Make-up visit for Leova.
RL Date: 3/6/08
IC Date: 7/21/15
Common Room, High Reaches Weyr(#868RIJLs)
This small cavern has the crisp smells of a recent cleaning, mingled with its more usual smells of klah, woodsmoke, and people. Baskets of glows are scattered about the room, lighting up dark corners and generally providing a cozy atmosphere. Several chairs sit at a large, round table, and more chairs are against the walls, waiting for use. A large, soft fur is spread out in front of a small stone hearth which keeps the cavern warm for its occupants.
Near to where Milani sits is Leova, also sitting, rusty head bent over a white piece of cloth. A nearly square piece of cloth, in fact, just enough off kilter to make it less easy to fold into something interesting than it would otherwise be. As it is, it resembles nothing more than a headless duck.
Since N'thei last saw her, Milani has apparently been productive. Or at least had that swim. Her hair's damp and she's got a stack of ledgers a mile high that she's steadily working through with much clicking and clacking of abacus beads.
Niena meanders up the stairs from the caverns below.
Niena has arrived.
N'thei may not have been productive, always debatable, but he's cleaned up since his interlude with Milani, smells a lot less like gross than he did when he gave Leova the handkerchiefs too. "Millie, have you seen-- what are you doing?" The question comes out right when he gets an eyeful of Leova's duck (c m wangs), cuts off whatever he would have asked the ledger-girl.
Leova's shoulders twitch. Surely he was talking to Milani! She pulls one of the wings. It doesn't come off, which for the handkerchief's sake is all to the good, but instead flaps a time or two.
Milani's head swivels as N'thei addresses her and misconstrues his question likewise, as meant for her. "Uhhh .... balancing ledgers?" she hazards giving N'thei an 'are you nuts now too?' look. "You said 'stay busy'. I'm staying busy. And what can I help you find?"
Niena slips in, notes the Weyrleader and the assistant Headwoman, then finds the subject of her search, Leova. Hurrying over to the other candidate, she asks "Have you heard yet whether our items were acceptable?"
N'thei waves his palm at Milani, so quick to answer; "Not you-you, her-you." He crosses the room with long, easy strides so he can stand before Leova's flapping handkerchief. A hand reaches like he would touch it, stalls like he can't bring himself to do so, then limps back to his side while he looks bemused. Niena's interruption stops him from asking, but oh how it's written on his face: Why?
Leova will look up for Niena, and make a smile just for her, too. Even if it's a short-lived smile. "No. Haven't heard." To N'thei's hand, "You can have it if you want." But it will still look like that.
Milani just makes big eyes at N'thei of the 'well /fine/' variety and goes back to tallying, fingers flying across the abacus. "Hey there Niena, so far as I know ... so far so good?" she hazards and flips over a page.
N'thei runs his fingers across his forehead, rubs and rubs his temple but it's just not working. With his ring finger still stroking across his eyebrow, he strives for a patient tone. "I came to get you and bring you out to the eggs. I'm beginning to second-guess myself." He brings his hand down again, finger and thumb looped to make a little noose for the duck's head.
Well, in that case. Whoever said ducks were smart? It pokes its stump that ought to be a head right back into the noose, and Leova looks up. Looks at N'thei, a long look that avoids the angle of his nostrils, that holds a moment before she glances at Milani. "Ready."
There's another long look from Milani for N'thei and she shoots Leova a little encouraging look. "Well isn't that nice, egg touching. It's good to get familiar with the eggs. Very good of you, Weyrleader, sir, to take the Candidates out." Sugar sweet. Flick flick flick.
Niena smiles over to Leova. "Oh good, I'm glad you're getting the chance after all."
N'thei chokes the fabric neck, sadly lacks a satisfying crunch. He tries to shove the handkerchief in his breast pocket, but it's dead-duck shape doesn't want to cooperate, so he ends up stuffing it into his hip-pocket with an irritable snort. "I'm in a mood, Milani. You'd best behave. --Come." The fingers that beckon implicate Niena as well-- heck, even Milani if she's that bored.
