During the Istan clutching.
RL Date: 3/22/08
IC Date: 9/31/15
Disclaimer: At least one curse word in this; don't click the cut if you're sensitive to profanity. A lot of A'son-N'thei roleplay was done via the mutter command so some of it was formatted weird, but I pulled all of the "A'son senses" prefixes off and clipped the abridged/public poses. XD
Hatching Galleries -- Ista Weyr(#1300RJQqs)
The galleries provide more than adequate seating for guests who have been invited to watch a hatching. There are ten tiers, that arch in a semi-circle from the southwest to west side of the black stone cavern. Stairs lead down to the entrances, which are visible beyond the large gaping opening leading to the Senior Queen's Weyr. You have a view of the Hatching Sands as well as a clear view of the ledges up above you.
Stairs to the southwest lead out of the hatching grounds.
You walk to the hatching galleries.
Fayre reaches over to squeeze Noemie's shoulder, giving her a mockingly serious look. "Makes you a wise ol' elder, m'dear. We should all listen to your wisdom that has come with such an ancient age." With a grin, she lets her arm drop. She twists in her seat to take a look at the Weyrleader, nodding in response to his bet. "Shall I jot down that number for you, Weyrleader? I think Nikoth has more in 'im than that, myself."
"I'd say that one was a bronze." Amaris adds her opinion to those discussing the imperial egg. She begins to shift in her seat, trying to get a better look at the eggs and parents. "Odd shape for an egg." She says with her head bent down and seemingly talking to her dress. Her odd actions are explained a moment after however when a small brown firelizard pokes his head out, gazing up curiously at her. "I'd say twenty three eggs." She says to the crowd this time as the firelizard emerges fully and takes a perch on her lap.
There's a loud, disgruntled noise from Nikoth before A'son responds to Fayre. "Oh yes, you can put that number down. Even if my friend doesn't agree with me." A 'look' is sent in the direction of the bronze dragon. "Though I appreciate everyone's high expectations of him." He grins a little, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the seat.
Xielar eyes Amaris for a moment, asking her, "I thought you didn't like firelizards! Or was it just the invisible variety, Amaris?" He looks from Amaris to the sands and then glances back to Fayre and Noemie, looking at them grumpily. He appears to be less talkative now that age is now involved in the conversation. "It -is- a pretty egg though," Xie finally admits of the last egg clutched.
Fayre smiles politely at A'son before turning back around in her seat and jotting down his bet. "I'm sure he must be quite proud," she says of Nikoth, presumably. Amaris' brown firelizard distracts the young woman from her gambling charts and she grins at the little fellow. "Cute 'lizard there. My green one is perched on the ledges, I think." She scans the dragon ledges for a moment, but shrugs when she can't pick out her firelizard's form among those gathered there. "Would you like me to write you down too, miss? I'm afraid I don't know your name." She shoots a bemused look at Xielar and remarks, "I didn't know the word pretty was even in young boys' vocabularies."
Up on the ledges, one rangy bronze lands with a loud thump, all his weight at once, and an awkward-sounding snort when he pulls some of that weight off his right leg. He doesn't greet the other dragons so much as he acknowledges them with a glance, one that summarizes every last one of 'em as subpar, one that goes unchecked while his rider is too busy trotting down the steps toward the galleries. A few minutes later, N'thei arrives in the gallery-proper.
At her name being called Amaris twists her body in the direction of that familiar voice. Catching sight of Xielar she grins widely. "Pan was from a wild clutch, those aren't the same as the ones here." And the brown flit croons curiously as his name is called, eyes whirling up at his human. "How have you been? It feels like ages since I moved to Igen." At Fayre's compliments to her pet however she turns to her. ""pressed him not too long ago, glad I did too." She adds happily and at the mention of betting she nods her head quickly, her eyes peering at the charts in Fayre's hands. "What's been placed so far? Oh, and I'm Amaris." She adds as an afterthought.
"I know that he's proud. You don't have any idea how proud he is." A'son responds to Fayre, eyes slipping off to look at the bronze in question. He rolls his eyes. His eyes actually stop at a position where they're staring skyward, flicking down onto the sands for a second before he twists around in his seat. Anyone watching his sort of weird behavior would get the distinct impression that he's searching for someone in the stands behind him. Then of course N'thei appears within the gallery, his eyes fixate onto him and he lifts a hand up to catch his attention.
Wyaeth> Nikoth senses that Wyaeth, like old times, << Teonath had bigger eggs, pretty sure. More of 'em too. Likely can't blame Aerianth on that. >>
Xielar blinks a few times at Amaris, asking the younger girl, "You moved to Igen? Didn't I see you like... a month or two ago?" He pauses and then looks to the others before glancing back to the sands, canting his head to the side as he studies the eggs already clutched by the weyrwoman's queen. N'thei doesn't seem to get acknowledged, but considering how many people are seated in the galleries, it's not likely without reason. It's only when A'son lifts a hand in N'thei's direction that the dock worker sees the High Reaches Weyrleader. But again, his attention swivels back to the sands.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Nikoth snorts, far too enveloped in his own moment to care. Well, maybe a little. << You're remembering the final product. Aerianth just got started. These ones are nicer looking than yours, anyway. >>
On the sands,
Black, White, and Read All Over Egg
On the sands, This small egg is a blur of white and black, both fighting for dominance of the shell. The majority of the background seems to be a grimy, impure white, being dirtied even further by the mess of black dotted about, seemingly at random. There seems to be a rough pattern to the shell, scribbles of black in perfectly straight lines, yet in most places the black seems to be smudged together, as if the shell is melting in the heat of the Istan sands. In other spots, there are hints of what might have once been red or other bright colours, but they've long since faded to a sickly yellow.
For those who don't know him, N'thei just looks like someone who burns the candle at both ends too often, despite taking the trouble to shave some time today and wash up and all. The wave works, one Weyrleader spots another, and he's on his way to A'son with the comment, "He has a point though, probably not Aerianth's fault." At that, he offers a handshake to the Reaches-turned-Istan while a blanket glance summarizes those around the man. "Reaches duties." His effort to restrain a laugh is visible.
"Amaris, right," Fayre mumbles softly, hastily writing down the young woman's name and guess. "Pleasure to meet you. How's Igen treatin' ya? The dry heat must be better than the sticky Istan weather we get here, eh? Not that I don't love my Weyr, o' course." Her eyes catch on High Reaches' Weyrleader, but she simply offers the man a polite, curt nod--she doesn't know him beyond his knot, after all. She turns back around in time to see the latest egg make its arrival and she flips back to her chart page to write it down. That poor betting book is getting a lot of use and abuse.
Satiet walks up from the hatching grounds entrance.
Satiet has arrived.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Nikoth with << And? Pretty eggs don't exactly mean much. Know what does? >> A flash of the eighteenth egg from Teonath's clutch. Then the nineteenth. What's more, a glimpse of little Rielsath-- a glimpse of little Siarith. << Good luck. >>
A'son laughs and puts his hand out to N'thei, giving it a shake before he points to the empty spot next to him. Apparently he has an invisible bubble around him as there are a few empty seats in his general vicinity. "I put a bet down of twenty. Though I'm assuming less, intervals being what they are and all. He'd go haywire out there if I said it outloud." His arms slip back into being crossed over his chest, and his eyebrows lift as the eggs continue rolling on out. "Did you sit through the whole thing both times or...?" He asks, glancing to the other bronzerider.
Xielar shifts on the tier he is seated at, lifting a bit to look at the newly clutched egg. "Oooh," he manages to say. "I like that one." Xielar looks to be about to say something else, but a boy roughly the same age as Xie races up the steps to the galleries. "Xielar!" the boy huffs, trying to catch his breath. "You've got to come back to the docks! Yarrick says he won't slap you again with the yellowfin! We need more hands for the crates coming..." And with that the other boy runs back down the stairs. Xielar watches the departure of the other teenager and rolls his eyes. "Dodrion can be -so- dramatic," Xielar tells Fayre and Noemie apologetically before getting up and leaving the galleries. "See you later, Fayre!" And one last comment to Amaris, as well, "And good luck in Igen, Amaris!" And with that, the dock worker's steps fade into nothingness.
Xielar walks to the hatching grounds entrance.
