[Log] The Pride of Ierne, Pt. 2
Who: Alina, Ayria, C'ryn, Daraven, Jaeni, K'tag, L'yan, Margan, Mitahni (NPC), Remmi, Rosmyn, Solaren, Sh'drian, Tirya, Winter
When: Day 2, Month 13, Turn 200, 10th Interval
Where: Hatching Sands, Ierne Weyr
What: Alaemyth lays her and Eadranth's clutch on Ierne's Sands.
Eadranth rumbles again at Alaemyth, abruptly looking sulky to rival his rider. He pours his energy into studying the latest egg rather than having anything to do with the gold. Sh'drian almost looks pleased by the bronze's snubbing, glancing smugly about and in the process espying a new face in the crowd in the galleries. "K'tag! Did you just get here?" he wonders.
In the galleries, Margan continues to watch, though he now has a seemingly welcome distraction. The little now perched in his lap fusses with the man's long hair here and adjusts his collar, there. She spins in his lap to face him, then rotates back to face the sands. The man on their left recieves a little kick and he narrows his eyes at first, then smiles at the child patiently. "Sorry," Margan mumbles, trying to peer around the girl to catch sight of the gold once more, or is he looking at Winter?
In the galleries, Daraven returns Rosmyn's odd luck with a questioning one, apparently confused. It dosn't help his attention is divided between her and the goings on on the sands.
In the galleries, Tirya smiles and nods. "Ahh, I see," she notes to Alina. "How old is she getting to be now, hmm?" she queries after a moment's pause. "Ahh, K'tag!" she greets the incoming man. So many people to talk to.
Winter scowls slightly when Sh'drian looks happy. Her chin jutting out, her gaze sweeps the galleries and ledges once more, pausing briefly on some unfamiliar face, perhaps visitors. Traveling on, she once more seems to be looking at the child on Margan's lap. Or perhaps at the assistant steward himself. They're so close, after all. "Try not to preen yourself to death," she mutters under her breath to Sh'drian.
The heat from the sands doesn't seem to bother Alaemyth despite the amount of time she's spent in the Hatching Grounds. Her powerful claws dig through the particles easily, leaving a deep groove in which she easily deposits a bright blue egg swirled with white.
Clouds of Empathy Egg
Is this an egg, or is it a piece of sky that has fallen to the ground? Most of the ovoid is covered with the most brilliant, perfect autumn blue, so intense that it's almost painful to look at it for very long. Here and there on the egg are patches of white, some rounded in bunches almost like fluffy down from a wherry, others fading out into long, thin lines. Near the center of one of the sides of the egg is a vague figure similar to a five-pointed sea star in a bright, cheery yellow that complements the blue and completes the egg.
In the galleries, Rosmyn mutters low to Daraven. "Just taking your advice, is all, I don't have to let all the intrigue and dark looks and stuff get to me, right?" She gestures tot the little girl with Margen. "Rather look at someone like that, just having fun and enjoying the day."
In the galleries, K'tag sits up a little more straight in his seat when Sh'drian calls out to him, dull blue eyes flickering to the side briefly before locking back on the bronzerider. "... Yes, Sh'drian, just now," he calls, tilting his chin up a bit as he does. "... It seems all is going well?" How very friendly. At Ayria's little comment, K'tag shoots her a brief glance and a soft, "Good evening, Ayria," before directing his focus back out to Sh'drian. Or everywhere on the sands but Sh'drian. Whichever.
In the galleries, L'yan glances behind him at another familiar voice, and after a moment, spots K'tag. He raises a hand in greeting to the other brownrider, then flushes a bit, then looking very confused, returns his gaze to the sands and the bright egg just laid.
In the galleries, Alina's eyes sparkle that much more brightly at the eye-popping sky swirl the next egg presents. "Oof! Wowie, 'tis a bright one that is! Where's Nairyth, that shell looks just like him. Blue, definitely blue, and if that dragon's as beautiful as its egg--ooh." Articulate isn't she? Appreciative, clearly thrilled with each new shell, but so very giddy.
"Don't worry, Winter," Sh'drian tells the woman saccharinely, glancing toward her. "I couldn't do that and take a chance on making you happy." At any rate, the reason for his apparent sudden cheerfulness ends as Eadranth gives up boycotting Alaemyth and starts trailing her around in fascination again. Sh'drian frowns briefly, shrugs, and turns back to the galleries to study K'tag. "Of course. Alaemyth's doing all the work, anyway," he notes pointedly. "How hard can it be?" For him, not very, at least.
In the galleries, "K'tag?" C'ryn utters the man's name as a question, twisting slightly to bring him into view. "I knew you'd be here. I need to speak to you later, my friend. Have Aidryth bespeak Daenth when you return to Southern, would you?" he asks, before turning his attention back to the sands.
With some effort, the next of Alaemyth's eggs enters the world, leaving her sides that much less bulky. She nudges it into a small depression in the sand before moving onward, abandoning the egg to Eadranth's enthusiastic investigations for the time being. Shortly, the bronze's attention burns out as well, and he moves from hovering over that egg to hovering over Alaemyth herself.
Instrument Crafter's Subtlety Egg
Though larger than average, this egg has a certain unassuming quality to it. Its coloring makes it appear to be made out of wood, dark-stained and grainy. Over this drab brownness is a thin, flaking layer of gilt, cracked and peeling off of the shell. Around its middle is wrapped a band of silvery-grey, like a ribbon presenting this dilapidated present.
In the galleries, Margan is freed of his burden once more as the energetic child drops down and scampers off. Something soon catches her attention and she stops in front of L'yan, beaming at him in her impish fashion. Eyes of rich red-brown surrounded by thick lashes are set on his face as she attempts to gain his attention. Margan rubs at his head in an edgy manner before sighing and offering L'yan an apologetic look, though he doesn't get up.
In the galleries, "Right." Daraven nods to Rosmyn, his eyes following her gesture to the little girl. "Yeah, that's kinda cute." He grins.
In the galleries, Ayria looks out cheerily at the growing collection of eggs, all neatly buried in the sand. "Heya!" she replies to K'tag, giving a wave without actually turning to face the brownrider, or even to show any recognition. She is clearly too interested in the clutch. "Oooh, that one'll be a... blue!" she guesses, quite contrary to the obvious brown of the egg.
"Faranth forbid that I ever be happy," Winter mutters toward Sh'drian, but now her reasonably somewhat confused but relatively happy behavior taking a downturn. She moves away from the galleries, finding a slightly cooler patch of sand near that odd plaque on the wall. After a moment, she reads it absently before leaning against the cool stone.
