The Hatching: Introducing Wyaeth
RL Date: 7/21/07
IC Date: 10/31/12
Candidate Barracks, High Reaches Weyr(#430RAIJs$)
This is a large, high ceilinged cavern cut from the rock. There are rows of depressions on the floor, couches for the young dragons who will soon live here. For now, cots have temporarily been brought in for the candidates while they bide their time, waiting for the exciting day when the eggs will hatch. Men keep to one side and women to the other. At the foot of each cot lies a small press for storing clothing and other small items.
The cavern has been decorated with old dragon tapestries hung on the walls, their colors slightly faded. A threadbare rug in the middle of the room bears the emblem of High Reaches Weyr, a mountain range in black on a dark blue field. A few low tables, chairs, and pillows have been scattered about the room, and baskets of glows placed strategically throughout the room keep the place well-lit. An opening in the southwest leads out into the Bowl.
From the bowels of the Weyr, a low thrum rises, gaining strength and volume as excitement seems to race through the bowl. The sound starts to vibrate the walls and the ground.
I'daur knows what it means as soon as the sound goes up; by the speed he gets to the barracks, he either had some kind of advance warning or was very close by. He stops in the doorway to glance out over the candidates already in there, stepping aside to let a couple more come dashing in. All he says is, "Well, get your robes on, then."
Nathein lays halfway on, halfway off of his cot: His legs hang over the end of it, feet on the floor with one sandal on and the other one still a work in progress; his back is flat on the cot while he works on fixing the straps on the second sandal. The first hint of vibration slows his work. By the time it reaches a full-fledged hum, his hands have stopped altogether and he starts sitting up. "Not very ceremonious, is it?"
Madison hops up out of her cot and hurriedly gets her tunic on, which consists of putting her head through the arm hole, then the other, and finally putting it on correctly, before tying it around at her waist and putting her sandals on. "Really? Time?" She looks extremely nervous.
Raykini just happens to be sitting in his cot, a hand absently running through his hair. And, as the sound goes off, he nearly falls off his cot in surprise. As the weyrlingmaster comes in, however, he bolts upright, quickly pushing himself to his feet. "Here we go..."
Talien would be one of those dashing in. Sandwiched between her fellows, she still hesitates upon passing by I'daur to shoot a look up at him. Then it's on to her cot and the press at it's end where she takes a knee to dig out her robe. There's yet one more pause as Talien holds it out before her, then quickly enough switches her current clothes for the robe. Another dive into the press brings out her sandals which Talien slips on as she pulls her hair back into a loosely bound tail.
I'daur's expression is sober as he starts through the barracks, checking robes and sandals and hair, making sure each candidate is appropriately dressed while he still has them in the barracks. "Hurry up," he urges a couple of pokey girls before a quick head count assures him that everybody is actually present now. He's still calm, moving purposefully and quickly. "Line up by the door when you're ready."
Nathein mumbles to himself as he wedges his foot into his sandal, frowns at the end result. He flips open the lid of his press, a deft flick of the wrist shortly to unfurl his robe. "And me without my ribbons and barrettes." This mutter kept until I'daur is a few cots down the line. Shortly, the big candidate is all changed and looking wondrously stupid with his knees showing as he joins the line.
Madison giggles a bit as she hurries up and looks around at the others before she beams. "In order by name? Or just height? or?" Madison asks quickly, looking to I'daur.
Raykini quickly pulls on his robes, hopping a bit on a foot as he tries to shove his sandal onto his feet, only to repeat the process with the other foot. When he's finally done dressing, he moves to join the line, smoothing out his robes in the process.
Ayson is dressed and ready. When I'daur gives the order to get in line, he's quickly on his way to doing so. He smoothes out any wrinkles and hastily pulls off a loose thread while he waits for the next order.
Talien gives the tail of her hair a final, harsh tug to pull it entirely through the cord binding it in place. For all her effort she winces and then turns around to try and spot Ayson. It doesn't take her long and she quickly steps into line behind him while anxiously wringing her hands together.
"Don't think it really matters," I'daur notes, giving Madison a glance, his mouth twitching briefly into a half-smile before he moves on. Then: "Everybody ready?" he calls out, limping his way back up to the front of the line. He makes one last double check that there are no egregious robe violations before nodding one and straightening a little more. "Then follow me." And he sets off, leading the way out of the barracks to the ledges and the sands beyond them.
Weyrleaders' Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#480RAIJLs)
A flight of steps worn smooth with time lead up to a broad flat area with enough room for a gold and her consort to sprall and lounge. Openings lead to a room used for conferences, the Weyrwoman's private room, and the hatching sands themselves. A round table of well polished hardwood sits in one corner and is surrounded by chairs.
On the ledges, I'daur stops again, in front of the entrance to the sands. He takes a look out over the candidates, lips pursed, expression once more solemn. "You know the drill. Constant vigilance. Get out of the way of any of 'em that start coming toward you--they'll tear you up. Half the time they're clumsy enough to do it even if you've impressed 'em. Everybody got that?"
Madison nods her head. "Yes sir." The young girl says, looking a bit nervous all the while. "Constant Vigilance." She reahces out to touch Ayson's elbow. "Good luck Ayson." She looks to her other friends, Tailen, Raykini and even Nathein. "You too." She offers. "G'luck."
Raykini gives a soft nod as he follows behind the group, his arms wrapped lightly about his chest. He sways rather uncomfortably in his spot, a rather indifferent look on his face. He gives a nod in agreement, "Yes, sir." He smiles briefly to Madison, "Thanks Madi, good luck to you too."
Nathein spends the first part of the trek trying to recapture his dignity, but he gives it up about halfway here and just forgets about his knees showing and his makeshift sandals. By the time I'daur imparts his foreboding wisdom, Nathein has settled for a look of comic suffering; "Very reassuring advice, sir. So noted." He cracks a smile, then a slightly wider one for Maddie's well wishes. "Constant vigilance, shrimpy."
Talien's nervous hand-wringing subsides at I'daur's solemn statement, to which Talien responds with a silent nod of her head and a furtive look out past his shoulder to whatever she can spot on the sands.
Ayson nods silently, shifting on his feet. His lips are pursed as he glances from I'daur and then to the others that are around him.
When he's sure that that message has been impressed, one last time, on the candidates, I'daur gives a brief nod in return, before he steps aside of the entrance. "Good luck," he tells them, with one of those fleeting wry smiles. "Get on out there."
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 watched lovingly over them while they hardened. Now finally the eggs have started to rock and hatch, and the cavern is filled with the humming of dragons, the cheers of the spectators, the scared and hungry creels of the dragonets, and the muffled encouragments of the candidates.
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.
Raykini moves slowly into the hatching cavern, pausing just shy of the entrance to offer a deep bow. He holds it for a moment or two before rising to his full height. He lets his eyes flicker over to his friends, keeping close to them as he starts to move onto the sands.
Talien keeps at least one other candidate in her line of sight as she moves onto the Sands. As she bows to the clutch Dam and Sire her movements are stiff and jerky and in joining the loose semi-circle about the eggs, just plain stiff. Square shouldered and with her hands deadlocked into white-knuckled fists behind her back, Talien inhales deeply and waits.
Nabrimeth shifts restlessly, shifting her attention from the eggs to the white-clad candidates. The queen rumbles softly, tentatively, seeming unsure. "It's alright, love. This is their day, your little ones and these chosen," Tavrie encourages the new mother patiently, smiling at the candidates in a welcoming manner.
Nathein fires a shifty look up at the galleries after ducking through the tunnel. He allows himself one fidget, just to straighten the shoulders of his robe, and then the appropriate bow toward the dragons; Nabrimeth is the recipient of an especially deep bow, to be followed by wary watchfulness until Nathein finds his place toward the gathering semi-circle.
Coming out into the sands, Madison looks towards the eggs that rock back and forth before she nervously looks at the Sire and Dam. She bows deeply to both before she hurries onto the sands. Looking around to find Ayson she hurries to his side. "Can I stay here?"
Ayson bows to the sire and dam before moving past them, finding a place to stand in the semi-circle. The arrival of Madison is greeted with a small smile, the best he can afford. "Of course you can, Maddy."
Great Rainforest Egg gives one slow, subtle twitch, a movement that could almost be lost in the urgency of other, more impatient eggs. This one is waiting, biding its time: ready but waiting for some signal, for someone else to make the first move.
Raykini moves to shift near Talien, offering a little smile to her, "Mind if I stand near you?" he asks tentively, casing a quick glance to the shaking eggs, a frown pulling at his lips. "Shards, It's really happening isn't it?"
S'kris is leaned up casually against the big, quivering hunk of bronze that's resting near Nabrimeth. He's warbling excitedly, whirling eyes fixed on the white shapes just over yonder and shifting his claws a bit in the sand. Soka just grins over at Tavrie for a moment, utterly beyond words for once.
Guiding Light Egg shudders and topples over sideways to come to rest on the sands where it stills in silent contemplation. The illusion of light at the apex appears to emit a pulsing beacon as small movements from within swell and contract the shell in the beginnings of a hatching dance.
Tossing and turning as if in the throes of a terrible nightmare, Mystery's Blood Egg finally cracks open and opens wide, exposing the revelation of lucid green still caught within its confines. The ethereal green is reluctant to leave her nest, but when she does, it's to flee directly to a delicate young woman with pale curls. Ukeila utters a breathless, "You're safe with me, Kyobeth," and bursts into tears.
Madison looks up towards Ayson, sawallowing a bit as she points to the eggs. "Look, they're rolling around!" She reaches out and squeezes Ayson's hand. "Eh... Oh!" She points. "One hatched and Impressed already!" She ohs!
Nathein pulls a frown after overhearing Raykini; "It better be happening. I did not come all the way out here, dressed like this, in front of all those people." He tosses his head toward the galleries. "For this to be a false alarm." Despite light-sounding words, he jitters a nervous step when eggs move, another when the first hatches.
Talien greets Raykini with a tense smile, "Only so many spots." she says, her voice shaky with nerves and excitement. Sweeping a glance on down the line past him, Talien nods once to herself then looks back to the corner of the clutch she stands closest to. Opting to fix her attention there, Talien stares straight ahead but still stands with the obvious tension of someone trying to hear everything going on around them.
Raykini nods his head absently as he wraps his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing a little. "Shards..." And all ready an impressing, "Did you get that/ I don't even think I know him." He turns to Nathien, "Well, me neither. We didn't get all dressed up for nothing."
Nabrimeth, relaxing and catching Wrencath's excitement trumpets gleefully, rearing up slightly to show her joy. Tavrie laughs warmly, slapping the gold and then returning S'kris' smile. "I just can't believe it, look at them," she notes the newly hatched pair. Could that be the bubbly blond dabbing at a tear?
Ayson lifts his hand, and gives Talien the smallest of waves when she looks down the line. He bites his lower lip when the first impression is made. He takes a deep breath and nods to the girl next to him. "It's going to go fast. Faster I think, than I thought."
Great Rainforest Egg's twitch is more pronounced this time, a finger on a trigger flinching as it comes inexorably closer to that moment when it will release. Impatience is visible in the faint quivering of its shell, but it holds still, and steady, unscathed and unbroken for a few moments longer.
Madison looks up to Ayson and nods. "I'm so nervous. You'll make sure and not get hurt, right?" She asks.
Nathein laughs nervously. "If you call this getting dressed up..." He plucks at the front of his robe, peels it away from where sweat has started to stick it to his skin, tries to fan himself with the fabric.
S'kris catches sight of at least one familiar face high up in the ledges, but only if he squints a little. His lopsided grin edges a bit moreso and he steps a bit closer to Tavrie, digging a kerchief out of his pocket and discreetly offering it to the goldrider. "Here, darlin'. See? Everything's going /just/ fine. I am so /awfully/ proud of them." Eggs? Candidates? The clutchparents? Maybe all of them. Wrencath bugles merrily and bounces a little in place.
Ayson half smiles this time, gently, "I won't get hurt. You have to promise to not get hurt too, okay? Don't throw yourself in front of anything, got it?"
Guiding Light Egg takes up movement once again which now that it is free of its sandy cradle, simply serves to steer it around in an ever widening circle. The flashing of color from the apex that scatters the first few delicate shards of shell with the rolling motion, gives the impression of the egg discarding 'veils'.
A powerful force struggles within the Buried Battles egg and finally triumphs, sending splinters and bits of shell /everywhere/. The resulting brown is rather large, his hide just a few shades lighter than carob. After taking only a few moments to orient himself, he's carrying himself with a steady pride that brings him to the feet of Ronayil. R'yil, formerly a guard at Bitra, reaches out to place a hand on one dark eyeridge and to say, "I'm yours, Eluth."
Tavrie simply beams at S'kris, accepting the kerchief as subtly as possible and turning from the sands to dab at her eyes. "This is quite possibly the...well, second most amazing day of my life," she admits, shifting back around in time to see the brown choose. "Oh, what a handsome fellow," the goldrider croons.
