Of tapestry cleaning and the texture of eggs
Nolee, Eslyn, later V'lano, Iaril, Aimera, Cynara
West Cavern Workroom
A draft tickles past from the Living Cavern, touched with the scents of food cooking.
The scents of food waft past from the cavern nearby, draping the autumn air with an almost tangible thickness. Nolee trudges through this thickness toward one of the tapestries, a basin and washrag in hand. Suddenly, she stops to slap an insect where it has lighted on her arm, causing several passers-by to reroute to avoid a last-minute collision.
Eslyn waddles her way out of one of the tunnels leading into this oddly shaped cavern, weighed down with a tall stack of freshly laundered items. Every few moments the raven haired girl has to stop to set things down - shake out her arms and then pick it all back up again. Ultimately, this is far from the best way to go about laundry deliveries and this is proven as she stumbles, a few paces away from Nolee, and clean garments and rags go spilling every which way.
As Nolee is smacked from behind, her basin of washwater spills out, splashing dangerously near that haphazardly dumped out stack of laundry. "Oh shells!" intones the blonde, stepping backward with quick hoplike steps that barely avoid the toes behind her. "I imagine it's already been through the soap part of the wash, since it's all folded? Or, was."
With a thump, the rest of the basket and clothes within are bumped onto the ground as Eslyn tries to keep herself upright after the near-collision. "-Blast-." Is the first comment as her eyes flick to the floor and she groans. She gives a quick glance around, "Scrambles, c'n you help me get this all back on the basket real fast before your water gets on 'em or anyone notices?" They just fell on the much-trodden floor of a busy section of the Weyr - its not like that would make them -dirty- or anything. But then, this tomboy's definition of 'clean' has never beem in sync with the rest of the world. And there's not much hope that no one saw since there are already eyes on them and mildly scolding murmurs.
Nolee scowls for a moment at the soap bubble trail making its way across the busy area's ground, then that scowl deepens to a squint and a scowl at Eslyn. "You gave me that wherryheaded nickname." A moment of consideration, another look at her own project mid-mess. Her thinking time absorbs precious moments, leaving the water to reach its damp fingers toward the half-dirtied cloths. "You gotta call me Nolee. Or Scarfist." Help exacts a price.
"Scrambles is a better name than those tho'." Eslyn replies as she stoops to begin pulling all the items back into the basket. Some of the water from the basin wetting the edges of the farther items. "Scarfist sounds like yer tryin' t'be scarier than you are - or least ways more big and bad. I'd be more scared of Scrambles than I'd be of Scarfist, 'cause anyone who's clearly strong an' can wear the nickname Scrambles with pride has gotta be badder'n someone who has to come up with the nickname 'Scarfist' to seem worse'n they are, ya know?" She tosses items one after another into the basket - she'll worry about folding later.
Elbows brushing against Nolee as people hurry past go almost unnoticed, so much has this unexpected meeting drawn her focus. "Is not. Sounds like mealtime, reminds me of washing dishes." A look around, suspicious. "Now someone's going to notice, and tell Ellery and there'll be more of -that- voice." A sigh, Nolee considering. "I don't know that anyone'd be scared of me, anyhow." She bends over, idly picks up a few rags, tossing them in the basket halfheartedly, then standing. "I should get more washwater, but maybe after a break. Silly tapestries don't look any cleaner, anyway."
"Right, so that's why you pick a nickname that isn't so grandiose." Eslyn beams a bit - more or less because she said a bigger word correctly. "'Sides, do ya got a good story for the nickname Scarfist? I bet not. I bet ya just picked it 'cause it sounded cool or 'cause you've got a scar on your fist. At least with Scrambles, you've got a good story. 'Specially 'cause I'm in it." She manages to grab up the last few and eyes the pile with a sigh. "I'm gonna take these back t'the laundry cavern. Then a break does sound like it ought t'be in order."
V'lano walks in from the eastern side of the cavern.
The laundry mostly in order and washwater abandoned to soak into the ground, Nolee is ready to head back the way she came, waterlogged fingers wrapped gingerly around the basin to avoid further spills. "Grandy-what?" A renewal of her squint, looking Eslyn over as though trying to make out her features clearly. "I got it the right way: from one of the others who go to the cave-place." Her hands, cupped around the basin, cover the scars there, though one lifts to scratch her head thoughtfully. "I have an idea!" Luckily, the earth doesn't shatter. "You can be in the story of your nickname, too. See ya later, Grandy-oyys."