Xielar has left.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Nikoth shuts incoming messages from Wyaeth out, though he does leave him with one disgruntled remark. << Who let you in here? >>
"Pan?" Noemie asks, turning towards Amaris as she hears the name of the firelizard. "That's my sister's firelizard's name-- he's a brown, too! Funny, isn't it? I'm Noemie, green Naijath's. I've been to Igen once or twice... it's a nice place, so different from here." And then her attention's caught by the newest arrival to the sands-- "Brown!" She declares, then debates, "Or blue, maybe? I'll have to think some before I make my real bets. Later, Xielar!"
"I wanted to see another land." Amaris begins to explain her sudden departure. "I've been here all my life, I wanted to get out. So when Fyra's mum was shipping her off to Igen I snuck onto Saynth and went along. When they found me I talked them out of sending me back, I'm being fostered by Fyra's aunt now." While she explains her version of her departure from the weyr her eyes continue to scan the sands. Pan next to her walking up and down the empty bench space near her. "Oh, it's very nice. I got Pan there. The weather is much hotter though, you feel like it's swallowing you up sometimes." She expalins to Fayre, watching with a brief wave as Xielar is called away. "Pan is the best name for a smart flitter." She beams to Noemi. "I'm Amaris and I think Igen is rather different, but in a good way."
"Is this the third or fourth time?" Satiet asks of Griere, the intonation of her inquiry implying a conversation that's spanned longer than a chance meeting in the bowl to the galleries. Dressed in a simple shift dress of a pale, summer blue, the raven-haired woman picks a careful path up the stairs in little kid heels; the vision of a lady out to fashionably lunch. The cool alto continues, subtly teasing, as pale eyes observe the galleries, a slim hand reaching out to catch her balance on the railing, "Eight turns without and she's become marvelously prolific."
dress sun
"Ambitious." N'thei does the two-handed shake for A'son, sure sign of friends; or trying to break his hand. Whichever. He takes a seat to A'son's left, snorting through his laughter at the question; "Why would I? Why would you?" While everyone else may be riveted to the sands, he gives them barely a passing notice, remarkably disinterested for someone who's come all the way from the north to watch this spectacle. "We came to pay our respects. Consider them paid. --I notice the warmth they all feel toward you, how's that treating you?" He looks pointedly at the bubble of around the A'son, now around the both of them.
Wyaeth> Nikoth senses that Wyaeth doesn't have to answer, it's there in his mental presence; he owns all of Pern, is the first citizen of every Weyr and the single greatest visitor someone could hope to acquire at any party. Duh.
"I named my 'lizard Jaida. Haven't met another one named that, but maybe there's another one out there. Quite a little coincidence, though." Fayre nods in agreement with Noemie, making the note 'brown?' in her book beside the description of the latest egg. "Yeah. Kinda looks dull coloured but sturdy, like a brown. Maybe? Not that browns are /dull/. They can just kind of look it. Sometimes." She glances around, wary of any nearby brownriders. She's not being insulting! Really! "Maybe you and I should bet together, Noemie. Since I'm an oldie at it and you're just breakin' into the fun. We seem to agree on most of it so far, neh?" She drums her fingers on her knee, contemplating. "Igen sounds nice. Don't think I'd trade the lush jungles here for a better kind of heat, though."
The fourth," Griere replies, her eyes on the sands more than her steps as she arrives at Satiet's side. "Though, well..." comments on how this particular time is different seem to have already been covered between the two weyrwomen and the Istan doesn't feel the need to point them out again. "I really have no idea what took her so long to start rising--not that I minded personally, but it did cast a shadow. She seems to have gotten over it." Her brows lower and finger rising as she takes a quick count, but then her attention returns to Satiet. "How many times has it been for Teonath now?"
"It's good to expand your horizons," Noemie agrees with Amaris. "Sometimes I get that 'swallowed up' feeling here, with all the humidity. But the dry heat can do it, too." As for the eggs, "I'm sure there have been brightly colored eggs hatching browns, but the duller ones make the most sense, don't they? I think that's a great idea, Fayre. We can go in evenly, and split the winnings at the end? As long as the bulk of them are spent at the Sandbar." She cranes her head slightly to see Fayre's scribbling. "You make it look easy to keep everything straight. I don't think I could."
"People leave me alone for the most part? Which is better than you would expect most of the time." A'son smiles, but it's far closer to a grimace than anything else. "I don't know. I thought maybe that's what you're supposed to do? Plus, I don't know if Griere will give me one of those looks or not if I leave. Things have been relatively calm in that area, so I'm not looking upset them if I don't have to. Even it means sitting out here in this hideous sun all day." That sixth sense, likely dragon-aided sixth sense that has him looking over his shoulder. He catches sight of Griere and Satiet but remains in position for now.
"I don't think I've meet one named Jaida before, but to be honest I wasn't much interested in them till I 'pressed Pan." Amaris says to Fayre, watching as the little flit is now busy with watching those gathered in the galleries. "I'd say blue for that egg." She adds for the black, white and read egg. "I've seen lots of dull eggs that end up being bronzes and greens. I usually think browns come from eggs with brown on them." She observes, watching the sands for the next arrival. "I like traveling, not that I got to do it much. Staying in one place too long is boring." She adds to Noemie, her brown eyes scanning the sands and the gold.
"Three," is the Reachian weyrwoman's response, that's quickly followed by another number, one that's punctuated with a dazzling smile of congratulations backward to her companion, along with a few, choicely disjointed phrases, "Five. So far. For you. That is." The slender fingers of one hand play along the railing as the slight woman continues to make her way to a more prime location to observe. For the matter of how this particular time is different, Satiet's pale gaze tellingly seeks the stands, pausing briefly at A'son before the once-Reachian is dismissed with a light toss of her dark curls. "She rises regularly every four turns. Good afternoon," addresses that cool voice politely to a few faces close by: Fayre, Noemie, Amaris.
On the sands,
Grassy Defense Egg
On the sands, Perhaps a little more rotund and commonly 'egg'-shaped than most, this egg sits straight up in its hollow of sand, at attention it seems in defense against any shenanigans. Its peak tapers up into a definite rounded point, a vaguely triangular apex coated in vibrant red. The base is similarly all one color, but a bright, deep blue; it's really very wide down there, too. Those two halves are split horizontally in the middle by a thick band of black. Above that, below its 'hat', it wears a smudgey patch of greyish white, like a cloud or a beard, and somewhere in the palest hint of flesh-tone are two creased slits that could be eyes squinted up with laughter.
Incredulity; "Supposed to do?" N'thei chokes on his chuckle this time, shakes his head with disappointment at A'son the way one would at a child that hasn't lived up to his potential. "Let me convey a little wisdom here." Lowered voice, the abrupt press of a flask toward A'son's hand conclude everything N'thei's learned in his esteemed tenure. Neither account for the trick of a smile that gets away from him after a short look toward Griere and Satiet.
You whisper "Fuck what you're supposed to do, brother. The only fine thing about being Weyrleader is that she's got no choice but to keep you." to A'son.
Fayre chuckles heartily and flips back to the beginning of her betting book, holding up a few of the very first pages to show Noemie. They're a mess of chaotic scribbles and arrows connecting lines of text to cramped-in letters on other sides of the page, and overall are just plain illegible. "Wasn't all that neat when I first started out. Gave me a headache just trying to read what I wrote. Was a real problem in terms of payin' out and collectin' bets." She snaps the book closed for now and nods enthusiastically. "Shucks, Wingleader. You read my mind. Split the winnings and have a party in the Sandbar! My idea of a dream come true." Back on the topic of firelizards, she remarks to Amaris, "Y'know, it's a wonder all the dragons keep their names straight. Who knows how they each manage to come up with a unique one."
Griere's eyes move as Satiet's do, a cool glance across the stands to see the pair of Weyrleaders; her lips move, a litle press, but that is all. "I had five, too," she confirms. "Oh," as Aerianth settles in again to welcome another member to her clutch's number. "Six." But the counting is left behind. "I haven't found any particular pattern yet, to her rising. It seems to be growing more regular, but with four clutches, I can't say I have much to judge by at this point. The first two were quite close." And for Fayre, Noemie and Amaris, Griere gives a bob of her curly head. "Afternoon."