Raykini laughs absently, running a hand through his hair as he droops his head, eyeing the white mess that is his robe. "Aye...it is a bit demeaning...I'm certainly not going to wear it again after this." He leans forward as another dragon is shelled, wrinkling his nose. "It's happening faster than I thought."
Wayward Desperado Bronze
Dusty hide like cracked old leather lends this bronze a world-weary look that hangs well on his lanky frame. He's rangy, tall, and broad-chested, with long limbs ending in spurs of gunmetal-grey talons. His hollow-cheeked jaw is as square and roughly chiseled as they come, while his keen eyes are cool and shadowy beneath prominent, windswept ridges of burnished brass. Sunbleached bronze blazes a trail down the makeshift mountain range of his neckridges, into the coal-smoke crease of his neck and a shoulder edged in dusk. Gritty golds blanket the jaded desert of his haggard ribs, half-cloaked by the shabby, sandstorm duster of his wings. His flanks are leanly muscled, his tail as thin as the rest of his desiccated frame: a distilled dragon, all excess withered away into this faded, hard-edged remnant outridden by those threadbare tumbleweed wings.
Madison blinks backwards as another is impressed. "Oh look, a handsome brown!" She begins to say before the brown quickly impresses. "Oh look! That was quick!" She says, before gasping as a bronze emerges. "Oooh, look! A bronze! He's very handsome. He's really chiseled."
S'kris plants a hand squarely on Wrencath's shoulder, a wordless reassurance ... and a restraint, of sorts, to keep the bronze from just about leaping out of his /skin/ with excitement when a bronze hatches. He did that! A glance is given to Nabrimeth. Check that. /We/ did that! "They've all been mighty /fine/ looking, haven't they?" is drawled to Tavrie through a wide, pleased smile.
Wayward Desperado Bronze stands there a moment, as still as his egg remains before it fell away in the face of his onslaught. A nose is raised to the air, wings rustling as he adjusts his stance to a readier one, claws flexing into the sand underneath him. Picturesque, challenging, he stares down the groups of candidates he sees before him for a long moment before taking those first steps forward, swaggering away from the ghost town remnants of his shell.
Talien returns Ayson's wave and in the same instant, spots R'yil's impression. Her mouth forms a small 'o' of surprise before breaking into a grin. Glancing at the eggs again, Talien hones in on one particular pale blue egg though a twitch of her head to cast aside a strand of hair from her face brings the newly hatched bronze into view.
Raykini tilts his head to the side, a hand lifting upwards to sweep through his hair. The newest addition to the sands gets little interest from the candidate. However, he does make to comment, "I like his coloring." He murmurs to no one in particular.
Ayson is becoming almost distracted by the impressions that are going on around him. He takes a breath and finally looks forward to the bronze that's just hatched, the one that has Madison's attention. "Oh yes, he's fine looking."
Nabrimeth croons in response to Wrencath's looks and excitement, reaching out to nudge his shoulder sweetly. The same pride rests on her masked face, head lifted proudly. Tavrie just sighs, seeming at a loss for words.
The Line in the Sand Egg shudders uncontrollably, but it takes a while longer before it finally caves inward and spills out a sinuous, sage green hatchling with a generous smear of mint along her left haunch. The diminuitive dragonet unwinds and darts toward the candidates, her nose promptly finding the middle of pudgy girl named Imena. "Oh, oh, oh! Wajath, are you as hungry as I am? Oh, let's get you some food!"
Nathein gives up trying to cool off, probably having done nothing more than make himself hotter for the efforts. "Explains why they were in the condition in which we found them though, doesn't it?" He swipes his hands across his forehead, drags away some sweat, then contemplates the bronze that's gone and caught everyone's attention. "These are what we're supposed to be so afraid of?" His eyes seek out I'daur, questioningly.
Guiding Light egg gives one last flourishing twitch, the dance coming to an end and the last 'veil' coming away in a soft explosion of shell resembling applause that leaves a small malachite green revealed in all her regal glory.
Tempered Graceful Green
Perfectly proportioned in every sense of the word, this green dragon's limbs and body come together in a streamlined visual of royal bearing. Her slender neck held in a near permanent arch of regality curves down along neck ridges which sweep backwards with notable elegance ending in a tail that coils and uncoils with undeniable grace. Fashioned as if from a polished green gem, soft hide is subtly marbled, with the lights of the heavens either enhancing or muting the effects depending on the angle they touch upon her. A sweetly shaped muzzle broadens outward to encompass eyes that hold the wisdom of the ages. Head knobs washed in the palest of sage greens give the appearance of a noble headdress while majestic wingsails of lucent radiance furl along her sides like that of a lady's hand fan, unfurling in a neat and precise manner with just a hint of coquettish curl at the tips. Moving with self-contained dignity, femininity is never far off with a refined sense of 'being'.
Over at the edge of the Sands, well out of the way, Emilly stands with the other assistant weyrlingmaster, carefully tracking newly hatched dragonets. The greenrider moves forward quickly to guide newly Impressed pairs off of the Sands, giving instructions about feeding in a low, calm voice.
Madison's breath sucks in as she looks towrads the green that has hatched, blinking as she ohs. "Look, to Imena! She's so cute!" She hollars as best she can to the girl before another green is hatched and she ohs. "I... I..." She says. "She's..." She points to Ayson, tugging on his tunic. For the first time Madison is at a loss for words.
Ayson quickly moves to put his hand on Madison's chin, if she doesn't move away. "Maddy, don't be so loud. You could startle or upset them." He doesn't say it unkindly, instead it's with a grin. He understands the excitement coming from her.
One Colossal Egg shifts in the light of the caverns, the dazzling gleam of copper flashing brightly once, twice, its inhabitant testing its limits, before the egg stills again.
Raykini tilts his head to the side, letting his gray eyes fall on the green, taking in her coloring. "Now she," He points quietly to Talien, "Has a wonderful hide. It'll be interesting to see who she goes to, eh?"
Tempered Graceful Green imperiously flicks away a shell fragment with one soft little claw, then dips her head down to examine herself. It is with precise slowness that she checks every inch of herself, much like a feline would after bathing. Clearly, she does not like the goo running down her little frame into the hot sand - she emits a shriek at the mess she is, holding her wings far from herself before finally lifting her proud chin and surveying her surroundings.
Nathein echoes after Ayson's words, sounds very grave; "That doesn't look like constant vigilance to me, Maddie." His smile is strained, a combination of heat and the increasing incoherency on the sands.
Talien remains still, though her determination to look just straight ahead has failed miserably. Caught between trying to see everything, all at once and trying to focus on just what's in her immediate, Talien is at a loss for words. So Raykini's query earns a silent nod as the green is watched for those first few steps.
An egg bursts open unceremoniously with a muffled *pop*. A broad, terracotta brown hatchling shrugs off the remnants of the Sandstone Frieze Egg with ease and his crimson-kissed gaze drifts ominously across the gathered candidates. His choice is a tall lad from some small hold, Vinday becoming V'day. "Yosavith? Yosavith!"
Wayward Desperado Bronze's steps have a rambling air to them, a sense that he's wandering aimlessly over the sands even as his keen eyes gaze up the ranks of candidates, sizing each of them up before moving on. That swagger, the lazy air of his wings sweeping behind him--those careless movements bely the purposefulness beneath them. He's looking, looking for his match out there, even if he only seems to be strutting about for the benefit of the eyes on him.
Undying Love Egg Almost tentatively, Undying Love Egg begins to shake and shimmy. Vibrations that look unnatural from a surface that is supposed to be so hard course over it and then cease entirely. For now, the hatchling inside will bide its time, seemingly evaluating the best means of escape.
Madison looks over at Nathein and makes a face at her before she looks towards Ayson and murmurs "Sorry." She makes a face. "She's kinda girly." She tells the older boy, looking at the green preen herself. She blinks a few times at another quick imrpession. The dart of a brown across the sands. "huh." She offers before looking at the Bronze. "Oh look at 'im. Might as well be B'yan down there in him."
Raykini wrinkles his nose ever so slightly in thought, letting his eyes flicker over to the wandering dragons, but they suddenly land on the most recent impression. "Congratulations!" he calls to the other candidate, swaying a little towards nathein, "I'm sure he'll ahve fun with that brown."
S'kris settles into just watching with Wrencath, silent and broadly grinning like a fool. Not that Wrencath's any better; the bronze is gape-mawed and jiggly, looking here, there, and everywhere at moving eggs and dragonets and oh, those candidates over there, too.
Nathein swings his head around after the calls of congratulations, pulls a bereft seeming frown. "How are you managing to keep track enough to toss out congratulations?" By the time he even notices V'day, the moment for adulations has passed. "Which one looks girly? Him?" He takes a sweeping look at the bronze, then ahhs; "/Her/. Quite femme."
And now, Wayward Desperado Bronze doesn't even put up the pretense of peacocking around. His demeanor is hardening the longer he's out there, the longer he's alone, and now he looks in earnest, approaching candidates closer, his breath coming in huffs as his thin sides quiver in anticipation. Now he pauses, then sidesteps several boys as not worthy of a second glance, and he turns to pass over the line one more time.
The Mist and Shadows Egg simply falls apart, an angular dragonet stepping out and carrying his head rather high. The summer sky blue dragonet picks his way away from the shards of his former prison and makes his stoic way to a young man on the fringes. Iveldyn stares, wide-eyed, as the blue makes him I'dyn ... and claims the name, "Eidenth," as his own.
Tempered Graceful Green , still among the remnants of broken shells, takes one final survey of the place she's found herself in before taking a few steps forward. Something has now caught her eye: ah yes! It is with snobbish calculation that she makes her way closer to the groups of candidates, still keeping her wings up and back with little fluttering motions. A few of them get her proper curiosity - a twitch of her head tilting to the side as if deliberating, and then briskly beginning her walk down the line of the candidates.
Talien pulls in another sharp, deep breath as the dragons make their passes of the line. Though her eyes continuously dart up and down the length of the clutch, she still remains still and tense. The smallest of exclamations slips past as the bronze sidesteps some of the male candidates, and though there's a sympathetic look in their direction, Talien resumes worrying for her own hide with a small shuffle to the left.
One Colossal Egg twitches suddenly, violently. The fine streaks across its side are a blur as it spins several times, digging further into the hatching sands. No cracks can be seen across its shell yet, despite effort from the dragon within.
All good thing must come to an end and Wayward Desperado Bronze's rambling, roaming ways are no exception. The rangy bronze swings his head this way and that before finally swaggering toward a couple of strapping young men. Not him, not him, and definitely not- oh. What's this? It looks like the kind of challenge he was born to face down. He makes his way around to finally settle on narrow haunches in front of a large, somewhat rugged-looking young man. It's a showdown, a meeting of minds and wills and finally eyes. Crimson makes way for the clear blue of desert skies -- no longer is he a lone ranger ... this bronze has found his partner.
The heat from the sands intensifies and engulfs you, turning into the searing sensation of a blazing noonday's sun. The light is suddenly blinding and fierce, beating down on your neck and making the world swim away in a wash of heat haze. Standing alone in the midst of some forsaken desert, a warped mirage materializes, accompanied by a haunting whistle and the steady plunking of strings on a guitar in some long-forgotten tune. Then his voice comes, rich and languid, to touch your mind in earthen, smoke-scented words: << Well, howdy, N'thei. I'm Wyaeth and I reckon we'll make a mighty fine pair, don't you? >> The sands return in a thunderous rush, a bronze dragon staring up and into your eyes with powerful, unyielding certainty. << But, first ... I need food something /fierce/. >>
Madison's feet begin to pick up and down on the sands, hissing a bit.. "ow, it's a little hot." She hadn't realized how much she has been sweating. "It's hot, Ayson." She offers, looking toawrds the bronze. "Oh, he's.." She blinks.
Raykini tilts is head to the side, taking a cautionary step backwards, his lips turning downwards in a frown. "I wish they didn't get so close, he murmurs quietly to himself."
Picking back up where it left off, Undying Love Egg quivers and shifts, tipping over in its sandy groove so that it is lying on smooth side. Ahh, progress! The jostling and rocking increases in fervor now, but this doesn't last long. Once again, the egg falls still in an almost unsettling manner.
Nathein... N'thei, thank you, starts to take a backward step reminiscent of Raykini's as the bronze drifts ever nearer, but his course changes after a shuffle. "I... reckon...?" His clearly at a loss, standing there with his knees showing and sweat pouring down his face, staring down the barrel of Wyaeth's eyes. "That could be a problem. I'm fresh out of snacks."
Another egg has fallen stealthily apart, with a long-limbed blue left in the remains of the All Your Stones in a Line Egg. The shadowy dragon shakes his narrow head and slinks away, vanishing among the candidates and finally coming away with a rider of his own. J'ome, formerly Jerome, can be heard whispering, "We will, Ojanath, I promise." to the darkling beast while they head off to get food.
