Hatching: Part Two

[lelaelle]

Part One

From the sands, "...this ain't it," grins R'vain, all ego, with a broad-handed slap upside the bronze's haunch. That, too, forces Ruvoth's humming to be interrupted, and when he starts up again he leans his head around to nose-butt his rider's ribs in protest. The Weyrleader steps back a bit, unconcerned, and even reaches out a quick fondle for long bronze headknobs before turning out his attention to the chaos again-- not to the dragons this time, but the candidates. By his hip, one hand ticks off thumb-to-finger, a silent count.

From the sands, Voice of Truth Bronze Hatchling has picked up a little too much speed, and he sends up a sheet of sand as he tries to change directions too rapidly. There's another undignified squawk from the midst of his cloud of sand, and coughing from nearby candidates. He seems, finally, to have worked out what he wants. And that's to leave. Nobody here that suits him, and the boxy, angular little bronze, now half coated in sand that's stuck to egg fluid, picks up speed again as he fairly charges towards the exit to the bowl, apparently bent on seeing if he can find what he's after out there.

"Miniyal is--Oh!" Enlightenment comes late to Sakher, and he shoots a more interested look over at the sands, frowning slightly. "Indeed. Well, I know Miniyal, of course, and let's see. Oh, that girl, with the short dark hair--Ella. And... A couple of the boys, though I can't find them now--it's so hard to keep track at this distance and in this confusion. And oh! Paige--I know Paige; she does my laundry, a very sweet girl."

From the sands, Kenathan blinks. "Huh. Is that dragon allowed to do that?" he comments, then, turns his attention more towards the green. Apparently not at all concerned by the bronze's departure, the boy rolls his shoulders backwards, then steps back once, frowning a little.

J'sek only grunts softly in return to K'rom's reply, pausing for a long while as he watches the bronze and green currently out and still searching, before he speaks again. "True. It'll be interesting to see how many of each in the end. And - wait. Where's the bronze going?" With is attention having been still focused on the sands as he spoke, he shoots the other weyrling a puzzled, if not concerned frowning glance.

From the sands, Katriel hasn't been paying much attention to the bronzes, but one who plans on /leaving/, now that's attention getting. She looks away from the green to arch a brow at the fleeing bronze then look to a weyrbred boy near by. "Is that normal?" she asks, looking back to the bronze.

"Harrass me all you like," laughs G'thon, easily - but he dips a slow nod, eyes wry and sidecast at Fienne, when she mentions Miniyal. "I know a few of them. Essdara was rather close to our prior Weyrwoman. Before Sinopa, I mean." A little bit of a smile, crooked.

With such activity on the sands, Laelle seems to have forgotten that the proper thing to do would be to find a seat instead of standing in the aisle. As a dumpy little woman pushes past her, bumping without remorse, the Nerat girl is stirred from her watching and turns her attention to finding a seat once again. And there in the back, she spies one by a man unlikely to bother her with small talk. She moves toward Reyce, slipping in front of a number of spectators and turning frequently to see what's happening on the sands until she drops neatly onto the vacant bench.

From the sands, Rysia has to strangle back a laugh, first at Dara and Ella's comments, then at the 'little' bronze's actions "Is anyone else reminded of a youngling trying to make a break from the nursery...?" she asks to no-one in the partiular, her attention drawn from the Sands in general, to the break-away.

From the sands, "Do /you/ wanna try and tell him otherwise?" Dara asks towards Kenathan, laughing more; she almost seems to be enjoying herself. "Yah, Rysia, that seems about right. Be interesting to see where he ends up, so long as it's not between." She watches the bronze curiously as he flees.

From the sands, Ashwin moves forward a couple of steps from his position, hands coming up as the sand-coated bronze tries to make his jailbreak. The Lieutenant, however, is as uncertain as anyone else, and halts, looking across to the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, a query crossing his face. Presumably he is unclear as to /what/ should be done, as much as whether anything should be done at all.

From the sands, "That's not what I--" Interrupted comment number two from the weyrwoman as the little bronze decides to...wait...that's the wrong way. And while Roa's eyes widen, the gold standing nearby seems decidedly unconcerned. "Oh shells," the small woman murmurs. "What's he about?" And then she lifts her voice to call, "Captain! Careful! Let him pass!"

Neiran's eyes track the fleeing bronze for a little while, but like H'kon, other than eyebrow action he seems perfectly all right with being alone with his thoughts and feelings, keeping his expression neutral. Though now he's interested enough to commit to closing the book on his lap, at least.

