Logs:Fort Hatching 2014

From NorCon MUSH
Fort Hatching 2014
RL Date: 1 November, 2014
Who: V'ros, R'hin, Hattie, N'muir, Vash, Euphemia, J'ayn, Ulyana, Katriona, C'stian, L'sha, Azaylia, Lilah, N'rov, D'shal, Jadzia
Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]]
What: Fort's clutch hatches.
Where: Hatching Galleries/Weyrbowl/Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}})
Weather: Cold.
Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Evanthe/Mentions
Icon v'ros squee.png Icon r'hin.jpg Icon l'sha.jpg Icon azaylia.jpg Icon n'rov.png Icon jadzia.jpg

Galleries, Fort Weyr

The entrance to the sands and galleries alike is little more than an archway and a section of flat stone before it dissolves into the sands proper. Although it's warm here, it's not nearly as hot as the sands themselves are. To the right is a broad pathway leading to the stands, with a set of stairs leading up one side all the way to the upper tiers. Also visible from here is an odd engraving on the wall -- an etching that details the rotation of the Red Star.

Lined along the right-hand side of the hatching cavern are the galleries, the seats carved from the stone wall and stacked backward to allow observers the best view possible of the golden sands. Those at the bottom are protected from wayward dragonets by a railing, while dignitaries from outside the Weyr -- Lord Holders, other Weyrleaders, Craftmasters and their ilk -- have a specially designated spectator's box at the topmost row. There are three separate flights of stairs leading into the galleries, with one near the entrance, another set in the middle, and a flight at the northernmost end.

From the sands, Euphemia's march onto the Sands is an awkward affair, her focus darting everywhere and nowhere, and while she finds herself unable to settle her attention to any one thing, she manages the formalities required... and then goes absolutely still on the spot where she's ended up, like the heat of the Sands has soldered her in place.

From the sands, The warm chocolatey shell of the See Your Name in Lights Egg begins to splinter at the top, giving way to the hatchling inside. Rather than come up that way the creature within ends up kicking out of one side and with a sudden shudder the whole egg crumbles with a loud crack, leaving a pale blue baby dragon to blink his confusion amongst the shards. It takes a few hesitation-filled moments but eventually he gets up and begins to look around. What started off slow ends quickly, for he finds a red-headed girl not too far off who's laughing with tears in her eyes while she plucks a piece of shell from his head.

From the sands, A soft shiver runs along the edge of the Outlive a Lie egg, as it starts to transform itself again. It is almost noiseless, the way the spiderweb of cracks wash across the egg, connecting one jeweled star to another.

From the sands, Katriona can hardly contain her energy at the best of times, but she's trying her absolute best today. If she makes her way onto the sands a little more quickly than decorum would allow, well, at least she's not skipping. She glances to the other Candidates -- with perhaps an edge of concern as her gaze falls on Ulyana -- then clasps her hands behind her back to try and keep from fidgeting as she watches the eggs with deep intensity.

Speaking of holders, N'rov's not in the back where he's supposed to be; no, he's in the minor dignitaries' section, chatting up (being chatted up by?) a worthy to whom he must have given a ride. Or, maybe they knew each other from before. Or possibly they just met in the aisle and... these things happen.

Fashionably late, the High Reaches continent arrives. Probably too late to snag the best seats, but that certainly doesn't seem to bother R'hin -- who is heading for a spot towards the back. He glances over his shoulder, more at the weyrlings than the other Savannah riders -- finally settling at a spot shortly before the first egg cracks, clapping his hands. "V'ros, this your first, since...?" And more importantly, "Up for a little wager?"

From the sands, Cutting Edge Egg is making quite the show of itself as it tries to contain what's inside, hard rocks and wobbles swaying it this way and that, but it will not go quietly into that dark night and so the struggle goes on.

From the sands, Jaymeson finds Euphemia and Katriona in the line of Candidates, his gaze darting from each girl and back to the eggs quickly, as if not trusting those eggs not to leap out at him unexpectedly.

From the sands, The party inside the La Vie Boheme egg can only be contained so long, before the cracks that have started spreading across its shell finally split apart to spill out the energetic hatchling inside. She is a smokey green, washed out like dried herbs, but that does not stop her from tumbling half way across the Sands in what may look like a little dance. That little riot of energy picks the only person who could match her; the young Candidate left from Eliyaveith's Search, the same boy who organized a sit-in in the Candidate barracks to ensure his spot on the Sands.

From the sands, Ulyana's breathing is slow and calculated; strangely deliberate in its execution. As the eggs hatch and dragonets are released, her cool gaze cuts across to study not only the eggs but the resultant creatures with a palpable sense of detachment.

As soon as Lilah has the holder settled and is moving away, that is of course when she catches sight of N'rov there in the section. She freezes, slightly, dark eyes caught in a stare as if she didn't really expect him to show. Regardless, she moves after a moment towards him and his companion. "Mind if I join you?" she questions, even as she takes a seat next to him. Hopefully he does not. She settles at least, in time to see that young boy Impress, with a frown.

From the sands, D'shal is present amongst the weyrlingstaff stationed at the edge of the sands, hanging back in easy stance with his arms crossed loose across his sweatered belly. The undulating line of white gets his shifting focus, hazel gaze only sticking breifly here and there for a familiar face. His face has little expression beyond the age-worn etches that persist in neutrality... though perhaps there's brighter lift about his eyes as they turn to mark those first bursting shells and the swift and happy choices they make.

Jadzia is here but it's hard to tell whether she'd rather be with the weyrlings or anyone in Savannah. She sits closer to the former since that's what she is, but her eyes are on the sands down below rather than the people around her. That's why they're here, after all.

From the sands, Outlive a Lie Egg has gone still long enough that it may be a surprise when there is one more sudden rock, the dragon within throwing itself forcefully against its shell. And that shell slides away to reveal a grey-tinged, aquamarine green hatchling. It is as she has spent all of her energy to free herself, only the barest stirrings of her wings and a sickly mewl, quiet enough to be lost in the sounds of the rest of the caverns, escaping to let all know that she is there.

>---< Stars and Moons Green >------------------------------------------------< 

 Slight to the point of frailty, she's a greyed aquamarine that might      
 appear a silvery green if only she were in good health. The hue dapples   
 her paper-thin hide from elongated muzzle to the short, fragile curl of   
 her tail, like overlapping water spots from some slow rain. Her wingsails 
 are finer yet, pale as starshine and all but transparent where bright     
 diamond sparks scatter across their span; her claws are soft sickle curves
 of silver. Even so, the narrow dragon's not skeletal but smooth across her
 meager frame; her wide-set gaze, far more vibrantly hued and honed than   
 the rest of her, is as intelligent and interrogative as it is perceptive.

>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

From the sands, Euphemia directs her gaze down to her feet as little dragons begin to appear and find the ones that they want, her trembling hands swiped against the off-white of her robe in an attempt to make them go still. In the end, she has to knot one hand around the other before she can look up again, looking to Jaymeson, then Ulyana, before she makes herself focus on one of the eggs. Any of them.

From the sands, The cracks in the craters of The Only Thing to Do is Jump egg spread throughout the surface, finally waning to reveal the hatchling that lives inside of its shell. That hatchling is a midnight-blue dragonet, as round as his shell by the look of him as he waddles to his feet. There is a moment that it looks as if he'll crash into his sister from the La Vie Boheme egg as she scrabbles across his path, but instead he just seems to-- slowly roll over as he stops himself. A young girl scurries forward to try to right him, bravely, and the Impression is made.

From the sands, Katriona does not shift from where she stands with her hands clasped behind her, but she leans forward carefully, as if those few extra inches might somehow give her a better view of what's going on. Her gaze goes to the sickly little dragon, and she bites her lip as she takes in its state. Straightening, she glances to the riders present to see what they do, clearly wondering what happens when a dragonet hatches so clearly frail.

Can V'ros go anywhere without embarrassing himself? For now, his avid brown eyes are taking in all the sights and sounds around him, soaking up the memorable event; it's surprising he doesn't trip on the stairs given his preoccupation. "Huh? Oh, uh, yeah.. since.." The weyrling scratches the back as his head as he sits down, slanting the much older rider a thoughtful look. "Mine. Since.. ever." His eyes move to the eggs breaking, the dragons tumbling around, and return to R'hin with a sideways turn of his head. It really could be the heat of the cavern that starts a flush in his face. "A.. a wager, sir?" Rightful apprehension edges his voice.

Whether N'rov does or doesn't mind, and the dry look he gives Lilah suggests that he might well, the holder is all effusive welcome... enough so that the women behind the trio start complaining since of /course/ he'd have to stand up again for a weyrwoman. "Green for... good luck?" the bronzerider questions doubtfully before turning to placate the other pair. Apparently, according to him, these blues finding girls might /mean something/.