Noemie looks carefully over at Fayre's book, shaking her head with wonder. "I'm not surprised! Makes sense you'd have to figure out a system. Great minds think alike, it sounds... it's settled, then. Bet, win, party." She grins widely, a smile that's turned towards Griere and Satiet as they pass by. "Good afternoon, Weyrwomen," she greets in reply. Back to Fayre and Amaris, on the topic of names, "I suppose that's one of those things we'll never really understand. And I kind of like it that way, wondering but never fully knowing. Kind of like how they choose who to Search."
Amaris barely catches Satiet's and Griere's greetings, being so absorbed in the newest addition to the clutch. "Green for that one, or maybe blue." She tells Fayre, pointing to the grassy egg. "Hullo." She offers the weyrmwomen, giving a bit of a head nod before turning her attention back to the topic of firelizards and dragons. "It is odd, I mean, how do they /know/? There have been so many hatched and so many more on the way. And they all end in 'th'" She seems to ponder this for a while but she's roused out of her thoughts at the sound of her name being yelled out. "I'd best go, Rupa's probably bored of the clutching and we're not allowed out of her sight while here." And with a grin she waves to Fayre. "Good luck with the book!" And she sets off at a fast run, bumping into a pair of bronzeriders as she exits the cavern.
The word "Six," is repeated, a nodded confirmation attempting to mask the slide in her gaze back to catch a second sight of the Weyrleaders paired together. But only a glimpse, her attention drawn elsewhere quickly. It's near the pair of women and child that Satiet finds a place to perch herself, slender legs crossing neatly at the ankle as she does so. Though there's an expansive area left for Griere, the other woman scoots to one side a little, an invitation for Ista's senior queenrider to sit by her. Not entirely oblivious to other conversation happening around her, the raven hair falls to one side, her head tilting towards Fayre in particular. Inquisitive arcs rise above her bright blue eyes, "You gamble? A bookie?"
"By mother or father?" A'son asks with a lift of his eyebrows, a look that isn't surprise crosses his face when he looks to the pressed flask. He briefly shifts his attention from N'thei to the two women and then out to the sands again. "And yes, supposed to do." Leaning in towards the other he too drops his voice to convey something not meant to be overheard in its entirety.
A'son whispers "Not exactly her fault that I'm here, is it? She doesn't need to be punished by my own poor behavior. Either way, I have to show up that idiot V'lano as often as I can."
Fayre waves a polite goodbye to Amaris. "Hope you get to visit again soon!" She nods at the green-looking egg and makes the obvious guess. "Green for that one, I think. Your dragon should be happy about that one, eh Noemie? Maybe she can help us bet, too." She starts a bit at Satiet's question and she shyly glances down at her betting book. "Er, well, technically. I have a book and I take bets, so I figure that makes me a bookie. But I'm not an evil one, really. I'm quite nice. Ista's duties, by the way." She adds politely, eyes lingering on the Weyrwoman's knot for a moment.
N'thei would sit in a crowded room and expect to carry on a semi-private conversation while looking frequently toward the pair of goldriders like they'll never figure out what's being discussed. What helps is that he and A'son have the pariah-luxury and there's no one particularly nearby to pry into lowered remarks. "/Your/ fault then? Pshh. Punish yourself if that's what floats your boat, but you're wasting your ruddy time if you ask me. That's Nikoth down there, not Volath. I'd say he's already been showed-up."
With a fluid smoothing of her skirt, Griere sets down on the seat beside Satiet, perched lightly on its edge, all the better for when she leans forward to glance down the row and hear Fayre's response. It gets, as expected, a slow lift of the Istan goldrider's brow, a skeptical sort of look. But her oh-so-generous spirit bids her to ask, "Are the bets going well for you?" with a light blink of lashes.
"Goodbye, Amaris!" Noemie calls after the departing figure, then readily agrees with Fayre. "Green, yes, Naijath thinks so, too. She says she's happy to help with the guesses, but honestly, she's been wrong plenty of times before. And there's nothing wrong with making-- or taking-- a few bets," she adds, glance shifting from Fayre to each of the Weyrwomen. "It's tradition, after all. Don't you think?"
Egg-watching is a likely excuse for people-watching, which in turn is a likely interruption of the half-finished meal Satiet seems to randomly recall, an aside shifting her weight on the bench towards Griere, low words, while heard, meant for the Istan goldrider, "When you have the time, could you have your cook write that recipe for mango steamed fish? The way it flakes off is delightful." That said, the raven-haired woman's attention refocuses onto Fayre and her explanation of evil or not, growing amusement curling her lips crooked. "And here I thought the mere reputation of gambling made one evil. Surely. Our duties to your Weyr," the latter spoken to the assistant headwoman and wingleader, with a sidelong glance for the Weyrwoman.
A'son unscrews the top to the flask handed over earlier. He holds it up to N'thei in a silent offer. "Didn't say it was mine either. More like an unusual twist in circumstances. Uncomfortable at that. No, it's not Volath down there. But he's still living in the weyr across from mine and he was far, far more concerned about threatening me the night of the flight then taking care of his woman. You know, the one they all say he's crazy about?"
On the sands,
More Than A Stick Egg
On the sands, Squat and small, this egg is marked at the base by a thick X of brown, and a scraggly stick of similar hue sprouts up from, or is supported by it. Squiggles of chestnut branch off, a handful of uneven brushstrokes with narrow lines of darkest green sprouting in random clumps from their length. A single red orb dangles in the midst of this sparse coloring, and one of purple hangs on the opposite side. A splash of yellow at the apex is a crown lacking in glory. Amidst its siblings, this egg can only hope that one will shatter and sprinkle it with a little glitz and glamour.
Fayre's shoulders slump a bit in relief when Noemie backs her lack-of-evil up. "Well, can't say for certain if they're going well yet, Weyrwoman. Taken a fair number for how many will be laid, though. Most are putting the number up pretty high, considering we're not in a pass and all. Lots of faith in you, Aerianth, and our new Weyrleader pair." That's polite conversation, right? The assistant headwoman firmly shakes her head in response to Satiet. "Oh, no no, I don't think the reputation of gamblin' makes you evil. Do I come off that way? Even Xielar was bettin' earlier, and he's only just turning sixteen soon." A tinge of pink rises in Fayre's cheek and she hastily continues, "Not that I'd take marks from a kid or anythin'. Honestly." She almost misses the next egg in her babblings, but the movement catches her eye and she scribbles down the latest entry.
"Mate, I'd give my thumbs for an unwelcome neighbor to be the worst of my troubles right now." N'thei makes every effort to impress the lack of gravity on his Istan counterpart, to slant his gray eyes dismissively back at A'son's woes. He tosses his fingers at the offered flask just yet, you-first and bottoms-up, tries to care that there's another egg now. Five? Six? Fourteen?
You whisper "I'll 'shake his hand' if you want, this V'lano. Man ought to have more grace than that." to A'son.
"I'd say entrepreneurial, not evil," Noemie says, "Although certainly the two can exist together. Of course, I feel that I can vouch for our good assistant headwoman's character." A quick glance at the newest egg, and she's quick to declare: "Brown!" She sounds quite a bit more confident than before, as if getting the hang of the whole thing. "Not exactly dull, either, is it? Look, there's even a splotch of purple."
"Certainly," Griere returns in the same quiet tone, a side conversation with little bearing on anything else. "I can send some mangoes, too." And for the gambling, Griere can only let out a long-suffering breath with a glance back at Satiet. She does remark, "Surely the betting goes hand in hand with any clutch. Another game of chance to fill the time. I suppose for some people it is more exciting to watch them crack when they have marks riding on what's inside." She shrugs a bare shoulder.
"And the worst of your troubles are? I thought you were just sort of shooting the breeze over there, letting Shanlee handle most of your problems?" A'son asks, not seeming to be impressed by these troubles N'thei may or may not be handling on his own.
A'son whispers "I wouldn't recommand that. He's a bit of a girl, might like it. You know, having a nice handsome man young man shaking his hand."
"Purple," teases Reaches' weyrwoman, though a second later, Satiet corrects herself with a more honest conjecture. "Blue. The egg with a purple splotch, mark me down a half mark for blue." Blue, which purple is still a variant of, sort of. With the promise of recipes and mangoes coming her way -- her Weyr's way -- the slight woman gets to her feet slow, a casual drop of her hand to Griere's shoulder perhaps her version of a hug, "It was good seeing you again. I imagine I'll have to visit far more frequently now that you're Weyr-bound. One or the other. I'll look forward to the day when neither of us are stuck." Departing much as she arrived, her good-byes are even voiced the same, a chip drop and polite words, "Good afternoon," are sent to the broader audience of women.
chip drop - chin drop, betting on my mind~
N'thei barks short laughter, his head tossed back momentarily while a guffaw gets the better of him. "Hah! So I am, so I am. Nothing like a pretty greenrider doing your bidding to ease a man's mind, I admit it. --But no. I go from here to Crom if that tells you anything." Satiet stands and he looks, eyes-on-strings, then shakes his head and commits to lingering that much longer.
