Logs:Lythronath and Roszadyth's Clutch Hatches
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| RL Date: 24 October, 2015 |
| Who: Aiden, Drex, Ellerey, Faryn, Farideh, H'vier, Irianke, Jo, Jocelyn, K'del, L'sha, Lys, N'klas, Quinlys, Quint, Silva, S'rin, T'gar, Torlynna, V'ret |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Hatching! |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| The night is black and still -- if you ignore the onslaught of snow and wind that batters the Weyr -- but suddenly, just like that, it's not anymore. Roszadyth's hum rises loud and clear, and is soon joined by Lythronath's, signaling the beginning of something simply wondrous, despite the hour and the weather. Her happiness and pride rings through, cloaking the Weyr in effervescent sunshine and maternal warmth. « They come. » (To all dragons from Roszadyth) The night is black and still -- if you ignore the onslaught of snow and wind that batters the Weyr -- but suddenly, just like that, it's not anymore. Other dragon voices rise alongside the clutch dame's, reverberating through the Weyr. From the sands, The humming gets the strongest in the hatching cavern, where dragons sit up high on the ledges and both the dame and the sire are on the sands, awaiting the hatchlings. It didn't take Farideh long to get to the hatching sands -- one might say she was already dressed and waiting, if they got suspicious -- with her nice, High Reaches' blue dress on, and her bright eyes. She stands at Roszadyth's side, one hand resting on the pale hide of her dragon's forearm, wearing a proud smile, to match rosy cheeks, as she observes the fast-filling galleries. To High Reaches dragons, Luishaeth's still little, but oh-- even she can raise a hum to join that of the others. Not that she's excited. That would be silly. To High Reaches dragons, Vrianth raises a hum, a thrum, an electrical crackle. Coming. Sea winds bear the restless energy, as the brown joins the humming. (To High Reaches dragons from Akluseth) To High Reaches dragons, Ruiyath is not quite as little as Luishaeth, but his brassy voice thrums cheerfully, in spite of his interrupted sleep. Go go, little babies! To High Reaches dragons, Ilicaeth is a rockfall tumbling downwards, Weyr-wards. He's not at home, right now, but he *will* be, and soon! From the sands, The problem with clutches that like to tease all day and then not put out is that sometimes dignitaries are left wearing sleeping robes and stepping out onto the sands. At least it's a very nice, belted robe. Irianke's hair is tousled, and there's a blurry look on her face, her footsteps just seconds behind Farideh's. At the very least, she had the forethought to put on a pair of boots never mind actually changing into real clothing. From the sands, K'del arrives a few steps behind Irianke, his hair a little toussled though he's otherwise fully dressed (go team!). "They would pick now," he says, but it's not a proper grumble; he's cheerful, if rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand. From the sands, Irianke glances down at her crimson robe and folds her arms over her chest a little more tightly. The grimace she wears isn't entirely genuine, the amusement flickering in her eyes a betrayal of the true emotion beneath. In a low voice, just for K'del, "Given their dam rose at the ass crack of dawn, I am unsurprised, if well," she looks from K'del's clothing to her own with a wry smirk, "Completely caught unawares." From the sands, A shivering rattle sounds from the Pasty Screaming egg, as the hatchling within shifts and moves. It teeters, rolling over until the 'mouth' faces upwards... and then it goes still again. By contrast, the Down Once More egg has been biding its time in an ominous manner. Now it rocks in a slow but subtle side-to-side movement that barely registers next to the more frantic maneuvers of the eggs closest to it. From the sands, "Point," agrees K'del, in a voice that's just as low as Irianke's, his own gaze giving her garb a brief glance before it returns to her face. "Well-- 'least it'll be over soon. Oh, there are the candidates." He turns, glancing at the group as they arrive, his smile cheerful if more than a little tired. "Just in time, looks like." From the sands, Makeup-less and in a long crimson sleeping robe matched with working boots, Irianke turns to watch the incoming candidates, and moves closer to where Roszadyth is, and her rider. "Holding up?" she asks of the young weyrwoman. From the sands, Quinlys leads the candidates onto the sands, immediately drawing herself off and to the side to wait with several others from her team, arms crossed in front of her. The candidates? They're on their own now. From the sands, Farideh might be ogling her senior's garb and the weyrleader in general, from her station next to Roszadyth, but it's a short-lived stare as the candidates amble onto the sands. "Yes. It's almost over, I just keep telling myself," she says through a much-too-wide smile, her eyes returning to Irianke; upwards to her face this time. From the sands, Lycinea, also among those not in the barracks when the humming began, arrived by the time it was time to join the queue to the sands. Her entrance isn't notable, much like many of the rest, a polite if quick bow to the clutchparents and a settling into part of the forming loose semicircle. From the sands, Jocelyn's drowsy scowl is still firmly in place as she emerges onto the sands. She's quick to put distance between herself and the younger candidates after bowing briefly to Roszadyth and Lythronath, hands clenching into fists at her sides as she takes a place near the end of the forming semicircle. From the sands, The End (Is Near...) the Beginning Egg fairly erupts, mere seconds after the candidates arrive, spilling out a dark brown who takes a long moment to recover. Deep-set red eyes then fixate almost immediately on one young man, and the hatchling rushes his way with disturbing speed. His talons sink into the youth's robe possessively and the young dragon utters a sharp bray of a rumble, soon answered by his chosen's muffled mutter. From the sands, Rategar follows behind most of the candidates shuffling out, the former stablehand seeming to be lingering near Everett the most. He gives his bow to the dragons, of course, and then he finds his place a little apart from the younger ones as the eggs start to hatch. From the sands, Aiden walks onto the sands quickly, only slowing down when he realizes if he keeps going that fast he'll bump into the candidate in front of him. When it's his turn he bows stiffly to the dam and sire and their riders, and moves to his place in the semi circle around the eggs. He stands there with hands clenched, still standing stiffly. He's startled at how quick the first impression was, which seems to make him even more nervous. From the sands, It starts in the middle of that 'mouth' when a talon thrusts itself through it, less with violent force and more with... well, there's not a lot of room in there, and accidents happen. It does the job, though, shattering the