Logs:Taeliyth and Leczuth's Eggs Hatch!
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| RL Date: 27 February, 2016 |
| Who: Taeliyth, Dahlia, Estanei, Leczuth, A'sran, N'rov, Mirinda, Quint, Farideh, K'del, Jocelyn, Jo, Silva, M'ron, T'gar, Olivya, Kh'tyr, Br'and, Kahvaroeth, D'aeo, Zvaezdiyth, Ay'zan, Yuanth, Catling, Riyoth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Taeliyth and Leczuth's eggs hatch. |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 2, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snow. |
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| Though it's been known for some days that the eggs are nearing hatching, it isn't until dinner is underway in the Living Cavern that the unmistakable sound of humming dragons rises from where the snow continues to fall pleasantly outside. The sound grows as more and more dragons give voice to announcing the imminent event: the eggs are hatching! Up on the ledge, a russet brown hums while his rider has claimed a few non-VIP seats as close to the action as she can. She has a notepad in one hand and a pouch in the other and the people who surround her seem anywhere between agitated (in the throwing up kind of way) to excited (in also possibly the throwing up kind of way). "Only a few more minutes left for bets, children," says the lanky woman who doesn't look all that far from the diminutive she's tossed at some men who are much much much older than her. From the sands, Taeliyth's hum is with verve. Her eyes whirl swiftly, her excitement evident in voice and pose. Though she stays well back from the now animated eggs, sitting close to Leczuth, with the occasional nudge of her head to his shoulder or neck as if to point out this thing or that, if he hasn't seen - or just to make sure he did see, her mood is unmistakable: hatchings are fun! Dahlia's mood might be buoyed by her lifemate's, for standing where she's at on the sands with the other leaders of the Weyr and A'sran, she's bouncing on her boot tips like a child before the curtain draws a Harper concert. "It's time," is practically a squee to no one in particular, her energy too much to be contained in any stately state, wide grin offered to all her companions in turn (all of whom will, inevitably, have their arm grasped, while she bounces and points at something new) by the end of this. From the sands, It should come as little surprise to anyone who knows Taeliyth that her eggs aren't about to keep watchers waiting long after the humming has begun. Though there's little movements here and there from eggs across the sands as the deafening voice of the Weyr gives notice of the impending arrival of new dragons, including a twitch from the Midas' Puzzle Egg, the real start of the show comes as Fuzzy Wuzzy Egg and Tee-Tee Egg prove they're not as soft and snuggley at they appear, the crack of shell slamming into shell and both shattering in a spray of shard and fluid onto the surrounding sand, spilling a blue and a green inelegantly onto the sands. It takes each a moment to get their bearings but both have a certain verve to their step as they each stumble in different directions and find their lifemates in swift succession. If this is a portent for the hatching on the whole, even with only just enough candidates to give a fair choice to the hatchlings, then it's a good one. From the sands, Daemon's first move onto the sands is to give a bow to the clutchparents, and from far enough away that it hints to his natural reticence when it comes to what's proper with dragons. The fact that the show starts immediately has the young man stumbling in the sand just for a step. Quick look around: no one saw that, ahem. "They're fast," a muttered comment as steps less sure carry him forward. Ever forward. From the sands, Olivya's job as Weyrlingmaster might be secure; she gets all of the candidates (who wanted to come) to the sands and bowing to the dam and sire on time for those eggs to crack. But those red lips of hers are pressed into a tight line as she settles into the sidelines to watch, even as she nods to an assistant to go get the dazed weyrlings that hadn't had time to settle into place. The weather isn't problematic enough to keep people from coming to the hatching, but it is snow and it does stick. High Reaches' acting weyrwoman is brushing at the white stuff on her fur-lined cloak when she finally arrives with her weyrleader. She gives up the gambit when they arrive at their designated seats in the dignitaries' section, removing said cloak altogether and situating herself on one of the cushioned seats; where upon she arranges her deep blue skirts with a polite smile to those people on either side of K'del and herself. "Lovely evening for a hatching," she murmurs conversationally to the man at her elbow. From the sands, For Breirande... Well, okay; it's eye bugging time, since the hatchlings are instantly erupting. He's barely out on the Sands, bowing rigidly to the clutchparents, and unobtrusively seeking to 'hide' behind other candidates when it starts happening. Let the *true* sweating begin! From the sands, Tawny-bronze Leczuth is a silent sentinel next to his mate, allowing her exuberance to take the lead. His whirling eyes seem to take in both the quickly-filling galleries and the eggs all that once, and that before the candidates have even made it into his line of vision. He tries to see everything at once, though his projected emotions are more territorial - and proud! - than the excitement that Taeliyth shows. From the sands, Spirit's Silhouette Egg flutters, then shudders, then pops, leaving a dainty green to claw her way out of the hole poked by her muzzle, while the braided arcs of gold unravel on Caged Jewel Egg to reveal a sizable brown. The latter pauses by the former as she shakes the last bit of shard off her foot, before he's off and moving toward the ring of white-robed candidates. The green ends up finding