Hatching 49


Candidate's Barracks
Long and low, this large room angles back into the mountain in a near-perfect rectangle, devoid of windows and hearth. A functional room — the black volcanic rock has been painted with a cheerful mural, with the other walls painted in green and orange thoughtfully, before resuming the stark simplicity in the seemingly endless rows of cots that scatter back into the shadows. A small clothespress sits at the end of each puce-covered bed — yes, puce. Every cot sports a rather gaudy and obnoxiously purple cotton coverlet, leftovers from PranksPast. Boys to the right, girls to the left. Enjoy.
Hanging out on a long wooden shelf on the wall are ten firelizards.
You see CANDIDATE INFORMATION BOARD, Water on the Floor, Corona and Naela's Story, and A Mural here.
You notice Rusalochka, Kassim, and Mallory asleep here.
Ilidar, Pippa, Lendai, and Zian are here.
Obvious exits:

Hair the shade of burnished metal falls in ever-so-slight curls down about this youth's face, longer than his brother's, a little flip at the bottom giving the face a rounded look, slowly starting to become more defined as he matures, the features of adulthood starting to show. Hazel eyes look out on the world, surrounded by tanned skin, the result, no doubt, of an Istan upbringing. Tall, and slightly gangly, Zian appears to be in that awkward stage of just-about-grown that so plagues teenagers.
This bungled attempt at a robe seems to have suffered for being made on very little coin at the last minute (we can blame a sodden barracks, more suitable for lobster breeding than candidate occupation, for that). The material is white, at least, though faintly corrugated, and lashed around the waist with a white cord that is twisted into some sort of demented helix. The maker of this robe was most certainly NOT a good tailor.
He is a teenager of about 16. He is awake and looks alert.

Two small pigtails, composed of black hair, hang low on Lendai's head; swishing with every move of the girl's head, not a single hair being out of place. Almond-shaped, green eyes peer out under a curtain of wispy bangs that have been left to whip about. A rounded face with a pert, little nose gives off an almost cherubic appearance. She stands around four feet nine inches, give or take a few. At those awkward teenage years, Lendai still has a bit to grow. With both gangly arms and skinny, long legs; this girl is still pretty young but growing into a lady.
What was once old is now all new. A white candidate robe, from times past, is outfitted on young Lendai. From far away, she looks like any other candidate, though at closer inspection the garment looks as if it has had a total overhaul. A bad cleaning job riddles this robe, where white spots intermingle among the darker, dirtier gray. One particular stain rests down Lendai's midsection, the marking possibly reminding some of a lobster. The sleeves look particularly bungled and newly sewn on, one side a good couple inches longer than the other. The hem of the gown is quite short, almost to the point of indecency, if only because holes as large as coins are riddled about the bottom. Due to her skinny body, this candidate opted for a simple rope belt, twisted into a tight helix as it encircles her waist. The robe appears to have been a little too large for the lass, as the fabric folds onto itself where the rope meets fabric, appearing very corrugated.
A single cord, all in white, angles around into a single loop that declares Lendai to be a Candidate at Ista Weyr.
She is a teenager of about 14. She is awake and looks alert.

Savannah-wheat tresses cover this girl's head, spilling gently to her shoulders. The curls are large and abundant, topping over each other messily. Her nose slopes graciously between her almond-shaped irises. Her irises are the color of brown sugar and honey stirred together. Highly arched, very blonde eyebrows reside above her eyes. Her face has thinned out, loosing some of its baby fat, as has her limbs and torso.
A well made robe hangs from this girls shoulders. A practiced hand at sewing has included helix-style curves for a woman's body and even a corrugated seam at the bottom, sleeve and neck holes. One shoulder is slightly lower than the other, where Corona has bungled the top edge. In an effort to learn a new skill, Corona has stitched a coin pocket to the inside of one hip, evidenced only by a square of white stitches on the outside. The only problem with this nicely done robe is the length. It's a little too short for public wearing, leaving Corona's face red as a lobster.
She is a young adult of about 23. She is awake and looks alert.

Ebony ringlets set the stage for a thin, tanned face. Her nose slopes out to a point, looming over full rose lips. Dusky eyelashes frame near-black pools that settle in her almond-shaped eyes, with just a hint of deep cocoa tracing timidly along her dark pupils. Her skin is swarthy and grows darker along the back of her long neck and angular shoulders. Despite her best efforts, lankiness cannot be belied; she is tall and slight of frame with knobbly joints and tenuous limbs.
Pristine alabster falls in delicately corrugated pleats from a wide neckline, stretching from shoulder to shoulder. Twisted helixes form the rough straps that hold the garment onto the aforementioned gaunt shoulders of the young woman. Only one bungle seperates this robe from one that would be coined from a professional: a jumpy hem along the edge that skims along her knees. Her sandals are thick-soled and wooden; the straps are woven over the tops of her feet, a final delicate braid criss-crossing up her ankle and held in place by a roughly hewn lobster claw clasp.
She is a young adult of about 20. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Ilidar is tall for his age, standing about 6 feet. His limbs are always longer than his torso, leading to a spindly figure. He has a mass of shaggy, curling black hair that he keeps with a bowl-cut. His facial features are pleasing enough, and are less harsh than most of the other men some comes across. From the days he has spent at and around Ista, he has built up a nice tan, which is something that looks odd and out of place with his eyes; they are light greyish-blue and seem to belong to the pale complexioned, easily burned, living-in-the-north-and-loving-it type of man.
The hems of his tunic seem to have been sewn and let back out many times, probably to account for rapid growth. This gives him a rather shabby, patchy look - as if he were raised at the bottom of the wealth spectrum. His shorts are almost new from the looks of it, but are somewhat faded. His tunic is a light beige, with a few stains here and there. However, in perspective, his clothes seem to be the only remotely modest thing about him. A bronze firelizard is perched on his shoulder.
He is a teenager of about 17. He is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Coltish and awkward, unsettled in the rough seas of puberty's willy-nilly changes, a strapping young body begins to emerge from the gentle largesse of childhood: arms and legs suddenly inches longer than seems necessary, torso grown longer and trimmer. Formerly ink-dark and lankly straight, the glossy undertones of darkest, direst brown emerge, cheerfully spiteful and curling, wild and mischievous as it falls to frame a face quietly masculine, if not compellingly handsome. Vivid brownish hazel eyes are shadowed by thick eyebrows and long lashes, while his nose turns up, just slightly, at its blunted tip. High and rounded, his cheekbones and stubborn, square chin frame a soft, full lipped mouth that seems to quiver on the edge of a smile.
How he managed to bungle so simple a thing as a robe shall forever remain unknown. There are coin sized holes along one corrugated sleeve. The belt ends hangs like a lobster's tail, twisting into a helix.
He is a teenager of about 14. He is awake, but seems rather distracted.

Awkward girlishness in one very lanky package, this teen's presence is boding well for a more striking figure come adulthood. Her hair gives testament with untamed locks of coiled dark sorrel, highlighted to a reddish rust through nature's sun-lightening. Those wind-blown curls of hers descend to brush well past her shoulders, wild as ever, and near to overpowering her distinctly willowy appearance. Dramatic angles cut the line of her hawkish nose, slash high with cheekbones, and bring her chin to an impish point. With irises the color of a pale sea green, this teen's eyes are rimmed with thick lashes and bridged by dark brows. Her olive-hued skin is made even darker by an active life spent outside, leaving her tanned by Ista's tropical sun. Gangly movements seem to characterize her tall form, as if this teen isn't quite used to her latest growth spurt.
Adorning only one of her ears is a simple hoop earring. It is rather small, but sturdy, and glinting gold.
She's a candidate, which given her current attire is pretty much well a given. So yes, that'd be a traditional candidate's robe dressing her form. Sleeveless for a reason, knots about the size of half-mark coins top her shoulders, bringing the white cloth together as simple straps. Knotted as it is, it leave her neckline as something of a corrugated V, the cloth folding and ribbling over her chest. Helix-woven rope of cloth draws about her waistline, bringing the cloth of the robe close to her form. Alas, it looks as though she has managed to bungle the hemline that flirts about her calves, a tad uneven and bit loose. The sandals used to keep her feet from the worst of the hatching sands are made of thick hide straps, almost lobster-like in appearance and leaving her toes to peek through.
Pippa is wearing the knot of an Ista Weyr Candidate. She is wearing a silver and gold braided chain Dolphincraft bracelet with the Senior Apprentice charm.
She is a teenager of about 17. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.

