Log: Hatching Sands Madness
Date: Day 22, Month 6, Turn 26 of Interval 10
Summary: Iovniath and Cadejoth's third clutch hatches. Sands-only (no barracks RP).
Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
Whether one enters from the main bowl entrance or one of the smaller tunnels at the back of the cavern, golden-brown sand glitters and swelters in every direction. Close inspection reveals that while the large egg pieces have been gathered up, small fragments remain mixed into the hot sand, record of a thousand hatchings. The main source of light is a huge window of sky high in the wall that also serves as an aerial entrance, its overhang just deep enough to admit light and cooler air but fend off harsher weather.
The sands' setting designs them to be the focus of the vast amphitheater, with tiers upon tiers of galleries rising up its southwestern side near the tunnel to the bowl, and rings of dragon ledges higher yet: heat and architecture combining into what can be a palpable sense of pressure.
Contents:
Sibella
Rhaelyn
Emmeline
Evali
Riorde
Khorde
Elgin
Iolene
Nathalia
Meara(#1017PJXce1)
K'del
Cadejoth
Obvious exits:
Galleries
Elgin stries on to the sands, positioning himself near the smith-candidate, the wave of heat washing over him as he settles into a place. Still, there is too much excitement to deal with all that. "Is that egg...moving?" Poor little islander.
Meara stands, arms crossed, off to one side - well away from Tiriana and K'del, which is probably for the better because the arrival of the candidates (and some of those candidates in particular) seems to have started an argument between them. She shifts a glance their way, but doesn't approach: it's much safer over here. /Much/.
Evali is doing so, so much dragging. She has to drag Khorde, she has to drag Xoami /and/ make sure he doesn't puke, she's keeping Iolene and Riorde in her view as much as she possibly can, and she's got Emmeline to cling to as well. "Those eggs are -- large," says she who never actually /saw/ them.
Lina shooes the last of the candidates out of the barracks, glancing over the rocking eggs towards Meara as she does so. She pumps her arm in the air in a standard gesture for 'all clear'; the candidates are here!
Emmeline glances over at Xoami when he winds up beside their brand new foursome of Khorde, and Evali and Emme and now him... especially once they find themselves shoved onto the sands and in that semi-circle. "Don't you dare puke." she adds, reinforcing that instruction Evali was given. Eggs? She's trying real hard not to look at them yet until their size is mentioned. "Uh-huh."
Iolene stumbles, her foot catching on a divet in the sands as she is pushed? Pulled? Moves with the throng of the crowd near the eggs. She doesn't bow. She doesn't look at the eggs, instead she looks up at the crowds and whimpers. "They're /staring/ at us," is said in a hushed aside to Riorde, whose hand she's clutching onto for dear life. Her knuckles might be white. Her nails might even be digging in.
Sibella steps as bravely as possible onto the Sands, and shamefully begins sweating. She shuffles next to Nathalia, grateful for the decent shoes issued to the candidates. Absolutely in awe, she peers at the eggs almost dreamily.
With a great /thud/, the darkly shelled Final Frontier Egg rolls over onto one side, giving the dragon inside just enough momentum to push himself free - the very first. Luminously blue, bedecked in stars, the mid-sized hatchling gives the world an expectant, curious glance before lunging off towards the candidates. Though widely considered a top choice for the gold, weyrbred Quinlys shows no regrets as she wraps her arms around him, whispering his name so quietly that only those nearest could know for sure: "Olveraeth."
Khorde protests, "I'm not gonna puke!" He's just going to assume that anything negative is naturally directed to him. "They're freakin' HUGE!" is now what he has to say, in the classic straight line to Evali's comment. "Holy--" that was a /dragonet/. That just happened.
Rhaelyn sachet's out onto the sands with her much too large robe around her and her boot laces undone. "Elgin!" SHe hisses after him as she tries to keep the drape of the robe from coming off her lean shoulders altogether. "Oh....fisheggs....roasting out here." No need for those casual murmurs or what not. She's about to stomp right up to an egg but someone stops her, yanks her back. "Oh...right. Right." Smacking the hand away she stares at the eggs instead.
The heat's got her shifting her stance a bit, but there's a grin at Elgin, as if to say 'I told you so.' She offers a comforting smile for 'Bella as the blue hatchling erupts and chooses his mate. Eyes still glued to the red splattered egg.
Meara has a smile for Lina, at least - and a gesture of 'thumbs up'. Cheerfully; "Stay clear of the Weyrleaders. /Something/ just pissed Tiriana off royally." It's not loud enough to carry -- thankfully. Anyway, there's a dragon to collect: she hurries off after Quinlys and her blue, escorting them off towards the weyrling barracks.
Riorde holds on tight to Iolene's hand, just as she's promised, and tries to get them over to the part of the sands that is hopefully outside of Tiriana's eyesight. "Staring?" She's staring, certainly. "Did you-- see?" It's all happening so fast.
Evali starts, as the dragonet hatches -- runs -- impresses -- basically instantly. "Oh," she breathes. And then, shaking her head at Khorde: "No. Xoami. Although perhaps you should not puke /either/."
Elgin is suddenly very aware of just what is going on here. What the eggs look like, and then suddenly one hatches and is off to find it's match. A side glance at Nathalia, did he imagine that, and then at Rhaelyn, she saw that right. He shifts his weight to the other foot.
Emmeline rolls her eyes. "I wasn't talking to you this time, chucklehead." she hisses, stepping back in surprise when right out of the gate a blue impresses. "That was, um... wow. Does it always happen that fast? I mean, they don't stop and look around. They just *know*?"
Khorde mutters, "I may piss my pants." There's only a beat (or two) before he says, "Wait. I don't have any pants."
Sibella pulls her hand off of Nathalia's arm, so as to seperate the two and so hopefully increase their chances of easily being singled out by the... GIANT dragonets? Sibella's eyes widen, but she holds her shoulders back, head up, and runs a hand nervously through her hair. Her most basic hope now is to escape without a sweat-drenched robe.
Evali merely covers her face with her hands as Khorde speaks again. That lasts a couple of seconds before she is clinging again due to the fact that things are still MOVING on these sands and so she is still terrified.
Emmeline helpfully turns Khorde in the opposite direction of herself. "Aim that way." she suggests, firmly.
Lina shuffles towards Meara with barely a hint of any limp at all, smiling broadly despite the warning. "Got it, thanks for the heads up. We've got--" But now there's a blue, and Lina is happy to cede the first impression to Meara while she watches the candidates carefully for signs on the second.
Khorde ends up facing Evali. "How about I just -- don't? I'm -- I think I need to puke." Pissing, puking, it's all the same, right? Some sort of liquid-y projectile. Does he look green?
Iolene's robe is much too big. It's a giant unfitted tent. That she's petrified of the stands is secondary as she finally notices: oh there's one Impression, there's more eggs wobbling. Well, crap. By the minute, she looks like she's regretting this decision to ensnare one of the sea monsters.
Rated MA Egg is ready! None of this messing about stuff any more, it's time to break shell. The upper half is cracked in no time, and a bulky, pale head becomes immediately visible. It takes a bit of shaking, but the brown finally frees himself from the remaining shell, glistening wetly as he drops to the hot sands.
>---< Hulking Sinister Brown >-----------------------------------------------<
Even in youth, this boxy brown looks like a dragon gone to seed: thick
legs, bulging belly, a blunt nose matched in receding headknobs. But
there's power there, too, in muscle buried under sheer bulk and a
smooth-leather hide of almost uniform taupe. The color breaks only
sporadically: a scuff here on the shoulder like maybe he ran into--or
over--something; a little more graying around his temples; blunt
lead-bullet talons on the end of each massive paw. Heavy, fibrous wings
drape around his powerful shoulders, a mantle that would crush a lesser
dragon. But he's a no-nonsense creature, pure physicality locked in his
squared haunches and squat neck, matched with a certain ruthlessness in
his small, dark eyes.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Evali sighs loudly. She cannot help but roll her eyes at Khorde; even sage Evali cannot help the sigh-and-eyeroll. "But did you not just sa--" Another one hatches. Evali stops talking.
Nathalia's grin, doesn't fade. As she catches the glance, and it's clear there's exhilaration written over her entire frame. The smith offers a comforting pat for her female friend, also attempting to block her escape. "You can do this, 'Bella." And then, a gasp as the brown breaks the shell.
Riorde's robe is too small. It hits her knees, barely. "Iolene?" she checks to just make sure that the other girl's there. As if the nails digging into her hand weren't enough of a clue.
Emmeline is no longer nervous. Khorde is taking care of that by making her insane. "Do. Not. Do. Either. Breathe, Khorde. Look, new dragon. Stare at it." She intends to, anyway, by the looks of it. "That's sort of a big one."
Rhaelyn nods her head in encouragement to Elgin as she makes her way over to him fearlessly. She might as well be waltzing down the beach--except there's a sharp eye out for the wobbling eggs, "It's alright. Oh! See that one." The blue but the attention shifts to the newly hatched brown with a gasp.
Hulking Sinister Brown is quite comfortable in the shards of his former home, chin lifting as he begins to crane his neck about and examine his surroundings. With a sound almost like a grunt of exhalation, he pushes upwards and begins waddling his way across the sands towards the semi-circle of candidates. He's ungainly enough that he's easy to keep an eye on, but there's something about the determined stalk of his path, and the gleam of dark-shaded eyes that might give some of the unwary candidates cause for alarm -- especially as his pace increases abruptly and he barrels towards the group of white-robed figures.
Sibella gasps as her attention is momentarily drawn to the stands. "Oh! Nat, so many people!" And then her attention is absolutely diverted by teh Brown. What a big boy... And he's coming this way!
Khorde almost falls on his ass. "Dude." He's an Islander, he can get away with it. "He's..." He leans against Emmeline. "He's kinda ugly." What? He is! "And -- crap. Crap. He's /moving/." They do that, do they?
Iolene shifts on the sands awkwardly. "Why is it really hot out here?" And then, she pauses, curious, "How do they get it so hot out here when it's so cool out there?"
Elgin blinks slightly, "They all seem to know exactly what they are doing..." It is said to no-one but himself, though there are plenty within range of hearing. He's simply looking now. Observing. Watching.
Evali watches the brown, as commanding Emmeline commands, even if it wasn't directed at her. And then she calls over to Iolene, "Terribly good question. I never thought of it." Yes, let's all have mundane conversations like this is normal! So that Evali does not start crying.
Emmeline nudges Evali. "Seriously. Huge for a baby?" Mama gets her compliments for pushing that egg out, that's for sure. "Khorde! That's just not nice. He's... he's. Ok, he's not well proportioned. But really."
Nathalia's attention is focused firmly on the eggs and the dragons. This was the dangerous part right? Rhaelyn is eyed, maybe with relief, and there's a nod at Elgin's statement. "Fate. . ." seems to be the only word she has in this focus. Bella gets a smile though.
With a cluttering smack against the sand beneath it, the Burst of Static Egg collapses into a flurry of shards, no piece larger than a baby's palm. Left in their wake is a tiny, awkwardly shaped green hatchling, whose head pops up with an immediate look of interest: ooh! The world!
>---< And Then You Die Green >-----------------------------------------------<
Eerie and ethereal, this tiny green near pulses with the light of Beyond.
From the tip of her pointed nose, on down every spiky, irregular neckridge
to a whipcord tail, she gleams with the yellow-green of foxfire. She's
skin and bones, her ribs outlined, while too-short forelegs combine with
too-long rear legs to give her a queer scuttling gait. Her paws are
likewise outsized for one of her dimensions, with particularly long toes
that end in razor claws. All told, it makes her clumsy on her feet, but
the mischief that sparks in her luminous eyes more than plays off any
klutziness that might result. And in the end it's truly her wings that are
her delight, anyway: long, narrow, so delicate they're nearly transparent
but for the glowing veins that trace over their celadon lengths. Ungainly
on land she might be, but the air promises something more.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Ylynna has both hands gripped by a couple of other candidate girls her own age. "It's alright. Steady girls...Steady." Even as she wills them to be brave, her voice sounds about ready to break. "If we just...that gold egg...." There's shuffling as the trio tries to edge in for a better spot.
Riorde has too much to look at, but she spares some time to glance at Iolene quickly. She grins - she can't help it. "You and your questions." She doesn't have any answers for them, of course.
Sibella keeps an eye on the baby Brown as the new green hatches. Poor babies! Sibella can hardly hold back her instinct to croon at the darlings, despite their size and the brown's absolutely... sinister attitude.
Elgin doesn't take his eyes off the eggs, the hatchlings running amok, but he takes the time to pfft at the idea of fate. "Pffft." See. "We make our own fate, Nat. You of all people should know that." Eyes have not moved off the wandering dragonets. "We make our own."
Khorde flails. "There's another one!" He points And Then You Die Green out like, y'know, his fellows can't /see/ her. What? Maybe they can't. "She's..." Okay, look, he's not going to say she's ugly, okay? He's not. He'll behave. (He's afraid of Emmeline hitting him, maybe.)
Evali nearly trips as she shifts, about to respond to Emmeline when yet another egg hatches and she's jumping and trying to be nudged and talk to Khorde all at once. "-- About big," she says hesitantly. "Is that one supposed -- to -- be -- bigger?" She eyes the green warily. Why are you NOT huge?
Iolene can over hear Khorde. It's an exile thing. "She's ugly," is what she says, outright. "Why do people say these things are beautiful?"
Hulking Sinister Brown seems somewhat pleased that he's managed to get the attention of so many of the candidates, and if anything, the noises of alarm appear to have appeased him. Now he stalks along the figures, examining and dismissing them one by one. No, no, no. None of them seem right for him, and he swings around for a second pass, headed for one of the largest groups without a care who gets in the way -- indeed, it seems one of the younger candidates, distracted by one of the eggs, doesn't see him in time. The brown continues over the boy, barely seeming to notice as a sharp talon catches the poor boy in the leg.
