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Chaos, Colors, Chickens--Clutching!
Date: December 5, 2004
Place: High Reaches Weyr's Hatching Galleries
Game: PernMUSH
Copyright Info: The World of Pern is copyright(c) to Anne McCaffrey
l967. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
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Kassi's Note: Blame the title on M'rek. Blame *everything* on M'rek;
it'll save you time. Lhiannonth begins to lay her eggs, which Volath
sired, and in the interest of seeing just how much of a studmuffin
Lysseth's favorite young bronze is, Kassima heads over to watch. It
was a lot of fun! And chock full of alliteration--what more could one
ask for?
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The Log:
From the sands> Lhiannonth is already on the sands, shifting restlessly,
when Josilina runs in - hops in, actually, one boot still untied. "You
might - give a girl - some warning!" She manages, stopping to balance and
finish tying her shoe. The gold gives only a distracted snort.
From the sands> Lhiannonth moves across the still bare sands, awkward for
her size and condition. She rumbles, low and continuous, as she finds a
spot where the sand dips naturally, creating a warm hollow. The rumble
deepens and she crouches, depositing the first, blue, blue egg.
You place one hand on Lysseth's neck and she warbles down at you fondly.
You grin and scratch her eyeridges once before climbing up onto her lower
neckridges, using the riding straps and Lysseth's thoughtfully offered
foreleg.
From the sands>
Summery Sky Egg
From the sands> Pale blue deepens to a brighter azure, a medley of shades
that match that of the sky on a perfect summers day. Above this background
are white shadows, airy clouds that float across the surface without any
visible pattern. Looking closer, your eyes are tempted to find the shapes
hidden within the cottony shapes that dot the egg here is a girl skipping,
there a firelizard in flight. Yet another appears to be one of the
legendary shipfish alongside a sailboat. At each angle you look, the effect
is different and still mesmerizing.
<*> Lysseth springs from the ground, the air from her wings churning up
dust as she takes to the skies.
You hunch down before launching up, with powerful strokes.
<*> Lysseth disappears into Between.
Between
You gasp as the icy black nothingness of Between surrounds you! You hear
nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. The trip takes five heartbeats...
Black...
Blacker...
Blackest!
You suddenly emerge...
<*> Lysseth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!
<*> On the Star Stones, Llanarth warbles a greeting to Green Lysseth of
Telgar Weyr.
From the sands> Josilina gives her boot laces a final tug before setting
her foot down, just in time for the first egg. "Lhia, it's gorgeous! It's
so -blue-! Good job love." She waves back to Thiana, catching the movement,
as she crosses the sand to be closer to the gallery wall. All the better
for eavesdropping on all the observers, you know.
You spiral downward in the bowl, towards the west wall.
You wing down to a quick landing on the ground.
From the sands> Things move slowly in the beginning, and there's a lapse
between the first two eggs. Lhiannonth takes her time piling sand around
the first, careful not to disturb it before she steps away to another
hollow where she leaves a darker sort of egg
You slide off of Lysseth's neck to land beside her easily. She rumbles,
cocking her head down at you, and you rub her eyeridges gratefully.
From the sands>
Twist and Shout Egg
From the sands> An eerie golden glow drifts over the narrow end of this
egg, interrupted by angry billows of black around the edges. One side is
broken by a disturbing funnel shape that revolves out of the inky smudges,
spiraling down into a cloud of brown that resembles nothing so much as dust
and debris. Flecks of dingy grey and brown whip across the rest of the
shell, growing more and more dense as they reach the dark vortex as they
seem to be drawn helplessly to it. Along the base a few tiny blotches are
almost people shaped, fleeing from the oncoming storm.
You stroll through the tunnel, emerging in an enormous cavern. You walk up
a short flight of steps into the galleries.
Thiana ohs and smiles as the second egg arrives, "It's so well neat." The
woman says and looks down towards Josilina, "Seems she caught you by
surprise?"
On the sands, Josilina watches for the second egg with a sort of sappy
smile before turning to nod to Thiana. "Pretty much. I mean, I knew it'd be
soon, but she's not much for advanced notice. And then I couldn't find my
shoes, which was kind of a pain. - Sri! You came!"
Sria nods her head once and then looks across to Jos, "Sure. Sruth seemed
on top of things. Now you get to start nagging Lhia, rather than the other
way, hm?"
Kassima meanders in at the head of a small group of people--small in both
the sense of there being only four of them total, and in the sense of most
of them being children and thus rather short. "We probably haven't missed
much," the greenrider's assuring the eldest of these, a teenage girl whose
eyes are more on the belt pouch she's rummaging through than her mother.
"*Plenty* of time for wagering. Honestly. Kai, get that mark piece out of
your mouth. Duties t'High Reaches and her queens!" This statement is
directed towards those already present and cheerfully given.
On the sands, Lhiannonth doesn't move far, only a few feet away to scoop
away some sand to make another cradle for an upcoming egg. And it soon has
an occupant as she lays a pale, milky egg and promptly pushes sand around
it to secure it.
On the sands,
Fogged-In Inlet Egg
On the sands, A pale egg, swathed in cool grays and lightest blues, this
little sphere at first seems painted entirely by sky. Upon closer
inspection, however, it becomes plain that the milky hues only conceal
undercolors of reflective blue and ponderous green, streaks of sienna and
even dashes of violet, all paled to their most pastel shades by the fog
that wraps them. The shapes take form as a long, narrow lake disappearing
into a horizon along a perspective line formed by the curve of the egg's
shell. Cradled between the gray-topped peaks, thick clouds meet water and
soil, disguising whatever might live there.
Sria turns upon sound of new entrances - and duties - and returns them,
"Duties to Telgar, Wingleader. Only two so far - oh, though perhaps -
right, that'd be three, now. What're you thinking to wager on, the total
tally alone?"
Kassima scouts the seats for a moment and eventually chooses a place for
herself, taking the hand of the four-Turn-old who's still mouthing that
mark piece and leading him to sit beside her; Kisai hauls Kaswyn off to a
different stretch of seats, evidently determined to do her own, independent
wagering today. "Haven't missed too much, then," the rider says with
relief. "Lyss would've been irritated. Total tally, whether there'll be a
queen mayhaps, what color's in each egg... well, once I've gotten a good
enough gawk t'have guesses. Are you planning t'lay any marks?" Though she
addresses Sria, her eyes flick hopefully around the Galleries at this
latter question.
Thiana smiles as she hears more people entering, "Duties to Telgar." She
smiles and gives a wave."
On the sands, Lhiannonth paces restlessly, though she's careful to not
disrupt the eggs that are already nestled in the sand. Picking a spot
slightly off to the side she claws out a hollow, depositing in it a
brightly colored egg that she buries quickly before moving on.
On the sands,
Fall Foliage Egg
On the sands, A splash of spectacular colors draws the eye to this egg.
Red, orange, gold and green are mixed together, lying one over the other,
autumn leaves fallen from trees lying in windblown piles beneath a forested
canopy. The warm shades blend to create new ones, blanketing the entire
surface of this egg, a cacophony of hues. Camouflaged beneath the autumnal
display are hints of a clear blue sky, never quite visible but yet somehow
present.
On the sands, "Reaches duties to Telgar." Josilina calls in response to
Kassima before chuckling. "I don't think she'd listen to my nagging, even
if I did." She admits to Sria. The newest egg, so brightly colored, seems
to be a comfort, after the hazy grayish egg before.
Sria grins at Kassima, "I'd put marks on -reactions- to certain eggs,
perhaps. Should Lhiannonth grace us with any predominantly gray ones. Or
orange." Jesting? Maybe not. To Jos, "But at least you've the pleasure of
retribution, nagging."
Kassima hauls a folded hide and charcoal stick out of her pocket with one
hand, using the other to reclaim her mark piece from a protesting Kaisan.