You whisper "If he's such a girl, why do you give two shakes if he threatens you? Shells man, you're embarrassing me by association." to A'son.
Fayre shuts her mouth for the moment and dutifully marks down Noemie's guess along with Satiet's. "Well, can't be too evil if you're participating in it, eh miss?" She says in a hopeful, nonchalant tone. "Could be brown, could be blue. Not quite sure myself." She glances at the two Weyrleaders for a moment, eyebrows raising at all that juicy gossip the two must be making. But no! She must focus on her gambling duties. The assistant headwoman lapses into silence for once, focusing on her charts and scribblings.
A'son's eyebrows lift up in surprise. "Right, Crom. I thought I'd heard through the grapevine it was settled? Though, that place being run by who it is, I guess it's not as settled as news would like it to sound? I hope you're going down there to Lord Crom up in his own jail." Evident disdain for that particular man seeps through his voice with no regard to who hears it. Then he laughs, leaning in to say something again in lowered tones.
Griere has a nearly indulgent smile as Satiet makes her bet, indulgent or conspiring, it could be either. Her eyes follow as the other weyrwoman stands, brows lifted expectantly before a more gracious expression crosses her face, the practiced hostess smile whether earnest or not. "It was. Thank you for coming. At least you were bound during your finer weather. This is a rather miserable time of the year to be stuck on the sands here." Idle, pleasant small talk. "I look forward to your next visit," with a polite dip of her own chin and another quirk of a smile before Satiet heads off.
A'son whispers "Doesn't stop him from cutting my riding straps when no one is looking though, does it? He's a snake."
Satiet walks to the hatching grounds entrance.
Satiet has left.
On the sands,
Babies of the 80's Egg
On the sands, This middle-sized egg is a riot of color, bright swirls of neon green, pink, and orange covering its slightly textured surface. At some places on the egg, where the swirls collide, the colors are deeper-- jewel tones, darker greens and purples. Thanks to the texture of the egg, in these places, it seems to catch the light, winking back at those who look at it.
"Could be blue," Noemie considers, giving the 'more than a stick' egg another glance over. "The way I see it," she muses in response to Griere's words, "Life itself's a game of chance, isn't it? Betting's a way to acknowledge it." A fancy point of view for one so new to the game, but there it is. "Farewell, Weyrwoman," is her polite reply to Satiet as she takes her leave. And then the latest egg makes its way onto the sand. "Now /there's/ an egg. I'm not even sure if I have a guess."
That little boy who jittered earlier excitedly, pipes up in his childish voice, "It's gonna be rainbow colored!"
N'thei shakes his head, traipses his thumbnail across his lower lip a second while he contemplates; "No. No, and I wish I was. I'm going in the hopes he won't meet with me." He starts a shrug, twinges the corner of his eye, and settles to raising just the left shoulder on-second-thought. Now, talking of Crom, he does hold his fingers expectantly toward the flask. The lowered words that follow, the tone that accompanies them have the distinct ring of a joke at A'son's expense.
You whisper "If I were you, I'd beat him so sharding senseless that he'd think twice before he so much as glanced my way let alone touched my stuff. But since we're talking about you-- imagine you'll just have to start double-checking your straps, neh?" to A'son.
"I already have." A'son says, holding the flask out to N'thei. "You know that your Weyrwoman has left you behind, hmm?" He gestures with his heads towards the spot Satiet had been occupying. "You're going there and hoping he won't meet with you? Is there any good that would come out of that, something I'm missing?" Switching his attention briefly from the other Weyrleader to the sands he says, "Oh, eight eggs. So we're maybe close to halfway being through. I hope."
Griere looks over the eggs again, this time with a faint wrinkle of her nose. "One does have to wonder if there is some fathomable reason why eggs are the colors they are," she muses blandly to Noemie. "But after all this time, all these bets, you'd think someone would have found a pattern." She sighs quietly and gives her curls a shake, a quick hand brushing the sheen of sweat from her forehead.
On the sands,
Adorned with Devotion Egg
On the sands, Complex flourishes frame the brilliant white crown of this compact, round egg with vine-like swirls of pale silver and gray. Polished to a pure shine, the ornaments might seem to be still wet from clutching, where they resemble a shell at all; in places they seem more like the ornate setting of a jewel. The egg's white portion is the gem itself, layered with light-reflecting facets that shimmer with multi-colored light, dazzling the eye.
N'thei answers the question about Satiet's departure with a look, a bland one, is he really asking? Only after that lands does he put the flask to his lips. After a brandy-exhale; "Tithe's halfway to Telgar. Far as Crom's concerned, I'm coming to appeal to reason and have it turned back to the Reaches." Oh-eight-eggs, he glances sparingly toward the ninth. "Go be a good-little-boy and keep your Weyrwoman company. I'll come back another time and see the tally."
"Plenty of people have claimed to have found one, but if there was a pattern that held, we'd all know it by now," Noemie says, continuing her own idle musing. "But there's quite a bit of fun in blindly guessing. And you can't go just by the color of the shell, or, well--" she notices the newest arrival on the sands just then-- "what could you guess for a white and grey egg?"
"Tithe is halfway to Telgar. Not High Reaches? With another winter approaching? Another game?" A'son's face tightens, and were loyalties at question it would be fair game where his still lay. "Are you going on your own?" He asks, his eyes briefly going to touch on Nikoth as the dragon waits patiently on the sands with Aerianth. "I'm not tied to this weyr with a chain, you know." He casts a quick look in the direction of Griere, perhaps seeing if she's far enough away to not hear.
On the sands,
Ghastly Ghoul's Egg
On the sands, Small clumps of fog coalesces with a murky dark blue around this rather small roundish egg. It could almost go unnoticed tucked into a hollow among the black Istan sands, except for the whitish mist that forms in strange patterns over its surface. A dark shadow creeps along the edges: a malicious inky blackness darker than the sands themselves. To the unfamiliar eye that regards the egg from several direction, it appears that the evil smudge shifts to a new position every time amid the dense clouds.
N'thei puts his flask away almost absently, touches the weight of it in his pocket while he commits a slow nod. This time, when he lowers his voice, there's no merriment about it. "I'm going alone. He's not going to meet with me, I'm counting on it. When he doesn't, I'll have every right to cut that tithe-train off with a dozen dragons and turn them around myself." He offers another handshake to the Istan, a courteous smile over the sudden businesslike shift; "If you're really not tied here, which I doubt." He looks pointedly at Griere. "Come with us. Like old times, hopefully with fewer bars."
"I would guess a dragon," Griere says, watching the eggs instead of the rider beside her. "But I suppose that isn't the point of... guessing." She sniffs, hands on her knees now as her gaze drifts up to the ledges, out across the sands again, across the galleries, to A'son and N'thei making goodbye-type handshakes.
A'son gets to his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. "It's getting cold there now, hm?" One of the shoved hands his removed so that he can shake N'thei's. "I'm sure I spared one of my long sleeved ones in the frenzy to get cooler clothes." There's another slow glance towards Griere before he leans in to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, another whisper before he breaks away and walks towards the Istan Weyrwoman.
A'son whispers "I might be tied, a little. But there's a difference between a tie and a shackle. Let us know when and where. We'll be there. I promised I had your back the last time, I still do now."
Noemie laughs heartily. "Well, yes, you'd hopefully win that particular bet." She rises from where she sits a bit reluctantly, eyes on the sands and that newest, ghostly egg. "It seems I'm being sought after by my family. Good afternoon, ma'am, and my congratulations to Aerianth on such a fine clutch." She passes A'son as she makes her way out, a polite nod of her head to the Weyrleader.
N'thei, grinning; "It's always cold up there, mate. Forgot already?" He nods sparsely in answer to the low words, a look like gratitude, then he's trotting down the steps at a brisk clip to meet Wyaeth out in the bowl. Nary a greeting in sight for Griere, so impolitic.