The eggs are why they're here, but that doesn't mean there aren't distractions to be hand. That brownrider for one; R'hin's peering past V'ros at Jadzia, considering she's in a dress, though the look is less incredulous and more appreciative, grinning at her whether she looks over or not. "Speaking of special occasions... look who dressed up," he's nudging V'ros to look in the same direction. It's a wonder the poor boy doesn't get whiplash, given the Wingleader's quick to add, "Yes, that skinny boy down there, he's surely a bronzerider in the making." Of course, there's plenty of skinny boys, but...

From the sands, Jaymeson's face gives a subtle pained twist for the frail looking green, his attention consumed with watching (or is that more studying) her for the time being, whether out of morbid curiosity or genuine concern.

From the sands, Vash dutifully watches each cracking egg, watches dragonets, watches candidates... When she also catches sight of the fragile little green, though, her attention does not swerve toward the white-robes again, but up to the clutch's dam and sire. Whatever her thoughts, however, she keeps them to herself, returning her attention where it should be as she moves to help the midnight blue dragonet and his new lifemate.

From the sands, The Far Horizon Egg does little more than give the slightest twitch and then goes still again.

From the sands, Buttoned Up Egg tips over and doesn't so much crack as it does splinter. Tiny shard by tiny shard, the egg is broken apart, revealing a bronze hatchling who clumsily finds his feet. The little bronze squawks for attention as if calling to his chosen Candidate to come at once. When no one steps forward, the little bronze lifts his wings and makes his way /through/ the line of Candidates with ungainly, wobbling steps, heading for the exit where his other clutch siblings have already begun leaving into. Somewhere along the way he must have found his lifemate for a boy hurries out of line and joins the bronze off the Sands.

From the sands, A low croon from Elaruth signals her concern for her frail green daughter, and when she rises as if to move across the Sands to her, Hattie presses a palm in against her queen's shoulder and shakes her head, though her expression is grim. "No. Let her," might be audible if only thanks to the echo of the cavern.

Lilah only offers a polite smile to N'rov, settled here regardless of whether he wants her or not. At least he is spared by the need to reassure the dignitaries around them, and the fact that the goldrider's attention is momentarily captured-- somewhere else. Dark eyes find the visiting weyrlings and their escort from High Reaches, and she watches them for a moment, before she remembers to respond to that question with a murmured, "If she can be counted as green--."

From the sands, Cutting Edge Egg has been putting up a fight trying to keep the creature inside from escaping, lest the world be torn asunder. In the end the only thing torn is its shell, and as that first crack splinters its crown it gives up and with an ominous caving in of one side reveals the darkness-itself hatchling within.

>---< The Beast Beneath Blue >-----------------------------------------------< 

 A primordial figment, a terror, this wraith, a creature come up from the  
 pit of the world, from the fathomless sea. He is swathed in midnight blue 
 and mystery with a ghostly fog writhing murky cobalt around his slender   
 shoulders to mist out into the jutting spires of his wingspars, milky     
 clouds floating across the membrane of wingsails shot through with dark   
 veins like spiderwebs. His eerie-lit eyes are narrowed in an intense face 
 sharp of cheek and snout, leering from the pitch darkness of sunken       
 hollows. Sickly moonlight touches the tips of sea-monster ridges that grow
 jagged and finned from his spine, larger and larger then smaller and      
 smaller as they get nearer the whip of his tail. The same greenish,       
 otherworldly glow shines just barely on the crown of his head, alighting  
 on blunt headknobs. Long, supple limbs drenched in shadow end in paws with
 subtle webbing between each digit and cruel black talons that arch like   
 scythes.

>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

From the sands, Ulyana grows just a bit paler as the hatching progresses and her breathing is somewhat strained. Difficult. She swallows hard and her inscrutable gaze slips from the creatures to the eggs purposefully.

Jadzia does glance over, though maybe only because someone's turned her direction. Her eyes narrow slightly when she realizes who it is and how he's smiling, then they shift quickly back to the sands. Hopefully he'll have turned away before she smooths a hand in an uncharacteristically self conscious gesture over her knee where the skirt is pushed up slightly.

From the sands, Katriona glances nearby, where Ulyana stands, and offers what she hopes is a reassuring smile to the other girl. But she's nervous herself, and Elaruth's sad crooning for the sickly little green clearly doesn't do much to alleviate her own nervous tension.

From the sands, Stars and Moons Green cries weakly from her shell, a demand in the noise that escapes from the hatchling that is directed towards Elaruth, seeking comfort from her dam despite Hattie's answer. She starts to stir, sitting up and drawing her still-wet wings out as if preparing to step from her egg, but then at the last she changes her mind and sinks back into the mixture of shell and sand as if it were a bed.

From the sands, Vash returns to the group of assistants like herself and calmly watches the weak looking green. She opens her mouth for a moment, about to make some comment, but with a glance toward Hattie, she closes it again and watches the candidates instead while wiping dragonet goo from her hand onto her trousers.

"Your dress," N'rov clarifies, without particularly looking at Lilah though he must have done at one point; he also doesn't look at the High Reaches' contingent, not after a single, pained glance that threatened to turn into a stare. Of course, it's not impossible that it might have something to do with the woman wringing their hands over the little green, or the other woman who's making a bet on the hatchling's survival with a little too anticipatory excitement.

From the sands, The Far Horizon Egg abruptly spits out a dark brown hatchling. Wasting no time the brown hatchling fights to stay moving, stumbling and staggering along in a furious hurry towards the line of Candidates.

>---< Mahogany Heartwood Brown >---------------------------------------------< 

 Fine-boned and all knobby arms and legs, this dark brown is on the smaller
 size for his colour, at least in terms of his bone structure. Out of the  
 dark chocolate that melts over the rest of his slender body, the brighter,
 warmer hue of mahogany across his wingsails stand out rather dramatically.
 It looks almost as though the dark brown shadow that cloaks the rest of   
 his lean figure has been polished away across those narrow sails,         
 revealing the warm woody tone underneath. He has very prominent headknobs 
 and neckridges that might be a little too big for his small size.

>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

V'ros follows the direction of R'hin's figurative motioning and frowns. "What? Jadzia? ..oh, she's.." But he's not nearly as impressed as the bronzerider appears to be. He looks slightly puzzled as his gaze, again, settles on the wingleader. "In a dress." He turns to face the sands below, leaning to the side to see around the tall man in front of him. "Were you, sir?" This time, he doesn't remove his attention from the hatching as he speaks. "A skinny bronzerider in the making?" One day, long ago, that is. "Look, a brown!" as his mouth breaks into a grin - pride.

From the sands, D'shal has his hands full with getting that energetic pair of sit-in organizer and smokey green situated off the sands. It leaves him rolling a wrist across his forehead as he makes his way back towards the still-cracking action. The twist of smile he has while his gaze angles up to the high ledges leaches away as his attention settles back upon the worried goldpair and the barely-stirring green. It's... not /much/ of a comment, the sigh he makes as he draws up next to Vash. But, surely there don't need to be words to convey shared concern.

"Oh," Lilah voices, her gaze slipping down to the dress only briefly before she rolls a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. She admits, "I don't have many dresses. The color wasn't a comment on anything. It was only this or the grey." Her own dark gaze narrows at the bet, a Look leveled behind her that is not the most political thing.

L'sha enters the galleries and looks for a good seat with the High Reaches contingent. He finds one next to V'ros, grinning cheerily at the weyrling as he sits down. His attention is quickly caught by the arrival of the brown on the sands, eliciting an "Oooh!" from the greenrider.

From the sands, Jaymeson catches a glimpse of Ulyana not far down the line of Candidates and an edge of worry sets into his face, clearly unable to see just how pale his own face is. The little green's cry provides little comfort, his attention darting back over to the green and his hands knotting together in front of him anxiously.

From the sands, A Spoonful of Sugar egg cracks neatly down the middle, revealing a light-hued, well-proportioned brown, who sits among the large pieces of shell and peers this way and that, trying to get his bearings. He stays there for a disconcertingly long time, then lifts himself up and begins to trot towards the Candidates... and past them, paying not a single one of them a blind bit of notice. Step, step, step, and then he sits right next to the railings, looking up into the eyes of a boy of no more than five, and for an awful moment, it looks every bit like he's chosen /him/. But no, moments pass, and motion from three rows above produces the drudge-trader-holder, whoever she is, who claims to be the mother of Astivan's firstborn son. The little boy bursts into tears, and she looks soon to follow, her features twisted with anger for the newly-hatched brown who has undeniably chosen /her/.

R'hin's definitely chuckling, though it's faint under his breath as pale eyes flick towards the sands. "In a dress," he echoes V'ros. A snort quickly follows at the weyrling's question, answering in a dry undertone, "A stupid idiot in the making, more like. I hadn't nearly enough of an idea what I was getting myself into." A breath, and he changes tacts quickly, "That green ought to impress soon, or..." his gaze narrows, only momentarily distracted by L'sha's arrival with a brief nod.