K'rom blinks and looks towards the bronze as well, "I have no idea.....wonder what he's up to." Kie peers around thenm curious now. "Wouldn't expect one to leave the Sands...."

From the sands, Sivoril does not immediatly see the fleeing bronze. His attention is towards the green. However, when Rysia's statement is heard his head snaps around to see what is going on and his eyes widen slightly. In all of the questions that he asked others who had been through this in an eforrt to get his head around it, none mentioned the concept of a dragonet that had escaped the bowl. No comment is voiced, but still wider eyes follow the young bronze's path.

There's a beat or two where Fienne's attention is consumed by the escape artist bronze, eyes wide and mouth hanging ever so slightly ajar. "He... well, where's he going?" She asks it as if G'thon, from some well of wisdom, must surely know the answer. When her gaze flickers toward him she catches his words and a hint of rose blooms in her cheeks. "Oh gosh, I figured you must know most of them, and obviously Miniyal. I was more asking Sakher here. Are you nervous though sir, about Miniyal?" There's a little nod for Sakher's own answer then, though that last has her scanning the sands. "I don't know Paige myself. I know Miniyal and Kenathan, and I've met Ella... and the twins over there are from High Reaches..." her voice trails off then as more and more attention goes to the little bronze, her own included.

Reyce glances up when Laelle drops onto the bench near him, paused in a somewhat silly expression as the handkerchief drags away from his mouth. "Hey," he decides to greet her with a grunt, but other than that, she was correct in her assessment: he doesnn't pester her with small talk. Folding the handkerchief neatly but quickly into a little square (snot side in!), he tucks it back in his pocket, and only then seems to notice the hubbub over the departing bronze. He blinks at it, following its progress for a ways, but is distracted by a cough he aims into his sleeve and away from the Neratian.

From the sands, The golden egg sways in its sandy nest, leaning first to the left, then to the right. It rocks, rather than jerks, like a pendulum in reverse: each motion becomes larger and broader until the egg tumbles down from its little makeshift pedestal to bobble in the sand proper.

From the sands, Issa hisses something under her breath as the bronze starts running, her crossed arms dropping to her sides. Though from there, she has nothing, and looks helplessly to the Weyrlingmaster beside her. Blue eyes flick quickly to Roa as she grants the bronze a free pass, and then, with a nod to D'ven, begins to trudge slowly in that direction, trailing the bronze far behind, fully ready to catch an unintended Impression and draw the pair back down to the sands.

Penny automatically shifts over as a presence sits down on the end of the bench next to her, and casts a brief glance to the side. The glance is followed by a doubletake, and a briefer pause. "Hallo, Sefton," she greets, scooting a little more. "Fashionably late." She opens her mouth as if to speak again, when the commotion about the runaway bronze catches her attention and she shifts her attention back to the sands. "What the..." Her confusion joins that of the other spectators.

H'kon displays perhaps a bit more interest than Neiran, sitting up a straighter to track that bronze's movements as he moves toward the exit. Of course, this could be less motivated by emotion, and more by a motion learned as a result of a general lack of height.

"The Weyrwoman Yevide, of Igen formerly?" asks Sakher, curious, as he cuts dark eyes back to G'thon and quirks a brow. "I've not met Essdara yet, or most of them, though perhaps I should plan to go meet the weyrlings afterward, and congratulate them? It seems the thoughtful thing to do. At the very least, I simply must go speak with those I know, whether they impress or they do not." And, noting on his next glance back, one dragon making a break for it, Sakher slides his brows higher and queries, "Is that not atypical? I don't believe I've seen that before." He doesn't give it much thought, however, before glancing back at present companions, more interested still in conversation.

From the sands, "Thinkin' a baby w'claws's allow'd t'do whatever h'wants," Ella suggests, watching as the bronze seems to be intent on actually departing. She shakes her head, laughing, as one foot finally and discreetly lifts itself away from the heat of the sands.

From the sands, When Jensen was told to keep the sands secure he probably never would have thought up this scenario. This isn't the kind of thing they usually cover in training. The burly Vej calls an, "Oy" of warning out and the Captain starts backing up. "Uh." Quickly. Let him pass? "/What/?" And then more quickly. Too quickly. His boot catches on something - probably his other foot - and he falls, hard on his backside, with one hand flung up.

From the sands, R'vain is unaware of the bronze's effort to get awaayyy-- until, that is, Roa speaks. Then the Weyrleader's all eyes for that uncommon maneuver, grunting only a "D'ven" to the Weyrlingmaster. Evidently they'll handle whatever the bronze is going to do-- and R'vain, shrugging, mutters, "Goin' t'point and order," to Roa. Then he trudges off too, toward a newly-made bluepair, to reprise the job he held for ten turns prior.

