Egg groping
Who: Cirse, R'uen, Winston, Peirith, a handful of npc candidates
Where: Hatching Sands
When: Afternoon on day 23, month 13, turn 18
What: A few candidates with carefully scrubbed hands get a chance to grope the eggs.
It's a quiet afternoon, all told, and perhaps that's why that assistant headwoman had been asked to gather up certain of the candidates, not too many, and bring them to the mouth of the hatching caverns. It's warmer here, out of the wind, and with the natural heat of the sands themselves creating just a little air movement as warm air replaces cold. Cirse stands just before the queen- and clutch-occupied sands, as though one woman could withstand any who might venture too quickly where they don't yet belong.
The trip from the lower caverns to the entrance here was all fine except for the part that involved being outside. A couple of candidates come in together having met up halfway across the cold outside and as they enter Winston tugs off the bright orange cap covering his head and shoves it into a wide coat pocket. "Not sure I'm ever going to get used to that wind," he tells the kid he came in with. The kid has nothing to say since he's spotted the weyrwoman and is busy being overawed at being right here in the same room with her. For his openmouthed staring the older weyrling cannot help but chuckle quietly.
Zaiventh might not always be present here with the eggs, forgetting about them as often as he remembers, but whenever he is here, he's perched on the ledges overhead, giving Peirith complete dominion over the sands while he admires his handywork from above. It's probably better that way. If there was ever a bulky sort who might step on an egg without thinking, it would probably be him. And so that's where the bronze is, and it's after the candidates arrive that R'uen shows up at the cavern's entrance. He doesn't pull off his scarf and his jacket wasn't buttoned in the first place, so he just mosies down toward the first-row seats, taking a sip from his flask along the way. Everyone gets a smile.
Older candidate and younger candidate alike get a direct look from said weyrwoman, one that fixes on them a moment too long before identifying the other three that move up behind them. "Coats off, please. There, on the lowest riser." Yes, by R'uen, who gets a nod rather than a smile in return. But then, she hasn't smiled at anyone else either. "Line up and let me see your hands, and in the meantime, who has Stood before and can tell everyone what to do?"
Unbothered by not being smiled at, it must be weyrwoman who are immune to his charms, Winston just shrugs out of his coat and then takes the one from the younger, more nervous looking candidate he came in with. Both of them get carried over to be set down. When he's doing that he gives R'uen a smile and nod before heading back over to do as instructed. He winds up at the end of the line and can't seem to help his almost cheeky grin as he gives his scrubbed clean hands a quick glance before holding them out for his turn at being checked for dirty fingernails. Since this is his first time he doesn't offer up any words, but does look expectantly at a green-eyed girl from the lower caverns who informed everyone she's stood before several times.
R'uen lifts a hand to make an 'over here' sort of wave when Cirse directs people toward him for an impromptu coat-check. He even tries to help a bit, making sure the jackets are piled suck that they stop trying to slide off the bench. Winston's smile gets one in return, a little half-assed salute too, and then the bronzerider takes himself a nice seat with his legs stretched out and his boots crossed and his jacket flopped open. Time to watch the show.
One of the younger boys gets shushed off to go clean up, and yes, he can have his jacket but only when he gets back. That's one way to remember. The others pass muster, despite those fingernails indeed being looked at along with the creases of their palms and the reverse sides as well. Cirse's attention stays more on hands than faces, too, even when the green-eyed girl speaks up: go slowly, be gentle, follow instructions. "Quiet voices," the weyrwoman adds, and gestures the girl to go first beneath broody Peirith's watchful eye. She waits a little while before letting the next girl go, and at this rate, it'll be a couple minutes before it's Winston's turn. "R'uen? Be so kind as to tell them what it was like for you, if you ever touched the eggs at all."
Lucky for Winston he not only preaches patience he can practice it as well. He's content enough to watch the girls walk away, almost always a nice thing to watch, and wait for his turn. The boy next to him looks with wide eyes out onto the sands and to where that brooding gold is at. He almost tries to shuffle places with Winston so the older boy goes first, but changes his mind with just a little foot shuffling. His nerves are quite visible, but whatever ones Winston might have are carefully hidden behind his carefree smile.
Brows up. R'uen is being called on. So much for playing the delinquent hoodlum in the back. He clears his throat. "Actually, my experience was kind of unpleasant. The weyrwoman freaked out because I wasn't being handsy enough with the eggs. I'd never seen eggs before so I was taking my time. You know, they're big. Any I was really uncomfortable and she freaked out at me. I hid from her for the rest of candidacy so I wouldn't have to do it again. Seriously. I think T'rev was there. It was pretty bad." But he gestures towards Cirse and the eggs, the current situation, "This will be much easier for you guys. Cirse isn't off her rocker."
