Candidates sort-of-touch Ciath's eggs.
RL Date: 11/7/07
IC Date: 2/16/14
Spectators' Gallery in the Hatching Ground(#958RIJ$)
The galleries in the Hatching Grounds stretch the length of the southern wall of the cavern. Broad sweeps of stone benches provide ample seating for spectators. Above and across from here are ledges where the dragons perch to welcome new eggs and hatchlings. From your vantage point, you can see everything that happens on the sands.
Stairs to the northwest, at the end of the galleries, lead back down to the entrance to the hatching grounds. The Hatching Ground sands spread out before you to the northeast, and are accessible by another set of stairs to the north.
Shaela walks onto the sands from the Bowl entrance.
Shaela has arrived.
Ciath rumbles threateningly as Zahava and her coterie of five candidates step out onto the hot sands. Her wings open, spreading low over the sandy lumps of eggs nearby, shielding even the three she had been convinced to reveal. Her head drops low to the sand, teeth revealed, each at least as long as a hand.
N'thei, in the galleries. Wyaeth, on the sands. The rider sits in a middlish tier of benches, off by himself but near enough to a cluster of five people discussing the uncertain mounds of sand that might be eggs to overhear the gist of their conversation. A glint of silver flashes from between his hands now and then, but he's mostly immobile till Zahava makes her entrance, then his attention perks up. Probably that has more to do with the sudden movement from Ciath, and then from Wyaeth, the rangy bronze raising his head to see what all the fuss's about.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Ciath's distress and protective instincts boil underneath her words, << Can you make them go? I have changed my mind. I do not want them here. >>
Sferrox walks onto the sands from the Bowl entrance.
Sferrox has arrived.
Wyaeth> Ciath senses that Wyaeth answers with customary bluster and confidence, swagger right there in his voice; << 'Course I can. Ain't none of them big enough. >>
Shaela just freezes in her tracks when that rumbling growl echoes across the Grounds. She's on the other side of Zahava, but her face shows she's taking the warning to heart. She's noting those teeth and most likely forgetting to breathe.
Sferrox doesn't look really thrilled to be where he is, which is at the back of the group of five that trundles onto the sands in the wake of the goldrider. He, unlike Shaela, doesn't look terribly scared by Ciath, as he eyes the dragon skeptically, and then Zahava. N'thei, in the stands, seems to escape the candidate's notice, though he does glance over Wyaeth. "Well," says Sferrox. With the gold hiding the eggs again, he stuffs his hands in his pockets for lack of anything else to do with them. Finally, nevermind his last such comment didn't fly well, he remarks, "I bet you get lots of omelet jokes out here."
Shaela tries, but she can't help it. At Sferrox's comment, although she tries mightily not to, she laughs. Well, it comes out sounding more like a strangled snort. She gives him a disgusted look, "Y'know, those other lumps out there might very well be Candidates who ticked off the last brooding Queen."
Zahava's shoulders draw back tensely as she glares at Ciath. Slowly, those pale gold wings fold up against her sides, revealing the sandy lumps and the three exposed eggs. While Zahava focuses on coaxing obedience out of the dragon, she seems to miss Sferrox's remark... which is probably fortunate for his continued presence on the sands. Ciath continues to keep up that threatening rumble, even as she backs off a step, her head swinging towards Wyaeth.
With no one to coax anything even approaching obedience out of him, Wyaeth gets right up from his dozing spot and swaggers on over toward the group of people entering the sands. He's cordial in passing Zahava, but he gives the candidates a shotgun-to-the-face look, eyes sparked red. "Do you really think omelets was the right thing to bring up?" N'thei has, in the midst of that, wandered down from where he'd been sitting to lean on both hands against the rails overlooking the galleries, his tone far-from-amused. "Really. Let's be rational here."
That brings out Sferrox's grin again, chipped teeth and all: Shaela's laugh. "I'm glad somebody thinks I'm--" He doesn't finish saying what he is or thinks he is, though, in the face of Wyaeth's approach. "Maybe not," he agrees with that much, a little stiffer again; no more grin. "Is this where I trade out for number six?" He glances around at Zahava then, for confirmation of that.
Shaela sighs in relief as Ciath backs up, but sucks it right back in as Wyaeth heads their way and gives them his stare. "Nice going, first the Weyrwoman , now the clutchpapa," she murmurs to Sferrox with a hint of sarcasm. Her eyes roll at his next comment, "Don't tempt her." She's looking relieved that N'thei is there and flashes him a silent 'thank you'.
Zahava glances over her shoulder at Sferrox. "Yes," she says in a clipped tone, her eyes darting to N'thei to give him a nod - perhaps thanks, or perhaps acknowledgment. In that moment, Ciath advances another step, and so she quickly refocuses on the gold, walking out towards her, until the large dragon stands on the opposite side of her lumpy brooding area, her head now out of reach of those first trio of eggs.
Familiar with the lay out of Fort, Satiet's clipped steps lead the way from where Teonath's landed just outside the hatching sands, up the stairs and onto the gallery landing. Pale blue and cool, the slight woman glances back over her shoulder and then lifts slightly to train her gaze onto Amerie a long moment. Her mouth curls faintly. "You're too tall," she notes, finding something offensive in how the other woman stands. But seconds later the curl turns dryly sarcastic in what passes for humor, then turns to fix that look and those eyes onto the sands where Wyaeth is.