While not of a looming height, Denalia is by far lanky and tall for a woman; long legs and nimble, stretched limbs make her appear even taller than she actually is. Every feature about the young woman is delicate, but forced into a disposition opposite such. What could be locks of beautiful golden length are chopped to a mere finger-length, except for a small but long braid hanging against the side of her face. A petite nose and rosy lips are mocked by the intense, hard expressions they bear, and the pudginess of youth is aged by wrinkles of frustration and tightness, worsened by a heavy tan that makes her freckles pop out even more on her face. Even the elegance of her limbs are brought upon with muscles unlike that of a respectable lady; the girl looks strangely masculine, but, even in her lack of femininity, she still carries a charming sparkle in her warm, klah-hued eyes.
If you only had enough coins to buy yourself a rucksack made of wherry-hide, this is what your robe would end up looking like — and its wearer doesn't seem to mind her shape, either; the plain, murky white fabric is so corrugated with wrinkles that its obvious is spent it's entire candidacy in a ball tucked between her mattresses. From top to bottom it's a bungle; the bottom especially. The bottom hem is so frayed and uneven, it appears like little lobster claws clomping about her knees, and the straps? Oh dear, the straps holding the whole thing on are so twisted into helixes that they don't even appear like straps.. Unless you realize that, with the whole thing hanging off her one shoulder, she really, really… just doesn't care.
It's white. It's round. It's a knot! Of Ista Weyr candidacy. Huzzah!
She is a teenager of about 14. She is awake and looks alert.

Sin is not actually here; that is, she is somewhere. Actually present in the barracks, looking a decided mix between proud and nervous, is her bronzeriding Igenite uncle. M'riel's spine straightens at some message relayed from Shaestorath, and his hands come together. "Candidates!" he booms, then starts grinning, irrepressable in his excitement. Beneath him, around him, around /all/ of them, the very air thrums. "The eggs have begun to move. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill. Everyone, in your robes, lined up against the wall — don't panic!"

Zian has been struggling to try and find the neck hole of his ill-fitting robe since Lanti kicked them out of the galleries with orders to get changed. He finally sticks his head through the correct gap in the fabric. "Uh… I'd actually quite like to panic if I can…" he says, raising his hand, and hopping towards the wall while trying to find the arm hole for his right arm (now that he's conquered the neck).

Corona jumps skittishly, even though she knew it was coming. "Oh dear Faranth!" She is just finished getting dressed, but the bottom hem of the stupid robe doesn't seem to be in the right place…. She tugs at it again, eyeing Sin in a frantic fashion. "Oh no! My robe!" She tugs at it some more, her face turning red, and her eyes beginning to well up with tears. "It's too short!" The bottom hem is quite high on her thighs, risking revealing her underwear if she isn't careful.

Denalia was still trying to get that gosh-darn paint out of her hair… That is.. without taking out Lendai in the process. It would make her oh-so-happy if she could take Lendai out, knock out some teeth, turn that pretty smile into Bitran trash—but.. She'll wait until /after/ the Hatching. She has to at least stick it out, see if she can steal one of Istan's dragons for High Reaches own — wouldn't that make her mommy proud! But the yelling about it not being a drill snaps her to her feet, and the lobster-cut, helix-shouldered, corrugated wrinkly, cheap ol' robe is shoved over her head, and she's at the end of her bed standing-to so fast that you never knew that the red-paint haired girl was even doing anything else before Sin entered.

"This is not a drill," the bronzerider repeats, in his best parade-grounds voice. This makes up for his dragon being a shiny-sided nancy boy. No, really.

Ossia is all too calm as she makes her way into the barracks, neatly folded white robe in one arm, pressed to her side. Through the din, she makes her way to her own little spot and deftly replaces her current outfit with the labor of her love for the last few weeks: her robe. "Eggs," she says grimly, noding once sagely.

Lendai is still rubbing her face clean with a wet rag as she moves into the barracks, her hands full of robe, rope, and sandals. "I think it's mostly off. Stupid Denalia. I swear, if Lanti wouldn't have come at that moment…" She most likely would've gotten her butt handed to her. But better not to think about that. "Heeey, she's not a candidate." Sin is looked at and then Lendai jumps as the 'rider speaks. "Not a drill? So… wait. That means they really /are/ hatching? I thought Lanti just wanted to see what we looked like in them!" That's what Lendai would want, at any rate. The robe is placed down and her clothes are quickly shed. Just as well, since the top of her favorite dresss is also covered in red paint. "Shoot! Corona!" A look is sent towards the other girl. "Girl, that looks cute. I like how short it is!" And, oddly enough, Lendai's is equally as short. The rope belt is placed around her waist and tied nice and tight. "I feel like such a dork!" Sandals are next and Lendai is almost, almoooost ready.

Pippa strips down and then struggles into her robe, wrapping a woven rope about her waist to give it some sort of form. A tug here and there, feet shove into sandles, and we are all ready to go. Her toes wiggle to get comfortable, and then she glances over towards the others. "Well, its fardling about time they started hatching." A glance is cast Lendai-wards and the teen pipes up over the chatter and squawking. "Oi, you'd look fine in a tuber sack, girl. It's good."

Mallory is also getting ready! Yes, he is. The boy awkwardly gets into his robe and struggles with the sandals. But unlike all the silly girls, wall of which get a well placed eyeroll, he does it nice and quietly.

Corona looks somewhat less aghast at her mistake when Lendai compliments her robe. She gives a wobbly smile at the other girl, turning towards Sin and M'riel, waiting to go to the sands with something akin to composure. She ruins the look by tugging at the bottom of the robe.

Sin straightens up from her slouch against the Hatching Sands' entrance, where she's been watching the sands themselves. M'riel looks back, and she gives a signal — which has the bronzerider clapping his hands again. "Okay. This is is. Walk out, bow to Dedanseth and Shaestorath, and then form a loose circle around the eggs. You are allowed to hold hands if it suits you — but remember. Don't panic."

Hatching Grounds Entrance
The imposing height of this tunnel is a mere shadow of the cavern beyond. Worn smooth by time and touch, the walls and floor reflect turns of passage by candidate and observer alike, dusted gently by a smattering of coarse black sand; heat and excitement are palpable here as well, cooled somewhat by the breeze that filters in from the bowl. Broad, shallow stairs sweep up to the galleries for more general observation, while a broad, lower tunnel leads towards the sands themselves.
Gliding about is a green firelizard.
Sin is here.
Obvious exits:
Sands Galleries Bowl

Hatching Grounds BROADCASTING
The heat here is stifling, encompassing, swallowing mind and hazing sight into waved oblivion. Sparkling, coarse black sand simmers with volcanic urgency underfoot, its hillocks and dunes arranged to queen's liking; reflected light filters in, offered not even perceived respite. When empty, the vault of this cavern is hushed, still that echoes and rebounds; when occupied, it is intensified. Currently the sands are filled with the visions of Shaestorath and Dedanseth's offspring (more commonly referred to as eggs). The echoes bounce and multiply, giving life to this heated environment.
Gold Dedanseth is here.
You see Mound of Eggs, I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Egg, Tragic Story of an Orphaned Septuplet Egg, White as Driven Snow Egg, Fastest Dragon EVER Egg, Tale of a Spurned Lover Egg, Stud Muffin Egg, Thread Thread Go Away Egg, and All-Time Biggest Egg here.
N'ano, Lanti, Martin, D'baji, Sin, Pippa, Lendai, Mallory, Ossia, Denalia, Ilidar, and Zian are here.
Obvious exits:

D'baji is just here to lend a hand to the sorely under-staffed Weyrling program. And so he's wandering along the edge of the sands, occasionally offering a smirk N'ano-wards, occasionally checking on the eggs and the clutch parents.

A rider at one end, a rider at the other, there's a long line of nervous candidates that stream in from the Hatching Sands' entrance. As one, they bow to Desanseth, they bow to Shaestorath, and then spread out in a ring around the eggs. Breaking from the white-clad ranks, Sin and M'riel move off toward the clutchparents, et al, the greenrider mopping her brow with a towel.

Iz'ak is just hanging out by the barrels of meat prepared for when the eggs start a-rockin'. Wait, they're already rocking. That's for when they've done hatching. Not that he doesn't look excited…he /always/ looks excited. At hatchings.

