form all a tangle of wing fibre and limbs. For several long moments, she lies sprawled on the Sands, extended wings bent awkwardly over her like a tent, unmoving. She's still long enough to suggest that she might never move again, yet no keening sets up around the Hatching cavern and she soon drags herself up and stumbles unerringly across to a dark-haired girl who embraces her and tries to sort out those too-large wings. E'ten's arrival into the galleries find him already giving the sleeves of his jacket an errant tug, dressed for the temperatures outside but already headed for the stairs after taking note of those other personages who have already been here. With the arrival of the candidates onto the sands, he turns around and looks towards the action on the sands while keeping along the wall's edge. Never easy to watch and yet, slip towards an aisle where he can sit with a good vantage point. K'del's reply-via-smile to Azaylia is a warm one, and the twin of it - or is it just a continuation? - that is presented to Brieli no less so. But the Weyrleader's not spending too much of his attention on his juniors, not when there's a hatching to regard with watchful, interested attention. His mouth draws together, but if he's got an opinion on the hatchlings-thus-far, he doesn't voice it aloud. From the sands, Rildan's hand pauses in its tapping as the first egg hatches, his hand burying itself in the fabric at his side to mask the fist that appears momentarily. A deep breath is taken, before he forces hismself to a more relaxed stance, glancing over to Serah and winking in her direction. His mouth moves, some silent message attempting to be passed across the distance. Ali's gaze settles on K'del, and the enforced smile turns markedly more genuine as she spots the High Reaches Weyrleader, though since she doesn't stop she continues to speak in a low voice to the holder she's in conversation with. It's the hatching of the first egg that makes her exhale, make her excuses, and seek the nearest empty seat. Azaylia is excited, her flush having just as much to do with that as it does the heat. Brown eyes shining bright, she doesn't turn her eyes away from the sands, "Oh I'm sorry Brieli, but-" A sharp, squeaking inhale. "Babydragons!" She manages a short, though heartfelt beam for the Weyrleader, but after that the junior will be swept up by the hatching. Forgive the massive amounts of cooing- though the slimy creatures breaking free are far from cuddly wuddly. From the sands, Selene inches her way apart from those girls that have had their wide-eyes set upon the gold egg since first they stepped onto the sands. The ones that ignore the greens that just tumbled out. They're loud in the way that nervous teenage girls can be. Shrill. Her slow, subdued movements bring her nearer towards Rildan. An odd choice, perhaps, but she pauses once she realizes who she has stopped by. "Ready to be done with chores?" Her voice wavers as she delivers the joke, causing it to fall a little flat. From the sands, Serah fumbles stiff-leggedly, coming short of anything close to a bow when keeping an eye out takes highest priority. Cracking of shells runs a flare up her spine, that stand-up of hair hidden in the badly drawn back bushel of her usual. The gnawing that takes to her tongue tries to be subtle, keeping her slightly sucked in cheeks firm. Stony eyes read Rildan, though her eyebrows dig at the wink and her gaze juts off to keep track of gangly birthing creatures. "Pay attention," she, the actual novice, accuses Orialu. Though her squared shoulder, like her tone, next to the other girl's is distinctively protective and her eyes wider than merely watching. From the sands, Such /noise/. The Ties That (More Than) Bind green hatchling steps, and then pauses. She steps further, and then pauses. Again and again she repeats that process, narrowing her search. She's looking, she's /looking/. And her own wings are just the right size, thanks. From the sands, Ralorin looks over at the girls as they file into line, wrapping his arms about his waist as he tries to warm himself up, "At least it's nice on the sands, eh?" A nervous chuckle erupts the candidate as he glances over at the green as she breaks through the egg. "Shards, I'm going to be glad to be done with chores, I was getting tired of doing all those chores we had to do." He nudges Rildan's elbow in a payful manner. It wouldn't be right for Brieli to be anything other than Azaylia's opposite in reaction to the hatching on the go - instead of excited, she looks concerned. Fine, 'bored' would be the opposite, but it's close enough. Catching herself chewing on her thumbnail after returning K'del's smile quickly, she drops her hand to her side, fusses with her cuffs. Her dark gaze doesn't move all that much from the group of candidates - she's either got one in mind, or laid marks on the outcome. "Babydragons," she echoes. "Do you