Tavrie has turned around to dab at a few more tears, but Nabrimeth has her attention glued on her little ones. Turning around she nibbles her lower lip and glances around through watery eyes. "What is wrong with me? I'm never like this," she grumbles, looking a little pink in the cheeks.
Talien is busy watching the nearest shaking egg, and so misses the bronze's choice of Nathein. It'd be to her benefit, however, as spotting Nathein becoming N'thei might render her more dumbfound than the Hatching has thus far managed. Slipping a hand from behind her back to her mouth, Talien bites on the corner of her thumb and mutters something under her breath.
Tempered Graceful Green sweeps along the rows of candidates. Stopping to cast an imperious eye over one young lad, then flicking her head away and continuing her sashay down the line. She halts midpoint and pirouettes gracefully in place lifting wings in a little fluttering display of momentary indecision.
Raykini blinks a little as he turns his head to the side, taking in Nathien...N'thei? With the bronze, "Congrats!" Ray calls, a wide grin on his face as he cheers on the other man.
Madison blinks a few times and she ohs. "Congrats..." She murmurs to Nathein, groaning a bit as she notices that the dragon chooses him before she turns back to the green, giving a little giggle at the pirouette. "Really girly." She murmurs.
S'kris offers a supportive arm and a shoulder to lean or cry on to Tavrie, drawling a low, "Oh, now hush, darlin'. There is nothing wrong with you at all, y'hear?" Wrencath would back him up, but he's too busy warbling and crooning his enthusiastic encouragements to the lot of them.
Emilly dodges a stumbling Candidate to reach N'thei and his bronze. "Hey there, you two," she says friendly like. "Why don't you come along with me where we can get some food for ..." she trails off for the tall fellow to fill in the dragonet's name.
Striations quickly spread across the bronze-shaded shell of the One Colossal Egg, like a sudden wind blowing through the desert night. The shell falls away, almost as one piece being peeled from the stone-colored dragon inside, knocked asunder by broad wings spreading wide to show off the green-hued patina coloring their underside.
Against the Ages Bronze
Chiseled planes of sunlit bronze trace the shape of this powerfully built dragon, as if hewn from a block of quartz infused sandstone. Large of frame and rippling with well-defined musculature, this fellow's solid stance on thick, sturdy limbs and squared shoulders give an impression of unassailable strength, like a fortress standing against the sands of time. His oblong head sports a long, aristocratic snout that hooks slightly to the right; prominent eye-ridges and a firm jaw prevent him from taking on a runneresque appearance. A milky jade patina crowns rounded headknobs and drizzles down the undersides of broad, wide wings perfectly proportioned to his frame and well able to carry this stalwart fighter up into the sky. Polished ebon talons that extend from broad paws, and striations of shimmering coppery threads along his tawny sides infuses a touch of elegance to his otherwise concrete appearance.
Tavrie laughs softly at that, nodding in affirmation. "I can't believe I'm so choked up," she notes. "How embarrassing is that?" is tacked on. Nabrimeth gives a snort, seeming to agree that it is indeed embarrassing. "You aren't supposed to agree!" Tavrie chides her lifemate.
Talien's attention is on the sashaying, pirouetting green. The nibbling on the corner of her thumb doesn't stop and garbles her statement to Raykini, "Wasn't there - oh..." Drawing out the statement she's answered for herself, Talien studies the newest arrival with a faintly wrinkled forehead.
Cracks wend and weave their way across the surface of the Remants of a Tragedy egg, whispering of a promise that will soon be fulfilled. The egg itself finally self-destructs and the well proportioned maiden of a green that emerges is of a lush, forest green. After deeming that all is well, the damsel makes her way across the sands daintily and makes her choice. Lystia reaches out with a trembling hand, eyes wide as she murmurs, "Seryth, of course I'll get you the best food of all!"
N'thei sounds spacey, distracted. "For...?" He looks blinkingly at the dragonet nearby, his smile now full bloom with bucked up pride. "Wyaeth. That's his name." His manners are a few seconds later, delayed in elation; "And I don't know your name, but thank you."
Tempered Graceful Green's arched neck turns an imperial head over her shoulder, eyes whirling in appraising interest at a particular candidate. With measured steps, tail trailing attractive patterns in the sands of her wake, the newly hatched green comes to a collected halt in front of the youngest girl of the grouping.
"Wyaeth," says Emilly beamingly. "And I'm Emilly, assistant Weyrlingmaster, let's get you both taken care of shall we? Just this way." And she ushers the pair off the Sands.
Emilly meanders into the dark passageway.
Emilly has left.
You meander into the dark passageway.
Weyrleaders' Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#480RAIJLs)
A flight of steps worn smooth with time lead up to a broad flat area with enough room for a gold and her consort to sprall and lounge. Openings lead to a room used for conferences, the Weyrwoman's private room, and the hatching sands themselves. A round table of well polished hardwood sits in one corner and is surrounded by chairs.
Wyaeth moves up from the hatching sands.
Wyaeth has arrived.
I'daur is waiting, looking restless as he's currently got the first handful of new-made weyrlings in place. The kids are feeding their ravenous charges already, the old weyrlingmaster handing out a couple more buckets of meat to keep them well-stocked before he leans up against a wall for a breather. He watches those already present a moment, then glances back to the sands entrance in time to see the new pair. "Well," he says, noting N'thei and Wyaeth. "What's your names?" He's already lifting another bucket of chunks of raw meat, to pass it to the young man. "And make 'im chew," is added as an afterthought.
"Hey I'daur! Here's another one!" Emilly calls over as she arrives. "Nathein and Wyaeth - oh how're you shortening your name, Nathein?" she asks and points. "There's bowls of meat there if he's hungry ... and I'm off. See you later."
N'thei spends more time watching Wyaeth walk, something that only a newly Impressed person could possibly find fascinating, than in attending his surroundings. "What?" He shakes his head, tries hard to clear the heat and dust from his mind. "He's Wyaeth. And I hadn't thought about it hard enough, but apparently it's N'thei. Which I'm all right with." Long pause and he remembers; "Sir."
"N'thei and Wyaeth," repeats I'daur, with the air of one working to fix those names in his mind. "Well. Settle in and feed him until he's full, and we've got oil when you're done with that. If you need anything, lemme know," he tells them, as he watches them a moment while they do so.
Wyaeth, off the sands, relaxes back into that easy swagger as he lets N'thei take the lead; he hovers a step behind him, muzzle level with his chosen's legs as he saunters into town. Food, though--that's the most important thing, and it draws in his attention magnetically as he stops to eye the bucket and then, determinedly, snake his head into it to steal his first bite.
Madison meanders up from the hatching sands.
Madison has arrived.
Seteth moves up from the hatching sands.
Seteth has arrived.
N'thei glances around, gets his bearings on how the others are managing the situation. "Oil for what?" His eyes light on the feeding for now, and he hunkers down gracelessly beside Wyaeth; oh, if only he could see himself now. "Don't just shove your face it in it, pal. Let me... feed it to you. With my bare hands." Maybe he /can/ see himself now after all.
When the next pair arrives, I'daur is still watching N'thei and Wyaeth out of the corner of his eye as he scans over the better-situated weyrlings who are already beginning to slow their eating and clamor for oil. When a new arrival shows up, the weyrlingmaster automatically looks over, arching a brow as he sees Emilly leading in Madison and her green. "Afternoon," he tells her. "What's her name?" He's already nudging a bucket of the raw meat over toward her, nodding to it pointedly.
Madison hurries in with Seteth, the beautiful green by her side with the young candidate hardly having enough time to look in front of her as much as she's staring at the green. "Oh, look." She says, beaming and looking up at I'daur. "Her name, her beautiful name is Seteth." Madison has tears in her eyes. "Here." She reaches down into the bucket and brings out some raw meat. "Here Seteth. Eat,"
Dragonet> Wyaeth's voice swirls up again, warm and smokey and fierce. << I can do it myself, >> he insists, one discordant note in the words. << You don't have to do it for me like I'm some kind of-->> A delicate pause: he /is/ a hatchling, after all, and he seems to realize the irony of what he had been about to say. << A human baby, >> he decides finally. (to N'thei)
"Yes, but you need to eat first Seteth." She begins holding out handfulls of meat, hoping that her green will like the way that she convey's it. "I will be fine when you are." She coos to her dragon.
"For him," says I'daur wryly, a jerk of his head indicating Wyaeth. "And slow-like, don't let her choke," is the warning he adds to Madison and Seteth, as he steps their way briefly to observe. "Make sure she chews it first, Madison."
N'thei pulls his hands away then, shows his palms to Wyaeth in surrender. "Far be it for me. Try to take it slow though. You look a little... not dignified." He must have missed something when I'daur gestures to Wyaeth, a gesture that leaves him blinking at the weyrlingmaster with absolutely no cognizance. "What's for him?"
"Do this." She takes a piece of the meat and begins to chew on it slowly. "See?" She surpresses a choking sound and when it's mashed up good she swallows it. "See?" She shows her dragon before she puts a bit more into Seteth's mouth. "Now chew it up with your lovely teeth and then swallow."
"The oil...?" says I'daur, trailing off meaningfully and arching a brow at N'thei. He shakes his head, though, and gives the independent little bronze a look--but as he seems to be managing all right on his own, he lets it pass. "Just keep an eye on him," he says, before--"You know, pantomine, visualization... These things work for most people," he directs to Madison as he catches her little demonstration, lip curling.
Aghast, N'thei just had to be looking up when that happened. "Did you just put /raw meat/ /in your mouth/, Maddie?" He nods distractedly at I'daur's advice, torn between his horror at what Madison's doing and his utter fascination with everything that Wyaeth does.
Wyaeth, well. He eats. He's at least reasonable about it: however 'undignified' he might look, rummaging in the bucket for himself, his shoulders are set defiantly still, and he is mindful of the cautions toward chewing (at least after the first time he has to cough to clear his throat; some'll only learn by experience). All in all, he's managing rather well for himself.
A soft hand reaches out to rub over Seteth's eyeridges. "No my dear.. You don't need to pretend to choke." She tells the green, "I am not used to eating raw food." She offers again and takes up some more meat. "Everythign else, just like you, was perfect." She tells the beautiful green.
Dragonet> Wyaeth, dryly: << I'd rather be full than dignified. Besides, it's demeaning, sitting there, letting somebody else feed me when I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. >> Another of those pauses, amused. << At least, in this. It's starting to itch, scratch it, N'thei. >> His shoulders, the creepy-crawly sensation spreading across them both, making the skin there twitch even as he continues eating, trusting you to have his back. (to N'thei)
N'thei prefers the view of Wyaeth than the view of Madison at this point, and he addresses the latter. "But it's not at all demeaning to shove your head in a bucket of raw meat?" He hops up quickly at the first twitch between the bronze shoulders, turns his knuckles to remedying the itching. He has yet to make the leap of logic from itching dragonet to bucket of oil.
N'thei addresses the /former/, that is.
"She says she's itching quite a bit sir." Madison says to I'daur, giving her Seteth another handfull of meat so that she may enjoy it. "What can I do about that?" She wonders before she looks to N'thei and snorts. "I did it out of love."
And there's the last couple, trickling in now with Emilly. I'daur watches them, lips pursed, as A'son and Nikoth enter, and with them Talien and Svodriyth. He says nothing for a moment, just studies the pair and finally turns to grab up a pair of buckets, one passed to each new rider. "Here, get to tendin' 'em. Don't let them choke--chew. And--what's their names?" He pauses to glance over them again, gaze lingering a moment on Talien before another hailing attracts his attention. "Oil's over here," he tells Madison. "Grab a bucket and paddle and start slathering it on her. Make sure you get everywhere, too, all right?"
A'son wanders up from the hatching sands.
A'son has arrived.
Nikoth moves up from the hatching sands.
Nikoth has arrived.
Madison hurries over to the oil and takes a bucket and she hurries back over to her green. "Seteth is her name." SHe offers, reaching out and scrubbing her green with the oil.
Dragonet> Wyaeth, in a tone that asks 'isn't that obvious?', says, << Well, no. I'm taking care of myself. There's nothing demeaning in that, wouldn't you say, N'thei? >> (to N'thei)
Svodriyth moves up from the hatching sands.
Svodriyth has arrived.
Nikoth tries to hold his wings up carefully as he follows A'son off the sands, so they won't get caught again. He bugles quite loudly and demandingly, seeming to have a wide variety of loud noises at his disposal for garnering attention.
Talien meanders up from the hatching sands.
Talien has arrived.
And there's the last couple, trickling in now with Emilly. I'daur watches them, lips pursed, as A'son and Nikoth enter, and with them Talien and Svodriyth. He says nothing for a moment, just studies the pair and finally turns to grab up a pair of buckets, one passed to each new rider. "Here, get to tendin' 'em. Don't let them choke--chew. And--what's their names?" He pauses to glance over them again, gaze lingering a moment on Talien before another hailing attracts his attention. "Oil's over here," he tells Madison. "Grab a bucket and paddle and start slathering it on her. Make sure you get everywhere, too, all right?"