From the sands, The thoughtful tread of the Fire and Grace Green's clever paws comes to a halt before a group of young boys who've been steadily inching forward, step by step, seeking out closer positioning to the paths the hatchlings are taking out of the lumpen heaps of sand where the other eggs yet lie. As she comes near, several of the fellows turn away, but one curious boy grins wide and reaches out a tentative hand. The dark-tipped green gifts him with a careful whuff of steamy air directed precisely for his outstretched palm, then turns away to approach with obvious and certain purpose a taller target: the dark-haired woman from Tillek.

From the sands, Miniyal does a little half step to the right when the heat is too much where she stands. That's all and then she watches dragons, eggs, everyone but the fleeing bronze. He's being watched by everyone else after all. He doesn't need her attention too. One arm wipes sweat from her face before she uses her hand to wipe the back of her neck as well.

"Thank you," Sefton murmurs, caught by the requirement to nod various greetings before he can say more to the Smith beside him. By then, most attention has been focussed on the hatchling contemplating a jailbreak down below. "The candidates will be required to run after it in a moment," he observes, craning his neck to observe with the rest of them. Rather than consternation, however, the Headmaster sports an unholy grin of amusement.

From the sands, Rysia watches the bronze dragonet for a long moment, then shakes her head, "Someone's in for it...." before nodding with a grin at Dara. "Let's be watchin' for surprises closer to home... an' with those talons mentioned, eh?" The words start on one side of her, and end on the others, as she turns her attention back to the Sands, dancing a bit, only a slight lurch suggesting her, doing that on movable sand, not such a good idea. Probably got the idea from that sitting guardsman.

J'sek continues to frown, shrugging his shoulders a little as he speaks. "I suppose if the bronze has to leave to find his match then that's how it's going to be. Better then the alternative..." He lets his sentence drop there, glancing back to the sands below once more and a moment or so after the one wandering green seems to have come to a decision. Gently, he tries to gain K'rom's attention too with a slight nudge from his elbow. "Looks like the green you mentioned has found someone. I think?"

From the sands, The ugly bronze's cries are becoming increasingly distressed, his eyes now tinted deeply with red, but he moves single-mindedly. He's sure of what he wants, and if it's not in the right place, then he'll get himself to where it is. His wings flare again as he nearly stumbles, and ignoring the cries around him, he continues on his path towards the exit. A figure nearby him falls, and with a final rush of speed, he comes up alongside the Captain of the Guard, breathing a slow, shuddering sigh of relief as he locks eyes with Jensen.

From the sands, "Fuck me," mutters the woman from Tillek only it comes out as 'Fuck. Me?' Ella blinks down at the green before her and then gives her head a sharp shake and lifts one hand to roughly ruffle her own hair. "A'right, a'right," she offers, eyeing the green shape as the woman takes a few tentative steps towards the entrance she came from. "Y'don' gotta be so pushy 'bout't." For the moment, Dara, Rysia and everything else is forgotten.

Instead of annoying small talk, Laelle seems to have chosen annoying germs. The one glance she bothers to turn to Reyce catches the disappearing of the hankie and the bend of a cough. She frowns. "Sick?" though she doesn't sound like she expects him to answer anything but affirmative. She's just growing stiff (or stiffer) when the commotion from the sands draws all of her attention. She sits up, edged forward to watch the wayward bronze and her eyes widen to see the man in his path fall on his backside.

Whatever amusement Sefton finds in the situation, Penny apparently has missed the joke. Perhaps she knows enough about hatchings by now to know that they can go bad rather quickly -- seeing the Captain trip, she leans forward almost involuntarily. "Get out of the -way-, you idiot," she can be heard to murmur, under her breath. And then, as the bronze comes to a halt, she goes still, staring. "Did--" But that's about all she gets out. She is only good at hiding her feelings to a certain point, her face looking about the same as if someone's hit her on the back of the head with a board.

From the sands, Kenathan blinks, and all he can say, seeing that across the sands is, "Faranth. I'm glad I didn't enlist, the guard's going to be..." He tails off, not even noticing the green claim Ella. Eggs. More eggs. His eyes seek them out, looking *away* from the...unexpected.

"Yes, Yevide." G'thon's smile twitches, barely a falter, as he glances aside at Sakher. "Generally, if they're all well and able, they're permitted to feast briefly with the rest of us. I believe, personally, that the time spent on the sands makes a body hungrier - " Ah, then, the man from Nabol draws the old man's attention down again to the goings-on below. Chaos. A fleeing bronze. Fienne's questions ring in his ears, and he turns her way - but keeps his eyes on the sand - to reply her. "Not particularly, about Miniyal. A little, about - oh. Well. That might be some matter of difficulty." Jensen, he must mean.