From the sands, That cry from the sickly green earns a more urgent one in answer from Elaruth, yet Hattie continues to try and keep her lifemate right where she is, though she can't prevent the uneasy flaring of shadow-brushed wings. "...If she focuses on you, she might never /look/..." the Weyrwoman says urgently.

From the sands, Endless Night Egg stirs the tiniest bit in its shallow cradle, the wink of light across sand grains as they they're minutely displaced the only hint of its having moved at all.

From the sands, Ulyana retains her comfortable distance from the other Candidates, even as the crescent shifts in size and shape with each Impression. More beasts; more Weyrlings. Fewer eggs. Pairings are noted in a peripheral senes, perhaps to be analyzed later - or not at all.

From the sands, Stars and Moons Green does, at least, give up on attempting to draw her dam to her. Instead, small mewling sounds are made towards the Candidates nearby as she finally directs her attention to the proper place, the white-robbed figures around her.

Jadzia doesn't look at V'ros when he glances back because she's too busy not looking in that direction at all. But she's not so focused that she can't speak close and quietly, with a smile even, to the young man sitting next to her.

From the sands, The attention of both Elaruth and her rider is briefly caught by the errant brown who has refused to make a choice from the Candidates provided, but after a low rumble of concern from the queen, and a frown from the Weyrwoman, their focus is drawn back to the rest of the eggs, and in particular the rounder eggs that have just now started to shiver into motion. Well. Most of them. The girl in the galleries will have to wait, for now.

From the sands, The commotion in the audience gallery draws Katriona's attention away from the sands, at least momentarily. Taking in what's just happened, her eyes widen in surprise. She can't help but glance over at first Jaymeson and then Euphemia, as if rather redundantly checking whether or not the other two Candidates just saw that. But then Elaruth's cry snaps the girl's attention back to the sands, as if reminding her where her focus must remain.

Eliyaveith stirs anxiously as her little brother heads towards the Sands, making encouraging noises to try to turn him back to the Candidates. Lilah starts to stand, especially when he focuses on that little boy, but she doesn't get anywhere before the Impression is made and it is clear that, at least, they will not have a five-year-old weyrling.

"Some would take it to be a comment on your original choice," N'rov drawls, though with an interested eye for the little brown coming nearer to them. /He's/ safe. The would-be bettor's too busy shrinking back from that look of Lilah's to notice the Impression, as is the woman focused on the green, but restive commentary arises from around them.

R'hin's words do pull his eyes again, surprise writ all across the weyrling's face. "But.. you were.." V'ros is trying to process this, which is likely not a good idea given where they are. "You don't.. you regret it, sir?" in a stage whisper; the sheer volume prevents him from truly whispering. Hesitantly looking at the sands, and the newest Impressions, he misses the greenrider sitting down until he accidentally bumps an elbow. "Sorry," he says, and more surprised, not within chagrined frown, "L'sha, sir," once he realizes just who he's knocking elbows with. But as for greens Impressing - "Did that brown just.." Forget the green, there's been a stands Impression.

From the sands, Euphemia... ignores the mewling green. Ignores Kat, even, this once. She even ignores hatching dragonets as they break free and move off to find their chosen riders, as if she's writing off each egg as it hatches, her focus darting to the whole and unhatched each time a new baby dragon appears.

"My original choice?" Lilah questions flatly to N'rov's drawl, but she settles back next to him again regardless of whether she is preparing for something offensive, perhaps.

L'sha returns R'hin's nod with a smile, then turns to the sands and searches for the green the bronzerider referred to. Seeing the sickly green, he gasps and covers his mouth with his hand. He silently urges her on to find a good candidate.

From the sands, The Beast Beneath Blue gives himself a moment to gather himself, slow-blinking at all the world around him. Then it's as if something terribly important comes to his attention and he rights himself with a grace he probably shouldn't possess yet so that he can soldier on into the unknown on the quest his instincts drive him to pursue.

From the sands, D'shal may have only caught a glimpse of that seemingly-candidate-bypassing bronze. But when a /second/ hatchling breaks from the pack... It's enough to drag his attention from the puddle of grey-green, past that eerie looking blue and hurrying light-built brown, to where the infamous girl is made weyrling. /That/ is enough to drag his palm across his face. Looks like he didn't get all the goo brushed off onto his trousers.

From the sands, Vash spots the reactions in the galleries and frowns deeply, something just shy of a scowl. She looks toward the weyrleaders briefly, then the other assistants. Then she mumbles something about going up there to rustle up a weyrling. The greenrider disappears from the sands only to reappear, walking along the gallery steps, looking for someone with a shellshocked look on her face. "Gather yourself and let's go," she might be heard to command, gesturing for the girl to come with her. "Let's not stress him out any more than necessary, yes?"

Without looking at the weyrling next to him, R'hin answers blandly, "I did," with a half shrug of shoulders. "But time soothes away regrets, in the end. For the most part." That he learns forward to watch the impression of the brown to the girl in the stands is by no coincidence, as if trying to draw V'ros' gaze that way, too. "Sometimes -- the dragons won't be denied, no matter what your intentions," he says, a tad ruefully, gaze flickering back towards the green.

From the sands, Jaymeson shrugs when he catches Katriona's look his way, his focus drawn to the brown hatchling and a searching, confused look around at the line of Candidates. Whatever /did/ happen, he can't make sense of it; not right now. He turns his focus back to the hatchlings and eggs still left.

From the sands, A flurry of motion finds shards flying and two small, green bodies left in the aftermath of the explosion of one of the small, round eggs. Two? They're tiny, even for greens, and look every bit the same, their build somehow elegant even in their evident fragility. The two study each other for a few seconds, then press nose to nose in a gentle, affectionate gesture, then move off, together, in the direction of the young people. It's as they move off that it becomes clear that both the Disconcerting Conceit and Audrey II eggs have hatched, shards scattered on the sands in their wake, but theres still nothing in it to separate those two little greens. They're both quick to find their riders, and when one baby green lifts her wings in joyous discovery, it becomes evident that the undersides of her wings bear a darker colour than her sister's. Good luck telling them apart, weyrlingmasters!

From the sands, N'muir squints hard at the two greens that hatch simultaneously. He goes so far as to take a step forward but pauses there, held back by some invisible, imaginary fence. "What just happened there?"

From the sands, The features of /that/ girl scrunch up in the face of Vash's command, and while it looks like she's about to pitch a tantrum at her - or at anyone who will listen - she suddenly stops and tilts her head, listening. Plainly not listening to /Vash/. Her lips curl one final time, but she gives a curt nod, willing, though not in any way eager, to be led. Or to have contact with the brown who so adores her.

From the sands, Stars And Moons Green never stirs from her egg, but the soft, sickly mewling sounds at least end as her whirling gaze meets the dark green eyes of a young, ash-blond woman. The young woman suddenly looks as if she may be ill, but the Impression is made.

L'sha's gaze is drawn from the sickly green to the twin greens. When their noses touch, he just about melts. "Oh, that's so adorable! He grins as they go off and impress, then heaves a sigh of relief as the sickly green impresses. "Whew!"

"Assuming it was your choice," the alternative of which N'rov doesn't seem to spend much time considering, "The fewer the chosen, the more noteworthy they become." The woman behind them seems to take his interruption, or rescue, for granted; but then, the holder's laughing jovially about how it might have been one of them taken by the brown, heh-heh.

"You're.." V'ros shakes his head. "Everyone respects you. You were a.. great Weyrleader, from what I hear." He's still frowning, but at least he's got his eyes on the action below -- from the stands Impression and then past, to the two greens hatching from one egg. L'sha's enthusiastic reply makes him cringe, an expression that he doesn't try to hide. "Does that.. happen, often?"

"It wasn't my choice," Lilah answers, her gaze sliding briefly away before it returns to N'rov. "Someone picked it out for me and bought it." Tension only seems to grow in the line of her shoulders with the holder's jokes, but the goldrider remains where she is, for now.

From the sands, Kat goes utterly pale and somewhat shaky. Her usual rocking back and forth comes to an abrupt halt as she nearly falls over, but her gaze is locked firmly on the little green still in her eggshell as she takes an unsteady step forward towards the green whose state she suddenly shares, murmuring only, "Oh, Yueth."

From the sands, Mahogany Heartwood Brown tries to stay upright but the coordination of wings, hands and feet are not something he has any grasp on yet, each appendage moving completely out of sync. One foot steps on the other and sends him face-first into the sand, but he is back up and staggering onward almost as quickly as he hits the ground, his attention fixed on the line of Candidates spread out before him.