On the sands, "Yes'm," says Sferrox, with a nod for Zahava and N'thei, stiffly polite. "I'll tell Jovern," he offers of the candidate who had just missed the cut-off earlier, as he turns to head back out and pick up his coat on the way.
On the sands, Sferrox walks out of the Hatching Grounds, to the Bowl.
Charity; "Comforting to know he's not a complete idiot." N'thei returns no gratitude in his expression, bland tonight, with his attention to chase Zahava back to her consolation of Ciath. Impossible as it may seem, he doesn't know Satiet's here yet, not to mention Amerie. With his voice raised, he calls to the goldrider, "Why are they here? Ciath is pitching a fit and Wyaeth is--" Wyaeth is trying to head candidates off at the passes, keep them from the nearest eggs by his presence alone.'.
"I'd slouch for you, ma'am, but I was taught it was sloppy." Amerie's tone is light, not overly bothered by the cool Weyrwoman's criticism - it's Satiet's due, after all. With only the faintest trace of a smile, she drifts in the slight woman's wake, eyes trained on the Sands below with interest. "It's warm, at least."
On the sands, Shaela is keeping one eye on Ciath, the other on Wyaeth and her feet ready to run--for all the good it will do her. She's probably looking cross-eyed or walleyed, but she doesn't appear to care at the moment. And she doesn't watch Sferrox leave, either.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Ciath reaches out again, approval now twining around her words, << Thank you, Wyaeth. I particularly do not like that one, >> a brief flicker of Sferrox. << Mine says if I let them near the three out there, she will make them leave sooner," she continues, reluctant all the more, but wavering. << You will make certain they come no closer than they must? >>
"Our hatching sands are warm still." A brief glimmer of an idea perches thoughtfully on her pursed lips before the ludicrousness of it is dismissed with a shake of her head. Curtly, "It's not so cold at home." Satiet pauses her steps long enough for Amerie to catch up and then resumes them towards the familiar voice, though her eyes remain on Wyaeth and then Ciath - up until she's right near N'thei by that railing. "Practically respectable, who would've thought. Amerie?"
Wyaeth> Ciath senses that Wyaeth answers confidently, << You want 'em gone, we'll have 'em gone. Say the word, sweetheart. >>
On the sands, "Supposed to be egg-touching," Zahava calls back as Ciath takes one more step back and settles down. "Will Wyaeth let them by?" she asks, a hand held up to keep the five candidates - with the newly-swapped Sferrox-for-Jovern - at bay until she can be sure whether the bronze will allow it. Ciath hunkers down, her wings head held protectively low, just over the lumps in the sand that mark out her clutch.
On the sands, Shaela shuffles her feet and murmurs softly to her nearest neighbor, "Glad I've got boots on. My feet have thawed--and then some." She waits with the others, glances up to the galleries and notes others there, but doesn't speak to them; they're too far away.
On the verge of answering to Zahava, N'thei cuts off the words with his attention abruptly captivated-- and that is the only word to be used. "Practically a compliment, who would've thought." Although his smile manages to incorporate Amerie and Satiet together, the blue-eyed Weyrwoman holds his attention the longest, and the pull at the corner of his lips is knowing and questioning together. "Quite a surprise, ladies. Excuse me a moment." Now he hollers back down, "Supposed to be is right. Tell Ciath to stop getting him worked up and he might be more obliged." But Wyaeth snorts in response to that; not likely!
With a nod of a courtier, Amerie agrees with Satiet's assesment of the Reaches relative warmth; "You're quite right, ma'am. And -" With a pause to look down and regard N'thei for a moment, her lips quirking into a tiny smile as she notes his attention on the woman next to her. "Indeed, who knew?" Her dark gaze shifts to the dragons, the candidates, and then Zahava, all with keen interest.
On the sands, Zahava scrubs a hand through her hair, her lips pressing together tightly as she eyes the galleries for a moment. Then she turns her back to refocus on Ciath once more. It's hard to tell if her attention is having any effect on the gold, for her posture does not change.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Ciath's distress drops down a notch or two, though she remains both wary and suspicious. << I'll suffer them to touch, if they must, >> she allows. << But you are nearer than I - if they put one foot wrong.... >> She lets that trail off to the presumable conclusion.
Satiet's chin lifts, just that fraction of awareness touching her chin arrogantly and reflexively, the slender woman turns her shoulders towards Amerie. "If it warms the cockles of your heart to think it's a compliment-," the cool alto trails off: it's entirely up to you. A wince creases her features when N'thei turns to holler, the expression shared with Amerie, "Scratch the respectability. We've come to visit," she announces needlessly. "Is that her?" Satiet follows the assistant headwoman's glance down to the sands to where Zahava stands.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Ciath with << You got it. >> A hazy, dusty, off-kilter thought intersperses, Shaela standing there with a bloody stump instead of a foot. << I'm on it. >>
On the sands, Shaela begins to relax, at least a little. "Hope they don't do this when they hatch," she whispers to the girl next to her. At some question in return, she shrugs. "Don't know," she answers shortly. She slides her fingers through her hair adding idly, "At least it's drying in this heat."
"That's her." N'thei exhales his answer, frustrated in a way that he doesn't bother to hide. "How are they even supposed to /find/ the eggs? --This may be the worst egg visit of all time." Decorum drops that last comment under his breath, and he files his teeth across his lower lip for a few seconds while Wyaeth slowly, full of threat and warning, backs away from the eggs to give the candidates access to the very nearest ones. "I'd say thank you for the visit, but your timing leaves much to be desired."