Niena is oblivious once again, not catching N'thei's beckon. Instead she turns around and heads off for the lower caverns.
Niena strolls out to the hallway and caverns below.
Niena has left.
Leova's eyes smile back at Milani, though her mouth only admits to a, "Thank you," kind Weyrleader, "sir," as she stands. Niena? No Niena!
Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr(#510RIJQas$)
Tiers of stone carved benches rise uniformly above the hatching sands, set against both the southern and western walls of the enormous hatching grounds. The warmth radiating from the sands make the cool stone benches a welcome change, especially for sand baked feet. One section of the galleries has been roped off for special spectators, and the seats within have cushions done in the dark blue and black of the Weyr. To the east, the cavern narrows and short flights of steps lead down to the cavern entrance or to the sands themselves. From the galleries, the many dragon ledges are visible, scattered all along the hatching cavern walls.
Down on the sands, a generous clutch of eggs is guarded by the broody queen, lovingly turning them as they harden. Curious visitors and weyrfolk finished with the day's tasks come here to view the eggs, and make their own guesses to what lies within them. Firelizards perch on the benches, watching for any excitement on the sands.
Not the cheeriest ten-minute-march across the bowl. N'thei spends the time getting his handkerchief back to handkerchief-shape and walking as fast as 6'4" will let him, lucky Leova. On the fringe of the sands, he stops dead, warn-less.
Leova had some scampering to do, then. Though not yet scarpering. And she gets a stride and a half past him before she too stops, and turns, brows up: well?
Milani meanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.
Milani has arrived.
Milani abandons her work, stacking things up neatly and moving into Hayda's office to stow it, then loosely clasps her hands behind her back and follows along. "Sure. Why not. And 'a mood'. Got it, sir. Behaving, sir." She's a model of good behavior the whole way over to the hatching grounds.
N'thei watches Leova go right by him, a brow climbing upward while his eyes skip across the sands to where Teonath's brooding. He answers the candidate's questioning look with a nod to the pale queen; "You're the brave one, aren't you. --Since you were late, you missed all the rules, but you seem like a bright girl. Why don't you take a guess at them." He folds his arms stoutly and glances across to Milani with a pained twinge. Cold-comfort for Leova: He's not enjoying this in the slightest.
Leova automatically looks at Teonath, too, she of the shadowed eyes and sunlit wings. "Don't break anything," she states. "Don't make anyone think you're going to break anything."
Milani leans against the railing that overlooks the grounds, observing the proceedings, ankle crossed over ankle from behind. "That sounds like a pretty good summary to be," she opines with a grin down at the Tillekian girl. Her gaze travels out beyond the Weyrleader and the Candidate to the lumpen shapes of the eggs themselves.
Dry; "I stand corrected." N'thei smiles blandly down at Leova, his teeth scraped across his lip in preparation for a spiel. "Don't run or act stupid or be loud or get on my nerves or on Teonath's nerves. And try not to ask any stupid questions. Go." He indicates the nearest eggs with a disinterested open palm. "You're old enough to be a candidate, Milani. Too smart for it?"
Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
The sands are stiflingly hot beneath your feet, nearly burning through your footwear and keeping even this large high cavern quite warm. A mound of sand has been gathered up in the center of the cavern, and this is where the queen has laid her eggs and watches lovingly over them as they harden. The sands have been neatly arranged around the many mottled eggs, though the queen is never quite satisfied and frequently turns and repositions each egg.
Bordering the sands to the south and west are the tiered benches of the galleries. Ledges for spectating dragons jut out from the cavern walls in every direction high above. A dark passageway leads off the sand towards the senior queen's weyr.
Leova comes down a short flight of steps from the galleries.
Leova has arrived.