"She lost me." The statement is bemusedly unworried, though ever so slightly put-out in tone. It originates from V'lano, who trods along southward through the cavern, hugging the curve of the inner wall. He has the manner of someone who is supposed to be doing something about him - a manner which he wears only reluctantly, with good-natured sufferance. He tends to this task half-heartedly: looking for something, or someone. As much as casting about the cavern, his gaze tends to wander over the tapestries and other interesting details of the space. "Someone should clean those," he muses at one point.
"She lost me." The statement is bemusedly unworried, though ever so slightly put-out in tone. It originates from V'lano, who trods along southward through the cavern, hugging the curve of the inner wall. He has the manner of someone who is supposed to be doing something about him - a manner which he wears only reluctantly, with good-natured sufferance. He tends to this task half-heartedly: looking for something, or someone. As much as casting about the cavern, his gaze tends to wander over the tapestries and other interesting details of the space. "Someone should clean those," he muses at one point.
Eslyn carefully hefts her burden once more - a basket piled high with mostly clean laundry (some of the unruly topmost of the pile looking to have fallen into some hard times with the water on the floor not far from where Nolee is with an empty basin in her hands. "I think you c'n do better'n that for a nickname for me. Sometimes it takes time. Like there's that one - she said her name was Aili or something - don't got one for her yet. I think you'll find somethin' better'n Grandiose fer me. Somethin' like... Jack." She grins a bit, "But then, ya prolly don't know that story, so..." She shifts the basket slightly, as if trying to get it -just- right so she can not knock the top bunch off onto the ground again if she should stumble.
As Nolee turns to walk away from Eslyn and the puddley washwater on the floor, she shakes her head, her sense of cheer returning. "Nah, you don't get to choose. 'S half the point of having a nick." She overhears the put-out rider's observation, and holds the bowl out toward him, an abject lack of recognition of his identify in her brightening eyes. "Gah, I didn't think anyone really noticed if they were clean or dirty. But you're right, someone should! Would you like to? I was thinking about it, but I thought a break would be much better. Grandy-oyys, too."
"Candidates!" V'lano exclaims, and after a couple more paces puts his hands out to receive the bowl, just as unthinking in fashion as Nolee's offer. "I noticed. Er... I can't, at the moment." And V'lano squints a second at Eslyn, then breaks a broad grin: "I'm supposed to round up candidates and bring them to the sands. Will you both come with me?"
"Oh, I didn't pick Jack. And you c'n go on callin' me Grandiose if'n ya want, but I really think you'll find somethin' more fitting an' overall more embarassin' to me in time, Scrambles." Eslyn replies to the girl before aqua gaze flicks to V'lano. "Sure, just let me drop this load off somewhere safe. Wouldn't want t'get in trouble for things goin' missing and all."
Nolee cooperatively and gratefully releases the basin into V'lano's outstretched hands, delighted. "Then will you tell Ellery so she doesn't lay into me for not doing my chore? That you would instead, but can't at the moment?" Then a startled blink. "With you? Of course I'll go, but, it's not -that- time, is it? I haven't even picked a robe." Eslyn gets a nod, "That could be true, too. Smelly socks, or Mudcot, or Sucker toes, those would all be much better, if only they suited you, Grandy-oyys." While she chatters, she prepares to follow V'lano's lead.
"It's not -that- time." V'lano's smirk is dry and knowing, altogether too smug. He turns with the basin and takes a few steps toward the nearest worktable, whereat he simply sets it down - cheeky riders, leaving others to pick up after them. Or perhaps not quite. "This is just a visit. When you're done, you can come back and finish up." He checks once over his shoulder, eyes dancing, to be sure Eslyn is ready to lose her own chore-stuff somewhere, before leading farther off.
After some time, V'lano re-emerges from the cavern tunnel, wearing a hapless expression that might suggest that any luck he's had gathering candidates has been purely by happenstance and not real effort.