her girl first, while the brown finds an exotic lifemate from outside the Weyr some moments later. Midas' Puzzle Egg proves that it is actually black as the darkness spreads across the shell, except that the blackness is actually cracks across the surface as it continues to rock. From the sands, A'sran stands at ease next to Dahlia and their weyrleaders, idling the time before the eggs actually start hatching by watching people shuffle into the galleries; there's only so much interest he can feign in wobbling eggs, ok!? His eyes briefly drop to the goldrider-on-her-toes, and his mouth quirks into a smile, but he's quickly back to eyeing the hatching-goers. From the sands, N'rov's just made it in time for the first shell to break; he escorts Mirinda, laughing, with a low relieved mutter that they're alive. From the sands, Ninwayzan is amongst the line of candidates emerging into the sands. Swallowing once he tries to push down his growing nerves. Remembering just in time to bow to the clutch parents, a proper bow that speaks of plenty of training, he now steps to join the others. Deep breath and 'Oh!' is exclaimed as his gaze takes in eggs shattering and hatchlings already upon the sands and finding life mates. From the sands, Some of that blackness in Midas' Puzzle Egg proves that it isn't actually black at all, as that darkness seems to move from within that ever thickening middle and widening crevices. The hatchling is precise in their movements, however, as it works at the cracks until the egg falls apart to reveal that darkness as brown. Once he has achieved his new state, freed from the shell, then his attention turns to meditate on the vast array of sands and candidates before him. From the sands, >---< The Master Within Brown >----------------------------------------------< Coltish to a fault, this tall, dark brown has a whimsical air about him from his muzzle's dished profile all the way down, and down to his small paws. Those extremities of his are even darker than the rest, as though he'd waded hip-high in ink and trailed his tail behind him too, even splashing it up the spars of his all too expansive wings. It's a second look that might find subtler variations, the depth polished away in his softer places to tawny warmth: the velvety curve of his muzzle and the vulnerable indentation behind his jaw, and indistinct dapplings along his underbelly and the fine sails of his wings like so many ghostly fingerprints. He has a lot to grow into, not just his bony frame, before he can approach anything like grace; in the meantime he carries himself with slow, careful movements. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< From the sands, Gisele's first move, rather than bowing, is to lift her gaze to the stands, squinting into the dimmer seats of the galleries for a moment as she searches--. But then she has to turn away to bow, to move to settle herself into a safe place as dragons spill from their eggs. From the sands, Daemon is quick on his feet, ensuring he doesn't get himself hurt especially when that dainty green has to claw her way out. Can't he just stand over here? All the way in the back? "Geez, she wasn't kidding in saying don't get hurt." He half-turns, "Did that one-?" But then there's another hatching. It's too much, almost, to keep straight. From the sands, Olivya's eyes meet Mirinda's, briefly, and then N'rov's, but the Weyrlingmaster doesn't move to join the Weyrleaders, not where she has to stay on her toes to help with the chaos on the sands and seeing weyrlings off of them. "Dear fuck," exclaims Estanei, staring at the sands even while marks are being shoved into her hand. "No no, it's too late now. You lost quite a bit there, D'vere. First wasn't, in fact, a bronze. Check that bronze ego of yours at the door." From the sands, Dahlia's hands clap together in delight as the first shells reveal their dragons. It's A'sran's turn to be grabbed on the arm first. "Look!" as if he's not already looking, she tugs his sleeve, smile just about as wide as it's ever been seen. "Dragons!" as if she might've feared they'd hatch enormous tunnelsnakes instead. She at least lets go of his sleeve to bounce beside him without detriment to his wardrobe, though her fingers twist into the fabric of her green skirts, the dress a lovely thing for this day of celebration, if perhaps a few turns out of style. From the sands, Finally The Master Within Brown moves again, more than his first deep breaths and the extrication of his long dark tail. He's picky, step by stilted step, carefulness the only reason he doesn't fall with those long and untried legs. He's picky, but also increasingly bright-eyed as bits of shell drop away in his footsteps like so much ink-and-yellow snow. He's picky, but that goes for the candidates too now that he's spotted them; he doesn't so much approach them as walk along just inside their lines, searching. From the sands, Catling nearly stumbles as she makes the change from hard stone to soft copper under her feet, but she recovers the forward momentum into a deep bow towards the clutch-parents. Then she delicately makes certain she is not likely to trip on anything, and she then makes her way towards the eggs, stopping a respectful, hopeful distance away. Amongst the High Reaches contingent is a small group who arrived earlier. There's a bit of discussion at the entranceway; perhaps largely owing to Quint's easy though probably-not-serious suggestion: "You could come and sit with us," to Jocelyn, before his gaze sweeps the galleries and he indicates a spot down the ways, following closely on Silva's heels to the indicated seats. From the sands, 'Poor' Breirande. To relieve his overwhelmed brain from goggling at all those baby dragons spilling out of shells and rambling around choosing their lifemates, he's jerking his gaze up to the galleries, desperately seeking his mother. Luckily, he notes her quite soon, and the elegant-looking