Ista Weyr - Hatching Galleries(#9752RIJ$)
A tiered series of bleachers, their surfaces worn smooth from centuries' worth of use, with stairways on either side for access. There is a broad railing carved from stone to prevent onlookers from falling down. During a Hatching, thick and comfortable pillows in the Weyr's colors of black and orange are brought out to cushion the hard seating, and drudges come and go to bring refreshments to the spectators. A walkway at the top and back of the gallery continues through a tunnel to the west. A brilliant, vividly colored mural is painted across the walls.
It hasn't taken long indeed for word to spread of an impending clutching - the rushing around of the weyrfolk is more than enough notice, after all. It's drawn yet-another-spectator, as Veherin ambles his way in, following the rest of the crowd, slipping into a seat in the galleries. He gives a brief glance around, nodding and grinning at some of the faces he recognizes, but most of his attention is on the sands.
Moyrel comes in, each step puncuated by the soft thud of her cane as she picks her way through the gallery, looking for an open seat; though she does not move with the chipper exuberance some might remember from her younger days, but rather with slower, more measured grace, the aging harper still enjoys a good draconic spectacle. She gives a few waves to those whom she knows as she makes her way amid the crowd.
From the Sands, Ellamariseth isn't one of those secretive golds that sneak off in the middle of the night to lay her clutch, surprising the Weyrfolk in the morning. No way. She's one of those golds that will sit on her bum and roar her throat dry to make sure people know just what time it is. The Senior queen's already demanded the clutchfather's presence, and the rest of the Weyr, picking the most active time of the day during lunch so that the most spectators can get there. And when they start trickling in, she gets up to shake the sand off of her, snapping her jaws shut with a happy croon to the galleries before starting on pacing. Her whirling eyes always dart back to the people, making sure they're watching. Who wants to miss big giant eggs coming out of her rear end anyway?
From the Sands, Ittisieth, meanwhile, couldn't be more opposite. Perched like a prideful copper statue, the bronze watches on with a certain sense of detatchment, his part in this whole crazy affair drawn almost to a close. Caring for the clutch? Pf. He only did that in the dark of the night when no one was watching. Cultivating the crowds? That's what Ellamariseth was for, and she was doing a perfect job of it, in his humble opinion. He's pretty much here to be the arm-candy at this point, right? Well… sorta. His gaze naturally gravitates to Ella's stomach, some inner curiosity warring with propriety. Mustn't look too interested. One more peek. Aloof! Glance. Finally, he turns towards a blank piece of wall with a huff, determined to look somewhere else until the eggs arrived.
Anaky hasn't been in Ista more than a sevenday, but he's certainly been here long enough to have found some leather sandals and a colorful beach towel, long hair wraped into messy sort of bun-twist, and held that way with a writing stick. As he wanders up into the galleries, there's a bit of a limp to his steps, the young weaver's left ankle loosely bandaged, pale skin just a bit bruised. Likely wondering what all the commotion is about, he slips as best he can through the gathering crowd, attempting to find a seat near the front. Dropping lightly into it, he takes a moment to watch the dragons on the sands, thin brows lifting.
Shorynia's dressed as if she's been riding runners, and smells a bit like it, too. Her boots beat out a harsh tempo as she rushes up the stairs and into the galleries and back down the gallery's stairs to the first row, flopping into the first open seat she finds. Her eyes lock on the sands, her hands absently fiddling with her ribbon, untying it from the runnertail and moving it up to its usual position behind her ears. She glances back, checking where Hallac might be, then nods to those around her.
From the Sands, Ellamariseth drinks in the people in the galleries, making sure to pause right by them and sticking her nose into someone's business right in the front row. She almost forgets what she's doing on the Sands completely if it weren't for a sudden spasm that attacks her stomach. The hide roils obviously and she pulls back and away, rumbling uncomfortably before she finally decides she finds a spot. Not really prepared— that was up to the clutchdaddy afterall, since this gold couldn't care where the eggs were being laid. It's just as she's positioning herself that Ysa saunters in with a chair and a bottle of wine for the show, some mutters about public clutchings being annoying likely catching nearby ears. She sets up on the platform, tossing out a "Ignore me, love, and continue. Don't want to keep the nice people waiting!" over her shoulder. And Ysa didn't want to sit out there forever.