Emmeline is absolutely prepared to smack Khorde upside the head if he gets too out of line; she glances down at him with a raised eyebrow just before he might say the green is ugly. "She's dainty." is decided, the words supplied to both Khorde and Evalu by way of answer.
Nathalia's eyes flick to the green, and back to the brown, and then to Bella, whose crooning at such dangerous looking dragons gets a bright laugh. Maybe its those words from Elgin though that make her stand a little straighter, stepping a little closer.
Khorde thinks Iolene is just trying to get everyone drunk. "She's ugly, but he's /uglier/," he challenges back, pointing out that brown again. Ugly -- and determined. "See? He just tried to KILL that boy!"
Iolene freaks out. There's no other word for it. "/He/ got injured." It's not even hushed at this point to Riorde and suddenly. Suddenly. Despite all this time where she's regretting her decision to come out here, suddenly, Io looks decidedly green.
Rhaelyn grins at Nat, a cunning little grin but she smooths her hands over her robe. The given robe and she draws it around herself as though it were a fine silken gown rather than what it is--thin slightly hash to the touch. Her eyes gasp at the boy the young brown got in the leg and she winces. "Oh! Ick."
And Then You Die Green gives herself a shake, rather like a canine, and sends bits of eggshell flying every which way. That done, she pops to her feet like a shot, head turning this way and that with overt curiosity. The first step, though, doesn't go quite as planned: her big feet foul each other up, and she goes tumbling tail over head with a startled squeak.
Sibella looks askance at Iolene, "They will each have their own particular beauty to whomever Impresses them. Shifting her gaze back to the dragonets, Sibella says to Nathalia, "Oh, you shush, they are still babies, after all."
Riorde twists around a little too so she can stare at Khorde. A short stare, because there's all those sea monsters out there. "They're all ugly," she determines, like that should settle it. But she knows it won't.
Not content to let others get /too/ much of a head-start, the Every Woman's Opportunity Egg shudders dramatically, shedding granules of sand and flecks of shell as it rolls backwards and forwards within its protective nest. Though clearly determined, the hatchling within has not quite managed the power necessary to break free. The Spun Sugar Sunshine egg chips away at itself, finally ripping with the help of pale talons to reveal a dainty, ocean-toned green. She warbles in surprise at the sudden exposure to light and even more heat, stumbling over dripping wings and her clumsy feet alike, all but panicked. Her progress is erratic and clearly frightened, barreling through a close-knit group of candidates with no attention to the cries of surprise and perhaps pain that follow in her wake. She halts yet again with plaintive cries, tail thrashing and neck coiling. It's a flustered-looking Weyrbred girl that rushes forward to her aid at last, the seafoam green's twitching anxiety showing no signs of abating at the
new weyrling's soothing words. They're led off the sands quickly, all the while attempting to calm chronic distress.
Evali freezes as the brown -- well. Stabs someone. She is staring in /horror/ as she nearly squeezes someone's arm off. Let's call it Khorde. "-- Oh --" And then the green trips. There is so much going on and Evali's really, really just not able to watch it all. She misses the next Impression. The next TWO Impressions.
Emmeline just /stares/ for a moment, and swallows back hr first response. "Did you pay attention during class? Oh wait, I forgot. It's -you- Khorde." she mutters. "They're clumsy. And people have to get out of the way quickly and... oh ugh, all that blood." she whispers then, starting to turn a bit pale.
Nathaliaoffers a smile? Back to the Islander who she couldn't quite call friend. Another egg, another impression, and there's a deep breath from the smith. Already the first of the candidates is bloodied.
The Hulking Sinister Brown has finished his assessment of those on the sands. Has he found what he's looking for? Hard to say, as he's peering between two candidates, looking from one to the other like he's maybe not sure. And then one earns a dismissive flick of wings and he's crowding up to shaggy looking young lad, his head cocked to one side.
K'del is keeping track of events as best anyone can, of course, but there's definite iciness between him and the Weyrwoman, who is scowling murderously at a couple of the candidates in particular. Even Iovniath looks less than pleased-- but this is a /hatching/: no one is actually going to do anything. Probably. For now.
E'gin is focused on too many things at once to panic when the brown seems to impale someone, okay, maybe not impale but when you don't know dragons- He's scanning the clutchparents, the eggs the hatchlings, the candidates. Things are happening to fast to be nervous. But then he stops completely. "Vysravth?...E'gin?"
Khorde totally-- "Wait. What?" He's not paying attention to Emmeline, so why would he pay attention in class? Duh. This is obvious. Unless Madilla is there to look sweet, he's not paying attention to anything anyone says. As a matter of fact, is he daydreaming? Maybe he's concentrating on holding it. He didn't get to pee. Wait. Wa--"/Elgin/?" He's slow.
E'gin heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
E'gin has left.
And Then You Die Green is at least undeterred by her error; now covered in sand grains, she rights herself with aplomb and tries the whole process once more. She makes it a good several strides this time, putting her in the midst of a couple of younger weyrbred girls before she loses her footing once again and goes flying. A strident squeal is abruptly muffled as half her muzzle is buried in the hot, unforgiving sands. And one of those girls flinches away, clapping a hand over a long red scratch left on her arm by a flailing wingtip.
Rhaelyn says, "It's not as though we haven't been sitting through those blasted classes for weeks now." It's not frustration but rather amusement. Her hand flies to her throat as she watches the brown, and her mouth falls open as he picks out Elgin. "E....E'gin?" She jumps sideways like a cat getting her tail snapped in a door."
Sibella watches with satisfaction as the brown Impresses - Elgin... er, E'gin!, and looks toward the young boy mauled. There are already attendants, thankfully, rushing to his aid, so Sibella can return to her current task; watching. Watching as the green does no serious injury, but seems rather likely to. It is a struggle to remain still.
Vysravth heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Vysravth has left.
Evali is wincing, overall, at the current state of -- blood. What was this about class? Was she supposed to have learned -- Elgin's Impression Evali doesn't miss, and she's back to staring. Someone she knew Impressed! But all she's got to say is, predictably, "Oh." The green gains back a little of Evali's focus as she falls.
At last! A resounding thud marks the beginning of the end for the Every Woman's Opportunity Egg: it creaks angrily as pieces of shell give way against enthusiastic pounding. Flakes of gold peel away, more and more with every shuddering motion, until a final crack sends the whole thing to pieces, sending a pale queen hurtling onto the sands.
>---< Sun and Stars Gold >---------------------------------------------------<
She wears her lineage for all to see, this pale queen: the long, fine
profile of a regal lady matched with a predator's whipcord strength.
Pinprick stars in foreign constellations sweep along her slightly darker
headknobs and neckridges while the refined planes of her body dance with
moonbeams, all the way down to pure white gold at the tips of arakh-curved
talons. In contrast to this platinum pallor, there's a rosy glow to her
wingsails, dawn seeping down their lengths towards crimson-touched tips
that herald a glorious dawn. Though her lines speak to the controlled
power she'll wield, there's a daintiness to her demeanour that speaks of
poise and pride. She's a queen in every sense of the word: a dragon who
expects to be noticed.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Nathaliaoffers a smile? Back to the Islander who she couldn't quite call friend. Another egg, another impression, and there's a deep breath from the smith. Already the first of the candidates is bloodied.
Emmeline looks kind of proud, maybe, when one of the exiles impresses. A smile cast the way of E'gin and his brown when they head off towards the barracks.n The green and her injury are almost missed. But like Evali, she starts paying attention again at more injuries. A wince.
Ylynna gasps and squeezes the hands of the girls she stands between, "There she is. There. " As one of the girls paddles backwards Ylynna holds steady, willing the others to stand at hersides.
Iolene can't even notice Elgin, no E'gin has Impressed. She's too busy looking a weird mix between petrified and curious. "Why," a testing stomp looks to see the sands are hot. They are. "Is it hot? I don't know. Does anyone know? Has anyone asked? Maybe I should ask K'del." Cause she's asked K'del everything so far. She looks up to try and spy out K'del and finds Tiriana glowering instead. Wince. And now it's the time to hide behind Riorde and Xoami and whoever is taller than her, which is not many.
Khorde stares sudden at the gold. "Wow." Beat. "She's really pretty." Then he stops and cocks his head to the side, eyeballing the newest addition again. "Then again, maybe not." Something looms too close and he half-stumbles behind Emmeline, dragging Evali with him, until it resolves to be a candidate passing from one side of them to the other. Oops.
The tiny More Than Meets the Eye transforms, of course: not quickly, not smoothly, but with all the determination and desperation it takes to get the newest hatchling to its her feet. Her feet. The young green's wings are so large that she can hardly lift them, but she's hardly going to stop there, not with two and then three candidates hesitating toward her as though they'd block her in. She hisses, rushes, and then she's past. Fast. A local boy's looking away when she finds him, and then he can't look anywhere else. Sluggish and halfhearted, the Desiccated Foliage egg heaves itself just once, but it's enough to send it onto its side, rolling slightly out of its sandy nest. Little rattles come from within, though nothing more is physically evident at this time.
Riorde gives Iolene's hand a sharp tug. "/Don't ask K'del./" She's seen him, or rather she's seen his Weyrwoman. "Don't even look over there. She /saw/ us." Iolene hiding behind her is not an option she particularly likes-- "Stop it, you're drawing attention!"
Rhaelyn watches Elgin leave, chin jutting out, "I don't think it's right. His name doesn't sound right....E-*hic* Gin." She shakes her head at the not-rightness of it all. Still, there's a satisfied smirk for an islander getting a dragon, "He got a big one!"
Evali is about an inch taller than Iolene, which probably does not cut it. The gold gets a -- look -- as she attempts to hide, too. Not from Tiriana. From the gold. Because if there is one thing she definitely does not want it is a gold dragon -- and then she's stumbling, /again/, as Khorde tugs on her. "None of them are particularly pretty," Evali points out. "They are still /sea monsters/."
Tiriana certainly /did/ see Riorde and Iolene-- but at least she's not rushing over there right now. No doubt she's distracted by the arrival of the queen, as is K'del, whose eyes brighten: "She's lovely. For a hatchling. /Will/ be lovely."
There was nothing dignified about the Sun and Stars Gold Hatchling's arrival on the sands, but now that she's there, she seems determined to make up for it. No doubt that would be easier if movement was less new-- as it stands, even getting up onto both feet is difficult, and actual locomotion takes a few moments longer to work out. Ungainly, but making an obvious attempt at grace and dignity, she takes her first careful steps towards the assembled candidates. She tilts her head up and do the side, as though by showing her profile, she'll awe even more of them into stepping hurriedly away from her.
Nathalia's eyes widen at the impressions and the new dragons which pop forth. It's all chaos now, but the smith seems to be smiling about winning another bet at least. She inches away from the gold though, perhaps subconsciously?
And Then You Die Green Hatchling has just barely righted herself from her most /recent/ tumble when her whole body turns rigid, seeking eyes caught upon some distant target. She very nearly trips herself once again in her haste to get moving, but this time, she manages to stay on her feet right until the moment she flings herself at Evali, quite possibly sending them both flying. Impression? Well, there's no doubt about that.
Sibella ticks egg after egg off of her list, too hopeful to help being a little bit disappointed with each that Impresses, and yet still... the joy that lights the eyes of Dragonet and human alike are enough to keep her smiling bravely and watching as passively as possible. With a twinkle in her eye, Sibella attempts to nudge Nathalia toward the Gold. "There's yours, Nat," she chuckles.
Emmeline erks, and kind of turns in a circle watching Khorde drag Evali and himself behind her. "Seriously not going to help. You just want me mauled if one of them wants to get to you." she points out, proving thus by having to stumble -well out of the way- when Evali is hurtled at by the green. "-Evali-."
Khorde thinks that one moment, he was just standing here shuffling his feet and bitching about the heat and the ugly dragons. Then, Evali is being TAKEN from him (RIPPED out of his grasp, really), and he's scrambling backwards only to land right on his butt. Did his robe fly up at the last moment? Someone (AKA the whole galleries) just got an eyeful. Hopefully, he doesn't bowl Emme down with him.
The Desiccated Foliage egg makes up for its lackluster efforts with a sudden burst of power, dark-padded paws and ebony talons ripping through the shell like parchment. A large, stubborn head follows, thrashing away until its mottled cage is left unrecognizable behind it, a wet and breathless brown hatchling in its place.
>---< Scales of Justice Brown >----------------------------------------------<
Long and serpentine, this washed-out brown has been smoothly drawn from a
hooked and beaky nose to an ink-tipped stylus of a tail. More inky-brown
spots have stained his paws and talons, though the short strokes that
outline each eyeridge and headknob seem more purposeful. The whole of his
body has a sheen to it, a semblance of shiny mica and sandglass twinkling
along his hollow flanks and long neck: a thin dusting of sand to blot up
those last dark spills. At least the shadowy spars of his wings have been
swept clear, though their generous sails have caught all the excess in
their deep pockets; they sparkle in the light, each movement shifting
grains until he seems surrounded in a hazy, eternal mirage.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Rhaelyn shouldn't stare. Really. Her hands draw the robe around herself as she fixes her eyes on that gold little dragonnet. Moistening her lips and looking in that direction and looking. It's Ylynna and the others there that make her purse her lips and scowl that way, at their backs. "Maybe she'll just...plow through them." Even as she says it, the green is plowing towards...into....another islander. "Oh!" So easy to get distracted and watch how things unfold with the green and Evali.