Leova starts to look increasingly doubtful when he gets to the part about his nerves. "Sir," she says anyway and steps onto the sands, keeping an ear out for Milani. Eggs, though. Sizeable eggs. That hay-looking egg from before: of course it would have to get her attention first, even if she has to step past starry-looking eggs on her way and not touch them. Just the filaments, the strands, tawny and green and wheat. Those she touches. Smooth, smoother than they look.
In the galleries, Melata wanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.
In the galleries, "I don't know about smart N'thei, but it's not really what I /want/, yeah? Even though with two parents riders n' at least one brother a rider, I guess it's in the blood," she notes with an easy shrug. "I think I'm more useful helping out in the caverns. What would a girl who can figure do on a dragon?"
In the galleries, Melata wanders in from the outside, although it obviously isn't to escape the blistering heat outside, that in here just as bad as that in the bowl. She steps to one of the gallery rails and leans over it to look at the eggs upon the sands.
N'thei stays back near the ledges, back where he can still chit-chat with Milani, back where he doesn't have to do more than keep an eye on Leova. "The implication being that riders aren't useful for anything but targets? Not that I disagree." He pulls his forefinger down the side of his neck toward his collar, traces of a score-scar; he could keep his voice down so Leovan wouldn't have to hear, but he doesn't.
Leova's the single small figure amid those eggs. Currently she's crouching and brushing some of the sand away from where it begins to swallow the green and tawny egg, making a little hollow that more grains peter into before equilibrium is reached. It's just more eggshell though. Just. Leova, stablehand from Tillek, touching a dragon egg. A real one. Targets? She fills the hollow back up, very carefully.
In the galleries, "No, the implication being that'd I'd suck as a dragonrider," Milani answers with a little eye-roll. "I'm good at ledgers, let's not re-invent the wheel," the young woman replies with a grin down at the bronzerider that fades slowly at the signs of the score. "Hazard of the job yeah?" she says casually. "My parents both have a few."
In the galleries, Melata finishes her perusal, leans away from the railing, then makes her way along the gallery towards Milani. "Afternoon."
"So far, I haven't met any riders that could do anything else useful." N'thei muses this with a helpless shrug, the end of it just a little quieter now that Melata's on the scene. "I'm not sure yet if I believe in any of this. Go touch the eggs so you won't get mauled?" His chin squares toward Leova, derision in his tone, to be followed by a wave lifted toward the bluerider in the gallery.
Leova places both palms on the egg before she leaves it, breathing in, slowly, breathing out. It's not yet harvest time back at Tillek, but here's this. When she does leave it, it's reluctantly but without looking back. On to the stars. Along the way she bypasses a tiny spiraled egg, which she glances at but doesn't touch: too fragile, not for her. There's a whiter egg that looks stronger, ivory and platinum and silver nestled within blue: that she lets her palm slide along, slowly, looking up. Teonath, she checks on her. And then Milani, and now Melata, and she gives them a little smile before N'thei makes it all go away. "Working on it."
In the galleries, "You've met my mother," Milani counters N'thei's assertion. "Unless you don't think making cloth and clothing is a useful profession?" Her posture shifts, the angle of her lean increasing. "So you know what it's like out there, so you won't be afraid I guess, or as afraid." Another shrug from Millie. For Leova she has a friendly little wave and a smile of encouragement.
In the galleries, Melata returns the gesture from N'thei. A glance takes in the presence of the Candidate out among the eggs. "Egg touching already?" she asks with a tone of disbelief. "It seems like they were only laid yesterday!" She shakes her head.
N'thei gives Milani a look, one that argues while he doesn't. Can't argue with someone about their mom. "But this isn't what it's like out there." His finger sketches the air in outline of Leova flitting among the eggs; "This is a very quiet-and-calm version, like saying water is good training for whiskey. --Little farther back than yesterday. Second time I've had them out here, actually."