Lanti nods to N'ano on her way towards the assembled weyrlingmaster staff, greets D'baji, then stops next to T'orq and exchanges a quiet word. Bonding of clutchmates. Aww. The whispering stops as M'riel leads the candidates to the sands. A couple of those filing in get a harder look than the others, but Lanti doesn't comment. Dedanseth, however, is full of comments. First, a snort as the white-clad skinny things bow. Then a thrum that with a little more volume would definitely be considered a growl. Let the games begin.

"Knock 'em dead, Zian! I'm counting on you, boy!" How's that for inspiration? It must suck to have one's father on the sands, or more in particular, N'ano. "Corona! Gold, girl. Gold! You can do it!" Again. What's this, #2? 3? For now, N'ano leans against a wall, arms propped up while one ankle crosses over the other. So cool, so casual.

Fastest Dragon EVER Egg shakes some more… and more… and rolls? Well, no, it was more like a pivot, if eggs can do that.

With a deep breath, Lendai moves out onto the sands, her eyes instantly going up to the ceiling. Yeah, there will be no falling on top of her today, kay thanks. The bow is finished up and this teen heads instantly to Corona and gives her a death grip. "Can I stay near you? Please. I need /someone/ to, y'know, stick around." An evil glare is sent towards Denalia. "And to keep /her/ away." Hiiiss. "I don't think I'm ready for this, Corona! Not at all." A look is sent towards the galleries. "My mom had so better be up there." Or else!

Pippa follows right on along with the others, looking much akin to a herd of bovines or something along those lines. She putters along, kicking the sand out from between her sandals. Seriously, all of those grains that get in there can be really, really annoying. Bow over and all that formal stuff, she sets up to stand. Yes, stand. Not much else you do out here. "I thought they said they were gonna start hatchin' now?" she asks nobody in particular.

White as Driven Snow Egg thuds.

Yeah. No pressure, dad. None at all. Zian's eyes find where N'ano is, or at least where his voice came from and he tries to grin confidently, but it's honestly the heat of the sands that's making Zian sweat like that. "Well yeah…" he says to Pippa. "Eggs wiggling, dragons… making noise… looks like a hatching to me."

Sin doesn't acutally have a reason to be on the sands, as she is neither a clutchparent-rider nor weyrling staff. But here she is none the less, as she moves (mirrored by M'riel) to stand behind Lanti, and comment on the candidates.

Mallory moves out onto the sands, following the rest of the candidates. He does the bowing thing as well and then moves over towards a group of candidates and just watches the eggs as they start to move. His hands move up to his hair and start to braid one lock nervously.

Denalia sticks to herself. Who needs /her/. And she doesn't need anyone else, either! But who gives a heck? This is her moment.. And, she waves up to the galleries all pissy-like, marching over to her position, and stands, hands behind her back, all guard like, staring out at the eggs… All serious like. Now, they need to start hatching. Like now, yeah.

Corona bows quickly, using both hands to hold down the back of her waaaay too short robe. She moves towards Lendai automatically, reaching out to link arms with the girl. "/Please!/" She half-shouts to be heard over the general noise. She gives a brave smile towards N'ano, quickly picking him out, even if the general hum doesn't let her quite pick out what he's said. "Oh Faranth, Lendai, this is it!" She shouts to the girl on her other side, using the free hand of her linked arm to tug at her hem. She wiggles a bit, trying to keep her feet from the inevitable hot sands. "Zian?" She calls questioningly, her voice wavering with worry. "Zi, where /are/ you?" Don't leave her, you could get hurt out of her sight like this.

I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Egg gives a mighty shake and cracks open! Or no. No. Just shakes and then sits still.

It doesn't take long before Stud Muffin Egg gives an obvious rock. It teeters on the edge of its little nest of sand, then settles back down. No, that won't do. What if everyone missed it? There's a bump. Then a jump. The pow! The egg topples end over end, and four tiny blue legs poke their way through. Oh, he's totally messing up his entrance. Come on, come /on/… And with a loud crack, the little blue frees himself from his egg and swaggers (it's not a stumble, honest) towards a young boy from the Weyr. With the widest blue eyes any boy could possibly have, tiny Telemachus falls to his knees. "Argeiphonteth!" he calls out! Or it would be. More of a squeak. T'ach will do better next time.

Ossia follows closely out of the bow, pink rushing to her cheeks in a blush as she looks towards the growing crowds in the Galleries. "At least they're doing something," she mentions to Pippa's complaint, motioning absently at the Fastest EVER egg. "Thank Faranth for wood soles," she sighs happily, noticing candidates already affected by the heat.

Ilidar follows, trips on the "robe," and almost takes a nose dive. Does that count as a bow? He gets up and tries again. That was better. Yeah. Sexy. Riiiiight. Good thing this isn't a catwalk, isn't it? "Waiiiit up!" Almost a yell, but not really. Think fast, think fast! Uuuummm, over there… right? Zian? Zian seems to know what's going on. Yes, that way, that way

D'baji is the first to wave the tiny blue and his tiny new rider over, revelling, just a little, in the return to Weyrlingmaster-type duty. And so it's off to the meat to feed the little Argeiphonteth. While listening to T'ach's squeaky exchanges with his new lifemate.

Iz'ak jumps at the sudden impression, and hurries over to lead T'ach and Argeiphonteth off to the side to start filling the blue's belly.

Fastest Dragon EVER Egg is hit by a shard. A shard that STABS its SHELL. So not cool. And then…?

Fastest Dragon EVER Egg breaks into… just three shards? Like a bear emerging from a winter hibernation, wings stretch methodically while neck cranes and maw yawns. Is it really that time already? Suppose he's gone for quite some time without any real nourishment which is why hunger prevails, sending this small brown on a conquest throughout the white-clad candidates. Hi. Feed me.

Oo-de-Lally Brown Dragonet
Nutmeg and ecru quilt a delicately softened maw, curving to a plumper cheek and a gently accented pair of headknobs. Those warm colours deepen, twisting with coffee and malt along the broad neck and shoulders of this dragon, sweeping into the bear-brown along his belly. He's average-sized, but heavy muscle condenses 'neath the deepening malt and russet tones of his stout haunches and hind legs. That tail darkens at the spade with shadows of cobalt, masking to the eye how broad and wide it really is. Wingspars are sturdy, stretching the heavy drape of sail between them and its here where there is finally some sheen on that hide, caramel and honey flecking through the underscored rich browns. Often hidden beneath the loose swathe of wingsail is a handspan of parchment-pale hide that worries for more oiling. His paws are larger than most, rounded and plump, with heavy dark padding on their undersides.

Lendai has to stop herself from hugging Corona. She really, really does. But she'll hold face, since hey, people are watching her. Following her fellow candidate's movement, she also tugs at her robe, as well as trying to smooth out the crinkles and what not. "I wish I could've gotten a newer one." A stain is picked at, but there is nothing she can do about it now. Clenching her eyes shut, Lendai takes a biiig breath and lets it out. "It is, Corona. It is." Are those tears? Maybe! "Ohfaranth! One hatched already? But… but…" She watches the blue and his rider walk away.

Pippa isn't convinced until one of the eggs finally does hatch and pop out a dragon. "Oh, aye… there is is." Now its for real. She flashes a glance over to Ossia, giving her something of a rather open stare. "Oh, wood-soled shoes. Why didn't I think of…" If this whole thing ever happens again, that's totally the way to go.

Zian tugs awkwardly at the waist of his robe, his eyes on the eggs… but Corona's yelling comes to his ears, and he backpeddles to her side. "Honestly, Corona, no need to scream. It's not the end of the world." Although, the way their candidacy has gone… no. Best not think about it. "I mean it's… oooh…" And then he's completely distracted by the sudden and startling appearance of the dragonets. "Woah…"

Tragic Story of an Orphaned Septuplet Egg gives a little shudder. It is /so/ difficult being out on the hot sands…and the inside egg is getting kind of hot…and…if only eggs had tear ducts! This is just /so/ /hard/.

Ilidar blinks. And blinks again. And once more. "Are they supposed to be that… weird?" So says the guy without Hatching-experiance. And maybe a bit too loudly, as well. Oh dear, it's moving. This might not be good.

White as Driven Snow Egg is biding its time, occasionally giving a little thrump-thrum-shimmy; it does not roll, no indeed, but it certainly rocks.