A'son nods to I'daur, accepting the bucket. "Nikoth, that's his name." Not a lot of time is spent on studying the weyrlingmaster before he turns to the Nikoth. "Here, here we go. I know you're hungry. Chew, you have to chew. Got it?" He informs the hatchling in a serious tone, before offering him the first of the chunks.
N'thei tries reasonably, "Unless you could see how funny you look, I don't think you can understand." He even sounds a touch sorry for Wyaeth, but he can't stop himself from looking amusedly at the bronze with his head in a bucket. He stops knuckle-itching Wyaeth's shoulders for a second, a look sent to the oil paddles.
Talien moves, at last; Svodriyth kept within touch and sight every step of the way. Getting back to the here and now proves more difficult than not as she nearly trips and continuously bumps into his side. Success is had and when she steps in with the other weyrlings and hears I'daur, it takes her a moment to wipe that smile (oh, hi, glad to see you!) off her face. His query is indecisively batted around inside her head before she takes the bucket and offers a reply. "Svodriyth - he's Svodriyth." Svodriyth who is then promptly fed.
Madison watches with a small, affectionate smile as Seteth wanders away.
Emilly comes in on the heels of the last Impressees and looks around the room, discreetly dabbing a tell-tale sheen of sweat from her forehead. Immediately the greenrider shucks off her 'dress' riding jacket and hangs it up out of the way before she dives into helping out. "Got everything you need, Talien?" she pauses by the new-minted bluerider.
"Nikoth. What's yours?" I'daur retorts to A'son, arching a brow. He watches the young man and his bronze get settled, nods once in apparent satisfaction that they're getting on all right, and then he glances back, already warily, to Talien. "Svodriyth," he repeats the blue's name. "Well, feed him up, then." A pause. "Congratulations, Talien," is added more quietly, before he calls out across the ledges: "Oil's here when they start itching."
"I dunno," Talien answers in honest, "Food and... I'daur didn't need anything else after that, but-" Trailing off to shake her head, Talien falls silent to resume feeding the blue. The first time she looks up is at I'daur's congratulations and it draws a small shade of red to her face. Quite the helpless little smile surfaces and is intended for the Weyrlingmaster, though Svodriyth's insistent *hungernow* mentality promptly redirects her focus to him.
Nikoth accepts the first chunk and, as instructed, chews. But it seems he's in such a hurry to not be hungry, he only chews a little, then swallows when the piece is probably still too big.
Madison turns her head and smiles when Seteth wanders near.
Svodriyth snorts faintly, as if this should already been well known. He glances rather smuggly at I'daur and then Emilly in turn, seeming to size them up before putting on his best draconic grin. He gratefully accepts all the morsels offered, eating neatly and seeming to scoff at the other dragons if they are sloppy.
"Good, good," says Emilly give the Weyrling's shoulder a brief pat. "Holler if you need a bucket of oil in a bit." Svodriyth's look earns a brief return one from the greenrider, one brow arched and she chuckles softly. "Seems you're doing just fine indeed." And she moves on to check in with some of the others, make sure all the dragonets are chewing and swallowing.
A'son shakes his head, evidentally still in a daze. "I'm sorry, Ays- A'son. That's my name now." He blinks and holds another piece out to him. "Nikoth, chew slower. You'll get all you need, I'll make sure of that. No rushing, please." He smiles at him, handing the chunk all the way out to him.
N'thei reaches for the paddle, having managed to put two and two together belatedly, and hunkers down again to apply oil to the itching Wyaeth. His dragon finishes inhaling the food out of the bucket and leaves the man time enough to look around the room, finally realize who else is in here. In a moment of new camaraderie, he looks at A'son then at Nikoth and grins. "Yours?"
Nikoth chews in an almost exaggerated fashion, in an attempt to please A'son. That doesn't last long, the movement speeding up again: the faster he finishes, the more he'll get!
With everyone settling down to eat, or oil, or let the tired dragons drowse against them, I'daur can stop limping between the kids and their hatchlings, pausing to leave up against the wall again, rubbing his left leg idly as he does so. "We'll let them finish up feeding, at least, and then see about getting 'em into the barracks to finish up the oiling and get to sleep," he remarks to Emilly as he notes her.
A'son shakes his head at the bronze, offering another piece. "Perhaps not that slow, but you're getting the hang of it." While the hatchling chews, he puts his hand out tentatively again to rub him above the high ridges. "You're amazing." When N'thei directs some words towards him, he blinks and then grins. "Nikoth. Yours?"
"He's the best." Talien agrees to Emilly's statement - dazed by Svodriyth's confidence and the whole of the blue, she's practically bursting with pride and doing her utmost best to feed him the choicest pieces of meat first. "No worries about them," she assures the blue in a quiet undertone, "You're all mine and we'll be fine..." In the wake of a grin, she glances toward N'thei and bobs her head; spastic-seeming, Talien then scoots around to Svodriyth's side, "Here?" Both hands surround the area as she digs her fingers into the offending area.
Emilly finishes up re-instructing V'day and then steps back herself, nodding I'daur's way. "Yessir," she says with a grin and tosses of a loose salute then props her hands on her hips, observing the group as the chaos lessens somewhat, all busy with one task or another.
Nikoth chews on the next piece, and as he does, takes a moment to turn his head this way, and that. When his head is turned slightly right--meaning the hooked nose is hidden a bit--he pauses to allow a moment for his green-shined headknobs to be admired. Amazing, yes.
N'thei rests on his heels a few moments to watch Wyaeth make the effort to work the paddle for himself; the lack of thumbs gets the better of him, and the dragonet lets the weyrling do the oil-work. "Wyaeth. Flushes my whole theory that the little boys are better suited for this business." As good-natured as he's ever shown, he even bright-smiles at Talien. His next words are lower, for his dragon only.
Svodriyth shifts his wings higher to recieve a scratch and then eyes the other dragons getting oiled. That's the ticket. The blue shifts to nudge Talien hopefully, still wearing a slightly slack-jawed grin.
A'son gently, as if afraid to hurt him, touches the headknobs, and continues to give the bronze a little rub. Whenever that next piece is chewed, there'll be another one all ready for him. "When we're done, I can oil you." He informs him, and he shakes his head suddenly. "You're right also." He says outloud and smiles affectionately at him.
"Me neither," Talien says with a semi-abashed chuck of her shoulder against Svodriyth's side, "Won't even need B'yan... I'll tell him, too." She continues scratching up until Svodriyth's hint. Promptly seeking out oil, Talien slathers a copious amount right on the area she's been scratching, "Tell me when, ok?"
After the next few pieces of meat, Nikoth seems to settle some, eyes shading to a more calming color. Then he suddenly rubs his nose along the stone on the ground, as if it's itchy.
Talien is hooked. Totally hooked. Accommodating every shift, plead and hint Svodriyth offers her way, the girl immerses herself totally in his well being and happiness. If it means she's covered in oil and meat goo by the end, well, them's the breaks.
When it seems like things are really slowing down, the dragons growing sleepier than ever, I'daur stands, straightening back up. "All right," he calls out, to grab everyone's attention. "We're moving to the barracks. Everybody up, follow me--Emilly, will you stay back and keep the stragglers up--and watch the claws," he adds to the newly impressed crowd, even as one weyrling nearly finds himself tangling with his green's talons already. The weyrlingmaster shakes his head but offers a wry smile as he turns to lead the way to their new home.
Talien watches with a small, affectionate smile as Svodriyth wanders away.
"Of course," says Em, looking up from cleaning up some spilled oil and gives that spot of floor a final polish. She hangs back waiting to take up the rear and catches her jacket off the hook where she left it as she passes. "Whoops, careful there," she steadies a young Weyrling whose fatigue has rendered her a bit wobbly.
N'thei spends a lot of his time now alternating between scratching Wyaeth with his knuckles and oiling all the places that he's just scratched. He's in an awkward position when I'daur proclaims a change of venue, holds up a paddle that now leaks oil down over his knuckles most untidily. Wyaeth knows no hesitation though, just gets to his feet and prepares to lead the way. As if he even knows the way.
"More'n alright," Talien confirms with overflowing confidence. Svodriyth's itching needs seen to, and I'daur's command given, Talien stands and braces herself against him. Her lips move in a silent statement, the tips of her fingers just touching the nape of his neck - he and Talien set off after the Weyrlingmaster.
Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr(#430RAIJs$)
This is a large, high ceilinged cavern cut from the rock. There are rows of depressions on the floor, couches for the young dragons; the weyrlings sleep with their dragons. The floor is stone, which helps ease the inevitable task of cleaning up the muck left by the dragonets.
The cavern has been decorated with old dragon tapestries hung on the walls, their colors slightly faded. A threadbare rug in the middle of the room bears the emblem of High Reaches Weyr, a mountain range in black on a dark blue field. A few low tables, chairs, and pillows have been scattered about the room, and baskets of glows placed strategically throughout the room keep the place well-lit. An opening in the southwest leads out into the Bowl.
I'daur, leading the way into the barracks, steps to the side and motions the weyrlings on in. "Get them settled, pick yourself out a cot and a couch. The dragons'll want to sleep now," he tells them, "and you might be sleepy yourselves. But if you feel up to it, you're welcome to go to the party in the living cavern: it's for you, after all. Just remember--no drinking, no sex, and get your butts back in here by ten."
N'thei raises his hand in a way he must know looks comical; "Pardon? No drinking?" He blanches.
Talien breaks away from Svodriyth as they enter the barracks, but only to be the first to claim one particular couch amidst all others. Fingers touching the edges of it, and a hand held out for Svodriyth, Talien glances to I'daur to (in a first of it's own, no less) catch his reaction. Though almost pointedly and petulantly, she settles down on it's edge with the intent on helping Svodriyth up and into place.
"No drinking, you lush." Seteth nudges her a bit as she moves up to claim a particularly beautiful looking couch. She glides up into it and curls around, which causes Madison to yawn broadly. "Oooh ... Ooh.."
"Nope, none," says I'daur, with a shake of his grey head. "Not for the first months, anyway. You need your wits about you to deal with them when they're this young." And there's nothing smug at all about the way he finally gets around to pulling out his usually present flask for a sip, now that he's finally got a moment to breathe. "Give it a couple of months, though--don't worry so much about it, then." It's reassuring. Maybe.
N'thei doesn't pick his cot; Wyaeth picks it. He swaggers over and plops down on a couch, sprawls out comfortably, and starts to snore within seconds. "Don't you think that's a little cruel then?" The weyrling, now the reluctant weyrling, drags his eyes away from Wyaeth to I'daur's flask pleadingly.
Cheekily, Talien says to N'thei, "I know where he keeps his stashes." Plural, as it is emphasized. On the sly, a taunting grin is flashed in I'daur's direction though the true trouble behind it is ruined as she is overcome with a yawn. At nearly the same instant, Svodriyth drapes a paw protective and possessively over Talien's leg while settling his head into her lap. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, Talien drapes both arms around him and leans into his side.
"Not really," admits I'daur with a shrug. "S'just the way it is. When you've made it past first three months, you can do what you want, long as you're not actually /drunk/. You'll have earned more than a few drinks by then, anyway," is his advice. Pause. "You trashed my stash," he adds to Talien, scowling at her. "And if I catch you back there now--" Glower.
Madison's made her way up on her couch with Seteth and she curls up into the warm embrace of her green dragon. She leans back into her glistening hide and closes her eyes. "Soo tired." She yawns outwards..
Emilly moves around the Barracks quietly while I'daur runs down the list of rules, draping a blanket over a sleepy Weyrling here, tidying up more drips of oil there, keeping busy in the background.
Talien's shoulders give the slightest of shakes - silent amusement that's hidden as she straightens and looks once more at I'daur. "Sir," is intoned in the most somber of tones; Svodriyth, on the other hand, has roused himself enough from sleep to stare lazily at I'daur. A flick of his tail is all that comes of the Weyrlingmaster's threat and with a rattling sigh, the blue resituates himself against Talien.
"Really now?" N'thei turns to Talien with newfound respect and a suddenly sweet smile. "What does it take to get that kind of information out of a person, I wonder." For now, he sits down on the end of his cot, pulls off his sandals, plops them on the floor, and looks around with a dubious expression that only gains fortitude with frequent stolen glances at sleeping Wyaeth.
I'daur just shakes his head, apparently giving up, because he steps sideways toward his little attached office to sit down, grimace as he rubs his leg, and drink idly, while he watches over those next door as they settle into the barracks.
"No," Talien says with far too much seriousness and a telling look at I'daur, "I'd never do that." Another yawn breaks forth, one Talien fights as much as possible - never mind she keeps sinking further and further against Svodriyth who seems all too willing in sharing a space of his stone with her.
Emilly tucks in another Weyrling and lines up a discarded pair of sandals alongside each other by a cot,then drifts over to the office, speaking low-voice to the Weyrlingmaster, low enough that her voice doesn't carry out into the Barracks proper.