Face downturned, Leova pats the shining egg as though in apology: only soft words for you, hm? When she does move on it's past the smoky eggs, the lump of gray, the lump of brown, anything with red. Another egg is like the night sky inverted, specks of blue and amber against silver instead of a sky caught between sunset and stars. She looks at that, her face beginning to redden from the heat, and she moves on to the big inky one with all its flecks of white and silver and tests its shell, too. How leathery, how smooth or bumpy. Back at Tillek, Little Foot is past three months old, her hide softer but not warmer than this. "How loud does it get?" she finally asks them all.
In the galleries, "Water? So it's not like wine?" Milani asks with a little grin. "Not useful for learning the territory? Getting used to how big the hatchlings might be since they come out of those eggs?" She cants a look Melata's way and nods. "Heya Melata. Enjoying the heat?"
Helpful; "You'll find out." N'thei shakes his head to still the notion that there might be anything more coming to answer Leova's question, his own eyes now on the nearest egg, narrowed a little. "You've seen dragonets, does seeing the eggs really prepare you for long claws and bad balance? More likely just one of those things people do because they always have."
In the galleries, Melata makes a face at Milani, "I can't decide if it is hotter outside or in here. You'd think the entire Weyr had been between'd to Ista without us knowing." She glances over at Leova. "The gold threaten to eat any of the Candidates, yet? Once had a clutch where no one could get near the eggs - not a Candidate, not a firelizard - until before the eggs hatched. That was an interesting cycle."
Leova lets her fingers drift across that shell as she listens, looking up at them, again and again until it begins to become familiar. Which only means she has to walk to the next one, still avoiding touching any unknowing, circling all around that aquamarine and glacial that looks so cool but, when she touches it too, proves not to be. More familiar by knowing the other ones, for all that it's different. "What would prepare us? Anything?" It's hot like Melata said, all right: beads of sweat have begun to darken her hair where it meets her skin. But the clay egg, the one streaked like her hair before it darkened, she looks at that for a long time before she patters just her fingertips upon it, little touches as though from the watery egg she had brought rain.
In the galleries, "If you've never seen one before, maybe," Milani counters. "Which a lot of Candidates never have. I've seen them all my life, so sure, not a big deal. But for someone from a cothold up back of beyond?" The assistant headwoman shrugs once. "Every little bit helps, I suppose." Mention of 'Ista' makes Milani's jaw tighten subtly. "We can't all retreat to Ista." A little waspishly.
N'thei grins, happily wicked. "Don't mention Ista to Milani. She'll probably burst into tears." He pushes away from the rails, away from the edge of the sands, and beckons toward Leova with a brief but imperious come-here close of his hand. "Honestly, nothing would. Short of seeing another hatching, not an option, you're flying blind with or without these visits to the sands."
In the galleries, Melata wrinkles her brow, "What's this discussion? About if it is good or not to touch the eggs? Personally, I've always thought it is more to get the /gold/ used to the fact that Candidates will be swarming in here when they harden...and to get it through the various Candidates' heads that dragon eggs are not just oversized firelizards."
Leova looks from the sands to the galleries as though she could reimagine it all, people the galleries with crowds upon crowds of visitors, Teonath prowling perhaps or maybe just this still, the people she knows here standing around her. Eggs cracking. But when N'thei's motion brings her attention back, "Don't suppose there's any chance of that happening. Before these do anyway," she says wryly, and wipes the back of her hand across her damp forehead before moving to join him. Not that she takes the straight route. Back past the stars, past the wheaten egg, glancing touches gently across them, only then back to N'thei. It could, after all, be the last time.
In the galleries, "Or to him, he might get drunk," Milani gives as good as she gets, snorting down at the Weyrleader. "You'd know better than I would about hatchings, sir. It's highly unlikely I'll ever be on those Sands."
For the first time without derision, N'thei sends a questioning look to Leova with the raise of his eyebrows and the cock of his head; "Worth it then?" Not that he waits for an answer, already pivoted toward the bowl with a curbed laugh at Milani's rejoinder.
Leova could not answer, but she does anyway. "So far," she says, low enough not to carry to the galleries. After all, the dragonets' long claws haven't come out yet. Just the rider's verbal ones. And after that, she follows after him.