To which Cirse confirms, poised on her toes with a speculative look, "If you aren't... handsy... enough with the eggs, that is much to be preferred than touching them overmuch. Some people believe that being near to the eggs makes a difference. Some people do not. Once you have made your way around the clutch in an appropriate manner, and touched... three, let's say, you may choose to leave the sands and chat with your friends if you like. It's your future." On their own, the words could be ominous. As Cirse speaks them, they are simply factual. And now she nods to Winston: it's his turn.
Winston returns the nod with one of his own complete with a grin. Like he can't help but be grinning at a woman. His expression doesn't quite turn serious when he steps out onto the sands, but he's at least not going to try to be joking around with any of the others. The first thing he does is unbutton the top button on his shirt and fan himself with an absent wave of his hand. Then it's down to business as he takes a moment to watch what his fellow candidates are doing before he picks his own egg to make his way carefully towards. Since it's in his nature to be handsy he has not a problem in the least with laying his hands against a shell to trace the patterns on it and just generally feel it up.
Peirith's attention presses upon the candidates, watching. She has not moved from the near side of the clutch, a few of the eggs (three, five?) tucked into the curl of her paw, though the others at least can be reached. The candidates need only walk past her, first. Cirse looks up to the ledges, to Zaiventh there, an for the first time she smiles if only slightly. It needn't take long to make the rounds, to touch an egg or two or three, but longer perhaps to get... if not comfortable, at least a little used to it all.
Doing his best not to stare Winston cannot help but steal looks towards the large clutch mother. He's got no interest in getting that close and when he moves from egg to the next his steps are as measured and careful as he can make them. Sweat from his forehead gets wiped with the sleeve of his shirt just in case that would count as not clean hands and get him scolded. When his path takes him in the way of one of the other candidates he steps aside and lets the other go before veering to another egg. He moves in a general circle on some path that he's developed in his mind to get him to each egg in turn without taking too long anywhere. Or anywhere near the ones Peirith seems to want to keep close.
"You know," R'uen muses from his sidelines, on the tail end of another sip from his flask. "I still don't think I'm particularly comfortable with touching eggs. Seems sort of forward. Like walking up and groping a stranger." Whether it's the drink or the fact that he's still wrapped in winter clothes on the hot sands, there's a deep flush rising from his neck and making his ears red.
Letting the other candidate go first, Peirith doesn't miss that. Nor does she appear to guide any of the candidates to or away from a particular egg: she looks, only, sees how they carry themselves and where they go. Her rider's attention speeds to R'uen, dark eyes lifting and her lips parted, but in the end she doesn't say anything at all. Not, at least, until: "Just a little while longer. There should be time again, later on."
In no rush Winston does nod when passing a candidate who mentions she'll be drinking a gallon or two of water when they're done. He slips in the sand, nowhere near an egg thankfully, but catches himself before he might connect butt to sand. Wiping sweat from his eyes with his sleeve again he makes his way to the last egg in reach and despite likely being ready to go spends as much time with it as with the others. When his hands pull away from the shell he shoves them in his pockets like a kid at gather told to stop touching the wares. He ambles towards the place they came in and admits to Cirse with an apologetic smile, "Think the heat's getting to me, weyrwoman. Would you mind if I stepped out? Rather do that than faint and get sand down my pants."
R'uen arches one of those brow again as it seems like Cirse means to reply and then fails to. But he lets that go in silence too. And to make himself useful, he leans over to sort through the jackets and attempt to pick out the one that Winston wore in. He holds one up. How about this one?
He's not the first to have slipped, but Peirith still doesn't seem too used to it, not with the sudden jerk that's her leaning closer, all too ready, until each candidate finds his feet or hers. As Winston moves to leave, as some of the others begin to follow, she does settle somewhat but not too much, not yet. Cirse, whose nostrils flare as he goes on about fainting and where sand can and cannot go, assures, "Please do. Give the headwoman my compliments, and drink plenty of water after." That candidate who'd wanted to drink the gallon or two suddenly looks that much perkier, sweat or no sweat.
As luck would have it, R'uen manages to get just the right coat. Hard to miss Winston's stylish orange and brown coat however. "Thank you, sir," he says with a wide grin before he slips it on without buttons done and then gives Cirse a nod as well. "Thank you, weyrwoman. I look forward to seeing you again." Of course he does and if he doesn't wink there's a twinkle in his eyes that makes it seem like he had a lot of trouble not doing that. Before he can get himself in trouble he slips out into the welcome cold.
