Tier upon tier of benches worn slipper-smooth over the turns rise high in these galleries, encompassing a full third of the hatching cavern's wall. Each row is placed at such an angle to offer even those furthest back a clear view of the sands over the heads of those up front. Several lines of rope cordon off the sands proper. A precariously narrow pathway offers access to the multiple layers of dragon ledges that line the walls.

To view things on the hatching sands, see .
Perched around the galleries are seven firelizards.
Za'an, Mordecai, Ji'n, and Kaishori are here.
Obvious exits:
Ledges Stairs

From the hatching sands, Alys has made it. Her instructions were clear from Lanti: Get thee to the sands and do /something/ for Breakwater. So, what does she do? Stands off to the side looking inconspicuous. Total sands babe.

From the hatching sands, Taram isn't here. Why would he be? You must be smoking something from T'sei's weyr.

From the hatching sands, N'ayl has arrived with Alys. Maybe he's here to make sure she doesn't mediocre someone to death. Or he could be Ken to her Baby. He stands by her with his chin raised and arms crossed. Hip-thump. BONY hip-thump. Hi, Breakwater subordinate.

All the time it takes for Ji'n to get Kzydnth strapped, pick up his sister, go back for forgotten betting hides, and get to the hatching sands delays the arrival of the two skinny redheads in the galleries. But arrive they do, Ji'n trying to remain slightly in the lead, if only by virtue of his longer legs, as he heads for a few front-ish row seats.

From the hatching sands, Ilae joins D'baji shortly after he arrives, via a quick drop-off by Suumanuth just up on the ledges, and eyes the eggs with anticipation. Something to look forward to, seeing who will be the weyrlings soon. "D'baji." It's a quiet greeting, and for the moment, all that is said by the greenrider.

From the hatching sands, Nine, Ten, Never Sleep Again Egg shivers testingly.

Sneaking in with a few curious glances about the large cavern is Myckren. He makes his way towards the galleries as his heads bobbles about, his glance moving from strange face to strange face. Finding a seat nearby the stairs, he avoids the awkward shuffle down a crowded row.

From the hatching sands, Lanti stands near her lifemate, eyes focused on the group of hardened eggs. Now and then, she reaches out a hand toward Dedanseth's forearm, but it is an involuntary moment. For the most part, her mind is elsewhere right now.

From the hatching sands, T'ab's blue eyes land on D'baji and he offers a wave and a smile, "Heya Mister Baji, gettin' a bit excited for these folks, eh?" The bronzerider offers one of the skins of wine to his older predecessor, "Always gets me a bit excited to see more'of th' lil dragons all wigglin' 'round." And now he'll adjust his swimsuit to make sure everything is hidden and in its place, there /are/ Holders that haven't seen him naked yet… yet.

By virtue of longer legs and the fact that his smaller sister-thing is making sure those hides are /organized/, shardit, and pulling a ledger out of her vest pocket as she tromps (not trips!) down the stairs. But Siraji is hard on Ji'n's heels none the less, expression set in determined-hard lines. They make the front seats. She maybe throws a few elbows to make sure they /stay/ open, too.

Cullen enters with a small yip-dog nipping his heels - that would be his five-turn old daughter, panting to keep up with his impatient pace. He looks around at the amassing spectators as if he doesn't want to be associated with these people. Frown. "Daaaaad! Don't go so fast!" "Move your ass, squeaker." He's moving to the very top, where he can STAND, thank you. He seems more interested in eyeballing the people coming and going than in the dragon eggs. Myckren gets a particularly long look.

From the hatching sands, Kanga has been here, somewhere near T'ab and Lanti, fanning herself with a thin, hide and bamboo grass fan. The second she gets a good view of T'ab's booty *ahem* being the skins he is carrying, her eyes light up, "I am soooo thirsty. Totally, Dahhl. The eggs need to get going already." Ruenalth skulks and peers from atop the ledges, and his lifemate smiles, blows kisses at him and waves a bit. Disgusting.

From the hatching sands, Alys eyes her nails, slanting a shuttered look to N'ayl for that hip-bump. She wiggles her fingers lazily. Hi there, fellow wing member. Her eyes slide back to the eggs, expression bordering on bored — but that could be all an act. Just so she doesn't get saddled with oo-ey, goo-ey, slimy dragonets or anything.

Fingers still twined through K'ane's as she arrives from the back of Dhioth, Wynston is not nearly so composed and professional, as if being able to watch a hatching has brought out the child in her as well with a flush of excitement. The crowd makes her daring, leaving her hand in the bronzeriders as they make their way to a free seat, the healer at least being not at all picky in what is free.

From the hatching sands, (candidates).

The associated group of Ji'n and Saji's family - Basjeian and Meiriona and the two of their children who aren't standing - doesn't quite make the front row, but makes the one right behind Ji'n and Saji. (And alert the brother and sister to their presence with shoulder taps and waves.) "You get any chance t'bet on Meisjin?" That's from Ji'n, to Siraji, with a little tap of his elbow directed to her ribs. Don't drop those hides, girly.

From the hatching sands, Nine, Ten, Never Sleep Again Egg shivers, shakes and rocks, just biding its time for /just/ the right moment.

From the hatching sands, A Virgin Shall Summon Us Egg snores. Xxzxx.

K'ane, now, is fairly good at elbowing his way into a decent seat — for Wynston. He can see over the top of just about anybody in here, so once he's sure that he's got them both situated, there's a squeeze of Wynston's hand in anticipation. "It's /hot/ here," is his Captain Obvious observation. "Ooh, they look like they're gettin' ready to crack. We made it." BUAHAHAHA.

From the hatching sands, Cheshire Grin Egg spins halfway on its axis, stirring up sand rivulets in its wake.

From the hatching sands, Fail Egg stirs provocative, a slinky slow-motion spin upon the black Sands of Ista. Another twirl of sinister beauty, and it falls silent… for now.

From the hatching sands, A flock of white robes troop into the sands, each hardly distinguishable from the next, at least not at this point. As an uncoordinated group the candidates all offer bows to the dam and sire, as well as to their respective riders. Once the official part of the entrance is done they fan out, creating a loose and scattered, fairly disorganized, semi-circle around the eggs. Eager faces can now be distinguished from the group, along with nervous ones, and ones that look like the owner is going to be nauseous and become sick on the sands. Let's hope the latter doesn't occur.

From the hatching sands, D'baji shakes his head to T'ab's offer, holding out a hand, not in acceptance, but with palm forward, to block that wineskin. The older bronzerider doesn't give any verbal explanation of why; just taps the knot on his shoulder, donned for this occasion. Ilae, however, does get a returned greeting, a low, "Ilae," back in response to his own name being spoken.

From the hatching sands, Sienna leads the Candidates onto the Sands and then moves swiftly over to stand with D'baji and the rest of the WLM staff, pushing hair off her forehead as she watches, ready to go fetch the newly made Weyrlings. Her eyes dart sidelong to D'baji, and then back to the clutch.

From the hatching sands, Candy Corn Egg shivers violently and pieces of the candy-coated shell begins to chew away as an emerald snout peeks out, OMNOMNOMNOM. First, the white surface melts away, followed by the sugary orange and finally the oh-so-sweet yellow, until finally the egg is gone. In the place of the sweet treat egg comes a green that seems to have absorbed all of the sugary goodness, bouncing energetically onto the sands.

From the hatching sands, The Friendliest Green You Know Dragonet
From the hatching sands, A sun-warmed giggle kisses her sweet snout, smoky olive matched by the creamy pistachio that curves around a suggestion of a smile. Three simple shades delineate her pear-shaped form, shaded dark to light, top to bottom, from delicate forequarters to powerful haunches. Shadow-dappled moss lines the delicate boning of her wide wings, sails and 'spars cast in a paler shade; the same sooty green runs from her withers along her back to encapsulate the tip of her thick tail. Olivine green coats her curves, across her shoulders and down the outer edges of her slender front and stocky hind legs, while a spring softness lights up the paleness of her belly, right down to her celadon claws.

From the hatching sands, Adalaya helps to form the disorganized little semi-circle, standind between two other candidates and watching the eggs with intensity. The heat of the sands has yet to hit her. "Oh! Lookit, a green!" she declares, as if the others didn't know.

Myckren catches the look from Cullen and returns it. As he passes, the 'Reaches guard says under his breath, "Apparently you're not the only one that can be in two places at once?" Then an egg explodes and his prodding is done. His focus now lays on the scene below.

"That is—a bad sign, is it not? It isn't a bronze," Wynston questions of her companion as the first dragon frees itself from her shell, the healer shifting forward for a better look as a smile touches on the corners of her lips. "She is a very pretty green, though."

From the hatching sands, Game time. Good thing Alys isn't one of those white robe'd ones else the use of this pose would get her flayed. However, Alys stands immune to posing constructs as a sands babe in an outfit appropriate to the heat of the sands. Doot, doot — oh one hatched. Oh hey, How'd N'ayl get in front of her. It's the duty of the ones with rank to take the first spray of egg and shell goo!

From the hatching sands, Arienne puts a hand over her heart, as she looks to Rilhden, and then looks to Adalaya. Her heart is racing, even as she just got to the Sands. "A green," the girl replies with a grin. But Arienne is careful, stepping lightly, even with just one of the dangerous little dragonets out so far.

From the hatching sands, The Friendliest Green You Know Dragonet is suddenly left tumbling onto the sands in quite the awkward sprawl, rolling muzzle over tail until she clambers to her feet with an energetic bound that leaves her teetering on one leg. Her head tilts and peers down at herself, standing there on one leg, and she gives a curious sounding warble. Huh. That's weird. Then, like a slowly toppling tree, she falls over again and then scrambles to her feet again, giving her head a shake. Then she starts forward, her paws lifting awkward and floppy, but there's no denying the /energy/ that radiates from her as she starts to explore, heading straight for those white things over there. What are YOU?! I have to SEE!

From the hatching sands, T'ab takes the skin upon himself and watches the first egg emerge, "Oh… a green…" A blue-eyed glance goes up to Tyroth, then Dedanseth, "… er… they might not be happy. But I think I just won ten marks." The Weyrleader giggles lightly to himself and takes a quick swig of one of the skins, "This'll be /fun/."

From the hatching sands, Rilhden keeps Mayalei's hand firmly within his grasp, rubbing a thumb across the side of it in a reassuring way. "Just breathe, and keep your eyes open. If one of 'em looks like they're charging, get out of the way." Not like they hadn't already been told this, but hey, Rilh is feeling terribly protective and since he's an 'expert', having already gone through this before, he has to impart his knowledge after all. "Green first! And she looks full of energy." And then it's as if he feels eyes on him and he extends his hand to Arienne, to offer it to her if she wishes. "Just /breathe/." He instructs her too.

K'ane replies, "Depends on how, uh, supersticious y'are." He leans forwards and PEERS at a particular something on the Sands, a brow furrowing in obvious thought. "What th'…" He's spotted Alys, obvious. "I think s'long as it's healthy an' doesn't look like it's 'bout ready to rip someone's head off, it's a good sign," he belatedly offers his own commentary to Wynston with the flash of a grin.