IC Date: 7/21/15
Common Room, High Reaches Weyr(#868RIJLs)
This small cavern has the crisp smells of a recent cleaning, mingled with its more usual smells of klah, woodsmoke, and people. Baskets of glows are scattered about the room, lighting up dark corners and generally providing a cozy atmosphere. Several chairs sit at a large, round table, and more chairs are against the walls, waiting for use. A large, soft fur is spread out in front of a small stone hearth which keeps the cavern warm for its occupants.
Near to where Milani sits is Leova, also sitting, rusty head bent over a white piece of cloth. A nearly square piece of cloth, in fact, just enough off kilter to make it less easy to fold into something interesting than it would otherwise be. As it is, it resembles nothing more than a headless duck.
Since N'thei last saw her, Milani has apparently been productive. Or at least had that swim. Her hair's damp and she's got a stack of ledgers a mile high that she's steadily working through with much clicking and clacking of abacus beads.
Niena meanders up the stairs from the caverns below.
Niena has arrived.
N'thei may not have been productive, always debatable, but he's cleaned up since his interlude with Milani, smells a lot less like gross than he did when he gave Leova the handkerchiefs too. "Millie, have you seen-- what are you doing?" The question comes out right when he gets an eyeful of Leova's duck (c m wangs), cuts off whatever he would have asked the ledger-girl.
Leova's shoulders twitch. Surely he was talking to Milani! She pulls one of the wings. It doesn't come off, which for the handkerchief's sake is all to the good, but instead flaps a time or two.
Milani's head swivels as N'thei addresses her and misconstrues his question likewise, as meant for her. "Uhhh .... balancing ledgers?" she hazards giving N'thei an 'are you nuts now too?' look. "You said 'stay busy'. I'm staying busy. And what can I help you find?"
Niena slips in, notes the Weyrleader and the assistant Headwoman, then finds the subject of her search, Leova. Hurrying over to the other candidate, she asks "Have you heard yet whether our items were acceptable?"
N'thei waves his palm at Milani, so quick to answer; "Not you-you, her-you." He crosses the room with long, easy strides so he can stand before Leova's flapping handkerchief. A hand reaches like he would touch it, stalls like he can't bring himself to do so, then limps back to his side while he looks bemused. Niena's interruption stops him from asking, but oh how it's written on his face: Why?
Leova will look up for Niena, and make a smile just for her, too. Even if it's a short-lived smile. "No. Haven't heard." To N'thei's hand, "You can have it if you want." But it will still look like that.
Milani just makes big eyes at N'thei of the 'well /fine/' variety and goes back to tallying, fingers flying across the abacus. "Hey there Niena, so far as I know ... so far so good?" she hazards and flips over a page.
N'thei runs his fingers across his forehead, rubs and rubs his temple but it's just not working. With his ring finger still stroking across his eyebrow, he strives for a patient tone. "I came to get you and bring you out to the eggs. I'm beginning to second-guess myself." He brings his hand down again, finger and thumb looped to make a little noose for the duck's head.
Well, in that case. Whoever said ducks were smart? It pokes its stump that ought to be a head right back into the noose, and Leova looks up. Looks at N'thei, a long look that avoids the angle of his nostrils, that holds a moment before she glances at Milani. "Ready."
There's another long look from Milani for N'thei and she shoots Leova a little encouraging look. "Well isn't that nice, egg touching. It's good to get familiar with the eggs. Very good of you, Weyrleader, sir, to take the Candidates out." Sugar sweet. Flick flick flick.
Niena smiles over to Leova. "Oh good, I'm glad you're getting the chance after all."
N'thei chokes the fabric neck, sadly lacks a satisfying crunch. He tries to shove the handkerchief in his breast pocket, but it's dead-duck shape doesn't want to cooperate, so he ends up stuffing it into his hip-pocket with an irritable snort. "I'm in a mood, Milani. You'd best behave. --Come." The fingers that beckon implicate Niena as well-- heck, even Milani if she's that bored.