Her eyes stay on the Sands all the while, studying each egg. "Blue," she
mutters. "Blue... bronze... brown... green? Or brown. Hmm." Scribble,
scribble, scribble. "Duties, and duties!" she echoes to Thiana and Josilina
in turn, with a wry grin for each. "Gorgeous eggs so far. Nay that 'twould
expect other." She has to wonder of Sria, "Is there something special about
grey and orange? Beyond that orange is, I've heard, the color of seduction.
I personally have m'doubts about that."
On the sands, Lhiannonth immediately rumbles as an egg declares its arrival
as imminent, indicated by an insistent contraction. She investigates,
indecisive between two indents, before deciding, impulsively, on the more
impressively sized one to install the icy egg into.
On the sands,
Immaculate Ice Egg
On the sands, In the ill-illumination of nightly hours ice has become
insurgent over the land that is this egg. Dark forest greens are
immobilized by a sheer casing of crystalline aegis. An imbrication of
icicles is immortally imposed upon the curve of the shell, incandescent in
nature the slender tendrils seem to be of no color themselves, and yet at
the same time to reflect all colors back to the world as an inerrant
mirror. Exposure to direct light will reveal the true, imperious
inheritance of this egg, an infinity of inimitable diamond radiance in
reflection.
On the sands, "That's true." Josilina agrees with Sria. Her eyes round as
she catches Kassima's comment on orange, or at least part of it, but
Lhiannonth's rumblings (luckily) distract her from commenting on anything
other than the egg. "Ooh. Lhia, that one's incredible, it's all... weird.
But good weird."
Sria laughs at Kassima's last, "That'd make some sense, though I can't say
I've heard it called such before. Nothing special other than - well,
actually, I'm not entirely sure anymore, but I'd expect Josilina could give
you her reasons. Not her favorites, anyway." Her attention, then, moves to
that most interesting of intruders on the sands.
"What an interesting egg," Kassima observes of the latest, tilting her head
this way and that to take it in. "Incredible, aye. Indomitable. Individual.
One might even say, impressive. Blue's the obvious guess, but...." Obvious
or no, she scribbles, and remarks, "There'd better be a couple more that
look like greens soon, though, or Lyss will be teasing Volath forever. Oh,
she doesn't like orange and grey?" Surprise, followed by a thoughtful nod.
"Well, y'know, seduction isn't for everybody."
On the sands, Josilina squints up at the Telgari Wingleader, close enough
to the gallery wall to overhear. "How d'you figure the colors?" She asks,
curious. "Or just... random?"
Sria grins, "True enough. And there might be a green from one of those,
looks like it or not. The surprises are the best part, much of the time. -
Interesting. Definitely that." And insane. "I like it." She pauses for a
moment, then confirms what the knot - or the reputation - might've told
her: "Lyss, that'd be of Lysseth, which would be of Kassima? Glad to meet
you."
Kassima admits, after a pause to pull Kaisan back up onto the bench when
the boy tries to wiggle away, "More random than nay. Just hunch. Tradition
says that in the Benden dragon line, white eggs tend t'produce bronzes and
reds tend t'produce greens, but I'm still going with blue for that
latest--though--" She chews her lip in thought, then makes an additional
notation on her hide. "*Could* be bronze... that's two eggs already where I
can't make up m'mind." Sria gets a wholehearted nod. Insane and
irredeemable. "Aye, that's me, t'my everlasting delight or shame depending
on the moment--and you're Sria, aye? Brown Sruth's? We've met in passing,
although," wryly, "I don't think I made proper introductions, last time.
Too busy screaming at Her Magnificence."
On the sands, Finally comes Volath out of the sky, veering past the ledges
toward the sand on spanned wings. Perhaps the bronze wears a sheepish
expression, his mouth parted against the breeze of his flight and eyes
tinged with more than one color around the rims, but it's nothing by
comparison to his rider's face. The dragon alights well out of Lhiannonth's
way, rearing back to plant talons in the sand near the eastern end of the
grounds. V'lano hands himself down to the outstretched foreleg, then leaps
to the sand in thankfully sturdy boots. "All right, all right, we're here
already," he mutters to his mount, but Volath's in motion as soon as his
rider's clear. Both start progress toward the gold and her human, though
warily, and by sheer length of leg the dragon clearly has the advantage on
speed.
On the sands, Snorting good-naturedly as Volath noses one of the eggs
Lhiannonth lumbers around the sands in a restless patrol, pausing ever so
often to nudge or whuff at one of the eggs that now dot the sands. When her
sides begin to heave once more, she crouches low to the sand, a darker egg
slipping free with little fuss.
On the sands,
Rolling Thunder Egg
On the sands, This delicate cradle has a serenely beautiful scene upon it.
With a backwash of a faint grey, there are darker swirls outlined with a
very light blue embracing the little treasure. From the dark base of the
egg, there is a black smudge, reaching out to the top, disappearing into
the greys and leaving little spots of blue, like rain. From afar, it may
look like an impending storm on an unlucky, dark field. But the closer you
get, the more details you can pick out in the wild painting.
On the sands, Josilina is standing by the gallery wall, eyebrows slightly
raised. "Really? I didn't know that. Huh. Might be a neat thing to keep
track of, what colors come from what. Which I guess you're doing, only with
marks too." She muses ramblingly outloud. She waves for the bronzepair's
arrival and grins at the new egg. "Look, Sri, it's got /blue/ on it!
All...contrasty. It's nice."
"Hunch still a step up from random, however, especially an educated one."
Sria then confirms - and incorrigible - with a wide smile, "Right: in
passing, if you can call it that." She breaks off for arrivals of
clutchfather and thunder's cloudy egg, then: "'Contrasty,'" she repeats,
grinning.
On the sands, V'lano smirks at his lifemate's boldness. "Well, you got over
that quickly enough," he mutters, rounding the main area claimed by the
queen by the time she's lighter by one more. For a few minutes, the
bronzerider pauses to admire the eggs so far lain, where 'admiration' may
be defined as 'staring in mute disbelief.' Finally he turns to leave the
dragons to their work and makes for Josilina and the gallery walls, leaving
deep and quick-filling divots in the sand behind him as he goes. "She works
fast," he remarks by way of greeting, the heat of the sands bringing a rosy
hue to his face.
Kassima announces of the latest egg, with great satisfaction, "Now *that's*
green. Beyond doubt! 'Tisn't always accurate, the tradition," she confesses
to Josilina then. "But Lysseth's egg was red, and I've known m'share of
white-Hatched bronzes, so... 'tis worth keeping in mind. Aye, exactly so.
Don't suppose you'd like t'wager?" Hope springs eternal. She lets go of her
son long enough to wave a cheery greeting towards the arriving pair: "Vel,
Volath! Good show so far, you bronze stud you!" Presumably she means the
dragon. Presumably. Another nod to Sria, with a grin to match the
Weyrsecond's. And let's not forget irrepressible. "A pleasure t'make your
acquaintance in a less hectic and knife-intensive fashion."
Killorya wanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.
On the sands, Josilina shrugs, glancing at the eggs already laid. "Not so
fast. Only six so far. I guess that's like... average. Maybe." Kassima's
question prompts a chuckle but she shakes her head. "Nah. Thanks, but I
don't bet. My luck's worse than... than... something really unlucky. Sri
what color was Sruth's egg again?"
Sria laughs, "Absolutely a pleasure." To Jos, "Sruth's was a few colors, a
nice red being one of them. He says it makes little difference what color
his -egg- was, it being all about him, you know."
On the sands, "Uh, thanks." V'lano's not so sure about Kassima's meaning,
if the flush spreading into his ears is to be taken at face value. He takes
refuge in conversation with the queenrider, turning toward her and scuffing
one boot-toe into the sand. "Six already? Average, huh." And he turns a
step farther, taking in the disturbed sands tended by the dragonpair.