Off by herself, sans Naemyr, is Aiemera. Still holding a hand against her side and breathing rather raggedly, the girl glances toward the entrance as V'lano arrives. A visible effort is made as she straightens, takes in a deep breath and releases it. Such preceeds her greeting of a simple smile and a half-lifted arm.
Nolee doesn't seem to find it at all odd that V'lano has abandoned the basin, and she even gives it a departing wave as she strikes out after him. "Visiting is nice. Especially if it means I can avoid those dirty tapestries. All the dust makes my eyes grainy." A wave to Aiemera is returned, then a vaguely worried face. "Are you all right? You look like you've breathed tapestry dust all day."
"You do seem - " V'lano's blank expression finds some zeal at last in a furrowing of brows and downturning of the corners of his mouth. "Have you been hurt?"
"Fetching-" Aiemera pauses for another ragged breath, "Candid-" Yet another pause and another exhalation, "ates... Couldn't find them." The same hand used to greet V'lano is waved in a dismissive motion, "Out of breath... I'm fine." After several more attempts at regulating her breathing, she's finally able to talk without sounding one lung short. "Didn't have much luck either, did you?" To V'lano of all people, as Aiemera pushes away from the wall to move toward the pair.
Nolee scratches her head, her nose wrinkling up. "Are they all hiding? I haven't seen any either, except Grandy-oyys back there with the dirty laundry piles." Her chin pulls back, puzzling over this. "Luck? He's playing hide and seek too? I should've hidden better. It's not -that- time, though, Aiemera, so we needn't be too worried if we can't find them all." Note how she seamlessly inserts herself into the searching effort, "Though, what do we do when -that- time comes, to find everyone? Can't be running around like that, not if they all break up at once like Fingers said."
"Oh! You shouldn't have - it's not urgent. Well, he thinks it is. But it's not -that- urgent. If it were shells cracking, then it'd be worth a stitch your side - " V'lano shrugs, grin returning in force, the curve of his mouth creating deep brackets around its corners. "You going to be all right to walk around a bit on the hot sand?" From the corners of his eyes he notes Nolee as the group draws closer into a conversational triangle. "The dragons will hum. Everyone will know. I promise." - "If you're ready, we can go ahead? And while we walk you can remind me of your names. I'm V'lano, as you probably know." 'Probably.'
"They'll come. Whole place starts shaking 'n people are all over it like... well... they're all over it." Aiemera assures, though not without a double-checking look toward V'lano, as helpful as he might /not/ be. She nods absently to V'lano as she begins moving...because moving was good and she needed to prove she could, safely. "Aiemera... Aiem if.. you know, you feel like it." A quick look toward both finds her offering yet another smile, though it's just as quick to disappear as it'd appeared.
Eslyn emerges from the tunnel to the inner caverns.
"Oh! You told us by the boat it would be alright to walk on the sands to see them, but I've been so busy since Naemyr got drunk that I forgot all about it," Nolee comments in earnest, tagging along again. "I've this kitchen woman assigned to watch after me, by Ellery--if she comes and shakes her finger, I might have to run after her. She's mean. But until then--I'm Nolee. What's the difference between that shaking, and the earthquake shaking?"
"Only with one of us with you," V'lano interjects, chortling under his breath. He walks up the southeastern wall of the bowl toward the hatching grounds' entrance, speaking over his shoulder when not facing forward. "I take it you're a layabout, a good-for-nothing, then? -- Well, the fact that the one comes with humming, dragon humming. You've been at a Weyr when there's been a hatching before, then, Aiem?"
Aiemera's frown returns at the mention of Naemyr and his drunken debacle. Unfortunately it's one that lasts, and also merits the return of her tongue biting activities. Around such, she manages a response to V'lano, "Been here for a good few. I've lived at Ista all my life, you know, just haven't gotten out all that much." Admitted without much embarassment, she pauses only to motion with a vague jerk of her head, "You feel it, Nolee... it's like everything is shaking and the sound is so loud. It's... what's the word?" A look to V'lano's back for assistance comes as Aiemera draws a hand up to rub irritably at her sunburned face.