shell about it and leaving a tiny, angular blue left in the shards. He takes his time in getting up, eyeing the world with keen interest. Then, with a hungry creel, he takes off; the world is great and all, but his needs, right now, are rather more important. From the sands, Shallows and Light BlueSo pale a blue as to hint at translucency, his hide is reminiscent of watered silk or the sun-dappled shallows that gently roll against a sandy shore, stretched out as it is over a frame that is long and lanky and lean-- if often youthfully awkward. Here and there, the colors shift: here, a stretch of cyan, muscles limned in near-white; there, slightly darker, as if the sun has been lost behind a cloud, a haze hanging over the horizon. The sharpness of his angles is echoed in the dangerous points of ivory talons, set to contrast against the moody depths of indigo pinions, and the fine lustre of azure sails. From the sands, She might not have thought to change her clothes in her haste, but Irianke has something tucked into one of her robe pockets and hands the flask to Farideh in her pretty blue dress. "Water. It gets hot down here and you," she looks down at the goldrider's burgeoning abdomen, "Need it." Drex seems wide awake and relatively relaxed, at least as far as hatchings go. He's learned his lesson from a past hatching, and doesn't bother to head to the front of the galleries, even if he pauses to scowl briefly in that direction. Instead, he chooses a seat somewhat in the middle, slumping down, leaning forward to pick out Farideh as the goldrider arrives on the sands. From the sands, Faryn's calming breath before stepping out on the sands lasts her all of a second. By the time she's bowed respectfully and briefly to Roszadyth and Lythronath, her posture is already starting to show it, and she stops near Jocelyn with a wordless, grumpy grunt of greeting. From the sands, Everett emerges and it's all much the same as it would have been for Niahvth's eggs, save for the new haircut. Tall, straight shoulders, nondescribt robe, bowing for the queen, finding a place among the semi-circle. Rategar is as good a company as one can hope for under the circumstances, right? "Once more into the breach, isn't that what they say?" From the sands, Silva looks good. She's got her makeup DONE (okay, so it's been done for a while) and her hair even. So she's good. There's no crouching next to others, but she does hook her arm through another girl's with a reassuring - kinda pat. From the sands, Nikalas glances toward his dad-- he's right there, after all, not like his mother out there somewhere-- but then he's also got to act like he's not; he starts to get into that polite ritual but then what falls out of his mouth is a four-letter word followed by a pitch-cracked, "Already?!" From the sands, Thin cracks start to appear at the top of the Down Once More Egg, as its sides heave and its dark shell pulses from the great strength of the occupant within. As the cracks widen, the top goes concave and a hole forms, through which first one forepaw, talons gleaming darkly, and then another materializes in order to leverage the rust-tinged bronze beast from his lair. Jo arrives with M'ron and Kaitlin, sticking to the back and keeping their eyes rapt on what's going on out on the sands. From the sands, Wrought in Secrets BronzeLong and angular, with overlarge wings and redly scabrous ridges, this bronze will never be a handsome creature; he may yet grow into his frame with time, but nothing can erase the perpetual sneer caused by shadowed eyeridges and a narrow, heavily fanged mouth. His hide is beaten, rusted bronze, with the heaviest concentration of titian corrosion stripping down his flanks and underbelly, bleeding down his limbs like running oil. Veins of carmine interlace in the delicate parts of his wingsails, while muddier colors daub his spars; dark as his winghooks are his claws, a red-tinged ebon that's starkly, sharply unsettling against his other distorted proportions. From the sands, K'del's glance in Farideh's direction may be intended to be encouraging, though given long-standing relations between the two of them... perhaps not. Still, hands drawn behind his back, he turns his gaze back from the goldrider and out towards the eggs, noting-- fairly obviously-- the arrivals thus far. Quint's seated with a cluster of harpers, the apprentices with writing implements, while the Journeymen are talking quietly amongst themselves. When the eggs start to crack, the group goes mostly quiet, fixed on the sands. From the sands, Serin sneaks around, looking for a good spot to stand near perhaps Silva, or perhaps Everett, either way, he does seem quite like he's interested in seeing the dragons pop out of their shells. "Ooo, look at that bronze." From the sands, Torlynna gives a less than stately bow to Roszadyth and Lythronath before moving down the sands to find a place amoung the other candidates, not wanting to get too close to the main throng of youngers who are clustered together. She is all cool and collected until the eggs start to break and dragonettes come out. That's the dangerous part. Right? From the sands, Lycinea might have noticed Jocelyn near her, might have even given her some sort of meaningful look, but there's no time once the first shell breaks. Eyes flick to brown, tracking, her breath hitching at the first Impression. Her jaw sets, expression grim as she looks to blue and then bronze. From the sands, Silva's companion gets pulled away by someone who needs the comfort of a BFF way more, and so Silva steps backwards. It brings her next to Serin and she laughs. "No, look at the blue. Shells, that is just pretty." From the sands, Shallows and Light Blue's needs send him looking, listening, smelling: not his world for its own sake, but for a purpose. He focuses first on the nearest candidates, those who are silent and those who are anything but. Then the sand, as though what he wants might be somewhere beneath. Then the dark ceiling... only, in that moment its vastness is too much even for him, so he turns away and keeps moving away, not graceful but quick as a dream. From the sands, Farideh's gaze lowers from the weyrwoman's face to the flask, and her cheeks get a little rosier. "I didn't even think about that," she sighs, accepting the flask with a timid smile, which is at odds with her earlier, less genuine one. "Thank you. You were-- your first, right?" From the sands, Quinlys is, so plainly, pleased by that blue (and by the others, too, of course... but it's different). One of her assistants fetches the newest brownrider, while the weyrlingmaster herself rocks back and forth upon her heels, exhaling deeply. From the sands, Rat looks to Everett as he idly plucks at his billowing robe, briefly glancing to the stands as he says to him, "Fire's more like it." Watching the bronze emerge, "Perhaps luck's on our side, this time, cousin." The last is murmured for only his ears. From the sands, Death by Pink Egg twitches, just once, as if to flick away a buzzing vtol; such a sharp, pointed movement, so