Siraji gestures, one-handed, to the shoulder-tapping, hand-waving gaggle of associated relatives behind her, but for once it isn't rude. Just truncated. Her other hand is still braced, but she balances the ledger-bound hides like she's been practicing. Which she probably has been. "Got a couple down f' Impression," she says, "but they only just grabbed 'er. Not 'nough time f'colors." But then there's a green hatching, and she says something unprintable (rhymes with duck!) and shoves her face back in the ledger. "That's green first, yeah? Green?"

From the hatching sands, Yaiili moves around some of the sands, after having completed her bow. There's a wary look on the candidate's face as she maneuvers around the wobbling eggs. Stiff motions, arms swinging at her sides. There's no hint of a smile on the face of this stoic young woman. A few other candidates are passed, a look over towards some of the riders hanging about the sands. Is that Alys and N'ayl that Yaiili's eyes see? Oh yes, they are. A jaunty wave to Alys, and a rude gesture with one finger to N'ayl. Such love! A few steps taken to the left and the girl now intermingles with other candidates.

From the hatching sands, N'ayl can handle a little blood and guts - or, well, egg goo. Alys is given a taunting eyebrow-twitch before he eyes this first green spectacle. Hmmmm… Chin-stroking time. He blows a kiss at Yaiili. A really wet sloppy one. MWAH.

From the hatching sands, Breannah steps in with others, immediately grimancing as the heat rising up from the sands turns her slightly damp hair into an immediate attack to all in her vicinity. Such as Skylar. Despite the heated words the two were sharing right before stepping out on the Sands, the farm girl gravitates towards the other candidate. "She's bein' energetic! Think she'll gain her feet quickly?"

From the hatching sands, Out of Egged Egg emerges a green dragon, who possess a sickly hide that looks like the remainder of the egg yoke has decided to stick to her body. The chubby green waits no time to scramble up and across the sands to come near-colliding with the nerdy smith apprentice, Eagon. Silent words are exchanged and suddenly E'gon stutter shouts: "H-h-her name is Slimerth! Eeew… no."

Ji'n gives a sharp nod, leaning forward, eyes more piercing and hawklike now than befits a normal spectator. The eyes of a guard and a gambler all at once, watching the dice- err, eggs. Dragonets. Whatever. "Yup. Green," is confirmed out the corner of his mouth to his sister. It really seems like he ought to spit now, the way he's sitting, talking… but he doesn't.

From the hatching sands, Adalaya looks around at her fellow candidates, seeking out the hand of a nearby candidate. "Good luck," she gives, to whomever is close enough to hear, though it's a blanket comment, addressed to any and all candidates present. "Oh, lookit that green…" she nudges someone, pointing at Slimerth. "Congrats E'gon!" she calls louder to the new rider.

"Told you, son," Cullen answers Myckren. "I'm /everywhere/. Elly. C'mere." He scoops up his kid and starts muscling her up onto his shoulders, glancing at Wynston and K'ane - blink. "Damn, girl, you're with a different bronzerider every time I see you." Which is LIKE saying hi to K'ane, right? From her perch, Ellen is leaning way forward over Cullen's head, watching the eggs with her mouth open. Mouth-breathing. WOAH.

From the hatching sands, Arienne doesn't take Rilhden's hand, but she give a deep breath as she looks to Rilhden and nods. And then she faces the green dragonet, even as the poor girl stumbles towards the group. "Careful, she might topple us if we're not careful." Arienne's voice isn't really worried, but rather tainted with the excitement of the Sands.

From the hatching sands, Mayalei's got a death grip on Rilhden's hand, and whether all of that quivering is out of excitement or fear is easily left up for debate. The other candidate's words have those eyes blinking up to him, seeing without actually /seeing/, before her attention is on the little green. "Oh," she manages to say, full of absolute wonder, "she /is/ lovely."

From the hatching sands, Skylar is still, surprisingly seething, but not nearly as much as he was just a few moments ago while still in the barracks. He halts right /there/ and that might take Breannah by surprise, or not, but he otherwise just shrugs and slides her a wary glance. "Maybe? Never seen hatchlings in action before." Oh yeah, he's totally watching the new green out of the corner of his eye.

From the hatching sands, Alys shoots a wave at Yaiili, before giving N'ayl an obstinate look, but doesn't move two shakes from behind her younger meat shield. Pfft. Egg goo's all you, buddy. "Gross." Okay, can't help that when the slimy, gross dragon finds her boy.

From the hatching sands, The Friendliest Green You Know Dragonet shuffles along through the sand, giving a paw a shake like a feline who stepped in a puddle when the egg goo makes the sand grains cling tightly to her hide. Shake. Shake. Shaaaaaake. She stops and /stares/ at her paw, but distractions are thick in the hatching grounds and the green is quickly on her way again, moving forward with a little bouncing hop of her hind legs, her front paws supporting her weight for a moment before she's moving more normally. Up to the line of candidates, the little green starts sniffing her way down them, energetically bouncing at a few and then huffing in sadness as they shrink back from her. Who wants to PLAY?!

From the hatching sands, Riyn has more focus on the galleries than on the sands, for a second — trying to place faces he clearly cannot see. Hatchings and Impressions left and right — already — or, okay, at least just the one Impression — are further startling, though. He's pushing shaggy bits of hair from his eyes and just trying to watch, arm free if anyone else wants to grab onto it. Apparently the normally quiet teenager is even /quieter/ during such events, rather than the expected increase in noise.

From the hatching sands, D'baji gave a nod to Sienna, a bit of a smile for her too - but hatching eggs are reason to look forward, to start moving. Moving is good. The weyrlingmaster's forward step is a clear claim. He'll take this one. And it's toward E'gon and Slimerth he moves, motioning them over. Meat. Meat here.

Tussart creeps in, his lanky body hunched to make himself smaller than his 6'2" of height usually allows. The former candidate is quiet, subdued, slightly flushed with awkwardness as he tries to make his entrance as unremarkable as possible. He looks around briefly, then scoots down a row until he's easing in next to Siraji. "Hey." It's a quiet word, said without eye contact.

"Oh, one Impressed," Wynston observes oh-so-sharply herself, though whatever smile she was likely to cast towards K'ane is forestalled with embarassment. She greets, instead, "Cullen, do you know Dhioth's K'ane?" And a child, hi child. Grey eyes study the girl, though probably more to make sure it's healthy. Then the baby dragons catch her attention again.

From the hatching sands, Ilae offers a brief smile to the Weyrlingmaster, but there's no need to speak again. Instead, she watches the sands alertly, smiling slightly as a green is the first to break shell, and then at the first Impression, glances up to D'baji briefly. But he's got the pair, so for now, Ilae just stays, and waits.

From the hatching sands, Yaiili is not content to stand in one place. Pacing from group to group for now. Eyes jumping from newly hatched green to the rocking and rolling eggs. A sigh slips out and finally the girl stops moving all around nearish enough Breannah and Skylar. Hands at her side, frown still marring her face. "So… uh…" Conversationalist she is not. "Ya both think tha' someone might get mauled? Cause… y'know… that happens." Stare. She is so fail. "I've always figured them hatchlings that're hyper, like tha' green? Cause most damage."

From the hatching sands, Nine, Ten, Never Sleep Again Egg simply cannot wait any longer. The time for pleasant dreams is over, and the nightmare is about to begin. With two fissures appearing towards the sides of the egg, the first part to crack through are CLAWS. Sharp jagged claws proceed to tear through the rest of the hard shell, revealing the shadow encased form of the Turn Away from the Light Bronze Dragonet. Watch out, he's coming for you…

From the hatching sands, Turn Away from the Light Bronze Dragonet
From the hatching sands, Cast from the forge of a wrathful demon, spectral light is overshadowed by devilish bronze darkness in a juxtaposed expression of good versus evil. The embittered arch of his handsome muzzle is swirled with new penny brightness, cast back over curved headknobs which echo the soft-edged ridges that crest the length of him from serpentine neck to whipcord tail. Flame's mischievous passion glows from within the molten metal of his burnished, dusk-whorled hide, swallowed by the charcoal umbra of his sturdy limbs and singed paws. A canopy of otherworldly night, his wings are overlarge and a cloak of deceptive darkness, flecked with flyaway sparks from the hellish fires that line his burning belly.

From the hatching sands, Fail Egg rocks to and fro, a systematic roll of peach-cream egg-bottom in undulating waves. No egg should be so - provocative, and yet so - wrong. As if felt judged, Fail Egg stills within the wallow which encases it, biding time for one last push.

From the hatching sands, Arienne offers a hand to the little green to play, sniff, or whathave you. "It's not food," she comments to the little one, her heart skipping a beat at the closeness of the little green checking the group out. Maybe she will take Rilhden's hand right about now. Her available hand reaches out for the boy, in case his other one was still available. Please don't take off, Rilhden.

Behind the primary Sinbajis, the secondary clan is — strangely silent, but very, very /animated/, all quick hand-motions and a lot of pointing. Siraji shares half of this tendancy — the one that's the pointing, with her off-hand. "That's marks t'," and her voice drops as she does math in the ledger, then "Shit!" and, "bronze!" and, more surprised as she's slunk in beside, the side opposite her brother, "Tuss!" And, because she promised, she cups her good hand over her mouth and bellows, "I bet that one's yours, Yaiili!" out onto the sands. Not that anyone can hear her.

From the hatching sands, Adalaya twitches, almost, as the bronze hatches. "Oh my, this guy looks like he could cause problems!" she declares, her voice noting that it's an exclamation, though her pitch isn't much beyond a whisper to those closest to her.

From the hatching sands, Rilhden drops his hand when Arienne doesn't take it. Feeling rather dumb with his hand hanging out for no reason. His other hand is of course getting the life choked out of it, and while it might be turning bright red and edging towards purple, Rilh doesn't even squeak about it. "Just be careful, she's very fully of energy and hatchlings are clumsy!" And then there's a bronze and he is pointing, directing Maya's attention to it. "That's a nice looking guy." And then his other hand is seized by Arienne and he tosses her a nervous looking smile, or well a smile that is struggling to stay calm but failing.

K'ane offers a baleful Look to Cullen. "Cheesemaker," is his gruff greeting to the man. "Y'kid's gonna catch flies with a mouth like that," he points out. See Elly? Your daddy isn't the only moron in the world. "Did one?" he questions Wynston, craning his neck around for a better look down there. "Oh, there's a bronze." See! Right there!