K'rom nods, smiling at J'sek, "Yes, it does! Good choice. I think she'll be happy." A grin then as his eyes turn towards the bronze, the fallen captain of the guard and then the Impression. "Oh wow. Seems the bronze found a home too."

From the sands, Essdara edges away from Ella; it could be contagious. But she offers her an impish grin and a laugh, "Congrats! ANother pretty greenrider is always a good thing. Told you you'd appeal to them!"

"Very interesting," is the only attention Sakher gives the bronze's impression; Ella's is of more interest to him. "Ah, there is Ella, one of the ones I know. A green--she must be thrilled. I do hope," he notes toward G'thon, "that they are able to attend, however briefly. It'd not be a party without the guests of honor. But you were saying, sir?" he prompts for a finish to the former bronzerider's aborted statement.

From the sands, Sivoril murmurs a reply that is just as likely to be unheard as caught. "I wouldn't be so worried. From what I was told, they know where they are going and whom they are after, so even if t..." He falls silent. No need to go on, as the bronze apparently finds who he is looking for. Content that the little bit of drama was averted. Eyes are spun just in time to sidestep away from the approaching green as she enters the little group that he had been sharing with her partner, Rysia and himself. There is widened eyes once again, and the profanity is forgotten. Eyes flit towards others. Back towards the eggs. Back towards the new pairing. Others that he knows, still to come?

From the sands, R'vain points off the blue and his thickset new rider, then turns to look for more of the same sort of thing. Or rather, to check on that runaway bronze-- because if that would get taken care of without the dragon leaving the cavern it would help--

The Weyrleader realizes who it is, then, crumpled beneath that looming bronze. He laughs, sudden and loud and echoing, a noise ill-complimentary to the humming of the dragons. "Oh, that's-- precious," rumbles R'vain, and half-attentively starts off to help a new greenpair find their way off the sands, though he might be a little surprised by who that greenpair contains once he gets to them, all things considered.

From the sands, Reth pauses, absolutely still, and tips up her head to fix her Ella in that simply keen focus. Then, deliberately, she points her nose toward the woman's hip and pushes. Why yes, actually. She does.

From the sands, It's wide eyes indeed that Sehkrath finds on still-Jensen's face, open like his mouth a few inches down. There is no understanding, no instant clicking or sudden and complete rightness. There's just staring and a half-attempt still at getting away until he bumps into the stone wall behind him. No escape! "No, no. /No/," he tells the bronze creature firmly, once he gathers enough of his brain together to do so.

From the sands, Once the runaway bronze is impressed, Katriel spares a brief arch of her brow in surprise before the rocking of the gold egg draws a far more intent inspection.

A frown flickers over Fienne's high brow as Jensen falls, her attention completely on him then as the bronze comes racing toward him. Leaning forward she cringes, ready for those claws to go ripping by, but then... well thankfuly he stops. At the murmurs around her though the frown deepens, eyes darting to the men at her side. "Is it... did he... I mean, that's Jensen! He's not a candidate so..." she trails off, scooting to the edge of the chair she sits on as if being a few inches closer will make it all clear. "I know him too, but I didn't think to mention it," she murmurs, confusion still flickering. "And yes, a green for Ella, that seems about right I guess?"

J'sek glances over to where he had last seen the bronze flee as K'rom's comment earns his focus for a moment over the rest of the chaos on the sands. "He has?" the weyrling murmurs, craning his neck and head a little to see well after it's happened. "Well. So he has." And that seems to be J'sek's only comment on the matter, not knowing who exactly it is, but his attention now being drawn back to the remaining candidates and eggs.

From the sands, Ashwin, Morley and Vej each take a step forward involuntarily as their Captain goes down, and then as one, the three guards halt as the bronze hatchling stands over Jensen, Ashwin's arm coming up needlessly to signal the other two to stay back. The quiet Lieutenant has spent his turns at the weyr building a reputation for a stoic, carved-from-stone face. All his good work comes undone now, as his mouth falls open, and he simply stands, staring, stock-still.

From the sands, A fissure along one side splinters into a spinner's web of smaller cracks, and dark talons puncture the shell, shoving some shards away and dragging others within. The motion creates a hole big enough that a head and shoulders can push free. With several sharp jerks, the hatchling cracks the rest of the eggshell cleanly down the middle, and the newborn gold finds herself standing for the very first time.