Shaela pages to N'thei and Zahava: I'm sorry to have to say it, but I've got to head out...sharing my computer and I've had it for quite awhile. I'm being bumped off. Thank you for having this Event, tho. Much appreciated.
On the sands, Zahava divides her attention now between Wyaeth and Ciath, and then, without looking back at them, beckons the five candidates towards the three fully-uncovered eggs. "This will be brief," she says, still without looking at them. "Just a few light strokes, and then we'll take our leave - so pick just one of them. There won't be time to go to all three."
Amerie arches a fine brow for Satiet's rejoinder, looking obviously impressed and turning that expression towards N'thei. Hm, nice one. Her lips twisting into a faint smirk, her attention flicks back to Zahava and Ciath - obviously uncertain about the gold's current mood. "That appears to be her, yes." Attention constantly shifting, eyes wide on Wyaeth, she has the look of a tourist about her. Hold-bred. Even so, she has the presence to note archly, "Not entirely polite to /say/ that, whatever the timing."
On the sands, Shaela steps forward gingerly with the others, kneels carefully and reaches forward to gently lay one hand on an egg. "Hmmm. Feels a little like I'd imagine Sferrox's hide would after Wyaeth got ahold of him." Other than that snide remark, she's quiet, listening for any instructions from the Weyrwoman. Or sneaky-soft dragon footfalls coming across the sands.
"First time seeing a clutch, Crom?" The designation of Amerie's home hold carries faint derision that is contrary to the feigned blankness of the goldrider's face. "Ah, our timing may blow," Satiet begins, the crooked smirk heavily audible in her voice for her choice of words, "But we bring gifts." From the inside pockets of her jacket, the goldrider withdraws a beaten flask and hands it over. "Not that I doubt Fort's hospitality and -warmth- outstrips ours." The slight frame bends, dropping forward onto her elbows to rest against the railing and try to suss out eggs. "Somehow, it amuses me one of Nabrimeth's progeny has difficulty, ah, performing. There are three eggs." Visible.
On the sands, Ciath only cranes her head to keep an eye on all five candidates as they approach her eggs, making no overt moves towards them. After several minutes, Zahava casts a glance at Wyaeth, and then looks back to Ciath, relaxing slightly. A moment more, and she seems to decide she's pressed the broody young gold enough, turning around to the candidates. "Everyone had a chance to touch them?" she asks, waiting only a beat for nods. "Now we'll walk slowly off the sands. Next time, I am sure, she'll be more prepared. Thank you for your patience in being the first group - and thank you for conducting yourselves in such a way as to not distress her further. No doubt that will help next time."
N'thei, bland, "Not brief enough." Wyaeth postures next to the three visible eggs, wings continually flickered, fast-whirling eyes, all show since he's not doing anything to stop the candidates now. Having left the bronze to his own devices, N'thei reaches for the flask without hesitation, with a brow-quirked comment to Amerie. "So it would have been better if we were all thinking it and none of us said it? Noted. --If you'll give me that flask, miss." /Miss./ "I'll come up with a clever response about Wyaeth's prowess." He'd just rather have his prize first.
On the sands, Shaela rises along with the others, adding her soft 'thank you' along with the chorus of others. It seems that none of them need coaxing or a second request that they leave the Sands. Indeed walking out slowly, rather than running out is fairly challenging for some of them. As she heads back across the Sands, Shaela peeks back. Whew! She stops briefly to collect her coat at the entrance, but keeps going rather than stop to put it on inside.
"Sadly, it is, ma'am. Unfortunate that it's not terribly - visible." Amerie's pause is calculated, no stranger to this sort of thing, apparently. Even so, her neutrality is almost lost to widened eyes. With a flick of a glance up to the stands above, she manages to school her expression, turning back to tell N'thei, "If I always said what I was thinking, we wouldn't get along as well as we currently do." Eyeing the flask, innocently, "Oh, does it help?"
On the sands, Shaela walks out of the Hatching Grounds, to the Bowl.
She doesn't like that designation, her displeasure thinning her lips and cooling her pale, ice eyes. A pause just as deliberate and measured as Amerie's results in Satiet recalling the flask and extending it to the woman from the contentious hold, "Do you drink at Crom?" Glossy, raven curls toss, another passing appraisal of the sands finding them at candidates zero, Zahava one and it's on the Fortian queenrider that her steady scrutiny lands. What she says lowly to those by her, "Fussy," is punctuated with a cordial half-smile and drop of her chin for the woman left on the sands.
On the sands, Once the last candidates are off the sands, Ciath moves slowly forward to make a thorough inspection of her manhandled progeny, nudging in a little more sand around their bases. Zahava escorts the candidates off the sand, then returns, moving towards Ciath to stroke her nose. Finally, she turns to trudge across the sand towards the galleries. in an attempt to settle her further.
With a smile fit for being on the receiving end of a zinger, N'thei tracks the flask with merry eyes, his grin interrupted with a bite at his lower lip. Since he's been denied, and since he can't go on mooning at Satiet all night, he looks down to the sands while the candidates are being escorted away, tries to catch Zahava's attention long enough for a helpless shrug. His voice carries across the emptied sands; "Could have gone worse?" Wyaeth flourishes a tumbleweed-wing to the unharmed eggs-- all's well!
Amerie fairly beams at Satiet, the tall, dark girl's smile wide and brilliant as she holds out a slender hand to accept what's now a gift for her. Score. "Most do, ma'am. I'm as happy to drink at the Reaches now, however." She's got another killer smile for N'thei, even as he turns away to call over to the Fortian goldrider. At the slight woman's aside, she nods a touch. "It seems so."
