Difference between revisions of "Logs:Egg Touching Example"

From the sands, This is the bit that Elaruth doesn't like. However, this is also the bit that is undeniably necessary, no matter the various theories held by various people, and so it is endured for the sake of her babies, and for her rider. In the galleries, Hattie has gone through all the usual rules, among which are: don't run, don't make a lot of noise, don't mess around, don't apply too much pressure to the shells... etcetera. Break a rule and you're out. And so now the Weyrwoman waits to one side of the clutch, where she's managed to convince Elaruth to retreat to - as obviously unhappy and worried as she is - and she seeks out her junior among the small sea of white-knotted candidates spilling onto the Sands.

From the sands, Eliyaveith's certainly taken an interest to the Candidates that is more focused than before her flight, and it is no surprise that she would seek to be on one of those low ledges for this. Given her stature, it is hard to tell whether the queen has filled out any, whether she is bearing eggs or not, as everyone must be watching for. There is a hint of weight gain, more noticeable for those that see her often. But even as her dragon watches those eggs and the Candidates, an extra, sharp gaze there for her dam, it is her dragon that Hattie's junior watches, at least just for the moment. Lilah's gaze drops quickly as the Weyrwoman approaches, sliding to her with a study for her as well. "They seem more eager and less hesitant than my Candidate class was. But then, they are Weyr-bred," is her greeting.

From the sands, Whether she doesn't dare or doesn't want to, Hattie's path doesn't stray far from Elaruth's side, her lifemate presently hunkered low, like she could spring and cover (protect) her clutch with the spreading of her wings. The queen is still, though, save for the flicking of the white-gold tip of her tail, and, for the moment, she's silent, the lick of worried yellow in her gaze speaking enough for her. If she's concerned by Eliyaveith's presence too, it's difficult to tell, for her focus is on those closer targets with hands to paw her eggs, but she certainly doesn't actively watch her daughter. "And that's why they need to be watched more carefully," Hattie replies. "Hesitation usually means they're apt to be more... mindful. And it's not me they need to worry about upsetting."

From the sands, "I do remember being on the other side," Lilah answers to that, her gaze flicking out over the Candidates and eggs. "A Weyrwoman who could take away their knot is certainly more worrying than a dragon. Especially for ones who've been raised around dragons." Where Hattie lingers by Elaruth, so does Lilah. She even lifts a hand to brush lightly, reassuringly against her dragon's dam, resting against her shoulder in an abbreviated gesture.

N'rov may have hands for egg-pawing, but not only is the bronzerider disinclined, he keeps his distance; after conferring with a couple others escaping the weather outside, he ambles towards the railing but no further.

From the sands, "So they'd think, but I'm more likely to take their knot for upsetting her, and I can guarantee that she is more likely to become agitated than I am." Hattie is unrepentant in that matter of fact statement, as low-voiced as she delivers it, with the intention of not being overheard by any Candidate who strays too close. The young people earn a momentary reprieve when Elaruth lifts her head towards Lilah, with the intention of gently nosing in at her side before returning her focus to the folk roaming the Sands. "It's... a matter of listening to her. If you can trust Eliyaveith to feel or know what you might not."

From the sands, A soft, thoughtful noise marks Lilah's response, her fingers scritching gently across Elaruth's jaw as she noses dropping away as her attention returns to the Candidates to allow her to focus, there. "She can't have liked every Candidate who ever Impressed, though. For that matter, I am pretty sure she never liked me, when I was a Candidate," volunteers the goldrider with a hint of dry humor, though not without some measure of curiousity.

That railing serves as a prop for N'rov to lean against, now; as the weyrwomen converse in such low tones, he looks on, gray gaze eventually drifting towards the candidates in an evaluative sort of way.