do that with all creatures, just put 'baby' in front when they're born? Is than an official Herder term?" She's at least joking. A little. From the sands, Simultaneously, the No Ordinary Piece of Furniture and Wonderland Eggs shatter to reveal a bronze and green respectively, brother sending sister a curious, appreciative glance. Nice timing! He even waits for her to set out in search of a lifemate first, bold steps taken only after she has started to gamble her way across to the Candidates. However, he doesn't wait for her to choose, selecting his rider from a group of boys who've have remained tightly knit together despite attempting nonchalant bravado. Moments later, the green finds her chosen, misjudging her speed to bump right into them. From the sands, The Most Beautiful Bloom Egg gives a violent shudder and cracks, the pink mottling of the shell crumbling onto the sands in chips. With another shudder, the egg emits a liquid pop that reverberates over the din of hum and hatching. The hatchling that tumbles forth from the ruins is most unfeminine -- a brown -- and he readily though laboriously rights himself. From the sands, >---< Enigma of Earth and Stone Brown >--------------------------------------< Loam and light drape across a shape that is awkward and immature. The majority of his hide is rich as the sediments of a river delta, exemplifying earthiness and the solidness of stone, head knobs and muzzle consisting of an even darker shade of brown. Although this young dragon is contrastingly chubby and angular, his frame is broad enough at the thorax and haunches to suggest that he will grow into something much more muscular. The hues of sandier soil whorl from ridge to ridge, the color graduating to darker tones over the middle of his back and onto a tail that begins thick but ends with whipcord thinness. His limbs tend towards a leanness that contrasts with chest and haunches. Broad wings promise strength, the sails the dusky color of silty water, while his feet are a more shadowy, richer brown than his muzzle, and end in talons that glitter like smoky quartz containing dark inclusions that are probably the quick of the talon. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< Azaylia spares a glance for her friend, indeed the anti-mirror to that concern with her face-splitting grin. "Yes." For the first question, as for it being an official term, "If it's not, it should be." Confidence is fake, influenced by the excitement that has her squirming and adjusting in her seat. Nobody remind her that her own hatching was far less magical than she remembers. Far more bloody. Less cute. From the sands, Orialu gives a gentle tug, trying to sidle Serah over closer to where Danny and Selene stand. "I am," comes the simple reply, words backed up by the constant flicking of her eyes. Though she's glancing up as often as she's scanning the Sands before, higher than the stands, searching the ledges where dragons perch to watch and welcome this newest generation. "It's not as scary as it looks," she adds, utterly innocent as she is of the true cause of her friend's tension. "We'll be fine." From the sands, Tale as Old as Time Egg subtly stirs in its well-tended sandy cradle, then goes still again, only the minute adjustment to the arrangement of the sand grains around it to speak of its having moved at all. When it seems it might stay still, then it shivers, trembling, almost, then adopts stillness once more. From the sands, Rildan chuckles, offering an arm to Selene as if they were just about to go for a walk and not continue to stand in front of hatchling dragons. "If it meams I need t'leave you, then I'd gladly stick t'chores instead." His smile is bright, seemingly for Selene only in that one second, but Ralorin's comment and nudge grab his attention from the other side. "Chores have their uses." He winks, reaching to pat the other boy on the shoulder, "But some'f 'em I could do with not ever seein' again." The hatching of the brown catches his attention, and for a second his hand twitches again. From the sands, Having been rocking awkwardly from side to side for some time now, the oddly-shaped Escape the City egg begins to crack, revealing an undersized brown who claws himself free and shakes shell fragments from his dark, mottled hide. His wings droop, revealing pale, creamed-klah sails in stark contrast to his otherwise shadowy, slender form, but then he's off, trotting his way forward to find his rider, who welcomes him with open arms. From the sands, There's a warm smile -- though lips twitch with uncertainty -- for Orialu as the tries to bring Serah closer to the fold. "It's... overwhelming," Selene admits in a quiet voice, as she accepts Rildan's offered arm. If the hand she clutches at his bicep with squeezes a bit tight, well. He'll surely understand, right? "They... are more awkward than I expected," she admits in a low voice, watching the