You walk to the hatching grounds entrance.
IC Date: 9/31/15
Disclaimer: At least one curse word in this; don't click the cut if you're sensitive to profanity. A lot of A'son-N'thei roleplay was done via the mutter command so some of it was formatted weird, but I pulled all of the "A'son senses" prefixes off and clipped the abridged/public poses. XD
Hatching Galleries -- Ista Weyr(#1300RJQqs)
The galleries provide more than adequate seating for guests who have been invited to watch a hatching. There are ten tiers, that arch in a semi-circle from the southwest to west side of the black stone cavern. Stairs lead down to the entrances, which are visible beyond the large gaping opening leading to the Senior Queen's Weyr. You have a view of the Hatching Sands as well as a clear view of the ledges up above you.
Stairs to the southwest lead out of the hatching grounds.
You walk to the hatching galleries.
Fayre reaches over to squeeze Noemie's shoulder, giving her a mockingly serious look. "Makes you a wise ol' elder, m'dear. We should all listen to your wisdom that has come with such an ancient age." With a grin, she lets her arm drop. She twists in her seat to take a look at the Weyrleader, nodding in response to his bet. "Shall I jot down that number for you, Weyrleader? I think Nikoth has more in 'im than that, myself."
"I'd say that one was a bronze." Amaris adds her opinion to those discussing the imperial egg. She begins to shift in her seat, trying to get a better look at the eggs and parents. "Odd shape for an egg." She says with her head bent down and seemingly talking to her dress. Her odd actions are explained a moment after however when a small brown firelizard pokes his head out, gazing up curiously at her. "I'd say twenty three eggs." She says to the crowd this time as the firelizard emerges fully and takes a perch on her lap.
There's a loud, disgruntled noise from Nikoth before A'son responds to Fayre. "Oh yes, you can put that number down. Even if my friend doesn't agree with me." A 'look' is sent in the direction of the bronze dragon. "Though I appreciate everyone's high expectations of him." He grins a little, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the seat.
Xielar eyes Amaris for a moment, asking her, "I thought you didn't like firelizards! Or was it just the invisible variety, Amaris?" He looks from Amaris to the sands and then glances back to Fayre and Noemie, looking at them grumpily. He appears to be less talkative now that age is now involved in the conversation. "It -is- a pretty egg though," Xie finally admits of the last egg clutched.
Fayre smiles politely at A'son before turning back around in her seat and jotting down his bet. "I'm sure he must be quite proud," she says of Nikoth, presumably. Amaris' brown firelizard distracts the young woman from her gambling charts and she grins at the little fellow. "Cute 'lizard there. My green one is perched on the ledges, I think." She scans the dragon ledges for a moment, but shrugs when she can't pick out her firelizard's form among those gathered there. "Would you like me to write you down too, miss? I'm afraid I don't know your name." She shoots a bemused look at Xielar and remarks, "I didn't know the word pretty was even in young boys' vocabularies."
Up on the ledges, one rangy bronze lands with a loud thump, all his weight at once, and an awkward-sounding snort when he pulls some of that weight off his right leg. He doesn't greet the other dragons so much as he acknowledges them with a glance, one that summarizes every last one of 'em as subpar, one that goes unchecked while his rider is too busy trotting down the steps toward the galleries. A few minutes later, N'thei arrives in the gallery-proper.
At her name being called Amaris twists her body in the direction of that familiar voice. Catching sight of Xielar she grins widely. "Pan was from a wild clutch, those aren't the same as the ones here." And the brown flit croons curiously as his name is called, eyes whirling up at his human. "How have you been? It feels like ages since I moved to Igen." At Fayre's compliments to her pet however she turns to her. ""pressed him not too long ago, glad I did too." She adds happily and at the mention of betting she nods her head quickly, her eyes peering at the charts in Fayre's hands. "What's been placed so far? Oh, and I'm Amaris." She adds as an afterthought.
"I know that he's proud. You don't have any idea how proud he is." A'son responds to Fayre, eyes slipping off to look at the bronze in question. He rolls his eyes. His eyes actually stop at a position where they're staring skyward, flicking down onto the sands for a second before he twists around in his seat. Anyone watching his sort of weird behavior would get the distinct impression that he's searching for someone in the stands behind him. Then of course N'thei appears within the gallery, his eyes fixate onto him and he lifts a hand up to catch his attention.
Wyaeth> Nikoth senses that Wyaeth, like old times, << Teonath had bigger eggs, pretty sure. More of 'em too. Likely can't blame Aerianth on that. >>
Xielar blinks a few times at Amaris, asking the younger girl, "You moved to Igen? Didn't I see you like... a month or two ago?" He pauses and then looks to the others before glancing back to the sands, canting his head to the side as he studies the eggs already clutched by the weyrwoman's queen. N'thei doesn't seem to get acknowledged, but considering how many people are seated in the galleries, it's not likely without reason. It's only when A'son lifts a hand in N'thei's direction that the dock worker sees the High Reaches Weyrleader. But again, his attention swivels back to the sands.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Nikoth snorts, far too enveloped in his own moment to care. Well, maybe a little. << You're remembering the final product. Aerianth just got started. These ones are nicer looking than yours, anyway. >>
On the sands,
Black, White, and Read All Over Egg
On the sands, This small egg is a blur of white and black, both fighting for dominance of the shell. The majority of the background seems to be a grimy, impure white, being dirtied even further by the mess of black dotted about, seemingly at random. There seems to be a rough pattern to the shell, scribbles of black in perfectly straight lines, yet in most places the black seems to be smudged together, as if the shell is melting in the heat of the Istan sands. In other spots, there are hints of what might have once been red or other bright colours, but they've long since faded to a sickly yellow.
For those who don't know him, N'thei just looks like someone who burns the candle at both ends too often, despite taking the trouble to shave some time today and wash up and all. The wave works, one Weyrleader spots another, and he's on his way to A'son with the comment, "He has a point though, probably not Aerianth's fault." At that, he offers a handshake to the Reaches-turned-Istan while a blanket glance summarizes those around the man. "Reaches duties." His effort to restrain a laugh is visible.
"Amaris, right," Fayre mumbles softly, hastily writing down the young woman's name and guess. "Pleasure to meet you. How's Igen treatin' ya? The dry heat must be better than the sticky Istan weather we get here, eh? Not that I don't love my Weyr, o' course." Her eyes catch on High Reaches' Weyrleader, but she simply offers the man a polite, curt nod--she doesn't know him beyond his knot, after all. She turns back around in time to see the latest egg make its arrival and she flips back to her chart page to write it down. That poor betting book is getting a lot of use and abuse.
Satiet walks up from the hatching grounds entrance.
Satiet has arrived.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Nikoth with << And? Pretty eggs don't exactly mean much. Know what does? >> A flash of the eighteenth egg from Teonath's clutch. Then the nineteenth. What's more, a glimpse of little Rielsath-- a glimpse of little Siarith. << Good luck. >>
A'son laughs and puts his hand out to N'thei, giving it a shake before he points to the empty spot next to him. Apparently he has an invisible bubble around him as there are a few empty seats in his general vicinity. "I put a bet down of twenty. Though I'm assuming less, intervals being what they are and all. He'd go haywire out there if I said it outloud." His arms slip back into being crossed over his chest, and his eyebrows lift as the eggs continue rolling on out. "Did you sit through the whole thing both times or...?" He asks, glancing to the other bronzerider.
Xielar shifts on the tier he is seated at, lifting a bit to look at the newly clutched egg. "Oooh," he manages to say. "I like that one." Xielar looks to be about to say something else, but a boy roughly the same age as Xie races up the steps to the galleries. "Xielar!" the boy huffs, trying to catch his breath. "You've got to come back to the docks! Yarrick says he won't slap you again with the yellowfin! We need more hands for the crates coming..." And with that the other boy runs back down the stairs. Xielar watches the departure of the other teenager and rolls his eyes. "Dodrion can be -so- dramatic," Xielar tells Fayre and Noemie apologetically before getting up and leaving the galleries. "See you later, Fayre!" And one last comment to Amaris, as well, "And good luck in Igen, Amaris!" And with that, the dock worker's steps fade into nothingness.
Xielar walks to the hatching grounds entrance.