From the sands, Ulyana shifts her weight just a little, one foot moving, then the other, with a curious sense of mechanical efficiency. Eggs and beasts are eyed in turn, though her expression remains impassive. Distant. The other Candidates have long since ceased to exist; all that seems to matter is the curious countdown created by cracking eggs.

From the sands, Vash returns to the sands with her charge in tow, intent on herding the girl toward her new lifemate. The rest of the scene on the sands is given a cursory glance, bouncing from Kat to the sickly green, but one duty at a time.

R'hin doesn't appear quite as relieved as L'sha; he's still frowning briefly. Or maybe that's just in response to V'ros' words: "Don't believe everything you hear, kid. History rewrites a lot of events." He's chuckling darkly under his breath, pale eyes flicking between the remaining hatchlings.

From the sands, Warden Egg is slow to hatch, but it's getting there, cracks appearing as its occupant gradually manages to wriggle its way free. It's a struggle, and several Candidates have closed in on it by the time a dark, lanky bronze hatchling slumps to the Sands, though not one of them is brave enough to break away shell or actually /touch/ the dragonet. As he tries to right himself, his flailing right front paw is revealed to be not fully formed, forearm shorter than the other, the spars of that wing awkwardly elongated, while the missing headknob on that side just seems to emphasise how much he is only /half/ perfectly formed. Still, he's hatched, and so he gets to choose, which he does, from one of the nearby boys, who can be heard making him all sorts of frantic promises.

From the sands, Jaymeson looks at the brown, then Katriona, then back at the brown, then over at the sickly green. "Kat." Whether she hears him or not, he can't help but keep looking at her with wide, surprised eyes in between trying to keep an eye on the other hatchlings and unhatched eggs.

From the sands, There is a wild, despairing look cast in Katriona's direction by Euphemia when the frail green's choice becomes known, but there's nothing she can do. Eyes shining, she seeks out Jaymeson's gaze, something miserable and pleading in her expression. Fix it? Make the green choose someone else? Make the green well?

From the sands, The Endless Night Egg fades from existence, giving way finally to the brightness of the caverns. And in the rubble of its shell, a dragonet appears as if summoned, shaking off shell from one of her forepaws carefully. Once that singular task is accomplished, she sits for a moment to adjust, though not without surveying the nearest group of Candidates with whirling eyes.

>---< Summoner's Saviour Green >---------------------------------------------< 

 What would be elegant on a fully grown dragon, her long forelegs and tail,
 the length of her neck, seem just a jumble of awkward limbs now. The color
 that sweeps along her finely-hued jaw is a soft, feathered yellow-green   
 hue that dapples over the rest of her as if she were lit under a tree that
 only shows the sun partially, the darker spots allowing a more vibrant    
 green to peek through the hint of yellow. The lofty length of her wingspan
 is spun almost invisibly across graceful spars, only the hint of a grassy 
 color shining through. Her claws curve perfectly in delicate paws, a rich,
 polished brown that must hide mud and blood alike.

>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<

From the sands, It seems to take an effort -- she feels feverish and dizzy and nauseous, none of which she was truly prepared for -- but Katriona draws herself upright and carefully makes her way over to the sickly grey-green dragonet still in her eggshells. Other Candidates -- even Jaymeson and Euphemia -- are forgotten, as are the riders present. Her whole focus is to reach the sickly grey-green dragon freed from her egg.

Does the woman behind them look disappointed? N'rov's watching the newly-Impressed hatchling, not her; even the hatchling's blonde companion is only secondary to the dragonet herself. "You kept it," might have led to more if the observation hadn't been drowned out by excitement over the latest bronze. One holder clucks from a couple rows back, "It's just your imagination, dear, likely they're all born that way. It's not like we can see from back here, now is it?"

From the sands, There is an attempt on the sickly green's part to stir from her shell again, once her rider is there for her to collapse against. This time, it is Yueth's turn to make plaintiff noises to Kat instead of her dam. It is clear that she will need to be carried, but at least she is small and light.

Worry creases the weyrling's forehead. He opens his mouth to speak, but promptly closes it; maybe history doesn't need to be relived just now. Shifting in his seat, he exchanges his worried expression for another puzzled one, eyes following the murmurs in the crowd towards the mutated bronze. "Why are.." He doesn't finish his sentence, his lips coming together in a thin line; he'll let the scene finish out, his eyes moving here-and-there where there's a flurry of movement. "Another green," he says quietly, interlacing his fingers between his knees.

From the sands, Jaymeson catches glimpse of Euphemia and gives her a look in return that is almost as apologetic as it is alarmed, but he doesn't linger on her for long, instead turning to watch Katriona and her sickly young lifemate with a quiet sadness.

From the sands, As Mahogany Heartwood Brown Hatchling draws closer to the Candidates and his choice becomes clear, Jaymeson stares with wide, terrified eyes and frantically tries to scramble backwards, away from the hatchling. But the bond is made and the young man's face pales with a strange blend of anxiety and confusion. The two slowly and awkwardly make their way off the Sands together, too lost in some private, quiet conversation to acknowledge anyone else around or in the galleries.

A pleased noise is audible from R'hin, satisfied as the bronze impresses. "Told you that skinny boy would get a bronze," he asides to V'ros. If there's any relief at the other topic not being pursued, it doesn't show in the Savannah Wingleader's expression. He does take a moment to glance over in Jadzia's direction, though.

"I did," admits Lilah. (Not that it's a secret, given that, you know, she's wearing it.) It is not on topic, though, when she quietly adds to N'rov, "I didn't expect you to be here."

L'sha glances at V'ros, but doesn't seem to be following what he's saying. He's too focused on what's happening on the sands. He smiles as another green hatches, then looks concerned as the sickly green's weyrling has to remove the hatchling from her shell. He then grins and applauds as the brown makes his Impression.

From the sands, Cast-Away Shroud Egg has been keeping quiet, maybe just a wobble or two once in a while. When the time has come for more it doesn't disappoint, toppling over onto its side and sliding a little down a little dune in the sand. It's still, the hatchling inside no doubt gaining its bearings, and then a blue paw comes through one of the 'eyes' on the shell, /crunch/. A shoulder follows and so on, and when the little blue is done he rests for a moment to catch his breath while he studies the Candidates. His scanning look freezes on a boy from the Weyr with disheveled brown hair and blue eyes, someone who might be described as average, except as he kneels to greet his new lifemate, that grin on his face is anything but.

Is it weird to get up and leave while the hatching is still ongoing? Maybe. But that's what Jadzia is doing now. She looks a bit unsettled as she goes, not watching the sands anymore, her cloak pulled tight around her. The weyrling ignores any looks or sharp words she gets for getting in the way. But apparently it's time to leave.

A strange hatching indeed, and High Reaches' Weyrwoman has been soaking it up. As usual there is little political thought to her seating other than one of the best, in order to get as close a look as she can at the newly hatched dragons. This time, however, her delighted gasps are fewer, more polite, given the circumstances of what the sands hold. It's still a hatching, so Azaylia and Hraedhyth have been enjoying themselves, oddities be damned.

From the sands, Summoner's Saviour Green slowly begins to make her way towards the Candidates, not surveying them all, but as if pulled in one particular direction and along one path that she cannot, must not, deviate from. She shows little interest in any who try to catch her eye, her focus already elsewhere, a steady purposefulness to her progress.

From the sands, Katriona kneels down, still pale and shaky, and scoops Yueth into her arms. She cradles her lifemate there for a moment, trying to steady herself, and then gets back to her feet. "You'll be fine," she murmurs to the green, though it's not clear whether she's trying to reassure Yueth or herself at this point. And then she, too, makes her way towards the exit from the sands, moving slowly and carefully so as not to drop the frail green.

"Yeah. He did." V'ros sounds less-than-thrilled about that, and he didn't even place a bet against the Savannah Wingleader. He remains tight-lipped, falling inexplicably silent, but catches his fellow weyrling's departure. His eyes follow her until she exits completely, and his bewilderment is renewed, his brows knitting together again. "We shouldn't.. should we?" he asks, off-handedly, to R'hin, jerking his head after Jadzia.

From the sands, N'muir gives a concerned frown as he watches the sickly green and the young woman she has chosen move off the sands, his arms lifting to knot across his chest to watch the few remaining hatchlings with more serious focus.

"Can't imagine why." N'rov's got a grim set to his not particularly clean-shaven jaw, whether from Lilah's question or the bronze he's turned away from the green to stare at. If anyone cares about a weyrling's early exit, it doesn't seem to be him; maybe, in her shoes, he'd leave too. As it is, he curses under his breath. "Faranth will that someday he'll fly. That looks worse than the /eye/."

From the sands, The Beast Beneath Blue Hatchling is looking more and more lost as he wanders alone across the hatching sands, as his brothers and sisters Impress and he has still not found his meaning. A pitiful, exhausted creel escapes his parted jaws, but then suddenly he's frozen, staring off not at a bleak future of loneliness but at the one thing that can save him. It feels like forever getting to her, the girl who looks younger than she is, with the long black hair and the pale grey eyes.