mottled brown find his lifemate. "I... I guess like any baby, they've... got a ways to go to be graceful." From the sands, From the Adventure in the Ocean Egg and The Curse of a Terrible Place Egg spill two blues, one markedly larger than the other, though paler in colour and more lengthy of limb. The smaller blue ignores his brother and turns away, only to trip over his own tail, leaving the larger to emit a trill of amusement and overtake his sibling on his merry way. For all his confidence, he's slow to choose his other half and the brothers Impress almost at the same moment. Brieli's not buying it, but she's not about to contradict Azaylia. There might be a flicker of a look for Herder knots, but. "Right, well. I'm sure you can convince them." Her hand sneaking up to her mouth again - her thumbnails will be ragged by the end - she mutters to the other goldrider, "This seems more nerve wracking from afar. How is that even possible?" She doesn't bring up how not-cute Hraedhyth might have been, how some people almost ran away. From the sands, Ralorin snorts loudly as he shifts on his feet, nudging some sand out of his sandals that have already found their way under his feet. "Some of 'em I can see the point in, but most of 'em? Just plain silly if you ask me." His attention drifts as the eggs burst and the dragons within find their partners, "Shards, it's happening a lot faster down here than I remember it being the last time I watched a hatching." He glances over at the girls, "I like that brown, he's interesting looking, look, so many eggs have hatched already," A finger lifts to point at the next dragon that breaks shell. From the sands, Serah might suck her lower lip up petulantly for the misunderstanding but allows herself to be shuffled a few of those steps closer, if only so she can shoot Rildan a notably dirtier, frustrated look for his flood of company -- including an /anchor/. Rolling more responsibility onto her shoulders, she steels herself a second time; she's half successful. Her eyes have drawn to the tremble of that particular egg, causing a similar wobble in her own stance, until she locks her knees like her eyes. Forcibly, she tears her focus to the more imminent, things scuttling. From the sands, Enigma of Earth and Stone Brown shakes shards of his eggshell off his torso with a shudder and off his wings with two awkward flicks. These combined actions force him onto his haunches, and with a cry of irritation, he clamors onto all fours. He tests the strength of his limbs before he rambles towards one end of the line of candidates. Here he begins his regimented visual inspection of them, his eyes whirling rapidly in clouds of threatening red and orange. Azaylia dissolves into giggles, expression scrunching for only a moment before her gaze is drawn back to the sands. "So fast." A murmur, quiet even for her as the junior watches the hatchlings find their lifemates. "It's so exciting," She agrees with Brieli in her own way. Nerve wracking, exciting, same thing! "It's like I'm down there with them." Seems like it, with the way she's trembling with anticipation. "The gold egg hasn't hatched yet." Unecessary comment, surely everyone's noticed that. From the sands, Warmer, warmer, cooler, warmer, hot, hot, /hot/: the little Ties That (More Than) Bind Green hatchling shifts not just incrementally but with a whole-body movement, pointing towards the laundry girl with the long, long hair. She moves towards her, closer and closer, nosing at the girl's arms and then towards her face as though she'd wrap herself up in her chosen if she could. /Her/ chosen, because no one else will do. While Fort's junior might well be attempting to retain some decorum, it doesn't take long for the excitement of the hatching to sweep Ali up, clapping and cheering for each Impression, eyes practically glued to the sands as her unfortunate companion is subjected to clutch of her hand and excited pointing. Her gaze keeps flicking back to the candidates, settling on the more familiar ones, chewing her lower lip nervously as if on their behalf. K'del's quiet conversations with those closest to him are largely unremarkable: yes, the hatchlings look solid and strong, yes a hatching is always an excellent day, no his Weyrwoman didn't accompany him this time. "Oh look," he says, distracting the line of questioning. "That green just Impressed, I think." Late. E'gin is late, but he's here now, coming up the stairs of the gallery pulling off his riding helmet as he takes steps two at a time. Gaze is stuck on the sands as he awkwardly climbs over and around people. "Pardon me." and "Excuse me." Offered to those who view is momentarily blocked. "Solid looking browns." He says to whoever happens to be sitting around him as he finally finds an empty spot. From the sands, Tale as Old as Time Egg shivers more intensely, then seems to melt more than shatter, small shards of shell flaking