Where: Hatching Sands
When: Afternoon on day 23, month 13, turn 18
What: A few candidates with carefully scrubbed hands get a chance to grope the eggs.
It's a quiet afternoon, all told, and perhaps that's why that assistant headwoman had been asked to gather up certain of the candidates, not too many, and bring them to the mouth of the hatching caverns. It's warmer here, out of the wind, and with the natural heat of the sands themselves creating just a little air movement as warm air replaces cold. Cirse stands just before the queen- and clutch-occupied sands, as though one woman could withstand any who might venture too quickly where they don't yet belong.
The trip from the lower caverns to the entrance here was all fine except for the part that involved being outside. A couple of candidates come in together having met up halfway across the cold outside and as they enter Winston tugs off the bright orange cap covering his head and shoves it into a wide coat pocket. "Not sure I'm ever going to get used to that wind," he tells the kid he came in with. The kid has nothing to say since he's spotted the weyrwoman and is busy being overawed at being right here in the same room with her. For his openmouthed staring the older weyrling cannot help but chuckle quietly.
Zaiventh might not always be present here with the eggs, forgetting about them as often as he remembers, but whenever he is here, he's perched on the ledges overhead, giving Peirith complete dominion over the sands while he admires his handywork from above. It's probably better that way. If there was ever a bulky sort who might step on an egg without thinking, it would probably be him. And so that's where the bronze is, and it's after the candidates arrive that R'uen shows up at the cavern's entrance. He doesn't pull off his scarf and his jacket wasn't buttoned in the first place, so he just mosies down toward the first-row seats, taking a sip from his flask along the way. Everyone gets a smile.
Older candidate and younger candidate alike get a direct look from said weyrwoman, one that fixes on them a moment too long before identifying the other three that move up behind them. "Coats off, please. There, on the lowest riser." Yes, by R'uen, who gets a nod rather than a smile in return. But then, she hasn't smiled at anyone else either. "Line up and let me see your hands, and in the meantime, who has Stood before and can tell everyone what to do?"
Unbothered by not being smiled at, it must be weyrwoman who are immune to his charms, Winston just shrugs out of his coat and then takes the one from the younger, more nervous looking candidate he came in with. Both of them get carried over to be set down. When he's doing that he gives R'uen a smile and nod before heading back over to do as instructed. He winds up at the end of the line and can't seem to help his almost cheeky grin as he gives his scrubbed clean hands a quick glance before holding them out for his turn at being checked for dirty fingernails. Since this is his first time he doesn't offer up any words, but does look expectantly at a green-eyed girl from the lower caverns who informed everyone she's stood before several times.
R'uen lifts a hand to make an 'over here' sort of wave when Cirse directs people toward him for an impromptu coat-check. He even tries to help a bit, making sure the jackets are piled suck that they stop trying to slide off the bench. Winston's smile gets one in return, a little half-assed salute too, and then the bronzerider takes himself a nice seat with his legs stretched out and his boots crossed and his jacket flopped open. Time to watch the show.
One of the younger boys gets shushed off to go clean up, and yes, he can have his jacket but only when he gets back. That's one way to remember. The others pass muster, despite those fingernails indeed being looked at along with the creases of their palms and the reverse sides as well. Cirse's attention stays more on hands than faces, too, even when the green-eyed girl speaks up: go slowly, be gentle, follow instructions. "Quiet voices," the weyrwoman adds, and gestures the girl to go first beneath broody Peirith's watchful eye. She waits a little while before letting the next girl go, and at this rate, it'll be a couple minutes before it's Winston's turn. "R'uen? Be so kind as to tell them what it was like for you, if you ever touched the eggs at all."
Lucky for Winston he not only preaches patience he can practice it as well. He's content enough to watch the girls walk away, almost always a nice thing to watch, and wait for his turn. The boy next to him looks with wide eyes out onto the sands and to where that brooding gold is at. He almost tries to shuffle places with Winston so the older boy goes first, but changes his mind with just a little foot shuffling. His nerves are quite visible, but whatever ones Winston might have are carefully hidden behind his carefree smile.
Brows up. R'uen is being called on. So much for playing the delinquent hoodlum in the back. He clears his throat. "Actually, my experience was kind of unpleasant. The weyrwoman freaked out because I wasn't being handsy enough with the eggs. I'd never seen eggs before so I was taking my time. You know, they're big. Any I was really uncomfortable and she freaked out at me. I hid from her for the rest of candidacy so I wouldn't have to do it again. Seriously. I think T'rev was there. It was pretty bad." But he gestures towards Cirse and the eggs, the current situation, "This will be much easier for you guys. Cirse isn't off her rocker."