shortly lived. It goes quiet again, after that: nap time? A wintry-green hatchling lets out a raucous squawk while tugging a wing from the half shell that's left from the Out of Order egg, only to face-dive into the sand when she's suddenly released. Temporarily blinded, she furiously flaps herself free of this new obstacle, tumbling away until at last she falls into a growling, trumpeting heap... until a candidate seems called to aid her. "Oh -- I --" The big woodcrafter girl looks around and then her shoulders stiffen. "Of course I'll help you, Violith." Torlynna glowers this way and that, as though daring anyone to stop her, as she stomps across to the tangle of hatchling to help clear her green's bejeweled eyes. L'sha quietly shifts through the galleries, pardoning himself as he finds an open seat as close to the sands as he can. He leans forward on the bench, eyes focused on one particular candidate. He clasps his hands in front of him anxiously. On a ledge above the sands, Rillaeth also focuses her attention on the sands below, rumbling a hum to the hatching eggs. H'vier is sitting mid-front of the galleries. He doesn't seem to be here with anyone, holding an opened flask in one hand with his other arm tucked across his chest. The picture of unapproachability. Basically business as usual. From the sands, Jocelyn might return Faryn's grunt of greeting, or maybe that's just a noise as hatchlings begin to rapidly break shell. Pale eyes flick from one to the other, warily trying to keep track of their positions. Whether or not she catches Lya's look, she sends a glance in the blonde's direction, how briefly. From the sands, Irianke's nod suffices as an answer, because she's riveted to the first Impression and then the successive eggs hatching, then another Impression. "Look!" she says, "It's different on this side. You and Roszadyth will never have a first hatching again." She cuts a look side ways to where K'del is and beckons the Weyrleader over with a curl of her hand. From the sands, Aiden watches the blue and speaks mostly to himself when he says "He's quick." He's trying to see every impression, so his eyes are darting from the blue to the bronze and to the new green impression. Those close by would see from his expression that he is a little overwhelmed. "At least we won't be held in suspense for long." From the sands, Nik doesn't wave at the hatchlings, but his hands twitch at his sides as he looks this way and that, openly wishing: every hatchling tracked as best he can until they Impress and even a moment or two after, heart worn on his non-existent sleeve. From the sands, K'del, though distracted by the dragons, does manage to catch that glance and beckoning from the weyrwoman, and slides closer, one arm running through his curls as if to tidy them. "Good hatchlings so far, Farideh," he offers. Amongst the dignitaries that are seated at the front, the Lord Holder of High Reaches, Devaki, is there with his children, even the younger girls. He's seated next to the younger sister of Lady Tevrane, herself widowed, the pair talking easily as their respective children wiggle about with excitement, variously gaping at the sands, and squealing with delight. Vinien, being a whole, mature, age of nine Turns old, is doing his best to emulate his dad, though he's struggling to suppress the delight his younger sisters are openly demonstrating. From the sands, After extricating himself from what remains of his murky-looking egg, Wrought In Secrets Bronze does not stand idly by, but immediately tries to gain control of his long, goo-covered appendages.. which is going to take some time. He plots an inelegant course towards a group of female candidates, making up for what he lacks in finesse with speed and spectacular hideousness, lifting his overlarge wings and flashing his terrible teeth when they back away from him. From the sands, Lycinea's eyes slip briefly away from the hatchlings, only half paying attention to the bronze - enough to be aware of his relative nearness in case dodging should become necessary. Her eyes go to the leaders, eyes lingering uncertainly on first Farideh then Irianke. It's a conscious effort, but one made to push her attention back to the eggs. From the sands, Everett has to keep his eyes on the prize--prizes? There are multiple eggs, multiple dragons, attention has to be split and scattered. But it's the bronze, of course, he settles on, because what ambitious young man wouldn't, although maybe there's horror mixed with the fascination. "Luck. It's like playing poker on the surface of the sun and seeing if you can win before it burns you up." From the sands, Silva keeps tabs on the movement of the dragons across the sands, and even manages to smile as that green meets her lifemate. It's not even a half sarcastic look, Silva is honestly happy for the other girl. But then she catches sight of the blue again, and giggles slightly. "He's a little silly..." which gets stilled by the bronze, the smile fading. "But, uh, he's... well." A little scary maybe? From the sands, Serin peers at the eggs on the sands, and wonders, "Was that a green? Shards, it's happening so fast again I swear I'm going to miss something if I stop looking." He muses, and grins at Silva. "The blue -is- pretty nice." From the sands, Aiden smiles a little when the bronze dragon goes towards the female candidates. "I wonder if that is a sign of things to come?" He is dividing his attention as evenly as possible on what the eggs and the hatchlings are doing, but the smile that sight gives him lets him relax a little." From the sands, Shallows and Light Blue isn't impatient, exactly. He isn't frenzied, creeling, flapping. Not yet. But there's increasing urgency to his movements, and he's looking at the candidates themselves less and less, as though somehow he'll just know. From the sands, Faryn murmurs, "Look at him," for that pretty blue, but is quiet otherwise, save soft sounds of appreciation for each dragon. The bronze, even gets his own second look and close examination. If her mouth seems close to twitching into a smile despite the stress of standing there, tired and uncomfortable. From the sands, Farideh visibly exhales and her focus shifts to where Irianke indicates-- the brown, a blue, a green, a bronze-- really, it's hard to keep up. She pins that polite smile back in place as K'del joins them, dipping her chin in a soliticious nod. "I think so. Roszadyth would be proud if they were all greens, even," she notes, slowly unscrewing the flask. From the sands, Lycinea's attention is earned by the bronze more fully as he goes to bully those girls. Her expression sets in a firm scowl and an accusatory look briefly flashes to Lythronath before returning to the hatchling. From the sands, Silva flashes a grin sideways at Serin, and playfully hits his shoulder with an open hand. More of a go-on-you gesture than anything else. "There's like, too much for anyone to see." From the sands, Irianke buffers the younger woman and the older man with all the confidence anyone can have in a silken bathrobe and work