[Log] Eggs!
Who: A'son, Milani, Tiriana
When: Day 2, Month 9, Turn 19
Where: Sands/Galleries, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana tries to entertain herself and Iovniath while the gold clutches.
To have been out here since before dawn, Iovniath's not exactly making much progress, with only three eggs laid out in the sands so far. She's eyeing them rather forlornly, too, in a break between pushing out another one; Tiriana is inspecting each in turn herself, in more hands-on fashion: poking at them until Iovniath whuffs with motherly alarm. "They're... not /that/ ugly," she says, dubiously.
From the galleries, Eggs are being dumped out on the sand. And whether or not A'son is really interested in clutches is up in the air, but it probably seems like some sort of duty to him. To at least come and take one peak out onto the new 'Reaches arrivals. The bronzerider heads down the stairs, stopping at the rail and leaning over the edge. He watches Tiriana with a sort of neutral expression. His fingers tap on the railing, hesitance. Finally, "Need anything?" He calls across to the goldrider.
From the galleries, Oh how helpful. Here comes Milani with a pitcher of lemonade and several glasses on a tray, along with a basket of things to nibble on. After all, Tirian's been out here sweatin' to the oldies since dawn and it's not exactly /cold/ outside or in here. Clink clink goes the ice in the pitcher as the headwoman moves through the entry tunnel and carefully along the lower tier of seats. A'son's voice brings her eyes up and Milani takes a little breath, then continues moving forward. "Cool drinks," she tells both bronzerider and Weyrwoman as she draws near, "make the whole thing better, right?"
And we're off. "Fuck you," says Tiriana, looking up from the last silvery-gray egg to eye A'son. Iovniath looks appalled, as is her way, and Tiriana's quick to add, "They're /eggs/, Iovniath. They can't hear it. Faranth." She rolls her eyes, too. But with Milani offering her drinks, Tiriana turns, and if she'll blow off A'son, she'll at least stroll over toward Milani to get one. "Thanks."
From the galleries, Oh well, it was worth a try. Since Tiriana is cursing him out, he'll wave to her dragon. She at least looks nice. Then Milani arrives, boasting refreshments. "It'll make it something." A'son answers her, lips quirking to the side. She's given a quick look over, not to be too overt in his staring. "You look good today."
From the galleries, Turning, Milani sets the tray down on the next row of seats up and pours a tall glass for Tiriana. A lean over the rail extends the vessel full of cheerily yellow-colored liquid to the Weyrwoman. "You're welcome," the headwoman says chipperly enough herself. "There's snacks too if you're hungry." A'son's compliment tilts Milani's head towards him though, blue-green eyes lifting to his face and she smiles warmly. "Thanks, so do you," she quips back, only a faint trace of uncertainty touching her face. "Want some?" A little hand gesture indicates the pitcher of lemonade.
"I'm /hot/," Tiriana tells Milani, as though this explains everything and weren't obvious to boot. She's taking her hair down from its ponytail to put it up, the frizzing curls that are trying to escape in the sweaty heat, before she takes a drink; no food. She takes a long drink, glances back over the mostly-empty sands. "This is taking /forever/."
From the galleries, "Don't lie to me." A'son tells Milani, rubbing a hand over his hair. His sweaty hair. He's not the picture of beauty, though he probably never is. With the offer of a delicious, cool beverage, "Oh, thanks." He grins before pushing off the rail and dropping into a seat behind him. There's no comment on how long it's taking for the gold to lay all her eggs.
From the galleries, "Of course you are, it's hot in here," Milani tells Tiriana and releases the glass into the Weyrwoman's hand. "Hopefully not too much longer," she says sympathetically to the goldrider then slants another long A'son's way. "Well you're sweaty and a little grungy around the edges, but that's rarely stopped me from thinking you're hot before," Milani notes to the bronzerider, humor quirking up the corner of her mouth. A step away from the rail brings her back to the tray to pour again and offer the second glass over to him. "There's some non-sweet snacks in here too if you're hungry. Meatrolls and stuff," she notes about the basket and perches to one side of the tray, knees turning inward and elbows resting atop them. Her hands clasp together and she looks out over the sands towards the incipient clutch. "How's she doing, Tiriana?"