Nolee blinks animatedly, looking at both V'lano and Aiemera with interest and wiping her pruned hands on her tan pants. "Layabout? Her? Noooo, she's a professional finger-shaker, surely." A solid nod accompanies this. "I don't get a moment's peace. Except right now." Tagging along, she notices Aiemera's sunburn, and the way her scratchings leave white lines along the pink skin. "You went out without your hat!"
V'lano continues, like a gander father or something, to lead the gosling-candidates along toward the entrance to the hatching grounds. "No, I meant - " But he thinks better of whatever he was going to explain to Nolee, and just notes for Aiemera's benefit, "Dragons? Intense? - I burned a lot when I first visited here. I got used to it." A stretch of his bare arm, displaying the deep but plainly not bred-and-born tan of his skin, serves as example. "Funny that you never have?" And then he steps through into the cavern entranceway.
Iaril wanders over from the northwest, he is barefoot and his hair is clearly wet, though not dripping. "Oh.. 'Lo 'S." he says, then runs after Nolee as she leaves.
V'lano turns about but does not stop moving; he just walks backward toward the brief tunnel that leads to the sands themselves, beneath the upward stretch of the gallery path. "Now, let's go over a couple of quick rules," he says while leading in this group-tour manner. "First, no running or horseplay. Second, no licking the eggs. Third, if I think of any other rules and tell you on the spot, you still have to obey them, even though they're late in coming. Any questions?"
"Just a little," Aiemera offers in aside to Nolee, "Forgot I had outdoor duties, and by the time I got to chores, it was too late to go back and get it. It's alright though, it's just a burn that'll go away in a few days." Almost absently, she adds a laugh, "Intense... I... in a more normal way, I meant... everyone's rushing to get to the... get here on time. Things just seem really chaotic..." A pause and clarification of her newly found and liked word, "Intense." She stills for favor of hearing the rules, and quietly shakes her head to V'lano's last question. "None here, sir."
Iaril wrinkles his nose, "Licking? You ever seen a Candidate try and do that? /Why?/"
Iaril also blinks as he realizes the rest. "You're taking them onto the Sands? To touch the Eggs?" HE brushes some wet hair out of his face.
Cynara walks in from the bowl.
Nolee absently scratches at a raised red welt where a round lump marks an insect bite on her arm, her eyes busy filling with the cavern view. "No kicking the eggs," she repeats, then tilts her head, whispering to Iaril as he catches up, "Hey, Fingers. Did he say kicking, or licking?" Giggling softly, then hushing, she tucks her waterlogged fingers into her pockets, on good behavior. "No questions yet. I imagine you'll tell us if we break them, though. Pop used to play that, too." Aiemera earns a sad look. "Carry a scarf for next time?"
Cynara was here all along, honest, just that she's rather small and was towards the back of the group of Candidates. Having been through this before, the curly-haired girl just nods politely to V'lano's explanation, not fidgeting, knowing he'll let them see the eggs soon enough.
"You get sand on your tongue," V'lano replies, as if Iaril had asked why -not- lick the eggs, rather than why anyone would try it. A certain glinting merriness in his eyes suggests he might know better, and have opted the easier answer. "Griere makes a fantastic cream for sunburn," he notes in a murmur, softer than the addressing-the-whole-group tone, tipping his head toward Aiemera in a manner which might even be considered inviting; then, gesturing a bit grandly with both arms to draw the group on, he turns about and leads through the increasingly gritty little passage to the sands.
"You there - you need sandals. There's a pair over there." Battered, tattered, and barely worthy of being called footwear - perhaps the lording bronze has used them as chew toys - a pair does indeed roast at the edge of the sands where the heat is coolest, next to a flat-topped rock which might serve as an insulated seat. Poor Iaril. "Once you get out in the middle you won't like the hot, I promise. The rest of you, go on ahead. Try to touch several, though if you feel compelled to spend extra time with one, that's all right too. And don't let -him- bother you."
As if knowing his place in this show, Volath picks this moment to straighten up tall, stretching high within the cavern's walls to span his great waterfall wings out, throwing sunset's ruddy shadows in hues of gold and amber over the eggs waiting below.