Moyrel settles into a seat and waves to Shorynia. "Hey there," she calls to the dragonhealer. "Greetings and salutations and all that," she adds as she pets the bronze firelizard nestled on her shoulder.
| Highway to Hell Egg |
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| This lustrous egg's seductive surface is full of swingin' excitement and sparkle. A ritzy splash of white-beaded satin flickers with a motion of its own, moving in sharp contrast to the blaze of spotted lights in the background. These candescent orbs seem to flash like a hologram in the light from overhead, pinpricks of glitter turned into bright, titillating stars. It's definitely the bee's knees of the clutch in all of its swanky fashion— that is, until those sparks of light shift from a welcoming shimmer at the top into an eye-burning conflagration of flames at the bottom. Spicy tones ignite and meld into a whirlwind of colors, black asphalt stained with splashes of blood and streaks of hot-cherry roadster chrome. Heading nowhere but down, and going fast, this ovoid turns from the glitzy glamor of the 20's to a nightmare of hellish proportions in sixty seconds flat. |
Veherin, having assured himself he hasn't missed the first egg yet, settles more comfortably in his seat, running a hand through his hair. It's already warm in the galleries, and as they begin to fill up, it only gets hotter. Most of his attention is, however, on the sands rather than any discomfort. As the first egg arrives, he exhales a low breath of appreciation, then quickly glances around as if to see if anyone noticed, straightening and nodding approvingly instead. Yeah.
Shorynia gasps lightly as the first egg is deposited without any ado to speak of, "Wow, that one's just… /wow/." She glances up at Moyrel almost as an afterthought, "Hey there, masterharper. How many eggs is your money on? Or don't you bet?"
Moyrel's eyebrows rise as the first egg emerges. "That's certainly an, erm, interesting one," she remarks. Then, to Shorynia in particular she says, "I think I can speculate here. Put me down for lucky number fourteen."
Renalys was in the middle of a light lunch when the call went out, as many others were. Living in the Weyr for about a sevenday now, the noises of dragons were no longer surprising, but this roaring seemed special. The murmur that stirred amongst the other diners cemented her suspicions. Shoveling the rest of the food on her plate into her mouth, Ren quickly cleaned up after herself and followed the sprinkling of people heading out towards the hatching sands. As she had been hoping, the gold who had flown most recently was finally clutching, and Ren would be able to see it! Hustling quietly into the rows of seats, she realized she had already missed the first egg, and silently cursed her appetite as she sat down towards the front, gluing her eyes to the mother-to-be.
Anaky leans baack. That gold seems awfully close for a moment, the young man's eyes going a bit wide. Though once there's an egg, he's leaning forward again, towel rumpled in his lap as he shifts to tuck one knee under him and peer at the sands. "Shells, that one is a show all on its own," is murmured appreciatively, pale gaze drifting to those nearby. He totally notices Veherin's reaction there, and slight grin tugs at his expression, the weaver commenting, "It's rather something, isn't it?" Though he's briefly distracted by one of the latecomers, Abaky bobbing his head in greeting to Renalys, and offering her and anyone else nearby a pleasant, "Hello."
From the Sands, Finally Ittisieth moves, rising with as little motion as possible before sauntering forwards those few steps to the first egg. This one, it seemed, he wanted to make an example of. That's right folks, /look/ at it. Take a good, long look… And now, it's gone! Sweeping sand around it with his forepaws, the bronze backs away and actually digs a hole this time, sweeping black sands neatly aside before continuing on to create a second small pit. Are… are they evenly spaced? Surely not. No one's /that/ anal. S'gam isn't, it seems - he looks rather helter-skelter indeed when he enters behind Ysa, brown hair tufted up at all the right worried angles. Sigh. What is one to do with him. "There're worse things," he's muttering back to the weyrwoman, having caught her words. "Could be storming, for one."
Shorynia nods to Anaky with a light wave, then turns back towards Moyrel, "14? Don't think there's been a clutch that big since I started paying attention. My money's on nine. Ittisieth's still you, building up, I think." She nods a little sagely, "Of course, fourteen would be amazing."
Straightening, Veherin looks vaguely embarrassed, glancing over at Anaky for a moment before recognition sets in. "Oh- hi," he greets, with a little grin. "Um, yeah. Seen plenty of 'em before, but they're always so -different-," he says, casting a glance back to the sands to make sure he hasn't missed anything. "-Anaky, wasn't it?" He gives an easy nod of greeting to Renalys as the girl sits nearby.
From the Sands, Ysa swings her head about to eye the first egg of the clutch, giving it a passing whuffle as she moves away to allow Ittisieth to do his business. She spends a little more time after the bronze's attention instead, leaning for a nuzzle if he allows it before sauntering away with a swing of her tail. Oops. There goes a hole. If Ellamariseth looks pleased with the bronze's work, she's not showing it. Fortunately she doesn't make it all too far before her belly seizes up again and she actually turns towards the pits the clutch sire is leaving behind, awaiting the next eggs. "She'd find a way to plug herself up and not allow the eggs to come if it were storming," Ysa says as she flops into her chair. She pops open the bottle of wine, taking a swig of it without any glass at all. There was no time, or perhaps she didn't care, before offering it to Sig. "Less people might brave a storm, afterall, for just a clutching. And look, I think these eggs are actually /decent/ looking. Don't you think? Look, there's some more." And yes indeed, Ellamariseth's already laying a pair and missing the dug up hole completely.