From the sands,
Evening Sky Gold Hatchling
Gangly and awkward, this young gold will have to grow into her
pleasant features once youth lets go its hold. Silver-kissed headknobs
are short and round, coiled with spirals of sunset gold that splinter
off into smaller swirls, fractal-like. This deeper hue flows from her
triangular head, along her short neck, over her compact torso, and
down to the spade of her too-long tail. Eyeridges, a shade darker yet,
call attention to large, wide-set eyes. Across shoulders and dorsal
ridges there is a hint of lustrous orange, like the aura around the
setting sun. Dusk brushes her underbelly and inner legs, giving her
golden hide violet accents. Her paws end in black talons and her
wings, even when folded, are disproportionately large. When spread,
they reveal translucent golden wingsails that shimmer softly, and
smaller concentrations of paler pigment call to mind stars lazily
appearing.

From the sands, Miniyal spares a glance towards the bronze when the whispers and pointing make it obvious what's gone on. Shaking her head she stifles the quietest of chuckles and then looks around again to see what else is going on. "Huh. Interesting." Spoken quietly enough clearly she's talking to herself. Maybe crazy is contagious.

From the sands, Ella's the first grabbed from the little quartet (or is that a quintent), or so it seems. Offering a 'Congratulations' towards the girl from Tillek, Rysia is mostly glad she wasn't in the greenlet's way. "Well, they're a bit one-tracked when it comes to what they want, I'm thinkin'..." To Sivoril. The Weyrleader's reaction almost has her looking back again, but for the danger on the sands.

As someone bolts up in their seat in front of him, Neiran is required to stand to see what's going on near the entrance with the captain of the guard. With a mildly irritated expression, he quickly rises to his feet - and stands on the seat just to gain a proper height advantage. Seeing what's occurred, his almond-shaped eyes widen a margin, and he blinks. A frown draws the corners of his lips down as his eyes narrow once more. "This is highly unorthodox," he murmurs, to himself.

From the sands, The captain falls in the path of the bronze and Issa picks up her pace, kicking up little puffs of sand as she trots best as she can to catch up and (hopefully, somehow) prevent a foreseen mauling. "Captain," she calls, a bit breathless, as she comes into earshot, but, on nearing, the greenrider's pace slows and she takes measure of the hatchling. "Oh," she utters, staring blankly as she fights to get her mouth working, mumbling next, "nevermind then, I guess." Eyes travel up from the gooey bronze to the ex-captain's face. "They're kind of hard to deter, when they're that hungry, I find," she notes for him, nearing another few steps though she gives the little bronze his space. "What is it... J'sen, then? Come on, come on." And she beckons him up.

"Lexine," observes G'thon, mildly, "was neither a candidate, as I recall." So dry, and so minimal. Back to Sakher after a long moment considering the fallen (indeed) captain below, and the ethics instructor prompts, "I was saying - ?"

Reyce flicks a glance back over his shoulder, his head still lingering there after the cough. He raises a brow at Laelle's question, then answers, "Yeah," dragging it out for a second. In the end, though, he just shrugs it off uncaring, his own eyes returning to find Issa on the sands, tracking her course as she walks down the bronze. Crossing his arms over his chest, he watches her and ignores the recently hatched gold, though there are enough people around him who've noticed - and noted it loudly - that he couldn't possibly be unaware of her.

From the sands, "Oh." This comes from Roa right before a hand moves to cover her mouth as she watches the bronze barrel Jensen over and...are they...did he...The weyrwoman's shoulders begin shaking as her hand presses more firmly against her mouth and her blue eyes grow wider. She looks suddenly towards Ashwin and then back to the guard captain. "Oh no," she murmurs through her laughter. And then a little gold is on the sands and she stops to watch that happen.

From the sands, Essdara looks over at the bronze, and his new rider, and just gapes. "Jensen? Oh, shards. Tava's gonna /freak/!" She looks up at the galleries, as if trying to find that greenrider in the crowds. "A bronze no less. Well, that's gonna make things interesting." Who she's talking to isn't apparent, but then the gold is out and she is taking a long step back. "Your turn, Rys!"

H'kon does not try to make himself any taller, despite the commotion before him. Rather, the brownrider has closed his eyes, relying on the report from the dragon perched up on a ledge. A sharp giggle from one of the people in the row before himself and the healer draws him back to reality, with a creased frown to show for it. H'kon shifts, legs spreading a bit so that he takes up that much more room on the back bench alongside the healer, and he slumps down. Eyes close again; back to Arekoth-vision.