Nolee sticks out her tongue, trying to see its end, her eyes crossing. "So does Ailisha, Aiem, if you have the chance to ask her." This all spoken with her tongue out, obscuring the words. This isn't the best position for walking the narrow tunnel, so she abandons the effort after her knee scrapes the wall. "Ow. Ow ow." The heat of the sands distract her from the discomfort, however, enough for her to look up up up. Nolee's eyes grow big, fingers crinkling into a wave., "It's kinda dark out here. But he makes a nice parasol."
Iaril tilts his head, but nods, slowly. Follow the rules. This time. He looks over toward where V'lano pointed and walks over to the sandals. After looking at them rather suspiciously, he shrugs and sorta slides his feet onto them, then shuffles across the Sands, fighting the ill-fitting sandals' attempts to fall off his feet.
Cynara grins. "He's entitled to be the proud father," she points out, before heading towards the...green egg, a random first choice perhaps, with a sort of half nod, half bow gesture to the proud parents. She doesn't seem particularly intimidated by the situation, just reaching to lay her fingertips on the egg. "Still think you're a blue."
Again, poor Iaril - but perhaps the bronzerider has the interests of unblistered candidates at heart. He nods approval, anyway, as Iaril shuffles past. "Good, good," he calls out toward Cynara, while Volath curves his neck down down down so his nose points directly at Nolee's, separated admittedly by a span of several meters. Then he exhales.
Cynara tries not to ugh, but does make a face. For a moment, it looks like she's going to pull her hand away, then she murmurs, "Not the egg. What's /in/ the egg." Maybe it's just ugly close up? She lingers with it for quite a few more moments, as if to demonstrate that she's not really put off it, then she moves towards the more reddish egg.
Iaril moves toward a colorful egg and trips slightly on the sandals - he puts out a hand to catch himself, but ens up touching the Egg.
Her path toward any of the eggs halted to admire the parasol clutchfather, Nolee holds her ground as the large dragon's head nears hers. "I can see right up your nose," she calls out, "But it doesn't look like anyone's hidden things in there like I heard stories abo--" Breaking off, she wilts under the force of Volath's breath, eyes watering while she coughs softly. "Who needs a volcano? That could get the fish alone."
Iaril looks more closely at the Egg, "Weird! How can it be almost bumpy and smooth at the same time?" He keeps his hand on the egg for quite a while, then leans foward, as if to try and 'listen' to the Egg.
Volath, having exhaled, must now inhale. Perhaps it's good for Nolee that he raises his head high again, a flag on a proud pole into the sky, to do so. Below, his chest swells with the taken breath, his wings tucking in against his sides. After a moment he settles back on his rearhaunches and tilts his great head a bit to the side, watching the candidates who meander among his offspring below.
"Yeah, that one's - well, I touched it and it wasn't -too- bad," V'lano remarks Cynara's way, grinning a bit as from the corner of his eyes he notes the other woman's reaction to his beast's breath. "He says it's just fine on the inside, so."
Cynara grins from where she's now running a palm over the red sunset egg. "I bet it hatches a really good looking dragon, just to show people who judge a package by the outside, not the contents. I like this one...but I also...I actually /like/ that one, it's..." How does she explain? She can't, for now, judging by how her voice tails off.
Iaril grins at that, "Course, I saw a Hatching where there was one /really/ ugly Egg! And guess what? An even uglier dragon came out of it!" He moves away from that Egg and shuffles over to another multicolored Egg. This one with stormy swirls all over it.
"If you'd sit on the docks, Volath, and send the ships out with your exhale, my pop'd be home by next sunset." Nolee gives the dragon a nod of encouragement, as though this course would be a wise one. She starts forward again, making it to a dark egg shrouded in soot. "Like a pot. Or a hearth's chimney. Or the sand here. Or the sky with no stars." Examining it closely, Nolee kneels, rising just as quickly as the sand burns, and she opts to explore with hands instead.
Moonlit Darkness Egg
Soft sable cloaks this egg's base, rising in shadow along the sides, so that deciding where the obsidian shell ends and the ebon sand beneath begins is sometimes difficult. The soot-like darkness begins to break, however, near the egg's equator. Tiny pinpricks of white breach night's hold, at first few and scattered, but ever more dense as they approach the apex. At that peak, they condense in a nebulous blue-white blur of light, its brightness more than visual--there's almost a warmth infused in the color. Near it, dwarfed by the moon above but larger than the stars, are two blurred drops of pigment. The first, the slightly larger of the two, is brightest turquoise, several shades more vivid than the peak. It merges almost seamlessly into a more verdant green, the smaller patch, and only a little imagination is necessary to see two sets of wings beating in time.