| It Takes Two To Tango Egg |
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| Settled upon the black sands, this little egg is anything but peaceful. Its shell is marked by hues so vivid, they practically *pop* right off the smooth, curved surface, loud colors whirling in an epic dance of dominance over a floor of ever-shifting darkness. Deep purples and brilliant, eye-searing yellows clash together, fighting for the upper hand across the majority, while here and there poigniant streaks of one jab into sections of the other, ruthless in their furious attempts to overwhelm or conquer. Bright and bold, there is no room for compromise it seems, no lackluster greys or soft blurring where the two shades meet. Instead, there is only firm resolve, absolute lines careening this way and then another, swirling round and round but apparently never meeting on any common ground. |
| Tattered Treasure Map Egg |
| Most of the time, this egg's shell presents a very simple view, slightly yellowed, like aged parchment, with odd sepia lines putting shadows on the surface. Every now and then, the sand gets shifted by the clutch parents, deliberately or no, and a bit more is shown, or hidden again. Occasionally, a dotted line is revealed, weaving its way up the side of the shell. Even more rarely, the base of the shell is uncovered, revealing a great big mark in red - two intersecting lines - a great crossing of strokes, almost always buried in sand. |
Moyrel says, "We'll see. I've seen it once or twice, I'm sure." Then: "Interesting markings on these ones. I think Nature went a little crazy with this clutch."
Shorynia leans further forward, practically scooting off the bench to lean on the railing as the next two are deposited, "Oh wow… these eggs are gorgeous. Not that they all aren't but these are…" Dragonhealers. pfft. "I would never have thought Ittisieth and Ellamariseth would have produced such nice eggs. Casts some interesting light on dragon inbreeding." She glances up at Moyrel, "Any way you could regale me about those older clutches some time? There are plenty of records on hatchings, but not the clutches themselves."
Renalys turned her attention to Anaky as he spoke to Veherin nearby, and then greeted her. She smiled widely in return. "Hello." She replied, looking to Anaky and then Veherin as she caught his nod as well. "Glad I didn't miss too much." She added, chuckling slightly, and turning her head back to the sands just in time to see two more beautiful eggs fall gently onto the black surface. "Ohh, the second one is lovely.." She whispered to no one in particular.
From the Sands, Ittisieth does allow that nuzzle, even taking pause from his task long enough to return it before glaring up at the stands. No one saw that. If he cares that Ellamariseth caved the first hole in, he likewise keeps it to himself, instead shifting back to open it up agai— "HA." S'gam quickly coughs to cover that noise, hurriedly taking the bottle from Ysa and all but drowning himself with it while Ittisieth /STARES/ at Ella. /STARES/. "Ahem. Yeah. Good point. It'd be exciting for the people that did come, but uh… crowds. Right." The bronzerider is visibly fighting not to laugh at his lifemate's visible distress. "They do seem hale and healthy, however. Full of… personality," he says, eyeing that brightly-colored egg in particular. Ittisieth is looking at it too, but with murder in his eyes. Curses. Now his line is messed up. Must not let it show. It's okay. This can happen. He'll just… space them even /further/ apart. It's alright. Half-burying those eggs too, Ittisieth very pointedly digs the next hole right under Ella's nose. Here you go, darling. Put the eggs in /these/. Helpful, ain't he?
Anaky's gaze returns to the sands, watching that bronze with a faintly amused expression, although it's the bronze's /rider/ his pale eyes are then drawn to, those narrowing just lightly. "He looks awfully familiar.." the weaver blinks, brow furring for just a moment, though there's only a headhsake afterward. And look, more eggs! There's another appreciative noise made as he leans a bit more, eyebrows arching up to his hairline. "They are," he agrees with Veherin, glancing that way briefly, with a nod, "Anaky, and you're.. ah.." Alas, the sheepish look on his face is likely evidence the weaver's forgotten. Tsk! A hand is brought up ro rub the back of his neck, the weaver then nodding further agreement with Renalys, "It really is lovely.. I wonder what color's in there." Already, the speculation begins!
Moyrel pauses for a moment to sift through her memories. "There was a clutch of, erm, I believe twelve actually, at Western maybe about ten turns ago. Okay, so not quite fourteen, but still a quite big clutch."
Shorynia nods, hand automatically reaching for the satchel she doesn't have with her, then frowns, "Later, I think. When I have my note book. I really want to learn more about how, if at all, the parents affect the eggs."
"Veherin," the scruffy haired resident offers with an easy smile. "Think you ran off before you could catch it," he adds to Anaky, out of politeness. The weaver's words draw his attention back to the sands, straightening and grinning. "Wow- look at the colors on those," he whistles appreciatively. Grinning at Renalys, he adds on the heels of Anaky's comment, "Care to bet?"