From the hatching sands, Breannah nods once, "Never have I," the goat-girl admits, attention mostly on the lively green - at least until the demonic bronze appears. Already light skin pales a bit more, before she offers a hand towards Yaiili, "…. I'm thinkin' we're doomed regardless." *gulp*

From the hatching sands, The Friendliest Green You Know Dragonet continues down the line, sniffing and peering and generally exploring (what's under THIS Candidate's robe?!). Her pace increases to a stumbling, awkward and somewhat dangerous run as her energy can't be contained, and her hunger also drives her forward. She has to find someone to PLAY with. She bounds down the line, her tail swishing back and forth eagerly (and maaaaaybe knocking a poor Candidate from Nabol down - whoops!) until she senses something and skids to a halt. What is this? This is interesting. The little green dragon tilts her head at the hand that is held out and sniffs it, and then gives it a little lick. Food? Swirling eyes lift, and then with a gleeful and thready trumpet, the green bounds forward against her chosen one, taking them both tumbling to the sands in a delightful POUNCE. You are MINE!
From the hatching sands, The Friendliest Green You Know Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Arienne, and steps forward.

From the hatching sands, Ties that Bind Egg has been twitching all through this big old business. But the time is now, and it carpes the diem, a solid thwack from within cracking the shell, letting out a ziippy little seaweed-green. She ignores the din of the cavern, almost as if unaware of the noise at all, but gives each candidate in her way a thorough visual inspection until she comes to Meisjin. "No way," is said of the barely-just-searched candidate. And, louder, Meiji calls out, "Leitanith!"

Ji'n's very same hawk-eyes leave the hatching sands the moment someone is pushing people around the front row to get near his sister. And they glare death at Tussart - though slacken off a little after the first inspection. Maybe realising he's not Rilhden. A snort, and then Ji'n is back to the sands. "Yup. Bronze." Shortly followed by, "Flyin' Faranth F-" rhymes with duck, "Saj, Meisj just got picked! Y'said you had her t'impress, right?"

From the hatching sands, Skylar was busy cruising the line of candidates when something drew his focus back to Breannah, now paler than ever. "Shards girl, you're not going to pass out right here and now are you?" Then he happens to turn that gaze of his where /she/ was looking and if he pales? Not gonna admit to it. No.

Myckren responds to the cheesemaker. "I see that." As Cullen addresses K'ane and, apparently, Wynston, the guard grins and offers his own reserved greeting. "Afternoon." He's watching the sands with mild interest as the eggs melt into the ground exposing dragons.

Then there is Zeyta, uncharacteristically late, but predictably sober and serious as she marches up the steps to the assembly of familiar faces — yo, 'Reachians, I'm talking to you. Feet a-thundering, she wades past folks to take a seat beside the most recognizable face — clutchmate K'ane. An awkward glance is given.

From the hatching sands, Turn Away from the Light Bronze Dragonet is slow to remove his shadow-dappled body from the dead remains of his shell, crawling forward onto the blazing sands where his dark hide seems to absorb the light. His movements are premeditated as one terribly sharp claw shifts forward, followed by another step, and his orbs glow with a bloody crimson swirl of hunger… and something else. This creature does not reach any of the candidates in the circle immediately, he just watches them and reads them from afar. There is no rush to make this decision, his attack must be careful and precise.

From the hatching sands, Yaiili is all perked attention when the bronze hatches. "Shards…" She's nodding her head dumbly. "Ya got it right, wit' tha' one there. Scary lookin' beast." Not that Yaiili's scared. Too hardcore for that. "Shells, where'd tha' hyper green move off too?" Pause. "/Ah/! Impressed to Arienne?" No need to step on her tip toes, Yaiili is tall enough to see. Head nods. "'grats to ya, Arienne!" A holla' for the girl who used to be one of her nannies.

From the hatching sands, Adalaya is already starting to flush, her fair skin wasn't meant to be on the sands. The teen brushes her hand over her brow as she continues to watch. Three eggs hatched, two Impressed. Oh, wait. "Arienne! Congratulations!" the teen calls out to Ari. "Oh! Congrats…" she stumbles for a name and leaves it at congrats for now, at least for the recently Searched newly Impressed rider of Leitanith. "Bre, yah okay?" Aya asks as she slips a little closer to Breannah, she'll catch the girl if she has to, she hopes she doesn't have to.

"I catch /lots/ of things," Ellen informs K'ane with a kind of eye-popped wild SINCERITY, kneading her hands into fists around Cullen's hairline - better hope he's not self-conscious about his V-shaped widow's beak, "I ssssssSNAP up little girls. Rrrgh!" She clicks her teeth at the bronzerider, an enthusiastic counterpoint to Cullen's blunt, "Sure I know him. Knew him back when he was another working grunt. How's princedom workin' out for you? Myckren, you know this girl?" The girl being Wynston, "She /touched/ me in the Infirmary." He can show you where on a doll.

From the hatching sands, D'baji does get back, E'gon and Slimerth left in the professional care of those other AWLMs staffing the 'meat' area. In time to see a few of the others impress. "Someone t'her," is said, probably unnecessarily, to Sienna and Ilae, with a point to Arienne. "I'll get Meisjin." Hey, she's his granddaughter after all.

"H-hey." What started as a amiable greeting ends in a tremor as Tuss realizes he's getting the death glare from Saji's other side. He turns wide eyes on J'in and offers an uneasy, "Er, hullo." He washes his fingers together in his lap and, with effort, turns his gaze to the sands. Just in time, in fact, to see Ari Impress. There's no loud shouting of excitement, but he does grin at his fellow candidate.

From the hatching sands, Mayalei's attention seems all at once everywhere and nowhere, looking from green, to bronze, to Rilh, to Arienne. When the impression happens, Maya's torn between a little gasp at the green pouncing, and a strangled kind of, "Congratulations," that will probably go unheard over all of the fuss. If possible, she tightens that grip on Rilh's hand by adding her other hand to the mix.

From the hatching sands, Arienne falls to the ground, letting go of Rilhden's hand in the process. "Auralyth… Hi." The girl hurts, but she doesn't care, her mouth twitching in a smile at the youthful, brilliant, beautiful little dragonet that is hers. "My n.. Nerai? Nerai. Let's go find something to eat. But I need to get up first." Her smile widens.

From the hatching sands, Sienna hastens off to fetch Arienne and her new lifemate, already moving before D'baji gives his order. "Congratulations," she whispers with a wide smile. "This way," she encourages, nodding back towards the meat. "We'll get her fed. Are you hurt?"

"I performed your physical," Wynston is quick to correct professionally, her fingers twitching in K'ane's hand as she wrestles against pulling away as their seats are suddenly filled with people and attention and another really pretty girl that sits on the other side of the bronzerider. "It is nice to meet you," she directs to Myckren, smile a slight, polite thing before she glances back to the sands.

"/Shit/," Siraji says, and this time there's unbound glee in it, it's paired with a whoop and a holler as the row behind her erupts in — no, no cheers. It does /erupt/, though, with hugging and crying and excited clapping, "shit, I /did/, I just made /bank/—" and then there's another Impression to record, "An' that was — Arienne, yeah?" because, you know, Ji'n was totally paying attention to her fellow candidates. So she throws an elbow into Tussart's ribs, and turns her fierce-bright grin on him for a moment, then back to the sands.

From the hatching sands, Jiber, that burly bouncer from Nabol sneers at the crowd. This is boring, where's the ale? Until Gnarled Keeper of the Forest egg gives a mighty GROANNNN like the whisper of trees in the dead of night, spewing forth a long snerksy blue with a horrible overbite. Mangling Jiber, he screams out "I'm J'ber and you are Wokth, you WAAAANKER!" before being escorted off the sands. Another blue bowls out of Crumbling Splendor egg, knocking Rydler off his feet, but he manages to mumble out "R'ler and Derbith, HOOOOEEEEEE"

K'ane slides a single glance askance to his clutchmate. "Zeyta," he states, voice careful, "Y'met Wynston? Wynston, this is Zeyta. She Impressed with me." But then his attention is captured by Elly and he's staring at the girl like she's insane. "Man, th' kid's smarter than the cheesemaker, don't you think?" he questions of Wynston. Then, speaking of, "Hey, ain't my fault Dhioth thought I smelled nice. S'why baths are good for you, man," he snarks upwards at Cullen. "Maybe you should try it sometime."

From the hatching sands, Rilhden apparently isn't very good at handholding and his hand instantly releases Arienne's when a green is basically pouncing her. "Oh /shells/." He hisses, sidestepping and dragging poor Maya with him with little care of if she wants to come along or not. "And see, this is why I said you have to be /careful/." He murmurs but quickly adds, "Congratulations Arienne! I knew you had one this time." And apparently if Rilh survives this, he might be missing his hand as Maya squeezes it to death.

From the hatching sands, N'ayl makes an abrupt Guard's whoop for Arienne, making a sort of princely pump of fist towards her. "/Hah/." He /did/ Search that one. Looks good on a resume! Or well, "Did she Nerai?" This is murmured to Alys though lips that hardly move. He's certainly not wading out there. Getting mauled by baby dragons ONCE was enough, thank you!

From the hatching sands, Cheshire Grin Egg shivers and quivers, quakes while it bakes. That smile, that ghostly smile of blackened shapes begins to open wide, open huge, cracking and smacking while maw opens wide, wider, wider yet until there is a POP. Shell fractures, splinters, snaps, chips, splits, and goes POP — again. Curiouser and curiouser. That grin now has a face. A dragon's face. Gooey-goo and shardy-shards and bluey-blue on that face. All the rest flakes away, shakes away as the creature within casts the bits away, away, away.

From the hatching sands, Benevolent Trickster So Dapper In Blue Dragonet
From the hatching sands, 'Twas bryllyg in this dragon's prose, of slythy design and flare; such marvelous mimsy champions his slender form from spaded tail to muzzle's lip and wing's sweep tip to pinioned tip. Watchet blue, watchet wide, watchet winds and winds and winds to twistiurl 'cross chest so proud, haunches slim, and paws neat, side by side. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Teal's quirk hooks his spars - Snicker-snack! - as peculiar periwinkle fashions to fascinate and furl upon wings rippled, stippled, and spanned. Gnarsty dark fork his 'knobs, dashing fine gleam his eyes, dapper snostrils whiffle quite smartly upon a muzzle bowed right dandy. Dashing, flashling, skipsy-zippsy cobalt blues that flare frabjous and frivolous play tricksy games of peek-a-boo amongst rimples as skewed as crooksy-cant ridges can crooksy-cant be.

From the hatching sands, Breannah stiffens up, "'m not gonna faint… but are we sure that they're," a nod is given towards the bronze, "not gonna be so hungry they won't eat folks? Dragons do, y'know…" Holder'tales return to her head, ousting all the rider-lessons of the previous months, as she watches Turn Away Bronze Dragonet consider his prey. It's only Arienne's toppling and announcement that has her turning her attention mostly towards the pair. "Arienne! Congrats, lass - are you okay?"

Myckren shakes his head as the question is posed. "No. And I don't want to be touched." Or does he. "You too." That and a quirked eyebrow is all she'll get. When Arienne impresses a smile does manage to plant itself on his face. "Finally, the girl finally did it."

Ji'n is paying attention, but. "Faranth, I dunno who half'a these kids are. Had m'own clutch t'deal with, 'member? Knew th'ones at 'Reaches fair enough." And he dares look away from the sands to give Saji another elbow-nudge. "See, ain't'cha lucky y'aren't down there? Greens're after'r blood." Which is a reminder to turn and pat excitedly at hands patting him, with a bit of a bemused look to his (much) older brother. Tussart's lucky Ji'n's still distracted, maybe.