On the sands, Zahava finally turns and heads towards the galleries, just in time to catch N'thei's shrug and remark. She gives a little grimace in return, and hurries her pace towards the steps as she finally takes note of the audience they've had.
Drink the kool-aid, Amerie, drink the kool-aid. "The brandy tithed from High Reaches Hold is particularly palatable. The rotgut from Tillek even better." Satiet has no words of reassurances for the woman who's approaching them, no stories to share of her own first time. Instead, the half-smile remains just a half-beat before slipping off in favor of cool neutrality. "I'd hoped to see what kind of eggs Wyaeth would have produced." Seeing as there's no eggs, a little gesture encompasses the sand-covered lumps and barely visible three eggs. "We'll leave you with your," a beat, to study Zahava a moment, and then decides not to conclude her statement. Her mouth shapes in a sly, tiny grin that flashes sidelong to the bronzerider, "Unless Amerie would like to stay to keep you company."
On the sands, Zahava leaves the sands, walking up the stairs to the galleries.
"So you came all the way here." N'thei slows down the pace of his words to make it likely that Zahava will have climbed the stairs and come in range of conversational voices again by the time he picks up again. "To not see any eggs, to not have a drink with me, and to not actually meet the rider of Wyaeth's mate. Glad you came." Amerie? Who? Chopped-liver? He finds her radiant smile and answers it with a distracted one-- Satiet's here! She is! "Would you like to stay, Amerie?" His batted lashes expect a big-fat-no.
Amerie offers Satiet a grateful nod for her advice, tucking her haul away in the coat she's undone in the heat on the cavern. Giving N'thei an amazed look as he talks to Satiet - like, have some dignity, man - she arches a brow, noting, "If there were eggs to see..." But there aren't so she simply trails off, then blinks and gives a cough at the goldrider's suggestion. With a smirk for batted lashes, "I have my duties to attend to." Early morning. You understand.
Zahava does indeed pick up N'thei's words as she climbs the stairs, a warm and welcoming smile already having taken up residence in her face, despite the tiredness that lurks beneath it. She flicks a glance at the bronzerider, then approaches slowly, nonetheless, inclining her head to both Amerie and Satiet. "Welcome to Fort, Weyrwoman, Assistant Headwoman," she says, her throaty voice smooth. "Our duties to Teonath and your Junior Queens. It is good of you both to visit, though I think I heard you are taking your leave?"
Satiet did come with purpose; a purpose that's put on the backburner when Amerie predictably declines keeping N'thei company. The pressed smile, smug, casts her glance down, crinkles her eyes briefly. She shifts, folded arms falling by her side and she finally turns from Amerie to the clutchsire's rider, pale eyes steady. "It's good to see that they're not mistreating you, beating you into submission," she allows, alto lifting deliberately as Zahava's drawn in into their trio. After lingering another second after she says that, the Reaches' queenrider turns to Zahava, her sharp face filled with a charming brand of tease. "I'm afraid my Weyr requires myself and my assistant, but it was a pleasure to meet the woman whose dragon caught our Wyaeth. Our duties to you."
You sense Satiet's gaze isn't the only one that fixes, a faint brush of her fingers hidden in the turn of her shoulder reaching out to catch a fold of N'thei's clothes and then applying pressure faintly. But when she turns to Zahava, the pressure fades.
With a furrow in his forehead, N'thei concedes, "You have a point. We're having some... issues with egg accessibility. Supposedly, there are fifteen of them." He sidelongs a look at Satiet; hear that? Fifteen. There's no dignity to be had, and those big gray eyes answer Amerie's amazement with helplessness. "Thank you both for coming, despite there being nothing to see. I think I'm flattered."
With a regal, polite inclination of her head, Amerie greets Zahava with a respectful, "Ma'am. Congratulations. Thank you." She'll let her weyrwoman make apologies, such as they are - not a little pleased for Satiet's reaction to her expected response. Falling back to let the higher-ups chat, she listens as she arches a brow for N'thei's helpless look, just shaking her head. Sad. "Thank you for the hospitality, however brief."
"Of course," Zahava says with a smile. "Again, thank you. Next time, I hope I can offer a little more hospitality." Out on the sands, Ciath is now busily packing sand around the three eggs she'd been coaxed into revealing today.
"As always," Satiet allows with a deferential incline of her head, "Fort's hospitality is gracious nonetheless." Without drink, food, or company, it must be the Weyr itself the weyrwoman means, or the passing moment of Zahava's companionship. The Fort goldrider is granted another once over, concluding in a pleasant, if thin, smile. "Amerie." Her alto beckons, her feet move. For N'thei's proud fifteen, there's an indulgent smirk but no words as the raven-haired woman exits.
Amerie knows when she's to follow, so with another polite nod for Zahava - and a smirk for N'thei - she drifts after Satiet.
Satiet goes down the stairs to the Bowl.
Satiet has left.
Amerie goes down the stairs to the Bowl.
Amerie has left.
N'thei waits until the two women from the Reaches have left, wordless to Zahava now that they're alone. In case it needed to be spelled out, his eyes stay on Satiet until she's out of sight-- then he turns to the Fortian goldrider with a sudden but brief look, only just remembering she's still there. He inhales, a breath in preparation for words; then he exhales without saying anything, and he walks out.