From the sands, "She doesn't like any of them right now," Hattie murmurs, her attention on one of the younger ones, who can't stop grinning as they approach the second egg they've approached in such a short time. "But, to be honest, even her physical senses are better than mine. She'll catch things I won't, especially when she's like this. It's easy to tell which are the more disrespectful ones, but... there are more subtle things. Sometimes, it's not a matter of liking or not." She glances up at her queen, a deep breath taken. "The ones you think are going to act out could be all sweetness here... Some people don't like people, but they like dragons."

From the sands, As the weyrwomen suspect, having been raised around dragons-- and previous clutches-- lends a certain ease to Mayel's steps as she maneuvers through the eggs. Sans her best friend, her fingers work emptily against her stomach: the only real sign of nerves besides the eagerness of her face. Though she rounds the eggs with due admiration, her gaze is often taken by the conversing goldriders. She steps lightly, but generally, towards them, until she's overtaken by a young man, Sanders. Grinning, her head ducks, and Mayel presses a hand to the closest teal-hued egg as if she's been caught at something much worse. See, I'm touching, see. "Does it feel almost... unfair? Asking to Stand rather than being picked?" Sanders shrugs shoulders too broad for how skinny he is, "Plenty of riders asked to Stand." Eyes shoot questioningly at Lilah, squinting, trying to remember something.

From the sands, "That is a valid sentiment," counters Lilah of the last of the Weyrwoman's statements, the hint of a smile appearing before her dark gaze catches on the young woman watching them. Instead of pursuing the conversation further, the junior speaks up to call out to Mayel, one brow lifted, "Can I help you with something, Candidate?"

Wings drift overhead, Vhaeryth shadowing briefly before curving over to pick out a ledge for landing. N'rov glances away from the candidates, glances up.

He's unobtrusive, just a shadowy glint of glass and metal that's deliberate: visiting, yes, sneaking, never. He gives her space. (To Elaruth from Vhaeryth)

Where to land, where to land. He's amused, a glint of glass and metal; he has choices. (To Eliyaveith from Vhaeryth)

From the sands, A low, strained sound catches in Elaruth's throat, prompting her rider to murmur, "Easy, darl," and lift a palm to press against pale gold hide, like she could somehow share her thoughts and feelings better with that contact to compliment their bond. It delays the senior queen for a moment or two, yet then Elaruth slowly moves off, circling around her clutch to get a better look at the tall boy who is perhaps a little too close to the amber-coloured egg he's communing with. "Unfair..." Hattie drawls, deliberately wondering, her gaze settling on Mayel for a heavy moment before she follows her lifemate and leaves her to Lilah, for now.

There is a warmth extended to the bronze in invitation, his previous sins of chasing and catching that foreign queen both forgiven and forgotten in the glow of her own flight. She occupies the lowest of the ledges, keeping an eye on her dam's eggs and the Candidates, some of which may be hers, soon. That, at least, she seems to be sure of, feeling distinctively full as well as warm. (To Vhaeryth from Eliyaveith)

Visiting, yes. Watching, yes? Perhaps he can be useful; he has a better vantage point, after all. Thirteen distinct points to observe. More roaming ones, but they gravitate to those thirteen. (To Vhaeryth from Elaruth)

Perhaps she ought to rise more often, then, better for the both of them; as it happens, Vhaeryth lands not upon her ledge but the one that overlooks it, overlooks her. And the eggs, of course. He shares a vision of that fullness of hers, a passel of herdbeasts piled up in her belly, muzzles over haunches and hooves and all the more content for it. (To Eliyaveith from Vhaeryth)

Perhaps he can, indeed; he settles not on Eliyaveith's ledge but the one overlooking it. Which, he wonders soundlessly, need the most... attention? (To Elaruth from Vhaeryth)

To Vhaeryth, Eliyaveith doesn't flirt, certainly; she has her mate and Vhaeryth is not him, for all that he is still family. But, she probably does consider that idea that she should rise more often. The idea of herdbeasts is met with a low hint of humor, though not without sharing the image of many perfect eggs instead with the bronze, as she twists to look where he has landed.