From the hatching sands, Yaiili squints her eyes, "Did… did she say Nerai?" Her head tilts, shoulders shrug. "S'cute name, fits her. An' wha' was the dragons name? Aura-something?" She can only hear so much, after all. Suddenly there are other impressions around here, causing the trader to take a few steps back. Back to the eggs her attention goes and a blue pops out. "/Oooh/! Blue." Totally a moment to hit her chest twice with a fisted hand and throw one out to the blue dragons of the world. Holla'.

From the hatching sands, Ilae doesn't need to be told; Sienna and D'baji both have their hands full. Once R'ler and Derbith have Impressed, she makes her way over to the pair, and escorts them to where the meat awaits. Once they're safely delivered, she returns, just in time to see the blue appear from the former egg.

From the hatching sands, Adalaya giggles slightly and moves to nudge Bre. "It's okay, they don't make a habit of eating candidates," she points out. "Or, well, humans at all, so you should be safe," is offered before she glees. "Lookit that blue, he's pretty, isn't he?"

From the hatching sands, Skylar snorts, "Dragon's don't eat folks, you know that." Still, he had to give that devilish beast a second glance before Arienne gets a grin as she is scooped up and away to a new life. "Look, Goat Girl, just don't forget what they taught us and you'll be alright. Mostly." Yeah, Sky is so reasurring that way.

From the hatching sands, Alys coughs something behind well manicured fingers. What it is — why it's lost in the sound of the sands and the cracking of — oh crap! Egg goo! "Mmmm," non-committal. She fans her face with her hand, giving her blond hair a toss. Standing weeeeellll out of reach of goo-gunk, but not so far away that she's off the sands either.

From the hatching sands, Getting up, Nerai nee Arienne wipes herself off and looks down to Auralyth before she turns to Sienna. Giving a shake of her head, she looks herself over briefly before giving a nod. "I'm good. Sore, but good. Thankfully." Down to Aurelyth, she replies, "Yes, food. Let's go, Auralyth." She begins towards the side, careful to avoid any candidates or other dragonets on the way. "I am now Nerai," she informs Sienna with a goofy smile on her lips.

Tussart winces a little at the elbowing, but widens his sloppy grin as Saji turns to look at him. "This is excitin'," he offers, though it's hard to see excitement in his manner. His voice holds its usual uninflected amiability and his posture remains untidily limp. "How much y' make so far?" He nods down to the book his fellow ex-candidate is keeping before his eyes drift back to the sands.

From the hatching sands, Sienna grins back to Nerai as she leads her to the sidelines. "Welcome to Weyrlinghood, Nerai," she says. "There's meat there, to start. Have her eat nice and slow. Small pieces, okay? Holler if you need help, I have to get back." With a wink, the AWLM steps away from the new pair and back to D'baji's side, ready to step out again when more impressions are made.

From the hatching sands, Turn Away from the Light Bronze Dragonet has begun to move again as he slowly paces up and down the rows of candidates. A few of the lesser men are given a whirling eyed-stare and a vicious flick of his tail against their weak legs, but no Impression… yet. He has not found his final victim yet. Elongated claws chisel through the loose sand, further sharpening them with the hot friction. Primal urges seem to take over the dragon's body as he growls viciously, dangerously, and his dark eyes further spin wildly.

"Arienne," Zeyta murmurs, mouth a thin, joyless line as she further observes, "Impressed." Much interest is lost in the sands, attention flitting to the more immediate socializing around her. "K'ane." Eyes slant to Wynston, and a brief smile phases her. "No, I do not think we have met. Zeyta, rider of brown Kczyslawborth." Who's every bit as terrifying as the pronunciation of his name.

"A green," Cullen's dark tone joins Zeyta's. "Wasn't that one of the Nannies?" Yeah, he's finally remembers to even glance at the sands, his mouth twisted up in distaste, "Never understood all this shit - Congrat-u-fucking-lathions, you been given a job you didn't have t'work for. Here's knot, here's your monster. If washing's what causes Impression, bronzerider, I'll never bathe again. Nor /you/, Ell. An' you can tell your momma that." "Okay," Ellen answers diligently, but she's still watching K'ane. Did she blush? BIG HUNKY MAN called her smart? "You wanna see a SCAR?" Yeah. That's also to K'ane. She's trying to pick him up, maybe.

From the hatching sands, D'baji returns with his granddaughter and her lifemate off being fed. There's a vague look toward the galleries - really more of a face-turning than a look - lest he catch his son's eye. And then, eyes are on that circling bronze. Waiting. "I'll see to him, when he's impressed," murmured to his lovely assistants.

From the hatching sands, Mayalei's trying to watch too much at once, and finally she whispers out, "She looks okay to me. N.. Nerai, was it?" But all of her attention is on that brilliant blue, and Maya is relenting her grip so that she can point. "Look there, Rilhden. He's gorgeous."

From the hatching sands, Breannah huffs at Skylar, "Yes, but after our little tiff, I'm thinkin' you'd have it be so that everything that was being, would be bein' nonsense. Nothing would be as what it's supposed to be, because everything would be as it ain't. Just to be messin' with me." That said, however, Skylar's reassurance does reassure her and she straights back up with a grin, shoving heavy frizzy hanks of hair out of her face, the better to see those who've hatched, "Watch out, eh?" she adds, attention torn between wary regard and a timely fascination of benevolent tricksiness.

"Senior apprentice healer Wynston," is said politely in turn around attention to the sands, Wynston inclining her head in some indicative gesture of introductions. Her fingers decide to twine more fully in K'ane instead of pulling away, squeezing tightly as she sinks slightly back into her seat with a curious glance to Cullen. "Then why did you come?"

From the hatching sands, Yaiili shuffles some, making entreating glances over towards Alys, as well as towards the exit to the hatching sands. "Shells, startin' to wonder why I agreed to do this once more." Is that a slight edge of panic in her tone? PERHAPS IT IS. "H-how many have been runnin' bout now, ya two been countin'?" Eyes never leave the wondering dragons or the wiggling eggs. Her muscles are tensed, ready to dodge out of the way if needed.

From the hatching sands, Sienna nods as she glances over to D'baji. "Yes, sir."

From the hatching sands, Benevolent Trickster So Dapper In Blue Dragonet delicately simpers and flimpers out of his egg, dashing and crashing about the sands as if he is drunk on the tea of life's essence. Moving his spindly wingspars, a narrowing of the eyes because oof, it is hot out here. But he's late, late for a very important date and decisions have to be made. A loud draconic HICCUP is uttered as he makes his way towards the candidates, crossing o'er sand and bumpy straits, until flat on his face he gyrates. Not too great.

K'ane starts as Zeyta says the name, as if it jogs his faulty memory banks. "Arienne?" he questions, "Th' Arienne that stood with us?" He cranes his head around to peer, and does his best not to recoil at Zeyta's lifemate's name. He ignores Cullen, 'cause K'ane's are freakin' epic at that, other than to say, "Watch y'language 'round th' ladies, cheesemaker," and focus his attention on the cutest girl in the area— Elly, obviously. "Y'got a scar?" he questions, his tone a little dubious. This *is* Cullen-spawn after all. Mireille can only dilute the genes so much. He tightens his grip on Wynston's hand in reply to her squeeze as if that could possibly save him from this.

From the hatching sands, N'ayl is eyeballing all these broken egg-shells left behind from hatched dragonets with a great deal of calculation. Gudrotgoth may behind this motivation - the bronze Hatched? He's pretending it's not there - bronze-envy, who, N'ayl? "Hey, Yaiili! Try flashing one!" That's kind of like long-time-ago BratCave solidarity, right?

From the hatching sands, Adalaya smiles when she see's her friends sorta relax, and then she starts to fidget with her robes, watching the bronze and blue currently on the sands. Her attention, however, is primarily on the mound of remaining eggs. She fidgets more, clearly nervous.

From the hatching sands, Ilae nods her understanding to the weyrlingmaster. "Alright, sir."

From the hatching sands, Nerai nods back to Sienna and then looks down to Auralyth. "Ready?" she asks the green, and then the two travel to the side to begin the nomming. Quietly, she tells Auralyth the eating rules and just offers one small bit at a time. "It may seem like torture with how little I'm giving you bit by bit, but I know better. Chew." And the feeding begins. Chew. CHEW! Nerai peers up and looks towards the rest of the sands while the little green noms, flashing a wide grin.

"I think living at a Weyr might be a bigger risk than washing," opines Quin, standing a short ways away and squinting at the Impressees. He nods to anyone who looks his way, taps Ellen's head with a knuckle ("What've you been doing to get scarred up already?") and shakes his head at the sharp-clawed bronze. "Who d'you think that one's going to eat?" The comment could be addressed to anyone, or no-one. Maybe he talks to himself.

From the hatching sands, T'ab has been quite silent throughout this whole experience, probably because he's too busy drinking and hitting on S'lot to worry about posing and talking to anyone but the greenrider. "Oh, so Beeth is going to rise soon huh? I'm /sure/ I'll be around." Oh, there is a hatching going on, "Oh, congratulations Nerai. Slimer. Uh… er… E'gan. Etcetera!"

From the hatching sands, Alys steps to the side, to get a better view of Yaiili. She offers her once-Candidate mate an encouraging nod, does a little sands dance herself — hey it's hot. The galleries are also given a brief glance, but then it's back to the sands. And the Candidates. The ones that still need impressin'.

"Enough," Siraji says, unholy glee tamping down so-slightly as Ji'n mentions their blood, /her/ blood — but she's making money, and making /other/ people money, and well. Maybe she is her brother's sister, after all. "I'm makin' good on m'mom's books," she explains, sideways, to Tussart, while throwing another elbow the opposite direction, into Ji'n's ribs — and then the blue face-flops. "They're kinna balls at this, ain't they?"

From the hatching sands, Skylar is totally staring at Breannah, whatever she just said earning quite the blank stare before he narrows his gaze and drops one large mitt on her shoulder, wheeling her about to face the blue that he's just spied. With the contact he shoves her forward, quite possibly into the line of sight, or quite possibly just to be a prick. "Yeah, you're probably right." He's totally like that and even grins, having forgotten for a moment there is still a darkness that lurks the sands.

Myckren will answer Wynston's question. "Because he figured Istans weren't miserable enough." His gaze is still towards the sands, though he's getting bored of it. Tough to watch when there is no one to cheer for. The perfect distraction is Quin as he chimes in. "He'd never admit to /living/ at the Weyr, just /staying/."