From the sands, /Now/ Katriel is looking somewhat less composed. The gold on the sands undeniably has the Holder girl's attention, her jaw setting as her gaze flickers uncertainly, almost assessingly, over the rest of the women on the sands.

From the sands, Ella lips press thinly and her hand lowers to pat pat the gooey top of Reth's head. "We're gonna have words, y'n'me. M'goin', a'ready." And she is, off the sands and intot he little cavern.

K'rom blinks and stares at who the bronzerider impressed. Jensen. My this will be interesting for the young greenrider who came here as a guard. "Oh wow. Interesting. The Captain...ummm, Jsensen is who the bronze impressed." Kie's voice is very neutral in saying that and he bites his lip. He stares and barely notices the gold hatching.

"You mentioned you weren't worried so much about Miniyal as--and that, sir, was as far as you got," notes Sakher, apologetically. "I believe we got you somewhat off-track, what with--" A hand waves vaguely toward the sands, and then he notes the gold. "Ah, you did have one. A very good clutch, in that case. Have you any bets, laid, either of you?" Sakher glances idly between G'thon and Fienne again.

From the sands, R'vain points Ella the right way wordlessly. The grin is good enough. Then Jensen's in Issa's capable care, and D'ven's back to his duties leading other pairs away-- and the Weyrleader, using his leather jacket to ineffectively mop sweat from his face, stalks back over to his bronze, to lean against a haunch and shake his head and belatedly realize aloud, "Oh, it hatched."

From the sands, Glancing up quickly - oh, another /person/ - Jensen has enough sense to give Issa a very, /very/ concerned look. Has she gone insane? This isn't really /happening/. "I don't... I can't..." Then he's giving Sehkrath a sharp glance, a tense knot forming between his eyebrows. Pulling his hands in and pushing with them, he manages to right himself and, standing, looks /down/ at the bronze. "It ain't me. It ain't." Then, to Issa again, "This can't happen."

From the sands, Cushioned atop a pile of sand, a large egg shakes itself free of the nest and goes tumbling down the steep sand slope. It crashes open at the bottom, yielding its bronze occupant overturned and on his back. Stunned, he lies there with his head thrown back and his limbs splayed, only the quickening red whirl of his eyes to prove that he survived the fall. With a sudden snarl, the bronze whips himself around and stands to face the candidates.

From the sands,
Implacable Imposing Bronze Hatchling
Box-headed, with deep-set eyes haunted in the shadow of his looming
ridges, and thick-bodied, with wide-sprung ribs and a heavy flank,
this bronze hatchling already shows the signs of immense growth yet to
come. His short neck digs into a thick chest, rung together by a
deepening gradient of bronze running from his shoulders to his
underbelly. High-set shoulders raise the line of his back, giving him
a looming presence and a juddering stride. Jagged ridges highlight
those lifted withers, bristling down his topline before they ease into
gentler bumps for the long stretch of his tail. His wings, too large
to sit right on his young body, hang over his haunches and obscure the
shifting undertones of green that make his rich bronze hide look worn
over the points.

From the sands, "Dara, if you push me in front of her, I /will/ hide all of your cookin' things. An' spread it that you've landed in' healer-care, unable to be kissin' /anyone/ for a good nine months or so..." Rysia semi-mock threatens, though her gaze is drawn to the golden hatchling like most of the others on the Sands. Well, but for a quick dart to the newest bronze. There is a sigh, before she adds, "Tialith and Ruvoth make the most strikin' hatchlin's....."

J'sek doesn't give K'rom his full attention, not right off anyhow, as the gold hatches. Eventually, however, he pulls his gaze away long enough to settle it on the other weyrling next to him. "Jensen?" J'sek echoes, before frowning a little bit. "Interesting isn't quite the word, I think..." he murmurs, once again distracted by the chaos below. "Another bronze." He calmly notes as if voicing a thought out loud.

Fienne shakes her head, that frown lingering, her lips pressed tight. "But... but... Jensen is my friend and he's the Captain of the Guard. And look - he's saying no. But I guess, I guess he doesn't get to pick does he?" She seems a bit more concerned about the whole situation than she really needs to be, little hands balle d into fists in her lap. Sakher's question is just enough to make her drag her eyes off of the bronze pair, newly hatched second bronze and gold completely missed. "Bets? Gosh, not me. Who has marks for that sort of thing?" Um, the two she's sitting with for starters. Realization of that fact dawns a beat too late and she clears her throat, a hint of color touching her cheeks again. "Er, that is, I've never seen a hatching either so I wouldn't even know how to bet." Sure.