"Well, I'm impressed anyhow." Face cooling, he turns to peer back up into
the stands, daring a crookedly apologetic grin for the Telgari wingleader.
"Sorry to have missed some of the lesson," he calls up. "I'm usually a more
punctual student."
Kassima is momentarily crestfallen at this news. Her expression might, in
fact, be more fitting if she'd been informed that Josilina kicks puppies.
"What's the world coming to?" she asks Kaisan--who's paying her no
attention whatsoever, as the clutching is far more interesting than his
mother. "Ah, well, there'll surely be *someone*... agreed, Vel: your
timing's usually impeccable," said with a wicked grin that might be more
for his blush than that particular statement. "But you're nay too late.
Currently I'm wagering nineteen eggs, nay queen. Any chance you'll gamble
with me? Please? Pretty please?" Shameless wench.
Melata strides up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.
Melata wanders into the hatching cavern, craning her neck to see the sands,
now that her main duties for the day are more or less done.
On the sands, "Well of course it is." Josilina agrees with a grin. "Let him
know he's perfectly right and I was just curious." Kassima's expression
prompts a vaguely apologetic one on Josi's own face. "Erm. Sorry? It's just
one bet you know, I'm sure you'll find plenty of others." She smiles a bit
at V'lano's words, "It's something, no matter how fast it goes by."
On the sands, Lhiannonth takes a while to be satisfied with resting place
of her next egg, nudging and pushing the sand this way and that to create a
suitable nest for it. When she's finally satisfied she hovers over it,
releasing a silvery white egg into it's new home.
On the sands,
Winter Wonderland Egg
On the sands, From afar this eggs looks plain white, its milky color seems
featureless amidst the other eggs of the clutch. Yet at the same time, an
icy sparkle that reflects light draws attention, showing promise of greater
things than its simple appearance. Indeed the surface is nothing less than
a sprinkling of flakes in a metallic silvery sheen falling over the
untouched snowy surface of egg, brining to mind the beauty of a field still
untouched after a blizzard has dumped its load.
Melata murmurs greetings, then sits down on a bench as a new egg is deposited.
Melata flickers her eyes over the sands as she looks at each egg.
Sria makes no notice of blushing nor betting, and remarks, "There's a white
one to promise bronze for you - 'Afternoon, Melata."
On the sands, The wingleader's jibe finds its target; the bronzerider's
face hues red again. "What would you have me bet against you, Kassima?"
V'lano provides a dubious shake of his head, then turns as the galleries
sound off appreciation and awareness of the new egg so he, too, can take in
the sight. "Volath's wasn't white," he murmurs bemusedly. "It even had a
little red on it."
Melata nods to Sria.
"True, true. 'Tis just that the very phrase 'I don't bet' always causes a
spasm of pain in m'black, gambling heart," Kassima deadpans, the grin with
which she follows the statement giving away its less-than-serious nature.
Melata gets a nod of greetings; then, "Another green, *methinks*," the
greenrider decides after some study of Lhiannonth's latest. "Although blue
wouldn't surprise me either. Pay attention, Kai. I'm in teaching mode here.
The white would suggest bronze, only I've already one and a half bronzes
down...." Her lower lip gets another chewing. "I'm going t'stick with
green. But mayhaps be conservative if'n I wager." She gestures to V'lano in
a grand, flourishing, and ultimately meaningless fashion. "Oh, I don't
know; make a suggestion? Marks are, a'course, standard, but if'n you'd like
t'stake something t'get revenge for all that blushing...."
Melata has left behind the betting game long ago, but can't help but say,
"I think a dragon will come out of that egg. All those eggs, actually."
On the sands, Josilina glances sidelong at the blushing V'lano and mutters,
oh-so-blandly, "You're all red - did you know?" Then, louder, in a near
musing fashion, "Sounds like everyone's dragon's eggs were red. Or had red.
So if I'm going to bet I'd bet... actually, what Melata said sounds smart."
On the sands, Lhiannonth pauses to rest, stepping away to let Volath nudge
sand around the latest. She settles her still-lumpy bulk near an earlier
scooped hollow, so that when a pale, color-streaked egg slips free she
doesn't have to move too much.
On the sands,
Northern Spectacle Egg
On the sands, Dark and light all at once, this egg seems tilted by the
slanted streaks of illuminated color that stretch from top to bottom,
disappearing to a dark base and warm sand. Soft orange and hazy violet-blue
weave away from the dark shell, surfacing from the misty surroundings to
glow against pinpricks of bright, silvery white.
"You -might- have some trouble finding someone to bet against you," Sria
says, offhand, to Melata - and Jos, with her agreement. "Then again, you
never know."
On the sands, "I can't help it," the bronzer grins sideways at Josilina.
"I've made -her- red, though, so fair's fair. Somewhere there's a barhand
to back me up on it, I hope." V'lano lifts a hand to finger back some
straying curls turned tight from the heat and watches as his beast trods a
slow, thoughtful half-circle around the eggs so far placed, looping his
neck downward now and then to sniff one or nose one or nudge a little sand
closer to one side or another of one. All the while the bronze wears a
faintly curious expression, with as much if not more disbelief than his
rider's. "All right, I have one," the sire's human decides, turning back
toward the stands and tipping his head back. "You already said you're
against a queen. Say you'd get Pierron to let you cook breakfast for us and
we'll dine in the living cavern on some day afterward, if there -is- one."
Melata calls out, "My dragon's egg didn't have any red in it." And to Sria,
"Never know. There are some people that'll bet against the sun coming up
every day or that the moons are going to fly away."
Kassima attempts to hide her amusement enough to semi-agree with a straight
face, "Aye, except that one." She points her charcoal stick towards the
illustrious ice egg. "That will hatch a chicken. And Volath will have some
explaining t'do." No doubt. She's distracted again by the Sands when
another egg arrives; she greets it with a clap of delight. "'Tis m'dress!
As an egg! That's an omen if'n ever I needed one--green in that egg, and
nay mistaking." This time she writes the color down on her list with
something of a flourish. "I deny the redness, Vel. Deny it most
emphatically. Falsely, but emphatically. But if'n--if'n!--I can get them
t'let me into the kitchens, you're on. Did you know I used t'cook, or were
you taking a gamble too on that m'cuisine wouldn't poison you?"
Sria grins at Kassima's suggestion. "Volath and Lhiannonth both, for
explaining away a chicken. And your dress, you've a dress that hue? I
imagine that's lovely." - "True, Melata," she concurs.
On the sands, Josilina glances from Kassima to the icy egg and nods her
agreement. "Yes, you know," to V'lano, "it -will- be all your fault if any
of these aren't dragons. Yours and his." She nods to indicate Volath. "Just
so you know." Of course. "You could bet against it, Sri! The being dragons
things. You'd have the most... interesting odds of anyone. It'd be
special." - "A dress like that?" She sounds intrigued. "What's it look
like? I mean...besides looking like that."
Melata shakes her head...that would be one big chicken.
On the sands, "I'm taking a gamble that -you- wouldn't poison me," V'lano
replies, bold and wry and not really answering the question at all. "Of
course it depends on the kitchens. But I'll take the risk if you'll pledge
to make your best effort - assuming you lose, of course." After a wink, he
turns about again to see the egg he missed. "How many's that? Eight?"
Fingertips rise to rub a circle into his temple as his grin turns abashedly
awed. "Eight children of Volath," he murmurs, then tacks on quite a bit
more loudly, for the benefit of certain people in the galleries, "And not a
one of them a chicken." For Josilina's benefit particularly he cants his
head her way, one brow twitching over dark eyes. "My fault! Blame Volath
entirely if you like, but don't let his misdeeds sully my good name!" He
can't quite pull this off as serious indignation, though, giggling a bit as
he is.