away, falling to the Sands in a smooth river of tiny pieces. The lash of a tail breaks through, sending shards every which way, then paws find sand as the dragonet within is released and tries to find her balance, wet wings flaring to steady herself. Creeling, the young gold flips her wings flat to her back once she's sure her limbs won't betray her, focus already fixed on the white-robed Candidates. She knows what it's about, this one. From the sands, >---< The Most Powerful Magic of All Gold >----------------------------------< Powerfully-built, this young gold is comprised of contrasts, her colouring almost as if she casts her own shadow onto her sinuous form. Her angular jaw and the subtle, all but perpetual tilt to her head lend her an imperious, challenging air, her neck slim and vivid yellow-touched ridges sharp. The brightness of citrus permeates the auroral gold of her hide, yet duller shadows slip down across her chest and claim the lower half of her supple body, warring for dominance with the brilliant buttercup of her long, sturdy limbs, her serpentine tail lent to twisting and coiling. Strong, broad shoulders support white-gold wings, the richer glimmer of a summer sunset swept faintly across sturdy sails in delicate gossamer swirls. Heavy-set paws are finished with dark, earthy claws, dangerously sharp even in youth. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< From the sands, Rildan doesn't see Serah's glare, which... is possibly a good thing. He does shoot her and Orialu another grin, but his reply is intially for Ralorin even though he leans cloer to Selene as he speaks. "Silly ain't always a bad thing, cane be a lot'f fun sometime." His eyebrows flicker upwards, implication obvious. Quieter, and meant for Selene he adds, "Can't all have your grace...." Anything else is lost as the gold hatches and he nods in her direction, "Here she comes." The words are meant for Selene, his gaze... well that wanders to Orialu and Serah. Brieli might usually notice Azaylia's state, that excited trembling, but something's catching her breath every time a dragon gets anywhere near that knot of Orialu, Serah and the others. Still worrying at her nail, dark eyes wide, "It's difficult to keep up." Maybe in response to the speed, or to her friend's note about the gold egg. But then that's contradicted near immediately, and she's holding her breath again. She doesn't quite grab for the other woman's hand, but her fingers twitch. From the sands, It takes a little while for them to disentangle, but then Alaith and her Zhia find their feet, and take the assistant weyrlingmaster's lead. From the sands, A stocky-looking brown tears his way from the Who Could Ever Egg, using tooth and claw to force his way into the waiting world, only to wrench one of his talons free in his haste. The high-pitched creel of pain he issues forth proves to all that he is still just a baby despite his fierce struggle, a slow stream of ichor dripping from his left forepaw. With only three limbs to trust and one to cradle close against further hurt, he shuffles away from the shards of his egg to find a white-robed someone heading across the Sands towards him. Whether convenient, summoned or coincidence, that someone becomes /his/ someone, and assists him to the nearest weyrlingmaster. From the sands, Ralorin turns his attention as the green impresses, calling out a congratulations, his attention turning instead towards Rildan. "Well, I don't mind a little bit of silly is fun, I really enjoyed playing with the kids and listening to the stories the aunties and uncles told. It was really interesting." He laughs quietly, rolling his shoulders as the gold hatches, "Oh, hey, look, a gold!" From the sands, Orialu reaches across herself, free hand aiming come to rest against Serah's shoulder. Not knowing what else to say to the other girl, it's to silence that she falls now, simply offering the solidity of her presence. They have a pact, after all. Together. Not alone. Flick flick flick goes her gaze, following green, blue, losing track of some to follow others on their journeys. Is it only her that draws in a deeper, sharper breath, or is she one of many? "And now she'll find out. I hope she's pleased by the choice," she murmurs, as her glance flickers briefly toward Hattie. A small scrap of hide flies for E'ten's shoulder, and should he look up, he'll find wingmates waving to him: up here! From the sands, Selene catches the green finding Zhia, expression brightening a bit. She barely knew the girl, the bustle of candidacy making that difficult. But she was sweet- perhaps this green was, as well. Though she certainly seems moreso than the brown, who has gained Sel's attention. A mild wariness there- what if he should take charge? The gold hatches and the girls seeking its attention become even more agitated, all jockeying for position. Her fingers dig slightly into Rildan's arm and