Difference between revisions of "Logs:Real Eggs and Jobs"

Throughout the day, assistant headwomen have been tracking down small groups of candidates and pulling them from their duties to go to the sands to touch the ever-hardening eggs. Taeliyth's wheaten frame is lounging at the far end of the clutch, her head on the sand and if a dragon could look dejected, she does. She would probably rather be elsewhere. Dahlia, however, has a broad smile for the candidates as they arrive, giving them the standard rundown of rules for egg touching that they've all probably heard before at this point. "Everyone understand?" is simple request for that verbal confirmation that she's been heard and those that give it are quick to then accept her gesture of invitation to move toward the eggs themselves.

With others filtering in and out, on and off of the Sands during the day, it's perhaps a minor surprise that Breirande - in the Galleries, waaaay back and up in the seating, perhaps hiding in the dark - has to be coaxed down into dejected-seeming Taeliyth's domain by one of the assistant headwomen. A low, only slightly-exasperated sigh issues from the tall late-teen, and he awards the woman a half-smile before following her down, and then taking the plunge onto torrid Sands all alone. Bleh. A look of some sympathy for the gold beyond them is followed by a little wave to her, followed by a smirk and a nod for Dahlia before he's ambling off towards that jumbled-up Lights egg. No hurry.

Catling is very happy to be called in, as she is assigned to groundskeeping today. Her barely-restrained braids are frosted with snow, and her pale, freckled cheeks are reddened with cold. Her coat has already been removed, hanging in front of some hearth to dry, and she has pulled off the over-boots that fit over her own, rather dainty footwear. She's got a rather large shawl thrown over her, and she shivers a little as she is enveloped by the warmth of the sands. "Yes ma'am," is her answer to Dahlia, and she bows to the mopey gold before nodding to Breirande. After that, she goes very still, looking around at the eggs, as if some inspiration will tell her where to go.

Breirande might think that with the joining of the small group on the sands that he's escaped any particular notice, but the truth is quite a different matter. Dahlia pivots on her heel and follows along in the wake of Breirande and Catling in particular, a vaguely amused smile on her lips. If she were less of a professional, she might be inclined to follow and eavesdrop without some warning, but the goldrider is very adult for her nineteen turns and asks, instead, to both candidates. "How are you two doing? Looking forward to the hatching?" Unlike a lot of people who ask that sort of question, Dahlia seems actually to want to know.

As he passes her, "'Ling..." is how Breirande greets Catling when she nods at him, his light baritone quiet and painted with a certain hint of fond amusement. If this were old Earth's China, he might be the kind to christen her 'Ling-Ling.' Dahlia's joining them? He doesn't look anywhere near as concerned by this fact as he would have a month ago. Maybe the Weyr and its folk are becoming 'secondhand' to the easily-bored 'Rand, by now. In fact, there's a flash of a grin for the junior weyrwoman as he simply accepts her presence as they stride along golden sands, and a low, "Okay, overall. Well-fed...better than the SmithHall." Priorities. Shrug. "Curious to see what the little dragons'll look like." Once he's beside the lit-up egg, there's a small grin for it as he squats down, then a measured stroking of the shell's surface. "Harder." Yep.

'Ling....' Catling mouths, her brows rising. She snorts at the boy, though there is a fondness in the sound as well. But the weyrwoman gets her attention, and she bobs her head in a bow. "C-cold," she manages, because her teeth are chattering a bit. "The drift was taller than me." She tugs her shawl closer, then looks at the eggs and sighs softly. "I'm looking forwards to it. And a bit nervous. And.... oh, too many things all at once to say them properly. I want to hug and cosset every one of them."

"I'm sure the dragons who have yet to make landings in the bowl will appreciate your hard work," Dahlia awards Catling with an encouraging smile. "The heat in here ought to sink into your bones soon enough." It is a rather intensely hot space. She turns her eyes toward Breirande, expression amused. "Better food then Smith. Noted for future visits. It shouldn't be too long before we get to see what they look like. The dragonhealers say not more than two sevens yet. Soon. Have you both been thinking on what you might like to find out here?" Not that they actually get a choice, but isn't it fun to dream? Dahlia seems to cheerily think so.

'Ling' indeed. "Not for long..." the slightly-older-than-Catling teen notes dryly to his fellow Candidate when she speaks of her chill. Like Dahlia just said; It's torrid out here. Of cosseting the eggs, he'll say nothing - 'Rand merely smirk-smiling a little - as he now starts to gently 'boop' each little flare of those many-many colors on the egg's surface. Over his shoulder to the weyrwoman's inquiry is murmured, "There's no choice for us, really. Why bother?" Oh, wait. Mouth engaged before teen brain, and 'Rand realizes he might sound a little harsh, his features screwing up a little before he comments, "That didn't come out quite the right way."

"All of them isb't an answer...." murmurs Catling, though she blinks after Breirande's answer, her mouth forming a little round 'o' of surprise. She herself smiles shyly. "I'm trying hard not to think of anything specific..."