In the galleries, L'yan might be far taller than the child, but since he's sitting, most of that advantage is gone. He notices her after a few moments and looks down at her beaming face. His attention caught, he doesn't notice Margan's apologetic look. He gives the little girl a baffled expression for a moment, then ventures to give her a small smile. "Uh, hello?" he half-says, half asks. Vorsanth, on his ledge above, cranes his long neck down to look at his rider and his rider's new companion, and warbles happily at the girl.
In the galleries, Something in Winter's demeanor causes Rosi to frown with sympathy and she tsks. "I'm glad I'm just a Wingrider. Life is confusing as it is without a big shiny knot on my shoulder."
In the galleries, Alina eyes the latest egg consideringly, then counter's Ayria's guess of brown with an idea of her own. "Gonna be... ah shells, gonna be green." Why not, she has to be right *some* time after all. L'yan's interaction with the little girl draws a turn of the head and a laugh from the bouncy greenrider. "L'yan, you've got an admirer you have."
In the galleries, K'tag lifts his hand slowly to acknowledge L'yan out on the sands, an impersonal but friendly enough gesture. He watches the younger brownrider for just a moment or two longer before turning back to Sh'drian, head tilting lightly to one side. "... No, I suppose, not too hard. So all goes well for her, too?" And why, precisely, K'tag does not ask Winter for himself is unclear. He turns his eyes away from the sands only as C'ryn speaks to him, the Wingsecond snapping up even further into attention, nodding crisply to Daenth's. "... I will, C'ryn. ... Nothing of great concern, is it?"
Taking only a few minutes rest at this point, Alaemyth waddles across the sands, planting herself in front of Eadranth almost defiantly as her belly undulates once more. Her ribcage heaves a few times with the stress of this latest contraction, until another egg is clutched. With a slight huff of breath which may or may not have been directed at her mate, the young queen continues to another part of the sands.
Red Hot Lava Tunic Egg
This egg seems to have an undercoat of the purest white, or this color blazes forth at the pointy and the fat ends of this egg, and twice along its sides. A band of sturdy brown makes a radius around it about three quarters of the way between point and nadir, a dab of gold almost appearing like a belt buckle. Twin brown smears almost hint at forearms at the ends of two of the white smears. However, the main color of this egg simply sticks out more than anything else. The red of the body of the egg isn't a pale Weyrleader-like pink, but a strong and manly red favored by most bronzeriders. The red isn't quite satin in shade or texture, but it seems more like sturdy cloth, the kind made for adventures rather than loveplay. There's a small splat of flaxen yellow toward the top of the egg, along with peach shadings dotted with two blue splotches, the lot capped neatly with more of that fiery red that's almost like lava from an active volcano.
"Of course," Sh'drian answers Winter with a smirk. He turns back to eye K'tag, shrugging slightly and gesturing to Alaemyth and Eadranth. "I suppose," he answers. "Eadranth seems to think so. Why don't you ask her?" Less vaguely, he points at Winter.
In the galleries, "I guess I have it best of all then." Daraven asides to Rosi, his attention now divided between her, the eggs, and Winter. "I don't even have a small shiny knot to worry about."
In the galleries, The little girl just giggles at L'yan, eyes squinting in a merry fashion. "Hi," she says simply, still just gazing up at him with those vivid eyes. She tilts her head back in a dramatic fashion, grinning up at the warbling Vorsanth. She wrinkles her nose and giggles all the more. "Hi dragon," she tells him with a child's boldness. Her gaze soon returns to L'yan for a moment, then she scampers off again, appearing to be heading in Rosmyn's direction.
In the galleries, "Oh, no, nothing of great concern. Just something we need to discuss," C'ryn explains to his Wingsecond before turning back to the clutch. His tone certainly seems unconcerned, at least. "This one is a bronze, for sure," he says, pointing with his free hand at the newly-laid egg. "What do you think?" he asks Tirya.
In the galleries, L'yan smiles a little less hesitantly now. "He says...hi," he trails off as the little girl bounces off again. Running a hand through his hair, he gives Alina a bewildered, helpless look. "I...I guess? Probably not," he mumbles uncertainly.
In the galleries, Tirya stiffles a yawn a moment, then rubs at her eyes. Pale circles of grey and yellow linger there, though the young woman's cheerful demeanor hide them for the most part. "This is a lovely little get away," she muses to no one in particular. From up above, Taminyth's sing-song voice rings out high and sweet, seeming to offer love and encouragement. "Hmm, wha?" the goldrider muses when she finds herself adressed. "Oh, it might well be," she offers agreeably.
With a strange groaning noise and several wheezes for breath, Alaemyth heaves out this latest egg, bit by bit until it's all out. She turns and inspects it curiously, but quickly packs sand around it to ensure it doesn't get damaged.
Multicolored Scarf Egg
Looks like the felines have got into the yarn again. This egg's shell not only has a wide variety of colors on it, they're all over the place, patches of blue here, tan there, burgundy over yonder, and some yellow in between, wrapped around the egg like a scarf. The patches seem to be almost rectangular in shape, but none of them have the same length, even if they all have the same width. Thin shadings of grey seem to segregate the various patches themselves, almost like neat rows of knitting, with thicker and slightly darker grey strokes seem to partition off the various lines of 'knitting'.
In the galleries, Rosmyn chuckles. "Well, Maybe you can say that. But a regular Wingrider, we're nothing special, same as a resident only we get to fly up to our bed at night" She winces at the garish egg just hatched. "That looks like ... well, something. I guess" When the little girl appears, the tall greenrider waggles her fingers at her, her smile friendly and silly at the same time. "Hello there. Having fun?"
In the galleries, "Hey! I didn't get to see that one! That looked like a fun egg!" Ayria calls in annoyance at Alaemyth for covering it with sand. "She looks like she's getting tired," she comments, following the gold's every move.
In the galleries, Margan huffs to himself, glancing about in irritation as his daughter flits off again. "I'm -not- doing this right now," he grumbles to himself. "Mhmm!" the little girl informs the greenrider. She holds out a small hand to Rosmyn without saying a word, seeming to want her hand.
In the galleries, "That one looks...interesting." Daraven replies, smiling as the little girl approaches. The man offers her a small wave, but dosn't say anything.
In the galleries, K'tag nods curtly as C'ryn turns away, watching the other brownrider for just a moment before averting his gaze back to Sh'drian. His teeth come down onto his lower lip at the bronzerider's suggestion of asking Winter, and K'tag glances briefly at the woman for just a moment before turning back to Sh'drian, shaking his head a little too quickly. "I'll..." Brief pause. "Not distract her, thank you, Sh'drian. ... Ayria?" His voice quiets for her name, and he regards her out of the corner of his eye. "... I would predict a brown for that one, myself." His voice is a little serious, but not cold.