You touch the Moonlit Darkness Egg.
The finish of this egg is velvety smooth soft and warm and inviting as a lovers voice on a summer night. It calls for more, serenades for a palm instead of fingertips, two hands instead of one.
"Some people would say there's no such thing as an ugly dragon," V'lano offers, while Volath eyes Nolee particularly for a moment, her reflection swirling in many of the midnight facets of his downtipped eye, as if the beast takes her suggestion seriously. A little further merit to this possibility is added by his rider noting, "Don't encourage him," a bit affectionately disgusted. "Come back to it after a few others if you like - I didn't catch your name?" That, called out Cynara's way.
Cynara moves to a new egg, the contained tempest egg, and supplies her name, "Cynara." This one, she'll rest her hand on for a long moment. "Won't be long before we see what hides within you, will it," she inquires rhetorically of the egg itself. She can hope, right? She can let herself hope, as calm as she's trying to be about this candidacy.
Nolee is captivated by the lure of the dark-turning-light egg, passing around to its other side where she's able to see the many-Nolee's eerily cast back at her. "Ugh," she comments, closing her eyes to steady herself. "That always makes me dizzy." Once steadied, she puts both hands across the egg, tracing its colors with her palms. "Little thing inside!" she murmurs soothingly, "Grow up big and strong. Or little and strong. Or fast. Or liking glows, like Gerand's firelizard." Hearing Iaril's, then V'lano's words, she whispers, "Your lifemate might like you even if you're ugly."
Iaril grins and mutters, "Most of them Impressed ugly dragons, I'll wager." He passed his hand along the egg's surface "Lots of smooth and rough patches in this one. Bet the dragon in here's gonna be tough to oil!" He moves to the Twilight's Dream Egg. "Look at this white spot in the middle!"
Volath's consideration moves on to Cynara, the tempest swirling on the shell of the egg beneath her hand meeting a similar brewing in the facets of the bronze's eye. "I think we can assume the little thing is a dragon," V'lano muses, treading a lazy mosey around the perimeter of the mounded sand toward his lifemate's flank. "Oh, I don't know," he tosses off casually. "Do you think Volath ugly?"
Volath
Light glitters across this bronze's darkness, the liquid rush of countless tiny droplets whose chaos nears a coherent whole: pale enough to approach gilt, like sunlight strong through a waterfall, while never losing its distinctive hue. It pours most potently down his spine from just beyond sharp, dark eyes to the very edge of his tail, from there splashing upon slanted flanks and spilling past smoky wingspars into sails that are translucent, reflective pools. Beyond, his soft hide is shadow-deep, dappled ever so subtly with shadows upon shadows like water-spotted velvet, disguising the play of muscle within a lean and resilient frame. He is 35.75 meters long and his wings span 59.34 meters tip to tip. He appears to be about 5 Turns old.
Cynara feels eyes on her, she turns, and looks up at faceted eyes and bronze hide. "Hello, Volath. Don't worry...I'm being careful with your children." Which she is, almost over-cautiously so, so careful of the beautiful eggs.
Nolee pulls her hands away from the egg, studying its surface suspiciously, then moving toward the egg Iaril mentioned. "Is that how it works? The more spotches on the outside egg, the more on the inside dragon? And what's the white spot mean? He'll have big eyes?" Volath's given a cursory look, inspecting for splotches. "He's got freckles, like me. He must spend more time in the sun than you. Or Aiemera."
Twilight's Dream Egg
Cobalt combs over this egg, dancing with streaks of violet and carmine and melding into a breathtaking twilight. Shadowy shapes and outlines can almost be made out, though the longer one studies it, the more it seems that objects lose their clarity in the descending dreamy dimness coating this squat egg. One white shape stands squarely out against the near-darkness, its spread wings representative of the light and ready to carry it aloft, heralding forth 'an aerial display by the firefly brigade' which swirls whimsically all about.
You touch the Twilight's Dream Egg.