boots. "Would you be proud if your daughter," that little amusement surfaces, "Was born green?" Defying gravity and all. From the sands, The veneer of ruffles and frills start to crack, exposing a dark shadow within. Successive shakes deepen those cracks quickly, until an explosion sends a shower of pink shell confetti to rain onto those nearest to the egg -- and reveals a pleasantly rounded little green. From the sands, Effervescent Joys of Spring GreenPleasantly rotund with adorably large paws, this young green is, nonetheless, sprightly and light on her short limbs. She's colored a dew-touched spring green from the top of her head to the tip of her tail, even down to her wiggly toes with their ivory-gold talons; a subtle mottled patterning, slightly darker and reminiscent of paisley, winds in and around the softly curved ridges of her spine. That same patterning is found in the delicate lace-like sails of her wings, flowing from stalwart spars that stretch wider when unfurled than her length would imply, and repeats on the underside of her gently sloped neck. Her face is cherubic with its dished profile and rounded cheeks that convey a perpetually cheerful visage, but it's in her expressive, so often exuberantly whirling eyes that true emotions can be found. From the sands, Wrought In Secrets Bronze seems to understand these candidates are not the ones for him, and grudgingly tucks his wings and stops baring his teeth, to walk away with his head bent low. His steps lead him directly to another group of candidates that breaks apart at his approach, but he's less interested in them as he spies and dashes towards a short, sandy-haired boy beyond. He swings his head about as he dismisses this one too, continuing on his ungainly route through the candidates. From the sands, Rat grins quickly towards Everett for his answer as he comments, "Not much a gambler yourself?" Some of his Bitran accent slips to something more from Crom, and he doesn't seem to notice. He watches the bronze like the others. And the blue. "Sometimes there's reward in risk, or so my father tells it." From the sands, Jocelyn is looking, all right; "That bronze, though, " she returns, low, with a grimace. Mouth pressing into a thin line, the redhead still raises eyebrows for the newest green to hatch. "Pretty, " to Faryn. From the sands, A little boy wails and the bottom half of his robe looks super soaked. From the sands, Shallows and Light Blue trips his way past another group of white-robed candidates, ignoring them all in his quest for... well, whatever it is that he's so intent upon. His wings flail about him as those too-long limbs refuse to work perfectly in sync; it's a disaster! But not, it seems, a disaster without remedy, for though he might end up falling tail over nose, it lands him in front of a dark-haired girl for whom his circle is complete. You. From the sands, Quinlys does not go to help that poor boy with the wet robe. No she does not. From the sands, Lycinea's low hiss is for the bronze, even if she's not near him. Her arms do rise now, from inattention more than anything, to cross across her chest. Movement on the sand distracts and the arms only come most of the way before stuttering in their movement, finally completing and settling in a way that is more a motion of self-comfort than the one of disapproval it was meant to be. From the sands, Faryn says, "Sometimes they look so...," but doesn't find a way to finish before her eyes are drawn back to the green at Jocelyn's remark and return with, "Bet she's quick."" From the sands, Time to make an escape! The swirling hues of the Doomed in Darkness egg give the illusion of pulsing when it wobbles. After a small pause, it rocks just once more, and then stops, as though waiting for something. As it does so, The Pit(s) Egg rolls under the force of a determined thrust from within, its stickily black surface roiling in answer to repeated counter-attacks. It tips, ocherous patches lost to view as, once again, it half-buries itself within the sands. From the sands, Serin wasn't expecting his fellow to be torn away so quickly, thought he does grin as Silva has a blue nearly causing a disaster near him. From the sands, K'del, firmly: "There's absolutely nothing wrong with greens. Once upon a time, Cadejoth'd've loved if all of them were." But then he tasted gold? "He still likes them. So do I. But-- all of them." From the sands, Farideh's smile stretches wider at Irianke's words, but then it falters and she's abruptly frowning, glancing from the weyrwoman to the weyrleader with wariness in her eyes. Trick question? From the sands, Silva is totally about to say something else when OMG. (Or whatever Pern says. OMS?) The pretty little blue is standing before her in a pile of dragon. Green eyes widen and she loses all of that affected dignity and overt brightness she's drawn about her. She's just a girl. Staring downwards into whirling eyes. "Shell... I. like. Oh," she's at a loss, but the prodding within will finally get through her shock. "Zaisyreth! Oh my gosh, uh, like, oh, yes. Okay, um, like. Yes." And then heedless of her hair, make-up, and awful dress will help her blue Zaisyreth up and help they'll head out. From the sands, Quinlys, instead of helping poor candidates, steps right up towards Silva, acknowledging the girl and her blue with a cheerful enough smile. "Congratulations," she says. "Come on, let me show you towards the barracks; you can find food, there." From the sands, "Oh, that poor child," says Irianke under her breath. "His mother did think he was a little too young." There's a note of regret in the Weyrwoman's voice and her gaze moves to seek the galleries, and, presumably, the mother of that poor child, and in doing so, catches sight of Lycinea's head of blonde midst the candidates and pauses. "Hmm what?" Confused, after the distraction of peeing candidates, she looks at Farideh blankly. From the sands, Everett shrugs, there: "Depends on if the mood strikes me. I would prefer to avoid games of chance where they impact the course of the rest of my life." But he's keeping his back straight, head high, watching the bronze, noticing at least the blue and Silva, but he seems keen to avoid paying overmuch attention. In a fight-or-flight sort of mode, here, all eyes and ears and awareness. From the sands, Effervescent Joys of Spring Green shakes one back leg free of shell and goo and then the other in such a way the shimmy starts to rise along her haunches, up her back, and results in a tiny little twitch about her head as she gains her prescence of mind. Then, with a tiny little sigh so far beyond her turns, she turns to finally take it all in; the people in the galleries, the larger dragons on the sands with her, and finally, the white-robed candidates. She starts moving, her gait delicately feminine in spite of shorter limbs that don't quite match her young bulk yet. From the sands, Aiden smiles at the newest impression. "Congratulations Silva." As impressions are made he moves to spread out appropriately, make sure to keep an eye out for hatchlings