"I wonder if'n the chicken will Impress. That'd make things interesting for
the Weyrlingmasters," Kassi muses, eyes laughing at the mental image. "I
do. Commissioned it for the Celestial Ball at Benden Hold, too many Turns
ago t'confess. 'Tis midnight blue velvet in the bodice and underskirt," she
explains, dropping charcoal in favor of gesturing to indicate the general
cut. "Embroidered with silver pinpricks, y'know, for stars; then there's an
overskirt of sisal, translucent, dyed with all the wavery colors. Meant
t'look like the ice-lights." Her enthusiasm would suggest she's fond of
this dress. "Nay so long as I've still knives in need of sharpening, Vel,"
she deadpans. "Wager on--assuming that if'n there *isn't* a queen, then
you'll be the one t'cook and serve us breakfast. Fair's fair."
On the sands, Lhiannonth abruptly rises from where she was resting, a
rumble that deepens as it continues emitting from her throat. Edging to the
left a few feet she crouches over a naturally made depression in the hot
sand. She stills, hide rippling, and when she moves away there's a brown
egg on the sand.
On the sands,
Glistening Seafoam Egg
On the sands, It seems a rough day at sea has left its mark on the sandy
surface of this middling-sized brown egg. Spattered with streaks of palest
seafoam hue that shine and catch the light as though they're still wet, the
shell wraps a slightly lopsided sphere around its precious contents. Viewed
closely, pocks and divots in the glimmering streaks present the appearance
of miniscule bubbles just popped or ready to burst under the faintest of
breath, tossed onto the damp grit of a beach by an ocean lashed violently
in hurricane winds. Beneath a calm sky now, the foamy streaks shine in the
quiet after the storm.
Melata blinks at the egg that is just laid. Not too much a looker, that one.
Sria grins at Josilina. "I'm almost tempted, just -for- the story. I'm
afraid I'd be just horribly disappointed when it came out in bronze rather
than feathers, however." To Kassima, she laughs, "It'd practically be worth
it for S'din's expression. And the dress sounds magnificent."
On the sands, "We /hope/ none of them is a chicken." Josilina mutters at
V'lano's declaration. "Who said anything about misdeeds? I'm sure it'd be a
/nice/ chicken, if there were a chicken. But it'd still be a chicken. And
your fault too, because.. you know." Any sort of explaination is abandoned
as she turns to listen to Kassima's dress description. "That sounds
-gorgeous-. Do you have a drawing of it or anything?" Quite as if normal
people carry sketches of their wardrobe around with them. "You should Sri.
It'd be a...creative investment. Oh look at that one! It's...sort of
shiney. And ..brown."
Melata ohohs, "Don't go painting that last egg, Josilina!"
On the sands, "Fair enough," V'lano tells Kassima, then turns away from the
galleries; perhaps his masculine side's less interested in the fashion
design discussion, or else he's hiding his half-embarrassed grin by
providing a view of it only to the dragons, who are rightfully busy with
something else anyway. "I'd blame him entirely," the bronze's so-suffering
rider asserts sidelong to Josilina, then pauses and squints a bit to take
in a clearer view of the newest egg. "Is brown bad luck? Does it mean
something specific?" Faintly anxious, he puts a hand to the back of his
neck, flattening down some particularly springy curls there.
Kassima admits, as if it weren't fairly obvious already, "I'm fond of it.
Some of m'cousin's best work. I wore it again fairly recently, when Bitra
hosted that concert... ah-hah! 'Twas wondering when there'd be another
brown," she remarks, bending to her list again for a moment. Kaisan,
meanwhile, has slid off his bench and crept up to the edge of the Galleries
to watch, but since he's not causing trouble, his mother lets him be. "I
haven't one on me," she answers Josilina, apologetic. "Khari did a small
painting of me wearing it as a gift one Turnday, but 'tis at home. Are you
interested in gowns?" As to the question of brown, she quips, "At least
*that's* nay the color of seduction?" She's helpful that way, really.
Melata goes to the table for some cider that was put there just for her
(well, not really, but there is some cider there), before returning to her
bench.
On the sands, "I don't know." Josilina replies to Melata, "I mean, it's not
/that/ bad. If I could figure out how to make the shiny bits. And the pale
bits contrast kinda nice." - "I don't /think/ it's bad luck. It's just...
brown. Brown isn't that exciting a color, unless it's amber brown, or
something." She shakes her head at Kassima's question, "Nah. I mean, a
little, but not a ton. It just sounds pretty, I bet it made a really nice
painting." The wingleader's last earns a startled blink. "Why would it be?"
Melata whispers to several people next to her, "If that brown egg turns up
with highlights, we'll know who to look for."
On the sands, Lhiannonth gives Volath a brief croon before setting to work
on digging another hollow. The next egg seems to take its time, leading to
a hollow that's slightly larger than most and seems to half swallow up the
sandy colored egg when it's eventually deposited and the sand is piled around.
"No, definitely blue, not brown," Sria says idly of the latest's contents,
and eyes little Kaisan for a moment before agreeing, "Mmn, much less the
color of seduction than the other, though I disagree, Jos: the -right-
brown can most certainly be an exciting one."
On the sands,
Sandy Storms Egg
On the sands, In one spot, just there, the sand seems to be piled to an
unusual height. Or is it? A closer look reveals that there is in fact an
egg there. More buried than most, the shell's sandy coloring only serves to
help camouflage it. The yellow-brown shade lightens towards the top, faint
golden hues emphasized as the light hits it just so - or perhaps it's
merely the sand's reflection on the shell.
Melata squints as the newest egg is found.
On the sands, "I don't see anything unexciting about it unless it's on a
dress," V'lano chuckles, though his shoulders relax, eased by the
goldrider's reply. He points, gesturing flippantly with a finger as if to
trace the foamy streaks on the shell's surface. "Besides, I could see a
blue, or a green, or a brown come out of that. I don't know how you can be
so certain!" He turns to peer up over his shoulder toward Kassima and Sria,
missing the oncoming of another egg in so doing.
Ever one to look on the bright side, Kassi points out, "It could be far
worse. There was a dung-brown egg in Cariath and Spineth's clutch. If'n you
didn't know better... it definitely did; Khari muttered a lot about trying
t'get the silver bits, but," the greenrider says with considerable pride,
"she did a wonderful job in the end. I don't know? I only meant, 'twas
better than orange. Care t'stake on it?" That's for Sria, with a grin,
before she excuses herself a moment to pick up her wayward child before he
can finish trying to wriggle out onto the Sands. Kaisan's entirely
unrepentant, and gives Sria a sunny smile once Kassi's plunked him back
down on the bench. "He's worse than his father. Ah! That... hmm. Blue?" she
hazards, squinting towards the Sands. "Green? 'Tis all hunch, Vel. I'm
wrong more oft than I'm right--I thought Lyss's egg had a brown in it, for
one--and yet every time, I follow the hunches anyway."
Melata shakes her head as the betting continues. Dragons, all, I tell you.
Dragons all, except for that one chicken egg.
On the sands, Josilina crinkles her nose a little, "I didn't mean it like
/that/ Sri. No, the right brown's terrific. I have nothing against. Brown.
At least it's not like, you know. The non-colors." Attention drawn to
Kaisan as he's moved about, she gives the child a little wave, noting to
Kassima, "I'd love to see it, someday. I mean, if I'm ever at Telgar and we
bump into each other, or something coincidental like that. It sounds amazing."
On the sands, "You made bets on the clutch you Stood for?" Appalled and
admiring blend on V'lano's face and he shakes his head at the Telgari
greenrider as his expression mutes into a dim bemusement. Meanwhile Volath
nudges a nose-rut of sand closer to one of the eggs, as if the bronze fears
his first offspring might get minds to roll away. He murmurs a low-spoken
croon of appreciation for Lhiannonth's care with the latest one - once his
nose is out of the sand. "They just keep coming," murmurs the bronzerider
upon turning around to see what tiny part of that egg's still visible.