You walk down the stairs to the Bowl.
IC Date: 2/16/14
Spectators' Gallery in the Hatching Ground(#958RIJ$)
The galleries in the Hatching Grounds stretch the length of the southern wall of the cavern. Broad sweeps of stone benches provide ample seating for spectators. Above and across from here are ledges where the dragons perch to welcome new eggs and hatchlings. From your vantage point, you can see everything that happens on the sands.
Stairs to the northwest, at the end of the galleries, lead back down to the entrance to the hatching grounds. The Hatching Ground sands spread out before you to the northeast, and are accessible by another set of stairs to the north.
Shaela walks onto the sands from the Bowl entrance.
Shaela has arrived.
Ciath rumbles threateningly as Zahava and her coterie of five candidates step out onto the hot sands. Her wings open, spreading low over the sandy lumps of eggs nearby, shielding even the three she had been convinced to reveal. Her head drops low to the sand, teeth revealed, each at least as long as a hand.
N'thei, in the galleries. Wyaeth, on the sands. The rider sits in a middlish tier of benches, off by himself but near enough to a cluster of five people discussing the uncertain mounds of sand that might be eggs to overhear the gist of their conversation. A glint of silver flashes from between his hands now and then, but he's mostly immobile till Zahava makes her entrance, then his attention perks up. Probably that has more to do with the sudden movement from Ciath, and then from Wyaeth, the rangy bronze raising his head to see what all the fuss's about.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Ciath's distress and protective instincts boil underneath her words, << Can you make them go? I have changed my mind. I do not want them here. >>
Sferrox walks onto the sands from the Bowl entrance.
Sferrox has arrived.
Wyaeth> Ciath senses that Wyaeth answers with customary bluster and confidence, swagger right there in his voice; << 'Course I can. Ain't none of them big enough. >>
Shaela just freezes in her tracks when that rumbling growl echoes across the Grounds. She's on the other side of Zahava, but her face shows she's taking the warning to heart. She's noting those teeth and most likely forgetting to breathe.
Sferrox doesn't look really thrilled to be where he is, which is at the back of the group of five that trundles onto the sands in the wake of the goldrider. He, unlike Shaela, doesn't look terribly scared by Ciath, as he eyes the dragon skeptically, and then Zahava. N'thei, in the stands, seems to escape the candidate's notice, though he does glance over Wyaeth. "Well," says Sferrox. With the gold hiding the eggs again, he stuffs his hands in his pockets for lack of anything else to do with them. Finally, nevermind his last such comment didn't fly well, he remarks, "I bet you get lots of omelet jokes out here."
Shaela tries, but she can't help it. At Sferrox's comment, although she tries mightily not to, she laughs. Well, it comes out sounding more like a strangled snort. She gives him a disgusted look, "Y'know, those other lumps out there might very well be Candidates who ticked off the last brooding Queen."
Zahava's shoulders draw back tensely as she glares at Ciath. Slowly, those pale gold wings fold up against her sides, revealing the sandy lumps and the three exposed eggs. While Zahava focuses on coaxing obedience out of the dragon, she seems to miss Sferrox's remark... which is probably fortunate for his continued presence on the sands. Ciath continues to keep up that threatening rumble, even as she backs off a step, her head swinging towards Wyaeth.
With no one to coax anything even approaching obedience out of him, Wyaeth gets right up from his dozing spot and swaggers on over toward the group of people entering the sands. He's cordial in passing Zahava, but he gives the candidates a shotgun-to-the-face look, eyes sparked red. "Do you really think omelets was the right thing to bring up?" N'thei has, in the midst of that, wandered down from where he'd been sitting to lean on both hands against the rails overlooking the galleries, his tone far-from-amused. "Really. Let's be rational here."
That brings out Sferrox's grin again, chipped teeth and all: Shaela's laugh. "I'm glad somebody thinks I'm--" He doesn't finish saying what he is or thinks he is, though, in the face of Wyaeth's approach. "Maybe not," he agrees with that much, a little stiffer again; no more grin. "Is this where I trade out for number six?" He glances around at Zahava then, for confirmation of that.
Shaela sighs in relief as Ciath backs up, but sucks it right back in as Wyaeth heads their way and gives them his stare. "Nice going, first the Weyrwoman , now the clutchpapa," she murmurs to Sferrox with a hint of sarcasm. Her eyes roll at his next comment, "Don't tempt her." She's looking relieved that N'thei is there and flashes him a silent 'thank you'.
Zahava glances over her shoulder at Sferrox. "Yes," she says in a clipped tone, her eyes darting to N'thei to give him a nod - perhaps thanks, or perhaps acknowledgment. In that moment, Ciath advances another step, and so she quickly refocuses on the gold, walking out towards her, until the large dragon stands on the opposite side of her lumpy brooding area, her head now out of reach of those first trio of eggs.
Familiar with the lay out of Fort, Satiet's clipped steps lead the way from where Teonath's landed just outside the hatching sands, up the stairs and onto the gallery landing. Pale blue and cool, the slight woman glances back over her shoulder and then lifts slightly to train her gaze onto Amerie a long moment. Her mouth curls faintly. "You're too tall," she notes, finding something offensive in how the other woman stands. But seconds later the curl turns dryly sarcastic in what passes for humor, then turns to fix that look and those eyes onto the sands where Wyaeth is.
On the sands, "Yes'm," says Sferrox, with a nod for Zahava and N'thei, stiffly polite. "I'll tell Jovern," he offers of the candidate who had just missed the cut-off earlier, as he turns to head back out and pick up his coat on the way.