IC Date: 10/31/12
Candidate Barracks, High Reaches Weyr(#430RAIJs$)
This is a large, high ceilinged cavern cut from the rock. There are rows of depressions on the floor, couches for the young dragons who will soon live here. For now, cots have temporarily been brought in for the candidates while they bide their time, waiting for the exciting day when the eggs will hatch. Men keep to one side and women to the other. At the foot of each cot lies a small press for storing clothing and other small items.
The cavern has been decorated with old dragon tapestries hung on the walls, their colors slightly faded. A threadbare rug in the middle of the room bears the emblem of High Reaches Weyr, a mountain range in black on a dark blue field. A few low tables, chairs, and pillows have been scattered about the room, and baskets of glows placed strategically throughout the room keep the place well-lit. An opening in the southwest leads out into the Bowl.
From the bowels of the Weyr, a low thrum rises, gaining strength and volume as excitement seems to race through the bowl. The sound starts to vibrate the walls and the ground.
I'daur knows what it means as soon as the sound goes up; by the speed he gets to the barracks, he either had some kind of advance warning or was very close by. He stops in the doorway to glance out over the candidates already in there, stepping aside to let a couple more come dashing in. All he says is, "Well, get your robes on, then."
Nathein lays halfway on, halfway off of his cot: His legs hang over the end of it, feet on the floor with one sandal on and the other one still a work in progress; his back is flat on the cot while he works on fixing the straps on the second sandal. The first hint of vibration slows his work. By the time it reaches a full-fledged hum, his hands have stopped altogether and he starts sitting up. "Not very ceremonious, is it?"
Madison hops up out of her cot and hurriedly gets her tunic on, which consists of putting her head through the arm hole, then the other, and finally putting it on correctly, before tying it around at her waist and putting her sandals on. "Really? Time?" She looks extremely nervous.
Raykini just happens to be sitting in his cot, a hand absently running through his hair. And, as the sound goes off, he nearly falls off his cot in surprise. As the weyrlingmaster comes in, however, he bolts upright, quickly pushing himself to his feet. "Here we go..."
Talien would be one of those dashing in. Sandwiched between her fellows, she still hesitates upon passing by I'daur to shoot a look up at him. Then it's on to her cot and the press at it's end where she takes a knee to dig out her robe. There's yet one more pause as Talien holds it out before her, then quickly enough switches her current clothes for the robe. Another dive into the press brings out her sandals which Talien slips on as she pulls her hair back into a loosely bound tail.
I'daur's expression is sober as he starts through the barracks, checking robes and sandals and hair, making sure each candidate is appropriately dressed while he still has them in the barracks. "Hurry up," he urges a couple of pokey girls before a quick head count assures him that everybody is actually present now. He's still calm, moving purposefully and quickly. "Line up by the door when you're ready."
Nathein mumbles to himself as he wedges his foot into his sandal, frowns at the end result. He flips open the lid of his press, a deft flick of the wrist shortly to unfurl his robe. "And me without my ribbons and barrettes." This mutter kept until I'daur is a few cots down the line. Shortly, the big candidate is all changed and looking wondrously stupid with his knees showing as he joins the line.
Madison giggles a bit as she hurries up and looks around at the others before she beams. "In order by name? Or just height? or?" Madison asks quickly, looking to I'daur.
Raykini quickly pulls on his robes, hopping a bit on a foot as he tries to shove his sandal onto his feet, only to repeat the process with the other foot. When he's finally done dressing, he moves to join the line, smoothing out his robes in the process.
Ayson is dressed and ready. When I'daur gives the order to get in line, he's quickly on his way to doing so. He smoothes out any wrinkles and hastily pulls off a loose thread while he waits for the next order.
Talien gives the tail of her hair a final, harsh tug to pull it entirely through the cord binding it in place. For all her effort she winces and then turns around to try and spot Ayson. It doesn't take her long and she quickly steps into line behind him while anxiously wringing her hands together.
"Don't think it really matters," I'daur notes, giving Madison a glance, his mouth twitching briefly into a half-smile before he moves on. Then: "Everybody ready?" he calls out, limping his way back up to the front of the line. He makes one last double check that there are no egregious robe violations before nodding one and straightening a little more. "Then follow me." And he sets off, leading the way out of the barracks to the ledges and the sands beyond them.
Weyrleaders' Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#480RAIJLs)
A flight of steps worn smooth with time lead up to a broad flat area with enough room for a gold and her consort to sprall and lounge. Openings lead to a room used for conferences, the Weyrwoman's private room, and the hatching sands themselves. A round table of well polished hardwood sits in one corner and is surrounded by chairs.
On the ledges, I'daur stops again, in front of the entrance to the sands. He takes a look out over the candidates, lips pursed, expression once more solemn. "You know the drill. Constant vigilance. Get out of the way of any of 'em that start coming toward you--they'll tear you up. Half the time they're clumsy enough to do it even if you've impressed 'em. Everybody got that?"
Madison nods her head. "Yes sir." The young girl says, looking a bit nervous all the while. "Constant Vigilance." She reahces out to touch Ayson's elbow. "Good luck Ayson." She looks to her other friends, Tailen, Raykini and even Nathein. "You too." She offers. "G'luck."
Raykini gives a soft nod as he follows behind the group, his arms wrapped lightly about his chest. He sways rather uncomfortably in his spot, a rather indifferent look on his face. He gives a nod in agreement, "Yes, sir." He smiles briefly to Madison, "Thanks Madi, good luck to you too."
Nathein spends the first part of the trek trying to recapture his dignity, but he gives it up about halfway here and just forgets about his knees showing and his makeshift sandals. By the time I'daur imparts his foreboding wisdom, Nathein has settled for a look of comic suffering; "Very reassuring advice, sir. So noted." He cracks a smile, then a slightly wider one for Maddie's well wishes. "Constant vigilance, shrimpy."
Talien's nervous hand-wringing subsides at I'daur's solemn statement, to which Talien responds with a silent nod of her head and a furtive look out past his shoulder to whatever she can spot on the sands.
Ayson nods silently, shifting on his feet. His lips are pursed as he glances from I'daur and then to the others that are around him.
When he's sure that that message has been impressed, one last time, on the candidates, I'daur gives a brief nod in return, before he steps aside of the entrance. "Good luck," he tells them, with one of those fleeting wry smiles. "Get on out there."
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 watched lovingly over them while they hardened. Now finally the eggs have started to rock and hatch, and the cavern is filled with the humming of dragons, the cheers of the spectators, the scared and hungry creels of the dragonets, and the muffled encouragments of the candidates.
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.
Raykini moves slowly into the hatching cavern, pausing just shy of the entrance to offer a deep bow. He holds it for a moment or two before rising to his full height. He lets his eyes flicker over to his friends, keeping close to them as he starts to move onto the sands.
Talien keeps at least one other candidate in her line of sight as she moves onto the Sands. As she bows to the clutch Dam and Sire her movements are stiff and jerky and in joining the loose semi-circle about the eggs, just plain stiff. Square shouldered and with her hands deadlocked into white-knuckled fists behind her back, Talien inhales deeply and waits.
Nabrimeth shifts restlessly, shifting her attention from the eggs to the white-clad candidates. The queen rumbles softly, tentatively, seeming unsure. "It's alright, love. This is their day, your little ones and these chosen," Tavrie encourages the new mother patiently, smiling at the candidates in a welcoming manner.
Nathein fires a shifty look up at the galleries after ducking through the tunnel. He allows himself one fidget, just to straighten the shoulders of his robe, and then the appropriate bow toward the dragons; Nabrimeth is the recipient of an especially deep bow, to be followed by wary watchfulness until Nathein finds his place toward the gathering semi-circle.
Coming out into the sands, Madison looks towards the eggs that rock back and forth before she nervously looks at the Sire and Dam. She bows deeply to both before she hurries onto the sands. Looking around to find Ayson she hurries to his side. "Can I stay here?"
Ayson bows to the sire and dam before moving past them, finding a place to stand in the semi-circle. The arrival of Madison is greeted with a small smile, the best he can afford. "Of course you can, Maddy."
Great Rainforest Egg gives one slow, subtle twitch, a movement that could almost be lost in the urgency of other, more impatient eggs. This one is waiting, biding its time: ready but waiting for some signal, for someone else to make the first move.
Raykini moves to shift near Talien, offering a little smile to her, "Mind if I stand near you?" he asks tentively, casing a quick glance to the shaking eggs, a frown pulling at his lips. "Shards, It's really happening isn't it?"
S'kris is leaned up casually against the big, quivering hunk of bronze that's resting near Nabrimeth. He's warbling excitedly, whirling eyes fixed on the white shapes just over yonder and shifting his claws a bit in the sand. Soka just grins over at Tavrie for a moment, utterly beyond words for once.
Guiding Light Egg shudders and topples over sideways to come to rest on the sands where it stills in silent contemplation. The illusion of light at the apex appears to emit a pulsing beacon as small movements from within swell and contract the shell in the beginnings of a hatching dance.
Tossing and turning as if in the throes of a terrible nightmare, Mystery's Blood Egg finally cracks open and opens wide, exposing the revelation of lucid green still caught within its confines. The ethereal green is reluctant to leave her nest, but when she does, it's to flee directly to a delicate young woman with pale curls. Ukeila utters a breathless, "You're safe with me, Kyobeth," and bursts into tears.
Madison looks up towards Ayson, sawallowing a bit as she points to the eggs. "Look, they're rolling around!" She reaches out and squeezes Ayson's hand. "Eh... Oh!" She points. "One hatched and Impressed already!" She ohs!
Nathein pulls a frown after overhearing Raykini; "It better be happening. I did not come all the way out here, dressed like this, in front of all those people." He tosses his head toward the galleries. "For this to be a false alarm." Despite light-sounding words, he jitters a nervous step when eggs move, another when the first hatches.
Talien greets Raykini with a tense smile, "Only so many spots." she says, her voice shaky with nerves and excitement. Sweeping a glance on down the line past him, Talien nods once to herself then looks back to the corner of the clutch she stands closest to. Opting to fix her attention there, Talien stares straight ahead but still stands with the obvious tension of someone trying to hear everything going on around them.
Raykini nods his head absently as he wraps his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing a little. "Shards..." And all ready an impressing, "Did you get that/ I don't even think I know him." He turns to Nathien, "Well, me neither. We didn't get all dressed up for nothing."
Nabrimeth, relaxing and catching Wrencath's excitement trumpets gleefully, rearing up slightly to show her joy. Tavrie laughs warmly, slapping the gold and then returning S'kris' smile. "I just can't believe it, look at them," she notes the newly hatched pair. Could that be the bubbly blond dabbing at a tear?
Ayson lifts his hand, and gives Talien the smallest of waves when she looks down the line. He bites his lower lip when the first impression is made. He takes a deep breath and nods to the girl next to him. "It's going to go fast. Faster I think, than I thought."
Great Rainforest Egg's twitch is more pronounced this time, a finger on a trigger flinching as it comes inexorably closer to that moment when it will release. Impatience is visible in the faint quivering of its shell, but it holds still, and steady, unscathed and unbroken for a few moments longer.
Madison looks up to Ayson and nods. "I'm so nervous. You'll make sure and not get hurt, right?" She asks.
Nathein laughs nervously. "If you call this getting dressed up..." He plucks at the front of his robe, peels it away from where sweat has started to stick it to his skin, tries to fan himself with the fabric.
S'kris catches sight of at least one familiar face high up in the ledges, but only if he squints a little. His lopsided grin edges a bit moreso and he steps a bit closer to Tavrie, digging a kerchief out of his pocket and discreetly offering it to the goldrider. "Here, darlin'. See? Everything's going /just/ fine. I am so /awfully/ proud of them." Eggs? Candidates? The clutchparents? Maybe all of them. Wrencath bugles merrily and bounces a little in place.
Ayson half smiles this time, gently, "I won't get hurt. You have to promise to not get hurt too, okay? Don't throw yourself in front of anything, got it?"
Guiding Light Egg takes up movement once again which now that it is free of its sandy cradle, simply serves to steer it around in an ever widening circle. The flashing of color from the apex that scatters the first few delicate shards of shell with the rolling motion, gives the impression of the egg discarding 'veils'.
A powerful force struggles within the Buried Battles egg and finally triumphs, sending splinters and bits of shell /everywhere/. The resulting brown is rather large, his hide just a few shades lighter than carob. After taking only a few moments to orient himself, he's carrying himself with a steady pride that brings him to the feet of Ronayil. R'yil, formerly a guard at Bitra, reaches out to place a hand on one dark eyeridge and to say, "I'm yours, Eluth."
Tavrie simply beams at S'kris, accepting the kerchief as subtly as possible and turning from the sands to dab at her eyes. "This is quite possibly the...well, second most amazing day of my life," she admits, shifting back around in time to see the brown choose. "Oh, what a handsome fellow," the goldrider croons.