"Non-colors?" His dark eyes slip sidelong, lashes lowering a tad at the
weyrwoman. "What do you mean, non-colors?" A brow crooks upward.
"I might," says Sria to Kassima, "If you're betting brown." In response to
Kaisan, she actually smiles back, dramatically if briefly, and then moves
on: "There's more than one non-color, Jos?" Dryly, "I thought you'd kissed
and made up with orange, at one point."
Kaisan spots that wave and returns it with enthusiasm to spare, waving a
small and pudgy hand back to the goldrider: "Hey-la! Your eggs are pretty!"
Kassima ruffles her son's hair and nods agreeably towards the Sands
herself. "I'm happy enough t'show off Khari's work--'tisn't very large; I
could bring it with me sometime when I visit here, mayhaps. Since I'm
obliged t'drop by oft enough t'keep Vel good and tormented." She flutters
her lashes towards the bronzerider in question, then laughs. "Did, a'fore
'twas a Candidate, but only one and that on clutch size. That was a'fore I
believed in gambling. Won three marks, though! 'Twill be willing t'bet
brown, Sria, if'n the stake isn't too dear."
On the sands, "Non-colors." Josilina repeats, for emphasis. "Colors which
are not. Worthy, I mean. That," She points at the mostly gray, fog egg, "is
one of them. And... and... I did /no/ such thing." She breaks off to turn
on Sria. "When did I do that? I -didn't-. That's gross. Kissing orange."
Kaisan's return wave gets a warm grin, "Thank you! That's so nice of you -
that'd be terrific, if it's not too much trouble. Though I wouldn't want to
risk the paint getting damaged, between."
On the sands, Sides rippling with a contraction, Lhiannonth is quick to
crouch down and soon there's a bleak, grayish egg on the sand. Ignoring an
exclamation from her rider, the gold busies herself with making up for the
lack of a hollow by piling extra sand around it.
On the sands,
Drips and Drizzles Egg
On the sands, At first glance this egg is rather bleak. A veil of murky
grey dominates the small ovoid, broken occasionally by smudges of fluffy
white. A darker, glistening shade of slate drizzles down from the apex of
the shell, leaving uneven lines that almost look damp shimmering down the
shell. In between these irregular lines droplets seem to have formed, round
spots of brightness that look almost like they might be raised up from the
shell's smoothness. The wider end of the egg coalesces into sodden darkness
until it seems like the very sand backed around the base should be damp and
chilled instead of hot and dry as it is.
Melata winces, "That's another egg that I hope Josillina doesn't get
thoughts about 'redecorating'. I think it looks rather interesting, though."
Sria smiles, "Your pick on the stakes," she says to Kassima. "Not too dear,
indeed." She has to chuckle at Josilina, and there's a little roll of her
eyes to accompany. For Melata, "Probably a decent risk that she'll try to
take her paints to it. You'll have to prevent her from doing so, V'lano,"
she calls down to the clutchfather. "Has anyone detailed that duty of
fathering Lhia's for you? Very important." Her smile - to Jos, too - belies
the serious tone, for all of that.
On the sands, "All right, wait. Paint?" V'lano has either confused issues,
or else taken an interest in the dress conversation, and he's plainly not
sure which - until Sria clarifies in her own way and he turns a
mock-horrified look on the goldrider. "Don't tell me she's ever let you
paint one of them!" He flicks a glance toward Lhiannonth, expression
bemusedly disbelieving, and gets an eyeful of a new egg for his trouble.
Blink blink.
Kassima ducks her head to hide amusement at the thought, or perhaps the
mental image, of kissing orange. "Nay a problem," she assures, looking back
up. "'Twill wrap it in a fur and it should be fine; Lyss and I end up doing
half the lass's deliveries, so I've done it a'fore. Oh, now there's a...
a... huh." She slouches back in the bench, considering the egg. "It might
be a brown. It might be a blue. I really can't decide." She scrawls both on
the hide, but at Kaisan's piped, "*Blue*, Mum!" one color does get
underlined. "A half-mark, then?" she hazards to Sria. "T'keep it a casual
wager. Wait, wait, Josilina paints the *eggs*?" Now this earns the
goldrider in question a long look, one which contains something like awe.
"There's daring and a half in that. *What* does she paint on them?"
On the sands, Josilina lets out a sort of exclaimation of dismay at the
latest, which dies off into a gurgling, dying sort of noise as she lifts a
hand as if to shield her eyes. "Oh Lhia, Lhia..." She murmurs before
turning an accusatory - and still squinty - look on V'lano. "That one." She
states ominously, "Is all. Your. Fault." She risks a glance at Lhiannonth -
Lhiannonth, not the egg - and shakes her head. "She didn't last time. But
there was only -one- gray one last time. Now there are -two-."
Melata rolls her eyes at Josilina's talk about the grey eggs.
On the sands, "So grey's worse than brown," V'lano slowly absorbs. "But not
because something odd might come out of them? You just... find the colors
dull?" Both brows twitch upward and this time, stay there, but there's a
certain good-naturedness about the focus he fixes on Josilina - a slight
curve to the corners of his mouth, a slight brilliance in his eyes. "He
came out of a grey one," explains the bronze's rider. "Grey with little,
tiny lines on it, and a red spot." He indicates little stripes with
fingertips combing the air. "Maybe that's why." This explanation made he
backs up a step, just to stay out of easy arm's reach in case this should
be one of those casual details about himself and his dragon that aren't
really welcome in the goldrider's worldview, but grins on anyway.
"Hence the importance of your duties," says Sria to V'lano. "Lhia helps,
I'm sure, but we've had to haul Josilina off and hide her paints when her
poor dragon's resting. She puts up a good fight." There's a fair bet she's
not serious, but anyone who knows Josilina and her colors might not say as
much. On a different sort of bet, "A half-mark, then, done," with a grin
for Kassima's Kaisan-prompted underlining.
Kassima claps a hand over her mouth in sudden amusement. "I'd *forgotten*
Volath came from a grey egg. Shells and shards and stars--it must be
genetic. You're doomed, Vel! Doomed t'blame! Dooooomed!" She attempts to be
very ominous indeed in intoning this. The stress may belong on 'attempts.'
"She's an artist herself, then?" she supposes, with a nod towards the
goldrider. "An artist who's... very visibly unfond of grey? Done and done."
A new notation gets added beside her mark for the ninth egg.
Melata shouts, "No painting or sparkles, Josilina!"
S'rist walks up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.
On the sands, "Nothing wrong with brown." Josilina mutters a little
tersely. V'lano's story - or history, rather - gets a long stare. "Figures.
It /figures/. - Shush Sri, that's not true and you know it. - It /is/ doom.
Utter doom. Doom that's your fault." She seems very firmly set on this
fact, particularly when she's got someone else saying it too. Nevermind
that there's a small yet vital distinction between Josi's 'doom' and 'doomed'.
Melata waves to S'rist as he enters the hatching cavern.
S'rist waves as he slips in to find a seat, returning a few waves.
On the sands, "Well, I guess that's all right," V'lano replies slowly and
with much uncertainty, scratching at his head for a moment. "I can accept
the blame, as long as we're agreed it's on Volath's behalf. It's his blame
really. I'm the blame figurehead." The bronzer nods with finality, cracks
open a new grin and peers up toward Kassima. "There has to be some kind of
bet on how many grey eggs come out whatever color. Maybe a color Josilina
likes least, or best." And he steals another sideways glance toward the
weyrwoman on that, smirking.
On the sands, There's a pleased rumble from Lhiannonth as Volath leads her
to a newly scooped depression. She noses at some sand on the edge of it
before crouching and laying another very gray egg, which she piles sand
around to keep warm.