Evali has now been dragged, indeed, more than once. Evali can't tell you why it is hot, Iolene, but she can surely tell you that it /is/, because her skin is getting very lightly /tinged/ by the sands' heat. The first words out of her mouth are not her dragon's name, but, "Ow." And then she breathes, and is back to that sort of semi-judgmental maternal look she'd been giving Khorde earlier and whispers, "You are /not/ going to die. Yanijath." And up they get -- or try to get -- multiple times before dragonet and rider /do/ both stand. They even missed laughing at Khorde!
Meara's been busy, but not so busy that she can't step forward towards Evali. "This way, please. With-- Yanijath?" And it's off to the barracks with them both.
Dismissing one candidate after another, the Sun and Stars Gold Hatchling sweeps through groups of the assembled, pausing only briefly to regard a long-haired young man before he, too, gets discarded - ugh. She avoids her dam and sire, seeming to deliberately skirt around the edges to keep away from them, though it's inevitable that she gives them a half-hearted glance nonetheless. She's /fine/. FINE. She's just... hunting. Candidates. With wobbling steps as though she's just a tiny bit drunk.
Nathaliacan't hide a snort at Bella's comment, nor can she hide a smile as another Islander Impresses, and she seems more relaxed now, perhaps her journeyman's exams are safe after all. The newest arrival, gets her attention though, and again its back to avoiding getting stepped on.
Evali heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Evali has left.
Emmeline claps a hand over her eyes when Khorde's gown flies up. "THINGS I NEVER NEEDED TO SEE EVER." she cries, nearly tripping over him in her haste to turn around and see nothing. Ever again. "Someone tell me when it's safe to look again. Like when he's been dragged away by a sea monster."
Iolene cowers behind Riorde, her fingers creeping up along Ri's shoulder and peeking out over the other girl's shoulder. Wait. Evali's not standing next to Xoami anymore and the boy seems to be a little scared. Scared. "Wait, did we just see Khorde's thingie?"
Scales of Justice Brown doesn't take long to catch his breath. He's off after only a brief rest, that beaky snout seeming to pull the rest of his pale body behind it in pursuit of - whats that? A stray shell. He noses it with single-minded curiosity, moving on only after hes satisfied that nothing remains within. And those white-robed things? Why, theyre interesting, too! The browns gaze swivels keenly in the candidates direction, though as a hatchling rushes past him hes caught up in a new undertaking: follow the leader. Heeeey, where are you going?
Sibella can't help but glance over - just a teensy glance - in the direction of the green as it Impresses Evali... and then there are more unpleasant sights. Quickly averting her gaze, Sibella watches as the new brown shows a clear personality, and can't help but give in to a fit of giggles at his antics. Sibella points and touches Nat on the shoulder to show her.
Yanijath heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Yanijath has left.
Khorde howls. "THE BURNING." That was his bare rump that hit the Sands. "THE BURNING." It takes him a minute -- and the rest of his dignity -- to get back upright, dusting off his robe and covertly looking around him. Nothin' to see here. Move along.
Iolene WE ARE SO DRUNK
Nathalia's attention is decidedly divided, between keeping out of the way and keeping an eye out for both Rhaelyn and Sibella. "Easy watch out here comes another. . ." She manages as the brown leaves his shell behind, but it's a roar of laughter as she hears Khorde.
A pool of red, a splatter of... blue, now, steel-blue, the Crimson Mystery Egg corroding swiftly and sharply before the stainless claws and stubborn shoulder of the latest young dragon. He breathes heavily at first of the sandy, sweaty air, then scans the cavern all the way up to the galleries, enough to get journeymen shoving apprentices down in their seats where they mightn't be seen. One squirms her head back up, but it's only in time to see the still-wet blue find what he wants still on the sands: a 'Reaches youth who isn't afraid to stand him down. The twitching of the Stripes of Color Egg has given way to full-out gyrations as the hatchling within grows more desperate for freedom. One particularly hard pulse sends it tumbling end over end, rolling down off its mound and coming perilously close to sideswiping another hatching before coming to a halt.
Riorde is trying to turn around and get Iolene to come out from behind her, so no, she's not staring at Khorde's thingie. "No. No. No. We didn't," she insists, trying to wipe it out of their collective memory.
Emmeline is stuck out here now with one who wants to hurl, and one who wants to pee... and no Evali here to help her! Khorde's burning comments force her to pull her hand away from her eyes. But, she refuses to look at him. NO. Instead, she watches the game of follow the leader with unabashed amusement. Anything is better then thinking about what she just witnessed.
Rhaelyn puts a hand to her mouth, "Oh, but...I thought they wre suposed to get smaller with the /cold/." She pulls her eyes away from the roasted buns and scoots a little away. On eye on the gold. ONe eye on the brown. One eye on the...what is that? Blue. Lots to keep a sharp eye on.
Swinging her great head this way and that, the Sun and Stars Gold Hatchling surveys - and rejects - one girl after another on her long journey across the sands. Candidates step hurriedly out of her way as she passes, dodging wings and tail as she pushes into a group of exiles and comes to an abrupt halt in front of a blonde-haired girl. There may be horror and concern from amidst the distant onlookers, but for this young queen, there can clearly be no other.
Iolene isn't drunk, despite that last pose. It was errant and flew out without reason. She is completely sober and petrified. But fascinated. And still hiding behind Riorde. Her, "Don't leave me," is spoken more to Riorde than to Xoami who is fidgeting all alone on the sands. All alone. So ronery. "Evali and Elgin got dragons now already. Maybe K'del wasn't wrong. But we should have still..." And stop. "Huh?" Her Impression of the Sun and Stars Gold is so eloquent. "Why are you in my head?"
Nathalia tries to remember how many have hatched now, trying to keep up as yet another impression is made, and yet another egg starts moving. Rhaelyn doesn't help her focus though, and the girl snorting in laughter. watching as the gold impresses.
Khorde thinks Rhaelyn is really, really mean. Just in case anyone was wondering. "Wait." Eyes like saucers: "No, wait. Wait. /Iolene/?" Is he the only one dumbfounded enough to stop that eternal shuffle of feets?
K'del and Tiriana? Sharing wide-eyed stares at the moment: awestruck, perhaps horrified. Maybe that will come later; for now, it's really quite difficult to gauge.
Sibella almost starts to clap for joy for the Islander she'd just met, but her hands only come together once before a fit of giggles overcomes her at Iolene's words.
Meara is there once more, a helpful weyrlingmaster to stand beside Iolene until she's ready to respond, and, eventually, there to lead the newest pair off the sands and to the barracks.
Emmeline kind of gapes ans gasps. "Io! Oh wow." Little wheels spin in the harper girl's head, and she is - perhaps for the first time this evening - completely speechless on seeing that impression.
Riorde, still trying to pull Iolene back out so she's at her side, gives way to that gold. Wait. Where did she come from? She drops Iolene's hand, although it's with a bit of reluctance, giving a quick squeeze of the other girl's fingers before she lets go completely. "She's in your head?" she says, even as she steps away.
Rhaelyn is totally super-villainess mean. She smiles at Khorde but it's short lived. As Iolene of all people impress the gold she stomps her foot. "Ooh!! Fine." She takes a step back and another, looking to be already done with this little adventure. "Could have gotten myself killed for this?"
It's really too bad Iolene is not drunk. Because this would make a whole lot more sense if she were. But the last time she was drunk she did things she'd rather forget for the rest of her life and so she just stares, dumbfounded at the gold. If it's a staring content, she's going to lose as she slips out from behind Riorde and stumbles forward. Impulsive, that's what she is, she stretches forth and hugs (read: strangles) the gold. "I'm yours, Ysavaeth."
The Stripes of Color Egg rolls another couple of feet, jerking wildly all the while. Cracks begin to spiderweb out from an impact point near its crown, growing and growing until all at once the entire egg dissolves into tiny shards, raining down onto a startled, copper-tinged bronze hatchling.
>---< Regal, Copper-Kissed Bronze >------------------------------------------<
Eye-popping color enwraps this hulking, headstrong beast of a bronze: an
unusual ruddy copper whose new-minted polish only accentuates his size,
agleam from the thrust of his roman nose to his thick, muscular tail. Even
where his other extremities vary, it's to maximize drama; spiky neckridges
redden even further, fire-kissed, and broad wings' trailing edges bear the
unmistakable splatter of liquid gold. His paws are enormous, their bronze
darker but never duller, and tipped with scimitar-curved talons of onyx.
Despite his barge-like build, there's a certain balanced grace to his
carriage, gifted by a mind that seems far more agile than his bulk would
imply.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Sibella spares a short-lived glare for Rhaelyn's little hissy-fit, before her attention is caught by the new bronze on the Sands. "Oh!" Is her simple exlamation. "A very good clutch," she observes.
Nathalia can't help but grin at the joyful clapping, and joins in the giggles. There's a sharp whistle though as the bronze pops out, and her attention is turned again to the eggs and the dragonets she's avoiding. "Yeah."
Iolene heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Iolene has left.
Ysavaeth heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Ysavaeth has left.
Scales of Justice Browns explorations soon turn wholeheartedly to the candidates, the novelty of sands, shells and dragonets wearing thin. His slanted eyes whirl through the entire spectrum in what seems a moment, giddy, hungry, tired, nervous, but in the end intensely curious. Keeping his distance, he paces back and forth along the lines of waiting humans, head bobbing all the while as he studies each one. None are spared his gaze; he shows no signs of particular favoritism as his dark-bottomed paws keep him in restless motion.
Khorde uh-- "I was going to say something." He WAS. "And then I forgot what I was going to say." Mostly because: hello, /Io/? This requires thought, and obviously Khorde isn't necessarily the most thinking type of person. Also, he's kind of alone now, with Emmeline done /deserted/ him. Sadness.
One last roll has the Blue Streak Egg revealing its namesake just before it crumbles into pieces around a lean, sharp-edged hatchling of unusually pale ash brown. He's slow to move but deliberate when he does, heading unerringly toward one of the exiles. Jaques, standing with one arm lightly around his wife Evie, doesn't look at her as he lets go and steps forward to meet the brown. One hand falls to the dragon's red-touched neckridges as they leave the sands. There's no name spoken--what do you expect from the quiet man?--but the riders in the crowd can find it easily enough: Greshaith. The Soap Bubble Egg bobs along in its sandy niche, rocking ever so softly. Pressure points can be seen from the inside out, places where the impatient dragonet inside is struggling to break through.
Riorde is left all alone. Mostly she's just stunned, not really knowing what just happened. Except that she's alone now, and she doesn't want to be, so she goes stalking towards the nearest cluster of exile-candidates. Hi, Khorde. "Iolene," she points out, like he hadn't noticed. "She's gone."
Emmeline is still there! Just, not saying anything until now. And not looking at Khorde. This time, she just points at the new bronze for him. "Is that one ugly too?" she wonders, for those who are judging them, anyway! Her eyes are still following the progress of the curious brown, watching him study everyone in the semi-circle in a judging manner. "Least he's not tackling anyone."
Nathalia gasps, and There's another eyeing of those browns, there were a lot of those today, she watches as another impression is made and another egg cracks. Is that anxiety? Hard to say. She glances over to Bella, with a smile though.
Regal, Copper-Kissed Bronze stares, nonplussed, at the fact that there are all sorts of wild colors and sensations where, a moment ago, there was only eggshell. He tilts his head this way and that, curiously, before getting to his feet with a minimum of fuss and going to... inspect one of his fellow eggs. He doesn't even seem aware of the fact that there are whitethings over there watching him eagerly; there's an egg here, by jove, and it's /rocking/. What madness is this?
Khorde may or may not cry at this rate. He grabs Riorde's hand with his own sweaty one, clinging to her like she's a lifejacket. "Did--" His eyes are huge. "Was that /Jaques/?" His word is being DESTROYED, one soul at a time. "Wait. Ugly?" His eyes crane for the latest addition, and then they just pop like whoa. "That's-- that's-- freakin' HUGE!" ... that's what she said, of course, so long as 'she' isn't Rhaelyn.
Rhaelyn finds her hand caught by Mara as she's about to make a turn and go for the exit completely. "Let. Go." Rhaelyn's voice is a low hiss of anger but a couple pulls doesn't free her hand from the other exile girl. The pale brown being lead away by Jaques makes her jaw work and she gives up trying to get away. "Fine. -fine-." And with that the two move back over, closer to Nathalia and Sibella.
His thoughtful pacing slowing with every step, the Scales of Justice Brown finally pauses, piercing eyes no longer scanning the white-robed crowds. When he finally resumes, his single-minded path shows new determination: the pale brown slinks forward as gently as a clumsy hatchling can, cautiously approaching a girl with a rich, emotive face before finally nosing his beaklike muzzle up into her hands. His. Hers.
Sibella can't help but grin at the newest antics - that of the bronze. Her grin is turned to Nathalia, who seems to be showing just the slightest apprehension. In her best attempt at comfort, her grin fades into a relaxed smile; now that things are going at a rather fast pace, it isn't so bad, is it? "At least we didn't have to deal with the shiny Gold," she chuckles. And then Rhaelyn's there, and the smile fades.
Rhaelyn wiggles her pinky at Khorde. tinytiny.
As eggs around it make frantic rocking/cracking/breaking motions, the Nothing To See Here Egg seems content to sit still: a solid feature lurking quietly amidst the action. If it shudders, even a little bit, the motion is lost to the cacophony of the sands. The Salt and Burn Egg has been rocking for some time and now gives way with one final split, a gray-blue hatchling uncoiling with improbable precision from his longtime isolation. He moves swiftly, careful to avoid brushing against stray shells or his roving siblings. Finally wobbling to a halt and collapsing with a relieved squeak at the feet of a tall, gangly boy said to be from Fort, the Impression: "Pwylth," E'tan closes the distance and makes their first contact, helping his lifemate up, escorted off the sands as the newest rider pair.