getting too close too quick. His hands are still clenched as he tries to look everywhere at once. From the sands, Lycinea shifts, stepping slightly closer to Jocelyn, her brow glistening from the sweat that might no longer be the work of only the sands. Instead of looking at the little green directly, she casts unnerved sort of sidelong glances toward the creature before looking to other eggs. The rocking step that took her toward Jocelyn takes her just as quickly back the other way. From the sands, K'del says (perhaps wisely?) nothing more. Actually, that might be because he's looking in askance after Silva and her new blue; that could certainly be the reason. From the sands, Wrought in Secrets Bronze keeps up his helter-skelter path, weaving in and out of the white-robed candidates with increasing ferocity; he shows no remorse for anyone or anything caught in his way, nor any harm caused as a result of his determined search. His frustration grows the longer his hunt continues, until at long last, with a singular, piercing stare and a ferocious screech, he locks eyes with a brawny, dark-haired young man. From the sands, Jocelyn gives a sharp, if distracted nod in reply to Faryn. Is it surprise, dismay, a combination of the two that twist at her visage when Silva Impresses? Whichever the case, it soon dissolves into a thin smile, one that shades genuine when she glances quickly toward movement near her as Lycinea approaches and promptly shifts away again. "Lya." Low. It might be easy enough to miss in the shuffle. From the sands, Serin has his fellow candidate get impressed, to which he gives Silva a quick pat on the back before she slips off with her newfound partner. "Well, that was unexpected." He says with a grin, wondering what the future is going to be like with that pair. From the sands, The Under the Bed Egg has been working on escape for a while now: a crack here, a fracture there, a fallen gray fragment following. It's still almost whole when its greyed blue hatchling skulks out from the cavern he'd created in its base -- and abruptly startles, because light. And beings. And... N'klas, once Nik, who leaves his sulky brother behind in unabashed delight. Even as they're ushered off the sands, he's talking a mile a minute already, about Khajith and to Khajith while the still-little dragon appears to get every word and, better, get him. From the sands, Faryn says, "A blue?" Faryn does little to hide her surprise at Silva's Impression. Her follow-up comment is a dry, "Silva, blue?" Then with a sigh to Jocelyn, that does not omit Lya's presence, "Poor thing has no idea what he's gotten into." But the bronze? The bronze has found someone. Faryn touches up on her tip-toes and peers down the row. "Who?"" From the sands, Lycinea casts a glance toward Jocelyn at the sound of her name. Her eyes are a little wider than usual, and her mask of grimness breaks just long enough for her to look vulnerable, to look fearful, before she looks away again. "I'm not sure what I thought I was doing," is not really the sort of confession one is supposed to make to whomever can hear her when she's already on the sands facing the hatchlings. From the sands, Aiden smiles when he overhears Faryn. "That blue was quick though, right out of the shell. Maybe he can keep up with her." He almost misses N'klas' impression and calls a congratulation to the new weyrling. From the sands, Rat shakes his head, the heat starting to get to him as he turns slightly to Everett to explain--- Well. The bronze is there. Something seems to pierce his gut since his arm goes right there as he stares at the bronze hard. "Uh...huh. Asaroth. Yeah." He stumbles back a little, and his Bitran accent is gone as he steps away from the other candidates. From the sands, Quinlys sweeps in; and if she doesn't look super happy, well. These things happen. "Congratulations," she tells Rategar-- or whatever his name is now. "Come on, we'll get you some meat for him." From the sands, Farideh continues to frown as her gaze slips from the weyrleaders and their misleading questions, to the dragons and the recent Impressions made. She takes a generous swallow from the flask-- maybe it really is liquor! no, not liquor, sad-- before murmuring, "It's going fast. I don't think I even recognize--" Except, right then, she does. "Yours?" as she glances to K'del. From the sands, With a final, shuddering jolt, The Pit(s) Egg tears itself in twain, blackened edges dissolving into the sands as the long-limbed dragon within thrusts herself free. She rises, uneasy on her long-cramped limbs, and extends her neck to see. There's a whole world out here! From the sands, Got Wit? GoldShe's eye-catching, this young queen, so exaggeratedly long and lean and so very bright in hue. The warm brilliance of her hide is washed about the extremities in a burnished orange-gold, tripping down the low curves of her headknobs, her neckridges, that tail that goes on for miles. It's there in those so-filmy wingsails, too, their broad expanses at once both exquisitely delicate and built for power. She's gawkily awkward now, too short in the body and too long everywhere else, but something in the way she moves owns it, and promises capability to come. Though wide-spaced, those eyes of hers are keen and incisive rather than innocent, and if her nose narrows and curves to an almost beak-like tip, it serves to make her more striking still: a dragon worth noticing. From the sands, Irianke looks at K'del sharply as the euphoria of watching yet another Impression fades. "Are you a proud father?" From the sands, K'del's eyes go wide; Farideh has pointed it out and there. "That's my boy!" From the sands, Jocelyn replies drily, "Apparently so. I never would have - " But whatever she was going to say next stays in her throat, because there's Roszadyth's daughter. After a moment, she gets out a swear, then two. From the sands, Lycinea's emphatic "Shit," comes in the wake of the gold's hatching. If she looked like she was about to try to make a break for the exit with her unnerved confusion in the moments before, her feet are actually taking her back some steps in that direction now, a panicked look flicking toward Irianke. Would she disown her if she ran now? From the sands, Effervescent Joys of Spring Green has made her way across the sands twice, traipsing in that delicately joyful way she has, spring from limb to limb in a prance that crosses distance a lot faster than her size might suggest. She's considered the candidates before her once, twice, now thrice, and then comes to stand by a ruddy-haired boy from Crom and looks at up with eyes now starting to swirl with the crimson of hunger. With seeming regret, the tiny green shakes her head and starts walking slowly, then quickening her pace as she realizes something. From the sands, K'del's son? Totally more important than the hatching of a queen... though no doubt the Weyrleader will pay more attention later. From the sands, "Okay there, Lycinea?" Faryn's distracted, yes, now flat on the soles of her boot and leaning forward to see down