Winter keeps on lurking off in the shadows, her lips moving in nearly-silent encouragements to her dragon. "Still more?" she asks of the queen, who pauses by her for a rest. The two share a moment of communion, Winter's forehead resting on Alaemyth's neck. "Off you go now."
Preceded by an enthusiastic clutchsire, Alaemyth heads toward a vacant spot of black sand and stops well short of where Eadranth desires. He looks crest-fallen for the few moments it takes her to clutch a large egg. Then he rumbles and bounds back to inspect it, gazing adoringly from gold to new egg. Alaemyth, for her part, only looks a bit smug and moves on.
Where In The World Egg
This egg is a study in scarlet and cerulean, a shell splashes liberally with swirls of color overlapping and blurring into a glaring patchwork nearly entirely obscuring the pearl white base beneath. Crimson drenches the ovoid's narrow end, spiraling in a transition to claret and wine as it trickles into a curtain of mottled rose as the shell widens. Where warm colors do not pervade swaths of sapphire and turquoise reign, rivulets of trickles into a curtain of mottled rose as the shell widens. Where warm colors do not pervade swaths of sapphire and turquoise reign, rivulets of cool shades posing harsh contrast as they fade in turn to royal and sea blue, melting to undiluted emerald wherever red touches blue. The true, eye-popping candy apple of weaver's dye completes the effecct, crowding the shell's base in lengths of cloth. What few slivers of white do remain visible are severely crowded by garish ruby and vivid sky, rounded in their deformity to imperfect jewels.
In the galleries, "Now that is lovely," Tirya notes with approval as another egg arrives. "This is truly a going to be a brilliant clutch, don't you agree?" she directs to those near her. The normally rather dark girl seems oddly bright today.
"You won't distract her. She's not doing anything, anyway," Sh'drian points out to K'tag before turning to Winter. "Hey, Winter. K'tag wants to know something -- if everything's going well," he tells her, smirking slightly and cutting his eyes back toward the brownrider in the galleries. Then, to K'tag, he queries, "Want to place a... friendly little bet on it?"
In the galleries, Rosmyn flips her hand over, obediently, her eyes crinkling with suppressed amusement as she nods back. "I am too. The grown ups are rather silly though." She shoots a sideways glance out to the riders on the sand but then her full attention is on the lass.
In the galleries, "What?" Ayria whines as her name is called again. Still she doesn't turn around, and she watches the gold lay yet another intriguing egg. Observing this one carefully before the gold buries it, she calls out "Blue!", before turning quickly to find out who said her name. She doesn't spot K'tag at first, and she just looks about expectantly.
In the galleries, Margan's daughter wraps her small fingers about Rosmyn's and giggles into her free one. "Daddy says that man is a-" she begins, though the tale end is cut off by a sudden and enthusiastic whoop from someone that is likely a touch intoxicated. She grins at the woman and then over to her friend. Daraven recieves a shy, fingure-curl for a wave. "I want to sit on your lap?" she tells Rosmyn bluntly, swinging her shoulders back and forth.
In the galleries, Solaren snickers at the little girl before going back to watching the eggs and the fun on the sands
In the galleries, Rosmyn splutters and shoots the girl's father a definitely amused and rather surprised look. "Your daddy is a wise, wise man and sure, come on up." She pats her bony knees and holds her hands up to help the little one up. "That's my friend Daraven, he's new around here."
In the galleries, K'tag watches Ayria as she looks around frantically for him, bringing up a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Ah... ... the egg before this. Brown." Managing a weak smile, he turns to the sands and spies Sh'drian talking to Winter. That smile is wiped clear off, and he sinks just a little in his chair, as though somehow this will allow him to hide from the woman. "... A bet?" he inquires after Sh'drian, voice a little quieter and full of skepticism. "... What... kind of bet?"
In the galleries, C'ryn nods at Tirya's observation. "There have been some striking eggs laid today. I'm sure they'll be spectacular right until they hatch." C'ryn rolls his eyes at Ayria's cheerful announcement, but says nothing to her. "She's been shouting out colours all day, but I had to smile when she said 'pink'," he notes for Tirya's benefit.
Winter sighs as Sh'drian calls for her across the sands. As she moves toward the galleries, she asks, "Can you be any /less/ of a runner's behind, Shad?" True irritation's in her voice now, and she casts her baleful gaze upon him for a few moments before looking to K'tag, her brows arching. "Everything's fine, except my Weyrleader's... well, let's not say so in public. There are children present." Her gaze falls once more on Margan's child, and an inscrutable look appears on her face.
Waddle, waddle, waddle. Most ungainly, Alaemyth shuffle-lumbers away from a newly laid egg over to a free spot, Eadranth stalking very carefully in her wake. When she stops, he does, crooning a note of encouragement. This, apparently, is what she needs, for, after just a few moments of labor, another egg joins its siblings on the sands.
On the Edge of Forever Egg
The sands nestle a beautifully regular shaped ovoid. Midnight black graces its curves, hiding the shell's horizon in a mirage of infinity. Soft sparkles glisten against the surface much like diamonds sprinkled across the midnight sky, but not just dots: they streak across in whites, blossoming gold and other shimmering hues of the rainbow. Streaking from one end to the other, the lines break up the darkness as if they belong, defining the night. The only change in color is a grey blur to the nearest corner, irregular and difficult to discern.
In the galleries, "Pleased to meet you." Daraven tells the child with a friendly smile, before glancing back to the sands in time for the next egg to make its appearance.
In the galleries, "Pink?" Tirya murmurs, screwing up her face in a disapproving look. "Sh'drian's son should ride pink," the woman murmurs with amusement. The content woman then catches sight of the presently obnoxious little girl and her eyes lock, smile sliding away.
In the galleries, Alina overhears Tirya somewhere between the vibrantly red and blue splashed egg and the next, more subtle shell. She tries to silence herself, really and truly she does, but in the end her snort turns into an all-out giggle, a stream of clear amusement proving once again that Lina's still a big little kid at heart. "Pink, for--oh my goodness Tir, when you tell it like it is!"
In the galleries, "Mitahni," the girl informs them both before grinning broadly and then allowing Rosmyn to help her up. She squirms slightly, trying to get comfortable and then seems to settle, leaning back against the woman and yawning once. Margan rises and ambles over to his daughter's most recent victim. "Terribly sorry, is she bothering you?" he asks, looking sheepish.
Sh'drian smirks. "Probably, but it's much less entertaining for me." He pauses, then adds a shrug. "Go ahead. Might be educational for the little brats. S'not like they've not heard them before, I figure," he tells her. Glancing again to K'tag, he shrugs, remarking, "Hmm. How about a nice, even mark? That suit you? That egg--" he points at the most recent one to arrive "--is a blue. What color do you think?" Fortunately, he can't hear Tirya's words from this distance.