Nathalia looses a snort, as that bronze eyes the eggs around him. But there's a breath, as she watches and a smile as the brown seems to find his home, and then there's a smile for Bella. There's a sigh too, those sands were getting really unbearable now.
Emmeline stares down as that pale brown makes its way towards her, muzzle pressing into her hand. No sound from her, just a welling of moisture in her eyes while she basks in the warmth of this new bond with Rhazekth. "Yes, yes it is." she agrees, out of nowhere, walking with him towards the weyrlingmasters.
Emmeline heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Emmeline has left.
Rhazekth heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Rhazekth has left.
Pop! Bursting free at last, the shards of the Soap Bubble Egg are shaken off as quickly as they were broken, the dark dragonet meticulously nipping at every remaining offender before taking any notice of the candidates at all. Even then it's a thin, wavering sort of attention, more concerned with the spread of her wings and the placing of each paw on the sands as she stands with a low creel.
>---< Never Been Clear Cut Green >-------------------------------------------<
Narrow, narrow, narrow: this tall, birdlike green dragon has a
particularity to her, in her bony build and the frosty pine-needled hide
that shivers over it, but even more so in the way she carries her head.
She might have never truly left some primordial forest, with the way her
paws are mossy-soft, her legs wound about with ghostly lines of ivy and
low-lying fern, her pinched haunches smudged darker as though her pine's
needles had fallen and are settling slowly, slowly back into the wet
earth. Her wingsails might seem delicate, pallid and misty as if they'd
catch upon the dark thorns of her spine, as though they were seen from
between the more solid branches of their spars... but it's not the sails
that drag her down. It's the spars after all, the strong branches that
betray her, the final two on her left wing fused into one lumplike bone.
Deformity touches her tail as well, but here it's aid rather than
impediment: shortened but lively with a scorpion's barbed, backward twist.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Riorde has wiggly fingers, trying to grip Khorde's hand but a bit put off by all that sweat. "Jacques?" She didn't say that one. She does see Emmeline impress though, and then she's tugging Khorde's hand wildly and going, "Look, look!" like he can't see for himself. Quieter, a bit stunned: "This is not what I expected."
Regal, Copper-Kissed Bronze pokes a tentative claw at the rocking egg, then draws back sharply when it rocks in /his/ direction with an undignified squawk. He recovers his feet readily enough, then wanders off in a different direction as if he had all the time in the world, this time to stare up curiously at the weyrlingmasters. He rears up in his hind legs to better poke his muzzle at Lina, then gives a snort when she shooes him off. Grumbling to himself, he slinks off to inspect a couple of female candidates.
Sibella feels her bravery begin to dissolve as she tallies up the eggs left alongside the candidates. Not a likely number, and not at good odds, now, for both Nat and her to Impress. Sweat continues to bead at
Sibella's temples, and she shuffles nervously.
Nathalia watches, the blue and the green escaping their prisons. A quiet hand going to Bella, and a soft smile. Shifting eagerly, the smith watches that green, a sadness to her eyes. That bronze though gets another snort.
Khorde is a man. Men sweat! It happens! Don't blame him! Jaques is a long cry gone by now, as his big-eyes are declaring the APOCALYPSE IS NIGH. "Did-- that-- Riorde-- that--" He settles down-ish, slumping. "That was Emmeline." Why is his tone so /dejected/?" Eyes towards Riorde are stopped first by the deformed green ("She don't look right,") and the bronze, who rates a full baffled expression: "What th' crap is he /doing/?"
So still has the Nothing To See Here Egg been that the thudding crack that sends it collapsing in upon itself seems to surprise those nearest - aren't eggs supposed to rock, first? But it doesn't need to: the little dragon within crawls free of the remains, shaking off fragments of shell as he attempts to right himself and take his first curious step towards those white-robed people.
>---< Force of Nature Brown >------------------------------------------------<
Great, beautiful plumes of smoke and ash billow and churn upon the lean
lines of this brown dragon's hide, dashing gilt whorls upon narrow
haunches and spilling red-hot lava down the stuttering heights of his
craggy neckridges. Burnished umber washes his hide, darkening in uneasy
shadows beneath the curve of his belly, whilst growing steadily lighter as
it creeps towards the tip of his whiplike tail. His wings are cloudy,
yellow-tinged, reminiscent somehow of noxious gas, and just barely
contained by the ashen, icy lengths of his pinions. There's fire to his
demeanour, his shoulders held in an almost perpetual position of
readiness, while smoky, charcoal etchings beneath his eyes hint at
unrestrained passion.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Never Been Clear Cut Green's botched wing is no small hindrance. She turns periodically to nudge and even snap at the offending limb, eventually managing to sling it over her back in an ungainly manner that nevertheless allows her to keep moving. It's slow, sullen progress that she makes, lifting each paw with care as her neck snakes back and forth, low and sinister, stalking some unseen prey. She nips irritably at the flanks of a too-close sibling, eyes flashing crimson and yellow of foul moods. Talk about hatching from the wrong side of the egg.
Rhaelyn slides a hand through her sweat dappled brow and slicks back her hair, frowning. "Noooo.....oh fish/heads!" She stomps on the sand and stares after Emme and that match too. "Did you see..." She glances at Nat and Sibella and bites onto her lower lip in frustration. "Is this over yet?" Now, one might think that she was not paying attention to the ill fated egg that she was thrown into. *ahem* But when it hatches? She recoils, into Mara. Time to go.
Riorde is not a man. This, in her mind, is a good thing. However, she tries to be man enough for both her and Khorde, standing up straight and pretending she knows what the hell is happening when that's really the farthest thing from the truth. "Doing, I don't know, dragon things." She hasn't the faintest clue either. Quieter: "Is the Weyrwoman still glaring at me?"
Nathalia watches as another brown emerges, before her eyes go back to the green and there is a slightly dark look for the girl, and for the other who might be responsible. The brown gets a a glance too.
Force of Nature Brown is quick off the block, his hide still glistening wetly as he speeds his way across the sands. There's something oddly gleeful in the way he he steps along that hints at an unrestrained joy, limited only by the awkward drape of wings dragging along on the hot sands. He's uninterested in the candidates for now -- the noise of the crowd draws him, and he stops short of the galleries in order to bellow out a low bugle as if to announce his arrival. He's /here/, and he should be watched!
No longer content to maintain his leisurely inspection of the occupants of the sands, the pace of the Regal, Copper-Kissed bronze picks up. Not frantic, not yet, but there's a certain urgency to the way he pokes his muzzle at a pair of younger weyrbred boys. Something is clearly not to his liking, because he lingers only a moment. He paces down a bit further, picking up speed until he's nearly running, until-- WAIT. He grinds to a halt, then shuffles back a few paces to stare up wonderingly at a lanky exile lad.
Rhaelyn bobbles, "She's going to /eat/ the other ones." Oh horror. She hikes up her robes with a fist and tears her hand away from Mara's. As she starts to move, she's making a line past Nat, "Don't you look at me that way!" She saw it. She /did/. "I'm done with this." She's making her way past Ylynna and her girls too, keeping them between herself and the red-eyed creature.
Sibella allows herself a bit of a cheer for Khorde, no Kh'de? Kh're? Whatever the name, she's happy to see a bronze Impressed to the boy little-known to her. Then, watching Rhaelyn go, Sibella gives the slightest disdainful snort.
Never Been Clear Cut Green will keep calm and carry on, or at least carry on. Her narrow face seems to sneer at each candidate she deigns to glance at, either aloof or completely ignorant of their presence. Far more often is she concerned with herself: the bits of shell between her toes, the arch of her neck, the precise arrangement of wings over her back. She deigns to raise her small chin to one boys daring gaze with a sniff, looking past him rather than directly at him, and soon prowls onwards with momentary stops to pick at that wing.
Kh'ry is glad Riorde isn't a man. If she was a man, she wouldn't have boobs for Khorde to oggle, and where the crap is the fun in that? He lifts a hand as if to scratch his head, but it aborts half-way as he suddenly stares around him wide-eyed as if /there are things that he can see that everyone else can't/. "Uh." Shit. "Shimana was right." What? "Wait." He stares down. "Who-- wa--wh--/w/.." He's at a loss. "I-- I think-- I'm sure--" He stumbles for a moment, big-eyed. "Yeah, Temrianth. I'm sure there's somethin' to eat around here."
Nathalia's sour mood is lifted some what by the antics of the male dragons, though she still lets her gaze dart between Rhaelyn and that green, something akin to anger on her face, but the impression and Sibella get the girl's attention back.
Force of Nature Brown has grown bored with the draw of the crowd. Something more /needful/ drives him now, and he's heading unerringly for the semi-circle of candidates -- those that are left, at any rate. There's a heedless speed and determination in his hasty step, and his abrupt change of direction is very likely unexpected by those watching, as is the next change of path. He needs /something/, and it's in the group of candidates somewhere, and he's not about to be denied, whatever -- or whoever -- gets in his way.
K'del, by now, is holding on to a smile only barely; a grim sort of thing, barely there. Still, it's better than Tiriana.
Riorde can't hold Khorde's hand /either./ Things are just not going her way today. She swears, a little bit louder than she intended, forgetting that she's actually supposed to be supportive of other peopel. Except -- "Shimana? What has she got to do with anything?"
Lina returns from a barracks run only to spot Khorde -- Kh'ry's -- impression. She gamely makes her way towards the boy, waiting patiently for enough sense to return for her to be able to guide him off the sands.
The Never Been Clear-Cut Green finally gives up on inspecting her own body, and turns with some curiosity to regard the remaining candidates. She gets to her feet with some difficulty, rocking hard to one side as she attempts to re-fold the malformed wing, then staggers forward. She stumbles and ends up nose-down in the sand, briefly; the call she lets out is high-pitched, a strange hybrid of a trumpet and a squeal. Undeterred, she's quick to get back to her feet, and resume her beeline towards one particularly pretty exile girl. Oddly tentative for a newly-hatched dragon, the little green peers up at her with a mix of hope and delight.
Kh'ry heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Kh'ry has left.
Temrianth heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Temrianth has left.
Nat's not one to get in the way of dragons, nope. She makes to tug 'Bella to a spot of safety too, as the green makes her way to. . . wait a minute. . .
Quivering in anticipation, the Force of Nature Brown Hatchling shoves past an unwary candidate, swinging around another group in such a hurry that it's obvious he's found /something/ he likes. His steps finally slow as he careens at a girl with dark hair, falling back on his haunches in order to get a better look at this one that he's chosen: his Riorde.
Sibella bursts into a round of raucous laughter for the unlikely matches just made! She can't help it, and she cheers for them both, too caught up to worry that she may very well be left... oh, and there's a dimming. She may be left Standing. Again. Oh, she doesn't want to cry, she doesn't want to cry...
Rhaelyn says, "Kh'ry. Reall..." She fans her hands around in front of her face a moment. Then her knees going weak as color drains from her face, "Waaiiit..." But onto the sand she ends up, scalding her knees in the moment of earth coming up to meet her. When she opens her eyes they are squinted as though the light is just too bright, "A....Amareth? But....how can I leave you /again/?" There's that horrible and wonderful hatchling right /there/. "Oh.""
Nathalia's brow lifts, surprised? Maybe a little, but there's an arm around Bella's shoulder if the elder candidate allows it. It's almost over right? There's an attempt at a squeeze, see your not alone? Seems to be what she's trying to tell the girl.
Left all alone upon the sands, with shells and shards but no other company, the Boob Tube Egg finally begins to shudder and quake, fragmenting piece by piece until the bronze within can pull himself free. No doubt some of the weyr will breath a sigh of relief when it is not an exile he scampers for; he may have been the last to hatch, but he's quick to Impress, apparently utterly confident in his choice. It's a pity about the tubby candidate he sideswipes on his way - well, at least he'll live to stand at another hatching... if he's not too terrified. More blood: what a way to end a hatching.
Riorde stands all alone as Khorde and his bronze leave, and for a moment she's not sure where to turn to next-- all her people are gone. Except then there's a brown in front of her, her Sforzath, and Riorde stares down like she's not quite sure what's happening. She isn't, in fact. "I think we're supposed to do something," she tells the brown weakly. What exactly that is has flown right out of her head.
Riorde heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Riorde has left.
Sforzath heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Sforzath has left.
Amareth heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Amareth has left.
Just like that-- they're all gone, all Impressed. Whatever has been going on between K'del and his Weyrwoman is stilled, then, as the Weyrleader steps forward to address the remaining candidates. "Your dragon wasn't on the sands today," he says, quietly. "For which I'm sorry; it doesn't mean that there isn't a dragon out there for you, just that he or she wasn't here today. Please: enjoy the feast, and give some thought to what you want to do next. The weyr will support you. Thank you, all." He ducks his head forward, but doesn't seem inclined to linger. Maybe he's just desperate to get away from Tiriana.
Rhaelyn heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Rhaelyn has left.
Sibella quells the brimming moisture in her eyes, allowing nothing to leak. Instead, she gives Nat a smile, saying, "Well, at least I won't have to do it again." She begins to circle her arm around Nat as well. "I'm sorry to drag you down with me," is the rueful addition.
Nathalia seems more relieved than anything. And there's a bright smile for the candidate. "Nah, didn't drag me down, I was made for the forge, not the sands." She smiles hiding whatever turbulent thoughts seem to be going on in her mind. She moves to usher her friend off the sands, eyeing the Weyrleader with a shrug.
Sibella allows herself to be ushered off of the Sands, off to move her things out of the candidate quarters and, to where, she's not sure.