At first touch, the surface of this egg is soft as the surface of a warm pillow recently left by a contented sleeper. Additional exploration will also reveal tiny bumps and grainy indents in the shell where the layers of porous membranes protect the growing occupant.
Iaril looks over at V'lano, "You don' think I'm dim enough to stand on the Sands and say that I think the Clutch cire is ugly, do you?" He moves a little and touches a red egg.
"He hates being inside, so that's a safe bet," chuckles Volath's rider. The sand squeaks beneath his sandals while he walks, until he halts next to the bronzen haunch and leans a shoulder into it. Arms folding crossed over his chest, he watches the candidates inspecting the eggs much as the bronze does, head slightly tilted to one side. A low rumble comes from one or the other of them; only the fact that the sands vibrate ever so slightly with the sound really betrays that the surprisingly softspoken laughter comes from the dragon. "I see," the Telgari grins.
Cynara hesitates, grins at Volath, and then steps carefully around the lowered head to inspect another egg. "Yeah, he might decide you aren't worthy of one of his children...I hope I am, but I'm not holding my breath." A slight smile.
Nolee reaches the twilight egg as Iaril moves away, but the girl's wobbly path across the hot, dark sand isn't rapid enough for her to catch the younger boy up, even slowed as he is by the loaner sandals. A moment is spent moving her hands over the nubbles on that egg, looking to see if there is anything propping it up or causing the splotchy whiteness.
V'lano laughs. "He's also not very good about giving me clues, Cynara, more's the shame. I'm sorry I can't help you out there. But from a broad perspective, you -must- be worthy, since you got searched. Whether the right dragon for you is in these eggs - well, we'll soon find out." The bronzerider unleans from Volath's side and takes a couple of steps out toward the more lumpen sands that cradle the eggs. "Couple more and we should probably call it an evening. Aerianth will be done with her snack soon, I'm sure, and - well, she'll allow visitors, but I don't necessarily want to see what happens when she finds out Volath allowed some of his own accord."
Great Mystery Egg
The upper contours of this egg swirl with blues and greens, broad strokes of oceanic teal splashed by blotches of oily black and interrupted by hurricane spirals of cloudy gray. The lower hemisphere tends more to warm shades, with fiery licks of orange streaking contrast against smoky browns and desert sands. Tiny seabird shapes, mere calligraphy-marks of pure white, ring the shell in a rising formation, ever migrating northward to the egg's apex.
You touch the Great Mystery Egg.
When stroked, this egg reveals unseen contour, like a map of mountains embossed to provide textural clues as to elevation. Nubbly but smooth beneath the fingers, the shell is cool near crown and base, but warmer at the broad equator.
Iaril rruns his hand over the red sunset egg, then turns, "Every one of them feels different. And you can't tell what to expect by looking at them!" He seems more interested than when he started as be moves over to a green egg."
Cynara catches that. She hesitates, she looks at the egg she's next to, looks at the beautiful sunset egg, looks at all of them. And then she starts to make a VTOL-like back to the green egg, the first one. The one she had such a strange reaction to. Will she bump into Iaril?
Nolee loses a sandal mid-step, and she halts to retrieve it, sifting some of the hot sand through her fingers. A light sheen of sweat dapples her lower back, the temperature and effort against the sand taking its toll on the pear-shaped girl. Reaching an egg lined with seabird streaks, Nolee's fingers trace their contours. "This one reminds me of outside." A wistful sigh. "I can see why he'd prefer it." A head-tilt toward the bronze, then Nolee's starting her trek toward the cavern entrance, warily watching for potential unhappy dragons to appear.
Iaril wrinkles his nose, "This one feels like a vegetable! Whoever hesrd of an Egg like that?" He looks to V'lano, expecting an answer? "Strange."
"Yes, he's been a bit extra brave, but the last time he sent me searching I came up with no one to visit his babies at all," V'lano chortles. He trods among the eggs toward the candidates, spreading his arms out in a sort of herding motion to help them aim for the tunnel back to the grounds' entrance. "I've heard of eggs that feel like all sorts of things," he replies. "But most of the ones I've touched feel like eggs." Notably, he doesn't put a hand out to touch that green one while passing.