From the sands, Ulyana stares into the middle distance - until something snaps. As the blue creature makes itself known to her, she recoils and denies it fiercely. "No. -No-. What have you done, Qhyluth." The question is boneless; the answer unknowable. Horror claims her features and she -pushes-. It's more than merely an attempted mental rejection of the beast; it's a visceral reaction, one that leaves her scrambling for the edge of the sands. She'll go with the Weyrlingmasters along with the unfortunate creature - but only after her stomach has rejected her latest meal.

From the sands, Summoner's Saviour Green has finally found her Candidate, shoving herself bodily into a teenage blonde until her muzzle rests in the young girl's hands and her whirling gaze meets hers. And in that moment, Impression is made between the two, a strength blossoming between them.

"You know why," murmurs Lilah quietly, but her attention to is for the bronze, there. Her own opinion is kept wrapped under lock and key, her features frozen into a mask that gives little away. She does let slip a simple, "At least he hatched."

A frown tugs at R'hin's lips as pale eyes track Jadzia's sudden departure, gaze going briefly distant. Once she's out of sight, his gaze returns to the sands swiftly enough, shaking his head briefly. "No," he responds to V'ros. "We'll catch up with her later. She just needs a moment."

From the sands, N'muir lifts a hand to cover his mouth as casually as he can feign in an attempt to hide the expression of displeasure at Ulyana's reaction, and hopefully only Hattie will hear the muttered trail of curses he utters.

From the sands, Doopity-Doo Egg has not moved one bit throughout the hatching, and now Elaruth moves to settle down beside it, a gentle, encouraging nudge given the sad little sphere. It's a futile effort, and she must know it, for she doesnt try again, but nor does she abandon it.

From the sands, Euphemia keeps staring right at her new lifemate to the exclusion of all else, the gentle hand that soothes against green hide almost daring - expecting - her to disappear. When the young dragonet only wiggles her way closer instead, the blonde lifts her hands momentarily away from her, fingers curling tightly into fists before they unfold again and return to gently cradle the slim green's jaw as only moments ago. "...Zezkaith... You're real." She /is/ real, and off they go, slowly, slowly, Euphemia following blindly at her green's heels.

It is as Elaruth settles down next to that unhatched egg that Lilah finally pushes herself quickly to her feet, all energy. She excuses herself to N'rov by offering, "I am going to go get the feast ready. --I am glad that I pulled the alcohol down from Dice. It looks as if we'll need a lot of it." The goldrider moves to leave at that, leaving her dragon on the ledge to maintain a vigil with her dam.

Azaylia slowly settles back in her seat, and it's the candidate's various reactions to being impressed that finally stifles her enjoyment. Now, she's sitting like a proper Weyrwoman, silent with hands in her lap, lips thinned and doing her best to smooth the pinch to her brow. Hm.

L'sha looks up as Jadzia leaves, then shrugs. He waves to Azaylia as he sees her in the stands, then turns back to watch. He stares in disbelief at Ulyana's reaction to Impression, bewildered how anyone could behave like that. He tsks and shakes his head.

She's right. "So he can take someone else with him," N'rov says, low. For her last, about the feast and the alcohol, he only nods; he's noticed the egg by now, and folds his arms across the chest despite the holder's awkward attempts at sympathy.

The older man's advice prevails. V'ros gives him a nod as acknowledgement. Just like that, the hatching is over and the weyrling is left to twist his fingers in agitation, his leg jumping right along with them. "It's not going to.." He's talking about the last egg, the one that isn't moving, and back to frowning.

R'hin's gaze is on the Fortian Weyrleader, sympathy briefly visible in pale eyes at the presence of that unresponsive egg. He glances sidelong at V'ros, then stands -- either not wanting to watch, or wanting to distract the weyrling. "We should see if we can grab a bite to eat before we head back. Maybe you can meet some of the new weyrlings; it might be good for you to share stories."

From the sands, N'muir almost gets caught up in the sad scene playing out with clutchmother and unhatched egg, but he stirs back to life and begins to move towards the Candidates that remain. He walks around the shards of eggs, arms outstretched to herd those youngster that remain back to the caverns. His voice is loud when it calls out to them, "Well, it looks as though your dragons weren't here, but there's always next time. For some of you." Some of the older Candidates look completely disheartened at that. "You're welcome to make a life here if it's what you want, or we can arrange for your return home; let the headwoman's staff know of your choice. But for tonight, come join the celebration in the Living Cavern and we'll sort out the details tomorrow." It's a quick speech and he does a hurried job of trying to get the youngsters off the Sands.

L'sha presses his lips as he watches and waits for the last egg to hatch. Most of the crowd is standing and leaving, but he remains focused on it. At last, he sighs and stands, then joins the rest of the crowd in heading for the feast.

From the sands, D'shal has woven alongside a green twin and shuttled along mostly-uselessly beside the grinning blue-claimed Weyrbred boy. Now, after a ducked glance shot towards Elaruth and the unmoving egg, he turns again to shadow after the slow footsteps of Euphemia and her Zezkaith as the Weyrleader collect the young folk left behind.

From the sands, As the Sands clear, Elaruth shows no intention of leaving that little egg all on its own just yet. Later, there will be her both healthy and less healthy offspring to worry about, but, for now, she stays right where she is, Hattie at her side. Maybe hope will reign for a few more minutes, yet, eventually, the egg will need to be taken Between. For the moment, Hattie gives her queen the time to understand it, and will remain with her while others make their way to the caverns.

From the sands, Vash finishes rubbing her hands clean again as she returns to the sands in time to see Euphemia with Zezkaith. She watches the pair move, then looks over the leftover bits toward Hattie and N'muir, then over at D'shal. Her jaw works for a moment, likely on the verge of saying something crazy. Luckily N'muir breaks in before Vash can get to it, though, and she moves off to the side for a minute or two before also disappearing in the same direction as the new weyrlings.

Others around them are standing up and moving towards the exit, and so when R'hin stands, V'ros isn't far behind, using his hands to push himself to standing. He is still vaguely distraught by the hatching, his face showing the brunt of his emotions, but he gives the bronzerider another - if jerky - nod. "I don't know how helpful I would be - Evanthe would be a better.. more.. helpful." Which is a polite way to say, he doesn't know how to deal with sick, deformed dragons.

As far as Azaylia is concerned, it's impolite to leave until one of the Weyrleaders has invited them to do so-- and so she sits, listening to N'muir though her gaze is set on Elaruth and that still egg. She watches for maybe a moment too long, gaze blocked by the moving bodies heading toward food and drink. It snaps her out of her thoughts, and the Reachian Weyrwoman stands to join the crowd.

R'hin drops a companionable hand onto V'ros' shoulders for a moment as they fall into the line of people heading for the stairs and the exit. "You are a weyrling; they are weyrlings -- you'll find something in common to talk about," he suggests, undeterred. "Keep an eye out for Jadzia, would you?" As they're heading towards the caverns, presumably.

Northern Bowl, Fort Weyr

This section of the bowl is just as devoid of plantlife as the central portion, the sandy soil having been packed more solidly due to the sheer amount of foot traffic passing through. While there are weyrs located to both the east and west, there are very few toward the north.

Toward the northwest would be the ledges for the junior goldriders, while a second flight of stairs leads up to the Weyrleaders' complex. A little to the northeast is the entrance to the hatching cavern, while an entrance to the living cavern is located directly to the east. At the opposite and distant southeastern end of the bowl would be the lake and feeding grounds, with the weyrling barracks and infirmary to the southwest and southeast, respectively.

Savroveth might be more recognizable in the bowl than the smaller bit of his rider that's leaning, forehead first, against his shoulder. Jadzia has one hand on his straps, the other clutching her flask now that she's been able to take a good drink to calm her nerves. The brown watches her with eyes whirling an odd shade of uncertainty. N'rov heads into the living cavern.

V'ros is just one in the crowd of plenty moving from the galleries, through the bowl, to the living cavern. He stays close to Savannah's Wingleader, wearing his atypical frowning face, but he's quick to spot the familiar brown - all too familiar, given they've been stuck together for ten months now - in the bowl; he's less quick to spot Jadzia. "I think she's," he sucks in a breath, shoving his hands in his riding jacket's pockets, "over there."

With a nod, R'hin's quick to follow in the direction V'ros indicates, pale eyes settling on the brown first, before following the curve of the dragon's shoulder to his rider. It isn't a pleasant place to stand out in the bowl, particularly in clothes more suited to dancing than sloughing off the bitterly cold wind that whips through. With a brief glance at V'ros, he directs his attention to the other weyrling: "Jadzia? We ought to get inside, it's pretty cold out here. Savroveth will be fine. Leiventh and Zmeyth will keep him company." And there the bronze is, landing nearby in a swirl of wind that adds to the general wind.