Summary: Iovniath and Cadejoth's third clutch hatches. Sands-only (no barracks RP).
Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
Whether one enters from the main bowl entrance or one of the smaller tunnels at the back of the cavern, golden-brown sand glitters and swelters in every direction. Close inspection reveals that while the large egg pieces have been gathered up, small fragments remain mixed into the hot sand, record of a thousand hatchings. The main source of light is a huge window of sky high in the wall that also serves as an aerial entrance, its overhang just deep enough to admit light and cooler air but fend off harsher weather.
The sands' setting designs them to be the focus of the vast amphitheater, with tiers upon tiers of galleries rising up its southwestern side near the tunnel to the bowl, and rings of dragon ledges higher yet: heat and architecture combining into what can be a palpable sense of pressure.
Contents:
Sibella
Rhaelyn
Emmeline
Evali
Riorde
Khorde
Elgin
Iolene
Nathalia
Meara(#1017PJXce1)
K'del
Cadejoth
Obvious exits:
Galleries
Elgin stries on to the sands, positioning himself near the smith-candidate, the wave of heat washing over him as he settles into a place. Still, there is too much excitement to deal with all that. "Is that egg...moving?" Poor little islander.
Meara stands, arms crossed, off to one side - well away from Tiriana and K'del, which is probably for the better because the arrival of the candidates (and some of those candidates in particular) seems to have started an argument between them. She shifts a glance their way, but doesn't approach: it's much safer over here. /Much/.
Evali is doing so, so much dragging. She has to drag Khorde, she has to drag Xoami /and/ make sure he doesn't puke, she's keeping Iolene and Riorde in her view as much as she possibly can, and she's got Emmeline to cling to as well. "Those eggs are -- large," says she who never actually /saw/ them.
Lina shooes the last of the candidates out of the barracks, glancing over the rocking eggs towards Meara as she does so. She pumps her arm in the air in a standard gesture for 'all clear'; the candidates are here!
Emmeline glances over at Xoami when he winds up beside their brand new foursome of Khorde, and Evali and Emme and now him... especially once they find themselves shoved onto the sands and in that semi-circle. "Don't you dare puke." she adds, reinforcing that instruction Evali was given. Eggs? She's trying real hard not to look at them yet until their size is mentioned. "Uh-huh."
Iolene stumbles, her foot catching on a divet in the sands as she is pushed? Pulled? Moves with the throng of the crowd near the eggs. She doesn't bow. She doesn't look at the eggs, instead she looks up at the crowds and whimpers. "They're /staring/ at us," is said in a hushed aside to Riorde, whose hand she's clutching onto for dear life. Her knuckles might be white. Her nails might even be digging in.
Sibella steps as bravely as possible onto the Sands, and shamefully begins sweating. She shuffles next to Nathalia, grateful for the decent shoes issued to the candidates. Absolutely in awe, she peers at the eggs almost dreamily.
With a great /thud/, the darkly shelled Final Frontier Egg rolls over onto one side, giving the dragon inside just enough momentum to push himself free - the very first. Luminously blue, bedecked in stars, the mid-sized hatchling gives the world an expectant, curious glance before lunging off towards the candidates. Though widely considered a top choice for the gold, weyrbred Quinlys shows no regrets as she wraps her arms around him, whispering his name so quietly that only those nearest could know for sure: "Olveraeth."
Khorde protests, "I'm not gonna puke!" He's just going to assume that anything negative is naturally directed to him. "They're freakin' HUGE!" is now what he has to say, in the classic straight line to Evali's comment. "Holy--" that was a /dragonet/. That just happened.
Rhaelyn sachet's out onto the sands with her much too large robe around her and her boot laces undone. "Elgin!" SHe hisses after him as she tries to keep the drape of the robe from coming off her lean shoulders altogether. "Oh....fisheggs....roasting out here." No need for those casual murmurs or what not. She's about to stomp right up to an egg but someone stops her, yanks her back. "Oh...right. Right." Smacking the hand away she stares at the eggs instead.
The heat's got her shifting her stance a bit, but there's a grin at Elgin, as if to say 'I told you so.' She offers a comforting smile for 'Bella as the blue hatchling erupts and chooses his mate. Eyes still glued to the red splattered egg.
Meara has a smile for Lina, at least - and a gesture of 'thumbs up'. Cheerfully; "Stay clear of the Weyrleaders. /Something/ just pissed Tiriana off royally." It's not loud enough to carry -- thankfully. Anyway, there's a dragon to collect: she hurries off after Quinlys and her blue, escorting them off towards the weyrling barracks.
Riorde holds on tight to Iolene's hand, just as she's promised, and tries to get them over to the part of the sands that is hopefully outside of Tiriana's eyesight. "Staring?" She's staring, certainly. "Did you-- see?" It's all happening so fast.
Evali starts, as the dragonet hatches -- runs -- impresses -- basically instantly. "Oh," she breathes. And then, shaking her head at Khorde: "No. Xoami. Although perhaps you should not puke /either/."
Elgin is suddenly very aware of just what is going on here. What the eggs look like, and then suddenly one hatches and is off to find it's match. A side glance at Nathalia, did he imagine that, and then at Rhaelyn, she saw that right. He shifts his weight to the other foot.
Emmeline rolls her eyes. "I wasn't talking to you this time, chucklehead." she hisses, stepping back in surprise when right out of the gate a blue impresses. "That was, um... wow. Does it always happen that fast? I mean, they don't stop and look around. They just *know*?"
Khorde mutters, "I may piss my pants." There's only a beat (or two) before he says, "Wait. I don't have any pants."
Sibella pulls her hand off of Nathalia's arm, so as to seperate the two and so hopefully increase their chances of easily being singled out by the... GIANT dragonets? Sibella's eyes widen, but she holds her shoulders back, head up, and runs a hand nervously through her hair. Her most basic hope now is to escape without a sweat-drenched robe.
Evali merely covers her face with her hands as Khorde speaks again. That lasts a couple of seconds before she is clinging again due to the fact that things are still MOVING on these sands and so she is still terrified.
Emmeline helpfully turns Khorde in the opposite direction of herself. "Aim that way." she suggests, firmly.
Lina shuffles towards Meara with barely a hint of any limp at all, smiling broadly despite the warning. "Got it, thanks for the heads up. We've got--" But now there's a blue, and Lina is happy to cede the first impression to Meara while she watches the candidates carefully for signs on the second.
Khorde ends up facing Evali. "How about I just -- don't? I'm -- I think I need to puke." Pissing, puking, it's all the same, right? Some sort of liquid-y projectile. Does he look green?
Iolene's robe is much too big. It's a giant unfitted tent. That she's petrified of the stands is secondary as she finally notices: oh there's one Impression, there's more eggs wobbling. Well, crap. By the minute, she looks like she's regretting this decision to ensnare one of the sea monsters.
Rated MA Egg is ready! None of this messing about stuff any more, it's time to break shell. The upper half is cracked in no time, and a bulky, pale head becomes immediately visible. It takes a bit of shaking, but the brown finally frees himself from the remaining shell, glistening wetly as he drops to the hot sands.
>---< Hulking Sinister Brown >-----------------------------------------------<
Even in youth, this boxy brown looks like a dragon gone to seed: thick
legs, bulging belly, a blunt nose matched in receding headknobs. But
there's power there, too, in muscle buried under sheer bulk and a
smooth-leather hide of almost uniform taupe. The color breaks only
sporadically: a scuff here on the shoulder like maybe he ran into--or
over--something; a little more graying around his temples; blunt
lead-bullet talons on the end of each massive paw. Heavy, fibrous wings
drape around his powerful shoulders, a mantle that would crush a lesser
dragon. But he's a no-nonsense creature, pure physicality locked in his
squared haunches and squat neck, matched with a certain ruthlessness in
his small, dark eyes.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Evali sighs loudly. She cannot help but roll her eyes at Khorde; even sage Evali cannot help the sigh-and-eyeroll. "But did you not just sa--" Another one hatches. Evali stops talking.
Nathalia's grin, doesn't fade. As she catches the glance, and it's clear there's exhilaration written over her entire frame. The smith offers a comforting pat for her female friend, also attempting to block her escape. "You can do this, 'Bella." And then, a gasp as the brown breaks the shell.
Riorde's robe is too small. It hits her knees, barely. "Iolene?" she checks to just make sure that the other girl's there. As if the nails digging into her hand weren't enough of a clue.
Emmeline is no longer nervous. Khorde is taking care of that by making her insane. "Do. Not. Do. Either. Breathe, Khorde. Look, new dragon. Stare at it." She intends to, anyway, by the looks of it. "That's sort of a big one."
Rhaelyn nods her head in encouragement to Elgin as she makes her way over to him fearlessly. She might as well be waltzing down the beach--except there's a sharp eye out for the wobbling eggs, "It's alright. Oh! See that one." The blue but the attention shifts to the newly hatched brown with a gasp.
Hulking Sinister Brown is quite comfortable in the shards of his former home, chin lifting as he begins to crane his neck about and examine his surroundings. With a sound almost like a grunt of exhalation, he pushes upwards and begins waddling his way across the sands towards the semi-circle of candidates. He's ungainly enough that he's easy to keep an eye on, but there's something about the determined stalk of his path, and the gleam of dark-shaded eyes that might give some of the unwary candidates cause for alarm -- especially as his pace increases abruptly and he barrels towards the group of white-robed figures.
Sibella gasps as her attention is momentarily drawn to the stands. "Oh! Nat, so many people!" And then her attention is absolutely diverted by teh Brown. What a big boy... And he's coming this way!
Khorde almost falls on his ass. "Dude." He's an Islander, he can get away with it. "He's..." He leans against Emmeline. "He's kinda ugly." What? He is! "And -- crap. Crap. He's /moving/." They do that, do they?
Iolene shifts on the sands awkwardly. "Why is it really hot out here?" And then, she pauses, curious, "How do they get it so hot out here when it's so cool out there?"
Elgin blinks slightly, "They all seem to know exactly what they are doing..." It is said to no-one but himself, though there are plenty within range of hearing. He's simply looking now. Observing. Watching.
Evali watches the brown, as commanding Emmeline commands, even if it wasn't directed at her. And then she calls over to Iolene, "Terribly good question. I never thought of it." Yes, let's all have mundane conversations like this is normal! So that Evali does not start crying.
Emmeline nudges Evali. "Seriously. Huge for a baby?" Mama gets her compliments for pushing that egg out, that's for sure. "Khorde! That's just not nice. He's... he's. Ok, he's not well proportioned. But really."
Nathalia's attention is focused firmly on the eggs and the dragons. This was the dangerous part right? Rhaelyn is eyed, maybe with relief, and there's a nod at Elgin's statement. "Fate. . ." seems to be the only word she has in this focus. Bella gets a smile though.
With a cluttering smack against the sand beneath it, the Burst of Static Egg collapses into a flurry of shards, no piece larger than a baby's palm. Left in their wake is a tiny, awkwardly shaped green hatchling, whose head pops up with an immediate look of interest: ooh! The world!
>---< And Then You Die Green >-----------------------------------------------<
Eerie and ethereal, this tiny green near pulses with the light of Beyond.
From the tip of her pointed nose, on down every spiky, irregular neckridge
to a whipcord tail, she gleams with the yellow-green of foxfire. She's
skin and bones, her ribs outlined, while too-short forelegs combine with
too-long rear legs to give her a queer scuttling gait. Her paws are
likewise outsized for one of her dimensions, with particularly long toes
that end in razor claws. All told, it makes her clumsy on her feet, but
the mischief that sparks in her luminous eyes more than plays off any
klutziness that might result. And in the end it's truly her wings that are
her delight, anyway: long, narrow, so delicate they're nearly transparent
but for the glowing veins that trace over their celadon lengths. Ungainly
on land she might be, but the air promises something more.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Ylynna has both hands gripped by a couple of other candidate girls her own age. "It's alright. Steady girls...Steady." Even as she wills them to be brave, her voice sounds about ready to break. "If we just...that gold egg...." There's shuffling as the trio tries to edge in for a better spot.
Riorde has too much to look at, but she spares some time to glance at Iolene quickly. She grins - she can't help it. "You and your questions." She doesn't have any answers for them, of course.
Sibella keeps an eye on the baby Brown as the new green hatches. Poor babies! Sibella can hardly hold back her instinct to croon at the darlings, despite their size and the brown's absolutely... sinister attitude.
Elgin doesn't take his eyes off the eggs, the hatchlings running amok, but he takes the time to pfft at the idea of fate. "Pffft." See. "We make our own fate, Nat. You of all people should know that." Eyes have not moved off the wandering dragonets. "We make our own."
Khorde flails. "There's another one!" He points And Then You Die Green out like, y'know, his fellows can't /see/ her. What? Maybe they can't. "She's..." Okay, look, he's not going to say she's ugly, okay? He's not. He'll behave. (He's afraid of Emmeline hitting him, maybe.)
Evali nearly trips as she shifts, about to respond to Emmeline when yet another egg hatches and she's jumping and trying to be nudged and talk to Khorde all at once. "-- About big," she says hesitantly. "Is that one supposed -- to -- be -- bigger?" She eyes the green warily. Why are you NOT huge?
Iolene can over hear Khorde. It's an exile thing. "She's ugly," is what she says, outright. "Why do people say these things are beautiful?"
Hulking Sinister Brown seems somewhat pleased that he's managed to get the attention of so many of the candidates, and if anything, the noises of alarm appear to have appeased him. Now he stalks along the figures, examining and dismissing them one by one. No, no, no. None of them seem right for him, and he swings around for a second pass, headed for one of the largest groups without a care who gets in the way -- indeed, it seems one of the younger candidates, distracted by one of the eggs, doesn't see him in time. The brown continues over the boy, barely seeming to notice as a sharp talon catches the poor boy in the leg.