In the galleries, Ayria spins back around as another egg hits the sands, and her smile widens. "Another pretty one! Gold!" she announces. She then turns to resume the search for K'tag. Either she keeps missing him entirely or she just doesn't recognise him.
Talons rend the course-grained sand as Alaemyth prepares trenches to play cradle to more of her clutch. A growl reverberates from the queen as several large revealed pebbles disrupt her 'sand only' specifications. She positions her hind quarters over the temporary nursery and squeezes the overly round Quest of Mysteries out after several bouts of contractions.
Quest of Mysteries Egg
The darkness of a moonless night sinks heavily onto the bulging curves of this slightly more rotund dragon egg. Multiple dull glows of street lamp yellow cast a rough semblance of light into a land of shadows. A scalpel's razor thin edge patterns scattered white lines and closed figures around the shell's smooth exterior just as vapors of luminol invite an electric blue glow to the east-facing side. The large egg's crown radiates the artificial glow of a flashbulb which also happens to illuminate the powder-brushed lines of a partial fingerprint. The clues and answers are all here but like everything - are open to interpretation.
In the galleries, L'yan shifts position a bit, the hard stone getting to be a bit much on his bony rear after so much time sitting. "She's laid a lot of eggs," he notes to no one in particular. A finger lifts and he starts moving it around in the direction of various mounds, but after a few moments, gives up. "She's laid...a lot," he says lamely, losing count.
In the galleries, Tirya stares at the little girl, too absorbed to notice Alina's comment. She then tears her eyes away and looks sadly back to the eggs. A smile reappears, though it seems somewhat forced, as she notes the new egg. "Difficult task, hmm?" she whispers to Alaemyth, though the question needs no answer.
In the galleries, C'ryn chuckles under his breath at Tirya's comment. "That's priceless," he mutters to her, continuing to observe the clutching. "She can't lay many more, surely? Or can she? How many is there already, I've lost count. One, two..." he begins to count out the eggs that have already been laid, pointing at each mound in turn.
In the galleries, Rosmyn nods solemnly. "Well met, Mitahni, you got a real memorable name." As the girl squirms to get comfortable, she helpfully lifts her past her bony knees and then places one arm lightly around her waist to keep the wee one from tumbling down. She glances up at Margan's approach and grins mischievously. "No, not at all, Most kids don't find me that comfortable, not a lot of padding."
In the galleries, "Mitahni. That's a pretty name." is Daraven's comment, smiling at the picture Rosmyn and the young girl make. When Margan approaches, the man lifts a hand in greeting.
In the galleries, K'tag sits up only as Winter calls out to him, leaning forward just a touch. "... I can guess what words you have in mind, but I am glad to hear all else is well by you." Impersonal, but polite enough. He shifts his gaze back to Sh'drian, watches him for just a moment, then turns his eyes to the second-newest one along with Ayria's own guess. "... Perhaps not a gold," he notes to her, hand up scratching his chin. "... A mark on bronze, Sh'drian." If he realizes it's something of a risk, he doesn't show it.
Alaemyth's rotundness is fading somewhat through her continued efforts, sides slowly slimming down to what they were before that fateful flight. Nonetheless, there's still some time to go before she can stop for the night. Thus, she doggedly heads toward a dip in the sand and lowers herself to the ground, resting for a few seconds before a shudder overtakes her haunches. A few seconds pass before these actions result in another egg lies alongside its siblings.
Odd Green Patch Egg
The majority of this egg is dull, dead brownish-green, like grass in the winter. This uniform shade displays slight ticking, enhancing the illusion. However, one spot, a roughly round patch directly on the uppermost side of the egg's shell, is bright green, a vibrantly verdant hue that defies whatever might be killing the rest of the faux grass. Maybe it's just well-watered.
In the galleries, "Blue!" Ayria calls out before the egg has even touched the sands. "There's some crazy bets flying around today!" she comments as yet another deal is made.
Winter sighs softly and simply chooses to ignore Sh'drian for now. K'tag's impersonal behavior seems to be cause for concern, but she does muster a slight smile for him before moving on. "Most of them coming from you, if I'm hearing right," she remarks in Ayria's direction.
In the galleries, Rosmyn's eyebrow shoots up as yet another huge wager flies. "Shells and shards. Too rich for my blood, I'll tell you." She can't help but place her attention on where it deserves to be laid, the eggs upon the sand. "I think I count twenty-two, or is that twenty three? Hard to tell with the dragons blocking some of the view?"
In the galleries, Alina adds her own guess to those already flying, "Green, that one. Has to be green. Or brown, but I'm stickin' to my first guess. And no, I'm *not* puttin' any marks on it, my one bet with C'ryn over there's gonna clean me out if I'm wrong as is."
Sh'drian nods to K'tag, smirking broadly. "A mark on bronze for you, then, and blue for me. Better start saving up for that, K'tag," he tells the brownrider innocently. He glances around idly then, attention fading slightly. Even Eadranth is starting to look a little bored in bursts by this point, although he still displays a few moments of fascination in virtually every egg.
In the galleries, "I'm not betting, dimglow! I'm guessing! I don't have anything to bet!" Ayria replies in annoyance as she spots K'tag as the one talking to her. If she recognises the man, she doesn't show it, as she turns back to the sands.
Alaemyth lets out a quiet, but triumphant warble as she lays yet another egg of what is becoming a good sized clutch. Colors of the sea are visible briefly before the dragon sweeps warm, encompassing sand over it.
Strains of Music Egg
The sea swells, roiling blues and greys crashing into greens and spraying up into sea foam against the shore, or so this egg resembles. Ash, aqua, and thalassic come together in what looks like waves, lapping onto a shore of sandy brown sprinkled with specks of lighter tan and darker slate. On the shore, just out of reach of the waves, is a figure the color of wood stained a rich ebony, vaguely reminiscent of a harp settled on the ground, ready to be played.
In the galleries, Margan looks relieved that Rosmyn isn't upset. He offers Daraven a nod and then slinks quickly back to his seat before they give his troublesome tot back. "Be good," he mutters as he leaves. Mitahni giggles more and sits there, content as a trundle bug. The assistant steward remains standing for a moment when he reaches his seat. A gruff voice issues him a short warning and he drops back down again.
In the galleries, "Mine too, much as I love gambling." Daraven agrees with a nod to Rosmyn. "And my count was twenty-one, but I'm not too good at counting so I'm probably wrong."
In the galleries, L'yan gives K'tag and Sh'drian both disapproving looks, but shrugs and returns his eyes to the sands. His timing is good for once, as he gets a chance to get a brief glimpse of the sea-colored egg before it's buried again. "Wow, another pretty ocean one," he says. He looks at Winter, and if he can get her attention, he'll grin and point to the mound that covers the Strains of Music egg.