The middle. It's a matter of practicality, surely, given different points and angles of view, but then Elaruth is at the edge of her clutch still, focus broad and somehow narrowed at the same time, mist blanketing all, while ripples find their targets. (To Vhaeryth from Elaruth)

From the sands, Mayel stiffens with an audible intake of breath, though more caught off-guard than outwardly intimidated. She shakes her head rapidly even as Sanders takes a pointed step forward to close the distance between them and Lilah to something more conversational. Despite being cut an obvious cease-and-desist gesture from the girl, the older candidate strides on. His nod to Lilah is entirely respectful. He eases his hands into his pockets as if to keep them from trouble. "We didn't mean to stare, ma'am. Just trying to remember an earlier Hatching," a gesture at her suggests Lilah was involved, somehow, somewhen, "I've Stood a couple times, myself." Feeling like she's started something she wants no part in, Mayel uses the egg's surface to guide her in a half-circle away from them, noting lowly that it's towards Elaruth.

From the sands, "Then it wasn't my hatching, was it?" Lilah questions dryly, the obvious implication there in her words. It is only the low hum (not that type of hum) from Eliyaveith on the ledges, so happy with her dam below and Vhaeryth nearby and some inner contentment, that cuts her rider off from berating the young man further, She only makes a little dismissive gesture for him to return to the eggs that the Candidates are ostensibly supposed to be touching before she turns to retreat into the galleries to watch from more of a distance.

N'rov, comfortable in his distance, has by now been eyeing the sands once more and the central portion at that; to Lilah, as she approaches, "So?"

From the sands, The boy gets the message when Elaruth inches just a little too close, casting her shadow over the pale shell of her unhatched offspring. "Yes, I think that's for the best," Hattie utters a little dryly, when the Candidate takes a step back and looks back at the little queen. Gold and boy engage in a moment's staring, then he sets a more tentative palm down against the same egg. Is it bravery or obedience that is rewarded, when Elaruth gives a quiet huff and moves on? Hattie moves with her queen, perhaps a touch too obsessively, and she watches Lilah's retreat to the galleries a little darkly (or is it desperately?) before she narrows in on Mayel and asks, "Do you think it would feel more special to be asked?"

Were she proddy once more, matters might be different (or not, for flirting is not exactly what Vhaeryth does); as it is, that amused implication has less to do with changes of mates than her getting over the visits to Benden he's still been known to make. By the time she looks up at him, he's looking obligingly down at Elaruth's. Those might be perfect eggs. He's inclined to count them so. (To Eliyaveith from Vhaeryth)

He could herd them, he lets it be known. He, they, could corral them towards the center, that much easier to observe. (To Elaruth from Vhaeryth)

Those are perfect, Eliyaveith corrects. 13 perfect eggs that she knows by heart, even before her own flight. But she will allow him to count, encourage even, since they will be his family as well. (To Vhaeryth from Eliyaveith)

But will hers be perfect like those? is his inquiry. If those are so very, very perfect indeed. (To Eliyaveith from Vhaeryth)

There is a warm confidence in Eliyaveith's mind, despite any doubt that might be held by her own rider or those around her, that hers will be just as perfect. (To Vhaeryth from Eliyaveith)

She considers it, but it's a vague, contemplative sort of thing with no real weight to it. Maybe another day. If she must endure another occasion like this, where they roam on her Sands. (To Vhaeryth from Elaruth)

From the sands, "Ahh-- " there's correction in Sanders' voice, well-meaning or otherwise, but he cuts himself short well enough when Lilah's leaving. "That's not what I..." fades into the chatter of other things. Awkwardly tugging on an ear, Sanders backsteps towards an egg. In a couple seconds, he's over it and back to eying dragon pre-specimens. The gold spotlight switches to Mayel, whose fingers tend to curl nervously in before she recalls she's got them all against an egg shell. There's a tiny squeak from her nails as she pulls the arm away, holding onto its recovered wrist like it may be injured. Her face registers less fear; she looks sideways at Hattie abashed but not entirely repentant. "It's-- more romantic," she ventures, softly; an unsure student developing a thesis, "Gen... uine..." no, she disagrees with that word even as she says it, side of her mouth wincing. "It's stupid." Her.