Corona squeezes her brother's hand with her left, her nails coming perilously close to piercing skin. "You could get lost out here! Stay close." That's worry, not reprimand making her voice so sharp. She clutches tightly at Zian, watching one dragonet already off the sands and another freshly hatched. "Whoa, this is /way/ too fast!" She dances, both from the heat and nerves, and of course, the revealingly short length of her dress.

Now that things are really underway, Dedanseth seems to be just fine with the situation. She croons to the tiny blue as he scurries away with his new lifemate. Lanti goes so far as to /smile/. She glances back at Sin and M'riel. "Always figured blues were lucky."

Mallory also watches as the newest bluerider walks off. "Shards." He exclaims, hands now starting on another braid. Moving over towards Ilidar, he starts shuffling a little. "Yeah, they are." He shrugs at the other boy. "They're just babies."

"Ow, ow… seriously, 'Rona… ouch. Not so tight." Zian daren't try and pull his hand free from his sisters, since she might, you know, tear it off with that death grip she's got going. "I'm not getting lost. Not gonna run of either, so, stop your fretting." Because Zian's just the image of absolute calm here, the way his eyes are darting to and fro, going from one miniature dragon to the next, the way he's biting his lip.

Ossia's scrutinizing eyes find the first dragon to break shell and pair off fast enough. "Already one down. Kinda small, though, I think," she comments blankly to no one. The fresh brown dragonet catches her attention, but she merely nods absently. "Yep. Brown." In case no one notices.

Oo-de-Lally Brown Dragonet is too tired for this. There's so many of them and—well it's the weyrlingmasters who have the food, right? Maybe, just maybe he should creep that way instead. Impressions are over-rated after all.

Pippa glances over to Ilidar, "Weird, maybe? Call it more eccentric." Because that is kinder. Maybe. She bobs her head once and then shuffles once again, hands coming down to fluff her robe. Fluff. And again for good measure. "And babies are never ugly. Well, after you get the gunk off of them and such."

"Blue's the way to go," Sin says, as she turns to the side to accept a palmed mark. She is most /assuredly/ smiling, though the expression is vaguely creepifying, as always. "And a brown — looks like the nancy-boy's not shooting /all/ blanks," she crows, this time down the line and M'riel, who looks vaguely mortified.

"A brown, a brown!" Lendai points furiously. "It's a brown, and before was a blue." She tries her best not to hyperventilate. "They were never this quick when I watched from the galleries! Never." Breathing never seemed so hard as it does now. "I'm… I'm almost scared." Corona's hand gets a death-squeeze. "Ziiiiian!" She whines to the boy as well, because, darnit, he's there! "Be all manly and protect me, okay?" What from, Lendai hasn't a clue!

I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Egg gives a shudder and flexes, ready to burst open at any moment! But…it doesn't. It sits and sits…I can't believe it's not hatching!

"Well, that ones a looker." Sure is. The brown gets a good look, but Deni hardly moves, standing firm as she clasps her hands behind her back, and stares at the eggs with such a firm stare.. And well.. Almost pissed looking. Lendai gets that Evil Evil Evil Evil glance here and there, but she does her best to keep it to herself, waiting for this to get /overwith/. But bronze not impressing first? Bad omen, especially when Thread has begun falling again. At least it's not a green… Hmph.

White as Driven Snow Egg jumps, jives, and wai— no, wait. Nevermind.

D'baji may or may not have seen the passing of the mark down Sin's way. Either way, after glancing to the woman, the weyrleader looks at his feet for a few paces before going back to watching the general series of events on the sands. Follow the brown.

"Always thought babies were weird. But once you get all the gunk off, they cry and throw up and are…" Ilidar gives a visible shudder. Yes, finally! The reason! This is why Ilidar is a boy. Fancy that. "Is that a… brown? A purple? A… rainbow?" Maybe he isn't as sober as he claims to be. Another egg is dancing! Oooh, an encore?

Lanti snorts lightly at Sin's comment. "Now /that/ would have been embarrassing. Eight empty eggs." She's distracted as the brown dragonet starts moving. She glances over the remaining candidate, shakes her head once, then wipes the back of her neck with a handkerchief. "Don't suppose anyone brought wine. Been stuck here all day." Must have missed Gai'us.

Corona clings to her brother, even more so than Lendai. Actually, with that comment, she untangles her arm from Lendai to swat at her. "Hey! That's my /brother/, girl!" She wraps her arms through Lendai's again, pulling tight to the other girl. What a picture they make - side by side with mini-dress robes and legs all the way down to the sands….

Zian leans forward to peer around Corona and stare at Lendai, momentarily distracted from the noise and general goo. "What?! Protect you? You mean if there was some sort of mysterious… thing…" He tries to gesture, but Corona still has his hand in her merciless grasp. "You'd want me to stand between you and it? Are you CRAZY? Why in Faranth's name would you not be running? Although, hey… thanks for the manly comment. Much appreciated." He tugs on Corona's hand. "Come on… we should move closer."

I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Egg quivers and shivers. It wavers and wobbles. It creaks and cracks. With a final crash like the drop of a dragonweight by a bodybuilder who can no longer hold the weight, the bronze egg cracks right down the middle of the abdominal coloration. Half of the egg flies to the right and the other half to the left, and Because Good Is Dumb Bronze Dragonet emerges, flexing his wings and neck like Mr. Pern.

Because Good Is Dumb Bronze Dragonet
Oxidized bronze dapples the whipcord-thin neck and limbs of this dragon, so dark as to be almost blue-black in splotches. Little is delicate or refined about him, except perhaps his natural form of motion, which is perhaps surprisingly intentional. His hide is perhaps stretched too thin over parts of him, his aquiline nose and narrow, curved-back headknobs are dipped in tarnish, only his jowls and under-throat fading to a bright, almost red copper. Even the tip of his muzzle and bottom jaw are dipped in the inky darkness, lending a sinister appearance, which might have been avoided with so simple a feat as lighter coloration. Color dribbles darkly along his spine, feet and talons so dark they look nearly gloved. Almost in rebellion to tradition, his wingsails dip darker than any other portion of his hide, more than just reminiscent of a black cloak flying in the wind. Neckridges and the very tip of his tail resemble the red-bronze of his jaws and underbelly, though tail tucked under a wing and his chin pulled in tight, the bronze would virtually disappear in the dark.

Oo-de-Lally Brown Dragonet is really just too tired for all of this. It's seriously time to just head back to his—shells. Broken. Shattered. Drat. Okay, so a candidate it is. But which? They're all so… unremarkable.

Mallory lets out snort, shaking his head. And yeah, his hands still braid-away as he fidgets on the sands. Hot! "Well, babies will be babies." Is all he remarks, his eyes peering at the latest two dragonets on the sands. "A brown and a bronze. Hmm." His nervousness starts to show more and more and poor Mallory shuffles closer to Pippa and Ilidar.

Ossia watches the brown and chuckles darkly as he turns away from the row of Candidates. "Guess he's rather smart, really," she adds into the din. "Babies /are/ kinda freaky," she replies to Ilidar, canting her head to the side as the bronze appears. "He seems, you know… not so nice."

There is a loud, undignified whoop from M'riel as a bronze is hatched, and the /distinct/ possibility of some sort of rude gesture passed between him and his weyrleader-banging niece Sin. Something that sounds like, "-uck it, weyrbrat," comes from the bronzerider, before he straightens up again, and beams proudly out over the sands. His boy spawned a bronze.

Pippa eyes Mallory as he shuffles closer. Just as long as he doesn't bite, everything is all good. "Oh wow, a bronze now." Stating the obvious once more. That's a girl! Ossia's comment is given a grin, "Especially if they have wings and talons like that."

"Shards, that's gonna cost me," Sin mutters, in the meantime.

Tragic Story of an Orphaned Septuplet Egg quivers and shudders a little more. If only its mommy were here to look after—oh…wait…she is. The egg turns and quivers again, giving a jump and, with super-egg power, knocks itself free of its mound and begins rolling…and rolling!

"Hey, I only speak the truth." Most of the time. "And I think after a few turns, you'll be super beefy, Zian." Lendai giggles out, obviously a mass of nerves. She ducks away from the swipe, but quickly re-clings to her sands-buddy. "You know, we look really good looking, Corona." Her robe is once again smoothed out, Lendai almost trying to ignore the fact that there is a hatching going on around her. "And, Zian, it's more heroish to throw yourself in front of someone. Like… me." Dooo iiiit.