Emmeline is absolutely prepared to smack Khorde upside the head if he gets too out of line; she glances down at him with a raised eyebrow just before he might say the green is ugly. "She's dainty." is decided, the words supplied to both Khorde and Evalu by way of answer.
Nathalia's eyes flick to the green, and back to the brown, and then to Bella, whose crooning at such dangerous looking dragons gets a bright laugh. Maybe its those words from Elgin though that make her stand a little straighter, stepping a little closer.
Khorde thinks Iolene is just trying to get everyone drunk. "She's ugly, but he's /uglier/," he challenges back, pointing out that brown again. Ugly -- and determined. "See? He just tried to KILL that boy!"
Iolene freaks out. There's no other word for it. "/He/ got injured." It's not even hushed at this point to Riorde and suddenly. Suddenly. Despite all this time where she's regretting her decision to come out here, suddenly, Io looks decidedly green.
Rhaelyn grins at Nat, a cunning little grin but she smooths her hands over her robe. The given robe and she draws it around herself as though it were a fine silken gown rather than what it is--thin slightly hash to the touch. Her eyes gasp at the boy the young brown got in the leg and she winces. "Oh! Ick."
And Then You Die Green gives herself a shake, rather like a canine, and sends bits of eggshell flying every which way. That done, she pops to her feet like a shot, head turning this way and that with overt curiosity. The first step, though, doesn't go quite as planned: her big feet foul each other up, and she goes tumbling tail over head with a startled squeak.
Sibella looks askance at Iolene, "They will each have their own particular beauty to whomever Impresses them. Shifting her gaze back to the dragonets, Sibella says to Nathalia, "Oh, you shush, they are still babies, after all."
Riorde twists around a little too so she can stare at Khorde. A short stare, because there's all those sea monsters out there. "They're all ugly," she determines, like that should settle it. But she knows it won't.
Not content to let others get /too/ much of a head-start, the Every Woman's Opportunity Egg shudders dramatically, shedding granules of sand and flecks of shell as it rolls backwards and forwards within its protective nest. Though clearly determined, the hatchling within has not quite managed the power necessary to break free. The Spun Sugar Sunshine egg chips away at itself, finally ripping with the help of pale talons to reveal a dainty, ocean-toned green. She warbles in surprise at the sudden exposure to light and even more heat, stumbling over dripping wings and her clumsy feet alike, all but panicked. Her progress is erratic and clearly frightened, barreling through a close-knit group of candidates with no attention to the cries of surprise and perhaps pain that follow in her wake. She halts yet again with plaintive cries, tail thrashing and neck coiling. It's a flustered-looking Weyrbred girl that rushes forward to her aid at last, the seafoam green's twitching anxiety showing no signs of abating at the
new weyrling's soothing words. They're led off the sands quickly, all the while attempting to calm chronic distress.
Evali freezes as the brown -- well. Stabs someone. She is staring in /horror/ as she nearly squeezes someone's arm off. Let's call it Khorde. "-- Oh --" And then the green trips. There is so much going on and Evali's really, really just not able to watch it all. She misses the next Impression. The next TWO Impressions.
Emmeline just /stares/ for a moment, and swallows back hr first response. "Did you pay attention during class? Oh wait, I forgot. It's -you- Khorde." she mutters. "They're clumsy. And people have to get out of the way quickly and... oh ugh, all that blood." she whispers then, starting to turn a bit pale.
Nathaliaoffers a smile? Back to the Islander who she couldn't quite call friend. Another egg, another impression, and there's a deep breath from the smith. Already the first of the candidates is bloodied.
The Hulking Sinister Brown has finished his assessment of those on the sands. Has he found what he's looking for? Hard to say, as he's peering between two candidates, looking from one to the other like he's maybe not sure. And then one earns a dismissive flick of wings and he's crowding up to shaggy looking young lad, his head cocked to one side.
K'del is keeping track of events as best anyone can, of course, but there's definite iciness between him and the Weyrwoman, who is scowling murderously at a couple of the candidates in particular. Even Iovniath looks less than pleased-- but this is a /hatching/: no one is actually going to do anything. Probably. For now.
E'gin is focused on too many things at once to panic when the brown seems to impale someone, okay, maybe not impale but when you don't know dragons- He's scanning the clutchparents, the eggs the hatchlings, the candidates. Things are happening to fast to be nervous. But then he stops completely. "Vysravth?...E'gin?"
Khorde totally-- "Wait. What?" He's not paying attention to Emmeline, so why would he pay attention in class? Duh. This is obvious. Unless Madilla is there to look sweet, he's not paying attention to anything anyone says. As a matter of fact, is he daydreaming? Maybe he's concentrating on holding it. He didn't get to pee. Wait. Wa--"/Elgin/?" He's slow.
E'gin heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
E'gin has left.
And Then You Die Green is at least undeterred by her error; now covered in sand grains, she rights herself with aplomb and tries the whole process once more. She makes it a good several strides this time, putting her in the midst of a couple of younger weyrbred girls before she loses her footing once again and goes flying. A strident squeal is abruptly muffled as half her muzzle is buried in the hot, unforgiving sands. And one of those girls flinches away, clapping a hand over a long red scratch left on her arm by a flailing wingtip.
Rhaelyn says, "It's not as though we haven't been sitting through those blasted classes for weeks now." It's not frustration but rather amusement. Her hand flies to her throat as she watches the brown, and her mouth falls open as he picks out Elgin. "E....E'gin?" She jumps sideways like a cat getting her tail snapped in a door."
Sibella watches with satisfaction as the brown Impresses - Elgin... er, E'gin!, and looks toward the young boy mauled. There are already attendants, thankfully, rushing to his aid, so Sibella can return to her current task; watching. Watching as the green does no serious injury, but seems rather likely to. It is a struggle to remain still.
Vysravth heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Vysravth has left.
Evali is wincing, overall, at the current state of -- blood. What was this about class? Was she supposed to have learned -- Elgin's Impression Evali doesn't miss, and she's back to staring. Someone she knew Impressed! But all she's got to say is, predictably, "Oh." The green gains back a little of Evali's focus as she falls.
At last! A resounding thud marks the beginning of the end for the Every Woman's Opportunity Egg: it creaks angrily as pieces of shell give way against enthusiastic pounding. Flakes of gold peel away, more and more with every shuddering motion, until a final crack sends the whole thing to pieces, sending a pale queen hurtling onto the sands.
>---< Sun and Stars Gold >---------------------------------------------------<
She wears her lineage for all to see, this pale queen: the long, fine
profile of a regal lady matched with a predator's whipcord strength.
Pinprick stars in foreign constellations sweep along her slightly darker
headknobs and neckridges while the refined planes of her body dance with
moonbeams, all the way down to pure white gold at the tips of arakh-curved
talons. In contrast to this platinum pallor, there's a rosy glow to her
wingsails, dawn seeping down their lengths towards crimson-touched tips
that herald a glorious dawn. Though her lines speak to the controlled
power she'll wield, there's a daintiness to her demeanour that speaks of
poise and pride. She's a queen in every sense of the word: a dragon who
expects to be noticed.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Nathaliaoffers a smile? Back to the Islander who she couldn't quite call friend. Another egg, another impression, and there's a deep breath from the smith. Already the first of the candidates is bloodied.
Emmeline looks kind of proud, maybe, when one of the exiles impresses. A smile cast the way of E'gin and his brown when they head off towards the barracks.n The green and her injury are almost missed. But like Evali, she starts paying attention again at more injuries. A wince.
Ylynna gasps and squeezes the hands of the girls she stands between, "There she is. There. " As one of the girls paddles backwards Ylynna holds steady, willing the others to stand at hersides.
Iolene can't even notice Elgin, no E'gin has Impressed. She's too busy looking a weird mix between petrified and curious. "Why," a testing stomp looks to see the sands are hot. They are. "Is it hot? I don't know. Does anyone know? Has anyone asked? Maybe I should ask K'del." Cause she's asked K'del everything so far. She looks up to try and spy out K'del and finds Tiriana glowering instead. Wince. And now it's the time to hide behind Riorde and Xoami and whoever is taller than her, which is not many.
Khorde stares sudden at the gold. "Wow." Beat. "She's really pretty." Then he stops and cocks his head to the side, eyeballing the newest addition again. "Then again, maybe not." Something looms too close and he half-stumbles behind Emmeline, dragging Evali with him, until it resolves to be a candidate passing from one side of them to the other. Oops.
The tiny More Than Meets the Eye transforms, of course: not quickly, not smoothly, but with all the determination and desperation it takes to get the newest hatchling to its her feet. Her feet. The young green's wings are so large that she can hardly lift them, but she's hardly going to stop there, not with two and then three candidates hesitating toward her as though they'd block her in. She hisses, rushes, and then she's past. Fast. A local boy's looking away when she finds him, and then he can't look anywhere else. Sluggish and halfhearted, the Desiccated Foliage egg heaves itself just once, but it's enough to send it onto its side, rolling slightly out of its sandy nest. Little rattles come from within, though nothing more is physically evident at this time.
Riorde gives Iolene's hand a sharp tug. "/Don't ask K'del./" She's seen him, or rather she's seen his Weyrwoman. "Don't even look over there. She /saw/ us." Iolene hiding behind her is not an option she particularly likes-- "Stop it, you're drawing attention!"
Rhaelyn watches Elgin leave, chin jutting out, "I don't think it's right. His name doesn't sound right....E-*hic* Gin." She shakes her head at the not-rightness of it all. Still, there's a satisfied smirk for an islander getting a dragon, "He got a big one!"
Evali is about an inch taller than Iolene, which probably does not cut it. The gold gets a -- look -- as she attempts to hide, too. Not from Tiriana. From the gold. Because if there is one thing she definitely does not want it is a gold dragon -- and then she's stumbling, /again/, as Khorde tugs on her. "None of them are particularly pretty," Evali points out. "They are still /sea monsters/."
Tiriana certainly /did/ see Riorde and Iolene-- but at least she's not rushing over there right now. No doubt she's distracted by the arrival of the queen, as is K'del, whose eyes brighten: "She's lovely. For a hatchling. /Will/ be lovely."
There was nothing dignified about the Sun and Stars Gold Hatchling's arrival on the sands, but now that she's there, she seems determined to make up for it. No doubt that would be easier if movement was less new-- as it stands, even getting up onto both feet is difficult, and actual locomotion takes a few moments longer to work out. Ungainly, but making an obvious attempt at grace and dignity, she takes her first careful steps towards the assembled candidates. She tilts her head up and do the side, as though by showing her profile, she'll awe even more of them into stepping hurriedly away from her.
Nathalia's eyes widen at the impressions and the new dragons which pop forth. It's all chaos now, but the smith seems to be smiling about winning another bet at least. She inches away from the gold though, perhaps subconsciously?
And Then You Die Green Hatchling has just barely righted herself from her most /recent/ tumble when her whole body turns rigid, seeking eyes caught upon some distant target. She very nearly trips herself once again in her haste to get moving, but this time, she manages to stay on her feet right until the moment she flings herself at Evali, quite possibly sending them both flying. Impression? Well, there's no doubt about that.
Sibella ticks egg after egg off of her list, too hopeful to help being a little bit disappointed with each that Impresses, and yet still... the joy that lights the eyes of Dragonet and human alike are enough to keep her smiling bravely and watching as passively as possible. With a twinkle in her eye, Sibella attempts to nudge Nathalia toward the Gold. "There's yours, Nat," she chuckles.
Emmeline erks, and kind of turns in a circle watching Khorde drag Evali and himself behind her. "Seriously not going to help. You just want me mauled if one of them wants to get to you." she points out, proving thus by having to stumble -well out of the way- when Evali is hurtled at by the green. "-Evali-."
Khorde thinks that one moment, he was just standing here shuffling his feet and bitching about the heat and the ugly dragons. Then, Evali is being TAKEN from him (RIPPED out of his grasp, really), and he's scrambling backwards only to land right on his butt. Did his robe fly up at the last moment? Someone (AKA the whole galleries) just got an eyeful. Hopefully, he doesn't bowl Emme down with him.
The Desiccated Foliage egg makes up for its lackluster efforts with a sudden burst of power, dark-padded paws and ebony talons ripping through the shell like parchment. A large, stubborn head follows, thrashing away until its mottled cage is left unrecognizable behind it, a wet and breathless brown hatchling in its place.
>---< Scales of Justice Brown >----------------------------------------------<
Long and serpentine, this washed-out brown has been smoothly drawn from a
hooked and beaky nose to an ink-tipped stylus of a tail. More inky-brown
spots have stained his paws and talons, though the short strokes that
outline each eyeridge and headknob seem more purposeful. The whole of his
body has a sheen to it, a semblance of shiny mica and sandglass twinkling
along his hollow flanks and long neck: a thin dusting of sand to blot up
those last dark spills. At least the shadowy spars of his wings have been
swept clear, though their generous sails have caught all the excess in
their deep pockets; they sparkle in the light, each movement shifting
grains until he seems surrounded in a hazy, eternal mirage.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Rhaelyn shouldn't stare. Really. Her hands draw the robe around herself as she fixes her eyes on that gold little dragonnet. Moistening her lips and looking in that direction and looking. It's Ylynna and the others there that make her purse her lips and scowl that way, at their backs. "Maybe she'll just...plow through them." Even as she says it, the green is plowing towards...into....another islander. "Oh!" So easy to get distracted and watch how things unfold with the green and Evali.