Tiriana makes a gagging sound. "Faranth, you're disgusting," she notes of Milani and A'son's teasing. Her lip curling, she just eyes the eggs, about the time Iovniath pops out another one. "She's--fine," is the absent answer to the question actually directed at her. "Of course she's fine. Just bored out of her mind." Although that's probably more Tiriana than Iovniath, because the gold is nudging her nose at the latest egg, checking it out all over as she arranges it by its mates.
>---< Prankster's Stash Egg >-----------------------------------------------<
All over, this egg is yellow, though the color pales, at least, from one
end to the other. The pointed end of its shell is the brightest part, rich
golden-yellow, though the hue's marked by darker patches, a few brownish
spots like fruit going bad. The color splits open as it travels along the
wider portions of the shell, peeling away to leave a more pastel shade of
custard oozing across it. And the very end of that little egg? It's
off-white, a little dab of meringue, toasted with brown along the tip.
>---------------------------------------------------------------------------<
From the galleries, He takes the glass from Milani, "Thanks, appreciate it." A'son takes a long swallow from the glass before leaning back. His head rolls and his eyes stare up at the ledges overhead. "You know, no. I'm not doing that." The comment would initially seem to be to no one in particular. Unless one was to look up to see the bronze land overhead, spreading his wings and trying to look all cool. He does laugh laugh at Tiriana's reaction, glancing sideways at Milani. "Yes, sometimes. Maybe a little."
From the galleries, There's a faint lift of brows from Milani to Tiriana for 'disgusting', but she only shrugs and shifts, one leg crossing over the other, foot bouncing as her elbows drift backwards to find purchase on that row behind her and she braces her weight thusly. "I'm glad she's doing fine. Hopefully ... some of the dragons can help keep her entertained while she's here," the headwoman says sincerely and tilts her head to the side, meeting A'son's gaze in the process. The good humor remains on her face though again there's that faint touch of hesitation before she quips back: "And sometimes a lot. But not usually in public."
"Why /wouldn't/ she be fine?" says Tiriana, eyeing Milani for a moment. The comment earns another shake of her head, and she takes another long drink before turning to get a refill. It's hard work, just standing around while your dragon lays eggs. As Iovniath does again, now. "Ha. She'd run them all off," she says to Milani's suggestion, snorting. "Like to run all you oglers off, too, while we're at it." The disgustingness is left alone now, except for a disdainful look at A'son. Though that might be just on general principle.
>---< You May Be Eaten by a Grue Egg >--------------------------------------<
Deep navy blue fades into inky black, with the tiniest swirls of an
eldritch glow barely visible along one end of this mid-sized, sooty egg.
Apart from that minuscule splotch of color, the shell is simply remarkable
in its lack of any brightness whatsoever, seeming to absorb and negate all
light around it. Striking in its matte darkness, the egg appears as if it
weren't really there at all. Pitch-black. Dim. Shadowed. In short? You may
be eaten by a grue.
>---------------------------------------------------------------------------<
From the galleries, Nikoth trumpets from ledge, he's company! Though possibly the last dragon in the weyr that Iovniath would like to be sharing company with. A'son rolls his eyes, instead choosing to watch the two women he's with. Milani's comment results in his 'brows popping up, "Hmm. Can't possibly be that exciting." He responds, ignoring the disgusted gaze of Tiriana. For the moment at least.
From the galleries, "It's her first time," Milani answers Tiriana's question evenly. "She could be tired, or bored like you said. And well, they don't have to come inside to be entertaining. Any of them could provide you know, distraction, from outside," the headwoman's hand waves vaguely towards the Bowl. "I'll just leave the pitcher here for you then. Make sure someone comes back every hour or so with more ice?" she suggests to the Weyrwoman for the whole running off oglers remark. A'son's brow-popping look earns a steady one in return. "You'd be surprised ..." the headwoman murmurs more quietly and pushes up on one elbow to fish a cookie out of the basket.
From the galleries, "Glad I didn't impress anything that could lay eggs." A'son notes in low tones to Milani. Just so that Tiriana doesn't hear him. He glances around the stands, noting the fairly low population of watchers. "Oh really?" He finishes the rest of the glass off and places it down on the spot next to him. With he a sigh he watches as more eggs are laid out on the sands. "Well, this is quite exciting."
And Iovniath is getting fussy with her eggs, so Tiriana abandons present company to go reassure her dragon that no, they're not /completely/ horrendous looking eggs. Or something.