From the Sands, "Ellamariseth tries to make it exciting. But honestly… they're all the same to me, after the first or second time. But see! Two more pretty ones. Not like the ugly things that Kinseth and the other clutch sires used to give Ellamariseth. Let's hope your Ittisieth keeps this up, especially on the dragonets." Ysa, of course, blames the bronze dragons on this problem of ugly eggs and dragons. She gives Sig a stern look, as if he himself could change it before her face splits into a grin as she wags a hand for her wine back. Someone needs a buzz. Crooon. Nuzzles make Ellamariseth happy, almost as happy as the crowd in the galleries. She doesn't seem to realize Ittisieth's new problem, immediately moving away from them to go stare at the people. It's only when he digs that hole right in front of her does she turn her attention back. She blinks at him, at the hole, at him… What? But no time to think! Egg is coming, and she moves forward, some sand falling into the hole and— be happy, Ittiseith, she plops the sucker right in.
| Secret Source Of Shame Egg |
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| The creep of a barely-opened door casts a shadow of maliced doubt over the cobwebbed outline traced in gruesome bone-white. The mantle, a hazy darkness which enshrouds this egg with enigma and mystery, encompasses all in an eidolon of color, dusk's greyscale falling over the small ovoid as if it is soon misplaced, soon forgotten. The tracery of truth lies within, a slumped figure, barely discernable for the dust and the dirt: but truth it is, disguised or revealed, and disguised it shall sit… for now. |
A murmur ripples through the crowd, a tug of admiration or some other kind of fleeting sentiment. It begins at the top of the galleries, among a group of teenage boys who keep passing marks back and forth; it appears to be that they're betting as the hatching is on-going. Not surprisingly, they're also passing a skin of wine amongst them, and occasionally break out into raucous laughter whenever something amusing is said. Wegimar is in the midst of them, reclining back as his dark brown eyes take in the dragons, the eggs, and the progressively busier gallery stands. There is hardly a flicker of emotion that strays across his impassive face - he's simply.. watching, marks at the ready for whenever another egg falls.
Shorynia hisses softly at the Secret Source of Shame Egg, "Okay, not /all/ pretty, but nothing like that one egg that looked like someone'd whipped it from Miraneith's clutch…"
Moyrel smiles a bit. "I dunno," she says, "it is kind of pretty in its dark n shadowy sort of way. Stark and mysterious, as 'twere, don't you think?"
Leave it to Pokth to make them both late for the clutching. Back at the weyr, as they had been about to leave out to head over to the sands, Pokth's anxiety had grown so much that he'd been acting more and more like a hatchling again, his curiousity rising rapidly. This continued to the point where the large brown stuck his head in a crack, « just to see what was inside » he had said…and gotten stuck. H'gat was embarrased, and Pokth just plain panicked, his large neck and body flailing about as he keened for help. H'gat had tried to calm his companion down enough so that the brown could simply /*between*/ out, but by the time this was done, the sound of dragonspeak had already begun to waft up from the sands. The clutching was beginning. Directing Pokth to find a roost among his kin, H'gat wandered up the steps to the viewing gallery, looking around for familiary faces in the crowd that the event had drawn.
From the Sands, "Ah, really? Shards. I find 'em all pretty thrilling. But then, that was my job." Indeed, for a minute there, it seems to be all S'gam can do not to dash off the sands and go get paper on which to take copious notes. Instead he passes the bottle back, plopping to a seat on the wooden platform, hands tucked under his legs. "Ittisieth tends to make… interesting eggs," the bronzerider does allow. "Some pretty and some ominous." This, it seems, was a bit prophetic considering the latest egg to hit the sands. "His last batch of dragonets weren't anything to sneer at, either, but it's hard to predict." That's right, bronzerider - cover your arse just in case! Ittisieth, meanwhile, sighs in an audible way. Thank /Faranth/. All is right in the world again. Sidling backwards, the bronze seems to make a few mental caculations before digging a nice, large pit in the sand. There. That was obvious. Can't miss it. Cue a soft croon to Ella - see, they could do this!
Shorynia nods her head back and forth a couple of times, "I suppose it's growing on me. Not as pleasant as the first three, but it does have a uniquely nice quality…" She turns back at the sound of a late arrival, then waves at H'gat from her place in the front row, "C'mon, Gat. You're gonna miss 'em."
Anaky inclines his head, "Well met, Veherin. They are rather bright," his tone appreciative, though after a moment, he has to admit with a wry tilt to his mouth, "I am somewhat glad my mentor isn't here. He'd likely be getting ideas from those." Lovely, but perhaps not to wear. Dragon-egg inspired clothing; it could be a whole new fashion trend. As for betting, Anaky arches a brow slightly at Veherin, "I've no idea.. at least, not any I'd place marks on." Pale eyes drift to the group of boys a little further up in the galleries, head tilting to glance briefly in Wegimar's direction, "The small one might be a green?" is suggested hesitantly, though the lad is then blinking back at the sands' latest occupant, "That one is.. uh, interesting." Cough.
H'gat looks and smiles at Shory as she grabs his attention. Wandering over, he makes himself comfortable beside her, "Sorry. Pokth got his head stuck in a hole in a wall. The big guy gets so worked up for things like this, he starts acting like he's only a week old again." He sighs and looks out over the sands at the eggs…or at least what he can see of them. He arches an eyebrow at the holes and the lack of eggs in them. "Seems Ella needs to work on her aim, heh. Ah well, at least we can see the eggs this time. I still remember how Zaq kept blocking the view from everyone when Mira clutched Pokth and the rest." He smiles at the nostalgia then looks again at the eggs out on the sands, "Interesting batch so far, to say the least. That last egg there looks downright spooky."