she casts him a baleful look. She desperately seeks out something else to look at and spots the brown. Her eyes soften: "Poor thing..." From the sands, The Enigma of Earth and Stone Brown marches along a line of Candidates, peering at each one to inspect for fault or imperfection. His pace is confident and sure, but he takes his time to make the right decision. As he reaches the end of the row, he whirls unsteadily around and begins to sniff feet. He stops in front of a Fortian lad to take a second sniff that leads to him licking the young mans ankle. Yes, feet and ankles are the deciding factor. Azaylia hyperventilates. Alright, nothing so dramatic, but her breath has certainly quickened with the gold's hatching. "Oh... she looks strong." Which may be Hraedhyth's sentiment spoken through rider's lips. Brieli doesn't need to reach for her hand, the other goldrider gripping her friend's twitchy fingers on instinct. Despite her investment, she'll allow one more interruption in a waved greeting to E'gin- sadly a bit too far. She won't be calling a greeting over so many heads, likely not heard anyway. From the sands, Tangible Shadows Egg doesn't so much as twitch, seemingly content to stay quiet and unmoving amidst all the chaos. Still, there is something very much alive and well about its sinister, mottled shell, as though whoever lies inside is simply waiting for the right time to strike. From the sands, Serah's regiment wears on her, muscles trying to give and then tightening consciously again in places; her hand kneads at her side until, catching herself, she tosses it down against her leg in annoyance. Looking, looking-- and then her jaw knocks straight up like she might swallow it. Flickers of gold, and earthy claws fill big, worrying eyes. Fingers touching her shoulder cause her to jerk, before she looks over at Orialu, then over both their shoulders at the exit. Orialu's hand is given an odd, half-organized, tug backwards. Together. She promised. From the sands, When did the Atra Maledictum Egg hatch? Left behind in a puddle of widely-flung shards, its lanky blue occupant having slipped quietly free, it serves as an obstacle for the petite green from the Part of Your Egg. She stumbles through the pieces, bleating alarm as they cling to her neat, well turned-out paws, and tries to shake herself free of the shell-boots that she's accidentally acquired. Her cries call several of the as of yet unimpressed to her, but the ungrateful creature traipses on to choose not one who attempts to help her, but a Candidate staring off into the far distance at the Stands. Meanwhile, the blue sneaks up on one of the older Candidates and takes the hem of their robe between his teeth. Hey, down here. From the sands, The Most Powerful Magic of All Gold begins to make her way across the Sands, head held high and carriage as smooth as she can possibly manage in these, the first few minutes of her life. Hers is a demanding gaze, girl after girl challenged to stare back at her, none seeming to meet her criteria. She stops for not one moment, expecting all to keep up with her, her path carrying her from one potential partner to the next, attention combing - raking - over each. From the sands, A'lorin is about to respond to some sort of comment to Rildan, but then the man is wavering on his feet, almost as if the ground under him is shaking, his eyes widen slightly and then he glances down to find the brown in front of him. "Niyuth?" Stare, a hand reaches out to brush against the brown's head, "A'lorin? Well, so long as the work is interesting, I won't mind /too/ much." From the sands, Tangible Shadows Egg gives one violent rock and a jagged crack appears down its center. Pieces of mottled purple shell explode off in every direction, kicked apart by ambitious, powerful legs until all that's left is a bronze hatchling sprawled on his back in egg goop. Scrambling to his feet, he ignores the fragments of shell sticking to his body, his predatory glare locked on the line of white robes. From the sands, >---< Stiff Upper Lip Bronze >-----------------------------------------------< The promise of enormous power is born beneath unpolished brass, muscle built into every inch of this young bronze. For now, his head is a bit too big for his neck and paws too big for his body but there is solid weight to his frame that hints of grandeur. Even in youth, his hindquarters are full of meaty strength, vigor flexed in every fiber beneath the dark cover of shadowy wings. Pronounced eyeridges give a severity to his dauntless gaze glaring out from the dark pits of an angular head so that even the happy green tones of contentment are tainted with an obstinate edge. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< Ali half turns, E'gin's comment about browns earning a brilliant smile from the nearby junior. "They are, aren't they? And oh- look-" she says, leaning forward enthusiastically as her gaze drifts back to the sands just in time to see the brown Impress. "Oh- that's- is that Ralorin with the brown?" She exhales sharply, looking pleased, gaze flickering to track where the young gold is, too. But the one thing that does bring forth a smile from Brieli is Zhia's Impression; it's genuine but edged a bit wry as she leans over to whisper something to Azaylia, eyes bright. And then, "Not quite Hraedyth, but yes. Strong." That's a good thing in her mind - and as for the other junior holding her hand, she'll just ignore it, pretend her palms aren't damp. The greeting to the brownrider goes missed; she's not tearing her eyes off the Sands for a minute. From the sands, Rildan's sarcastic reply to Ralorin dies as the brown heads in their direction, and for a second there's a look on his face that is less than confident. He almost looks relieved as the brown stops elsewhere, easy smile returning along with a muttered, "Congrats. Had you all pegged f'r the gold." Selene gets a squeeze in reply, but the poor girl apparently cannot snatch his attention from the brown so terribly close - if now safely bonded. From the sands, Selene is about to speak her congratulations for Ralorin -- A'lorin -- but the joke from Rildan breaks it into a nervous laughter. "He's lovely, A'lorin," she says, her nerves settling when the brown makes a -- non-violent -- choice. She's turning back as the green surges into the candidates, selecting someone distracted from the task at hand. Moreso than they all are. So much to see! So much to watch out for! She leans into Rildan a bit more, gaze going to the freshly hatched bronze. "Watch out for him," she murmurs. From the sands, The Dreams Come True Egg stirs in its cradle of sand and unbalances, tipping backwards to crack open and free a robust, brightly-hued green with stunted headknobs, mere blips where they should be. Whether they speak of anything else about her being invisibly impaired or malformed isn't immediately obvious, since she finds her lifemate in a matter of moments, enthusiastically bounding over to them, only to tumble at the last moment and land in a heap at their feet. From the sands, Stiff Upper Lip Bronze spends no time lingering in the wasted remnants of his shattered egg. He bolts for two girls standing not far off, emitting a threatening battle cry that sends the poor girls staggering back. He stops short of bowling into them and screams his frustration, his blood-and-fire eyes whirling furiously as he glares first one way and then the other, gaze hunting down the line of bodies for The One. Azaylia whispers back, "Were you?" As if it's the junior impressing all over again, and not a candidate she's helped pick out. Mention of Hraedhyth has her giving Brieli's hand a squeeze, perhaps in agreement. "I wish we could visit them in the barracks..." Feast or dragonets? Not a hard choice at all for the 'Reachian junior. From the sands, Orialu's fingers tighten upon Serah's hand and shoulder both, head turning to give her friend a fleeting smile that attempts -- and fails -- to fill itself with reassurance. "Just breathe," she says, though whether that's meant for Serah or herself is unclear. The brown drifting close has her edging back a little, a wary gaze kept fixed on him as tension coils her own muscles. Ready to dodge, just in case. Relaxing only when it's clear the choice has been and her breath escaping in a rush. "They're gonna have their hands full with him," she jokes shakily, teeth flashing in a short-lived grin. E'ten reaches out instinctively towards whatever that manages to hit his shoulder, looking up higher to find his wingmates with a half smirk and half grin. It's creative, he'll give them that. But it's just in time for him to finish watching Ralorin's impression to the brown before he takes a quick turn and an excusing murmur, "Excuse me. Pardon." He'll go and join them. While watching the sands at the same time. It'll be one interesting of a challenge. "Weyrwoman." E'gin greets Ali with a half smile at her comment. "Gold? Looks like I got here just in time. Are there any girls they think...well, I guess that red-head." With a bit of the side-eye, Brieli tells Azaylia, "You know why you can't." She'll leave it at that, because Azaylia's dragon is likely horrified at the suggestion. The dark girl goes more than a little pale as the gold moves to make her choice, fingers gripping her friend's hand harder - until it's the redhead the gold is wrapping herself around. There's a breath, her hand goes slack, and her expression is easily read, for once - conflicted. From the sands, Serah won't be breathing, not as the ferocious gold thing breaks into their pact, close enough to curl around Orialu the way that Serah can't keep up with. Shuffling several steps back she's later embarrassed about, she stares, hand flinching, as unarmed as her gaze. From the sands, Predatory gaze turns into predatory