In the galleries, Alina doesn't notice the bets exchanged between one Stormfall wingsecond and the Iernish weyrleader. She's too intent on the next egg to arrive, squinting emerald eyes at those sea swirls before the sand encroaches and blocks the view. "I *like* that one. Looks like home, it does."
In the galleries, Rosmyn peeks down at the little one in her lap, lost in her own thoughts for the moment. "You know, my mother had three children by the time she was my age. But I'd rather let them go back to their parents when they get tired of me." She whispers to the little girl. "So if you had a sixteenth mark, would you bet on an egg or would you spend it on a bubbly at a gather?" She shakes her head in disagreement with Daraven. "Definitely at least, I think so, I could be wrong though, twenty three."
In the galleries, With a low, disapproving frown, K'tag brings his arms up to cross his chest, pauses, and returns his hands to his lap, simply shaking his head just a bit at the bronzerider. "We will see, Sh'drian." His eyes trail over to Winter, his shoulders sinking almost indetectably as he watches her stroll off, but his attention is quickly shattered when Ayria bestows upon him the title of 'dimglow'. Much to K'tag's astonishment. "Ah... I was not betting with you, Ayria, worry not. ... Do you think I should have perhaps said gold?" His determination to keep a conversation with such a distracted person is interesting, to say the least.
As the clutching continues and more eggs emerge, the pressure inside the gold decreases, as does her apparent discomfort. Her movements are less frantic as she sweeps aside more sand, pausing just long enough let an egg that's a mix of both light and dark colors alight in the hole.
Boundaries of Truth Egg
One half of this egg is dark, swirling with endless greys and browns and blacks. The chaotic diorama is almost mesmerizing. A border of sickly green cuts this half off from the second half in a wandering, meandering way. On the other side of this boundary, however, the egg's faC'ade changes dramatically. Triangles of rich, healthy brown tipped with white point away from the center of the egg. Some are also dotted with tiny triangles of a deep pine green. The center of the egg is a pale expanse of wheat mixed with river foam. Taking center point is a slash of the purest white, attached to which is a T-like form woven together of threads of gold and silver.
Ignorant of whatever looks L'yan directs at him and K'tag, Sh'drian glances around, gaze passing over the galleries, the dragons, and the eggs idly and sighing slightly. "Think this'll take much longer?" he wonders at length, words more or less directed at Winter as the one with the most insider information.
In the galleries, "I'm sure someone will have an accurate count when it's all over." Daraven points out, before looking thoughtful. "I grew up helping with my younger siblings. Well, leading them into trouble more than helping, really." He shrugs. "I like kids, but it is nice to be able to hand them back. Besides, I like my freedom too much."
In the galleries, Margan is back to watching dutifully now and the michevious Mitahni appears to be slowly fading. It would appear that her energy has been burned off for now. She doesn't reply to Rosmyn, only offers a stifled yawn and rubs one eye with a small fist. "Don't you want to be a mama?" she murmurs after a moment, head then starting to jerk as she fights sleep.
In the galleries, "Hey, you can do what you like with your marks, it doesn't matter to me!" Ayria seems completely disinterested in the brownrider behind her, as she calls out another guess for the latest egg. "Green!" Is she just calling out random colors, or what?
Winter simply shrugs her shoulders. "All I know is that she's not done yet," she replies to Sh'drian. She glances toward the galleries, then gently scoops up one Weyrchild who trips on the way to his mum, landing on the sands and bursting into tears. Gently rocking the child on her hip, she tries to soothe his tears away. "Shh, it's all right," she murmurs softly, quieting the child before handing him back to his apologetic parents, who examine him to ensure there's no damage from his tumble.
Much as time presses on the riders of the Weyr, it seems to on the young gold as well, pressure to end this uncomfortable experience as soon as possible. This egg takes a few moments longer than average to emerge, but even it cannot stop the sands from flowing and covering it in a warm blanket.
Layers of Time Egg
This egg is rather simple, covered in nothing but irregular bands of rich colors grinding against each other like tectonic plates. The larger end of the egg starts out with the largest stripe, a rich red, bubbling like lava. Next comes a dark grey, a snowy day covered with soot. The green leaves of a forest fight back against the snow, though, and lead into a thin band of blue of a springtime river. Next is the thinnest band of all, that of a virulent purple, then comes decay, the brown of a stinking fungus reaching its roots in a broad stripe all around the egg. Finally comes the cap, of a matte black, a calm respite from the cacophony of color that is the rest of the egg.
In the galleries, Rosmyn gives the little girl a quick squeeze with her arm, not enough to startle, hopefully. "My little sister was raised by her father and he and I... well, we didn't get along real well. I miss her." She catches that pre-sleep jerk and adjusts so she's more comfortable napping material as she speaks softly to the little one. "Maybe some day but I'd want to find someone who'd be a good papa, like your papa is to you."
In the galleries, Tirya glances toward Ayria, pursing her lips in her more usual fasion. "Do you have any idea," the woman mutters and then falls silent, leaning to try and rest her head on C'ryn's shoulder with a sigh. "Just watching her makes me tired," Tirya says.
In the galleries, "And another... I can't keep track of them while she's still laying. I'll have to count when she's done," C'ryn says finally, giving up counting. He doesn't object to having Tirya rest her head on his shoulder, and he leans his own slightly toward her. Glancing at Ayria, C'ryn agrees. "What it must be like to be young again, eh?" he replies to his weyrmate with a chuckle.
Sh'drian rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "I could have told you that myself," he remarks, eyeing her and her ministrations with the child a moment before shifting his weight and glancing to Eadranth. The bronze rumbles distractedly, and Sh'drian shakes his head. "So helpful, all of you," he decides.
In the galleries, Mitahni drifts off to sleep now, one hand clutching at Rosmyn's clothing and the other limply sitting in her lap. Margan offers Winter a smile of encouragement, straightening up and trying to put on a more happy face. He then check in with his daughter, noting her now sleping form a glance. He attempts to motion to Rosmyn, points to the child, then to himself in an unspoken question of 'do you want me to take her?'
Moving on to another slight dip in Ierne's black sands, Alaemyth lingers a few moments before depositing another egg in the cavern. Nosing it gently and heaping a light covering of warm sand over it, she then steps away, while Eadranth advances. Apparently, he subscribes to the 'if some is good, more is better' theory, for he piles thick layers of sand over and around it, practically obscuring it from view.