White as Driven Snow Egg quivers and shakes, then shudders.

Ilidar nods to Ossia. "I wonder if he bites?" Does he really want to know the answer to that question? I don't think he'd be willing to sacrifice a limb to find out. "Wooah, is that egg okay?" he lurches to the side, looking from a different angle at the rolling egg. "Are they supposed to do that?" The question seems to be out in the middle of nowhere, but it's supposed to be directed towards Corona.

Because Good Is Dumb Bronze Dragonet straightens up with a little bugle of a call and looks around, blinking sparkling eyes and focusing at last on the little sea of white before him. He stretches his wings out to either side, flapping them to shake them free of the clutches of the damp, dark prison he has been kept in so long, and uses them to balance as he wobbles toward the group of white…things.

"Is this another 'dumpy' remark?" No, Zian still isn't over that early-candidacy slight. "Besides, in all those ballads, aren't the heroes the ones who die tragically young? Not a good example, Lendai!" Hysteria… maybe. Eggs, rolling, little dragons with claws, and nervous excitement and Lendai going on about saving her. "Hey! Look at that brown! Isn't he gorgeous!" Quick. Change the subject.

Corona tugs at the bottom of her robe with Lendai's compliment. "We do, but my robe is way shorter than yours." Mini-skirt style. She fidgets, dancing in place and holding tight to her two favoritest people in the world. She shrugs her shoulders at Ilidar's question, answering just because she's been on the sands before and seen many a-hatching. "No, they're supposed to break…" Her nails press deeper into Zian's hand, "He is very pretty." Pretty like Corona and Lendai. So she likes that. "Pretty is good."

Oo-de-Lally Brown Dragonet climbs a small mound of shards shed by his fellow clutchmates, stretching his neck in attempt to touch one of these white-robed creatures as if reaching across an ocean to a far away island. Balancing, unfortunately, is not this young brown's forte. He falls, rolls, and comes to a stop at a particular blonde-haired candidate's feet. Attempting to upright himself is another story, and the quick shove of his muzzle up her robe is certainly an accident, but it gives him enough sense to know this is The One; My Corona.

Lendai gaps at the rolling egg, "Is it /supposed/ to do that?" She just stares in complete awe. She's never seen an egg actually roll before. "You're even less dumpy than you were back then, Zian." Pfft, she just shakes her head at the boy. "And… they don't /all/ die tragically young! Just… some. At least in the good stories. You'd be sung about forever!" She's trying to joke, really, but even her own voice wavers. This is just too tense for this girl. Trying to concentrate on anything else then the dragons around her, she leans down to better inspect Corona's robe. "I think you're right." Her own is eyed, and then back to Corona's. "Yeah. Yours is."

Denalia eyes the other candidates with her nose in the air. I don't like you, you don't like me, stay /away/. She sidles off to the side, and rolls her eyes. Especially at /Lendai/. She is /such/ a /wuss/. And, Denalia cares so much about her well being that she wanders even farther away from the main candidate group, but then /Corona/ impresses. She doesn't mind the girl… But she stopped Deni from beating up Lendai! Pfff. Rubbing her red-dyed hair, she looks about and shrugs. "Grats…" she mutters all… eyerollish.

Ossia instinctively takes a step back from all that /rolling/. "That can't be healthy," she sighs tragic egg-ward, but shrugs. "I guess we will merely have a very dizzy dragon on our hands when it hatches." Which may or may not be a good idea as far as maulings go. As the tired brown finds Corona, Ossia gives a rare whoop. "Congratulations… I think," she calls out, peering down the line.

White as Driven Snow Egg is bored. La.

Mallory watches the bronze closely as he hopes from foot to foot. The other candidates are still noted, but he falls into quietness. However, as Corona impresses, he does speak up again. "Way to go, Corona!" And then falls back into being quiet.

Tragic Story of an Orphaned Septuplet Egg rolls right toward some of the candidates to one side, actually rolling over the foot of a candidate who shouts and starts hopping on the other foot. Maybe the angle of attack causes the change in direction, as the egg starts rolling right back toward the mound of eggs!

Pippa gives the rolling egg a bit of a cursory glance, mostly to make sure the silly thing doesn't start rolling her ways. "Aye, watch out for that one." As if that isn't already pretty clear. But in the meantime, Corona impresses to that brown, leaving Pippa staring. "Shells, nobody is safe from these things. Congratulations, Corona." For whatever those words are worth.

White as Driven Snow Egg also thinks that rolling is so last week. Pshaw.

Corona reacts suddenly to the brown's course, staring at her brother in worry and pushing herself before him. Must protect the sibling, bad things can happen on these sands, y'know. Everything changes as she's sniffed like a dog greets his owner. She quickly yanks her hem back down around her thighs, having given the audience a little flash of her pale pink underwear when the browns nose moved her robe. "What?" That's not supposed to happen, but Corona finally grins. "Whoa!" Pause. "OH MY FARANTH!" She screeches, her voice reaching the highest pitch possible. "Sidaaeth!" is stated, then repeated in a second shout (in case anyone missed it). "Sidaaeth!"

Tragic Story of an Orphaned Septuplet Egg rolls right up to mommy's leg and…is everyone watching?

Tragic Story of an Orphaned Septuplet Egg 's time has come. It struggles and strains, and slowly, with ever so much determination, a bit of the shell breaks away. Just enough for a talon to poke through then disappear back into the shell. Is it possible? Could it be? Was that gold? A glimmer of color—maybe an eye peeking out to check and see if everyone is watching. Are they ready? Then the egg seems to take a deep breath, before shattering in every direction and revealing If You Want Something Done Gold Dragonet.

If You Want Something Done Gold Dragonet
At first blush she could be made of pure, perfect gold. Statuesque in proportions, her muzzle is a touch dipped in the nose, her headknobs straight and brightly colored. Her shape is classically beautiful, with a bit more plush curve to neck, haunches and tail than a purely lissome dragon would display. Her color looks uniform, even to the tips of her talons, which neither pale nor darken as is so typical with other dragons. Even the tip of her tail is that perfect, bright, burnished color…or is it? From a distance she is uniformly colored, but on closer inspection, there is a smudge on her right shoulderjust a touch of darker color. No. There is another on the tip of her noseor it may just be a shadow. Not, not a shadow, as there is another on her left haunch. In fact, there are dapples of shadowed color all over her hide, as a statue dappled by the shade of leaves. Even her long wingsails are dipped in those same dappled tones.

Ilidar squeaks, even though he wasn't anywhere too close to the Impressee. When'd that dragon get over there? Screaming? Um, bad? Good? DEAD? Retreat! Right, left, right, left… which way? Mallory looks… safe over there. The "older" of the two boys creeps over closer. "I'm not afraid of giant eggs," he says with a deft nod.

Thread Thread Go Away Egg gets bumped by a neighbor, which tips it away from the mound. It spins to a stop and rocks. And rocks some more. Spins. And just as it's about to start rocking again, a crack splits the egg nearly in two, and a pearly green tumbles forth. She shakes her tiny head and unfurls damp wings. A bit steadier on her feet than some of the first clutchmates, she walks past half the candidates before stopping in front of a lanky girl recently Searched from the Dolphincraft. Ceti gives the green a crooked smile and holds out a hand. "Acipensereth. Yeah. Food is good." She nods her head towards the weyrlingmasters, and the two wander away.

D'baji has since left T'ach and his new lifemate in the care of one of the assistant weyrlingmasters on the sidelines. And he'll leave Corona to whomever that is rushing out toward her. And instead he'll wander toward T'orq and murmur, "Takin' a bit, eh? They must hatch slower in winter." Politically correct weyrleader? No.

"What are you do-" On one hand, Corona has let go of Zian's hand, on the other, she's pushing in front of him. "Hey! Wa…" And that's when it twigs what's going on. "Oh my… Corona…" He claps his hands together and whistles. Yeah, he's pleased for her. Pleased enough that he doesn't even notice the most attention grabbing hatchling hatching.

"Blue, brown, bronze, green. All we need now is a ge…" Lanti's mouth hangs open for a moment. Then she blinks. Then she turns to M'riel. "Huh."