He defers to her; he's in no hurry. That one candidate down there, though, he smells kind of funny even from up here. Such bravery has Elaruth, to tolerate it. His own rider complains at his having shared it, and (believe it or not) likes to think the bronze is making it up. (To Elaruth from Vhaeryth)

From the sands, In the galleries, Lilah settles onto one of those first rows of seats to watch the rest of the time, but with a hint of distraction.

From the sands, "...I think we would all be very foolish if we believed that every dragon and rider Searches absolutely true," Hattie admits rather quietly, observing Mayel between looks darted here and there to keep an eye on the others who continue to seek out favourite eggs and preferred eggs and feeling-sorry-for eggs. What she means by her remark, she doesn't elaborate, but she offers, "She has no objection to you," in a manner that is quietly earnest; she's not making fun, nor has she taken offense. "And I am, of course, biased, but I think that you can consider that to be genuine." Indeed, Elaruth leans a touch closer to Mayel, though her nose never quite touches her, for she's distracted by another target nearby. She moves off again, and Hattie reaches a hand out for her, to find nothing a little too late.

But will there be more. That's the question. And then, if there are more, does that mean that they are more perfect because there are more? (To Eliyaveith from Vhaeryth)

"So, what?" is Lilah's challenge to that question, her own fingers trailing along the edge of the railing as she closes the distance to the bronzerider there before turning her gaze back onto the Sands below, rather than N'rov.

« No, » is a firm response on the part of the queen, though whether or not there will be more eggs isn't explored as she continues with the silent assurance that they will be just as perfect. No more, no less. (Though, buried in the dragon's warmth, there is a lingering subconscious that they will, of course, be more perfect because they will be hers.) (To Vhaeryth from Eliyaveith)

"Them," says N'rov dryly, unsurprisedly, with a lift of his chin towards said sands. "Unless you have something else up your," metaphorical given her sundress, "sleeve."

« 'Many folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.' » (To Eliyaveith from Vhaeryth)

"I am sure you've met Candidates before," Lilah replies dryly, this time her gaze sliding sideways towards the bronzerider. "They seem young. And eager. And--." She doesn't finish, only lifting her fingers in a dismissive gesture for them.

« I am happy, » is Eliyaveith's simple response to that, whether she understands his puzzling words or not. (To Vhaeryth from Eliyaveith)

"Younger and eager...-er," only it comes out more like 'grr,' "than you ever were?" N'rov inquires.

« Good, » is the bronze's only reply. (To Eliyaveith from Vhaeryth)

From the sands, Steeling herself for emotional harm is nearly a self-fulfilling prophecy, but then Mayel manages to suss Hattie's tone, and the words ring clear enough. She breathes a little sigh that's the death of a laugh at herself. Hearing the earnest remark snaps her head against her shoulder too quickly to look at Hattie-- and then too quickly away when she can't quite hide the pleased smile; it feels too indulgent, though she avoids smugness easily, and she fights it down. When she turns to nod in sincere gratitude, the warmness in her eyes betrays her anyway. A couple of fingers curl in wave to Elaruth. "Thank you, ma'am," she remembers to say to Hattie finally. "I guess, without the hold folk to make fun of," she's exaggerating-- maybe... slightly. She lop-sided grins with half a squint to ease the joke, and hide a little emotion, "it's easier to feel like you just... blend in. Are average. Everybody knows what you know." At least, that's what you'd think: then there's those two Weyr boys happy to tease each other over having to Impress something out of one of the smaller or less perfectly shaped eggs. As though that were some terrible fate.

Lilah actually laughs at that, a breath that escapes as she peers challengingly up at N'rov. She counters, "I don't think I was ever that young or eager. I have always been a million turns old." She shakes her head lightly, leaning forward with another breath that's more of a sigh, this time. "Though, they have that Weyr-bred thing. I am sure they all think they are going to get dragons, despite basic math."