Orange Pebbled Egg
Average-sized, this egg is decidedly round, not the typical ovoid shape. A vibrant shade of orangy-brown coats its surface evenly. The tiny imperfections in the shell create a network of light and shadow that create the effect of pebbling upon the egg. Running in curving, symmetrical patterns over the egg are narrow, nearly-black ribbons of color, dividing the egg into teardrop-shaped compartments. This egg's striking coloration lends to it a certain bravado.
In the galleries, "She's really cute, isn't she?" Daraven comments to Rosmyn as the child drifts off to sleep. "It's amazing how they're so trusting and peaceful at that age, isn't it?"
In the galleries, "Not if it's my daughter," Lina addresses Daraven amusedly, turning her gaze momentarily from the ever-growing collection of eggs on the ground below, "trusting and innocent, yeah. Peaceful? Well she's my kid!" As if that explains everything. "They *are* adorable though, little kiddles."
In the galleries, "Red!" Ayria exclaims as the next egg hits the sands. "Oh, no, wait. No red dragons. Umm... blue!" she says with a shrug. "Well, what do you expect us to do then?" she says in reply to Sh'drian's comment, although she might not have said it loud enough for him to hear.
In the galleries, Rosmyn nods affirmatively to Margan. "Might be an idea, kids sometimes get real cranky when they wake up with someone hey don't know." A little mischievously, she giggles. "Not unlike some riders after a successful flight." She simply nods in agreement with Daraven, then blinks as she catches a look at the latest egg. "Shells, look at that colour."
Winter waits until Sh'drian has turned his back on her and then begins to lift her hand in the beginnings of the crudest gesture known to seacrafters. However, a glance at the galleries and at least some children present causes her hand to drop. Instead, she opts to simply stick out her tongue at the Weyrleader.
In the galleries, L'yan giggles at the Weyrwoman's immature behavior. Of course, he would know the conclusion of the gesture she began. He gives her another thumbs-up sign, then smirks at Sh'drian, though it's anyone's guess if the bronzerider notices.
Pausing longer and more often, Alaemyth lingers next to her most recent egg before she stirs again to a rumble from Eadranth. The bronze is busily doing his best to help, pawing out a slight depression in the sand as a resting place for their next egg. Alaemyth lumbers over to join him, perfecting the dip before depositing an egg. Eadranth looks smug.
Mire of Self-Discovery Egg
Ethereal mists of insipid peach grasp this egg like icy fingers clutching at thick gnarls of verdant greenery while stalwart umber swaths stretch stubbornly up toward the apex. The faintest hint of teal drapes at an angle from near the crown to just above the base, shadowed neatly by thick streaks of sage laced with teasel and creating a barrier between light and darkness. Darksome in nature, the ensuing haze is captured within the murky depths of moor and bracken which enfold the lower end, contrasting neatly with the softer hues from above.
In the galleries, Perhaps catching one of Ayria's... interesting guesses for the first time, K'tag glances at the girl for a moment, a hand slowly rising to rub gently at the back of his neck. "... Blue," he agrees with her after a moment, though whether he's speaking to her or himself is unclear. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Winter stick her tongue out at Sh'drian. His face first starts into a disapproving frown, but the humor wins out in the end, and he closes his eyes for a moment, head nodding forward as he stifles a grin.
In the galleries, Alina claps one hand to her mouth, this time successful in stifling her laughter. She too would know how that seacrafting gesture concluded--doubtless she's used it more than once in her colorful lifetime. "Nice one," is all she says, barely a whisper and unlikely to be discernable to those nearest, let alone the sands.
Blissfully ignorant of what Winter's doing behind his back, Sh'drian instead watches Ayria, arching a brow. "Do you know /anything/ about dragons, or are you just picking your favorite colors and screaming them at everyone else?" he asks her condescendingly.
Visibly tiring and taking an incredibly long time between contractions now, the flabby belly of the young queen shows there can't be much left here. However, after a lengthy rest, she heaves herself back to her feet and wearily scoops sand out of the way. Her gut undulates a few times, and another egg makes its appearance.
For the Honor Egg
Unlike others in the clutch, this egg is mostly a stony set of grey colors overlaid with bright and cheery sparkly sorts of colors in a swirl around a shrouded humanoid form. The greys are like bedrock, a mountain of granite rearing itself out of the abyss. The darkest greys seem to be blotched in a pattern that almost resembles a human skull, the eye sockets and gaping mouth shadowed in, but lighter greys help with the illusion. On one side of the egg, the bright colors seem as if they're moving, starting with fiery blues in the main two swirls, golden teardrops seeming to fall down the side of the egg, toward the shadows on the nadir.
In the galleries, Daraven looks a little shocked, though whether it's at the gesture Winter began or Rosmyn's words is impossible to tell. Perhaps a little of both. "That's.." He begins counting, but gives up. "A lot. Do dragons normally lay this many?"
In the galleries, "I've run out of colors! I'd like to see how many of my guesses are right, though. If I had marks to bet, I might make a fortune! Hey!" Ayria scowls at Sh'drian. She looks like she is about to throw a retort in his direction, but obviously decides better of it. "It's more than -you're- doing..." she mutters under her breath, probably only loud enough for those right next to her to hear.
In the galleries, Margan smiles and then returns once more, bending down and carefully slipping his arms about the sleeping form of his daughter. She whimpers softly as he scoops her up and then she is still and silent in his grasp again. "Thank you," he mentions softly before toting her back to his seat and carefully sitting down. Margan brushes a lock of soft hair from Mitahni's face, places a gentle kiss on her forehead and then returns his attention to the sands. One eyebrow lifts as hte continued problems between the weyr's new leaders continues.
In the galleries, Having been fostered at Seacrafter at one point, Rosi is very well aware of the gesture that was halted and snorts with approval at both the aborted gesture and the restraint shown by the Goldrider. But she looks a tad sheepish at shocking Daraven's sensibilities. "Sorry, once a Seacrafter or the daughter of one and you sort of have a twisted sense of humour, is all." She gently helps Margan settle the wee one in his arms. "Thank you, she's a breath of fresh air around here."
Alaemyth peers more closely at this latest egg, momentarily spellbound, before lifting her head to give a low bugle of irritation at her ever-shifting insides. Quickly giving her last egg a last helping of sand, she edges to the side and digs a new trench close to the former. Sides rippling in yet another contraction, she moves over the nest just in time for a dark egg sprinkled and splotched with scarlet to drop gently into place.
Drop of Poison Egg
Vermilion droplets unevenly spatter this sooty egg. Stray, lonely pinpricks of crimson in otherwise untouched, inky swaths slowly give way to chaotic clusters of carmine, which in turn crowd together to produce a vivid splash of vermeil. Subtle variations: garnets, burgundies, and clarets, fight and clash within this bold pool. These shadows and shades, while distinctly and vividly independent when close, cooperate to hint at eerie, emotional images from afar. An angry, glowering face from one angle transforms into a threateningly stormy sky at another. Strangely enough, if seen from a slight upward angle, the combination of hues resembles a freshly baked bubbly pie.