"Ah, Miniyal. No; she is perfectly capable of watching out for her own - " Again, G'thon's efforts to describe his lover's capacity and his expectations for her is cut short by something interesting happening below. He pauses, smiling dryly, to allow Fienne's reply to wash over him. He adds his own: "I have not bet on a hatching since before I was weyrlingmaster. Not, in any case, with marks."

From the sands, Miniyal gives the new queen no more or no less of her attention than any of the other new dragons. She watches, curious, and eyes the people around her as if trying to link people and dragons together. Whatever thoughts she has are kept to herself, but she looks at one dragon and then another and then one person and then another.

Laelle's gaze seems to follow Reyce's, tracking the goings on around the bronze and his freshly chosen rider to the exclusion of the gold. For all that her eyes are focused on the sands, she says to Reyce. "Keep away from me, then." As if the invisible stone walls that delineate their boundaries of personal space could ever been penetrated, even by cold germs. "Was... was the Captain a candidate?" she asks with just a twitch of her brow.

From the sands, Sivoril is so very torn right now. Where does he focus his attention? Where does he look? He stands up on his tiptoes, trying to keep an eye on the unfolding situation with the ex-guard captain. He's not just curious for J'sen and Sehkrath, but as much for what the Weyr is going to do given the unforseen impression. Any thoughts as to how it might be handled are distracted by the sudden motion of the new bronze. There is a wince that cannot be hidden from him during the few seconds that the creature lies stunned, and a pause at the snarl. "I thought.." He mumbles. Whatever he thought though isn't going to be said. The Gold is seen and regarded, and he seems to be having trouble taking his eyes off the both of them. Wordlessly though, he extends a hand -- meaning to poke Rysia again. A quiet wish of luck, apparently.

From the sands, The little gold does not seem particularly mindful of the slime that dribbles off of her person. Instead she lifts her head, puffs her little chest and affects a posture that is intended to imply her fine and regal nature. Just now, however, she has about as regal an appearance as a young child playing in her mother's wedding gown. If she is aware, the gold gives no sign. Instead she begins to move towards the candidates, her wingtips digging furrows in the sand as they drag alongside her.

K'rom nods at J'sek, "Yes, very interesting indeed. Another bronze as well. Quite interesting." There's just the hint of an edge to hs voice, but his eyes follow the hatchlings and watches the cnadidates.

From the sands, Kenathan actually does look at the gold. He takes a moment to admire her, and then to murmur, "Rysia," under his breath. Then...he turns his attention to the bronze. "Poor thing. I hope he didn't bruise himself too badly stumbling like that." That's spoken more loudly, as if that is what he would rather have heard, regarding the young dragon.

From the sands, "They do at that." Dara agrees with Rysia - who she is oh-so-subtly keepig between her and the gold. "And y'get people drunk enough, they'll kiss anything." She cranes her neck a bit to look at the hatchling, "She'd suit you, you know. Neither of you can walk in a straight line without hurting yourselves."

"I don't believe there's any system to it, am I correct, sir?" Sakher glances to G'thon for confirmation, then back to Fienne. "At least, I have never heard of one. I don't bet myself, at least not on something so random. I like to have a hand in my luck," he notes with a grin, and an exaggerated wink, for the woman.

From the sands, "Can," Issa corrects Jensen with a tilt of her head, pale eyes studying him carefully. "Did." With a sharp nod, the greenrider shuffles a few steps closer still, stretching out an arm toward him that is still several feet from reaching him, her hand dropping into a soft wave for him to obey. "You'll sort it out," she assures him, adding with a sudden quirk of her soothing smile, "eventually. Now, you'll want to come with me so you can get that gnawing feeling out of your stomach."

From the sands, "She hatched," Roa agrees with R'vain before inching her way carefully towards the fallen captain-made-bronzerider as Tialith's humming increases with the little gold on the sands. The weyrwoman finds herself near Issa, peering down at Jensen, one brow quirked. "Hey," she offers, pausing to look back over at the sands before returning her gaze to Jen. "Listen to Issa. He needs to eat. You have to feed him."

J'sek simply nods towards K'rom. If he had noticed the edge in the other weyrling's voice, he doesn't show it or mention it. Not now, anyhow. Instead, he leans a little further forwards in his seat, still trying in vain to keep his attention on too many things at once.

From the sands, Jensen is already panicking. He needs no further help there. That doesn't mean he isn't getting it anyway. "Quiet," he murmurs, carefully, closing his eyes tight against all of this. Even when he does that the red eyes reflect in his head and the panic continues to rise. "Needs... somethin'." Somethin' he isn't really sure how to give yet. Watching Issa now, for guidance more than comfort, he finally opts to follows her, tossing an irritated, "This is /your/ fault," at Roa on his way. And, pausing, he looks back at Sehkrath. "C'mon then."