Niena is oblivious once again, not catching N'thei's beckon. Instead she turns around and heads off for the lower caverns.
Niena strolls out to the hallway and caverns below.
Niena has left.
Leova's eyes smile back at Milani, though her mouth only admits to a, "Thank you," kind Weyrleader, "sir," as she stands. Niena? No Niena!
Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr(#510RIJQas$)
Tiers of stone carved benches rise uniformly above the hatching sands, set against both the southern and western walls of the enormous hatching grounds. The warmth radiating from the sands make the cool stone benches a welcome change, especially for sand baked feet. One section of the galleries has been roped off for special spectators, and the seats within have cushions done in the dark blue and black of the Weyr. To the east, the cavern narrows and short flights of steps lead down to the cavern entrance or to the sands themselves. From the galleries, the many dragon ledges are visible, scattered all along the hatching cavern walls.
Down on the sands, a generous clutch of eggs is guarded by the broody queen, lovingly turning them as they harden. Curious visitors and weyrfolk finished with the day's tasks come here to view the eggs, and make their own guesses to what lies within them. Firelizards perch on the benches, watching for any excitement on the sands.
Not the cheeriest ten-minute-march across the bowl. N'thei spends the time getting his handkerchief back to handkerchief-shape and walking as fast as 6'4" will let him, lucky Leova. On the fringe of the sands, he stops dead, warn-less.
Leova had some scampering to do, then. Though not yet scarpering. And she gets a stride and a half past him before she too stops, and turns, brows up: well?
Milani meanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.
Milani has arrived.
Milani abandons her work, stacking things up neatly and moving into Hayda's office to stow it, then loosely clasps her hands behind her back and follows along. "Sure. Why not. And 'a mood'. Got it, sir. Behaving, sir." She's a model of good behavior the whole way over to the hatching grounds.
N'thei watches Leova go right by him, a brow climbing upward while his eyes skip across the sands to where Teonath's brooding. He answers the candidate's questioning look with a nod to the pale queen; "You're the brave one, aren't you. --Since you were late, you missed all the rules, but you seem like a bright girl. Why don't you take a guess at them." He folds his arms stoutly and glances across to Milani with a pained twinge. Cold-comfort for Leova: He's not enjoying this in the slightest.
Leova automatically looks at Teonath, too, she of the shadowed eyes and sunlit wings. "Don't break anything," she states. "Don't make anyone think you're going to break anything."
Milani leans against the railing that overlooks the grounds, observing the proceedings, ankle crossed over ankle from behind. "That sounds like a pretty good summary to be," she opines with a grin down at the Tillekian girl. Her gaze travels out beyond the Weyrleader and the Candidate to the lumpen shapes of the eggs themselves.
Dry; "I stand corrected." N'thei smiles blandly down at Leova, his teeth scraped across his lip in preparation for a spiel. "Don't run or act stupid or be loud or get on my nerves or on Teonath's nerves. And try not to ask any stupid questions. Go." He indicates the nearest eggs with a disinterested open palm. "You're old enough to be a candidate, Milani. Too smart for it?"
Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
The sands are stiflingly hot beneath your feet, nearly burning through your footwear and keeping even this large high cavern quite warm. A mound of sand has been gathered up in the center of the cavern, and this is where the queen has laid her eggs and watches lovingly over them as they harden. The sands have been neatly arranged around the many mottled eggs, though the queen is never quite satisfied and frequently turns and repositions each egg.
Bordering the sands to the south and west are the tiered benches of the galleries. Ledges for spectating dragons jut out from the cavern walls in every direction high above. A dark passageway leads off the sand towards the senior queen's weyr.
Leova comes down a short flight of steps from the galleries.
Leova has arrived.