strides, and Stiff Upper Lip Bronze Hatchling stalks for one boy in the line of Candidates, his shadowed eyes glaring dauntlessly at his target. There is no hesitation as his big head thrusts forward, intent on shoving Rildan to claim the foreign Candidate as his own. More Hematite riders have collected by now, though not all of them, even discounting the one currently on the sands... assuming one could discount N'muir ever at all. Now, Vhaeryth's been keeping an eye on things for them both, but N'rov's still making a show of watching too, even if the view isn't nearly as good. "What do you make of it? he asks E'ten, sands and stands and whatever else, and moves his feet. Not that Y'ral, smirking, bothers with his. Azaylia points out that charging bronze, "More like Hraedhyth." More so than the gold, who is on the move in such an odd way. Brown eyes follow the young queen's deliberate steps, breath catching when she finally recognizes Serah on the sands. Still, "I know why I can't- I know." Sure enough, she's getting scolded by her dragon. Oh! But then, the red-haired candidate is so peacefully, if possessively claimed. "Oh." Let out in a whisper of a sigh, still excited with one gnawing curiosity satisfied. From the sands, R'dan has a spare arm now, and wiggles an elbow towards Serah. His eyes stay focussed on the sands, though for some reason the bronze's antics make him laugh rather than fear. "R'minds me 'f Felchan. All bluster'n no real bite." A shame his tone doesn't quite match his easy words. He reaches his free hand over to pat Selen's hand gently, then turns to see why Serah hasn't joined them already. Large gold problem... check. "Serah." Her name dies on his lips as the wind is suddenly knocked out of him, a shove breaking contact with reality. "Sidjith?" It's spoken on a breath of disbelief. From the sands, Last to hatch, the Shimmering Spires Egg splits in two, flaking away from a pale blue who simply sits where he finds himself, not in any hurry to find himself a rider. He peers up at his dam and sire as if looking to them as the example of what to do, then slowly heaves himself up and pads away from the remains of his egg as steadily as he can manage. If he must, he must. And, eventually, he does, rider chosen from the back of the group of Candidates furthest away, squeaky chitterings chastising them for having made him walk so far so soon. From the sands, And two of the larger dragonets are nearby. Selene nearly freezes in place, but soon she's unable to do anything but step back as the bronze lays claim to Rildan. There's an expression on her features as she realizes all the eggs have hatched. One a mixture of surprise and relief. She sags slightly, shifting to try to come near to Serah. To even, perhaps, reach for the girl's hand. It's an awkwardly done show of support to perhaps be out of the way of those freshly bonding. From the sands, Orialu shakes her head, a nervous flip to shake clinging tendrils of hair from her runnertail off the back of her neck. "It's all right, just be ready to--" To something. Who knows what, because she's wobbling with the loss of Serah and the wrapping up of baby dragon about her feet, shock as much as the physical contact costing her her balance. Arms splaying outward instinctively in an effort to remain upright as she stares downward, the rest of her lost in those intensely personal moments. Her mouth works, a strangely gutteral sound emerging. Has she swallowed her own tongue? Or maybe she's trying to hack up some phlem. "Hthl- Chthl- Thlo- Llofruddiaeth?" she finally manages to force out of her stuttering mouth. "Are you really sure you want /me?/" Doubting even as she crouches, trembling hands reaching for a first, unbelieving touch to that wedge of a head. "/Oh/." There's a sharp, surprised (or is that shocked?) exhale from Ali as the gold chooses her rider. The dark-haired Fortian, perhaps, looks a little pale, fingers clenching around the fringe of her shawl for a moment. "I- yes you did-" E'gin's words are, perhaps, a welcome distraction for the woman, glancing that way a moment. "Orialu, her name is," she says, with a hint of unevenness to her voice. From the sands, Support Serah can't respond to. Jerking her hand back to her own territory, she wrenches her arms together, fiercely crossed over her chest as she stares with entirely false resoluteness at the pairings happening in front of her: bronze and gold. No more threats but the damage is done. She rocks onto her heel, chin as high as it started, and stands, boldly, alone. It takes Brieli a long time to speak, even just to agree with Azaylia: "I can see that." She's still watching avidly, anxious - but as the dragons begin to pair off all too quickly, her grip on the other junior's hand slackening. The gold seemed to help, but then she's not entirely versed on why her choice might not be thrilling everyone. Staring at the candidates left, only