Raykini laughs absently, running a hand through his hair as he droops his head, eyeing the white mess that is his robe. "Aye...it is a bit demeaning...I'm certainly not going to wear it again after this." He leans forward as another dragon is shelled, wrinkling his nose. "It's happening faster than I thought."
Wayward Desperado Bronze
Dusty hide like cracked old leather lends this bronze a world-weary look that hangs well on his lanky frame. He's rangy, tall, and broad-chested, with long limbs ending in spurs of gunmetal-grey talons. His hollow-cheeked jaw is as square and roughly chiseled as they come, while his keen eyes are cool and shadowy beneath prominent, windswept ridges of burnished brass. Sunbleached bronze blazes a trail down the makeshift mountain range of his neckridges, into the coal-smoke crease of his neck and a shoulder edged in dusk. Gritty golds blanket the jaded desert of his haggard ribs, half-cloaked by the shabby, sandstorm duster of his wings. His flanks are leanly muscled, his tail as thin as the rest of his desiccated frame: a distilled dragon, all excess withered away into this faded, hard-edged remnant outridden by those threadbare tumbleweed wings.
Madison blinks backwards as another is impressed. "Oh look, a handsome brown!" She begins to say before the brown quickly impresses. "Oh look! That was quick!" She says, before gasping as a bronze emerges. "Oooh, look! A bronze! He's very handsome. He's really chiseled."
S'kris plants a hand squarely on Wrencath's shoulder, a wordless reassurance ... and a restraint, of sorts, to keep the bronze from just about leaping out of his /skin/ with excitement when a bronze hatches. He did that! A glance is given to Nabrimeth. Check that. /We/ did that! "They've all been mighty /fine/ looking, haven't they?" is drawled to Tavrie through a wide, pleased smile.
Wayward Desperado Bronze stands there a moment, as still as his egg remains before it fell away in the face of his onslaught. A nose is raised to the air, wings rustling as he adjusts his stance to a readier one, claws flexing into the sand underneath him. Picturesque, challenging, he stares down the groups of candidates he sees before him for a long moment before taking those first steps forward, swaggering away from the ghost town remnants of his shell.
Talien returns Ayson's wave and in the same instant, spots R'yil's impression. Her mouth forms a small 'o' of surprise before breaking into a grin. Glancing at the eggs again, Talien hones in on one particular pale blue egg though a twitch of her head to cast aside a strand of hair from her face brings the newly hatched bronze into view.
Raykini tilts his head to the side, a hand lifting upwards to sweep through his hair. The newest addition to the sands gets little interest from the candidate. However, he does make to comment, "I like his coloring." He murmurs to no one in particular.
Ayson is becoming almost distracted by the impressions that are going on around him. He takes a breath and finally looks forward to the bronze that's just hatched, the one that has Madison's attention. "Oh yes, he's fine looking."
Nabrimeth croons in response to Wrencath's looks and excitement, reaching out to nudge his shoulder sweetly. The same pride rests on her masked face, head lifted proudly. Tavrie just sighs, seeming at a loss for words.
The Line in the Sand Egg shudders uncontrollably, but it takes a while longer before it finally caves inward and spills out a sinuous, sage green hatchling with a generous smear of mint along her left haunch. The diminuitive dragonet unwinds and darts toward the candidates, her nose promptly finding the middle of pudgy girl named Imena. "Oh, oh, oh! Wajath, are you as hungry as I am? Oh, let's get you some food!"
Nathein gives up trying to cool off, probably having done nothing more than make himself hotter for the efforts. "Explains why they were in the condition in which we found them though, doesn't it?" He swipes his hands across his forehead, drags away some sweat, then contemplates the bronze that's gone and caught everyone's attention. "These are what we're supposed to be so afraid of?" His eyes seek out I'daur, questioningly.
Guiding Light egg gives one last flourishing twitch, the dance coming to an end and the last 'veil' coming away in a soft explosion of shell resembling applause that leaves a small malachite green revealed in all her regal glory.
Tempered Graceful Green
Perfectly proportioned in every sense of the word, this green dragon's limbs and body come together in a streamlined visual of royal bearing. Her slender neck held in a near permanent arch of regality curves down along neck ridges which sweep backwards with notable elegance ending in a tail that coils and uncoils with undeniable grace. Fashioned as if from a polished green gem, soft hide is subtly marbled, with the lights of the heavens either enhancing or muting the effects depending on the angle they touch upon her. A sweetly shaped muzzle broadens outward to encompass eyes that hold the wisdom of the ages. Head knobs washed in the palest of sage greens give the appearance of a noble headdress while majestic wingsails of lucent radiance furl along her sides like that of a lady's hand fan, unfurling in a neat and precise manner with just a hint of coquettish curl at the tips. Moving with self-contained dignity, femininity is never far off with a refined sense of 'being'.
Over at the edge of the Sands, well out of the way, Emilly stands with the other assistant weyrlingmaster, carefully tracking newly hatched dragonets. The greenrider moves forward quickly to guide newly Impressed pairs off of the Sands, giving instructions about feeding in a low, calm voice.
Madison's breath sucks in as she looks towrads the green that has hatched, blinking as she ohs. "Look, to Imena! She's so cute!" She hollars as best she can to the girl before another green is hatched and she ohs. "I... I..." She says. "She's..." She points to Ayson, tugging on his tunic. For the first time Madison is at a loss for words.
Ayson quickly moves to put his hand on Madison's chin, if she doesn't move away. "Maddy, don't be so loud. You could startle or upset them." He doesn't say it unkindly, instead it's with a grin. He understands the excitement coming from her.
One Colossal Egg shifts in the light of the caverns, the dazzling gleam of copper flashing brightly once, twice, its inhabitant testing its limits, before the egg stills again.
Raykini tilts his head to the side, letting his gray eyes fall on the green, taking in her coloring. "Now she," He points quietly to Talien, "Has a wonderful hide. It'll be interesting to see who she goes to, eh?"
Tempered Graceful Green imperiously flicks away a shell fragment with one soft little claw, then dips her head down to examine herself. It is with precise slowness that she checks every inch of herself, much like a feline would after bathing. Clearly, she does not like the goo running down her little frame into the hot sand - she emits a shriek at the mess she is, holding her wings far from herself before finally lifting her proud chin and surveying her surroundings.
Nathein echoes after Ayson's words, sounds very grave; "That doesn't look like constant vigilance to me, Maddie." His smile is strained, a combination of heat and the increasing incoherency on the sands.
Talien remains still, though her determination to look just straight ahead has failed miserably. Caught between trying to see everything, all at once and trying to focus on just what's in her immediate, Talien is at a loss for words. So Raykini's query earns a silent nod as the green is watched for those first few steps.
An egg bursts open unceremoniously with a muffled *pop*. A broad, terracotta brown hatchling shrugs off the remnants of the Sandstone Frieze Egg with ease and his crimson-kissed gaze drifts ominously across the gathered candidates. His choice is a tall lad from some small hold, Vinday becoming V'day. "Yosavith? Yosavith!"
Wayward Desperado Bronze's steps have a rambling air to them, a sense that he's wandering aimlessly over the sands even as his keen eyes gaze up the ranks of candidates, sizing each of them up before moving on. That swagger, the lazy air of his wings sweeping behind him--those careless movements bely the purposefulness beneath them. He's looking, looking for his match out there, even if he only seems to be strutting about for the benefit of the eyes on him.
Undying Love Egg Almost tentatively, Undying Love Egg begins to shake and shimmy. Vibrations that look unnatural from a surface that is supposed to be so hard course over it and then cease entirely. For now, the hatchling inside will bide its time, seemingly evaluating the best means of escape.
Madison looks over at Nathein and makes a face at her before she looks towards Ayson and murmurs "Sorry." She makes a face. "She's kinda girly." She tells the older boy, looking at the green preen herself. She blinks a few times at another quick imrpession. The dart of a brown across the sands. "huh." She offers before looking at the Bronze. "Oh look at 'im. Might as well be B'yan down there in him."
Raykini wrinkles his nose ever so slightly in thought, letting his eyes flicker over to the wandering dragons, but they suddenly land on the most recent impression. "Congratulations!" he calls to the other candidate, swaying a little towards nathein, "I'm sure he'll ahve fun with that brown."
S'kris settles into just watching with Wrencath, silent and broadly grinning like a fool. Not that Wrencath's any better; the bronze is gape-mawed and jiggly, looking here, there, and everywhere at moving eggs and dragonets and oh, those candidates over there, too.
Nathein swings his head around after the calls of congratulations, pulls a bereft seeming frown. "How are you managing to keep track enough to toss out congratulations?" By the time he even notices V'day, the moment for adulations has passed. "Which one looks girly? Him?" He takes a sweeping look at the bronze, then ahhs; "/Her/. Quite femme."
And now, Wayward Desperado Bronze doesn't even put up the pretense of peacocking around. His demeanor is hardening the longer he's out there, the longer he's alone, and now he looks in earnest, approaching candidates closer, his breath coming in huffs as his thin sides quiver in anticipation. Now he pauses, then sidesteps several boys as not worthy of a second glance, and he turns to pass over the line one more time.
The Mist and Shadows Egg simply falls apart, an angular dragonet stepping out and carrying his head rather high. The summer sky blue dragonet picks his way away from the shards of his former prison and makes his stoic way to a young man on the fringes. Iveldyn stares, wide-eyed, as the blue makes him I'dyn ... and claims the name, "Eidenth," as his own.
Tempered Graceful Green , still among the remnants of broken shells, takes one final survey of the place she's found herself in before taking a few steps forward. Something has now caught her eye: ah yes! It is with snobbish calculation that she makes her way closer to the groups of candidates, still keeping her wings up and back with little fluttering motions. A few of them get her proper curiosity - a twitch of her head tilting to the side as if deliberating, and then briskly beginning her walk down the line of the candidates.
Talien pulls in another sharp, deep breath as the dragons make their passes of the line. Though her eyes continuously dart up and down the length of the clutch, she still remains still and tense. The smallest of exclamations slips past as the bronze sidesteps some of the male candidates, and though there's a sympathetic look in their direction, Talien resumes worrying for her own hide with a small shuffle to the left.
One Colossal Egg twitches suddenly, violently. The fine streaks across its side are a blur as it spins several times, digging further into the hatching sands. No cracks can be seen across its shell yet, despite effort from the dragon within.
All good thing must come to an end and Wayward Desperado Bronze's rambling, roaming ways are no exception. The rangy bronze swings his head this way and that before finally swaggering toward a couple of strapping young men. Not him, not him, and definitely not- oh. What's this? It looks like the kind of challenge he was born to face down. He makes his way around to finally settle on narrow haunches in front of a large, somewhat rugged-looking young man. It's a showdown, a meeting of minds and wills and finally eyes. Crimson makes way for the clear blue of desert skies -- no longer is he a lone ranger ... this bronze has found his partner.
The heat from the sands intensifies and engulfs you, turning into the searing sensation of a blazing noonday's sun. The light is suddenly blinding and fierce, beating down on your neck and making the world swim away in a wash of heat haze. Standing alone in the midst of some forsaken desert, a warped mirage materializes, accompanied by a haunting whistle and the steady plunking of strings on a guitar in some long-forgotten tune. Then his voice comes, rich and languid, to touch your mind in earthen, smoke-scented words: << Well, howdy, N'thei. I'm Wyaeth and I reckon we'll make a mighty fine pair, don't you? >> The sands return in a thunderous rush, a bronze dragon staring up and into your eyes with powerful, unyielding certainty. << But, first ... I need food something /fierce/. >>
Madison's feet begin to pick up and down on the sands, hissing a bit.. "ow, it's a little hot." She hadn't realized how much she has been sweating. "It's hot, Ayson." She offers, looking toawrds the bronze. "Oh, he's.." She blinks.
Raykini tilts is head to the side, taking a cautionary step backwards, his lips turning downwards in a frown. "I wish they didn't get so close, he murmurs quietly to himself."
Picking back up where it left off, Undying Love Egg quivers and shifts, tipping over in its sandy groove so that it is lying on smooth side. Ahh, progress! The jostling and rocking increases in fervor now, but this doesn't last long. Once again, the egg falls still in an almost unsettling manner.
Nathein... N'thei, thank you, starts to take a backward step reminiscent of Raykini's as the bronze drifts ever nearer, but his course changes after a shuffle. "I... reckon...?" His clearly at a loss, standing there with his knees showing and sweat pouring down his face, staring down the barrel of Wyaeth's eyes. "That could be a problem. I'm fresh out of snacks."
Another egg has fallen stealthily apart, with a long-limbed blue left in the remains of the All Your Stones in a Line Egg. The shadowy dragon shakes his narrow head and slinks away, vanishing among the candidates and finally coming away with a rider of his own. J'ome, formerly Jerome, can be heard whispering, "We will, Ojanath, I promise." to the darkling beast while they head off to get food.