Whether he's making it up or not, it's owed some investigation. She has endured and been braver about-- But that thought or just that moment is when her attention snaps away from him, the Candidates and her eggs, to land solely on her rider. (To Vhaeryth from Elaruth)

"And now you're, what, a million and a half?" N'rov's dubious about it, ill-equipped to be challenged given how he's not looking at her. "Maybe they just have a gambler's eye for math, one mark makes two and so on." Not only is he not looking at her, now, he's all of a sudden looking for the other queenrider instead of just seemingly-random eggs.

From the sands, "If it consoles you at all, remember that, if one of the hatchlings finds you, you won't be average to them, ever." Hattie is just as serious about that, sober in her delivery, yet distant, a hint of worry beginning to creep in as she continues to reach for a form behind her that isn't there, and then is, when Elaruth abandons her investigation of the next Candidate to receive her attention and turns abruptly, moving quickly to steady herself at the Weyrwoman's side - and steady the Weyrwoman too. Hattie inches back half a step, taking in slow, deep breaths, and sighs out, "...I think that's enough for today." She leans back against Elaruth in such a manner as could look like she's merely standing next to her, then lifts her voice to call, "Everyone into the galleries and back to work, please!" And: "Any questions, please find me in the council room tomorrow morning."

"I will be sure to explain their chances of Impression to them later, in detail." But, Lilah's gaze follows N'rov's, a simpler thing as if she already knows how this will play out-- And she is certainly not surprised when it does, only adding in a low murmur, "A million and one, since Impression, because time only drags."

From the sands, Various reactions echo about, but nobody is outright disobedient and the group begins to dispel rather easily. If Mayel hadn't been staring so intensely at Hattie to absorb her every syllable, she may not now frown slightly at the Weyrwoman's actions. Yet, coming to no conclusions, she lets a small shy smile brush her lips as she bows her head to gold and rider, slipping out with the others. Sanders meets her halfway, looming, but unable to get much from the young girl; she's going to glow for the rest of the day, at least: holding onto those words exchanged, instead of somebody's hand.

"She all right?" is N'rov's low mutter, not the millions or even million and one, just one.

"She is as she ever is, isn't she?" is Lilah's dismissive answer, pushing herself away from the rail even as his mutter turns the conversation that way. "She doesn't trust me with anything, still, so I doubt she'd tell me if there were anything wrong."

From the sands, Hattie waits until the last of the Candidates is clear of the Sands, then turns, shielded by Elaruth, to press her forehead into her lifemate's shoulder for a moment or two, before she makes to move across sand and get straight out the cavern that way, bypassing the galleries, even if it means that she leaves several of her belongings there. Elaruth watches her the whole way, though then she moves to start the process of checking over each and every one of her eggs.

"And here you'd been sounding cheerful." N'rov finally turns back to Lilah to eye her, but her hair isn't loose enough to ruffle; he doesn't even reach for her braid.

"I will be cheerful when you give me a reason to cheer, N'rov. So far--." Lilah doesn't finish that statement, but her gaze does slip away to follow Hattie as she disappears, only sweeping over Elaruth and her eggs before returning to the bronzerider. "I am still waiting on a fortune that looks better."

"Good line," N'rov says approvingly. But while he's at it, "C'stian wasn't fertile enough, I take it?" He's slouched against the rail, all nonchalance.

The question certainly comes as a surprise for all it's nonchalance, Lilah's reaction all instinct when she steps forward to lift her hand to slap N'rov. She doesn't, however, have the shame to look guilty even as she sound echoes in the cavern, her next words flat as she tells the bronzerider, "I have only ever asked one man and I gave it as a choice. A flight isn't a choice."

In those echoes, color rises against N'rov's cheek; he doesn't rub the redhead's handprint, though, but his neck where it had been snapped back. In the next beat, the beat that's actually surprised, he's moving forward, reaching for her wrist to haul her over before any retort in words.