Jadzia doesn't respond right away except to press her face closer to the warmth of her lifemate. Savroveth turns his attention to the bronzerider and familiar weyrling as the blonde finally turns around to glance past them toward the cavern. "He's fine," she tells R'hin, voice subdued, but then she's nodding and stepping away from the brown, flask getting tucked away before her arms wrap around herself. "I need a drink." Surprise.

This whole string of events is starting to make V'ros uncomfortable, and it's blatantly clear, given his strained expression as his eyes dart between bronze and brown riders. "There's.." He frowns at Jadzia, and further, where Zmeyth - who was busy investigating the bowl - is ambling towards his brother. "Drinks inside. We should go inside. R'hin's right." His voice, too, is strained, sounding almost pleading; not now, don't do this now.

R'hin's gaze lingers on Savroveth -- taking in the brown's measure, before he nods at her assertion. Nevertheless, Leiventh settles in close, going still, providing if nothing else a suitable wind break for the smaller pair of browns. He lifts out a hand, casually reaching as if to slip it around Jadzia, a gesture more friendly than comforting. "Don't forget to fill up that flask while we're in there. V'ros can play distraction for you," he murmurs, with a brief smile at V'ros, perhaps brought on by the note in his voice.

Whatever's bothering Jadzia or the brown seems to melt away now that there's a distraction of familiar people. Or maybe it's that she doesn't want them to see her having emotions other than anger. Whatever the case, she doesn't case off R'hin's hand and tosses a dubious glance in V'ros' direction like she's not really sure he's up to that task. "I might need to do my own distracting.

Living Cavern, Fort Weyr

Fort's enormous living cavern is a vast, echoing space, with deep set windows carved into the outer wall to let in light and fresh air. Large enough to house the entire human population of the Weyr with plenty of room to spare, the most common use of the living cavern is as a communal eating and gathering space. Long tables with benches usually line the main part of the cavern with a four-seater table set aside for the Weyrleaders as well as other smaller tables set along the walls for quieter dining. Tapestries depicting historic moments in the Weyr's history and scenery from the coverage area decorate the walls and lend the space a warmer feel than bare stone.

To the east, a large doorway leads out to the bowl, with a sturdy metal door that can be closed during inclement weather or Threadfall. The nighthearth is tucked away in a little alcove near the door. The large main hearth is used for cooking and for heat, sharing a wall with the kitchen's big hearths and banks of ovens. Chairs are often pulled up by the hearth for the Weyr's elderly to enjoy the heat. A swinging door allows easy passage back and forth between the caverns and the kitchen. To the west, a passage opens up into the Weyr's inner caverns.


L'sha takes a plate and silverware and waits patiently in line. As N'muir arrives behind him, he turns and offers a polite smile to the Weyrleader. Seeing that the man's in a hurry, he steps aside and says, "Would you like to go ahead, sir?" He motions to let N'muir ahead of him in line.

Lilah tips her chin in a simple nod for the Weyrwoman's response, for all that her dark eyes study the other woman for the moment. Then, quietly, she offers, "My condolences for your loss. Aishani and Iesaryth will be missed." Even as she says it, she takes note of N'rov's sauntering towards the drinks, a frown appearing briefly at her lips.

Apparently there are still stragglers coming in from the wintry conditions outside: a trio of High Reaches riders, R'hin with his arm slung casually around Jadzia's shoulders, grinning past her towards V'ros, as he says to Jadzia, "Give him an opportunity, or how will he ever learn?" There's a brief look of dismay as he notes the length of line for the drinks.

It should be normal to hear condolences by now, but still, Azaylia looks startled a second time before her expression tightens. Then it smooths, "Yes." Another, longer pull from her drink before she can manage a burning, breathless, "...Thank you." Because that's the right thing to say in this situation. Then there's silence, her dark gaze flicking to N'rov with curiosity.

In from the bowl, straggling after the masses, walks in two of Reaches' latest weyrlings with one former Weyrleader. V'ros keeps eyeing the pair of Jadzia and R'hin dubiously, his hands shoved in his jacket's pockets. He looks away only long enough to stomp any snow and ice from his boots before he steps over the threshold into the warmth provided by the living cavern. "I can.. get the drinks," he offers in a quiet voice, specifically looking at Rhin and not his fellow weyrling.

N'rov hasn't even been doing anything too exciting around the liquor, yet: no stealing ahead to chug down a bottle, no rolling away /or/ dancing upon a keg. No, he's just doing the line thing as it continues to fill in behind him. His stance is casual as he converses, despite the subtle tension to jaw and shoulders and the longer-term darkness about his eyes.

With her gaze lingering on N'rov as well, and at catching where the Weyrwoman is looking, Lilah comments in a murmur, "I do not think he will ever really recover. I wish--." She stops herself, at that, and only shakes her head softly while lifting her own wine to her lips.

"Is he supposed to learn?" asks Jadzia, tilting her head to look up at R'hin like she's not sure it'll happen even if everyone wanted it to. V'ros, she has no faith in you. Sorry, man. "I'd love a drink," she says to the other weyrling, though. Never mind that he's looking at the bronzerider. She even adds a, "Thank you."

N'muir is next to take his plate and cutlery, following quickly after L'sha. When the greenrider steps aside, the Weyrleader immediately lifts his hands to deny the offer, one hand waving his plate and the other brandishing his fork. "Oh, nonono," he insists, pointing with his fork for L'sha to reclaim his spot. "You were here first, you get your fixings first. It's only fair, right?" He leans again, trying to find the hold up ahead of them without crowding L'sha this time. He dares a look behind him and spots N'rov. "How were the Galleries?" Purely said on the assumption that the bronzerider was there.

Azaylia's gaze lingers on N'rov, "Really?" It's not surprise, but a close relative. Disbelief, maybe? With a glance for Lilah, "If you'd like to go see how he's doing, I'd understand." It's an easy offer, genuine sentiment finally showing though.

R'hin's quick to shake his head at V'ros' offer. "And stand in that line for hours?" His gaze flickers around the caverns, briefly, soon alighting on the pair of goldriders. "He will eventually, and here's a first lesson -- it's not about what you know, it's about who you know." With renewed purpose, he leads the small group towards Azaylia and Lilah. "Ah, my dear weyrwomen. Who do I have to bribe, beg, borrow or steal from to get a glass of something for myself and our weyrlings?"

L'sha blinks at the Weyrleader. "You sure? It is your Weyr." A loud rumble from his stomach makes the greenrider's decision for him. Blushing furiously, he says, "Well, if you insist." He steps back in line and finally gets to the food and starts to pile indiscriminately. As he passes a kitchen drudge, he catches her attention. "Excuse me, do you know Ayame? The baker? Is he around?" The drudge shakes her head and hurries off.

"Perhaps just to make sure that--," Lilah starts in response of that offer of Azaylia's, at least before the appearance of R'hin and his ducklings interrupts her thought. Her brows curve upwards at the question, a quick glance slid towards the Weyrwoman to see her reaction, before she offers, "Of course. I would hate to think my guests are so desperately going without." She turns to retreat, towards those drinks and N'rov, in particular.

The weyrling's brown eyes meet Jadzia's blue ones, finally, but not without some burgeoning tension behind them. They could say more - probably shout it out - and yet R'hin has them moving towards two people V'ros has less incentive to be around than his clutch mate. No words issue forth, as he follows R'hin towards his doom-er, the goldriders. But he will, with a blush, give both of them proper "ma'ams" and salutes due their statuses; then he waits.

Being in the drinks line doesn't mean N'rov can't catch N'muir's comment, apparently; the bronzerider becomes that much more easy to spot as he steps slightly out of line, one boot still holding his place so he can return, "Wonderful." Never mind that it comes with a grimace and a twitch of his finger that doesn't quite make it across his throat.

Since she's sort of along for the ride, even if she would have liked V'ros off doing the dirty work, Jadzia moves with R'hin toward the goldriders. Both are offered smiles and quiet greetings, the less familiar Lilah given a bit more of a look over than Azaylia even when she moves off to make sure they get drinks.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Azaylia aims at R'hin with a smile, not specifying any of those options as she takes a small sip in front of him. Her reaction? Bright amusement and a warm smile for both weyrlings and their Mother Duck. "I waited in line." For the too-tall glass of sweetened rum, one that she tips toward the trio, "I don't mind sharing." Only a half tease as Lilah leaves for the drink table. Jadzia is less familiar, but she greets with a gentle, "Savroveth's." because of it. "How did you enjoy the, ah... is this your first one outside of the Weyr?"