Xielar has left.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Nikoth shuts incoming messages from Wyaeth out, though he does leave him with one disgruntled remark. << Who let you in here? >>
"Pan?" Noemie asks, turning towards Amaris as she hears the name of the firelizard. "That's my sister's firelizard's name-- he's a brown, too! Funny, isn't it? I'm Noemie, green Naijath's. I've been to Igen once or twice... it's a nice place, so different from here." And then her attention's caught by the newest arrival to the sands-- "Brown!" She declares, then debates, "Or blue, maybe? I'll have to think some before I make my real bets. Later, Xielar!"
"I wanted to see another land." Amaris begins to explain her sudden departure. "I've been here all my life, I wanted to get out. So when Fyra's mum was shipping her off to Igen I snuck onto Saynth and went along. When they found me I talked them out of sending me back, I'm being fostered by Fyra's aunt now." While she explains her version of her departure from the weyr her eyes continue to scan the sands. Pan next to her walking up and down the empty bench space near her. "Oh, it's very nice. I got Pan there. The weather is much hotter though, you feel like it's swallowing you up sometimes." She expalins to Fayre, watching with a brief wave as Xielar is called away. "Pan is the best name for a smart flitter." She beams to Noemi. "I'm Amaris and I think Igen is rather different, but in a good way."
"Is this the third or fourth time?" Satiet asks of Griere, the intonation of her inquiry implying a conversation that's spanned longer than a chance meeting in the bowl to the galleries. Dressed in a simple shift dress of a pale, summer blue, the raven-haired woman picks a careful path up the stairs in little kid heels; the vision of a lady out to fashionably lunch. The cool alto continues, subtly teasing, as pale eyes observe the galleries, a slim hand reaching out to catch her balance on the railing, "Eight turns without and she's become marvelously prolific."
dress sun
"Ambitious." N'thei does the two-handed shake for A'son, sure sign of friends; or trying to break his hand. Whichever. He takes a seat to A'son's left, snorting through his laughter at the question; "Why would I? Why would you?" While everyone else may be riveted to the sands, he gives them barely a passing notice, remarkably disinterested for someone who's come all the way from the north to watch this spectacle. "We came to pay our respects. Consider them paid. --I notice the warmth they all feel toward you, how's that treating you?" He looks pointedly at the bubble of around the A'son, now around the both of them.
Wyaeth> Nikoth senses that Wyaeth doesn't have to answer, it's there in his mental presence; he owns all of Pern, is the first citizen of every Weyr and the single greatest visitor someone could hope to acquire at any party. Duh.
"I named my 'lizard Jaida. Haven't met another one named that, but maybe there's another one out there. Quite a little coincidence, though." Fayre nods in agreement with Noemie, making the note 'brown?' in her book beside the description of the latest egg. "Yeah. Kinda looks dull coloured but sturdy, like a brown. Maybe? Not that browns are /dull/. They can just kind of look it. Sometimes." She glances around, wary of any nearby brownriders. She's not being insulting! Really! "Maybe you and I should bet together, Noemie. Since I'm an oldie at it and you're just breakin' into the fun. We seem to agree on most of it so far, neh?" She drums her fingers on her knee, contemplating. "Igen sounds nice. Don't think I'd trade the lush jungles here for a better kind of heat, though."
The fourth," Griere replies, her eyes on the sands more than her steps as she arrives at Satiet's side. "Though, well..." comments on how this particular time is different seem to have already been covered between the two weyrwomen and the Istan doesn't feel the need to point them out again. "I really have no idea what took her so long to start rising--not that I minded personally, but it did cast a shadow. She seems to have gotten over it." Her brows lower and finger rising as she takes a quick count, but then her attention returns to Satiet. "How many times has it been for Teonath now?"
"It's good to expand your horizons," Noemie agrees with Amaris. "Sometimes I get that 'swallowed up' feeling here, with all the humidity. But the dry heat can do it, too." As for the eggs, "I'm sure there have been brightly colored eggs hatching browns, but the duller ones make the most sense, don't they? I think that's a great idea, Fayre. We can go in evenly, and split the winnings at the end? As long as the bulk of them are spent at the Sandbar." She cranes her head slightly to see Fayre's scribbling. "You make it look easy to keep everything straight. I don't think I could."
"People leave me alone for the most part? Which is better than you would expect most of the time." A'son smiles, but it's far closer to a grimace than anything else. "I don't know. I thought maybe that's what you're supposed to do? Plus, I don't know if Griere will give me one of those looks or not if I leave. Things have been relatively calm in that area, so I'm not looking upset them if I don't have to. Even it means sitting out here in this hideous sun all day." That sixth sense, likely dragon-aided sixth sense that has him looking over his shoulder. He catches sight of Griere and Satiet but remains in position for now.
"I don't think I've meet one named Jaida before, but to be honest I wasn't much interested in them till I 'pressed Pan." Amaris says to Fayre, watching as the little flit is now busy with watching those gathered in the galleries. "I'd say blue for that egg." She adds for the black, white and read egg. "I've seen lots of dull eggs that end up being bronzes and greens. I usually think browns come from eggs with brown on them." She observes, watching the sands for the next arrival. "I like traveling, not that I got to do it much. Staying in one place too long is boring." She adds to Noemie, her brown eyes scanning the sands and the gold.
"Three," is the Reachian weyrwoman's response, that's quickly followed by another number, one that's punctuated with a dazzling smile of congratulations backward to her companion, along with a few, choicely disjointed phrases, "Five. So far. For you. That is." The slender fingers of one hand play along the railing as the slight woman continues to make her way to a more prime location to observe. For the matter of how this particular time is different, Satiet's pale gaze tellingly seeks the stands, pausing briefly at A'son before the once-Reachian is dismissed with a light toss of her dark curls. "She rises regularly every four turns. Good afternoon," addresses that cool voice politely to a few faces close by: Fayre, Noemie, Amaris.
On the sands,
Grassy Defense Egg
On the sands, Perhaps a little more rotund and commonly 'egg'-shaped than most, this egg sits straight up in its hollow of sand, at attention it seems in defense against any shenanigans. Its peak tapers up into a definite rounded point, a vaguely triangular apex coated in vibrant red. The base is similarly all one color, but a bright, deep blue; it's really very wide down there, too. Those two halves are split horizontally in the middle by a thick band of black. Above that, below its 'hat', it wears a smudgey patch of greyish white, like a cloud or a beard, and somewhere in the palest hint of flesh-tone are two creased slits that could be eyes squinted up with laughter.
Incredulity; "Supposed to do?" N'thei chokes on his chuckle this time, shakes his head with disappointment at A'son the way one would at a child that hasn't lived up to his potential. "Let me convey a little wisdom here." Lowered voice, the abrupt press of a flask toward A'son's hand conclude everything N'thei's learned in his esteemed tenure. Neither account for the trick of a smile that gets away from him after a short look toward Griere and Satiet.
You whisper "Fuck what you're supposed to do, brother. The only fine thing about being Weyrleader is that she's got no choice but to keep you." to A'son.
Fayre chuckles heartily and flips back to the beginning of her betting book, holding up a few of the very first pages to show Noemie. They're a mess of chaotic scribbles and arrows connecting lines of text to cramped-in letters on other sides of the page, and overall are just plain illegible. "Wasn't all that neat when I first started out. Gave me a headache just trying to read what I wrote. Was a real problem in terms of payin' out and collectin' bets." She snaps the book closed for now and nods enthusiastically. "Shucks, Wingleader. You read my mind. Split the winnings and have a party in the Sandbar! My idea of a dream come true." Back on the topic of firelizards, she remarks to Amaris, "Y'know, it's a wonder all the dragons keep their names straight. Who knows how they each manage to come up with a unique one."
Griere's eyes move as Satiet's do, a cool glance across the stands to see the pair of Weyrleaders; her lips move, a litle press, but that is all. "I had five, too," she confirms. "Oh," as Aerianth settles in again to welcome another member to her clutch's number. "Six." But the counting is left behind. "I haven't found any particular pattern yet, to her rising. It seems to be growing more regular, but with four clutches, I can't say I have much to judge by at this point. The first two were quite close." And for Fayre, Noemie and Amaris, Griere gives a bob of her curly head. "Afternoon."
Noemie looks carefully over at Fayre's book, shaking her head with wonder. "I'm not surprised! Makes sense you'd have to figure out a system. Great minds think alike, it sounds... it's settled, then. Bet, win, party." She grins widely, a smile that's turned towards Griere and Satiet as they pass by. "Good afternoon, Weyrwomen," she greets in reply. Back to Fayre and Amaris, on the topic of names, "I suppose that's one of those things we'll never really understand. And I kind of like it that way, wondering but never fully knowing. Kind of like how they choose who to Search."