Veherin looks vaguely disappointed at Anaky's reluctance to bet and, instead, focuses on the sands as he leans further forward. "Suppose the more interesting question is how many she's going to clutch in total, anyway." He half-mutters to himself. "And we'd find out sooner, anyway."
From the Sands, Ysa makes a face at the Dragonhealer-turned Weyrleader, taking a long drink from the bottle afterwards. Makes her relax more and actually enjoy the conversation too, at least. "Was your job," she finally notes with a lick of her lips, eyeing the bottle. "Though you're free to study the eggs and all. Ittisieth is one of Ellamariseth's, right? Maybe clutches with foreign bronzes is what makes them all weird." And that last egg had to go and pop the happy mood as she Weyrwoman leans forward in her seat and gives it a stare, as if she could change its appearance. "I'll have to go see his previous hatchlings. They're likely still around in some of the Wings here." Ellamariseth, on the other hand, feels like she's good enough to go up to the galleries now instead of following Ittisieth and his hole-making around. She settles her head on the rail with a whuffle at those nearby, eyes whirling happily. It immediately scares off some of the less brave holdbred people, and she actually manages to look hurt when they run. But… but… Oh wait. That familiar ripple attacks, and she barely has time to move her head away before two new eggs join the ones on the Sands. Right there, next to the galleries. FAR from that giant pit.
| Smorgasbord Feast Egg |
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| A swirling mass of shapes can be seen on the egg's shell, and closer examination reveals the shapes to be various foodstuffs of all kinds. Wherry-meat, vegetables, all kinds of breads…even things that normal people probably wouldn't eat can be seen among all the edibles. They all seem to spiral about a dark object in the center. A glint of metal reflection can be seen on this mysterious epicenter as some of the food falls into this void, only to be replaced by an equally…unique…bit of food somewhere else on this interesting shell. |
| Championing Perdition Egg |
| Half of this colossal ovoid is the thing of nightmares, as blackened and wretched as the abyss itself. Pandemonium reigns across its shell - infernos of hell-fire rake great torrents and gouts upon its jagged ebony surface, while the depths of pits and chasms are so stygian in nature that not even the brightest light of Rukbat can pierce them. The only hint of redemption can be found on the far side of the egg, where bright, iridescent white eggshell shines amidst the miasma of magma and brimstone. In its purity, it seems to represent all that is good and right in this world… Yet it also seems to belong in that hell, taunting, provoking, projecting the idea that everything you know is wrong. |
Shorynia nods to H'gat, "Thank Faranth Ittisieth isn't as overprotective as Zaqalekth was. I like at least /seeing/ the eggs before they get covere-" She pauses, eyes locking on the new eggs and roving over them to take in their every detail, "Those two are creepier, too. But still pretty." She pauses a moment, "Now that I think on it, when Ittisieth sired on Miraneith the eggs were nice, too. Maybe Ittisieth makes pretty eggs."
Renalys tried to hide her smirk at the sight of the frustrated bronze clutch-father, and his mate's indiscretion. They were rather amusing despite the importance of the event. Well, who knew if the weyrfolk thought it terribly important anymore, but Ren certainly did. The murmurs about the appearance of the fourth egg made the Hold-bred girl watch it intently. Should they be terribly colorful, like that second one? Was a greyish hue an ominous sign for the hatchling? She was suddenly very aware of her egg ignorance. Ellamariseth quickly stirred her from her thoughts though, as she stuck her head into the galleries nearby. While others ran for cover, Renalys only backed up in her seat slightly, watching curiously, and then grinned at her pleasant noises and eye color. But the gold's placid mood was interrupted again by contractions, and two more eggs were produced; each more interestingly colored than the last.
Anaky is likely terrible at making bets, the weaver offering at least a guess on egg number, "I'd have said five, although.." and there arrive five and six. He looks momentarily sheepish once again, just shaking his head lightly, a bit of pale hair falling across his face. As he tucks the strands back behind his ear, he comments thoughtfully, "I wonder if she expects us to applaud?" He's just going to be leaning back a bit every time the gold approaches, even his own weyrbred self unused to this sort of thing. "Any guess on how many?" is asked of Renalys, the weaver tilting his head and perhaps noticing her smirk, his own expression certainly bemused for poor Ittisieth there.