the row. There's a certainly a second moment of shock that follows and the name--"Rat"--spat like a curse. But then, "Is that...gold? My betting ledger is fucked." From the sands, Shaking out her wings, the Got Wit? Gold attempts a cautious step forward. After all that time in the egg, her muscles are cramped, and those too long limbs? They aren't helping matters. Still, she launches herself forward, stepping straight towards her so-large parents out of curiosity. Who're they? From the sands, Serin tries to keep up with everything, people getting Impressed, dragons cracking out of their eggs, but in the end it's just hopeless to assume that he can keep up with everything. The gold gets a look, and he decides, "That one's mine." Yep, totally. From the sands, Everett does his own cursing, though thankfully not loud enough to carry, as Rategar--as T'gar heads off the sands, bronze in tow. His interest, of course, is not particularly in the queen. A scan of the rest of the eggs, a wary look at the green wandering around, like if he looks at her too long that alone could be unlucky. "I don't think the hair will confuse her that much," he says, seizing on Serin for a distraction. Not literally, of course. Quite. From the sands, It starts as a shiver, an eerie scratching from within the What Burns Beneath egg, barely audible amidst the excitement of the sands. The scratching climaxes with a small crack in one of the shell's hitherto illusionary fissures, followed by the tips of dark talons -- before all is still again. From the sands, Aiden smiles at Serin. "That I'd like to see." He looks curiously at the gold hatchling, but doesn't neglect his careful watch on any other hatchlings that come too close. "Careful," he mutterse to himself. From the sands, Irianke, after noticing the gold hatching, shifts her focus immediately from ribbing K'del to the candidates and frowns noticeably. Then there's Lycinea and a subtle shake of her head and upward turn of a very small crooked smile, encourages that particular candidate to not run away. L'sha gasps as the gold hatches, taking his attention off of Serin for the first time. "Wow, she's beautiful." He somehow catches Serin's jibe over the noise of the crowd and starts giggling. From the sands, Lycinea's head shake is quick to Faryn, "No. I am not okay. I think-- I'm-- have you ever seen anyone run off the sands before? It's sounding really, really good right now." She gulps. She might run, only her feet don't seem to be responding to less than polite requests to get a move on toward the exit. From the sands, Farideh's drinking from her flask again, and almost chokes when the gold hatches. Her eyes fly up to Roszadyth and Lythronath, back down, back up!, back down, and settle on the gold hatchling, while a little scrunched 'v' forms between her eyebrows. From the sands, All at once, the Doomed in Darkness egg violently dislodges itself from its wallow, rolling over the sand for several feet before the shell suddenly cracks into three distinct pieces. The startled dragonet within tumbles out onto the sands in a heap before an equally-as-startled tangle of candidates, some of whom retreat backwards, while others surge forwards. A little wobbly, he pushes to his feet and immediately shakes off much of the egg goop covering him, splattering some of those closest in the process. Oops. From the sands, Dashing Daredevil BlueA little rugged, a little gawky, more than a little handsome, he's vital from the intelligent cant of eyes and rakishly-cast headknobs to the lengthy, whiplike tail: a young dragon in uniform, a snazzy blue only just darker than royal. His wings are tapered yet broad, if currently big for him; if they're also streaked with flagstone blue, just like the tips of his neckridges and the crevices of his joints, it's a worldly dustiness that promises plenty of exploring in distant lands. When it clings to short, strong claws, it's less a matter of color than it is simply matte: grit that accentuates an otherwise near-black shine. From the sands, Serin shrugs a little, grinning at Everett as he seizes onto his arm, "Hey, there's a first time for everything.. right?" He seems like that is totally feasible, and keeps an eye on the gold while smirking. "First Weyrman." From the sands, Jocelyn's knuckles whiten at her sides, even as she's raising an eyebrow for Faryn's spitting of 'Rat.' "I doubt your ledger's the only one, " she says after a moment, looking as though she'd like to follow Lycinea's suggestion. What she says instead, as she straightens is a brisk, "Stay, " for the blonde. From the sands, A squawk emits faintly from the False Sense of Security egg, mere seconds before it begins to crack. The fissures widen quickly as pale green talons pierce and yank to finally rend the inhabitant's prison. The green that stumbles awkwardly forth is so dark as to be nearly black, and staggers awkwardly toward the line of candidates, her too-large wings dragging upon the sands. A young woman finally steps forward and motions at the green, which seems to do the trick; the hatchling utters a final cry, and the brunette steps forward to help her. Impression is a certainty. From the sands, Faryn's voice is firmer when she turns to look fully at Lycinea. "Hey. Don't." Her hand raises just enough to suggest she might snag Lycinea's elbow by reaching just behind Jocelyn. She can't offer comfort, just that. The same thing Jocelyn offered. From the sands, Sadly, Roszadyth and Lythronath are not going to help the Got Wit? Gold going forward-- not in the immediate sense, anyway. Instead, she turns her attention towards the candidates, stepping her way through a cluster of them with interest. No, no-- definitely no-- no again. Still; she perseveres. What she's looking for can't be too far away. From the sands, K'del, finally, tears his attention of the blue and his son, the ones who've already well and truly disappeared off the sands. Of course, there's his other son, for whom he has a quick thumbs up gesture... and then there are the hatchlings, the ones his eyes finally take in, one after another. "Didn't think we... needed another queen," is quietly even, if a little tense. From the sands, Lycinea doesn't look particularly bolstered by Irianke's head shake, by Jocelyn's 'stay', nor Faryn's 'don't', but a weyrbrat turned kitchenhand turned weyrwoman's assistant turned trader-tagalong turned weyrwoman's assistant is well-practiced at taking orders she doesn't especially like. The straightening of her own back has less to do with bravery and far more to do with the impulse to buck the directives in one fell sw-- run. From the sands, Effervescent Joys of Spring Green is a last-minute flurry of movement and emotions, her joy at having found the one radiating in a loud broadcast towards dragonkind as well as her, that lovely blonde with the blue-green eyes. When, at last, she is standing before the woman, she just looks up, her expressively lit and brightly whirling eyes looking adoringly at her chosen. From the sands, Irianke's gaze tears from Lycinea when it's clear the