"Oh, f—" "/GOLD/," comes the crow from M'riel, who then whoops and hugs Lanti: after all, Desanseth contributed half of that genetic code, right? Behind the goldrider's back, he makes a face, which Sin returns. "…makes up for the last clutch right there," she tells the junior weyrwoman, instead.

Lendai suddenly finds herself with no one to cling to. Oh nooo! "Corona… he's…" She shuts her mouth and takes a few steps away from her friend. "Oooh! Corona!" Sniffle. "He's beautiful!" Tears appear again on her face and heck, even one breaks free. "I'm so /happy/ for you!" Wiping away the the dreadful tear, it'll make her eyes go all puffy, she looks back at the hatching and almost freezes as a gold hatching. "Shards! I didn't know there was a gold egg." And because Lendai is so stunned, she moves over towards Denalia. But she glares at the same time. Glaaaare!

D'baji apparently spoke too soon. 'Cause it's off toward Ceti he gets to go now, even as a gold has hatched. A grin is shot in Lanti's general direction, lest the goldrider be watching and/or waiting for kudos. And then, it's the leading thing. To the meat!

Gold. Now, there's a change in pace. Total change. And, Deni is /not/ too excited about that, but it was pretty sure in life that she doesn't get excited about.. well.. anything. And because it was rumored — but there's /always/ rumor — there was a gold, she doesn't get excited — But.. But… Well, she grins. So long as it's not Lendai's, she'll be happy. Maybe.

"Sidaaeth is a nice name," mentions Ossia, after winces against Corona's screams. The rolling/anti-rolling eggs catch her attention, however. Even typically solemn Ossia shows some surprise in the form of raised eyebrows. "Ah, didn't expect a gold, honestly," she says rather calmly after a moment.

White as Driven Snow Egg slamdances.

Because Good Is Dumb Bronze Dragonet approaches the crowd of white things and starts sniffing at them, his dark muzzle touching this white thing and that white thing. No, he's looking for the best one…one that is one /million/ times better than all the others. And as one white thing gets too close, he snaps at the wayward hand before moving on.

Lanti so very politely /elbows/ M'riel in the ribs. "Sorry, what was that? Get off me." That might have been a smile, but there are way too many teeth. She disengages and pushes M'riel away. Politely. Clutchrider or not, Lanti has great big fences with barbs on top. She turns back to watch the dragonets while returning a few nods with riders nearby. "Maybe Thread really is back," some might hear her mutter.

Pippa looks after Corona as she impresses, smiling faintly at the young woman. Momentarily forgetting the acton on the sands, at the cries and yells, the girl blinks back to peer as the rolling egg turns into a dragonet. "Oh well…" Momentarily speechless, she takes a hesitant step back and closer to the other candidates.

Corona is slow to leave the sands with Sidaaeth, too shocked to do anything and a lack of weyrlingmasters to rush her off leave her standing in place, staring at the brown. Finally, his requests for food make her start moving, brother and friend easily forgotten in delight. It seems that it really does take a couple times for some people. It's a good thing M'cai was insistant. They move to the edge of the sands, girl in a white mini-dress and brown dragonet. "N'ano!" She shouts, looking about for her father figure, since Mother is likely in the stands watching her children.

"A gold." Mallory mumbles, his hands moving insanely fast now. The lad shakes his head, just trying to take it all in. "Ilidar, this is going pretty fast, isn't it?" Finally, he lets his hands move away from his hair and just stares at the two metallics out there. "Who do you think they will go to? I mean… those girls. Really." A look is sent towards the gaggle of females.

With Corona newly attached to a dragonet, and Lendai wandering off, Zian is left a bit on his lonesome, so, shifting from foot to foot, shaking heated sands out of his sandals, he gravitates a bit closer to a larger group of candidates, hanging around on the fringes.

"Told you you'd do it!" Well no, N'ano told Corona gold, didn't he? Does stop the big grin on his face and the clapping from the sidelines. With that though, he quickly straightens up and scans the candidates and dragons alike for injury or sickness. That's what he's there for, right?

Ilidar gives Lendai a stare and an eyebrow quirk. "Are all girls like that?" is asked of Mallory. "Not sure. But it'll have to be one of them. Right?" The crowd didn't look too much better, honestly. Then again…

"So… enjoying the hatching?" Lendai asks of Denalia. Why she came over here? Shards if she knows! "There's a gold out, she might be yours!" She sneers, just a little, but then winces. "Sorry. That was mean of me. I… hope you impress." /Liar/! "Be careful and… stuff." Okay, so maybe Lendai is also hoping that Denalia gets mauled. Can you blame her? Turning on her heel, she goes back by her hero, Zian. "This is intense." Her voice squeaks as she speaks. "You need to save me, okay?" Seriously. "No one has been hurt though, so… we should be fine."

Because Good Is Dumb Bronze Dragonet slinks further down along the line of candidates, sniffing at this one and ignoring that one. Certainly, the one he is looking for is just beyond his reach. He moves with definite intention, stepping on feet when they don't get out of his way quickly enough, and even knocking one candidate over before coming up behind coltish boy with dark, curling hair and nudging at his lower back.

Iz'ak moves toward Corona and Mallory, waving them off to the side with their new lifemates and, most importantly, FOOD!

Corona confidently heads for Iz'ak, stopping alongside to make sure her brown is here and happy. She fidgets suddenly her face awash with terror, unsure of herself and her ability to take care of her new dragonet. She calms at a comment from Sidaaeth, taking a deep breath and giving Iz'ak a watery smile. The brown follows the rider's directions faster than Corona, but she still stops to rush to N'ano and give him a quick, tight hug. "Sidaaeth, N'ano!" Beam! Aren't you proud of her?

Zian looks down at Lendai and sighs, giving her a small smile. "C'mon, it's not like anything's gonna happen 'cept a bunch of dragonets get Impressed, right? Nothing for you to worry about." And, to head off the inevitable question… "And yes, if it all goes horribly wrong, the weyr gets hit by another flying rock or the sands flood, I promise to save you. Happy?" But who'll save him…?

"I'm proud of you, girl." And Zian? N'ano'll just be disowned or something if he doesn't impress. Right. No, just kidding. He does shift his attention after his son though after releasing Corona from the embrace with a hair ruffle. "Go get him fed!"

"He just plowed that candidate over!" Mallory says, shocked. "Wow. They can be really… enraged." And he is only more stunned as that same bronze walks right up to him. "You… you…" He stares forward, the rest of the sands completely forgotten. "You've been searching for me? Why?" His head is shaken and he puts his hand onto the bronze's head. "I guess this means I'm yours, Kirczykath."

White as Driven Snow Egg finally gets into the feel of things, shudder-shake-slamming against those few eggs that are left.

Pippa blinks as Mallory is claimed next, and by that bronze no less. She flutters a few steps away from him and his new dragonet, and then reaches over to try to help out the candidate that was basically ran over, "Seriously, mate, gotta move faster out here."

If You Want Something Done Gold Dragonet curls her neck around to flick at a piece of shell still clinging to her neckridges. Once the unwanted adornment is gone, she turns her attention toward the crowd of servercandidates. Next thing to do is find the perfect accesserlifemate!

Ilidar gacks, and skitters again. Tentatively, though, he does go back and give Mallory a big grin. And then runs off again. Zian, yeah. They can be… lonely together? Yeeeeah.

Ossia eyes the eeeevil bronze as it pairs of, and nods. "Well, glad he didn't come over here," she mentions to the dwindling number of Candidates, but then shrugs. "Not that he would have bothered /me/ -" she glances downwards just to check, "-But you know." Oh well. She offers out another quick congratulatory woot, and returns to just standing. Yep.

The All-Time Biggest Egg isn't making much of an entrance. It's just been sitting there. And sitting. Is it dead? Man, wouldn't that throw off the betting. Ah! No, it's all right. There's movement. It'll be the biggest entrance ev… Oh, nope. The egg all but implodes on itself, and a lanky blue shakes himself free, then falls right on his chin, emitting a squeak. Well, crud. All-Time Biggest /Flake/, maybe. Luckily, Hecuba runs to his aid, despite instructions not to do that. Ah but it works out! "Aeneath!" She calls out, suddenly crying, smiling, and leaking and stuff. "What? Cuba. Right. Girly enough for /you/, maybe." They wander away, debating names and leaks.