one thing rouses her to comment: "What was that name?" Because it might take a few tries. From the sands, Ebeny's steps across the Sands are steady and slow, seeking to round up both R'dan and Orialu in one circuit if she can. "Rildan? Are we R'dan now or something else? And Orialu? Let's go and see if we can get them fed. They'll be making demands soon enough." She waits, an equal distance from each, gesturing towards the edge of the Sands, where the other new weyrlings are gathered. From the sands, With the clutch Hatched and nothing more to hold her to the Sands, Elaruth rises to pad slowly from the cavern, nosing gently here and there at the larger shards of shells left behind. In her wake, the Candidates are called together by the Weyrleaders for what is, to some, a familiar speech: all are welcome to stay should they choose, perhaps their dragon is in a future clutch not yet Hatched, but, for now, there's good food to be eaten and enough drink to commiserate with or to raise a toast to friends. From the sands, Llofruddiaeth is /certain/ in her choice, unwilling to leave Orialu's side, nose nudging up to try and catch her chosen girl's hands against her muzzle. Not going anywhere. Sure, yes. Azaylia is funny when she's this drunk on adrenaline, "Very difficult." In response to Brieli's question. Of course it's said with a smile and a laugh, never any insult meant as her hand pulls away from the sweaty mass they had been holding onto. Her palm even gets a rub against soft skirt, eyes reluctant to leave the golden grains even as Elaruth decides to. From the sands, "I'm hungry." is R'dan's reply to Ebeny, and it takes a moment more before he manages to separate his thoughts enough to nod which... doesn't answer anything really. He heads of with a brief glance back, an unspoken promise made in a look that will need to wait until much later. "Orialu." E'gin says the name slowly tucking it away for the future, even as he raises an eyebrow at the tone. Wtih a slight cough, he moves on fromt he odd tone of the goldrider, "Seemed like a strong group, at least physically. Healthy. Should be good for Fort." From the sands, Orialu's still disoriented, completely lost by this most unexpected of outcomes. "S-serah...." Casting a look around, trying to find where the other girl has gotten to, security gone with her absence. But attention snapping back to Llofruddiaeth almost immediately, fingers settling more firmly upon that muzzle. "Food. Right, yes." Distracted, trying to disentangle her feet so she can comply and follow Ebeny's guidance. K'del has a curious expression on his face; a moment later, he shakes his head, and rises, beginning to edge his way down the tier towards the exit. From the sands, Selene has no need to show a pride. Nor does she break into tears as at least one girl -- who had been /so sure/ -- does. Instead, she looks relieved. Comfortable, even... as much as one can be in those things they wear upon the Sands. She listens to the speech, brightening a bit at mention of food. Yes, food, she'd like that. Maybe some liquor, as well, since that will surely be more than available and allowed. Even Brieli has to smirk a touch at Azaylia's response; she agrees, "I think that's exactly it. Difficult." Though she'll have to figure it out eventually, just maybe not right now. Tilting her head as K'del starts to make his way down the steps, she asks the other junior, "So what's the plan? I'm following your lead, more or less." It's a gentle nudge, like stop staring. "Yes," Ali squares her shoulders, and forces a more appropriate smile as a proper hostess should: "Thank you-," she doesn't recognize him, so hesitates over E'gin's name. As some of the crowd- and the dignitaries- begin to depart and head towards the caverns for the hatching feast, the dark-haired woman loops her shawl around her shoulders and rises to her feet. Azaylia is quick to add, "But pretty." Said with what little confidence remains as the excitement of it all begins to leave her. Now she notices the heat, brow damp. The nudge catches her off guard, "M-Me? Uhm... I'd love a drink." And to head for the much cooler caverns, which she does after standing. At least this time, she's not yanking Brieli along after. E'gin stands as the woman does, "Weyrwoman." He offers to the clearly ready to depart Fortian, offering no help with his name. "Have a pleasant evening." And siding stepping to allow the filtering crowd to pass he is off towards the party. Glad not to be yanked behind her, possibly concerned about that yanking should she not keep up, Brieli's glance around the galleries and the crowds is brief - especially with everyone likely of the same mind as Azaylia. Darting around a few people to catch up to the fur-trimmed woman on the steps, she'll note, "They do put on a good party here." Speaks well for the drink potential? |
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