Tavrie has turned around to dab at a few more tears, but Nabrimeth has her attention glued on her little ones. Turning around she nibbles her lower lip and glances around through watery eyes. "What is wrong with me? I'm never like this," she grumbles, looking a little pink in the cheeks.
Talien is busy watching the nearest shaking egg, and so misses the bronze's choice of Nathein. It'd be to her benefit, however, as spotting Nathein becoming N'thei might render her more dumbfound than the Hatching has thus far managed. Slipping a hand from behind her back to her mouth, Talien bites on the corner of her thumb and mutters something under her breath.
Tempered Graceful Green sweeps along the rows of candidates. Stopping to cast an imperious eye over one young lad, then flicking her head away and continuing her sashay down the line. She halts midpoint and pirouettes gracefully in place lifting wings in a little fluttering display of momentary indecision.
Raykini blinks a little as he turns his head to the side, taking in Nathien...N'thei? With the bronze, "Congrats!" Ray calls, a wide grin on his face as he cheers on the other man.
Madison blinks a few times and she ohs. "Congrats..." She murmurs to Nathein, groaning a bit as she notices that the dragon chooses him before she turns back to the green, giving a little giggle at the pirouette. "Really girly." She murmurs.
S'kris offers a supportive arm and a shoulder to lean or cry on to Tavrie, drawling a low, "Oh, now hush, darlin'. There is nothing wrong with you at all, y'hear?" Wrencath would back him up, but he's too busy warbling and crooning his enthusiastic encouragements to the lot of them.
Emilly dodges a stumbling Candidate to reach N'thei and his bronze. "Hey there, you two," she says friendly like. "Why don't you come along with me where we can get some food for ..." she trails off for the tall fellow to fill in the dragonet's name.
Striations quickly spread across the bronze-shaded shell of the One Colossal Egg, like a sudden wind blowing through the desert night. The shell falls away, almost as one piece being peeled from the stone-colored dragon inside, knocked asunder by broad wings spreading wide to show off the green-hued patina coloring their underside.
Against the Ages Bronze
Chiseled planes of sunlit bronze trace the shape of this powerfully built dragon, as if hewn from a block of quartz infused sandstone. Large of frame and rippling with well-defined musculature, this fellow's solid stance on thick, sturdy limbs and squared shoulders give an impression of unassailable strength, like a fortress standing against the sands of time. His oblong head sports a long, aristocratic snout that hooks slightly to the right; prominent eye-ridges and a firm jaw prevent him from taking on a runneresque appearance. A milky jade patina crowns rounded headknobs and drizzles down the undersides of broad, wide wings perfectly proportioned to his frame and well able to carry this stalwart fighter up into the sky. Polished ebon talons that extend from broad paws, and striations of shimmering coppery threads along his tawny sides infuses a touch of elegance to his otherwise concrete appearance.
Tavrie laughs softly at that, nodding in affirmation. "I can't believe I'm so choked up," she notes. "How embarrassing is that?" is tacked on. Nabrimeth gives a snort, seeming to agree that it is indeed embarrassing. "You aren't supposed to agree!" Tavrie chides her lifemate.
Talien's attention is on the sashaying, pirouetting green. The nibbling on the corner of her thumb doesn't stop and garbles her statement to Raykini, "Wasn't there - oh..." Drawing out the statement she's answered for herself, Talien studies the newest arrival with a faintly wrinkled forehead.
Cracks wend and weave their way across the surface of the Remants of a Tragedy egg, whispering of a promise that will soon be fulfilled. The egg itself finally self-destructs and the well proportioned maiden of a green that emerges is of a lush, forest green. After deeming that all is well, the damsel makes her way across the sands daintily and makes her choice. Lystia reaches out with a trembling hand, eyes wide as she murmurs, "Seryth, of course I'll get you the best food of all!"
N'thei sounds spacey, distracted. "For...?" He looks blinkingly at the dragonet nearby, his smile now full bloom with bucked up pride. "Wyaeth. That's his name." His manners are a few seconds later, delayed in elation; "And I don't know your name, but thank you."
Tempered Graceful Green's arched neck turns an imperial head over her shoulder, eyes whirling in appraising interest at a particular candidate. With measured steps, tail trailing attractive patterns in the sands of her wake, the newly hatched green comes to a collected halt in front of the youngest girl of the grouping.
"Wyaeth," says Emilly beamingly. "And I'm Emilly, assistant Weyrlingmaster, let's get you both taken care of shall we? Just this way." And she ushers the pair off the Sands.
Emilly meanders into the dark passageway.
Emilly has left.
You meander into the dark passageway.
Weyrleaders' Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#480RAIJLs)
A flight of steps worn smooth with time lead up to a broad flat area with enough room for a gold and her consort to sprall and lounge. Openings lead to a room used for conferences, the Weyrwoman's private room, and the hatching sands themselves. A round table of well polished hardwood sits in one corner and is surrounded by chairs.
Wyaeth moves up from the hatching sands.
Wyaeth has arrived.
I'daur is waiting, looking restless as he's currently got the first handful of new-made weyrlings in place. The kids are feeding their ravenous charges already, the old weyrlingmaster handing out a couple more buckets of meat to keep them well-stocked before he leans up against a wall for a breather. He watches those already present a moment, then glances back to the sands entrance in time to see the new pair. "Well," he says, noting N'thei and Wyaeth. "What's your names?" He's already lifting another bucket of chunks of raw meat, to pass it to the young man. "And make 'im chew," is added as an afterthought.
"Hey I'daur! Here's another one!" Emilly calls over as she arrives. "Nathein and Wyaeth - oh how're you shortening your name, Nathein?" she asks and points. "There's bowls of meat there if he's hungry ... and I'm off. See you later."
N'thei spends more time watching Wyaeth walk, something that only a newly Impressed person could possibly find fascinating, than in attending his surroundings. "What?" He shakes his head, tries hard to clear the heat and dust from his mind. "He's Wyaeth. And I hadn't thought about it hard enough, but apparently it's N'thei. Which I'm all right with." Long pause and he remembers; "Sir."
"N'thei and Wyaeth," repeats I'daur, with the air of one working to fix those names in his mind. "Well. Settle in and feed him until he's full, and we've got oil when you're done with that. If you need anything, lemme know," he tells them, as he watches them a moment while they do so.
Wyaeth, off the sands, relaxes back into that easy swagger as he lets N'thei take the lead; he hovers a step behind him, muzzle level with his chosen's legs as he saunters into town. Food, though--that's the most important thing, and it draws in his attention magnetically as he stops to eye the bucket and then, determinedly, snake his head into it to steal his first bite.
Madison meanders up from the hatching sands.
Madison has arrived.
Seteth moves up from the hatching sands.
Seteth has arrived.
N'thei glances around, gets his bearings on how the others are managing the situation. "Oil for what?" His eyes light on the feeding for now, and he hunkers down gracelessly beside Wyaeth; oh, if only he could see himself now. "Don't just shove your face it in it, pal. Let me... feed it to you. With my bare hands." Maybe he /can/ see himself now after all.
When the next pair arrives, I'daur is still watching N'thei and Wyaeth out of the corner of his eye as he scans over the better-situated weyrlings who are already beginning to slow their eating and clamor for oil. When a new arrival shows up, the weyrlingmaster automatically looks over, arching a brow as he sees Emilly leading in Madison and her green. "Afternoon," he tells her. "What's her name?" He's already nudging a bucket of the raw meat over toward her, nodding to it pointedly.
Madison hurries in with Seteth, the beautiful green by her side with the young candidate hardly having enough time to look in front of her as much as she's staring at the green. "Oh, look." She says, beaming and looking up at I'daur. "Her name, her beautiful name is Seteth." Madison has tears in her eyes. "Here." She reaches down into the bucket and brings out some raw meat. "Here Seteth. Eat,"
Dragonet> Wyaeth's voice swirls up again, warm and smokey and fierce. << I can do it myself, >> he insists, one discordant note in the words. << You don't have to do it for me like I'm some kind of-->> A delicate pause: he /is/ a hatchling, after all, and he seems to realize the irony of what he had been about to say. << A human baby, >> he decides finally. (to N'thei)
"Yes, but you need to eat first Seteth." She begins holding out handfulls of meat, hoping that her green will like the way that she convey's it. "I will be fine when you are." She coos to her dragon.
"For him," says I'daur wryly, a jerk of his head indicating Wyaeth. "And slow-like, don't let her choke," is the warning he adds to Madison and Seteth, as he steps their way briefly to observe. "Make sure she chews it first, Madison."
N'thei pulls his hands away then, shows his palms to Wyaeth in surrender. "Far be it for me. Try to take it slow though. You look a little... not dignified." He must have missed something when I'daur gestures to Wyaeth, a gesture that leaves him blinking at the weyrlingmaster with absolutely no cognizance. "What's for him?"
"Do this." She takes a piece of the meat and begins to chew on it slowly. "See?" She surpresses a choking sound and when it's mashed up good she swallows it. "See?" She shows her dragon before she puts a bit more into Seteth's mouth. "Now chew it up with your lovely teeth and then swallow."
"The oil...?" says I'daur, trailing off meaningfully and arching a brow at N'thei. He shakes his head, though, and gives the independent little bronze a look--but as he seems to be managing all right on his own, he lets it pass. "Just keep an eye on him," he says, before--"You know, pantomine, visualization... These things work for most people," he directs to Madison as he catches her little demonstration, lip curling.
Aghast, N'thei just had to be looking up when that happened. "Did you just put /raw meat/ /in your mouth/, Maddie?" He nods distractedly at I'daur's advice, torn between his horror at what Madison's doing and his utter fascination with everything that Wyaeth does.
Wyaeth, well. He eats. He's at least reasonable about it: however 'undignified' he might look, rummaging in the bucket for himself, his shoulders are set defiantly still, and he is mindful of the cautions toward chewing (at least after the first time he has to cough to clear his throat; some'll only learn by experience). All in all, he's managing rather well for himself.
A soft hand reaches out to rub over Seteth's eyeridges. "No my dear.. You don't need to pretend to choke." She tells the green, "I am not used to eating raw food." She offers again and takes up some more meat. "Everythign else, just like you, was perfect." She tells the beautiful green.
Dragonet> Wyaeth, dryly: << I'd rather be full than dignified. Besides, it's demeaning, sitting there, letting somebody else feed me when I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. >> Another of those pauses, amused. << At least, in this. It's starting to itch, scratch it, N'thei. >> His shoulders, the creepy-crawly sensation spreading across them both, making the skin there twitch even as he continues eating, trusting you to have his back. (to N'thei)
N'thei prefers the view of Wyaeth than the view of Madison at this point, and he addresses the latter. "But it's not at all demeaning to shove your head in a bucket of raw meat?" He hops up quickly at the first twitch between the bronze shoulders, turns his knuckles to remedying the itching. He has yet to make the leap of logic from itching dragonet to bucket of oil.
N'thei addresses the /former/, that is.
"She says she's itching quite a bit sir." Madison says to I'daur, giving her Seteth another handfull of meat so that she may enjoy it. "What can I do about that?" She wonders before she looks to N'thei and snorts. "I did it out of love."
And there's the last couple, trickling in now with Emilly. I'daur watches them, lips pursed, as A'son and Nikoth enter, and with them Talien and Svodriyth. He says nothing for a moment, just studies the pair and finally turns to grab up a pair of buckets, one passed to each new rider. "Here, get to tendin' 'em. Don't let them choke--chew. And--what's their names?" He pauses to glance over them again, gaze lingering a moment on Talien before another hailing attracts his attention. "Oil's over here," he tells Madison. "Grab a bucket and paddle and start slathering it on her. Make sure you get everywhere, too, all right?"
A'son wanders up from the hatching sands.
A'son has arrived.
Nikoth moves up from the hatching sands.
Nikoth has arrived.
Madison hurries over to the oil and takes a bucket and she hurries back over to her green. "Seteth is her name." SHe offers, reaching out and scrubbing her green with the oil.
Dragonet> Wyaeth, in a tone that asks 'isn't that obvious?', says, << Well, no. I'm taking care of myself. There's nothing demeaning in that, wouldn't you say, N'thei? >> (to N'thei)
Svodriyth moves up from the hatching sands.
Svodriyth has arrived.
Nikoth tries to hold his wings up carefully as he follows A'son off the sands, so they won't get caught again. He bugles quite loudly and demandingly, seeming to have a wide variety of loud noises at his disposal for garnering attention.
Talien meanders up from the hatching sands.
Talien has arrived.
And there's the last couple, trickling in now with Emilly. I'daur watches them, lips pursed, as A'son and Nikoth enter, and with them Talien and Svodriyth. He says nothing for a moment, just studies the pair and finally turns to grab up a pair of buckets, one passed to each new rider. "Here, get to tendin' 'em. Don't let them choke--chew. And--what's their names?" He pauses to glance over them again, gaze lingering a moment on Talien before another hailing attracts his attention. "Oil's over here," he tells Madison. "Grab a bucket and paddle and start slathering it on her. Make sure you get everywhere, too, all right?"