White as Driven Snow Egg rocks violently once more, a quick right-left jerk… and then it goes still, perhaps alarmingly still, glistening whitely against the hot black sand. Then with a resounding thud, cracks appear along one side, spiderwebbing out in a mostly circular pattern, THUD-CRACK, THUD-CRACK, until the entire egg shatters in a flurry of white, falling away to expose its occupant.

Punk-Rock Rebel Boy Brown Dragonet
Built on big, broad lines, he is rough-edged and homely, an all-over unapologetic dirt-on-your-boots brown interrupted by occasional smudges of dark and points of light. A sharp-muzzled head is crowned by a cock's-comb fan of 'ridges, narrow and close-set as they crowd down his neck to its base, which is banded by argent-studded black, a pattern repeated around his left forearm. Sprung forth from sturdy shoulders, ragged wingsails are washed a dirty-denim blue, patched in grungy grey-brown-black; wide haunches are dark, traced with long-linked, long-looped chains of silver that wrap 'round the midpoint of a sharp-ridged tail.

Zian applauds and cheers and yells "Go Mallory!" as his fellow candidate impresses, although the way he's starting to take count of the eggs and dragonets might indicate how he's becoming aware that there are… well… less than when they started. Ilidar's approach is greeted with a quick, "Hey," before he returns to counting. Two, four… carry the three…

Lendai shrugs her shoulders, "I've heard things." She says, eyes watching the two dragonets. "Y'know. Candidates not getting out of the way, like that one." The boy the bronze ran into is pointed at. "That could be /us/!" Shiver. "Scars really don't look good, trust me." Her skin would be flawed, and that would be horrible! Zian is given a narrow glance as Lendai looks away from the hatchlings for one moment. "I'm going to hold you to that." And she will. "Hey! Wait. That bronze just impressed to Mallory! Way to go, Mal! He actually got bronze!" Jumping up and down, she squeals with girlie excitement. "…wait. What was that name? Kah-somethingth?" Blink.

Denalia crosses her arms, watching as Mallory impresses — well. At least he /deserved/ that. As for the other dragons on the sands? She just rolls her eyes. That gold gets eyed.. But.. /Really/. She doesn't think anyone deserves to be the next Weyrwoman of a Weyr, so really. THese dragons should just Impress to each other!

Punk-Rock Rebel Boy Brown Dragonet hatches, and falls — no, no wait, he gains his feet after all, and staggers upright. Wings fan wide, and he searches the sands. What does he see? He sees candidates, he sees dragons, he sees the bright and hollow sky — and starts to move toward at least one of those things.

Corona feeds tidbits of meat to her dragonet, crouching on the far edge of the sands. The girl FINALLY remembers to look for her brother and for Lendai and her eyes turn to the sands. "Hey, Mallory, congrats!" She calls to the boy, waving him over. She spots Zian and Lendai side by side and lets out a sigh of relief for their wholeness. She's still awed by the brown before her that even the gold goes unnoticed.

Pippa dusts her hands off, sidling back to stand with the others once again. Seriously, if you are gonna get bowled over by a dragon, you deserve your fate. She kicks at the sand between feet soles and sandal again to rid herself of the grains, eyeing the dragonets still wandering about. Another fluff to her robe, just because.

Ilidar shifts from foot to foot, the heat finally getting to him. "That dragon looks… nicer than that bronze. Do you think HE bites?" Again, not willing to sacrifice limbs. He glances around. Ummm…

Ossia eyes the gold suspiciously, but doesn't allow it to bother her. "As long as it doesn't come over here," she mentions. Yet she's quick to scoot closer to the remaining Candidates, finding herself quite by her lonesome. The brown gets eyed too, and the girl just huffs. "What's with the mean-looking dragons here?"

If You Want Something Done Gold Dragonet /so/ deserves to be the next Weyrwoman…er…Senior Gold, at least. And she also deserves the best of everything else…champagne wishes and caviar dreams all the way. But first, she starts surveying her choices, eyeing the candidates like jewels in a display case, and discarding each in turn. She wants the best. She wants the one with the most sparkles!

"Don't hold me to anything… please…." Zian says, shaking his head and trying not to smile, his eyes follow the various dragonets still moving around.

Punk-Rock Rebel Boy Brown Dragonet herky-jerks, swaying as he sees the winding ocean ocean drive, moving off away from the candidates — oh no, you only /thought/ he was moving away from the candidates, as he swings around, swings wide. Dirty-brown head comes close to a few, leering, peering — and then moving on.

D'baji is still pacin'. Yup. And watching dragonets. And occasionally checking to make sure Sin's at least somewhat behaving herself.

Sin is at least confining the rude gestures to where they're not noticeable by most of the people in the stands.

Corona feeds the dragonet. Happily. Super-happily, if you will. She's in ecstasy. Oh yeah.

"The heat is not agreeing with this stupid robe." Lendai grumbles, trying to make the hem line at least semi-decent. Length? Not a problem. But the fact it's starting to crinkle in on itself. "I'm never going to wear an old article of clothing agaaaain!" And that is her vow. Distracting herself from her less than stellar appearance, Lendai gives Zian a shakey grin. "You already said it." Her voice shakes as much as her grin, but she tries to keep upbeat. Tries… and fails. "I seriously just want this to be over. I want to go and lay in my cot and pretend this never happened." Sighing, she crosses her arms and hugs herself, but still watches as the gold moves around. "She… seems kind of haughty, don't you think? Like, she owns the place." Pause. "Actually, I guess she sort of does!"

Ilidar squirms. Bored? No. Uncomfortable? Maybe. Scared? Maaaybe. Just a bit. Oh dear. "Do dragons knock people over like that? Is it a test? Ummmmm…?" Yes, we all know Zian has all the answers. Right, then.

If You Want Something Done Gold Dragonet turns around to glare at all the brotha's gathered round and looking at her up and down. A head toss and the gold moves on past more white robes. They are /so/ drab. Her lifemate certainly will /not/ wear one ever again! Ick.

If You Want Something Done Gold Dragonet picks her way carefully over a shard of egg, whuffling at it as if to scold it for getting in the way. Then she's weaving between a pair of boys, as if to say 'out of my way, unworthies!' She knows just what she's looking for, and though she may not be able to describe it, she'll know it when she sees it… She sniffs one candidate's hand—but it's not that one. Ahah! The next one on…that is here! The gold goes to stand in front of a girl with black pigtails and stands up on her back legs, flapping her perfect wings and cooing softly.

Oh dear. Zian actually feels… kinda… sympathetic towards the beribboned girl, and gives Lendai a quick hug around the shoulders one-armed. There. Happier? "It'll be fine, y'know and… uh…" Is that gold looking this way?

Ilidar seems to have been abandoned again. Or not. A gasp! "Lendai!" Spaaaaaaaaaazz! He would hug her, but the gold looks awwwwwwwefully hungry. So again, he joins Zian. Twitchtwitch.

"No. You're /kidding/ me." Denalia stares at Lendai so angrily, and so pissed-offly, that she gives a big scream. "I HATE YOU!!!!!" At the girl, and then gives a big huff. "This weyr is /distasteful/," before marching oh-so-proudly off the sands. Huff!

Lendai doesn't move. Nope, not even a muscle is twitched as the gold. The /gold/! Steps right up in front of her. She stares at it, eyes wide with complete shock. And then the tears really do start to flow. "You… you…" Even babbling doesn't seem to come to her and Lendai is just speechless. Let the world rejoice at that! "I'll do my best for you, Talicanitath, I really will. Or at least, I'll try." She almost chokes on the words and slowly, oh yes, ever so slowly, puts her hands on the gold dragonet's head. "Oh shards. Talicanitath… you really, really picked me." Sob!

Ossia shakes her head at the hauty gold, and instead focuses her attention elsewhere. "Too high and mighty for me," she says, giving a slight shudder. "A dragon that's going to be that big is bad enough without being that high-maitenence." Instead, she watches the brown cautiously. Until calls of Lendai's name make her look back towards the gold yet again. "Very fitting," she comments with a chuckle. "Congratulations, Lendai," she calls out through the din. Denalia's tantrum just makes Ossia shake her head slowly though. "Oi. Jealousy?"

Lanti takes a deep breath as the gold dragonet makes her choice. She looks up to Dedanseth as the two share a silent interchange. Lanti smiles a little bit and starts to pick her way through the sand and shards. This one is her charge for the night. "Lendai. This way. Let's not keep the lady waiting." She gestures for N'ano… who's… somewhere. Medic? MASH unit?