Amaris barely catches Satiet's and Griere's greetings, being so absorbed in the newest addition to the clutch. "Green for that one, or maybe blue." She tells Fayre, pointing to the grassy egg. "Hullo." She offers the weyrmwomen, giving a bit of a head nod before turning her attention back to the topic of firelizards and dragons. "It is odd, I mean, how do they /know/? There have been so many hatched and so many more on the way. And they all end in 'th'" She seems to ponder this for a while but she's roused out of her thoughts at the sound of her name being yelled out. "I'd best go, Rupa's probably bored of the clutching and we're not allowed out of her sight while here." And with a grin she waves to Fayre. "Good luck with the book!" And she sets off at a fast run, bumping into a pair of bronzeriders as she exits the cavern.
The word "Six," is repeated, a nodded confirmation attempting to mask the slide in her gaze back to catch a second sight of the Weyrleaders paired together. But only a glimpse, her attention drawn elsewhere quickly. It's near the pair of women and child that Satiet finds a place to perch herself, slender legs crossing neatly at the ankle as she does so. Though there's an expansive area left for Griere, the other woman scoots to one side a little, an invitation for Ista's senior queenrider to sit by her. Not entirely oblivious to other conversation happening around her, the raven hair falls to one side, her head tilting towards Fayre in particular. Inquisitive arcs rise above her bright blue eyes, "You gamble? A bookie?"
"By mother or father?" A'son asks with a lift of his eyebrows, a look that isn't surprise crosses his face when he looks to the pressed flask. He briefly shifts his attention from N'thei to the two women and then out to the sands again. "And yes, supposed to do." Leaning in towards the other he too drops his voice to convey something not meant to be overheard in its entirety.
A'son whispers "Not exactly her fault that I'm here, is it? She doesn't need to be punished by my own poor behavior. Either way, I have to show up that idiot V'lano as often as I can."
Fayre waves a polite goodbye to Amaris. "Hope you get to visit again soon!" She nods at the green-looking egg and makes the obvious guess. "Green for that one, I think. Your dragon should be happy about that one, eh Noemie? Maybe she can help us bet, too." She starts a bit at Satiet's question and she shyly glances down at her betting book. "Er, well, technically. I have a book and I take bets, so I figure that makes me a bookie. But I'm not an evil one, really. I'm quite nice. Ista's duties, by the way." She adds politely, eyes lingering on the Weyrwoman's knot for a moment.
N'thei would sit in a crowded room and expect to carry on a semi-private conversation while looking frequently toward the pair of goldriders like they'll never figure out what's being discussed. What helps is that he and A'son have the pariah-luxury and there's no one particularly nearby to pry into lowered remarks. "/Your/ fault then? Pshh. Punish yourself if that's what floats your boat, but you're wasting your ruddy time if you ask me. That's Nikoth down there, not Volath. I'd say he's already been showed-up."
With a fluid smoothing of her skirt, Griere sets down on the seat beside Satiet, perched lightly on its edge, all the better for when she leans forward to glance down the row and hear Fayre's response. It gets, as expected, a slow lift of the Istan goldrider's brow, a skeptical sort of look. But her oh-so-generous spirit bids her to ask, "Are the bets going well for you?" with a light blink of lashes.
"Goodbye, Amaris!" Noemie calls after the departing figure, then readily agrees with Fayre. "Green, yes, Naijath thinks so, too. She says she's happy to help with the guesses, but honestly, she's been wrong plenty of times before. And there's nothing wrong with making-- or taking-- a few bets," she adds, glance shifting from Fayre to each of the Weyrwomen. "It's tradition, after all. Don't you think?"
Egg-watching is a likely excuse for people-watching, which in turn is a likely interruption of the half-finished meal Satiet seems to randomly recall, an aside shifting her weight on the bench towards Griere, low words, while heard, meant for the Istan goldrider, "When you have the time, could you have your cook write that recipe for mango steamed fish? The way it flakes off is delightful." That said, the raven-haired woman's attention refocuses onto Fayre and her explanation of evil or not, growing amusement curling her lips crooked. "And here I thought the mere reputation of gambling made one evil. Surely. Our duties to your Weyr," the latter spoken to the assistant headwoman and wingleader, with a sidelong glance for the Weyrwoman.
A'son unscrews the top to the flask handed over earlier. He holds it up to N'thei in a silent offer. "Didn't say it was mine either. More like an unusual twist in circumstances. Uncomfortable at that. No, it's not Volath down there. But he's still living in the weyr across from mine and he was far, far more concerned about threatening me the night of the flight then taking care of his woman. You know, the one they all say he's crazy about?"
On the sands,
More Than A Stick Egg
On the sands, Squat and small, this egg is marked at the base by a thick X of brown, and a scraggly stick of similar hue sprouts up from, or is supported by it. Squiggles of chestnut branch off, a handful of uneven brushstrokes with narrow lines of darkest green sprouting in random clumps from their length. A single red orb dangles in the midst of this sparse coloring, and one of purple hangs on the opposite side. A splash of yellow at the apex is a crown lacking in glory. Amidst its siblings, this egg can only hope that one will shatter and sprinkle it with a little glitz and glamour.
Fayre's shoulders slump a bit in relief when Noemie backs her lack-of-evil up. "Well, can't say for certain if they're going well yet, Weyrwoman. Taken a fair number for how many will be laid, though. Most are putting the number up pretty high, considering we're not in a pass and all. Lots of faith in you, Aerianth, and our new Weyrleader pair." That's polite conversation, right? The assistant headwoman firmly shakes her head in response to Satiet. "Oh, no no, I don't think the reputation of gamblin' makes you evil. Do I come off that way? Even Xielar was bettin' earlier, and he's only just turning sixteen soon." A tinge of pink rises in Fayre's cheek and she hastily continues, "Not that I'd take marks from a kid or anythin'. Honestly." She almost misses the next egg in her babblings, but the movement catches her eye and she scribbles down the latest entry.
"Mate, I'd give my thumbs for an unwelcome neighbor to be the worst of my troubles right now." N'thei makes every effort to impress the lack of gravity on his Istan counterpart, to slant his gray eyes dismissively back at A'son's woes. He tosses his fingers at the offered flask just yet, you-first and bottoms-up, tries to care that there's another egg now. Five? Six? Fourteen?
You whisper "I'll 'shake his hand' if you want, this V'lano. Man ought to have more grace than that." to A'son.
"I'd say entrepreneurial, not evil," Noemie says, "Although certainly the two can exist together. Of course, I feel that I can vouch for our good assistant headwoman's character." A quick glance at the newest egg, and she's quick to declare: "Brown!" She sounds quite a bit more confident than before, as if getting the hang of the whole thing. "Not exactly dull, either, is it? Look, there's even a splotch of purple."
"Certainly," Griere returns in the same quiet tone, a side conversation with little bearing on anything else. "I can send some mangoes, too." And for the gambling, Griere can only let out a long-suffering breath with a glance back at Satiet. She does remark, "Surely the betting goes hand in hand with any clutch. Another game of chance to fill the time. I suppose for some people it is more exciting to watch them crack when they have marks riding on what's inside." She shrugs a bare shoulder.
"And the worst of your troubles are? I thought you were just sort of shooting the breeze over there, letting Shanlee handle most of your problems?" A'son asks, not seeming to be impressed by these troubles N'thei may or may not be handling on his own.
A'son whispers "I wouldn't recommand that. He's a bit of a girl, might like it. You know, having a nice handsome man young man shaking his hand."
"Purple," teases Reaches' weyrwoman, though a second later, Satiet corrects herself with a more honest conjecture. "Blue. The egg with a purple splotch, mark me down a half mark for blue." Blue, which purple is still a variant of, sort of. With the promise of recipes and mangoes coming her way -- her Weyr's way -- the slight woman gets to her feet slow, a casual drop of her hand to Griere's shoulder perhaps her version of a hug, "It was good seeing you again. I imagine I'll have to visit far more frequently now that you're Weyr-bound. One or the other. I'll look forward to the day when neither of us are stuck." Departing much as she arrived, her good-byes are even voiced the same, a chip drop and polite words, "Good afternoon," are sent to the broader audience of women.
chip drop - chin drop, betting on my mind~
N'thei barks short laughter, his head tossed back momentarily while a guffaw gets the better of him. "Hah! So I am, so I am. Nothing like a pretty greenrider doing your bidding to ease a man's mind, I admit it. --But no. I go from here to Crom if that tells you anything." Satiet stands and he looks, eyes-on-strings, then shakes his head and commits to lingering that much longer.