Nolee reaches the edge of the the sand, turning around to offer a clumsy, silly-looking little-girl bobbing cursty, but the approach of the herding clutchsire and candidates have her backing up quickly enough that she tumbles onto her backside. Rising, she rubs the sand off, stepping down off of the sand completely. "At least the thing, er dragons, in the eggs don't seem to mind if Eslyn thinks I'm Scrambled."
Cynara gives the green egg a wistful look, and a soft touch in passing, ugly as it might be, but then she glances at Nolee. "So, I'm not the...only person Eslyn thinks is a bit...uh...off in the head? She accused me of having the intellect of a firelizard the other day...I don't know how to get through to her."
Iaril smirks, "Eslyn's the one's off. You ever get her t'come up with any of the things she promises she can do and get?" He realizes where they are and smiles, sheepishly. He steps to his right to look at one more Egg.
Iaril puts both his hands on the moonlit darkness egg. "nice one..." he says, quietly.
"No, but I'll have to give it a try," V'lano interjects, not that this conversation includes him in any way. Perhaps in a way it does now. He steps past Iaril as the candidate delays at the dark-glimmering egg, perhaps intentionally allowing him a longer moment there, but gestures with one hand: come on, come on. And walks onward, back toward the path, while behind him Volath arises tall once more, wings spreading wide, and croons a greeting to unseen arrivals somewhere in the sky above the caverns.
Leaning against the cavern wall, Nolee kicks sand out of her shoes, wincing as grains scrape between her toes. "Like she's got a grudge. Or has a hard time trusting people. Or just isn't nice." Nolee's guesses are vague, though there's some agreement with Cynara, and she glances up toward the waterfall gilt bronze to see if they've profaned the sands. "C'mon, Iaril. Their mum'll be back soon, and she's not as keen on visitors as him."
Cynara hrms. "Not /has/ a grudge per se. She /keeps/ grudges. She like...guards them like a queen her eggs. She's mad with me over a stupid, minor argument I'd mostly forgotten that happened /months/ ago." She sighs a bit. "At least it's not me...not just me, that is."
Iaril pauses just a little longer at the Egg, then turns to follow V'lano. "Yeah. We'd better get moving.." He frowns, "Hope she's not mad we visited."
"She wouldn't be mad with you, and she'll forgive him," V'lano murmurs, but he seems all too willing to usher the trio of candidates off of the sand and into the entrance tunnel.
"Naw, not just you," Nolee agrees, rubbing her back against the tunnel wall to scratch it. "When I first saw you arguing, I wasn't sure what to think, but I haven't gotten anything in trades with her either." V'lano's movement spurs her to action, and she steps reluctantly away from the wall to follow. "Keeps them. Well said."
"Thank you, all of you, for coming along," V'lano says, backtracking to plant himself in the tunnel's entryway as if just making totally sure no one will be trying to sneak back out there. But he leans against the wall, slumping a bit, and looks weary about his smiling eyes. "I'm sure there'll be more opportunities, so if you haven't had enough - " A wry cant to his crooked grin makes it seem he might find -that- unlikely.
Iaril hastily remembers the borrows sandals as he leaves the Sands, "Best leave those in case someone else needs 'em... Hopefully with bigger feet'n I have." He nods to V'lano, "Thank you, Sir. Seen a lot of Eggs, but it's different.. well, you know, right?" Yeah. boy spaks from /Turns/ of experience...
Nolee repeats her curtsy, backing away a few more steps, then turning to hurry. "G'night, V'lranzo," Nolee mumbles, completely mistaking the man's name in her usual bumbling manner, worsened by haste and worry about the expected arrival of mother dragon. "It's fun, but awfully warm out there. Like sunbathing, only burning." A nod, "Different when they're big. And from dragons."
Iaril grins at Nolee's efforts.
"Good night, all of you. If I were you - a nice ale and a good sleep. Use me as an excuse for chores you'll do tomorrow while you have the chance," V'lano replies, then turns and vanishes back onto the sands.
V'lano walks out onto the hot sands.
Iaril grins at V'lano's last, "That'll be easy. One extra day off without having to... well, try very hard."
Nolee's eyes widen. "Use him as an excuse for not doing chores? You don't have to tell me twice." Waving, Nolee increases her pace. "I'm starved, and not having to clean those tapestries means it's dinner time!"