Pippa can't help but have a chuckle as that gold and Lendai actually meet up. Okay, so maybe she gives a bit of a cheer as well as the girl impresses. Really, you can't much help that. She blinks at Denalia's exit, and then mutters to one of the other standing candidates, "Well, they'll be talking about that tomorrow, that's for sure." You know, other than the whole gold on the sands as well.

Tale of a Spurned Lover Egg gives a mournful little moan as the occupant within presses against the shell. It just doesn't want to give way. Or is the moan coming from inside? No… it turns into a creak, and a crack, and a crash. A spindly green shakes the shards from her sodden wings and gives a baleful look to the few candidates remaining. She looks up at Dedanseth and Shaestorath, then the white-robed children. Someone. Anyone. Who's the lucky winner? Felix, of Igen. He stares. She stares. "Sunatucheoth?" asks F'lix, full of confusion. As the green nudges his hand, however, the realization sinks in. The boy nods, kneels, holds the green's head in his hands and kisses the gooey headknobs before looking for the weyrlingmaster to lead them away.

Zian jumps a clear foot backwards at Denalia's scream, and watches, wide-eyed as Denalia storms off the sands. "Well," he mutters, "I… really wasn't expecting that… I…" He glances around at the confusing grouping of candidates, former candidates, dragons and bits of shell. "Er… how many are left…?"

Ilidar is attempting to figure out the answer to Mallory's question. "I can't count!" he finally exclaims. Gee, that makes you seem real smart. "We're all… alone-ish." Except we're surronded with huge stands packed with people. But completely alone. Right.

Punk-Rock Rebel Boy Brown Dragonet breeeeeeaks aaaaaaa-waaaaaay— er, no. Nevermind. He's still examining candidates, getting mroe frantic with every one. He's starting to see — yes? No. He sees the stars come out tonight, he sees the stars that shine so bright — but he doesn't see his lifemate. Not yet.

Iz'ak is practically running ragged getting the new impressees out of the way. Of course, there are other weyrlingmasters helping, too. He just happens to be special. So he turns back and moves over toward Lendai to motion for her to help her new lifemate off the sands. But…seeing as she's a little preoccupied, he turns to drag F'lix off instead.

Lendai nods at both Lanti and Iz'ak, her eyes still pouring out tears, in both shock, awe, happiness, and pure freaked-out-ness. "Um… okay. Yeah." Constantly looking between Talicanitath and the galleries, the newest goldrider sends a wave towards the areas. Maybe, just maybe, her mom saw this? Either way, Lendai is staring straight ahead now, with her dragonet moving, gracefully at that, beside her. "I… I…" Nope. Voice box still broken.

So much excitement going on, right? Maybe no one saw the poor waif-like girl kneeling on the sands—or falling over? N'ano sure has though, and given the reaction he has for her, it can't be good. He quickly scoops her up carefully, shares a word with Lanti while giving Lendai a sympathetic look on his way towards the exit in a rush.

Ossia finally gives up and goes to join the boys, and she aptly takes a place next to Zian and Ilidar. "This is a little nerve-wracking, isn't it?" she says, eyeing the expanse of Sands full of mostly broken shells and happy pairs. "And they're just… staring at us, I suppose," she adds, motioning to the galleries. "Only one left I guess."

Punk-Rock Rebel Boy Brown Dragonet jerks sideways, eyes whirling an alarming shade of orange-red-pink for a moment - no, no, no - before he refocuses on the task at hand. He stumbles - oh! - no, not that one - he almost falls, and then he finds - oh, he finds the perfect mind! Everything else falls away (and woe to he or she who does not get out of his way) as he makes a final move, coming to a stop - an incautious stop! - at the feet of a young woman with ebony ringlets. He sees the things he knows are his, he sees the bright and hollow sky, he sees - Ossia.

Pippa stands about with the others, waiting for the last of the dragons to finally impress to one of the candidates standing about. Hands reach down and fingers start to fidget with her rope-belt as she cast a glance to the other few remaning candidates. "Ossia, maybe…" But then the girl impresses. "Oh, well, nevermind." Because she definitely has brown on her mind right now. "Grats!"

"Just let it be," Lanti advises Lendai, an awfully crooked smile on her face. "Worth forgetting about a ribbon or two for a day, hmm?" She gestures for a T'orq to help the new weyrling with meat for the gold. "Talicanitath, is it?" Lanti asks a moment later. She stretches her mouth subtly. "Welcome." Across the sands, Dedanseth gives a long crooning bugle. Her babies. Aww.

Corona dances as Lendai moves to join the other weyrlings. "Lendai!" She cups her meat-tainted hands to her face and hollars, "Lendai! Oh Faranth you got a gold! Congrats!" Yea! She does a little dance, able to pause the feeding now that Sidaaeth is getting full.

Iz'ak looks a little relieved as the last hatchling impresses, scanning the mount to insure that, yes, all the eggs have hatched. He steps forward, then, to stand by Ossia's shoulder and escort her and her lifemate to the food as soon as they're ready.

Staring. Yeah… lots of staring… Zian was doing fairly well ignoring the galleries up until Ossia drew attention to them, but he doesn't really seem to give them much attention as the brown stumbles over and… impresses to Ossia. "Congratulations…" he says, clapping again, "So… uh… that's… that's it, huh? That all of them?" There's still the clapping, but there's a definite slump to the shoulders.

D'baji is happy to allow the weyrlingmasters - the real ones - to deal with whoever's left. And so he makes his way over twoard Sin, wherever it is she's got to, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, and wiping his fingers in turn on his shirt.

"Wait… wait!" Lendai says, her eyes just barely spying N'ano moving off with someone who looked rather familar. "That looked like…" It's hard to concentrate on exactly what Lendai would focus her attention on. "Are you sure?" She whispers to Lanti, her lower lip trembling. "Tal? Oh! Yeah, she's Talicanitath! Isn't she lovely?" The possible other disaster is forgotten, for now, as Lendai is all smiles for her little gold. Corona gets a big grin, "I know! I… think she picked the wrong girl." But it's too late now. "And look at your little man! He's perfect!"

I think we need to build a boat so I'l—Ilidar and Zian can sit in it together. "You know, we're just standing her in the middle of the sand. We should probably… move."

Ossia seems to calmly accept her fate, though a smile does twitch the corners of her lips. "Svasith, of course," she says surprisingly warmly, and with all the caution her dragon lacks, she reaches out to scratch him behind the eyeridges. Seeming a bit dazed from the entire experience and the feeling of her lifemate's mind against her's, she slowly stumbles over to the side as a Weyrlingmaster leads her off.

"Yeah, let's go…" Zian really doesn't want to standhere in the middle of the sands, the centre of attention and so pointedly dragonless while the newly impressed are fussed over. Without waiting to see if anyone's following, he makes for the exit.

Sin is waiting, bets exchanging hands, thumping M'riel's shoulder as he passes her to round up the non-Impressees. "This way," he calls gently, gathering the little lost lambs as well as he can. "Back to the barracks with you." While Shaestorath rumbles encouragement from above, the foreign bronzerider makes little shooing motions with his hands.

Ilidar walks with a haughty, self-confident step off the sands.

And so, D'baji grabs hold of his greenrider, and,favouring her with a quick grin, makes like to escort her off the sands. Before, surely, heading on to those other weyrleaderly duties that await.

Lanti steps back to let the weyrlingmasters take over. She thumps D'baji on the shoulder, winks at Sin, and makes her way towards Dedanseth, neatly avoiding M'riel. Time enough at the party to talk with him. "What do you say, girl? Go for a swim, get this sand and stuff off us?" Dedanseth lowers her head to nudge Lanti's shoulder, then she turns to the galleries, trumpets a triumphant little arpeggio, then makes her way out of the cavern with Lanti at her side, carefully avoiding those rushing out to join the party early.

Corona shouts, taking a couple steps from Sidaaeth to try to get her brother's attention. "Zi! Zian, come here!" She shouts, but he's already sneaking out and gone. She smiles down at the brown dragonet and sets the food aside, unaware of where she's putting it or what she's actually doing. "C'mon, Sidaaeth, let's go home." Because they have a home in the weyrling barracks and it's it all so exciting?

Iz'ak waits until all the impressees look ready to go, then waves toward them, "This way guys! We'll get you set up in couches and then you can get your lifemates a bath and make sure they're comfortable…then you get to eat."

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