On the sands, Sferrox walks out of the Hatching Grounds, to the Bowl.
Charity; "Comforting to know he's not a complete idiot." N'thei returns no gratitude in his expression, bland tonight, with his attention to chase Zahava back to her consolation of Ciath. Impossible as it may seem, he doesn't know Satiet's here yet, not to mention Amerie. With his voice raised, he calls to the goldrider, "Why are they here? Ciath is pitching a fit and Wyaeth is--" Wyaeth is trying to head candidates off at the passes, keep them from the nearest eggs by his presence alone.'.
"I'd slouch for you, ma'am, but I was taught it was sloppy." Amerie's tone is light, not overly bothered by the cool Weyrwoman's criticism - it's Satiet's due, after all. With only the faintest trace of a smile, she drifts in the slight woman's wake, eyes trained on the Sands below with interest. "It's warm, at least."
On the sands, Shaela is keeping one eye on Ciath, the other on Wyaeth and her feet ready to run--for all the good it will do her. She's probably looking cross-eyed or walleyed, but she doesn't appear to care at the moment. And she doesn't watch Sferrox leave, either.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Ciath reaches out again, approval now twining around her words, << Thank you, Wyaeth. I particularly do not like that one, >> a brief flicker of Sferrox. << Mine says if I let them near the three out there, she will make them leave sooner," she continues, reluctant all the more, but wavering. << You will make certain they come no closer than they must? >>
"Our hatching sands are warm still." A brief glimmer of an idea perches thoughtfully on her pursed lips before the ludicrousness of it is dismissed with a shake of her head. Curtly, "It's not so cold at home." Satiet pauses her steps long enough for Amerie to catch up and then resumes them towards the familiar voice, though her eyes remain on Wyaeth and then Ciath - up until she's right near N'thei by that railing. "Practically respectable, who would've thought. Amerie?"
Wyaeth> Ciath senses that Wyaeth answers confidently, << You want 'em gone, we'll have 'em gone. Say the word, sweetheart. >>
On the sands, "Supposed to be egg-touching," Zahava calls back as Ciath takes one more step back and settles down. "Will Wyaeth let them by?" she asks, a hand held up to keep the five candidates - with the newly-swapped Sferrox-for-Jovern - at bay until she can be sure whether the bronze will allow it. Ciath hunkers down, her wings head held protectively low, just over the lumps in the sand that mark out her clutch.
On the sands, Shaela shuffles her feet and murmurs softly to her nearest neighbor, "Glad I've got boots on. My feet have thawed--and then some." She waits with the others, glances up to the galleries and notes others there, but doesn't speak to them; they're too far away.
On the verge of answering to Zahava, N'thei cuts off the words with his attention abruptly captivated-- and that is the only word to be used. "Practically a compliment, who would've thought." Although his smile manages to incorporate Amerie and Satiet together, the blue-eyed Weyrwoman holds his attention the longest, and the pull at the corner of his lips is knowing and questioning together. "Quite a surprise, ladies. Excuse me a moment." Now he hollers back down, "Supposed to be is right. Tell Ciath to stop getting him worked up and he might be more obliged." But Wyaeth snorts in response to that; not likely!
With a nod of a courtier, Amerie agrees with Satiet's assesment of the Reaches relative warmth; "You're quite right, ma'am. And -" With a pause to look down and regard N'thei for a moment, her lips quirking into a tiny smile as she notes his attention on the woman next to her. "Indeed, who knew?" Her dark gaze shifts to the dragons, the candidates, and then Zahava, all with keen interest.
On the sands, Zahava scrubs a hand through her hair, her lips pressing together tightly as she eyes the galleries for a moment. Then she turns her back to refocus on Ciath once more. It's hard to tell if her attention is having any effect on the gold, for her posture does not change.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Ciath's distress drops down a notch or two, though she remains both wary and suspicious. << I'll suffer them to touch, if they must, >> she allows. << But you are nearer than I - if they put one foot wrong.... >> She lets that trail off to the presumable conclusion.
Satiet's chin lifts, just that fraction of awareness touching her chin arrogantly and reflexively, the slender woman turns her shoulders towards Amerie. "If it warms the cockles of your heart to think it's a compliment-," the cool alto trails off: it's entirely up to you. A wince creases her features when N'thei turns to holler, the expression shared with Amerie, "Scratch the respectability. We've come to visit," she announces needlessly. "Is that her?" Satiet follows the assistant headwoman's glance down to the sands to where Zahava stands.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Ciath with << You got it. >> A hazy, dusty, off-kilter thought intersperses, Shaela standing there with a bloody stump instead of a foot. << I'm on it. >>
On the sands, Shaela begins to relax, at least a little. "Hope they don't do this when they hatch," she whispers to the girl next to her. At some question in return, she shrugs. "Don't know," she answers shortly. She slides her fingers through her hair adding idly, "At least it's drying in this heat."
"That's her." N'thei exhales his answer, frustrated in a way that he doesn't bother to hide. "How are they even supposed to /find/ the eggs? --This may be the worst egg visit of all time." Decorum drops that last comment under his breath, and he files his teeth across his lower lip for a few seconds while Wyaeth slowly, full of threat and warning, backs away from the eggs to give the candidates access to the very nearest ones. "I'd say thank you for the visit, but your timing leaves much to be desired."