Evali has now been dragged, indeed, more than once. Evali can't tell you why it is hot, Iolene, but she can surely tell you that it /is/, because her skin is getting very lightly /tinged/ by the sands' heat. The first words out of her mouth are not her dragon's name, but, "Ow." And then she breathes, and is back to that sort of semi-judgmental maternal look she'd been giving Khorde earlier and whispers, "You are /not/ going to die. Yanijath." And up they get -- or try to get -- multiple times before dragonet and rider /do/ both stand. They even missed laughing at Khorde!
Meara's been busy, but not so busy that she can't step forward towards Evali. "This way, please. With-- Yanijath?" And it's off to the barracks with them both.
Dismissing one candidate after another, the Sun and Stars Gold Hatchling sweeps through groups of the assembled, pausing only briefly to regard a long-haired young man before he, too, gets discarded - ugh. She avoids her dam and sire, seeming to deliberately skirt around the edges to keep away from them, though it's inevitable that she gives them a half-hearted glance nonetheless. She's /fine/. FINE. She's just... hunting. Candidates. With wobbling steps as though she's just a tiny bit drunk.
Nathaliacan't hide a snort at Bella's comment, nor can she hide a smile as another Islander Impresses, and she seems more relaxed now, perhaps her journeyman's exams are safe after all. The newest arrival, gets her attention though, and again its back to avoiding getting stepped on.
Evali heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Evali has left.
Emmeline claps a hand over her eyes when Khorde's gown flies up. "THINGS I NEVER NEEDED TO SEE EVER." she cries, nearly tripping over him in her haste to turn around and see nothing. Ever again. "Someone tell me when it's safe to look again. Like when he's been dragged away by a sea monster."
Iolene cowers behind Riorde, her fingers creeping up along Ri's shoulder and peeking out over the other girl's shoulder. Wait. Evali's not standing next to Xoami anymore and the boy seems to be a little scared. Scared. "Wait, did we just see Khorde's thingie?"
Scales of Justice Brown doesn't take long to catch his breath. He's off after only a brief rest, that beaky snout seeming to pull the rest of his pale body behind it in pursuit of - whats that? A stray shell. He noses it with single-minded curiosity, moving on only after hes satisfied that nothing remains within. And those white-robed things? Why, theyre interesting, too! The browns gaze swivels keenly in the candidates direction, though as a hatchling rushes past him hes caught up in a new undertaking: follow the leader. Heeeey, where are you going?
Sibella can't help but glance over - just a teensy glance - in the direction of the green as it Impresses Evali... and then there are more unpleasant sights. Quickly averting her gaze, Sibella watches as the new brown shows a clear personality, and can't help but give in to a fit of giggles at his antics. Sibella points and touches Nat on the shoulder to show her.
Yanijath heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Yanijath has left.
Khorde howls. "THE BURNING." That was his bare rump that hit the Sands. "THE BURNING." It takes him a minute -- and the rest of his dignity -- to get back upright, dusting off his robe and covertly looking around him. Nothin' to see here. Move along.
Iolene WE ARE SO DRUNK
Nathalia's attention is decidedly divided, between keeping out of the way and keeping an eye out for both Rhaelyn and Sibella. "Easy watch out here comes another. . ." She manages as the brown leaves his shell behind, but it's a roar of laughter as she hears Khorde.
A pool of red, a splatter of... blue, now, steel-blue, the Crimson Mystery Egg corroding swiftly and sharply before the stainless claws and stubborn shoulder of the latest young dragon. He breathes heavily at first of the sandy, sweaty air, then scans the cavern all the way up to the galleries, enough to get journeymen shoving apprentices down in their seats where they mightn't be seen. One squirms her head back up, but it's only in time to see the still-wet blue find what he wants still on the sands: a 'Reaches youth who isn't afraid to stand him down. The twitching of the Stripes of Color Egg has given way to full-out gyrations as the hatchling within grows more desperate for freedom. One particularly hard pulse sends it tumbling end over end, rolling down off its mound and coming perilously close to sideswiping another hatching before coming to a halt.
Riorde is trying to turn around and get Iolene to come out from behind her, so no, she's not staring at Khorde's thingie. "No. No. No. We didn't," she insists, trying to wipe it out of their collective memory.
Emmeline is stuck out here now with one who wants to hurl, and one who wants to pee... and no Evali here to help her! Khorde's burning comments force her to pull her hand away from her eyes. But, she refuses to look at him. NO. Instead, she watches the game of follow the leader with unabashed amusement. Anything is better then thinking about what she just witnessed.
Rhaelyn puts a hand to her mouth, "Oh, but...I thought they wre suposed to get smaller with the /cold/." She pulls her eyes away from the roasted buns and scoots a little away. On eye on the gold. ONe eye on the brown. One eye on the...what is that? Blue. Lots to keep a sharp eye on.
Swinging her great head this way and that, the Sun and Stars Gold Hatchling surveys - and rejects - one girl after another on her long journey across the sands. Candidates step hurriedly out of her way as she passes, dodging wings and tail as she pushes into a group of exiles and comes to an abrupt halt in front of a blonde-haired girl. There may be horror and concern from amidst the distant onlookers, but for this young queen, there can clearly be no other.
Iolene isn't drunk, despite that last pose. It was errant and flew out without reason. She is completely sober and petrified. But fascinated. And still hiding behind Riorde. Her, "Don't leave me," is spoken more to Riorde than to Xoami who is fidgeting all alone on the sands. All alone. So ronery. "Evali and Elgin got dragons now already. Maybe K'del wasn't wrong. But we should have still..." And stop. "Huh?" Her Impression of the Sun and Stars Gold is so eloquent. "Why are you in my head?"
Nathalia tries to remember how many have hatched now, trying to keep up as yet another impression is made, and yet another egg starts moving. Rhaelyn doesn't help her focus though, and the girl snorting in laughter. watching as the gold impresses.
Khorde thinks Rhaelyn is really, really mean. Just in case anyone was wondering. "Wait." Eyes like saucers: "No, wait. Wait. /Iolene/?" Is he the only one dumbfounded enough to stop that eternal shuffle of feets?
K'del and Tiriana? Sharing wide-eyed stares at the moment: awestruck, perhaps horrified. Maybe that will come later; for now, it's really quite difficult to gauge.
Sibella almost starts to clap for joy for the Islander she'd just met, but her hands only come together once before a fit of giggles overcomes her at Iolene's words.
Meara is there once more, a helpful weyrlingmaster to stand beside Iolene until she's ready to respond, and, eventually, there to lead the newest pair off the sands and to the barracks.
Emmeline kind of gapes ans gasps. "Io! Oh wow." Little wheels spin in the harper girl's head, and she is - perhaps for the first time this evening - completely speechless on seeing that impression.
Riorde, still trying to pull Iolene back out so she's at her side, gives way to that gold. Wait. Where did she come from? She drops Iolene's hand, although it's with a bit of reluctance, giving a quick squeeze of the other girl's fingers before she lets go completely. "She's in your head?" she says, even as she steps away.
Rhaelyn is totally super-villainess mean. She smiles at Khorde but it's short lived. As Iolene of all people impress the gold she stomps her foot. "Ooh!! Fine." She takes a step back and another, looking to be already done with this little adventure. "Could have gotten myself killed for this?"
It's really too bad Iolene is not drunk. Because this would make a whole lot more sense if she were. But the last time she was drunk she did things she'd rather forget for the rest of her life and so she just stares, dumbfounded at the gold. If it's a staring content, she's going to lose as she slips out from behind Riorde and stumbles forward. Impulsive, that's what she is, she stretches forth and hugs (read: strangles) the gold. "I'm yours, Ysavaeth."
The Stripes of Color Egg rolls another couple of feet, jerking wildly all the while. Cracks begin to spiderweb out from an impact point near its crown, growing and growing until all at once the entire egg dissolves into tiny shards, raining down onto a startled, copper-tinged bronze hatchling.
>---< Regal, Copper-Kissed Bronze >------------------------------------------<
Eye-popping color enwraps this hulking, headstrong beast of a bronze: an
unusual ruddy copper whose new-minted polish only accentuates his size,
agleam from the thrust of his roman nose to his thick, muscular tail. Even
where his other extremities vary, it's to maximize drama; spiky neckridges
redden even further, fire-kissed, and broad wings' trailing edges bear the
unmistakable splatter of liquid gold. His paws are enormous, their bronze
darker but never duller, and tipped with scimitar-curved talons of onyx.
Despite his barge-like build, there's a certain balanced grace to his
carriage, gifted by a mind that seems far more agile than his bulk would
imply.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Sibella spares a short-lived glare for Rhaelyn's little hissy-fit, before her attention is caught by the new bronze on the Sands. "Oh!" Is her simple exlamation. "A very good clutch," she observes.
Nathalia can't help but grin at the joyful clapping, and joins in the giggles. There's a sharp whistle though as the bronze pops out, and her attention is turned again to the eggs and the dragonets she's avoiding. "Yeah."
Iolene heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Iolene has left.
Ysavaeth heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Ysavaeth has left.
Scales of Justice Browns explorations soon turn wholeheartedly to the candidates, the novelty of sands, shells and dragonets wearing thin. His slanted eyes whirl through the entire spectrum in what seems a moment, giddy, hungry, tired, nervous, but in the end intensely curious. Keeping his distance, he paces back and forth along the lines of waiting humans, head bobbing all the while as he studies each one. None are spared his gaze; he shows no signs of particular favoritism as his dark-bottomed paws keep him in restless motion.
Khorde uh-- "I was going to say something." He WAS. "And then I forgot what I was going to say." Mostly because: hello, /Io/? This requires thought, and obviously Khorde isn't necessarily the most thinking type of person. Also, he's kind of alone now, with Emmeline done /deserted/ him. Sadness.
One last roll has the Blue Streak Egg revealing its namesake just before it crumbles into pieces around a lean, sharp-edged hatchling of unusually pale ash brown. He's slow to move but deliberate when he does, heading unerringly toward one of the exiles. Jaques, standing with one arm lightly around his wife Evie, doesn't look at her as he lets go and steps forward to meet the brown. One hand falls to the dragon's red-touched neckridges as they leave the sands. There's no name spoken--what do you expect from the quiet man?--but the riders in the crowd can find it easily enough: Greshaith. The Soap Bubble Egg bobs along in its sandy niche, rocking ever so softly. Pressure points can be seen from the inside out, places where the impatient dragonet inside is struggling to break through.
Riorde is left all alone. Mostly she's just stunned, not really knowing what just happened. Except that she's alone now, and she doesn't want to be, so she goes stalking towards the nearest cluster of exile-candidates. Hi, Khorde. "Iolene," she points out, like he hadn't noticed. "She's gone."
Emmeline is still there! Just, not saying anything until now. And not looking at Khorde. This time, she just points at the new bronze for him. "Is that one ugly too?" she wonders, for those who are judging them, anyway! Her eyes are still following the progress of the curious brown, watching him study everyone in the semi-circle in a judging manner. "Least he's not tackling anyone."
Nathalia gasps, and There's another eyeing of those browns, there were a lot of those today, she watches as another impression is made and another egg cracks. Is that anxiety? Hard to say. She glances over to Bella, with a smile though.
Regal, Copper-Kissed Bronze stares, nonplussed, at the fact that there are all sorts of wild colors and sensations where, a moment ago, there was only eggshell. He tilts his head this way and that, curiously, before getting to his feet with a minimum of fuss and going to... inspect one of his fellow eggs. He doesn't even seem aware of the fact that there are whitethings over there watching him eagerly; there's an egg here, by jove, and it's /rocking/. What madness is this?
Khorde may or may not cry at this rate. He grabs Riorde's hand with his own sweaty one, clinging to her like she's a lifejacket. "Did--" His eyes are huge. "Was that /Jaques/?" His word is being DESTROYED, one soul at a time. "Wait. Ugly?" His eyes crane for the latest addition, and then they just pop like whoa. "That's-- that's-- freakin' HUGE!" ... that's what she said, of course, so long as 'she' isn't Rhaelyn.
Rhaelyn finds her hand caught by Mara as she's about to make a turn and go for the exit completely. "Let. Go." Rhaelyn's voice is a low hiss of anger but a couple pulls doesn't free her hand from the other exile girl. The pale brown being lead away by Jaques makes her jaw work and she gives up trying to get away. "Fine. -fine-." And with that the two move back over, closer to Nathalia and Sibella.
His thoughtful pacing slowing with every step, the Scales of Justice Brown finally pauses, piercing eyes no longer scanning the white-robed crowds. When he finally resumes, his single-minded path shows new determination: the pale brown slinks forward as gently as a clumsy hatchling can, cautiously approaching a girl with a rich, emotive face before finally nosing his beaklike muzzle up into her hands. His. Hers.
Sibella can't help but grin at the newest antics - that of the bronze. Her grin is turned to Nathalia, who seems to be showing just the slightest apprehension. In her best attempt at comfort, her grin fades into a relaxed smile; now that things are going at a rather fast pace, it isn't so bad, is it? "At least we didn't have to deal with the shiny Gold," she chuckles. And then Rhaelyn's there, and the smile fades.
Rhaelyn wiggles her pinky at Khorde. tinytiny.
As eggs around it make frantic rocking/cracking/breaking motions, the Nothing To See Here Egg seems content to sit still: a solid feature lurking quietly amidst the action. If it shudders, even a little bit, the motion is lost to the cacophony of the sands. The Salt and Burn Egg has been rocking for some time and now gives way with one final split, a gray-blue hatchling uncoiling with improbable precision from his longtime isolation. He moves swiftly, careful to avoid brushing against stray shells or his roving siblings. Finally wobbling to a halt and collapsing with a relieved squeak at the feet of a tall, gangly boy said to be from Fort, the Impression: "Pwylth," E'tan closes the distance and makes their first contact, helping his lifemate up, escorted off the sands as the newest rider pair.