From the sands, Rysia acks slightly, then hisses, "Stop that. There's bein' a fine number of folks on the Sands, an' only the lass is knowin' her own mind..." she protests. "... an' that's not an encouragin' thought, Dara." She doesn't specify, however, on if she means the 'kiss anything if drunk enough' or the suitableness.

From the sands, R'vain notes Roa inching away and calls after, "Tell 'im it's an order," before returning his attention to the sands-- where it rests for only a moment. Suddenly the grin fades and the Weyrleader puts up his jacket over Ruvoth's foreleg. The bronze rumbles a low note of 'I am not furniture' that his rider pays no mind to-- the Weyrleader's turned away from the sands, back toward the wall of the cavern. Toward Ashwin.

From the sands, Katriel glances toward Rysia at the widespread encouragement the other girl is receiving, another of those assessing glances cast her way before she returns to watching the gold on the sands. And maybe some greens. No, she's mostly watching the shiny.

From the sands, Implacable Imposing Bronze Hatchling, still snorting sand out of his nostrils, lifts an imperious glance to the queen who hatched not far from him, watching egg goo drip from her. His own has made the sand stick to his body, coating the bronze in lighter tans, but at least he does not drip. Shaking his wings wide, he knocks off some of the sand (not bruised too badly, it would seem) before taking off after his golden clutchmate, stalking her line past the candidates from a good few strides away.

Instructed to keep away from Laelle, Reyce only gives a low grunt - he's already pretty far away, and certainly not inclined to move closer. "Think I know?" he mutters, watching the aforementioned Captain get a handle on himself and get up after Issa. Shifting his crossed arms, the Bendenite lets his attention wander away from him at that point, moving at last to look at that new gold. And, for Laelle's enjoyment, he draws another sniff.

From the sands, Ashwin is still standing at the foot of the stairs up to the galleries, and doesn't look much at all like a man on guard. He's got both hands laced together behind his head, and his mouth still slightly open. The Weyrleader's approach is not noted. Ashwin is busy tracing his Captain's - his former Captain's - path off the sands.

With a wrinkle of her nose, Fienne finally sits back in her seat, slowly uncurling her fists and wiping them absently on her skirt. "I guess he's going to be a dragonrider now, then." Yes, that is generally how it works. Her focus on this single event is evident, even to Fienne herself and she shoots a sheepishly apologetic smile to her companions. "I'm sorry. It's just... Jensen and I have been friends for a long time, back at High Reaches..." she trails off, then gives a little head shake, pulls on a brighter smile, and tries again. "I don't bet at all myself. I don't think I'd be...much good at it I guess?" Her smile wavers a bit in the face of Sakher's wink, a hint of blankness flickering in her eyes before she turns them back to the other hatchlings wandering the sands.

From the sands, Issa nods encouragingly at Jensen as he begins to walk, though the gesture has less of a placating air than it does when she addresses the younger Impressees. A glance back at Roa bring the gold hatchling into sight and when her eyes are brought back to the Weyrwoman, she ignores the new bronzerider's blame and utters urgently to Roa, "For all the... go. Watch." A flicked hand waves her away as she begins to lead Jensen across the deep sands to the arched entrance of the little waiting cavern. "Accusing the Weyrwoman isn't the way most start off," she notes as they make their way along, though the tone is more amused than an actual scolding.

From the sands, Sivoril is finally realizing the heat that by now has probably slightly burned his feet. Tolerating physical adversity was always one of his strong suites, but forgetting about it completely? Well, that is an entirely new level even for Sivoril. He actually steps away from Rysia and company in an effort to find a slightly higher and cooler bit of sand to stand on. Apparently, his search is in vain for he steps back to exactly where he came from; a hissing sound emerging from his lips. Now that he's noticed it, it's becoming a problem. Forcibly, he turns his eyes towards the searching gold and her bronze companion. Pay attention to them, not his own 'issues'. Yes, that is the thing to do. Standing on his right foot seems to help too.

From the sands, "Plenty encouraging to me! But, we can always both hope she picks someone else." Dara says, giggling. She points at Miniyal, "Niya, for instance. Can't you just imagine her as a goldrider? At least she'd finally know her purpose!" Her finger moves to Katriel, "Not her, though. She's too pretty to be a goldrider, seems to be golds don't like their riders kissing girls. So, green, for her." She moves closer to Rysia, though still carefully out of the gold's viewable area, using her friend as a bunker to hide behind.

Part Three