young woman isn't about to bolt, and misses the Impression while replying to K'del. "No." Her gaze is dark, lit only by the bright sheen of the queen. "We did not need another queen," is something she says very lowly, so lowly, with an even lower, "But other Weyrs might." From the sands, Dashing Daredevil Blue finishes his shaking, and staggers as he gets his feet more firmly beneath him. Wings unfurl partially to help balance him as the suave fellow swivels his neck and head all about, fast-whirling, red eyes taking note of the white-robed figures beyond. A sudden lashing of his whip-like tail slaps its tips to sands, and he's off in a small cloud of granules, questing for the 'right one.' From the sands, Jocelyn sees Faryn reach for Lya's elbow, promptly reaching over to tug briefly at the brunette's other hand as that pretty green comes to a stop in front of the younger of the trio. "There, she's fine." She's quick to relinquish her hold on the other candidate, fidgeting unhappily despite determinedly holding her ground. From the sands, Perseverance has taken the Got Wit? Gold this far, but it's simply not going to be enough. Long-cramped limbs carry her uneasily, sending her teetering this way and that as she struggles to remain her balance. It's not that she's daunted, not this dragon, but-- there. She stops, nearly tripping over herself in the process, and she turns. A moment later, head held high, she carries herself on overly-careful feet to the one she's been looking for. You, Jocelyn. She needs you. From the sands, Farideh pulls her eyes away from the gold hatchling long enough to stare unhappily at K'del. "It's not like--" But she bites down on her tongue and falls silent, just in time for Irianke's words to sober her expression. From the sands, K'del, too, goes silent. An intake of breath; an exhale. And; "Well. We'll--" But the newest queen is Impressing, and he goes silent once more. From the sands, What Burns Beneath Egg shivers again. In the next moment, the map-like surface succumbs to the pressure within, fracturing dramatically into large chunks of shell -- which start to slide free like so many tectonic plates before they crash to the sands, revealing a coiled bronze hatchling. He rises, drawing himself up in a surprisingly fluid movement, and turns his head; he looks. From the sands, Feast for the Psyche BronzeEven in unpolished youth, this two-toned bronze has the promise of presence. He might have been merely a pale specimen, were it not for the heavy shadows that drip, as though wetly oozing, from the tenebrous ridges of his spine. That pattern, if it can truly be called such with its extreme irregularity, is unbalanced from one side to the other: absolute boundaries of dark swallowing light in some places, grisly smears to unite them in others. Though bright against their dark spars, his wingsails also bear the erratic splatters of arterial spray. He's a solid, strong creature, but age will whet his angles into ever sharper, ever harder lines, from his hooked muzzle down to his honed talons. From the sands, Serin frowns as the gold decides on a girl. "Pfft." He rolls his eyes a little but then grins at Jocelyn as the dragon ends up at her feet. "No gold for me, so sad." He draws a long sigh, almost sounding like he actually -is- disappointed. From the sands, Faryn's reach lands just in time for her to notice the green there for Lya, and then -- that sharding gold too. The ex-crafter abruptly steps back, back -- hands up. All yours, ladies. She backs closer to the shrinking group of candidates. From the sands, Jocelyn is all at once very, very still. Perhaps those near her notice; perhaps they don't. Her focus pulled to the dragon approaching her, there's a tremble that shivers through her angular frame, even as pale eyes widen and her lips part to silently mouth the syllables that make up Aidavanth's name. She takes a step forward, then another, a fierce joy sweeping over her visage while a hand extends, shaking, to brush incredulously over that wedge-shaped head. "I've always been here, " she chokes out at last, tearful. From the sands, Lys's frozen legs become something more than her own stillness. Panic grips her briefly before tears are streaming down her face and she's staring, unblinking at the little, joyful green. For too long, there are no words, then suddenly, with a shuddered breath and gulp. "It's real." Her hand trembles as she reaches her dragon. From the sands, With a shudder, Do Not Approach the Dog Park Egg finally cracks open, allowing a ruddy brown muzzle to thrust out of it. He stumbles a bit over his too-large paws and utters a dismayed sound when he ends up, chest first, in the sand. Once he gains his feet again, though, he doesn't take much longer to find his chosen -- a teenager from the caverns. The brown butts his head into his new lifemate's middle, which earns him a solid rubbing behind the headknobs and a laugh. From the sands, Aiden moves as the number of candidates thins, so that he isn't so far away from some of them. Though he keeps a little distance for the others, apparently for safety's sake. "Congratulations Jocelyn and Lycinea." From the sands, Feast for the Psyche Bronze slowly blinks his second eyelid as red begins to whirl behind the facets of his eyes. His limbs engage experimentally, talons flexing into the remains of his shell, and then he's mobile. It's careful at first, gaining some measure of control over his legs and his wings, ramping up into more confident steps as he starts in the direction of the candidates. From the sands, One weyrlingmaster and then another head out across the sands to gather up the newest weyrlings, directing them off towards the sides where, they are assured, meat is waiting. L'sha grins and applauds as the gold Impresses to Jocelyn. His gaze quickly returns to Serin, glancing occasionally at the dashing blue on the sands. From the sands, It's one of the last eggs upon the sands, and still The Unsea Egg breaks open without fanfare, leaving a lean and luridly green hatchling in its wake. She points her pointed muzzle right at the nearest candidates and unhesitatingly darts that way, tripping and tumbling in her haste. Although she crashes past one or two candidates in the process, in the end a young man steps forward to help her set her limbs to rights. From the sands, Dashing Daredevil Blue is direct in his pursuit, the snazzy little hatchling wasting no time in sizing up and then dismissing a pair of Weyrbred twins. As he continues to search farther along the knots of candidates, the rejections grow, and his tail lashes with increasing frequency. It takes a good handful of minutes for him to traverse the Sands, yet - by the time he's finally examined more of the white-robes - none of them really quite measure up to his standards. His reserves are starting to peter out, and with his loss of energy comes a creel of frustration. From the sands, K'del's gaze seeks across the sands, glancing back to Kasey, that remaining son of his. He looks-- wistful, torn between jubilation and dismay. From the