From the hatching sands, Turn Away from the Light Bronze Dragonet cocks his head juuuuuust so to the right, catching a whiff of something from somewhere, finally sensing his victim. And suddenly, he's on a rampage with his dark limbs moving at breakneck speeds, unafraid of who or what he should destroy in his path. A foot here. A candidate robe there. All fall prey to this beast's massive claws as he moves towards the One. That One. With a low guttural growl, whirling red eyes meet Skylar's hazel dead on; a challenge, a persuasion even as blackened bronze tail moves to curl possessively around the boy's feet. The dark bronze raises a foreclaw to the sailor's chest, causing the just-too-long talons to cut softly into the man's body.
From the hatching sands, Turn Away from the Light Bronze Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Skylar, and steps forward.

Lida is late for a very important date! Scurrying in from the dragon ledges, the young bluerider blinks as she surveys who all is present. Finding the clump of redheads is not hard, so by squeezing between a few folks, she manages to plant herself at laest in her nearmate and his siblings's vicinity. "Hey!"

"The very same Arienne, now Impressed here at Ista," Zeyta affirms, mildly consoled by the latter emphasis on geographic location. "and her name has changed." This is where her eye for detail wavers, crude stare landing on those from her youth. N'ayl. Yaiili. Her solidarity is with them, just non-verbal. Shouting to the sands is un-ladylike. Zeyta is every bit a lady.

From the hatching sands, Rilhden is bobbing his head as his gaze takes in the full appearance of the newly hatched blue, "He is very attractive." Pause. "Did he just.. hiccup?" Rilh looks utterly confused. "I didn't know they could do that." He shifts his feet, balancing his weight from foot to foot as the heat starts seeping through the bottom of his sandals. "I think it was Nerai. Gunna take some time getting used to this. Arienne.. Nerai, but it's a nice change I think." And then the bronze has chosen his partner and Rilh lets out a woop! "Go Skylar!"

From the hatching sands, Yaiili rolls her eyes, sending a look on contempt towards N'ayl. "I'll try flashin' one if'n you lay down an' let one maul your face!" She shouts back, before flipping her hair and dismissing the brownrider's VERY EXISTENCE. Though hey, Alys gets some love, a weak grin sent at her former-clutchmate. Then there's noise and Yaiili's attention is stolen. Near enough her, the bronze has impressed. Extra steps taken away from Skylar, hands going behind the candidate's back as she looks on. "Aaah, boy, ya'll gonna have your hands full wit' tha' one."

From the hatching sands, Adalaya squeaks, almost literally, when Skylar's snatched up, not literally. "Oh! Congrats!" she declares in a loud voice, loud enough to, likely, be heard at the back of the galleries.

Ji'n doesn't give his sister an apology, but does stop. And spots Lida's approach, and distributes a firm shove the person next to him - the one that's not Saji - with his shoulder until they take the hint and scooch. Lida is awarded a bit of a cocky smile from the brownrider. "Hey there. Y'missed it. M'niece impressed." A nod of his head back behind him, where Basjeian and company are still gesticulating wildly about their sibling.

"Call it morbid curiosity," Cullen mutters to Wynston neutrally, watching the bronze Impress to the scruffy dude. "Morbid means DEAD!" Ellen informs K'ane, even while she TOPPLES BACKWARDS off Cullen's shoulders into Quin's arms, "Uncle Quinny! Look!" She hikes up a pantleg to show the two men Paying Attention to Her a few brutal square inches of scabbing: "I got roadrash! I was chasing Lamby." "-s'not a sharding /lamb/," Cullen grits. "It's an ugly /goat/." "Yeah! An' she BITES!"

From the hatching sands, A Virgin Shall Summon Us Egg shudders in its sandy recess, cobwebbed cracks crackling the guise of smokey softness to the egg's shell. Shell shards fall away slowly, as if the being inside is taking its grand old time with emerging. But soon two hazy green wings force the egg into two equal sized chunks, allowing A Wail of Warning O'er the Moor Green Dragonet to emerge with confident swiftness into the world.

From the hatching sands, A Wail of Warning O'er the Moor Green Dragonet
From the hatching sands, Softly breathes the delicate gasp of chilly pine, a spectral green hue laced in raveling ribbons of layered mist; they race in horizontal streamers, shivering ripples of satin fog, obscuring the hint of lean haunch and compact ribs. Forward racing, at the center of her narrow chest they meet in stark points directed down, forming the natural V of entwining silver bands that encircle her slender throat as clasping hands, linked e'er atop the crowning center of her hidden heart. Brave and cool, this tinsel band braids whispered patterns down her spine, woven knots that glitter softly amidst intricate ridges, spanning from long tail up to ghosting gilded features, a face long and ageless of sculpted cheekbones and steady gaze beneath the regal crown of long curving headknobs. The steady shade of frost hazes thicker on ascension through wingsails, dispersing at the fringes of fine flight membrane with a faded sigh. Deeper, sweeter, in her shade soft moss grows thicker and darker into forest night to encase long lady's toes in clingy velvet shadows.

"Makin' good money?" Tussart says without looking at Saji. Though he does settle down a bit, more easy around the young woman than he's possibly been before. Maybe his arm even brushes against hers. It is rather crowded in here, after all. Not much elbow room. "Dey're new…" He says loyally, then grins as another of his friends Impresses. "He'll make a good ridah, I bet. Real dedicated."

From the hatching sands, "It suits her," Mayalei agrees, though she's practically jumping out of her skin when the bronze barrels for Skylar. She pales, considerably, squeezes Rilhden's hand that much harder, and then releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding when it turns out to be an /impression/ and not a mauling. "Congratulations," she tries to call out, but finds herself lacking the gusto. And then? "Oh, another green. She's beautiful. Look, Rilh."

From the hatching sands, Nerai rubs an eyeridge of her lifemate as she yells out a "Congratulations, Skylar!" But it's not Skylar anymore, is it? And back to the green. Moar phood!

From the hatching sands, Half a Bag Later Egg comes rolling and collides firmly with Stitched Pallor Egg, causing both to crack and out emerges a overindulging green and a frail looking blue. The pair gather themselves up and part ways as the green stands before the fairly attractive young lady from Bitra, a barmaid of some sort, Candy, who suddenly shouts, "Oh Cornth, a'course I'll be gettin' ya somethin' ta eat!" And the scrawny blue stumbles and sulks toward a former Steward of Crom Hold, Jovack, who has been trying to avoid all contact in the shadows, "I'm J'ack now? It is nice to meet you Sallyth!"

"I suppose it is at that, then," Wynston agrees, her good-humor not entirely burned away as she allows a small smile towards the grumpy cheesemaker. This is not hitting on you though, Cullen, no. She is still holding K'ane's hand after all, and her attention slides away soon enough to watch the eggs and babies while K'ane pays attention to another woman.

From the hatching sands, Alys pantomimes at her foot, just for Yaiili's sake, and wiggles it. Maybe there's some secret shared with the other candidate on how to not get your feet fried. Then Rilhden's whoop comes through the crowd and the greenrider — who's really nothing more than arm candy, eye candy — turns to see who's impressed. Oh look! Impressions! One might think her blond is showing through here.

From the hatching sands, Adalaya watches as eggs pop out. "Oh, congrats J'a…" her words are cut off when she spots the other green. "Oh now she is just /gorgeous/," she gives, fully emphasizing the last word.

"I doubt he'd admit to breathing air, either," Quin mutters in reply to Myckren. "Ehh." That's when the young bronze starts slicing and dicing his apparent Chosen One. And then, "Gah!" When he has to catch the toppling child. "Uff. Hey, Ell." He peers at the roadrash as though it were far more interesting than all the Impressing going on. "That is going to be quite the scar. Good on you, you'll have something to show off so people know you're tough. You catch the goat, at least?" He looks for a moment at Zeyta, as though he's seen her somewhere before.

From the hatching sands, Sienna steps forward to fetch J'ack and Sallyth, leading them over to the others waiting on the edge of the Sands.

From the hatching sands, A Wail of Warning O'er the Moor Green Dragonet holds an unhurried weightlessness for a moment, hovering in a self-possessed shimmer of form and substance above the wreckage of her former vessel. Smoky wings unfold as dispersing fog to dry residual egg goo in the Sands' heat, biding her time to stretch out muscles and roll shoulders long-contained. And then, only then, does she deign to move. As a dream, she reaches out the long tendril of a lean shadowy-green leg and claims her first step, crooning a light, inquisitive trill from deep in her throat.

K'ane shifts a grin towards Quin, "Rightly so," he agrees, "Though I reckon I should point out that it was after I /left/ that th' weyr came a'knockin' for Search." Arienne's peered after, Elly's scarring is appropriately 'ooooohed' over, and his attention fades back towards what's important. Wynston, obviously, not the dumb eggs. "Having fun?" he questions.

From the hatching sands, Benevolent Trickster So Dapper In Blue Dragonet twinkles and shrinkles what little of his fat, how he wonders where it's at. Down below his furls it flies, like a teatray in his eye? But, no, *ahem* back to the matter at hand. Wrinkling his eyeridges, he tries to remove a chunk of eggshell that clings to his such an odd fashion, like a hat. But a dragon in a hat? That's just silly. Still, all those lovely people in white robes, they beckon him. And also he's just sooo thirsty. Teal hooks quirking as he barrels across the sands, skeeter teeetering around the candidates in a loopsy circular pattern.

To the sands, to the newly-Impressed Sk'ar, Siraji says, "Don't think that doesn't mean I can't still kick your /ass/," as Tussart's arm jostles hers. There /are/ a lot of people in here, after all. Lida's addition to their family grouping gets a down-the-line look that's on a par with the one Ji'n leveled on Tussart, and she sniffs. Then she makes a few furious notations on the ledger, left-handed, to keep recording color, order, Impressions, etc. MONEY MONEY MONEY.

From the hatching sands, Breannah turns towards Yaiili, "Two…. three?" she starts to answer, when Skylar shoves her forward. There's a startled yelp, as Goat Girl pitches forward, then back as the bronze dragonet charges forth, "…. by the first egg - I'm thinkin' after this, I'll be able to be believin' half'dozen impossible things a'fore breakfast…" she grumbles to the partner in terror left to her as she gets back to her feet.

From the hatching sands, Sk'ar is bound, claimed and forever marked by the bronze before him. Eyes are locked on the darkness before him and for what seems like an eternity, the young man is unable to speak. Caught in a dream that is both deliciously sweet and horribly nightmarish, he falls. Crimson coats the robe while one weatherworn hand taps upon the muzzle of his future. "Dzyveth." Bound. Bonded. Forever.

From the hatching sands, Ilae heads over to Candy and Cornth, and leads them to where they need to go, for that sweet food they need.

"Has your dad ever bit him back?" Myckren asks the little girl- it is a likely scenario. At this point he is clearly hot, beads of sweat gathering on his brow. "This place is ridiculous!" He looks around for agreement. Who would live in such an oven!?

From the hatching sands, Rilhden's head is bobbing in agreement with Mayalei, and yet for the moment he's having issues forming words. Everything is going by so fast and dragons are popping, prowling, and impressing. Rilh intakes a slow breath of air, trying to calm his heart that is hammering in his ear. "Maya.. hand." He finally squeaks out, wiggling a few of his numb fingers hoping to get blood flowing again.