To which Cirse confirms, poised on her toes with a speculative look, "If you aren't... handsy... enough with the eggs, that is much to be preferred than touching them overmuch. Some people believe that being near to the eggs makes a difference. Some people do not. Once you have made your way around the clutch in an appropriate manner, and touched... three, let's say, you may choose to leave the sands and chat with your friends if you like. It's your future." On their own, the words could be ominous. As Cirse speaks them, they are simply factual. And now she nods to Winston: it's his turn.
Winston returns the nod with one of his own complete with a grin. Like he can't help but be grinning at a woman. His expression doesn't quite turn serious when he steps out onto the sands, but he's at least not going to try to be joking around with any of the others. The first thing he does is unbutton the top button on his shirt and fan himself with an absent wave of his hand. Then it's down to business as he takes a moment to watch what his fellow candidates are doing before he picks his own egg to make his way carefully towards. Since it's in his nature to be handsy he has not a problem in the least with laying his hands against a shell to trace the patterns on it and just generally feel it up.
Peirith's attention presses upon the candidates, watching. She has not moved from the near side of the clutch, a few of the eggs (three, five?) tucked into the curl of her paw, though the others at least can be reached. The candidates need only walk past her, first. Cirse looks up to the ledges, to Zaiventh there, an for the first time she smiles if only slightly. It needn't take long to make the rounds, to touch an egg or two or three, but longer perhaps to get... if not comfortable, at least a little used to it all.
Doing his best not to stare Winston cannot help but steal looks towards the large clutch mother. He's got no interest in getting that close and when he moves from egg to the next his steps are as measured and careful as he can make them. Sweat from his forehead gets wiped with the sleeve of his shirt just in case that would count as not clean hands and get him scolded. When his path takes him in the way of one of the other candidates he steps aside and lets the other go before veering to another egg. He moves in a general circle on some path that he's developed in his mind to get him to each egg in turn without taking too long anywhere. Or anywhere near the ones Peirith seems to want to keep close.
"You know," R'uen muses from his sidelines, on the tail end of another sip from his flask. "I still don't think I'm particularly comfortable with touching eggs. Seems sort of forward. Like walking up and groping a stranger." Whether it's the drink or the fact that he's still wrapped in winter clothes on the hot sands, there's a deep flush rising from his neck and making his ears red.
Letting the other candidate go first, Peirith doesn't miss that. Nor does she appear to guide any of the candidates to or away from a particular egg: she looks, only, sees how they carry themselves and where they go. Her rider's attention speeds to R'uen, dark eyes lifting and her lips parted, but in the end she doesn't say anything at all. Not, at least, until: "Just a little while longer. There should be time again, later on."
In no rush Winston does nod when passing a candidate who mentions she'll be drinking a gallon or two of water when they're done. He slips in the sand, nowhere near an egg thankfully, but catches himself before he might connect butt to sand. Wiping sweat from his eyes with his sleeve again he makes his way to the last egg in reach and despite likely being ready to go spends as much time with it as with the others. When his hands pull away from the shell he shoves them in his pockets like a kid at gather told to stop touching the wares. He ambles towards the place they came in and admits to Cirse with an apologetic smile, "Think the heat's getting to me, weyrwoman. Would you mind if I stepped out? Rather do that than faint and get sand down my pants."
R'uen arches one of those brow again as it seems like Cirse means to reply and then fails to. But he lets that go in silence too. And to make himself useful, he leans over to sort through the jackets and attempt to pick out the one that Winston wore in. He holds one up. How about this one?
He's not the first to have slipped, but Peirith still doesn't seem too used to it, not with the sudden jerk that's her leaning closer, all too ready, until each candidate finds his feet or hers. As Winston moves to leave, as some of the others begin to follow, she does settle somewhat but not too much, not yet. Cirse, whose nostrils flare as he goes on about fainting and where sand can and cannot go, assures, "Please do. Give the headwoman my compliments, and drink plenty of water after." That candidate who'd wanted to drink the gallon or two suddenly looks that much perkier, sweat or no sweat.
As luck would have it, R'uen manages to get just the right coat. Hard to miss Winston's stylish orange and brown coat however. "Thank you, sir," he says with a wide grin before he slips it on without buttons done and then gives Cirse a nod as well. "Thank you, weyrwoman. I look forward to seeing you again." Of course he does and if he doesn't wink there's a twinkle in his eyes that makes it seem like he had a lot of trouble not doing that. Before he can get himself in trouble he slips out into the welcome cold.