R'hin's either oblivious to, or more likely ignoring the discomfort of at least one of the weyrlings; getting alcohol is far more important right now. Pale eyes settle on Lilah, and it seems he's surprised by the goldrider's quick compliance, watching her retreat for a moment. He does, at least, let his arm drop, if only to hold up hands in genial refusal of the offer, "Not for me. Weyrlings first," kind of significantly.

Vash enters late to the party, though she had good reasons. Thirteen of them, in fact. Now she's back, free of weyrlings, dragonets and egg goo, sporting a clean, fairly new outfit by the crisp look of it. She immediately helps herself to something to drink before she begins her crowd cruising.

"I've waited in plenty of lines, I can wait in this one," N'muir assures L'sha, although with how antsy he is to be moving along, one might wonder. He waves at N'rov to return to his line and hurries to only put a few select things on his plate. He clearly pausing over one of the ooey, gooey, sweet things and inevitably adds it to his otherwise relatively healthy ensemble of snacks. He slips out of line and moves to join N'rov, loitering near the other bronzerider in line to continue their conversation. "Great, I'm glad you so thoroughly enjoyed yourself." Has enough time passed for sarcasm aimed at N'rov? Apparently N'muir thinks so. "Can you get me some wine?" See? He isn't a dirty, no-good line-cutter.

What, R'hin. Lilah is always so agreeable and easy. At least, that is what she is playing at today, even moving to rescue N'rov whether he wants to or not from the line with a soft pinch of her fingers against his sleeve as leverage to attempt drag him towards the front of the line. "We will get you some wine, N'muir," she offers, so nicely. Lowly, though, she pleads to N'rov, "Ok, come with me. You are my escort tonight."

V'ros has to ogle Jadzia when she's trading niceties with the two weyrwomen; it's so unlike her, normally. He stops studying her long enough to grimace and watch Fort's goldrider retreat to get them drinks. His already discomfited face becomes that much more uncomfortable as he mumbles, "I could have waited in line." While the other two are comfortable making Lilah run errands, this one is having regretful feelings.

Poor C'stian ended up stuck at the dragon infirmary later than he intended, ensuring it was prepared for whatever might be needed. Still, it's always best to be ready for any mishaps at a hatching; C'stian's own Liesanth was proof enough of that. But the Hematite rider definitely looks as though he's ready for food and drink both, and he makes his way rather determinedly towards the crowd around the edibles.

Fortunately R'hin's arm drops away before he can feel the tension her Weyrwoman's question causes Jadzia. The brown weyrling glances toward the drink table briefly but she tries to keep her smile from faltering. "It was... interesting. My first." One might wonder if it will be her last, judging by the uncertainty in her voice. If not for R'hin, Jadzia might very well try to disappear into the crowd. She might still.

"One skin or two?" N'rov returns easily, after a half-bow for his eternal enjoyment. He asides to whomever's behind him, "Don't worry, we won't take it /all/," which just means he's not paying enough attention to immediately duck when Lilah comes for him. That leaves him a standing duck. He does slant gray eyes to his wingleader: does N'muir really, really want him to comply? "/That/ won't wag any tongues," he adds for the goldrider, his own voice just as low.

L'sha's face falls as he hears no news about Ayame, then shrugs and resumes piling. He nods to N'muir and N'rov. He begins chatting with a female Fort bluerider ahead of him in line. "I know, it was interesting! Did you see those two twin greens? They were so cute! Those were my favorite..."

V'ros is V'ros, and R'hin said weyrlings first, so it's toward Jadzia that Azaylia makes a serious offer to, angling her rum toward the brown weyrling. Sharing is caring? "Interesting. That's a good word for it." Her gentle voice is somber, but she takes in a fortifying little breath and straightens. "I can't wait to see what they'll do." Her attention is on all three, though there's a lingering glance for the bronzerider before she continues, "They have to be strong, to hatch and Impress. It'd be wonderful if they turned out to be some of the best, hm?" Wonderful, but not likely, even if the Weyrwoman manages to hope.

Old hat means new outfit. Even though D'shal comes in at the heels of a trio of distracted-eyed fresh weyrlings, like Vash he's managed to ditch gooed and blooded gear for a clean pair of slacks and the go-to formality of a newish flight jacket. They're quick to tumble off into the care of their effusive families, leaving the older rider to pause and try to memorize three separate gaggles. He must consider himself somewhat on duty, then, which likely explains while only a glance is given the beverage table before his step turns to take him towards C'stian and the food. "Always sets my appetite a bit funny," he comments with a slim attempt at smile while he scuffs in beside the other bronzerider.

Even if R'hin can't feel the tension, Jadzia's answer draws the bronzerider's gaze all the same. It lingers for a moment before he casts a quick, brief smile to V'ros. "Could have. But why would you wait in line when you can do the Weyrwoman a favor and offer her a dance, instead?" It's clearly meant to be a distraction, and meanwhile the Wingleader leans in briefly to murmur something to Jadzia.

Duty includes socializing with some of the new weyrlings' families and guests, but Vash seems to be doing less than a bang-up job of it. Unless it's taken literally. At least one mother is sent off to find handkerchiefs before Vash wanders toward some of the visiting riders. "Enjoying Fort's hospitalities, I hope?" she asks, innocently enough.

"One," N'muir answers N'rov, gesturing at his plate with his fork. "I don't have enough hands for two." A moment's consideration he corrects himself: "Wait, not a /wineskin/. Just a /cup/." But then Lilah's there and he waves N'rov off with her. "Just a cup of it, please," he murmurs to her, adding, belatedly: "Actually, two, please. Thank you." Then he puts fork to food and watches the action play out around him while chewing down that gooey treat he snuck.

"As if they won't talk regardless," Lilah mutters quietly to N'rov, before she adds in threat, "I could always come to your weyr again /after/ and stay; we can see how many tongues /that/ gets wagging." Her fingers tighten against his sleeve to tug, without waiting for N'muir's approval. Coooome oooon. At least she is familiar with the table and the offerings, enough so that she is able to find two full flasks of wine that come unmarked, without any identifying features for which vintner could have produced them. "You get the cups," is an order, even as she glances back to the group of 'Reachian riders consideringly.

"Like Zvaraseth," V'ros pipes up, and instantly looks like her regrets saying anything at all; drawing attention to himself, well, that's always a bad thing to him. He steps to the side to avoid having an already-drunk bluerider jostle him as he plows through the crowd on his way to the latrines, and brings his narrowed-eyed gaze up to R'hin. "Me? Ask.." His eyes flick to Azaylia, widen, and.. he swallows, hard. "I don't know.. I'm not good at.. she wouldn't.." He's obviously floundering, but what can he do? Unsurprisingly, he glances back to Azaylia, where his eyes stay, despite the trepidation on his face.

Jadzia wasn't really intending on taking Azaylia's drink, but after a brief glance toward R'hin and his murmuring, she accepts it with a smile and a quiet, "Thank you, Weyrwoman." Then, because the other weyrling sucks at doing it himself, "I think V'ros would like to ask you for a dance. But he's a little... shy." That's probably not the word she'd use otherwise, but it's polite here in case Azaylia doesn't know him very well. Her smile lingers a little too long to be completely genuine, but then she glances at R'hin and offers a small nod to agree with whatever he'd said.

"Oh?" C'stian glances over at D'shal curiously; evidently, the hatching isn't something he would have associated with appetite changes. "It's a little odd to see a new batch of weyrlings, I admit; it seems like it wasn't /that/ long ago that I was one of them myself, but it also seems like it was /forever/ ago."

When N'rov's not only not spared by N'muir but pushed into the wherry's maw, he gives his wingleader an unreadable look; he does 'come on,' but only now. To Lilah, "Say that louder, why don't you. I think there might be one or two people who haven't yet gotten the wrong idea." His drawl is distinctly sardonic. Still, he plays along with the wine-fetching, lacing the cups between his fingers to hold as many as possible at once. "Next?"

Vash continues her crowd cruising until her drink is done and a sandwich is snagged, then she heads back out to the bowl and the duties that await her out there.

"Vash!" A happy greeting, one that has Azaylia's arm sliding around the other woman's waist in a side-hug, until Jadzia frees up her other hand. Then it's a full embrace before she settles back into her spot. Startled a third time, she aims a look at R'hin, subtle but there as he volunteers the skittish weyrling. Then there's Jadzia, and the Weyrwoman has to say something, aiming a soft smile at the stuttering lad. "I would, if you're asking." She's trying to be gentle, but goodness knows that might not help int this situation. Poor V'ros. Then the Fortian greenrider is on her way, the abrupt nature something that at least Azaylia is used to.

Lilah only shoots a dry look to N'rov for the complaint, even as she offers, "Well, I would get up on a table and make an announcement, but that seems a bit too dramatic." With the wine secured and with her escort having the cups, she directs for next, "We deliver our Weyrleader his drinks, and then we offer some to our guests." Her chin tips towards the contingent for High Reaches, even as she leads the way to N'muir's table to drop off his request.