From the hatching sands, Breannah adds, belatedly, "… so very doomed, Skylar!" she calls out in congratulations, moving a touch away from the two upon realizing.

From the hatching sands, D'baji starts moving when the bronze presses Skylar's - Sk'ar's - chest. No sooner than the dragonet's name has been uttered is the old weyrlingmaster there, crouching on creaking knees. The boy's chest is looked at first, as best he can with, you know, a dragon there. "Meat on th'edge. Bandages, too, if y'need. Both of you," and he looks to that little bronze in particular, back to his rider, "follow me."

From the hatching sands, N'ayl calls back easily, "I've already /been/ mauled!" Not in the face but… He quirks up his brows at the bronze's claiming, unconsciously rubbing a hand across his own chest. Maybe he's just copping a self-feel. Mmph.
From the hatching sands, Adalaya is doing the hot sands dance and wringing her hands. Shuffle shift wring, shuffle shift wring, shuffleshfitwring, and so on. "Oh my, those eggs are certainly not taking their time," or maybe everything is just going in fast forward for this Ista born girl.

From the hatching sands, Benevolent Trickster So Dapper In Blue Dragonet grinds to a screeching halt, floomping and hollering in his own endearing way. Finally, he has found someone who is worthy of his tea party. Looking a person of the female persuasion in the eye, he bows, causing that infernal egg shard to tippety top and flippy flop off his head, shattering on the sands below. A whuffle and a chuffle does he give to a young lady with dark brown, crazy curly hair. Do not despair, the hair that he cares belongs to a Breannah, so there! A long stare at the hair and the glare of a blue is true and whoopsy doo!
From the hatching sands, Benevolent Trickster So Dapper In Blue Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Breannah, and steps forward.

From the hatching sands, Mayalei, for a moment, looks confused. She blinks from dragons down to Rilhden's purpling hand, and then lets out a little rush of gasping laughter. "Oh, I… I didn't realize, I'm sorry." She pries her reluctant fingers open, and then curls her hand into a fist which she pushes into a very nauseous stomach. From foot to foot she begins to shift, finally feeling the heat. "It's starting to get hot. Very hot." Too hot.

From the hatching sands, Fail Egg flakes and founders before finally failing: eggshell crumbles in a miniature avalanche of variegated color: black slides foremost, slowly fading to darkest violet, oil-slick opalescence and finally fair-kissed peach. In the wreckage, a gargantuan blob of brown cowers under a single shard of black 'shell: it's the end of the world as we know it! Or at least as Are You Afraid Of The Dork? Brown Dragonet /knew/ it.

From the hatching sands, Are You Afraid Of The Dork? Brown Dragonet
From the hatching sands, As big as a barn! As wide as a warehouse! Grainy hide fails to flatter as the drab color of saturated klah grounds covers his jet-puffed bulk. The texture of tone does little to assuage the awkward lines of a layer-immersed face: indeed, his range of vision is nearly occluded by overwhelming scale of chunky-cheek'd temerity. If only he could shed a few pounds! His sheer size shocks; the details nearly drown in the vast presence of his mottled, lard-assed self. So many fat rolls — they /must/ generate some kind of force field — and what is that /smell/? Awkward bulk is awkward: marked by a broad back and deep-girthed chest, his short stub of a tail matches well the stocky shortness of legs. Soft, pudgy paws are only dubiously unique in that they outsize the rest of his sizable structure. If only the camouflage of granular color was smoother! If only he were shorter — no, taller — no, skinnier! A wonder of dragons and a dragon of wonders: how can he /move/? How can he /fly/? His narrow wings bemoan ever lifting his bulk, as scant in length as they are in width, and dusted generously where wing meets back with sifted, powdered sugar — or are those flecks of dandruff? The only self-evident truth is a grim reality: the dork is strong with this one.

Zeyta turns to a complaining Myckren with nothing more than a raised brow. Yes, she is judging you, a criticality that turns on Quin much softer, more studious. Talk to strangers? No, she turns back to the sands, waching.

From the hatching sands, Sk'ar might be the one looking a little paler than norm right about now, so it might not be all that surprising that it is in fact the bronze… /his/ bronze that leads them forward to meat and bandages. "Th-thank-you." It's the first nice thing he's said all day…

From the hatching sands, Yaiili is failing at paying attention here. Too much going on, too many things vying for her attention. "Dzyveth?" Stare. "Did he say Dzyveth?" At least it's a dragon name that she heard clearly enough. "Very, very doomed." The girl must agree as Sk'ar walks off. "A dragon like tha'll keep ya on your toes till the day ya die. An' ya know I—" Sentence is cut off as a blue gets near and… All the people around her keep being taken. Suddenly, Yaiili finds herself ALONE. And a fat freaking brown totally just hatched. With the fat rolls. Ohmygawdthefatrolls.

Tussart blinks as the splash of red on the black sands finally penetrates that foggy brain of his. "Oh, what 'appened?" That's to Saji, as he points down to Skylar … Sk'ar. "Is he okay? Dey're not supposed to hurt people, are they?" He bites his lip with concern, but then impression and hatching is distracting him once more. He grins in hazy excitement as more of his friends bite the proverbial dust.

From the hatching sands, A Wail of Warning O'er the Moor Green Dragonet picks her way along the heated Sands, one deliberate regal step after another. The wispy drift of a lonely fogbank, trailing breathy wingsails and silvered tail as veils and ripples in her wake. She eyes each Candidate she passes, head aloft atop swan'd neck, eyes a livid hungry red and presence a chilly forceful ire. Not this one, nor this one either - a sharp, haunting cry erupts in a piercing wail from deep in her throat, whip-cracking her tail. She will have what she desires!

From the hatching sands, Adalaya cringes softly. "Oh, poor green," the girl mutters, a shiver running up her spine from the wail of the little dragon. "Oh, I do hope she finds her lifemate soon, well, I hope they all do," she's a softy, so sue her.

From the hatching sands, Are You Afraid Of The Dork? Brown Dragonet is exposed for the world to see, but somehow his get-up-and-go has got-up-and-gone between the flailing necessary to break the entrapment of his previous prison. Besides, sitting here is so comfortable, so warm, so… hot. FIRE FIRE HOT OMFG! He jolts up to his feet and dances an awkward, painful-to-watch pair of steps on his pudgy paws in the manner of one who just became sensitive to the intense heat of the 'Sands. Holy CRAP that's HOT, his expression seems to express as he turns an ACCUSING gaze to the golden form of Dedanseth. This is all YOUR fault, mom! Oh… there's Lanti. Hi, Lanti. You're HOT. (Not as hot as the Sands. FYI. ICYDK.)

"What the /shell/ is that…" Cullen's shoulder notches in between Myckren and K'ane. And he just STARES at the fat brown monster that now curses the Sands. Was there other conversation? Because he missed it. Gape. "Heh heh," Ellen giggles, looping her arms around Quin's neck in enforced-small-girl-adoration. "He's got /moobs/, dad!" "Yeah, Elly… yeah, he does." Does she even know what moobs are?

From the hatching sands, A magical spell seems to affect both Amok Amok Amok Egg and Itch-it-a-cop-it-a, Mel-a-ka-mys-tic-a Egg as they shake and crack in unison, although they are on opposite sides of the sands. A virgin seems to have lit the black flame candle! Out pop a pair of devilishly green dragonets that crawl forth from their prisons and they meet out on the sands, it is time sister! Amok Amok Amok the pair go forth and meet up with a brother-sister pair from Telgar, Mary and Sarrah. Mary speaks first, "Oh Sanderth, yes I summoned you!" And S'rah blushes a bit, "Err, what.. am I a virg— Ssonth!"

From the hatching sands, Alys stares at the thing that's emerged from the fail egg. "… fat." Deadpan is her voice, as fingers pick at the thin top and fans it. "… that is one large dragonet." Are they supposed to get that large? The green's movements earn a quick, hairy eyeball. Eeeerie. The Impressed that have been safely ensconced off the sands, green, bronze, blue, are also eyeballed. But let's face it. She's here on Lanti's orders and right now she's standing there looking like a sands babe. A lazy one at that.

Myckren knows better than to bark at Zeyta- he doesn't need a conversation with his Captain. Her look is met with a scowl as he scans the area for sympathizers. Bringing up an arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, he shifts uncomfortably. That is when the green dragonet wails. "Ughh." That sound has /offended/ him.

"It is interesting, to see the process of dragons from egg to Impression, how they make their choices," Wynston says to her companion with a thoughtful study of the eggs in front of her, almost as if she is taking notes on the steps each dragonet makes. No one has told her yet that she's not in a classroom, apparently. She makes no further move to talk as the eggs keep hatching.

From the hatching sands, Sienna harkens forth to fetch the two greens, bringing them back to the edges and pointing them to the cauldron - erm - buckets of meat.
From the hatching sands, Rilhden shakes the feeling back into his hand, or at least he tries to. "It's okay, it happens." He offers a small smile to her before reaching out to slip his arm through hers. "Just keep breathing, it will be over soon."

From the hatching sands, N'ayl stares too. For once? Even the Prince has nothing to say. Gape. STARE. "Is that brown — JIGGLING?" Well, he says that.

From the hatching sands, Nerai looks up to Sk'ar as he and his bronze joins them and smiles. "Great to see you here, Sky." She gives her green-stomach another bite of meatstuff, and then at the congratulations, she peers up again. "Breannnah! Congrats!" Giggling in excitement, she takes no time getting back to her lifemate.

From the hatching sands, D'baji doesn't offer a 'you're welcome', 'cause really, who knows who it is that's being thanked? "C'mon," is said once more, and it's off toward the meat and bandages, a quick wave going to one of the attendant healers as they approach. But now he's talking to Sk'ar: "Feed 'im, don't let him eat too quickly, though. An' if y'have any troubles with that," a big finger points to his chest, "y'tell that healer right off, y'got it?"

From the hatching sands, Reana stares at the dapper blue in front of her, then with a fluff of her too-large robe, flops into the sand, "Porc… wings.. A cuppa tea is soundin' wonderful, Eabryllth! For things are not bein' quite as they were this morn," she starts to say, before turning a peculiar expression of face, then giving a hiccup! Covering her mouth, she then scrambles to her feet as to stop burning her bum, "But we're bein' behind on the times, an'…er… un-turnday, you're sayin'? Well, I'm supposin' so."

From the hatching sands, Tyroth shifts a little on the sand as he spots the brown emerge from the egg, « I… think that one must take after Jeyth, because it wasn't our fault my dear Des. » T'ab chuckles a bit to himself as he places a hand on his lifemate, drinking up a bit more of the wine and watching the eggs.

"Wait 'til the after-party," Quin grins at Myckren, ignoring Zeyta's chill look. "They sometimes have it out on the Sands. People fainting all over the place. Spread the pain around, I guess." He maneuvers Ellen into a less choking position. "You're getting heavy, girl. Stop growing so much." Headshake once again at the attack-impression and the falling over—then his eyes flick to N'ayl, and the little motion the brownrider makes has him realizing something. "S'cuse me, Miss?" it's said perfunctorily to Zeyta. If she turns attention to him, he'll nod his head toward N'ayl. "Is that your brother out there? The one who got mauled a few hatchings ago?" Back to Ellen, "He is one fat dragon, isn't he? I bet he finishes off all the meat."