On the sands,
Hellish Hail Egg
On the sands, Hardly anything can be made out on this forlorn egg of gray
and drear. Indeed, the main coloring of it is a depressing mottled gray,
like a winter sky in the dead of the Snowy Wastes. If one is enough in the
clutchmother's good graces to come closer to it, faint shapes can be made
out, darker gray on lighter gray the silhouettes of dragons. The dragons'
mouths are open in toothy grimaces of displeasure, and it is apparent why:
small pellets of bluish-white, pale against the uniform gray, are
hailstones raining upon the noble creatures. It is a vicious, cruel hail
that batters at hide and stings with abyssal cold which is so intense it
can almost be seen. Altogether it is certainly not among the pleasant eggs
of the clutch.
Melata peers, "A lot of white, grey, and otherwise un-"highlighted" eggs
this clutch, isn't there?"
Sria replies to Kassima, "Artist, yes, and yes. Orange too. But," and here
she lowers her voice to an audible stage-whisper, "She wears gray when
proddy, you know." Quite the secret. A wave to add to S'rist's greetings,
and she just shakes her head a little for all the 'doom' - then a
near-laugh for the next appropriately-shaded egg. Even aside from color,
"Daunting, that one."
Kassima's grin only broadens when V'lano's doom is confirmed. Ah, the sweet
sound of bronzeriders being blamed. "That sounds only fair," she agrees.
"That the blame's ultimately Volath's. He gets the credit for all this
studly virility; he should get the blame, too. What color then, Vel? I've
got both of 'em either brown or potentially brown...." A pause. "Huh.
*That* one is green, though. I wonder if'n 'tis all heredity, or some
dastardly scheme on Volath's part? Lyss would probably approve of the
latter." There's a vigorous nod for Sria. "Daunting, which is why green.
*Does* she." She tries not to sound amused. She fails. "What, but nay
orange then?"
On the sands, "I don't care on who's behalf it is, just as long as -
aauuggnn." Josilina trails off with a pained noise at the newest arrival.
Lhiannonth spares her a look and a dismissive whuff - she's seen all these
dramatics before - before returning to her eggs. "It's like a very bad
dream." She decides, staring at the new, even more ominous gray egg. "I
mean, nice, because eggs. But...bad. Because doom."
Killorya says "I rather like gray eggs."
On the sands, "Why, that's so," V'lano remarks as if startled, and then
luckily chooses not to make mention of what exactly is so. Volath stands
back and watches the placement of this newest grey egg with a
self-important kind of pleasure, entirely unaware of blame and doom being
pronounced for him not far away. Josilina's response to the egg earns a
broad grin and even a chuckle from the bronzerider, who adds, "I think it's
a very nice kind of doom, then. You think green, Kassi ma?" There is the
slightest of pause between those syllables, but the name gets completed.
"I'd suspect blue, though I can't say why." The clutchsire's rider frowns
thoughtfully. "What's Kaisan think?" Indulgent, but curious.
Melata sips her cider.
"You know," muses Sria, "I'm not entirely sure. Never got much of a look,
and none at all for the last one -- Jos?" Sri calls over, just as guileless
as she is deliberate, "Do refresh my memory, would you? Were you in all
gray, before Lhia rose, or was there orange as well?" She, too, eventually
looks to see Kaisan's answer to the bronzerider's query.
"As dooms go, it isn't such a bad one," Kassi has to agree, working to keep
a straight face. "Especially if'n there *is* a green in one or more of
those eggs. That's the best kind of doom there is." And she confirms her
guess with a bright nod to the bronzerider as well as a teasing,
shamelessly teasing, "Could be nay other, Vel-ano." At her side, the plump
four-Turn-old perks up as he's... well, not quite addressed, but it's good
enough for him. He climbs to his feet on the bench, the better to give this
question all the grave consideration it's due. "Um. Um... I like blue!" he
decides, pointing towards the indicated egg. To which Kassi quips, "He
*always* likes blue. Daikoth's fault."
On the sands, The labor for this egg is short lived, Lhiannonth not
spending more than a moment crouched over the sand before she can step back
to reveal a vibrantly colored egg. She nuzzles the soft egg, warbling
proudly before nudging sand around it.
On the sands,
Enchanted Autumn Change Egg
On the sands, Swirls of subtly shaded color decorate the surface of this
shell, a similar yet dissimilar blur of hues painted as though slightly
faded. Burnt amber coexists equally with copper and rust, veins of dark
marigold drawn in an elaborate filigree through each whorl, easing the
transition to dusky rose and the dying embers of once brilliant banana
yellow. Here and there among the dancing splatters linger flecks of verdant
emerald, sharing space in turn with crinkled patches of tawny brown,
withered fragments washed of brighter shades. Each intricate spiral appears
to shift in place, unseen air currents causing the disconnected children of
forest guardians to drift, a final waltz ending in silence.
Melata squints at the newest egg. "That's a very nice egg. Very relaxing.
Reminds me of fall in the orchards."
On the sands, Josilina shoots V'lano a brief glare - she /heard/ that
chuckle - but Sri's question prompts a fiercer one. Glare, that is. "I
haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about Sria. And if you ask
again I think I'll decide to be deaf - look! She's laying another!"
Distractions, distractions. She doesn't look back but she does smile,
hearing Kaisan's color of choice, and the smile only broadens at the
latest. "Oh, /good/. It's a /good/ dream again. Look, look there at those
green bits!"
On the sands, "Oh, no, no orange," V'lano volunteers for Sria, though after
the goldrider's glare the answer is offered a bit quietly and with another
step away from Josilina just for safety's sake. He looks back up for a
moment to offer a direct grin to Kassima's boy. "See, I knew it." Then
Melata's reaction and Josilina's remarks draw him back to the real event of
the day and, after taking a moment to blink in wonder at the colors of it,
declares, "Now, you'll have to blame Lhiannonth for that one entirely. It
can't possibly be Volath's doing." After which he even winks, should the
weyrwoman look askance and catch it.
Sria takes Josilina's answer and, in effect, translates for Kassima: "I'm
supposing orange, too, or she might've denied - no?" For helpful V'lano,
"Well, then. Gray in fact." She flashes a grin at the weyrwoman, and keeps
a smile for the newly-laid, "That's a lovely one as well."
Kassima suggests with an entirely affected innocence, "We could be asking
V'lano? He might remember, if'n she doesn't--" There's a sidelong look
towards the man in question that fairly brims with mirth. "I don't mind
grey eggs m'self," she adds, as a belated seconding of Killorya. "Although
other colors are more t'my taste. That egg is decidedly autumnal. 'Twill
say green for it. You're on a roll now, Volath! And Lhiannonth! Keep those
greens coming!" Kaisan, for his part, corrects without rancor, "Blue."
Again. He beams right back to V'lano, clearly enjoying all this attention;
it takes a tug on his shirt-sleeve by his mother to get him to sit back
down. Said mother offers, "If'n you want t'wager something on that, too,
Vel... though 'twill never hear the end of it if'n you and he *are* right,
I'm sure. Mayhaps orange next time," she speculates. "And who knows?
Mayhaps 'tis because she wore grey then that Lhiannonth is laying grey
eggs. Mayhaps 'tisn't Volath's fault 'tall."
On the sands, Josilina eyes V'lano rather suspiciously, as he supplies her
sister with the answer. "How would -you- know?" A beat after the demand she
blinks and grimaces. "Oh. Right. Nevermind." And his last seems to mollify
her, "It probably -is- Lhia's fault." And she sounds proud about it.
"You're right." Kassima's speculation earns a horrified look until she
points out, "But I wore grrr-g-that the time before too. And there was only
one gray egg."
Melata says to a bench-neighbor so Josilina on the sands cannot hear,
"Maybe it is Lhia...some golds as they get older don't lay the same as when
they were younger."