Lilah pulls back against the grip on her wrists, struggling only for a moment to break free before she gives up. (She has never been the most athletic of goldriders, as her time in Hematite likely still stands to prove.) Instead, as he hauls her over, she glares up at him with challenging, dark eyes. "You deserved it." But Eliyaveith's gaze swings around to the pair, alert, lifting briefly to Vhaeryth and returning again.

Quick, efficient moves secure her hands behind her back with one of his; Vhaeryth rumbles at the queen but is otherwise unmoved. "Look," N'rov says as he steps in, signaling a step backward and outward for her, watchful of her knees. "For all I knew," but he breaks off, switching his tone to something more jocular again. "There's always after the flight. And after that."

"And that wouldn't be your business," Lilah dismisses sharply, stubbornly unmoving even when he does, though at least he doesn't seem to have to watch for any retaliation from the goldrider.

"What, did you go between after?" That challenge's not really a question, more of a push than anything he does physically; the latter's more of a pull, what will get her over N'rov's shoulder if she keeps on impersonating a statue.

The question sees the shiver of tension up Lilah's spine, the only movement that the goldrider makes before her quiet, flat, "Of course I did. If you knew what C'stian--." But, she doesn't finish that sentence, before N'rov is pulling her over his shoulder. Her attention is quick to change, demanding, "Let me down, N'rov. Now."

"What." N'rov hangs her in midair, toes off the ground, not yet to either security of real support. "Tell me, Lilah."

"He was conceived in a flight. Not that that's the point," counters Lilah, reaching for his arm or fingers to try to pry herself loose especially as she hangs there. "This conversation is ridiculous. And it isn't your business!"

It isn't unusual for visitors to come into the galleries and so E'dre heads in with a stack of hides tucked under his arm. He calls out as he heads forward, "Ebeny? Are you in here?" He could've had his dragon track his weyrmate down were he not sunning and dozing out by the lake. He stops mid-stride as he notices N'rov and Lilah. Like that. "What is going on?" he demands.

N'rov's grim expression darkens further, until all at once it doesn't. "Everyone knows that," he says dismissively; he might set her down, done, but there are fingernails and... "Here. E'dre." Tightening his grip, he's striding to intercept the brownrider. "Take her." Next step: thrust her into his arms. He might even swap for the hides!

"Well, then you should know--." But then E'dre's there, and there is something almost guilty (embarrassed?) about the flick of dark eyes to the Weyrsecond, her lips parting to say, "E'dre, your wingrider--." Yet another sentence is interrupted as she is thrust at the brownrider, her fingers flailing to wrap at E'dre's sleeve in some attempt to steady herself.

"Oh-fuc--N'rov!" E'dre's blustering as those hides are somehow exchanged for a woman in his arms. He shifts, balancing the weight of Lilah as he glowers at N'rov. "What is," and he takes a breath as he somehow has forgotten to set Lilah down, "going on?"

N'rov has to bite back any what he might have demanded to know, automatically straightening the hides upon completing the transfer before rolling them up again. "Done," he tells E'dre briefly, moving to depart. He only has to get past them, that's all.

"Let me down," reminds Lilah sharply in answer to E'dre's question, for all that her fingers are still wrapped there at his sleeve. "And then you can punish your wingrider for picking up a weyrwoman and being--." She doesn't finish that one, but she does slide a look over to N'rov as he moves to leave, before she adds to E'dre, "Since that is your responsibility, as Weyrsecond."

"N'rov, get out," E'dre tells N'rov sharply as he sets Lilah down. He's gentle with that. "I'm leaving too. Uh- well, we'll talk later." He pretty much flees. Those hides are left far behind as he heads for the exit. It's better than yelling and making a scene, at least!

Let it not be said N'rov's not an obedient wingrider. He practically saunters for that exit, sour weather and all.

There is a twitch of Lilah's jaw, her arms sliding across her chest as her gaze follows first N'rov and then E'dre as they leave, but she doesn't follow either out.