R'hin's brows flicker up at V'ros' me? as if answering the question wordlessly. An almost inaudible, low-throated laugh escapes him at Jadzia's intervention, and his gaze flickers between weyrling and Weyrwoman, looking pleased at the outcome. His sidelong glance at Jadzia is oddly approving, "I think the Fortian weyrwoman abandoned us. Think we can make do?" he asks, in a low voice.

"Yeah," D'shal answers C'stian with a congeniality of voice that comes easier than his smile. He forgoes a plate as the line shift-sways forward towards the food offereings, satisfying himself with a napkin that he re-folds across the broad palm of his hand. Apparently, he just intends to browse. "Think it's the mix of all the hunger and the stink of all the raw blood." Hopefully they're not standing between delicate stomached Holders. Hazel eyes take a quick scan of the younger man and he adjusts the fit of his shoulders in the crowd to offer his free hand in introduction. "I'm D'shal," since he doesn't remember properly meeting. "You in the dragon infirmary here?" he /does/ think he has noticed.

Since everyone chooses to conspire against him - and he can't exactly say no to the Weyrwoman - V'ros wordlessly takes up the suggestion, with a nod. For Azaylia, he's got something between a frown and a smile, which might be construed as pained if it weren't accompanied by a low, "It would.. it would be my pleasure, ma'am." But he shoots both R'hin and Jadzia meaningful looks, just before he steps towards the Weyrwoman and clears his throat, nodding towards the people already dancing to the harper's set.

"After tonight? I hardly think it would measure up, goldrider." N'rov easily proceeds towards N'muir, using the held-up glassware as an excuse to fend off further would-be conversationalists; he glances at those near the food, D'shal and wingmate C'stian in particular along the way, but in the end says with quieter emphasis, "I'll make sure you're helped with those guests."

N'muir shrugs at N'rov's look, as if he's helpless to stop Lilah. In any case, being the Weyrleader he ends up the target of one of the holders who has come to offer congratulations, and though N'muir can take pause to thank his wingmate for the wine and offer N'rov an apologetic smile, he succumbs to entertaining the holder for duty's sake.

Jadzia looks between Azaylia and V'ros, the latter more than the former since he's the most unpredictable. "Be careful with him, Weyrwoman," says the weyrling. And it sounds like she means it. It's just too bad that V'ros knows her better than that. She glances up at R'hin, then, nodding. "We'll be fine. I'll be fine. You're gonna go enjoy the feast, aren't you?"

"I think you underestimate me, bronzerider," shoots Lilah back, apparently that agreeableness not extending at this particular moment to N'rov. A smile does flick, briefly, over her lips at his promise, however, and she bumps her shoulder against his in a gesture that might be grateful. She doesn't rescue the Weyrleader as he gets Holder'd, instead moving to R'hin, Jadzia, Azaylia and V'ros, even as the 'Reachian wingleader gives up on her return.

"Ah. I suppose I developed a tolerance at an early age; I grew up at Healer Hall." C'stian offers his hand to D'shal in return. "C'stian, Hematite wing. But yes, the weyrwoman has me in the dragon infirmary as well." He offers N'rov a nod in greeting as he spots his wingmate among the crowd, but doesn't venture out to join him. Instead, he turns his attention to gathering a few of the tasty morsels laid out for the feast.

The warning has her giving a soft smile, "I will. " With a glance for Jadzia, "Looks like it's your drink now." Azaylia will have to get another after what will likely be the most awkward dance in history. Resting a hand on V'ros' arm, she wears a soft if blank expression, moving with ease toward the dance floor. Experience intends to make up for lack of enthusiasm and nerves, the Weyrwoman taking hold of the brown weyrling and leading him into a dance. Once they're on the floor her lips curl into a strange little smile, "We'll twirl once or twice." An act of mercy, not intending to drag it out for his sake.

A hint of surprise and perhaps even curiosity flickers across R'hin's expression at Jadzia's comment to Azaylia. While he takes a moment to watch the other pair head towards the harpers, it's Jadzia that he's answering, "I will. Later." Either he doesn't take her assurances at face value, or he has another reason to stick around. "Is that one of Zia's dresses?" he asks, in an undertone.

A simple friendly grunt seals the exhange of names along with the cross of palms. Similar noise is creaked into a low chuckle for C'stian's early acclimatization. "You'd think after all the turns smelling it through Kuquuth's nose," D'shal can smirk at himself. But despite that, he gives a shake of his head and keeps his meal confined to some bready dumpling fingerish foods. Appetite not completely off, but -- funny. Anyway, his gaze turns idly after the younger man's to pause briefly upon N'rov, and from there to spot N'muir entertaining Holders. "The Weyrleader's wing," he notes of Hematite while his attention wanders back towards the table. Perhaps he'll grab a sliver of fruit, too. "Drill alot, don't you? Not many sidelining in crafts?" Or is that wrong? Query is shapen on his brow as he dodges a gaze aside at C'stian while licking juice from his thumb. Because he totally uses his fingers to serve himself, what are tongs?

N'rov provides, /possibly/ accidentally, a clink of glasses for that shoulder-bump; after a second glance at the visiting collection, he actually provides that cup-service personally after all. Not hat he's conversational there either, instead not so much offering as holding out cups for whoever's left to take. Perhaps, when all the cups are gone, he'll be freed as in stories of old.

A backwards glance at R'hin and Jadzia might be imploring - last ditch effort to be saved - but it inevitably goes unanswered as he walks with Azaylia to the dance floor. V'ros lets the Weyrwoman do the leading, and moves rather stiltedly even then. He's careful to only put his hands where they need to be and keep his eyes elsewhere: the ceiling, the floor, anywhere else. "Yes, ma'am," he says quietly, following the steps just as robotically, even if the other dancers are moving with enthusiasm and zeal. While he doesn't look like the world is about to end in disaster, neither does he look particular thrilled to be made an example of; even as a distraction.

Since a glass is less conspicuous than a flask, Jadzia will stick with sipping out of that for now. Well, maybe a little more than a sip. A healthy gulp will do. She gives R'hin a look for the delay of his enjoyment, but since he points out the dress, she only says, "It is. Do you like it?" The brownrider will even do a slow turn so he can see all of it. Never mind that she's still wearing her cloak over the back half of it. But that's still nicer than her usual choices.

With her escort in tow and offering glasses to Jadzia and R'hin as the only two remaining of the group, Lilah glances briefly for Azaylia and V'ros and finds them dancing. When her attention returns, she offers her own, "I see that you managed a drink," to Jadzia's inherited glass. "I suppose that means that you didn't suffer long."

C'stian picks up several somewhat sensible bits of food, and then attacks the sweets with a bit more enthusiasm. Just because he knows how to eat healthy doesn't mean he won't take advantage of a celebration to indulge his sweet tooth a bit. D'shal's comment, however, earns a laugh in answer. "No, you're not wrong; we drill a /lot/," he answers, his tone fervent. "But we're not actually /discouraged/ from working in crafts or anything; just that most of the wing has other things to keep them busy."

Imploring or not, it seems the brown weyrling is left to his fate. R'hin's busy taking in Jadzia's dress as she turns for effect. "I do. You chose well," he says, approvingly. "And it's not that uncomfortable, is it?" His gaze settles on N'rov first, as the Fortian's handing out glasses, then Lilah as she returns, accepting one from the latter. "And here I thought you'd abandoned us to our fate. Never to have a single drop of liquid." A beat, before he says dryly, "Long enough. To," he lifts his glass, once he determines everyone has one or near-enough-to, "The health of Fort's dragons." It seems like a sincere, if perhaps awkward choice of toast.

In the interests of not suffering, N'rov shows his teeth in a smile that plays with cordiality, all but handing Jadzia one of the glasses remaining once she's done twirling; "Why don't you keep this around, for your friend." Since she has a spare hand. It's after a nod to R'hin and his toast, "Wingleader."

One two three, one two three. Azaylia doesn't push for more lively steps from the weyrling, and as promised she's looking to let go after a few twirls. In the meantime, she murmurs, "You could've said no, you know." Her own gaze is everywhere but him, even if training has made it so she can suffer with grace and not have it be as obvious. "I'd have understood." Abruptly, the Weyrwoman releases him and gives a little curtsey, "Thank you, weyrling." He's free, quick as that, as the goldrider turns and looks for another dance partner. Might as well, while she's out here.

"That wouldn't be.. polite." V'ros moves until the Weyrwoman sets him free, and to her curtsey, he lends his own precise salute. "Thank you, ma'am." But once he's released from the duty, and even if R'hin were to look, he's going to be making a run for it. He disappears into the thick crowd in Fort's living cavern. If anyone were to look for him later on in the night, they might find him holed up with some of the few Avalanche wingriders who showed up to the hatching, far away from Savannah and the dance floor.

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