From the hatching sands, Yaiili scans around the sands once more, more dragons popping out and impressing and Yaiili stands. Not even bothering with moving her feet around or anything. "S'running out of dragons at this point." A long stare is sent towards the sky, or the caverns ceiling, really whatever is up there. Eyes close. Open. "S'almost done." Her focus narrows, stares at that brown and wrinkles her nose. "Shardin' fatty over there," She mentions out loud, arms crossing. "S'green looks nice, though." Who can say no to a lovely green, after all.

From the hatching sands, Are You Afraid Of The Dork? Brown Dragonet can't seem to stop moving now that he's in motion. Helpless to the wincing that occurs with every step— OW, OW, OW, freakin' HOT— Are You Afraid Of The Dork? Brown Dragonet continues his perilous trek onwards, ever onwards. The first recognition of a candidate occurs in a short-sighted PEER at one chubby dude who is way too close to his manjunk to be entirely appropiate, kthx, and he flails away from said kid from Nabol with a wild spasm of too-short wings. Dude, get him away from the convention of FUGLY. Oh hey, baby. One very attractive greenrider captures his attention, and he moves far afield to get a closer look, drowning in the attractiveness that is sunkissed flesh and pretty blonde hair. Total booth babe. TOTAL BOOTH BABE. Wait, he's not supposed to be checking her out? But MOM…

Ji'n pokes the girl beside him - Saji, not Lida - and points to the brown. "Y'got any bets on fatties? Shit, I shoulda bet on a fat brown." There's a /look/ that goes toward the ledges, where his own no-longer-fat dragon sits, a bulk of muscle all bouldered up. "Wasn't much thinkin'," comes with a tone that loses a whole bunch of levity. But Ji'n shakes his head, and maybe reaches for Lida's hand, and focuses back to the sands. "Any fat candidates y'figure he'll try for?"

From the hatching sands, Ilae returns from guiding Candy and Cornth, just in time to spot Breannah - no, Reana - Impress. Her fellows occupied, Ilae's steps lead her over to the new bluerider pair. "Congratulations." She states. "Come on along this way, there's meat."

"They do, sometimes. If y'not fast 'nough, they getcha," Siraji says, jostling Tussart with this elbow, here, then Ji'n with that elbow, there. "That brown's even tubbier'n Dyz was, once!" she crows, because what good is a brother with a /dragon/ if you can't continue to mock. "Got one, though. Got a bet on a fug, an' a bet on a fatso, an'— oh." Siraji's face falls slightly, then firms up, and she stares steadfastly out toward the sands instead of to her right or to her left.

From the hatching sands, A Wail of Warning O'er the Moor Green Dragonet harkens to that hope. Two souls drift as passing shapes in the void, bound in silvered chains of fate. Her trains of misty wings sleek, and while there are shell fragments and candidates, these things matter not - her grace of being sees only a single runway set. Patiently, continues her trek across the sands, her body moving almost weightlessly as she peruses the candidates; taking her time on this, the most important of searches. There, is that it? Something down the line catches her eye. Perhaps it's the springing auburn curls. Or maybe it's the pale blue eyes? But this young green has found /something/ that calls out to her, hearkening her upon Adalaya's person as she stares up into whirling eyes. Home.
From the hatching sands, A Wail of Warning O'er the Moor Green Dragonet turns her jewel faceted eyes toward Adalaya, and steps forward.

From the hatching sands, Alys stares. "That dragon is eyeing me," cold is her snark voice, Fortian tones adding extra snooty to it. "As if." Sniff. She lifts her nose into the air, and seems to stare him off to somewhere ELSE. Oooh, look, see? Impression! Over there!

"That dragon is a /disgrace/." There, Zeyta said it, her grim facade brought to outright incredulity at the fat dragonet bumbling around on the sands. "'Reachian breeding is /far/ more /superior/." Because it had to be said as well. Many an Istan shoots her a glance, but Zeyta is immune, instead following Quin's inclination of the head towards N'ayl. "My twin, yes. He was all but killed by his ruthless lifemate. Did you make marks off of him?"

From the hatching sands, Frankenegg heaves, and shudders, finally oozing out a dragonet with a long groannnnnnn. Is he okay? Yes, the bulky blue is fine, but he looks even paler and more bedraggled than usual, with a very vacant stare in his eye. His eyes meet Murray and it is all over, he is the new mold to the creation which has made its appearance on the sands, "Shelleyth! ITS ALIVE AND ITS MIIIINEEEEE!" M'rry cackles and claps his hands together, dragging/shoving the new blue off the sands. Shortly thereafter, Mis-Staked egg bursts open, revealing a spindly green, who HISSES loudly as the light touches her skin, recoiling for a second until soft spoken cook Bunnia comes to her rescue, the two meet gazes and it is all over, "I've a few things I want to share with you about fingeroots…" Bunn murmurs as she leads her new lifemate off the sands. Belatedly, "Her name is Iculath!" she half whispers over the sands, probably nobody can hear her.

From the hatching sands, Yaiili is just shaking her head now, watching the brown dragonet with a mild form of disgust on her face. The commotion of the sands seems to be winding down some, most eggs hatched and dragons impressed. The green her eye was on earlier heads towards Adalaya, prompting a clap from Yaiili. "Aye, seems right." The girl is nodding her head, a sigh being released. Freedom is soon upon her. Just gotta wait it out a little while long. Finally, the pacing begins some. Antsy feet, the urge to MOVE and GO SOMEWHERE. The trader-candidate is no longer stationary. "Grats to ya, Adalaya!" Is shouted out on one of the girl's circuits. The brown is looked at again, a shake of the head. "S'almost done, almost done." Huff huff. Totally sweating down her cleavage over here. Not attractive.

"I sure did," Cullen answers Zeyta baldly. Hi, budding in. "Made two marks off that kid's blood." "Shhh," Ellen insists to Quin, leaning in to conspire with him, "I'm not growing, Quinny, okay? I'ma /little/ monster. I can fit under doorways." Try and make her prove it.

From the hatching sands, Are You Afraid Of The Dork? Brown Dragonet is done flailing around. His bumbling, rumbling path takes him through a scattered arc of candidates, and he picks up steam slowlyless pac man and more ohgawdhesuptospeedandhecantstopOMFG! As he narrowly avoids accidentally HULKSMASH GODZILLA STAYPUFTing one tall, skinny boy from Boll, a pudgy paw is misplaced and down he goes with a crash and a bang in few paces off from a skinny Trader girl. As he levers himself back up to his feet, his head swings unerring towards her: man, something smells NICE. He wanders a little closer. A liiiiiittle closer. Is he nervous? He ducks his head and shuffles the remainder, like a spooked runner sidling closer… closer… there! You didnt see him at first, DID you, Yaiili!
From the hatching sands, Are You Afraid Of The Dork? Brown Dragonet turns his jewel faceted eyes toward Yaiili, and steps forward.

From the hatching sands, Ada squeaks, no, she really squeaks, a good, audible squeak. "Oh! Yes Fionabhairth! We'll get you food, right away!" the girl, Ada, declares as she is quick to wrap her arms around the lovely greens neck, burying her face as she does so. It's a few seconds before the teen gets to her feet, a huge, HUGE smile etching across her face.

From the hatching sands, As Ilae returns, Sienna steps forth towards Adalaya and her new lifemate, with a grin. "Another green," she says welcomingly. "Congratulations. Let's bring her over to the side, and get her some food, okay?"

From the hatching sands, Ada still smiling, Ada, and Fionabhairth follow Ilae, time to feed the little belly. Certainly.

"One or two," Quin gives a predatory little grin. "Your own lifemate seemed quite intense as well, if I recall correctly, brownrider. Seems hardly a hatching goes by without some blood spilled," he adds, not entirely upset about this. "Which doorways?" he asks Ellen. Or do you have to be a swarm when you do that?"

From the hatching sands, Reana looks up at Ilae, then down at Eabryllth, before nodding once to the 'rider, "A'course, ma'am. Meat an' a cuppa sounds like hittin' the spot," she agrees with one or the other, and then the two head off towards the others - Reanna hiccuping now and again.

From the hatching sands, N'ayl makes a sound. It goes like this: "Aauuugh!" and then transforms into "aauughalright, YAIILI!" Laughing? Yes. He's trying to contain it, which means he's hugging his own gut as if he's been SHOT. His face- FIXED neutral. NOD! Approving NOD! SNRK.

From the hatching sands, Lanti and Dedanseth, watching the hatching as one, quiet and at least outwardly stoic, both stir. They share a look, then Lanti begins stepping through the shards scattered across the sands. "Weyrlingmaster," she calls over to D'baji, though she leaves the instructions unstated. 'Cause she can. She just nods to him, then turns to the candidates as Dedanseth leans against Tyroth slightly. "For the rest… there are no dragons for you here today. Please return to the barracks. Get washed up. Visit the party on the caverns if you'd like." She'll herd if she needs to, but for now, she's merely gesturing.

From the hatching sands, Last egg? "Does this mean we can sneak away — oh hey. Yaiili!" Her fellow candidate-mate is given an encouraging nod — boy is she gonna need it with that mama-jamba of a dragon, not unlike the other guy. With that dark and scary dragon! — and starts edging off the sands.

From the hatching sands, Sk'ar is still totally jared by this new reality and the lurking, black velvety presence in his mind. D'baji's words do make it through though and the young bronzling turns up first to gaze at the man, then down to his own wound, then over to the hatchling food. "Err. Right. I'll do that right away." And he does. Mostly. Feed first, tend to that wound second. Dzyveth snatched away the priority don'tcha know, but with thanks to the healers all things are cleaned and patched up and ready for round two.

From the hatching sands, "Noooo. Nooooooooo." It's an echoing cry of ohFaranthpleaseno. You'd think it'd be otherwise, but it's not. Fatty-dragon knocks over a lad far too close to Yaiili, then suddenly… there he is. In her space. His fat rolls reaching out to snag her very being and drag her into them, along with other possible items. Ohpleaseno. The trader-turned-candidate-turned-weyrling is just horrified, stricken with awe and terror and just… /REALLY/!? But he's there and she's there and they are both there and there's nothing Yaiili — Iili — can do anymore except stare at the dragon that is now hers. Her face goes pale, no need for blood right? and she's just STARING. "…Iili? Ya… callin' me Iili?" Stare. /REALLY/?! "O-okay… Jh… Jiov… Jhiovharameyth? Ya… sure you're mine cause? I reckon there's others who… y'know… really? Me? O…kay." Stare. She stares. Then moves off with the weyrlingmasters because WTF ELSE DO YOU DO WITH A FAT DRAGON!?