In the galleries, Jaeni makes her way into the galleries via the steps from the outside. New to the scene, the bluerider hasn't picked up on any ill-feelings that are being thrown around. Instead she comes up behind Alina and leans over her shoulder. "So. How much did I miss?" While asking her eyes widen slightly at the amount of eggs on the sand. "A lot."
In the galleries, "Oh, don't worry about it." Daraven waves it away with a grin. "I say the same sorts of things myself and worse. It just surprised me because it was you, that's all."
Winter stops being childish and goes back to watching Alaemyth, taking a few moments to count eggs, shaking her head with amazement. "Still not done?" she asks wonderingly. "Jays..."
In the galleries, Alina glances over that shoulder just as her sister leans in, resulting in a startled blink! "Eep! Oi, heyla Jae, wondered who the shards that was. Missed... well I counted at least twenty and seven out there, and more still turnin' up. Beautiful, the lot of 'em too. Where were ya? Wingleaderish things?"
Eyeing Ayria, Sh'drian snorts slightly. While he might not hear her words outright, he can read her lips well enough and fill in the rest. He calls over to her, "I'm with him. I don't /have/ to do anything." He points helpfully at Eadranth, who looks up like a deer in the headlights at his rider's disagreement with the younger resident. Sh'drian shakes his head and folds his arms over his chest. In the process, he spots a movement in the stands, a new arrival, and he glances over, brows arching as he sees none other than Jaeni. "Jaeni!" he hails her, lifting a hand to catch her attention.
In the galleries, Rosmyn shivers involuntarily at the last egg. "Gives me the creeps that one, like a vtol crawling up my arm." But she's distracted by Daraven's assumption. "Err, why surprised it comes from me? Don't tell me you still think of us rider types as all noble and gallant?" She gestures with her chin down to the sands, picking out the one shining example of non-nobility and anything but gallantry.
With a grumbly sort of sound in the general direction of the puppy-like Eadranth, Alaemyth hauls herself to one of the largest still-clear spots. There, she looks up at the ledges for a moment, then over to the galleries, hissing briefly at those watching, then digs with a second wind of sorts, the sand going flying as if someone had brought a whirlwind into the hatching cavern. When she's done, she moves forward and her latest egg appears. She turns and nudges it just so before packing sand against it.
Deep Sea Mottled Egg
This egg is simply awash with blues, greens, greys in varying shades. The pattern on the egg is almost like seafoam on the open water, or something only the most adventurous of seacrafters has seen in their most daring dives. The baseline color is a greenish blue, but it's covered by an organic sort of shading with the lighter greens, washing out in certain places almost to a bright pale green, almost like deep sea phosphorescence. A trio of chrome-like blotches seem to be plastered in random spots on the egg, two toward the pointy end and one on the fatter end as if bringing up the rear. There are dark streaks on the egg that sort of give it more definition, making it seem more like a streamlined aquatic shape of some kind, a leviathan of the deep.
In the galleries, "That one -has- to be green," Ayria announces. "And that one's a brown." The teenager continues her haphazard guesses, pointing at each egg as it emerges. "Is anyone writing these down? I need to find out how many I got right!" the girl looks around hopefully.
In the galleries, Alina shudders as well on catching a glimpse of the red-sprinkled egg added to the clutch. "Ooooh... I got the quivers now--oh! Hey I *like* that one, and yeah I know I've said that all through this, but 'tis the truth! Looks like the ocean, doesn't it? Blue, blue from a blue egg. One like Rhanth probably."
In the galleries, K'tag glances up from the ground when Sh'drian calls out the name of a familiar young woman, eyes dashing first over to the bronzerider, regarding him for just a moment, before turning the gaze over to Jaeni (passing over Ayria during her muttered Sh'drian-directed comment as he does). He raises one hand in acknowledgement to her, even give her a faint smile, but does not get up to sit near her or Alina.
In the galleries, "Well, because.." Daraven gestures lamely with his hands, trying to explain. "Ah, it dosn't matter." He eventually says, giving up.
In the galleries, Remmi slips in at the back of the stands and moves to take a seat quietly looking out across the sands silently.
For the longest time, the exhausted Alaemyth remains in one position on the sands. However, almost against her will, her belly refuses to allow her to rest, and she hoists herself back up, her wedge-shaped head drooping almost to the sands as she pads over to one of the places that hasn't yet got an egg in it. This time, the swipe she takes at the sands is quite minimal, and it's not long before another egg is deposited, and Alaemyth simply lowers herself next to it for another rest.
A Flight of Heroes Egg
This ovoid seems a most curious example of differing shades. There are peach colors strewn about in small places, perhaps like five faces on it, with varying shades around them, shaped almost like people. The five forms on the egg's mostly sky-blue shell seem to almost resemble people... with wings. From the 'shoulders' of each main splotch, splatters of color in white, brown, green, and blue emulate avian wings, and other blots on the shell almost seem like the beaks of said creatures. The colors of the main body of these odd shapes also varies, with one being tan, another being burgundy, one being pink, another mostly white with blue on the ends, and the last being a pretty shade of green.
In the galleries, Jaeni grins broadly at Alina's surprised expression. "Yeah, just finishing up some discipline with a rider. Nothing real important, just time consuming." Nodding her head, she looks over the sands again. "It's good that there's a lot. Real good." The movement of a hand and her name put together cause Jae to look over in Sh'drian's direction. Her orginal broad smile for Alina changes slightly as she looks at him and then she's waving back. "Hey!" That hand then goes to wave to K'tag and give him a nod of greeting. When the gold lays yet another egg and then another Jae shakes her head and murmurs. "Been a long, long time since we've seen this much."
In the galleries, Rosmyn grins at Daraven, looking a tad pleased she is unpredictable and then she's back to egg gazing. "Twenty-eight I think it is,or is it twenty-nine? Glad to see one thing remains the same, the eggs are just as fascinating now as they were back when I came from."
In the galleries, C'ryn frowns at the latest egg. "That one's rather odd. I wouldn't like to guess what colour will emerge from that one..." he notes, mostly to himself. It seems that he has gone rather quiet, as if contemplating something.
In the galleries, Alina widens surprised eyes Jaeni-wards, "So long as *I* didn't do it!" A snicker, a shift, and she's turned back around in time to see the next of the eggs appear. "At least twenty and nine I think," she calls across to Rosmyn, "shells, wow! A proud day for Ierne this is."