sands, Serin watches as there's hardly any eggs left, though the whipping tail of the blue is glanced at as it draws closer. "Hope he doesn't hit anyone with that thing. It'd hurt, I'm sure." He says, and gives a nudge to Everett. "No gold for me, but hey, there's a bronze. Maybe he'll suffice." From the sands, Feast for the Psyche Bronze eyes the galleries, perhaps gauging whether there's anything worthwhile there, before his attention returns to the remaining group of candidates. He doesn't seem pleased with his choices, in so much as a hatchling can seem displeased, but it won't stop him from analyzing them for their suitability to his design. From the sands, Everett watches most of the rest of what's happening with a sort of detached interest. At some point, arms cross, a fist clenches and relaxes. What do you do about stress, out here, deprived of everything else? Nothing. You do nothing but stand there and wait and watch the rest of the eggs and then just keep standing there and... apparently make a little more small talk. "If it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen." From the sands, Surging through yet another knot of unsuitable candidates, the Dashing Daredevil Blue finds himself tiring, finally thumping his rear to the sands in exhaustion and frustration. As he recovers, however, some rogue perception has him jerking his head up and around, sending him lurching into motion to trot off across the sands to his chosen. It's only after whirling red eyes lock with cerulean blue ones from a spare foot away that he utters a tiny, excited warble, crashing tiredly forward into the former starsmith's legs. What an adventure! From the sands, Aiden watches the bronze with amusement. "I guess he really doesn't like anybody, does he?" With fewer eggs on the sands he can pay more attention to each one, and now he seems curious about who the bronze will decide on. From the sands, Feast for the Psyche Bronze will not be rushed in this most important of decisions. There's a dispassionate glance for one boy. He ignores another entirely, instead eyeing a girl as if he might be able to sate his hunger before he finds his lifemate. But then-- There. When whirling red eyes finally fixate unmistakably on a young, blue-eyed man with high cheekbones, it's not simply hunger. He's excited. From the sands, Ellerey is still last: last of her trading clan left behind, last candidate Searched, last to wake up this morning, last for meals. And now, as the last of the hatchlings stalks the sands, she's the last to be chosen. The dark green that explodes from the last of the eggs -- The Oppressive Vessel Egg -- jerks her head up and around, and applies a burst of gawky speed to close in to the small group Ellerey is part of. Even as they scatter, the trader is assailed by the silent green, knocked over and crawled on top of as the green asserts their new-forged bond. Red eyes turn blue, as the sands beneath them are darkened with a smattering of blood. L'sha gasps again and leans way forward in his seat as the blue heads for Serin. He grips the railing in front of him, knuckles whitening as he stares out at the sands, holding his breath. From the sands, K'del opens his mouth-- and then closes it again. The last hatchling has Impressed (though plainly not without incident) and now... he turns to glance, side-long, at the two goldriders, expression now somewhat tight. Deep breath. From the sands, S'rin wasn't prepared to be crashed into, but that doesn't mean that he's not going to bend down and help the tired little blue. "Hey hey. You should be more careful." He chastises, before adding, "I -am- looking at you." He grins broadly, trying to encourage the blue to find his feet again so they can go find the food. "I think there's food, well, somewhere." He really wasn't expecting this ending. From the sands, With the whole thing over so fast, Farideh merely frowns in the direction that all the new baby dragons have gone. She doesn't look as relieved as she has previously stated, when the whole shebang would be finished; Roszadyth, however, looks elated. From the sands, V'ret has been prepared for disappointment. Prepared for success? Maybe not so much, standing there staring at the bronze for a moment so long it could grow uncomfortable. For somebody. Not him. When he finally bothers to blink again, the world has changed, and yet it's the easiest transition. Just like that: "His name is Zoth." Calm, centered. He probably should have said it more loudly, but the galleries are utterly outside his sphere of interest. "I think we can find you something worth eating," as he shifts to move off the sands. From the sands, K'del, reluctantly, steps forward. For a moment, he meets the gaze of his son, poor Kasey left behind. Then, he lets it shift and turn about the other remaining candidates, both apologetic and sympathetic. "I'm sorry that your dragons weren't here today," he says, quietly. "But know that we appreciate you putting your lives on hold for this. It may be that your dragon will be here-- or on another set of sands-- at some point in the future. It may not. For now, we hope you'll consider your options. If there's anything the Weyr can do, please do ask. Thanks, you, again." L'sha suddenly springs to his feet with a loud whoop as S'rin Impresses. Then he suddenly realizes what he just did and sits back down just as quickly, apologizing to the people near him in the gallery. He keeps his celebration to himself, silently, but he can barely contain himself. From the sands, Faryn's on the edge now, watching the last two dragons barrel for their pairs and leave -- well, that same smattering of people, but different too and Faryn's eyes cut to the ledges, trying to pick out something specific. Whether she finds it or not is unclear, but eventually her eyes drop back down to focus in on K'del then, when he's done, on the closest person: Aiden, who gets a quick smile. Almost peaceful, compared to the cut of most of them. "You bakers are bad luck," she says, and it's hard to tell if she's joking as she turns back into the barracks. From the sands, Aiden nods at K'del's words and waits his turn to leave the now dwindled semi circle around the shards left behind. His hands have been clenched most of the hatching, and he starts working the stiff fingers a little as he waits for the nearest candidates to the exit to go first, then he starts walking towards the exit from the sands. From the sands, The candidates are gone leaving the leadership and Farideh with A'rist on the sands. "Shall we?" Irianke asks of K'del, holding out her arm to the Weyrleader. "I'll need to change but I'm sure Jounine has the kegs and casks out and those bottles of bubbles we've had chilled for the last two days." From the sands, K'del looks, even now, as if he'd like to rush after his departing son-- but does not. Irianke's words have him turning, and he nods, taking her arm to escort her away. "Mm," he agrees. "Come on. I'm sure she's got it all well in control until we get there." |
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