Shaela pages to N'thei and Zahava: I'm sorry to have to say it, but I've got to head out...sharing my computer and I've had it for quite awhile. I'm being bumped off. Thank you for having this Event, tho. Much appreciated.
On the sands, Zahava divides her attention now between Wyaeth and Ciath, and then, without looking back at them, beckons the five candidates towards the three fully-uncovered eggs. "This will be brief," she says, still without looking at them. "Just a few light strokes, and then we'll take our leave - so pick just one of them. There won't be time to go to all three."
Amerie arches a fine brow for Satiet's rejoinder, looking obviously impressed and turning that expression towards N'thei. Hm, nice one. Her lips twisting into a faint smirk, her attention flicks back to Zahava and Ciath - obviously uncertain about the gold's current mood. "That appears to be her, yes." Attention constantly shifting, eyes wide on Wyaeth, she has the look of a tourist about her. Hold-bred. Even so, she has the presence to note archly, "Not entirely polite to /say/ that, whatever the timing."
On the sands, Shaela steps forward gingerly with the others, kneels carefully and reaches forward to gently lay one hand on an egg. "Hmmm. Feels a little like I'd imagine Sferrox's hide would after Wyaeth got ahold of him." Other than that snide remark, she's quiet, listening for any instructions from the Weyrwoman. Or sneaky-soft dragon footfalls coming across the sands.
"First time seeing a clutch, Crom?" The designation of Amerie's home hold carries faint derision that is contrary to the feigned blankness of the goldrider's face. "Ah, our timing may blow," Satiet begins, the crooked smirk heavily audible in her voice for her choice of words, "But we bring gifts." From the inside pockets of her jacket, the goldrider withdraws a beaten flask and hands it over. "Not that I doubt Fort's hospitality and -warmth- outstrips ours." The slight frame bends, dropping forward onto her elbows to rest against the railing and try to suss out eggs. "Somehow, it amuses me one of Nabrimeth's progeny has difficulty, ah, performing. There are three eggs." Visible.
On the sands, Ciath only cranes her head to keep an eye on all five candidates as they approach her eggs, making no overt moves towards them. After several minutes, Zahava casts a glance at Wyaeth, and then looks back to Ciath, relaxing slightly. A moment more, and she seems to decide she's pressed the broody young gold enough, turning around to the candidates. "Everyone had a chance to touch them?" she asks, waiting only a beat for nods. "Now we'll walk slowly off the sands. Next time, I am sure, she'll be more prepared. Thank you for your patience in being the first group - and thank you for conducting yourselves in such a way as to not distress her further. No doubt that will help next time."
N'thei, bland, "Not brief enough." Wyaeth postures next to the three visible eggs, wings continually flickered, fast-whirling eyes, all show since he's not doing anything to stop the candidates now. Having left the bronze to his own devices, N'thei reaches for the flask without hesitation, with a brow-quirked comment to Amerie. "So it would have been better if we were all thinking it and none of us said it? Noted. --If you'll give me that flask, miss." /Miss./ "I'll come up with a clever response about Wyaeth's prowess." He'd just rather have his prize first.
On the sands, Shaela rises along with the others, adding her soft 'thank you' along with the chorus of others. It seems that none of them need coaxing or a second request that they leave the Sands. Indeed walking out slowly, rather than running out is fairly challenging for some of them. As she heads back across the Sands, Shaela peeks back. Whew! She stops briefly to collect her coat at the entrance, but keeps going rather than stop to put it on inside.
"Sadly, it is, ma'am. Unfortunate that it's not terribly - visible." Amerie's pause is calculated, no stranger to this sort of thing, apparently. Even so, her neutrality is almost lost to widened eyes. With a flick of a glance up to the stands above, she manages to school her expression, turning back to tell N'thei, "If I always said what I was thinking, we wouldn't get along as well as we currently do." Eyeing the flask, innocently, "Oh, does it help?"
On the sands, Shaela walks out of the Hatching Grounds, to the Bowl.
She doesn't like that designation, her displeasure thinning her lips and cooling her pale, ice eyes. A pause just as deliberate and measured as Amerie's results in Satiet recalling the flask and extending it to the woman from the contentious hold, "Do you drink at Crom?" Glossy, raven curls toss, another passing appraisal of the sands finding them at candidates zero, Zahava one and it's on the Fortian queenrider that her steady scrutiny lands. What she says lowly to those by her, "Fussy," is punctuated with a cordial half-smile and drop of her chin for the woman left on the sands.
On the sands, Once the last candidates are off the sands, Ciath moves slowly forward to make a thorough inspection of her manhandled progeny, nudging in a little more sand around their bases. Zahava escorts the candidates off the sand, then returns, moving towards Ciath to stroke her nose. Finally, she turns to trudge across the sand towards the galleries. in an attempt to settle her further.
With a smile fit for being on the receiving end of a zinger, N'thei tracks the flask with merry eyes, his grin interrupted with a bite at his lower lip. Since he's been denied, and since he can't go on mooning at Satiet all night, he looks down to the sands while the candidates are being escorted away, tries to catch Zahava's attention long enough for a helpless shrug. His voice carries across the emptied sands; "Could have gone worse?" Wyaeth flourishes a tumbleweed-wing to the unharmed eggs-- all's well!
Amerie fairly beams at Satiet, the tall, dark girl's smile wide and brilliant as she holds out a slender hand to accept what's now a gift for her. Score. "Most do, ma'am. I'm as happy to drink at the Reaches now, however." She's got another killer smile for N'thei, even as he turns away to call over to the Fortian goldrider. At the slight woman's aside, she nods a touch. "It seems so."