On the sands, "Another bet? I wouldn't know what to wager. As a trainee,
you know," V'lano calls upward, head tilting sideways and back to send the
words the right way without turning away from the dragonparents further out
on the sands. His expression turns curious as his attention splits, taking
in Josilina again - "Perhaps the one gray was her fault, and it's just the
mix of her and Volath - or oh!" Melata's suggestion sounds better, by the
way his face brightens upon her words, but he thinks better of repeating it
-just- in time and clamps his mouth shut for a moment, then goes on safely
with, "I'll take it, Kassima. Put a half-mark on blue for Kaisan's sake. I
won't bet anything else against you, though - it's unfair enough I have to
bet with you at all."
On the sands, Lhiannonth stands by to watch Volath look over the newest egg
before another contraction comes and she decides she has pressing matters
elsewhere. Like over there, where her talons earlier raked the sand into
smooth furrows. There's barely time to get a good look at the yellow and
red at the egg's base before the gold pushes sand around to hide it and
cradle the egg.
On the sands,
Off to Oz Egg
On the sands, Dots of vivid red and a short streak of yellow mark the very
base of the tall egg, the color all but hidden in the sand before
surrendering to the more subdued end of the spectrum. Grays and browns
twist around the rest of the egg in a frothing torrent, color swept from
one face to the next and then around, a vortex of striated shell. The
occasional patch of green surfaces between windswept dirt and cloud, along
with the rare sharp corner or dark, peaked rooftop caught in the current.
Melata peers at the latest egg. "That one's...unusual."
"Could be, Jos," says Sria upon Kassima's words. "All -your- fault. One
gray egg, two, maybe there'll be still more tonight." She slants a glance
to Melata for that 'older' comment - she heard it, anyway - and grins at
V'lano's reaction to the same.
"It could be cumulative? The more you wear grey, the more grey eggs there
are?" Kassima speculates, looking interested in this theory. "So by...
oh... two clutches from now, there might be *only* grey eggs. The only
blessing will be that 'tisn't just a'fore a Pass, or you'd be looking at
forty, mayhaps even *fifty* grey eggs." Great, Kassi, let's give the woman
nightmares. "You could offer t'oil m'fire-lizards?" she suggests to V'lano
in really hopeful fashion. "Or, oh, a half-mark's fine too. But be prepared
t'get a hug from him if'n you win and prove *him* right and *me* wrong."
Kaisan's giggle at this is very entertained, and not at all denying. "Hey!
How unfair?" Kassi wonders with exaggerated dismay. "Ooh. More grey. I
could see bronze... but nay, nay, I do think green." She asks Sria, "Does
that count as a fourth grey?"
On the sands, Josilina eyes the bronzerider with suspicion, "Oh or what?"
She caught that, even if she didn't catch Melata's comment. Sria and then
Kassima are given plaintive looks - though Kassima's is closer to
'terrified'. "It couldn't be my fault! ...Could it? Oh shards. /Shards/.
You don't think... Sri? Will you take the gray dress out of my weyr
sometime and drop it in the lake? /Please/?" The Oz egg is barely noticed
through this new, frightening thought, though it's gray streaks do get
notice and a mutter.
Sria is mildly successful at hiding her mirth, with only the grin that
hints at laughter on display, "-Fifty-," is all she echoes. "Maybe you'd
come to like the color, after all, at that." To Kassima, "Is it four
already? I'd thought three, but -" she looks over what's not beneath sand
to doublecheck. Purely for Josilina's benefit, she adds, "My, we've
practically a full clutch of them as it is. And I wouldn't dream of getting
rid of that dress, Jos." Truth behind the last, if not the first.
On the sands, "Seems like a lot for just -after- a Pass," V'lano murmurs,
squinting toward the dragons and their progeny, fingers twitching one at a
time with a silent tally. He pauses to squint sideways, improvising an
answer with, "I was just going, 'oh,' because it looked like, ah, she was
going to put down another." He gestures with a hand toward Lhiannonth, who
indeed has done so. Discussion of its hue is left, for now, to the
galleries. "And she did. I was right. And hey," brows peaking in the middle
as the curve of his mouth worries frownfully. "Don't blame yourself. I
think it makes much more sense to blame Volath's shell. At least that's a
dragon thing. If Lhiannonth wore the grey dress you could maybe blame her."
This is meant to be soothing and reassuring.
Melata says, "That egg isn't that grey. There's brown in it. It is a
very...dynamic egg."
On the sands, Lhiannonth is decidedly smaller now - or, at least, as small
as she ever was. She pauses to rest more often as she wanders about the
sands, checking on the eggs that are already nestled there. And it seems
almost an afterthought when she spots and lays a dark, white swirled egg,
its brighter edge resting in the sand.
On the sands,
Storm Tossed Sea Egg
On the sands, Deep dark grays tumble into whiteness over a deep sea green
background, waves crashing against rocky outcroppings on a blustery winter
day. Swirling patches of silvery white create the impression of the rain
swept surface of a tempestuous ocean, water murky beneath. Yet as your eyes
move downwards over the egg, the storm seems to clear. The side nestled
within the sand turns to aquamarine mixed with bright blue, the glassy
reflection of a quiet cove, which has been sheltered completely from the
elements beyond.
Kassima ticks off on her fingers. "Counting the foggy one, the one with the
dark drizzles, the one I think has a green... really, grey can be a lovely
color. I'm obliged t'say so. Lyss has a touch of grey t'her, y'see, so I
must needs think it a *beautiful* color." So very sunny is her smile,
enough so that for one moment one can see where Kaisan resembles her as
well as his father. "Volath must be a studmuffin, Vel. Only answer to it.
He should be proud--and this, by the way, is me being very kind and nay
teasing you about whether *your* offspring might end up grey too at this
rate."
Killorya says "Tell Lhiannonth that I had fun watching her clutch, but now
I am off."
On the sands, "I would never." Josilina answers Sria, prim. "And please?
/Please/ would you? I can't, I can't touch it, really. But... please?"
She's practically begging, looking up at the Weyrsecond in the galleries.
Again V'lano's words seem to bring some peace of mind and she nods. "I
suppose. But - Lhia would /never/ do that to me." Well. Some is the key
word there. "Wear a gray dress. Think of all the fabric! That'd be awful."
- "Look! That one, it has blue!"
Melata nods, "That egg is nice. I like it."
Melata continues, "Ver calming, I think."
On the sands, V'lano cradles his forehead in a few splayed fingertips for a
moment, shutting his eyes to grin toward the sand. When he straightens, he
turns a somewhat careful look on Kassima, mouth opening, then shutting
without offering any reply at all. Instead he about-faces again and takes a
good look at the scene, taking in the fact that as the sands have grown
lumpier, the queen's grown less so. "No, she wouldn't," he agrees with
Josilina. "Besides, she'd have to have help getting into it. I suppose a
dress would have to be sewn onto a dragon, and then the trouble of getting
out - not very regal. I doubt she'd have anything to do with such a scheme."
On the sands, Fatigue has finally fixed itself in the form of the laboring
gold. Finding a final hollow Lhiannonth fixes her eyes forward, tail folded
to the side so as not to get fouled up with the other not-so-faraway eggs.
A fresh foggy egg falls forth and with a final whuff she steps away, free
of eggs and settles down to rest.
On the sands,
Foggy Fall Egg
On the sands, Feathers of fog feed a fanciful fiction over a fall flocked
field. Fantastic fiends seem fated to frighten from behind each fuzzy frond
of fog. Fabulous findings of color flee from direct sight, always fated to
fain just further around the curve of this egg than can be directly seen.
Faded Fuchsia, fissured flame, and fellis flannel fold one over the other
forming a frosted forest of fickle fashion. Fossilized fern flits
flirtingly from the middle of the fair shell and finally frazzles out at
the bottom, fetched far away by fog.
Thiana strides up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl.
Melata blinks as what appears to be the last egg, at least for the moment,
perhaps for the clutch, arrives. For some reason she seems to have
descriptions which begin with 'f' in her mind.