A'son nods to I'daur, accepting the bucket. "Nikoth, that's his name." Not a lot of time is spent on studying the weyrlingmaster before he turns to the Nikoth. "Here, here we go. I know you're hungry. Chew, you have to chew. Got it?" He informs the hatchling in a serious tone, before offering him the first of the chunks.
N'thei tries reasonably, "Unless you could see how funny you look, I don't think you can understand." He even sounds a touch sorry for Wyaeth, but he can't stop himself from looking amusedly at the bronze with his head in a bucket. He stops knuckle-itching Wyaeth's shoulders for a second, a look sent to the oil paddles.
Talien moves, at last; Svodriyth kept within touch and sight every step of the way. Getting back to the here and now proves more difficult than not as she nearly trips and continuously bumps into his side. Success is had and when she steps in with the other weyrlings and hears I'daur, it takes her a moment to wipe that smile (oh, hi, glad to see you!) off her face. His query is indecisively batted around inside her head before she takes the bucket and offers a reply. "Svodriyth - he's Svodriyth." Svodriyth who is then promptly fed.
Madison watches with a small, affectionate smile as Seteth wanders away.
Emilly comes in on the heels of the last Impressees and looks around the room, discreetly dabbing a tell-tale sheen of sweat from her forehead. Immediately the greenrider shucks off her 'dress' riding jacket and hangs it up out of the way before she dives into helping out. "Got everything you need, Talien?" she pauses by the new-minted bluerider.
"Nikoth. What's yours?" I'daur retorts to A'son, arching a brow. He watches the young man and his bronze get settled, nods once in apparent satisfaction that they're getting on all right, and then he glances back, already warily, to Talien. "Svodriyth," he repeats the blue's name. "Well, feed him up, then." A pause. "Congratulations, Talien," is added more quietly, before he calls out across the ledges: "Oil's here when they start itching."
"I dunno," Talien answers in honest, "Food and... I'daur didn't need anything else after that, but-" Trailing off to shake her head, Talien falls silent to resume feeding the blue. The first time she looks up is at I'daur's congratulations and it draws a small shade of red to her face. Quite the helpless little smile surfaces and is intended for the Weyrlingmaster, though Svodriyth's insistent *hungernow* mentality promptly redirects her focus to him.
Nikoth accepts the first chunk and, as instructed, chews. But it seems he's in such a hurry to not be hungry, he only chews a little, then swallows when the piece is probably still too big.
Madison turns her head and smiles when Seteth wanders near.
Svodriyth snorts faintly, as if this should already been well known. He glances rather smuggly at I'daur and then Emilly in turn, seeming to size them up before putting on his best draconic grin. He gratefully accepts all the morsels offered, eating neatly and seeming to scoff at the other dragons if they are sloppy.
"Good, good," says Emilly give the Weyrling's shoulder a brief pat. "Holler if you need a bucket of oil in a bit." Svodriyth's look earns a brief return one from the greenrider, one brow arched and she chuckles softly. "Seems you're doing just fine indeed." And she moves on to check in with some of the others, make sure all the dragonets are chewing and swallowing.
A'son shakes his head, evidentally still in a daze. "I'm sorry, Ays- A'son. That's my name now." He blinks and holds another piece out to him. "Nikoth, chew slower. You'll get all you need, I'll make sure of that. No rushing, please." He smiles at him, handing the chunk all the way out to him.
N'thei reaches for the paddle, having managed to put two and two together belatedly, and hunkers down again to apply oil to the itching Wyaeth. His dragon finishes inhaling the food out of the bucket and leaves the man time enough to look around the room, finally realize who else is in here. In a moment of new camaraderie, he looks at A'son then at Nikoth and grins. "Yours?"
Nikoth chews in an almost exaggerated fashion, in an attempt to please A'son. That doesn't last long, the movement speeding up again: the faster he finishes, the more he'll get!
With everyone settling down to eat, or oil, or let the tired dragons drowse against them, I'daur can stop limping between the kids and their hatchlings, pausing to leave up against the wall again, rubbing his left leg idly as he does so. "We'll let them finish up feeding, at least, and then see about getting 'em into the barracks to finish up the oiling and get to sleep," he remarks to Emilly as he notes her.
A'son shakes his head at the bronze, offering another piece. "Perhaps not that slow, but you're getting the hang of it." While the hatchling chews, he puts his hand out tentatively again to rub him above the high ridges. "You're amazing." When N'thei directs some words towards him, he blinks and then grins. "Nikoth. Yours?"
"He's the best." Talien agrees to Emilly's statement - dazed by Svodriyth's confidence and the whole of the blue, she's practically bursting with pride and doing her utmost best to feed him the choicest pieces of meat first. "No worries about them," she assures the blue in a quiet undertone, "You're all mine and we'll be fine..." In the wake of a grin, she glances toward N'thei and bobs her head; spastic-seeming, Talien then scoots around to Svodriyth's side, "Here?" Both hands surround the area as she digs her fingers into the offending area.
Emilly finishes up re-instructing V'day and then steps back herself, nodding I'daur's way. "Yessir," she says with a grin and tosses of a loose salute then props her hands on her hips, observing the group as the chaos lessens somewhat, all busy with one task or another.
Nikoth chews on the next piece, and as he does, takes a moment to turn his head this way, and that. When his head is turned slightly right--meaning the hooked nose is hidden a bit--he pauses to allow a moment for his green-shined headknobs to be admired. Amazing, yes.
N'thei rests on his heels a few moments to watch Wyaeth make the effort to work the paddle for himself; the lack of thumbs gets the better of him, and the dragonet lets the weyrling do the oil-work. "Wyaeth. Flushes my whole theory that the little boys are better suited for this business." As good-natured as he's ever shown, he even bright-smiles at Talien. His next words are lower, for his dragon only.
Svodriyth shifts his wings higher to recieve a scratch and then eyes the other dragons getting oiled. That's the ticket. The blue shifts to nudge Talien hopefully, still wearing a slightly slack-jawed grin.
A'son gently, as if afraid to hurt him, touches the headknobs, and continues to give the bronze a little rub. Whenever that next piece is chewed, there'll be another one all ready for him. "When we're done, I can oil you." He informs him, and he shakes his head suddenly. "You're right also." He says outloud and smiles affectionately at him.
"Me neither," Talien says with a semi-abashed chuck of her shoulder against Svodriyth's side, "Won't even need B'yan... I'll tell him, too." She continues scratching up until Svodriyth's hint. Promptly seeking out oil, Talien slathers a copious amount right on the area she's been scratching, "Tell me when, ok?"
After the next few pieces of meat, Nikoth seems to settle some, eyes shading to a more calming color. Then he suddenly rubs his nose along the stone on the ground, as if it's itchy.
Talien is hooked. Totally hooked. Accommodating every shift, plead and hint Svodriyth offers her way, the girl immerses herself totally in his well being and happiness. If it means she's covered in oil and meat goo by the end, well, them's the breaks.
When it seems like things are really slowing down, the dragons growing sleepier than ever, I'daur stands, straightening back up. "All right," he calls out, to grab everyone's attention. "We're moving to the barracks. Everybody up, follow me--Emilly, will you stay back and keep the stragglers up--and watch the claws," he adds to the newly impressed crowd, even as one weyrling nearly finds himself tangling with his green's talons already. The weyrlingmaster shakes his head but offers a wry smile as he turns to lead the way to their new home.
Talien watches with a small, affectionate smile as Svodriyth wanders away.
"Of course," says Em, looking up from cleaning up some spilled oil and gives that spot of floor a final polish. She hangs back waiting to take up the rear and catches her jacket off the hook where she left it as she passes. "Whoops, careful there," she steadies a young Weyrling whose fatigue has rendered her a bit wobbly.
N'thei spends a lot of his time now alternating between scratching Wyaeth with his knuckles and oiling all the places that he's just scratched. He's in an awkward position when I'daur proclaims a change of venue, holds up a paddle that now leaks oil down over his knuckles most untidily. Wyaeth knows no hesitation though, just gets to his feet and prepares to lead the way. As if he even knows the way.
"More'n alright," Talien confirms with overflowing confidence. Svodriyth's itching needs seen to, and I'daur's command given, Talien stands and braces herself against him. Her lips move in a silent statement, the tips of her fingers just touching the nape of his neck - he and Talien set off after the Weyrlingmaster.
Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr(#430RAIJs$)
This is a large, high ceilinged cavern cut from the rock. There are rows of depressions on the floor, couches for the young dragons; the weyrlings sleep with their dragons. The floor is stone, which helps ease the inevitable task of cleaning up the muck left by the dragonets.
The cavern has been decorated with old dragon tapestries hung on the walls, their colors slightly faded. A threadbare rug in the middle of the room bears the emblem of High Reaches Weyr, a mountain range in black on a dark blue field. A few low tables, chairs, and pillows have been scattered about the room, and baskets of glows placed strategically throughout the room keep the place well-lit. An opening in the southwest leads out into the Bowl.
I'daur, leading the way into the barracks, steps to the side and motions the weyrlings on in. "Get them settled, pick yourself out a cot and a couch. The dragons'll want to sleep now," he tells them, "and you might be sleepy yourselves. But if you feel up to it, you're welcome to go to the party in the living cavern: it's for you, after all. Just remember--no drinking, no sex, and get your butts back in here by ten."
N'thei raises his hand in a way he must know looks comical; "Pardon? No drinking?" He blanches.
Talien breaks away from Svodriyth as they enter the barracks, but only to be the first to claim one particular couch amidst all others. Fingers touching the edges of it, and a hand held out for Svodriyth, Talien glances to I'daur to (in a first of it's own, no less) catch his reaction. Though almost pointedly and petulantly, she settles down on it's edge with the intent on helping Svodriyth up and into place.
"No drinking, you lush." Seteth nudges her a bit as she moves up to claim a particularly beautiful looking couch. She glides up into it and curls around, which causes Madison to yawn broadly. "Oooh ... Ooh.."
"Nope, none," says I'daur, with a shake of his grey head. "Not for the first months, anyway. You need your wits about you to deal with them when they're this young." And there's nothing smug at all about the way he finally gets around to pulling out his usually present flask for a sip, now that he's finally got a moment to breathe. "Give it a couple of months, though--don't worry so much about it, then." It's reassuring. Maybe.
N'thei doesn't pick his cot; Wyaeth picks it. He swaggers over and plops down on a couch, sprawls out comfortably, and starts to snore within seconds. "Don't you think that's a little cruel then?" The weyrling, now the reluctant weyrling, drags his eyes away from Wyaeth to I'daur's flask pleadingly.
Cheekily, Talien says to N'thei, "I know where he keeps his stashes." Plural, as it is emphasized. On the sly, a taunting grin is flashed in I'daur's direction though the true trouble behind it is ruined as she is overcome with a yawn. At nearly the same instant, Svodriyth drapes a paw protective and possessively over Talien's leg while settling his head into her lap. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, Talien drapes both arms around him and leans into his side.
"Not really," admits I'daur with a shrug. "S'just the way it is. When you've made it past first three months, you can do what you want, long as you're not actually /drunk/. You'll have earned more than a few drinks by then, anyway," is his advice. Pause. "You trashed my stash," he adds to Talien, scowling at her. "And if I catch you back there now--" Glower.
Madison's made her way up on her couch with Seteth and she curls up into the warm embrace of her green dragon. She leans back into her glistening hide and closes her eyes. "Soo tired." She yawns outwards..
Emilly moves around the Barracks quietly while I'daur runs down the list of rules, draping a blanket over a sleepy Weyrling here, tidying up more drips of oil there, keeping busy in the background.
Talien's shoulders give the slightest of shakes - silent amusement that's hidden as she straightens and looks once more at I'daur. "Sir," is intoned in the most somber of tones; Svodriyth, on the other hand, has roused himself enough from sleep to stare lazily at I'daur. A flick of his tail is all that comes of the Weyrlingmaster's threat and with a rattling sigh, the blue resituates himself against Talien.
"Really now?" N'thei turns to Talien with newfound respect and a suddenly sweet smile. "What does it take to get that kind of information out of a person, I wonder." For now, he sits down on the end of his cot, pulls off his sandals, plops them on the floor, and looks around with a dubious expression that only gains fortitude with frequent stolen glances at sleeping Wyaeth.
I'daur just shakes his head, apparently giving up, because he steps sideways toward his little attached office to sit down, grimace as he rubs his leg, and drink idly, while he watches over those next door as they settle into the barracks.
"No," Talien says with far too much seriousness and a telling look at I'daur, "I'd never do that." Another yawn breaks forth, one Talien fights as much as possible - never mind she keeps sinking further and further against Svodriyth who seems all too willing in sharing a space of his stone with her.
Emilly tucks in another Weyrling and lines up a discarded pair of sandals alongside each other by a cot,then drifts over to the office, speaking low-voice to the Weyrlingmaster, low enough that her voice doesn't carry out into the Barracks proper.