Winter moves across the sands to her dragon, a hand lightly touching Alaemyth's shoulder. The young dragon lets out a slight whuffle, but doesn't move just yet.
In the galleries, "I was on twenty-seven." Daraven admits sheepishly. "But I think we've established my count is woefully inaccurate." He grins back at Rosmyn. "I'm sure other things are the same too."
In the galleries, Tirya mumbles in agreement, content to lean against C'ryn and watch. "I hate to admit it, but I am exhausted," she mutters. "I think I used up my cheerfulness too early on," is added with a smirk.
Ierne's newly affirmed senior gold fans her wings acceptably now that her excavating accomplishments are near completion. A glance to her rider strives to quell any misgivings that may lurk even as the hulking Eternal Sanctuary Egg solidly falls with nary a bounce. Alaemyth, wheeling to face her newest creation, quickly noses sand closer to its wide base and resumes the drive to lay.
Eternal Sanctuary Egg
Twin columns on a washed-out orange base color seem to almost protrude straight from the limits of the convex egg shell as such is their vertical character. Pale limestone grey takes on the vigilant faces of statues whose identity is lost to time. Gargoyles laugh from their lofty perches and a comrade compassionately tends to the whistling flights of pigeons. Ribbons brightly festoon the base of the egg which also plays host to limitless clouds of confetti. The aforementioned towers, though austere in their unyielding gothic structure, offers the egg an essence of promised refuge to those individuals weary of strife or persecution.
Sh'drian, ignoring K'tag, instead focuses on Jaeni and smirks at her. "I told you it'd be soon," he tells her, gesturing to the clutch laid out on the sands. "Although I do believe it was /my/ turn to visit, not yours?" He arches a brow smugly.
In the galleries, Rosmyn rubs the back of her neck and rotates her shoulders. "Must be so uncomfortable for her down there, make that thirty, at least? And, well some things are the same, I guess." She looks over at Alina. "Pretty good day, just think of all the new lifemates." She looks curious at Jaeni for a moment, wondering who she is bt when Sh'drian speaks to her, her look stays longer.
In the galleries, "Exhausted? Do you want to go back?" C'ryn asks, peering into the girl's eyes. "It can't be far from the last one now. Alaemyth's tiring rapidly," he notes, glancing toward the gold before back to Tirya.
In the galleries, Alina keeps eyes trained on the array of sands and eggs--and newly arriving eggs. "Ooh! Yikes! Shells, and more and more, I know it Rosmyn, the barracks are going to be crowded when the 'lings... eep! Candidates! Almost forgot that bit!" Beam, beam, brighter than Rukbat or at least she tries.
In the galleries, "It's alright," Tirya notes. "I want to see this her finish," she notes, still interested whether she is tired or not. The young woman then huffs softly as Alina bubbles, picking her head up again to send a glance in her direction. "I wish I had her energy," she notes.
No longer pretending she's got any energy left, the weary queen still takes extreme care with her newly-clutched eggs, managing to find a clear spot for her latest effort. Her belly, once swollen with eggs, now seems almost emaciated, like a pillow with all the stuffing removed. The skin almost flabs beneath her as she lays one final egg, and then goes over to Eadranth and headbutts him a good one before curling up next to him. It's clear Alaemyth has gone to sleep for a well-deserved rest and that the clutch is complete.
Rainbow Prism Egg
This egg's shell is almost a uniform black, matte in shade, giving little hint as to its size or shape. The distinguishing feature of this egg is a single spear of purest white arcing across the shell toward a triangular white and grey shape, then splitting off at an angle in the same kind of spectrum the Glasscrafters have found with certain shapes of glass. The colors of the rainbow are vivid, almost seeming to glow, the intensity of the hue shifting to give it more of a three-dimensional sort of aspect.
In the galleries, "So we'll be getting a lot of new people, then?" Daraven seems interested in the idea of incoming candidates, but his attention is drawn quickly back to the sands. "That looks like the last one."
In the galleries, Jaeni laughs, "No, it wasn't you. It was all pretty silly anyway." Crossing her arms over her chest, she raises her eyebrows at the newest egg. "Now, that's an interesting addition. Very pretty." Slipping her gaze over to Sh'drian, she shrugs her shoulders back slightly. "It still is your turn to visit. But the clutching came first, how could I not come?" She asks with a grin and nod towards the eggs. "They look good." Blinking she looks out of the corner of her eye at Rosmyn, gaze lingering back as long as the greenrider stares. "Poor girl, she deserves some rest after a clutch like that." Jae notes as she watches Alaemyth.
In the galleries, Rosmyn averts her eyes, not embarrassed at being caught out but more interested in the gold and tsks with genuine sympathy at the poor thing's utter exhaustion. "She did so well, don't you think?" But she answers both Daraven and Alina simply. "Eggs on the sand mean candidates in the barracks and mayhem for all poor unsuspecting candidate coordinators."
In the galleries, Ayria blinks at the latest egg, and she peers to inspect it as closely as she can manage from where she is. "Oooh, that one's striking! Any colour could be in that one, and it would still look right!" she comments. It appears that as energy is fading away among various humans and dragons, Ayria continues to draw on a near-constant supply.
In the galleries, Alina has eyes for the sands still, for the newly arrived egg and for... "Is she... is that it?" Is that it, after all *those*. Silly greenie. "Wow! Looks like it. Alright, I'm *very* glad I'm not a gold dragon right now, I could never do that. I've got the one kiddle, thirty or more in one day would knock me sideways. Every last one's worth it though, I can see the little hatchlings now." She probably can, somewhere in the story-loving mind she calls hers.
As Eadranth whuffles Alaemyth gently upon her delivery of the final egg and, looking smug and satisfied, settles down alongside her, Sh'drian glances over at the pair, nodding. "Finally. Now I get the rest of the day to myself." And, wasting no time, he heads over to the galleries, looking up at Jaeni. "Does this mean I owe you two visits, then?" he queries. "Since you're here, though, and seem to have missed most of the clutching, I suppose I'll have to find some other way to keep you entertained?"
In the galleries, Even K'tag has to give that egg a second look, both eyebrows lifting as he regards it with a little more interest than its clutch. Slowly, he rises to his boots, leaning over and dusting his pants off, very casually, taking his time with the process. If he notices Sh'drian already focusing himself on Jaeni, he doesn't allow himself to look their way.
Winter settles for giving Sh'drian a thoroughly disgusted look before spending some time checking over Alaemyth to ensure there's nothing wrong with her. The Weyrwoman's pale blue eyes rove the clutch of eggs, and she can't help the prideful expression creeping across her face for a while. "You did good, love," she murmurs to her already-sleeping dragon. Then, finally, she heads toward the galleries herself, taking care not to slip down the stairs.