"Does anything you say?" Dahlia genuinely wonders of Breirande, tilting her head to look at Breirande with uplifted brows, her look not the least offended. It's not an insult, not the way she delivers it, more a genuine inquiry if the young man has trouble finding his way with words. She quirks a look toward Catling as though she doesn't follow the young woman's response, at least the first bit. She looks to the young man, "Do you never do anything pointless just for fun, Breirande?" Then she cocks her head at the young woman, "Don't want to be disappointed?"

'Rand looks relieved when Dahlia just takes his statement as a fact, instead of an insult, the young man grinning a tad shly and commenting, "My mother thinks the same thing." Shrug. "Sometimes, it comes out fine. Other times..." When he's not really thinking. Nothing to look at here, Catling. Just a bit of a brash kid with a mouth and a chip. Pointless fun, though? A grin is shown over his shoulder again to the goldrider for a long moment before 'Rand turns back to 'his' egg, stands, and moves to the other side to look closely at the color patterns over there. On his way, "Absolutely."

"No, it's not that. It's just...." Catling shakes her head. "I worry that if I start thinking too hard about it, I'll wake up." She ducks her head, then shrugs. "I know it's not all sun and honey and roses, but oh, it's still a wonderful thing. I don't want to wake up if it isn't real."

"Dear me. Did you just compare me to your mother?" Dahlia looks dismayed at Breirande's words, but there is, perhaps, humor touching the very edges of her lips and the raise of her brows may be too steep to be in earnest. Her brows, by contrast, take a trip down to address Catling's concern, some measure of confusion apparent. "I doubt that will be the case. If you haven't woken up already, then you've probably come too far." She pauses, briefly worrying her lip, "It is a real job, you know." That could be to either of them. "Dragonriding."

Aside to Catling, 'Rand murmurs a little cheekily, "You think scorching the bottoms of your feet out here might be part of a dream?" Smirk. She can have it, then. It's a good thing he's wearing his heavy-soled work boots, right now, said gear on his feet getting a thankful glance before it's back to egg-groping, again. Dahlia's words earn her a quick look of suspicion, followed by a relieved grin and chortle for those over-arched brows. "Maybe it's the position. Certainly not the age...though mom's still looking nice." Of *course* she is; she's *his* mother. "Being a weyrwoman a..." Oops. Cut that off. "Makes one very responsible before their time." *Much* better, 'Rand. A real 'job,' though... That comment makes Breirande's grin fade quickly. Egg. Concentrate on the EGG, not on looking concerned.

"I know it's a real job," assures Catling. "This is, just already, so much more than... I'd ever hoped for. So.... it seems like it must be a dream. And no matter what, it's a sight better than what I *was* having to look forwards to. Even if I *don't* Impress." She moves towards one of the eggs, resting her hand on it. Leaning forward as if she really want to rest her cheek against it. Then she glances at Rand. "MY feet aren't scorching. I've got heavy socks inside my boots." Ha.

"Hmm," is a noise of shrewd consideration of the young man. "If you're going to start talking about how aged I am and how your mother is looking good, Breirande, I'm just going to have to prove you wrong by, very childishly, making you as equally uncomfortable by regaling you with stories of dating your father." Yep, she went there. She flashes a smile to Catling, only as she does there's an abrupt shift from Taeliyth up off the sands, her dejected turning to disgruntled. "Oh," is a note of genuine surprise from the goldrider as she turns her hazel gaze immediately to her lifemate. "I'm sorry," she calls loudly so she might be heard. "That's it, candidates. We'll be sure to get you out here another time." There's an apologetic look to the candidates before she's hurrying in the direction of the dragon, evidently trusting that they'll see themselves out (or Taeliyth will eat stragglers, or something).

"Enjoy your comfort while you can...." 'Rand ripostes with lighthearted casualness back to Catling of her sock-clad feet, the teen then pressing one ear to the colored lights egg to try and hear if the life inside is up to anything. To both women is murmured, "My mother says I kicked her a lot while I was 'baking'." Smirk, point-to-egg. So maybe this yet-to-be-hatched dragon might swirl around in its shell and make a little ruckus, too? And then,, oh. my. sweet. FARANTH... Dahlia's talking like that about his father (and his mother and eeeWWWW!)...and Breirande turns a couple of shades of scarlet. Thank that same, ancient gold dragon for Taeliyth's disgust! As soon as the word's out to *get* out, he's lurching up and stepping away like there's a fire under his ass. Get thee gone, wicked woman! More like *him*, though.

Catlink blinks at Breirande, and then her lips twitch. "Thank you weyrwoman Dahlia," she murmurs, though it's hard to tell exactly what the thanks is for, the egg-session or the embarrassing-of-Breirande. She bows low to the gold dragon, then slips away, giving a couple of eggs swift, friendly pats on her way out.