From the Sands, "He is," S'gam agrees, skipping that bit about studying the eggs - that was a given. "Though he came out of a clutch with Kinseth, so… who knows. There're theories, but I won't bore you with them." The bronzer adds with a pert smirk before nodding. "Most stayed." As for those eggs newest eggs, well… look on the positive side. Creepy now meant less creepy for later? Eh heh. Yeah. Anyways, if dragons can 'GAH!', then that's certainly the equivalent of the noise that Ittisieth makes. His extra-bulgy eyes /zoom/ from Ellamariseth to the hole to the gold and back. Right /here/. The hole was /right here/. WHAT. He doesn't even— No, it's okay. Breathe, Ittisieth. Can't lose face. Can't— OH FOR THE LOVE OF FARANTH, BOTH OF THEM?! Digging his claws deep into the sands, the bronze all but has a heart attack out there, some strange twitching taking up along one of his eyelids. Glaring at Ella a little less patiently now, Ittisieth moves forwards towards the actual stands, making a huge deal out of scooping anally-retentive piles of sand around those two eggs. Two can play this game. Mention of his name draws faceted eyes like a beacon, head snapping towards the onlookers, actually paying attention for the first time… if only to sniff, unimpressed.
"No, more than that," Veherin says with the absent-minded assurance of one who knows better. That latest two eggs earn a brief furrow of brow; if only long enough to earn a thoughtful study. "Applaud?" he echoes Anaky, belatedly. "I doubt it. It might even be distracting if everyone was suddenly clapping," he muses aloud, gaze shifting to study the clutchmother a moment. "Some dragons don't like people watching at all, but it doesn't seem to be bothering Ellamariseth much. Although-" although, he's eyeing Ittisieth with a hint of wariness at that sudden look, and just a quick glance to locate the exit. Just in case.
From the Sands, Being near the stands means that she catches words and people's reactions. Her eyes turn briefly towards Ittisieth's little panic attack, giving him a very happy warble-croon to him before she leans her head against the railing again with an amused look. Her expression really might just read 'Isn't he a cute daddy?' That or perhaps 'I'm utterly exhausted' maybe, considering she's growing tired of all these eggs popping out of her. Ellamariseth's gazy rests on Anaky and yes, it does look expecting a moment. Well? Too late, her attention strays away and she's off and moving, belly rippling and demanding for a new spot. She actually sinks a moment into the large hole that Ittisieth dug early, expanding it by kicking out piles of sand for her bulk to rest. "I'm hoping that the ugly eggs stayed with Kinseth. Ittisieth was a nice exception, of course. Very handsome. Come now, dear, I know there's more! Hurry up!" Ysa keeps taking gulps from the bottle until it's looking half-empty, when she remembers to offer it to her Weyrleader. It's a long pause, but the gold does finally move away, only to get up, shift, and plop two eggs in together into the wide ditch. Combined effort of Ittisieth and herself.
| Shiny Pocket Lint Egg |
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| From a distance, the shell of this egg appears to puff and pucker, like a great big cloud, fat with rain. The colouration is about as dismal, shades of grey only, dark and gloomy for the most part. Winding across the surface, disappearing in one crevice and emerging in another, is a solitary thread of shining silver, a single bright streak cutting through the darkness. |
| Foolishly Ironic Egg |
| Gasp. Could it be? Perfectly ovicular, if lacking in regularity, is a solid golden egg! From a distance, this egg is only a few shades warmer than the sun's glow, it still cuts an impressive figure against the black sands, visibly larger than most of its compatriots. Asperous valleys and gorges disfigure an otherwise faultless eggshell, leaving isometric dents and uneven ridges that can be felt with the fingertips. Closer consideration might reveal veins of silvery-grey and brown impurities, tarnishing the egg's otherwise brassy tones with a gritty iron cast. Hmm, on second thought, it's not very 'golden' at all, is it? Something is clearly amiss, so perhaps this egg isn't exactly what meets the eye. |
H'gat arches an eyebrow at the curious performance of the bronze on the sands. As the large dragon snaps his neck around to stare at the crowd, H'gat turns his head curiously. The fear of his younger turns as a candidate gone, replaced by experience with his own dragon, H'gat simply glances at the bronze's large head, silently inquiring to himself what is going on. Reaching out with his mind to Pokth, he silently speaks to his companion, "Pokth do me a favor and see if you can tell him that I don't want to mess with the eggs. I've already got my own dragon." He grins, knowing it's all but a useless effort. The gold and the bronze on the sands are driven by almost pure instinct at this point. Still, safety is always something to keep in mind. As the next two eggs are clutched, a brief gasp escapes the brownrider's mouth, "A gold? No…but….I don't know what it could be, to be honest." Looks like another interesting clutch for Ista. Chuckling, he looks over to Shory, "Well, looks like you'll make your marks if things continue at this rate, Shory."
Shorynia's breath catches in her throat as the almost-but-not-quite-gold egg hits the sands, "Wow, I wonder… I mean, Zeek's egg wasn't especially golden, but… but at the same time it's bronzish…" She flaps one hand idly at Ittisieth, "Oh, don't worry, none of us are gonna touch them, Ittisieth." She nods to H'gat lightly, "Maybe… maybe not… You never know."