On the sands, Zahava finally turns and heads towards the galleries, just in time to catch N'thei's shrug and remark. She gives a little grimace in return, and hurries her pace towards the steps as she finally takes note of the audience they've had.
Drink the kool-aid, Amerie, drink the kool-aid. "The brandy tithed from High Reaches Hold is particularly palatable. The rotgut from Tillek even better." Satiet has no words of reassurances for the woman who's approaching them, no stories to share of her own first time. Instead, the half-smile remains just a half-beat before slipping off in favor of cool neutrality. "I'd hoped to see what kind of eggs Wyaeth would have produced." Seeing as there's no eggs, a little gesture encompasses the sand-covered lumps and barely visible three eggs. "We'll leave you with your," a beat, to study Zahava a moment, and then decides not to conclude her statement. Her mouth shapes in a sly, tiny grin that flashes sidelong to the bronzerider, "Unless Amerie would like to stay to keep you company."
On the sands, Zahava leaves the sands, walking up the stairs to the galleries.
"So you came all the way here." N'thei slows down the pace of his words to make it likely that Zahava will have climbed the stairs and come in range of conversational voices again by the time he picks up again. "To not see any eggs, to not have a drink with me, and to not actually meet the rider of Wyaeth's mate. Glad you came." Amerie? Who? Chopped-liver? He finds her radiant smile and answers it with a distracted one-- Satiet's here! She is! "Would you like to stay, Amerie?" His batted lashes expect a big-fat-no.
Amerie offers Satiet a grateful nod for her advice, tucking her haul away in the coat she's undone in the heat on the cavern. Giving N'thei an amazed look as he talks to Satiet - like, have some dignity, man - she arches a brow, noting, "If there were eggs to see..." But there aren't so she simply trails off, then blinks and gives a cough at the goldrider's suggestion. With a smirk for batted lashes, "I have my duties to attend to." Early morning. You understand.
Zahava does indeed pick up N'thei's words as she climbs the stairs, a warm and welcoming smile already having taken up residence in her face, despite the tiredness that lurks beneath it. She flicks a glance at the bronzerider, then approaches slowly, nonetheless, inclining her head to both Amerie and Satiet. "Welcome to Fort, Weyrwoman, Assistant Headwoman," she says, her throaty voice smooth. "Our duties to Teonath and your Junior Queens. It is good of you both to visit, though I think I heard you are taking your leave?"
Satiet did come with purpose; a purpose that's put on the backburner when Amerie predictably declines keeping N'thei company. The pressed smile, smug, casts her glance down, crinkles her eyes briefly. She shifts, folded arms falling by her side and she finally turns from Amerie to the clutchsire's rider, pale eyes steady. "It's good to see that they're not mistreating you, beating you into submission," she allows, alto lifting deliberately as Zahava's drawn in into their trio. After lingering another second after she says that, the Reaches' queenrider turns to Zahava, her sharp face filled with a charming brand of tease. "I'm afraid my Weyr requires myself and my assistant, but it was a pleasure to meet the woman whose dragon caught our Wyaeth. Our duties to you."
You sense Satiet's gaze isn't the only one that fixes, a faint brush of her fingers hidden in the turn of her shoulder reaching out to catch a fold of N'thei's clothes and then applying pressure faintly. But when she turns to Zahava, the pressure fades.
With a furrow in his forehead, N'thei concedes, "You have a point. We're having some... issues with egg accessibility. Supposedly, there are fifteen of them." He sidelongs a look at Satiet; hear that? Fifteen. There's no dignity to be had, and those big gray eyes answer Amerie's amazement with helplessness. "Thank you both for coming, despite there being nothing to see. I think I'm flattered."
With a regal, polite inclination of her head, Amerie greets Zahava with a respectful, "Ma'am. Congratulations. Thank you." She'll let her weyrwoman make apologies, such as they are - not a little pleased for Satiet's reaction to her expected response. Falling back to let the higher-ups chat, she listens as she arches a brow for N'thei's helpless look, just shaking her head. Sad. "Thank you for the hospitality, however brief."
"Of course," Zahava says with a smile. "Again, thank you. Next time, I hope I can offer a little more hospitality." Out on the sands, Ciath is now busily packing sand around the three eggs she'd been coaxed into revealing today.
"As always," Satiet allows with a deferential incline of her head, "Fort's hospitality is gracious nonetheless." Without drink, food, or company, it must be the Weyr itself the weyrwoman means, or the passing moment of Zahava's companionship. The Fort goldrider is granted another once over, concluding in a pleasant, if thin, smile. "Amerie." Her alto beckons, her feet move. For N'thei's proud fifteen, there's an indulgent smirk but no words as the raven-haired woman exits.
Amerie knows when she's to follow, so with another polite nod for Zahava - and a smirk for N'thei - she drifts after Satiet.
Satiet goes down the stairs to the Bowl.
Satiet has left.
Amerie goes down the stairs to the Bowl.
Amerie has left.
N'thei waits until the two women from the Reaches have left, wordless to Zahava now that they're alone. In case it needed to be spelled out, his eyes stay on Satiet until she's out of sight-- then he turns to the Fortian goldrider with a sudden but brief look, only just remembering she's still there. He inhales, a breath in preparation for words; then he exhales without saying anything, and he walks out.
You walk down the stairs to the Bowl.