woman smiles proudly down to her child, while 'Rand's younger sibs waves and grin at him. From the sands, Fire-Sculpted Egg wobbles in its wallow made of sand, warming to the thrum that reverberates through the cavern. Cream and Egg's occupant goes from statue-still to animated in a way that make the shell seem to expand in what might be a lazy stretch within, trembling for a moment as might muscles pushed to their limit. Then the breath of life so suddenly evident in the subtly speckled egg is lost as in exhale and it's terribly, utterly motionless again. From the sands, A'sran laughs at the goldrider's exuberance, but he cannot quite help straightening his sleeve when she relinquishes it. He does step closer and leans forward, taking in the hatchlings that has thus far hatched. "I hope you did not place any real bets on the results," he says, but his head lifts and his eyes slide back to N'rov. Him, too. From the sands, Daemon inches closer now that some of the immediate chaos dies down. He checks out where some of his fellow candidates are, then chances another few steps closer to the dragonets. Though once, he half-turns and looks back at the gawking crowds in the galleries. And //that// seems to freak him out more than the dragonets, for it's face-first back to the sands! From the sands, N'rov's gaze cuts across Olivya's with a sudden grin at its heels; he rubs his hands together, as though still unused to the heat after the snow without, or as though it might burn off some of the adrenaline. Then he's still, still as that speckled egg. He wouldn't, surely, have bet against those. From the sands, A small boy from the lower caverns, surely at the youngest limit for candidates, sidles behind his older sister, shifting uncomfortably in his sandals. "Ninena, I we-," but anything else he says turns into an inaudible mumble. From the sands, The Master Within Brown keeps walking, not quick about it but as methodical as he is with the rest of his search. Though his eyes whirl red, it's less erratically so than with most hatchlings, and though increasing need is evinced in how deeply and closely he looks, desperation doesn't take him over. Once he pauses by an older candidate, his head quirked in quizzical interest. But the next time he pauses, it's with a step forward, towards one of the youngest boys of the Weyr. From the sands, "I did!" Dahlia volunteers to A'sran of bets even though she wasn't the one he was addressing, "But only a little," she adds, glancing guiltily to the two Onyx riders in between the coos that are for no one at the hatchlings creating chaos some distance away. From the sands, Ninwayzan shifts his feet from side to side with his gaze sweeping the eggs near constantly. Only partially aware of the candidates around him he spares a quick sideways glance towards Daemon briefly. Sands coats and such Silva's dress is nice. There's hints of blueish-silver trim that totally match her blue outside. A few steps in as she casts a glance back to Quint and Jocelyn, "You know, like, if you really wanted to I wouldn't like... really mind." It's an invitation. Their seats are PRobABLY not as good as Jocelyn's but... friendsish? From the sands, Gisele's fingers worry away at a piece of cloth between them, her attention kept stubbornly on the eggs and hatchlings as they pair off. Eventually, though, she glances back up again to the galleries, this time searching until she does find-- yes, him. A trembling smile touches her lips then, one that likely was meant to be more reassuring. From the sands, Daemon might have managed to give Ninwayzan a subtle brofist of encouragement if his attention wasn't mostly on the eggs and dragonets. Still, it's the thought that counts, right? From the sands, Catling licks her lips, finding a place with reasonably good footing in the sand. Then she goes still again, watching. She twirls her fingers, nervous fingers, in a lock of her hair, then runs her fingers through the tangles. From the sands, The Master Within Brown finishes with his intent study of one young Fortian boy only to turn away disappointed. His gait carefully picks across the sands, retreading steps already trod and taking a different turn at one particular juncture to inspect a candidate thus unnoticed. There is a method to his madness, a pattern discernible from aerial vantage points in the deep imprinted paths of his small paws. It's here, at this one, a petite girl with copper hair, that he perks up, suddenly interested. And then, for all of the world to see, there is the tell-tale sign of Impression as his eyes whirl in rainbow colors. From the sands, Cream and Egg briefly defies gravity as it leaves the sands fully for a brief moment after what must have been a monumental effort from the dragon within. As the creamy shell slaps back onto golden sand, the black flecks prove to be shatter points and the egg explodes on impact. In its wake is left a constellation-kissed bronze, dripping egg goo onto the sands, his look distinctly vexed. Ew. Goo. From the sands, >---< Entangle the Stars Bronze >--------------------------------------------< Kinetic energy radiates through this dragonet's youthfully exaggerated proportions, as though it might set the nebula of his hide-- its hazy clouds of light and contrastingly swart shadows obscuring a burnished copper-bronze backdrop-- into full-fledged and characteristically unpredictable motion. Gravity might well have drawn the darkest hues towards the central part of his frame, leaving his extremities bright and nearly golden at the tips of headknobs and claws, but for the billow of deep, dusted rust across his wingsails that escapes even that. Clusters of stars stipple pale constellations across his top-line, traversing from his muzzle over his neckridges and wingspars, all the way down to the spade of his tail. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< From the sands, A'sran's grin starts when he's staring at the weyrleader, but his gaze ends up focused on Dahlia. "That hideous orange egg?" From the sands, Everyday Ingenuity Egg buckles at the same moment as The Image Within becomes, explosively, the Image Without. Sticky bronze wings burst through the shell of the former while the blue kicks his dark egg's remnants out of his way. The blue is on a mission where the bronze seems like he has no where to go, at first. Impression for the blue lands him a blonde girl while eventually the bronze settles on one of the taller boys in the class. Hatchlings are already afoot when Jocelyn arrives at the same time as several others from High Reaches, shedding her cloak upon entering the hatching grounds with an uncomfortable touch to the too-warm neckline of her own, blue dress. "I'd like that, " she says unexpectedly to Quint and Silva while they're paused in the entry, following as they navigate for a seat with a glance down to where her weyrleaders are seated. She's half-staring below while moving around people with mutters of excuse-mes and pardon-mes, exhaling with some relief as she can finally turn the whole of her attention onto the motions down on the sands once settled. From the sands, Dahlia's reply is to A'sran comes with a glance askance and a murmur of, "Giant, irascible bronzes." He must know the ones she means. A moment later though, she tosses him a wink. She's not telling, apparently. From the sands, Daemon isn't sure //what// the proper etiquette is, but, "Congratulations!" seems to be a good response to the Impressions around him. His smile is tight only because of nervousness for sincerity lurks yet in his blue eyes. Then another dragon is hatching and with it even more, and once again, Daemon's doing the hibbie-jibbie-stay-out-of-the-way dance. From the sands, Fire-Sculpted Egg stops moving abruptly, as cracks start to form at the base and spread upwards with due diligence. Meanwhile, nearly identical blues spill from Sawed Scene Egg and Folds and Wrinkles Egg within moments of one another. Both are up and moving and neither seems inclined to hurry their decisions, ranging across the sands back and forth in an almost synchronized pattern of search, each keen not to miss anything. When they find their lifemates, the two Impressees couldn't be more different: one an older, slender Monacoan and the other a very young, stocky local. The Charcoal and Graphite Egg smudges further into the sand as it wobbles in the sand. The hatchling within must be determined, as it does not even take a second's break in its continued rocking. From the sands, Egg goo is awful. Entangle the Stars Bronze Hatchling looks pitiful even with his obvious disdain for his drowned state. With forepaws touching the sand, he shakes free the worst of it, showering the nearby eggs. Now that he's as reasonably non-drippy as he can manage, he can turn his eyes curiously toward the white-robed figures ringing the eggs. From the sands, Olivya is the first of the weyrlingmaster staff to step forward towards the newly-Impressed Catling, nodding simply towards the young girl before she commands quietly, "Come with me; we have food and the barracks ready for you both." Her gaze sweeps to N'rov yet again, though, as she does so and she curves a brow at him. (This is probably how all those rumors got started, not at all because Liv's plahyer.) From the sands, A'sran is too polite to strangle a woman on the sands while her dragon's eggs are hatching, but he is probably thinking it. Definitely. From the sands, Breirande's nod to his mother, sibs, and his greenriding step-father is a jerky, harsh thing, given his increasing agitation inside, but his resolve is screwed up another notch when he sees that pride in his mom's face. Looking back to Sands, he finds more dragons, more Impressions. Catling is one? Gulp! From the sands, The cracks on surface of the fragile-looking, Fire-Sculpted Egg grow and the shell simultaneously pulses, but then with a singular, heroic shove of darkened limbs, the dragonet within sets itself free and stands proudly in the remnants. He lifts his head resolutely, surveying his surroundings, not the least bit set aback by the sand and bits of shell stuck to his brown hide. From the sands, N'rov exhales as that egg not only moves but breaks, but he has the remaining eggs to eye, gaze narrowed as though he could force them all to rock and hatch through sheer force of will. Luckily for Mirinda, he doesn't seem inclined to strangle either. From the sands, >---< Till the End of the Line Brown >---------------------------------------< Rich chocolate hide stretches over the small bones of this runt-sized brown, though potential awaits in the wideness of his russet-tinged wings and the ungainliness of his large-footed amble. With his warm coloring and sleek, satiny hide, he carries himself with a certain self-assurance despite those youthful disadvantages. His large and bright eyes, overset by sooty eyeridges, are a focal point of his finely crafted head, and are at odds with the perpetual, resting smirk of his mouth. Dark smatterings of copper and carmine scatter across his flanks, deepening into a large deposit of rusted shadows that stretches upward from his gleaming slate claws into the hollows of his wings. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< From the sands, Catling sinks to her knees, a gasp coming out of her mouth, then a soft, wordless cry. "Riyoth? Riyoth." Joyous now. "His name is Riyoth!" A shout, triumphant, and she rises to her feet. "I am ready," she says, putting her hand out to him, stroking him, then motioning towards Olivya. THis way...." There's a smile for the bluerider's words, though it disappears quickly from Quint's face, as he instead glances to the sands, gaze flickering over the occupants before locating a familiar blonde figure. He exhales a breath, waiting until both Silva and Jocelyn are seated before he sinks down. For once, he doesn't have eyes for the dragons so much as for a particular occupant of the sands. "That's her there, the blonde standing a bit aways," he says, with a grin. "My sister." From the sands, The peculiar veneer of Jumbled Lights Eggs is broken when a bronze foot pushes through the shell, a few more shakes making it crack wide to let the dragon out. His path takes him past the trembling Windblown Wish Egg which crumples just after he passes it, revealing its dark green denizen. The bronze finds his lad first, while the green takes some time seeking her lifemate, though one is eventually selected from the offered candidates with a joyful creel. The valiant battle between the Charcoal and Graphite Egg continues undaunted by either time or the hatching of other eggs, though surely one side must be weakening by now. From the sands, Ninwayzan simply has no words, for once, for this. Taking his his first hatching ever and doing it from the sands has left him nearly speechless indeed. Shuffling a bit to the right he peers around to see where the brown went and whom he is by. More movement of another one has him looking away quickly right after Catling announces Riyadh's name. So much to see! For the moment he focuses his gaze on the ones still moving in particular the bronze. Silva's short enough that those standing in front of her get a GLARE. Ugh. Stop being stupid people, sit down so the shorties can see. An impatient tap of Silva's toe against the floor as she edges around to get a look down below. "It's like, a little different view from up here, isn't it?" To Quint and Jocelyn. From the sands, Daemon sneaks a few looks here and there, watching as Catling is lead off and studiously ignoring the crowds behind him. Does he look sick a little? Maaaaaybe, but it's patently obvious he's doing his best to hold it. "Riyoth... Strong name." Talking to himself. First sign, people. There are too many dragons for him to focus on just one, so he doesn't try but instead works to keep them all in his field of vision. "That one, " Jocelyn repeats with a glance to Quint for confirmation, turning back again in time to see Catling get to her feet with her brown. Her eyebrows lift, and there's certainly some surprise evident in her expression - which tugs nevertheless into a small smile, particularly at Silva's remark. "Only a little? Certainly less nerve-wracking." From the sands, Breirande, breathe. Breirande STAY. As dragonets whiz (or sit) by, he's very slowly and very subconsciously stepping back, back on Sands, and is only stopped in retreat by stumbling in them, jerking to right himself. By this point, his eyes should be literally exploding from his head, his limbs and eye twitching on and off. Flight seems very, very near...mother or not. From the sands, Till The End of the Line Brown Hatchling takes his time in leaving the shards of his egg behind. His process is slow and his steps deliberate, but he eventually, warily begins the arduous task of searching out his lifemate. He moves determinedly towards one group of candidates, studying them with a cautious stance; they are not to be, they are not his. And on he marches, towards another group who has caught his wandering eye. From the sands, N'rov has more hatchlings to eye, now, just as assessingly as before. A brief swing of his gaze might compare the latest sire and dam anew... or just see how they're dealing with this first clutch of theirs. A'sran, then, and Dahlia, and a murmur into Mirinda's ear. "Think that one's going to run," is only part of it. From the sands, Dahlia's, "Aww," is for no one in particular as her hands clap together again, bouncing onto her toes. It's possible the initial excitement of the hatching is starting to wear off because the junior is becoming a little more quiet, though her lifemate still watches with marked interest. She might be counting down the eggs til there are none left and she's officially free! From the sands, Olivya returns to the sands with blood already staining her white, sleeveless tunic. Luckily, it isn't hers. Her first response, of course, is to survey the wreckage that has managed to happen in her brief absence and start giving orders to assistants, before she starts skirting around the edge of the clutch to get a better position. She seems to be watching Breirande more than most, likely expecting the running as well. "Mm," Quint makes a noise in a way to suggest that he's listening to Silva without perhaps actually listening. He hasn't the weyrling's recent memories of their own hatching to muse over, after all. It's only the impatient tap of blue weyrling's toe that pulls his attention from the sands, however briefly; "Here," he says, gesturing, "Swap with me." He's tall enough to see past those in front, after all. From the sands, The likeness of the bird etched in the colors of the Charcoal and Graphite Egg is pierced cleanly through its imaginary heart with one sharp dragonet claw from within. Then the egg begins rocking again as the hatchling inside continues the fight to tear apart the egg that cages her inside as the eyes of the world watch her. It is a luminescent green that emerges victoriously, if exhausted, from the confrontation as she tumbles out of her shell, setting herself free into the uncertain world. From the sands, >---< As True As An Arrow Green >--------------------------------------------< She isn't small, for all that she's green: all elongated curves rounded by baby fat, the more remarkable for the spirited way she holds her head and the brilliance of her hue. That luminescent green, spilt along her generous torso and over high arched and gently sloped back haunches, might appear grassy in another world; here, it's liquidly glossy as though just beneath the surface of a sunlit lake. A patterned braid is faint down the length of her spine, a matte relief amidst the fluid coloring, visible only in the right light. She's all the brighter for the darkness she does possess, near-mahogany shadows that stripe behind her swept-back neckridges and beneath the lithe length of her tail; dark as well are her tiny paws' claws, dark and pointed. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< Swapping with Quint is done before Quint's offer can be done. Even if this does settle Silva next to Jocelyn. At least she can SEE now. "There's like, so many dragons walking around there." From the sands, Ninwayzan hasn't yet looked towards the crowd in his effort to watch each dragon in some way. Unable to watch them all of course he also tries to keep them in his field of vision. Bright green eyes follow the bronze before slipping to the brown and finally to a newly hatched green. Here he finds his voice in a low murmur of approval. Still shifting his weight from one foot to the other he seems to be managing his nerves fairly well thus far. From the sands, Daemon hides hands that might hold a tremble still by crossing his arms across his chest. He presses his lips together and spares a moment to look at the sand beneath his (hot) sandaled (hot) feet. The crack of another egg, straight through the imaginary heart brings about his attention - back in action. "Just breathe." It's a mantra. It's keeping him sane. His holdbred is showing, here. Naturally, Jo's late but at least she's here. She's quiet in arriving, scanning the stands until she spies Jocelyn with Quint and Silva before shuffling her way over to them. M'ron and Kaitlin trail behind her as she nods to those that look her way before the sand activity gets the brunt of her attention. T'gar is here as well, though he maintains keeping his distance from the Reachian group despite having settled near M'ron. From the sands, As True As An Arrow Green Hatchling isn't one to sit idle long. Indeed, she has already started to mark her battle-lines in the sands as she draws herself straight from her egg. And then she's charging them, directly towards the oldest candidate on the sands. Even Gisele's worrying at the fabric stops entirely as she holds herself still under the bright green's intense regard. From the sands, Entangle the Stars Bronze has a big decision to make. As he moves across the sands with grace uncharacteristic of the newly hatched, his eyes are already examining the faces. One might think, as a bronze, he would immediately discard the girls, but his eyes pass over them just as they do the males. He never draws too near the candidates, but rather looks from a distance at the lot. And Jocelyn actually laughs, caught up in the feelings arising from watching her first post-Impression hatching and the amusement elicited by Silva's observation. "There were almost that many when we Impressed, you know, " she points out, but it comes out friendly enough. "You'd never seen one before you stood, did - " And abruptly she leans forward as that green charges to Gisele, one hand reaching across the bluerider to make to tug at Quint's wrist. "Harper!" From the sands, The plump ecru of All You Knead Egg expands like rising dough. Egg, of course, lacks the same flexibility so the expansion of the brown within, stretching in all directions at once creates confetti of his shell and leaves him tumbling back, right into the quaking orderly squares of Nine Patch Egg. In the end, it proves to be a boon to the exhausted looking blue who spills right along with his clutchmate. The noises of distress from the pairing rise, but both seem to manage to untangle themselves from the other with only minor scratches, and indeed, help is close at hand in the form of three candidates who unwisely rushed forward to try to help. They escape unscathed, though two of the three end up with a lifemate, but then that's what they came for, wasn't it? If not, too late now! "Is this your first time watching?" Quint's finally distracted from the sands enough to ask, glancing to both Silva and Jocelyn in curiosity. The glance catches sight of a familiar bluerider and her companions, the harper lifting a hand in greeting to Jo and the other Reachians, before Jocelyn's tug draws his attention back -- though not so much to the dragon as to where she's headed, holding his breath, displaying a tension not usually so visible in the harper's demeanor. It must be boring in the VIP section, because Farideh seems to actually be laughing at something K'del says and then leans in to hear whatever the portly man at her side has to say about the hatchlings below. "Well.... yeah, of course. I mean, like...." It's not like SOMEONE (Jocelyn) is old enough for flights yet. So there haven't been any hatchings to watch. Silva doens't quite get the point of the tugging, because she's staring at Farideh and K'del. "Did Farideh just like... laugh?!" From the sands, Daemon lifts his head, maybe at the feeling of being assessed from afar, or maybe it's because he catches sight of the little green's battle lines - something draws his attention back to the sands. Caught so that even the sounds of distress doesn't phase him so much as to ensure he's steps aside. From the sands, Breirande...is afraid. Not of the baby dragons, but of losing his precious FREEDOM. Each agonizing moment, each dragonet makes his throat tighten, his heart race more, his sweat near-literally flow from pores. His family is nearly forgotten in the internal war, the teen poised on the cusp. Stay or go? From the sands, White-robed candidates keep getting in the way, and once more Till the End of the Line Brown Hatchling veers away in pursuit of something else. He walks by a small girl with dark curls, stops, and then studies her with intent in his whirling eyes. It is not her that he's looking for, but it's not the stout young man standing at her side either. In frustration, he dashes away from the pair and ambles further down the line, searching.. continuously searching. From the sands, Ninwayzan lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding when the blue and brown tumbled into three of the candidates. Surpressing a faint smile as two of them walk away with a new friend he turns away to ensure nothing is sneaking up on him. Peeking sideways towards Breirande he edges a little closer to perhaps give silent support. From the sands, A twitching tail sweeping the sand betrays Entangle the Stars Bronze's impatience. Decisions aren't to be made lightly. This candidate or that? Her? No, him? It might seem a portent of doom that he's so still for so long with his gaze finally angled and fixed on a tall, muscular young man and those in his periphery. At last, a single forepaw draws up in what might be a beckoning gesture to encourage the man across the distance that separates them. That seems to signal decision, for rainbows swirl swiftly in the bronze's many-faceted eyes and Impression is made. From the sands, Dahlia's "Oh!" in surprise at the way All You Knead Egg hatches leads to a grin and a glance toward Taeliyth at some silent remark from the gold. Her head lowers and nudges at Leczuth. Did he see that one? The goldrider steps a little forward as the candidates move to help the tangled, some concern showing in her expression, but it all turns out well and that has her exhaling her relief. Spotting Quint's wave, Jo grins with an indulgent nod his way as she settles in a seat close to the group. Jocelyn and Silva would get nodded greetings each too before she looks on at the Impression on the sands made with a few nodded murmuring words with Kaitlin. From the sands, Gisele and As True As An Arrow Green Hatchling continue to stare each other down for a moment, but in the end it is the former that gives in first, looking away. The green takes that defeat with a huff, turning away herself and continuing to pick her way down the lines for her next challenge. From the sands, "What, no blood?" N'rov murmurs, a laughing undernote to his voice that carries his own relief... before he makes it all scratchy. "Candidates these days, they have it so easy. Why, in our day...' From the sands, "Ancient times," Dahlia observes in a low voice, though she doesn't dare look back to N'rov. From the sands, Olivya's turn is next in the rotation of weyrlingmaster staff that are seeing the weyrlings to the barracks, and so it is she that steps forward to tell Br'and, very sympathetically, "Too late. Follow me." She even crooks a finger, in case he can't understand the English right now. From the sands, Valiant effort though he has given the task, Till the End of the Line Brown grows weary of the search, his movements becoming sloppy and a little agitated as he wanders through the white-robed candidates. His frustration hangs heavy on his small shoulders and sags those wide set wing sails, and he trudges along dutifully. Then, something draws his attention from this march, brightening his countenance, his eyes, and lifting those drooped wings. He sprints forward and nearly runs headlong into a tall, blonde-haired teenager; his eyes are on the prize! From the sands, Low, both of them are low, and so is N'rov's silent smirk. But then, given that brown, there just might be a crash ahead. From the sands, Unbeweavable Egg has finally rolled itself out of its pile of sand through the efforts of the hatchling within, but the thumps and taps from within the shell haven't done more than to create little cracks here and there. While the hatchling's effort's continue, it's clutchsister finds success in flopping out of the remains of In the Round Egg, only managing to destroy half the shell in her daring escape. A second green joins the first as Unbeweavable Egg splits apart at long last and the two play a game of seek and find, finding their lifemates waiting among the remaining candidates. From the sands, Daemon's first response is to reach out into the nothingness before him, and yet feet are dragged across the sands as the chains of his old life fall behind him in favor of what lies //ahead//. "D'aeo." He tests his new name, sounds it out on his tongue in the barest breath before he is beckoned and claimed. "Zvaezdiyth." A trip of syllables that yet come out perfect, a mouthful. And his hands come to rest on starry-bronze hide and a sigh escapes. Still, no one sees how his hand shakes, right?! Impression has only somewhat quashed the awkward. Just a wee. "Right. I'm supposed to do something..." As if in a dream, he lifts his head and - what, exactly? Quint hasn't any attention to spare the Reachian dignitaries; he's actually leaning forward in his seat. When the green turns away from his sister, there's an exhaled breath that sounds suspiciously like relief from the harper, tension fading from his posture. From the sands, Ninwayzan fidgeting and shuffling is increasing in small increments the longer the hatching continues. Time seems to be moving both quickly and too slowly all at once for the Baker apprentice turned candidate. As people around him impress to leave him slightly off by himself a bare hint of an uncertain frown etches into his expression. It's a fleeting one that he squelches in time to call out quiet congratulations towards the latest impresses. From the sands, It is calm, reserved Pasna that comes for Daemon with the answer to that question, saying, "He'll need to be fed. We have food in the barracks." She will even lead the way, not trusting him to find it on his own in the daze of the moment. Weyrbred Jocelyn has undoubtedly watched many a hatching, but she's too busy watching what's going on below with a side-look for Quint's posture to follow whatever's captured Silva's attention about their weyrleaders. And as the green moves on, she deflates slightly in her seat, lips pursing. She'll be disappointed for Gisele, even if the candidate's brother doesn't seem to be. And she says so: "There may yet be another." From the sands, Daemon blinks at Pasna, and nods. "Right. Uh. Food? This way?" He's still learning how you