Nathalia looses a snort, as that bronze eyes the eggs around him. But there's a breath, as she watches and a smile as the brown seems to find his home, and then there's a smile for Bella. There's a sigh too, those sands were getting really unbearable now.
Emmeline stares down as that pale brown makes its way towards her, muzzle pressing into her hand. No sound from her, just a welling of moisture in her eyes while she basks in the warmth of this new bond with Rhazekth. "Yes, yes it is." she agrees, out of nowhere, walking with him towards the weyrlingmasters.
Emmeline heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Emmeline has left.
Rhazekth heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Rhazekth has left.
Pop! Bursting free at last, the shards of the Soap Bubble Egg are shaken off as quickly as they were broken, the dark dragonet meticulously nipping at every remaining offender before taking any notice of the candidates at all. Even then it's a thin, wavering sort of attention, more concerned with the spread of her wings and the placing of each paw on the sands as she stands with a low creel.
>---< Never Been Clear Cut Green >-------------------------------------------<
Narrow, narrow, narrow: this tall, birdlike green dragon has a
particularity to her, in her bony build and the frosty pine-needled hide
that shivers over it, but even more so in the way she carries her head.
She might have never truly left some primordial forest, with the way her
paws are mossy-soft, her legs wound about with ghostly lines of ivy and
low-lying fern, her pinched haunches smudged darker as though her pine's
needles had fallen and are settling slowly, slowly back into the wet
earth. Her wingsails might seem delicate, pallid and misty as if they'd
catch upon the dark thorns of her spine, as though they were seen from
between the more solid branches of their spars... but it's not the sails
that drag her down. It's the spars after all, the strong branches that
betray her, the final two on her left wing fused into one lumplike bone.
Deformity touches her tail as well, but here it's aid rather than
impediment: shortened but lively with a scorpion's barbed, backward twist.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Riorde has wiggly fingers, trying to grip Khorde's hand but a bit put off by all that sweat. "Jacques?" She didn't say that one. She does see Emmeline impress though, and then she's tugging Khorde's hand wildly and going, "Look, look!" like he can't see for himself. Quieter, a bit stunned: "This is not what I expected."
Regal, Copper-Kissed Bronze pokes a tentative claw at the rocking egg, then draws back sharply when it rocks in /his/ direction with an undignified squawk. He recovers his feet readily enough, then wanders off in a different direction as if he had all the time in the world, this time to stare up curiously at the weyrlingmasters. He rears up in his hind legs to better poke his muzzle at Lina, then gives a snort when she shooes him off. Grumbling to himself, he slinks off to inspect a couple of female candidates.
Sibella feels her bravery begin to dissolve as she tallies up the eggs left alongside the candidates. Not a likely number, and not at good odds, now, for both Nat and her to Impress. Sweat continues to bead at
Sibella's temples, and she shuffles nervously.
Nathalia watches, the blue and the green escaping their prisons. A quiet hand going to Bella, and a soft smile. Shifting eagerly, the smith watches that green, a sadness to her eyes. That bronze though gets another snort.
Khorde is a man. Men sweat! It happens! Don't blame him! Jaques is a long cry gone by now, as his big-eyes are declaring the APOCALYPSE IS NIGH. "Did-- that-- Riorde-- that--" He settles down-ish, slumping. "That was Emmeline." Why is his tone so /dejected/?" Eyes towards Riorde are stopped first by the deformed green ("She don't look right,") and the bronze, who rates a full baffled expression: "What th' crap is he /doing/?"
So still has the Nothing To See Here Egg been that the thudding crack that sends it collapsing in upon itself seems to surprise those nearest - aren't eggs supposed to rock, first? But it doesn't need to: the little dragon within crawls free of the remains, shaking off fragments of shell as he attempts to right himself and take his first curious step towards those white-robed people.
>---< Force of Nature Brown >------------------------------------------------<
Great, beautiful plumes of smoke and ash billow and churn upon the lean
lines of this brown dragon's hide, dashing gilt whorls upon narrow
haunches and spilling red-hot lava down the stuttering heights of his
craggy neckridges. Burnished umber washes his hide, darkening in uneasy
shadows beneath the curve of his belly, whilst growing steadily lighter as
it creeps towards the tip of his whiplike tail. His wings are cloudy,
yellow-tinged, reminiscent somehow of noxious gas, and just barely
contained by the ashen, icy lengths of his pinions. There's fire to his
demeanour, his shoulders held in an almost perpetual position of
readiness, while smoky, charcoal etchings beneath his eyes hint at
unrestrained passion.
>----------------------------------------------------------------------------<
Never Been Clear Cut Green's botched wing is no small hindrance. She turns periodically to nudge and even snap at the offending limb, eventually managing to sling it over her back in an ungainly manner that nevertheless allows her to keep moving. It's slow, sullen progress that she makes, lifting each paw with care as her neck snakes back and forth, low and sinister, stalking some unseen prey. She nips irritably at the flanks of a too-close sibling, eyes flashing crimson and yellow of foul moods. Talk about hatching from the wrong side of the egg.
Rhaelyn slides a hand through her sweat dappled brow and slicks back her hair, frowning. "Noooo.....oh fish/heads!" She stomps on the sand and stares after Emme and that match too. "Did you see..." She glances at Nat and Sibella and bites onto her lower lip in frustration. "Is this over yet?" Now, one might think that she was not paying attention to the ill fated egg that she was thrown into. *ahem* But when it hatches? She recoils, into Mara. Time to go.
Riorde is not a man. This, in her mind, is a good thing. However, she tries to be man enough for both her and Khorde, standing up straight and pretending she knows what the hell is happening when that's really the farthest thing from the truth. "Doing, I don't know, dragon things." She hasn't the faintest clue either. Quieter: "Is the Weyrwoman still glaring at me?"
Nathalia watches as another brown emerges, before her eyes go back to the green and there is a slightly dark look for the girl, and for the other who might be responsible. The brown gets a a glance too.
Force of Nature Brown is quick off the block, his hide still glistening wetly as he speeds his way across the sands. There's something oddly gleeful in the way he he steps along that hints at an unrestrained joy, limited only by the awkward drape of wings dragging along on the hot sands. He's uninterested in the candidates for now -- the noise of the crowd draws him, and he stops short of the galleries in order to bellow out a low bugle as if to announce his arrival. He's /here/, and he should be watched!
No longer content to maintain his leisurely inspection of the occupants of the sands, the pace of the Regal, Copper-Kissed bronze picks up. Not frantic, not yet, but there's a certain urgency to the way he pokes his muzzle at a pair of younger weyrbred boys. Something is clearly not to his liking, because he lingers only a moment. He paces down a bit further, picking up speed until he's nearly running, until-- WAIT. He grinds to a halt, then shuffles back a few paces to stare up wonderingly at a lanky exile lad.
Rhaelyn bobbles, "She's going to /eat/ the other ones." Oh horror. She hikes up her robes with a fist and tears her hand away from Mara's. As she starts to move, she's making a line past Nat, "Don't you look at me that way!" She saw it. She /did/. "I'm done with this." She's making her way past Ylynna and her girls too, keeping them between herself and the red-eyed creature.
Sibella allows herself a bit of a cheer for Khorde, no Kh'de? Kh're? Whatever the name, she's happy to see a bronze Impressed to the boy little-known to her. Then, watching Rhaelyn go, Sibella gives the slightest disdainful snort.
Never Been Clear Cut Green will keep calm and carry on, or at least carry on. Her narrow face seems to sneer at each candidate she deigns to glance at, either aloof or completely ignorant of their presence. Far more often is she concerned with herself: the bits of shell between her toes, the arch of her neck, the precise arrangement of wings over her back. She deigns to raise her small chin to one boys daring gaze with a sniff, looking past him rather than directly at him, and soon prowls onwards with momentary stops to pick at that wing.
Kh'ry is glad Riorde isn't a man. If she was a man, she wouldn't have boobs for Khorde to oggle, and where the crap is the fun in that? He lifts a hand as if to scratch his head, but it aborts half-way as he suddenly stares around him wide-eyed as if /there are things that he can see that everyone else can't/. "Uh." Shit. "Shimana was right." What? "Wait." He stares down. "Who-- wa--wh--/w/.." He's at a loss. "I-- I think-- I'm sure--" He stumbles for a moment, big-eyed. "Yeah, Temrianth. I'm sure there's somethin' to eat around here."
Nathalia's sour mood is lifted some what by the antics of the male dragons, though she still lets her gaze dart between Rhaelyn and that green, something akin to anger on her face, but the impression and Sibella get the girl's attention back.
Force of Nature Brown has grown bored with the draw of the crowd. Something more /needful/ drives him now, and he's heading unerringly for the semi-circle of candidates -- those that are left, at any rate. There's a heedless speed and determination in his hasty step, and his abrupt change of direction is very likely unexpected by those watching, as is the next change of path. He needs /something/, and it's in the group of candidates somewhere, and he's not about to be denied, whatever -- or whoever -- gets in his way.
K'del, by now, is holding on to a smile only barely; a grim sort of thing, barely there. Still, it's better than Tiriana.
Riorde can't hold Khorde's hand /either./ Things are just not going her way today. She swears, a little bit louder than she intended, forgetting that she's actually supposed to be supportive of other peopel. Except -- "Shimana? What has she got to do with anything?"
Lina returns from a barracks run only to spot Khorde -- Kh'ry's -- impression. She gamely makes her way towards the boy, waiting patiently for enough sense to return for her to be able to guide him off the sands.
The Never Been Clear-Cut Green finally gives up on inspecting her own body, and turns with some curiosity to regard the remaining candidates. She gets to her feet with some difficulty, rocking hard to one side as she attempts to re-fold the malformed wing, then staggers forward. She stumbles and ends up nose-down in the sand, briefly; the call she lets out is high-pitched, a strange hybrid of a trumpet and a squeal. Undeterred, she's quick to get back to her feet, and resume her beeline towards one particularly pretty exile girl. Oddly tentative for a newly-hatched dragon, the little green peers up at her with a mix of hope and delight.
Kh'ry heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Kh'ry has left.
Temrianth heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Temrianth has left.
Nat's not one to get in the way of dragons, nope. She makes to tug 'Bella to a spot of safety too, as the green makes her way to. . . wait a minute. . .
Quivering in anticipation, the Force of Nature Brown Hatchling shoves past an unwary candidate, swinging around another group in such a hurry that it's obvious he's found /something/ he likes. His steps finally slow as he careens at a girl with dark hair, falling back on his haunches in order to get a better look at this one that he's chosen: his Riorde.
Sibella bursts into a round of raucous laughter for the unlikely matches just made! She can't help it, and she cheers for them both, too caught up to worry that she may very well be left... oh, and there's a dimming. She may be left Standing. Again. Oh, she doesn't want to cry, she doesn't want to cry...
Rhaelyn says, "Kh'ry. Reall..." She fans her hands around in front of her face a moment. Then her knees going weak as color drains from her face, "Waaiiit..." But onto the sand she ends up, scalding her knees in the moment of earth coming up to meet her. When she opens her eyes they are squinted as though the light is just too bright, "A....Amareth? But....how can I leave you /again/?" There's that horrible and wonderful hatchling right /there/. "Oh.""
Nathalia's brow lifts, surprised? Maybe a little, but there's an arm around Bella's shoulder if the elder candidate allows it. It's almost over right? There's an attempt at a squeeze, see your not alone? Seems to be what she's trying to tell the girl.
Left all alone upon the sands, with shells and shards but no other company, the Boob Tube Egg finally begins to shudder and quake, fragmenting piece by piece until the bronze within can pull himself free. No doubt some of the weyr will breath a sigh of relief when it is not an exile he scampers for; he may have been the last to hatch, but he's quick to Impress, apparently utterly confident in his choice. It's a pity about the tubby candidate he sideswipes on his way - well, at least he'll live to stand at another hatching... if he's not too terrified. More blood: what a way to end a hatching.
Riorde stands all alone as Khorde and his bronze leave, and for a moment she's not sure where to turn to next-- all her people are gone. Except then there's a brown in front of her, her Sforzath, and Riorde stares down like she's not quite sure what's happening. She isn't, in fact. "I think we're supposed to do something," she tells the brown weakly. What exactly that is has flown right out of her head.
Riorde heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Riorde has left.
Sforzath heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Sforzath has left.
Amareth heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Amareth has left.
Just like that-- they're all gone, all Impressed. Whatever has been going on between K'del and his Weyrwoman is stilled, then, as the Weyrleader steps forward to address the remaining candidates. "Your dragon wasn't on the sands today," he says, quietly. "For which I'm sorry; it doesn't mean that there isn't a dragon out there for you, just that he or she wasn't here today. Please: enjoy the feast, and give some thought to what you want to do next. The weyr will support you. Thank you, all." He ducks his head forward, but doesn't seem inclined to linger. Maybe he's just desperate to get away from Tiriana.
Rhaelyn heads to Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr.
Rhaelyn has left.
Sibella quells the brimming moisture in her eyes, allowing nothing to leak. Instead, she gives Nat a smile, saying, "Well, at least I won't have to do it again." She begins to circle her arm around Nat as well. "I'm sorry to drag you down with me," is the rueful addition.
Nathalia seems more relieved than anything. And there's a bright smile for the candidate. "Nah, didn't drag me down, I was made for the forge, not the sands." She smiles hiding whatever turbulent thoughts seem to be going on in her mind. She moves to usher her friend off the sands, eyeing the Weyrleader with a shrug.
Sibella allows herself to be ushered off of the Sands, off to move her things out of the candidate quarters and, to where, she's not sure.