You whisper "If he's such a girl, why do you give two shakes if he threatens you? Shells man, you're embarrassing me by association." to A'son.
Fayre shuts her mouth for the moment and dutifully marks down Noemie's guess along with Satiet's. "Well, can't be too evil if you're participating in it, eh miss?" She says in a hopeful, nonchalant tone. "Could be brown, could be blue. Not quite sure myself." She glances at the two Weyrleaders for a moment, eyebrows raising at all that juicy gossip the two must be making. But no! She must focus on her gambling duties. The assistant headwoman lapses into silence for once, focusing on her charts and scribblings.
A'son's eyebrows lift up in surprise. "Right, Crom. I thought I'd heard through the grapevine it was settled? Though, that place being run by who it is, I guess it's not as settled as news would like it to sound? I hope you're going down there to Lord Crom up in his own jail." Evident disdain for that particular man seeps through his voice with no regard to who hears it. Then he laughs, leaning in to say something again in lowered tones.
Griere has a nearly indulgent smile as Satiet makes her bet, indulgent or conspiring, it could be either. Her eyes follow as the other weyrwoman stands, brows lifted expectantly before a more gracious expression crosses her face, the practiced hostess smile whether earnest or not. "It was. Thank you for coming. At least you were bound during your finer weather. This is a rather miserable time of the year to be stuck on the sands here." Idle, pleasant small talk. "I look forward to your next visit," with a polite dip of her own chin and another quirk of a smile before Satiet heads off.
A'son whispers "Doesn't stop him from cutting my riding straps when no one is looking though, does it? He's a snake."
Satiet walks to the hatching grounds entrance.
Satiet has left.
On the sands,
Babies of the 80's Egg
On the sands, This middle-sized egg is a riot of color, bright swirls of neon green, pink, and orange covering its slightly textured surface. At some places on the egg, where the swirls collide, the colors are deeper-- jewel tones, darker greens and purples. Thanks to the texture of the egg, in these places, it seems to catch the light, winking back at those who look at it.
"Could be blue," Noemie considers, giving the 'more than a stick' egg another glance over. "The way I see it," she muses in response to Griere's words, "Life itself's a game of chance, isn't it? Betting's a way to acknowledge it." A fancy point of view for one so new to the game, but there it is. "Farewell, Weyrwoman," is her polite reply to Satiet as she takes her leave. And then the latest egg makes its way onto the sand. "Now /there's/ an egg. I'm not even sure if I have a guess."
That little boy who jittered earlier excitedly, pipes up in his childish voice, "It's gonna be rainbow colored!"
N'thei shakes his head, traipses his thumbnail across his lower lip a second while he contemplates; "No. No, and I wish I was. I'm going in the hopes he won't meet with me." He starts a shrug, twinges the corner of his eye, and settles to raising just the left shoulder on-second-thought. Now, talking of Crom, he does hold his fingers expectantly toward the flask. The lowered words that follow, the tone that accompanies them have the distinct ring of a joke at A'son's expense.
You whisper "If I were you, I'd beat him so sharding senseless that he'd think twice before he so much as glanced my way let alone touched my stuff. But since we're talking about you-- imagine you'll just have to start double-checking your straps, neh?" to A'son.
"I already have." A'son says, holding the flask out to N'thei. "You know that your Weyrwoman has left you behind, hmm?" He gestures with his heads towards the spot Satiet had been occupying. "You're going there and hoping he won't meet with you? Is there any good that would come out of that, something I'm missing?" Switching his attention briefly from the other Weyrleader to the sands he says, "Oh, eight eggs. So we're maybe close to halfway being through. I hope."
Griere looks over the eggs again, this time with a faint wrinkle of her nose. "One does have to wonder if there is some fathomable reason why eggs are the colors they are," she muses blandly to Noemie. "But after all this time, all these bets, you'd think someone would have found a pattern." She sighs quietly and gives her curls a shake, a quick hand brushing the sheen of sweat from her forehead.
On the sands,
Adorned with Devotion Egg
On the sands, Complex flourishes frame the brilliant white crown of this compact, round egg with vine-like swirls of pale silver and gray. Polished to a pure shine, the ornaments might seem to be still wet from clutching, where they resemble a shell at all; in places they seem more like the ornate setting of a jewel. The egg's white portion is the gem itself, layered with light-reflecting facets that shimmer with multi-colored light, dazzling the eye.
N'thei answers the question about Satiet's departure with a look, a bland one, is he really asking? Only after that lands does he put the flask to his lips. After a brandy-exhale; "Tithe's halfway to Telgar. Far as Crom's concerned, I'm coming to appeal to reason and have it turned back to the Reaches." Oh-eight-eggs, he glances sparingly toward the ninth. "Go be a good-little-boy and keep your Weyrwoman company. I'll come back another time and see the tally."
"Plenty of people have claimed to have found one, but if there was a pattern that held, we'd all know it by now," Noemie says, continuing her own idle musing. "But there's quite a bit of fun in blindly guessing. And you can't go just by the color of the shell, or, well--" she notices the newest arrival on the sands just then-- "what could you guess for a white and grey egg?"
"Tithe is halfway to Telgar. Not High Reaches? With another winter approaching? Another game?" A'son's face tightens, and were loyalties at question it would be fair game where his still lay. "Are you going on your own?" He asks, his eyes briefly going to touch on Nikoth as the dragon waits patiently on the sands with Aerianth. "I'm not tied to this weyr with a chain, you know." He casts a quick look in the direction of Griere, perhaps seeing if she's far enough away to not hear.
On the sands,
Ghastly Ghoul's Egg
On the sands, Small clumps of fog coalesces with a murky dark blue around this rather small roundish egg. It could almost go unnoticed tucked into a hollow among the black Istan sands, except for the whitish mist that forms in strange patterns over its surface. A dark shadow creeps along the edges: a malicious inky blackness darker than the sands themselves. To the unfamiliar eye that regards the egg from several direction, it appears that the evil smudge shifts to a new position every time amid the dense clouds.
N'thei puts his flask away almost absently, touches the weight of it in his pocket while he commits a slow nod. This time, when he lowers his voice, there's no merriment about it. "I'm going alone. He's not going to meet with me, I'm counting on it. When he doesn't, I'll have every right to cut that tithe-train off with a dozen dragons and turn them around myself." He offers another handshake to the Istan, a courteous smile over the sudden businesslike shift; "If you're really not tied here, which I doubt." He looks pointedly at Griere. "Come with us. Like old times, hopefully with fewer bars."
"I would guess a dragon," Griere says, watching the eggs instead of the rider beside her. "But I suppose that isn't the point of... guessing." She sniffs, hands on her knees now as her gaze drifts up to the ledges, out across the sands again, across the galleries, to A'son and N'thei making goodbye-type handshakes.
A'son gets to his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. "It's getting cold there now, hm?" One of the shoved hands his removed so that he can shake N'thei's. "I'm sure I spared one of my long sleeved ones in the frenzy to get cooler clothes." There's another slow glance towards Griere before he leans in to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, another whisper before he breaks away and walks towards the Istan Weyrwoman.
A'son whispers "I might be tied, a little. But there's a difference between a tie and a shackle. Let us know when and where. We'll be there. I promised I had your back the last time, I still do now."
Noemie laughs heartily. "Well, yes, you'd hopefully win that particular bet." She rises from where she sits a bit reluctantly, eyes on the sands and that newest, ghostly egg. "It seems I'm being sought after by my family. Good afternoon, ma'am, and my congratulations to Aerianth on such a fine clutch." She passes A'son as she makes her way out, a polite nod of her head to the Weyrleader.
N'thei, grinning; "It's always cold up there, mate. Forgot already?" He nods sparsely in answer to the low words, a look like gratitude, then he's trotting down the steps at a brisk clip to meet Wyaeth out in the bowl. Nary a greeting in sight for Griere, so impolitic.
You walk to the hatching grounds entrance.