talk to a dragon. And reeling. But out he goes! From the sands, Breirande, turn! Brieirand RUN! Run for your freedom! Except that, as he staring wide-eyed at Ninwayzan, then pivoting about to do exactly that...he's run down by a dragonet, and falls in a heap to the Sands. Trying not to scream like a little girl, limbs and body flailing to protect himself from the little brown predator... What?! Still huge-eyed and gasping for breath, the teen stares up into Kahvaroeth's rainbow eyes...and turns aside as he suddenly throws up all over the sands. Ewwww. From the sands, The adventure that As True As An Arrow Green has carried on with must come to an end eventually; there are, after all, only so many candidates to inspect with her thorough regard. There's the lower caverns girl paused at but walked past, and then the boy from Ruatha, who stumbles backwards and is dismissed. Then, it happens as she stops suddenly and quirks her head as if listening to something that only she can hear, before she just as quickly changes her direction with an abruptness that has her rushing off towards one last candidate. She stops in front of a baker, taking a deep breath as her eyes whirl up at him. From the sands, Ay'zan's expression is quite comical as it goes from trying to hide disappointment to suddenly being quite bright and open. His eyes stare unfocused briefly as he reaches out to touch the green who is there oh so suddenly. "Oh!" he says weakly. "I've been here all along." he pauses. "I'm hungry too!" It takes a moment, moments, longer for the harper to find his voice. "Perhaps," Quint replies, noncommittally, to Jocelyn, his gaze glued to the sands. Silva shakes off her suprise and turns back to Jocelyn and Quint. "Does she like... want to impress?" Yes, Silva will care about something outside for just a moment. Quint's sister. From the sands, It is a distinctive, disbelieving huff that escapes from Yuanth as she stares up at Ay'zan, but then she's distracted by the approach of the Weyrlingmaster as Olivya arrives to escort them off the sands. "I have food ready for her; you should have ate before," is said as if picking up the thread of an earlier conversation. But, likely, there will be food for Ay'zan too where Olivya leads. From the sands, Fort's Weyrleaders draw the remaining candidates to them, N'rov standing at Mirinda's shoulder. They have quiet words of commiseration but also of appreciation for the candidates' being here, for their trying, for the difference it may have meant. All the eggs hatched, with none left to take between; all the hatchlings are healthy; they are healthy too, and will live to Stand again if their ages suit and they so choose (and if they weren't too much of a pain, but for the moment that can go unsaid). Those who came from holds may return, but they'll always have this to remember it all by. This, and food, that interrupted meal: time to finish, and feast! From the sands, Gisele doesn't linger on the sands, without a lifemate. She only barely makes it all the way through N'rov's speech before she retreats quickly. From the sands, Ay'zan's a bit unwilling to take his eyes off Yuanth though he does so briefly as Olivya approaches. "Wasn't hungry." he mumbles apologetically. "C'mon Yuanth." her name rolls easily off his tongue. "Let's go find food." for her at the very least. Eyes more gray than blue lift from the sands to regard Quint evenly at Silva's question, eyebrows lifting. "Was her Impression wanted?" Jocelyn could be asking the same question as her fellow weyrling as the final pairs are made save for the pointed way she looks at the harper afterward, glancing down again in time to watch the candidate they're discussing make a quick exit. Quint shakes his head for a moment at Silva's question. Then: "She thinks she does," he finally says, gaze flickering towards the Weyrleaders as they give their speech, though only briefly: watching his sister retreat off the sands, instead. Silva's a little more serious now, "It's not what she would expect." Silva, actually sounding adult. "I think I need to go for a moment, I'll come find you a little later?" That to Quint, before Silva starts edging her way out. Jocelyn watches Silva depart with a look that's thoughtful, attention returning to Quint after with a direct stare now that the younger rider's no longer blocking part of her visual field. "She thinks she does, " she repeats, expectantly. "Are you glad that she didn't?" As people around them start to get up and head for the entry, she gathers her skirts and rises. "Are you going to the celebration? Going to find her?" The hatching is over and that means there's nothing more to see. Nothing more that Farideh could want to see anyway one the dragons have all been led away. She makes a little more small talk with her sea neighbor and even allows him to help her into her cloak again, but then she's following K'del towards the stairs. It's not coincidence that her eyes skim over the High Reachians, lingering particularly on Jo and finally, Jocelyn. There's no words, and soon, she's back out in the snow, presumably headed to the feast. Quint gives a silent nod towards Silva, and habit makes him stand as the blue weyrling does too. "Irrelevant now, wouldn't you say?" comes the harper's response to Jocelyn, an attempt at softening it with one of his familiar, easy smiles. "Yes," the latter question of the gold weyrling's is answered more directly. "You?" he offers her an elbow in anticipation. Relevant or not, Jocelyn's stare remains, brow furrowing for that easy, oft-seen smile. "You certainly seem to think so, " she says at last, neutrally, reaching to take his elbow after a momentary pause. "I should put in an appearance, although I don't expect to stay for terribly long." If the line of her jaw tightens briefly when she meets Farideh's eyes, well. They'll see each other soon enough. |
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