Renalys absently listened to Anaky and Veherin's conversation as she watched the dragons on the sands. Hearing the former's comment about applause made Ren chuckle and turn his way. "She looks pleased enough no matter what we do, doesn't she?" Though her bronze mate gave off a very different feeling, and Ren held her breath slightly as he eyed the gallery. Turning back to the conversation, she added, "I would have thought she'd be annoyed, at the least, but she seems pretty satisfied." Spoken just as the gold rested her head yet again on the railing of the galleries, looking like she was staring at Anaky. Ren watched, curious, but Ellamariseth quickly became disinterested as she focused on popping out two more eggs.. one looking like it was pure gold! Well, maybe not pure, but it was far different from the rest. Could it be that easy to tell which egg would hold a queen? Or perhaps a bronze..
Anaky has to bring a hand up, partially covering his mouth, Ittisieth's reaction over there having the weaver looking both somewhat sympathetic and terribly amused. He nods agreement with Renalys, "She does," and then raises a thin brow at Veherin's talk of applause, "I only meant.." though whatever he was going to say, ends up only an uncertain, "Uh.." Because said gold is.. looking at him? Luckily, she's soon off and distracted elsewhere, and the weaver just sinks down a bit in his seat, quietly clearing his throat. Eheheh. There is a bit of a blink at that very.. goldeny egg, "I'd put marks on that one," asently commented to Veherin. Though he doesn't actually offer a guess on it.
Veherin lets out a low sort of laugh, looking wry. "Really? For gold?" He muses over that for a moment, examining the egg in question, then holds a hand out to Anaky. "You're on. How much- quarter mark?"
From the Sands, Ittisieth us unamused and unmoved by that croon. Don't try to butter him up, woman! Once they were alone, they were going to have /words/. Posture rigid, the bronze watches while the gold moves over towards the hole finally, eye only spasming once when she finds it necessary to make it larger. If the bronze gets any message in his head, he doesn't show it, continuing to stare down the people in the stands. It's not an angry stare, so why they were cowering, he'd never know, but he wasn't complaining about it either. /One/ of them has to maintain some semblance of respect. "I hope so, too. Granted, some of those eggs, look downright painful, but… well, we'll have to see what candidates say about them come touching-time. Eggs don't mean much in the end." Taking that bottle, Sig takes a much smaller sip than before, doing his best not to browraise those recent eggs along with the rest. He's pretty successful - his lifemate is much more hilarious and interesting to him, after all. "Ease up, Sie. They don't bite. Go dig." Finally dragging away from the wall, the bronze complies, scraping one more deep gouge in the sand. It seems he's finally caved to the insanity - there's absolutely no mathematical way that hole can relate to the others. Happy?
From the Sands, It's not something that Ellamariseth will complain about. Any attention is better than none at all, though it doesn't mean she'd actually be listening to him. She'll just soak in the attention (good or bad) if there's no one in the galleries to go bother. After the last pair, she looks down at them, smugly, and then immediately turns away with a kick of sand down into the wallow. So much for them being special or anything. Not that Ella's ever given her eggs more than a moment's worth of attention, leaving the task up to the sires of the clutch. "More like wait until they hatch. You still never know with touchings." Ysa's angsty by this time, looking over the expanse of the sands with a frown. "Was that just a gold egg? After Nziekilth's queen I didn't think we really needed anymore. Not that for Ella that means anything at the end." Ysa knows this game, and she doesn't seem to give the eggs any special attention anymore, shiny shell or not. Thankfully there's not a long wait. Before the next hole can be dug out by Ittisieth, Ellamariseth drops two more eggs within a few steps of each other, though they're relatively largely spaced out compared to the rest. It's only after those two that she finally settles with a weary sigh.
| Flight Of The Porcine Egg |
|---|
| There is nothing small or dainty about /this/ egg, so round and pudgy it looks more like some fat pastry dumped on the hatching sands than anything remotely egglike. Except it's totally ginormous, and vaguely tapered at one end, the only concession the thing seems to make in regards to its true nature. A kind of pale, beigeish pink covers most of it, darker squiggles creating the impression of folds or wrinkles across a bulbous shape which all but hogs the surface area. Faint, stiff lines in a yellower hue brush around this epic blob of coloration, like stiff bristles or hair, though to the touch it's utterly smooth. Where the egg narrows, there's a brighter splotch of pink with two dark spots at its center, and further down, where the shell is touched by soft shades of cream and lilac, there's a feathering of white all blurred and whispy, as if this delicate patterning were almost too faint, too out of place, to be true. |
| Radiance of Daybreak Egg |
| An effervescent shimmer of pastels, illumined and heartfelt, grace the smooth surface of this egg. Delicate golden clouds spirit across the shell's apex, daubed and streaked in turn, as though crafted by a painter's loving hand. The surface beneath is a smooth gradient of pale ambers fading with tones of apricot, coral, and whisping lavender. An almost ethereal shade of azure clings to the horizon, the last vestiges of night fighting valiantly, if ineffectually, against the inevitable coming of the dawn. Mountain peaks rise along the egg's base like cold, dark icebergs, untouched by the gleaming crest of a newly-rising sun… but it is only a matter of time before they, too, rise and shine to greet the morn. |
Anaky tilts his head at Veherin, lips quirking slightly as he answers with at least something of a straight face, "No, blue." Pfft. As for how much, there's a moment's hesitation, the weaver saying somehwat wryly, "On an apprentice's marks? I've only an eighth," though he'll extend his hand, "Why not.. I suppose I might as well, while I'm in Ista." Apparently, Ista is occasion enough to make bets, or.. something. He pauses to watch the next two eggs, thin brows rising with a quiet, "Those are rather.. lovely, ah.. interesting," he can't seem to quite decide there.