"Yaiili!" Alright, this time Tuss does yell. Hey, a fellow Trader just Impressed. He has to represent! He can get loud when he wants to, what with the trained voice and all; the volume he brings forth also brings a blush to his cheeks. He sinks back down into his seat and gives Saji a chagrined smile.
Tussart says, "Sorry. Just excitin'. Glad I could watch at least, right?" Exactly."

From the hatching sands, D'baji knows the drill, after so many turns, and twice being in this position. Oh yeah. A nod goes to Lanti, and with the last dragonets being herded over, he raises his voice some. "Have your lifemates come with us. There'll be more meat in th'barracks; for now, time t'get off th'hot sands." But it's said with a certain weariness, no matter the smile he attempts, and as the old weyrlingmaster sets out for leading, with Nverath waiting in the bowl already, to Sienna he gives a murmur of, "Bring up th'rear, make sure everyone stays grouped," that's maybe a little pleading.

From the hatching sands, Sienna hops forward with quick steps to approach Iili, giving the girl a smile that's sugar and spice and everything nice. "Let's go get him…fed." She didn't hesitate. She SWEARS. To D'baji, the AWLM salutes, and she will do as he asks.

From the hatching sands, "Party time, excellent!" T'ab shouts as he finishes applauding for everyone, "All these new dragons, ol' D'baji'll be busy, eh?" The bronzerider says to no one in general, as he steps forward on the sands, "T'is your fault, that one." T'ab points to Jhio, "… if'n ye weren't such a lazy ass." He chuckles at Tyroth's groan before the pair help Lanti escort folks off the sands.
Myckren drops his face into his hands at Zeyta's proclamation. Shaking his head he looks around to see if they have any objectioners. Apparently not. Surprising.

Snrk? Who said snrk? It certainly wasn't Quin. He's just got, uh, a cold or something. And the facepalming is… because he must have… forgotten something at home! Yes, he must have left the gas on. Or maybe he's just copying Myckren. "Chwell that's it, then," he finally manages to say, through a cough. Ahemhem.

From the hatching sands, "Congratulations, everyone," Nerai smiles widely to everyone, so excited and elated. Now with a sufficiently (for now) stuffed little dragonet, she begins out towards the barracks and their new home.

Sorry, Wynston is only now coming out of her study of the hatching, stirring finally at the announcement and glancing over to K'ane and then those near them. "That was certainly an interesting hatching," she remarks, never having actually been to one before. "It was shorter than I'd imagine."

From the hatching sands, Kanga wipes her brow, looking quite peaked. The arrival of the brown has her intrests up until she gets a good look at him, and just raises one eyebrow. But, she gives a hearty and polite clap for all newly impressed, an eyebrow waggle at Ada because this is the beginning of even more potential shenanigans and then she's wandering off the sands to find her lifemate and get a tall, cool glass of 'collect her betting winnings, sit on the porch of the beach hold and compare notes with Daddy Roo'.

From the hatching sands, N'ayl remains lurking, one fist firmly against his mouth, eyes smiling above. He's also kind of leaning against the wall, watching Yaiili - no, Iili was it? - move off the Sands. Biding his time for the moment he can creep out and snag egg shells. Gudrotgoth demands it. One toe creeps out in the mean time to hook a few shell-scraps towards himself. Doot doot… Shift-eye.

"It happens in a blur," K'ane agrees with Wynston, slowly stretching out his legs. He seems to be more than content to let the hordes of people leave first before trying to elbow his own way out. "Worse when you're down there," he advises. "Then y'just feel like you're about to get run over or mauled or… y'try to stay out of the way," he states, more to himself than anything else.

From the hatching sands, Dedanseth reaches out to nose-bump Tyroth's chin, then she follows her lifemate in the trek toward the fresher, cooler air outside. Two someones are due a long-awaited dip in the ocean before any partying can commence for this pair.

"All kinds." Ellen continues conspiring with Quin, "Me'n Nuna are stardust now, okay? We can get into your LUNGS. I'm gonna Impress my baby brother now!" "Gotta wait til the kid's born, Ell." Cullen's not looking at any one. Just gazing down at the sands and rubbing a hand against his mouth slowly. He mutters, "If it's born." Not to be a downer or anything.

From the hatching sands, Time to flee! As soon as Lanti does, Alys does too. Job DONE!

"I'm always surprised by how fast they go," Quin says to Wynston. "One minute, egg shards flying all over the place, next minute, time to sweep up." Headshake. "Always the way with decisive events, it seems." He grins back at K'ane, "I always did feel sorry for your poor bastards." Oh, did Cullen just kill the buzz? "Your dad always knows how to lighten up a party, doesn't he?" He looks at Ellen. "He might need some twinkling on, I think. You and Nuna better take care to give him extra glittering. Just /choke/ him with it." It'll help. Totally.

Slapping his hands together, Myckren looks at the fellow Reachians. "Ok." He's wiping his hands together in anticipation. "Where do they serve the ale here?"

"Is your wife due soon? You should have her check in to the infirmary until she has the baby. We can make her comfortable and oversee any problems she may have," Wynston says quickly, practically excited at the prospect of a pregnancy. Maybe she'll get to do a c-section. At Myckren's question, she glances towards K'ane questioningly, wince a subtle thing where she finally slips her fingers from his.

Siraji yells something that /may/ have an l somewhere in the middle of it, all choked-off i's that end in a gurgle. She's, what, no. There's just something in her eyes over here, okay, shut up, f-k off. Her breath goes a little ragged over the last of the impressions, and she glowers balefully at both of the young men flanking her. Then she flops down into her seat, and goes back to making notes and tallying bets. "Shells," she says, finally, and, "shittin', shardin'—" as she does her (mother's) books.

K'ane glances over to the Istan girl gettin' all crazy, then focuses on Cullen. "Damn, good job killin' the good vibe," he cracks, though — of course nothing can flag Wynston's enthusiasm for Healing. He'll just sit here, kthx, and glance over as Myckren asks the question. "Living caverns, likely," K'ane states. Not like he's ever Stood here or nothin'. Not at all. Ahem. "Once all these people leave, it'll be easier t'get over there," he states. To Wynston alone: "Did you want to stay for th' hatching party?" K'ane's easy.

"Dad knows how t'light all KINDS of shit," Cullen mutters at Quin, "Parties, glows - FIRE. C'mere, Ell. Up-up-up." Ellen climbs right from Quin and up across Cullen's shoulders like a mink stole while the cheesemaker gives Myckren's back a good hard smack, "This way, kiddo. An' yeah, SOON. But screw you an' your check-in's, my /wife/ lives out at the sharding Herder Hall - you wanna ride out there yourself, be my guest. Call on her every merry day, you want, look 'er over asshole to /appetite/. But she ain't taking a step outta the Hall til she's drops her newest stomach worm." "He means the baby," Ellen translates from where she's draped. As Cullen starts to leave, he mutters to Quin, "/Told/ you there'd be a mauling. No tits, got that wrong - c'mon, pay up."

Tussart's smile at Siraji is a bit foolish. He may be be a little choked up, too. Hatching is an emotionally charged event, especially for two who should have been on the sands and not standing up with the plebes in the galleries. He unfolds his long body, standing up in time to spy Cullen, whom he gives a tiny little wave. Hoping not to be noticed, likely as not. "Er, d'you wanna go get summfink t' drink?" That's to Siraji. "Fink I could use one." J'in is given a wary look as he says it. Brownriders bite, after all.

"It can be rather difficult to transport a pregnant patient so close to her due date," Wynston agrees with a nod of her head, interjecting quickly towards Cullen, "I will be by tomorrow to check in on her." Since he invited her. Grey eyes slide to K'ane, uncertain and unsure where he poses the question before she says quietly, "I think I would rather go back, if you do not mind."

"Ignore her if she says you don't got to." Cullen adds to Wynston as he heads out. "Just keep going anyway. Say Cullen's orders." Try arguing with Cullen. No, really. Just try.

"Ouf." Quin remarks as Ellen clambers back to her father. "Such an endearing nickname." Stomach worm is a great name for a boy! Salmonella, for a girl. The Istan nods at the bronzerider and Wynston by way of goodbye. "Oh, come on, that was a fucking /joke/," he grumbles as they head out, though he's fishing around for marks even so. "And besides, there /were/ tits, shitface. Man-tits, but even your daughter recognized 'em so I'm not paying you a damn thing." So why's he patting his pockets? It's a mystery! But who cares about those when there's drinking to be done?

K'ane starts to bristle at Cullen's general offensive nature (Cullen nature, srsly), but Wynston… doesn't seem to be deterred by it. Oh. Well then. His attention certainly focuses on the latter. "I'll take you, if y'want." Even though he normally avoids Herder Hall like the PLAGUE, kthx crazy mom. "That's fine," he states, perhaps a touch relieved at her not wanting to brave the crowds. He slowly shambles to his feet.

Flapping his jacket to fan air about him, Myckren stands from his seat. "Today's a day off, and so's tomorrow. No way I'm going to miss the party." He blows air upwards towards his brow, "Even if that means I /melt/ in this place." Hrpmh. "Trader, you going for a drink?"

"I gotta," Saji says, but whatever she's about to say is interrupted by the movement of the crowd, by a slow but steady trickle of 'riders and weyrfolk headed her direction, rather than scattering out of the stands. "Stay," she says, and whether it's an explanation or an entreaty is lost in the distracted flatness of her tone as she balances broken hand and ledger and scrambles to her feet, /in/ her seat rather than on the ground. Makes her easier to spot. "F'a little while. Pay out—" and some of those marks are staying in her own pockets, but there's a fairly generous outward flow, too.

"If Dhioth is unavailable, there is always Vorkoroth. I mean, so you do not worry over needing to transport me," Wynston assures K'ane with a slight smile at her lips, pushing awkwardly to her feet after him. She glances after the crowd that makes its way to the party before turning back to the bronzerider. "Thank you for bringing me."

Ji'n reclines a little alongside his sister, crossing one boot over the other. "I'll stay with ya. Make sure ain't no one tries t'cheat ya. Break their arm if they do." Him and his one broken hand, but don't think he can't do it anyway. Lida is given a quick nod and promise of catching up to her later. And then it's all lounging next to Saji.

"Sure," K'ane replies. "Makes more sense — your mom goin', any which way. She'd be more of a help'n I would, for sure." His gaze follows the party-goers before focusing in on Wynston. "You're welcome." He hesitates. "Thanks for comin' with me. I know it was — kinda — random."

"The timing was—," Wynston begins quietly, lips pressing tightly together with a worry before she gestures the way they came. And that is the way she moves, once the crowd starts to thin.

K'ane follows after Wynston, this time, with one last gaze thrown over a shoulder for Ista's hatching caverns.

"Y'can be my enforcer," Saji looks down — how often does that happen — at her brother to say, "until I don't gotta /write/ an' hand out," she stops talking to him to engage in rapid-fire dialogue with a bluerider, hard-hatted, not quite of her father's generation but close to it. Apparently, having your ledge vomited on for turns makes you trust someone as your bookie? When he's passed, the short-stacked redhead looks around, frowns, but doesn't say anything else. /Hmph/.