Leova starts to look increasingly doubtful when he gets to the part about his nerves. "Sir," she says anyway and steps onto the sands, keeping an ear out for Milani. Eggs, though. Sizeable eggs. That hay-looking egg from before: of course it would have to get her attention first, even if she has to step past starry-looking eggs on her way and not touch them. Just the filaments, the strands, tawny and green and wheat. Those she touches. Smooth, smoother than they look.
In the galleries, Melata wanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.
In the galleries, "I don't know about smart N'thei, but it's not really what I /want/, yeah? Even though with two parents riders n' at least one brother a rider, I guess it's in the blood," she notes with an easy shrug. "I think I'm more useful helping out in the caverns. What would a girl who can figure do on a dragon?"
In the galleries, Melata wanders in from the outside, although it obviously isn't to escape the blistering heat outside, that in here just as bad as that in the bowl. She steps to one of the gallery rails and leans over it to look at the eggs upon the sands.
N'thei stays back near the ledges, back where he can still chit-chat with Milani, back where he doesn't have to do more than keep an eye on Leova. "The implication being that riders aren't useful for anything but targets? Not that I disagree." He pulls his forefinger down the side of his neck toward his collar, traces of a score-scar; he could keep his voice down so Leovan wouldn't have to hear, but he doesn't.
Leova's the single small figure amid those eggs. Currently she's crouching and brushing some of the sand away from where it begins to swallow the green and tawny egg, making a little hollow that more grains peter into before equilibrium is reached. It's just more eggshell though. Just. Leova, stablehand from Tillek, touching a dragon egg. A real one. Targets? She fills the hollow back up, very carefully.
In the galleries, "No, the implication being that'd I'd suck as a dragonrider," Milani answers with a little eye-roll. "I'm good at ledgers, let's not re-invent the wheel," the young woman replies with a grin down at the bronzerider that fades slowly at the signs of the score. "Hazard of the job yeah?" she says casually. "My parents both have a few."
In the galleries, Melata finishes her perusal, leans away from the railing, then makes her way along the gallery towards Milani. "Afternoon."
"So far, I haven't met any riders that could do anything else useful." N'thei muses this with a helpless shrug, the end of it just a little quieter now that Melata's on the scene. "I'm not sure yet if I believe in any of this. Go touch the eggs so you won't get mauled?" His chin squares toward Leova, derision in his tone, to be followed by a wave lifted toward the bluerider in the gallery.
Leova places both palms on the egg before she leaves it, breathing in, slowly, breathing out. It's not yet harvest time back at Tillek, but here's this. When she does leave it, it's reluctantly but without looking back. On to the stars. Along the way she bypasses a tiny spiraled egg, which she glances at but doesn't touch: too fragile, not for her. There's a whiter egg that looks stronger, ivory and platinum and silver nestled within blue: that she lets her palm slide along, slowly, looking up. Teonath, she checks on her. And then Milani, and now Melata, and she gives them a little smile before N'thei makes it all go away. "Working on it."
In the galleries, "You've met my mother," Milani counters N'thei's assertion. "Unless you don't think making cloth and clothing is a useful profession?" Her posture shifts, the angle of her lean increasing. "So you know what it's like out there, so you won't be afraid I guess, or as afraid." Another shrug from Millie. For Leova she has a friendly little wave and a smile of encouragement.
In the galleries, Melata returns the gesture from N'thei. A glance takes in the presence of the Candidate out among the eggs. "Egg touching already?" she asks with a tone of disbelief. "It seems like they were only laid yesterday!" She shakes her head.
N'thei gives Milani a look, one that argues while he doesn't. Can't argue with someone about their mom. "But this isn't what it's like out there." His finger sketches the air in outline of Leova flitting among the eggs; "This is a very quiet-and-calm version, like saying water is good training for whiskey. --Little farther back than yesterday. Second time I've had them out here, actually."