"Quite a lot of fabric indeed," Sria agrees, and nods after Killorya before
shaking her head to Josilina, "You'll have to work up the courage to do it
yourself. Of course, you might just go get yourself a new one." The newest
eggs get their own survey, and, "Faranth. There's a foggy one."
"Is it such a terrible dress?" Kassima has to wonder, hiding a grin. "If'n
ever your lady did wear a grey dress, Josilina, I hope against hope 'twould
hear of it in time t'come and see. Because that? Would be a sight and story
worth passing down through generations." Now V'lano, he gets a look that's
all wide green eyes and lack of guile--butter wouldn't melt in her mouth,
and she even indulges in a few lash-flutterings of her own for good
measure. "Poor man," she confides to Sria. "You'd think nay anyone had ever
called his dragon a studmuffin a'fore." But then there's that egg, that
last egg, to catch her notice, and she can but focus on it--fixated;
fascinated, and finally she freely finds it, "Fabulous."
Melata puts down her empty cider cup and slips out of the galleries for a bit.
Melata walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the
entrance to the bowl.
Thiana comes back over to the galleries and looks out over the eggs,
"Wow...so many already." The Steward says and smiles as she leans by the
entrance.
On the sands, It's enough to get Josilina musing: "I wonder if a dragon
/could/ wear a dress. Or even a /hat/. But a dress would be neater.
...Maybe on a green though, they're smaller. And, you know, it wouldn't be
gray." She adds firmly. The latest and final gets a focused look and a
faint grimace, "Fantastic." She proclaims. "It's out to kill me, this
clutch. At least it's finished." But she's still got a fond look for the
gold as she lies down on the sand.
On the sands, Volath croons a low, satisfied note to the
no-longer-belaboured queen, then paces a slow line around the perimeter of
the sands worked up for the eggs, weaving outward and inward around them.
His tail drags in the sand, leaving a line daring crossing, though no
threatening or possessive rumbles accompany the act. He finally comes to a
halt not -too- far from Lhiannonth and curves his neck downward, putting
his head near hers, and croons again in a near-whisper. "It's a lovely
dress," V'lano remarks, "But I gather she doesn't normally like it." The
glance sent Josilina's way is apologetic, but Volath's vocalizations steal
his attention and eventually he can only say, "I think sixteen, unless I
missed a buried one. She looks... tired."
S'rist eyes the sands and the clutch, quietly trying to do a job of
counting how many are out there from this point of view, wondering if he's
going to be counting some extra marks later tonight.
Sria grins at Kassima. "Poor man indeed. I'm shocked Josilina hasn't said
so herself, really." For facing last -not first- egg, she says, foremost:
"Fabulous, yes. Flauntingly so. Finished, Jos?"
Thiana ohs as she looks at the eggs and frowns, "One off...I bet 17 eggs."
She smies though, "But 16 is wonderful."
Kassima chortles under her breath, nodding a wordless agreement with Sria.
"Sixteen," she realizes, with a glance down at her list. "'Twas three
short. But all the same... very good show, Volath." Unlike her earlier
pronouncements of studmuffindom, this is not so teasing; it's sincere and
approving, even accompanied by a thumb's-up gesture for the proud father.
"And Lhiannonth, a'course. Vel, unless I missed something major, I do
believe you owe me breakfast."
On the sands, Lhiannonth returns the croon, equally soft, before closing
her eyes, tail looped in a loose, protective semi-circle around some nearby
eggs. "I'll get someone else to get rid of it. And it's not lovely."
Josilina says before nodding. "She is tired. And yes, sixteen." -
"Finished." She echoes Sria in confirmation.
Thiana smiles as she looks over them and then puts her hands together and
pushes out her hand in a gesture of getting ready, "Well I guess I had
better finish with barracks cleaning." She looks around with a grin, "Any
vollunteers?" She smiles impishly.
Sria smiles, softer now as she looks over the clutch, and then shifts a
grin: "Congratulations, Jos, V'lano. And to your lifemates." - "Kassima, it
was lovely to meet you at last, -my- lifemate's currently insistent on my
returned presence." There's even a goodbye for Kaisan, in there, and she
waves once more - for S'rist, Thiana, and the rest - as she heads out.
Sria walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the entrance
to the bowl.
On the sands, "Oh, I suppose," V'lano replies, though his squint remains on
the lumps around which Lhiannonth's curled for a few moments yet, something
about his tone reluctant. Finally he backs up to the wall and leans against
it, tilting his head back to address Kassima directly, cheer creeping back
into his demeanor. "If you insist," he grins. "It's no harm to me - I've
excuse, if I need it, to get into the kitchens. Maybe harder here than at
home, though," he points out. "The morrow's morning good enough, or do you
have a plan for breakfast -right now?-"
"'Tis a lifemate's prerogative t'be insisting," Kassima agrees, flashing a
grin after the brownrider. "M'regards t'him, and clear skies t'you both--it
truly was a pleasure." Kaisan minds his manners enough to wave after Sria
too, though he's distracted by trying to steal his mother's charcoal stick
and hide, ostensibly to change all of her guesses to blue as is proper.
"You set the terms of the wager," the woman reminds V'lano, grinning back.
"If'n 'twould be hardship, I can be waiting t'collect until you're back at
Telgar--but failing that, tomorrow morning's just fine. I can find an
excuse t'be here, I'm fair sure. It really is an exquisite clutch,
Josilina, grey and all."
On the sands, "See you Sri." Josilina calls after the brownrider before
turning, looking over at the sleeping gold. She watches her a few moments
and then slides a glance towards the stairway that leads off the sands.
"Well, I'm going to go get some air and all. I'll be back a little later
probably. Thanks for coming." That, with a smile, is to the watchers in the
galleries as she starts up the stairs. "And thanks Kassima. Good to have
met you, and your son." She adds with a smile for the boy before heading
off, waving.
On the sands, Josilina heads up a short flight of steps to the galleries.
Josilina walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the
entrance to the bowl.
On the sands, "It just seems to me that now's a nicer hour for some other
kind of meal," V'lano replies through a grin. He too tries a wave after
Sria, but is slower - and if he makes an effort -not- really to draw
Thiana's attention after her sly request for cleaning volunteers, who'll
blame him? He sends a bright smile after Josilina as she leaves, then
shakes his head once she's gone. "So busy," and for once this oft-remarked
comment upon the Reachian goldrider sounds admiring. He makes for the
stairs as well, then.
On the sands, V'lano heads up a short flight of steps to the galleries.
Kassima can't argue the point; agrees, in fact--after waving after
Josilina, a gesture which Kaisan returns--"'Tis rather more the dinner
hour, 'tis nay so?" Amusement registers for that avoidance. Not that she's
volunteered herself, but never mind that. "Truly, Volath should be proud.
Such fine eggs. He's outdone himself."
Thiana chuckles as it seems no one wants to vollunteer, "Ah I'll just make
the candidates do it. It's a wonderful clutch of course." She waves and
heads out of thegalleries.
Thiana walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the
entrance to the bowl.
"Rather more, yes." V'lano flickers an eyebrow down and up at the
greenrider and remarks, "I suppose you'll be wanting to get home for those
morning drills - but if you've a mind to stay late, I'll be looking for
supper after while. I think, for the moment, I'm going to hunt out
someplace to lie low." His smile turns crookedly wry there, and he
continues up through the galleries, picking out the Reachian Weyrleader
with an effort at a respectful nod and half-uncertain salute - hurrah for
still not quite having all of the clues yet. Good-byes more or less said,
the bronzerider abandons his dragon for the time being and ventures out
into the bowl.
V'lano walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the
entrance to the bowl.
S'rist mutters something about loosing his 32nds, evidentially not a big
gambler, then gets to his feet and makes his way out.
S'rist walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the
entrance to the bowl.