After a few moments of anticipation, H'gat smiles as Ellamariseth lays out two more eggs, then appears to relax. Cocking his head, the brownrider looks at the large round egg, "Hmmm, that egg reminds me of Pokth, haha. Now I'm curious to see what kind of dragon comes from it." The pastel egg is also an attention-getter, immediatly filling the brownrider with feelings of warmth and refreshment, "Now there's a pretty one!" Looking over to Shory again, he grins, "Well, there's the clincher, looks like you lucked out, Shor."
"Shards!" is Shory's first phrase, then blushes slightly, looking thoroughly embarrassed. She didn't say that. More quietly to the brownrider beside her, "10. Ah, well. Still, a great combination. I like them."
Thea has been here, of course, the whole time. Arriving as unobtrusively as possible with polite, if subdued greetings given via Seryth to Ellamariseth and Ittisieth when they arrived over Ista's airspace, she's found an out of the way seat and settled to quietly watch the clutching, a fond smile on her serene face as each and every egg is laid. When it's obvious no more are forth-coming, she slips away, seeking S'gam if she can, to convey Xanadu's congratulations before departing for home.
From the Sands, Sire of the clutch, indeed. While to all outward appearances, Ittisieth will ignore the eggs, come morning they will be neatly turned and tended too, and when they grow harder shells, well… they very well might be put back into carefully-measured rows again. Who knows. "No, but you can sometimes get a pretty good idea." S'gam says this in a flat sotto voce, likely having heard many (horror) stories in his time. "I think it was, but shards… after the golds we've seen lately…" But no, he won't think about it either! Taking another mouthful of wine, the bronzerider passes the bottle back and then shakes his head, clearing such thoughts. Ittisieth's face, meanwhile, registers a look that clearly speaks of 'invisible facepalm.' Faranth's first egg on a cracker, he had his work cut out for him… Playing nice, the bronze gives the weary Ellamariseth an encouraging nudge as he passes, making quick work of shrouding the eggs this time. There. Done. Surveying the misplaced lumps of sand with a sigh, the bronze resumes his original position, positively statuesque. "Well, that was fun." Slightly buzzed Sig looking Supremely Amused by the goings-on of this clutching? You bet!
From the Sands, Ellamariseth will know. And she lives off of gossiping. She might ruin his reputation by the end of this, if she doesn't end up giving him that heart attack afterall. Ysa seems satisfied with the clutch, even with a few odd ones here and there. "Not really on the looks. Can't do much on the personalities that come out, I imagine. There was a whole clutch with Kinseth where I swear I was surprised those hatchlings were even alive." She snorts, takes the bottle back, and gets a HUGE gulp to erase that memory and muttering about sharding awful things. "Fun, yeah," she says with a smirk, glancing at the Weyrleader. "Your dragon might not think it was so much fun. Tell him sorry, for Ella. She's… special." So the Weyrwoman did notice the poor bronze's dilemma out there. "Have ya had lunch?" she asks after a moment, wobbling to her feet. Maybe she's had a bit too much wine already, but once up she's stable enough to go to lunch. Her special dragon, in fact, makes a happy croon to Ittisieth, suddenly too tired to lift up and nag him for attention. She'll leave him alone and rest. There will be plenty of time later for more people-watching and bronze-bugging.
From the Sands, Then it will come down to a contest of who people will believe - him or her. For Ittisieth's sanity's sake, let's hope his broody stoicness pays off! "I remember that clutch, and vaguely wish I didn't. Some of them dragons are /still/ like that - one stiff breeze and I swear, they'll blow apart!," he says with an expressive flinging of his fingers. Rising to his feet, the bronzer aims a sideways grin at Ysa, head shaking. "He'll forget, but I won't. It's healthy for him to get riled up now and then. Helps me remember he's alive." And indeed, Ittisieth hasn't moved since he came to rest, not even to blink. Creepy. "Special's a good word, though. Lunch? No, but I could go for some." Likely to help him sober up before he has to meet with someone, judging by the mildly concerned look on his face for the way the sands are swaying. Hmm. It isn't until his human is gone and the stands clear that Ittisieth finally shifts away from his vigil, crooning back to Ellamariseth and dropping to the sand next to her. Aww. Isn't he sweet… I mean, miserly. YES. Miserly. For shame.