Face downturned, Leova pats the shining egg as though in apology: only soft words for you, hm? When she does move on it's past the smoky eggs, the lump of gray, the lump of brown, anything with red. Another egg is like the night sky inverted, specks of blue and amber against silver instead of a sky caught between sunset and stars. She looks at that, her face beginning to redden from the heat, and she moves on to the big inky one with all its flecks of white and silver and tests its shell, too. How leathery, how smooth or bumpy. Back at Tillek, Little Foot is past three months old, her hide softer but not warmer than this. "How loud does it get?" she finally asks them all.
In the galleries, "Water? So it's not like wine?" Milani asks with a little grin. "Not useful for learning the territory? Getting used to how big the hatchlings might be since they come out of those eggs?" She cants a look Melata's way and nods. "Heya Melata. Enjoying the heat?"
Helpful; "You'll find out." N'thei shakes his head to still the notion that there might be anything more coming to answer Leova's question, his own eyes now on the nearest egg, narrowed a little. "You've seen dragonets, does seeing the eggs really prepare you for long claws and bad balance? More likely just one of those things people do because they always have."
In the galleries, Melata makes a face at Milani, "I can't decide if it is hotter outside or in here. You'd think the entire Weyr had been between'd to Ista without us knowing." She glances over at Leova. "The gold threaten to eat any of the Candidates, yet? Once had a clutch where no one could get near the eggs - not a Candidate, not a firelizard - until before the eggs hatched. That was an interesting cycle."
Leova lets her fingers drift across that shell as she listens, looking up at them, again and again until it begins to become familiar. Which only means she has to walk to the next one, still avoiding touching any unknowing, circling all around that aquamarine and glacial that looks so cool but, when she touches it too, proves not to be. More familiar by knowing the other ones, for all that it's different. "What would prepare us? Anything?" It's hot like Melata said, all right: beads of sweat have begun to darken her hair where it meets her skin. But the clay egg, the one streaked like her hair before it darkened, she looks at that for a long time before she patters just her fingertips upon it, little touches as though from the watery egg she had brought rain.
In the galleries, "If you've never seen one before, maybe," Milani counters. "Which a lot of Candidates never have. I've seen them all my life, so sure, not a big deal. But for someone from a cothold up back of beyond?" The assistant headwoman shrugs once. "Every little bit helps, I suppose." Mention of 'Ista' makes Milani's jaw tighten subtly. "We can't all retreat to Ista." A little waspishly.
N'thei grins, happily wicked. "Don't mention Ista to Milani. She'll probably burst into tears." He pushes away from the rails, away from the edge of the sands, and beckons toward Leova with a brief but imperious come-here close of his hand. "Honestly, nothing would. Short of seeing another hatching, not an option, you're flying blind with or without these visits to the sands."
In the galleries, Melata wrinkles her brow, "What's this discussion? About if it is good or not to touch the eggs? Personally, I've always thought it is more to get the /gold/ used to the fact that Candidates will be swarming in here when they harden...and to get it through the various Candidates' heads that dragon eggs are not just oversized firelizards."
Leova looks from the sands to the galleries as though she could reimagine it all, people the galleries with crowds upon crowds of visitors, Teonath prowling perhaps or maybe just this still, the people she knows here standing around her. Eggs cracking. But when N'thei's motion brings her attention back, "Don't suppose there's any chance of that happening. Before these do anyway," she says wryly, and wipes the back of her hand across her damp forehead before moving to join him. Not that she takes the straight route. Back past the stars, past the wheaten egg, glancing touches gently across them, only then back to N'thei. It could, after all, be the last time.
In the galleries, "Or to him, he might get drunk," Milani gives as good as she gets, snorting down at the Weyrleader. "You'd know better than I would about hatchings, sir. It's highly unlikely I'll ever be on those Sands."
For the first time without derision, N'thei sends a questioning look to Leova with the raise of his eyebrows and the cock of his head; "Worth it then?" Not that he waits for an answer, already pivoted toward the bowl with a curbed laugh at Milani's rejoinder.
Leova could not answer, but she does anyway. "So far," she says, low enough not to carry to the galleries. After all, the dragonets' long claws haven't come out yet. Just the rider's verbal ones. And after that, she follows after him.